Recently I suggested to my two roommates that we kill an entire day and watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy, extended edition. Like most things I say, I was half-joking; but unlike most things I say, they both took this suggestion 100%. So that very day we went to the grocery store and bought munching food. We also made a pair of phone calls to recruit fellowship prospects. As getting everybody together was not unlike getting ten cats in one box, we didn't actually all sit down until 8:45 pm. Being the compulsive writer I am, I logged our journey in real time. It was at this hour when hobbits came to shape the fortunes of all.
8:45pm - Matt just gave us a kickoff speech. From here, Matt, Jeht, Max, Angelina, RC and myself will embark on the (extended) trilogy to Mordor and back. Food is plentiful and everyone is in good spirits.
8:50pm - Actually Matt has disappeared in the kitchen, juggling food and drink. Our journey has been delayed, but why not get it right?
"Whispers of a Nameless Fear"
9:48pm - "Get off the road! Quick!" Everybody is still drinking and laughing. There is an appropriate amount of credence to the film (as we know when to shut the fuck up) but yet people aren't afraid to venture jokes and quips.
10:37pm - Jeht just made pizza rolls at Rivendell. We celebrated.
10:42pm - We changed discs and everyone wrote their favorite lines on a giant piece of butcher paper hanging on the wall. p.s. I can't wait for: "What is this new devilry?"
11:23pm -"You shall not pass!" Everyone is totally into it, but conversations have strayed into strange realms. Ex. "What would a date with Gandolf entail?"
11:28pm - I feel good but don't like how quickly 6 people ate 80 pizza rolls. Also, why do people forget that Ewoks wanted to EAT Han, Luke and Leia? I mean, shit, that's dark.
11:45pm - Matt passed out Hawaiian bread. Easily the tastiest thing ever. This is our elven bread? Or is it elfin bread? You nerds know what I mean.
12:17pm - Fellowship is broken over (read: end of the first movie). Shorter than I feared. Wait. We're only one-third through this story? Dammit...
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
NFL Predictions: Probowl Weekend
You'd be hard pressed in this world to find a bigger waste of time and resources than the NFL Probowl, this year more than any previous year. Traditionally the Probowl (professional football's all-star game), is held the weekend after the Superbowl--lifting it to a prominence generally worthy of a, "oh yeah, I forgot about that." This year though, it is being held in the same stadium as the Superbowl, one week before the biggest annual event in televised sports--arguably because they don't play the game seven damn times.
Football players, like high school seniors, mentally clock out for the summer as soon as their duties are done for the season, meaning the Raiders usually get a 3 month head start, the Chiefs start their annual "rebuilding" season and Ricky Williams gets to toke up in January--also like high school seniors. But then the players are dragged back to play in sunny Hawaii; and yes they are dragged, as each "honored" player is given a sizable bonus check (likely buried in the back of the end zone). Imagine how much effort students would put to an assignment a week after getting their final grade. Now imagine those students are already promised no less than $600,000/week next fall if they don't get injured. Football fans are then forced to watch this attitude manifested on the field for three arbitrary hours. I think last year they actually caught Matt Hasselback tampering with the game clock to shave off 11 or 12 minutes.
Now, I say fans are "forced to watch" this game because it is an unusually pathetic all-star game. Perhaps this steams from the physical nature of the game, as baseball players can still try to hit home runs in their all-star game and basketball still gets classic one-on-one match ups. But with football, the season is over and nobody cares about scoring (or stopping) touchdowns. You can almost smell the Hawaiian rum from the field to your living room.
Not only is the Probowl game regrettably less forgettable due to its two-week bump, but now it's been rendered even more useless as 14 players for the Colts and Saints will obviously not be playing. Forget injury on the field, if there's an off chance somebody were to throw a hot dog at Drew Brees and blind him with mustard, I wouldn't want him to play a week before the Game of the Year. As these players were still selected, they must unconscionably miss out on pre-Superbowl team practices and meetings, as they are expected to physically be at the Probowl. That gives the NFL 14 designated drivers who are supposed to be prepping for the game of a lifetime.
Even beyond the Superbowl teams, players are waving off their Probowl invitations. No Tom Brady this year. Or Randy Moss. No Ben Roethlisberger. And--this may foreshadow a future post--definitely no Brett Favre. Instead, the NFL is turning towards players who didn't even play for the entire season to fill out their all-star rosters. Is the 19th best QB in the NFL an all-star? Apparently. All of a sudden the NFL Probowl is becoming a try-out camp for next year, not unlike the NCCA's "Senior Bowl." Which actually brings me to...
Don't have an all-star game. Have an almost-star game. Pick the players on teams that don't get much field action and have them play against each other. You better believe they'll play harder than your commercial/SNL/press conference boys will play. And if the competition gets harder, you'll really be able to see just who has some talent. As it stands now, nobody tries so fans can't really gauge if that was a good play or poor defense. And no coach or owner will have to say this to the players, but the message will be clear: you are playing for the privilege to be on a team next year. Here's a general writing lesson the NFL should know: it doesn't matter what the hero wants, if they want it badly, the audience will want them to get it. Translation: if the players WANT to win, the audience will want them to win.
And that's how the NFL can win, too.
EDITING NOTE: Just realized there wasn't one "prediction" in this blog post, so let's just say...uh...the NFC will win.
Football players, like high school seniors, mentally clock out for the summer as soon as their duties are done for the season, meaning the Raiders usually get a 3 month head start, the Chiefs start their annual "rebuilding" season and Ricky Williams gets to toke up in January--also like high school seniors. But then the players are dragged back to play in sunny Hawaii; and yes they are dragged, as each "honored" player is given a sizable bonus check (likely buried in the back of the end zone). Imagine how much effort students would put to an assignment a week after getting their final grade. Now imagine those students are already promised no less than $600,000/week next fall if they don't get injured. Football fans are then forced to watch this attitude manifested on the field for three arbitrary hours. I think last year they actually caught Matt Hasselback tampering with the game clock to shave off 11 or 12 minutes.
Now, I say fans are "forced to watch" this game because it is an unusually pathetic all-star game. Perhaps this steams from the physical nature of the game, as baseball players can still try to hit home runs in their all-star game and basketball still gets classic one-on-one match ups. But with football, the season is over and nobody cares about scoring (or stopping) touchdowns. You can almost smell the Hawaiian rum from the field to your living room.
Not only is the Probowl game regrettably less forgettable due to its two-week bump, but now it's been rendered even more useless as 14 players for the Colts and Saints will obviously not be playing. Forget injury on the field, if there's an off chance somebody were to throw a hot dog at Drew Brees and blind him with mustard, I wouldn't want him to play a week before the Game of the Year. As these players were still selected, they must unconscionably miss out on pre-Superbowl team practices and meetings, as they are expected to physically be at the Probowl. That gives the NFL 14 designated drivers who are supposed to be prepping for the game of a lifetime.
Even beyond the Superbowl teams, players are waving off their Probowl invitations. No Tom Brady this year. Or Randy Moss. No Ben Roethlisberger. And--this may foreshadow a future post--definitely no Brett Favre. Instead, the NFL is turning towards players who didn't even play for the entire season to fill out their all-star rosters. Is the 19th best QB in the NFL an all-star? Apparently. All of a sudden the NFL Probowl is becoming a try-out camp for next year, not unlike the NCCA's "Senior Bowl." Which actually brings me to...
Don't have an all-star game. Have an almost-star game. Pick the players on teams that don't get much field action and have them play against each other. You better believe they'll play harder than your commercial/SNL/press conference boys will play. And if the competition gets harder, you'll really be able to see just who has some talent. As it stands now, nobody tries so fans can't really gauge if that was a good play or poor defense. And no coach or owner will have to say this to the players, but the message will be clear: you are playing for the privilege to be on a team next year. Here's a general writing lesson the NFL should know: it doesn't matter what the hero wants, if they want it badly, the audience will want them to get it. Translation: if the players WANT to win, the audience will want them to win.
And that's how the NFL can win, too.
EDITING NOTE: Just realized there wasn't one "prediction" in this blog post, so let's just say...uh...the NFC will win.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Having Faith
Dark matter is a theoretical form of matter that does not reflect or emit electromagnetic radiation. There is no proof of its existence, but its existence answers a lot of questions people just don't know. In fact, dark matter isn't so much of a physical "thing" as it is a placeholder for the mystery in the universe.
Odd that people don't worship dark matter.
Odd that people don't worship dark matter.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The January Skyscraper
I have one novel idea, but that’s not enough for a book.
I considered hitting a dog in the face with a cream pie and felt down thinking about it. I considered hitting a cat in the face with a cream pie and fell down laughing about it.
While discussing TV actors with a friend, another friend started singing, “Shimmy shimmy cocoa what? Listen to it pound. Light it up and take a puff, pass it to me now.” After I moment I realized what had happened and yelled into the other room, “We were talking about Kelsey Grammer!”
A grizzly bear got shoved out of a plane. For that minute before the parachute deployed, the bear just absolutely freaked the fuck out.
Brett accused me of never washing my car. I told him, “You watch too many movies, Brett.” I’ve discovered this is the ultimate comeback to any criticism. Use it wisely and rampantly.
I’ve been job hunting, in the sense that I tracked down employment opportunities and then killed them. I then got stopped by a Park Ranger who said using hand grenades is morally reprehensible and, more importantly, illegal. However I escaped her bear trap-like grip and hid underneath a waterfall for two and half days. After that I found some campers and stole a bag of Skittles. Now that’s a metaphor!
Like casinos, life has no seats for onlookers.
A “welcome” mat showed up at my door. I turned it backwards so that it does not welcome the people that do not visit me, but rather the mat welcomes me to the world when I leave.
I made up the jazz song name “Tuesday Bluesday” for forgotten reasons. My friend was convinced a song that bad must already exists. It turns out there is a band by that name, and a music series in Harrisburg…and a song.
Meanest thing I heard this month: “Nice shopping cart; what are you, homeless?”
Stanton said he wanted to be buried with all his Dallas Cowboy football jerseys. We all laughed. “I’m serious!” he said. We all laughed harder. When we stopped, he continued, “No. Really.” We stood in silence.
A young, British secret agent is sent on a top-secret mission half-a-world away to stop a madman from unleashing an unspeakable act of violence on the most powerful nations around the globe. The young, brash agent later discovers that the criminal mastermind was once the best secret agent for the same secret government agency that sent him. The name of the super villain? James Bond. Best movie ever? Yes.
Give a man a fish and you've fed him for a day. Teach him how to fish and you've lost a customer.
This story is a skyscraper because it is made up of dozens of stories.
I considered hitting a dog in the face with a cream pie and felt down thinking about it. I considered hitting a cat in the face with a cream pie and fell down laughing about it.
While discussing TV actors with a friend, another friend started singing, “Shimmy shimmy cocoa what? Listen to it pound. Light it up and take a puff, pass it to me now.” After I moment I realized what had happened and yelled into the other room, “We were talking about Kelsey Grammer!”
A grizzly bear got shoved out of a plane. For that minute before the parachute deployed, the bear just absolutely freaked the fuck out.
Brett accused me of never washing my car. I told him, “You watch too many movies, Brett.” I’ve discovered this is the ultimate comeback to any criticism. Use it wisely and rampantly.
I’ve been job hunting, in the sense that I tracked down employment opportunities and then killed them. I then got stopped by a Park Ranger who said using hand grenades is morally reprehensible and, more importantly, illegal. However I escaped her bear trap-like grip and hid underneath a waterfall for two and half days. After that I found some campers and stole a bag of Skittles. Now that’s a metaphor!
Like casinos, life has no seats for onlookers.
A “welcome” mat showed up at my door. I turned it backwards so that it does not welcome the people that do not visit me, but rather the mat welcomes me to the world when I leave.
I made up the jazz song name “Tuesday Bluesday” for forgotten reasons. My friend was convinced a song that bad must already exists. It turns out there is a band by that name, and a music series in Harrisburg…and a song.
Meanest thing I heard this month: “Nice shopping cart; what are you, homeless?”
Stanton said he wanted to be buried with all his Dallas Cowboy football jerseys. We all laughed. “I’m serious!” he said. We all laughed harder. When we stopped, he continued, “No. Really.” We stood in silence.
A young, British secret agent is sent on a top-secret mission half-a-world away to stop a madman from unleashing an unspeakable act of violence on the most powerful nations around the globe. The young, brash agent later discovers that the criminal mastermind was once the best secret agent for the same secret government agency that sent him. The name of the super villain? James Bond. Best movie ever? Yes.
Give a man a fish and you've fed him for a day. Teach him how to fish and you've lost a customer.
This story is a skyscraper because it is made up of dozens of stories.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
American Beauty for the ReGeneration
With the Oscars nearing closer everyday (like everything else in the future), I'd like to remind the Academy of a very important quality to look for in movies. This is especially important when they'll be able to choose from ten movies for Best Picture--probably Avatar, Precious, The Hurt Locker, Up in the Air, Inglorious Basterds, A Serious Man, Nine, Invictus, Up and Star Trek (dead serious). The cinematic virtue I'm talking about is longevity. Not running length--though many of these films have that in spades, too--but of cultural relevance to the year the movie came out in.
It's these movies that have cultural relevance that stick with audiences. It's these movies that are more than Best Pictures winners. They remain in the public consciousness years later. This is what separates Braveheart from The Last Emperor. Why do people still know the goofy accents from Fargo but can't name the writer, director or star of The English Patient? Audiences don't remember Forrest Gump because it won Best Picture. Likewise, audiences haven't forgotten about Pulp Fiction even though it lost.
So let's talk about 1999. The Cider House Rules, The Green Mile, The Insider and The Sixth Sense were all beaten by American Beauty. More than the others, I feel The Sixth Sense was a better film than American Beauty. Unfortunately, The Sixth Sense is crushed by its iconic twist ending and deemed unwatchable by many solely because "they know the ending." But we don't watch movies to get to the ending. If that was true, all movies would be as short as possible. 5 second movies would become the norm. Aside from making 20 minutes of previews all that more excruciating, this would also serve as a sad commentary on life. Are we going through life to get to the ending? No, we're not. And no, we shouldn't be watching movies just to know the ending.
Back to an earlier point though, American Beauty may still have been the best pick for that year as it serves as a great marker on American sensibilities of the time. The late 90s was host to a number of movies backlashing against the rise of white-collar culture. American Beauty was about Lester quitting his job and rejecting all the status symbols his family and neighbors had come to love (including an Italian sofa). Similar themes are found in Fight Club, The Matrix, Office Space, American Psycho, etc.
This rejection of "the system" was itself a backlash to group unification seen in movies during the early nineties and eighties. This period was marked by the end of the Cold War and America's confusion about the next big threat. As we had been faced with nuclear annihilation for years on end, we could only imagine the next threat to be similarly huge. This is why movies focused more on unify against a common enemy--for instance, the saucer-aliens from Independence Day (my god, is that movie really THAT old?).
As the terrorist attacks on September 11th, 2001 were arguably the biggest single-day event in American history, it should be of no surprise that they changed movies. All of a sudden it's the little threats that scare us. Batman/James Bond/whoever else fights street criminals, not traditional super villains. Now we aren't concerned about aliens blowing up the entire east coast (as a metaphor for nuclear destruction), but we're concerned about aliens being near our homes and families, as seen in Signs (2003). In Signs, alien ships hover above Mexico City, and presumably other major cities, but we only learn this information through the television. The audience, like the characters, are stuck in their homes and neighborhoods, completely vulnerable to a threatening enemy we cannot see or understand.
Now let's re-examine my Oscar nominees prediction. These movies, for the most part, are not an acceptance or rejection of "the system." Nobody is going rogue, nor are unconnected people unifying. Rather there is a different phenomenon. Characters are finding their voice within the system they are a part of. They do not feel like a pawn in the great scheme of things like the characters in the late 90s. Brad Pitt is most definitely a part of the Allied forces in Inglorious Basterds, but he is special within the group. Kirk from Star Trek needs the star fleet to do what he feels is his calling, despite having a different up-bringing.
I think this mentality will reverberate within my previously defined ReGeneration. We need the system, we need each other, to reach new heights but also need independence to cope and fight with the independent-based threats flooding society. Outside of movie-world, nobody can argue that Facebook hasn't opened up new ways of organizing; while at the same time emphasizing the individuals. And while movies about being made about the financial industry, the army and even Facebook, I am confident they'll all be instantly forgettable if they don't tap into this solidifying generation.
Sometimes working within a good group isn't enough. Sometimes being a good individual isn't enough. And, sorry Academy Awards, sometimes winning Best Picture isn't enough.
It's these movies that have cultural relevance that stick with audiences. It's these movies that are more than Best Pictures winners. They remain in the public consciousness years later. This is what separates Braveheart from The Last Emperor. Why do people still know the goofy accents from Fargo but can't name the writer, director or star of The English Patient? Audiences don't remember Forrest Gump because it won Best Picture. Likewise, audiences haven't forgotten about Pulp Fiction even though it lost.
So let's talk about 1999. The Cider House Rules, The Green Mile, The Insider and The Sixth Sense were all beaten by American Beauty. More than the others, I feel The Sixth Sense was a better film than American Beauty. Unfortunately, The Sixth Sense is crushed by its iconic twist ending and deemed unwatchable by many solely because "they know the ending." But we don't watch movies to get to the ending. If that was true, all movies would be as short as possible. 5 second movies would become the norm. Aside from making 20 minutes of previews all that more excruciating, this would also serve as a sad commentary on life. Are we going through life to get to the ending? No, we're not. And no, we shouldn't be watching movies just to know the ending.
Back to an earlier point though, American Beauty may still have been the best pick for that year as it serves as a great marker on American sensibilities of the time. The late 90s was host to a number of movies backlashing against the rise of white-collar culture. American Beauty was about Lester quitting his job and rejecting all the status symbols his family and neighbors had come to love (including an Italian sofa). Similar themes are found in Fight Club, The Matrix, Office Space, American Psycho, etc.
This rejection of "the system" was itself a backlash to group unification seen in movies during the early nineties and eighties. This period was marked by the end of the Cold War and America's confusion about the next big threat. As we had been faced with nuclear annihilation for years on end, we could only imagine the next threat to be similarly huge. This is why movies focused more on unify against a common enemy--for instance, the saucer-aliens from Independence Day (my god, is that movie really THAT old?).
As the terrorist attacks on September 11th, 2001 were arguably the biggest single-day event in American history, it should be of no surprise that they changed movies. All of a sudden it's the little threats that scare us. Batman/James Bond/whoever else fights street criminals, not traditional super villains. Now we aren't concerned about aliens blowing up the entire east coast (as a metaphor for nuclear destruction), but we're concerned about aliens being near our homes and families, as seen in Signs (2003). In Signs, alien ships hover above Mexico City, and presumably other major cities, but we only learn this information through the television. The audience, like the characters, are stuck in their homes and neighborhoods, completely vulnerable to a threatening enemy we cannot see or understand.
Now let's re-examine my Oscar nominees prediction. These movies, for the most part, are not an acceptance or rejection of "the system." Nobody is going rogue, nor are unconnected people unifying. Rather there is a different phenomenon. Characters are finding their voice within the system they are a part of. They do not feel like a pawn in the great scheme of things like the characters in the late 90s. Brad Pitt is most definitely a part of the Allied forces in Inglorious Basterds, but he is special within the group. Kirk from Star Trek needs the star fleet to do what he feels is his calling, despite having a different up-bringing.
I think this mentality will reverberate within my previously defined ReGeneration. We need the system, we need each other, to reach new heights but also need independence to cope and fight with the independent-based threats flooding society. Outside of movie-world, nobody can argue that Facebook hasn't opened up new ways of organizing; while at the same time emphasizing the individuals. And while movies about being made about the financial industry, the army and even Facebook, I am confident they'll all be instantly forgettable if they don't tap into this solidifying generation.
Sometimes working within a good group isn't enough. Sometimes being a good individual isn't enough. And, sorry Academy Awards, sometimes winning Best Picture isn't enough.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Go Bender, Go Bender, Go Bender
Back in June, Comedy Central gave the order for 13 brand-new episodes of the "hit" television show Futurama. As I've been swamped with women, lack of women, school work and bear fights for the last 7 months, I haven't been able to collect my thoughts on Futurama...until now.
As a big Futurama fan, I welcome the new episodes with some trepidation. I was mildly amused by the four direct to DVD movies since the show was canceled--and that's a criticism, as any four episodes of the show were far beyond "mildly amus[ing]." All too often shows have suffered in quality after the four-season mark; moreover, I felt the show had a nice conclusion with the season four finale and, to a lesser extent, the final movie. Admittedly, the show always had a quiet dignity missing from shows like Family Guy and Rock of Love, but the movies were too self-aware. However I would be lying if I said I didn't want to watch any of the new Futurama episodes--a promise I could make regarding nearly every other show on television.
However I'd like to extend this opinion of Futurama to a broader audience and broader assertion; and that is that Bender was one the best television characters of the millennial decade.
Empirically, Bender is a robot in the year 3000. The show's protagonist (Phillip Fry) meets and befriends Bender despite, and because of, Bender's chronic smoking, drinking, larceny, swearing and other debauchery.
On the out most level, Bender is just the best friend character necessary to comedic balance and seen in every nearly every competent show. However, Bender's selfish hedonism is particularly absurd given his existence as a robot--a tool meant to make people's lives easier. For years robots have been an appealing concept to modern society as they reject the weakness of people (such as sleepiness, fear, pain, etc).
When we think of robots, we think of the Terminator variations. It is a machine that does its duty without fail or hesitation. However, this robotic efficiency is a pipe dream. I can't even count on my shower faucet to give me hot water 100% of the time, so we have no reason to think our robots would perform perfectly. Bender is just an extreme to epitomize this point. He is a paradox of our technology; a dream creation that is, by all measurable rights, a complete failure...like much technology (Pippin, anybody?).
However Bender's rampant hedonism strikes a cord in the audience, as we find ourselves yearning to live such a carefree lifestyle. Bender does little work yet never starves. He can drink all night and never be hungover. He can swear and steal without regard for consequences. Bender is us--if we completely did away with those annoying inhibitions. He is the ego that Freud talked about, even though such worldly pleasures seem absurd to a robot we assume to be without desire or emotions.
Our commonality with Bender deepens even more when he embodies our own insecurities, failings and fears, though. Bender's one inhuman trait is his inability to mask himself. He cannot keep secrets and cannot act like somebody else. Everyone (audience and other characters) always know how Bender is feeling and what he is thinking because he is always showing or telling what he feels or thinks. Through this one fault, Bender taps into another common human experience: our desire to be real; our desire to quite acting, our desire to just accept who we are and be accepted for who we are by the world.
And though these insecurities seem broad, or even cliche, they are originally portrayed as no other character on Futurama (or other show for that matter) can be so refreshingly transparent. Bender has a reoccurring, and impossible, dream of being a Harlem Globetrotter. He also has a considerably more philosophical fear of being forgotten once he is dead/turned off/thrown away. Bender wants to know he made an impact on the people in his life--a theme deemed universal since the Jimmy Stewart classic It's A Wonderful Life. But above all these insecurities, Bender is afraid to be alone. As early as Futurama's third episode, Bender shows he loves his friends and can be cut quite deep when rejected by people. More than people need Bender as a tool, Bender needs people as friends. Bender needs people as friends even more than he needs them for victims in his aforementioned tomfoolery.
But Bender is also known for his perpetual hatred for humanity. While this is playing off the sci-fi stereotype of all robots eventually turning on humanity, it also taps into our most repressed and cynical thoughts. The world may not be full of crazy/annoying people, but it sure seems like those people do all the driving.
On a more lighthearted and ending note, Bender is a fine example of cultural blending as he is proudly Mexican (or at least built in Mexico). However, aside from the last name (Rodriquez) and motivation to save "senoritas," Bender displays no Mexican culture. He is a perfectly assimilated New Yorker in the sense that his Mexican identity is never used against or for him--however he does experience some discrimination as a robot, possibly proving that complete assimilation is impossible and thus not a virtue. Here we reach the last point: conformity can not be reached, so we must find strength in the diversity that is present in our society; even if said diversity includes metallic beings.
As a big Futurama fan, I welcome the new episodes with some trepidation. I was mildly amused by the four direct to DVD movies since the show was canceled--and that's a criticism, as any four episodes of the show were far beyond "mildly amus[ing]." All too often shows have suffered in quality after the four-season mark; moreover, I felt the show had a nice conclusion with the season four finale and, to a lesser extent, the final movie. Admittedly, the show always had a quiet dignity missing from shows like Family Guy and Rock of Love, but the movies were too self-aware. However I would be lying if I said I didn't want to watch any of the new Futurama episodes--a promise I could make regarding nearly every other show on television.
However I'd like to extend this opinion of Futurama to a broader audience and broader assertion; and that is that Bender was one the best television characters of the millennial decade.
Empirically, Bender is a robot in the year 3000. The show's protagonist (Phillip Fry) meets and befriends Bender despite, and because of, Bender's chronic smoking, drinking, larceny, swearing and other debauchery.
On the out most level, Bender is just the best friend character necessary to comedic balance and seen in every nearly every competent show. However, Bender's selfish hedonism is particularly absurd given his existence as a robot--a tool meant to make people's lives easier. For years robots have been an appealing concept to modern society as they reject the weakness of people (such as sleepiness, fear, pain, etc).
When we think of robots, we think of the Terminator variations. It is a machine that does its duty without fail or hesitation. However, this robotic efficiency is a pipe dream. I can't even count on my shower faucet to give me hot water 100% of the time, so we have no reason to think our robots would perform perfectly. Bender is just an extreme to epitomize this point. He is a paradox of our technology; a dream creation that is, by all measurable rights, a complete failure...like much technology (Pippin, anybody?).
However Bender's rampant hedonism strikes a cord in the audience, as we find ourselves yearning to live such a carefree lifestyle. Bender does little work yet never starves. He can drink all night and never be hungover. He can swear and steal without regard for consequences. Bender is us--if we completely did away with those annoying inhibitions. He is the ego that Freud talked about, even though such worldly pleasures seem absurd to a robot we assume to be without desire or emotions.
Our commonality with Bender deepens even more when he embodies our own insecurities, failings and fears, though. Bender's one inhuman trait is his inability to mask himself. He cannot keep secrets and cannot act like somebody else. Everyone (audience and other characters) always know how Bender is feeling and what he is thinking because he is always showing or telling what he feels or thinks. Through this one fault, Bender taps into another common human experience: our desire to be real; our desire to quite acting, our desire to just accept who we are and be accepted for who we are by the world.
And though these insecurities seem broad, or even cliche, they are originally portrayed as no other character on Futurama (or other show for that matter) can be so refreshingly transparent. Bender has a reoccurring, and impossible, dream of being a Harlem Globetrotter. He also has a considerably more philosophical fear of being forgotten once he is dead/turned off/thrown away. Bender wants to know he made an impact on the people in his life--a theme deemed universal since the Jimmy Stewart classic It's A Wonderful Life. But above all these insecurities, Bender is afraid to be alone. As early as Futurama's third episode, Bender shows he loves his friends and can be cut quite deep when rejected by people. More than people need Bender as a tool, Bender needs people as friends. Bender needs people as friends even more than he needs them for victims in his aforementioned tomfoolery.
But Bender is also known for his perpetual hatred for humanity. While this is playing off the sci-fi stereotype of all robots eventually turning on humanity, it also taps into our most repressed and cynical thoughts. The world may not be full of crazy/annoying people, but it sure seems like those people do all the driving.
On a more lighthearted and ending note, Bender is a fine example of cultural blending as he is proudly Mexican (or at least built in Mexico). However, aside from the last name (Rodriquez) and motivation to save "senoritas," Bender displays no Mexican culture. He is a perfectly assimilated New Yorker in the sense that his Mexican identity is never used against or for him--however he does experience some discrimination as a robot, possibly proving that complete assimilation is impossible and thus not a virtue. Here we reach the last point: conformity can not be reached, so we must find strength in the diversity that is present in our society; even if said diversity includes metallic beings.
Monday, January 25, 2010
"My" "Perfect" "Day"
My perfect day--as constructed from three separate and actual memories--may have actually been from the same day. Unfortunately my memory isn’t what it used to be, though come to think of it, I don’t actually remember what my memory used to be like. Anyhow, I chose these three events because they were the first to come to mind, rather than any actual ideal I aim for in my pursuit at a more perfect life.
The best morning I have on cerebral record was when I woke up from a vivid dream in which I was about to get a speeding ticket. The dream was so vivid it borders on boring with any re-telling that begins with, “So I had this dream…” However, as in real life, I was experiencing considerable frustration at the prospect of getting a ticket so when I woke up I celebrated. I had been given a “get out of jail free” card. I got all of the life experience of getting a speeding ticket without actually having to pay a fine. More over, I woke up quite late in the morning, which itself is good on two accounts: 1) warm beds are comfortable and 2) no school or other worldly obligations necessitated my existence. If it was my way, I think I’d make every dream I have rather miserable so that awaking can be that much more glorious and liberating. However, there is probably a downside to that wish that I am not seeing.
My perfect afternoon is, again, just the first one that came to mind. Actually, it may even read as lazily vague, but I assure you dear reader, this is true. The afternoon occurred sometime over winter break when I watched some movies with my little brother Chuckles. I think we watched The Hangover or Watchmen or something. Regardless, it serves in my memory as an indicator that Chuckles is back in my life after the better part of a 6 year absence--or from whenever I started high school. Aside from sharing a lazy (though cinematic) afternoon together, we were at the house that always has the most junk food: our parents’. There’s something about a sibling relationship that makes doing nothing really easy. Friendship relationships are like muscles, they require usage to stay strong. Sibling relationships are more like your skin. It’s always going to be there--barring some strange acid disaster that would surely lead to a life of super-villainy.
Like my perfect morning and afternoon, my perfect night is repeatable, unpredictable and more a commentary on life than just a flip anecdote. And that night was, again, some time over this last December or January. I was at friend’s house, which is actually lived in by multiple friends, though generally occupied by more, and it’s their house in the way that it’s own by the first friend’s parents. Confused? Good, because it doesn’t matter. Point is: a lot of my friends were together and we are all quite merry. I can’t swear to the absence or presence of alcohol, though my clouded memory is an indicator of latter. At one point we played a variation of a Russian card game we’ve come to know as “The Fool.” After that, or perhaps before that, we watched just awful television but had fun doing it. At one point I believe it was Revenge of the Sith—as that’s just an awful movie thrown on television periodically. Throughout the evening and night we shared laughs and had no less than 230 “you just had to be there” moments.
As I reflect on these three real life moments, I realize my life appears to be a pursuit of hedonism, though I routinely preach different avenues of duty and sacrifice. Likewise, my “perfect” moments are quite replicable though they don’t seem to occur as often as I’d like; or as often as any stranger would assume after reading this essay. And though these events are admittedly un-extraordinary, they are fun memories, but more importantly, they were fun moments to live and did not pass before my eyes unnoticed. If their valor is proven through no other reason than my loose ability to recall them, then they are still worth mention in what I would call my true perfect day.
The best morning I have on cerebral record was when I woke up from a vivid dream in which I was about to get a speeding ticket. The dream was so vivid it borders on boring with any re-telling that begins with, “So I had this dream…” However, as in real life, I was experiencing considerable frustration at the prospect of getting a ticket so when I woke up I celebrated. I had been given a “get out of jail free” card. I got all of the life experience of getting a speeding ticket without actually having to pay a fine. More over, I woke up quite late in the morning, which itself is good on two accounts: 1) warm beds are comfortable and 2) no school or other worldly obligations necessitated my existence. If it was my way, I think I’d make every dream I have rather miserable so that awaking can be that much more glorious and liberating. However, there is probably a downside to that wish that I am not seeing.
My perfect afternoon is, again, just the first one that came to mind. Actually, it may even read as lazily vague, but I assure you dear reader, this is true. The afternoon occurred sometime over winter break when I watched some movies with my little brother Chuckles. I think we watched The Hangover or Watchmen or something. Regardless, it serves in my memory as an indicator that Chuckles is back in my life after the better part of a 6 year absence--or from whenever I started high school. Aside from sharing a lazy (though cinematic) afternoon together, we were at the house that always has the most junk food: our parents’. There’s something about a sibling relationship that makes doing nothing really easy. Friendship relationships are like muscles, they require usage to stay strong. Sibling relationships are more like your skin. It’s always going to be there--barring some strange acid disaster that would surely lead to a life of super-villainy.
Like my perfect morning and afternoon, my perfect night is repeatable, unpredictable and more a commentary on life than just a flip anecdote. And that night was, again, some time over this last December or January. I was at friend’s house, which is actually lived in by multiple friends, though generally occupied by more, and it’s their house in the way that it’s own by the first friend’s parents. Confused? Good, because it doesn’t matter. Point is: a lot of my friends were together and we are all quite merry. I can’t swear to the absence or presence of alcohol, though my clouded memory is an indicator of latter. At one point we played a variation of a Russian card game we’ve come to know as “The Fool.” After that, or perhaps before that, we watched just awful television but had fun doing it. At one point I believe it was Revenge of the Sith—as that’s just an awful movie thrown on television periodically. Throughout the evening and night we shared laughs and had no less than 230 “you just had to be there” moments.
As I reflect on these three real life moments, I realize my life appears to be a pursuit of hedonism, though I routinely preach different avenues of duty and sacrifice. Likewise, my “perfect” moments are quite replicable though they don’t seem to occur as often as I’d like; or as often as any stranger would assume after reading this essay. And though these events are admittedly un-extraordinary, they are fun memories, but more importantly, they were fun moments to live and did not pass before my eyes unnoticed. If their valor is proven through no other reason than my loose ability to recall them, then they are still worth mention in what I would call my true perfect day.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Sometimes Life (continues)
At least when driving, the nicest thing
you can do for people is be predictable
you can do for people is be predictable
Saturday, January 23, 2010
NFL Predictions: Championship Weekend
Lesson from last week: If sports casters ever bring up the virtue of "momentum" again, feel free to throw last week in their face as the red-hot Cowboys and Chargers got appropriately and unexplainably embarrassed, respectively. Conversely, the Colts won with relative ease after four weeks of just playing Madden '09.
New York (Jets) at Indianapolis
The Jets were not only unlikely to win a spot in the playoffs last fall but their head coach Rex Ryan said it "was not possible." Go figure, the Colts came from behind to beat the Jaguars, giving them home field advantage throughout the playoffs (rendering their last two games obsolete). One of said games was against the Jets, who then managed to beat "the Colts" and enter the playoffs. So if the football gods are cruelly ironic, the Jets have to win this game. But while people do a lot of praying on Sundays, I don't think this theological angle is a common betting technique. In fact, so many people are going to be betting on the Colts that it'd be the smarter bet to pick the Jets (money-wise). And though the Jets' defense has been flying, Rex Ryan has never beaten Peyton Manning (excluding that throw-away game)--including the years Ryan was defensive coordinator for the Ravens. And while Peyton Manning is always enough reason to pick the Colts to win any game, I think their own defense has been an understated factor this season. I have to pick the Goliath of this game. Colts win.
Minnesota at New Orleans
I wrote on November 28th that a Vikings-Saints conference championship game would be "more fun and more expected than anything the Superbowl can promise" and I can proudly still stand by that. Both are exceptional teams on both sides of the ball and have quarterbacks putting up unprecedented numbers. Easily the most surprising thing about Favre this entire season has been his new-found ability to sacrifice a play. The man has learned to throw the ball away or go for the short pass rather than force an circus throw down the field. I take this as an indicator that Favre has learned to trust his teammates for the first time in years--and with good reason. However, throw-for-throw, I like Drew Brees more--as also previously written about. And if I liked the quarterbacks the same, I'd still go with the Saints because their head coach, Sean Payton, keeps drama out of the locker room and juggles a better running game. And if I liked the coaches the same, I'd still go with the Saints because they are at home and all four Minnesota losses this year were away games. Saints win.
New York (Jets) at Indianapolis
The Jets were not only unlikely to win a spot in the playoffs last fall but their head coach Rex Ryan said it "was not possible." Go figure, the Colts came from behind to beat the Jaguars, giving them home field advantage throughout the playoffs (rendering their last two games obsolete). One of said games was against the Jets, who then managed to beat "the Colts" and enter the playoffs. So if the football gods are cruelly ironic, the Jets have to win this game. But while people do a lot of praying on Sundays, I don't think this theological angle is a common betting technique. In fact, so many people are going to be betting on the Colts that it'd be the smarter bet to pick the Jets (money-wise). And though the Jets' defense has been flying, Rex Ryan has never beaten Peyton Manning (excluding that throw-away game)--including the years Ryan was defensive coordinator for the Ravens. And while Peyton Manning is always enough reason to pick the Colts to win any game, I think their own defense has been an understated factor this season. I have to pick the Goliath of this game. Colts win.
Minnesota at New Orleans
I wrote on November 28th that a Vikings-Saints conference championship game would be "more fun and more expected than anything the Superbowl can promise" and I can proudly still stand by that. Both are exceptional teams on both sides of the ball and have quarterbacks putting up unprecedented numbers. Easily the most surprising thing about Favre this entire season has been his new-found ability to sacrifice a play. The man has learned to throw the ball away or go for the short pass rather than force an circus throw down the field. I take this as an indicator that Favre has learned to trust his teammates for the first time in years--and with good reason. However, throw-for-throw, I like Drew Brees more--as also previously written about. And if I liked the quarterbacks the same, I'd still go with the Saints because their head coach, Sean Payton, keeps drama out of the locker room and juggles a better running game. And if I liked the coaches the same, I'd still go with the Saints because they are at home and all four Minnesota losses this year were away games. Saints win.
Friday, January 22, 2010
The Times I Live In
I can't write the next great American novel. I can't even write a story longer than 10,000 words (most of these blog posts run between 300-600 words). I can't stick with a single story for more than a pair of months. That's why I have to try.
To have a good present, I need to have a great future and a selective past.
I have written short (and short-short) stories and will continue to do so; but now it's time to write the unwritten. The thousand-thousand ideas. Shields will be broken and compromises will be made, but this will not be the last endeavor to a place bordered by failure.
This isn't the final whistle, it's the kickoff. It's time I start playing this new literary game of ambitions: We Service What We Sell.
To have a good present, I need to have a great future and a selective past.
I have written short (and short-short) stories and will continue to do so; but now it's time to write the unwritten. The thousand-thousand ideas. Shields will be broken and compromises will be made, but this will not be the last endeavor to a place bordered by failure.
This isn't the final whistle, it's the kickoff. It's time I start playing this new literary game of ambitions: We Service What We Sell.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Nick Rundowns Some Movies
These movies aren't out yet but trailers are made for pre-release criticism.
THE RED BARON - This early fighter pilot film brings back 2006's FLYBOYS--but woefully without James Franco. And while it's from the German perspective, I don't think this movie will have the vague culture-sharing moments that dragged down LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA (aside from everybody in Europe speaking English). Also, remember, it's only about WWI so it's okay to like the Germans in this movie.
EDGE OF DARKNESS - This movie was green-lit after the unpredictable success of Liam Neeson's star-vehicle: TAKEN. Another old, Oscar-winning actor beats up young thugs who have kidnapped/killed his daughter. But can Mel Gibson play a crazy man? Sounds like kind of a stretch to me.
ALICE IN WONDERLAND - Tim Burton retells another tale few people have actually read. He continues to make Burton-esque decisions; such as casting the eccentric Johnny Depp to play the eccentric Mad Hatter and assaulting your eyes with ugly colors. This movie does nothing but further confirm that experimentation is a dead concept to Burton and Depp.
CLASH OF THE TITANS - This movie can jump off a cliff. The preview indicates the filmmakers made this classic story as trashy, obnoxious and meaningless as possible. If there is justice in the world, after this movie Sam Worthington will at least be thrown in "movie jail" and at best become known as another "former next big movie star."
WALL STREET 2 - Oliver Stone will likely continue his streak of ruining timely concepts with awful writing, awful casting and self-important directing. I have no reason to believe Stone will reach for unique drama; but I can take some solace in the fact that he won't be butchering history in his own rendition of true people ala Nixon, JFK, Alexander, World Trade Center, W., etc.
SALT - Stupid.
ROBIN HOOD - The gray color schemed deconstruction of a literary hero is so last decade. And even if it wasn't, Ridley Scott still needs to prove this is a character with layers like an onion, not a balloon meant to be played around with for two hours and then left to deflate in silence. What frustrates me most is that the trailer includes the promise to show "the hero behind the outlaw" in Robin Hood's character. What? Everybody already knows him as a hero! If you're a trying to spin a different angle on Robin Hood, why not emphasis the outlaw-ness? Or loneliness? Or short-sightedness? This movie was too easy on every level.
THE RED BARON - This early fighter pilot film brings back 2006's FLYBOYS--but woefully without James Franco. And while it's from the German perspective, I don't think this movie will have the vague culture-sharing moments that dragged down LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA (aside from everybody in Europe speaking English). Also, remember, it's only about WWI so it's okay to like the Germans in this movie.
EDGE OF DARKNESS - This movie was green-lit after the unpredictable success of Liam Neeson's star-vehicle: TAKEN. Another old, Oscar-winning actor beats up young thugs who have kidnapped/killed his daughter. But can Mel Gibson play a crazy man? Sounds like kind of a stretch to me.
ALICE IN WONDERLAND - Tim Burton retells another tale few people have actually read. He continues to make Burton-esque decisions; such as casting the eccentric Johnny Depp to play the eccentric Mad Hatter and assaulting your eyes with ugly colors. This movie does nothing but further confirm that experimentation is a dead concept to Burton and Depp.
CLASH OF THE TITANS - This movie can jump off a cliff. The preview indicates the filmmakers made this classic story as trashy, obnoxious and meaningless as possible. If there is justice in the world, after this movie Sam Worthington will at least be thrown in "movie jail" and at best become known as another "former next big movie star."
WALL STREET 2 - Oliver Stone will likely continue his streak of ruining timely concepts with awful writing, awful casting and self-important directing. I have no reason to believe Stone will reach for unique drama; but I can take some solace in the fact that he won't be butchering history in his own rendition of true people ala Nixon, JFK, Alexander, World Trade Center, W., etc.
SALT - Stupid.
ROBIN HOOD - The gray color schemed deconstruction of a literary hero is so last decade. And even if it wasn't, Ridley Scott still needs to prove this is a character with layers like an onion, not a balloon meant to be played around with for two hours and then left to deflate in silence. What frustrates me most is that the trailer includes the promise to show "the hero behind the outlaw" in Robin Hood's character. What? Everybody already knows him as a hero! If you're a trying to spin a different angle on Robin Hood, why not emphasis the outlaw-ness? Or loneliness? Or short-sightedness? This movie was too easy on every level.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
She Can Never Know
Benjamin Harrison sat behind a desk that could not be lifted by three men. This was partially because the desk was so heavy but also because it was illegal to steal furniture from the Oval Office. Harrison wrote on a piece of paper in silence. He wrote like a man writing a resignation letter, but he was not resigning. Nor was he just writing from the White House, he was writing from the soul.
In the letter Harrison confessed how he felt and when he started to feel that way. He told the woman why she was so special and how he could see a perfect life with her, even if the universe remained imperfect. Mention of her name stopped his world and seeing her lifted his heart every time. He started a new paragraph when he decided he must mention the obvious chasm between them, her husband, his friend, his party’s leader; all one man: Senator James Blaine.
With a single knock and a single second pause, Harrison’s secretary entered the office. Harrison had overheard many snide remarks on his choice to hire a woman as his personal secretary. He trusted a woman to organize his schedule? To communicate with ministers and kings around the world? What next, would Harrison hire a woman as Secretary of State? Or Supreme Court Justice? Perhaps Harrison thought a woman could be president. Obviously Harrison did not have a keen eye for competence.
Harrison, only slightly started by the intrusion, began to burn the letter he had written. And while his secretary was not the smartest person in the country, she knew enough to not waste time asking questions about a destroyed message.
Sir, she started, unsure if she had his attention. Walters just told me Puck is going to feature a segment criticizing you for allowing the creation of what they are calling “the Billion-Dollar Congress.”
Harrison continued to burn the letter until he couldn’t hold it any longer and dropped it on his desk. The fire would leave a small burn mark, but no bigger than the others. Harrison responded to his secretary by pointing out only President Jackson had gotten the country out of a national debt, and that only lasted for about thirty minutes. Unsure of whether to laugh or not, his secretary chose to remain silent.
Perhaps I should call together some reporters and defend the spending, Harrison suggested.
I wouldn’t sir.
Why?
For one, Senator Blaine has already come out and defended the policies and Republican Party.
Was it a speech?
Yes, sir.
Was it good?
Yes, sir.
Good, I suppose.
Harrison wondered if he should still say something to the public. He was, after all, the president. It did seem redundant though. Then it clicked. He could just ask Blaine what to do. He could ask him over for dinner and the three of them would talk about the direction of the party.
Who else are you talking about, sir?
Me, James, and Harriet.
His wife?
Yes. She’s a good friend of mine.
This all was quite short notice, Harrison knew. Blaine would likely already have plans for this entire week; he was, after all, a very busy senator. But maybe Harriet would still like to come to the White House for dinner. But no, James loved her and she loved James.
Sir?
Go now, schedule nothing and forget this conversation.
Like the others, Harrison’s secretary whispered to herself as she left.
Harrison realized his recent excitement had led him to the middle of the room for no particular reason. He then sat back down and looked at the smoldering ashes on his desk. Harrison loved Harriet but that just wasn’t going to be enough. Harrison wiped away the ashes like tears.
Caroline, Harrison’s wife, died two weeks before he lost his bid for re-election.
In the letter Harrison confessed how he felt and when he started to feel that way. He told the woman why she was so special and how he could see a perfect life with her, even if the universe remained imperfect. Mention of her name stopped his world and seeing her lifted his heart every time. He started a new paragraph when he decided he must mention the obvious chasm between them, her husband, his friend, his party’s leader; all one man: Senator James Blaine.
With a single knock and a single second pause, Harrison’s secretary entered the office. Harrison had overheard many snide remarks on his choice to hire a woman as his personal secretary. He trusted a woman to organize his schedule? To communicate with ministers and kings around the world? What next, would Harrison hire a woman as Secretary of State? Or Supreme Court Justice? Perhaps Harrison thought a woman could be president. Obviously Harrison did not have a keen eye for competence.
Harrison, only slightly started by the intrusion, began to burn the letter he had written. And while his secretary was not the smartest person in the country, she knew enough to not waste time asking questions about a destroyed message.
Sir, she started, unsure if she had his attention. Walters just told me Puck is going to feature a segment criticizing you for allowing the creation of what they are calling “the Billion-Dollar Congress.”
Harrison continued to burn the letter until he couldn’t hold it any longer and dropped it on his desk. The fire would leave a small burn mark, but no bigger than the others. Harrison responded to his secretary by pointing out only President Jackson had gotten the country out of a national debt, and that only lasted for about thirty minutes. Unsure of whether to laugh or not, his secretary chose to remain silent.
Perhaps I should call together some reporters and defend the spending, Harrison suggested.
I wouldn’t sir.
Why?
For one, Senator Blaine has already come out and defended the policies and Republican Party.
Was it a speech?
Yes, sir.
Was it good?
Yes, sir.
Good, I suppose.
Harrison wondered if he should still say something to the public. He was, after all, the president. It did seem redundant though. Then it clicked. He could just ask Blaine what to do. He could ask him over for dinner and the three of them would talk about the direction of the party.
Who else are you talking about, sir?
Me, James, and Harriet.
His wife?
Yes. She’s a good friend of mine.
This all was quite short notice, Harrison knew. Blaine would likely already have plans for this entire week; he was, after all, a very busy senator. But maybe Harriet would still like to come to the White House for dinner. But no, James loved her and she loved James.
Sir?
Go now, schedule nothing and forget this conversation.
Like the others, Harrison’s secretary whispered to herself as she left.
Harrison realized his recent excitement had led him to the middle of the room for no particular reason. He then sat back down and looked at the smoldering ashes on his desk. Harrison loved Harriet but that just wasn’t going to be enough. Harrison wiped away the ashes like tears.
Caroline, Harrison’s wife, died two weeks before he lost his bid for re-election.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Lighting a Fire Under HBO
Somebody apparently lit a fire under an HBO executive to come up with some arguably original, award-winning, budget-busting new series because next season HBO will premiere its craftiest show ever: SALEM.
SALEM will chronicle the the period of witch trials in colonial Massachusetts, in which 150 people were imprisoned and 20 were publicly executed--promising a devilishly good time. The story lines will followed the judiciary and political intrigue that went along with the trials and also follow the specific lives of many characters affected--some based on real people and others acting as compilations of townspeople at the time, according to the best historical records.
With so many possibilities, this series isn't being watched just by the eye of newt, but the eyes of critics everywhere. This period piece story, like most HBO series, required a production budget far greater than most networks shill out for such a witch pitch as an entire Salem village has been reconstructed as it was some 400 years ago. No black magic here, just $80 million.
The series will mostly follow accused witches (such as Sarah Good, Sarah Osbourne, Tituba, etc) and the people accusing them (such as John Hawthorne, Johnathan Corwin, etc). The series creators want to depict life as it actually was, including the sexual promiscuity in the town, while adding touches of dramatic liberties--such as adding romantic relationships among the more fictional characters.
The show may also undergo certain creative changes in the first season as the producers go through their own trial by fire. Undoubtedly though SALEM will develop a following of loyal viewers made up of some frustrated historians but mostly just of rich people curious about how much sex was going on in SALEM at the time of the trials.
Producer Gilbert Wilson has already said that SALEM will not adhere to modern television audience sensibilities and depict the town as historically accurate as possibly, no matter how much sex everyone was having. Wilson is physically excited himself for the upcoming show as premium channel audiences have gotten into bed with other sex-filled period pieces. Many critics credit the genre's popularity to their ability to be historically accurate, a budgetary and rating-restricted impossibly on network and even cable television.
"It's really amazing how much sex people had during these time periods," said television critic Burt Lippentoncott, "I mean, damn, they were at it all the time; at least according to these well-produced shows. I guess they just had more time back then to have sex, nowadays we have a bunch of shows to watch. Personally, I even blame television for killing my wife's libido--all we do in bed anymore is watch shows about other people having sex. That reminds me, The Tudors is on tonight!"
Call me a liar with my pants on fire, but I believe HBO's got another winner under its belt with this witchin' good series about smart political intrigue, well-developed characters and historically accurate, uncensored romantic entanglements.
SALEM will chronicle the the period of witch trials in colonial Massachusetts, in which 150 people were imprisoned and 20 were publicly executed--promising a devilishly good time. The story lines will followed the judiciary and political intrigue that went along with the trials and also follow the specific lives of many characters affected--some based on real people and others acting as compilations of townspeople at the time, according to the best historical records.
With so many possibilities, this series isn't being watched just by the eye of newt, but the eyes of critics everywhere. This period piece story, like most HBO series, required a production budget far greater than most networks shill out for such a witch pitch as an entire Salem village has been reconstructed as it was some 400 years ago. No black magic here, just $80 million.
The series will mostly follow accused witches (such as Sarah Good, Sarah Osbourne, Tituba, etc) and the people accusing them (such as John Hawthorne, Johnathan Corwin, etc). The series creators want to depict life as it actually was, including the sexual promiscuity in the town, while adding touches of dramatic liberties--such as adding romantic relationships among the more fictional characters.
The show may also undergo certain creative changes in the first season as the producers go through their own trial by fire. Undoubtedly though SALEM will develop a following of loyal viewers made up of some frustrated historians but mostly just of rich people curious about how much sex was going on in SALEM at the time of the trials.
Producer Gilbert Wilson has already said that SALEM will not adhere to modern television audience sensibilities and depict the town as historically accurate as possibly, no matter how much sex everyone was having. Wilson is physically excited himself for the upcoming show as premium channel audiences have gotten into bed with other sex-filled period pieces. Many critics credit the genre's popularity to their ability to be historically accurate, a budgetary and rating-restricted impossibly on network and even cable television.
"It's really amazing how much sex people had during these time periods," said television critic Burt Lippentoncott, "I mean, damn, they were at it all the time; at least according to these well-produced shows. I guess they just had more time back then to have sex, nowadays we have a bunch of shows to watch. Personally, I even blame television for killing my wife's libido--all we do in bed anymore is watch shows about other people having sex. That reminds me, The Tudors is on tonight!"
Call me a liar with my pants on fire, but I believe HBO's got another winner under its belt with this witchin' good series about smart political intrigue, well-developed characters and historically accurate, uncensored romantic entanglements.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Like Holding Water
(A nice little sandwich place with moderate to low business rests in a nice little city with moderate to low business. AVA, a fashionably, yet casually, dressed, young lady enters the restaurant/bistro/whatever. She quickly spots and walks over to her already-sitting boyfriend, NOAH. Noah is dressed comparatively to Ava but has noticeably less enthusiasm. Only two glasses of water sit on the table and Noah keeps both hands near his glass but not touching it. Ava watches him for a while.)
AVA: You okay?
NOAH: You know how I am.
(Ava's phone plays a jingle to inform her, and Noah, that she received a text message. Ava reads it. Noah looks at the phone, only guessing what it says. Ava puts it away and they both keep looking at Noah's water.)
AVA: Is this all you've been up to?
NOAH: I think we should break up.
(Beat.)
AVA: Whoa.
NOAH: I'm sorry.
AVA: Whoa.
NOAH: Things have changed.
AVA: I mean...whoa.
NOAH: We can still be friends, just not with the “couple stuff.”
AVA: Just yesterday. Yesterday you said you loved me.
NOAH: Yeah.
AVA: Did you mean it?
NOAH: I don't know.
AVA: What about weeks ago, when we played on the playground?
NOAH: Yeah.
AVA: You meant it then? And at Hailey's party?
NOAH: I always meant it.
AVA: Do you love me now?
NOAH: No.
(Ava gets another text message. She reluctantly reads it and puts away her phone.)
AVA: I deserve to know more.
NOAH: It's just, I don't know, things have changed.
AVA: Things can improve.
NOAH: Don't do that. Don't do your flippy-lawyer-type logic spinning on me. Not now.
AVA: Okay fine. But look at me. Look at me and say this has nothing to do with the fact that you lost your aqua-kinetic superpower.
NOAH: Okay, that's part of it. But it's more than that. It wasn't just the power to move water--it was my identity, my individuality. I don't feel like an individual; I can't be happy in a relationship until I can be happy with who I am. And right now, without my superpower, I don't know who I am. I'm a nobody. I'm everybody.
AVA: But you're still a somebody to me.
(Ava gets another text message. She hesitates. Noah waits for her to look at her phone so she does, but she doesn't bother to respond.)
AVA: I can help you find yourself. Your new self.
NOAH: Why?
AVA: Because you helped me find a version of me I never knew possible. This last year has been the best year of my life. I understand you're going through some stuff right now, stuff I can never fully understand because I've never gone through it myself. But I can still help. I can offer perspective, I can listen, I could maybe even be a distraction.
NOAH: You think I'm going to forget who I was? Who I am?
AVA: No. But you can imagine who you will be.
NOAH: I'm sorry, but for at least a while, I just don't think I'm going to be much fun to be around. I don't feel fun. Or good. You can do better.
AVA: I can do better with you.
(Ava takes Noah's hands, breaking their focus on the glass of unmovable water.)
NOAH: No. You've been drifting away for weeks now. I'm just letting you go.
AVA: I know I've been busy. I'm sorry.
NOAH: Your phone is making music non-stop.
AVA: I'll put it on silent.
NOAH: That's not what I mean.
AVA: It's just other people.
NOAH: No, that's good. I want you to have a life outside of me. And that's the life to focus on right now. That's the life with a future. And with powers.
(Ava's phone starts ringing.)
NOAH: And there's your damn phone again.
(Ava takes her phone and drops it into Noah's glass of water, splashing some on to the table. Noah jerks back a little, baffled--and impressed.)
AVA: See? You still have a power with water.
(Noah returns Ava’s smile.)
NOAH: That's why I loved you.
AVA: Want to try again?
NOAH: That's why I love you.
AVA: Cool. Now let's get some lunch. I’m starving.
AVA: You okay?
NOAH: You know how I am.
(Ava's phone plays a jingle to inform her, and Noah, that she received a text message. Ava reads it. Noah looks at the phone, only guessing what it says. Ava puts it away and they both keep looking at Noah's water.)
AVA: Is this all you've been up to?
NOAH: I think we should break up.
(Beat.)
AVA: Whoa.
NOAH: I'm sorry.
AVA: Whoa.
NOAH: Things have changed.
AVA: I mean...whoa.
NOAH: We can still be friends, just not with the “couple stuff.”
AVA: Just yesterday. Yesterday you said you loved me.
NOAH: Yeah.
AVA: Did you mean it?
NOAH: I don't know.
AVA: What about weeks ago, when we played on the playground?
NOAH: Yeah.
AVA: You meant it then? And at Hailey's party?
NOAH: I always meant it.
AVA: Do you love me now?
NOAH: No.
(Ava gets another text message. She reluctantly reads it and puts away her phone.)
AVA: I deserve to know more.
NOAH: It's just, I don't know, things have changed.
AVA: Things can improve.
NOAH: Don't do that. Don't do your flippy-lawyer-type logic spinning on me. Not now.
AVA: Okay fine. But look at me. Look at me and say this has nothing to do with the fact that you lost your aqua-kinetic superpower.
NOAH: Okay, that's part of it. But it's more than that. It wasn't just the power to move water--it was my identity, my individuality. I don't feel like an individual; I can't be happy in a relationship until I can be happy with who I am. And right now, without my superpower, I don't know who I am. I'm a nobody. I'm everybody.
AVA: But you're still a somebody to me.
(Ava gets another text message. She hesitates. Noah waits for her to look at her phone so she does, but she doesn't bother to respond.)
AVA: I can help you find yourself. Your new self.
NOAH: Why?
AVA: Because you helped me find a version of me I never knew possible. This last year has been the best year of my life. I understand you're going through some stuff right now, stuff I can never fully understand because I've never gone through it myself. But I can still help. I can offer perspective, I can listen, I could maybe even be a distraction.
NOAH: You think I'm going to forget who I was? Who I am?
AVA: No. But you can imagine who you will be.
NOAH: I'm sorry, but for at least a while, I just don't think I'm going to be much fun to be around. I don't feel fun. Or good. You can do better.
AVA: I can do better with you.
(Ava takes Noah's hands, breaking their focus on the glass of unmovable water.)
NOAH: No. You've been drifting away for weeks now. I'm just letting you go.
AVA: I know I've been busy. I'm sorry.
NOAH: Your phone is making music non-stop.
AVA: I'll put it on silent.
NOAH: That's not what I mean.
AVA: It's just other people.
NOAH: No, that's good. I want you to have a life outside of me. And that's the life to focus on right now. That's the life with a future. And with powers.
(Ava's phone starts ringing.)
NOAH: And there's your damn phone again.
(Ava takes her phone and drops it into Noah's glass of water, splashing some on to the table. Noah jerks back a little, baffled--and impressed.)
AVA: See? You still have a power with water.
(Noah returns Ava’s smile.)
NOAH: That's why I loved you.
AVA: Want to try again?
NOAH: That's why I love you.
AVA: Cool. Now let's get some lunch. I’m starving.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Hours of Commentary
DVD commentary is an often over-looked present. Of course it can also go down as one of the worst ways to waste two hours this side of re-coloring arm hair. So maybe I can help with some brisk, and rather random, commentary commentary.
THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS - Wes Anderson takes this commentary solo and balances light humor with light trivia well and consistently. The most shocking insight offered comes up every couple of scenes, that the seemingly deliberate movie has a lot of nuances even Anderson himself doesn't know the origins too. What is the difference between randomness and depth? Watch to find out.
TROPIC THUNDER - Ben Stiller, Jack Black and Robert Downey Jr. really make this commentary a feature-length piece of entertainment. Staying true to his hyper-method-acting character, Downey Jr. stays in his Osiris character until dropping the character in the movie itself. And while there is a bit of ass-kissing ("Robert here is absolutely brilliant", etc), the guys seem like fun people to be around.
THE MATRIX - One of the older DVDs I own, I found it appalling the cast and crew (minus the Wachowski brothers) failed to properly use the microphones required for the commentary. Seriously, one person's voice is captured by a microphone I can only assume is placed two rooms over. Baffled by the technology, the people behind the techno-iest film since TRON often forget to talk about the movie and opt instead to watch the film like a polite audience. Boring.
ROBOCOP - Like Wes Anderson, director Paul Verhoeven manhandles the task of talking to no one for two hours. Unlike Anderson though, Verhoeven goes to great length to explain the Christian symbolism in ROBOCOP. Though his Dutch accent is heavy, and oddly intimidating, Verhoeven makes sure you won't toss aside his movie like so many other robot-cop escapades captured on film.
THE GODFATHER (part I and II) - Francis Ford Coppola may be one of the best directors of all-time, entirely thanks to his exceptional craft in these two films (and APOCALYPSE NOW). If one believes I over spoke, listen to the steady commentary of THE GODFATHER and learn how to make good movies. However, I can't make the same recommendation for Part II. Coppola drifts in and out of the film and, on no less than fifty occasions, mentions the relative ease in the production compared to Part I.
STAR TREK - The commentary by the filmmakers (led by J.J. Abrams) actually made me appreciate the movie more than the first (and only other) time I saw it in theaters. They show an appropriate amount of love to the Star Trek canon but also took more risks than I originally credited them for. Abrams especially seemed to have an impressive insight to the iconic characters and was even somewhat apologetic for the over-use of lens flares throughout the film.
THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS - Wes Anderson takes this commentary solo and balances light humor with light trivia well and consistently. The most shocking insight offered comes up every couple of scenes, that the seemingly deliberate movie has a lot of nuances even Anderson himself doesn't know the origins too. What is the difference between randomness and depth? Watch to find out.
TROPIC THUNDER - Ben Stiller, Jack Black and Robert Downey Jr. really make this commentary a feature-length piece of entertainment. Staying true to his hyper-method-acting character, Downey Jr. stays in his Osiris character until dropping the character in the movie itself. And while there is a bit of ass-kissing ("Robert here is absolutely brilliant", etc), the guys seem like fun people to be around.
THE MATRIX - One of the older DVDs I own, I found it appalling the cast and crew (minus the Wachowski brothers) failed to properly use the microphones required for the commentary. Seriously, one person's voice is captured by a microphone I can only assume is placed two rooms over. Baffled by the technology, the people behind the techno-iest film since TRON often forget to talk about the movie and opt instead to watch the film like a polite audience. Boring.
ROBOCOP - Like Wes Anderson, director Paul Verhoeven manhandles the task of talking to no one for two hours. Unlike Anderson though, Verhoeven goes to great length to explain the Christian symbolism in ROBOCOP. Though his Dutch accent is heavy, and oddly intimidating, Verhoeven makes sure you won't toss aside his movie like so many other robot-cop escapades captured on film.
THE GODFATHER (part I and II) - Francis Ford Coppola may be one of the best directors of all-time, entirely thanks to his exceptional craft in these two films (and APOCALYPSE NOW). If one believes I over spoke, listen to the steady commentary of THE GODFATHER and learn how to make good movies. However, I can't make the same recommendation for Part II. Coppola drifts in and out of the film and, on no less than fifty occasions, mentions the relative ease in the production compared to Part I.
STAR TREK - The commentary by the filmmakers (led by J.J. Abrams) actually made me appreciate the movie more than the first (and only other) time I saw it in theaters. They show an appropriate amount of love to the Star Trek canon but also took more risks than I originally credited them for. Abrams especially seemed to have an impressive insight to the iconic characters and was even somewhat apologetic for the over-use of lens flares throughout the film.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
NFL Predictions: Divisional Weekend
Things learned last week: Cardinals are perpetual "David's," the Cowboys' curse is bunk and you can disregard the last two statements because apparently I don't understand NFC games at all--though was perfect on the AFC side.
Baltimore at Indianapolis
The Colts arguably have more to prove than anybody in the playoffs after basically throwing their last two games, spitting at their chances of an undefeated season. By now, Peyton and the others have had nearly 4 weeks off and I am one to argue that is too much. Conversely, the Ravens beat up on a wounded Patriots team (no small feat) last week. Still...during the regular season the Ravens played 7 games against playoff teams and lost 6 of them. I think the Ravens will be back in this position next year, and I like their chances better next year. Indianapolis can't lose this early without murderous consequences. The Colts win.
Arizona at New Orleans
The Cardinals were the best NFC team in the playoffs last year and the Saints were the best NFC team in the regular season this year. When I imagine the Cardinals walking into the Superbowl and upsetting the Saints, I also imagine Al Davis showing up at my doorstep and presenting me with a nine-million dollar check to sit on the Raiders' bench. This is just a circuitous way of saying the Cardinals need some irregularities to win this game. And while many Saints' games have irregularities, they usually look like the work of God inexplicably and unprecedentedly blessing New Orleans. Saints win.
New York (Jets) at San Diego
I feel more confident about this game than any other game this weekend. The Chargers can't remember the last time they lost and they've made notably runs to the Superbowl every year, always falling just short. The Chargers have home field, (only) one week bye and most importantly: more talent. L.T. is going to force New York safeties into the box and Rivers will play keep away from the secondary in the second half. Coined term for the game: Jet Lag. Chargers win.
Dallas at Minnesota
Okay, so I went against a lot of early season predictions and said neither the Cowboys nor the Vikings would make the NFC championship despite their star-studded rosters--still rumors at this point. So I'm going to be half-genius and half-idiot no matter what here. Perhaps out of personal vendettas more than any actual observing, I still feel Dallas' success is balancing on toothpicks. Likewise, the Vikings have crashed 3 of their last 4 games. What it comes down to is who would I personally prefer to see in the NFC championship, or more theatrically, the Superbowl? Tough decision when I don't have faith in either. Vikings win.
Baltimore at Indianapolis
The Colts arguably have more to prove than anybody in the playoffs after basically throwing their last two games, spitting at their chances of an undefeated season. By now, Peyton and the others have had nearly 4 weeks off and I am one to argue that is too much. Conversely, the Ravens beat up on a wounded Patriots team (no small feat) last week. Still...during the regular season the Ravens played 7 games against playoff teams and lost 6 of them. I think the Ravens will be back in this position next year, and I like their chances better next year. Indianapolis can't lose this early without murderous consequences. The Colts win.
Arizona at New Orleans
The Cardinals were the best NFC team in the playoffs last year and the Saints were the best NFC team in the regular season this year. When I imagine the Cardinals walking into the Superbowl and upsetting the Saints, I also imagine Al Davis showing up at my doorstep and presenting me with a nine-million dollar check to sit on the Raiders' bench. This is just a circuitous way of saying the Cardinals need some irregularities to win this game. And while many Saints' games have irregularities, they usually look like the work of God inexplicably and unprecedentedly blessing New Orleans. Saints win.
New York (Jets) at San Diego
I feel more confident about this game than any other game this weekend. The Chargers can't remember the last time they lost and they've made notably runs to the Superbowl every year, always falling just short. The Chargers have home field, (only) one week bye and most importantly: more talent. L.T. is going to force New York safeties into the box and Rivers will play keep away from the secondary in the second half. Coined term for the game: Jet Lag. Chargers win.
Dallas at Minnesota
Okay, so I went against a lot of early season predictions and said neither the Cowboys nor the Vikings would make the NFC championship despite their star-studded rosters--still rumors at this point. So I'm going to be half-genius and half-idiot no matter what here. Perhaps out of personal vendettas more than any actual observing, I still feel Dallas' success is balancing on toothpicks. Likewise, the Vikings have crashed 3 of their last 4 games. What it comes down to is who would I personally prefer to see in the NFC championship, or more theatrically, the Superbowl? Tough decision when I don't have faith in either. Vikings win.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Travel Log Blog: Episode Two: Utah's Plane and Kansas Two
Continuing my one-day travel log blog, in an airplane over Utah:
9:00 AM - Still circling Salt Lake City, the location of my one-hour layover. I'm drifting in and out of consciousness but can't fall asleep. I can't see the city because of really heavy fog--or because the window shade is down.
10:00 AM - So my flight to K.C. was delayed but I feel better after eating some Chinese food (a first?). I'm watching CNN in the boarding area but there is a rather affectionate couple directly under the TV. Man, I really hope they don't think I'm watching them and then writing about them in my notebook...though I guess I just did. Dammit.
11:00 AM - Finally in the new airplane. We actually drove around the tarmac so long I figured the pilot had a change of heart and was just going to drive this plane to Kansas City. My head hurts and the guy sitting next to me doesn't think I'm funny--but those two tidbits aren't related.
1:00 PM - I just want to cut off my legs so that I don't have to feel them anymore. And if planes have gas masks, why don't they let us wear them when we want? It's not that I can't breathe, but that I just want some excess oxygen (gets you high)--'sides, they already serve alcohol on planes. Also, I'm back in the Central Time zone, or as the locals call it: Cen-Ti.
2:00 PM - Same as 1:00 PM, except I accidentally spilled water on my lap and now have wet pants.
3:00 PM - On the road with Tyson. We're going to Lawrence then Manhattan, all in all, another two hours in a car. Most obvious lesson of the day: driving through Kansas City is not a stress-reliever for Tyson. Related, I'm not going to update this log for a little while, I'm going to have fun with a friend.
6:00 PM - In Manhattan, Kansas but only to pick up some stuff that needs to go back to Lawrence. I grabbed a quick bite but also turned on the news. I'm a news junkie--which actually carries with it a lot of similar traits to other junkies...hey, I think I got an idea for another blog post!
8:00 PM - Finally back in Lawrence, again. But this time at home. Granted the place isn't how I left it but it is how I'd expect it...goofy roommates. Frankly right now I feel grimey and suspect my breath could kill a small horse. After a shower and another obsessive check of my email inbox, I think I'll go to bed. I'll set my alarm for next week so that I don't sleep too long.
Good night.
9:00 AM - Still circling Salt Lake City, the location of my one-hour layover. I'm drifting in and out of consciousness but can't fall asleep. I can't see the city because of really heavy fog--or because the window shade is down.
10:00 AM - So my flight to K.C. was delayed but I feel better after eating some Chinese food (a first?). I'm watching CNN in the boarding area but there is a rather affectionate couple directly under the TV. Man, I really hope they don't think I'm watching them and then writing about them in my notebook...though I guess I just did. Dammit.
11:00 AM - Finally in the new airplane. We actually drove around the tarmac so long I figured the pilot had a change of heart and was just going to drive this plane to Kansas City. My head hurts and the guy sitting next to me doesn't think I'm funny--but those two tidbits aren't related.
1:00 PM - I just want to cut off my legs so that I don't have to feel them anymore. And if planes have gas masks, why don't they let us wear them when we want? It's not that I can't breathe, but that I just want some excess oxygen (gets you high)--'sides, they already serve alcohol on planes. Also, I'm back in the Central Time zone, or as the locals call it: Cen-Ti.
2:00 PM - Same as 1:00 PM, except I accidentally spilled water on my lap and now have wet pants.
3:00 PM - On the road with Tyson. We're going to Lawrence then Manhattan, all in all, another two hours in a car. Most obvious lesson of the day: driving through Kansas City is not a stress-reliever for Tyson. Related, I'm not going to update this log for a little while, I'm going to have fun with a friend.
6:00 PM - In Manhattan, Kansas but only to pick up some stuff that needs to go back to Lawrence. I grabbed a quick bite but also turned on the news. I'm a news junkie--which actually carries with it a lot of similar traits to other junkies...hey, I think I got an idea for another blog post!
8:00 PM - Finally back in Lawrence, again. But this time at home. Granted the place isn't how I left it but it is how I'd expect it...goofy roommates. Frankly right now I feel grimey and suspect my breath could kill a small horse. After a shower and another obsessive check of my email inbox, I think I'll go to bed. I'll set my alarm for next week so that I don't sleep too long.
Good night.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Travel Log Blog: Episode One: There Are No Stars in L.A.
Expecting my solid day of cross-country traveling after a 21st birthday party to be mildly to undeniably humorous, an inspiration of mine suggested I keep a travel log. Well, I did and here it is in all its authenticity:
12:30 AM - Dan and myself talked about all there is to talk about, once again, until this point. He has an early morning class tomorrow (today?) and I should get a couple hours of shuteye before my ridiculously timed airport shuttle pickup. Today was a good day, but it was long and started too early. Hopefully tomorrow will be similar...by which I mean "today."
1:30 AM - Just kidding. I checked my email again for some reason and circled the inter-web for nigh on 60 minutes. I'll get to the end of Wikipedia later this week. So tired though.
2:30 AM - Woke up as quickly as I feel asleep. You hear a sound so offensive it knock you into the present. The cell phone alarm is off before I know where I am. I have everything ready to go, but won't pack this notebook.
3:30 AM - The shuttle bus picked me up and one other guy who could probably be me in a different universe. He asked me where I'm from, and I said "Lawrence, Kansas." I don't think I've ever said that before.
4:00 AM - At LAX already. Just waiting in line to go through security. The guy in front of me looks like Gary Oldman. That would also explain why nobody is talking to him.
4:30 AM - The security guards took my toothpaste but let me keep my harmonica. Yeah, I got patted down, but I appreciated the human contact. Also, forget body scanners, they undressed me with their eyes--I could feel it. Physically I'm tired again but expect a third or fourth wind to kick in later tonight, I mean last night, I mean this morning. Whatever.
5:00 AM - Bored in the terminal. Legs are sore. A little hungry but I'm not about to pay four American dollars for a bagel. I wonder if my deep eyes keep me from ever looking suspicious. I don't remember being patted down when I looked like the Unibomber's bohemian nephew.
6:00 AM - About to finally leave this stink town. Nah, I like L.A., so I understand why so few people are on this plane. Maybe one-third full? Also, according to Sky Mall, I need a personal oxygen bar.
8:00 AM - My foot has cramped up some 35,000 ft in the air; but I am on Mountain Time now--speaking of which, "Mountain Time" would be a sweet name for a pro wrestler.
To Be Continued...
12:30 AM - Dan and myself talked about all there is to talk about, once again, until this point. He has an early morning class tomorrow (today?) and I should get a couple hours of shuteye before my ridiculously timed airport shuttle pickup. Today was a good day, but it was long and started too early. Hopefully tomorrow will be similar...by which I mean "today."
1:30 AM - Just kidding. I checked my email again for some reason and circled the inter-web for nigh on 60 minutes. I'll get to the end of Wikipedia later this week. So tired though.
2:30 AM - Woke up as quickly as I feel asleep. You hear a sound so offensive it knock you into the present. The cell phone alarm is off before I know where I am. I have everything ready to go, but won't pack this notebook.
3:30 AM - The shuttle bus picked me up and one other guy who could probably be me in a different universe. He asked me where I'm from, and I said "Lawrence, Kansas." I don't think I've ever said that before.
4:00 AM - At LAX already. Just waiting in line to go through security. The guy in front of me looks like Gary Oldman. That would also explain why nobody is talking to him.
4:30 AM - The security guards took my toothpaste but let me keep my harmonica. Yeah, I got patted down, but I appreciated the human contact. Also, forget body scanners, they undressed me with their eyes--I could feel it. Physically I'm tired again but expect a third or fourth wind to kick in later tonight, I mean last night, I mean this morning. Whatever.
5:00 AM - Bored in the terminal. Legs are sore. A little hungry but I'm not about to pay four American dollars for a bagel. I wonder if my deep eyes keep me from ever looking suspicious. I don't remember being patted down when I looked like the Unibomber's bohemian nephew.
6:00 AM - About to finally leave this stink town. Nah, I like L.A., so I understand why so few people are on this plane. Maybe one-third full? Also, according to Sky Mall, I need a personal oxygen bar.
8:00 AM - My foot has cramped up some 35,000 ft in the air; but I am on Mountain Time now--speaking of which, "Mountain Time" would be a sweet name for a pro wrestler.
To Be Continued...
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Movies For Chuckles
My little brother, now nicknamed "Chuckles," and I have watched a number of movies this last winter break and perpetually appalled each other by admitting our own failures to see obviously great films the other knows and loves. To correct this injustice, we each will make/have made a list of ten movies that the other one has not seen but should. However, I found this two-person interaction quite limited so am posted my list on this here Internet machine.
Remember, these are not my top films, just ones I feel more people should see. I tried to give the list some variety and factored in general entertainment. Also, I should concede this list was more difficult than I expected, as Chuckles wasn't as deprived of great films as I originally feared. If he actually makes a list, I might post that on here too, as I am quite curious and pride myself on having experienced the Top 65 films on IMDB, 78 of AFI's Top 100 and 78 of WGA's Top 101 screenplays.
The list, in no real order:
NETWORK - This movie decries television news twenty years before The Daily Show ran CNN bloopers. Featuring devastating monologues and horrifyingly hilarious (and insightful) social commentary, NETWORK becomes meta-corrupted itself as the naturalistic style slowly but inevitably blends to stark and alienating absurdity.
ANNIE HALL - I can't think a movie that fully captures the pain, love, anxiety and comedy of relationships as completely as this one. The last Best Picture winner to be considered a comedy, this film is Woody Allen at his best in writing, acting and directing. Also, look for early celeb cameos.
BEING JOHN MALKOVICH - Charlie Kaufaman's mind-bending screenplay is really expanded upon by director Spike Jonze. Because of it's cold and alienating characters (they have heart, too), this film hasn't received the vast-reaching, warm embrace of young people like it's Kaufman-counterpart: ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND.
THE ASSASSINATION OF JESSE JAMES: Yes, the title tells you how the movie ends, but the journey to get to that point is truly exceptional and relevant to modern times (see: celebrity culture). Brad Pitt shines once again as a sociopath, but was generally panned by audiences who wanted a more Brad Pitt-esque Jesse James.
M - Banned by the Nazis (proving its greatness), this film finds and burrows itself into the realm of moral ambiguity in a world that is usually seen as black and white. Plot: Criminals team up to find a child killer because the police are cracking down on other forms of vice in the city, exploding moral frustrations among the immoral deviants.
THE FALL - One of the most beautifully shot films of the last decade, this film rises above eye-candy status as a truly remarkable movie thanks to its earnest story. Failing to create any cookie-cutter characters or relationships, the story is a tragedy begging to be a fairy tale. Also, great end credit sequence showing footage of 1920s stunt acting.
MODERN TIMES - Charlie Chaplin's last movie about his iconic character, The Tramp, this story reaches across all society affected by the Great Depression--with timeless relevance. It's wacky, it's witty, it's heartfelt and holds some of the other best comedic stunts of the 20th century.
SUNSHINE - This over-looked sci-fi film shows how one plays in a financial sandbox others would deem too small. Like all sci-fi, one has to allow the story teller a fantastical concept, but unlike most sci-fi films, SUNSHINE holds up its end of the promise and remains real, original and symbolic the rest of the time. And it's just another movie that uses exceptional cinematography to enhance the story.
TOUCH OF EVIL - Orson Welles writes, directs and stars opposite of Charlton Heston in this 1958 crime drama. Shot with all the deliberateness and ground-breakingness of the dreary CITIZEN KANE, this smaller production moves quick and isn't afraid to slap you with a joke before running away to the next scene. Welles himself plays a natural blend of Chief Wiggum and Dick Cheney that makes him so entertaining you just might fall a step behind him.
MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO - An earlier film by Hayao Miyazaki--who just may be the only animation storyteller keeping Pixar honest--, this movie's demographic is far from limited to its little girl protagonist. Capturing the life of children so indisputably would warrant this movie's status alone; however it also shows, more than any other film, why and how traditional animation is still a viable medium of storytelling and imagination.
Please feel welcome to comment on this, especially to suggest other films--everyone knowing that you cannot possibly know every film I (or Chuckles) have and haven't seen.
Remember, these are not my top films, just ones I feel more people should see. I tried to give the list some variety and factored in general entertainment. Also, I should concede this list was more difficult than I expected, as Chuckles wasn't as deprived of great films as I originally feared. If he actually makes a list, I might post that on here too, as I am quite curious and pride myself on having experienced the Top 65 films on IMDB, 78 of AFI's Top 100 and 78 of WGA's Top 101 screenplays.
The list, in no real order:
NETWORK - This movie decries television news twenty years before The Daily Show ran CNN bloopers. Featuring devastating monologues and horrifyingly hilarious (and insightful) social commentary, NETWORK becomes meta-corrupted itself as the naturalistic style slowly but inevitably blends to stark and alienating absurdity.
ANNIE HALL - I can't think a movie that fully captures the pain, love, anxiety and comedy of relationships as completely as this one. The last Best Picture winner to be considered a comedy, this film is Woody Allen at his best in writing, acting and directing. Also, look for early celeb cameos.
BEING JOHN MALKOVICH - Charlie Kaufaman's mind-bending screenplay is really expanded upon by director Spike Jonze. Because of it's cold and alienating characters (they have heart, too), this film hasn't received the vast-reaching, warm embrace of young people like it's Kaufman-counterpart: ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND.
THE ASSASSINATION OF JESSE JAMES: Yes, the title tells you how the movie ends, but the journey to get to that point is truly exceptional and relevant to modern times (see: celebrity culture). Brad Pitt shines once again as a sociopath, but was generally panned by audiences who wanted a more Brad Pitt-esque Jesse James.
M - Banned by the Nazis (proving its greatness), this film finds and burrows itself into the realm of moral ambiguity in a world that is usually seen as black and white. Plot: Criminals team up to find a child killer because the police are cracking down on other forms of vice in the city, exploding moral frustrations among the immoral deviants.
THE FALL - One of the most beautifully shot films of the last decade, this film rises above eye-candy status as a truly remarkable movie thanks to its earnest story. Failing to create any cookie-cutter characters or relationships, the story is a tragedy begging to be a fairy tale. Also, great end credit sequence showing footage of 1920s stunt acting.
MODERN TIMES - Charlie Chaplin's last movie about his iconic character, The Tramp, this story reaches across all society affected by the Great Depression--with timeless relevance. It's wacky, it's witty, it's heartfelt and holds some of the other best comedic stunts of the 20th century.
SUNSHINE - This over-looked sci-fi film shows how one plays in a financial sandbox others would deem too small. Like all sci-fi, one has to allow the story teller a fantastical concept, but unlike most sci-fi films, SUNSHINE holds up its end of the promise and remains real, original and symbolic the rest of the time. And it's just another movie that uses exceptional cinematography to enhance the story.
TOUCH OF EVIL - Orson Welles writes, directs and stars opposite of Charlton Heston in this 1958 crime drama. Shot with all the deliberateness and ground-breakingness of the dreary CITIZEN KANE, this smaller production moves quick and isn't afraid to slap you with a joke before running away to the next scene. Welles himself plays a natural blend of Chief Wiggum and Dick Cheney that makes him so entertaining you just might fall a step behind him.
MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO - An earlier film by Hayao Miyazaki--who just may be the only animation storyteller keeping Pixar honest--, this movie's demographic is far from limited to its little girl protagonist. Capturing the life of children so indisputably would warrant this movie's status alone; however it also shows, more than any other film, why and how traditional animation is still a viable medium of storytelling and imagination.
Please feel welcome to comment on this, especially to suggest other films--everyone knowing that you cannot possibly know every film I (or Chuckles) have and haven't seen.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Curing Jackson Blair: bp9
The sun was plummeting to the horizon on Sterling’s right side while he cruised down the highway to a place in front of his car. Sterling’s car radio hadn’t worked in years but he didn’t mind so long as the engine ran fine, which seemed like a toss up anymore. No sentimentality for this car; no sentimentality for this 1995 Honda P.O.S. However Sterling started to develop a destination in mind as he flowed down the asphalt. It would not be a permanent destination but it would at least be a vague stepping stone. A run of the mill taco place.
Exiting from an exit, Sterling prowled for the hypothetical eatery. After passing two Taco Bell’s and one Taco John, Sterling found a promising restaurant aptly named: Taco Place. The tiny parking lot, probably made for six cars, was filled with eight, forcing Sterling to park at the White Castle across the street. Thanks to Sterling’s experience playing the video game Frogger and from watching friends dodge rodeo bulls, Sterling was able to cross the six-lane road separating the establishments--only getting hit twice.
Sterling walked into the restaurant and up to the ordering counter. Across the counter stood a gangly guy in his twenties, failing to wear any uniform, nametag or other markers of employee identification. As the guy standing across the counter did not smile at Sterling or seem to place Sterling’s value above a pile of algae, Sterling correctly concluded this was an employee awaiting his order.
“I’ll take the Big Burrito Grande,” Sterling requested. The Employee looked at the register—which Sterling swore was just a modified adding machine—and punched a single button.
“Ah man,” the Employee groaned, “Mister Zambowski, the register is broken again!”
“Mister Zambowski?” Sterling questioned, “What kind of taco place is this?”
“Man, I just love tacos so godddamn much. They’re like, just, incredible.”
Zambowski came over the to button box and typed in a twenty-key combination in three seconds before leaving again, without a word. The Employee continued, “Have you ever thought about the word ‘taco’? Like, what does it mean? Why is it called a taco?”
“I’m starving. So please, I just want my Big Burrito Grande. Please.”
“Yeah. I could go for one of those.”
“No. Me. I want one. I will pay you. Money. For one.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Sterling handed over his money, giving himself a fifty-percent chance of getting any food at any point. The frustration to get here had only made Sterling even hungrier. After too long, Sterling’s order was called up and Sterling went back to the counter only to see a plate of chips on the tray being presented to him. Sterling informed the Employee that those were just chips, to which the Employee agreed. Sterling politely reminded the Employee he had actually ordered, and paid for, the Big Burrito Grande. Inexplicably disappointed, the Employee went back out of sight. Near heartbreak, Sterling sat back down at his seat.
Millions of people at this very point were at McDonald’s and Burger King worldwide. Millions more were eating at their home, with loved (or at least mildly liked) ones. Why did Sterling have to suffer this abuse because he wanted something different? Was individuality punishable? Couldn’t Sterling just be happy eating at places everyone else could be happy eating at?
Eventually Sterling did get his Big Burrito Grande. And it was big, kind of. It wasn’t big and grande though, that’s for sure. And its taste was near the middle of flavor bell curve. It was enjoyable but forgettable. Of course it was rendered even more forgettable as Sterling found a newspaper shortly after that included an article about various entertainers being invited to the White House, including his old friends Cookie, Chester and Preston.
Exiting from an exit, Sterling prowled for the hypothetical eatery. After passing two Taco Bell’s and one Taco John, Sterling found a promising restaurant aptly named: Taco Place. The tiny parking lot, probably made for six cars, was filled with eight, forcing Sterling to park at the White Castle across the street. Thanks to Sterling’s experience playing the video game Frogger and from watching friends dodge rodeo bulls, Sterling was able to cross the six-lane road separating the establishments--only getting hit twice.
Sterling walked into the restaurant and up to the ordering counter. Across the counter stood a gangly guy in his twenties, failing to wear any uniform, nametag or other markers of employee identification. As the guy standing across the counter did not smile at Sterling or seem to place Sterling’s value above a pile of algae, Sterling correctly concluded this was an employee awaiting his order.
“I’ll take the Big Burrito Grande,” Sterling requested. The Employee looked at the register—which Sterling swore was just a modified adding machine—and punched a single button.
“Ah man,” the Employee groaned, “Mister Zambowski, the register is broken again!”
“Mister Zambowski?” Sterling questioned, “What kind of taco place is this?”
“Man, I just love tacos so godddamn much. They’re like, just, incredible.”
Zambowski came over the to button box and typed in a twenty-key combination in three seconds before leaving again, without a word. The Employee continued, “Have you ever thought about the word ‘taco’? Like, what does it mean? Why is it called a taco?”
“I’m starving. So please, I just want my Big Burrito Grande. Please.”
“Yeah. I could go for one of those.”
“No. Me. I want one. I will pay you. Money. For one.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Sterling handed over his money, giving himself a fifty-percent chance of getting any food at any point. The frustration to get here had only made Sterling even hungrier. After too long, Sterling’s order was called up and Sterling went back to the counter only to see a plate of chips on the tray being presented to him. Sterling informed the Employee that those were just chips, to which the Employee agreed. Sterling politely reminded the Employee he had actually ordered, and paid for, the Big Burrito Grande. Inexplicably disappointed, the Employee went back out of sight. Near heartbreak, Sterling sat back down at his seat.
Millions of people at this very point were at McDonald’s and Burger King worldwide. Millions more were eating at their home, with loved (or at least mildly liked) ones. Why did Sterling have to suffer this abuse because he wanted something different? Was individuality punishable? Couldn’t Sterling just be happy eating at places everyone else could be happy eating at?
Eventually Sterling did get his Big Burrito Grande. And it was big, kind of. It wasn’t big and grande though, that’s for sure. And its taste was near the middle of flavor bell curve. It was enjoyable but forgettable. Of course it was rendered even more forgettable as Sterling found a newspaper shortly after that included an article about various entertainers being invited to the White House, including his old friends Cookie, Chester and Preston.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Curing Jackson Blair: bp8
“Do you remember when we had that homeless guy buy us booze in high school? I never learned his real name, but I guess when a guy fights ninjas every day of his life you can’t expect to learn everything about him.”
Brooklyn lightly laughed and admitted she did remember him. Sterling thought back to other happy memories, simultaneously grateful that the sparsely occupied bar had turned down its music. God, Brooklyn was still stunning. No one wonder I had been so confident back then, Sterling thought, I had a beautiful and insanely sharp girlfriend, I could do anything I wanted. I was 8 feet tall and bulletproof.
“So, how’s life?” Brooklyn broadly asked. Sterling smiled for a number of reasons. One of which was Brooklyn’s unrelenting and earnest optimism. Sterling explained that he had attended Ashton Clown College but dropped out. Fully aware of sounding like an aimless, unemployed loser, Sterling tried to emphasize his desire for experience and adaptability. It didn’t just talk this way to Brooklyn, but talked this way to himself.
She seemed to have a lot of fun asking Sterling rapid fire questions about clown college and Sterling had a lot of fun answering them. Sure, clown colleges have athletes. John-John America was the captain of the football and basketball team. He had gotten a scholarship and was pursuing a degree in Clown Communications—which was a joke of a degree. But some clowns are great athletes; how do you think Michael Irving got his big break?
Brooklyn then started forcing the discussion to religion, which threw Sterling off a little bit. During the time they had gone out, religion never came up more than a general passing—and that was only after driving pass a church, synagogue, mosque or whatever those snake-handlers call their building. Since having her daughter and getting married (holy crap, she’s married!?!), Brooklyn had found comfort in God Almighty. And though she didn’t want to push her religion on Sterling, she felt it could really help him in this time of need. Sterling thought up dozen of responses including: “All of life is a time a need,” “And I thought I was the clown,” and “I really do need help, when’s the next show?” But Sterling said nothing immediately.
Brooklyn finished her drink but did not ask for another one. She watched Sterling think and occasionally glanced at her glass to make sure it was still empty. Sterling, carefully, started to explain that he didn’t like the way organized religions provide answers. He said he’d prefer mystery over incorrect knowledge. Science is a continuum of learning whereas religion seems static in its teachings. Sterling conceded that neither science nor religion was inherently more true or moral. He hoped more than anything though that he had not offended his former love.
Brooklyn grew solemn and began, “You said you want to always know the truth, even if it is less meaningful or fulfilling than current knowledge. Well, then I need to confess. I honestly don’t remember that homeless man. Nor do I remember having government class together or some of the other stuff we talked about earlier. And frankly, yes, I did love you once but right now I am not what you need in your life nor are you what I want in mine. I’m sorry. I want us to be friends, but I think you know what that means.”
Brooklyn got up and went home, letting Sterling stay in the bar by himself--failing to immediately recover from the emotional beating. Feeling cold once again, Sterling decided he should take his life south.
Brooklyn lightly laughed and admitted she did remember him. Sterling thought back to other happy memories, simultaneously grateful that the sparsely occupied bar had turned down its music. God, Brooklyn was still stunning. No one wonder I had been so confident back then, Sterling thought, I had a beautiful and insanely sharp girlfriend, I could do anything I wanted. I was 8 feet tall and bulletproof.
“So, how’s life?” Brooklyn broadly asked. Sterling smiled for a number of reasons. One of which was Brooklyn’s unrelenting and earnest optimism. Sterling explained that he had attended Ashton Clown College but dropped out. Fully aware of sounding like an aimless, unemployed loser, Sterling tried to emphasize his desire for experience and adaptability. It didn’t just talk this way to Brooklyn, but talked this way to himself.
She seemed to have a lot of fun asking Sterling rapid fire questions about clown college and Sterling had a lot of fun answering them. Sure, clown colleges have athletes. John-John America was the captain of the football and basketball team. He had gotten a scholarship and was pursuing a degree in Clown Communications—which was a joke of a degree. But some clowns are great athletes; how do you think Michael Irving got his big break?
Brooklyn then started forcing the discussion to religion, which threw Sterling off a little bit. During the time they had gone out, religion never came up more than a general passing—and that was only after driving pass a church, synagogue, mosque or whatever those snake-handlers call their building. Since having her daughter and getting married (holy crap, she’s married!?!), Brooklyn had found comfort in God Almighty. And though she didn’t want to push her religion on Sterling, she felt it could really help him in this time of need. Sterling thought up dozen of responses including: “All of life is a time a need,” “And I thought I was the clown,” and “I really do need help, when’s the next show?” But Sterling said nothing immediately.
Brooklyn finished her drink but did not ask for another one. She watched Sterling think and occasionally glanced at her glass to make sure it was still empty. Sterling, carefully, started to explain that he didn’t like the way organized religions provide answers. He said he’d prefer mystery over incorrect knowledge. Science is a continuum of learning whereas religion seems static in its teachings. Sterling conceded that neither science nor religion was inherently more true or moral. He hoped more than anything though that he had not offended his former love.
Brooklyn grew solemn and began, “You said you want to always know the truth, even if it is less meaningful or fulfilling than current knowledge. Well, then I need to confess. I honestly don’t remember that homeless man. Nor do I remember having government class together or some of the other stuff we talked about earlier. And frankly, yes, I did love you once but right now I am not what you need in your life nor are you what I want in mine. I’m sorry. I want us to be friends, but I think you know what that means.”
Brooklyn got up and went home, letting Sterling stay in the bar by himself--failing to immediately recover from the emotional beating. Feeling cold once again, Sterling decided he should take his life south.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Curing Jackson Blair: bp7
“Okay, the story starts with this robot. His name was Isaac. Isaac stood for something like: Intelligent System Automaton something something. Anyway, he was sent from the future--500 years in the future. And he was sent in the past to fix certain problems that originated during the past and made the future a difficult place to live.”
“Sterling, this is confusing.”
“Well, sorry. I’ve haven’t made up stories on the spot in a long time. Want to do something else?”
“No, keep telling the story.”
“Okay. So Isaac the Robot was sent to the pas, a time of great political turmoil and violence. The world was in danger of over-population. New industry was harming the environment. Cities were dangerous places and millions were starving to death while the rich reached unprecedented wealth. This is why the future scientists sent Isaac in the past, to cure these problems. They sent him to the awful year of 1910. However their space-time continuum equation was off because they forgot to carry the one. Which meant they accidentally sent Isaac to the year 2010.
So Isaac the Robot finds himself in the wrong time period but realized the problems are the same. While lamenting this societal tragedy, a dog approached Isaac and asked him why he doesn’t smell like other humans. Isaac tells the dog that he is not human, but in fact, a robot. The dog asks if he can be Isaac’s friend because he likes how the robot smells. So they hang out for a while. Go bowling or whatever people do nowadays.
Isaac wasn’t concerned about getting back to the future, though. Because he knew that in a few weeks, in the future, he was going to be rendered obsolete. A new robot was coming out. One that could move faster and run longer. The new robot also had a break-through in artificial intelligence. It could tell jokes. Not only did it have a cache of jokes programmed in, but could also learn and remember jokes it heard. The idea there being that a robot that makes you laugh is a robot that could be your friend. Anyhow, Isaac wasn’t funny and not nearly as efficient as this new robot. Oh yeah, and the dog’s name was Bogart.
After a while Isaac and Bogart ran into Rutherford B. Hayes. However Hayes had a mild case of amnesia and didn’t know anything about himself other than he was a former U.S. president. Hayes was also confused about the time period he was in. However he joined up with Isaac the Robot and Bogart the Dog and they walked the city streets until Hayes saw a sign he did recognize. It said: Taven. So a robot, a dog and a former president walk into a bar and the bartender turns to them and says, ‘What is this, a joke?’ and kicks them out. And then…”
“Does anything ever happen in this story?”
“Uh, yeah. They got hit in the face with a cream pie.”
“Who did?”
“They all did. Some clown threw three pies and hit all of them in the face. Then they walked around some more and, uh, I don’t know. They found an unlocked Ferrari.”
Sterling then stopped his impromptu story, noticing Brooklyn standing at the doorway, smiling. Nobody had expected her phone call to take so long and Sterling regretted he had done such a poor job entertaining Brooklyn’s daughter during the meantime. In fact, it had probably been Sterling’s worst display of creativity in years. Nevertheless the characters would linger in Sterling’s mind for the rest of the day and for many days afterwards. But more immediately, they would linger in Sterling’s mind thirty minutes later when he was getting a drink with his former girlfriend: Brooklyn.
“Sterling, this is confusing.”
“Well, sorry. I’ve haven’t made up stories on the spot in a long time. Want to do something else?”
“No, keep telling the story.”
“Okay. So Isaac the Robot was sent to the pas, a time of great political turmoil and violence. The world was in danger of over-population. New industry was harming the environment. Cities were dangerous places and millions were starving to death while the rich reached unprecedented wealth. This is why the future scientists sent Isaac in the past, to cure these problems. They sent him to the awful year of 1910. However their space-time continuum equation was off because they forgot to carry the one. Which meant they accidentally sent Isaac to the year 2010.
So Isaac the Robot finds himself in the wrong time period but realized the problems are the same. While lamenting this societal tragedy, a dog approached Isaac and asked him why he doesn’t smell like other humans. Isaac tells the dog that he is not human, but in fact, a robot. The dog asks if he can be Isaac’s friend because he likes how the robot smells. So they hang out for a while. Go bowling or whatever people do nowadays.
Isaac wasn’t concerned about getting back to the future, though. Because he knew that in a few weeks, in the future, he was going to be rendered obsolete. A new robot was coming out. One that could move faster and run longer. The new robot also had a break-through in artificial intelligence. It could tell jokes. Not only did it have a cache of jokes programmed in, but could also learn and remember jokes it heard. The idea there being that a robot that makes you laugh is a robot that could be your friend. Anyhow, Isaac wasn’t funny and not nearly as efficient as this new robot. Oh yeah, and the dog’s name was Bogart.
After a while Isaac and Bogart ran into Rutherford B. Hayes. However Hayes had a mild case of amnesia and didn’t know anything about himself other than he was a former U.S. president. Hayes was also confused about the time period he was in. However he joined up with Isaac the Robot and Bogart the Dog and they walked the city streets until Hayes saw a sign he did recognize. It said: Taven. So a robot, a dog and a former president walk into a bar and the bartender turns to them and says, ‘What is this, a joke?’ and kicks them out. And then…”
“Does anything ever happen in this story?”
“Uh, yeah. They got hit in the face with a cream pie.”
“Who did?”
“They all did. Some clown threw three pies and hit all of them in the face. Then they walked around some more and, uh, I don’t know. They found an unlocked Ferrari.”
Sterling then stopped his impromptu story, noticing Brooklyn standing at the doorway, smiling. Nobody had expected her phone call to take so long and Sterling regretted he had done such a poor job entertaining Brooklyn’s daughter during the meantime. In fact, it had probably been Sterling’s worst display of creativity in years. Nevertheless the characters would linger in Sterling’s mind for the rest of the day and for many days afterwards. But more immediately, they would linger in Sterling’s mind thirty minutes later when he was getting a drink with his former girlfriend: Brooklyn.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
NFL Predictions: Wildcard Weekend
12 of 32 teams still have the Superbowl trophy glistening in their watering eyes as the regular season is over. And why do they want this trophy? Because it proves each year which city in America is truly, albeit temporarily, the greatest. Surely no one doubted the value of Pittsburgh, Indianapolis, Tampa Bay and St. Louis over the last decade.
New York (Jets) at Cincinnati
The Jets absolutely dismantled the Bengals just six days ago but that was in New York. Related, Cincinnati had little reason to play and sat out their over-rated stars (including Chad Eight-Five). Cincinnati fell into the playoffs after hitting phenomenal heights during the first half of the regular season. Since then, they have just crashed and been stripped back down to the team the rest of the NFL is used to seeing. Some games it’s like the Bengals perpetually forget they are not playing two-hand touch football. Like every other weekend in the year, there will be little reason to celebrate in Cincinnati. Jets win.
Philadelphia at Dallas
If Dallas wins this game every Cowboy/Tony Romo fan is going to act like they won the Miss America pageant—confetti, music, tears, hugging the loser, etc. And why shouldn’t they? Dallas hasn’t won a playoff game since 1996 and Donovan McNabb’s Eagles are 6-0 in their first playoff games. Eventually Dallas will have to win a playoff game in the same way that I’ll eventually have to win the lottery, we both just have to lose enough. Actually, I suppose this means I should buy a lottery ticket this weekend—but I wouldn’t bet on my own chances and I wouldn’t bet on the Cowboys. Eagles win.
Baltimore at New England
The Patriots beat the Ravens earlier this year because of two 3rd down-penalties on what would become a game-winning drive. Since then, the Patriots have been beating up on weak teams and losing to playoff teams. The Patriots are old guys, trying to win big games with their old ways. The Ravens are young guys who basically started playing football a couple of days ago. This is a game where the virtue of experience will become the hindrance of age. Ravens win.
Green Bay at Arizona
By coincidence, I am going four-for-four with the visiting team. The Cardinals were the David’s…orCinderella ’s, or whatever of last year’s playoffs. However David only had to fight once. And Cinderella , wait, okay, I don’t know where that metaphor was going but it made sense at some point. Regardless, the Packers have won 7 of their last 8 and ended up only one game behind the Vikings in their division, and that was losing to the Vikings twice. Conversely, the Cardinals get to play teams in the NFC West every year that couldn’t score on the set of “Rock of Love.” The Packers have the momentum, the talent, the benefit of unknown players and the grit developed after duel smackings from Brett Favre, who has now become Clint Eastwood in shoulder pads.
New York (Jets) at Cincinnati
The Jets absolutely dismantled the Bengals just six days ago but that was in New York. Related, Cincinnati had little reason to play and sat out their over-rated stars (including Chad Eight-Five). Cincinnati fell into the playoffs after hitting phenomenal heights during the first half of the regular season. Since then, they have just crashed and been stripped back down to the team the rest of the NFL is used to seeing. Some games it’s like the Bengals perpetually forget they are not playing two-hand touch football. Like every other weekend in the year, there will be little reason to celebrate in Cincinnati. Jets win.
Philadelphia at Dallas
If Dallas wins this game every Cowboy/Tony Romo fan is going to act like they won the Miss America pageant—confetti, music, tears, hugging the loser, etc. And why shouldn’t they? Dallas hasn’t won a playoff game since 1996 and Donovan McNabb’s Eagles are 6-0 in their first playoff games. Eventually Dallas will have to win a playoff game in the same way that I’ll eventually have to win the lottery, we both just have to lose enough. Actually, I suppose this means I should buy a lottery ticket this weekend—but I wouldn’t bet on my own chances and I wouldn’t bet on the Cowboys. Eagles win.
Baltimore at New England
The Patriots beat the Ravens earlier this year because of two 3rd down-penalties on what would become a game-winning drive. Since then, the Patriots have been beating up on weak teams and losing to playoff teams. The Patriots are old guys, trying to win big games with their old ways. The Ravens are young guys who basically started playing football a couple of days ago. This is a game where the virtue of experience will become the hindrance of age. Ravens win.
Green Bay at Arizona
By coincidence, I am going four-for-four with the visiting team. The Cardinals were the David’s…or
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