Is the American Ideal on the Ropes?

Living in Indiana, I was raised conservative by osmosis. People didn’t like Clinton; they liked the Repub revolution of 1994, and were for the death penalty. While the Bible Belt sentiment surely crept into the mindset of abortion, there were far too many white trash teen pregnancies to dismiss the idea as a whole. Around 1994, I was against letting a woman into the Citadel, I was pro-death penalty, and I hated the notion of affirmative action, and so on, I was not card carrying, but I would have voted red.

Yet as I came to believe in the arts, naturally I leaned left. Perhaps it affirms the notion that the media is liberal, I came to question what those around me said. I owe much of my philosophy in life to the introduction of one text, one that led me away from Christianity and from any notion of a god, and from the rhetoric of Republicanism. That text was none other than Jurassic Park, which is at the root of a staggering number of fellow agnostics and atheists I know from my generation. (I since have gone to a basic form of Buddhism, that maybe, in the mental connections we as humans make with our gift of consciousness truly unites everything) It was the simple question of where are the dinosaurs in the Bible that was the impetus, yet from the simple idea of fiction, it wasn’t the idea that most captivated me, it was the science.

And forever inspired by the movie and the book, I was captivated by science, and my two favorite classes (in terms of learning the knowledge were Biology and AP Bio). I have often pondered to myself, what if the second coming of Christ was not of a divine sense to assure the faith, but an act from the heavens which would cause humans to look at the true wonder of the world and how it happens in a empirical sense, and this “second coming” was Charles Darwin. It’s a truly convoluted idea, as it asks one to believe that God sent someone who would cause people to reasonably doubt his very existence, but moreover to understand the world which he created, and to take the moral lessons as the primer to a world which we were too primitive to understand the first time he intervened.

Buried in that sentiment are two ideas which should exist harmoniously if there were diametrically opposed in the beliefs of them who hold them, as science and religion tend to be mutually exclusive. I wonder, if maybe, one is to take lessons from both and meld them into one overarching principle, it could be the best path for humanity; that one must fully understand how everything works to appreciate it and achieve their highest state, and we must do so, because we are all part of a bigger system, divine or not, this world is a biological hegemony of which humans are the top species.

By the time I arrived in California in 1999, I was as liberal as I thought possible compared to my home state. Pro-choice, anti-death penalty, pro-homosexual rights, anti-corporations, tolerant, the whole shebang, I thought myself fairly progressive. Yet when I arrived and heard the leanings of those born in Blue states and their equally unintelligent diatribes on the fallacy of Conservatism, I was appalled. In Indiana, I had tied the ignorance of people reluctant to liberal ideals with Christianity, that people were prohibited by Faith to change what they believed in. Only last week was I met with another of such an appalling Liberal notions, a girl who proclaimed that any celebrity should use new found fame as a pulpit to spout their beliefs. We don’t pay money to see an actor in a movie so we can hear his views on Uganda poverty when he finishes first in the box office! We pay to escape. We shouldn’t wait for a brainwashed cult member who happens to be in a big movie decry psychology, that’s not what I or Americans pay to receive.

In the years since I have been here in LA in the wake of the events of this decade thus far, I have become noticeably more moderate and conservative. Not staunch, nor in any means Pro-Bush or Neo-Conservative, but simply by hearing the political lines of people I thought I agreed with, I can’t fathom how people can still believe with such fierce rhetoric, it almost sounds to me like Propaganda. I don’t feel like many of these people out here have earned the beliefs which they stand by, they haven’t come to them naturally, they have gained them by osmosis, and in a town as Leftist as Los Angeles, any dissent is so polarizing to the right, it would do little to convince them. Perhaps it is an internal instinct to question beliefs of people from my own highly opinionated mind to question not only the notion, but the validity of the speaker. Sometimes I denigrate an viewpoint by using my eyes more than my ears, but for the most point, I consciously try to hear them out in hopes of hearing an option which will open my perception.

Yet, perhaps the single most frequent reason I cannot stand by people from this city is the same reason I couldn’t stand with people in Indiana, they know not of the people they attack, and know only of the result of a voting record and judge accordingly. The Midwest is not flyover country, and it is filled with some of the most open minded, tolerant people in the country. In 1984, it wasn’t California, Oregon, or Washington that was the lone state to vote for Mondale, it was Minnesota, a state filled with Finnish, German, Polish, Norwegian, and Swedish immigrants who define the left stance of Euro politics. Californians think that the Midwest, Dust Bowl, and South are filled with uneducated, gun toting people who don’t care to see Brokeback Mountain or Good Night, and Good Luck. I can tell you with great authority that the art house cinema in Indianapolis was constantly filled when movies like Love and Death on Long Island, Shakespeare In Love, and In the Mood for Love played there. Just as there are people who come from LA who vote Republican, there are those in Red States that vote Democrats. And yet, in both regions, people lump in the outcome of the whole with the population of the state.

Far more dangerous is that people fail to see the view from the other side, dismissing personal politics as a belief in a system they are opposed to. Hoosiers could never fathom why Marijuana and gay marriage need to be legalized, and LA hipsters could never understand why having a gun or supporting our troops (and inherently the war) seems like a reasonable idea.

The cold truth is that neither side is wrong, it’s all a matter not of opinion, but how the outcome of one party vs. the other may help one’s life. The people of California are not free swinging, hash addicted, hybrid driving holier than thou’s any more than the Red States are Milita enlisted, Bible Thumping, racist farmers. There are cases where each stereotype rings true, but it doesn’t represent the whole, but mainly the more media prominent.

Phrenology was an 18th century scientific notion which reasoned, by wildly random and terribly documented statistics, that people were born into bodies which dictated their personality. The roots of the acceptance are surely linked to the Puritan idealism of Original Sin and preordained destiny, yet it held an attraction before being dismissed as quackery before the turn of the 20th century. Dismissed it may have been in the Scientific field, but in a nation as divided as the US, and in a town as ethnically diverse as LA, the mere practice as prejudice prevails subconsciously enough to mold iconography even without actual interaction

The part that bothers me the most is that people on both sides focus so intensely on how they are different that they don’t realize how their lives are drastically similar. With the ever widening gap between rich and poor, the outsourcing of jobs to foreign countries, and the diminishment of the middle class as a feasible outcome for anyone without postgraduate learning, the impoverished on both sides of the spectrum are forced with a common enemy, the government itself which over the course of the last 5 years has done nothing but splinter the citizens against one-another, the world outside of us, and the economic divide.

I have been reading Reflections of a Ravaged Century by Robert Conquest recently. The book is a keen historical micro-spection on how Nazism and Communism were able to come to be, even in a world which seemingly became more intelligent than it ever was. In looking at National Socialism, Conquest puts the reaction due to national pride as much as it has to do with susceptibility to radical ideas, more so it was about establishing one self against the others, finding cultural roots, and maintaining a legacy for the future. With Communism, Conquest supposes that the dire states of poverty and the idea of a more perfect working world fell on wanting ears which wanted a better part. The underlying reason why both of these happened was greed, both for the individual, and the jealousy of the privileged.

Perhaps the most striking revelation was not about the mindset of those who bought in, but that those of the people who were part of the proletariat were akin to the feudal system of the middle ages. In the mindset of any working man, they see themselves as more advanced, and yet Conquest shows that, in most cases, the serf class of the Feudal times was much better off than the working class of the earlier industrial ages. That the serf class of the Dark Ages likely had it better than the Russian Proletariat of the Czars.

To get a firm look at America from an objective point I can think of few more solid starting points than the media we imbibe, and the natural choice of where to start is somewhat difficult. Desperate Housewives would be a easy lamb to attack as escapist need, yet the demographic is so skewed to one gender it’s out. So too would be crime shows like CSI, Law and Order, or any other procedural, as they offer a solid representation of the Red state (ideal) of wrong vs. right, criminal vs. the system. It doesn’t hold up because in the end, the people who watch these shows do it mindlessly, it’s escapism in seeing the process work, and it’s helped by having the characters be as vanilla as possible, and while an intriguing debate could be made about the desires of an older generation (the only ones who actually watch these shows) to see an American system prevail is a fascinating topic, it’s too skewed to a faction of our society. Cartoons are out on the same notion, though they do raise an interesting question of what the (my) younger generation chooses to view. Do Adult Swim, Comedy Central, and MTV2 shows cater to a demo which is waiting to disprove the boomers in an escapist and fantasy medium filled with political themes represent the undercurrent of a generation to not look at serious topics without a filter that removes them a step behind? Surely, but American and America may be best defined by a single show, a game show which creates and mocks our own idolatry in the quest for the best.

I cannot help but think that American Idol’s success is due not to the quality of the show (it’s certainly not the most compelling of the reality show genre), but due to the inherent promise embedded in it’s outcome. American Idol succeeds, I think, because it taps into three core veins in Americas heart:

1. Democracy: We as the viewers (seemingly) control the outcome.

2. The ability to be singled out for excellence while those who don’t amount fall by the wayside. For anyone struggling in a job with a glimmer of hope, the premise of seeing your skills tested against those of your caliber and being judged. For any person who feels they could shine if given the chance to prove it, American Idol represents a gauntlet to prove it.

3. Even if it’s a European import, American Idol works best in the States because of it’s very nature of making it big out of a field of hundreds of thousands of competitors. If American Idol isn’t the 21st century version of the American Dream, I don’t know what is.

America is in an amazingly enviable economic situation compared to the rest of the world. There is freedom of speech, religion, etc, and the minimum wage, while in dire need of updating, is still of an enviable rate compared to other parts of the world. Immigration to this country is likely higher on any scale than anywhere else in the world, the USA is still the land of opportunity.

And yet ingrained in the second generation is the notion of what is deserved, and it’s supposed to come naturally with a show of talent.

But with the growing gap of wealth, shown ad nausea with celebrities on E!, MTV, and VH1, the flaunting of wealth of people like Donald Trump and hip hop stars, America is almost vampire-like when it comes to the accruement of wealth, we want to suck the power to be given the power to live like them. We play the lotto in hopes of the quick fix, we hope for the handout, we wait for our chance to shine.

There are two divisions in the actual America, those who have made it, and those who are struggling. Yet there are three divisions that fight as sides, the rich, the poor, and the poor against the poor.

While the ideal of socialism has been proven time and time again to be a catastrophic way to run a country, the divide which is necessary to spawn it has never been closer in America than ever before, and the danger of such an idealism has never been closer to conception than now. The looming strike of May 1st of migrant workers will prove devastating to all sides of the cause, and it could be more helpful to an ideal of equally distributed wealth than ever before. Why shouldn’t the minimum wage be $10 an hour when the average salary of a CEO is approaching 100 mil? It’s an quick solution for hard times, and one that leads to short wealth.

The instance of getting what one wants can only lead to short term happiness, as it’s a one time payoff, shortly elevating the ease of living before the new pressures come, and then once again, the misery of the have’s vs. have not’s rises again over those who profited.

When it comes to American Idol, there has only been one true success, and that’s Kelly Clarkson. Rather than list the other failures, or the exploitative measures used by Simon Cowell and company to make the quick buck, looking at Clarkson may be the most beneficial. She got the world on a platter. She failed in the system that created her, and yet she is now more popular now than she ever was, even causing people to overlook the sequence that brought her to fame. In short, she got what she wanted, succeeded mildly, but then went and found a way to sustain her fame by the only possible way, to earn the chance bestowed on her. Clarkson may be the most recent example of the prodigal son (daughter in this case), and I think people like her not because she is famous, but because she finally made good on the faith of the people who voted her to the title, but she did so on her terms.

Which brings me to the link, which is why I started writing this in the first place.

Democrats suddenly have a newfound surplus of currency with the American people. And the point of the article is that Democrats can’t just wait this out because they have the chance, they have to create a rallying point. They have to create a slogan which makes people come back to the party.

And I think of where I am politically, and I know what has lead me in one direction or another in the last few years.

I am going to admit something which will probably give an insight into how I might have bought into an ideal of Republicanism in 2003.

Me and Steaze got into a huge argument that year about the war. As much as I was against it, I said I agreed with the idea of going to war with a Middle Eastern country like Iraq, Iran, or Syria, for fear that they would attack Israel and ultimately start WW 3. My rationale was that if we were to go in there (not to stop WMD’s) and were able to instill a capitalistic country, the political fervor of Islam would fall by the wayside, and Islam would become a religion/doctrine like in the EU, USA, or even China, where the impulse is to follow the rules of a previous region, but it would pale in the face of capitalist greed, and merely be a guiding light, not the sole premise for rule and life. While I still believe that this may be the only way to change the culture there, I know now the folly of my view: I didn’t know what the life was there. I was as guilty of branding small town folk fascists, or LA denizens as heathens as any typical misguided American in the 2004 election.

Looking at my folly, and feeling the shame in thinking my way worked for someone 10,000 miles away. And I realize the folly of Republicans, who are tied to an older world and ideal that may not exist, and they want to propagate it for the rest of the culture that doesn’t follow.

You can’t forcibly pose your opinions on people. It doesn’t work for them, and the intelligent mind will object the change from a system that is imperfect.

Just because someone doesn’t see your point of view, doesn’t mean that they don’t have a good reason to see so.

Even if a group of regressed bigots kill Matthew Lillard, it doesn’t mean that all people in Montana are ignorant.

Just because some zealots find it better to bomb people in a café in Iraq to protest the West doesn’t mean all Muslims are violent assassins who hate freedom.

Even if someone is striving to make themselves stronger, doesn’t mean they are gearing up to attack you or your friends.

Raised on the cinema, I feel that there may no greater good in humanity than the ability to love, and to believe in your fellow man.

Even if .1% criminals are going to be wretched all of their life, it doesn’t mean the remaining %99.9 are beyond saving.

Even if a man with a Turban crashed a plane into the World Trade Center, it doesn’t mean that all men with Turbans and beards want to.

I believe, in the end, we can count on the rest of the world just as we do our friends. In the final take, they are all we have, and I believe, facing any task, from the simple plight of getting to work to establishing a great nation and world, I believe we can do it.

Maybe I’m hopeless in believing in the good, maybe I have been oversaturated by tales of Redemption and heroes in fantasy situations.

There is good, and it’s worth fighting for. We need to come together before we designate outselves apart. We have to give up illusions and promises of singular greatness towards the intent of a better world which far supersedes any personal dream.

I never again will believe it's me against them, that's it's my way or the end of the world. Judgement is natural, and far too easy; rationalization takes time and introspection.

I will never give up on my fellow man.

That is why I will always be a Democrat.

(continued...)

Link

INLY speaks this way.

For all ten of you readers out there, I figured I compile a list of terminology and catchphrases we uses here at I Never Loved You.

Let’s start with some of the simple stuff.

GD: Dave’s abbreviation for God Damn. Don’t know why he uses it.

Whatev’s: Steaze’s pseudo-gay way of saying he’ll do what he wants.

Wash My Car: to have sex with a girl. – Started in 2004 when Me, Steaze, and Dr. Brody were all in dry spells. We also realized that our cars were disgraces, and tied the two togeths.

Ish: Another homo-propism from Steve, relating to middle of the road sentiment to anything.

Salty – overly sexualThe INLY Dictionary:


Mexi-can- a 24 four ounce beer can

Izzle – 1. Coke. 2. a racial slight for those who put rims on a Cutlass Supreme.

Fergie – A white girl who hangs out only with black (and I suppose Indian or Samoan) fellas. (taken from the Britney clone in the Black Eyed Peas)

Coo Li - Coors Light (most beers are pronounced as a Frenchman would read the label here at INLY)

Man-ha-ann Beach. The first of the beach communities in the South Bay along Sepulveda. The Massholes I work with have forever edited this pronunciation

YT – You Tube dot com. Where the existence of Allah, Buddha, and Christ may lay if properly tagged as “deity” and not “Hilarious.”

SC – short for USC, or University of Southern California, the greatest college in the nation.

Mac Genius – The title Steaze has at Apple stores that pays him some 17 an hour to look at porn and 15 year old girls.

Night Auditor – The title Dave has with the company he’s with to spend six hours looking at the corrupt history of Scientology.

Axe or Tag, or whatever – The cheap cologne from an aerosol can that everyone swears by.

Audible translations:

Reads as Sweet, pronounced as Sch-weayy-eet

Reads as Bush, pronounced as Boo-sch

Reads as fifteen, fay-en

Nerd – Nurd

Fag – Fay-gh

Finished – fi-ni

To be re-edited and re-complied.

By the way, the two mains of this blog farted in the general direction of Harold from the movie about white Castle last night.

His audible response:

“OH MY GOD”

(continued...)

The fleeting moments on a brink

I am an Arsenal fan. Or I try to be. It's hard to do so in the states, especially since I only started following the team in 2001 and because I have no other attachment to them other than Nick Hornby.

Until today I followed them as passively as a total fanatic could, watching only on FSC and occasionally going to the websites. It was a team who I followed but never got the moment to ever feel like this is my team, this is a tenet of life I can attach to.

I was the same way with USC football until the Cal game of 2003, when USC lost in Triple Overtime. I followed them because it was my school, yet with a bit of hesitance, because it wasn’t until 2004 that I started to call LA my home, and for the most part, I didn’t have a College football team; the only teams I liked were the opponents of Miami, Nebraska, and Florida State. I’d rather watch football on Sundays.

Until that day when I watched the whole game (and mind you this is after the Carson Palmer lead team demolished Iowa in the Orange Bowl, with my friends in Indiana no less) and found myself loving every moment. Thinking back on it now, it was the flashpoint. I didn’t have the desire to buy a jersey in college, I didn’t go to but 4 games in college, and I didn’t pregame the big ones with the crew.

I was over at a friend of mines in Mann-ha-ann Beach watching the game with him and his roommate (also a SC alum) and we rose, fell, and flourished with the game. I can think of few more satisfying losses I have ever viewed in my life, because the game was transcendent enough but not fully spirit crushing for me to enjoy the moment. In contrast, I am still not over the game SC didn’t win over Texas, we didn’t lose that game, we gave it away. You can tell the bile still flows, because it wasn’t a game for the ages, it was a calamity where both teams couldn’t plan for the other, and Pete Carrol didn’t think to challenge Vince Young with a linebacker spy.

But with the Cal USC game of 2003, it was something special, even in a loss for me, because I finally identified with the team. And more than that, I fell in love. I have said it before, being in love is just taking a quiet moment and asking one’s self if they love something or someone. If the answers yes, it comes easier than anything, and it’s followed by a feeling of euphoria, as if the body releases endorphins to the body in recognition. The team lost, but I finally cared about USC. Forged by fire I was, and lamentable as it was, it took a loss to truly do so. And I wouldn’t trade a loss for a win.

So last week I was following the pages of Arsenal only to realize they have made it through the champions league to the semi’s. For some reason, I thought they lost in the quarters, but I hadn’t paid attention since Chelsea bought the Premiership. Anyway, For those who aren’t familiar with the champions league, it is an all star tourney of sorts, where the top four teams of leagues all over Europe come together to face one another. Unlike the colonies where we have the playoffs, Europe has country/ region specific leagues, and without the Champions league, it’s like NCAA basketball without March Madness, sure Butler was the best of their division-going 25- 3, but how would they do against a team of real talent Indiana (23-9). The best players in the world are not united in competition as whole outside of the Champions League.

This makes winning this tourney all the more special. You can lose the tourney’s and league (mind you none of these leagues have playoffs, it’s all about how you finish in the season) and in the cups (there are one or more mini-tourney’s that happen during the season that a team can claim to). While it doesn’t carry the prominence of winning within your own, it carries a special swagger of being the best of the best.

Hollowed ground it does approach as memories form rank.

And so to last week, I watched Arsenal eek out a 1-0 victory in the home leg of the match (where away goals score as double) and went to watch Tuesday’s game. I was one of two people in the bar, and thankfully, the other mate was an Arsenal man.

In sports, when forming new affections, it’s always good to have along the way. A single serving friend of the best sort, it was as great of a blessing as one could hope for.

As for the game, it was terrible. It was a lousily played match with both teams playing for the safe move (for Arsenal it was to keep it slow and maintain their edge-even when a mere goal would have given them a 3 goal advantage- and for Villarreal it was to defend against the goal and take any chance Arsenal gave them) and when watching as a fan Coaching strategy as such is as boring and painful as possible.

89th minute.

It comes down to this.



And I can only think of this.



Moments so perfect and unexpected, they tie you to that moment with memories more sound and strong than few other instances in life can give, for in that one moment, you know where you were, and what happened in those 90, 60, 45, 40 minutes or nine innings.

And Arsenal has a new, life long fan. Even if I was hammered, I’ll remember the feeling when I fell in love.

(continued...)

Listful again (The Best Single Seasons of TV from 1993 to 2006)

Rather than judge any show against each other for a time being, lets take some of the best and simply place the season runs against t’others. Drama and Comedy are included. There are no restrictions for entries, but I am going to limit them somewhat. By the way, if Miniseries were included, Band of Brothers would have taken this one in a walk.

That’s a whole post, but really, it’s the best thing anyone has done since Catcher in the Rye. I truly believe that.

I’ll leave my usual babbling to the later parts, but on to it:

8. Simpsons Season 5. After Deep Space Homer it peters out a bit, but before that, there isn’t an episode that isn’t legendary, with Cape Feare, Homer’s Barbershop quartet, and Rosebud being not the standouts, but the rule of how good this run was.
7: Newsradio. Season Three.

From the episode Complaint box:

[Reading cards from the complaint box]
Dave: "You suck." "You suck." "Howard Stern rules." "If you can read this you are a dork." "Coupon for one free kiss from Joe if you are a girl." "We need more complaint cards." "Coupon for one free kiss from Joe if you are a guy."
Joe: Hey.
Dave: [pulling out a fortune cookie slip] "You will go on a journey, happy long time." "Matthew is a moron." "No I'm not." "Yes you are." "No I'm not infinity." "Yes you are infinity plus one." And this one, "I have doobie in my funk," which I assume is some sort of reference to the Parliament Funkadelic song, "Chocolate City." Uh, "You got peanut butter in my chocolate. You got chocolate in my peanut butter. Together they taste like crap." "Matthew has been staring at me all day... and I like it." I don't think I get this one, it says, "I try to be good hard-worker-man, but refrigemater so messy, so so messy."
Lisa: I think that one's probably from Milos, the janitor.
Dave: Oh. Refrigem... oh, then that one's legitimate.
[Continues reading the complaint cards]
Dave: Uh, "Who's the black private dick who's the sex machine with all the chicks."
Bill, Beth, Lisa, Matthew, Joe: SHAFT.
Bill: I thought we'd all enjoy that.
Dave: [reading one last card] And, "Help, I'm being held prisoner in a complaint box," which is actually kinda funny.

Let’s get it out of the way. Newsradio was the best sitcom of the 90’s. Even better than Seinfeld. Why. Because it works as a whole and it’s jokes come from plot and not from catchphrases. I clearly love Seinfeld, and there on the list, but as a whole, Newsradio was a better show. Any one of the seasons could be on here, but they are all a mash because the creators were never truly given a full season without notes from execs. Phil Hartman was never better (even in the Simpsons) and the whole cast was able to gel like few comedy shows ever have.

Season three doesn’t have all of the great episodes, and maybe some of the others could substitute here, but with Newsradio, it doesn’t matter. It just fit perfectly.

One last quote:

Bill (Phil Hartman): Pay attention to the headlines: Corporate America has caught on to what biker gangs and fraternities have known for years; Hazing Works.

As much as I love it, Stephen Colbert of the Colbert Report is just channeling Hartman.

6. South Park: Season 8. The best full collection of one what can be the best show on TV some months. I say months because the runs are only 8 weekly episodes at a time and the flow of a following a season never gets as involved as network TV. The two worst of the season, Up the Down Steriod and Douche and Turd (about Steroids/special Olympics and the 2004 election, respectively) are still good episodes, but still seem a bit forced in trying to meet a point. Instead, just revel in episodes like “You got Fucked in the Ass” which takes the plot of “You Got Served” to a level of idiocy it deserves, “The Passion of the Jew” which truly nails Mel Gibson as nothing more than an evangelical sadist, the best X-mas show in the series run; “Woodland Critter Christmas,” and maybe the best episode in the series run, “Goobacks.” Aside from the episodes themselves, the show took another step forward in realizing what it could do in it’s satire with an episode like “Good Times With Weapons” which featured an anime segment progressed solely from the imagination of the kids.

5. Seinfeld: Season 4.

Seasons 3 and 5 could also be up here, but the overall coherence of this season puts it as my favorite. It has three of the top five episodes, (1, 4, and 5)

1. The Bubble Boy: George driving like a madman gets them lost from the caravan only to find himself playing trivial pursuit with a bubble boy. Kramer burns down Susan’s fathers’ house, subsequently revealing his father had a gay affair with writer John Cheever.
Genuinely mean spirited are the characters and the plot, which mocks small towns, the sickly, and homesteads. Maybe George’s finest episode, he brags and lies about his land-speed records, he is completely self absorbed (asking Susan for change while her fathers house burns) and relishing beating the bubble boy on technicality –moops not moors—and refusing to be proven wrong.

2. The Boyfriend – the lone hour long masterwork of the series. Between Keith Hernandez serving as a discourse for male friendships past 25, the JFK loogie incident with Kramer and Newman, it’s an hour long of everything that made the show so unique.

3. The little kicks. Elaine dances (horribly). George plays the bad boy. Jerry is a bootlegger. For a show that was more about dialogue jokes than visual gags, this one gets the mileage out of something as perfectly hilarious as Elaine’s train wreck of a dance.

4. The Contest. Taking upon celibacy, the foursomes sex lives become all the more difficult to ignore. Worth watching the next time if only for Kramer rushing in post whack yelling “I’m out!”

5. The Airport – A fine look at how the two classes on the plane are completely different worlds. Jerry meets a model, Elaine has to eat the vegetarian fare.
Fast paced, filled with character relationship details, and brutally uncomfortable in parts.

4. The Simpsons: Season 4

Kamp Krusty “You never found out how World War II ended. WE WON!”

Marge vs. The monorail: Nimoy “A solar eclipse: the cosmic ballet goes on.” Passenger next to him “Anyone want to change seats?” That and the mechanical ants.

Last Exit to Springfield: “You don’t have to be a whiz to see that you’re looking out for number one”

The best all around season, as there isn’t a dud in the bunch and the show began to round the characters out to where they are now, it’s also the season where the surreal side of the show is the at it’s best and yet doesn’t overwhelm the cogency of the plots.

3. The Office (UK) Season 2 and the special.

A mere five episodes plus the finale of squirm inducing lunacy. Perhaps the best acted sitcom ever made, it relies on the cast to execute the humdrum and meticulousness of office terror, and they create comedy gold not with punch lines, but blank stares, double takes, and awkward silence.

2. Arrested Development: Season two.

Filled with season long running jokes (any time anyone mentions George Michael’s girlfriend Ann, it’s prompted with “Her?), the show starts the season with a fresh break from season 1. After that, it amps everything up into comic chaos, little by little.

With the exception of Michael, every character goes through a completely bizarre progression of comic delight.

Buster loses his hand, but gains a father (or is it an uncle)
Maebe cons her way into an exec job at a studio.
George Sr. hiding out in an attic, trying to run the family and keep his twin brother from running wild.
Lucille struggles with being in love with identical twins (one with hair, one without)
GOB tries to gain acceptance as a member of the real world, only to muck it up with his illusionist career, ultimately settling with his puppet sidekick Franklin
George Michael continues to date Ann for all the wrong reasons, only to rediscover his love for his cousin.
Tobias and Lindsay failing in their open marriage, leading Lindsay to pursue celebrities and then herself, and Tobias to be a blue man, a gay bar proprietor, and then finally a British nanny.

The shows greatest asset was it’s biggest drawback for new viewers. It’s impossible to do justice to what made the show so hysterical because it requires prefacing a joke with 10 minutes of exposition for a 3 second gag. Watching these episodes in sequence, the genius comes not from the traditional comedic build up with new scenarios every week leading to wild laughs, it’s the underpinning of the whole run, crafted as precisely as a great mystery, filled with foreshadowing, double entendres, and cross-references within the show and to the outside world as well. It’s barely quotable in conversation, because it’s extremely hard explain.

How complicated are some of the jokes? In one episode Henry Winkler jumps a shark, (referencing the Happy Days cliffhanger which has entered the cultural lexicon as when an object loses it’s steam) but it’s so deeply hidden with other plot points and other jokes going on in the same scene, I didn’t pick it up until the 4th viewing.

Arrested Development was perfectly clever, as rewarding as any text every made, and it’s even better the second and third time around. It’s a juggling act of a sitcom, amazing and completely entertaining, and as the season moves on, the show throws more and more elements into the fray and speeds up the juggling one wonders how it’s able to keep it going. After the act is finished, you wonder how anyone could ever do better.

1. Sopranos: Season 1. From episode 1 to episode 13, this fits as entire of a single movie more than it does TV. The rhythms of the arcs are episodic, but instead of building in 13 parts, they feel divided in beats as a whole. The stories in the series build, release, then build again, bringing in all of the tangents from before in almost operatic sensibility. The easier comparison would be to compare it to a novel, but the first season flows more like a symphony, building, and then finishing, building, releasing, and then the final episode serves as a coda of all of the season. The tagline of the series was “Tony Soprano has two families, if one doesn’t kill him, the other will” and even with a simple distillation to summarize, it was the first show that captured what other shows never did. Human life is more than one situation, it’s the home life, the work life, and the moments that havoc lives when the two worlds combine. Costanza yelled: “You’re killing independent George!!!” Sopranos could be the best show because it actually saw the struggles of two identities in one man waging against each other, and did it superbly. This was an assailment of family, culture roots, iconography, and personal connections as we as viewers have come to know it, and it showed the only outcome was a misery in trying to plan for the future; it’s simply too hard to let go of the past.

(continued...)

Man in the Mirror...

(continued...)

Shortchanged for the Tough Sell

Primer

The night before was filled with nervous joy. 9 days of worry-free nonchalance is a mighty dish to eye once it’s been put before you. One knows that you can’t overdo it, you can’t go all out from the beginning, yet the overwhelming upside of such a feast is thoroughly appetizing to the body and mind. The rational path is the second in sequence, following the notion of indulging to impulse. We all knew that it was going to be a long trip the next day, and it was better to be prepared for the best yet to come than to bet all the chips on night one.

We were headed to Yosemite the next day. More importantly, it was spring break. It was the four of my group’s solution for the quagmire of a full nine days of freedom and maybe three days worth of cash flow for the normal, collegiate wild spree of booze and failed/shameful hookups. We took the splendors of life that do not age, and picked the national parks as a destination. An yet, even as we had forsaken wild inhibitions, we were going to be as far away from any notion of conformity possible. There would be no television, no internet, no… bathrooms. It was the vacation the grandparent in all of us wanted to take.

Chuck and I wandered the aisles of the supermarket with a sense of purpose, yet constantly sidetracked by anticipation. We were going to go to Yosemite National Park, by all accounts one of the most beautiful parks in the world, and when we got there, we were to hike the wilderness during the day and scream, drunkenly, at the moon at night, only to get up and do it again. We had bough the booze, we had the food, yet we spent another 60 minutes wandering the aisles, looking for items we may have overlooked or not planned for.

Coffee? Would we want to make coffee in the morning? Was it easy to make; and then how much would it cost to have coffee available in the mornings? We looked over items with persistent curiosity, wondering if one more item could elevate the trip to the legendary status we dreamed it could be.

After bringing in the haul from the last trip to a store and packing them away, we all retired to bed, preparing for the early morning trip. It’s a classic state of higher education, you prepare yourself for something important, but when the time comes, you realize there is no rush at all when it comes to getting started, and you don’t just hit the snooze, you set the alarm back an hour or so.

We left about two hours after our original start date. Of course, this being college, the gas stop was not pre-planned, and so we sat at a gas station waiting for Chuck to pay for the gas. We sat very still in our seats, not so much out of anticipation, but because the car was packed to the brim with utilities and supplies that moving the seat could result in damaging supplies. Rather than confine ourselves for an extra ten minutes, Walt, Jesse, and I decided to look around the shop inside, and after steering through a couple packages of ramen and the sleeping bag doubling as a foot rest, purchases were road trip variety, beef jerky, soda, sunflower seeds or corn nuts, etc. We had finally realized that the journey was upon us.

First it was onto the Adams on-ramp, and then off to the 405 and finally to the interstate 5 itself. When the 405 of Los Angeles cedes into the 5 in the Northern reaches of the Valley, it becomes just another interstate, the single transit way to the northern and inland parts of the state, and for all measures where the bubble of LA’s highway nonsense and the culture comes to an end. Five, then 10, then 30 miles out, we were free of the imposed boundaries of our school. As we all discussed possible scenarios and plans, the actuality of the trip finally sunk in, and it was a calm and euphoric sentiment: we were finally on vacation.

As we headed past Fresno and the acres of pre-harvest grape racks, a new feeling started to overcome me. Instead of being a beautiful and cognitive sensation, it was a slow dawning of misery. My back was aching, the bumps along the grapevine were becoming aggravating, the music of the mix CD’s we had made was getting too loud.

The road into the park is naturally scenic; the path was carved from the granite for autos, and next to the sheer faces of the stone and with trees overhanging the pavement some hundred feet above, the car feels less like a work of engineering, but a transport into a world that cared little about our progress. The atmosphere is enchanting; the road is winding, narrow, and a mere single, confining lane. It’s a place where images of America’s homeland are bore out of; the kind of place Rockwell collectors hyperbolize with their fifties upbringing. And I felt helpless and overwhelmed to it all, unable to appreciate the beauty, because I had maddeningly just become ill with the flu. Looking along the entryway to the park and saw snow in spots on the ground, I thought not of warm images, but of Frost; the road divulged felt like death.

RV’s lined the campsite where we were set up. The slip our car was assigned was made for a vehicle nearly 3 times the size of Chuck’s Outback. The only item that was singularly ours was a box to store our foods in and out of the range of raccoons and bears. The only room not on wheels was the public bathroom, and it was hidden from our camp’s sight by a pair of giant Motor Homes.

As we unloaded the goods from the car and set up the tents, we mulled our options. The very hallmark of Yosemite lay to the rear of our slit. The area has endless hours of trails, sights, and destinations all of which can be highlights of a lifetime. As a group the biggest oversight was not planning for any specifics. It’s an act that was due to the culture we were all a part of; even with it’s endless freedom, college still has structure which guides students. Without planning, we had just traveled 400 miles to find a new place to booze. Walt mentioned a hiking trip, Jesse mentioned a different path for a hiking trip, and Chuck stressed we should set up the tents so we didn’t have to do so in the moonlight. I was partial to Chuck’s assessment, above all, I wanted to lie down and let my body wage battle against the flu.

Night came, and as we moved around the fire to settle, the wildlife joined us. What would double as a metaphor for debauchery in Rosarito was now a literal interpretation as the first wave of rodents approached. Humans are smarter than raccoons but this gave little advantage; they had home court. Their strategy honed over years of surviving off tourists, it was a simple script they followed to unsettle, survey, and then invade en mass in an attempt to free the confines of thelockbox. For them it was a basic need for food; to us it was a rodent shock and awe campaign.

The weather was another planning folly; living in LA for more than a year creates a sort of brain damage when it comes to weather. A factor only when less than optimal, one learns to adjust instead of anticipating. Walt, Jesse, and I were not from California, and linked the weather of LA to that of the state as a whole. Chuck was from Nor Cal, but also reasoned his outback had more space than my Pathfinder. As the mercury dropped below 30, blankets wrapped our fully clothed bodies inside sleeping bags.

Falling ill on vacation measures somewhere around incensing irony and mounting proof of a cruel god. As the hours of the first day pass, I wonder about the beauty of the surroundings. Is it only beautiful because one isn’t privy to it everyday, or because one has to place themselves externally to even grasp the idea. Cast with the flu, images do nothing to appease, and serenity becomes a forgone conclusion of a short path to the light at the end of the tunnel. Knowing I would beat the virus helped little, as it merely meant waiting it out, and the path involved bundling up in view of Half Dome rock and covering my face to stay warm.

We sit around the fire for a second night, waiting for the bandits to return. Passing over hot dogs and beer for chicken soup and grab bag of vitamins, it is the first time since the car stopped at In and Out we ate as a whole group. The cold water faucet of the public outhouse is all that suffices for a shower, and barely convinces others against their ability to contract the sickness. Our seating arrangement made me the lone person on the port side of the table and the focal point. Conversations gauged about sickness are as bleak and as uninteresting as pet funerals.

As a group, we had exhausted our list of activities we could find, and were ready to head home. We thought about leaving in the morning of the fourth day and drove around the park to look into other sleeping arrangements. I was still in quarantine in the large 5 man tent, cramping the others into the spare 2 man tent, and the thought of hot water, beds, and solid walls to protect us from the cold nights was temptation enough to debate a $75 per person fee. After seeing the restaurant in the Hotel, we couldn’t help to sit down and take a real meal. The lavish 15 foot halls of the Park’s premiere hotel made us al the more ready to go back to civilization as soon as possible.

We packed and hit the road. Rather than spend an hour fitting items on the roof rack we showved everything into the limited space of the station wagon and filled the last seat with supplies that couldn’t fit in the trunk. As we wound out of the park and on to the grapevine, we stopped alongside the roads highest point simply to gaze upward. Spending summers in Minnesota yields glimpses of the northern lights, yet perched along a massive rock looking at an array of stars that could never be counted, I still can’t think of sights as wondrous. Orion was more than a belt, his full figure and bow shined as beacons aligning us with the travelers from ages before that gazed upon the same full sight looking for answers.

Already I was getting the impression that this is such an amazing thing that I am going to forget these things. The more I am going to lose this image it is going to be replaced with another. Each image came up, was there for a flash to be appreciated and savored and then reluctantly let go because it’s going to be superposed with others. - For All Mankind

Looking up at a vision of space so fully intertwined with an atmosphere as beautiful as Yosemite is worth a thousand illnesses and miserable car trips, in one moment, everything I cherished because I knew it’s splendor rushed into memory, and I left behind every path for the feeling of what can happen in the simple beauty of the world already given to us. As the minutes staying there began to push our arrival time closer to improbable, we all knew the time was over. Even 20 minutes more would have been worth years of morning rush hour traffic. God wasn’t there at that stop, but serenity was tantalizing close, and my patience was eternal.

In part to the stars, and certainly due to my fever breaking, the car trip home was of good spirits. The trip hadn’t concluded, merely the stage that took place in Wilderness. And the second beginning of the trip had the same feel as the previous. Talk of Disneyland, Magic Mountain, San Diego, beaches, and another sort of wilderness south of the Border. My friend from high school was coming in the following afternoon. The options were enough to raise us all to another plane of vacation euphoria.

Sadly, trapped in the back of the car, Jesse and I slowly drifted into delirium, lashing out with frantic, claustrophobic giggling. At first it started with changing every chorus on AC/DC’s “Back in Black” to a diddy about being trapped in the back of Chuck’s car. Walter thought that putting on Bob Marley would settle us down, until Jesse and I began inserting anti-Japanese epithets into the songs, double irritating because we opted for the Don Rickles tone, and Walter was Korean. We exited for Taco Bell, requiring stops twice more, and by the time 2 am rolled around, we three passengers had reached a peace in our tiny spaces and left Chuck awake, alone, and fighting off the effects of a marathon driving session in pre-Red Bull times.

“We’ll grab our gear in the morning,” we agreed and headed to mattress and sheets for a long sleep.

++++

The new consensus of the group was San Diego and Tijuana, a plan I had heard too many horror stories to willingly consider. Bringing a fellow Hoosier out to California was a daunting enough and adding Papa’s and Beer could forever stain a young mans life. The baby steps were to simply prowl the campus and walk the promenade in Santa Monica. Were we above 21, Sunset would have still been a calculated risk.

Steve arrived from Indy and we took the first night easy, catching up. We went to Santa Monica to catch Memento and spent much of the night talking it over, wondering about the disconnect between one set of actions is a learned response or if it’s a simple excuse worth tricking the mind into doing to accept the world on one’s own terms. We finished off the night with a beer or two and a few hours of classic videogames, playing Gauntlet longest of all, thinking of middle school, when we first became friends and used them for escape from girls instead of the real world as we did now, and even if the connection elicited a mental binding to times past, it arose a feeling we all wanted, one of comfort in old friends, both digital and flesh.

The second night was going to be more eventful as more of my friends were back on campus, and the house party scene that was USC was awakening again as Thursday dawned. After the three from the Yosemite venture were stalking the creatures of the San Diego Zoo, the only one of my close friends at school in town was Nancy’s roommate Rita.

At the time Rita and I had formed a castoff kinship. She and one of my closest friends at SC (Ron) had dated since the second week of freshman year, and seemed rather content together. In retrospect their mutual blondness may have been their uniting singularity and common ground as a couple, but they seemed the functional side of the slide of couple behavior we knew of, with Nancy and I being the irrational extreme. Yet weeks before, after a long bout of partying ended at my house, Ron walked a girl I was wooing home, and by next morning, his failure to get back to Rita’s bed was the gossip of our little circle.

I was friends with both, and tried to play as so, telling Rita to brace for forgiveness and not to gear for retribution. I pleaded with Ron to lie, but the shame of one’s first true infidelity overwhelms the logic and henceforth destroys the relationship. In the crumbled aftermath of Rita’s heartbreak and my continual romantic seasickness with Nancy, we not only had someone of similar disposition to complain to, but people who were close enough to the others’ ex to divulge the secrets we wanted to hear. Through online chatting, a few meals, and the occasional drunken rant at parties we became partners in misery. When we partied together, we always had a good time.

Rita, just as I, had friends visiting from her home town, and together our group seemed motley enough to create a good time. Our first step was the lone frat house that wasn’t on a vacation in Cabo or Cancun. The party was massive, as all of the local members had called in all of their friends on campus for the party. By 12:30 the kegs were under wraps, and by 1, the fire department had arrived in lieu of the campus security, apparently on vacation with the student body.

The group of eight of us wandered back to my apartment, where I was the only roommate there. We were dancing, smoking, and having the party release we were pining for with spring break. My friends and I were shotgunning beers by the case; Rita and her friends were dancing with each other in every sort of suggestive manner imaginable.

As the night waned to 3 am, I walked to the bathroom. Upon entering I found Rita waiting in line. After a knock on the lavatory door, we both realized neither of us was waiting for the bathroom. Slow small talk and incremental shuffles of the feet for positioning; heavy eyes with little mutual contact, breathing that matched. Waiting, confusion, and then…surrender. Instantaneously we knew we had to cease and yet couldn’t stop, our mutual revealing of deep emotional wounds and friendly therapy had created a role of romantic messiah for the other in both of us; we felt as one would be know what to do for the each other because we had heard first hand.

We stopped once, out of fear of being caught and more of the repercussions, only to continue again. Four times we would meet and escape the party for private meetings, the first was one of mutual helplessness, the second from my pressing for more, the next from her for the same, and for the last and most intense session, it was once again mutual, but in contrast to the first moment, we both were aware what would take place, we realized, that in that moment, we both wanted each other.

I awoke the next morning with a noticeable lack of a post drinking headache. I walked into the living room to find Steve on the couch. My other two friends took the beds of my absentee roommates, knowing full well the only one to catch consequence would be me. The sun was still beaming in through the window at a low angle that cast the shadows of the Venetian blinds to the wall behind it. I feared to look at the clock because I knew the conclusions of the certainty; it was barely 9 in the morning, and I was not hung-over because I was still drunk.

Awakening my computer, I was not the only one up this early. The top most window was an IM box from Rita, reading “I’m so sorry. Call me later, we have to talk.” I closed it with nervous fear that she had panicked after she went home and tried to rationalize the happenings. Ill prepared was I to find behind her message was one from Ron. He demeaned me by questioning my friendship and trustworthiness. For all of the bitterness I had with him for cheating on Rita with a girl he knew I liked, and even with his sly attempts with Nancy the previous summer, I knew I was still at fault. Wounds of disagreement on opinion heal with friends, and while Ron and I slowly mended our friendship over the next years, what pains still is that he knew the details. Rita had told him how it transpired, telling him of the first moment Rita and I took the step, a private chance was now a public mistake.

Steve and the rest went to grab some food and waste the afternoon in recuperation. Mere moments after they left Rita knocked on the door. Neither of us able to bear the phone call; she had the impetus to initiate the face to face.

As she walked in, we had the short hug out of habit. And we sat. First watching TV, making small chat, before we could muster the talk. I know now that it was immaturity that ruled that moment. I was only 20, and had little relationship reference. My parents divorce demented me on any course, I bailed from girls before they could create a impact. I never stayed around long enough to understand the differences of longing and love. I knew of the chemically blissful adoration side, but not yet the slow, paced growth that paid off slowly with life long dividends. I had no notion of why people considered infidelity; I thought it was merely an act of lust, not one borne in hopes of moving on. I was convinced she was going to tell me she made a mistake; that she was going to go back to Ron and tell him she was too drunk to know what happened. Too confused by a new dark side where my subconscious would manifest true desires in uncouth acts I had never considered part of my personality- and not yet willing to embrace- I thought and responded from inexperienced naiveté when she asked: “What do we do now?”

(continued...)

Part one

My worst spring break.

Part two is linked above, and good god, does it get long. To preface, I did something of a writing exercise to see if I could get myself out of this broken English blogging and screnplay format has turned my writing into. It's a memory done in short story form, with none of the asides, digressions and Dave isms firmly entrenched with my written style. It still needs a full edit (but thats not going to happen is it) and it's unfocused in bits, but alas judge for yourself.

Five years ago I was as poor as I ever can remember. I was living off something like 350 bucks a month. Add to the fact that I still had a DVD addiction, I was poor the whole year. So when it came time for Spring Break, few options were available. I didn’t have the balls to ask my dad for money to go somewhere like Cabo, Cancun or anywhere with, you know, SPRING BREAK.

I also was living in a five person apartment which only had two rooms. I was in the room with three people. Both of my roommates were gay men. While I didn’t exactly fail with the women, I had sex a grand total of once the whole year. Nothing ensures abstinence for a person more than inviting a potential mate back to a room where lays the possibility of seeing two different acts (4 men, maybe more, one of the roomies was a slut) of homosexuality. It’s a sexual albatross, and my ship went through rough waters that year.
Adding to this was my relationship with a girl (to be named Nancy from here on) was the most emotionally draining and physically limited relationship I have ever had. Five years later, it seems obvious, we were never meant to be anything more than friends, yet we could have been really good friends is not for college hormones and a need to not be alone in college. That and the fact that Nancy had a great rack. From May 2000 to maybe October 2001, I was caught in one form of drama with Nancy and it was devastating all the more because we never actually were “together” for more than a 2 week period (if even that), yet we were fighting to maintain the relationship for most of that course, whether it be with temporary bf/gf’s we would bring around only around them. Doomed from the start, filled with romance only when broken, and emotional acts and mannerisms copied from movie archetypes, immaturity ruled the relationship because it was the first big one for both of us; neither of us had any idea how to do it. The lasting thing I can remember is a dream I had in August of 2001 where we finally became truly intimate, I said I loved her (and this was the only time I ever could utter it) and it was done. For a while I took comfort in this that it was still worth pursuing, but later realized it was a false peace in only fixing the mistakes of the past, and if all that was said, I could move on. Only then did then did I realize it didn’t need to happen. That was a slow, welcomed relief.

Of the friends I had from that period, say 25 or so, I only still talk to two, maybe three of them still. Two of them are still great, cherished friends, but there was little kismet with the others at that point. Most of my friends from college I still talk to I would meet over the next four semesters.

Homesick, lonely, and lacking any ability to further other motives, most of my Sophomore year was regrettable. It wasn’t until after spring Break that year until I really began to have a good time at USC, and from that point on, 2001would be one of the best years of my life, and did I truly enjoy college. Sure I had some great times, but they were hampered by outside forces. Only later would I have a reckless abandon one needs to love college.

Like I said, most of my friends were those of familiarity and convenience, roommates, dorm friends, etc. With the exception of Walter, there were few deep connections beyond being male, wanting to have a good time, and living in proximity.

So the four of us who would go up to Yosemite for Spring Break 2001 were thrown together as loosely as possible. Mind you this is not a bad recipe, some great times can be had under a cloak of anonymity and a pursuit of wild times. But this one wasn’t quite perfect.

Characters:

Me.

Chuck: Music major, who is soon to graduate from Pepperdine Law. A low Beta/ Omega male who really wanted to be an alpha, but lacked the god given skills to do so (charming personality, great humor, an assassin with the ladies) and hence failed when exterting attempts. Chuck was not a bad guy, in fact he was a great guy to have in a group, but in the end, he wound up more of a group joke than a friend. Thanks mainly to:

Jesse: Guitar master and diligent wiseass. I wound up living with the guy from 8-2003 to 8 – 2004, and had a blast doing so, when he was there. The only problem was that he rarely liked to socialize. Getting him to come out on a Saturday night was a struggle, and as fates would have it, the nights we did get him out always tended to be weak. He had no where to go this trip. It was a fine hour for Jesse.

Walter: My sophomore downstairs neighbor and junior and senior roommate, who lived with Chuck for close to 7 months, and another film geek. There is a reason me and Lady Portland Rose Royce called him the third wheel legend, he is a nigh perfect companion when there are three or more people. He’s still a great guy when it’s one on one, but he kills in a group. Sarcastic, smart, sensitive, and best of all funny, he can make any small gathering more interesting. (Do I have any bids for his services?)

So, onto it.

(continued...)

More Cruel Fate (...or "Shouldn't Dave have posted that?")

(continued...)

Gladiators meet their makers

Cruel fate. (New post coming soon)

(continued...)

Sunset in my Eyes...

View from the bottom.

(continued...)

From doctor Turner. (Dave's Dad)

So I got me here this email from my pa.

I don't how many of you shop at Sears, but this may be useful to know. I am posting this to you to warn you of something that happened to me, as I have become a victim of a clever scam while out shopping. This happened to me at Sears and it could happen to you.

Here's how the scam works:

Two seriously good-looking 18-year-old girls come over to your car as you are packing your shopping in the trunk. They both start wiping your windshield with a rag and Windex, with their breasts almost falling out of their skimpy t-shirts. It is impossible not to look. When you thank them and offer them a tip, they say 'No' and instead ask you for a ride to another Sears. You agree and they get in the back seat.

On the way, they start having sex with each other.Then one of them climbs over into the front seat and performs oral sex on you, while the other one
steals your wallet. I had my wallet stolen last Tuesday, Wednesday, twice on Thursday, again on Saturday, and also yesterday and probably tonight.

Beware!

I see this as the best net joke since i started posting the below under the file title "New Paris hilton sex tape"

That monkey got America through some pretty tough times.

(continued...)

Like this one time I wrote a post about Family Guy.

So I have been sitting on this post for a while, having it be essentially footnotes (gotta cut footnotes) to a retrospective of the 80’s culture and the renaissance it had when the I love the 80’s launched. It’s taking a while because it’s part of a larger look into the strange culture of anti-celebrity America is going through, and how it likely relates to deep wounds of 9/11 and the Iraq war.

So, I waited and then South Park came out and stole my thunder about the weakness of Family Guy and how lame the story telling is.

Hell, watch it here:



Go to youtube.com and search for the episode. It’s probably on, yet you will have to get it in three parts thanks to the new posting limits.

The show was one of the better episodes in a while, and this season is now 3 for 3, which is about how many good episodes were in season 9. Both sharply satiric and referential in it’s jokes (“How would you like it if there was a show that made fun of Jews every week” (pause by Kyle)). The episode manages to combine free speech, the Muhammad comic protests, Islamic xenophobia, and an attack of a show of lesser quality all into a coherent and surprisingly exciting episode. It also gets back to the central morality of the show, that adults are idiots when it comes to making points, (the digging holes in the sand), and refusing to stand by the principles of which they believe in.

Anyway, on to the rest.
I can’t think of a show I have a bigger love/hate relationship with more than Family Guy. There are few shows out there than can be as consistently gut busting, yet there are also few shows that are consistently terribly plotted or told story wise. The show is about where Coldplay is now, where some of the stuff is definitively great, other times the writing is insipid and completely terrible.

Part of the problem I have with the show is the audience, who keep ranking it with the Simpson’s or South Park. That’s like comparing Coldplay with Radiohead or the Beatles, or Emo core with actual music. I have met few fans who have anything remotely negative to say about the show, and they almost always proclaim it to be the “Best Show on TV.” It’s aggravating because they seem bound by their love and part of me is loath to disagree that the parts they quote are not funny, and they never mention how every show episode falls on it’s face at least twice during 22 minutes.

It’s hard even qualifying Family Guy as a show sometimes, because half the jokes and plots are allusions to either pop culture or character flashbacks.

With the pop culture part, the quality of the joke is directly correlated with the time period. Anything pre- 1970 tends to be too over the top, like the Dick Van Dyke or Honeymooners jokes. Anything from 1971 to the late 80s are as good as anything on the show, my favorite being the time Peter goes into detention only to find an amalgam of cereal and John Hughes

http://youtube.com/w/Family-Guy%3A--Peter-Meets-Breakfast-Club?v=jPQjFrrQBZI&search=Family%20guy

taking the 2nd most needlessly overdramatic part of the film (#1 being Emilo’s reason for being in detention) and rendering it completely surreal.. There is no richer pop culture mine, and Seth McFarlane uses it for some of the best jokes in the show.

Then there is the shows modern takes, which have started to replace all the old references and are consistently sub par. Either it’s the leftist dogma of Seth and his crew (I counted at least 7 Bush jokes in the latest season, and almost all of them were weak and already covered) or they are making jokes about events that everyone else has: like Ashlee Simpson on SNL, or Marissa Tomei winning an Oscar, or Peter’s 5 minute Can’t Touch Me.

This period elicits some of the best jokes because during this period there were more borderline preposterous movies, commercials and TV shows imaginable. This was the time when there were two shows about black kids adopted by rich white families, the cartoon shows were top notch in every facet one could want (heroic, badass, unintentionally hilarious), and Weekend at Bernie’s was a huge hit. Because of the rise of cable (VH1, MTV, Nickelodeon) and videogames, TV and media were never so immediately iconic to the world. This stuff was coming into our homes at an alarming rate, yet it was on a small enough scale that people were still watching the same stuff. If you want to look at the effect Gen-X has had on the world, look no further than the Carter and Reagan years, where irony was almost completely off anyone’s mind (cocaine will do that to you), and than look at the world now. The good movies sucked then, but the bad B-movies were classics.

The shows most famous joke is probably Peter’s knee gag, where he hems and haws about his knee (eeeeeeeeee. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.). It’s a great gag, but people forget why the joke worked so well, it followed a note perfect Charlie and the Chocolate Factory song that was going on for a good minute before pulling the rug out and having a surreal injury joke.

This is something the show did well in the first few seasons, but after they came back, the show turned into a thinner version of itself, relying more on dumb jokes, flashbacks, and ham handed self references.

But the real problem with the show is that nothing is organic about it. It’s a rip off of the Simpsons that uses cheap jokes (though admittedly some are rather funny) and tries too hard.

I can only think of five solid from start to finish episodes

1. The Thin White Line
2. Peter, Peter Caviar Eater (the diamond joke and Stewie talking with the blue bloods are two of the series best gags)
3. Wasted Talent
4. I am Peter, hear me roar.
5. Road to Rhode Island.

What is the difference between these episodes and the rest of the run? They have plots. Plain and simple. The jokes also flow from the story, and they tend to better than most at simply delivering a joke.

An example of a good Family Guy joke can be found in any of those episodes.

The typical joke is like one from the fifth season, where Peter remembers his breakfast machine. The joke is to rip off the entire Rube Goldberg device from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, but instead of getting food, Peter is shot.

How funny would it be if someone at work came up to you and said: “Hey remember Pee Wee’s Adventure, and his breakfast machine? What if he got shot at the end. How funny would that be!”

Absolute crap.

You just get the feeling that Seth McFarlane and company can’t say no to a joke. The team behind Family Guy can make good shows, it just seems like they go for the easy route far to often and don’t know a GD thing about storytelling.

What is left is a TV show that feels more like a mashup than an original song. They take a set beats and pacing of a show like The Simpsons, and then take the best parts from other pieces to create a “new” show. Mashup’s can be great if they are done right, they contrast and reshape some of the most familiar of texts to new situations. They make one appreciate the songs in another light, and are meta fun in the process, but in the end they are shallow, and the people who created them are only connecting beats, not creating anything new. (Jurassic Park reference/quote warning!!!) :

I'll tell you the problem with the scientific power that you're using here: it didn't require any discipline to attain it. You read what others had done and you took the next step. You didn't earn the knowledge for yourselves, so you don't take any responsibility for it. You stood on the shoulders of geniuses to accomplish something as fast as you could and before you even knew what you had you patented it and packaged it and slapped it on a plastic lunchbox, and now you're selling it, you want to sell it!

If that’s too nerdy or highbrow, here’s a quote from Naked Gun that I feel captures the essence of watching Family Guy:

Dating a cop is like taking a spoonful of draino. Sure it will clean you out, but it will leave you feeling hollow inside.

(continued...)

Brevity, et al.

(continued...)

So, Dave pimps Youtube and Top Gear.

So, while I am saving money to pay for MS word (or Steaze gets me a copy), I may be writing more abstract works for a while in the blogger box.

So I'll start with a multi meed post.

Top Gear is probably my favorite show on computer. I say this because I never find it on the proper telly and I am forced to watch google and Gvids.

Tech savvy, peppered with dry humor, smart and smart alecky and hosted by Jeremy Clarkson, who has a devilish avuncular appeal, Top Gear is a show about cars that feels like an action/comedy. The beats and cuts feel more like nothing like a science or consumer review show that it is. Instead of being "this old house" for cars, it's more like an educated "jackass" with a 500 Hp v10 turbo in place of a drunken self destructive motor.

First off, this show works mostly because of the host(s). If America was to do this show, we'd have some beefed up, product enhanced pretty boy like Paul Walker in Fast in the Furious, a cokey le femme who would be more adapted at surgery than reading a spec sheet. The only other options I can think of are ranges of an extreme, a Dog the Bounty Hunter to Matthew Lesko, someone whose main appeal is their eccentricity. Call it the Jesse James syndrome. With the exception of Stewart and Colbert (Daly's 2 year run on TRL begrudingly counts), American TV hasn't had a good TV host/personality since Andy left Conan.

It pisses me off because British TV tends to lead with quality instead of pandering to teen demographics when it comes to doc shows. It doesn't hurt that Clarkson knows that he is living with his dream job. Intelligent and exuberant, he both knows his stuff so anyone familiar around an auto that his spec talk doesn't feel forced, and recklessly cackles as he takes a $80,000 Jaguar out onto a frozen pond for a slalom run. They get Clarkson and Cowells, we have them surrounded by bubbly OTH starlets, vernacular spouting demo grabbers, and an understudy for Ace and Gary.

The revolving co-hosts are terrific as well, both playing up to a role of either pretty boy, femme fatale, or rookie.

On to some clips.

Like I said, the show doesn't feel like a typical hour long about cars. The two best car games on any game system are Gran Turismo and Burnout. The GT series is a virtual museum of dream cars and real world physics. The cars drive like they do in real life, and you can geek out for hours customizing the gear ratios, suspension, and engines for top performance. You spend equal time equipping as you do driving, and you have to learn to drive like pro racers do, taking the perfect line through corners, downshifting vs. braking, and worrying about drag.

Burnout is a video game version of the car chase from Blues Brothers. Recklessness is encouraged. You get boosts for driving on the wrong side of the road, sending opponents into incoming traffic, all in densely populated areas. It's the game for the road rager inside all of us. Plus there is a bonus game where you get points for creating the most monetarily damaging crash.

Top gear is the TV version of the Burnout with the knowledge of the real physics of GT.

First. A clip that answers how to plan the perfect getaway in a parking garage.

jump or watch below.


Next Clarkson gets a test drive with the most expensive car ever made, the Bugatti Veyron.

jump



Teaching the staff of Gray Dawn how to drive like those damn teenagers.

We want our liscences back!



While driving the Ferrari enzo, one wonders, which one's pink. They really have fun with this one. Ps. One more reason why I love this show and brit TV. The music. They actually pull out a track of My Bloody Valentine's Loveless for this one.



Because it's the only way my generation would ever consider playing Polo.

GOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAALLLLLL!



Sadly the google link to the full episode of their recent winter olympics was taken down. It featured a biathalon with an Audi vs Volvo suvs, a test of cold temp endurance with a human vs. a car, an ice hockey game, and the ice driving. Just one of the best hours of TV I have ever watched (three times)

Here's the finale.

3, 2, make rocket go now.




Enjoy.

Dave

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