By TPerl
[Author's note: I wanted to wait to post this to avoid blog overload, but I didn't expect Bones to keep cranking 'em out as he has been. So please read the other recent posts as well - I don't want to be accused of "blog-blocking"]
Does A-Rod deserved to get booed right now? I think you'd be crazy not to say yes, especially after that series against the Angels.
But then there's this other question/request going around - shouldn't the fans NOT boo A-Rod, but rather give him their support and encouragement to hopefully help him out of this horrific season-long slump? Obviously, booing him is not going to help matters, and may actually make things worse. Even Brian Cashman has been critical of the fans for such behavior. Let's prop him up rather than tear him down.
Is this what things have come to now? Now it's the fucking FANS' fault A-Rod sucks?
Now the fans are supposed to worry about the self esteem of a guy who can get more houses, cars, and road trip blow-jobs than everyone on the Mets combined (well, except maybe Lo Duca)?
I find it amazing how much we coddle the athletes of today. At least other celebrities have the "stalk-a-razzi" following their every move, fashion, and drunken anti-Semitic diatribe.
But the athletes? Oh - don't boo him. It'll hurt his feelings and he won't be able to concentrate.
This ain't fucking Little League. And this team ain't the Devil Rays. This is the New York Fucking Yankees. And when you come here, you'd better be able to handle EVERYTHING: Fans, media, rush hour traffic, terrorists, runners in scoring position. But all that is just warm-up for the biggest pressure-cooker of them all - October. It's what this team is all about. And if you can't handle everything else, how can you handle the playoffs?
["You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse? You cocksucker? You can't take this - How do expect to take the abuse you get on a sit?" - Alec Baldwin as Blake in Glengarry Glen Ross]
Derek Jeter - A true caption ever since his Opening Day home run in 1996. Booed by Fans? You bet - he was mired in a slump for the first half of the 2004 season, and the fans got on him, despite all his former success. So you know what he did? He went on a ridiculous tear in the second half and ended up hitting just under .300. His postseason batting average is over .300 by the way.
Tino Martinez - took over first base after the retirement of Donnie Baseball, who was perhaps the most beloved fan favorite at The Stadium since Thurman Munson. Got booed mercilessly for every ground out and strikeout for the entire month of April 1996. Then? Then he went on to became "Tino". He did have a rocky playoff start with the Yanks in 96, sharing time with Cecil Fielder. But every Yankee fan remembers his grand slam in 1998 against the Padres that broke open a 5-5 tie in Game 1 - hit into the upper deck in right, followed by the shower of beer cups being thrown in the air as the camera fortunately lingered on the crowd after the ball landed.
Even Jason Giambi had a similar fan experience to Tino, before breaking out of it officially with his walk-off gland slam in the rain against the Twins in extra innings. He's still no Tino, mind you - but I digress.
Even Mo? Well, yes, since even the invincible Mariano Rivera has been booed a few times in the past couple of seasons, especially during one bad stretch where he blew a few saves in the span of a week. His postseason resume speaks for itself.
The point is that the boo-birds HAVE to boo the players, partly since the players can't boo themselves. But basically, we boo because we give a shit, and any intelligent player realizes that. In other cities, maybe they don't do it that way - but in New York we tell it like it is. In a sense, we are going through the bad times along with the players so that the players who can survive it are that much better prepared for the October pressure, and the fan-to-player bond can grow even stronger in the postseason, where our jeers can turn to cheers and we become a true 26th man. We'll quickly forgive a mediocre season for a clutch playoff performance any year.
Then there are the others who couldn't hack it in pinstripes, despite being successful before (and even after) their brief stints with the Yankees: Kenny Rogers, Jose Contreras, Jeff Weaver, Terry Mulholland, Hideki Irabu, Kevin Brown. We boo-ed their sorry asses right out of town and never looked back.
Finally, it's not as if we were booing A-Rod when he got here. And when he comes up to bat, we're still cheering him on to finally get that big hit. But when he strikes out AGAIN with that man on third and less than 2 out, or pops up when he could've at least moved the runner - if you don't boo then, then you're just not paying attention.
And anyone who thinks we should stop should get their head out of A-Rod's ass.
October is one month away - and we, the true fans, still have a job to do.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
The Case Against Billy Joel
There is nothing wrong with Billy Joel. In fact, there are many things to like if not love about the guy. For one thing, he looks a little like an elfin dude with Down Syndrome or someone with an eye-bulging pituitary disorder -- and he still marries beautiful women.
But when I was asked recently about the relative merits of his music, it was difficult for me to answer right away.
As a 6-year-old growing up in suburban New Jersey, there was no doubt he was the beginning and end of my musical tastes. The first 8-track tape I owned was “Glass Houses,” and I wore the thing out to the point where it wouldn’t even play.
When I took piano lessons at age 9, one of the first real songs I learned (after “Bone Sweet Bone”) was “Piano Man.” His songs were piano-friendly, of course. And not all that difficult to play.
And looking back, the man has written more than a few undeniably great songs. “Piano Man,” “New York State of Mind,” and “Honesty” are standards -- suitable to be covered by world-renown pop orchestras or doomed to accompanying elevator passengers. It’s hard to resist the charms of “Miami 2017,” “Captain Jack,” “Scenes From an Italian Restaurant,” "Angry Young Man," “Vienna,” “Goodnight Saigon,” and “Only the Good Die Young.”
But here’s the thing. As I grew up, I began to turn to music more and more for something beyond a nice melody or a cute lyric. Which is why my musical touchstone became the far more formidable and enduring Bruce Springsteen.
Billy Joel is a great songwriter, but his songs don’t exactly live beyond the four minutes it takes to hear them. Perhaps the exceptions are “New York State of Mind” and “Goodnight Saigon,” which stir both nostalgia and melancholy. They can be both meditative and rousing.
But if 1,000 Billy Joels toiled on 1,000 typewriters for 1,000 years, they couldn’t write anything approaching the agonizing emotion of Springsteen’s “Backstreets.”
I listen to music for all kinds of reasons, and there is a place for them all. Music can accompany you on long car rides, it can pump you up for a run around the park or a big game, and it can play in the background to help you study organic chemistry. It can also provide emotional sustenance and help teach you more about the human condition.
What do you really get from “Big Shot”? It’s a third hand knock-off of Elton John’s “The Bitch is Back” which is itself a knock-off of countless Rolling Stones tunes, including “Bitch.”
And how many Billy Joel songs even rock? He’s in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (a fatally flawed institution, to be sure), and so much of his music owes more to Tin Pan Alley, The Brill Building, Broadway and Latin flavoring than “Satisfaction” or “Like a Rolling Stone.”
Billy Joel is to “You Were the One” and “Don’t Ask Me Why” as Paul McCartney is to “Michelle” and “Silly Love Songs.”
And how about “Uptown Girl”? It was once (a long, long time ago) maybe a pleasing update of 1950s “Leader of the Pack”/Frankie-Valli-style pop. Now it is a whiny scourge of soured sentiment, punctuated by a real-life busted marriage.
Maybe I can be accused of unfairly picking on “Uptown Girl.” I mean, Joel has written dozens of songs on about a dozen albums. But those albums aren’t exactly deep with wall-to-wall quality. I like “All for Leyna,” “Close to the Borderline,” "Leave a Tender Moment Alone," “You May Be Right,” “Stilleto,” “The Great Suburban Showdown,” "It's Just a Fantasy," and “Sleeping With The Television On.” But these songs are fluff and filler compared to a guy like Springsteen who holds back more than he ever puts on his painstakingly constructed albums. Aside from some lamentable offerings on his first two albums, the "Dancing in the Dark" video, the mistake of not combining the best of “Human Touch” and “Lucky Town” into one disc, a bit of “The Ghost of Tom Joad” and some of “Devils and Dust,” Springsteen’s core discography doesn’t leave you wondering if he just emptied the vault to complete the project.
And speaking of broken marriages, the bust-up of Springsteen’s marriage produced every song on “Tunnel of Love,” including the downright frightening sentiments of “Brilliant Disguise,” in which a man sings:
And then there’s “Stolen Car,” in which Bruce imagines a married man so tortured by regret and devoid of an identity, he drives along in a stolen car, hoping to get caught. But he never does, underscoring how hopelessly alone and ghostly insignificant he is.
In comparison, Billy Joel offers us these strained metaphors:
“My Life"? It's the theme song to the Tom Hanks-in-drag sitcom “Bosom Buddies,” sure. But, when considered along with “Movin’ Out (Anthony’s Song)", still nothing more than some effete bits of domestic rebellion. Not exactly The Animals’ “It’s My Life,” covered in ferocious fashion by Springsteen during the 70’s in a way you can actually hear the bad blood between a father and son. And nothing like the frayed-nerve yearning for freedom expressed in his own “Adam Raised a Cain” or “Independence Day.”
OK, OK. This is the flimsiest strawman argument ever. I mean, comparing Billy Joel to Bruce Springsteen is absurd. Bruce is an icon. He's a heavyweight. He belongs in the same discussion as The Who and The Ramones and The Band. He followed all those guys and Dylan and Johnny Cash and Chuck Berry, and he saved rock music when it was in dark peril, bringing it back to its roots and taking it to ballsy new heights.
Billy Joel stands perhaps a step or two higher than Jon Bon Jovi and many steps below his heroes, The Beatles and Ray Charles. The obvious comparison to Billy is Elton. But I give Elton the edge because Taupin's lyrics lend him the absurdity of pretension Joel can't afford as a supposedly earnest singer-songwriter. And I'd say no Joel song has ever affected me the same way as "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters," or "Amoreena." Or "Candle in the Wind" did before it abdicated Marilyn's myth to Diana's.
In Billy’s defense, he puts on a damn fine live show. He works hard, sweats, plays to the back seats and invests himself in his vocals. But for the most part, those vocals aren’t worth the investment.
I suppose he manages to evince some of the emotion culled from his romantic escapades and the demons who provoke his drinking and occasionally prod him to steer his cars into various Long Island trees.
But when his outlet for such emotions is “I Go To Extremes,” I think he’s missing the boat. And mostly, he just lowers his voice into that Ray Charles faux-soul drawl. It’s more of a performance -- like putting on a costume for two hours. Bruce, on the other hand, sings in his own distinctive voice and doesn’t try to sound like he’s black, even when covering something like Gary “U.S.” Bonds’ “Quarter to Three.”
A Springsteen concert is part confessional, part political rally, part barroom bash, part church testimonial. Billy’s concerts serve as a jukebox greatest hits parade or karaoke sing-along.
When it comes to social commentary, Billy belts out “Allentown,” “Goodnight Saigon,” or “Downeaster Alexa.”
These are good songs. Some of his best. But do they really stack up to Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.,” “Atlantic City,” "The River," “Youngstown,” or “My City of Ruins”?
After 9/11, both Bruce and Billy played separate nationally televised all-star charity concerts. These shows served to unite and heal the country as much as to raise funds for the victims’ families. Bruce previewed the desperate fountain of inspiration that would eventually yield “The Rising” with a solemn, rousing rendition of “My City of Ruins.” Originally written for Asbury Park, it was exactly what the country needed to hear in a way we hardly even knew just days after the world changed forever.
In comparison, Billy sang his chestnut “Miami 2017: Seen the Lights Go Out on Broadway,” which he told the crowd he wrote as a bit of science fiction in the 1970s during the city’s fiscal crises. “I never thought it would come true,” he said.
And it was fitting, and moving, but still somewhat empty. I mean, what value could be gained from singing about some dystopic vision of the city that never came (and never will come) to be? The devastation he sings about in “Miami 2017” (burning churches in Harlem, aircraft carriers giving The Yankees a lift, the mafia moving to Mexico) was outlandish and self-imposed. I guess we can’t really hold it against Joel (other than for not writing anything relevant for over 15 years), but at least Springsteen had the fortune to have the perfect song all ready to re-dedicate to a more needy cause.
And that’s why I need to listen to Springsteen. Flying to Thailand after living in New York before and after 9/11, I needed “The Rising” to help me stay connected. To remind me what was lost that day. And what was gained.
A fringe but solid band like The Black Crowes might not delve into the same kind of emotional terrain on a regular basis. But they have a soulful white-southern-boy authenticity that allows you to at least imagine they are a younger Rolling Stones/ Faces/ Allman Brothers Band fusion. When they play, you feel like they mean every note.
U2 can offer the same kind of nourishment. They played a concert at Madison Square Garden in October 2001, and songs like “Elevation,” “Beautiful Day,” “Until the End of the World,” and “Sunday, Bloody Sunday,” took on a new resonance. These are stirring, tingling, occasionally angry, yet always hopeful songs. They demand and reward faith.
Billy Joel? He’s the guy you call on when we’re all in the mood for a melody.
But when I was asked recently about the relative merits of his music, it was difficult for me to answer right away.
As a 6-year-old growing up in suburban New Jersey, there was no doubt he was the beginning and end of my musical tastes. The first 8-track tape I owned was “Glass Houses,” and I wore the thing out to the point where it wouldn’t even play.
When I took piano lessons at age 9, one of the first real songs I learned (after “Bone Sweet Bone”) was “Piano Man.” His songs were piano-friendly, of course. And not all that difficult to play.
And looking back, the man has written more than a few undeniably great songs. “Piano Man,” “New York State of Mind,” and “Honesty” are standards -- suitable to be covered by world-renown pop orchestras or doomed to accompanying elevator passengers. It’s hard to resist the charms of “Miami 2017,” “Captain Jack,” “Scenes From an Italian Restaurant,” "Angry Young Man," “Vienna,” “Goodnight Saigon,” and “Only the Good Die Young.”
But here’s the thing. As I grew up, I began to turn to music more and more for something beyond a nice melody or a cute lyric. Which is why my musical touchstone became the far more formidable and enduring Bruce Springsteen.
Billy Joel is a great songwriter, but his songs don’t exactly live beyond the four minutes it takes to hear them. Perhaps the exceptions are “New York State of Mind” and “Goodnight Saigon,” which stir both nostalgia and melancholy. They can be both meditative and rousing.
But if 1,000 Billy Joels toiled on 1,000 typewriters for 1,000 years, they couldn’t write anything approaching the agonizing emotion of Springsteen’s “Backstreets.”
I listen to music for all kinds of reasons, and there is a place for them all. Music can accompany you on long car rides, it can pump you up for a run around the park or a big game, and it can play in the background to help you study organic chemistry. It can also provide emotional sustenance and help teach you more about the human condition.
What do you really get from “Big Shot”? It’s a third hand knock-off of Elton John’s “The Bitch is Back” which is itself a knock-off of countless Rolling Stones tunes, including “Bitch.”
And how many Billy Joel songs even rock? He’s in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (a fatally flawed institution, to be sure), and so much of his music owes more to Tin Pan Alley, The Brill Building, Broadway and Latin flavoring than “Satisfaction” or “Like a Rolling Stone.”
Billy Joel is to “You Were the One” and “Don’t Ask Me Why” as Paul McCartney is to “Michelle” and “Silly Love Songs.”
And how about “Uptown Girl”? It was once (a long, long time ago) maybe a pleasing update of 1950s “Leader of the Pack”/Frankie-Valli-style pop. Now it is a whiny scourge of soured sentiment, punctuated by a real-life busted marriage.
Maybe I can be accused of unfairly picking on “Uptown Girl.” I mean, Joel has written dozens of songs on about a dozen albums. But those albums aren’t exactly deep with wall-to-wall quality. I like “All for Leyna,” “Close to the Borderline,” "Leave a Tender Moment Alone," “You May Be Right,” “Stilleto,” “The Great Suburban Showdown,” "It's Just a Fantasy," and “Sleeping With The Television On.” But these songs are fluff and filler compared to a guy like Springsteen who holds back more than he ever puts on his painstakingly constructed albums. Aside from some lamentable offerings on his first two albums, the "Dancing in the Dark" video, the mistake of not combining the best of “Human Touch” and “Lucky Town” into one disc, a bit of “The Ghost of Tom Joad” and some of “Devils and Dust,” Springsteen’s core discography doesn’t leave you wondering if he just emptied the vault to complete the project.
And speaking of broken marriages, the bust-up of Springsteen’s marriage produced every song on “Tunnel of Love,” including the downright frightening sentiments of “Brilliant Disguise,” in which a man sings:
Tonight our bed is cold
I’m lost in the darkness of our love
God have mercy on the man
Who doubts what he’s sure of.”
And then there’s “Stolen Car,” in which Bruce imagines a married man so tortured by regret and devoid of an identity, he drives along in a stolen car, hoping to get caught. But he never does, underscoring how hopelessly alone and ghostly insignificant he is.
In comparison, Billy Joel offers us these strained metaphors:
“Well we all have a faceWhat exactly are these leather faces? Is "The Stranger" some S&M freak?
That we hide away forever
And we take them out and
Show ourselves when everyone has gone
Some are satin some are steel
Some are silk and some are leather
They're the faces of the stranger
But we love to try them on.”
“My Life"? It's the theme song to the Tom Hanks-in-drag sitcom “Bosom Buddies,” sure. But, when considered along with “Movin’ Out (Anthony’s Song)", still nothing more than some effete bits of domestic rebellion. Not exactly The Animals’ “It’s My Life,” covered in ferocious fashion by Springsteen during the 70’s in a way you can actually hear the bad blood between a father and son. And nothing like the frayed-nerve yearning for freedom expressed in his own “Adam Raised a Cain” or “Independence Day.”
OK, OK. This is the flimsiest strawman argument ever. I mean, comparing Billy Joel to Bruce Springsteen is absurd. Bruce is an icon. He's a heavyweight. He belongs in the same discussion as The Who and The Ramones and The Band. He followed all those guys and Dylan and Johnny Cash and Chuck Berry, and he saved rock music when it was in dark peril, bringing it back to its roots and taking it to ballsy new heights.
Billy Joel stands perhaps a step or two higher than Jon Bon Jovi and many steps below his heroes, The Beatles and Ray Charles. The obvious comparison to Billy is Elton. But I give Elton the edge because Taupin's lyrics lend him the absurdity of pretension Joel can't afford as a supposedly earnest singer-songwriter. And I'd say no Joel song has ever affected me the same way as "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters," or "Amoreena." Or "Candle in the Wind" did before it abdicated Marilyn's myth to Diana's.
In Billy’s defense, he puts on a damn fine live show. He works hard, sweats, plays to the back seats and invests himself in his vocals. But for the most part, those vocals aren’t worth the investment.
I suppose he manages to evince some of the emotion culled from his romantic escapades and the demons who provoke his drinking and occasionally prod him to steer his cars into various Long Island trees.
But when his outlet for such emotions is “I Go To Extremes,” I think he’s missing the boat. And mostly, he just lowers his voice into that Ray Charles faux-soul drawl. It’s more of a performance -- like putting on a costume for two hours. Bruce, on the other hand, sings in his own distinctive voice and doesn’t try to sound like he’s black, even when covering something like Gary “U.S.” Bonds’ “Quarter to Three.”
A Springsteen concert is part confessional, part political rally, part barroom bash, part church testimonial. Billy’s concerts serve as a jukebox greatest hits parade or karaoke sing-along.
When it comes to social commentary, Billy belts out “Allentown,” “Goodnight Saigon,” or “Downeaster Alexa.”
These are good songs. Some of his best. But do they really stack up to Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.,” “Atlantic City,” "The River," “Youngstown,” or “My City of Ruins”?
After 9/11, both Bruce and Billy played separate nationally televised all-star charity concerts. These shows served to unite and heal the country as much as to raise funds for the victims’ families. Bruce previewed the desperate fountain of inspiration that would eventually yield “The Rising” with a solemn, rousing rendition of “My City of Ruins.” Originally written for Asbury Park, it was exactly what the country needed to hear in a way we hardly even knew just days after the world changed forever.
In comparison, Billy sang his chestnut “Miami 2017: Seen the Lights Go Out on Broadway,” which he told the crowd he wrote as a bit of science fiction in the 1970s during the city’s fiscal crises. “I never thought it would come true,” he said.
And it was fitting, and moving, but still somewhat empty. I mean, what value could be gained from singing about some dystopic vision of the city that never came (and never will come) to be? The devastation he sings about in “Miami 2017” (burning churches in Harlem, aircraft carriers giving The Yankees a lift, the mafia moving to Mexico) was outlandish and self-imposed. I guess we can’t really hold it against Joel (other than for not writing anything relevant for over 15 years), but at least Springsteen had the fortune to have the perfect song all ready to re-dedicate to a more needy cause.
And that’s why I need to listen to Springsteen. Flying to Thailand after living in New York before and after 9/11, I needed “The Rising” to help me stay connected. To remind me what was lost that day. And what was gained.
A fringe but solid band like The Black Crowes might not delve into the same kind of emotional terrain on a regular basis. But they have a soulful white-southern-boy authenticity that allows you to at least imagine they are a younger Rolling Stones/ Faces/ Allman Brothers Band fusion. When they play, you feel like they mean every note.
U2 can offer the same kind of nourishment. They played a concert at Madison Square Garden in October 2001, and songs like “Elevation,” “Beautiful Day,” “Until the End of the World,” and “Sunday, Bloody Sunday,” took on a new resonance. These are stirring, tingling, occasionally angry, yet always hopeful songs. They demand and reward faith.
Billy Joel? He’s the guy you call on when we’re all in the mood for a melody.
Monday, August 28, 2006
9/11 Redux
This week's column echoes an earlier blog exploring 9/11 conspiracy theorists. Which I thought were a fringe group when I wrote it.
But according to a new poll, 36 percent of Americans believe federal government officials may have assisted in the 9/11 attacks or intentionally failed to prevent them so the United States could go to war in the Middle East.
In other words, more than one-third of this country is completely, hopelessly, O.J.-jury nuts.
But according to a new poll, 36 percent of Americans believe federal government officials may have assisted in the 9/11 attacks or intentionally failed to prevent them so the United States could go to war in the Middle East.
In other words, more than one-third of this country is completely, hopelessly, O.J.-jury nuts.
Friday, August 25, 2006
First of Many Pointless Rants
By TPerl
Has anyone been to an airport since the new rules went into effect? I just flew from Newark to Houston for work, and my (severely biased) grades for the airports are: Newark: D, Houston: A-
I decided rather than risk losing my saline solution and other assorted salves, balms, and ointments (actually, I think balms are permitted), I would pack everything in a single bag and check it. That was a big mistake. Got to Newark about 5:15 a.m. on Thursday for a 6:55 a.m. flight. First problem: If you're checking a bag at Continental there's only ONE line for everyone (except First Class). And there's a lot of fucking people at the airport at 5:15 a.m.! At about 5:55 I finally got my boarding pass and a baggage sticker on my bag. 40 minutes gone - at least I had my iPod.
Now problem #2: You'd think they would just take your bag and drop it behind them on that conveyor belt, right? No - they make you stand on ANOTHER line with your "checked" bag so that you can just leave it in front a big scanner-type machine which will (eventually) scan the contents at some point after you walk away. No identity check, no bar code swipe -- just put your bag down and go. What the fuck did I need to wait on a line for! Ten minutes wasted to carry a bag 10 feet.
6:10 a.m.: Now I have to go through security, which thankfully didn't seem to have a long line. But here's problem #3: It starts out as one line (fine, now I'm used to it), but then it inexplicably SPLITS into two lines toward the end (So what, you ask?). Well it turns out that one way takes you a short 15 feet or so to the last security person you'll have to show your ID and boarding pass to before you pick a metal detector line and start taking off your shoes. That seemed to be about a 2 minute wait. Then there's the other way, which of course is where I ended up -- and for reasons beyond comprehension, this line goes PAST that last security person until you hit a wall about 20 feet later, then turns around and takes you back toward the metal detectors again. It was about five times as long as the other way and took about 20 minutes!!! I'm convinced these assholes at Newark did it just to fuck with us.
I got to the gate about 6:30, just in time to board.
Oh yeah, Houston Airport? I checked in online before I left. Got to the airport at 11:30 a.m. Dropped my bag off at the "bag drop" (for those who checked in online) and they actually TOOK THE BAG FROM ME. Five minutes. Breezed through security in less than five minutes. Now I had almost two hours before my flight departed. What a huge difference in efficiency. So why the A minus? The minus is because they make everyone enter at Terminal C, yet my flight was leaving out of Terminal E (good thing I had all that time since it was quite a walk). At least I had time to watch the start of the Yanks-Bosox series before boarding -- just long enough to see A-Rod ["The Best (paid) Player in Baseball"] fuck up another opportunity with men on base.
I think I'm done with flying -- it just gets worse and worse. Or I'm moving to Houston. Either way, I guess the terrorists really won after all.
Has anyone been to an airport since the new rules went into effect? I just flew from Newark to Houston for work, and my (severely biased) grades for the airports are: Newark: D, Houston: A-
I decided rather than risk losing my saline solution and other assorted salves, balms, and ointments (actually, I think balms are permitted), I would pack everything in a single bag and check it. That was a big mistake. Got to Newark about 5:15 a.m. on Thursday for a 6:55 a.m. flight. First problem: If you're checking a bag at Continental there's only ONE line for everyone (except First Class). And there's a lot of fucking people at the airport at 5:15 a.m.! At about 5:55 I finally got my boarding pass and a baggage sticker on my bag. 40 minutes gone - at least I had my iPod.
Now problem #2: You'd think they would just take your bag and drop it behind them on that conveyor belt, right? No - they make you stand on ANOTHER line with your "checked" bag so that you can just leave it in front a big scanner-type machine which will (eventually) scan the contents at some point after you walk away. No identity check, no bar code swipe -- just put your bag down and go. What the fuck did I need to wait on a line for! Ten minutes wasted to carry a bag 10 feet.
6:10 a.m.: Now I have to go through security, which thankfully didn't seem to have a long line. But here's problem #3: It starts out as one line (fine, now I'm used to it), but then it inexplicably SPLITS into two lines toward the end (So what, you ask?). Well it turns out that one way takes you a short 15 feet or so to the last security person you'll have to show your ID and boarding pass to before you pick a metal detector line and start taking off your shoes. That seemed to be about a 2 minute wait. Then there's the other way, which of course is where I ended up -- and for reasons beyond comprehension, this line goes PAST that last security person until you hit a wall about 20 feet later, then turns around and takes you back toward the metal detectors again. It was about five times as long as the other way and took about 20 minutes!!! I'm convinced these assholes at Newark did it just to fuck with us.
I got to the gate about 6:30, just in time to board.
Oh yeah, Houston Airport? I checked in online before I left. Got to the airport at 11:30 a.m. Dropped my bag off at the "bag drop" (for those who checked in online) and they actually TOOK THE BAG FROM ME. Five minutes. Breezed through security in less than five minutes. Now I had almost two hours before my flight departed. What a huge difference in efficiency. So why the A minus? The minus is because they make everyone enter at Terminal C, yet my flight was leaving out of Terminal E (good thing I had all that time since it was quite a walk). At least I had time to watch the start of the Yanks-Bosox series before boarding -- just long enough to see A-Rod ["The Best (paid) Player in Baseball"] fuck up another opportunity with men on base.
I think I'm done with flying -- it just gets worse and worse. Or I'm moving to Houston. Either way, I guess the terrorists really won after all.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Blogging For Dummies
Anyone can do it!
And just to prove that fact, I'm delighted to announce T-Perl and Arielle as new Rolling Bones guest bloggers. Because talking to each other through high-tech media makes a lot more sense than, you know, actual human contact.
I'm looking forward to what they have to say. And then to complain about how seldom they post.
And just to prove that fact, I'm delighted to announce T-Perl and Arielle as new Rolling Bones guest bloggers. Because talking to each other through high-tech media makes a lot more sense than, you know, actual human contact.
I'm looking forward to what they have to say. And then to complain about how seldom they post.
White House......The Edge!
On second thought, I take back everything I've ever said about George W. Bush. He rocks.
Monday, August 21, 2006
W is for Witless
Joe Scarborough debates the president's stupidity, complete with some video evidence. I think the key to understanding the question lies in the various components that amount to overall "intelligence." There's reading comprehension, mathematical skill, wit, memory retention, creativity, social skill, spacial relations, abstract thinking, athletic intelligence, logic, extemporaneous thinking and many, many others. Mostly, Bush shows a staggering inability to articulate even simple thoughts.
But what Bush lacks, above all, is intellectual curiosity. (The dude never left the country until he became president). Combine this with his insistence every complex problem has a simple solution, his refusal to hold anyone accountable for obvious mistakes and his apparent easy manipulation by ideologues like Cheney and Rumsfeld. And I don't know if he's stupid, but he sure is dangerous.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
O'Reilly vs. The Devil
In the spirit of Frank Zappa pissing all over CNN's crossfire goons in 1986, here's a clip of Marilyn Manson sparring with Bill O'Reilly. If ever there was a spokesman for "You Can't Judge a Book By Its Cover," it's Manson.
Conservative blowhards will never understand the value of art that shocks and disturbs. They are too busy judging other people and affirming their dogma to learn anything new about the world they inhabit.
You Bet Your Life
Go ahead. Try and write a headline for an off-track betting parlor story without using a gambling pun. I'm pretty sure it can be done, but the folks at the HNT haven't figured it out yet.
Anyway, here's my latest opus, depicting the kind of folks who spend their days making kissy-kissy noises at horses on TVs.
Anyway, here's my latest opus, depicting the kind of folks who spend their days making kissy-kissy noises at horses on TVs.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Recycled Atheism
My most recent column ran yesterday. It might look familiar to fans of this blog (both of you).
But I was surprised by the limited, measured, thoughtful responses I received. Those responses (and my replies) below:
Nice piece in today's paper--a breath of fresh air in a paper too many of whose other columnists indulge in fatuous pieties....hence this bit of fan mail, to counter some of the negative emails I expect you'll be receiving...keep the faith (unfaith?)...Michael Brailove
Thanks for the kind words, Michael. Your email was actually the first and only response I’ve received today. But it’s early…
--Rick
Hey Rick: Right on. Witty, true and also very sad. A great book is ”The Born Again Skeptic’s Guide To The Bible” by Ruth Hurmence Green, first printed in 1979 but still completely relevant. Good luck in this random world. Gerry Hubbard
Thank you for your kind words and book recommendation. Although I can’t imagine there’s much more I need to learn about being skeptical, I believe you can never read enough about anything. Take care.
--Rick
Hello Rick!
A friend of yours, Marisel, asked us to send you an e-mail to introduce you to the Purpose Driven Life Daily Devotional. Click the link below or copy and paste it into your web browser to view the Daily Devotional online You can also sign up for the Daily Devotional from this link.
http://www.purposedrivenlife.com/devarchive.aspx?ARCHIVEID=71
Your friend had the following message for you:
Hey there - I read your article in the paper today and it depressed me that you don't believe in God because of random acts of senseless violence that "God allows" to happen. Just thought I'd tell you that God doesn't allow bad to happen. (e.g. why does a barber allow people to not get a haircut? is it perhaps because they didn't make the step and GO to him???)
God created humans with free will. Unfortunately humans, make bad choices and don't "allow" themselves to believe in God. Despite the fact that all the while, God is crying out to them - choose me! Nevertheless, whatever does happen, God manages to work through it for good. EVERYTHING IN THIS WORLD HAPPENS FOR THE GOOD OF GOD'S PURPOSE. so I read this and thought of you. I hope that one day, you decide to choose God and to believe in HIm. It is easy to be mad at him if you don't know the truth, but God will show you the truth, and the truth will set you free. Just read it in his word (below).
I don't normally do this sort of thing, e-mail a stranger and I don't consider myself a freak, but I suppose you can label me a freak if it means I love the Lord and accept Christ as my personal savior. But i guess you can believe whatever you like. I am just doing my job as God's messenger. so - read on and be inspired.. (or freaked out, whatever). :> God Bless..
p.s. you're wrong about the buddhists - they are petrified of death because they are soooooo superstitious.. i should know my husband's family are all buddhists and will not even mention the word for fear that it will bring bad luck!!!!! silly.. I will say this though - you are right in that death is not something to fear-- if you are saved. any questions, feel free to email me back.. or not.. it's ok. no pressure.
------------------------------------------
Dear Rick,
I would like to start off by saying that I am indeed a Christian, but please do not assume I am writing this to convert you or change your mind. I just thought that maybe I could provide you with a different perspective.
I just finished reading your article "In a world full of doubt and pain, everyone finds his own truth" from Wednesday's (August 9) paper. I found the article to be very well written in that it was clear and, well, very blunt. As I read it, I remembered when I had thought the very same way not long ago. The line that really struck me the most was this - "So, I figure a God who lets bad things happen to good people is a God not worth worshipping."
At reading this, I immediatly consulted a book I have called "Letters from a Skeptic" by Dr. Gregory A. Boyd. It is a collection of letters from Dr. Boyd (a professor of theology) and his unbelieving father, Edward Boyd. The father writes to his son asking many common questions about God, Jesus, and other aspects of Christian theology. The elder Boyd asks his son this, "If God created this world and cares about it, why is there so damn much suffering in it? (pg. 21)" It seems that you have posed a very similar question.
I am sure you enjoy living in a nation where we are given many freedoms that other countries do not have. America is a pretty decent place to call home. To paraphrase Dr. Boyd, the answer can be summed up in one word; freedom. Dr. Boyd makes the point to his father that God created mankind and gave us free will. This seems to be true seeing that we make decisions each and every day of our lives. We choose what shoes to wear, what to eat for lunch, and which route we will take to work. Personally, I believe this to be true. God gave us the right to choose. He gave us two paths, so to speak. The "right" one, and the "not-so-right" one. I think He makes it clear which is the better way, but does not force you down it. Dr. Boyd writes, "So why doesn't God intervene every time someone is going to misuse his freedom and hurt another person? The answer, I believe, is found in the nature of freedom itself. A freedom which is prevented from being exercised whenever it was going to be misused simply wouldn't be freedom. (pg. 23)" I believe God has given us a freedom that, yes, at times, damages or destroys other people. But without this freedom, we would all just be robots.. right?
I hope you find this in the least bit interesting and take it into consideration. Thank you for your time. -NC
Thank you for writing, NC. One of the many things I would never do is judge someone else for what they choose to have faith in. Especially if that someone has given the matter some deep thought, as you clearly have.
I don't fault you one second for reaching out to share your views and make a pitch (in the kindest sense) for your beliefs. I wrote a column published in a newspaper, which certainly would generate -- if not outright ask -- for responses.
But allow me one reply of my own before we agree to travel down our own paths.
I agree with Dr. Boyd when he writes, "A freedom which is prevented from being exercised whenever it was going to be misused simply wouldn't be freedom." But I don't understand how the choices we make in life have anything to do with death dealt seemingly at random. Natural disasters and illness kill more people each year than people who kill people. What wrong choice doomed them?
If someone chooses God, makes every right choice, gives selflessly to others and lives a completely pious and God-filled life...but his entire family still dies in a hurricane...is his continued devotion to God part of God's master plan? Or is it just the easiest, seemingly sanest way to rationalize the tragedy when he has nothing else to live for?
Everyone certainly needs to make these decisions themselves. And thankfully, I have never been tested to any such extreme. I wouldn't dare presume how I might behave under those circumstances. But I certainly wouldn't blame God. And I don't imagine I'd find much comfort in him, either.
Thanks again for writing. I wish you well.
--Rick
But I was surprised by the limited, measured, thoughtful responses I received. Those responses (and my replies) below:
Nice piece in today's paper--a breath of fresh air in a paper too many of whose other columnists indulge in fatuous pieties....hence this bit of fan mail, to counter some of the negative emails I expect you'll be receiving...keep the faith (unfaith?)...Michael Brailove
Thanks for the kind words, Michael. Your email was actually the first and only response I’ve received today. But it’s early…
--Rick
Hey Rick: Right on. Witty, true and also very sad. A great book is ”The Born Again Skeptic’s Guide To The Bible” by Ruth Hurmence Green, first printed in 1979 but still completely relevant. Good luck in this random world. Gerry Hubbard
Thank you for your kind words and book recommendation. Although I can’t imagine there’s much more I need to learn about being skeptical, I believe you can never read enough about anything. Take care.
--Rick
Hello Rick!
A friend of yours, Marisel, asked us to send you an e-mail to introduce you to the Purpose Driven Life Daily Devotional. Click the link below or copy and paste it into your web browser to view the Daily Devotional online You can also sign up for the Daily Devotional from this link.
http://www.purposedrivenlife.com/devarchive.aspx?ARCHIVEID=71
Your friend had the following message for you:
Hey there - I read your article in the paper today and it depressed me that you don't believe in God because of random acts of senseless violence that "God allows" to happen. Just thought I'd tell you that God doesn't allow bad to happen. (e.g. why does a barber allow people to not get a haircut? is it perhaps because they didn't make the step and GO to him???)
God created humans with free will. Unfortunately humans, make bad choices and don't "allow" themselves to believe in God. Despite the fact that all the while, God is crying out to them - choose me! Nevertheless, whatever does happen, God manages to work through it for good. EVERYTHING IN THIS WORLD HAPPENS FOR THE GOOD OF GOD'S PURPOSE. so I read this and thought of you. I hope that one day, you decide to choose God and to believe in HIm. It is easy to be mad at him if you don't know the truth, but God will show you the truth, and the truth will set you free. Just read it in his word (below).
I don't normally do this sort of thing, e-mail a stranger and I don't consider myself a freak, but I suppose you can label me a freak if it means I love the Lord and accept Christ as my personal savior. But i guess you can believe whatever you like. I am just doing my job as God's messenger. so - read on and be inspired.. (or freaked out, whatever). :> God Bless..
p.s. you're wrong about the buddhists - they are petrified of death because they are soooooo superstitious.. i should know my husband's family are all buddhists and will not even mention the word for fear that it will bring bad luck!!!!! silly.. I will say this though - you are right in that death is not something to fear-- if you are saved. any questions, feel free to email me back.. or not.. it's ok. no pressure.
------------------------------------------
Dear Rick,
I would like to start off by saying that I am indeed a Christian, but please do not assume I am writing this to convert you or change your mind. I just thought that maybe I could provide you with a different perspective.
I just finished reading your article "In a world full of doubt and pain, everyone finds his own truth" from Wednesday's (August 9) paper. I found the article to be very well written in that it was clear and, well, very blunt. As I read it, I remembered when I had thought the very same way not long ago. The line that really struck me the most was this - "So, I figure a God who lets bad things happen to good people is a God not worth worshipping."
At reading this, I immediatly consulted a book I have called "Letters from a Skeptic" by Dr. Gregory A. Boyd. It is a collection of letters from Dr. Boyd (a professor of theology) and his unbelieving father, Edward Boyd. The father writes to his son asking many common questions about God, Jesus, and other aspects of Christian theology. The elder Boyd asks his son this, "If God created this world and cares about it, why is there so damn much suffering in it? (pg. 21)" It seems that you have posed a very similar question.
I am sure you enjoy living in a nation where we are given many freedoms that other countries do not have. America is a pretty decent place to call home. To paraphrase Dr. Boyd, the answer can be summed up in one word; freedom. Dr. Boyd makes the point to his father that God created mankind and gave us free will. This seems to be true seeing that we make decisions each and every day of our lives. We choose what shoes to wear, what to eat for lunch, and which route we will take to work. Personally, I believe this to be true. God gave us the right to choose. He gave us two paths, so to speak. The "right" one, and the "not-so-right" one. I think He makes it clear which is the better way, but does not force you down it. Dr. Boyd writes, "So why doesn't God intervene every time someone is going to misuse his freedom and hurt another person? The answer, I believe, is found in the nature of freedom itself. A freedom which is prevented from being exercised whenever it was going to be misused simply wouldn't be freedom. (pg. 23)" I believe God has given us a freedom that, yes, at times, damages or destroys other people. But without this freedom, we would all just be robots.. right?
I hope you find this in the least bit interesting and take it into consideration. Thank you for your time. -NC
Thank you for writing, NC. One of the many things I would never do is judge someone else for what they choose to have faith in. Especially if that someone has given the matter some deep thought, as you clearly have.
I don't fault you one second for reaching out to share your views and make a pitch (in the kindest sense) for your beliefs. I wrote a column published in a newspaper, which certainly would generate -- if not outright ask -- for responses.
But allow me one reply of my own before we agree to travel down our own paths.
I agree with Dr. Boyd when he writes, "A freedom which is prevented from being exercised whenever it was going to be misused simply wouldn't be freedom." But I don't understand how the choices we make in life have anything to do with death dealt seemingly at random. Natural disasters and illness kill more people each year than people who kill people. What wrong choice doomed them?
If someone chooses God, makes every right choice, gives selflessly to others and lives a completely pious and God-filled life...but his entire family still dies in a hurricane...is his continued devotion to God part of God's master plan? Or is it just the easiest, seemingly sanest way to rationalize the tragedy when he has nothing else to live for?
Everyone certainly needs to make these decisions themselves. And thankfully, I have never been tested to any such extreme. I wouldn't dare presume how I might behave under those circumstances. But I certainly wouldn't blame God. And I don't imagine I'd find much comfort in him, either.
Thanks again for writing. I wish you well.
--Rick
Boom Goes the Nostalgia
Will someone please stop Newsweek's shameless pandering to Baby Boomers? This week's issue -- in a seemingly endless series of reminiscences from The Greatest Generation Ever to Ditch Their Ideals and Buy Gas Guzzling Cars and Designer Coffee -- brings us Mark Starr's pointless mush about all the sports he watched on TV growing up. Why does this matter? He's a Boomer, of course! Yay Boomers!
Worse than the so-called news weeklies' bi-monthly investigations into something Jesus, these self-important traipses through recent history are so wistful, you can't help end up covered in wists.
Now when my generation turns 60, there won't be much need to slap ourselves on the back for having lived in the most tumultuous of times. We will all simply sit around our government-issued two-way television sets and exchange self-assured glances relaying how proud we are of President Jenna Bush.
Worse than the so-called news weeklies' bi-monthly investigations into something Jesus, these self-important traipses through recent history are so wistful, you can't help end up covered in wists.
Now when my generation turns 60, there won't be much need to slap ourselves on the back for having lived in the most tumultuous of times. We will all simply sit around our government-issued two-way television sets and exchange self-assured glances relaying how proud we are of President Jenna Bush.
Matchstick Men
Two kids playing with matches burned down their home and a go-go bar in Woodbridge yesterday. They lived over the bar, not in it.
And Woodbridge Dems pick their likely next mayor. Though he once worked for Jim McGreevey, by most accounts he is a heterosexual American.
And Woodbridge Dems pick their likely next mayor. Though he once worked for Jim McGreevey, by most accounts he is a heterosexual American.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Empty V.
Music Television (a wholly owned subsidiary of Viacom Inc.) turned 25 last week. But sadly, it had died a horrible death long ago.
Having grown up on MTV, I mostly had to cultivate my own taste in music. Looking back, it seems as though most artists and bands I listen to now began recording before 1983 or before MTV launched in 1981. Only a handful of those groups (R.E.M., U2) ever learned to treat video as an art form or anything more than an obligatory three-minute commercial to sell albums and concert tickets. Bruce Springsteen, whose popularity in 1984-85 could only be rivaled by Madonna, Prince and Michael Jackson (between albums at the time) never produced anything more memorable than the horrendously faggy "Dancing in the Dark" video.
That sentence actually offends the term "faggy."
Moving from faggy to nerdy, I remember a friend of mine in college (though not sure who it was) who imagined what he might do with a holo-deck from Star Trek: The Next Generation. On the show, you could program a computer to create a completely convincing, fully immersive and interactive 3-D environment. Want to place yourself in pre-Katrina New Orleans? Or act a part in a Sherlock Holmes story?
My friend thought he'd use the computer to attend unrepeatable classic concerts throughout history. Mozart playing for French royalty. Or Hendrix at Woodstock (perhaps with a good umbrella).
Today, childhood dreams can become a reality with YouTube.
So in the spirit of Bill Simmons' YouTube Hall of Fame and his more recent list of the Best Performances of the Star Spangled Banner at a Sporting Event (need to scroll down toward the very end), here's my list of musical gems I've found.
Hard to believe that only a year ago you'd have to spend a lifetime surfing cable or PBS channels to see this stuff. Or spend a fortune on tape trades and official releases. Fuck MTV. I want my YouTube.
Having grown up on MTV, I mostly had to cultivate my own taste in music. Looking back, it seems as though most artists and bands I listen to now began recording before 1983 or before MTV launched in 1981. Only a handful of those groups (R.E.M., U2) ever learned to treat video as an art form or anything more than an obligatory three-minute commercial to sell albums and concert tickets. Bruce Springsteen, whose popularity in 1984-85 could only be rivaled by Madonna, Prince and Michael Jackson (between albums at the time) never produced anything more memorable than the horrendously faggy "Dancing in the Dark" video.
That sentence actually offends the term "faggy."
Moving from faggy to nerdy, I remember a friend of mine in college (though not sure who it was) who imagined what he might do with a holo-deck from Star Trek: The Next Generation. On the show, you could program a computer to create a completely convincing, fully immersive and interactive 3-D environment. Want to place yourself in pre-Katrina New Orleans? Or act a part in a Sherlock Holmes story?
My friend thought he'd use the computer to attend unrepeatable classic concerts throughout history. Mozart playing for French royalty. Or Hendrix at Woodstock (perhaps with a good umbrella).
Today, childhood dreams can become a reality with YouTube.
So in the spirit of Bill Simmons' YouTube Hall of Fame and his more recent list of the Best Performances of the Star Spangled Banner at a Sporting Event (need to scroll down toward the very end), here's my list of musical gems I've found.
Hard to believe that only a year ago you'd have to spend a lifetime surfing cable or PBS channels to see this stuff. Or spend a fortune on tape trades and official releases. Fuck MTV. I want my YouTube.
- Since I mentioned the almighty Bruce (and my musical taste basically starts and stops with him, all praise be to Bruce), here's a clip from him in his prime belting out "The Promised Land" during the legendary Darkness on the Edge of Town tour in 1978. And just to prove he hasn't lost a fucking thing in the almost 30 years since then, here he is with his Seeger Sessions Band kicking off this year's tour in New Orleans, and giving that city a massive dose of angry redemption. But if you're wondering if he knows how to take a backseat to another icon, here he is with the E. Street Band allowing Chuck Berry to take the reigns. Think Chuck is getting a charge out of a sold out stadium crowd in Cleveland?
- Is there anything more gripping than watching Otis Redding tear into "Satisfaction" during the Stax tour of Europe in 1967? That is, if you can keep your eyes of his huuuuge package.
- You gotta love Ray Charles chatting with Johnny Cash on Johnny's variety show from 1969-71. And he injects some serious soul into Cash's "Ring of Fire."
- The Johnny Cash Show also brings us this duet with Bob Dylan in his Nashville Skyline mode. Which almost beats Cash performing "Dirty Old Egg Sucking Dog" with Ralph The Dog on The Muppet Show.
- But my favorite musical Muppet Show clip is this one, featuring Elton John singing "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" and looking an awful lot like a muppet himself.
- YouTube can send you to see Neil Young play in London in 1976 or the Grateful Dead in Jersey the following year. Or even catch the latest video from internet darlings Arctic Monkeys.
- But gimme the past. Like Coltrane and Miles in 1958. Or Frank Zappa performing "Dinah Moe Hum" somewhere in the 80s.
- Zappa actually provides some of my favorite YouTube clips so far. There's this appearance on a Halloween Letterman show in 1983 or performing the always hysterical "Bobby Brown" in 1978.
- But don't miss Zappa vs. everyone on CNN's Crossfire in 1986, a time when Tipper Gore and her hectoring nannies were campaigning to censor rock music to protect the kiddies. It's a lesson in libertarianism. Twenty years later, we've just about achieved the theocracy Zappa was warning about then. And he gets to mock Bob Novack. Which is always fun.
- There's this tasty bit from a Steely Dan Classic Albums DVD in which you can see the recording of "Peg" and listen to Michael McDonald reminisce about the difficulties of harmonizing with himself.
- And finally, perhaps my favorite clip at the moment is this brief 1959 bit from Ronnie Hawkins, whose band The Hawks would eventually morph into Bob Dylan's first electric touring band, who got booed all over Europe in 1966 while making the most amazing noise ever heard up to that time. The Hawks eventually morphed into The Band, who played American music as authentic and soulful as anyone. Not bad for a group that was entirely Canadian except for Levon Helm (playing drums in this Hawks clip). But the most startling thing about this is the little dance Hawkins does at the end. Can't quite place it...naw...can't be...1959...but...could it be...?
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Cruise Missiles
Look. I realize I haven't posted in a long while. And this one won't be all that satisfying. But I want to know something.
How come, when Israel, Lebanon, Syria, and Iran are about to start a steel-cage deathmatch...when we're sitting with targets on our heads in the middle of an Iraqi civil war...when North Korea is itching for a fight...when New Orleans and the entire Gulf Region remains in ruins...when these and a thousand other horrible things are happening in the world...
How come, when I sign on to yahoo.com for my email, I'm greeted with this breaking news headline.
Just wondering.
How come, when Israel, Lebanon, Syria, and Iran are about to start a steel-cage deathmatch...when we're sitting with targets on our heads in the middle of an Iraqi civil war...when North Korea is itching for a fight...when New Orleans and the entire Gulf Region remains in ruins...when these and a thousand other horrible things are happening in the world...
How come, when I sign on to yahoo.com for my email, I'm greeted with this breaking news headline.
Just wondering.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Mayors, Horses and Water
Woodbridge prepares to name a new temporary mayor.
Then the town frets over the establishment of an OTB. And frets some more.
And the Milltown pool is cool and wet. Fascinating.
Then the town frets over the establishment of an OTB. And frets some more.
And the Milltown pool is cool and wet. Fascinating.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Smith vs. Siegel
ABC reviewer Joel Siegel walked out of a press screening of Kevin Smith's "Clerks 2" after 40 minutes, loudly declaring "Time to go!'' and "This is the first movie I've walked out of in 30 fucking years!"
Check out Smith's rant and then listen to him shit all over Siegel on Opie and Anthony.
Somehow I imagine this will be far more entertaining than the movie.
Check out Smith's rant and then listen to him shit all over Siegel on Opie and Anthony.
Somehow I imagine this will be far more entertaining than the movie.
Eich Bin Ein Neck-Rubber
Just a typical moment in the life of our frat-boy-in-chief who doesn't realize it's not exactly presidential to offer a surprise neck-rub to the German chancellor.
He's only been president of the United Fucking States for over five years. Hasn't learned not to diminish world leaders with overly familiar, unwanted and downright icky gestures? Good luck solving the world's problems, Georgie.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Save a SEAL
Thirteen hundred people showed up to a bone marrow drive in Spotswood yesterday to try and save a U.S. Navy SEAL with blood cancer.
To learn more about the Department of Defense's bone marrow program, click here.
To learn more about the Department of Defense's bone marrow program, click here.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Larry The Minstrel Guy
Here's a clip of Larry The Cable Guy before he put on the black face of a red neck. As usual, hicks are too dumb to be offended.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
NRO Got Fooled Again
John J. Miller from National Review Online compiled a list of the 50 greatest conservative rock songs. He did so with a contortionist's effort to twist words to his purposes, ignoring the avowed and blatant liberal ideologies of the songwriters while expressing a curious affinity for Rush and the Kinks. Mostly, though, he just picked a lot of mediocre and crappy songs. His second list is no better.
It takes a real genius to include songs by The Sex Pistol and The Clash on this list. Not to mention those conservative poster-boy bands like The Beatles. It's an exercise akin to walking in as an uninvited guest to dinner at someone's house and telling them their interior decoration is all wrong for their sense of style.
I'm particularly irked by Miller's insistence that any song expressing patriotism or "conservative values" belongs primarily to the Rush Limbaugh set and not to someone who both loves his country and has the balls to criticize it occasionally. Since when is unconditional love such a high value? Isn't this how women get abused by their husbands and fathers? Well, luckily we have Aerosmith's (apparently completely earnest) paean to a daughter's trigger-happy gun-lust revenge on her daddy in "Janie's Got a Gun." I'm sure that's something Richard Tyler is proud of.
Suggesting CCR's "Who'll Stop the Rain" is anything but a lefty anti-Vietnam anthem is just plain wishful thinking.
I'll let Pete Townshend defend his "Won't Get Fooled Again" as Miller's pick for the #1 conservative rock song.
I always find it funny to hear Sean Hannity or Rush Limbaugh or Laura Ingraham play music by Don Henley or Bruce Springsteen or Neil Young as bumpers before and after commercials. It's fun to think you belong to a club that would shun you.
The bottom line is that rock music has always been made primarily to foment change and kick at the doors of the establishment. When so-called conservative notions leak into the mix, it's only because we are not a country (or world) of black and white, red and blue, bad and good automotons, but human beings with complicated opinions and feelings. Loving your country and wishing it were even better are not mutually exclusive stances.
To borrow from today's youth vernacular and the religious right's most recent bugaboo, let me say this about Miller's attempt to ingratiate his ideology on rock music: That's soooo gay.
It takes a real genius to include songs by The Sex Pistol and The Clash on this list. Not to mention those conservative poster-boy bands like The Beatles. It's an exercise akin to walking in as an uninvited guest to dinner at someone's house and telling them their interior decoration is all wrong for their sense of style.
I'm particularly irked by Miller's insistence that any song expressing patriotism or "conservative values" belongs primarily to the Rush Limbaugh set and not to someone who both loves his country and has the balls to criticize it occasionally. Since when is unconditional love such a high value? Isn't this how women get abused by their husbands and fathers? Well, luckily we have Aerosmith's (apparently completely earnest) paean to a daughter's trigger-happy gun-lust revenge on her daddy in "Janie's Got a Gun." I'm sure that's something Richard Tyler is proud of.
Suggesting CCR's "Who'll Stop the Rain" is anything but a lefty anti-Vietnam anthem is just plain wishful thinking.
I'll let Pete Townshend defend his "Won't Get Fooled Again" as Miller's pick for the #1 conservative rock song.
I always find it funny to hear Sean Hannity or Rush Limbaugh or Laura Ingraham play music by Don Henley or Bruce Springsteen or Neil Young as bumpers before and after commercials. It's fun to think you belong to a club that would shun you.
The bottom line is that rock music has always been made primarily to foment change and kick at the doors of the establishment. When so-called conservative notions leak into the mix, it's only because we are not a country (or world) of black and white, red and blue, bad and good automotons, but human beings with complicated opinions and feelings. Loving your country and wishing it were even better are not mutually exclusive stances.
To borrow from today's youth vernacular and the religious right's most recent bugaboo, let me say this about Miller's attempt to ingratiate his ideology on rock music: That's soooo gay.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Monday, July 03, 2006
Betting, Littering, and Burying
Off-track betting comes to Woodbridge, somewhat under the radar of residents.
Iselin's Little India just ain't the way it used to be, especially if you're not from South Asia.
And Woodbridge mourns the death of their mayor. Funeral service attendees included former Mayor and former Gov. Jim McGreevey, who is a lot shorter than I suspected.
Iselin's Little India just ain't the way it used to be, especially if you're not from South Asia.
And Woodbridge mourns the death of their mayor. Funeral service attendees included former Mayor and former Gov. Jim McGreevey, who is a lot shorter than I suspected.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
How Can A Poor Man Stand Such Times And Live?
The answer to that question, first asked by Depression-era songwriter Alfred Reed, is: Bruce Springsteen.
My passion for Bruce only seems to grow with time. As times get harder and darker, he lifts and shows the light. In this song, first performed with three new verses he wrote to perform in New Orleans, Bruce does that Bruce thing. From tragedy and anger and pain comes enlightenment and the sliver of hope. Even if that hope only lasts as long as it takes to finish a song.
As always, Bruce isn't for everyone (certainly not on a first-name basis like we are). But listen to this and try not to feel. It probably says more about you than him, I figure.
And you can always let him teach you to count.
By The Dawn's Early Blight
A Woodbridge woman flies the Puerto Rican flag on her lawn, mostly to spite her neighbors. What a country! (Spoken in Yakov Smirnoff accent.)
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Tangled Up in the Big Red
"All the people we used to know/ they're an illusion to me now/ Some are mathematicians/ some are carpenters' wives/ Don't know how it all got started/ I don't know what they're doin' with their lives.'' … Bob Dylan
Living in New Jersey again has been disorienting to my sense of forward narrative thrust. I always thought my life's story should move me -- physically, at least -- to new and far-flung places. But little disorients more than confronting your past and present at the same time.
I should have expected the cold.
Ten years ago, I graduated from a school perched -- hunched, really -- on a hill in Ithaca, N.Y., the product of an ancient glacier that plopped down for some millennia on its way to the valley it was to form.
The school is a collection of ivy-and-rust-covered buildings in a most uncomfortably beautiful landscape. It was founded by a man named Ezra Cornell, and he thought: "Could there be a more strenuous location for my university?'' Likely, no. There it sits, and all others trudge.
I drove back there two weeks ago for the Class of '96 Reunion, and of course it rained.
I honestly can't remember a trip to school when it wasn't raining or snowing. Sunshine was out of the question. Other towns further north might get more snow, might get colder in negative degrees Fahrenheit or wind-chill index, but few towns can surpass the all-encompassing climatic misery that dominates Ithaca.
The seriousness with which most inhabitants/students take the university, is co-enabler in this particularly dysfunctional family. Solid months of head-down frozen slogging, wind-shielding, toe-numbing pain and despondency. And then there's the winter.
Perhaps because of the weather or just the prevailing attitude, the Cornell campus is one where eye contact is a precious commodity, hoarded away -- stockpiled for rare and disingenuous occasions.
So the reunion was an opportunity to exercise those old avoidance skills, while wearing a sweatshirt and holding an air-chilled beer on summer days.
I attended with a contingent of 10 close friends, whose weddings I've been and will go to, whose children I poke in the stomach, and whose money I borrow for the time in between winning it in poker and losing it at the next game.
I embraced and kissed other friends and acquaintances, happy to see them and learn the brief rundown of their lives. Some encounters jarred me a little. It turns out three guys from my high school class married three girls from college (I guess they're women now, even if that still doesn't sound right), and they live in and around my hometown.
I'm not sure how I feel about Ron and Beth living in Vicky's childhood home with their twin babies. Old, I suppose.
But also young. Having recently graduated journalism school with a younger crowd and setting out on a new career, I've learned you're only as old as you feel. And if I subtract the rapid aging that comes from pulling for the New (Jersey) Jets, then I'm feeling pretty young these days.
Mostly we drank and ate bad, wonderful things smothered with cheese. We stayed in the same dorms we lived in as freshmen and clogged the same toilets, smelled the same musty smells and mocked the monstrous construction transforming part of the campus into incongruous public housing projects. We stayed up late talking about nothing and tried not to feel tired.
Driving back to my current life, the roads stayed dry and I stopped off to watch a school buddy's baby crawl into walls with a smile wider than the Delaware Water Gap. I arrived home in Highland Park filled with curiosity about the future and warmed by memories.
Living in New Jersey again has been disorienting to my sense of forward narrative thrust. I always thought my life's story should move me -- physically, at least -- to new and far-flung places. But little disorients more than confronting your past and present at the same time.
I should have expected the cold.
Ten years ago, I graduated from a school perched -- hunched, really -- on a hill in Ithaca, N.Y., the product of an ancient glacier that plopped down for some millennia on its way to the valley it was to form.
The school is a collection of ivy-and-rust-covered buildings in a most uncomfortably beautiful landscape. It was founded by a man named Ezra Cornell, and he thought: "Could there be a more strenuous location for my university?'' Likely, no. There it sits, and all others trudge.
I drove back there two weeks ago for the Class of '96 Reunion, and of course it rained.
I honestly can't remember a trip to school when it wasn't raining or snowing. Sunshine was out of the question. Other towns further north might get more snow, might get colder in negative degrees Fahrenheit or wind-chill index, but few towns can surpass the all-encompassing climatic misery that dominates Ithaca.
The seriousness with which most inhabitants/students take the university, is co-enabler in this particularly dysfunctional family. Solid months of head-down frozen slogging, wind-shielding, toe-numbing pain and despondency. And then there's the winter.
Perhaps because of the weather or just the prevailing attitude, the Cornell campus is one where eye contact is a precious commodity, hoarded away -- stockpiled for rare and disingenuous occasions.
So the reunion was an opportunity to exercise those old avoidance skills, while wearing a sweatshirt and holding an air-chilled beer on summer days.
I attended with a contingent of 10 close friends, whose weddings I've been and will go to, whose children I poke in the stomach, and whose money I borrow for the time in between winning it in poker and losing it at the next game.
I embraced and kissed other friends and acquaintances, happy to see them and learn the brief rundown of their lives. Some encounters jarred me a little. It turns out three guys from my high school class married three girls from college (I guess they're women now, even if that still doesn't sound right), and they live in and around my hometown.
I'm not sure how I feel about Ron and Beth living in Vicky's childhood home with their twin babies. Old, I suppose.
But also young. Having recently graduated journalism school with a younger crowd and setting out on a new career, I've learned you're only as old as you feel. And if I subtract the rapid aging that comes from pulling for the New (Jersey) Jets, then I'm feeling pretty young these days.
Mostly we drank and ate bad, wonderful things smothered with cheese. We stayed in the same dorms we lived in as freshmen and clogged the same toilets, smelled the same musty smells and mocked the monstrous construction transforming part of the campus into incongruous public housing projects. We stayed up late talking about nothing and tried not to feel tired.
Driving back to my current life, the roads stayed dry and I stopped off to watch a school buddy's baby crawl into walls with a smile wider than the Delaware Water Gap. I arrived home in Highland Park filled with curiosity about the future and warmed by memories.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Kids Play Lax, Adults Wear Funny Hats, and the Benefits of Fire Tax
Monroe lacrosse kids smack each other silly.
Adult graduates in New Brunswick get ready for all-new post-diploma disappointments of life.
And Carteret Fire Company #2 turns 100. Blow out the candles (but not with that can of hairspray).
Adult graduates in New Brunswick get ready for all-new post-diploma disappointments of life.
And Carteret Fire Company #2 turns 100. Blow out the candles (but not with that can of hairspray).
Thursday, June 15, 2006
A Harvard Giggity Address
Family Guy guru Seth MacFarlane speaks to Harvard grads. So does Peter and Stewie Griffin. And, of course, Quagmire.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Top Five Songs About Satan
Now, we all know that there has been a slight revision to the Number of the Beast. But in honor of 6/6/06, here are the greatest tunes for a dance with the Devil:
5. Friend of the Devil, The Grateful Dead
4. Highway to Hell, AC/DC
3. Hellhound on My Trail, Robert Johnson
2. Running with the Devil, Van Halen
1. Sympathy For the Devil, The Rolling Stones
Honorable Mention: "Devil’s Haircut" by Beck, "Devil With the Blue Dress" by Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels, "Devil’s Right Hand" by Johnny Cash, "Devil Went Down to Georgia" by Charlie Daniels Band, "Shout at the Devil" by Motley Crue, and "Number of the Beast" by Iron Maiden
5. Friend of the Devil, The Grateful Dead
4. Highway to Hell, AC/DC
3. Hellhound on My Trail, Robert Johnson
2. Running with the Devil, Van Halen
1. Sympathy For the Devil, The Rolling Stones
Honorable Mention: "Devil’s Haircut" by Beck, "Devil With the Blue Dress" by Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels, "Devil’s Right Hand" by Johnny Cash, "Devil Went Down to Georgia" by Charlie Daniels Band, "Shout at the Devil" by Motley Crue, and "Number of the Beast" by Iron Maiden
The Word on O'Reilly
Bill O'Reilly's "Talking Points Memo" getting the Colbert treatment. Play along at home. It's really too much fun.
Monday, June 05, 2006
TV? Or Not TV? That is the Question
Deeeeaaaaal? Or no Deal?
Ah, summertime. Time to hit the open roads and inhale the fumes of the interstate. Time to sweat uncontrollably. Time to attack the freedoms of other Americans in a naked ploy to cater to a blinkered and bigoted voter base.
And for many, it's time to pry themselves away from their televisions and plop their plump, melanoma-tempting bodies on public beaches so that our nation's local news affiliates can gather all new B-roll footage for that next report on our growing obesity epidemic.
Yup, there's plenty to do outdoors. But this was the year I gained an all new appreciation for the great indoor sport of television-viewing. Where the good can hardly compete with the bad -- and when we are truly blessed -- the brilliantly god-awful. So maybe you can set your DVR to catch some of these choice selections after cleaning all the sand out of little Johnny's ass.
I'm not gonna waste time opining on that glorified karaoke contest, "American Idol." It's allure is pretty simple: Come to watch amateurs butcher American classics; stay to watch the slow unraveling of Paula Abdul and the spectacle of Randy Jackson attempting to sound black. Can we all agree to forget about this show until its cancerous relapse in January?
And I can't believe America embraced "Deal or No Deal." I'll admit I watched it a bunch of times. But only to root for people to lose money. I just can't endorse a herd of photogenic, excitable mouth-breathers handed a chance to win millions playing a "game" in which there is no discernable skill beyond luck and balls. I particularly liked how host Howie Mandell would carefully explain every obvious stage of the game, milking the manufactured tention, sending us forever to commercials before quietly, with his hands clasped near his chin, solemnly intoning, "OK...Open the case." Wow. Now that's TV, folks.
But my favorite discovery this year was NBC's "The Office." The perfect collision of concept and execution that actually improves on a beloved British import. Steve Carrell leads a pitch-perfect cast of fully-realized characters topped off with the giddy incarnation of Dwight Schrute by Rainn Wilson. Absurd, but rooted in the horrible truths of office life. And finally, here's a show that played its will-they-ever-get-together sexual tension hand to the hilt. This show has set an awfully high bar for next year.
And I'm very proud of myself for seeing past my initial misgivings over the unfortunately titled "House, M.D." Hugh Laurie creates the most entertaining television character on the air -- next to Tony Soprano and "Deadwood"s Al Swearengen. "House" gets the award for the perfect balance of formulaic medical mystery and gradual development of interpersonal relationships, all peppered with scathing witicisms and general dialogue brilliance.
On the west coast of medical comedy, the allure of "Scrubs" tacerbic ascerbic wit of "House" and tweaks everything into beyond-absurd silliness. With a heart. Not exactly hilariconstantlyonstently inventive, funny and entertaining. Even if you want to slap Zach Braff on occasion for his (by design) constant mugging and monkey-like capering.
But there's far more to television than the network-churned crap. Ya gotta dig a little deeper into your cable package to discover the gems. Stuff like "Airline" on A&E, in which cameras follow the crews of Southwest Airlines as they cope with drunk passengers and lost luggage. This is as close as you can get to watching someone who just got bumped from an overbooked flight belittle a hapless agent who can only smile and try to absorb the abuse -- without being that poor schnook.
I highly recommend stopping in "The No-Sense Zone" to watch Bill O'Reillequipped ill-equiped liberal straw men and campaign against pedophiles. But if his solo act merits your attention, the fun doubles when he matches witlessness with frequent guest and mustachioed Fox cohort Geraldo Rivera. There's nothing quite like listening to two dudes investigate, try and execute all sorts of bad people from the comfort of their anchor chairs. It's like an Irish banana republic.
Equally impassioned, but somewhat more reasoned are the diatribes on IFC's "The Henry Rollins Show." Rollins will rail against Bush and Condi Rice with all the spit and venom of a more muscular Al Franken. But he's also a film fanatic with a knack for carrying on interesting conversations with folks like Werner Herzog, Paul Thomas Anderson or Jeff Bridges. Far more engaging and eloquent than his music ever was.
For the subversive, sickening progeny of "South Park" and "Family Guy," look to MTV2's "Wonder Showzen." Modeled like a "Sesame Street"-style kiddie's show with animation and live-action puppets, "Wonder Showzen" stretches bad taste until it curdles over on itself into some other form of taste. Children are prompted to say inappropriate and offensive (by anyone's standards) stuff to unsuspecting marks in on-the-street interviews. Other remote bits put hectoring beyond-Triumph-The-Insult-Comic-Dog confrontations in the mouth of a blue, cuddly high-pitched puppet. The cartoons are racist, vulgar and frankly disgusting (a bit called DOG OBGYN comes to mind). You should check this out just to see how far an envelope can be pushed before someone shoots the mailman.
And while we're visiting MTV2, I recommend anyone not from an inner city or familiar with its culture to check out "Fight Klub," a weekly cutting contest between two unsigned rappers. I'm a white kid from the suburbs. I'm not really sure there's a way for me to describe this spectacle without sounding racist. But setting aside the actual content, I can't imagine the attitude of this show could be doing anyone any good. It surely isn't my place to judge. But jeez.
For more wholesome subversion of morality and taste, check out the wonderous "Robot Chicken" on the Cartoon Network. A stop-animation skewering of culture, history...everything, voiced with a dizzying collection of top-tier talent collected by co-creators Seth Green and Matt Senreich. A bunch of quick-hitting shorts (that add up to about 12 minutes an episode), it's another show which is far better than it has any right to be.
But you'd rather go to the beach, eh? Suit yourself. Bathing suit yourself. Seriously. Nobody wants to see that.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Still Employed
--Middlesex County College graduation,
--A 20-year-old Board of Ed member and the mayor's son arrested for shooting pellet guns in a parking lot,
--It's beginning to feel like summer in an Edison park,
--A Rutgers football player speaks to Highland Park 8th graders,
--And the owner of a New Brunswick preschool threatens to close her doors after getting drubbed by the state Department of Education over her bookkeeping.
Anybody got anything witty to help tie this stuff together? No? Didn't think so.
--A 20-year-old Board of Ed member and the mayor's son arrested for shooting pellet guns in a parking lot,
--It's beginning to feel like summer in an Edison park,
--A Rutgers football player speaks to Highland Park 8th graders,
--And the owner of a New Brunswick preschool threatens to close her doors after getting drubbed by the state Department of Education over her bookkeeping.
Anybody got anything witty to help tie this stuff together? No? Didn't think so.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
The Colbert Retort
Much has been made of Steven Colbert's skewering of President Bush at the White House Correspondent's Dinner. And for a good reason.
Has any president ever suffered such public withering criticism while forced to just sit there and smile? The discomfort in the room seeps through the C-SPAN cameras. This performance was not for the assembled politicos and journalists, but the American people (those of us with eyes, ears and brains) who can only laugh at the black comedy that is the Bush Administration.
If for some reason you haven't seen the performance or read a complete transcript, you really should. It's your duty as an American to witness Colbert as he speaks truth to power, and then displays King-Kong-sized balls while shaking his hand with a broad smile.
But then, maybe George W. Bush doesn't exactly get irony. Even when he's getting it pie-in-the-face:
The truth hurts. Even if it's couched in truthiness.
Has any president ever suffered such public withering criticism while forced to just sit there and smile? The discomfort in the room seeps through the C-SPAN cameras. This performance was not for the assembled politicos and journalists, but the American people (those of us with eyes, ears and brains) who can only laugh at the black comedy that is the Bush Administration.
If for some reason you haven't seen the performance or read a complete transcript, you really should. It's your duty as an American to witness Colbert as he speaks truth to power, and then displays King-Kong-sized balls while shaking his hand with a broad smile.
But then, maybe George W. Bush doesn't exactly get irony. Even when he's getting it pie-in-the-face:
"I stand by this man. I stand by this man because he stands for things. Not only for things, he stands on things. Things like aircraft carriers and rubble and recently flooded city squares. And that sends a strong message, that no matter what happens to America, she will always rebound -- with the most powerfully staged photo ops in the world."
The truth hurts. Even if it's couched in truthiness.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Depleted Oxygen
So I've just figured out how to embed YouTube videos in this blog (not difficult, I know). And I couldn't resist sharing this treasure from somwhere deep in the forest of 1980s soft rock cheese. It's Air Supply's "Making Love Out of Nothing At All" and I invite you to witness the acting chops of the band's Jeff Daniels look-a-like. And pay particular attention to the little dance the white afro dude does at the 2:55 mark. Then check out this comprehensive list of other YouTube 80s music videos. Too much fun, really.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Loose Stools
I you want to inspect one of the piles of steaming elephant shit seeping across the nation these days, spend one hour, 21 minutes and 50 seconds watching Loose Change, 2nd Edition and then head here, here and here to help wash the ick off. (Video above is only the trailer.)
It's actually quite entertaining. There's nothing like a good conspiracy theory to get the blood flowing away from your brain. And the accessibility of information these days makes even a crew of 20-something would-be "documentarians" into Oliver Stone. But without the sense of proportion.
It irks me that anyone would invoke the memory of the victims when painting the attacks of 9/11 as some orchestrated scheme to wage unimpeded war or achieve some Bond-villain global dominance.
I'm not about to get into a pissing match with 9/11 conspiracy theorists on the supposed merits of their arguments. Talking sense to people like these serves as much purpose as licking a bald man's head to solve algebraic equations. And those rebuttal sites linked above do an admirable job picking apart the film frame-by-frame, with appropriate disdain and snark. (Pay close attention to the stubborn replies of the die-hards, blind in the face of contradicting evidence.)
But in case you don't have the patience or spare time, allow me to summarize: 9/11 was a conspiracy. One undertaken by 19 fanatic Al Qaida henchmen supported by a network of terrorists led (at least then) by Ossama bin Laden. All of the untold heaps of evidence collected before and since Sept. 11 point in this direction.
Of course, there's always the temptation to look at all the unanswered questions, apparent inconsistencies or coincidences and scream rat. Without stopping to think that there really wasn't any kind of blueprint for what might happen when fully-fueled jet liners are rammed at top speeds into skyscrapers and fortified pentagonal buildings.
Or wondering how thousands of people across almost every government agency have managed to execute such a perfect plan in perfect secrecy, with nobody speaking a word of it even 4 1/2 years later. [Though the moon landing must have been faked. I mean, who ever heard of a flag waving in the vacuum of space? Huh? Whassat? Wires in the material so it looked unfurled? NASA nerds think of everything.]
Or -- the real kicker -- crediting the administration of George W. Bush with such a crack operation while they can't seem to do much else. Only on 24 is the president both incompetent and a criminal mastermind.
It's absurd that I'm even making these points. Anyone who believes the nonsense in this movie and on the endless parade of nutbag websites likely believes Ryan Seacrest orchestrated the Mexican wrestling cream corn conspiracy.
The people who get their panties in a bunch over such lunacy certainly distrust their government. So do I. But for all its faults, Bush, Cheney, Rummy, et al. are not homicidal maniacs. At least not intentionally.
And picking apart a theory for its supposed gaps doesn't help build a competing theory. This is the fallacy of Intelligent Design, which attempts to undermine the 140 years of scientific evidence in support of natural selection in favor of an untestable theory for which there is ZERO evidence.
Like the OJ Simpson defense team, which argued each and every piece of the prosecution's case without presenting anything resembling a competing theory that might explain the facts. I mean, those smug pricks would argue that the LAPD were both cunning framers of an innocent man and incompetent investigators who allowed the evidence to become contaminated and unreliable.
Those examples weren't selected randomly. At least in the news media, this country is splitting along racial and religious lines. When the obvious lessons of Crash earn critical acclaim and Oscar gold, when Katrina shows us who really gets left behind, when South Dakota proposes a ban on all abortion and the Christianist activists oppose contraception even for married couples , when the way to get elected seems to be advocating discrimination against homosexuals, when scientists are compromised by political interests ... this country is heading for something worse than a fabricated War on Christmas.
So when a local Fox News station airs a segment on the moronic bile of Loose Change, it provides legitimacy to crackpots and marks another step down a path with little opportunity for escape. A path where debate is replaced by the insistence of people who know they are right without having earned their enlightenment through a rational examination of the facts.
We are building a country where half the people are covering themselves with infected diarrhea, happy as blind pigs and incapable of thought.
At least it's entertaining.
When I Grow Up I Wanna Be Self-Empowered
Douglass College graduates another class of uppity womyn into the wyrld. And New Brunswick tykes get a head start on a life of crushing career disappointments.
Monday, May 15, 2006
A Fish, a Fire and a (Possible) Liar
Don Shula comes to town to celebrate his Hungarian heritage, a fire in a dryer burns down a Sayreville house, and Middlesex County political boss John Lynch takes an exit..stage left.
Yes, I know a dolphin is not a fish.
Yes, I know a dolphin is not a fish.
Monday, May 08, 2006
A Fine Mess
New Brunswick's in a titter over it's litter ordinance. And in unrelated news, Free Comic Book Day comes to town. That's unrelated news until people chuck their free books on someone's lawn.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
United 93
I couldn't think of a good reason to go see United 93, the new film about the flight that crashed in a field in Shanksville, Pa., on Sept. 11, 2001.
Now that I've seen the movie, I'm still not sure if I can think of a good reason. But I'm glad I saw it.
For some reason, I like revisiting old traumas. There's something intoxicating and maybe a little useful about immersing yourself in anxiety. Reconnecting with horror.
It wasn't an enjoyable experience.
The only other time I can remember having a similar visceral reaction to a movie — just letting it take over my emotions and physiology without any detachment — it was The Blair Witch Project.
For both films, I allowed myself to experience the events as though they were actually happening. As though I were there. But Blair Witch was a contrived thrill ride, designed to spook and scare. We all know the too-true story of United 93. And on screen, filmed by virtuoso writer-director Paul Greengrass (The Bourne Supremacy, Bloody Sunday), it felt 100 percent convincing. And 100 percent horrifying.
I fidgeted in my seat from the very beginning. It was excruciating. I felt angry. Helpless. Sick. Knowing what was to happen only made it worse. My hand held steady on my chin, on my temple, over my mouth. My pulse raced until the credits rolled, and I left the theater feeling somehow heavier.
The entire film played like a time portal back to that Tuesday almost five years ago. (Can it possibly have been that long?) A day when nobody knew the name Osama bin Laden. A day when a hijacking was something that played out on a tarmac in Europe, with hostages and demands and talk of releasing prisoners somewhere. A day when suddenly there wasn't anything else to think about.
I was outbound in the Lincoln Tunnel that morning when American Airlines 11 smacked into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. By the time I switched from CD to radio and figured out what had happened, the 1010 WINS reporter was talking about how — right at that moment — we were all living in a new world. It was a moment when hardly any exaggeration didn't ring true.
These days, I spend lots of time driving up and down the New Jersey Turnpike past Newark Liberty International Airport and southern Manhattan. When I see an airplane arc after takeoff or glide toward landing, I can't help but flash back to those familiar TV images. I see United 175's sleek, sickening silhouette cutting the blinding blue city sky on its way toward the South Tower.
This film brings it all back. Unrelenting. Uncompromising. It's a testament to those who lost their lives, those who fought back and those who tried to do their jobs under impossible circumstances, with a hint of exasperation for those that failed us all.
In today's disposable entertainment culture, United 93 has already almost left the stage. Forgotten in the din created by Tom Cruise and the rest of the summer season, filled with retreads and superheroes.
This film shouldn't suffer that fate. It can be a rallying cry to question the people who purport to protect us today. It can be a historical document of one of our darkest days, written in lightning until something new and long overdue thunders down.
I still can't think of any good reason to see this movie. Except to remember. And relive, so — perhaps smarter and more prepared — we can live again.
Now that I've seen the movie, I'm still not sure if I can think of a good reason. But I'm glad I saw it.
For some reason, I like revisiting old traumas. There's something intoxicating and maybe a little useful about immersing yourself in anxiety. Reconnecting with horror.
It wasn't an enjoyable experience.
The only other time I can remember having a similar visceral reaction to a movie — just letting it take over my emotions and physiology without any detachment — it was The Blair Witch Project.
For both films, I allowed myself to experience the events as though they were actually happening. As though I were there. But Blair Witch was a contrived thrill ride, designed to spook and scare. We all know the too-true story of United 93. And on screen, filmed by virtuoso writer-director Paul Greengrass (The Bourne Supremacy, Bloody Sunday), it felt 100 percent convincing. And 100 percent horrifying.
I fidgeted in my seat from the very beginning. It was excruciating. I felt angry. Helpless. Sick. Knowing what was to happen only made it worse. My hand held steady on my chin, on my temple, over my mouth. My pulse raced until the credits rolled, and I left the theater feeling somehow heavier.
The entire film played like a time portal back to that Tuesday almost five years ago. (Can it possibly have been that long?) A day when nobody knew the name Osama bin Laden. A day when a hijacking was something that played out on a tarmac in Europe, with hostages and demands and talk of releasing prisoners somewhere. A day when suddenly there wasn't anything else to think about.
I was outbound in the Lincoln Tunnel that morning when American Airlines 11 smacked into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. By the time I switched from CD to radio and figured out what had happened, the 1010 WINS reporter was talking about how — right at that moment — we were all living in a new world. It was a moment when hardly any exaggeration didn't ring true.
These days, I spend lots of time driving up and down the New Jersey Turnpike past Newark Liberty International Airport and southern Manhattan. When I see an airplane arc after takeoff or glide toward landing, I can't help but flash back to those familiar TV images. I see United 175's sleek, sickening silhouette cutting the blinding blue city sky on its way toward the South Tower.
This film brings it all back. Unrelenting. Uncompromising. It's a testament to those who lost their lives, those who fought back and those who tried to do their jobs under impossible circumstances, with a hint of exasperation for those that failed us all.
In today's disposable entertainment culture, United 93 has already almost left the stage. Forgotten in the din created by Tom Cruise and the rest of the summer season, filled with retreads and superheroes.
This film shouldn't suffer that fate. It can be a rallying cry to question the people who purport to protect us today. It can be a historical document of one of our darkest days, written in lightning until something new and long overdue thunders down.
I still can't think of any good reason to see this movie. Except to remember. And relive, so — perhaps smarter and more prepared — we can live again.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
The Curse of the Mario
Game 6 of the 1986 World Series recreated on Nintendo's RBI Baseball, complete with Vin Scully's call
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Friday, April 21, 2006
Elections, Corrections, and Award Selections
Questions to ponder this week while reading The Home News Tribune:
If you hold board of education elections and no one comes, do taxes still go up? How much is an hour in a cage worth to aid sexual abuse victims? And does Middlesex County's Teacher of the Year have the right stuff to beat down the competition for the state crown or will she suffer in the swimsuit competition?
If you hold board of education elections and no one comes, do taxes still go up? How much is an hour in a cage worth to aid sexual abuse victims? And does Middlesex County's Teacher of the Year have the right stuff to beat down the competition for the state crown or will she suffer in the swimsuit competition?
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Just Say No To Self Googling
Yes, dedicated readers of this blog might recognize most of my latest column. But understand I'm doing my best to spread the wealth to 60,000 Central Jerseyans.
And in unrelated news, Highland Park suspends their indicted tax collector. Only took them six days.
And in unrelated news, Highland Park suspends their indicted tax collector. Only took them six days.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Thieving and Grieving
The Highland Park tax collector is indicted in case of $400,000 in missing tax receipts. An East Brunswick defense lawyer pleads guilty to theft for accepting money for services he never rendered.
And a Franklin woman is laid to rest after a fire in her home killed her and a volunteer firefighter.
And a Franklin woman is laid to rest after a fire in her home killed her and a volunteer firefighter.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Shooting Yourself In The Foot...Literally
I can't believe I've never seen this video before.
DEA Agent Lee Paige, 45, gives a gun demonstration to a Florida youth group, bragging he's the only one in the room professional enough to carry his Glock .40 gun. Which he then accidently fires into his foot.
Hilarious!
And now he's suing the government for distributing the video and making him a laughingstock. Buddy, you did this one all by yourself.
DEA Agent Lee Paige, 45, gives a gun demonstration to a Florida youth group, bragging he's the only one in the room professional enough to carry his Glock .40 gun. Which he then accidently fires into his foot.
Hilarious!
And now he's suing the government for distributing the video and making him a laughingstock. Buddy, you did this one all by yourself.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Huckster in Chief
I've been planning for weeks to write a simple, paint-by-numbers blog to explain to almost anyone how we have a dangerously incompetent president in the White House. Fuck that.
If you voted for Bush in 2004, watch this video clip and explain to me why this man should be leading this country. No space limitations on your response. Feel free to use big words.
If you voted for Bush in 2004, watch this video clip and explain to me why this man should be leading this country. No space limitations on your response. Feel free to use big words.
Law and Odor
A murder trial begins in New Brunswick. And based one attorney's massive quantity of cologne, it's gonna be a stinky one.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
The Last Stick
Ever wonder if someone could screw up the $100 question on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? Meet the worst. Contestant. Ever.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Let My Baby Go
Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin gave birth to a baby boy over the weekend. To make up for their firstborn daughter's name, Apple, they named him Moses.
Because it is not at all presumptuous to name your children after the great heroes of the bible. (There is a reason so much of Mexico and South America is named Jesus and that reason is stupidity and wishful thinking).
I will name my son Rubik, after humanity's great puzzle.
Because it is not at all presumptuous to name your children after the great heroes of the bible. (There is a reason so much of Mexico and South America is named Jesus and that reason is stupidity and wishful thinking).
I will name my son Rubik, after humanity's great puzzle.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Stealing Bread From The Mouths of Decadence
Rutgers kids paint things to feed people and keep Zimbabwean woman from selling their bodies. Make sense? Only in New Brunswick kids, only in New Brunswick.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
A 60th Birthday Gift Only a Mother (Mine) Could Love
My mom turns 60 tomorrow, and you can see her gift here.
And here you can read my 27th story on the progress of Route 18. My mom is older, though it doesn't seem that way.
And here you can read my 27th story on the progress of Route 18. My mom is older, though it doesn't seem that way.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Y? Because I Say So
The YM-YWHA of Highland Park proposes a 12-story high-rise condo to pay for their new $8 million building. Wondering how that'll play in this little town? Wonder no more.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Oops, I Sculpted Again
A pro-life monument to birth in Brooklyn features a nude Britney Spears on a bearskin rug while giving birth to her firstborn.
Is there anything I could say here funnier than that sentence?
Is there anything I could say here funnier than that sentence?
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Super Payouts, Chilean Tragedy and Auto Parts Co. Bankruptcy
A trio of the seven stories I cranked out in a busy week in Joisey. "I am such a stud," she says mockingly.
New Brunswick Board of Education defends their superintendent's golden parachute, not the golden rule.
Monroe mourns for the 10 people whose bus flipped off a mountain in Chile.
And Delphi workers wait for the ax to fall and maybe deliver some cash on the way.
New Brunswick Board of Education defends their superintendent's golden parachute, not the golden rule.
Monroe mourns for the 10 people whose bus flipped off a mountain in Chile.
And Delphi workers wait for the ax to fall and maybe deliver some cash on the way.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Hockey's "Doc" Swats, Slaps, Nubs and Drubs the Competition
This week's column: a repurposing of my tribute to Devils TV announcer Mike Emrick. With another crappy headline written by someone without any flair for the task and (apparently) the inability to take my suggestions without feeling slighted.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Falafel House
The best argument every written for the in-depth study of that peculiar cable animal in its habitat: Bill O'Reilly.
Highlights:
Highlights:
"Back in the classical period, liberal media-watchers did a brisk trade in pointing out that Fox News was not actually “Fair & Balanced,” as its slogan claimed. That was not an earth-shattering revelation; “Fair & Balanced” had always been a code whose meaning—here’s news that gives you the world as you already see it—was perfectly understood by the Fox audience...
Mainly, O’Reilly, like every political talk-show host with a big following, is a populist, who, in his beyond-irony way, is a rich, middle-aged white guy aligned with the ruling party, and who has the guts to stand up to the élitists who run (but also hate) this country. To say that that doesn’t make any sense is to deny oneself the pleasure that a close study of O’Reilly affords...
O’Reilly begins each program with an editorial called “Talking Points Memo,” which is often about the news of the day. When the subject is the Bush Administration, O’Reilly is supportive, if not in the respectful manner of most of Fox’s personalities. He seems like a guy who was initially skeptical but had a few candid, head-clearing conversations with people in the Administration and eventually came around....
O’Reilly is an amazingly nimble talent, and part of his skill is how persuasively he communicates that he is completely uncensored and incapable of guile or calculation."
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Detachable Penis
Some John Wayne Bobbit/ King Missile fan threw his severed penis at police during a rampage in Chicago.
Stupid prick.
Stupid prick.
Happy Anniversary, Iraq War
Three years, 2,300 U.S. soldiers killed, 17,000 wounded. Maybe 50,000, 75,000 or more Iraqis killed. One stupid, stupid, dangerous president in a bubble surrounded by incompetent boobs.
The people speak.
The people speak.
What if what you do to survive
Kills the things you love
Fear's a powerful thing, baby
It can turn your heart black you can trust
It'll take your God filled soul
And fill it with devils and dust--B. Springsteen
Friday, March 17, 2006
Over the River and Through the Woods of State Education Aid
Stories about fish spawning and yawning budget gaps. Don't all click at once.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
The Rock And Roll Hall of Lame
It's time to shut the doors to The Rock And Roll Hall of Fame.
Five acts might have been inducted last night, but I see where this thing is heading and it's time to pack up the stratocasters and coke and call it a day.
The Hall's first inductees in 1986:
Chuck Berry
James Brown
Ray Charles
Sam Cooke
Fats Domino
The Everly Brothers
Buddy Holly
Jerry Lee Lewis
Elvis Presley
Last night's class:
Black Sabbath
Blondie
Miles Davis
Lynyrd Skynyrd
Sex Pistols
Granted, there was bound to be some fall-off over the years from Chuck Berry and Elvis. But landing on Blondie is kind of like, I don't know, landing in Blondie I suppose.
Black Sabbath is worthy, for sure, blazing the way for an entire new and pathetic genre of poofy-hair Satanic metal.
And Lynyrd Skynyrd sure could make a cliche interesting, couldn't they? Easily the best band to die in a plane crash since The Big Bopper.
The Sex Pistols might as well be celebrated for their longevity. I mean, if we can't honor a group designed to implode in a matter of months, when why even bother calling ourselves rockers?
Now tell me who is left to induct? In the Hall's first years, it was almost a race to include every legend without whom music would never have been the same: The Coasters, Eddie Cochran, Bo Diddley, Aretha Franklin, Marvin Gaye, Bill Haley, B. B. King, Ricky Nelson, Roy Orbison, Carl Perkins, Smokey Robinson, Big Joe Turner, Muddy Waters, Jackie Wilson, The Beach Boys, The Beatles, The Drifters, Bob Dylan, The Supremes.
I mean, shit. It took four years to induct The Rolling Stones.
But now these icons are sharing space with unspectacular folks like Jackson Browne, Dusty Springfield, and Percy Sledge. I mean, Jackson Browne is a nice, introspective, unoffensive singer-songwriter. Percy Sledge did "When a Man Loves a Woman" and...um...er, eh, ok.
What's gonna happen in five or 10 years. Does Motley Crue get in? Mettalica, for sure. Will rap be considered Rock and Roll? Miles Davis was inducted last night. So Run DMC should make it. Then what? The Sugar Hill Gang? The Beastie Boys? Jay Z? Madonna is a ringer, but will Cindi Lauper make the cut? Is she any less worthy than Blondie and her proto-punk new wave thing?
Point is, this place has become diluted by mediocrity and acts with a collection of songs instead of a career. It's become poluted by morphing genres and self-congratulatory mutual masturbation. Rock shouldn't be so inclusive. And an institution like the Hall should be run by rock snobs anyway.
If everyone gets in, who's gonna clean up the jizz stains after the party?
For that job, my vote's for Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Five acts might have been inducted last night, but I see where this thing is heading and it's time to pack up the stratocasters and coke and call it a day.
The Hall's first inductees in 1986:
Chuck Berry
James Brown
Ray Charles
Sam Cooke
Fats Domino
The Everly Brothers
Buddy Holly
Jerry Lee Lewis
Elvis Presley
Last night's class:
Black Sabbath
Blondie
Miles Davis
Lynyrd Skynyrd
Sex Pistols
Granted, there was bound to be some fall-off over the years from Chuck Berry and Elvis. But landing on Blondie is kind of like, I don't know, landing in Blondie I suppose.
Black Sabbath is worthy, for sure, blazing the way for an entire new and pathetic genre of poofy-hair Satanic metal.
And Lynyrd Skynyrd sure could make a cliche interesting, couldn't they? Easily the best band to die in a plane crash since The Big Bopper.
The Sex Pistols might as well be celebrated for their longevity. I mean, if we can't honor a group designed to implode in a matter of months, when why even bother calling ourselves rockers?
Now tell me who is left to induct? In the Hall's first years, it was almost a race to include every legend without whom music would never have been the same: The Coasters, Eddie Cochran, Bo Diddley, Aretha Franklin, Marvin Gaye, Bill Haley, B. B. King, Ricky Nelson, Roy Orbison, Carl Perkins, Smokey Robinson, Big Joe Turner, Muddy Waters, Jackie Wilson, The Beach Boys, The Beatles, The Drifters, Bob Dylan, The Supremes.
I mean, shit. It took four years to induct The Rolling Stones.
But now these icons are sharing space with unspectacular folks like Jackson Browne, Dusty Springfield, and Percy Sledge. I mean, Jackson Browne is a nice, introspective, unoffensive singer-songwriter. Percy Sledge did "When a Man Loves a Woman" and...um...er, eh, ok.
What's gonna happen in five or 10 years. Does Motley Crue get in? Mettalica, for sure. Will rap be considered Rock and Roll? Miles Davis was inducted last night. So Run DMC should make it. Then what? The Sugar Hill Gang? The Beastie Boys? Jay Z? Madonna is a ringer, but will Cindi Lauper make the cut? Is she any less worthy than Blondie and her proto-punk new wave thing?
Point is, this place has become diluted by mediocrity and acts with a collection of songs instead of a career. It's become poluted by morphing genres and self-congratulatory mutual masturbation. Rock shouldn't be so inclusive. And an institution like the Hall should be run by rock snobs anyway.
If everyone gets in, who's gonna clean up the jizz stains after the party?
For that job, my vote's for Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Big Bucks, No Whammies, No Whammies...D'oh!
This headline is in the worst taste ever. Please ignore.
"Press Your Luck" gameshow host Peter Tomarken died yesterday when the plane he was piloting crashed near Los Angeles. Tomarken, his wife and two others were killed when they volunteered to fly a medical patient from San Diego to L.A.
"Press Your Luck" gameshow host Peter Tomarken died yesterday when the plane he was piloting crashed near Los Angeles. Tomarken, his wife and two others were killed when they volunteered to fly a medical patient from San Diego to L.A.
The Whammy thinks he's great, the Whammy thinks he's nice,but inside that body, he's got a heart of ice. ---Terry & Kevin Seagal, Carmel, IN
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Defiled and Lazy Guy
One of the horrors of writing for a newspaper is when a pathetic copyeditor slaps a wildly lame headline on your story. It's even worse when you've been recruited to write neutered personal columns that run with your picture.
This headline somehow evokes both Steve Martin's doofus hipster and Joe Piscapo's Jersey Guy characters from SNL. Not flattering. Humiliating, actually. But some decent writing for sure, that might look familiar to fans of my Thailand journal.
This headline somehow evokes both Steve Martin's doofus hipster and Joe Piscapo's Jersey Guy characters from SNL. Not flattering. Humiliating, actually. But some decent writing for sure, that might look familiar to fans of my Thailand journal.
Homer Sapiens
By popular (Perl) demand, here's that live-action Simpsons intro. A little creepy if you ask me.
Even more peculiar: this home in Las Vegas that bears an uncanny resemblance to one in Springfield, State Unknown.
Even more peculiar: this home in Las Vegas that bears an uncanny resemblance to one in Springfield, State Unknown.
S(h)ave Douglass College
Rutgers President Richard L. McCormick recommends the all-women Douglass College remain a four-year women's residential college. Women -- many of whom shave -- rejoice.
Except this group, who apparently didn't get the memo (about rejoicing, not personal hygeine. Near as I could tell).
Except this group, who apparently didn't get the memo (about rejoicing, not personal hygeine. Near as I could tell).
Monday, March 06, 2006
The Sports Guy and The Tipping Point Guy
ESPN's Bill Simmons emails with The New Yorker's Malcolm Gladwell -- chatting about effort vs. talent, learning about sports by reading Sports Illustrated in rural Canada, and the enigma of Jake Plummer. It's a lot more interesting than it has any right to be.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Oscar The Grouch
Tonight is the night the stars come out on the red carpet and Star Jones's residual fat rolls come out of her tightly constructed cow dress while I do my best to pick the winners and try not to feel gay because I enjoy this all so much.
Some folks have accused me of being secretly ashamed of my interest in Oscar night while pretending not to care. The truth is that I certainly don't care in the sense that I have no stake in the proceedings. And I'm not ashamed to say that I've watched just about every Oscar telecast for the past 20 or so years. I'm not alone, you know. As a self-designated arbiter of taste and a pop-culture war chicken hawk, when America watches something, I'm watching America.
The outcome of the evening means tiddly squat to me, simply because the Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Sciences' voting record is about as good as the Palestinian people's. Or the American people's, for that matter.
Of course, there's the perpetual snubbing of Alfred Hitchcock and Martin Scorsese. Not like these two deserve any sort of recognition for, I don't know, the best films of their generations.
And I think Roger Ebert pointed out the beautiful irony that this year the Academy will honor Robert Altman for his lifetime achievement after ignoring him for his lifetime.
In recent years, you don't need to look much further than Ordinary People beating out Raging Bull for Best Picture in 1980 or the 1990 travesty of Dances With Wolves beating out Goodfellas. Don't even get me started on Forrest Gump over Pulp Fiction and The Shawshank Redemption in 1994.
Ok. You got me started. Forrest Fucking Gump? Granted, I like this movie when I first saw it. It was exceptionally well crafted, and I was even able to get past some of Tom Hanks' acting ticks to be truly moved by his performance. But if there has ever been a more cloying, crass attempt to manipulate an audience without an actual purpose or message, then I haven't seen it.
Seriously. What are we supposed to take away from this film? Stupid is as stupid does? America has gone through some tough and interesting times? War and AIDS are bad? Life is like a box of morons spouting inane drivel to a captive audience?
Forrest Gump is stubborn in its insistence to avoid any message or even the thinnest of themes throughout. It's like crying at a funeral for an advertising campaign character.
Anyway, Gump is not alone. Here are some other high crimes and Oscar snubs:
Some folks have accused me of being secretly ashamed of my interest in Oscar night while pretending not to care. The truth is that I certainly don't care in the sense that I have no stake in the proceedings. And I'm not ashamed to say that I've watched just about every Oscar telecast for the past 20 or so years. I'm not alone, you know. As a self-designated arbiter of taste and a pop-culture war chicken hawk, when America watches something, I'm watching America.
The outcome of the evening means tiddly squat to me, simply because the Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Sciences' voting record is about as good as the Palestinian people's. Or the American people's, for that matter.
Of course, there's the perpetual snubbing of Alfred Hitchcock and Martin Scorsese. Not like these two deserve any sort of recognition for, I don't know, the best films of their generations.
And I think Roger Ebert pointed out the beautiful irony that this year the Academy will honor Robert Altman for his lifetime achievement after ignoring him for his lifetime.
In recent years, you don't need to look much further than Ordinary People beating out Raging Bull for Best Picture in 1980 or the 1990 travesty of Dances With Wolves beating out Goodfellas. Don't even get me started on Forrest Gump over Pulp Fiction and The Shawshank Redemption in 1994.
Ok. You got me started. Forrest Fucking Gump? Granted, I like this movie when I first saw it. It was exceptionally well crafted, and I was even able to get past some of Tom Hanks' acting ticks to be truly moved by his performance. But if there has ever been a more cloying, crass attempt to manipulate an audience without an actual purpose or message, then I haven't seen it.
Seriously. What are we supposed to take away from this film? Stupid is as stupid does? America has gone through some tough and interesting times? War and AIDS are bad? Life is like a box of morons spouting inane drivel to a captive audience?
Forrest Gump is stubborn in its insistence to avoid any message or even the thinnest of themes throughout. It's like crying at a funeral for an advertising campaign character.
Anyway, Gump is not alone. Here are some other high crimes and Oscar snubs:
- 1941: How Green Was My Valley beat out Citizen Kane. Any idea which one has stood the test of time better?
- 1979: Kramer Vs. Kramer beat out Apocalypse Now and an un-nominated Manhattan
- 1983: Terms of Endearment beat out The Right Stuff
- 1992: Al Pacino won Best Actor for Scent of a Woman. After years of playing actual, layered human beings, he takes home the trophy for playing some absurd blind curmudgeon by yelling non-sequiters braying like a syphilitic gorilla. Hoo-ha!
- 2001: Ron Howard won Best Director and Best Film for A Beautiful Mind against anything other than this criminal manipulation of the audience and facts in service of a hyped-up shit sandwich of a movie
Friday, March 03, 2006
Singing Competition and Stinging Condemnation
An all-girl group practices for tomorrow's International Championship of Collegiate A Capella semifinals at Rutgers. I maintain my journalistic decorum.
And New Brunswick moves closer to booting private property owners off their property to make way for mostly private development. Yay eminent domain!
And New Brunswick moves closer to booting private property owners off their property to make way for mostly private development. Yay eminent domain!
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