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Tuesday, December 30, 2003
Meta Artistry I'm procrastinating on a paper that has to go out the door on Wednesday, but I thought typing this random thought up would get my juices flowing. Over the break I went to see an exhibit at the Corcoran Art Gallery in Washington, DC. I'll fill in the title info later, but basically the idea is that a modern sculptor/artist has created three-dimensional vignettes based on famous Impressionist paintings like Monet and Van Gogh. If you stand in one location, the vignette looks exactly like the original painting, but as you move around you gain perspective on the events, which perspective is provided by the sculptor. For example, if somebody has their back to viewer in the original painting, walking around in the sculpture space you get to see what expression is on the character's face. While procrastinating previously, I was flipping through Roger Ebert's movie reviews and clicked on the Girl with a Pearl Earring review. This movie is based on a book that imagines the circumstances by which a painter came to paint one of his houseservants. This all got me remembering such recent work as Alice Randall's The Wind Done Gone, in which the Tennessee author re-imagines Gone with the Wind from a houseslave's perspective. If I had more time or energy, I think I could come up with more examples. I was impressed with the work involved in the Corcoran exhibit, and I'm sure that Scarlett Johansson does a wonderful job as the houseservant in Earring. My girlfriend interviewed Randall when she was being sued by GWTW's author's estate, and she says the book was pretty entertaining, if slight. What I am curious about is, is this really art? Parody is a comedic art form, but there's something still slightly unsatisfying about it as Comedy because it's based on a template. It's the same reason that short-form improv is pretty unsatisfying. The formula does too much of the work (e.g., let me guess what super hero I am; now I'm happy, now I'm angry). It's mimicry, which is amusing but not gust-bustingly funny (though some super funny folks, like the Guest-Levy team, manage to get beyond the formula). The artists in the cases described above provide something novel and interesting, but because they're ultimately derivative of the original's creative impulse should we think of them as Artistic? I guess painting and literature are merely catching up with music, where artists have stolen licks and lyrics and beats for decades. I don't know, maybe I'll flesh this out some more this week. Sunday, December 21, 2003
Young Manhattanite Blogging Visit the Young Manhattanite's website. In addition to his contributions to other sites, you can also view his HIlarious blog, The Other Page. Land's End Terror Alert Level Raised to Terra Cotta I was beginning to think the Land's End terror alert level would languish forever unchanged. Saturday, December 20, 2003
Success Went to the Jim Gaffigan show Friday at the DC Improv. I was successful in lining up an interview. Since it's by email I'll plan to include tidbits at least on the site. The show overall was really good. The guest warm-up act was funny and quick, a real double espresso for a lethargic crowd. The feature act had a fair bit of good material but seemed uncomfortable somehow on stage. The emcee, George Peacock, did some nice work. It's not often you get to hear someone include an Alan Thicke talk show credit in their bio. Thursday, December 18, 2003
Confessions of a Dangerous Mind My confession for today is my addiction to Elimidate. Not the show so much, though I have started watching more than I prefer, but the voice of the "urban" man who says "Elimidate" when they come back from commercial. What a great job. The guy must get sweet royalties. I'm likewise embarrassed by my interest in The Simple Life and The O.C. I have to say, I was nearly crying from laughter as Nicole tried fake her way through the tears to get out of paying for their stolen merchandise. I don't have much interest in most of the stories on O.C., but I love Seth's dilemma. We'll see how this all plays out, but for now Summer and Anna are today's Ginger and Mary Anne. I'm investing way too much thought in this. I'll blog only intermittently during the next week or so as I'll be back home in Maryland. My big goals are to speak with the great Jim Gaffigan to set up an interview in the coming weeks and find a new job. Kiss-kiss. Monday, December 15, 2003
Six Tons Under Keiko the Killer Whale died Friday of pneumonia. The 26 year old film star launched an immensely successful career with the surprise 1993 hit film Free Willy. But the success would prove fatal. The orca who leapt over an aquatic fence to the top of the world and into the public's heart went on a binge the likes of which no mammal had ever seen. This is the true story of that giant mammal who killed us all with his love for a young boy. Keiko, the E! True Hollywood Story. After several years working as a stunt mammal on Jaws 3-D and The Abyss, Keiko got his break while vacationing in Mexico City. Simon Wincer, the much-heralded director of the Tom Selleck classic, Quigley Down Under: "I glimpsed that magnificent beast sunning himself in a lagoon just south of Acapulco. I had this vision of the gentle giant befriending a sad little boy, and the movie was born." That film would make Keiko a very rich fish-eater. Things started out pleasantly enough as Keiko received a lucrative endorsement deal performing at SeaWorld, which left him fin-deep in herring and wet-suited humans. But constantly being mistaken for his on-screen character took its toll on this titanic actor. After repeated instances of inappropriate sexual advances on customers and aquarium staff, the fun-loving six-ton creature struck out on his own in 1998 to record an album of "songs of the sea." His hope of capitalizing on the trend of nature sounds of the late-90s were dispatched when his debut album, Willy or Wonty?, was panned by Entertainment Weekly as "the self-absorbed emotional ejaculation of a has-been film star." Keiko swam deep into a sea of despair. Fueled by an addiction to plankton and herring, Keiko became a regular in the celebrity scene, splashing the tabloids in New York and L.A. with such notable hook-ups as Paris Hilton and Colin Farrell. But charges in 2001 of unlawful sexual touching of a baby seal brought him to a new low. He was broke, facing scores of paternity suits from extras in Whale Rider, and now serious jail time. Keiko had hit rock bottom. His attorneys brokered a plea bargain that sent him to rehab in Norway, away from the party lights of New York and L.A. After drying out, his appearance on Hollywood Sqaures caught the attention of Hollywood moguls, and before long he was signed to remake the 1977 suspense classic Orca. "I was really looking forward to working with him," said Bo Derek, who would reprise her role as the whale's love interest. But all that came to a crashing halt last Friday. So long, Keiko, an enormous Hollywood legend. Apres Capture, le Deluge While Saddam Hussein's capture is cause for celebration in many circles, as a television fan and comedian, I can't say that I look forward to this evening, or the next several weeks, of lame Hussein jokes. Anticipate comparison to O.J. Simpson (rehashing that tired series of jokes), Queer Eye references, mugshot jokes of the Winona-Campbell-Nolte variety, plus a bunch of secondary material for bad hotel jokes. Maybe some Bad Santa references. If TV Funhouse were still on the air, I wouldn't mind a visit from Hussein to the detective agency of Kidder, Downey & Heche. Maybe they'll deliver an episode to SNL. Was anybody else nauseated by Leslie Stahl's interview with Donald Rumsfeld? I'm sure the network censors were relieved that Rumsfeld was beamed in via satellite instead of in the room as they would have been forced to decide whether to broadcast a blowjob on national television. It seemed pretty tacky for her to giggle at the suggestion that maybe the U.S. would have been better off he had been caught dead instead of alive. I don't mind asking the question, I do mind her sounding like a giggly school girl. What, is she bucking to become CBS's version of Andrea Mitchell (a.k.a. Mrs. Greenspan)? Thursday, December 11, 2003
Her Majesty Man, why isn't Queen Rania of Jordan getting Princess Di's publicity? Yowza! Somebody write People. Update: Dear god, I clicked on this link again and it took me to Perry Ferrell and Dave Navarro on stage. Queens of a different sort, n'est-ce pas? Here's a link to her official site. Wednesday, December 10, 2003
New Slant Available For your reading pleasure, a new Slant is available. The Phone Sex and Page Seven articles are mine. Also, I need to write something about The Simple Life. I don't understand why FOX is negotiating for a follow-up with Paris, when Nicole is clearly the funny and interesting personality. Monday, December 08, 2003
How Much Is That Celebrity in the Window? I saw this article today at the LA Times about the perqs celebrities get for appearing at charity events. Pretty sweet deal. And I suppose this is above and beyond call girls and call boys. I'm not sure how I feel about this. On the one hand, I love to see the celebrities squirm at the appearance of impropriety. And I don't care to see the beneficiaries of charities get screwed. But, then again, charities are often terribly inefficient at getting money to their beneficiaries so it's hard to see this as that much worse. Charities have to look at this as an investment and evaluate the costs and benefits. If they don't spend $53,000 on David Schwimmer, do they collect whatever amount they raised? Would it be better if the celebrities did not receive these gifts? Sure. Would it be nice if some of them weren't so obnoxious about it? You bet. But, price is a rationing mechanism. I'm sure these folks get hit up for a lot of celebrity events. They have jobs and don't have the time to learn about every single charity in the world to know whether it's well run. Also, the nature of their jobs implies huge opportunity costs. When you make $26 million a year working on a t.v. show plus all the media junkets and inane questions from Pat O'Brien, you probably value your free time a lot more than other people. To get them to take a personal night off (or give up some commercial opportunity), you have to pay. And you have to decide if it's worth it to your organization. If you don't want to pay, come up with a better pitch that will appeal to their sense of decency or find different celebrities who will listen. The people who are the true whores in this situation I think are the rich donors who will only donate the money if they get to rub elbows with celebrities. I don't know what fraction of the donor population this is in terms of numbers, but I bet it's a large fraction of the total amount donated. Friday, December 05, 2003
Where's the Cheese? I was heading to lunch thinking about something to write about. I started to make a list of the top dumb t.v. characters of all time. Tony from Taxi, Joey from Friends, etc. Feel free to send me yours. But, while I was eating at the Chinese Buffet, it occurred to me: why is there no cheese in any Chinese food? Or at least American-ized Chinese food. I can't seem to recall it in Japanese, Thai, or Vietnamese either. It can't be a sacred cow situation since they seem to use a fair bit of beef. Can it be that the people who invented paper and fireworks never invented cheese? Just curious. Email if you have the answer. Wednesday, December 03, 2003
More Me in Print O.k., so it's just a letter to the editor, but it's fun: me complaining about the incredible disappearing Brezny's Real Astrology column. Update: Ah, crap! Didn't realize this was another self-updating link. Below is the text I sent them: I just wanted to take a quick moment to let you know that the Brezny's Real Astrology is still being printed in a readable font size. Granted, I am young and have to squint a little, but the letters are in fact decipherable and can be grouped into words and sentences. Friday, November 28, 2003
Good Santa I went to see Bad Santa last night. When I saw the ads, I figured this had to be a terrible movie, but when I saw the decent reviews and the director's (Terry Zwigoff) pedigree (e.g., Ghost World, Crumb), I decided to take a chance. It's been quite a while since I had this much fun watching a movie. It's kind of like a live action South Park. Go shell out your money, pronto! Can You Spell P-R-E-E-X-I-S-T-I-N-G C-O-N-D-I-T-I-O-N? Bioethicists and consumer advocates everywhere are wetting themselves over this news from USAToday, and published in the current issue of Science: scientists have found a defective gene that causes heart attacks. Not "increases your risk of heart attack," but rather "causes heart attacks," presumably with 100% certainty (assuming you don't die of something else beforehand) based on the wording of the USAToday article. I think the good news in this is that as scientists discover more genetic causes for disorders, the strong economic incentives to exclude people from health insurance coverage may create sufficient political pressure for universal health care. As it is now, so long as you can keep from revealing your genetic cards, you don't have much incentive to help pay for someone else's medical treatment. But, if genetic testing becomes widespread, as sufficient numbers of people face their own mortality and the certainty of high medical costs, you may see change. You wonder, however, where all the healthy people will move to avoid paying. Wednesday, November 26, 2003
Bridging the Generations Last weekend I went to visit my grandmother in Northwest Alabama. My mother drove down from Maryland on Wednesday evening and left Saturday night for the 13 hr return trip. This confirms her need for treatment of a serious mental illness. But, the three of us had a pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving because somehow this worked into everyone's schedule better than the 4th Thursday of the month. Kind of like having Christmas on Christmas Eve or five days later when that weird friend of your family arrives who you only see every other Holiday season and you pretend it's Christmas all over again. The weekend was nice nonetheless. The highlight was when I asked my grandmother to teach me how to play bridge. I can't believe I never asked this sooner. I've known pretty much since I hit double-figures in age that she played bridge regularly. It's like she had waited her whole life for me, or anybody for that matter, to take an interest in the game (or was it her?). So, after my day at the Alabama Music Hall of Fame (a subject for a future post [Ed: No, I haven't forgotten the Reno information, thank you. I'll get to it.]), we settled in for the lesson. We ended up playing with all hands visible, and she showed me the basic principles of bidding, and after 4 hours I had finally if not mastered at least comprehended the basic strategy for playing. It's probably the most continuous conversation I've had with my grandmother at once, including the time we made the 13 hour trip to and from Maryland together. She learned to play in 1941, the summer before her junior year of college. She went in for a job interview at TVA for the secretarial pool, and the first question was not, "How many words can you type?", "Where do you see yourself in 10 years?", or "How would you handle a conflict with a co-worker?" The first question was, "Do you play bridge?" And so my grandmother played for an hour at lunch every day for next thirty-odd years. She told me her regular game has been playing together every week for about forty years, which sounds impressive until she tells me a group at her country club has been in continuous operation since 1943! It's hard to imagine doing anything sixty times without interruption, much less 60 consecutive 52 week meetings. And to see the same people for that long? I only like about a half dozen people, and what keeps them liking me is rationed contact with me. The lady who leads that group is 93. My grandmother was invited to join the group about fifteen years ago after they had kicked out one of the regulars for teaching bridge lessons for a fee at the country club. "That just doesn't sit right with us," the mother hen had said. Granny chose not to become embroiled in the politics, but she sits in with them occasionally. She also plays in a monthly bridge tournament at the country club, what she calls "Party Bridge." She has been the top player for the past two years. The bridge and the wisdom to stay above the fray probably explains her good health at the age of 81. In fact, Granny had missed this month's Party Bridge to host my mother. We had lunch at the club, and while I choked down chicken-shrimp-and-tuna salad sampler--I was with a bunch of little old ladies after all--I watched as these eighty-something women recounted the previous night's bad beats. After watching and reading all my gambling movies and books, I wanted to hook them on Texas Hold 'em. Granny said they're social now, but at the table it's all business. They're playing for points and other intrinsic rewards, but they're also playing for pennies, and they're serious about those pennies. There's no, "I'll owe you" or "Carry it forward to next week." You pay each penny, and they take losing each penny quite hard. Imagine if they were this hard nosed with telemarketers and scam artists. In fact, it can be so hard core that sometimes nobody is allowed to talk at all. Apparently there is a silent bidding system often used in Bridge tournaments so that other tables cannot hear what you are bidding, and I guess to prevent your voice from becoming a tell. Saturday we forced my mom to play with us for a few hours, and Sunday Gran took me to get a good intro book to cement my knowledge. She also gave me my own starter set of bridge cards from sets she's accumulated through the years. It took a while because each set she came upon was one that she really, really liked and didn't want to give away. The family resemblances reveal themselves eventually, don't they? We settled on a twin pack featuring the Mission at Santa Barabara. There's something very civilized about the idea of playing bridge. It's simple, and it's cheap. The previous weekend I had gone with my girlfriend to Smith's Variety in Birmingham which features all sorts of crazy kids games, toys, baby stuff, and so on. It's where I got my Pocket Electronic Yahtzee. But, while we were there it was a demonstration day, and the salespeople were hawking the latest board games for grown ups. All the crappy games you only get out at the Holidays or on family vacations or when your relationship is so desperate for outside social contact that you subject yourself and your significant other, not to mention some other equally desperate folks, to the ignominy of a game night. Like Trivial Pursuit, Pictionary, Taboo, and Cranium. I don't even know this year's $30 thievery. Maybe Ghettopoly will catch on? I'm not sure what advantage these games have over Bridge. Bridge may have ruined many more marriages than Pictionary, but only because it has been played longer and by more people. Pictionary ineptitude kills much more quickly and efficiently, and it usually has a bigger audience since people only play with groups of six or more. Trivial Pursuit? I guess this lost fascination for me when I spent a whole summer reading the whole deck of 1000 cards. Knowing the distribution of cards, not the content of the cards, is what makes Bridge perpetually interesting. All you need to kill 3 or 4 hours is a deck of cards, a flat surface, and your own wits (snacks optional). Sounds like a winner to me. Thanks, Gran. Thursday, November 20, 2003
Welcome LasagnaFarm-ers Greetings to guests who linked to me through LasagnaFarm.com. Here are a selection of links within my archives that may be of interest to you, a greatest hits, if you will:
Enjoy! Monday, November 17, 2003
Post Show Critique Well, I'm back from Al Franken's speech at Vanderbilt. Shockingly, very few Dittoheads in attendance. No protests to speak of. I was on the aisle, and I was plotting out my Rosie Grier scenario in the event of any untoward activities. I'll be writing about my experience getting to interview Al Franken. The blog is about me and the things I do to keep from getting real work done, for those of you who don't recall, so that's what this will be about. For those of you who want to hear about the speech, feel free to read the book or watch his current speech on C-SPAN whenever it airs. It's funny, and it gives more light to the fun side of the book, which can be a little earnest. If you're reading the book, my suggestion is to picture Al reading it to you and then laughing in the right places. The Vanderbilt difference is that you get Tipper Gore in the audience. So insert her into your mental picture. I worked my way into the press pool before Al's speech by connecting through his book publicist, who connected me to his assistant, who connected me to Vanderbilt's events coordinator. So, I got to be one of the dozen or so media folks who got to ask questions before his speech. As exciting as it sounds, I've decided, based on the responses and the subsequent speech, that these interview sessions are a chance to practice the material before the speech. Not that it needs practicing, but it gets the juices flowing. Like batting practice. Some other wag beat me to the punch in asking about the Al Franken Decade, and I didn't get to do a follow up about the Joe Franken Decade. A few standard questions about Rush and the Democratic nomination process. Perhaps I've been under a rock, but apparently people want Al to run for the Senate from Minnesota. Not that I think he'd do a terrible job; in fact, I think it'd be great and great fun, too. Just find it odd to be planning that far ahead. I mean, he'd have to move back to Minnesota from New York, and then, ugh, move to D.C. if he won. I'm not sure the job pays enough to be worth that. I asked my question, with Bush-esque articulateness, about whether political point of view can get in the way of comedic point of view to the point where the material isn't funny and you end up being a liberal P.J. O'Rourke. I'm sure he thought, "What a douche bag," and probably thought I was being critical of his book as not being funny. I didn't think it was unfunny, just dangerously close to becoming unfunny. But he answered politely, and moved on to a question from the legitimate media about FCC rules and such. After he was given the warning that he had to go next door for the speech, I asked whether he would be available for an email interview about comedy writing and such, because I'm a nerd for this kind of stuff, and he said email would be terrible, so why don't you walk with me over there and ask what you want. So now I'm on the spot having to recall all the questions I wanted to ask but never thinking I'd get the chance to ask during the next five minutes as we wander through the Vanderbilt labyrinth to what passed for a green room. Al was great to let me come back stage with him and stand up to the VU coordinators to let me ask my ridiculous questions. I seem to approach interviewing like I'm going to be hosting Later with Bob Costas, only I end more like Inside the Actor's Studio, with even worse results. It goes like this: Prefatory statement or clause; qualifying clause; convoluted question; and, expectant lean in for Wisdom. Invariably the response is, "Yeah, I guess so" or "I'm not sure I understand that" or "No, it's nothing like that." Whatever the response, it always reveals what a suck up wannabe the questioner is and how absent of insight the questioner is in spite of his supposed knowledge. This is pretty much how my experience with Neal Pollack went, though I got to spend enough time with him that he was friendly to me and gracious about my wannabe-ness and I got some great stuff from him. So, I proceeded with the same m.o. with Al, despite my previous failure. I asked about getting started at Brave New Workshop and what he felt he still carried from that time, and he had good stuff about that. I let him go to the bathroom, and then he gave me a few more minutes in which to ask a little more about writing ("I don't understand the question"), the differences in writing in early versus more recent SNL seasons, and the evolution of Dennis Miller. My new motto is to prepare and forget, then rely on instinct instead of preconceived questions. Of course, I already know all this. I do it all the time for presentations. I used to do it for improv, but somehow I want this to be different and under my control. I want to just download the wisdom from these folks rather than suffer through my own inarticulateness. Anyway, having probably more than overstayed my welcome, I made my way out, he shook my hand, and I snuck into the auditorium to watch the speech. It's definitely not the experience that anyone else had at this speech, and I'm grateful that Al was so good to help me out. Post Script: I was thinking about this some more while going to sleep, and I realized I'm not half this obnoxious when I'm interviewing people I don't know about or have any pre-existing interest in. So, I'm probably just inept in the areas that I'm most interested in. Delinquent Hi, I know I'm late with my Reno update. Kind of catching up on work after being out of town. Also, a little distracted because I'm preparing to interview Al Franken tonight on campus. I'll have more to share there. Monday, November 10, 2003
Back in Town Hola! Que tal? I'm back from Reno, and I'll have a full update in the next day or so. The short version is, I'm down about $80. My presentation went alright: my audience of 20-25 shattered my previous record of 4 at this conference. In the news: it looks like President Bush has a plan to bring our troops back from Iraq...one body bag at a time. Also, there's a new Slant out last week. Monday, November 03, 2003
Updates Hey gang! Sorry I've been incommunicado for so long. I'm getting a presentation ready for the American Evaluation Association's annual meeting in Reno this week, and I've had to redo my analyses several times in the past 5 days. But, it's finally coming together. Now I have to get a grant application out the door in the next 36 hours or so. Since I will be in one of the few "gambling permitted" states, please feel free to email me your favorite gambling tips related to blackjack, poker, or sports betting. Since I probably won't get to write for a few days, I'll also let you entertain yourselves with a question: who is the celebrity you are embarrassed to admit you have a serious desire to bed? Email me your responses and reasons why.. I'll go first. I confess to harboring a special lust for Kelly Ripa. Why am I embarrassed? I don't find her especially talented or bright or in any way interesting, yet I still crave her. What embarrasses me is that even knowing all this about her I am still interested in her simply because she ignites carnal desires in me, which makes me more animal and less rational than I imagine myself to be. If anybody knew, I'm afraid they'd think I'm a bad, shallow person. O.k., now I'm really procrastinating. Toodles! Thursday, October 30, 2003
Rock 'N' Roll God My friend Bill's computer looked it had caught some virus last night, and I went over to his house to nurse it back to health. In the meantime, he gave me a quick guitar lesson. I know about 3 chords, and he taught me how to cheat my way through 5 more. The bad news is that I am not a prodigy, so I have to practice to be able to play them so that they make the intended sounds. But, it was fun. The fun part though came when his computer came back on (without major problems). He has a bunch of recording equipment linked into his computer, plus a record player! I had been talking to him about the Velvet Underground because I had only recently realized that the three songs from R.E.M.'s Dead Letter Office I keep playing over and over again are originally Velvet tunes. He went to his album archives and pulled up Lou Reed Rock 'N' Roll Animal, Live Cream, and Little Feat Feats Don't Fail Me Now. Holy Shit! Bill is my music spirit guide. Probably my favorite thing to do in Nashville is go to the San Antonio Taco Co., eat chicken wings, and have him explain why the album rock gods playing on the stereo system are rock gods. It's like my own private Inside the Actor's Studio. I liked the Lou Reed and Little Feat, but hearing Clapton play guitar on that first tune, I came to understand why he's so revered. What's amazing to me about his solo is how many different movements there are. It's not like an Eddie Van Halen speed riff, though there's some speed in there. It's like he took the scenic route around the melody, stopping here and there to investigate the range of sounds. My shaman picked up his guitar to play along with the solos and revealed their magic. It's shocking that they're replicable, but what's impressive is that it was the result of specific choices made by the artist while playing rather than following a recipe. Improv at its essence, and not the Who's Line variety either. Tuesday, October 28, 2003
Say Wha'? This is impressive spin (see 4th paragraph). The more successful we are in our efforts to restore law and order in Iraq, the more unsuccessful we will be in stopping terrorist bombings against US/Iraqi/International targets. I'll let you let that sink in for a second. I would like to see the Democrats use variations of this rhetoric against Bush on other policies. I'm sure Tom Tomorrow will have a version in cartoon form soon:
I may fill in more examples over time. Thursday, October 23, 2003
In the News I love to see Wal-Mart get busted. I got in a fight with an ex-girlfriend over immigration issues, which tells you something about what an odd relationship it was. We were both very Anglo, but she was from Arizona, and I wasn't, so obviously she knew better than me. I kind of pissed her off by saying that if having too many immigrants was a problem for state resources, then perhaps a federal solution would be to offer financial incentives to move them into the rest of the country. Send them to North Dakota or Kansas or Vermont or whatever. Spread the burden to the other states and avoid the problems of excessive crowding into border towns/states. I think I made it a little more Draconian than that just to piss her off. It was just that kind of relationship. But, I also had suggested to her that the real problem was that corporations and the well-to-do were responsible for the problem because they were profiting from paying below market rates to people not eligible to work in the country legally. Some people object to immigrants because they take jobs away from Anglos. I object to the exploitation of labor and paying below market rates. Actually, I have been meaning to write for a while about Wal-Mart's media campaign to taint future jury pools in sex discrimination cases against the firm. I've noticed a lot of radio ads featuring women in management positions speaking directly about how they had such great opportunities for advancement and how it's such a great place to work. Of course, this goes directly to the substance of pending litigation brought by female employees that women systematically were denied access to information about available managment positions, passed over for promotions, and often had to attend official store meetings at Hooters. I'm not sure how this is legal. Maybe Tennessee is not one of the states covered by the suit, but I think they're national spots. Monday, October 20, 2003
Go Zealot on the Mountain It's bad enough Gen. Boykin is such an incompetent boob as to liken the war on terrorism to the Crusades--he's actually relatively, even refreshingly, accurate in stating the administration's position, it's just a completely moronic position--it turns out he's completely incapable of delivering an inoffensive apology. Of course, what's stupid is that the lesson the administration will take from this is that it needs to police what their generals say and/or find new generals who will say the right things rather than purge the zealots and apply some good old-fashioned secular reasoning. Young Manhattanite on the Loose Good news from our man in NYC. Definitely more fun than baseball. Here's your guide to acronyms: RISD=Rhode Island School of Design; MICA=Maryland Institute College of Art. Sunday, October 19, 2003
Random Baseball Coverage Notes
Thursday, October 16, 2003
8 Simple Rules for Ratings Success In an apparent attempt to duplicate the ratings bonanza caused by John Ritter's death, the producers of "8 Simple Rules" have invited James Garner, 75, to play the father-in-law of Ritter's deceased character. I'm actually worried that Peter Boyle will die before "Raymond"'s season is over. He looks worse and worse each year. Wednesday, October 15, 2003
Baseball I forgot to comment on the Yankees-Red Sox Game 3 feudin' and a fussin'. Tell me, is Don Zimmer the father of wrestling legend George "The Animal" Steele? You can learn more about The Animal at his website. As for the Cubs, I point you back to this fake article I posted, predicting the demise of the Cubs and Sox. The first indication of trouble was Bernie Mac singing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." Not what he did during the song, but because of who he is. Yes, he's a Chicago native, but he's a White Sox guy! I don't care if his show's on FOX, you can't do that! You're just begging the Fates to slap you down. And then to top it off with "the Champs" instead of "the Cubbies?" They deserve the failure. I'm not mad at the fan, but I will always have that picture of Moises Alou jumping in the air and grimacing after realizing what had happened. That should be the cover of next week's Sports Illustrated, whatever happens this weekend. What I can't get over is Baker not being ready. Even if you plan to let Prior pitch the complete game, why not have somebody up? What does it cost anybody? What really got me though was this feeling that I had to go through the whole next day to get to Game 7 thinking about how close they were and how spectacularly they imploded. Maybe they'll get lucky and have a rainout. Tuesday, October 14, 2003
How Novel? A Library People Would Go To Here's an interesting story on a new public library in Salt Lake City. I applaud the idea of rethinking what a library can be. I also like that I don't feel compelled to purchase any of the items, like I would if I stood around Barnes & Noble reading the latest magazines or several chapters of books that I have no intention of buying. However, I'm not sure I want to see all noise standards disappear. I've been to some newer and, inevitably, more liberal libraries where the floors are all tile (or pseudo-tile) and the acoustics amplify all noise in the building: kids crying, teens chatting, cell phones chiming, metal book carts rolling and hitting every groove in the floor. While most library tasks don't require silence, it would be nice to know there was some place to work quietly. They probably have some rooms off to the side, but of course all the publicly usable items are in the noise-jungle. Is industrial carpet too much to ask? Or inside voices? Maybe I'm just getting old and unfun. Speaking of which, Wednesday is my birthday. Feel free to email me your birthday wishes. Monday, October 13, 2003
Paper Available Insomniac readers, my paper in Psychiatric Services is available for your sleeping pleasure. It's in the October 2003 issue. Back Again Greetings! Just got back from another trip to Birmingham. The occassion this time was David Sedaris's appearance Sunday night. He read from a couple of soon to be published essays, plus a previously published essay, did a little Q&A. He was exactly what you'd hope for: the ultimate cocktail party guest. The tickets in Birmingham were considerably more expensive than other venues, but if he's near your town, it's worth seeing. What was really impressive about him though was how he declined to be drawn into a political discussion during the Q&A. An audience member asked about his opinions on the Democratic candidates. After demuring about how he wouldn't want to receive political advice from somebody as stupid as himeslef, Sedaris politely shamed the questioner for asking it. The gist of his argument was: if you read me, you can probably guess what my opinions are; but, the question is not about eliciting information from me, it's about your wanting me to agree with you or your assuming that I will agree with you and others, even most, of the audience; and while I may agree with you and say something and get applause for it, it's cheap applause and completely unearned, and I won't do it. Pretty impressive. As fun as his stories were, it was also interesting to hear him talk about living in Paris and the US/French feud over Iraq. What people don't realize, he said, was that people in France are anti-Bush and not anti-America, and that we as Americans are not so good at making the same distinctions. While we cancel trips to France--he told of an American friend who is a tour guide who had dozens of folks cancel, all except one, who demanded an armed bodyguard with him at all times, but when he was told one could not bring weapons into the Louvre, he finally cancelled--they still write stories about where to visit in America and things to do here on their vacations. It's good to hear that relations are not completely doomed. Thursday, October 09, 2003
Coming to a Store Near You Check out the latest board game sensation, Ghettopoly. I'm not sure how to react to it. Part of me wonders whether it would be thought so funny (if indeed it actually is funny) if some other ethnic group had been mocked. How would Jewopoly have been received? Somehow it's socially acceptable to mock black people and poor people because (a) we steal all their creations (music, fashion, language) and claim them for our own and (b) it lets us feel better about our own station in life. But, mostly I'm filled with envy at not having created and sold the game myself. Thus the eternal Libran balance is restored: wholesome concern weighted against jealous greed. Markets, Markets Everywhere Here is an interesting article from the Washington Post about ticket auctions by concert promoters/ticket vendors in the primary (i.e., non-scalping) market. The thing that surprised me was the statement about how many seats go unsold. Wednesday, October 08, 2003
Ugh! Well, my interview with Tennessee Radio News mercifully is over, and hopefully it will be killed after a single airing at the top of an hour. Or, at the least, they have a good producer who can extract something intelligible. On the bright side, we have a good political scandal brewing in Philadelphia. Congratulations California... On electing the "leader" who brought you such whopping financial successes as Planet Hollywood, The Last Action Hero, and Jingle All the Way. Even More Me Here's me in The Tennessean. I'm doing a radio interview today. Also, there's a new Slant out today. I've got a pretty good pun in "Other News" this week. Monday, October 06, 2003
More Me I was all set to recount my lunchtime conversation in which I described how Arnold's imminent victory spells good fortune for the Democrats: a political neophyte with a troublesome past inherits a disastrous economy and budget situation and is forced to right the problems of two generations of atrocious management of 5th largest economy in the world. Unfortunately, those shmucks at the New York Times beat me to it. (You'll need to register with the NYT to read it.) They add the George Bush angle that I might have eventually gotten to, but they omit the central interesting issue (though it may have been covered earlier): is Arnold this generation's Lurleen Wallace, wife of former Ala. Gov. George Wallace, and consequently also governor of Alabama? Or, in the common idiom: is Arnold Pete Wilson's bitch? On the bright side, you will soon get a chance to read my awkward academic prose, in addition to my often stultifying pedestrian prose, in the journal Psychiatric Services. I'll post a link to upcoming articles in the press about this work. Here's the Nashville City Paper's article. Also, I attended Neal Pollack's reading in Nashville. It's good to see the effect of my carefully crafted words on the local public, having inspired some fraction of two dozen people to attend. I suppose this bodes ill for a future in promotional writing. Oh, I almost forgot: I spent Friday night dealing blackjack to Cracker Barrel restaurant managers and district managers from across the nation. Quite fun. I only got in trouble once for allowing folks to bet over the maximum per hand (they used play money, so what's the bleepin' harm?). I was not penalized for allowing players to earn chips by telling me good jokes. I asked about their worst days working at CB, and they were reluctant to share--probably sensed it would be bad for business--but several volunteered stories about the day somebody was shot. It kind of killed the fun, frolicsome atmosphere, so I just went back to dealing. Thursday, October 02, 2003
Great Wall of Flab I've been at Vanderbilt for about 11 years now. I go out to eat most every day for lunch. Burger This, Pizza That. Every now and again in a quest for variety and a hope agasint hope that the food is finally better, I'll peak my head into a Chinese restaurant down the block. Apparently others have shared my opinion because it is always just crowded enough to keep from shuttering the business. I stopped in today on a lark and saw that they had implemented a buffet style service in place of the traditional menu (though the menu is still available). The place was packed like I've never seen. It's intriguing to me that a place where the food is not good enough to attract customers suddenly becomes popular because you can get all you can eat of it. There's a reason we're the fattest country in the world. Actually, their food has been improving in the past year under new ownership, but the buffet has attracted enough people who will discover the food is finally a above the culinary Mendoza line. Wednesday, October 01, 2003
Published Hey! My 2000-word profile got spiked elsewhere (still shopping it), but here's my 300-word piece on Neal Pollack's Never Mind the Pollacks. I have a short preview article on his band, The Neal Pollack Invasion, coming out tomorrow, that I will link here. Update: Here's the concert preview in the Nashville Rage. To quote from "New York City," one of the songs from the album, I'm a "God damn suck up whore pile of shit." Tuesday, September 30, 2003
Hold Your Horses As the baseball playoffs begin, there is much talk about a possible Cubs-Red Sox World Series. It reminds me of an article I wrote in June 2001 when the Cubs and Red Sox were both in first place in their divisions. As I reread it, this looks it was a draft from May of that year, but you'll get the gist. I'm reposting it now for your amusement:
Sunday, September 28, 2003
Know When to Fold 'em Those who have been by recently saw I had referenced Poker Nation as a book I'm currently reading. One of the heroes talked about in the book was Stu Unger, who is the subject of a new movie, Stuey, made by a Nashville filmmaker, A.W. Vidmer. It's a fine movie, starring Michael Imperioli of The Sopranos. I love gambling movies and books for some reason. Maybe it's because I secretly long to be able to make that huge money, because I believe I could stop when I was ahead, because I like the idea of risk rather than the reality of risk. I don't know. Whatever it is, I know I'd be a big loser. So, I guess I'm making the smart move by not playing at all. Oh, I have a guppy update: we have baby fish! Looks like about a dozen or so. I knew I should have set up a camera to film the births. Oh well. Everyone seems happy for now. My write-ups on Neal Pollack should appear in The Tennessean this week. I'll link to it when it goes online. It's kind of disappointing because I don't have much space. I'm going to have to find a magazine to take my longer info. Or just post it here. Wednesday, September 24, 2003
Finger on the Pulse of the Telecom Industry A new Slant is out this week. You'll notice an article by moi about the FCC's "do not call" list. Wouldn't you know, today there is a legit news item about the list. My article provides the ultimate solution, don't you think? Monday, September 22, 2003
Sidewalkin' Finally got back today from Birmingham, home to the Sidewalk Film Festival. A really super film festival. I saw a mostly comedy shorts segment, a dramatic shorts segment, a set of animated shorts, and 1 feature, the festival jury prize winner, Melvin Goes to Dinner, by Bob (Mr. Show) Odenkirk. Melvin was definitely a fun film. Cameos by David Cross, Laura Kightlinger, and the director himself don't interrupt the flow of the film, even when 350 people all turn to whisper "that's David Cross" to one another. It's basically a Gen-X version of My Dinner with Andre. The basic plot is: Melvin is in a shitty state job and while trying to make plans with his lover, accidentally calls an old friend he hasn't seen in a while and ends up going to dinner with him. So, it's Melvin, Joey, and two lady friends. I won't give away more. The conversations at the beginning don't flow too well, but after they move to about the second or third topic, they get on a roll and it becomes really fun. I wish I could report more on Melvin, but I was fighting off a sinus headache, fever, and heat exhaustion in the basement nightclub-cum-movie theatre where it was screened. Turnout was pretty impressive. I couldn't get in to The Real Old Testament, an improvised parody of the The Real World set in the Book of Genesis and, in a Bible belt surprise, the audience prize winner. The shorts at the Carver theatre were nearly packed, and even the 1500 seat Alabama Theatre was pretty full for the last shorts and animation blocks. So, if you're looking for a good festival to send your next film or want to see a good selection of films, plan for Birmingham in September 2004. Thursday, September 18, 2003
Parking I'm actually not riding quite as high as I just posted because I just spent the past 30 minutes driving figure-8s around the block looking for street parking. You see, there's a fair bit of free 2-hr parking in the neighborhood, and they don't check very often, so it's cheaper to pay parking tickets for a year than to buy a parking permit for work, where sometimes you end up parking even further away than if you parked on the street. Yes, I'm a cheap bastard. But today it seems the rest of campus was onto my game. And now I'm going to stop it. No, I'm not buying a sticker. Instead, I'm cutting some off-white card stock, typing some random numbers and letters on it, and placing it on the windshield of about 7 cars. This may not deter the people who get the fake tickets (they'll see they're not tickets), but it may scare them a little. More importantly, it will deter people who walk or drive by from staying too long the next day. Yes, I think Poker Nation has gotten into my wiring. All I need is a dose of Ayn Rand, and I'll be set. Always Be Closing I'm riding a wave of pride right now. I'm about the most spineless person you know. Some might prefer to call me "accommodating," but they're just trying to butter me up to take advantage of me in the future. Am I paranoid or is Poker Nation seeping into my brain? I'm brimming with pride because I negotiated a discount at the Jiffy Lube today. Already significantly overpriced for an oil change, they offered to replace my transmission fluid and clean my fuel injectors. What would be a $18 job at my usual place--which I'm not at because they pissed me off yesterday when they said the crew was about to take lunch for 30 minutes--that's right, the whole crew was taking a break simultaneously with 4 customers in the lobby and me about to be 5--has now become $130-ish visit. Maybe it's the decongestants talking, but it came to me: why not ask for a discount. I even looked in the person's general direction for it instead of at the floor and speaking into my chest. Not only did I ask, he offered $10 without hesitation. So I said, "Well, is there any way you could go to $20 cause I just went from a $30 oil change to looking at about $120 in extra stuff." He didn't just buy it, he gave me the oil change free! Holy crap! This is way better than the $50 I got out of Circuit City in exchange for the 3 hours I spent there on a computer exchange. They were nice, so I didn't push it. Anyhow, with that $80 plus my freelance dollars, I've just about covered the rest of my expenses for my trip to Austin. Some of you may be saying to yourself, "Yeah, but you just blew $100-something you didn't plan to. Who out negotiated whom?" To that I say, you enjoy undermining me, don't you mom? (Apparently the Al Franken book has taken hold as well.) Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Persistent Vegitative State Hey gang! Sorry I've been incommunicado the past few days. I've developed a lovely sinus infection, and my meds have made me an even fainter shadow of my usual shadowy self. My reviews and profiles of Neal Pollack should be published over the next two weeks. Oh, wait, that was supposed to be a surprise. Like I said, I'm in a drug-induced haze. It's all I can do to procrastinate this much. But, yes, it is true. I get to do legitimate celebrity journalism, the ne plus ultra of oxymorons. What else is going on? Don't you think it's a bit extreme that ABC killed off John Ritter just to save a few bucks on producing "8 Simple Rules." These studio execs need to realize it's the talent that brings in the bucks. What I don't understand, though, is why they're having him die on the show. I understand Ritter is actually dead, but why can't they pull a Bewitched and use a second John Ritter? It just seems odd to take what is at best a lukewarm comedy hit and create a major league maudelin story arc. I know it probably seems insensitive, but there are other sitcom actors out there who could play the role. The formula is still there. Instead, America will be doomed to tearful "Dad would have wanted us to go on" and "Dad would have been so proud" moments on what should be a happy, funny series. O.k., I got that off my chest. Now I'm going to go collapse. Saturday, September 13, 2003
Growin' Up A sad moment at my house last night. Sad in the kind of way when you're looking forward to going to the pool on a hot day and when you drive by it's been closed by the Board of Health kind of sad. You'll get over it, but it's disappointing kind of sad. I'm reading Al Franken's books and thinking about how it's more earnest than funny and Jimmy Kimmel is just about over (after vaguely listening to him, Conan, and Dave) and I see Extra. They're talking about John Ritter and Johnny Cash's deaths. That's not the sad part. The sad part is who was announcing. None other than Brian Unger, former Letterman writer, Daily Show correspondent (in the early Kilborne days), and most recently on Oxygen with the great show O2Be, a parody of Regis and Kelly starring him and Daily Show creator Lizz Winstead. I suppose there is truth in the old adage, "Brotha's gotta get paid." Let us all bow our heads in silence. Thank you. Wednesday, September 10, 2003
Piping Hot Comedy Now Available The latest issue of The Slant is available for your reading pleasure. Or, you can read how Howard Stern's radio show was deemed a "bona fide news show." I know now that my years spent writing for The Slant means I can look forward to writing rulings by the FCC. Also, it looks like Alabama has recommitted itself to plummetting to the bottom of every major measure of social well-being. Finally, Vanderbilt has eliminated its Athletics Department and folded the teams under the university's Vice Chancellor for Student Life. The news came as a shock to the Vanderbilt community which had thought the Athletics Department was disbanded decades ago. Monday, September 08, 2003
Lost in Austin I'm back from my sojurn at the lovely Holiday Inn - Town Lake in Austin. I had a lovely time seeing the sights and sounds of Longhorn Nation. Some quick thoughts:
That's about it for now. I need to get my articles written up this week. I will redirect you as they get published. Update: Oh, I almost forgot:
Thursday, September 04, 2003
Upcoming Plans Greetings all. I'm headed to Austin for my first freelance writing gig for the Tennessean. Yes, their standards have reached heretofore unimagined lows with my arrival. I'll fill you all in on details after I get back so I don't jinx myself. In the meantime, you can amuse yourselves with this article from USAToday about CD prices and reminisce about my previous entries on downloads: ipods and albums and digital movies. I include these not because they are relevant to CD prices, but because it seems obligatory in blogs to reference your own work. I'm slowly learning... Is anybody looking forward to this NFL Kickoff crap? I think the NFL has misunderstood the male demographic. We don't want to see, much less hear, Britney Spears sing. We want to see her humping Lisa Guerrero on the sidelines. After her fling with Madonna at the VMAs, we expect nothing less. Actually, if they were smart they'd have a pregame show set in a Las Vegas casino talking to oddsmakers. In fact, this will be the subject of a future column. One of my favorite aspects of the football season is listening to radio gambling shows/advertisements. Have you heard these? On Saturday mornings, in lieu of original programming, the sports radio station plays hour-long infomercials for a sports handicapping service in the style of a typical radio show talking football. They're the best. My favorite moment last year was when they guaranteed the winner on the coin flip in the Super Bowl. Since they were wrong, I'm sure the guarantee amounts to some sort of automatic payout that you are free to lose on some other wager. Very entertaining alternative to Car Talk. Tuesday, September 02, 2003
Cap Moves I am still trying to understand what it is the National Football League Players Association does for players. Each year, teams sign their big stars to "huge" contracts with lots of upfront signing bonuses (that are pro-rated for the length of the contract) and agree to relatively less huge annual salaries. Then, within a year, faced with actually having to pay the money and the league's salary cap, teams look to the players for cap relief by redistributing salary, typically by pushing money into the future. The only money guaranteed in the deal is the signing bonus. Case in point: the Tennessee Titans at the February cut-down point waived Neil O'Donnell and his $X million salary. (I can't find offhand the original prices, but it was over $1m.) However, the player and the team both wanted each other, so O'Donnell passed on offers from Minnesota and New Orleans to stay with the Ttans for about $755k. Now, after a pre-season in which the #3 QB, Billy Volek, proved he can be the #2 (for $605k), the Titans cut O'Donnell, and they can use a rookie QB, Jason Gesser, for the league minimum, $225k. $605+$225 is less than $755+605 by about $500k, which they can use for roster moves during the season or to put into a new contract for oft-injured and unproductive DL Jevon Kearse. That's on top of what they saved to get O'Donnell down to $755k. Such adjustments help the team because it can use that "new" money (or pool it with money given back by other players) to sign new players to help the team or to finance new "huge" contracts to other stars. This can only happen so many times because as time goes on a player's skill level declines relative to the increase in salary price. As a result, teams waive the players. Based on the timing of those waivers, the team takes less of a cap hit than if the player stayed with the team, freeing up more money in the future to perpetuate the cycle. Of course, they use this strategy on all contracts. I say "huge" not just because of the irony that players never actually see all the money they signed for. They're "huge" in the sense of relative value, the discrepancy between a player's future skill level, their future salary, and the value of a replacement player. In the future, there will be an undrafted free agent, maybe a couple years into the league, who will play for the league minimum and play his position and probably on special teams, too. He likely won't be as good as the player released, but he will be cheaper. The ratio of marginal cost to marginal benefit will be closer to 1, possibly even below 1 if the player turns out better than expected. In theory, players agree to these givebacks because if they refuse, they'll get cut sooner; the giveback postpones their eventual waiver, and players prefer the certainty of a job to the uncertainty of the free agent market. Also, if enough players refused the givebacks and took waivers, they would flood the market and lower the price, presumably below the value of the renegotiated rate. Are these not the practices the NFLPA should be working to avoid? It's bad enough that marginal players and aging players end up subsidizing the new contracts for first round rookies and superstars entering the prime of their careers. Apparently players suck it up and avoid much class warfare. If the union functioned properly though, they would protect the earnings of all their players and stop feeding the egos of the elite players and their agents, even to the point that the players would strike for changes to the operation of the waiver/cut-down and cap process. (Although we've seen how successful the 80s strikes were: they produced this ridiculous system.) What is really disgusting is that Gene Upshaw, Hall of Fame OL of the Oakland Raiders and president of the NFLPA, is the highest paid union leader in the country. The labor rights of the man's union members are treated only marginally better than a Wal-Mart employee. For Titans fans, all I can say is, look for Eddie George on the waiver wire come 2004. Wednesday, August 27, 2003
We Resume Our Regularly Scheduled Programming, Already in Progress Sorry for the political detour. To make it up to you, there's a new issue of The Slant for your amusement. Tuesday, August 26, 2003
'Roid-Rage-anowski Strikes Again How has Bill Romanowski evaded the NFL's substance abuse policy for so long? And how exactly did he get off of those charges when he was in Denver? What a douchebag. I hope this kid files charges. God as the Basis of Law? Perhaps the most laughable thing about the ten commandments controversy (and yes, those are intentionally lowercase for those who've asked or offered to copyedit my site) is the notion that our civil laws are based on them or, more broadly and more irrationally, on god's existence and teachings through the bible. Did no one take a course on modern political thought (i.e., post-Renaissance philosophy)? If there is one thing that modern political theory tells us--and while obviously influenced by classical Greek political theory, the nation's birth is essentially the fulfillment of modern political theory--it's that laws and societies exist not because god has ordained them, but because civil society is impossible without agreement to govern civil actions. Murder is illegal not because the x-th commandment says, "Thou shalt not kill." Murder is illegal because it impedes peaceful civil life. Outlawing theft makes it possible to accumulate more stuff, more efficiently. For god's sake, the whole essence of the market economy is that buyers and sellers make decisions independently and of their own free will in pursuit of their own utility; and, they accept adaptations to the market when the market fails because it improves social efficiency.* Between the rise of the Christian Coalition, Bush's election and the New Crusades in Iraq, this obsession with god in public ceremony, abortion clinic bombings, reductions in aid for Planned Parenthood, banning stem cell research, the drug war, fights over whether to teach evolution in schools (which is even crazy than fights over whether to teach creation in schools), and so many other social issues, I fear that we are entering a new Dark Ages. I've referred to it here as the New Puritanism. James Morone in his new book, Hellfire Nation: The Politics of Sin in American History, refers to it as the New Victorianism. Whatever the case, this does not bode well for society. The fact that I disagree with those groups on those issues does not mean I support putting abortion coupons in the Sunday paper or passing out pot to pre-schoolers. Nor does it mean that I am insensitive to the behavioral responses that "permissive" policies can lead to (e.g., people getting pregnant to sell their aborted fetuses for research). What it does mean is that I won't further victimize people who become pregnant or become addicted to drugs or throw people in jail for the sake of symbolic reasons and tolerate their inhumane treatment. Our problems are essentially human, and only humans working together can solve them. When people refuse to dialogue, we might as well turn out the lights. *: I'm far from the biggest free market, modernist thinker; I still cast my lot with the Greeks. But, it is undeniable that the biggest influence on America's founding fathers was political philosophy, not god, and certainly not Christian fundamentalism. Monday, August 25, 2003
New Link The young Manhattanite is now officially linked to your left and right here. Please visit him. Heart of Dixie Greetings folks. Back from another weekend in Birmingham where I got to witness two big issues in state politics: the infamous Chief Justice Roy Moore and his ten commandments, and the probable next governor to be recalled, Bob Riley. Roy Moore seems to enjoy the level of popular support reserved for a man in a houndstooth hat, possibly greater since he doesn't lose the Auburn vote. It was fun to see the local coverage of the issue. We got to hear excerpts from the various prayer vigils, such comments as, "We pray for victory over those people across the street." Real high-powered motivational speakers there. The pro-commandments folks have taken to labeling anyone who professes support for separation of church and state sodomites. These folks have a real thing for Sodom, don't they? Apparently there is nothing worse one can be in the Bible, though I find that hard to believe. Weren't the Samaritans awful people? I mean, that's what made The Good Samaritan so interesting, that he was good. I think this reveals the reactionary tendency in that group: they sound like kids in grade school who label anything that's different "gay" or refer to anyone different as a "fag." Not that the weird things they do indicate a willingness to sleep with people of the same sex, but it's as if you're so awful and so Wrong that you would consider such things. I'm curious how David Sedaris' appearance in Birmingham in October will be received. Actually, we know the answer to that. It turns out that Birmingham has a thriving cosmopolitan population, some of whom are gay. It's much more of a "recent immigrants" versus "long-time residents" divide. These outsiders have come for the interesting job opportunities (yes, they do exist) and have come face to face with the American Third World. They're the people who listen to NPR or are too busy working in big city-esque jobs but who enjoy reading as a pastime. In fact, they are the people who are likely to vote Yes on Tues. Sept. 9 in the vote for tax reform in the state (i.e., raising the tax floor for poor people and raising taxes on upper income folks and businesses), the very plan promoted by the Republican governor against whom most of them fought because he would be a crazy conservative Republican. The same Republican governor who has no support among Republicans in his legislature or in the national party. If it weren't for his expressing support for Justice Moore, he'd probably already face recall. It's not like he couldn't have seen this coming. In Tennessee, the former Gov. Don Sundquist broke with the party and pushed quite hard to get an income tax in Tennessee to help pay the budget and provide revenue stability since Tennessee's main source of revenue is sales tax (with county rates, the sales tax is as much as 9.35% in some areas, 9.25% in Nashville). And he had a lot going for him: few negative numbers, he had just been re-elected virtually unopposed, and he had reduced the Dem-Rep deficit in the legislature. Unfortunately for him, he could not figure out a way to beat Talk Radio and the state delegates and senators who milked it for what they could. Riley, on the other hand, won a bitterly divided contest just last year and within a year saw the budget was in such bad shape that he vowed to raise taxes on the wealthy and lower them on the poor. Sheer blasphemy in the Republican South. He certainly tried by catering to the Christian community on old-fashioned virtues like charity and kindness to the poor, but those dogs don't hunt in these parts anymore. In fact, even the groups who stand to benefit financially from the tax relief seem to be opposing the plan. I guess he can count on the fact that they may not be likely to vote. Those cosmopolitan/transplant voters with their "Yes for a Change" yard signs are doing their best (they even have significant radio ads), but it's not a good sign when the other side is so confident of its lead that they don't even have signs in the most populous city in the state. (I counted 3 No signs on I-65 between Birmingham and the TN state line.) But, whether he wins or loses, Riley will likely be a candidate for the 2004 edition of "Profiles in Courage," if that becomes an annualized series after its most recent update. (Certainly a cash cow for Caroline and the estate if it were issued periodically.) If they don't have a recall procedure in Alabama, you can anticipate that it may be a ballot issue this spring and Alabama can show that it has the capacity to be as progressive as even California. Then we can count on a race between Alabama's favorite progeny, Charles Barkley and Sela Ward. A classic Auburn v. Alabama match-up. Beauty and the Beast. Every cliche imaginable. Pretty bleepin' sad. Friday, August 22, 2003
Review – Owning Mahowny My fantasy is to quarantine a Borders or Barnes and Noble or Powell’s or some other huge bookstore, remove the coffee bar nonsense, and install a bedroom, kitchen, and full bathroom somewhere on the premises for me to live in. In the meantime, I have spent my adult life acquiring their inventory and the inventory of every thrift store and garage sale, one piece at a time, and placing it in my home. It’s not just books either. I love magazines, too. I don’t even care so much about the subject matter. I swiped a copy of Nation’s Restaurant News, the leading weekly magazine for restaurant general managers, at a chain restaurant last month, and I am seriously thinking about getting a subscription even though I have never worked in a restaurant in my life. As anyone with an obsession will tell you, the joy in the obsession comes not from the object of the obsession but the obsessing itself. The obsessively clean get their joy from the ritual of cleaning, not having a clean place. My books and magazines are lightly, if ever, read; but, finding them and having them brings an indescribable joy. Life is about means rather than ends. Last night I found myself at the movie theatre. I had planned to see “Swimming Pool” to get my decennial French ingenue fix, but the 7:05 show was cancelled for a movie preview. Looking through the list of options, I recognized “Owning Mahowny” from a review in The Onion AV Club. I figure if it has Philip Seymour Hoffman in it, it is worth watching. (In fact, there is a whole essay to write on actors who, simply by their association with a film, signal a movie is worth watching no matter how ridiculous or outré the premise. Hoffman heads that very short list. Even in his one failure—the execrable “Patch Adams”—he was the only redeeming part.) “Owning Mahowny” is the tale of a rising Toronto bank executive, Dan Mahowny (pronounced like Mahoney), who has a compulsive gambling habit, which he rationalizes as a “financial problem.” He earns a promotion early in the movie, which parallels his graduation from horse racing to weekend jaunts to Atlantic City. He quickly learns that he can tap into the credit lines of his bank customers and, because he’s that nice Canadian boy executive, nobody will question his withdrawals of many hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash to finance his gambling. Almost no movie about vices has as its hero a successful addict. The drunks and druggies and gamblers throw away their careers and families for the addiction, and our protagonist in this film is no exception.* We see pretty quickly how bad Mahowny’s problem is in his ridiculous sports bets with his Toronto bookie (the always enjoyable character actor Maury Chaykin, who you’ll recognize from many films, including "War Games," in which he shouts the still-funny line, “Mr. Potato Head! Mr. Potato Head!”)—“Give me all the home teams in the American League and all the away teams in the National”—in fact, this is what I picture Pete Rose’s life is like, only with less amphetamines—and how it affects his home life with would-be financée Belinda (Minnie Driver, who has a ball showing off her shiny new Canadian accent and covering up in her dowdy, early-80s couture). But it all pales in comparison to life in Atlantic City. No amount of attention from the casino manager (a wonderful John Hurt) or his lackeys will deter him from playing the tables every minute the casino is open. Despite his ability to get unlimited quantities of cash, it never occurs to him to spend any of it on fancy cars or clothes. While other high rollers enjoy the casino perks—drinks, meals, shows, hookers—our boy is a purist: he’s in it for the gambling. It’s not hard to see why Hoffman would choose this role. He’s the lead, but it’s essentially the kind of character role he’s always playing—whether it’s Freddie in “The Talented Mr. Ripley” or the love-sick Scotty in “Boogie Nights” or the concerned nurse in “Magnolia." Some will say it’s the writing of these quirky little characters that make them ripe for scene-stealing, but I will argue that it’s the result of a supremely talented actor applying his skill that transforms them from bit parts to career-makers. Hoffman’s performance is remarkable for its restraint. As out of control as his gambling is, Hoffman never forgets that this is still a banker with a gambling problem, and he behaves accordingly, with simple economy of gesture, flat affect, and thoughtful action, even when his scam is most in danger of failing. This movie isn’t for everyone. Judging from the audience, I am one of the few people who will laugh at the most ridiculous proposition bets or groan audibly as the hero pisses away more and more money. (I’m like the boys in the security camera booth in the movie tracking this hoser through the casino.) But, if you like to see great acting in the context of a human train wreck of addiction, this is the summer movie for you. *: The only examples I can think of off the top of my head are:
Saturday, August 16, 2003
Dr. DeMille, I’m Ready for My Close Up, Or, How I Spent the Blackout of '03 While the Northeast waited for the power plants to reboot themselves, I spent the past two days preparing for and receiving my first barium enema. Perhaps it could have been worse for those folks. My problems began two weeks ago tomorrow. A sharp pain to my abdomen. I finally broke down the following Thursday morning after the pain had spread throughout my gut, making it painful even to get up in the morning. It’s normally painful to get out of bed in the morning, but that’s a different kind of pain altogether, related to having to go to work. This felt more like a team of microbial prisoners shivving me. I was now moving around like those old men on t.v. Slow getting up, a little hunched, feet not lifting too high off the ground for fear of jostling something inside. I figured when it hurts even to roll over in bed, it’s time to see a professional. I started my journey at the free clinic for Vanderbilt faculty, where I had a rectal exam. I usually don’t do this on a first appointment, but there was something about my doctor. His Swedish good looks. The Canadian accent. His long fingers. Whatever it was, I was soon on my side with him knuckles-deep in my rectum. He praised my smooth prostate and admired the lack of occlusions in my colon, besides his hand. He said it was probably one of two things: either I’m one of the handful of people who has his organs reversed and it’s appendicitis, something he can only check on x-ray and, well, it’d be a nuisance to schedule that because the clinic doesn’t have the equipment; or, diverticulitis, a slight bulge or vagination—what a cool, descriptive word—that was irritated. It would be annoyingly painful for a while, and then it will stop. I told him, “Well, there’s a reason it became a sketch”—referring to Joe Piscopo’s and Robin Duke’s Doug and Wendy Whiner characters. He laughed. (I knew my instincts were right about him.) However, this being Thursday at the clinic and tomorrow being Friday, he didn’t want to begin treating me “because I just work here one day a week” and my doctor wouldn’t see me until Monday because he doesn’t see patients on Fridays. So, I settled for my 2:30 appointment Monday. After a weekend in which my pain subsided on its own and two hours in the doctor’s waiting room filling out paper work, my doctor made his appearance. Ten minutes after awkward small talk, a few presses on my abdomen, and a listen to my breathing, he prescribes a barium enema and when would that be convenient for me? I figure sooner is probably better than later as this whole episode of pain is likely to be over by the time they finish their investigation. We settle on Friday—a mere 13 days after my first symptoms and 8 days after my initial visit to the Swede. However, because it’s now after 4:30, the staff has left for the day—academic employment ranks with government employment in workload—I will have to come back to pick up my “bowel cleansing system.” (God, I wish I was a copywriter and could come up with cool euphemisms like that.) For the uninitiated, the “system” is a 24-hour fast. A diet of water, naked soup (a.k.a., broth), water, and laxatives. And water. I’m not sure about my bowels, but my kidneys appreciated the attention. The box promised activity within ½ to 6 hours of taking them. And after my friend Jason’s horror story—which I must have him write down and allow me to post here—I figured this stuff is fast-acting. I mixed the liquid laxative and drank it while sitting on the toilet, turning my body into a giant funnel and expecting a sort of fecal trans-substantiation, and I thumbed through my double-issue New Yorker. But with no activity in an hour, I gave up and moved to the living room to watch Scrubs—god, that’s a fun little show—and switch back and forth between “Force Feed TV” on NBC and ABC’s blackout coverage—speaking of which, how hot did Diane Sawyer look with her mussed hair, her glasses, her husband’s oversized dress shirt—I nearly forgave her working for Nixon. Still no luck. By the time I had suffered through Leno and his interviews with Kevin Costner—I don’t remember him being this much of an ass—and the Queer Eye guys (I refuse to use their officially sanctioned nickname)—by the way, if you want an example of what a network whore Leno is, Thursday and Friday were Exhibits A and B (follow this link for my Leno thoughts)—and I realized that Conan wouldn’t do the whole show in the dark—I really hoped he would just interview the writing staff for an hour—I went to bed. Things started cooking at about 4:00 a.m., and I hurried to the commode. However, it was pretty anti-climactic. I had lain out a couple magazines to read, my shower radio was set to sports talk, the telephone rested on the edge of the tub. I’m never so ready for a tornado. But after a few rectal gusts I went back to bed. Was this all? I had taken plenty more meaningful and memorable dumps in my life. I guess the fact that I hadn’t eaten solid food in nearly 36 hours had something to do with the lack of content. In fact, I have no idea why I needed to bother. People envy my regularity. There are two things I do well: watch t.v. and move my bowels. Within 30 minutes of eating, I’m “evacuating” (yeah, copywriters). But now I was worried. The labeling had promised activity within six hours, and here I was nine hours post laxative initiation having such an underwhelming performance and facing a 6:30 suppository laxative administration that promised action within one hour. Great. I’m going to use this stuff, I’ll have no response, and then at 8:15 when I’m driving to the doctor’s office KABLAM! It was also at this time that I read the labeling a bit more closely and noticed that the laxatives had expired a year ago. Great, now I’ve poisoned myself. But, my good friends at Morning Edition put me back to sleep before my 6:30 duties, which went without incident and roughly on time, though with even fewer fireworks than my previous visitation. I arrived at the imaging office for the 8:30 appointment and filled out my medical and financial information for the umpteenth time in the past week—seriously, why do doctors and hospitals even have computers when they still do everything on paper and even when they do enter the information on the computer they refuse to use it or cannot access it from any central source (even though it’s all the same “covered entity” for HIPAA purposes so there’s no confidentiality concern)—and they whisked me back to the changing room. I stripped naked except for my shoes and socks—a shorter, fatter Nuke LaLoosh if you will—and now understand all the hospital gown jokes, though after 12 years of competitive swimming—swimming in competitions that is, not that I was competitive in the races—I don’t have any qualms about exposing my naked ass to the world. The nurse explained the procedure: I’m going to place the barium tip at your rectum; then I’m going to insert it; it will feel uncomfortable, but not painful; you’ll feel like you have to go, but don’t bear down; you’ll get used to it; I’ll insert a balloon to hold the tubing in place; I’ll feed the barium into your colon, and it will feel cool; the doctor will come in and take your pictures; then, he will pump your colon and stomach full of air to empty the barium; and, then we’ll let you go to the bathroom to empty the rest on your own. I guess they’ve done this before. They had me lie on the table and immediately turned me away from the “activity” of preparing the tubing. Perhaps an adaptation by the system after too many middle aged men had come to doubt their sexuality upon seeing the length of tubing that was about to violate their nether regions. However, my mind had wandered to where I was worried about whether my ass was clean for the nurse. I’m about to have a piece of hard plastic attached to a rubber hose plunge into my rectum, and all I can think about is my not so fresh feeling. Which reminded me of a joke by Aristophanes, later modified to considerable effect by Chris Rock, about how no matter how much you wash that sphincter, it still feels unclean. The hard plastic and an intense urge to shit broke my reverie on the timeless quality of shit jokes. She was right; it was uncomfortable. I will never look at a vacuum cleaner and its retractable electric cord in quite the same way again. But, slowly, as they do in pornographic letters, I accommodated its length. I first met my radiographer as a disembodied voice, his Orson to my Mork as it were. He had the decency to come around to my field of vision and sort-of-introduce himself—I still don’t know his name, but he had on a white coat so he had to be a doctor. I asked him what he expected to find, since, as I had feared, I no longer had any abdominal pain. He basically ignored the question, saying he will see what there is to see. Fun, a Zen doctor. The doctor rotated me from horizontal to vertical (feet down) to nearly inverted (head down) snapping pictures all the while. “Don’t breathe. Stay absolutely still. And you can breathe.” Suddenly, I’m in an industrial medical pornography photoshoot. “That looks great! Now roll onto your stomach. O.k. now roll back to me. Perfect. It looks beautiful. Now I want you to rotate on the table. Good. And one more time. Fabulous!”* And then it was over. The doctor had snapped his money shot, and I was left with a sticky white residue leaking from my anus. No cuddling. No note by the table. I bet he won’t even call. I did my best to clean up after myself. I put on my clothes and left. After 36 hours of not eating, I was ready to gnaw my arm off. I rushed to Sonic for a Chicken Club Toaster sandwich combo meal. Two hours later, I would stop at Wendy’s. I had thought in the days before the prep that maybe I would take this opportunity to start fresh with a good, healthy nutritional program. Now my body would get all the nutrients it needed, no longer impeded by the three decades of fast food buildup! But, no, immediacy took hold. I chugged a lemonade and vegged on the couch for a couple hours as I popped tater tots like a raver pops X. Turns out FOX in Nashville now carries the network’s mid-day show with Jigglin’ Barberie (another Canadian!). I eventually forced myself to go to work—why should today be any different than all the other days I force myself to go to work?—where I got a little stuff done, but mostly sat in a food coma staring at the computer screen. I will update you on the results, if I ever hear from those folks again. *: Except for the word "fabulous," these are actual remarks by the doctor. Update: As exepected: "I find nothing wrong with you," says the doctor. |
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