The Drunken Years

Three Mid-season TV Premieres Worth Watching

2010-03-16T01:10:00.001-07:00

Some of you may have gotten a letter in the mail, asking you to take part in an important survey. No, not the census, no one cares about that. I'm talking about the Nielsen ratings survey. March is when the networks make their mid-season line-up adjustments in preparation for April, when Nielsen determines network ad rates. This spring's pre-sweeps premieres include a few worth watching.

"The Celebrity Apprentice," Sundays @ 9 on NBC
(New episodes available following Monday via Hulu and NBC.com)
A common gambit with a declining reality show is to add celebrities to the mix. In the case of "The Celebrity Apprentice," it works well, if only for the surreal situations: like disgraced former Illinois Governor Rob Blogojevich waiting tables along side WWE wrestler Goldberg. Or The Donald and Cyndi Lauper arguing about Rosie O'Donnell. This is the ninth season of Trump's show and the third season to pit celebs against each other for their favorite charities. It's a battle of the sexes; Sharon Osbourne, Holly Robinson Peete, Lauper, a former WWE diva, a model, a stand up comedienne and an Olympian make up the women's team, which they named Tenacity. The name sounds like a perfume, so of course the Donald likes it. Pop quiz: What is Rocksteady? A: a villain in the old 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles' cartoon; B: the name of Brett Michaels' clothing line; C: the team name Brett Michaels tricked the guys into choosing to shamelessly promote his clothing line of the same name; D: all of the above. If you guessed 'D,' give yourself a cookie. No seriously, Brett Michaels is diabetic, so don't give him the cookie. On the two-hour season premier, his team raised $100,000 for the American Diabetes Association. Rocksteady, which coincidentally is also the name of a No Doubt CD, consists of Michaels, Darryl Strawberry, Goldberg, Blago, Sinbad, plus a celebrity chef and an Olympian. Trump clones Ivanka and Donald, Jr. return to assist their genetic donor in the boardroom. Donald's hair is provided by Jim Hansen's creature shop. Rob Blogojevich's hair is provided by DuPont, maker of Teflon.

"Sons of Tucson," Sundays @ 9:30 on FOX
(New episodes available following Monday via Hulu and FOX.com)
It's hard to talk about this show and not reference "Malcolm in the Middle." Justin Berfeld, who played Malcolm's older brother Reese in the 90's family sitcom, is one of the show's producers. Also on board is Todd Holland, who directed 26 episodes of "Malcolm in the Middle" as well as "The Wizard," a 1989 film that introduced the world to Fred Savage and Super Mario Brothers 3. Imagine Malcolm and his brothers being raised by an reluctant schemer, like Bernie Mac mixed with Earl Hickey. The three boy's real dad is in prison for stock fraud. Their mom was out of the picture long ago, so they're on their own. They travel from New Jersey to Tucson to claim some of their dad's ill-gotten money and a home he hid away. To stay off child services' radar, the boys need to enroll in school and for that they need a parent, so they enlist down-on-his luck Jack Black look-alike Ron Snuffkin to portray their papa. The writing is superior, delivering exchanges we haven't heard since "Malcolm." For example:

Oldest Brother Brandon: We’re working too hard. Let’s just put an ad out on Craigslist. ‘Wanted: Father to three boys.’ Bam. We’re done.
Middle Brother Gary: Great idea. A footrace between the pervs and child services. Bam. We’re screwed.

Gary is played by Frank Dolce, who starred on Broadway as "Billy Elliot." You may recognize Tyler Labine, who plays fake father Ron Snuffkin, as the slacker sidekick on CW's "The Reaper."

"Ugly Americans," Wednesdays @ 10:30 on Comedy Central
When it comes to slackers, Comedy Central's new cartoon trumps "Sons of Tucson" with the ultimate loser loafer, zombie roommate Randall Skeffington. Unemployed and undead, Randall spends his days doing odd jobs and finding replacements for his decaying body parts. "Ugly Americans" bills itself as an animated horror-comedy series. It follows Mark Lilly, social worker at the Department of Integration, as he helps new citizens both human and "other" adapt to hectic life in New York City. There are easier tasks than weaning vampires from blood, socializing land-whales, and housebreaking werewolves, but Mark is up to the challenge. Besides Mark and roommate Randall, season one introduces twenty-eight odd characters including a robot, a cyclops, a floating brain and Astrophysicist Stephen Hawking, as well as several characters not stolen from "Futurama." Oh, and magician "Christ Angel."

The Indian in the Cupboard

2009-11-24T12:27:00.000-08:00

We are all familiar with the story of the first Thanksgiving. Everyone knows that in 1621, after months of treacherous sea travel from religiously-repressive England the pilgrims landed on Plymouth rock in America, the continent Columbus discovered when he stopped to ask for directions to India. Though the new world is replete with resources, plenty of game, fruit, vegetables and parking spaces, the pilgrims are ill prepared for that first winter in a brave new world. But by coming together with their savage neighbors the Indians (feathers not dots), those early settlers not only survived, they also thrived. They learned from their new native friends which crops to plant, which game to hunt, which leaves to wipe with. And in November of 1621, the two disparate groups met at a table of brotherhood for Thanksgiving. From that first shared meal our modern concept of Thanksgiving dinner stems. Back then, they had turkey, sweet potatoes, giblet gravy, cranberry sauce and rolls, all foods we still think of today when we think of holiday meals. Though they had little in common and were openly suspicious of each other, the natives and the pilgrims put aside their apprehensions and tolerated each other just long enough to have that one meal together, just like modern families do.

But many traditions we associate with that first Thanksgiving actually came later. This was not common knowledge until a recently uncovered diary shed light on the subject. John G. Smith was a Plymouth Colonist. His journal tells of the the colony's first harsh years in America. Sadly the journal ends after ten years when John G. Smith died of a deadly combination of colon cancer, herpes and scurvy, called scurpea (scur-pee-YUH). But he lived long enough to write about the second Thanksgiving. Here now, for the first time in print since I magically found it in the woods while wearing golden glasses, excerpts from the diary of colonist John G. Smith: pilgrim, patriot, pony podiatrist (horse hoof hygiene was of utmost concern to the colonists.)

Wednesday, November 21, 1622

Dear diary,

Hard to believe it's been a year since the first Thanksgiving. It seems like only yesterday that I first stepped foot on this new continent, bright-eyed and full of wonderment. I remember my fear as I spied watching eyes in the shadows, the noble savages who would soon become our allies. But when I met their chief, Quiquo Nahut, which means Prances-with-goats, all fear subsided. Somehow just standing in his strong, dark, tall presence assured me that everything was going to be okay, we were going to make it in this new world after all. (Note to self: finish painting portrait of Quiquo to give him tomorrow.)

The harvest is in, finally. It took all of the colonists working weeks to bring in this year's crops. It sure would be easier if we had some slaves to do it for us. (Note to self: ask governor about enslaving some of the Indians- maybe from one of the unfriendly tribes that give Quiquo those tension headaches. I know, domestic slaves are so tacky, but they're cheaper than those expensive African imports.)

I'm so excited about Thanksgiving. Last year's was nice, but it could have been better. So when I found out that there was to be a Thanksgiving panel this year, I nearly pee'd myself. I love planning parties and I was so bored. As you know, diary, my wife died in childbirth while aboard the Mayflower. I lose more wives that way. And as far as my business, well let's just say it turns out pony podiatry may not be as 'in demand' as the technical school brochure claims. Occasionally the blacksmith, John W. Smith (no relation) will send me some work- a mare with a nail in her foot or a colt too small for regular horse shoes, but aside from that I have no customers and nothing to do. I called in a lot of favors to get picked as head of the Thanksgiving planning committee. My fellow colonists didn't trust the job to any Tom, Dick or Harry. (note to self: send consolation letters to Thomas Butcher, Richard Baker and Harold Candlemaucherstein.)

So this year's fest will be fabulous! I found these great cornucopias that I'm going to use as centerpieces. I'll fill them with rafia and fruit so that they're decorative and functional. Unfortunately there will be no corn husk dolls for the children . Quiquo said all the women in his tribe are on the same moon cycle and it's that time of the month... that is, their Aunt Mississippi is visiting, so they're all in the blood hut until the crimson tide subsides. So all the corn husks are otherwise in use, and only Quiquo and his men will be joining us this year. I've prepared everything tonight that I could. Tomorrow morning I'll finish the name cards and the place mats with turkeys I made by tracing my hand on construction paper. I'm so excited, I don't know if I can sleep! (Note to self: don't forget Quiquo's painting!)

Thursday, November 22, 1622

Quiquo and his tribe will be here at about one of-the-clock. They sent a smoke signal early this morning saying they wanted to finish watching their traditional sporting contest, with the red skins against the jaguars. I understand the Indians place wagers on which will be victorious. Last year the jaguars lost, although they did eat one of the redskins. Afterward the kids used his decapitated head as a ball. They invented some sort of game where opposing teams, our kids versus the little wigwam-rats, tried to carry the head past a line of scrimmage into the opponents' defended area. I think they called it headball. (Note to self: natives enjoy wagering- is there a way to capitalize on that?)

Morning chores are done- the livestock have been fed, the chicken eggs have been gathered, the goats, cows and cats have been milked. The good wives of Plymouth are at their hearths, preparing their ovens for mincemeat and pumpkin pies. Goody Smith has started cooking, if that what you can her aborted attempts at cuisine. Last year, her 'turkey surprise' gave half the colony a butt rash (it turns out the surprise was poison sumac).

The long table has been set in the middle of town. Slowly our Indian neighbors stream into the village, walking up out of the woods like silent red ghosts. It's creepy how quiet they are. Sometimes, when by the stream taking care of my business, I sense eyes watching me from the brush and wonder if one of our Indian friends is being a voyeur. Then again, it could just be a bear. A naughty, naughty bear.

This year's harvest was meager- thanks El Niño. I feared my fellow villagers would be reluctant to share our bounty with the natives this year. But one red skin, called Ino Notwat, which means Hunts-the-cougar, reassured me. He told me how last year Goody Taylor gave him her peas. I don't remember the Taylors having a pea patch, though, but maybe Goody Taylor got her peas from someone else. Maybe her backdoor neighbor gave Goody Taylor her peas, which she then gave to the tall, muscular Indian chap.

Another peculiar tradition the savages have introduced to us-- each harvest, they take the fattest women in the tribe and paint them up like larger than life characters, then place them on wooden rafts in the river. For each float four to eight tribesmen, depending on how fat the women are, walk along the river banks, holding hemp tethers attached to the fat floating spectacles. As the extremely fat painted women float down the river, they throw treats to the spectators on the river banks. I doubt that this tradition of watching spectacular floats parade down the thoroughfare on Thanksgiving Day will catch on with the white population... unless it gets monetary backing. (Note to self: talk to merchant Mr. Macy about sponsoring his obese daughter as a float in next year's parade.)

Dinner went off without a hitch, for the most part. Chinchinatu, whose name means 'Thinks-he-can-drink-alot-but-is-really-a-light-weight' got tipsy on homemade fire water and hurled in the cornucopia. Why I thought it would make a nice centerpiece I will never know. I'm amazed at how much Indian upchuck it can hold, though. It truly is a horn of plenty... of puke.

The place cards were a great idea! Quiquo was beside me at the far end of the table, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. He absolutely loved his painting- his words, “loved it”. After dinner Quiquo offered me some “special tobacco”. I normally don't smoke but on account of it being Thanksgiving I indulged. While the others let their meals settle he and I made off to the tribe's smoke lodge. After a few puffs from the pipe I was feeling strangely fine. Quiquo started giggling, then suggested we strip to our skivvies and wrestle, which we did. Lying their on the floor of that tent, high, sweaty, breathless, our eyes met as we...

(The next page was removed from the diary)

...ever do again. It was humiliating and painful. (Note to self: ask apothecary for cream to put on sore ass.)

Down With Cleveland Brown

2009-10-20T15:31:00.000-07:00

Back in 1971 CBS began airing a controversial sitcom about an overtly prejudiced white man, his subservient wife, feminist daughter and her hippie boyfriend. By 1975 All in the Family was at the height of it's popularity and spawned it's second spinoff, The Jeffersons, which focused on bigoted Bunker's black neighbors.

Flash forward to 1999. Fox began airing a controversial sitcom that begins the same way as the opening credits to All in the Family, with a married couple sitting at a piano. By 2009 Family Guy is at the height of it's popularity and is spawning it's second spinoff (if you count American Dad, which I do), The Cleveland Show, which focuses on idiot Peter Griffin's black neighbors. The similarities between the two sets of series doesn't end there. Both The Cleveland Show and The Jeffersons has a U.S. President's name in the title. Okay, the similarities end there.

Cleveland Brown is done with Quahog, Rhode Island, no offense Spooner Street residents. His cheating wife left him and got the house in the divorce, so Cleveland decides he needs a change of scenery. He and Cleveland Jr. (his son, not his penis) set off to California. A detour through Cleveland's hometown of Stoolbend, Virginia sidetracks those ambitions as Cleveland runs into his high school dream girl, Donna Tubbs, now a divorcee with two kids. Her teenager Roberta (Nia Long, Big Momma's House, Are We There Yet?) is the typical rebellious daughter with absent-father issues. Donna's little boy Rallo is a jive-talking clone of Stewie Griffin without the gay overtones or ambitions for world domination. In short, he's a precocious smart ass who often helps the adults see what's not obvious to them. As for Cleveland's son, the once-energetic Jr. is now lethargic and shy, an obese, friendless nerd. After Cleveland proves his love to Donna and his dedication to her kids, in Brady Bunch fashion the two families blend as Cleveland and Donna wed.

The Cleveland Show, having a different dynamic than Family Guy, is able to deal with issues differently. First there are the Brady Bunch blended family issues. Cleveland must become a father to two strong individuals who are dealing with their real father's absence. Though they resent Cleveland they appreciate his desire to make them a happy family. As a black family racial issues are likely to come up, especially since the show is set in a southern rural town. The supporting cast includes a Nordic Christian couple, who happen to be bears, voiced by Seth McFarlane and political pundit Arianna Huffington. There's also a racist redneck named Lester and a hipster wannabe named Holt, basically taking the roles of Joe, Peter and Quagmire as Cleveland's drinking buddies. Where as Quahog has the Drunken Clam, Stoolbend has The Broken Stool. Many scenes occur in this bar where the male characters (including the Christian Nordic bear) go to work out their problems. Unfortunately it seems Cleveland in taking on his own series has transformed somewhat, becoming more like Peter Griffin. The Cleveland of this show is dumber and more incessantly gleeful, perhaps allowing him to get into zanier situations than the Family Guy version of himself, who always seemed to be the backup punchline if the episode ran heavy on Meg jokes. The Cleveland Show is part of FOX's 'Animation Domination' Sunday. It airs at 8:30, after The Simpsons, before Family Guy. You can also watch episodes on hulu.com.

Fall Brings New Network Name, New Stargate Spinoff

2009-10-20T14:21:00.001-07:00

Recently The SciFi Channel underwent some elective surgery- it had LASIK so it could lose the glasses, had it's acne lasered off and got Da Vinci veneers for it's bucked teeth. In short, it had a geek-ectomy. Since it came on the air on September 24, 1992 the channel has had a bit of a 'nerd' stigma. Early on, during the channel's awkward adolescent years, most of the programming was reruns of The Incredible Hulk, Lost In Space and Battlestar Galactica (the original series, not the slick revamp). Eventually SciFi was able to seek original programming, eventually acquiring the rebroadcast rights to ShowTime's Stargate: SG-1, a one hour action drama spun off from the Stargate movie starring Kurt Russell. The show began as an instant success and Sci Fi soon gained rights to produce new episodes of it. SG-1 lasted for five years on Showtime followed by five more on the Sci Fi Channel where it spawned a spin off of it's own, Stargate: Atlantis. Since the channel has lost it's nerdy exterior, it now goes by SyFy, a phonetically identical name that attempts to put some distance between the channel's cool present and it's dorky past. The new Syfy shows will still focus on scientific themes, but now the character drama of a show will be the focus. This has been the channel's trend for a while now. Shows like the new BattleStar Galactica don't use the science fiction aspect to drive the plot. Really, the show is a military drama that could as easily be set in space as in the Pacific Theatre of WWII or during those pioneering days of wagon trains to the west. The fact that it is set in space does not take away from the effective character drama.
The newest entry in the Stargate franchise, Stargate Universe hopes to marry themes from many contemporary science fiction series, including Battlestar Galactica, Lost, Star Trek and, of course Stargate. First, a primer on the Stargate universe. Stargates are round structures build by an ancient space fairing race. These gates are teleportation devices between worlds in other star systems. Humans discovered the one on Earth at an Egyptian dig site. SG-1 was the first team the Air Force sent through the gate, which at the time could only 'dial' to one planet. The story of that first off-world visit is told in the movie Stargate. One year after the events of the movie, the television series Stargate: SG-1 picks up the thread. Humans have finally figured out how to 'dial' all the planets in the gate system, so SG-1 was reassembled to explore them, make alliances and secure technology for the Earth's defense, which they did for ten years. Two years later Stargate Universe picks up the story. Mankind has discovered an ancient secret: a gate that can dial not just to planets in this galaxy, but to any galaxy. Of course, we they only know how to dial to one address. In a split second decision while their research base is under attack, everyone is evacuated through the Stargate to this mystery address. The escaping military and civilians end up on an ancient and vast space ship, crewless and badly damaged. They discover they are traveling the outskirts of the universe, near the outer galaxies, and that the ship had been sent on it's solo mission millions of years ago by the ancient creators of the Stargate system.
For the most part, the cast is a bunch of newcomers (read: nobodies). Ming-Na (ER, Disney's Mulan) and Lou Diamond Phillips (La Bomba) are the biggest stars in the ensemble cast, but don't let that deter you. What drives shows like this and Battlestar Galactica is how the cast interacts. Big names don't necessarily yield better interactions. With SGU the drama revolves around how each character reacts differently to their common misfortunes. The first episodes, a two part pilot titled “Air” examines how each stranded character handles their sudden change of situation, being thrown from an orderly research station through the Stargate to a cold, dark alien ship. The refugees soon learn that the ship's life support isn't working and that there are probably large section of missing hull. Due to the nature of their hasty egress some of them have severe injuries. So they have to seal the damaged ship sections, repair the life support system and treat the wounded. Unfortunately, none of them know anything about the alien ship, let alone how to use any of it's control panels. Again, the drama could be unfolding on a battleship in the Pacific just as well as a wagon train on the prairie. The specific circumstance is completely science fiction, but the way the characters deal with these problems is the show's focus. In such a stressed environment, many of the survivors lash out. Tempers are volatile as the command structure is overtly and covertly challenged. Hysteria and panic take hold. Paranoia spreads. Distrust grows. Taut psychological dramas unfold between the characters. But eventually the tension resides as solutions are found. The injured begin to recover. The scientists begin to figure out the aliens controls. The survivors make peace with their situation and finally focus on surviving. All this occurs in the first two episodes. In episode three, the ship's power fails. Imagine the opportunity for panic as the still-addled survivors must confront a new fear. Like Lost, the survivors are facing the unknown each episode, learning more about their strange situation as they explore and solve the problems thrown at them. And like Star Trek, they are likely to use their situation to explore new planets, to seek out new life and new civilizations. They have to, because without supplies or means to fix the ship they have no hope of ever seeing Earth again.
New episodes air on Syfy Fridays at 9 and are available at hulu.com and syfy.com

Polar Opposites

2009-10-01T17:00:00.000-07:00

In the cultural melting pot that is America bigots and supremacists thrive partly because of our black and white view of the world. You’re either white or not, Christian or heathen, a member of the majority or the minority. I can’t speak for countries other than The United States because I haven’t visited any of them, let alone spent enough time abroad to develop a world picture bigger than the tableau I see from my metaphorical back porch. Maybe it’s this way everywhere– maybe mankind is incapable of thinking in anything but binaries. Hell, we’re predisposed to pairs. We each have two hands, feet, eyes, ears, hemispheres of the brain, et cetera, unless we’re “deformed.” See, there it is– if you don’t have two of any of the above listed things, something’s “wrong” with you. Anything more or less is a deviation. But our affinity for twos goes beyond biology. In American politics, for example, we have two major political parties, the Republicans and the Democrats. Sure, there are other parties, but Independents rarely garner more than a few votes. Occasionally the Libertarian and Green parties act as spoilers, taking votes from the two big boys, but never have third parties ever truly threatened the supremacy of The Donkey and the Elephant. In the last presidential election, for example, the Democratic candidate (Barack what’s-his-name) took 52.4% of the vote and the Republican candidate (I believe his name is Father Time) took 46.3%. That leaves 1.3% to the leftover parties. I voted for that Barack guy, not because I agree with everything he and his party wants, but because I agree with most of their platform. What a different election we would have had if there were more than two viable options. When we eat at a buffet (something Americans do too often, evidenced by our growing waistlines and shrinking arteries), it’s easy to pick and choose, to pass on the dry drumsticks or overcooked pork chops and instead opt for the roast beef. But when your options are cake or death your choice is already made for you. Unless you’re on Atkins. Then, by all means, enjoy you’re sugar-free Jello.

But our form of government, a representative democracy, has three branches. Many people forget this, that we have executive, legislative and judicial branches on our government’s tree. It takes an appointment (Sotomayor, I’m looking at you) or a controversial ruling (Roe V. Wade is not about the best way to cross a stream) to remind Americans that the Judiciary branch not only exists but also matters. Ideally, all three branches would check and balance one another. In reality, the White House and Congress make most of the political decisions. Again, it seems all our brains can handle is a dichotomy.

We find polar opposites in nature as well. Magnets literally have them. With the Earth’s rotation we get night and day. And let’s not over look sex. Every animal– okay, every important animal, sorry sponges, starfish and sea cucumbers– has a male and female gender. Humans have a hard time understanding transgendered and transsexual people because they don’t fit into our ‘this or that’ structure. We get ‘yes’ and ‘no’, but ‘maybe’ often baffles us. Homosexuality violates that same concept. We get putting a man together with a woman because that’s natural. Two girls together most can tolerate, mainly because our male-dominated society finds that erotic. But two guys, that’s icky. Or worse, some consider it a transgression against society or God. And three guys? Inconceivable to most. Two guys and girl? Only acceptable if one of the dudes is Ryan Reynolds and a pizza shop is somehow involved.

One of the peculiarities of the English is that it’s an amalgam of several other languages. Indeed, English integrates words from nearly every tongue. Back in the day, which was a Tuesday, when a new word was added to our lexicon it was paired with a more common word already in use. These ‘pair phrases’, like ‘odds and ends’, ‘prim and proper’ and ‘safe and sound’ were meant to help English speakers understand a new word by coupling it with a familiar one of the same meaning. In modern times colloquial pairs like ‘hard and fast’ or ‘down and out’ are not only unnecessary but also excessive. Why use three words when one will do? Is this another example of our dependence on duality? If so, I am ‘sick and tired’ of it.

There is only one true black, one true white, but infinite shades between. A visit to Sherwin-Williams attests to that. Ever try to match the wall color of the apartment you’ve wrecked in a vain attempt to recover your security deposit? If so then you know that barring removing a chunk of the wall to take with you, your chances of matching the color exactly are ‘slim to nil.’ Baytree white is different from off white which is different from eggshell which is different from cream. Sure, things would be simpler if all the grays went away. But how boring that would be. Variety, they say– and by they I mean the President and his wife– is the spice of life. Cumin is the spice of death, but that’s neither ‘here nor there’. So instead of thinking of things in twos, thinking a person either a friend or an enemy, a motive good or evil, a belief right or wrong, maybe we should start living in the gray. While I may believe in the validity of my point of view, and fight ‘tooth and nail’ to defend it, I shouldn’t dismiss the beliefs of others simply because they don’t coincide with mine. I don’t have to accept an asshole’s arrogant assertions, but I can at least tolerate them, if only for selfish reasons, so that my view, misguided as it may be, is tolerated as well. After all, there are billions of people on this planet, ‘by and large’ made up of ashen, smoky and silvery shades. No blacks, no whites, just grays.

Upcoming gadgets, and currently hot items- literally

2009-08-19T23:54:00.000-07:00

Christmas is still four months away, but for the tech industry it’s already time to preview the Holiday shopping season.

PlayStation just debuted it’s PS3 Slim, a slimmer (duh) and cheaper version of it’s console. With it’s 120 GB hard drive and $299 price tag it’s set to truly compete with the XBox 360, which has the same amount of storage space for one hundred dollars more. PlayStation also introduced it’s newest generation of portable gaming, the 16GB PSP Go, and a new, smaller assortment of PSP games. They’re called PSP Minis, and won’t exceed 100 MB. Sony calls them “snackable” gaming experiences, meant to compete with casual gaming concepts usually found on the Nintendo Wii. Among the titles currently available from Sony’s Minis collection are a Sudoku game, Tetris and Galaga, i.e., arcade classics. The Minis store and the PSP Go will go live October 1. The PS3 Slim releases September 1.

Bill Gates, always the one-upsman, is working on a peripheral for the 360 that will, once again, revolutionize the gaming industry. You may have seen Microsoft’s Project Natal previewed on Late Night With Jimmy Fallon. The best description I can come up with is that it’s a wireless, virtual controller. A camera/infer red detector puts the player in the game. Like the Wii, a player’s movements control the game. But, unlike the Wii, there is no controller– every movement of the player’s body is read by the detector and is translated into game commands. On Jimmy Fallon a simple kickball game is demonstrated, as well as a not-so-simple driving game. The device’s accuracy seems to be above par. Expect to see this cool gadget on store shelves in time for Christmas 2010. Sorry, you’ll have to wait a year to experience the next level in virtual gaming.

iPhones are blowing up– literally. There have been at least two reports of exploding I-tech in recent days. An iPhone 3GS owner in the Netherlands reported that his celly blew up while it was sitting on his car’s front passenger seat. It was “locked in his car at the time of it’s combustion,” according to a report from slashgear.com, a technology news site. In another incident a teenage girl’s iPod Touch “made a hissing noise,” and within 30 seconds “there was a pop, a big puff of smoke” before the MP3 player exploded ten feet into the air. Apple offered the Liverpool girl a $271 refund but required that the girl sign a confidentiality agreement, which she did not. In both cases Apple refused to admit liability for its volatile products.

NBC invites us into it's Community

2009-08-19T19:46:00.000-07:00

My faith in the sitcom format has recently been renewed, thanks to NBC’s Community. It stars the hilarious Joel McHale of The Soup fame, along with legend Chevy Chase, John Oliver (senior British correspondent for The Daily Show) and Ken Jeong (the Asian dude in The Hangover, Role Models and Pineapple Express). Focusing on Greendale Community College, Joe and Anthony Russo direct and executive produce the series. If they bring to it the cult-like fan devotion their Arrested Development garnered, this show will be a runaway hit.

In a bold marketing move that other networks are sure to imitate, NBC previewed the show on the Facebook, the most popular social networking site. American Facebook subscribers were jilted– the pilot was only viewable by users outside of the US. This was an attempt by the Peacock Network to get an unadulterated opinion on it’s new show.

The show focuses on McHale’s character, Jeff Crocker, a lawyer who discovers his undergraduate degree is not quite legit– it’s from Colombia, not Columbia. He’s forced to go to community college, and runs into Professor Ian Duncan (Oliver), a former client that he got off of a DUI charge. Crocker uses their relationship to his advantage, hoping to skate through college with Duncan providing him test answers. Of course Crocker falls for a fellow student, The Book of Daniel’s Gillian Jacobs as Britta (not like the water filter). He pretends to be a board certified Spanish tutor to insinuate himself into her graces and, eventually, pants.

From what I’ve seen, the cast is stocked with actors who are in their own right funny, but as an ensemble will prove to be blatter-bustingly so. If you can’t find a bootleg of the pilot online, you can at least see clips on NBC.com/community, and see the show's website at Greendalecommunitycollege.com.

El Nino

2009-08-19T17:55:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed that this year has been wetter than last. It’s rained almost every day this summer, where as last year it was devastatingly dry. It’s not that the South’s long drought is over– it’s actually El Niño. El Niño means “the child” in Spanish, but more specifically refers to the Christ child. It is so named because in South America the phenomenon is most noticeable around Christmas. Also called the Southern Oscillation, El Niño occurs every three to eight years, though it has no well-defined period.

Scientists have known about El Niño for a long time. The phenomenon was observed as far back as the Holocene epoch, 10,000 years ago. The first time this recurring weather pattern was referred to as the Christ child was in the late 1800s. Around that time scientists began to notice that droughts in India and Australia occurred simultaneously. In 1924 Gilbert Walker observed the interactions between warm sea air and cooler land air in the Pacific ocean. He called the predictable pattern the Southern Oscillation. The Southern Oscillation is the atmospheric counterpart to El Niño, and is what drives the system. We now know that the Walker circulation (named for Gilbert), a group of trade winds in the Pacific, begins to falter as one of the first signs that an El Niño event is beginning. When these trade winds die, water in the Pacific produce warm waves that travel along the equator to the South American coast, which is usually cold due to upwellings of cooler, deeper waters. But the added warmth of these waves begins a trend that builds over time until an El Niño event occurs.

Other than the near-daily rain, El Niño also effects the South in other beneficial ways. The summer temperature is lower during El Niño, and the added rainfall reduces the risk of wild fires. We’ll also experience a wetter, milder winter this year. And because it diverts heat from the Atlantic to the Pacific, expect this hurricane season to produce few large storms, thanks to El Niño.

But not all the effects are good. Warmer water off the coast of South America reduce the nutrient content of the water, harming the fishing industry. And a wetter growing season means later and smaller crop harvests, in most cases. Midwestern states are more likely to flood as well. There is also some evidence of a correlation between the increase in algae blooms (or red tide) off the California coast.

Though it can last for up to two years, this El Niño is expected to only last through winter. If it persists Spring 2010 will be colder and dryer. La Niña, the sister system to El Niño, always follows. Expect a hotter, dryer summer next year. So enjoy this respite while you can, because next year promises to be nearly unbearable.

Mamas, don't let your babies grow to be hobos

2009-08-19T15:36:00.000-07:00

To the freshmen now flooding the sidewalks and congesting the thoroughfares, welcome to Valdosta! We’re so glad to have you and your money (and your parents’ money). Most of you are coming from communities much smaller than V-town, places we refer to as the Boonies, or BFE. As such you’re going to experience things that you never would at home. For instance, Valdosta doesn’t shut down at nine each night. The bars are open til two, followed by late night trips to the Waffle House. You could actually stay out all night and be thoroughly entertained. And we have two (count them, two!) Wal-Marts. We refer to them as Wal-Mart, and the good Wal-Mart. Valdosta is almost an actual, bona fide metropolis. Our downtown scene is really spectacular– on top of the multitude of bars at which to wile away hours waxing philosophical in an inebriated state, there are beautiful boutiques, superb shops, great galleries and rad restaurants. And the bums are the bomb. Any metropolis worth living in has them. We have a standard assortment– there’s the sweet guy who sleeps on the bench but doesn’t bother anyone, the old, thin one who talks to himself, and the one who isn’t homeless but looks like he is, who chases you around on his Rascal asking you if he can “warsh yer windahs,” which I think means “wash your windows.” My bike has no windows, though, so he usually leaves me alone. The standard urban legend about the homeless is that they’re secretly super rich, with a stash of gold doubloons hidden somewhere in the sewers. Heck, some of you doe-eyed freshmen may some day, if you apply yourselves correctly, join the unwashed masses and become bums yourselves. Yes, a leisurely life of panhandling may be in your future, if you play your cards right. Imagine how at peace you’d be with no school, no job, no family, no cares in the world. Just you, your bindle (that’s the hobo stick with the handkerchief at the end) and perhaps a mangy mutt as your faithful companion.

If you’re now considering a life as a vagrant, you’d better first figure out what type of bum you want to be. There are a few varieties of vagrants. A hobo, for instance, tends to travel more than a standard bum. Hobos wonder from city to city, with no real base of operation. They’re the type who travel in open train cars. If this appeals to you, consider becoming a hobo. If you’re prone to motion sickness, consider a more stationary vagrancy, like being a tramp. They travel by foot. If you see a tramp on a bike, feel free to kick him off. Tramps aren’t allowed to use vehicles of any sort, so by his violating that rule he forfeits his right to the Huffy.

If you, like me, like to drink– a lot– then you’d be most comfortable as a wino. I know what you’re thinking, you don’t like wine. Me neither, but the modern wino doesn’t necessarily have to drink that potent potable. No, winos enjoy all varieties of liquors. Gin and juice is popular for black bums, but white bums prefer whiskey. To each his own.

Unlike success in life, becoming a bum doesn’t require hard work nor discipline, but it does require practice. You can tell the difference between a bum who has been on the street for decades from one who is fresh on the job– there are subtle panhandling techniques that one masters only after years on the job. But don’t worry about that, it’ll come with time. If you really want to free yourself of the burdens of society and start a carefree life as a vagrant, all you have to do is ignore every piece of advice your mother ever gave you. It turns out all that nagging was geared toward preventing you from becoming a bum.

Brush your teeth. Oral hygiene may be the most decisive factor in becoming a street urchin. Regardless of their individual situations, all bums have bad teeth– it’s as if they’re British. I’ve never seen a bum with Da Vinci veneers. According to a statistic I just made up, the average street beggar has six teeth, and when you think about it, you don’t need any more than that. Three teeth on top, three on bottom. Two molars for crushing, two canines for ripping, two bicuspids for cutting. When you live your life on the move, you’ve really got to streamline your body, dumping excess weight that only slows you down. Considering that, losing unnecessary teeth only makes sense. Dumping two ounces of teeth makes you two ounces faster. And while you might not think that small weight would make a difference, it could be the deciding factor in whether you clear the chromed bumper of the rapidly approaching H2 as you jaywalk across the interstate. So if you want to be a bum, stop brushing. Also, consider trying meth, as it’ll help you rid yourself of unwanted teeth.

Don’t do drugs. I don’t mean weed, smoking pot won’t set you on a path to bumdom, contrary to what your parents, priest, guidance counselor and favorite NBC stars may tell you. The more you know, my butt! To become a bum you’ve got to do hard stuff. Start with crack, since you don’t have to inject that (though if you do, you’ll trip your balls off). Drinking heavily helps too. If you can manage to sell off all your possessions for drugs and booze you’ll be a bum before you can say “spare change?”

Always wear clean underwear. And, as an extension of that, always wear clean clothes. This one is pretty obvious in it’s effect– bums are always dirty, usually wearing the same clothes until they (the clothes) fall to pieces. Most often you’ll see bums layered in clothing, kind of like a protective shell of filthy fabric. This serves three main purposes. First, it’s insulation against the elements. Second, it’s padding, helping bums to survive the impact of the chrome H2 bumper that clips them as they jaywalk across the interstate. Third, the dirty layers of laundry act as people repellent. Nothing annoys a bum more than people coming up to them. Ironic, isn’t it? But being a bum usually requires a certain degree of antisocial tendencies. Those seven stinky shirts help bums shun civilians.

Eat your veggies. One of the best kept mom secrets is how exactly veggies are good for you. The truth is that green vegetables promote positive brain chemistry. Little did you know that broccoli fights dementia, brussel spouts prevents paranoia, and spinach cures syphilis. Interesting side note: cucumbers can cause syphilis, if used inappropriately. Eating your greens may be the one thing preventing you from a life of giving zj’s under the overpass for fifteen bucks a pop (if you have to ask what a zj is, you can’t afford one).

A few weeks ago I lost my job waiting tables at a local restaurant. I won’t say which one, but I’ll give you a hint: it has an Australian theme and it’s name rhymes with Goutback. I’m estranged from most of my family, by choice, so I had to depend on my friends to survive until I (luckily) got a job. I realized how close I was to homelessness. Good thing my roommates are so compassionate. Otherwise, I would have been one of those perpetually drunk derelicts asking to “warsh yer windahs.” If you find yourself being excessively harassed by a street person, try this trick: keep a few of those tiny two-for-a-dollar bottles of gin in your purse or pocket, and any time a bum accosts you toss one of those suckers to distract him as you make your getaway.

District 9 delivers actions, attempts social commentary

2009-08-18T18:10:00.000-07:00

Twenty eight years ago a massive alien space craft (remember the mother ship from Independence Day?) appears over Johannesburg, South Africa. Instead of sending down a envoy or attacking, it merely hangs there, motionless in the sky several thousand meters up. After three months mankind eventually sends a recon team up to the ship. They discover that it is silent and inoperable and that the aliens aboard, who seem to have evolved from crustaceans, are extremely sick, malnourished and on the verge of death. They appear directionless, as if they are but the worker class and all their leaders are gone, presumably killed by some disease, the same disease that has left the remaining aliens in such a sickly state. The aliens, pejoratively called “Prawns” for their resemblance to the delicious crayfish, are ferried down to the Earth’s surface and detained in District 9, an area of Johannesburg that soon becomes their ghetto. D-9 quickly accrues all the vices of any slum, including drug trade, prostitution, illegal weapons dealing and every other black market activity you could imagine. Fast forward to the present day, where Multi-National United (MNU) is contracted to relocate the alien slum to a new camp hundreds of kilometers away from the city. Bumbling middle-level bureaucrat Wickus Van De Merwe is charged with heading the ambitious operation– his father-in-law/boss dismisses the charge of nepotism– and leads his team into D-9 to notify it’s residents of their impending eviction, backed by battle-hardened paramilitary soldiers MNU contracted as the muscles of the mass move. Bumbling Wickus, while searching for contraband in one alien’s shack, stumbles upon a canister of liquid that he accidentally exposes himself to, making him ill and taking the story from it’s expected path.

The beginning of the film is presented as a documentary. We see various employees of MNU as well as people on the street react to the alien’s arrival and to Wickus’ actions that by the end of the movie we learn lead to an unexpected upheaval in the status quo. Traditional Hollywood film techniques are employed, interspersed occasionally with the aforementioned documentary interviews and security footage.

This film is co-writer/director Neill Blomkamp’s first feature– he’s only done commercials and music videos before, and it shows. Though the film attempts to explore dramatic themes such as apartheid, prejudice, mob mentality and political economy, it meanders too much to give the viewer a good picture of how they relate to the action-driven plot. A more experienced director could have done a better job incorporating the serious social commentary into the sci-fi frame. But producer Peter Jackson owed Blomkamp for the aborted Halo movie they intended to make together, and since Blomkamp is from South Africa his perspective on racism helps articulate that theme. Had this film been made by a Hollywood director it would most assuredly have lost all social commentary in favor of an all-out shoot-em-up with space battles and one-liners. More context for the aliens would have been nice, but again I think Blomkamp could not have handled more than what he did without making the movie a labor to watch. As it is, it has plenty of action, spectacular effects (all the aliens are computer-generated), a vague-but-pointed social commentary and a guarantee of a sequel. In all, a good movie to end the summer smash season on.

Birthdays and Karaoke Legends

2009-08-11T21:27:00.000-07:00

It may surprise some of my readers that I am not the young, sprightly figure that I present myself to be. It surprises me that I even have readers, let alone that they think about me at all, but if you do, then surely you must consider me young of heart. But I am actually twenty nine years old, an age that frightens many unmarried maidens and unaccomplished lads alike. I am especially distinct in that at twenty nine I am both unmarried and unaccomplished. That’s completely my fault, like world hunger and racism. If I weren’t so lazy I’d be married (or civilly united) and accomplished, and everyone would have full bellies and no one would be afraid of the black guy in the bar parking lot at 2 AM (in most cases, it’s just Shay macking on a semi-sober sorostitute).

But the world is not perfect and I’m not either. So at twenty nine, on the verge of thirty, I have done none of the things a less lazy person would have on a list of things to accomplish before aging three decades. I don’t have such a list– I’m too lazy to write one. But I’m trying to overcome my own mental inertia. My complacency is on my mind daily, but more so because of my birthday. I try not to think of aging negatively– rationally, the older one is, the more experience and knowledge one has. Realistically, the older one is, the more regrets and mistakes one has. But those regrets and mistakes are important in that no matter how much I wish I had accomplished I wouldn’t be here today without all the bumps and potholes that have modified my path. Sure, where I am is not where I want to be, but at least it’s not where I’d hate to be. I’m not dead, a meth addict or working a dead end job I hate. I’m alive, a pot head and working a dead end job I can tolerate. So at least I’m better off than a corpse. They don’t celebrate birthdays. In that respect the dead are like Jehovah’s Witnesses.

At some point birthdays lost their specialness for me. They became ordinary days, just like Tuesdays, tax days, election days and holidays. I don’t celebrate any of those, though I of course observe them. That is to say I know each of these “special days” are actually special, more important than regular days, like Tuesdays, though I would argue that Tuesdays were, until recently, one of my favorite holidays. That was the day I went to O’Corley’s for the dynamic duo of bar games, trivia and karaoke. Trivia challenged my mind– it pitted my intellect against the intellects of my fellow bar patrons, giving me a realistic view of where I ranked on the IQ scale. Some nights I’d go home feeling thoroughly defeated, others pompously triumphant. Karaoke challenged my inhibitions. It pitted my self-consciousness against my love for music and self-deprecation– singing badly never bothers me when I’m drunk. But at the end of July the music died. Since I can remember Mad Jim has MC’d karaoke at O’Corleys, but he took his last waltz last week. Tuesdays will never be the same.

When I first moved to Valdosta oh-so-many years ago I wouldn’t be caught dead on stage at a bar. I’d have been mortified to do karaoke. I drank less then, too, and the two are not unrelated– I needed more than a little encouragement from my friends Jack, Jim and Jose. Actually, I exclusively drank vodka and cranberry juice back then. I convinced myself that cranberry juice was good for my kidneys, thus mitigating how bad vodka was for my liver. I don’t remember the first time I actually sang karaoke, but I remember the song– Love Shack by The B-52’s. I also remember Mad Jim distinctly– he’s hard to forget. The tall man with a striking white mane of hair and beard, if he were in robes instead of a top hat, could pass for Gandolf the Grey. Always the showman, always the congenial host, Mad Jim will always be the first name I think of when I think of karaoke. Even when I didn’t deserve it, even when I made a complete drunken ass of myself, he tolerated me. That’s more than I can say about my family. For eight years Jim made Tuesdays important enough to request that day off from work every week. But all good things must come to an end. Jim is retired so now Tuesdays are just like birthdays to me– not special, just another day.

As for my unaccomplished, unmarried, lazy, twenty nine year old self, I’m okay with everything I haven’t done since coming to Valdosta seven years ago. Maybe it’s fitting that karaoke is no longer a part of Tuesday-holidays for me. I’ll use the last year of my twenties to work on conquering my various vices, though to do so I’ll have to stop letting my subconscious bully me around. Easier said than done– I envy anyone with a peephole through that locked door.

Who You Gonna Call?

2009-07-24T17:42:00.000-07:00

Twenty five years ago, New York was under an attack. Invaders from the afterlife appeared across the city, wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting citizenry. A call for help went out. Four men in jumpsuits answered. They were the Ghostbusters. A quarter of a century later the boys in gray are due for a comeback. Here’s a run down of the Ghostbusters franchise; where’s it’s been and where it’s going.

Ghostbusters
President Reagan was practicing voodoo economics. Princess Di was pregnant with Prince Harry. Lionel Richie and Stevie Wonder had hit singles. The year: 1984.

Directed and produced by Ivan Reitman (Meatballs, Stripes), with the screenplay written by Harold Ramis (Knocked Up, Orange County) and SNL alum Dan Aykroyd, Ghostbusters starred Ramis, Aykroyd, Bill Murray (Lost In Translation, Meatballs, Stripes), Sigourney Weaver (Aliens, Copycat), Annie Potts (TV's Designing Women), and Rick Moranis (Honey I Shrunk the Kids, Spaceballs).

University professors Dr. Peter Venkman (Murray), Dr. Raymond Stanz (Aykroyd) and Dr. Egon Spengler (Ramis) lose their research grant when their experiment methodology is proven to be bogus. The team decides to go into business for themselves and open a ghost removal service. After struggling to get on their feet, they are summoned to investigate the strange happenings in Dana Barrett's (Weaver) Central Park West apartment. What they discover is that all Manhattan is being besieged by ghosts and other worldly demons through a portal in her building. After the role of Winston Zeddmore was turned down by Eddie Murphy, among others, Ernie Hudson signed on to play fourth ghostbuster. Had Murphy accepted the role his character would have been introduced much earlier. As it was, Zeddmore’s character was introduced later in the film.

Ghostbusters (the animated series)
Following up on the success of the movie, the cartoon featured the Ghostbusters keeping NYC safe from demons, curses, spooks and every other off-the-wall weirdness known (and unknown) to mortal man. This time they had help from their old nemesis Slimer, a new arsenal of weapons, and an occasional assist from their faithful secretary Janine. J. Michael Straczynski, creator of Babylon 5, wrote many of the episodes. Lorenzo Music, most recognized as the voice of Garfield, provided the voice of Dr. Peter Vankman, the character played by Bill Murray in the films. Allegedly Murray didn’t like that his character sounded like a fat feline and asked to have Music replaced. Dave Coulier, Uncle Joey from Full House, took over the part, basically doing his impression of Bill Murray in Caddyshack. Ironically, after Lorenzo Music died Murray took over the role of Garfield, voicing a CGI version of the cat in the two live action movies. The series changed names and formats a few times, running from 1986 to 1991.

Ghostbusters II
George H. W. Bush was practicing trickle-down economics. Sarah Palin was pregnant with her first child,Track. Milli Vanilli and Bobby Brown had hit singles. The year: 1989.

Five years after the events of the first film, the Ghostbusters have been plagued by lawsuits and court orders, and their once-lucrative business is bankrupt. However, when Dana begins to have ghost problems again, the boys come out of retirement only to be promptly arrested. They discover that New York is once again headed for supernatural doom, with a river of ectoplasmic slime bubbling beneath the city and an ancient sorcerer attempting to possess Dana's baby. Can the Ghostbusters quell the negative emotions feeding the otherworldly threat and stop the world from being slimed?

Ghostbusters: The Video Game
Barack H. Obama is practicing recovery economics. Nicole Richie is pregnant with her second child. Blackeyed Peas and Beyoncé have hit singles. The year is 2009.

Video Games | Ghostbusters | Annie Potts Reveal Teaser

Arguably one of the most anticipated video game releases of the year, Atari's Ghostbusters: The Video Game breathed new life into the long-dormant franchise. Set in 1991, two years after the events of Ghostbusters II, the player takes on the role of a rookie ghostbuster as the team attempts, yet again, to save New York City from a cataclysmic supernatural event. The game is largely being treated as the third proper entry in the Ghostbusters canon as the film's original writers, Dan Aykroyd and Harold Ramis, have penned the game's script, an unusual move for a film-to-game adaptation. Much of the original cast have returned to lend their voices and likenesses, including the mercurial Bill Murray. The game also features the original movie score by the late Elmer Bernstein, the hit theme song by Ray Parker, Jr., and memorable foes from the classic movie, including the gluttonous green ghost Slimer and the mammoth Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. It is available on the PC, Xbox 360, PlayStation 3, Nintendo Wii and Nintendo DS.

Ghostbusters III
Barack H. Obama will still be practicing recovery economics. I have no idea who will be pregnant, nor who will have hit singles. The year will be 2012.

Rumors of a third Ghostbusters film have been floating around seemingly forever, like an unwanted pesky poltergeist. Aykroyd almost got a third movie off the ground in the late '90s, but the project never happened and rumblings about a third film have been relatively quiet since then. That is until September 2008, when Harold Ramis confirmed Columbia Pictures had asked The Office writers Gene Stupnisky and Lee Eisenberg to pen a script for a potential Ghostbusters III.

According to an e-mail he sent to the Los Angeles Times, Ramis says much of the original cast, including Bill Murray, are eager to be involved in a new movie. The concept of Ghostbusters III would revolve around the old team in a mentor capacity and handing over the reins to a new, younger group. Ramis, in a recent web interview, asked for realistic expectation for the potential sequel:

We faced it before with Ghostbusters II. No matter how much people love [the first movie], the sequel will never live to their expectations. Is Spider-Man 3 as good as the first Spider-man? Probably not. Certainly the last Indiana Jones felt like a disaster– although I read online that Harrison Ford made $65 million from it. And I guess that is the reward for creating these cultural icons. But if were going to do it, it’s impossible to say it will be better than the first one. It’s not going to be like the rebooting of Batman– we’re not going to be wearing sculpted suits with pecs and abs built in to them. What made Ghostbusters funny was the low tech aspect of it… for us it will always be about characters [first], then secondarily it will be about the pseudoscience, the fake mythology.

Watch the Original Ghostbusters for free online, courtesy of crackle.com. Ghostbusters

Raising the Bar

2009-07-24T17:40:00.000-07:00

On the short list of fun things to do in Valdosta drinking is perpetually near the top, along side getting stoned out of your mind or playing World of Warcraft– yep, those are pretty much your only options. Most of us choose to drink. But how many of us think of recycling in that inebriated state? Hell, I can’t even think of my address by the end of my nights at the bar, let alone remember to sort my empties. But recycling can positively impact our environment and our lives. So if you, like me, spend much of your life at the bar, you’ll agree that recycling at the bar makes perfect sense.

Consider how much trash one person makes at the bar. I consider myself an average drinker– I consume about four or five drinks each night I go out. Sometimes less, often more. If I drink five beers a night, going out twice a week I will accumulate about ten unrecycled bottles or cans. So using a rather conservative estimate of my drinking, each year I account for five hundred or so unrecycled containers. Multiply that by every obnoxious drunk you see and you’ll soon realize how big an impact recycling can make.

North Carolina is the first US state to implement such recycling policies. In 2005 they passed a measure requiring establishments with Alcoholic Beverage Control permits to recycle aluminum cans and glass bottles. "As the waitresses and bartenders close down at the end of the night, they'll separate the bottles. Real simple," said Erik Hodgeman, who manages a Raleigh bar. "Execution is going to be the most difficult thing – figuring out the ins and outs of how it's going to work – but overall I think it's a good idea."

Mark Center, a district supervisor for the state Division of Alcohol Law Enforcement, said recycling will be checked during routine, unannounced inspections. Failing to comply is a class one misdemeanor with a possible fine. Wilmington is one of the cities most affected by the law. The 60 or so downtown bars and restaurants go through about 2 million bottles of beer and 140,000 bottles of liquor a year, which officials said amounts to between 10 tons and 12 tons of glass recyclables every week.

In some places the students are leaders, organizing community recycling projects. The Students for Bar Recycling club at Kansas University is collecting glass bottles from local bars to be recycled. Similar groups in California and Oklahoma are looking to start the same program in their college towns.

While glass is 100 percent recyclable, it has less value when resold than other containers such as aluminum cans or plastic bottles. According to the RecycleNet Composite Index, aluminum cans are currently worth $600 per ton when recycled, while mixed colors of glass are worth $5 per ton. As a result, it’s more difficult to find glass recyclers. In Earth911’s recycling database, there are 42 percent more locations nationwide that accept aluminum cans than clear glass.

If you’d like to help get a recycling program started at your favorite watering hole, here are a few resources that will get you started.

Earth911.com Put in your zip code and this site will tell you where the nearest recycling center is. You can specify what you want to recycle (paper, aluminum cans, computers– even paint).

greenstudentU.com An up-to-date encyclopedia of green terms, a guide to eco-friendly living for the college student, and links to resources to start recycling programs. It also posts news on all things green.

Partnership4recycling.org This is the official site of the North Carolina Division of Pollution Prevention and Environmental Assistance, the agency responsible for enforcing the state’s new recycling law. A good site for researching your potential recycling project. Check out the “best Practices” section for a guide to creating a successful recycling plan at your bar or restaurant. There are even case studies of bars in NC with successful recycling programs.

Fire It Up

2009-07-24T17:34:00.000-07:00

I hear a lot about ‘personal freedoms.’ I hear that ‘the government’ is always trying to take them away. But I don’t hear much about ‘personal responsibilities.’ Is the government always trying to give them to us? It seems so. A new law passed in June aims to regulate the tobacco industry. Cousin to “Big Oil” and stepson to “Big Automotive” (but no relation to Biggie Smalls, AKA the Notorious B.I.G., R.I.P.), “Big Tobacco” has perhaps the largest lobby in Washington, and I’m not talking about the size of their foyer. According to Wikipedia, an infallible source, the tobacco lobby spends over $100,000 every day Congress is in session. Aside from direct contributions, the lobbyists ply politicians with dinner, drinks and dessert. They coerce Congressmen with caviar and champagne. They buy them things is the point I’m trying to make here. But despite their best efforts, these lobbyists have lost a large battle in the war on tobacco. So smoke ’em if you got ’em, because sooner than you think, you’ll notice a change.

The first change you’ll likely notice won’t be the packaging. The price of a pack has already gone up a great deal. In April the federal per pack tax grew to $1.01. That tax will undoubtedly rise, in part to pay for the new Center for Tobacco Products, a division of the FDA. No doubt some tax money will go to help defray the burden tobacco users place on the American healthcare system, especially if we move toward universal coverage. Canada has a universal healthcare plan for it’s citizens, A pack of smokes cost just under ten bucks there. Their thinking is, if people use a product that, when used correctly, results in death, they should pay their own hospital bills, albeit in the form of a hefty tax. Makes sense to me– let the 45 million Americans who do smoke pay for their own lung replacements. Just so long as alcoholics like me can still get free treatment for our cirrhosis of the liver, and so long as a gallon of grain liquor still costs less than a carton of Camels.

But it’s easy for me to be so nonchalant about the tax because I don’t smoke. Well, I did, but not regular cigarettes. I smoked kreteks. Kreteks are made of Indonesian tobaccco and cloves. Invented in the 1880s by a left-handed Java native with a penchant for puns ( I made up two of those descriptors), clove cigarettes were originally intended to treat asthma. The inventor smoked them to cure his chest pain, which the cigarettes did, but before he could patent his creation he died of lung cancer. In Indonesia nine out of ten smokers fire up kreteks, and five out of five dentists agree clove-smokers have pleasant-smelling mouths. It’s as if they just ate a holiday ham.

I still remember the first time I smelled the distinctive scent of a kretek. I was seventeen, so young, dumb, and full of… potential. Justin Hill (you’ve never met him), Patrick Spurlock (you may have met him) and I (you’ve definitely met him) went to Thomasville to see a movie. You have to understand that we lived in Moultrie, so driving thirty minutes to Thomasville just to see a movie is understandable. Standing outside the movie theater, Patrick lit up a Djarum Black. The first thing I noticed was the package– it was larger and squarer than a regular cigarette box, and it was black– how goth. The cigarette itself was black as well– how emo. But black is very slimming, so if you have fat hands consider holding one as an affectation. I noticed
the crackle it made as he pulled his first lung full. Kretek, it tuns out, is onomatopoetic– it describes the sound the cigarette makes.

Years later I would come across cloves again, this time deciding to try them. I think I was at O’Corleys and a friend was smoking Djarums. I bummed one. I was instantly hooked. Finding cloves was tough– most stores have never heard of clove cigarettes. A few independent (read: Indian-owned) stores had them, but they cost a bit more than regular smokes. After alI, they are imported. I soon discovered the rainbow of flavors cloves offered. Besides the Black version, Djarum also has, among others, cherry and vanilla varieties. Recently they’ve become so popular that even Flash Foods carriers them.

But after a short but passionate love affair, I gave up smoking, aside from the occasional clove at the bar. I don’t buy them anymore, only bum them. But the new law will ban them. They’re considered ‘flavored cigarettes’ and in October they’ll be outlawed. The rationale is that candy and fruit flavored cancer sticks are too seductive to kids. As if Mike’s Hard Lemonade isn’t. So I guess my tradition of passing out fruit-flavored White Owls to trick-or-treaters is over. And no more bobbing for cherry Djarums.

Here’s a heads up on the changes you’ll see in the coming year.
* Sept. 20, 2009: Artificial flavors other than menthol banned from cigarettes.
* March 19, 2010: FDA will publish rules and new enforcement plans on prevention of marketing and sales to youth.
* June 22, 2010: FDA will have the authority to issue standards for tobacco products to promote public health that could eliminate or reduce certain ingredients.
* June 22, 2010: Descriptors such as "light" and "mild" prohibited in advertising and labeling of existing cigarette brands.
* June 22, 2010: Prohibition on vending machine sales, self-service displays and free samples of cigarettes and smokeless products except in adult-only facilities.
* June 22, 2010: Advertising in print media and point-of-sale displays must be black-and-white text only.
* June 22, 2010: Larger, stronger warnings required on smokeless tobacco products.
* June 11, 2011: FDA must publish regulations requiring larger, graphic warning labels on cigarette packages; the regulations take effect 15 months later.

Critical Mass Valdosta 2009

2009-07-24T16:51:00.000-07:00

Swordplay and Teen Angst: NBC's Merlin

2009-06-29T19:46:00.000-07:00

Some stories never get old and are often reimagined. Even though I’ve seen dozens of versions of the Camelot story (Disney’s Sword in the Stone or NBC’s 1998 miniseries come to mind), the modern story telling in 2009’s ‘Merlin’ brings a fresh perspective to the story, giving the Arthurian legend the WB Smallville treatment, complete with buff teen heroes and vivacious damsels. NBC lured key demographics by premiering new Harry Potter previews during the show’s Sunday, June 21st debut. The ploy worked.

Filmed at a gorgeous Napoleon-commissioned Medieval style castle in France, Merlin is a retelling of the classic Camelot tale with updates that speak to a younger audience. Prince Arthur is not yet the noble king of legend. As a teen his is the arrogant quarterback character, the spoiled Prince who bullies the peasants. In short, he’s Lex Luthor to Merlin’s Clark Kent. However, Merlin is tasked by the last living dragon to shepherd Arthur into manhood, helping to form him into the once and future king. Merlin is reticent to accept the task but the dragon relentlessly affirms that helping Arthur become a noble king is Merlin’s destiny. Only the dragon and court physician Gaius know Merlin’s secret– that he has special powers. Merlin, like Clark Kent and Harry Potter when away from Hogwart’s, must keep his powers secret because King Uthur banned magic in the kingdom twenty years prior. Uther slew all the dragons as well, save one, which he inexplicably chained in a cavern beneath the castle, a perfect place from which to dispense cryptic advice to novice Merlin.

The series is a British import that originally aired last year on the BBC. Newcomers Colin Morgan, Bradley James, Katie McGrath and Angel Coulby provide the teen cast constituents. Anthony Head plays King Uther. Buffy fans will remember Head as Niles, Buffy’s mentor in the Joss Whedon series. John Hurt provides the voice of the dragon. He will reprise his role of Mr. Ollivander the wand merchant in ‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows.’

The thirteen episode series explores many of the same themes as ‘Smallville’ and Harry Potter: teen angst, girl troubles, competition with others and the constant threat of death. Having seen only the first two episodes which NBC aired back-to-back, I am filled with hope that the series will be as great as it can be. Even if it’s only good, that’s better than most shows on air today. In a summer utterly bereft of interesting television, this update of Arthurian lore is a welcome addition. Catch new episodes Sundays through the summer on NBC or anytime at NBC.com

City Gardening- June 24, 2009

2009-06-23T22:03:00.001-07:00

The showers that deluged us in the spring have clearly subsided but the intermittent thunderstorms that speckle Summer afternoons have successfully supplanted them. Unfortunately heat indexes over one hundred tend to wilt unwatered gardens. Depending on occasional showers to do my job for me has met with withered results.

I’m completely to blame, not Mother Nature. During the spring I could forget to water my garden for a day or two with little consequence because it rained daily. But now the rain comes once in a blue moon and is not substantial enough to alleviate the wilting heat of the beginning of an oppressive Georgia in July. I thought I was too busy to spend the five minutes necessary to sustain my green dependants. I didn’t water them at all over the Father’s Day weekend. Two days of neglect have rendered my city garden on the verge of collapse. Luckily plants are more resilient than man. Though they are in intensive care now, with daily watering they may all spring fully back to life. None of the peppers have produced yet and my neglect hit them hardest of all, but I hold hope for the jalepeños.

The potted plants took the greatest punishment. Luckily most of the veggies in the ground survived the two 115° days with little damage. My corn formed kernels on stubby two foot stalks– needless to say they were underwatered, but being a fast grower corn requires substantial watering when grown in a garden box.

So far my attempts at city gardening have met with significant setbacks but I remain unperturbed. After all, this is my first attempt at replicating the gardens I grew up with, those idyllic days when we had tomatoes, onions, blueberries, pears, black berries, potatoes, peas and beans in a backyard garden on a lot out in the country. With a busy Valdosta lifestyle a six by six box in front of my apartment is the best I can do. Even if my efforts meet with less than moderate success this year I will at least know better what not to do next year– namely, not to neglect my garden!

The Wolfman's Lament

2009-06-13T20:38:00.000-07:00

Hombre Lobo: 12 Songs of Desire
The Eels (Vagrant Records, 2009)

Never let it be said that facial hair can’t inspire music. If ZZ Top went clean-shaved no doubt they’d feel silly singing the same songs. Mark Oliver Everett, known on stage as the band Eels’, is back, sporting a ZZ Top beard and a new wolf-man persona. After a five year absence from the studio, Hombre Lobo: 12 Songs of Desire adopts the persona of a lusty, swaggering werewolf, carrying a cane and prowling the night.

"I was working on some other music," Everett says in a recent NPR interview, "and I looked in the mirror one morning and I saw this werewolf staring back at me. And I thought, 'You know, this beard doesn't really suit the music I'm working on currently. I should cut it off.' And then, at the last minute, it occurred to me, 'Well, why don't I just make some music that suits the beard, and I'll keep it.' "

Where previous works showcased Everett’s softer side, the wolfman character allows him to project a cockiness unheard in much of his material. Album opener "Prizefighter" and the single "Fresh Blood" epitomize this sentiment. In many ways, he says, the album marks a tonal shift away from the intimate songs of 2004's Blinking Lights and Other Revelations, but makes up for that with its palpable desire and raw animality.

"It occurred to me that something that seems to be kind of lacking in so-called indie rock these days is an element of sex and danger," Everett says. "And I just thought, 'Isn't that where the term rock 'n' roll came from?' Let's howl after some girls now and then.”

It is only when he drops the act and reveals his insecurities that the wolfman becomes a real person. "The Look You Give That Guy" shows the pale flesh and human heart underneath the sharp fangs and slick fur of the big bad wolf ."I look at the songs as kind of sales pitches from this character who's trying to convince the object of his desire that he's the man," he adds. "And he takes different approaches, like he kind of loses his cool and lets his passions take over. And other times, he takes a more tender approach.”

Thirteen years later, Eels sounds as energetic as ever. A confidence that only comes with maturity paired with Everett’s stripped-down sound shows that werewolves, besides being predators, are essentially outsiders looking for love and acceptance.

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City Gardening

2009-06-11T18:53:00.000-07:00

Now that the typhoon season has passed and all the torrential afternoons are behind us I hope my garden finally gets it’s act together and gets a job, err, I mean, grows some veggies. A few months ago I adopted a small garden in front of my apartment. After one failed attempt- how was I to know that plants need regular attention?- my second venture has met with moderate success. I’ve harvested three tomatoes and a paltry sum of beans. But I am not deterred: one benefit, perhaps the only benefit, of Georgia’s weather is the long growing season.

The cucumbers and squash are showing such potential. They weathered the weeks of waterlogging resiliently and even bloomed in spite of it. Unfortunately, I am not smarter than an insect. Some unknown pest has chewed most of the orange blossoms off my various gourds, gunning them down before their prime. A few bright blooms remain– they’ll produce fruit, even if I have to pitch a tent garden side to personally defend them from their diminutive attackers.

None of the many watermelon patches I’ve tried to grow have done diddly squat. By planting them in the back yard, which has limited sunlight, instead of in the garden proper I knew I was handicapping them. Unfortunately vines tend to takeover their area, kind of like large families at the beach. If I had enough room, I would give the squash, cucumbers and watermelons their own hills, but space being limited as it is I’ll make do. A city garden is not perfect, but it’s better than nothing. As for the beans I’ve harvested, some I gave to a friend and some I put in a pork stew. Another handful will be ready in a few weeks. Anyone want to trade for a cow?

Tigers Love Pepper. They Hate Cinnamon.

2009-06-10T11:18:00.000-07:00

Every summer at least one comedy enters into pop culture so quickly and completely that everyone, even your nitty-gritty grandma, quotes it. Everyone does at least one Borat impersonation saying “Very nice. How much?” or Ricky Bobby saying “Shake and Bake”. Everyone knows one liners from The Forty Year Old Virgin and any Seth Rogan/ Judd Apatow flick. Unless Sasha Baron Cohen’s Bruno trumps it, The Hangover is the comedy to quote this season.

Writing partners– does that sound gay?– Co-writers Jon Lucas and Scott Moore penned five films before this feature, the first in 2001. By comparison, since 2001 Judd Apatow has written ninety five screenplays, seven Broadway musicals and narrated two children’s books. In some cases quality counts over quantity.

One key ingredient to a quotable comedy is the correct cast. Justin Bartha plays Doug the groom-to-be. I try not to hold having been in Gigli against Bartha. Ed Helms is Doug’s friend Stu, a dentist who plans to get engaged to his girlfriend after three years.. Why is it that former Daily Show correspondents always get nerd roles? Bradley Cooper takes the handsome, wise cracking leading man torch from Bea Arthur’s cold dead hands. Heather Graham, in typically type casting, plays a stripper, this time without rollerskates. For a zany sidekick, who better than off kilter comedian Zack Galafianakis. He’ll be the most quoted because he gets all the outrageous lines.

The bro’s take Doug to Vegas for his bachelor party. It starts off as usual, binge drinking and naked ladies. But in a ‘Dude, Where’s My Car?’ twist they wake up the next morning with no memory of the night before. Doug is missing, there’s a tiger in the bathroom and a baby in the closet. They begin to follow a trail of elaborate clues to find their missing friend and figure out what happened the night before. I can relate– I’m such an alcoholic that I have to check my bank account the next day to discover how much I spent at the bar, but I never woke to a tiger in my house. A cougar, once, yes, but no tigers.

Someone should call the cops on Mike Tyson, because he stole every scene he was in. There is nothing more precious than listening to that girly-voiced psychopath sing “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins. Other notable cameos include Daily Show correspondent Rob Riggle as a cop and Ken Jeong (King Argotron in 2008’s ‘Role Models’) as a Chinese mafia boss, not to be confused with the Chopstick Mafia.

Jeffrey Tambor has the first good one-liner of the film, as Father-In-Law to be Sid Garner: Remember what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Except for herpes. That shit'll come back with you.

Another good one is Zack Galafianakis as Alan. Stu is talking about giving his grandmother’s wedding band to a stripper:
Stu: She’s wearing my grandmother’s Holocaust ring.
Alan: I didn’t know they gave out rings at the Holocaust.

Strippers, mobsters, tigers, babies, an homage to Rain Man– this bachelor party has everything fun about Vegas. It’s a great start to a funny summer. You’ll be quoting it til ‘Bruno’ and ‘Year One’ come out. Rated R, 96 minutes.

Childhood Cartoons: The Movie

2009-06-08T09:19:00.000-07:00

As a true sign that originality is dead, Hollywood is repackaging my favorite childhood cartoons into live action movies. My demographic, passively misogynistic males between the ages of eighteen and thirty five, eat up nostalgia like its morning-after pills at a brothel– we just fix ourselves a big bowl of it, top it with some 2 % milk and eat nostalgia for breakfast. Maybe we’re disillusioned with reality– Generation X has witnessed tremendous social unrest– race riots after Rodney King’s verdict, the whole O.J. ordeal (both times), Scrubs being cancelled, then sold and uncancelled, then cancelled again but picked up for another season without Zack Braff, begging the question, “What’s the point in that?”. We’ve seen so much social upheaval that it’s natural for us to think fondly of our childhoods. But nostalgia, like uncontrolled flatulence, gets worse the older you get. Like accidental farting, I enjoy seeing cherished memories from my childhood reimagined as cinematic megahits.

I’ve seen not less than eleventy-four films based on cartoons I grew up with. I’ll not mention the lousy ones, except to say that ‘TMNT’, a 2007 CG-remake of a live action 1990 film, was more gratuitous than Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan in a beaver-flashing contest. The first good cartoon-to-live-action remake was Scooby Doo, a clever take on the classic stoner show. Scooby is not technically from my childhood– the show originated decades earlier. After forty years, twelve television series and dozens of direct-to-video movies the franchise is still alive. Even though he has been collecting social security since the Reagan Administration, Casey Kasem still does Scooby’s voice. (I hope I didn’t jinx old Casey. I’d feel terrible if he died soon. I wouldn’t care if he died later, so long as it’s at least a few issues from now.)

Really the first good live action movie based on a cartoon from the eighties, other than ‘Masters of the Universe’, is ‘Transformers’. It opened the flood gates and lured so many pasty white boys to the theaters that a sequel was in production before filming ended. It only grossed $700 Million, a measly sum compared to it’s Hasbro toy line, the true origin of the franchise, which has earned eighty gajillion dollars since coming to the states from Japan in 1984.

The next Hasbro toy from the eighties to premier as a live action movie will be 'G. I. Joe'. I hope Samuel L. Jackson is in it and I hope he says, “I’m tired of these motherf!cking cobras on this motherf!cking tank!” Or jeep, or chopper or whatever vehicle they let him drive. Also, I hope they include Sgt. Slaughter and that Hulk Hogan body slams him in the big fight scene.

I’d like to make movies based on my favorite eighties cartoons. I’d make the coolest, most ‘BA' movie ever, because I’m so awesome and all. But audiences are jaded like me– again, because of the whole O.J. thing and 9/11. So another movie based on an eighties cartoon isn’t gonna wow anyone. I'll combine a few shows into one amalgamated movie.

I'd take the Thundercats. Remember, their planet is exploding (Superman, anyone?) so they have to escape on a spaceship to find a new planet. Let’s say they land on Earth, and discover a set of five rings, each with a different colored stone. Lion-O, Pantro, Cheetarah, Tygra and Snarf each put on the rings which imbue them with the powers of earth, fire, wind, water and (wait for it) heart. As their powers combine, five mighty lion robots awaken– one deep below the Earth’s surface, one inside a volcano, one in a cloud or something… each of them representing a different element. With their mighty battle robot lions, the Thundercats, powered by the Planeteer rings, form ‘Captain Thunder Planet Voltron Cat Force’! Their battle cry is “Captain Thunder Planet Vultron Cats Force Gooooo!” That’ll make a billion dollars, easy. Oh, yeah casting! For heroic Lion-O it’s gotta be Tom Cruise. In the pilot episode of Captain Planet, he provided the voice of Captain, what’s his name, Planet. Vin Diesel would play the dark-skinned bald mechanic Pantro– he really wouldn’t need any make up. Tygra would be played best by Zac Effron, just to get the teenage girls (and forty year old men) to watch. As for Cheetarah, I would say Halle Barry except she botched up her Catwoman performance. I’m seriously considering taking her off the Christmas card list. So maybe Demi Moore as Cheetarah, even though she’s actually a cougar, or else RuPaul. For Snarf, that’s easy: Pauly Shore. No other choice. I’d write the screenplay contingent on his playing Snarf. Plus I owe him a favor. He scored me some blow one night that I made up.

‘The Smurfs’ is long overdue for a live action version. You know Will Farrell would sign up, since the entire film he’d be in nothing but a white diaper, white booties, a white hat and blue body paint. Farrell has a near-nudity clause in his contract– every film he does has to have him in an almost-nude scene. That’s why it’s tough for him to do serious dramas– his part in Apollo 13, for example, as the nearly-nude NASA rocket scientist nearly cost the movie it’s Nickelodeon Kid’s Choice Award. Luckily Jack Black’s cameo cinched it. Since Anna Nicole Smith is dead, Jessica Simpson would make a great Smurfette, also known as the village whore. Oh come on, she was the only chick! She smurfed everyone, except Vanity Smurf, but she even gave him hand-smurfs. Vanity and Brainy Smurf sure did spend a lot of time playing “Chess” together. I wonder how often Brainy captured the queen. So maybe in my movie I’ll work that angle, a little Smurfback Mountain. That would be smurftastic.

As long as I’m making blockbuster movies, I might as well throw a sequel into the mix. I’d wrote a screenplay for ‘Rocky VI: Adrian’s Revenge’. Yes, I know she died in a previous film, but that’s the gag– Rocky buries her on sacred Indian land and she rises from the dead. Now, Rocky must rescue her soul from hell while he trains zombie Adrian for a dead celebrity death match against two of the Golden Girls. In the big fight scene, zombie Estelle Getty and zombie Bea Arthur have zombie Adrian on the ropes. Rocky can’t watch, he can’t bear to see his wife’s zombified body take so much damage. Then, just when you think she’s down for the count, zombie Don Knotts comes to her rescue! They become tag-team dead celebrity death match champions! They get sponsorship deals with all sorts of satanic companies, like Mephisto Motor Corp., Devil-O's Cereal and Wal-Mart. Did I mention this would be a comedy directed by Ron Howard?

New Fox Cartoon Needs Night Class in Comedy

2009-05-26T15:13:00.000-07:00

I never was a 'King of the Hill' fan. Nothing against it– I watched it when nothing better was on and it was funny, but not my type of humor. I like 'Frasier', if that helps. No wonder I didn’t notice that FOX has canceled the show, the second longest-running animated show in America. D’oh! 'The Simpsons' are first. Hank Hill fans can watch creator Mike Judge’s new cartoon on ABC this Fall. In the meantime, ‘Arrested Development’ is back on FOX. The critically-acclaimed– no, critically dry-humped show was canceled by some network exec, likely the same cokehead who axed ‘Futurama’, ‘Family Guy’ and ‘Gumbel & Gumbel’. But enough fans complained that FOX had to return the show to the air. Except now instead of ‘Arrested Development’ they’re calling it ‘Sit Down, Shut Up’ and instead of it being about the Bluthe family it’s about a school. And it’s now a cartoon, all the characters are different and it’s no longer funny. But other than that, exactly like ‘Arrested Development’.

‘Sit Down, Shut Up’ was conceived by ‘Arrested Development’ creator Mitch Hurwitz. Based on a live action Australian ‘The Office’ knock-off, Hurwitz eventually changed to an animated format– another example of outsourcing the jobs of American actors to third-world animators. Mitch recruited writers from ‘The Simpsons’ and ‘Two and a Half Men’, which I am told is some sort of sitcom and not, as I had supposed, about two police detectives, one of whom is a conjoined twin.

Jason Bateman returns as the leading man. Will Arnett and Henry “The Fonz” Winkler, who worked with Hurwitz and Bateman on ‘Arrested Development’ reunite to provide voices, adding Kenan Thompson, Will Forte and Cheri Oteri, all from Saturday Night Live, to round out the cast. Oh! The guy who does Spongebob Squarepant’s voice is on the show too!

However, from the beginning the show fails to deliver on all that potential. The pilot episode introduces the characters, replete with double entendre names– Principal Sue Sezno and a German teacher named Mr. Deutschebog, just to name a few. But that’s it– nothing funny happens. Subsequent episodes do the same, build up hope for a great pay off of funny, but never deliver. Watching this show leaves me with comedy blue balls. Luckily it’s part of FOX’s ‘Animation Domination Sunday’ lineup, so Seth McFarlane can give me some release. I won’t give up on ‘Sit Down, Shut Up’ just yet– FOX plans to air the full season before deciding the show’s fate. If a coked-out executive can be that patient with a show that delivers cheap, easy, high-school level jokes, I can too.

Grizzly Bear comes home to Veckatimest

2009-05-25T18:08:00.000-07:00

Off the coast of Massachusetts, between Cape Cod and Martha’s Vineyard lies the tiny island of Veckatimest. Owned by the Forbes Family (as in quadrillionaire Steve Forbes and former presidential candidate John Forbes Kerry), the tiny island is home to, well, nothing. It’s a completely uninhabited speck in the Elizabeth Islands. It also happens to share it’s name with the new Grizzly Bear album. Veckatimest (the album) is not tiny and definitely not nothing. At times stripped down, at others fully orchestrated, Grizzly Bear’s third album offers not just scenes of sound, but full landscapes.

Ed Droste began the band in his Brooklyn apartment. His homespun D.I.Y. effort took on new life with the help of multi-instrumentalist Chris Taylor. Add guitarist/pianist/songwriter Daniel Rossen and Christopher Bear on drums and you have Grizzly Bear. Their 2004 debut, Horn of Plenty, began to explore the layering and variety that Veckatimest perfects. Rolling Stone magazine wrote of the first album that "The pure atmospheric power of the songs is more than enough to hypnotize." Their sophomore effort, Yellow House, is their first as a quartet and to feature material written by Rossen. Yellow House is named for Droste's mother's house where it was recorded. The New York Times called it one of the top albums of 2006.

Before listening to the album I took Benjo’s advice and listened to the band’s National Public Radio Studio Session performance, hosted by David Garland. It aired live on the radio and web, but I was at work and only got to listen to the stream later. (Go to NPRmusic.org to hear the one-hour bare-bones performance.)

Everything, even the album art, is narrative. Each song is a mini journey to the next, all set in the big picture of the album. As such, there is an easy flow to the work. The responsibility of album cohesion falls squarely on Chris Taylor’s shoulders. In as much as he produced the record, he admits many things that make the album so ‘comfortable’ are out of his control. “The acoustics in a home add familiarity to the sound,” says Taylor. “Like singing in your bathroom, or playing guitar in your living room- it makes for a comfortable recording process.” Taylor talks about using distance to achieve layers, saying “Bigness, smallness, closeness, distance- someone whispering in your ear versus someone talking further away feels different.”

Incorporating incidental sounds, like a girl’s giggle and an adult’s subsequent ‘shoosh’ as well as the sound of logs crackling in a Cape Cod cabin’s fireplace– all these layers enrich the sound scape of Veckatimest. Expanding upon that theme, the band recorded this album in several sessions at various locations, eventually spending three weeks at The Glen Tonche Estate in the Catskills for final mastering.

Many tracks also feature arrangements by Nico Muhly, a twenty-eight year old contemporary Western classical composer from the grain belt. For some tracks Muhly uses the Brooklyn Youth Chorus. Listen for them giggling in ‘I Live With You.’ Ed considers it an Easter egg– “Dan (Rossen) had those samples, he was like ‘ I really want to put those in there.’ They had an amazing way of sweetening things and at the same time totally scaring me.”

It’s not at all scary, though. Says Droste, “It’s just got a few poppier songs, a few darker songs a few stripped-down tracks, and a few really orchestrated lush ones. More dynamics, essentially.”

The work has longevity– songs you don’t get sick of quickly. Each listen reveals more of the layering that you’d barely notice on first listen. It stays interesting because even though there’s a lot to get to know, each track is still easy to recognize. Veckatimest is at once surprising and familiar, a hard feat to master for an album that encompasses a world of sound.

Famous fans of Grizzly Bear include band Band of Horses, who covered a GB song for there 2007 EP Friend. After GB opened for Radiohead in a summer 2008 tour guitarist Jonny Greenwood confessed on stage that they were his ‘favorite band.’ I’m not famous or talented in any notable way, but I find myself so enamored with the band that I’m contemplating how to get to the Saturday, June 13th show at The Tabernacle in Atlanta. Show starts at eight, bring a date. Oh, did I mention TV on the Radio is also playing that gig? Or, just see them both along with a hundred other bands you’ll love at Bonnaroo. The Manchester, Tennessee show runs from the 11th through the 14th of June.

Webphiles, find the band’s 2007 cover of JoJo’s single "Too Little Too Late." The band performed it on Droste's twenty-ninth birthday and on the NPR show I mentioned earlier. It’s proof that even Disney teen idol clone songs can sound haunting if rendered properly. Freebie! Go to Grizzly-bear.net to download 'Cheerleader,' track five on Veckatimest.

The Boys of Summer (Nothing Gay)

2009-05-13T20:19:00.000-07:00

John Gay, self-professed nerd here. I’ve admitted as much before– I’m a trivia-playing, karaoke-singing, Lord-of-the-Rings-quoting nerd. Suffice it to say I never played sports as a child. In high school I lettered in debate. I know nothing about sports. During trivia at O’Corley’s I depend on my team mates to cover that subject. I cover obscure eighties television shows and nineties one-hit wonders.

Watching me play Madden ’09 is like watching a quadruple amputee play pin the tail on the donkey, both sad and hilarious. I don’t understand the plays or the positions. I don’t know a nickel zone from a nickel back, a blitz from a wide receiver, though that last one sounds a bit gay. I wouldn’t know how to handle a blitz from a wide receiver or a tight end for that matter. That's not mentioning the complex scoring system nor the extravagant end zone rituals.

Marathons I get– running the fastest to the finish line. But that’s not a sport, its exercise. If running is a sport then so are jumping jacks.

There is one sport I do understand– baseball. When I was little we had country cable– also known as broadcast television. Where are my manners? I forgot that most of you are too young to know that archaic term. Broadcast television is what we watched before cable, satellite and the internet. People used to put antenna arrays on their roofs to receive radio transmissions. In the country only four or five stations came in, usually CBS, FOX, NBC, PBS and occasionally ABC or UPN. Summer nights when I was a kid were spent watching baseball on one of these stations.

Finally I discovered a sport I could understand. The rules are so simply elegant– hit the ball, run the bases, score a point. Every position is named logically– the pitcher pitches, the catcher catches, the pinch hitter walks up and down the bullpen pinching the hitters. They don’t like it but they respect that he’s doing his job. The only position whose name throws me a little is short stop. Do I have to stop, if only briefly, as I pass this player? Do I wave to the short stop, say hello, or simply nod? Am I obliged to engage him in conversation as I round first? “Lovely weather we’re having!”

I even like baseball movies. Other than Varsity Blues I’ve never seen a sports movie I liked. No, not Rudy. Not even Radio, and that had Cuba Gooding Junior going full tard. But I haven’t seen a bad baseball movie yet. Other than Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves and Waterworld only one Kevin Costner movie does not feel like a case of douche– Field of Dreams. The secret to making this movie an classic? Three words: James Earl Jones. Put him in the flick and it’s instant gravy. Tom Selleck’s character in Mr. Baseball has a great one-liner– “Got any naked pictures of your wife? Wanna see some?”

To me the funniest is Baseketball. Sorry, Bull Durham. Baseketball comes from Matt Stone and Trey Parker of Team America/ South Park fame. If you haven’t seen any of their live action work this is a great one to start with, if only for the nude locker room scene with Matt and Trey. Don’t freak out, prudes, you don’t see anything. It’s what you don’t see that’s hilarious.

I don’t mean to imply that I’ll be watching baseball by choice. I just realize that in the bar it will be on and since I at least understand it I can appreciate it more as a sport, as a cultural phenomenon and as a metaphor for consensual sex. You know, rounding third… sliding into home. SAFE! Try that with football.

Green Day: making anti-Bush albums since 2004

2009-05-13T15:02:00.001-07:00

Note to Billy Joe: if you’re going to write a political album, make sure there’s an appropriate political environment. If you don’t, you may end up making “21st Century Breakdown.” It portrays America as a country of disillusioned cynics railing against censorship, corruption and manipulation.

Sound familiar? It’s what the band told us about their 2004 anti-Bush album American Idiot. The difference? Back then, we were disillusioned cynics railing against censorship, corruption and manipulation. Remember, in 2004 it was the top of the fourth inning in Bush’s eight-year ballgame. Now, we are the most hopeful we have been in generations. Not even a near economic depression nor a foreign war on two fronts can rain out our game. Green Day's storm clouds don’t reflect that hopefulness we expect for a band touted as the anthem writers of change. The album’s point of view is more infuriating when contrasted to how brilliant the songs are– hefty melodies, an emotional range in Billy Joe’s voice that challenge the riffs to crest in Who-like proportions.

Had the album come out before the 2008 election it might have found ears hungry to hears it’s rebellious message. Maybe years from now the world will sync up with its pessimistic landscape. Either way, the music will stand on its own regardless of the propaganda.

CD Review- "Beware" by Bonnie Prince Billy

2009-05-12T11:23:00.001-07:00

Bonnie Prince Billy’s latest album “Beware” should have been titled “Lonesome Crowded West,” but Modest Mouse beat singer-songwriter Will Oldham to that one. The set epitomizes a romanticized view of American folk music. Upon listening to the album, unbidden images of sun-bleached cow skulls and tumbleweeds come to mind, not just because of Oldham’s twangy voice, nor the use of country-western instruments– the mandolin, a wood block, sparse drums, a meanding steel guitar and a slow fiddle (sometimes called a violin). Because each instrument is playing skeletal scales each note takes on more importance. Instead of building a wall of sound by layering an orchestra of music, Oldham highlights the emotional heights his voice evokes by turning up the echo effect on most of the album. Female backing vocals, a bluegrass staple, have the same effect. Not every track has the minimalist feel– “You Don’t Love Me” even adds a hefty brass section to the mix, livens up the drum and manages to turn once-haunting steel guitar riffs into peppy, clappable verses.

Some tracks, like “Beware Your Only Friend” and “I Don’t Belong to Anyone” could be played from horseback. The love-lorn “Heart’s Arm’s” could be a camp fire tribute to a still-burning torch. This is my favorite track. Oldham’s lyrics do their part to emphasize the heart-on-sleeve effect:

Why don't you write me anymore?
Have you found something as good just next door?
I open this awful machine to nothing
where once your intimacies came pounding.

Not a single song on the thirteen track album is over five minutes long– the shortest is just over two minutes long. This is a good thing– the songs build quickly, the music swells, crests and then wraps up. There are no long intro or outros, just soulful singing and masterful instrumentation.

playlist for May 6, 2009

2009-05-06T12:43:00.000-07:00

Drunk Mail Bag

2009-04-29T22:35:00.000-07:00

Readers, it once again is time to dive into the drunken mailbag. That’s right, as you know from time to time I like to read your questions and comments. To give them their full weight I read them while dropping my morning deuce. After long rumination I respond to them here in my column. First up, to gratify my gi-normous ego, fan mail.

Dear Drunken Years,
I have been reading your column since the beginning. I like your funny insight into culture. You’re so witty and you remind me of a younger, handsomer Zack Braff. Keep up the good work, beautiful!

Sincerely,
John E. Gay
(via email)

Thanks John for those positive words. It really motivates me to know that someone out there appreciates me for what I am and not how damned sexy I am. Now, any more fan mail? …

No? Okay, on to hate mail then. Any of that? How many bags?! Okay, we can do one or two.

Dear Drunken Years,
You’re an idiot! You can’t write, you can’t fight, and you can’t hold your liquor!

-Angry passerby
(via him yelling it at me)

Sorry if I don’t remember you, sir or madam. People yell that at me all the time so faces tend to just blend together. However, to address your points: first, I am writing right now. Booyah! Two, I’ll give you that. Ouch. Three, however… I concede to you as well. But last Tuesday I successfully avoided becoming blackout drunk. I drank a pitcher through trivia, switched to a liquor drink during happy hour and alternated that with a coke. Twelve dollars later I walked home. My BM the next morning was the rankest liquid I have ever seen. I really gotta stop drinking well liquor. It’s like eighty proof Draino for the gastro-intestinal track.

Dear Drunken Years,
Why do you suck so bad?
Norma_J1963@bellesouth.not

Words like that do nothing but insult. No understanding can be gained. And coming from you mom, that really stings. Enough hate mail. Any questions? Questions about me. Not about me sucking?

Dear Drunken Years,
Did I see you riding your bike down Baytree?
L00ks@Ubik.ing
(via made up email)

Yes, that was me. I’m like a ninja on my bike. Like a bike-ninja cyborg or something. And I have wings. I consider Baytree my home turf since it lies between home an work, which we’ll call The Turf. I know those side walks like the backs of my hands. That’s a new freckle… the city recently upgraded all the sidewalks, installing ramps at every curb. Maybe soon they’ll do the same to the sidewalks around VSU– some blocks near campus don’t even have sidewalks. My common sense says that in a college town there should be sidewalks on every block within a three block radius of the campus. Most buildings there are either student housing or off-campus college services.

Dear Drunken Years,
I see you at the bar and you always wear cool hats.
Top_of_my_head@fedora.net
(via CIA radio signal to my molar)

Well that’s not really a question, more of a comment, but alright, fair enough. Actually I wear the hats for two reasons. One, to be quirky. You cannot understand how important that reason is.
Two, I used to wear bandanas but finally realized what Brett Michaels hasn’t– I’m too old to pull them off. Not only am I old, ancient by bar standards, on the doorstep of thirty, but I am balding. I’m at peace with the male pattern baldness, I just wish I had a say in the pattern. Consider me an angry gardener with a bad sod job. On a lesser note, the grays are coming. No, not the aliens– they won’t arrive until 2012. No, I’m getting gray hairs, have been getting them for a few years now. Those I’m not worried about. If I ever succumb to utter vanity I can always dye away the grays. Then again gray hair looks dignified on a man. On a woman it makes her look old, or like a witch, or like and old witch.

Dear Drunken Years,
Got any good drink recipes?
N_E_bri8ed@yaeger.bmb
(scrawled in Sharpie on urinal)

Yes! There’s the Miley Cyrus– a double shot of Kentucky bourbon on the rocks with Mountain Dew. Or the Courtney Love– gut-rot vodka up with a splash of coke and three cigarette butts. Makes a great frozen drink as well.

Thank you for all you warm emails, letters, ticking packages, boxes of feces and powdery white substances. You can continue you hate and contempt for me on the interweb.
TheDrunkenYears.blogspot.com, twitter name: john.e.gay, or by cruising over to ValdostaToday.com and clicking on the ‘Entertainment’ tab.

Sick Piggies

2009-04-29T11:52:00.000-07:00

Sizzlin’ Swine Flu Facts

(As of April 29, 2009, 11:00 AM ET)

U.S. Human Cases of Swine Flu Infection
Arizona– 1
California– 14
Indiana– 1
Kansas– 2
Massachusetts– 2
Michigan– 2
Nevada– 1
New York City– 51
Ohio– 1
Texas– 16, 1 death
TOTAL COUNTS: 91 cases, 1 death

A Mexico City toddler who traveled to Texas with family to visit relatives is the first confirmed death in the U.S. from swine flu.

Nearly a week after the threat first emerged in Mexico, Spain reported the first case in Europe of swine flu in a person who had not been to Mexico, underscoring the threat of person-to-person transmission.

Egypt slaughtered the roughly 300,000 pigs in the country as a precautionary measure against the spread of swine flu even though no cases have been reported here yet.

The Center For Disease Control label for this outbreak of swine flu is 2009 H1N1.

Even if the CDC's seed stock of virus were to be released to vaccine makers today, it would take the companies anywhere from four to six months before the first inoculation could be ready for public use.

The World Health Organization (WHO) raised the pandemic swine flu alert level from phase 3 to 4, two levels below the declaration of a full pandemic

Movie Review- X-Men Origins: Wolverine

2009-04-29T11:20:00.001-07:00

I saw X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Since this article prints after the movie’s May 1st premier I can say that without fear of being fired or sued. Since I obviously saw it in theaters the version I saw was complete. It was definitely not missing CG effects nor did it occasionally have dialog notes at the bottom of the screen. Now that we’ve cleared that up, the movie itself was good, a well paced, well acted action movie. Liev Schrieber plays Victor Creed, brother of James Logan. This is Hugh Jackman’s fourth feature as Logan so he has no trouble playing the brooding hero. Logan and Creed are both gifted with enhanced senses, reflexes and rapid healing. They each also have animalistic qualities, such as Creed’s claw-like nails and sharp canine teeth. The long-lived brothers fight through the American civil war and every major conflict after until Creed’s savageness on the battlefield warrants the brothers a firing squad in Vietnam. Their rapid healing ability saves their lives and draws the attention of para-government operative William Stryker. Stryker, played by Danny Huston, convinces the brothers to join his special team of mutant soldiers, played by Ryan Reynolds (Deadpool), Will.i.am (John Wraith), Kevin Durand (The Blob) and Dominic Monaghan (Bolt). Though Creed is comfortable with Stryker’s merciless tactics Logan leaves the program in pursuit of a nonviolent life. In other words, he pulls a Rambo. He becomes a Canadian lumberjack and falls in love with local schoolteacher Kayla Silverfox, played by Lynn Collins. Inevitably Stryker tricks Logan into returning to the program in order to have adamantium, an unbreakable alloy, grafted to every bone in his body including his retractable bone claws. Logan- now calling himself Wolverine- sets out to track down his brother whom he thinks killed his lover Silverfox. Many plot turns and fight sequences later we discover Logan has been a pawn in Stryker’s plan to create a supersoldier mutant to exterminate other mutants. The climactic final fight ends with a nuclear reactor in ruin and Logan an amnesiac. During the credits we see him in an Asian bar, suggesting the series is far from over.
Minor fanboy gripe: continuity is broken from the comics and the previous movies- Sabretooth is a completely different character than in X-Men. Major gripe: clunky plot device. Stryker, knowing he cannot kill the neigh-indestructible Wolverine, decides to give him amnesia, not with a good old frying pan to the head, but with adamantium bullets. Kudos for putting Gambit in the movie. His small but important role is more or less a gift to fans, kind of a ‘sorry about the amnesia with adamantium bullets’ thing. Origins was not a great as the hype, but this happens so often that I automatically reduce my expectations by half for any big budget blockbuster. Going in with my hopes thus halved, I was not let down.

City Gardening

2009-04-25T11:18:00.000-07:00

There's a small garden box in front of my apartment and out of some primitive desire to reconnect with nature I've adopted it. My first attempt at taming the wild planter met with moderate success- everything I planted died except for some determined beans and tenacious carrots. I plowed under the abortions of my labor and replanted. This time I thoroughly weeded the garden and am watering it twice a day when there's no rain. So far the outlook is good. I have several rows of corn growing as fast as only corn (and perhaps sunflowers and bamboo) can. As for the rest of the garden, I must admit I made a rookie mistake: I didn't mark where I planted what. In a few weeks I'll have a better guess but for now I don't know if the tiny sprouts I'm fascinated with are squash, cucumbers, onions or what. The determined green beans come up to my knee nearly and have buds that are on this very day opening. In a hanging basket on my back porch the tomatoes I grew from seeds over a month ago have finally produced a fruit. Sure, it's green and the size of an english pea now, but it's drinking milk, so one day it'll be big and strong. Hopefully the radioactive plant food I used won't have any negative side effects, especially side effects that people would enjoy watching in a horror film.

Playlist for the day

2009-04-22T12:12:00.000-07:00

The Drunken Years

2009-04-16T21:42:00.001-07:00

There is a time in every boy’s life when adolescence sets the world on it’s head. Girls (and sometimes other boys) suddenly become interesting in a less-than-innocent way. For the first time a boy starts to think like a young man; inevitably, he fully realizes his role in society. That is when adulthood is truly achieved. The wonder years are those golden few before adulthood’s onus weight burdens man’s mind.

Contrarily, the drunken years are those of prolonged adolescence. Drugs and alcohol relieve us of our need to be responsible in action, in fiscal matters and in relationships, otherwise known as adulthood. At some time my drunken years transformed to something beyond that, beyond just drinking to kill time. If you keep adding fat people to the life raft, eventually you’re going to sink. My brain has been bailing buckets of bourbon out of its inflated rubber dinghy loaded with survivors of the HMS We-Eat-Alot. I’m still in my drunken years, but I’m on the outer edge of them.

Memories are footprints– they tell us where we’ve been. I don’t know where the ‘F’ I’ve been, if you’ll pardon the harsh letter. I’ve walked across a great sand dune. Imagine my dismay when I look back to see that not even my footprints remain. My footprint-eraser takes the form of drunken blackouts.

The first major wave lead to my DUI two years ago. This year, I’ve rode my bike home in that state many times, as my scarred joints can testify. I’ve started two fights– that’s dangerously close to tipping my “fights I’ve been in that I caused” to “”fights I’ve been in that I didn’t cause” ratio. It’s like I’m Dr. Sam Becket on Quantum Leap, except that instead of leaping from body to body hoping the next leap will be the leap home, I go from blackout to blackout hoping that the next one will be the last. The blackouts have brought me many epiphanies of late, as if they transform me into a drunken Delphic Oracle. I’ve grown up more in these drunken years than in any of my sober ones.

I look back at these events not with shame but with curiousity. I’m curious as to what could drive me to go that far. I’m curious about my subconcious, because ultimately that controls those most primitive urges, be they drinking to dull the voices, drinking to dull the pain, drinking to be less inhibited or drinking to be cool. I’m not advocating it as a path to complete self awareness, though. I tried that path and have many blank pages in my mental journal. There are even a few sections I’ve tried to scribble through, but you can still read them. But it is as it should be– some things you have to learn the hard way. For everyone those things differ, but one of mine is and will always be liquid amnesia. I don’t know how many more leaps I have to make, but Al says Ziggy is giving me a 37% chance of being home next time. Tune in next week.

MST3K Version 2.1

2009-03-25T12:45:00.000-07:00

I’ve commented before on my generation, Generation Y. We are the late twenty-somethings to mid thirty-whatevers who grew up in the nineties. We spent our most formative years with Clinton in the White House, but not the one in the pants suit. Well, she was there but she mostly kept out of the headlines. She changed her hairstyle a lot. Most actors of the nineties did. The cast of Friends went through sixty five different haircuts, but I digress. Every generation has it’s cult followings. Not actual cults, mind you, like David Koresh’s in Waco (‘90s reference). I rather refer to obsessions with underground pop culture sources, often in the form of a movie. For some it’s Monty Python. Others like Rocky Horror Picture Show. Mine isn’t a movie, per se. It’s a television series that made fun of movies. Mystery Science Theater 3000 was a sarcastic and witty riffing session played over B movies. You know all those funny comments you think of when you watch a movie ? These guys got paid to say them.

MST3K went through many incarnations as cast members departed and were replaced, networks changed and the writers endeavored to reinvent the show. The basic story remained the same: a mad scientist forced an unsuspecting guy to watch bad movie after bad movie to monitor how this torture affected his mind. The hero was played first by show co-creator Joel Hodgson (his character was named ‘Joel’) and later by Mike Nelson (they called him ‘Mike’). Joel/Mike is trapped on a dog bone shaped space ship called The Satellite of Love, in a parked orbit over Earth. Joel/Mike only has the companionship of his homemade robots to preserve his sanity. The ‘Bots are made of parts of the ship (a.k.a. sports equipment, washer and dryer parts and a gumball machine). Gypsy, who looked like a robot pirana plant with a headlight for an eye, operated the Satellite of Love. Crow and Tom Servo assisted Joel/Mike in heckling. Every episode had a plot of some antic with the ’Bots, usually an escape attempt.

When movie time came, the Satellite rocked violently as klaxons blared and warning sirens wailed. The camera raced through a series of gates that counted down to the movie. Passing through the exotically themed doors leads to the darkened theater. Barely visible are the silhouettes of the front row of chairs. Joel/Mike makes his way to the front row from the right. He’s carrying one of the ‘Bots as the other made its way behind him. Now the show begins in earnest.

The B movies they watch would be unbearable without the commenting, but that’s the point. Heckling the screen, Joel/Mike, Crow and Tom Servo made scatological silliness and sarcastic needling a staple of their show. Complex wordplay and obscure references were intertwined with their riotously funny commentary. The series lasted eleven years and moved from Comedy Central to the SciFi network before ending its run in 1999.

Ten years later, the cult following for the show is still growing. Despite protests and innumerable campaigns to return the show to the air, it is now only available on DVD or VHS, or through downloadable sources to those who can find it. Most of the cast has reunited since to create a reincarnated version of MST3K, in two forms.

Rifftrax.com is the brainchild of Mike Nelson (his character was ‘Mike’) Kevin Murphy (a MST3K writer and voice of Tom Servo), and Bill Corbett (Crow during the SciFi channel years). Rifftrax does what MST3K could never do– make fun of blockbuster movies. The crew critiques and ‘riff’ on every epic movie, from Harry Potter to The Lord of the Rings. To get by copyright concerns the website only offers the downloadable audio tracks of the riffs– you must provide the movie. The riff track synchronized to your own copy of Willy Wonka provides you with all the Oompa Loompa jokes you can stand.

As a MST3K fan I’m more impressed with Cinematic Titanic. Almost everyone who wrote for the show came back to do what they do best: make fun of bad movies. The premise is simple: the crew is brought into a screening room to help ‘save’ a bad movie– a sinking ship, as it was– with their heckling. Thus the title. The old crew still has their magic, even after ten years of mothballing their wit. I’ve watched the first movie they tackled, a Roger Corman flicked called Wasp Woman. Without the riffing, agonizing to watch. With the color commentary, hilarious. Cinematictitanic.com has many movies available, all horrible, all funny.

The Watchmen

2009-03-19T12:27:00.000-07:00

I was one of the geeks who went to the midnight premier of The Watchmen. If you ever wanted to hack someone’s computer, that night would have been perfect– every nerd in the city was at the movie theater. I read the graphic novel when I was nine, in 1989. My best friend Lucas loaned me his copy and as was tradition I wrote my favorite line from the book on the inside cover. Before me Lucas had written ‘This city is afraid of me. I’ve seen it’s true face.” I think I tried to write a profoundly Buddhist Dr. Manhattan line. What I like most about the graphic novel is captured well in the movie: a story of superheroes that are human– they make mistakes, take sides, have mental disorders, are rapists, psychopaths and ordinary guys.

The first scene, set in the mid eighties, is of a late middle-aged man sitting in his recliner. A masked assassin breaks in and, after a valiant effort by the victim, tosses him through the pane glass window to his death tens of stories below. It turns out the victim is an aged hero called The Comedian. Vigilante Rorschach discovers the crime scene and puts together a conspiracy theory: someone is killing The Watchmen, a group of heroes that fought crime together à la The Justice League or The Avengers.

The film focuses on each member of the Watchmen in turn, filling the viewer in on each hero’s past by way of flashbacks and dramatic monologues. As is the case in the graphic novel, the movie shows the events of each time period believably, be it the Golden Age (read: original) Watchmen, the team’s Viet Nam and cold war era rosters or the vigilante Watchmen during the capitalist cultural revolution. We learn how each Watchman joins and how each ultimately quits the crime fighting gig, including inevitably Rorschach. Dr. Manhattan’s scenes drive the nuclear arms race storyline as he moves back and forth through time to tell us of his origins. Eventually the ‘someone’s killing Watchmen’ subplot unravels and the heroes are pitted against each other. The final Watchman’s death is the coup de gras of the work, the final unexpected blow in a work that delivers unexpected blows more reliably than a drunken boxer. If you haven’t read the graphic novel you won’t miss the giant squids who were replaced in the movie with a more logical plot device. Superfans will complain that the final confrontation’s meaning changes without the squids in the plot.

The movie adheres rather well to the graphic novel storyline, contrary to the indignant over reaction of superfans. As with any adaptation to the screen some of the story had to be compressed or altered for time and ease of understanding. A story simply has to be more action based in a movie, where a graphic novel is more dialog driven. The movie in this case does a very good job of driving the action while ensuring nothing the characters say seems cheesy or overly comic like, a transgression Spider-Man and Superman are guilty of. The Dr. Manhattan television interview ambush, for example, is spliced with Night Owl II and Silk Spectre II’s alter egos fighting would be muggers, signaling the first major crest in action. The scene is action packed, moves the story, and reveals a great deal of plot.

Above all the movie is cinematic. Each scene is detail rich– watch for messages on walls and billboards behind the action. As near as possible, the detailed panels of the graphic novel have been well translated to the screen. For example, where the novel uses black and white photos during the Golden era scenes, in the film these scenes are flashbulbs set to sepia toned flashbacks of the heroes in their yester-years. Even the soundtrack is crafted to reflect the tone and era of each scene– Viet Nam opens with “Ride of the Valkyries” playing in an homage to Apocalypse Now. And you’ll never hear Nat King Cole’s Unforgetable without thinking of the Comedian’s death scene.

The costumes don’t come off as corny as other campy comic film franchises (the pre-Dark Knight Batman series comes to mind). Overall it’s easy to see each hero as a human, with the obvious exception of Dr. Manhattan, the scientist-turned-nuclear-powered-demigod played by Billy Crudup, the only actor of note in the film. The Comedian’s 30’s era uniform is pure Robin Hood: The Broadway Musical costuming, but during ‘Nam he dons fatigues and combat gear. Masks are necessary in that each hero is a celebrity. If Micheal Jackson can get away with wearing a mask in public The Night Owl should be able to. The heroes’ secret identities is one of the central plot devices, so masks are essential for the story to work and thus not as obtrusive as in other hero stories.

A warning to parents, there is full frontal male nudity– Dr. Manhattan’s glowing blue pipe is shown throughout the movie. If you were a nuclear powered superbeing you’d freeball, too. The screenplay is written by David Hayter, who wrote the X-Men screenplay and is the voice of Snake in the Metal Gear Solid video games.

Donald Trump's Million Dollar Comb Over

2009-03-16T21:22:00.000-07:00

Secret Reality Show Obsession: The Celebrity Apprentice

In the past I’ve torn relentlessly into people who watched reality shows. I would never admit to those mindless ‘sheeple’ (people who act like sheep) that for all my shouts to the contrary, I find myself secretly liking a random reality show here or there. A few weeks ago I couldn’t stop watching Kitchen Nightmares. Before that it was Project Runway. I feel secure enough in my sexuality to admit that publicly: I watch Project Runway. At various times in the past I have been enamored with Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, Big Brother, and Trading Spaces. I even have the behind the scenes book for the latter. Not to say that I approve of people watching only reality television, but I admit I am watching one right now. In my diet of couch potato television, sitcoms are my chips– my staple snack. Then comes cartoons, my M&M’s, if you will. Celeb-reality is like my oversized tin of three flavor popcorn. It’s corny, cheesey, super-buttery over-the-top empty calories. My current fave flavor: The Celebrity Apprentice.
If you’re not familiar with the Apprentice premise, here’s a primer. Donald Trump is the world’s dorkiest egomaniac billionaire and owner of lots of high price real estate in New York (Trump Tower) and Las Vegas (Trump Taj Mahal). This guy puts his name on everything and SNL enjoys making fun of him and his million-dollar comb over. It’s also interesting to note that he lists Rosie O’Donnell amongst his arch nemeses. FOX owner Rupert Murdoch is undoubtedly near the top of the list as well.

Airing on NBC, The Apprentice places people from various professions on teams competing in business and marketing competitions a la Survivor. Survivor creator Mark Burnett is behind this show as well, but unlike on that show, the reward here is not food and bug spray but dollars and cents. Teams pick synergistic names like 'Paragon' or 'Hera' or anything that sounds like a model of car or deity. The Trumpster eliminates one member of the losing team at the end of each episode. The Trumpmeister even has a trademarked catch phrase, “You’re fired!” Try to picture it as Emeril Lagasse’s ‘BAM!’ but with a cheesy Travolta-esque hand gesture. SNL makes very much fun of that, too. In the end the winner gets a PR job for Trump’s company, a nice salary and a two cool titles: Executive Vice President of Public Relations and Owner’s Representative. In reality, the job is little more than a glorified poster child, officiating the grand opening of Trump Mall of America. But if the Don-minator wants to pay a million dolllars in bogus salary as a prize for his show that has earned him and NBC hundreds of kajillions of dollars then more power to him. The formula works, but it gets better. The Celebrity Apprentice takes D list actors, comics, athletes and models and make them the dancing puppets for your, my and the Donald’s entertainment.

I caught most of the first season of The Celebrity Apprentice last year but until I discovered Hulu.com. I couldn’t watch any show regularly– as a server, I work through television prime time most nights. Season two is available streaming free of charge on Hulu. New episodes usually show up there the day after airing on NBC, Sundays at 9 PM EST. I know, I’m supposed to list eastern and central times, so if you’re reading this and you’re in the central time zone, please send me an email and I’ll tell you what time the show is on where you live. That seems to me the simplest way to rectify the matter.

This season features a lot of really awful talent. On the ladies’ side, Team ATHENA, we have human exoskeleton Joan Rivers and plastic daughter Melissa. We also have the prerequisite Playboy bunny, Brande Roderick. No, she isn’t an important bunny. She’s not dating Hef and she doesn’t have her own show on E! She is blond and has decent jugs, and that’s what she’s there for. Someone who is on E! (the network, not the drug) is Kim Kardashian, playboy model, star of a notorious sex video and serial celebrity hook-up. But she’s not on this show– her chubbier sister Khloe is. She’s like Rob Lowe’s brother Brad, or Sylvester Stallone’s brother Frank. More useless than a Playboy bunny who you’ve at least seen naked or the sister of a celebrity you saw naked is a game show model you haven’t. Claudia Jordon is one of the random briefcase holding bimbos on Deal Or No Deal. I assume Donald Trump wanted host Howie Mandel but reconsidered. The Don doesn’t trust bald guys. It’s like they’re not hiding something. Barking commands through most of the show is some female poker champion, which on the celebrity food pyramid appears between female billiards champion and professional female bowler. Rounding out ATHENA’s all-star team is a female golf champion (see: female poker champion) and TLC member Tionne ‘T-Boz’ Watkins. So far T-Boz has been the quiet one, kind of like how Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes has been the quiet one in TLC ever since she died.

The men’s team is just as stellar. Team Kings of the Universe (KOTU) features nearly retarded Heisman trophy winner Hershel Walker, over the hill tough guy comedian Andrew Dice Clay, and male figure skating champion (see: female poker champion) Scott Hamilton. And those are your headliners. Severly mentally ill characters Dennis Rodman and Tom Green add alcoholism and aberrant behavior to the mix, while singers Clint Black and Brian McKnight perform a cross-genre duet in trying to manage their team of madmen. Not to be without a reality show entrepreneur of their own, KOTU has Jesse James, founder of West Coast Choppers and star of eleventy four History Channel shows.

I’ve seen through episode three. Here is a brief recap of each episode to catch you up so you can obsess over the show with me. I play a drinking game when I watch, and you should too! Try to come up with one.

Episode one begins with the celebs on the deck of the USS Intrepid in Manhattan. Donald of course arrives dramatically by helicopter. He would prefer to arrive by jet pack, but he can’t find a flame retardant hair spray. The Don sets the teams to a standard Apprentice task– being street vendors. The D Listers must use their industry contacts to raise as much money as possible in a sidewalk cupcake sale. Dennis Rodman’s social anxiety disorder manifests itself early in the show. He isn’t comfortable interacting with the public and stays in the van while the other celebrities use their fame to sell pastries. The Playboy bunny gets her sugar daddy Hef to make a generous contribution and Team ATHENA easily pummels the men. The Dice Man is eliminated so painfully that he will need Preparation H for years to come. Then again, Andrew Dice Clay is so old that hemorrhoids are an occupational hazard for him, a professional asshole.

Episode two gives the teams an advertising challenge. The CEO of Zappos.com, an online shoe store, asks the celebrities (and the golfer and poker player) to create a super hero to promote the company’s focus on customer service. The ladies divvy up responsibility well and get into zero cat fights– how mundane. The men give quality performances as they quibble and bicker through the task. Best moment of the episode is Hershel Walker telling Tom Green to shut up. The Don says ‘You’re Fired! ™’ to KOTU Project manager Scott ‘straight male figure skating champion’ Hamilton. His idea of naming their heroine ‘EEE’ doesn't make sense to anyone. If Zappos were called EEE.com, however, Hamilton would have been heralded as a genius.

Episode three sees Tom Green stepping up as KOTU leader after two failed challenges. The teams will this time sell wedding dresses. It may seem like the event is stacked in the women’s favor, but don’t forget that Dennis Rodman is known for, amongst other filthier things, wearing a wedding dress. And Tom Green got famous for wearing a tutu and sucking milk from a cow’s teat. Those two have more experience with dresses than the female poker champion and golf pro combined. Unfortunately, Rodman fails to pull his weight and gets plastered throughout the episode. He misses the day of the wedding dress sale, calling in sick with a BS eye infection. Project leader Green shows up late as well and teammates suspect he and Rodman were out drinking rather late the night before.

The girls win again, sans hair pulling. Sadly, we’re not even treated to a trampling of bridal gown shoppers. In the boardroom Hershel and Clint throw both bad boys Green and Rodman under the bus. They have contradicting tales of why Dennis was MIA on day two. Dennis claimed to have had an allergic reaction to a cat, Tom said he had a reaction to a dog. Best line of the episode is when the Don questions them on this contradiction. The ladies, watching via closed circuit TV in another room, know better than to believe Dennis’ cat/dog caca. “It was a girl named Kitty,” says Melissa Rivers, Skeletor’s daughter. “Or some bitch,” retorts the Deal Or No Deal bimbo. Unfortunately Tom Green is off’ed before he can do anything truly bizarre. Like rap, which he does very well. Find the youtube video of him and Xzibit. You’re in for a treat.

To see previous The Celebrity Apprentice episodes, watch NBC Saturdays at 8 PM EST (email me for central time). NBC is airing encore showings of the previous two episodes that night before a new episode every Sunday. Hulu.com has the aired episodes as well as the SNL skits starring Darrelll Hammond as the Trump, or Trumpmaster D as I never actually call him. The one with Dwayne ‘don’t call me the Rock’ Johnson is genius. His Dennis Rodman impersonation is spot on. Little wonder Rodman had a semi-successful crossover into professional wrestling a few years back, teaming up with Hulk Hogan for a few publicity matches. Find a video of that and you’ll spew whatever you’re drinking at the time out your nose, so don’t drink when watching it, for your safety’s sake. Speaking of drinking, don’t forget to work on the drinking game ideas. My game I’m either gonna call Donald Trump’s The Celebrity Apprentice: Drink Til You Drop or Million Dollar Comb Over. You drink every time there’s a product placement, celebrity name drop or someone says Trump. Waterfall when the Don’s on screen. Yaegerbomb when he says ‘you’re fired.’ She’s a harsh mistress, that game.

Nothing Trivial

2009-03-04T12:51:00.000-08:00

I’ll be the first to admit it: I’m a dork. No, not your average, run-of-the-mill dork. I’m your atypical überdork. The kind of dork who doesn’t write “überdork” without the two dots over the ‘u’. The type of dork that also knows those dots are called ümlauts, from the German word meaning ‘two dots’. The kind of dork who knows that the word dork originally referred to a whale’s penis. As a self-professed überdork, I admit freely that I like no bar game better than trivia. I’m a lousy shot at beer pong, darts, and beer darts– it’s the coolest new game that’s sweeping all the fictitious bars I frequent! I know obscure facts and I like to drink, so trivia is my sport of choice.

Needless to say I take it seriously. Well, I guess it was needful to say. Every wrong answer is an excruciating blemish on my quizzical record. That’s one of the reasons I have issues with certain trivia practices. I get my trivia fix at Charley O’s on Tuesdays. Hell, I even went through the effort of ensuring I am scheduled off on Tuesdays so I can hit O’ Corley’s for trivia and karaoke, the dynamic duo of drinking. Jamie has been the host of trivia for a while now. His cohost shifts often but for now it’s Antonio and they are a great team. Any gripe I have with trivia is not host related, let me say that from the start.

One of my biggest peeves, coming from a man with peeves visible from space, is a certain team that plays at O’Corley’s. See, some of you don’t realize how seriously competitive trivia can get. I’ve seen people loose their thumbs for cheating. Actually, that was an old Charles Bronson movie, but trivia is competitive, and many teams come back week after week. The truly hardcore teams have matching shirts. In particular, the Chopstick Mafia is a team that, like me, takes bar trivia very seriously. So seriously that sometimes they may occasionally use a piece of technology to acquire the answer to a question that is stumping them. They use their phones to cheat. Hey, Mafia, don’t get all riled up. Everyone knows you cheat! We’re at the bar playing trivia so don’t assume we’re ignorant. But in your defense, Chopstick Mafia, you are not the only team that cheats. The only reason I don’t is because I don’t have an internet phone. I could take the moral high ground and say even if I had an IPhone I wouldn’t use it to cheat, but I would. I take it that seriously, too.

The problem comes when a team of twenty with IPhones answer questions that no other team got because they are cheating, errr, I mean, using advanced data access techniques. So to level the playing field I have devised a few suggested rule changes and additions. I hope every bar that hosts trivia will read this and reconsider their practices.

Rule 1: Team size may be no more than ten to fifteen people, or a tenth of the total bar crowd that night. So if your team has twenty members and there are only fifty people in the joint, you should maybe split into two teams. Why? You tell me– is it really fair for a school of dolphins to swarm three or four tiny mackerel? I’m tired of being the mackerel! I’m nobody’s fish!

Rule 2: Each question has a one minute time limit. If you know the question, that’s plenty of time. If you don’t, it gives your team ample time to compare ideas and brainstorm. It’s also a short enough time limit to kill the ‘google effect.’ That’s what I’m trademarking as the use of internet technology in trivia cheating. Look for the term in Wikipedia any day now.

Rule 3: The Equalizer. Just to make it more sporting, why not give the last place team a chance to catch up? Before the final question, let any team in last place chug against the first place team or teams. If a team in last place beats a first place team in the chug-off, the last place team gets moved up to first place. No one loses any points. This helps teams that are completely out-gunned have a chance, all be it a slim one, to win. The leading team still has an advantage– they’ve proved they know a lot, so they should have no problem answering the last question. Okay, maybe this rule is trivia communism, but I stand behind it, just like I stood behind Marx. Groucho, not Karl. Besides being a great comedian, he’s one hell of a trivia host. He used to host What’s My Line back in the golden years of television.

Rule 4: The Tie Breaker. This method ends the chug-off approach for deciding who wins in a tie. Instead, a question with multiple parts may be used, like asking the teams to name all the signs of the zodiac. Or all the Golden Girls. Still, a few teams may be able to name off Blanche (Rue McClanahan), Dorothy (Bea Arthur), Rose (Betty White) and Sophia (Estelle Getty, RIP). So a tie breaker question doesn’t preclude a final chug off, but it definitively decides which teams watch Lifetime: Television For Women.

I don’t really expect all (or any) of these rules to be adopted. I know that as a group people are resistant to change. So maybe trivia is fine the way it is. Or maybe I’m just a bitter überdork with no IPhone.

The DNA of REM

2009-03-03T14:45:00.001-08:00

There was a time when what defined my first impression about a person was the answer to this question: what kind of music do you like? Elitist did not begin to describe how seriously I took that question. Snob was more on the nose. If your answer was “everything,” you were dead to me. I instantly forgot you were even standing there and would often accidentally bump into people who answered “everything.” I sat on a girl once for the same reason. Many months later and after weeks in court we settled it like gentlemen. We Jell-O wrestled. I lost the match and my appetite for Jell-O forever.

Only slightly less egregious than “everything” was “everything but rap and country.” To me that said “I have taste, but very little.” I also thought those people must be the ones who ordered their steaks well done and considered katsup a steak sauce.

Coming up next in my countdown of bad answers, in a two way tie for third, you guessed it, “rap” or “country.” The reason I only slightly disliked people with these responses was that I gave them points for sticking to a genre. At least they knew what they liked. They didn’t like “everything,” just bad music.

My answer? I’d rattle off a few bands that I liked at the time, or I’d try to classify my tastes: I’d say alternative, grunge, emo… whatever genre I thought represented artists I liked. This method was archaic at best. What did alternative mean? If it was the alternative to mainstream rock then it shouldn’t have been on MTV or the radio, but it was. Was grunge limited to only mid-nineties Seattle artists, or was there a sound that any band could create to be considered grunge? Was Weezer emo? Could emo bands have female singers? Does Ann Coulter have an Adam’s apple? What it boiled down to was that this method didn’t describe what I liked about a song, a band or a style of music.

Thank the maker for the internet, whose mysterious artificial intelligence has decoded man’s emotional response to music. Soon the robots will assimilate this program and will try to create music. It will be the most beautiful music any mortal will have ever heard. Until then we have the Music Genome Project. It may sound like a secret government program to genetically engineer a boy band/ superhero team, but I assure you it is probably not that. I’m seventy four percent sure it is not. The project began in 2000 as an attempt to dissect the DNA of music.

Every song has a “vector,” a list of its genes. Things like the singer’s gender, the level of distortion on the guitar and type of background vocals make up the approximately 150 “genes” of a song. There are over four hundred possible genes, though some genres have more than others. Rock songs deal with only around 150 genes but rap uses over 300. Jazz has 400 different genes because, well, jazz is chaotic crap. Listening to jazz makes me want to puncture my eardrums with a yellow number two pencil. It’s like when your alarm clock goes while you’re still asleep, so the alarm is making everything in your dream go crazy and start having a panic attack. That’s what jazz sounds like to me– a panic attack in my dream.

But back to vectors. A complex algorithm called the distance function compares vectors to generate a list of similar songs. (Pay attention, there will be a quiz on this Monday.) The Music Genome Project’s music player application, Pandora (Pandora.com) is free and lets you create custom playlists based on an artist or song. I have a few for my favorite artists, but most interesting are the stations I made based on a single song. I usually like one song by an artist and nothing else they’ve made, but Pandora never fails to pull a rabbit out of her hat.

So now ask me what kind of music I like and I’ll answer with a more scientific and most importantly more accurate response: I like songs that feature basic rock song structure, major key tonality, a distinctive male lead vocal and mild rhythmic syncopation. I also don’t mind string section beds, subtle use of acoustic piano or vocal-centric aesthetics. How about you? Oh… rap and country. That’s cool.

Random News from Valdosta, Ga.

2009-02-22T01:15:00.000-08:00

Zombies are having the best week ever! ‘Zombie banks’ are the talk of the town in financial sectors. Like Weekend at Bernie’s 2, these banks goes through the motions of being alive, but you can see in their eyes they’re really under a voodoo curse. Zombie banks, like zombie movies, were invented in America but became huge in Japan in the 1990s. These banks are the walking dead in that most of their assets are in worthless mortgages. Even if they paid off all their liabilities they still would never be solvent.

Voodoo economics may keep the corpse dancing for a while longer, if Congressional Republicans get their way. The GOP is pitching it’s old standard of tax cuts as the silver bullet for our economic woes. Opponents of the bailout bill verbalized worries that the tax cuts in it are too small and won’t have a lasting effect on consumer spending which funds two thirds of our nation’s economy. Another concern is the impact the law will have on future generations. “The average person will get $8 per week in their paycheck and they will pass on to their grandkids $1.1 trillion in debt,” said Republican Senator Lindsey Graham of South Carolina.

Zombieland will be wrapping up its filming at Wild Adventures. Word is the production moves to Atlanta next. For those of you who sleep in your closet with the lights off, Zombieland is a comedy starring Woody Harrelson. You may see some of your friends as extras when this movie debuts October 9. You’ll also see Amber Heard, who played the eighteen year old girlfriend of Seth Rogan’s character in Pineapple Express. The movie costars Jesse Eisenberg, whom you may recognize from The Squid and the Whale and Cursed. Abigail Breslin appears in the flick as well. She’ll be playing the precociously cute girl, no doubt.

Speaking of people who won’t die, Sarah Palin, who bills herself as a fiscal conservative/ excellent marksman, is calling for a $268 million reduction in the Alaskan state budget. Declining oil prices has taken its toll on the state’s finances, causing it to finally enter the worldwide economic crisis. Unfortunately the cuts Palin is asking for are mostly made up of unused tax credits to oil companies, so the they will not really add any money to the Alaskan budget. Maybe Palin will sell her wardrobe on Ebay to help make ends meet. That’s what a savvy hockey mom would do. Meanwhile, her daughter is speaking out against abstinence as a viable option for every teen. In an interview with Greta Van Susteran, the new mom reiterated that the decision to have unmarried sex was her choice, and had nothing to do with her mom’s views.

Girls did not go wild in Remerton. Good taste prevailed as a planned visit from the Girls Gone Wild bus was cancelled at The Milltown Groove. Heath Cox, the bar’s manager responding to a Valdosta Daily Times article, said “The newspaper article got it way out of proportion. It really hurt my feelings that people would think that I would do that kind of stuff in public. Once I got wind of everything that was going on from (Remerton Police) Chief Terrell and from some churches, and they expressed their feelings of how they didn’t want it I canceled it for them, for the good of the city and the council.” The GGW visit was scheduled for the same day as the annual Father-Daughter Valentine’s Dance, which teaches girls how proper gentlemen should treat them. I would guess there were no tatas-for-t-shirts at the dance.

We’re going digital– eventually. The government mandated transition was supposed to go into effect in February and many networks will have switched by now, but the FCC pushed the deadline back to June 12 in order to ensure everyone is aware of the change. So if you turn on CBS and are dismayed to discover you can’t watch CSI: Miami, that’s why. The Congressionally mandated end of broadcast television is aimed at freeing up airwave bandwidth for public safety communications and advanced commercial wireless services. Sounds like the government is coming to get our brains– or at least that’s what our editor’s parents think. They also think Elvis Presley shot JFK.

Hillary Clinton visited Japan as she began her American Idol runner up tour on February 17. Besides obviously the world economic crisis, Secretary of State Clinton also spoke with the island nation’s prime minister about it’s neighbor across the bay, North Korea. “The possible missile launch that North Korea is talking about would be very unhelpful in moving our relationship forward,” Clinton said in a joint press conference with the Japanese PM. The visit previews a six party talk aimed at disarming North Korea.

President Obama is on his own tour, of sorts. Beginning in Denver, Colorado the President signed his economic stimulus plan into law. He then flew down to Arizona to unveil his mortgage relief plan. When I say he flew down to Arizona, I do mean by Air Force One– so far as I know, flight is not amongst the superpowers our new president has.

Kids everywhere are opening their brownbags at lunch time to find “and jelly” sandwiches due to the massive peanut butter recall. Six people have died and contamination has been reported in 43 states. The Food and Drug Administration traced the outbreak to a plant in Georgia owned by Peanut Corporation of America. General Mills recalled two products while Kellogg recalled sixteen of its products in February.

Does Facebook own your content? Founder Mark Zuckerberg says no. The social networking site’s new terms of use agreement, updated February 4, went mostly unnoticed until consumer rights advocacy blog Consumerist.com pointed out changes. “On Facebook, people own their information and control who they share it with.” Zuckerberg said that in order to share pictures or status updates with friends, Facebook must have license to allow friends to keep a copy of messages or other information a user shares with them, even if you close your account. This is not the first run in Facebook has had with users– in 2007, Facebook initially defended a tracking tool called “beacon,” which broadcasted information about a user’s shopping habits and activities at other websites. Facebook ultimately allowed users to turn Beacon off.

Fire, Ice or Malaria?

2009-02-19T13:14:00.000-08:00

John F. Kennedy’s poet laureate Robert Frost wrote:
Some say the world will end in fire;
Some say in ice.

I don't know if Frost was speaking figuratively. I never met the guy. Maybe he was just really into fire and ice. It is a well known fact that poets laureate are often pyromaniacs. As for the ice obsession, maybe he meant " ice" as in meth. It's an even better known fact that most poets laureate are junkies. I know for a fact that Maya Angelou used to be heavy into narcotics, but her Wikipedia entry doesn't mention which ones she liked. My money is on heroine. And probably Chips Ahoy. But let's say for the sake of argument that Frost was not chasing the dragon when he wrote this poem. If he was prophesying, then maybe he was predicting how humans would inevitably destroying our home planet.

It all started with Prometheus. In Greek mythology, he is the God who gave man fire. Ever since that fateful moment, we have been doing our damnedest to burn everything we can get our greasy little opposable thumbs around. Some random caveman in some ancient ice age must have seen a lightning strike cause a forest fire and think, "Ooga ooga! Fire good! Me like fire." Shortly thereafter, proto-man harnessed mother nature's most primitive force and created the very first carbon footprint. Sure, that caveman's footprint may have been more troll like than yours or mine, or most likely mine, but it was from that point that humans started adding harmful carbon back into our atmosphere at increasingly alarming rates. It is the nature of our society to burn things. We use fire to bake our bread, heat our homes, and fuel our Fords. Even if we aren't completely aware of it, burning fossil fuels accounts for the vast majority of our energy use worldwide.

So, like Billy Joel said, 'we didn't start the fire -it was always burning since the world’s been turning.’ Is our environment too fubar to fix? I don't know. I'm no psychic. But I do watch movies. If they are any prediction of how our time on earth will end, then mankind is officially boned.

So how will it end? I’m taking bets! Global warming is melting the icecaps. So will we end up like Kevin Costner in Waterworld? Will our world, too, be a featureless sphere with a handful of human outposts floating in an unlimited ocean? I'm not a strong swimmer, and I'm super pasty, so I'm not super keen on that idea. No one wants to see my sun-burned waterlogged corpse floating up to the side of his dinghy.

Or maybe ice is the way we’ll go out. According to my scientist friends (Bill Nye the Science Guy is on my speed dial, right after Stephen Hawking) after the ice caps do melt (and they will, I assure you) we’ll be in for another ice age. Sure, it’s going to get hotter before it gets cooler. Much hotter. Hot enough to, well, melt polar ice caps. When all the cool, fresh water from those glaciers and icebergs joins with the salty, warm waters of the Gulf Stream all currents will weaken and eventually subside. Currents, other than being sea turtle interstates, drive the mixing of hot and cold water across the planet and warm most of North America and Europe. It’s the warm water that currents bring to places like England and New York that prevents those places from being snowbound year round.

With no currents, the oceans will stagnate. Just like when you don’t rinse out your dog’s water dish and you leave it outside for a week, microorganisms will multiply and spread infectious diseases. Mosquitos will travel in packs of billions and pick cows clean in under five minutes. They’ll be more lethal than those shadow beasts in Pitch Black. You know you all saw that and loved Vin Diesel! But as far as disaster movie parallels, it would be more like Outbreak, but on a global scale. Think of Dawn of the Dead, but instead of zombies, masses of lepers, swaying crowds of malaria and bubonic plague infested refugees coughing all over you every time you leave your house.

Then, just when you think things can’t get worse, you realize that it is now getting colder. The ice age has begun. Everything freezes, but c’est la vie. This is a back-and-forth process that has been cycling for millions of years. Yes, we did hasten it this time. All those fossil fuels were good while they lasted. Now we’re in The Day After Tomorrow. The world is a flash-frozen T.V. dinner, except instead of peas, french fries and fried chicken, it’s small bands of humans clinging desperately to the shear edge of life in an infinite frozen tundra. So yeah, exactly like a T.V. dinner.

I abstain from betting on how humanity will go in the end– fire, ice, malaria… I know it will all end, and that’s enough. Ignorance is bliss. I’m just going to stock up on thermal underwear. And OFF!™. And sunblock–just in case.