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Friday, October 24, 2003
This Thing I Love Without Reason
Maybe I’ve just had a hard time letting go of certain elements of my youth, but for whatever reason I am thoroughly addicted to VH1’s “I LOVE THE 80S” and its ilk (“I LOVE THE 80S STRIKES BACK” and “I LOVE THE 70S”). I just finished watching the final hour of STRIKES BACK, and already I feel empty inside because it’s over. Goddammit, where is the justice??? Why must this magnificent pop culture Cliff’s Notes be complete???
The show’s hour long looks at each year inevitably bring something back to mind that I have forgotten about, or something that I had very little familiarity with at all. Sure, I watched THE SMURFS, but I never saw a single episode of JEM. I owned a TRAPPER KEEPER, but I never wore L.A. GEAR. But I think we all watched MY TWO DADS at least once, so at least there are some cultural touchstones that we all share. God bless Greg Evigan.
I think what really makes the show fun for me is are the celebrity commentators that VH1 uses to help the reminiscing along. Rich Eisen, now freed from ESPN, really ups his humor quotient in STRIKES BACK. Juliette Lewis is twenty times more charming and appealing talking about her childhood and whether or not Samantha Fox was a skank than she’s been in any film she’s made since NATURAL BORN KILLERS. Virginia Madsen shows that she’s aged spectacularly and will likely be sexy until she’s seventy. But the real stars this time out are Hal Sparks, Donal Logue, and Rachael Harris.
Sparks has been charming in the earlier efforts, but this time around he manages to knock almost every single bit he does out of the park. Even when he has to discuss Rainbow Brite, Sparks finds a way to make me snort. I used to watch him do TALK SOUP, but he was never as good there as he has been in VH1’s little retrospectives. Donal Logue has always been a very funny guy, but for STRIKES BACK he seemed to kick it up a notch. He added a comfortable anger to his bits, never missing a chance to poke a hole in an inflated bit of pop or tip over a sacred cow. VH1 actually recognize his brilliance this time by adding a new segment to the show: “Donal Logue’s Unfinished Thoughts On…” A couple were a bit unnecessary, but for the most part, Logue batted for high average.
The third bright star of STRIKES BACK was Rachael Harris. I was pretty unfamiliar with her work, though a cursory look at her IMDB listing tells me I’ve seen her in plenty of things before. Harris is dryly witty, treading a constant thin line between mocking the topic at hand and admitting love for it. She gives off the impression of being amusingly embarrassed about her own personal participation in the decade, as we all probably should. I’ll definitely be keeping my eye out for further work from her. And yes, I did finish the ten hours of pop highlights crushing on her a bit, too. It’s the glasses. But she’s a comedy genius, dammit. So bite me.
Wisely, VH1 cut back on bits from the now over-exposed Mo Rocca and the annoying Michael Ian Black. Black at least doers a better job of reining himself in during most of the shows, but a little Rocca can go a long way, as those who saw The Smoking Gun’s television special can attest. But in the end, you just have to look past the commentary, and marvel that we survived those fashions, those hairstyles, and those music videos with our dignity intact. Well, most of us anyway. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my parachute pants and Vuarnet sunglasses. I want to look cool while getting my hair feathered.
Marc@MarcMason.com
8:48 PM
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Friday, October 17, 2003
One Heartbeat
Talk about worry!
The last few months have produced a lifetime of stress. Sleep has come and gone. There’s been sniping, yelling, anger, and crying. But over the last few days, it increased a thousandfold thanks to one brutal and damning fact:
I live with a Red Sox fan.
Diehard Red Sox fans are a different breed. If I ever want to shut Rebecca up or just make her blood pressure go up, all I need to do is utter the word “Buckner”, and suddenly, her skin goes from pasty white to beet red. Much to the detriment of my karma, I actually find it amusing. But until this past week, I’ve never had to see and contend with her in full fan mode, including what appears to be an ulcer that grows with each opposition hit and run.
Now, I consider myself to be a passionate sports fan. I cheer long and loud, and I liver and die with my teams in loyal fashion. I’ve always felt like I’m a class “A” enjoyer of our national pastime. I wear the colors, but I don’t riot when we win. But I have nothing on a diehard Sox fan.
Being a Boston fan means being committed to living and dying at the drop of a hat. It means shedding blood and sweat over each batter that a Sox pitcher faces. And it means crying and hurting deep inside when the Sox lose.
So last night, when Manager Grady Little stupidly left Pedro Martinez in for three batters too long and cost the Sox a trip to the World Series, I adopted a new role in my relationship with Rebecca: I’m the guy who says “Wait until next year” and tries to make the hurt and the tears go away.
It’s sort of weird, actually. All the shit we’ve been through lately, and it was the Sox dropping game 7 to the hated Yankees that left me feeling the most helpless in trying to mend her broken heart. It’s just a game…indeed. But for a little while, it made life seem not so bad.
Marc@MarcMason.com
6:16 PM
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Friday, October 10, 2003
Roller Coaster
It all got off to a bad start.
First, my privacy and space were violated in a very unacceptable fashion, and the perpetrator was not punished. Then the brass where I work decided to dump a shitstorm on me and my co-workers, right in the middle of our busiest month of the year. That, at least, has the potential for us to turn it into a positive somewhere down the line, but not at the moment. So by Tuesday, I was pretty close to losing my cool and start slapping the living fuck out of the next person who pissed on my Pop Tarts.
Thankfully, I was able to have a couple of positives by the end of the week.
Thursday afternoon, I went to an on-campus rally where Presidential candidate Howard Dean spoke. I haven’t been as impressed as many others have seemed to be by Dean, but I wanted to see the man up close and get a picture of who he was in person. I came away with a much better feel, and a much rosier outlook on the good Doctor. Dean was personable, forceful, and presented himself clearly. He articulated his feelings and his viewpoints well, and to my eyes it seemed like he had been watching video of Bill Clinton on the campaign trail and taking some pointers from it. If Dean can continue to be as well-spoken, coherent, and even-keeled as he was yesterday, he has a chance to make people really take notice, and the race in 2004 to dethrone the evil emperor and his oil cronies could get interesting and close. So the good guys might just have a fighting chance.
Today, I saw Quentin Tarantino’s return to the big screen, KILL BILL, and it is every bit as good as advertised. It is a kick ass action film, and insanely violent, but the artistic quotient of the film is so high that you leave exhilarated, not sickened. Choices such as shifting to black and white, or blue and black, or even an anime cartoon create an atmosphere of hyper-reality that has to be experienced to be believed. It was worth the six year wait.
So I guess my week was rescued by hope and violence. That may not be the most intelligent hook to hang your hat on, but I suppose in 2003 you take what you can get.
Marc@MarcMason.com
8:27 PM
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Friday, October 03, 2003
Anonymity
I don't know who I am today, and I don't really care.
I remain totally unappreciated in my time, even for the simple things. Every task is a thankless one. I wish I knew why I even bother.
Can't I just tender my resignation and quit?
Marc@MarcMason.com
8:21 PM
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