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Thursday, August 26, 2004
One Guy Got It Right
Thanks, Allen Johnson.
Not for falling and skidding, scaring the life out of me and making me wonder if half your face had peeled off before you looked up. That I could have lived without. No, I want to thank you for showing restraint and class when so many would not have done so.
You laid on the track for a couple of minutes absorbing what had just happened. You came to Athens the Captain of the U.S. track team. You were expected to win a medal in the hurdles. And yet the dreams of gold were dashed so quickly, so harshly. It was painful for you, and for your countrymen who were behind you cheering. But your actions on the ground and after you got up made you a champion.
There was no screaming. No yelling. No swearing. You didn't cry. You didn't claim that the race was rigged. You didn't suggest that your hurdles were at a different height than everyone else's. You didn't blame other racers for bumping you. You didn't protest that the track conditions in your line were inappropriate. You simply sat there, stunned, and then picked yourself up with dignity and left the track. Dear God.
I suppose it says a lot of bad things about track that I am quick to praise something horrible that happened, but there you have it. Watching that moment, I was proud to be an American. Unlike the obnoxious Maurice Greene and his "bring out the fire extinguisher" nonsense, I knew right then that if yuou had crossed the finish line first in the finals and claimed a gold medal, you would have comported yourself with quiet dignity. And frankly, in an age where sportsmanship seems to be at an all-time low, especially among male athletes, you became, to this writer, a national hero.
7:40 PM
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Saturday, August 21, 2004
Olympic Thoughts
I'm not just saying this because I'm a stright male. Seriously. But aside from the men's swim team, who provided maximum entertainment with a heavy dose of class, I find it difficult to watch or care about any men's sports in this Olympiad. It is the women who continually provide the most interesting and competitive moments in these games. Mainly because, when you stack one gender against the other, the women have a lot fewer dicks on the playing fields.
Granted, Svetlana Khorkina isn't exactly a charmer, but even then, she's far more compelling to watch than the U.S. hideously awful "dream team" of men's basketball players. I've grown to loathe the NBA over the last seven or eight years, as the quality of play and actual skill level of the players has gone way down and the preening fuckheadedness and macho bullshit of the players has gone way up. Khorkina is at least out there on the floor, age-wise past her prime, busting her frozen personality's ass in one last grand attempt to retire fulfilled, while the "dream team" just seems to care about getting their minutes and shot attempts. Wake me when they finally get knocked out without a medal, won't you?
I'd rather watch true dominators at work. Misty May and Kerri Walsh are destroying the field in beach volleyball. Jenni Finch, who I watched when she was a collegiate player at the Dreaded U. of A., is helping lead the monstrous women's softball team towards a medal. Then there are the swimmers: Natalie Coughlin, Amanda Beard, Kara Lynn Joyce and the rest. What an amazing group! I knew early in the day that the 4x200 relay team had broken the last standing (and tainted) East German swimming record in shattering fashion, and yet watching it, I found myself literally on the edge of my seat with excitement. That's great sport.
So if you give me the choice between watching the men's sprinters in track and field puffing out their chests and showing more machismo than Erik Estrada in 1979 or watching Jenny Thompson end her storied career by struggling in her last two races... I'm going to take Thompson, a true champion who has been doing it for a long time and doesn't talk about herself in third person.
Throw in the women's basketball team, and there's not even a question about what this Olympics is about. In a year when the games have returned to their cradle, in a city named for a goddess, for sixteen nights in a row... it's ladies' night. And oh, what a night it is.
11:09 PM
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Wednesday, August 18, 2004
CRUSHED
I should have known it was coming.
CBS' publicity machine had really cranked up in the last week or so, and we began to see AMAZING RACE contestant and "little person" Charla Faddoul popping up all over the place. Charla was the inspirational story of the summer; equally cunning, charming, and determined, she had set out to change peoples' perceptions about what those who are short in stature could do. She succeeded wildly.
Partially, she was helped by the fact that her racing partner, cousin Mirna, acted the part of weakling and halfwit too often. While Mirna was one of the few people in the five years of the show who actively tried to appreciate and enjoy the opportunities the race provided, all too often it was Charla who bailed out the duo, either by eating two pounds of caviar in one sitting or in carrying a slab of beef that was damned near the same size as her.
Their continual squaring off against the asisnine and hot-tempered Colin and his way-too-good-for-him girlfriend Christie made for interesting drama as well. In short, Charla and Mirna make for great fucking television. So like I said, I should have been suspicious when Charla began appearing more in the media over the last week.
Because last night, the race's foibles caught up to them, and they finished last at the pit stop, leaving them eliminated from the contest. I wanted to throw things at my TV.
No more Charla. No more Mirna trying to cop a feel off of beleaguered host Phil Keoghan. No more watching someone with all that heart and determination succeed in the face of overwhelming odds. The Race continues, and I with it... but it has a lot less personality.
3:22 PM
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Thursday, August 12, 2004
The Best Show On TV
As the summer months continue to pass, and TV continues to sink further and further into the morass (Thanks, Fox!) I find that there are really only three programs that are must viewing for me, a total of two hours a week that I don't want to miss. Those are some slim pickings, considering how many channels I have.
I've discussed THE AMAZING RACE already. BEST WEEK EVER is a televised form of crack cocaine, stunningly addictive in its blythe and withering looks at our popular culture. I sort of consider it an inspiration to this column. But right now, I cannot imagine a better show on television than the brilliant, subversive, and non-sequitor laden SEALAB 2021 on the Cartoon Network.
The geniuses behind the "Adult Swim" block of programming came up with a doozy on this one. Taking one of the worst cartoons of all time (SEALAB 2020) and fucking up the characters and premise, each episode is a bizarre and senseless bit of perfect pop culture that tickles the brain as well as the funny bone.
Season one's "All That Jazz" might just be one of the single best pieces of animation ever made. It opens with Captain Murphy entering a highly secured chamber in Sealab, only for the audience to discover that the chamber simply contains the soda machine. However, the machine steals his money, and in an attempt to free his soda, the achine tips over and lands on the Captain, crushing his ribs. And that's where the real fun begins.
For no apparent reason, of course, there's a scorpion in the room, and it begins to taunt him mercilessly, stinging him randomly. Trust me- it's appallingly funny. Then the soda machine begins to randomly fire sodas at Murphy's head, knocking out his teeth. Honest- it's a pants wetter. Now here's where it gets completely off-the-hook bizarre: the rest of the crew has left Sealab and gone to a concert, and rather than return, they go on tour as roadies for the band, which leaves Murphy trapped beneath the machine... for fourteen months.
The episode's brilliance explodes from there. There's a cleaning robot (the same robot that was with the good guys in the awful Disney sci-fi flick THE BLACK HOLE) that keeps coming into the room and cleaning up Murphy's teeth, and it begins to make a necklace out of them. Murphy begins to be able to communicate with the scorpion, allowing it to lay its eggs in his naval and becoming addicted to the sting/venom. He also begins to have flashbcks to his childhood as the son of a carny. And right now, you think I've lost my mind.
However, I'm serious. Not only does this mess stick together in awe-inspiring fashion, it elicits huge laughs at every turn. For these amazing writers to turn out material this clever, time after time, is truly a rare feat. I honestly never get tired of watching and re-watching these tasty little masterpieces, and I recommend that more people get on the bandwagon. All you need is a bit of a twisted sense of humor and about ten minutes of your time.
6:32 PM
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Sunday, August 08, 2004
WHY I DON’T OWN A HOME VIDEO GAME SYSTEM
- Well, first and foremost because I don’t ever want to be so much of an asshole that I take it seriously enough to murder for the damn console. There’s a story running right now about some people being murdered for the theft of an X-Box. Fuck almighty. If you need one that bad, steal another one from the fuggin’ store. There is no game of Doom 3 that can’t wait until you’ve outrun a fat old security guard. Kids get dumber every year.
- I like to read books. Beyond that, I like to read magazines and comics. I like listening to the radio and the occasional album. It’s baseball season, and I can almost always turn on a game. These are all qualities that it seems, on the surface, no one in American society under the age of 22 actually possesses anymore. I think I’d prefer to hold on to my uniqueness.
- The prices for new games is ridiculous. $50 for a new release like Doom 3? Blow me. In fact, you could get a hooker to blow you twice for that. Maybe more if she’s addicted to drugs. Or, you could buy Paris Hilton’s porn tape and jack off for years to it for that kind of money. Hell, for $50, you could pay a girl to dress up like Paris Hilton and blow you. And any of those ideas beats the shit out of losing hours of sleep playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. “One Night In Paris,” indeed.
- I know there are a lot of nice, normal people who have them, but honestly, I would feel like a complete loser if I had a home video game set. That’s just who I am, no apologies.
Really…. Shouldn’t we all have better things to do with our time?
7:01 PM
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Tuesday, August 03, 2004
THE INNOCENT’S A BROAD
There aren’t enough “broads” anymore in pop culture.
Sure, we have plenty of dainty and “Gosh, aren’t I feminine?” types littering the landscape. I suspect we’re stuck with Jessica Simpson for years to come. But where are the tough women? Where are the women you wouldn’t arm wrestle on a bet, because you know they’re gonna kick your ass? I can only think of one place:
The Amazing Race.
If you aren’t watching the best “reality” show on television, a show that doubles as one of the best shows on TV, period, then you’re missing out. Certainly, the bandwagon appears to be growing; it’s one of the highest rated programs on the air this summer. But it has room to grow, and you really ought to be watching, because as the race sheds teams, the toughness of the challenges and the travel increase dramatically, and more screen time is devoted to the human drama facing each duo. Brilliant, brilliant stuff. Plus, it has broads.
One pair of racers in this edition are so-called “soccer moms.” I think of them more as “bowling partners,” as they are featured in the introductions on the lanes and in their league shirts. They also have a (disturbing) tendency to wear matching clothes during the race legs as well. They’re fun, loveable, and you can cheer for them because they play fair and with a sense of integrity, even though you get the sense they’d kick you square in the balls if it proved necessary. They’re also not stick-thin models like some of the competitors, instead looking like normal, sturdy women of fortitude. It’s easy to make the jump to believe that they could throw back a couple of beers and watch a game with you and be right at home. In short: broads.
A different type of broads in the race are little person Charla and her cousin Mirna. Controversial in their style and demeanor, these two have captured my heart and my rooting interest. Charla is a kick-ass wonder, not backing down from any challenge thrown at her, and yet savvy enough to play on people’s pity factor because of her stature. I like that she uses every available weapon in her arsenal to succeed. Mirna can be damned annoying, but she also has a nifty verve, at times taking longer in the challenges than necessary in order to enjoy the experience of being halfway around the world and doing things she never felt possible in her life. One of the best early moments of the race involved Mirna lagging a bit at a Uruguay destination in order to dance the tango with a local man. Looking at her face, you could see that she was immensely turned on and could have stayed for quite some time. Most contestants don’t have this attitude, focusing solely on the next stage of the race, and I dig that about her (and Charla). Again: they are two fun-loving broads.
It feels weird to say the TV is missing Bea Arthur. But, I think it is. Where have all the good broads gone? And will this age of PC casting and body obsession, will we ever see any great ones again?
3:41 PM
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Sunday, August 01, 2004
RETURNER
Not only is that the name of a kick ass Japanese sci-fi action flick (rent it- trust me), but it's also ME. I'm going to be working over the next couple of days to add a couple of bells and whistles to this bad boy as I get underway with a brand new mission, so keep your eyes peeled. Happy Nonsense is back in business...
Marc
3:28 PM
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