It took nearly four years, but venetian blinds have final been installed in our kitchen.

Sean and I are now accepting bets on what will happen first: Either the cord will catch fire being so close to the stove, or the whole damn thing will collapse as it's a 35" blind attached to a 35.5" window frame.

So, is anyone else bothered by the ghost of John Ritter shilling his old show? Sean was dialing around the boob tube and turned into one of ritter's last episodes, and it reminded me of this ad ABC ran for it's Tuesday Night Line-Up. You know the spots, where they preview that night's episode and they usually have one of the show's starts standing around looking funny or serious (depending on which show their from). Well, this one had Ritter looking his flustered-but-congenial self. Except for the fact that he's dead. He's dead, but there is ABC using his image to sell the show. And it just struck me as chilling. I mean, these promo spots are filmed weeks in advance, right? So when ritter did the spot, he had no idea in a few weeks time he'd be dead, so it's not like he was going to act serious and stoic. Nope, he's just doin' his shtick.

I remember when Phil Hartman died, he had just guest-starred on the season finale of "3rd Rock from the Sun", with the intent of appearing in the following season's premier to compelte the story. After he died, there was talk amongst the NBC executives that they would re-shoot the season finale with a different actor so they could continue the plot. Ultimately they decided not to do it, and the season premiere was re-written without Hartman's character.

Still, just the thought of it, the way people and their lives can be molded and manipulated at a network's whim. Whether it's Hartman's character or Ritter's promo spot. It's the nature of film, I suppose; you have a permanent image--of sorts--and it can be used in so many ways. Like those TV commericals using dead actors to sell a product. (Which isn't much different from the promo spots, etc.)

I wonder how this culture can be so scared of dying when so much is done to keep people from ever really being dead.

Tonight was another productive evening in front of the TV, culminating in the latest episode of "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy". The funny thing is, I had lost interest in the show, as after two or three episodes the novelty seemed to be wearing thin andI had better things to do . . . or at least other things I preferred to do at the same time "Queer Eye" was on TV.

Now, for those not in the know, Sean and I have nearly identical interests in TV shows. It's very rare that one of us will watching something the other isn't interested in, and so when one of us is watching TV, odds are the other will join in. And so it was that Sean and I watched this new episode of "Queer Eye", and as we watched the obligatory fashion-deficient straight guy get his make-over, Sean and I began thinking about what would happen if we were visited by the Fab Five. It was at first with humor, and then quiet embarrasment, as we realized our swinging bachelor pad was eerily similar to the pre-makeover habitats featured on the show, except with much less square-footage.

After the show, my straight eyes fell upon the old lamp Sean had deposited in one of the corners of the living room. He had recently bought a new lamp to replace the dilapidated one we had beenusing, and though this was a few weeks ago, the dilapidated lamp merely moved from it's prominate place on the table stand, to aa semi-obscured spot on the floor. It wasn't plugged in. I don't think there was even a light bulb in it. But the lamp remained.

And then Sean and I looked at the pile of X-Box games on top of the entertainment center, next to the pile of video tapes. And we looked into our dining room, where my old computer has remained, unmoved in the 20 some-odd months since I bought a new computer, as well as the various piles of newspapers, take-out menu's, and Sean's ever popular Victoria Secret Catalogue collection.

It didn't take a witty comment from Carson to know what had to be done.

Ironically enough, the lamp is still in the corner. But it's late and we really didn't want to go all out, so we took care of the loose paper, and cleaned up the living room, and I even dusted--I think there was an inch layer of dust on the DVD player. But tomorrow we'll dump the lamp, and my computer, and probably the fat ugly puke-green chair Sean took from Mirjam and she and Jen moved out of Bloomfield. Hopefully, when all is said and done the dining room will return to it's Dining room state and not the catch-all storage area it's become.

And there's an Ikea trip in the planning. A new futon to be bought, perhaps even a new chair, though for now we'll use the original one Sean first brought to the apartment. And after four years we may finally get blinds for the kitchen window. The future still won't match--brown chair, blue couch, black entertainment center; call it "Blind Eye for the Straight Guys"--but it'll look far more presentable than the apathetic state our apartment has fallen into these days.

It's not "Queer Eye" radical, I know. But it's a start.

As you may or may not know, one of NBC's new fall shows is an Americanized version of the British comedy "Couplings" which was the UK's answer to "Friends."

"Couplings" gets a late-night airing on one of the local cable stations. I've managed to catch the last half of two episodes, one of which was last night. The show is all-right. It doesn't seem like an overly-remarkable comedy, though it is genuinely funny. I think the big thing about the show is simply its frank talk and showing about sex. In the first episode I caught, there was a fairly erotic and revealing scene where a couple first consumated their relationship. Out walks an incredibly beautiful blonde in a t-shirt and panties, and we watch the couple on the bed as the clothes come off. It was actually fairly tasteful. Sexy without being blatantly titlating. But far more revealing than you get in any prime-time comedy (or drama's, for that matter) that American network TV shows. And in the episode I caught last night, the dialogue included the word "blowjob" in a throwaway line of dialogue, and then at the end of the episode, made it extremely clear that one of the characters was recieveing one from his girlfriend.

I can't see this happening on the American version of the show. I mean, in American sitcoms, half the time people mention sex, their chracter has to hesitate and come up with a ridiculous or childish euphaism--accomapnied by the obligatory laugh-track response. Even in the 21st century, for far too many American's the idea of people having sex is an embarassing concept. And I'd say it's a fair bet that the odds of hearing the word "blowjob" on Must See TV is probably as likely as me recieving one from any of the characters on those Must See TV shows (Debra Messing's single, isn't she?).

This, however, poses a problem for NBC. Because if the hook of "Couplings" is its frank sexuality, and as most American sitcom's have the maturity of a 14 year old when it comes to showing sexuality, then the American version of "Couplings" is going to be extremely sanitized. I wonder how NBC will pull this off. They're desperate for a successor to "Friends"--they do have the "Joey" spin-off next season to look forward too, but they'd be in a far better position to have a strong hit before next season so they can build off it rather than simply crossing their fingers on an unknown quantity. So, who knows. Perhaps in a bold display of daring, this American version of "Couplings" will bring an up-front, but mature, handling of sexuality that network TV hasn't seen, and thereby revitalize the flagging sitcom format and become an incredibly successful TV show.

On second thought, I think I'd rather bet on me getting a blowjob from Debra Messing.

Oh, and in an interesting bit of syncronicity, my cousin Mitch commented (with far more brevity) on this very subject in his blog just a few days ago, though I read it for the first time today. I confess it was his entry that prompted me to make this one, but in my defence, as I had just seen the British "Couplings" last night, this has been on my mind. Syncronicity, or a shameless stealing of the spotlight? I report, you decide.

Is it me, or did I miss the memo about John ritter being the greatest TV personality since Lucille Ball?

I mean, I can't run around the dial without hitting some John Ritter retrospective. Between VH-1 running their "Three's Comapny" movie and "Entertainment Tonight's" retrospective, and A&E Bigraophy episode, the E! Channel's 'Three'ws Company True Holywood Story", and ABC's own retrospective--and with the Emmy's tonight you know they'll have something for him too--the guy's had more exposure posthumously than he did when he was alive.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not Anti-Ritter. I've never looked at him and wished ill, or felt he had zero talent--he was obviously a good comedic actor and presented a friendly personality to the public. And I am saddened to hear he died so young. But when he died, my only thought was "Aw, Ted died." not "Oh my god, there goes a true comic genius the likes of which the world will never see again."

Now, obviously, to play the Hollywood game, you have to give kudos to whomever's getting the spotlight. Of course these shows have nothing but praise for Ritter, and his mistakes and missteps are glossed over as quickly as possible. And, if these various specials were aired in singulairty, perhaps it wouldn't be so noticeable. But to have all these shows praising the guy makes me wonder if I'm missing something. And maybe I am. My friend Samantha has always loved 'Three's Company". Personally, I was never crazy about it. (To this day I can't see what was so special about Suzanne Sommers. I'm more of a Pricilla Barnes kinda guy.) My impression of Ritter was a guy who could never get much of a career post "Company". He tried the movies and that went nowhere. I didn't even know "8 Simple Rules" was a raitings smash until he died. So I'm really at a loss to understand what was so special about the guy.

But I think the real issue boils down to a simple of question of what affects you. If Alan Moore or Neil Peart were to die today, I'd be borderline devastated. These guys mean the world to me, and if they just dropped dead unexpectedly, I'd be immensely sad. And Just about everyone I know would look at me a bit sideways, shrug their shoulders, and go back to watching their John Ritter restrospective.

Death is a bizarre thing in this society. They say Death is the great equalizer. Sooner or later the greatest leader in the world will be pushing up daisy's just like the world's worst. But, let's face it, that's not the case at all. The way in which legacies are presented and preserved--even manipulated, as, really, eulogies are just one more form of spin-control--who gets to decide that this person's passing is more note-worthy than that person's?

So, remember that neat picture of the blackout I posted a wee while back?

It's a fake.

Thanks to Pete Eskow for pointing it out. I'll be in the corner wearing the dunce cap.

Thou all-shaking thunder,
strike flat the think rotundity o' the world!






All images courtesy of yet another new favorite website, the Earth Observatory. Be sure to check out their Image of the Day archives for some trully stunning pictures.

Here's something y'all get a kick out of: a movie review by yours truly. 'Cause you all know how much I love movies...

Anyway, though it may surprise you, I thought this movie was highly enjoyable. It's completely over-the-top action, but, as opposed to say a Jerry Bruckheimer film, it's over-the-top action with style. Echoing "Desperado", Rodriguez opens the story with a story, as Cheech Marin's character reminds Johnny Depp's corrupt CIA agent--and the audience--what a bad motherfucker El Mariachi is. But it's the Bartender-on-wheels that smoothly rolls out of frame when Bandares pulls out his guns (and slowly rolls back into frame when the ever beautiful Salma Hayek appears) that tells you not to take things--including this movie--too seriously.

It's that sort of nudge-nudge-wink-wink humor that makes this movie so enjoyable. The violence is ultra-unrealistic. Almost every gunshot causes it's victim to either jump twenty feet backwards or forwards. There's an amazing scene where Bandareas and Hayek escape from a fifth floor hotel room, joined by a five foot chain that defies all laws of physics but makes up for it with adreniline. And any movie that ends with a people's uprising against a corrupt military certainly gets my vote.

The plot is both epic and needlessly convoluted. Depp's character more-or-less blackmails Bandares's mariachi into killing a Mexican drug lord, but only after said drug lord hires a rogue general to kill the Mexican President. the maguffin is that Rogue General was responsible for causing some extreme personal angst to Bandares, thus providing our neo-heroic mariachi player with sufficient motivation to go along with Depp's scheme instead of walking away. Between the double-crosses and sub-plots, things steamroll along until, by the end of the movie, you have a surprisingly strong note of patriotism and grandeur.

As El Mariachi, Banderas is effective, if non-descript. The emotional angst Rodriguez's script rather heavy-handidly supplies, Banderas spends most of the film looking moody and pissed. Which, ultimately, is perfectly acceptable. He certainly does it well. But the real stars are the minor characters. You've probably heard that Depp steals almost every scene he's in, and it's true. But unlike his "only saving grace" performance in The Pirates of the Carribean, Depp's scene-stealing here is tempered by the rest of the supporting cast equally strong performances. From sidekick mariachi's (well, the drunk one, not Enrique Iglesias), to Rubén Blades's retired FBI agent and Mickey Rouke (of all people) in a surprisingly sympathetic role, eveyone delivers a solid performance. Everyone gets to shine in at least one scene, even Eva Mendes, whose character is fairly wasted but manages to hold her own in the two scenes she shares with Depp.

The studio spin says Rodriguez has retroactively patterned his Mariachi trilogy after Sergio Leone's "Man With no Name" trilogy, with this final installment echoing the classic "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly." I haven't seen Leone's spagetti western, but "Once Upon a Time in Mexico" certain has that "western" feel, so I think I'll be watching Leone's trilogy in the near future to compare notes.

Bottom-line, The movie has a wonderful self-conscious style that doesn't take itself too seriously but makes sure it does it well, regardless. The Official Electric Wire Movie Review Raiting Board unanimously gives this movie five rocket-firing guitars. See the damn film.

Here's my new favorite site:

http://www.spinsanity.org/.

It takes Bush and co to task, but also points out where people like Al Franken and Michael Moore spin things their way as well.

If nothing else, now that Clark has declared his presidency, you can get the whole story on his September 11th phone call.

Go read and be enlightened.

And, in the name of mindless time-wasting fun....

Build your own kaleidoscope

Really, it's not that I'm bored of this thing, but that damn play just takes up so much of my time...

The opening weekend went well. Blubs occured, some small, some rather gaping, but overall, the reception of the show has been extremely positive. I can only surmise that the bar for Barn productions must not be very high. Which isn't fair to say, as our leads have put a lot of work into the show, so neither the show, nor the actors, deserve so dismisive an appraisal. But there's some glaring problems with the show and I am honestly surprised that they seem to be going largely unnoticed.

On Saturday Sean, Judi, and Alan came to see it, and I had a extremely insightful conversation with Alan afterwards about his view of things. Alan's pretty much at the top of the list when it comes to acting and directing talent from the old Players crowd, so I respect his opinion on the subject greatly. He picked up on most of the things Ifelt were problematic and threw in a few other interesting observations.

The good news is, both he and Sean and Judi seemed to enjoy it, warts and all. Or at the very least they weren't running away in tears. The bastards wound up sitting in the front row, and the Barn doesn't exactly leave the audience in darkness so it was nearly impossible not to notice them. Alan's laughter was noticeable--even the other cast members were commenting on it!

But, from a personal standpoint, I enjoyed the opening weekend. My bit seems to be going over well. And now that there's an audience to respond to what I'm doing, I actually feel more comfortable with the role and have a better understanding of how the part should be played, so hitting certain notes have become easier and more direct.

It's now Monday evening and I am happily wasting the night away. Sean's watching Monday Night Football with his friend Andrew, and I'll probably join them on and off. Either way, the fact is I have this evening free, and the following two nights as well, for the first time in a month. It's a beautiful feeling.

And because I no longer have rehearsals as an excuse, I now have to find something to post on this damn blog....

September 11th, 2003.

Two years; two towers.

Coincidence? I think not....

We had a "trial run" of sorts. About forty or so geriatrics were bussed in (I wonder if "bussed in" is a euphamism for "forced"). So we got the Medicare crowd as a warm-up for Opening Night. The show, for those of you who don't know has some farily frank, and sometimes explicit references to homosexuality. Now, we (the cast) knew we were in trouble when the people on stage heard some people in the audience gasp upon the utterances of "starfucker" and "shit". they handled the Hustler fairly well. But when the character Rick gave his speech, well, that seemed to have been the last straw. Four people unceremoniously left the theater, "leaping over seats like gazelles" as our director, Don, put it.

Apparently those who did stay through the show enjoyed it immensely. Personally, I was more happy to hear we offended people than those that were just happy. But I'm funny that way.

All in all, it's going to be an OK run. I'm completely Zen about things now. It's not going to be a great show. I think all my theater-minded friends will see the flaws fairly obviously, and I hope--if anyone comes as I've barely mentioned any of the details--they enjoy the show despite them. But I think it'll be OK. At the very least, the two scene's I'm in seem to be going fairly well so as long as I don't fuck up my semi-big speech then I'll be happy.

The cast is an interesting mix. Now that we're all downstairs in the green room, everyone--all fourteen of us--have a good sense of how everyone else is. There's a group of four cast members who are good friends and Barn veterans, and who all have the same opinion about the show and certain cast members (viewpoints I mostly agree with) and they're like a little faction. They're a mean-spirited bunch, often throwing out insults to each other . .. and pretty much anyone else. So, naturally, they're not everyone's favorite people, but I think most of the cast realized they're not 100% mean-spirited. It's not unlike most of the social groups I hang with. Needless to say, I get along with them fairly well.

I don't think my parents are coming to the show. It's partly my fault--I've been telling them for weeks how bad the show will be (it won't be as bad as I've made it, really; but it won't be a tony-award-winning tour-de-force either), and it'll be a long schlep for them for a 90 minute show of which I am in for five minutes. But I have a sneaky suspicion that the real deciding factor will be that I won't be at their house for the Jewish holidays. Which sucks, as I think they could prove themselves the better people by showing up--and, really, it's only a hunch that makes me think this is a mitigating factor at all--but I can't say I'd blame them, though. Obviously I'd like them to be there. My mother, she has this lovely habit of, whenever I've been bitching about the show, to say that this is God punishing me for skipping out on Rosh Hashannah (and maybe Yom Kippur, too; I can't remember if I'm missing that as well or not). I wonder if it occurs to them--and maybe it wouldn't, given how I keep my parent's at arms length--that them not showing up to the show is more than enough to balance the scales.

Of course I could be wrong; my parents haven't officially said either way what they're doing. I can hear from them tomorrow and find out they'll make it to one of the performances after all. But we'll see.

Either way, we open on Friday. I have tomorrow off, and will celebrate by collapsing and doing odds and ends before shuffling off to sleep. Then it's showtime all weekend long . . . and the weekend after that . . . and the weekend after that. Then it'll be October. For anyone who hasn't felt 2003 has flown by fater than any other year, please raise your hands.

So I had a semi-rant about President Bush and the speech he made tonight. Didn't see the spreach--I was at tech rehearsal all friggin' day--but I read the bits online. But you know what, it's a lose-lose scenario no matter how you look at it. Even if this country is lucky enough to kick out the Bush administration next November, that means we'll have to deal with whatever losers and crooks the Democrats offer as an alternative. That being the case, I'll leave the overt political commentary on the side right now.

It's been an interesting weekend. Tech rehearsal wasn't so bad. Long--I was there from noon 'till just shy of 8:30. But I read some comics, played two games of Scrabble with some cast members, and chatted time away with them as well. Not the most gelled cast I've been in, and enough people arew rubbing other people the wrong way. And the show itself is not very strong. I'm still hopeful that it's not "terrible" . . . and I don't think it's going to be that bad a show. But the show calls for extremely strong performances by people who aren't giving them, and it shows and it'll hurt us when the curtain goes up on Friday. Such is the risk of any production, really. But at this point I've officially become Zen about it. There's nothing I can do, it's too late to turn back, so at the point I'm just going to enjoy the ride.

On Saturday, Aline was in the area so I met her for dinner. It was the first time she and I got to hang out in a while, so it was quite nice. We came back here and joined Sean and Mia in a viewing of Desperado. That was followed by one extremely long and mildly brutal conversation with everyone. I'm going to invoke Setec Astronomy here, but it was rather telling to watch the conversation unfold. It was about relationships: reactions, and approaches, to relationships. It was pretty revealing, though; lot of food for thought.

Meanwhile I've been time travelling for the past week. I broke out my mix tapes for the first time in probably four years. Growing up, I was constantly taping songs off the radio. From 1985 through 1998, that was my thing. I have the soundtrack to my life on 57 tapes. Since I have a CD changer in my car I haven't had the need to listen to those tapes, and some I haven't listened to even before I got my Honda back in 2000.

But looking and listening to these tapes now it's an instant ticket to the past. There's so many memories there. I had the foresight, on the later volumes, to keep track of the days I recorded songs. For example, I first heard, and recorded, Tori Amos's cover of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" on September 13th, 1992. I remember that day--it was a Saturday. I was up early to get ready for work, listening to some show on 102.7 (back when they were still a classic rock station). I think it was a free-format hour where the Dj got to play whatever he wanted, usually new stuff not associated with the usual classic rock artists. I had heard tori was covering the song in her concerts and didn't know a recorded version existed. The DJ played the track--I was too shocked to hear it to record immediately, so I came inon the first chorus; basically I taped half the song.

Some tapes are more general. Volume 23, for example (circa May through September, 1990). Nothing too specific, but I know I started that tape shortly before going away to Fair Oaks. There's a change of colored ink after the first four songs because, for ten weeks I was in no position to record songs.The first song I taped after leaving Fair Oaks was, somewhat appropriately, "Show Don't Tell" by Rush. But while the mix tape, overall, reminds me of the general time period and what was going on during that time, there's really no one song that carries a specific memory.

Currently I'm listening to Volume 29. September through November, 1991. Metallica's "The Unforgiven" is on that one. I remember playing that song constantly when I first heard it. It was an anthem for me. I was 16, of course it struck a chord with me. Now it sounds horribly dated and cliched. I couldn't even listen to the whole thing. Whatever I needed from that song, back then, no longer exists. But at the same time, then there're songs like "Monsters and Angels" by Voices from the Beehive which I still enjoy hearing twelve years later.

Some songs last. Others really do have a specific shelf-life. It's interesting, listening to the songs I liked at the time, and seeing which ones I still like and which ones I'm embarassed to have kept for posterity. ("Send Me an Angel" by The Scorpions?? [Vol 30] What the hell was I thinking??)

I'll have to end the time trip, though. I seem to favor the mix tapes made during the later years of high school and the beginning of college, most likely because of all the intense things that happened over that time period. The songs bring those memories in shaper focus. But there's a danger about spending too much time in the past--nostalgia is fine once and a while, but prolonged exposure tends to ruin the present. So pretty soon the tapes will go back into their case at the bottom of my closet. Still. For a minor stroll down amnesia lane, it's worth it.



Ah well.

So, sometime in the near past, the Sci-Fi channel entertained the notion of taking the concept of the Prisoner and turning it into a reality game show. The story ran on the comicbook "news" site, Newsarama. You could read the article, but it's fairly embarassing and unprofessional. I'll quote the relevant bits here:

"'The premise of [The Prisoner] is like a lot of reality shows today – you put a person in a circumstance that he has to figure out how to get out of, or at least what the hell is going on and what moves he has to make to escape,' Austin said. 'That sounded like a reality show to me. So when I pitched it up to my boss, very vaguely, I got the okay to go ahead and try and develop it . . . if this was a reality show, what elements could we keep, and what would we have to lose? How close it would have to be to the real Prisoner franchise. Could we create a new village? The Village in this show is a very, very stylized, ultra-polished, very mysterious uber society that he’s placed in the middle of and can’t figure out where he is. Could we recreate something like that? . . . If we did, what would be the rules of the show? . . . [Larry Young] came up with an idea that had teams of people deposited in The Village and then told that they had team goals (that were in direct opposition to one another, but unknown to the team members), but both with the overall goal of escaping the game . . . Ultimately, we pitched it up, and they thought it was interesting, but they felt that The Prionser title and franchise was very niche, but the name itself would not be something that would grab a mainstream audience. ’"

Now, I'm not a fan of "reality" shows. The problem with them, really, is that they're ultimately narcissitic melodrama's, where the premise is really just an exuse to watch people exhibit behaviors the viewers can be judgemental and superior about. But the idea of a reality show--the idea of watching "real" people in "real" situations, is a valid idea. And as much as I like the original series and dislike reality shows, I think The Prisoner would make a fantastic reality series.

Think about it: the beauty of the show was that it was "real". This guy was trapped, and he needed to escape. At it's core it was a battle of wills-- Number 6 versus, well, everyone. And that would make a compelling game. You take a bunch of people and throw them somewhere unknown and they have to escape. But here's the rub--and why the premise of the Prisoner is ideally suited for taking the fictional show and turning it "real"--do not make it a game.

When it's a game, there's a comfort level. the idea that no matter what happens, there's a safetey net of producers and cameramen and first-aid people, etc., that got your back when it gets too intense. But what if you removed that? What if you tell the contestants they have four weeks to escape, but at the end of the four weeks, tell them they can't go home. What happens then? If they try to leave "for real", but are stopped, what happens? Will they accept? Or will they fight back? Will they turn on each other? These are the very issues the original show dealt with, and it'd be fascinating tro apply it to "real" people, without any of the sex and melodrama most reality shows cultivate to keep an audience tuned it.

It would never work, of course. In our litigitious society, no television show would risk the lawsuit. After all, if you agreed to do a TV show for four weeks, then were forced to stay twice as long, would't you sue them? And what if, as the stakes got higher, someone really got hurt? It'd be too real, too revealing. That's what the original show did, too--the answers (such as they were) provided at the end of the series infuriated people because none of the answers were easy or comfortable. Because life isn't easy or comfortable.

Still. It'd be a hell of a show.

Be seeing you....

Because even world leaders love to IM.

Because when a man farts, it's gross; but when a whale farts, it's science.

Because grown men should not be in love with old toy-tie-in comicbook characters. And they should definitely not be having fantasties about kissing them.

Because Ticketmaster doesn't fuck you enough when you order tickets.

Because even Tori Amos can get sued.

Because I said so.

When I got home last night, Sean was watching FX--it seems they're showing the complete second season of 24. I had borrowed the DVD's of season one from my friend Debbie (Hi Debbie! I'll return your DVD's soon, I promise. Really!) I started watching it and Sean got suckered in as well.

Starting with the second episode, Sean has begun taping the second season. All 23 episodes. He put an eight hour tape in the VCR at 1:00 AM, which would get him to 9:00 this morning. Sean's not a morning person. With today a holiday, and Sean staying up until at least 2:00 to watch the second episode, I was wondering whether or not he'd be able to get up in time to switch tapes.

I just walked outside my room and past the TV. There's a note on it that reads: "Were good untill 1 PM. Though I can't vouch for Keifer..."

It's nice to know I'm not the only obsessive compulsive in this apartment.

This started out being for Rob, but the more I looked into this, the more I found worth commenting on. So let's start with the basics. By now, you've probably at least heard of this:

The Madonna/Spears kiss seems to be getting the lion share of VMA buzz (and, true to form, eclipsing the equally non-titillating Madonna/Aguilera kiss; poor Christina), but that only goes to show you just how boring the VMA's are these days. Now, while my good friend Rob has most unclean love of the Madonna and Child pictured above, the truth is this is about as erotic as Henry Kissinger in speedos. Once you get past the shock value of the Material girl lip-locking her heirs apparent, you realize that neither Madonna nor Spears are going to trade in their high heels for comfortable shoes. So this is a case lipstick lesbian at best. But, really, the whole thing is so clumsy and unerotic, it makes the girl-girl scenes in most porn films look like High Art. Let me explain (for Rob's benefit, all thumbnails click to the full-sized versions):

Here's a shot of Madonna and Spears not kissing. And it's all horribly wrong. First off, look at the expression on Spears's face. Does this look like a sexy woman? Does this look like a girl who wore a skimpy version of a Catholic School Girl's outfit to turn on every man from 14 to 45? I think not! This woman looks utterly petrified! Look at her eyes! Talk about a deer in the headlights--they're practically screaming "dear God don't kiss me!" And check out the contrasting body language. There is Madonna--standing tall, authortative. No surprise given the season pro that she is. But Spears? Completely submissive, desperate to keep as much distance from Madonna as humanly possible without giving it all away. Tsk, tsk.

Here we have Spears and Madonna kissing. Looks titallating on the surface, but the trained eye can spot the train-wreck this trully is. Notice the space between these two woman--you could drive a mac truck between them! And Spears continues her defensive posture: shoulders haunched as if she's bracing for impact; crotch--her primary female sex organ, one which she never has any trouble gytrating and grabbing when there's a hetero audience around--firmly away from Madonna. And even Madonna, who is usually quite good at faking it, looks bored. Notice how her arms are danglinglg lifelessly at her side? How blasé. Where's the attraction? Where's the lust? I ask you trully: Does this look like a picture of two women in the throes of sexual passion?

Now, granted, I haven't actually seen the VMA's yet. I will, as it's a three day weekend and MTV repeats it's shows more than FX does. And, at this picture seems to indicate, there might have been serious lip-locking going on between the two. But, as I have so clearly illustrated above--tounges playing tonsil hockey do not mean actual passion. Spears may be Madonna's heir apparent but there's quite obviously no love between these two women. as I shall now reveal, it pales in comparison to the kiss that's the real story, even though it gets second billing.

Poor Christina Aguilera. Unable to top Britney's superstar-next-door image, she's had settle for second bananna, looking on jealously while Spears gets the spotlight. as a result, Aguilera has had to go . . . well, I have no idea where she's gone, but it's a bit odd. Kinda like an "I'm a singing slut" approach, I think. The blatant sex-pandering of Spears without any of the faux-innocence. And what is with her hair?? I mean, I've got no problem with black hair, but could she be any more obvious in trying to not be Britney? Yeesh.

That said I might have to start paying attention to the girl because while Britney is nothing but smoke and mirrors, there may actually be a spark of something
in Aguilera, as I shall now demonstrate. Compare this "before" (or perhaps "after") shot of Madonna and Aguilera to the one of Madonna and Spears. Now This is faux lesbianism, baby! Both women are touching: Aguilera's hand tenderly touching Madonna on the shoulder while Madonna's arm oh-so-sexily snakes around Aguilera's thigh. Notice that wonton look on Aguilera's face, her crotch firmly and proudly inching towards Madonna's face. Now this girl is into it! (Oh, OK, so she's pretending to be into it, but at least she's acting aroused instead of the look of abject horror on Spear's face. As if being a far better singer wasn't enough, Aguilera now proves she's also a far superior actress than Spears is! Will she ever get the recognition she is so clearly due??)

And look at this, everyone. Look! At! This! Admittedly, there isn't as much body contact as there should be--but that's okay. That's OK. Notice how Aguilera is reaching up to Madonna for the kiss. She's not shying away, she's meeting Madonna head (or, in this case, lips) on. Now this looks like a kiss! This may be as arousing for them as watching paint try, but dammit, at least Aguilera is being a good sport about things, giving it the old college try. But compared to the lip-lock with Spears, this is Oscar-worthy. I can tell you true: she's certainly earned my respect.



So what have we learned from all of this? Well, provided Rob has cleaned up after himself and heard even a smidgen of what I've said, we've learned that being blonde does not make you better, despite recieveing the lion's share of the press. We've learned that a forty-something pop diva has to lip-lock with two pop diva's half her age just to keep her name in the spotlight. We've learned that not even MTV, which is for 20-plus years has been the measuring bar of style triumphing over substance, can mask the blatant pandering for attention that was this stunt. And, most importantly, we have confirmed, once and for all, that by putting this much effort into this stupid little gag, I have way too much time on my hands.

(Thanks to MTV and Yahoo for supplying the visual evidence.)

Thanks to Leigh for sending this one to the Yahoo group mailing list:




Neat huh?

Having just arrived home I found a message from my parents. It seems they took their chances, drove to the Meadowlands, found a scalper, and got tickets for (I think) the last Bruce Springstein concert (well, last one this tour). In order to do this, however, my father had to cancel his weekly visit to my grandma, his mom. For the second week straight.

And here I am fighting off their guilting me for bailing on them during the High Holidays to do Six Degrees. Obviously, I am merely keeping up with family tradition.

Yeesh.

Whilst driving back from Philly, Mike and I drove past a sign that said, in bold letters: JESUS DIED FOR THE UNHOLY

As a proud member of the Unholy, the only thing I can say in response is: SUCKER!!!!