This will officially be my last post regarding reality TV. Why? Because even the criticism of the genre has grown mold and gone bad.
Case in point, the New Yorker publishes this story. Gee, thanks, Nancy Franklin for your totally original opinion on the evils of faux-reality TV. No one has ever chastised MTV for making their "realities" so unreal. Never.
Let's face it, as the era of the reality show forges on, the ability to look cool for criticizing has officially escaped us. At this point, our bitching and whining just makes us sound like the unpopular girl who spreads rumors about the cheerleaders.
After fifteen seasons of Survivor, two Laguna Beach spin-offs, Bravo's promotion of spoiled housewives, a new-found verve for prime-time game shows and an entire series following Snoop Dogg around, we have to admit the genre shown its fangs and firmly implanted them into the flesh of the American public.
Even the most defiant have fallen victim to the nocturnal yearnings ... er ... the shows. I'd venture to say that numerous intelligent individuals enjoy a relaxing night watching mindless light shows (The Hills), entertaining freak shows (American Idol), or contrived competitions that just try a little too hard (Survivor, Big Brother). Hell, I've admitted in the past to being a fan of America's Next Top Model and other "unscripted" series.
In the grand scheme of things, it ain't so bad. Maybe its time to live and let live, in a manner of speaking. I won't give up my insistence that reality TV is simply celebutizing the untalented or, in some cases, handing success to those who never earned it (as is the case with Project Runway and Top Chef). But it's become quit evident that kicking and screaming does nothing to quell the hullabaloo around other people's filmed existence.
Besides, the best way to quiet an attention-needy child is to ignor them (a method I've employed in real-life situations). Perhaps we should give that a whirl.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Music Is My Boyfriend
Since watching TV ads is the meat of my everyday job, I know as good as anyone that those damn jingles are oh so catchy. But more and more, brands exploit talented new artists to sell their shit. Then those bands/singers get their songs played on the radio and “hit it big”. Can you imagine if back in the day the McDonald’s menu song got played on the radio? Gross!
Whether you think the commercial whores are sell outs or not, there’s something to be said about their determination. Yes, for them it’s about more than the music but why shouldn’t they make a little money off their talent. Isn’t that what we all strive to do? Make money doing what we truly love? Or maybe that's just the capitalist ideal and I'm confused.
I defend these guys because I honestly admit that I was not a fan of Feist or Rogue Wave until I heard their songs on TV. (And I don’t mean the iPod ad featuring Feist; they were in some ad way before that and I atleast knew about them before they joined the Mac family; And I kind of think Justin Long isn’t bad company for the likes of them; they all appeal to that hipster persuasion). Both of these bands provide some amazing tunes and I feel completely justified listening to them even if I did discover them while watching “America’s Next Top Model”.
My defense also brews from possible admiration for their accomplishment. I’m proud of these guys for acheiving what I have yet to manage: success. If someone had me sign a contract that said I had to write 5 McDonald’s ads and then promised me a contract to write a script about anything a wanted, I’d sign that shit. It might not be the ideal road but if it works, it works. Call me a capitalist pig but all my other attempts have failed and I’m empty handed looking only to do the things that I love. I only need someone to give me a chance.
Of course, the commercial writing example is completely hypothetical since writers don’t write commercials; copywriters at giant ad agencies write commercials. That’s not an entity capable of offering Hollywood deals. So, in reality, if someone tried to sell me the five-commercial deal, I’d be a bit weary to pull out my pen.
A far more likely scenario might involve big Hollywood studios asking a talented writer to sign a contract to write some throw-away romantic comedy in return for producing the script that they already wrote (something else on my to-do list) and spent countless years completing (and only after the romantic comedy is produced).
However this type of selling out is difficult to acheive, as well. As noted before, said writer must spend years slaving over a script which he/she must then spend atleast another year making it flawless. Once finished, he/she puts it in the hands of a studio: not an easy task, mind you: the writer must know someone or be so persistent that he/she manages to alienate all his/her friends and family and abandon any hope of a romantic relationship. Even when the script is in the hands of a studio bigwig, there’s no guarantee that they’ll read it or like it; the chances of sell out dwindle but there is still the chance.
I feel as a group, writers don’t dream of selling out. We don’t imagine that throw-away movie we’ll write. We don’t consider who might be cast (even if, chances are, Matthew McConaughey will be the lead male). We simply dream of making that movie bouncing around in our head. But, hey, some of us also are open to that slim possibility of making a little money while doing what we truly love. Call us capitalist pigs.
And as the above scenario continues to ellude me almost as much as the ideal situation of writing an incredible piece of work which wows everyone and immediately gets produced and even wins an Oscar against all odds, I learn to resign myself to just admiring those who got the opportunity to sell out and then “hit it big”. You go, Rogue Wave (which, by the way, has composed a song called “Lake Michigan” seemingly about global warming; but it’s catchy enough to sell Microsoft’s Zune on TV in a very happy commercial where some girl dances with giant pink bunnies)!
Whether you think the commercial whores are sell outs or not, there’s something to be said about their determination. Yes, for them it’s about more than the music but why shouldn’t they make a little money off their talent. Isn’t that what we all strive to do? Make money doing what we truly love? Or maybe that's just the capitalist ideal and I'm confused.
I defend these guys because I honestly admit that I was not a fan of Feist or Rogue Wave until I heard their songs on TV. (And I don’t mean the iPod ad featuring Feist; they were in some ad way before that and I atleast knew about them before they joined the Mac family; And I kind of think Justin Long isn’t bad company for the likes of them; they all appeal to that hipster persuasion). Both of these bands provide some amazing tunes and I feel completely justified listening to them even if I did discover them while watching “America’s Next Top Model”.
My defense also brews from possible admiration for their accomplishment. I’m proud of these guys for acheiving what I have yet to manage: success. If someone had me sign a contract that said I had to write 5 McDonald’s ads and then promised me a contract to write a script about anything a wanted, I’d sign that shit. It might not be the ideal road but if it works, it works. Call me a capitalist pig but all my other attempts have failed and I’m empty handed looking only to do the things that I love. I only need someone to give me a chance.
Of course, the commercial writing example is completely hypothetical since writers don’t write commercials; copywriters at giant ad agencies write commercials. That’s not an entity capable of offering Hollywood deals. So, in reality, if someone tried to sell me the five-commercial deal, I’d be a bit weary to pull out my pen.
A far more likely scenario might involve big Hollywood studios asking a talented writer to sign a contract to write some throw-away romantic comedy in return for producing the script that they already wrote (something else on my to-do list) and spent countless years completing (and only after the romantic comedy is produced).
However this type of selling out is difficult to acheive, as well. As noted before, said writer must spend years slaving over a script which he/she must then spend atleast another year making it flawless. Once finished, he/she puts it in the hands of a studio: not an easy task, mind you: the writer must know someone or be so persistent that he/she manages to alienate all his/her friends and family and abandon any hope of a romantic relationship. Even when the script is in the hands of a studio bigwig, there’s no guarantee that they’ll read it or like it; the chances of sell out dwindle but there is still the chance.
I feel as a group, writers don’t dream of selling out. We don’t imagine that throw-away movie we’ll write. We don’t consider who might be cast (even if, chances are, Matthew McConaughey will be the lead male). We simply dream of making that movie bouncing around in our head. But, hey, some of us also are open to that slim possibility of making a little money while doing what we truly love. Call us capitalist pigs.
And as the above scenario continues to ellude me almost as much as the ideal situation of writing an incredible piece of work which wows everyone and immediately gets produced and even wins an Oscar against all odds, I learn to resign myself to just admiring those who got the opportunity to sell out and then “hit it big”. You go, Rogue Wave (which, by the way, has composed a song called “Lake Michigan” seemingly about global warming; but it’s catchy enough to sell Microsoft’s Zune on TV in a very happy commercial where some girl dances with giant pink bunnies)!
Friday, December 14, 2007
An Old Article from My Early 20's
Ah youth. I wrote this item years ago when I still thought it was easy to get a column (ala Sex & The City).
What an idyllic little world the immature live in.
"The smell of cheap cologne poured over the tiny table as my date lurched toward me. He feigned interest in me for a split second after monopolizing our meal with his interests and opinions including the confession that his main goal in life was the ultimate vanity: modeling. He asked, “What do you really want?” I answered, “To be a super hero.” But he missed my attempt at humor and continued blabbing about how he can’t possibly continue modeling because of the economy. I realized that he thinks he is a super hero.
"After a relieving end to my date, I decided to look into the delusions of grandeur abounding in dating twenty-somethings. My date was certainly not Super Man but he’d like to be and after a date with him, I’d rather make-out with The Joker. But, as twenty-somethings, men and women with super powers have been our idols throughout life and that is our aim. The economy sags like a sick joke as we seek jobs but jobs, let alone dream jobs are few and far between. What else do we have to think about but super-power fantasies and dating.
"Tammy Gillette, a twenty-four-year-old teacher told me she’d love to be a super hero with some super power that she could use to change the world; “at least my world,” she explained. Giovanni Vargas, a twenty-three-year-old student admitted to wanting some super powers because it would give him control. He said, “[I could] make a change that I want.”
"Tammy also confessed to using dates as a way to get her mind off work. “Dating equals fun,” she said. On the other hand, the idea of dating a super hero turns her off. Most disliked the idea of dating a super hero. Kristie Smeltzer, a twenty-five-year-old graduate student found super heroes appealing but conceded that a super hero has larger responsibilities than a relationship and “I would have guilt for asking him to choose.” Matthew Smith, a twenty-four-year-old videographer agrees, “Someone who has that much on their plate couldn’t fill my needs.”
"Another reason twenty-somethings dislike dating a super-human-being is the idea of being powerless in comparison. Giovanni wouldn’t date a super hero. He explained, “I’m the man; I would be immasculated.” The idea of a super strong woman also scares Fabian, a twenty-something guy I met at a party. He said that he wouldn’t be good to someone to whom he felt inferior.
"When we all want to be super heroes but no one wants to be with a super hero, how can we ever get together? Keith Sherwood, a twenty-five-year-old writer explained that the bottom line of his relationship is much baser than super powers. His ideal relationship simply involves sharing, equality, respect and love. But those ideals probably sound simpler than they are to acheive.
"Georgianna Miller, a twenty-three-year-old Doctorate student knows that a relationship is more about compromise: learning when to compromise and when not to. But Georgie hasn’t gained that knowledge as of yet.
"So, basically, when twenty-somethings have the ability to get over themselves and realize that super powers are even less of a possibility than finding the perfect job in our sick economy, we can find something we’re looking for. The problem then is figuring out what we want.
"The twenty-somethings I know tend to want attention. Everyone had one thing in common when addressing the question of dating a super hero: everyone craved more attention than a super hero in one form or another. Some wanted to be stronger than their mate; others wanted the super hero to shift their attention from saving the world to them.
"Super powers aside, almost everyone I talked to had a solid idea of their future career but no one had any clue what qualities their mate might have. Georgianna and Kristie think that we come by that information through heart break. Georgianna adds, “It seems unfortunate that you would have to come by growth in that way.”
"But we’re getting stronger with heart break, too. Maybe it won’t make us super heroes but the heroic twenty-somethings told me that they will still date even after these seeming disasters. Kristie said, “It made me a stronger person.” And Tammy fearlessly attempts blind dates after heart break. She still looks for chemistry and doesn’t mind a free meal here and there.
"And each date we boldly go on helps us narrow down the dating pool. Giovanni has learned that he needs someone who can be supportive. But Matthew knows he wants someone unpredictable, unlike other girls he dated in the past.
"Eventually, we’ll narrow it down to one person, I suppose. If we have disqualified everyone else, perhaps we’ve found our one and only. Or maybe the only one left. That person will be super but probably only to us."
What an idyllic little world the immature live in.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
The Levels of Reality TV Entertainment
One of my favorite topics, Reality TV, developed a new wrinkle. New York Magazine identifies the downfall of reality TV: it's not real. I discovered this article a few months ago and kind of forgot about it. As the Writer's Strike burns on, something must be said of our future propects for prime time entertainment as they chew up and spit out their contestants.
Jay McCarroll's split-second design fame no where near matches the experience one gets from clawing their way through the fashion world from intern to success. The designer's name was instantly known around the world but he couldn't get a job if his life depended on it.
Even while Project Runway champions skill (not that Survivor doesn't champion grunt work as a skill and Big Brother, surviving boredom as a skill), it still manages to drain their subjects of all their integrity in the industry, leaving even their most talented, like Austin Scarlett, to turn down bit parts on crappy sitcoms and once again return to the clawing. Scarlett managed to tear himself into a pretty good job, no thanks to his patrons in the reality TV world.
Perhaps such a fate beats that left to those veterans of the early reality show formula. Eric Nies, who made young girls swoon for a short time on the original Real World, enjoyed a quick career with some exercise videos. Now he's set to air in some ill-fated TV series but he hasn't had acting work since 1995 when he played a "Hip MC" in the Brady Bunch Movie. He hasn't even been invited back to the Real World/Road Rules Challenge for a number of years. Certainly, this was not what he'd intended when he signed up to be one of the first reality stars.
Newer victims of the same formula, like Howie Gordon of Big Brother, may be destined for something darker. On his Web site, Howie has posted video of himself doing a commercial for a shoe store in Syracuse. It might remind one of something that cocky guy from high school sent to everyone to prove that his "career" is really taking off. Unfortunately , he fails to mention that he's only in the commercial because he's working at the shoe store.
Of course not every reality show is out to exploit everyday people just looking for a chance at fame. Some of them exploit those who are already kind of famous for a few more moments. The Simple Life gave us some pathetic role models while Hogan Knows Best bores us with the daily activities of a retired wrestler. And we keep watching.
I will note that our attention has granted success to those savvy enough to use it. Rocco DiSpirito of Top Chef fame used his Bravo connections to sell a cook book. And Nick Verreos manipulated his fifteen minutes into a stronger career than he had before. There has to be a couple happy endings, right?
Anyhow, what viewers should really be considering is how much time they are willing to invest in shows so apt at exploiting people just like them. Or maybe a bit more talented. I guess it is rather similar to those ancient lion's dens where Christians were ripped to shreds. This time the lion is TV.
Jay McCarroll's split-second design fame no where near matches the experience one gets from clawing their way through the fashion world from intern to success. The designer's name was instantly known around the world but he couldn't get a job if his life depended on it.
Even while Project Runway champions skill (not that Survivor doesn't champion grunt work as a skill and Big Brother, surviving boredom as a skill), it still manages to drain their subjects of all their integrity in the industry, leaving even their most talented, like Austin Scarlett, to turn down bit parts on crappy sitcoms and once again return to the clawing. Scarlett managed to tear himself into a pretty good job, no thanks to his patrons in the reality TV world.
Perhaps such a fate beats that left to those veterans of the early reality show formula. Eric Nies, who made young girls swoon for a short time on the original Real World, enjoyed a quick career with some exercise videos. Now he's set to air in some ill-fated TV series but he hasn't had acting work since 1995 when he played a "Hip MC" in the Brady Bunch Movie. He hasn't even been invited back to the Real World/Road Rules Challenge for a number of years. Certainly, this was not what he'd intended when he signed up to be one of the first reality stars.
Newer victims of the same formula, like Howie Gordon of Big Brother, may be destined for something darker. On his Web site, Howie has posted video of himself doing a commercial for a shoe store in Syracuse. It might remind one of something that cocky guy from high school sent to everyone to prove that his "career" is really taking off. Unfortunately , he fails to mention that he's only in the commercial because he's working at the shoe store.
Of course not every reality show is out to exploit everyday people just looking for a chance at fame. Some of them exploit those who are already kind of famous for a few more moments. The Simple Life gave us some pathetic role models while Hogan Knows Best bores us with the daily activities of a retired wrestler. And we keep watching.
I will note that our attention has granted success to those savvy enough to use it. Rocco DiSpirito of Top Chef fame used his Bravo connections to sell a cook book. And Nick Verreos manipulated his fifteen minutes into a stronger career than he had before. There has to be a couple happy endings, right?
Anyhow, what viewers should really be considering is how much time they are willing to invest in shows so apt at exploiting people just like them. Or maybe a bit more talented. I guess it is rather similar to those ancient lion's dens where Christians were ripped to shreds. This time the lion is TV.
Monday, November 26, 2007
A Wish List
The glossy pages slipped out of its plastic covering, making a crisp, clean sound. Joey's fingers anticipated the feel of the comic book's binding in the tips of his fingers. But he was hardly satisfied by simply touching it. The teenager had to have it. If it wasn't for the nosey cashier rearing his pimply face over the counter, Joey thought, he'd have taken it.
Of course, Joey would do no such thing. His acute conscience would not allow it. The other boys at school would have said that he just didn't have the "balls" but Joey knew better. As he read the adventures of JumboMan, he could feel his own superpowers growing. He was destined to be a good guy. His failure to steal revealed how strong he'd become. One day, his alterego would be complete.
Joey slipped the plastic sleeve back over his prize and replaced it on the shelf as the pimply watched from the counter. As he exited, his feet hovered just over the ground. Of course, to the untrained eye, he only appeared to be walking.
Of course, Joey would do no such thing. His acute conscience would not allow it. The other boys at school would have said that he just didn't have the "balls" but Joey knew better. As he read the adventures of JumboMan, he could feel his own superpowers growing. He was destined to be a good guy. His failure to steal revealed how strong he'd become. One day, his alterego would be complete.
Joey slipped the plastic sleeve back over his prize and replaced it on the shelf as the pimply watched from the counter. As he exited, his feet hovered just over the ground. Of course, to the untrained eye, he only appeared to be walking.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
What Ages Me Most
Another birthday approaches. This one wears a ski mask and wields a tire iron over its head. I can see it lurching toward me even though I'm blinded by the headlights shooting into my eyes from behind the dark figure. I've fallen to my knees, spitting out pathetic petitions like blood dripping from the corners of my mouth. But it won't stop coming. It's never been quite so mean to me before. But the mercy has ceased. Death will arrive behind it one day. I pray it will have a long journey before that time.
Wikipedia, v.
Ever since I discovered the fantastic location online that can answer so many of my questions, I've made it my goal to verbize it. Don't know who won the best actress oscar in 1931? Wikipedia it. It's so easy.
At the moment, Google is getting so much free press just for the fact that characters on TV and people on the street so naturally say that they "Googled" someone whether it be an upcoming date or a presidential candidate. The same fate could be awaiting Wikipedia if only the brains behind that site would take advantage.
Granted, it seems like it might be a bit of a mouthful, especially when you get into changing tenses. In casual conversation, it might be slightly more difficult to say, "I know that because I wikipedia-ed it". But once we've got it thoroughly installed into the vernacular, we could probably shave it down a bit and still be understood.
For instance, we could cut out some of those excessive vowels, i.e. "wikipedied". And one day, "wikied" might be the "street slang" version that all the kids are using.
Wikipedia could have one bright future if only they'd market better. Maybe they feel it's below them b/c they've got that ".org" thing going on. They should really get over themselves though.
At the moment, Google is getting so much free press just for the fact that characters on TV and people on the street so naturally say that they "Googled" someone whether it be an upcoming date or a presidential candidate. The same fate could be awaiting Wikipedia if only the brains behind that site would take advantage.
Granted, it seems like it might be a bit of a mouthful, especially when you get into changing tenses. In casual conversation, it might be slightly more difficult to say, "I know that because I wikipedia-ed it". But once we've got it thoroughly installed into the vernacular, we could probably shave it down a bit and still be understood.
For instance, we could cut out some of those excessive vowels, i.e. "wikipedied". And one day, "wikied" might be the "street slang" version that all the kids are using.
Wikipedia could have one bright future if only they'd market better. Maybe they feel it's below them b/c they've got that ".org" thing going on. They should really get over themselves though.
Monday, November 12, 2007
From day to day, I always have a few people rattling around inside my head. Now when I say “people”, I mean memories of people or images of them in one way or another. Generally, these images represent individuals with whom I wish to have a word. But it should be relatively apparent that since I leave them in my head rather than directly contacting them I’d rather just imagine having a word with them. I feel that would be more satisfying then actually having to talk to them.
The majority of these images symbolize those who have “wronged” me. Whether they be ex-boyfriends or the new girlfriends of ex-boyfriends or people who were simply friends at one point in time. I place quotes around the word “wronged” because I’m making an attempt to keep things in perspective. For the most part, these people hurt me but were not necessarily out to do that. Mostly, they were out to please themselves and, in the process, they “wronged” me.
Sometimes I walk from work to Grand Central to let these images dance around. Pretend as though I got the opportunity to face them and show them that I don’t give a damn. Little do they know they’re still captured in my brain.
I guess they might know if they ever found my blog. Lucky for me, I'm small time.
The majority of these images symbolize those who have “wronged” me. Whether they be ex-boyfriends or the new girlfriends of ex-boyfriends or people who were simply friends at one point in time. I place quotes around the word “wronged” because I’m making an attempt to keep things in perspective. For the most part, these people hurt me but were not necessarily out to do that. Mostly, they were out to please themselves and, in the process, they “wronged” me.
Sometimes I walk from work to Grand Central to let these images dance around. Pretend as though I got the opportunity to face them and show them that I don’t give a damn. Little do they know they’re still captured in my brain.
I guess they might know if they ever found my blog. Lucky for me, I'm small time.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Crap Entertainment is Dead; Long Live Crap Entertainment
When I was young, MTV played music videos, episodes of funny shows, like Monty Python, aired on Comedy Central, and a show starring both Corey Haim and Corey Feldman as themselves would not be headlining on a network called "Arts & Entertainment". My parents were slightly frightened by a channel dedicated only to music when I was young but I'm sure they'd love to have Cindy Lauper with pink hair back if they ever even caught a glimpse of "Flavor of Love: Charm School".
I suppose I could list all the other changes that have rearranged the face of TV over the years. But that might be a little boring. It would also be utterly painful to share a nostalgic walk through TV history when that seems to be what everyone does lately. The "Remember the Pre-Reality TV days" rant is just a little cliche these days.
The fact is we only have ourselves to blame for the current state of television. How many of us bash reality TV but then run home to watch it in the privacy of our own homes (maybe even huddled under a blanket so that no one can recognize you enjoying sucha program)? Enough that "reality" is still king.
And, if one were to look at the big picture -- and I mean the no-bias, not nostalgic big picture -- viewing audiences have always enjoyed crap entertainment. Even Shakespeare injected base comedy into his plays to keep the viewing public at attention. Burlesque, shows mixing striping and comedy on stage, enjoyed a heyday starting in the 1870's. Comedians from Charlie Chaplin to Benny Hill made people laugh by chasing women shamelessly. Candid Camera caught people in awkward situations as early as 1948. We love this kind of stuff.
Why? Because stuff like that makes us giggle. Yes, all of us. Tell me you don't giggle when someone says Lake Titicaca and I'll tell you you're a liar.
So, is reality television a sign of the degradation of our civilization or is it just the evolution of crap entertainment? If you want my opinion, I certainly don't think that the popularity of American Idol is a sign of the apocalypse. But that's just my opinion.
I suppose I could list all the other changes that have rearranged the face of TV over the years. But that might be a little boring. It would also be utterly painful to share a nostalgic walk through TV history when that seems to be what everyone does lately. The "Remember the Pre-Reality TV days" rant is just a little cliche these days.
The fact is we only have ourselves to blame for the current state of television. How many of us bash reality TV but then run home to watch it in the privacy of our own homes (maybe even huddled under a blanket so that no one can recognize you enjoying sucha program)? Enough that "reality" is still king.
And, if one were to look at the big picture -- and I mean the no-bias, not nostalgic big picture -- viewing audiences have always enjoyed crap entertainment. Even Shakespeare injected base comedy into his plays to keep the viewing public at attention. Burlesque, shows mixing striping and comedy on stage, enjoyed a heyday starting in the 1870's. Comedians from Charlie Chaplin to Benny Hill made people laugh by chasing women shamelessly. Candid Camera caught people in awkward situations as early as 1948. We love this kind of stuff.
Why? Because stuff like that makes us giggle. Yes, all of us. Tell me you don't giggle when someone says Lake Titicaca and I'll tell you you're a liar.
So, is reality television a sign of the degradation of our civilization or is it just the evolution of crap entertainment? If you want my opinion, I certainly don't think that the popularity of American Idol is a sign of the apocalypse. But that's just my opinion.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Driving Laws Ruin International Relations
Tourists are assholes. No, it's true. Having recently been a tourist, I know. Driving laws are partly to blame.
For some reason, when men and women travel to countries under different driving laws (especially those dealing with the side of the road on which one is meant to drive), those men and women develop some sort of pride in their own driving laws. This is true even of me who had to take the driving test four times before I could even pass the damn thing. Here in the states, there's no pride in driving laws. But overseas, we'll draw on that so that when we do get into a little trouble on the road, we can laugh at the silly laws of some backwards country in comparison to our great law.
This issue also overflows into the "which side of the sidewalk do you pass on" issue. This is a big one in New York City -- where most people walk around -- on sidewalks. Those dumbasses milling around on the sidewalks looking up at skyscrapers are normally not looking where they're going. But even when they are, they'll still run right into you if you try to pass them to the right.
I also was one to do this in Ireland. I repeatedly tried to pass other pedestrians to the left or stay to the right in two -way traffic and, more than once, almost mowed down a couple of kids or a grandmother or someone unsuspecting that they would be meeting a damn tourist on the sidewalk that day.
This proves to be quite an important issue. For the sake of international relations, something needs to be done. At this rate, it almost doesn't matter if tourists, or illegal aliens even, can speak English. Really, who gives a damn about that if they can't even walk on a sidewalk correctly.
I believe it could be one of the main reasons that Europeans do not get along. We can't even agree on driving laws; how the hell can we ever completely agree on anything else. It's a sad state of affairs. Maybe we should revise the Statue of Liberty: "Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses but only if they keep to the right on the stairs."
For some reason, when men and women travel to countries under different driving laws (especially those dealing with the side of the road on which one is meant to drive), those men and women develop some sort of pride in their own driving laws. This is true even of me who had to take the driving test four times before I could even pass the damn thing. Here in the states, there's no pride in driving laws. But overseas, we'll draw on that so that when we do get into a little trouble on the road, we can laugh at the silly laws of some backwards country in comparison to our great law.
This issue also overflows into the "which side of the sidewalk do you pass on" issue. This is a big one in New York City -- where most people walk around -- on sidewalks. Those dumbasses milling around on the sidewalks looking up at skyscrapers are normally not looking where they're going. But even when they are, they'll still run right into you if you try to pass them to the right.
I also was one to do this in Ireland. I repeatedly tried to pass other pedestrians to the left or stay to the right in two -way traffic and, more than once, almost mowed down a couple of kids or a grandmother or someone unsuspecting that they would be meeting a damn tourist on the sidewalk that day.
This proves to be quite an important issue. For the sake of international relations, something needs to be done. At this rate, it almost doesn't matter if tourists, or illegal aliens even, can speak English. Really, who gives a damn about that if they can't even walk on a sidewalk correctly.
I believe it could be one of the main reasons that Europeans do not get along. We can't even agree on driving laws; how the hell can we ever completely agree on anything else. It's a sad state of affairs. Maybe we should revise the Statue of Liberty: "Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses but only if they keep to the right on the stairs."
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Missing
No need to post my picture on the side of milk cartons. (Although, my one reader -- my brother -- probably wasn't that concerned anyhow.) I am alive and well. I'll be back to the blog grind soon.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Rivers Cuomo Hates My Verbal Crutch
I say "like" too much. It's my verbal crutch. But I don't just use it to fill space while I think, as many might use "um" or "uh" or even "you know". I tend to use it as a verb too, i.e. "He was like, 'are you gonna eat that' and I was like, 'Yeah'. So then he was all like weird." I'm not quite that bad and I've become terribly self conscious about it recently because the overuse of the word as an adult (which I suppose I'm on the road to becoming) makes one sound less intelligent.
So why do I do it? I can't really answer that question. As a teenager, my verbal crutch was quite common among other girls my age perhaps due to a generational trend. I did not stand out as less intelligent and maybe, at that time, my peers were too concerned with (bad) hairstyles and the coolest shoes you could possibly wear with a uniform while the adults in my life were too concerned with my grade point average and SAT scores to really bother with a silly word that had found its way into my vocabulary. They probably thought I'd grow out of it. Maybe I even thought that.
To be honest, most of us did. Unfortunately, I was not part of that group. My vocabulary expanded but the new words emerged in my writing rather than in my speech. And, granted, I am pretty quiet but when I do get excited and tell a story, a mental tally of the word runs in my head. But I can't stop it. It's like a geyser. I want to stuff cork in my mouth.
Alas, a cork will not solve the problem. Eventually, I'll have to say something again for some reason (to the dismay of some).
Someone once told me that if you say a phrase three times, it becomes part of your regular vocabulary (the fact that I can't remember who told me this may be a sign that this is not true). However, how does one remove a phrase from their regular vocabulary. Especially a phrase that has become such a vital part of their vocabulary.
I might try replacing it with another word. But the only word that I can come up with that can be used as multiple parts of speech, as a verb, adjective, noun, and that I also say quite a bit is very inappropriate and probably not the best replacement in most cases.
So it seems I'm cursed to this verbal crutch for the rest of time. And those who love me will only have to accept it. There. I said it.
So why do I do it? I can't really answer that question. As a teenager, my verbal crutch was quite common among other girls my age perhaps due to a generational trend. I did not stand out as less intelligent and maybe, at that time, my peers were too concerned with (bad) hairstyles and the coolest shoes you could possibly wear with a uniform while the adults in my life were too concerned with my grade point average and SAT scores to really bother with a silly word that had found its way into my vocabulary. They probably thought I'd grow out of it. Maybe I even thought that.
To be honest, most of us did. Unfortunately, I was not part of that group. My vocabulary expanded but the new words emerged in my writing rather than in my speech. And, granted, I am pretty quiet but when I do get excited and tell a story, a mental tally of the word runs in my head. But I can't stop it. It's like a geyser. I want to stuff cork in my mouth.
Alas, a cork will not solve the problem. Eventually, I'll have to say something again for some reason (to the dismay of some).
Someone once told me that if you say a phrase three times, it becomes part of your regular vocabulary (the fact that I can't remember who told me this may be a sign that this is not true). However, how does one remove a phrase from their regular vocabulary. Especially a phrase that has become such a vital part of their vocabulary.
I might try replacing it with another word. But the only word that I can come up with that can be used as multiple parts of speech, as a verb, adjective, noun, and that I also say quite a bit is very inappropriate and probably not the best replacement in most cases.
So it seems I'm cursed to this verbal crutch for the rest of time. And those who love me will only have to accept it. There. I said it.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Ima Q.T.
A few politicians have claimed that the English language is in danger from the .8% of non-English speakers currently living in the U.S. (as opposed to the 3.6% of non-English speakers in the U.S. in 1890). I disagree. Something else much more criminal, much more vile, much more prevalent than non-English speakers: AIM.
I don't mean to shock you. But I'm sure you've seen it yourself. Those divisive little pre-teens butchering the English language with their "LOL"s and their "BRB"s. Nothing has caused such damage since those English fuckers who decided to introduce random Latin words into the OED.
Certainly, Shakespeare had his place making up words for the good of the dramatic arts (and the language, in many cases). He contributed quite a bit of nonsense to help us all express ourselves a little better (i.e. homely & puke). But even he was pushing the line in the proper way of introducing items into the common communication system.
I propose a general assembly to approve each and every item suggested to express any type of communication. This assembly could be made up of representatives from every state. And if other English-speaking countries would like to take part, they can call in by conference call. Granted, such a meeting would require vigilance on the part of the government so that the assembly might keep on top of every new bastard word dropped into the mix. To do this, the president will of course have to appoint a language czar.
Had this been the practice from the beginning, we could have avoided such disasters as "like" and "cooch". Even the English themselves managed to rid the language of "shit" and "fuck" by labeling them as "vulgar" when in fact they were just Germanic instead of Latin.
When evidence of the damage emoticons and acronyms have had on the language is presented to the Congress, I'm sure they will agree. Down with Internet slang. If you cannot type properly, you will not be allowed to use the program!
Ok. TTYL.
I don't mean to shock you. But I'm sure you've seen it yourself. Those divisive little pre-teens butchering the English language with their "LOL"s and their "BRB"s. Nothing has caused such damage since those English fuckers who decided to introduce random Latin words into the OED.
Certainly, Shakespeare had his place making up words for the good of the dramatic arts (and the language, in many cases). He contributed quite a bit of nonsense to help us all express ourselves a little better (i.e. homely & puke). But even he was pushing the line in the proper way of introducing items into the common communication system.
I propose a general assembly to approve each and every item suggested to express any type of communication. This assembly could be made up of representatives from every state. And if other English-speaking countries would like to take part, they can call in by conference call. Granted, such a meeting would require vigilance on the part of the government so that the assembly might keep on top of every new bastard word dropped into the mix. To do this, the president will of course have to appoint a language czar.
Had this been the practice from the beginning, we could have avoided such disasters as "like" and "cooch". Even the English themselves managed to rid the language of "shit" and "fuck" by labeling them as "vulgar" when in fact they were just Germanic instead of Latin.
When evidence of the damage emoticons and acronyms have had on the language is presented to the Congress, I'm sure they will agree. Down with Internet slang. If you cannot type properly, you will not be allowed to use the program!
Ok. TTYL.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
"I gather all the news I need from the weather report."
There's that word again; "heavy". Why are things so heavy in the future? Is there a problem with the earth's gravitational pull?
I try not to take myself or anything, for that matter, too seriously. However, sometimes it seems that our friendly media conglomerates would prefer otherwise. Well, not that I personally (they'd need a bigger audience than that to sell the vacuums and diet plans they advertise on those networks) start taking everything seriously but that the country as a whole freak out at every little turn of events inside and outside of schools, around the corner, and in your neighbor's backyard.
This morning, a cook at a school in Boulder, Colorado saw "masked men" in a hallway and called the cops. Granted, if I were that cook, I would do the same. And I, by no means, want to belittle this episode. We're all still a little shaken by the events at Virginia Tech, certainly. (I am aware of the fact that I've just called into play a technique used by media conglomerates: comparing new, slightly less interesting events to a quite shocking, quite horrifying scene still fresh in viewers' memories in order to sell a story. But it seems appropriate at this point in time.)
I suppose what I want to point out is the bitterness this entire situation strikes in me. This morning, we were all swallowing back a fear conceived by confirmed terror attacks and school shootings only to hear a school official admit that the "masked men" may just have been a couple of high school pranksters looking to end the year with a (tasteless) prank.
Immediately, my conditioned skepticism for 24-hour news networks kicked in and I recalled my own high school days and the senior prank played on my school to which the response was far less than a bomb squad appearance and news coverage. Is this what we've come to?
But, since no explanation has been offered, it's possible that the events were much more sinister than I'd like to admit. Unfortunately, that's where we live now. We have to accept the fact that we, as a culture, are always on guard thanks to recent occurrences. Welcome to the future.
So, before drawing any conclusions based on my own personal bias, I should wait (and pray for the best) to see the true outcome.
Is the real issue that I've been conditioned to distrust news anchors? Perhaps. I'm sure this is true of many people. I feel as though there was a time when we could trust news anchors. But after countless stories accusing either the "liberals" or the "conservatives" of "plots" to "further" their respective "agendas", even going so far as using movies ("Brokeback Mountain" or "The Chronicles of Narnia") as proof that they are drawing followers to their "platforms". As though each political faction is a cult within and of itself.
And then weeks of 24-hour news coverage of Anna Nicole Smith's death and the follow-up of Larry Burkehead (sp? -- really don't care enough to look this one up) and their daughter. And the fancy graphics to boot.
It makes me sick to think that we get our news from these people working with material that's slightly better than that of a late night infomercial.
Well, maybe not sick. I overdramatize to get the point across. You know how it is. (See what I did there?)
And perhaps I've gone too far by comparing them to infomercials. It was an emotionally-charged step. And this is just a blog. I'm not too worried about encouraging America to turn their backs on the handsome news men and women.
I still watch myself. Perhaps the key is to know enough on your own and take every view spewed out from the TV with a grain of salt. No news program, book, movie, piece of art, actor, singer, entertainer or it-girl is influential enough to shake a strong belief in facts. I'd like to think that's true of everyone.
But those sales people ... er ... news anchors. They can be convincing sometimes.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Chivalry for a Feminist
I believe quite passionately in equality of the sexes and yet I can't help but get a little steamed when a man jumps into a seat on a crowded train while I have to continue standing. Perhaps this makes me a hypocrite or a "poser", as the kids say -- or used to say when I was in high school. I'm not familiar with what the current label would be.
Regardless, I continue to exist a walking contradiction. A feminist on a soap box who shoots dirty looks at the construction worker who "stole my seat". The thing is, it isn't my seat just because I'm a woman. I'm about six feet away and the construction worker, who has probably been on his feet all day, is conveniently located right next to it.
You might chivalry has somehow made me unjustifiably entitled. As David Foster Wallace said, "A child who exited a womb inconvenienced." (He didn't say this with me in mind, but I might as well throw a little literary snobbery into this for the hell of it.)
I don't mean to rip chivalry. I suppose it was developed with some good intentions in mind: to protect one's property; keep the dings off the new wife, right? Of course, I kid. Chivalry was a knights' code. It actually has less to do with opening doors and dropping your jacket over puddles than you might think.
According to a French historian (Leon Gautier) an example of this code reads, "Thou shalt respect all weaknesses, and shalt constitute thyself the defender of them." I know all this info makes me look smart, but in reality, I knew none of this without Wikipedia. In fact, the difference between what I knew about chivalry itself when I began typing and when I linked Leon Gautier's name to his page on Wikipedia is pretty big. I was a dumbass before. I'm a little less of one now.
Anyhow, I digress. I'm not speaking of some centuries-old code. I'm not speaking, in fact. I'm typing about that old-fashioned idea that we have that men must protect women. I suppose it's not so far-fetched. Biologically, men tend to be stronger in that "I can bend a steel rod with my bare hands" kind of way. It's one of those scientifically documented facts which I can't easily deny in my typical devil's advocate way.
However, I hate being told to walk on the inside of a sidewalk (a weird one I've only recently heard) so that a man can protect me from ... whatever comes at you from the outside of a sidewalk? I am more than willing to hold the door if I get there first. I can order my own damn dinner. And I dislike being looked down upon for being the "weaker sex".
But I cannot deny the fact that I want to sit down on the train. Because sometimes I'm wearing heels. Because they make me look like a pretty girl.
Regardless, I continue to exist a walking contradiction. A feminist on a soap box who shoots dirty looks at the construction worker who "stole my seat". The thing is, it isn't my seat just because I'm a woman. I'm about six feet away and the construction worker, who has probably been on his feet all day, is conveniently located right next to it.
You might chivalry has somehow made me unjustifiably entitled. As David Foster Wallace said, "A child who exited a womb inconvenienced." (He didn't say this with me in mind, but I might as well throw a little literary snobbery into this for the hell of it.)
I don't mean to rip chivalry. I suppose it was developed with some good intentions in mind: to protect one's property; keep the dings off the new wife, right? Of course, I kid. Chivalry was a knights' code. It actually has less to do with opening doors and dropping your jacket over puddles than you might think.
According to a French historian (Leon Gautier) an example of this code reads, "Thou shalt respect all weaknesses, and shalt constitute thyself the defender of them." I know all this info makes me look smart, but in reality, I knew none of this without Wikipedia. In fact, the difference between what I knew about chivalry itself when I began typing and when I linked Leon Gautier's name to his page on Wikipedia is pretty big. I was a dumbass before. I'm a little less of one now.
Anyhow, I digress. I'm not speaking of some centuries-old code. I'm not speaking, in fact. I'm typing about that old-fashioned idea that we have that men must protect women. I suppose it's not so far-fetched. Biologically, men tend to be stronger in that "I can bend a steel rod with my bare hands" kind of way. It's one of those scientifically documented facts which I can't easily deny in my typical devil's advocate way.
However, I hate being told to walk on the inside of a sidewalk (a weird one I've only recently heard) so that a man can protect me from ... whatever comes at you from the outside of a sidewalk? I am more than willing to hold the door if I get there first. I can order my own damn dinner. And I dislike being looked down upon for being the "weaker sex".
But I cannot deny the fact that I want to sit down on the train. Because sometimes I'm wearing heels. Because they make me look like a pretty girl.
Blog War
It was recently brought to my attention that "Brooklyn Has Nation's Bloggiest Neighborhoods" by a friend and fellow blogger who will, for her spikey-haired sake, remain nameless.
Blog War Is On!
Blog War Is On!
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Not Another Peep Outta You
Texting. Possibly the greatest invention to ever come out of telecommunications . . . ever. I'm sure this is true of just about any place around the world but it's been a godsend to me living in New York. Don't have time to talk to someone I'm meeting b/c I gotta catch the subway, text. In a crowded, noisy bar and I gotta give the address to someone coming to meet me, text. Living in an apartment where no cellular service seems to exist at all, text.
However, a problem arises with texting at times. It goes like this: boyfriend cancels date through text message due to illness, girlfriend texts back with snarky remark which would stink of sarcasm and jokiness if told in person, boyfriend reads snarky text, grows angry and picks fight. Granted, this kind of misunderstanding can be figured out later on but the fact that you can get yourself into such a situation just b/c you have a quirky sense of humor and a tendency toward sarcastic jokes causes little messes left and right that you have to take the time to clean up and you waste precious time that could be used doing other things, i.e. making out.
You can either assume that the above situation has to do with me personally or a "friend" of mine, it doesn't matter. My point is not that this only happens between lovers. It can happen to friends, coworkers, cousins. Luckily, my cousins don't text so I've managed to avoid that situation. Maybe you've had some experience with that and some suggestions for avoiding it.
Now, you maybe saying to yourself, is this silliness really worth a blog post. Well, probably not. In fact, I've overdramatized much of it just to make it more interesting. But I am simply warning you of the dangers of snarky text messaging.
Think of me as your friendly educational video and of this message as the telecommunications "stop, drop, and roll". Be careful the next time you carefully take twenty minutes to spell out one word on the screen of your cell phone. You just might hurt someone unwittingly with a bad joke. Then you'll have to apologize. Over text message. Which will cost you an extra $.05.
Beware Texters!
However, a problem arises with texting at times. It goes like this: boyfriend cancels date through text message due to illness, girlfriend texts back with snarky remark which would stink of sarcasm and jokiness if told in person, boyfriend reads snarky text, grows angry and picks fight. Granted, this kind of misunderstanding can be figured out later on but the fact that you can get yourself into such a situation just b/c you have a quirky sense of humor and a tendency toward sarcastic jokes causes little messes left and right that you have to take the time to clean up and you waste precious time that could be used doing other things, i.e. making out.
You can either assume that the above situation has to do with me personally or a "friend" of mine, it doesn't matter. My point is not that this only happens between lovers. It can happen to friends, coworkers, cousins. Luckily, my cousins don't text so I've managed to avoid that situation. Maybe you've had some experience with that and some suggestions for avoiding it.
Now, you maybe saying to yourself, is this silliness really worth a blog post. Well, probably not. In fact, I've overdramatized much of it just to make it more interesting. But I am simply warning you of the dangers of snarky text messaging.
Think of me as your friendly educational video and of this message as the telecommunications "stop, drop, and roll". Be careful the next time you carefully take twenty minutes to spell out one word on the screen of your cell phone. You just might hurt someone unwittingly with a bad joke. Then you'll have to apologize. Over text message. Which will cost you an extra $.05.
Beware Texters!
Just Grand
Everyone says in their first blog post something to the effect of "I finally broke down and got one of these." And while that is the case with me, I'm not going to say it. (Although, I suppose I just did.)
As a fiction writer, I'd like to think the blog will be a creative outlet for my unmotivated pen. But it's not my pen that's to blame. It's my slacker ass that sits on a couch every weekend flipping through cable network TV looking for The Breakfast Club or a Die Hard installment to watch.
Well, I'm putting an end to that here. No, I'm not going to stop watching The Breakfast Club everytime it repeats on TBS but at least I can do a little typing while it's playing in the background, huh?
So, let me give you a little idea of what you will find here on a kind-of frequent basis:
I work in the media/advertising field so you can expect quite a bit of commenting on that front. I'm certainly no expert but I've definitely developed my opinions.
I love mindless celebrity gossip ala gawker.com so I may try my hand at that.
I'm very informed on multiple political issues and, as the title of this blog might suggest, I have a hard time deciding how I feel about any of it, so you will find snarky comments and devil's advocate positions on just about every one I care to address.
And, finally, I am a fiction writer. I might just share some of my fiction. If anyone cares to read it. Don't all jump up at once.
On a positive note, I'm actually quite encouraged just by the creation of my cute little home on the Web. Can't wait to be an avid blogger. Well, we'll see how this goes, huh?
As a fiction writer, I'd like to think the blog will be a creative outlet for my unmotivated pen. But it's not my pen that's to blame. It's my slacker ass that sits on a couch every weekend flipping through cable network TV looking for The Breakfast Club or a Die Hard installment to watch.
Well, I'm putting an end to that here. No, I'm not going to stop watching The Breakfast Club everytime it repeats on TBS but at least I can do a little typing while it's playing in the background, huh?
So, let me give you a little idea of what you will find here on a kind-of frequent basis:
I work in the media/advertising field so you can expect quite a bit of commenting on that front. I'm certainly no expert but I've definitely developed my opinions.
I love mindless celebrity gossip ala gawker.com so I may try my hand at that.
I'm very informed on multiple political issues and, as the title of this blog might suggest, I have a hard time deciding how I feel about any of it, so you will find snarky comments and devil's advocate positions on just about every one I care to address.
And, finally, I am a fiction writer. I might just share some of my fiction. If anyone cares to read it. Don't all jump up at once.
On a positive note, I'm actually quite encouraged just by the creation of my cute little home on the Web. Can't wait to be an avid blogger. Well, we'll see how this goes, huh?
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