So tonight Jon Reep and Lavell Crawford battled it out for the Last Comic Standing title. And no matter who wins, it is the wrong person. John Reep has been one of the worst in the finals and should have been sent home a long time ago. Lavell Crawford was impressive in the initial round and the first round of the finals, but since then has been unintelligible and unfunny.
Gerry Dee was by far the best comedian the past three weeks and yet he got voted out. He deserved to win which could be why he was so broken up when he didn't advance. I guess the way to win is to play to the least common denominator, the way the two finalists do.
Neither of the two finalists improved their lots tonight with their time tonight though. They must have gotten together before hand and agreed to not have any punchlines in their set as they both try to out setup each other.
Jon Reep did his whole set on his dad snoring in a storytelling style but has neither the charisma nor the punchlines to pull it off. The set started off with, "So who knows someone who snores really loud?" and I started shaking my head seeing exactly where it was going. Jon Reep's dad snores loudly, he often falls asleep on the couch watching TV and snores intermittently and in amusing ways, he once snored loudly in church and pretended it wasn't him. If you found that last sentence funny then you might have really enjoyed the set.
Lavell counters with another bit about being at the fast food restaurant and bad customer service.. You see Lavell is fat so when the fast food employee asks him if the gigantic 25-piece chicken meal he just ordered is eat in or to go it's supposed to be funny. This is of course ignoring the fact that the employee is just working off a script and would ask me that question if I ordered it (which at least would have the surreal juxtaposition of the enormous meal against my rather low BMI frame). The customer service bit was that the people on line don't speak English that well (but given the accent that Lavell uses to imitate the worker, we must be calling different lines. I usually get a "British" person whereas he gets someone from Nigeria). But at least Lavell thinks he is funny as he was laughing very hard at his jokes throughout.
I think (or at least hope) part of the problem is the horrible way NBC setup the show. They have given the comics the same 5 minutes to perform the whole finals round and tonight was no different. I fail to see why they didn't give the comedians 10 or 15 minutes to show off. That might sounds counterintuitive since I just talked about how I didn't like the sets and yet I am asking for more. I do for two reasons. One is that I am sure that the comedians are used to doing sets that run longer than 5 minutes and as such are out of their comfort zone (they can't do jokes that run too long or are setup by other jokes because they don't have the time). Secondly, the show is supposed to be the big final competition between these two, deserved or not, and so the show should focus on them. I want a larger sample size of their stand-up to decide who should win.
But instead of giving the time to the comedians that America has asked to see more of, NBC decided to pack the show with three outside pointless comedians: Kathleen Madigan was pretty funny (the best of the night bar-none) but Gilbert Gottfried (with a circa 1999 set heavy with Calista Flockhart jokes) and Greg Proops (bad Obama-Clinton political commentary) were awful. What was the point of their performances? Filler. Maybe NBC didn't have confidence in the finalists either.
I may not actually vote in the competition (that way I can still feel superior-- yeah, I watch reality shows, but I don't actually vote... that's just sad) but I reserve the right to complain about it... It is my right as a belligerent fuck.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Superman Returns
Wow. If you've never seen Superman Returns, stop now, run, and make a note to never see that steaming pile of crap ever. And I thought Superman IV was bad.
This film takes itself way too seriously which is hard to do given the subject matter. There is no humor in the movie at all, they went fully for drama but fall flat on their face. Their is inherently no drama in the character of Superman. Instead of focusing on the action and humor side of things they try pathos. Not an easy task given an stoic invincible alien as a main character.
The plot boils down to this: Superman returns from space, Lex Luthor goes to Superman's Fortress of solitude and steals some crystals and knowledge of how to use them, he then steals some kryptonite, throws the kryptonite and crystals into the ocean and builds an kryptonite/crystal island slowly, fails to kill Superman when any moron could have, Superman throws island into space slowly. The End. I just saved you two and a half hours of your life.
Sure other pointless things happen-- albeit very slowly. The only action in the movies, aside from the slow scene of superman throwing the island into space slowly and then slowly falling back to the earth (which strangely results in a large impact crater even though he is only 225 pounds), revolves around plot points invented to fill time and to get Superman to do something. It happens in the same way as in a lot of other sci-fi movies, Armageddon springs to mind, where bad things happen for absolutely no reason (or even worse against logic). A Space Shuttle malfunctions slowly and drags a plane along with it slowly, a robbery happens slowly, the Daily Prophet globe falls slowly: all as a pretext so we can see Superman do something. This is a necessity since during the other over two hours nothing happens: no action, no plot, no character development (you know exactly who everyone is within 10 seconds of their appearance). This all leads to no fun.
You may have noticed the repetition of the word 'slow' in the above paragraphs. This is done on purpose as even when things happen they take in some weird relativistic space-- time slows down for the viewer. That's some good direction there, "Something is happening so lets slow everything down as to suck all excitement out of it. I don't want anything to get in the way of the pathos."
There are too many stupid things in the movie to list out so I will refrain, as you should refrain from watching it.
Look, up in the sky. It's a bird. It's a plane. It's a steaming pile of crap!
n.b. A quick check on IMDb gives the following bit of trivia: "Brandon Routh, Kate Bosworth and Kevin Spacey signed on without having read the script"... that explains a bit of it.
This film takes itself way too seriously which is hard to do given the subject matter. There is no humor in the movie at all, they went fully for drama but fall flat on their face. Their is inherently no drama in the character of Superman. Instead of focusing on the action and humor side of things they try pathos. Not an easy task given an stoic invincible alien as a main character.
The plot boils down to this: Superman returns from space, Lex Luthor goes to Superman's Fortress of solitude and steals some crystals and knowledge of how to use them, he then steals some kryptonite, throws the kryptonite and crystals into the ocean and builds an kryptonite/crystal island slowly, fails to kill Superman when any moron could have, Superman throws island into space slowly. The End. I just saved you two and a half hours of your life.
Sure other pointless things happen-- albeit very slowly. The only action in the movies, aside from the slow scene of superman throwing the island into space slowly and then slowly falling back to the earth (which strangely results in a large impact crater even though he is only 225 pounds), revolves around plot points invented to fill time and to get Superman to do something. It happens in the same way as in a lot of other sci-fi movies, Armageddon springs to mind, where bad things happen for absolutely no reason (or even worse against logic). A Space Shuttle malfunctions slowly and drags a plane along with it slowly, a robbery happens slowly, the Daily Prophet globe falls slowly: all as a pretext so we can see Superman do something. This is a necessity since during the other over two hours nothing happens: no action, no plot, no character development (you know exactly who everyone is within 10 seconds of their appearance). This all leads to no fun.
You may have noticed the repetition of the word 'slow' in the above paragraphs. This is done on purpose as even when things happen they take in some weird relativistic space-- time slows down for the viewer. That's some good direction there, "Something is happening so lets slow everything down as to suck all excitement out of it. I don't want anything to get in the way of the pathos."
There are too many stupid things in the movie to list out so I will refrain, as you should refrain from watching it.
Look, up in the sky. It's a bird. It's a plane. It's a steaming pile of crap!
n.b. A quick check on IMDb gives the following bit of trivia: "Brandon Routh, Kate Bosworth and Kevin Spacey signed on without having read the script"... that explains a bit of it.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
The Third Law
The storm rages around me
lightning streaks the gloomy sky
The hail batters my body
I believe I am to die
Twisters tear my home asunder
whilst lava sets it ablaze
a quake knocks me to my back
its power does scare and amaze
Desperate to save my little life
I think of a cunning scheme
I yell to the storm, "I love you"
and it flees with a frightened scream.
Cover me
"$10. Just to step in the door; to get into a place I know I won't enjoy.
I met my friend and the entrance and we push through the crowd to the back of the bar, after first getting a round, and descend the stairs to bowels of the place, down to the dance level. We are assaulted by the heat as we enter in addition to the music, which is deafening. Walking back to our area in the corner is enough to bring a sheen of sweat. There is nothing else that can reach the ears while the pounding strains of some indistinguishable dance track thunders through the room.
$2 per minutes so far.
We head over to where our group is and sit. We attempt a conversation but it quickly becomes a game of "what tag" and we both give up for a time. Our drinks at least provide something to do: pick up the glass, take a sip, hold the liquid in your mouth and savor the flavor with a pensive look, swallow, and return the glass to the table. Repeat whenever the uncomfortable feeling of doing nothing necessitates some motion.
$1 per minute.
The bodies on the dance floor gyrate in ritual of horniness and youth. The desperation hangs thick in the air and the throbbing bass from the speakers sends the tendril-like fog of it swirling towards the alert predators. You can see them watching from the wings, waiting to strike when they see a weak or wanting prey. A lone woman dancing is alone for but a second before the hounds swarm. An obviously hammered and horny woman has more options than she knows what to do with... or perhaps she is a resourceful one and knows what to do. I laugh but it is consumed by the pounding rhythms and goes unheard.
$.50 per minute.
The DJ, in his booth, looks on smugly, as if he is a man among boys. He controls the crowd, or so he thinks. Instead he is trapped in a booth whilst others grind with the women on the floor. He dictates the sounds from his Apple laptop but misses out on any action. The only person sadder than him is his assistant who bops his head to the beat and stare out of the booth with a very creepy look, like an old man looking a little too long and little too intently on a much too young woman. He at least seems content to dance and leer by himself.
$.25 per minute.
My friend gets dragged up to dance although he obviously doesn't want to. It is the birthday of the girl dragging him up so courtesy dictates he at least half-ass a little dance. He isn't drunk enough to do it wholeheartedly and so it mostly consists of head bobs and the occasional shuffle. His unease at least entertains me a bit and I am thankful that I don't know the birthday girl enough for her to drag me up as well. He, of course, keeps his drink in his hand so that he can periodically stop dancing to take a swig. That reminds me that I still have my drink to pass the time: sip, hold, swallow, repeat.
$.10 per minute.
Finally, a few people from the group leave. They have broken the ice-- it is now acceptable to move on to another place. You never want to be the first to go, but once another has made the move it is open season. My friend and I agree we should find a new place. After a few minutes convincing the birthday girl we climb out of the dungeon and exit the bar into the real world again. The night air feels good, although my ears strain to hear the sounds of the city. Onward to new and better bars.
Just over two hours. So it only cost me about 8 cents per uncomfortable minute."
I was very tempted to go home shortly after I got there. I am, however, glad I did not. Not that any fun was had at that first place. Thankfully, we went to much more low-key Irish bar. A place where conversation is not only possible but expected. We met up with a new group of people which improved things as well.
What I thought was going to be an early night turned into a surreal night full of stories and in-jokes. A night which included, but was not limited to: ridiculous multi pronged biological analogies, Chinese government adaptability, extended pussyfooting, Bactrian Camels, street voyeurism, jumper cables, a hubcap, a steel
bladder, a man blending into a bathroom door, a vibrating couch, a philosophizing waiter, and very (and I do mean very) opaque yogurt.
It was one of the rare times I made a wise decision when faced with the "should I stay or should I go" dilemma, which I have often. This was the first time in a while that I didn't regret my decision shortly afterwards. Perhaps I've had enough experience making the wrong decision that I've learned.
I met my friend and the entrance and we push through the crowd to the back of the bar, after first getting a round, and descend the stairs to bowels of the place, down to the dance level. We are assaulted by the heat as we enter in addition to the music, which is deafening. Walking back to our area in the corner is enough to bring a sheen of sweat. There is nothing else that can reach the ears while the pounding strains of some indistinguishable dance track thunders through the room.
$2 per minutes so far.
We head over to where our group is and sit. We attempt a conversation but it quickly becomes a game of "what tag" and we both give up for a time. Our drinks at least provide something to do: pick up the glass, take a sip, hold the liquid in your mouth and savor the flavor with a pensive look, swallow, and return the glass to the table. Repeat whenever the uncomfortable feeling of doing nothing necessitates some motion.
$1 per minute.
The bodies on the dance floor gyrate in ritual of horniness and youth. The desperation hangs thick in the air and the throbbing bass from the speakers sends the tendril-like fog of it swirling towards the alert predators. You can see them watching from the wings, waiting to strike when they see a weak or wanting prey. A lone woman dancing is alone for but a second before the hounds swarm. An obviously hammered and horny woman has more options than she knows what to do with... or perhaps she is a resourceful one and knows what to do. I laugh but it is consumed by the pounding rhythms and goes unheard.
$.50 per minute.
The DJ, in his booth, looks on smugly, as if he is a man among boys. He controls the crowd, or so he thinks. Instead he is trapped in a booth whilst others grind with the women on the floor. He dictates the sounds from his Apple laptop but misses out on any action. The only person sadder than him is his assistant who bops his head to the beat and stare out of the booth with a very creepy look, like an old man looking a little too long and little too intently on a much too young woman. He at least seems content to dance and leer by himself.
$.25 per minute.
My friend gets dragged up to dance although he obviously doesn't want to. It is the birthday of the girl dragging him up so courtesy dictates he at least half-ass a little dance. He isn't drunk enough to do it wholeheartedly and so it mostly consists of head bobs and the occasional shuffle. His unease at least entertains me a bit and I am thankful that I don't know the birthday girl enough for her to drag me up as well. He, of course, keeps his drink in his hand so that he can periodically stop dancing to take a swig. That reminds me that I still have my drink to pass the time: sip, hold, swallow, repeat.
$.10 per minute.
Finally, a few people from the group leave. They have broken the ice-- it is now acceptable to move on to another place. You never want to be the first to go, but once another has made the move it is open season. My friend and I agree we should find a new place. After a few minutes convincing the birthday girl we climb out of the dungeon and exit the bar into the real world again. The night air feels good, although my ears strain to hear the sounds of the city. Onward to new and better bars.
Just over two hours. So it only cost me about 8 cents per uncomfortable minute."
I was very tempted to go home shortly after I got there. I am, however, glad I did not. Not that any fun was had at that first place. Thankfully, we went to much more low-key Irish bar. A place where conversation is not only possible but expected. We met up with a new group of people which improved things as well.
What I thought was going to be an early night turned into a surreal night full of stories and in-jokes. A night which included, but was not limited to: ridiculous multi pronged biological analogies, Chinese government adaptability, extended pussyfooting, Bactrian Camels, street voyeurism, jumper cables, a hubcap, a steel
bladder, a man blending into a bathroom door, a vibrating couch, a philosophizing waiter, and very (and I do mean very) opaque yogurt.
It was one of the rare times I made a wise decision when faced with the "should I stay or should I go" dilemma, which I have often. This was the first time in a while that I didn't regret my decision shortly afterwards. Perhaps I've had enough experience making the wrong decision that I've learned.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Real Winners
Surprisingly, America actually picked the correct winners of the latest two reality shows:
On 'On The Lot' Will took home the top prize and now has a deal with Dreamworks to direct a movie. I was scared that somehow Jason might win the show because for some reason people seemed to like his movies. He was my least favorite person on that show and yet he stuck around. Thankfully, the best man won. (If you have no idea what this show is/was, that is OK. Apparently, looking at the ratings, I was among only 7 people who watched the show).
Also, the Ventriloquist won and deserved it. I never thought I'd say a sentence like that. But He was far and away the best person on America's Got Talent (and I said he was the best act back on June 27th here).
On another reality front, Last Comic Standing has their top 5 perform. I think Gerry Dee has the best set, with Amy Schumer next, then Ralph Harris. Lavell Crawford had a weak set and I was a bit surprised by that (I think he is safe as he has been very strong the rest of the way). But, totally expected, John Reep failed to impress again. I'd guess he is the one going home.
Having said all that, I can't wait for the real TV season to start again... so tired of reality competitions. Please, give me a scripted show!
On 'On The Lot' Will took home the top prize and now has a deal with Dreamworks to direct a movie. I was scared that somehow Jason might win the show because for some reason people seemed to like his movies. He was my least favorite person on that show and yet he stuck around. Thankfully, the best man won. (If you have no idea what this show is/was, that is OK. Apparently, looking at the ratings, I was among only 7 people who watched the show).
Also, the Ventriloquist won and deserved it. I never thought I'd say a sentence like that. But He was far and away the best person on America's Got Talent (and I said he was the best act back on June 27th here).
On another reality front, Last Comic Standing has their top 5 perform. I think Gerry Dee has the best set, with Amy Schumer next, then Ralph Harris. Lavell Crawford had a weak set and I was a bit surprised by that (I think he is safe as he has been very strong the rest of the way). But, totally expected, John Reep failed to impress again. I'd guess he is the one going home.
Having said all that, I can't wait for the real TV season to start again... so tired of reality competitions. Please, give me a scripted show!
Friday, August 3, 2007
Quick Hits
After downing two sodas and a glass of water, I had to pee. I went down to the restaurant's bathroom to do just that. The bathroom was so small I had a hard time fitting in (and while I've gained a couple of pounds recently-- now tipping the scales at a relative hefty 153-- I am not large at all). As I was going about my business, something landed on the back of my neck and I reacted with one of those full body spasms, which normally isn't that bad but while one is peeing it is best not to do that. Needless to say, I wasn't able to "stay within the lines" and, since the bathroom was so small, managed to hit three walls in a beautiful arc of urine. The mosquito that landed on my was humongous so I don't feel bad about the freak out. Plus I did get a good laugh out of it-- timing is everything in comedy and that mosquito is a natural.
I was on the 6 train on the way home from the above restaurant. Across from me sat a man reading a book. He was falling asleep doing the classic head bob and was out in a few seconds. But amazingly the book stayed in the exact same position-- all the time as his head sunk lower and lower. A woman standing next to him thought this was hilarious and pointed it out to her traveling companions (I must admit it was pretty funny). The best part was when she said, in a reverent tone, "He's got the perfect hold, doesn't he?" as if holding a book perfectly still while sleeping was one of her life goals and she was jealous that he had done it before her.
When the train stopped he jerked awake (although again amazingly his hands and the book never moved at all) and proceeded to attempt to continue reading where he left off. As soon as the train started moving he was out again. His head bobbed up and down but his book never wavered an inch the entire time... its the pointless things that impress me.
The woman from the last story, after standing for a few stops, moved towards a newly vacated seat. The person that was sitting there, not noticing that someone was moving towards the empty seat, did the natural spread out maneuver so as to not be squished when not necessary. She did not appreciate the move and yelled, "Mexican, move over!" at the man sitting there. The Mexican obliged with contemptuous glare and the woman collapsed in the seat while complaining about her hard day and how Mexicans shouldn't be stealing her seat. Where has common courtesy gone? She really should have said, "Mexican, move over please."
I found a roach in my apartment, that greatest of all "Welcome to New York"s. I grabbed the nearest spray bottled and attacked-- Lemon Pledge did nothing to it. I took another and tried again. The roach went insane, spasming and flopping around, and died in about 4 seconds. I looked in my hand-- Simply Green. Yes, the cleaner that is "non-toxic, biodegradable, environmentally safer" and "safer around your children and your pets" totally fucks up the only animal that can survive a nuclear blast.
I was on the 6 train on the way home from the above restaurant. Across from me sat a man reading a book. He was falling asleep doing the classic head bob and was out in a few seconds. But amazingly the book stayed in the exact same position-- all the time as his head sunk lower and lower. A woman standing next to him thought this was hilarious and pointed it out to her traveling companions (I must admit it was pretty funny). The best part was when she said, in a reverent tone, "He's got the perfect hold, doesn't he?" as if holding a book perfectly still while sleeping was one of her life goals and she was jealous that he had done it before her.
When the train stopped he jerked awake (although again amazingly his hands and the book never moved at all) and proceeded to attempt to continue reading where he left off. As soon as the train started moving he was out again. His head bobbed up and down but his book never wavered an inch the entire time... its the pointless things that impress me.
The woman from the last story, after standing for a few stops, moved towards a newly vacated seat. The person that was sitting there, not noticing that someone was moving towards the empty seat, did the natural spread out maneuver so as to not be squished when not necessary. She did not appreciate the move and yelled, "Mexican, move over!" at the man sitting there. The Mexican obliged with contemptuous glare and the woman collapsed in the seat while complaining about her hard day and how Mexicans shouldn't be stealing her seat. Where has common courtesy gone? She really should have said, "Mexican, move over please."
I found a roach in my apartment, that greatest of all "Welcome to New York"s. I grabbed the nearest spray bottled and attacked-- Lemon Pledge did nothing to it. I took another and tried again. The roach went insane, spasming and flopping around, and died in about 4 seconds. I looked in my hand-- Simply Green. Yes, the cleaner that is "non-toxic, biodegradable, environmentally safer" and "safer around your children and your pets" totally fucks up the only animal that can survive a nuclear blast.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Set course for terror... Engage!
I had a nightmare the other night for the first time in a very, very long time. I can't even remember the last time I had one before this last one, but I was probably in Elementary school.
I don't often remember my dreams. Sometimes I'll go months without recalling any of them and even when I do remember the dreams it is only a few major points and a detail or two. And it was like that for this latest one as well.
The dream started with me in jail and the story up to then was told in flashbacks (like I was in a movie or something). The flashbacks are a little blurry but in them I saw a female friend of mine murder two people (I'm not sure who the friend was but, as often happens in my dreams, I knew it was a friend but I couldn't really see her. Also I have no idea who she killed or why.).
But I was the one in jail and not this person-- although it was for some other crime and I was pretty sure related to the murders. Regardless, I was in jail. This is where the nightmare part comes in-- I knew I could turn this other person in but it wouldn't improve my situation any. I was overcome with a complete helplessness and despair the likes of which I have never felt before. It was almost suffocating.
This is also the point I should have realized it was a dream. One of the prison guards was Geordi La Forge, in full Starfleet uniform and sporting the visor. It is rather hilarious and if I were better at lucid dreaming would have figured out at this point that I probably wasn't in jail and didn't need to feel so depressed. But it didn't even register with the dream me.
When I woke up, it took a long time to realize what reality was. The negative feelings hung on for a while and thankfully when I went back to sleep it was dreamless. I wonder how this dream would be interpreted; I am sure jail and depression are covered but I doubt there is a standard interpretation for 24th century Starfleet Lieutenants that are Chief Engineers for the flagship of the Federation.
I don't often remember my dreams. Sometimes I'll go months without recalling any of them and even when I do remember the dreams it is only a few major points and a detail or two. And it was like that for this latest one as well.
The dream started with me in jail and the story up to then was told in flashbacks (like I was in a movie or something). The flashbacks are a little blurry but in them I saw a female friend of mine murder two people (I'm not sure who the friend was but, as often happens in my dreams, I knew it was a friend but I couldn't really see her. Also I have no idea who she killed or why.).
But I was the one in jail and not this person-- although it was for some other crime and I was pretty sure related to the murders. Regardless, I was in jail. This is where the nightmare part comes in-- I knew I could turn this other person in but it wouldn't improve my situation any. I was overcome with a complete helplessness and despair the likes of which I have never felt before. It was almost suffocating.
This is also the point I should have realized it was a dream. One of the prison guards was Geordi La Forge, in full Starfleet uniform and sporting the visor. It is rather hilarious and if I were better at lucid dreaming would have figured out at this point that I probably wasn't in jail and didn't need to feel so depressed. But it didn't even register with the dream me.
When I woke up, it took a long time to realize what reality was. The negative feelings hung on for a while and thankfully when I went back to sleep it was dreamless. I wonder how this dream would be interpreted; I am sure jail and depression are covered but I doubt there is a standard interpretation for 24th century Starfleet Lieutenants that are Chief Engineers for the flagship of the Federation.
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