Not Entirely Bah Humbuggy

Yesterday I was at the bank drive thru and the teller asked me through the scratchy sounding intercom if I had had a good Christmas. Mind you, this was two days after Christmas, after already having had to deal with Christmas sentiment since before Halloween, and more importantly I was in a bad mood and in a hurry – never a good combo for making chit chat through a scratchy intercom. So naturally I said the first Scrooge-ish comment I could come up with, “I don’t celebrate that particular holiday,” to which the teller promptly shut up and immediately sent my receipt hurtling through the drive thru pipeline.

It’s not that I categorically oppose Christmas cheer but in truth, I really do not celebrate that particular holiday. Now normally I am not as pissy about the situation but as I said, I was in a rush and I suspect the bank teller really didn’t care about my feelings on the issue, but rather said it just to make conversation.

This scenario has occurred many a time in my life (the Christmas scrutiny, not so much the being pissy with drive thru bank tellers) and since I am indeed a person who doesn’t celebrate Christmas, I’m often asked whether or not I have a problem with the onslaught of Season’s Greetings this time of year. And by season’s greetings I actually mean, “Are you ready for Christmas?” “Have you gotten your Christmas shopping done?” “What are your Christmas plans?”

There doesn’t seem much that’s actually seasonal or greeting about these types of questions. A season refers to any set but generally lengthy period of time, not merely one 24-hour allotment out of 365 days. A greeting doesn't usually end in a question mark.

I actually don’t really care all that much if people wish me a Merry Christmas but the Christmas interrogations are a bit intrusive. If you think about it, there are no other holidays in which people feel compelled to pry into other people’s (many times complete strangers – like those standing in front of you in the grocery checkout line) holiday plans. While it’s perfectly acceptable to hear general stuff about things like Mother’s Day and Valentine’s Day, rarely do you have to deal with people asking if you’re “ready” for these types of holidays, presumably because the Christmas Curious Folks, or CCFs, realize they aren’t insured a benign smile when they probe about these other occasions. The CCFs are fearful that a question of Mother’s or Valentine’s Day plans could provoke answers they aren’t prepared to hear. “My mother just died after a lengthy illness” or “I just found out my husband of 17 years has been sleeping with a series of young men.”

But as I said, I really don’t take issue with Christmas or Christmas revelry at all. Honestly, I love all the lights and decorations and festive food and drink. In fact I can’t comprehend why pumpkin pie is only allowed from like October to December. Eggnog, a beverage that may actually have been what the ancient Greek gods referred to as ambrosia, or drink of godly choice, has a tragically shorter "season" than pumpkin pie.

I can even handle the incessent caroling. I myself have an old Time Life Christmas Music album (yes it's just that old) that I have been known to break out even when the weather outside is not at all frightful. And apart from one song, with which I have enormous issues and will be a subject for a later time, I enjoy Christmas music heartily.

So essentially what I'm trying to say is I don't have one problem with people celebrating Christmas. I just think those same people ought to start dealing with the fact that I don't and stop asking about it. Otherwise I am so going to interrogate their Arbor Day plans next year and they better be ready!

Voting Conspiracy 2010 - Dancin' Style

It’s like Florida and those Chads all over again only in this case Florida is Dancing with the Stars and Chad refers to Chad Ochocinco, who although isn’t even on this season, much like Brandy last week, just fell short of the finals. And much like Brandy, Chad in his backstage interviews had a tendency to think that just because he worked hard, he was entitled to keep a place on the show.

Well Chad, Brandy, it just doesn’t work that way. I’m thinking nearly everyone who comes on the show works hard, and…shock and surprise, despite that hard work, sometimes, even if you are a great dancer, the vote comes down to who the audience finds most appealing.

So yes this may be a popularity contest and some people with lesser capabilities stay on for an unusual amount of time (anyone remember Master P?); however, that can ALSO mean it’s a contest wherein a less than popular contestant gets voted off despite better skills. Has no one considered this semi-final outcome may be far more of a Brandy/Maks backlash and less of tea party conspiracy? Instead of blaming Bristol, who more and more resembles rodeo-star-turned-endearing-dancer Ty Murray (in terms of improvement, endurance and down-to-earth charm), consider pointing some fingers at Maks’ über-petulant behavior over the past two weeks and Brandy’s consistently whiney attitude from day one.

These are annoying people

Even that little film last week, which was meant to show Brandy in a sympathetic light, wound up making her appear that much more unlikable, especially when comparing her to the others. It’s hard to feel sorry for someone who gets a record deal in infancy, a Grammy at prepubescence, takes an NBA all-star to prom and becomes a Cover Girl spokes model (for which we’re still stuck with her dumbass easy-breezy jingle).

I mean, we’re supposed to feel sympathetic because her subsequent albums didn’t do as well as the previous ones? Does that mean we should vote for every one-hit wonder that comes on the show? 

Hmm, both danced with Maks...maybe we're misplacing blame...

Even that whole thing about Brandy’s being involved in a vehicular homicide didn’t have the impact I think she thought it would. Jennifer wound up stealing that thunder in a major way. As opposed to Brandy, Jenn wasn’t even driving, and was herself injured to such an extent she is still dealing with the repercussions today. And amazingly Jenn didn’t say anything about locking herself up in her room for three months and feeling sorry for herself more because people were being mean to her than the fact she inadvertently caused the death of someone else.

So yeah, Bristol may be in the finals more for her popularity than her ability, but I put it to you, even if Bristol wasn’t a contender, Brandy would have been ousted before the finals anyway due to people finally having their fill of the whiney twins.

Who would win in a whine-off is anyone's guess.

2010 Election Day Blues (pun vaguely intended)

WARNING: This blog contains content that may initially read as political opinion; and my mom, one of my faithful five readers, insisted that I make the following clarification before any of my left or right leaning siblings get too mad at me and things get awkward at upcoming holiday get-togethers:

I AM NEITHER ENDORSING NOR DENOUNCING ANY PARTICULAR PARTY (with the possible exception of the Whig Party but only because that name sounds like a fiesta for creepy bugs that hang around ears.) Get beyond the first paragraph below and hopefully you will see I am neither blue nor red tinted – just a neutral sort of pasty beige.

Despite my being wary of writing so soon after my last blog, since this will set an unrealistic precedent when it comes to my blogging discipline, I woke up this morning still angered by Tuesday’s election results and couldn’t help but vent about it here.

How I wish I was referring to the vote of Willy Wonka as most horrifying movie of all time. Or referencing the David Tennant/Doctor Who replacement election of ‘08. Incidentally, despite my initial misgivings about Matt Smith’s Doctor, I think he’s done a fine job even though I do think this past series wasn’t up to snuff…but I shall save this diatribe for another day. No I’m actually talking about real life political voting that took place for many Americans this past Tuesday, November 2, 2010.

Now I am going to do my best to keep my own political leanings out of it because truly this is not the point of what I’m about to say. What I am writing to complain about is the astronomical laziness on the part of our citizens to do their civic duty. Yes there was a huge turnout for a non-presidential year vote but just showing up unprepared to make conscientious choices is sort of like showing up at a gym, not doing any exercises and then complaining when you don’t see the results you expected. Seriously if you bothered to make the trip to the gym, why not do a pushup; likewise, if you’ve bothered to stand in line at your polling location for an hour, why not spend a modicum of prep time to know who you’re voting for before you cast your ballot?


There is simply no reason to vote straight ticket ever. Ever.

I know a lot of people out there are angered about the economy and unemployment and put the blame on every single incumbent; but the angry people are forgetting that many of those incumbents got their jobs after that last big election when “the other side” voted straight ticket in the same sort of misguided, knee-jerk reaction. It didn’t make sense then and it doesn’t make sense now; especially when you consider the fact that party politics shouldn’t even be an issue MOST of the time. Now before you start thinking I’ve gone off my meds by suggesting politics has no place in the election process, let me clarify the fact that when you’re electing judges, the last thing you should be considering is political agendas.

If your county is anything like mine, there were only fourteen offices up for grabs that dealt with decision-making that might be objectionable to one party or another. The rest of the seventy-three openings (yes 73) were for judges. And while I’m not naïve to think that justices never have political leanings, the bottom line is if these people are doing their job correctly you shouldn’t be noticing which direction they lean. In fact when I was doing my own research, I immediately took points off from candidates who answered their lifelong commitment to whatever party as the primary reason to why they should be elected.

The American Bar Association has this thing called the Code of Judicial Conduct which basically boils down to five rules governing the conduct of judges while they serve in their professional capacity. The first four rules have phrases like “integrity and independence,” “avoid impropriety,” “perform impartiality,” “minimize risk of conflict,” with the fifth one stating outright: “A judge or judicial candidate shall refrain from inappropriate political activity.” So it seems to me that every judicial candidate should be immediately discounted when their platform focus is party devotion rather than expertise in lawful and unbiased decision-making.


Anyone who’s watched Law & Order knows how important lawful and unbiased decision-making is. How many times did you see Sam Waterson give that shocked, “I just ate what” sort of expression whenever he’s repulsed by a judge’s blatantly prejudicial ruling.

I’m still perplexed as to why party membership is mentioned at all in judicial elections. But because it is and because of those dang straight ticket voters, there have been at least four (again in my county alone) extremely capable judges ousted while three coming in that have been cited for misconduct on numerous occasions. It’s not like we don’t have easy access to candidate info. You don’t have to go to a courthouse and scroll over every judicial ruling made by a particular candidate.You can, however, go to your local bar association’s web site and see judge ratings. Another great site is Courthouse Forum, where the general public, in addition to attorneys, can candidly post info and opinions about various local judicial issues and interaction. RateTheCourts.com gives you access to nearly 30,000 anonymous evaluation surveys of the nation's judges and judicial nominees. And while Project Vote Smart doesn’t have info on district judges, they do have vital non-partisan info regarding appellate and state Supreme Court candidates.

See, doing your homework isn’t that hard. Considering the fact that the right to vote is considered the single most important right granted to any American citizen (just ask any naturalized US citizen), people should take the entire voting process more seriously than just showing up, pressing one button and calling it a day. That’s kind of like cheating off of one guy’s test only to discover later he got a lot of answers wrong. Perhaps if we all spent the amount of time it takes to watch a few Law & Order reruns on doing a bit of diligent research, we could all become better citizens and feel happier with our decisions.

Election Day 2010

Well it seemed appropriate to acknowledge the two-year anniversary of this here blog, despite the fact that I haven’t really written in…well…nearly two years. But I swear to you, four readers that might be seeing these words, it’s not my fault. I was only just released from the mother ship. And no, they didn’t do any sort of alien probing. Don’t be so naïve, Four Readers. Just don’t get me started about what they do with used toenails and jello.

Now of course it is possible the whole alien thing was just a figment of my imagination (i.e. lie). There’s a possibility I haven’t written due to a drug-like induced haze from frequent youtube viewings of old In Search Of episodes - that theme music is about as hypnotic as it gets. Or perhaps I didn’t write because I’ve been ridiculously busy doing incredibly important things. All I know is that you must believe me, Four Readers, when I say I haven’t haven’t written because of laziness!

In any case, regardless of my extraordinarily good excuse for not writing (and after all the jello-laden, freakishly long Howard Hughes toenail clippings are swept under the rug), I thought seeing as I started this blog on election day 2008, and as I type these words in the wee early hours of election day 2010, nothing would suit the occasion better than my take on the vote. And I’m sorry if you don’t agree with me but I have always felt very strongly about this candidate:

There’s simply no question in my mind that in the vote of all-time scariest movies, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory wins hands down!

Perhaps not the vote on many people’s minds on an election day, but seeing as we just got over Halloween, this horrifying film has naturally been on my mind. Possibly TV programmers already realize Wonka’s traumatizing effect on children and that’s the reason I didn’t see this title among any of the usual TV Halloween fare this past Sunday. But make no mistake; this is the single most chilling movie in history. No, not the dopey remake. That one’s merely creepy in a sort of guy-with-toothless-smirk-at-bus-stop-with-hands-buried-deep-inside-own-pockets way. No, I’m talking about the 1971 version with Gene Wilder (seen in above picture, surrounded by Bavarian little people).

Now despite the fact that I believe Wilder deserved an Oscar nomination for his brilliant performance in the titular role, there’s no doubt that it’s a such a sinister performance, his own hair attempts to make a break from him at least three times during the course of the film.

My guess is the hair wants to flee before Wonka takes out himself and half the town via his obvious death wish. What death wish you ask? How about that glass wonkavator he’s never tested. Note the look of glee on Wonka’s face when he responds to Grandpa Joe’s exclamation of “but this elevator is made of glass, we’ll be cut to ribbons” with the word “probably.” Now try and remember that the film immediately cuts to a look of pure horror plastered on Charlie’s face. Then think about the fact that if Wonka’s never tested this whole wonkavator before, how the hell is he planning on landing it? Surely his wonkaremotes have a maximum radius before that glass tube winds up crash landing on some unsuspecting children playing in the street, spraying shards of glass and chunks of Wonka hair. And speaking of children…

Yes they may be a bit on the nasty side.
Yes Augustus might be an unhygienic behemoth, Violet a nose picker, Veruca a diva with questionable taste in clothing, and Mike a lisping spitter. That still doesn’t seem reason enough for them all to meet with such dire ends, all with accompanying ominous Oompa Loompa singing. Moreover if your first experience with a little person is one with green hair, orange face and who shows up periodically to do things like squeeze children, I don’t care how politically incorrect it is, you’re going to be a little terrified. Worse still, the Oompas don’t seem the least bit phased by the horrific goings-on about them. Notice, for example, their presence on the boat. They just row like demonic versions of Campbell Soup cherubic icons without any reaction to seeing that centipede crawl across that guy’s face or the chicken getting decapitated all to the eerie strains of Wonka’s song regarding the Oompas questionable steering capabilities and general sense of direction. I wish I was exaggerating but all of this actually happens in the movie!



Then we’re supposed to take Wonka’s word that at the end of the tour all the kids have been restored to their normal selves. How do we know? We never see those kids again. Now think back when everyone’s in the inventing room and Wonka hurls a couple of soccer cleats into that melting pot. If we’re to believe that heretofore no one ever goes in or out of the factory, where on earth do you suppose Wonka picked up that footwear? My guess is he was inspired by that Uruguayan rugby team and made due with the people closest to his factory and THAT’S the real reason for the contest. I mean, why would Wonka be looking for an heir to the factory (the supposed reason for the entire escapade) when he was only in his mid-thirties anyway?

For all we know those cleats could have belonged to poor Augustus. Notice Augustus never makes it to the inventing room and who’s to say he didn’t enjoy himself some soccer when he wasn’t scarfing down schnitzel. It’s not like anyone bothers to look at Augustus’ feet when he’s stuck in the pipe. I bet you anything he was sporting soccer cleats!

By now I’m sure you’ll agree that Willy Wonka should have at least an R rating for disturbing imagery; but what seals the deal is the upsetting content towards the end of this “children’s film.” The entire ending hinges on Charlie’s bottomless stupidity. Before Charlie has even witnessed all the horrors of the factory with his own eyes, which in and of itself should have made him want to call the authorities as soon as humanly possible, Slugworth offers (in exchange for an everlasting gobstopper) financial aid to Charlie and his family, thereby giving Charlie’s four decrepit, dying grandparents a modicum of grace and comfort after all being stuck in the same rancid, pee-stained bed for twenty years. If Charlie had bothered to think about them for two seconds instead of returning the gobstopper in his sanctimonious and selfish sense of morality, he would have obviously made a beeline straight to Slugworth’s. The fact he doesn’t is probably the only reason Willy Wonka isn’t banned in this country.

If Charlie had actually done the right thing,
the film would have been that much more soul-draining since at that point Charlie would realize that “Slugworth” was really Wonka’s assistant Wilkinson (who, since supposedly Wonka only hires Oompas, must in actuality be an Oompa with gigantism.) And since the real Slugworth hadn’t been trolling schoolyards for gobstoppers, Charlie wouldn’t be able to sell his candy, leaving him back where he started – bereft of money and anything other than cabbage water for sustenance. He would no doubt spend the rest of his days staring at that rotting gobstopper, resenting its mere existence.

Let’s face it; if you don’t think Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is a horror movie there is something fundamentally wrong with you and I have nothing more to say about the subject. Now go out there and vote people!

The Inauguration & Steve Martin

You know just thinking about the inauguration reminds me of an old Frank Capra movie. You have an outsider, but heroic man of the people, in a position to finally bring about change. A real life “Mr. Smith” going to Washington to shake up that gaggle of old, conservative, Republican curmudgeons and turn D.C. from a cesspool of corruption and greed into a utopia we can scarcely imagine. And you just know he will succeed because, well gosh darn it, he’s not one of them, the politicians who will say anything just to win. He’s real, he’s one of us and he’s not going to compromise our general welfare.

Oh well, I’m sure Jimmy Carter really did have the best intentions on his inauguration day even though he turned out to be a pisspoor Jimmy Stewart. C’est la vie. But hey time has been good to Carter. Despite the fact that his job approval rating dropped nearly 40% during his actual tenure at the White House, Carter is nevertheless fondly remembered now. Barely two years ago when the folks over at Gallup conducted their greatest US presidents in history poll, Jimmy managed to tie scores with Dwight Eisenhower, Theodore Roosevelt and even one of the founding father’s of our country, Thomas Jefferson. Evidently, the Mount Rushmore reps should have waited til all the figures came in.

Maybe likewise, despite the fact that it may not have been really THAT good, perhaps time has skewed my sense of reality and I remember the Saturday Night Live episodes of the 70s with far more fondness then they actually deserve?

Back in the 70s it seemed that everyone who appeared on SNLwas hilarious, from each member of the cast to those particular hosts that appeared with such regularity they might as well have been cast members. Again, I might be romanticizing the past but just saying hypothetically I was old enough to remember with clarity the original SNL broadcasts, I think I can answer emphatically that I’m not romanticizing anything. Those original episodes WERE funnier than any of the later incarnations. They were all about innovation. I’m not saying they didn’t have any clinkers but the majority of what they did, they did first. And sadly, the majority of the thirty years since it’s inception has just been derivative; a variation on those first five years. Every now and again you’ll get a good sequel, but essentially what you’re watching is, in fact, nothing more than that.

Although I don’t really watch it anymore, I recently tuned in to catch host Hugh Laurie in the vain hope that my beloved Steven Fry might make an unscheduled appearance. One of the segments was a talk show featuring two women with heavy Bronx accents. At least in past SNL talk show scenarios, you could find vague reasons as to why the “host” was given their own show. This version only served to show off “wacky accents.” Not only was this heinously unfunny skit a complete and total rip off of “Coffee Talk,” one of the “hostesses” actually came ridiculously close to saying she was verklempt.

But even the talk show format wasn’t new to Mike Myers. Gilda Radner did it way back in the day. And when she did HER version of Barbara Walters, she was taking a real risk. Don’t forget that before Barbara Walters sabotaged her career with that current asinine morning show of hers, she was considered an incredibly respected journalist, garnering worldwide reverence. What made Radner so brilliant was the fact that she wasn’t afraid to mock that reputation. Nowadays of course it’s commonplace to mock everyone; but before Radner, even comedians were reticent about skewering the internationally adored.

Now obviously people are always going to be inspired by other people. There’s something to that notion that there are merely six original ideas floating around in the ether. Certainly Shakespeare stole. Mozart stole. But what made both these guys more creative than crook is is the fact that what they stole, they made better. They did not merely plagiarize. So yeah although the “Jeopardy concept” was yet another skit stolen from the original SNL series, in Darrell Hammond’s (& even sometimes Norm Macdonald’s) hands there were more than a few moments of sheer beauty. Unfortunately those moments are overshadowed by the fact that nearly every segment of every season of every SNL since 1980 runs about five minutes too long. There has rarely been an instant since that original season where SNL has left you wanting more. “Brevity is the soul of wit,” just to reference Shakespeare again. And before any of my smartass pals point out that my lengthy blogging style is anything but demonstrative of that idea and also note it was a little weird to mention Shakespeare in the same paragraph as Norm Macdonald, I…grr…I can’t think of anything really cutting to say. So just think of something really cleverly sardonic and pretend I said it to you. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

So, what this all boils down to is, what the hell is wrong with Steve Martin?

Like I said, not only were the shows funnier back then, but so were the people – including the host with the most, Steve “King Tut” Martin. If I’m not mistaken he has hosted SNL more than anyone. And again while the bits on the show weren’t always masterpieces, they were generally his own. He held so much promise in the early part of his film career as well. Apart from The Jerk being a goofily stupid film, Martin still has moments of perfection from his opening lines, “I was born a poor young black boy,” to that whole thing about the ashtray – which certain members of my familia will still quote at the drop of a hat. Martin, like Chevy Chase and Dan Aykroyd, used to be genuinely hilarious.


And like us who quote The Jerk, I don’t know one guy who doesn’t know how to do an impersonation of Chevy Chase golfing in Caddyshack. Not a huge fan of that one but I ADORE Seems Like Old Times and Chevy has some really outstanding moments in Foul Play.

And of course Dan Aykroyd. What the hey, Dan?! You were, bar none, the greatest actor ever on SNL. From calling Jane an ignorant slut to the Bass-o-matic; from Julia Childs to (bringing it full circle) Jimmy Carter. No one could touch you with regard to consistency and brilliance. At least you’re not the punch line poor Chevy Chase has become. Actually poor Chevy Chase is so off the radar he doesn’t even really merit punch line status these days. I think your main problem, Dan, is you just want to be taken seriously so badly you continue to put out schlocky performances reminiscent of your earlier schlocky performances in Driving Miss Daisy and My Girl in lieu of creations of genuine genius like Elwood Blues.

But to reiterate, the saddest of the three is Steve. What is going on with him and his agent? Surely Steve Martin cannot be that bereft of funds that he has to accept any ole caca that comes along. I mean back in the 70s (from which, to remind you, I am far too young to have any memory), Laurence Olivier was hawking Polaroid cameras and making gems like The Jazz Singer and Clash of the Titans – both of which I proudly admit to loving beyond all measure (I actually own Jazz Singer in 3 formats. Soundtrack, VHS and DVD). I am not ashamed of lovin’ me some Neil Diamond.


But before I begin screaming out “on the boats and on the planes” at the top of my lungs, I brought up Lord Larry for a reason. Olivier made no attempt to hide or excuse the fact he took every crap job that came his way in later years in order to ensure his family’s well-being after his death. Laurence Olivier spent 9/10s of his career giving the world some of the greatest performances and innovations in theatrical history, sacrificing a significant paycheck. Considering he was in increasingly failing health for the last decade of his life, who can blame him for trying to make some easy money towards the end; especially since he was doing it for his family.

I’m really not sure what Martin’s excuse is. Surely he should be making residuals from at least one thing he did in the past. Even if he isn’t making moolah from one of the bazillion magazine articles, plays, CDs or books he’s created, certainly he could sell off one of the Picasso’s or Seurat’s from his private collection if he were that badly in a bind. And let’s face it. A man, who is as clearly a bright, imaginative fellow as Steve Martin, has no reason to do a remake of Peter Sellars’ Pink Panther. And then its sequel. Or Clifton Webb’s Cheaper By the Dozen. And then its sequel. Or Spencer Tracy’s Father of the Bride. And then its sequel. Offhand I can also think of roles originally and memorably created by Phil Silvers, Jack Lemmon and even Marlon Brando that Steve apparently thought weren’t up to his standard. Luckily we have yet to see sequels of these remakes.

You know, it’s not even that I’m adamantly adverse to remakes. Every now and again they can be superior to the original. If your entire career is based on nothing but repetition, however, I think it’s time to reexamine your goals.

Early on Steve Martin generated some genuine magic with the vastly underrated Pennies From Heaven and Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid. I’ll even give him a pass on another remake of sorts, Roxanne, because at least he really did make that his own; but that was over two decades ago! Steve has done really nothing on film since that time other than impersonate other actors. He’s been doing it so long he can’t even remember his own personal style. Now it seems he’s attempting to commandeer Karl Malden’s style circa the San Francisco/American Express years.

Steve! Listen to me. Remember your individuality? Don’t leave home without it!!

Who? Who??

So I was sitting here procrasti…er…reflecting on some of my past observations here and getting depressed at the revelation I never have an original thought. I mean every time I think I’ve come up with an unusual concept, other people have covered the territory. Like that thing about Mickey Rourke. Or how Keira Knightley’s voice is offensive. And who knew so many people wanted John Simm to be the new Doctor, too?

And then I started to think about the recent announcement of David’s Tennant’s replacement on Doctor Who, and how it wasn't my Johnny. He really should have gotten the role and now the franchise is missing out on a golden opportunity. I’m not happy.

More importantly who is this other new guy? Matt Smith? Smith? Really? Sounds a little too convenient to have the same last name as one of the Doctor’s frequently used aliases. But who knows? Maybe it’s Matty’s real alias because I swear I’ve seen this guy somewhere before and I know that guy was not “Matt Smith.” Hmm.

AHA! I think I’ve got it. Now, let me just put my incredible photoshopping skills to work and I shall unmask this man, Scooby Doo Style. Or, in the following case, I need to mask him to prove my point.

Here is the so-called Matt Smith:

Slap on some heavier eyebrows:

Add mangled beard:

And finally give him a longer, parted in the middle, unkempt hairdo and you’d have:

Former Geico pitchman and star of the short-lived ABC series, Cavemen.

So that’s what happened to that guy. Shaved, got a new doo and new name. And now he’s the new Doctor. I’m not feeling optimistic. Sigh…Let’s just hope Matt “Don’t-Call-Me-Capt-Caveman” Smith doesn’t turn out to be the Ted McGinley of Doctor Who.

RIP Mr. Roarke

While I hope that now Ricardo Montalban is enjoying a piña colada with Hervé Villechaize in that fantasy island in the sky, my heart is screaming:



My sincerest condolences go out to Ricardo Montalban's family and friends.

Not Really A Golden Globe Recap

As usual, there really is so little reason that I should be writing here when I should be working but since I wasted an eternity watching the Golden Globes last night, I figured I could waste a few more minutes now discussing something here.

I was just planning to make what I thought was the singular observation that after several years of increasingly bizarre transformations, Mickey Rourke has now morphed into an amalgam of Captain Jack Sparrow and Ritchie Sambora.

Sadly, when I went online to find a pic of Mickey’s snazzy new pirate-ing fashion sensibility, I was dismayed to realize that a zillion other people had already come to that conclusion. I guess you could say they beat me to the “punch.” HA! Get it. I wrote “punch.” Cuz like Mickey plays a boxer in his new movie. Oh wait, dangit, he’s a wrestler. In fact I think the title of the movie is…The Wrestler. Way to go, Movie. Ruin the surprise of whether or not Mick’s a boxer by using his occupation in the title.

Now obviously since I haven’t seen this movie I can’t be totally certain, but judging from his past performances from back in the day when he was still considered an A-lister, I’m thinking Mickey’s win last night was more about the critics’ penchant for comeback stories than about real Mickey merit. I mean, he’s just never been that good of an actor. I was always baffled when they used to compare him to a young Marlon Brando. (Hint for any future actors attempting to emulate Brando: his brilliance had nothing to do with either mumbling or dishevelment!)

Far from the likes of Brando, Mickey seemed more like a poor man’s early version of Richard Gere, back in the days when Richard could only express two emotions – quiet rage and regular rage. Like Mickey, Gere was also undeservedly compared with Brando. In fairness to Gere however, while the Brando thing was and continues to be ludicrous, Gere’s has actually gotten better as the years have past. I guess age brought him a broader range of emotions and an understanding of subtlety.

Coincidently both of these actors have also co-starred with Diane Lane, who similarly, is simply not as outstanding an actress as the Hollywood Foreign Press would have had you believe when they gave her a nomination for Unfaithful. Then again, the powers that be over at the Golden Globes have never hidden their love of an actress willing, for the sake of artistry, to show off her own golden globes. (I truly am sorry for that. It really couldn’t be helped. But hey, I’m not the one that named an award show after their love of boobies!)

Still another coincidence concerning these three is that they have all worked with Adrian Lyne, director of Unfaithful. Not surprisingly he, like his aforementioned actors (Gere was also in Unfaithful and Mickey was in Nine ½ Weeks), Lyne has had a lot more attention than he deserves. In fact, I’m unclear how Adrian Lyne garnered any acclaim at all much less how or why he is able to continue to make movies. He is perhaps one of the most unimaginative directors of all time. Thank goodness he’s only had the opportunity to be boring nine times. Here’s hoping he doesn’t direct a tenth movie otherwise we might be stuck with another film filled with starkly lit sets and voyeuristic camera work, consisting of a multitude of rapidly cut sequences and extreme close-ups. Yes, Adrian is clearly fond of the quick zoom button on the camera.

Additionally, a new Lyne film would no doubt feature yet another shot of a rickety old elevator – either those big freight kinds or one of those open-gated kinds that you have to manually pull shut. Lyne has used elevator footage in Unfaithful, Fatal Attraction,
Nine ½ Weeks, and Flashdance. I never saw his first film Mr. Smith and offhand I can’t remember if Foxes, Indecent Proposal, Jacob’s Ladder or Lolita were elevator-laden or not; but I’ve got to assume they were. Adrian jest loves himself any chance to film rip-roarin’ elevator action. It doesn’t matter what kind. Hanging out with dead bodies like Richard Gere in Unfaithful or just riding up with a bike like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance. Naturally it was a forgone conclusion, as infamously showcased in Fatal Attraction, Adrian had to film this favorite piece of imagery while incorporating his other favorite piece of imagery – sex.

An Adrian Lyne film would be nothing without gratuitous sex. Nevertheless as with anything in a Lyne movie, even the sex scenes are derivative. Nine ½ Weeks' fun with food scene referenced Jennifer Beals’ love of lobster in Flashdance. Fatal Attraction borrowed its exhibitionism from Nine ½ Weeks. Indecent Proposal used bits from the last two and certainly Unfaithful grabbed stuff from all of the above. Why has no one noticed the fact that Lyne is a one-note hack.

But more importantly, how does this man merit such esteemed status? Because the bottom line is, for every one of Adrian Lyne’s films, if you take out big-name actors and remove the respectable soundtrack, all you’ve got left is late night Cinemax fare. There seems to be only one fundamental difference difference between Lyne and the Skinemax guys. Just like Lyne, the Skinemax directors are fond of recycling their scenes; but when they do it, they get labeled makers of soft-core porn. Lyne, conversely, gets labeled a visual maverick. I don’t get it.

Maybe he made some sort of deal with an unnatural, otherworldly thing and then Mickey found out about it and threatened to expose him and so in retribution, Lyne’s unnatural, otherworldly buddies messed up Mickey’s face because who’s going to listen to someone who looks like they chose to look like that. That can be the only explanation. Or else Mickey really did want to emulate Brando and in a hackneyed way, resorted to various physical transformations in order to possibly one day play the following people. You be the judge:

And just to remind you this is what Mickey’s punim looked like right around Nine ½ Weeks.

Nah, it’s definitely not the Brando thing. Adrian Lyne’s got himself some friends in some very low places who have access to an unending arsenal of ugly sticks.

Never Enough Leo In Your Life

Ok, there really are a plethora of other Leos in the world apart from THAT Leo. There's Da Vinci. There's..um...Tolstoy...um...

Anyway, DiCaprio's an above average actor but I maintain if River Phoenix was still around he would have stolen all of Leo's roles. But that's neither here nor there. (I never really got this expression but I am choosing to employ it here nevertheless. Let it not be said I'm not adventurous. Or let it be said. Wait, was there a double negative in there some where? Ok, digression...)

Point is, the Leo to which I am referring is Leo Sayer and I feel my last blog was remiss in not including at least one video of his. I give you a preemptive "your welcome" again. (Wait, is it "you're welcome? Ok, having focus issues...)



At the :25 mark, Leo looks precariously close to falling over when he picks up that first stone to hurl his angst into the ocean. CAREFUL LEO. I LOVE YOU MORE THAN I CAN SAY!

A Lil Something To Assuage Them Post-Holiday Blues

Back from the holidays and tragically super busy already. I have no recourse but to post a simple blog until I have more time. So here is the cover picture from the hit Leo Sayer album "Endless Flight."

You're welcome.

Raise a Glass in Toast to Happy Days’ Donny Most

So once again my dear four readers (two of which I know don’t really follow this blog that frequently and so if either of you are reading this now, disregard the following apology cuz you wouldn’t have noticed any prolonged absences anyway so I don’t feel a great need to plead forgiveness from either of you since both of you refuse to support my blogging endeavors with more regularity), I must needs make preemptive apologies since I shall be traveling out of town and will not be posting for a little while. Again.

At least this time my absence will be due to holidaying it up out in the winter wonderland and not just because I’m lazy or being forced to do actual work to pay the man. (I believe my New Year resolution will be to find out who the man is and then write him a taunting note.)

And since this will indeed my last post of 2008 I really should be taking advantage and squeezing out one more Bob Balaban tribute for maybe someone like Elsa Lanchester who is one of my all time fave actresses. In what movie has she not been spectacular?


As Charles Laughton’s nurse in Witness for the Prosecution, she manages to exude exasperation without being annoying; and in doing so, wound up taking what could have been an annoying character and transforming it into Dr. Watson to Laughton’s Sherlock Holmes.

During Lanchester’s even briefer turn as Katie Nanna in Mary Poppins, she is beyond hilarious as she takes off the “vote for women” sash, totally conveying the internal feeling of bile rising up her esophagus after being accosted by it and Glynis Johns.

But in choosing to emulate swans spitting and hissing for her portrayal as the Bride of Frankenstein, Lanchester is nothing short of genius. I love love love her!

But since I’m not going to write all that, I’m just going to combine my all-purpose happy holiday message with my all-time fave show:



AND HAVE A HAPPY AND SAFE NEW YEAR'S TO YOU AND YOURS!!!!!!!

Happy Birthday Esmerelda!

Other than “Happy Birthday,” I have absolutely no clue what these lyrics mean but I always loved this video, being a fan of early MTV. This of course was back in the days before that channel changed its format to the one it currently has – contrived reality show central, starring every has-been or never-was, displaying barely-dressed people, spouting out mostly bleep-censored stupidities. No, surprisingly enough, early MTV didn’t have any reality shows. Back in the baby MTV days, the channel’s lineup consisted solely of…you know…music videos. That would probably account for the reason MTV is an acronym for “Music Television”.

Also surprisingly, the videos they showed back then weren’t carbon copies of each other. Even more shocking, some of them didn’t even involve youthful sexual exploitation! Yeah a lot of those vids may have been bizarre and pointless (The Look of Love and Rock Me Tonight are good examples off the top of my head - though now I'm just disturbed after seeing Billy Squier crawl across the floor) but still, a lot of them managed to be pretty cool without scantily clad nubile girls gyrating during their lip-syncing. I mean, obviously there was some of that back then too, but those videos that did utilize young bimbos were usually starring older men rockers (i.e. Rod Stewart, ZZ Top, Robert Palmer and every single hair metal band) who, if they weren’t famous, would most likely never have had said bimbettes fawning all over them. Plus, if you were a video director back then, how else were you going to get the always highly coveted 18-to-34-year-old male demographic to watch three scraggily-bearded and generally dusty-looking old fogies? Naturally you’d let the guys make just a few key appearances and then hire the bimbettes to do the rest.

And let’s face it; the bimbettes had to have known why they were hired. They knew they had no other reason to be in the entertainment industry other than to be exploited for their bodies. If not for those videos, those scantily clad chicks would have just had to get jobs at Hooters that much sooner. But at least there was no question of what purpose those girls were meant to serve. They were fooling themselves the way that today’s young women singers do.

Today’s women singers dress far more provocatively and gyrate infinitely more suggestively than the gals in "Simply Irresistible" ever dreamed; yet seem to be under the impression that because their videos are on “their terms,” they are calling the shots. Somehow through the years, an incredibly skewed concept emerged that has completely deluded these women into thinking that as long as they aren’t being pushed into sexual exploitation, self-sexual exploitation is a powerful expression of feminism. And what’s really sad is that by continuing this tradition, these young women are doing nothing but perpetuating their objectification. I guarantee that the amount of young girls who actually feel empowered by watching Miley Cyrus is far outweighed by creepy old men in trench coats who feel something entirely different when watching Miley.

Although many came before, Madonna is almost always credited as the woman having started this trend. If that’s true, then in examining the 20 years of MTV since she came on the scene, one can see Madonna really did an incredible disservice to so many women, and her continued impact is truly staggering. There is nothing wrong with being sexy but being sexualized is really not the same thing, and by trying to suggest it is acceptable provided the person being sexualized is “in charge” of it doesn’t change a thing. It’s like those African American comedians who use that word in a joke and then become appalled when a white person, with no other intention other than finding the joke humorous and wanting to pass it on, restates the word. Queer Eye for the Straight Guy did the exact same thing. Gay people spent a generation attempting to eradicate that word and with one show it was brought back to the acceptable forefront. You simply can’t have it both ways. If a given word is generally deemed unacceptable to one, why would it be ok for another? If a behavior is regarded as unacceptable to many, why would one person’s ownership of that behavior be looked on any differently? At least Madonna’s gotten her somewhat just desert of late, looking and behaving nothing more than a decrepit joke. For someone who has spent a lifetime carving out a career of artifice, this has got to be a major tragedy.

But I don't care about Madonna and since I don't watch MTV anymore, I could care less about any of the people appearing on that channel. But I still remember the olden golden MTV days fondly and I still love the above Altered Images video. More importantly, I dedicate it to my lovely sister-in-law, Esmerelda, to whom I wish a very special Happy Birthday and Incredibly Splendiferous Year! Thanks for your constant support and making my brother an even better man than he already was!!!!

The Golden Globes Gave Awards to Pia Zadora, Sharon Stone and Madonna*. Not Sure I Respect Their Ideals.

I’m going to attempt a quick-ish post today, but considering I made the same attempt when I blogged about the Olympics the other day, I’m not feeling optimistic about the possibility. But I felt the need to post something because I have to go out of town for a few days, so I know I won’t be writing for a bit, and I didn’t do a Bob Balaban’s Unsung Heroes of Movies tribute this past week, and I feel like I should say something about the Golden Globes nominations.

Here goes: I have neither seen nor heard of 98% of the nominees.

Oh well, quick-ish attempt didn’t work. So sad I can’t be that succinct. And since I can’t be, I should take this opportunity to go ahead and showcase one of those Balaban Heroes. I should just throw out a name like Melinda Dillon, who was unbelievably sensational as the beleaguered mother in Close Encounters and utterly haunting as Paul Newman’s troubled and ill-fated friend in Absence of Malice (both movies coincidentally also co-starring Balaban himself).

But like all the best of the Bunch O' Bob Balaban Breed O' Brilliant Background Beguilers gang, she is one of those brilliant supporting actors who, although her name is not immediately recognizable, you totally know who she is. And to prove my point, if you turned on your TV in the past few weeks, you would have no doubt seen her as the weary yet somehow ever-resilient mother in the annual, seemingly constant rebroadcast of A Christmas Story. Yep, that’s her in the gray sweater, knocking over the “frah-gee-leh” leg lamp statue thing. And yeah, you’re right; she’s outstanding.

But no, I’m not going to talk about her. While I should be Balaban blogging, this posting is related to the Golden Globes I just mentioned, despite my lack of familiarity of today’s nominees. Well not so much all of the nominees, just specifically about the big deal everyone’s making about Heath Ledger’s posthumous nomination in not only the Globes but for all the upcoming noms he's going to be collecting in this forthcoming awards season.

Supposedly it’s a foregone conclusion that Heath is going to win everything. Fine, whatever. Maybe he was indeed fantastic in Batman; I don’t know, I didn’t see the film. It’s not that I have a Batman problem (although after the first Nolan-helmed one came out, I had a coincidental, bizarre and terrifyingly traumatic series of events involving real bats – but that’s a blog for another time). And it’s not that I think Heath was a bad actor. I actually think he had a lot of potential, but seriously, I think his sad and untimely death has given him an aura of having tragic untapped brilliance that is simply not warranted. I just don’t think he was as phenomenal as everyone makes him out to have been.

No doubt Ledger was a hard-worker and in the latter portion of his career he started making smarter and riskier choices. But really, even in his (maybe a total of 4) better choices, I honestly don’t feel his performances would have stood the test of time. Now, however, those performances will undoubtedly be elevated due to his premature death. When people go back and look at something like his completely overrated performance in Brokeback Mountain (an equally overrated and incredibly boring film that clearly got the accolades it did solely for being one of the first films to tackle the subject matter – again for another blog), they’re going to look at Heath with a more revered attitude and think solemnly of what might have been.

In a lot of ways, Heath reminds me of James Dean. Seriously, go back to Dean’s three films. He wasn’t nearly as good as his other method-era comrades Marlon Brando, Paul Newman, Montgomery Clift or my fave Sal Mineo – who incidentally, is the only real reason Rebel Without a Cause is still watchable.

Of Dean's other two films, Giant, despite its undue critical acclaim, is excruciatingly long and downright laughable in many parts. Dean’s only really good movie is East of Eden; but again, it is not his performance that is compelling but the staggering performances from Jo Van Fleet and Julie Harris that make this movie worthwhile. Yet Dean’s early shuffling (or in his case, driving super-fast) off this mortal coil has given him an iconic status that not only completely overshadows their fine jobs, but also undeservedly lifts him into the pantheon of all-time movie greats.

Unfortunately should he win an Oscar for his last completed performance, I suspect Heath Ledger will likewise be given directions to said pantheon. Yeah, this may sound mean of me, but ask yourself if you sincerely believe Heath was better than any of the above actors – especially like Balaban and Dillon, whose stellar careers are filled with an abundance of memorable portrayals deserving far more praise than that reserved for a joker.

*Just for your edification, they gave Zadora one for Butterfly, Stone for Casino and Madonna for Evita. Yep, they really did.

Where Oh Where Are You Tonight - Why Did You Leave Me Here All Alone* (Paul Williams)?

Why isn’t Paul Williams still famous?

I was going to initially write, “Whatever happened to Paul Williams” but when I had a quick glance over at the IMDb I noticed that the man has never really been out of work; he’s just not as ubiquitous as he once was.

Back in the 70s you couldn’t turn on the radio, go to a movie, catch an awards telecast or see a TV show that didn’t have some direct or indirect involvement from ole Paulie – the diminutive, bespectacled cutie who looked an awful lot like he might be Frodo’s distant hippie cousin. Or a baby pug. Regardless of his appearance, Paul Williams either co-starred in or co-wrote the music for everything in the 70s and wound up winning an Oscar, a couple Golden Globes and couple Grammys in the process.

As an actor he was in Smokey & the Bandit, Battle for the Planet of the Apes and my personal favorite, Phantom of the Paradise.

Ok, I said he co-starred in everything; I didn’t say they were necessarily good things. I admit to liking a lot of not-good things. Kiss Meets the Phantom of the Park for example. (Surprisingly not a sequel to the Williams flick but infinitely more embarrassing for Messrs Simmons, Stanley, Criss & Frehley.)

On TV, again despite the quality of material, Paul Williams was even more prolific. He appeared on Love Boat, Fantasy Island, even The Hardy Boys - the last on which he was saddled with an incredibly unfortunate name, “Allison Troy.” (Jealous of his fame were you, Hardy Writer Punks?)

But no doubt Paul Williams’ greatest contribution was music. He was the songwriter and/or co-songwriter behind:

“An Old Fashioned Love Song” – that very cool Three Dog Night tune, notable for its haunting opening and extremely awesome use of kazoo at the end, which is still frequently played on classic rock radio. (Personally I prefer Williams’ own recording of this one. I can’t quite figure out what it is that makes his voice so incredibly distinctive but it’s probably something to do with the ever-present quiver or high-ish pitch. It’s like he’s a real-life Muppet but in the most fabulous way. Maybe that’s what made him such a good guest on their show.)

“We’ve Only Just Begun” – that definitively schmaltzy and yet beguiling tune by The Carpenters, which has also managed to stay on the air waves lo these many years.

“Evergreen” – that Barbra Streisand theme song to A Star is Born (he shared his Oscar win on this with Babs).

The theme song to The Love Boat – Come on, don’t roll your eyes. It’s exciting and new!

The entire score from the aforementioned Phantom of the Paradise.

The entire score from the beyond brilliant Bugsy Malone (I admit it, I own the soundtrack!)


The entire score from The Muppet Movie.

“Rainbow Connection,” people!! Why are there so many songs about rainbows; but more importantly why did this song not win the Oscar over a song from Norma Rae which no one remembers???? And if for some reason someone is reading this and thinking hey, I know that Norma Rae song, then either you’re lying or you and the Oscar recipient of that song are the only ones who do in fact remember.

In any event, Paul Williams totally rocked and I am just sending out some well-deserved props to him. Dang, I just totally got down with my bad self!!

*Yeah, this refers to Hee Haw and yeah, Paul made an appearance on the show. But since I couldn't find a clip of Paulie singing this song, I decided to leave you with a clip of a ton of other people, including most notably, inexplicably and terrifyingly, Ernest Borgnine at 2:08.

Someone Over At WENN Wants To Be Wordsworth

So I was perusing the IMDb (Internet Movie Database) earlier today, as I am oft to do, because I am nearly always trying to remember some actor's name, who appeared in some obscure movie, that I vaguely remember seeing on cable 97 years ago; because that's just the kind of superficial info I am mostly interested in seeking out, because that's just the kind of gal I am. The IMDb is a my knight in shining armor in times like these.

The IMDb is also kind enough to keep me abreast of the most vital entertainment news of the day which I have to assume is accurate info seeing as how they get their breaking entertainment content from WENN (World Entertainment News Network) - a fairly respectable news wire service that also services the likes of Sony, Blockbuster and Bloomberg. Anyway, today (after I found out Miles Chapin was the actor who played Joel in French Postcards) I noticed a funny-looking headline in the trusty IMDb news section:

I couldn't help but be amused by the use of alliteration there. As I have mentioned many times before, I am a fan of anything alliterative. (Ho ho see what I did there?!) Usually, however, when I opt to employ this tactic, it is in context with something more or less fluffy in content. And while certainly infinitely greater writers than me have used this device in countless great literary works, I don't think I would be entirely wrong in suggesting that nowadays alliteration utilization is limited to children's books, songs and ad campaigns. Generally if it's used in any other literary medium, it's almost always to preface a silly or nonsensical story. (Dang, once I get started it's hard to stop.)

In any case, while I admit the accompanying Elisha Cuthbert story is absurd, it hardly warrants a headline that essentially says the author thinks this story is idiotic. I mean, yeah, I think it IS idiotic but I'm also thinking the people actually involved in the story don't think so; and perhaps they wouldn't appreciate a well-known and respected news agency mocking their situation by minimizing it with a snappy headline.

It seems that Ms. Cuthbert (I have no clue who this person is) previously had a relationship with some hockey player (also someone I've never heard of). Although Cuthbert is no longer with that particular hockey player, she obviously digs the sport because she is currently in a relationship with another hockey player. With me so far? Apparently Hockey Player 1 said of Hockey Player 2 that Hockey Player 2 was dating his (Hockey Player 1) "sloppy seconds."

As a result of this unseemly verbal b*tchslap, Hockey Player 1 has now been suspended. Apparently his comments offended Mr. Hockey Commissioner's delicate sensibilities; so Mr. Hockey Commissioner decided to take advantage of his commissioningness by taking decisive action. The Commish, evidently an Emily Post fan, stated, "Playing in the National Hockey League is a privilege, requiring a high standard of personal behaviour. Mr. Avery forfeits that privilege for six games."

I don't get it. Isn't hockey like THE sport for crass behavior - verbal and otherwise? I mean, apart from the "Do You Believe in Miracles" team I briefly mentioned in my last bloggy thing, I thought the main idea of hockey was to bash guys into walls and bad mouth each other's sisters. I know what I'm talking about. I've seen Slap Shot more than once. (Small moment of silence for the great Paul Newman.) And I'm willing to bet Elisha, seeing as how she seems to be a hockey groupie of sorts, has seen Slap Shot a few times as well. So yeah, she doesn't deserve to be referred to in that manner, but she can hardly be that surprised. In fact, if you think about it, she dated Hockey Player 1 for a while. She had to know he was a jerk.

As far as Hockey Player 2 is concerned, he's also got to be used to this sort of thing since hockey is the career path he chose, and obnoxious behavior is the cornerstone of the hockey industry. Again, I know this because Slap Shot told me so and I trust Michael Ontkean. (He was the naked one.)

Having said all that, it still doesn't make Hockey Player 1 a nice guy and obviously, considering all the hoopla his comments caused, a lot of people were hurt by this situation. And so, my point here is although this story is goofy in a lot of ways, all the players involved deserve more than:

And that's not even addressing the issue that at first glance, one could easily assume it was Cuthbert herself who made some sort of crazy comment. One could even think Cuthbert herself is crazy. And maybe in her craziness she made a comment that could have been construed as crazy which somehow culminated in Avery's suspension. Maybe Cuthbert was dreadfully disparaging and degrading. Maybe not, but this is how rumors get started, you know.

Alliteration has to be used more responsibly, WENN people! In some extreme cases it can lead to libel on some little-seen blog.

The Beijing Olympics Sucked

I wasn’t planning on writing at all this week due to the lingering food hangover I have from my participation in the annual glutton-fest of last week – otherwise known as Thanksgiving. But then I read that Michael Phelps was going to be the Sports Illustrated Sportsman of the Year and a flood of this past summer’s Olympic memories came…well…flooding back to me. Unfortunately most of them not good. Naturally I thought I should relay them here. (Racing pun oh so cleverly intended.)

Now please do not mistake me. Be it known I am a huge Olympics fan and I have a plethora of positive Wide World of Sports-type memories. In fact, that show (now sadly defunct) had a huge impact on me when Nadia Comaneci won gold in ‘76. Not that I am old enough to remember that particular Olympiad...at least distinctly…SHUT UP ANYONE WHO KNOWS ME!

Anyway, the folks over at Wide World of Sports were actually the ones who commandeered The Young and the Restless theme song changing it to “Nadia’s Theme,” thereby creating a simultaneous two-pronged effect – cementing Nadia as a one-named icon, and influencing thousands of would-be pianists to learn those first eight melancholy notes. In addition to my own failed musical aspirations, and naturally like a million other little girls at the time, I likewise flirted with the idea of being a gymnast. Well, for one day really. My sister Goo* was always better at that kind of stuff. You know, the being active kind of stuff.

Earlier that year when Dorothy Hamill won her gold medal, my big sister Dre accompanied me when I went out and got the requisite Hamill haircut, much to my mother’s chagrin. If I’m not mistaken, my mom still has that long, chopped-off ponytail of hair stashed away somewhere. Alas, this piece of history is a source of continuing conflict between Goo and myself because she is utterly convinced it was she who had the Hamill wedge; but I put it to you, gentle four readers, she must have banged her head doing one too many backbends into a handstand. The Hamill hairdo – twas mine.

Despite occasional familial strife it caused, the Olympics always had a magical way of pulling everyone together. Growing up, the games were always a source of camaraderie and amazing national pride. During the Olympics we were all able to believe in miracles. And don’t get me started with the ‘84 games in L.A. Those were some seriously golden times. I remember one evening Joan Rivers talking about them when she was hosting The Tonight Show. (This of course was back in the days when she still had a modicum of sense of humor, her original flesh and was still a welcome guest of Johnny Carson’s.) At one point during her monologue, Rivers stopped attempting anything funny, became sincere and said something along the lines that being an American during the those weeks of Olympics was one of the most gratifying and patriotic times of her life, wherein everyone around her pulled together for a common goal. The games epitomized "brotherly love."

Indeed, we were all proud of our Olympic representatives. There was nothing else on TV at the time that could compete with the ‘84 Olympics. It was like Seinfeld only without the anticlimactic finale. Because unlike Seinfeld (where they really should have ended it with that beyond brilliant backwards episode – did I mention I am a fan of alliteration?), the ‘84 Olympics were anything but anticlimactic – from beginning to the end.

This past summer I saw a lot of various internet chat, blogs, articles, etc. suggesting the Beijing Olympics had the best opening ceremony in history. I’m sorry; while it was indeed impressive seeing thousands of performers break into synchronized marching and drumming, it wasn’t anything particularly new or imaginative. I mean, didn’t we already see a bunch of Filipino prisoners manage to do the same sort of thing last year?

That 4 1/2 minute video was about 4 hours shorter than the opening ceremony with the added bonus that we didn’t have to contend with the moronic ramblings of Bob Costas. And quite frankly I thought the guys in orange were more impressive because they had to do all of their boogying whilst not breaking into hysterics at the sight of that balding guy skipping around doing his Ola Ray impersonation. (Ola was the gal in the original Thriller video who pretended to have the hots for Michael Jackson, which obviously confused her so much that she ended up doing a sort of lackluster version of John Cleese’s silly walk.)

Needless to say, when I read all that online best ceremony stuff, I immediately remembered the ‘84 games. Sure some of the things may now seem dated but at the time they were incredibly inventive - especially compared to Beijing. Yeah, this year it was kinda cool when Li Ning ran around the top of Beijing National stadium but he was attached to a harness. Back in ‘84, Bill Suitor didn’t have no stinkin’ harness. Suitor flew into the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum on a jet pack!



And yeah, Ning’s actual lighting of the cauldron was pretty spectacular but was it more so than when Cathy Freeman, a symbol of Australian Aboriginal unity, did so in Sydney 2000, standing under a blaze of fire, surrounded by water? Was it more astounding than Atlanta ‘96, when Muhammad Ali, in defiance of the Parkinson's that robbed him of his physical grace, stood gracefully and triumphantly in front of an overawed and emotional crowd who cheered him on as he ignited the self-propelling flame which exploded into the cauldron?

Those unforgettable moments notwithstanding, again the precedent was set in ‘84. Rafer Johnson, 1960 decathlon winner and first African American to carry the flag in any opening ceremony at those games, ran up ninety-nine steps to reach up and light a wick that sent flames shooting through the Olympic rings toward its final destination. Before this version, all the previous lightings were dealt with in more or less the same fashion, with the final torchbearer standing alone atop a stage and then just tapping the torch down into to the cauldron like the Blue Fairy zapping Pinocchio on the noggin.

Hell, even the Olympic fanfare that we all know and love (or at least forced to love since it comes on in advertisements about five months before the games even begin) made its first appearance during the ‘84 games. You may think it’s been around forever because it sounds so definitively Olympian but, in fact, it was written by none other than John Williams. Yes, that John Williams. The same guy who composed the music for Star Wars, Jaws, Close Encounters (pretty much any Spielberg or Lucas production), created that Olympic theme specifically for the ‘84 games. Conversely, Beijing’s musical contribution seems to have had less of a lasting effect than William’s, perhaps because any effect it might have had was overshadowed by the fact that they forced a cute little girl to lip-sync to a lesser cute girl’s voice.

Comparing the closing ceremonies, I must say 1984 still comes out on top. Beijing started very promisingly but then swiftly became annoying in length and even slightly nauseating in structure. For example, why were there a bunch of men (inexplicably dressed as those football-playing, Oompa Loompa-wannabes from Dino De Laurentiis' Flash Gordon) continuously moving up and down that weird beehive thing?


But truly nothing was worse than the English contribution to the show.

I apologize to anyone in or around the UK who may happen to be reading this, but come on. That was just a pathetic effort any way you look at it. Maybe Boris Johnson’s attitude pervaded the rest of the English portion’s psyche. He was that portly albino that was handed the Olympic flag since London is hosting the next summer games.

Perhaps it’s just me but, as Mayor of London and as a representative of the United Kingdom and considering he was appearing in front of a global audience for the first time, you would think ole Boris might have treated the event with an ounce more protocol. Nah. Boris clearly eschewed decorum in favor of dishevelment. He must have been in a hurry since he had evidently just rolled out of bed and simply couldn’t be bothered to tuck in his shirt or brush his hair. You just totally expected Boris to break into a very thick cockney accent, turn to Mayor Guo Jinlong and ask, “Oi, you wanna get a pint after?”

I guess you can’t blame the English creative team’s collective attitude after that. But wow, there was just so much there that was just so not good. Fine, I get the double-decker bus is symbolic of England. (I guess the Union flag, Big Ben, Tower of London, London Eye, Stonehenge and even Beefeaters were all too unfamiliar symbols.) But why turn your double-decker into some sort of weird and creepy hairy thing that looked as if it required immediate mulching?

And fine, maybe Leona Lewis is a big star over there but I gotta say, having some girl, unfamiliar to a vast majority of people, gyrating...er...singing next to a rapidly-aging Jimmy Page (about whom, sad to say, a lot of youngsters these days are equally unfamiliar) was perhaps not a memorable artistic move. I’m also not sure why one would think an alleged former Satan-worshiper would be at the top of the list of people to best represent England. Furthermore, I think it was an ill-advised move for Page to represent in the manner he chose. I mean, if you didn’t know who he was and you just saw this old geezer reciprocating a young girl’s gyrations on public transit, you’d run over to him and either instinctively spray him down with mace or kick him in his led zeppelins.

Even David Beckham looked embarrassed to be involved. I think he thought people might not notice he was there if he didn’t bother to exert too much energy into kicking the soccer ball out to the audience, which is why I think he may have managed to send it out a whopping two feet. Perhaps he just couldn't see over the bus' hedges.

Now compare the chia bus of ‘08 to the space ship of ‘84.


Yeah, the 1984 Olympics ended with a SPACE SHIP!

It was so real to so many people that to this day there are sites where you can find people arguing its legitimacy. Funny, I would have thought the appearance of the Captain Eo-lookin' alien at the end bit would have pretty much ended that debate. Yes, that part was admittedly goofy, but the music and majesty of the event was, nonetheless, nothing short of amazing. No question, the closing ceremonies of the ‘84 Summer Olympics soundly trounced those of 2008. More than that, I say the entire 1984 Summer Olympics experience was better that that of ‘08. Perhaps in my next excessively long tirade, I might even manage to compare the actual athletic events!

To those who would say the 2008 games were the best, I say they started off ok but went downhill faster than a giant slalom skier. Forgive me for mixing my Summer and Winter Olympiads. Must be the residual Thanksgiving tryptophan making me more than unusually goofy. Oh and also please forgive my goofy metaphor. I’ve been watching a lot of City Confidential reruns and if you’ve ever seen that show you know goofy metaphor-making is their favorite pastime.


*I'll speak to Goo about coming up with a better blogging alias.