Monthly Archives: May 2010

Cinematics

Suck Knows No Gender

Sex and the City 2 has now been unleashed upon the world. Judging from general public opinion (i.e., people I follow on Twitter and Facebook), the backlash against this movie is so enormous, I wonder if anyone is going to see it in either a non-ironic fashion or without the express purpose of pissing themselves off.

Personally, I have no plans to see it and, god willing, never will. Then again, I always swore I would go through life without seeing an episode of Two and a Half Men, but a flat tire and a Strauss Auto Parts waiting room conspired to break that vow. But even with this willful ignorance, I’m sure that all of the negative reviews/reactions are completely on the mark. Particularly this hilarious, Haterade-drenched review in The Stranger.

It’s not the woman-y-ness of the SATC franchise that bugs me. I object more to the City part of the title, because the New York on the show resembles no reality known by 99.9% of New Yorkers. It’s the perfect Giuliani-era show, because like Rudy’s administration, it has no use for anyone who makes less than seven figures a year (or anyone of color, either). In SATC, New York is a glittery playground full of cosmotinis and obscenely priced shoes and gourmet cupcakes, where the non-rich only exist at the peripheries as nannies, waiters, and fuck-toys.

(I also don’t understand why the show has such a huge gay following when all of its gay characters are outdated, flamboyant, queeny stereotypes. But that’s not really my battle to fight.)

However, as Julie Klausner points out here, I’m clearly not the market for this entertainment. It’s meant for lady-types, and I’m not a lady-type. I can criticize it all I want, but I’m not sure doing so is useful in any way. It’s almost as pointless as going to a restaurant and judging the steak served to the guy at the next table.

And is SATC really any worse than most popular culture, which is overwhelmingly aimed at guys? Truth be told, the Dudertainment out there is every bit as lame and infuriating. Just look at this small list of phallocentric glop and tell me it’s any worse than SATC. Go ahead, I dares ya.

Entourage: I have seen no more than 15 cumulative minutes of this show, almost all of it in YouTube clips. Nevertheless, I feel qualified to say this: It is one of the worst things human beings have ever made, right behind the hole in the ozone layer and the BP oil spill. I can’t fully divulge what I want to do to everyone associated with this show, because it might be considered prosecutable hate speech.

The stakes for this show could not be lower or more homicide-inspiring. Rich, famous assholes want to get richer and more famous. There is not a single person on this show that I would cross the street to piss on if they were on fire. The fact that Entourage is exclusively aimed at men is perhaps the biggest argument against penises ever made.

THERE’S A GUY NAMED TURTLE ON THIS SHOW! I DON’T KNOW WHY THAT PISSES ME OFF, BUT GOOD LORD, IT PISSES ME OFF!

Just look at this. Look at what these people did with cameras and lights and bajillions of dollars. Look at this and tell me these people don’t deserve to be waterboarded. 



Transformers: I don’t know what’s worse: the movies themselves, or people who complain that their suckitude has somehow retroactively ruined their childhood. Transformers was never any good, you guys. It was just on TV when you were a kid. Don’t confuse nostalgia for quality. Most of the things you liked when you were 8 are not any good. That’s why you don’t have fluffernutter sandwiches for lunch everyday anymore. At least I hope you don’t.

Comic Book Movies: Yes, there are many lady-types who like comic books. But the recent spate of movie adaptations are clearly aimed at the BOOM! POW! Dude Audience. This trend has resulted in one masterpiece (The Dark Knight) and two entertaining movies (the first two Spider-Man flicks). All the rest of these movies are thoroughly expendable. You could have not made any of them and the world would have kept on spinning just fine. They either eschew any kind of story so stuff can get blowed up real good, or they try to cram way too much back story and exposition/origin tale in a vain
effort to woo the Nerds (who will hate it anyway).

Like how The Avengers movie has been setup/teased in the last slew of films based on Marvel comics. A large chunk of Iron Man 2 involves Nick Fury trying to woo Tony Stark into The Avengers. And by the end of the movie, he’s still thinking about it! It’s okay to stretch out resolution across five or six issues of a comic book. It’s NOT okay to do that in a movie. That’s like if George Lucas devoted huge portions of the Star Wars prequels to discussions of trade tarriffs. Oh, wait…

Ultimate Fighting: Take boxing, add kicking, subtract the troublesome rules and sense of fair play, and voila! All sports are, in one sense or another, a form of combat. Ideally, they are a sublimated form of combat, where man’s desire to kill and maim is channeled through a proxy (the team you root for). They shouldn’t be televised bar fights, which is what ultimate fighting, for all intents and purposes, is.

So before you take a big dude-dump all over Sex and the City 2 (which it probably deserves, mind you), just think of all the Pure Garbage aimed at your own nutsack.

Football

Op-Ed: A NYC Super Bowl Is a Bad Idea, by A Giant Douchebag

Here to present his opinion on why a Super Bowl in New York is a bad thing is A Giant Douchebag.

sbdouche.gifI’m only gonna say this once, because time is money, capisce? Especially my time. I make more caysh in one afternoon than you do all year. I don’t know who you are, but if you’re 98 percent of the population, what I just said is true.

The Super Bowl should NOT be in a cold-weather city in an outdoor stadium in the middle of December, or whenever the hell the Super Bowl is. We have a Super Bowl so titans of marketing like yours truly can go schmooze and hob nob with other titans of marketing for a week. If you have it in a city like New York, I’ll be freezing for those 30 seconds when I’m getting out of my limo and climbing into the stadium shuttle bus.

Some people think snow and cold weather are great for football. Hey numbnuts, get your dicks outta your ears and listen: I could give two shits about football. Same goes for everyone else who goes to the Super Bowl. We’re here to party on the company dime and be seen. If everyone else in the industry gathered around a steaming pile of diarrhea, I’d go to that, too, and I wouldn’t have to pretend I like a buncha thyroid cases in spandex running around, either.

New York’s great, don’t get me wrong. Where else could I spend so much dough on so little? I know this place in Soho that sells $7000 fortune cookies. The same exact ones you can get from a take out place. I bought one, cuz I could and you can’t.

But how am I supposed to pull up to some hot club in my Maserati in New York winter weather? You know what road salt does to a Maserati? Of course you don’t, because you’ve never seen one. My Maserati’s even more special than all the other ones you’ve never seen, because mine has a special paint job. Oils mixed by Da Vinci. No shit. I have to get it recoated every time the temperature goes over 75 degrees. Costs me a fucking fortune, not that it matters to me.

Here’s the other bad thing about New York: the people who work here aren’t thrilled to see you. There’s too many big shots here already, so when an A-list mad man like myself shows up, no one gives a shit. Not like other Super Bowls I’ve been to. When I went to Jacksonville, I paid six guys to carry me around on their shoulders from club to club. In Detroit, I ordered foie gras at this one restaurant, ate it, and paid a waitress to let me regurgitate it back into her mouth, like a bird.

You can’t get away with that in New York. The waitresses there are all uppity. Even the strippers act like they got dignity!

Hold on, I gotta take this.

NO, I SAID 6:47 FLIGHT, NOT A 6:48 FLIGHT, YOU STUPID CUNT! I SWEAR TO ASS-RAPING GOD, IF I’M ONE SECOND LATE TO SUNDANCE NEXT YEAR, I AM GOING TO MAIL YOU MY SHIT IN A BOX FROM ASPEN AND MAKE YOU EAT IT, AND MAKE YOU VIDEOTAPE YOURSELF EATING IT SO I CAN WATCH IT WITH THE WEINSTEIN BROTHERS!

Gotta roll. Meeting a Murdoch for lunch. Can’t remember which one, doesn’t matter.

A Giant Douchebag demands to know if you know who he is.

Baseball

The Baseball Purgatory of Joe Buck

joebuck2.jpgOn Saturday, we visited friends to take in game 2 of the Subway Series, a rare evening Fox broadcast. These friends are Yankee fans, but we agree on this point: Joe Buck is awful. Much of our in-game conversation revolved around his hideousness. (We pretty much left Tim McCarver’s performance alone; at this point, making fun of Tim is like busting on the fat kid in your grade who’s been left behind three times.)

As the game ground to a conclusion, Joe Buck sounded positively crestfallen. And when Frankie Rodriguez finally struck out Francisco Cervelli to end it, Buck was despondent. I thought maybe it was because he expected the Yankees to mount a comeback (an effort the Mets’ bullpen did its best to aid). Especially since the general tenor of the broadcast depicted the Mets as little more than an inconvenient molehill in the mountain that is the Yankees’ season.

But my friend countered with something that really struck a chord. “He’s not sad because he wanted the Yankees to win,” my friend said. “He’s just sad because he realizes he still has to call baseball games.”

This is a theory I’ve had for a while and written about more than once, but I’ve never heard put quite this way before. I’ve said that Buck secretly hates baseball and unfavorably compared him to Chip Caray, another legacy broadcaster who also sucks but who is at least animated. I’ve even thought Buck is trapped in a purgatory of his own design.

It never occurred to me that maybe Buck hopes that each baseball game he calls might be his last. Perhaps a wildcat work stoppage will grind the big leagues to a halt. Perhaps MLB will get fleeced by a Bernie Madoff-esque con artist and lose so much money it’s forced to close its doors. Perhaps some strange psycho-social event will alter the collective American consciousness so much that professional sports will no longer be a viable industry.

Maybe he thinks that if he just does just this one more game, he’ll be released from this Faustian bargain, the one where he asked for fame and fortune in exchange for going into the family business that he hates. Is there any realistic chance it this Last Game will ever come? Of course not. But he has to think there is or go mad.

In a book I read recently (I want to say it’s Paul Auster’s Invisible, but I’m not 100 percent sure about that, so don’t quote me), two characters wonder if the damned would have hope. They come to the conclusion that in order for Hell to have any meaning, the damned have some kind of hope. If they didn’t, they would resign themselves to the horrors of hell, no matter how bad they were, and it wouldn’t truly be hell.

Therefore, Buck must believe that he will be released from his torture, even though only the grave will release him from this obligation. It would be chilling, even sad, if it wasn’t happening to Joe Buck, who is fucking horrible.