All posts by Matthew Callan

Boob Tubery

I’m a Schizophrenic, and So Am I

In one episode of Mystery Science Theatre 3000, the featured movie is so awful–the legendarily putrid Manos: The Hands of Fate–that Joel and the ‘bots are almost rendered speechless by its sheer ineptitude. One long stretch passes where none of them say anything, because there’s nothing they can say that will compete with the film’s epic failure. After what seems like forever, Tom Servo simply comments, “This movie has certain flaws.”

I felt the same way the MST3K scribes must have as I watched the premiere episode of The United States of Tara, the new Showtime series and brainchild of Juno screenwriter Diablo Cody.

The show is nowhere near as awful Manos–few things short of war crimes are–but it is almost as hard to watch. I watched the premiere on Showtime’s website, and seriously, I had to pause it every five minutes because I couldn’t believe what I was watching. Calling it a train wreck would be insulting to disasters.

tara.jpgPremise: The titular character is a 40-something mom of two with multiple personality disorder. She’s like Bruce Banner, except that when she gets all stressed out, she doesn’t transform into The Hulk, but one of an array of hilariously costumed “alts” (as her family refers to her other selves).

I don’t know enough about multiple personality disorder to say how someone suffering from it should act, or react, or what would trigger their transformations. But I also shouldn’t have to read the DSM-IV to enjoy a show. Thus, I have no problem saying that Tara’s transformations are way too broad to be believable.

The first episode shows her as a horny, credit card-stealing teenage girl named T, and a redneck lout named Buck. I won’t describe them further, because it’s unnecessary. Just let the stereotypical look/mannerisms pop in your head; I’m sure your brain will match them perfectly.

Why did Cody stop at these two archetypes? Why not have Tara think she’s Napoleon, or Abe Lincoln, or a frog? It’d be just as plausible, and definitely more subtle.

Continue reading I’m a Schizophrenic, and So Am I →

Football

Texts Sent to Giants Stadium Security on Sunday

“Most N.F.L. stadiums now post telephone numbers for fans to send text messages to summon security personnel…By using text messages to summon security guards,
offended fans do not have to confront fellow spectators who may react
with verbal abuse or violence; they need not look obvious when seeking
ushers or guards.” — NY Times, 1/10/09

philly fan taunting me bout mets collapse even though i’m wearing a jeter jersey. help!

just saw guy in freddie mitchell jersey. srsly? wtf!

blinded by tom coughlin’s red red face

sitting in sec 127, clearly see mcnabb not harrassed all day. disgraceful.

cannot see field, too many yellow flags.

huge fat ass blocking like 90% of my view. oops, sorry, it’s andy reid.

puked into urinal, can’t flush it down. lil help?

pickin up weird sense of superiority and entitlement from philly fans. think apocalypse is upon us. repent!

NYC

Pick Out Somebody You Wanna Punch

Guess I’m in an angry mood this morning. Maybe I shouldn’t listen to Jay Reatard on the way to work. But whatever the cause, I spotted four people along my commute that I wanted to hit really hard.

Victim #1: Corner of Flushing and Wythe, youngish man wearing gray trenchcoat, stovepipe pants, black/white saddle shoes and a Homburg hat. Presumably he doesn’t want to be late to his audition for a Noel Coward play revival, or the F. Scott Fitzgerald Lookalike Contest. He walks gingerly over the ice-covered sidewalk in this fey, tip-toey gait that makes me hate him even more for some reason. He could have skimped on some of that vintage wear and used the money to buy winter boots, so he wouldn’t dirty his spats by slipping and breaking an ankle.

Victim #2: Further down Flushing, by the Navy Yard. Guy in suit walks very casually down cross street. As the bus nears him, he signals it with two hands, like he’s hailing a cab. Mind you, he makes no effort to speed up in any way. He clearly expects this bus to screech to a halt and await his arrival like he was the King of Busville. To his credit, the bus driver keeps right on driving.

Victim #3: Further yet down Flushing, after making a stop the bus pulls away from the curb in a normal bus-like fashion. We are beeped at by an aggressive driver who wants to make a left into the studio entrance we are now blocking as we wait for the light to turn green. I take a peek at the car. It’s a white Mercedes. From my angle, I can just make out the driver’s left hand, encased in a leather glove, clutching a Starbucks coffee cup. I think to myself, Wow, I can only see about 5% of this guy’s body, and I hate him.

Victim #4: Off the bus, walking down Front Street. Half a block away, guy in puffy jacket and backpack doing overly demonstrative tai-chi exercise. Not in a park or on his porch, but on the sidewalk. Arms flailing, big leg kicks, like he works at the Ministry of Silly Walks. I think he must see me staring at him hatefully, because he stops doing it and crosses the street. Mind you, he was at least 50 feet away from me.

And it’s only Monday. Shoot me now.