THE AMERICAN — The story is that George Clooney is an American.  There’s also quite a bit of intrigue.  In one scene, he’s in line for donuts when some asshole cuts in front of him.  Clooney gives him a thorough dressing down and the man apologizes, saying that he didn’t see the line.  That’s when our boy George gives the acting performance of his life — he exasperatedly gestures to the dozen people obviously queuing in front of the register and gives an exhale that is both understated and overblown.  A masterful performance.  Two stars.

GOING THE DISTANCE — It’s a romantic comedy with Warren Cheswick and the girl from E.T..  The best part is when it looks like their relationship isn’t going to make it.  Then they realize they were made for each other and that they could survive any turmoil as long as they communicate.  Kudos to the actors who played the friends of the main characters for offering such excellent comic relief.  Two stars.

RESIDENT EVIL: AFTERLIFE 3D — I think that’s how the title of the movie went.  It was those elements put in some order.  I must say, I’m still a little queasy from all the three-dimensional brain spatter.  In this movie, Milla Jovovich has to prolong the life of a dying world for another day.  Infected zombies rule the planet and… okay, I have to be honest.  I slept through most of this one.  I think I remember one scene in which Jovovich was searching for some sort of vaccine, but the room that had the vaccine was totally filled with brain-hungry zombies.  Using weapons that wouldn’t work in real life, she dispatched of all of them by the time I drifted off for a second time.  Two stars (for what I saw).

LEGENDARY — That’s right, John Cena has another movie.  What sets this apart from his other WWF-produced dude-schlock is that this movie is actually about wrestling.  Sort of.  Cena’s a convicted felon and has a younger brother who looks nothing like him and is less than half his size.  Since John Cena is his big brother, the kid dreams of becoming a mediocre high-school wrestler.  Cena goes out of his comfort zone to play not just a wrestler, but a reluctant and angry wrestling coach.  The film goes off the rails by the third reel, unfortunately, as the script goes overboard with Cena’s coaching powers.  Just after the climax, the 110-pound fifteen-year-old is able to subdue, pin, and disembowel a mugger played by Michael Clarke Duncan.  Frankly, it took me out of the movie.  Two stars.

WALL STREET 2: MONEY NEVER SLEEPS — It’s been said, but Jesus tap-dancing Christ, that’s a terrible title.  Money never sleeps?  It also never wakes up or eats breakfast.  It’s money.  Anyway, Michael Douglas reprises his role from Wall Street, which I think was made in the ’80s.  Or maybe Michael Douglas is reprising Kirk Douglas’s role from the original movie that was made in the ’60s.  Either way, the movie gave me as confused a look as Shia LaBeouf had through most of the movie.  “What’s that, father-in-law former Wall Street bigwig Gordon Gekko?  I get a private jet?  Why?  Okay, thanks.”  “What’s that, screenwriter?  Money can turn people into assholes if they aren’t careful?  Why?  Okay, thanks.”  Two stars.

HOWL — James Franco plays Allen Ginsberg in what I thought was going to be a biopic about the poet.  Instead, it was another James Franco meta-joke.  It was ninety minutes of Franco wearing a goofy wig and reading Ginsberg’s poetry aloud to an increasingly impatient day care.  Going on General Hospital was one thing, but wasting my precious time-travel time took it too far.  Two stars.

THE SOCIAL NETWORK — It’s a movie about Facebook.  It’s real.  I promise.  They’re making a movie about Facebook.  But don’t worry; it’s about the founders of Facebook, not the social networking site itself.  At least that’s what I think it was about.  I took the same strategy with the movie that I take with Facebook — as most of the theatre watched the movie without realizing that four hours had passed, I sat down for five minutes, got bored, left, then came back the next day to see if anything changed.  It didn’t.  Two stars.

IT’S KIND OF A FUNNY STORY — Kind of.  Two stars.

SECRETARIAT — Diane Lane plays the owner of Secretariat in this “Based on a True Story” picture.  It’s a heartwarming tale that really teaches you a lot about the inner workings of horse racing.  Unfortunately, I think Diane Lane has it in her contract that she must be portrayed as impossibly sexy in every film.  The resulting romance between Lane and the legendary horse provided Lane’s most uncomfortable love scene since Nights in Rodanthe.  Two stars.

JACKASS 3-D — Holy.  Shit.  I never thought I’d have so much fun seeing a grown man get circumcised by a crocodile.  The fact that it was in 3-D made it even better.  If you’re a man who likes watching other men hurt themselves and laugh at each other about it, this is your Citizen Kane.  I don’t care if I’ve already seen it; I’m going opening night, and you’re coming with me.  Four stars.

-Darrell

NFC WEST
The Cardinals’ biggest question is whether Matt Leinart will mature enough to stop acting like he’s still in college and go back to playing like he did… in college.  Speaking of USC, Pete Carroll took over for the Seahawks; he plans to continue his winning ways by making sure that all his players are paid in secret.  The Rams have been terrible of late, but many are optimistic that Sam Bradford can lead them to the promised land of a four-win season.  The 49ers look to be the biggest threat to the Nals’ streak, but only if their players manage to survive their own training camp.  My prediction: Cardinals win the division at 9-7, and Leinart will get credit only from the most casual of fans.

AFC WEST
The Chargers ran away with the division last year, mostly because the Broncos forgot how to play football after their bye week.  Expect what’s-his-name… Josh Matthews!  That guy — expect him to have his players prepared.  Because otherwise, um, they won’t be prepared.  (Side note for broadcasters of Broncos games: his name is Knowshon Moreno — more-RAY-no.  His name is not pronounced like Dan Marino’s.  Get it right.)  Raider Nation is abuzz about the addition of Jason Campbell, which is interesting, since the Redskins are abuzz about the subtraction of Jason Campbell.  The Chiefs are in this division, too.  I actually think they’re due to overachieve for once.  Still, it’s the Chargers’ division.  I’ll conservatively give them 17 wins this season, which would be a record in a 16-game season (final record: seventeen and negative one).

NFC NORTH
In Hell this year, I’m told that the Super Bowl will be Vikings vs. Broncos with Brett Favre and Tim Tebow starting.  The only thing keeping it from happening is Favre’s ankle and Orton’s talent… and the fact that the Packers are a better team.  Now I can breathe easier.  Also, Bears and Lions!  The only plus for the Bears is that their receivers are named Johnny Knox (so we all can call him Jackass) and Devin Aromashodu (which is almost as fun to say as TJ Houshmandzadeh).  As for the Lions, they get to play on Thanksgiving.  Like always.  Prediction: Packers take it at 12-4.

AFC NORTH
Everybody’s high on the Ravens, presumably because they added another killer to their roster in Donte’ Stallworth.  (Non-football fans: I mean that literally.  Baltimore now has at least two players who have killed people.  Fun fact, right?)  Unfortunately, that swagger will be offset by the super-talented but unfortunately non-felonious Anquan Boldin.  He’ll play outstandingly, but he’s too nice of a guy to win the AFC North.  Nope, what a team needs to win the North is as many crazy assholes as possible.  The Steelers are trying their best to win that competition by keeping sleazeball Ben Roethlisberger on the team, but I don’t think it’s enough.  Same goes for the Browns, who have stepped backwards by signing a washed-up (and, by all accounts, nice) Jake Delhomme.  That leaves the Bengals.  Both their starting wideouts have reality dating shows currently running on cable, and their third receiver has a history of fighting with his coach and failing drug tests.  Their running back has been charged with marijuana possession, boating drunk, and punching a bartender.  If Carson Palmer rapes a kitten this year, the Bengals will win the Super Bowl.  They get twelve wins, even without the kitten rape.

NFC SOUTH
Can we just give this division to the Saints?  Everybody loves them, everybody’s happy for New Orleans.  In true Mardi Gras fashion, let’s keep the party going.  Fuck the Falcons, Buccaneers, and Panthers.  Nobody wants to watch them play.  The division’s QBs not named Drew Brees are Matt Ryan, Matt Moore, and Josh Freeman.  Now close your eyes and tell me those names right back.  Can’t do it, can you?  That’s a sign of suck.  Saints go 16-0, and the other three teams go winless.  That’s right, every non-Saints divisional game will end in a tie.

AFC SOUTH
Every year, people get high on the Houston Texans.  They talk themselves into their offensive talent and improved defense and think that this will finally be the year that they get over the hump.  There’s reason for it, too — they legitimately get a little better every year, but have never made the playoffs.  They’re the football equivalent of an asymptote.  The Jaguars have a great shot with Maurice Jones-Drew and Mike Sims-Walker, but only if hyphens translated to wins.  The Titans will be better with a full season of an emotionally stable Vince Young, but living in Tennessee might not help matters.  Peyton Manning and the Colts will continue to dominate despite the fact that their head coach has no identity.  I suspect that he might not even have a reflection.  In sum, this division is anybody’s guess.  I’ll go with the Texans in a surprise 11-5 season, just so I can be smug if it happens.  If it doesn’t happen, at least I won’t be surprised.

NFC EAST
Everyone’s excited about this division.  Will the Cowboys play to their potential and become the first team to play a Super Bowl in its home stadium (thereby giving Jerry Jones the biggest hard-on in human history)?  Will Donovan McNabb lead his new Redskins teammates to greatness, or will he throw up on himself and forget the rules?  Will the Eagles shake off their demons, or will they be dragged down by Kevin Kolb’s inexplicably silent L?  And will any more Giants accidentally shoot themselves?  I have no idea, but since I forced myself to make predictions, I’ll say all four teams finish a “strong” 8-8 with the McNabb-free Eagles winning the fourth tiebreaker, which we all know is a coach-played Madden ’11 tournament on Xbox 360.  Andy Reid’s gotta be good at video games — just look at him.

AFC EAST
The only team I like in this division is the Bills.  Unfortunately, they’re also the most depressing and least talented.  Their quarterback is named Trent, for fuck’s sake.  Even worse, their starting running back is CJ Spiller, a name that guarantees two fumbles per game.  The Dolphins won’t be much better, even though they have the magic of Bill Parcells making phone calls.  The Patriots should be raring to go, as Tom Brady is now two years away from his injury, meaning he’ll be in good condition to throw touchdowns and impregnate actresses.  The Jets, though, have the best chance of all because as I’ve intimated repeatedly, names matter.  The New York Jets are owned by a gentleman named Woody Johnson.  That’s your Super Bowl champion right there.

-Darrell

Funnily enough, this post coincides with a recent episode of Man v. Food that centered in Phoenix.  I was excited about this episode because there’s a host of great restaurants in the Valley.  He delivered on one restaurant — the minute I heard that Adam Richman was in Phoenix, I immediately hoped that he would go to Los Reyes.  Full name Los Reyes de La Torta, it’s a fantastic Mexican joint on 7th Street at Dunlap.  It has great seafood, aguas frescas, and everything else.  Its signature dish is a gut-bomb torta named the Del Rey that has… well, let Adam show you the deliciousness.

Done looking at that glorious sammich?  Good.

As much as I appreciated that he went to Los Reyes, his other two choices were less than perfect.  Fans of the show know that the featured restaurant always has some food-eating contest that the host will attempt to win.  This episode he went to Chompie’s to eat a bunch of sliders.  (He couldn’t finish.)  My problems with Chompie’s are twofold: first, a New York deli in Arizona might be unique, but it doesn’t exactly capture an epicure’s idea of Phoenix.  We are a culture of transplants, but I’d prefer that Adam Richman choose something that has more to do with our identity rather than New York’s.  My second problem is much more selfish: I don’t care for New York deli sandwiches.  The meat-to-bread ratio is way too large, and most of them have few or no vegetables.  That makes for a bad sammich in Darrellsville.

The other place he went was Alice Cooperstown.  I love Alice Cooper and I love his restaurant.  I do.  It’s a good sports-themed restaurant with great food and cool rock memorabilia on the walls.  It feels like if Hard Rock Cafe had reasonable prices, better food, and a soul.  However, it was a lousy choice to feature on Man v. Food for a few reasons.  I realize that it was just a chance for the Travel Channel to have Alice Cooper as a guest and to talk about their giant hot dog named for Randy Johnson.  That’s fine.  The problem with that is that they’ve done it once before.  When Anthony Bourdain toured the American Southwest, the only place he stopped in Phoenix — the only place! — was Alice Cooperstown, and guess what?  He had Alice Cooper on to talk about his restaurant’s giant fucking hot dog named for Randy Johnson.  You’ve done this before, Travel Channel!  Find a different restaurant!

Winge winge, bitch moan, right?  I shan’t merely complain without offering solutions.  Let’s see how many local restaurants I can name that would have been better for a segment on Man v. Food.  I won’t make this a listing of all my favorite restaurants in town — that would take forever.  This is my selection of places I think would make for a good segment that would fit the theme and tone of the show.  Let’s begin.

Lo-Lo’s Chicken & Waffles — The title says it all.  Sure, that Roscoe guy in L.A. has been at it for longer, but give Adam Richman one taste of that delicious syrup-covered fried chicken and he’ll forget all about him.  Plus, they have legendary red velvet cake that would look great in HD.

Lobby’s — It’s a burgers and dogs place right by my house.  The dogs are nothing special, but the burgers are fantastic.  Thick-cut pickles and toasted sesame-seed buns highlight a delicious patty.  There’s nothing unique on the menu, but they do have a food challenge — eat a three-pound burger and it’s half price.  Three pounds of beef would be child’s play for Richman, though, so maybe Lobby’s isn’t the best choice.

Chino Bandito — Pan-Asian-Mexican fusion complete with statue of a panda wearing a sombrero.  There’s nothing like eating a jade chicken quesadilla with black beans and jerk fried rice.  If I’m counting right, I think that’s fourteen different cultures in one dish.  It’s so delicious, I had my mom take me there for my birthday this year.  The only problem with Chino Bandito is that Guy Fieri’s already been there.  His autographed picture’s on the wall.  Maybe Richman didn’t go because that particular hydrant had Fieri pee all over it.  I’m guessing it smells like skin cream and hair bleach.

Cornish Pasty Co. — Brits know what a Cornish pasty is.  Thanks to this place, so do people from Phoenix.  A Cornish pasty, for those uninitiated, is a pastry often filled with meats and vegetables.  It was miner food in Cornwall, upper-middle-class white folk food in Tempe and Mesa.  Most people describe it as a large, fancy Hot Pocket.  You know, if Hot Pockets tasted amazing.  The whole menu is great, but my favorite is the Pesto Chicken, filled with artichokes, mushrooms, and mozzarella.  Washing it down with a cold, draught Hoegaarden is as close to heaven as Mesa can get.  N.B.: It’s pronounced “pass-tee”.

Sugar Bowl — It’s an old-fashioned ice-cream shop in Old Town Scottsdale.  It’s a landmark to the point that it’s practically your duty as a Phoenician to go at least once.  You’ll love the ’50s decor, bristle at all the Family Circus comics posted on walls and tables, and devour every bite of tasty ice cream.  They insist that they serve sandwiches and soups, too, but I’ve never strayed from the classic sundae.

That’s a good starting list, I think.  All five of the above restaurants would look great on television and are guaranteed to give Adam Richman several of his patented food orgasms.  Why not any one of these in favor of yet another segment about a rock star’s 22-inch wiener?

-Darrell

Video amazement aside, I noticed that the bridge (“Let it go / This too shall pass”) sounds a great deal like the bridge to another of my favorite songs, Stars’ “Your Ex-Lover is Dead” (“Live through this / and you won’t look back.”)  They aren’t similar enough to accuse OK Go of plagiarism.  Even if they were, though, I wouldn’t do so.  This got me thinking about the idea of plagiarism in art, and whether we should be taking it seriously.

Let’s go back to rock-n-roll’s most famous case of musical plagiarism.  George Harrison, post-Beatles, wrote a song called “My Sweet Lord”.  You’ve probably heard it.  The problem is, the melody to “My Sweet Lord” sounds a lot like the melody to “He’s So Fine” by the Chiffons.  A complicated, protracted lawsuit followed.  Harrison admitted that he had heard “He’s So Fine” previously (it was a pretty popular song), but denied that he stole it, similarities be damned.  In the end, he was found to have “subconsciously” plagiarized the Chiffons and had to surrender the majority of royalties.

The whole matter leaves me unsettled.  I believe George’s insistence that he didn’t knowingly steal anything.  But be it a coincidence or subconscious thievery, I still don’t think it’s enough to force George Harrison to surrender royalties.  Music’s too fluid and subjective to pin down most cases of plagiarism, even when blatant.

It gets even more interesting when you bring in the artform of standup comedy.  Recently, Marc Maron* had a few controversial guests on episodes of his podcast.  He individually talked to Robin Williams, Carlos Mencia, and Dane Cook about lots of things, but mostly joke-stealing.  All three have been accused of stealing jokes from other comics, and interestingly enough, I think they occupy three different spots on the thievery spectrum.

*Aside about Marc Maron: I don’t usually love his act, but he’s one of the more fascinating comedians because he seems to treat his appearances and podcasts more as therapy sessions for himself than as opportunities to entertain others.  This results in occasional frustration and annoyance on my part, but it’s too much of a treat to hear every twisted neurosis in full detail.  If you’re a comedy nerd or an armchair psychologist, give Marc Maron a listen.

My judgment from each gentleman’s appearance is as follows.  Carlos Mencia is probably a thief, and by many accounts, has been something of an asshole over the years.  Maron got ahold of several other comics who told stories about Mencia’s using other comics’ bits verbatim and denying it throughout.  I don’t think everything he’s done is stolen, and I don’t think he’s guilty of every accusation hurled his way.  However, most of his act is derivative, and a lot of his bits are way too close to the original to ignore, so he earns a “probably, and intentionally so” on the “did he steal?” spectrum.

Robin Williams has had the thief reputation longer than most comics in history.  Many comedians won’t appear before him, and some clubs have been rumored to have a “Robin Williams signal”; in other words, a light would flash for comedians onstage to warn them that they shouldn’t try their new material because Robin just walked into the room.  By most accounts, it sounds like Williams curbed material from other comics, but twisted it enough to avoid outright plagiarism in most cases.  Williams defends himself in a way similar to George Harrison — he says he never knowingly stole anything; he’s just a sponge who doesn’t remember how he remembers things.  He’ll enjoy someone else’s bit, think about it in his own way, and next thing he knows he has what he thought was his own original bit.  Shady as this sounds, I’m inclined to believe him.  It’s understandable that he could accidentally use others’ bits, and he earns points by saying that he doesn’t watch other comics anymore for fear that he’ll do it again.  If you’re keeping score, then, Robin earns a “probably, but accidentally” on the spectrum.

Least blameworthy, in my opinion, is Dane Cook.  Mind you, I’m not the sort to take Dane Cook’s side.  I think he’s a high-energy, talented comic, but somewhere along the way, he embraced the brainless-douche part of his personality.  This made him millions, but turned me off.  I’m sure he’s okay with losing me as a fan.  Regardless, there was a kerfuffle awhile back about Cook’s being accused of stealing, most notably from Louis CK.  The bits were close, but I don’t think they were so close that you could say that Cook’s a thief.  Alleged proof can be found on YouTube, so you can judge for yourself.  The premises are stock enough and Cook’s and CK’s voices and jokes are different enough that I think it’s more likely that these bits were created independently of one another.  (And to reiterate, it feels weird to take Dane Cook’s side, especially considering that Louis CK is probably my favorite comic right now.)  So back to the spectrum, Dane Cook gets a “probably not”.

Where does all this put my level of anger?  I think it’s somewhere between “tsk tsk” and “meh”.  The fact is, all art is somehow derivative.  The best artists are those who can use what’s established but still branch significantly outward.  A unique sound, voice, or perspective is the most valuable asset, so naturally, its opposite should be reviled.  What many are forgetting these days, though, is that uniqueness is really fucking hard.  Even when you try to create something original, there’s a good chance that someone else did something similar.  Sure, that makes you less of a genius, but most of the time, that hardly makes you a thief.

-Darrell

My most recent obsession is a game for iPhones and iPod Touches called Finger Physics.  It’s a solid block-stacking game that makes excellent use of the touch screen.  The levels are short, often challenging, and sometimes eye-bleedingly frustrating.  The automatic scrolling on some levels can piss me off, but overall it’s a great game, totally worth the 99 cents I paid for it.  I have nothing else of interest to say about this one.

Next is a web-based puzzler called Amnesya.  It’s reminiscent of the notpron game that a handful of my college buds obsessed over a few years back.  Each puzzle is a web page with various clues hidden in it.  They’re hidden anywhere and everywhere (page source, properties of the .jpg on the screen, et al.), and cracking the code might come down to anything from translating Braille to changing your computer’s clock so that the flash file will think it’s a certain time (yes, really).  As you might imagine, some of the clues are so oblique that they stray into unfairness.  If you decide to play and get stuck, please feel free to ask me for hints.  I’m currently on level 58, and before you ask, I have done a little bit of cheating to get that far.

Now for my biggest recommendation.  This is a game I first played sophomore year of college when I was working in the computer labs.  I decided to replay it not long ago, and thankfully, I seem to have forgotten most of it.  It’s called Planetarium, and it’s the most inventive and artistic puzzle game I’ve ever seen.  Described as “a puzzle story in twelve weekly instalments”, it’s a game that’s unlike any other.  Each installment (British spelling be damned!) has three puzzles and other pages that form each chapter of the story.  It’s about a girl with perfect foresight but no memory traveling around with a mathemagician who… you know, the story itself is immaterial.  It’s interesting then, that what I love most about Planetarium is the writing.  The chapters are written in such a thoughtful, wry style that it doesn’t matter that I don’t care about the plot.  Even when the puzzles are too easy, a newly unlocked chapter is nothing short of a treat.  If you can devote a bit of time every week for the next twelve weeks, give Planetarium a try.  It’s fantastic.

Nope, no jokes this time around.  I just wanted to expose an embarrassing bit about how nerdly I am.  If any of you starts one of these games, let me know what you think.

-Darrell

#1: Women’s obsession with weddings
The show’s premise is simple: brides-to-be compete with and against one another in hopes of winning their dream wedding.  This grand prize alone disturbs me.  I understand a woman’s desire to get married — monogamy is evolutionarily advantageous to women.  What I don’t understand is the obsession with the wedding.  I realize I’m donning my curmudgeon hat again, but people need to relax about ceremonies, particularly weddings.  If you find yourself stressing about the color of your tablecloths, worrying about whether the caterer will provide the right brands of bubbly, or wrestling other women in a giant cake in order to win wedding flowers (sponsored by ProFlowers.com!), you need to take better stock of what’s important to you.  I’ll try not to bitch any further about the wedding obsession.

#2: Overemphasis on fitness and weight loss
Okay, I get it, America’s obese and most of us could use a little exercise.  What bothers me are the competitions that surround weight-loss.  In Bridal Bootcamp, part of the incredibly convoluted process of eliminating contestants is a weigh-in.  If a woman has lost the highest percentage of body weight, she gets to nominate another girl for elimination, whose fate would be determined by the host.  Or something.  My point is, I hate the idea that personal health and body image can be turned into a cheap competition.  If weight loss is the goal, then the game will stop only when everyone’s wasted away to nothing.  Besides, every body is different and requires different amounts of fat and muscle.  The show could factor in BMI, ideal weight, genetic factors, and the like, but it’s just easier to say, “MaryLou, you’ve lost only 1.5% of your body weight this week.  You’re clearly not working hard enough.”

Another thing that I conveniently forgot to mention until just now: none of the women on this show are overweight.  They talk and talk about wanting to fit into their dream dress for their wedding day, but they all look good.  The “fattest” girl on that show is still a reasonable size.  Two of them are too thin, yet still cry and obsess about losing another pound.  They have nothing to be ashamed about, yet they appear on a show that foists shame upon them by the truckload.  The most I could say for some of the women is that sure, maybe losing five pounds before your wedding isn’t a bad idea.  You’ll look a bit thinner in the pictures, and you’ll feel better about yourself.  But that’s not enough to enter a no-limit weight-loss contest.  It’s unhealthy and unattractive.

#3: TV’s love of humiliation
You know how I mentioned a wrestling match in a giant cake?  Yeah, that happened.  It was mostly confusing, because as the ladyfriend noted, this is a program aimed toward women.  The contestants were dressed reasonably for a physical competition.  So why have them wrestle in cake?  It doesn’t even count as titillation — it’s simply humiliation for the sake of humiliation.  I’m not sure if I should hate the producers for thinking this was a good idea, or the contestants for agreeing to debase themselves just to be on TV and maybe (maybe!) win an expensive wedding.

#4: The unimportance of men
It’s fine that no men appear on the show.  It’s about brides, and frankly, I’d rather not see a guy encourage this kind of behavior.  But for a show about weddings, I’d like someone to acknowledge at least once that these women are actually marrying another human.  It gives me the sense that for a lot of them, the wedding is far more important than the husband and the marriage.  Call me old-fashioned, but shouldn’t it be the other way around?

#5: Petty, overblown arguments
During the wrestling match, the blue team started trash-talking the green team.  One girl called another a “rich bitch” (which makes me wonder why a rich person would have to be on this show… but I’ll ignore that).  The name-calling resulted in a lengthy argument about hurt feelings and rudeness.  It was ugly and stupid, and the fact that they were covered head-to-toe in wedding cake only made it worse.  It’s trash talk.  You got called a mean name.  Clean the cake out of your underwear and get the fuck over it.

#6: The twisted image of the ideal female form
The host of this show is absurdly thin and frighteningly muscular.  She has unpleasantly large breast implants and a face full of collagen and botulism.  She is the only person on the show ever to wear tight, revealing workout clothes, and she doesn’t have an ounce of fat on her.  All that’s fine if she kept it to herself; she can look however she wants.  But she’s the one to tell these women that they need to lose more weight.  She’s presumably the example of what the contestants should look like.  She shouldn’t be.  Most of the contestants are far more attractive to me, and I doubt I’m in the minority for thinking so.

Yes, American men tend to like thinner women with full breasts, smooth skin, and pouty lips.  It’s a general preference.  It’s not to say that anything outside the Barbie-doll ideal is unattractive.  If that were the case, nobody would be having sex.  Those who feel shame about their bodies are forgetting another unfair stereotype about men: we’ll have sex with pretty much anyone.  More fairly put, every man has a broader view of attractiveness than swimsuit calendars might lead you to suspect.  Trust me, ladies, we’re not as picky as you fear.  (And please don’t take that as an insult.)

Also, trying to look too perfect often backfires.  The host of Bridal Bootcamp checks all the individual boxes of attractiveness, but goes so far with each box that she ends up the least attractive person on the show.  She resides in the uncanny valley — she looks somewhat human, but comes just short enough that it ends up revolting.  Ladies, we’re not looking for physical perfection.  I don’t even believe in physical perfection; why would I demand that women seek it out? 

I could go on.  I could pick any five-second clip from the episode I watched and bitch about it for hours.  It’s that bad.  I’ve hit the broad strokes, though, so I’ll leave it alone. 

-Darrell

P.S.: Those who wonder why I’ve been blog-silent for so long deserve an explanation.  I was in the hospital for the last couple months (I was attacked and partially eviscerated by a hippo).  I’m still recovering, but I plan to use the blog as part of my healing process.  Beyond those bits of info, I care not to provide any more details.  Thank you.

If you know me, you’ve probably already thought that I might consider Weird Al Yankovic a kindred spirit.  Now, my friends, you may consider this irrefutable proof.

The ads for Iron Man 2 have begun airing.  Well, I should say that the ads for Iron 2 Man have begun airing, as that’s how the title appears.  Why do people intentionally fuck up the order of things?  One of my favorite video games is Resident Evil 4, but the box art says “4 Resident Evil”.  It always bugged me.  I suppose I have no point here other than impotent rage.  Sorry.

This is an excellent article about the degradation of our language in modern politics.  It speaks for itself… so to speak.

Conan’s going to TBS.  Huh.  I have a lot of thoughts on the matter, most of them optimistic.  My initial reaction was surprise, mostly because TBS has made its name attracting people who aren’t funny and jamming them down our throats via hyper-advertisement.  Adding Conan seemed incongruous.  The more I think about it, though, the more brilliant a move I think it is.  For years, TBS’s strategy was to fill comedy niches.  They’ve filled some major ethnic comedy niches in George Lopez for Latinos, Tyler Perry for blacks, and Frank Caliendo for… uh, fat uncles who make bad jokes.  Now TBS wants some of that upper-middle-class nerd niche that Stewart and Colbert have dominated.  I’m intrigued. 

Plus, from Conan’s perspective, it’s perfect — he can be the face of a channel that already has a name and a shit-ton of cash.  He’ll be advertised during NBA and MLB playoff games, immediately giving him more exposure than NBC ever gave him.  He will own his show, so there’ll be no intellectual property scuffles.  With internet, cable, and TiVo, the apparent step down to basic cable isn’t as important as it used to be.  Plus, he won’t have to deal with flighty affiliates, who would have given him the same problems at Fox that he had at NBC.  I would’ve followed Conan anywhere, but I’m excited about TBS and relieved that I won’t have to get HBO.

Since I’m watching/listening to it right now, I have to recommend Arcade Fire’s performance on Austin City Limits.  Jesus fucking Christ, I need to see them live.

Speaking of music, here’s a quick-and-dirty set of musical recommendations for you: Richard Ashcroft is the dude from The Verve.  He made a few solo albums, the first of which is called Alone with Everybody.  I started listening to it because it earned Ricky Gervais’s seal of approval in his old XFM radio show.  Turns out, Ricky’s right.  One more recommendation: the Fruit Bats’ newest album, The Ruminant Band, is fantastic.  I know nothing about the band besides this album, but I’m told it’s a departure from what they normally sound like.  Regardless, at least three songs on this album are so infectiously bouncy that I still can’t go a day without hearing them at least once.

Hmm, not many comments on that last giraffe post.  Apparently you guys don’t like vulgar giraffes.  I found Jerry a delight, so y’all can go suck eggs.

I’m in a recommendation mood.  Hopefully, a lot of you listen to podcasts and know how to access them.  If not, just browse iTunes and join the rest of nerd-dom.  A couple I’ve enjoyed recently have been Chris Hardwick’s Nerdist podcast with Adam Savage (yes, the Mythbuster) and Doug Benson’s “I Love Movies” with guests Paul F. Tompkins and Jon Hamm.  If you want to know how I spend my lonely hours, listen to those.  If you don’t want to know how I spend my lonely hours, you’re probably a normal, mentally stable human being.

It’s good to see that Taco Bell is back to making up words.  A TV ad tells me that they’ve introduced the “tortada”.  I have no opinion on the matter; I just thought you all should know about this exciting development in gastronomical lexicography.

Okay, enough nonsense.  Enjoy the rest of your evening.

-Darrell

Darrell: You titled your first foray into popular music Captive Necker.  Being a zoo animal, the “captive” part is obvious, but what exactly is a “necker”?

Jerry: Ah, a leading question to start.  You’ve done this before.  [Laughs.]  A “necker”, aside from the obvious, uh, soundalike, refers to giraffes’ favorite pastime of necking.  We do it a lot, and for a lot of reasons.  Dudes do it to establish dominance and earn the right to sniff some piss [Ed. Note: Male giraffes seek mates by tasting and smelling females' urine for estrus].  Sometimes it’s part of courtship; you know, [to] get us in the mood.  Sometimes we do it just ’cause we’re bored.  It’s like your [ritual of] dancing — it serves a lot of purposes, but most of them involve sex.

D: Speaking of sex, I understand that in the wild, it’s quite competitive, to the point that only a few males are lucky enough to procreate with a large group of females.  Has that been the case in your life?

J: Oh fuck yes.  I keep my neck stretched and strong every day in case I get challenged.  You think smarts have anything to do with sex?  Yeah, I’m the only talking giraffe I know, but that doesn’t do shit — it’s this weapon you call a skull that does all the talking.  Sure, I haven’t had any trouble getting poon, but it’s dog-eat-dog; most guys aren’t so fortunate.

D: I understand that a lot of those unfortunate guys end up with each other.

J: Yeah, we’ll fuck anything.  I’ll always choose a good-smelling lady over anything, but sometimes — especially in the wild — a dude will do.  I’d say at least 80% of giraffe sex is male-male.  Some of the guys go all-out with it, turning a necking contest into a fucked-up cuddlefuck, hanging around each other all the time, nuzzling each other…  [Shudders.]  They’re proof that some giraffes don’t deserve to pass on their genes.

D: It seems that sometimes this competition turns violent.  In one track of your album [Track five: "Red Savanna"] you describe a deadly necking contest in full, disturbing detail.  How do you think the public will react to such honesty?

J: I just wanted people to know how hard a it is to be a giraffe.  People think we’re weird, or cuddly, or that we sell motherfucking children’s toys.  That’s bullshit — if you want to thrive as a giraffe, you gotta be hard.  Sometimes fuckers end up dead.  In my case, I hit a guy the wrong way.  I caught him below the ear with my horn, cracked his neck, and that was it.  He should have known not to compete — he was a lot smaller than me, but he initiated the challenge.  Must’ve been tired of all the dude-fucking.  It’s fun, but too much can frustrate you.  [The competitor's death] wasn’t intentional, but I don’t regret it for a second.

D: Do you miss living in the wild, or do you take comfort in the fact that life won’t be so violent anymore?

J: I dunno, man, I just wanna talk about my album.

D: All right, I apologize; in your album, you talk a lot about the transition from wildlife to zoo life.  It seems like a topic you’d like people to know about.

J: Yeah, yeah… I mean, the album just speaks for itself.  I don’t want to step on that.  But you’re right, living in a zoo is pretty different.  It’s really comfortable, and the tail they brought for me has been top-notch.  It’s the lap of luxury.  At the same time, I feel like I’m losing my roots.  Even my name isn’t my own — these zoo fuckers named me Jerry because you people love alliteration.  My real name is hee-pfft, but that can’t be pronounced in English, so I guess I shouldn’t get too pissed off.

D: I noticed you had an entire track devoted to your distaste of okapi.  Are you worried that such outright bigotry might translate to bad press or lower album sales?

J: Man, fuck okapi.  I don’t give a fuck about bad press — I’m a talking giraffe in a zoo.  I’m invincible.  If you don’t like my shit, don’t listen to it.  But really, fuck okapi.

D: Why?

J: You fuckin’ humans put us right next to those zebroid cunts.  They’re ugly freaks with short necks and stubby legs, and somehow you say they’re our closest relative?  Giraffes are graceful and intelligent marvels of evolution.  Okapi are rude, ugly zebras that eat dirt. [Many okapi are known to eat clay found in riverbeds]

D: Forgive my ignorance, but how are they rude?

J: They just are.  Got no manners.  Like, I’m eating some leaves one day and this okapi keeps sidling up to me, horning in on my goddamn tree.  The thing is, this fucker can’t reach the leaves, so he’s clearly just up in my shit to be up in my shit.  Stupid motherfucker wouldn’t leave me alone.  So I kick him out of the way — not real hard, not hard enough to break a bone.  Just a warning.  Guess what the asshole does — he spits cud at me!  He tried to reach my face, but only got about a quarter of the way up my neck.  I stepped to kick him again, this time for real, but he ran off.  That’s not the only time shit like that happens with okapi.  They’re bad news.  Man, you got me ramblin’.  Let’s get back to the album.

D: Fair enough.  What was it like collaborating with so many top artists on this album?

J: It was sweet.  I gotta say, being a talking giraffe opens doors I never thought would open.  Everyone I worked with was amazing.  [Dr.] Dre is the man — he can make a giraffe make sounds I never heard before.  Shit, Danger Mouse is the smartest guy I know, Erykah Badu is really nice… I can’t go naming everybody, though.  Everyone was fuckin’ outstanding.

D: One interesting choice was your invitation to Scarlett Johansson to do backing vocals for a few songs.  She has a limited musical career, so many were surprised by her addition.  How did she work out?

J: I know what you want me to say.  Something about her tits, right?  I’m a giraffe, asshole.  I don’t care about that.  I just listened to her album of Tom Waits covers and I realized, yeah, Tom Waits is brilliant, but he’d be so much better if he had a smoother voice.  All you media fuckers were too hard on Scarlett — she brought it down then, and she brought it down for the Necker.

D: Any plans for the future?

J: Probably some more albums.  I made a deal with The New Yorker to keep writing essays for them, so that’ll be good.  I’m also starting a charity to help find other talking giraffes, encourage them to communicate in the human world the way I have.  As much as you fuckers get on my nerves, I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for humanity.

-Darrell

That’s right, readers, you’re getting my annual Kiefer update.  Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot to say about this season.  That’s because it’s pretty much a synthesis of the first seven.  It sort of feels like the writers went with a safe, familiar story thin on subplots, thinking that setting it in New York would make it feel different.  Well, it doesn’t.  No matter the city, everywhere in 24 has the same drab lighting and modern furniture.  In a way, this is the most rote, predictable season yet.  In another way, though, it’s totally comforting to see that the writers are checking off every box that makes a good season.  Let’s go through the list:

FRIGHTENING TERRORIST PLOT: Islamic terrorists want to get ahold of nuclear materials so they can set off a bomb in a major American city.  Sound like nearly every other season yet?  At first, they tried to make it look like the terrorists wanted to get the materials to ship back to their homeland and use in their civil war… eventually.  Was anyone surprised when the big twist was that the terrorists changed their plans to target the U.S.?

TERRIBLE SUBPLOT REQUIREMENT: Previously held by an annoying blonde, a whiny teenager, and a bobcat, this year the Terrible Subplot Requirement is fulfilled by Starbuck and Freddie Prinze.  The only good to come out of it is whenever Prinze is annoyed at Starbuck for distracting him.  “We can’t talk about our relationship now; there’s a nuclear crisis!”

OBJECT OF DOOM: We’ve seen nuclear bombs, canisters of nerve gas, and vials of super-virus.  You can forgive them for going back to nukes, especially since they have a new term: nuclear rods.  Who has the rods?  Capture the rods!  Don’t let him get away with the rods!

JACK’S QUESTIONABLE METHODS: People still think Jack Bauer “goes too far” with his tactics sometimes, but they always go back to reluctantly admitting that he “gets the job done”.  Jack still likes torturing people and indiscriminately killing henchmen.  The good thing is that some of Jack’s kills this year have been pretty bad-ass.  While his arms were tied to a pipe, Jack used his legs to snap a henchman’s neck.  He killed a guy with a fireman’s axe to the chest in one episode.  A few weeks later he pulled a knife out from his own stomach, then threw it into somebody’s neck.  That was exciting.

TRAITOR TURNAROUNDS: Someone unjustly accused of betrayal earns an apology, only to turn out to be a traitor after all.  Season one it was Nina, last year it was Tony, this year it’s Tarim, the IRK President’s chief of security.  The writers really love making viewers yell, “Aw SHIT he was evil this whole time!”

TERRORIST PATHOS: Every reluctant terrorist or gutless toadie gets a chance to redeem himself.  In season five, Rudy sacrificed himself for CTU Los Angeles after stupidly giving terrorists his keycard.  This year, we’ve had two already: Betraying brother Farhad tried to stop the plans when he learned that the US was the actual target, and Marcos the Teenage Terrorist gave Jack a lead before his suicide vest was remotely detonated.  These little redemptions are getting less powerful by the episode.

GEOGRAPHICAL IMPROBABILITY: You know how Jack could travel across rush-hour Los Angeles during a single commercial break?  Or how last year, terrorists infiltrated the White House through an underwater tunnel?  This year, New York City has more abandoned warehouses and swampland than I ever knew.

OVERALL RATING: B+.  It’s okay so far, but not great.  I still like the President, and the politics aren’t too insulting.  I have nothing specific to complain about, except the stupid Starbuck subplot, so I’m not too annoyed.  It isn’t grabbing me as much as previous seasons, but it still feels like an old friend that delivers good, old fashioned ultra-violence on a weekly basis.  I’m still glad to be a die-hard.

-Darrell

The thing is, Jimmy Pardo is a good comic, but not a great one.  His act is fine, but what sets him apart from others is his manner.  He has an energetic style that tells audiences that he’s the entertainer.  Thus, he is at his best when riffing with the crowd or other comedians.  I can’t think of many people who are more comfortable with an audience in front of him.  Watch any episode of his version of “You Bet Your Life” to see him in action.  His jokes don’t always work, but their purpose is always clear — keep the audience entertained and on Team Jimmy.  It struck me that this is a talent that very few people have in show-business.  Surprisingly enough, I would put Jimmy Pardo on a very short list of people I’ll refer to as consummate entertainers.

It’s a tough balance to be a truly consummate entertainer.  You have to have a light attitude, but not too light.  You should be consistently amusing, but able to defer to those who share your stage.  Most importantly, every decision you make should be in the interest of the audience.  Based on these strict criteria, the only  consummate entertainers (among living non-musicians) I can think of are as follows: Jimmy Pardo, Regis Philbin, and Conan O’Brien.

That’s a surprising list to come from me, especially for its omissions.  For example, why not include David Letterman, a comedy hero of mine?  Well, he’s cranky and intentionally inaccessible to many.  He likes having a slightly offbeat, selective audience so he can rant about his personal life and not worry about entertaining every single person.  His attitude is one of, “if you like me, great; if not, screw off.”  That can make for a very funny person, but not a consummate entertainer.

In a similar vein, why not Jay Leno?  He’s always brought big ratings, and he always tries to appeal to the largest audience.  The problem isn’t just that he isn’t funny anymore and tells the same four predictable jokes over and over.  The real problem is his interviewing skills.  His mission in interviews isn’t to entertain the audience, but to allow the guest to recite his prepared bits and stories.  Sure, talk-show hosts have to do that to some degree, but that’s all Leno does.  (And it’s so awkward: “I understand you built a shark tank in your house…”)  Also, Jay Leno doesn’t make the list because I want to distinguish “consummate entertainer” from “middlebrow sense of humor”.

Missing the list also is Ryan Seacrest.  He’s a capable host, but that’s it.  He doesn’t sing, dance, tell jokes, have interesting opinions, or do much of anything.  He gets a mention, though, because he hosts our nation’s most popular show, which should be worth something.

I thought about putting Oprah Winfrey on the list, but quickly declined because I don’t remember being particularly entertained by her at any time.  I admit that I don’t watch her show, so I might be missing a lot.  She isn’t known for any talent besides incredible business acumen, so I doubt it.  But if someone would like to write an impassioned defense of Oprah as a great entertainer, I’d like to read it.

Come to think of it, I could probably cite ignorance regarding most women who might have made the list.  I like Bonnie Hunt on Letterman, but I’ve never seen her show.  Joan Rivers was funny in her day, but I was too young to have seen her host The Tonight Show.  I think I know enough about Ellen DeGeneres to leave her off — the American Idol watchers I know haven’t been blown away by her performance this year.  Sarah Silverman I love, but she’s too niche (the same can be said of Amy Sedaris, Maria Bamford, or a host of other comediennes).  Call it the innate sexism of showbiz, but most women are either too underexposed or simply unworthy of this arbitrary title I just made up.

Almost making the list as a surprise entrant was Howard Stern.  Full disclosure: I’m not a fan.  His humor is mostly lowbrow, his interview style is exploitative, and his fans aren’t usually people I associate with.  That said, he’s very close to being a consummate entertainer.  Everything he does on his show is designed to keep listeners’ attention.  Remember in Private Parts (a good watch if you haven’t seen it) when the radio producer says that the people who said they hated Howard Stern listened to him over twice as long as those who liked him?  If that’s the case, he’s doing something brilliant.  Even on others’ talk shows, he brings something to the table beyond lame-ass stories.  I had to leave him off the list, however, because he turns off too many people.  Too much of his brilliance comes out of making vast swaths of people uncomfortable, and no consummate entertainer would sacrifice that much of his audience.  Plus, he very rarely performs onstage, which, the more I think about it, should be a requirement.  Sorry, Howard.

The “stage performers only” requirement eliminates many others who might be more than capable of becoming consummate entertainers.  Steve Martin used to be, but not since he retired from stand-up.  Alec Baldwin is close, but he’s only onstage the days he hosts SNL.  The same problem keeps Christopher Walken off the list.  I’m super-tempted to put Justin Timberlake on the list, but I told myself I’d eliminate musicians, and most of his stage time is musical.

So let’s get to who’s on the list.  These are three very different entertainers, but I think they’ve all earned their spot.  Pardo I’ve covered.  Regis should be easy: he’s proven himself every day for almost fifty years.  No matter his role (talk-show host, talk-show guest, gameshow host, comedic actor), he’s always a delight.  He’s a ridiculous man, but his attitude is perfect for the occasion.  No one in history has logged more hours on television, which is fitting because he seems to be the only person who truly belongs there.

Why Conan?  It’s not just because I love him.  Watch his show… er, watch clips of his old Late Night show.  Even when he tells bad jokes, he twists them into an entertaining moment.  He does his fair share of mugging in these moments, but he knows when to stop (something that keeps Robin Williams off the list forever).  In interviews, he often does the Leno-esque setups for guests, but he plays with it a lot.  He’ll make fun of the fact that a celebrity has a prepared story, or (if he’s feeling more Lettermanish) he’ll try to interrupt and screw up what was likely to be a snoozer.  Plus, his humor is apolitical and mostly silly, which makes it easy to keep most people on board.  I think that makes my point about Conan — I’ve written enough about him already, anyway.

So… whom am I missing?  I’ve racked my brain for the last few hours, but I’m sure somebody slipped through the cracks of this steel trap of mine.  (Ah, how I love the nonsensical mixed metaphor.)  What do you think — good list?  Should I add Don Rickles… or Bill Cosby?  The answer to both is “probably not”, but help me flesh this out.

-Darrell