A Nameless Blog

As you know, I take requests.  Normally, it’s a bit odd and I try to make it work.  This time, though, the request was for more of the same.  The inimitable Rated X Super Mex requested that I write twenty-five MORE random things about myself.  I guess he feels like he just doesn’t know me well enough.  So while this might be the most unnecessary post in Nameless Blog history, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to share more juicy details about my life.  Let’s begin.

1. Last week, I ate two boxes of Cheez-Its, a half-gallon of orange Gatorade, and a bag of Cheetos.  My puke was used to color the Cincinnati Bengals’ alternate jerseys.

2. For weeks, I told people that I grew my hair out for charity.  That stopped when I was told that the Foundation for Lookin’ Sexy isn’t an actual charity.

3. Some British newspaper stole my idea from three years ago, but did it in a slightly less amusing fashion.  I haven’t decided whether this counts as actionable plagiarism.

4. When I was ten, my mother played a rather cruel joke on me.  Every time I entered the room, a horrified expression came over her face and she attempted not to look directly at me.  She kept this up for four months.  It started to bother me until my birthday, when she finally gave up the ruse.  She said that she had been preparing for a background role in a theatrical production of The Elephant Man, but she was never in any such play.  In fact, nobody in the family has ever seen her act.

5. I once beat Garry Kasparov at Scrabble.  Who’s the Grandmaster now, bitch??

6. I’m a long-time friend and confidant to Steve Jobs.  The idea to slap video cameras on tiny iPods?  Yeah, that was mine.

7. I lived in a three-bedroom house in Tucson for my senior year of college.  I always thought that the walls would look better in an off-white, rather than the eggshell white that they were.  Not painting those walls is probably my biggest regret in life.

8. Some sports fans collect ticket stubs or pennants; I commemorate my experiences a different way: I collect hot-dog wrappers.  That plain square of foil with the mustard stain shaped like Greenland is from a Diamondbacks-Cubs playoff game in 2007.  The paper sleeve that still smells of sauerkraut is what remains from the Fiesta Bowl in which Ohio State beat Notre Dame.  I’ve noticed that the ones that still smell remind me of specific moments in those games.  Thus, I consider it a collection that pays dividends.

9. I like to make sculptures out of paper clips.  They’re all abstracts, and I haven’t been able to sell any of them.  Maybe some day.

10. I once peed next to Ron Jeremy at a urinal in Vegas.  I noticed it was him, but made sure not to glance downward.  He was not so gentlemanly; by the time we were washing our hands, he was recommending pills and exercises to increase my girth.  Otherwise, he was quite charming.

11. I almost never eat breakfast, but when I do, I prefer Dos Equis.

12. Like most men, I think about sex several times an hour.  When I’m not thinking about sex, though, I’m probably thinking about Art Garfunkel.  So much talent, such crazy hair…

13. I once tried to count the number of different types of animal I’ve eaten.  I think my latest count was close to thirty.  The weirdest one I can’t tell you about, but it rhymes with “dotted trowel”.

14. I’ve long thought our country is in need of re-branding.  Accordingly, I designed an updated flag and sent it to my Congressman.  He didn’t care for it, but I still think purple polka dots and “USA” in a jazzy typeface would show the world how hip and modern we really are.

15. I’m not some crazy religious person who thinks dinosaur bones are part of a huge, elaborate hoax.  I do, however, think that paleontologists are figments of our imagination.

16. I’m having a very hard time coming up with twenty-five more interesting things about me.  When I come across moments like this, I utilize my foolproof cure for writer’s block: I down a bottle of Colt .45 and jog around the block in my underpants.  It doesn’t help me come up with ideas, but it’s a hell of a lot of fun.

17. Sometimes I wonder why turkey tacos haven’t caught on yet.  Maybe a little cranberry salsa… admit that it sounds delicious.

18. With all my exploits, people often ask me who is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.  I always tell them the same thing: “Why the fuck do you care?  Make your own judgments.”

19. My favorite facial moisturizer was recently discontinued.  It was forty dollars per eight-ounce bottle, probably because it was infused with orangutan semen.  My skin hasn’t had its normal glow for weeks now.

20. Thanks to my buddy Tim, I played Beatles Rock Band before it was released.  Naturally, I loved it, but was disappointed that “Revolution 9″ wasn’t on there.  I could dominate the lilting “number nine… number nine… meedle-dee dee-dee backwards strings”.

21. Don’t ask me how I know this, but dental floss is not a suitable murder weapon.

22. I’m pretty fortunate in that I haven’t had anything major stolen from me.  My secret?  In grade school, I learned that nobody will steal anything from you if you’ve licked it.  So just as a warning, if it’s mine, I’ve licked it at least once.

23. I’m the chief heir to Elton John’s fortune.  We aren’t related; he just digs my style.

24. I was once offered a position on the board of directors at CBS.  That offer was quickly rescinded when they found out that I was briefly married to Jennifer Love Hewitt.  They were afraid that I would cancel Ghost Whisperer out of spite.  I tried to convince them that I wouldn’t, but deep down, I know I was lying.

25. As you might know, I’m a tutor.  As you might imagine, the hardest part about my job is telling students that they’re going to die.

Jesus, that took awhile.  As interesting as I am, even I sometimes have trouble coming up with readable things about my winning personality.  I hope you enjoyed this list of 25 — I promise it’ll be the last one I write.

-Darrell

One of the greatest men in history died recently.  It’s not often I can say that, but it’s true, as Norman Borlaug passed away last week at the age of 95.

Who’s Norman Borlaug?  The fact that you (probably) asked that question is a tremendous shame.  Norman Borlaug is responsible for saving more lives than anyone in history.  He was an agronomist who developed high-yield, disease-resistant strains of wheat and introduced them to impoverished areas around the globe.  He is credited with preventing hundreds of millions of people from starving to death, and likely curbed deforestation by making available farmland more valuable.  He won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1970 and the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1977.  And, by the way, he saved a billion people from starving.  (It needed repeating.)

Nothing I say can do his contribution to humanity justice.  He is a hero in the truest sense of the word — a man who selflessly improved countless lives in need… and he used science to do it.  He made providing food worldwide his life’s work; none of us could ever hope to do a fraction of what he did.  RIP, Mr. Borlaug, and may your good name grow over time.

-Darrell

Over Labor Day weekend, it seemed like every FM station had some gimmick going.  One station played its entire catalog from Z-to-A by song title.  A Tucson classic-rock station gave all its DJs a vacation and called it a “no talk” Labor Day weekend (they also played bands in foursomes without any explanation).

I love it when radio stations have silly weekend gimmicks.  I remember fondly when our alternative station played only songs from the early nineties.  They also do a thing every day in which for an hour, they play only songs released in a certain year.  If I catch it in the middle, it’s fun to guess which year they’re doing.  The aforementioned Tucson classic rock station also had some sort of Super Bowl of Rock (or maybe World Series or Grey Cup of Rock) that paired off classic artists.  This hour, it’s Ozzy versus Zeppelin.  We’ll play only those two for the next hour.  Cast your votes!

On the radio, gimmicks are normally interesting and fun.  They force stations to stray from their normal playlist, so listeners get to hear songs they normally don’t.  They make the listener more active, as well.  Even if it’s something as inane as, “which REO Speedwagon song will be the fourth in this set?”, you’re still thinking more about the music than you normally would.

So my question is, why is it that gimmickry is so embarrassing in every other medium?  Think about it: car dealerships have countless gimmicks that rarely make any sense — Come out to Great Neck Lincoln and the kids can ride an elephant!  Why should hot dogs and balloons sway a person’s decision to spend thousands of dollars on a vehicle?

The worst offender, I must admit, is professional wrestling.  In recent years, they’ve avoided gimmickry for the most part.  But remember that Kane’s first character was Dr. Isaac Yankem, Jerry Lawler’s dentist.  Don’t forget that WCW once had a “mysterious egg” that birthed a dancing turkey called the Gobbledygooker.  Right now, the WWF has had matches between Chavo Guerrero and Hornswoggle, a bearded midget (sorry: leprechaun).  Every match is handicapped in some way (hand tied behind Chavo’s back, Chavo gets blindfolded) and Hornswoggle somehow outsmarts Chavo in a cartoonish manner in order to get the unlikely — yet all too predictable — pinfall.  It’s gotten so bad that fans have started a backlash against these matches.  Ugh.  Sure, some gimmicks work, but they’re quite often a terrible idea.

Let me amend my question from a couple paragraphs ago.  I shouldn’t wonder why gimmicks are normally horrible — they just are.  If I want a car, I’ll choose a dealer based on normal consumer reasoning, not whether they have a bounce house.  I just find it interesting that something that’s normally horrible can be so entertaining in the format of an FM radio station.

No earth-shattering observation here.  I just want to be on record about my preference for twofer Tuesdays and British Invasion weekends.  I’ll talk at you again soon.

-Darrell

As you probably know, I don’t like most people.  It’s not that I’m unfriendly; it’s just that it tends to take a lot for for me to consider someone interesting.  That said, I only rarely dislike people.  I’ve found that most of humanity tries to get along with people and doesn’t want to be hated.  That’s no reason to like people, but it’s certainly a reason not to hate them.  So even if I don’t necessarily like you, I probably don’t hate you, and will do my best to reserve judgment regarding your personality.

There are certain people, however, I can’t help but judge and dislike.  Of course, there are obvious members of this clan: murderers, pedophiles, televangelists, the members of Nickelback.  Those types.  But there are some people I hate who, I must admit, aren’t entirely deserving of my hatred.  This is a post about these people.

Take, for instance, bathroom attendants.  They’re normally pleasant enough folks.  It’s their job to offer small talk and give you a towel after you wash your hands.  Occasionally, they’ll have a tray of cigarettes or mints for purchase.  They have a tip jar, yes, but they never overtly beg or give you too much shit for not tipping them.

But seriously, fuck bathroom attendants.  They provide a service that’s completely unnecessary.  What, you don’t think I should be able to grab my own fucking paper towels?  I’m a modern American — I’ve been well-trained with regard to hand-washing technique.  Even the cigarette/mint tray is superfluous, considering these bathroom attendants are always at joints that can sell you such wares at the bar.  And that way, you won’t have to suck a cancer stick that you know has been handled by a strange man in a public bathroom. 

Don’t let me forget that they’re always jammed into an already crowded bathroom.  I’m surrounded by sweaty, half-drunk dudes with piss on their hands, and now I have to tiptoe around a wrinkled towelboy who tries to spray me with cheap cologne?  Fuck off, bathroom attendant.

Who else gets my undeserved hatred?  Ah, yes — the guys who sell roses at restaurants.  Again, they’re just trying to make a buck, so I shouldn’t heap on too much hatred.  But can’t they come up with a better way?  First of all, they’re a bother, which doesn’t help.  No, leave us alone with our linguini, thank you.  Second of all, like the bathroom attendants, they offer a superfluous service.  They might as well exclaim, “Thoughless gifts here!  Get your date a thoughtless gift!  Make her carry around a plastic-encased rose that I bought from the 7-Eleven!  Show that you’re making kind of an effort to express your love!”  Fuck off, rose peddler.

The rose guy falls under the umbrella of all bothersome beggars.  Be it a crazy balloon-animal guy at a family restaurant or a street performer on Fisherman’s Wharf, anyone with that chosen profession (if you can call it that) will earn nothing from me but my ire.

I could go on.  I could rant at length about precocious children, overconfident college students, people who tell only inside jokes, cable-news addicts, John Cena superfans, methheads, Americans who embrace their foreign heritage a little too much, and elderly voters.  None of those people have ever done anything to me, and I doubt any of them will (except for the methheads, who will probably steal from me).  Yet I have specific reasons to hate every one of them.  My question to you, the loyal reader, is this: should I feel bad?

Should I feel guilty that the dude with a faux-hawk and a six-foot-thick cloud of Axe body spray annoys me so?  Should I have any remorse for fantasizing about him getting hit in the nuts by a foul ball?

I ask because, on most levels, it’s a completely irrational hatred.  It isn’t too far from straight-up bigotry — arbitrarily categorize people, then hate certain categories.  I’d like to argue that “these people are making society dumber” is a better reason than “foreigners are taking our jobs and stealing our women”, but the distinction is pretty fine.  I’m starting to think that maybe pretension is the New Bigotry.

You know what?  Fuck it.  So what if it’s the New Bigotry?  This kind of bigotry is good for people.  We need a smarter, more enlightened, more perfect society.  Unacceptable behavior should be discouraged, and unacceptable people should be reeducated and sent to camps and… wait.  I think I went too far there.  I gotta keep that in check.  Everything in moderation, after all.

-Darrell

Hello, loyal readers.  It’s been a fantastic week (or so) in the life of the Darrell.  The start of fantasy football drafts, a Green Day concert, the return of Mad Men, a near-perfect game of team trivia, a WWF SmackDown taping, a human female is pretending to enjoy my company… things are looking up.  In fact, it might be the best fortnight since Rilo Kiley and the New Pornographers released new albums right on top of each other.  What better way to celebrate than with a blogpodge?

So Ted Kennedy died.  I wasn’t a fan of his, but this doesn’t add to the greatness of my fortnight.  Anyway, I don’t have a lot to say about him that hasn’t already been said, but I must draw your attention to this 1990 GQ article by the also-departed Michael Kelly.  It’s a long read, but it’s too well-written to gloss over.  What a fascinating, tragic, loathsome, pitiable life was his.  Considering his lifestyle and the innumerable hardships and family curses, I’m amazed he made it to seventy-seven.  RIP.

I know I mentioned it above, but if you have a chance to see Green Day in concert, do it.  They played for two-and-a-half hours, involved the fans throughout, and Billie Joe showed his ass at least three times.  Quite a show.

This just in: Joss Whedon regains a member of his collection of tiny women who will kick your ass.  I can’t decide if he’s planning to start an army or just film drunken lesbian porn.  Either way, we should fear the Whedon.

Football season is on the horizon, and people are actually predicting good things about the Cardinals.  Not the usual “maybe this will be the year” hype, but real-life “if they don’t win at least ten games, then something went wrong” talk.  It’s a strange feeling.  At least nobody expects the Wildcats to be great.  Bold college football prediction: USC will lose out on the BCS Championship Game after its final game against the Cats (the strangest scheduling decision in years, by the way).  I’m not saying we’ll beat them at the Coliseum, but we’ll look just good enough to sway the votes in favor of other one-loss/undefeated teams.  I think something like that might make me happier than beating ASU.

I probably should have mentioned this before it went off the air (potentially) forever, but Regis returned for eleven broadcasts of Millionaire that ended Sunday.  I enjoyed it — it was yet another plus in this, my Finest Fortnight in recent memory.  The game was vastly improved by the addition of a clock, and the celebrity question at the end wasn’t as unbearable as I had feared (all they had to do was involve Steve Nash to get me to shut up).  The capper was the very last contestant — a complete tool who became the first person ever to guess on the million-dollar question and miss.  My schadenfreude meter went off the goddamned charts.  The question (which I inexplicably kinda knew): In order to get his favorite beverages on demand in the Oval Office, LBJ had taps installed marked “water”, “tea”, “Coke”, and what?  The choices were Fresca, V8, Yoohoo, and A&W.  If you don’t know it, you can look up the answer yourself.

Aw shit, I’m already getting visits from people searching Google for Star Wars fan-fiction!  I hope I get at least one angry nerd to post a comment.  Oh please oh please oh please…

Which reminds me: as you probably know, a nice feature StatCounter has given me is the ability to see what people are searching for in Google that led them to my blog.    I have a few others that, surprisingly enough, led somebody directly to zazzumplop.com:

nuns fucking laymen
wwf trees bidet toilet paper consume
christian bands that sound like nickelback
ginger one liner jokes
capital letters are redundant
dan brown leaked

All of those were real searches, and I’m guessing all of them realized quickly that this site is nothing like what they wanted.  And yes, people still find this page searching for the masturbation scene from Mulholland Drive.  As of yesterday, I’m third on Google in most variations of such a search.  The internet never ceases to amaze me.

It’s so nice when the world changes its tune and agrees with me.  In my most recent case, society has finally turned on Brett Favre.  It took a lot of doing on Favre’s part, but the seemingly endless Favre-love might have died down for good.  Now if only John Cena would sign with the Vikings…

This seems like a decent place to stop.  A relatively short blogpodge this was, but it’ll do.  More nonsense to come more frequently; I promise.

-Darrell

As you know, I’ve been in something of a rut creatively.  Coming up with new ideas for the blog is tough when you have all these self-imposed restrictions: no personal minutiae, nothing unoriginal, etc.  Today I realized an entire genre of writing that I’ve ignored this entire time: Star Wars fan fiction.

It’s such a rich subgenre, I couldn’t resist dipping my toe in the water.  Granted, I’m not a Star Wars fan.  I’ve seen only the first movie, and didn’t particularly like it.  Everything else I know has been gleaned from shows like Robot Chicken.  But I think I can try my hand at some fan-fic, even if I’m not a fan.  How hard could it be?

———

“Man, I hate this star system,” said Luke Skywalker as he leaned forward in his captain’s chair.  “It brings back so many bad memories.”  Luke hoped for a response from Leia, but she had long grown tired of his empty ramblings.  So there they sat, cruising toward Endor like they do every year.

“Do we really have to do this every year?” an annoyed Leia spoke up from the galley.

“Of course we do!  It’s a reunion of all our buddies!  We’ll get to see Han Solo and Chewbacca, and that fat guy…”

“Jabba.”

“Right, Jabba.  It’ll be like old times.”

“Dammit, Luke, you say that every year, and every year we have the same overcooked steaks and I have to listen to you tell the same stories about you blowing up the Death Star.”

“You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

Leia shook her head, adjusted the croissants attached to her ears, and muttered, “I can’t believe I agreed to this again.”

The lull in their conversation came to an abrupt halt when their spaceship received a signal.

“Luke!  Leia!  Help us!”

Luke grabbed the radio and looked at his video screen.  It was mostly static with only a faint outline of a figure.  “Who’s there?”

“It’s-a me, Luke!  Jar-Jar!  Me and Yoda have-a been kidnapped yes we have!”

“Kidnapped?  Who kidnapped you?”

“The Dark Lord himself, Vader did, mon!”

“Oh dear, not him again.  Where are you–”  The ghost image of Jar-Jar quickly turned to static, then popped up a clear picture of the smoky-voiced evil incarnate himself.

“Luuuke… I am your father.”

“Hi, Darth Vader.  I know.  Let Jar-Jar and Yoda go!  Why are you doing this?”

“To add… to my collection, of course.”

“Collection?  I never knew about any collection.  You never let me be part of your life!  Some dad you are!”

“BEEP BOOP GLEEP GLORP” said R2D2, which is robot for, “What’s all this commotion?  I was having a nice nap.”

“Sorry, Artoo.  Jar-Jar and Yoda have been kidnapped by Darth Vader.  We have to go save him.”

“BEEP BOOP GLEEP GLORP” (“Fine, wake me when we get there.”), he said as he rolled back away from the cockpit.

Luke turned his attention back to Vader.  “Where are you, you worm?”

“Wouldn’t you… like to know…?”  As Vader completed these cryptic words, Luke could hear Jar-Jar’s voice in the background yelling, “GARNEK!  GARNEK!  GARNEK!”  Visibly annoyed, Vader turned his back to the screen, said, “Shut up, you,” and Luke’s screen went blank.

“So,” Leia drawled, “I guess they’re on Garnek.”

“Where’s Garnek?  I’ve never heard of it.”

“Really?  It’s a planet made entirely of sugar.  Jabba had a vacation home there.  Absolutely dreadful.  The novelty of licking the ground gets old pretty quick.  Anyway, we’re not far — it’s just south of Naboo.”

Luke made a quick turn with the spaceship, and toward Garnek they flew.
———
As they landed on the sugar planet, a chill ran over Luke’s spine.  “I hope this planet doesn’t aggravate my diabetes.”

“Wait a second,” said Leia.  “You’re diabetic?”

“Yeah, all my life.  You’ve never seen me inject myself?  You never noticed that I only drink diet soda?”

Leia’s surprise quickly turned to suspicion.  “But… aren’t you a Jedi Master or something?  Can’t you ‘use the force’ to make your body produce more insulin?”

A considered look came over Luke’s face.  “You know, I never thought of that.  Lemme try something.”  Luke gritted his teeth and looked intensely for ten seconds.  His torso shuddered and a sense of peace overcame Luke’s face.  “Oh my god.  I think I’m cured.  Leia, you cured my diabetes!  Thank you so much!”

“Uh huh.  Vader’s lair is right there.  Let’s go.”

Torches in hand, Luke, Leia, and R2D2 entered the gumdrop cave.  They were immediately spotted by storm troopers, who began shooting lasers at them.  Fortunately, Luke used the force and laid them all to waste somehow.

After a harrowing battle that spanned less than one paragraph, Luke was spent.  On his hands and knees, he crawled toward Vader’s final lair.  Leia tried to pull him up, but he was too big for her to lift.  “Come on, Luke, we’re almost there!  Jar-Jar and Yoda are counting on us!”  Luke steeled his resolve, took a breath, and stood up.

“BEEP BOOP GLEEP GLORP” (“Hooray, Luke!  Now let’s get that black bastard!”)

“Artoo!” Leia scolded, “the racism in this story is supposed to go unstated!”

Luke turned the wheel on the huge, metal hatch that separated them from Vader’s inner sanctum.  As the hatch swung open, Luke and Leia couldn’t believe their eyes.  Vader had taken dozens of creatures and sealed them in cardboard and plastic display cases.  There were Jar-Jar and Yoda, yes, at the front of the room, but along the sides of the great hall were Ewoks imprisoned individually and in groups of five.  Luke and Leia passed a dazed Chewbacca and a powered-down C3PO.

“BEEP BOOP GLEEP GLORP” (“He was supposed to be on a cruise!  Oh no!”)

The three continued their uneasy walk past a Tauntaun and a bucket of tribbles when Vader appeared from the shadows of the balcony above.

“Luke… I am your father…”

“I know!!!  Come on, man, you gotta let these creatures go.”

“I can’t… they’re all finally… back in their original packaging…”

“It’s wroooong!”

“But they’ll be worth… hundreds some day!”

“So you’re not gonna play nice, huh?  That’s it.”  Luke pulled out that unmistakeable device from his robe — a glowing green light saber.  Vader produced a light saber of his own, his a brilliant fuchsia.  What followed was a battle unmatched in the history of light-saber duels.  Leia and R2D2 cheered on as the battle went back and forth.  There was even a point when Vader got Luke to drop his light saber, but Leia tossed it back to him just in time.  It was exciting.

The battle culminated in Luke chopping Vader in half.  As his torso slid off, Vader’s last words were, “You dared to kill… your father?”

And they all lived happily ever after.

———

Pretty good, no?  I think I’ll submit this one to the Star Wars message boards.  It’s sure to be a big hit.

-Darrell

This is a first: I have multiple requests for blog posts at the same time.  One of them I’ll fold into this post and needs no mention; another I refuse to do (a tribute to Henry Waxman?  Uh… long-time politician, polite Democrat, strange nostrils… he seems like the type I could disagree with amicably.  There’s your tribute, G-bomb.); and the third… well, the third confused me a bit.  Brain-cell restoration movies/music/etc.  In other words, movies (and the like) that make you smarter, rather than the dumbing-down that Transformers gave her. 

At first, I thought she meant that I should list movies about brain-cell restoration, or maybe make a post of my own.  I like that idea, too, so I might run with that on a day when I have more time and creativity.  You know, sort of a reverse of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.  Here’s a preview:

HARRIED MAN: Help me, doctor, I can’t remember who played shortstop for the 1983 Philadelphia Phillies!
DOCTOR: Let me zap you with this laser.  Hold still.
HARRIED MAN: Ivan deJesus!

It’s a work in progress.  But since Gretchen’s request was a little more literal, I’ll fulfill that one first.  What are some movies, albums (or whatever) that I feel have made me smarter?  It’s a good question, since ideally, all the art we consume should do exactly that.  Art should make us more thoughtful, critical, and enlightened.  So here’s my hastily assembled list of pieces of art that I feel have improved my intelligence in some way.

WAKING LIFE — It’s as thinky as a movie can get.  Richard Linklater directs this live/animated set of vignettes that surround the nature of dreams and reality.  (What I mean by live/animated: You know those kind of irritating Charles Schwab ads that are animated, but are clearly drawn over actual video?  Those ads are a rip-off of Waking Life.)  The long-haired kid from Dazed and Confused tries to figure out whether he’s dreaming.  Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy have their umpteenth lengthy philosophical conversation in bed.  It’s 90 minutes of philosophical dorkdom, brought to you by the same man who gave the world Matthew McConaughey.  Imagine that.

THE FOUNTAIN — In what I consider Darren Aronofsky’s triumph, Hugh Jackman takes us on three concurrently presented storylines that center around man’s quest for immortality.  The modern-day (or slightly in the future) storyline has Jackman as a doctor trying to find a cure for Rachel Weisz’s inoperable disease.  The historical example has Jackman as a Conquistador searching for the tree of life in the name of his queen, Rachel Weisz.  And in the distant future, Jackman floats naked and hairless in space with the aforementioned tree of life.  It’s wonderfully strange, gorgeous, and thoughtful.  The storylines, disparate as they seem, intertwine nicely.  You’ll be hashing out the story and the philosophy for days after you see it.  Perhaps most impressive is that he used virtually zero CGI.  That’s right — Aronofsky didn’t use computers to make this.

NEARLY EVERY NON-FICTION BOOK — I could go on about anything by Malcolm Gladwell, Michael Lewis, or David Halberstam, but I don’t have the time or energy.  It should be obvious to you that an informative book will make you smarter.  Go read something.

MEMENTO — Just keeping track of events is mentally demanding in this, Christopher Nolan’s first feature film.  If you aren’t already familiar, Guy Pearce plays a man with a form of amnesia that prevents him from making new memories.  Even worse, the last memory he has is the brutal murder of his wife (he was hit in the head during the struggle).  So he goes on a quest to find the killer, even though he can’t keep his train of thought for more than ten minutes.  The movie’s big gimmick is that Nolan expresses the feeling of amnesia by presenting the film’s events backward.  It’s disorienting to great effect, and it’s a nice exploration of memory and cause-and-effect.  If you haven’t seen it, I’ll lend it to you.

THE PHOTOGRAPHY OF GREGORY CREWDSON — I could go on for years about his beautifully staged, surreal photos.  His milieu is normally the beautifully unsettling.  Sometimes the unsettling is more obvious than other times, but I think you can already see the surreal quality.  There’s nothing that unusual about a man looking sad in his garage, but to have him pile sod inside is a bit off.  He loves colliding the wild with the domestic, the indoors with the outdoors, the beautiful with the disturbing.  What strikes me most about Crewdson’s photos, though, is that it seems that he’s slyly damning his own medium.  Nearly every photo is lovely to look at, but also reminds you that you’re looking at a static image.  There is almost never even the suggestion of motion in any of his images.  The cities are empty; the cars and sundries are abandoned; the models are slouching, bored, sad.  It’s all a reminder that photography is inherently limited; that no matter how you might suggest motion, a still image will never adequately capture it.  Maybe I’m misinterpreting, but I’d rather Crewdson be subtly self-deprecating.

RADIOLAB — The best, smartest program NPR has to offer.  Hosts Jad Abumrad and Robert Krulwich explore all manner of curiosities from time to laughter to sperm.  It’s basically two laymen making science even more amazing.  Also, the presentation is more artistic than any talk-radio show has business attempting.  You can subscribe to the podcast on iTunes or visit radiolab.org for past episodes.  Listen to them all.  Repeatedly.

ARTS & LETTERS DAILY (aldaily.com) — My favorite aggregator.  They cull articles from all over the internet for new books, ideas, and essays.  If I start a blog post with a link to an article that made me think, chances are I came across it on Arts & Letters Daily.

That’s all I have for the moment.  I couldn’t think of a suitable album that I feel made me smarter on a level beyond “well, now I appreciate music better”.  Sorry about that.  Now it’s your turn — what movies/albums/whatever have made you smarter?

-Darrell

Hello loyal readers.  Sorry it’s been awhile, but I just haven’t been able to get over killing Michael Jackson with my last post.  I called him “probably the most talented person we’ll ever see”, talked about him like he was already dead, and then he dies two days later.  I guess I’m gonna have to start being careful about whom I effusively praise on this blog.  That said, I think Carlos Mencia is the greatest person ever to live.  Well, him and Pat Boone.

Anyway, on to an actual post.

I just saw Funny People this afternoon and it was quite good.  In fact, I think Judd Apatow might have made it for me.  I always hated the term “nerdgasm”, but it might be apt here.  If you know me, you can follow the logic here.  First of all, it’s a wry movie about bachelors fucking around.  Add to it that these bachelors are stand-up comedians, which opens the door to scenes about the joke-writing process and cameos from a handful of stand-ups.  Now put Jason Schwartzman in it.  Throw in a few Warren Zevon songs, some Wilco, and a bit of John Lennon.  It even had a topless scene.  So I get great writing, a plot about comedy, an actor I like a little too much, awesome music, AND I get to see somebody’s tits?  Thank you, Judd Apatow.  You’ve made my month.

I like it when multiple pleasures collide unexpectedly.  It’s better, though, when the pleasures are personal.  Because everybody loves chocolate and peanut butter, but not everybody loves both Warren Zevon and stand-up comedy.  Not everybody loves both Neko Case and Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me (she was the celebrity guest a few weeks ago… simply delightful).  Peanut-butter cups are nice, but the personal moments are special.

I know I mentioned this phenomenon before, but I made the post about something different, so I’m giving myself a pass.  I want to explore in more depth these splendidly serendipitous syntheses (alliteration alert: can you tell that I’m currently reading Moby-Dick?  Seriously, Melville goes overboard with alliteration.  I needed to say that.) 

Anyway, back to the subject at hand.  Part of why I like life is that it’s both structured and random.  We lack the capacity to predict anything, but everything apparently has a cause.  As far as we’re concerned, everyone’s path is circuitous and haphazard.  We seem to fly around at random, occasionally affecting others as we go.  It feels so arbitrary, so it’s nice when two or three paths collide to form something great.  Call it inevitable, random, or serendipity.  I don’t care what you call it.  It just makes me glad to be alive.

-Darrell

It’s late June.  The sun beats down on us as it always does.  Our electric bills are soaring and our genitals are even sweatier than normal.  The only relief, of course, is a cool, refreshing blogpodge.

In case you don’t know of him already, allow me to introduce you to Cliff Johnson.  In 1987, he made a low-res puzzle game called The Fool’s Errand.  It’s pretty fantastic — all the puzzles are fair and enjoyable, and to top it off, it’s one of the first meta-puzzles of the technological age.  If you like puzzle games that make you say to yourself, “Holy shit, I’ve been at this for five hours”, download the game for free (follow the instructions — the game’s so old you’ll need a Mac emulator to run it).  But first, read these two Wired articles about the game’s legend (don’t worry, they’re brief).

If you poke around Cliff Johnson’s site, you’ll see that he made a couple other games in that era.  I played At the Carnival — don’t bother.  It’s too repetitive and easy.  But so far, 3 in Three is great.  It’s a ramped-up Fool’s Errand (at least in the sense that there’s actually color and sound).

I’ve said this before, but do you think that if I asked really nicely, Shakira would have sex with me?  She’s not at the top of my fantasy list of unattainable celebrities, and she doesn’t strike me as particularly slutty, but something about her makes that thought pop into my head.  Like she’d agree if I just told her, “Have sex with me.  I’ll say nice things about you to all my white friends…”

In the last week I’ve gotten a handful of new followers on Twitter.  The funny thing is, I’ve never twittered (tweeted?  Eh who cares…) to that account even once.  I got the account twitter.com/zazzumplop in case I ever decided to jump on the bandwagon.  You know, spread your unique domain name thin and all that.  Well, now that people are actually following me for some reason, I’ll start posting to Twitter.  Granted, the only posts will be along the lines of, “New post at my actual blog.  Read some full sentences for a change”, but at least it’s something.

Speaking of Twitter, let me be the umpteenth person to praise Conan’s new Twitter Tracker bit.  I don’t think I can describe it without wringing out all the funny, so just watch the first one on Hulu and enjoy (after sitting through a twenty-second ad).  You can also check out the new Twitter Tracker website, but please, only in small doses.  It’s only so many times you can read the likes of the following without liquefying your brain: “WHAT’S THIS?!? ROB THOMAS LIKES THE CITY OF CHICAGO?!??? EXCITEMENT!!! RT @ThisIsRobThomas I could see myself living in chicago.”

I just caught up with all the aired episodes of Dollhouse.  It’s an excellent show, but it’s been kinda weird for me.  I let myself fall months behind, episodes piling up on my TiVo, without much desire to watch them.  But every time I watched an episode I came away extremely entertained.  The next day, I’d see Dollhouse on the queue and think, “Eh, I’ll watch it later.”  I don’t understand it.  Most shows that I love I can’t wait to watch.  If I have to record Lost or House, I watch it the minute I get home.  I can give you a host of reasons that Dollhouse is an exciting, moving, funny, enjoyable show.  I like the regular characters, and I like that Eliza Dushku has no consistent personality (it helps hide that she’s normally the worst actress on the screen).  I also like the hot, empty-headed women in tiny clothing.  (If you haven’t seen the show, “empty-headed” is meant literally.)  So I highly recommend the show, even though it hasn’t reached Appointment TV status.

I’ve been meaning to post this awhile, but I think I neglected it.  It’s high-speed video of bats in motion (and a fascinating article).  The best part isn’t watching them fly or land upside-down, which is still cool; the best part is watching different bat species walk.  This is why nature is awesome.  And yes, Eddie Izzard, I’m using the word ‘awesome‘ properly, thank you.

To keep the parade of links going, read this British article about the King of Pop.  It’s written quite well, and it reminds me of something I dare not forget: Michael Jackson is probably the most talented person we’ll ever see.  If you’re angry about Heath Ledger’s death, it should pale in comparison to the anger you feel about what has happened to Michael Jackson.  He had so much talent, and none of us could handle it.

On that cheery note, I’ll bid you all adieu.  Well, not before I leave something on Twitter about how amazing this post is.

-Darrell

Driving through my neighborhood, I encountered five white doves walking around in a T intersection.  Resisting the urge to sing, “cinco palomas blancas”, I signaled to turn left.  I had to wait, however, for a van was coming from my left along the street I intended to join.  The van eventually turned right in front of me, but not before the driver slowed way down and took her sweet-ass time making the turn.  She was smiling, staring at the birds chillin’ in the intersection.  My first thought was, “I should run one of those birds over.  It would totally ruin her day.”  I decided not to because, hey, what did the bird ever do to me?  I was mighty tempted, though.

What is it that made me think that?  I’m fantastic, so there can’t be something wrong with me.  There must be a natural, human urge to fuck with people.  I’m sure you’ve had it: you see someone enjoying something so distasteful or inane that your biggest desire becomes to make that person unhappy.

Come on, admit it.  You read a headline that a meteor hit a house that was having an American Idol viewing party, killing five.  Tell me you don’t at least chuckle.  Or how about this: a 45-year-old, well-dressed bald man is eating ice cream on a park bench.  You want a bird to poop on his head, don’t you?  That’s just the part of you that likes to fuck things up.  It might be mostly passive (note that I had a bird pooping on his head rather than you yourself), but the urge is there.

Maybe it’s just a male thing.  I’m reminded of the PUSA song, “Poke and Destroy”.  Selected lyrics:

Boys, boys, boys, boys are set to kill
They wanna crush everything that they see
You could take ‘em to a creepy museum with dinosaur bones
Hangin’ from the ceilin’
They’d feel the uncontrollable urge
To tip and push and kick and rip and tear and smash and squish and

Poke and destroy
Poke and destroy
Poke and destroy
I’m a boy, I wanna poke and destroy

But I think women are just as likely to want to fuck things up.  Why do you think so many women gossip or go after married men or try to break up friendships?  Call them cunts all you like, but they can’t help it — they’re just human.  It’s too powerful a feeling to be able to ruin everything.

That was a cheery note about humanity.  I have only myself and everyone I ever knew to blame.

-Darrell

Ah, what a glorious day.  I’m twenty-five years old, the sun is shining, and I have fresh in my mind one of the worst movies ever made.  Last night, some friends and I watched an old VHS of a 1989 movie called Nukie.  If you aren’t familiar, you’re missing out on some hilarious cinematic incompetence. 

You see, it’s about a couple of aliens who live among the stars (played by slowly rotting foam-rubber puppets that look like a cross between E.T. and Karl Malden).  These aliens, Nukie and Miko, somehow crash land on Earth.  The only problem is that Miko crash landed at NASA (referred only as “Space Foundation” for some reason) where the selfish scientists held him and did horrible experiments on him.  Meanwhile, Nukie is in Africa where he encounters friendly twin boys, a bland nun, and at least five talking chimps.  The movie follows Nukie’s journey across Africa as he tries (and fails) to find America.  It’s even better than it sounds.

I won’t get into any further detail, as someone has already beaten me to it.  That review looks at things far too negatively, however, for Nukie is an utter joy to watch.  Yes, it’s stupid and horribly made.  Yes, as Adam says, it was clearly made by confused Germans.  But there’s something wonderful about watching such a horrendous piece of shit.

I have deliberately watched bad movies since high school, when I hosted a double feature of Plan 9 from Outer Space and Sinbad of the Seven Seas, starring Lou Ferrigno.  I have seen both of those monstrosities at least twice more since, each time exposing a new group of friends to true idiocy.  What’s amazing is that nearly all who have seen the suckitude of these films are glad they did.

I’m by no means a bad-movie connoisseur, but I’ve seen my share.  I’ve seen enough to know what separates a good bad movie from just a bad one.  Armageddon is a bad movie, but there’s nothing fun about watching it.  Videodrome is a horrible movie, but not for lack of skill — it’s just appalling, paranoid nonsense.  Those movies just suck.  The truly bad movies are the ones made with such love, care, and skill that it’s a wonder that nobody involved in shooting ever held up a hand and said, “Um, none of this makes sense.”  These are the movies that are so bad, you can’t bring yourself to hate them.  But let me be more specific.  I’ve noticed a few common traits among the best of the bad that I wouldn’t mind sharing.  Let’s get started.

BAD ACTING: I’ve mentioned wooden acting already, which is great.  I love it when a supposedly emotional line is recited like the actor is reading it for the first time.  What’s better, though, is overacting.  Watch for Jafar’s “HA!” in Sinbad of the Seven Seas and you’ll see what I mean.

PAINFULLY STUPID MESSAGES: Ed Wood was the master of preachy, overwrought bullshit.  Not only did we learn about the dangers of nuclear proliferation in Plan 9 (lesson: don’t let aliens raise the recently deceased in an effort to blow up the sun), but he was way ahead of his time in fighting for transvestites’ rights (lesson: don’t judge Ed Wood just because he likes pink angora sweaters.  He’s a man!  With FEELINGS!).  In fact, nearly every great bad movie has a sappy message to it.  Billy Jack says don’t mess with Native Americans; Southland Tales says that George W. Bush will turn us into a police state; and of course, Nukie taught us that poking needles into aliens was ethically reprehensible.  All life lessons that otherwise never would have been around to nauseate me.

CHEAP SETS: Another Ed Wood specialty — he famously used the same furniture in indoor and outdoor scenes for Plan 9.  A cheap set is funny for two reasons: first, it takes you out of the movie — in other words, it reminds you that you’re watching a movie.  Second, it tells you that the people making the movie lack the time, money, and concern to make a more believable movie.  So when the bad guy in the second Left Behind movie angrily slams his fists against his airplane’s wall, causing the ceiling lights to shake on their supports, all I can do is laugh.

BAD SPECIAL EFFECTS: This is a given.  From the string on Ed Wood’s UFO to Polonia brothers’ puppetry to the greenscreen laser staircase that shoots out of Gene Simmons’s eyes, it’s all marvelous.

HORRENDOUS WRITING: Writing a movie involves a lot of steps.  The screenwriter goes through countless rewrites; the director edits as he sees fit; the actors rehearse and add their own notes and intonations; the editor finally decides which takes and which lines are the best ones that make it to the final cut.  So how does a line like “Sinbad, who I hate more than hate itself” get all the way through that process?  Here’s one from The Room: “I got the results of the test back.  I definitely have breast cancer.”  The kicker to that one is that the female lead’s mother says that, appropos of nothing, then never mentions it again.

COMPLETE LACK OF LOGIC: Is there a reason Ace Frehley only squawks like a bonobo in Kiss Meets the Phantom of the Park (I mean, besides cocaine)?  How is it that Lou Ferrigno can tame a pit full of snakes, assure them that he won’t hurt them, then tie them together and use them as a rope to pull himself to freedom?  On a day when its alien captive is free and forcing its head researcher to dance like a clown, how is it that the narrator can say, “Space Foundation.  Nothing unusual to report.”?  How exactly does raising the recently deceased figure into exploding “everything that the sunlight touches”?  And why, god, why does Nukie have so much trouble finding America when he can turn himself into a ball of light and fly across the universe in seconds?

WHAT-WAS-THE-FUCKING-PURPOSE-OF-THAT MOMENTS: The best bad movies will make me yell, “What was the fucking purpose of that?!?” at least five times.  That’s why The Room might be the worst movie ever made.  In addition to the aforementioned breast-cancer line, we have a drug dealer that serves no purpose, the introduction of new characters in the third act who deliver one unnecessary line (eliciting the related, “Who the fuck is that?!?”), and the most awkward sex scene in history — TWICE.  I’m not kidding — we get to see the same sex scene again, purportedly happening the following night.  It says a lot about their sexual adventurousness when their fuckings are shot-for-shot replicas of each other.

I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.  I want your favorites.  I think I mentioned most of mine over the course of this post, but let me know if I’ve forgotten one.  Let’s liven up these comment threads.

-Darrell

I don’t have the gumption to write something as lengthy as the last post, so I’ll grant us all a break by posting a few links of note.  Enjoy these or else.

This might be the funniest one-theme picture blog I’ve seen.  It’s called “Look at this Fucking Hipster” and it pretty much speaks for itself.  I’d share a few of my favorite captions, but I don’t want to spoil the surprise.  Just make sure to hit Next until you reach the start (it won’t take you long).

If you’re a fan of the finest drama in television history, you’ll enjoy this interview Bill Moyers did with David Simon.  If you haven’t seen every season of The Wire, I implore you NOT to click that link.  Instead, go watch all five seasons of The Wire.  You aren’t allowed to continue being my friend until you have.  I’m serious.

An entire Neko Case concert available online at NPR.org?  Why thank you, public radio.  You can be exciting sometimes.

Puns fucking blow… and this guy backs me up.  Sort of.

For the baseball fans among us, this article is amusing all the way through.

It’s amusing webcomic time.  Here’s a silly Achewood, a nice XKCD, a Dinosaur Comics that makes me smile (bold text means Voice of God), and a mildly disturbing (and admittedly old) PBF.

And now, a downer: a rather heart-breaking account of the darker sides of autism.  Excellent writing, frightening story.

I’ll finish with a bit about a recent AV Club feature.  A reader asked the staff, “What artist gets a lifetime pass from you, regardless of what crap he/she does later on?”  The responses varied, from the predictable (Albert Brooks, Chevy Chase, Bob & David) to the questionable (Dave Matthews?  Really?).  I thought about my list and a few names sprung to mind.  First, I’m flummoxed that no one in the article mentioned Steve Martin.  I don’t care how many horrible Pink Panther remakes he farts out, he’s still a comic genius who revolutionized stand-up, made a dozen classic movies, and wrote at least two highly enjoyable books (and another that I’m told was pretty good).  He’s untouchable.

The others on my list are probably even more predictable: Paul McCartney, Wes Anderson, Billy Corgan… I’m tempted to put Michael Jackson on there, but I’m still not sure.  But enough from me.  What do you guys think?

-Darrell

Warning: the following post is extremely long.  I hope you brought your attention span.

I’m sure you all remember that fateful day when Jim Cramer appeared on The Daily Show to get reamed by Jon Stewart.  A day later, I emailed my buddy Dave to see what he thought of it.  My thinking: he’s my only friend with a degree in economics, so I should probably trust his opinion better than those who host talk shows on basic cable.  What followed was a largely one-sided discussion about economics that helped ease my doubts and answer my questions.

Why am I posting this now and not, say, four weeks ago?  You see, this blog has a policy of reacting to news after most people have forgotten about it.  I think we should be able to step back from events in order to put them in proper perspective.  A little distance is necessary for sober analysis; let the rest of the media clutter our thoughts with half-cocked hokum.

(You see that paragraph up there?  In just a few sentences, I deflected my obvious laziness, inflated my wisdom, AND proclaimed myself a member of the media.  That’s some fuckin’ writing — somebody call the Peabody people.)

Of course, this four-paragraph introduction is only here to distract you from what will soon become obvious: that Dave is the only one with fully formed opinions.  So enjoy the following, which is our email conversation from that fateful day.  I’ve edited it a bit to make it more blog-friendly, but these emails are completely and totally real.

Hey Dave-o,

By chance, did you see Jim Cramer get his ass reamed on the Daily Show?  I’m wondering what your perspective is on the issue — are Jon Stewart’s points right?  As a layman listening to another layman, it sounds pretty good, but I can’t be sure.  What’s your take?  If you haven’t seen it, go to thedailyshow.com and watch the whole thing.

-Darrell

Darrell!  Hey busta – long time no talksola!  I’m flattered you’d think of your good ol’ buddy Mr. Dave!

I just got home from work, and I watched the whole thang:

Jon Stewart has this special ability to make a bunch of unrelated points seem related.  When he wants to make it look like he’s winning an argument, he counters good responses from his guests with entirely different points…

I’m trying to figure out the shortest way to summarize my opinions on that episode, and I think it’s this:  The popular understanding of our recent financial problems is largely wrong, and Jon Stewart epitomizes popular understanding.  Know what I mean?

Worse, Jon Stewart likes to blame the supply side for demand side problems.  You can’t fault CNBC or Jim Cramer for selling useless (and very expensive and risky!) crap to stupid (self-selected higher income) people.  If we are going to start blaming corporations for “mostly-false” advertising (or programming), there are far better targets with far poorer victims, ya know?

He apparently thinks CNBC should take its more subtle commentaries (which do indeed exist on the channel) and make it the headlines:  “This just in!  We’re not entirely sure if the DOW will rise today, but a survey of 712 finance professionals concludes an implied probability of 57% that it will indeed go up.  More breaking news: A recent survey of 10 labor economists suggest the S&P might in fact go down over the next 3 months due to mean wages rising at an abnormal rate.  Though a large interview we conducted with 4,000 behavioral psychologists suggests these labor economists might be biased in their weighting of labor statistics in the matter…  Anyways, maybe you should buy some stocks today!  But maybe not!!  Stay tuned for more inconclusive data in commodities!!”

Sorry, email rant.  Can’t help it.

Anyways, I’m curious to know which specific points Jon Stewart had that you caught your attention.  I was actually going to ask before I started writing this email, but I figured I could tackle it more generally…  And now here I am, at the end of the email, realizing I should have gone an entirely different direction.

Oh well.  Shoutbackatcherboiee, biatch!

- D-hole

I agree with your general points: buyer beware, CNBC is selling/advertising financial advice to people who shouldn’t be listening to them (and NOBODY should listen to any one source exclusively anyway), so I didn’t really care for the fact that he lumped together CNBC, Cramer, and all those irresponsible loan-giver-outers (see? I know my shit!).

And what of the inevitable counter-argument that this know-it-all journalism harms the market by confusing everyone’s judgment?  Is there something to that?  Were there actually scores of people buying Bear Sterns a week before it collapsed simply because Jim Cramer yelled that he loved the stock?

One more thing: Jon Stewart said that there are two markets — the “safe” 401(k) market and the dynamic stock-exchange market — and that the dynamic market is taking advantage of the safe investors’ cash (“capitalizing on your adventure” is how he put it).  Is there anything to that, or is it paranoid bullshit?

I’ll stop for now.  Respond at your will.

-Darrell

You’re definitely no layman…  I was about to point that out in my last email, but you already knew it.  Though I love kissing ass.  (Literally, that’s actually my career these days – I literally make out with people’s buttholes!)

There’s a much bigger issue here.  Most people these days try to simplify it by saying exactly what you implied they say:  Banks were acting “irresponsibly,” and their inability to regulate themselves, or be regulated, somehow caused or at least contributed to recent financial problems.

Banks did not choose to give loans to people they “knew” couldn’t pay them back.  They were only irresponsible in that they couldn’t time the market perfectly.  For 15 years, loan-giver-outers (it’s a fine term) made nardloads of money on loans, and investors in these banks made nardloads in returns, and the economy grew at a nardloadingly fast pace from 1990 to 2007, with some tiny, tiny blips in 2001-2003.  15 years of more people than ever becoming more wealthy than ever at a pace we’ve never seen before in human history apparently comes at the cost of a not-as-bad-as-the-TV-tells-us (so far) recession.

People like to invest in assets (homes in this case) that increase in price, and things that increase in price attract more investors, and more investors investing in a market with supply that can’t keep pace with demand raises prices even further.  Speculative bubble.

Just because this time around the speculative bubble was based on banks lending money for real estate does not mean it’s any worse than venture capital firms buying stock en masse in tech companies in the late ’90s.  Or oil in the ’70s.  Or even “regular” stocks over periods of time…  Growth often means things go up too fast, and then come down too fast.

The point?

People involved in bubbles can’t be called irresponsible.  Only under the condition that a free market investing its money in the most valuable endeavors is irresponsible can you call bubbleers irresponsible… 

And to further stress this point, Jim Cramer said the same thing on The Daily Show:

Stewart: “In what world is a 35 to 1 leveraged position sane?”
Cramer: “The world that made you 30% [richer] year over year from 1999 to 2007.”

…Good, good stuff… 

And you can make an even better point using competition as your impetus:  Banks that didn’t give out 35 to 1 leveraged loans were (or would have been) punished by shareholders.

So that covers the most important point I think…  But maybe you already agreed with all of that.  It was fun to write, at least.

As for the other points:

1.  Confusing people’s judgment / Cramer’s command to buy Bear Stearns -

Is there any other reality we could be living in?  Or rather, I totally disagree that it’s possible to “confuse people’s judgment”.

I’m a strong believer that there really is no way to fight an ocean of demand.  Millions of people perceive Cramer’s show in millions of different ways, and in no parallel universe would CNBC’s choosing to do the “right” thing (which is what, exactly? Headlines from my first email?) change the fact that people are going to be watching, reading, blogging about and masturbating to ways to make money quickly and easily.  If CNBC didn’t exist, the transition would be seamless.  An equivalent number of people would be getting an equivalent amount of false data somewhere else.

2.  Safe investments are screwed by dangerous investing -

First of all, that’s what makes any good economy so dynamic.  There’s a continuous spectrum of investments’ risks, not simply “safe” and “ass-raping.”  The thing about safety is this:  People in 401ks make less money while the stock market is going up, and lose less money when it’s going down.  The only conceivable way in which a speculative bubble can, itself, really harm other markets is if you take a cross-section of time.  In other words, if you put ALL of your money into a 401k in 2007 that was only incidentally related to the real estate bubble, you would have lost an “unfair amount” of money over the past two years.  But shit – I say be patient (which is what 401ks are all about) and it’ll all come back someday.  Just not this year.

In fact, any “safe market” investor does not pile all of his life savings into the market after 15 years of unparalleled growth.  By definition, that’s risky…  And even if he did pile it all in, it implies he is younger (or old and unfuckingbelievably unlucky) and should be waiting for long term growth anyway.

So no, the only people harmed by the “capitalizing on your adventure” process are old people who all of a sudden decided to pour their life savings into stocks sometime in the year 2007.  Everybody else made a ton of money over the last few years, and is now losing a portion of it.

Considering the outcry against “risky and irresponsible” capitalists these days, either Old-and-Unlucky is a huge demographic, or there’s a ton of political bias (agenda, perhaps?) behind it.  I’m guessing the latter.

Wow, that’s a long email.

So whatcha think, D-Johns?

Now there’s the response I was hoping for!  First off, I’m delighted and relieved to learn that our economic woes are a consequence of people behaving in a free market, and that you seem to have similar trust that capitalism can work itself out.  I’ve also long suspected that this recession really isn’t so bad (sure, there’s practically no more Circuit City or Washington Mutual, and Clear Channel laid off my favorite radio host, but I’m not waiting in a fucking bread line), so I’m glad to see you write that.

And yes, I did agree with your points already, but I haven’t seen many people make them recently.  Having zero economic training beyond casual reading (really — I didn’t even take an econ class in high school), all I could do in the face of all this is to shrug my shoulders and say that it looks like capitalism is just being capitalism and that it’ll work itself out.  Much like baseball fans’ argument about Manny Ramirez’s antics — okay, he’s acting weird and for some reason this week he’s upset at some random clubhouse employee, but it’s just Manny being Manny; he’ll forget about it eventually and hit 50 home runs on the year.  The market, like Manny, has its unpredictability, but overall it’s pretty reliable.

So that leads me to my next question: if this hiccup is just that — a hiccup that came naturally at the cost of a period of ridiculous boom — should we be doing anything about it?  Does the economy actually need stimulation, or is it perfectly okay that small- to mid-sized banks that I don’t invest in are shuttering?

And how does Obama play into all this?  You’ve written that you suspect Obama to be a secret economist, but the first major thing he did as President was to push an eleventy billion-dollar spending bill through Congress.  I like his rhetoric about creating jobs without make-work and that it sure seems like we should do something, but is this stimulus package good economics?

-Darrell

I knew you’d kept the faith.  I was starting to think that, perhaps, there was a lot more hippie peer pressure in your life these days…  Actually, I’m guessing that’s true – but you’ve still got the goods…  Deep inside…  :)

The question “does the economy actually need stimulation” is the hardest fuckin’ question of all, ain’t it?  And it depends 10000% on what your goals are.  I mean, are we shooting for an economy with no moral hazard and malinvestment?  Or are we just trying to maximize aggregate demand (which is what Obama’s trillions  in “stimulus” is “laying the groundwork for.”  Quotation marks should be emphasized.)

The idea of stimulus is that the government fills in the gaps left by a slowdown in investment and consumer spending.  The benefit would be that you avoid the collapse of economies of scale and prevent the repercussions of scaring investors from high volatility (AKA letting things [businesses] fail), but the cost is high deficit and high “malinvestment”.  Malinvestment is another topic altogether, though…  Along the Ron Paul philosophy lines, in case you’re curious.  Lots of people can “prove” that it doesn’t occur…

Anyway…

During any large(r) recession – and especially right now – the U.S. can borrow money unbelievably cheaply (because everyone in the world is freaking out and flocking to the good ol’ safe investment of the U.S. government).  So the plan is this:  Nobody else in the world knows what to do with their savings, so either U.S. consumers will spend them or the U.S. government will.  Interesting little position we take in the world, ya know?

So if we’re going to try to prop up aggregate demand (which most people agree we have to, or else we get underutilized [WASTED!] resources [people's ability to work]) the only question is how should we spend all this cheap money?

Some people say tax cuts, but others think that’s blowing your load too soon and cutting off your ability to raise revenue in the future.

And then there’s Obama’s folks, who think giving money over the course of a few years to people who will spend it at varying speeds is the best way to ensure lasting demand.

Personally, I think that’s just Obama’s political capital being wasted on bullshit non-destructible government infrastructure capital.  Or rather, Obama is just paying off his supporters (or buying a political base).  Porky pork.  Or combinations…

So I’m presently of the opinion (and it does change) that if we’re going to use fiscal policy (instead of “unconventional monetary policy” – I’ll explain later) to recharge consumer demand, we should do it with a large initial burst, followed by (if necessary) smaller ones…  But creating government jobs at the cost of a future inability to stop paying for those jobs (AKA non-destructible gov’t) and higher debt interest seems silly when there are plenty of corporate incentives that could be handed out…  Or individual incentives…    To be less cryptic:  I’m a fan of tax breaks…  Particularly of the First Term George Bush style.  I know – what an unpopular thing to say, right?  Mostly I like tax breaks for the very reason most people don’t – it’s hard to raise them in the future, putting a natural cap on government spending…

-HOWEVER-

That’s only if we have to use fiscal policy, which we don’t.

The original “stimulus” package, AKA bank bailout, was a pretty substantial success.  Contrary to popular opinion.  Outside of actual data (TED spread, if you’re interested) the federal reserve pumping money to large institutions that need it is generally far, far better at stimulating the economy than giving it to the government to give it to people who don’t need it, and will only use it after 1-3 years.

Also, the federal reserve can do a whole load of other shit.  Like taxing bank reserves to increase lending…  And buying up government debt by the truckload.  Essentially they can print money until we get inflation.  As soon as we get inflation, the recession is over.

Interesting factoid:  The only reason we’re not at that point yet is that the lag between making “new” money and its effects is too long, and the federal reserve is literally afraid of overstimulating the economy.  I.e. afraid of too much growth.  Put in a more interesting perspective:  It’s so easy to get out of a recession, the federal reserve does not want to overdo it.  No kidding.

Though long-term inflation is far more damaging than a short term recession…  So it’s not that interesting of a factoid, I suppose…

And another point:  The government can’t actually create jobs.  If it’s paying for them with tax dollars (…very important stipulation…) the government can’t make 1 job without destroying more than 1 job.

But, again, the point to Obama’s stimulus is that we’re not paying for them with present-day tax dollars…  We’re borrowing money from the confused Chinese…

OK, I should have split this into two emails so you could argue (or agree profusely) with the first half while I continue to rant.  ..Ah, well…

…and that’s where the conversation ended.  UNTIL NOW!

Dave gave me a bit too much to swallow all at once (in sharp contrast with our prison days), so I’ll only address a few things.  First, what do you mean the government can’t create jobs?  Half our country works for the government.  Most of the New Deal involved government-created jobs to build campgrounds and clear fire roads.  I hope we’re not arguing semantics, but it seems to me that, for better or worse, the government is quite able to create jobs.

Second, if this is just Obama spending his political capital, why would he do it as unwisely as you suggest he has?  I have a feeling that he’s just following the wave of liberal “let’s do something” thinking, and this is as imaginative as they get when they have a majority.  Because really — what’s more lily-white liberal than a federal policy that throws money at companies who show that they’re “trying hard” and “acting morally”?

And since this conversation isn’t complicated enough, how does Tim Geithner figure into all this?  Why the sudden hatred from the media?  Is he being scapegoated here?  He does appear to be a bit of a dullard, but I thought that’s what we wanted in our Treasury Secretaries.  We all remember what a disaster it was when Dubya appointed Sammy Hagar.  Sure, it was fun for awhile, but the moment he tried to implement the Tequila Standard, he completely lost me.

Holy fuck, this post is over three thousand words long.  Let’s move this to the comments, shall we?  Open season on the economy has begun!

-Darrell

I don’t know what’s more surprising: that someone I know has been thinking about the World Baseball Classic, or that he hoped that I would have an enlightening opinion about it.  I would have been less surprised to read a call for my take on Indian cricket (Deep Dasgupta is such a prince).  Regardless, I take requests, so here’s your WBC post, Josh.

My most honest opinion of the WBC is one of apathy.  There’s already a baseball team I root for, and it sure as shit doesn’t have Derek Jeter, David Wright, or Dustin Pedroia on it.  Until those guys wear purple (grumble, I mean Sedona red), they can fuck right off.  Besides, I’m a little old and jaded to associate national pride with the birthplaces of ballplayers.

The more I actually think about the WBC, though, the less I like it.  First off, its timing blows.  The beauty of spring training is that our favorite players get a whole month to prepare mentally and physically for daily baseball.  Now all of a sudden, a handful of the best is forced to play at 100% right out of the gate.  Not only does that disrupt a player’s rhythm, but it puts him at much greater risk of injury (just ask Kevin Youkilis).  Not cool.

So we’re messing things up every three years so we can find which nation has the “best” baseball team.  Umm… doesn’t Major League Baseball already do a good job at finding the best team without having to stick to arbitrary border restrictions?

Speaking of which, the requirements to join some of these teams seems a little off.  I’ve heard complaints that Randall Simon played for the Dutch team.  Well, Simon’s from Curacao, which is a Dutch colony, so I’ll let it slide.  But some others are on much shakier ground.  For example, Frank Catalanotto is from New York, but played for Italy because of his Italian-sounding name.  Texan Mike Hargrove was Italy’s manager because he loves spaghetti.  Alex Rodriguez joined the Dominican team because his parents are Dominican (and he hates America).  Is this supposed to be an exhibition of a nation’s best ballplayers or not?

And why the hell does South Africa have a team?  It’s nowhere near any other participating nation, so they have to be lumped in a pool with Cuba, the Dominican Republic, and Australia (another team whose existence puzzles me).  South Africa doesn’t have a huge baseball following — its most popular sports are soccer, rugby, and spreading HIV.  It has almost zero baseball experience — it played baseball in the Olympics once in 2000 (and went 1-6).  Most hilariously, South Africa has never produced a Major Leaguer ever: its players have gotten only as high as Double-A.  Clearly, they’re in only to make the standings symmetrical.

My biggest problem with the World Baseball Classic is its name.  What’s so goddamned classic about a tournament patched together in 2006?  This is only the second time you’ve done this, and most of the world doesn’t care — there’s nothing “classic” about that!  This goes back to what really bugs me about baseball fans (particularly those over fifty): anything old is automatically good.  Baseball is a “traditional”, “pastoral”, “classic” pastime that hasn’t changed in a century.  One, that’s bullshit, and two, that attitude is why football is more popular.  Football has allowed itself to adapt while you’re still sitting with your thumbs up your asses complaining about how baseball’s been tainted by steroids, body armor, pine tar, batting gloves, synthetic uniforms, and non-white players.  Go fuck yourselves.

I digress.  The one good thing about the WBC, as far as I’m concerned, is that both times I correctly predicted that Japan would win.  It remains the only sporting event I can predict with more than 5% accuracy.  Still, I don’t care.  If it disappeared tomorrow, I wouldn’t miss it, and I doubt most of the world would either.

-Darrell

I don’t believe it — those assholes at AIG spent all their bailout money on bonuses!  Bonuses!  And those were the very same people who fucked everything up in the first place!  Ugh, people are so greedy.  Never mind that $165 million is less than one-thousandth of the total bailout package, or that these employees were contractually owed bonuses.  It’s just another outrage in this greed-fueled, morally bankrupt society.

And don’t get me started about how insensitive our new President is.  Did you see him on Leno?  He likened his bowling game to those of Special Olympians!  How dare he make fun of the handicapped like that.  Besides, I’d bet that most retarded bowlers can put together a better game than old gutter-ball Barry.  Zing!

While I’m on the subject, did you see Obama making the NCAA picks?  What, no love for the women’s bracket?  What the fuck, Mr. President?  Don’t you watch women’s college basketball?  Don’t you TiVo those daytime slots that ESPN has nothing better to fill with?  Even if you don’t, you should have at least pretended that women’s basketball is somehow interesting or relevant.  No matter the year, just follow the seedings, and pick UConn or Tennessee to win it all.  It would be good politics, too — Tennessee and Connecticut are swing states.  (They’re not?  Oh.)

All right, enough of that. 

I’ve had it with outrage.  By nature, it’s an overreaction, which is far from what we need.  What really irks me about media/public outrage, though, is that it obscures the actual issue nearly every time.  The problem with the AIG bailouts isn’t just that everyone made a scapegoat where there probably shouldn’t have been one.  The problem is that now it’s assumed that our benevolent government will save us from our economic woes and that if we breach that trust in any way, we will deserve the subsequent shitstorm.  I’m still kind of on the fence about the appropriateness of government bailouts — let’s keep having that discussion.

The whole kerfuffle seemed to me like Congress was an aunt who gave AIG $100 for its birthday.  Then AIG spent a quarter of it to buy lube from a men’s room vending machine.  When Aunt Congress found out about it, she threatened to cut AIG off forever.  Because that’s not how you spend special money given with love and for a purpose.  Relax, Aunt Congress — you got your thank-you note and most of the money was spent on food and diapers.

As for the Obama stuff, it just goes back to my “lighten the fuck up” attitude that I need not repeat.  In essence: careless or hurtful comments shouldn’t bother us as much as they do.  Go read my Don Imus post if you want it in more detail.

You know, writing a bit about the economy reminds me of an email exchange I had with the esteemed Mr. Foree a couple weeks ago.  If there’s any interest (and if David approves), I might post a blog-friendly version of it in the next few days.  Anybody want to see what it’s like when two uber-nerds talk about economics?  Anybody?

Also, regarding my recent lack of posts: I apologize.  My schedule has been odd — I’m either sleeping, working, or carrying on with friends, which leaves little time to be lonely and thoughtful.  My afternoons are starting to open up now, so more regular blogging should be in the future.  Oh, and since Josh asked about the World Baseball Classic — there’s a reason I never mentioned it.  I don’t care about the World Baseball Classic.  But since I always try to fulfill requests, I’ll make that the subject of my next post.  Happy?

-Darrell

I’m not one for fashion shows.  I’m not one for fashion in general.  If I need jeans, I’ll buy a pair that fits and wear it until it gets giant holes.  Accordingly, I get no pleasure from watching expressionless, eighty-pound models plod across a runway in some garish assortment of tweed, polyester, and ostrich feathers.  I hesitate to dismiss the practice, however, because I recognize that it has some value.  The fact that so many people seem to care about it is value enough, but I see that it goes beyond that. 

Fashion is a branch of art and design that garners a lot of attention.  Designers are artists who strive to create something thought-provoking, and the models are the blank canvases (outside and in!  Hoo-ah!).  I can see that.  Just because I’m an outsider who doesn’t give to shits about it doesn’t mean I can’t recognize that it might have value.  In short, I try hard not to be too dismissive.

I think this attitude can be attributed to two things.  First, I’m an enlightened and generally awesome human being.  Second (and more important), I’ve been the victim of dismissiveness on too many occasions.  Most people I’ve encountered, perhaps understandably, have been skeptical that there’s actual artistic and intellectual value in professional wrestling… or that William Shatner’s music career isn’t just a big joke… or even that my goddamned blog is worth reading.  The good people actually listen to what I say and seem interested in giving my passions a try.  Most, though, let their eyes glaze over as they hope I move on to another topic.

What is it about people that makes them dismissive of things they aren’t a part of?  For years, I’ve had to fight the urge to dismiss fashion as a bunch of self-important claptrap.  There’s certainly an element of that, but I’ve come to realize the error in dismissing an entire art form that is popular with large groups of people.  It’s not my cup of tea, but I won’t think less of those who drink it.

It probably just goes down to that instinctive fear of the other.  Anything unknown or outside one’s group is immediately distrusted.  (If you want a perfect dramatic exploration of this phenomenon, watch the ways different groups/tribes have interacted on Lost.)

Yeah, I know this argument is seeming slightly familiar, but it bothers me a lot.  In this age, as we become more and more global, we should all work hard to be more understanding of others’ enjoyment and a little less dismissive.  Now, let’s all join hands.

-Darrell

My job gives me little time to have actual, deep, goofy thoughts.  It’s a shame, since it’s been too long since I’ve written a love letter or a story about a lemur that lives in a stadium.  The upside, though, is that a dearth of deep thoughts means a wealth of shallow ones.  That’s right, boys and girls, it’s blogpodge time.

In my bathroom is a copy of Anthony Bourdain’s The Nasty Bits.  It’s on the shelf above the toilet, right by the mirror.  Looking at the cover today, I realized that Bourdain looks happier in reflection.  A different perspective on the same picture yielded an opposite interpretation.  It really makes a man think about art and emotion.  It also makes a man wonder whether Anthony Bourdain is our generation’s Mona Lisa.  Chew on that one for awhile.

I missed the State of the Union address this year, as I was working Tuesday evening.  Pity, I know, since that’s the sort of event I get excited about.  The consensus among bloggers and talk-show hosts is that Obama did fine, Jindal was embarrassing, and Nancy Pelosi was way too eager to give a standing O.  How is it that Pelosi makes a spectacle of herself every State of the Union address?  First, it was the blinking.  Then, she tried to out-scowl Dick Cheney (a losing battle if there ever was one).  And remember the year when her pantsuit caught fire and the Sergeant at Arms had to cover her in the flag?  It’s always something with that woman.

Michael Cera has reportedly ended his hold-out, making the possibility of an Arrested Development movie more of a probability.  I have no feeling about this other than sheer nervous excitement.

It’s a comedy cliche to have acts about airline food, television, and bad relationships.  The reason they’re cliche, of course, is that those are the subjects most experienced by comics.  Think about it — you’re a stand-up on the road most of your life.  You’ll fly on a lot of planes, spend most of your off-time watching TV in hotel rooms, and your girlfriend will eventually get sick of not having you around.  Comedians, being hired observers of life, have nothing else to observe.  That’s why I think comics shouldn’t be allowed to tour for more than four months at a time before taking a four-month break.  It would make comics a lot better as a whole.  Need proof?  Jay Leno does stand-up 300 nights a year.  Case closed.

I’m on Facebook now, but I don’t really do anything with it.  Sure, I spy on people’s pictures every now and then, and I’ll play that Geo Challenge game every couple weeks, but I don’t cotton to much of its nonsense.  With that in mind, can anyone tell me the utility of “sending drinks” to someone?  Oh, I got a virtual appletini from someone I haven’t seen in a decade.  Umm… yay?

Last weekend was the Oscars, so the first thing that came to my mind was, “I wonder what won the Golden Raspberry Award for worst picture?”  I found that The Love Guru was justly honored, but not before I noticed something about the Awards’ website.  At this moment, I think razzies.com has the worst design of any modern website I’ve seen.  It’s like Web 2.0 had drunken sex with Angelfire, then they both puked inside AOL’s mouth.  I wanted to think that they’re willfully producing something so god-awful as a cheeky nod to horribleness, but considering the site’s desired functions, I can’t be so generous.

In case you haven’t heard, Wrestlemania XXVI will be at Cardinals Stadium in Glendale.  I’m saving my money already.  That’s right — in just over a year, you might just see me on the PPV in my Santino shirt holding up a pro-Jericho sign.  I wonder if my excitement will sustain the entire year.

I don’t like listening to music in the morning; I prefer sports-talk radio.  I’m just not in a music mood within an hour of waking up (other things I’m not in the mood for within an hour of waking up: food, television, human interaction).  Sports-talk normally does me just fine, except when the commercials come on.  I had that damned credit-report song stuck in my head all day.  Awhile later, I listened to a Beatles album.  When it ended, I was back to humming about serving chowder and iced tea.  Buh.

That’s enough wisdom to hold you over for a few days, right?  Right?  Anyone?

-Darrell

Sixteen years.  Fuck.

I remember when it first started.  I heard that Letterman was moving to CBS and that his show was going to be taken over by some stranger named Conan.  It was that year, 1993, that I got a television for my birthday.  I had been a Letterman fan since I was two (at least, I had been indoctrinated to be one at that early age).  But one show struck me from the beginning.  And now, Late Night with Conan O’Brien will air its final show on Friday.  I’m still in disbelief.

Sixteen years!  How many times have I watched a guy in a bear suit furiously rub his diaper-enclosed genitalia?  How many staring contests have I witnessed?  How many times have I been pleasantly surprised to see Abe Vigoda yet again?  And now it’ll all come to an end.

I know what you’re thinking: “but Darrell, he’s taking over The Tonight Show, the crown jewel of talk shows!”  First of all, Leno’s kinda clouded the luster of that jewel.  Second of all, it won’t be the same.  An hour earlier means the average viewer’s age is higher, which means fewer masturbating animals, fewer vomiting Muppets, fewer sex-addled Lincolns.  Conan is getting a better job and a higher profile, but there’s little doubt in my mind that his brilliance will suffer for it.

The best, most absurd talk show of my lifetime will die the evening of February 20, 2009, and it needs its due reverence.  After all, it probably shaped my sense of humor more than any other television program.  South Park has its place, as do The Simpsons, The Kids in the Hall, and early ’90s standup comedy.  But Conan’s still probably in the top spot.  So in accordance with Conan’s recent decision to show old clips, allow me to haphazardly wander down memory lane.

I was happy to see Cleo Clemmons’s Inappropriate Response Channel on the best-of satellite TV bit.  I was also hoping for Jar Barf and Stackenblochen, but you can’t get everything.

Quick aside: it seems that everyone I know, at some point, has seen the Clive Clemmons Inappropriate Response Channel on Conan at some point in his life.  It was such a random bit to stick with me, so I was dumbfounded when I found that pretty much every dormmate of mine at the UofA had seen it at least once.  And this was before YouTube.

One bit I loved that wasn’t repeated often enough: New Stamps.  My favorite remains the series of Bert (the Muppet) reacting to the news of Dean Martin’s death.  (I wish I could find a link to that one.)  Recently, New Stamps has been sacrificed in favor of State Quarters, which is just lazy comedy that makes fun of states.  Fuck the standard Arkansas-incest jokes — I’m convinced that a whole show could be made of the more ridiculous New Stamps and Patterns bits.

This paragraph break is dedicated to the memory of Carl “Oldy” Olson.  Doff your caps.

Aw, remember the Law and Ordies?  It was an awards show devoted entirely to the fifteen different incarnations of Law & Order.  There were a lot of categories, like “best title card” or “best one-liner”.  The big joke was that the only member of any cast to appear was SVU’s Christopher Meloni, but the other versions of Law & Order kept winning the prize.  When SVU finally won for Best Cast Intro (or something like that), Christopher Meloni played it like he won an Oscar.  Brilliant.

A seminal moment in my childhood was when Conan’s cast of characters reenacted the 1997 MLB All-Star Game.  I can’t find any record of this, but I can promise you a few things: Dr. Ruth played Mike Piazza, who struck out multiple times that game.  She swung and missed a baseball on a fishing pole.  Then, Tomorry the Ostrich, playing Sandy Alomar, hit the game-winning homerun with its neck.  The bit concluded with the “traditional” bench-clearing brawl, which at the time was the funniest thing a 13-year-old Darrell had ever seen.

I was glad to see the Walker, Texas Ranger Lever on Thursday’s show, but was disappointed that they showed only one clip.  Just the “Haley Joel Osment has AIDS” one?  Really?  You gotta build up to that one.  Besides, it doesn’t beat the flaming enemy kicked out of a third-story window into a pile of barrels marked “flammable”.  Not even close.

And what about the contributing writers?  Brian Stack was great as the traveling salesman, the Interrupter, Frankenstein, and the smooth 1940s radio crooner.  That guy sang a racist limerick as well as anyone.  How about Jon Glaser as “Pubes”, the guy who could ruin any conversation just by saying his name?  He also played Bob Seeger singing the warm-up songs to Super Bowl XL (the best being “Against the Seahawks”).  Let us not forget the inimitable Brian McCann as the FedEx Pope, Preparation H Raymond, “Where’s my kayak?”, and (my favorite) Mick Ferguson, the guy who’s awfully proud of his bulletproof legs.  (To those unfamiliar: the bit always ends with Mick getting shot in the heart.)

Too much good stuff, and it’s all going away forever.  I’ll miss you, Late Night.  One of the biggest shames of all is that the show is being handed over to Jimmy fucking Fallon while a more capable Carson Daly languishes at 12:30 AM.  (You can read my surprisingly heartfelt defense of Carson Daly another time.  Suffice it to say that Daly’s a thoughtful, prepared interviewer who has actual talk-show experience and a better attitude and TV persona than Fallon will ever have.)

Sigh.

If you’re not doing anything tonight, come over to my house Friday at 11:30 to see television history.  The show that got me through adolescence is coming to an end; you’ll laugh at the old bits, you’ll smile to see Andy Richter again, and you might just see me cry.

-Darrell

If you’re on Facebook, you might have noticed a recent trend.  People have been writing notes entitled “25 Things About Me” and tagging 25 people on such notes in order to encourage them to write one of their own.  As you know, I’ve always been one to follow trends and to give in to imagined peer pressure.  Let’s begin.

25 Things About Darrell

1. I have a blog (www.zazzumplop.com) that is probably the single greatest contribution anyone has ever made to humanity.

2. Corrolary to number 1, I daily receive death threats from people complaining that I don’t write on my blog enough.

3. Before I had my blog, I was a regular contributor to Salon.com.  I wrote an advice column under the pseudonym Jermaine O’Feel.  All archives of the column have been expunged due to legal matters that I am prohibited from detailing.

4. I am a lover of the outdoors, but I’m a terrible hunter, as my game can hear me sneeze from a mile away.

5. I love sushi, but remain suspicious of the Japanese people.

6. Due to a genetic defect, I was born with a malformed third arm coming out of my back.  Its surgical removal was a gift from my mother for my fourteenth birthday.

7. I was a competitive juggler in high school, but was forced to hang up the pins when I tore my rotator cuff.  I’m mostly healed now, but I still can’t toss accurately with my right arm, so don’t ask me to juggle, okay?

8. I once lost a game of Risk to a trained bear.  I hate that game to this day.

9. Until I was ten years old, I thought snow was as mythical as dragons or unicorns.

10.  I’ve long thought that “Rick Buttsex” would be a great name for a local TV weatherman.

11. I am pastaphobic — just driving by an Olive Garden makes my blood pressure spike.

12. The best gift I’ve ever given to a girlfriend was an autographed photo of Ryan Stiles (she was a big Whose Line is it Anyway? fan).  I never told her that it wasn’t actually Ryan Stiles’s signature.

13. I’ve never had a threesome, but I have had sex with a dog in the room.

14. I have commissioned three different fashion designers to design a hat that doesn’t make me look twelve.  That’s three wasted commissions.

15. I once called the fire department because I ran out of beer.  Since it was a slow day, the firemen were cool about it.  They even brought a passel of women, thus proving the theory that firemen are great at getting tail.

16. My toes are insured for $3 million by Lloyd’s of London.  There’s nothing special about my toes, but if a safe ever falls on them, hoo boy…

17. When I was four, I invented the corkscrew.  When my father told me that it had already been invented, I threw a tantrum that lasted two days.

18. Even though I never played, I have had a recurring dream in which I am a concert violinist.  The dream always ends with my hands melting onto the stage.  I have no idea what it means.

19. I have many friends, but I can only trust the ones whose names start with consonants.  Nothing against them; it’s just a superstition.

20. I have the strength of ten men.

21. Most people think I have blue eyes, but that’s just the color of the contact lenses I wear.  My actual irises are almost completely colorless.  It tends to unnerve people when I show them.

22. I have trouble going through metal detectors at airports because I have a bullet lodged in my right thigh.  One of these days I’ll go to a doctor to have it removed, but it’s been okay for over three years, so I’m in no hurry.

23. The closest I ever came to being a professional writer was when a script I wrote was bought in order to be re-worked as an episode of Emily’s Reasons Why Not with Heather Graham.  My dream died after the show got cancelled after one episode.

24. On a bet, I once subsisted for a full week on only beer and oyster crackers.  It was the toughest eight dollars I ever earned.

25. I’m the most interesting person I know.

There ya go.  I hope you all appreciate me just a little more now.

-Darrell

That was one hell of a game.  Needless to say, I’m pretty bummed right now.  It was the first Super Bowl whose outcome I actively cared about (I was a Jerry Rice fan for Super Bowl XXIX, so that’s as close as I’ve come until now).  All that in mind, I have a lot of thoughts from this incredible, memorable, heart-breaking game.

First, the obvious point: why the fuck wasn’t that last play reviewed???  At first glance, everyone at my house assumed it was an incomplete pass.  I wasn’t even worried at the time — I just thought, “well, at least they’ll review it and we’ll know for sure.”  But they didn’t even do that.  It’s the last play of the Super Bowl, and this is the reason you have instant replay.  Fucking use it.  Even if the play were upheld, I wouldn’t feel as bad about the game.

That said, the Steelers won that game.  The ‘Nals couldn’t stop that final drive, and Santonio Holmes’s catch was otherworldly.  Ugh, a Buckeye had to break my heart.  Ain’t that just too fitting?

I’m still pretty upset about the last play of the first half.  What should have been a 14-10 halftime lead became a 17-7 halftime deficit.  And come on, Cardinals — you can’t push a lumbering linebacker out of bounds?  You had a hundred yards to do it!  I don’t care that he might have actually been short of the goal line, or how many penalties the refs ignored on that play.  There’s no acceptable reason for eleven offensive players to be unable to take down a 250-pound James Harrison on that play.

I loved it when Kurt finally started throwing to Fitz.  I knew Pittsburgh would stack up on him, but I was hoping Warner would toss it his way once or twice.  Small consolation: with those two late touchdowns, Larry Fitzgerald officially had the best postseason by any wide receiver in history.  Whose records did he break?  Why, that Jerry Rice fellow’s I casually mentioned above.  Good for you, Fitz.

Another cold-comfort distinction: Ken Whisenhunt, in my mind, made the best possible use of his challenges.  Two-for-two with the earned third challenge in his back pocket, and both of those plays were close, iffy calls.  I don’t think I would have even considered challenging that overturned Roethlisberger TD in the first quarter.  Coach Wiz, excellent job.

I’m not going to be a whiner about officiating, but… that “roughing the holder” penalty shouldn’t have been called.

Let’s not forget the greatness that was the Cardinals’ final punt of the season.  Caught and downed in the air at the 2, leading to a safety.  That set up the go-ahead TD more than any play on offense (except for, you know, Fitz’s amazing speed on the play itself).

Football really is the best sport to watch on TV, and there’s nothing better than having a room full of people who care about the game’s outcome.  I love it when my house is filled with loud, cheering people.  In the few minutes between Fitzgerald’s second TD and the end of the game, it was great to be surrounded by folks wearing red shirts.

I am still upset, but I must put everything into perspective: the Arizona freakin’ Cardinals had the lead in the fourth quarter of the Super Bowl.  As sad as I am to know that they gave up that lead, I’m amazed and overjoyed that they came this close.  Now, we must convince Kurt Warner not to retire — the longer we can delay the Leinart era, the better.

-Darrell