35 Going On 13

To the random internet guy who made this picture: You're my best friend.I can’t tell if I’ve lost any last shred of shame I was holding onto, or I’ve reached some kind of clarity that only comes from true maturity. Either way, I had no problem buying the latest Pokemon game last week.

Common decency suggests I should’ve furtively taken it up to the register, hidden underneath a DVD of some mid-80s-to-early-90s man’s action movie, or some kind of power tool, or at the very least Medal of Honor or Call to Arms or World War II First Person Shooter Tycoon. And then muttered something about how it was for my son or nephew and make some comment about these wacky kids today with their “pokeymans.”

But come on. The whole idea of “hardcore” videogames is pretty absurd. When you’re still in arrested development mode enough to spend your time playing games, it’s a pretty fine distinction between legitimate “bad-ass” games where you’re shooting computer-generated Nazis with virtual guns, and “totally gay” games where you’re catching computer-generated Jigglypuffs and forcing them to fight each other for your own amusement. Let’s face facts, guys: looking to establish gradations of “coolness” in a hobby where you push shiny colored plastic buttons to make imaginary people do imaginary things, is an endeavor just doomed to disappointment.

So yeah, the Pokeymans. The guys making those games obviously know what they’re doing, or else it would never have become such an international phenomenon.

I remembered that I played one of the earlier versions (presumably, after sneaking it in with a purchase of Quake or something) but didn’t get very far in it. Looking through my old games — because you can trade between versions holy cow how awesome is that! — I found not one but three earlier versions of the game. And one of those versions had hundreds of the little bastards collected on it, an “achievement” which must’ve taken hours of effort on my part, but I couldn’t remember a single bit of it.

Characters in movies are frequently waking up from a blackout to find dead bodies hidden in the trunk of their cars, or newspaper clippings of super powers and/or killing sprees, or mysterious suitcases filled with millions of dollars in unmarked bills. I find old E-rated games with hundreds of monsters in virtual imprisonment and I’m left with the inexplicable but very vivid memory that water type moves are super-effective against rock types.

The new version of the game adds a ton of mini-games and even more stuff to do, because apparently it wasn’t enough just to have the normal stuff that it would take you 70 or so hours to unlock. They clearly know enough not to mess with a good thing; all the changes are just refinements and minor improvements, mostly to the interface.

I am really surprisingly pleased with the new global trading system, though. Pokemon has always been about trading with people, but seeing as how I’ve always been at least 20 years older than the target audience for the game, I’ve never had a good chance to try it out. A 30-year-old man hanging around schoolyards asking kids to hook up to his cable and trade pocket monsters is frowned upon. (Of course, I have worked in videogames, and I have had opportunities to trade with coworkers, but the initial novelty always wore off pretty quickly. It became too much effort to go around my place of business asking friends and bosses if they’d be willing to give me a Clefairy for my Geodude).

With this one they’ve added the ability to trade over the internet. You can use your DS to connect to a wireless access point and do auction-style trades. And that ends up being much cooler than it ought to be, for reasons I can’t adequately explain. To try it out, I got one of my lower-level, throwaway monsters and sent it out, asking for one of the starter creatures in return. Within an hour, one came back to me. It was from a player named “Miyuri” and had the name “Pochama” written in katakana. I imagined some little kid lovingly raising her little virtual pet from an egg and sending it off to America, and how delighted she was to see the English name of the one she received in trade.

The reality, of course, is that you can breed the things specifically for trading, and “Miyuri” is probably some shut-in who’s just trying to get an entire set for power-leveling and selling on ebay.jp. Or hell, I don’t know, it could even be some weird fetish thing — now that the vending machines selling schoolgirl panties has ruined all the mystery, maybe repressed Japanese businessmen can only get off paying big bucks to see an innocent young schoolgirl with an English-named Bidoof.

Plus, I’ve played international online games before, and had conversations with real live Japanese people, and that was five or six years ago. So it’s not just the novelty of it. But I think that simple trade was so simple that it implied a lot more. It was like a combination of the end of the Spaceship Earth ride at Epcot, where the American boy and Japanese girl talk about baseball; or that Cisco ad where the elementary school classes have a staring contest over videoconference, all made reality. We are all one people, united. United in our cultures of excessive wealth and copious leisure time so that we can spend time and expensive computer equipment doing something as frivolous as exchanging virtual monsters, but still: united.

So they got the connectivity exactly right, and I can’t begrudge them that — I’m sure others will, as it effectively eliminates the last bit of genuine social interaction involved in the game. Every other aspect of the game, it’s fine to begrudge. It’s not the phenomenon it used to be, and the parents have moved on to wailing about Grand Theft Auto and the Harry Potter books, but they’re still marvels of brilliantly marketed social engineering and control. Every bit of it is designed to tap into the obsessive compulsive parts of the human psyche. And I lapped it up and will likely continue to do so at any opportunity.

It’s easier to see just how manipulative Pokemon is when you see other companies try to imitate the success of it. Viva Piñata was Microsoft’s attempt to cash in on the whole thing, and it was all every bit as transparently marketed as Poochie. It had the cartoon series tie-in. It was targeted at as wide an audience as possible. And they even took it a step farther with the aggressive marketing, trying to give themselves some “edgy” cache by having cute monsters that you beat open and let cannibalize each other. It couldn’t have been any more blatant and obvious an attempt to cash in. And still, I bought it and played the hell out of it.

It wasn’t the first, and Pokemon won’t be the last. Any game that requires a minimum of effort and thought, but taps into my OCD and provides a steady stream of objectives and rewards, will have me in its thrall for a month at minimum. If it’s got gardening, I might as well just lock myself in the house and turn off all outside communication. (I could never figure out why exactly the SimCity games could have me playing for 12 hours straight, until I read an interview where Will Wright said it was less a city-planning game and more like gardening).

And the next time I complain about how I never seem to have enough time to accomplish anything, you can ask me what level my Chimchar is up to. And I will punch you in your stupid mouth.

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Everybody Wins

I can’t give out free copies of the Sam & Max games, but i can point you to the people who can. There’s a bunch of contests being run for a free copy of Season 1:

So if you’re curious about the games but are a cheapskate (or just enjoy feeling like a winner), then have at it.

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House Arrest

Not my foot, but an incredible simulationI’ve spent the last couple of weeks locked inside my apartment, hunched over a keyboard and staring dumbly at the deadlines that keep flying by. I’ve got that sickly pallor back, I’m back on the sauce, my days and nights are completely reversed, the laundry and the dishes keep piling up, and even the cat is getting creeped out at having me around all the time.

My current theory is that it’s a side effect of my having worked exactly the wrong number of years as a programmer. At this point I’ve been programming long enough that when I first hear about a project, I can pretty quickly break it down into its component parts. When you’re first starting out, the first reaction is always “that sounds hard.” Now, my reaction is more “that sounds like a lot of hash maps, arrays, and linked lists.” Once I’ve broken it all down in my head, it feels like the hard part’s over.

And the problem with that is I never take into account how much time goes into actually making all of that work. I’ve been working long enough to know to pad my original estimates, but not long enough to remember that my original estimates are always ludicrously, ridiculously optimistic. So I basically start off behind schedule, and it just snowballs from there.

But even as I sit here, knowing all of that and having seen it play out again, first hand, it still feels wrong to me, knowing exactly how to do something and having to say, “I’ll be finished with that a month from now.” At EA you can’t swing a dead franchise without hitting a producer, so there’s copies of Microsoft Project on every screen. And if it’s possible for a man to have a computer application as his nemesis, that program would be mine. It just goes against everything I stand for. All those overlapping bars and blocks of time expressed in terms of months — just thinking about it now gives me a chill like getting a prostate exam from the Grim Reaper. Having a long stretch of work divided neatly into tasks and scheduled out is anathema to me. It just takes all the mystery out of life. There’s a reason I’m not a producer.

Anyway, today I finished a big chunk of what I’d been working on. It’s not finished, but it’s finally over the hump and the dark looming clouds have broken and I can finally start getting my life such-as-it-is back together. I walked up to the Haight this afternoon, and it was just weird. I mean, even for the Haight. Being out in sunlight, seeing three-dimensional human beings — I actually stepped out into traffic because I forgot you’re supposed to watch the signals. They say it takes a while to get re-adjusted to life on the outside.

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An Inconvenient Doofus

Hay im good at photoshop LOL!!It’s an old and tired cliche that Hollywood producers are greedy, clueless, and artistically bankrupt, eager to cash in on something without really understanding it. But apparently it’s not enough of a cliche that there’s a standout example, at least there’s not one I can think of. When you think of gimmicky plot twists, you mention The Sixth Sense or The Crying Game. When you think of TV shows declining in quality, you mention “Happy Days” and jumping the shark. But unless I’m missing something obvious, there hasn’t been an obvious one for doing a movie remake that completely and totally misses the point of the original.

Which is why we should all thank Mandalay Pictures for dicking around with The Birds. For a while it was looking like Rob Zombie’s Halloween remake would’ve been a great candidate (Halloween: coming August 31, 2007!), but re-imagining John Carpenter isn’t quite as a remarkable as completely failing to understand Hitchcock.

The quote from this Variety article is Mandalay president Cathy Schulman talking about their exciting line-up:

A highlight of the Mandalay Pictures’ slate at Universal is the remake of Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds,” scheduled to be in production by early fall.

“We think we have a very contemporary take,” Schulman said. “In the original, the birds just showed up, and it was kind of like, why are the birds here? This time, there’s a reason why they’re here and (people) have had something to do with it. There’s an environmental slant to what could create nature fighting back.”

No, Ms. Schulman, it wasn’t “kind of like,” why are the birds here? It was exactly like, why are the birds here?

Cause you know The Birds is fine and all, but what was the whole point? They had this romantic comedy going, and all of a sudden out of nowhere these damn birds start attacking for no reason. If Hitchcock hadn’t been such a hack, he would’ve put some effort into explaining why the attacks started and how they could be stopped. As it is, it’s almost like he’s saying our hold on civilization is tenuous and that we have no real control over our own fate, and at any moment our entire existence could be threatened by the most seemingly innocuous thing, for no reason and through no fault of our own. Yawn.

While they’re at it, I hope they remember to add in some good music. Hitchcock didn’t even bother adding any music to his version. It was boring and downright creepy.

So far, this stands as the most boneheaded movie remake I’ve ever heard of. (Gus Van Sant’s Psycho was completely useless, and every minor change made was the completely wrong thing to do, but at least it didn’t mess with the original too much). So that’s an exercise for the readers: leave your own awful, completely-miss-the-point movie remake ideas in the comments! Casablanca with an improved ending so that Rick and Ilsa get together! Memento in chronological order! A re-imagining of Planet of the Apes where it’s not set on Earth!

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By the Power of Grayskull!

I HAVE THE POWER!From the Something Awful forums, here’s a link to a clip of a public access show broadcast in Atlanta, hosted by Alexyss Taylor and her mother.

Notice a couple of things: it’s from the Something Awful forums, I haven’t mentioned the title of the show, and I’m not embedding it directly here. You know what that means: it’s not safe for work! And no kids allowed!

It’s kind of like if Jesse Jackson did a performance of The Vagina Monologues. “She’s got a man beside her and he’s a good provider, but he’s not hittin’ the walls or workin’ the middle.” And it’s awesome.

Much like the elder Ms. Taylor, I learned a lot I didn’t know. I still haven’t figured out exactly what a jackrabbit is.

Update: Apparently, the video’s already been removed. It was probably one of those things that seemed a lot funnier at 2 AM anyway. To make up for it, here’s a Japanese animated film about toilet training a tiger cub:

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Too Hot for Television

CarsLast night Fox aired the two-part pilot for its series “Drive”, with another episode tonight. It’s about an illegal cross-country Cannonball Run-style car race for 32 million dollars, where the racers are coerced into participating, spies hired by the race operators are everywhere, and death is one of the punishments for finishing last (presumably). It’s got cross-overs into the Joss Whedon universe of TV shows: Tim Minear from “Angel” and “Firefly” is one of the show creators; Nathan Fillion of “Firefly” and Serenity stars as a gardner (or is he?!?) coerced into competing in order to rescue his kidnapped wife, played by Amy Acker of “Angel.”

I’ve watched the first two episodes, and I spent the entire time willing myself to like it. At times, it was like when you’re driving and your low fuel light comes on and you start semi-subconsciously trying to scoot the car forward with your butt to help it get to the gas station. I definitely wouldn’t call it “bad,” but it just kept falling just short of “great.”

There’s a real American Beauty taint to the proceedings; like that movie, the series always one-ups its various cliches… by replacing them with other cliches. By the end of the first two hours, it’s gotten everybody settled into pairs like on “The Amazing Race,” but they’re even more predictable archetypes than on the reality show: the young soldier and his girlfriend, the Latino ex-con and the half-brother he never knew, the Black GirlsTM, the dad reconnecting with his hip teenaged daughter, and a mousy abused wife and an in-it-to-win-it wild girl.

Latino guy drives a Low Rider and calls everyone “homes.” The teenaged daughter refers to him as a “road show production of West Side Story“, which I found out last night is known as “Hanging a lampshade on it.” Normally, I’m all over that kind of thing, but here it just seemed clumsy and bugged me even more.

There’s just something that feels safe and predictable about the whole thing. Even though Fox put frequent “Viewer Discretion Advised” warnings after the commercials, there was never anything particularly shocking, intense, or even surprising. It all seemed like a concept that needed something more than standard network television to really work, but would never work as a movie, either.

Still, I like the main story, as implausible as it is. And while I don’t get the crazy obsessive mania over Nathan Fillion that a lot of internet nerds have, I do like the guy and have never seen him do a bad job in anything. The show’s interesting enough to keep watching (I can’t imagine its lasting longer than a season, and I wouldn’t want to), and I hope it gets an audience if only so I can find out how it ends.

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Reel Missing

A white-hot juggernaut of interminable talking!I got even more to say about Grindhouse. Cory made the point that people are trying to claim if you didn’t like Death Proof, you didn’t “get” it. You can see that in a lot of the internet reviews, and I’m sure if I had a job where I actually talked to people, I’d be hearing even more of that. So at the risk of devolving into yet another internet movie nerd shut-in (too late for that), I want to show that: yes, Tarantino did know what he was doing; and yes, we do get it; but no, we didn’t want it. And okay, yes, it does have some pay off.

But I think to appreciate Death Proof at all, you have to be either really, really horny, or have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen in it. (Or both). The trailers, marketing, and reviewers have done a good job of keeping it under wraps; I didn’t realize how good until I’d seen the movie and noticed how little of the movie actually ended up in the trailer. And since I don’t have a way to do spoilers in the comments yet, here’s a separate post.
Read the rest of this entry »

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Grindhouse

From the make-your-own poster toy at the official site
Man, Grindhouse pissed me off. I knew as soon as I heard about it that this was a movie that’d have me shifting uncomfortably in my seat, but I thought it was going to be from the gore and cheap scares. Not out of annoyance.

The “problem” was Quentin Tarantino’s half of the double feature, Death Proof. As predicted, and as mentioned in just about every review, it starts out slow and egregiously talky. (Even the ones that revere Tarantino as if he were a cinematic messiah mention this — I actually read one that said Robert Rodriguez was Salieri to Tarantino’s Mozart.) And after the enormous build-up of the first half, Planet Terror, and the fake trailers during intermission, the second half plays like the annoying boor at a party that ruins everything and just makes everybody cringe. The one where everybody’s talking and laughing and just having a great time, and he manages to say the one thing that just kills the mood dead. (Usually it’s some variant of a dead-pan “That’s funny.”)

Planet Terror delivers on all the bad-assery the trailer promises. It’s over-the-top gore, cheesy characters, ridiculous dialogue, explosions, and full to bursting with all the gimmicks that come with the concept — scratchy film, missing reels, even the variations on the theme song are funny. I’d been a little worried, since movies never live up to the potential shown in their trailers, but Planet Terror is like the Grindhouse trailer turned up full blast and sustained over an hour and a half.

And then comes Death Proof with at least forty solid minutes of a bunch of women talking like Quentin Tarantino talks. It’s not just a sudden cold shower, it’s more aggressively annoying. Maybe a cold shower filled with bees.

But here’s the really annoying part: Death Proof pays off. There’s about 30 minutes of just totally bad-ass movie in there. First car scene with Rose McGowan: pretty cool. Second car scene with the girls: very cool. Third car chase with the girls: annoying (why doesn’t anyone in these movies just pull over?) but cool. Final car chase: absolutely incredible, with Kurt Russell doing stuff I totally didn’t see coming, and one hell of a final shot. This isn’t like the interminable talking in Kill Bill Volume 2, which just fizzled out to the conclusion; this was a real pay-off that just felt right, a moment that Planet Terror never quite reached, a moment where you think “now that is exactly what was possible from these movies.”

There are plenty of people who’ll insist that all the talking was necessary to get the pay off. That it builds sympathy for the characters. That it was necessary, after the frenetic pacing of the first half, to slow everything down and build back up to an explosive conclusion. Or, simply, that it’s truer to the spirit of the grindhouse movies that inspired it. The first point is just wrong — you don’t feel sympathy for the characters, you’re eager to see them get killed. The second, I’m highly skeptical about — I still believe they could’ve cut Death Proof to 45 minutes or less and still get as satisfying a reaction.

The last point, I can’t really say much about. Apart from Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! and maybe the movies from “Mystery Science Theater 3000,” I haven’t seen any of the movies that inspired or are referenced by this one. But from what I do recognize, I don’t think either of half of Grindhouse really gets it exactly right.

Planet Terror looks the part on the surface, but its plot is a little too coherent, and its production values are a little too high. I’ve already forgotten where I read it, but somebody on the internets described it as “what the grindhouse movies wanted to be, not what they were.” Death Proof, as the self-important internet film critics will point out, dispensed with the surface-level gimmicks and instead captured what the originals were really like. Lower budgets meant less action and more talky scenes that went nowhere. Editing rambled and meandered to make the most out of the film that was shot. There was only enough money for a couple of expensive action sequences. Using a stunt person as a cast member was a bonus.

But I’d counter that while that makes for a more genuine recreation/reinterpretation, it goes too far down the path of movie nerd wankery and loses sight of the big picture: big, stupid, fun movies. And Planet Terror is simply more fun. I just saw it yesterday and already I’ve forgotten most of it, while there are elements of Death Proof that still stand out in my mind and just seem cooler and more bad-ass the more I think of them. But that feeling of just plain anything-goes fun has to be what attracted these guys to those movies in the first place.

But all of that is just written under obligation; when a movie has two halves, you just have to compare them. While I’m at it: you’re also supposed to pick your favorite of the trailers. The Machete trailer is gold, but my favorite is the awesome one for Don’t.

I wish I could say I were surprised the movie isn’t making as much money as they’d hoped. It’s definitely a day at the movies, and there’s a reason double features fell out of favor in the first place. But although it’s not a surprise, it’s a shame, because annoyances and all, Grindhouse is a blast. It’s a great homage to these movies, and like Kill Bill it’s made me seek out a lot of the originals that inspired it (in particular, I want to see Vanishing Point now). And it’s proof that a movie can be filled with movie nerd wankery and experimentation and not end up with too-clever post-modernism or indie self-indulgence. It can just be fun.

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I can't stop it I don't know how it works!

The game of unspeakable fun (image from boardgamegeek.com)I watched Thank You For Smoking a few weeks ago, but I was so let down by the ending I didn’t know what to make of it. Surprisingly, the whole Don Imus scandal puts it into perspective.

Thank You For Smoking plays out as a well-produced, well-performed, cleverly-written story that seems to be building up to some incisive satire about lobbyists, politics, and the tobacco industry. It sets the stage, defines the characters, and takes a few detours for some really slick and well-done scenes that don’t really say anything remotely original. There’s a long and genuinely funny segment where the main character meets a fancy Hollywood movie executive and his fawning assistant; it ends having said nothing more than “Hey, aren’t LA people phony?” Afterwards is a scene with Sam Elliott perfectly cast as the original Marlboro Man; that results in the razor-sharp observation: “people are often motivated by money.”

The movie spends all this time with Aaron Eckhardt’s character, setting him up as a charming man who could talk his way into or out of anything, a man who’d built his entire life around the idea that there is no solid dividing line between right and wrong. And, like most smokers, he’s built elaborate networks of denial and self-delusion in order to maintain an addiction that he and everybody else knows is dangerous and lethal. As he explains to his son at one point: by changing the argument from “are cigarettes dangerous” to “do I have the right to choose for myself,” he moves the line, shifting it from an indefensible position to one where he’s the victim and he’s got the moral upper ground.

For over an hour, the movie builds sympathy for his character so that the line becomes blurred even for the audience. And then finally, one of his choices is turned on him, and everything in his life is ruined — his job, his only friendships, his relationship with his son, and he can’t even smoke anymore. We see a video segment where every thing he’d done in the movie up to that point is re-examined and described with a different spin — now, the actions and words we’d been led to believe were harmless seem cold, manipulative, and downright evil. He’d manipulated everyone, including the audience, and probably even himself, into believing his own spin. After seeing that, I became convinced that this movie was the best, most effective indictment of moral relativism I’d ever seen.

And then, of course, the movie works to undo every single bit of that. His friends and family come back to him, his son still idolizes him, those who had wronged him are shown getting their come-uppance, and not only is he offered his job back, he gets the greatest pleasure of being able to turn it down. I’ve said before that I don’t mind happy endings, and an ending that’s negative just for the sake of being negative or “edgy” is even more vapid than having Lassie show up and E.T. come back to life. But a happy ending is just deadly to satire. Without the edge — and especially the way this movie shies away from the edge so much you’d think it were a hemophiliac — you’ve just got a “character study.” Which is just a tactful way of saying, “a story with no point.”

So what does any of this have to do with racist comments from a radio shock jock? Not much, until you find this Time magazine analysis of the reaction to Imus’ comments, and in particular John Rogers’ response to that article.

The Time story is titled “Who Can Say What?” and asks the same question a lot of people are asking: where’s the line? Why is there such an outcry when Imus says the same things that [insert black celebrity here] has been saying for years? And why such a strong reaction to this incident, when Imus himself has been saying the same thing for years? Why is it okay for Sarah Silverman or Sacha Baron Cohen or “South Park” to say hateful things about blacks and Jews, but suddenly the offenderati comes out with White Liberal Guilt guns blazing whenever Don Imus, Isaiah Washington, Michael Richards, or Mel Gibson says them?

And the reason I like Rogers’ commentary so much is that he cuts through all the attempts at cultural analysis of a Very Complex Issue and says simply: it’s really not that complicated. (He goes on to describe it in terms of comedy and power brokering, which is fine but just a smaller part of the whole thing).

Like it or not, there’s still a line there, and it hasn’t moved all that much in the last 30 or 40 years. And shame on anyone who tries to make it out that it’s constantly in flux, being manipulated by some “cultural elite” of easily-offended liberals who, as part of their nefarious hidden agenda, are forever lying in wait to bait people into thoughtcrimes and discredit them.

You see that claim alleged over and over again, people forever asking, “So when exactly is it okay to be racist/homophobic/anti-semitic/misogynist?” The answer is pretty simple: “Never.”

“But wait,” they claim, “black/gay/Jewish/female people say that stuff all the time and they not only get away with it, they’re applauded for it!” And that’s the heartbreaking part. Because you realize you’re not just explaining comedy anymore. You’re having to explain basic human decency to a person who just doesn’t get it, and it’s like trying to explain algebra to a caveman. They don’t understand it, they’re never going to use it, but everybody keeps telling them that it’s important and they should be ashamed for not understanding it. And all they can ask is “Is this going to be on the final?” (Considering that intolerance and religious fundamentalism so frequently go hand-in-hand, I’m surprised more people don’t realize that yes, this is going to be on the final.)

One of the bits that the Time article seems to be bewildered by is from the Sarah Silverman show. There’s a scene in the pilot where she meets God, who’s played by a black actor, and she asks, “Are you God’s black friend?” Why is that acceptable, when Imus’ calling a bunch of college basketball players “nappy-headed hos” isn’t? Both are racist comments intended for shock value. And neither is coming from a black person, so you can’t say that it’s “taking back the word.” How can this be?

Some would say that it’s just because Silverman’s funny and Imus isn’t. Some would say that it’s because Silverman’s liberal and Imus isn’t (Silverman makes a comment against that in the article). Some would go into a long explanation about the political inequities of comedy and how it’s only acceptable when those of a lesser socioeconomic status are using words to negotiate an exchange of power with those who are traditionally in dominant societal roles, and because a Jewish woman can relate to a position of inequity better than a wealthy white male, Imus was perceived as a bully while Silverman isn’t.

Which is all just more White Liberal Guilt mixed with political correctness and pseudo-academic wankery. There are aspects of all that that are correct, but it all boils down to the same thing: Silverman can say racist words because she isn’t expressing racist ideas. One is saying, “look at how idiotic racist over-privileged white people are;” Imus was saying, “look at how scary and dirty those black people are.” It shouldn’t take a damn dissertation about “context” to explain that.

But why now? Why is “nappy-headed hos” such a colossal offense, when Imus has been saying the same type of thing for years? The problem is in thinking that the two are unrelated. That there’s some hidden dictionary only the offenderati have access to, where “suddenly” one phrase has been listed as objectionable, and the only way to know what’s offensive is to keep guessing until you get Al Sharpton to complain. A much simpler and more obvious explanation: maybe this shit’s been building for years. The context isn’t some weird imbalance of power between college basketball players, a radio shock jock, huge broadcasting corporations run by Rich White Men, and the liberal media. The context is that the guy’s been showing himself to be a racist for years, and he finally got called on it. Even shock jocks tend to have more intelligence than a puppy, but the media reaction to Imus’ case has been more like “you have to catch him in the act or he’ll never learn!”

The Time article has a quote from one stringy-headed ho in a passage about the escalation of offensiveness in the media:

Right-wing pundit Ann Coulter is probably the best example of this, playing a constant game of “Can you top this?” with herself, as in March, when she told the Conservative Political Action Conference that she would have a comment on Senator John Edwards, “but it turns out that you have to go into rehab if you use the word faggot.” Coulter is only the most egregious example — from Bill O’Reilly on Fox to Glenn Beck on CNN, offense is the coin of the cable realm.

As much as I hate to feed a boorish, skeletal lich with the attention she so desperately and transparently requires to feed her minions and wreak unholy vengeance upon this Earth, she makes it difficult not to, because she’s just such an obvious example of irresponsible evil in the media. Describing how to be a decent person without mentioning Coulter in contrast is like a game of Taboo where you have to describe “goodness” without mentioning the word “evil” or “badness.”

Coulter’s fans and fellow pundits — which is to say, “idiots” — would say that that one quote wittily and effectively counters so much of what’s wrong in today’s media: we’ve lost our edge and our honesty, we’re no longer able to say what we really think because the lines of acceptability keep being redrawn, and the weak and inoffensive are rising to power.

Bullshit. What that quote says is: “John Edwards is a faggot.” And if that’s what passes for incisive commentary from pundits on The Right, I don’t know why they’re crusing Beltway bars for cretinous sluts who’ll say anything you want if it means they get a sound bite and a book deal, instead of going directly to a fifth-grade playground.

I always assumed that Limbaugh, Coulter, and the others who I’m sure are every bit as offensive but don’t get as much media attention, were evil because they were so manipulative. They were just savvy enough to recognize what people are scared of and what they don’t understand, and were able to manipulate that to discredit the other side. But every time I see the outrage and bewilderment in the media over what should be obvious to anyone who had parents or a kindergarten that taught them how to treat people, I have to wonder — do they really just not understand? And which of those possibilities is worse?

The line is still there in plain sight to anybody with any intelligence. Contrary to what they’d have you believe, it’s not being moved by an unseen hand, and they’re not just saying what “everybody thinks” but is “too afraid to say out loud.” Most people can still see the line; the only question is whether they have the dignity or class or intelligence or have just plain earned the right to step over it. It’s not a case of “political correctness.” We matured past “political correctness” a long time ago, not long after it became a buzzword. And we didn’t do it by being proud of being “politically incorrect;” we did it just by being correct.

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One of Them

There she goes with that LOOK again.
I think I missed the cut-off date for talking about this week’s episode of “Lost,” but it’s kind of difficult.

For one thing, I feel guilty. Maybe I’m seeing something that’s not there, but it feels like the show’s in desperate-to-please mode, like a dog that’s been scolded for getting on the couch too many times and now he makes a point of showing you all the time how not on the couch he is right now. This last episode was all, “hey look, see we’re getting away from the Others camp and we’re focusing on the main characters again and we’re answering big questions from the first season and isn’t that what you wanted?” and I have to wince and say, “I really just wanted you to be better!”

And for another, I’m in danger of turning into one of them. The people who really just don’t seem to enjoy the show anymore but still watch it, either out of masochism or a defeatist “I guess that’s as good as it gets” mentality. And I really don’t dislike the show, and I’m not even as frustrated with it as a lot of other people are; it just seems like it’s always a relatively solid show that keeps reminding you how much better it could be.

This week’s episode was all about Juliet, which is fine by me. She’s the most interesting character they’ve got going now; again, unlike every other character in the series, she somehow gets more intriguing the more you find out about her history. We found out even more about her this episode, but they were all fairly insignificant details, and still nothing about the three year gap where she received her ninja kung fu training. And we still don’t know her real motivations. I was saying last week how cool it would be if she turned out to be a villain — this week’s non-twist wasn’t so much a shocker as it was coming to a fork in the plot and nudging things in one direction instead of the other. I’ve still got hope that we’ll find out more about why she’s doing what she’s doing, instead of discovering she’s just another Michael.

And again, Elizabeth Mitchell just does a great job with the part. She’s the only member of the cast these days (apart from Terry O’Quinn, I guess) who gives the impression that there’s really things going on inside her head, and she’s not just delivering lines. Her best scene was the showdown against Sayid and Sawyer. I read somewhere that it was completely implausible she could make them turn tail, but I totally bought it. It’s that look. That look of “I’m not angry, I’m just very, very disappointed in you.” That’s some black belt manipulation right there. And as she was walking away, she had the perfect expression of “holy shit I never expected that to work.”

Still, my mind began to wander. I kept thinking about how the show could be more interesting if they played around with the flashbacks, introducing an aspect of the unreliable narrator to them. Actually showed us how these events were remembered, instead of how they really happened. Maybe what Juliet remembers as being browbeaten by Ben into staying on the island, he remembers entirely differently. So you’re not just given a villain and This Week’s Shocking TwistTM, but you have to interpret what happened for yourself.

But then, that’s the kind of thing you’re left to think about when your mind is wandering. And when you’re desperately forcing yourself not to think about inconsistencies. Like it’s still weird that they didn’t just move into the Others’ camp, but accepting that, why didn’t they at least take a shower first? Instead of walking through the jungle with caked-on mud and being delighted to find a stream to wash off in?

I’m glad that the episode ended as it did, because the idea that Juliet was given a complete run-down of Ethan’s entire plan, down to where he hid the medicine stash, and she still remembered every detail after this time, was straining credulity. (And I never notice that kind of thing.) As it turned out, that part ended up making sense, but in the Never-Ending Jenga Game that is Lost Episode Plausibility, the explanation of Claire’s abduction doesn’t make sense anymore. Even though it was a complete, exhaustive, plausible, and well-thought-out explanation, and it’s now been replaced with “we were careful to insert a magic radio frequency hemmoraghing device for just such an emergency.”

Speaking of which, I’m less convinced now that Ben & Juliet’s Scooby-Doo style exposition from a few episodes back was the clever self-referential comedy I’d thought it was at the time. It seems like all they do is have clandestine meetings together where they clumsily remind each other of what’s happening. “Boy, it sure was nice of your aunt to let us use her island for top-secret experiments in fertility and electromagnetism!” “You said it! I just hope we don’t run into a… sm-sm–sm—SMOKE MONSTER!”

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