You reap what you sow. Toyota.I'm sure you can think of others.
What goes around comes around. Toyota.
This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you, Toyota.
Saturday, March 5, 2005
Friday, March 4, 2005
However, two questions of movie etiquette for discussion. First, behind me was a mother, father, and about 6 year old child. Leaving aside the wisdom of bringing a 6 year old to a movie that's (quite deservedly) rated "R," the child dozed off about half an hour into the movie, but then began to snore--quite loudly--throughout the rest of the movie. Should the parents have removed the child?
Second, and trickier--it's cold in New York right now, so people have coats and bags, etc., and, of course, movie theatres provide no place to put them. I customarily put my coat, hat, and bag on the seat next to me, but will move them if asked. Tonight, as the movie started, my coat and stuff were on the chair to my right, and the person two seats down had their coat and such on the left. While the theatre was crowded, no one asked me to move over before the lights dropped, during the pre-show advertising, or during the trailers. However, shortly after the movie began, a couple arrived, and asked that I move over. I said that because the movie had started, I would not. They loudly pled, and, realizing that they wouldn't shut up, moved over, but whispered to them that they should consider showing up on time. Question: how should I have handled this situation?
Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction knew that Travolta won the disco contest in Saturday Night Fever. But Tarantino's scene didn't depend on that; it built from it. Travolta was graceful beyond compare in Fever, but in Pulp Fiction he's dancing with a gangster's girlfriend on orders from the gangster, and part of the point of the scene is that both Travolta and Thurman look like they're dancing not out of joy, but out of duty. So we remember Fever and then we forget it, because the new scene is working on its own.
Now, I always thought the point of the scene was that both Vincent Vega and Mrs. Mia Wallace were both already wasted on heroin (but didn't know the other was), and that their dancing was, as a result, just ridiculously funny as their tried to twist through their drug-induced haze.
Or am I wrong, and Ebert right, as I imagine often is the case?
Thursday, March 3, 2005
That's just wrong.
Said survey needs to start with the winner of Fame, one Harlemm Lee (or Gerry Woo), who writes on his website:
I think it's safe to surmise that Mr. Lee no longer sings the body electric, and could probably use a hot lunch these days.
[A]s of now, I have yet to receive the bulk of the career-enhancing prizes promised to the winner (the "Fast Track to Fame" Prize Package, as it was announced weekly on the show). While I am still in the process of working to have the prizes delivered to me, I am very confused and flabbergasted at this state of affairs, and why it is taking so long to collect my winnings.
My biggest disappointment comes from having been denied the most basic resources needed for promotion, marketing, and distribution which would have enabled me to start a decent entertainment career. The meager and minimal efforts that have been put forth up until this point come across as purely cosmetic and symbolic gestures; it is very clear that there was never any true intent to reach meaningful marketing or promotional objectives which would have helped to establish my career. One need only look at the past year as evidence of this fact.
A year later, the damage is done. I have been completely invisible since winning FAME, and unable to capitalize from all my hard work and national exposure gained from the show. If it weren't for my unemployment checks and my year-long stay at the W Hotel (which I am very grateful for, but ends in August), I would be completely penniless and homeless.
Note to self: don't trust Debbie Allen.
- Castaways I like: Angie, the Tattooed Indie Chick with the Perpetually Blurred Nipple; The Guy Who Looks Like Ed Bradley; The Guy Who Looks And Sounds Like Spike Jonze in Three Kings; and Tom and Ian, The Guys Who'll Probably Win.
- I really liked both of tonight's challenges -- a nautical game of Steal the Bacon and the death march from hell.
- It's interesting -- just as The Race has moved away from model-types, Survivor has embraced them again. But that's fine.
"Donald Trump is the mack daddy of the United States. Aside from flying out of the heavens on his own, he came in the most grandiose possible way. Yeah, I'm all about a man with a helicopter. I think that's pretty hot."
Erin then proceeded to demonstrate her utter incompetence at the game of golf with what Trump characterized as her "very very delicate swing."
correction via Mark Wade
And, according to the this story, things are cool between Rock and Penn, so you can cross that off your list of worries.
One last Oscar note, I hope you drank when you saw that tattoo on Best Actor-winner Jamie Foxx's head. It's only a temp, part of his look, along with the closely shaven head, for his next picture, Jarhead, in which he plays a blind, piano-playing, cab-driving, Gulf War marine.
Hall of Fame defensive back Ronnie Lott, the former San Francisco 49ers great, took the witness stand in an Oakland courtroom this morning, testifying that the numerous team speeches he gave over his 14-year career never included suggestions to punch a teammate.
There's more on the Bill Romanowski-Marcus Williams trial here, and here.
Wednesday, March 2, 2005
I was a huge fan of the Ontario Science Centre when my dad took us to Toronto with all its interactive exhibits, and the assembly line at the Boston Children's Museum.
But my heart, as it were, was the Giant Heart at the Franklin Institute, with its massive twisting arterial tunnels, veins and lung passages. And the massive Baldwin locomotive. And, oh, wow, the van de Graaf generator, showing the effects of electricity on unsuspecting long-haired kids. The Franklin Institute gave me a life-long love of science that, um, ended around 11th grade, when AP Chemistry just got too damn hard.
So tell us a story about a museum or an exhibit that you enjoyed as a kid. (Bonus for stories that contain the phrase "there used to be . . . ")
Waiting 10, 20, 30 hours outside the House or the Senate, holding a place in line so some well-pressed lobbyist can sit upfront at a congressional hearing and bat eyes at all the right people -- this is democracy, or something like it. More importantly, it's a job.
And they said that kids weren't interested in government work anymore.
Tuesday, March 1, 2005
Instead, we've got lovable hillbillies, the return of Team I Love My Dead Gay Son, a team Jen quickly identified as Team Low Motility, Prisoners of Love and, of course, Rahb and Ambuh, who wind up pulling off one of the sleekest anti-bunch maneuvers you'll see in a Race.
Snot-nosed llamas, wacky hats, and a split-second finish -- what more could you want?
But Matt still had $24 million coming to him. So, what to do with it? Live very large:
And, of course, there's the $13.5-million, 28,500-square-foot home itself - for the record, the largest residence in Pinellas County and the second-biggest in Tampa Bay . . . Then again, even the cribs featured on MTV would have a hard time touching this renowned party palace and ultimate bachelor pad.
How do you top the 40 TVs all hooked up by satellite, the 18 TV sets all wired together with Xbox so Geiger and his old high school pals can play each other simultaneously in Halo shootouts, the 330,000-gallon pool out back with a cooking area designed by Outback, the winding water slide down a faux tropical island mountain, and the 5,200-square-foot guest house overlooking it all?
Or how about the 9,000-square-foot downstairs entertainment floor? It features a restaurant-like bar the size of the one in which everybody knows your name on Cheers, an enclosed cigar bar, a poker room, a self-contained movie theater, a TV sports zone with cushy sofas facing a wall filled with big-screen TVs, a 3,000-gallon shark tank and a home gym slicker than some with a monthly fee.
Then there's his menagerie of animals grazing outside in a fenced pasture, including 12 buffalo, 11 Watusi cattle, two donkeys, a miniature horse and one cow.
Yes, Sixers fans, there are pictures. Yes, they will make you angry.
A kid I met on the subway told me that his mother doesn’t like his new 50 Cent ringtone, “Candy Shop,” not because it features explicitly sexual rhymes but because it’s not as cool as “In Da Club,” a previous 50 Cent ringtone, which received Billboard’s first Ringtone of the Year award, in 2004. A karate teacher in his thirties told me that he spends ten dollars a month on ringtones, and currently has about twenty, most of them polyphonic renditions of Led Zeppelin songs. An architect in her mid-thirties said, “I spent three days of productive work time listening to polyphonic ringtone versions of speed metal, trying to find exactly the ringtone that expressed my personality with enough irony and enough coolness that I could live with it going off ten times a day. In a quiet room, in a meeting, this phone’s gonna go off—what are they going toAdd to this the revelation that author Sasha-Frere Jones at one point had Kelis' "Milkshake" as a ringtone, which apparently brought all the boys to the yard, and you got good reading.
Hat tip to Lindsayism for the link.
No word on when the FCC will rule on the PTC's most recent complaint that when NBC's Dan Abrams is shown from the chest up, his bottom half is ___-____ing a r_____ m__k__ and _____ing the s_nt_r_m all over his ___s___l a__i_____. (Partially redacted by your good friends at ALOTT5MA Standards and Practices.)
Gays are back. Boston Rahb and Ambuh have joined us, along with, Phil promises, "new consequences that we haven't seen before" for the teams that finish last in non-elimination legs.
The teams are ready. Are you?
Speaking of dark and stormy, Mrs. Earthling was good enough to make me a Dark and Stormy, one of my favorite cocktails. Take a highball and fill it with ice. Add a jigger of dark rum, a good measure of a very sharp ginger beer (Stewart's does the trick), and a splash of key lime juice.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Really: how do you give Best Picture to Million Dollar Baby without, over the past three hours, giivng the audience any real idea of what it's about?
This was a broadcast trimmed down so far that there was no fat, but they cut out some of the muscle too. Learn from the Grammys: don't just hand out a pile of the awards; celebrate what the medium does well, and give the audience a real feel for what happened during the year in film.
I don't think anyone can complain about the specific recipients of awards, but as ceremony and entertainment broadcast, that was bad.
The efforts made to speed things up with the minor awards were fine, as far as they went, but I wouldn't mind if they moved some of those awards off-broadcast altogether (the Oscars are the only major awards which present every single award on-stage) and, as I first said here two years ago, "don't waste the viewers' time with performances of songs that no one knows, but do spend a little time to show clips from each nominated acting performance."
Whatever they do, use that extra time for something other than letting the local news start earlier. They need to bring back the 1-2 minute clips of each nominated movie so that viewers have some sense of why each was nominated -- you need Sylvester Stallone up there saying, as Ebert put it, "Million Dollar Baby tells the story of an aging fight trainer and a hillbilly girl who thinks she can be a boxer. It is narrated by a former boxer who is the trainer's best friend. But it's not a boxing movie, for reasons that become clear later on. In the scene you're about to see, Maggie tries to convince Frankie to manage her," etc. Otherwise, there's no context for the awards at all, and especially in a year where the nominated films were not mass blockbusters, it's necessary.
Rock was right to point out in his monologue that the Oscars are the only ceremony in which the nominees aren't called upon to perform live. Fine. Use their films. Paralleling Roger Ebert's famous formulation, no good Oscars broadcast is ever too long, but a bad one, like this, wasn't nearly short enough.
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Now, it's closer to four hours (if we're lucky), but otherwise, General Patton's got a point. Still, we'll all be watching, and if you've got commentary along the way, this thread is open.
Blowin' in the wind.
Near the exit at Broadway and 67th.
A view from the chess and checkers hut.
Another shot from the chess and checkers hut.
More photoblogging may ensue, now that I've mastered the basics.