There is no reason for this, but this is one of my favorite columns of all time, bar none.
I always wondered what Santa Claus’ political beliefs are, and yes, I know that’s weird. I figured it to be easy to work out what he believes by what he does. It wasn’t. It wasn’t even easy figuring out where he originally came from, but I did a little research and I think I may be a little closer to the answers.
Some say Santa Claus began as St. Nicholas, a Turkish priest and saint, who gave toys and candy to the yard apes of Asia Minor 1700 years ago. He was canonized and became very popular, becoming the patron saint of children, sailors, and several countries. When the Reformation swept Europe, those pesky Protestants made any celebration involving St. Nick illegal. As usual, the Dutch did their own thing and kept Sint Nikolass part of their festivities. When they came to America and snagged the last remaining parking spots in New Amsterdam, they brought a devotion to Sinterklass, as they called him here. When the Dutch were evicted in the 17th Century, their English landlords turned Sinterklass to Santa Claus.
Let’s see: Santa is Catholic, at least partly Dutch, and he settled in New York. He believes in giving gifts to everyone and he works with (ahem) a small minority. By golly, he’s a Blue Stater!
But, honestly, it’s not that simple. Mr. S. Claus is also a shining example of conservatism. He is pro-business and –industry* and it’s a no-brainer that the elves are not unionized. His current look – red-and-white suit, black boots and belt, sack full of toys – was actually created by a Southern corporation (Coca-Cola hired artist Haddon Sundblom to create Santas for advertisements from 1931 to 1964 – it’s his design that children today know). And Santa Claus is in a long-term heterosexual relationship with Mrs. Claus. He is a family value.
He could be an autocrat, the mythical “benevolent dictator” that has so long been debated. We don’t hear about a parliament of elves or that reindeer get to vote. In the same vein, the North Pole could be a theocracy. He is a saint after all, and the Vatican only has a pope.
But this only works if his Catholic origins are correct, which they almost certainly aren’t. No single piece of evidence exists to back the claim of St. Nicholas as a living person. What most folklorists believe is that St. Nicholas was a pagan god ‘christianized’ by the church and given some of the aspects of other pagan gods, like the Greek Poseidon and the Teutonic Hold Nickar. The Church commonly took pagan beliefs and folded them into Christianity, a habit they swiped from the pre-Christian Romans**. He’s not a real saint, so theocracy must be out.
He also can’t be a communist. True communists don’t believe in individual ownership and Comrade Claus certainly does. He can’t be a fascist or imperialist, either. Both require a tough military and a drive to expand. Any military that can use faster-than-light sleighs would have at least invaded Canada by now. I also doubt he’s a monarchist. He’d have to be a king or an emperor, and those types don’t let pee-soaked youngsters squat on their lap.
The North Pole could actually be socialist. Assuming that Santa is the government, he would own the factories (toyshop), means of transportation (reindeer), and the produce (goodies). He would also handle negotiating prices (free to good tots). Further backing a socialist claim is the fact that he lives in an extreme environment**** and must take care of his elves’ needs himself, since no medical insurers have yet opened up North Pole branches. There is also at least a hint of the redistribution of wealth in his ways. But it’s only a hint.
No, Santa is a capitalist. No one affects a fiscal year like old Kris Kringle. He is great for the economy and he puts money in the pockets of retailers, wholesalers, and producers. With the amount of money that changes hands because of him, his belief system cannot be denied. And he is a benevolent capitalist, a strong supporter of charities, and a believer in taking care of those who need help. He is a representation of everything good, not just economically but spiritually. True, he misses the homes of some Jewish, Hindu, Muslim, and Buddhist homes, but not all. Santa Claus has allowed Christmas to come into non-Christian homes and he himself does not insist on a particular belief to be held, to believe in him.
He is appreciated by those of a religious or spiritual nature, and by those who aren’t. He is a benevolent capitalist, doing what he can for those who need it, and for those who simply want it. He has some conservative elements, and some liberal elements. He is complex, nuanced, and not easy to categorize.
Just like a Planet Weekly reader. Merry Christmas to Mr. Claus and to the rest of our complex, nuanced, and hard-to-categorize readers.
--------------------------------------------------
* Of course, he’s also outsourced some of his work to Mattel, Hasbro, and Nintendo, but I suppose that’s part of his bottom-line conservatism.
** Yes, the Church swiped pagan beliefs, but pagan Romans swiped their entire pantheon of gods from the Greeks and renamed them, adding some lame deities like Janus, the God of Doors and Beginnings***, and Flora, the Goddess of Flowers.
*** But Janus is where we get “January,” so he is by default the God of New Year’s Eve. Let’s hoist a glass to mighty Janus!
****. Living in the extreme north means he is no vegan, either. Santa Claus is a meat eater. He and the elves must have much protein to survive. He also uses an endangered species as beasts of burden. This will bother none but the vegeterrorists of PETA. Santa snickers at your Tofurkey.
Next time, the Bipolar Santa will offer up his annual list of who’s been naughty and nice. I’ll take nominations at http://www.writersownwords.com/fckeditor/editor/%22http://www.planetweekly.com/%22.
Showing posts with label pop culture opinion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pop culture opinion. Show all posts
Sunday, June 7, 2009
"A Random Bit of Twaddle, Geeks, and Frank Melton & the Maytals"
Every now and then, I'd run a column of just random thoughts and wanderings. This one was one of my favorites, because it wasn't really that at all. It was more an illustration of my frustration with the election and my inability to do anything about it. I also included it, because it had an in-column follow up to "Geek Flag Ideologies" that I liked.
When it occurred to me that this column was going to run in our ‘election’ issue – regardless of the fact that Frank Melton has already been anointed emperor by some of our local TV stations; thank God the print media still believes in waiting until after the election to do so – I thought I’d write about why I thought one candidate was better than the other.
Oddly enough, the editors insisted that they wouldn’t print half a page of white space.
Honestly, the problem is that I just don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever not known whom I would vote for this close to an election. This is a problem for me, since it’s in my nature to talk, and write about it.
A week ago, I didn’t know. Four days ago, I decided to switch sides and cast my lot with Rick Whitlow. Two days ago, I’d given up and decided to insist on a paper ballot at the polls, just so I could write in “Incumbent Mayor Harvey Johnson.” Now, I’m back to not knowing. (Really, it goes without saying that I shan’t cast a vote for Frank Melton.)
I don’t believe either Melton or Whitlow are qualified for this type of office. I don’t believe that either has the ability to lead a city of this size. I do believe that Rick Whitlow is forthright, honest, and genuinely believes in what he is doing. He has a base of supporters that believe he is truly the right man for the job and they may be right; I just don’t know.
As for Melton…well, my opinions about him are already on record. Suffice it to say, I can’t say anything about him that I said about Whitlow.
A conservative chum of mine commented that he believes four years from now, people will be screaming at each other, “what did you do? Why did you elect Frank Melton?” I think he’s right. I also think it’ll be conservatives shrieking at liberals and liberals howling right back. What is for certain is that the next four years will be interesting.
And to quote Forest Gump (and it seems somewhat appropriate to do so, hm?), “that’s all I have to say about that.”
I’ve had a few random bits rattling around in my cluttered attic of a brain for weeks – none of them worthy of a column, but I thought I’d share them here and clear my head, leaving room for more useless clutter to appear.
I’ve been playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas for weeks now (insert your own silly Jackson crime comment here), and I’ve come to one definite conclusion: the Maytals’ “Pressure Drop” is one of the best songs ever recorded. I love the covers by the Clash and the Specials, but Toots’ original is one for the books.
Two weeks ago, my “Geek Flag Ideologies” column was posted online. Frankly, I didn’t expect any comments and I didn’t see them until the following Monday, when I discovered that many, many folks unleashed their inner geek and immediately began sharing anecdotes and terrible trivia questions (even ones by my Dr. Who homey, Trey Mangum). The reason this struck me as hard as it did is that these people, mostly bright folks and mostly regulars on our site, opened up so quickly to share their love of Red Dwarf, Lord of the Rings, the X-Men and X-Files. When I was a wee lad, being a geek was bad. Now it seems to have cachet – very cool.
Until a friend offered to take the Beast for a walk, I hadn’t actually realized how much I loved taking him out to wander the neighborhood. It has just been something we do. It suddenly hit me how much I actually look forward to going with him. This is remarkable; I’m a certified Idaho couch potato. I guess I have the woofbeastie to thank for my mighty thews and lowered blood pressure.
American Idol: proof that the R&B-loving blue staters and the country-lovin’ red staters can come together to celebrate tedium and mediocrity at its finest. God bless the U.S.A.
As of this morning (Tuesday), Deep Throat appears to be uncovered. W. Mark Felt, the former second-in-command of the FBI during the early ‘70s has claimed to be the long-anonymous source who leaked Nixon’s Watergate secretes to The Washington Post’s Woodward and Bernstein, and whose existence was announced in their book, All the President’s Men. Vanity Fair, which has the story, believes Felt. His family believes him. Woodward and Bernstein aren’t saying. I think it’s true and I feel more than a little disappointed that one of this country’s greatest political mysteries has now ended. Now all we need to know is who whacked Jimmy Hoffa.
And what the next four years in Jackson will look like.
--------------------------------------------------------
“I said a pressure drop, oh pressure, oh yeah, pressure’s gonna drop on you.” Favorite songs, geeks? Probably a lot of Rush. Comments, as always, are enjoyed at planetweekly.
When it occurred to me that this column was going to run in our ‘election’ issue – regardless of the fact that Frank Melton has already been anointed emperor by some of our local TV stations; thank God the print media still believes in waiting until after the election to do so – I thought I’d write about why I thought one candidate was better than the other.
Oddly enough, the editors insisted that they wouldn’t print half a page of white space.
Honestly, the problem is that I just don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever not known whom I would vote for this close to an election. This is a problem for me, since it’s in my nature to talk, and write about it.
A week ago, I didn’t know. Four days ago, I decided to switch sides and cast my lot with Rick Whitlow. Two days ago, I’d given up and decided to insist on a paper ballot at the polls, just so I could write in “Incumbent Mayor Harvey Johnson.” Now, I’m back to not knowing. (Really, it goes without saying that I shan’t cast a vote for Frank Melton.)
I don’t believe either Melton or Whitlow are qualified for this type of office. I don’t believe that either has the ability to lead a city of this size. I do believe that Rick Whitlow is forthright, honest, and genuinely believes in what he is doing. He has a base of supporters that believe he is truly the right man for the job and they may be right; I just don’t know.
As for Melton…well, my opinions about him are already on record. Suffice it to say, I can’t say anything about him that I said about Whitlow.
A conservative chum of mine commented that he believes four years from now, people will be screaming at each other, “what did you do? Why did you elect Frank Melton?” I think he’s right. I also think it’ll be conservatives shrieking at liberals and liberals howling right back. What is for certain is that the next four years will be interesting.
And to quote Forest Gump (and it seems somewhat appropriate to do so, hm?), “that’s all I have to say about that.”
I’ve had a few random bits rattling around in my cluttered attic of a brain for weeks – none of them worthy of a column, but I thought I’d share them here and clear my head, leaving room for more useless clutter to appear.
I’ve been playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas for weeks now (insert your own silly Jackson crime comment here), and I’ve come to one definite conclusion: the Maytals’ “Pressure Drop” is one of the best songs ever recorded. I love the covers by the Clash and the Specials, but Toots’ original is one for the books.
Two weeks ago, my “Geek Flag Ideologies” column was posted online. Frankly, I didn’t expect any comments and I didn’t see them until the following Monday, when I discovered that many, many folks unleashed their inner geek and immediately began sharing anecdotes and terrible trivia questions (even ones by my Dr. Who homey, Trey Mangum). The reason this struck me as hard as it did is that these people, mostly bright folks and mostly regulars on our site, opened up so quickly to share their love of Red Dwarf, Lord of the Rings, the X-Men and X-Files. When I was a wee lad, being a geek was bad. Now it seems to have cachet – very cool.
Until a friend offered to take the Beast for a walk, I hadn’t actually realized how much I loved taking him out to wander the neighborhood. It has just been something we do. It suddenly hit me how much I actually look forward to going with him. This is remarkable; I’m a certified Idaho couch potato. I guess I have the woofbeastie to thank for my mighty thews and lowered blood pressure.
American Idol: proof that the R&B-loving blue staters and the country-lovin’ red staters can come together to celebrate tedium and mediocrity at its finest. God bless the U.S.A.
As of this morning (Tuesday), Deep Throat appears to be uncovered. W. Mark Felt, the former second-in-command of the FBI during the early ‘70s has claimed to be the long-anonymous source who leaked Nixon’s Watergate secretes to The Washington Post’s Woodward and Bernstein, and whose existence was announced in their book, All the President’s Men. Vanity Fair, which has the story, believes Felt. His family believes him. Woodward and Bernstein aren’t saying. I think it’s true and I feel more than a little disappointed that one of this country’s greatest political mysteries has now ended. Now all we need to know is who whacked Jimmy Hoffa.
And what the next four years in Jackson will look like.
--------------------------------------------------------
“I said a pressure drop, oh pressure, oh yeah, pressure’s gonna drop on you.” Favorite songs, geeks? Probably a lot of Rush. Comments, as always, are enjoyed at planetweekly.
"The Predator Connection"
For the record, this appeared in print, five days before Saturday Night Live went over much of the same ground (of course, they didn't have the Sonny Landham connection, so I've got them there). Unlike the blogger who ripped off my Iggy Pop reference, I'm not fussing at SNL. It takes a week to set up and rehearse their sketches. I'm saying I'm happy that we came up with these ideas about the same time. It's just that mine saw print before theirs saw air. Don't nobody go saying I ripped off the Not-Ready-For-Prime-Time-Players. Great (and sick) minds really do think alike.
With the bread-and-circuses election in California recently, the Left Coast proved once and for all that the liberals out there are not the state’s only wackadoos. The fruits-and-nuts Republicans lined up to throw away their dignity and common sense to cast votes for an aging action star best known for playing a robot. Insert your own Al Gore joke here.
The cable news channels decided that everyone in the country actually gave a damn about who ran that yahoo state, and forced hundreds of mind-numbing hours of coverage on us. It was during some of the hypnotic, droning coverage that I stumbled onto the Predator Connection.
Predator, the 1987 sci-fi actioner, concerned a group of soldiers who ran afoul of a creature whose armor camouflaged itself, allowing him to vanish into the background and attack primarily through ambush – a lot like Gray Davis, but with a less abrasive personality.
Believe it or not, with a credited cast of only ten, Predator has spat out three actors who have run for governor in their home states. Jesse Ventura was first in Minnesota four years ago and this year brought us the Arnold Era. Even Sonny Landham, who played the psycho Indian, Billy, ran for governor of Kentucky in 2002, first as a Republican then as an Independent. He dropped out after a few months, but he ran.*
This means that 30% of the cast of Predator has run in gubernatorial races and 20% has won. I found myself wondering about the other 70%.
Of the remaining seven, I threw out two immediately. Bill Duke, the bad ass sergeant, is also a film director. This makes him overqualified to be governor. Shane Black, who dies early, is actually a scriptwriter, which means he can’t afford to run for office. Since he specializes in spinning tales of bogus heroes, he’d make a great White House Press Secretary.
Kevin Peter Hall, who played the Predator, has been dead twelve years, which eliminates him from running in any state but Missouri. Elpidia Carrillo, the Mexican babe, has two strikes against her: she’s a Mexican babe. R.G. Armstrong, the dignified Alabama character actor, has retired, effectively eliminating him from running. And Richard Chaves, who almost survives until the end of the movie, is a nobody, which seems to suggest that he’d be better off running for President on the Democratic ticket instead.
This leaves Carl Weathers. He’s a Southerner, born in New Orleans. Besides being an actor, he possesses another one of the qualifications it takes to be a politico in this country: he was a professional athlete, a football player. And as Apollo Creed, the man responsible for smacking around Stallone in Rocky, he is a personal hero to most moviegoers.
Given those qualifications, I think it’s time that Weathers start his campaign soon. He should strike while the Predator iron is hot. Chances are good he’d get support from a governor or two.
Now, if only Morgan Freeman had been in the movie…
-------------------------------------------------
*Landham also performed in several 70’s porno movies, including one called, They’re All Sluts, which somewhat puts Arnie’s alleged nipple tweaking in perspective.
Recall whoever! Freeman for Gov! Send campaign checks to: ed@planetweekly.
With the bread-and-circuses election in California recently, the Left Coast proved once and for all that the liberals out there are not the state’s only wackadoos. The fruits-and-nuts Republicans lined up to throw away their dignity and common sense to cast votes for an aging action star best known for playing a robot. Insert your own Al Gore joke here.
The cable news channels decided that everyone in the country actually gave a damn about who ran that yahoo state, and forced hundreds of mind-numbing hours of coverage on us. It was during some of the hypnotic, droning coverage that I stumbled onto the Predator Connection.
Predator, the 1987 sci-fi actioner, concerned a group of soldiers who ran afoul of a creature whose armor camouflaged itself, allowing him to vanish into the background and attack primarily through ambush – a lot like Gray Davis, but with a less abrasive personality.
Believe it or not, with a credited cast of only ten, Predator has spat out three actors who have run for governor in their home states. Jesse Ventura was first in Minnesota four years ago and this year brought us the Arnold Era. Even Sonny Landham, who played the psycho Indian, Billy, ran for governor of Kentucky in 2002, first as a Republican then as an Independent. He dropped out after a few months, but he ran.*
This means that 30% of the cast of Predator has run in gubernatorial races and 20% has won. I found myself wondering about the other 70%.
Of the remaining seven, I threw out two immediately. Bill Duke, the bad ass sergeant, is also a film director. This makes him overqualified to be governor. Shane Black, who dies early, is actually a scriptwriter, which means he can’t afford to run for office. Since he specializes in spinning tales of bogus heroes, he’d make a great White House Press Secretary.
Kevin Peter Hall, who played the Predator, has been dead twelve years, which eliminates him from running in any state but Missouri. Elpidia Carrillo, the Mexican babe, has two strikes against her: she’s a Mexican babe. R.G. Armstrong, the dignified Alabama character actor, has retired, effectively eliminating him from running. And Richard Chaves, who almost survives until the end of the movie, is a nobody, which seems to suggest that he’d be better off running for President on the Democratic ticket instead.
This leaves Carl Weathers. He’s a Southerner, born in New Orleans. Besides being an actor, he possesses another one of the qualifications it takes to be a politico in this country: he was a professional athlete, a football player. And as Apollo Creed, the man responsible for smacking around Stallone in Rocky, he is a personal hero to most moviegoers.
Given those qualifications, I think it’s time that Weathers start his campaign soon. He should strike while the Predator iron is hot. Chances are good he’d get support from a governor or two.
Now, if only Morgan Freeman had been in the movie…
-------------------------------------------------
*Landham also performed in several 70’s porno movies, including one called, They’re All Sluts, which somewhat puts Arnie’s alleged nipple tweaking in perspective.
Recall whoever! Freeman for Gov! Send campaign checks to: ed@planetweekly.
"Geek Flag Ideologies"
This one turned out to be one of my most popular columns online - and nobody made fun. It turns out that lots of our readers were geeks. Big surprise. It turns out that lots of people nowadays are geeks. And why not? Geeks really do make the world go 'round. We actually had a love-fest online for about three weeks as people shared the stories and admitted which Doctor they loved best. It died out eventually, as all good threads do, but this throwaway column became one of my favorites because I found out how many of these tough, mean-spirited Jacksonians proudly flew their geek flags.
I might as well get this on record first: I’m a bit of a geek. I read science fiction and fantasy. I have a full run of Babylon 5 on tape. I swap Dr. Who references with a few fellow (possibly mentally ill) fans. I have pretty much every Batman and Justice League collection DC Comics has printed in the past ten years or so. I played Dungeons and Dragons for years (actually, I played 2nd Edition AD&D, mostly in the “Forgotten Realms” setting, for those fellow geeks in the know), and I enjoy dabbling in both the Star Wars and the Star Trek aspects of fandom.
I love the brilliance of Robert A. Heinlein and Arthur C. Clarke, yet I can still put up with the overly purple prose of Roddenberry’s Trek, the derivative technobabble of Next Generation, and the insipid dialog of Lucas’ Star Wars.
Around the survivors a perimeter create, indeed.
Being a movie buff tends to go hand in hand with being a geek, and I am a buff. In fact, this has been the best geek-movie season I can remember in years. In a span of about ten weeks, I can see Sin City, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Star Wars Episode III, and Batman Reborn. For me, this is quality entertainment.
But right now, I feel a little melancholy. This month, Star Wars comes to an end. With Episode III, it’s all over; there is no more original material to be mined. No matter what tweaks are left for George Lucas to do, there will be no more movies. And this month, one other science fiction institution left us: Star Trek. With the Enterprise finale last week, Roddenberry’s creation is no more. It’s a certainty that there will be no more shows, and I doubt there will ever be another movie.
One of the great geek debates of all time is discussing whether Wars or Trek is better. People (and by people, I mean geeks, of course) argue over who has the best costumes, the best ships, and the best special effects. They argue over dialog, actors, and cultural impact. I like to find more to debate.
Star Trek, for all its greeting-card philosophy and occasionally lunkheaded liberalism, was essentially a series of stories about empire building and the long-term effects of doing such. James T. Kirk’s Enterprise flew around the galaxy exploring, but also flying the Federation flag over every world it encountered. Next Generation was the starry-eyed optimist of the bunch, more about discovery and interaction with unknown civilizations, about finding a role for humanity in the universe. Deep Space Nine was, in a nutshell, about war. It looked at the ugliness of war and the necessity, it looked at the influence religions carry, of what civilians felt and did during wartime, and how basically good people could disagree so vehemently about such an important topic. It was not about finding one’s place in the universe, but about holding on to it. In the end, Voyager found its focus in a war with the Borg – a ramification of events in the movie, First Contact. And Enterprise – which I actually quite liked – spent this last season examining the underpinnings of the entire Star Trek universe, the Federation itself. Events from one series affected the others; choices one person made would echo for years, creating a situation and another series of choices for another character. Love it or hate it, but Star Trek demonstrated that choices matter, that decisions have long-term affects, and that sometimes good people can do bad things, and vice versa.
Star Wars is about Darth Vader, a decent kid who slips into darkness* and becomes a mass murderer. He kills millions of innocent people (or is a willing participant in a regime that does so), a handful of lickspittle lackeys, and his old teacher, and in the end he goes to Force Heaven by keeping an even more evil guy from killing his son. Apparently in Lucas Land, it’s okay to be pure evil so long as you do a good deed before you die. It amazes me that fans believe that Vader redeemed himself by his actions. He didn’t redeem himself; he did nothing to actually balance the vast numbers of wholly evil acts in which he participated. Darth Vader attempted to buy his way into the afterlife, by saving Luke and killing the Emperor. It’s a cheap conceit that George Lucas tells the moviegoers that Vader’s actions worked. Yes, I’m aware it’s only a movie, but the idea of a war criminal of that magnitude being forgiven for that sop of an action is infuriating. The deaths of every character at Vader’s hand – Jedi, rebel, whatnot – is turned into a mere inconvenience. There is no long-term affect, no responsibility, and no real consequences for choices made. There is no redemption.
I prefer the ideology of Star Trek. Silly it might be at times, its understanding of consequence and redemption is light years beyond the ideas espoused by Star Wars. Feel free to let your geek flag fly, but you might want to know what ideas you salute when you do so.
-----------------------------------------------
*Probably because his wife (who seems to have carried a love jones for him since before his pubes grew) insists on calling him “Anni.” Can there a more emasculating feeling than being a bad ass Jedi Knight with an effeminate nickname? I’d want to kill Sand People, too.
So why do I like Star Wars? The ships and the light saber duels. Fly your geek flag at planetweekly.
I might as well get this on record first: I’m a bit of a geek. I read science fiction and fantasy. I have a full run of Babylon 5 on tape. I swap Dr. Who references with a few fellow (possibly mentally ill) fans. I have pretty much every Batman and Justice League collection DC Comics has printed in the past ten years or so. I played Dungeons and Dragons for years (actually, I played 2nd Edition AD&D, mostly in the “Forgotten Realms” setting, for those fellow geeks in the know), and I enjoy dabbling in both the Star Wars and the Star Trek aspects of fandom.
I love the brilliance of Robert A. Heinlein and Arthur C. Clarke, yet I can still put up with the overly purple prose of Roddenberry’s Trek, the derivative technobabble of Next Generation, and the insipid dialog of Lucas’ Star Wars.
Around the survivors a perimeter create, indeed.
Being a movie buff tends to go hand in hand with being a geek, and I am a buff. In fact, this has been the best geek-movie season I can remember in years. In a span of about ten weeks, I can see Sin City, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Star Wars Episode III, and Batman Reborn. For me, this is quality entertainment.
But right now, I feel a little melancholy. This month, Star Wars comes to an end. With Episode III, it’s all over; there is no more original material to be mined. No matter what tweaks are left for George Lucas to do, there will be no more movies. And this month, one other science fiction institution left us: Star Trek. With the Enterprise finale last week, Roddenberry’s creation is no more. It’s a certainty that there will be no more shows, and I doubt there will ever be another movie.
One of the great geek debates of all time is discussing whether Wars or Trek is better. People (and by people, I mean geeks, of course) argue over who has the best costumes, the best ships, and the best special effects. They argue over dialog, actors, and cultural impact. I like to find more to debate.
Star Trek, for all its greeting-card philosophy and occasionally lunkheaded liberalism, was essentially a series of stories about empire building and the long-term effects of doing such. James T. Kirk’s Enterprise flew around the galaxy exploring, but also flying the Federation flag over every world it encountered. Next Generation was the starry-eyed optimist of the bunch, more about discovery and interaction with unknown civilizations, about finding a role for humanity in the universe. Deep Space Nine was, in a nutshell, about war. It looked at the ugliness of war and the necessity, it looked at the influence religions carry, of what civilians felt and did during wartime, and how basically good people could disagree so vehemently about such an important topic. It was not about finding one’s place in the universe, but about holding on to it. In the end, Voyager found its focus in a war with the Borg – a ramification of events in the movie, First Contact. And Enterprise – which I actually quite liked – spent this last season examining the underpinnings of the entire Star Trek universe, the Federation itself. Events from one series affected the others; choices one person made would echo for years, creating a situation and another series of choices for another character. Love it or hate it, but Star Trek demonstrated that choices matter, that decisions have long-term affects, and that sometimes good people can do bad things, and vice versa.
Star Wars is about Darth Vader, a decent kid who slips into darkness* and becomes a mass murderer. He kills millions of innocent people (or is a willing participant in a regime that does so), a handful of lickspittle lackeys, and his old teacher, and in the end he goes to Force Heaven by keeping an even more evil guy from killing his son. Apparently in Lucas Land, it’s okay to be pure evil so long as you do a good deed before you die. It amazes me that fans believe that Vader redeemed himself by his actions. He didn’t redeem himself; he did nothing to actually balance the vast numbers of wholly evil acts in which he participated. Darth Vader attempted to buy his way into the afterlife, by saving Luke and killing the Emperor. It’s a cheap conceit that George Lucas tells the moviegoers that Vader’s actions worked. Yes, I’m aware it’s only a movie, but the idea of a war criminal of that magnitude being forgiven for that sop of an action is infuriating. The deaths of every character at Vader’s hand – Jedi, rebel, whatnot – is turned into a mere inconvenience. There is no long-term affect, no responsibility, and no real consequences for choices made. There is no redemption.
I prefer the ideology of Star Trek. Silly it might be at times, its understanding of consequence and redemption is light years beyond the ideas espoused by Star Wars. Feel free to let your geek flag fly, but you might want to know what ideas you salute when you do so.
-----------------------------------------------
*Probably because his wife (who seems to have carried a love jones for him since before his pubes grew) insists on calling him “Anni.” Can there a more emasculating feeling than being a bad ass Jedi Knight with an effeminate nickname? I’d want to kill Sand People, too.
So why do I like Star Wars? The ships and the light saber duels. Fly your geek flag at planetweekly.
"Conventional Migraine"
Sometimes it really does go this wrong. I put this one in, because it has one of my favorite lines of all time - the Triumph of the Will one. It's also here because I wanted to admit that sometimes - by my own damn fault - that I'm caught flat-footed and have to fake it. (As my buddy Tony would say, "I'm dancing as fast as I can!") The editors at Planet accompanied this piece with my favorite picture of all time: Gov. Schwarzenegger, with the cutline: "Crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentations of the women." I nearly wept with joy when I saw it in print.
Well, damn. Deadline is upon me and I have nothing to write about. To be truthful, I do have something to write about, and that’s the problem. I actually had to get John Hicks, our fearless leader, to let me switch weeks this week so I could write about the Republican National Convention. I had every intention of writing a fair-and-balanced piece to go along with my previous DNC one. However, as luck would have it, that ain’t gonna happen.
First of all, there was ArtMix. Now simply put, I’d rather hang out with the folks who want to spend a Thursday night together enjoying the bounties of our dear arts community than sit at the TV and listen to The Great Pretender tell us why he’s the better choice for the job. So I thought, I’ll just tape it and watch it when I get home. Well, due to circumstances like The Beast attempting to eat the VCR that night and me being too stupid to 1) rewind the tape all the way and 2) notice that I had reset the damn thing from its 6-hour setting to its 2-hour setting, I unfortunately got about the first 15 minutes of the speech, and no mas. All of which allowed me to see pretty much nothing of interest, except for the delegates’ clear desire to stand and applaud even the most dynamic words, like “and” and “of.”
I prefer to blame The Beast; it’s easier than admitting I had an as-yet-unwatched episode of North Shore that I didn’t want to erase. (Man, that show blows. I love it.)
Regardless, I went into the weekend without seeing the speech, and without it, there was no column. I mean, yeah, I could have written about how that huge demagoguery-welcome-here movie set of a stage had that whole Leni Riefinstahl Triumph of the Will thing going on, and about how a certain portion of the population tends to start chanting when a fellow with a Germanic accent starts talking in front of it, but I don’t think that would be too fair and balanced.
Hm. Or maybe it would be…
Now I’m not making any statements about the RNC being similar to any European political rallies, but seriously, that stage was creepy. Of course, the Borscht-belt jokes went into high camp quickly and by the end, when the Governor of Austria was doing his “You Might be a Republican” shtick, he was simply stringing things together. “If you like cute puppies and apple pie, and you don’t like asteroids hitting the Earth, you might be a Republican.”
Anyway, I knew that C-Span would absolutely rerun the speeches and I found the time it would happen. I had every intention of watching it, so I didn’t set the VCR. Unfortunately, that decision was followed hard upon by a migraine which did to my frontal lobe what Hurricane Frances did to Florida. I used to get these blasted things regularly, back when I wore a white collar to work. Now they come and go at odd, strange intervals – like moments of lucidity from Zell Miller.
Migraine sufferers are strange people. We feel a need to compete in a sort of one-upsmanship to see who has suffered the worst. This one wasn’t my worst, but it’s still in its fourth day. (Somewhere out there, a guy is thinking, “That’s nothing. One time I had one that lasted seventeen years and made me bleed from my fingertips.” Yeah, I’m talking to you.)
So I was laid out in the bedroom, trying to avoid the light and The Beast, and I missed the damn thing again. I’m starting to wonder if I’m even meant to see it. But you know, I sat through Dick Cheney’s “Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto” speech, so I figured I’m entitled to hear what the Pres has to say, even if it’s an hour and ten minutes of droning punctuated by a dynamite two minutes at the end.
Hm. Now that I think about it, maybe I’ll just watch that episode of North Shore instead.
Hey, kids! Count the pop culture references! For the record, there are 184. Stats courtesy of the Republican National Committee and Fox TV. Visit planetweekly to tell me why your migraine was so much worse than mine.
Well, damn. Deadline is upon me and I have nothing to write about. To be truthful, I do have something to write about, and that’s the problem. I actually had to get John Hicks, our fearless leader, to let me switch weeks this week so I could write about the Republican National Convention. I had every intention of writing a fair-and-balanced piece to go along with my previous DNC one. However, as luck would have it, that ain’t gonna happen.
First of all, there was ArtMix. Now simply put, I’d rather hang out with the folks who want to spend a Thursday night together enjoying the bounties of our dear arts community than sit at the TV and listen to The Great Pretender tell us why he’s the better choice for the job. So I thought, I’ll just tape it and watch it when I get home. Well, due to circumstances like The Beast attempting to eat the VCR that night and me being too stupid to 1) rewind the tape all the way and 2) notice that I had reset the damn thing from its 6-hour setting to its 2-hour setting, I unfortunately got about the first 15 minutes of the speech, and no mas. All of which allowed me to see pretty much nothing of interest, except for the delegates’ clear desire to stand and applaud even the most dynamic words, like “and” and “of.”
I prefer to blame The Beast; it’s easier than admitting I had an as-yet-unwatched episode of North Shore that I didn’t want to erase. (Man, that show blows. I love it.)
Regardless, I went into the weekend without seeing the speech, and without it, there was no column. I mean, yeah, I could have written about how that huge demagoguery-welcome-here movie set of a stage had that whole Leni Riefinstahl Triumph of the Will thing going on, and about how a certain portion of the population tends to start chanting when a fellow with a Germanic accent starts talking in front of it, but I don’t think that would be too fair and balanced.
Hm. Or maybe it would be…
Now I’m not making any statements about the RNC being similar to any European political rallies, but seriously, that stage was creepy. Of course, the Borscht-belt jokes went into high camp quickly and by the end, when the Governor of Austria was doing his “You Might be a Republican” shtick, he was simply stringing things together. “If you like cute puppies and apple pie, and you don’t like asteroids hitting the Earth, you might be a Republican.”
Anyway, I knew that C-Span would absolutely rerun the speeches and I found the time it would happen. I had every intention of watching it, so I didn’t set the VCR. Unfortunately, that decision was followed hard upon by a migraine which did to my frontal lobe what Hurricane Frances did to Florida. I used to get these blasted things regularly, back when I wore a white collar to work. Now they come and go at odd, strange intervals – like moments of lucidity from Zell Miller.
Migraine sufferers are strange people. We feel a need to compete in a sort of one-upsmanship to see who has suffered the worst. This one wasn’t my worst, but it’s still in its fourth day. (Somewhere out there, a guy is thinking, “That’s nothing. One time I had one that lasted seventeen years and made me bleed from my fingertips.” Yeah, I’m talking to you.)
So I was laid out in the bedroom, trying to avoid the light and The Beast, and I missed the damn thing again. I’m starting to wonder if I’m even meant to see it. But you know, I sat through Dick Cheney’s “Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto” speech, so I figured I’m entitled to hear what the Pres has to say, even if it’s an hour and ten minutes of droning punctuated by a dynamite two minutes at the end.
Hm. Now that I think about it, maybe I’ll just watch that episode of North Shore instead.
Hey, kids! Count the pop culture references! For the record, there are 184. Stats courtesy of the Republican National Committee and Fox TV. Visit planetweekly to tell me why your migraine was so much worse than mine.
"Bumper Sticker Politics or the Band That Scared Your Mom has Sold Out
This one is dated, too, but because of the ads I mention. I'll also mention that at least one blogger out there plagiarized my column, lifting my lines about Iggy Pop word for word. It was pointed out to Planet Weekly by half a dozen different readers, who found two sites that had done it. One had written-and-displayed two weeks after me, and the other was done five weeks later. We don't know if the second guy plagiarized me or the other guy, which is why I said there was "at least" one blogger who ripped me off. I don't care. It's nice to have written something good enough to have been stolen.
There is a certain segment of the population whose – how shall we say it? – stupidity prevents them from being able to separate who a person is from what they do, and who a person is from what they believe. They’re unable to see someone as a whole, instead defining them by a particular belief, or by something they do. What could be a good neighbor is instead dismissed as a “dirty liberal.” What could be a good friend is shouldered aside because he supports capital punishment.
(I am put in mind of a particular mouthbreather who visited our Web site and insisted that he would refuse roadside assistance from anyone with a Kerry/Edwards sticker on his or her car, which made me wonder what he does to everyone in the service industry. “Hey, you in the Che shirt! I’ll pump my own gas, punk!” “Excuse me, miss, before you bring the menu, do you believe in a faith-based nation or should I change tables?”)
Every year, I go to a friend’s Oscar-night party, which frankly kicks. The party is an odd combination of artsy folks and serious churchgoers. Two TVs are turned on in two different rooms, and the party tends to separate into camps: the libs and the thumpers. Every year, every time the camera pans across Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins, you will hear boos coming from only one room. It doesn’t matter how skilled an actor or actress is. It only matters if they agree.
This is not just a one-sided thing. Many liberals boo and hiss every time Patricia Heaton of Everybody Loves Raymond comes on, since she is vehemently pro-life. I even had a conversation with one lefty who spent a full hour bitching and moaning about conservatives who slammed liberal celebrities. When I brought up Ms. Heaton, she said, “I hate her. I hate everything she stands for.” All of which goes to prove that sheer stupidity sees no political borders.
Oddly enough, there does appear to be one blind spot that almost no one sees, and that, quite surprisingly, is in pop music. Or rather, perhaps not so surprisingly, it is in pop music advertising. There are times when my jaw sags open at the music being used to sell cars, computers, and vacations. Beatles’ music has been used a while and The Who has whored out about forty ‘leven different songs to sell everything from Hummers (“Happy Jack”) to headlights (“I Can See For Miles”). Time has neutered the impact these bands have made, so they’re now thought of as Great Old Ones instead of as the drug-chewing, instrument-smashing madmen they used to be. It’s kind of sad, and they’re not the best examples.
Led Zeppelin sells Cadillacs. The band that your mother told you would send you to Hell just by listening to it is triggering Pavlovian responses in her head to buy an Escalade. Aerosmith just started doing the same for Buick. (And by the way, admen who say the car should be the sexiest thing in the ad have just been proven wrong by that woman in the LaCrosse commercial – damn.) Thin Lizzy, the original enigmatic Irish band, and one that generated an indefinable, low-level terror among parents, shills for Capitol One. And Elton John* is now giving it up for one of those satellite radio groups.
It gets better. Hewlett Packard is using The Cure in their ads. When I was but a wee lad, even being caught with a Cure cassette was enough to trigger a frantic series of questions by a horrified ‘rent: “What’s wrong with you?” “Do you need a psychiatrist?” “Are you gay?” Now Mummy and Daddy say, “What a lovely song,” and feel an urge to buy a printer.
The Boston metal band Godsmack provides music for the U.S. Navy ads. This amuses the hell out of me, because Godsmack’s front man is an actual honest-to-Goddess Wiccan priest. That’s right, folks: Wicca is being used to recruit swabbies. Let us share a chuckle at the adman who slipped that one past the U.S. Government.
Queen has been used twice in recent months. “I Want to Break Free” was used to shill one of those new low-carb sodas. (The video showed the band cross-dressing; just thought I’d share that.) And “I’m in Love with My Car” has been used to sell another kind of car. That one fools people because it’s not Freddie Mercury singing; it’s drummer Roger Taylor. Time has been kind to these men, too, turning them into a band whose shelf life began with Wayne’s World, instead of being remembered as the freaky foursome whose over-the-top gay front man is reported to have visited a Thai boy brothel and yelled to the management: “I think I’ve broken this one! Fetch me another!”
My favorite is Iggy Pop. His “Lust for Life” has been selling cruises for over a year now. Cruises! This is the psycho punk pioneer who shot heroin into his eyeball, who slashed himself with broken bottles for audience amusement and his own boredom, who used to beat up his fans, and who may very well have played a game of Hide the Grammy with David Bowie. This guy did enough drugs that some of his veins actually exploded. I don’t think his Lust for Life is quite the same as those on the cruise set.
I admit that I enjoy shattering illusions**, but I don’t think that knowing these things will affect what car you buy. If it does, then I suggest you get the extended warranty on whichever one you do purchase, because you never know who is going to have a Kerry/Edwards sticker on theirs.
-----------------------------------------------------
*Elton is a very strange case. The man who defined homosexuality for years and who has only become more flamboyant has suddenly become one of ‘them gay folks’ that people think it’s okay to like, along with Ellen Degeneres and Rosie O’Donnell.
**Next time: Santa Claus’ political affiliations.
There is a certain segment of the population whose – how shall we say it? – stupidity prevents them from being able to separate who a person is from what they do, and who a person is from what they believe. They’re unable to see someone as a whole, instead defining them by a particular belief, or by something they do. What could be a good neighbor is instead dismissed as a “dirty liberal.” What could be a good friend is shouldered aside because he supports capital punishment.
(I am put in mind of a particular mouthbreather who visited our Web site and insisted that he would refuse roadside assistance from anyone with a Kerry/Edwards sticker on his or her car, which made me wonder what he does to everyone in the service industry. “Hey, you in the Che shirt! I’ll pump my own gas, punk!” “Excuse me, miss, before you bring the menu, do you believe in a faith-based nation or should I change tables?”)
Every year, I go to a friend’s Oscar-night party, which frankly kicks. The party is an odd combination of artsy folks and serious churchgoers. Two TVs are turned on in two different rooms, and the party tends to separate into camps: the libs and the thumpers. Every year, every time the camera pans across Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins, you will hear boos coming from only one room. It doesn’t matter how skilled an actor or actress is. It only matters if they agree.
This is not just a one-sided thing. Many liberals boo and hiss every time Patricia Heaton of Everybody Loves Raymond comes on, since she is vehemently pro-life. I even had a conversation with one lefty who spent a full hour bitching and moaning about conservatives who slammed liberal celebrities. When I brought up Ms. Heaton, she said, “I hate her. I hate everything she stands for.” All of which goes to prove that sheer stupidity sees no political borders.
Oddly enough, there does appear to be one blind spot that almost no one sees, and that, quite surprisingly, is in pop music. Or rather, perhaps not so surprisingly, it is in pop music advertising. There are times when my jaw sags open at the music being used to sell cars, computers, and vacations. Beatles’ music has been used a while and The Who has whored out about forty ‘leven different songs to sell everything from Hummers (“Happy Jack”) to headlights (“I Can See For Miles”). Time has neutered the impact these bands have made, so they’re now thought of as Great Old Ones instead of as the drug-chewing, instrument-smashing madmen they used to be. It’s kind of sad, and they’re not the best examples.
Led Zeppelin sells Cadillacs. The band that your mother told you would send you to Hell just by listening to it is triggering Pavlovian responses in her head to buy an Escalade. Aerosmith just started doing the same for Buick. (And by the way, admen who say the car should be the sexiest thing in the ad have just been proven wrong by that woman in the LaCrosse commercial – damn.) Thin Lizzy, the original enigmatic Irish band, and one that generated an indefinable, low-level terror among parents, shills for Capitol One. And Elton John* is now giving it up for one of those satellite radio groups.
It gets better. Hewlett Packard is using The Cure in their ads. When I was but a wee lad, even being caught with a Cure cassette was enough to trigger a frantic series of questions by a horrified ‘rent: “What’s wrong with you?” “Do you need a psychiatrist?” “Are you gay?” Now Mummy and Daddy say, “What a lovely song,” and feel an urge to buy a printer.
The Boston metal band Godsmack provides music for the U.S. Navy ads. This amuses the hell out of me, because Godsmack’s front man is an actual honest-to-Goddess Wiccan priest. That’s right, folks: Wicca is being used to recruit swabbies. Let us share a chuckle at the adman who slipped that one past the U.S. Government.
Queen has been used twice in recent months. “I Want to Break Free” was used to shill one of those new low-carb sodas. (The video showed the band cross-dressing; just thought I’d share that.) And “I’m in Love with My Car” has been used to sell another kind of car. That one fools people because it’s not Freddie Mercury singing; it’s drummer Roger Taylor. Time has been kind to these men, too, turning them into a band whose shelf life began with Wayne’s World, instead of being remembered as the freaky foursome whose over-the-top gay front man is reported to have visited a Thai boy brothel and yelled to the management: “I think I’ve broken this one! Fetch me another!”
My favorite is Iggy Pop. His “Lust for Life” has been selling cruises for over a year now. Cruises! This is the psycho punk pioneer who shot heroin into his eyeball, who slashed himself with broken bottles for audience amusement and his own boredom, who used to beat up his fans, and who may very well have played a game of Hide the Grammy with David Bowie. This guy did enough drugs that some of his veins actually exploded. I don’t think his Lust for Life is quite the same as those on the cruise set.
I admit that I enjoy shattering illusions**, but I don’t think that knowing these things will affect what car you buy. If it does, then I suggest you get the extended warranty on whichever one you do purchase, because you never know who is going to have a Kerry/Edwards sticker on theirs.
-----------------------------------------------------
*Elton is a very strange case. The man who defined homosexuality for years and who has only become more flamboyant has suddenly become one of ‘them gay folks’ that people think it’s okay to like, along with Ellen Degeneres and Rosie O’Donnell.
**Next time: Santa Claus’ political affiliations.
"Adrift on the Sea of Consciousness"
Wow. Janet Jackson, Arsenio Hall, and "Yes, Dear" all name-checked in the same column. Sometimes folks, the pop culture references kill the first time out - and then kill you in the long run.
Welcome to the stress-addled mind of the Bipolar Extremist. I’m feeling like going down the stream of consciousness without a paddle…
Let me get this straight. CBS has apologized for the now-infamous “Boobgate” incident at the Super Bowl. They’ve apologized for the delays they are now using for their “live” broadcasts. And now they’ve apologized for Atlanta-based Outkast’s Grammy performance, which had the band members in Lone Ranger-era faux Indian garb. I’m suddenly reminded of Monty Python’s legendary apologies for the apologies.
CBS, so long as you’re offering up apologies for all slights, real or perceived, I have a few requests.
Where the hell is our apology for Yes, Dear? You owe the world a big freaking “my bad” for that piece of crap. And since that segues nicely into Arsenio Hall, you better start doing “mea culpas” for Star Search, too.
It’s not that I want to bash on CBS even more than I bash on Planet’s competitor, but the Tiffany Network makes it so damn easy.
Yeah, I’m angry this time. My man Clark bailed out of the race before Al Sharpton and Dennis Kucinich. It both annoys and disappoints me that the General left the race before the Righteous Rev and Ernie Keebler bailed out. Well, at least he won one state before he left, which is one more than Howard Dean has managed to accomplish, at least by press time.
By firing his campaign chairman for speaking out, Dean showed that he is again willing to cut off his own nose to spite his face. Knowing of his manic behavior, I’m surprised he didn’t use a chainsaw to do it.
John Kerry. What can I say about him that his opponents haven’t already said? If he’s been knocking boots with an intern, it only goes to show that he’s trying to learn from a better man. But, to give him his props, he picked a more cuddly intern to corrupt. If it’s true, do you suppose he’ll apologize, or will he instead attack the Dean campaign through a series of mudslinging commercials?
And have you seen the new Planet Weekly commercial? You soon will. Watch for it on WJTV. It’s made by local director Philip Scarborough and graphics genius Matt Beall. No mud is slung.
A question for the baseball fans out there. Does anyone think that CNN is spending far too much time harping on the Alex Rodriguez trade to the New York Yankees? Does anyone not in a 212 area code actually care? And if so, why? The Yankees have become nothing more than a sad commentary on baseball, proving that it is all about the bottom line. With a payroll three to four times the size of most other clubs, they prove that they really do have the finest team that money can buy.
And why should CNN care? Come on, this is an easy one. CNN…Ted Turner…Atlanta Braves…the club that actually claims to be America’s Team. They’re the National League version of the Yankees, without the annoying burden of talent.
Of course, if there was any Atlanta-based group that should apologize for being insulting to American Indians…it’s not Outkast. Maybe we can get TBS to do it.
Hey Ya! Yankees fans, let me know why your team rules. Braves fans, let me know why the Yankees suck. Red Sox fans, let me know why your guys suck. Send comments to: ed@planetweekly or log on at planetweekly and let’s all hope nobody’s cyber-squatting in our living room.
Welcome to the stress-addled mind of the Bipolar Extremist. I’m feeling like going down the stream of consciousness without a paddle…
Let me get this straight. CBS has apologized for the now-infamous “Boobgate” incident at the Super Bowl. They’ve apologized for the delays they are now using for their “live” broadcasts. And now they’ve apologized for Atlanta-based Outkast’s Grammy performance, which had the band members in Lone Ranger-era faux Indian garb. I’m suddenly reminded of Monty Python’s legendary apologies for the apologies.
CBS, so long as you’re offering up apologies for all slights, real or perceived, I have a few requests.
Where the hell is our apology for Yes, Dear? You owe the world a big freaking “my bad” for that piece of crap. And since that segues nicely into Arsenio Hall, you better start doing “mea culpas” for Star Search, too.
It’s not that I want to bash on CBS even more than I bash on Planet’s competitor, but the Tiffany Network makes it so damn easy.
Yeah, I’m angry this time. My man Clark bailed out of the race before Al Sharpton and Dennis Kucinich. It both annoys and disappoints me that the General left the race before the Righteous Rev and Ernie Keebler bailed out. Well, at least he won one state before he left, which is one more than Howard Dean has managed to accomplish, at least by press time.
By firing his campaign chairman for speaking out, Dean showed that he is again willing to cut off his own nose to spite his face. Knowing of his manic behavior, I’m surprised he didn’t use a chainsaw to do it.
John Kerry. What can I say about him that his opponents haven’t already said? If he’s been knocking boots with an intern, it only goes to show that he’s trying to learn from a better man. But, to give him his props, he picked a more cuddly intern to corrupt. If it’s true, do you suppose he’ll apologize, or will he instead attack the Dean campaign through a series of mudslinging commercials?
And have you seen the new Planet Weekly commercial? You soon will. Watch for it on WJTV. It’s made by local director Philip Scarborough and graphics genius Matt Beall. No mud is slung.
A question for the baseball fans out there. Does anyone think that CNN is spending far too much time harping on the Alex Rodriguez trade to the New York Yankees? Does anyone not in a 212 area code actually care? And if so, why? The Yankees have become nothing more than a sad commentary on baseball, proving that it is all about the bottom line. With a payroll three to four times the size of most other clubs, they prove that they really do have the finest team that money can buy.
And why should CNN care? Come on, this is an easy one. CNN…Ted Turner…Atlanta Braves…the club that actually claims to be America’s Team. They’re the National League version of the Yankees, without the annoying burden of talent.
Of course, if there was any Atlanta-based group that should apologize for being insulting to American Indians…it’s not Outkast. Maybe we can get TBS to do it.
Hey Ya! Yankees fans, let me know why your team rules. Braves fans, let me know why the Yankees suck. Red Sox fans, let me know why your guys suck. Send comments to: ed@planetweekly or log on at planetweekly and let’s all hope nobody’s cyber-squatting in our living room.
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