Holy Sh_t! Christmas is only two days away and you probably didn't even remember to buy me something, but that's okay, I don't expect my readers to send me gifts to show their appreciation. A few kind words and a satchel full of money is really all I need, but if you absolutely must get me something for Christmas, please allow me to help you navigate the rocky waters of my desire, so that you (my reader) may pick out the perfect gift for your humble and grateful author. After all, I've bared my soul so many times on these pages that it seems fair that, after so many extremely personal posts that have made me tear up as I wrote them, you would want to send along something to let me know you care or enjoyed my work and don't want to find me slumped over an empty bottle of cheap whiskey some day soon.
In order of "least amount of want" to "most want" these are the gifts you, my dear reader, may want to consider when shopping for me, your favorite blogger.
"Least Amount of Want" Will Ferrell: You're Welcome America - A Final Night With George W. Bush
I am a sucker for Will Ferrell and pretty much anything he puts out that doesn't have Land of the Lost in the title, so when a friend of mine told me he was going to a sneak preview, limited audience (read: super special, expensive) off-Broadway production of what would become You're Welcome America in it's earliest stages, I nearly stabbed him in the throat out of sheer jealousy. Instead of performing some of the old ultra violence I decided to take on a more mature role and practice patience as best I could; biding my time until You're Welcome was on DVD. The only problem is I forgot all about it until a few weeks ago when I saw an advertisement for it on IMDB. Soon thereafter I started dropping hints to my girlfriend, my sisters and, as a last ditch effort, my coworkers in the hopes they would take it upon themselves to provide me with my annual dose of Ferrell based humor. Couple Mr. Ferrell's preternatural ability to be witty while being dumb with his spot on George W. Bush impression and I am more than chomping at the bit to devour what I believe will be the most deserving farewell to one of America's most atrocious, yet hilariously dumbfounded, presidents. Only Will Ferrell could do such a thing and make me laugh about the dismal memory of the last eight years.
"Kind of, sorta, want it more than I should" A gift certificate to Target
There's something about Target that I can't resist. I can, literally, spend entire days walking between the isles without ever feeling bored or frustrated, and, oddly without ever purchasing a single item. I've done this more often than a heterosexual male in his mid to late twenties should admit in public, but such is the allure of the almighty Target. No, their clothing isn't the best made apparel on the planet, and yes their furniture is more flimsy than the average Ikea lamp, but who cares? It's Target! They have almost everything you'll ever need in the history of the world and it's all under one roof, and available for low, low prices (but not so low as to make you feel dirty, cheap and destitute). It's like Walmart for people who can read, write and breathe with their mouths closed, and I, for one, would finally like to walk out of Target with a red and white bulls eye decorated bag of goodies.
Also, check out this absolutely wonderful commercial featuring WTWTWLTA8 comedy goddess, Maria Bamford; which only serves to better prove my point about how f_ckdiculously awesome Target really is.
"Want" A New Pair of Puma Sneakers
I used to be the kind of guy who would feel naked if I walked out of the house with out a pair of dress shoes on (this is one of the weird side effects of going to a school that had a strictly enforced dress code), but as I've aged and comfort has superseded style in almost every facet of my life (and there are far fewer rulers around to rap my knuckles), I've found that nothing beats a sweet pair of Puma's when it comes to stepping out on the town, going to work, or just kickin' it back to the old school like a member of the Sugar Hill Gang. I currently own three pairs of Pumas that are quickly deteriorating due to excessive wear and tear, and one pair is really supposed to be used on the golf course exclusively, but they can easily double as a kick-ass pair of travelers (which is golftard speak for shoes that are appropriate on and off the course due to their lack of spikes and increased tread). Really, any pair will do, but be sure to send along the receipt as my shoe size, especially when it comes to Pumas, varies between 12 and 13 and I wouldn't want you to waste your money on a pair of shoes that didn't fit me.
"Really Want" Big Fan on DVD
This movie is the one that got away from me in 2009 due to it being independent and not readily available at any of the local theaters in my area, not even my precious indie darling movie house that is generally my last bastion of hope when it comes to movies that otherwise go unnoticed or unseen. In other words, I was famously pissed off when I read that I would not be able to see Big Fan until an exclusive screening on January 9th, 2010; which, is sort of okay because the writer/directer will be present for a Q+A session after the film is done. Still, as excited as I am for the possibility of rubbing shoulders with a man who was once The Onions editor and the writer of last years incredibly poignant The Wrestler, I'm going to need to own this movie as soon as possible (which, by the way, is January 12th). Not to mention it stars one of my favorite people ever, Patton Oswalt as the put upon protagonist in a role that is garnering so much praise and attention that I'm stupefied by the lack of award season heat surrounding this film. Pre-Ordering is available right now. Don't hesitate at the chance to immerse yourself in my good graces, and, while you're at it, order yourself a copy too, after all it was Nathan Rabin's (my favorite journalist working today, and head writer over at The AV Club) favorite movie of 2009. It pretty much has to be good.
"Most Want" The Big Rewind: A Memoir Brought To You By Pop Culture by Nathan Rabin
Speaking of Mr. Rabin, he wrote a book last year about his life growing up dealing with depression and life in a group home through his love of popular culture. I've read brief excerpts that were posted at The AV Club, and from those little snippets I can only say that I am, literally, dieing inside each day I go without reading the entire thing from cover to cover. As you've probably guessed, if you are a regular around her, I too dealt with the lions share of my mental issues by immersing myself in books, movies, comics and other pieces of pop-culture detritus that many people overlook or just don't understand. That's not to say I am a snarky bastard all the time or that I look down my nose at people because I can tell you more about The X-Men than I can about, say, World War II. It is, however, my belief that in Mr. Rabin I have found a kindred spirit, though it seems our experiences have been vastly different as I have never spent time in an institution of any sort, and my depression and mania come and go like the tide. Still, this is the only thing I legitimately asked for this year, and I cannot tell you how happy I will be if I wake up Christmas morning and see a book shaped package waiting for me under the tree.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
This Is My Sadness
For three Christmases now I've been trying to write something up to let my family know how proud I am of them for soldiering onward with unparalleled dignity, bravery and love in the wake of the tragic loss of our mother more than 2 years ago. Still, I haven't found that I have been preternaturally imbued with the type of vigor for the season that my siblings have, nor do I have the ability to look sadness in the face and back it down with the sheer force of will that my Father has so heroically displayed these past few years. It's been otherworldly difficult for all of us, I imagine, and yet as the youngest member of the clan I still selfishly cling to the naive ideology of my youth and hope and pray every single day that I will wake up and the past pain and suffering will all have been part of a nightmare or, rather, a life lesson loaded dream that God himself would not allow me to wake from for fear that some of the imperatives he's tried to impart upon me would be lost. Every morning I wake up and realize the harsh truth that, no matter how hard I hope and pray for it all to have been something other than what it was, I am still planted firmly in the reality of this life, and I miss my Mom more and more each day, and as her favorite holiday approaches, sometimes the sadness can be unbearable.
Well, there you have it. That's the reason I am unable to write something uplifting to send along to my family, because deep down in the recesses of my soul I know that I am, in no way, over the loss of my mother. I've put on the happy face and smiled and laughed with the rest of the world, but its largely been insincere and forced. Nobody likes a "sad-sap" after all, so why play the part of the "depressed son" when I can appear to be something else entirely? That's the way people have survived through their trials and tribulations for thousands of years, and I, if I may be so bold, am just a regular guy trying to make it through my day to day life just like the rest of humanity. I deserve no special treatment and I would never deign to ask for it, but part of me is always crying on the inside.
I cry for my Mother's ear in times of sadness and pain when I need her comforting words.
I cry for my Mother's tomato sauce and pasta when I am hungry.
I cry for the lost afternoons of Murder She Wrote and Matlock reruns.
I cry for the oddest things.
I cry, I cry and I cry and in the end I realize it serves no purpose other than to highlight my own selfishness and ego that is screaming to be noticed, placated and appealed to.
If I've learned anything over the past two plus years it's been that I am about as meaningful as a gnat on an elephants earlobe. I may be noticed, but I am ultimately insignificant and nothing more than an itch that needs to be scratched. It's not much, but it's a life, and I digress. Sometimes, it's important to be the invisible element that rattles the window panes during a thunderstorm, because that's what wakes you up and reminds you to batten down the hatches and prepare for what's to come, but people don't see sadness that way. They see sadness, depression and melancholy as emotions that are to be ignored and only dealt with in private. Why, after all, are funerals, memorials and wakes the only appropriate time to "let it all out" and wail in pain? Because it's a shared sadness, one that everyone in the room is experiencing and it's the only venue where tears are expected and encouraged, and then, almost in a collective and cosmic effort to say "f_ck you" to grief, we drink and eat and tell stories about the recently and dearly departed that are so embellished as to be bordering on fairy tales.
I remember, hazily, that during the reception following my Mother's funeral, a number of her friends came up to me to congratulate me on my eulogy and the way I was able to "keep it together" during what "must have been the most difficult thing I've ever done." Well, to those people I would like to say that you've never tried to hit a flop shot out of thick, green side rough to a short-sided pin tucked into the back left corner of the second hole of Oak Hill's West Course, because that was the most difficult thing I've ever done. Not be crass or void of emotion, but delivering my Mother's eulogy was so incredibly easy to do, and such a brilliant honor bestowed upon me by my immediate family, that I never thought twice about it, and only in the aftermath, when every one reminded me it was supposed to be difficult, did I feel any kind of pressure, but it passed quickly and was replaced by the pride of doing a good job. I buried my parting words with my Mother's body and never thought twice about it. I deleted the file from my computer. I wasn't prepared for people to ask me for copies, and I was not about to give them to anyone, let alone some ladies I'd only known in passing despite their long relationships with my Mother. That was my goodbye and what I chose to do with it was nobodies business...
... still, I put on the happy face and smiled and laughed, because that's what a good son does as his Mother's funeral when people ask for things like a copy of the eulogy. I was gracious in my explanations and sincere in my apologies, because that's what a good son does at his mother's funeral. I drank to excess. I smoked more cigarettes than I would for weeks to come and I was so hopped up on Xanax by the time the day was over that pain, both physical and emotional, was but a distant memory and something to be disregarded and dealt with later on when the time was right and there weren't so many people around. This is what people do, this is what I did, and this is the result of those actions.
Two plus years, and three Christmases later I am but a husk of the man I wanted to become. I go through my routines with zombie like efficiency and emotion. The only respite from the sorrow that fills my daily life is the comfort and love I feel when I am with the love of my life, or when I'm walking my dog, or when I am faced with a problem that needs solving at work; in other words, when I am distracted or just downright overwhelmed by the good things in my life am I able to cope. I find it increasingly difficult to talk to my father on the phone, because I can hear his voice break and crack under the immense strain he must be feeling when the holiday season rolls around. I find it hard to be there for my sisters when they need me, because looking at them is like looking at a Monet of my Mother's face, and to see them interact with their children in the same way my Mother did with us is often too much for me to take, but I choke it down and put on the happy face and laugh, because that's what you do. You suck it up. You move forward. Life won't let you take a break to lament the loss of your loved ones.
Am I really as sad as I'm making myself out to be? No, I suppose I'm not, but the thoughts and practices I've described above are as real and honest as I'm willing to be. I write and crack jokes and make comments I shouldn't make as a way to get through the day and mask my pain. So, it's difficult for me to admit this to anyone let alone the anonymous users of the internet who will most likely declare me to be something other than what I am for briefly touching upon something as ignoble as my own, honest to god feelings about something so personal to me. I should be writing a "best of" list of some kind, or a joke post about Santa's sleigh or why Rudolph had a red-nose for a much different reason than we are told, but I can't bring myself to feel that way. Not now. Not four days away from the saddest hours of my year.
This is my sadness, and I chew it back and hold it in and try as hard as I can to forget about it and leave it for another day, another time when I can really open up and let out an anguished howl, but that day never seems to come. I try to put my feelings into words and express myself as best I can when I'm with my girlfriend -who knows all there is to know about me- but it comes off as complaining and nobody likes a "sad sap" this time of the year, so I put on a happy face and I laugh, because that's what you're supposed to do.
I think, now that my melancholy has been laid out on the table, I can get around to writing that cheery, uplifting prose piece I've been trying to put together for the past few years; if only to let my family know everything is fine, that we're doing great and Mom would be proud of us. I'll mean every word of it, too.
Well, there you have it. That's the reason I am unable to write something uplifting to send along to my family, because deep down in the recesses of my soul I know that I am, in no way, over the loss of my mother. I've put on the happy face and smiled and laughed with the rest of the world, but its largely been insincere and forced. Nobody likes a "sad-sap" after all, so why play the part of the "depressed son" when I can appear to be something else entirely? That's the way people have survived through their trials and tribulations for thousands of years, and I, if I may be so bold, am just a regular guy trying to make it through my day to day life just like the rest of humanity. I deserve no special treatment and I would never deign to ask for it, but part of me is always crying on the inside.
I cry for my Mother's ear in times of sadness and pain when I need her comforting words.
I cry for my Mother's tomato sauce and pasta when I am hungry.
I cry for the lost afternoons of Murder She Wrote and Matlock reruns.
I cry for the oddest things.
I cry, I cry and I cry and in the end I realize it serves no purpose other than to highlight my own selfishness and ego that is screaming to be noticed, placated and appealed to.
If I've learned anything over the past two plus years it's been that I am about as meaningful as a gnat on an elephants earlobe. I may be noticed, but I am ultimately insignificant and nothing more than an itch that needs to be scratched. It's not much, but it's a life, and I digress. Sometimes, it's important to be the invisible element that rattles the window panes during a thunderstorm, because that's what wakes you up and reminds you to batten down the hatches and prepare for what's to come, but people don't see sadness that way. They see sadness, depression and melancholy as emotions that are to be ignored and only dealt with in private. Why, after all, are funerals, memorials and wakes the only appropriate time to "let it all out" and wail in pain? Because it's a shared sadness, one that everyone in the room is experiencing and it's the only venue where tears are expected and encouraged, and then, almost in a collective and cosmic effort to say "f_ck you" to grief, we drink and eat and tell stories about the recently and dearly departed that are so embellished as to be bordering on fairy tales.
I remember, hazily, that during the reception following my Mother's funeral, a number of her friends came up to me to congratulate me on my eulogy and the way I was able to "keep it together" during what "must have been the most difficult thing I've ever done." Well, to those people I would like to say that you've never tried to hit a flop shot out of thick, green side rough to a short-sided pin tucked into the back left corner of the second hole of Oak Hill's West Course, because that was the most difficult thing I've ever done. Not be crass or void of emotion, but delivering my Mother's eulogy was so incredibly easy to do, and such a brilliant honor bestowed upon me by my immediate family, that I never thought twice about it, and only in the aftermath, when every one reminded me it was supposed to be difficult, did I feel any kind of pressure, but it passed quickly and was replaced by the pride of doing a good job. I buried my parting words with my Mother's body and never thought twice about it. I deleted the file from my computer. I wasn't prepared for people to ask me for copies, and I was not about to give them to anyone, let alone some ladies I'd only known in passing despite their long relationships with my Mother. That was my goodbye and what I chose to do with it was nobodies business...
... still, I put on the happy face and smiled and laughed, because that's what a good son does as his Mother's funeral when people ask for things like a copy of the eulogy. I was gracious in my explanations and sincere in my apologies, because that's what a good son does at his mother's funeral. I drank to excess. I smoked more cigarettes than I would for weeks to come and I was so hopped up on Xanax by the time the day was over that pain, both physical and emotional, was but a distant memory and something to be disregarded and dealt with later on when the time was right and there weren't so many people around. This is what people do, this is what I did, and this is the result of those actions.
Two plus years, and three Christmases later I am but a husk of the man I wanted to become. I go through my routines with zombie like efficiency and emotion. The only respite from the sorrow that fills my daily life is the comfort and love I feel when I am with the love of my life, or when I'm walking my dog, or when I am faced with a problem that needs solving at work; in other words, when I am distracted or just downright overwhelmed by the good things in my life am I able to cope. I find it increasingly difficult to talk to my father on the phone, because I can hear his voice break and crack under the immense strain he must be feeling when the holiday season rolls around. I find it hard to be there for my sisters when they need me, because looking at them is like looking at a Monet of my Mother's face, and to see them interact with their children in the same way my Mother did with us is often too much for me to take, but I choke it down and put on the happy face and laugh, because that's what you do. You suck it up. You move forward. Life won't let you take a break to lament the loss of your loved ones.
Am I really as sad as I'm making myself out to be? No, I suppose I'm not, but the thoughts and practices I've described above are as real and honest as I'm willing to be. I write and crack jokes and make comments I shouldn't make as a way to get through the day and mask my pain. So, it's difficult for me to admit this to anyone let alone the anonymous users of the internet who will most likely declare me to be something other than what I am for briefly touching upon something as ignoble as my own, honest to god feelings about something so personal to me. I should be writing a "best of" list of some kind, or a joke post about Santa's sleigh or why Rudolph had a red-nose for a much different reason than we are told, but I can't bring myself to feel that way. Not now. Not four days away from the saddest hours of my year.
This is my sadness, and I chew it back and hold it in and try as hard as I can to forget about it and leave it for another day, another time when I can really open up and let out an anguished howl, but that day never seems to come. I try to put my feelings into words and express myself as best I can when I'm with my girlfriend -who knows all there is to know about me- but it comes off as complaining and nobody likes a "sad sap" this time of the year, so I put on a happy face and I laugh, because that's what you're supposed to do.
I think, now that my melancholy has been laid out on the table, I can get around to writing that cheery, uplifting prose piece I've been trying to put together for the past few years; if only to let my family know everything is fine, that we're doing great and Mom would be proud of us. I'll mean every word of it, too.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Posthumous David Foster Wallace Short Story
David Foster-Wallace, author of "Infinite Jest" and the best f_cking graduation speech I've ever had the pleasure to read a transcript of, passed away in September of 2008 after, apparently, committing suicide (why are the greatest minds often the most tortured?); which was a terrible loss to the literary community and just plain sad. However, that hasn't stopped The New Yorker from posthumously publishing a previously unprinted short story titled "All That" which you can read here: Click Me!
In true Wallace fashion the prose is eloquent and accessible and the subject matter (the power of "magic" in a child's mind) is something each and every one of us can relate to. I am saddened when I think of the works of genius the world will never get to read because of Mr. Wallace's untimely death, but I am more than willing to accept any future publications which will further illuminate the genius of this incredibly gifted man.
In true Wallace fashion the prose is eloquent and accessible and the subject matter (the power of "magic" in a child's mind) is something each and every one of us can relate to. I am saddened when I think of the works of genius the world will never get to read because of Mr. Wallace's untimely death, but I am more than willing to accept any future publications which will further illuminate the genius of this incredibly gifted man.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
According to Jimbolaya: The 10 Best Movies of the Aughts
I had such a good time writing about the best television shows of the aughts that I decided, with my vast reservoir of trivial knowledge and pop culture references overflowing, to do yet another "best of" list for you, my faithful reader, and this time we're going to the movies.
The aughts have definitely been one of the better decades for film, and in my opinion, it ranks only behind the game-changing film making of the 1970's for overall quality and innovation. But, for every The Man Who Wasn't There there were 5 Transformers 2: The Revenge of the Fallen like films clouding the public's perception by raking in more money at the box office than the far superior films that always have trouble making money. In that respect, the aughts was a unique era for film. We saw terrible movie after terrible movie make millions of dollars week in and week out, but quietly, off to the side in art house theaters and independent cinemas across the world, small, touching movies of staggering ability slowly but surely made their way into the mainstream.
Which brings us to number 10...
10. Memento (2000)
After the insane success of The Dark Knight, Batman Begins and The Prestige, it's easy to forget that way back in 2000 Christopher Nolan directed and co-wrote the movie that changed the aughts forever. Memento, was and is a movie that, upon further review, is so groundbreaking in it's approach to storytelling that it boggles the mind on a level so profound there are literally few words besides "breathtaking" and "phenomenal" available to describe it. It is equal parts murder mystery, character study and romance, but it's less about the story than how it is told, and Nolan and star Guy Ritchie (in a career defining performance he has never lived up to since) wove a tale from finish to start so mesmerizing and often times confusing that 10 years later it is still riveting to watch and all the surprises and twists still hit home like a hammer to the back of the head.
9. Block Party (2005)
I'm sure Michel Gondry's ability to be an artistic voyeur played a large part in the force and feel behind Block Party, but the movie is so dominated by the presence of Dave Chappelle that it is truly his movie. Mr. Chappelle is such a warm, caring person who honestly wants to give back to the community and fans that made him the outrageously successful stand up comedian and television star that he once was, that one day he decided to throw an impromptu block party in Brooklyn, NY for 5,000 lucky (and random) people; and, obviously, he filmed it. What happens during the course of the film is nothing less than absolute magic as we go from the budding idea at the very start to the absolutely stunning concert performances that play throughout, all of which are connected by personal vignettes that explore the hearts and minds of those involved in the process; from fans to the crazy family that lives in the "broken angel" house to man who got the whole thing off the ground in the first place. It's a happy movie with a powerful message about the true nature of a community seen through the eyes of the finest, most endearing story teller of our time.
7.The Devil and Daniel Johnston (2005)
It isn't easy being Daniel Johnston, and that is made incredibly clear in 2005's The Devil and Daniel Johnston; which portrays it's titular character as a musical genius saddled with the mind of a mad hatter. Johnston's music is pure brilliance, as anyone who has taken the time to listen to any of his crudely recorded tapes will attest, but outside of a small circle of trusted friends and family members and musical cohorts that were allowed on the inside, too little was known about this mysterious Svengali. The Devil and Daniel Johnston changed all that, as the raw talent and pure heart of a man with manic depression are put on full display for the world to see, the images are endearing, heartbreaking and enraging all at the same time. To watch the life of Daniel Johnston chronicled in such painstaking detail is like watching a roll of toilet paper unravel into a trash can full of water. We, the viewer, are looking through an all to honest portal into the head of a man who, despite his mental issues, is so full of love and intelligence that his charisma (even behind the stained sweatshirts and greasy, glossed over look in his eyes brought on by his medications) shines through as if it can't be stopped. Such is the brilliance of the damaged mind of Daniel Johnston, he is a legend in his own right and The Devil and Daniel Johnston does his legacy proud by never excusing his behavior, only explaining it and showing the world that once upon a time there was a boy named Dan who just wanted to love and be loved and used all his joy and suffering to write some of the finest music of the past 50 years. Even if you've never heard it.
6. Gangs of New York (2002)
This is a highly personal choice. I am a sucker for great performances, but I am doubly a sucker for great performances by Daniel Day-Lewis (as you'll see later on), because I honestly believe that Mr. Day-Lewis is far and away the best actor on the planet, and perhaps the best of all time. That being said, Martin Scorsese's long sought after dream job (legend has it he tried to make this movie in each decade from 1972 on) finally came to life in 2002 and it is a brutal, but beautiful, portrait of a fledgling New York City that is governed not by law and reason, but by the all too powerful presence of the myriad gangs that patrol the 5-points neighborhood. Less than stellar performances by Leonardo DiCaprio and Cameron Diaz (seriously, Scorsese?) take away some of the impact of the films message, but thanks to his amazing turn as Bill the Butcher, Daniel Day-Lewis more than makes up for it. DDL is truly a forced to be reckoned with in Gangs of New York, and his menacing presence is evident in every single frame of film shown on screen. From the gut wrenching opening scene (in my opinion, the best opening to any movie I've ever seen), to the mind numbing final battle between DiCaprio and Day-Lewis, Gangs of New York is a visually striking tour de force reminder of the way NYC used to be, and how, sadly, it isn't that different today.
5. WALL-E (2008)
How is it possible that a movie starring an animated robot with no speaking parts for the entire first third of the movie is able to be so stirring a message about love, environmental carelessness and hope? It's all about the execution. In a not too subtle homage to the work of the late great Buster Keaton, Pixar's WALL-E is a throwback to a time when movies didn't need loud explosions and plot twists to keep the audience entertained. Made even more captivating by the juxtaposing of classic movie music (I get giddy just thinking about the beginning of the film's choice of music), knee slapping physical comedy and timeless movie staples like the quest for love, over a futuristic, desolate Earth that is covered in the refuse of the human's that have long since abandoned it. It's a cautionary tale hidden in a love story that, despite it being between 2 robots, is as touching a romance that has ever been portrayed on screen; and, even though WALL-E stumbles home in the final third of the film it is still an ever optimistic reminder that it is never too late to make things better than they already are. As an aside, it is quite possibly the finest animation ever put to film, and the stunning beauty of WALL-E would have been enough for me to place it in my top 5 on its own, but couple that with an incredible story and imaginative film making of the highest level, and WALL-E transcends its genre to become something much, much more.
4. The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters (2007)
"No matter what I say, it draws controversy. It's sort of like the abortion issue."-Billy Mitchell, star and antagonist of The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters. To truly love The King of Kong is to embrace the assholish nature of Billy Mitchell, and nothing epitomizes his delusional opinion of himself more than the quote up above. Mr. Mitchell is a man obsessed with himself and his legacy as the greatest arcade gamer of all time, and when his beloved Donkey Kong score is in jeopardy of being broken by a relative newbie in the competitive gaming world named Steve Wiebe, the gloves come off. While most documentaries attempt to be objective about the subject matter they cover, The King of Kong does no such thing as it very much paints a picture of the good (Steve) and the bad (Mitchell), and the film makers have no problem painting Steve Wiebe in the best light possible, while casting a long, dark shadow over Billy Mitchell and the way he goes about securing his legacy. But, in all honest, neither man is right nor wrong and they each display their faults individually; which illuminates the film's hidden message that obsession and ego will lead people to do very, very strange things.
3. Shaun of the Dead, (2004)
Many [citation needed] have attempted to make a horror/comedy/romance, but until 2004's Shaun of the Dead no one got it right. It's truly a testament to the creativity and genius of director Edgar Wright and star/co-writer Simon Pegg that Shaun of the Dead is rife with moments that are equal parts terrifying and hilarious without sacrificing any of the plotting or pacing of the film. It's no less stunning that the movie is ridiculously re-watchable and packed with so many call-backs, Easter Eggs and circular themes that each time it's viewed the audience can pick up on something they didn't notice before, but really, all you need to do is watch the opening 20 minutes and the entire movie is spelled out for you in full; you just have no idea that's what they are doing, and when it kicks in that all the editing, all the quick cuts and sound effects and story lines have already been announced to the audience, the effect is staggering. I've never seen a movie so fully aware of it's purpose and place in the world than Shaun of the Dead, it is far and away my favorite film on this list (not the best, just my favorite), and the only one that I will stop whatever I am doing just to sit down and soak it all in time and time again.
2. No Country For Old Men, (2007)
The Coen Brothers have been the best thing to happen to Hollywood since Bogart and Bacall for almost 20 years, it just took a nearly perfect movie for the entire world to fully embrace and award their wry, subtle genius, and No Country For Old Men is that movie. Aside from being painfully beautiful to look at, No Country tells the story of a nation that has moved far past the ideals it once held so dear and has begun a tailspin into a sort of limbo from which it needs more help than is readily available to pull out of. It is chilling, it is hilarious at times and best of all it tells a story so well it's almost too good to be true. Staring Josh Brolin, in his best role to date, as a quiet, but deep cowboy who stumbled upon the aftermath of a drug deal gone wrong only to find a bag full of money that could change his life, No Country heads off in several distinctly different directions. The least of which is the ever present menace of Javier Bardem's portrayal of Anton Chigur and his relentless search to recover the bag of money Brolin took at the beginning of the movie, no matter what it takes; and Tommy Lee Jones "old man" Sheriff who is tasked with putting the pieces of several disturbing homicides together only to realize his country and the ideology it once held so dear has, in fact, left him by the wayside ages ago brings to the forefront one of the Coen Brothers most striking abilities: which is to say their ability to get the most out of their actors without ever creeping into over the top parody or Nicolas Cage like overacting. As the movie slowly converges the plot lines into one fantastic parable about greed and the death of the American dream in favor of quick cash and easy living, it's hard not to scratch your head and wonder where we all went wrong; and as Anton Chigur limps away in one of the films final scenes, you get the creeping suspicion that no matter how hard we try to fight it, he's always going to be just around the corner waiting for someone to steal that next bag full of money. The Coen's are master story tellers of the highest degree, and No Country For Old Men finds them firing on all cylinders to create an epic masterpiece that will be impossibly difficult to top... but, the crazy thing? The Coen's are so good they will probably prove me wrong.
1. There Will Be Blood, (2007)
Whoever had the idea to combine the force of nature acting style of Daniel Day-Lewis with the unrelentingly inventive and beautiful direction of P.T Andersen should be given a medal, or at the very least a milkshake, because I have never witnessed a performance or a film so brutal in it's execution, and so honest in it's message than There Will Be Blood. What starts as the epitome of the American dream with Daniel Day-Lewis chipping away at the walls of a gold mine, ends with a twisted, maniacal representation of a man who sold his very soul for a wealth and power without ever stopping to think of the consequences. It is truly an allegory for the current miasma America has found itself in, and how greed when combined with power can corrupt even the most devout man, as is evidenced by the scheming preacher Eli, played wonderfully by Paul Dano (honestly, people, wake up and recognize this young man's talent, for it is formidable) who, when money is dangled in his face and the promise of a new church and, yes, a road leading to that church are too much for even his most pious soul to bare. In the now infamous final scene, the torturous, lonely life of Daniel Day-Lewis' Plainview is made obvious, and it should serve as a cautionary tale for those among us with greed in our hearts to stop forfeiting the small pleasures in life in favor of something as trivial as the pursuit of power and money.
The aughts have definitely been one of the better decades for film, and in my opinion, it ranks only behind the game-changing film making of the 1970's for overall quality and innovation. But, for every The Man Who Wasn't There there were 5 Transformers 2: The Revenge of the Fallen like films clouding the public's perception by raking in more money at the box office than the far superior films that always have trouble making money. In that respect, the aughts was a unique era for film. We saw terrible movie after terrible movie make millions of dollars week in and week out, but quietly, off to the side in art house theaters and independent cinemas across the world, small, touching movies of staggering ability slowly but surely made their way into the mainstream.
Which brings us to number 10...
10. Memento (2000)
After the insane success of The Dark Knight, Batman Begins and The Prestige, it's easy to forget that way back in 2000 Christopher Nolan directed and co-wrote the movie that changed the aughts forever. Memento, was and is a movie that, upon further review, is so groundbreaking in it's approach to storytelling that it boggles the mind on a level so profound there are literally few words besides "breathtaking" and "phenomenal" available to describe it. It is equal parts murder mystery, character study and romance, but it's less about the story than how it is told, and Nolan and star Guy Ritchie (in a career defining performance he has never lived up to since) wove a tale from finish to start so mesmerizing and often times confusing that 10 years later it is still riveting to watch and all the surprises and twists still hit home like a hammer to the back of the head.
9. Block Party (2005)
I'm sure Michel Gondry's ability to be an artistic voyeur played a large part in the force and feel behind Block Party, but the movie is so dominated by the presence of Dave Chappelle that it is truly his movie. Mr. Chappelle is such a warm, caring person who honestly wants to give back to the community and fans that made him the outrageously successful stand up comedian and television star that he once was, that one day he decided to throw an impromptu block party in Brooklyn, NY for 5,000 lucky (and random) people; and, obviously, he filmed it. What happens during the course of the film is nothing less than absolute magic as we go from the budding idea at the very start to the absolutely stunning concert performances that play throughout, all of which are connected by personal vignettes that explore the hearts and minds of those involved in the process; from fans to the crazy family that lives in the "broken angel" house to man who got the whole thing off the ground in the first place. It's a happy movie with a powerful message about the true nature of a community seen through the eyes of the finest, most endearing story teller of our time.
7.The Devil and Daniel Johnston (2005)
It isn't easy being Daniel Johnston, and that is made incredibly clear in 2005's The Devil and Daniel Johnston; which portrays it's titular character as a musical genius saddled with the mind of a mad hatter. Johnston's music is pure brilliance, as anyone who has taken the time to listen to any of his crudely recorded tapes will attest, but outside of a small circle of trusted friends and family members and musical cohorts that were allowed on the inside, too little was known about this mysterious Svengali. The Devil and Daniel Johnston changed all that, as the raw talent and pure heart of a man with manic depression are put on full display for the world to see, the images are endearing, heartbreaking and enraging all at the same time. To watch the life of Daniel Johnston chronicled in such painstaking detail is like watching a roll of toilet paper unravel into a trash can full of water. We, the viewer, are looking through an all to honest portal into the head of a man who, despite his mental issues, is so full of love and intelligence that his charisma (even behind the stained sweatshirts and greasy, glossed over look in his eyes brought on by his medications) shines through as if it can't be stopped. Such is the brilliance of the damaged mind of Daniel Johnston, he is a legend in his own right and The Devil and Daniel Johnston does his legacy proud by never excusing his behavior, only explaining it and showing the world that once upon a time there was a boy named Dan who just wanted to love and be loved and used all his joy and suffering to write some of the finest music of the past 50 years. Even if you've never heard it.
6. Gangs of New York (2002)
This is a highly personal choice. I am a sucker for great performances, but I am doubly a sucker for great performances by Daniel Day-Lewis (as you'll see later on), because I honestly believe that Mr. Day-Lewis is far and away the best actor on the planet, and perhaps the best of all time. That being said, Martin Scorsese's long sought after dream job (legend has it he tried to make this movie in each decade from 1972 on) finally came to life in 2002 and it is a brutal, but beautiful, portrait of a fledgling New York City that is governed not by law and reason, but by the all too powerful presence of the myriad gangs that patrol the 5-points neighborhood. Less than stellar performances by Leonardo DiCaprio and Cameron Diaz (seriously, Scorsese?) take away some of the impact of the films message, but thanks to his amazing turn as Bill the Butcher, Daniel Day-Lewis more than makes up for it. DDL is truly a forced to be reckoned with in Gangs of New York, and his menacing presence is evident in every single frame of film shown on screen. From the gut wrenching opening scene (in my opinion, the best opening to any movie I've ever seen), to the mind numbing final battle between DiCaprio and Day-Lewis, Gangs of New York is a visually striking tour de force reminder of the way NYC used to be, and how, sadly, it isn't that different today.
5. WALL-E (2008)
How is it possible that a movie starring an animated robot with no speaking parts for the entire first third of the movie is able to be so stirring a message about love, environmental carelessness and hope? It's all about the execution. In a not too subtle homage to the work of the late great Buster Keaton, Pixar's WALL-E is a throwback to a time when movies didn't need loud explosions and plot twists to keep the audience entertained. Made even more captivating by the juxtaposing of classic movie music (I get giddy just thinking about the beginning of the film's choice of music), knee slapping physical comedy and timeless movie staples like the quest for love, over a futuristic, desolate Earth that is covered in the refuse of the human's that have long since abandoned it. It's a cautionary tale hidden in a love story that, despite it being between 2 robots, is as touching a romance that has ever been portrayed on screen; and, even though WALL-E stumbles home in the final third of the film it is still an ever optimistic reminder that it is never too late to make things better than they already are. As an aside, it is quite possibly the finest animation ever put to film, and the stunning beauty of WALL-E would have been enough for me to place it in my top 5 on its own, but couple that with an incredible story and imaginative film making of the highest level, and WALL-E transcends its genre to become something much, much more.
4. The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters (2007)
"No matter what I say, it draws controversy. It's sort of like the abortion issue."-Billy Mitchell, star and antagonist of The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters. To truly love The King of Kong is to embrace the assholish nature of Billy Mitchell, and nothing epitomizes his delusional opinion of himself more than the quote up above. Mr. Mitchell is a man obsessed with himself and his legacy as the greatest arcade gamer of all time, and when his beloved Donkey Kong score is in jeopardy of being broken by a relative newbie in the competitive gaming world named Steve Wiebe, the gloves come off. While most documentaries attempt to be objective about the subject matter they cover, The King of Kong does no such thing as it very much paints a picture of the good (Steve) and the bad (Mitchell), and the film makers have no problem painting Steve Wiebe in the best light possible, while casting a long, dark shadow over Billy Mitchell and the way he goes about securing his legacy. But, in all honest, neither man is right nor wrong and they each display their faults individually; which illuminates the film's hidden message that obsession and ego will lead people to do very, very strange things.
3. Shaun of the Dead, (2004)
Many [citation needed] have attempted to make a horror/comedy/romance, but until 2004's Shaun of the Dead no one got it right. It's truly a testament to the creativity and genius of director Edgar Wright and star/co-writer Simon Pegg that Shaun of the Dead is rife with moments that are equal parts terrifying and hilarious without sacrificing any of the plotting or pacing of the film. It's no less stunning that the movie is ridiculously re-watchable and packed with so many call-backs, Easter Eggs and circular themes that each time it's viewed the audience can pick up on something they didn't notice before, but really, all you need to do is watch the opening 20 minutes and the entire movie is spelled out for you in full; you just have no idea that's what they are doing, and when it kicks in that all the editing, all the quick cuts and sound effects and story lines have already been announced to the audience, the effect is staggering. I've never seen a movie so fully aware of it's purpose and place in the world than Shaun of the Dead, it is far and away my favorite film on this list (not the best, just my favorite), and the only one that I will stop whatever I am doing just to sit down and soak it all in time and time again.
2. No Country For Old Men, (2007)
The Coen Brothers have been the best thing to happen to Hollywood since Bogart and Bacall for almost 20 years, it just took a nearly perfect movie for the entire world to fully embrace and award their wry, subtle genius, and No Country For Old Men is that movie. Aside from being painfully beautiful to look at, No Country tells the story of a nation that has moved far past the ideals it once held so dear and has begun a tailspin into a sort of limbo from which it needs more help than is readily available to pull out of. It is chilling, it is hilarious at times and best of all it tells a story so well it's almost too good to be true. Staring Josh Brolin, in his best role to date, as a quiet, but deep cowboy who stumbled upon the aftermath of a drug deal gone wrong only to find a bag full of money that could change his life, No Country heads off in several distinctly different directions. The least of which is the ever present menace of Javier Bardem's portrayal of Anton Chigur and his relentless search to recover the bag of money Brolin took at the beginning of the movie, no matter what it takes; and Tommy Lee Jones "old man" Sheriff who is tasked with putting the pieces of several disturbing homicides together only to realize his country and the ideology it once held so dear has, in fact, left him by the wayside ages ago brings to the forefront one of the Coen Brothers most striking abilities: which is to say their ability to get the most out of their actors without ever creeping into over the top parody or Nicolas Cage like overacting. As the movie slowly converges the plot lines into one fantastic parable about greed and the death of the American dream in favor of quick cash and easy living, it's hard not to scratch your head and wonder where we all went wrong; and as Anton Chigur limps away in one of the films final scenes, you get the creeping suspicion that no matter how hard we try to fight it, he's always going to be just around the corner waiting for someone to steal that next bag full of money. The Coen's are master story tellers of the highest degree, and No Country For Old Men finds them firing on all cylinders to create an epic masterpiece that will be impossibly difficult to top... but, the crazy thing? The Coen's are so good they will probably prove me wrong.
1. There Will Be Blood, (2007)
Whoever had the idea to combine the force of nature acting style of Daniel Day-Lewis with the unrelentingly inventive and beautiful direction of P.T Andersen should be given a medal, or at the very least a milkshake, because I have never witnessed a performance or a film so brutal in it's execution, and so honest in it's message than There Will Be Blood. What starts as the epitome of the American dream with Daniel Day-Lewis chipping away at the walls of a gold mine, ends with a twisted, maniacal representation of a man who sold his very soul for a wealth and power without ever stopping to think of the consequences. It is truly an allegory for the current miasma America has found itself in, and how greed when combined with power can corrupt even the most devout man, as is evidenced by the scheming preacher Eli, played wonderfully by Paul Dano (honestly, people, wake up and recognize this young man's talent, for it is formidable) who, when money is dangled in his face and the promise of a new church and, yes, a road leading to that church are too much for even his most pious soul to bare. In the now infamous final scene, the torturous, lonely life of Daniel Day-Lewis' Plainview is made obvious, and it should serve as a cautionary tale for those among us with greed in our hearts to stop forfeiting the small pleasures in life in favor of something as trivial as the pursuit of power and money.
Monday, November 30, 2009
According To Jimbolaya: The 10 Best TV Shows of The Aughts
At first I found it morally and ethically reprehensible to put together a "best of list" of any kind because, to be honest, my experiences in the world at large are few and far between. That's not to say I haven't had my fair share of adventures (I haven't) or made too many memories to count (I haven't), but I lack the worldly wisdom that many of my peers have garnered over their brief but exciting lives. For example, I've never left North America, and the furthest away I've traveled from Rochester, NY is Austin, TX for mandatory job training; which, according to many of my friends and relatives, is unusual and sad, but I wouldn't want it any other way. If I were a globetrotting vagabond I wouldn't have the vast expanse of useless knowledge at my disposal that I do now, and, more importantly, I would have been forced (due to lack of time between my travels) to miss out on some of (if not the) best television of all time.
When it comes down to it I can talk knowledgeably about 3 things and television is one of them (golf and sleep being the other 2), so after some careful thought I decided that if I were going to create any sort of "best of the decade" list, it would have to be in the realm of television, because that's what I know. Of course, one big caveat to all of this hullabaloo is that I am unable to rank television shows I have yet to see, so my list will obviously be lacking some very big shows (The Shield and The Wire stick out the most in my head) and some much loved cult classics that, unfortunately, were short lived that I still haven't been able to check out. So, I apologize for any glaring omissions from this list, and if you are really pissed off about it, please let me know and I'll do what I can to make it up to you.
Without further adieu...
10. Reaper (The CW/ABC Studios 2007-2009)
There is no doubt in my mind that had Reaper been given a chance to establish itself more thoroughly it would have finished much higher on this list, but alas, thanks to the writers strike, being on The CW and getting the axe before it had a chance to flesh out it's mythology as fully as it could have, Reaper can be added to the list of shows that never really reached its potential, but managed to have an impact on nerdy fans like me all the same. Reaper is essentially a show about how much most of us hate our jobs, and how almost every single person in the world feels trapped by responsibilities they had no hand in creating for themselves; which is why Sam Oliver (played by Bret Harrison) continues to collect escaped souls from hell for the devil even though his parents sold his soul before he was even born. Sam doesn't want to end up in hell, and he doesn't want to keep on reaping, but he does anyway, because he's out of options and no matter how hard he tries to wriggle out of his contract, there is always a road block standing in his way. Throw in a few demons, some goofy humor and the best portrayal of the Devil ever (played brilliantly by Ray Wise) and Reaper is the type of show guys like me, who can't help but relate to the pit of despair Sam found himself in every week, couldn't get enough of.
9. Flight of The Conchords (HBO, 2007-2009)
FOTC must have been a bitch to make if it's creators and stars (Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement) have decided to call it quits after only 2 brilliant seasons, but sometimes less is more, and what FOTC gave us in it's 22 episodes is enough to last me a very, very long time. Aside from their incredibly well done musical numbers (which garner the most hype and praise), FOTC is subtly very, very well written and very smart almost besides itself, and much of that is in thanks to secondary cast members like Kristen Schaal, Arj Barker, Eugene Mirman and a slew of talented, super funny guest starts that fully embraced Bret and Jemaine's lazy, hipster musician ethos and used it to their advantage in such a way that the show flat out wreaks of the uber hip neighborhoods in Brooklyn, NY and the hordes of hipsters that call them home. FOTC's portrayal of slightly off, but entirely lovable goofballs living in a world that would seemingly embrace them with open arms, but strangely doesn't, is a breath of fresh air in a universe where TV shows try to make everyone look cooler than they actually are. Also: Murray Hewitt (played by Rhys Darby) was the funniest character on TV during the shows run, and I will go to my grave defending that.
8. It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia (FX, 2005-Present)
Some shows are just funny, and It's Always Sunny... is one of them. Sure, the plot lines are usually non-existent and all the characters on the periphery are underdeveloped, but none of that matters, because It's Always Sunny... manages to work despite all those apparent "flaws". It's Always Sunny... has a knack to make any situation the main characters find themselves in twisted, grotesque and hysterical even though the actions of "the gang" are often despicable (usually felonious as well) and riddled with debauched ideals that would never, ever be suitable for the broad comedic fare that inundates network television these days. And that's precisely why I love it so damn much. Whenever a show has the balls to abandon traditional structure and just go with it the way It's Always Sunny... has the past 4+ years and is still hilarious week after week, you have to tip your cap to it, because let's face it, it just doesn't happen very often.
7. Friday Night Lights (NBC, 2006-Present)
FNL is not about football. FNL is about much, much more than whether or not the Dillon Panthers go out and win the big game every Friday. No. Friday Night Lights is about what happens to the people of a small, Texas town when all they have to live for is the success or failure of a high school football team and how that translates into unbelievable pressure for all those directly involved with the team like the coaches, players and their friends and family; and how, at any given moment, a person's entire existence can implode in on itself without any warning at all and for utterly ridiculous reasons (in the grand scheme of things). In the middle of the entire debacle is head coach Eric Taylor (a flat out brilliant portrayal by Kyle Chandler) who serves as a conduit connecting every single situation on the show, and his wife Tami (played in another incredible performance by Connie Britton) who, no matter how dire a situation may be, always seems to make well thought out, level headed decisions that serve everyone involved. It's captivating watching the Taylors, and it's amazing to see how an entire town reacts to situations that you and I may slough off as "just one of those things," but that's the allure of FNL, it's the investigation into a world we know exists, but can't entirely understand.
6. Breaking Bad (AMC, 2008-Present)
Breaking Bad is so good it almost hurts. Seriously. Sometimes watching Breaking Bad is a painful experience that you can't rip yourself away from, because the show, more than anything else, is about ramifications. Though that may not be immediately evident upon your initial viewing, about half way through the first season it starts to become obvious that the actions of Walter and Jesse (the two main characters played by Brian Cranston and Aaron Paul, respectively) have a ripple effect that is slowly, but surely, starting to affect everyone they come into contact with, and even those they don't. From the instant Walt is diagnosed with fatal lung cancer the show jumps entirely down the rabbit hole and immerses the viewer in a f_cked up, inconsolable world of drug dealing, addiction, deceit, misplaced anger and a never ending cycle of violence and despair; and it never, ever lets up. Unlike shows and movies that have come before it and glamorized the drug trade, Breaking Bad, in it's own subtle way, forces you, the viewer, to not just contemplate the atrocious crystal meth problem facing America today and how it can so easily destroy people's lives, but to truly ask yourself that, if put in the same position as Walt and Jesse, would you do what they did? As a viewer, you never get a chance to answer, because Breaking Bad makes it painfully obvious that the road less traveled is never a short cut, but a long, winding path towards your own personal hell.
5. Curb Your Enthusiasm (HBO, 2000-Present)
Larry David is a dangerous man. He says what he's thinking and doesn't care if you like what he's dishing out. It's the way he is. It's how he's always been, and God damn it I love him for it. While the show itself is a tour de force exposition on tearing down the social niceties that make so many of us act one way or the other just to get through the day without getting punched in the face (and slowly drive us insane in the process); it is Larry David's ability to unleash his id that makes him so unbelievably likable, when by all accounts he should be one of the most detested people on the planet. Larry David is the only person alive today, in my opinion, that says what we are all thinking, and the world is a better place for it. He holds up a mirror to the traditional morays we all live by and then shatters it by going in a completely different direction altogether, and in that highly specialized and confined space he manages to make each and every one of us reflect on how absurd our own predisposed notions of how we all should act really are. Why? Because he's usually right.
4. Mad Men (AMC, 2007-Present)
Style only gets you so far, and Mad Men is chock full of style; which is what initially catches your eye. You can't help but be dazzled by the accuracy of the set pieces, costumes, hairstyles and all the other minutiae that makes Mad Men so visually appealing and makes the viewer feel as if they are watching a real advertising agency from the early 60's through some kind of magic looking glass. After the awe of the visual experience wears off (about halfway through the third episode) you start to realize Mad Men is about way more than the style of a bygone era, but rather an expose into the lives of the men that used to run America, and how little by little their empire started to crumble as new ways of thinking pushed out their tired methodology and ushered in the "modern era" of not just advertising, but America in general. The shows pacing can be glacial, and sometimes you can spend an entire hour watching it without knowing what just happened or if it even meant anything, but rest assured that it does, and that the slow pace is meant to reflect the way things "used to be" when people were less rushed to get everything "right now" and information took days and weeks, not minutes, to trickle down to the world at large. If anything, Mad Men should serve as a reminder to present day America to slow down, have a drink and watch the sunset once in a while; if only because it's so damn pretty to look at.
3. Lost (ABC 2004-Present)
There is more substance in a single episode of Lost than there is in entire seasons of other similarly themed television shows. Never before has a network television series asked it's audience to be so patient as the myriad riddles, secrets and mysteries have been slowly unraveled over the course of its first 5 seasons, and with the sixth and final season quickly approaching I can only imagine how much more maddening the search for answers is going to become, but, hey, that's why I watch the damn show in the first place. It's a mystery wrapped in an enigma that I can't quite figure out, and in between all the smoke monsters and three toed statues are some of the most fully fleshed out characters on television today; which is amazing considering how little time on screen most of the characters get. All in all, Lost is that super rare type of show that manages to shoehorn mystery, character development, romance, intricately woven plot, philosophy and science fiction into an unforgettable (if not downright enthralling) television experience.
2. Arrested Development, (Fox, 2003-2006)
If there is ever a better comedy on television than Arrested Development I will eat my hat. Never before or since has a 30-minute comedy been better written, better conceived and better executed than Arrested, nor has there ever been a television show as re-watchable. I can't tell you how many times I've seen each episode (my best guess is probably about 10 times on average), but each time I sit down to watch the Bluths I find something new to laugh at that I never noticed before, or, and this is really something, the same jokes I laughed at the first time still land so hard that they make me cry with laughter. That's no exaggeration. I've literally laughed so hard at Arrested Development that I've been in pain, and I can't say that about any other comedy ever. I have such fond memories of the show that I sometimes think my love for it is over inflated and unjust, but all my doubts are quickly thrown to the wayside the instant I re-watch the pilot episode and Gob (played by Will Arnett) says, "Illusions, Michael! A trick is something a whore does for money," then he turns to see a group of children, mouths agape, and tries to make it better by adding, "... or cocaine." Television was undeniably blessed by the presence of Arrested Development, and the fact that it was consistently put upon by the network due to it's inability to secure an audience (that still blows my mind) and was ultimately canceled is one of the biggest tragedies in television history.
1. The Sopranos, (1999-2007)
I've said it before and I will say it again, The Sopranos is the best television show of all time. Period. Case closed. There has never, ever been such a well written, well acted and well directed show in the history of mankind and I am sad to say that I do not think we will ever get treated to something so genius ever again. I don't even know where to start when singing the praises of The Sopranos, because over it's 8 years and 6 seasons it delivered the goods each and every week and touched upon so many issues in it's own special way that it would be impossible for me to pinpoint one specific item that made the show so f_cking amazing. With a gun to my head I would tell you it was Tony Soprano and his unwavering appeal as the patriarch of two very different types of families, and the way he maneuvered through them both that kept me coming back each week to see what would happen, but I'd by lying through my teeth just to save my head from acquiring a new hole, because there is so much going on in every episode that to lay my love entirely upon Tony S. would be almost sinful. When I mentioned before that Lost has some of the most fleshed out characters on television today, I did so knowing that there is no possible way any show could develop it's cast of characters the way The Sopranos did. I know more about Sylvio Dante and Paulie Walnuts than I do about some of my cousins, and as sad as that is for me, it's a testament to the unrivaled quality of the writing and the unwavering vision of show creator David Chase. You really don't watch The Sopranos, you live it, because the world it represents is so clearly defined and so easy to get into, that for an hour at a time you forget where you are, who you are with and what you are doing and became a part of the family.
*Honorable Mentions* Undeclared, Freaks and Geeks, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Chappelle's Show, The Office (UK and US), 30 Rock, Party Down, Extras, Dexter, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Eastbound and Down, Parks & Recreation, House, Summer Heights High, Penn & Teller's Bull Sh_t, Weeds, Six Feet Under, Strangers With Candy, Human Giant, That Mitchell and Webb Look, American Dad, Oz, Futurama, The West Wing
*Blaring Omissions Due To My Not Seeing Them Yet* The Wire, The Shield, Deadwood, Rome, Battlestar Galactica, Veronica Mars, Firefly
When it comes down to it I can talk knowledgeably about 3 things and television is one of them (golf and sleep being the other 2), so after some careful thought I decided that if I were going to create any sort of "best of the decade" list, it would have to be in the realm of television, because that's what I know. Of course, one big caveat to all of this hullabaloo is that I am unable to rank television shows I have yet to see, so my list will obviously be lacking some very big shows (The Shield and The Wire stick out the most in my head) and some much loved cult classics that, unfortunately, were short lived that I still haven't been able to check out. So, I apologize for any glaring omissions from this list, and if you are really pissed off about it, please let me know and I'll do what I can to make it up to you.
Without further adieu...
10. Reaper (The CW/ABC Studios 2007-2009)
There is no doubt in my mind that had Reaper been given a chance to establish itself more thoroughly it would have finished much higher on this list, but alas, thanks to the writers strike, being on The CW and getting the axe before it had a chance to flesh out it's mythology as fully as it could have, Reaper can be added to the list of shows that never really reached its potential, but managed to have an impact on nerdy fans like me all the same. Reaper is essentially a show about how much most of us hate our jobs, and how almost every single person in the world feels trapped by responsibilities they had no hand in creating for themselves; which is why Sam Oliver (played by Bret Harrison) continues to collect escaped souls from hell for the devil even though his parents sold his soul before he was even born. Sam doesn't want to end up in hell, and he doesn't want to keep on reaping, but he does anyway, because he's out of options and no matter how hard he tries to wriggle out of his contract, there is always a road block standing in his way. Throw in a few demons, some goofy humor and the best portrayal of the Devil ever (played brilliantly by Ray Wise) and Reaper is the type of show guys like me, who can't help but relate to the pit of despair Sam found himself in every week, couldn't get enough of.
9. Flight of The Conchords (HBO, 2007-2009)
FOTC must have been a bitch to make if it's creators and stars (Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement) have decided to call it quits after only 2 brilliant seasons, but sometimes less is more, and what FOTC gave us in it's 22 episodes is enough to last me a very, very long time. Aside from their incredibly well done musical numbers (which garner the most hype and praise), FOTC is subtly very, very well written and very smart almost besides itself, and much of that is in thanks to secondary cast members like Kristen Schaal, Arj Barker, Eugene Mirman and a slew of talented, super funny guest starts that fully embraced Bret and Jemaine's lazy, hipster musician ethos and used it to their advantage in such a way that the show flat out wreaks of the uber hip neighborhoods in Brooklyn, NY and the hordes of hipsters that call them home. FOTC's portrayal of slightly off, but entirely lovable goofballs living in a world that would seemingly embrace them with open arms, but strangely doesn't, is a breath of fresh air in a universe where TV shows try to make everyone look cooler than they actually are. Also: Murray Hewitt (played by Rhys Darby) was the funniest character on TV during the shows run, and I will go to my grave defending that.
8. It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia (FX, 2005-Present)
Some shows are just funny, and It's Always Sunny... is one of them. Sure, the plot lines are usually non-existent and all the characters on the periphery are underdeveloped, but none of that matters, because It's Always Sunny... manages to work despite all those apparent "flaws". It's Always Sunny... has a knack to make any situation the main characters find themselves in twisted, grotesque and hysterical even though the actions of "the gang" are often despicable (usually felonious as well) and riddled with debauched ideals that would never, ever be suitable for the broad comedic fare that inundates network television these days. And that's precisely why I love it so damn much. Whenever a show has the balls to abandon traditional structure and just go with it the way It's Always Sunny... has the past 4+ years and is still hilarious week after week, you have to tip your cap to it, because let's face it, it just doesn't happen very often.
7. Friday Night Lights (NBC, 2006-Present)
FNL is not about football. FNL is about much, much more than whether or not the Dillon Panthers go out and win the big game every Friday. No. Friday Night Lights is about what happens to the people of a small, Texas town when all they have to live for is the success or failure of a high school football team and how that translates into unbelievable pressure for all those directly involved with the team like the coaches, players and their friends and family; and how, at any given moment, a person's entire existence can implode in on itself without any warning at all and for utterly ridiculous reasons (in the grand scheme of things). In the middle of the entire debacle is head coach Eric Taylor (a flat out brilliant portrayal by Kyle Chandler) who serves as a conduit connecting every single situation on the show, and his wife Tami (played in another incredible performance by Connie Britton) who, no matter how dire a situation may be, always seems to make well thought out, level headed decisions that serve everyone involved. It's captivating watching the Taylors, and it's amazing to see how an entire town reacts to situations that you and I may slough off as "just one of those things," but that's the allure of FNL, it's the investigation into a world we know exists, but can't entirely understand.
6. Breaking Bad (AMC, 2008-Present)
Breaking Bad is so good it almost hurts. Seriously. Sometimes watching Breaking Bad is a painful experience that you can't rip yourself away from, because the show, more than anything else, is about ramifications. Though that may not be immediately evident upon your initial viewing, about half way through the first season it starts to become obvious that the actions of Walter and Jesse (the two main characters played by Brian Cranston and Aaron Paul, respectively) have a ripple effect that is slowly, but surely, starting to affect everyone they come into contact with, and even those they don't. From the instant Walt is diagnosed with fatal lung cancer the show jumps entirely down the rabbit hole and immerses the viewer in a f_cked up, inconsolable world of drug dealing, addiction, deceit, misplaced anger and a never ending cycle of violence and despair; and it never, ever lets up. Unlike shows and movies that have come before it and glamorized the drug trade, Breaking Bad, in it's own subtle way, forces you, the viewer, to not just contemplate the atrocious crystal meth problem facing America today and how it can so easily destroy people's lives, but to truly ask yourself that, if put in the same position as Walt and Jesse, would you do what they did? As a viewer, you never get a chance to answer, because Breaking Bad makes it painfully obvious that the road less traveled is never a short cut, but a long, winding path towards your own personal hell.
5. Curb Your Enthusiasm (HBO, 2000-Present)
Larry David is a dangerous man. He says what he's thinking and doesn't care if you like what he's dishing out. It's the way he is. It's how he's always been, and God damn it I love him for it. While the show itself is a tour de force exposition on tearing down the social niceties that make so many of us act one way or the other just to get through the day without getting punched in the face (and slowly drive us insane in the process); it is Larry David's ability to unleash his id that makes him so unbelievably likable, when by all accounts he should be one of the most detested people on the planet. Larry David is the only person alive today, in my opinion, that says what we are all thinking, and the world is a better place for it. He holds up a mirror to the traditional morays we all live by and then shatters it by going in a completely different direction altogether, and in that highly specialized and confined space he manages to make each and every one of us reflect on how absurd our own predisposed notions of how we all should act really are. Why? Because he's usually right.
4. Mad Men (AMC, 2007-Present)
Style only gets you so far, and Mad Men is chock full of style; which is what initially catches your eye. You can't help but be dazzled by the accuracy of the set pieces, costumes, hairstyles and all the other minutiae that makes Mad Men so visually appealing and makes the viewer feel as if they are watching a real advertising agency from the early 60's through some kind of magic looking glass. After the awe of the visual experience wears off (about halfway through the third episode) you start to realize Mad Men is about way more than the style of a bygone era, but rather an expose into the lives of the men that used to run America, and how little by little their empire started to crumble as new ways of thinking pushed out their tired methodology and ushered in the "modern era" of not just advertising, but America in general. The shows pacing can be glacial, and sometimes you can spend an entire hour watching it without knowing what just happened or if it even meant anything, but rest assured that it does, and that the slow pace is meant to reflect the way things "used to be" when people were less rushed to get everything "right now" and information took days and weeks, not minutes, to trickle down to the world at large. If anything, Mad Men should serve as a reminder to present day America to slow down, have a drink and watch the sunset once in a while; if only because it's so damn pretty to look at.
3. Lost (ABC 2004-Present)
There is more substance in a single episode of Lost than there is in entire seasons of other similarly themed television shows. Never before has a network television series asked it's audience to be so patient as the myriad riddles, secrets and mysteries have been slowly unraveled over the course of its first 5 seasons, and with the sixth and final season quickly approaching I can only imagine how much more maddening the search for answers is going to become, but, hey, that's why I watch the damn show in the first place. It's a mystery wrapped in an enigma that I can't quite figure out, and in between all the smoke monsters and three toed statues are some of the most fully fleshed out characters on television today; which is amazing considering how little time on screen most of the characters get. All in all, Lost is that super rare type of show that manages to shoehorn mystery, character development, romance, intricately woven plot, philosophy and science fiction into an unforgettable (if not downright enthralling) television experience.
2. Arrested Development, (Fox, 2003-2006)
If there is ever a better comedy on television than Arrested Development I will eat my hat. Never before or since has a 30-minute comedy been better written, better conceived and better executed than Arrested, nor has there ever been a television show as re-watchable. I can't tell you how many times I've seen each episode (my best guess is probably about 10 times on average), but each time I sit down to watch the Bluths I find something new to laugh at that I never noticed before, or, and this is really something, the same jokes I laughed at the first time still land so hard that they make me cry with laughter. That's no exaggeration. I've literally laughed so hard at Arrested Development that I've been in pain, and I can't say that about any other comedy ever. I have such fond memories of the show that I sometimes think my love for it is over inflated and unjust, but all my doubts are quickly thrown to the wayside the instant I re-watch the pilot episode and Gob (played by Will Arnett) says, "Illusions, Michael! A trick is something a whore does for money," then he turns to see a group of children, mouths agape, and tries to make it better by adding, "... or cocaine." Television was undeniably blessed by the presence of Arrested Development, and the fact that it was consistently put upon by the network due to it's inability to secure an audience (that still blows my mind) and was ultimately canceled is one of the biggest tragedies in television history.
1. The Sopranos, (1999-2007)
I've said it before and I will say it again, The Sopranos is the best television show of all time. Period. Case closed. There has never, ever been such a well written, well acted and well directed show in the history of mankind and I am sad to say that I do not think we will ever get treated to something so genius ever again. I don't even know where to start when singing the praises of The Sopranos, because over it's 8 years and 6 seasons it delivered the goods each and every week and touched upon so many issues in it's own special way that it would be impossible for me to pinpoint one specific item that made the show so f_cking amazing. With a gun to my head I would tell you it was Tony Soprano and his unwavering appeal as the patriarch of two very different types of families, and the way he maneuvered through them both that kept me coming back each week to see what would happen, but I'd by lying through my teeth just to save my head from acquiring a new hole, because there is so much going on in every episode that to lay my love entirely upon Tony S. would be almost sinful. When I mentioned before that Lost has some of the most fleshed out characters on television today, I did so knowing that there is no possible way any show could develop it's cast of characters the way The Sopranos did. I know more about Sylvio Dante and Paulie Walnuts than I do about some of my cousins, and as sad as that is for me, it's a testament to the unrivaled quality of the writing and the unwavering vision of show creator David Chase. You really don't watch The Sopranos, you live it, because the world it represents is so clearly defined and so easy to get into, that for an hour at a time you forget where you are, who you are with and what you are doing and became a part of the family.
*Honorable Mentions* Undeclared, Freaks and Geeks, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Chappelle's Show, The Office (UK and US), 30 Rock, Party Down, Extras, Dexter, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Eastbound and Down, Parks & Recreation, House, Summer Heights High, Penn & Teller's Bull Sh_t, Weeds, Six Feet Under, Strangers With Candy, Human Giant, That Mitchell and Webb Look, American Dad, Oz, Futurama, The West Wing
*Blaring Omissions Due To My Not Seeing Them Yet* The Wire, The Shield, Deadwood, Rome, Battlestar Galactica, Veronica Mars, Firefly
Thursday, November 5, 2009
My 9 Year Wait Is Over
This post is dedicated to Work Matt, Matt K., Steve F., Brandon W., Bader, Mikey L., Mikey C., Ben C., Katie S. and all the people I know who have waited patiently for the Yankees to bring home the big trophy these past 9 years. Our collective wait is over. Everyone exhale.
It's tough being a Yankees fan. Not only is our team perennially favored to win it all, has the biggest payroll in professional sports and the most outspoken owner in the history of everything, but on top of all that is the burden of loving a team that a lot of people love to hate. So, on days like today when I and the rest of the Yankee faithful wake up knowing that, yet again, we can call our favorite team the champions of the world, every single one of us breathes a little easier... for a few hours at least, before we start to hear the same old sh_t from angry Yankee haters who can't figure out why their favorite team can't get it done. Hey, I feel you, guys. My team has gone 9 years without performing in the post season the way they should have, and they even missed the playoffs once, so, please let us have our moment in the sun. Okay? Seem fair? Moving on then...
When I was 6 years old my Grandpa Sam sat me down and told me about Babe Ruth and the storied history of the Yankees. I learned about Gehrig, Dimaggio, Maris and Mantle, Reggie Jackson and Billy Martin, and from that point on I never considered cheering for another team. It just wouldn't have made sense to root for a team like the Mets, Pirates or Red Sox, because not only were the Yanks the winningest team in the history of professional sports, but they were the most storied franchise ever. Period. So much of baseball's legacy revolves around the New York Yankees that to love the sport, to me anyway, meant to love the Yankees. Now, it didn't matter that when I was growing up the Yankees were a bottom feeding team with a mercurial manager/owner relationship that turned the franchise into a kind of side show attraction, because they were still the mother f_cking New York Yankees and I knew deep down their time would come and the glory of years past would be fully restored. Not to mention the first moustache I ever admired belonged to Don "Hitman" Mattingly.
Little Known Fact: Don Mattingly's moustache hit .280 for Triple AAA Scranton-Wilkes Barre in 1979, but injured it's knee before it had a chance to be called up to the majors.
I was lucky, because not too long after I really got into baseball the Yankees started to win again. This was a simpler era when Derek Jeter was a baby faced phenomenon and Mariano Rivera was just starting to become the unbeatable, legendary closer that he is today. I remember in 1996 listening to the Yankees beat the Braves in game 6 during CYO basketball practice, because my coach, like me, was a die hard Yankee fan who wanted to know exactly how and when his team was going to win it all. This was 2 years after the 1994 baseball season was ended prematurely, and I'm not sure how many people remember this, but before the season was called the Yankees had the best record in baseball and looked poised to return to their winning ways. It took almost 2 years for the Yanks to rally back into championship form, but, man, when they did it was look out world time and they were off to the races. As a fan, a young one at that, I had never been happier.
Then 2001 came around and, after winning 4 out of the last 5 championships, the Yankees lost to a team from Arizona known as the Diamondbacks. I was in college at the time and remember feeling like I wanted to punch a hole in someone's face when a roar went out over the campus (literally, it was a wave of noise I'll never forget) as the Yankees lost. People poured out into the common era wearing Diamondbacks jerseys and the few, proud Yankee fans sat around looking dazed, licking their wounds without making a scene. I have never been prouder to be a Yankee fan in my life than I was that night when the dozen or so of us just sat there and let it happen without picking a fight or rioting to show our anger. We acted like civil human beings that understand sometimes a team has to lose, and hey, we were spoiled. No matter how much it hurt to see our team lose after 5 years of complete and utter dominance, we were nice about it.
2002 was the first year I remember actively hating anything that had to do with the city of Boston and especially the Red Sox, because it seemed like that year especially the BoSox and their fans were making great efforts to piss off anyone that even marginally supported the Yankees. Granted, I was busy that year trying to piece my life back together after a series of bad decisions on my part ended with me being out of college, out of work and completely and totally lost in a stormy sea of uncertainty. In short: 2002 sucked, but I dealt with it as best I could and hoped for the best in 2003.
That didn't happen. The Yankees once again reached the World Series, but this time they lost, again, to the Florida Marlins (this was more embarrassing than painful, because, f_ck, it was the Marlins for God's sake), and I found myself once again faced with the arduous task of being gentlemanly in the face of defeat, but I never once lost hope that the next season would bring about a return to form, but, unfortunately we all know how 2004 ended with the BoSox winning their first World Series in more than 80 years. It was at this point that I started to wonder if, after dropping 4 in a row to our most hated rivals, that the Yanks might need to shake things up a bit and start righting the ship in a different direction, and in a way they certainly did, but for 5 years things pretty much stayed the same and my frustration with the underperformance of a team with a payroll in excess of $200 Million and more All-Stars than should be allowed by law came to a head.
Ah, but, last night around midnight Robinson Cano tossed the ball to first base and ended the game giving the Yankees the win over the Philadelphia Phillies ( a team I have new found respect for, by the way, because, f_ck me can Cliff Lee pitch and f_ck me can Chase Utley hit) and for the first time in nearly a decade everything was right with the world. I looked upon the love of my life and our dog and I just knew what it was to be completely and totally happy with the way things are. I don't live and die by the Yankees, and my happiness doesn't truly depend upon their success, but God damn it, it feels good to win again.
Congratulations you magnificent, pin striped bastards!
There they are, your 2009 World Series Champs!
It's tough being a Yankees fan. Not only is our team perennially favored to win it all, has the biggest payroll in professional sports and the most outspoken owner in the history of everything, but on top of all that is the burden of loving a team that a lot of people love to hate. So, on days like today when I and the rest of the Yankee faithful wake up knowing that, yet again, we can call our favorite team the champions of the world, every single one of us breathes a little easier... for a few hours at least, before we start to hear the same old sh_t from angry Yankee haters who can't figure out why their favorite team can't get it done. Hey, I feel you, guys. My team has gone 9 years without performing in the post season the way they should have, and they even missed the playoffs once, so, please let us have our moment in the sun. Okay? Seem fair? Moving on then...
When I was 6 years old my Grandpa Sam sat me down and told me about Babe Ruth and the storied history of the Yankees. I learned about Gehrig, Dimaggio, Maris and Mantle, Reggie Jackson and Billy Martin, and from that point on I never considered cheering for another team. It just wouldn't have made sense to root for a team like the Mets, Pirates or Red Sox, because not only were the Yanks the winningest team in the history of professional sports, but they were the most storied franchise ever. Period. So much of baseball's legacy revolves around the New York Yankees that to love the sport, to me anyway, meant to love the Yankees. Now, it didn't matter that when I was growing up the Yankees were a bottom feeding team with a mercurial manager/owner relationship that turned the franchise into a kind of side show attraction, because they were still the mother f_cking New York Yankees and I knew deep down their time would come and the glory of years past would be fully restored. Not to mention the first moustache I ever admired belonged to Don "Hitman" Mattingly.
Little Known Fact: Don Mattingly's moustache hit .280 for Triple AAA Scranton-Wilkes Barre in 1979, but injured it's knee before it had a chance to be called up to the majors.Then 2001 came around and, after winning 4 out of the last 5 championships, the Yankees lost to a team from Arizona known as the Diamondbacks. I was in college at the time and remember feeling like I wanted to punch a hole in someone's face when a roar went out over the campus (literally, it was a wave of noise I'll never forget) as the Yankees lost. People poured out into the common era wearing Diamondbacks jerseys and the few, proud Yankee fans sat around looking dazed, licking their wounds without making a scene. I have never been prouder to be a Yankee fan in my life than I was that night when the dozen or so of us just sat there and let it happen without picking a fight or rioting to show our anger. We acted like civil human beings that understand sometimes a team has to lose, and hey, we were spoiled. No matter how much it hurt to see our team lose after 5 years of complete and utter dominance, we were nice about it.
2002 was the first year I remember actively hating anything that had to do with the city of Boston and especially the Red Sox, because it seemed like that year especially the BoSox and their fans were making great efforts to piss off anyone that even marginally supported the Yankees. Granted, I was busy that year trying to piece my life back together after a series of bad decisions on my part ended with me being out of college, out of work and completely and totally lost in a stormy sea of uncertainty. In short: 2002 sucked, but I dealt with it as best I could and hoped for the best in 2003.
That didn't happen. The Yankees once again reached the World Series, but this time they lost, again, to the Florida Marlins (this was more embarrassing than painful, because, f_ck, it was the Marlins for God's sake), and I found myself once again faced with the arduous task of being gentlemanly in the face of defeat, but I never once lost hope that the next season would bring about a return to form, but, unfortunately we all know how 2004 ended with the BoSox winning their first World Series in more than 80 years. It was at this point that I started to wonder if, after dropping 4 in a row to our most hated rivals, that the Yanks might need to shake things up a bit and start righting the ship in a different direction, and in a way they certainly did, but for 5 years things pretty much stayed the same and my frustration with the underperformance of a team with a payroll in excess of $200 Million and more All-Stars than should be allowed by law came to a head.
Ah, but, last night around midnight Robinson Cano tossed the ball to first base and ended the game giving the Yankees the win over the Philadelphia Phillies ( a team I have new found respect for, by the way, because, f_ck me can Cliff Lee pitch and f_ck me can Chase Utley hit) and for the first time in nearly a decade everything was right with the world. I looked upon the love of my life and our dog and I just knew what it was to be completely and totally happy with the way things are. I don't live and die by the Yankees, and my happiness doesn't truly depend upon their success, but God damn it, it feels good to win again.
Congratulations you magnificent, pin striped bastards!
There they are, your 2009 World Series Champs! Thursday, October 29, 2009
I Like You... Charlie Kelly
I resisted watching "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia" for years, because I had a small group of friends who were adamant about the show and would consistently demand that I watch it with the same maniacal intensity that they do. Well, if you know anything about me (and you don't) then you'd be well aware that I never do anything that people tell me I have to do. Especially when it comes to movies, books, television shows or any other piece of the pop culture puzzle, because I love finding things on my own and throwing myself into them without care or concern for my well being (which is how I got through the entire series of "The Sopranos" in less than 2 weeks). I absorb what I'm doing better that way, because I'm doing it on my own terms, damn it. But, this time, my friends were right and now I'm addicted to "The Gang" and especially the "wildcard" of the bunch, Charlie Kelly.
Another triumphant moment in the life of Charlie Kelly.
Another triumphant moment in the life of Charlie Kelly."It's Always Sunny..." is such a rare, rare show. On one hand you have a small group of people running around Philadelphia getting into zany situations with hilarious results; which is standard sitcom fare that has been in place for decades; but, on the other hand you have some pretty over the top gross out comedy, slapstick, meta-comedy, the occasional musical number and a main cast of characters that, despite being complete dicks, you actually like. However; if the show consisted of every single character except Charlie Kelly (played brilliantly by Charlie Day) this wouldn't be the case. Charlie is such a lovable, funny and honest character (even though, at times, he can be just as big of a dick as the rest of the gang) that he brings a much needed sense of pause to a show that can sometimes wander too far into f_cked up territory. It's almost as if every line of dialogue that comes out of Charlie's mouth, even the most retarded statements about made up things like bird law, are there to remind us that the entire gang, not just Charlie, are acting like a bunch of innocent children who have no idea that what they're doing might be construed as wrong, disturbing and crazy by the general public.
The best example of this I can think of is the season 4 episode "Who Pooped The Bed." The title itself is cause enough to be taken aback, but, as usual, it's the meat and bones of it all that makes it much more than your standard issue poo-based comedy, because when 2 full grown men share a pull out mattress every night and one morning they wake up to find, snuggled neatly between them, a full grown turd, it's not about how gross it is, or how sick, it's about who did it, and thus begins a journey into a fecal focused whodunnit episode that, if done by any other show, would rely solely on the fact that they could now get away with making as many sh_tty poop jokes as possible (like that one I just made... it just keeps coming... see, it's too easy). Sure, there are plenty of wacky moments, but if it wasn't for the sheer joy that Charlie expresses as the "crime" is slowly unraveled, or the bouts of rage he displays when the finger is pointed in his direction, it would be blatantly unwatchable even by my low, low standards. During a pivotal moment when Dennis, Mac, Charlie and Frank take the turd in question to a medical laboratory to have it tested they find chunks of a credit card (ruled to be inconclusive evidence) and much, much more that a human should never eat, but because Charlie is involved it's not out of the question. It reminds of the time my 8 year old nephew ate a plastic apple when he was 4, because, like Charlie, he didn't know any better and, at the time, he didn't care. When I, the always cool, down to earth uncle asked my nephew why he kept eating after he realized the apple was fake my nephew said, "I wanted to see if I could," and that's exactly how I would expect Charlie Kelly to answer the same question.
Pictured Above: Happiness.
The best example of this I can think of is the season 4 episode "Who Pooped The Bed." The title itself is cause enough to be taken aback, but, as usual, it's the meat and bones of it all that makes it much more than your standard issue poo-based comedy, because when 2 full grown men share a pull out mattress every night and one morning they wake up to find, snuggled neatly between them, a full grown turd, it's not about how gross it is, or how sick, it's about who did it, and thus begins a journey into a fecal focused whodunnit episode that, if done by any other show, would rely solely on the fact that they could now get away with making as many sh_tty poop jokes as possible (like that one I just made... it just keeps coming... see, it's too easy). Sure, there are plenty of wacky moments, but if it wasn't for the sheer joy that Charlie expresses as the "crime" is slowly unraveled, or the bouts of rage he displays when the finger is pointed in his direction, it would be blatantly unwatchable even by my low, low standards. During a pivotal moment when Dennis, Mac, Charlie and Frank take the turd in question to a medical laboratory to have it tested they find chunks of a credit card (ruled to be inconclusive evidence) and much, much more that a human should never eat, but because Charlie is involved it's not out of the question. It reminds of the time my 8 year old nephew ate a plastic apple when he was 4, because, like Charlie, he didn't know any better and, at the time, he didn't care. When I, the always cool, down to earth uncle asked my nephew why he kept eating after he realized the apple was fake my nephew said, "I wanted to see if I could," and that's exactly how I would expect Charlie Kelly to answer the same question.
Pictured Above: Happiness.The Gang, as is true with most groups of friends, operates in a sort of make-shift hierarchy. Mac is the brains of the operation and Dennis is the looks. Frank is the muscle and Sweet Dee is the useless girl who does nothing (their words, not mine); which leaves Charlie as the wild card, the guy who sits there looking like he's capable of doing something crazy at the drop of a hat (like cutting the brakes on a van full of a garbage cans full of gasoline, just because), and even though most people would be offended by the suggestion that they are the crazy one, Charlie fully embraces his responsibility to be "that guy." Why? Because, why not? That's why. When you're the wild card you live by your own set of rules. You get to dress up in all sorts of intricate costumes and adopt whatever accent you want, because it's expected that you, the wild card, act unexpectedly, and when Charlie is at his most insane/goofy/lovable he is at his best. Take, for example, the recurring and awesome presence that is Greenman. Oh, sweet, sweet Greenman. Evidently, according to the show's mythology, Charlie would show up at high school football games wearing nothing but a skin tight, bright green spandex suit and a pair of black sneakers... hell, I'll just show you because it's easier that way.
My Hero.
I should take the time to let you guys know that I could've written this post about any member of the cast of "It's Always Sunny...," because they are all incredibly funny, talented people who know how to make me laugh. I could've written about Frank (played by Danny Devito in an inspired, genius like casting move) and how all he needs to do is move slightly or make a face and I'll be on the floor. I could've written about Mac and his inflated ego and his ability to be cluelessly self-aware at all times and how much that reminds me of a dozen people I've known in my life. I could have gone on and on about Dennis being the quickest wit of the bunch. I could have written about Sweet Dee being the funniest female on television right now; which she is, by the way. But, in the end I've got a soft spot for that furry little bastard Charlie and every second he is on screen seems to be better than the next. So, without further adieu, I hereby announce the induction of Charlie Kelly to the "I Like You..." hall of fame.
Congratulations, Greenman.
My Hero.You and I both know that there is always 1 friend in your group that is damaged just enough to wear something like the Greenman suit (unfortunately my group of friends think that I am crazy enough to wear it, and they have been trying to convince me to be Greenman for Halloween this year... not happening, fellas), and that friend can only properly be described as your wild card. He's a necessary element in every group dynamic, because while the majority of your friends represent the order in the world and display crisp logic and make good decisions on a regular basis, the wild card represents the chaos in the world and the utter joy that accompanies just letting go and doing what you want no matter whose looking; which is why we love them fiercely and go to great lengths to protect them should they come under fire from outsiders. And this is true of The Gang. Sure, they may sit around and rip on Charlie for being borderline illiterate, un-hygienic and a little slow, but if anyone outside of the inner circle says anything derogatory about their wild card, the outsider better get ready to be hammered upon the angry fists of the entire gang (especially Franky Fast Hands). It's not that Charlie needs the protection, because it's been shown that the man can take a wicked beating and keep on ticking, but it's out of a deeply rooted sense of loyalty shared amongst all groups of close friends.
I miss the days when my buddies and I would drink too much and get into trouble, and I miss being the guy they could count on to come up with some crazy scheme that would ultimately make things worse for everyone involved, but would be more fun than should be allowed by law. There was a time when my small crew of close knit friends and I were stumbling back from a bar (we had walked a couple miles at this point) when my friend Mike noticed a new "For Sale" sign in front of a house on our street and all of us immediately took offense at this. We found it personally insulting that someone so close to our home base would dare to want to leave, so we did the only logical thing we could think of at the time. Under the cover of darkness we crept around the sign, my friends forming a wall, blocking me from the view of any witnesses that might be driving by, and with all my might I ripped the sign out of the ground and, using the last reserves of my drunk muscles, I sprinted back to our place with the sign over my shoulder. I woke up the next morning halfway between my bed and the door to my room, because in my alcohol induced mania from the night before I decided that the sign deserved the bed and I deserved the floor. Those were the days, and thanks to "It's Always Sunny..." I get to vicariously live out those crazy days and nights every Thursday, and, as always, Charlie Kelly is the reason I tune in.
I miss the days when my buddies and I would drink too much and get into trouble, and I miss being the guy they could count on to come up with some crazy scheme that would ultimately make things worse for everyone involved, but would be more fun than should be allowed by law. There was a time when my small crew of close knit friends and I were stumbling back from a bar (we had walked a couple miles at this point) when my friend Mike noticed a new "For Sale" sign in front of a house on our street and all of us immediately took offense at this. We found it personally insulting that someone so close to our home base would dare to want to leave, so we did the only logical thing we could think of at the time. Under the cover of darkness we crept around the sign, my friends forming a wall, blocking me from the view of any witnesses that might be driving by, and with all my might I ripped the sign out of the ground and, using the last reserves of my drunk muscles, I sprinted back to our place with the sign over my shoulder. I woke up the next morning halfway between my bed and the door to my room, because in my alcohol induced mania from the night before I decided that the sign deserved the bed and I deserved the floor. Those were the days, and thanks to "It's Always Sunny..." I get to vicariously live out those crazy days and nights every Thursday, and, as always, Charlie Kelly is the reason I tune in.
I should take the time to let you guys know that I could've written this post about any member of the cast of "It's Always Sunny...," because they are all incredibly funny, talented people who know how to make me laugh. I could've written about Frank (played by Danny Devito in an inspired, genius like casting move) and how all he needs to do is move slightly or make a face and I'll be on the floor. I could've written about Mac and his inflated ego and his ability to be cluelessly self-aware at all times and how much that reminds me of a dozen people I've known in my life. I could have gone on and on about Dennis being the quickest wit of the bunch. I could have written about Sweet Dee being the funniest female on television right now; which she is, by the way. But, in the end I've got a soft spot for that furry little bastard Charlie and every second he is on screen seems to be better than the next. So, without further adieu, I hereby announce the induction of Charlie Kelly to the "I Like You..." hall of fame.
Congratulations, Greenman.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sometimes You Need To Be Sad To Be Happy
Sometimes, when I'm not paying attention, I catch myself actually feeling empathy towards someone. Usually these moments occur when I've imbibed the right combination of beer, wine, liquor and Trivial Pursuit, but the other day as my girlfriend and I were in the check-out line of our local super market I found myself nearly brought to tears over the plight of an elderly gentleman ahead of us. At first glance he reminded me of my father; which is to say he seemed stately, authoritative and ready to kick my ass, but that's only because I didn't look close enough. After 30 seconds of watching this man fumble with the self swipe credit card machine I noticed his beige cardigan was pock marked with random holes, his navy blue pants were spattered with the occasional stain, and his black dress shoes, oddly, were dazzlingly clean (a remnant from his days in the armed services, I suppose). I felt my heart sink, because I've seen it all before, and it was one of those rare moments in your life when you learn a lesson long after it was supposed to have been learned.
I remember very clearly, to this day, the instant I learned when my Grandma Lucy passed away. I was walking out of school, heading towards my father's car and before I could get in he said "Go back up and get your sport coat, your grandmother died and you'll need it for the funeral and the wake." (Yes, my Dad had no idea how to sugar coat anything and he still doesn't) I was only 14 at the time and my initial reaction fit my age, I flipped the f_ck out. I wasn't sad or hysterical. I was pissed. I was more angry than I'd ever been or would be, and I swear to God, I literally saw red. So, when I turned around to run back inside and get my jacket and a friend of mine said "what's going on, Jim?" I did the only thing I could do. I shoved him into his locker, breaking the door off it's hinges and stomped down the hall towards my locker. I didn't hear the principal yelling my name and I wouldn't find out I was in trouble until a few days later when I got back to school. Luckily, the principal had a heart and let me off the hook considering the events that led up to my transgression. That horrible, horrible feeling of unbridled anger sticks with me to this very day, and it's something I've tried very hard to control, because it made the sadness of the moment that much harder to deal with. The following three days are a blur of sobs, back pats and psalms; which is fine, I'm glad my brain has decided to take those memories out of rotation, because I don't need to remember the minutiae, just the overall feeling of anger that overcame for months, if not years. I didn't know who to blame and I didn't know what was going on, but, unfortunately, I put a lot of effort into laying the blame squarely on the shoulders of my Grandpa Sam, the man whose life was just torn apart because his bride of 60 years had passed away in his arms.
Looking back at it now, through the rose colored glasses of hindsight, I knew it was nobodies fault, and that my Grandma Lucy had been sick for years, and had been in and out of the hospital for months, but I was young and my Grandma was my rock. No matter how sick she was she always put on a brave face for me when I went to visit, and when she was feeling better she cooked my favorite meal (chicken cutlets, mashed potatoes, peas, if you're wondering) and the two of us would fall asleep in our lounge chairs watching Nickelodeon together. Still, at the age, you're always looking for someone to blame for the things that happen, because, as a wise man once said "you're too young to know life sucks." So, unfortunately for my Grandpa Sam, he was the target of all my anger.
3 weeks after the funeral was the annual CYO basketball tournament my team hosted. It was a 3 day endurance test. Sometimes we would play 4 games in a day and have to get up and play 4 more the next day, but that's how it was and I loved it. It was a distraction and it was basketball; which, at the time, was my life. The second day of the tournament, in the middle of the third game of the day, I was in the middle of warming up with my team when I saw my Grandpa Sam shamble into the gym on the arm my mother's arm. He was dressed impeccably, as always in his wool pants, white dress shirt and perfectly shined black dress shoes. He even had a little skip to his step that, when I think about it now, was how he always seemed to get around (hence the nickname "Skippy," that I never understood), and my reaction to his presence was disgusting. I looked at my mother who was smiling proudly, clinging to her father's arm and I mouthed the words "what is he doing here" and "I want him to leave." She ignored me, because she was a great mother who knew me better than I'll ever know myself, and she continued to lead my Grandpa Sam to their seats. I felt my face flush red and with every lay up during my warm ups I slapped the back board a little bit harder, with every pass I tried to hurt the teammate I was passing it to, and it wasn't even game time. My best friend at the time said to me, "you're going to kill someone if you don't calm down," to which I replied, "good, stay out of my way." When the warning bell rang that told us it was time to get to our benches before the game started I looked over my shoulder and sneered at my Grandpa Sam, and he looked right through me like I wasn't there, like he didn't know who I was, so I turned all the way around and made sure he saw me, but I got the same reaction; which made me even more pissed off. Then the game started.
I played like I wanted blood and by the end of the second quarter I got it. I leveled the opposing teams center with an elbow to the mouth that split both of his lips wide open, and because it was in the heat of an aggressive attempt at grabbing a rebound I got away with it. I swaggered away like a boxer who absolutely knows he just knocked the other guy out, and when I looked over at my mother and saw her face turn pale white I knew I did what I wanted to do. It got worse from there. I was, for the most part, smart and I knew how to get away with playing dirty (which, for the record, I hated doing, but, hey, you do what you can to win), so I spent the rest of the game taking shots at the other teams players, making sure they just stayed the f_ck out of my way, and with every elbow and trip I looked up to the stands to make sure my Grandpa knew it was his fault, but I never got a reaction. By the time the game ended I was bruised, but the other team was bloody and my teammates wanted nothing to do with me for the first time I can remember, but I didn't really care. I walked over to my Grandpa and my mother and said, "well, what do you think? How'd I do?" My mother, ever the supportive, doting mom, said "why were you playing like an animal out there? What's wrong with you?" With that I smiled and looked at my Grandpa Sam, he looked straight through me again and said, "Hi, David."
I lost it. I burst into tears in front of the same crowd of people who had just seen me go berserk on the opposing team. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how, in just about 3 weeks time, my Grandpa Sam had slipped so far into the grips of dementia, but as my mother would later explain, he was struggling for a while and taking care of my Grandma Lucy was the only thing keeping him hanging on to reality, and when she died, his mind went into the grave with her.
It was another year before I saw my Grandpa Sam again, now living in a home that could actually take care of him, and we were all at Easter dinner at my Sister's home with her and her new husband. I went through the day doing my best to avoid him, because I couldn't handle the f_cked up reality that was thrown in my lap a year before then and I was still riddled with guilt over the whole thing. As soon as dinner was over I grabbed a golf club, some practice wiffle balls and headed into the backyard to distance myself. I was out there for a while, maybe hours, by myself bashing wiffle balls into the trees and I didn't even notice that my Grandpa Sam had wandered out of the house into the backyard and was watching me. I looked over at him and smiled, he smiled back and said, "What's so hard about that?" I rolled my eyes and laughed and said, "well, why don't you try it" and handed him the golf club. He walked over to one of the wiffle balls, took a practice swing (more of a lurch and push, really) then addressed the ball and pounded one, straight as an arrow right next to wear the rest of mine were landing. He looked at me again, this time smirking and said, "Jimmy, if I can do this, anyone can do this, so what's so hard about it?" I gave him a high five and started laughing. I turned and saw my entire family crying tears of joy behind us and I gave them a thumbs up. Grandpa Sam and I stayed out there a few minutes more, hitting a wiffle ball every couple of minutes, but the sun started to set and it got cold and Grandpa needed to get back to the home.
Before he left I said "that was a great time, Grandpa," and he looked me in the eyes and said, "Hi, David, how are you?" I didn't cry that time. I just let it go and smiled and laughed and I didn't figure out until I saw the elderly man in front of me in line at the grocery store struggle with his credit card, that sometimes, you have to let yourself be sad so you can be happy, because you can't control the world or the tragedies it dishes out, and when you repress any kind of emotion it ends up being used in the worst way possible. I don't know if this makes sense, but it feels good to get off my chest, and any excuse I have to remember my Grandpa Sam is a good one.
I remember very clearly, to this day, the instant I learned when my Grandma Lucy passed away. I was walking out of school, heading towards my father's car and before I could get in he said "Go back up and get your sport coat, your grandmother died and you'll need it for the funeral and the wake." (Yes, my Dad had no idea how to sugar coat anything and he still doesn't) I was only 14 at the time and my initial reaction fit my age, I flipped the f_ck out. I wasn't sad or hysterical. I was pissed. I was more angry than I'd ever been or would be, and I swear to God, I literally saw red. So, when I turned around to run back inside and get my jacket and a friend of mine said "what's going on, Jim?" I did the only thing I could do. I shoved him into his locker, breaking the door off it's hinges and stomped down the hall towards my locker. I didn't hear the principal yelling my name and I wouldn't find out I was in trouble until a few days later when I got back to school. Luckily, the principal had a heart and let me off the hook considering the events that led up to my transgression. That horrible, horrible feeling of unbridled anger sticks with me to this very day, and it's something I've tried very hard to control, because it made the sadness of the moment that much harder to deal with. The following three days are a blur of sobs, back pats and psalms; which is fine, I'm glad my brain has decided to take those memories out of rotation, because I don't need to remember the minutiae, just the overall feeling of anger that overcame for months, if not years. I didn't know who to blame and I didn't know what was going on, but, unfortunately, I put a lot of effort into laying the blame squarely on the shoulders of my Grandpa Sam, the man whose life was just torn apart because his bride of 60 years had passed away in his arms.
Looking back at it now, through the rose colored glasses of hindsight, I knew it was nobodies fault, and that my Grandma Lucy had been sick for years, and had been in and out of the hospital for months, but I was young and my Grandma was my rock. No matter how sick she was she always put on a brave face for me when I went to visit, and when she was feeling better she cooked my favorite meal (chicken cutlets, mashed potatoes, peas, if you're wondering) and the two of us would fall asleep in our lounge chairs watching Nickelodeon together. Still, at the age, you're always looking for someone to blame for the things that happen, because, as a wise man once said "you're too young to know life sucks." So, unfortunately for my Grandpa Sam, he was the target of all my anger.
3 weeks after the funeral was the annual CYO basketball tournament my team hosted. It was a 3 day endurance test. Sometimes we would play 4 games in a day and have to get up and play 4 more the next day, but that's how it was and I loved it. It was a distraction and it was basketball; which, at the time, was my life. The second day of the tournament, in the middle of the third game of the day, I was in the middle of warming up with my team when I saw my Grandpa Sam shamble into the gym on the arm my mother's arm. He was dressed impeccably, as always in his wool pants, white dress shirt and perfectly shined black dress shoes. He even had a little skip to his step that, when I think about it now, was how he always seemed to get around (hence the nickname "Skippy," that I never understood), and my reaction to his presence was disgusting. I looked at my mother who was smiling proudly, clinging to her father's arm and I mouthed the words "what is he doing here" and "I want him to leave." She ignored me, because she was a great mother who knew me better than I'll ever know myself, and she continued to lead my Grandpa Sam to their seats. I felt my face flush red and with every lay up during my warm ups I slapped the back board a little bit harder, with every pass I tried to hurt the teammate I was passing it to, and it wasn't even game time. My best friend at the time said to me, "you're going to kill someone if you don't calm down," to which I replied, "good, stay out of my way." When the warning bell rang that told us it was time to get to our benches before the game started I looked over my shoulder and sneered at my Grandpa Sam, and he looked right through me like I wasn't there, like he didn't know who I was, so I turned all the way around and made sure he saw me, but I got the same reaction; which made me even more pissed off. Then the game started.
I played like I wanted blood and by the end of the second quarter I got it. I leveled the opposing teams center with an elbow to the mouth that split both of his lips wide open, and because it was in the heat of an aggressive attempt at grabbing a rebound I got away with it. I swaggered away like a boxer who absolutely knows he just knocked the other guy out, and when I looked over at my mother and saw her face turn pale white I knew I did what I wanted to do. It got worse from there. I was, for the most part, smart and I knew how to get away with playing dirty (which, for the record, I hated doing, but, hey, you do what you can to win), so I spent the rest of the game taking shots at the other teams players, making sure they just stayed the f_ck out of my way, and with every elbow and trip I looked up to the stands to make sure my Grandpa knew it was his fault, but I never got a reaction. By the time the game ended I was bruised, but the other team was bloody and my teammates wanted nothing to do with me for the first time I can remember, but I didn't really care. I walked over to my Grandpa and my mother and said, "well, what do you think? How'd I do?" My mother, ever the supportive, doting mom, said "why were you playing like an animal out there? What's wrong with you?" With that I smiled and looked at my Grandpa Sam, he looked straight through me again and said, "Hi, David."
I lost it. I burst into tears in front of the same crowd of people who had just seen me go berserk on the opposing team. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how, in just about 3 weeks time, my Grandpa Sam had slipped so far into the grips of dementia, but as my mother would later explain, he was struggling for a while and taking care of my Grandma Lucy was the only thing keeping him hanging on to reality, and when she died, his mind went into the grave with her.
It was another year before I saw my Grandpa Sam again, now living in a home that could actually take care of him, and we were all at Easter dinner at my Sister's home with her and her new husband. I went through the day doing my best to avoid him, because I couldn't handle the f_cked up reality that was thrown in my lap a year before then and I was still riddled with guilt over the whole thing. As soon as dinner was over I grabbed a golf club, some practice wiffle balls and headed into the backyard to distance myself. I was out there for a while, maybe hours, by myself bashing wiffle balls into the trees and I didn't even notice that my Grandpa Sam had wandered out of the house into the backyard and was watching me. I looked over at him and smiled, he smiled back and said, "What's so hard about that?" I rolled my eyes and laughed and said, "well, why don't you try it" and handed him the golf club. He walked over to one of the wiffle balls, took a practice swing (more of a lurch and push, really) then addressed the ball and pounded one, straight as an arrow right next to wear the rest of mine were landing. He looked at me again, this time smirking and said, "Jimmy, if I can do this, anyone can do this, so what's so hard about it?" I gave him a high five and started laughing. I turned and saw my entire family crying tears of joy behind us and I gave them a thumbs up. Grandpa Sam and I stayed out there a few minutes more, hitting a wiffle ball every couple of minutes, but the sun started to set and it got cold and Grandpa needed to get back to the home.
Before he left I said "that was a great time, Grandpa," and he looked me in the eyes and said, "Hi, David, how are you?" I didn't cry that time. I just let it go and smiled and laughed and I didn't figure out until I saw the elderly man in front of me in line at the grocery store struggle with his credit card, that sometimes, you have to let yourself be sad so you can be happy, because you can't control the world or the tragedies it dishes out, and when you repress any kind of emotion it ends up being used in the worst way possible. I don't know if this makes sense, but it feels good to get off my chest, and any excuse I have to remember my Grandpa Sam is a good one.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
The Devil and Jimbolaya
As I've mentioned many times throughout the storied history of this incredibly influential web log, the writing staff and I like to give everyone and everything the benefit of the doubt, and why not? It's the theory the American legal system was founded upon, after all, and if it's good enough for 2nd Appellate Court Justice Mark Hammerstein, then it is definitely good enough for "Where the Wild Things Were Last Thursday Around 8." Hey, we're busy over here, but we're not so busy that we ignore other people's points of view for the sake of making an easy joke.
The "WTWTWLTA8" Corporate Headquarters on a busy day.
The "WTWTWLTA8" Corporate Headquarters on a busy day.That said, I was taken aback when I received a lewd phone call alerting me to a great oversight in one of my most recent posts. I can't repeat most of the words the caller used, because this is a family friendly blog (and he/she was audibly drunk and slurring their words so bad they sounded as if they were speaking in tongues), but what I am able to transcribe for you, my dear reader, I will do so below.
Transcription of message left on Jimbolaya's cell phone (10/8/09 1:07 AM):
"Listen this is *inaudible* and I'm sick and tired of that prick God getting all the *inappropriate language* credit for *inappropriate language* everything and anything you stupid mother *inappropriate language* humans can mother *inappropriate language* *inappropriate language* think of! When will the devil get his due..."
At this point it trails off into unintelligible , Lovecraftian like ramblings that I didn't even bother listening to more than 5 times.
C'thulu called... Jimbolaya let it go to voice mail.
Transcription of message left on Jimbolaya's cell phone (10/8/09 1:07 AM):
"Listen this is *inaudible* and I'm sick and tired of that prick God getting all the *inappropriate language* credit for *inappropriate language* everything and anything you stupid mother *inappropriate language* humans can mother *inappropriate language* *inappropriate language* think of! When will the devil get his due..."
At this point it trails off into unintelligible , Lovecraftian like ramblings that I didn't even bother listening to more than 5 times.
C'thulu called... Jimbolaya let it go to voice mail.I should have known from the caller ID (616-616-6616) that the unidentified voice was, in fact the Morning Star himself, drunk on Bacardi 151 (his liquor of choice, evidently) and plenty ticked off because I never even tried to get in touch with him when I was seeking out a deity to interview regarding the H1N1 hysteria that was sweeping over the entire globe not that long ago. Of course, I didn't know any of this until the following day when I got an e-mail from Azazel (his administrative assistant) explaining that Lucifer was upset, and he drank too much and shouldn't have left such an ugly message on my voice mail and oh, by the way would I like to meet for a drink and a quick chat sometime soon. Obviously you don't turn down a drink with the Devil unless you have tickets to a Streisand concert, and since my schedule is annoyingly clear I decided to take The Lord of the Flies up on his offer and suggested we meet for a few pints at one of my favorite bars, Lux Lounge (conveniently located at 666 South Ave, Rochester, NY, stop in some time and say hello to Phyllis, Kevin, Kim, Kerry and the rest of the Lux crew, just don't mention my name or you'll get heavily overcharged).
I had a longstanding relationship with God before I interviewed him (shoot, the two of us spent a month in Tahiti one weekend when we drank too much Grappa) so, I sort of knew what to expect from Yahweh, but I had no idea what I was getting myself into with the Lord of the Underworld. As a matter of fact, as I was walking to Lux I got incredibly nervous and wondered if I had set myself up for something terrible, but then I remembered there was free booze involved (I mean, the Devil has to pick up the tab, right?), and my temptations overcame my hesitations as I picked up the pace to make sure I was the first one there (it's polite to show up first when you invite someone out, otherwise always show up no less than ten minutes late and no more than four days past the agreed upon time).
As I walked through the bar's door, into the dimly lit interior a very muscular, very neckless man in his mid to late 40's asked for my identification and I happily showed him my driver's license at which point he scowled and nodded his head in the general direction of the bar before returning his attention to the doorway. I scanned the room for signs of movement and the only person other than myself drinking at such an hour was a heavyset older gentlemen quietly whistling the theme song to "Friends" while he drank what appeared to be a boot full of whiskey, I nodded in approval and took an empty seat at the other end of the bar, and when the bartender (a man named Kevin, a dread locked fellow with a humble demeanor and constant aroma of... well... Rasta) asked me what I would like, I ordered a double Jack Daniels and Coke.
Moments later I was startled to feel a cold hand patting me on the back. When I turned to see who it was (part of me already knew) I was surprised to see a young-ish man with blond hair, wearing a neatly pressed suit and tie, his steel blue eyes staring back at me, "You must be... what do I call you?" I asked, and the young-ish man with the blond hair and steel blue eyes replied, "oh, what's in a name? Call me Lou for all I care." He snapped his fingers and a small sonic boom ripped through the bar and, just like that, time stood still, everything came to a stop and the devil was laughing his ass off.
"I always do that the first time I meet somebody, it really freaks them out," he said before snapping his fingers again to unfreeze time. I rolled my eyes and sipped my drink and decided I would let Lou do most of the talking, because, hey, why get into a battle of wits with the devil if you don't have to, right? "So, Jimbo, I can see you're not a man who likes to talk turkey, so I'm just going to cut to the gravy and get it all out in the open right here and now, so we can enjoy the time we are going to spend together, okay?" I nodded, because, what else could I do? "Great," he continued at a dizzying speed, "I'm not upset you spoke with my old friend Yahweh, because, hey he's a great guy, right? A little stubborn at times, but great nonetheless, anyway, it's not that I'm mad, I'm far from mad, but my feelings are a little hurt because you didn't even think to interview me, did you? No, of course not, no one wants to hear from the second most powerful entity in the known universe. No. Everybody wants to know what God thinks. Everybody. It gets annoying, Jimbo, it really does, so I'm here to tell you we're going to do a little interview to make up for that indiscretion, to let everybody know that I, the one and only king of evil, am still around and relevant, you dig?" I dug.
Jimbolaya - "It's not often I'm forced to do an interview, let alone an interview with Lucifer, The Bringer of Light, or, as my readers may know him, The Devil."
Lucifer - "Well, it's not often that I'm compelled to give such an interview, young man. So, count yourself among the few and the proud who can honestly tell the world they met with the Devil and lived to tell the tale."
J- "So, you're not planning on killing me?"
L - (laughs) "Of course not! Of course not! I don't do that sort of thing anymore."
J - "Let's start here then: What sort of things do you do nowadays?"
L - "Well, I am not as busy up here as I used to be, obviously. I mean, in the beginning I really had to try hard to get people to sin, but now? Yeesh, they do it on their own just fine without my interference, so my days are largely made up of paper work and the distribution of eternal torture to the damned souls that manage to find themselves swimming in the lake of fire when the sweet embrace of death carries them into the unknown; which, by the way, is most of you. (laughs) I mean, it's great for me, but you monkeys really don't know any better, huh?"
J - "No, we really don't, but, can't you chock that up to your influence being a prevalent factor in the development of human kind from the very beginning? I know God has stated that The Garden of Eden tale of Adam and Eve is just a 'bedtime story,' but your ability to tempt and be tempting and the so called fruits that are born out of acting on those temptations must be a deeply ingrained piece of our genetic make up, right?"
L - "Not genetic, no, because when you get down to it you guys up here are just a bunch of hairless apes with better brains than the rest of the animal world, but would I go so far as to say it's been interwoven, carefully, over thousands of years into the social structure and spiritual structure of the entirety of mankind? Yes, because that's what I do."
J - "That's a very existentialist way of putting it, because what you're saying, if I may be so bold as to interpret your words, is that man is born as a blank slate; which is contrary to a lot of popular Judeo-Christian belief systems which believe that man is born with a destiny already in place, and, at the very least a 'human essence' is part of their make-up and their destiny."
L - "I have no idea what you just said, but, sure we'll go with that."
J - "Yeah, I'm actually not sure what I just said, I've been reading Sartre lately and it must be getting to me."
L - "Reading J.P, huh? Yeah, he's alright, I've never put much stock into philosophy, because it's usually dead wrong when you put it under a microscope."
J - "Then why don't you tell me what is right?"
L - "Jesus, you humans are all the same. You never relax! You always want to know answers to questions you could never possibly comprehend, and none of you, not a single one, has ever stopped to wonder if, just maybe, you're not supposed to know everything there is to know. That's kind of the entire point of the Adam and Eve story."
J - "I thought the point was not to piss off God by breaking his rules."
L - "No, monkey, listen, you're all idiots who can't seem to wrap your heads around the idea of living blissfully ignorant. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't try to figure out important things, like cures for diseases and things like that, but, man, leave the big questions like "why are we here," and "what's the purpose of life" up to guys like God and I."
J - "But, don't you think we have a right to know?
L - "Nope, you don't, so just stop thinking about it, because what happens if one of you apes actually figures it out? What will you all do then? You'll all start to freak out and start searching for another impossible to answer question, because that's how you guys are. Too inquisitive for your own good."
J - "Have you been given a bad rap over the years?"
L - "Eh, to be honest, no. I mean, I did try to overthrow the kingdom of heaven and claim the thrown as my own, so in that respect, no I've been given the reputation I should have been given. You don't try to usurp God without making a bad name for yourself, know what I mean?"
J - "As the Devil, it's assumed you are responsible for most of the evil in the world. What was the last terrible thing you are personally responsible for?"
L - "Personally responsible for? The bubonic plague, that was all me, but I did it as a favor to God. I mean, the world was a cesspool back then and it took the plague to make people realize they needed to, you know, clean up their act, so to speak. God didn't want to flood the place a second time, because it took forever to get things back to where they were after that, so he came to me and I said 'why not a disease of some sort?' And the rest is history."
J - "I would've thought the Holocaust was all you, or 9/11 or something much more recent than the plague."
L - "Phhhhh... I'm always getting credited for those things, but no, I had literally nothing to do with it. Like I said, you monkeys have been doing a great job messing things up on your own without my help. I just lay back and watch it happen and collect the souls as they come. I'm really a hands-off lord of the underworld these days."
J - "But, you have to know Hitler, right? I mean, a guy like that has to be in Hell."
L - "Oh, sure. Adolph is currently being raped by the most handsome Jewish man in all of Hell in front of a TV set that only plays "Caddyshack Two", and he will be in that position for all of eternity, but let me tell you a secret: Even I think Hitler is a gigantic prick, and if I could think of a better way to torture his immortal soul, I would."
J - "Are there any people in Hell that shouldn't be?"
L - "No, God and I have a system in place that prevents any accidents like that. It wouldn't be fair if good people went to hell and it definitely wouldn't be fair if bad people went to heaven. We figured that one out on the first day."
J - "Yankees or Red Sox?"
L - "Neither, I'm a Mets fan."
J - "I knew it!"
L - "Then why did you ask?"
J - "Because it's my interview and I wanted my readers to know that you, Lucifer, are a supporter of the New York Metropolitan's professional baseball organization."
L - (Laughs)
J - "Before, you mentioned that you are still relevant, could you explain that to me if you haven't personally been involved in any of the monstrosities that have occurred since the time of the plague?"
L - "I serve as the creative coordinator and talent scout/liaison for Fox News."
J - "You've got to be kidding, right? Is that some sort of twisted, sick, f_cked up joke?"
L - (Laughs) "Of course it is! Do you think I would have anything to do with those nut jobs? Hell no! But, yes I am still very relevant, because I still play a large part in almost every Christian religion around the world. I'm more like Kaiser Sose now, because I've become this legendary beast with a million backs that can coerce people into doing my bidding; which is all bull sh_t, because for the most part people are going to do whatever they want no matter what anyone tells them, but if they do something bad and say they did it because of me, then I'm still relevant, but the same is true of the alternative. If someone does something good and says they did it out of fear of me, then there you go, relevance."
J - "Alright, is this enough for you? Do you want me to ask you anything else or can we just start drinking and get on with our lives?"
L - "Yeah, this is fine, I think I've made a few good points and more than few terrible ones, so this should, at the very least, confuse the f_ck out of anyone who reads it."
J - "Fair enough. Thanks for contacting me and taking the time to demand I interview you, it's been a nightmarish experience that I'll always remember."
L - (Laughs) "Well, that's why I'm here."
The interview, though brief and somehow long winded, was only the starting point of the evening. Lucifer and I shared a few more drinks before we parted ways, and in that small amount of time I came to realize that Satan isn't a really bad guy, because he is just doing his job, but unfortunately that job is to be the dark to God's light and the evil to God's, uhm, not evil. All in all it was a great experience that I never hope to relive, because let's face it, I drank with the devil under the pale bar light and lived to tell the tale, why would I want to press my luck and do it again?
I had a longstanding relationship with God before I interviewed him (shoot, the two of us spent a month in Tahiti one weekend when we drank too much Grappa) so, I sort of knew what to expect from Yahweh, but I had no idea what I was getting myself into with the Lord of the Underworld. As a matter of fact, as I was walking to Lux I got incredibly nervous and wondered if I had set myself up for something terrible, but then I remembered there was free booze involved (I mean, the Devil has to pick up the tab, right?), and my temptations overcame my hesitations as I picked up the pace to make sure I was the first one there (it's polite to show up first when you invite someone out, otherwise always show up no less than ten minutes late and no more than four days past the agreed upon time).
As I walked through the bar's door, into the dimly lit interior a very muscular, very neckless man in his mid to late 40's asked for my identification and I happily showed him my driver's license at which point he scowled and nodded his head in the general direction of the bar before returning his attention to the doorway. I scanned the room for signs of movement and the only person other than myself drinking at such an hour was a heavyset older gentlemen quietly whistling the theme song to "Friends" while he drank what appeared to be a boot full of whiskey, I nodded in approval and took an empty seat at the other end of the bar, and when the bartender (a man named Kevin, a dread locked fellow with a humble demeanor and constant aroma of... well... Rasta) asked me what I would like, I ordered a double Jack Daniels and Coke.
Moments later I was startled to feel a cold hand patting me on the back. When I turned to see who it was (part of me already knew) I was surprised to see a young-ish man with blond hair, wearing a neatly pressed suit and tie, his steel blue eyes staring back at me, "You must be... what do I call you?" I asked, and the young-ish man with the blond hair and steel blue eyes replied, "oh, what's in a name? Call me Lou for all I care." He snapped his fingers and a small sonic boom ripped through the bar and, just like that, time stood still, everything came to a stop and the devil was laughing his ass off.
"I always do that the first time I meet somebody, it really freaks them out," he said before snapping his fingers again to unfreeze time. I rolled my eyes and sipped my drink and decided I would let Lou do most of the talking, because, hey, why get into a battle of wits with the devil if you don't have to, right? "So, Jimbo, I can see you're not a man who likes to talk turkey, so I'm just going to cut to the gravy and get it all out in the open right here and now, so we can enjoy the time we are going to spend together, okay?" I nodded, because, what else could I do? "Great," he continued at a dizzying speed, "I'm not upset you spoke with my old friend Yahweh, because, hey he's a great guy, right? A little stubborn at times, but great nonetheless, anyway, it's not that I'm mad, I'm far from mad, but my feelings are a little hurt because you didn't even think to interview me, did you? No, of course not, no one wants to hear from the second most powerful entity in the known universe. No. Everybody wants to know what God thinks. Everybody. It gets annoying, Jimbo, it really does, so I'm here to tell you we're going to do a little interview to make up for that indiscretion, to let everybody know that I, the one and only king of evil, am still around and relevant, you dig?" I dug.
Jimbolaya - "It's not often I'm forced to do an interview, let alone an interview with Lucifer, The Bringer of Light, or, as my readers may know him, The Devil."
Lucifer - "Well, it's not often that I'm compelled to give such an interview, young man. So, count yourself among the few and the proud who can honestly tell the world they met with the Devil and lived to tell the tale."
J- "So, you're not planning on killing me?"
L - (laughs) "Of course not! Of course not! I don't do that sort of thing anymore."
J - "Let's start here then: What sort of things do you do nowadays?"
L - "Well, I am not as busy up here as I used to be, obviously. I mean, in the beginning I really had to try hard to get people to sin, but now? Yeesh, they do it on their own just fine without my interference, so my days are largely made up of paper work and the distribution of eternal torture to the damned souls that manage to find themselves swimming in the lake of fire when the sweet embrace of death carries them into the unknown; which, by the way, is most of you. (laughs) I mean, it's great for me, but you monkeys really don't know any better, huh?"
J - "No, we really don't, but, can't you chock that up to your influence being a prevalent factor in the development of human kind from the very beginning? I know God has stated that The Garden of Eden tale of Adam and Eve is just a 'bedtime story,' but your ability to tempt and be tempting and the so called fruits that are born out of acting on those temptations must be a deeply ingrained piece of our genetic make up, right?"
L - "Not genetic, no, because when you get down to it you guys up here are just a bunch of hairless apes with better brains than the rest of the animal world, but would I go so far as to say it's been interwoven, carefully, over thousands of years into the social structure and spiritual structure of the entirety of mankind? Yes, because that's what I do."
J - "That's a very existentialist way of putting it, because what you're saying, if I may be so bold as to interpret your words, is that man is born as a blank slate; which is contrary to a lot of popular Judeo-Christian belief systems which believe that man is born with a destiny already in place, and, at the very least a 'human essence' is part of their make-up and their destiny."
L - "I have no idea what you just said, but, sure we'll go with that."
J - "Yeah, I'm actually not sure what I just said, I've been reading Sartre lately and it must be getting to me."
L - "Reading J.P, huh? Yeah, he's alright, I've never put much stock into philosophy, because it's usually dead wrong when you put it under a microscope."
J - "Then why don't you tell me what is right?"
L - "Jesus, you humans are all the same. You never relax! You always want to know answers to questions you could never possibly comprehend, and none of you, not a single one, has ever stopped to wonder if, just maybe, you're not supposed to know everything there is to know. That's kind of the entire point of the Adam and Eve story."
J - "I thought the point was not to piss off God by breaking his rules."
L - "No, monkey, listen, you're all idiots who can't seem to wrap your heads around the idea of living blissfully ignorant. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't try to figure out important things, like cures for diseases and things like that, but, man, leave the big questions like "why are we here," and "what's the purpose of life" up to guys like God and I."
J - "But, don't you think we have a right to know?
L - "Nope, you don't, so just stop thinking about it, because what happens if one of you apes actually figures it out? What will you all do then? You'll all start to freak out and start searching for another impossible to answer question, because that's how you guys are. Too inquisitive for your own good."
J - "Have you been given a bad rap over the years?"
L - "Eh, to be honest, no. I mean, I did try to overthrow the kingdom of heaven and claim the thrown as my own, so in that respect, no I've been given the reputation I should have been given. You don't try to usurp God without making a bad name for yourself, know what I mean?"
J - "As the Devil, it's assumed you are responsible for most of the evil in the world. What was the last terrible thing you are personally responsible for?"
L - "Personally responsible for? The bubonic plague, that was all me, but I did it as a favor to God. I mean, the world was a cesspool back then and it took the plague to make people realize they needed to, you know, clean up their act, so to speak. God didn't want to flood the place a second time, because it took forever to get things back to where they were after that, so he came to me and I said 'why not a disease of some sort?' And the rest is history."
J - "I would've thought the Holocaust was all you, or 9/11 or something much more recent than the plague."
L - "Phhhhh... I'm always getting credited for those things, but no, I had literally nothing to do with it. Like I said, you monkeys have been doing a great job messing things up on your own without my help. I just lay back and watch it happen and collect the souls as they come. I'm really a hands-off lord of the underworld these days."
J - "But, you have to know Hitler, right? I mean, a guy like that has to be in Hell."
L - "Oh, sure. Adolph is currently being raped by the most handsome Jewish man in all of Hell in front of a TV set that only plays "Caddyshack Two", and he will be in that position for all of eternity, but let me tell you a secret: Even I think Hitler is a gigantic prick, and if I could think of a better way to torture his immortal soul, I would."
J - "Are there any people in Hell that shouldn't be?"
L - "No, God and I have a system in place that prevents any accidents like that. It wouldn't be fair if good people went to hell and it definitely wouldn't be fair if bad people went to heaven. We figured that one out on the first day."
J - "Yankees or Red Sox?"
L - "Neither, I'm a Mets fan."
J - "I knew it!"
L - "Then why did you ask?"
J - "Because it's my interview and I wanted my readers to know that you, Lucifer, are a supporter of the New York Metropolitan's professional baseball organization."
L - (Laughs)
J - "Before, you mentioned that you are still relevant, could you explain that to me if you haven't personally been involved in any of the monstrosities that have occurred since the time of the plague?"
L - "I serve as the creative coordinator and talent scout/liaison for Fox News."
J - "You've got to be kidding, right? Is that some sort of twisted, sick, f_cked up joke?"
L - (Laughs) "Of course it is! Do you think I would have anything to do with those nut jobs? Hell no! But, yes I am still very relevant, because I still play a large part in almost every Christian religion around the world. I'm more like Kaiser Sose now, because I've become this legendary beast with a million backs that can coerce people into doing my bidding; which is all bull sh_t, because for the most part people are going to do whatever they want no matter what anyone tells them, but if they do something bad and say they did it because of me, then I'm still relevant, but the same is true of the alternative. If someone does something good and says they did it out of fear of me, then there you go, relevance."
J - "Alright, is this enough for you? Do you want me to ask you anything else or can we just start drinking and get on with our lives?"
L - "Yeah, this is fine, I think I've made a few good points and more than few terrible ones, so this should, at the very least, confuse the f_ck out of anyone who reads it."
J - "Fair enough. Thanks for contacting me and taking the time to demand I interview you, it's been a nightmarish experience that I'll always remember."
L - (Laughs) "Well, that's why I'm here."
The interview, though brief and somehow long winded, was only the starting point of the evening. Lucifer and I shared a few more drinks before we parted ways, and in that small amount of time I came to realize that Satan isn't a really bad guy, because he is just doing his job, but unfortunately that job is to be the dark to God's light and the evil to God's, uhm, not evil. All in all it was a great experience that I never hope to relive, because let's face it, I drank with the devil under the pale bar light and lived to tell the tale, why would I want to press my luck and do it again?
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