A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

"You're such a Pollyanna, Egon."

Apparently Saturday morning cartoons still exist. And here I'd thought the advent of satellite TV and a 24-hour cartoon channel killed them off entirely, but no, I see the networks wheezing along with a handful of Spider-Man and Ninja Turtle toons scattered amongst the Hannah Montanas and Ravens. I don't really have any editorial comment to make, beyond the usual lamentations about not being able to sleep in until 11 like my parents because the offspring are zombifying in front of the TV.

And certainly, there was a lot of garbage on the tube back in the 70s and 80s, when I first learned you could watch TV for five hours straight and not go into convulsions. We can try to blame the hazy prism of nostalgia, but really there was no excuse for sitting through shit like Jabberjaw and Captain Caveman.

And yet I never actually watched The Real Ghosbusters when it originally aired. The 1984 movie is still one of my favorite comedies (and has the distinction of being the first VHS tape the Vonder Haar family ever purchased), but by 1986 Saturday mornings were all about either mowing the lawn or sleeping off the previous night's beer shotgunning contests. I got caught up with the show in college (my friend Shane had a thoroughly frightening assortment of recorded 80s programming), and this episode in particular stuck out. I couldn't believe I was watching a kid's cartoon about the Great Old Ones, but there you go (via MetaFilter).

"The Collect Call of Cathulhu[sic]"[1] was written by Michael Reaves and edited by J. Michael Straczynksi (one assumes the Ghostbusters' previous dealings with the supernatural boosted their SAN enough to properly deal with horrors from beyond space and time). I love it all: the Raiders style ending, "Alice" Derleth, no Slimer. The first season really was the best, though the whole run...reportedly...is coming to DVD this fall. And the new video game should be out for the Wii early next year.

I have a sudden urge to go shotgun a beer.

[1] Good old Chaosium, always ready with a lawsuit

"Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it."

Started out a typical Sunday morning: drinking coffee, tinkering with next week's fantasy baseball lineup, enduring another episode of The Backyardigans, and reading about G4's latest attempt to usher in the end of civilization, Hurl!

Representing an entirely new type of competition, HURL! combines competitive speed-eating with intense physical challenges all designed to shake up the competitors...it's an eating competition with an extreme sports chaser.

With HURL!, participants are subjected to a series of challenges: Spiraling down a tunnel in a steel cage ball after eating multiple bowls of clam chowder...saddling up for a bucking, spinning, spew-inducing thrill ride on the mechanical bull after downing some franks n' beans...and much more! Last contestant to spew wins a cool grand plus bragging rights as an "Iron Stomach Champion."

The hazmat suits are a nice touch.

As someone who once engaged in this kind of behavior for free*, I can't fault anybody humiliating themselves for a cool G. But it makes me wonder how long before we see the following programs:

CRAP! - After downing unhealthy amounts of four-alarm chili, prunes, and All-Bran, the competitors consume steadily increasing quantities of laxatives. Those that survive the initial stages must then contend with the Enema Round.

NUT! - Contestants engage in frottage and high school-level making out with second tier porn stars until release is imminent, then attempt to hold out as select dancers from the Cheetah grind on their pelvises. The last one to bust in his pants earns bragging rights as "Blue Balls McGinty."

BLEED! - The lucky participants endure wounds ranging from paper cuts to wounds inflicted by straight razors and chainsaws. The winner is the one who...doesn't die.

I think any of these would make a great double-bill with Cheaters.

* Wolfing down $5 worth of Mexican food from Pepe's, shotgunning three beers, and sprinting up and down the ramps at Kyle Field. Last one to spew won eternal glory or something.

"Life's sweetest reward..."

There's a nostalgia post on MetaFilter about The Love Boat, a show I've been unable to purge from my memory banks, in spite of decades spent murdering brain cells to achieve that very result:

If you were a North American kid (well, a kid stuck at home, younger than driving age) in the late 70s/early 80s, your Saturday nights were likely spent in front of the television watching The Love Boat. The show subsequently gained worldwide popularity. Did you know that the Pacific Princess is still ferrying the lovelorn across the blue abyss, and that she has a bridgecam? Did you know there were Love Boat action figures? For your nostalgic pleasure: complete episode guide, complete guest star list, theme song video (variations 1, 2, 3), lyrics and chords, and song facts.

Hey, I was a North American kid stuck at home in the late 70s/early 80s. This post is relevant to my interests.

Here's how Saturday nights went down at our house: Love Boat at 8, Fantasy Island at 9 (my ineptness with the opposite sex can, in part, be traced to the diabolical influence of Aaron Spelling). I'd try to stay awake through the news at 10 so I could watch Saturday Night Live, though I usually started crapping out around 11:45, when the second musical number aired. About half of the time I'd get my second wind in time to watch Monty Python on KUHF at midnight with Dad, but rare was the day I could last to the end of Doctor Who, which started at 12:30.

It isn't like we had a lot of options in 1978, what with a whopping four channels, and yet the subsequent 30 years haven't done a lot to cushion the memory of how bad TV was back then. What's worse, I just spent an inadvertant five minutes watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians and was forced once again to come to terms with the fact that we've gotten a hell of a lot dumber since.

For a while I only retained vague memories of the show itself, and I didn't watch it much after 1982, (my change in Saturday night activities not so strangely coinciding with the onset of my teen years), robbing me of the pleasure of seeing Julie's sister Judy McCoy and the sublime Ted McGinley as "Ace," the ship's photographer. I do remember how great it was that everyone on a cruise ship became your friend for a weekend, and that Bernie Kopell set the improper doctor-patient relationship bar so high even George Clooney couldn't clear it

And then I went to college. There's a huge gap in my TV viewing history for the years 1987-1990, when I didn't own a TV, but as freshmen a group of us regularly fled the confines of UT's Jester dormitory and wandered across I-35 to our friend Kyle's place so we could smoke harmless tobacco and watch shitty TV, including late night Love Boat reruns And if you haven't checked the show out since the advent of AIDS, you really should. Even in 1988, we callow youths were amazed to (re)discover that absolutely everyone on something called a "Love Boat" was making the sign of the two-humped whale.

Every show was the same: Act I introduced "guest stars" like Jamie Farr and Barbi Benton, establishing each of their particular dilemmas. The next two acts portrayed the characters dealing with their own brand of heartache, as well as the burgeoning love they found with their fellow lizard-skinned/lesiure suit-wearing passengers. After the final commercial break came the denouement, invariably leading off with the guest stars (and cast members; that Lauren Tewes got around) leaving the cabin of whomever it was they happened to hook up with at the last evening's formal dance. When you consider that the captain, purser, and cruise director were likely boning a different stranger every week (and Doc Bricker was probably slipping roofies to three times that number), it's hard not to see the Pacific Princess as a potential plague boat.

Of course, our reaction was not: "What a curious juxtaposition between latter-era sexual revolution mores and those foisted upon us by the current chilly sexual climate" but rather the plaintive lament that we were all stuck going to college with a bunch of women who'd been taught that one-night stands were potentially deadly and to be avoided at all costs. Not the kind of females likely to listen to a skeevy ship's bartender telling them to "go for it."

More's the pity.

I hope the theme song is "Emotion Lotion"

It's gratifying to complain about something (the demise of Mr. Show with Bob and David) and receive a favorable resolution in so short a span of time.

I'd say it's "oddly" gratifying, except there's nothing odd about it. While I'm at it, I'd like to bemoan my lack of ten million dollars and chiseled six-pack abs.

Anyway, Bob Odenkirk and David Cross are returning to TV (via MetaFilter):

The "Mr. Show" duo of Bob Odenkirk and David Cross are returning to HBO with "David's Situation," a new comedy pilot starring Cross.

Odenkirk and Cross co-wrote the project, which will star Cross as himself. He leaves Hollywood to move into a suburban, gated community where he has two roommates, a right-wing conservative and a liberal hippie.

"We feel it's really strong and important to the health of America," Cross and Odenkirk wrote about the project on their Web site, BobAndDavid.com.

Odenkirk will direct the pilot, which is slated to film in May. Odenkirk and Stu Smiley will executive produce, with Dionne Kirschner serving as producer.

The premise sounds like it could go either way. Cross playing himself could easily become a chore, and casting the roommates will be key (Mr. Show regular Paul F. Tompkins would make a great conservative), but I'll most definitely check it out.

And just when I was about to cancel HBO. Fuckers.

In other news, my vaguely insensitive review of Drillbit Taylor is up.

"That's cold, Obi-Wan."

A revelation came upon me while watching that T-Mobile commercial where Charles Barkley offers to put Dwayne Wade in his "five" (which is apparently a gift on par with Lillian Russell's bicycle) if he sinks a putt. Wade - of course - doesn't, and Sir Charles' phone is safe.

That's when a vision, unbidden, came to me. It was an image of Barkley's cell phone screen. Specifically, his five...

And they were all Michael Jordan.

"Come with me if you want to moue."

I'd like to start off by telling the Fox network I'm watching Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles in spite of their wholly obnoxious advertising blitzkrieg during the last two weeks' worth of NFL games.

In a word: uneven. I know it takes place following Terminator 2 (at some point the optimism of the end of that movie gives way to the paranoia of the pilot episode). According to reliable sources (some dude I talked to at Fry's) the TV show follows a different timeline than the movies, which only makes sense when you remember John mentioning Sarah died of luekemia in 1997. Instead, they leap forward to 2007 to prevent the creation of SkyNet, as the late, lamented Miles Dyson apparently had less to do with that then we'd been previously informed. Wouldn't he be pissed.

Beyond that, I'm not sure how far they can take it. The formula so far seems pretty straightforward: Sarah, John, and cyborg ingenue "Cameron" make a little headway in obtaining information or tracking down leads...and then Cameron whales on another Terminator, usually played by another in a succession of rejects from the latest casting call for "Stomp."

Whatever. I'm a huge fan of the original Terminator, which my cadre of nerds and I watched endlessly on those long summer afternoons in high school when our fellow students were at the pool, interacting with other human beings. I love everything about that movie, from the underappreciated Michael Biehn to Linda Hamilton's breasts to Bill Paxton's "I think this guy's a couple cans short of a six-pack" to Reese's awesome fucking Nike Vandals to the flashback scene where the HK rolls over the mountain of human skulls. I've even grudgingly come to accept Brad Fiedel's annoying "nee-noo nee-ner" Casio keyboard musical score.

As for the TV show...

The Good:
+ Lena Headey - The 300 and Brothers Grimm actor is pretty decent as the Mother of the Future, even if that future is a whiny bastard.
+ The In-Jokes - I like that you need to have seen at least the first two movies to know exactly what's going on. And if that thing Cameron put together in the bank vault wasn't a Phased Plasma Rifle (in 40 watt range), well, I'll go eat a pair of Nike Vandals.
+ Expansion of the mythology - The adult John Connor sent Protectors back to the 1960s? Other resistance fighters are acting in the present day? Makes sense, actually.

The Bad:
- John Connor - I don't necessarily blame Thomas Dekker, especially since modern times more or less dictate that any televised teenager has to be an insufferable emo prick. I'm just having a hard time reconciling this brooding twerp with Edward Furlong's T2 delinquent.
- Time travel - It's best not to think about the infinite complexities involved with the repeated use of time travel; I find killing my brain with beer when it asks annoying questions helps. Quentions like: "Why didn't SkyNet just send a Terminator back to kill the "O'Connors" in 17th century Ireland? Do you think Sarah and John's ancestors could outrun a murderous cyborg on on a draft horse? Or what about Reese's ancestors? They have no knowledge of their son's heroic (and sexy) future, hence easy pickings?"

The Maybe
* Cameron - Obviously the female Terminator precedent has already been set, and it would be pretty weak to suggest SkyNet wouldn't use both sexes for their dirty work. What I have yet to see explained is why Cameron can imitate human emotions and interactions when the T-101s can't. Also, what kind of alloy is she made out of? The old Terminators supposedly weighed on the order of half a ton, even if Cameron only weighs half that, how was Sarah able to wheel her out the window? And while I realize we live in the era of One Tree Hill and other such garbage, and while I've seen proof of Summer Glau's ass-kickery in Firefly and Serenity, it's going to take a while for me to buy her as something that "doesn't feel pity or remorse."

Meh, I'll keep watching. In a world where the ongoing writer's strike has given rise to the rebirth of American Gladiators and a new era of game shows, I'll take what I can get.

"We have something to say here. This is not strictly entertainment."

Christmas came a little late this year. Don't feel bad, one of my best gifts was the debut of Season 5 of The Wire tonight.

Look, I've been pretty much shouting at the rain about this show for five years. Half the APCB entries in this category are probably related to it. Every major TV critic and publication have described it as everything from "the best series on TV, period"[1] to "deserving of the Nobel Prize for Literature."[2] I may have turned a handful of people on to it, and if any of my blog entries compels someone to go get the first four seasons on DVD and check them out for themselves, I'll be happy.

But it's still a sad situation. This is the last season, according to creator David Simon, and I have to temper my enjoyment of each new episode with the realization that every week brings me one step closer to the end of a series that has been one of the only beacons of quality in a spectrum of televised crap. The Wire is the only show, bar none, that I go out of my way to make sure my ass is on the couch to catch every week at its appointed time; no TiVo, no tape. Make of that endorsement what you will.

For tonight, The Wife and I had crab cakes to celebrate, Baltimore-style. I got some 90 Minute Imperial IPA from Dogfish Head (a Delaware brewery would have to suffice, seeing as Spec's doesn't carry Baltimore City or Clipper City), and you couldn't slap the smile off my face at seeing Bunk, McNulty, Freamon, Bubbles, Carcetti, Marlo, Rawls, Daniels, Prop Joe, Carver, and Herc on my TV again.

I won't nag you folks again. Well, not until the series finale, and you have two months to watch the first four seasons before that happens, so get on it.

[1] Entertainment Weekly
[2] Joe Klein

"How can you be so blindly pro-Bush?"
"I like his wife Laura... I used to buy weed from her at SMU."

The only real problem I have with Weeds is that the intro song "Little Boxes" is, fundamentally, one of the most annoying things ever written. Even when Elvis Costello or...Engelbert Humperdinck is singing it.

That and I'm not really enjoying Nancy's recent sexaholism. She sure is putting the 'ho' in Showtime. Am I right?

Anyway, it's a good thing Mary Louise Parker and Kevin Nealon are so good. Who can argue with lines like:

It's a weed wonderland, Nancy. It's like Amsterdam only you don't have to visit the Anne Frank house and pretend to be all sad and shit.

And while Dana Delany isn't in any real danger, Elizabeth Perkins is hotter than she ever was in Big.

Goddamned TiVo

So what happened on Heroes after Claire picked up Mohinder's book in the driveway? Floaty Boy was just hovering above her, wasn't he? Wasn't he?

"Those are the facts"

The lack of quality Sunday night HBO programming these days means, on occasion, a split in viewing habits between The Wife and myself. Once She Who Shall Not Be Named hits the sack, I'll sometimes hang out in the bedroom to catch Family Guy and the rest of the football game, while The Wife checks out whatever show tickles her fancy that week.

Tonight, it was Desperate Housewives. I caught about half of the first season for reasons I can't adequately explain, but aside from being able to name most of the cast, I couldn't tell you what the hell is going on in that show. So it was something of a surprise to walk into the living room, glance at the TV, and see one of my most enduring celebrity infatuations staring back at me.

Me: Why didn't anybody tell me Dana Delany was on Desperate Housewives?
TW: [squinting] Who?
Me: Dana Delany. Sirens. Tombstone. Exit to freaking Eden. Hell, they sang about her in the Animaniacs theme song.
TW: Are you sure that's her?
Me: Oh, I'm sure.

She may be 51 years old, but I think I'm pretty open-minded in that regard. Besides, I'm no spring chicken myself, and judging by this picture (taken five years ago) I'd still be the ugly one by a country mile.

All that's left is this final confession: Mom, it may disappoint you to hear this, but I didn't watch China Beach with you on those summers home from college because I was eager to bond. Hope you understand.

All good things...

The end is near for The Wire, which just finished filming what will be it's final season:

It was early still -- about 10 p.m. on Friday -- and somewhere in Columbia, David Simon was giving a tour of the sights: There, he said, pointing, was the Baltimore mayor's office. Over there? The city's Western District police headquarters, and there, that little closet of a room, "that can be the visiting room at Jessup." Pause. "Or the jail. Depends. We just redecorate."

As he stood on a platform, taking in his world, it was hard to ignore the irony: For the past two years, a good chunk of "The Wire," the HBO show that critics have praised for the grittiness of its inner-city vérité, has been filmed in an anonymous soundstage in the burbs -- a soundstage that reportedly will be turned into a massive Wegmans Food Market.

After five seasons, and this final episode, they would be done.

"It's time," said Clarke Peters, who plays Detective Lester Freamon, "to pull the plug on 'The Wire.' "
[...]
Simon, who once covered cops for the Baltimore Sun, always knew that "The Wire" would end at exactly this point. From the beginning when the show debuted in 2002, he saw it as a visual novel, with each season a distinct chapter exploring an aspect of inner-city life: The first season examined the drug trade; the second focused on Baltimore's longshoremen; the third grappled with politics and the notion of reform; the fourth dug into education and the lives of the city's children. This season, which begins airing Jan. 6, explores the media, featuring a morally challenged reporter played by Tom McCarthy, who wrote and directed the indie film "The Station Agent."

"The Wire" has always struggled in the ratings; last season it averaged 1.6 million viewers per episode. But it's always enjoyed the admiration of critics, who praised it as being the "most authentic epic ever on television." Notwithstanding the giant soundstage, a good 50 percent of the show was shot on location in Baltimore, with real-life characters frequently sprinkled in with the fictional ones. Like former drug kingpin Melvin Williams, whom co-producer and writer Ed Burns, an ex-Baltimore cop, once arrested in a big takedown. Felicia "Snoop" Pearson, who did time as a teenager for killing a 16-year-old girl, made her acting debut last season, playing an assassin. Even Robert Ehrlich, when he was Maryland governor, made a cameo -- as a state trooper in the governor's office last season.

I'm resigned to the fact that more people don't watch the show, though it's annoying as hell. I don't blame anyone for not wanting to shell out $15 a month for HBO, but I suspect it wouldn't matter where the show aired. You could put The Wire up against reruns of Dancing with the Stars, According to Jim, Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader?, and Two and a Half Men, and it would come in 5th every time. People don't necessarily like having to remember characters and plot details from earlier seasons, or - heaven forfend - paying attention to a TV show, because, well, people are apparently really stupid.

Said Wendell Pierce, who plays Detective William "Bunk" Moreland: "He told us from day one, 'It's a novel.' He had the novel in his head, and he wouldn't share with us."

It wasn't until last year that Simon told his cast that this season would be the last.

"If you get five years out of a TV show," Pierce said with a shrug, "that's pretty successful. I'm proud of it. . . . We showed the possibility of television used as an art.

"There are people who come up to me and say, 'I hate the show.' I accept that. They're still engaged. If at the end of an hour of watching 'The Wire,' if you don't feel bad, you should."

And then there's that.

It's not that long an article, go read it. And if you still haven't checked the show out, seasons 1-3 are available on Netflix and Amazon. And there's plenty of time to get caught up before the fifth season starts up in February.

"I'm bugging out!"

I have a few observations about HBO's recent lineup of Sunday evening programming:

1. I'm done with John from Cincinnati. Maybe one day they'll get past the pseudo-philosophical crap, Rebecca de Mornay's shrill harpy character, and the inability of the kid playing Shaun to act his way out of a paper bag, but five episodes (half a season) is more than enough, thanks. And thanks to you, David Milch, for quitting Deadwood in order to bring it to us.

2. Lloyd (Rex Lee) makes every episode of Entourage he's on 1000% better, and tonight's was no exception, as he added the perfect element of swish to Ari's plot to sabotage Josh Weinstein. "Woo woo," indeed.

3. I liked Flight of the Conchords better when it was called Tenacious D and was actually funny.

When the hell does season five of The Wire start again?

Back to the crapola

Does anybody know who I need to talk to at the FX network to get the season premiere of Rescue Me pushed up a few weeks?

I'm not asking because I'm particularly interested in seeing hack joke thief Denis Leary enjoy even more fame and success while Bill Hicks continues to moulder in the ground, or because I have any curiosity about who's going to rape whom this season, or even because it's a particularly good show. Of all the FX original series, I'd place Rescue Me somewhere below It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and just above Dirt.

But barely.

No, I want the premiere advanced so I can watch the season finale of The Shield (the quality of which Leary could only hope to mimic by disinterring Hick's corpse and using his skull for some arcane voudoun ritual) in fucking peace. The unending promos for the new season of Rescue Me - airing literally every commercial break - have made it necessary for me to either record episodes or pause them for at least 20 minutes so I can subsequently fast forward the commercials, something I really don't want to be forced to do for the final episode.

Oh, they're great commercials, don't get me wrong. The most popular one is Tommy driving a fire truck that he himself is also clinging to the back of. There's also one with Tommy in a fight on a deserted street...with himself. See, 'cause it's all about duality and torment within, which I guess wouldn't be apparent to us without getting beaten over the head with it every eight minutes.

If nothing else, throw me a bone and let Vic Mackey make a guest appearance and curb stomp Tommy Gavin once and for all.

"That's how I was raised, and I turned out TV."

It isn't that I've been watching more TV lately, I've just been really enjoying sitting on my ass and not moving or thinking. To wit:

+ I'd be a lot more inclined to enjoy The Tudors if Jonathan Rhys-Myers wasn't doing his best Joaquin Phoenix from Gladiator impersonation.

+ I missed last night's episode of The Shield, which means I missed the debut of Franka Potente, one of my many cinematic mistresses.

+ Wayne Rogers-era M*A*S*H is still funny.

+ The Heroes season finale is the only one I've watched this season, and it was far-fetched (Peter needed Nathan to fly him into the troposphere?), annoying (Sylar crawls into a fucking manhole?), and somewhat disappointing (Niki and Hiro comprise the epic team-up with Peter?). In short, it was just like a comic book.

I gave up on Lost and American Idol after their first seasons. And after Kelly Clarkson got all uppity.

+ I don't know what the Oxygen Network's mandate is, and I'm not sure of their stance regarding dropping a giant crucifix on a monster created through genetic experiments, but I found no small measure of satisfaction in watching Resident Evil: Apocalypse on the storied women's channel.

+ Many, many people have contributed money to send nuts to CBS to protest their cancellation of Jericho. This was to recognize Skeet Ulrich's character's "borrowing" General A.C. McAuliffe's use of the epithet "Nuts!" during the siege of Bastogne. As of this writing, almost five tons have been sent, which is testament not only to the colossal amount of time people apparently have to waste on this kind of meaningless bullshit, but also the utter lack of comprehension Americans have about the significance of the 101st Airborne's resistance.

And Skeet Ulrich sucks.

"Let's hurl a brick-e-mart."

Lots of doings and transpirings in the Simpsons world these days. In spite of the show's current incarnation being more painful to watch than a Full House marathon, this is still A Perfectly Cromulent Blog. If I don't respect my roots, I'm nothing but an intermittently updated vanity site relying more and more on YouTube videos and one-link posts with a minimum of commentary.

Uh, anyway...one thing the Simpsons still manage to do well from time to time is the venerable couch gag. I didn't actually watch "Homerazzi," the 16th season(!) episode this one was attached to, but here's the Evolution of the Simpsons:

Or, the Devolution of Moe, if you prefer.

There's also a movie coming out this summer, in case you hadn't heard. In honor of such an occasion (and obviously banking that a film based on a dying television property with no less tha ten attached writers is going to be really huge), certain 7-11s around the country may be looking for the sweetest Apu:

It appears as though the world's largest convenience store will get Simpsonized, though 7-Eleven Inc. said the deal isn't done yet.

But at a company event yesterday in Richmond, officials showcased their planned promotional efforts with major upcoming films, including "The Simpsons Movie."

If all goes as planned, the convenience store chain plans to refit 11 stores across the U.S. -- Richmond is an unlikely choice -- to resemble the front of the Kwik-E-Mart, the convenience store that Homer and other characters frequent in the classic cartoon TV series.

Customers also will be able to buy products inspired by the nearly two-decades-old show, including KrustyO's cereal, Buzz Cola and iced Squishees (the cup says Squishee, but the contents will be Slurpee).

Houston hasn't had a 7-11 in over ten years, since the Southland Corp. sold them all the Diamond Shamrock. So not only do I have to drink a year's worth of Slurpees in a few days every time I go to Austin, but I guess I'm going to need someone to take some photos for me if this ever actually happens.

Observation on a bleary Saturday morning

Captain Feathersword is a shitty pirate.

Fine, years of watching your acting career devolve into performing in front of toddlers has given your eyes a nice glint of insanity, and it's possible you're laughing all the way to the bank (though I suspect Greg or Murray held the purse strings pretty tight), but otherwise, just put on a skirt and get it over with.

Sigh. You people without kids have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?

All awards shows are bullshit

I may be guilty of paying inordinate attention to the Oscars, but only because movies are my life. Well, that and I'm always trying to find an outlet for my inner homosexual. Even if I'm self-aware enough to admit that they're rarely a true indicator of cinematic quality (Chicago? Crash?), I still enjoy the history and the dazzling sense self-importance on display.

However, I have no such attachment to other award shows. Which is why last week's announcements from the Writer's Guild of American and the Hollywood Foreign Press regarding their 2006 nominees were particularly aggravating:

Golden Globes - Best TV Drama
24
Big Love
Grey's Anatomy
Heroes
Lost

Writer's Guild Awards - Dramatic Series
24
Deadwood
Grey's Anatomy
Lost
The Sopranos

24 is a Sean Hannity wet dream, which doesn't say anything about the quality of its writing. What does is the laughable quality of the lines the writers put in Keifer Sutherland's mouth each season ("You are going to face justice?"). Lost has rapidly succumbed to the Chris Carter Effect, in which the show's creators are starting to realize the folly of not planning the show out beyond a season or so. Heroes is pretty decent. So far. And Deadwood - sheer tonnage of "cocksuckers" aside - is a good show. The Sopranos is coasting on former greatness, though it's still better than 80-85% of other TV.

I haven't seen Big Love, but I've already made a case for why at least three of the shows nominated by either organization don't belong there, and I haven't even gotten to the main offender: Grey's Anatomy.

As The Wife is one of the many unsuspecting citizens of this once great country apparently afflicted with alien brain parasites compelling them to watch ABC on Sunday nights, I saw a good chunk of Grey's' first season, and aside from the joy brought on by seeing Katherine Heigl in a bra, I'm at an utter loss to understand what the fuck the fuss is about.

I'm usually out of the loop in such matters, and whether this is due to my being out of touch with popular tastes or because I'm a contrarian asshole (as certain other members of my household have maintained), that's for history to decide. But I do know this: when a manipulative, simplistic pap smear of a TV program like Grey's Anatomy can be nominated by two separate bodies for best TV series in place of The Wire - a show virtually all media outlets (some three years after this blog, as it turns out) have trumpeted as "the best of all time" - it only proves my opening statement. No one who honestly valued "quality" over "ratings" or "key demographic market" could ever say with a straight face that Grey's was the better show. But then, nobody watching the Golden Globes, be they housewives tipsy on half a bottle of white zinfandel who use words like "McDreamy" without irony or nerds who continue to delude themselves that "4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42" will ever mean anything, care about the best show on TV getting any awards love. They just want to see what Katherine Heigl will be wearing.

And at least in that respect, I'll be right there with them.

That'll show 'em

Aaron Sorkin’s latest overwrought wankfest, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, was reportedly in danger of getting the axe. Of course, these reports were coming from Fox News, an organization with little love for Sorkin, so fans of “good TV” can breathe easier knowing that new scripts have in fact been ordered.

Granted, the article remains cagey about the possibility of the show being picked up in the spring, so for those who simply have to make their voice heard, there’s a web site devoted to saving Studio 60, they even have a petition you can sign.

We, the undersigned believe in smart television. We have watched network executives cancel smart shows before-- shows like Arrested Development, Freaks & Geeks, FireFly and many more without giving them what we believe to be their rightful due.

Ah, online petitions. Is there anything they can’t do? Besides saving shows from cancellation, I mean.

The difference being, Arrested Development and Freaks and Geeks were shows one could watch without gnawing a hole in their own cheek. Studio 60 is – in the tradition of most Sorkin fare – didactic and repetitive. “Smart” television can’t be measured in words of dialogue spoken per minute, which Sorkin’s apologists seem to believe.

Beyond that, Studio 60 suffers from two serious problems. The first is NBC’s decision to depict the show as a comedy, which it really isn’t. There are (allegedly) funny situations, but things like last week’s blackballed comedy writer story (such current relevance) and the guy giving his dad the “Who’s On First?” album because he'd never heard it before(?!) are pure TV melodrama. It goes a long way towards explaining the show’s plummeting ratings, though it isn’t really Sorkin’s fault.

The second problem is, however, and that’s the ham-fisted political grandstanding the guy injects into everything he writes. It was understandable in The West Wing, which was a show about – guess what? – the Presidency. Hearing a bunch of TV writers (like Sorkin, coincidentally) pontificate on racial issues and HUAC and the like, on the other hand, is pretentious even by his usual standards.

Okay, three problems: Heroes isn't an appropriate lead-in.

And I've said it before (and I will continue to say it until I have converted every living human being to my cause) but if you still aren’t watching The Wire, whether on HBO, DVD, or the torrents, then you really have no idea what “smart television” is. Seriously.

He'll die for your sins

But not before he makes a bunch of other guys die for theirs.

If these comments make no sense, it's because you obviously haven't seen this teaser trailer for the next season of 24.

"Losing faith?" "Sacrifice yourself?" Honestly, given that this airs on Fox I'm surprised it took six seasons to make the Jack Bauer = Jesus connection.

"The lord loves a hangin'
That's why he gave us necks"

Hee Haw wasn't very high on the TV viewing priority list in my house. This isn't to disparage the fine product put out by Gaylord Entertainment and WLAC in Nashville (yet), especially since - on any given night - at least one Aaron Spelling production would be airing at Chez Vonder Haar. No, we just weren't quite the target demographic, i.e. folks who understood truck stop humor or the humorous "life lessons" of the Rev. Grady Nutt.

Apparently, we identified much more closely with two streetwise cops plus a snitch pimp and three improbably attractive private investigators who solved crimes in bikinis. Go figure.

Unlike just about every other show on TV, Hee Haw aired for decades. Debuting in 1969, it was a victim - along with Green Acres and The Beverly Hillbillies - of CBS executive Fred Silverman's notorious "rural purge" (Silverman showing for the first time the same forward thinking that would later cause him to champion such shows as Supertrain and Father Dowling Mysteries).[1] Hee Haw survived in first-run syndication, however, finally running out of steam in 1993, seven years after the departure of Buck Owens and 20 years after the murder of David "Stringbean" Akeman.

I could make fun of Hee Haw because...well, it's easy. The jokes were shit, the skits were painful, and the whole thing made Laugh-In look like Curb Your Enthusiasm. Still, I never would've gotten my first taste of bluegrass - and I wouldn't have been able to cleverly add that Ren and Stimpy quote in the title - without seeing Messrs. Owens and Acuff those many years ago.

And then there was this, thoughtully forwarded by The Thing That Walks Like a Man:

You can almost see the light bulb going on over Robert H Brooks' head.

[1] Silverman also executive produced Jake and the Fatman, which has no relevance to this post except for my recollection of the guy in my college German class who swore he watched nothing else on TV and would regale me with a recap of their exploits every Thursday. He asked several of us to watch it with him a few times, an invitation I regrettably declined.

Bad TV Ponderings: Rock Star: Supernova

My reality TV viewing experience spans the first season of Survivor, one of the Amazing Races, and - of course - COPS and Cheaters. I try to limit myself to the first couple episodes of any given season of American Idol, because that's when the most laughs are to be had, frankly, and mocking others from a position of false superiority is really what reality programming is all about.

In short, I'm not into the genre, so when a couple of our friends insisted we should be watching the second season of Rock Star, I immediately called for drug tests. The premise is all Idol: contestants mostly sing cover versions for a panel of judges, while their ultimate fate is hastened along by slack-jawed tweens absuing Daddy's wireless plan. Key differences: 1) the judges are actually the band for whom the singers are auditioning. In this case, the unfortunately named "Supernova," consisting of competent bassist Jason Newsted, adequate guitarist Gilby Clarke, and execrable drummer Tommy Lee (last season it was the non-autoerotically asphyxiated members of INXS). And 2) Viewers only vote for the bottom three, with the band making the ultimate call on who gets the boot.

I admit, we're weak when it comes to summer TV. Having exhausted all available (DVD-released) seasons of Deadwood, Weeds, Entourage, and still getting The Wife caught up on Battlestar Galactica, we're suffering from a lack of quality programming, so we caved and watched the last two weeks of Rock Star: Supernova. And only because Patrice Pike is one of the remaining contestants.

The Wife and I are Patrice fans from back in her Sister 7 days. The inherent problem with audience polling has been evident each week, as prepubescent females appear to resent the 30-something as someone their parents must have foisted upon the show. They've been voting her into the bottom three each week while less worthy participants, most notably Lukas, whose emo eyeliner and receding-hairline-poorly-masked-with-frosted-fauxhawk I can't look at without laughing, continue to torture us with grunted renditions of Nickelback songs. The band members, to their credit, seem to want Patrice to stick around, consistently ousting her fellow bottom dwellers. It's only a matter of time before they run out of scrubs, though, but we'll keep watching and pulling for her until that happens.

I hope she lasts a few more weeks anyway, after all, it's only a month until the fourth season of The Wire starts.

And you call yourself "cromulent"

Footage of the upcoming Simpsons movie was shown at the San Diego ComiCon recently. By "footage," I mean "animated storyboards," but you'll get the gist:

Clip #1

A nice sequence involving the famed mob mentality of the show, notable (to me) for showing Maggie squaring off against Mr. Teeny.

Clip #2

A Jack London-themed scene. Not sure what it's place is, but amusing nonetheless.

EDIT: Links fixed, at least until Fox pulls these as well.

Alan E. Ball Will You Please Go Now

Against my better judgment, I queued up the final season of Six Feet Under in Netflix. The Wife and I were faithful viewers through four seasons, missing the final one only because we were unwilling to keep shelling out $20 a month while waiting two years for the next installments of The Sopranos and The Wire.

I liked SFU at first, but the enjoyable black comedy of its early episodes quickly gave way to the angst-ridden laughless middle seasons. By the end of Season 4, I'd had enough, and I documented as much here at the time.

Enough alleged friends of ours sang the praises of the final season to make us give it another shot. And for a while (we've watched three discs out of five) it looked like they might be right. David and Keith's attempts at raising kids has been pretty amusing, as has Billy's descent into madness (but maybe that's just me). Plus, the elder Fisher makes an appearance (in one episode), which conveniently took place just after I'd subjected The Wife to a five minute diatribe about his absence.

And then there was tonight's episode, "The Rainbow of Her Reasons." Honestly, I don't know whether to blame creator Alan Ball or writer Jill Soloway...whatever. All I know is that the depiction of Claire's entry into the working world is one of the reasons people in that wide swath of America people on the coasts so amusingly refer to as "flyover country" hate Hollywood's guts. Certainly, some blue collar professions (roughnecks and firefighters chiefly) garner a modicum of respect (or not, depending on your view of Armageddon), but it never fails to amuse me how writers with no knowledge of an office environment view cubicle jockeys. Judging from what I saw tonight, they see them chiefly as sub-literate chuckleheads with no purpose in life save getting drunk and/or laid at every opportunity and quoting Mike Myers movies.

If the chance arises, however remote, that I rub elbows one day with these so-called gliterati, I hope I'm tranquilized enough by free libations to avoid urinating on everyone present. And I hope Mr. Ball and company realize the success of their show didn't rely solely on failed art school students and self-loathing gays. Plenty of 8-to-5ers watch quality programming, and few - if any - talk like Austin Powers.

Surprise surprise surprise

Even though it presents essentially the same information anyone who's been paying attention has been hearing since mid-2003, tonight's Frontline - The Dark Side - was a particularly comprehensive and damning look at the machinations behind the decision to go to war in Iraq, the pressures put on the intelligence community by the White House, and the depressing ease with which Tenet and the CIA folded under that pressure.

You'll be able to watch it online Thursday.

King Carlin vs. Annzilla

Hm, maybe "Annguirus" would be more accurate. Not as many people would get it, though.

Wondering what George Carlin thinks of Ann Coulter? You'll get a chance to find out this evening when the two are guests on The Tonight Show:

"Tonight" host Jay Leno might want to consider wearing referee stripes on Wednesday's show when Ann Coulter and George Carlin are his guests.

Coulter, the acid-tongued conservative with a new book out, and Carlin, the quick-witted, antiestablishment comedian who's in the voice cast for the new animated film "Cars," were booked at separate times for the NBC late-nighter, a spokeswoman said Monday.

But the duo's meeting could produce serious fireworks for "Tonight," which usually limits its political fodder to Leno's bipartisan monologue jokes.

Coulter, author of "Godless: The Church of Liberalism," has drawn fire for attacking the four New Jersey widows who pushed for an independent commission to investigate the September 11 World Trade Center attacks in which their husbands died.

In her book, Coulter accuses the women of "reveling in their status as celebrities and stalked by grief-arazzis. I've never seen people enjoying their husbands' deaths so much."

An appearance by Coulter on another NBC series, "Today," led to a prickly exchange with host Matt Lauer over her comments on the widows.

I'm not sure what NBC's infatuation with Coulter is, but the fact that this dingbat gets so much air time is maddening even in these days of televised wife swapping and bug eating. I don't even know if Carlin plans on acknowledging her presence, but it stands to be pretty amusing if he does.

Which leads me to a related question: how many variations of the seven dirty words can be applied to Coulter?

"If I'm a child, you know what that makes you? A pedophile. And I'll be damned if I stand here and get lectured by pervert."

I'm a Cops fan from way back. Like, on the old school season one tip. Boyee. It was mandatory viewing on Saturday nights in college, and watching the "men and women of law enforcement" dispensing hot, creamy justice provided just the inspiration I needed to go to the Continental Club and commit aggravated battery against my liver.

Now in its 17th season, its ratings aren't the best. Granted, they were never Cosby Show equivalent, but the show hovers in the 80s on the Nielsen scale. I don't see it going away anytime soon, partly because it and The Simpsons are the longest running non-news shows on TV right now. And Cops probably costs 1/100 of the increasingly moribund Simpsons.

But the show's getting stale. No matter how many specials you shoot at Mardi Gras or Sturgis, people get tired of seeing the same garden variety drunk drivers, wife beaters, and meth-/crackheads every week.

Cops is unlikely to change the formula, and thanks to watching more TV this week than I think I have in the last year, I've decided John Langley and Malcolm Barbour need to jump on the newest crime-o-vision bandwagon: namely, making a show based solely on Dateline's latest premise of luring pedophiles to an alleged meeting with an underaged kid and showing them getting busted. Last week's episode, subtitled "To Catch a Predator...Not the Cool Kind from that Schwarzenegger Movie," rated higher than The King of Queens, 20/20, or The Amazing Race.

All reality shows depend to some extent on your dislike of one or more of the participants. People hated Richard Hatch in Survivor, or the models in Amazing Race, or Joe Rogan on Fear Factor. But there were always those you found youself rooting for as well. Even with Cops you could usually find some pity in your heart for the guy who had a few too many and took a leak in the wrong alley. But an all-pedophile show would unite the country in hatred. It's like using Nazis as the villains in your movie, it's guilt-free schadenfreude.

Obviously you'd need some changes to the format. Instead of having Stone "Temple" Phillips or whoever coming out to interrogate the pedo, use a real kid as bait and let the child's family get an uninterrupted 30 seconds to "talk" with the guy. Then, after filming the dude crawling out into the driveway while bleeding from his ears and spitting out tooth fragments, have the cops come in and make the arrest. They could also film in different cities, and have audience interaction. "Guess Which Pedophile Makes the Most Money?", for example, or voting for the most shocking act unrelated to actual molestation, like the guy this week who brought his own six-year old kid with him the meet-up.

I'm not denying such a show would only acclerate our descent into the abyss, but I need the money, and expect a producer's credit for any shows that come from my idea.

So say we all

But what I'm saying is: when the hell does the second half of Battlestar Galactica's second season come out on DVD?

I fear for Helo and Tyrol's safety.

Question from a Battlestar Galactica noob

When do they run out of booze?

Bear in mind I'm only 3/4 of the way through the first season, but Tigh's estranged wife (along with everybody else, it seems) had a bottle of ambrosia for their reunion, and there never seems to be a lack of hooch at the card games. I appreciate the necessity of strong drink, especially when 99.8% of humanity has been eradicated, but it seems the imminent drought of liquor will be a bigger problem than restoring democracy or finding tylium.

On second thought, don't answer that. Starbuck just made the jump back to Caprica to find the Arrow and I'm deathly afraid of spoilers.

Jesus, that's one nerdy post.

I [heart] Studs Terkel

Caught Mr. Terkel's appearance on The Daily Show tonight, where he was promoting And They All Sang, his book of entertainment-related interviews ranging from the likes of jazz greats like Dizzy Gillespie and Louis Armstrong to blues and rock artists like Big Bill Broonzy, Bob Dylan, and Janis Joplin.

My first exposure to Terkel was in high school, when I absently picked up a copy of The Good War to go along with my Time-Life photographic history. It was also where I first got an inkling that WWII might be something other than the noble and heroic pursuit countless John Wayne movies had taught me it was. He's one of our last great writers, and I was impressd both by his spirit (the guy had open heart surgery a little while back, and he's almost 94 years old) and the unabashed reverance Jon Stewart showed toward his subject.

Any Terkel is a good read, but in addition to The Good War, you should especially check out Hard Times: And Oral History of the Great Depression and The Great Divide: Second Thoughts on the American Dream.

"Hey you, get that steel drum out of the, uh, mayor's office."

From the BBC comes this shocking news that Americans might be more interested in pop culture than their own government:

Americans know more about The Simpsons TV show than the US Constitution's First Amendment, an opinion poll says.

Only one in four could name more than one of the five freedoms it upholds but more than half could name at least two members of the cartoon family.

About one in five thought the right to own a pet was one of the freedoms.
[...]
Another finding from the poll, a telephone survey of 1,000 random adults with an error margin of 3%, was that 22% of Americans could name all five Simpson characters.

By comparison, just one in 1,000 people could name all five First Amendment freedoms.

I blame myself, really. I fear that by placing so much emphasis on Simpsons trivia - even going so far as to use the word "cromulent" in the title of this blog - I have led my countrymen down a hard road, away from a place where honest, hard working Americans might otherwise have spent their leisure hours reading civics books, engaging in serious dialogue about government, and eschewing mundane pursuits like watching television.

And I'll get right to rectifying the situation, just as soon as this Jaws marathon on TNT is over.

Man, that Lance Guest is one tall drink of water.

Hardy har har

Repost from the FT Blogs, because I'm just too emotionally drained after watching the latest episode of The Shield.
-----
It�s happened to you: you�ve been goofing around on the IMDb, looking up some obscure work of Swedish existentialism, French New Wave, or German scheisse. One thing leads to another and you suddenly - without warning - find yourself on the main page for the Hardy Boys TV show from the �70s.

You want to leave. Immediately. But the gooey tendrils of nostalgia hold you in place. �I remember this show,� you think to yourself. Sure, you read the Franklin W. Dixon books, and when your 8-year old self heard they were making a TV show about them, you nearly applauded yourself to death in a spasm of prepubescent enthusiasm. And yet, how could you know they were going to cast a couple of feather-haired blondes as your youthful crewcut heroes?

�Never mind that now,� you say, �I�ll just check out the credits list, see if there�s any associated trivia (there isn�t), and be on my way.� Then you scroll down and see the user comments, and your already waning faith in humanity gutters out completely:

The casting of Parker Stevenson and Shaun Cassidy as Frank and Joe was near-perfect as they complemented each other handsomely (pun certainly intended!) Parker Stevenson as blue-eyed Frank was very much the leader, taking the initiative and making the decisions most of the time. He tended to be headstrong but was more reserved emotionally than his younger brother. Shaun Cassidy played Joe as tending to be in his elder brother�s shadow and adopting a rather cynical view of matters. Although Joe generally conceded to Frank, he was more than capable of taking initiative and working independently (one example being his selfless rescue of a little girl from a fire in �Arson and Old Lace�). He showed emotion more readily than Frank (such as in �Dracula� when their father was seriously injured).

I belatedly discovered that these have come out on DVD, initially choosing to be horrified by the possibility that this guy memorized 25-year old episodes. I�m pretty sure I watched this show every week, but damned if I can remember anything beyond the Halloween team-up with Pamela Sue Martin�s Nancy Drew and that one time when the bad guy killed Joe�s girlfriend and tricked him into surfing in shark infested waters (I remember the song �If� by Bread figured prominently in the episode). You just don�t forget drama like that.

But wait, there�s more:

Edmund Gilbert�s role as Fenton Hardy tends to be overlooked although he was a real sweetie. He was dedicated to his work but always found time for his sons. Firm but benevolent, he admonished Frank and Joe when necessary but was equally ready to console them. The Hardy men made a very close family unit and I think this is what I liked most about the series. Most of the adventures featured Frank and Joe becoming involved in one of their father�s cases. The Hardys were intensely loyal and were always there for each other. This was perhaps best shown by their mutual devastation and subsequent joy in the episode �Sole Survivor� from the second season. (It made me cry. Watch it to find out what happened!)

Holy creeping jesus�

Fenton was a cop, right? I�m just trying to decide who�d emerge victorious in a battle royale between him, Mike Brady, Steve My Three Sons Douglas, Tom Eight is Enough Bradford, Jason Seaver, Steven Keaton, Cliff Huxtable, and Howard Cunningham. I think my money�s on Seaver�Alan Thicke is a real bastard, and besides, anyone would be homicidal after putting up with Kirk Cameron for that long.

ADDENDUM: I noticed this guy commented from someplace called "Gidea Parl, England." I'll leave the Bill Hicks fans to fill in the rest.

Good news, everyone

You've all been very naughty indeed.

It's late, to be sure, but Xmas may be coming for Futurama fans:

Fox TV`s Emmy-award winning cartoon series 'Futurama' may not be history after all, it was reported Wednesday.

Talks are reportedly under way at 20th Century Fox to revive the animated series set in the next millennium, Daily Variety reported.

The final original episode aired in August 2003, but like 'Family Guy,' it found new life on DVD as well as in reruns on the Cartoon Network.

In fact, the reruns have become so popular, Comedy Central has snatched the rights to them starting in 2008, Variety said.

As the article states, Fox would have to retrieve the production team (who scattered to the four winds before the final episodes even aired), and get the voice talent back. I hope they manage it, not just because I loved the show, but because Fox can use the karmic equilibrium after canceling Arrested Development.

Though I understand they also renewed Stacked for another season.

"And we won't come back 'til it's over"

"Over there (via Fark):"

FX has opted not to renew veteran producer Steven Bochco's Iraq War drama series "Over There," citing lackluster ratings, the cable network said Tuesday.

"I'm deeply proud of 'Over There,' which was beautifully produced, acted, written and directed," FX president and general manager John Landgraf Landgraf said. "The series was arguably the most critically acclaimed new television show of the year, a fact which made the decision not to renew it all the more difficult."

Despite a strong debut that drew 4.1 million viewers, "Over There" tailed off through the rest of its 13-episode run, averaging just 2.1 million overall.

The novelty wore off, and - I suspect - people got a little uncomfortable watching fictionalized recreations of events that were actually taking place.

I'm not a TV critic (my current gig provides enough self-loathing, thanks), but even I know there's usually a lag between the actual war and the television entertainment based on it. MASH debuted 20 years after Korea (as did the movie upon which it was based), while China Beach and Call to Glory came out after a similar interval following the Vietnam War.

Movies have started mimicking this trend as well. Three Kings and Courage Under Fire (to name two examples) didn't come out until almost a decade after the Gulf War, and neither of these were all that negative, unlike Jarhead, which is being released this week (and is a very good film, BTW). Black Hawk Down was about one limited U.S. engagement, and it didn't come out for 8 years after the battle itself.

Hell, even Clint Eastwood waited three years after Grenada to release Heartbreak Ridge. Grenada hardly counts as a "war" however.

The Iraq War will have to come to and end and be years behind us before people are willing to see attractive performers re-enact Fallujah and the like. This doesn't seem very likely, given the inexplicably high ratings it seems to have in the White House.

Too much horror business

The Horror Channel launches this Thursday...sort of:

The Horror Channel (THC), a leading broadband content provider of horror, terror and suspense programming, announced today that it will present a tribute to film director George A. Romero on The Men�s Channel at midnight EDT on Thursday, October 27th.

The Men�s Channel is carried nationwide on both cable and satellite. Programming will feature films, interviews, music videos and other content including great shopping opportunities for horror fans and collectors. Following the premiere on October 27th, additional programming from THC can be seen on The Men's Channel on Saturday nights at midnight (eastern) starting November 5th.

There's nothing scarier than a poorly worded PR release, boy howdy.

At least their acronym will provide teens with a convenient euphemism for pot smoking:

Dad: Where do you two think you're going?
#1 Son: We're just heading over to Danny's house.
#2 Son: Yeah, we're going to watch some...THC.
[both sons snicker]
Dad: Ah, the Horror Channel, off you go then.
#1 Son [sotto voce]: God, I hate him.
#2 Son: I know, I wish Mom had taken us with her.

All this is news to Dish Network, as their page still doesn't show anyting about a Romero tribute tomorrow night on The Men's Channel (I've checked it out, imagine watching nothing but commercials that air during Sunday football games and you've pretty much got the gist) or anything on November 5. I suppose I'll set the DVR for 11 PM tomorrow night and see what happens.

"We are thrilled to present our programming on The Men's Channel. This gives us a significant new opportunity to reach our core demographic of viewers," said Nicholas Psaltos, Founder and General Manager of THC.

Speaking as a horror fan, please don't describe bald, SUV-driving, erectile dysfunctional dudes as your "core demographic." We prefer to go by "hygienically challenged, nacho-scarfing, twitchy spazmoids." Get it right.

Needless to say, I'm not too optimistic about "THC's" chances, which I went into in some further detail here.

"Maybe it was the anthrax in the air, maybe it was it was the fact that the Arab women weren't biting, whatever it was, it was magic."

I'm almost too paralyzed by surprise to let you know that the Arab-ized version of The Simpsons isn't going over too well (via Fark):

When an Arab satellite TV network, MBC, decided to introduce "The Simpsons" to the Middle East, they knew the family would have to make some fundamental lifestyle changes.

"Omar Shamshoon," as he is called on the show, looks like the same Homer Simpson, but he has given up beer and bacon, which are both against Islam, and he no longer hangs out at "seedy bars with bums and lowlifes." In Arabia, Homer's beer is soda, and his hot dogs are barbequed Egyptian beef sausages. And the donut-shaped snacks he gobbles are the traditional Arab cookies called kahk.

An Arabized "Simpsons" -- called "Al Shamshoon" -- made its debut in the Arab world earlier this month, in time for Ramadan, a time of high TV viewership. It uses the original "Simpsons" animation, but the voices are dubbed into Arabic and the scripts have been adapted to make the show more accessible, and acceptable, to Arab audiences.

As long as they aren't planning catching "Lisa's Substitute" (Dustin Hoffman plays Lisa's Jewish teacher). Or "Behind the Laughter," where Moe talks about Bart spending money "like a teenage Arab." Or "Simpsons Bible Stories." Or any episode featuring Krusty's rabbi father. Or...come to think of it, I'd hate to be the guy responsible for making sure nothing "infidelish" gets through.

"Mmmm...soda" just doesn't have the same ring to it, either. Still, who am I to argue against the spread of American cultural imperialism?

But there's no guarantee of success. Many Arab blogs and Internet chat sessions have become consumed with how unfunny "Al Shamshoon" is. "They've ruined it! Oh yes they have, *sob*. ... Why? Why, why oh why?!!!!" wrote a blogger, "Noors," from Oman.

Some longtime "Simpson" fans who are Arabs are incensed over the Arabized version. "This is just beyond the pale," wrote As'ad AbuKhalil, a professor at California State University, Stanislaus, whose blog, angryarab blogspot, often touches on politics and the media. After viewing a promotional segment of "Al Shamshoon," Prof. AbuKhalil wrote, "It was just painful....The guy who played Homer Simpson was one of the most unfunny people I ever watched. Just drop the project, and air reruns of Tony Danza's show instead."

It's nice to know that hyperbolic expressions of dismay aren't solely the domain of Western bloggers.

Few shows have more obsessed fans than "The Simpsons," and their vast online community is worried about whether classic Simpsons dialogue can even be translated. One blogger wrote, "'Hi-diddly-ho, neighbors!' How the h -- are they going to translate that? Or this great quote: Mr Burns: Oooh, so Mother Nature needs a favor?! Well maybe she should have thought of that when she was besetting us with droughts and floods and poison monkeys! Nature started the fight for survival, and now she wants to quit because she's losing. Well I say, hard cheese."

And it looks like we just found the Arabic version of Comic Book Guy.

Forgive my cultural ignorance, but I have a hard time believing there's no absurdism in Arabic culture. As I said before, however, any establishment of common ground has to be a Good Thing, right? If West and East can both laugh at Mr. Burns singing "See My Vest," that's a start. Even if - assuming you eliminate any episode where "Omar" gets drunk - you're only left with about a season and a half's worth of episodes.

Then there's this guy:

A blogger, who uses the name "Nibaq," wrote, "I am sure the effort [of] the people who made this show to translate it to Arabic could have made a good original show about an Egyptian family living in Egypt, dealing with religion, life and work and trying to keep a family together. That way they can proudly say Made in Egypt, instead of Made in USA Assembled in Egypt."

Just for that, we're cancelling your shipment of classic Porky Pig cartoons.

"The masses of humanity will always have to suffer"

Always have to suffer:

Take note, the names have changed since last we spoke of this abomination, but it's still going to suck. To wit:

Bugs Bunny was "Buzz Bunny." Now he's "Ace Bunny:"

A martial arts expert and a natural team leader, Ace makes saving the world look easy. He's always cool and in control of any situation. Ace also has a very sharp wit, so you'll always catch him making fun of the bad guys right before he toasts them with his infrared laser vision.

That is indeed witty, toasting his enemies like that.

Lexi Bunny is still Lexi Bunny, not that it matters:

Lexi is definitely one tough girl - a gymnastic and acrobatic expert gifter with hyper-sensitive hearing. She's a confident, reliable and independent gal who's hip and always into the latest trends. She also has the unique power to blast away objects with her mind, a move she calls the "Brain-Blast."

Can it possibly get any worse? Wait for it:

[Danger] Duck longs to be the center of attention, but deep down, he thinks it's "despicable" that Ace gets all the respect. He wants nothing more than to be seen as a hero and recognized as a good leader. He has the power to teleport short distances (he calls it "quacking") and can also create magical power eggs and launch them at his enemies. Unfortunately, he hasn't quite mastered his powers fully, which can get him into quite a mess.

What, more of a mess than a MALE DUCK LAYING EGGS? Daffy Duck is fucking Nightcrawler now? And he has Super Mario Bros. powers? Are you kidding me?

How did our beloved Wile E. Coyote fare?

Tech E. Coyote is the smartest, most analytical and technical member of the Loonatics, very calculating and a natural strategist. In his spare time, he loves to invent all sorts of weapons and gadgets for the team to use on their missions. His powers work very well with his hobby - he is gifted with electro-magnetic capabilities, allowing him to lift and bend metal objects at will. Tech also possesses regenerative self-healing powers, which help him recover from any mishap.

That electro-magnetic shit would've come in handy with all those anvil mishaps. I don't think Magneto needs to get worried yet, however.

Everyone rememeber "Spaz?" No you don't:

Slam Tasmanian is the muscle of the tesm, possessing super strength and the ability to spin into a tornado and trash anything in his path.

Although he possesses great destructive power, Slam has a strong sense of justice and is always ready to use his powers.

Oh, enough of these great power/great responsibility questions (although "Slam Tasmanian" does kinda sound like "Armin Tamzarian"). Here's the last sad toon:

Rev is a high-energy roadrunner gifted with the ability to run at blurring speed. Unfortunately, he also happens to talk as fast as he runs, which can sometimes make it very hard for everyone else to keep upwith him. On top of his super speed, he also possesses a mental psychic radar which allows him to pinpoint and track down villains. Rev is also the only member of the Loonatics who can fly, which is why he doesn't need a jetpack like the others.

Check please.

Loonatics Unleashed debuts later this morning at 9:30 CST. Set your VCRs/TiVos accordingly.

And for anyone still curious, here's another shot of your childhood getting flushed down the toilet:

Have a nice day (and thanks to The Thing That Walks Like A Man for his reminding me about this. Your venomous snake is in the mail.