Wednesday, April 30, 2008
WTF
Seriously, what is it with food and beverage companies mixing lime into everything? Did no one learn from Coke?
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Get Back On the Bus
I know I've been awol for a while and there's a very good reason for that: I work with old people.
What I mean by that is exactly what I said. I work with old people in my new, open ended temp job, and old people like to get up early to go to work which means I have to get up early to go to work with them. I know most people wouldn't bat an eye at having to work at 7:30a.m., however, I am not one of those people. I'm used to being at work at 9a.m. max which means I get up at 8 instead of 6a.m. Not since grade school have I remembered why 6a.m. is such an unholy hour. No matter what time I go to be, no matter how many days I continue to get up at 6a.m. my body refuses to get used to it and every morning it like an electric shock to the system when the alarm goes off.
While working with old people means getting up well before God, it also means having my afternoons back, as I'm getting home by five instead of having to leave at six. I can swing by the gym and still have time for a few hours of writing at night. So I got that going for me.
What I also got going for me is a bus ride. You see, to get to the the job where I work I can take one bus to and from, which I've tried doing for a week and it's saved me a crap load in gas. I didn't want to have to ever ride a bus in L.A. again, but circumstances, mainly the price of gas, have forced me to reconsider. It's not too bad, like I said, it's once bus and I get there on time and the wait to go home doesn't take that long either. And at that time of day there are no weirdos (thus far) riding along with me, though on the first day for some reason the bus smelled like hot vinegar. Ewwwwwww.
While I enjoy (and I use that term loosely) having a steady gig I honsetly don't know how much longer I can work there. I've been doing a lot of paper shredding for the company and eventually I will run out of paper to shred, no matter how deliberately slow I go (quite frankly, I should have finished a full week ago)and also because the job is so non-mentally stimulating. I straddle a chair for seven hours and feed paper into a shredder. Luckily for me I can bring my iPod and I've been enjoying episodes of Frisky Dingo to help pass the time but I'm going to run out of those as well.
Here's hoping there's a light at the end of the tunnel that isn't a train and I'm going to be back on a show soon.
What I mean by that is exactly what I said. I work with old people in my new, open ended temp job, and old people like to get up early to go to work which means I have to get up early to go to work with them. I know most people wouldn't bat an eye at having to work at 7:30a.m., however, I am not one of those people. I'm used to being at work at 9a.m. max which means I get up at 8 instead of 6a.m. Not since grade school have I remembered why 6a.m. is such an unholy hour. No matter what time I go to be, no matter how many days I continue to get up at 6a.m. my body refuses to get used to it and every morning it like an electric shock to the system when the alarm goes off.
While working with old people means getting up well before God, it also means having my afternoons back, as I'm getting home by five instead of having to leave at six. I can swing by the gym and still have time for a few hours of writing at night. So I got that going for me.
What I also got going for me is a bus ride. You see, to get to the the job where I work I can take one bus to and from, which I've tried doing for a week and it's saved me a crap load in gas. I didn't want to have to ever ride a bus in L.A. again, but circumstances, mainly the price of gas, have forced me to reconsider. It's not too bad, like I said, it's once bus and I get there on time and the wait to go home doesn't take that long either. And at that time of day there are no weirdos (thus far) riding along with me, though on the first day for some reason the bus smelled like hot vinegar. Ewwwwwww.
While I enjoy (and I use that term loosely) having a steady gig I honsetly don't know how much longer I can work there. I've been doing a lot of paper shredding for the company and eventually I will run out of paper to shred, no matter how deliberately slow I go (quite frankly, I should have finished a full week ago)and also because the job is so non-mentally stimulating. I straddle a chair for seven hours and feed paper into a shredder. Luckily for me I can bring my iPod and I've been enjoying episodes of Frisky Dingo to help pass the time but I'm going to run out of those as well.
Here's hoping there's a light at the end of the tunnel that isn't a train and I'm going to be back on a show soon.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Review: Dragon Wars
"Mr. Madison, what you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul."
That apt quote from Billy Madison pretty much sums up how I felt after suffering through the utter shite that is Dragon Wars. I know, I know, I Netflixed a goddamn movie called Dragon Wars for Pete's sake, I got what I deserved. However, when reading the title, and even watching the previews I thought the film was going to be about, you know, FUCKING DRAGONS WARRING.
That was painfully NOT the case. Oh there was a "fight" and I'm being generous in that description, but there was no WAR. And they didn't even really look like dragons, just over grown serpents. I know Korean culture has their own mythology but you'd think they'd at least add, I dunno, legs or wings to the fucking things. Otherwise, it don't get to count.
Because there were no dragon wars in a film titled Dragon Wars, that left plenty of room for Teh Stupid, and yes, "the" is misspelled deliberately in this case. I'm not going to get into all the details of Teh Stupid, only to say that even I was slightly offended that in the beginning there was a Korean prince/warrior who was trying to protect a young Korean maiden, cut to the present and we've got Robert Forester, who, despite his mild resurgence in Jackie Brown, I still recognize as the guy from Alligator. Robert is telling this Korean legend to this little boy and for a moment I'm allowed to believe that this is going to be a Princess Bride style film where grandpa is entertaining the kiddy. That was not the case. What was the case was the absurd notion that grandpa was the reincarnation of the Korean Zen master to the little boy's reincarnation as the Korean prince/warrior. Why the director, who is Korean, did this I will not know but I didn't need another dooey-eyed white boy saves the world story.
And he didn't really save the world. The majority of the plot revolved around him and the reincarnation of the maiden, now a blond, blue-eyed native of Los Angeles, running from the giant snake (I refuse to call it anything else) to a car, the car stalling or getting into an accident, them running some more with the giant snake right behind them and apparently unable to gain enough thrust, despite it's hugeness, to run them down and eat them. They would reach another vehicle, either a car or in one case a helicopter, and something would happen to it and they'd have to get out and run away again. The film did end, thankfully, but I honestly have no recollection of what happened besides the re-incarnated white girl dying, or "ascending", and then a "good" giant snake flying around in the air for no apparent reason as the white boy looked on in awe. Perhaps it was too much shitty for my poor brain and I blocked it out.
You could guess that at a certain point I gave up on this film, and you'd be right. It was an incredible waste of time and I can't believe I re-activated my Netflix subscription for it. Well, at least I have Hitman to look forward to.
That apt quote from Billy Madison pretty much sums up how I felt after suffering through the utter shite that is Dragon Wars. I know, I know, I Netflixed a goddamn movie called Dragon Wars for Pete's sake, I got what I deserved. However, when reading the title, and even watching the previews I thought the film was going to be about, you know, FUCKING DRAGONS WARRING.
That was painfully NOT the case. Oh there was a "fight" and I'm being generous in that description, but there was no WAR. And they didn't even really look like dragons, just over grown serpents. I know Korean culture has their own mythology but you'd think they'd at least add, I dunno, legs or wings to the fucking things. Otherwise, it don't get to count.
Because there were no dragon wars in a film titled Dragon Wars, that left plenty of room for Teh Stupid, and yes, "the" is misspelled deliberately in this case. I'm not going to get into all the details of Teh Stupid, only to say that even I was slightly offended that in the beginning there was a Korean prince/warrior who was trying to protect a young Korean maiden, cut to the present and we've got Robert Forester, who, despite his mild resurgence in Jackie Brown, I still recognize as the guy from Alligator. Robert is telling this Korean legend to this little boy and for a moment I'm allowed to believe that this is going to be a Princess Bride style film where grandpa is entertaining the kiddy. That was not the case. What was the case was the absurd notion that grandpa was the reincarnation of the Korean Zen master to the little boy's reincarnation as the Korean prince/warrior. Why the director, who is Korean, did this I will not know but I didn't need another dooey-eyed white boy saves the world story.
And he didn't really save the world. The majority of the plot revolved around him and the reincarnation of the maiden, now a blond, blue-eyed native of Los Angeles, running from the giant snake (I refuse to call it anything else) to a car, the car stalling or getting into an accident, them running some more with the giant snake right behind them and apparently unable to gain enough thrust, despite it's hugeness, to run them down and eat them. They would reach another vehicle, either a car or in one case a helicopter, and something would happen to it and they'd have to get out and run away again. The film did end, thankfully, but I honestly have no recollection of what happened besides the re-incarnated white girl dying, or "ascending", and then a "good" giant snake flying around in the air for no apparent reason as the white boy looked on in awe. Perhaps it was too much shitty for my poor brain and I blocked it out.
You could guess that at a certain point I gave up on this film, and you'd be right. It was an incredible waste of time and I can't believe I re-activated my Netflix subscription for it. Well, at least I have Hitman to look forward to.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The Shredder
So, last week I went without work for four days and ended up wallowing in a well of my own self pity (all the while writing throughout this self pity). I got work on Friday, which, while a piddly check is better than no check at all, will almost seem not worth it once I confirm that what I made on that Friday was spent on the gas driving to and from the job. Joy.
This week I've had two days of work and an industry meeting that only served to remind me of how badly I want to get back into the entertainment game. So no self pity. Well, for the most part no self pity. You see, this week I'm working for a bank that is in desperate need due to it's short staff. What are they in desperate need for? A shredder. More specifically, someone to stuff old checks into their industrial sized shredder. Because everyone else is to busy to do this, with all the other check stuff going on.
And because this is a bank, but not the bank, merely one of the offices of the bank, there are old people working there. And old people like to get up early and go to work early, so that means I have to get up early and go to work early. No 9a.m. start for me, nuh-uh. I gotta be on the job by 7:30a.m. Seven. Fucking. Thirty. For those of you who have to be to work as, or even earlier, and are going, "So?" 'cuse the shit out of me but that fucking sucks. God's not even up by 7:30a.m. and even though I was behind the wheel of what can be considered heavy machinery I'm not either. It's pretty much autopilot down Olympic Blvd and then somehow I become aware there's a valet asking me to please get out of my car so he can park it.
Then it's on to the bank where I've been put into a little cubicle with said shredder and I grab a box of old checks down from the shelf and go to town, feeding the checks into the shredder on an endless loop of monotony and boredom. Not only that, but the old people at the bank were ill prepared for my duties, as, on the first day, we ran out of shredder lube (yes, there's a lube for shredders) and proper sized disposal bags. That meant that ever so often, say, about every twenty to thirty minutes, when the light for lube would illuminate I had to shove these weird sponge papers into the mouth of the shredder, to keep the teeth from grinding against each other and possibly exploding (I was not told what exactly would happen if the shredder teeth didn't get lube but it was implied that it would be bad and there may be smoke involved). Add to that, the indignity of having to transfer shredded paper by hand from the square bin of the shredder to a regular trash bag, because they were out of the shredder bin bags. I'm sure the cleaning people hate me by now because there's always a big mess when I leave, no matter how I try to scrape up bits and pieces of paper from the carpet.
The trash bags aren't big enough to fit over the mouth of the bin so I have to just shovel the paper from one place to the next by hand. This would seem easy enough but if you've never tried shoveling shredded paper then you have no idea what it really entails. You can't grab too much because then it will just spill out every where and the cleaning people will hate you because now they've got to actually vacuum the carpet. You can use smaller handfuls, but then you'll be bent over the trash bin and that means you'll have to inhale god-knows-what kind of ink chemicals as you do it. I had to do the latter and driving home today my throat was sore and now I'm sure there's a cancer growing in my lungs. I realized today that if I wear my shades while cleaning the bin that minimizes the amount of paper particles that can make a break for my eyes (and thus blind me by cutting into my contacts) and tomorrow I'm taking a head bandanna to cover my nose and mouth.
"Tomorrow?" you say, "You're going back tomorrow?"
Yes, yes I am. Why am I going back tomorrow? Because I need the work. And god knows this job is making me hate how much I need the work. Or how much I need to money so that I can feed myself and pay bills. Not only am I going back tomorrow, but I'm trying to extend my stay till the end of the week to ensure I have a full week's paycheck. Unlike last week where I lounged around like a lazy bum, reading books and writing and making no money to pay my bills. I discovered today that if I stretch it out right, I can make one full box of old checks last five hours, and if I put the paper in the bins right it actually looks like I've done a lot of work, as one non-old bank employee commented today. Later on in the day I speed things up, and by the time I leave at 4p.m. I've got three boxes done (when, I probably could do the entire shelf in a day if I applied myself) and with all the regular trash bags I've used up it looks like I've done a helluva lot of shredding.
The problem is first thing in the morning from 7:30a.m. till 10:30p.m., which seems like the longest span of time ever. Pretty much after lunch I'm free to stuff the hell out of the shredder and go as fast as I please, but not too fast, so that I can have a reason to come back another day. But it's terrible work, and almost disheartening. And yet, I persist in doing it. Not because I want to, but because I have to. *sigh*
This week I've had two days of work and an industry meeting that only served to remind me of how badly I want to get back into the entertainment game. So no self pity. Well, for the most part no self pity. You see, this week I'm working for a bank that is in desperate need due to it's short staff. What are they in desperate need for? A shredder. More specifically, someone to stuff old checks into their industrial sized shredder. Because everyone else is to busy to do this, with all the other check stuff going on.
And because this is a bank, but not the bank, merely one of the offices of the bank, there are old people working there. And old people like to get up early and go to work early, so that means I have to get up early and go to work early. No 9a.m. start for me, nuh-uh. I gotta be on the job by 7:30a.m. Seven. Fucking. Thirty. For those of you who have to be to work as, or even earlier, and are going, "So?" 'cuse the shit out of me but that fucking sucks. God's not even up by 7:30a.m. and even though I was behind the wheel of what can be considered heavy machinery I'm not either. It's pretty much autopilot down Olympic Blvd and then somehow I become aware there's a valet asking me to please get out of my car so he can park it.
Then it's on to the bank where I've been put into a little cubicle with said shredder and I grab a box of old checks down from the shelf and go to town, feeding the checks into the shredder on an endless loop of monotony and boredom. Not only that, but the old people at the bank were ill prepared for my duties, as, on the first day, we ran out of shredder lube (yes, there's a lube for shredders) and proper sized disposal bags. That meant that ever so often, say, about every twenty to thirty minutes, when the light for lube would illuminate I had to shove these weird sponge papers into the mouth of the shredder, to keep the teeth from grinding against each other and possibly exploding (I was not told what exactly would happen if the shredder teeth didn't get lube but it was implied that it would be bad and there may be smoke involved). Add to that, the indignity of having to transfer shredded paper by hand from the square bin of the shredder to a regular trash bag, because they were out of the shredder bin bags. I'm sure the cleaning people hate me by now because there's always a big mess when I leave, no matter how I try to scrape up bits and pieces of paper from the carpet.
The trash bags aren't big enough to fit over the mouth of the bin so I have to just shovel the paper from one place to the next by hand. This would seem easy enough but if you've never tried shoveling shredded paper then you have no idea what it really entails. You can't grab too much because then it will just spill out every where and the cleaning people will hate you because now they've got to actually vacuum the carpet. You can use smaller handfuls, but then you'll be bent over the trash bin and that means you'll have to inhale god-knows-what kind of ink chemicals as you do it. I had to do the latter and driving home today my throat was sore and now I'm sure there's a cancer growing in my lungs. I realized today that if I wear my shades while cleaning the bin that minimizes the amount of paper particles that can make a break for my eyes (and thus blind me by cutting into my contacts) and tomorrow I'm taking a head bandanna to cover my nose and mouth.
"Tomorrow?" you say, "You're going back tomorrow?"
Yes, yes I am. Why am I going back tomorrow? Because I need the work. And god knows this job is making me hate how much I need the work. Or how much I need to money so that I can feed myself and pay bills. Not only am I going back tomorrow, but I'm trying to extend my stay till the end of the week to ensure I have a full week's paycheck. Unlike last week where I lounged around like a lazy bum, reading books and writing and making no money to pay my bills. I discovered today that if I stretch it out right, I can make one full box of old checks last five hours, and if I put the paper in the bins right it actually looks like I've done a lot of work, as one non-old bank employee commented today. Later on in the day I speed things up, and by the time I leave at 4p.m. I've got three boxes done (when, I probably could do the entire shelf in a day if I applied myself) and with all the regular trash bags I've used up it looks like I've done a helluva lot of shredding.
The problem is first thing in the morning from 7:30a.m. till 10:30p.m., which seems like the longest span of time ever. Pretty much after lunch I'm free to stuff the hell out of the shredder and go as fast as I please, but not too fast, so that I can have a reason to come back another day. But it's terrible work, and almost disheartening. And yet, I persist in doing it. Not because I want to, but because I have to. *sigh*
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Boob Tube
I was a fan of Saturday Night Live. Though a lot of people said it sucked in the later Adam Sandler years, I came up in the sort of "resurgence" era of Will Ferrel, Chris Kattan ("You can't hava da Mango!), Cheri Oteri, Ana Geystar, Tim Meadows, and the rest of that bunch. I would say it probably started to do downhill when they hired Jimmy Fallon but that's just my theory.
Pretty much after that bunch made the ship jump for greener (read: wealthier) pastures in film I stopped watching. Really, what could top the "I need more cowbell" sketch? Not to mention those early Mango and Mr. Peepers sketches were hilarious. Did you see the first SNL The Rock hosted? Frakkin' hilarious!! But I digress.
I've been watching SNL recently on and off because every time I don't the next Monday I would find out from coworkers I missed something funny. So I slowly started watching it again and there would be some funny things, such as the D*ck in the Box digital short, but most of the time they ended up like Laser Cats, which was never funny to begin with.
This long introduction is actually for something very short. I was watching the latest SNL, hosted by Aston Kutcher, and I have to say that in all of the SNL episodes I've seen that opening monologue had to have been the absolute worst thus far. It was embarrassingly bad and I felt embarrassed for all involved, including a cameo by Demi Moore that wasted what no potential she had.
I almost turned it off then but how could I miss the genius that is Andy Samberg's latest digital short. D*ck in a Box it wasn't. It wasn't even S*it in a Box and all the written "apologies" they were doing didn't help anything at all. Perhaps someday this generation will get their Will Ferrals and Chris Kattan's, but I doubt it. Then again, that could be the nostalgia talking.
Pretty much after that bunch made the ship jump for greener (read: wealthier) pastures in film I stopped watching. Really, what could top the "I need more cowbell" sketch? Not to mention those early Mango and Mr. Peepers sketches were hilarious. Did you see the first SNL The Rock hosted? Frakkin' hilarious!! But I digress.
I've been watching SNL recently on and off because every time I don't the next Monday I would find out from coworkers I missed something funny. So I slowly started watching it again and there would be some funny things, such as the D*ck in the Box digital short, but most of the time they ended up like Laser Cats, which was never funny to begin with.
This long introduction is actually for something very short. I was watching the latest SNL, hosted by Aston Kutcher, and I have to say that in all of the SNL episodes I've seen that opening monologue had to have been the absolute worst thus far. It was embarrassingly bad and I felt embarrassed for all involved, including a cameo by Demi Moore that wasted what no potential she had.
I almost turned it off then but how could I miss the genius that is Andy Samberg's latest digital short. D*ck in a Box it wasn't. It wasn't even S*it in a Box and all the written "apologies" they were doing didn't help anything at all. Perhaps someday this generation will get their Will Ferrals and Chris Kattan's, but I doubt it. Then again, that could be the nostalgia talking.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Give the Kid the Damn Pa-sickie!
Normally, I don't find the inane babble of babies cute, often times I find myself wondering just when the hell they're going to learn the English language. Just the other day I was in the laundry room where this toddler was doing her damnedest to recite the ABCs on an endless loop and was totally just making noises that sounded like the letters, but they actually weren't the letters, and after the upteeth go round I wanted to yell, "G! it's a fucking G!!! A.B.C.D.E.F. motherfucking G!!!!" least of all not the other letters the kid didn't get, such as H,I,J,K,L,M,N,O,P,Q,R,S,T,U,V,W,X,Y and Z.
Anyway, I was surprised to find myself even so much as taking a look at this video, let alone enjoying it. It truly is very cute, especially when the kid thinks he's (she's?) going to get the pa-sickie but the mother just teases her (him?) to get him (her?) to say the word a few more times.
Parents can be so cruel.
Anyway, I was surprised to find myself even so much as taking a look at this video, let alone enjoying it. It truly is very cute, especially when the kid thinks he's (she's?) going to get the pa-sickie but the mother just teases her (him?) to get him (her?) to say the word a few more times.
Parents can be so cruel.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Balls of Crap is More Like It
I some way, some how put Balls of Fury into my Netflix queue and I have no idea why. Perhaps at some point I had the thought it might be worth watching put it there and forgot to ever take it out. I usually don't look into my queue unless I'm adding films. Okay, enough excuses, but let me just say I was surprised when I got my recent set of films and Balls was one of them.
The film is awful, that's all that really needs to be said. I didn't laugh once throughout the whole thing and it seemed like it was trying desperately to be the next Dodgeball (a film I did find enjoyable, if only for the stupidity). But there's no stupidity to find amusing in Balls, especially since you see every single scene worth seeing in the previews. Quite frankly, I was happy when it was over and I stopped it before it got to the end credits. Save your intelligence and your time.
The film is awful, that's all that really needs to be said. I didn't laugh once throughout the whole thing and it seemed like it was trying desperately to be the next Dodgeball (a film I did find enjoyable, if only for the stupidity). But there's no stupidity to find amusing in Balls, especially since you see every single scene worth seeing in the previews. Quite frankly, I was happy when it was over and I stopped it before it got to the end credits. Save your intelligence and your time.
Thoughts on Battlestar
Hmmm. I find myself in an interesting position because I love the show, however this season premiere wasn't as exciting as the two part season three premiere Occupation/Precipice and then Exodus Parts one and two.
Don't get me wrong, the first half was awesome, full of the character and action drama I love. There were space battles, people yelling in CIC and the angst of the newly revealed four Cylons trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do and if they were going to fuck something up. And then Kara Thrace, a.k.a Starbuck, came back and it all went to hell with the "is she/isn't she" a Cylon storyline and her whole, "I can take you to Earth if only you'll let me take you to Earth". Okay, that was interesting and it will be fun to see how all this "Is Starbuck leading them to their doom?" plays out, hopefully before winter 2009.
Don't get me wrong, the first half was awesome, full of the character and action drama I love. There were space battles, people yelling in CIC and the angst of the newly revealed four Cylons trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do and if they were going to fuck something up. And then Kara Thrace, a.k.a Starbuck, came back and it all went to hell with the "is she/isn't she" a Cylon storyline and her whole, "I can take you to Earth if only you'll let me take you to Earth". Okay, that was interesting and it will be fun to see how all this "Is Starbuck leading them to their doom?" plays out, hopefully before winter 2009.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
And I'm Probably Going to Look Like an Asshole
Today while I was hanging out at the 3rd Street Promenade, spending money I shouldn't and avoiding rush hour traffic on the 10, I happened upon two gentlemen who were shooting interviews for some summer episodes of Deal or No Deal, while waiting to cross the street. They asked myself and a mother/daughter pair if we'd like to be filmed for a segment on one of the contestants and all three of us were like, "sure, what the hell," mostly for me because I didn't have shit else to do besides wait for the interstate to clear.
The segment was simple: they would show us two photos of different kinds of hair and we were to pick which ones we liked the best. They would hand us said photos, we would look at them, then turn them around to show them to the camera. All three of us thought that would be simple enough. The mother and daughter went first and in order to keep my response spontaneous I avoided looking at the mother and daughter as they did their bits. Perhaps I should have looked.
When it was my turn I was asked to remove my jacket because it had my graduate alma mater's logo on it and then I was placed in front of the camera and handed the two photos face down. I turned them over and it was a photo of a small dog, perhaps Yorkie or something, I don't know the breed because I don't like small dogs and don't keep up with their goings on, but the dog had all this hair everywhere and it was wrapped in bows. The other photo was of a young black woman with super blue eye contacts, way to much makeup and a hair do I can only describe as "ghetto fabulous". The hair was long in the back and sides but the top was done in this awful spiked fashion, like a mohawk that just said "fuck it" and tried to make a run for it in a whole bunch of different directions. It was a bad hairstyle is what I'm saying.
So I picked the dog. I picked the dog on the grounds that the dog had no choice in the matter, but the woman did and I couldn't understand who would want hair like that voluntarily.
There were a bunch of laughs and the camera turned off and we were told the woman would be one of the contestants for a mid-June episode. Having signed a waiver I went on my merry way, hitting my car because it was after 7pm and the ten should (and was) be clear. But it was in my car that that little Jimminy Cricket, my conscious, hopped upon my shoulder and began whispering in my ear. And I actually started to think about what I'd just participated in.
Aside from the fact that it's a shitty game show, I began to wonder why the producers thought it would be funny to compare a black woman to a dog. Mind you, they were comparing her hair, but whatever. I know it's supposed to be "funny" because it's in the extreme, and comparing her to another wild black hairstyle, or even one considered "redneck" (mullet!!) would have been like comparing apples and oranges, but still. A dog? At this point I started to grind my teeth, but more from guilt than the fact that I was still stuck in traffic on Lincoln Blvd.
And then little Jimminy asked my why they should even care about her hair style. Of course it's out there. It's wild and something white people aren't used to seeing but should they really make fun of her for it? I don't watch Deal or No Deal at all so I have no idea how many of these segments they do but I can only hope that they find something to make fun of everyone for and they're not just singling her out. When we were at the Promenade the mother asked why she even had such hair and the guy said she (the woman with the hair) did it because she wanted it that way and she owns it. Sitting in my car, recapping this in my mind I thought "Good for her" mostly because I wanted to absolve some of my guilt.
Then I asked Jimminy why I even felt guilty. "She had shitty hair!" I defended.
"But she's black," Jimminy replied. "You shouldn't be mean to other black people, especially other black women."
"Why the fuck not?" I demanded.
"Because you're black," Jimminy said with infinite patience.
"Oh," I said, realizing he was right.
I was black. And she had been black and it might look bad me dissing another black woman's choice of hair, especially since I was rockin' the au natural look on camera and my hair was an explosion of curls. Then the light turned green and I managed to make it to the turn off for the 10 (which was awesomely devoid of rush hour traffic) but as I accelerated off the ramp I still wondered just why I had to feel bad. Yes, she was black and I was black but that's as far as our similarities go. I don't owe her anything just because we have the same skin tone. It occurred to me that white people probably don't have to face this dilemma and perhaps I was thinking to hard about something silly. She had stupid hair for Christ's sake!
Did she deserve to be made fun of for it? I don't know. Was the segment juvenile? Most definitely. Should I not have participated in it? Probably not. But don't think I won't be telling people from now until June, "I might be on Deal or No Deal!" and then we'll see how it plays.
The segment was simple: they would show us two photos of different kinds of hair and we were to pick which ones we liked the best. They would hand us said photos, we would look at them, then turn them around to show them to the camera. All three of us thought that would be simple enough. The mother and daughter went first and in order to keep my response spontaneous I avoided looking at the mother and daughter as they did their bits. Perhaps I should have looked.
When it was my turn I was asked to remove my jacket because it had my graduate alma mater's logo on it and then I was placed in front of the camera and handed the two photos face down. I turned them over and it was a photo of a small dog, perhaps Yorkie or something, I don't know the breed because I don't like small dogs and don't keep up with their goings on, but the dog had all this hair everywhere and it was wrapped in bows. The other photo was of a young black woman with super blue eye contacts, way to much makeup and a hair do I can only describe as "ghetto fabulous". The hair was long in the back and sides but the top was done in this awful spiked fashion, like a mohawk that just said "fuck it" and tried to make a run for it in a whole bunch of different directions. It was a bad hairstyle is what I'm saying.
So I picked the dog. I picked the dog on the grounds that the dog had no choice in the matter, but the woman did and I couldn't understand who would want hair like that voluntarily.
There were a bunch of laughs and the camera turned off and we were told the woman would be one of the contestants for a mid-June episode. Having signed a waiver I went on my merry way, hitting my car because it was after 7pm and the ten should (and was) be clear. But it was in my car that that little Jimminy Cricket, my conscious, hopped upon my shoulder and began whispering in my ear. And I actually started to think about what I'd just participated in.
Aside from the fact that it's a shitty game show, I began to wonder why the producers thought it would be funny to compare a black woman to a dog. Mind you, they were comparing her hair, but whatever. I know it's supposed to be "funny" because it's in the extreme, and comparing her to another wild black hairstyle, or even one considered "redneck" (mullet!!) would have been like comparing apples and oranges, but still. A dog? At this point I started to grind my teeth, but more from guilt than the fact that I was still stuck in traffic on Lincoln Blvd.
And then little Jimminy asked my why they should even care about her hair style. Of course it's out there. It's wild and something white people aren't used to seeing but should they really make fun of her for it? I don't watch Deal or No Deal at all so I have no idea how many of these segments they do but I can only hope that they find something to make fun of everyone for and they're not just singling her out. When we were at the Promenade the mother asked why she even had such hair and the guy said she (the woman with the hair) did it because she wanted it that way and she owns it. Sitting in my car, recapping this in my mind I thought "Good for her" mostly because I wanted to absolve some of my guilt.
Then I asked Jimminy why I even felt guilty. "She had shitty hair!" I defended.
"But she's black," Jimminy replied. "You shouldn't be mean to other black people, especially other black women."
"Why the fuck not?" I demanded.
"Because you're black," Jimminy said with infinite patience.
"Oh," I said, realizing he was right.
I was black. And she had been black and it might look bad me dissing another black woman's choice of hair, especially since I was rockin' the au natural look on camera and my hair was an explosion of curls. Then the light turned green and I managed to make it to the turn off for the 10 (which was awesomely devoid of rush hour traffic) but as I accelerated off the ramp I still wondered just why I had to feel bad. Yes, she was black and I was black but that's as far as our similarities go. I don't owe her anything just because we have the same skin tone. It occurred to me that white people probably don't have to face this dilemma and perhaps I was thinking to hard about something silly. She had stupid hair for Christ's sake!
Did she deserve to be made fun of for it? I don't know. Was the segment juvenile? Most definitely. Should I not have participated in it? Probably not. But don't think I won't be telling people from now until June, "I might be on Deal or No Deal!" and then we'll see how it plays.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Thought While Watching the Butchered, Network Version of "Disturbing Behavior":
Goddamn James Marsden is hot.*
(*but he still looks nothing like a high school student.)
(*but he still looks nothing like a high school student.)
Battlestar Day Two
I know I should be counting down but I'm far too tired after a full (and overtime) day of mind numbing (and I do mean mind numbing) work. You're lucky you got that sentence out of me. Don't expect much tomorrow either, because I'm going back to do the same thing. Instead, just enjoy the antici---
(SAY IT!!!!)
Pation. ;) (for those not in the know, see: Rocky Horror Picture Show).
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