Cognitive Dissonance

Back -- With Video

2007-08-30T10:41:00.001-07:00

So, after a month or many devoted to moving into my house, I'm finally back in a groove. However -- for reasons you will see -- I'm still not in blogging mode. So, below you will find my compromise. Enjoy

The One Thing I Learned the Week of June 17- June 23

2007-06-27T16:50:00.000-07:00

1. Sometimes, I'm too damn stressed to learn anything.

Twenty Things I Learned in the Past Two Weeks (June 3 - June 16)

2007-06-07T00:05:00.000-07:00

1. WHBF Channel 4 cannot light their talent to save their lives. Tambrey Laine, their lead anchor, could wreck traffic, but you'd never know it from the way she appears on their newscasts.

2. While the trees in my yard survived the storms this week, the winds did blow down my garage door.

3. One of my neighbors is crazy. The other neighbor likes to use his powerdrill before 8AM.

4. In two, maybe three, years, KWQC television will be unrecognizable from what it is today.

5. People only want me for my DVDs.

6. In the world of idioms, rhyming trumps reality. Who has ever seen a drunk skunk. I had no idea the species was prone to alcoholism, yet they are considered the embodiment of drunkedness.

7. Too Much Information: One of the unforseen practical advantages of underwear is they keep your shorts up at the urinal. This week... there was an incident.

8. Using "More better" in conversation is physically painful to me, and yes I did it in a conversation with MidAmerican Energy.

9. One of the hardest things to do is keep a secret you want to scream from the rooftops. Unfortunately, for now, I know that keeping that secret is the best thing to do.

10. The best position I could possibly have at KWQC just opened up.

11. I am a huge fan of stand-up comedy, but NBC's Last Comic Standing makes me cry and wince just as much as it makes me laugh.

12. People are pissed at The Sopranos for going out like the show it has always been -- ballsy, literate, unpredictable, and very, very, outside the mainstream. I've never thought twenty seconds of black could be poignant, agonizing, and brilliant. Those simpletons who always watched The Sopranos for the whackings and the sex never truly appreciated the show in the first place. God bless David Chase for giving The Sopranos back to the people who loved it for all of its genius, not all of its gore.

13. America's Got Talent might actually be watchable if they dispensed with the delusional and actually displayed the talent that's available to them.

14. The weaknesses of its sequels has not diminished the delight of the original Pirates of the Carribbean.

15. Apparently, the technology of high definition televisions is moving so fast, even the manufacturers are confused by their own catergorizations.

16. I am not a fan of my unshaven face. My beard trimmer went rogue on me this morning, and I had to go naked this morning. I haven't been able to look in a mirror since.

17. If you want to see me go into a blind rage, accuse me of doing something that you do on a regular basis. Having some troglodite tell me to "pay attention" nearly ended in homicide.

18. Golf on television is wonderful to nap to.

19. The 4400 is the most fascinating concept for a television show that was ever blandly produced. I can't stop watching it, even as it bores the hell out of me.

20. I will never forgive the makers of Deadwood for walking away from that show to go produce the treacly, precious John from Cincinatti (even if it stars one of my favorite actors, Bruce Greenwood).

Ten Things I Learned the Week of May 27 - June 2

2007-05-26T22:47:00.000-07:00

Warning. Some things I learned this week fall in to the Too Much Information category, but being that they were some of the more amusing moments of my week, I had to include them.

1. Of the 300+ movies I have on DVD, only about 50 are going to have a spot in my new home. That means discounted DVDs will soon be available to friends and family.

2. My favorite voice in pop music currently belongs to Pink.

3. My biggest turn-off: a girl without a sense of humor.

4. There's a parking spot at Best Buy, just two from the front, that is always open when I drop in. An old man with a walker nearly beat me to it today, but I was just too quick for him.

5. It's been three years since anybody's seen me naked, but that's still no excuse for me freaking out when Buzz snuck into the bathroom when I was taking a shower.

6. It doesn't matter how old they get, or how much they should know better, some girls still get all aflutter over quaterbacks. Even Steamwheelers quarterbacks.

7. It's impossible not to be a little bit of a tourist in a disaster zone. I felt guilty for being so fascinated by the devastation in the Muscatine area this week.

8. Mario Party's fun quotient diminishes by 1/4 each time you lose a player.

9. I am hoping that my closing tomorrow will represent a drastic upward shift in an otherwise static existance as of late.

10. Carlos Zambrano will be a bigger disappointment to Cubs fans than either Kerry Wood or Mark Prior.

Ten Things I Learned the Week of May 20 - May 26

2007-05-22T10:52:00.000-07:00

1. We get a copy of the Victoria's Secret catalog at my house courtesy of "Mandrew" Rockwell. No kidding. MANdrew.

2. Kristina Shiroma is a little bit sciency, and a little bit party. And a lot bit making up her own words.

3. I'm not as cynical as I sometimes believe. The Travis Hearn home build was the first time I've been inspired at work in a long time.

4. The ending of season 3 of Lost is the greatest mindfuck I have ever experienced in all of pop culture. It was so nasty, so complex, and so unbelievably well-conceived that I will forever be in awe of that show's creators. The next nine months will be agony for anyone who loves this show.

5. Everybody I work with assumes I'm love with every girl I'm pleasant to. I can say, with absolute certainty that they have been off the mark with every girl they've suspected. What part of "I have a shameless crush on Keagan Feeney" is unclear?

6. It takes more muscles to frown than it takes to smile. So happy people are just lazy.

7. I respond to all of Buzz's indiscretions like the stiff at the end of the Mentos commercials. Hands on hips, shaking my head with a smile.

8. My brother has a girlfriend. Or at least he has a girl who calls him her boyfriend.

9. I have been increasingly worthless to the people that matter the longer I've had to wait to close on my house. But fear not gentle souls, because...

10. I will close on my house at 10AM the morning of June 4th. Finally Buzz will have his own fenced in yard in which to liberally spread his bodily waste.

Ten Things I Learned the Week of May 13 - May 19

2007-05-16T09:51:00.000-07:00

1. My blood pressure is very high, and I'm likely six months away from medication, unless...

2. I lose weight. The doctor called me fat. Ever been called fat in an Indian dialect. It's weird. It took me a while to get what he was saying. "My feet? What's wrong with my feet? I don't understand."

3. Deep down I clearly think Jerry Falwell is more evil than Al-Zarqawi was. I didn't have near the thrill of hearing of Zarqawi's death as I did hearing of Falwell's.

4. I completely overuse the word "tremendous," and usually I don't even mean it when I say it.

5. If you attend movies on opening weekend, you are partly responsible for the high percentage of cinematic shit that Hollywood churns out.

6. I know a girl who, if I had any good sense about me, I should be dating, but I'm an idiot, and therefore, won't.

7. The DASH diet, which is the diet my kidney specialist prescribed for me, earned its namesake because it makes you want to dash to the nearest tall building and jump off.

8. I can do many of the same things I could do as a younger man. It just hurts more and for a longer period of time after I do them.

9. Kristina Shiroma has a bigger head than I do. Insert own joke here.

10. I am an evil genius with an excellently evil secret.

Ten Things I Learned the Week of May 6 - May 12

2007-05-06T10:45:00.000-07:00

1. I have absolutely no desire to go to a movie theater anymore.

2. Buzz is White Sox colors.

3. I can sum up everything I hate about the television business in one word: affectation.

4. Friday Night Lights is coming back for a second season. Which means all of my nearest and dearest can expect an incessant, evangelistic badgering to please join me in watching the best show on television.

5. Harrison Ford hasn't made an entertaining movie in ten years (Air Force One - 1997).

6. All television journalism should look like Bill Moyers' Journal on PBS.

7. Just when I think I've outgrown my asthma and allergies -- they top rope elbow drop me and ruin my weekend.

8. Going to the driving range is not "golfing."

9. If you throw toys under the couch, my dog will give himself a concussion.

10. I usually get two good months out of Netflix before it becomes a total waste of money.

Ten Things I Learned the Week of April 29 - May 5

2007-04-29T13:25:00.000-07:00

1. I'm sorry Barbaro's dead. Not because I give a shit about a horse, but because there are over 3,000 US Soldiers who didn't get near as many prayers and prime time specials after they died.

2. I resent people who watch either Deal or No Deal or The Real Wedding Crashers. The success of these shows and shows like them are the reason why the best television program I've ever seen -- Friday Night Lights -- may not get a second season.

3. May sweeps is where we in television make our money. It's also the month where we put on some of our worst television of the year.

4. Insurance companies hate me.

5. Sometimes the world is going to crumble around you, and you're going to have to watch and take the blame.

6. I am very attracted to girls with deep voices. And this concerns me.

7. It's impossible not to feel like an Adonis when you hit a golf ball farther than a driving range's outer limits (which is 300+ at Highland Springs).

8. Work has made me fat again. Too many stops at gas stations in the middle of nowhere when my lunch is in the fridge back at the station.

9. Wal-Mart is a scary place. Seriously. I'm not fucking around. There's going to be a horror movie made there one of these days where the hillbillies roaming the aisles start killing the innocent middle class folk who had to stop in to get some golf balls (or something).

10. I have moved past impatient into the realm of pissy when it comes to waiting to get into my new house. However, the fact that they've taken down the For Sale sign from the front yard heartens me a little bit.

Ten Things I Learned the Week of April 22 - April 28

2007-04-24T09:54:00.000-07:00

1. Long distance relationships are bullshit. You can't develop anything remotely substantial when you don't spend enough time together to piss each other off.

2. When the wind blows through the trees in my backyard it sounds like the "monster" from Lost.

3. I understand eating disorders now. After spending a flu-ruined day alternating between sitting on the toilet and bending over it, I lost six and a half pounds. If it weren't for the rib-cracking dry-heaves, I might actually be on board.

4. It's damn near impossible to teach a dog anything when there are three people responsible for his care-taking. Grandma pampers. I'm the discipinarian. And Grandpa is just confused.

5. When I have a fever over a hundred, I have the scariest dreams you could ever imagine. One I'm able to remember is me packing heat at Rocky after a school shooting perpetrated by Omar from The Wire and featuring a guest appearance from Morgan Webb from G4. She wasn't so scary, but the rest was.

6. My impatience with the process of getting into my house is starting to get taken out on the people around me. I'm apologizing now in case you're one of these unfortunate people.

7. It's much easier to be into fantasy baseball when you're in first place rather than fifth.

8. Apparently, the word fifth doesn't look right, even when I spell it right.

9. I didn't LEARN this, but I have a strong suspicion: Lying in bed for 36 hours leaves you with more aches and pains than running a marathon.

10. One way to ensure that your favorite television show of all time never ends -- don't watch the season finale. A tactic I'm currently employing with Friday Night Lights.

Ten Things I Learned the Week of April 15 - April 21

2007-04-17T10:39:00.000-07:00

1. My life seems to boil down to one major choice -- be sick or be broke.

2. There's something extremely hot about a girl who doesn't throw like a girl.

3. The entertainment differential between a good AFL2 team and a bad AFL2 team is astronomical. I'm actually a fan of this year's Quad City Steamwheelers team.

4. One of the greatest musical sins I've ever committed was not listening to Beck after high school -- a sin I've now rectified.

5. Just because you offend nearly everyone with your opinion, doesn't mean you're wrong. It just means most people aren't ready to hear what you have to say.

6. I punish myself more severely than anyone else could punish me.

7. I'm surprisingly uncomfortable around one half of my extended family.

8. The first sunburn of the year always sneaks up on you.

9. The Cubs/Cards rivalry is a lot more fun when I'm surrounded by Cardinal fans at work. Come on boys. I want that rubber match today.

10. Not only is Buzz part tigger, but he's apparently part gopher as well. He loves burrowing under the couch to get to the power cords behind it.

Ten Things I Learned the Week of April 8 - April 14

2007-04-08T16:51:00.000-07:00

1. My dog can officially kick a Papillon's butt. Not a dog of much distinction, but he's only 8 weeks old.

2. You can develop dimples at 27. Or they may just be my first wrinkles.

3. I can't watch Friday Night Lights in public. I nearly broke down in tears watching it at work.

4. Many of the people in my fantasy baseball league think I'm stupid. I've gotten ridiculous trade offers all week.

5. I have the perfect house number for a serious Lost fan -- 1516.

6. If you believe you've been forgiven for some past transgression, get the subject of that transgression drunk and you'll quickly find out the truth.

7. On my days off, I can do nothing like nobody's business. Especially if the Cubs are on.

8. My first major purchase for my new house will be a monster grill.

9. One of the more awkward injuries of my life has no resulted in the gradual loss of one half of my fingernail.

10. You can't go wrong with free T-shirts. It doesn't matter what they say.

Ten Things I Learned the Week of April 1 - April 7 (Plus Five Things from the Uninspiring Previous Week)

2007-03-28T13:51:00.000-07:00

1. "That's gonna leave a mark" stopped being funny around 1991.

2. If anybody gives birth in my new house, their child will be able to answer "Yes" to the question "Were you born in a barn?"

3. Kit Kat Bites are the first candy I have eaten to the point of illness since the infamous International Media Systems/Starburst Jelly Bean incident of Final Week 2001.

4. Though I'm not a fan of concerts, I find it very cool that my parents went to see Eric Clapton at The Mark.

5. One of the worst things about poor leadership is the inability to recognize just how hard everyone around is working to make up for their "superior's" shortcomings.

6. If my behavior with my new puppy, Buzz, is any indication of my behavior with my children, my kids will spend much of their time sleeping in a cage.

7. Sometimes a puppy just needs a good snuggle. Other times he needs to bite your nose.

8. Puppy teeth hurt more than grown-up dog teeth.

9. Buzz is a humper. Just like his uncle.

10. Live fantasy baseball drafts are tremendous, until the next morning when the buzz wears off and you wonder what the hell you were doing picking Chone Figgins in the ninth round (I didn't really do that).

11. Buzz is part Tigger. He bounces everywhere.

12. Going to the driving range last week was absolutely pointless thanks to this godforsaken weather.

13. Something that never gets old: raking a zombie's head off with a scythe. God bless the sick minds who came up with Dead Rising.

14. A five pound creature can still completely dominate your sleeping arrangments in a queen size bed.

15. The amount of facial hair I have correlates directly with my self-esteem from day-to-day.

Ten Things I Learned the Week of March 18 - March 25

2007-03-25T15:26:00.000-07:00

Much of the credit for this week's list goes to "The Book," a collection of questions that Beth Marsoun has to make sure that her parties are never dull.

1. "Here It Goes Again" by Ok Go makes me speed, but the band name seems to suggest that its ok.

2. John Locke is back to being my favorite character on Lost, and that makes the show infinitely better.

3. I only eat licorice in pairs, or folded in half to give the illusion of two.

4. Nikki Clark is the only girl in my long romantic history that I still have hang-ups about not pursuing as whole-heartedly as she deserved.

5. A dropped camera at a press conference is a little like a young child tripping and falling in a public place. Everybody gasps and runs to see if it's ok, and then they talk shit about the careless parent when the crowd disperses.

6. I can't tell the difference between a vegitarian and spicy italian Subway Sub. Sorry Dan. If it makes you feel any better the spicy italian gave me some serious heartburn.

7. These lists would be a whole lot more entertaining if I learned to write things down when I thought of them rather than assuring myself I'll remember.

8. Swinging a golf club feels so sweet at the time, but the next morning can be a little rough on the ribcage.

9. I thought nothing more nerveracking than asking out a beautiful girl, but putting out a lowball offer on a house I really love may take the cake.

10. KWQC's 10 o'clock newscast kicks all kinds of ass. Nearly 1 out of every 2 television sets being watched in the QC area from 10-10:30 is watching us. It's good to be the king.

Things I Learned the Week of March 11 - March 17

2007-03-18T18:41:00.000-07:00

1. There’s nothing more endearing than a super-model-hot girl absolutely eating it on a treadmill. Thank you Quatro Razor. Your commercials are truly off the hizzy.

2. And along a similar track, Becki Newton’s Amanda on Ugly Betty is the hottest woman on television. As skilled a comedienne as she is a cover girl, she’s impossible not to love even when her character is as shallow and despicable as she can be.

3. Part of me wishes spring training didn’t exist. For baseball lovers its just a big tease. Mediocre product with no consequences. I guess it doesn’t hurt to hear Steve Stone doing games every few days though.

4. For sociologically fascinated guys like me, open houses are absolutely thrilling. I could make a career out of just making up stories about the families whose houses I’ve visited.

5. The Spider-Man 3 previews are better than 95% of the movies I’ve seen in the past year.

6. I’ve fallen completely in love with a house mainly because it already has its own nickname -- The Barn.

7. HBO’s The Wire is the best television show you’re not watching (provided you finally started watching Battlestar Galactica).

8. Apparently, a boobshelf is a certain part of a female anatomy that is meant to collect portions of a meal that miss a lady's mouth.

9. Because Nintendo is notoriously slow in releasing their signature games, having a Nintendo Wii is a little like having a taste of the best sex ever just before the girl leaves for a six month tour of the moon. …. Holy shit. I think I just became the biggest nerd on the face of the planet.

10. “All that and a bag of chips” is the most retarded idiom in the English language. Does a bag of chips really up the stakes that much? Man, I thought that was great… then the Ruffles came into play and WOW!

Current Sledding Syndicate Highlight Film runtime: 9:57
Clips Remaining: 1225

Ten Things I Learned the Week of March 4 - March 10

2007-03-12T09:21:00.000-07:00

1. It's a little difficult to meet a blog deadline when you don't have internet for an entire day.

2. Winter is not kind to my waistline. No two-piece for me for a while.

3. If you use mint floss, you might want to take your contacts out first. Minty freshness should never be applied to one's retinas.

4. Any girl who can execute an uncoached, non-requested exploding pound automatically jumps at least a point on the 10 scale. I think that means the exploding pound has just created the ultra-rare 11.

5. Since I didn't become one myself, and I really should have, I think I'm destined to marry a teacher.

6. It's impossible to be "dark and mysterious" while wearing a stick-on nametag.

7. Don't judge a comedian by his sitcom. George Lopez defines harmless mediocre television sitcoms, but his past two stand-up specials have been two of the funniest I've seen in my life.

8. Taking my favorite show of the past five years out of my TiVO was just about as bad a break-up as I've had in recent years. I'm sorry 24. It's me, not you... No wait. It is you. Plus I found a new sweetheart down the dial. She's named Friday Night Lights.

9. After renewing my quest to create the greatest home video of all time, I'm now certain that one of my dearest friends should be dead today.

10. Sometimes, you just have to sleep on the couch.

Quote of the week: "He's nice the way your uncle who molested you is nice." -- Beth Marsoun

Current Sledding Syndicate Highlight Film running time: 4:58
Clips still available: 1553

Ten Things I Learned the Week of February 25 - March 3

2007-03-06T22:03:00.000-08:00

Welcome kids to my new blog. It's simple, to the point, and it'll give you something new to look forward to on Sundays. It's called Ten Things I Learned this Week. So, without further ado....

1. An entire night with a high school senior as my intern showed me that even ten years later I still have nothing to say to high school girls.

2. According to a new pop hit bouncing about the airwaves, the new definition of love is giving your special someone their very own ringtone. Oh how I long for the day when I can look forward to Don't Cha blaring from my cell.

3. OCD + RPG = Where the fuck did my weekend go?

4. If you sleep by candlelight, plan on hacking some black in the morning.

5. How long do you wait to call a girl who just got out of a lengthy relationship? I didn't learn the answer to that question, but the fact that she has a new boyfriend is probably a sign I waited too long.

6. There is no answer to the question "What is news?"

7. It's possible to be pissed at a friend for doing what is in their best interest (it's only cause I miss you already Jas).

8. I need to find a sweet girl posthaste. Lonely Phil = Phil on the verge of doing something stupid.

9. Having over 1000 clips to sort through will drive you to homicide when you can't find the ONE CLIP that you need to finish the opening credits of the greatest home video of all time.

10. The Chicago Cubs are the closest I will ever come to a religion, which just proves my point that religion at its core is a completely irrational enterprise.

27th Birthday Q&A

2007-01-22T21:29:00.000-08:00

So, three years ago, fully entrenched in my first year of blogging, I decided I needed some sort of staple for my birthday, to see how I've changed over the years. I fell upon James Lipton's questionnaire from the end of Inside the Actor's Studio. Here is this year's compilation.

Phil (dramatic pause) what is your favorite word?

25: Asinine
26: Grace (as in that of a dancer)
27: Hubris

What is your least favorite word?

25: Dude.
26: Job,
27: Lastly

What turns you on?

25: Intelligent conversation.
26: Grace.
27: Simplicity

What turns you off?

25: Ignorance, and indifference to one’s own ignorance.
26: Bad and/or irrational arguments.
27: Low self-esteem with a dash of desperation

What sound do you love?

25: The ticking clock theme from 24.
26: Rain with a dash of distant thunder.
27: The ambiance of an afternoon game at Wrigley Field

What sound do you hate?

25: My dog, Scamp, barking at the raccoons at three in the morning.
26: Wire hangers scraping against the metal crossbeam in my mother's fabric room.
27: The unwanted cheerleading of an inept weekend producer.

What profession, other than yours, would you like to attempt?

25: Chicago Cubs’ play-by-play man. I’d say starting pitcher, but who are we kidding?
26: Well, being that I'm unemployed, I can pick anything here. Dramatic television writer.
27: Sportscaster.

What profession, other than yours, would you not like to participate in?

25: Anything involving tips. Never again.
26: We're gonna stick with last year's on that one.
27: TV Reporter

What is your favorite curse word?

25: Bullshit or horseshit. Any word involving animal excrement I find quite delightful.
26: Bollocks.
27: Fuck

Finally, if heaven exists, what would you like God to say when you arrive at the pearly gates?

“I suppose I have some explaining to do.” This answer will never change.

Smitten (With a Catch?)

2007-01-04T22:38:00.000-08:00

Allow me a moment to describe my present physical state. My heart rate is elevated. My stomach is in knots. My palms are sweating. I’m typing furiously; it’s all I can do to channel my nervous energy. My eyes are burning, but I can’t fall asleep. And my face has broken out in a way it hasn’t since high school. I used an Oxy pad tonight for the first time since the 10th grade.

And what is it that has me in such a sad state? It’s simple. A beautiful girl has my phone number.

I can hear the social elite in my audience scoff. Ooo. Big deal. I know most people exchange numbers (and other things) like they’re passing out Tic Tacs. Well, I don’t. And since my last phone conversation with her, all I want to do is talk to her again. I left two messages with her this evening, and it’s taking everything in my being not to call again.

What the hell is wrong with me? This is why I have self-diagnosed myself socially retarded. Fortunately for me, it’s not a chronic condition. It only appears when I am utterly smitten with a girl. How do I classify smitten? For me, there’s a very specific physical symptom. I’ll find myself thinking about her, drift off into my head, and when I come back to the real world, I’ll be grinning ear-to-ear. I haven’t been smitten in… I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been smitten. Attracted, yes. I’ve crushed quite frequently. But not smitten. Never. I’ve never been so utterly charmed by a girl that the mere thought of her makes me smile involuntarily. I got caught doing just that today in the sports office.

Dan walked in and stopped just inside the door.

“What are you grinning about?” he asked.

I smiled just a little wider. I was proud of my answer.

“A beautiful girl,” I told him.

“God bless you,” he endorsed, in his best T.C. impression.

I’ve found myself drifting off as I’ve been writing this. Unfortunately, I’m reminded of some of the stupid things I’ve said to her over the past couple days and then I just want to bang my head on my laptop.

I’m about to reveal a very personal secret to you all now. I’m not proud to admit it, but it’s essential to the rest of this story. I’m going to tell you how you can determine which girls I’m romantically interested in.

I make a complete jackass out of myself in front of them.

The last girl who got my heart rate up caused me to walk into a doorjamb. And that girl was nothing compared to the one I can’t stop thinking about now. My jackassery in this case comes in the form of bad jokes. Really bad. Now, those who already know and love me will tell you -- I’m a pretty funny guy. When I’m at the top of my game, you better have Depends handy. Tonight, there was a running joke in the office involving an e-mail that I absolutely knocked out of the park, repeatedly. I turned my producer so red with laughter Kool-Aid man would have been jealous. But I told this girl a joke tonight that not only killed our conversation, but may have creeped her out just a bit.

There’s a much wiser version of me in the back of my head who is screaming at the top of his lungs “JESUS! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? THAT’S NOT FUNNY! IT’S NOT EVEN CLOSE TO FUNNY! YOU FREAKY BASTARD! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

Hmm. That was a lot of caps.

Oh well.

It’s a good thing I have a bite plate to prevent me from grinding my teeth at night. Because every time I think of that joke…

Part of me feels like I need to justify my insanity when it comes to this girl. Thankfully, I started a list. It started off as a joke (a charming, if not funny one) during one of our conversations, but it’ll help me feel a little less crazy this evening.

It’s a little like Jeff Foxworthy. While his famous line goes “You might be a redneck if…,” my line goes “you might be my dream girl if…” Some of these are completely silly and superficial and I include them only to give as complete a picture as possible.

1. She loves her family above all other things. (She does).
2. She’s modest enough to go bowling on a first date (She is).
3. She’s a natural brunette, official hair color of the girl next door (She is).
4. She hates American Idol as much as I do (She does).
5. She has a dusting of freckles (She does)
6. She has a smile that lights up a room (She does, and the only reason I make bad jokes is because I’m desperate to see as much of it as possible).
7. Pure and simple, she’s sweet (She is one of the sweetest I’ve ever encountered).
8. She forces me to act outside my nature in a good way (The fact that I gave her my number AND called her is proof enough that this one is true).
9. She has great legs (Superficial, but she has amazing legs).
10. She’s an expert spooner (No proof yet, but dying to find out).
11. Everything about her is so perfect, I can’t help but wonder what the catch is (hopefully the catch isn’t that she never calls me back).

That’s just eleven. I have 24. In one weekend I have 24. But the most important one -- and I’m going by the evidence of our last conversation, not the fact that I haven’t heard from her tonight -- she seems to like me. I don’t know if I deserve that. I’m being a complete crazy bastard staying up late and writing about this girl I barely know. But I want to know her better. I want her to know me better -- to know that I’m not a complete lunatic once I’m comfortable enough to be me and not try to make so many DAMN JOKES.

See this… this is why I’ve been single for two years. Well, the fact that I haven’t been interested in anyone before this girl is a part of it. But a bigger part is this is the only aspect of my life where I am stupid, with plenty of room to be stupider. I am crazy smart, confident, charming, funny… blah blah blah blah blah -- but then along comes a beautiful brunette with bright blue eyes and a megawatt smile and I lose it. I run into walls. I have to handcuff myself to a chair so I don’t leave her 60 voice messages. I write three page blogs about her when I barely know her. This girl has made me completely insane, even though my friends can attest I’m one of the least crazy, most reasonable kids on the block (and if any of you frequent readers would like to swear to that effect I’d appreciate you leaving a comment -- you never know if she might stop by). But this girl has made me absolutely nuts.

I'm praying she doesn’t hold my insanity against me.

I'm praying she calls.

If she does, well, she very well may be my dream girl.

The End of the Longest Year

2006-12-29T10:39:00.000-08:00

Even after falling off the face of the earth for the last three months of 2006, I can't help but look back at my bountiful contributions to the blogosphere this past year and marvel that I had so much free time on my hands. Yes, as the year wore on my voracious appetite for the clatter of a keyboard diminished as my life got busier and my brother got safer, but as I look back on the year that was, I am overcome by the many trials both myself and my loved ones endured in the most tumultuous year I can recall.

To give you proper perspective on how far we've come this year, I'll direct you to my first blog of 2006. Only a handful of people have ever seen this post. I posted it on a blog I coyly described as my "black site," a blog separate from The Longest Year that constituted my own personal essays that were too "gloom and doom" for the site I set up for my family. My cousin Brian knew about it. My friend Jasmyne knew about it. And my brother knew about it. But that's it. I'm sharing it now only because a year of hindsight and perspective would likely soften the gravity of my family's situation last December. But my less prescient avatar of a year ago brings it all back.

At this time last year I was unemployed, having recently been laid off from an unbearable job in the Thoms Proestler warehouse that only exacerbated my malaise over my brother's deployment to Iraq. My only solace came from my Playstation that efficiently whittled away the hours in my day as well as contributing to an unprecedented and unsightly weight gain. I reached the pinnacle of my girth at 235, the highest weight I've ever tallied -- including my ramen obsessed college years. And with all this going on, I know you are all shocked -- SHOCKED -- to learn I was also a bachelor. Any other doubts about my dire situation at the start of 2006? Take a look at my birthday present from the city of Rock Island. And the fact that my birthday comes the month after Christmas is no excuse.

The winter months passed with no change on the employment front, but what was disastrous for my bank account proved invaluable in helping my family acclimate themselves to the anxiety of a family at war. As the new year began, my brother and I started having regular conversations over instant messenger. Not only did this afford me the opportunity to update my family with alarming regularity, it also allowed me to compile two "Rolling Stone" articles between myself and my brother (revisit them here and here). Those two stories and one other (which I'll get to later) are three of my favorite pieces I've ever written.

About the time I got a trash can for my birthday, things started to turn around. Not pleased with my ever-expanding ass, I took the lead from my mother and got on Weight Watchers. Since I had inherited her tendency to eat when stressed, I knew that if I didn't get control of my caloric intake I'd make quick work of even my most forgiving elastic waistbands. By the end of the summer I had lost over forty pounds and scratched the surface of the 180's (which I had not seen since high school). Despite a few awkward side-effects to my new eating habits and exercise regimine, I shaved off my extra chin and I'm proud to say it has not grown back despite my slightly increased gluttony over the holidays (you try saying "No" to mom's broccoli casserole).

After a couple months playing biographer for my brother, good fortune finally came my way on March 22nd, when the television station of my youth called to offer me a job. The next day I joined KWQC's studio crew. The fact that I'm working at the number one television in my hometown has become old hat (unless you're impressed by it, at which point I will say "bask in my glorious self-importance"), but after spending four years bartending, warehousing, and retailing, finally getting a job in a medium to which my talents are suited was a godsend. It's led to some of the best moments of my life (as well as a prescription for anti-anxiety medication Three cheers for elevated heart rate!!).

The world of news introduced me to myraid new things, the first of which was MySpace. Within my first month on the studio crew, I joined the social network along with a bevy of my coworkers. I got settled just in time for the infamous Bloggergate -- in which a disgruntled and borderline insane director posted a venomous diatribe about my boss' religious persuasion. The director was suspended for a week and all of us in the studio were gloriously entertained. Aside from centralizing the office gossip, MySpace also served as a tremendous hub for communicating with Andrew and his legions of fans.

And that communication became increasingly important as things in Iraq deteriorated. From the destruction to the Golden Mosque to the burgeoning civil war, we received weekly updates from Andrew regarding the troubling situation. And just when it seemed the US had scored a major victory in the death of al-qaeda in Iraq leader Al-Zarqawi, fate dealt my family a swift backhand. The night after that momentous kill, my brother's humvee hit an IED that obliterated his vehicle and seriously injured both himself and his driver. Naturally, our world stopped as Andrew was put on a plane and sent back to the States. The attack severed a nerve in his leg, an injury that will be with him for the rest of his life. Andrew has adjusted well to the injury -- his mobility is quite remarkable considering everything -- but he will face many difficult trials ahead as his military career winds down.

Speaking of career changes, I made a drawn out transition from studio grunt to full-time photojournalist. The promotion has not been void of blessings, though I miss many of the hubris-lite folks I worked with in the studio. Three months in news and I'm still wondering whether it's an appropriate fit for me. I thought I was a pretty cynical guy until I started working in news where a good day at the office usually means somebody was shot, killed, maimed or had their house burn down. There's nothing more distasteful than showing up at a person's front door because your assignment editor heard a 1079 call (coroner requested) only to have a police officer shoo you away because it was a natural death. And instead of informing people, we tend to just scare and alarm them. Perspective is anti-thetical to our news philosophy.

However, my new position has had its fair share of upside. The first is money. Hopefully by the time baseball comes around I will be watching Alfonso Soriano's Cubs debut in my own home. For a self-appointed loner like myself, having a place of my own is essential. The other blessing has been my induction into the revered Highlight Zone. Of all the things we do at KWQC, the Highlight Zone is the only thing that is guaranteed to be positive from top to bottom. It's a rush like no other and it's pretty much assurred I will be up until four in the morning on Friday nights, because it's quite the chore coming down from a night of Zoning.

A side benefit of getting into the Zone mix was finally being able to fulfill a childhood dream: producing the Rock Island Football highlight film. For those who didn't get it for Christmas in glorious DVD form -- you can check out a much blockier version on my MySpace page. Although I would advise you wait if you're ever going to watch the real thing.

So, that was pretty much my year. I'm sure I'm forgetting a handful of worthy anecdotes (ever tried to keep a camera steady while a tiger cub is pawing at your crotch?), but this was long enough. To finish up, I'll leave you with a list of my favorite blogs of the past year and five things I intend to do in 2007.

Happy New Year all. Don't be strangers.

Top 5 Blogs of 2007

1. The Hum
2. Garfield, Your Ass is Next
3. Identity Crisis: Am I Funny?
4. The Hot 111
5. Apparently, I Need a Girlfriend

Top 5 Resolutions for 2007

1. Buy a House
2. Finish the Sledding Syndicate Highlight Film
3. Remember Who Matters
4. Start My Brother's Book
5. Find a Girlfriend and End the Joke

Dreams Come True, But They Take F**king Forever

2006-11-25T18:26:00.000-08:00

The last time I so much as looked at a blog was October 15. For those who recall, and I'll completely understand if you've forgotten me, I mentioned that I would be living a dream after Dan Pearson passed the honors of the Rocky highlight film off to me. Well, the reason I haven't posted anything in a month and ten days is that dream job has completely taken over my life. Whether it was importing video, logging, editing, smashing my face on the keyboard -- all of my spare time has been devoted to this project. I'm free to write this now because I've just finished watching my final cut. I still have titles to add, but I've hired out for that work. So, all of the editing -- the plays and the like -- is done. I've watched the final film, and I'm happy with it. As happy as a person like me gets with something anyway. It's the best work I've ever done. I can say that honestly. Whether I'm completely satisfied with it or not is another matter. It could have been much more, but that would require going back to the start of the season and having complete foresight of the season to come. Since I can't do that, I can only look ahead to next year with a new awareness of what I want and need in terms of footage.

I'm extremely nervous about showing this film outside of my family environs. First of all, this is a very different project than is usually churned out by TV6 sports. Music selection alone couldn't be any different. Perfect example -- my predecessors music catalogue deals exclusively in Christian music. My highlight film ends with Jay-Z and Linkin Park. It's a radio edit, but my mother gasped when H-E-Double Hockey Sticks was uttered in the film. Naturally, the kids are going to love this film start to finish. But I'm worried about disrespecting the people who allowed me to do this in the first place.

Oh well. I have to be my own man.

Speaking of... Christian music... I guess...

Weird moment of the day -- I got offered a freelance gig producing a video for the Salvation Army. I would have thought Christians would know a heathen when they saw one. Apparently not.

I thought when I started working in news, I'd have all sorts of stories to share. Well, I do have stories. I just can't share them so much. There has been an unreal amount of drama in my life since landing my photojournalist position, both socially and professionally. But it would be unwise of me to express too much of that on here. I'll just say that the work environment at KWQC has seriously saddened me, and it only continues to get worse as lose good experienced people and replace them with maddeningly green college graduates. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. If you're family or friends (who I see in person), I'll certainly share a yarn or two over drinks. But this is not the forum to air grievances when a few coworkers on my friends list. I don't want to become THAT guy (Do I Jules?)

Still, the upside that I'm looking to in the relatively near future... I'm buying a house sometime in the spring. No more apartments. I want a house. The money is being put away as we speak, slowly but surely. And provided there are no financial disasters coming, I should have the money I need/want in the bank by March.

But even better than that... if I get a house... soon to follow... a dog.

Eye on the ball.

Love at First Sight Means Walking Into a Wall (and other news)

2006-10-17T20:41:00.000-07:00

It’s been a long time since I’ve suffered an immediate, overwhelming attraction to someone. Well, no sooner do I get back in the game, then I wind up on the DL.

Sitcoms and romantic comedies beat the painful introduction gag into the ground. They call them meet-cutes. Generally, a meet-cute involves a male becoming so enraptured with a woman that he opens himself to bodily injury -- a door to the face, a clunk on the head, etc. I didn’t experience a meet-cute in the traditional sense, only because my unfortunate foible did not occur in sight of my new crush.

To say I have a weakness for brunettes is like saying Krytonite makes Superman a tad itchy. It's pretty ridiculous, this thing I have for the dark-haired lot, and after seeing this girl, I can also say it is potentially harmful to my person. This girl is a knock-out, but there was something accessible about her that allowed me to manage a half-hour or so of conversation without making a complete ass out of myself. At least, I don't remember making a complete ass out of myself. It was sort of an out-of-body experience. I could have been speaking latin and not noticed, especially once she was close enough that I noticed the most amazing green eyes I've ever seen.

Eventually we went our separate ways (we met on a story), but I kept my eye on her, hoping I might find a window for some more conversation after things had wrapped up. And it was this stalker eye that nearly resulted in a cracked sternum.

As I was making the rounds through Clinton's first habitat house, I saw her doing an interview outside when I was suddenly and abruptly introduced to a doorframe, hitting it in such a way that I could not save either my body or my ego from intense bruising. No spin move. No deceleration. Just a hard, blunt, thump. A sound like “HNN!” escaped me before I slid to the ground,a pulsing stripe of pain stamped from my right collar bone, down my ribcage, and just past my groin.

This kind of thing plays so much better in the movies. In real life, there’s no charm involved. It just fucking hurts.

However, even with the loss of breath and the whiplash, I’m actually pleased that I’ve developed an interest in another human being after a long spell of dormancy. I’ve suffered from career myopia for most of this past year, and with my full attention devoted to those exploits, it didn’t leave much room for anything else. However, now that I’m getting into a groove in a job that I finally enjoy, I’m in a place where I can start to enjoy the beautiful things in life. Not only that, I don’t think my own self-worth has ever been higher, so I may actually have the courage to act on my attractions once in a while.

Sorry Julia, I’m determined to kill our favorite inside joke.

Dreams Come True

All my life I’ve always dreamed big. Blockbuster movies, book series, and the like. Up until recently I didn’t realize that I had much more modest dreams in amongst the epics, and to my surprise those smaller wishes are proving just as fulfilling.

During my sophomore year in high school, I set out to challenge a giant (or a giant in my eyes). A staple of the Rock Island High School football banquet was the varsity highlight film put together by Dan Pearson of KWQC. As much as I would come to revere Dan and all his hard work, as a cocky 16 year-old I thought I could do better. So, I put together a Sophomore highlight film with the full intention of shaming Pearson’s effort. Well, naturally Pearson’s highlight film was the hit of banquet, and despite the underground acclaim mine garnered, it did not even get played at that night.

Ten years later, Dan Pearson and I are coworkers at KWQC and co-conspirators on the Highlight Zone. Because of that working relationship, I’ve realized that Dan doesn’t have a whole lot of free time. This guy does everything. The Highlight Zone by itself is a monumental undertaking, but he’s also one of KWQC’s most community conscious employees. He’s all over the place. And when you have that many commitments, it’s a struggle to meet all the demands placed on you. So, this week I decided to take one of those commitments off his hands.

I am now the producer of the Rock Island High School Football Highlight Film.

For those who don’t know, this has been a tragic season for the Rocks. During the Alleman game, a young man named Travis Hearn broke his neck on a fluke play. He is now paralyzed from the armpits down and is rehabilitating in a hospital in Chicago. While this injury has been devastating to Hearn’s family, and a to a lesser degree, the Rocks, it brought to life a wondrous generosity in the towns and communities around the area. The fundraisers and benefits have been frequent and highly productive. It has been a remarkable thing to see, and it makes me very proud to live where I do.

This is part of the reason I wanted to be involved in the Highlight Film. This year it’s significance is a little bigger than usual. It’s a tribute to a team, a player, and a community, and I have very big plans for it.

I just hope that my talents live up to my lofty ambitions.

On With It Already

2006-09-28T10:25:00.000-07:00

I'm a slave to routine. I only seem to function at prime capacity when I know what to expect from a given day, week, or month. When things are unsettled, just about everything in my life suffers. I only commit to those things that I absolutely must do, and everything else is forgotten or ignored.

With this admission, I ask for your patience and understanding. Since my transfer from part time studio grunt to full-time photojournalist has been, at best, tumultuous, I've had little time or energy to commit to my other passions, specifically my blog and my video opus, The Sledding Syndicate. I expect to eventually get back to these things when I get my schedule in order, but the timeframe for that has been extended repeatedly over the past month.

The blogging really upsets me because I've had no shortage of stories to tell since this news nonsense began. I've resorted to keeping a video diary simply because I want this weird time documented, but I just don't have the patience to sit down and write all this crap down.

Of course, this might seem hypocritical -- I am writing this, after all -- but I'm writing this at my desk, having just gotten back from a 1079 (dead body) that turned out to be a natural death. Talk about a distasteful experience. But other than the occasional emergency call, I'm extremely bored working dayside -- most of my friends and my usual shift are all on nightside -- and I can't wait for my normal schedule to begin.

I'm hoping that once I'm back nightside, fully entrenched in my usual grind, things will even out and I'll be able to get back to the fun I was enjoying before the transfer drama began. The only thing I've been able to enjoy since I got this promotion have been the Highlight Zone on Fridays and Studio 60 on Mondays; this just makes me sad. On paper, my life has seen a huge upswing, but in execution things have played out much differently.

I just have no patience with this training nonsense, mostly because there's no training involved. So, if I'm just going to be left to my own devices, I'd much rather do it in the company of my friends rather than the dour depressed, and disenchanted daysiders.

Somebody, please help me. I need my nightlife back.

Rantings of a Young Man in Flux

2006-09-18T11:05:00.000-07:00

Greetings adoring masses.

It’s odd feeling guilty about my infrequent updates considering all of six people and one monkey actually take the time to read these damn things (and the monkey only found me on accident), but considering the past couple months have been nothing short of epic in their significance, I have to say I’m due for a serious update.

I think my entire family has been in decompression mode over the past two to three months. With Andrew out of harm’s way, or at least out of firing range, everybody has taken a moment to get used to living without The Hum, or at least getting used to The Hum on a different frequency. So, the habitual e-mailing has stopped. The phone calls have become as infrequent as they were when Andrew was overseas. And I think most of us, sadly, pay shameful little attention to the news now that we know he won’t be on it. I’m sure my brother keeps good tabs on his guys, but when they come back in November I’m sure he’ll put on the blinders like the rest of us.

All of this has had a disastrous effect on my blogging. I’m sure this is merely an inevitable valley after being at peak operating status during Andrew’s deployment, and I’ll get back to a more modest writing frequency in time. However, setting up a blog for my brother and I to share was perhaps overly optimistic. I still have hope for it, especially after Andrew knocked me out of the Fantasy Baseball playoffs last night after I manhandled him throughout the regular season. We’ll see if he jumps at that opportunity. Sadly, after sending us war stories for seven months, I understand all too well how anything we could write now will inevitably seem embarassingly pedestrian.

On that note…

A few weeks back I posted a brief blurb on my promotion from studio crew bitch to photo-journalist (newsroom bitch). Well, since then I’ve exhausted myself with training and the station bureaucracy. I worked a number for 12-14 hour days on both sides of the line, keeping my normal schedule on studio crew while training with the news folk.

I’m not a person who handles being “in flux” very well, and thanks to the childish animosity between news and production I’ve essentially been in that state since I received the promotion. It’s hard to tell if the lack of consideration my transfer has garnered is apathy on the part of my superiors, or perhaps that’s just the status quo. I don’t handle disorder well, and working without a regular schedule without knowing when certain logistical priorities will be worked out has driven me slightly mad. My training has been largely improvised -- I set my own schedule around my time in the studio -- and after my first bad night on the Highlight Zone this past Friday it became readily apparent that its been inadequate as well.

If there’s a silver lining to that disaster it’s that nobody noticed but me. This is good in that it clearly wasn’t as bad as I thought it was, but it was bad in that I was furious about the staggeringly low quality of my work. I think most people see me as a fairly low-key, even keel Joe. Well, that even keel has a lot to do with apathy. I’m not going to get riled up over something I don’t give a shit about. Unfortunately, I’ve finally landed a job that I want to excel at, and I will be very unhappy any time I turn in something less than stellar. And Friday was certainly less than stellar. It’s a tale I’ll happily tell again over Thanksgiving dinner, but the wound is still fresh and my knuckles can’t take any more wall-punching.

So, this post was originally going to be a brief heads-up about some upcoming entertainment offerings, but… you know… tangents. Anyway, let’s get to the task at hand.

-- Tonight, my favorite new show, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip debuts. I’ve watched the pilot three more times since writing up my first review, and I’ll watch it again tonight (it’s in HD after all). I love love love this show, which makes me worry that it’s too smart to find an audience (Sports Night anyone?). So, I beg you to give it a chance. You don’t even have to give the full episode a try. If you get through the powerful opening and the introduction of Matt and Danny (Matthew Perry and Bradley Whitford) without being as smitten as I am, then you’re welcome to change the channel. Although I don’t think you will. Also coming later this week are the season premieres of two of my favorites: The Office and Grey’s Anatomy -- both on the same night, Thursday.

-- Last week Nintendo announced the release date and price for its new console, Wii. To give you an idea of how much I’m looking forward to this, I already have enough store credit at GameCrazy to get both the system and the new Legend of Zelda game for free. I can’t rationalize my excitement for this -- I haven’t yet played anything on the system -- but it is what it is, and I won’t apologize for it. Of course, it’s not going to help me find a girlfriend.

-- The most important event this week occurs on Tuesday -- the release of Battlestar Galactica season 2.5. This is, without question, my favorite television program of all time. I realize I gave that title to Lost a year ago, but watching Battlestar while my brother was away at war -- nothing could match the relevance and poignancy of this program in the context of our own political realities. This is just about the toughest sell I could find when it comes to recommendations, but I’m going to try by demolishing some of the misconceptions you might have about this show.

First, this is not the Battlestar people remember from twenty years ago. Today’s Battlestar is gritty, dark, and relevant in a way no show could have been in the 70’s and 80’s. Second, get over the genre. At its best, science fiction is unmatched in its ability to wield allegory as a weapon, and no science fiction work in the past twenty years has a sharper blade than Battlestar. This show makes you think unlike any show in recent memory. Questions like “Who are the good guys?” and “At what point do the good guys become bad guys?” never get asked in your standard television fare, but in Battlestar, these questions are the heart of the show. To call BSG a watercooler show does not do it justice. This show could be the basis for a college political science course. That’s how smart and complex it is.

This show will break your heart, quicken your pulse, and test your beliefs in equal measure. This is must see television of the highest order. If you have Netflix, put BSG at the top of your queue. You might just be caught up by the time it returns in the first week in October.

You can thank me later.

I'm Hired? F**k!!

2006-09-03T17:01:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, I received a promotion -- I might even consider it a major promotion -- from studio grunt to full-blown photo-journalist. Instead of spending my days locked in the studio shooting newcasts, I'll be hitting the streets with reporters to shoot stories. This is the job I had in mind when I joined KWQC six months ago, and now I have it.

Shit.

This is just about the most major happening of my life since I graduated college. I finally landed a job tailored to my skills and talents, one that could open many doors that had been previously closed to me. It's a job that changes from day-to-day -- something that is essential to prevent the typical ennui that settled in every other place I have worked. It's a job with urgency and pressing demand, something that sounds awful but usually brings out the best in me. Aside from the fact my writing skills won't be put to much use, this is the perfect job for me at this stage in the game.

However, I'd be lying if I didn't say I have my doubts -- in my abilities and in the job itself. The newsroom I'm joining is teetering on the edge of serious upheaval. The departure that has given me this opportunity appears to be the first of many in what could turn out to be a major exodus from the station. If we start hemorrhaging people like the Titanic it's certainly not going to make things easier on those of us who stay onboard -- especially when we're relatively new to our positions. And though I usually pick up on things really quickly, I worry that my usual dexterity and adaptability will abandon me now that I need it the most.

Of course, this is probably just the normal pre-employment panic that would follow me wherever, but since the stakes are pretty high this time (hell, there really haven't been stakes career wise up to this point) I'm just a little edgier than usual. Well, hopefully after three weeks of training, I'll be a little more confident. Thank God I'm going to get eased into this or I might seriously lose my mind.

Anyway, keep your eyes out, kiddies, and if you see me driving past in my channel six vehicle say "Hello Quad Cities!" and I promise to mock you incessantly with my coworkers.

Can You Handle My Random?

2006-08-28T12:04:00.000-07:00

*** Two days ago I had a dream that I woke up early in the morning to find my brother chowing down on a taco pizza that somebody had delivered to our house by mistake. Then last night I dreamt that I was in my room and my father yelled from the front of the house “WHO ORDERED A FUCKING TACO PIZZA!!!” I’ve never had a recurring dream in my life, and yet I now have a recurring cameo by Taco Pizza. My subconscious is lame.

*** I got a ten dollar check from Superman for helping capture Lex Luthor (in a Pepsi promotion). No need to thank me citizens. I’m just doing my part.

*** Can we please stop talking about Pluto like we blew it up? All the news programs talk about our solar system shrinking like its apocalyptic, when it’s really just a battle of semantics.

*** Note to photographers. Winks are not meant to be photographed. This struck me when I came across the poster for Lindsay Lohan’s Just My Luck. Lindsay Lohan is a pretty girl, but there’s something very down syndrome about a wink frozen in time. Ironically, with only one eye open she looks just a bit cross-eyed. Not to mention winks in photos recall those unpleasant mornings when your eyes get crusted shut, and who wants to…. yuck. Beauty is based on symmetry, and winks are inherently unsymmetrical. So stop making pretty girls wink for photos.

Speaking of beautiful girls…

*** I relinquished a Man Card last week when I received the latest Maxim magazine in the mail. On the cover was desperate housewife and Maxim Top 100 champ (for two years running) Eva Longoria. And as I examined the scantily clad, delicately air brushed frame of this latest It Girl I realized… there’s just nothing there for me. Now, I realize, empirically, Eva Longoria is a very attractive woman, but there is zero attraction for me. I think it’s cause there’s something very Beauty Queen about her look, very processed and glossy, that is antithetical to my particular tastes. I like beauty without the effort, and it’s clear that Longoria has to work very hard to look like she does on the cover of Maxim.

*** Though I often have little interest in what they’re talking about, I find myself watching a great deal of G4 lately, especially Attack of the Show and X-Play. For those who like wry, cynical, sarcastic humor, these shows have just about the highest concentration you’re going to find -- think House for the First-Person Shooter set. Sure they’re shows about video games, but watching somebody glibly eviscerate a bad video game is just as entertaining as watching somebody else glibly eviscerate a bad movie. Plus, the channel had the good taste to land the syndication rights to Arrested Development; clearly they’re a lot more intelligent than we might give them credit for.

*** This is really for only three or four people, but hopefully they’ll appreciate it. We have a young man on our studio crew who we’re all very fond of, and he has a tendency to do things when he thinks people aren’t looking -- like dance, for example. It’s a source of great amusement for us from time to time. However, never more so than last week when his dancing mixed with the song that was currently occupying my subconscious: Justin Timberlake’s "SexyBack" Suddenly, I was seeing our young Alex transplanted into Timberlake’s uber-sweaty, black and white music video, strutting down the hallways of a swank hotel to Timbaland’s finely crafted beats. I then proceeded to laugh nearly to the point of incontinence. For those who know Alex -- or A.Brown, as his peeps refer to him -- go check out Timberlake’s video, then picture Alex as the star, especially during the dancing and pimp-walkin' cuts. If that doesn’t make you laugh -- well, you should probably let me know so I can double my therapy sessions.

*** My favorite talk show personality, Ed Schultz, recently played a highly comical ditty by comic Ed Schwartz called "Clinton Got a Blowjob". The song itself is hilarious and worth checking out, but my interest in it had little to do with the tune and more with the censors. Clearly, blowjob can’t go out on the airwaves in the middle of the afternoon, but what I found amazing wasn’t the fact that it was bleeped, but how it was bleeped. Blowjob is a unique bit of profanity in that it is constructed from two innocuous words that are only offensive when slammed together. Usually compound vulgarities have one word definitively more offensive than the other: cocksucker, motherfucker, God damnit. Not so with blowjob. For the most part you can get away with saying either in casual conversation without anybody passing out in their chairs, but mashed up together… whole other story. So, which of these harmless words do we bleep? The case could be made for either. Do the censors change it up? Throw a little of their own artistic flair into things? Perhaps we bleep "blow" in the first verse, "job" in the second? Maybe throw in a full word bleep now and again? If you think this whole thing is a bit silly, consider that somewhere, in some board room at the FCC, this exact conversation took place. Ha. Prudes are funny, especially when it comes to language.

Speaking of language…

*** On the same drive where I was introduced to “Clinton Got a Blowjob” I also came across an advertising slogan that I had heard many a time, but had never actually listened to. “With a name like Smuckers, it must be good.” Really? "Smuckers?" That’s a name that -- by the mere sound of it -- fills one with a confidence of quality? I can think of many names that would instill more confidence in quality than "Smuckers." I mean, "Smuckers" is no Jessica-Alba-Naked-On-My-Futon. With a name like that, I could say with nearly 100% confidence that it must be good. But Smuckers? If we break that down to its meaning, Smuckers are people who Smuck. That doesn’t necessarily sound like something I’d want to be a part of. In fact, it sounds like something I’d warn strangers of if I saw it on the street. “Hey, watch your step, man. Somebody smucked over there.” And nothing ruins your day like stepping in a big puddle of smuck.

Half-hearted Emmy Wish List

2006-08-27T09:18:00.000-07:00

Last year I wrote a two or three page blog on what I hoped for from Emmy night. However, since most of my favorite shows aren't represented -- Lost, Battlestar, Deadwood -- I can do this rather briefly.

I hope anything drama related goes to 24 (Keifer,Itzin, Smart, Best Drama). I'd be satisfied with a Denis Leary win for Best Actor though. I just think Keifer is due.

For comedy, I'm 100% behind Scrubs with The Office as my back-up.

We'll see what happens at the end of the night. Meanwhile I'll be watching the end of Deadwood and the Cubs/Cards game on Sunday Night Baseball. I refuse to take part in the actual telecast until they learn to stop pulling nominees out of their backside.

Top 25 Favorite Television Characters

2006-08-24T10:17:00.001-07:00

In the past couple days I ran into a pair of provocative lists by two of Hollywoods more interesting creative minds. It all started when James Gunn, the director of Slither and husband of The Office’s Jenna Fischer (BASTARD!) posted a list of his 25 favorite television characters. This was quickly followed up by Buffy mastermind Joss Whedon’s own list on Whedonesque. This got me thinking about my own favorites, and here’s the list I came up with at the kitchen table over a delicious bowl of Rice Chex.

My self-imposed stipulations:
-- All picks had to be made from memory. That means I forgot a few people who could have been on this list. Julian Sark from Alias, one of my favorite villains of all time, completely slipped my mind.
-- No miniseries were involved unless they became regular series (i.e. Battlestar Galactica, The 4400)
-- Because many of my shows involve large ensembles (Deadwood, Lost, West Wing) I’ve limited myself to two characters per show.
-- No animation or Puppets. Sorry Brak and Statler and Waldorf.
-- Because I wanted this list to be at least reasonably interesting, I’ve done my best to avoid leads whenever possible. Veronica Mars, Buffy, Sydney Bristow, Ed Stevens -- none of these shows would exist without them, but this list could get really boring if I just ran through the main character of every one of my favorite shows.

So, here are my Top 25...

1. Dr. Cox (John C. McGinley) -- Scrubs

The quotable grouch who, in spite of himself, can’t help but show his soft and creamy center every now and then. If you don’t love Dr. Cox “You’re wrong. You’re wrong. You’re wrooooooooooooooooong.”

2. Josh Lyman (Bradley Whitford) -- The West Wing

My favorite West Wing season, season 2, dealt a great deal with Josh Lyman’s recovery from an assassination attempt (it earned Whitford and Emmy). The charming rascal of The West Wing cast.

3. Jack Bauer (Keifer Sutherland) -- 24

The biggest badass on television. That being said we often forget that this whole adventure started with a man trying to rescue his family. 24 is all about one character's battle to retain his humanity in impossible situations. Television crack.

4. Willow (Alyson Hannigan) -- Buffy the Vampire Slayer

My favorite character evolution over the course of the series. From wallflower to uber-witch in seven seasons. Gave us some of the biggest laughs (evil Willow goosing good Willow) and the biggest tears. If you don’t cry when you see Willow cry, you have no heart.

5. Malcom Reynolds (Nathan Fillion) -- Firefly

A man of faith gets screwed by God and spends the rest of his life running from Him. That’s how I always viewed Malcolm Reynolds. There’s nobody protecting him or his loved ones, so he has to take up that charge himself. Charming, angry, and loyal -- there’s never been another character in the history of man who I wish I could be more than the Captain of Serenity.

6. Ainsley Hayes (Emily Procter) -- The West Wing

Letting this leggy Republican spitfire loose (to CSI: Miami of all places) was one of the biggest casting errors The West Wing ever made. Every one of her scenes is a gem. The other reason season two is my all-time favorite.

7. Logan Echols (Jason Dohring) -- Veronica Mars

Dohring dances seamlessly between spoiled rich kid and wounded child. Teen Pin-Up turned tragic anti-hero. Probably the most underrated performer on this terrific show.

8. John Locke (Terry O’Quinn) -- Lost

Though Locke kind of lost his way in season two, his passionate, lunatic performance in season one is still enough to put him in my Top 25. While it was interesting watching Locke’s crisis of faith at the end of last year, I hope they find a way to bring back more of the enigmatic bushman that got us all hooked in season one.

9. Lex Luthor (Micheal Rosenbaum) -- Smallville

Though Smallville is technically the tale of the rise of the Man of Steel, I’ve always been more fascinated by the fall of supervillian Lex Luthor, a young man torn between the saintly influence of best friend Clark Kent and the Machiavellian predisposition inherited from his father. Leading up to season five, where Lex finally embraced his darker urges, I found myself hoping that Lex might find away to avoid his unfortunate fate. You can't ask for anything more from a show than to actually care about the villian.

10. Tom Underlay (William Fichtner) -- Invasion

No character on television had a more satisfying character arc on television last year. It’s a shame we’ll never see him again. Underlay went from creepy cop to conflicted husband to heroic rebel over the course of Invasion’s seriously unnerving run. And Fichtner single-handedly kept this very fantastic show grounded with his minimalist acting style.

11. Al Swearengen (Ian McShane) -- Deadwood

Deadwood is one of the best shows on television based on McShane’s line readings alone. He not only made words like “cunt” and “cocksucker” damn near Shakespearean, but also kind of fun. Whenever I think of Al bloodied and beaten by Bullock, lying in the shitty streets, pointing a knife at Bullock’s boy and snearing “Welcome to fuckin’ Deadwood,” I can’t help but smile. I'm a sick fuckin' cocksucker.

12. Sean Garrity (Steven Pasquale) -- Rescue Me

There are two types of dumb characters: those played by smart people, and those played by dumb people. Ironically, the smart people do the best job playing dumb. They know not to wink at the camera. It’s a shame he’s on a drama, because there’s no more consistently funny character on television than dim bulb Garrity; Pasquale deserves an Emmy for this performance. His recent sleeping pill induced supermarket sweep had me in tears as he bluntly commented on a woman’s weight and asked a beat cop for U2 tickets. The online short featuring a “werewolf” and sympathy puking is also worth checking out.

13. Irina Derevko (Lena Olin) -- Alias

Talk about a winning poker face. Lena Olin had a disquieting stillness in her scenes as Sydney Bristow’s deceitful mother that was absolutely fascinating to watch. That chilling scrutinizing gaze she gave her daughter -- every scene she was onscreen I was on the edge of my seat, when I wasn’t cowering in the corner.

14. Gregory House (Hugh Laurie) -- House

The most essential lead in modern television. Without Hugh Laurie’s House, this is just another medical procedural. With Hugh Laurie’s House, it’s one of the most fascinating shows on television. Flawed, yet brilliant. You’re not gonna find a better internal conflict than that, and certainly no more watchable character on television.

15. The Rock (Dwayne Johnson) -- WWE Entertainment

Yes, I’m counting The Rock as a television character. Anybody who watched the WWE through its best run knows you can’t get much more entertaining than watching The People’s Champ browbeat his opponents mercilessly. Though his appearances on WWE television have pretty much come to an end, every appearance is trash-talking of the highest order.

16. Jim Halpert (John Krasinski) -- The Office

If we throw in the amount of effort it takes to get a laugh, Jim is the funniest character on The Office. Not Michael. Not Dwight. Jim -- the King of Deadpan. Not to mention he’s one half of the best will-they-won’t-they couple since Ross and Rachel -- the first time, anyway. Before the wedlock.

17. Laura Roslin (Mary McDonnell) -- Battlestar Galactica

Laura Roslin was like 638th in line to inherit the presidency. It’s a good thing the Cylons know how to wage genocidal warfare. Unqualified, terminally ill, and occasionally hallucinatory, she’s proven herself an intelligent and humane leader. And I’ll admit, the dedication of the stealth starship “Laura” had me crying like a girl.

18. Summer Roberts (Rachel Bilson) -- The O.C.

I love Summer’s exasperation. Watching this Orange County princess fall for Seth Cohen in the first season was just about the most entertaining thing on the show. And while nearly every other character on The O.C. has been stagnant over the past two seasons (so much so they even killed one of them), Rachel Bilson has upped her comic game to the point where they had Seth comment on the fact that Summer was actually becoming funnier than him. She wasn’t exactly my type when the show started, but it’s impossible not to have a crush on Miss Roberts now.

19. Dr Mike Burton (Josh Randall) -- Ed

My favorite “best friend” character in the history of television. One half of the immortal ten dollar bet.

20. Jack Shepherd (Matthew Fox) -- Lost

People who find Jack Shepherd one of the least interesting characters in Lost’s large ensemble haven’t been watching very carefully. Like Jim from The Office, Jack does a lot without showing much. His increasingly dangerous certitude and savior’s complex have yet to truly damage his standing on the island, but Jack has already shown signs of cracking. Locke already lost his wits. How long before Jack follows suit?

21. Christopher Turk (Donald Faison) -- Scrubs

I almost left Turk off the list, not because of a lack of quality, but because I think Turk is more of an exhibition of Faison’s natural comic talents than he is a “character” per se. But I have to live with myself. So there he is.

22. Keith Mars (Enrico Colantoni) -- Veronica Mars
My
favorite moments on this show are the one’s where law enforcement pariah Keith Mars Hulks up to protect his precocious young daughter. The heart and soul of this show is the father/daughter relationship and Colantoni holds up his end of the bargain and then some. Funny, smart, caring, and a total badass when he needs to be. This character just makes me smile.

23. Chandler Bing (Matthew Perry) -- Friends

Even if it went longer than it should have, this was still one of the greater comedies in history, and no character had a more compelling evolution than the always flummoxed Chandler Bing. The most romantically inept of the Friends men turned into the husband and father we most admired. Who knew that his relationship with Monica would turn out to be the most compelling, and most mature in the show’s run. Not to mention, could there be anyone better at delivering a sarcastic one-liner.

24. Gaius Baltar (James Callis) -- Battlestar Galactica

My favorite character with the fewest redeeming qualities. Cowardly, slimy, underhanded -- no wonder he became President of the Colonies. I’m still uncertain if he’s legitimately crazy or if the Cylon’s actually do have some control over him, but damn if he isn’t the most maddening villian on television. The ultimate inept leader taking his people to hell with him.

25. Trixie (Paula Malcomson) -- Deadwood

Hooker with a heart of gold has been done before, but never with this much complexity. Trixie continually battles with her true identity, unable to reconcile her humanistic tendencies with the fact that she’s, by societal standards, trash. Trixie’s recent failed assassination of Hearst was a tour de force as she went from grief to vengeful rage to suicidal panic in a manner of minutes. Like Jack Bauer, she’s a tortured soul we hope can one day find peace, however unlikely that might be.

Prison Break 2.1 -- You Had Me at Bill Fichtner

2006-08-21T19:12:00.000-07:00

Is it possible? Could Prison Break actually become a better show post escape? After last season’s drawn-out finish, this show was at the top of my Fall 2006 drop list, but after watching the sharp, confident season premiere, the majority of my issues with Prison Break no longer apply. Here’s why:

First and foremost, the long-awaited escape is now a thing of the past. Towards the end of last season the breakout became a bit of an albatross for the writers as they were forced to create numerous (and increasingly preposterous) ways to delay the big moment until the final episode. Many viewers, including myself, were a little fed up by the time Scofield and company got over the wall. This season, with the boys on the lam, there isn’t a concrete moment the whole season is leading up to. While that might seem a detriment to a show based on a precise premise, by this point most of us have enough invested in the characters that as long as we get our fair share of twists and turns we’ll barely notice the change of scenery. And the simple fact that we don’t know where this season is heading will certainly help prevent the unfortunate ennui that plagued us last spring.

Another optimistic sign came in the premiere’s big twist: the cold-blooded murder of Veronica Donovan in Terrence Steadman’s secret lodge (which we learned is more of a prison cell). Last season Prison Break was divided into two loosely interconnected plotlines -- the escape from Fox River and the investigation into the murder of Terrence Steadman. While most viewers were fully invested in the inmates’ trials, a great many of us couldn’t have cared less about all the conspiracy nonsense going on outside the walls. Now, Veronica’s murder gives the two storylines a much tighter, much more personal link, and with Michael and Lincoln on the outside they can finally be proactive in pursuing the truth without employing a proxy as they had to all last year. This means fewer narrative tangents and overall crisper storytelling. Always a plus.

The final, and for me most significant, positive for this show is the addition of Invasion MVP William Fichtner (credited as Bill Fichtner) to the cast. I made no secret of my unabashed admiration for his work on ABC’s most unfortunate casualty of last year, and while sour grapes required I belittle his move to Prison Break, I’m already loving his cool, smart presence on the show. All last year it was generally accepted that Scofield was smarter than everybody around him; the show's tension was all born of unfortunate timing and coincidences. With the addition of Fichtner as a fiendishly smart FBI agent, suddenly Scofield has an intellectual equal in the game. If the scene in the cemetery, with Fichtner popping pills, implies a similar psychological disposition as Michael (that maddening attention to systems and details), it could be very entertaining to watch these two try to outwit each other.

I had low expectations for this show going into tonight, but I really liked what I saw. Prison Break has managed to reinvent itself outside the walls of Fox River, and so far the changes have all been for the better.

In The Zone

2006-08-21T11:15:00.000-07:00

So, I've been working at the premiere television station in my area for nearly six months now, and I've realized that my experiences there have gone largely undocumented in that time. There are a number of reasons for this. First, my brother was in Iraq for most of that time and a lot of my online efforts were dealing with that. Second, not long after I started at KWQC there was an incident -- we now refer to it as "Bloggergate" -- where one employee ripped a co-worker a new asshole in a blog that was quickly exposed by other coworkers. Words were exchanged, feelings hurt, suspensions handed down, and MySpace was locked out of the stations computers. It was all so much junior high drama. Needless to say I want to avoid as much of that drama as I can. Third, there is some prestige that comes from working at a TV station, and much of that prestige would disappear if I were to expose too much of what goes on around the office. The truth is nothing about KWQCs behind-the-scenes action is really all that impressive. Their equipment is outdated, the staff is extremely cynical (I fit right in), and frankly I marvel at how good the on-air product is when I've seen all that I have these past few months.

However, some things do hold up. Ever since my glory days of playing football at Rocky, I've admired Dan Pearson and his brain-child The Highlight Zone. I always saw Dan as a stand-up guy, and now that I've gotten a chance to work with him I realize I may have actually underestimated his passion, his drive, and his involvement with the community. Since the moment I set foot in KWQC I wanted to be a part of The Highlight Zone, and thankfully come Friday night, I will be. When The Zone returns this week, I'll have a camera on my shoulder on the sidelines of many a local football game. In my life, this is as close to "a dream come true" as I've yet achieved. I know it's small potatos, but it is what it is.

So, if any of you friends happen to still attend your old high school football games, give me a shout and I'll see if I can get you on TV. Everybody likes to be on TV, right?

What Does One Do After Losing 30+ Hours of Work? A Survey, Of Course.

2006-08-14T11:42:00.000-07:00

So, those of you who frequent my site should know by now that for the past couple months I’ve been working on an uber-highlight film of my high school sledding posse. Well, yesterday was nothing short of a disaster. Just about the only thing that could have been worse would have been for the master tapes to catch on fire. Thankfully, that didn’t happen, but their digital representations weren’t so fortunate.

The most tedious part of editing old home movies digitally is that all the video must first be imported into the computer. With the sledding video this means upwards of 20 hours of footage. Then once everything is in the machine I have to go through each video and maker the usable clips. The first time I did it I had over a thousand clips, and it took me nearly three weeks on-and-off to get it all done.

But one issue remained. 20 hours of footage eats up nearly 200 gigs of memory, or just about half my hard drive space. Thankfully (or so I thought), Final Cut Pro has a little feature called Media Manager that is supposed to keep the footage that you’ll use and delete the rest. Well, I gave it a shot yesterday.

Long story short -- it didn’t work like it was supposed to. So, as far as the inputting of footage goes, I am officially starting from square one. Thankfully, I was able to salvage the opening titles I finished on Saturday (kick ass), but now I have over 35 hours of prep work to complete before I can get to the heart of the highlight film. I guess it could be a blessing in disguise. I’ve finished the first year and found some golden one-liners that I missed the first time through. Still, knowing I have that much work ahead of me before I can, once again, get back to the fun stuff, is more than slightly infuriating.

So, in order to calm my soul I have a thirty yard restraining order on my iMac. It’s small and could easily fit through my window should I choose to chuck it. However, since I have a case of the fury induced stir-crazies, I had to find something to occupy my time before I head in to work. Thankfully, my dear friend Jules has submitted a new survey that will give me a few minutes of mindless pap balm my rage. Enjoy.

1.) What is your secret guaranteed weeping movie?
Field of Dreams and Friday Night Lights.

2.) If you could have plastic surgery, what would you have done?
I’d like to have my kidneys replaced, but that’s not exactly plastic surgery.

3.) Do you have a completely irrational fear?
My teeth randomly falling out. Seriously, I have nightmares about it at least three times a month.

4.) What is the little physical habit that gives away you're insecure moments?
I tend to talk to much and start talking louder.

5.) Are you a pyromaniac?
Not in an unhealthy way.

6.) Do you have too many love interests?
No. I’d say not enough.

7.) Do you know anyone famous?
God! Could one more person ask me what Paula Sands is really like?

8.) Who would play you in a movie?
Some actor who never wants to work again.

9.) Do you know how to play poker?
It’s essential in my family.

10.) What do you carry with you at all times?
Affectations of different sorts.

11.) What do you miss most about being a kid?
Sledding and an inexhaustible energy supply.

12.) Are you happy with your given name?
I can’t imagine anything but.

13.) How much money would it take to get you to give up the Internet for one year?
Quite a bit. I get nearly everything I need from the Internet. Except a girlfriend.

14.) What color is your bedroom?
Sea green with a whiteboard taking up one whole wall.

15.) What was the last song you were listening to?
Public Affair by Jessica Simpson. Though I wouldn’t say I was listening to it.

16.) Have you ever been in love?
No.

17.) Which musical instrument do you wish you could play?
Guitar.

18.) Favorite fabric?
Um… what?

19.) Something you love and also hate?
My iMac.

20.) What's the one language you want to learn?
Latin

21.) How do you eat an apple?
In slices without the skin.

22.) Have you ever pierced your body parts?
Not for decorative purposes.

23.) Do you have any tattoos?
Absolutely not.

24.) Do you drive a stick?
Nope.

25.) What's one trait you hate in a person?
Superficiality.

26.) Do you consider yourself materialistic?
That would kind of make me a hypocrite based on the last answer, no?

27.) What do you cook the best?
Popcorn.

28.) Favorite writing instrument?
Uni-ball, black ink.

29.) Do you prefer to stand out or blend in?
Blend in socially. Stand out career-wise.

30.) Would you ever go out dressed like the opposite sex?
Can’t say I’d ever have… oh my God I love that blouse!

31.) What's one car you will never buy?
Anything with shitty gas mileage.

32.) What kind of books do you like to read?
Right now I’m going through Marvel’s Ultimate universe. I’m shocked by the quality of writing in those titles.

33.) If you won the lottery, what would you do?
Buy my mom a house on the river. Probably self-finance a movie.

34.) Burial or cremation?
Cremation. And no open casket at the funeral.

35.) How many online journals do you read?
None, I don’t think.

37.) Do you cry in front of your friends?
My nickname is Rock for a reason.

38.) What's one thing you like to do alone?
One thing? Try nearly everything.

39.) Are you a giver or a taker?
Giver, almost to an unhealthy degree.

40.) When's the last time you cried?
When my brother left for Iraq.

41.) What is your favorite communication method?
Face to face.

42.) Do you think you're cute?
Like a bunny? No.

43.) Favorite type of music?
I can’t pigeonhole myself in that regard.

44.) Are you a workaholic?
When I have something I’m passionate about.

45.) What are your kids names?
That’s kind of presumptuous, don’t you think?

46.) Do you like to shop?
What did I put for that irrational fear question? Change that to shopping.

47.) What is your hidden talent?
Brow-beating.

48.) Would you die to save the life of someone you deeply love?
That’s a hypothetical that’s impossible to answer truthfully.

49.) Are your friends married or single?
Married.

50.) Do you own a Bible?
How else can I debate it if I’ve never read it?

51.) Do you play chess?
I know how. I wouldn’t say I play it though.

52.) Do you like the rain?
I do.

53.) Do you like thunderstorms?
Absolutely. Hurricanes are best though.

54.) What's your favorite website?
TVGuide.com

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip 1.1 Review

2006-08-10T11:09:00.000-07:00

In the interest of full disclosure, I must confess there's no show on television I want to succeed more than Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Excluding Shakespeare, there isn't a single writer I admire more than Aaron Sorkin. The first two exquisite seasons of The West Wing have no equal when it comes to smart, lyrical, storytelling, and things haven't been the same in television since Sorkin left the show after the fourth season. I am such an unabashed fan of the rhythms he weaves into his dialogue that I occasionally listen to the show in my car. Not watch. Just listen. That's how obsessive I am about Sorkin's gift with language. I mention this only because I can’t say with certainty whether the pilot for Studio 60 is as entertaining as I thought it was, or if I just need it to be as entertaining as I thought it was.

Speaking of a gift with language, that last sentence -- the polar opposite.

But I digress.

On paper, I can't imagine a more enticing show than Studio 60, a workplace drama that takes us behind the scenes of an SNLish sketch show. Not only do I get to once again revel in the symphony of a Sorkin teleplay, but he brought along director Thomas Schlamme whose walk-and-talk direction saved The West Wing from becoming a glorified stage play. Heading the cast are West Wing veteran Bradley Whitford and the most comically gifted Friends cast member (and another West Wing alum), Matthew Perry. With Amanda Peet, Tim Busfield, Steven Weber, and D.L. Hughley rounding out the cast, Studio 60 would appear to be a can't miss. But did all this talent work out to a compelling first episode?

Absolutely. While it didn't have the consistent excellence of The West Wing’s pilot (which is damn near impossible), it hit enough high notes to earn a spot on the top of my Must See list.
Sorkin can write a teaser like none other, and Studio 60 is no exception. After a pissing match with standards and practices, Studio 60's producer, Wes Mendel (Judd Hirsch), goes Peter Finch during a live broadcast, castigating the television industry for its cowardice and mediocrity. Sorkin and Schlamme show they still have remarkable creative synthesis as this opening scene starts slow then builds and builds until snap the credits roll. Not quite the same as the POTUS mystery featured in the West Wing pilots teaser, but just as dramatically satisfying.
Mendell's breakdown and subsequent firing forces a newly hired network president, Jordan McDeere (Amanda Peet) to find a quick solution to a serious problem on her first day. After a number of cinematic missteps (Saving Silverman, A Lot Like Love), I had forgotten what a talent Amanda Peet is. Here she delivers Sorkin's dialogue with aplomb, while maintaining an entertaining poise that shows her character is no stranger to playing rough with the boys -- in business anyway. Peet manages to show that she has the upper hand in every situation without coming off as a tyrant, and her coy smile is equal parts enticing and emasculating as she negotiates the hire of two former Studio 60 employees who have recently gained some notoriety on the big screen.

Enter Matthew Perry and Bradley Whitford, or Matt and Danny -- a writer/director duo with no shortage of man-love between them. I drooled over this combination on paper, and was stunned to find that it plays better than I ever could have dreamed. The first scene with the two at the Writers Guild Awards (Matt gets a big win) has Sorkin, Perry, and Whitford all at the top of their games. The conversation involves back surgery and a relationship-killing Dodger game and it was the first time in the episode where I thought "Ok. This is going to be fun." This is buddy movie chemistry at its finest.

The rest of the show sets up the innumerable conflicts that will drive the show. Once again Sorkin has put a bunch of Type-A personalities into a confined space for open warfare. Amanda Peet's main foil is network bigwig Jack Rudolph (Steven Weber at his slimeball best), the man responsible for firing Matt and Danny in the first place. Naturally he has major issues with hiring them back. There's also the so-called "Big Three" of Studio 60: Simon Stiles (D.L. Hughley), Tom Jeter (Nathan Corddry), and Harriet Hayes (Sara Paulson). Hughley and Corddry don't see much action in the pilot, but Paulson gets her fair share of screen time as Matt's former flame. This will be the trickiest character for Sorkin to pull off -- a born again-Christian in the entertainment industry will be easy to stereotype -- but Paulson has an affable presence, so likeability shouldn't be an issue. And if The West Wing's Ainsley Hayes is any indication of what Sorkin can do with the "outsider," Harriet should be one of the more compelling characters on this exceptional show.

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip is funny, smart, and stylish, and should be considered "Can't Miss" by TV junkies everywhere.

Grade for Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip: A-

Kidnapped 1.1 Review

2006-08-09T10:25:00.000-07:00

When I caught the first promos for NBCs new show Kidnapped, I marveled at how similar the production seemed to Ransom, the Mel Gibson/Ron Howard vehicle from some years past. Rich couple's young son is abducted and taken to a seedy apartment with piss-stained walls while robot man calls rich couple to set up exchange. And of course, robot man warns rich couple not to call cops, but cops are called anyway, etc. In a somewhat shocking twist Delroy Lindo, who played the FBI agent who helped Mel Gibson hunt down his son, here is played by... what what? Delroy Lindo? Not the best first step in setting yourself apart.

Still, I heard good things about the show, and they've certainly put together a solid cast (even with Lindo recycling a part he played ten years ago). So, it was high on my list of new shows to check out. Well, thanks to a special agreement between Netflix and NBC, I got an early peek at the pilot for both Kidnapped and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip (more on that show at a later date), and I'm a little sad to say that Kidnapped has slipped rather precipitously down the TiVo priority chain.

With 24 and Lost making serial television all the rage, the networks are requiring a huge investment of time for all these miss-an-episode-and-you're-lost programs, and for shameless serial television addicts like myself, there are only so many hours one can pencil in for TV while still keeping some sense of a life. In a given season some shows just aren't going to make the cut, and unfortunately, as with last year's Invasion, a slow start is an immediate death sentence. Invasion was in my top three favorite shows at the end of last year (with Lost and 24), but because of its slow and deliberate pacing over the course of the year, by the time the tremendous finale came down, nobody was watching. Point being, if a show wants to get ahead in a crowd of demanding new programs, it has to come out of the box like a bolt of lightning. Kidnapped fails to do that. Sure, it doesn't exactly trip over the starting line, but rather casually saunters, or moseys, if you will, out of the blocks.

The show wastes no time setting up the major plotline. After a superficial breakfast with the Cain family -- frosty and superficial parents Conrad and Ellie (Timothy Hutton and Dana Delany), precocious young daughter Alice (Lydia Jordan), and awkward, intelligent son Leopold (Will Denton) -- Leopold heads out for his day, sharing a handful of words with the enigmatic bodyguard Virgil (Mykelti Williamson) before a handful of mysterious men attack in a bluntly staged abduction.

The abduction, cold and abrupt, is the most compelling moment of the pilot. Unfortunately, the rest of the episode doesn't give us much desire to follow the story through. Despite a tremendous cast, the script doesn't bother to dredge up much humanity from its performers. Stoicism seemed to be the rule on-set, as if the director yelled "GRAVITAS!" before every take. Aside from one scene on the balcony between Ellie and rebel lawman Knapp (Jeremy Sisto), the cast walks around like lock-jawed zombies. I guess this is so everybody can have their moment in the suspect circle throughout the season, but it only serves to keep us at a distance from everyone on the screen.

So, if we can't get invested in the characters, how about the plot? Well, even that is fairly uninspired. Nearly everything in the pilot weve seen before. The two detectives -- one outside the law (Sisto) and the other by-the book (Lindo). The pregnant pauses when the phone rings so the detectives can run a trace. The robotic voice. "Don't call the cops." Blah blah blah. Kidnapped needed desperately to set itself apart from the hundreds of other kidnapping stories that have been done over the years from Law and Order to Ransom to Fox's Vanished. Unfortunately, its staging was fairly pedestrian, and even a little stupid. In the final act, the detectives bungle an exchange so badly its mind-boggling. Viewers could see it was a set-up from the word go, but that didn't seem to occur to anyone within the story. This was stupid stupid, on the level of the prom queen walking into a dark room in a slasher picture.

After the exchange, I expected some nasty twist or cliff-hanger to close out the episode, something that might leave me itching to know what happens next. Instead, we get a contemplative montage of Knapp staring out the window. Not exactly 24 level thrills here. Nothing I'm dying to revisit either.

Grade for Kidnapped 1.1: C

My TiVo: Fall 2006

2006-08-07T12:22:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year again; a new season of television is on the horizon. Here's a look at what I'll be watching this fall.

The first show to return is Fox's Prison Break (Aug 21). Probably the biggest success out of last year's new shows, Prison Break built a sizable audience with its compelling tale of a young man deliberately putting himself in prison to break his electric-chair-bound brother out. With some charismatic performances and a twisty plot, this show seemed well on its way to joining the likes of 24 and Lost with all its maddening turns. However, by the end of last season the wheels started spinning as the show's creators repeatedly (often ludicrously) disrupted the escape plan so they could save it for the season finale. Like The OC last year, Prison Break is high up on my DVR cut list based on the decline in quality it suffered after its extended break in the winter. The big finale left me especially cold when the carefully deliberate plan they spent the entire season constructing gets tossed completely out the window in favor of a backyard scramble. There were questions about how this show could continue after the inmates broke out, and despite the addition of Invasion's William Fichtner to the cast (my big Emmy snub this year), those questions must be answered rather quickly if I'm going to find room for this show in my already packed viewing schedule.

Fox continues its jump-start on the competition with House (Sept 5). I have almost as intense an aversion to procedurals as I do to reality television, but thanks to consistently fantastic writing and Hugh Laurie's nasty wit, this show transcends its genre like none other. Lulling us into a rhythm with a standard story structure, House occasionally breaks the mold with fantastic episodes, that are often some of the best of any show on television. House is always entertaining and occasionally, as in season one's "Three Stories" and last season's "The Mistake" and finale "No Reason," it's exquisite.

We'll have to deal with Prison Break and House until the deliciously disturbing Nip/Tuck (Sept 15) returns to F/X. One of the shows I caught up with on DVD this summer, I was immediately drawn into this morally repugnant, yet impossibly involving drama about two plastic surgeons. Fascinating for all the reasons it should be repulsive (graphic surgeries, deviant sexuality, outrageous plotting), Nip/Tuck hides a well-acted, well-written, psychologically complex show behind a screen of vanity and gloss -- just like the topic it skewers.

The next week will be big, with the return of ABC powerhouse Grey's Anatomy (Sept 21) on its new night Thursday. Joining the party will be My Name is Earl and The Office that both debut on the same night. Grey's Anatomy continues to surprise me with its emotional depth and wonderful writing. Though I'm leery of returning to the McDreamy/Meredith drama, this show has consistently managed to treat hackneyed storylines with remarkable care and refreshing creativity. Meanwhile, the only two comedies on my list thanks to the departure of Arrested Development and the delay of Scrubs, I was introduced to these two marvelously smart shows thanks to my job at an NBC affiliate -- the studio crew goes into lockdown when The Office and Earl are on the air. Though I'm hoping to catch-up on the DVDs before they start -- I've only caught a handful of episodes in reruns -- they're worth mentioning in this list.

Finally the newly formed CW makes its debut with Smallville (Sept 28). Smallville continues to grow up as the stakes get higher and higher for our Man of Steel in training, and the influences around him get darker and darker. With a war with Zod on the horizon, Lex going full-blown evil, and the debut of the Green Arrow and Jimmy Olsen looming, there is already plenty to look forward to this season.

We'll have to wait a bit longer for Lost (Oct 4). After a somewhat meandering sophomore season, Lost's final four episodes wrapped up with so many revelations it left viewers' heads spinning. Much like the first season, I found myself questioning whether the writers had any idea what they were doing, but after reviewing several episodes following the finale's stunning revelations I'm once again ashamed of my doubt. There's no show I'm looking forward to more than Lost. With the honorable Desmond and the chilling Henry Gale joining the cast as regulars, there's even more incentive to watch. My only concern, based on season two's issues, is that the cast will get so large that many characters will be slighted for long periods of time (Sayeed being one of the most egregious). Another thing worth mentioning, because of the complaints regarding Losts repeat issues, the suits at ABC have decided to cut the season in half. This fall we'll get a six episode mini-season (with an agonizing cliff-hanger in November), and then Lost will disappear until January, when it will return with 16 uninterrupted episodes. I'm very much in favor of this, if only to give myself more time to catch-up on other shows.

Finally, a revamped Veronica Mars (Oct 3) goes to college. After the somewhat convoluted mystery in season two, the creators have decided to break the show up into smaller, more concise mysteries for season three. This will hopefully help the rating-challenged show gather some steam on its new network, The CW. It got an initial order of 13 episodes, and hopefully this new format will allow it to gain some new viewers and expand that order as the season moves along. We don't know much about this season, other than it will see Veronica heading to higher education and may involve a serial rapist we learned of in season two.

I guess I should mention The OC (November), though it looks like this year's Alias, what with the declining ratings, reduced episode order, and desperate cast realignments. I'll keep my eye on this one, but it really hurts watching a show I used to love in its death throes.

So those are the returning shows. Here are the new ones I plan on giving a shot:

Vanished (Aug 21) involves the disappearance of a Senators wife.

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip (Sept 18) marks the return of Aaron Sorkin to television. I hope this show finds an audience if only so I can relish in the symphony of words that is a Sorkin script. With Matthew Perry and Bradley Whitford leading the cast, on paper this is a dream show for me.

Kidnapped (Sept 20) follows the abduction of a rich kids son. Consider it Ransom-redux. Great cast. Slick look. But will the mystery grab hold? And will people be able to keep it straight with Vanished?

Six Degrees (Sept 21) separate six strangers in a new drama by the producers of Lost and Alias. Good cast. Good pedigree. Worth a look.

Heroes (Sept 25) jumps on the serialized mythology bandwagon with a handful of ordinary folk discovering they have super powers. Again a good cast with Alias' Greg Grunberg and Remember the Titans wunderkind Hayden Panettiere, but I've grown skeptical of this show over the summer. Apparently the creator doesn't have a plan for where the show will ultimately lead and the show is oppressively downbeat. No plan and no sense of humor = short commitment from yours truly.

Friday Night Lights (Oct 3) will likely be the biggest hit of the new fall crop. That's my prediction anyway. This show drips Americana. If it matches the tone of the book and film, keeping it away from the Varsity Blues frat-boy nonsense, it should have the broadest demographic of any show this year. Anxiously awaiting this one.

The Nine (Oct 4) follows a group of people who survive a hostage standoff in a bank. Like Lost, each episode will reveal ten minutes of the standoff. Marks Tim Daly's return to TV after a charming turn in the disappointing Eyes. Hopefully this one will give him a little more to do.

Other notes: A new season of Battlestar Galatica can't come soon enough. Same for The Shield. I'm going to try and get through Supernatural on DVD, so that might get added to the list. Plus Scrubs and 24 will be coming next year.

Breaking News: Survey Reveals Why I Don't Have a Girlfriend

2006-08-05T12:40:00.000-07:00

-Longest relationship: 2-3 years, on and off.

-Shortest relationship: A few weeks.

-How many people have you broken up with? Four.

-How many times have you truly been in love? Never.

-How many boyfriends/girlfriends have told you that they love you? Two.

-Have you ever thought that you were going to marry the person you were with? Maybe a little. Thank God I was wrong.

-Have you ever liked someone so much that it hurt? If headaches count.

-Have you ever made a boyfriend or girlfriend cry? Absolutely.

-Have you ever cried over a boyfriend or girlfriend? Once or twice.

-Are you happy being single or in relationships? I like being in relationships, but I also know that I tend to be a disaster in them. So, Im not happy being single, but I tend to know better than to get involved with anyone.

-Have you ever cheated on a boyfriend or girlfriend? No. Im too much of a prude for extra-curriculars.

-Have you ever been cheated on? Not exactly. I've been more committed to a girl than she was to me, but I wouldn't say she cheated on me. Yay semantics!

-What is the important part of being in a relationship? Trust.

-What is the worst part of being in a relationship? Finding your own independence within a relationship.

-Worst relationship? My girlfriend in college. I lost all sense of self throughout the entire thing. But it was a good learning experience.

-Have you ever had your heart broken? Not really.

-Have you ever broken someone's heart? Absolutely. Although it was the best thing I could do for her (Aren't you supposed to say that?)

-Do you talk to any of your exes? No.

-If you could go back in time and change things to where you could still be with one of your exes, would you? Not for reasons befitting a gentleman.

-Do you think any of your exes feel the same way? I think I could get some of my exes back, yes.

-What is your ideal boyfriend or girlfriend? Smart as hell with a ferocious sense of humor. Patient. Independent. Nice legs. Likely a brunette.

-Do you believe that you are a good boyfriend or girlfriend? I have the potential to be, but so far -- no I haven't been.

-Have you dated people who were not good to you? Yea.

-Have you been in an abusive relationship? No. Unhealthy? Absolutely.

-Name your most memorable ex if you have had: I still feel the repercussions of my relationship with Jessica to this day.

-Have you dated someone older then you? Nope.

-Younger? Always.

-What is one thing that all of your exes had in common? They seemed to like me.

-Say, who are the top two most attractive ex that you have dated? Jessica and Sarha.

-Have you ever cried yourself to sleep over a boyfriend or girlfriend? No.

-When is the last time that you were in a relationship? It'll be two years at the end of this month.

-Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? No. Life's too short.

-Believe in love at first sight? Lust at first sight often becomes love at first sight in hindsight. Say that three times fast.

-Ever dated two people at once? No.

-Ever been given a promise ring? No.

-Ever been given an Engagement ring? No.

-Do you want to get married? I want to have a family. Whether marriage is an essential part of that is still up for debate.

-Do you have something to say to any of your exes? Not that I'm going to share with you all.

-Ever stolen someone's boyfriend or girlfriend? Yes. Long-distance relationships are fragile.

-Ever liked someone else's boyfriend or girlfriend? Of course. I can think of a few right now.

-Do you believe in true love? Yes, but it's not universal; not everybody is capable of it. To this day I question whether I am.

-Does heartbreak really feel as bad as it sounds? I tend to get over people really quickly. But then again, I am a heartless bastard.

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby Review

2006-08-05T11:48:00.000-07:00

The funniest joke in Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby is on the audience. Or at least that segment of the audience with patchwork jackets and block numbers on their baseball caps. While this movie may appear to be a stamp of validation for an oft-ridiculed segment of American society -- a sort of Passion of the Christ for the gearhead set -- it is in fact one of the more hilarious and sneakier parodies Hollywood could have come up with.

Nobody can argue that there are very few targets more primed for skewering than Nascar culture. Talladega could have easily stumbled over the sheer ease of it all, but very little of the humor comes from attacking Nascar overtly. Will Ferrell, who plays the titular character, and his team are more clever and underhanded. Instead of a long rant on the silliness of a sport where the competitors go round and round a circle, they merely exemplify the simplemindedness of it all in Ricky Bobby's favorite childhood catch-phrase: "I want to go fast." Ferrell and crew are working the ribs of racing fans here. After all, they're going to be a big part of the box office this weekend. However, they deliver quite the knock-out blow in the final minutes of the film, a moment of pure comedy that will have those God-fearin’ good-ole boys squirming in their seats. It was one of the purest joys I’ve had in a theater in a long time.

Talladega Nights is a more straight-forward presentation than we’re used to from Ferrell. He dispensed with much of the winking humor prevalent in Weddings Crashers and Anchorman. There are no cameos by Vince Vaughn or Ben Stiller. It’s basically shot as a standard biopic, and it’s by far Ferrell’s most consistent character to date. Of course, when much of your character development comes from white trash maxims like “I want to go fast” and “If you’re not first, you’re last” it’s fairly easy to stay consistent, because you don’t have to go very deep.

And that’s how we like Ferrell. Channeling his long-retired George W impression, Ferrell gives us another likable buffoon who we follow through a meteoric rise, a catastrophic fall, and of course, the redeeming return. Surrounded by another solid ready-and-willing cast, we’re immediately pulled into this haphazard family who pulls its dinner straight off Ricky’s bumper stickers -- KFC, Domino’s Pizza, and PowerAde (Ricky has an endorsement deal that requires he mention PowerAde whenever he says grace). Ricky has a “tractor beam of hotness” for a wife, played with inspiring commitment by Leslie Bibb, a BFF racing partner, the shake to his bake, played by John C. Reilly, and two mouthy sons who threaten to beat the piss out of their grandfather. The first scene we get of the family together, with an extended improvised debate regarding the family’s favorite Jesus (Baby Jesus, Grown Up Jesus, Ninja Jesus) is one of the funniest scenes I’ve witnessed in a long time, and I’m fairly certain I didn’t catch everything there was.

Things go well for Ricky Bobby until the arrival of Jean Girard (Sacha Baron Cohen), a gay, French, Formula One driver who immediately comes in and steals Ricky’s spotlight as the best Nascar driver alive. In one of the most surreal moments in my years of film going, the crowd in my theater booed when Girard revealed his home country. Actually booed. In interviews, Cohen said that the character was designed to be everything a typical Nascar fan would hate. Judging by the reaction of the crowd, I’d say they succeeded. I’d love to know how these same people dealt with the twist at the end of the film.

I’ve become a big fan of Anchorman over the past couple years, and I enjoyed Talladega a lot more than I enjoyed Anchorman the first time around. The entire cast, notably Reilly, Cohen, and Gary Cole (who plays Bobby's derelict daddy) play off Ferrell as well as his sidekicks in Anchorman, and the lack of asides and winks at the camera were a nice respite from the usual self-referential style of this comedy crew. If this film follows along the lines of Old School and Anchorman, getting better with repeat viewings, we’ve got another must have for the DVD shelf. Fun stuff.

Final Grade: B (likely to improve over time)

Apparently, I Need a Girlfriend

2006-08-02T00:44:00.000-07:00

There's something beautiful about seeing a new in-joke born. Within a group of friends thousands of things catch on for a weekend or even a week, but not many actually hang on to the fabric of a particular posse for ages. Their precious rarity is why I delight so much in those rare moments when a new tagline comes into the world.

What's remarkable about the most recent joke weaving through my colleagues at KWQC is that it was born out of one of the most unpleasant experiences of my few months there. The unpleasant experience was called Kevin. I think every once in a while every workplace needs a corrosive influx of new blood to unite the old, jaded crew back together. For KWQCs studio crew, Kevin was that influx.

Easily the most marvelously inappropriate fellow I have ever met, Kevin found ways to make each and every member of the crew feel uncomfortable in a very, very creepy way. I never realized how elusive subtlety can be until Kevin arrived and demonstrated a completely lack of any. This guy stopped many a conversation in its tracks with his blunt vulgarity. Whereas I might make clever inferences and asides in regards to a certain thirty-something producer who feels that bicycle shorts and a sports bra are proper attire for production meetings, Kevin just calls her a slut. Whereas most of the crew has earned the right to use certain disparaging nicknames for each other (with love, of course), Kevin used them unabashedly before getting to know people. Most repulsively, the creepy little bastard expressed a lustful attraction to the two girls on the floor crew, revealing a surprisingly sincere, older-brother protectiveness in yours truly. For a specific example, on his first night on the job, Kevin felt this little gem would ingratiate himself with his new coworkers:

"Yea, the only time Im ever nice to my girlfriend is when I want to have sex."

Cricket. Cricket.

Before Kevin was fired last week, he had at least one offensive incident with each member of the floor crew. Though I witnessed most of them (for some reason my presence seemed to invite salacious remarks about my female co-workers) I went at least a week and a half before anything particularly offensive headed my way. Then Kevin decided he was going to join me and a couple fellow production operators in the lunch room.

But before I get into that little scene... a brief preface.

There's a fairly prevalent affliction at KWQC I'll refer to as the Dirty Old Man Syndrome -- the need for married and/or inappropriately aged men to not only point out any attractive girl, but telestrate her features so that those with a sightline won't miss the tremendous rack, ass, etc. Now, I understand that this type of behavior is basically Man Law, but I've never embraced it as essential to my membership in the brotherhood. However, because I am one of the few offenders of this particular code of depravity, I often find myself in awkward conversations with my fellow man. While in a recent training session with one of 6's cameramen, he felt the need to pause on every woman he found attractive and enlighten me on his evaluation. I smile, nod, and urge him to move on. I'm very much not one of the guys, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little proud of myself for not embracing the cro-magnon mindset. And it was this pride that had me ready to verbally eviscerate that misogynistic little leprechaun known as Kevin.

There I was waiting for the microwave to spit out my chicken teriyaki, having a benign conversation with some kids from production, and berating the players on Wheel of Fortune for their ineptitude, when Kevin walked in and sat by himself at a table in the corner. He stayed their quietly for a few minutes, not saying a word, setting up an interjection that would catch us all completely off-guard.

"Phil, I think you need a girlfriend," he said.

Stunned. Completely stunned. There had been no lead-up to it. The conversation I was having with my co-workers was so far away from women, that the abrupt shift nearly knocked me over in my chair. The only thing even remotely related to women in the room was the one on Wheel of Fortune I was reprimanding for not solving the puzzle with $23,000 in the bank (For God's sake woman, GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE!) I looked to my dinner companions as if they could help me decipher this glitch in The Matrix, making a deliberate effort not to look Kevin directly in the eye.

"I'm sorry. What now?" I asked, even though I knew I had heard him correctly.

"Well, you're always talking about girls, so I figure you need to get a girlfriend."

I was trying to smile and laugh it off, but I knew my eyes were stuck in Superman heat-ray mode. I glanced at him just quick enough to say "Um, not really" before I retreated back into my Teriyaki chicken.

Not only was I stunned by the erroneousness of the remark, but I was stunned by how stunned I was. His comment was so off-base (I rarely talk about girls. It's how I remain a maddening enigma to so many) that I couldn't even counter it. He might has well have told me to stop going to church, because all I do is talk about Jesus. Actually, that comment might have made more sense, because I make fun of Jesus a lot. However the closest I've gotten to "talking about girls" is to profess my eternal crushes on Kristen Bell, Alexis Bleidel, and Uma Thurman. Yet, those are throwaways inspired by an appearance on Oprah or a commercial for a new movie. I don't stop everything for a soliloquy on their physical attributes. Kevin seemed to imply that I was some sort of letch, and I took extreme umbrage with that implication.

I later relived the whole tale for Julia, purveyor of all things anecdotal, to see if perhaps I had missed something and become a pervert without my knowing. On the positive side, I got no indication of any subconscious perving on my part. On the other side, I opened myself up to a bastion of ridicule. Now, every day for the foreseeable future, my friends will remind me that I need to find a girlfriend.

Kevin has been gone for almost two weeks now, and remarkably the only thing that remains from his stay is this phrase: "Phil, you need to get a girlfriend." Not the fact that Kevin called Kirsten easy, or that he wished he was Jules boyfriend. No, only the fact that Phil needs to get a girlfriend. I'd be upset, but Jules, Kirsten, and even Alex have found unique and clever ways to jab me with it. As you can see from the comments on my MySpace page, I'm not safe anywhere. And if I know anything about Jules' evil genius, it will likely continue to spread through out the station in time, and there's really nothing I can do about it

..except find a girlfriend.

So, all parties interested in a tolerably attractive, poorly paid, 26 year-old with a playful wit send me a message.

Or more likely we'll just let the joke live on.

Not Pictured

2006-07-20T12:59:00.000-07:00

I've used one picture for all of my online purposes for the past five years. Though it may look it, I'm not trying to deceive anybody. I agree that up until about a month ago that picture would have been quite duplicitous, what with the freshman fifteen (thirty) that caught up with me after I graduated from college. Even if we ignore the exaggerated chin count, there's quite a bit in that photo I don't recognize in my mirror's current return. The infamous "spike" has been retired for at least two years in favor of a shorn skull and my current mop. My facial hair changes more often than Paris Hilton's boyfriend. And just about the only thing that has not changed since that photo was taken is my aversion to looking directly into a camera lens. Still, I'd love to be able to throw up a new photo for my legions of adoring fans to ogle, but unfortunately, in the past several years I have become the embodiment of that dreadful caption: Not Pictured.

There don't seem to be any pictures of me anywhere. I snuck into a few at Thanksgiving, but since that was approximately 30 pounds ago I'm not about to throw them up just because they're the most recent photos I can find. I've somehow been able to swindle a handful of beautiful girls into joining my friend list, and there's no way I want them thinking I still look like that. Unfortunately, unless I start making creative use of the timer on my digital camera, God knows when a more timely representation of me will find its way onto my profile.

Sadly, I realized just how few photos of me there are when I attended my cousin's funeral. My cousin, Levi, was just a shade older than me when he died earlier this summer. Before the services, on a monitor in the back of the room, there was a slideshow spinning through photos of Levi's life. I couldn't help but wonder what my own slideshow would look like if I were to be hit by a bus today. They'd have a dearth of images to work with up till about 18, and then, suddenly, the eight most essential years of my life would flash by in a breath. When you consider that as I get older I have fewer nice things to say about the man I used to be, I would be rather perturbed if my funeral in any way suggested that my teens were the best years of my life.

I don't mind being the guy behind the camera. This past Christmas I was able to give my family pictures of Andrew from the day before he left for Iraq, and it was one of the most rewarding gifts I've ever been able to give my family. Still, when I spend so much time looking for those perfect moments of family and friends to capture for prosperitys sake, it'd be nice to see myself, once in a while, within the frame rather than below it -- in a caption.

Photo Taken By

Still, I guess it's better than Not Pictured.

He's Still Ugly and Ten Other Things I Learned in Our Visit With Andrew

2006-06-15T12:58:00.000-07:00

1. Brothers don’t shake hands. Brothers gotta hug. And whimper a little. Perhaps sniffle.

2. It’s clear that there were two types of soldiers in Iraq. Those who were prepared for what they would see, and those who were not. Sadly, those who were not prepared far outnumber those who were. Just listen to my brother’s story about the attack in which he got injured and the difference between his reaction and his gunner's.

3. A part of Andrew wants to get back to his guys, but the further he gets from Iraq the harder it is to find the motivation to return.

4. For a family as active in the community as ours, it’s sort of remarkable to see how private and protective we are when it comes to the people we love.

5. The “exploding pound” may have to be retired as the Rockwell brothers’ high-five of choice.

6. From a purely aesthetic perspective, Andrew’s wound is unimpressive. Blasted nerve damage. It just doesn’t even provide you with cool scars.

7. Any conversation, regardless of how seemingly unrelated, can turn back to the Cubs in a heartbeat.

8. Though I’m sure their medical expertise is exceptional, the most impressive thing to me about the way the Army treats its injured soldiers was the hidden room with the magical filing cabinet filled with every candy bar you can imagine. My diet when to hell with a quickness last night thanks to the US Military's Willy Wonka bureau.

9. Everything about Andrew’s physical condition was a relief to us. He still looks like himself -- no severe burns of note. His broken nose was kids' stuff (he still has a Deines nose, and not a Rockwell one. Bastard.) He was surprisingly mobile (though I can’t say how much of that movement was doctor recommended). If it weren’t from the deep hole on the back of his left thigh, you’d be hard pressed to find something out of whack.

10. And finally, my brother and I have now have a very important story to tell, and we intend on telling it together.

Lamenting Winters Past

2006-06-08T12:57:00.000-07:00

I’m told some people look back on their high school years with a tragic degree of fondness. They look at their present and they predict their future, but neither shine as their sanitized memories of those proverbial glory days.

I am not one of those people. In fact, I look back at those four years and marvel that I escaped alive. I’m not fond of that younger self who walked the halls of Rocky high from ‘94 to ‘98. He was an aloof blackguard who masked his blazing insecurities by furrowing his brow and affecting a wisdom beyond his years. I hated nearly everything about high school -- the cruel and fickle social ladder, the rigid learning structure, not to mention the drama -- but a handful of moments have endured my brief adulthood with some affection intact. Performing Shakespeare. Storming onto Almquist Field. Mr. Milton’s College English Class.

These memories have returned to me recently as I made an unexpected left hand turn on my career track. A few months back I had decided to return to school by taking a television production practicum at St. Ambrose University. In a deliciously twisted irony the day I enrolled in the class, the gem of the Quad City television stations offered me a job. So I joined KWQC’s floor crew, still intending to use SAU to get hands-on experience in the aspects of production not readily available to me at KWQC. Well, a few months later, the idea of paying to learn things I circle around on a daily basis seems rather ridiculous. Persistence and initiative will get me exactly what I need at KWQC; if I get really lucky I might even get paid for it.

Still, I knew the opportunity to learn what I wanted to learn at KWQC would be somewhat limited by what KWQC needed me to learn. While I’m willing to accept those restraints, I know how restless I can get when things aren’t moving quite as quickly as I might like. So I knew it was essential for me to find something to offset my impatience as I waited for a spot to open at the station. Thanks to Steve Jobs, I didn’t have to look very hard for a solution.

Those who’ve known me since those “glory days” at RIHS know I’ve always been a closeted A/V geek. With two VCRs patched together I would spend entire weekends cutting and re-cutting the infamous “Hero’s Complex” movie trailer when I should have been reading Pride and Prejudice or studying Algebra. I ended up quite the wizard with this painstaking and imprecise method of editing, but it really had no practical application as far as a resume goes. In fact, the best thing this talent ever got me was a weekend with Caroline Walker and Erica Muller, two of my most enduring high school crushes, when I directed and edited a short film for their French class. And while every high school boy lives to spend a weekend in the presence of such beautiful girls, the reward was fleeting and the promise of a future dinner went unfulfilled.

Well, in the nearly ten years since I cut my films on a home-made tape-to-tape contraption, editing has come a long way. With a relatively small investment, people can write, shoot, and edit their own films in the comfort of their own homes. I made just such an investment this week as I took my SAU tuition and put it towards an iMac with Final Cut Pro. Like its name infers, Final Cut is professional software that is used by everyone from the KWQC promotions department to feature director David Fincher. While their computer systems easily put my new iMac to shame, the software is no different. When I get my computer tomorrow, I’ll be cutting home videos the same way Fincher is cutting his next film.

And what better way to learn the ins and outs of this new software than fulfilling a promise I’ve been making for the past decade.

As I mentioned at the top of this post, I’m not one of those people who laments my teen years; the farther that era is from me the better. That being said, if I miss anything from those days it is those weekends in the winter when I accompanied a covey of fearless and daring friends as we braved harsh winds and bitter cold to turn an innocent, Midwestern tradition into a startling cataclysm of fearlessness and foolishness. Those who know what I’m referring to are already smiling. Those who don’t, let me clue you in.

I’m talking about sledding.

I could try and sell this idea to those of you with the WTF looks on your faces, but I’m not going to bother. You’re not my audience here. I’m writing to the dirty dozen who layered up every Saturday and Sunday there was snow on the ground to slide and crash and flip for no other reason than to laugh and cry at the videos we took. I’m writing to let them know that their epic highlight reel is coming.

Immediately after hitting the confirm button for my iMac I raided my closet for the eleven VHS tapes with “Sledding Video” emblazoned on them. That’s right. Eleven. We’re talking nearly a day’s worth of footage of a handful of high school kids crashing into trees, assaulting each other with sleds, and occasionally breaking collar bones. I’ve spent the week between order and delivery of my iMac watching those videos for the first time in seven years, logging timecode for each and every classic wreck and collision. I’ve only got one word: Priceless.

For the past ten years I’ve been talking about finally compiling an ultimate highlight reel of those four years of insanity, but I’ve yet to come through. Well, with my new set-up, not only will I have the ability to finally put together this dream project (That’s right! Dream project!), I’ll be able to do it in a way I could never have imagined when I was punching buttons on my VCR ten years ago. I’m picturing Zach Vroman (still the Sledding Syndicate’s number one fan) geeking out when he finally gets his eyes on the finished project and I can’t wait to get started (less than 24 hours now). This highlight film is going to bring down the house at his next family reunion. In fact, this post is basically to tease the three or four alumni who are on my MySpace page (Laurie, I count you as Zach’s proxy).

I do want to keep the expectations (as far as time goes) realistic, though. I’m learning a new program (actually four when you count the graphics, sound, and DVD programs that came with Final Cut), and those who know me know I won’t put anything out for public consumption that I don’t feel is up to my irrationally rigid standards. So, I’m making Christmas my deadline for the DVD (with bonus features and the like (Power Rangers, anyone?)). That gives me six months to go completely batshit on this thing.

But don’t worry. I’m not going to make the fans wait that long to get an idea of what’s in store.

My hope (and this is a very sincere hope) is that I can have a small preview cut before I descend on Chi-town for my Cubs double-header at the end of June. After years of broken promises, I hope to put something concrete in Zach’s hand to show him this time I’m not bullshitting. I don’t know if this is feasible; if FCP has a brutal learning curve I may be S.O.L. on my deadline. Still, I’m going to try.

But what I’m digging almost as much as the project itself is that MySpace currently offers 100MB for its users to host video. So, whether I make my deadline or not, in the next couple months I’ll have the preview on my MySpace page for alumni as well as the uninitiated to enjoy. Plus, you guys can keep me honest. If the 4th of July comes and goes with no new developments, drop me a note and remind me of my oath.

Until then, boys and girls, I bid you adieu. It’s time to start cutting.

RESCUE ME from Summer TV

2006-05-31T12:56:00.001-07:00

Rescue Me is one of those shows that goes away after its yearly batch of 13 episodes, and even the most ardent television fans forget how good it is in the midst of the slew of network shows. Denis Leary’s brutally honest tale of NYC firefighters returned last night, and I hadn't realized just how much I have missed it. There’s nothing more invigorating to me than watching an artist work on the project they were born to make; Denis Leary is that artist and Rescue Me is his masterpiece.

The evening started early with my discovery of a "Comedy Short" on FX's Rescue Me website that reintroduced the amazing chemistry of Rescue Me’s remarkable ensemble. Essentially a fifteen minute slapstick routine, I laughed form start to finish as the crew tried to escape from a bear/bobcat/wolf that finds its way into the firehouse. For a show that deals in tragedy so often, what makes Rescue Me so great is its ability to weave hilarious comedic subplots into otherwise grim material.

The season three premiere featured that volatile mix we’ve grown to love with Tommy’s marriage falling apart after the death of his son (his wife is now sleeping with his brother, can’t wait for that to get ugly), the firehouse trying to stop smoking, and Tommy’s godson getting a hands-on education in sex from his science teacher. Tommy’s exasperation throughout the teacher drama was priceless hilarity, but the interaction between Tommy and his wife was heartbreaking, with Janet essentially blaming Tommy for not doing enough to save their son. While that reaction doesn’t exactly endear me to her, it’s an understandable, and natural reaction. Tommy saves people everyday (see the little girl at the end of the episode), but he couldn’t save his own son; it makes sense that Janet would resent him for that, even if it's unreasonable of her to believe he has power over unfortunate accidents.

Leary and Tolan set up a slew of narrative landmines in this first episode, and I can’t wait to see them start to explode. As we’ve seen from Rescue Me before, there’ll be a fair amount of laughs and tears along the way. It’s good to have you back, boys.

X-Men: The Last Stand

2006-05-31T12:56:00.000-07:00

X-Men 3: The Last Stand is not a travesty, but it is a disappointment. After the rich, textured storytelling of X2, The Last Stand plays like a rushed, shallow, money-hungry installment that doesn’t bode well for the future of the franchise. If you love the X-Men -- the history, the characters, the themes -- X-Men 3 will likely break your heart. If your interest in the X-Men is anything less, you’ll likely be moderately entertained by the spectacle. Like I said, the film is not a travesty, but it is a disappointment.

For X-Men fans, X3 feels a little like an out-of-body experience. We recognize the faces on the screen, yet there’s a feeling of surreal weightlessness, as if what we’re seeing doesn't quite feel real. This displacement can be attributed largely to the much ballyhooed change in director from visionary Bryan Singer to the soulless Brett Ratner. Singer brought a human touch of character and pathos to the first two installments of the franchise. Ratner goes a different route, taking the characters we’ve grown to love and setting them up like G.I. Joes in a prepubescent sandbox war and then turning on the garden hose.

Ratner takes an ethically and morally charged plotline -- a “cure” has been found for mutants -- and uses it as a flimsy framework to hang a handful of overblown (and forgettable) action scenes. The issues of such a cure -- Should mutants want it? How should mutants treat those who choose to take it? Should mutants be given a choice? -- are all glossed over quickly and unsatisfactorily. Who needs moral dilemmas and character development when we can pull the Golden Gate Bridge off its moorings? Those small character scenes that made X2 more than just your typical summer action fare -- Storm and Nightcrawler discussing their feelings towards homo-sapiens, Magneto charming Pyro -- are nowhere to be found in X3. It’s just your typical summer movie -- flashy, shallow, and empty of the human spirit. And after Bryan Singer showed that these films can be so much more than that, it really hurts to see this franchise treated with such casual indifference on the part of Ratner and 20th Century Fox.

I could go on and on about the plotting and abysmal treatment of the X-Men canon -- the fact that Dark Phoenix and Sentinels are basically afterthoughts in the film -- but it all gets too depressing. And people who loved the first two are going to see the third for the same reasons I did; it couldn’t possibly be as bad as people are saying. Well, it is. For a franchise that was such a thrill in X2 to descend into mediocrity is just inexcusable. For an X-Men movie to be so disposable is unfathomable. And yet, here it is, X3: The Last Stand. Part of me hopes it really isn’t “The Last Stand” for the X-Men, but if this is the sort of effort we’re going to get from Fox from here on out (and with $100 million opening weekend, why should they make any greater effort?) I’d rather they just let the franchise die.

The Hot 111

2006-05-28T12:54:00.000-07:00

1) Which person do you feel most deserves a most righteous bitch-slap? Britney Spears, if only to complete the white trash Xanadu she's built for herself.

2) What would be your Theme Song? "We Used to Be Friends" by The Dandy Warhols

3) What is the weirdest name, bad or good, you have ever been called? It wasn't exactly a name but I once made a friend so mad all she could do was spit and grunt.

4) Pick your celebrity mom. Joan Allen

5) Pick your celebrity dad. Kevin Costner

6) Should white folk who dance be tackled? Tackled? No. Clotheslined? Absolutely.

7) Ever seen anyone besides yourself doing the deed? Seen? No. My upstairs neighbors at my old apartment were less than discreet on the aural side, but that only ever lasted 3 to 5 minutes.

8) What is the sickest thing you have ever put in your mouth? A snail. Apparently the French totally dig em.

9) Do you have any fruits or vegetables with you? No, that's not a banana in my pocket. I'm just happy to see you.

10) What qualifies you for this position? I'm very athletic and willing to try just about anything.

11) Do you talk about Fight Club? .....

12) Ever Googled yourself? Indeed. My name turns up 430 hits. Only about a half-dozen of them are actually me?

13) Ever been caught Googling yourself? What? Preposterous! I don't google myself.

14) Where is Jimmy Hoffa? I hear Arizona is nice this time of year.

15) Do you feel lucky? Until I go to Rhythm City.

16) What movie could be your life story? American Psycho.

17) How do you contribute to the war on terror? I refuse to buy diamonds. Terrorists use the diamond trade to hide their money because they know most women can't live without them.

18) Do you support the NRA? Only when they shoot each other.

19) If Dick Cheney shot you, what would you do? I'm certain there would be cursing involved, followed by return fire.

20) If you had to have an STD, which would you choose? Something that doesn't itch.

21) Was O.J. innocent? If he was guilty of anything, it was putting together a kick-ass defense team.

22) What is the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the phrase warm front? Swamp ass.

23) Do you Yahoo? Only gay cowboys yahoo. Gay cowboys and that kid who played Darth Vader.

24) What do you put on your hot dog? Ketchup. That's all.

25) Ever been to Canada? I hit a jackpot at a Niagra Falls Casino.

26) Did you bring me back anything? What? I just get back in the country and you're asking me for money?

27) Do you support the minutemen? Anybody who makes me seem like a better lover is ok by me.

28) Who is the ugliest person you know? My station recently did a story about a 70 year old woman who jumped out of a second story window to escape a house fire. God broke the mold when he made her, and unfortunately he didn't put the mold back together right.

29) If your vocabulary consisted of only three words, what would they be? Fire, Bad, and Efflorescence. In a world of three word vocabularies, I would be considered quite the smarty.

30) If George Bush had your phone tapped, what would you want him to hear? Let's just say I'd be taking the phone into the bathroom a lot more often.

31) What does this world need more of? Education.

32) What does this world need less of? Placation.

33) What celebrity needs to fall off the face of the earth? Barry Bonds.

34) Who is the anti-christ? Jerry Falwell.

35) Finish this statement: I like __? Underscores.

36) Do you enjoy Spam? I have never partaken of that particular substance.

37) What am I eating? See food.

38) Are the Laffy Taffy jokes funny? HA HA HA! THE KITTENS WENT TO THE MEOW-SEUM! GET IT? OH DEAR LORD MY RIBS! HA HA HA!

39) Who is your daddy, and what does he do? My daddy is Dave and he rules all existence from the top of Mount Olympus.

40) What is the ideal handshake? The Exploding Pound.

41) Ever put dirty wallpaper on someone else's desktop? No, but somebody put a stinky red eye on my desktop in college.

42) What is on your desktop? My secretary. But it's not what you think. I strangled her when she exposed my money laundering scheme. Whoa. Sorry. Slipped into a Raymond Chandler novel for a second there.

43) Will you explain this to me? Was that too obscure for you? You really should read more.

44) If you moved onto Wisteria Lane, what would your dirty little secret be? That I was really supposed to be a character on Lost.

45) Did you let The One get away? The One and more than my share of The Twos as well.

46) Which game show host is the biggest tool? Alex Trebek. He thinks he's so smart because he has the answers on his cards. Every time he speaks with a foreign accent I want to smash his head into Potpourri for $800.

47) Do you want to explain yourself? What can I say? I have a little bit of a violent streak.

48) A kick in the groin -- Fair game or dirty pool? Anything's fair when the guy is bigger than you.

49) Were you spanked as a child? I earned my share of red bottoms.

50) Were you spanked as an adult? An occasional attakid butt pat from my teammates.

51) How would you explain a "tossed salad" to your grandma? With visual aids.

52) Ever found Viagra in somebody's medicine cabinet? I have in fact.

53) Did you look at them differently the next day? Only because I ended up stealing it.

54) Do you judge fat people? When I see them with a cart full of Ben & Jerrys, Tombstones, and Lays in the check-out line, hell yea I do.

55) Which cartoon character did you have the hots for as a child? Lady Jaye (G.I. Joe) got me hooked on brunettes, but it's hard to choose anybody over Belle from Beauty and the Beast.

56) Ever watch porn from your dad's collection? Please. My father's a good Christian man who has no need for such rubbish.

57) Do you believe in faeries? They're actually pretty hard to avoid these days.

58) *SPOILER* How old were you when you found out Santa wasnt real? I was told when I was nine. I knew much earlier.

59) Have you ever died? Not that I recall. But after seeing The Sixth Sense, I'm not taking anything for granted.

60) Ever considered hooking up with an ex? We all have our dark, lonely nights.

61) Ever watched Spice World? It came out on my 18th birthday. HELL YEAH I SAW IT!

62) Are you lying? Sadly no. My girlfriend and I went to see it in the theater. At least I can say I got in free since I worked at the theater.

63) What is the worst movie that you secretly love? Hudson Hawk or Saving Silverman.

64) Are you wearing pants right now? Actually no. I'm typing this in bed.

65) Did you wash your hands? Before I took my contacts out. Little side note: If you have cool mint floss, make sure you take your contacts out before you use it. Otherwise, it burns your eyeballs.

66) What caused your last break up? She was bi-polar and threw dishes.

67) Did you wash your hands? Incessantly.

68) Does Dateline's To Catch a Predator touch too close to home for you? Well, I do have a MySpace page, but that's about as close as it gets.

69) What controversial topic are you most uptight about? There's not a single topic I've encountered that I'm uptight about, and that tends to get me into trouble.

70) When you see an ugly couple, does it make you laugh or does it make you sad? Momentarily sad because I'm lonely (awww), then relieved that I'm still not that lonely.

71) How many licks does it take to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop? Nobody has actually licked a lollypop since 1923. And even then it was in a cartoon. We've all turned into a bunch of suckers.

72) If I told you I saw Jesus in my grilled-cheese sandwich, what would you tell me? I'd probably steal it and put it on E-bay. People will buy anything that resembles Jesus these days. And a bunch of shit that doesn't.

73) Have you no shame? Maybe a little, after the fact.

74) Name your favorite prescription drug side effect. Fainting due to rapid blood loss.

75) Do you know what a magic bullet is? Of course. It kills werewolves.

76) If you fart in public to do you try to blame someone else? Can't. Everybody else around me passes out.

77) Are you having the BEST WEEK EVER? As far as weeks go, this one is right in the middle.

78) Should food touch? Who am I to judge?

79) Is it possible that you may have children and not know about it? I'm still waiting for the Maury show to call.

80) Do you have a face only a mother could love? You'd have to ask somebody besides my mom.

81) Do you eat food off the floor? What food? And whose floor?

82) What would you do for a Klondike Bar? Since I've never actually tried a Klondike Bar, I think the better question would be "What can a Klondike Bar do for me?"

83) For what amount of money would you drink a bottle of Ketchup? Twenty bucks plus expenses.

84) If you were competing for Miss America, what would your platform be? To hell with the children.

85) Should Britney Spears have her children taken away? She'll just keep popping 'em out like a gumball machine anyway.

86) Do you have a trendy ring tone? Ring tones are for 13 year old girls.

87) Does your mom still do your laundry? My mom does not do my laundry. Dad does.

88) Which celebrity are you most likely to go to jail for stalking? Professionally -- Joss Whedon. Romantically -- Alexis Bledel.

89) Have you ever used Nair? People do crazy things in college. And for one week my legs were siky smooth.

90) What does red mean to you? Blood. Blood means life. Life means OH MY GOD! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE?

91) Deal or No Deal? With you? No deal my friend. No deal.

92) Are you a tight end or a wide receiver? Linebacker.

93) Why can't I quit you? Because I gave you the attention you weren't getting at home, and now you think there's more to us than there actually is. I'm sorry, but it's over.

94) Levitra, is it really about the quality? I said it's over.

95) Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cry? Not necessarily, but you've pushed me to this with all your damn questions.

96) Have you ever in your life had a mullet? Right now I'm actually as close to a mullet as I have ever been.

97) Is it your fault your parents are divorced? They're actually still together, and I take full responsibility for that.

98) What can Brown do for you? It can clash with my black outfit.

99) What's in the special sauce? Ground-up Unicorns.

100) Are you a MySpace stalker? I've sent some messages that went without reply. Are you trying to say I'm a stalker now?

101) When you look in a mirror do you laugh or cry? It's more of a whine than an outright cry.

102) Do you use your powers for good or evil? Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeevil.

103) Do feminine hygiene commercials make you uncomfortable? Absolutely not. In fact, I think they should put out a compilation DVD.

104) Ever been in a porn shop? I've been in THE porn shop. The Hustler Store on Hollywood Boulevard. Jenna Jameson's breasts are cast in cement in front of the entrance.

105) Would you date a person missing three toes and one tooth? As long as the tooth was a molar and she never took off her socks.

106) Do you have street cred? Fa shizzle.

107) What magazine would you be a centerfold in? Psychology Today.

108) Do you ever get that not so fresh feeling? Every morning.

109) Do you feel stupid now? Stupid is as stupid does. So, yes, of course I feel stupid now.

110) Have you ever taken your ball and gone home? No, but I've kicked the ball onto the neighbor's roof.

111) Good lord. Is there a question you won't answer? Just don't ask me what happened in Vegas.

Ok kids. I'm officially retiring from the survey business. It's cheap and easy, and I have too much good stuff that I should be writing instead. But this was a good survey to go out on.

The Hum

2006-05-27T12:53:00.000-07:00

It’s not outside the realm of possibilities that my brother and I will one day collaborate on a book. We discussed it before he left for Iraq. Part of that discussion may have been our need to find some locus of control in a situation completely out of our hands. Perhaps it was our need to have something concrete to look forward to when his tour ended. Whatever the reason, it gave me something positive to concentrate on while he was away.

So, I started up The Longest Year; I scribble away on my whiteboard nightly; and I gut newspapers and magazines for their most poignant articles. I’ve spent the past many months jotting down every miniscule ripple that Andrew’s absence makes in the placid waters of my family. I want to be certain I have something to contribute when my brother returns home with his volumes of gritty and graphic tales that will doubtless hold oppressive reign over family conversations for many holidays to come.

In the beginning of this odyssey, writing topics fell from the sky. There was no shortage of conflict in the early months of Andrew‘s deployment. Of course, it didn’t help that he left just before the holidays, exacerbating the usual winter strife to epic proportions. I certainly didn’t enjoy the drama in our household, but the head-butting certainly filled up the journal pages. But while it was easy to write about the new experiences and new perspectives one gains at the beginning of such an enterprise, once complacency set in -- and it did set in -- it became much more difficult to find a hook or an angle for the domestic side of this tale.

My daily activities have mostly remained the same; the usual cycle of work, TV, writing, TV, Cubs, destitution, work, TV, etc. My parents remain busy as ever; my father with school board, booster club, and laundry; my mother with quilting and whatever evil machinations keep her at school until the wee hours of the evening. The only real change to the standard grind is my mother’s once-a-day e-mails and the occasional package of bric-a-brac that she demands my father and I contribute to (I supply episodes of Lost and 24 while dad handles the overseas postage).

On the surface things appear much as they always have, but life these days is certainly not the status quo. Everybody who loves my brother knows what I’m talking about. It’s that sense of unease beneath the surface of every day. Andrew doesn’t hold total dominion over my every waking thought, yet his absence and the danger he now faces lingers in my subconscious like a virulent infection. I don’t always think of Andrew, but I always feel him.

How can I articulate this sensation -- this fusion of loss, worry, and anticipation -- and the side-effects that manifest themselves in the most peculiar circumstances? I’ve been pondering this question for a while now, as my insights into the domestic side of deployment become less and less compelling. This feeling, this idea, is the key to my side of the story, of my family’s side of the story, but for the longest time I could not articulate it properly.

Then my I-Pod nearly killed me. As I mentioned in a previous blog, I’ve been weeding through my music library looking for the ideal playlist for my workouts. On this particular day I took a walk to the nearest mailbox to send back some Netflix DVDs, and I took along some music to test. Somewhere near St. Pius Catholic Church Kanye West’s “Jesus Walks” began to play. This tune is significant in two ways. First, the song itself has a distinct militaristic bent; it begins with a drill sergeant barking orders before a thumping cadence chant begins. Second, the song was used in the trailers for Jarhead -- the closest the cinema has come to depicting America’s military involvement in the Middle East (even if the film deals with Desert Storm). As the song began there was a jolt in my stomach, and suddenly my heart was beating out of my chest. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, so I took a knee in the grass and closed my eyes. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced -- a dangerous amalgam of adrenaline, fear, and panic. It felt as if every fiber in my being were vibrating furiously, pulling me apart in a million different directions. I wasn’t completely confident I’d have the wherewithal to pull myself together.

But I did, and by the time I got back home I had landed on a phrase that perfectly encapsulated both the breakdown on my way to the mailbox and the general malaise that has hung on me since Thanksgiving.

I call it The Hum.

Imagine the sound of a ceiling fan swirling overhead as you go to sleep. It‘s not typical for most of us to sleep through noise, but the fan is steady enough and quiet enough that after a few minutes we forget it’s there; we develop a synchronicity that allows us to slip into dreamland without issue. The fan is The Hum -- a constant presence that, for the most part, can be ignored.

But it’s a fragile relationship between you and the fan. Suddenly there’s an arrhythmic click amidst the steady whirr. The beat you’ve gotten used to is quickly, efficiently disrupted. Your heart starts to race as the anxiety of insomnia builds. You start looking at the clock as your window for a good night’s sleep closes. You can’t fix the click, because you can’t place the problem. Turning off the fan is not an option. All you can do is hope that the clicking will stop long enough for you to escape into sleep. So it is with The Hum.

Like with the bothersome click, it’s impossible to anticipate the next issue that will disrupt the agreement between you and The Hum or how the next interruption will manifest itself. Sometimes it’s through tears. Sometimes it’s through misdirected anger. Occasionally, it’s a nervous breakdown on the way to the mailbox. Still, most remarkably, the majority of the time the catalysts for these shake-ups have only tangential relationships to Andrew.

I’ve had issues with anxiety for a while now, but things have only gotten worse in recent months. For me, it’s a lot like waiting to go onstage on opening night of a play. My whole being is buzzing with the usual stage fright, but I know that once I get out there and into the moment the nerves will subside and I’ll be able to breathe again. Well, The Hum is like that, except I never get on stage. I just have to deal with the nerves. I just have to accept the anxiety. It would be nice to be able to point to this thing or that and say “This is why I feel this way.” That would allow me the chance to remove the disruptive stimulus and get back to normal. Unfortunately, I can’t remove my brother’s deployment from my life. Instead, I have to deal with the possibility that a swarm of electrified butterflies could go racing through my heart at any time -- while sitting at a stop sign, or taking a shower, or enjoying my morning Eggo. That’s just the way life is for the immediate future.

Of course, The Hum doesn’t always manifest itself in such an alarming fashion. Sometimes The Hum can be rather cathartic, as in this experience my father shared with me just the other day:

“I was watching Ladder 49 last night,” he told me. “And it’s not even that great of a movie -- but that scene at the end where they know he’s not getting out and he’s saying good-bye to everyone -- I just started bawling. Your mother came into the room and I had tears rolling down my face and she thought I was crazy.”

I don’t cry very often in the context of my own life. I cried when my brother left for Iraq. I cried after finishing my tribute to my grandmother. But usually I go years without a genuine breakdown. That being said, I’m easily manipulated by my favorite movies and TV shows. I leave the room whenever my dad watches Friday Night Lights, because I turn into a blubbering fool when Tim McGraw gives his son his championship ring. The debut of “Laura” on Battlestar Galactica totally messed me up. And Field of Dreams… we’ll just say it’s shameful.

All of those cases I can admit with a certain modicum of self-respect. Unfortunately, because of The Hum, my judgment of what shows are worthy of my tears has gone out the window. Damn near everything on television can choke me up these days. A few weeks back when they brought out a soldier’s daughters on Deal or No Deal I had to stop my workout and go hide in the locker room for five minutes so I could pull myself together. Movies that I know completely suck can squeeze a drop or two out of me thanks to my sensitivity to The Hum. My dad and I sat in the living room during Leo McGarry’s funeral on The West Wing refusing to look at each other‘s glossy cheeks.

Grown men. It’s really quite sad.

It’s hard to imagine living without The Hum. I’ve gotten so use to it. But this week marks the halfway point in Andrew’s tour, and soon enough that anxiety and urgency that has plagued us since November will be relieved. But even though it occasionally appears at inopportune times and in demoralizing ways, The Hum has a way of energizing me to do things I might not have done otherwise. Even as The Hum initially caused me to balloon to my heaviest weight ever, its constant pestering also drove me to my lowest weight and best physical condition in nearly ten years. Even though The Hum occasionally knocks the wind out of me, it pushes me to keep moving and keep the strength of its tone at bay. And even though it will push me to tears once in a while, there’s something refreshing about engaging emotions that too often stay in check.

It’s ridiculous to compare the trials my brother faces with something as abstract and personal as The Hum, however my brother has one advantage over those of us here at home. He can be proactive in silencing his own Hum. Those of us battling it here must accept it and patiently endure. We can’t stop The Hum ourselves. We can only wait for Andrew to come home and stop it for us.

TV Finale Speed Round

2006-05-25T12:52:00.000-07:00

West Wing ended with quiet grace, though the short-changing of the original cast members is slightly inexcusable. Toby doesn't even appear in the finale? Are you kidding?

Grey's Anatomy showed it has easily the most potent and well-rounded ensemble on television today. Denny's inevitable demise and Izzie's response were heartbreaking. The Burke-Christina dynamic was a little frustrating, but ended on the right note. My immediate reaction to the Meredith-Derek hook-up is "not again." Actually it was more like "This is on a network?" Talk about too hot for TV. While I'm skeptical of going back to the Grey/McDreamy merry-go-round, this show's been smart enough to avoid the pitfalls of standard TV fare, so I'll withhold judgment for now.

Prison Break is done. For a show that built up tension so well, it was amazing how little I cared once the fugitives got over the wall. When Michael's plan is so intricately detailed inside the wall, you'd think he'd have a better plan for once they got over it. The run-for-your-life stuff was out of character for Michael and out of character for the show. I have no interest in the conspiracy side of this show, so there's a high likelihood Prison Break will be the Desperate Housewives of next fall; solid first season followed by a meandering, weaker sophomore effort.

If 24 has a flaw (in my mind) it's that it's finales often falter trying to wrap up so many lose threads and cliff-hangers. While they've been fairly entertaining, they still come off as mildly anti-climactic. Well, not this season. The battle on the submarine was one of the more intense sequences in 24 history (anybody notice they went 20 minutes without a commercial break). We got some cold-blooded retribution for Palmer, Tony, and Michelle. Then we not only got our dream face-off of Jack Bauer and President Logan, but one of the best character-driven scenes in the show's run. Following that up with the nasty argument between Logan and Martha was like icing on the icing of the cake. Even the fact that the show ended on such a grim note played fantastically. I'm gonna have to watch 4 and 5 back-to-back to eventually decide which was the better season, but one thing's for certain -- 24 continues to defy the odds and get better with age.

What could be better than House vs. House? Well, that's essentially what we got with House battling his subconscious after being shot by a former patient. Or wait. He wasn't a former patient. We don't really know who he is. This was a terrifically twisted episode that ended on a rather morose note -- with House resolved to death while his team tries to save him.

One of the remarkable things about this season of Scrubs is its ability to mold lovable characters from supporting players who would have been after-thoughts on any other show. Intern and love interest Keith has proved a versatile comic talent. The janitor continues to steal every scene that he's in. And the finale featured a tremendously endearing turn by Elizabeth Banks as J.D.s new love interest. Like Arrested Development before it, the show features too many jokes, too many clever jokes that I would only spoil trying to recap. We'll just say this is the best, sweetest comedy on TV, and the finale showed us all why.

Once again Veronica Mars tied up a season's worth of mystery in both a sensible and dramatically engaging fashion. For the most part, the loose ends were tied up, and Rob Thomas and Co. even reached back to season one for closure (Veronicas rape, Aaron Echolls). As much as I enjoyed this season, I have to say that at the end I felt the show's writers were almost too smart for their own good. I could barely keep up with all the twists and turns in this show's season. That probably would have been fine had I watched the show on DVD, but with all the breaks and preemptions this season VM required so much effort to follow that there's no wonder its ratings were dismal. Hopefully, indications of three separate mysteries for next season will open the show up to a wider audience. Actually, I'm really fond of this idea. I think VMs narrative talents will only be more evident when we can actually follow all the twists and turns. Sidenote: All this love is showered on Kristen Bells performance, but I want to give some credit to Jason Dohring for his remarkably rich characterization of Logan Echolls. So much attention is paid to Dohring because of his looks and the will-they-or-wont-they Logan/Veronica relationship that his skillful performance is often overlooked. The way Dohring is able to dance from sarcastic rich boy to damaged kid to knight in shining armor is so fascinating he is easily one of my favorite characters on television.

Alias ended in a satisfying, if not ground-breaking two-hour finale. We got the moments we wanted. I loved Jack taking down Sloane (after Sloane gained immortality from Rhimbaldi), trapping him inside a cave for eternity. "You couldn't beat me." A great final line for my favorite character on the show. The Vaughn/Sark pairing worked on a different note, with Sark showing his mercenary leanings after one bullet to the leg (Marshall made Sark look like a girl with his ability to withstand torture). Though it lacked the dramatic weight of Jack/Sloane, the scene worked for general amusement. The Syd/Irina showdown was particularly brutal, and Lena Olin wrapped up the most enigmatic Alias character appropriately enough -- reaching for Rhimbaldi rather than her daughter. We now know where her allegiance lies, even as she claimed "I really did love you" to Sydney before kicking her in the face. Ah, Alias. You will be missed. I'll admit I teared up a little watching the Alias family walking towards the ocean at the show's end. Though they jerked me around quite a bit towards the end, and the passion I had for the show in its first two seasons has long since dissipated, I am still sad seeing the show go.

I'm a big fan of Web Gems on Baseball Tonight, and once in a while there's a play that defies the laws of logic and science and there's no other word to describe it but "ridiculous." That's what I thought about the season finale of Lost. Ridiculous. And I don't think there's a higher compliment I could pay it. I don't want to say too much, because my brother, who is currently stationed in Iraq, hasn't seen it and I already spoiled Edgar's death on 24 for him this season. He's coming home for midtour in June and we're going to watch it together then. Still, how could I even begin to describe everything that happened in those two hours last night. The tube to nowhere. The fail-safe. The station in the snow. One thing I can say, Lost has maintained a very real sense of dread since killing those two characters several weeks ago (my brother hasn't seen that episode yet, either). Watching those three characters tied up at the hands of The Others, especially THOSE three characters, was horrifying. I'm actually scared for them. That's a very different feeling compared to the curiosity of the contents in the hatch from last season. I was wavering on Lost in midseason, but after the last five or six episodes I'm back to my unabashed adoration for the show. Ridiculous. That's all I can say. Ridiculous.

The saddest hour of my TV season was watching the unfortunate final episode of my favorite new show, Invasion. While every other show had its ups and downs this season, Invasion started slow but maintained a consistent acceleration through out the season so that by the time the finale came it was flying faster than any other show on television. Unfortunately it was too late to pick up the viewers it lost early on. I have two things to say about this show. 1) I'll be pushing everybody I know to watch the DVD. 2) There was not a single character on television this year more fascinating than Sheriff Tom Underlay. The look on his face as Russell grilled him, "What did you do?" was stunning considering how Underlay essentially started the season as The Villian. Losing this show hurts more than either Alias or West Wing. I'm very sorry to see it go.

All you can really say about The OC is they killed Marissa. I honestly don't remember a single thing about the episode other than that. Oh, except Mini-Cooper saying she's going to rule Harbor. Still the staging or Marissa's death was well-done, what with the flashbacks to the series' tremendous first season. Plus the use of minimal dialogue kept it from going head-first into groaner melodrama. Like Prison Break, everything in this episode depends on how next season is handled. They're both on the borderline between evolution and jumping the shark. Stay tuned.

Smallville is a master of season finales. From the Godfather-esque closing of Season 3 with Chloe's apparent death, Lex's apparent death, and Clark's disappearance, to Season 4's meteor shower and debut of the Fortress of Solitude, this show always closed with a bang. This year was no different, yet I couldn't help but feel that the writers had dug themselves too big a hole this year. Metropolis is breaking down. Zod has arrived. Clark is stuck in the Phantom Zone. Martha and Lois are God knows where. That's a lot of balls in the air. I liked that things got a shade darker for the Boy of Steel this season, but next year will clearly be an important year in Smallville's mythology. I hope they can pull it off. They certainly set the bar high with this finale.

More Delays Mean More Surveys

2006-05-25T12:51:00.000-07:00

Hey kids, the two new blogs I'm working on have gotten kind of epic, so I'm making do with a new survey that I could finish in a half-hour. This one's fun. Just check out the first question....

1) Do you have a penis?
Wow. You waste no time Mr. Survey Man. Yes. I do. It's the balls that I sometimes question.

2) Do you pray?
I do not. I can't think of a less pro-active activity in all of human history. Hmm. Maybe American Idol

3) Are you in love?
I am in love with love, which is probably why I am not in love. Dig?

4) Ever wish on stars?
That sounds like a very hot place to be doing much of anything.

5) Do you believe in karma?
That would imply that I believe in some inherent sense of justice in the universe. HA! Silly rabbit.

6) What's your zodiac sign?
Aquarius. I actually read a horoscope yesterday that said I was very fertile and had the spirit of a pregnant woman. I wish I had kept a copy of that. I'll see if I can dig it up for you fine people.

7) Have you ever almost died?
Indeed. Twice in a six month span. But you know what they say, when you get thisclose to dying you live every day fearing you're going to finally close the gap.

8) Ever broken any bones?
Both bones in my right leg, hence my natural pimp walk.

9) Do you cry during sad movies?
I'll address this in my upcoming blog "The Hum" (That's what they call a teaser in the biz).

10) Do you like to dance?
Absolutely not.

11) Ever laid under the stars?
A bunch of floormates went out to a field to check out the Leonid Meteor Shower my freshman year and were crept up on by deer. Did you hear that deer are now attacking people at SIUC? After all the times my ex tried to feed them....

12) Ever sat on a rooftop?
I had to retrieve many a wiffle ball from my roof back in the day.

13) Is there such a thing as a soul mate?
No. Just people tough enough to stick it out forever.

14) Could you live without the television?
Not happily.

15) Could you live without music?
Workouts would be a bitch. I'd sooner make it without music than television, though. But what about television without music? Egad! Blast you Survey Man and your philosophical conundrums!!!

16) Do you have any self inflicted scars?
Only emotional ones (awwwww!)

17) What do you dislike the most about life?
Irrationality.

18) Have you ever been to jail?
Once in high school on a field trip.

19) Ever had a job for less than a day?
No. I usually stick it out.

20) Ever been fired on your first day?
No. Although there are some jobs I wish I had been.

21) Ever been fired because of your attitude?
Remarkably no, even though I make no secret of my displeasure. I still don't understand why I wasn't fired from the boat.

22) Do you get jealous of other people?
Who doesn't? I still wish I had my neighbor's Knight Rider Big Wheel.

23) Would you rather love someone or be loved?
I've had enough infatuations to realize that unrequited love is basically emotional self-flagellation. Be loved -- without a doubt.

24) What's under your bed right now?
Inserts for the dining room table.

25) Ever done anything illegal?
Nothing that can be proved in a court of law.

26) Have you ever been dumped?
Emily Olson in the 2nd Grade and Stephanie Kettering in the 10th. Stephanie Kettering hurt. That girl was HOT!

27) Ever dumped somebody?
Yea. I was a bastard in my younger days.

28) How cool are you?
As cool as the other side of the pillow.

29) Do you support abortion?
I support a woman's right to choose, but I also believe we should do everything in our power to limit the number of abortions performed. (Jeez what a buzzkill).

31) Did you graduate high school?
Yes, though it wrecked me emotionally.

32) Do you wear the same clothes two days in a row?
Only underpants. Wait... what?

33) Have you ever driven someone crazy?
How does one type a smirk?

34) Ever bullied someone?
Not intentionally, but apparently I have the kind of personality that can come off as bullying some times.

35) Ever done the Macarena?
Never. Not even at a wedding.

36) Do you act your age?
Give or take 10 years.

37) Is it okay to disrespect your parents?
If your parents are evil, absolutely. Mine aren't though.

38) Do you flush the toilet when you're done?
Yes, but sometimes those water-saving toilets don't quite take.

39) How long do you stay in the shower?
Five minutes max. In and out.

40) What kind of soap do you use?
Whatever is handy.

41) Are mullets cool?
I learned at a recent Steamwheeler game that I am, in fact, allergic to mullets.

42) Spiderman, Batman, or Superman?
Batman. Not even a contest.

43) Do you like your middle name?
Well enough.

44) Has anyone ever cheated on you?
I won't say cheated. I'll say I've dated somebody who wasn't fully committed to me. Yay for semantics!

46) What's your favorite animal?
Alligators. I miss them.

47) Favorite flower?
Venus Fly Trap.

48) Have you ever shaved your head?
For a year and a half or so. It was the most economically responsible hairstyle.

49) Do you think marijuana should be legal for medicinal use?
I think it should be legal for recreational use.

50) Do you think it is okay to drink and drive?
Now that's just stupid.

51) If you won $1 million dollars, what would you buy first?
A house for my mom in Cordova.

52) Do you fear terrorism?
Only the people who hijacked our country based on the public's irrational fear of terrorism.

54) What's your favorite candle scent?
Burnt Wax.

55) Do you use profanity?
As a fan of the English language there is no word I refuse to utter.

56) Who's the last person you talked to on IM?
Legs a.k.a. Nikki.

57) What's something you're ashamed of?
I once got hick and spick mixed up in front of my Mexican friend. It was in junior high, but it still grates on me.

58) What woke you up last night?
Nightmares. I seem to be having them a lot lately.

59) What did you dream about last night?
I dreamed I was back working at the Cinemas in high school. And I actually got some PG-13 action with a former co-worker. Then I woke up, and by the time I got back to dreamland I had returned to nightmare territory.

60) Ever been to the zoo?
The last time I went was with my ex-girlfriend. CRAP! I'm missing zoo animal day on PSL today.

61) How many beers did you have today?
Zero. I have had one beer in my life. It tasted like piss. So I quit.

62) What's the last movie watched?
Brokeback Mountain. Can you say "overrated?" It's The Passion of the Christ for the rainbow set.

63) Are you usually late or on time?
Usually way early. I have a thing about punctuality.

64) What's a cartoon you watch often?
Aqua Teen Hunger Force

65) Do you have any imaginary friends?
Even worse. I have an imaginary stalker.

66) Are you waiting on something right now?
Waiting for dad to come home for lunch.

67) Who's pretty?
The girls in my MySpace Top 8. EVERY GIRL on my brother's friend list. Hmm. What happened to that jealousy question?

68) Who's ugly?
I dont feel like being mean at the moment.

69) Are you worried about something?
My brother. Always my brother.

70) Ever swam in the ocean?
Yes. Boy, what a weak finish. Ever heard of "Save the best for last" survey man?

If You're Going to Be a Bitch, You Better F**kin' Win

2006-05-20T12:50:00.000-07:00

Three or four years ago, as my casual interest in the Chicago Cubs was solidifying into today’s rabid obsession, a fight completely reenergized their season. In a game against the Cinncinati Reds reliever Kyle Farnsworth went high and tight on pitcher Paul Wilson. Wilson took exception to the pitch and charged the mound. Farnsworth, without the slightest hesitation, became a Chicago Cub legend when he speared Wilson to the ground before the poor guy knew what hit him. Benches cleared, punches were thrown, etc., etc.

It’s the last altercation I recall up until today’s incident between Michael Barrett and White Sox catcher A.J. Pierzynski, but whereas Farnsworth’s ferocious tackle of Wilson ignited an average team into a driven one, Barrett’s blunt right cross only compounded a disappointing and frustrating season for Cubs fans.

I’m as ardent a Blue Blood as there is, but I can’t even begin to justify Barrett’s actions. Sure he took quite a hit from Pierzynski on that sac-fly play at the plate, but it was a clean hit. There was a fair amount of conjecture regarding why Barrett swung on A.J. Maybe AJ slapping the plate set Barrett off. Maybe it was AJ bumping into him after the play. Maybe words were exchanged. Whatever. When you’re the best hitter on the worst hitting team in the Majors, you have to have a better sense of your team’s situation before starting a barroom brawl in the heart of the lion’s den.

Now, I’m sure there are some simple-minded Cubs fans out there who cheered Barrett’s moxie. I found it embarrassing. It’s likely I’m a fool, but I have yet to give up on this season. I still want the Cubs to win. Those Cubs fans who cheer one punch as a victory have so diminished their expectations for their team that I can’t even look them in the eye. I don’t want the high point of my baseball season to be something that has absolutely nothing to do with baseball.

I’ve never been zealous about rivalries, mostly because such zealotry would spoil my ability to watch really great baseball. I guess I could hate the Cardinals, but I no rational baseball fan could ever utter the words “Pujols sucks.” I could hate the White Sox, I suppose, but they’re one of the most exciting teams to watch in Major Leagues. And the fact that today’s incident happened in the heat of the Cubs first series with the White Sox makes it so much more shameful in my eyes.

The White Sox are the best team in baseball, and the Cubs have been playing like a glorified farm team. If the White Sox are an exquisite Rembrant or Van Gogh, the Chicago Cubs are a notebook doodle. Watching these two teams, it’s like they’re playing a different game. Though it would have seemed three years ago that the Cubs would have the pitching staff of legend, Wood and Prior can’t stay healthy and Zambrano needs therapy. Meanwhile the White Sox have assembled a startlingly efficient starting pitching staff to compliment its aggressive offensive style. The Cubs are last in nearly every offensive category that matters. They’ve got a Triple-A pitching staff. Fielding? Nevermind. I think I’ll just stop. As a fan of baseball -- good baseball -- the Cubs are nauseating. When Michael Barrett took his shot at Pierzynski, he was essentially telling the Sox “We can’t beat you at baseball, so we’re going to get our shots in where we can.”

Fuck that. If you’re gonna be a bitch, you better fuckin’ win. The Cubs could not have looked more ridiculous as a ball club today. Leading up to the Pierzynski play, Cubs starter Rich Hill walked the bases loaded. Then Michael Barrett looks like a punk slugging AJ on a clean play (the punch, by the way, did nothing but fire up the Sox as Pierzynski went into the dugout beating his chest and shrugging off the hit). Then, two batters later Tadahito Iguchi took Hill into left center for a grand slam. Barrett’s punch made the Cubs look small; the Sox dominance of the game made them look smaller. The Sox won the day from every possible angle. They took the game 7-0, and the South Siders looked like the bigger (and better) team by letting their play, rather than their punches, speak for them.

I remember learning about the enmity between Sox fans and Cubs fans when I gave my cousin Brian (a Sox fan) Cubs Monopoly for Christmas 2003 (the year the Cubs made the playoffs and the White Sox collapsed late in the season). He didn’t speak to me for three months. At the time, I had no understanding of the intense dislike the teams, and the fans, had for each other. Always looking for the higher ground, I attributed the Sox’ animosity to petty jealousy. How quickly the tables have turned.

While the Cubs flounder with their unearned (and largely undeserved) national popularity, the Sox are actually earning a following (of which I now include myself) by doing the job, by playing fantastic baseball. There has been a sense of entitlement on the North Side ever since our oh-so-close playoff appearance in 2003. While the Cubs coasted on the goodwill afforded them by that miraculous year, the South Siders were busting their asses, working towards a championship.

A what? That’s right. A championship. And they earned it. Up until their absolute dominance in the post-season, despite having the best record in baseball, it seemed that nobody actually thought they would win the whole thing. But they didn’t bitch and moan and cry that they weren’t getting the attention they deserved. They went out and earned the love by playing great baseball, some of the best post-season baseball in the history of the game.

Meanwhile, our Cubs sat in their homes through October, their hands out, wondering why it wasn’t them. Weren’t the Cubs the loveable ones in Chi-town? Weren’t they the team everybody wanted in the post-season? Perhaps, but the Sox went out and earned our adoration, our respect. The Cubs, on the other hand, take our love for granted.

I was frustrated with the Cubs long before this afternoon, but after today I can barely stand to look at them. Today’s melee was sad and pathetic. It was a desperate act of frustration that illustrated the unfortunate mindset the Cubs are in this season. Instead of buckling down and focusing on the game, they’re lashing out like teenagers, and for this Cubs fan, it’s embarrassing.

I’m going Cub free for the next week. I’m not watching a game. I’m not visiting a website. I just don’t want to bother with them right now. I want to watch some real baseball for a change. So I’m gonna scour ESPN and see if I can’t find a good game or two away from those lovable losers (who get less lovable by the day).

Of course, I’ll come back. I still love the franchise. I love the field. I love the city. I love the tradition. But I need a break. I need to see other teams, teams that have their shit together. Maybe when I come back, The Cubs will be ready to play some real baseball. If not, I know there’s a team just across the way that already is.

Today's Reason I'm Doing the Snoopy Dance

2006-05-19T12:48:00.000-07:00

Finally. Finally, I'm mobile again. Yesterday, I got my laptop back from the magical land of Best Buy a full 10 days sooner than expected. I had just started to feel the effects of my sedentary computing on my creativity, and thankfully that sad time is behind me. I haven't really been able to enjoy it until this morning. I went to bed at 4 AM last night because I had to completely reboot my hard drive and then reinstall all of my programs. But today, I'm able to sit in front of the television, write this new message to my fans with Season 2 of The Shield playing in my sight line.

So, hopefully, with my laptop back in hand, I'll be able to churn out some of the blogs I've been planning since my laptop went on vacation including "How Do You Like Your Jesus?", "The Hum", and a disclaimer on a newly discovered hazzard on the roadways.

Stay Tuned.

The Tao of Hauling Ass

2006-05-09T12:48:00.000-07:00

I’m not old, but I’m behind. That’s my analysis of my life at the present time. Having seen many of my closest peers settling into something resembling adulthood, away from that self-centered universe I currently inhabit, I can’t help but feel like I’m dragging ass towards the rest of my life. My friend Steve and his doting wife are expecting their second child this summer. My cousin Brian married about six months ago. My cousin Robert, who is a year my junior, is married with a kid. Even my good friend Jasmyne, who's the closest to me in terms of a bohemian lifestyle, is currently living in sin with a guy she adores.

Then there’s me, four years out of college and just now settling into what may be considered a “career path.” I’m single and largely unavailable (don’t want to compound my own hang-ups with somebody else’s), and thankfully I don’t play Dungeons and Dragons or I’d be that guy who’s still living in his mother’s basement, etc, etc.

It’s odd that the weight of passing time is hitting me now, just when things are finally starting to go my way. I’ve gotten my foot in the door of the medium I’ve been trying to crack since college. I’m thirty pounds lighter since the beginning of the year. I’m in the best shape I've been in since hitting my 20’s. And in general, I’ve had a reasonably good disposition (for me anyway). Still, even as I’ve reached a point of contentment I couldn’t have foreseen even a year ago, I'm frustrated that I didn’t reach this point one year, two years, even four years ago.

Still, part of me still feels young and virile for one reason and one reason only: I can still sprint. There’s a scene in the new Mission Impossible where Tom Cruise hauls ass through Hong Kong. It’s a long take that goes ten seconds longer that it should have, but Tom Cruise is booking down the streets like a track star. Acts like that have become my gold standard for youth. It’s something nobody seems to do when they get older. Ask yourself when was the last time you ran as fast as you possibly could. Up until a few weeks ago, it had been years for me. There’s just no need to sprint as we get older. Some of us jog. A lot of us walk. But virtually nobody feels the need to sprint.

I do, though. There are songs that make me want to race through the hallways of KWQC during my workout. Movie trailers make me want to go action-star and leap over chairs (or, if they’re for romantic comedies, to race after a girl through the airport). It’s about vitality. It’s about intensity. It’s about urgency. It’s a little ridiculous, but I have a need – a need for speed.

As long as I have the virility to run the way Ethan Hunt races through the streets of Hong Kong, as long as I feel well enough to bolt through a crowd screaming “Get down! Get down!” (the ability, not the justification) all this prattling on about wasted years will just be the occasional pangs of vanity that we’ve all been subject to at one time or another. It’ll just be me talking about getting older. Not feeling like I'm getting older.

So, if you ever see me randomly take flight down a hallway or across a street or through your backyard, don’t be afraid. Sometimes I just need to remind myself of my own energy, my own vitality. In the sage words of Forrest Gump, sometimes I just feel like running.

Sort of a Cool Moment For Me

2006-05-08T12:47:00.000-07:00

Ever since I became a TV fanatic, I've been going to TVGuide.com for news and reviews and the like. During my time there I became a fan of a certain columnist there by the name of Michael Ausiello. It's kind of interesting the stuff you can become a fan of. Like my recent admiration for Roger Ebert, I'm now finding special enjoyment in how people write about things more than what they're writing about. Anyway, Ausiello is the "inside guy" at TV Guide. He's the one who gets the dirt on what's coming up on shows like Lost and 24, and then teases some of what he's learned in his weekly column Ask Ausiello. But like I said, it's how he writes about it. You can check out his column to see what I'm talking about, but mainly I'm drawn to the site because Ausiello is 100% wiseass (sound like anyone you know?). He's a lot of fun to read.

So, recently TV Guide began hosting blogs, and I decided I'd create one... being the TV junkie that I am. And I was stuck on a name. Finally I came up with this... Ausiellics Anonymous. Now the entire first post is dedicated to why I chose this name, so I'm not going to repeat that here. However, I got quite a nice surprise when I found out that my favorite TV Guide columnist had, if not read, at least heard of and seen my new blog. He posted a brief blurb about it on his own personal website this morning. While this probably isn't all that big a deal to you lot, I have to say this is probably the biggest geek-out moment I've had since I met John C. McGinley (Dr. Cox) during my internship at NBC.

Mission: Impossible 3

2006-05-08T12:45:00.000-07:00

For those with more than a casual interest in film and television, two questions matter most about Mission Impossible 3. The first question is "Can Tom Cruise shed enough of his increasingly bizarre public persona to deliver the grand escapist entertainment we've come to expect from this franchise." The other question, the more important question for me, is "Can J.J. Abrams, the mastermind behind Alias and Lost leave as strong an imprint on the big screen as he has on the small screen?"

The answer to the first question is well enough. The film moves so fast, starting en media res with one of the better opening teasers I've seen on film (Abrams used it repeatedly on Alias) that establishes much higher stakes for Cruise's Ethan Hunt than he's had before. He's fallen in love with a sweet girl named Julia (Michelle Monaghan), an adorable nurse with brown hair and big doe eyes (remind you of anyone) who thinks Ethan studies traffic patterns for a living. As long as either Ethan or Julia are in peril, Cruise is terrific. One thing you can't criticize Cruise for is laziness; he jumps and falls and shoots his way through the action scenes with a physical gusto lightened of the vanity that many action stars bring with them. "If I'm cut make sure its a sexy cut. If I fall make sure its a sexy fall." None of that for Cruise. He gets tossed around by jets, parachutes, and even Philip Seymour Hoffman, with more concern for realism than posturing.

Ethan Hunt only starts to dissolve into gossip-magnet Tom Cruise during Hunt's engagement party, when he has to mingle with his fiancee's friends. We start to see glimmers of that slightly psychotic grin and maniacal laughter, but in all honesty this scene is brief enough that it's actually kind of amusing, especially with Mini-Kat Monaghan as Cruise's love interest. But we don't linger in the domesticated world long enough for the illusion to crumble completely. A phone call from IMF spoils the party and we're off to the races.

Apparently Hunt is no longer a field agent, but serves IMF by training new agents. As Ethan celebrates his engagement to Julia, he gets a call telling him that his first trainee Lindsey Ferris (Keri Russell) went off the grid. Suddenly, Hunt is back in action and knee deep in a conspiracy involving nasty gun runner, Owen Davian (Philip Seymour Hoffman), and something called The Rabbit's Foot.

So, with the story set up, we must now confront question number two: How does Abrams do?

The answer is poor.

Awful.

Mediocre at best.

Oh, who am I kidding? J.J. Abrams has made a slick, confident feature debut that will likely steal another of my favorite writers away from serial television. First Joss. Now J.J. Well, at least Aaron Sorkin is coming back; TV has managed to keep its hooks in him.

But back to Abrams and Mission Impossible. It's everything you could want from a summer blockbuster. Its not quite on the level of last years Batman Begins, but I enjoyed it a great deal more than any other offering from last year's peak season. I can only hope the rest of the summer continues in this vein.

Abrams and Co. keep the film moving through its labyrinthine (but decipherable) plot at a fantastic clip. Not including the great pacing, two things really stuck out for me about Abrams handling of the film.

First, the tired quick-cut, mish-mash, ultra close-up style that action hacks like Michael Bay have dumped on movie-goers since the 90s is largely absent here. There's not a single sequence where we have to stop and ask wtf is going on. Not only does Abrams keep his cuts reasonable, but he also makes liberal use of wideshots and medium-shots -- two compositions all but lost on today's action filmmakers. The scene on the bridge (the one from all the ads) is one of my favorite action scenes in a long while and it's all because Abrams pulls back and lets us see everything. It was probably expensive to work that way, but I much prefer it to the visual mush we usually get.

I was also relieved to see the action scenes pulled off with a bare minimum of coyness. Too often action films like to wink at us in the gravest of situations; Bad Boys II comes to mind. The entire world is crumbling, but there's always time for a snappy one-liner. M:I:3 doesn't go for that. It keeps things serious, keeps things real, and it adds a certain layer of suspense and danger that we lose when characters don't take their predicaments seriously.

And nobody takes things more seriously than the franchise's best villain so far, Owen Davian. Holy s--t was he fun to watch. Hoffman plays the role with such a grave nastiness you might think he's in the wrong movie. Everybody has seen his threats to Hunt at the beginning of the films trailer:

"You got a wife? Girlfriend? I'm gonna hurt her. I'm gonna make her bleed. And then I'm going to kill you in front of her."

Well, what you wont get from the trailers is that Davian is actually in IMF custody when this conversation takes place. This is supposed to be Hunt interrogating Davian. But Davian works such a swift and savvy mindf--k on our hero that Hunt absolutely loses control. This was a perfect chance for some moustache-twirling, but instead Hoffman gives this sadistic soliloquy with a mix of irritation and ennui that would be laughable if it wasn't so disturbing. He plays it like he's pissed that he's held up in traffic, even as he's talking about torturing Hunt's lover. Hoffman's choices here are totally unconventional for a summer movie villain, and the movie is all the better for it.

All in all, M:I:3 is exactly what you'd expect from summer entertainment -- thrilling action, breakneck pace -- but both Abrams and Hoffman spiced up what could have been a standard meal of fast cars and big explosions with enough style and wit to send me home a little more satisfied than I might have expected. Great start to the summer.

Final Grade for Mission: Impossible 3 -- B +

How Does One Translate Apoplectic Rage to the Page

2006-05-06T12:44:00.000-07:00

Yesterday my laptop screen just went black. After trying the all-American Reboot Remedy, nothing happened. So I was forced to take my computer in to Best Buy for the ole check up. And as it has been every other time I've taken my laptop in to get serviced (five times now), they can't actually FIX anything in the store. They have to send it away. So, I'll be landlocked with my online exploits until May 30th. I have a fair amount of potential blog topics (good ones, at that), but I find it hard to write on this desktop. So, I don't know how often I'll be subjecting you to my special brand of commentary over the next month. I hope I can get something out, but me without my laptop is a little like Mozart without his Piano.

Fat Hands and Open Sores

2006-04-30T12:41:00.000-07:00

When does a blister become a boil? This has become an essential question for me over the past month as I've returned to an exercise regimen in order to restart my stalled Weight Watchers momentum. Previous to my current streak of physical activity, I have yet to go longer than a week before inconvenience and a lack of motivation left me with a gym membership that saw less action than a Star Trek conventioneer. Once in a while I'd venture into a weight room and confirm that the bench press operates just as it did in my glory days (although, judging by the diminishing number of plates I could handle in my post-college years, I'd say that gravity has increased substantially since high school).

But today, I'm thrilled to say I've crossed that essential one-month exercise plateau and I'm currently in the best shape I've been in since an Alleman lineman turned my kidney into pudding. Still, it hasn't been easy, maintaining my enthusiasm for the blood, sweat, and tears that come with the FDA recommended physical activity. I'm being tested. Even as I've found a routine I can stick to, my body has introduced me to a number of new degenerative tics that have added a new, aggravating dimension to my workouts.

The first, and most peculiar malady involves an abundance of blood accumulating in my hands. Apparently, when I spend an extended period of time on a treadmill without concerning myself with those extra calories I could burn with the mall-walk shadow-boxing, my hands swell up like the Incredible Hulk. It's not anything I'm concerned about, but it's an unusual sensation to make a fist and wonder whether your palm fat is going to spring a leak.

On the other hand, I am a little concerned with the epic battle of wills I'm currently fighting with my feet. Now, I expected blisters might become an issue when I started spending an hour on the treadmill five days a week -- its only natural -- but their precise nature and veracity I could never have predicted.

When one thinks of blisters, where does one usually envision them appearing? Back of the heel? Sure. The sides of the feet? Absolutely. Even the bottom of the heel I can understand. But how does a blister arise on the inside of my big toe? I never expected to develop blisters in such a remote area of my foot, shielded, as it is, from the main pediatric irritants of the shoe. But apparently there's some animosity between Big Toe and Pointer Toe, and Pointer spends the majority of my sixty minute workout bitch-slapping Mr. Big all around my New Balances. So, I'm now dealing with two dime size blisters in an area I've discovered is highly prone to toe-on-toe violence. The blisters have also exposed a new wrinkle in my biology; apparently blisters can double-up. I have blisters bubbling up through previous blisters; the inside of my big toe is beginning to look like bubble wrap.

I think it's a testament to my determination that I can look at the deterioration of my primary Piggies and still get myself to the gym every afternoon. Of course, there is a line where Band-Aid isn't going to provide sufficient reinforcement against the constant bombardment from Pointer Toe, and I'm close to crossing it. I suspect I'm three or four days away from complete mummification. But until that time comes when I'm weighing the pros and cons of amputation, I will not be deterred in my renewed quest for physical fitness.

Vanity is such a splendid motivator.

My Brother Just Murdered My Ego

2006-04-28T12:39:00.000-07:00

So, thanks to an enormous MySpace cult at KWQC, I decided I would jump on the bandwagon. As of this afternoon, I had three friends: Jules from work, the MySpace Guy, and Pam from The Office. So, the co-worker, the friend-whore on everybody's list, and a fictional character from a TV sitcom. That's just sad. I looked to alleviate my measely inner circle by leeching off a young man whose social adventures are that of legend: my brother. So, I punched in his e-mail address and hunted him down.

At first I was quite delighted to find that Andrew's profile picture was the now legendary "Pelican Picture" shot by yours truly. But then I scrolled down to his friend window.

You see... it's not just the number. I mean it is. The number's ridiculous. 134. Not counting my pending friendship (approve me ass). But it's also the... well... it should come as now surprise...

Beautiful

Women

Everywhere

Quantity AND quality.

Now, I knew my brother was friends with a lot of attractive girls. We had quite the harem about the homestead on Thanksgiving weekend before he left. Much as I can appreciate the charms of the "old-schoolers" who've been regulars at the Rockwell home since high school -- the Briannes and the Mels and the Lindsays -- never could I have imagined the magnitude of my brother's magnetism. It's truly a national phenomenon, reaching far beyond the tiny burg of the QC.

I don't want to give people the wrong impression. My brother is truly tired of the lothario label that was stamped on his forehead in his younger days, and he will probably try to kill me (with his bare hands (because he can)) for publicizing my reaction. So let me be clear; I'm not impressed by his friend list in some sort of frat brother, bedpost-notching, drunk high-five sort of way. I'm impressed because I've dated five people in my life and none of them speak to me anymore (ok one would like to, but she's crazy). My brother's dated... many more than that... and I wouldn't be surprised if every one of them is on that list! And all of them still have a genuine love for him.

Hmm. When I look at it that way, it's hard to be jealous. The more love sent his way, the better.

Let me see what I can do to boost that number.

Baseball With Nobody To Call

2006-04-27T12:38:00.000-07:00

I cannot properly convey the tremendous uplift I get each spring with the return of the baseball season. Since I retired from sleds and snowball fights, the winter months have been particularly difficult to manage. I get by with new episodes of my favorite television shows and football on Sundays, but there are some days when there’s just nothing interesting going on. All of that changes on opening day, when I no longer have to scour my schedule with a microscope to find a reason to get up in the morning. If it’s spring or summer, there’s a good chance the Cubs are playing. If they happen to be on an off-day, I just turn my attention to the Cordova Confederacy Fantasy League and the odds are good I’ll have somebody to root for or against. But with each euphoria I relish during these next six months, an unfortunate anti-climax will follow close on its heels.

This Monday’s Cubs game against the Florida Marlins is a perfect example. Carlos Zambrano was his usual mercurial self on the hill, alternating between unpredictable flamethrower and off-speed magician. Though the performance was far from the majesty of a Greg Maddux, Big Z proved unhitable save two home runs. It was the type of performance my brother and I love to talk about. We easily could have spent a half hour on Zambrano’s first at-bat alone, a strike-out he punctuated by snapping his bat in half across his knee. This guy is batshit crazy and a watercooler GOD!

Sadly, for the majority of the 2006 season, the Rockwell watercooler diatribes will be tragically infrequent. The full weight of this missing link in my baseball zeitgeist struck me during the Cubs eighth inning rally against the Marlins. Down 3-0, the Marlins opened the door with a number of walks and base hits. Then, with the bases loaded, rising star Matt Murton stroked a liner into center that tied the game.

Any other year, I would have reached for my cell phone and hit speed-dial four: Andrew. We leave dozens, if not hundreds of messages for each other over the course of a baseball season. Brevity is the rule:

“Maddux, baby!”

“Big Z!”

“Murton’s a PIMP!”

Hours or days later, we’d break the voice message cycle and more fully digest the many tagline observations we’d accumulated since our last conversation.

Monday was a night filled with potential euphoric voice messages, but then the blunt reality hit me. I can’t even call my brother. That seems like a realization that would have hit me sooner, but it didn’t. My brother and I only spoke sporadically during the winter months even when he was home. But when baseball starts, we’re locked in a relentless back-and-forth. Only after Jacque Jones followed Matt Murton’s game-tying hit with a three-run blast did it finally strike me that our give-and-take, which is so essential to the baseball experience for me, will be sidelined longer than Prior or Wood.

On the morale roller coaster that has been my brother‘s deployment, I’ve reached a new nadir. Since I’ve started work I’ve shared maybe three or four conversations with my Andrew. I definitely got spoiled by unemployment and our near-daily Instant Message conversations. The big fantasy showdown I was so psyched for ended up on the anti-climactic note. Sure, it ended up being a route -- I beat Andrew 13-5 and threw him into a three-way tie in the cellar -- but my brother still would have had some angle from which to talk shit. He’d call it luck. He’d remind me he still knows more about baseball than I do. Something, anything to add some flavor to our contest. But alas, the week passed with not a word between us. Where’s the fun in that?

So, yes, baseball season is here, and I’m loving every minute of it. But like so many other things in The Longest Year, a very important piece will be missing.

When Death Is Your Reward

2006-04-24T12:36:00.000-07:00

This afternoon the jury in the Zacharias Moussaoui trail began deliberation. They will now decide whether the lone man to be charged as a result of 9/11 will either be executed or spend the rest of his life in prison. Now, I understand the natural compulsion to kill a man who played a part in such a tragic day in our country's history, and who shows absolutely no remorse. But seeking eye-for-an-eye retribution in this case will be less punishment for Moussaoui than it will be a reward.

Moussaoui comes from a section of Islam that values martyrdom so highly that scores of young men sacrifice their lives on a weekly basis in a quest for this holy status and its celestial rewards. By executing him, not only are we giving him what he wants, the Americans who continue to suffer because of 9/11 will not find themselves liberated from their grief or anger. Moussaoui has already shown his predilection towards defiant outbursts; expect nothing different on the day of his execution.

Death and martyrdom is the only thing Moussaoui can hope from his life now. He hopes to be remembered, by Al Qaeda and their brethren, as a hero who defied the Great Satan of the United States all the way to the grave. And the great irony is that only the United States, specifically the 12 men and women now considering Moussaui's fate, can grant him his last wish.

I hope the jurists have the ability to put aside thoughts of vengeance and justice, and choose instead to truly punish Moussaoui. Put him in jail for the rest of his life. Don't give him or his cohorts anything to celebrate. Don't let him turn death row into a platform for more of his tired rhetoric. Moussaoui's still a young man. It'll be decades before news of his death will come at the tail end of a nightly news cast, long after he's been forgotten by even the most ardent supporters of Al Qaeda. He'll die quietly, without extravagance or fanfare, and we'll take away the attention that he's used to such great effect during his trial.

We love quick fixes in this country, and I'm sure many are hoping their grief and anguish will die with Moussaoui. Unfortunately, there's no quick fix for the wounds of 9/11. Those who suffer today will suffer, to some degree, for the rest of their lives. I say we should let Moussaoui suffer with us.

Wild Night

2006-04-14T21:38:00.000-07:00

I first saw the lightning when I walked out of Target. At the time, around eight o'clock, it was far in the distance -- just a handful of flashes every minute or so. I returned home to an empty house; mom was getting her hair done and dad was tending to his booster club. Uninterested in Thursday night's TV offerings, I decided I'd spend some time on the porch -- storm-watching.

Back in my adolescent years I spent a great deal of time watching storms from my front porch. In fact, I commonly took our camcorder with me for those afternoon firecrackers. We probably still have 10-12 video tapes around the house with thunderstorm footage. Well, our video camera has long been retired, but I still had access to my Nikon D70 digital still camera. So, I plucked it out of its case and took a seat on my front steps.

For the next hour, I sat perfectly still against the porch railing, my camera set to rapid-fire, snapping as fast as I could when the clouds flickered. After about an hour of fiddling with shutter speeds and apertures I had gotten fairly good at catching the occasional bright cloud (occasionally good last night meant probably one out of every fifteen shots wasn't completely black). I had been outside for nearly an hour when I heard something I've never heard before.

The town sirens went off. For real. Not a test.

Now, I had spent the afternoon at KWQC and it didn't seem like anything too serious was coming our way in terms of weather. Let alone something so serious that, for the first time in my 26 years in Rock Island, the town sirens would need to be used. This was fairly alarming. I quickly ran inside and turned on the television to see Rock Island county coded in red: Tornado Warning.

I hung out at the kitchen table as the veteran TV6 news team used phrases like "this is classic" and "I've never seen..." Then I saw something on the radar I've never seen before: the color black. Black. What the hell is black? In addition to this rather unpleasant hole in the radar, there was literally a wall of spirals that doppler uses to indicate rotation. And it was all headed our way. I got through three (two and a half) hurricanes in Florida without the slightest hint of a bowel mishap, but I definitely had to clench last night.

From the looks of the radar, I had some time before I had to consider diving into the crawl space. So, I returned to the porch with my camera, assured that things were going to pick up quite a bit. Both of my parents arrived without even noticing their son on the porch with a camera (probably shouldn't make that public knowledge). Not long after my cousin, Amy, came over to brave the storm with us. All in all I spent upwards of two hours shooting. Now 1 for 154 isn't the greatest batting average, but when this is your one hit... no complaints.

Interesting side note: I sent this photo in to my chaps at KWQC and they've made liberal use of it on its broadcasts last night and this morning. However, I didn't get credit for it, despite putting my name in the e-mail. That hurts my feelings a little. So, just remember good people, when you see the above picture on television over the next couple days, you know who shot it.

Ten Reasons Life is Really Good Right Now

2006-04-07T12:34:00.000-07:00

I struggle to recall a time when my destiny dealt me so many great cards at once. The full magnitude of my recent good fortune struck me as I drove into work with the windows down, sun in my face and wind in my hair, after watching Aramis Ramirez take Bronson Arroyo into the bleachers with the most violent home run hack I think I’ve ever seen.

So this needs documentation. For those days down the line when I feel like nothing can go right – shoe-drop mode, I like to call it – I thought I’d run down the ten reasons my life is really good right now:

1. Paula Sands Live

Just getting the job at KWQC was a godsend, but Paula Sands Live is the best part of my workday. Unlike the newscasts that are rigid and monotonous, this half-hour talk show allows the camera operators to improvise. I’ve found myself competing with the other camera operators to get the most shots on air, and there is no greater motivator for me than competition. Speaking of which…

2. The Cordova Confederacy

In my first week of fantasy baseball I had one pitcher on the DL (Kerry Wood) who I missed the chance to replace in my lineup. On the first day of real baseball I lost another starting pitcher C.C. Sabathia to injury. Now, another pitcher, Eric Gagne, is having a possible season ending surgery on Friday. Needless to say, my first match-up with Brian has been a rout. And I honestly could care less. I was apparently a closeted stat geek all this time, and I have spent the better part of the past two nights scouring the waiver list looking for a solution to my pitching quandary. All of this is in preparation for my Week 3 match-up with Baby Brother. He talks oh-so-much shit.

3. Juan Pierre

As a Cubs fan, I’ve trained myself to look for silver linings. While I could be dwelling on the fact that I have no idea who is in the Cubs rotation besides Z and Maddux, I choose to look for those new elements of this year’s team that could push us the way of success this season. One such element is Juan Pierre. After the three years of praying Corey Patterson’s raw talent would materialize into a real ballplayer, the Cubs sent him packing and went and got themselves a serious lead-off man in Pierre. Mashers like Derek Lee and Aramis Ramirez were reliable last year, but with nobody on base all the long balls added up to a fourth place finish in the Central. But with his couldn’t-have-written-it-better triple to lead off the season, Pierre arrived in wonderfully dramatic fashion. If he can keep delivering, Lee and Ram-Ram should have ample opportunities for the RBIs that were so embarrassingly elusive last season.

4. Fox Mondays

If I hadn’t had the miracle of DVR, I don’t know if I could have accepted the job at KWQC. HA! I kid. I kid. A little. I could stand to miss a few shows, but Fox Mondays have become the most harrowing night of television I’ve ever seen. And I’m a TV geek. After several months hiatus, Prison Break returned with newfound character. Always reliable for harrowing cliff-hangers and sick twists, the first two episodes back took a more character-oriented tack. The downtime did little to diminish this show’s energy. Meanwhile, 24 continues to fire on all cylinders, ending this week’s episode with one of the more intriguing twists in its run (which I won’t spoil for my brother). Its most brutal season thus far (at least four major characters have bought it so far… nope five), season five is neck and neck with last season as the show’s best. And with this week’s shocking turn, it has the potential to get even better.

5. Fridays with Dad

One of the blessings of my job (thanks to DVR) is that I don’t go into work until three in the afternoon. That means my mornings are free. And that means for the first time ever, my dad and I will have a regular date on Friday mornings for golf. I love golf, almost as much as baseball. I would have been playing golf by myself, but I’d much rather be out there with my dad. Classic bonding time. Plus there’s always room to add some challengers to the mix every once in a while. Uncle Mike. Uncle Mac. Norm. I'm talking to you guys.

6. Windows Down

Simple. Classic.

7. Kingdom Hearts II

I’m not a video game guy. When I worked at the boat, there were fleets of my co-workers who spent hours upon hours in front their X-Boxes duking it out in Halo or …. That’s the only one I really know. Still, there are those times when I go through a month or two flurry of gaming. This past binge was a little longer, being that I was unemployed, but over the course of that time I discovered an absolute gem for PS2 called Kingdom Hearts. This remarkably entertaining title mixed characters from the long-running Final Fantasy video game franchise with an abundance of characters from Walt Disney’s vaults. How can you go wrong when your sidekicks are Donald and Goofy? Honestly. One of the breakthrough launch titles for the PS2 when it was released in 2001, the much-anticipated sequel dropped last week. While I can only play about a stage at a time with the job running interference, I can’t wait to get back to this quirky adventure as soon as I get home. Fun for the whole family.

8. Sexy Beast in Training

It’s been a long while since I was pleased with my physical appearance. Nearly a decade, I think. But thanks to Weight Watchers and my two hour lunch break, I’m just about as close as I can be to aesthetic contentment. Since starting Weight Watchers eleven weeks ago, I’ve gone from 235 to 208 (as of this morning), and since KWQC has a company gym in the basement I spend my time between the 6 and 10 newscast rotating between the treadmill and my brother’s West Point try-not-to-puke workout. By my own estimation that puts me approximately twenty pounds away from Sexy Beast status.

9. Mix CDs

I don’t listen to the radio anymore. The Top 40 station around here is so saturated with generic thug rap that I’d rather bang my head against a Casio than endure another gold-tooth bitches and hos remix. But thankfully, I still find a handful of gems, mostly from The OC and IPod commercials, to bolster my music library and keep my driving time easy.

10. St. Ambrose University

Ironically, I applied to SAU to bolster my resume for the channel 6 job. Then I got said job. Fortunately, that allowed me more freedom for my class schedule. I no longer needed to learn how to operate studio cameras. Instead, I can turn my focus to my calling (according to mom) – video editing. So come fall, I will be permanently latched to SAU’s Final Cut Pro Stations.

Now, in the sake of full disclosure, here are five things that remain a concern to me. I hope my luck these can eventually turn my way as well.

1. Ouch My Bank Account

Despite the prestige one might infer from the words "television job" unless you run the station or appear in front of the camera, TV doesn’t pay squat. So while it might be sexy to say you work for a TV station, it remains the worst paying job I’ve had since high school. Positive Spin: Doing something you love is its own reward.

2. Duck and Cover

Obviously, I wish people would stop shooting at my brother.

3. Single

This one really doesn’t bother me a whole lot. Still, it would be nice to find a lady I could spar with (intellectually). At the moment I'm looking forward to a potential hot Wrigley Field date with an old friend lined up for later this summer.

4. Thank God My Parent's Don't Have a Basement

Technically I have four years before I become the full cliche – the 30 year old man still living with his parents. But with my lowly income, I have some concerns.

5. Hamstring

I tend to get a little overzealous on the new workouts, and I think I tweaked my hammy. Oh well. I'll have to take her easy tomorrow.

Wavering Loyalties in America's Pasttime

2006-04-03T12:33:00.000-07:00

Though the ChiSox kicked the season off last night, for most of us baseball begins today. Talking to my brother on the phone last night (yes he called), he told me he had butterflies in his stomach awaiting the Cubs opener. I know how he feels. And I'm sure he's having a good day so far after the Cubs put up a five-run first inning which included wonderful contributions from off-season acquisitions Juan Pierre and Jacque Jones, not to mention the Cubs big prospect Matt Murton.

But there's also the spectre of the Cordova Confederacy, my cousin Brian's fantasy league. Already this adventure is playing mind games with me. Acquring Cub killer Albert Pujols with my first pick started it off. Now the Cubs have put up a five run first inning against my bottom pitcher Aaron Harang. I'm a competitive guy. And I really want to do well in my first year in fantasy baseball.

Well, if I must lose in the fantasy league, the least the Cubs could do is give me a World Series. Is it too much to ask?

Identity Crisis: Am I Funny?

2006-03-28T12:40:00.000-08:00

I think I’m a funny guy. No, I take that back. I’m certain I’m a funny guy. I wield my wit as Errol Flynn wields the epee (we’ll talk about my ego later). I'm always reliable for a snappy one-liner or witty retort. Yet the more I consider it, the more I realize that my expertise in all things wiseass is best suited for conversation. I could never be a stand-up comic because I work better when I have somebody to return my volleys. The great tragedy of my give-and-take humor is that it doesn’t translate readily to the page. I start writing and an impenetrable earnestness wraps around me, stifling whatever jovial or light-hearted spirit that initially compelled me to write. It’s as if my subconscious sees humor as a slight on my character.

“Funny people aren’t taken seriously,” the Gravitas Gnome in my head warns. And like the great sage Lindsay Lohan says every time she stumbles out of The Viper Room and pukes in a paparazzo’s lap, “I really want to be taken seriously.”

This inherent weakness revealed itself when a friend passed me a classified ad searching for columnists for a film and television website. Can you say wheelhouse? I revisited some of the columns I’ve composed over the past year to see what I could scrounge up for a potential writing sample. I wanted something brief and glib, something to demonstrate my deft touch with the written word. Instead what I found were dozens of long-winded essays that, while heavy on the insight, lacked a certain flair that made them even slightly readable. I mean how can a review of a film as laughably atrocious as Fantastic Four want of any genuine laughs of its own? That’s not natural.

If only there were a surgical procedure -- a hubrisectomy, if you will -- that could alleviate the gravity with which I conduct my pop culture examinations. They have a pill for everything these days. Why not one that removes the stick from one’s ass? Well, until Merck sees the profitability in curbing pretension, I guess I’ll just have to be satisfied with my conversational dexterity and hope that my drollness eventually seeps into my literary endeavors.

A Good Day With a Splash of Irony

2006-03-22T12:32:00.000-08:00

There's a rule in life. The minute you settle for something less than what you want, the original object of your desire will come calling. So, when you want a certain job, the rule says you won't hear from said job until you have another, less appealing employ. A month or so ago I interviewed for a studio crew position at KWQC Channel 6, the fillet of local news. Well, I never heard from them. So, I went about looking for other employ (nothing happened there), as well as applying to St. Ambrose's Radio and Television program (accepted). So, while Channel 6 was my dream entry level job, and I never heard back from them, I decided I should get a little more experience in TV in case the opportunity should present itself again.

So, this morning I called my R&T advisor to schedule an appointment for Monday morning, and not three minutes later... wait for it... KWQC called to offer me the studio job.

I start tomorrow afternoon.

And I can't stop smiling.

March Madness in the 21st Century

2006-03-16T12:27:00.000-08:00

One of the most ludicrous platitudes we've heard over the past sxi years is that everything changed on 9/11. In truth, nothing changed. The country is still greedy, self-centered, myopic, and addicted to the quick fix. Nothing's changed, because we haven't changed.

But occasionally we're reminded that things should have changed more than they did. Usually it's the uptick on the warning color. But today there was a different one, one that more people will probably pay attention to. As I write this the NCAA tournament has begun, with office workers nationwide eyeballing their brackets, but the west coast games have been delayed because bomb-sniffing dogs discovered a suspicious package in a vending cart inside the Cox Arena in San Diego.

Now, it's good to see law inforcement has done their job, and I hope this situation proceeds without incident. Still, a part of me is grateful for the reminder that things are not as they once were. We get bogged down by disctactions, of which the NCAA tournament is one, that allow us to avoid those issues that linger in the dark shadows we don't like to examine.

Well, next to the Super Bowl, March Madness is the most buzzworthy sporting event this country has to offer. Perhaps the eerie image of the empty red seats in Cox Arena, and the throngs of fans standing outside, will help remind us, however briefly, that things did indeed change on 9/11. We're just reluctant to accept it.

Kid Sis

2006-03-16T12:26:00.000-08:00

The list of people who I envy is short, but those people all share one characteristic: they love what they do.

The list of people who I admire is shorter, but those people also share one characteristic: they’re all good at what they do.

I just got home from spending a half-hour with someone I both envy and admire: my cousin Amy.

My brother and I always wanted a little sister. We liked the idea of being chivalrous in the name of family. We liked the idea of interrogating potential suitors. And even my brother must admit that we unfairly outnumbered Mom on our Florida vacations; we relish the challenge of a more even match-up on the pontoon boat. In the past couple years we’ve unofficially adopted Amy as our surrogate kid sis.

Andrew set the process in motion while I was away at college. Since the two of them were closer in age, they became social confidantes during his junior and senior years in high school. The two of them bonded further during my summer in Los Angeles when Amy pinch hit for me during the family’s annual vacation in Florida. Slowly but surely, he pulled her into our dysfunctional web.

Amy was always somebody both my father and brother shared a great affection for. My dad always commented on what a remarkable (and beautiful) young woman she had become. My brother, on the other hand, seemed to have a unique insight into Amy’s trials because of their similar branches on the family tree – that of the younger sibling. On the list of people of whom my brother feels most protective, Amy is at the top, and I’m sure I can speak for him when I say she is one of the people of which he is most proud. I heartily agree with him.

It’s remarkable how similar Amy’s and Andrew’s stories have been. They both had their share of troubles in their teens before finding a niche for themselves that christened them with adulthood almost overnight. For Andrew it was West Point. And for Amy it was, for lack of a better word, style.

Although it’s laughable now, there was quite a bit of controversy regarding Amy’s decision to pursue a career as a stylist. I guess that’s understandable; it does seem sort of impractical at first glance. But looking at Amy now, living in her own apartment, essentially running her own one-woman salon, those who questioned her choice – it’s ok if you feel a little shame. And for somebody four years her senior living at home, battling for jobs, and returning to school in the fall, seeing her success makes me feel more than a little sheepish.

Before I left for my year in Florida, Amy was in the middle of beauty school. My way of showing support was to regularly offer my mane for her to experiment with. Those first sessions with Amy were terrifically entertaining, as Amy’s apprehension, enthusiasm, and genuine gregariousness combined into this effervescent personality that couldn’t help but make me smile even as she held my vanity in her trembling hands.

“Oh my God,” she always said right before putting clipper to crown.

Still, when somebody you love finds something that they love, you can’t help but want to be a part of it. So I returned time and time again for trims, shampoos, and colorings as Amy became more competent and confident. When I left for Florida, Amy was still pretty green, but she had come along way since our first adventure.

Uncertain about my finances in Florida, I cut corners where I could. One of those corners was my hair. I got a pair of clippers for twenty bucks and sported the shorn skull for the duration of my stay. By the time I returned home, Amy had long since graduated and earned herself a spot at J Michael’s salon. Though I was excited to see Amy’s new digs, my low-maintenance lifestyle meant that I had no hair for my cousin to manage.

But around Christmas the sight of my round dome started to bore me, and I decided to restart the growth. In the few months that followed Amy became a regular visitor at the Rockwell household. I became her TV dealer, getting her hooked on 24, Lost and Smallville as I freely lent out my ample collection of programs for her consumption (Veronica Mars is next). Whenever she stopped by, Amy made sure to check my scalp to anticipate when she’d finally get her hands on my hair again.

That day was today. It’s probably been anywhere from 18 to 20 months since I’ve had Amy cut my hair, and it’s remarkable how far she’s come. For starters, she didn’t say “Oh my God” before she began. She just went at it. Whereas the last time she cut my hair, it was all very much about proper technique (Amy didn’t want to mess up her cousin’s head), today it was clear that technique had given way to instinct. The work had become second nature. The nerves were gone, replaced by an unbridled enthusiasm for all the skills she had mastered over time. Amy gave me a full work-up this afternoon, but she made it clear she still had a handful of tricks she couldn’t wait to employ when she got the opportunity. Highlights are most likely next.

I’d recommend anybody, family or no, hunt down my cousin after J Micheals makes its move to its new location. Not only does Amy do a tremendous job (I walked out of there one handsome cat), but you’ll never find a sweeter, more charming girl in all your days. I can’t recall ever seeing Amy in a bad mood (and she rode to the airport with me on Thanksgiving), and her bright personality and enthusiasm are instantly infectious. She’s like our own little Reese Witherspoon; a ball of limitless positive energy you can’t help but be instantly smitten with. I’m so thrilled to go see this young lady again, my hair can’t grow fast enough.

So, from this honorary big brother, I salute one more family member who followed her dreams and has been rewarded for it. I’m proud of you, kid. We all are.

P.S. Good luck with dad, tomorrow.

Ten Tiny Netflix Reviews -- Ranked For Your Pleasure

2006-03-15T12:25:00.000-08:00

10. Broken Flowers -- Critics love Jim Jarmusch. My film professors loved Jim Jarmusch. I don't get it. Not even Bill Murray can save this film from being one of the most boring films I've watched in years. Ah, but in honor of the pretention that is Jarmusch's filmography I will sum up my review with this one word: ennui.

9. The Fog -- A horror movie with no legitimate scares, no convincing acting, and .... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

8. The Ice Harvest -- If Oliver Platt is off-screen in this film, feel free to fast forward until he reappears. He's drop dead funny. Unfortunately, the rest of the film just drops dead.

7. Lord of War -- A well-made, but ultimately flat satire of the Small Arms race. Played like a gun-running GoodFellas, it seems to be making a statement about... something. Can't say what. Guns, I'm sure. But what? No idea. Still, the film looks really pretty.

6. Prime -- Uma Thurman dates a younger man. In other words, my best dream ever. Actually, no. Last month I had a dream that I took Veronica Mars to Wrigley Field. Holy shit. But I digress. I liked this movie, but I have a semi-irrational crush on Uma Thurman, so her charms may have made this movie more charming in my eyes than it actually was.

5. The 40 Year Old Virgin -- Sweet and funny movie, sprinkled with the appropriate raunch. Steve Carrell follows up his movie-stealing roles in Bruce Almighty and Anchorman with a genuinely honest and heartfelt leading role. This man is the next Jim Carrey. I watched the Unrated cut, which is a tad too long. So, if you can find the theatrical cut, I'd go with that.

4. Domino -- The Love It or Hate It movie of the year. I loved it. Pure balls-to-the-wall excess with Mickey Rourke and Keira Knightley as bounty hunters. Flashy and noisy and relentless. But in a good way.

3. Thumbsucker -- One of the most honest and frank dissections of teenage confusion I've ever seen. It's all about finding your place in the world. By my record, that doesn't stop in your teens. But still a good movie.

2. Walk the Line -- Standard celebrity biopic but brought to remarkable life thanks to Joaquin Phoenix and the luminous Reese Witherspoon (deservedly won an Oscar for this role). If last years' Ray was adequate, Walk the Line is trascendent.

1. History of Violence -- A taught thriller without an ounce of fat in its 90 minute running time. Commentary on our fascination with violence, even as it gives us violence in spades on the screen. Viggo Mortensen deserved some recognition for his work here, going from aw shucks farmer to elite killing machine so seemlessly it's as scary for us as it is for his family. Best movie I've seen this year.

Long Distance Sit-Down #2: The Longest Month

2006-03-14T12:49:00.000-08:00

Based on Instant Messenger Conversations

Inertia holds enormous sway over my brother’s personality. He’s not one who takes to stasis with much enthusiasm. If he had his druthers, he would be constantly moving, constantly active, constantly reminded of his vitality. Unfortunately, life doesn’t always afford us perpetual motion, and my brother seems to take that personally.

After graduation, Andrew took a number of assignments before heading to his permanent residence in Fort Collins. He spent several months at Fort Monmouth, the West Point prep school, teaching Calculus and assisting the girl’s basketball team. From what I gather he really enjoyed his time there. Despite his social limitations, he was always involved in something, always busy. After a semester at the prep school he transferred to Fort Benning for his Bradley Tank training and Army Ranger School. Unfortunately, as a result of Andrew’s tenacious work habits, he finished up nearly every class in the Benning catalogue in a matter of months before facing a wait of several more months before the next session of Ranger training began. I don’t know how long he actually waited, not long I’m sure, before deciding to move on.

Now in Iraq, it seems Andrew’s has found a new front for his battle with his own internal kinetics. It goes without saying that he’s at his best when he’s on the move.

“I went 70 hours without sleep and 48 without anything but Gatorade,” speaking of the days immediately following the destruction of the Golden Mosque in Samarra. But despite health care that would make my Aunt Becky (a nurse practitioner) pass out, Andrew tells me: “It’s fun.”

Andrew’s unwillingness to sit on his ass even comes into play in the field. He often takes the reigns on jobs he should delegate, like the day his men stumbled across the weapon’s cache.

“It was like 89 degrees. Privates should be digging, but we didn’t have any with us. And we’re not patient enough to wait.”

Unfortunately, as we enter the seventeenth week of his deployment, it appears that the days of run-and-gun fun are going to be fewer and fewer:

“I found out today that we’re handing everything over to the Iraqi Army in April,” he tells me.

It’s a good news/bad news situation.

The Good News: Andrew will be safer.

The Bad News: “Time will go slower, and I’ll be bored,” Andrew says.

Andrew’s trying to find ways to occupy his time, but with the strain of ADD that seems to run through our blood (blame that for our infrequent e-mails and posts) nothing holds our attention for very long.

“I’ve read 5 books in the past five days,” he tells me. “I started studying Arabic for an hour, working out, then reading till I fall asleep. And most times I don’t fall asleep until 4 or 5. I was up till 4:30 last night for no particular reason. I’m bored out of my skull.”

At the risk of alienating my audience, that boredom has infiltrated my interactions with Andrew as well. He and I have talked more in the last two months than we did when he was stateside. And once we get through the political bluster that prologues every one of our conversations, our responses are usually one or two sentences followed by ten minutes of nothing. Then we’ll ask what the other is doing. Then ten more minutes of nothing.

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” I ask him. We usually talk between ten and midnight Iraqi time, and he always seems to be sleep-deprived.

“Not tired. Besides, I’m writing a response to someone that posted a blog entitled “Fuck the Soldiers” on MySpace. I privately messaged the 16 year old kid that started the site. I wanted to call him a pussy, but I figured a nice well thought-out argument would be more appropriate.”

“Yea, but somebody like that doesn’t deserve your time,” I tell him. “Of course, if you’re just killing time that’s something else.””That’s precisely what I’m doing.”

Of course, Andrew and I are optimistic that we’ll soon have a wealth of conversation in April when baseball season finally begins. Not only did our cousin Brian set us up with a friendly (as of now) fantasy league, but Andrew fully expects the Cubs to win the World Series the one year he can’t witness it.

“Cubs are going to the playoffs this year – wild card. Cardinals will win the division by 3 games, but we’ll go to the Series. D. Lee and Ram Ram are going to combine for 280 RBIs and Prior is going to win the Cy Young. Of course, my Cubs predictions are always flawed, because I cannot give an unbiased prediction. I have the Cubs schedule in magic marker on my wall.”

For somebody whose only concern for Andrew is his morale, I couldn’t be happier to see baseball season approaching. Andrew is obsessive compulsive about baseball, and he can easily kill two or three hours studying not just the Cubs, but all of baseball. I recently ventured into hostile territory – the mall – to purchase three Cubs hats that are on their way to Gabe as we speak – two in desert camo, the other the faded, worn blue that is Andrew’s “style.”

For now we’re distracting ourselves with the WBC and Spring Training, but that’s not really the same thing.

“Holy shit. The Netherlands pitcher threw a no-no yesterday. What is the world coming to?” I tell him.

“Doesn’t the ball rotate differently where he comes from? Gravitational pull is different I’m betting.”

Yea. The WBC is definitely not the same thing.

* * *

The past four weeks have seen a monumental shift in the state of Iraq. I’ve also seen a less seismic shift in my brother’s attitude.

“We’re not trying to win this damn thing. We’re trying not to lose public opinion. That much is clear.”

I ask him about this week’s big news item, Operation Swarmer: “You guys going Apocalypse Now over there or what?”

“Shit no. That whole mission is a PR stunt. They won’t get anything out of it.”

Much of what I’m reading on the news sites seems to confirm this assessment.

I ask him about Najaf. Newsweek recently ran an article claiming it is completely under Iraqi Army protection, and it’s one of the few places that is under control.

“First, yes we handed Najaf off to the IA,” he says. “Second, it’s not under control at all. It’s just as bad as [everywhere else]. But we have to report that it’s safe in order to look good politically.”

From what I gather from my brother and my inner circle of news sources, the final phase of the Shock and Awe Shit War will be a public relations campaign. Things will not be better when we start to withdraw troops; the administration will only make it appear that way. And since so much of the American public supports withdrawal, most of us will chug that Kool-Aid by the bucket load.

And Andrew’s not happy about that: “We came here, and now we’re going to leave without finishing the job.”

The most striking change in my brother’s rhetoric since landing in Iraq is he wants to get the job done. He doesn’t like the idea of pulling out, having already seen a preview of what will happen if the US decides to leave; in a word, genocide.

“We found those 47 bodies,” he tells me. A busload of civilians had been executed the day after the Golden Mosque attack, and Andrew’s team made the discovery. “And it’s destined to get worse. 47 slaughtered civilians, Phil. On their way to work. I’m not sure what the civilian casualty numbers are right now, but whatever CNN’s reporting, add 20%. The AP is reporting that we’ve only found 53 bodies in my AO, and that reports that more people have been killed are false – which is a lie. The number they are getting are from the mortuaries. 90% of the people that die over here are buried on the spot by their families. I’ve seen 100 bodies since the mosque got hit. [They can’t keep track of bodies buried in somebody’s backyard] or people that we kill. They bury them and claim we didn’t kill them.

“I found a town that was destroyed – genocide. No men or women or children in it. Just one boy that had been gunned down from behind. All the homes burned. All the livestock slaughtered. They are trying to say it wasn’t a religious thing, but the Shia villagers homes were untouched. What’s worse. It was the Police and the Ministry of Interior that did it. There are 27 missing people, all women and children, gone. No bodies.

“My question of the week is “What role do we play in an Iraqi Civil War?” Right now we’re basically sitting back and waiting for something to happen. I have no idea what’s going on or what’s going to happen, but everyone I talked to said that if we left the Sunnis would die.”

Then Andrew makes this unhappy assessment:

“Unfortunately, they need a Civil War.”

This admission shows what an impossible position we’ve put our military in. They can do their job to the best of their ability, but in the end they know the Iraqis are just going to have to fight it out amongst themselves. But Andrew, despite being American, already feels a part of their conflict. On Andrew’s nastiest night in Iraq, a matter of days after the Golden Mosque attack, they raided a suspected enemy stronghold. Five US soldiers and five Iraqi soldiers in the dark of night.

“They are now my brothers,” he says simply.

But the most touching and heartbreaking reality of Andrew’s growing attachment to the Iraqi people is, not surprisingly, the kids. Andrew is always looking for pens to hand out on his visits, and he recently requested a hundred one-dollar bills from home to give to his kids.

“I harass the kids. Bad guy [in Arabic] is ali baba. So, I call them all ali babas and throw them in the truck.”

And I’m sure they love every minute of it. The image of Andrew walking down the Iraqi streets followed by mobs of children, Lt. Pied Piper, doesn’t strain the imagination.

Although the tragedy of this image is that these children will likely never know a life without peril or war. An Iraqi Civil War is not only likely (if it isn’t here already), but likely to spread, like a cancer, to its neighbors. In fact, it seems some of those neighbors are already getting involved.

“We surrounded a Shia town to keep the factions apart,” Andrew says. “But there’s a faction in the Shia area called the Mehdi Army. They take their orders in the form of Fatwas from Iran’s Shia religious leaders. I asked some questions and found out that al Sadr, Iraq’s Shia leader, also issued a fatwa to kill Sunnis.”

“So the stuff the administration is saying about Iran pissing in your pool is true?”

“Iran is definitely a target. We have more justification for going into Iran than we ever did going into Iraq.”

Though he realizes the uselessness of dwelling in the past, Andrew can’t help but become frustrated by the obscene prologue to this war.

“Let me tell you about our [Rules of Engagement] so you can write about it. In order to shoot a suspected enemy, they have to have means and intent. Means – the ability to harm us. Intent – some sort of show of force. Both things have to be present in order to fight. Now, isn’t that ironic? Iraq had neither the means nor intent to attack the United States. Yet the soldiers are limited by an ROE that our federal government did not even follow. Food for thought.”

Last week, Bill Maher, on his HBO show Real Time, featured John Burns, the New York Times’ Baghdad bureau chief on the war in Iraq who voiced this assessment on the war: “There were many mistakes made but my feeling is that if this fails, as I have to say on the balance of the odds, it seems now likely to do, it's probably not going to be because of American mistakes but because the mission was impossible in the first place.”

For my brother’s sake, I didn’t want to believe this statement, though my gut has told me it’s true since this whole circus started. So, I asked my brother: “Do you think you eventually could get the job done?”

“Twenty to thirty years of committed force and the willingness to go to war with Iran… and Syria … and anyone else that’s truly harboring terrorists.”

“So basically the majority of the Arab world?”

“Basically.”

I honestly can’t say if that means Andrew would agree with Burns or not.

* * *

With the prospects for success in Iraq dwindling and Andrew’s responsibilities and operations reduced, it has left my brother with a lot of free time. And in the quiet, as Andrew said, “homesickness hits like a hammer.”

The frequency of Andrew’s e-mails has tailed off in the past month, but mostly because Andrew is mindful of his readership.

“I think if all I had to say was that I’m homesick and bored, it wouldn’t be a very good time for me. Or a good read for our loyal audience.”

Though Andrew might not appreciate this section of this article, I can’t help but voice my own displeasure with the disconnect between the soldiers and their country. At best, it’s depressing. At worst, it’s infuriating.

“The whole package process is nice,” he says. “Most of the guys here are definitely jealous. Some have only gotten one or two boxes the whole time. Some none. And you gotta keep in mind that for some people this is their third trip.”

“That’s amazing. Who are these guys?”

“My NCO for sure.”

“Career Army guy?”

“Something like that. His kid has heart problems and the Army pays for them. So, he can’t get out and be uninsured. And that’s not all the uncommon.”

If that doesn’t make your yellow ribbon bumper sticker look extraordinarily inadequate, I don’t know what will.

Andrew has a way of allowing things to roll of his back that I don’t really understand. He’s earned the right to dispense a few F.U.s. But he doesn’t. Amazingly, he doesn’t.

“Is it wrong that I’m kind of pissed that more people aren’t keeping in touch with you?” I ask him.

“Don’t lecture anyone,” he tells me. “I don’t really care. Just a lil bit. It doesn’t really matter to me. As long as I come home, I don’t give a fuck who supports me while I’m here. I knew it was going to happen. Only four or five people send me messages now, and it’s only [March]. I got about 9 e-mails today (the day after an IED destroyed his hummer), which was nice, but I just wish I didn’t have to almost die to get them.”

“Well, you know where the real love is at,” I assure him.

“Yea. I always knew.”

Though Andrew plays off the relative lack of correspondence from home, going so far as to sew a “give-a-shit meter” onto his uniform, the great disparity between his considerations of his friends and his friends’ considerations of him differ in both frequency and intensity. In his downtime, all he thinks about is home. And despite what he says, I know it matters to him who keeps in touch and who does not. I know he cares because of the great lengths he went to reconcile with a girl who he left on frosty terms.

“I want to talk to her,” he says. “I’m over it.”

“I’d imagine most personal grievances seem kind of retarded in your circumstances.”

“Yea. Pretty fucking stupid.”

“I think an awful lot,” Andrew continues. “Not about Iraq. About getting a fresh start. About me and my life. It’s crazy man. I wanna get married, have kids, and grow up. I probably should find a girlfriend, but I’ve thrown away good girls by being in the Army and moving all the time.

“Reality is I’ll be 25 when I get back.”

“Fuck you. I’m 26,” I interject.

“I need to start towards what I want. I want to own a bar and a skydiving company. I want Andy [Reiff] to manage the bar. I’m going to get out and get a government job. I think I’m going to take Mark’s job. 2010 – Rockwell, Mayor of Rock Island.”

“I’d jump on that bandwagon,” I assure him. “Is there any information you want me to pass along to mom and dad?”

“Not really,” he says. “I think it’s time for me to settle down and start popping out grandkids. That’s about it.”

Best 24 Episode Ever

2006-03-07T12:23:00.000-08:00

Warning! If you plan on watching the fifth season of 24 at any time, do not read this review! Spoilers are poison to 24, and since my immediate reaction to this episode is it is the best episode in this show’s history you do NOT, I repeat NOT want to read about it unless you have already seen it. The twists come rapid fire and the final three minutes are equally horrifying and heartbreaking. You do not want such a tremendously entertaining hour of television spoiled for you. So let me give you some room. Scroll down for the rest of my review.

Few can argue that 24 is one of the most exciting, visceral entertainments ever produced. Its twisted plotlines and agonizing cliffhangers have improbably gotten nastier as the show has gone on. Season four was the show’s best and most relentless to date, and then season five came in with a devastating first episode featuring the brutal deaths of two of the series’ most beloved characters. Its ferocity has not let up through the first half of the season, with ugly executions, civilian casualties, and the type of political situations that many of us have nightmares about.

Last night’s episode of 24 was not only the best I’ve seen in the five years I’ve been a fan, but it was also the scariest. Remarkably we should have been prepared. The show didn’t use its common staple of misdirection. From the opening moments of hour 12 it is clear what the terrorists plan to do, and much like last season’s attack on Air Force One, the anxiety comes from our belief that the writers wouldn’t actually go through with it. By now we should know better.

In large part this was a quiet episode, with striking moments of human drama to keep our attention as the threat built up around us. I found the return of Kim Bauer remarkably effective. Though she gets a fair amount of grief from online critics, I’ve never had any dislike for Kim. I agree that the writers ran out of things for her to do, and much of her weakness as a character can be traced back to that, but clearly she has something to do now. After her father’s “death,” Kim went to pieces. Now, the she finds the catalyst for her problems alive and (relatively) well. Clearly there’s a lot of drama to be mined here.

But what I found most remarkable about Kim’s return was its instantaneous humanization of Jack. Though Kim as a character sometimes lacked in plotline potential, her presence always reminded us that Jack is a father, and he will do everything in his power to protect his child. When Jack went off into the sunrise last season, I had minor complaint that his last phone call was to President Palmer and not his daughter. After watching the scene between Jack and Kim last night, that choice makes perfect sense. Every person who knew Jack was alive is now either dead or should be. Had Kim known, that would have put her name on the top of that list. The Kim haters will likely bemoan the scene between the two of them because she didn’t exactly welcome him back with open arms, but the scene played as it should have played: terse, awkward, cold. And Kim has a legitimate beef.

Even with the dramatic bombshell of Kim’s return, the show went off the rails at the 44 minute mark, when a terrorist, using Lynn McGill’s stolen keycard, infiltrated CTU and armed a nerve gas canister inside the ventilation system. Now, usually this would be the moment those last three seconds of an episode click off the clock. It’s prime cliff-hanger fodder. But 24 didn’t play by its own rules last night.

The bomb is armed. The plot is discovered. CTU is locked down. There’s the usual scrambling and then… at the 57 minute mark… the bomb… went… off.

What followed were the three scariest minutes in the history of this show. I don’t mean suspenseful either. I mean scary. Watching as the invisible force of the gas took down people in the hallway and our heroes converged on the operations center was nothing short of panic-inducing. I’ve seen horror movies that lacked anything as chilling as those last three minutes. Our heroes gathered in central command and then retreated to the situation room where Chloe sealed them in.

As the blast shields fell over the glass and the doors sealed shut, I could not believe what I was seeing. Panic of the unseen gas gave way to a frightening claustrophobia. A terrified woman pounded on the glass to be let in, but Jack had to turn her away. When the screen started its ritual breakdown to end the episode, I was so relieved that this agonizing ordeal was over for the week. I didn’t even stop to think if everybody had made it into the situation room.

And then Edgar stepped out.

24 is so good at crafting its labyrinthine plotlines that the remarkable cast of characters the show has assembled can be taken for granted. Everybody loved Edgar and his unrequited crush on Chloe, but I don’t think anybody realized how much until they watched him die. I’ve cried twice watching television this season. The first was the debut of “Laura” on Battlestar Galactica. The other was last night’s 24.

Perhaps it was the fact that Edgar was so harmless and innocent; his feelings for Chloe were the epitome of the schoolyard crush, lots of teasing and pulling of pigtails. Perhaps it was the staging, the cruel silence of the moment (even the final seconds of the episode ticked away without their signature chime). Perhaps it was watching Chloe’s heart break as Edgar crumbled to the floor just feet away from their sanctuary. Whatever it was, this death felt more painful, more personal than Michelle Dessler’s or even President Palmer’s at the beginning of the season. It’s remarkable how, surrounded by all the pyrotechnics that 24 employs, they still find a way to make us care so much about a character like Edgar.

My hat is off to 24 this week. They hit on all cylinders last night – personal drama, suspense, tragedy. That being said, I have to admit, I’m almost afraid to come back next week.

The Last Notch on the Belt

2006-03-06T12:20:00.001-08:00

I hate clothes. Not in an exhibitionist type way, but in a consumer type way. The consideration of style and cost, the trying on of items you know others have tried on not long before, the fact that at the end of the day I’m still going to wear the same pair of jeans for weeks at a time and make liberal use of sweatshirts, fleece, and T-shirts, it all makes shopping for new clothes both frustrating and futile. I just don’t care.

But then I decided I needed to get my weight under control. I’ve never been fat. My vanity always derails the gravy train before I get to that stage. But I’ve been chunky. Maybe a little husky. I add a chin here or there. Take my face to its cherubic max. Knock out a couple belt notches. We all know the drill.

This past Christmas I got to my heaviest ever. The loss of employment left me with little to do but watch TV and bore myself (when I’m bored, I tend to eat). Couple that with a little emotional support from Hostess during my brother’s Iraq deployment, and I scratched at 240 before I decided to halt my girth.

In a nice bit of serendipity, my mother and aunt had joined Weight Watchers to keep their emotional eating in check during Andrew's tour, and I quickly leeched the relevant dietary information from them. Instead of improvising “healthy eating” as I had done since college, I had an actual program that not only would give me some knowledge of culinary good and evil, but one that played into my borderline OCD. It’s all about points and charts and lists. And anybody who knows me and my organization habits (look at my DVDs) knows I’m all about the charts and lists.

So, seven weeks ago, I started tracking the points. For the first time since college, I’m below 215. Not only that, but I’ve done it in a healthy way. I’m quite thrilled with the results, and encouraged by the fact that it really hasn’t been that hard. The process has shown me just how much of my eating was just because I had nothing better to do. Once you can eliminate that, it's a piece of cake. Or piece of rice cake in my case.

Still, the slimming has not come free of cost. The earliest troublesome revelation was that of digestion. I’ve experienced noises from my innards that frightened me something awful, as if my stomach were asking “What the hell was that?” And at the risk of being a bit too blue for this broadcast, I’ve developed a much more intimate relationship with the restroom. To give you an idea, I finished In Cold Blood in a week, and it never left the basket next to the john. I’m hoping things will eventually settle down, but it’s a small price to pay to see my jawline again.

The costly payment I’m facing now is the one I’m dreading: clothing. The aforementioned favorite jeans have been retired. They’re now in the closet waiting to join the clothing convalescent home of Good Will. I’m down to the last notch on my two best belts, and unless I want to go ghetto fabulous and pop out some new holes they will both need to be replaced. I have shirts (like the one I wore to Christmas this year) that look like parachutes on me. The loss is even showing through some of my fleece, and the entire point of my fleece was to hide my weight.

Still, there is some hope. My brother bought more clothes in high school than I’ve bought in my lifetime, and I’m about five pounds away from raiding his closet. I knew his preppy ways would help me down the road. And there’s no greater kindness than keeping me from shopping.

Oscar the Grouch

2006-03-06T12:20:00.000-08:00

The ratings for this year's Academy Awards dropped ten percent and is the second lowest in history. It's a shame. From what I saw of the program, in between Iron Chef and American Chopper reruns (I was clicking, get it?), there was a healthy dollop of tasteful, watchable moments: George Clooney's humorous, yet poignant acceptance speech, Philip Seymour Hoffman thanking his mother, Crash's big upset. Yet there remains something about this ceremony in general that makes me believe that the Oscars turnout will only continue to get worse.

"You used to love watching the Oscars," my mom said as I clicked away after Jon Stewart's introduction. I did. But not anymore. What happened?

Well, the first thing that happened was my realization that the Oscars are about nearly everything but the movies themselves. I used to watch the Oscars because I had a sincere interest in seeing my favorite films rewarded. I wanted to see my favorite films go down in history. But eventually I learned that that little statuette has little to do with a film's legacy, nor its quality. We don't remember awards. We remember films. We remember performances. And Oscar doesn't have anything to do with that past the watercooler talk on Monday morning.
Sure I loved seeing Reese Witherspoon win last night -- who wouldn't? Look how cute she is. But even if she hadn't won, that radiant performance changed her career. No longer will we remember her for Elle Woods or Tracy Flick (Ok, I'll remember her for Tracy, too), but for her nuanced, pitch perfect June Carter. As she said in her acceptance speech, all she wanted to do was to make movies that matter. Well, she can scratch that to-do off her list.

And really, she has the right idea. As much as Crash's upset makes for great watercooler talk this morning, I don't think anyone can argue that Brokeback Mountain is going to be the film that changes the landscape. Much like Shakespeare in Love's upset over Saving Private Ryan, Brokeback will establish its own legacy much like Ryan did. The award has little to do with it.

So, take out the victory factor to the award show, and you're left with the pageantry. And for something that nobody seems to enjoy -- save the Rivers freak show -- there sure seems to be a lot of interest in it. Who's wearing what? Who's with who? Who gives a fck (did I mention my "U" key is broken?)?

I don't. I know there are people who do, but the whole award show circus gives me anxiety. And I'm not even in the room. Nobody in the Kodak Theatre was comfortable last night (ok, maybe Jack Nicholson, but hell, if I could shrug and make people laugh I'd be a very secure cat). Whether it was the impossible grace of the losers (or non-Oscar receivers, whatever the PC/PR word is for losers) or the starlets with their breasts pushed up past their collar bones, there are more fake smiles in that room than fake breasts. And it's painful to watch.

And then there's Jon Stewart. He was on fire last night, but you wouldn't know it by the live audience. His liberal skewering of Hollywood artifice was a delight for me in my living room, but it just helped illustrate how the majority of Hollywood takes itself way too seriously. As George Clooney proved, you can make poignant films and still wink at the fact that in order to make those films he had to play Batman (the one with nipples, not the cool one). Still, it seems an impossible dichotomy for most of Hollywood to master, and Jon Stewart suffered because of it. He's gotten mixed reviews for his hosting gig, probably because of the crickets he received from the Hollywood elite. But for the people at home, he was a breath of fresh air. I could stomach a good deal of the show only because he refused to let the pretension of Oscar night spoil the fun. And for that I'm grateful, for no other reason than there just wasn't a lot on television last night.

Freaking Sweet: A Long Distance Sit-Down With Andrew

2006-02-09T12:16:00.000-08:00

(Based on Instant Message and Phone Conversations)

“I lost a couple more friends this week,” Andrew says, plainly. “One was from G4 (Andrew’s West Point Unit) named Garrison Avery.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell him.

“It’s alright man,” he shrugs. “If I’ve learned one thing while I’ve been over here, it’s that I’m a soldier, and our number one job is to kill before we die. Some people are just better at the former.”

“I think I saw that on a Hallmark card somewhere.”

“Probably.”

It becomes clear rather quickly that to talk about war with a deployed soldier as literate and well-spoken as my brother is to volunteer for an exhibition in dark comedy. We don’t avoid the talk of death, nor our place in the hereafter.

“I’ll probably go to hell for that,” he says after making a crack about the pope.

“I’ll save you a seat,” I assure him.

Despite the artillery at my brother’s fingertips, the greatest weapon in a soldier’s arsenal is humor, though a humor of a very bleak and disturbing variety. It’s tickling the funny bone by way of the jugular. And I seem to be just about the only civilian who has the stomach to play along.

“You’re freaking people out back here,” I tell him, referring to a recent e-mail detailing a fierce firefight with some outgunned assassins. “But I laughed my ass off reading [the e-mail].”

“That was the intent, to make everyone laugh,” he says. “Can you just picture me saying to my guys ‘Kill that piece of shit’ and laughing to myself?”

Some of this may be false bravado. I doubt the laughter came during, but I don’t doubt for a second there was laughter after. And thank God. If it weren’t for the sick sense of humor we share and Andrew’s usual cocky bluster, I’d be worried about him.

“I’m a superhero,” he tells me.

“Well, just stay away from tights or I’ll start to wonder about you?”

“I’m wearing some as I speak.”

Why am I not surprised?

Some Letters

“What happened to those letters you were supposed to give me?” I ask.

When Andrew came home for Thanksgiving, his last weekend in the States, we sat in my bedroom for a spell as he debriefed me on all the information he’d absorbed during his run-up to deployment. After the dry-erase breakdown of Andrew’s battlefield, he first mentioned the letters.

Though my brother had yet to deploy, our family was experiencing our own special trip through the seven stages of grief. The letters were a symptom of that stage my brother and I spend so much time in: anger. With the larger political focus his domestic digs afforded him, my brother intended these letters as a rigor mortis laced middle finger to the administration, and it was my duty to see them delivered to the editorial staff of the nation’s major newspapers. But in the commotion of Andrew’s departure, they never changed hands.

“I’m glad I didn’t give them to you,” he says. “Now that I’m here they seem kind of stupid.”

The moment Andrew hit the dirt of the Middle East he stepped out of the realm of political speculation and into the grave perils of war. For all of Andrew’s eviscerating critiques of the administration during Thanksgiving weekend, it all seems very much, well, silly now. And very much beside the point. Asked if he ever feels the repercussions of presidential decisions, he answers no. But that’s not to say he doesn’t notice W’s fingerprints from time to time.

“I have about 9 conspiracy theories I’m developing,” he tells me. I can almost hear that trademark Rockwell brother shit-grin spreading. “Presidential level conspiracies.”

Yet the more I talk to my brother the more it feels as if the soldiers in the Iraqi theatre are driven to succeed almost in spite of the administration's ineptitude. The letters Andrew wrote were a way to rub his death in the President’s face. Then I he landed in Iraq, and he realized that his success on the battlefield would be an even greater F.U. to the people who put him in harm’s way.

“I’m excelling here like I never have before in my life,” he says. Andrew’s drive in Iraq makes Oprah look like Homer Simpson.

“Do you not worry about sleep over there?” I ask.

“Sleep?” he responds, as if he were unfamiliar with the word. “I sleep when I can’t function anymore.”

And probably not a second sooner.

“Start missions at 0500 and keep going until 1200 the next day. That’s about 31 hours.”

“Is this your choice, or the Army’s?”

“My choice.”

While it seems some soldiers are intent on forgetting where they are whenever possible, my brother has accepted his situation and plans to make the most of it. Aside from the occasional episode of 24 (“It’s an addiction over here. I’ll have half the battalion watching it with me.”), Andrew is neck-deep in intelligence, plotting and planning.

“I’m going to kill [Zarqawi],” Andrew swears, and one doesn’t accomplish that playing XBOX.

“There are [video games] all over,” he says. “I just don’t have time for them. Although I did play an awful lot of GBA Zelda in my free time (while shitting).”

And one suspects that, like his hero Jack Bauer, Andrew rarely has time for that.

“I’ve been working the satellites at night. That’s why I haven’t been sleeping. Watching particular buildings real-time thermal. I do missions all day. Then go get on Falconview and see how our daily ops effected particular people. I’m trying to turn myself into the Rain Man of the area.”

“So you’re a go-getter,” I say. Then he reveals an ulterior motive for his work ethic.

“Makes time go quickly.”

Brothers

The hardest thing for me to reconcile when my brother left was that I didn’t believe in what this war was about. I couldn’t handle the idea of Andrew risking his life for something I didn’t believe in. But that was before his men fell into the equation.

Naturally, there are those jingoistic soldiers who will dedicate every kill or victory to their Commander-in-Chief. Then there are others, like my brother, for whom the President is just some abstraction, completely irrelevant to their situation; the fight is all about their brothers-in-arms.

Last week we spoke and as the conversation progressed I sensed a dramatic shift in his temperament. He had just come off a tremendous military victory, nabbing Al Qaeda’s number 4 in Iraq and seizing an enormous cache of weapons. Yet there was something bubbling underneath; the victory did not come without a cost.

“I lost four Iraqi army soldiers yesterday,” he confessed. “Whatever it takes these mother fuckers are not going to kill anymore of my friends. It won’t happen.”

For the first time, I realized that the brotherhood of the American soldier had expanded to include those who had never set foot on American soil. Unlike the faceless enemy that takes cheap shots from bushes and alleyways, the Iraqi soldiers have stepped up with great risk to themselves as well as their families, and that sacrifice has not gone unnoticed by my brother.

Specifically, my brother seems to have embraced his interpreter as a close confidant. How close?

“I gave the 9 mil we found [in the weapon cache] to my terp as a gift,” he tells me.

Of all the men in Andrew’s command, this is the one I’d be most anxious to meet. A former Baathist who reads my brother the local news every day, he is working towards a visa so he can join his sister in Detroit, but he can’t get one until the war is over. He’s also a Christian who appears to be my brother’s major insight into the machinations of Iraq. I have a feeling that a good deal of what Andrew relays to us at home comes, at least in some part, from his terp. With the knowledge of this ally, no longer will my political musings suffer for want of an Iraqi face to empathize with.

How is Andrew Doing… Really?

“Look man, I’m like 11 weeks into this,” Andrew says. “That leaves 41 weeks. Four of those will be spent at home or heading home. Time’s really starting to fly. The dollars are starting to add up. It’s freaking sweet.”

My mother called me when she got Andrew’s firefight e-mail. Whenever we get a particularly nasty correspondence from him, my mom makes sure I know about it immediately. I can’t say why. She always seems nonplussed by my reaction; I never share her horror.

For me, the horror ends when the e-mail arrives. As soon as I see Andrew’s name in my inbox I know he is safe. My brother is trained as a soldier. As best he can, he has prepared for what he will see. And as he tells me: “I still haven’t been nervous yet. I haven’t had my asshole pucker up. I wouldn’t worry too much about [me] if I were you. If I die it’s because I fucked up.”

“Comforting.”

“I don’t fuck up.”

For most of us, the fear we have is the randomness and the disorder of what is going on over there. But the more I talk to my brother the more I realize that it’s not as random as we might believe. The enemy is using tactics just as we are, and Andrew is breaking those tactics down with every waking hour. And he’s pissed.

“Phil, I’m serious when I say this. I broke their intelligence network. It’s all over for them in my area. I’m dead serious.”

I can’t help but smile hearing that, because I know if it isn’t so now, it’s only a matter of time before Andrew makes it so. My confidence in my brother exceeds any respect I have for the enemy over there. And the more I talk to him the more confident I become.

I’ve become a barometer of worry for my mother. I think that’s why she’s always so anxious to pass on word of my brother’s e-mails. She wants to see my reaction. I’ve assured her that she’ll know when Andrew has had a really bad day, because I’ll be worried. I know my brother. I know his mind. I know his heart. And right now both of them are fully invested in leaving his mark on Iraq. He’s the type of guy they’ll be telling stories about for years, Iraqis and Americans alike. “Remember Rock? That was a crazy fucker…” they’ll start. Those of us at home already have an entire library of these tales, and he’s writing an entirely new volume as we speak. And this one has a much bigger budget and much higher stakes.

Still, I’m confident, and fortunately I had the foresight to see that some days my confidence might waver. Luckily I made a quick observation on Thanksgiving that will save me a lot of worry over the next year. After watching my brother in the foyer of our home, saying good-bye to his family, I was struck with a powerful sensation and immediately rushed to my room to write it out on my whiteboard. It’s one sentence, one observation, I read immediately upon rising every morning. I’m going to share it with you now to use during those times when you don’t share my unshakeable confidence.

Take a look.

Garfield, Your Ass is Next!

2006-02-07T12:15:00.000-08:00

Ever dated a manic depressive? I’m pretty sure I did. I can’t say with certainty, because I bailed before a proper diagnosis could be made. I wasn’t about to stick around for the boiled rabbits to debut.

On the bright side of her spectrum of neuroses, this girl was a delight: smart, charming, witty. I had no idea this other malevolent force festered within her dainty frame. Then one night she threw a plate against the wall. Now, I’ve seen this done in the movies and TV. If Carmella Soprano has never thrown a plate against a wall I’ll eat my shoe. I certainly can’t argue its value as dramatic punctuation. Yet when it happened in my kitchen, I had an entirely different reaction. I froze with a fork of pasta dangling at my mouth, and then turned to see the glob of fettucini alfredo making its slow slide to the floor. Then, suddenly, I heard Mike Myers’s alter ego, Austin Powers, in my head.

“Who throws a plate? Honestly?”

Now, as my online persona will attest, my whole personality is based around an inherent grouchiness and repressed anger. Yet, I’ve never thrown a plate. It’s just not civilized, and I usually look for similar etiquette from my companions. But clearly I misjudged this girl’s manners.

I handled the situation like a rider handles a spooked horse – being very still, speaking in hushed tones – meanwhile two opposing thoughts sparred in my mind.

1) This girl is crazy, and I need to get out of this relationship.
2) This girl is crazy, and if I leave she might get really crazy.

I have to believe the US government is dealing with those same two sentiments when it looks at the unrest in the Arab world this past week over… wait for it… a cartoon. Hundreds of protests have erupted across the world over an editorial cartoon published in Denmark depicting the prophet Mohammed with a bomb for a turban.

How bad is this cartoon? I don’t know. The American press, to my knowledge, has not printed it for fear of turning the Arab Street on us. Let them burn the Dutch, we say. Just don’t make eye contact with them and they’ll leave us alone.

If there was ever a time for the US government to stand up and say to the Arab world “You want our respect? Stop acting fucking crazy!” this is it. Yet, we’re caught in a delusional relationship with a culture so far behind our modern (and democratic values) that chastising them at this point would mean undercutting our “progress.”

So, what has the government done? They’ve come out and given a half-hearted statement about that essential cog -- freedom of the press -- in the machine of democracy. For people like me, who desperately want to maintain some optimism towards the Iraq experiment, the riots across the Arab world are the most brazen indicator that “democracy,” as the United States intends, will never survive in such a repressive, angry culture. On the same day that my brother lit up a riverbank like the opening shot of Apocalypse Now, this cartoon absurdity is what leaves me feeling hopeless.

A cartoon! Let us not forget that. Ponder that for a moment, won’t you? Now, I really hate Family Circus. There is something intensely aggravating about banality as entertainment. Still, you won’t find me outside Bill Keane’s home with torches anytime soon (although that might change the tone of those insipid one-liners for a time).

If much of the American public is like me, they’re finding less and less to empathize with when it comes to the Arab world. When the villain in your morality play is Denmark, you’ve taken anger issues to an unprecedented level. Part of the mistaken idealism of heartland America and the Bush administration is that everybody wants what we want, that everybody is essentially “just like us.”

I call bullshit. Americans only burn down buildings when their sports teams win championships. We don’t torch the New York Times when Odie gets the best of Garfield.

Two things terrify me most about this whole ordeal. The first is that it becomes apparent with every passing day that we are in the groundswell of a mythic civil implosion in the Middle East. The tensions between the West and the Arab world will continue to grow, and with Iran flashing its ass to the world with its nuclear program the positive scenarios continue to get pulled off the bulletin board.

But in an ironic twist, the most frightening thing about the recent cartoon controversy is that America has pulled back on its idealism in a fear of inflaming the Arab world’s lunatic sensibility. By not condemning this behavior outright, we’re kowtowing to incivility, and if we intend to solve anything in that region of the world, that’s the last thing we should be doing. We need to step up and set some fires about what we believe in. Freedom of the press. Separation of church and state. Separation of powers.

Whoops. For a second there I forgot which country I was in.

Best Birthday Ever!

2006-01-23T12:14:00.000-08:00

Even as I've become entrenched in my twenties, I can still rely on a few friends and family for some solid presents. My grandparents are always good for a few bills for the slots. Norm and Dee always send me a book that gets read by the end of the week (though this year I got Lonesome Dove on DVD, which with its 6 hour running time and Larry McMurtry source material is still in the same vein). But even with those all-stars having my back, nothing can compare to the gift the city of Rock Island left at the end of our driveway today.

Check it out.

Jealous?

26 and Climbing

2006-01-23T12:12:00.000-08:00

So, last year, fully entrenched in my first year of blogging, I decided I needed some sort of staple for my birthday, to see how I've changed over the years. I fell upon James Lipton's questionnaire from the end of Inside the Actor's Studio. So, being that I have just recently begun my downhill slide to 30, I thought I'd share this year's questionnaire (with last year's answers for perspective).

Phil (dramatic pause) what is your favorite word?

25: Asinine
26: Grace (as in that of a dancer)

What is your least favorite word?

25: Dude.
26: Job,

What turns you on?

25: Intelligent conversation.
26: Grace.

What turns you off?

25: Ignorance, and indifference to one’s own ignorance.
26: Bad and/or irrational arguments.

What sound do you love?

25: The ticking clock theme from 24.
26: Rain with a dash of distant thunder.

What sound do you hate?

25: My dog, Scamp, barking at the raccoons at three in the morning.
26: Wire hangers scraping against the metal crossbeam in my mother's fabric room.

What profession, other than yours, would you like to attempt?

25: Chicago Cubs’ play-by-play man. I’d say starting pitcher, but who are we kidding?
26: Well, being that I'm unemployed, I can pick anything here. Dramatic television writer.

What profession, other than yours, would you not like to participate in?

25: Anything involving tips. Never again.
26: We're gonna stick with last year's on that one.

What is your favorite curse word?

25: Bullshit or horseshit. Any word involving animal excrement I find quite delightful.
26: Bollocks.

Finally, if heaven exists, what would you like God to say when you arrive at the pearly gates?

“I suppose I have some explaining to do.” This answer will never change.

(Un)Intelligent Design

2006-01-12T12:10:00.000-08:00

I have two family members in public office. This is the first time that I ever considered that I could cause them some trouble. I woke up this morning to an editorial in the Rock Island Argus entitled "What are the scientists all afraid of?" In the editorial, which you can hopefully read here he basically calls the scientific community cowards for not adjusting the scientific credo so that it can include intelligent design. Among his more absurd pronouncements is that science "will collapse, sooner or later, like the Soviet Union." Now, people who know me know that that kind of ludicrous shit cannot stand without rebuttal. So, after spending a couple hours at a hopeless job fair *sniff* this afternoon, I got to writing. Since I have serious doubts whether this will actually make it to print, I wanted to share it with you here. This is what the Argus' People's Pulpit will be getting in their inbox this afternoon :

William Rusher’s column of January 12 asked what the scientific community is so afraid of when it comes to intelligent design, and in doing so, he exemplified what terrifies scientists so much. Quite simply, the fear of those in the scientific community is that a philosophical and theological concept will rewrite the definition of what science is. Rusher argues for just that in his column. He chastises science for its adherence to “materialistic interpretations of reality.” He criticizes science for being an empirically based enterprise and not allowing supernatural explanations into the formula. He wants to change the rules of science, plain and simple, and he calls the scientific community cowardly for not doing so. It’s like Peyton Manning deciding to plant landmines in the backfield to keep a defense off his back, and then calling his opponents wimps for not allowing for more lenient interpretation of the rule book. You don't hear any scientists calling for ammendments to the Ten Commandments in order to make them more scientifically inclusive, so why should we twist the fudamentals of science to make room for faith-based explanations?

The rejection of intelligent design in the scientific community comes from an absence of compelling evidence, not some underlying political dogma. Rusher makes a number of baseless suggestions about the scientific community that completely misrepresents their worldview. First among them is that science has a worldview. It does not. The theories and laws that guide science are the result of years of testing and experimentation; science didn’t bend these conclusions to fit with what it believed to be true. If that were the case we’d all still be worried about falling off the edge of the Earth. Rusher also labels the scientific community as intrinsicly godless. Again, incorrect. At worst, the scientific community is, in practice, agnostic. There is no empirical data to support the existence of God, so scientists study independently of that faith-based variable. Still, there is no universal claim from scientists that there is no God. Certainly there are a number of atheists in the scientific community, just as there are in the world at large. But some of the best scientific minds also had deeply held religious beliefs. Albert Einstein, one of the greatest scientific minds in history, often spoke eloquently and faithfully about God, and he is not the only scientist to do so. And despite Rusher’s claims, science does not show, without a doubt, that the universe had no beginning. It suspects. It has ideas. But it is constantly testing those ideas against empirical data. If science played by intelligent design’s rules, the scientific community’s work would be done. They could just give it all up to the "designer".

One of Rusher’s more naive suggestions is that intelligent design leaves the identity of said designer open. Of course, he admits, “one obvious possibility is God.” I’m curious what he believes the other identities to be. Zeus, perhaps? Or possibly some extra-terrestrial? Alf, maybe? Or those little chain-smoking aliens from Men in Black? Let’s ask Tom Cruise who he’d slip in as his cosmic architect. I’m sure Rusher would appreciate an open conversation on the topic. After all, we don’t want to be like those narrow-minded scientists. In truth, God is not one possibility for the intelligent designer in an open-ended spectrum; which God is where I.D. remains mute. Yet, this is where intelligent design becomes more dangerous than Rusher’s aww-shucks presentation. If we institute I.D. into schools, how long before the conversation turns to who, specifically, this designer is? Suddenly, science is no longer science. It is theology. And despite what Rusher seems to believe, that is a bad thing.

Intelligent Design does have its place in public schools, in philosophy or theology classes, but its inclusion in science classes further corrodes an American student body that is falling further and further behind the rest of the world in those “materialistic” areas like math and science. If we want to broaden that divide, we need only adopt a concept like intelligent design into our classrooms under the pretense of inclusiveness and well-roundedness. Despite Rusher’s prediction that science and its godless worldview “will collapse, sooner or later, like the Soviet Union,” I assure him that science and faith will have equal influence on the future of humanity, but that doesn’t mean we should change the nature of either so that we can bring the two together. That is what intelligent design is asking us to do, and that is what scientists and the faithful alike should be afraid of.

Welcome Back Scrubs

2006-01-10T12:09:00.000-08:00

I don’t think it’s a big secret that I’ve been a tad depressed lately. My brother leaves for war. I lose my job. The usual holiday decompression. Not to mention the fact that the sun has been absentee for damn near a month here.

But this week marked a turning point, if only a temporary one. After taking a break for the holidays, the bulk of my favorite television shows return this week with new episodes. Now it’s probably unhealthy to find solace in TV, but it’s amazing how your life drags when you’re used to two hours of entertainment every night. It'll be nice to have those two hours back, and if I can get over my melancholy, it’ll give me something to write about nearly every day. Right now, it’s all about killing time, and the networks are going to give me a lot to do once things get moving.

The first show back I needed more than any of them because it reminds me how hard I can laugh: Scrubs, which is now airing two episodes a week on Tuesday nights. Though I haven’t watched Scrubs passionately since it’s second season (are you kidding? Tara Reid was on this show?), I’ve fallen back in love with the program with season 1 & 2 debuting on DVD. Though the characters feel a little different after missing two years, the show maintains its unique charm. Much like another dearly departed comedy favorite, Arrested Development, this show is slightly manic with its daydream cut-aways and bedside lunacy. Yet as a writer, there are moments of this show that can bring me to tears, both from laughing and from heartache.

Arrested Development, on what is likely its last episode, poked fun at some of the explanations for its anemic ratings. First and foremost, the family wasn’t likable or sympathetic. This is maybe half-true (but the show was still hilarious). Scrubs does not have this problem. The characters are all sympathetic. And that is the thing I truly admire about Scrubs -- hence the tears. It finds a way to be both extremely funny and extremely poignant. As madcap as the show can get, a hospital is a place where life and death come in equal doses, and the writers do not shy away from that fact.

Tonight’s second episode saw the furiously unsympathetic Dr. Kelso replacing a poorer man’s spot in a potentially life-saving drug trial with a wealthier one. Always the cartoonish villain Kelso has earned a reputation for whistling on the way to his car every evening, even after the ugliest of days. So when the show rolls to a close and Dr. Kelso walks to his car without the whistle, it breaks your heart. Scrubs pulls off these kind of moments without being cloying or saccharin, and these heartfelt moments make it that much better than its contemporaries. Life doesn't fit into Award show categories, Comedy or Drama. Thankfully, neither does Scrubs (which is probably why it never wins anything).

It Had to Happen

2006-01-09T12:08:00.000-08:00

I didn't go to my first Cubs game until I was 22. It was a remarkable experience, if not a typical Cubs experience. Kerry Wood threw seven innings of one-hit baseball before turning the game over to the bullpen who quickly gave up ten runs in one inning to the Pittsburgh Pirates. Yet one image lingers in my brain from that game. Sometime in the middle innings a Pirate (whose name I cannot remember) hit a rope off Kerry Wood that screeched straight towards my seat in the left-centerfield bleachers. It was a 0-0 game at that point, but this rocket was destined for the gap and would mean at least one run for the Pittsburgh.

Then a streak of blue skirted the outfield and swallowed the ball with a miraculous diving catch. That streak was Corey Patterson. Patterson finished that year looking very much like the heir apparent, hitting the snot out of the ball while becoming a fixture on Web Gems. The next year followed with an unfortunate knee injury. Then last year he returned with substandard numbers that eventually won him a trip to Triple-A.

Well, now that player who I will always identify with my first Cubs game is no longer a North Sider as this afternoon the Cubs deal Patterson to Baltimore. It makes me sad, but like Sosa a year ago, it had to be done. Since Corey will be in the American League (and for the time being will not return to torment us as so many ex-Cubs do), I wish him the best of luck and I look forward to seeing him on Web Gems this spring.

Black Site

2006-01-07T12:06:00.000-08:00

My brother wanted to post some pictures on my blog, but the military has a pretty strict stance on sending pictures over e-mail. So, I gave him instructions on how to post on my blog. Unfortunately, in doing so I had to reveal this "black site" that I've been working on since my brother left. Somehow, this knowledge got around to my mother, and this evening I stumbled upon her reading my hidden blog.

When I got upset at the invasion, she got upset with me. She believes this site is about Andrew, and therefore she should have access to it. But it's not. It's about me.

So I watched her like a hawk all evening, and now I've temporarily transferred my address to this one. Later this weekend I'm going to set up a completely new blog (new profile) and transfer to that one.

"I'm a lot stronger than you guys think," my mother said. Like Andrew was telling me what was really going on over there and she was just getting the nice stuff. Actually my brother has been very candid about his experiences. I don't know what she expected to find on this site.

Oh bother.

See you tomorrow.

Same bat-time.
New bat-channel.

God Bless Pat Robertson

2006-01-06T12:05:00.000-08:00

I get so few good belly laughs these days. But running across a certain article on MSNBC this morning... I haven't laughed that hard since... well, since the premiere of Scrubs on Tuesday. Pat Robertson has put his foot in his mouth so many times over the last five years he should just slap a Nike Swoosh on his lips and try to get an endorsement deal. First, 9/11 was the fault of the gays, and abortionists, and feminists, and all those other Ists that get right wingers chastity belts in a bunch (to be fair he tag-teamed with ray of sunshine Jerry Falwell on that one). Then, he recommended we assasinate a head of state. Next, he predicted fire and brimstone for Dover, Pennsylvania for ousting every school board member who voted Intelligent Design into the public school system. And then comes this gem regarding Ariel Sharon's recent health problems.

Not only is the statement itself priceless, but kudos to MSNBC.com for picking a winning screen grab from the 700 Club to properly contextualize more Robertson lunacy.

"I'm Just Calling To...."

2006-01-05T12:03:00.000-08:00

Probably the biggest nuisance that has arisen during my brother's absence has been the new power granted telemarketers. Every time the phone rings, we're hoping it's Andrew. We can stand the let down if it's family or friends, but when it's some jackass from Legend Windows (who?) well, you'll have to forgive my intolerance. Wasn't there a law passed, not to long ago, that telemarketers can only call people with whom they've done previous business. Who the hell is Legend Windows? Making this nuisance even more intolerable is the international phone delay. Before Iraq, I used to hang up at the first moment of silence before a telemarketer clicked in. Now, if I do that I could be hanging up on my brother, and that would probably get me a shiv to the ribs from Mom (she's ruthless, you see). I don't know if the number of telemarketers has gone up, or if we're just hyper-aware of the phone calls, but it seems like they're getting out of hand again. Again, where is that legislation?

Although there are those moments when the sun shines in, where I get the opportunity to turn the tables on the telemarketers for a brief moment.

"Is there an Andrew Rockwell there?"

"No, he's not here right now."

"Could you tell me when he'll be back?"

"Well, he's in Iraq right now, and we haven't heard from him in two weeks, but I'm sure when he has a moment between mortars and hostile fire he'll be thrilled to learn Visa has preapproved him yet again."

Click.

And then I do the Snoopy Dance.

Ten Things I Learned From Today's IM Conversation with My Brother

2006-01-04T12:02:00.000-08:00

1. My brother recently shaved his head and was told that he and I look exactly alike...

2. Ergo, there must be some special kind of herb growing in the desert that we don't know about.

3. CNN sometimes has the best intel, but they can still see a helicopter shot down when there wasn't one. Did you catch that whoops yesterday, Joel?

4. The unit Andrew and Co are releaving just left. So as of tomorrow (God help us) he's in charge.

5. Haji already calls him Rock everywhere he goes.

6. Cousin Brian gets the honor of "Best Package" so far, and we're going to assume that my brother meant the one sent through the mail. (Was that too blue for a family site?)

7. Haji smokes hurt the throat.

8. The Chicago Cubs have lead the majors in strike-outs for the past five years. And we got only one post season appearance to speak of. (On a similar note, quote of the night from Scrubs last night: "How depressing is it being you? Would you equate it to being a lifelong Cubs fan or being born with no lips?")

9. 95% of IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) won't penetrate American armor, but they will give you a headache.

10. Pictures over e-mail. A no-no.

Also, my brother and I have worked out a way for him to post pictures on this site. So, look for some of those in coming days (although, as he said "Days seem to turn into weeks here for some reason").

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

2006-01-04T11:59:00.000-08:00

It strikes me that I have some anxiety about falling asleep lately. There's this underlying sensation that I have not accomplished enough, that another day has passed with no meaning found, that morning will arrive with no reason for me to drag myself out of bed other than sleep funk and halitosis.

So I have nothing left to do with my day. I'm exhausted and sleep-deprived, yet I can't pull myself to the bedroom. What is that?

King Kong

2006-01-03T11:58:00.000-08:00

Roger Ebert, on his syndicated television program, called King Kong this year's greatest entertainment. It's so not. I've sat on the fence about this film since I saw it several weeks ago, but now I'm taking a stand. This is not a good film. Peter Jackson, much like George Lucas before him, has so many neat toys at his disposal that he feels he must use every one. The original King Kong was 80 minutes long; Jackson's version is 187 minutes of bloated unnecessary action set pieces amongst a handful of truly touching scenes between Naomi Watts and the remarkable Kong. Those were the longest three hours I've spent in a theater since Titanic (and this coming from a guy who did the Lord of the Rings marathon).

Special FX are great, but for every film that uses them correctly, there are many others that fall in love with their digital creations and let them rule the roost. Special FX mean nothing if they're not in the service of a story. Titanic is still a turd that won't sink fast enough. Shock and Awe couldn't save Star Wars from becoming a shame for kids nurtured by its original fantasy. And King Kong suffers the same fate.

The fact that these enormous action scenes take place between scenes of transcendent filmmaking only makes their superfluousness more glaring. Naomi Watts is amazing in this film. Every scene she shares with the great big ape are captivating to watch, both for the technical achievement of Kong and the Watts's performance. But these scenes are too few, and they're too often spoiled by giant bugs or stampeding brontosauri or Jack Black.

Jackson pummels us with action. Pummels. So much so that when the one action scene with emotional resonance arrives, the ascension of the Empire State Building, I was so burnt out that I just wanted it all to end. I didn't weep for Kong when he fell, as apparently many critics did. This is a flawed film. Deeply flawed. Which is a shame, because like I said, Naomi Watts is amazing and deserves some accolades for her work here. But I can't recommend this film.

If you want the year's greatest entertainment, I have two words for you: Batman Begins.

Stream-Of-Consciousness

2006-01-01T11:56:00.000-08:00

It's going on 3 AM, January 1st, 2006. Since losing my job my sleep schedule has fallen back to that with which I am most comfortable, that of the night owl. The week following Christmas has seen a chilly stasis about the house. My mom is off work until Tuesday, and I am off work indefinitely. So we hung about the homestead -- she with her quilts, me with a few video games I got for Christmas.

I haven't played video games in years, not avidly anyway. Suddenly, it's all I can do to get through the day. Mario and Sonic the Hedgehog have become the keepers of my sanity (sadly, my dignity cannot be salvaged through video games -- Morgan Webb, be damned). If nothing else, these games are marvellous time killers.

Today saw an attack near Baqubah. My mother caught the tail end of a report over the radio and sent me out into cyberspace to get the full story. Everything's ok. But I've never typed CNN.com faster.

"Don't spin me," I told my brother before he left. "Tell mom whatever you need to, but you tell me the truth, however you see it."

What a stupid request. As if I am any better equipped to handle what he tells me than my mother. Everybody around me has something to fall back on. My mom believes he's protecting the country. Ok. I don't. My aunt has her faith. I so don't. I have Ratchet and Clank. And the cozy blanket that is a nihilistic worldview.

While my brother and I have become more similar with age, the one thing we still differ on is fear. My brother is fearless. I can paralyze myself with overthought and anxiety. My brother will become the type of man who can change the world. I'll most likely be the one who talks about how it should be changed. Big bark. I look at him and I see passion and drive. I can't find that in the mirror these days.

I talked to Andrew briefly this weekend, before dozens of family members clammored for their piece of the Trans-Atlantic telephone pie, and asked him how he was. No spin allowed.

"I'm all right," he croaked. I haven't been able to shake the sound of his voice. My brother has been changed forever. I think we tend to forget that. We all worry about the life-or-death of his situation. We forget that the brother or son we put on that plane is gone for good. He will not return the same.

Shit.

Nighty night.

Melancholy Holidays

2005-12-31T11:55:00.000-08:00

I could write a small novel on this most recent holiday, but I don't want you fine people to think I have nothing better to do than sit in front of a computer all day long (Nay, it is the television that is my glowing comfort). So, here are my Christmas highlights -- bullet point style.

-- Lunch with Jasmyne -- lovely and thoughtful friend.

-- Documenting the creation of the Deines' first snow-penguin (see picture) while Brian enlightened Eileen on the subject of yellow snow.

-- Breaking down Mac's pool table (yes, it's the end of an era) and transferring it to Mike's developing bachelor pad.

-- Finding a way to get Andrew into the Cousin's picture (and he looked better than all of us).

-- Giving Uncle Joel his Thanksgiving picture.

-- Not crying, no matter how many times I had to hide in the bathroom.

-- 24 vol. 4, and Scrubs Vol. 2. Of course I had to mention some presents. It's Christmas.

-- Playing hopscotch with Eileen. I think she was crushing on me a little.

-- Using my brief time on the phone with Andrew to talk about the potential Mark Prior trade. Also, finally being able to ask him how he was, and hearing his response.

-- Being the first out at the Deines poker game, then coming back like a champ at the Rockwells on Christmas Day. Constantly raking.

-- Finding new and imaginative ways of blaming my Uncle Danny for my being laid off.

-- Bears v. Packers on Christmas Day. Beautiful win.

-- Having a five and six-way conversation on religion and politics with Norm, Dee, and their girls.

-- Learning that the best way to prevent religiosity in your children is to send them to Catholic school.

-- Finding out how much I can sweat standing still when Norm badgered me about my opinion of his daughters (for the record, yes, your girls are gorgeous, Norm. But I've also seen them in diapers, so it takes a minor adjustment to realize one of them is old enough to drink.)

-- Two families (Rockwells and Andersons crammed behind my recliner as I attempt to take our picture with the camera facing me. I would love to post that picture, unfortunately I ended up looking like Uncle Fester strapped to an electric chair. And after my admission in the previous bullet point, can you honestly expect me to volunteer such a horrifying representation of myself? If I had that little pride I would have kept the White Trash Stache (is it wrong that I kind of miss it?)

Of course all of these highlights are simply my effort to find something good in the first Christmas where I sat alone on my parents' couch to open presents. There was no stocking of silly Happy Meal toys. No evenly distributed presents. No snarky ribbing of mom and her militaristic Christmas tree ettiquette. We burned through that experience as fast as we could, as if the faster we went the less we would notice Andrew's absence. Needless to say, it didn't work.

Andrew, I miss you. If the amount of misdirected anger around here is any indication, I miss you a lot. But I'm proud of you and I admire your courage. Stay smart and come home safe so you and I can once again sit on the couch and give mom some shit; she needs it.

Merry Christmas, Baby Bro. And here's to a speedy 2006.

Care Package

2005-12-23T11:54:00.000-08:00

This is funny. Literally, two seconds after finishing up my previous post about jealousy I was hit with such a tremendous dose of it that I went straight past petty envy to seething anger. So, let's just look at that last post as being about my gratitude for my friend Jasmyne, rather than the whole jealousy thing.

This will be my jealousy post. I've been going slightly stir-crazy since I lost my job. My afternoon with Jasmyne and my Uncle Joel were temporary antidotes, but barely 24 hours later their affect has been negated.

This week leading up to Christmas, my mother has made the holidays all about Andrew. That's only natural. He's just gotten to Iraq. His absence here is glaring. We all miss him. But where I differ from my mother (in kind, and certainly degree) is, for her, Christmas has to be all about Andrew... for everybody else... all the time.

A few of the gifts I put together for my family were 8X10 photographs of my brother with various people at Thanksgiving. I didn't get a picture with every person who stepped through the door, but I got a few. And I'm sure the people who I got pictures of will appreciate the gift. But seeing this, my mother got it in her head that everybody needed a similar picture with Andrew.

So, I was given a handful of prints to take to Walgreens this morning to make copies of, but there was one minor difference. The pictures I printed and framed were taken with a thousand dollar digital camera at its highest pixel rate that I touched up in Photoshop. The pictures my mother sent with me to Walgreens were taken with a $5.99 disposable from Wal-Mart. These photos make Civil War etchings look hi-res. I understand the sentiment, but the presentation is (to my perfectionist eyes) almost offensive.

Plus they're all just things. Things. My mother is losing her mind about things. Like a photo is necessary to remember my brother. My brother is on my mind every waking moment, and I don't have one photo anywhere around of him. I don't need one. I don't need a reminder. He's in my heart. And nobody who gets those shitty, disposable camera blow-ups are going to need them either.

But I digress.

As I was writing my previous post, my mother came home from an afternoon of shopping and ripped into my dad for not going to the post office for more boxes to mail to my brother. We have two full boxes already sitting in our house, yet to be mailed, and my mother was absolutely furious that my father (who has slept most of the afternoon and is sick as a dog) did not go get more. Just based on her weekly tally thus far, my brother is going to return home with thousands of dollars of books and DVDs and other tripe that there is no way he will be able to use (he does have a full-time job over there).

My mother has seemed to equate these care packages with proof of her love. If Andrew doesn't get as many packages as the other guys, or as good of stuff, she's going to feel in her mind that he feels unloved. It's completely irrational. My father and I don't have those concerns. He knows we love him and never for a moment will he doubt that while he's over there. That's why we don't write him e-mails every day. That's why we aren't pulling our hair out over these packages. And that's why my fuse is getting shorter and shorter with my mother's impatience with anybody who isn't the zealot she is.

The row between my parents was only a primer for what finally set me off (in my own repressed, low-key way). My brother spent three hours at Wal-Mart this afternoon. She returned home with at least ten bags of shit, and no wonder she threw a fit about not having enough boxes. All ten of those bags were going over to Iraq.

But wait (INSERT GIANT RED X HERE), there's more.

As I walked through the dining room, I saw a row of eight gift bags lined up on the table in front of my mother with the names of the men from my brother's unit written on the side. As I felt my stomach turn to lead I watched as my mother carefully sorted a table full of gum, candy, playing cards, etc. and dropped them delicately, one-by-one, into each bag. I scoured the table and saw that this wasn't some random collection of things. My mother put a lot of thought and care into what she dropped into those bags. She spent an afternoon gathering the materials, God knows how long actually planning the whole thing. I can deal with the overstuffed boxes Andrew will be getting over the next year, but something about the love and care my mother was putting into these unnecessary packages for his men -- I lost it.

And again, it wasn't about the things. My mother did all of her shopping for the entire family in two hours last night, so I'm certain there won't be anything stuffed under our M.I.A. Christmas tree that shares a tenth of the thought and care those gift bags got. My presents will be pulled off my half-assed list with all the passion of a refrigerator post-it. No imagination. No desire. Just something to cross of the weekly to-do.

It hit me tonight that I need to leave this house. I don't care if I continue to live paycheck to paycheck, with no chance of putting money into savings. My mother is a zombie, essentially spending the year in Iraq with my brother. I can deal with being ignored, but not to my face. As much as I can, I'm living this year aware of my brother, but not chained to him. I have to do other things or I'll lose my mind. My mother is the opposite. She can't do other things, or she'll feel that she's neglecting her baby.

Hmm. Irony.

Fuck. Happy Holidays.

Talking

2005-12-23T11:53:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I had the pleasure of enjoying a rare lunch with the smartest girl I know, my dear friend Jasmyne. Naturally, coming off an earth-rattling e-mail from my brother, much of the early conversation revolved around those developments (thankfully our conversation did turn to less grave things like her allergy to the words "tits" and "bootleg" and my one Christmas wish, cuddle time with Kristen Bell). It was the first time I've had the chance to talk (face-to-face) with a friend about the changes in my life and my family since my brother left. As always, her insight was invaluable.

I have ties to many smart people. After lunch with Jasmyne, I spent three hours talking politics with my grandfather and Uncle Joel. I'm sure I could do the same with any number of my relatives. But it's always ideals and rhetoric and philosophy, which is remarkably impersonal despite our passions. My conversations with Jasmyne are different though. They're conversations about people, often about me.

I have a tendency to hide my feelings from even my nearest and dearest, and several years ago my friendship with Jasmyne was borne of that self-revelation. In the same moment she crushed my romantic advances, she became the first peer with whom I felt comfortable talking. In a peculiar way, I often viewed people's worry as condescension, like somehow people who offered me advice felt they were above me. Who are they to give me advice? I recognized the error in that judgment talking with her yesterday; sometimes people just care about you.

At one point in our lunch, Jasmyne asked me a rather perilous question: Was I jealous of the attention being paid my brother? Two years ago, I would have given an answer with more spin than an 80's DJ, but when I don't have to worry about somebody leaving me at the table or not returning my phone calls I can be more candid.

The answer is yes, but as I said to Jasmyne, it's not a "Look at me" sort of jealousy. Though I could never have walked the path my brother did, his life has had a consistant trajectory since he was 18 and got accepted into West Point. Two years my junior, my brother is doing something with his life, something honorable at that. When he leaves the Army (if he does), he will not have these years of transition, wondering what he's going to do. He'll have a job right out of the gates that will likely pay double what I've made in my best year (economically). Meanwhile, I have blown my savings during my year in Florida and have returned to my parent's home (no longer mine) to replenish my bank account and see if maybe I could finally find some direction for my life. Long story short, I'm not jealous of the attention; my brother deserves all the attention he gets. I'm jealous because I don't have anything remotely comparable in my life that would be worthy of attention. I remain a wandering dreamer, while my brother has his head down charging into the future.

There are many things in that confession that I wouldn't care for any girl I was courting to know. Jealousy is a particularly ugly trait, not to mention the admission of a lack of career direction and personal pride. So, it's hard for me to put into words how remarkable I find it to stare across a table at one of the most stunningly beautiful girls I've met and admit these things without worrying about how it makes me look or what she'll think of me. No longer worried about dating her (thank God her boyfriend Andy rescued me from that perilous pursuit), pretense becomes superfluous, and I'm a streamlined kind of guy. If there's no need for it, cut it.

At the beginning of what I hope is a therapeutic three days with friends and family, my lunch with Jasmyne was a great primer. I don't doubt if aftershocks of our conversation show up for weeks to come.

Smart, smart girl.

On a Dime

2005-12-22T11:52:00.000-08:00

A little over a week ago I was contemplating a post discussing how frighteningly mundane life is. I didn't expect complacency to nestle into our happy home so comfortably, so soon. I was in the shower, where much of my best thinking is done (note to self: take longer showers), and I realized that nothing had changed since my brother went off to Iraq. We see Andrew so infrequently throughout the year that standing in the shower, gelling up with Prell, it felt like things were as they had always been. Andrew off in Georgia, or New York, or Hawaii. The family at home.

Well, things changed quickly with two e-mails. In the first, my brother documented the mortar attack that welcomed him to Iraq. They quickly fled from their plane to a bunker, but not before my brother made note of the bullet strikes alongside the AC-130 that dropped them into the war. As horrifying as this could have been -- the first attempts on my brother's life -- Andrew coloured the experience with a jocular bemusement that distanced us (and probably himself) from it.

But no amount of tongue-in-cheek could dispell the horror that befell my family with Andrew's next e-mail. His first mission in Iraq started as a retrieval of a High Value Target and ended up as a complete ambush of US and Iraqi forces. Despite the absense of any US casualties, the Iraqi forces were decimated. The bodies were piled into the back of a pickup truck and dumped in front of the aid station, where my brother spent the rest of his day doing blood transfusions, and IVs, as well as stitching up the wounded. As my brother put it "I must have aged 25 years in a matter of 25 minutes."

Our house has been crippled ever since that e-mail. At the tail end of it, my brother promised to call that evening or the next day, so my mother has hunkered down in the living room with her quilts for the past two days (Andrew's deadline has since expired), occasionally taking breaks to knock out a game of sudoku online. In a wonderful twist of the knife, we received an inordinate number of telemarketing calls -- a few even asking for Andrew. It's a special kind of heartache when it comes courtesy of Spanky McG.E.D. from Sprint.

I empathize with what my brother is going through. This house is similarly on edge, but instead of mortars and gunfire we have doorbells and telephones. The night after we got the ambush e-mail, I had trouble sleeping. It was nothing special, just one of those nights. Somewhere around one o'clock in the morning, as I finally started to make headway on dreamland, I heard a car door slam outside. My eyes flew open, and I lay completely still in my bed, waiting... waiting... for that ring. After a minute or so I got up and headed inconspicuously to the kitchen, telling my mother I was merely getting a glass of water. In truth, I was going to make sure there wasn't a car parked in front of our house. There wasn't, but I could still hear the doorbell waiting as I walked back to my bedroom.

The next day a friend of Andrew's came to visit my mother. She knocked. Nobody ever knocks at my house, so my anxiety immediately hit 10. When I got to the door I saw a car on the street, one I didn't recognize. It all added up to "not good." I was awfully friendly to Brandi when she walked in the door. I don't know if I've shared more than one or two words with her in my life, but I was schoolgirl chatty when I welcomed her inside. She must have thought I was nuts, but really I was just thankful she wasn't wearing green.

The mood has changed, and I didn't expect it to be so swift. I thought my brother would have time to get comfortable, as we got comfortable, in war. But we dove in headfirst, and we're already choking on the saltwater.

I've called my brother's deployment The Longest Year. Well, The Longest Year just got a lot longer.

G.I. Joe and Mr. Jolie

2005-12-22T11:50:00.000-08:00

Some of you may have noticed that I haven't posted anything in the past couple of days. It's true. I have been away, and honestly it's cause I don't know what to say. I don't know what to say to a bunch of guys who were thrilled, THRILLED at getting every Brad Pitt movie on DVD. Now, I like Ocean's 11 as much as the next guy, but Cool World? There's just no excuse for that. Although that might explain why he got 150 DVD's for a C-note (a hundred dollars for those of you not down).

Seriously though, I should say something about what's really important here. And that's the fact that my brother is finally going to partake and that holiest of holies... 24. Finally, after much grandstanding my brother and I can share in Jack Bauer's many adventures. Now, if I could just get a certain aunt and uncle (you know who you are) to finish up season 3 and get on to season 4. It's the best yet.

I suppose some of you would expect me to say something about my brother's trials in his first week in Iraq, but I don't need to.

He said it best: "I'm invincible."

I'd ask any of you who know him well to argue with his assessment.

Babysitter

2005-12-18T11:49:00.000-08:00

From time to time I've wondered whether I resent all the attention my brother is getting. I'm increasingly impatient with people who feel the need to involve me with every single thing they're doing for my brother. It's absolutely necessary that I collect newspaper articles for my brother. It's absolutely necessary that I choose the books to put into his care package. It's absolutely necessary that I help my grandfather pick cigars to send my brother's squad.

You're all adults people. These are your projects. They're not family projects. Andrew knows who is responsible for all these things. He knows that Mom is the care package diva, just as he knows that Dad has to mail it for her. I picked out his books and wrote a little preface in each one, but Andrew knows full well that my mom is going to be a slavedriver with these packages.

I know everybody has to deal with this year in their own way, but damn I wish they didn't all seem to conflict with each other.

Checks and Bullshit

2005-12-18T11:48:00.000-08:00

I'm not a political alarmist. I listen to my fair share of Air America, and while I enjoy listening to thoughtful people who come closer to my personal sensibility, so much of the liberal handwringing is ineffectual and often beside the point. Finding out how much congress and the American people were misled before the war in Iraq is irrelevant now. If it wasn't deliberate malfeasence on the part of the administration, then it was incompetence; pick one, they're equally troubling, and neither of them will help us solve our current situation.

Yet, Randi Rhodes and those like her on progressive radio will not let the past go (much like Right Wing radio returns to Bill's BJ whenever they're backed into a cornere). Liberals continue to pummel the dead horse of Bush's questionable election wins. They dwell on all of the administration's past mistakes without offering any solutions to our current quandries. We need visionaries right now. Not sour grapes.

And this week has revealed how dire that need is. Like I said, I'm not a political alarmist, but a number of stories broke in rapid succession this week (many hidden on the back pages) that intensified my malaise towards the next three years of W's rule. There's a sense of helplessness right now for many Americans. We're trapped in Iraq, at the will of the administration's obstinate rhetoric. Meanwhile, they continue to bend and break laws behind the immunity of power and secrecy, all in the the name of homeland security.

First this week comes news that officials at the Pentagon were secretly surveilling groups adversarial to the administration. Some of these groups, including an anti-war group gathering at the Quaker Meeting House in Lake Worth, FL to protest military recruitment in high schools, were small neighborhood activist groups who were being observed under the pretense of home security. Another group, the (no shit) Raging Grannies, were also under surveillance. Well, I guess if they can't tell that Granny doesn't have a bomb in her shoes at the airport, why should the Pentagon be any different?

This week also showed that even when congress posts a win for personal freedoms, killing an extension to the Patriot Act, it is clear that the administration will continue to act as it sees fit from outside the purview of congressional approval. The New York Times broke a story that Bush authorized the NSA to spy on hundreds of Americans within the United States. Because of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act passed in 1978, domestic spying is unlawful without a warrant. What Bush did was essentially eliminate the need to obtain a warrant. This by itself wouldn't alarm me. As Bush stated, these wiretaps were mainly to observe people with ties to Al Qaeda, and I'd gladly give him the benefit of the doubt here. But paired with the Pentagon's secret database on anti-war groups, these stories reveal both the ability to circumvent the law and a desire to keep tabs on those who oppose this administration. As if that weren't enough, Bush then conducted a live radio address in which he praised the program, vowed to continue it, and then criticized the New York Times for divulging the existence of the program.

This response from the President is staggering. Not only does he admit to stepping around the law, but he also promises the practice will continue. Then the cherry on the sundae, the criticism of the press. I know the Bush administration is allergic to accountability, but they're not even being coy about it anymore. Of course, the free press is only free so much as it makes the case for Bush's myopic agenda (see the propaganda machine currently uncovered in Iraq). I guess covering your true nature for so long has to be hard (it's why I quit my bartending job), and the wolf is clearly starting to itch inside the sheep's clothing.

Three more years of the wolf. Three more years.

God Bless America

2005-12-18T11:47:00.000-08:00

Wal-Mart is arguably the largest economical parasite alive in America today. It decimates local businesses and takes advantage of its workers (it is the largest employer of workers on welfare in the country and it does its best to keep workers there) all for the sake of low prices. Of all the things that Wal-Mart is guilty of this is what people are picketing the store for. This is the type of priority problem that put Big Brother in the White House for four more years.

Lost Midseason Report

2005-12-17T11:44:00.000-08:00

What has happened?

Oh, sweet Jesus. All right. Bare bones. After opening the hatch, Jack and Co. discover a lived in bunker where a mysterious Australian named Desmond is in charge of entering The Numbers into an archaic computer every 108 minutes. After Desmond bails, Locke and Jack set-up a rotating shift to take up the computer duties. Meanwhile, Jin, Michael, and Sawyer survive the attack on the raft only to land on the other side of the island where a handful of survivors from the tail section including Ana Lucia (a former cop with anger issues), Mr. Eko (a silent giant carrying a big stick), and Rose’s husband, Bernard have had a much different experience on the island with many of them being kidnapped or killed by The Others (including all the children). Because of Sawyer’s infected bullet wound (I think), the tailies decide to cross the island to where the rest of the survivors are holed up. Stalked by The Others the entire trip, the tailies are noticeably on edge when Shannon stumbles into their path and is swiftly shot and killed by Ana Lucia. All of the survivors reunite just in time for Michael to use the mysterious computer to speak to his kidnapped son, Walt. Or is it?

I know there are things I skipped, but I don’t want to write a novel. So, watch the show if you want all the minutae.

What’s good?

The mysteries continue to pile up. The reveal of the hatch did little to quell viewers appetites, because it only opened up a Pandora’s box of WTFs for those who thought they’d get answers. The mythology of the show, which has been pretty heavy for the first half of this season, has not disappointed, and that’s without so much as a whisper from “the monster.” Now that the survivors are all together again, the show has regained the dramatic weight that was its lifeblood last season. This has been a long prologue for a season that promises profound change. January 12 is a long way away.

What’s not so good?

One of the marvel’s of Lost’s first season was the remarkable distance traveled over the course of the year. Watching the show again on DVD, that became readily apparent as I realized the many things that were still to come. This season has very much been the opposite. Nine episodes into the season, it feels like we’ve moved very little. Though it feels like the show is set to put the pedal to the metal, it took a long time to get to that point. Also, while they are a staple of the show, some of the flashbacks have lost their magic. There are only so many secrets these people can have in their past, and already (Jin & Sun comes to mind) the flashback convention seems to be spread a little thin. Of course, there have still been some exceptional flashbacks including Hurley’s (with a tremendous performance from Jorge Garcia) and Shannon’s (that humanized the most shallow character in the ensemble right before they killed her).

Midseason MVP

Much has been made of the casting discoveries on this show -- Evangelline Lilly, Terry O’Quinn, and Josh Holloway -- but none has stood out more for me than Jorge Garcia. Hugo “Hurley” Reyes with his robust girth and understated eloquence (“Dude”) started off as a delightful comic presence in an intensely grave situation, but quickly moved to one of the more complex individuals in the cast. His throwaway one-liners and talent for physical comedy (the Jin sea urchin incedent was brilliant) are some of the most memorable moments of the series. His remark to Jack about Rose’s husband being white “Didn’t see that coming” was hilarious, but this season has also deepened our sympathy with Hurley’s position as fate’s whipping boy. Arguably the most resonant of the flashbacks was Hurley’s, as we see him trying to enjoy his life before the changes of his lottery win corrupt his future. Hurley's the heart and soul of the island.

Sixth-Man Award

This is hard to do on an ensemble show where over a dozen characters are treated equally within the story, but at this point in the season the honor has to go to Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje’s (yes I cut and paste that) Mr. Eko. As enigmatic as John Locke and the most physically impressive of the cast, Mr. Eko promises to be the most interesting discovery this season. With his carved stick and self-imposed forty days of silence, it’s unclear where this guy is coming from. In addition, his biblical exchange with Locke and accidental (?) discovery of the director’s cut of the orientation film this Rookie of the Year has jumped right into the middle of the island’s mysteries and I can’t wait to learn more about him.

Best Episode

While the last episode before the holiday break felt like Lost back in top form, it wasn’t my favorite. That honor goes to “Everybody Hates Hugo,” the Hurley-centric fourth episode of the season. Not only did it start off with one of the weirder teasers in the show’s history featuring a chicken suit, a Korean speaking Hurley and an English-speaking Jin ("Everything is going to change"), it had one of the more dramatically resonant flashbacks of the year. Made responsible for the stores of food in the hatch, Hurley flashes back to the day after winning the lottery. More confident in other’s resentment than his own good fortune, Hurley lives it up as best he can before coming forward. He quits his job. He asks out his crush. He does everything he can to assure himself that things won’t change with the money, but he knows better. On the island, he deals with the same sort of suspicion, knowing that his good fortune with the food will be resented by the other islanders. I’m sure there were some mystery components to the episode, but I honestly can’t remember them. But I’m one of those weird people who loves this show as much for its human drama as its mysteries. And everything in this episode, from the interactions of Rose and Hurley to the peanut butter to Hurley’s chosen resolution to the food issue, was Lost drama at its best.

Final Decision

Much more uneven than last season, Lost has still been a thrill and it promises to get better. The first seven episodes felt like a necessary primer for what’s to come. The episodes after the uniting of the survivors have felt more and more like the best of last season: The pairings of different characters within the ensemble (Eko and Locke, Sayiid and Kate, etc), the quiet, sentimental moments (the removal of Jin’s handcuff, the gift of peanut butter), the nasty twists (the film in the Bible, Walt on IM). The show has its orientation again, and thankfully that usually means we’re about to lose ours. B+

Fun With Folicles

2005-12-17T10:22:00.000-08:00

When you work in a freezer where -2 degrees Farenheit is considered a balmy day, you'll do anything to keep warm. I have at least $500 dollars of different cold weather gear in my closet that I bought to keep my toes and fingers from breaking off amidst the Popeye's chicken. And in addition to the clothing, I discovered that a shaggy beard is quite efficient in keeping the cheeks toasty. So, up until I got laid off this week I had not shaved since the middle of November. Part of shunning of the razor was for warmth, and part of it was some lazy/inspired decision that I was going to go hobo for the year my brother was away: not shave or cut my hair. I don't know what kind of perverse dedication this was, but it offered me some good cheer.

So, after nearly a month without shaving I had developed quite the Grizzly Adams, but in the two days I've been unemployed I realized that there were at least a couple reasons why refusing to maintain my hair would be ill-advised. First, I had to look nice for prospective employers. Second, and most importantly, over the holidays I will get to spend time with two of the most stunning and remarkable girls I've had the pleasure of knowing in my life. I only get to see them once (if I'm lucky twice) a year, and there's no way I'm going to leave them with a Shaggy dog image of me till next Christmas.

So confronted with this monstrosity of a facial forest and an extremely boring Saturday, I decided I was going to have some fun. So, here is what I came up with to cheer my brother's spirits in his first days in Iraq. I call it the Trailer Trash Stache, courtesy of Trucker Phil.

I'm sorry if I may have to depart with this magnificent specimen before I see many of you at Christmas, but like I said -- two beautiful girls. Still, I think I'm going to keep it for a while just because it makes my dad really, really uncomfortable. And that always makes me laugh.

Oh, and Brian. I know you're having a problem with that disappearing chin. Well, from the looks of that photo I have one to spare, so we'll see what we can work out on Christmas.

Yeehaw!

House, M.D. Midseason Report

2005-12-15T10:21:00.000-08:00

What's happened so far?

Dr. Gregory House continues his weekly forays into healing and harrassment, curing and castigating. As his complicated relationship continues with his ex-lover Stacy, Dr. Cuddy further complicates his life by promoting Dr. Foreman (if temporarily) over him. Meanwhile Dr. Cameron and Dr. Chase deal with the ramifications of a drug-induced one-night stand as well as Dr. Chase’s suspension (indirectly caused by the death of his father).

But who are we kidding? This show isn’t about long-term character arcs. It’s about House and his patients, and it that regard House still rules the… well, house.

What’s great?

Only Veronica Mars rivals Dr. Gregory House when it comes to great one-liners. The dialogue on this show remains some of the best on television, and though I had concerns about House becoming a pardoy of himself (as often happens with distinct characters) Hugh Laurie continues his streak of great work. Sela Ward’s Stacy Warner is a tremendous boon for the show; her scenes with house are some of the best of the season, and House’s actions towards her illuminate this character's complexity. He loves her (for which we empathize), but he expresses that by stealing her file out of her therapist‘s office. Brilliant, but flawed. How many great characters are born out of that description.

What’s not so great?

House is not a perfect show, but I don’t really have any complaints about it. That’s really quite amazing. If I had any complaint it would be the procedural (and often predictable) plotting of the show. But that predictability serves the show tremendously when it decides to go off the rails as it did last season with the Emmy winning “Three Stories” and last week’s “The Mistake.” So, even the show’s flaws pay off. Remarkable.

Mid-Season MVP

Duh. House. Without House there is no House. And the writers have done a magnificent job of revealing the complexity of Gregory House without sacrificing the savage wit that hooked us into the show in the first place.

Sixth Man Award

Robert Sean Leonard’s Dr. Wilson seems to be the unsung hero of this show. The only friend House seems to have, the two share an almost brotherly bond of respect and rivalry. Wilson is the only character who takes House’s shit without batting an eye and who seems to understand the pain of House’s existence. Equal parts admiration and sympathy, their relationship is so blithely comfortable that, just like House’s relationship with Stacy, it humanizes House even as he’s asking Wilson to pay for a pack of gum. Also, this season we’ve gotten brief glimpses into the unfortunate home life of Wilson, whose history with women has had more than it’s share of indiscretions. I hope we see more of Wilson’s life in the future.

Best Episode

Like last season’s “Three Stories,” “The Mistake” broke from the usual formula of the show, skillfully interweaving (and reweaving) a number of flashbacks as Dr. Chase prepares to go before a review board in the case of a deceased patient. The story relies on House and Chase’s culpability in the case, and has more twists and turns than the usual procedural episode. When it’s ultimately revealed that it was Chase’s error, and that error was caused by the death of his father, it’s a fairly dramatic blow. But nothing compared to the blow House gets when he’s put under the charge of his former underling, Dr. Foreman

Final Decision

No show this season has been more consistently entertaining than House. Sure it doesn’t have the complexity of Lost or Veronica Mars, but damn if it doesn’t deliver everything it promises. And occasionally it breaks the mold, and then we really get a treat. Great, great show. A-

True Blue Collar

2005-12-14T10:20:00.000-08:00

Finally, after years of trying I have joined the American workforce. Sure, I've worked since I was 17, but now I've followed in the traditions of GM and Case by getting laid off. Yes, TPC sadly couldn't find the business to keep me on hand, so it's back to the classifieds for new and exciting adventures.

Merry Christmas -- you're unemployed.

At least I got a free ham out of the deal.