At a Loss for Words

Long ago, when I first began this quest to pass myself off as a writer (or something resembling one), my motivation was quite simple. A small group of us, including my brother Greg, my then-neighbor-and-friend-now-beloved-sister-in-law Violet, our friend and O.G./loyal reader Mary and a varying cast of others came together on Wednesday nights to eat dinner, chit-chat, and (most importantly) spend two hours watching, dissecting, critiquing and lambasting Beverly Hills 90210 and Party of Five, Fox's double barreled package of mediocre acting, tired story lines and guilty pleasure. As we would approach each week's viewing, I would tantalize the group with the questions that should have been in the forefront of our minds: Would Dylan reconcile with the former patriarch of The Hogan Family? Would Brandon resume his hot incestuous relationship with Valerie? Would the gap between Donna's misshapen breasts continue to grow so wide that Steve Hawking himself couldn't explain the phenomenon we were all witnessing? Would Andrea and her Hispanic husband raise their daughter, whom I dubbed Juanita Epstein, to be as bland and unlikable as they both were? Would Nat serve a purpose? What madcap adventures would Steve land himself in? Would Bay have the nerve to tell Jul about the way Char was acting towards Claud and O? Mindbending stuff to say the least.

Regardless of how stupid or asinine the topic was, it was a constant source of material for yours truly, and it kept the prose flowing like mad. Between these two shows, every conceivable topic that could be considered remotely controversial was addressed: Sex, drinking, every drug known to mankind, race relations, death, diner/restaurant ownership, rape, incest, robbery, money problems, fathering children out of wedlock with your wife's sibling, DJ-ing, homosexuality, homoeroticism, madcap hilarity, night club management, having a child with a stripper - you name it, they covered it in an extremely awkward, unrealistic and ultimately hilarious fashion. Needless to say, when these shows went off the air, I felt like a piece of me died. Where would I find another useless, time-wasting outlet for my quasi-creativity? It was the first time I questioned God's very existence.

Then He gently reminded me that He did indeed exist and that life was beautiful by introducing the concept of the sexually-themed reality show. Joy! Shows like The Bachelor/Bachelorette, Temptation Island, Paradise Hotel, Love Cruise: The Maiden Voyage, Elimidate, Chains of Love and the like filled the airwaves like thousands of toilets emptying into one big, beautiful septic tank. Despicable, wretched human beings from around this great nation of ours fought for the chance to make complete asses of themselves on national TV for all normal, intelligent, devilishly handsome people like myself to bear witness to. I found a new purpose in life exposing these people for the vile people they were - the skidmarks on the underwear of humanity, if you will. Nothing gave me more joy than to see their anguish, heartbreak and insecurities play out on the air, and then to go sit at my computer and spend twice as long as each show's actual airtime typing about it. My nine readers pored over every sordid detail of my summaries, which actually blew away the entertainment value of the actual productions themselves in this humble man's opinion. Yes, I was truly on top of the world.

Yet as time went on, my efforts became more futile and labored. How many different angles can you come up with about guys who vie for the attention of a shallow girl like Jen Scheft or people who think placing their significant other in a situation where they are given the green light to cheat on them is a great way to “test” their relationship? Aren't these people all the same? Insecure, well-coifed, arrogant, dressed in the latest fashions - it's like an army of clones has been created to fill the ever-growing spaces available on these shows. Having used every conceivable angle, I found myself at a loss for fresh words to describe my hatred for these people. Even as I write this, I am struggling to come up with new, creative ways to rip these people, but nothing comes to mind. I think I've covered it all.

And I guess that's the point here - I am slowly, surely running out of ways to express my general disdain for the state of popular culture, sad as it may seem. Some people tell me to focus my energy on dissecting the laughable political landscape in the country. Why bother? Hasn't it all been said? I think we all know that President Bush is an incompetent boob who associates himself with other incompetent boobs (Harriet Miers) and still can't seem to break his habit of looking like he's about to crack up laughing no matter what he's talking about, as he did again last night while talking about the Jordan bombings. How many different ways can I point out the ridiculousness of his Administration and the things they tend to focus their energy on, such as the latest issue they've raised with Southern Illinois Univeristy's apparent discrimination against white males. Yes, I agree it's a travesty how this nation treats its poor, downtrodden white men. I guess I could go with “Haven't we suffered enough? Why can't WE get access to those three programs with a whopping collective annual budget of $1.2 million so we can advance past the shackles that society has placed upon our clean, non-calloused, well-manicured hands? Where's MY 40 acres and a mule?” But really, is this the best I can come up with? I also trust I'm not the only person who wishes they could slap the glasses and smarmy look right off of Karl Rove's fat, rosy face right before greasing him up with Crisco, leaving him tied up in the sun and emptying a colony of red ants on his body. And I surely am not the only person who has next April in his office's “Dick Cheney dies of a heart attack because he'll be damned if anything gets pinned on his crotchety-yet-wealthy ass” pool. It's all been said - I'm just parroting it at this point.

“Why J,” you say, “you should focus your angst on celebrities and the decadent, privileged lives they lead.” What am I going to say that you haven't already heard? That Joe Simpson harbors unnatural sexual feelings towards his marginally talented daughters, so much so that he's obviously trying to drive away any men in their lives so he can fulfill his sick fantasies? Am I going to point out that Britney Spears, aside from remaining true to her trailer-trash roots, is even more of an idiot for having married and born the child of an equally-trashy, buffoonish aspiring-rapper deadbeat? What else could I possibly add on the topic of Tom Cruise's continuing downward spiral into complete lunacy to the point where he somehow got his hands on some loose sperm in order to have his contracted girlfriend impregnated? Is there any way for me to lend any more credence to the constant parade of sham relationships between Paris Hilton and extremely wealthy men of Spartan descent or on Tara Reid's transformation from a haggard mainstream actress to a haggard hardcore porn star? Really, there's nothing new to add here.

Yet whether or not it's all been said before, the fact remains that this is my healthy outlet, the avenue I have for getting my frustrations off of my chest. If I tend to repeat myself or harp on the same topics over and over, I do it because I need to vent, because I need to make myself laugh (not a difficult task, seeing as I am hilarious), and because my nine readers demand it. So this is by no means a Swan Song - I guess its just acknowledgement that certain things do bear repeating.

News and Notes

o I have a guilty secret - because I have a child on the way any minute now, I have been a homebody on recent Friday nights, and during those times I have both watched and enjoyed NBC's sappy Three Wishes featuring Christian musician Amy Grant, whom I've always thought was cute (not that I'd ever watch the show for that reason). This show does not just tug at your heartstrings - it uses them to bungee jump off of a 300 ft cliff. I have seen the wife of a dead soldier with two young children get a brand new house, complete with a memorial for her dead husband in the backyard, a guy with inoperable brain cancer be reunited with every friend, family member and teacher from his past while surrounded by his children, and a family displaced by Hurricane Katrina get transplanted to a small town where they were showered with gifts, including their most prized possessions rescued from their home. I quote the late, great Jim Croce: “There's something in my eyes; you know it happens every time.” The lengths that NBC goes to in order to fuck with your emotional well-being boggle my mind. It's extremely hokey, unbelievably corny, and surprisingly effective. If this shit doesn't get to you, you must be dead or German. Give it a whirl, won't you?

o The NCAA shot down the University of Illinois' appeal regarding the ban on their mascot, Chief Illiniwek as an insensitive and abusive image of Native Americans (via ESPN.com). The report gave no word on whether this had anything to do with the incident at the most recent home football game where the Chief, inebriated on fire water, took out his frustrations surrounding his recent gambling losses by brandishing a pistol and vomiting in the south end zone, only to be subsequently relocated to a small, desolate patch of land 500 miles west of campus by University officials.

o If they call you a dork, a spaz or a geek, stand up and be proud. Don't be meek.

o Not trying to parrot the Sports Guy or anything, but I recently partook in a new episode of Saturday Night Live featuring host Lance Armstrong and, coincidentally enough, musical guest Sheryl Crow (they're engaged, don't you know). There were a few good skits, several really bad ones (including token fat guy and inappropriately-timed-laughter-prone Horatio Sanz dressed in drag where the running joke was that a fat guy was dressed in drag - boo). However, the Weekend Update crew featured the following hilarious joke: “In a recent poll, 63% of Americans are not satisfied with President Bush's performance. The other 37% believe that Adam and Eve rode dinosaurs to church.” Why am I bringing this up? Because I'm thrilled with voters in Pennsylvania that voted out seven freakish school board members who were trying to incorporate teaching of “supernatural” theories (i.e. Creationism) in their schools' science courses. It's nice to know that people can still vote logically, even if it is in one of those odd elections no one seems to pay attention to.

o One of my new favorite websites is www.deadspin.com. They were the ones who initially released the pictures of Bears QB extraordinaire Kyle Orton wearing a few shots worth of Jack Daniels on the front of his t-shirt. They take a wonderfully sarcastic approach to their sports reporting, and I have recently been invited to be a commenter on their site (OK, I groveled for the invitation, but you have to take it as you can get it). Anyway, if you chance to be reading through some of the stories, take a look at the comments sections and you may see the Madman giving his viewpoint, complete with a link to this wonderful sight. Maybe I can increase my readership to 11 or 12 - dare to dream.

Until next time…