News and Notes - March 24, 2006

Well, hello again everybody! To quote The Onion's Jim Anchower "I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but I've had a lot of shit going down." Let's see what I've been up to:

- I am a sucker for the lowest common denominator. Case in point: NBC's Deal or No Deal. Just the sheer simplicity of the title itself should give you all the clue you need regarding the nature of this show: simple concept for simple people. The fact that it's hosted by a now-sheen-bald-soulpatch-sporting Howie Mandell is your other clue. The basic premise is that there are 24 suitcases, each containing a sum of money, ranging from $1 million to $.01. The contestant is charged with opening a set number of suitcases (6 at time in the early rounds, progressively fewer in subsequent rounds). Whatever amount is revealed in a suitcase is taken off the board, meaning the person no longer has a chance to win that amount. After each "round", Howie receives a phone call from "The Banker", a shadowy figure that looms ominously above the stage, who relays a money offer for the contestant if they will just stop playing this game. For educated people like myself and my readers, it is clear that the offer represents something that very closely resembles the median of the remaining numbers.

This is where the "strategy" comes in. The contestant is then asked by Howie: "Deal, or no deal?" That is to say "do you want to actually walk out of here with some cash, or are you going to foolishly keep gambling, likely ending up with even less than you have now." Given that each contestant is being egged on by family members, friends and the audience to go for broke, the answer inevitably is almost always "No Deal!", which certainly does not please the Banker (Michelle is no longer amused by my constant "If the banker is so outraged, why doesn't he stand up and start shaking his fist at the contestant" commentary that runs every time this clandestine mystery man graces us with his business-like silhouette). Are you frustrated yet by the sheer stupidity of this game? The only saving grace are the lovely ladies who stand and hold the suitcases, no doubt wondering if and when they'll land a gig with a little more substance. These models open each suitcase at the behest of the contestant, and they display one of three signature reactions: 1) Small Amount: "AH! I am SOOO excited for you! Great job!" 2) Medium Amount: "Hey, OK, it's not so bad, it could be worse, hang in there!" 3) Large Amount: "I'm really sorry I just ripped your heart out of your chest!". Every now and then, one will dare to speak, but she's immediatey lashed with a cat-o-nine-tails by a crazed albino mental patient. Yes, that last part is 100% true.

I'll admit it - watching rubes get duped via shell game antics on National TV gives me reason to live.

- OK, I just finished watching Nova-BC, and Jim Nance just commented on how ecstatic "Rowan Massamina" must be. I'm guessing Rollie Massamino is probably pretty stoked as well.

- You all know that from time to time, I make a feeble attempt to express my views on politics in this fair space. I'm sure you also know that my facts are often quite shaky, my positions foggy and my knowledge as deep as the pool of vomit Mama Cass passed away in. I have come to the realization that it simply does not matter what I think. During our Illinois primaries, which were stocked with Illinois politicians who carry with them that great tradition of those that have served and passed, in whose shoes they now walk. Which of course means, they're all crooks. OK, that's harsh, not true, but not the point. I received a call from one of the candidates' cronies, suggesting that I go vote for his man because "you're registered as a Democrat." As soon as I finished dry-heaving, I quietly said, "thanks, but no thanks." I am most certainly not a Democrat. At least not what Democrats are today: corrupt, money-laden machines on the local level; a stumbling, inept complainer with a persecution complex on the National level. Does this sound like a wise affiliation?

Of course it goes without saying that I'd sooner play chess against Death himself (and I suck at chess) than associate myself with the Republican party. I just finished watching an excellent PBS special on the Reconstruction - the Republicans were doing everything in their Godgiven power to make sure those newly freed African-American slaves were given a fair shake...in the South. You see, the Feds wanted to bring the South back in because shit, there was CASH to be made! But in order to get them to behave, they thought it would be a fine idea if they forcibly introduced their former chattel into their economically crippled society. I mean, sure, all of the Northern cities were still almost completely segregated, with a wide chasm between living conditions and civil rights, but we won the fucking war, so tough shit! It is said that it had to be like this - Abraham Lincoln was truly working towards upholding the "All men are created equal" jive in the Declaration of Independence. I guess you can say the modern Republican party owes John Wilkes Booth a debt of gratitude.

"Jeez, J, that was 1873, what about now?" What about now? Today, instead of being run by bloated bureaucrats who only wish to force their agenda on the general public because they stand to profit from it, the Republicans are run by...uh...hmm...moving on. Besides the euphamisms, half-truths, legal troubles, speculation, propaganda and outright lies, there's that pesky little matter of the Religious Right. Call me crazy, but I'm not huge on associating myself with someone who adopts a literal interpretation of a book written approximately 1600-2000 years ago, mainly in a time that was known as the "Dark Ages"? Plus their stadium-style churches are tacky as hell. And finally, your Republican Party is rounded out by...this week's contestants on Deal or No Deal!

Card-carrying Independent, my friends. I can be had - whattya got?

- I've looked back over my years of writings, and I've noticed a pattern. Every time I write about the White Sox with even a twinge of hope, they do a belly-flop and have one of those Tartabul-Navarro-Belle-Wells years. Last year I wished gonhorrea on Kenny Williams for his idiotic moves, and joy ensues. This should come as no surprise to anyone who is remotely aware of my sports prognostication skills (or complete and utter lack thereof). I am the one who bet on the 1994 49ers twice, and those were the ONLY two times they didn't beat the spread all goddamned season. I'm also the guy who's notorious for his 0-5 five team parlays. And I've gone approximately 2-28 in single games during all my time in Vegas. Sensing a trend? So here's my official, iron-clad prediction for 2006: They are not going to be good. Here we go...

- While watching all of this basketball action, I came across a commercial for Old Spice men's deodorant. The ad featrured a lusty young woman with a sweaty bare midriff, skin tight leather pants, a breast-accentuating top and a come-hither look that would render any mortal man to weak for comprehension, gyrating suggestively to sultry jungle music. As you are mesmerized by the display of raw sexuality occuring in front of your yearning eyes, up flashes the following string of words: "There's no such thing...as a hot....steamy...sweaty...sexy...DUDE!" Um, I know of a few gentleman in Chicago's own Boy's Town area that might take you to task on that one, Old Spice.

Until next time...