Just some random thoughts this time 'round...
*******
1) I have written frequently in the past about living in Averill Park, NY. We really love it here. We have friends, community, and natural beauty that combine to provide a quality of life we all find very appealing.
We also currently have entirely too Goddamned much snow.
As I write this, I'm looking out a window at nearly four feet of it in the yard, all of it just since Christmas. Unlike last year, where we largely "just missed" the repeated whackings the folks in the Mid-Atlantic & New England got, this year we're at Ground Zero. Just this past week, Sons # 1&2 were treated to three, count 'em, three snow days, in a week where they already had a holiday for Dr. King's birthday. One actual school day in the last nine.
Of late, I find myself frequently glued to The Weather Channel in one or another of its forms, and two hours ago was advised that four or five days from now, "a significant portion of the Northeast" could be picking up another 12-20 inches. I am completely resigned to the notion that they are specifically referring to my address.
I wouldn't trade this area for anything; no one has forced us to stay here, and we're dug in. Enough, however, is enough.
2) That said, we're only three weeks from pitchers and catchers. Hope springs eternal.
3) Going back to the S-word for a moment, I would be remiss if I didn't say a word of thanks to the folks who plow the roads in these parts. There may be nine-foot piles of snow in places, but damned if there aren't roads cleared from edge to edge. We live in a pretty hilly area, with more than a few considerable grades. These folks have done a hell of a job, under some pretty trying conditions. Thank you all.
4) The recent tragedy in Arizona has really made me think about guns rather a lot lately. If I understand the circumstances correctly, Jared Loughner quite legally purchased a Glock, along with a thirty-three shot extended clip, and then proceeded to create the madness and bloodshed there.
Full disclosure dept.: I am not a gun-owner, and have fired one under supervised conditions maybe three times in my life. That said, I have no problem whatsoever with responsible gun ownership and use at all. I have often said that if my sons wanted to learn to hunt, or otherwise handle firearms, I would immediately point them to one of a couple of close friends for proper advice and instruction. These two guys in particular are sportsmen, and lock up their gear in a manner that makes Fort Knox look like a piggy bank.
Guns aren't my thing, but that in and of itself does not make them bad. We live in a day and age where violence is a problem, and there are legal and quite justifiable reasons and processes for having a firearm for personal protection.
Nor am I anti-sportsman in any way. While hunting is also not my thing, I enjoy a nice venison as much as the next guy, and have enjoyed many a night in the outdoors. I can readily understand that people enjoy hunting, and I hope they do so for as long as they are able.
What I don't get is the notion that individuals need military-quality hardware, simply because the Second Amendment grants us the right to bear arms. Could someone please explain to me the justification for my being able to purchase assault weapons, extended clips, specialized ammunition, and the like? Is there any purpose for these items, outside of target practice, other than to kill someone? Is not even that target practice itself designed to ready one to kill?
When the Second Amendment was written some 220 years ago, state-of-the-art firearms were muskets, absolutely essential to the feeding of one's family, and to participation in a citizen militia needed to defend our new nation. I do not personally believe the Framers could possibly have envisioned the advances in firearms in the period since, and times do change.
Does the military have need for stuff like this? Absolutely. People sent in harm's way in defense of this country should be armed to the teeth, and I will gratefully pass the ammo. Bringing overwhelming firepower on target is the central tenet of the American military, as it should be. Make war on this country, and we have proven time and again that we'll return the favor.
I just don't think it belongs on Main St.
5) Did I mention three weeks until pitchers & catchers?
Until next time,
Excelsior!
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
On Truly Awful Television
"The medium IS the message." - Marshall McLuhan
*****
Been awhile, so first off, a very happy holiday season to you and yours.
What follows are some random musings about that most ubiquitous of influences in our lives, television.
Television, for sixty years or so now, has been the mass media platform we turn to for news, entertainment, sport, and so on, and while content delivered by the Internet is certainly making inroads on the more traditional methods of broadcast and cable/satellite, it says here those methods ain't going away any time soon. Besides, that's a technology discussion, and I want to talk a moment about content, not delivery.
The Tube has presented some content over my lifetime that has changed us all; JFK, the moon landings, the election of a black man to the White House. It has given us drama that illuminates and entertains, from "You Are There" to "Upstairs, Downstairs" to "M*A*S*H", to "The West Wing". It educates, it enlightens, and we as a people are enraptured before its glow. We have SD, HD, 3D, and who-knows-what-else, and we are digging it. Whether that's healthy is a discussion for another time.
I want to rant about pure, unadulterated dreck. I draw a distinction between television designed to titillate ("Baywatch", etc), and that which is just awful; the former may be truly bad, but there's an honesty in its approach that I must respect. No; today, gentle reader, we're going after true cheese.
Bad TV's been around since Day 1. Those of us of a certain age can recall Japanese horror movies so bad they induced fits of laughter. Soap operas, at least for me, have always done the same; a buddy of mine surreptitiously messing with the remote control in a breakroom of thirty women watching "General Hospital" is to this day one of my fondest memories.
The "made for TV movie" has long been a sub-genre singularly fitting to today's rant. Whether a tale of a man/woman/child who leads multiple lives/has multiple families and/or is a serial killer/polygamist/vistor to or from another planet, the made for TV movie has presented us with some of the truly low moments in television history.
Enter the SYFY channel. In a moment of true enlightenment, the folks at SYFY came to the realization that enough of us harbor a secret love for awful television that there's a market for it, and they have filled that gap with a vengeance. Unlike the major networks, who tend to couch their crap in marketing campaigns of sweeping grandiosity (can anyone over 50 forget NBC's "Manimal"?), these folks are straight up about it. This is promoted as cheese, without any pretense. Gotta love the forthrightness.
Son #2, at age 12, is a bright child, recognizes this pap for what it is, and thinks it absolutely hilarious. He insisted, a few weeks ago, that we as a family simply must view a SYFY offering of "Triassic Attack", exclaiming, "Guys, it's gonna be just terrible!". The excitement on the boy's face was too much to resist, and so we gather at the appointed hour.
Without ruining the exquisitely-executed denouement of the alleged plot for you, let me just say that the title says it all. Modern-day bad guys out West try to take over Native American lands for some nefarious purpose or another, a modern shaman invokes "Spirit" to help, and fossilized dinosaurs thus run amok, causing consternation for all. The best part? Said dinos are still in their bony state, leading one to wonder how one of their Ptero-types actually flies. Aerodynamics and all, you see. At any rate, there he is, flapping his bones across the western skies, menacing all in his path, thanks to some of the most low-rent special effects seen in some time. Two hours of my life that I'll never get back, but a family memory for a lifetime.
Let us now turn to the infomercial, if only for a moment. The infomercial has a distinguished history, starting in the late '70s, perfected by one Ron Popeil, and has directly led to things like the Home Shopping Network. Whether you want to lose weight, drive a golf ball out of sight, or renew your hairline, there's an infomercial out there for you. About 12 hours ago as I write this, Bride and I are enjoying the bottle of champagne we opened for the New Year, and surfing the tube, when we come across the tale of "Leandro, the Brazilian Butt-Master".
Two things, immediately:
1) I am not making this up.
2) This is not some soft-porn offering.
No, dear friends, this is a thirty-minute informercial extolling the revolutionary regimen that Leandro is bringing you to make your derriere more attractive. There were "booty-blasting" exercises, a diet regimen, personal instruction via the Web, and various devices offered, all aimed at one's gluteus maximus. How Leandro has found himself uniquely suited for such a Sisyphean task escaped me at that hour, but there were supermodels proclaiming his virtue and genius, so it must be true. That Bride & I were weeping with laughter goes without saying, and I was renamed "Leandro" for the balance of the evening.
The point of all of this? Whether it's "so bad that it's" funny, or it's meant to be, it's still damned funny.
On this New Year's Day, I wish you all a very happy and prosperous 2011.
Excelsior!
******
This is in memory of my dear friend Tom Devane, who we lost two years ago today, and who truly loved bad television.
*****
Been awhile, so first off, a very happy holiday season to you and yours.
What follows are some random musings about that most ubiquitous of influences in our lives, television.
Television, for sixty years or so now, has been the mass media platform we turn to for news, entertainment, sport, and so on, and while content delivered by the Internet is certainly making inroads on the more traditional methods of broadcast and cable/satellite, it says here those methods ain't going away any time soon. Besides, that's a technology discussion, and I want to talk a moment about content, not delivery.
The Tube has presented some content over my lifetime that has changed us all; JFK, the moon landings, the election of a black man to the White House. It has given us drama that illuminates and entertains, from "You Are There" to "Upstairs, Downstairs" to "M*A*S*H", to "The West Wing". It educates, it enlightens, and we as a people are enraptured before its glow. We have SD, HD, 3D, and who-knows-what-else, and we are digging it. Whether that's healthy is a discussion for another time.
I want to rant about pure, unadulterated dreck. I draw a distinction between television designed to titillate ("Baywatch", etc), and that which is just awful; the former may be truly bad, but there's an honesty in its approach that I must respect. No; today, gentle reader, we're going after true cheese.
Bad TV's been around since Day 1. Those of us of a certain age can recall Japanese horror movies so bad they induced fits of laughter. Soap operas, at least for me, have always done the same; a buddy of mine surreptitiously messing with the remote control in a breakroom of thirty women watching "General Hospital" is to this day one of my fondest memories.
The "made for TV movie" has long been a sub-genre singularly fitting to today's rant. Whether a tale of a man/woman/child who leads multiple lives/has multiple families and/or is a serial killer/polygamist/vistor to or from another planet, the made for TV movie has presented us with some of the truly low moments in television history.
Enter the SYFY channel. In a moment of true enlightenment, the folks at SYFY came to the realization that enough of us harbor a secret love for awful television that there's a market for it, and they have filled that gap with a vengeance. Unlike the major networks, who tend to couch their crap in marketing campaigns of sweeping grandiosity (can anyone over 50 forget NBC's "Manimal"?), these folks are straight up about it. This is promoted as cheese, without any pretense. Gotta love the forthrightness.
Son #2, at age 12, is a bright child, recognizes this pap for what it is, and thinks it absolutely hilarious. He insisted, a few weeks ago, that we as a family simply must view a SYFY offering of "Triassic Attack", exclaiming, "Guys, it's gonna be just terrible!". The excitement on the boy's face was too much to resist, and so we gather at the appointed hour.
Without ruining the exquisitely-executed denouement of the alleged plot for you, let me just say that the title says it all. Modern-day bad guys out West try to take over Native American lands for some nefarious purpose or another, a modern shaman invokes "Spirit" to help, and fossilized dinosaurs thus run amok, causing consternation for all. The best part? Said dinos are still in their bony state, leading one to wonder how one of their Ptero-types actually flies. Aerodynamics and all, you see. At any rate, there he is, flapping his bones across the western skies, menacing all in his path, thanks to some of the most low-rent special effects seen in some time. Two hours of my life that I'll never get back, but a family memory for a lifetime.
Let us now turn to the infomercial, if only for a moment. The infomercial has a distinguished history, starting in the late '70s, perfected by one Ron Popeil, and has directly led to things like the Home Shopping Network. Whether you want to lose weight, drive a golf ball out of sight, or renew your hairline, there's an infomercial out there for you. About 12 hours ago as I write this, Bride and I are enjoying the bottle of champagne we opened for the New Year, and surfing the tube, when we come across the tale of "Leandro, the Brazilian Butt-Master".
Two things, immediately:
1) I am not making this up.
2) This is not some soft-porn offering.
No, dear friends, this is a thirty-minute informercial extolling the revolutionary regimen that Leandro is bringing you to make your derriere more attractive. There were "booty-blasting" exercises, a diet regimen, personal instruction via the Web, and various devices offered, all aimed at one's gluteus maximus. How Leandro has found himself uniquely suited for such a Sisyphean task escaped me at that hour, but there were supermodels proclaiming his virtue and genius, so it must be true. That Bride & I were weeping with laughter goes without saying, and I was renamed "Leandro" for the balance of the evening.
The point of all of this? Whether it's "so bad that it's" funny, or it's meant to be, it's still damned funny.
On this New Year's Day, I wish you all a very happy and prosperous 2011.
Excelsior!
******
This is in memory of my dear friend Tom Devane, who we lost two years ago today, and who truly loved bad television.
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