Thought of the Day

It's always great, until it's bad.

Flyer's Chocolate

If you are a meth addict living in the Los Angeles area, you can make $900 by participating in a study of the drug's effects on the human brain.

Who would be crazy enough to participate in this study?

A meth head, that's who.

It would take a lot of powder-courage to waltz into a hospital--now more than ever a territory ruled by 'the man'--and admit to serial illegal drug abuse. It would not be hard for an enterprising police officer to simply follow all these subjects out of the hospital and bust them five minutes later, after they smoke rock in their car, the bathroom at Burger King, on their back porch, etc.

Risky. But $900 buys a hell of a lot of meth...

What is more interesting about this offer, as usual, is the moral question.

Meth is legendarily-addictive--shouldn't we be protecting these hopeless addicts from themselves, helping them to kick the habit, however difficult that may be? Instead, they are oddly rewarded for their gross misstep with a $900 payment.

Where do you think that $900 is going to be spent, in most cases?

I'll give you a hint--it won't be used to purchase baby formula or make the car payment. The baby lies motionless and stiff in its crib, forgotten, and the car was repossessed months ago.

Not only that, but I wager somebody out there in radioland heard the same commercial I did and had one of those once-in-a-lifetime, lightning-bolt ideas-- to start smoking/injecting meth, in order to participate in the study, thereby paying the rent. You know somebody did. Lord knows there are more than enough half-wits out there...

And so the study is now doubly questionable--rewarding and creating meth addicts, supplying them all with a cash infusion to purchase more meth.

I bet if I asked one of the doctors running the study, he/she would argue that if there were no lucrative payment, there would be no subjects. And without meth-brains to study, he/she would not be able to help...cure meth brain.

I bet if I asked the smartest doctor working on the study, he/she would turn from the cat scan machine, shrug his or her shoulders, and coolly say to me:

"Hey, it's better than having them running around stealing."

And he/she would be right. Nothing like a dose of realism.


Meth fact of the day, courtesy wikipedia.org:

"One of the earliest uses of methamphetamine was during World War II when the German military dispensed it under the trade name Pervitin. It was widely distributed across rank and division, from elite forces to tank crews and aircraft personnel. Chocolates dosed with methamphetamine were known as Fliegerschokolade ("flyer's chocolate") when given to pilots, or Panzerschokolade ("tanker's chocolate") when given to tank crews. From 1942 until his death in 1945, Adolf Hitler was given frequent intravenous injections of methamphetamine by his personal physician, Theodor Morell as a treatment for depression and fatigue. It is possible that it was used to treat Hitler's speculated Parkinson's disease, or that his Parkinson-like symptoms which developed from 1940 onwards were related to use of methamphetamine."

The Degradation of Language, the Decline of an Empire

With the appalling lack of interpersonal communication between people younger than age 22 or so, the explosion of text-based cellular and internet communication--each complete with its own dialect--along with the growing prevalence of Spanish and other 'invasive' languages, and the long-gestating plague of literature-aversion, it should come as no surprise to you that English is firmly on the downslope of prominence; we are now slowly sliding down the backside of a bell-curve, much like the once almighty Dollar. Not that language is tied to the dollar, but, in this instance, the debilitating cracks in each institution can be traced back to the same source: Greed.

America during its heyday was little more than a giant, relentless steam engine, fueled by the combustion of millions of impoverished dreamseekers. Cheap labor, plentiful resources, no rules except the ones we make and the ones we break. Heroes abounded. Possibilities were limitless. A ripe chance for utopia, but man cannot protect himself from himself. It is his fatal weakness.


We Americans started out with plenty of space to flex the old muscles, plenty of opportunity to start things over, and plenty of grand ideas. We exploded onto the world stage as the most feared and loved nation on Earth. As Machiavelli predicted, we have had it well for quite some time now as a result.

But it is easy to become gluttonous.

That sentence is acceptable now, in published material, whereas I was marked down for opening a sentence with 'but' in school. Colloquialisms are now in the dictionary. Symbols are acceptable substitutes for letters. Abbreviations are the norm. Few read books. People meet their spouses via computers.

Why? Because we are too busy. Too busy to call somebody, so we'll just text them, or check their Facebook status to see whether they had any stated plans that evening. Too busy to write complete words when we do.

Why are we so busy? Because Americans now are working longer hours than their fathers, for less money and less benefits. The '50s dream of a computer-aided 10-hour work week have been vaporized by the computer-aided 70-hour work week. There's more money in that, it turns out.

When is there ever enough, when there's always more? More money to be made, more beauties to ravish, more enemies to destroy, more newcomers swiping at that luscious pie on the windowsill, or at least wanting to, waiting to. A smart giant chooses his battles carefully, however, and does not try to destroy everything and everybody else--he fools them into thinking they are in a great position, in control.

Today France is wealthy, powerful, and one of the most prideful countries in the world, despite the fact that their heyday is long-since buried. This is so only because we allowed it. We learned from our study of the Romans that it is far too difficult to unify and govern far-flung territories; it is much better to let them take care of themselves, provided they remain an ally, let us trade with them, and rubber stamp all of our decisions with regard to global policy.

Besides, if we destroyed France, where would we vacation? DisneyFrance comes complete with an Eiffel Tower, a French Quarter, crepes, baguettes, all the stockinged legs you could shake a stick at, and a nation of voluntary servants at every luxurious resort, restaurant, bar, and brothel. We had to bring our own Starbucks, though. And Burger King. And KFC. And Coca-Cola. And Wrigley's Gum. And MTV. And movies. And music. Nothing like a taste of home.

The Romans used swords and spears; we Americans wielded our culture as a weapon, and the world wept at our feet. Oh, sure, we had military might as well, but not so much that we could have coated the globe and, even if we had, it's difficult, costly, and time-consuming to take over your enemies/allies with guns--a sneak attack is far more subtle and strategic.

The world was ours because we allowed the other nations to operate under the impression they were autonomous, when in fact we pulled the strings. They appeased us, we gave them money. They gave us money, we gave them our goods. We acted, our enemies reacted as planned. The populace elected a ruler we didn't like, we funded guerrilla armies to place a more 'likable' candidate in office. That candidate got a little power hungry, we made him disappear.

This method of world domination was extremely successful in building the United States as the most powerful empire in history. Yet here we are today with few allies, more enemies, a trade deficit, declining real wages, pervasive ignorance, an artistic vacuum, a marketplace ruled by teenagers, a fractured language, a fragile and obese population, a dwindling army occupied on two fronts...our poisonous culture has proved too effective a weapon; it has even destroyed its creator.

The Roman Empire crumbled because it got too big for its britches, and to think America is any different is dishonest--we have over-stayed our welcome in the Imperial Lavatory, as had the Greeks before them, the Ottomans, Spanish, British, and French after them.

Although our method was unique, the result is the same--our reach has become too vast, our enemies too numerous, our greed too compromising, our citizens too wealthy, obese, clueless, and soft. We are the prized hog at the county fair, and every passerby drools in anticipation of our demise.

The question remains--did we stink it up a bit too much in here for the others?

Most intelligent Americans get their news from comedians. So do kids, if they get it at all. Children play video games instead of sports. Junk food is their food. They speak however they like, like. They don't shun the establishment--they ignore it completely, except when they listen to and watch the made-for-the-masses politico-corporate brainwashing drivel that fills our radio stations and our cinemas. They have no time or desire to work to find better material and so they unwittingly buy into the scatterbrained propaganda of the ruling class.

Parents let their kids read whatever they want to read and do whatever they want to do. Parents yell and scream a lot, but eventually surrender. Parents watch Two and a Half Men instead of the news. Parents eat and drink and smoke and drug their problems away. Parents have to pay their slaves these days, and pay their servants even more. Parents buy a lavishly-advertised image and receive a flimsy product produced by slave-wage drones half a world away. Parents abhor the behavior of their offspring. Parents are aware that things are changing and fight it, which only makes it worse.

Arnold Schwarzennegger is the governor of California. We market video games to grown men and music and books to teenage girls. There are more lawyers than farmers. We spend more than we earn. The most successful movies are based on comic books, teen fiction, and defunct television shows. To compare our Presidents to Emperors, especially these days, is hardly a stretch. The Romans used democracy as an ingenious smokescreen, while increasing the power of the oligarchy; so do we.


Like Latin and French, English has had a spell as lingua franca. What's next? Mandarin? Cantonese? Hindi? How long will it be before English is no longer the official language of our own country, replaced by the dialect of peasants, as Latin fell victim to Italian? Or will we speak Spanish? Hindi? Will English one day become a quaint ancestral language, maintained only in the homes of the poisonously-conservative bourgeoisie?

Like a rocket with an empty booster, our acceleration has ceased; we are now powerless as to our fate. We will exit gracefully, I hope, as Italy and France before us. We will concentrate our efforts on more important things than warfare and mass-production. We will learn to make the perfect cappuccino, bake the perfect loaf of bread, cook the perfect meal, tailor the perfect clothes, cultivate the perfect wine, develop an interest in philosophy, and talk ourselves to death in a cafe off the square, as our currency plummets and other countries fight each other.

It's the political equivalent of a retirement home.

Well, who is waiting in the wings, willing to duke it out for the top spot? Who will we Americans have the pleasure to serve in our boutiques, cafes, galleries, and brothels? Will China have a go of it? India? The E.U?

They still have time, mind you--plenty of time. Our demise will not be sudden. There are still people in the world who are able to speak Latin, and French clearly isn't going anywhere anytime soon. Just as the Roman Empire survived the sack of Rome by moving the capital to Istanbul, where it carried on for 900 more years, our fall will be cushioned by centuries of mediocrity and flattery. Our son, as it were, has granted us the privilege of dying in solitude, while preparing to take the reins.

But what sort of playground will this new power acquire? How long will their tenure last before mankind is plunged into darkness and barbarism once more? A fitting final act for the comedy that would make anyone smile.

The Earth is ill. Pollution of the air, land, and sea. Overextraction of resources. Eradication of flora and fauna. Destruction of the ozone. Unpredictable, severe weather. Catastrophic overpopulation.

We will milk this beast to death, by Jove! And why not--that's what it's there for! There's plenty more where that came from, and if there's not, then you should have gotten there first! It was delicious!


The Earth will recover, as it always has, but that will be long after man brings about its own demise. So who cares that when my nephew is my age he will watch a rapper or valley girl deliver the news, in their underwear, in ten-second bursts on his phone? Who cares that he might never read a book from start to finish? Who cares that he might have sex exclusively virtually? Who cares that he might have sex with a thousand women? Who cares that at some point he might have a microchip implanted in his body? Who cares that in his lifetime we will run out of oil? Who cares that he might see nations go to war over drinking water?

Nobody cares, because we have all given up, given in to the idea that we just want to lay around an eat and drink and fornicate while somebody else does all the work for a change. We let ourselves be ruled by power-hungry lunatics, who unwittingly cultivate our ruin. We have accepted our demise, even if we are not all yet aware of it. We work toward our demise each day, because it's easier than constantly striving for better. We eat another donut instead of the dangling carrot, because it tastes better. We nap, rather than fight.

Don't get me wrong--I am not some crazed Conservative aiming to right the ship and fight to keep America on top. Nor am I a wacky Liberal who is naive enough to think the crazy train can be turned around. On the contrary, I simply enjoy watching fate take its course, watching this comedy unfold. After all, I have a pretty good seat, and as long as the wine keeps flowing, I'll die with my eyes open and a smile on my face, wishing I could stay until the end.

It's Just So Hard to Keep a Good Slave These Days...

An actual email a friend of mine received this week:


"Hey everyone,
Quick email to let you know that my beloved assistant, Francine, is leaving me to do bigger and better things – like taking an awesome job at #$%* in digital media. So, I’m looking for someone to replace her. If you know of anyone please send her the resume – I need someone who’s going to give minimum 1 year commitment, can work really long hours, read scripts at night and weekends, run an office, admin duties as well as creative, and have some knowledge of writers, directors, producers and more importantly agency assistant contacts. Francine will do the preliminary interviews for me. Please be warned this is not a cake job – Francine can explain how exhausting the reading can get as well as assisting two execs.
Thanks,
Pietro"


Hmmmm...and let me read between the lines here--the pay is shit, right?
Sounds perfect!!!
I just really want to work in Hollywood!
With all the stars!

_

Gotta Love A Crazy Bitch

So, Leona Helmsley, who married her way into a multi-billion-dollar real estate empire only to become one of the most infamous bitches of our time (figure that out...), is still causing trouble almost a year after her death.

The woman notorious for her assertion "we don't pay taxes--only the little people pay taxes," as well as for her subsequent 19-month stint in prison on charges of tax evasion, not only left $12 million to her dog, Trouble (pictured above), but also, it turns out, left the bulk of her $5-8 billion estate to a charitable trust that is required to spend that money on dogs.

In a mission statement attached to her will, Helmsley laid out her goals for the vast fortune she would leave behind.

"The first goal was to help indigent people, the second to provide for the care and welfare of dogs. A year later...she deleted the first goal." (courtesy nytimes.com)

Very wise--I don't care what anybody says, dogs are more important than humans. The indigent people of the world thank you, Ms. Helmsley, wherever you are (lying lifeless in a limestone mausoleum on 3/4 of an acre in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, Westchester, New York, which is to be acid-washed once a year, according to her will).


Now, all this stupid bullshit aside, I find it interesting that one's last wishes, which seem in this case to be very clearly stated, can still be legally altered.

A judge in New York has already reduced Trouble's inheritance from $12 million to $2 million. The same judge has also given $10 million dollars to two grandchildren deliberately left nothing in the will. Talks are already underway as to how best circumvent Helmsley's mission statement, in order to spend money on projects unrelated to dogs.

As much as I agree that the money could go to much better causes--such as indigent people, education, conservation--the fact of the matter is that this was not her choice. Her choice was to spend the money on dogs. So...why is it even up for discussion? Why is there even a 'case,' as it were? Strange...

I mean, if she wanted to buy $46-worth of scratch-offs for every one of the 172 million estimated pet dogs in the world...who are we to stop her?


Bonus -- My favorite Leona Helmsley story:

"On March 31, 1982, Leona's only child, Jay Panzirer, died of a heart attack. Leona sued her son's estate for money and property that she claimed he had borrowed; Mimi, her son's widow, (who lived in a property Leona owned) received an eviction notice. Mimi later said the legal expenses wiped her out and 'to this day I don't know why they did it.'" (courtesy wikipedia.org)

Mamma Mia!

Gotta love it when a professionally-designed (and heinously ugly) poster for a multi-million-dollar movie* misspells an actress' name.

I didn't have to check imdb.com to see that her name really is ChriStine Baranski.
But I did.
And it is.

And she's scary looking, by the way.
And needs a new P.R. rep...

In other news, Mamma Mia--despite its inherent shittiness--will always have a special place in my heart.

Why? Because when I lived (for a month) at the Mandalay Bay Resort & Casino in beautiful Las Vegas, Nevada, I used to wake up every morning to the pungent smell of burning tobacco and the equally-pungent tunes of the promo for the Mamma Mia musical.

As if being hungover, underslept, and living in Vegas wasn't enough to make me want to jump out the window already...

The musical--based on, and incorporating, the tunes of ABBA, if you can believe it--was playing in a dedicated theater within the hotel and, therefore, one channel on our TV was devoted entirely to playing a promo for it in a continuous, unending, eternal, infinite loop.

My roommate would watch this channel for hours on end, seeing how long he could stand it; his tolerance was at the same time impressive and criminal.

And so, to Chainsaw Chuck Morton in Chicago--I know you been waitin' for this joint to drop for a long minute now, my man. Here you go--eat it up. You don't even wanna know the strings I had to pull to get this milk dud made...



*Believe it or not, this movie somehow cost $65 million to make, according to several websites I checked, including this one. Wow. Were the crew's water bottles made of solid gold?

_

Say No More!

Logjammin'

"Largest Log Jam in the World---It took 150 lumberjacks, five teams of horses, and one steam engine SIX MONTHS to break up this log jam on the Mississippi River in 1894. Located near Little Falls, Minnesota, the log jam was almost SEVEN MILES LONG, a half-mile wide, and 60 feet thick in most places. It was estimated to contain over 4 billion feet of lumber."

Really makes ya think, don't it?

When was the last time you spent six months doing anything?

And masturbating doesn't count...

-

Further fascinating reading:

"Log jams occurred at places where the water was shallow, or where there were bends in the rivers. The river drivers did their best to keep the logs moving, but with thousands of logs, it was hard to stop a jam once it started.

"Log jams were broken by either using dynamite, or by digging through the pile until they got to the key log. The key log was the one log that was holding the entire jam back. It could be many feet inside a log jam, making it very dangerous to remove.

"Many lumberjacks, sometimes five or six at a time, were killed while removing these jams. Due to the high danger associated with river driving, the river drivers were the most highly skilled, and the most highly respected men in the logging camps.

"They were able to ride the logs through rapids, fast water, even dams built in the rivers (dams were sometimes necessary for the water to be deep enough to transport the logs). Because the river driver's work was the most dangerous in the camp, they were the most highly paid.

"For a days work, they were paid anywhere from seventy-five cents to a dollar."


photo/info courtesy of logrolling.org

_

I Wonder...

how quiet the theater was when The Love Guru was first screened for Paramount executives, upon completion.

Or did they pipe in a laugh track to avoid embarrassment?

There is Hope After All

Proof Mankind Loves to Hasten its Own Demise:

1. The Love Guru was conceived.
2. The Love Guru was successfully pitched to a studio.
3. The Love Guru was written.
4. The Love Guru was green-lit for production.
5. The Love Guru was cast--with Ben Kingsley & Stephen Colbert, no less.
6. The Love Guru was filmed.
7. The Love Guru was edited.
8. The Love Guru was juiced up with music by George S. Clinton
9. The Love Guru was advertised everywhere--even inside my own ass, I hear.
10. The Love Guru was allowed to premiere on over 3000 screens.

At no point along this two-year-plus journey did anybody find it in their hearts to tell Mike Myers this project is one of the worst they'd ever heard of, much less seen or been a part of.

Instead, everybody kept their head down and their comments to themselves--who are they to second-guess Mr. Austin Powers?

And so, the idiots at Paramount spent $62 million to shoot it, and $9 googolplex billion to promote it. Who knows how many good movies got pushed to the dirt to ensure this turd could fill 10% of all the movie screens in America, land of promise.

To put that into perspective, a friend of mine recently made a feature film and was lucky enough to have it purchased by a distributor--a big deal for a first-time filmmaker.

His movie will premiere on 10 screens. Ten.

So, why is there hope?

Because The Love Guru only made $13,907,130 -- the 50th worst opening ever, for movies playing on more than 3000 screens. Ha! Let's hope he arranged to get all his money on the back end...

Although, assuming an average ticket price of $8.00, it still is troubling to know that 1,738,392 people actually paid to go see it. His family can't be that big...

What Does It Take to Become a Woman?

In these trying times, which are so trying for everybody but rich people, oil companies, and Norwegians, it is easy to forget how simple life can be sometimes.

For example, ever wonder how a little girl becomes a woman?

Well, chuckle-chuckle, it doesn't happen overnight, I assure you.

In fact, according to scientists, the process takes years. Those lovable little females go through such subtle changes it can sometimes be hard for the layman to notice through that delightful parental beer/white-zinfandel haze.

Yet, at the same time, the journey itself, refined over millennia by a mythical overlord, is deceptively simple and can be broken down into easily-identifiable stages.

Leave it to the Canadians to figure it out!

The Stages of Womanhood

Age 5-6 ------- Sparks
Oh, look at the babies with their blankets!

Age 7-8 ------- Brownies
So hot right now.

Age 9-11 ------- Guides
This is when most of the pretty girls disappear.

Age 12-14 ----- Pathfinders

Too ugly/unfriendly to get any closer, which is fine.

Age 15-17+ ---- Rangers
Total loss of fashion sense, bodily coordination, and hope.

Age 18+ ------- Women!
Finally, the life they've always dreamed of!

Don't believe me? Check it out for yourself!
_

Speaking of Bobblehead Dolls...

As much as I love him--and that's more than you can ever know, since you cannot even begin to understand the depth of our love--let it be known that Elton John travels with a large rolling road case full of assorted bobblehead dolls he has collected over the years.

When Elton's in town for a show--in this case an elaborate corporate 'birthday event' (he whores himself out at more private events than you would care to know, more than Jeremy Piven even!)--an 'attractive, young male P.A.' is chosen as liason between Elton's traveling crew and the local production team.


One of this sexyman's responsibilities is to arrange Elton's 100+ bobblehead dolls around the television set in his room backstage. This TV must be hooked up to a satellite system that broadcasts Atlanta Braves games, because Elton has for some reason lived in Atlanta for quite some time now, and has become probably the only British baseball fan in the world.

The bobblehead dolls are all to be arranged facing the couch.

Do you think you've been too famous for too long when you begin to need an audience to watch TV?

Wink Martindale

This is not about Wink Martindale, the self-proclaimed god of game show hosting, who was so 'good' at it that he hosted 15 different game shows.

[Hint: Good game show hosts host one game show for most of their lives (Bob Barker, Alex Trebeck, Pat Sajak)]

But you try telling his eager, 50+ year-old, walking-Wink-historian manservant that. He'll just smile and give you a Wink bobblehead doll. Which, oddly, I still have sitting in my office right now, unwrapped, so that its value will appreciate handsomely in the coming years, skyrocket upon his imminent death, and eventually afford me a fun-size bag of Peanut M&Ms I can totally forget eating only five seconds after doing so.


Incidentally, according to his own, carefully-controlled-I'm-sure wikipedia entry, the following indescribably-juicy tidbit has leaked, for the moment:

"The May 25, 2008 'Sag Harbor Study' (a poll taken on New York State's Long Island) compared the social relevance of game show hosts in the 21st century to what many consider the 'golden years' of game shows – 1973 through the early 1980s. Precisely 25% of all respondents given zero category-specific context were unable to identify 'Wink Martindale' as a person of any significance."

Wow. I guess you can post anything you want on Wink Martindale's page--after hours (6pm-5am, when everyone who knows Wink is visiting Sleepytown, if you know what I mean).

But this is not about Wink Martindale.
Rather, this is just an awkward prelude to the following question:

Why do old men* wink so much?

I know that 97% of the time it's not sexual, so it's not like I'm creeped out by it on that front; it's just weird that they are so out of touch with the world that they think it's cool to wink after every other sentence.

Can't humor stand on its own? Can't the piss just be taken, without the thief needing to so brazenly laying claim? Does every utterance always have to be emphasized? Are they so afraid anybody more than five years younger than them will be unable to work their way through the uncomplicated, indelicate, brick-shithouse innuendos they sling like so much hash?

How do you even respond to a wink? Do you have to wink back? Can you punch the winker in the face? Or is it enough to just solemnly nod, avoiding all eye contact? I'm gonna try that.

Or maybe I'll just avoid old men. That'll be easier.


*When speaking about old men, I, of course, am actually only referring to some old men. But in defense, there sure are a hell of a lot of them.
_

Hey, hey, we're the Monkids!

So, I read something in Radar today, in one of the tiny sidebars, that indirectly informed me that a term exists for a monkey who was raised as a child by an infertile human couple, unlikely parents who volunteer for the privilege.

Monkey + Kid = Monkid

Two Things Pop Into My Head:

1. Who are these people? Who is this desperate for love? Why don't don't they just start swinging or something, and spending their relatively-inordinate free time a bit more wisely?

2. I wonder what would happen if one of these monkids went to high school in suburban Chicago? I wonder if he would 'fit in,' if he'd be good at sports, if the popular girl will want to bang him, if he would even have a challenger for Senior Class President...

Where Were You When It Was This Hot Before?

Goddamn, it's hot outside today.
Has been for days now, maybe even a week.
Do you remember when it was this hot before?

Man, that was wicked.
It got so crazy, I started dating a girl
because she had air conditioning.

She lived over on Hillhurst,
I think.

Where were you?

Can't Wait Til This Trend Hits the Lucrative U.S. 'Unselfconscious Fat Girl' Market

Although these photos are 'allegedly' digitally manipulated for Japanese porno magazines (soft-core, I assume), according to Snopes.com, you know it is only a matter of time before some Joe Francis / Forever 21 wannabe decides to actually create them.

Or will Bebe beat them to the punch?

Nothin' But a Chihuahua and a Dream...

As people across the globe threaten bloody revolt over mere grains of rice and literally eat 'mud cakes' for sustenance, the Hollywood Dream Machine continues to find terribly clever ways to piss money into the ether.

Where does $200 million go?
$100 million?
$50 million?

All of these are obscene amounts of money. What's even more obscene is the unpublished, additional obscene amounts of money that are spent after all that money is spent to make the movie--they call it marketing.

A $200 million movie might incur marketing costs of an additional $100 million. The worse the movie is, the more money spent on marketing it. Although even your grandmother knows not to throw good money after bad, studios do not heed this time-tested advice. Do you think anybody thought Speed Racer was good? Trust me--nobody did. But that didn't stop them from blanketing every city in the country with billboards and bus stop advertisements, not to mention trailers on TV. Think that stuff comes cheap?

The latest and greatest example I can offer, from sources that shall remain nameless, involves the Disney movie Beverly Hills Chihuahua.

For those of you that are not 'hip,' I offer the following summary:

Jamie Lee Curtis plays a wealthy woman who lives in Beverly Hills. She owns a pampered chihuahua, voiced by Drew Barrymore. On a vacation to Mexico, this chihuahua gets lost and meets a Mexican chihuahua, voiced by George Lopez.
I assume they fall in love.

In addition to the predictable onslaught of web/TV trailers, merchandising tie-ins, billboards, etc, the Disney team has been doing some thinking outside the box. How far outside the box? Well, that's for you to judge.

The plan was to stage a 'Running of the Chihuahuas' on Rodeo Drive.

Get it? Chihuahuas instead of bulls; Beverly Hills instead of Pamplona.


Since chihuahuas are not too bright, don't tend to run around that much, and love to fight each other, the animal trainers--the same ones who worked on the film--advised the production team to train the chihuahuas on a course identical to the one they would eventually run on come event day.

The cost for 50 trained chihuahuas to run a 100ft. course?

$165,000

Add to that amount the money spent to build two identical tracks, crew salaries for production personnel, permits for street closure, lighting/video/sound equipment rental, security, trucking, parking, crew meals, carpeting, fences, banners, bathrooms, etc...and the cost of this promotional event would have easily run up to and beyond $350,000.

All to watch a bunch of chihuahuas run for 45 seconds.

Why?

Why not? It's cute! People will look at the photos online or in some stupid magazine and laugh and think to themselves, "Oh, I gotta take the kids to see that movie..."

So who's to blame?

Who Cares About Basketball?

When there's so much beauty in the world?


Have you spoken to your neighbor recently?

Eric Rohmer: Under the Microscope

Despite being the co-founder and longtime editor of legendary French cinema mag Cahiers du Cinema and one of the most prolific of the French New Wave directors, very few people have ever heard of Eric Rohmer. In fact, most students of film have never even heard of Eric Rohmer, much less seen one of his movies.


Why is this? Well, I don’t have the answer, but I imagine it has something to do with the fact that his movies are not very cool--they lack the flashy style of a Truffaut or Godard movie, they’re too intellectual, too dialogue-heavy, too plot-light.

In spite of these normally off-putting qualities, if you are a patient viewer who enjoys soaking in the intricacies of the characters and their environment, his movies are very enjoyable to watch. Rohmer’s style is unique and consistent, his topics right out in the open, his characters raw and vulnerable, and his lustful camera lends credence to his characters paralyzed by indecision. Also to his credit, Rohmer’s early works have improved with age, if only because the passage of time has highlighted their timelessness--whereas I cannot say the same for many of those by his New Wave peers.

Rohmer’s films have weathered the years so well because their subject is a simple one--love. Love between a man and a woman, with another woman/man or two thrown in for good measure. His characters almost always must choose between two or three options, the choice never being easy, always involving the defining and redefining of their idea of love. Typically, his characters take slightly too long with this choice, paralyzed by indecision, and fail as a result.

Much great art, especially when it comes to storytelling, is produced by men and women operating outside the normal realm of sociability. Instead of blending in, these artists hungrily observe the lives of others from afar and study the immortalized opinions of the greats who lived before them. Judging from his movies, Eric Rohmer seems to be an intelligent man who thinks about and discusses life more than he lives it (much like Woody Allen and Martin Scorsese); the kind of man who neither shits nor gets off the pot, but instead externally hashes out the implications of every option in depth, with whomever might venture near his proverbial toilet. Rohmer’s intelligence has clearly handicapped him socially, and he seems frustratingly aware of it.

The protagonists of his most celebrated movies--whether young, old, male, female--all appear to be slightly different slices of Eric Rohmer himself. Each is unique, but shares many of the same problems--namely, they are presented with a chance to end their loneliness by pairing up with a woman/man, but are paralyzed when required to choose between two distinct options, and ultimately wind up with neither. To further rub in the humiliation, they often also discover they never had a chance to begin with, and therefore wasted a fat chunk of time discussing and debating an impossibility. Whether the character is vain or completely lacking in self-confidence, we see that their fate is the same when they fail to choose decisively.

Rohmer’s movies are simply shot--there are no complicated camera moves, no daring stylistic choices, no cheesy camera placements, no unconventional editing, etc--and yet powerful, because they allow his characters to move within a space, allow their humanity to breathe. The locations are sumptuous, the actors intriguingly attractive, and we are shown as many dull moments in their lives as exciting ones; essentially, we are allowed to view them as real people--they are relatable. And so we hope for their happiness, and so we forgive them their faults.

One of Rohmer’s trademarks is what I would say is easily the lustiest camera ever--scenes will open on a sexy pair of legs, and a minute later the woman will sit into frame; or, the camera follows a tiny pair of shorts around a room as we hear a conversation; women casually dress and undress in front of the camera and random men onscreen, feeling no need to hide their bodies. Rohmer has obviously created a world he wishes he could live in, but knows only exists in his mind and in his movies. That being said, he is wise to share this fantasy world, with its roots planted firmly in reality--ever the realist, even his fantasies typically have disappointing endings for the characters involved.

For those of you out there who are exhausted by the rampant availability of awful romantic comedies, and the dearth of smart romantic cinema since Woody Allen’s heyday, feel free to dig into the treasure trove that is Eric Rohmer’s oeuvre. Here is a handy guide for the neophyte:

The Litmus Test

Pauline at the Beach (1983)--Probably my favorite of his films, although I also love La Collectionneuse and Claire’s Knee. Pauline at the Beach seems to be where Rohmer reached his peak and made the most ‘Rohmer’ movie he could make, while at the same time it is his most palatable to the masses--a stunning achievement, considering the nature of his work. The film is packed with fascinating, raw, male and female characters, both young and old, volatile yet naturalistic relationships, a beautiful setting, and an ending that is at once realistic and satisfying.

The Greats

La Collectionneuse (1967)---His first masterpiece. About a man-eating young woman who has no desire to eat the one man who doesn’t want her to eat him, and how it eventually drives this man insane with desire. As soon as he works his way in, to finally have a shot at her, he suddenly has yet another change of heart and abandons her on the side of the road. She moves on without skipping a beat.

Claire’s Knee (1971)---The most hilarious of all Rohmer’s protagonists--the hair, the beard, the wardrobe, the fact that he only travels by motorboat...he at once fascinates and repels. This wannabe-Romeo fancies himself a ladies man and fails to realize that by the time he decides a woman is worthy of his romantic/lustful attentions, it is too late--she has already seen him for who he really is and brushes him off without second thought, in favor of a much-less intelligent, but much-more confident and attractive man. Funny, because the man gets exactly what he deserves, especially in light of his earlier crowing, but there is also an air of tragedy about it; he garners our sympathy as he tries to maintain his pride in the face of defeat. This is the story of a patently unhappy man who would have no problem with women if he would simply stop thinking so much and avoid immediately placing himself high above the beautiful, intelligent women he meets.

The Aviator’s Wife (1981)----Worst title ever, great movie. Rohmer’s Parisian version of Woody Allen’s Manhattan, or so it seems. Although still sumptuous and full of beautifully lingering shots, this film moves at a much more rapid clip than Rohmer’s earlier work. It seems like he was trying to modernize, to adapt to the marketplace--and it works. It is the story of one man, who loves a woman who takes his love for granted, and meets another, much younger woman who seems a much better match. Once again, choice enters into the mix; should he chase this young woman? Or should he resume his quest to conquer his somewhat-cold existing lover? And what is the deal with her other man? Will she choose the pilot over our hero? A charming dissection of love that turns into somewhat of a detective story. One of the sexiest woman-in-her-underwear-during-a-long-emotional-scene scenes ever committed to celluloid. And for all you ladies out there...there’s a pilot, too!

The Green Ray (aka Summer) (1986)----A pitch-perfect exploration of the trials and tribulations of a beautiful woman who wishes she were ugly, so that men wouldn’t just want her for sex and she could live her life like a normal, sociable human being. A tour-de-force performance by Marie Riviere (who also co-wrote, along with Rohmer), who expands on her complicated character introduced in The Aviators Wife. Although her character has a different name in this one, the two roles have so much in common that it is not hard to view Delphine as Anne two years down the road. Rohmer displays Delphine’s quirks in much the same loving way that Allen displays Annie Hall’s; even though everyone around her thinks she is weird and unnecessarily reclusive, the audience is on her side at every turn. Her biggest problem is that nobody wants to actually listen to what she has to say; they only want to hear themselves speak and deliver long tirades full of useless advice. Delphine is a vegetarian and nature-lover--so much so that ‘nature’ is fully a character in this movie, and the sound design during this character’s biggest scene is particularly stunning. The movie has a wonderful pace to it--a step back from that of The Aviator’s Wife, but perfect for its subject

The Very-Goods

A Summer’s Tale (1996)---A movie made in 1996 that looks like it is from 1976, a tape recorder the only noticeable inconsistency. The story centers on a young man who juggles three women at a beach resort in northern France. One is unattainable, but toys with him; another wants all of him or none of him; the third truly loves him, but remains his friend in order to see whether or not he will pursue her--luckily for him, all are beautiful. As is the case in a Rohmer movie, Gaspard ends up alone, leaving town to purchase an 8-track recording system to avoid a choice he will regret no matter his decision. It is an interesting, lush 100-minute treatise on romantic indecision, and ranks right up there with Rohmer’s best; a true return to form.

The Marquis of O (1976)----After a shockingly-bad opening, this film recovers well and, in the end, impresses. The hokeyness of this clearly-low-budget period piece is forgotten after the first five or ten minutes and the emotionally-rich story quickly moves to the forefront. Bruno Ganz, whom I loved for his subtle, brilliant performance in The American Friend (Wim Wenders, 1977), was equally as impressive here, in his portrayal of ‘The Count.’ The staid world of the 18th-century aristocracy seems laughable, though certainly faithful to history, and the drama that unfolds within that world is well-painted by Rohmer. My favorite moment? When the Marquis sulks, alone, in her vast, beautiful, many-servant-staffed country estate, and we are supposed to feel sorry for her; yes, her parents threw her out, but, come on--she isn’t exactly out on her ass!

Boyfriends and Girlfriends (1987)----Eric Rohmer as a woman, but adapting the character well to the other gender. She is very smart, lonely, horny, but awkward and reserved. She must choose between two men who are both good-looking, but one of them is a handsome ladies-man she can’t talk to, and the other is an intelligent, athletic gentleman who would make the much better choice--but dates her beautiful, vapid new best friend...

Excellent, But--WARNING--Super Intellectual, Dense & Wordy

My Night at Maud’s (1970)---A dense intellectual feast, centering mostly on one man’s love for the wisdom of Pascal. Like most Rohmer movies, this one is thin on plot, but this is even more guilty of that than the others. If you don’t like watching people sit in chairs and talk endlessly about their philosophies on life and love, this one is not for you. If you enjoy philosophy and don’t mind a slow, talky film, this one will have you on your knees by the end, shouting, “Just FUCK HER ALREADY!” at your TV--I don’t care how timid you are. Trust me.

Skip Unless You’re Curious or a Completist

Bakery Girl of Monceau (1963)---A short. Somewhat interesting, but not exceptional.

Suzanne’s Career (1963)---Also a short. Slightly more interesting than Bakery Girl, a bit more raw; exposes the ruthlessness men are capable of when chasing women.

Full Moon in Paris (1984)---- Again a whiny female lead who wants things her way, no matter what. Fresh out of design school, she relishes her freedom and is not ready to be embalmed in the suburbs with her older, doting boyfriend. She maintains a pied-a-terre in the city so she can dance all night with her friends and not have to worry about the train schedule back out to bumble. But what to do when men pursue her and she must make a choice? As is the case so frequently in a Rohmer movie, though usually only with the male leads, she winds up alone in the end, due to her inability to make the wise choice at the right time.
Probably my least favorite of Rohmer’s films. The lead, although very appealing physically, was a bit too whiny for my taste. Not only that, but it was too easy to agree with her decision to not spend much time with her boyfriend--he was a brutish bore who smothered her with his love. He didn’t seem to have any good qualities, since even his love for her got chalked up in the negative category.
It was satisfying to see her get what she deserved in the end, and the movie certainly seemed a faithful representation of the slow dissolution of a doomed relationship, but that doesn’t mean it makes for good cinema. A misstep for sure.

Chloe in the Afternoon (aka Love in the Afternoon) (1972)---Aside from a beautiful opening montage of life on the streets in Paris, and a few similar interludes throughout, this is only a good film. After his previous three efforts, as well as the promise of the premise, I found it disappointing. Whereas the failure of his other movies to involve much in the way of a plot, or a satisfying ending, has never bothered me before, this time it did--this time I had trouble believing it. The supporting female characters are fascinating, but I found the lead terribly dull. I would skip this one, unless you’ve already watched his best and are curious about this one.

Nadja in Paris (1964) / A Modern Coed (1966) (shorts) --- Nothing remarkable.

A Good Marriage (1982)-------Disappointing. The female protagonist is wholly unlikable. There is no shred of emotion in the entire movie. Everyone seems to be reading from a script, rather than reacting naturally. It wasn’t very long, but it seemed to drag on forever, and get nowhere. The last minute is the only part of the movie I enjoyed; it seemed to belong to a different movie (although the music was the same as during the opening credits, where it was also out of place, considering the movie). AVOID.

Didn’t Bother to See, Probably Never Will,
You Should Do the Same

Triple Agent (2004)

The Lady and the Duke (2001)

The Romance of Astrea and Celadon (2007)

Sadly Unavailable on DVD

Perceval (1978) -- I had this one on my Netflix queue, only to be later informed it is unavailable. Damn! Another period piece, and I’ve read it’s a good one.

Rendezvous in Paris (1995)

A Tale of Winter (1992)

Autumn Tale (1998)

Four Adventures of Reinette and Mirabelle (1987) -- Supposedly not so great, but I’m sure there is something redemptive in at least one of these four tales. Then again, maybe not. Sometimes the chemistry works, sometimes it doesn’t.

Unavailable on DVD, Probably for the Best

The Tree, the Mayor, and the Mediatheque (1993)

_

Child Pornography

According to the New York Times today, three leading internet-access providers (Verizon, Sprint, TimeWarner) are promising to block access to Internet bulletin boards and Web sites nationwide that disseminate child pornography. Starting sometime in the relatively near future.

This wasn't already the case? Really?

Well, who am I to judge; I should take solace in the fact that at least these socially responsible corporations are finally taking action on their own to combat this problem, instead of waiting for it be forced upon them. Oh, wait--

"The agreements resulted from an eight-month investigation and sting operation in which undercover agents from Mr. Cuomo’s office, posing as subscribers, complained to Internet providers that they were allowing child pornography to proliferate online, despite customer service agreements that discouraged such activity. Verizon, for example, warns its users that they risk losing their service if they transmit or disseminate sexually exploitative images of children.

"After the companies ignored the investigators’ complaints, the attorney general’s office surfaced, threatening charges of fraud and deceptive business practices. The companies agreed to cooperate and began weeks of negotiations."

How heroic...we had to go undercover and then threaten them. I mean, who wears the pants in this country? How does that old ditty go?

"I pledge allegiance, to the corporation..."