Put a Little Love in Your Butt

So let me tell you something. Wednesdays on Fox are fucked up , I mean seriously fucked up. You have no idea. First of all, we've got the American Idol thing going down. For the first time in a long time I am pleased with the selection on a reality show, as Camile Velasco went home and John Stevens wasn't in the bottom three. This is surprising, since he bonered it for the second week in a row, but at the same time, he is one of three boys, and neither he or JPL is going home quite yet. George Huff on the other hand raised the bar and showed up Fantasia, who previously looked like she was gonna go Reuben Studdard on the bit. Anyway, the North Eastern Suburbs of Buffalo are representing national style on AI. More power Sinatra Jr.

Since neither West Wing or Angel are on tonight we tivoed The Swan. Holy assballs. Holy fucking assballs. A couple observations about this program. Any of the good things you can think about on this show are there. They are hiding somewhere very very deep in the background, but they are around. Yes, some of these women seem to feel a little better about themselves, yes everyone is nice, no no one tells them they are ugly and fat and they talk about all the plastic surgery as if it were to "enhance their beauty." That said, every bad thing you could think about this show is also present and it brought its best evil friends along for the party. The show begins with the host of Paradise Hotel introducing us to the women who will get the makeovers. Then we get a brief look at one of two women who will be competing tonight. The first thing we might comment on in this situation is the fact that yes, each of these women have serious serious serious MOTHERFUCKING SERIOUS mental issues which are really really really MOTHERFUCKING REALLY obvious. Like "my dad told everyone not to like me" and "everyone used to spit on me and I didn't have any friends until high school." So you have two women who, while not Playboy centerfolds, aren't Phantoms of the fucking Opera either, who are in desperate need of therapy.

So then a group of doctors take two people, build two entirely new people out of them, and tell them that they are now good people. I mean, wow, like wow. I could sit here and explain the problems with these things, but if you haven't figured them out then...no, I refuse,. If you haven't figured it out yet go make a batch of Jell-O jigglers and turn on an episode of that PBS show for babies that just has these colorful smiling blobs spinning around in glittery soft focus. That is your calling in life. Beyond these pretty significant issues, you also have to deal with the fact that they built two new fucking people. I mean, you can just barely believe that they are the same. I have never doubted the transformative abilities of plastic surgery, but damn. Its ridiculous, more than somewhat unnerving, but ridiculous. I don't know that I can recommend the show, I don't know that I will ever watch it again, but wow. I mean, wow. On the bright side this show does function as proof that no matter how bad reality television is, I won't give up the concept as a whole. If next year they do Survivor: Khmer Rogue, it might be a differnt story, but I guess we will see.

On the bright side of the television front let me mention two other programs I watched on TIVO tonight which are incredibly fanttastic The Sopranos and Chappelle's Show. I know I'm not exactly giving you a hot tip about The Office or anything, but they are outdoing themselves. Dave Chappelle is doing the funniest and most intelligent sketch comedy I have seen in a long while. I mean its not always quite as falling on the floor funny as Mr. Show or The State and its not as politically savy in terms of analyzing race as Chris Rock, but it is the best combination ever done. At this point, however, it seems only to be on the rise, and if it sticks around a couple more seasons, you never know. Charlie Murphy seems to me even funnier than his brother and Dave Chappelle just thinks the right things are funny. If you are not now, you should be watching Chappelle's Show.

I got an email for a conference today, one that will occur next fall at the University of Western Ontario, on Gambling Theory. I figure that I absolutely should write a paper for this conference on poker, though I am not sure what it will be quite yet. I passed up the opportunity to write a paper on Buffy for a conference that was out in California and I couldn't afford, but this one might be a good time. James McManus already has a decent bibliography on psychoanalytic readings of gamblers and poker specifically, so I am sure I can generate something. I don't tend to respect the people who write in books like "The Matrix and Philosophy" ; while there are plenty of intelligent people who comment on popular culture routinely they just don't tend to be in these books. Instead they tend to be mixed into larger chapters and less focused works. Regardless, I love the idea of being able to take the things I actually enjoy about what I do and work it all up Missy Elliot style into television, gambling, and eating. I mean, I would prefer just to take the television, gambling, and eating, but since I continue to not find a job as "professional good tv watcher" or "senior couch testing associate for cookie tasting."

I am tired, really really tired for some reason. Maybe it is because I got up early to go remedy the issue of my doctor failing to purchase essential medical technology. I went to some place to get my x-rays done, I signed in, I waited, then I got x-rays taken, and then I left. Now, in a day or two, my doctor will get those x-rays and be able to tell me, a day or two later, about the result of those x-rays. Now that I think about it, maybe I am exaggerating. After all, I went into the doctors on one Thursday afternoon and like 10-12 days later, the doctor calls me to explain what appears to be wrong. Its amazing these days. If I had fallen and broken my leg last Thursday I would already be tucked away in my comfy cast. I would already have the leeches removed and after stopping by to have the evil demons expelled from my bones for the simple sacrifice of a mule. Just think, some day my grandchildren, maybe, if they are real lucky, even my children, might be able to send a letter accross the country by "electronic mail" or go to a Mr MackDonald's Hamburger Emporium without exiting their motorcoach, in some sort of lane which could be "driven-through" or even "driven-THRU!!"

Ah, the land of tomorrow, a world of opportunity. It reminds me of a song I heard once. It went, a little something, like this:

Zoobilee Zoo
Zoobilee Zoo
Magic and Wonder
Are Waiting
For You
So Come On
With Us Now
Its as bright,
as the brightest blue
Welcome
To Zoobilee Zoo

I don't know that I can convey to you the emotion filled to me by that song. Its no Donald Trump's House of Wings, but a rose by any other name. Don't judge a book by its cover people. Remember the Titans.

Peace,

MB-K