Greetings To All (Including Time-Travelers)
11-21-27
Note to my elog readers: I’ve been informed by my Webmaster that I’ve had several responses to this Best of Blume 2027 site which apparently were sent by readers in the year 2004. If this is true then the recent continuum disturbances may be worse than originally supposed, and not just limited to voices and programming from 2004 suddenly issuing from people’s radios and televisions and cell phones. I don’t quite understand how this could be a two-way interconnection, but I frankly admit that I don’t understand much about this bizarre phenomenon.
Crazy thing is that it’s on Blogspot, just like my early sites. I guess that’s cuz I still have the same e-mail and password I’ve used from the get-go. That brings back some good memories, as Google’s Blogspot was the outfit that revolutionized blogging. For that matter, and hold on to your teeth, Google will be (in your framework) the ones to modernize the Internet into the glory that it later becomes (in my framework).
If any of you folks from the past manage to get through to my site, please note the exact date and time where (when) you are, for tracking purposes. There is some speculation currently being propagated that the disruption is due to something inherent in the zone of the galaxy we’re spiraling into. Others contend that it’s caused by so many wireless electronic waves being propagated, not only by phones, radios and TV’s, but by the wireless “Internettification,” of over 5 billion online users. That, according to these Luddites, added to all the satellite transmissions, has wreaked havoc with the ethers. (Not likely, but we frankly don’t know at this point.)
But the general effect is more entertaining than scary, as it adds a kind of randomizer to things, not knowing if your next c-phone call will be interrupted with someone’s voice from 20 years earlier, or if one of the ancient Survivors episodes will suddenly start showing on your TV.
As far as donations, which I used to rely on back in the day -- when I was living on a string -- I wouldn’t recommend any of you try to send them to this site. 'Sides, I don't need the flow anymore -- doing OK bizwise. Instead, if you’re ofminded, please send them to www.heifer.com, a truly great orgzation which provides sustenance aid to the Third World.
On the subject of blogs, I might as well fill you 2004 folks in a little on how they evolve, or at least the names used for them. In a few years from where (when) you’re at now, they’ll start being called plogs, which stands for personal logs, as all the possible permutations of blog had been done and overdone. A fresh start for the new generation coming up in the latter double-0's.
People kept their blog-this and blog-that websites and directories, but there was now additional terrain in cyberland, as it were. After several more years came the ilogs, followed about 5 years later (commonly called a cybernetic generation, or cy-gen) by the mylogs, after which were the elogs, which is the current term used for the new ones. But you can still go on the Net and find names that utilize all of the above -- kind of like a dating device for the origin of many people’s weblogs. (Word on the Web is that the next gen of these will be called "clogs.")
So that’s the way it’s going here. Best of luck to you all (you’re about to enter some “interesting times”). And thanks for visiting my site, even if it was inadvertent.
Methuselah Blume
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6-11-09
The Too-Much-Ville Blues
Not that I spent much time in them, but I have never been opposed to the existence of topless bars and nightclubs, not even when the trend spread to the G-string diners and lingerie restaurants. But when it gets to the point of flesh service being prevalent even in hardware stores, bike shops, and delis, then it's become a case of it going too far. I could have lived out my years without seeing the widow Reilly’s freckled little tits down at the bakery, and hearing her say (protestingly much) "A woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do."
As for these Murder Mystery Dinner Theaters which are such a rage these days, with their special effects, holograms, horror costumes, and liberal use of fake blood and animal parts, I just don't see how people can eat a meal while such gorror is occurring around them. Altho I have to admit to enjoying the recent presentation of Bitch With A Blade, and perhaps one or two others, I just think the whole concept is in danger of taking itself a bit too far.
I may just be getting older but these sitcoms seem to be getting too-too trashawful. The new 'buster hit, Teri and the Boys, a show which makes constant and gratuitous reference to penis size and sexual details, wins the cake for the most offensive theme song. To wit: "She's a slut, such a slut! Our Teri does it all, she does! She loves to dance and rut, she does! Our Teri's quite a gal."
It even makes that Barbi Beaver show from a few seasons back (the one The Christian Majority Party marched about) seem tame by comparison. But, news from my bizbuzz lines, Peephole Productions is gearprepping something called Spankdaddy Clyde which is guaransured to trample the last shards of broken decency on free-TV’s shattered wastescape.
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5-21-10
Get Out the Popcorn!
Summer is here, and that means that it's sequel season again. All the studios are rolling out their old reliables, confident that their built-in audiences will fork over the $15 to watch their favorite stars go thru some familiar paces. Here's the line-up:
MIB 5: Alien Landing
The Hulk 4: Still Green and Still PO’d
Bad Boys 5: Badder’N’Dat
Matrix 5: Beginning of the Dream
Sistahood 3: Black on Track
Jeepers Creepers 6: Fresh Flesh
Harry Potter 8: Private Wand
Artemis Fowl 4: Mulch Ado About Something
Dumb and Dumbest: The Final Pairadox
Charlie's Angels 5: Tit for Tat
Rush Hour 7: Rhode Island Revenge
Scream 7: No One Left to Hear You Scream
Lethal Weapon Last
Undercover Brother 6: ‘Hoodwinked
Shanghai Knights 4: Hanging with Hong
Spider Man 5: Return of Webwoman
Nightmare on 13th Street 4: Halloween Hell
Fast and Furious 7: The Final Funeral
To save time and space, I'll give a one-size-fits-all mini-review for all of the above.
This movie will delight its fans with its high-powered action, clever plot twists and great characters. Plenty of spills, chills and kills. Be absosure not to miss it!
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1-19-11
The Thrill and the Agony
[WARNING: Spoiler ahead.] I just got my new Riley Hawk holo, and played it on my totally ragin’ H3 setup, which absopositively gives one a full-magnitude portrayal.
This one is by far the best in the XTRM series. Hawk’s father, the legendary Tony, sits in a rocking chair on the ramp and yells out moves. Right at the end, Riley achieves a defndumb ‘Sault Assault 900, which looks to be the end of the program. But then, while the credits are rolling, he comes back from off-camera with a blindfold on, and with his father yelling “Don’t do it!!,” he does a satin-smooth 720 Varial McTwist. Awesomistic with a spoon!! The crowd noise is dubbed in, but the overlay is taken from Hawk’s actual performances, so it’s technically not fake.
Also quite xclnt in the XTRM series is Yasutoko Gold, from the inline skating brothers. They’re so good that sometimes you swear you must be watching some kind of animation.
Consumer Note: If you’re going to get an H3, I recommend that you get the version I have, which is the 80 PCL, as it comes loaded with a Sony 360SS audio hookup, and has 12 beams -- 8 for the room corners and 2 each for the ceiling and floor.
The latest death count from attempts to do a Moto-X triple flip is now 6, with over a score of serious injuries. Ever since Kevin Pastrano did it on his wedding day to Jamie Little (then drove off to retirement), kids across the country have been trying to duplicate it. The only other person to successfully pull it off was the original flip-master himself, Godfather Metzger, who said at his old pal Brian Deegan’s wake, “If we die, we die. That’s the nature of the beast.”
I didn't mind too much when the Major Leaguers began wearing the corporate logos on their jerseys. It's not like everything isn’t covered with these logos anyway. (I’m even mostly used to the car and house ads by now.) And the Fortune 44 Group did, after all, step in and sponsor the teams when the old owners were priced out of profit possibilities after the 2008 Players Accord. But what we have now at the ballparks, with the outfields painted with product names and sale prices, and the constant commercializing over the PA system (between pitches now) is just going too-too.
And, one more dig at the renaming of Yankee Stadium (what was once my favorite ballpark) to Frito-Lay Stadium. I don’t care if they did win the bidding with an 87-million dollar proffer for the 10-year rights, the best venue in baseball deserves better than to be named after a crunchy snack company. (The only consolation in this is that Frito-Lay edged out the second-place bidder, which was Ben-Gay, and the third, who was Donald Trump.)
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3-5-11
Realitycoms
Back in 2002, there was a quote from the USA Today newspaper, in a piece written by Robert Bianco, that went as follows: “And so we end up with Anna Nicole, praying we’ve finally hit bottom, but fearing we haven’t.”
That show, featuring a doltish bimbo, was a comparative Masterpiece Theater next to some of what followed. Not that all of the spawn have been bad; the long-running Hef’s House, Denis Leary’s Take What You Need and Get Out!, and the para-reality show (and multiple Emmy winner) Larry Sanders: The Home Years, were all great TV.
But, by and large, these reality sitcoms have been an odious exercise, a means of wasting people’s time while prolonging the celebrity careers of individuals who otherwise may have mercifully disappeared from our mindscape.
On this, the 10th Anniversary of the inaugural episode of The Osbournes, I decided that a Bottom Ten would be in order, but just couldn’t compress it down that much. So here’s my Dirty Dozen, in the order I force myself to regurgitate them.
1. You Want a Piece of This? -- Joey Buttafuocco’s 15th minute.
2. The Tanya Harding Home Diary -- which came to be known as “Bleep-Bleep” for what you mostly heard.
3. sex, liza & videotape -- Minelli’s overnamed (at the least, overpromised) second attempt.
4. The Real Slim Shady — Eminem’s short-lived but volatile show, which unfortunately (for him) was used as evidence in his assault-with-intent case.
5. Regis! — because after he retired from his morning program, he frankly couldn’t help himself. It became sad whenever he would call the set of Live with Kelly and Mark.
6. Can We Talk? -- probably the best of the bad ones, with Joan and Melissa Rivers sharing a NYC apartment. Every week had you impressed with their ability to evade being murdered by someone (or each other).
7. All That!! -- Whitney and Bobby’s home hijinx, sometimes hard to distinguish from the Cops episodes that aired just before it.
8. The Marcos Family -- possibly the worst of the worst, with Imelda shopping, singing, and talking to her dead husband’s frozen remains, in some sort of meat locker/shrine.
9. Cuchi-Cuchi! -- starring Charo, a show which was about to be used as capital punishment in several states until the ACLU stepped in, citing the “cruel and unusual” provision.
10. The Olson Twins -- mostly them trying on clothes, and talking about boyfriends and their various product lines.
11. Snoopin’ on Snoop -- the Dogg man livin’ large.
12. Trailer Trash Tuesday -- the send-in show which featured a winning entry every week, until it was realized that most of the entrants were pre-scripting conflicts and confrontations for the camera, and hiring actors for the roles.
An intriguing side-category deserving mention in any overview of this television phenomenon has been that of the fictional-character-as-reality-character. I’ve already mentioned the best of these blurs, Garry Shandling’s Sanders reprisal. Some other good ones were Absolutely Kramer, Color Me Mimi (the Drew Carey character) and the boldacious Bart Goes to College, from the Simpsons animation team. I also liked the erudite Miles of Niles — the running gag being that Frasier couldn’t make it for a visit again (because Kelsey Grammar refused to take any part in it).
Some not-so-terrific ones included the patently absurd Xena and Gabrielle, the disappointing Pee-Wee’s Treehouse, and Tom Green’s ZooLife, about a hapless zookeeper who talks to the animals and does their voices in response.
Also worthy of comment:
The Manson Family Adventures -- which featured Marilyn Manson at home with his Goth Posse, and varied guests, with occasional cuts to Charles Manson for a skewed remark.
Life at Lorne’s — Lorne Michaels’ somewhat stagey domestic life, with lots of drop-ins from past and current SNL castmembers.
True Drew — Drew Barrymore becomes, if not America’s Sweetheart, its #1 Exhibitionist.
Elvira’s Night of the Living Weird — enuff said.
Every Night with Dave -- Post-CBS Letterman at home, with great stop-over guests, and semi-regular Paul Schaeffer in the corner behind a Wurlitzer, chiming in.
Tales from the Crib — a rotating menagerie of rap-hoppers, street meat, and colorful entourages, produced and intro-hosted by Phat Phreddy Z.
On the Loose with Bobby Trendy -- the truly awful Anna Nicole spinoff that nevertheless held sway over a certain demographic for 3 seasons.
The Private Parts of Howard Stern — with (predictably) way too many scenes of Howard on the can.
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8-13-11
The Dog Days of America
I didn’t object when the Judiciary Committee raked the coals of the last two Supreme Court nominees -- probbly because I didn’t care much for their politiviews, and like everyone else have come to enjoy the seamy-steamy drama of the TV’d interroprocess. And, in the back-years, I was morbidcitedly entranced, along with most of America, by Bubba Bill’s Monicagate. Then, in the scandalicious double-0's, we were enthralled by the backtback impeachment hearings of Madame HC (but eventually sickened by the endless partisan potshottery). But what’s going on now on Capitol Hill, this latest display of outragio from Senator Springer, is just going too damn far.
We were reminded of his sleazoid origins last week when he waved a copy of The Star over his head and loudly inquired, "Isn’t it true, Judge Wilkinson, that on the night of your Senior Ball at Stanford you said to your date, one Wendy Foxworthy, "You made it hard, dollface, now you’re gonna goddam take care of it," and proceeded to make her do just that? And that you made her cry?" Am I the only one who feels like it's time to finally say, Enuff is enuff! with all this dredging? Or is it just too late, and we’re all irremediably hooked on the dark underside of the lives of the famous?
I remember the 70's and 80's when newspeople would use voice inflections and raised eyebrows to signal their cynicism or doubt when repeating what the President or some govrepresentative had said. This manner had its roots in the Watergate Scandal of the back years when intrepid journos (a different breed than what we have at our alleged service now), men like Dan Rather would post on the White House Lawn and do hardalysis. Then came the 90's, when commentors like Cokie Roberts went a step further and would call an obvious political ploy "an obvious political ploy." (But she would have a nice smile when she said it, and would never actually be wrong.)
Then in the double-0 years, during the Debra Norville/Stone Phillips/Jimmy Kimmel anchor era, reporters like Molly Ivins and Robyn Blumner began to be called Field Commentors, and would give an off'cuff after every piece they did. They managed to control that fairly well the first several years (exempting that one summer during Molly's menopause) and like everything else we got used to it.
But this lately stuff is clearly over the line. It's not only a mandacertain that we'll be subjected to a harsh oppoview, deserved or not (because it makes for "better TV") but we must increasingly hear semi-brained casters like Heather Ashe lead into sound bites with smarmy blather like: “You know, it's kindalike hard to understand how Senator Rawley can talk out of both sides of his mouth and not get lockjaw, but this is what he said."
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2-2-12
Music to Whose Ears?
As for this seemingly endless stream of pop cakes, most of them with the one-name thing (like that makes them more important) I swear to you that I can remember when there were only several of them stage-strutting their stuff. There was Pink, Shakira, Anastacia, ChristinA, and of course the original Britney, who sort of ruled the roost for a while. The Godmother of divas was Madonna, and to go back to the very very beginning (the 1960's) we had Cher, who incidentally has just announced her Farewell to Farewell Tour to begin in April.
Nowdays there must be like a hundred of these singing slutties bouncing and gyrating their way to fame and fortune. I have the minimum number of music channels on my satellite feed (75) and riffing thru them it seems that almost 2 out of 3 have one of these gyro-dolls doing an erotic dance routine and lipping lyrics like, "I wanna be your bed meat, baby, cook me any way you want!”
The murder trial of producer/rap-hopper MadDog Q/Z is just another nail in the coffin of the ghangsta music empire, especially coming on the heels of the public revulsion over Titty-Tit’s "Cream in my Sugar" video. Most vidstations have banned this ilk, with the exception of BET’s NightRide and MTV 7. The next blow will come (according to my insider sources who’ve been at their studio) when Niggatime Express comes out with their next CD, "Burn'N Bomb,” the first vid-single of which will be “Somebloody Like You."
Speaking of TT (as her friends call her) when informed that her name couldn’t be fully spelled out in the newspapers, she replied, “As if I f*cky-f*ck care.”
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5-8-12
What’s on the Toob?
Is it possible that we may be finally getting to the end of the so-called Reality Shows? To begin with, most of the non-romantic ones should have been called Extreme Situation shows, starting with the longest-running one, the protoriginal Survivor series, which placed (progressively more attractive) people in wilderness locales and made them brave the wild while fending off challenges and backstabbing from the other contestants. (But honestly, if I want to witness overinflated egos doing each other in by any means possible, I’ll just attend my condo board meetings.)
Then there was Fear Factor, which made stars out of people who were deranged/depraved enough to do things that were foolish, gross, or both. As most of you should remember, that was finally yanked after they had a feces-eating contest -- for a one-million dollar prize -- and a riot broke out in the overcrowded gymnasium where the would-be contestants had mobbed together, killing several people. The show was buried by the lawsuits, and of course the “Dying to Eat Shit” headlines.
I liked the bustdowns at first. It started with the public humiliations of certain high-ego athletes, after their luster had faded. The very first one was Warren Sapp, who got wedgied and bitch-slapped by the Bustdown Boys in a parking lot with a camera running. And who can forget Roseanne getting pantsed and spanked in her hotel lobby?
Most everyone thought that was quite highlarious, and soon there were others by the Boys, and the copycat gangs, like Mephisto’s Balls. But lately I think it’s just become (since TV will run most any damn footage whatsoever, if it’s someone being embarrassed) a very mean-spirited exercise targeting any and every successful person who can be invaded. That episode last week with Senator Einhardt getting knocked down and his goatee shaved has no valid justification, even if he is a noxious gasbag. This is another example of a ratings-inspired TV prank going over the line into criminality and I was happy to hear that he pressed charges and that arrests were made.
Too Far and-a-Half! The E! network's one-hour special, Celebrity Privates, wherein the exes of big stars reveal intimate details about their genitalia and sexual proclivities, is total sleaze and utter trash! (But can you believe that part about Robert Evans? No wonder he stayed in the picture.)
As anyone who reads my postings knows, I’ve had plenty to say over the years about TV commercials. The ad hucksters’ utter disregard for language, shameless image-mongering, and unethical manipulations have been their hallmark almost from their inception. But just when I thought they had hit their all-time low with those male strippers doing a (literal) take-off on President Biddle and “The Joint Chiefs of Stuff” (for Hanes underwear), along comes Coppertone’s Total Tan Treatment using a First Lady lookalike who gets side-view naked on the roof of the White House, singing “Sunshine in my Hair.”
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11-1-12
Working Hard for the Money
I just came from seeing Final Take Off, the new Amanda Bynes movie. Back in the last century, and even during the first 5 or 10 years of this new millennium, a mainstream actress would not have considered doing a sex scene like the one she did in the burning airplane.
I think it really started to change with the 2002 award-winning performance in Monster’s Ball by Halle Berry in which she enacted some fairly realistic sex scenes. After that, the taboo began to be removed, until it's almost mandatory for the top actresses (if they want to retain their 50-million-plus price-tags) to do some full-frontal f'ing for the audience.
While I'm a big fan of Maggie Gyllenhaal going way back to her great performance in Secretary, I can't help but agree that her latest movie, Tangled Web, deserved the new X-21 rating. I've seen the entire film, before and after they cut some footage (which must have smoked and sizzled when it hit the floor) and I have to wonder now about what she sees as the direction of her career.
It seems to me that what has been a perfect arc of expressed sexuality these past 11 years must now enact a pendulum and swing back -- or else she will next have to shift to making actual pornography.
For the 3rd straight year the Denise Richards Inti-Mate® line, the resemblike adult synthmate her company manufactures, is the #1 seller on the continent. These squeezies have become so lucrative a business for her, in addition to her virtreal productions, that she has quit all her moviemaking work, with the exception of the impossible-to-kill Undercover Brother series.
In the latest example of the modern game of Everybody-Has-Their-Price, Playboy (after years of rebuffed offers) has secured the Olson Twins for a nude pictorial and video shoot. The purchase price was not disclosed, but obviously was quite high, as Mary Kate said just last year that they might do it “for a billiony-billion dollars." When asked to comment on the amount paid, CEO Christie Heffner would only say, “We’ll be fine — as long as we sell a billiony-billion issues.”
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9-28-13
Must-Pee TV
I was looking at the listings blurbs for Thursday's Must-See-TV line-up on the formerly "Proud-as-a-Peacock" NBC network. Here it is.
Just Roommates: Heather has Brandon blushing with stories of her sexual adventures, until she realizes he was one of the guys in the group bang she did to pay her college tuition.
Ticket to Ride: George discovers a hooker working the train, and gets a free piece of the action.
Kerri On!: Kerri tapes the boys discussing their masturbation fantasies and blackmails them into paying for her breast enlargement operation.
Students at Large: Unbeknownst to Richie and the SpiderBoys, their farting contest is broadcast to all of Largemont High.
This last one was the cause of why I was looking at the listings in the first place. My friend Jonathan was complaining to me about the farting contests being taped at his office and his son's school for a radio station contest. First prize, I'm told, is a set of tickets to the Marilyn Manson Crucifixxxion tour.
While I've got the TV Guide on the screen, here are a few blurbs from NBC's Family Friday Follies, which might as well be renamed Body Fluids Friday, from what’s being shown there on a regular basis.
Hurleyville: The sheriff and his buddies get busted for re-enacting their prom-night pissing contest.
Tank: Tommy gives Tank and Julia a super-laxative just before the school play starts.
Sundown Park: John-Boy organizes the trailer park to get in the Guinness Book of Records for the (non-existent) category of most people simultaneously vomiting.
I know the Brits are always looking to gag one over on everyone, and their renovation shows are their best-received TV export, but their latest reality show, This Old Whore, where they do makeovers on worse-for-wear ex-prostitutes, has perhaps taken the concept a bit too far. (Nonetheless, they do damn fine work.)
Regarding commercials (the bane of Western Capitalism), now that most of the stations have gone to the 30-blocks of 5-second spots, I'm waiting for someone to retro back to a 15- or 30-second commercial, where a spokesperson can mention actual facts about the product. I'm surprised no one's done it yet, as this jumble of 5-second "flashies" is like a visual 30-vehicle pile-up, one after another of bombastic images, buzz-phrases, hypnotiques (light bursts, revolving spirals, etc.) and blast-phrase company slogos.
But if every block has more than one car ad and more than one fast food ad, or whatever category, then they're just canceling each other out -- while further making a mish-mash of people's brains.
With the ever-increasing proliferation of awards shows it was inevitable it would come to this. Not able to find an open date of its own, the new International Dish-Owners Awards will be on the same night as The People's Choice Awards, and has booked a nearby venue so some stars can attend both.
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4-16-14
TV Upchuck
In a compromise designed to get the popular children's program, KoolKidsYo, back on the air before May sweeps, the censors at Nickelodeon have forged a compromise, as follows: For each weekly show, Only one scene each of emitting feces (animals only), eyeball puncture or other eye gore, simulated decapitation, graphic brains or guts spillage (not both), and two instances of projectile vomiting, only one of which can be right onto the camera lens.
In a statement released by the show's producer, Matt Kincaid was quoted as saying, "We feel we can continue for the duration of this season under these guidelines without sacrificing the basic integrity of the show."
I may not be in TV’s primographic (young and dumb) anymore, and I know that Jovan has a reputation as the most provocodaring commercial maker, but I was nevertheless appalled by the latest ad for their Taste It! line of musk, called Sexsational. (“Try it, you’ll lick it!”) If I want to see an Aframerican's big tongue descending on a blond femcake’s lower stomach, I'll dial up an X-line video, thank you very much.
It's only in its third season, but HBO's award-winning Anatomy, with its thrilling trifecta of graphic sex, graphic violence and graphic autopsies, is predicted to sweep most of the top awards at the upcoming Emmys.
Megastar Kieran Culkin, who plays the serial killer/coroner lead role, will have the distinction this year of throwing out the first ball at Frito-Lay Stadium for the Yankees, but has also been asked by Mayor Jenson, despite some threats of protest from the uptighty crowd, to be the Grand Marshall of the St. Patrick’s Days Parade. (I especially like the episodes where he cleverly hides the murder weapon inside the corpse, and extracts/disposes of it during the autopsy.)
As for the proliferation of these-type shows. When I was a lad, there was a show called Quincy, who was a coroner. Just that one show about autopsy stuff, if you can imagine the sheer boredom of life back then. Now, what are there, about two dozen of them?
I never liked it that there was so much violence on children's TV (except of course when I was a child), espeshly after I read the Shining Station Symposium’s report on viewed violence and lowered IQ. But this new 'buster hit, Captain Destructo, with its promo of "If we don’t deliver 100 bloodlicious murders in the episode, we'll torch the producer's dog on live camera!" is more than too much anymore. I don’t care if it's #1 among the criticalportant 8 to 11 age-group, and #2 in the lucrabig action-figure market, it's beyond the pale and quite over what used to be the line.
The TV show PRANKMANiac failed again to get me. I won't legitimize their feeble efforts with the details. All I will say, again, is that their show, and the dozen others perniciously afflicting the U.S. and Britain, are nothing more than an excuse for atrocious public behavior by gutter-snipe hooligans. They should be given jobs doing something more productive, like picking litter off the streets for minimum wage, instead of the loot-loading fame they're getting away with now.
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9-19-15
Skinfest!
Back in 2011, when they first started Talk'n'Watch on CNN-E!, I was all in favor of it. Why not have a show where bikini girls in T-backs read from classical literature and academic non-fiction? It seemed a fairly feasible way to get the average male to at least hear something of intellectual value. (And females could always tune in for a listen to the educational readerial.)
But that was before it turned into what we have now -- a vulgar parade of topless volleyball, Miss Nudecake competitions, mixed pairs butter-wrestling, and naked limbo dancing, while the crawl-graphic along the bottom gives you the excerpts from writers like David Halberstam, Oswaldo Martinez and Zoey Summers. Hell, I'm a paid consultant for the excerpts selection and even I have trouble focusing on the material. (But I've resolved to not give up the effort.) This is quite simply a case of a good idea being near-ruined by being taken to its absurdiculous xtreme.
In the competition for Most-Shamelessly-Pandering “news” feature during sweeps, I nominate WFLA doing a weeklong review of The Celebrity Sex Manual DVC. (Even tho I will give them credit for showing the best scenes and positions.) And the little block-out they use seems to be getting smaller. It looked like Leonardo was wearing a coaster on his penis.
I know they’re very popular but I find those ChippenGlow dancers behind the CBS NetNews anchors to be rather inapprope during stories of tragedy or catastrophe. Now, I enjoy a pair of oiled-up breasts as much as the next guy, but if they could just tone back the groin grinding a little during those pieces, or perhaps use some pix of still nudes for a minute, I think it would be much improved.
This year's Grammy Awards will return to being televised live, after a 4-year period of being tape-delayed. For those of you with short memories, this was precipitated by the ChristinA incident, in which she did most of a song with jeans dropped so low that the top of her girl-biscuit (with a super-outtie) was vividly visible.
Some accused her (the former Christina Aguillera) of doing it on purpose, and the fact that the song she was singing, "XXXcited 4 U" had the repeated verse, "Can't you see I'm ripe for the plucking," the last word of which she "mis-spoke" twice, supported that view.
The kicker to all this is that ChristinA will be doing the opening musical number for the upcoming show, but she will be behind a semi-transparent screen. Her personal producer, Jaxxy Mann, was quoted as saying, "They told us she could do anything she wanted, as long as she stayed behind the screen. This will definitely be her sexiest show ever." Meanwhile, rehearsals have been on a closed set.
(We've come a long way, baby, since the era when Ed Sullivan wouldn't let the camera show Elvis Presley's gyrating hips!)
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4-14-2016
Comings and Goings
After all the megahype from ABCFOX. it was certainly exciting (and plenty bizarre) to see the Walt Disney Reanimation Special. A bit too long at three hours, they made us wait until the third hour to actually see the 20th century imagineer sit up from his hospital bed. The 30 minutes of highlights from the 7-hour operation was altogether too technical and rather gory, although I suppose it has its histifigance.
His first barely understandable words -- "Is it going to work?"-- were probably the last thought he had before he "died" in 1966. The footage then shifts to the next day, when we see him sitting in his old chair at Disney Studios, a haggard, wasted shadow of his former self but -- holy mouse ears! -- fully alive.
The part with Michael Eisner, where Eisner fills him in on the company's various expansions and developments, came across as a very self-serving promo for all things Disney. But it was funny to watch old Walt's face as he heard about all this, his jaw hanging open and his head lolling about on his muscle-weakened neck. (I loved it too when he called Eisner, who’s 73, "young man.")
After 20 minutes of this, with Disney saying about 50 words, the "interview" was over, and white-clad assistants wheeled the old entrepeur out of the room. I'm told by someone on the medical staff that he needs injections (adrenaline, amphetamine, and several medicines) every 45 minutes to an hour and must nap twice a day, plus sleep 12 hours at night. Also, he can't eat solid foods ever again, and must ingest his meals thru a straw.
Some have made a negative judgevaluation of the entire cryonics industry based on Walt Disney's ragged appearance and weak mentacuity, but two things should be borne in mind. First, he was one of the first to be frozen, and some of the preps were improved as time went on, and second, he was not in very good shape when he died -- his dying being a reliable indicator of that fact.
But I must admit that it was a bit haunting to see the camera close-ups of his craggy face, with its semi-vacant eyes, and hear his hoarse whisper pause for several seconds sometimes when speaking. It was reported in the Esquire article that he's not aware of this pausing, that it's some kind of synaptic problem, i.e., his brain's pistons aren't yet firing on all cylinders. If they ever will is a question only time can answer, but I am curious if these lapsings will occur in other returned cryo-patients. This is one possibility I want to absosure dispeliminate before I sign myself up for popsiclehood.
I wasn’t opposed so much to the return of beheadings and stakeburnings, as the death penalty is the death penalty (and it seemed to placate the “religious” rightists) but the recent passage of the crucifixion bill (for killers of cops, judges, women or children) seems to me a step too far.
Acting for all the world like the irony was lost on them, the Christian Majority Party pushed thru the bill, which actually just removes crucifixion from the category of cruel and unusual punishments, thus paving the way for the states to use it, as had been done previously for the above methods.
But what's doubly disturbing is the news that ABCFOX has let it be known that it will pay a flat five million per for the television rights to any of the three new execution modes. This is double what they paid Texas and Alabama for their deathecutions several years ago (the Dead Man Dying series, or as some wags called it, Southern Gas&Electric) but they have justifiably higher hopes of big ratings with the new methods. As ABCFOX chairman Brent Galing said, "The gas chamber executions were too low-action, and the electric chair ones weren't that much better. With these, we feel that we can give the public a network quality show."
And more from those zany suits over at ABCFOX. They've slated a mid-season replacement for the faltering reality show Stalked by a Celebrity with a controversial new series called Out With a Bang -- in which people with terminal illnesses commit suicide on-air by spectacularly videogenic methods. In case you’re wondering, the previous laws in California against assisted suicide were re-written and quietly passed by the TV industry’s Sacramento lap puppies (during last year’s Indonesia crisis) to make it legal if done “for broadcast entertainment purposes.”
These violent terminations are all in exchange for huge payouts to the dearly departed’s families and (sad but true) the national notoriety that they engender, if only for their last several days, as the news shows and zines will undoubtedly want to profile them.
In the media package were some highlights, including a man jumping into a pit of boiling oil, then swimming a little ways -- well, more like flapping and screaming -- while the camera does multi-angle close-ups. (You can tell they have a great director!) The deceased then just floats along, sizzling and crackling, while the house band goes into a down-tempo piece.
Also worth noting was the cancer-doomed woman who climbed into a box and was sawed in half by a tuxedo-wearing “magician” and his sequin-sparkly assistant. Rising above the duet of buzz-saw/woman shrilling (while the close-up showed the flying wood chips and a resplendent crimson spray) was the loud ovation of an appreciative audience. It can truly be said that ABCFOX lives up to the billing of it's slogo: "We're Never Boring!"
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4-11-18
The Gorror of it All
I didn't raise any objections to (altho I never cared to watch much of) the Life/Death Cable Network when they started with the Operating Room Channel and the Emergency Room Channel, as we defacto had as much already in the reality programs of the time. But what it's lately become, with the directors hooked into multihundreds of camfeeds so as to backforth to the most hot-happening, and the hyper-present sound tracks, and the "will they/won't they" polls and betting pools are all getting to be too-too much.
The worst is probably the winner-all pool to pick the TOT (time of termination). Can something these days please not include gambling or contests?
I may just be old-fashioned but I really don’t think that castration and dismemberment sequences belong on daytime TV, not caring that they are mostly dummies and special effects. I've never bought into the old canard that TV shows like Ghetto Hunt and Stalker James merely reflect society. The fact that mutilation murders have increased an average of 11% a year for the 8 years that this sort of atrocitation has been allowed on the airwaves is proof enough of its negative impactfulness.
Owing to the freedom we have in this country -- and this epitomizes it -- the cable show Mayhem is allowed to air its gruesome grossities unhindered. (This is a show devoted only to showing photos and videos of people mutilated by car accidents, war, animal attacks, etc.)
Fine-good by me, people can either watch it or not. But lately they've begun an assault on the rest of us by sticking their blood-splattered promos all over their home station and several others. They're paying top dollar for the spot at the front of the commercial block for added exposure, invading people's perceptions before they can fast-forward or change the channel.
The era of the anti-hero, or bad guy as hero/star probably reached its peak (some would say nadir) with that show Meathook, back in the early Teens. For the youngsters out there, this was a show which followed the life of a serial rapist/murderer (portrayed as a sexy, albeit edgy, guy) and always ended with a shot of a victim (nosy next-door neighbor, bratty sorority girl, etc.) on this huge meathook. It was a ratings bonanza, until it went down in an avalanche of lawsuits brought by the families of victims similarly offed by copycat “fans” of the show, and the furor over their last-season finale.
And who can forget that season-ender? The camera pulls back from his latest victim, a society matron, to reveal two smaller meathooks, on which her pet poodles writhed in final agony. Which proves a lesson I’ve personally had to re-learn several times: You just don’t mess with those society matrons. They’ve got their husband’s power and connections behind them -- or his money, if he’s dead -- and plenty of free time. And mess with dog-lovers? Pure suicide. Pet-owners in this country are more vociferous than anyone, outside of maybe the NRA and the Alternative Lifestyles League.
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7-11-19
From the Death-Isn't-What-It-Used-To-Be-Department
The AP reported yesterday that, in addition to the 6% who were cryogenically frozen last year for future reanimation, 14% of deceased people in the U.S. were frozified in part or whole, head or entire body, for their gravesite "presentations."
This all started, as many things did, with the late Lady M, or as she will forever be called, Madonna. After her demise, based on her own specific requests, her head was freeze-dried atop a wax replica of the rest of her body, and encased in a lucite orb atop her walk-in shrine/tomb. For those who haven't seen it yet, her face is in a smiling, brows-up pose, as if in delight at the visitor's arrival.
The site is like a 24-hour Madonna museum and showcase, with her videos, movies and interviews running constantly against the four walls. Fifteen million paid to enter last year, proceeds going to her favorite charities, the same organizations (Gay Dancers Fund and the Kabbalah Centre) that received the lucrabig proceeds from the online auction of her various body parts.
Similar to the ancient custom (but then it was the Catholic Church) of selling bone fragments of deceased saints as “relics,” her body was slivered up into thousands of plasticased pieces. These went for an average of $800, and are reportedly now already worth around $4000 apiece.
The buyers and purchase prices of the major parts have by now mostly been made public, and include a hefty 4 million each for her breasts (preserved in a freeze-dried see-into chamber), one million each for her fingers, excepting the middle ones which of course commanded more, and nearly 6 million for her (neatly-shaved) pubic region from a still-undisclosed Japanese gentleman.
After that, Celebodies, Inc. took off as a full-service post-mortem company, starting with the Billy Joel enshrinement, the singer opting for the full-body treatment. But the body one sees at the Long Island tombsite (him sitting at a piano inside a large clearsight dome) has artificial fingers, as his originals went for a combined 2.8 million to collectors and fans.
Celebodies and the other fast-rise companies in this new industry project a 7-8 billion dollar gross in the next 10 years, as many of America's 3000+ celebrities near their last stage door, including some of the biggest stars from the domains of music, cinema and television. (And sports! Those old jocks only think they can live forever.)
These companies also are in the business of selling celebrity DNA, from both the living and the unliving, for use in cloning. Since most of these transactions are hushified, there's no telling how much of their estimated gross is expected from that quarter. But if it's any gauge, Angelina Jolie -- the only celeb who's openly adselling her own DNA on the net -- is charging $9999 per 10-cell cluster.
All of which brings up that old chestnut of Ted Williams’ frozen corpse. His family isn’t disclosing much but rumors persist of the secretive selling of DNA from the remains of the Splendid Splinter (a nickname that has truly taken on new meaning) over the past dozen years. People have meanwhile been reporting a tremendous upsurge in the number of lanky left-handed Little League kids with great batting eyes and surly personalities.
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1-26-20
The Sign of the Times Says ‘For Sale’
Am I the only person who doesn’t think it's a peachkeen idea to sell the U.S. National Lottery and sports gambling rights to the Native Americans? (Excuse me, Nativians.) They wouldn’t even be floating in so much liquidity -- to offer us 130 B flat-fronted -- if we hadn't let them buy most of Alaska with their restitution money. They're making back the sale price every 3 or 4 years in oil, gold, lumber and (converted ice) water sales. And they'll do almost as well with the wagering rights if we sell out cheap in this moment (again) of national economic crisis. I say we hold the fort on this one.
Why hasn’t there been more murmurs about Disney selling its parks in France to that Hong Kong Bank? So what if they paid 30 Billion more than it was worth, and the 145 Billion will bring our Trade Imbalance with China to its lowest point since it was 207 B in 2015 -- when we foolishly sold them 49% of the National Parks, just 18 months before the Agreement of Planets, with its rich tourist provisions.
I can remember a time, not that long ago, when Disney stood for all that America was proud of. But I suppose that attitude has had a sorry limp since that other symbol of American Enterprise, General Motors, sold out to the Mitsubishi Combine.
From the overflowing files of the I-Told-You-So department:The huge sponsorship monies from Wal-Mart, which at the last Olympics bought the oft-repeated tag-line, "The 31st Olympiad, brought to you by Wal-Mart," has become, in this Olympics, simply "The Wal-Mart Olympics." I knew they wouldn't have put up 375 mil without geting front-center billing.
Announcers and commentators are heavily fined ( I’m told this was at the insistence of Wal-Mart) any time they fail to say “Wal-Mart” in front of “Olympics,” even if the phrase is, “He’s a great Wal-Mart Olympic athlete.”
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10-10-21
Alien Retroflection
On this, the 10th anniversary of the Contact Accords, I’d like to review the events which led to this historichange and give you my judgevaluation of the Top Ten List of Trader Combine products. (Not including their best products, the Flysaucers and Dynadiscs, which they exchanged for stockpiled warmaments and/or nukebombs with over 90 nations as part of the Initial Accord.)
First, a comment on the manner in which the process of Openization was handled. As an advisor/liaison to the First Contact Committee I have to note that the malcritical mouthings of those in the mediastablishment who were braying for a more boldistic protocol have fully ceased. I think it’s safe to concede that the inchremental bizness-based approach (letting their products and services “do their talking” at first) worked out just fine.
Even the part which prevented all but a few people from actually seeing the aliens -- excuse me, far-foreigners -- up close is now recognized as the prudent path. (Especially considering the size of the Garkors and the gnarliness of the Raspillians.) This was done with studied purpose, to avoid a circusphere, and to lessly upset those with deeptrenched phobias about far-foreigners. And tho, aside from the UN proceedings last year, they still haven’t appeared in public, everyone’s seen pictures of them, and viewed docustories of their home orbs.
Now, as for my opinion on the best products being offered by our new neighbors:
10. HaiRestore®, from the Oxillians. It’s so strong that women having regular sex with a user have to double their own shaving schedule.
9. Chameleona’s House Alive® products. From the Raspillians, the sand in the see-thru casings of the bricks and roof tiles is chemically treated so as to be re-programmed — via a special keyboard remote — with different color schemes and patterns. (And since the kids are so much better at the cyberstuff than the parents, many of these houses are quite the visual adventure.)
8. Pyra-Pure Home Health Pyramids®. I haven’t used this one, but the reports of cancer and AIDS remission are nothing short of fabtastic. They also offer a less-expensive model (with a smaller sonic wave chamber in the base, and without the gold plating and diamond buckles) for anti-aging and re-energization purposes. I may get one of these, as they’re supposed to also be good for arthritis sufferers. (These are manufactured on Baza.)
7. ProtectoGear®, the lightweight bullet-resistant bodysuits from the Ezorians, for use by the police and military. (But in this suddenly peace-loving, product-gorging era, with most wars on hiatus and street crime down over 50% evrywhere, they’re more a precaution than a grim necessity.)
6. Moodshine Products®. Sold by the Zinks, these are a total blessing. First tested on the prison population, these anti-aggression capsules and drinks seem to have no side-effects or dependency issues. (I take a half-dose of Clear Breeze Plus ® with my morning cappuccino and have a pleasant commute into the office.)
5. Ectojuve Lotion®, also from Oxillia, which is reportedly the top-selling product in the Trader catalog. Thrice-a-week applications give women (and some men) a silky-smooth skin texture while nearliminating wrinkles, large pores, combination skin and cellulite.
4. MoonShoes®, of which I own three pair, the seemingly gravity-defying footwear from Garkor. The contents inside the impregnable soles are a secret, but I’m told it’s a kind of gas which expands when weight or pressure is exerted. Even with my arthritic legs, I can now stride a good 10 feet on an open track and do a three-minute mile.
3. Aphrodelite®, the outrageously effective aphrodisiac fruits of Varilla. Coming in both male and female variants, they substantially increase their potency if the juice is also applied to the skin. (Been and Done!) Well worth the 4-year wait for the World FDA to approve it.
2. The jewelry division of INjectofine®. A product sold by the Axbaria contingent, this combination vita/min supplier, immune-builder and free-radical cleanser was also subjected to a long WFDA process. In the past 18 months they have come out with the most gorgeous line of rings, necklaces, bracelets and earrings which have tiny injector pins for time-release action. I’m so glad to no longer be taking two dozen pills a day, and I feel terrific on them. (I have 2 rings and 2 ankle bracelets.)
1. FlyCycles!! The world is alive with FlyCycles®, also from the Garkorians. A bit pricey, but still selling over 10,000 units a day, and reaching elevations — if you peddle hard enuff -- of 10-12 feet. These floating bicycles are remaking the urban and suburban landscape with their colorful parabrellas. Why take a car if it’s under 5 miles away when you can experience the sensation of flying thru the air at 30-40 MPH -- freesailing over fields and car-glutted traffic jams?
The latest figures I’ve seen show that we’ve sold over 60 billion in goods back to the far-foreigners in the first 6 months of this year.Three-quarters of that figure was for music and art products, fish, salt and anything made ofwood.
Still being on the Interworld Liaison Committee, I have some early infodata on the next wave of exoterrians (and products) coming to these shores. As we used to say when I was a lad, “Baby, you ain’t seen nuthin yet!!”
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12-4-22
The Reality of the Artificiality Wars
I’d like to weigh in with my two bucks worth on the Mechoid Dispute. At first it was mostly just the sex dolls, the Lolita line, the Heathers, the ones that came with one body but detachable heads. Nobody said much, outside of the usual puritans, and it was only the wealthy that could afford them anyway.
The second wave was all about service persons: vacuumers, mowers, dishwashers, etc. I bought one of the robo-butlers (the chrome-looking one from Mechtastic) to take and type dictation, answer the phone and door, and serve drinks when I had guests. It turned out to be a huge frustravexation, as it could easily be lied to or duped by salesmen and other unwanteds at the door. I came home from a trip once and the foyer was filled with Amway products, and the Jehovah’s Witnesses were having a meeting in what they thought was their new headquarters. (And the damn contraption never could get the meaning of “easy on the ice.”)
But the more serious problems and dilemmas are found in what is being confronted in three areas that are linked under the banner of “The Artificiality Wars.”
One is the sports problem, with players getting “6-Million-Dollar Man” operations (note to young: That was an old TV show about a surgically reconstructed astronaut) to give them artificial limbs. Truth be told, we were already halfway there with some of the types of surgery being done on athletes, but them getting whole new superlegs or superarms has the sports world in a tumult. It’s looking morenmore like there’s going to be a total ban on any player with 6MDM surgery. (Sorry, Alfonso, but you will have to be satisfied with your 700-700 status. You won’t be the one to surpass A-Rod.)
Then there’s the issue of the artificial actors, which I don’t see as a problem at all. Using mechoids for some of the supporting roles, especially the ones that end up falling out of buildings or being blown to smithereens, seems like a common-sense idea, and the Actors Union needs to pull back its threats. Who the sucking hell is Hollywood anyway, the absolute Artificiality Headquarters of the known universe, complaining about what’s not real? (On a lighter note, I just lost a bet with a friend on the guessgame built into the porno series, Real or Not Real? I guessed wrong on 7 of the 10 main “actors.”)
The other area, mechoid teachers and coaches in the schools, is rather more important, and will have the most significant repurcussions, long and short term. Short term, the last thing we need is another national teacher’s strike. Long term, if these Teachatron products are not banned or curtailed, hundreds of thousands of future education majors will be forced to instead major in administration or business or, worse, add to the glut of psychology majors tormenting us all.
And what about all the ex-jock coaches who would be cross-blocked out of work by the Ditka line, or the two Shula lines, or any of the ones to come? What are they going to do? Sell shoes? Become custodians in the same schools? (Where they can have the added chore of scraping the Teachatrons and Ditkas of spitballs and tacked-on signs.)
My proposal? Make it mandatory that the mechoids, however proficient they eventually become, only be used as assistants to the teachers and coaches, and can never exceed the number of teachers or coaches employed by a school.
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4-21-23
Athletes Amuck!
Now I’m as big a fan as anyone of Electric Croquet, but I’ve frankly had enuff of these guys, whose average salary is north of 15M’s a year, tearing up hotels and restaurants and whatever else and getting off scot free. This latest, Wes Gardner’s arrest for setting the Ritz Carlton helicopter pad on fire because he was told he had to wait an hour for an airport shuttle, is beyond irresponsible. I don’t care if he led the Denver Stickmeisters to an 11-match win streak to clinch the title again (FYI: salary of 34 million plus incentives; he needs incentives?!?) but that fire nearly spread to the hotel proper, where thousand of people were staying, most of them asleep at the time.
We have to rein in these hooligans by boycotting their teams. Perhaps start with the Boston Blasters, whose Darrique Washington’s charges of public lewdness were mysteriously dropped for his drunken rampage at the team’s annual Fan’s Barbecue. (There were multitudes of women and children there, most of whom had never seen a naked 6'8 man on a trampoline.)
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10-21-25
Defending Mother Nature
If the enviro-heads hadn't spent the last 30 years pissing everybody off, maybe they could get more support in their latest battle against corporate excess.
Cingular’s outfitting of thousands of suburban birds (and millions to come) with tiny voice chips -- activated by their warbling -- to blare out their ads, is without a doubt the most egregious crime against nature since the marriage of Horatio Sanz to Hilary Duff.
Beminded that the NewTech political PAC, which Cingular helped co-found with AT&T, Oracle and Microsoft, accounts for over 10% of the campaign monies in any given year, so you may have to get used to the little birdies in the trees waking you to announcements of "Wireless Supersavings at Cingular Today!”
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4-3-2026
From the News-Ticker
Despite the international protests, I like the idea of paying the Izoreans (Moonglo, Inc.) to spray the moon with an 80 miles across red-white-and-blue emblem for America's 250th birthday. The cost would be a rather steep 900 million in gold, but as I've said many times before, anything that pisses the French off is always worth the money.
The despicable practice of "stripshooting" the female members of presidential and ex-presidential families, has created another victim, Priscilla Brody. Starting with Chelsea Clinton, this is the 4th straight presidential family to be assaulted.
I'm a firm believer in freedom of the press and Internet, but I think the line has to be drawn at buying, publishing, posting and airing photos and video showing the kidnaping, stripping and forced posing of these young ladies.
In the latest example, it was only President Brody's niece, but that makes it no less repugnant. Nor does the fact that Prissy is a swimwear model with a risque reputation who has appeared in Victoria’s Secret. A crime is a crime, and should never be rewarded in any way.
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2-21-27
Hodge and Podge
Even tho I was originally opposed to the selling of one's TFP (Total Financial Profile) to OmniSell, which then markets the data, I see now that the 10-20,000 dollars the recipients receive (in exchange for the infodata, brand-name loyalty buying, and coupon distributing) has meant the virtual end of poverty in the U.S. And as one of my friends says; "What's an extra few dozen ads a day in the mailbox and the telephone messager, and 40 or so extra spams in the e-box?”
It can be conjecturized that there is a human need for adrenaline rushes. as the vastjority of our homejoyment modalities are fear or violence based.
The highgrossingest holovirt from last year was MS-Sony's Goblins and Gambinos, in which one's living quarters are beam-activated with rampaging virtual holograms of monsters and gangsters attacking and shooting at each other, and anyone else in the house. (For those of you who may be contemplanning getting one, I strongly advise you to be absosure to turn it off before company arrives.)
As for the growing trend of "familyplexes," the banding together of 3-4 couples and their children in a big house, with some (but not necessarily) sexual interaction between them. We had that when I was a young man. They were called communes.
While I had a friend and his son over to my house several weeks ago , I overheard the 11-year old say to his father, "He only has 800 stations. No Hong Kong, no Australia. How does he live like this?" I've since added both to my package, giving me an even 1000 channels, and the kid was right. One of the Aussie stations just had a Miranda Otto retrospectacular, and last week I saw a great John Woo film festival on a Hong Kong station.
Speaking of retrospectaculars, a few nights back I viewed some of SUPERFLIX's Natalie Portman tribute, where they showed all four of her Academy-Award-winning performances. All superb, but I wouldn't have minded if they had added the two movies in which she also deserved the award: the gritty Nearly Dark, and the film that redefined and resurrected film noir, San Quentin Holiday.
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8-21-27
It’s Bon Voyage Time
American television, in its headlong rush into the electronic bowels where depravity and banality merge to become pure, unmitigated culturecrap, has shocked even me with the new fall lineup. For those of you looking for my annual comments, look elsewhere. The pale has been beyondered.
I’ve been looking fearfully toward the skies in rueful expectation of The Almighty casting down thunderbolts and hail, but there is only hazy blue. Perhaps God is himself, finally, stunned into stupefication by his errant misbegotten creation.
I may as well use this moment, and the suddenly available space, to tender my resignation from these logs. It's been over 20 years at the touch-keys and dictachine, and I must admit that I regretted barely half of them. (Just loling.)
The one thing I had been lookforwarding to, the 2028 presidential elections, are becoming murkier by the minute, with so many charges and counter-charges between The Candidate from Hell, The Last Kennedy Standing and Patsi with an i. Almost not to mention the other so-called candidates (none of whom are ready for prime time) and the Corporate Combine threatening this week to enter Rogerson. At any rate, whoever wins, he or she will have a helluva time governing this United Mess of America.
As for me, I'll keep my Cape Cod summer place but I plan to take up new residence on Moondome Estates, in my fully-mobile condo (fully mobile anywhere within the interconnected overdome complex) from whence I will catch up on my reading, assail my memoirs, and stringently screen my calls from Earthside. If I renew my elogging, it may just be about the local haps up there. You know, what the condo board and local theatre companies are up to, and why can't the weather controls be more variated; that sort of thing. If I tried to go a month without typing up complaints, I'd probbly drop dead. So ... sayonara, and thanks for reading.
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Note to my elog readers: I’ve been informed by my Webmaster that I’ve had several responses to this Best of Blume 2027 site which apparently were sent by readers in the year 2004. If this is true then the recent continuum disturbances may be worse than originally supposed, and not just limited to voices and programming from 2004 suddenly issuing from people’s radios and televisions and cell phones. I don’t quite understand how this could be a two-way interconnection, but I frankly admit that I don’t understand much about this bizarre phenomenon.
Crazy thing is that it’s on Blogspot, just like my early sites. I guess that’s cuz I still have the same e-mail and password I’ve used from the get-go. That brings back some good memories, as Google’s Blogspot was the outfit that revolutionized blogging. For that matter, and hold on to your teeth, Google will be (in your framework) the ones to modernize the Internet into the glory that it later becomes (in my framework).
If any of you folks from the past manage to get through to my site, please note the exact date and time where (when) you are, for tracking purposes. There is some speculation currently being propagated that the disruption is due to something inherent in the zone of the galaxy we’re spiraling into. Others contend that it’s caused by so many wireless electronic waves being propagated, not only by phones, radios and TV’s, but by the wireless “Internettification,” of over 5 billion online users. That, according to these Luddites, added to all the satellite transmissions, has wreaked havoc with the ethers. (Not likely, but we frankly don’t know at this point.)
But the general effect is more entertaining than scary, as it adds a kind of randomizer to things, not knowing if your next c-phone call will be interrupted with someone’s voice from 20 years earlier, or if one of the ancient Survivors episodes will suddenly start showing on your TV.
As far as donations, which I used to rely on back in the day -- when I was living on a string -- I wouldn’t recommend any of you try to send them to this site. 'Sides, I don't need the flow anymore -- doing OK bizwise. Instead, if you’re ofminded, please send them to www.heifer.com, a truly great orgzation which provides sustenance aid to the Third World.
On the subject of blogs, I might as well fill you 2004 folks in a little on how they evolve, or at least the names used for them. In a few years from where (when) you’re at now, they’ll start being called plogs, which stands for personal logs, as all the possible permutations of blog had been done and overdone. A fresh start for the new generation coming up in the latter double-0's.
People kept their blog-this and blog-that websites and directories, but there was now additional terrain in cyberland, as it were. After several more years came the ilogs, followed about 5 years later (commonly called a cybernetic generation, or cy-gen) by the mylogs, after which were the elogs, which is the current term used for the new ones. But you can still go on the Net and find names that utilize all of the above -- kind of like a dating device for the origin of many people’s weblogs. (Word on the Web is that the next gen of these will be called "clogs.")
So that’s the way it’s going here. Best of luck to you all (you’re about to enter some “interesting times”). And thanks for visiting my site, even if it was inadvertent.
Methuselah Blume
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6-11-09
The Too-Much-Ville Blues
Not that I spent much time in them, but I have never been opposed to the existence of topless bars and nightclubs, not even when the trend spread to the G-string diners and lingerie restaurants. But when it gets to the point of flesh service being prevalent even in hardware stores, bike shops, and delis, then it's become a case of it going too far. I could have lived out my years without seeing the widow Reilly’s freckled little tits down at the bakery, and hearing her say (protestingly much) "A woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do."
As for these Murder Mystery Dinner Theaters which are such a rage these days, with their special effects, holograms, horror costumes, and liberal use of fake blood and animal parts, I just don't see how people can eat a meal while such gorror is occurring around them. Altho I have to admit to enjoying the recent presentation of Bitch With A Blade, and perhaps one or two others, I just think the whole concept is in danger of taking itself a bit too far.
I may just be getting older but these sitcoms seem to be getting too-too trashawful. The new 'buster hit, Teri and the Boys, a show which makes constant and gratuitous reference to penis size and sexual details, wins the cake for the most offensive theme song. To wit: "She's a slut, such a slut! Our Teri does it all, she does! She loves to dance and rut, she does! Our Teri's quite a gal."
It even makes that Barbi Beaver show from a few seasons back (the one The Christian Majority Party marched about) seem tame by comparison. But, news from my bizbuzz lines, Peephole Productions is gearprepping something called Spankdaddy Clyde which is guaransured to trample the last shards of broken decency on free-TV’s shattered wastescape.
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5-21-10
Get Out the Popcorn!
Summer is here, and that means that it's sequel season again. All the studios are rolling out their old reliables, confident that their built-in audiences will fork over the $15 to watch their favorite stars go thru some familiar paces. Here's the line-up:
MIB 5: Alien Landing
The Hulk 4: Still Green and Still PO’d
Bad Boys 5: Badder’N’Dat
Matrix 5: Beginning of the Dream
Sistahood 3: Black on Track
Jeepers Creepers 6: Fresh Flesh
Harry Potter 8: Private Wand
Artemis Fowl 4: Mulch Ado About Something
Dumb and Dumbest: The Final Pairadox
Charlie's Angels 5: Tit for Tat
Rush Hour 7: Rhode Island Revenge
Scream 7: No One Left to Hear You Scream
Lethal Weapon Last
Undercover Brother 6: ‘Hoodwinked
Shanghai Knights 4: Hanging with Hong
Spider Man 5: Return of Webwoman
Nightmare on 13th Street 4: Halloween Hell
Fast and Furious 7: The Final Funeral
To save time and space, I'll give a one-size-fits-all mini-review for all of the above.
This movie will delight its fans with its high-powered action, clever plot twists and great characters. Plenty of spills, chills and kills. Be absosure not to miss it!
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1-19-11
The Thrill and the Agony
[WARNING: Spoiler ahead.] I just got my new Riley Hawk holo, and played it on my totally ragin’ H3 setup, which absopositively gives one a full-magnitude portrayal.
This one is by far the best in the XTRM series. Hawk’s father, the legendary Tony, sits in a rocking chair on the ramp and yells out moves. Right at the end, Riley achieves a defndumb ‘Sault Assault 900, which looks to be the end of the program. But then, while the credits are rolling, he comes back from off-camera with a blindfold on, and with his father yelling “Don’t do it!!,” he does a satin-smooth 720 Varial McTwist. Awesomistic with a spoon!! The crowd noise is dubbed in, but the overlay is taken from Hawk’s actual performances, so it’s technically not fake.
Also quite xclnt in the XTRM series is Yasutoko Gold, from the inline skating brothers. They’re so good that sometimes you swear you must be watching some kind of animation.
Consumer Note: If you’re going to get an H3, I recommend that you get the version I have, which is the 80 PCL, as it comes loaded with a Sony 360SS audio hookup, and has 12 beams -- 8 for the room corners and 2 each for the ceiling and floor.
The latest death count from attempts to do a Moto-X triple flip is now 6, with over a score of serious injuries. Ever since Kevin Pastrano did it on his wedding day to Jamie Little (then drove off to retirement), kids across the country have been trying to duplicate it. The only other person to successfully pull it off was the original flip-master himself, Godfather Metzger, who said at his old pal Brian Deegan’s wake, “If we die, we die. That’s the nature of the beast.”
I didn't mind too much when the Major Leaguers began wearing the corporate logos on their jerseys. It's not like everything isn’t covered with these logos anyway. (I’m even mostly used to the car and house ads by now.) And the Fortune 44 Group did, after all, step in and sponsor the teams when the old owners were priced out of profit possibilities after the 2008 Players Accord. But what we have now at the ballparks, with the outfields painted with product names and sale prices, and the constant commercializing over the PA system (between pitches now) is just going too-too.
And, one more dig at the renaming of Yankee Stadium (what was once my favorite ballpark) to Frito-Lay Stadium. I don’t care if they did win the bidding with an 87-million dollar proffer for the 10-year rights, the best venue in baseball deserves better than to be named after a crunchy snack company. (The only consolation in this is that Frito-Lay edged out the second-place bidder, which was Ben-Gay, and the third, who was Donald Trump.)
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3-5-11
Realitycoms
Back in 2002, there was a quote from the USA Today newspaper, in a piece written by Robert Bianco, that went as follows: “And so we end up with Anna Nicole, praying we’ve finally hit bottom, but fearing we haven’t.”
That show, featuring a doltish bimbo, was a comparative Masterpiece Theater next to some of what followed. Not that all of the spawn have been bad; the long-running Hef’s House, Denis Leary’s Take What You Need and Get Out!, and the para-reality show (and multiple Emmy winner) Larry Sanders: The Home Years, were all great TV.
But, by and large, these reality sitcoms have been an odious exercise, a means of wasting people’s time while prolonging the celebrity careers of individuals who otherwise may have mercifully disappeared from our mindscape.
On this, the 10th Anniversary of the inaugural episode of The Osbournes, I decided that a Bottom Ten would be in order, but just couldn’t compress it down that much. So here’s my Dirty Dozen, in the order I force myself to regurgitate them.
1. You Want a Piece of This? -- Joey Buttafuocco’s 15th minute.
2. The Tanya Harding Home Diary -- which came to be known as “Bleep-Bleep” for what you mostly heard.
3. sex, liza & videotape -- Minelli’s overnamed (at the least, overpromised) second attempt.
4. The Real Slim Shady — Eminem’s short-lived but volatile show, which unfortunately (for him) was used as evidence in his assault-with-intent case.
5. Regis! — because after he retired from his morning program, he frankly couldn’t help himself. It became sad whenever he would call the set of Live with Kelly and Mark.
6. Can We Talk? -- probably the best of the bad ones, with Joan and Melissa Rivers sharing a NYC apartment. Every week had you impressed with their ability to evade being murdered by someone (or each other).
7. All That!! -- Whitney and Bobby’s home hijinx, sometimes hard to distinguish from the Cops episodes that aired just before it.
8. The Marcos Family -- possibly the worst of the worst, with Imelda shopping, singing, and talking to her dead husband’s frozen remains, in some sort of meat locker/shrine.
9. Cuchi-Cuchi! -- starring Charo, a show which was about to be used as capital punishment in several states until the ACLU stepped in, citing the “cruel and unusual” provision.
10. The Olson Twins -- mostly them trying on clothes, and talking about boyfriends and their various product lines.
11. Snoopin’ on Snoop -- the Dogg man livin’ large.
12. Trailer Trash Tuesday -- the send-in show which featured a winning entry every week, until it was realized that most of the entrants were pre-scripting conflicts and confrontations for the camera, and hiring actors for the roles.
An intriguing side-category deserving mention in any overview of this television phenomenon has been that of the fictional-character-as-reality-character. I’ve already mentioned the best of these blurs, Garry Shandling’s Sanders reprisal. Some other good ones were Absolutely Kramer, Color Me Mimi (the Drew Carey character) and the boldacious Bart Goes to College, from the Simpsons animation team. I also liked the erudite Miles of Niles — the running gag being that Frasier couldn’t make it for a visit again (because Kelsey Grammar refused to take any part in it).
Some not-so-terrific ones included the patently absurd Xena and Gabrielle, the disappointing Pee-Wee’s Treehouse, and Tom Green’s ZooLife, about a hapless zookeeper who talks to the animals and does their voices in response.
Also worthy of comment:
The Manson Family Adventures -- which featured Marilyn Manson at home with his Goth Posse, and varied guests, with occasional cuts to Charles Manson for a skewed remark.
Life at Lorne’s — Lorne Michaels’ somewhat stagey domestic life, with lots of drop-ins from past and current SNL castmembers.
True Drew — Drew Barrymore becomes, if not America’s Sweetheart, its #1 Exhibitionist.
Elvira’s Night of the Living Weird — enuff said.
Every Night with Dave -- Post-CBS Letterman at home, with great stop-over guests, and semi-regular Paul Schaeffer in the corner behind a Wurlitzer, chiming in.
Tales from the Crib — a rotating menagerie of rap-hoppers, street meat, and colorful entourages, produced and intro-hosted by Phat Phreddy Z.
On the Loose with Bobby Trendy -- the truly awful Anna Nicole spinoff that nevertheless held sway over a certain demographic for 3 seasons.
The Private Parts of Howard Stern — with (predictably) way too many scenes of Howard on the can.
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8-13-11
The Dog Days of America
I didn’t object when the Judiciary Committee raked the coals of the last two Supreme Court nominees -- probbly because I didn’t care much for their politiviews, and like everyone else have come to enjoy the seamy-steamy drama of the TV’d interroprocess. And, in the back-years, I was morbidcitedly entranced, along with most of America, by Bubba Bill’s Monicagate. Then, in the scandalicious double-0's, we were enthralled by the backtback impeachment hearings of Madame HC (but eventually sickened by the endless partisan potshottery). But what’s going on now on Capitol Hill, this latest display of outragio from Senator Springer, is just going too damn far.
We were reminded of his sleazoid origins last week when he waved a copy of The Star over his head and loudly inquired, "Isn’t it true, Judge Wilkinson, that on the night of your Senior Ball at Stanford you said to your date, one Wendy Foxworthy, "You made it hard, dollface, now you’re gonna goddam take care of it," and proceeded to make her do just that? And that you made her cry?" Am I the only one who feels like it's time to finally say, Enuff is enuff! with all this dredging? Or is it just too late, and we’re all irremediably hooked on the dark underside of the lives of the famous?
I remember the 70's and 80's when newspeople would use voice inflections and raised eyebrows to signal their cynicism or doubt when repeating what the President or some govrepresentative had said. This manner had its roots in the Watergate Scandal of the back years when intrepid journos (a different breed than what we have at our alleged service now), men like Dan Rather would post on the White House Lawn and do hardalysis. Then came the 90's, when commentors like Cokie Roberts went a step further and would call an obvious political ploy "an obvious political ploy." (But she would have a nice smile when she said it, and would never actually be wrong.)
Then in the double-0 years, during the Debra Norville/Stone Phillips/Jimmy Kimmel anchor era, reporters like Molly Ivins and Robyn Blumner began to be called Field Commentors, and would give an off'cuff after every piece they did. They managed to control that fairly well the first several years (exempting that one summer during Molly's menopause) and like everything else we got used to it.
But this lately stuff is clearly over the line. It's not only a mandacertain that we'll be subjected to a harsh oppoview, deserved or not (because it makes for "better TV") but we must increasingly hear semi-brained casters like Heather Ashe lead into sound bites with smarmy blather like: “You know, it's kindalike hard to understand how Senator Rawley can talk out of both sides of his mouth and not get lockjaw, but this is what he said."
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2-2-12
Music to Whose Ears?
As for this seemingly endless stream of pop cakes, most of them with the one-name thing (like that makes them more important) I swear to you that I can remember when there were only several of them stage-strutting their stuff. There was Pink, Shakira, Anastacia, ChristinA, and of course the original Britney, who sort of ruled the roost for a while. The Godmother of divas was Madonna, and to go back to the very very beginning (the 1960's) we had Cher, who incidentally has just announced her Farewell to Farewell Tour to begin in April.
Nowdays there must be like a hundred of these singing slutties bouncing and gyrating their way to fame and fortune. I have the minimum number of music channels on my satellite feed (75) and riffing thru them it seems that almost 2 out of 3 have one of these gyro-dolls doing an erotic dance routine and lipping lyrics like, "I wanna be your bed meat, baby, cook me any way you want!”
The murder trial of producer/rap-hopper MadDog Q/Z is just another nail in the coffin of the ghangsta music empire, especially coming on the heels of the public revulsion over Titty-Tit’s "Cream in my Sugar" video. Most vidstations have banned this ilk, with the exception of BET’s NightRide and MTV 7. The next blow will come (according to my insider sources who’ve been at their studio) when Niggatime Express comes out with their next CD, "Burn'N Bomb,” the first vid-single of which will be “Somebloody Like You."
Speaking of TT (as her friends call her) when informed that her name couldn’t be fully spelled out in the newspapers, she replied, “As if I f*cky-f*ck care.”
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5-8-12
What’s on the Toob?
Is it possible that we may be finally getting to the end of the so-called Reality Shows? To begin with, most of the non-romantic ones should have been called Extreme Situation shows, starting with the longest-running one, the protoriginal Survivor series, which placed (progressively more attractive) people in wilderness locales and made them brave the wild while fending off challenges and backstabbing from the other contestants. (But honestly, if I want to witness overinflated egos doing each other in by any means possible, I’ll just attend my condo board meetings.)
Then there was Fear Factor, which made stars out of people who were deranged/depraved enough to do things that were foolish, gross, or both. As most of you should remember, that was finally yanked after they had a feces-eating contest -- for a one-million dollar prize -- and a riot broke out in the overcrowded gymnasium where the would-be contestants had mobbed together, killing several people. The show was buried by the lawsuits, and of course the “Dying to Eat Shit” headlines.
I liked the bustdowns at first. It started with the public humiliations of certain high-ego athletes, after their luster had faded. The very first one was Warren Sapp, who got wedgied and bitch-slapped by the Bustdown Boys in a parking lot with a camera running. And who can forget Roseanne getting pantsed and spanked in her hotel lobby?
Most everyone thought that was quite highlarious, and soon there were others by the Boys, and the copycat gangs, like Mephisto’s Balls. But lately I think it’s just become (since TV will run most any damn footage whatsoever, if it’s someone being embarrassed) a very mean-spirited exercise targeting any and every successful person who can be invaded. That episode last week with Senator Einhardt getting knocked down and his goatee shaved has no valid justification, even if he is a noxious gasbag. This is another example of a ratings-inspired TV prank going over the line into criminality and I was happy to hear that he pressed charges and that arrests were made.
Too Far and-a-Half! The E! network's one-hour special, Celebrity Privates, wherein the exes of big stars reveal intimate details about their genitalia and sexual proclivities, is total sleaze and utter trash! (But can you believe that part about Robert Evans? No wonder he stayed in the picture.)
As anyone who reads my postings knows, I’ve had plenty to say over the years about TV commercials. The ad hucksters’ utter disregard for language, shameless image-mongering, and unethical manipulations have been their hallmark almost from their inception. But just when I thought they had hit their all-time low with those male strippers doing a (literal) take-off on President Biddle and “The Joint Chiefs of Stuff” (for Hanes underwear), along comes Coppertone’s Total Tan Treatment using a First Lady lookalike who gets side-view naked on the roof of the White House, singing “Sunshine in my Hair.”
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11-1-12
Working Hard for the Money
I just came from seeing Final Take Off, the new Amanda Bynes movie. Back in the last century, and even during the first 5 or 10 years of this new millennium, a mainstream actress would not have considered doing a sex scene like the one she did in the burning airplane.
I think it really started to change with the 2002 award-winning performance in Monster’s Ball by Halle Berry in which she enacted some fairly realistic sex scenes. After that, the taboo began to be removed, until it's almost mandatory for the top actresses (if they want to retain their 50-million-plus price-tags) to do some full-frontal f'ing for the audience.
While I'm a big fan of Maggie Gyllenhaal going way back to her great performance in Secretary, I can't help but agree that her latest movie, Tangled Web, deserved the new X-21 rating. I've seen the entire film, before and after they cut some footage (which must have smoked and sizzled when it hit the floor) and I have to wonder now about what she sees as the direction of her career.
It seems to me that what has been a perfect arc of expressed sexuality these past 11 years must now enact a pendulum and swing back -- or else she will next have to shift to making actual pornography.
For the 3rd straight year the Denise Richards Inti-Mate® line, the resemblike adult synthmate her company manufactures, is the #1 seller on the continent. These squeezies have become so lucrative a business for her, in addition to her virtreal productions, that she has quit all her moviemaking work, with the exception of the impossible-to-kill Undercover Brother series.
In the latest example of the modern game of Everybody-Has-Their-Price, Playboy (after years of rebuffed offers) has secured the Olson Twins for a nude pictorial and video shoot. The purchase price was not disclosed, but obviously was quite high, as Mary Kate said just last year that they might do it “for a billiony-billion dollars." When asked to comment on the amount paid, CEO Christie Heffner would only say, “We’ll be fine — as long as we sell a billiony-billion issues.”
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9-28-13
Must-Pee TV
I was looking at the listings blurbs for Thursday's Must-See-TV line-up on the formerly "Proud-as-a-Peacock" NBC network. Here it is.
Just Roommates: Heather has Brandon blushing with stories of her sexual adventures, until she realizes he was one of the guys in the group bang she did to pay her college tuition.
Ticket to Ride: George discovers a hooker working the train, and gets a free piece of the action.
Kerri On!: Kerri tapes the boys discussing their masturbation fantasies and blackmails them into paying for her breast enlargement operation.
Students at Large: Unbeknownst to Richie and the SpiderBoys, their farting contest is broadcast to all of Largemont High.
This last one was the cause of why I was looking at the listings in the first place. My friend Jonathan was complaining to me about the farting contests being taped at his office and his son's school for a radio station contest. First prize, I'm told, is a set of tickets to the Marilyn Manson Crucifixxxion tour.
While I've got the TV Guide on the screen, here are a few blurbs from NBC's Family Friday Follies, which might as well be renamed Body Fluids Friday, from what’s being shown there on a regular basis.
Hurleyville: The sheriff and his buddies get busted for re-enacting their prom-night pissing contest.
Tank: Tommy gives Tank and Julia a super-laxative just before the school play starts.
Sundown Park: John-Boy organizes the trailer park to get in the Guinness Book of Records for the (non-existent) category of most people simultaneously vomiting.
I know the Brits are always looking to gag one over on everyone, and their renovation shows are their best-received TV export, but their latest reality show, This Old Whore, where they do makeovers on worse-for-wear ex-prostitutes, has perhaps taken the concept a bit too far. (Nonetheless, they do damn fine work.)
Regarding commercials (the bane of Western Capitalism), now that most of the stations have gone to the 30-blocks of 5-second spots, I'm waiting for someone to retro back to a 15- or 30-second commercial, where a spokesperson can mention actual facts about the product. I'm surprised no one's done it yet, as this jumble of 5-second "flashies" is like a visual 30-vehicle pile-up, one after another of bombastic images, buzz-phrases, hypnotiques (light bursts, revolving spirals, etc.) and blast-phrase company slogos.
But if every block has more than one car ad and more than one fast food ad, or whatever category, then they're just canceling each other out -- while further making a mish-mash of people's brains.
With the ever-increasing proliferation of awards shows it was inevitable it would come to this. Not able to find an open date of its own, the new International Dish-Owners Awards will be on the same night as The People's Choice Awards, and has booked a nearby venue so some stars can attend both.
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4-16-14
TV Upchuck
In a compromise designed to get the popular children's program, KoolKidsYo, back on the air before May sweeps, the censors at Nickelodeon have forged a compromise, as follows: For each weekly show, Only one scene each of emitting feces (animals only), eyeball puncture or other eye gore, simulated decapitation, graphic brains or guts spillage (not both), and two instances of projectile vomiting, only one of which can be right onto the camera lens.
In a statement released by the show's producer, Matt Kincaid was quoted as saying, "We feel we can continue for the duration of this season under these guidelines without sacrificing the basic integrity of the show."
I may not be in TV’s primographic (young and dumb) anymore, and I know that Jovan has a reputation as the most provocodaring commercial maker, but I was nevertheless appalled by the latest ad for their Taste It! line of musk, called Sexsational. (“Try it, you’ll lick it!”) If I want to see an Aframerican's big tongue descending on a blond femcake’s lower stomach, I'll dial up an X-line video, thank you very much.
It's only in its third season, but HBO's award-winning Anatomy, with its thrilling trifecta of graphic sex, graphic violence and graphic autopsies, is predicted to sweep most of the top awards at the upcoming Emmys.
Megastar Kieran Culkin, who plays the serial killer/coroner lead role, will have the distinction this year of throwing out the first ball at Frito-Lay Stadium for the Yankees, but has also been asked by Mayor Jenson, despite some threats of protest from the uptighty crowd, to be the Grand Marshall of the St. Patrick’s Days Parade. (I especially like the episodes where he cleverly hides the murder weapon inside the corpse, and extracts/disposes of it during the autopsy.)
As for the proliferation of these-type shows. When I was a lad, there was a show called Quincy, who was a coroner. Just that one show about autopsy stuff, if you can imagine the sheer boredom of life back then. Now, what are there, about two dozen of them?
I never liked it that there was so much violence on children's TV (except of course when I was a child), espeshly after I read the Shining Station Symposium’s report on viewed violence and lowered IQ. But this new 'buster hit, Captain Destructo, with its promo of "If we don’t deliver 100 bloodlicious murders in the episode, we'll torch the producer's dog on live camera!" is more than too much anymore. I don’t care if it's #1 among the criticalportant 8 to 11 age-group, and #2 in the lucrabig action-figure market, it's beyond the pale and quite over what used to be the line.
The TV show PRANKMANiac failed again to get me. I won't legitimize their feeble efforts with the details. All I will say, again, is that their show, and the dozen others perniciously afflicting the U.S. and Britain, are nothing more than an excuse for atrocious public behavior by gutter-snipe hooligans. They should be given jobs doing something more productive, like picking litter off the streets for minimum wage, instead of the loot-loading fame they're getting away with now.
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9-19-15
Skinfest!
Back in 2011, when they first started Talk'n'Watch on CNN-E!, I was all in favor of it. Why not have a show where bikini girls in T-backs read from classical literature and academic non-fiction? It seemed a fairly feasible way to get the average male to at least hear something of intellectual value. (And females could always tune in for a listen to the educational readerial.)
But that was before it turned into what we have now -- a vulgar parade of topless volleyball, Miss Nudecake competitions, mixed pairs butter-wrestling, and naked limbo dancing, while the crawl-graphic along the bottom gives you the excerpts from writers like David Halberstam, Oswaldo Martinez and Zoey Summers. Hell, I'm a paid consultant for the excerpts selection and even I have trouble focusing on the material. (But I've resolved to not give up the effort.) This is quite simply a case of a good idea being near-ruined by being taken to its absurdiculous xtreme.
In the competition for Most-Shamelessly-Pandering “news” feature during sweeps, I nominate WFLA doing a weeklong review of The Celebrity Sex Manual DVC. (Even tho I will give them credit for showing the best scenes and positions.) And the little block-out they use seems to be getting smaller. It looked like Leonardo was wearing a coaster on his penis.
I know they’re very popular but I find those ChippenGlow dancers behind the CBS NetNews anchors to be rather inapprope during stories of tragedy or catastrophe. Now, I enjoy a pair of oiled-up breasts as much as the next guy, but if they could just tone back the groin grinding a little during those pieces, or perhaps use some pix of still nudes for a minute, I think it would be much improved.
This year's Grammy Awards will return to being televised live, after a 4-year period of being tape-delayed. For those of you with short memories, this was precipitated by the ChristinA incident, in which she did most of a song with jeans dropped so low that the top of her girl-biscuit (with a super-outtie) was vividly visible.
Some accused her (the former Christina Aguillera) of doing it on purpose, and the fact that the song she was singing, "XXXcited 4 U" had the repeated verse, "Can't you see I'm ripe for the plucking," the last word of which she "mis-spoke" twice, supported that view.
The kicker to all this is that ChristinA will be doing the opening musical number for the upcoming show, but she will be behind a semi-transparent screen. Her personal producer, Jaxxy Mann, was quoted as saying, "They told us she could do anything she wanted, as long as she stayed behind the screen. This will definitely be her sexiest show ever." Meanwhile, rehearsals have been on a closed set.
(We've come a long way, baby, since the era when Ed Sullivan wouldn't let the camera show Elvis Presley's gyrating hips!)
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4-14-2016
Comings and Goings
After all the megahype from ABCFOX. it was certainly exciting (and plenty bizarre) to see the Walt Disney Reanimation Special. A bit too long at three hours, they made us wait until the third hour to actually see the 20th century imagineer sit up from his hospital bed. The 30 minutes of highlights from the 7-hour operation was altogether too technical and rather gory, although I suppose it has its histifigance.
His first barely understandable words -- "Is it going to work?"-- were probably the last thought he had before he "died" in 1966. The footage then shifts to the next day, when we see him sitting in his old chair at Disney Studios, a haggard, wasted shadow of his former self but -- holy mouse ears! -- fully alive.
The part with Michael Eisner, where Eisner fills him in on the company's various expansions and developments, came across as a very self-serving promo for all things Disney. But it was funny to watch old Walt's face as he heard about all this, his jaw hanging open and his head lolling about on his muscle-weakened neck. (I loved it too when he called Eisner, who’s 73, "young man.")
After 20 minutes of this, with Disney saying about 50 words, the "interview" was over, and white-clad assistants wheeled the old entrepeur out of the room. I'm told by someone on the medical staff that he needs injections (adrenaline, amphetamine, and several medicines) every 45 minutes to an hour and must nap twice a day, plus sleep 12 hours at night. Also, he can't eat solid foods ever again, and must ingest his meals thru a straw.
Some have made a negative judgevaluation of the entire cryonics industry based on Walt Disney's ragged appearance and weak mentacuity, but two things should be borne in mind. First, he was one of the first to be frozen, and some of the preps were improved as time went on, and second, he was not in very good shape when he died -- his dying being a reliable indicator of that fact.
But I must admit that it was a bit haunting to see the camera close-ups of his craggy face, with its semi-vacant eyes, and hear his hoarse whisper pause for several seconds sometimes when speaking. It was reported in the Esquire article that he's not aware of this pausing, that it's some kind of synaptic problem, i.e., his brain's pistons aren't yet firing on all cylinders. If they ever will is a question only time can answer, but I am curious if these lapsings will occur in other returned cryo-patients. This is one possibility I want to absosure dispeliminate before I sign myself up for popsiclehood.
I wasn’t opposed so much to the return of beheadings and stakeburnings, as the death penalty is the death penalty (and it seemed to placate the “religious” rightists) but the recent passage of the crucifixion bill (for killers of cops, judges, women or children) seems to me a step too far.
Acting for all the world like the irony was lost on them, the Christian Majority Party pushed thru the bill, which actually just removes crucifixion from the category of cruel and unusual punishments, thus paving the way for the states to use it, as had been done previously for the above methods.
But what's doubly disturbing is the news that ABCFOX has let it be known that it will pay a flat five million per for the television rights to any of the three new execution modes. This is double what they paid Texas and Alabama for their deathecutions several years ago (the Dead Man Dying series, or as some wags called it, Southern Gas&Electric) but they have justifiably higher hopes of big ratings with the new methods. As ABCFOX chairman Brent Galing said, "The gas chamber executions were too low-action, and the electric chair ones weren't that much better. With these, we feel that we can give the public a network quality show."
And more from those zany suits over at ABCFOX. They've slated a mid-season replacement for the faltering reality show Stalked by a Celebrity with a controversial new series called Out With a Bang -- in which people with terminal illnesses commit suicide on-air by spectacularly videogenic methods. In case you’re wondering, the previous laws in California against assisted suicide were re-written and quietly passed by the TV industry’s Sacramento lap puppies (during last year’s Indonesia crisis) to make it legal if done “for broadcast entertainment purposes.”
These violent terminations are all in exchange for huge payouts to the dearly departed’s families and (sad but true) the national notoriety that they engender, if only for their last several days, as the news shows and zines will undoubtedly want to profile them.
In the media package were some highlights, including a man jumping into a pit of boiling oil, then swimming a little ways -- well, more like flapping and screaming -- while the camera does multi-angle close-ups. (You can tell they have a great director!) The deceased then just floats along, sizzling and crackling, while the house band goes into a down-tempo piece.
Also worth noting was the cancer-doomed woman who climbed into a box and was sawed in half by a tuxedo-wearing “magician” and his sequin-sparkly assistant. Rising above the duet of buzz-saw/woman shrilling (while the close-up showed the flying wood chips and a resplendent crimson spray) was the loud ovation of an appreciative audience. It can truly be said that ABCFOX lives up to the billing of it's slogo: "We're Never Boring!"
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4-11-18
The Gorror of it All
I didn't raise any objections to (altho I never cared to watch much of) the Life/Death Cable Network when they started with the Operating Room Channel and the Emergency Room Channel, as we defacto had as much already in the reality programs of the time. But what it's lately become, with the directors hooked into multihundreds of camfeeds so as to backforth to the most hot-happening, and the hyper-present sound tracks, and the "will they/won't they" polls and betting pools are all getting to be too-too much.
The worst is probably the winner-all pool to pick the TOT (time of termination). Can something these days please not include gambling or contests?
I may just be old-fashioned but I really don’t think that castration and dismemberment sequences belong on daytime TV, not caring that they are mostly dummies and special effects. I've never bought into the old canard that TV shows like Ghetto Hunt and Stalker James merely reflect society. The fact that mutilation murders have increased an average of 11% a year for the 8 years that this sort of atrocitation has been allowed on the airwaves is proof enough of its negative impactfulness.
Owing to the freedom we have in this country -- and this epitomizes it -- the cable show Mayhem is allowed to air its gruesome grossities unhindered. (This is a show devoted only to showing photos and videos of people mutilated by car accidents, war, animal attacks, etc.)
Fine-good by me, people can either watch it or not. But lately they've begun an assault on the rest of us by sticking their blood-splattered promos all over their home station and several others. They're paying top dollar for the spot at the front of the commercial block for added exposure, invading people's perceptions before they can fast-forward or change the channel.
The era of the anti-hero, or bad guy as hero/star probably reached its peak (some would say nadir) with that show Meathook, back in the early Teens. For the youngsters out there, this was a show which followed the life of a serial rapist/murderer (portrayed as a sexy, albeit edgy, guy) and always ended with a shot of a victim (nosy next-door neighbor, bratty sorority girl, etc.) on this huge meathook. It was a ratings bonanza, until it went down in an avalanche of lawsuits brought by the families of victims similarly offed by copycat “fans” of the show, and the furor over their last-season finale.
And who can forget that season-ender? The camera pulls back from his latest victim, a society matron, to reveal two smaller meathooks, on which her pet poodles writhed in final agony. Which proves a lesson I’ve personally had to re-learn several times: You just don’t mess with those society matrons. They’ve got their husband’s power and connections behind them -- or his money, if he’s dead -- and plenty of free time. And mess with dog-lovers? Pure suicide. Pet-owners in this country are more vociferous than anyone, outside of maybe the NRA and the Alternative Lifestyles League.
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7-11-19
From the Death-Isn't-What-It-Used-To-Be-Department
The AP reported yesterday that, in addition to the 6% who were cryogenically frozen last year for future reanimation, 14% of deceased people in the U.S. were frozified in part or whole, head or entire body, for their gravesite "presentations."
This all started, as many things did, with the late Lady M, or as she will forever be called, Madonna. After her demise, based on her own specific requests, her head was freeze-dried atop a wax replica of the rest of her body, and encased in a lucite orb atop her walk-in shrine/tomb. For those who haven't seen it yet, her face is in a smiling, brows-up pose, as if in delight at the visitor's arrival.
The site is like a 24-hour Madonna museum and showcase, with her videos, movies and interviews running constantly against the four walls. Fifteen million paid to enter last year, proceeds going to her favorite charities, the same organizations (Gay Dancers Fund and the Kabbalah Centre) that received the lucrabig proceeds from the online auction of her various body parts.
Similar to the ancient custom (but then it was the Catholic Church) of selling bone fragments of deceased saints as “relics,” her body was slivered up into thousands of plasticased pieces. These went for an average of $800, and are reportedly now already worth around $4000 apiece.
The buyers and purchase prices of the major parts have by now mostly been made public, and include a hefty 4 million each for her breasts (preserved in a freeze-dried see-into chamber), one million each for her fingers, excepting the middle ones which of course commanded more, and nearly 6 million for her (neatly-shaved) pubic region from a still-undisclosed Japanese gentleman.
After that, Celebodies, Inc. took off as a full-service post-mortem company, starting with the Billy Joel enshrinement, the singer opting for the full-body treatment. But the body one sees at the Long Island tombsite (him sitting at a piano inside a large clearsight dome) has artificial fingers, as his originals went for a combined 2.8 million to collectors and fans.
Celebodies and the other fast-rise companies in this new industry project a 7-8 billion dollar gross in the next 10 years, as many of America's 3000+ celebrities near their last stage door, including some of the biggest stars from the domains of music, cinema and television. (And sports! Those old jocks only think they can live forever.)
These companies also are in the business of selling celebrity DNA, from both the living and the unliving, for use in cloning. Since most of these transactions are hushified, there's no telling how much of their estimated gross is expected from that quarter. But if it's any gauge, Angelina Jolie -- the only celeb who's openly adselling her own DNA on the net -- is charging $9999 per 10-cell cluster.
All of which brings up that old chestnut of Ted Williams’ frozen corpse. His family isn’t disclosing much but rumors persist of the secretive selling of DNA from the remains of the Splendid Splinter (a nickname that has truly taken on new meaning) over the past dozen years. People have meanwhile been reporting a tremendous upsurge in the number of lanky left-handed Little League kids with great batting eyes and surly personalities.
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1-26-20
The Sign of the Times Says ‘For Sale’
Am I the only person who doesn’t think it's a peachkeen idea to sell the U.S. National Lottery and sports gambling rights to the Native Americans? (Excuse me, Nativians.) They wouldn’t even be floating in so much liquidity -- to offer us 130 B flat-fronted -- if we hadn't let them buy most of Alaska with their restitution money. They're making back the sale price every 3 or 4 years in oil, gold, lumber and (converted ice) water sales. And they'll do almost as well with the wagering rights if we sell out cheap in this moment (again) of national economic crisis. I say we hold the fort on this one.
Why hasn’t there been more murmurs about Disney selling its parks in France to that Hong Kong Bank? So what if they paid 30 Billion more than it was worth, and the 145 Billion will bring our Trade Imbalance with China to its lowest point since it was 207 B in 2015 -- when we foolishly sold them 49% of the National Parks, just 18 months before the Agreement of Planets, with its rich tourist provisions.
I can remember a time, not that long ago, when Disney stood for all that America was proud of. But I suppose that attitude has had a sorry limp since that other symbol of American Enterprise, General Motors, sold out to the Mitsubishi Combine.
From the overflowing files of the I-Told-You-So department:The huge sponsorship monies from Wal-Mart, which at the last Olympics bought the oft-repeated tag-line, "The 31st Olympiad, brought to you by Wal-Mart," has become, in this Olympics, simply "The Wal-Mart Olympics." I knew they wouldn't have put up 375 mil without geting front-center billing.
Announcers and commentators are heavily fined ( I’m told this was at the insistence of Wal-Mart) any time they fail to say “Wal-Mart” in front of “Olympics,” even if the phrase is, “He’s a great Wal-Mart Olympic athlete.”
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10-10-21
Alien Retroflection
On this, the 10th anniversary of the Contact Accords, I’d like to review the events which led to this historichange and give you my judgevaluation of the Top Ten List of Trader Combine products. (Not including their best products, the Flysaucers and Dynadiscs, which they exchanged for stockpiled warmaments and/or nukebombs with over 90 nations as part of the Initial Accord.)
First, a comment on the manner in which the process of Openization was handled. As an advisor/liaison to the First Contact Committee I have to note that the malcritical mouthings of those in the mediastablishment who were braying for a more boldistic protocol have fully ceased. I think it’s safe to concede that the inchremental bizness-based approach (letting their products and services “do their talking” at first) worked out just fine.
Even the part which prevented all but a few people from actually seeing the aliens -- excuse me, far-foreigners -- up close is now recognized as the prudent path. (Especially considering the size of the Garkors and the gnarliness of the Raspillians.) This was done with studied purpose, to avoid a circusphere, and to lessly upset those with deeptrenched phobias about far-foreigners. And tho, aside from the UN proceedings last year, they still haven’t appeared in public, everyone’s seen pictures of them, and viewed docustories of their home orbs.
Now, as for my opinion on the best products being offered by our new neighbors:
10. HaiRestore®, from the Oxillians. It’s so strong that women having regular sex with a user have to double their own shaving schedule.
9. Chameleona’s House Alive® products. From the Raspillians, the sand in the see-thru casings of the bricks and roof tiles is chemically treated so as to be re-programmed — via a special keyboard remote — with different color schemes and patterns. (And since the kids are so much better at the cyberstuff than the parents, many of these houses are quite the visual adventure.)
8. Pyra-Pure Home Health Pyramids®. I haven’t used this one, but the reports of cancer and AIDS remission are nothing short of fabtastic. They also offer a less-expensive model (with a smaller sonic wave chamber in the base, and without the gold plating and diamond buckles) for anti-aging and re-energization purposes. I may get one of these, as they’re supposed to also be good for arthritis sufferers. (These are manufactured on Baza.)
7. ProtectoGear®, the lightweight bullet-resistant bodysuits from the Ezorians, for use by the police and military. (But in this suddenly peace-loving, product-gorging era, with most wars on hiatus and street crime down over 50% evrywhere, they’re more a precaution than a grim necessity.)
6. Moodshine Products®. Sold by the Zinks, these are a total blessing. First tested on the prison population, these anti-aggression capsules and drinks seem to have no side-effects or dependency issues. (I take a half-dose of Clear Breeze Plus ® with my morning cappuccino and have a pleasant commute into the office.)
5. Ectojuve Lotion®, also from Oxillia, which is reportedly the top-selling product in the Trader catalog. Thrice-a-week applications give women (and some men) a silky-smooth skin texture while nearliminating wrinkles, large pores, combination skin and cellulite.
4. MoonShoes®, of which I own three pair, the seemingly gravity-defying footwear from Garkor. The contents inside the impregnable soles are a secret, but I’m told it’s a kind of gas which expands when weight or pressure is exerted. Even with my arthritic legs, I can now stride a good 10 feet on an open track and do a three-minute mile.
3. Aphrodelite®, the outrageously effective aphrodisiac fruits of Varilla. Coming in both male and female variants, they substantially increase their potency if the juice is also applied to the skin. (Been and Done!) Well worth the 4-year wait for the World FDA to approve it.
2. The jewelry division of INjectofine®. A product sold by the Axbaria contingent, this combination vita/min supplier, immune-builder and free-radical cleanser was also subjected to a long WFDA process. In the past 18 months they have come out with the most gorgeous line of rings, necklaces, bracelets and earrings which have tiny injector pins for time-release action. I’m so glad to no longer be taking two dozen pills a day, and I feel terrific on them. (I have 2 rings and 2 ankle bracelets.)
1. FlyCycles!! The world is alive with FlyCycles®, also from the Garkorians. A bit pricey, but still selling over 10,000 units a day, and reaching elevations — if you peddle hard enuff -- of 10-12 feet. These floating bicycles are remaking the urban and suburban landscape with their colorful parabrellas. Why take a car if it’s under 5 miles away when you can experience the sensation of flying thru the air at 30-40 MPH -- freesailing over fields and car-glutted traffic jams?
The latest figures I’ve seen show that we’ve sold over 60 billion in goods back to the far-foreigners in the first 6 months of this year.Three-quarters of that figure was for music and art products, fish, salt and anything made ofwood.
Still being on the Interworld Liaison Committee, I have some early infodata on the next wave of exoterrians (and products) coming to these shores. As we used to say when I was a lad, “Baby, you ain’t seen nuthin yet!!”
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12-4-22
The Reality of the Artificiality Wars
I’d like to weigh in with my two bucks worth on the Mechoid Dispute. At first it was mostly just the sex dolls, the Lolita line, the Heathers, the ones that came with one body but detachable heads. Nobody said much, outside of the usual puritans, and it was only the wealthy that could afford them anyway.
The second wave was all about service persons: vacuumers, mowers, dishwashers, etc. I bought one of the robo-butlers (the chrome-looking one from Mechtastic) to take and type dictation, answer the phone and door, and serve drinks when I had guests. It turned out to be a huge frustravexation, as it could easily be lied to or duped by salesmen and other unwanteds at the door. I came home from a trip once and the foyer was filled with Amway products, and the Jehovah’s Witnesses were having a meeting in what they thought was their new headquarters. (And the damn contraption never could get the meaning of “easy on the ice.”)
But the more serious problems and dilemmas are found in what is being confronted in three areas that are linked under the banner of “The Artificiality Wars.”
One is the sports problem, with players getting “6-Million-Dollar Man” operations (note to young: That was an old TV show about a surgically reconstructed astronaut) to give them artificial limbs. Truth be told, we were already halfway there with some of the types of surgery being done on athletes, but them getting whole new superlegs or superarms has the sports world in a tumult. It’s looking morenmore like there’s going to be a total ban on any player with 6MDM surgery. (Sorry, Alfonso, but you will have to be satisfied with your 700-700 status. You won’t be the one to surpass A-Rod.)
Then there’s the issue of the artificial actors, which I don’t see as a problem at all. Using mechoids for some of the supporting roles, especially the ones that end up falling out of buildings or being blown to smithereens, seems like a common-sense idea, and the Actors Union needs to pull back its threats. Who the sucking hell is Hollywood anyway, the absolute Artificiality Headquarters of the known universe, complaining about what’s not real? (On a lighter note, I just lost a bet with a friend on the guessgame built into the porno series, Real or Not Real? I guessed wrong on 7 of the 10 main “actors.”)
The other area, mechoid teachers and coaches in the schools, is rather more important, and will have the most significant repurcussions, long and short term. Short term, the last thing we need is another national teacher’s strike. Long term, if these Teachatron products are not banned or curtailed, hundreds of thousands of future education majors will be forced to instead major in administration or business or, worse, add to the glut of psychology majors tormenting us all.
And what about all the ex-jock coaches who would be cross-blocked out of work by the Ditka line, or the two Shula lines, or any of the ones to come? What are they going to do? Sell shoes? Become custodians in the same schools? (Where they can have the added chore of scraping the Teachatrons and Ditkas of spitballs and tacked-on signs.)
My proposal? Make it mandatory that the mechoids, however proficient they eventually become, only be used as assistants to the teachers and coaches, and can never exceed the number of teachers or coaches employed by a school.
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4-21-23
Athletes Amuck!
Now I’m as big a fan as anyone of Electric Croquet, but I’ve frankly had enuff of these guys, whose average salary is north of 15M’s a year, tearing up hotels and restaurants and whatever else and getting off scot free. This latest, Wes Gardner’s arrest for setting the Ritz Carlton helicopter pad on fire because he was told he had to wait an hour for an airport shuttle, is beyond irresponsible. I don’t care if he led the Denver Stickmeisters to an 11-match win streak to clinch the title again (FYI: salary of 34 million plus incentives; he needs incentives?!?) but that fire nearly spread to the hotel proper, where thousand of people were staying, most of them asleep at the time.
We have to rein in these hooligans by boycotting their teams. Perhaps start with the Boston Blasters, whose Darrique Washington’s charges of public lewdness were mysteriously dropped for his drunken rampage at the team’s annual Fan’s Barbecue. (There were multitudes of women and children there, most of whom had never seen a naked 6'8 man on a trampoline.)
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10-21-25
Defending Mother Nature
If the enviro-heads hadn't spent the last 30 years pissing everybody off, maybe they could get more support in their latest battle against corporate excess.
Cingular’s outfitting of thousands of suburban birds (and millions to come) with tiny voice chips -- activated by their warbling -- to blare out their ads, is without a doubt the most egregious crime against nature since the marriage of Horatio Sanz to Hilary Duff.
Beminded that the NewTech political PAC, which Cingular helped co-found with AT&T, Oracle and Microsoft, accounts for over 10% of the campaign monies in any given year, so you may have to get used to the little birdies in the trees waking you to announcements of "Wireless Supersavings at Cingular Today!”
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4-3-2026
From the News-Ticker
Despite the international protests, I like the idea of paying the Izoreans (Moonglo, Inc.) to spray the moon with an 80 miles across red-white-and-blue emblem for America's 250th birthday. The cost would be a rather steep 900 million in gold, but as I've said many times before, anything that pisses the French off is always worth the money.
The despicable practice of "stripshooting" the female members of presidential and ex-presidential families, has created another victim, Priscilla Brody. Starting with Chelsea Clinton, this is the 4th straight presidential family to be assaulted.
I'm a firm believer in freedom of the press and Internet, but I think the line has to be drawn at buying, publishing, posting and airing photos and video showing the kidnaping, stripping and forced posing of these young ladies.
In the latest example, it was only President Brody's niece, but that makes it no less repugnant. Nor does the fact that Prissy is a swimwear model with a risque reputation who has appeared in Victoria’s Secret. A crime is a crime, and should never be rewarded in any way.
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2-21-27
Hodge and Podge
Even tho I was originally opposed to the selling of one's TFP (Total Financial Profile) to OmniSell, which then markets the data, I see now that the 10-20,000 dollars the recipients receive (in exchange for the infodata, brand-name loyalty buying, and coupon distributing) has meant the virtual end of poverty in the U.S. And as one of my friends says; "What's an extra few dozen ads a day in the mailbox and the telephone messager, and 40 or so extra spams in the e-box?”
It can be conjecturized that there is a human need for adrenaline rushes. as the vastjority of our homejoyment modalities are fear or violence based.
The highgrossingest holovirt from last year was MS-Sony's Goblins and Gambinos, in which one's living quarters are beam-activated with rampaging virtual holograms of monsters and gangsters attacking and shooting at each other, and anyone else in the house. (For those of you who may be contemplanning getting one, I strongly advise you to be absosure to turn it off before company arrives.)
As for the growing trend of "familyplexes," the banding together of 3-4 couples and their children in a big house, with some (but not necessarily) sexual interaction between them. We had that when I was a young man. They were called communes.
While I had a friend and his son over to my house several weeks ago , I overheard the 11-year old say to his father, "He only has 800 stations. No Hong Kong, no Australia. How does he live like this?" I've since added both to my package, giving me an even 1000 channels, and the kid was right. One of the Aussie stations just had a Miranda Otto retrospectacular, and last week I saw a great John Woo film festival on a Hong Kong station.
Speaking of retrospectaculars, a few nights back I viewed some of SUPERFLIX's Natalie Portman tribute, where they showed all four of her Academy-Award-winning performances. All superb, but I wouldn't have minded if they had added the two movies in which she also deserved the award: the gritty Nearly Dark, and the film that redefined and resurrected film noir, San Quentin Holiday.
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8-21-27
It’s Bon Voyage Time
American television, in its headlong rush into the electronic bowels where depravity and banality merge to become pure, unmitigated culturecrap, has shocked even me with the new fall lineup. For those of you looking for my annual comments, look elsewhere. The pale has been beyondered.
I’ve been looking fearfully toward the skies in rueful expectation of The Almighty casting down thunderbolts and hail, but there is only hazy blue. Perhaps God is himself, finally, stunned into stupefication by his errant misbegotten creation.
I may as well use this moment, and the suddenly available space, to tender my resignation from these logs. It's been over 20 years at the touch-keys and dictachine, and I must admit that I regretted barely half of them. (Just loling.)
The one thing I had been lookforwarding to, the 2028 presidential elections, are becoming murkier by the minute, with so many charges and counter-charges between The Candidate from Hell, The Last Kennedy Standing and Patsi with an i. Almost not to mention the other so-called candidates (none of whom are ready for prime time) and the Corporate Combine threatening this week to enter Rogerson. At any rate, whoever wins, he or she will have a helluva time governing this United Mess of America.
As for me, I'll keep my Cape Cod summer place but I plan to take up new residence on Moondome Estates, in my fully-mobile condo (fully mobile anywhere within the interconnected overdome complex) from whence I will catch up on my reading, assail my memoirs, and stringently screen my calls from Earthside. If I renew my elogging, it may just be about the local haps up there. You know, what the condo board and local theatre companies are up to, and why can't the weather controls be more variated; that sort of thing. If I tried to go a month without typing up complaints, I'd probbly drop dead. So ... sayonara, and thanks for reading.
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