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Keep Your Feet on the Ground And Keep Reaching For The Remote June 18, 2008

Posted by doctorolove in Pop Culture Rants, TV.
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It was for most of the people in my generation, the show we honestly believed we could someday be on. It had everything one could hope for in an 80’s TV show. Blue and red laser lights in glass tubes? Check. Fog at inopportune moments? Yup. A synth heavy opening theme complete with star wipes and Polaroid picture outlines of last week’s show? Oh, hells yeah. And the host? Big, sweaty, with that kind of assistant principal thing going on. It was Star Search. It was Ed McMahon. It was our dream.

And when it left the air, it left, not with a bang, but with a whimper, we wondered how? This show which produced such talented mainstays as Rosie O’Donnell, Alanis Morissette and the guy from the commercial that did the thing with the thing, couldn’t just fade away. Like a supernova, it collapsed into itself. It exploded and left its talent full goodness all over our TV landscape.

Think about it? They packed so much talent and had such a laundry list of people waiting to get on that the show begat other talent competition themed extravaganzas. And now each show was its own entity. Like Europe after WWII or when the Beatles embarked on solo careers, each section of the show now had its’ moment to shine.

The comics? Well, NBC gave them Last Comic Standing. They even employed semi-famous judges to rate the talents of people who are marginally less famous than they are (a Star Search tradition). And while Bill Bellamy is only slightly less sweaty than Ed McMahon (anyone who actually signed on to be in DefJam’s How To Be a Player cannot not HAVE a post traumatic sweat disorder), the show still gives you comics, fighting it out to be the next person to host a VH1 reality show, open a Harris Teeter in Wisconsin or date one of the ugly interns on an E! show. The comics still have chance to shine, even if they’re not getting 3 and ¾ stars anymore.

The singers? Of course, you’ve got your American Idol, your Nashville Idol, your Singing Office, your Rock Star: The Search to replace a guy who was only marginally successful and died due to asphyxiation related to masturbation (though they shortened that to INXS, which I think was a good choice). And now, not only are there the marginally successful judges, but we get to see the audition process. Star Search just gave you the best of the best. Our tastes have changed though since the go get em 80’s (I think it has to do with the fact that 1 out of every 3 people was on cocaine) and we now want, nay, NEED to see people fail. And fail miserably. And rewind to the exact moment when they have the realization that their dreams are shattered. Now that’s worth a hundred version of Mariah Carey for me.

The Spokesmodels? Thanks Tyra! You have given us a whole show based on a medium where there is no speech required. It’s all about looks and body type. And while you are trying to manufacture drama by placing several women in a house, the whole point of the old Star Search was you only heard the models talk when sending you out to a commercial. While your show provides more opportunities than Star Search could, it’s not as much fun watching girls frolic in a hot tub than watching them play in a Hollywood constructed beach scene. Call me crazy but if I want to watch women I have no shot with dance around, I’ll head to the strip club. At least there they have a good buffet.

Which brings us to the dancers. And while I don’t think I ever saw a good set of dancers on the show (or a group that didn’t rent their clothes from Stereotypical Pseudo Gay Leotard Emporium…where every fifth headband is free), apparently there are millions of them. TV has given us So You Think You Can Dance, Dance Fever, Step Up and Dance, America’s Best Dance Crew, Your Mama Don’t Dance, Dancing With The stars (where the marginally talented are no longer judging but getting involved), Dance, Dance, Dance, Baked beans and Dance, and of course, Hey, Douchebag, Get Up and Dance! Apparently there are too many amazing hoofers that one, nay, seven shows was not enough. I have never seen these people. I know no great dancers. Maybe I am spending my time at too many suburban weddings, night clubs and the local Y, but I know nobody who dances that well. Maybe that’s why? Maybe they are all waiting somewhere in a giant cattle call, hoping David Hasselhoff gives them a thumbs up.

So Star Search may have left but its babies still dot the landscape like so much tasty goodness. Maybe that’s why the Arsenio Hall retread never succeeded. Because a house divided against itself cannot stand. Abe Lincoln said that.

And the Gettysburg Address received….3 and a half stars.

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And I Will Lead You…Not Just Because I Am Spartacus, But Because You Suck June 2, 2007

Posted by doctorolove in Movies, Music, Pop Culture Rants, Sports, TV.
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Just in case you were sleeping or you don’t own the magical cable compass that enables you to find the NBA games playing on your satellite provider (All of which were last seen somewhere between the local cable Access show and the network devoted strictly to macramé), the young phenom LeBron James did something this week that defies description. And no, it’s not hawking soda or shoes wearing a fake beard that looks like it was stolen straight from the 5th grade production of Oklahoma at Jackson Elementary school.

LeBron James SINGLEHANDEDLY won a game. And while I don’t mean it was like Space Jam where Michael Jordan scored every point while Looney Tunes characters did Looney tunes things or that Bugs Bunny cartoon where he beats the Gashouse Gorillas (Fact: That cartoon marked the first appearance of the over used “Ball player screaming I Got It over and over than being hit and ending up dead beneath a tombstone reading “He Got It” which itself was based on an unfortunate 1920’s ballplayer that was later documented in “The Short Life of BatShit Blind Magee: The Musical.) LeBron had other players on the court with him. He was playing a team in Detroit that has been for years trying to bring the snuggly, feel-good reputation of the 1994 Knicks (Make a basket…get a knee to the groin…everyone wins.) But his surrounding players all looked like Mike Myers during the Katrina benefit when Kanye went on about George Bush and his, um, predilection towards a certain race. They couldn’t hit the side of a barn if you lathered the barn in aluminum siding and made the ball look like the Epcot ball and coated it with magnets. The team would put up a nail biter against the Midvale School for the blind or the Special Olympics team from Russia (Though they are in wheelchairs, those Russian kids do have mad ups though).

And none of this is exaggeration. The rest of the Cleveland Cavaliers are that bad. And LeBron’s feat was that amazing. He scored 29 of his team’s last thirty points. For you math nerds, that means he scored 97% of his team’s last 30 points (Don’t be too impressed…I stayed awake in 6th grade algebra just because I had a crush on Meghan Delaney who sat across from me…She had pink braces, carried a My Pet Monster pencil case and consistently smelled like Debbie Gibson’s Electric Youth, the “it” fragrance of mid 80’s middle schoolers.) He was making shots that you’ve only seen Jordan and Bird make in McDonald’s commercial. He put his team on his back, carried them, stopped for a drink, realized they still needed to be carried, grumbled a bit and put them right back on his shoulders.  Just when you thought Detroit would wise up and triple team and force one of the other guys on the court to make a shot, he still sliced through them, often dunking and making a victory face that looked like a combination of an orgasm look and that Aw Shucks look extremely talented people make when they’re trying to be humble.

Surely, though, this has had happened before in team sports. A great player can put his team on his back and will them to victory. Michael Jordan did it so often; it was more news when he had an average night. Joe Namath willed the Jets to a Super Bowl victory despite wearing fur underwear and a leisure suit under his uniform. And Reggie Jackson’s Afro hit two home runs in a World Series game (His Fu Manchu moustache went 2 for 4 with a double and an Intentional walk, though. Always never did live up to its’ facial hair potential.) Sports are the rare case when superhuman ability of one can trump average abilities of several others. Like when Superman went against the entire canon of Kryptonian villains. He won, despite almost being permanently distracted by their amazingly snug leather jumpers borrowed from the set of Xanadu.

But that gets me thinking. There is no possible way this can happen in any other aspect of pop culture. Sports are by definition a black and white entity. You win or you lose. And while some may say pop culture has no competitive nature, tell that to the guy who doesn’t sell well on billboard while a glorified Now That’s What I Call A Mix Tape with his big single on it outsells him by a million albums. So here are the Spartacuses. The quick examples of how one person surrounded by enough talent to fill the cup the doctors makes you pee in during a physical, LeBronned themselves to success.

MUSIC – The Jackson Five

This one is easy. Back when he was still a kid and possessed over 80% of his own physical features, Michael Jackson carried his brothers like Chewy carried the dismantled C-3PO. Think about it. You had cute little powerhouse Michael. Tito. Jermaine. Um, Andrew. Action Jackson? Get the point.

Michael did all the work. His brothers simply looked like they were trying real hard to dance the way chorus members do when Barbra Streisand was in a musical. Pull Focus and somebody will have your nuts on a platter. Can you, quickly, name one song they let anybody else sing lead vocals on? I mean, even when the Beatles let Ringo sing, they made the song so out there, you couldn’t help but laugh at him and shrug the same way you do when you child breaks into the peanut butter and smears it all over your vintage Cheryl Tiegs poster. And they had every major Motown hit for something like ten years. They called it the Jackson Five. Though really the talent level, maybe, was more like the Jackson 2.18 (Rumor has it Tito cooked a mean frittata)

(Special shout out to the early nineties band Bonham. The band was named after the DRUMMER, which is ort of like naming your NASCAR team after the guy who changes the tire. Sure, he’s important and keeps things going, but besides ex-drum majors, who’s there to see the drummer?)

TV – Bosom Buddies

An entry into the realm of 80’s sitcoms when all you needed was a premise so outrageous, it could buy you at least ten episodes. It had everything working against it. Men in drag (There is the long standing corollary that only British men and obscenely tall black men are funny in drag. Short, squat, white American men are creepy.) Donna Dixon (who if not married to the Jabba the Hut that is Dan Aykroyd would be nothing more than the punchline to one of the greatest jokes ever on the Simpsons). And a Billy Joel theme song. Not even sung by Billy Joel.

Yet it’s one joke premise was kept on for almost three seasons. And why? Tom Hanks. The man had talent and even made the writing (a step above Chimps on Typewriters and the most recent Spiderman script) sound witty. He played off Peter Scolari (Who?) and traded barbs with Wendy Jo Sperber (a talent so great they didn’t even bring her back for the second Back to the Future). That’s like succeeding in the 100-meter dash while wearing clown shoes and leg weights. Tom Hanks willed a premise so thin and writing so bad. I think the show even got an Emmy nomination (though that may not be a big deal…think the words Emmy nominee Jm J. Bullock…nuff said there)

MOVIES – The first Pirates of the Caribbean

It was a movie based on a RIDE. Not a book, not a cartoon, not even a comic strip. It was based on a theme park ride. You know, the thing you wait in sweltering heat for 90 minutes for, it lasts for 2 minutes and you walk out going, “Really? That was it.” It was directed by the guy who did The Mexican.  (You screwed up a movie with Julia Roberts, Brad Pitt and Tony Soprano? Seriously, I could direct that using a marionette version of myself that speaks in Farsi and still have a decent film) And the bad guys were skeletons borrowed from a Harryhausen film. Surely, this can’t make any money, let alone garner any viewers. But enter Johnny Depp.

He swaggered. He swished. He made us all gape that he was acting his ass off and in a Disney film no less. People lined up to see him dash across the scene and deliver one-liners. And while the other young leads have gone on to promising careers, back then they were simply “the kid from Lord of the Rings who played the elf” and “Say, you’re sure that’s not Natalie Portman?” Johnny Depp carried that movie so far, they gave him two sequels. They banked millions into him and by the end of the third he was phoning it in. Surely, that makes him the ultimate Spartacus.

So I congratulate LeBron. He has announced his arrival on the scene and I applaud him for it. But don’t rest on your laurels just yet. Because everybody else is resting on theirs and they ain’t got no stinking laurels. Being the loadbearer can be a bitch. Pretty sure Tom Hanks says that to Peter Scolari every day while Peter washes his car and grooms his cat.

Like this show? Then Spin It, Yeah! (Sorry Pixies, That One Was Too Easy!) May 11, 2007

Posted by doctorolove in Pop Culture Rants, TV.
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The spin-off. It’s the child born of gluttony. We gobble a show so much that its’ creators say, “Hey, they love our recipe…let’s see what happens when we put pork in it…” but the pork is usually Tim Daly or John Laroquette. There have, like with any pop culture phenomenon, been hits and misses with the spin-off. For every Jeffersons that moves on up, there’s a Fanellis that sinks faster than the fad of wearing your sunglasses at night. SO they can, so they can keep putting them out, however. Why? Because we are a gluttonous culture. We want more of the things that make us feel good. Heck, companies even use our gluttonous nature as ad slogans. You think “Betcha Can’t Eat Just One?” would fly in any other country but our own? Heck, in other countries, Lays’ slogan is “Betcha can eat one..if you can afford it after making shoes all day for 12 cents an hour which coincidentally is the price of one, so, um, here’s your chip…Yay, Lays.”

Now the spin-off has its’ different genres. There’s the ‘easy’ one where you take a character that America just can’t enough of and give him his or her own stage to shine. Maybe it’s the ensemble character who didn’t quite make the transition to movie stardom (Cough, Ed, Lost in Space, cough.)but America still wants to know, Hey, How’s he doin? It could even be the second banana who lit up every scene they were in and took Emmy’s home by the Hummer load. Now however, the spotlights on them and the second banana for them is even wackier than they were (and usually played by Andy Dick.)

There’s the ‘bit of a stretch’ spin-off. Let’s say you have a great idea for a show but think that on its own, it may not survive. It may get lost among all the other television ideas that resemble almost completely. How do you get it noticed without a meager budget, lesbian love scene or loathing by the spiritual leader/moral politician of recent note? You take an episode of a well-established show and introduce the characters on a very special episode. Maybe the popular sitcom family winds up in a backwoods town and we meet the loving, cantankerous family who runs the local garage. Maybe the two young professionals meet a man in a bar who lives with his psychiatrist mother, war veteran grandfather and a cute, pituitary gland inhibited black child. Not only do you hit the ground running, there’s always the chance of that sweeps week crossover guest star appearance. (This genre is called, in certain circles, the Ridgely/Oates spin-off, though only by bitter Britpop fans and men with cheesy porn moustaches)

The rarest type of spin-off is the ‘Survivor Spin-off’ It’s not about being voted off the island; its’ about those unlucky enough to get off. When a sitcom’s major star decides that the 28-inch box can no longer contain them, they leave. They leave writers with families, actors with drug habits and a key grip that just dreams of someday being a dancer, but his student loans are coming in and this is the ONLY JOB HE CAN GET, MOM! (Sorry, vicariously wrote that for a friend.) So what do you do? You package the show, shake it like a bunch of Yahtzee dice and toss whatever you have left and hope you don’t get garbage. You usually do though. Major bankable stars are like the free space.always there to save you if your concepts try too hard to be five sixes.

The question is this however. What makes some spin-offs into monster hits and others whimper out like a cuckolded husband? Why is Maude everywhere and Joey currently detailing cars at the Pic and Pay on Crenshaw? (Well to Maude’s defense, she was calculating, innovating, exasperating, whole lot of other gerunds…right on Maude!) How can Frasier go on for eight years winning Emmy’s simply by showing up to the ceremony? Is it the writing? Is it the characters? Maybe spin-offs need cute Jack Russell terriers? I don’t have the answers to that. If I did, my mantle would be filled with Emmys and not Precious Moments figurines arranged in suggestive positions. I do however now how to create a bomb. And Grey’s Anatomy recently ran the playbook step by step.

They tried to take one of their main characters and have her drive to another location, meet a whole new bunch of people and deal with their problems as well as her own. And it starred Tim Daly, Taye Diggs and Amy Brenneman, which is like getting every television actor who had one hit show amongst fifty thousand failures and put them all together. It was sort of like Live Aid without a neat little feel good tinge when you’re done watching it. It was as if they tried to cover all the spin-off success bases (The easy spin-off taking a liked character, making a bit of a stretch by having her sudden best friend that we’ve never heard of , and a reverse survivor.) And what’s worse they premiered right in the middle of a pulse pounding story line people actually cared about. What did America think? Probably, Wait, these are not my friends. I don’t care about their problems. Show me the Sex and The City meets ER philandering I love so well. Give me my doctors that all have McMonikers. And please, send Taye Diggs back to Broadway. They can light your candle.

The show will probably make loads of money and give Tim Daly one more chance to be as big as his sister (Fame wise, I mean…unless he eats a house and a small goat, he’ll never catch up). But it will not succeed. Simplicity wins the spin-off race, I believe. But as we continue on, we are all gluttons. We want more, bigger, better. More washed up stars, more plotlines, more tertiary characters. And though it pains me to say it, more Andy. Because as much as we stuff ourselves, when it comes down to it, we all still just love some Dick.

The Pen: Now About as Mighty as a Butter Knife April 20, 2007

Posted by doctorolove in Movies, Music, Pop Culture Rants, TV.
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I know they’re out there. I mean, they are millions of students across this nation who are majoring in English right now. How could you not? English involves two major facets: reading and writing. Both of those are taught slightly after you learn how to pee. It’s major that doesn’t get much harder. Math involves learning more elaborate theories and precepts as you go deeper in school. Science involves more knowledge of different experiments and the like. But English? If you can read a book your Senior Year, you probably could have read the exact same book your Freshman year. Books don’t get harder (save for Ayn Rand. I truly believe there are a few eighty year old professors in the Midwest who have said, “Screw it…this Fountainhead…Where’s my Matlock DVD?”) I know…you get it…it’s easy. Like I said, though, I know they’re out there. With your English degree, you probably want to be a writer. Well, then, where the hell are they?

They ain’t in the movies. Because Hollywood is too busy making films written by Philip K. Dick. Now don’t get me wrong…I am not ripping on the late Mr. Dick. Besides having the second greatest porn sounding non-porn name in history (How could anybody ever beat DICK BUTKUS?), he was a very prolific and quite often prophetic writer. His stories are rife with interesting characters, amazing scenarios and good vs. evil scenarios. But, he’s gone. He’s done writing. And we’ve exhausted him now. Take the movie “Next.” I’m sure it’s rife with all Dick is famous for, but look at the Taglines. “From the writer behind “Blade Runner” (okay, this might work…great movie and Daryl Hannah’s boobs), “Total Recall” (okay..Cool special effects and the beginning of Ahnold’s “understandable” phase and THREE boobs) “Minority Report” (all right, the official last movie before Tom Cruise officially signed his “Crazy Card” and if you pause it just right, Samantha Morton’s boobs are okay) and “Paycheck.” Whoa, wait, hold up. He wrote Paycheck?

And that should say it all. When somebody sits a room and says, “Let’s make that movie before we make “Next,” you have a problem. Stephen King, who has some weird pact with Hollywood that requires him to be behind at least three movies or eight-hour miniseries per year, knows not to release all of his work to the movies. And he was hit with a car, for Chrissakes. At some point, no matter how amazing a writer may have been, you hit the bottom of his barrel. Even Shakespeare companies know not to break out “Troilus and Cressida.” But apparently Hollywood will continue to scrape that barrel clean. Because, for the love of God, where are the writers?

Are they in TV? Nope. And not just because of the reality shows/. I mean, you need to have endured 16 hours of English poetry to come up with the idea behind Joe Millionaire, right? Reality shows need writers. But I think they’ve left us now. Because the shows are getting both out of control and so mundane, it’s scary. Kristen Cavallari (she of MTV, a Maxim magazine, a Stuff magazine and I think she was in an FHM) has a new reality show in development. Will she be starting a sitcom, a modeling agency, her time in college? No, she will be deciding whether or not to get LASIK. You read that right. They are developing an entire show around a decision on eye surgery. An event that may (GASP) make you go blind if done incorrectly. A writer didn’t come up with that. Ms. Cavallari is obviously trying to get free LASIK and thought this would be a great way to do it. How could you sell a show based on a procedure that maybe blinds, what, three people a year? More people lose their sight staring at the sun than getting LASIK. (One thing, though…that’s my idea and I’m claiming it here first, just in case….Vanessa Minillio in “Sunstroked”) Writers wouldn’t stand for that. But they’re not around.

Maybe they’re in music? Nope. They used to be everywhere in Hip Hop. Gone now, replaced by beats and repetition. And they’re nowhere else. Rockers are groaning and scraping their throats to re-enact the magic of Eddie Vedder. Only they’re not saying anything of importance (unless you feel moved by knowing that the “girl shouldn’t go cause it’d be bad.”) And you CANNOT rhyme a rhyme a word with itself. Nope. Not allowed. If you must, it had better be a line of such meaning, importance and gravitas that kids use as their yearbook quote for the next twenty years. And a writer could pop one of those out. Only they’re not around.

So where are they? I’ve been looking. They’re not in cabins in Montana. They’re not on “Find themselves” trips in Europe smoking hash and reading Sartre. And they’re not hanging out down by the shore, listening to Ween. I’ve checked. This is a call to all of them. Please come do what you were trained to do. Because the industries that need you are dying. Maybe you’re all bartenders like me. Please, America, the next time you order your Cosmo, ask if the bartender is a writer and if they answer in the affirmative, send them out immediately. Tell them to leave their job and give the bar world the kiss off and come back to the written word!

But tip them. And tip them well. Because that would be rude.

Sittin’ On The Dock of Pop Culture…Biding Time (Cue Off-Key Whistling) March 29, 2007

Posted by doctorolove in Movies, Pop Culture Rants, Sports, TV.
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It’s the pop culture equivalent of down time. The equivalent of that horrid time of the school year between MLK Day and Spring Break when there is absolutely no major holiday to let off steam. It’s the equivalent of waiting to see the doctor, only the doctor is a really cool piñata with Crème Eggs, gold doubloons and naked pictures of Kim Fields circa the Tootie days. It’s the dogdays of spring where those of us who drool over all aspects of pop culture rescind our spit ducts like reversed Pavlov dogs. It’s the time of the year WHEN ABSOLUTELY NOTHING happens in the world of sports, movies and TV.

Think about it. In the world of movies, it’s that icky period for most major studios and more than a few “major” indie houses. They’ve just unleashed all their Christmas blockbusters and arty, Oscar-caliber movies. They’ve even dropped a star studded romantic comedy on us to siphon some cash from guys who like cheap Valentine’s Day dates. And we are just a few mere weeks from the summer movie season, where every explosion, every gore filled cop buddy flick and every star studded gross out laugh fest has been screened, tweaked and rescreened to within an inch of the script’s life. SO for about t two months, studios are forced to release films like 300 or Ghost Rider. Sure, each will take home 100 million or so in receipts, but the studios know that each of these would be swept under the rug by movies that have more going for them in the summer. I mean, 300 lacks the major aspect of a great summer movie: Plot. Oh, and acting. And line delivery. And general merit to overall society. Though, 300 is a major Dog Day problem solver. It answers to both men and women. Guys get visceral blood and guts as well as women with what can only be described as Princess Leia in Jabba the Hut lingerie, but as if it was designed by that smarmy guy who sat behind you in 10th grade French. Women get sweaty men, clothed even less than their female counterparts, sweating and running into one another. The dog days usually gives us garbage but 300 solves that age old problem of just how to get through the crap.  If you exploit it, they will come. Exploitation doesn’t work for the summer, at least not when the next week, there’s something coming out that may just exploit something better. Simple exploitation when there is nothing to compare it to jogs our Pavlovian side. This film could signal the death of the dog days. Well, at least for movies.

Because TV, well, there’s that old chestnut. Sweeps are over and not coming back for at least two more months. It’s re-run time for our favorite shows. We’ve already Tivoed or discussed on message boards everything we are seeing again. And unless it’s Lost, you probably didn’t miss the nuances the first time (Nuance is a word they just don’t understand on Grey’s Anatomy)  Sure, it’s nothing compared to summer when clip shows and  bad overplayed movies dot the network landscape. TV tries to fool us by released the shows they didn’t think would work back in September. They try packaging them not with re-runs, but with “See What You Missed.” Are they really that stupid that they think that our schedules have diminished any less that now, some five months later, we have time to watch what we couldn’t find time to watch then? Actually, yes, because they package it with American Idol or The Amazing Race. There is no re-hashing of live (or semi-taped) reality shows. You have to be there when it happens. And the TV people know this. They know that with these reality shows, you can’t afford to miss out, lest we be the oil encrusted third wheel at the water cooler the next morning. SO they package these new show with their new returning reality show and we are forced to watch. Usually because the sudden heat has zapped our energy and we just don’t have the stomach for anything else in the Vast Wasteland. So maybe, TV is fixing the dog days.

But we just can’t save sports. And there is no amount of talking it out.  We are smack dab in a grey area. Baseball doesn’t really start for another month (Watching the first few games of any season is like watching a baby learning to walk…and the baby’s not yours and has had a few TGI Friday’s Hi Octane Iced Teas) Football is now over and while watching players being drafted is more exciting than what we got now, even that isn’t for a few weeks. Basketball and Hockey have playoff races, though, right. Besides the fact that in order to find either sport on TV nowadays you need a compass, a TV Guide and a Sherpa wearing a 1976 Lew Alcindor jersey, the games, well, they suck. The new point system in hockey is tougher to figure out than any baseball statistic (and those only matter in fantasy games.) And basketball’s new parity has resulted in teams tanking their seasons faster than the Germans tore out of Leningrad (Oh that’s right…a history reference…and it’s probably anachronistically incorrect…That’s right…an SAT word…also probably incorrect.) The teams that are in contention are so pitiful, it’s like a game of Hot Potato that 20,000 people are paying 50 bucks a pop to see. Sports are garbage right now. And though TV has its reality and movies have bloody Trojans, we have nothing. Can that be fixed? Probably not. And don’t even give me your XFL debate. It’s not football if you cannot get frostbite while watching it. And soccer is even harder to find than other sports. And I sprung for the “Direct TV package with Sherpa service.” Don’t use him for that but his tea is magical.

So for now, we wait. And maybe that’s good. Because have you seen the black suit people? I rest my case. And my tastes. For now.