It sort of hurts to see a show that was so good for so long collapse on itself. It hasn't been the same since last season's stunning misstep with David's hitchhiker-cruising, crack-smoking episode. Tonight's show could have been a first step toward a restoration. Instead, it was a hammered-together bundle of melodramatic flashpoints.
Aside from two small touches -- Ruth reading Ann Tyler's Ladder of Years and Rico breaking up with a woman via IM -- it lacked the character-driven believability of its earlier years. The Ruth-George relationship could have been pulled from A Beautiful Mind. Brenda's ennui doesn't feel like character development, but a forced transformation in service of a plot line. In the show's better days, David and Keith's adoption deliberations would have been funny, moving, and believable; tonight, the homage to The Bachelor felt sadly appropriate. When Ruth slapped Claire, I decided that the writers have been watching too many E! nostalgia specials about Dynasty.
The show once thrived on its meandering, questioning characters, who now have been forced into narrow plotlines. I'll watch through the end, but post a comment if you can make me more optimistic. At least a couple of you are longtime fans. Agree or disagree?
Monday, June 06, 2005
"The stupid son"
Catching up on a little reading after the weekend away, and saw a post by the Rude Pundit that caught former President George H.W. Bush referring to our current president as "the stupid son." Context is important, so here's H.W.'s full response to Larry King's question about what it's like when the two gentlemen disagree:
The entire boring interview is transcribed here.
No problem. No problem. He's elected. I'm just sitting by here, sitting, you know, as a bystander these days. And the reason is, I don't want to say anything, do anything, publicly sign anything, op-ed anything that has one nuance of difference between myself and the president, because that would be the story. Rush down, the nutty father says this. Or look what the stupid son did. I mean, we don't need to get into that.Not a blockbuster quote, but it's kind of funny that H.W. opted to refer to the president as "the stupid son" without any prompting from ace interviewer Larry King. I mean, if someone were to ask me about what it was like to go drinking with Flop and I referred to him unsolicited as "the stupid blogger," it would probably be for a reason.
The entire boring interview is transcribed here.
Oh, and by the way ...
Sunday Stylin' was pretty bad this week, too.
However, because both CrimeNotes and I spent our weekends attending nuptials-related events, neither of us engaged in the usual extensive critique. Your loss _ please accept our apologies. But as Stylin' sections go, this one was pretty bland. To sum it up: Nosy people have their uses, people can be ridiculous about beach access in Malibu, and a story that's so inane, I don't know how much has been fictionalized: Regardless, a guy realizes he likes his pretty ladyfriend's dog more than the pretty lady herself. And no, it's not a Rick Santorum scenario.
However, because both CrimeNotes and I spent our weekends attending nuptials-related events, neither of us engaged in the usual extensive critique. Your loss _ please accept our apologies. But as Stylin' sections go, this one was pretty bland. To sum it up: Nosy people have their uses, people can be ridiculous about beach access in Malibu, and a story that's so inane, I don't know how much has been fictionalized: Regardless, a guy realizes he likes his pretty ladyfriend's dog more than the pretty lady herself. And no, it's not a Rick Santorum scenario.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Weekend postcards
A few snapshots from my weekend out of town, followed by a brief recap.
A hiking vista.
A view of the shoreline.
More natural beauty.
My dad and uncle befriended a local bar musician who invited us out for a spin on his boat. This is the guy's dog, Cooper.
This bluegrass band did a kick-ass rendition of Snoop Dog's "Gin 'N Juice." No joke. It was smashtastic to the extreme.
The weekend started off with a bang. A friend of my brother-in-law came over to my sister's house just after shooting a four-foot porcupine that got into a fight with his dog and very nearly speared it to death. Meanwhile, a young moose was taking up residence a couple blocks away from my sister and her husband. I never got a view of the moose, but the rest of the crowd got a close-up view later in the weekend.
On Friday night, the family was getting annoying, so I struck out on my own for a night of solo small-town barhopping. Flirted with a pretty lady-bartender and befriended a dude who worked with her. The dude got off work with his friend, and I went with them to a karaoke bar that featured the scariest, nastiest bar crowd I've ever seen, and I'm a veteran of some sick upper-Midwest roadhouses. Long story short, I ended up helping out with the chorus to Bon Jovi's "Bad Medicine," and spent the rest of the night pounding beers with bar workers.
On Saturday, I did my best to revolutionize wedding receptions, with an interpretive dance to AC/DC that almost blew out my kneecaps, shredded my ACLs, and left me drenched in sweat. I was totally sober at the time (for real) and later convinced the bride and her friend to participate in a game of Red Rover on the dance floor. My dad tried to dance The Worm during The Village People's "YMCA." I left the hinterlands secure in knowing that my family is now renowned for its dancing prowess, like kinetic von Trapps on crack.
A hiking vista.
A view of the shoreline.
More natural beauty.
My dad and uncle befriended a local bar musician who invited us out for a spin on his boat. This is the guy's dog, Cooper.
This bluegrass band did a kick-ass rendition of Snoop Dog's "Gin 'N Juice." No joke. It was smashtastic to the extreme.
The weekend started off with a bang. A friend of my brother-in-law came over to my sister's house just after shooting a four-foot porcupine that got into a fight with his dog and very nearly speared it to death. Meanwhile, a young moose was taking up residence a couple blocks away from my sister and her husband. I never got a view of the moose, but the rest of the crowd got a close-up view later in the weekend.
On Friday night, the family was getting annoying, so I struck out on my own for a night of solo small-town barhopping. Flirted with a pretty lady-bartender and befriended a dude who worked with her. The dude got off work with his friend, and I went with them to a karaoke bar that featured the scariest, nastiest bar crowd I've ever seen, and I'm a veteran of some sick upper-Midwest roadhouses. Long story short, I ended up helping out with the chorus to Bon Jovi's "Bad Medicine," and spent the rest of the night pounding beers with bar workers.
On Saturday, I did my best to revolutionize wedding receptions, with an interpretive dance to AC/DC that almost blew out my kneecaps, shredded my ACLs, and left me drenched in sweat. I was totally sober at the time (for real) and later convinced the bride and her friend to participate in a game of Red Rover on the dance floor. My dad tried to dance The Worm during The Village People's "YMCA." I left the hinterlands secure in knowing that my family is now renowned for its dancing prowess, like kinetic von Trapps on crack.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Dead or Alive
As I alluded to in my much-delayed Stylin' roundup, I've been totally enthralled by the show "Deadliest Catch" on the Discovery Channel. And it's not even that great.
It feels as if it were originally meant to be a documentary, but the producers wanted to make it feel like a reality show. Thus some truly impressive footage of men who risk their lives and freeze their asses off to pull king and snow crabs out of the Bering Sea is interspersed with unecessary recaps after each commercial, some over-dramatized narration, and a scoreboard to keep track of the catch of each boat. Oh, and there's a theme song: "Wanted Dead or Alive" by Bon Jovi.
The subject material is strong enough, however, to overcome that. Crews have to work long hours because the crab seasons are only open for a couple days at a time. Minutes count. Sleep can wait. And the conditions are awful. It is, after all, winter off the Alaska coast. Frigid swells can catch crews unaware, dumping gallons of green water onto the deck and deckhands. If it gets truly nasty, salt spray freezes to the upper parts of the ship, making it top-heavy and even more unstable. There's at least one sinking, as well as a man overboard. Yet the payday can be sweet when crews make it back to the docks. Even more lucrative than being on a show like "MTV's Real World/Road Rules Challenge: The Inferno II."
What if the gritty stars of "Deadliest Catch" were replaced by Abram, Landon, the Miz, Tonya and the whole gang? I bet it would totally fucking rule. The Bad Asses could have one boat, and the Good Guys could have another. Of course, the Bad Asses would probably start fishing too early, and newly deputized Alaska Department of Fish and Game officer Dave Mirra would have to regulate. Then the good guys would take an early lead because Rachel, Veronica and Tina stuck Tonya with all the work, while the Good Guys teamed up. Then everyone would have a belly-flopping contest.
Then Tina could tell the cameras "we need to catch some crab." And the Bad Asses would get some of their typical luck, and haul in tons of crab. Meanwhile, the Good Guys would give Brad a wedgie and hang him from a yardarm because he ate all the herring they were going to use for bait. Who would win? It would depend on the sea.
It feels as if it were originally meant to be a documentary, but the producers wanted to make it feel like a reality show. Thus some truly impressive footage of men who risk their lives and freeze their asses off to pull king and snow crabs out of the Bering Sea is interspersed with unecessary recaps after each commercial, some over-dramatized narration, and a scoreboard to keep track of the catch of each boat. Oh, and there's a theme song: "Wanted Dead or Alive" by Bon Jovi.
The subject material is strong enough, however, to overcome that. Crews have to work long hours because the crab seasons are only open for a couple days at a time. Minutes count. Sleep can wait. And the conditions are awful. It is, after all, winter off the Alaska coast. Frigid swells can catch crews unaware, dumping gallons of green water onto the deck and deckhands. If it gets truly nasty, salt spray freezes to the upper parts of the ship, making it top-heavy and even more unstable. There's at least one sinking, as well as a man overboard. Yet the payday can be sweet when crews make it back to the docks. Even more lucrative than being on a show like "MTV's Real World/Road Rules Challenge: The Inferno II."
What if the gritty stars of "Deadliest Catch" were replaced by Abram, Landon, the Miz, Tonya and the whole gang? I bet it would totally fucking rule. The Bad Asses could have one boat, and the Good Guys could have another. Of course, the Bad Asses would probably start fishing too early, and newly deputized Alaska Department of Fish and Game officer Dave Mirra would have to regulate. Then the good guys would take an early lead because Rachel, Veronica and Tina stuck Tonya with all the work, while the Good Guys teamed up. Then everyone would have a belly-flopping contest.
Then Tina could tell the cameras "we need to catch some crab." And the Bad Asses would get some of their typical luck, and haul in tons of crab. Meanwhile, the Good Guys would give Brad a wedgie and hang him from a yardarm because he ate all the herring they were going to use for bait. Who would win? It would depend on the sea.
Thursday Stylin': Stephanie Rosenbloom is pretty
In this week's desperately pathetic attempt to fill space and gain advertising revenue, The New York Times enlightens us about Stephanie Rosenbloom's blog, a phony war about moisturizer, a whole bunch of hoohah about cashmere and Alex Kuczynski thinks of the children.
Loosing Google's Lock on the Past. Stylin' section writer Stephanie Rosenbloom has long been a minor target of our critiques. While her copy has been completely inoffensive, it has also been mostly inconsequential, even by Stylin' Section standards (one of the first articles we read by her summarized the need for shoes that fit). But today, she gets the section front to do a blowout on the uncomfortable facts people can find out about you when they google your ass.
She alludes to an unflattering picture of herself from her college days, before she "became a blonde and graduated to stilettos." She cringes at the thought of herself looking all business as she directs a stage production. (Note to Stephanie: It's not nearly as bad you're making it out to be. I wouldn't break a blind date based on it, but I don't wear $200 Etros or $300 jeans, and would thus be a decidedly unideal suitor for you. I do, however, have excellent taste in aperitifs ... I prefer sweet vermouth with a lemon peel.)
But the coolest part of this article is the news that Stephanie Rosenbloom is now a blogger! We can only assume she'll devote the proto-blog to trashing Cole Slaw Blog on a twice-weekly basis. Thanks, Stephanie Rosenbloom! We're totally linking to your blog.
Cashmere Is So Hot, It's Cool for Summer. It's becoming more and more possible that there exists a subconscious yearning among Stylin' staffers for that classic, yet since-discontinued McDonald's sandwich, the McDLT. How else to explain the section's fascination with the eternal give and take between the hot and the cool that manifests istelf in Stylin' articles about this season's most desirable fashions? Such perfection, such balance, between the hot, beefy McD and the cool, crisp LT. Why, it's almost like the delicious contradiction contained within ... the summer cashmere sweater!
The Stylin' Section had an embedded correspondent in the Hamptons for the first weekend of what will most likely be known among Stylin' Nation as the Summer of Cashmere. Let's see what reporter Eric Wilson learned among the peasant-skirt-wearing fashionistas of East Hampton, N.Y. ...
A fellow Hamptons-goer agreed.
And our correspondent even placed some phone calls from the Hamptons to an even more exclusive vacationing locale:
Cole Slaw Blog hasn't a clue, as we spent the weekend drinking cheap beer in the city, wearing uncelebrated fibers. Or visiting beloved kinfolk in exotic locales.
Part Cotton, Part Virtue, Part Come-On. Alex Kuczynski approves of the clothes at American Apparel, but not the sell. The company eschews sweatshop labor in favor of a responsible approach including a living wage and healthcare for each worker. But, unlike basically every other company in the history of apparel, they use sex to help sell their wares.
Kuczynski's criticism is that one of the company's New York stores is filled with photos which remind her of porn. The company's founder, a "flamboyant Canadian" called Dov Charney, has taken many of these photos. Her issue:
I'm willing to stipulate that porn is both potentially exploitative and improper for children. But Kuczynski transfers the exploition implicit in the suggestive photos from the subjects of those photos to the company itself, which seems a wee bit unfair to us. Not that we give a shit about the silly company in the first place.
Kuczynski aslo said she's never really given much thought to sweatshop labor when shopping. This much is clear. If she had, perhaps she wouldn't be implying that this prective, which can involve child labor, is not as troubling as inappropriate photos. Basically, she has sided with the children who might wear clothes over those who might make them.
Hand Wars. First there were Star Wars, then the Wars of the Roses, and many other obscure wars. Now, thanks to the Stylin' Section, we have Hand Wars, a "new battleground in the great cosmetic war against aging." Except, there's no discernible conflict here in these Hand Wars. Just a bunch of crap about how hands need to be moisturized just like your face. Well super. Also, there's a salon which offers a treatment called the grape Gatsby. No word on Alexander the Grape.
A Little Gray Hair, a Lot of Game. This article doesn't belong. For one thing, there's no product being pushed. For another, it's actually news. Light n' fluffy news, to be sure. But not just a rehash of over-obvious crap. It's about people in their 50s and 60s who discover competitive sports for the first time, and it's a nice change of pace from hand wars and cashmere.
Feisty, 40-ish and Female? Franchise! Some women called themselves the Miami Bombshells wrote a book, which may or may not have been good. But they liked it, and now they're marketing the heck out of it. And it's working.
We're totally going to market the heck out of Cole Slaw Blog's book about the history of slaw (little known fact: Villages relied on their local idiots to produce and distribute what back then was called "slawe.")
Just like the Bombshells, we're also totally going to plan retreat weekends at our cabbage farm in Bad Axe, Mich. There, devotees can operate our player piano, make a fresh slaw from our jicama patch, or just get drunk and then do the dishes. [Slight correction: I believe the original (fictional) scenario involved dropping acid and doing the dishes. -CrimeNotes]
In other Stylin' news, you can buy a different kind of expensive perfume, stuff to wear when you work out,. and how to buy books online.
Note: I apologize for posting this roundup late. I was trying to do it earlier, but I was watching my TiVo-ed episodes of "Deadliest Catch" and trying to imagine what it would be like if Alaskan crab boats were crewed by the kids from the Inferno II.
Loosing Google's Lock on the Past. Stylin' section writer Stephanie Rosenbloom has long been a minor target of our critiques. While her copy has been completely inoffensive, it has also been mostly inconsequential, even by Stylin' Section standards (one of the first articles we read by her summarized the need for shoes that fit). But today, she gets the section front to do a blowout on the uncomfortable facts people can find out about you when they google your ass.
She alludes to an unflattering picture of herself from her college days, before she "became a blonde and graduated to stilettos." She cringes at the thought of herself looking all business as she directs a stage production. (Note to Stephanie: It's not nearly as bad you're making it out to be. I wouldn't break a blind date based on it, but I don't wear $200 Etros or $300 jeans, and would thus be a decidedly unideal suitor for you. I do, however, have excellent taste in aperitifs ... I prefer sweet vermouth with a lemon peel.)
But the coolest part of this article is the news that Stephanie Rosenbloom is now a blogger! We can only assume she'll devote the proto-blog to trashing Cole Slaw Blog on a twice-weekly basis. Thanks, Stephanie Rosenbloom! We're totally linking to your blog.
Cashmere Is So Hot, It's Cool for Summer. It's becoming more and more possible that there exists a subconscious yearning among Stylin' staffers for that classic, yet since-discontinued McDonald's sandwich, the McDLT. How else to explain the section's fascination with the eternal give and take between the hot and the cool that manifests istelf in Stylin' articles about this season's most desirable fashions? Such perfection, such balance, between the hot, beefy McD and the cool, crisp LT. Why, it's almost like the delicious contradiction contained within ... the summer cashmere sweater!
The Stylin' Section had an embedded correspondent in the Hamptons for the first weekend of what will most likely be known among Stylin' Nation as the Summer of Cashmere. Let's see what reporter Eric Wilson learned among the peasant-skirt-wearing fashionistas of East Hampton, N.Y. ...
"As warm as it is outside, cashmere doesn't get that hot," Ms. Kee said. "And anytime you go inside, they always have air-conditioning, so it's freezing and you need a sweater." The summer of 2005 seems destined to be the season of luxurious colorful sweaters designed for keeping cool. "It's the in thing this season," Ms. Kee said.
A fellow Hamptons-goer agreed.
"Cashmere sweaters are a great way to inject color into an otherwise staid summer wardrobe," said Andrew Saffir, a New Yorker who works in film promotion. "It's nice not to have to wear the same old navy blazer and white pants wardrobe when you're in the Hamptons."
And our correspondent even placed some phone calls from the Hamptons to an even more exclusive vacationing locale:
The designer Michael Kors, vacationing last week in Capri, said by telephone that the island's visiting elite, often coming ashore from their yachts, have concocted elaborate new ways to tie cashmere sweaters, including bandolier-style over one shoulder, or rolled up and tied around the waist as a belt pack.
Cole Slaw Blog hasn't a clue, as we spent the weekend drinking cheap beer in the city, wearing uncelebrated fibers. Or visiting beloved kinfolk in exotic locales.
Part Cotton, Part Virtue, Part Come-On. Alex Kuczynski approves of the clothes at American Apparel, but not the sell. The company eschews sweatshop labor in favor of a responsible approach including a living wage and healthcare for each worker. But, unlike basically every other company in the history of apparel, they use sex to help sell their wares.
Kuczynski's criticism is that one of the company's New York stores is filled with photos which remind her of porn. The company's founder, a "flamboyant Canadian" called Dov Charney, has taken many of these photos. Her issue:
The porn approach is meant to be retro and tongue in cheek, daring us to be so unhip as to condemn it. Mr. Charney styles himself as a retail mack daddy, boasting in an interview with Jane magazine last year of his sexual relationships with female employees. (These were members of the administrative staff, not the garment workers. That would be exploitation.)
And this is what is deeply wrong about the American Apparel message. On the one hand, you have its high-minded mission: Protect the workers. Preserve the environment. Don't exploit cheap labor. On the other, you have the constant issue of sexual exploitation.
I'm willing to stipulate that porn is both potentially exploitative and improper for children. But Kuczynski transfers the exploition implicit in the suggestive photos from the subjects of those photos to the company itself, which seems a wee bit unfair to us. Not that we give a shit about the silly company in the first place.
Kuczynski aslo said she's never really given much thought to sweatshop labor when shopping. This much is clear. If she had, perhaps she wouldn't be implying that this prective, which can involve child labor, is not as troubling as inappropriate photos. Basically, she has sided with the children who might wear clothes over those who might make them.
Hand Wars. First there were Star Wars, then the Wars of the Roses, and many other obscure wars. Now, thanks to the Stylin' Section, we have Hand Wars, a "new battleground in the great cosmetic war against aging." Except, there's no discernible conflict here in these Hand Wars. Just a bunch of crap about how hands need to be moisturized just like your face. Well super. Also, there's a salon which offers a treatment called the grape Gatsby. No word on Alexander the Grape.
A Little Gray Hair, a Lot of Game. This article doesn't belong. For one thing, there's no product being pushed. For another, it's actually news. Light n' fluffy news, to be sure. But not just a rehash of over-obvious crap. It's about people in their 50s and 60s who discover competitive sports for the first time, and it's a nice change of pace from hand wars and cashmere.
Feisty, 40-ish and Female? Franchise! Some women called themselves the Miami Bombshells wrote a book, which may or may not have been good. But they liked it, and now they're marketing the heck out of it. And it's working.
We're totally going to market the heck out of Cole Slaw Blog's book about the history of slaw (little known fact: Villages relied on their local idiots to produce and distribute what back then was called "slawe.")
Just like the Bombshells, we're also totally going to plan retreat weekends at our cabbage farm in Bad Axe, Mich. There, devotees can operate our player piano, make a fresh slaw from our jicama patch, or just get drunk and then do the dishes. [Slight correction: I believe the original (fictional) scenario involved dropping acid and doing the dishes. -CrimeNotes]
In other Stylin' news, you can buy a different kind of expensive perfume, stuff to wear when you work out,. and how to buy books online.
Note: I apologize for posting this roundup late. I was trying to do it earlier, but I was watching my TiVo-ed episodes of "Deadliest Catch" and trying to imagine what it would be like if Alaskan crab boats were crewed by the kids from the Inferno II.
To those who googled Stephanie Rosenbloom, welcome
Looks like we're already getting a lot of hits today from people who googled after reading this article and mistook us for Stephanie Rosenbloom. Welcome. Take a look around, but to be clear, we assuredly are not Stephanie Rosenbloom. You can, however, find her picture here, and seriously, it's not nearly as bad as she thinks.
I also suspect that this site may be her blog-in-progress.
My co-blogger likely will discuss this later, in which case, he can feel free to delete this post as redundant.
I also suspect that this site may be her blog-in-progress.
My co-blogger likely will discuss this later, in which case, he can feel free to delete this post as redundant.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
... but I'm not gone yet
Just after posting my mini-hiatus non-announcement, I found out that the Rude Pundit will perform a live show in August as part of the NYC Fringe Festival. Stay tuned to the Rude Pundit and to Cole Slaw Blog, as we will be following this development with much anticipation.
Shit, this news suddenly makes Lords of Dogtown look about as significant as License to Drive.
Shit, this news suddenly makes Lords of Dogtown look about as significant as License to Drive.
CrimeNotes on tour
I'm heading out tomorrow for a few days (family obligation). There likely will be no internet, 4 a.m. last calls, or Fresco tortillas -- but hopefully, there will be cable TV. For the sake of those involved, I probably won't recap the trip when I'm back on Sunday night, unless I do something stupid like dump beer on a great aunt or hear a song like "The Humpty Dance" and go nuts/flip out in front of people. If there's any luck, I'll still catch Lords of Dogtown when it opens on Friday -- you can feel the electricity in the air, bro.
In the interim, Cole Slaw Blog is in Flop's hands. I disclaim liability if he posts anything defamatory, provokes Kim Jong Il and/or the CIA, gets all existential, or commits any other crimes or sins.
In the interim, Cole Slaw Blog is in Flop's hands. I disclaim liability if he posts anything defamatory, provokes Kim Jong Il and/or the CIA, gets all existential, or commits any other crimes or sins.
Countdown
Summer is fine, if you're into heat. Then you think about what's next, and a whole season turns into the meteorological equivalent of a long wait at the checkout line: As of tomorrow, the Michigan-Notre Dame game is just 100 days away.
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