Television and Movies: Truths, Theories, Metaphors and so long, Jeanne Cooper.

Well, I finally broke down and ordered HBO and Showtime from my cable company. I guess I missed Game of Thrones and Boardwalk Empire too much. Plus, my co-workers have bombarded me for being un-American because I have never seen a second of Homeland. My response....I'm cheap, sue me. My way of thinking goes like this: That $17.95 could buy eight cups of Starbucks coffee, four "peanut butter surprise" smoothies from GNC (they are probably 5,768 calories but I don't care), forty eight cannolis from Medonia Bakery, fifteen songs on ITunes or one "Old Orleans" cocktail from Gramercy Tavern. (Still the greatest drink ever made, hands down). Frankly, I spend very little time in front of the television. I have never been into video gaming either. Anyone who knows me well can vouch for my inability to hold still for more than ten minutes. Most television shows are not THAT entertaining and I lost interest in video games when they started having plots. Give me an Italian plumber stomping on evil, walking mushrooms any day. When I have to type in codes, buy gaming books with tips about Level 324 and wear a headset so I can talk to a 12 year old in Portugal about how we are going to take a digital foxhole by force.....I'm done.

I would be remiss however not to mention the passing of Jeanne Cooper, who played Katherine Chancellor on the Young and the Restless for 39 years. Why does that matter to me, you ask? When I was younger, I stayed with Neen every single day of the week while my folks were at work. Neen did NOT miss Young and the Restless or the Price is Right. Seriously, Cassville could be invaded or be waylaid by an F5 tornado and Neen would be like, "I wonder if Victor and Katherine are going to talk to Cricket about her lovelife today." It got to where I would actually get into the show with her. It would end dramatically and we would have an "are you kidding me?!?!" moment. A five year old boy and a fifty five year old woman going to pieces over worthless daytime soap operas. Then we would calm down, eat our turkey sandwiches and hope Bob Barker would lead the next contestant to the Plinko board (always our favorite game). Goodbye, Jeanne. I am sure Neen met you at the Gates with a turkey sandwich or a milkshake.

Television has taken an interesting turn in my lifetime, however. The emergence of reality TV has marked primetime channels for over a decade now. We now have shows that talk about reality shows. We have another channel that discusses celebrity gossip exclusively. MTV no longer shows music videos. The sitcoms that run now are just modern versions of old ideas. The only difference is that middle aged white guys are cast as hopeless romantics, goofy morons, and/or have an inadequacy about them that is magnified to the Nth degree. No more Gary Cooper smoking a cigarette and saying awesome things like, "what's the big idea?" No more Ozzie & Harriet. No more Andy Griffith. Now, it's "my kids run all over me, my wife badgers me to death and I am scared of my boss." I tried to watch a few of them on a rainy day, courtesy of DVR, and I lost interest about ten minutes into the show. AMC hit a homerun with "Walking Dead," "Mad Men" and "Hell on Wheels" but those are novel ideas with plots that change as quickly as the identity of a Kardashian's "significant other."  Not to mention, they are late night shows with an "M" rating because only mature adults watch them, of course. (excuse me while I watch the twelve year old next to me call up the famous Basic Instinct scene on Youtube over and over)

Movies are still in my wheelhouse for the most part. I have seen some pretty God-awful films in recent years but not any more than in the past. For every "Gigli," there is "The Departed." For every "Bring It On 3: All or Nothing," there is "Steel Magnolias."    Honestly, I have watched some of the "classics" from the old days and I found them boring. "Citizen Kane" is consistently ranked in the top 5 of every movie critic's list of "best movies ever." My eyes were glazed over with boredom for the entirety of the film. Same goes for "The Maltese Falcon," "A Streetcar named Desire" and "Lawrence of Arabia." I kept waiting for something great to happen and I just waited...and waited....and waited.  I hate getting my hopes up like that and then wasting two hours of my life. By the time you realize you hate the movie, you are already invested, so you stay with it. I can think of five similar situations:

1) Having Georgia Tech football season tickets. I mean, really? You just have to be a glutton for punishment.

2) Waiting in line for McDonald's "food" for more than 13 seconds. After seeing the pink concoction that becomes a Chicken McNugget on Dateline NBC, I would rather just eat a live chicken.

3) Braving I-75 traffic in Cobb County to go to Chili's on Barrett Parkway because, God forbid, you cannot get jalapeno poppers anywhere else.

4) Any visit to the DMV anywhere, ever. The black hole of life. They say cigarettes take seven minutes off your life with each one, well, a visit to the DMV takes a year off. I swear, the application to work there must have the description: "Must be expressionless, useless, rude, and your knuckles must drag the ground and/or you speak only in grunts."

5) Listening to a Kenny Chesney CD post-2001. You keep hoping that  he will return to the old redneck, flannel wearing Kenny and then he comes out with something worse than the last one. I am waiting on a rap album from him at this point.

My movie collection is quite enormous. I have some classic movies, some action, some comedy, some drama, and some that are regarded as "bad" by many others, but I cannot help but enjoy them. I like "Twister" better than "Gone With the Wind." I like "Rambo First Blood: Part II" better than any Woody Allen movie. The acting is nowhere near as skilled but the absolute absurdity of those two movies just resonates with me. Every movie does not need depth, sometimes you just gotta imagine you are ten years old again and one man CAN take on the Vietcong, rescue forgotten POWs, fly back in a busted helicopter and physically assault a government official with a bowie knife. The movie represented a full dose of patriotism with a heaping helping of "blame your local senator" for the twelve years we languished in southeast Asia. And who doesn't want to chase tornadoes in a bus while listening to Deep Purple? I still contend that Philip Seymour Hoffman's greatest role ever was Dusty, the comic relief to the Bill Paxton/Jamie Gertz/Helen Hunt love triangle. Every time they threatened to take over the movie with their "I'm an almost divorced, conflicted weatherman/ I'm attached to my cell phone sex therapist/I want this machine to fly" drama, he would derail it with a comment or a music clip from inside his converted bus/weather center, aptly named "The Barn Burner." The director was trying to tell us that no matter how bad things get, you can always find humor. I think we all need a "Barn Burner" in our lives.  When life throws an F5 tornado your way, you need a place where you can wear Hawaiian shirt, a hat with two beer can holders, with speakers blaring your song of choice. (see, you can analyze any movie, even the stupid ones. Take the F5 reference for example.....it's not just a tornado. It's also a button on your computer that refreshes the webpage you are currently visiting. It wipes away the old and recreates the new. An F5 tornado completely wipes away anything and gives you the opportunity to start anew, whether you wanted to or not, thereby hitting a "refresh" button in your life. Metaphors, baby......I could do this all day.)

For all my years watching my movies, analyzing them in my own way and digesting what they mean to us as a society, I have derived five absolute truths about the movies I own:

1) Beech Nut chewing tobacco completely missed the advertising boat when it did not immediately employ Jesse "The Body" Ventura as its spokesperson after the helicopter scene in "Predator." Never has there been a more ringing, less politically correct endorsement for tobacco use in the history of man. Jesse could have gone on to promote the eating of red meat, the wearing of fur coats, the furtherance of sweatshops in Bangladesh and ownership of high capacity-magazined, automatic weapons. (especially after they gunned down an entire rainforest without hesitation. How insensitive/awesome was that?)

2) Say what you want about Charlie Sheen. Judge him repeatedly. Analyze his personal life, his drug use and domestic problems. "Chris Taylor" and "Ricky Vaughn" will always be two of the best movie characters in cinema history.

3) Arnold Schwarzeneggar simply cannot go without an awkward climactic line in any movie, post-Terminator. My personal favorite: "You're luggage." -to a dead alligator. Eraser, 1996.

4) Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992) was rife with so much starpower, that it simply cannot be contained. Kristy Swanson, David Arquette, Luke Perry, Rutger Hauer, Paul Reubens, Hilary Swank, Donald Sutherland, Ben Affleck, Seth Green, Ricki Lake and Stephen Root. All we needed was Morgan Freeman and this was an Oscar shoo-in. This flick was ahead of its time. Vampires, afflicted teens, high school drama...sound familiar? Yeah, I'm looking at YOU, Twilight. This movie destroys Twilight. Kristy Swanson is hot. Luke Perry gets to say "now, you are a coat rack" after stabbing a vampire. It's like Clueless and Teen Wolf with a side of Breakfast Club. Cha-ching.

5) Joe Pesci and Frank Vincent have an unspoken rivalry that is still notched at 1-1. In Goodfellas, Joe (Tommy) beats Vincent (Billy Batts) to a pulp with Robert De Niro, throws him in the trunk of a car, drives to his mother's house, eats lasagna and cuts up with his friends before leaving to take care of the body. Realizing Batts is not dead, they shoot and stab him repeatedly before burying him in a remote part of upstate New York, cracking jokes the entire time. In Casino, Vincent (Frankie) turns the tables. He is employed by the Boss, Remo, to dispatch Pesci (Nicky) in a most horrific fashion. He bludgeons Nicky and his brother with baseball bats for several grueling minutes, then buries them in a cornfield alive. It is easily one of the most disturbing scenes ever made. So, it is Pesci's cold indifference vs. Vincent's outright brutality. Something has gotta give. Quentin Tarantino needs to get on this immediately.

Spring is here: Baseball, Respect, and Pickled Quail Eggs

Hey y'all, I am happy to report that I am typing this blog with shorts on. Spring has sprung in the city of New York and it has been fabulous so far. I went to my first Yankees game of the year. Baseball is always a great sign of warmer weather and nothing says "piss off, winter" than sitting in the left field bleachers of Yankee Stadium with "Centerfield" blaring over the speakers and old highlights of Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Mickey, Joe D., Reggie Jackson, and Bernie Williams playing on the Jumbotron. It was a come-from-behind win and a good way to start the season for yours truly. A couple of interesting things happened at the game that I must share.

I was standing in the ticket line, waiting my turn to be scanned and allowed to enter. I miss the old days of tearing the tickets because they make for good scrapbook material. A Stubhub printout is not quite so endearing. Anyhow, there was a kid in front of me, probably around twelve or thirteen years old. He had a backwards Yankees hat, jeans that were hanging halfway down his rearend, a giant t-shirt and some retro Michael Jordan high tops. He and his friends were chatting in line, saying just about every cuss word one can say in two minutes. Typical slobby, unkempt teenagers with no respect. He was texting on his Iphone and was not ready when his turn came to be scanned. The ticket scanner was an old man who was likely in his late 70's. The old man wasted no time.

"Boy, look at this line. Have your DAMN ticket out and hang up that DAMN phone. Look at you. Pull up your pants, turn your hat around and have some respect for yourself. You look like a f***** slob. You have no idea what that symbol on your hat means to someone like me. You wear it and have no clue about anything that happened here. Future of my country right here....ugh."

He frowned and gave him the thumb to go in. Quinton and I were next and he said, "Hello sirs, enjoy the game and this beautiful day!" I would have bought him a beer if I could. He was not grandstanding, he was just saying what everyone else in the line was thinking.

We sit down and begin to chow down on the sweet sausage dogs they sell in the bleachers. They may be $12 but they are worth it. The sun is shining, Mariano Rivera is walking around the outfield waving and I see Monument Park next to me, with flowers laid at every plaque of a Yankee great who has passed away. The time comes for the national anthem and everyone rises as the young girl belts out her best rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. Three rows down are two more young people, talking and still wearing their hats. A large man of clearly Italian descent turns to them and says, "take off your f****** hats! Show some respect!" They quickly removed their covers and said nothing more. (remember, the f-word is not that big of a deal here.) He stared at them for a couple of seconds to drive the point home, puts his arm around his teenage son, and continued to sing. Lessons in manners, courtesy of some Bronx natives. It was a great day.

** I must also point out that we saw some Jewish "thugs" at the game as well. They were wearing their yarmulkes on the side of their heads, with their shirts untucked, busting slack in their slacks and they were even doing the strut, like Will Smith used to do on the Fresh Prince. I called them "MC Abraham and DJ Jazzy Shlomo Feinberg."
Not all news has been good this spring. Of course, we had the Boston Marathon bombing. Two more wayward psychopaths with an ax to grind, trying to interfere with our way of life. It takes a lot of guts to hide a pressure cooker bomb and kill an eight year old boy. They are a true credit to their jihad. They really showed us a thing or two. Then....Boston closed down and cut them both down in a hail of gunfire in what had to be the fastest turnaround in terrorism history. Beantown was not playing around on this one, they went "Texas death penalty" on these dudes....you kill us, we will kill you back. The young one lived but he is all shot up and tied to a hospital bed, so I am not sure you can call that "living." They should force him to watch Georgia Tech football highlights, eat fat free cheese and listen to "When The Sun Goes Down" by Kenny Chesney and Uncle Kracker on loop until his goes mad. Some people may say to me, "you can joke about such things?" Yes. Humor is a coping mechanism. Further, by giving these idiots any sort of serious consideration, you empower them.

George Jones passed away last week as well. This guy lived 81 years somehow. If you reviewed his life, you would figure he would have died at 40. He was one of those types that poured beer on his cereal, smoked in his sleep and never had a hangover because he never sobered up. By many accounts, he was a good guy and many country singers count him as an influence. I definitely count him as one of the last true country singers and once Willie Nelson, Don Williams, Hank Williams, Jr., Randy Travis and George Strait pass away, that will be it in my mind. People in NYC do not seem to care for country music. In fact, I went to a karaoke bar recently with some co-workers and I mentioned that I was going to sing a country song. A collective "ewwwwww....country?!?!" cascaded upon me from everyone. They had that tone too, you know the one. It was like I just invited the guy that nobody wanted to come to the party or I suggested that all of us should do 75 burpees before dinner. I laughed it off but it made me sad to see such disdain for the genre. I guess it is a problem of relation for urbanites. "Eighteen Wheels and a Dozen Roses" sounds more like a restaurant in the Lower East Side. "Tulsa Time" sounds like name of a cocktail they serve at the Plaza Hotel. "Dixie on my Mind" is just a slap in their face, so they definitely do not play that one at bar mitzvahs.

It made me think about cultural differences once again. How absolutely different our lives are in many ways. If I took a bunch of Cassville people to a karaoke bar and said, "I'm going to sing a country song," the reception would have been more like this:

"You damn right you are. Let's do a Hank, Sr. song first. Then move into Merle, Jerry Reed, Willie Nelson and Waylon. Gotta throw in a Keith Whitley song. Poor boy was cut down in his prime ( raises and sips a beer in Keith's honor). Then let's sing "Convoy" and "I Don't Need Your Rocking Chair." No Garth Brooks "The Dance," ok? Reminds me of Dale. (raises and sips beer again)."

Here is a list of other sayings that I have not said, or would not fly here in NYC:

1) Hey y'all, let's go to the Waffle House
2) You drive, I'll jump out, tear the "Broadway" sign off the post and we will hang it in my room
3) Are y'all going to Arkansas for duck season this year?
4) I gave my old recliner to Milton at the county dumpster, he said he could use it
5) Pickled quail eggs
6) Man, I wish it would rain more. My euonymous bushes are looking rough.
7) Nice truck, man!
8) George W. got a bad rap, he was actually a good president
9) That bar is closed on Sunday
10) Are there any good striper in the East River?

Conversely, here are some statements would be lost on Cassville people if a New Yorker were to address them:

1) Which place has the best lox and bagels around here?
2) Skinny jeans are really coming on as a look for guys
3) So this Bill Dance....do you guys do that in clubs here or is that a slow thing?
4) Dogs belong inside with their humans
5) What time does the Hawks game start?
6) Which lacrosse club team does your son play for?
7) Do you prefer papardelle or gnocchi?
8) My grandfather was not the toughest guy who ever lived
9) Chips and salsa does not count as Mexican food
10) The fire escape on my apartment is being repaired because it's not up to code

 Ah, Cassville. How I miss it. Where the dogs are outside, lacrosse is "Spanish for where Jesus died for our sins," gnocchi is "a cell phone company, I think," where Bill Dance is royalty and pickled quail eggs are a great birthday present. Where dumpster diving is a sport, stealing road signs was fun for all ages and our granddaddies never lost a fight or missed church. I think my granddads would have liked lox and bagels, though.