Slowly Going Bald

I had the pleasure of seeing Shut Up & Sing recently, a documentary about the Dixie Chicks' latest album and the controversy that erupted when, at a London concert in March 2003, just days before the Iraq war began, lead singer Natalie Maines made an off-the-cuff joke about how she was embarrassed that President Bush was from Texas. I remember the incident well, because I was living in Los Angeles at the time, but was soon to return to Texas, where more than a few people I knew were furious at what Maines had said. I've been trying to make sense of the furor surrounding the group ever since, and I've come to only a few conclusions.

• They weren't attacked for political speech, but for liberal political speech. Many of the criticisms the band received focused on the fact that, as a band, they're being paid to sing, not offer political commentary. But Toby Keith released the single "Courtesy of the Red, White, & Blue (The Angry American)" in 2002; among its lyrics was the warning that "We'll put a boot in your ass / It's the American way." Rather than tell Keith to tone down his rhetoric, country music fans supported the song. Maines wasn't even performing political songs, and it's clear from the footage of the London show that her joke is spontaneous. Yet country music fans still turned on the group for expressing a political belief. To embrace Keith for his politics but tell Maines to not express her beliefs is hypocritical.

• The vitriol with which the Dixie Chicks were attacked extended to their gender, which is just frightening. They were labeled the "Dixie Sluts" by some extremist critics, something that never would have happened to a male singer who voiced an unpopular opinion. Cash, Haggard, Kristofferson and Willie himself were labeled outlaws and given respect, but for women to speak out is apparently too much for country fans to handle.

• Yes, people who stopped listening to the Dixie Chicks after the Bush jab were completely within their rights. Freedom of expression extends to what albums you do or don't buy, and the former fans who professed their newfound hatred for the Chicks had every right to do so. But that doesn't mean it wasn't a boneheaded, myopic thing to do.

I had several friends who liked the Chicks but stopped supporting them after spring 2003, and it wasn't because their tastes changed. No, it was pretty much because of Maines' joke. Why should that stop you from listening to their music if you already liked it? Does her political belief mean she can't sing as well, or play the guitar with the same skill? Does the group's tight harmony become sour when you realize that Maines doesn't support the president? If Rhett Miller came out in fervent support of President Bush, I'd strongly disagree with him, but I wouldn't get rid of my Old 97's albums. I love those albums. I love the songs, the lyrics, the blend of music and emotion and Texas references and heartbreak and pop swagger and just about everything on them. It wouldn't make sense to stop listening to a fantastic musician because I don't like his voting record.

• My personal experience with the controversy was a weird one, mired as it was in a dangerous mix of conservative politics, fundamentalist Christianity, and West Texas heat waves. I thought my friends who abandoned the Chicks because of Maines' outburst were pitiable and sad, but mainly because I could never figure out where they drew the line. Refusing to listen to a band because its members aren't practicing Christians would be foolish, but at least it would have been in line with these people's refusal to listen to the Dixie Chicks. So what was it about politics that got these people so motivated that God didn't have? Why were these people willing to hate a band out of their love for Bush but not their belief in God?

• I've liked the Dixie Chicks for a while now; they're talented musicians, and Maines has a voice like a cannon. I still think Home is a fantastic album. And what do you know, when I listen to it, I don't think about politics, or fanatics, or the way our culture devours itself out of boredom. I think about the music, and how this band won't just shut up and sing, and how great that is. And on that note:

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My 26 Desert Island Albums:

1. Old 97's — Too Far to Care

2. The Refreshments — Fizzy Fuzzy Big & Buzzy

3. The Jayhawks — Rainy Day Music

4. Wilco — A.M.

5. Whiskeytown — Strangers Almanac

6. Son Volt — Trace

7. Dave Matthews Band — Before These Crowded Streets

8. Denison Witmer — Safe Away

9. Fountains of Wayne — Welcome Interstate Managers

10. Ryan Adams — Heartbreaker

11. Ryan Adams — Jacksonville City Nights

12. Counting Crows — August and Everything After

13. Sufjan Stevens — Illinois

14. Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers — Honky Tonk Union

15. Bob Dylan — Blood on the Tracks

16. Wilco — Being There

17. Bright Eyes — I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning

18. Tom Waits — Closing Time

19. Johnny Cash — Live at San Quentin

20. Mike Doughty — Haughty Melodic

21. Bob Schneider — I'm Good Now

22. Dixie Chicks — Home

23. Tift Merritt — Bramble Rose

24. Kasey Chambers — The Captain

25. Steve Earle and the Del McCoury Band — The Mountain

26. Gram Parsons — GP/Grievous Angel

My Top 10 Female Acts:

1. Lucinda Williams

2. Dixie Chicks

3. Emmylou Harris

4. Tift Merritt

5. Kathleen Edwards

6. Kasey Chambers

7. Jenny Lewis

8. Alison Krauss

9. Tres Chicas

10. Caitlin Cary

My Top 3 Songs for the Shower:

1. "Long Black Veil," Johnny Cash

2. "Still Feeling Blue," Gram Parsons

3. "Green and Dumb," Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers

Five Great TV-Music Moments That Get Me Every Time

1. "Blue," Angie Hart — "Conversations With Dead People" ("Buffy the Vampire Slayer")

2. "Sloop John B," Beach Boys — "The Sword of Orion" ("Sports Night")

3. "A Place Called Home," Kim Richey — "Shells" ("Angel")

4. "I Don't Like Mondays," Tori Amos — "20 Hours in America, Pt. 2" ("The West Wing")

5. "I Hear the Bells," Mike Doughty —"Look Who's Stalking" ("Veronica Mars")

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I came of age listening to the Refreshments, which was pretty challenging, since they only put out two albums before breaking up and no one else had heard of them. Lead singer-songwriter Roger Clyne has since moved on to a new band, but those first two albums stand out for so many reasons. Taken individually, they're solid pop-rock albums, but combined they form a larger emotional whole that Clyne has never quite been able to recapture: They're about a relationship, specifically the first rush of happiness and then, later, the sad dissolution of something that was supposed to last.

The Refreshments' first album, Fizzy Fuzzy Big & Buzzy, is a potent mix of post-grunge pop-rock that mixes humor and heartache in equal measure while charting new territory in a genre that could be called Southwestern Rock. The single "Banditos" found some purchase on college radio, but anyone judging the band solely on the merits of that upbeat tale of robbery south of the border is missing out on the bigger issues tackled by lead singer-songwriter Roger Clyne. Album opener "Blue Collar Suicide" was a tongue-in-cheek look at the trappings of a dull relationship, but the second song hinted at the yearning that would become a hallmark of Clyne's writing: "European Swallow" roils around with a sensual spoken-word pair of verses before bursting into the chorus with "I'd do anything for you / Anything that you want me to do / It's just gonna take a little more money." By the time the album eases into "Down Together," Clyne has calmed down enough to sing about the defiant attitude of young love. "Whoever said there's nothing new under the sun / Never thought much about individuals / But he's dead anyway." This sentiment is the quiet thread pulsing at the heart of the album. As Clyne moves through the obstinate loneliness of "Mekong" and the desert desolation of "Don't Wanna Know," it becomes clear that the songs spring from a place of youthful arrogance, an almost palpable belief in the endless possibilities life can offer. Even if he's gonna be sitting in the same bar a year from now, he doesn't want to hear about it; things are bound to change.

The punk-tinged rockabilly of "Girly" is a distant cousin of country-rock, with Clyne's swaggering heartbreak belying the optimism that swims underneath: "Beat me till I'm black and blue," he tells her, then says they can do it all over again. The album is the beginning of a relationship, full of hope and positively carefree when it comes to dealing with what will be guaranteed heartbreak.

The band would only record one more album before disbanding and leaving Mercury Records, and their sophomore effort, The Bottle & Fresh Horses, was a marked step forward for Clyne's style and writing. Everything about the album feels louder, older, as if Clyne's done too much living since the first album and come out the worse for wear. This is where that guaranteed heartbreak comes into play. Right off the bat, Clyne sets a darker tone with "Tributary Otis," singing "Well I've traveled / And I've seen the things I build working / Workin' to bring me down." The punky swagger of "Preacher's Daughter" gives way to the outlaw longing of "Wanted," but on "Sin Nombre," Clyne offers up his saddest, loneliest protagonist yet:

Cracked throat, my canteen's dry

Rain won't fall from an empty sky, so I whisper Hail Marys ‘til the sun comes up ...

Well I did before what I'll do again

So forgive me father if I have sinned, but the old wood cracks before it bends

Now don't tell me that part of the story when the cowboy falls in love

When he traded in his pistol and his saddle and the stars above

When the candle’s burning down, when midnight comes around

Know the best that we could hope for is to be laughing when we finally hit the ground

Everything's different here for Clyne, and the battered maturity aids his songs. "Dolly" juxtaposes an upbeat veneer with a bitter warning for his ex to stay away. But with the back-to-back "Good Year" and "Fonder and Blonder," Clyne fully opens up and pours on the genuine heartbreak with deceptive simplicity. They're both about bitter endings, but by repeating lyrics from the earlier album's "Down Together" in the jaded "Fonder and Blonder," Clyne both concretizes the world of his songs and drives home his point that all good things come to an assured end:

Well who said absence makes the heart grow fonder

In all the pictures that you send me now

Your hair seems to get just a little bit blonder

Cars break down and people break down and other things break down, too

I felt somethin' slip when you left on your trip

And now I think I'm breaking down on you

The hell of it is that Clyne isn't singing about being done wrong or even cheating. Things just ended. Versions of the same character dot the rest of the album, from the drunken cuckold of "Horses" to the just-friends loner of "Broken Record" and, finally, the troubadour stuck in a bar who can't seem to drink her off his mind.

By the end of the album, Clyne has completely moved away not just from the overeager sound of his earlier work but also from its naïve worldview. The world is still full of life, and even love, but it's a dark, deadly place to live.

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So I crashed the car

And I turn up loud my old guitar and sing

Some Ramones or Hendrix thing...

Welcome to Music Week here at Slowly Going Bald.

The staff has been working round the clock to create a week's worth of themed content, which is sure to please, educate, uplift, entertain, and in general make you a better person. They haven't even eaten in days. That's the kind of commitment being shown here. Hey, what can I say, sometimes I take it up a notch.

I don't know exactly why I felt like doing a theme week. But I guess it's because (a) music's another important part of my life, (b) the variety seemed fun, and (c) the inherent nerdiness of planning a theme week appealed to me.

With all that in mind, what better way to kick off Music Week with a little public humiliation?

And now, in no real particular order (after the first five or so, anyway), I present:

The Top 15 Albums of My High School Years:

1. Dave Matthews Band, Before These Crowded Streets

2. Counting Crows, August and Everything After

3. The Refreshments, Fizzy Fuzzy Big & Buzzy

4. Matchbox 20, Yourself or Someone Like You

5. The Wallflowers, Bringing Down the Horse

6. Eve 6, Eve 6

7. Fastball, All the Pain Money Can Buy

8. Dave Matthews Band, Live at Red Rocks 8.15.95

9. The Black Crowes, By Your Side

10. The Goo Goo Dolls, Dizzy Up the Girl

11. Hootie & the Blowfish, Cracked Rear View

12. Eric Clapton, Unplugged

13. Chalk Farm, Notwithstanding

14. Nickel Creek, Nickel Creek

15. Green Day, Dookie

As I was putting the list together, several things jumped out at me.

• First is the list's stunning ordinariness; it's a remarkably mainstream collection of albums from the era, and there aren't any surprises in the bunch. Most of the artists are standard late-'90s pop-rock aimed at teens, and I ate it right up. Seriously, what white middle-class teen could resist the angsty allure of Billie Joe Armstrong warbling "Seventeen and coming clean for the first time ... / I found out what it takes to be a man / Mom and Dad will never understand what's happening to me"? Guy was preaching. I guess it makes some kind of cosmic sense that I shoplifted that album.

• Also, what's up with the total lack of female voices? Man. I guess that's pretty standard for a teenage guy, though, so it's not that surprising. But I'm glad I grew out of it.

• However, I make no apologies for any of the albums — well, maybe the Hootie (which you should know it took a supreme act of will just to list that one). But hell, I was 15. You do a lot of stupid things at that age. But I still own all of these albums, even though Fizzy Fuzzy and August and Everything After are the only ones still in rotation. Putting these albums on takes me back to a completely different time, whether it's the opening strings of "Pantala Naga Pampa" or the thundering drum kickoff to "Go Faster" or the mournful violins of "It's Up to You." Like it or not, these albums were around during the formative years, and they're in me for the long haul.

• But the biggest difference between now and then is that the albums on the list are relatively upbeat, or anyway they're not as dark as the stuff I'd get into later. Sure, some of the albums listed have their darker moments — the unrequited "Layla," some Chalk Farm cuts — but most of them are somewhat positive. Dave Matthews has written some beautiful songs about longing, but that's not the same as sadness; it wasn't until "Grace Is Gone" on the Lillywhite sessions and subsequent Busted Stuff (and later "Stay or Leave") that he wrote a great sad song. Counting Crows have the darkest entries on the list, and to this day, the one-two punch of "Anna Begins"/"Time and Time Again" still knocks me out. But the albums listed are generally reflective of worldview that was necessarily neutral to postive because of youth. Since then, my tastes have grown up, and out, and sideways, and have come to encompass a wider variety of singers and songwriters associated with the alt- and classic-country set. Matthews is a good writer, but he's never written anything that touches the bottomless pain of "I'm stuck in Folsom Prison and time keeps draggin' on / But that train keeps a-rollin' on down to San Antone." Clapton's white blues are no match for "Damn Sam (I Love a Woman That Rains)." And what can match the gorgeous melancholy of "Casimir Pulaski Day"? Like the man said, pain is where I hang my hat.

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"I think my syphilis is clearing up."

"And they say romance is dead."

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"We need to boil those and put them through the ricer."

"I don't think I have a ricer."

"You don't have a ricer? What do you mean? How could someone not have a ricer?"

"Well, do you have one at home?"

"I don't know. What's a ricer?"

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"It is a sham. But it's a sham with yams. It's a yam sham."

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"Cheater, cheater, compulsive eater!"

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"You're the hermaphrodite cheerleader from Long Island?"

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"I'm sorry, when you were in high school you made out with a 50-year-old woman?"

"Hey! She didn't look 50!"

"Did she look 16?"

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"And Dad? You know that mailman that you got fired? He didn’t steal your Playboys! Ross did!"

"Yeah, well, Hurricane Gloria didn’t break the porch swing, Monica did!"

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"First there’s a layer of ladyfingers, then a layer of jam, then custard, which I made from scratch, then raspberries, more ladyfingers, then beef sauteed with peas and onions, then a little more custard, and then bananas, and then I just put some whipped cream on top!"

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Um...

Yeah.

Clickety-click.

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Babel

Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan

Harsh Times

Casino Royale

Shut Up & Sing

The Fountain

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About a month ago, I asked an open question: What makes "Grey's Anatomy" so appealing? Most straight women I know have a special place in their heart for the show, and the comments I got backed that up. But the supporters of the show showed that support in a peculiar way: By couching it in a defense of the show's declining quality. Most of the people who praised the show did so with several qualifications.

Teresa listed her top five reasons for liking the show, but also said: "...but it's gotten a little more Melrose Place-ish and less slapstick. It was a bit funnier in the ep when Ellen Pompeo was on painkillers running her mouth."

Mike said: "It is (relatively) smartly written and it is humorous (in a ha ha hmm, but not a HA HA HA sort of way). ... I really liked last season untill the last couple of episodes, when the show became a lot more soapish, a trend which has continued into this season. Now everyone is sleeping with everyone else and it's getting a little tired."

Katie said that "it beats watching 'Deal or No Deal.'" This is true, but also a bit misleading, since getting groped by Zed and the Gimp beats watching "Deal or No Deal." Seriously, it's a game of no skill where people scream at briefcases for an hour. But that's a mystery for another time.

Caitlin compared the show to Clooney-era "ER," stating that "'Grey's' has three doctors who hit Clooney-ish levels of attractiveness (at least for my friends and I) in Patrick Dempsey, Isaiah Washington, and Eric Dane's characters." But she went on to offer a well-reasoned defense of the show:

"As others have noted above, the characters are flawed enough to be relatable, and the episode-to-episode writing and plot arcs are strong enough to make watching our McDoctors something more than a guilty pleasure. And while we all wish Ellen Pompeo would eat some food, already, Sara Ramirez has a relatable figure and gets to sleep with hot doctors. Even though the female character we wind up annoyed by the most is Ellen Pompeo's, others (including Sandra Oh's and Chandra Wilson's) are strong enough to keep us from dwelling on Meredith Grey's flaws. In short, not a perfect TV show (I am a Veronica Mars fan, so I've experienced perfection), but for my girls and I, the pluses by far outweigh the negatives, and that level of quality is definitely enough to keep us in love with it. I can see how some guys might not reap the same level of enjoyment from that formula (and I know some girls who don't), but overall it is one of my favorites these days."

I appreciate that. (And not least because, by praising "Veronica Mars," Caitlin became my new best friend.)

But that was about the best response I got. Christina compared the show's fandom to a sorority, saying that:

"You can easily relate to whichever girl reminds you of you (the smart one, the damaged one, the pretty one, the slutty one) and you can lust after the guy that is most to your liking (the hot one, the other hot one, the other hot one, or the cute/nebbish one) and pick your favorite line to repeat over and over and make your headline on myspace."

"Hot guys" seemed to be theme that occured most often in the comment thread.

Probably my favorite response was Brenda's, who assumed that my use of "girls" was meant to be condescending. Brenda, I can assure you, it wasn't meant to be a slight. I also sometimes use "guys" instead of "men." Sometimes I call my sister "kid." That's right; I won't even use a gender-specific noun. That's how mean I can get. It happens. But anyway, Brenda said something that caught on my brain:

"The tone of total mystification at its success -- 'I just don't understand what all those womenfolk see in those sexy doctors scored to non-threatening indie music' -- is a little disingenuous and a lot superior. The appeal of Grey's Anatomy is much less confusing than Jackass's, or the WWE's."

Really? The success of "Jackass" isn't confusing at all, at least to anyone who's even seen a group of 12-year-old boys running around a park or basketball court trying to kill each other. But by comparing the two, are you somehow implying that "Grey's Anatomy" appeals to the simplistic, juvenile part in women that corresponds to whatever male neurons get all wonky over "Jackass"?

Anyone can feel free to answer that question, and these:

1. Most of the comments I got last time seemed to say that the show used to be better but has since devolved into an extreme soap opera. Is there any truth to that?

2. Again, most of the comments last time carried an air of "Okay, it's not great, but it's good." Is the show just a guilty pleasure? If so, is there anything wrong with admitting that? I've got plenty of guilty pleasures. Do you really need this show to be Good, or is it okay if it's just good fun?

3. Is the show now worse than it used to be? If so, what could make it better? And if it is getting worse, what keeps you watching?

Like I said, the questions are open for anybody to answer. Don't forget to sign your name if you're posting anonymously. Also, any personal attacks lobbed in my direction should also try to include some legitimate discussion of the show in question. Gotta stay on topic, people. Thanks.

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I haven't been able to stop humming "Travelin' Soldier" all weekend.

And I'm completely okay with that.

Clickety-click.

UPDATE: The comment thread is growing, and promises to be a doozy. I encourage you to post a comment, particularly if you are a moron who jumps at the chance to spread your idiocy via the interwebs, as those tend to make for the most entertaining comments. Thanks.

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• Review time:

"Casino Royale is more than a breath of fresh air into a 40-year-old film franchise; it’s a slick, intense, action-filled, compelling look at the amazing places that franchise might be headed."

"But those who head to For Your Consideration are advised to do so in the same spirit that they trudge to the couch for a favorite long-running sitcom well on its way to stale — with a much greater sense of loyalty than of hope."

"It’s not your run-of-the-mill CGI film, either: It’s got a message that’s not tied up into some “Full House” brand of morality, but in cultural, societal, and ecological themes. In fact, there are times when Happy Feet is downright gloomy and even a bit psychedelic."

"Overall, Let’s Go to Prison can’t decide what it wants to be — black comedy, tame comedy, or cheeky exposé. What it is successful at is staggering blandness."

"While they manage both to convey many important facts and to engage in some enthusiastic calls-to-action, the feature film treatment of Fast Food Nation is often a confusing, frustrating array of ambitions nearly, but not quite, fulfilled."

• "Heroes" still feels weird. Not as authentically nerdy as this.

• I'd give real money to see the Stars Hollow bloodbath.

• Maybe the funniest thing you will read all day.

• This one's for The Sis:

• Another Parsons classic:

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*decides not to describe his actions in asterisks*

*realizes he's created a paradox*

*implodes*

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Look, man, back off, let me get a gun or something first, okay? Hey, back off, man, I was born in a room with no gun. Don't be cheap, man. Don't cheap me. Just let me get a gun. Hey wait don't shoot me dude — ...

I hate the Caverns anway. I'm more of a Temple man.

Anyway:

Clickety-click.

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Thursday means but one thing:

The Pajiba trade round-up.

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EXT. STARS HOLLOW — NIGHT

LUKE stands before LORELAI and CHRISTOPHER.

LUKE pulls out a GUN from inside his jacket.

LUKE FIRES two rounds into CHRISTOPHER'S CHEST.

LUKE FIRES a third round into CHRISTOPHER'S FACE, killing him. LUKE then turns the gun on LORELAI.

LORELAI is openly WEEPING now.

LUKE SHOOTS himself in the head, crumbling to the ground as the gun falls from his hand.

LORELAI runs to him and cradles the BLOODY REMAINS of LUKE'S HEAD in her trembling arms.

FADE TO BLACK. CREDITS.

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Just about the most beautiful thing you could hope to hear on a Wednesday afternoon.

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Am I the only one who noticed the typeface similarites between the new trailer for For Your Consideration and the works of Wes Anderson?

It's like some subliminal trick to make me like the Christopher Guest movie, when I already like Guest, no tricks needed. What gives, Warners?

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For those of you who would rather be doing anything else besides working. Enjoy.

(Or here's the direct link.)

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I started out this season with reasonably high hopes for "Heroes." Granted, I tend to expect good things from most TV shows or movies, which is on the whole a better way to live; hoping for the best beats expecting the worst every time out. That moment when the lights do down and the curtains part and the trumpets blare: That's a good moment, maybe the best one there is, full of the possibility of a story so good it may not even exist.

I had hopes for "Heroes" because I'm both a geek and a nerd. (A nerd is someone whose intellect has at one point proven a barrier to social interaction; a geek is someone with an unhealthy focus on or obsession over any given band/TV show/created work. The two groups often overlap, but are, indeed, separate groups.) Pop culture in recent years has given rise to a kind of Everygeek, which only means that producers have figured out that there are ungodly amounts of cash to be made from geeks: The X-Men, Spider-Man, and The Lord of the Rings franchises have too many execs looking at the legions of pasty-faces kids you ignored in high school and seeing big, sweaty dollar signs. And the premise of "Heroes" is aimed squarely at the Everygeek's eager little heart: Normal people wake up one day and realize they have superpowers. It seems like a surefire winner.

But, for a variety of reasons, it's not. The dialogue oscillates between horrible exposition and overly ominous warnings about power, bad guys, etc., and it's often painful to hear. There are also the voice-overs, apparently meant to bring an air of gravitas to the series, but the aimless speechifying only makes the show dumber. The same thing happened with "Desperate Housewives," and "Sex and the City" before that: A lead character offering sporadic narration meant to tie together the larger themes explored by the show. It doesn't matter that the voice-overs are senseless, or that they gleefully defy logical flow in favor of such pseudo-meaningful statements as "The world is large" that meander through a few more pointless sentences before petering out.

But the biggest problem is the fact that it's a show aimed at geeks but packaged and sold by soulless TV executives who only care about stories inasmuch as they boost the bottom line. The creator of "Heroes," Tim Kring, seems to be a decent and fairly talented guy, but "Heroes" plays like a story without an emotional center that's trying to coast by on its looks. It feels too forced, as if someone tried to make an overly comic-book show without actually caring about the heart of the tale. The show even has an online graphic novel on NBC.com, which both makes perfect sense and is completely stupid. It makes sense because Kring so clearly wants the show to be a comic book, right down to the chapter titles and stylized captions and endless "To be continued..." title cards. But it's dumb because it's pandering to its own supposed origins instead of trying to live up to them, or even surpass them. "Heroes" has all the right moves, but it still feels fake.

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RS: Your show has thrived during the Bush administration. Will you miss it?

STEWART: I remember people used to say, "What are you gonna do when Clinton leaves?" And I'd say, "I'm really OK not having to make another intern blowjob joke in my life." And it'll be the same with these guys. I'd much prefer these guys to leave than to have to continue to make Lord Vader jokes about Cheney. I have great faith in institutional absurdity.

RS: But wouldn't, say, a President Obama be harder to make fun of than these guys?

STEWART: Are you kidding?

COLBERT and STEWART in unison: His dad was a goat-herder!

STEWART: I'd rather make fun of somebody who is wearing their humble beginnings on their sleeve than somebody who has created a situation where casualties are involved. So the idea that somehow it's easier now — it's not. Because right now it is a comic box lined with sadness.

Read the rest of the interview here, though you'll have to pick up a hard copy to get the whole thing. And you should. It's worth the $5.

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The Cloak of Reluctant Virginity

The Bow of Solitary Weekends (can be paired with the Arrows of Day-Old Take-Out for extra damage)

The Gloves of Masturbatory Furor

The Staff of Going Nowhere Fast With Your 20s

The Helmet of Crap I Wish This Was Real

The Hatchet of Stagnant Career Moves

The Breastplate of Staying Inside A Lot

The Chain-Mail of People Look At Me Funny When I Say "Teh"

The Boots of Dying Alone

The Satchel of Frightening Obsessions

The Wrist-Guards of Chronic Carpal Tunnel (can be counteracted by Gloves)

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I always suspected that my friends who chose more business- and finance-oriented professions had a secret desire to perform. And now I know it's true. Somehow this clip speaks for all of them:

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• The latest reviews:

"It’s smart, without being intellectual. It’s funny, though not hilarious. Droll, but not too self-aware. And it’s a beautiful film. It’s bittersweet and achy and exhilarating and romantic and absorbing and hopeful and optimistic and, truly, it makes me happy to be a critic with so little to criticize."

"Yet, like more than a few anxious suitors, once it relaxes and stops hitting you over the head with its supposed charms, you may find that it’s not such a bad way to kill an evening."

"There’s nothing to recommend in Harsh Times, but oddly, almost nothing original to condemn. The half-cocked redemption angle, the emotional trauma, the sorry ending: It’s all been done before, and better. It’s like Bale himself has said: This confession has meant nothing."

"It’s a thriller without any thrills; a suspenser with nothing suspenseful. It’s one of the most boring films I’ve come across all year and completely fails at the supernatural mystery it intends to be, yet it isn’t really a bad movie, just a thunderingly dull one."

• I'm a master of awkward conversations.

• Making lists is the only thing distracting me from the baby-killing homo-Nazis who've taken power.

• Does anyone else remember Timmy from the Challenge? The last time he did it he had to be on the south side of 30. But get this: Beth is almost 40. Holy crap.

• Hmm:

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Just so you all know:

Be sure to check out the rails on the left- and right-hand sides of the page. The list of CDs currently in rotation has been updated again. Click; browse; expand your hroizons; silently validate me. Also, if you can handle it, be sure to check out the new list of L.A.-centric sites I've got linked on the left, under the map that shows my expanding world domination and the books and such.

That is all. And I promise after this I'll go back to not addressing you directly, and instead just act like I'm writing all this in a void.

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I see Christian Bale, and I don't just see Batman; I see a dopey guy shadow-boxing and singing about moving to New Mexico. I can't help it.

Anyway:

Clickety-click.

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Sis: mmm, cold pizza

me: nice

my roommate thinks i'm an animal for eating cold pizza

Sis: haha

it's good

wolfman and i are eating it

me: awesome

i also will eat brisket right out of the fridge and call it "beef candy"

if my roommate sees me eat cold leftovers, he hangs his head in shame

Sis: haha

that's like dad

he loves beef candy

me: i know

i remember loooooving beef candy when i was teething my wisdom teeth

i would toss a hunk of meat back there and grind away

it felt so good

... and THAT could be the gayest thing i've ever written

and i've written columns about Buffy

Sis: hahahahahahaha

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As always:

The Pajiba trade round-up.

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Now that those God-hating homos from the Wrong Coast seem to have made in-roads into the sanctum sanctorum (sorry, Rick) of the Capitol, it's only a matter of time before the nation falls apart. Word on the street here in sunny Southern California confirms our worst fears will be realized; appearing at a local Trader Joe's, an inebriated Nancy Pelosi stood atop the express lane checkout and announced some of the forthcoming Democrat-supported measures that will be instituted across the country:

• Mandatory abortions for women upon their 18th birthday just to "get them into the swing of things."

• Snack machines in elementary schools to be replaced with condom machines.

• Osama bin Laden to be appointed Secretary of Raping White Women.

• Full apologies to and amnesty for Saddam Hussein, who will be reinstated as ruler of Iraq and also given control of the Carolinas.

• The resurrection of Hussein's sons through the use of cloning technology and stem-cell harvesting from the mentally retarded, who probably won't put up much of a fight.

• Water fountains to be replaced with really snooty-looking coffee stands.

• Forced sodomizing of public officials and citizens who speak out against gay marriage.

• Bibles to be banned; punishment for owning one to include being punched in the balls by atheists.

• Deportation of Southerners to work in Mexican sweatshops.

• French and Farsi to be instituted as dual national languages.

That's as far as she got before gorging herself on mini peanut butter cups and passing out.

We're in for dark times indeed, friends. Dark times indeed.

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Possible Stage Names For My Burgeoning Career In Hip-Hop

Sir Sweatsalot

ComplaCent

Sandwich Killa

A Representative Of The Man Who's Been Oppressing You For Centuries

This Shirt's An XL, Yo

Possible Strip Club Theme Nights That, Upon Reflection, Would Probably Not Be As Enticing As Originally Intended

Hos and Dobros: Exotic dancing set to the mournful strains of alt-country.

We've Got the Beat: The dancers' songs are all replaced with spoken-word recordings of classic poems. Inevitably, one girl uses Ginsberg's "Howl" and collapses from exhaustion halfway through.

Let's All Talk About Our Emotional Problems: Between sets, the strippers present brief monologues that chart the heartbreaking downward spiral of their lives thus far.

Bring a Mormon and Get In Free as a Reward for Your Effort

Emotional Honesty Night: For the price of a lap dance, the dancer will let you stare into a mirror and silently judge yourself.

Horrible Candle Scents

diaper

burnt rubber

chode

wet dog

old people

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I'll admit it: I'm a sucker for "The Real World/Road Rules Challenge." There is absolutely nothing redeeming about the show, and I'm completely okay with that.

I haven't kept up with "The Real World" in a long time, and "Road Rules" was canceled a few years ago, but I'm still an easy mark when it comes to the Challenge. When I was in high school, I would watch MTV's hallmark reality shows and wonder, Is that what people are like in and after college? Once I reached college, it sunk in that the kids on MTV weren't just dumb; they were cataclysmically retarded, the kind of simpering morons who love high school and hate college and barely manage to survive in the adult world with their philosophies of interpersonal relationships cobbled together from selfish desires and a belief in moral relativism and topped off with old reruns of "The Real World": They were living parodies of themselves. That's what makes "The Real World" so pointless now. MTV has stopped trying to pretend that they're doing anything other than recruit seven attractive and deeply f**ed-up young people and forcing them to live in a swanky apartment for half a year and hold down the kind of part-time job that most teens coast through with ease but that never fails to produce headaches for the slope-browed and big-chested denizens of The House.

Perhaps sensing that "Road Rules" lacked the inherent drama of its flagship show, MTV turned the outdoorsy reality program into an elimination-based affair (I think the series peaked around the "Northern Trail" era). Later versions of the show were just shamless attempts to weed out normal people and cull a group of hypercompetitive athletes for the Challenge, which has managed to top itself this time out with "The Duel."

Honestly, the show's so crazy I barely know where to start:

• The women. The women are insane. And not your garden-variety insane, either, the kind of well-meaning crazy that you'll find in most girls (and yes, I often use "girls" and "women" interchangeably, and anyone who thinks that's biased can cram it). These women are full-tilt wackos, and it's awesome. Now that Tonya isn't on the show, having apparently decided to make something of her reality TV fame, the producers have defaulted to Beth as the villain. It's a lazy choice, but somebody's got to be the villain, and it's not like they're gonna choose Paula, the anorexic one. Although Skinny P did look right into the camera after being eliminated in The Duel and say: "This was a duel between me and myself." Right on, sister.

• The men. Oh, the men are frightening. Tall, brooding, bizarrely muscular, relentlessly stupid, and never more than one crooked stare away from starting a fight with the other males. My favorite part is watching these guys be completely honest about their intellectual shortcomings. A lot of the challenges, especially the final game, involve visual puzzles of some kind, which is always when the guys hit a wall or defer to their female partners. This happened a lot on last season's "Fresh Meat," and the best scenes were always where cast member Wes, who's bound to be wanted in a score of frat-related rapes throughout the Midwest, would turn to his partner Casey, a pretty but vapid girl who was recruited to be the fresh meat, and expect her to solve the puzzle. Confronted with horrifying riddles or, God forbid, a tangram, Wes would take a break from calling Casey a "lazy bitch" (which he did a lot) and wait for her to fix things. That kind of unselfconscious neediness, that forthcoming idiocy, is almost endearing. But it's ultimately just watchable TV.

Honestly, what's not to love about the show? Watching the weekly competitions is a chance to zone out completely and watch completely unbalanced people compete for fabulous cash and prizes. Casey used some of her prize money from last season to buy breast implants, which she bragged about in the first episode of this season. Really, how can you not cheer on someone like that?

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Him: I know this isn't the first time we've talked about this. Your methods are becoming a little unorthodox.

Me: Well, excuse me. I guess I'd mistaken you for somebody else.

Him: Pardon?

Me: Somebody who gave a damn. Somebody more like myself.

Him: Again, I don't know what you're talking about, and I find these little cryptic hints you're dropping to be really —

Me: And THEEEEEEESE foolish GAAAAAAAAAAAMES —

Him: Oh, knock it off with the Jewel.

Me: ...

Him: ...

Me: You knew what I was doing?

Him: Yeah, and I knew last time, too, with the Lisa Loeb. Hadn't heard that song in a while. What's she even up to now?

Me: Wait, wait. I'm supposed to sing, and it's supposed to be awkward, so then people will read about it and ask me later if it really happened, or maybe they'll just compliment me on my quirky uniqueness that isn't even that quirky and certainly not unique.

Him: So this is all some elaborate set-up?

Me: Yeah.

Him: Well, then, why do you do it?

Me: It's a confidence booster. I'm the eldest child. It's a long story.

Him: Well, knock it off.

Me: Your thoughtless words are breaking my heart. ... You're breaking my heart.

Him: ...

Me: ...

Him: Are you quoting now, or was that for real?

Me: I don't know. [Stares off into distance.] I just don't know.

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• The latest reviews:

"(God's) jealousy was provoked by man’s ambition, and it’s not entirely bad that González Iñárritu is attempting to reclaim that sense of drive and scope, to build a tower high enough to make sense of the world below him. If his attempt somewhat fails, perhaps it’s enough that he tried."

"The resulting faux-documentary … is a stunning success, the kind of extreme satire that aims for the gut and skewers any and all that cross its path. It’s also, I should repeat, the funniest movie you’ll see all year."

"The energy of Flushed Away doesn’t leave a lot of room for much emotive response to the characters, as with a Pixar flick, but there’s enough to make it more than mindless entertainment; think of Chicken Run amped up a lot."

"Also along for the ride are Santa’s ex-wife and her new age suburban hippie husband, played by Judge Reinhold(!). I’m pretty sure the ex-wife and her husband have some sort of back story, revealed in either one of the two previous films, but I haven’t seen either and — unless I’m looking to induce a coma — I don’t ever plan to."

• I'm completely okay with it if any of you disagree with my opinions on "Studio 60," but since (a) I run this place, and (b) there are plenty of other places you can go on the interwebs, I'm probably going to ignore comments that attempt to limit what I do or don't write about. Also, I'd hardly call any of the "Studio 60" entries long-winded. Then again, I love DFW, so my perspective could be skewed. But I doubt it.

• In honor of craptastic horror films, I've decided to work with human remains.

• The Piv: He's everywhere.

• Because you've got the time, and you need to watch these videos:

In honor of the feature debut of Borat, I once again present the greatest Borat segment ever:

A great clip from the season premiere of "Battlestar Galactica." It might be the only time the sky over New Caprica was actually blue:

And, what the hell, a classic. This year, I'm gonna ask Santa for a blonde sex robot who lives in my brain and brings me messages from God. If anyone reading this would like to go ahead and buy me one, that'd be fine, too. I would never need another present:

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(See the first three installments.)

Singles (1992)

• I'm calling the movie "weird" to fit in with this random little set of ramblings, but a better word would be "awesome."

• I'm fascinated by movies from the early '90s. It's like somehow the era gets overlooked; it's not recent enough to be culturally relevant, and it lacks the kitsch factor of the '80s. But any movie where they guys and girls both have long hair and ripped jeans is okay by me.

• Singles also is a shameless attempt by writer-director Cameron Crowe to latch onto the Seattle music scene. Pearl Jam plays Matt Dillon's band. It's also got Alice in Chains and Soundgarden. It feels like Crowe bought "Gen X for Dummies" and set about to make a movie. And it'll blow your mind.

• Jeremy Piven has a pretty fantastic cameo as a drugstore cashier, but he's easily topped by two appearances that are far more amazing: (a) Victor Garber, sporting the porniest mustache I've ever seen, and (b) Paul Giamatti playing one half of a young couple shamelessly making out in a coffeeshop. Paul Giamatti. It's worth renting just for that 10 seconds.

• Was Kyra Sedgwick really ever hot enough to play a female romantic lead? She's got a squint horseface and tiny teeth. It's hard to believe no one ever called her the Nibbler.

• The Nibbler hooks up with Campbell Scott, who is probably way too talented to even be in this movie.

• Eric Stoltz as a sarcastic mime. Enough said.

• Whatever happened to Bridget Fonda? She was all over the place 10 years ago, and now nothing.

• This movie is maybe the only time Cameron Crowe wrote a movie without whoring himself out soundtrack-wise. The music is never overdone, and works to complement the scene without overshadowing it. It's completely un-Crowe.

• The Xavier McDaniel fantasy sequence could be one of the funnier things Crowe's ever done.

• Bill Pullman plays a plastic surgeon who's supposed to be 33, though he's clearly 40. And Fonda is 28 and acting 23 and is emotionally 19. And they almost hook up.

Anyway, I'm young, and would love it if anybody else had good suggestions for other good early-'90s Gen X-ish movies, especially ones that have been forgotten. Basically anything with a flannel shirt over a Mossimo T-shirt will work.

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Amazingly funny:

Clickety-click.

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Thursday means:

The Pajiba trade round-up.

And does anyone else remember when "The Daily Show" used to do T-Hers-days on Thursdays? It was all about the ladies. Jon Stewart would dim the lights and play Barry White. It was awesome.

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Dear Sirs and Madams,

Shut up and learn to think for yourselves.

So I made a joke. So what? Are you really so stupid that you don't know what I meant? Are you going to be led like cattle by the cruel and arrogant asses running the country? Do you really believe I bear any kind of ill will toward our fighting sons and daughters, who are giving their lives nobly for an unjust cause?

I had my war. If nothing else, I have earned a right to speak on behalf of the thousands of dead soldiers and civilians who can no longer make their own voices heard. When I remarked that college kids today need to study or they'll end up in Iraq, I meant that education is the only guarantee for having viable career options. Do you really think I consider our troops to be stupid? You know better than that. And what's more, you agree with my comments: Not a one of you wishes for your child, your brother, your sister, your lover, to be sent to Iraq. Tell me you do, and I'll call you a liar.

This letter may come as a surprise to many of you, but I've decided that late really is better than never. It's time to sack up, as they say; to strap it on and get it going. My weakness two years ago stemmed from my desire to win at any cost, to impress you, to make you think I could become all things to all people. But I can't, and I won't. It's time for you to stop believing the lies and start thinking for yourselves. Learn from my mistakes, please. The stakes are higher than you know.

Thank you for your time.

I remain your faithful public servant,

Sen. John Kerry, D-Mass.

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This is your life, and it's ending one moment at a time:

Clickety-click.

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