As many of you know, last Sunday was my birthday. (Sixty-five; Thanks for asking). Anyway, at this point in my life I am a pain in the shorts to shop for. Gifts for me fall into two and only two groups: stuff that's too expensive to contemplate seriously ( sports jacket, computers, dentures, etc.) and stuff that is sufficiently cheap that,when needed, I can buy for myself like sweaters, cute golf club head covers, shaving mugs (seriously does anyone actually use these things more than twice?). This issue makes birthdays, Christmas, and anniversaries a torturous exercise for my spouse.
I've tried making lists during the year when I see something I might like but no one can ever locate the list in early October or mid December. It might be useful to run out and buy a gift on the day after a possible present is discovered but really, no one is that organized.
This brings us to this year's birthday gift from my lovely spouse. On the fourteenth of October I was presented with a rich-looking box from Tumi. Inside ...a man bag; a purse by any other name.
We need to get a few issues out of the way: First, no man ever bought a man-bag for himself. The only male person ever to purchase one of these things bought it for his boyfriend. Not a homophobic slur, just a fact. Most men don't feel the need to carry a bunch of junk around in a clutch. God created pockets that we might carry wallets, keys, combs (what man needs a brush?), money and handkerchief ( a dying affectation). Sure, a beach bag makes sense and in ancient times, a camera bag made hauling lenses and film a virtual necessity. Laptop computers have made varying types of briefcases de rigueur but for everyday use, not so much. I'm sorry but any man over eighteen who walks the streets wearing a backpack has never looked at himself in a mirror.
Imagine dropping your man-bag on the bar at the Killarney Rose or Vito's Bar and Grille. Can you picture the grief you'll get when you toss your bag on to the scorers table at Stillson's Bowling Alley...unless, of course your purse can accommodate a bowling ball. What about meeting your girlfriend's parents for the first time or applying for a new job at the steel mill? Good luck explaining your choice of accessories to Spike, the guy next to you on the assembly line. Truthfully, anything you wear that requires an explanation is a bad idea. No one needs to explain an umbrella.
Besides, the dirty little secret about man-bags is that before you know it, you will start hauling tons of junk that you don't need just because you have someplace to put it. Don't take my word for it. Ask your wife. That pack of Altoids that's been in your desk since you got hired, sure, let's bring it. You never know. The train schedule that you have had memorized for fifteen years, why not? That tire pressure gauge that you can never find when you need it, absolutely. Tissues, change, stamps, fifteen or twenty extra photos of your grandchild. Holy crap I need a bigger bag.
OK I admit it, the bag works pretty well if you're traveling and if you have an ipad... and a map...and a Frommer's guide...and a brochure from the tourist attraction you just visited. Really, no one with an once of self-respect would be caught dead wearing a fanny pack. Carried like a messenger bag I'm less likely to leave my $700 Apple tablet in a church pew in Prague or a Rathskeller in Wurtzburg. Ohmygod! I've had the thing for less than a week and I'm already thinking about a matching scarf. (OK maybe that was a bit homophobic.) The point is, I'm not taking it back. I'll make an effort to use it for vacations and for local outings. Who knows? If it's big enough maybe I can bring my shaving mug to Europe.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Sunday, October 07, 2012
...or are sequels the ultimate guilty pleasure?
This is not a political rant. I said no politics for a while and I meant it. However it can't be denied that there is a striking correlation between Barack Obama and "Taken 2". So, exactly how can you compare the President of the United States to a ham-handed stinker of a sequel? Easy, America loves a second act.
In 2008 Liam Neeson appeared in a throw-away action thriller called Taken. For those of you who spend all of your time reading Proust, the story involves a family-loving, former CIA tough guy who rescues his daughter from white slavers. As action flicks go, it's pretty good. The hero never doubts for a minute that he will succeed and there is the appropriate amount of guy stuff i.e. torture, mayhem and the discharging of more rounds than at Gettysburg. The movie was well worth the price of the popcorn.
Do we need another one? Absolutely not. Is there the slightest chance that "Taken 2" will live up to our modest expectations? No. Will we go see it? Without a doubt. Why?
With films like "The Master", "The Intouchables" and of course "Frankenweenie" available, why would anyone fork over $12.50 to see a movie that's sure to disappoint? Because we want to relive the thrill of the first encounter. We're hoping for a second helping of adrenalin as Liam Neeson rages across Europe in the single-minded pursuit of the fiends who took his daughter. This is the same sort of "hope over experience" that lead us to sit through "Rocky 2 thru 5" (Plus "Rocky Balboa", a sad attempt to resuscitate both Balboa and Stallone. Both resulted in TKO's. ) We've witnessed Rambo 1-4, Terminator 1-4 (with a fifth supposedly on the way). Hell, even the parody got a sequel (see, Hot Shots, Part Deux) It's not that we are looking for a continuation of the story like The Godfather or even Raiders of the Lost Ark. We just liked the experience of the first film and want more of the same.
Which brings us to Barack Hussein Obama.
By any measure, Barack Obama should be scouring the real estate section of the Chicago Tribune for a new home in Hyde Park and calling the University of Chicago about teaching vacancies. Unemployment is still high, Iran is still a threat and he just finished second in a debate to a guy with the warmth of a bag of finishing nails. In a rational universe, the Obamas should be having the White House towels re-monogrammed with an "R". That, however, is not the current situation. Why? Because we want the sequel. We want to recapture that magic night in Chicago in Nov 2008 when a new face, a black face, told us that anything was possible.
The President has a winning personality and, has lived the Horatio Alger, rags to riches story. We root for guys like this and want to watch them overcome obstacles on the road to success. Obama is the guy who, having never flown a plane, is forced to take the controls and land the aircraft safely. He's the guy who grabs the machine gun when the fighting is the heaviest and leads his squad up the hill. We love this guy because he is one of us.
Romney is the pretty-boy rich kid who mocks our hero. He has never had to work at the mall or give out rented bowling shoes at the local lanes. From the moment he appears in the story we root for his failure. We can't wait for the skinny poor kid to learn karate or win the track meet and kick his ass. Nobody pulls for the rich guy and nobody is pulling for Romney. People may vote for him but no one will applaud his success.
So while the 20plex is filling up with people cheering for Liam Neeson to decimate the entire Muslim population of Istanbul, let's try to remember why we can't get enough of this junk. Rooting for the Good Guy is in our DNA.
In 2008 Liam Neeson appeared in a throw-away action thriller called Taken. For those of you who spend all of your time reading Proust, the story involves a family-loving, former CIA tough guy who rescues his daughter from white slavers. As action flicks go, it's pretty good. The hero never doubts for a minute that he will succeed and there is the appropriate amount of guy stuff i.e. torture, mayhem and the discharging of more rounds than at Gettysburg. The movie was well worth the price of the popcorn.
Do we need another one? Absolutely not. Is there the slightest chance that "Taken 2" will live up to our modest expectations? No. Will we go see it? Without a doubt. Why?
With films like "The Master", "The Intouchables" and of course "Frankenweenie" available, why would anyone fork over $12.50 to see a movie that's sure to disappoint? Because we want to relive the thrill of the first encounter. We're hoping for a second helping of adrenalin as Liam Neeson rages across Europe in the single-minded pursuit of the fiends who took his daughter. This is the same sort of "hope over experience" that lead us to sit through "Rocky 2 thru 5" (Plus "Rocky Balboa", a sad attempt to resuscitate both Balboa and Stallone. Both resulted in TKO's. ) We've witnessed Rambo 1-4, Terminator 1-4 (with a fifth supposedly on the way). Hell, even the parody got a sequel (see, Hot Shots, Part Deux) It's not that we are looking for a continuation of the story like The Godfather or even Raiders of the Lost Ark. We just liked the experience of the first film and want more of the same.
Which brings us to Barack Hussein Obama.
By any measure, Barack Obama should be scouring the real estate section of the Chicago Tribune for a new home in Hyde Park and calling the University of Chicago about teaching vacancies. Unemployment is still high, Iran is still a threat and he just finished second in a debate to a guy with the warmth of a bag of finishing nails. In a rational universe, the Obamas should be having the White House towels re-monogrammed with an "R". That, however, is not the current situation. Why? Because we want the sequel. We want to recapture that magic night in Chicago in Nov 2008 when a new face, a black face, told us that anything was possible.
The President has a winning personality and, has lived the Horatio Alger, rags to riches story. We root for guys like this and want to watch them overcome obstacles on the road to success. Obama is the guy who, having never flown a plane, is forced to take the controls and land the aircraft safely. He's the guy who grabs the machine gun when the fighting is the heaviest and leads his squad up the hill. We love this guy because he is one of us.
Romney is the pretty-boy rich kid who mocks our hero. He has never had to work at the mall or give out rented bowling shoes at the local lanes. From the moment he appears in the story we root for his failure. We can't wait for the skinny poor kid to learn karate or win the track meet and kick his ass. Nobody pulls for the rich guy and nobody is pulling for Romney. People may vote for him but no one will applaud his success.
So while the 20plex is filling up with people cheering for Liam Neeson to decimate the entire Muslim population of Istanbul, let's try to remember why we can't get enough of this junk. Rooting for the Good Guy is in our DNA.
Wednesday, October 03, 2012
...or do people watch Presidential debates for the same reason they watch NASCAR...hoping for an horrific wreck?
No more politics for a while.
Seriously, anything I could add to the torrent of opinions flowing through America, no one would want to hear anyway. I'm out.
OK, on to other things:
Arnold Schwarzenegger wrote a book about his life. Anyone who felt that life as we know it was incomplete without knowing every detail of The Governator's life please raise your dumbbell. No the other dumbbell.
Apparently Arnold felt that just lifting this tome would improve your girlie muscles. Weighing in at 700 pages this opus is the creakiest vehicle to come out of Austria since the Von Trapps yodeled their way across the Alps in a rusty rickshaw. Schwarzenegger's rise to Governor of California is proof that it's possible for the circus to elect a clown as ringmaster, or in this case, the strong man. Arnold's rise to fame is interesting in a "magazine article in a doctor's office" sort of way but this book presumes more gravitas than the new testament, in that both principal players think they're God.
OK, so Schwarzenegger is a curiosity... like Lincoln's visage in a potato chip. His rise to fame is nothing if not unconventional. True, we've had other politicians who came from seemingly incongruous careers. We've: a professional wrestler (Jesse "the body" Ventura), the purser on the Love Boat (Fred Grandy) and of course the man whose movie co-star was a primate (Ronald Wilson Reagan). Nevertheless, experience has taught us that with the right amount of ego, a dollop of drive, the right wife (a Kennedy would be nice) and some really good timing, almost anything is possible. (If you don't believe it, check the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.)
The problem with biographies written by megalomaniacs is that they wear out the "I" key on the keyboard. Gov. S. is no exception. "I was right about this...I did the right thing there...I took the right roles" (Insert your own Austrian accent for all quotes.) Even discussing stupid decisions, like accepting the role of Kalidor in Red Sonia (and compounding the felony by shtupping his co-star, Brigitte Nielsen) Arnold has an excuse. "They gave me a Humvee full of Euros." (My quote, not his.) When you control the word processor, it's easy to make yourself sound like Pacino or Redford even with tomato-cans like "Junior"," Red Heat" and "Conan the Destroyer" on your resume. It's OK to cop to the money ($17 mil in some cases) but please don't make it sound like playing opposite Sinbad in "Jingle All the Way" was an artistic achievement.
When the subject of Arnold's casual relationship with casual marital fidelity surfaces, our hero acts as if these transgressions are of no more consequence than littering. Among his transgressions was playing a little Upstairs Downstairs with the hired help. Unfortunately, when your peccadilloes result in unwanted offspring you got some 'splaining to do. (The last famous man to try to grow his own household staff was Thomas Jefferson...but I digress.) True to the code The Governator sticks out his chin as he recounts his "come to Jesus" conversation with his soon-to-be ex-wife, the long-suffering Maria Shriver. Arnold, ever the manly man, admits to fathering a child with the cleaning lady. Naturally, the Gov. glosses over the fact that the boy was practically shaving before he made his "manly" confession. Schwarzenneger treats his other dalliances as boyish indiscretions. The actual recorded incidents of the Governor's groping of women (too numerous to recount) puts one in mind of another Arnold...the Pig.
The book ends before Schwarzenneger is forced to explain why, after 43 years of acting experience (and at 65 years old), he is still turning out dreck like "The Expendibles 2" and "Triplets". (A movie intended to finally resolve those unanswered questions left hanging at the conclusion of "Twins") Apparently a side of beef, even a slightly moldy one, still has appeal.
Anyway, after the "60 Minutes" interview, a trip to see Jon Stewart and, about thirty reviews of the book, I'm about done with Governor Muscles and his metoeric rise to stardom. If I feel the need to fill up on junk, I'll grab "Pumping Iron". It's sort of a "how to kill a lot of time" story for people who don't have Wi-Fi. Hey, at least I won't get a hernia bringing it home.
Seriously, anything I could add to the torrent of opinions flowing through America, no one would want to hear anyway. I'm out.
OK, on to other things:
Arnold Schwarzenegger wrote a book about his life. Anyone who felt that life as we know it was incomplete without knowing every detail of The Governator's life please raise your dumbbell. No the other dumbbell.
Apparently Arnold felt that just lifting this tome would improve your girlie muscles. Weighing in at 700 pages this opus is the creakiest vehicle to come out of Austria since the Von Trapps yodeled their way across the Alps in a rusty rickshaw. Schwarzenegger's rise to Governor of California is proof that it's possible for the circus to elect a clown as ringmaster, or in this case, the strong man. Arnold's rise to fame is interesting in a "magazine article in a doctor's office" sort of way but this book presumes more gravitas than the new testament, in that both principal players think they're God.
OK, so Schwarzenegger is a curiosity... like Lincoln's visage in a potato chip. His rise to fame is nothing if not unconventional. True, we've had other politicians who came from seemingly incongruous careers. We've: a professional wrestler (Jesse "the body" Ventura), the purser on the Love Boat (Fred Grandy) and of course the man whose movie co-star was a primate (Ronald Wilson Reagan). Nevertheless, experience has taught us that with the right amount of ego, a dollop of drive, the right wife (a Kennedy would be nice) and some really good timing, almost anything is possible. (If you don't believe it, check the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.)
The problem with biographies written by megalomaniacs is that they wear out the "I" key on the keyboard. Gov. S. is no exception. "I was right about this...I did the right thing there...I took the right roles" (Insert your own Austrian accent for all quotes.) Even discussing stupid decisions, like accepting the role of Kalidor in Red Sonia (and compounding the felony by shtupping his co-star, Brigitte Nielsen) Arnold has an excuse. "They gave me a Humvee full of Euros." (My quote, not his.) When you control the word processor, it's easy to make yourself sound like Pacino or Redford even with tomato-cans like "Junior"," Red Heat" and "Conan the Destroyer" on your resume. It's OK to cop to the money ($17 mil in some cases) but please don't make it sound like playing opposite Sinbad in "Jingle All the Way" was an artistic achievement.
When the subject of Arnold's casual relationship with casual marital fidelity surfaces, our hero acts as if these transgressions are of no more consequence than littering. Among his transgressions was playing a little Upstairs Downstairs with the hired help. Unfortunately, when your peccadilloes result in unwanted offspring you got some 'splaining to do. (The last famous man to try to grow his own household staff was Thomas Jefferson...but I digress.) True to the code The Governator sticks out his chin as he recounts his "come to Jesus" conversation with his soon-to-be ex-wife, the long-suffering Maria Shriver. Arnold, ever the manly man, admits to fathering a child with the cleaning lady. Naturally, the Gov. glosses over the fact that the boy was practically shaving before he made his "manly" confession. Schwarzenneger treats his other dalliances as boyish indiscretions. The actual recorded incidents of the Governor's groping of women (too numerous to recount) puts one in mind of another Arnold...the Pig.
The book ends before Schwarzenneger is forced to explain why, after 43 years of acting experience (and at 65 years old), he is still turning out dreck like "The Expendibles 2" and "Triplets". (A movie intended to finally resolve those unanswered questions left hanging at the conclusion of "Twins") Apparently a side of beef, even a slightly moldy one, still has appeal.
Anyway, after the "60 Minutes" interview, a trip to see Jon Stewart and, about thirty reviews of the book, I'm about done with Governor Muscles and his metoeric rise to stardom. If I feel the need to fill up on junk, I'll grab "Pumping Iron". It's sort of a "how to kill a lot of time" story for people who don't have Wi-Fi. Hey, at least I won't get a hernia bringing it home.
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