Tuesday, August 29, 2006
24 wins an Emmy
24 wins the Emmy for best drama and everybody is jerking themselves off in celebration.
I’ve a tidbit of news for you guys: 24 sucks.
I know this because I’ve seen every episode.
I know… I know how that sounds. But I’m hooked. It’s a train wreck that I can’t look away from. It’s the needle I can’t take out of my arm. I know it’s bad for me, I know every second kills more and more brain cells, but I can’t stop.
I loved the first season. I think the opening and closing shows rank with some of the best TV ever made – and because of that I am able to overlook Kim’s multiple kidnappings, Terri’s amnesia, and the cougar trap. I’ll never forget the cougar trap, but I can forgive it. Because I’m a forgiving guy.
And then I just couldn't forgive anymore.
In the second season, Jack survived a nuclear bomb by hiding behind a rock not fifty feet away from the blast. It was then that I realized this show had become parody. Everything is a joke: from Keefer’s two modes of acting ("rar rar rar" whispering and "RAR RAR RAR" shouting), to the “shocking” main character getting bumped off every season, to the complete reset of the show every mid-season (Jack's not chasing a drug cartel – he’s really chasing a chemical weapon!!![season 3] the kidnapping of the Secretary of Defense was all just a ruse by terrorists to uncover… a chemical weapon!!!![season 4]).
In 24’s five seasons, I’ve seen Jack overcome heroin addiction in two hours, the president start up a little whoopee at the end of one episode and buttoning his shirt up at the start of the next (hey Romeo, two minutes have passed), Jack die twice, Kim get kidnapped 137 times, CTU be infiltrated by more moles than your mamma’s garden, Jack merely pull a jacket over his head ("Pay no attention to me, I'm a suitcase, I'm a suitcase") to sneak onboard a plane's heavily guarded cargo hold, and (in the Emmy winning season) the President of the United States turn traitor.
And through it all Jack Bauer saves the day EVERY TIME. Yet, when the next crisis arises, nobody (except Chloe, of course) trusts that Jack can do it again.
See, how can it win an Emmy for best drama when it’s clearly a comedy?
So, yeah, I watch. And I’ll keep watching. But, come on Emmy voters, as a drama that show sucks.
I’ve a tidbit of news for you guys: 24 sucks.
I know this because I’ve seen every episode.
I know… I know how that sounds. But I’m hooked. It’s a train wreck that I can’t look away from. It’s the needle I can’t take out of my arm. I know it’s bad for me, I know every second kills more and more brain cells, but I can’t stop.
I loved the first season. I think the opening and closing shows rank with some of the best TV ever made – and because of that I am able to overlook Kim’s multiple kidnappings, Terri’s amnesia, and the cougar trap. I’ll never forget the cougar trap, but I can forgive it. Because I’m a forgiving guy.
And then I just couldn't forgive anymore.
In the second season, Jack survived a nuclear bomb by hiding behind a rock not fifty feet away from the blast. It was then that I realized this show had become parody. Everything is a joke: from Keefer’s two modes of acting ("rar rar rar" whispering and "RAR RAR RAR" shouting), to the “shocking” main character getting bumped off every season, to the complete reset of the show every mid-season (Jack's not chasing a drug cartel – he’s really chasing a chemical weapon!!![season 3] the kidnapping of the Secretary of Defense was all just a ruse by terrorists to uncover… a chemical weapon!!!![season 4]).
In 24’s five seasons, I’ve seen Jack overcome heroin addiction in two hours, the president start up a little whoopee at the end of one episode and buttoning his shirt up at the start of the next (hey Romeo, two minutes have passed), Jack die twice, Kim get kidnapped 137 times, CTU be infiltrated by more moles than your mamma’s garden, Jack merely pull a jacket over his head ("Pay no attention to me, I'm a suitcase, I'm a suitcase") to sneak onboard a plane's heavily guarded cargo hold, and (in the Emmy winning season) the President of the United States turn traitor.
And through it all Jack Bauer saves the day EVERY TIME. Yet, when the next crisis arises, nobody (except Chloe, of course) trusts that Jack can do it again.
See, how can it win an Emmy for best drama when it’s clearly a comedy?
So, yeah, I watch. And I’ll keep watching. But, come on Emmy voters, as a drama that show sucks.
Monday, August 28, 2006
YAW EHT DAEL
I’m a changed man. I’ve been selected by a hand of destiny, and, well, I smell good, too.
I guess you never can see where an epiphany will strike or what form a messenger of fate will take. But when chosen, you best heed that call.
That’s right, my deodorant. Had it not told me to lead the way – the way might very well have remained unled. Or worse yet, I might have followed someone else to the way or possibly even asked directions to the way.
But no, my deodorant chose me as a way leader, and by God I shall lead the fuck out of the way. The way won’t know what’s up, it has been so well led.
The cynical amongst you might see this as a particularly asinine bit of marketing, like CBS laser etching ads on eggs or Coca-Cola Blak. Heck you might even see it as a way to rob consumers of 3.5 millimeters of actual deodorant product.
Then there are those of you who wouldn’t wish to be preached to by your deodorant. Who want nothing more from a deodorant than to have it keep you from stinking, maybe keep the pit area dry, and not give you lymph cancer.
But my deodorant has spoken. Who are you to argue with the deodorant? Who amongst you knows better than my deodorant?
Now the rest of you have a choice. You can follow or you can get out of the way, but you cannot lead. For that position has been filled. Like King Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone, I pulled my deodorant from the medicine cabinet and rubbed it across my hairy pits. It is now destiny that I Lead the Way.
Of course, once rubbed across one’s pits, the message disappeared. Like it was never there. But I know. I know and will never forget the message. It is there every time I raise my sweat stainless, body-odorless arms. Lead the Way.
Inspiring, Degree Deodorant, real inspiring.
I guess you never can see where an epiphany will strike or what form a messenger of fate will take. But when chosen, you best heed that call.
That’s right, my deodorant. Had it not told me to lead the way – the way might very well have remained unled. Or worse yet, I might have followed someone else to the way or possibly even asked directions to the way.
But no, my deodorant chose me as a way leader, and by God I shall lead the fuck out of the way. The way won’t know what’s up, it has been so well led.
The cynical amongst you might see this as a particularly asinine bit of marketing, like CBS laser etching ads on eggs or Coca-Cola Blak. Heck you might even see it as a way to rob consumers of 3.5 millimeters of actual deodorant product.
Then there are those of you who wouldn’t wish to be preached to by your deodorant. Who want nothing more from a deodorant than to have it keep you from stinking, maybe keep the pit area dry, and not give you lymph cancer.
But my deodorant has spoken. Who are you to argue with the deodorant? Who amongst you knows better than my deodorant?
Now the rest of you have a choice. You can follow or you can get out of the way, but you cannot lead. For that position has been filled. Like King Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone, I pulled my deodorant from the medicine cabinet and rubbed it across my hairy pits. It is now destiny that I Lead the Way.
Of course, once rubbed across one’s pits, the message disappeared. Like it was never there. But I know. I know and will never forget the message. It is there every time I raise my sweat stainless, body-odorless arms. Lead the Way.
Inspiring, Degree Deodorant, real inspiring.
