Versus # Five

Versus # Five: Maury vs. Jerry

Background: Due to the expensiveness of gas, a complete lack of ability and desire to play the game of golf, and a simple refusal to go to NASCAR¹, I found myself constantly within a fifty foot radius of my couch this Memorial Day weekend. Besides playing a depressing (awesome) amount of GTA IV and watching The Departed for the twentieth time, another ‘goal’ of mine was to try to tidy up the ol’ DVR, seeing as it was completely saturated and I was about 95% of the reason that the joyous little invention was full. While the Pack Rat in me refused to erase some of the more dignified documentaries and such², there was one category that could be sizeably cut- my notable collection of recorded day time talk shows. Over the course of the long weekend, I watched probably five/six episodes of Maury and The Jerry Springer Show³ which proves that (a) my diabolical side is well intact, and (b) I was really, really bored. Both shows are rancid depictions of the dredges of society, but so is The Hills, so I don’t feel but so bad about getting the occasional ego-boost at the cost of some slime’s non-existent dignity. That being said, while the core of both shows prove to be very similar, there are substantial enough differences in presentation, tone, and topic that puts this securely in “vsmatters.com article” territory. Now, let’s see who wins in the battle between two sixty-something year old men’s brainchildren.

Presentation: This part is only for the truly Talk Show-literate, and may be skippable for those who read this blog merely as a courtesy to me. While a subtle piece of the Talk Show machine, production values can supply enough of a given show’s character as to be an accurate indicator of the program’s quality as a whole. Both Jerry and Maury have very unique production styles that add to the overall vision of their respective shows. Jerry’s production is based on audience participation, spectacle, and a sort of self-depreciating humor that is refreshing in a type of program that typically takes itself so seriously. Whether it is the awe-inspiring “Jerry” chants that begin the program, the energetic question/ flash yo’ redneck titties section at the conclusion, or the constant feeling that somebody’s ‘bout to get their ass whipped, the audience plays a fundamental role in Jerry. While Maury’s audience does play a fundamental reactionary role, they are rarely an integral part of the show, and from what I have seen, the grunts have never been given a Q and A session. Jerry also likes to bring a variety of elements into his show to help create this world of a lewd carnival on PCP- whether it be food, midgets, obese people, pole-dances, or awesome sound effects⁴, a majority of Jerry’s show is already made/produced well before any of the heathens hit the stage for an interview. Maury, on the other hand, is completely about the guests. Paternity tests, the life-blood on which Maury survives, is the best example of this. The girl typically tells her side of the story (usually shot a day or two before on video using some pretty basic editing techniques), then the guy and his new, less-ripped up girlfriend vehemently deny said child with their own video, the two fight, the child’s paternity is determined and the people go crawl under whatever bridge from whence they came. Maury only asks the bare minimum of questions because he obviously knows an elementary fact: unless you are Conan O’ Brien, the host is the least important part of any talk show. Jerry, due to his political and television past, seems more at home as the focus of the program, as seen by his hearty telling of neurotic jokes and ubiquity on the set of the show (how many things can have “Jerry” written on them?). So, while Jerry really does across as an acid-circus with Jerry as the Ringmaster, Maury tends to at least present these tales as human interest pieces.

Tone: It is clear from the get-go, with an advisory warning that has a crying baby in the background, that The Jerry Springer Show is not intended to be taken seriously at all. A recent episode involved a bizarre love pentagon (?) which involved an over-weight “outdoorsman,” his lover, her daughter, his son, and some other rocket scientist all fighting over one another⁵. No shocker here- there was incest involved; no shocker part 2- there was also a great deal of brawling going on. Now, a host with a genuine concern for all the guests would surely banish such futile brutality and try to help the folks involved in a bizarre situation. Not Jerry- not only is there a bell that rings every time a fight is going to break out, there are also ring card girls that walk by the crowd denoting round number, and a pretty impressive “Security” force which takes the fighters to separate corners and gives them water with a spit bucket during these fight breaks- in other words, not only do they know a conflict is coming, they encourage and embrace the conflict. Also present on the Jerry stage is a stripper pole, a reverend stand, and a variety of other props begging to get used by those so inclined. The Jerry Springer show was voted “Worst show of all time” by TV Guide, and Jerry simply doesn’t want to disappoint. Jerry knows these imbeciles are there but for one reason- to be on TV. Not to resolve conflict, not to reconnect with someone, but merely to have their picture on a light-emitting box for their 15 minutes. Is it pathetic, yes, but an obsession with being noticed is wholly American. Maury, on the other hand, takes another approach with the show, that being of a caring middle-man whose sole purpose is to solve problems and offer solutions to those who think his or her stance in life might be dire. One example is of the reckless children who treat their parents like crap, slut around, and do ‘drugs,’⁶ and Maury’s ultimate solution of sending them to a “scared straight” like program, in an attempt to get them better. If I think he was being legitimate, I would say this approach is sincere but delusional- at least Jerry doesn’t try to throw the wool veil over your eyes and give you the sensation he gives two shits about these pawns. But that is Maury’s bread and butter- if the point of Jerry is to fight, show our asses and bevy of prison tattoos in a sort of “pig playing with his own filth” motif⁷, then the point of Maury might be that even though we all might be degenerate sex-fiends with no discipline, we too might be able to gain some assistance. Jerry is the show for identifying the trash, Maury is the show for trying to rectify it.

Topics: Both Maury and Jerry excel in this category, so this part I suppose should go to my “Thank God” blog over my “versus” blog, because if these two were to compete on this playing ground, it would be like the Hulk and that other huge thing fighting in the new Hulk film. As stated before, Maury gets much of its topics because of its intentionally putrid attempt as a human interest show. Paternity tests are obviously the go-to for Maury, as those shows’ popularity has almost made Maury a mere one trick pony, but not quite. Maury also has “lyin’ lovers” shows⁸, “my kid is a fucking disaster and ungrateful but also probably mistreated earlier in life so I guess I had it coming to me” shows, and, a personal favorite, the fat baby shows, where children as big as 280 lbs at the age of four tickle my funny bone with an uncompromised vigor. While the paternity tests remain the best episodes, all types certainly have their charm (or more accurately: all the people lack charm in varying amounts). Whereas Maury gathers his strength from variety, Jerry gets his quality though the element of surprise and by refusing to making a topic-based episode. In an opening segment you might get midget S and M practitioners, quickly followed by a “rescue” mission where Jerry or Steve cut the wall off a trailer in hopes of saving an obese man. This lack of coherence can make some shows suffer, but as a whole are a great asset to a program that prides itself on unpredictability and simply vulgarity. The element of surprise is an important one, as Jerry wouldn’t be Jerry without somebody getting their heart-smashed, both literally and figuratively, and there is no better way to guarantee both then to illuminate an extra-marital affair or a closet-homosexual offspring. While the episodes can get formulaic, the producers dedication to keep it fresh as well as rednecks’ superb ability to be entertaining keep the show kicking ass and taking names in this, its 17^th season.

Let’s Fight!: I know what it must have felt like in the Civil War to be the mother of two fighting brothers. I love both of these shows for the exact reason you think I do- they are trashy, shallow, and an indictment of how backwards our society is. As much as people would like to completely ignore it, these people are just as American as you or I, or for my international crowd, just as much as a human being. Maury seems to approach this with the “well, we acknowledge your problem, let’s get D- West over here and help you see the light” which seems to suggest that just because our society has impressively terrible people, there is hope. Jerry tries to point these people out as mainstays of our culture, and instead of completely banishing them to an existence of government cheese, dozens of children, and toothlessness, he at least let’s them have their say (growl)- he appreciates them as part of society, albeit worthless ones. If Maury is trying to open our eyes to problems, Jerry acknowledges we’re all fucked anyways- we might as well laugh at ourselves. When it comes down to it, that philosophy makes more sense to me. Winner: Jerry!

1 Went last year- had a great time but refuse to deal with the traffic/ prices/ people unless I am thoroughly drunk and have a quality, AC-filled ride home

2 If I can’t impress with my pedantic TiVo, how can I?

3 From here referenced to only as Jerry

4 Personal favorite- When a guy openly admits to having slept with another man only to deny his own homosexuality, the trademark BRRRRR buzzard comes on

5 Did I say rocket scientists? I meant quasi-literate-yokels

6 Huff paint

7 Can’t believe I used this word in a Jerry Springer piece

8 These don’t really do it for me because lie detectors are very flawed- they aren’t admissible in court (as opposed to a DNA test for paternity).

Versus # Four

Mencia vs. Engvall

Background:

“Comedy is a socially acceptable form of hostility and aggression. That is what comics do, stand the world upside down.”

- George Carlin

Well put Georgio. Stand up comedy is an art based on timing, delivery, subversism, and before we completely forget what we’re talking about, being funny. That being said, however, it is difficult to define the difference between a good stand-up comedian and one better suited to refill the gin and tonics and clean the ashtrays at your local comedy club. For instance, probably the topic that drags the most laughs out of the golden 18-31 male demographic is racial taboo and for a similarly aged girl audience, it is men’s inability to maintain an erection and his ineptitude when trying to close that damned toilet seat¹. While most everybody has a very peculiar (and thus very different) sense of humor, there are clearly people who pretty much anybody from a given sample of the general population will find funny. From legends Johnny Carson and George Carlin to revolutionaries such as Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor and modern day giants like Patton Oswalt and Dave Chappelle, really good stand-up has an universal quality to it that transcends race, gender, and age². It’s pointless to try to define why these and many, many other comedians are skilled in making people laugh. It is not pointless, however, to point out why some aren’t funny.

The convenient thing about making fun of comedians is that it is very much like making fun of musicians- the most popular tend to be the worst at it. For example, as of this posting, the top ten albums and songs in the nation are exercises in lowest common denominator mediocrity. That wasn’t a cut to those who like girlish pop music, country, or Neil Diamond, its just saying that most people who really enjoy these types of music just don’t really think about music a whole lot³. While it can be difficult to numerically define the popularity of a given stand-up comedian, typically the most famous comedians at a given time are still easy to identify- they have their own shows. And it is in this ilk that this ‘versus’ is written- who is less funny between two of the least funny people in the planet?

Let’s Fight!: Before I start, I would like to elucidate a few things. First, I realize that both of these guys, particularly with their lucrative stand-up tours and television/ DVD contracts, have more money than I can ever fathom- but the reader must appreciate that money does not equal success to me, so these guys still would have a pretty tough interview process just to clean my XBOX. Or, as the Ultimate Warrior once luminously stated “billions do not build you biceps⁴.” Secondly, Bill Engval could easily be replaced by a Larry the Cable Guy or any other comic with Confederate apparel, much like Carlos Mancia could be replaced with Dane Cook or anybody else who identifies wit with volume. Now let’s tear these Philistines a new orifice.

Bill Engvall: You’d think after twenty some-odd years of being a stand-up comedian, one would think of a joke funnier than how odd it is to hold your daughter’s underwear; and in the case of Bill Engvall, you’d be mistaken. Hailing from Galveston, Texas, a town where humor is as indigenous as Polar Bears⁵, Engvall apparently got his sense of yuckles from a house-mom who was only allowed to see the daylight between the second and third rooster calls in the dead of morning. From there, lil’ Bill decided that he too could make people laugh when commenting on how the figure on the Mr. Clean bottle is as “bald as my grandpappy” or how ironing “makes clothes straighter.” From there, the sky began to open for Engvall the Eagle, as a charming mustached man by the name of Jeff Foxworthy would swing by Texas on a tour, acknowledge that he too has a funny way of talking, and decide that they should embrace an easily-criticized Southern culture until they have enough monies to fill a Waffle House deep fryer. Learning from Sensei Foxworthy, Engvall decided he too needed a lame catchphrase and so “Here’s Your Sign” was created to the delight of children and other easily-amused people everywhere. Soon after punching the country’s collective funny bone with The Blue Comedy Tour, Bill decided to further focus his sophisticated brand of body sound humor by dipping into the film and televisions world (with a television version of Blue Comedy Tour⁶) with astounding success. Realizing they could conquer more moronic ground separated than together, the geniuses over at TBS decided to offer Billy-crack-corn with his own television show, appropriately titled Raining Blood⁷.

Seriously though, here’s some proof about how simply lame this guy is

Also, for those who can’t access youtube, a quote:

“My daughter's in school, now and she's learning these new words that she doesn't know what they mean. She'll just use them because they sound interesting. Like, one time she said to me, "Dad, I can't eat my cereal." and I said, "Well, why not?". She said, "'cause my milk's frustrating." And I hear this and now I know where Quayle has his problems, now. Wouldn't it have been great to hear the the first time he used the word "sununu" in a sentence. Yeah. "Well, George, the war had to end "sununu" or later."

And assuming you haven’t just passed out from laughter quite yet, another:

Welcome to my garage! This is where I go to get away from the Honeydew List. (as in Honey do this, honey do that...)

Garage humor? I’m sure Bill Hicks is still kicking himself for not getting after that one.

Carlos Mencia: I can’t even type those two cursed words without this popping in my tortured mind, but more on his humor about the mentally handicapped in a bit. Carlos Mencia, on paper, seems to have some potential. For instance, when Chappelle went bat-shit and decided to go to Africa, Mencia was Comedy Central’s go-to-guy for “let’s have a funny skit show with an ethnic guy as the MC.” Even some of his stand-up occasionally raises a chuckle, but this starts to make sense due to his inability not to steal other peoples’ acts. And as inexcusable as that is, then comes his “subversive” humor. Here is the drawing board of Mencia’s humor (with an asterix on what he really focuses on):

1. White People= racist*

2. Black People= thuggish*

3. Asian People= dry cleaning*, physical characteristics*⁸

4. Mexican People= lazy*⁹

5. Retarded People= stupid*

6. Gay People- act all gay like*

Now, the first thing one might rebut my argument with is my personal love of South Park, a show that is far more brutal to far more ethic groups. A fair point, but with one minor hiccup- in South Park these people are treated as part of a bigger American community, whereas in Mind of Mencia these characteristics are the extent to which the characters exist. For instance, in the “Up The Down Steroid” episode of South Park¹⁰, there are many, many jokes made about the mentally handicapped. Also on that episode, however, the focus is on Jimmy’s internal struggle to deal with his at times overly-competitive spirit and what it means to be a friend, not to mention several hilarious allusions to Rocky and Raging Bull. That is the gravitas that the creators of the show are willing to give a minor character. Carlos Mencia, on the other hand, seems to think that the only thing the retarded are good for is shouting “Dee Dee Dee”- real nice, asshole. Mencia typically defends his humor as being subversive and the things “America doesn’t want to hear.” You’re right, Carlos-the-cock-sucker, I don’t want to hear your juvenile, simplistic thoughts on prevalent issues that you defend by calling them ‘offensive.’ They’re offensive alright, but it has nothing to do with the material, it has do with the fact that you are as funny as being the dude from Seven who gets his asshole sewn shut and is literally fed to death.

So, in the end, we have two folks who are very unfunny for very different reasons. Engvall is bland, boring, and cliché-ridden¹¹, but at least he never tries to act like something he is not and his heart does seem to be at the right place. I’m sure there are many families in the world who can relate to that sort of humor, and for that Bill, you should be acknowledged (not as funny, mind you- just for having an audience). Carlos, you might be marginally funnier than Bill, but you do it under the guise of being clever and shocking- give it up buddy, Richard Pryor was clearly funnier than you thirty years ago and he didn’t even have other subversive comedians from whom to steal. Your act is juvenile, shallow, doltish, and pointless. Your show alone has made my IQ drop at least fifteen points, and I've never watched more than ten consecutive minutes of it before. Mencia wins the terribleness award pretty easily. Winner (Loser): Mencia!

1 I assume this is why my female readership is at a stellar ‘0’

2 Although I’m not sure how many infants would get Chappelle’s ‘crack baby’ routine

3 Instead they are thinking about nerdy shit like Medicine, Banking, Engineering, Teaching, and other facets of our country that maintain its relevance

4 Pretty sure this quote is wholly irrelevant

5 This is the last true statement of this paragraph

6 Sample joke- “What’s the number to 9-1-1.” I’m not joking- even my eight year old cousin who is certainly ‘country’ by disposition knew how flat that one fell.

7 Actually, it’s just The Bill Engvall Show

8 Holy Shit! That’s two!

9 Note that Mencia is not actually Mexican, but Hondurian, and he does specify Mexicans when criticizing the entire Hispanic community- just something to chew on if you think its OK for him to make fun of “one of his own”

10 The one where Cartman decides to act retarded to win the Special Olympics, also Jimmy starts to take steroids to perform better in the Games

11 Who knew Vicodin makes you feel weird!?

Versus # Three

"Iron Man" vs Iron Man

Background: Originally released in 1970 on Black Sabbath’s tour de force Paranoid, “Iron Man” is considered by many to be the best heavy metal song of all time. Written when Ozzy still had enough functioning brain cells to formulate a unique tale of duty, ostracization, betrayal, and death, “Iron Man” is widely regarded to be a pinnacle of early 70’s rock, with drumming that matches a Tommy gun’s intensity and a Tony Iommi three-fingered riff that might be the most recognized guitar part in all of pop music¹. While the lyrics themselves are abstract enough as to not outline a definitive story, the general consensus is that it is a tale of a man who comes to save a village, somehow gets trapped in iron², gets classified as a social outcast/ oddity due to his new deformity, and decides to bathe all of these ungrateful villagers in their own blood. Any song with that story, no matter its length, genre, tempo, or melody, has a fan in me.

Jon Favreau’s film adaptation of Marvel’s (not Sabbath’s- let me make this clear- they are not the same character) Iron Man would hit the big screen thirty-eight years later to both critical praise and huge box-office numbers³. Revolving around party-boy weapons dealer Tony Stark, the story involves him being kidnapped by some sort of terrorist organization in hopes that he would be able to activate some of his companies’ missiles that these bona-fide assholes had gotten their dirty, dirty⁴ hands on. Tony escapes eventually (it has something to do with a suit made of- wait for it- iron) and decides to focus his apparently limitless brain on the prevention of mass warfare, not the profiting possibilities. From there the story takes off with back-stabbings a plenty, the creation of a more sell-action-figures friendly Iron Man suit⁵, and a final showdown which is so sweet that half the film’s attendance came out with type-2 diabetes. Marvel has already signed the stars and directors on for the trilogy- a venture more profitable then investing in a money-making machine, or in reference to the film itself, a “golden egg laying goose.”

Let’s Fight!: It is difficult to compare a film to a song, particularly when said song is in the film (suggesting that Sabbath agreed with Favreau’s vision enough to give him the rights) but I too will try to save the villagers by fighting the good fight. “Iron Man,” while certainly a monumental piece of sonic nirvana that sounds as fresh today as it when it was pressed onto wax thirty-eight years (!) ago, is not without its flaws. For starters, while it is probably the cleanest example of what a good Heavy Metal song is, it is not even the best song on Paranoid. The self-titled track does the 1-2-3 rock n’ roll thing with a reckless smoothness that would not be replicated until those long-hair degenerates from Queens sang “Blitzkrieg Bop.” The album’s opener, “War Pigs,” also proves to be a far more scathing look at society, as well as a better structured rock song⁶ with a “so this is where this chord progression comes from” of its own. Sabbath is great while rocking but not so great experimenting with voice effects, as the “I am Ironman” robot-voice in the beginning can only be enjoyable to those not taking the song very seriously⁷. But besides those minor complaints, the song is phenomenal from start to finish- it is rare for a 6 minute song to have such a great pace that it feels like it is really under the 2:30 mark but somehow Sabbath pulls it off with such an effortless cool that is impossible to teach or fake. And perhaps “cool” is the perfect term for it- I don’t think in my adult life that that song has come on and I haven’t lit up a smoke, throw on my shades, rolled down my window a bit⁸, and cruised with a bit of a “don’t even say one word- I am rocking and will get to you when I do” chip on my shoulder.

Iron Man, on the other hand, is another beast (iron man?) completely. Having been told by about thirty people that I would simply adore the movie⁹, I was expecting big things and found myself disappointed but at the same time thoroughly satisfied. As a former comic book reader¹⁰, I was never that into the mythology of Iron Man as I was just the look of the character himself. While I clearly wasn’t thinking this way back then, I like(d) the contradiction of the suit having an extremely industrial, technological look with the extremely shiny red and gold color scheme- it is a great metaphor for a character who is brilliant but who also has a flashiness in him that is expected of “new billionaire.” Also, I thought having square eyes and mouth would be pretty neat¹¹, but that’s one of those “just cus” things. Favreau and all of his design people did a superb job bringing the look to the big screen, as well as well-paced yet intricate outlining of the evolution of the suit itself. The action sequences, while they do take a little long to get to, are top notch as well. Never before has any other film given the viewer a sensation of flight this visceral and authentic¹², with the possible exception of the Spider-Man films, and that doesn’t really count because he was swinging, not flying. Also of note are the fantastic fighting scenes, that really give a viewer the sense of Iron Man just beating the bejesus out of people- although it must be mentioned that I can’t remember the last super-hero film where the hero goes around and just decimates civilians (I acknowledge heavily-armed ones, but people none the less). The cast is perfect as well- Downey Jr.’s take on Stark is great and is bound to become more poignant when addressing the character’s alcoholism, a big plot of the comic book series.

But, I also have some issues with the film. First, some of the plot is simply head scratching. For instance, I know that many terrorists may not have gotten the best education out of My City Is A Ruin University (MCIARU for short), but even they must know not to let a physicist whose family they killed and a multi-billionaire arms developer in a room by themselves with the capabilities to build experimental weaponry. Also, how could Stark be so in the blue about his companies’ illegal dealings with the terrorists? I know the explanation for many is “oh, he was out gambling and womanizing and it snuck up on him,” but that doesn’t float water for me. Also, Terrance Howard’s character, who could have easily been the most likeable in the film, was as stale as the pack of cigarettes I found in my shorts while getting down my “spring clothes.” For instance, when he sees Iron Man essentially in a dog fight with two US fighter planes, his reaction’s sentiment is “Oh, that’s ol’ Stark, being a rascal again!” What? It’s one of your best friends flying in a suit that defies all rational explanation fighting against the very body of the government you work for- I’m not sure what my reaction would be, but it certainly would involve a lot of profanity and whiskey- not a ‘gee, shucks.’ Also, while I do like the Downey character’s smart-ass approach towards things, some of the jokes just fall flat. Also, I thought the “multi-billionaire decides to look a little bigger than himself and help humanity” worked better in Batman Begins, but that’s because I like my heroes depressed and misanthropic more than altruistic and wise-cracking.

Conclusion: So, in the end, there are two ways to look at this fight. If the main character from both pieces fought, you’d have to say the Marvel character would just stomp the piss out of a dude whose only discernible ability is his “boots made of lead.” On the flip-side, when making this challenge, I made sure to accurately punctuate both titles so as to compare the two pieces themselves, not necessarily the iron mans they describe. In that case, “Iron Man” wins hands down- it introduced the world to heavy metal and still rocks twice as hard as any Godsmack or Slipknot song on the radio. Iron Man, while a pretty damn good flick, was neither particularly innovative nor gives me the sense that it will have the longevity of the Sabbath song. We will come back to this when Iron Man 2 is inevitably released. Winner: “Iron Man”

1 Beavis and Butthead used to sing “Duh, Duh, DuhDuhDuh” which is a reference to this song, not Green Jelly’s “Three Little Piggies,” a popular Gwar-esque shock-rock song that swiped the riff.

2 I guess this could be a metaphor for complacency, but knowing Black Sabbath I’m thinking the guy literally got dumped into a pot of smoldering iron

3 As of this writing, $185,000,000 domestically, $350,000,000 world-wide

4 Dirty is one of the few adjectives that warrants repeating

5 And they succeeded- some of the best parts of the film are him playing around with his new found abilities.

6 Although it could argued its more Prog Rock than Metal

7 And it is Black Sabbath, so this is an OK approach

8 Yes, my definition of “cool” is similar to what James Dean did everyday of his life about sixty years ago

9 Percentage rate of me actually “adoring” the film in this circumstance- .1%- I did really like Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. Also, don’t think any of my friends have ever used the word “adore” before.

10 I’m sure this isn’t too surprising

11 still do

12 Can’t really back that up, never flown

Versus #2

Me vs. Nissan Pavilion

Background: There are three distinct elements that are relevant to the background of this story, and while they obviously added together to cataclysmic effect on the night of May 11^th, there is no other strong correlation per se, so it will be easier to read/ write if they were separated.

BG #1: Kid A, Radiohead’s disaster/ masterpiece¹, was released in 2001 and shot directly to the top of Billboard’s Sales Chart, solidifying any doubts over the obsession of music fans world wide with the British five-piece band. In support of the album, Radiohead went on a national tour, playing at non-traditional outdoor spots including Bull Run, a venue right outside of the DC area. Being from Richmond and having friends with similar tastes in music, this was clearly a no brainer- we drove up that Saturday in the blistering heat, awaiting to see a bunch of pissy brits talk about how much America sucks and how they distrust computers. Long story short, after listening to two opening bands (one of which, I’m pretty sure, was a not quite ‘famous’ yet Sigur Ros), a rain storm came out of nowhere. After waiting in the rain for about 2 hours, we were told the concert was cancelled due to excess water in front of the stage (they said it was a foot- it looked more like 3 feet). Although disappointed, we all managed to have a good trip, which culminated in stopping at a Waffle House and putting “Bye, Bye, Bye” by N’ Sync on repeat as we left² and one of my friends being crowned with a few new nicknames (we were in the car for a long, long time). An agreement was made that night that if we ever had the chance, we would all get together and see this band that people at the time were referring to as the best in the world.

BG #2: Flash-forward seven years. Radiohead is still a band I highly respect but much has changed (particularly my music tastes) since that unsuccessful voyage near the beginning of the new millennium. In Rainbows is released in later 2007 to perhaps the best reviews Radiohead has received in its acclaimed career, not to mention the “fuck big business” aesthetic at work by releasing an album where the listener picked his or her own price. In Rainbows proves to be a pretty damn good disc³, and my desire to see the Karma Police starts gaining steam. They announce the dates, and sure enough not only are they coming to Charlotte, but also to DC all within the same weekend- this seems like the “IOU” God gave me the first time I tried to see them was going to get paid back doubly. I wake up about an hour before tickets go on sale on the internet, and after a few wrinkles, I finally get four tickets (two pretty damn great seats, two general admissions). Sure enough, two weeks or so go by and I realize one major problem- the night of the concert also happened to be the date of the wedding of one of my best friends in the world, and I was to serve as a groomsman⁴. While devastated (I had spent about 300 bucks on tickets I wouldn’t be able to use), the problem was quickly solved as a fellow Radiohead superfan gladly took the tickets off of my hands. After barely telling my friends from DC in time to not get a flight to come down here for the show, I am reminded that the band was playing the Sunday after the wedding up in that area. I figured: will be in Virginia, I’ll sack up and make the drive to DC and just haul ass back down to Charlotte for work on Tuesday. A lot of driving? Sure, but clearly worth it to fulfill a promise made to friends long ago. While disappointed I don’t get to the see the band in my new hometown, the prospects of seeing them in DC does seem like it would close a unfinished chapter in my life.

BG #3: Flash forward May 8^th, 2008. Now this is not a story I will tell with any sort of pride, but I will say that it is pretty fucking funny, particularly if you knew the people involved. As I mentioned before, I was going to be a groomsman in my friend’s wedding and was in Richmond the night before for the rehearsal. After an emotional, toast-filled dinner, I was ready to catch up with some of my less serious friends and have a night of silliness, if for nothing else to celebrate my soon to be wedded buddy. After meeting some friends for a quick drink at a neighborhood joint, we decided to hit up Metro Grill in Richmond, a place accurately described as an Ohio bar⁵, where we tried to drown ourselves in Jagermeister and tequila⁶. After last call, I went back to a close friend’s place to have some pass-out drinks and reminisce about our soon-to-be-wedded buddy, a person with whom we both have personal if very different relationships. After a few poor attempts at saying “Oh, he’s getting married- how sweet!” the conversation soon became a testament to our hatred of growing up and particularly our friends who are actually doing it. After my friend started to kind of jab at a wall to the sound of his own voice⁷, I decided to make some frat-guy comment about how he hits like a pussy. Quickly after that, he challenged me to see if I could dent his wall. Being inebriated in myriad ways, it took me two seconds to just nail the wall⁸ with my right fist- there was only one problem; the wall was made of plaster, not dry-wall. I think my endorphins or serotonin or whatever rushed over my system, because I remember little after that. I was told at first I looked like a kid who had the top scoop of his ice cream cone just fall off, but then I became even more aggressive in my drinking to somehow subdue the pain. I have no idea when, but I would precede to pass out in the friend’s living room, deciding to pass out on the love-seat as opposed to the two welcoming, obvious couches. Next morning I woke up and my right hand looked like a bruised boxing glove. Tempted to go immediately to the hospital, I remembered I had to be a groomsman in my friend’s wedding in a few hours, and decided to just suck it up and have a few beers to cope with the pain⁹. For the rest of the day everything went as well as expected with one big issue- because I was a groomsman, I had to shake a lot of hands. Every time I shook somebody’s hand I had an out-of-body feeling that my hand was actually the shin of that poor Asian guy from Bloodsport¹⁰. The rest of the weekend would prove to be writing-worthy, but that is for another time; all you need to know is that I had a badly injured hand for which I neglected to seek medical advice. Oh, and by the way, yes I dented the fucking wall.

Let’s fight!: So I make the drive up DC on Sunday the 11^th in anticipation of what I am told is the concert to end all concerts. I go to my friend’s apartment, where we relax (we were both pretty hungover), catch up and watch Roll/ Bounce, a film that stars Wayne Brady, Lil Bow Wow, and Nick Cannon and is twice as mediocre as a film about roller-skating crews in the 70s with this cast should be. We then meet up with another friend (3/4 out of the original crew could make it) and his cousin and leave a dreary DC at around 6 o’ clock to go to the Nissan Pavilion in Bristow, VA, a drive according to mapquest.com and a GPS that should take half an hour. The anticipation builds as we start to see the rain starting to pour down and we tighten up our rain-suits. We verify the tickets say “rain or shine” and I am fucking ready to party my ass off in the rain while just getting bombarded by the sonic shockwaves of Hail to the Thief and The Bends. Right when we get to the highway, traffic is backed up considerably, but we figure this must be do to the rain, a weather condition that makes it impossible for people to drive, think, or act sanely. We finally get off of the highway around 7:15 (doors opened at 7:30) and were all just a little peeved that we were getting the impression that we’d miss the opening act but spirits were still high as we knew that Thom Yorke and his aborted fetus face would be screaming loud enough to make me forget all the shit involved having to get here. The GPS said we were three and a half miles out, and while there was traffic, it certainly was not bad enough to assume we’d miss any of a 9 o’ clock start…. right?

Wrong. REALLY FUCKING WRONG. Due to the inept police force of Bristow who were doing nothing at all except putting their sirens on to get to the music-hater convention at terminal velocity, the extremely poor lay-out of the Nissan Pavilion, and to be fair, the freezing rain (which was causing floods in some areas around us) we would not even see the Pavilion until 10:45. Now, the obvious question is “Why didn’t you park and run?” There wasn’t a place to park within a mile and a half that wasn’t taken- not to mention we had no idea how far away the venue really was. When we finally got there, the parking attendant (of which I saw two- this is a FUCKING 25,000 person venue, and they have TWO FUCKING PARKING LOT ATTENDANTS- both of whom had the nonexistent managerial skills), after we yell at him for having the gall to ask for six dollars for parking, tells us that “actually, this is the second to last song.” So, we decided to turn around and wait an hour and fifteen minutes just to leave. We did hear the end of their second encore, which sounded pretty cool I guess. We and everybody around us were completely on edge- I think everybody in our car screamed at least once just to get the stir craziness out, if just temporarily. We then put on Kid A in the car¹¹, and I am I pretty sure I was about the drop of a hat from going completely insane. The cold weather had also cramped up my hand, making it feel considerably worse than it did pre-nightmare. That was the only reason I did not try to incite a riot- my hand hurt so bad that it was taking away all of my energy to be pissed. We eventually did get out of the parking lot (after another hour and a half wait- that’s six hours in a car for no show) and made it back to DC by 12:30- when we ate at the shadiest, grossest IHOP ever created¹².

The next day I would drive back to Charlotte with a broken finger and a broken dream. I was depressed, broke, a cold was forming and my level of exhaustion lead me unfit to drive¹³. About two hours deep into the road trip, I had a mix with “2+2=5” on it- I took it out of my CD player, crushed it with my broken hand and threw it out the window. Seeing how the weekend went, I am expecting a ticket for littering any day now from the Virginia Police, who can’t help me by making it easier to do something I like (ie, direct traffic so it won’t take me 5 hours to travel 20 miles) but who sure as shit would love nothing more than to take some more of my money. Winner: Nissan Pavilion, by knockout

Afterthoughts:

- There is no way in hell I will ever go to the Nissan Pavilion again, and if I had it my way, Bristow for that matter. Even if Pink Floyd did a reunion there or a witch doctor resurrected the Beatles for a one night show and I was offered a helicopter ride and a parachute, I would refuse to go. The place has done nothing to refund money or make an attempt to apologize. I don’t give a fuck who you are, this is simply not how you treat people. It would be one thing if my case was the exception- I am told it is estimated that about 7,000 people were in my spot (didn’t see the show at all) and a majority didn’t get to see the entirety (or a full set for that matter).

- God apparently doesn’t want me to see Radiohead. While I do not blame the band for this catastrophe, they clearly must have known something was up and at least some acknowledgment would help brunt the blow a bit. I truly believe that there is a supernatural force at work here.

- A coping mechanism? Sure, refuse to listen to Radiohead for a while. Fuck them, their condescending beliefs, joyless music and poor venue choices. I realize this is unfair to blame them, but I am pretty sure I would beat the living piss out of Thom Yorke’s brittle ass if I saw him right now. I have never, in my life, loved something so dearly as Radiohead’s music as to now completely detest it- this is just as well- if you want to hear people gushing about Radiohead read any other musical journalist- I am now their enemy.

- If you think you broke some of the bones in your hand, I suggest going to the doctor.

1 Depends if you are talking to a Dread-head or an objective listener

2 Nothing says “fun” like being rude to strangers!

3 The song “Bodysnatchers” is the best thing they have done in a decade

4 God to Nick: “Fuck You Robertson!”

5 Ohio bar= bland + rowdy

6 You’d think one would grow out of this by this point…

7 Think WHAT-[punch]-THE-[punch]-FUCK-[punch]-DUDE….

8 I’m assuming it might have started to talk shit or something

9 It has to be said- My mother and sister are both very involved in the medical field- needless to say my actions stupefied them

10 For those not in the know of JCVD’s classic: It gets compound fractured

11 It gotten so cold and wet that even having the windows down were killing us

12 I don’t suggest the appetizer sampler

13 But if I didn’t get back to go to work, how else would I pay the 80 bucks for my Radiohead ticket?

Versus # One

Superbad vs. Rocket Science

Background: Superbad was a surprise block-buster last summer, with summer box office receipts topping 120 million with no real “big name” attached to the project besides Judd Apatow, who might have the most annoying name ever for someone who is mentioned so fucking often in comedic film circles. People fell in love with Michael Cera (deserved), Jonah Hill (I *sigh* out of annoyance, not admiration), and some guy named McLovin, who was funny because he was dorky and occasionally sounded like an extra from Menace II Society.

Rocket Science was an indie darling that set Sundance aflame with the becoming-a-little-too-typical-so-might-take-away-from-the-quirkiness story about a high school character with some kind of affliction (in this case, a stutter), teen angst, unrequited love, etc. Penned and directed by Jeffrey Blitz, the mastermind behind the “this makes me feel very awkward so I’m assuming this is good” documentary Spellbound, the film would fail to get out of the gate, lacking the Juno buzz required for this type of film to get any sort of box office receipt (it made a whopping $714,000)- not surprising considering the lack of recognizable actors.

Common Ground: More than one might expect. Jonah Hill, who I at first tolerated but now am tempted to find out the real story¹ stars in Superbad and has a humorous bit role as the head of the philosophy club in Rocket Science. Both films deal with high school nerds trying to find an identity- in Superbad this is seen through the relationships the two have/ are trying to form whereas in Rocket Science the focus is much more on self-recognition.

Let’s Fight!: I think there is one thing you need to know about both films: Superbad is based in L.A. (or some other idyllic place on the West Coast) and Rocket Science is set in Jersey- and not even “suburb of New York” Jersey, but rather New “outside of shithole Trenton” Jersey. While this might seem like a completely throw-away fact to most, I think it is imperative to the outlook on life that the films present.

Before I take my deep breath and start my rant, I’d like to make one thing crystal- I liked both films a lot- both had a reference or two to high school that I found to be astute and meaningful and both films did the job they set out to do extremely well.

Characters: Might as well as start on the easiest topic first- Rocket Science has characters that should (read: won’t) be canonized in American film history; Superbad has a character named McLovin. Rocket Science’s protagonist, Hal Hefner, is a bright, squeamish kid from a recently broken home that has no real desire to be the popular kid in school- he subtly knows the complete banality of the High School social structure, and is only forced to come out of his shell after swayed by the cute but not Superbad cute girl/ antagonist to join the debate team (recall, he has a very serious stutter). And he is on one of the lower rungs of the interesting characters ladder. From there you have a kleptomaniac, organization-obsessed brother, a Tracy Flick like go-getter, a creepy neighbor obsessed with Kama Sutra, and a speech impediment teacher who prefers that Hal’s impairment dealt with ADHD instead of stuttering. Superbad has two nerdy kids, one who uses a lot of profanity and references to film makers, the other who could be hermaphroditic. In fact, the only interesting characters in Superbad are those with bit roles- crazy drunk guy McLovin accidentally stops, that coke-head who goes crazy, and Joe Lo Truglio’s character (the guy who hits Jonah with a car). This isn’t even close: Rocket Science.

Music: Superbad: pretty good white boy funk. Rocket Science: Violet femmes. Toss Up.

Just get to the fucking point Nick: Superbad was great for what it was- a Porky’s-esque farce through teenage sexuality and social life- but Jonah Hill damn near ruined it for me. Instead of just barking generalizations about the porky little guy, I’ll specifically state them:

1. He’s incredibly vulgar- Now, I’ll grant you the fact that this is coming from the guy who discussed the infamous Rod Stewart swallowing of semen in a public restaurant much to the shock of many friends. But I’ll also grant you that talking about washed up rock stars drinking substantial quantities of body fluids is hilarious, discussing how the pornography charges on your credit card bill will show up is not. Not to mention that this is the kid who used to draw countless dicks while a juvenile²

2. He’s a bitch- Alright dude, I’m sorry your best friend decided to get off of his ass and go to one of the best universities in the country- now please, fucking please, stop crying about it. I know splitting up with friends is no picnic but whining about his future roommate and complaining that he is getting left is a guarantee to never having friends, period. Not to mention that if a dude spits on you and calls you a “faggot”³, you punch him- you don’t wait for your terribly weak looking friend to clean house for you.

3. He’s completely naive: So, let me get this straight: you’ve been picked on all of your high school career, can barely speak to the girl of your dreams, and are typically called out for being miserable and yet you think that if you get booze (with an ID you don’t have, mind you) and bring it to some chick’s party that Pretty McBigTits will sleep with your tubby ass? Give me a fucking break kid! I know Facebook has killed social interaction for a generation, but has it also somehow manipulated our self-perception? could this kid just go to college and develop a cocaine habit already?

Ah, that feels better. Rocket Science, on the other hand, showed a far more realistic version of high school where not all the girls look like they are on The Hills, people don’t always get what they want, and people actually come to terms with their short-comings instead of completely neglecting them. I’d be far more in detail about Rocket Science, but knowing that many have yet to see the film, I don’t want to ruin it for them. I’ll just say this- while Superbad probably had the bigger laughs⁴, it also lacked the heart to look at the topic in an even way. Sure, not all films are supposed to be realistic, but the ones that at least are seeped in reality (example: not completely shitting all over what your Home Economics teacher does for a living) tend to prove to be more meaningful- weird kids are introverted, contemplative, hesitant; not bawdy, obscure reference making food vaccums. Sure my high school had plenty of nerds, but this idea of them all wanting to be popular like the kids in Superbad is completely underestimates who they are- I found them to be much more like Hal Hefner. Plainly put, Porky’s: Superbad as Rushmore, Election, and The Squid and the Whale: Rocket Science. Winner: Rocket Science

1 My guess? He found a studio executive just sucking face with some form of wild-life. Sure enough, next month- “Jonah, you’re in a Sandler movie!”

2 I found this part to be bizarre- people who do that end up collecting peoples’ hear and shit

3 Isn’t that word outlawed in California?

4 Spoiler: No Period Jokes in Rocket Science!