The Sheik (1921)
Rudolph Rapistino is an Arab Gang Leader of Arabia, the “land where civilization has so happily passed them by.” Girl Who Is Asking For It pretends to be a hooker, primarily for kicks and giggles. Rudolph Rapistino uses the old “rape a girl so she will fall in love with you” trick. Later, Girl Who Is Asking For It inadvertently reveals her love for Rudolph Rapistino in the most melodramatic-silent-era way before she is captured by rapists who she can not love because they are Arabic. Rudolph Rapistino saves the day. Rapistino and Asking For It live happily ever after, because Rapistino was in fact obviously white and was just raised by the Arabs, in the vein of Mowgli being raised by Bagheera and Baloo in Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Book.
The Wild One (1954)
Motorcycling Douchebags trash a small town. Marlon Douchebag wants to sleep with Girl Whose Only Crime Is Her Aversion Of Being Raped. As the night progresses, the Motorcycling Douchebags act more and more like aging gays in a leather bar. Marlon Douchebag cannot sleep with Girl Whose Only Crime Is Her Aversion Of Being Raped, because she speaks English instead of Jive and treats the elderly with respect instead of killing them. An Old Man dies. The Douchebags leave, but not before Marlon Douchebag leaves behind a stolen trinket in order for Girl Whose Only Crime Is Her Aversion Of Being Raped can be reassured that she made the right choice in not being raped.
Knocked Up (2007)
Apotow’s Pothead Friends go to the amusement park, despite the fact that they have no income and that shit don’t come cheap. Katherine Bad Luck gets promoted, and unfortunately this leads to a confluence of events which ruins her life. 1) Katherine Bad Luck is happy. 2) Katherine Bad Luck gets drunk. 3) Katherine Bad Luck ends up sleeping with Seth Pothead. 4) Katherine Bad Luck gets Knocked Up. Seth Pothead makes Jew jokes. The audience feels sorry for Katherine, and really wants her to abort it. Plot demands prevent her from doing so. Women have boobies. Potheads have pot. Apotow’s wife has constipation. Katherine Bad Luck has the baby, and sorta kinda tries to raise the baby with Seth Pothead. Much like statistically similar couples from all regions of the United States, they inevitably divorce two to three years later when the novelty of producing a financial parasite loses its luster. The audience learns that they really liked Juno.
Showing posts with label finance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label finance. Show all posts
11 February 2008
I have sinned
I have confession to make. I have a dark, dirty secret that I tell no one in my private life. This habit is so heinous and so disturbing that I have become disgusted with myself for propagating a social plague, I have become overwhelmed with guilt due to my support of the writer’s union (tentative deal, yay!), and most importantly it has caused me to doubt my taste in popular culture.
I watch American Gladiators.
At 7PM on Mondays, I have finally came back from campus and have finished all my errands. So I relax in front of my television. And there on NBC (the media company that brought Battlestar Galactica, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, Medium, 30 Rock, Conan O’Brian, and the first four seasons of Friends into my life) I find people volunteering to be publicly beaten unconscious.
I typically am appalled at “reality” programming, especially since the studio decided to not pay their writers for one of the main mediums (and soon to be the medium) of distributing their product. I don’t idolize American Idol. MTV makes me want to vomit. And Bruno vs. Mary Anne: Dance War sounds like a horseman of the apocalypse. But broadcasted violence is compelling television to me, for some reason. For example:
In the first challenge, contestants sprint through a narrow pathway while four bodybuilders repeatedly punch them in the face. After this the contestants endure many other challenges, such as the pyramid. In the pyramid, the contestants try to climb a forty-foot pyramid made of exercise mats as fast as possible. This in itself wouldn’t be entertaining. But when you factor in the Gladiators throwing the contestants down forty feet, having the contestants recover and climb the pyramid for the second time only to have the Gladiators throw them down again and again; it becomes interesting.
Why do the contestants push themselves farther and farther into the Gladiators’ fists? So that they may have a head start against the other contestant in the eliminator. In the eliminator, the contestants climb a ten foot wall, swim under several concussing bars of face-scaring OPEN FLAMES, climb a thirty foot wall, disorient themselves by rolling down a human-sized sewing spool, exhaust every muscle in their arms by propelling themselves with bicycle pedals, climb the forty foot pyramid again, zip line into the ground next to the finishing point, and then WHEN NO MUSCLE SYSTEM IN THEIR BODY WILL FUCKING WORK FOR A MONTH they have to climb an elevated treadmill that is going the wrong way.
I admit the main draw for me is the violence. But the show is much more than that. Half of the contestants say that their motivation for going on to international television (consequently everyone they will ever meet will remember them as the guy who was thrown into a wall thirty times) is to make money for their family. The go on this show for their kids and for their moms. I love that they don’t consider engaging in a career path that would earn them more money than an exploitive television show ever would. Instead, they planned to be pummeled for money.
(Note: the average life-time earnings for those with a High School diploma is $1.2 million, a Bachelor’s Degree gives an average $2.1 million, Master’s typically gives $2.5 million, Doctorate’s give an average of $3.4 million, and Professional Degrees give average life-time earnings of $4.4 million. American Gladiators gives an average of $12,500.)
Beyond the contestants’ desperation and lack of logic, the Gladiators have the queerest stage personas I have seen since I watched professional wrestling (I was 8, don’t judge me). At any point the contestants have no idea whether the gladiators intend to kill them or rape them. I also enjoy the contestants that honestly just had a lot of time on their hands and thought the show would be fun. They smile and remain perky when they win while the other contestants go on and on about how they have failed and now can no longer support their addiction to meth.
…
Inevitably, at the 7:15 commercial break I flip through channels while listening to jazz on my MP3 player to remind myself that I am human. And it is then that I notice that I could have been watching How I Met Your Mother. The guilt sets in and I cry a little as the five witty urbanites chastise me for not watching the opening act of their comic plots. I tell them that I’m sorry, but Allison Hannigan and Neil Patrick Harris won’t listen. So I turn to NBC, watch poor people be beaten, concussed, ridiculed, and dismembered for the joy of the masses. I then repress the memories of HIMYM so that I may function for another week.
I watch American Gladiators.
At 7PM on Mondays, I have finally came back from campus and have finished all my errands. So I relax in front of my television. And there on NBC (the media company that brought Battlestar Galactica, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, Medium, 30 Rock, Conan O’Brian, and the first four seasons of Friends into my life) I find people volunteering to be publicly beaten unconscious.
I typically am appalled at “reality” programming, especially since the studio decided to not pay their writers for one of the main mediums (and soon to be the medium) of distributing their product. I don’t idolize American Idol. MTV makes me want to vomit. And Bruno vs. Mary Anne: Dance War sounds like a horseman of the apocalypse. But broadcasted violence is compelling television to me, for some reason. For example:
In the first challenge, contestants sprint through a narrow pathway while four bodybuilders repeatedly punch them in the face. After this the contestants endure many other challenges, such as the pyramid. In the pyramid, the contestants try to climb a forty-foot pyramid made of exercise mats as fast as possible. This in itself wouldn’t be entertaining. But when you factor in the Gladiators throwing the contestants down forty feet, having the contestants recover and climb the pyramid for the second time only to have the Gladiators throw them down again and again; it becomes interesting.
Why do the contestants push themselves farther and farther into the Gladiators’ fists? So that they may have a head start against the other contestant in the eliminator. In the eliminator, the contestants climb a ten foot wall, swim under several concussing bars of face-scaring OPEN FLAMES, climb a thirty foot wall, disorient themselves by rolling down a human-sized sewing spool, exhaust every muscle in their arms by propelling themselves with bicycle pedals, climb the forty foot pyramid again, zip line into the ground next to the finishing point, and then WHEN NO MUSCLE SYSTEM IN THEIR BODY WILL FUCKING WORK FOR A MONTH they have to climb an elevated treadmill that is going the wrong way.
I admit the main draw for me is the violence. But the show is much more than that. Half of the contestants say that their motivation for going on to international television (consequently everyone they will ever meet will remember them as the guy who was thrown into a wall thirty times) is to make money for their family. The go on this show for their kids and for their moms. I love that they don’t consider engaging in a career path that would earn them more money than an exploitive television show ever would. Instead, they planned to be pummeled for money.
(Note: the average life-time earnings for those with a High School diploma is $1.2 million, a Bachelor’s Degree gives an average $2.1 million, Master’s typically gives $2.5 million, Doctorate’s give an average of $3.4 million, and Professional Degrees give average life-time earnings of $4.4 million. American Gladiators gives an average of $12,500.)
Beyond the contestants’ desperation and lack of logic, the Gladiators have the queerest stage personas I have seen since I watched professional wrestling (I was 8, don’t judge me). At any point the contestants have no idea whether the gladiators intend to kill them or rape them. I also enjoy the contestants that honestly just had a lot of time on their hands and thought the show would be fun. They smile and remain perky when they win while the other contestants go on and on about how they have failed and now can no longer support their addiction to meth.
…
Inevitably, at the 7:15 commercial break I flip through channels while listening to jazz on my MP3 player to remind myself that I am human. And it is then that I notice that I could have been watching How I Met Your Mother. The guilt sets in and I cry a little as the five witty urbanites chastise me for not watching the opening act of their comic plots. I tell them that I’m sorry, but Allison Hannigan and Neil Patrick Harris won’t listen. So I turn to NBC, watch poor people be beaten, concussed, ridiculed, and dismembered for the joy of the masses. I then repress the memories of HIMYM so that I may function for another week.
22 January 2008
Beginning of the Semester Observations
Ahh, stress, how I have missed thee.
Has it been almost a month since we last were together? I know we briefly got it own while I was visiting relatives. But otherwise I actually rested, read for leisure, and laughed over our break. And we were on a break so don’t look at me that way, I know you moved on to retail business owners, anyway. But now it’s just you and me baby. Say hello again to weekly all-nighters. Not the fun, I’m so drunk I can’t fall asleep and this other drunk keeps smooshing into me , kind of all-nighters but the ones filled with over preparation, anxiety, and thoughts of inadequacies.
I shouldn’t be jumping ahead of myself. It is 1 AM while I write this so I may actually fall asleep tonight. Maybe.
Yesterday was first day of my second semester at my second cheap commuter school. And that is way too many numbers to think about in my current mental state. I have three classes so far Nutrition (ugh), Chemistry (double ugh), and Learning Theory. Let’s take them apart in the order from least to most intimidating:
A) Nutrition is full of Ed majors. And something about their preference to associate with children and their inability to make any decisions without calling their significant, soon to be married to and visibly pregnant by, other (who is always their third fiancé, if you count the ones in high school) makes me want to bludgeon them to death their color-coordinated three-ring binders. But other than that, I should be fine.
B) Then there is Chem. I have one of those professors who, if there were a God, would not be paid. The professor started off the semester trying to make himself relatable by saying “he wasn’t the best student ever”, i.e. he failed every course because he was too busy honing his beer gut. Somehow, he has landed an adjunct position and has chosen to hold his captives to standards that he himself was unable to meet when he was in our position. His idea of homework is for us to do one hundred problems and then he will grade us on the two problems the least amount of people finished.
I tell myself a little mantra to get through the hour, “After this, my only Core Class will be ping pong. After this, my only General Ed will be ping pong.” It makes everything easier.
C) Last, and most worrying is Learning Theory (essentially a course in behaviorism (guys like Pavlov and Piaget)). This sounds fun and interesting and manageable, except that I do not have the three hundred dollars to spend on the textbooks. Oh well, time to start my next crappy job search.
That’s only half of my courses. The other three include Physiological Psych which I took to see if night classes are for me. I like having class when I am actually alert. But I don’t like spending three hours in the same damn room. It makes me want to go insane, which would be good practice for the other psych majors.
Penultimately is Orientation to a Psych Major, which I like because it’s mellow.
Lastly is Sexual Ethics, which I like because we talk about sex.
And that’s the rundown. I wish I could elaborate but I’ve got to study. And get a job. And cure cancer. And prevent the apocalypse. You know, the usual.
Has it been almost a month since we last were together? I know we briefly got it own while I was visiting relatives. But otherwise I actually rested, read for leisure, and laughed over our break. And we were on a break so don’t look at me that way, I know you moved on to retail business owners, anyway. But now it’s just you and me baby. Say hello again to weekly all-nighters. Not the fun, I’m so drunk I can’t fall asleep and this other drunk keeps smooshing into me , kind of all-nighters but the ones filled with over preparation, anxiety, and thoughts of inadequacies.
I shouldn’t be jumping ahead of myself. It is 1 AM while I write this so I may actually fall asleep tonight. Maybe.
Yesterday was first day of my second semester at my second cheap commuter school. And that is way too many numbers to think about in my current mental state. I have three classes so far Nutrition (ugh), Chemistry (double ugh), and Learning Theory. Let’s take them apart in the order from least to most intimidating:
A) Nutrition is full of Ed majors. And something about their preference to associate with children and their inability to make any decisions without calling their significant, soon to be married to and visibly pregnant by, other (who is always their third fiancé, if you count the ones in high school) makes me want to bludgeon them to death their color-coordinated three-ring binders. But other than that, I should be fine.
B) Then there is Chem. I have one of those professors who, if there were a God, would not be paid. The professor started off the semester trying to make himself relatable by saying “he wasn’t the best student ever”, i.e. he failed every course because he was too busy honing his beer gut. Somehow, he has landed an adjunct position and has chosen to hold his captives to standards that he himself was unable to meet when he was in our position. His idea of homework is for us to do one hundred problems and then he will grade us on the two problems the least amount of people finished.
I tell myself a little mantra to get through the hour, “After this, my only Core Class will be ping pong. After this, my only General Ed will be ping pong.” It makes everything easier.
C) Last, and most worrying is Learning Theory (essentially a course in behaviorism (guys like Pavlov and Piaget)). This sounds fun and interesting and manageable, except that I do not have the three hundred dollars to spend on the textbooks. Oh well, time to start my next crappy job search.
That’s only half of my courses. The other three include Physiological Psych which I took to see if night classes are for me. I like having class when I am actually alert. But I don’t like spending three hours in the same damn room. It makes me want to go insane, which would be good practice for the other psych majors.
Penultimately is Orientation to a Psych Major, which I like because it’s mellow.
Lastly is Sexual Ethics, which I like because we talk about sex.
And that’s the rundown. I wish I could elaborate but I’ve got to study. And get a job. And cure cancer. And prevent the apocalypse. You know, the usual.
10 December 2007
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