Hmmmm…my American education taught me that girls can get pregnant from heavy petting, even when you’re as furious about it as this guy is.
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Month: March 2005
Greetings, all, and welcome to my new column for low culture. Since we’ve already been introduced, I’ll just jump right into the fray: we’re going to tackle the hot-button issues, here and now!
First and foremost on the lips of pundits on Capitol Hill is the matter of social security: White House aides will have you believe that it’s in crisis, and needs to be reformed urgently, while Democratic leaders from across the aisle, such as former vice-presidential candidate Joe Lieberman, are more temperate about this issue. So, tongues are wagging: what to do about this problem?
In my lecturing days, I used to examine the fallibility of this elaborate system of social-insurance in terms of the following analogy: If your house is on fire, you better get out! The students in my courses, after I would spring this on them with great aplomb, would often look quizzically at one another. The confusion and dismay on their university-trained faces was priceless. And then, of course, an outspoken student would inevitably question my analogy: “Professor Preminger, why would you assume going into the argument that the system is inherently flawed? Is there not room for debate on the solvency of the New Deal’s greatest social legacy?”
While I was technically a guest-lecturer and not a full-fledged professor, I wouldn’t take issue with the phrasing of their questions, and would instead drop the following pearl of wisdom: Social Security, I’d say while putting down my chalk and tugging delicately at my tie (an act which would often leave white marks across my chest), functions as a system of economic redistribution, whereby payments are guaranteed to those who contribute during the course of their lifetime. And what had we learned from the (then-recent) collapse of Polish and Romanian communism, other than that systems of economic redistribution must ultimately result in a subsequent economic collapse that in turn leads to said nation exporting its teenaged daughters abroad to appear in Western pornographic films? Is this the sort of legacy of social security with which we want to be burdened as Americans?
When making this last point, I would always be sure to peer directly at the various co-eds scattered throughout the lecture hall. I wanted them to understand that their livelihoods as future lawyers, doctors, and housewives were in danger if we didn’t open our minds to the prospect of, say, privatizing our support network for the nation’s elderly. (Also, I should add as an afterthought, women are perfectly capable of being lab technicians, programmers, and construction foremen, just to be clear. I don’t want the low culture ombudsman to be over-inundated with anxious remarks from yippity feminists.)
So, returning to the point at hand, social security: is this a net that can afford to catch each and everyone of us, or has this system of public subsidies left the roping on this allegorical net dispersed so widely apart that we will all fall through the cracks someday in the not-too-distant future? And what is under this net, but the vast expanse of the Sea of Lonely Death?
That, my friends, lovers, and countrymen, is a pool in which I don’t want to go swimming.
To paraphrase the name of a classic TV sitcom, ABC Can’t Lose!
Following the commercial and critical success of Desperate Housewives, Lost, and Blind Justice, last night ABC introduced Jake in Progress, the best midseason replacement show I’ve seen in years. Maybe ever!
Jake in Progress stars John Stamos as “Jake Phillips,” a likable, fast-talking New York publicist. The twist is, Jake is a heterosexual and he loves women—a lot. He’s sort of a male version of “Carrie Bradshaw” from Sex & the City: he’s a bit glib, a bit flighty, but he has a heart of gold. He also dresses well. (There’s another piece to be written about the new trend of TV show’s about publicists, but that’s for another time.)
You might remember Stamos from his other ABC hits, Thieves and Full House: he’s so at ease on TV, there’s no doubt why he’s a star. But Jake in Progress is also marked by an amazing supporting cast, all of whom have long, illustrious TV careers.
Playing “Jake’s boss” is Wendie Malick, who was amazing in Just Shoot Me (and, for fans of obscure TV history, she was also on Dream On with Brian Benben—where’s that guy been?). Ian Gomez, whom you might recall as “Javier” from Felicity is Jake’s best friend, “Adrian.” (Little bit of trivia: Gomez is married to My Big Fat Greek Wedding phenom Nia Vardalos. Wonder if he uses Windex as aftershave?) Rounding out the cast is Rick Hoffman, whom I loved in The $treet, which was also like a male version of Sex & The City and not just because it was exec. produced by Darren Star. Oh, and I forgot Mädchen Amick from ER and Twin Peaks.
But enough about the awesome cast: Jake in Progress is also extremely well-written. This is a show so hip, the writers were able to sneak in tons of cool references for people who “get” them: David Blaine, Lipsynka, Jerry Maguire, Seabiscuit. You’ve gotta be smart to keep up. This is definitely not CBS’s Yes, Dear. (Although, that show is pretty great, too.) The dialogue is snappy, like one of those old screwball comedies. And the camera work is frenetic but not overwhelming.
Most of all, this show is for adults—and not in an HBO way. (Don’t get me wrong: I looooove HBO: The Sopranos is the best, followed by Six Feet Under, then Deadwood, then Carnivale then Unscripted: love it all!) I mean, it’s a show about what it’s like to be a grownup in contemporary New York. It’s not a show where 35 year-olds have roommates and ducks like on Friends (though I love Friends and still watch it in syndication) and it’s definitely, definitely not a show about “nothing” like Seinfeld. (Which I got on DVD for Christmas this year—thanks, Randy!).
I can’t wait to see how this show develops over the course of the season. Jake is already making great “progress.”
(3 out of 4 “Boots”)
And now, like the host of my favorite guilty pleasure show, I can say: Stevie Boots—out!
Related: Other shows with “Jake” in the title: Jake and the Fatman; Jake 2.0; Body by Jake.
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low culture 2.0: See How Low We Can Go!
Hey, everybody. I don’t usually write for the site that often, preferring instead to stay behind the scenes working on business stuff, but I’m stepping out from behind the curtain to announce some super exciting changes here at low culture.
Since we did so well with our line of T-shirts, mugs, and undergarments, we have enough money to hire some new writers. We’re super-psyched to have these new voices on the site and we’re sure they’re going to revitalize low culture for the better.
First up is Stevie Boots, our new low culture TV critic. Stevie’s written for People, The Chronicle of Higher Education and Res. (Don’t bother googling his name: his stuff was all un-bylined.)
Also on the culture front is Carter Blanche, our new music critic. He co-edited the semi-legendary MP3 blog Sound, Dur, which was nominated for a 2005 Bloggie and was mentioned in Time Out NY. He listens to everything from hip hop to crunk and we’re proud that he’ll be bringing his expertise to low culture.
On the ‘Grave’ side of the spectrum is our new politics and books writer, Otto Preminger. Otto was an assistant editor for The Public Interest and has contributed to Post-Neo-Natal: The Under-30 Political Generation Comes of Age, the highly regarded anthology of political writings. Otto’s also an excellent cook and runs a sort of political cultural salon out of his Brooklyn Heights apartment that has attracted staff members from The New Yorker and The New York Times.
Last, but definitely not least, is our hot new sex columnist, Miranda Gonnerman. Miranda wrote ‘Miranda’s Right,’ Kenyon College’s sex column where she covered everything from bisexuality to lesbianism to threesomes! (Her column was so hot it’s not even available online! Sizzzzzle!) You can send your sex queries to Miranda and she’ll offer you expert advice.
So, that’s us. Consider this a soft launch for low culture 2.0. We’ve got a lot of awesomely excellent ideas we’re bouncing around with some powerful, creative people in the industry. Stick around and see!
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Seth Green as Joe, Radio Days.
Physical Appearance: Tiny, boyish |
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John Cusack as David Shayne, Bullets Over Broadway.
Physical Appearance: Bespectacled, stubbled, handsome. |
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Edward Norton as Holden Spence, Everyone Says I Love You.
Physical Appearance: Slight, thinning hair, poorly dressed. |
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Kenneth Branagh as Lee Simon, Celebrity.
Physical Appearance: Bearded, handsome, given to tweeds. |
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Jason Biggs as Jerry Falk, Anything Else.
Physical Appearance: Small, twitchy, unattractive. |
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Will Ferrell as Hobie, Melinda and Melinda.
Physical Appearance: Tall, oddly attractive. |
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Meet Sen. Jim Talent, American Idiot
This never happened. Hey, look, over there…social security needs strengthening!
In the wake of yesterday’s disavowal of any sort of Defense Department responsibility for anything and everything relating to that ol’ Abu Ghraib fiasco from way back when, we encourage our readers in Missouri to become more intimately acquainted with their very own Senator Jim Talent (R). Look closely, folks…let the idiocy soak in. Bask in the impressive display of anti-logic. Get sodamnedclose that you’re tempted to hit the guy in the face with a bunch of rolled-up newspapers dating back to last year, hoping he’ll maybe take that opportunity to finally see what exactly introduced the term “Abu Ghraib” into the public lexicon:
“I don’t need an investigation to tell me that there was no comprehensive or systematic use of inhumane tactics by the American military, because those guys and gals just wouldn’t do it,” said Senator Jim Talent, a Republican from Missouri. “Everything about the culture and the training in the military and at home works against that. That’s why the terrorists are attacking us — because we’re not the kind of society that would do that.”
This has nothing to do with anything, but Sen. Jim Talent is up for re-election next year, Fall 2006.
EARLIER: Rumsfeld’s Rules: Donald’s Photoblog, Vol. 1, and Rumsfeld’s Rules: Donald’s Photoblog, Vol. 2
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The low culture Vulture
Recently seen on the scene… Penelope Cruz in a photograph from an extravagant Oscar gala, partying with the likes of Salma Hayek and Julia Roberts… Ashton Kutcher on the side of a bus, advertising his new film Guess Who… Lauren Graham on ABC Family’s 11 am showing of Gilmore Girls… Lizzie Grubman in the post just below this one…
Send your seen on the scenes to low culture!
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Brief Thoughts on PoweR Girls
For those who didn’t witness the grand guignol debut of MTV’s PoweR Girls, the show follows four primped PR interns and Lizzie Grubman – the suppurating spin doctor, that leathery, bottle-blonde grotesquerie – who is established as the show’s object of aspiration. It seemed impossible that a reality-show godhead could get more nauseating than short-fingered vulgarian Donald Trump, but with PoweR Girls, MTV’s endlessly innovative programming incubi have found reality TV’s latest emetic. Is it Lizzie’s factory-made face, the impossible sense of entitlement, or, lest we forget, the fact that she drove Daddy’s Mercedes into a crowd of people?
To her credit, neither Lizzie’s nature nor her nurture is all that – her father (who represents Barry Manilow) has a portrait of his wife’s nether region hanging over the bed – seriously. And she is the one who discovered hip-hop.
For a group of people whose entire job is to kiss ass, these women don’t quite manage to ingratiate themselves to the audience. The half-hour was enough to make me wish her offices weren’t on Lafayette but were instead in the World Trade Center. PoweR Girls was like watching a quick-cut adaptation of Bret Ellis’ Glamorama, but at least you could imagine those ciphers were attractive – with Power Girls we get four repellant wannabe’s and one revolting queen bee. God knows I’ll watch it next week – it was excellent.
I’ve got a second-floor office in Irvine. It’s only a few years after the war with the Japs, and there ain’t a P.I. left in Irvine that’s better than me, but that don’t mean business is steady down here. I’ve got too much time on my hands, kid, and too much whiskey in my desk drawers.
Then this dame walks in. Says she’s stopped in from Riverside, but I can tell right away the broad’s from Newport Beach. She’s got shoreline written all over her. Beachfront property, I’d say. The kind of class babes just don’t have in the inland empire. Classy, this babe.
She’s got her hair up and her sunglasses on, and I can see she’s hiding something. Tears. Maybe she’s lost someone or something, or maybe her man’s the abusive type…that’s for me to find out, is all I know. I’ll hear it soon enough.
She starts in with her story, about how her husband’s in the real estate game, and her father’s a bigtime mover and shaker, a real player. But this dame knows too much about her husband’s business, I can tell. Taxes, liens, eminent domain…knows a bit too much about real estate in general. It’s clear she’s the brains in the enterprise. The father’s just the moneyman, and the husband…the husband? What’s his role? And why’s she crying like this?
I hand the babe a tissue. She dabs her eyes, starts in on her ex-husband. Says he’s on a boat. Something about someone’s sister. She’s bawling again, I can’t understand what she’s saying. She wants my help, she says. Needs to find her ex-husband, but she doesn’t know where he is. Her daughter won’t speak to her, she’s crying, unless she can get this ex-husband to come back to town.
Retrieving a lost love? No big deal, I can handle that. No, she says – he’s no lost love. She’s fine with her husband and his money. This is about her daughter. The broad is taking deep breaths now, trying to tell me about her daughter. The kid sounds like a real rebel. Hellcat with a flask. Bringing punk girls home just to shock mom. I try to be sympathetic, but this sounds like a job for a shrink.
Now she’s getting defensive. I’m the one to help her, she says, not some mental magician. The back story doesn’t matter, does it? She wants to bring back her ex, this Jimmy character, so that crazy daughter of hers will straighten up her act and she can go back to watching her husband’s money. She’s glaring at me, now, but she opens up her pocketbook and takes out this wedding photo from years gone by. Coolidge administration, I’d say. That’d make the daughter older than I thought, and this dame…let’s just say looks can be deceiving, but age never lies.
And there’s a problem. This Jimmy guy…I recognize him. Of course. The dame’s trying to read my face, so I whip out my P.I. cards and play poker with her. The boat, the money…I should have put two and two together when the broad came in through the door. Then again, that’s why I’m working out of Irvine and not up there in Hollywood with all the other, better, private dicks.
Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy. I took him out last weekend under a pier in Long Beach. He’d gotten rough when I confronted him on some outdated loans my client had needed collected, and I’d had no choice but to gun him down. It hadn’t been easy, either, and I’m not normally that cold-blooded – I mean, I work in Irvine. But I’d had no choice. And I sure as hell hadn’t known he was a family man.
I shake my head. This daughter, there ain’t no helping her now.
Actually, I’ve never seen The O.C.; I’m sure it’s pretty good.
The O.C. airs Thursdays at 8PM EST on FOX.
Earlier: O.C.-centric entries, wherein Raymond Chandler ravages Mickey Spillane in a shed out back. Intense.
How President Bush spent his Wednesday:
How Sens. Barbara Boxer and Charles Schumer spent their Wednesday:
