Categories
Category: Shallow
You need to set your away message right now because it’s almost 8 o’clock and you have to watch The O.C. because it’s Thursday and it’s on right now. Kelsey says she’ll text you later, and next thing you know, you’re down in the den, sprawled out alone on the couch, your eyes glued religiously to the sights of Seth Cohen and Marissa Cooper being introduced onscreen as you strain to hear the sounds of Phantom Planet singing plaintively about what is totally your favorite state, and you totally said that to Mr. Roberts last week when he was running through the geography prep quiz in fourth period, and he chuckled because he’s so old and doesn’t even watch TV, probably.
Whatever, because when they show Summer Roberts on the TV you always cringe! She looks just like your sister Justine, who graduated from law school at Berkeley two years ago, and it was called Boalt, and anyway she is so much older than you, and Mom always rubs that in, because Mom is 57, and Justine is 27, and you were Mom’s “surprise” 12 years ago and so you’re totally able to stay up later than both Mom and Dad because they go to bed so early. Like, they’ll probably be asleep by the time The O.C.‘s over. Justine’s almost like your Mom anyway, because she always talks about how she was the one who changed your diapers and babysat you when you were a crying infant, and she totally wrote about that in her law school applications, about how that early responsibility had made her a strong leader, and you’re so sick of hearing it, but you still love her because she’s your sister.
Also Mom keeps saying to be nice to her, too, because Justine is sterile and her uterus doesn’t work properly and she can’t have children of her own, so raising you comes a close second in her book, that’s what Mom says, and you also overheard Justine talking about it with her last year when she visited over Christmas. And that’s why Justine has a job at this place called UNICEF where she says they help kids in other countries. Maybe even Mr. Roberts would know where they are? Whatever! You’re all about Newport Beach.
Ryan is being such a jerk this week.
The Summer Roberts girl’s sweet like your sister too, but Kelsey always tells you every single Friday before homeroom how much she likes Summer on the show, and you’re tired of your sister, and also Summer, too. Maybe Summer can’t have kids too? Anyway she’s too young and she’s not going to have babies yet anyway. You hope you can have kids someday, unlike Justine, and you’re going to rub it in her face when you do, and she’s an old lady. You get bored when they cut to the stories about Sandy and Kirsten, though they seem like a cool Mom and Dad. Marissa is totally your favorite one on The O.C., because she tries so hard, you know? That’s really important, you think. And you forgot to put your away message on, and you’re still signed on, because you can hear IM’s coming in on the computer in the hallway. It’s probably just Grant, and you don’t even like him anymore anyway. You totally never did, and that was all a big mistake anyway, he doesn’t even watch The O.C.
Actually, I’ve never seen The O.C.: I’m sure it’s pretty good.
The O.C. airs at 8PM EST on FOX.
Earlier: Additional OC-centric material…
As reported in today’s Daily Variety, the “online premiere” of Fahrenheit 9/11, rabble-rousing director Michael Moore’s Pixar-animated comedy starring the voices of Tom Hanks and Christina Applegate, drew a meager 89 viewers, according to information released by the briefly-downloadable film’s website host. More specifically, “a rep for CinemaNow said ‘Fahrenheit 9/11’ special, which brought in $885.55 in revenue, was a ‘success,’ noting that the three-hour window in which it was available was unusual for the Internet.”
Damn you, Jack Valenti, for departing us so sadly, and so soon! With you gone, it seems as though the entire motion-picture industry’s standards for “success” have waned considerably. Seriously, seriously waned. 800 fucking dollars?
Because it’s certainly not as though this CinemaNow website (whatever the hell that may be…I can’t even be bothered to link to the fucking thing) likely had a staff of well-paid site producers and designers working days beforehand on this “premiere extravaganza”, right? Right?
Categories
The Humorous Life of Brian
Mr. Williams: Not Robin, but almost as Funny.
“There’s definitely ways to try and capture that personality without taking away from what is a very serious newscast in very serious times… There are ways to find little moments of absurdity or humor in life and we’re going to try and find ways to do that—but, we have to find the right way to do that,” ” NBC News chief Neal Shapiro
(From, Only When He Laughs, Don Kaplan, The New York Post, Dec. 6, 2004.)
Some suggestions:
-Accompany Iraqi death count reports with “Waw-waw-waaah” horn sound effect from Let’s Make a Deal
-Refer to the president as “Cuddles”
-Five Words: Rip Taylor, White House Correspondent
-Swap out hurricane clips with footage from Land of the Lost
-Goodbye, bespoke suits. Hello, tuxedo T-shirt!
-When analyzing reports with Tim Russert, pretend to be all stoned like Cheech and Chong
-End each broadcast with an America’s Funniest Home Video-type clip, possibly a “blooper” from the Iraq war or amusing footage of famine-torn nations.
-New theme song by “Weird Al” Yankovic
-Overdub foreign-language speakers with Peanuts-style adult “squawking” voices
-Knock knock jokes. Lots and lots of knock knock jokes
-Get Mo Rocca: Everybody finds that dude hilarious
Categories
The low culture Guide to Jury Duty
The Jury Pool: Come on in, the justice is fine.
Jury Duty isn’t just your civic duty: It can be your civic pleasure as well. With these simple tips, your time in the jury pool can be productive, enjoyable, and above all safe. Failure to follow these suggestions may result in jail time, so be forewarned: What you are about to read could save your life.
-Make sure you haven’t eaten for at least twenty minutes before entering the jury pool so as to avoid uncomfortable cramps.
-Similarly, make sure you’ve drunk something—preferably a strong, alcoholic beverage—before the proceedings begin. It will lend a festive air to the entire affair, which is good, since you will probably want to kill yourself the moment you arrive ’till several weeks later when the details of the case will come back to you in nightmares. (But in your nightmare, the killer will be your dad: Don’t ask us, we’re not shrinks.)
-Don’t bring a book or a magazine unless you want your fellow jurors to think of you as some sort of snob. Furthermore, displaying the ability to read will lead directly to the court officers not selecting you for trial. Best to show up with a lot of photos of your cats or your grandchildren, the better to facilitate conversations with those around you. If you must bring a book, bring a Bible: Everyone loves talking about the Bible with strangers.
-It’s easy to get laughs in the jury room. Everyone there is stressed out and wants to be somewhere else: It’s a perfect recipe for comedy. When the court officer calls out your name and asks if you are able to serve, be sure to say something funny like, “Ready? I was born fucking ready!” Also, classics play well: If you can get a Whoopee Cushion through security, it’s worth putting on the judge’s seat. Your fellow jurors will thank you.
-Many people try to get out of jury duty by claiming to be racists. While this is a good strategy, we recommend using it to get out of other things, like childcare payments and doctor’s appointments. You shouldn’t limit your mock pronouncements of racist ideology just to the courts. Speak them freely (on the subway, at the supermarket) and you’ll start to see that you’re not the only one who thinks that way. You may even be invited to join some cool secret societies.
-Do not watch the clock. Everyone who’s ever gone through high school knows that watching the clock during a boring activity does not make time move faster. (Only meth can do that.) Instead, stare dead into the eyes of the person closest to you. Make a game out of it: How long can you stare at them before they turn away? Now, can you double it?
-This is so simple, it’s the easiest to forget: Case out the room for single people of the opposite sex. (If you are gay, you should confine this search to the restrooms, which, as we all know, are hotbeds of municipal butt-sex. If you are a lesbian, you should’ve already gotten a jury exemption and be seeking a partner at your job at the organic food co-op.) The jury pool is a great pickup scene, mostly because you already have so much in common. You’re potentially spending the next two weeks seeing this person every day: that’s a perfectly acceptable length of time for a relationship. In fact, it’s probably a little too long.
-Finally, if you are selected to be on the jury, you should not pump your fist and gloat. Be respectful to your fellow jury pool members who were not selected since they’ll be deprived of all the fun you’re about to have. Not everyone gets into this party, but you will set yourself apart by being gracious and serving with all the dignity your buzzed, staring, Whoopee Cushion-having ass can muster. Jury duty is an honor. Don’t make us regret living in a Democracy.
Categories
Bulworth meets Bush Worthless
There’s an old joke, often attributed to Woody Allen, that goes:
“Q. What would you like to be reincarnated as?” “A. Warren Beatty’s finger.”
Somehow, I’m guessing whoever said that wouldn’t have said it about last night, when Beatty was honored by the Kennedy Center. (Check out Kennedy Center Salutes Six Artists, by John Files in The New York Times for a teeny-tiny photo of those fingers wrapped around Bush’s.) Poor, poor Beatty finger.
It’s a long, slow slide from Capucine to Julie Christie to Madonna to Annette Bening to… Colin Powell.
A sad one, too. Can a man’s finger kill itself?
You’re looking good lately. Really nice, even. Those pecs…you’re packed tight, man. Nicely chiseled. You’re working out, aren’t you? Yeah. You are.
It’s reassuring to know you can watch The O.C. every Thursday night while you’re on the stairmaster at Bally’s 24-Hour-Fitness, plugged in to little more than a set of earbuds and, don’t you know it, an entire world of opulent gorgeousness. This is the sort of drama you dream about mindlessly as you polish the sweat from your glistening calves. Of course, the television sets lined up next to the one blaring FOX’s hottest second-season property may try and distract you with their depictions of a smirking Bill O’Reilly or some aging Matt LeBlanc character study, but you won’t be swayed. You understand guys like Tate Donovan, you really do.
He looks a lot like that guy who comes in on Tuesdays. That guy. He lingers around the benches for about thirty minutes. Eyes you as he pulls up his socks around his shins. You’re sure he’s the most beautiful man you’ve laid eyes upon…at least at this gym, right? Ha. You know what I’m saying. You’re a total pro.
And Catherine keeps calling you from the car. You just know she’ll be home before you, destined to get off early from her freelance gig at Leo Burnett. Why don’t you tell her about this guy? This perfect specimen of O.C.-esque beauty laying out in front of you, his arms pushing and pulling on the bars of a free-weight machine, such that you’re just positive what he’s doing with those lifts could “plug-n-play” nicely with your own frame.
You’re glistening, again. Sweating. Excited. And Catherine keeps on fucking calling you, and you just let it go to voicemail. What the fuck, right? Let her bring something back from Koo-Koo-Roo or California Pizza Kitchen for the two of you to eat later that night. The fuck if you care, right? You’re all over this guy. All over him. And he’s reading you just right.
Time to towel off, then. You nod at each other. It’s not even like some obscure code anymore. You know the drill. And he doesn’t even bother wrapping himself in a towel as the two of you leave the gym’s shower and head to the back lockers. Again, you know the drill. And, fuck, it’s a good thing Catherine doesn’t, right? God, would your life be over, or what?
And speaking of, you better finish up in here. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry. Right there. Sharp, so sharp. This may or may not be the world’s longest commercial break, but you don’t want to miss seeing the end result of Marissa’s hooking up with the pool boy. Pool boys. So perfect. So very, very right.
Actually, I’ve never seen The O.C.: I’m sure it’s pretty good.
The O.C. airs at 8PM EST on FOX.
Earlier: Obligatory Pop Culture Entry to Prove We Haven’t Become Humorless Prigs; O.C.D.; The O.C.: Your One and Only Friend; The O.C.: Your ‘Not Guilty’ Pleasure.
The Heartbreak’s Ours: The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, Dec. 1, 2004.
Earlier: Entertainment Alert: Orange, Nov. 30, 2004.
Categories
God, I Miss Clinton
Snooze: Bush in Canada on Nov. 30, 2004, blah, blah, blah.
It would’ve been so much easier to make a ‘Royal Mounted Police’ joke if we still had Bill. Sad.
“Nobel Peace Prize laureate Wangari Maathai of Kenya will be feted at a Dec. 11 concert to be hosted by Tom Cruise and Oprah Winfrey that will air on E!
“Festivities will be held in Oslo the day after the award ceremony, where Maathai will become Africa’s first Nobel laureate for her contributions to the environment and women’s rights.
“E! has secured exclusive rights to the telecast and will show the two-hour concert Thursday, Dec. 23.”
(From, E! to broadcast starry concert for Nobel winner, Variety, Nov. 28, 2004.)
Double hack score for implying that E! will be broadcasting the actual Nobel ceremony. Triple hack score for working in a Scientology joke, an Oprah “You get a Nobel! You get a Nobel!” joke, or a dig at Polyphonic Spree for being not unlike a cult. (Joss Stone joke, optional.)
[via TVTattle]