I still think TO tried to kill himself.
This is what I thought to myself today driving around listening to the Dan Patrick Show (yes, I listen to sports radio--I am a total radiophile). He was replaying some of the bits from his press conference and that just popped into my head. It's funny that all of this happened this week; just this past weekend I caught ESPN's Sportcentury documentary about TO and if you get a chance you should too. It's fascinating. I always kinda dug the guy regardless of his antics, but I found myself seeing him as a kind of kindred spirit after watching Sportcentury.
TO was raised by his strict grandmother and not allowed to play with the neighborhood children. He was teased and ostrocized as a child and teenager for his dark complexion. He never knew who his father was until at age 11 he took an interest in the girl across the street. The girl's father took TO aside one day and told him to stay away from her. When he asked why, the man told him that she was his half-sister; TO's dad literally lived across the street and never once took an interest in merely telling his son who he was. He's suffered the loss of his grandmother and recently broke up with his fiance and was unable to see his son for his 7th birthday.
We've all had our issues, and some of his struck a chord with me. I've had (still have, to be honest) my own issues with my dad. As a kid I lived miles away from the other kids in my school, so I spent most of my time alone. I was also a chubby kid who got more than his fair share of teasing. On Tuesday, I could see where this could all add up to TO attempting suicide. Because I've thought of it too.
One day when I was 12 I had gotten off the phone after having another horrible conversation with my dad. After slamming the phone down and throwing the nearest object (a book, if I remember correctly) across the room against my wall, I grabbed my pocket knife and held it to my wrist. I had some things to think about. The only thing that stopped me that day was a feeling that I owed my mom better than that. Over the years, I've had moments where I've had to fight off the (for lack of a better word) temptation to impulsively kill myself. The one I remember clearly is sitting in a chair in my mom's apartment and looking out over the balcony imagining just running full-bore through the windscreen and jumping off the balcony, wondering how far I'd go and how long it'd take me to fall. I had to basically lock myself in the bedroom to get myself to calm down. I am not the only member of my family to have issues with this.
So suicide is something I take very seriously and with a heavy heart. All the talk of 'accidental overdoses' offended me. But it seems as if that's what happened. Thinking about this today while listening to the radio I realized something:
I didn't think TO tried to kill himself--I wanted TO to have tried to kill himself.
I wanted him to have cracked under all of the bullshit that goes along with childhood issues, cause I could sure as hell understand that. I wanted everyone everywhere to see what happens to a child when you treat him that way as a child; that no matter how successful they may become, they are scarred and it's because of what his parents did (and didn't) do. I wanted my father to see that and maybe think about some stuff. I looked at his 'attempted suicide' as if it were mine. I was hearing and seeing the news through the lens of my own life and my own reasons. I feel a little better now for having realized this, but it goes to show that sometimes you just don't know when it's creeping up on you.
Shame on me.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
The Good Samaritan
Ok, so I'm going to 7-11 for a pack of smokes. In, out, back home to catch the rest of Brazil/Japan, easy enough.
Of course not easy enough, because this is my life and these are the things that happen to me:
I make my way to the counter to get my cigs and there's an elderly woman asking the gentleman manning the register where 395 goes. Not where it is, mind you, just where it goes. Now I'm not one to say we should take licenses away from people who reach a certain age, but if you live in Virginia and don't know where 395 goes you need to just clock out of the whole driving thing. So she's asking where it goes and our Hindi friends behind the counter keep telling her where it is, and the whole thing is kind of a clusterfuck so I let her know that 395 north goes to DC and south will take you around to 495. This is my first mistake, and I know that going in, but I figure I can help her out and end this whole thing which, even though I'm paid up and on my way out the door, is painful to listen to. Enter Mr. Helpy-Helper. The next dick in line behind me walks up and says "Hey man, why don't you just have her follow you to 395?"
Really. I'm not joking about this. This asshat wants to help her out so much he's asking me to do the work for him. Thanks. Well, what can I do? Say "No, I have to get back to my apartment directly across the street to watch a soccer game that's already over anyway (Brazil was up 3-1 at the time)"? So off I go to lead a little old lady with no business being on the road to the fucking HIGHWAY during fucking RUSH HOUR.
Now I'm on the road, and all's well to this point. Then we get to the 395 ramp, and I point out the window for her to take the ramp, and she just keeps following me, like a lost puppy or the guy at the party who only knows one person so they stay within range of them all night. I pull into a left turn lane to, well, turn around and go home. Or at least let her know "Hey, here's the exit. There are signs. One goes north, the other south. Good luck." But instead of following me into the lane, the woman STOPS IN TRAFFIC TRYING TO DECIDE WHAT SHE'S GOING TO DO. Or maybe where she is. I don't know, but I'm frantically waving her over into the lane. What does she do? She waits there for someone to honk at her (which does not take long) and then simply drives on. In the meantime, I make the left turn as I had an arrow and not being 500 years old I follow street signs logically and as they are presented. I cut through a neighborhood to get back on Glebe to get home and to find this woman, but she's long gone.
I just want to say before I wrap this up that while I found it an inconvenience, I wanted to help this woman out because I feel for the elderly who seem to have been passed by by a world that doesn't need them anymore. Truly. My problem is not with the woman, or the fact that I helped her. My issue is with the cock that threw me into this mess.
So here's to you Mr. Nice Guy Hey-I'm-Your-Buddy: Take your fucking gym shorts, your sleeveless T-shirt, your 'I have enough time to work out a lot' body, your big stupid smiling fucking face, your whole fucking I'm-a-jock-but-I'm-a-nice-guy-even-though-I'm-better-than-you-which-
makes-me-even-better-than-you attitude thing (which is really easy to have when you got to bang every girl in high school who's crappy stories and bullshit I had to listen to for a fucking semester just to get to the point where they'd turn me down) and skip the gym tomorrow. You've earned it. Instead, I want you to go fuck yourself. Hard, long and slow. Just fuck the pissing fuck off. You wanna help out? Help out. Don't throw it on someone you assume has nothing better to do or anywhere to go (which I didn't admittedly, but that's not the point). Find something large, sit on it, and sink until you're all full of it and think about what kind of human being you are.
When you're done, then you can go to Five or Love or what the fuck ever and pick up some chicks and tell them how you helped out an old woman yesterday. I'm sure they'll think you're so sweet and nice. Fucker.
Of course not easy enough, because this is my life and these are the things that happen to me:
I make my way to the counter to get my cigs and there's an elderly woman asking the gentleman manning the register where 395 goes. Not where it is, mind you, just where it goes. Now I'm not one to say we should take licenses away from people who reach a certain age, but if you live in Virginia and don't know where 395 goes you need to just clock out of the whole driving thing. So she's asking where it goes and our Hindi friends behind the counter keep telling her where it is, and the whole thing is kind of a clusterfuck so I let her know that 395 north goes to DC and south will take you around to 495. This is my first mistake, and I know that going in, but I figure I can help her out and end this whole thing which, even though I'm paid up and on my way out the door, is painful to listen to. Enter Mr. Helpy-Helper. The next dick in line behind me walks up and says "Hey man, why don't you just have her follow you to 395?"
Really. I'm not joking about this. This asshat wants to help her out so much he's asking me to do the work for him. Thanks. Well, what can I do? Say "No, I have to get back to my apartment directly across the street to watch a soccer game that's already over anyway (Brazil was up 3-1 at the time)"? So off I go to lead a little old lady with no business being on the road to the fucking HIGHWAY during fucking RUSH HOUR.
Now I'm on the road, and all's well to this point. Then we get to the 395 ramp, and I point out the window for her to take the ramp, and she just keeps following me, like a lost puppy or the guy at the party who only knows one person so they stay within range of them all night. I pull into a left turn lane to, well, turn around and go home. Or at least let her know "Hey, here's the exit. There are signs. One goes north, the other south. Good luck." But instead of following me into the lane, the woman STOPS IN TRAFFIC TRYING TO DECIDE WHAT SHE'S GOING TO DO. Or maybe where she is. I don't know, but I'm frantically waving her over into the lane. What does she do? She waits there for someone to honk at her (which does not take long) and then simply drives on. In the meantime, I make the left turn as I had an arrow and not being 500 years old I follow street signs logically and as they are presented. I cut through a neighborhood to get back on Glebe to get home and to find this woman, but she's long gone.
I just want to say before I wrap this up that while I found it an inconvenience, I wanted to help this woman out because I feel for the elderly who seem to have been passed by by a world that doesn't need them anymore. Truly. My problem is not with the woman, or the fact that I helped her. My issue is with the cock that threw me into this mess.
So here's to you Mr. Nice Guy Hey-I'm-Your-Buddy: Take your fucking gym shorts, your sleeveless T-shirt, your 'I have enough time to work out a lot' body, your big stupid smiling fucking face, your whole fucking I'm-a-jock-but-I'm-a-nice-guy-even-though-I'm-better-than-you-which-
makes-me-even-better-than-you attitude thing (which is really easy to have when you got to bang every girl in high school who's crappy stories and bullshit I had to listen to for a fucking semester just to get to the point where they'd turn me down) and skip the gym tomorrow. You've earned it. Instead, I want you to go fuck yourself. Hard, long and slow. Just fuck the pissing fuck off. You wanna help out? Help out. Don't throw it on someone you assume has nothing better to do or anywhere to go (which I didn't admittedly, but that's not the point). Find something large, sit on it, and sink until you're all full of it and think about what kind of human being you are.
When you're done, then you can go to Five or Love or what the fuck ever and pick up some chicks and tell them how you helped out an old woman yesterday. I'm sure they'll think you're so sweet and nice. Fucker.
Friday, March 10, 2006
My 78th Annual Academy Awards Review, or: Oscar? I Hardly Even Knew Her!!!
Ok, late? Yes, but I feel like sometimes we need time to absorb and reflect before bloviating.
That and I took notes, and they aren't going to write themselves, so I'm gonna write most of this the way I was thinking at the time and mix in other stuff along. Anything in quotes in parantheses is directly from the notes...
First--R.I.P. Ali Farka Toure, Dana Reeve, Kirby Puckett. What's with the Death right now? Do they know something we don't?
From Hollywood, Producers of 'Three Days of the Condor' as well as 'The Stoopids' (sigh). Jon Stewart hosts.
I feel wary about this going in. He's smart, he's observant, if you ask my girlfriend he's hot--but he has less pull in that room than OJ, and that could be trouble. Unless the host is kissing their ass (see Crystal, Billy) or are just too 'powerful' to ignore (see Carson, Johnny), the Oscar crowd is just brutal (Chapters Rock and Letterman). Maybe there's hope...
...and hope is good for about 30 seconds after a funny opening movie that got laughs 'cause it had people that the crowd wanted to laugh at. Oh boy. I guess if there was a dance number or something he would've gone over, huh? Fuck you Hollywood. Fuck your dance and music numbers.
-Supporting Actor: Nicole Kidman comes out to present and talks about, um, well, ("blah blah blah gorgeous"). Really, wow. And it goes to Clooney! Clooney Buddy! Little Known Fact: There was a second envelope that contained a list of five women for him to bang later. Apparently he did them all so, you know, everyone wins. He makes a nice little speech about why all of these movie people are good for the world and my Man Crush on him is officially back on ("Too funny too handsome too charming love him hate him he's great"). Good to have you back Cooper. Was that his name on 'Rosanne'? Matt Dillon should have had it.
-I don't know who Bill Hurt was with, but WOW. Just, WOW.
-Something I have to get out of the way right now: I HATE the music during the speeches bit. HATE. Even the second in charge guy who gets one for Best Makeup did something right, the show always runs long so fuck it let them talk.
-Apparently Jack does the seating chart for the show, 'cause he's next to Kiera Knightly for no reason other than he's Jack and I'm not. Nice work, my liege.
-It's not that the crowd doesn't get Jon, they just don't want to. I haven't seen a Collective Dick Move like that since Bush couldn't find the door in China and everyone stood there taking pictures. Except that was funny.
-Ben Stiller doing the green screen bit is less funny now, but at least it was something.
-Narnia wins some tech award, but I can't even hear the word Narnia without hearing that 'Lazy Sunday' bit from SNL in my head.
-Attention people of Earth: RESSE WITHERSPOON IS NOT HOT
-A big rock on for Wallace and Grommit winning the Animation award. In other news, the in-speech music is driving me to drink. More than I was already.
-I dont care how far Naomi Watts's nipples stick out, I think she's beautiful. And yes, I will be judging every actress I see tonight on how they look without shame--If I'm giving you $10 to entertain me for an hour and a half and oral sex isn't involved, you're goddamn right you better look fucking good.
-Our first nominated song of the evening is Dolly Parton. Singing alone on stage to track. Now, this is a significant moment: There was a time when it was ALWAYS done like this. In the early days of televison it was impossible to mic mix and send out a live band to broadcast and have it sound good. Even now in a fast paced live show like award shows its difficult. But the era of the singer out on stage alone is past, and now it just looks awkward and old-timey, and it's not like it takes 20 minutes to get a couple guys with a banjo and a guitar on stage and off. So fuck you again, Hollywood. Dolly deserves better.
-They have the token Kiddy Bit with the CG Chicken Little. I hate the fucking Kiddy Bit. Kids don't care. It's true: I watched the Oscars the year Batman came out and was so outraged that it wasn't nominated for EVERYTHING that I didn't watch for a long time. True story.
-Jennifer Aniston. Girls, she's NOT a star. She's NOT hot. She was on the right show with the right hairdresser at the right time. You fuckin' go, Brad. You did the right thing.
-Will Farrell and Steve Carell come out and actually make me laugh. Thank you, gentlemen.
-Camera pans to Kidman and...Keith Urban? Man, I forgot about that. ("Keith Urban? Really?")
-Rachel McAdams comes out and breaks my heart ("Blonde...bad lighting...too skinny...dreams ruined..."). Bad look.
-Best Supporting Actress: Rachel Weisz. Love her, always have. She's a hot pregnant chick, isn't she? Really, just glowing ("BOOBIES!").
-For a guy who isn't really a breast man (I'm about the ass, and was LOOOONNNGG before J-Lo or any of that shit) I'm a little all about the boobs watching this. I guess I'm working with what I'm being given.
-A commercial for Tab Energy Drink? THIS is what the world was waiting for? I can't find ONE goddamn bottle of Cherry Smash anywhere in this world and there's a fucking TAB energy drink? Fuck that.
-Lauren Bacall's prompter goes screwy, causing me to briefly wonder if we were watching her stroke out on live TV.
-Is Charlize Theron a goddess? It's possible. I don't even notice the goofy dress enough for it to bother me; she's THAT beautiful. But just when I think I'm out...
-...Salma fucking Hayek pulls me back in. Wow. She still rules whatever land I walk. Strong showing.
-Jen Garner has been visited by the boobie fairy and is climbing my List rapidly.
-Memoriam: Pat Morita, Chris Penn, Sandra Dee, Brock Peters, Shelly Winters, Anne Bancroft and Richard Pryor all get drinks from me. The notes thankfully start to taper off at this point.
-So I just mentioned the List. Within the List there is a subsection. The Pantheon, if you will. I'm giving myself some time to think it over, but I'm considering adding Ziyi Zhang to the Pantheon. Unbelievable.
-Three Six Mafia steals the show with their speech. I never found it to be so hard out here. Maybe it's just easier here for a pimp. The cost of living's hard out here for a pimp, I'll tell you that for goddamn sure.
-Hilary Swank comes out in an awful dress but I forgive her, she meant well.
Best Actor: Philip Seymour Hoffman, whom I've loved ever since The Big Lebowski.
-Best Actress: WILL SOMEONE SHUT REESE WITHERSPOON THE FUCK UP. Anyone who does this for me shall receive....ginger snaps. They're pleasant and go well with afternoon coffee.
-They do. Shut up.
-Best Picture: Crash! Wow, the best picture won Best Picture. Huh. I guess all's well that ends well.
All in all, not a bad....well, yeah bad show. Boring, packaged, tight-assed and no Jennifer Connelly makes this year's Oscars blasphemy on many levels. Unless they get Chappelle to host next year and he turns it into the Academy Awards and Roast and Cultural History Extravaganza, the Oscars will be in 5 years what it tries so hard not to be: Just another award show.
Late,
Berg
That and I took notes, and they aren't going to write themselves, so I'm gonna write most of this the way I was thinking at the time and mix in other stuff along. Anything in quotes in parantheses is directly from the notes...
First--R.I.P. Ali Farka Toure, Dana Reeve, Kirby Puckett. What's with the Death right now? Do they know something we don't?
From Hollywood, Producers of 'Three Days of the Condor' as well as 'The Stoopids' (sigh). Jon Stewart hosts.
I feel wary about this going in. He's smart, he's observant, if you ask my girlfriend he's hot--but he has less pull in that room than OJ, and that could be trouble. Unless the host is kissing their ass (see Crystal, Billy) or are just too 'powerful' to ignore (see Carson, Johnny), the Oscar crowd is just brutal (Chapters Rock and Letterman). Maybe there's hope...
...and hope is good for about 30 seconds after a funny opening movie that got laughs 'cause it had people that the crowd wanted to laugh at. Oh boy. I guess if there was a dance number or something he would've gone over, huh? Fuck you Hollywood. Fuck your dance and music numbers.
-Supporting Actor: Nicole Kidman comes out to present and talks about, um, well, ("blah blah blah gorgeous"). Really, wow. And it goes to Clooney! Clooney Buddy! Little Known Fact: There was a second envelope that contained a list of five women for him to bang later. Apparently he did them all so, you know, everyone wins. He makes a nice little speech about why all of these movie people are good for the world and my Man Crush on him is officially back on ("Too funny too handsome too charming love him hate him he's great"). Good to have you back Cooper. Was that his name on 'Rosanne'? Matt Dillon should have had it.
-I don't know who Bill Hurt was with, but WOW. Just, WOW.
-Something I have to get out of the way right now: I HATE the music during the speeches bit. HATE. Even the second in charge guy who gets one for Best Makeup did something right, the show always runs long so fuck it let them talk.
-Apparently Jack does the seating chart for the show, 'cause he's next to Kiera Knightly for no reason other than he's Jack and I'm not. Nice work, my liege.
-It's not that the crowd doesn't get Jon, they just don't want to. I haven't seen a Collective Dick Move like that since Bush couldn't find the door in China and everyone stood there taking pictures. Except that was funny.
-Ben Stiller doing the green screen bit is less funny now, but at least it was something.
-Narnia wins some tech award, but I can't even hear the word Narnia without hearing that 'Lazy Sunday' bit from SNL in my head.
-Attention people of Earth: RESSE WITHERSPOON IS NOT HOT
-A big rock on for Wallace and Grommit winning the Animation award. In other news, the in-speech music is driving me to drink. More than I was already.
-I dont care how far Naomi Watts's nipples stick out, I think she's beautiful. And yes, I will be judging every actress I see tonight on how they look without shame--If I'm giving you $10 to entertain me for an hour and a half and oral sex isn't involved, you're goddamn right you better look fucking good.
-Our first nominated song of the evening is Dolly Parton. Singing alone on stage to track. Now, this is a significant moment: There was a time when it was ALWAYS done like this. In the early days of televison it was impossible to mic mix and send out a live band to broadcast and have it sound good. Even now in a fast paced live show like award shows its difficult. But the era of the singer out on stage alone is past, and now it just looks awkward and old-timey, and it's not like it takes 20 minutes to get a couple guys with a banjo and a guitar on stage and off. So fuck you again, Hollywood. Dolly deserves better.
-They have the token Kiddy Bit with the CG Chicken Little. I hate the fucking Kiddy Bit. Kids don't care. It's true: I watched the Oscars the year Batman came out and was so outraged that it wasn't nominated for EVERYTHING that I didn't watch for a long time. True story.
-Jennifer Aniston. Girls, she's NOT a star. She's NOT hot. She was on the right show with the right hairdresser at the right time. You fuckin' go, Brad. You did the right thing.
-Will Farrell and Steve Carell come out and actually make me laugh. Thank you, gentlemen.
-Camera pans to Kidman and...Keith Urban? Man, I forgot about that. ("Keith Urban? Really?")
-Rachel McAdams comes out and breaks my heart ("Blonde...bad lighting...too skinny...dreams ruined..."). Bad look.
-Best Supporting Actress: Rachel Weisz. Love her, always have. She's a hot pregnant chick, isn't she? Really, just glowing ("BOOBIES!").
-For a guy who isn't really a breast man (I'm about the ass, and was LOOOONNNGG before J-Lo or any of that shit) I'm a little all about the boobs watching this. I guess I'm working with what I'm being given.
-A commercial for Tab Energy Drink? THIS is what the world was waiting for? I can't find ONE goddamn bottle of Cherry Smash anywhere in this world and there's a fucking TAB energy drink? Fuck that.
-Lauren Bacall's prompter goes screwy, causing me to briefly wonder if we were watching her stroke out on live TV.
-Is Charlize Theron a goddess? It's possible. I don't even notice the goofy dress enough for it to bother me; she's THAT beautiful. But just when I think I'm out...
-...Salma fucking Hayek pulls me back in. Wow. She still rules whatever land I walk. Strong showing.
-Jen Garner has been visited by the boobie fairy and is climbing my List rapidly.
-Memoriam: Pat Morita, Chris Penn, Sandra Dee, Brock Peters, Shelly Winters, Anne Bancroft and Richard Pryor all get drinks from me. The notes thankfully start to taper off at this point.
-So I just mentioned the List. Within the List there is a subsection. The Pantheon, if you will. I'm giving myself some time to think it over, but I'm considering adding Ziyi Zhang to the Pantheon. Unbelievable.
-Three Six Mafia steals the show with their speech. I never found it to be so hard out here. Maybe it's just easier here for a pimp. The cost of living's hard out here for a pimp, I'll tell you that for goddamn sure.
-Hilary Swank comes out in an awful dress but I forgive her, she meant well.
Best Actor: Philip Seymour Hoffman, whom I've loved ever since The Big Lebowski.
-Best Actress: WILL SOMEONE SHUT REESE WITHERSPOON THE FUCK UP. Anyone who does this for me shall receive....ginger snaps. They're pleasant and go well with afternoon coffee.
-They do. Shut up.
-Best Picture: Crash! Wow, the best picture won Best Picture. Huh. I guess all's well that ends well.
All in all, not a bad....well, yeah bad show. Boring, packaged, tight-assed and no Jennifer Connelly makes this year's Oscars blasphemy on many levels. Unless they get Chappelle to host next year and he turns it into the Academy Awards and Roast and Cultural History Extravaganza, the Oscars will be in 5 years what it tries so hard not to be: Just another award show.
Late,
Berg
Friday, February 3, 2006
Did Smallville Fuck Up?
Ok,
SO...last week they killed off Jonathan Kent on Smallville. I know, isn't watching Smallville a little gay? Well, yes it is but I'm a geek and as a geek I must watch so back the fuck up. The point is they were building this whole season up with the promise that someone would die: Early on this year Clark had 'given up his powers' to be human and bang super-hottie Lana Lang (fair trade, really--have you seen that girl?) and then 'died' after being shot leading to his REAL father Jor-El (don't get me started on Jor-El, really) giving the powers back and bringing him back from the dead but with the caveat that someone whom Clark loved would have to die to keep the balance of the universe or something. Personally I think Jor-El is just a prick, but I'm not getting started on him tonight.
Anyway, so it seemed all year it was going to be either Lana (who you know they can't kill off; I mean, she's the reason I ever spent more than two minutes with the show in the first place) or Clark's 'cape hag' friend Chloe, who is the only person who knows his secret and is all kindasorta crushing on him blah blah blah and seems doomed at some point in this series so why not? From a fanboy perspective it had to be Chloe; there never was a Chloe in the comics, Lana was the first person Clark ever revealed himself to, Lana is his rock in the comics, etc.
So lo and behold, last week's episode ends and bam, heart attack, Jonathan Kent is dead. I can't begin with the sadness and anger I had at the end of that episode. First off, Jon Kent was played by John Schneider, who was on the Dukes of Hazzard. You don't kill a Duke boy, period. Just isn't done. Any character he or Tom Wopat ever plays deserves to live.
But it wasn't the Dukes fan in me that was upset; it was the comic fan. The old school 'Whatever Happened to the Man of Tommorrow?' fan, the guy who put up with the 'Death of Superman' and the 'Reign of Supermen' and Mullet Superman and Superman Red/Blue...you name it. I hold a reverance for the character, and in doing so hold reverance for what makes him who he is. THE thing that makes him what he is, is his upbringing. His parents. The farming family salt-of-the-Earth pillars of strength and comfort that have always been Jonathan and Martha Kent. Part of what makes Superman do the great things he does is that he has this father who tells him 'good job son, I'm proud of you' or shows him a better way to connect with the humanity that under stress it must be easy to forget (Can you tell that I'm a Post-Crisis fan and not a Golden/Silver Age fan?). How can we have an 'I miss Daddy and now I'm angry at the world' Superman? Soap Opera bullshit!!
Hold on a minute.
You see, as a fanboy we often have to suffer with Hollywood's ideas of what and who our heros are (See Batsuit, nippled--filed under Schumacher, Joel). It almost seems like (using the example of Superman and Smallville) we EARN our enjoyment and love of the character through following these books, spending our money week after week digging into the past, the history of what makes him not just a comic hero, but a true character. Then some TV execs come along and throw some hack writers on the case and anyone who flips along all of a sudden feels like they know a thing or two about a thing or two. To us, it feels a little sick when ANY license is taken with the history or behavior of ANY character or event.
But, giving DC Comics and the WB a little credit, they've got some good people on Smallville. The Executive Producers seem to be true fans creating a new world that will bring new people into who and what Superman is about. One of the Associate Producers is a man named Jeph Loeb. Fanboys, you know who he is, but for everyone else out there, he's one of the top writers in the biz right now. He's taken the entire DC universe on and made it some it hasn't been for a looooong time--interesting. Not just interesting, fascinating.
Jeph Loeb is the shit. Bottom line. He also has recently lost his 17 year old son who was a talented aspiring artist and writer. Smallville is the world of these producers, and they can do with it what they see fit. That's how I 'let it go' after last week. But the more I think of it, I can't help but think Jeph had something to do with it. What father wouldn't trade his life in an instant to give his son the chance to grow and be something great? It seems to me a little bit like the whole plot line is related to that, and not only do I feel for Loeb and understand but I think as long as the lesson Clark learns is that Jon gave his life for him to help the world, it stands as the right thing to do on it's own merit.
Sorry for the rant, but as I thought of this it touched me and broke my heart at the same time. I can't imagine what Jeph Loeb has gone through, or Clark for that matter. But I hear what Loeb seems to be saying. And finally, I don't watch Smallville and think about what's 'wrong' with it. I just watch it.
Late,
Berg
SO...last week they killed off Jonathan Kent on Smallville. I know, isn't watching Smallville a little gay? Well, yes it is but I'm a geek and as a geek I must watch so back the fuck up. The point is they were building this whole season up with the promise that someone would die: Early on this year Clark had 'given up his powers' to be human and bang super-hottie Lana Lang (fair trade, really--have you seen that girl?) and then 'died' after being shot leading to his REAL father Jor-El (don't get me started on Jor-El, really) giving the powers back and bringing him back from the dead but with the caveat that someone whom Clark loved would have to die to keep the balance of the universe or something. Personally I think Jor-El is just a prick, but I'm not getting started on him tonight.
Anyway, so it seemed all year it was going to be either Lana (who you know they can't kill off; I mean, she's the reason I ever spent more than two minutes with the show in the first place) or Clark's 'cape hag' friend Chloe, who is the only person who knows his secret and is all kindasorta crushing on him blah blah blah and seems doomed at some point in this series so why not? From a fanboy perspective it had to be Chloe; there never was a Chloe in the comics, Lana was the first person Clark ever revealed himself to, Lana is his rock in the comics, etc.
So lo and behold, last week's episode ends and bam, heart attack, Jonathan Kent is dead. I can't begin with the sadness and anger I had at the end of that episode. First off, Jon Kent was played by John Schneider, who was on the Dukes of Hazzard. You don't kill a Duke boy, period. Just isn't done. Any character he or Tom Wopat ever plays deserves to live.
But it wasn't the Dukes fan in me that was upset; it was the comic fan. The old school 'Whatever Happened to the Man of Tommorrow?' fan, the guy who put up with the 'Death of Superman' and the 'Reign of Supermen' and Mullet Superman and Superman Red/Blue...you name it. I hold a reverance for the character, and in doing so hold reverance for what makes him who he is. THE thing that makes him what he is, is his upbringing. His parents. The farming family salt-of-the-Earth pillars of strength and comfort that have always been Jonathan and Martha Kent. Part of what makes Superman do the great things he does is that he has this father who tells him 'good job son, I'm proud of you' or shows him a better way to connect with the humanity that under stress it must be easy to forget (Can you tell that I'm a Post-Crisis fan and not a Golden/Silver Age fan?). How can we have an 'I miss Daddy and now I'm angry at the world' Superman? Soap Opera bullshit!!
Hold on a minute.
You see, as a fanboy we often have to suffer with Hollywood's ideas of what and who our heros are (See Batsuit, nippled--filed under Schumacher, Joel). It almost seems like (using the example of Superman and Smallville) we EARN our enjoyment and love of the character through following these books, spending our money week after week digging into the past, the history of what makes him not just a comic hero, but a true character. Then some TV execs come along and throw some hack writers on the case and anyone who flips along all of a sudden feels like they know a thing or two about a thing or two. To us, it feels a little sick when ANY license is taken with the history or behavior of ANY character or event.
But, giving DC Comics and the WB a little credit, they've got some good people on Smallville. The Executive Producers seem to be true fans creating a new world that will bring new people into who and what Superman is about. One of the Associate Producers is a man named Jeph Loeb. Fanboys, you know who he is, but for everyone else out there, he's one of the top writers in the biz right now. He's taken the entire DC universe on and made it some it hasn't been for a looooong time--interesting. Not just interesting, fascinating.
Jeph Loeb is the shit. Bottom line. He also has recently lost his 17 year old son who was a talented aspiring artist and writer. Smallville is the world of these producers, and they can do with it what they see fit. That's how I 'let it go' after last week. But the more I think of it, I can't help but think Jeph had something to do with it. What father wouldn't trade his life in an instant to give his son the chance to grow and be something great? It seems to me a little bit like the whole plot line is related to that, and not only do I feel for Loeb and understand but I think as long as the lesson Clark learns is that Jon gave his life for him to help the world, it stands as the right thing to do on it's own merit.
Sorry for the rant, but as I thought of this it touched me and broke my heart at the same time. I can't imagine what Jeph Loeb has gone through, or Clark for that matter. But I hear what Loeb seems to be saying. And finally, I don't watch Smallville and think about what's 'wrong' with it. I just watch it.
Late,
Berg
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