Crocodile Love

Perhaps the Nation could help us settle a dispute.

(Digression: By "us" we mean "we and WOS," not the royal "us" we so commonly employ. EOD)

WOS is troubled by something she sees all too often in movies she watches all too often. Movies like "Lake Placid 2" (2007).

(Digression: You know you're in trouble when a sequel doesn't even bother to use Roman numerals. EOD)

In these cinematic tours de force (tour de forces?), two central characters generally are set up to hook up by the end of the movie: usually the rugged sheriff type inevitably played by Bruce Boxleitner or John Schneider (or their ilk) and the hot herpetologist played by some nymphet half his age. Hey, more power to 'em, the point is this: At the end of the movie, just after (spoiler alert) the monster crocodile has been butchered by the quick thinking crocodolologist with a machete and a hollowed out log, she and the sheriff (or wildlife expert or state trooper whatever) finally give in to the seething sexual tension that has been burbling just below the surface for the last 90 minutes or so.

WOS finds this unlikely.

(Digression: Yes, THIS is the part of the movie she finds "unlikely." EOD)

She thinks the characters might hug, perhaps collapsing in each others' arms in a moment of mutual relief and emotional support. Making out, though? Not likely. We, on the other hand, disagree. We find these endings in keeping with the classical motifs of comedy/romance: The stories must end with weddings, symbolizing rebirth, fertility, regeneration. Making out is not the same as a wedding, but for the purposes of B-movie horror, it seems appropriate. All we need are some young girls dancing around Boxschneider and herpetologist, strewing rice and flowers upon the ground for the image to be complete.

What's your opinion? We'd like to know.

(Image from shockya.com)

Guest Blogger

WOS here. I had to take the computer away from the Solipsist again. He got on my last nerve.

Here's what I have to put up with:

Today, we were at the supermarket. Solipsist needed cereal. Suddenly, he got excited. This usually means trouble.

At the front of the cereal aisle was one of those sales displays: Large boxes of brand name cereal, 2 for $5.00. Ever the budget-conscious blogger, Solipsist reached for a box of Wheaties: Fuel. "Look," he said, "Peyton Manning. If I eat this, I'll be Peyton Manning!" (Yes, when he talks to me, he refers to himself as "I." THAT was quite a battle!) Yes, we said, you'll be Peyton Manning.

Then, however, Solipsist noticed that not ALL the boxes of Wheaties: Fuel had Peyton Manning on them. "Wait, should I get Peyton Manning, or. . . or. . . Or this guy?" Who is it? "I'm not sure. But what if this guy is BETTER than Peyton Manning? Maybe I wanr to be this guy! Maybe--"

Oh, just buy the damn cereal!

So we get to the cashiers. As Solipsist is putting the box on the conveyor belt, he notices that, on the back of the box, is a picture of all the "cover models." "Oh," he says, you know who that other guy was? It was Kevin Garnett." That's nice. "Kevin Garnett, see?" Yes, we see. "I could be Kevin Garnett." I say nothing. "Should I be Kevin Garnett?" I. Say. Nothing. "I think I better go be Kevin Garnett."

WOULD YOU JUST SHUT UP AND BUY THE GODDAMN CEREAL?!?!?!

We made it out of the store without further incident. I was feeling optimistic. "Y'know. . . " Oh, God. "I think I need to trade my cereal. I wonder if they'll let me trade my cereal. I think I should be Kevin Garnett. What if people think I'm a racist because I'm not Kevin Garnett? Does my breakfast suggest I don't like black people? Because I wouldn't want people to think that--"

That's it! You have lost your blogging privileges for the night!

"But--"

You want to go for TWO nights?

Solipsist may be back tomorrow. WOS out.

It's About Time

"Panel Proposes Single Standard for All Schools"

Remember the firestorm that erupted last year when President Obama addressed the nation's schoolchildren? Remember how Right Wingnuts screamed about how this Crypto-Socialist was doing nothing so much as indoctrinating impressionable tykes into his unique brand of Hippiepinkocommunism? We suspect that we may look back on that time with nostalgia once LimBeck and Company sink their teeth into this one.

Seems a panel of (shudder) educators has gotten together and proposed basic national standards in math and English to which all students should be held. The federal Department of Education has endorsed the proposal, and states that choose to adopt the standards will be given extra consideration in the awarding of federal education funds. Predictably the teachers' unions and other Stalinists are in favor of this, and somehow these folks have even managed to hornswoggle such normally sensible types as business executives.

Nationally, the only states that refused to participate in writing the standards were (brace yourselves) Texas and Alaska. We know! Interestingly, one of the other states that is less than enthusiastic about the proposed standards is Massachusetts--of course, that's because the Bay State's educational standards are currently a bit higher than the ones under consideration. Still, any policy that garners suspicion from Texas AND Massachusetts does merit some scrutiny. Texas and Massachusetts haven't agreed on anything since Kennedy chose Johnson as his running mate.

In all sincerity, though, we say "Amen." Anything that can get this country closer to educational uniformity--ideally uniformity in a positive direction--is a good thing. Education is one of the last bastions of state sovereignty, and arguably the most wrong-headed. Why would any semi-intelligent person argue that a child in Montana doesn't need to know the same basic principles of algebra or sentence structure as a child in New York. (In an understandable bit of caution, the panel did not yet try to establish standards in more loaded areas like history or about such unproven theories as. . .sigh. . .evolution. We'll take what we can get.)

One of the regular rallying cries of the paleoconservative right has been to abolish the Department of Education. And much as we hate to admit it, we have always somewhat agreed with them. Not because we're against education, but simply because the federal Department of Education has always been a largely toothless dispenser of unfunded mandates (see "No Child Left Behind"). Since there have BEEN no national standards, there has always seemed to us little point in having a national organization. Maybe the near universal endorsement of these new standards will mark a turning point. Maybe the US will join the rest of the industrialized (and much of the unindustrialized) world and establish the idea that all citizens have a right to the same education, regardless of thre state in which they happen to reside.

Near Midnight Musings

Totally Tasteless "Too Soon" Thought the First:

Could be worse. Could be Feldman.

Totally Tasteless "Too Soon" Thought the Second:

Coming this fall to A&E: "The One Corey."

To vote for your favorite Totally Tasteless "Too Soon" Thought, please leave a comment below.

Is There Such a Thing as Too Much Information?

Generally speaking, the Solipsist refrains from commenting on individual episodes of TV shows because. . . . Well we don't really have a REASON for it, it's just never come up before. But we think that last night's episode of "House" screams for commentary.

(WOS: Oh no. No no no. Don't! Do not! For the love of God!)

Sorry, WOS, we have a. . .ahem. . .a duty.

See, last night's medical mystery involved a compulsive blogger who was--par for the course for the show--suddenly beset with a mysterious and life-threatening illness that would kill her in a matter of days unless Dr. Gregory House could. . . uh. . . flush out what was wrong.



(WOS: You're really doing this? I wash my hands of this.)



Well, anyway, if you've ever seen the show, you know how the first 48 minutes went: House's team proposed various diagnoses, most of which House shot down immediately. Occasionally, one of the doctors would propose something that sounded reasonable (albeit totally unintelligible to the non-medical specialist), treatment would be provided, things would look better for a moment before taking a dramatic turn for the worse. Finally, in the middle of some seemingly unrelated conversation, House gets a faraway look in his eyes, the music swells, and he's off to save the day with a stunning revelation. Last night, the revelation had to do with the patient's all-revealing blog--or ALMOST all revealing blog. House, you see, realized that one subject that this obsessive-compulsive sharer of every intimate detail had failed to mention even in passing in her blog was. . . poop.

Poop!



That's right, she had never blogged about her bowel movements--the very thing that held the clue to her underlying illness. (Why none of the other doctors bothered to ask her about this basic bodily function during one of their innumerable consults is a question that we won't delve into too deeply.)


Nation, we were horrified. Have we, in our own compulsive bloggery, been risking life, limb and a trip to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital through our own colonic oversights? Can we afford to take the risk? We think not! So, for the sake of our own health and your piece of mind, we hereby present a thorough--we dare say comprehensive--account of our own gastrointestinal output over the last six months.



Back in September, all was regular, until one night after a particularly spicy dinner of ribs and corn on the cob. We awoke around 2:00 AM with a stabbing pain in our abdomen, indicating a massive buildup of fe-------



OK, OK, ENOUGH!



Hi, everybody. This is WOS. I know I washed my hands of the whole thing, but I just. . . I just can't let this go any further. I have taken the Netbook away from the Solipsist, and I am not giving it back unless he swears to abandon this line of blogging. If an appointment with House is the price he has to pay for not discussing his bathroom habits. . . It's a chance we'll all just have to take. Heck, I'd like to meet Hugh Laurie anyway. The Solipsist might be back tomorrow. G'night!

(Image from fox.com)

More News Jews Can Use

In an earlier post, we discussed the Judaic imperative to avoid "work" on the Sabbath. "Work," we pointed out, consists of all manner of activity, from breaking rocks in the hot sun to flipping a light switch. One form of activity that falls under the category of work is the act of carrying--anything. Thus, whether a Jewish man carts crates of lettuce across town or simply sticks a pack of kosher gum into his pocket, he is effectively dishonoring the Sabbath and not keeping it holy.

On the face of it, you might think refraining from schlepping is not so hard. But consider the plight of the Orthodox Jew who wants to go to temple on Saturday morning and simply wants to lock his door behind him: How can he do this without carrying his keys? As the noted rabbinical scholar Homer Simpson might say, "D'oh!"

Leave it to Hebrews to come up with a solution. Behold, the eruv, a thoughtful solution to an intractable problem--in other words, a loophole. Basically, an eruv is a symbolic virtual extension of the home, which allows people to carry things within its confines. Traditionally speaking, an eruv is an enclosure demarcated by walls and/or doorways of at least ten tefachim in height. (We did not just make up that word.) Within those walls, Jews may engage in the same Sabbath-sanctioned activities they engage in at home: carrying keys, drinking Manischewitz, juggling latkes, whatever!

But what worked just fine in the Sinai--where there was nobody to care if the nomadic Israelites threw up multi-tefach walls hither and yon (especially yon)--poses greater challenges in the modern metropolis: One can't just erect an eruv on the Upper West Side.

Never fear, though; modern Orthodox rabbis have a solution: They can declare an area an eruv and, instead of marking it with walls, simply string wires from lamp posts to mark the boundaries. Such an eruv, in fact, has been erected in Manhattan, and it extends "from river to river between Harlem and the Lower East Side" ("A Jewish Ritual Collides with Mother Nature"). For those of you unfamiliar with New York City geography, this encompasses approximately 80 blocks north-south (about four miles) and about 12 long blocks east-west (a little over a mile): That's some backyard.

The reason this made the news is that the recent heavy snowfalls in the northeast have pulled down some of the wires that demarcated the eruvim. Orthodox Jewish parents have been sending their children off to synagogue without so much as a hankie. But if this whole thing is symbolic anyway, couldn't rabbis just declare an eruv through other-than-physical means? Couldn't, say, the fiberoptic network comprising the World Wide Web safely encompass the religious piety of the Orthodox community? Since religion is all about the observation of ritual, and rituals can obviously be altered to accommodate the realities of the modern world, we think the time has come to inaugurate eruv 2.0 and thus ensure that the Jews of New York are not left without eruv over their heads.

Sorry.

And the Oscar Goes to. . .

All right, let's get our picks in before the ceremony starts.

Disclaimer: We have seen a grand total of THREE of the movies under consideration for best picture ("Avatar," "District 9," and "The Hurt Locker"). These ill-informed picks are, therefore, for entertainment purposes only, and should not be used for the purposes of gambling--unless you want to lose your shirt.

Best Picture: "Avatar" has the most nominations, and it won the Golden Globe award for Best Drama. But you need to remember that the Golden Globes are awarded by the Hollywood FOREIGN Press Association. Presumably, a large number of their constituents are non-English speakers, for whom "Avatar" is a perfect movie: beautiful to look at; immersive 3-D; spectacular battle scenes. And THEY don't have to deal with Cameron's clunky dialogue.

The two other top contenders in a standard year would have to be "The Hurt Locker" and "Up in the Air," the former a compelling (and surprisingly apolitical) war movie, the latter a well-crafted human-interest vehicle for George Clooney. "Precious" is the perennial "dark horse" sentimental favorite. "Up" is the beautiful movie that won't win because it's animated.

The other five movies wouldn't even have been nominated last year, when there were only five nominees, so they merit little discussion, except insofar as they will siphon votes from the other nominees. Thus, for example, if we were voting, we might be tempted to vote for "District 9," not so much because we think it's superior to "The Hurt Locker" (which it isn't) but because we would want to send a message to all the "Avatar" groupies that it IS superior to THAT film. In a year when the "Best Picture" could garner as little as 11% of the vote, who's to say what's going to happen. That being said, the Solipsistic pick is: "The Hurt Locker."

Best Director: Although James Cameron DOES deserve some props for putting "Avatar" together, we'll go the safe route. If "Hurt Locker" is going to be the best picture, then the best director will be: Kathryn Bigelow (James Cameron's ex-wife, by the way).

Best Actor: This is a lock. Jeff Bridges has been nominated four times--and egregiously NOT-nominated two other times ("The Fisher King," "The Big Lebowski"). He's a popular, likable Hollywood veteran, and there really is no major competition. George Clooney would be the other likely winner, but he's already won an Oscar ("Syriana"), and he'll have loads of future opportunities. Morgan Freeman, similarly, has already won an Oscar, and he won't win another for a movie nobody saw. Colin Firth was also in a movie that nobody saw. And as good as Jeremy Renner was, unless it's a TOTAL "Hurt Locker" sweep, he won't make it. The Dude will abide with an Oscar after tonight: Jeff Bridges.

Best Actress: Meryl Streep may well have given the best performance of the year. The problem for her is that she's not really competing against the other actresses; she's competing against herself. Meryl Streep is the best actress of her generation and arguably the greatest film actress of all time. If you ask who the best actress of 2009 was, the answer is Meryl Streep. The answer HAS been Meryl Streep since "Sophie's Choice." But because of this, Academy voters may be less inclined to vote for her: Sure, she's great, but is her performance in "Julie and Julia" worth an Academy Award, given that we all know she's going to be transcendent in anything she does? We doubt it.

Let's skip over Carey (who?) Mulligan and Helen (already won and in a movie that nobody saw) Mirren. That makes this a race between newcomer Gabourey Sidibe ("Precious") and box-office babe Sandra Bullock ("The Blind Side"). It is a testament to the dearth of meaty roles for women that Bullock gets nominated for what is essentially a Hallmark Hall-of-Fame type role. Let's assume that she's good in the movie--she probably is--the movie and the role themselves are not Oscar caliber. On the other hand, Sidibe is playing an indisputably meaty role. The fact that she's a newcomer might work against her. Academy voters like people to pay their dues (see Jeff Bridges). At the same time, while many first-time nominees provoke justifications along the lines of, "I didn't vote for her THIS time, but she'll be back," will that really be the case for Sidibe? Let's face it, she is something of a "type" unto herself. To put it another way, while just about any competent actress of a certain age could have played Bullock's role in "The Blind Side," not even Meryl Streep could have pulled off "Precious." (Oh, who are we kidding? Of course she could have!) We're going to vote our hopes instead of our fears: Gabourey Sidibe.

Supporting Actor: We know virtually nothing about any of the movies under consideration, except that every reviewer absolutely raved about Christoph Waltz in "Inglourious Basterds." Thus, that is our pick.

Supporting Actress: See above: Mo'Nique.

Mark your ballots now, folks.

(Image from imdb.com)