Which feature do you miss most?

Wednesday 31 December 2008

5: Debunker

After an unusually long absence, our “hero” returns…

While shuffling around online, a feature on 2008’s best quotes caught my eye. A little investigation threw up the predictable offerings: Alaska’s “Hockey Mom” par excellence, Zimbabwe’s “leader”, and various British tabloid attention-seekers. A list of the ten best quotes from No Country For Old Men would’ve easily outshined* this paltry collection. That list’s top three might look something like this:

Number 3...
Wendell - “It’s a mess, ain’t it, sheriff?”
Sheriff Bell - “If it ain’t, it’ll do ‘til the mess gets here.”

Number 2...
Chigruh - “Don’t put it in your pocket. It’s your lucky quarter.”
Garage Attendant - “Well, where do you want me to put it?”
Chigurh - “Anywhere. Not in your pocket or it’ll get mixed in with the others and become just a coin. Which it is.”

Number 1...
Llewelyn Moss - “Sugar?”

But enough of that. List bad, Coens good. So what’s the point, Ian? Well, how can any list of the year’s best quotes (pejorative to the max, in this case) exclude what follows? In September, Rose McGowan was interviewed at the premiere of the film 50 Dead Men Walking, set during the Northern Irish Troubles.** McGowan, who stars in the film as Ethnic McLoveInterest, said that her “heart just broke for the cause.” Said cause being the very same one that almost ended Dave Mustaine at a 1988 Megadeth gig in County Antrim care of Angry Loyalists: the IRA. The Grindhouse star went on to add “violence is not to be played out daily and provide an answer to problems. But I understand it.”

Right, so what Jenna Maroney - I mean, Rose McGowan - really meant was “murder is a necessary evil.” Sure, she wouldn’t have dared say it outright. Enter the paraphrase. Unionist politician Billy Armstrong dismissed her remarks as “foolish and offensive.” Others were vocal. For a change, I agreed with them.*** Sure, it’s all too easy to snipe at isolated ballyhoo such as this, but it’s also an important process. Ten years ago, no-one of McGowan’s position would’ve dared pull a stunt like that. And with good cause. Nowadays, with the sound of Ulster's guns swapped for those of the Middle East, it’s all the more inviting for opinions such as these to slip out.

Armstrong’s right. McGowan shot for enlightenment and revealed only ignorance. If this sounds obvious, count yourself lucky. You’re smart and well-adjusted. Comments like McGowan’s are emblematic of a wider, archaic American myth about Irish Republicanism. The IRA weren’t the Rebel Alliance, “fighting the good fight” against the Evil Empire. Only those without sin may cast the first stone. She doesn’t understand what Republicans have increasingly learned over recent years: Talk is the way forward. As long as some thought goes into what comes out, that is.

* I’m well aware it should be outshone. Soundgarden’s magnificence laughs in the face of grammar.
** If you’ve already heard this, keep reading anyway. This ain’t a font for breaking news.
*** I’m not a bigot. Persuasion/upbringing/which Old Firm club I support hasn’t influenced this post.

--

Ian Pratt would surely have bonded over a mutual love of lists with Kurt Cobain. He would also like to acknowledge and thank Empire magazine and BBC News for fact-checking purposes. Oh, and wish everyone a Happy New Year!

Wednesday 24 December 2008

4: On Ire, Ireland du Nord, and Football

‘Twas the night before Christmas when Ian gave to me... a tale of insouciance, anger, and glee.

If I were the sort of “Hey, guys!” blogger who seeks New Year’s resolutions just for the because of it:

a) you wouldn’t be reading.
b) I’d probably choose “lowering” my anger.

But seeing as no-one’s reading anyway I’m going to:

a) do as I darn well please.
b) relate the tale in a censor-friendly, yet 100% faithful form.
c) make no resolutions, especially regarding my anger. It’s a gift.

The only necessary back-story for this tale is that I’m a Northern Irish guy with rage to burn. Like many of my fellow countrymen and women, I’m not above venting. I could rant for Ireland, as we say. And few things are better to rant about than football. Now, I realize that some of you may just have consciously switched off at the thought of this being a “sporty” post* Rest assured, no knowledge of football is necessary to understand this post. I’ll be the Yoda to your Luke, the Basil Exposition to your Austin Powers, the Drama to your Vince. Err, hang on…

For the purposes of discretion, identities will be concealed.

On Monday, a high school friend of mine - let’s call him Bob Contraband - posted an item on a popular social networking site. Let’s call it Countenance Tome. Bob, a huge fan of Northern Irish football, was delighted that his beloved Crusaders** had earned an impressive weekend win. He posted a link to the game’s Irish league page on BBC Sport, so that he might share his joy with the world; so that he might acknowledge that, though our local game may be less than stellar, though our “stadia” are Dickensian at best, though tickets are laughably overpriced, love conquers all. Bob loves the wee Crues and wanted everyone to know.

As a casual yet committed follower of the Crues, I complimented Bob on his actions. More power to ye, I thought (and come on the Shore Road Brazilians, we can still go all the way this season!) But somewhere along the line - Doncaster or some equally depressing sounding English burg - the plot got lost. Not by Bob or myself, you see. No, it took that most ignorant and hate-filled of football fans to do this. It took an Englishman. Specifically, a patriotic Englishman.

Now, first off let me start by clarifying a few things:

a) I love England. I studied at university there and (generally) had some of the best times of my life.
b) I (generally) love English people. During uni, I met the most wonderful people I’ve ever known, many of whom are nationals.
c) I (generally) love English Football. Like the vast majority of football fans from all-across Ireland, I support an English Club.***/****
d) I love me a list.

With the inevitable “anti-England” retort dealt with, let me just add that I’m nowhere near the wrong end of the list of bad football fans. I’m the Mary Poppins of football fans. But, you know, angrier. There’s nothing wrong with getting behind “the lads.” As long as you don’t decide to crack a bottle over the head of your rivals-supporting opposite number, it’s all (mostly) brown and water.

Back to Monday. So Bob posts the item. He and I have already had a quick chat about the win so I smile and click there to check out his typically heart-warming happiness and contentment. (All speech not mine paraphrased...)

Bob: Anyone who doesn’t like this doesn’t like football. What a great advert for our local league. Come on, ya wee Crues!

Here here, Bob. That’s pretty much my reaction. Within 20 minutes, an anonymous, ignorant friend of Bob’s responded thusly:

Bob’s Ignorant Friend: Ugh what the *expletive deleted* is this? This is *expletive deleted* What an *expletive deleted* standard of football. Lool xoxoxo

Untoward, right? Bob, ever the good-natured sort, responded in kind.

Bob: That coming from a Leicester City fan?

Bob’s Ignorant Friend: Ugh. Yeh. Datz rite. Innit. (LOOOLZZZ)

Bob: I don’t see how you can justify saying that, when our players are on a par with yours.

Ok. Bob took a few liberties there. Leicester City would destroy Crusaders any given Saturday. But Bob didn’t say that ‘cos he knows the chances of the two meeting under competitive circumstances are negligible. So Bob rustled the cage. Harmless fun… or was it?

Enter the Mega-Tool! No, that’s not his real name (though it ought to be! Fnarr fnarr.) No, this tool is cut from a more regular, bland cloth and goes by the name of - oh, yeah - um, let’s just call him Mega-Tool.

Mega-Tool: Bob Bob Bob… think I’m gonna have to disagree with ya there, buddy. Your patriotism is commendable. Your league, however, is primarily semi-professional and, as such, is filled with predominantly sub-standard players. You really think players from your league could even begin to cut it in (English) League One or Two? You’re wrong. They couldn’t, which is, of course, why they ply their ‘trade’ in lesser leagues.

Ok. Some fair points (re: the league itself, Bob’s patriotism) well made. Others (re: our league’s players) less so. Though, he’s far from a “mega-tool”, right? Keep reading…

Bob’s Ignorant Friend: LOOLZ, BOB! Watch it again. Look at the defending! It’s *expletive deleted* shameful. My *expletive deleted* Sunday League team’s well better. Old *insert his mate’s name here* would well be bangin them in in that ‘league.’ PONED!

Then, a random Irish League enthusiast/Linfield fan chimed in:

Random Linfield Fan: Come on, Linfield.

At this point, I made my debut comment. I offered a list of players that disproved the Mega-Tool’s earlier theory about our players “cutting it” in England and concluded with a nice non-offensive Crues chant. Bob took this thought and ran with it yesterday, adding players to my list. One of whom being Gareth McAuley, an ex-Crues defender who made it all the way to (ironically enough) Leicester. Content that he’d made his point, Bob finally added:

Bob: Leicester, though, simply aren’t good. ‘Nuff said. “In case I don’t see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night.”

Nice touch that at the end, I thought. Now, pay attention. This was where the Mega-Tool could no longer conceal his grotesqueness and revealed himself. He commenced his slip with:

Mega-Tool: Ugh, you just about managed to name about 3 players out of countless others. You are both wrong. I am right. That is that.

Gloves be gone, then. At this point, Bob’s Ignorant Friend spouts some guff about that Leicester thing again, but that’s unimportant. So we’ll skip ahead to my verbatim response to yer man…

Me: Yeah, the first three players that came to mind (far from a representative list, right?) Also, we’re not Brazil… we’re Northern Ireland. The proof lies here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aUamyEOzaAU

(If, for some reason, this doesn't link properly, copy and paste yourself there. It's well worth it.)

The crowning touch? “Motty’s” sarcastic jibe moments before King David goes medieval. In the words of a wise man, “thank you and good night.”

I don’t need to not be me to know that my comment was obviously a bit of playful fun from a passionate Northern Irish patriot.***** Nothing more, nothing less. Anyone who’s seen their beloved “massive” club or country thrashed/humiliated/knocked out of a cup in the first round by minnows knows what me and Bob were at. We were giving the aforementioned cage a good rattling, then letting the cat inside it free amongst a whole mess of pigeons. As Northern Irish football fans, it was our right. It is our right. Or, to use Harp’s expression, “it’s our thing.” Why? Because it’s all we’ve got. We have a population of around one and half million. Not long since, we were the wrong side of 100 in the FIFA world rankings. What do you do when you can’t beat ‘em? Rage against the machine. Joke around with it, at least. Part of football’s fun is taking one another down a peg or two.

Pity no-one told Mega-Tool. Like the coming of a rancid tide, his response smothered all that was good and true almost an hour later:

Mega-Tool: I recall that game. 2005. Correct? I also recall beating you 4-0. I was unable to find any video “proof”, though. Perhaps, that’s because it was just another win for the great England. Oh well. Perhaps, that is just the price of greatness. Might I also reveal to you how most of your players play in England. Most of whom being in the Championship, I believe. Nonetheless, this is all apropos of our original discussion’s theme. In conclusion, your league isn’t the best league in the world. Personal opinion dictates everyone’s favourite choice of league. Nonetheless, the fact remains that there are myriads of reasons why our leagues - especially the weaker ones - are better than yours. Your league has never and WILL NEVER be the best league in the world. *expletive deleted* ELVIS LEFT THE BUILDING!

Meow. It’s easy to see how this response came almost an hour after mine. It takes faux-erudite poseurs a little longer than us proles to formulate a response. I didn’t discover the comment for hours, let alone get a chance to reply, because even I leave the house sometimes. Needless to say, I was none too amused. The pleasantries were dispensed.

In the interest of impartiality, I now present, verbatim for the second time, my response:

Me: Yes, 2005's correct. Speaking of internationals, I don't remember "the great" England in the Euros this summer. Oh, that's right, they failed to qualify. And were outstripped, outfought and generally outquaffed in every way by - who was that again? - that's right: the Green and White Army in the qualification process. Did any of England's strikers match Healy's (internationally recognized, award-winning) magnificence? Did they beg. Furthermore, shy of a crystal ball, I think we are both ill-placed to provide speculations on which league "will or will not" become the greatest in the world. That said, let's keep it grounded in facts shall we, and leave outlandish, defeat at our hands-inspired statements like that aside? The conversation's starting to go off topic again.. As for most of our international class players playing across the Irish Sea: Money is a factor. Someone must have broken out the smelling salts, 'cos Elvis just re-entered the building and he's doing the bouncy!

Yeah, I know. I got a little cooked, but I'm OK. Resisting playing the game would’ve been a missed opportunity to try reaching a deluded dude, while giving myself a chuckle in the process. I couldn’t pass it up. They can’t help but bite. And never, NEVER resist the last word. Sure enough…

Christmas Eve (!) - Late morning (!)…

Mega-Tool: Awww, somebody’s trying a widdle too hard to be wintawectual! Aren’t they? Yes, they are! Yes, they are! I shall only make one further comment before conclusion. This conversation threatens to get out of control (!) and just go in circles (!) When England didn’t qualify for the Euros, it was a big deal. If Northern Ireland qualified for a big competition it would be a big deal. Here endeth the lesson!

I was stunned. I was, literally, astonished, after I stopped applauding. (Tense shift) Thank you, Mega-Tool. Thank you, for this wondrous bounty. Northern Ireland - a team who haven’t qualified for a major tournament since the year I was born, who are currently ranked fifty-second in the World, behind Lithuania, Iran, and Honduras - would celebrate if they qualified for a major tournament. That’s something. That is really something. There you go now. Yesterday’s article just keeps on bringing the truth.

I didn’t delete Mega-Tool from my friends list. Every fiber of my being urged me to. We only “met” through Bob and I know nothing more about the guy than what he revealed above. I’m glad I didn’t delete him. That’s not how I roll. Like the Corrs before me, I forgive, not forget. I didn’t do anything wrong. He crossed the line and, when he realizes, I’ll enjoy the apologetic message in my inbox (‘cos it’s private, see?) If I reach that one person, it’ll all be worth it.

Merry Christmas (even You Know Who!) Thank you and good night.

* Look out for Broken Dream Theatre, Part 2: Footballer, coming January 09!
** “We’re red, we’re black, the hatchet-men are back! Super Crues, Super Crues!” etc.
*** UNITED! - clap clap clap - UNITED! - clap clap clap - UNITED! etc.
**** If you’re one of those people who’s thinking right now “Ugh, you can’t support more than one team!”, you don’t get it.
***** The origin of my eponymous Premier Football team’s name on Mug-Volume, but of course.

--

Ian Pratt has this message to the football-loving, patriotic citizens of Northern Ireland: Sure our league is far from significance, sure our national team may languish in a low seeding, and we may be all but out of hope of qualification for Africa in 2010, but you can thank your lucky stars we’re not from Turkmenistan.

Tuesday 23 December 2008

3: On the Makings of a Nerd

Today’s blog post is brought to you by the Present Tense. Live the moment!

A knack for self-deprecation is the only ‘quality’ I readily admit to having. Anyone who knows me well will vouch for this. I am of a type and inhabit my role with Brandoian dedication. What you see is what you get. These posts, then, have so far pandered to this type like a touring band panders to the nearest crowd. In the unlikely event that anyone who doesn’t contribute to this blog is still reading, rest assured the trend for untrendyness looks set to continue with annoying regularity.

I like questionnaires. Anyone who relishes competition will doubtless know the thrill of assessing oneself against others. Am I this? Am I that? Am I fat/thin/capable of ‘taking’ her or him? And questionnaires are a valuable resource for stabilizing the perennially whigged, so naturally I dig ‘em. They’re emotional lifeboats. If the results are ‘right’, that is.*

After a(nother) heroic mood swing leaves me feeling chipper, I happen upon a questionnaire. It’s topic: Internet nerds. Were this quiz aimed at diagnosing regular nerds, my browser would be traversing pastures new, by now. Batman don’t need no shrink to tell him he’s got issues. But I often wonder how my Internet behaviour compares to others (around my age and beyond), so I indulge.

By question one, I’m unimpressed. There’s a blown wad right where there should be a tactful, intriguing opening salvo (paraphrased):

1. Are you always online?

As “foshiz” is the first option, I can be sure that, if I make a habit of going with the first choice**, I’m likely a geek par excellence. If I do so for choice number two (usually), I’m gonna fall safely in the middle. I’ll learn that I’m on top of things, but with enough distance from both the screen and net-dependency to prevent a thousand yard stare. And if I see what’s behind door number three, I might as well crawl back under my Martian rock.***

I don’t need to think too much to know that I’m online a lot, but not always. I check 2.

2. Are you a once-in-a-while blogger?

After missing the latest in a long line of boats years hence, I recently became co-author of a blog****. I contribute to it on a steady but not unusual rate. 2 again it is, then.

3. Do you often read other people’s blogs?

Before I started writing one, I never gave them a second thought. Since then, I’ve looked around to find some half-decent ones and found precisely two out of a monstrous number that appealed to me. And I don’t even read those two from start to finish. That’s a firm Belfast “no” for you, Question 3.

4. Do you use text-speak in everyday conversations?

I have used such language a handful of times in “everyday conversation” (phone calls to this blog’s own Christophe) for the express purpose of jest. No makes another appearance.

5. Do you watch online clips and streamed videos regularly?

More than I watch television, increasingly. My life wouldn’t be what it is without such classics as ‘Batman on Drugs’ and various Star Trek/Wars fan opuses. A resounding yes here. (Nerdlinger!)

6. Are you permanently logged in to your favourite Instant Messenger client?

Closer to the opposite. It’s not that I don’t love MSN, I just prefer to think of it like I would a favourite bar. Nipping in for a beer and the chance to see some regulars is one thing, but I don’t wanna make it a second home. The heart grow fonder absence makes, as Yoda might say. Nope, once again.

7. Do you like to keep your e-mail inbox open in the background?

I check my e-mails when I’ve done everything else I want to do/can’t think of anything else to do/feel that sufficient time has elapsed since I last did and should take a peep. So no.

8. Do you have accounts with multiple social networking sites?

Facebook is enough for me, thank ya very much. (That’s a negatory, good buddy.)

9. Do you own/maintain your own web-site?

Remember that episode where Marge tells Homer why the impressive components inside a robot’s head are the reason why his robot never worked? Well, if you swap the word “robot” for “website” and an episode where Marge explains HTML to Homer, reasoning that his website may have benefited from mastery of it, that could be a long-winded but fitting analogy for my thoughts on this question. (Guess which option I choose?)

10. Would it be fair to say that working for a major computer giant would be a dream job for you?

In my salad days, I thought it would “rock” to work for Capcom or Konami. If this counts (I think they mean more Microsofty), then maybe, once, I kinda could've ticked yes, but not now. (So 2+2 must equal…?)

11. Do you know the difference between Flash and Silverlight?

That’s easy. Barry Allen is the Flash and Silverlight (a.k.a. Dirk Duckford) used to be in the Justice League ‘til he got kicked out for cheating on Wonder Woman with Hal Jordan. Hang on… I mean Green Arrow. No, it was Black Canary. Silverlight wasn’t gay. Or was he? And wasn’t he in the Avengers?… (I think I’ll have to say…)

12. Have you made many good friends on the Internet?

No. I have made no friends on the Internet. I use the much-loved resource to communicate with friends I made in the real world, or “Matrix”, to use the Latin. (Come on. You can do it!)

13. Have you become romantically involved with someone you met on the Internet?

I met *radio edit* on the Internet. But unless a pre-recorded *mature themes* video of her not watching me *adult situations* to her counts as becoming “romantically involved”, I can’t think of anyone else. (What do the Yanks call minus numbers again?)

14. Do you check your e-mail using a mobile device?

I have a(n old) mobile phone which I use to make and receive calls on, as well as send the odd text message. I have, despite what those blurry photos of me on the beach in Saint Lucia suggest, nothing else that could be deemed a mobile device.

15. Do you upload photos to your blog service or photo gallery?

I don’t, at present, but I do plan to plaster some snaps of my ugly mug over the auld blog in order to “pimp” (read: gimp) it out. As for galleries, the pictures of me on Facebook should be more than enough to satiate even the most twisted Fangoria readers. (“If you stare long enough at these things, a picture’s supposed to appear.”)

16. Do you use online file storage?

I did at uni, but not anymore. That was the first - and last - time I ever went to the fourth dimens- oh file-storage (laughs). Oh, well… same again, actually. (“Hey look, a sail boat!”)

That’s a grand total of:
One 1,
Two 2’s, and
Thirteen 3’s.

Inconclusive is hardly the word I would choose.

Sure enough, the obligatory results page confirms what I suspected all along. I’m no more an Internet geek than most of the guys who frequent sites like Football 365 or Your Local United.com’s forums. For the most part, I like reading movie, music, and football sites, doing so at frequent but not alarming intervals. Otherwise, I’m largely aloof. The “mostly yes” and “often” columns have me pretty much bang on in, if they’re trying to not accurately describe me at all.

However, the “mostly no” assessment is (mostly) way off. I do check my e-mails once, maybe twice a day. But while I have read a blog once or twice in the past, this was no “accident” (see above.) Furthermore, I can say with some confidence that I have a considerable “interest in Internet culture.” Daily trips to preferred sites, as well as an active presence on Facebook, MSN, and the forums of my favourite website, CHUD.com***** all evidence this. That my true identity contains elements from all three pools intrigues me. Maybe questionnaires aren’t so boring and predictable, after all. Better still, maybe I’m not so boring and predictable, after all. You really do learn something new every day.

* This may or may not explain my fear of I.Q. tests.
** Like some sort of intellectual manchester city (condescending lower case added by author.)
*** Yes, any primary school kid who’s taken a quiz or two can see the strings of this charade, but still, a little effort to mask the fact’d be nice!
**** I’m more meta than you.
***** Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, fellow Sewer Chewers!

--

Ian Pratt hopes you forgive his egregious use of footnotes. His near-namesake Terry Pratchett made quite an impression on him, as a wee lad.

Sunday 21 December 2008

2: (Musical) Sex Offences?

The attentive readers amongst you (if any) will note the gratuitous use of brackets in this post’s title. Lest some clandestine search program wrongly suppose me a kiddie-fiddler, I’m playing it safe. Hence the prefix.

Regrets? Yes, I’ve had a few. Many of which, predictably, are of the “romantic” variety. Sure, they get you down, but it’s not all bad. Mistakes like these can lead to other things, arty things. Enter song-writing. I’m in good company too. What follows is a list of songs that tackle, for want of a better term, intimacy. Principally, the physical kind. To me, they typify the ripe, the tripe, and the ? of aural amorousness.

--

Song: ‘Long Division’
Artist: Death Cab For Cutie
Rating: Believe the hype

Death Cab hit an unequivocal home-run with this year’s Narrow Stairs. The album is their Doolittle/Grace/whatever Led Zeppelin you like best. Even in such esteemed company as ‘Cath...’, and ‘Pity and Fear’, ‘Long Division’ stands tall. It chugs. But better than that, Benjamin Gibbard crafts a lovelorn tale so intimate you feel dirty. In a good way.

Its flourishes are many and varied. The gentle yet firm propulsion of the rhythm section, the best disinterested vocal since ‘Heart of Glass’, the sparse arpeggios,… you get the idea. As impressive as the details are, structure is the song’s crowning touch. Standard verse-chorus-verse-chorus territory seldom sounds so fresh. Its hard not read the track as a metaphor for a relationship. The tentative first steps, sudden highs, and aching uncertainty are all evoked by the chorus’s staccato chord stabs.

Gibbard understands the inevitability of friction and nothing promises (“He had sworn not to be what he’d been before/to be a remainder”) better than most. That he carries it off with an almost journalistic objectivity is all the more impressive. An unusually muscular arrangement takes it over the top, ensuring you’ll be humming the melody as well as picking apart the couplets for weeks to come. It’s all hugely impressive. If it came from anyone else, it’d be surprising.

Song: ‘Up for Breakfast’
Artist: Van Halen
Rating: Mad dog’s malachite

Halen (whom I’ll be referring to in shorthand throughout) have quality tunes - how you say? - up the wazoo. They also deserve credit for successfully outliving the loss of the much fancied “Diamond” Dave back in the day. But even the goodwill generated by ‘Panama’ isn’t enough to excuse them for this little doozy. If Jodie Marsh were a song…

Recovered from that thought? Ok. Well, it’s not about to get any better. ‘Up For Breakfast’ is a how-to manual for bad ‘double entendres.’ For example, “pump it up, pump it up, baby, make it bigger” and “she put the cream in my coffee…butter on my biscuit.” The lyrics are so offensively, increasingly bad that sooner or later thoughts of self-parody spring to mind. How else could “out the front door, leave the back door open/hot-tub, loosen up, baby, been soaking” make it in? Attempts to focus on the music are troubled by bon mots such as “You know I’m up for breakfast, first thing in the morning” Oh, Sammy. Must try harder.

Worse than the shameless/ful content, though, is the waste of an otherwise fine song. Even as a bed for unmitigated dirt, the band’s musicianship is obvious and ever-capable. After listening to a song like this, there can be only one palette cleanser. Listen to ‘Hot For Teacher’, immediately. And loud. Dave eases the pain.

Song: ‘Shut Up and Drive’*
Artist: Rihanna
Rating: Indecision time

When Rihanna beckons the listener to step into her “ride”, it’s a tempting offer. That said ride is a “fine-tuned supersonic speed machine” only sweetens the deal. See also the “gangsta lean.” However, for all her come-hither histrionics, ‘Shut Up and Drive’ hues closer to Hagar’s efforts than those of Death Cab. Not a good start. After little over half a minute, her cover is blown. She may as well have called the thing ‘Just Do It Already’** and had done with it.

Ok. But is clarity really such a bad thing? It didn’t help Halen, but it didn’t hurt Death Cab. By the pre-chorus, I, like much of the world, most certainly “feel” her. (What? She asked so I let her know!) She’s got a semi-interesting voice and a big, bouncy beat. Maybe, things are turning around? After all, being a pop song, the rules of engagement were always going to differ from those used on Sammy and chums.

That said, when so many attractive but unremarkable girls fast-track their way to fame with “sassy” antics (here's looking at you, Perry), I’m quickly all trashed out. Do women with “class” (be they real or a fictional ‘narrator’) rank plenty of *ahem* “room in the back” highly these days? Do guys? A quick glance at the video’s You Tube comments deepens my quandary. The general consensus is that the song is a success. Rihanna is a very attractive woman who is most welcome to ride in many a man’s, um, “ride.” Perhaps, SwEeT3ChLo says it best:

“bet dis makes da bois hornii lool” (sic.)

Quite. However, the only ‘obviously’ female comment, care of prettyracheal1, takes a tact similar to my own:

lmao so gross when she sticks the cloth in her pants”

Granted, that line’s in reference to the video, but it’s all a rich tapestry.

This track treads Halen’s ill-fated line with dubious poise. If you listen, ire happens. If you follow your gut and listen only to the music, moves happen. As a pop song, then, it succeeds. It gets people going, is catchy, whatever. But is it a legitimately good song and not just stroke material for teenage misogynists? I continue to yo-yo, in the words of Bob Mould, “back and forth between the good and the bad.” Suggestions welcome.

*Yeah, I know this is an “old” song. It’s included for relevance, not timeliness. See also Halen.
**In homage to Katherine Heigl’s performance in Knocked Up, of course.

--

Ian Pratt learned everything he knows about romance from the male anchormen of Channel 4 News. His testes, however, remain unnamed.

Saturday 13 December 2008

1: Of 'Gilmore Girls' and Boring Boys

'Gilmore Girls' jumped me. It was sometime between the return of Premiership Football and the death of summer, and it was via e4. I wasn’t impressed: a preternaturally happy woman and her Sin City hooker daughter getting into faux-crises in their idyllic New England town? Where’s the drama, I thought? Who’s watching this show?

Robert McKee had me seeing red. This show typified what aspiring screenwriters are told not to do. The stakes - if they can be called that - were so small that, at best, they would be ineligible for all but the tamest of roller-coasters and, at worst, were subterranean. Example: someone has to get home immediately… to feed her dog! (Yeah, I know.) Scenes drifted off aimlessly on a myriad of tangents, until a belated joke reminded someone what the point was and the ship righted itself. Everyone knows small-town life runs at its own pace, but these girls were extracting the Michael.

Seeing the titular girls till all-too-familiar relationship ground was tantamount to eavesdropping on the “quiet girls” in school, but with added shame. It’s disappointing: the participants talk endlessly and say nothing. But worse, they say nothing about you. You don’t exist. In fact, nothing exists for these girls beyond their own myopic reflections (of which there are many) and complaints about their latest lover/ex lover. It was almost enough to make a guy brave “event TV.”

After watching the depiction of men in 'Gilmore Girls', I finally understood women’s frustration at their portrayal on screen. Male characters on the show only came off well when serving as harmless supporting Eunuchs (Kirk, Taylor…) Otherwise, they consistently disrupted female happiness by way of their masculinity’s incompatibility with female logic. If a male lover disagreed with his spouse on something, he was talked down to or vilified for immaturity (witness Rory slamming Logan’s Life and Death Brigade antics) or just getting in the way (Luke delaying he and Lorelai’s wedding, T.J. being T.J.)

There’s more to this than just fighting one’s corner. I wouldn’t want to defend most of the men I’ve encountered, and certainly not just because I am one. To me, the predictable men of 'Gilmore Girls' highlighted a massive double-standard. If, indeed, women deplore men routinely desiring mundanely gorgeous partners, then men can only follow suit. Any man on this show outside the ‘tall, dark, handsome’ or ‘boyishly dashing’ moulds was, simply, screwed. Ironically, only his friends who fitted either of these bills would ever screw by design. Luke, Logan, Chris, et al all substantiated this. Interestingly, women outside the traditional range of heterosexual male desire (anyone not in the top 30 places of this year’s FHM 100 sexiest list) still got someone to come home to. Sookie and Jackson anyone? Or (the attractive but “unglamorous”) Lane and Zack? Or (the attractive but highly strung) Paris and Doyle?

Weeks passed.

Maybe it was the lack of competition, but eventually my defences began to lower. I kept watching. Cracks began to appear in my hastily formed objection faster than a Manchester City title challenge. Sure, these chicks were a bit yappy, but their moxie became more and more endearing. Suddenly, I adjusted to the warp-factor chatting, finding it a welcome break from the drudgery found elsewhere in televised suburbia. I became involved with these people’s relationships, to the extent where shake-ups and break-downs solicited discussions with the TV (though Logan remains painfully smug.) The inimitable use of music (Half Alien rock) added another notch to the list of the show’s unique facets. Soon, the prospect of a programme low on “action” became a borderline necessity.

Where once there was McKee (or, rather, the image of Brian Cox’s McKee from Adaptation), there was only me, the same wide-eyed chancer who used to write about friends without the constraints of monotonous plot-acceleration and perfunctory turning points. My Dave Eggers side body-slammed my White Van Man side. So what if these ladies didn’t always get up to much? Save the pantomime protagonists from 'Heroes' and its ilk, who does? These girls entertain me more having dinner with their family than Jack Bauer would tackling a dozen Villains of the Week. Theirs was a series that brought something new to the table. Sure, we’ve all watched shows that tackle everyday minutiae (I believe, they’re called ‘soaps’), but ‘Gilmore Girls’ reclaimed this terrain, proving that a drama can do kitchen sink without descending into an East-End screaming match. How? By understanding the glaringly simple truth that there aren’t really any new stories, only new perspectives. Now more than ever, what better reason could there be to (re)visit Star’s Hollow?

Those fabulous Gilmore Girls were talking to me all along. I just wasn’t listening.

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Ian Pratt may slate ‘Heroes’, but he’ll always love Milo Ventimiglia for his work on that show about those two girls who like to talk fast ‘cos life’s short.

Foreward

Generic sentiments and greetings to Grandiloquent Vagaries & Other Miscellany. Ian here. I'm a guy who befriended a like-minded guy (Christophe) at university. Enter this blog.