These two talking about Game of Thrones and spewing about who’s dying and who’s screwing and what-the-what and I’m thinking, man, I haven’t been able to physically watch the damn show since the ex-girlfriend, so would you both kindly stop talking and ruining things I’m still unable to sit in front of? Can you not see this by the look on my horrified face and the way I’m saying “la la la la la la,” while you’re yakking spoilers all over the place? God!
Hard to believe Rafael Nadal was crushed in straight sets on clay today. I used to love watching his raw, protruding forehead and beautiful deltoids as he slid around the red dirt with strength and precision. Not today though. If I were in France, I would’ve rooted for him over the number one ranked Serbian robot that is Novak Djokovic.
FIFA is changing hands, the Mr. Burns of world football Sepp Blatter is no longer running one of the weirdest and most powerful organizations in the world. Football may never be the same again. At least we hope.
Golden State and Cleveland in the Finals? What planet is this? I like it.
Stanley Cup starts tonight as the Chicago Blackhawks take on the Tampa Bay Lightning. I’m hoping that everyone outside that amazing state of Florida is wanting one of the Original Six to win it all. Again.
Baseball is in the depths of its long, long, long season. We’ll catch up in the fall.
But in the fall we’ll likely be talking about Amercian football.
I take pictures. I write stuff. None of it can be considered groundbreaking but it’s apparent that I have a slight knack for both so I have as much fun as I can.
Let’s get one thing clear: in the United States of America it is NOT against the law to photograph anyone who is in a public space, i.e. a park, sidewalk, street or shopping mall. Regardless of age, gender, race or profession, if you’re going about your business and as long as it’s not in a restroom, dressing room or hospital room, you may be subject to being photographed by a person like me. When you’re out of your house, there is NO legal infringement if someone takes your (or your child’s/spouse’s/grandmother’s) picture whether you want them to or not.
Shooting people is always best when they don’t realize they’re being photographed, candid moments are rich in spontaneity and realism. Unless it’s portraiture or a studio shoot, catching people in natural environments usually yield the most interesting images.
I almost explained all of this to the lady who pooped her pants in front of me after I took a picture of her small child while he was playing on the sidewalk but thought better of it.
She demanded that I ask permission before taking pictures of her kid and part of me understood her paranoia/fear/lack of appreciating artistry because I’ve watched television and seen people like Nancy Grace. I’ve read horror stories about…blah blah blah. But to approach me and make me feel as though I had done some terrible disservice to her child’s privacy, well, that’s just wrong. I can make an absurd list of things I could have done wrong in front of her child but shooting a photograph would not have been one of them. But she didn’t know me from anyone she sees on Law and Order so I let her rant while I held my tongue until I apologized.
She’ll get over it and will likely forget the whole exchange ever happened. I, on the other hand, will always have this picture that’s worth at least a thousand privacy violations.
Thanks to the magic of internet television, I’ve officially rekindled a love affair that started over 25 years ago, an unrequited, pre-adolescent obsession that almost led me to enlist in the military. If only it were the 25th century!
Her outfits had to literally be sewn around her body, silver spandex with a holstered laser gun, oh the power she helmed! It was a 1980’s 4th grader’s toss-up between Col. Wilma Deering from the Buck Rogers TV show and Lynda Carter’s glamorous Wonder Woman. Wilma was hardcore, who had a sense of realism, no invisible jet, just an alpha strut of sleek uniformed authority. Wonder Woman may have run around in hot pants and a bustier (bless her), but Wilma Deering was almost always covered, never having to show skin since her business was all about whipping ass instead of wasting time with alter egos or using cleavage to dispense justice. Erin Gray portrayed one of the first leading ladies of television who was truly intelligent and independent from the will of men, a woman who outranked the leading male character while making all other men (and budding little boys) dutifully tune in each week for a glimpse of her doling out seventies sex appeal like the stern sci-fi military queen she was.
Moreover, Wilma Deering wasn’t bioinic or wore bracelets that could deflect bullets from a gun. But she was, by god, a superhero both boys and girls could look up to, and the first woman to break this little boy’s heart.
There seems to be question about whether or not the public can “trust” Tiger Woods. (Trust him with what? My car? Nope. My wife? Definitely nope. I don’t trust anyone I don’t know personally. Do you?) ESPN had a half hour vomit-inducing round table discussion about his waning popularity based on everything but how he hits a golf ball. Until golf becomes full contact I think it’s painfully boring to watch and follow so I don’t much care. But I do care enough to write that cheating on your wife is nothing compared to bilking hard-working Americans out of their pensions and 401k’s. Nothing compared to abusing kids or using a great rock song to schlep some crappy product. The list of things worse than adultery is a mile long yet the story about Tiger Woods is how his cheating on his wife is a betrayal to his fans, a taint on the sport of golf and the now crumbling integrity of the marketing industrial complex that is the golfer himself. I can barely believe it’s a story. And I’m actually writing about it. This is what happens when you stop watching the news or reading about current events and politics. I only hear about the biggest, most inane train wrecks.
Something about those Asian Americans, though. Interesting enigmas, they are.
I feel sorry for The Roots. The Roots are this great hip-hop band from Philly who are immensely talented and have great success especially among those who have grown to loathe the pedestrian contemporary rap songs about rims on whips or cabbage and grips.
Why The Roots deserve our sympathy is because every weeknight they have to sit through an entire, uninterrupted episode of the late nite snooze-fest of a show that is hosted by the sadly unimaginative Jimmy Fallon. Since The Roots are the house band, they bear witness to high-grade talent going rotten in the interview chair on the daily. The exchanges between Fallon and his guests are punishingly forced, plodding and just plain boring. I would rather watch my father pick his ears with a car key than sit through Jimmy Fallon interviewing someone. Fallon’s lack of common cultural knowledge leaves him sitting there like a nervous muppet with nothing interesting to say, unaware that he has no shred of spontaneous wit.
The episodes are rabbit pebbles strung together by long, dull stories from celebrities and maybe a silly voice thrown in and this sorry recipe for entertainment reduces his show to a 60 minute log of awkward silence. I’ve counted how many times people laugh during a Jimmy Fallon segment and wonder why The Roots haven’t thrown their instruments through the phony scenic background and burned that place to dust. Simply put, the show just isn’t funny and the business of a late night show that isn’t Nightline is to be funny or we’re all falling asleep wishing The Roots would change their name to The Riots.
I know The Roots are getting paid but couldn’t they be given reprieve from this terrible show? We all know Fallon won’t last another year, which is unfortunate because on SNL he was quite funny, in his element he was goofy and charming. But leave him alone with the likes of Robert DeNiro or even Danny DeVito and count the tumbleweeds.
The Roots need to migrate to a better show or this is going to stain their resume, what about that crazy Scottish guy? His show’s kinda irreverent and bizarre. Way more fun than watching Jimmy Fallon struggle to put words together to form something that matters. Poor bastard.
The very least he could do is replace The Roots with a band more fitting for his nightly vacuous conversations, like Good Charlotte or The Black Eyed Peas so The Roots can go on making great music without enduring their horribly grueling day job.