Is it just me, or are things getting worse?
Some background: I love television. Like, so much. It’s kind of my best friend. So I have a big blind spot for it, I love to give it the benefit of the doubt, laugh things off, roll my eyes and think, aw television, you will get better and be better, just take your time. I will wait for you.
But I’m kind of getting fed up. I can only ignore so much, television! You may be shiny and exciting but so much stuff is just lazy, and unfunny, and I’m getting tired of making the same excuses for you.
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So my genre of choice after a long day of dastardly lawyerly deeds is the 22-minute sitcom. It’s easy to digest, it makes me chuckle, and it’s easy to forget so that I can rewatch it again and again. Fast food for the brain.
This week I was flipping through the usual channels: CBS, Fox, etc. And within a 2-minute window of lingering on 2 Broke Girls, I heard 2 racial stereotype jokes said by 2 extremely white ladies (so many twos!) and I just roll my eyes. (If you are interested, one joke was about how Asian folks are good at taking the SATs, and the other joke was about how Hispanic people are good at cleaning. Real creative, smart comedy here.) Then I start watching Raising Hope, a show I actually really do like, and there are these 2 Chinese gymnastic twins who don’t really have any lines, do a lot of acrobatics, eat noodles out of bowls that look like they were crafted in medieval China, and only listen to Chinese pop.
Of these 2 shows, I infinitely prefer Raising Hope, and while I couldn’t help but roll my eyes a bit (I swear they will get stuck that way one day), at least the humor in the ep was not at the expense of the Asian folks. 2 Broke Girls on the other hand….with their ridiculous portrayal of an Asian diner-owner named Han Lee (which translates to “Rice” Lee apparently) and the constant racially charged jokes at his expense….that I have little to no patience for. Just because the main characters are disenfranchised in some way does not mean they have free reign to target other disenfranchised communities. Being poor doesn’t allow you to suddenly be a card-carrying member of every minority.
And where Raising Hope at least occasionally has other Asian representation (i.e., an Asian American pawn shop owner that spoke English just fine and whose race was completely irrelevant to the plot), 2 Broke Girls makes lazy pan-Asian jokes about racial stereotypes (karaoke, notions of “honor,” his accent, his general emasculation), and all we get is Mr. Fake Accent.*
Wow I lingered longer on 2 Broke Girls than I thought I would. Working out some inner angst here.
But it certainly is not the only perpetrator.** I caught some Mike and Molly a while back, and within the first 5 minutes of watching this show, I saw another Asian restaurant owner with a thick (and methinks, very fake) accent. And then his pretty daughter comes on the screen, and she also has a thick accent. Now this is kind of where I draw the line. Sure, immigrants are real. And have real accents. And a portrayal of that is not unrealistic, or offensive per se. But then to have a younger daughter from the next generation also have an accent, be an Other—it made me think, man, Asian will never just be Normal!
Even though the majority of older Asian immigrants came over in the 70s and 80s, and there are now several generations of Asian Americans that speak perfect English (well maybe there are still some issues with grammar, I can’t speak for all Asian Americans but my grammar kind of sucks, but I’ll blame that on Mrs. Hildebrandt, my third grade teacher), we still feel so comfortable with the image of the Asian American with an accent. How have we made zero progress from the days of Pat Morita? Seriously, in the last 2 years, 2 NEW shows have come out with Asian restaurant owners that put on fake accents to fit some comfortable yet distorted racial notion. When will we age out of this portrayal?
“Chang: Are you ignoring me because I’m Korean?
Shirley: You’re Chinese.
Chang: Oh, there’s a difference?!”
— Community
“I’ve been meaning to join a gym, for my health. I used to say I wanted to live long enough to see a black president. I didn’t realize how easy that would be. So now I wanna live long enough to see a really, really gay president. Or a super model president. I wanna see all the different kinds of presidents.” — Darryl, The Office
I guess it ain’t no surprise that I don’t go to the gym very often. Sure there’s a gym in my building, just 10 floors down, but man. Getting my butt down there? Tres dificil. So if the stars align, the mood is right, and I actually put my sneakers on after a cruddy day at work, let’s just say it’s a Very Big Deal.
So the other night, I’m feeling all productive and pumped, rocking out to some Judas, doin some boxing jab/fisticuffs in the mirror, and I decide, tonight is the night! It’s GYM TIME lets doooo thissssssssss. I hastily grab some workout pants at the top of a pile of (clean) laundry and run downstairs before the moment passes. I mean, I am feeling really good about myself. All proud and whatnot.
At the gym, I notice a few other people (which always makes me skittish) going hardcore on the treadmills, but then I think, dude you live in this building too, bust out the Kelly Clarkson and own the elliptical! After a few minutes I hear a tiny coughing/laughing mixture coming from a tiny coughing/laughing woman in the corner. The cough/laughs (caughs?) continue at fairly steady 1 minute intervals, so I think to myself, oh this poor lady must have a lung condition. Poor little lady.
After about ten minutes or so, I decide to kick it up into a higher gear. And it is then, and only then, that I feel a slight knocking on the back of my calf. What could this be? Are my sweatpants randomly bunching or something? And so I turn around and look down, and what do I see, but a long trail of nylon stocking coming out from the top of my waistband and hitting me on the calf (think of it as one toe/leg stuck at the very top of the sweatpants, and the huge mass of elastic/control top whipping around down by my ankles). Apparently me and the Stocking must have been moving in seamless motion together because this was the first time I even noticed the long trail of nylon betrayal streaming from my butt. I didn’t notice as I was walking out my door despite the full length mirror in my bedroom, I didn’t notice in the elevator door reflection on my ride down (and I’m now remembering that I was not alone in that elevator, oh lordy), I didn’t notice as I walked into the gym and planted myself smack in front of a wall of mirrors. And then I realized holy shit tiny caughing lady has been CAUGHING AT ME THIS WHOLE TIME. I try to play this off like ohhh snaps what is this thing in my pants? And I kinda make a whole production of it (I figure acknowledging it and owning it vs. trying to be discreet and looking embarrassed is the way to go here). I grab the Stocking mass and ball it up in my hands, and then I think, where the hell should I put this? So, um, the logical reasonable answer to that is, of course, my armpit. Because that’s what I did next. I thought it would be totally hidden there….but yeah it wasn’t. So then I laugh (a little too loudly) and stick it next to my water bottle in the water bottle holder. Are you exhausted yet? Because I am just reliving this whole ordeal.
Anyhoosiers, final takeaway: ALWAYS CHECK YOUR BUTT BEFORE YOU GO TO THE GYM.
rant by Liz (wearing her gymrantpants, and also crying inside)
Seriously, wtf?
“Dear fellow movie clubbers, Happy New Year.
I noticed something a little weird while I was watching the previews before “The Fighter” this evening (good flick, check it out if you want, but not before you see True Grit). Anyways, as it turns out Ashton Kutcher is in a new movie. This is unremarkable in and of itself except for the fact that the movie is called “No Strings Attached” and seems to have a plot which is basically the same as the movie “Friends With Benefits” starring Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis which is also due to be released in 2011. See for yourself:
No Strings Attached: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ubfcfs98MBw
Friends with Benefits: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L0ohJyykwL8 (which actually looks substantially funnier and doesn’t have Ludacris in it)
Now, you might think this is a coincidence, however, this is the SECOND time Mr. Kutcher has done this in less than a year. What am I talking about? Well maybe you remember two gems from last year called “Killers” and “Knight and Day”. Both were action rom-coms (I really hate the term Rom-Com…why do we have to fucking abbreviate everything??….hmm, maybe I’ll rant about it) about dashing but dangerous dudes who kill people and their relationship with the unsuspecting blond female counterparts. Only difference is that one starred Ashton Kutcher and Katherine Heigl and the other starred Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz and got shat on substantially less.
I think the really important question here is whether or not this trend is going to continue. I mostly hope not because while I really liked “The Butterfly Effect” I’ve pretty much hated everything else Ashton Kutcher has done, and the idea that he might continue to make shitty versions of other movies is a little much for me to handle.
ps: I recently got around to watching The Last Airbender….beyond pissed. M. Knight Shyalamariduculousmotherfuckingshitheadman made a mockery of the awesomeness that is Avatar. And what’s worse is he had the nerve to sit with the creators in an interview and talk about how much he loved the series, and wanted to make it into a great movie….jackass.”
rant by Luke (showing some major holiday spirit by still wearing his holidaypants in July. Okay nevermind this is my bad, he wrote this on January 2 and I am just posting it now … I blame work.)
I’m not sure if you knew this, but I pride myself in my corn-eating abilities. There are many methods of corn consumption: typewriter back-and-forth chompin’, kernel-by-kernel picking, mowing down in one direction, etc. All methods delicious.
So I passed a street fair today that was selling some buttered/salted corn on the cob that looked freakin’ amazing. Like cartoon-corn level amazing (all corn in cartoons looks perfect and awesome), or even Nacho-Libre-corn level amazing (“get that corn outta ma face!”). I purchased some and proceeded to walk home chomping away. My friend noted my corn-eating technique. I was proud. Proud and full of corn.
After I said goodbye to my friend and was walking home alone, I reflected on her comment and reflected on what was left of my corn on the cob (is corn on the cob without corn just a “cob”?). Clean as a whistle. Mom would be proud (she’s really great at eating corn, btdubs. She’s got high standards.). And then literally, as I said to myself, “Man, I’m really good at eating corn,” I took a hubristic breath of air and I started choking. Like full-on, tears-streaming-down-my-face, can’t-breathe, wtf-is-happening-in-my-esophagus-type choking. I started thinking exit strategies, like “How fast can I run to CVS while choking to get some water?” or “Should I use the fence next to me to do a self-Heimlich in case I actually start passing out in the middle of the street?”
Hubris!!!! It strikes again. A brutal reminder that whereas I may be pretty good at eating corn, I am by no means a corn-master. And I shouldn’t upset the corn-gods with brash thoughts of corn-superiority. I (re)-learned an important hubris lesson today, folks.
I also learned something else today—the further you walk away from a street fair, the weirder it is to be holding/eating corn on the cob. Awkward-corn-robot-dance.
rant by Liz (wearing her Nacho-Libre-luchador-rantpants)
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p.s. - About 5 seconds after I stopped choking, I took another bite of my corn (there were literally 2 bites left, it had to be done!) and I started coughing again. The corn. It ‘twas too good.
p.p.s. - I’m alive (phew!) just in case you were wondering.
p.p.p.s. - My throat still hurts.
p.p.p.p.s. - This is the most times I’ve ever typed the word “corn” in one sitting.
So I am a frequent visitor of geekologie.com, and their general paranoia regarding the impending robo-pocalypse/zombie-pocalypse + their up-to-date news regarding all things dinosaurian have made me a loyal reader. A few weeks back, they posted a fan-made PS3 commercial that was well-made, but also a little uncomfy-making:
Aaaand their rant pretty much summed up my sadness about what technology is doing to today’s youth:
“Admittedly, the commercial was very well made, I’m just not sure about the message it’s sending. WHEN YOU’RE SIX-YEARS OLD YOU DON’T NEED HYPER-REALISTIC VIDEO GAMES TO HAVE A GOOD TIME. Wanna be an astronaut? Sit in a laundry basket with tinfoil wrapped around your head. Want to play Lord of the Rings? Get a couple friends together and hit each other with sticks in the woods. You’ve gotta use your imaginations while you’ve still got ‘em! LIFE DOESN’T GET ANY EASIER. Soon you’re gonna be older and actually NEED video games to escape from reality. Plus booze. Can’t forget about the booze. *glug glug* Oh yeah, f***in’ loving life over here.”
Truth. (*glug glug*).
rant by the geekologie writer (concurrence by Liz, wearing her omg-shoot-me-now-I-just-made-a-sad-legal-reference-pants).
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p.s. - Also, seeing small kids in actual uniforms shooting realistic guns freaks me out, not gonna lie. Bah, let’s not strive for creating child soldiers … creeeepy. On the other hand, seeing kids shooting fingerguns is kind of adorable. Maybe that’s because it’s a pretty well-documented fact that fingerguns = awesome. In conclusion, let’s all try and keep kids on a strict fingergun/not-real-gun regimen, folks.
“This kid’s gonna be a star. He’s a young The Asian Guy from Lost.” — Abed, Community
“Jeff: I’m saying you’re a FOOTBALL PLAYER! It’s in your blood!
Troy: That’s racist!
Jeff: Your soul.
Troy: That’s racist!
Jeff: Your eyes?
Troy: That’s gay?
Jeff: That’s homophobic.
Troy: That’s black.
Jeff: That’s racist!
Troy: Damn!”
— Community
Sooooo it’s been a painfully long time since I’ve been able to bust out ye ol’ computadora for some good old fashioned ranting. I have about 70 rants chilling on the backburner, festering into unhealthy nonproductive poop. And nobody likes nonproductive poop. So here we go! Alkaseltzer for the soul.
So as I was watching this holiday season’s classic family movies (aka thePotter and theNarnia), I noticed the trailer for the upcoming 3d movie, Mars Needs Moms, featuring the “uncanny valley” of creepily unattractive human simulations. (They are just too close to human…so close that they look really off and unsavory.) Anyway, the movie seems silly enough, good voice actors, chuckleworthy jokes, but man—I really hope that the trailer just completely dumbed down the movie premise. Seriously? Mars needs moms? On one hand, yes, let’s give a big round of applause to mothers everywhere, who are generally awesome and constantly juggle 10,000 things. In particular let’s take our hats off to the belittled “housewife” role that many deride: from what I’ve learned in the past 2 weeks after putting on my Big Girl Pant(suit)s and living on my own, being an adult is HARD, what with all the cooking and hygiene and….it just never ends. A person who can do all that AND raise kids?! Dude I already killed my thriving parsley plant within a mere 5 days. Keeping something alive for 18 years until it goes off to college?! Unfathomable.
So sure, praising mothers is theoretically a nice aspect of the movie. And I’m a sucker for alternate reality, my-life-would-suck-without-you-and-I-can-only-realize-this-through-supernatural-intervention-or-alien-abduction tv shows/movies. But errr can we also discuss the 10 bajillion issues with this?!
1. Let’s not perpetuate the myth that women are the only people who can raise children. This hurts both women and men. Sadly it’s a self-reinforcing myth: if we keep pushing this, will we ever completely break away from the idea that “the woman’s place is in the home” and that the man’s place is outside of it? If men can’t raise kids, then women will never be free to leave the house to seek other professional opportunities. I believe that feminism is having the freedom to choose, and being a stay-at-home mom or a career woman (or both! this is no longer a true dichotomy) is a life choice individual to every woman. Additionally, men should have the freedom to make the same life choice without becoming socially emasculated.
2. Why are fathers completely left out of the child-rearing equation?? Interestingly, I was talking with my sister the other day about how there is no male word equivalent of the word “maternal.” If you want to say that a man has characteristics that predispose him to be a great father (which is a grand compliment), calling him “paternal” wouldn’t necessarily feel accurate. ”Paternal” seems almost negative—just think of the word “paternalistic.” It evokes the idea of being controlling, not nurturing. Erf, shouldn’t it be socially acceptable for “manly men” to also be nurturing caregivers by now?! Instead, whenever a man is portrayed in the media as the primary caretaker of his own children, he is called “Mister Mom,” or the premise is labeled a novel “role reversal.” (I swear I read a tv article 2 months ago that still used these terms). But it’s not like we don’t already have a concept to describe “Mister Moms”—oh yeah, remember dads? Why can’t we just call them dads?! In order to have a well-rounded definition of masculinity, we need to have the bizarre concept of the “nurturing father” become socially mainstream. (I think Phil on Modern Family is helping this cause).
3. There’s a scene in the trailer when the son is on Mars searching for his mom, and he stops to ask some Martians if they have seen her. In an attempt to describe his mother in simple terms that the Martians might understand, he says, “you know, my mom, she feeds me, vacuums the house?” Ahhhh it’s nice to see that gender roles have really changed. Mother=maid. Good breakdown of what a mother is, buddy!
In summation: both women and men are much more than this movie premise gives us credit for. On its face, it seems that the movie is celebrating women, yay! But it’s also stomping them into their place. And in a way, it’s stomping men into their place as well: as non-fathers. Ahh I think we all deserve better than this by now, eh?
rant by Liz (wearing her Big Girl Rantpants while watching the Chronicles of Narnia)
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p.s. - I hope I wildly misinterpreted this entire movie and that it’s secretly awesome.
“Steve: I like the sneakiness of your people, Migo.
Migo: …I’ll share that with my peoples.”
— Running Wilde
“Gus: We’re gonna get arrested aren’t we.
Shawn: Gus, don’t be the only black lead on a major cable network. My dad’s never had me arrested.”
— Psych (Way to call out how messed up that is, Psych.)
I have long thought that the very distinctive smell of my middle school cafeteria was an interesting aromatic blend unique to Smalltownsuburbia, NJ. It was quite a special smell: a mixture of fruit snacks, lunchmeat, Hi-C, and cleaning fluid, with a teeny dash of sponge thrown in. It lingered on even when the cafeteria was not a cafeteria, but was our gymnasium, our assembly room, or our band concert hall (‘twas an “all purpose room”, or APR for short).
But as I was walking around NYC the other day, this oddly specific smell smacked me in the face and I immediately had thoughts of chicken nuggets and fruit punch and gym shorts (a.k.a. the classic smell-induced portrait of middle school). I whipped around to find where this impossible smell was coming from and the only possible answer was…..from schoolchildren. Literal schoolchildren. This mob of 30 kids was walking down 65th street and I randomly found myself caught in the middle of it. That’s when I had the epiphany that eau de Lunchmeat-Hi-C-Sponge is not limited to place or time; it transcends all that. This is a universal, everlasting smell. I shall now make the grand hypothesis that everyone’s school cafeteria smelled like this. So the real question is….do kids just smell like this which makes schools smell like this, or do school cafeterias smell like this which makes kids smell like this? Ahh, the classic chicken or the egg dilemma. This is some deep philosophical stuff.
rant (if you can even call it that, more like random musing) by Liz (wearing her dinosaur-shaped-chicky-nuggs rantpants)