Where Did the Black Family Go?

I happened upon the film Coming to America as I was zapping away just now, and something occurred to me while watching the last 30 minutes of the movie. This was an international B.O. hit back in the day, a film I remember very well from my youth. And it features a wide array of black people, not just caricatures or one-note emblems of The Struggle.

This phenomenon was, if not prevalent, at least more on display in the 80s and early 90s. What, to me, is most striking is the disappearance of the black family from representations on TV and movies.

In the 80s we had The Cosby Show (which many people have objections to with regard to issues of ethnicity, class, etc. but I won't dwell on them here), The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and Cosby spin-off A Different World on TV, and films such as Coming to America and Spike Lee's School Daze, which is admittedly more layered and problematic with reference to what I'm proposing here.

Nowadays, we do see black characters on TV and movies, but they usually represent a very narrow slice of black life: on TV procedurals they are almost invariably depicted as thugs and victims, although there is usually one token black guy among the detectives as well; in sitcoms they are virtually non-existent (bar the Crab Man in My Name is Earl, who is as much of a good-natured stereotype as the rest of the characters), and in the modern genre-bending serials, such as Desperate Housewives, they again are not there.

When black people appear on the screen, there is usually something fishy about them. To wit: the black family on DP featured 1) a murderer, 2) a retarded person and 3) a near-bonkers mother hiding the murderer. The only other black family I can recall appearing on TV lately is the one in the superb Weeds, and they are, albeit quirky and benevolent drug dealers, drug dealers all the same.

Having studied representations of African-Americans in popular culture, I find this trend particularly troubling. Sometimes it seems we have taken leaps and bounds backwards in terms of the variety of representations. Nowadays the idea of a worldwide TV or cinema hit featuring a middle-class black family as if that's nothing special - which, of course, it isn't - seems almost far-fetched. We are so used to seeing African-Americans through certain stereotypes (the matron has to be big and yell a lot; black males are always oversexed etc. etc.) that have nothing to do with those kinds of attributes, that progress has effectively ground to a halt.

Now, I'm not suggesting that the very real issues, including racism, poverty and violence, facing African-Americans today should be glossed over in televisual and cinematic representations; that we should pretend everything is just one big post-Cosby lovefest, with birds singing and little black cherubs dancing in the streets. I'm only suggesting that, instead of gradually moving away from stereotypes in favour of a more varied palette of characters, we are firmly stuck in second gear (much like those merrily all-white Friends), with a few major black movie stars and a steady continuum of non-white faces on network TV, albeit not in such a wide spectrum of roles.


As much as The Cosby Show has caught flak for being an unrealistic or "whitewashed" depiction of black family life, it did have the virtue of showing black people in situations that are closest to most of us - the everyday, humdrum cycle of delightfully mundane things and occurrences. We got to know the characters as people, not just stereotypes or emblems representing something or other. Plus, they were likeable, which can't hurt.

I think it's paramount in the interest of parity that, in addition to deconstructing the social, political and cultural reasons behind typically African-American ailments (I hear The Wire is having a fair stab at this, though I haven't watched the show that much myself), TV and cinema offers a varied collection of non-stereotypical representations of people of all colours and creeds.

The Devil's New Clothes

Yup, as I said in the previous post, I might be taking my sweet time before posting again, and, by God, I have.

Also, it seems nowadays I'm only writing to bash some overrated movie. Call me a one-trick pony and spank my bottom.

This time it's The Devil Wears Prada. This flick got generally good reviews, many commentators going so far as to call it one of the top comedies of last year.

It is a wretched piece of crap.

I don't believe I have ever seen such a flimsy piece of couture daydream / shampoo commercial camouflaged as actual filmmaking. I know that sounds like a fairly obvious statement with regard to this movie, but to make it even more painfully obvious I'm going to go ahead and say it: there is no film there. Really.

The film seems like it was literally designed for 12-year-old girls with the attention span of a bee (and women of similar disposition), ravenous for something to fill their hours with between flicking through Teen Vogue and obsessively cutting themselves in front of the mirror. It is that bad.

There is no story to speak of, the characters' development is akin to something you might see in an E!Entertainment special on celebrity pets, and, worst of all, there is no humour. And that, my dears, is not the greatest of news if you're trying your damnedest to be a comedy. I don't believe I laughed even once.

Not only is there not humour, the so-called satire is about as blunt as a blue whale. In these post-ironic times, it is simply not enough to offer insight on the level of "fashion people are, like, really into looks" and "can be a little bit bitchy". Yawn.

The Devil Wears Prada consists of long montages of ultra-slick New York and Paris cityscapes, and people, including the protagonist, strutting along in nice clothing, soundtracked by the most obvious soundtrack music you have ever heard anywhere (Hey, it's Madonna's Vogue! In a movie about fashion! Some house music! And U2! And Mo-fuckin-by!).

This sentiment gets thrown about a lot nowadays with regard to movies, but I don't think it has ever actually occurred to me before during a film. Until now, that is. The Devil... feels exactly like a commercial; it is simply that manipulative, parading a couture fashion sensibility around under the pretext of mocking it. Guess what? This film doesn't mock fashion, or, in the end, people in the fashion industry, its fetishistic portrayl of fashion rather serving to exalt it and cement its grip on our collective psyche.

The movie does have two saving graces though: Meryl Streep as the bitchy editor (though she's not exactly funny either; she manages to portray something deeper, sadder) and, of course, Anne Hathaway's boobs.


Of course there's the knee-jerk cop-out ending in which the protagonist (Anne Hathaway's boobs) finally "sees the error of her ways"; that she should be "chasing her own dreams" since, after all, "the fashion industry is a cut-throat world", and, as she tells her ex in their big reunion scene, he was "right about everything" and she had "lost her way". I guess he won't mind then when she tells him about the sleazy journalist with something weird going on with his eyebrows who she bedded one night after they had kind of broken up. Right..?

Once more, for fun:

Sacred Cows and other Mammals

So, Iverson ended up in Denver, which I'm fine with, but sadly they haven't been stacking up a lot of Ws since he arrived. They have been playing really shorthanded, though, so maybe that is bound to change. I so desperately want him to do well.

I saw Pan's Labyrinth on the weekend - you know, Guillermo del Toro's film that reviewers have been busy having a huge collective orgasm over. (It already won the National Society of Film Critics' Best Movie award and has garnered an amazing 97 % rating on review database Rotten Tomatoes.)



You know what? (You might have seen this one coming...) I think it's terribly overrated. For starters, it is not, as suggested, a fantasy film with political or dramatic overtones; it is a rather harrowing war drama with some fantasy elements. So, of course the critics loved it - they simply adore that sort of thing, that thing being period war drama with maybe just a little twist of something unusual (but not too unusual).

It is like the post-WW II drama and the fantasy story are two different movies; there are only a few short passages where the film successfully manages to interweave these two elements. Lucky, then, that it doesn't have to, since the fantastical elements are abandoned for what seems like forever during the second and third acts, only to be brought in again at the very end.

Let's see what the critics had to say. "It's dark poetry set to startling images", gushed The LA Daily News reviewer. "This morbidly bewitching fantasy is an enchanting, escapist fairy tale", raved another. Well, it's not. Too grounded in reality for its own good, it lacks a sense of wonder and transcendence. Moreover, it is anything but escapist. In fact, the film is so bleak with so few breaks for the protagonist and her loved ones that the viewer may find him- or herself actively waiting and wishing for an escape of some kind - for the character as well as for him/herself.

My main beef with the movie, as you may have gathered by now, is that, for a flick heavily advertised as a fantasy film, there is surprisingly little fantasy involved. Reading some of the reviews, you'd think the film takes place mostly in a fantasy world, when in actual fact the protagonist never escapes the film's here and now. According to some, though, it is a "special universe", even an "entirely different universe", which "relies heavily on special effects". Did these people see the same movie as I did? Brushing aside the fact that maybe 80 to 90 percent of the movie's duration is realist drama, in this CGI age Pan's Labyrinth's special FX actually seem almost quaint.

But that's film critics for you. Not always terribly bright or cultured, but never ones to miss a chance to spout pseudo-profound high-school essay platitudes. New York Times' A.O. Scott, for instance, had this to say: "Pan's Labyrinth is a political fable in the guise of a fairy tale. Or is it the other way around?" Very cutesy, if a bit empty.

Then again, I'm probably just too shallow to grasp the film's deeper meanings, of too mundane a disposition to appreciate its wondrous elegance, let alone the subtexts (of which there are none, since its messages are so heavy-handed).

Moving on to other inexplicably revered phenomena. Mischa Barton, previously of the O.C. I keep hearing over and over again she is one of the "hottest young females in Hollywood"? What? That gangly, fidgety, flat-chested, asexual child? Are you fucking kidding me? She is about as hot as Alec Baldwin - although not for the same reasons.


Bob Dylan. Visionary poet, blaah blaah blaah ... longevity, blaah blaah ... versatility, blaah. Blaah blaah. Blaah. For once, I agree with Simon Cowell on something.

U2. Oh, please; don't even get me started on those pompous twats. Their music is the most horrific kind of portentous-yet-hollow middle-class MOR shite. In short, it's directly antithetical to all that is genuine and beautiful about music.

Joanna Newsom. She topped all kinds of critics' lists with her latest album, Ys, but left me cold, nay, frozen. If U2 are the squares even your grandma likes, Newsom is the type of wilfully weird artist who wears her supposed idiosyncracies like a crown. I certainly don't have anything against original, distinctive artists, but believing your own press and consciously feeding an idea of yourself as a stardust-sprinkled pixie just chafes me something fierce. "Oh, look at me; I'm so special and eccentric!" Freak folk, my ass.

I also hate Björk. And hippies.

Clint Eastwood. Hey, peoples; he's not the second coming of Jesus, or even John Ford. The amount of praise lavished on all of his recent movies is absurd and unfounded. Yes, his 90s/00s movies are almost uniformly decent, it's just that they aren't the ingenious masterpieces they are purported to be. That pathetic, cliche-ridden TV-movie-of-the-week, Million Dollar Baby, though, should never have won anything. I absolutely hate that movie, and the knee-jerk, sentimentalist consensus Hollywood thinking its win represents. (And of course it also greatly vexes me that he always seems to be standing in the way of one of the few true masters of modern cinema, Marty Scorsese, who is far, far more deserving, getting his due.)


What is more, now the Americans have found a way to spare themselves the unalluring task of giving awards to foreign films altogether. It's brilliant! Just give the foreign language awards to Eastwood's Japanese-speaking Letters from Iwo Jima! Moreover, both of his "opposing view point of the same war" films have been nominated for several awards. So let me get this straight: from all the films made in all of the world in 2006, Clint Eastwood made two of the best five? Yeah, right. He's gotten his props already, give them to someone else. For God's sakes.

Basketball Odds and Ends

New post, nothing overly cohesive to impart on you peoples. I'm slowly trying to edge my way towards becoming just another one of those humdrum-y, regularly updated blogs where the blogger may, on any given day, inform you that he or she was just yesterday trying to locate the whereabouts of a favourite pair of socks or that he (or she, as ever) thinks that the weather outside is rather "dull".

Yes, indeed I have set my goals high in this life.

So, odds and ends, as promised:

This season, I've been able to get my hands on some NBA games, which I haven't been able to watch for a while. As rekindling old passions go, my success has been variable. I do enjoy the incredible skills and poise of certain players, and all the tiny details within the game from executing screen and rolls perfectly to rebounding in traffic and making the right pass the right way. I still also appreciate great defensive foot work, hustle plays, beautiful jump-shooting technique, quick crossovers, strong post-up moves, diligent boxing out... the nitty-gritty of basketball, that is. Then again, I must admit that I'm not enamoured with the game the way I once was; the mythic quality of the NBA and its star players has vanished for me almost totally. Which is kind of a shame, but tends to happen with age. At least in my case, every segment of life nowadays seems to unfurl before my eyes more naked than before; stripped of much of the associated hyperbole.


I just watched an incredible game, though: The Suns, the greatest offensive machine in the League, against the Nets, no slouches in that department themselves. Steve Nash (that's him on the left - really), who is a small white Canuck and my favourite player along with the indomitable Allen Iverson (more on him later), put on a masterclass of the point guard's craft that once again showed why he is the best player in the L right now, and the game went to double overtime, with both teams scoring close to 160 (!) points. That game was probably enough to turn your grandma - not in her grave, but into basketball, which truly is the King of Sports, and anyone who says otherwise is a stupid idiot. So there.

That other favourite player is the aforementioned Allen Iverson, who the Philadelphia 76ers are presently peddling to all-comers like a pair of used underwear. Well, he doesn't bloody well deserve the flack he's getting in the press right now, and I just bet that down the line he'll make a lot of people sorry for doubting him or what he can do for your team. But Bill Simmons already said it better in his rather eloquent and passionate defense of the Little Big Man. (Note that the link will only stay up for a couple of weeks - from then on the money-grabbing bastards at ESPN will charge people for reading it.) If you've never seen him play, that article will give you some idea, but the guy is even more than that. Just seeing his picture always puts a smile on my face, and not many things are capable of that. (With the exception, of course, of talking animals, which are always fucking funny.)

I am well excited about this whole trade, though; I find myself checking NBA news sites (and that trusty old companion, Slamonline) half-hourly to see if the hapless Sixers have already pulled the trigger on this trade. I'm really enthused to see where he lands, and the effects the new beginning will have on his career as well as the new team's fortunes. I don't think I've actually been this hot and bothered about a trade ever - or at least not in a long while. What I would hate, however, is to see him land on a half-assed team like the Celtics or Golden State. If there's anyone in the NBA that deserves a shot at the championship, it's Iverson; after carrying those NBDL-caliber Sixers teams for so long, he finally deserves a chance to win it all. (And I've always believed he'd modify his game to accommodate for other great players; the reason he's been taking all those shots is there's never been anyone else legitimate to take them. Would you rather see Kevin Ollie shoot the ball?) Of course, the table is set so, with teams indulging in knee-jerk haterism and fearing the luxury tax, that he probably will end up on one of those teams. Shame, but it will be interesting nevertheless, and I, for one, am going to keep close tabs on this scenario.

Autumn, TV and Katherine Heigl

Right. The time has come to write something – anything. I know I entertained all kinds of ideas about posting shorter entries more often, even going so far as to declare that publicly. And look what happened: several moons have passed since my last update. Quelle frickin' surprise.

So it is, then, that I begin this entry, with another beginning, another promise. Actually, no – screw that, no promises this time, except for this sole one: I promise to blog as often as I can be arsed to.

Since the autumn has brought in its wake an unprecedented batch of much-hyped and actually rather ace TV series, I thought it might be worthwhile to write about some of them. So, please fasten your seat belts and put out your crack pipes... for the Fall TV Review!

(And no, I don’t have a life.)

I thought we might go over them in the order they are scheduled on Finnish TV. (Side note: we are usually lagging behind the US one season here on the old continent, so it’s mostly first seasons we are talking here.)

First up is My Name Is Earl, with the always eminently watchable Jason Lee. Dude seemed for years to be on the verge of breaking into mainstream movie stardom, but never was quite able to pull it off. Here we get to watch him weekly in a comedy that offers a good-natured antidote to all those clever-verging-on-black-hearted NY sitcoms the Nineties/Noughties have produced. Significantly, the show has left the confines of the studio to paint its broad comedy strokes against a sunny Californian backdrop, to utterly pleasing effect. It's a keeper.

Desperate Housewives’ second season is also under way. As far as I’m concerned, it’s still fine superficial pop TV, and all the people griping about it are a bunch of tight-asses who like nothing better than to trumpet their own alleged sophistication. It might be getting marginally tired, but that was to be expected – this is not a show built to last.

The first season of Weeds premiered a couple of weeks ago as well. To be completely predictable, I’m gonna go ahead and say it’s the indie DH, with less cartoonish characters and storylines. Yeah, and the actress playing the protagonist, Mary-Louise Parker, is surprisingly hot in that slightly uptight way. The show really is like having a half-hour of quality indie cinema on your screen every Monday. (By the by, the pilot featured a line (”That little slut. I should’ve had an abortion”) that had me laughing for, like, five minutes. No mean feat, that.)

Tuesday kicks off with season three episodes of The OC. This show captured the zeitgeist and was certainly my favorite TV show in its debut season. Of course, I laughed in all the wrong places and liked the baddies best, but that was exactly its appeal – it was the Noughties 90210 in the unintentional comedy stakes, with added pop culture references. I read someone summarise the situation pretty well: the show burned a ton of plot in its first season, leaving it nowhere to go in subsequent seasons. And as much as I hate agreeing with fourth-rate US showbiz journos, I have to concur. Now they are bringing in hordes of new characters in a desperate attempt to keep the show afloat and somehow relevant. Looking forward to Marissa’s death, though.




Prison Break is a high-concept suspense/action film, but in the form of a TV series. In other words, it’s great. The central conceit is really nice, and it would almost carry the series without all the high-caliber acting. I have no idea where they are gonna go during the second season, though. I hear the creators of the show originally planned it to only last the one season, but when studio execs came knocking with their fat wallets after the first season's success, they swiftly dropped down on all fours for a right old ramming.

Lost. Yes, I know it’s supposed to be all manner of wonderful, but the truth is, I just cannot bring myself to give a fuck about any of the characters, or the big mystery. Bunch of wankers on an island. Who gives a toss?

Grey's Anatomy - I can take it or leave it. The show's very light-weight, but rather pleasing in a humdrum way all the same. It's funny, though, how they've tried to add a little depth and quirkiness by incorporating long passages with ostensibly cool indie music playing in the background. However, the bleary-eyed protagonist is so not hot. She is, though. Shit-hot.

Rome has historical accuracy, lavish sets, great characters, gore and sex - lots of it. What more could you possibly want?

There's really no way House MD could be a total failure with Hugh Laurie playing a deliciously rude yet brilliant doctor. The plot's always the same, though: mystery ailment is brought to House and his team's attention; they ruminate; House thinks he's cracked the case and they start treating the patient, only to find that his or her symptoms are heightened by said treatment; brows are furrowed and House is accused of not following proper procedure; and lastly, House has an epiphany while doing something else, thus bringing the case to a close. Not much variation, but there you go.

Okay, there would of course be loads more, but I haven't really watched them, and that'd be a bit too much anyway.

Instead, here's a fun movie trivia game. I got 15 out of 20 without help. See if you can do better.

If you don't have the presence of mind to bother with that, you can always go here. It has to be the most disturbing game I've ever seen.

And on a completely different note, here's something for the artist within you. Just click your mouse button and move the mouse around the screen to create a modern masterpiece. (Change colour by clicking again.)



(Gratuitous? What the hell are you talking about, gratuitous? She plays a physician in Grey's Anatomy, making this picture completely relevant to the topic at hand.)

YouTube Confidential

I've been toying with the idea of amassing all my favourite YouTube clips together as one big post for some time now. As journalist Miska Rantanen said in a Helsingin sanomat column a while back, the whole YouTube concept is almost too good to be true, which naturally leads one to doubt its future existence. But, then again, as P2P music sharing programs have shown us, if you stomp one to the ground (Napster, primarily - which isn't technically a P2P but anyway), a dozen new ones will sprout up like a bunch of pesky weeds.

If you know me, you've probably seen some of these, but not all, and, anyways, it's good to have them nice and handy in one place. So, let's dive straight in.

Starting off with a YouTube classic, it's the phenomenon of pure craziness that is usually known as "Tom Cruise", or Krazy Kruise, if you're feeling extra chummy. Be forwarned, though: seeing this might actually make your head spin like Linda Blair's in The Exorcist.

The famous interview on Oprah where he went completely fucking bonkers sadly cannot be found anywhere, but this will give you some kind of idea.

And there's always this; The Cruiser, South Park-style.

Enough about him already. Let's get down to some heavy lifting. Here for your enjoyment, a double whammy, literally. Pure genious. And to think that no one had any idea...

(Remember kids, if the videos stall, press pause and let them stream for a while, then press play again.)

Now that we've gotten down to some quality music, it will probably behoove us to keep that course. Remember Eddie Murphy? He used to be one of the biggest comedians alive, a generational icon who commanded millions of bucks for his movie roles. Now he's marrying the Spice they used to call Scary. 'Nuff said. If you desire an explanation for his career downfall, go here and here. Both clips are instant classics for a number of reasons which will become very clear once you see the videos.

I realize David Hasselhoff videos are kinda played out when it comes to unintentional comedy, but everyone still needs this in their lives. And here Germany's adopted son "needs a glass of wasser".

Alrighty, let's change gears for a bit. Back when The Hills was just a twinkle in some prepubescent TV exec's eye, there was this. Coke addiction, blown up dads and real-life knife attacks ensued.

Then, completely and utterly unrelated, here's Vesku Loiri's "Naurava kulkuri", which has in the past provided us with endless laughs during many an after-party. Also, as my friend once remarked, it served to separate the wheat from the chaff when it came to people - basically, the ones who got it were cool, and the ones who didn't were a bit stuck-up, too tied up in their own hipsterishness (now, there's a word for you). And by the way, if you're not Finnish, don't even bother. Or, then again, do. It just might not translate awfully well.

And on the same note, there once was Spede. He's dead now, you know. Died in a golfing accident.

Now that Miami Vice has been made into a sour-faced blockbuster starring you-know-who and Ray Charles, I thought it'd be worth linking to some clips that remind us what the show really was about - the 80s, of course. In that regard, this is pretty hard to top, and it's dubbed in German, too. As an added bonus, here's a Philip Michael Thomas video. Really.

There would be much, much more, but this post already has a lot of stuff, so I'm pulling the reins here. I'll probably post another edition some time in the future.

PS. There's a movie version of Borat coming out pretty soon. (Okay, admittedly, I mostly brought this up to be able to include the picture below.)

Grumbler Goes to the Movies

Or rather catches up on some age-old stuff everyone's seen anyway. I've been pretty lazy when it comes to watching movies as of late, so these really are a batch of the same ol' same ol' for anyone who watches movies on a regular basis. I'll be keeping it short.

First off is Woody Allen's magnificent Match Point, a wondrously ice-cold morality tale that genuinely is (and I'm well aware that the same has been said about nearly all of his films for at least a decade and a half - except for, probably, this turd) his best work for years and years. Just when it seemed the nags' and naysayers' prophecies of his artistic demise might actually come to pass, he pulled this unflinching and utterly classy beast out of his hat. Makes you wish he concentrates what energy he has left in that frail body of his on making drama films - his comedy chops have obviously retired before the man himself. I wouldn't hesitate to call Match Point an unexpected classic.

Stephen Gaghan's Syriana I also quite liked. For a Hollywood movie, it is totally uncompromising in its approach of looking at the complexities of the oil industry through multiple partially interweaving storylines. As everyone probably knows, Gaghan wrote Traffic, and Syriana shares much with that film, yet is even more hardcore in its unwillingness to simplify the intricacies of the economic and political aspects of the oil game. You will leave the movie with one overriding thought, though: the American establishment, as always, sucks enormous frigging ass.

And here's another critics' favorite: first-time director Mike Mills' Thumbsucker. It won't shatter the fresh-o-meter, but it is a great slice of masterfully executed classic American indie - quirky (I'm sorry but the laws dictate one to use this word when discussing US indie cinema), atmospheric and gorgeous-looking, it strikes just the right balance between light and shadow. Thumbs up, indeed. (See what I did there?) Also features the Master Dunce, Keanu Reeves, as a philosophizing dentist, which is of course, like, totally rad.

World Cup Revisited

The World Cup is finally over, and, to tell you the absolute truth, I'm perfectly happy to see it go. I ranted about the quality of the tournament in my old blog already during the first round, and I 'm afraid the tournament did (too) little to significantly alter those views.

To me, this was clearly the poorest big football tournament I've had the fortune of watching. And let me just reiterate that, especially after watching this tournament, I find it somewhat baffling that football enjoys the popularity it does. I know what I'm about to say is traditionally linked with big fat American sports fans who wouldn't know "soccer" from Chinese water torture, but the truth remains: football is often horribly predictable and can be sensationally dull.

Take this tournament: no surprises, little individual magic, not much drama (unless you want to count the play-off penalty shootouts whose winner everyone except the participanting countries' own fans knew before they were taken), defense-first play tactics, and very few goals. Whoo-pee.

FIFA president Sepp Blatter was, of course , hearing none of that, instead choosing, with blatant disregard for the facts, to praise this World Cup as the best ever. Of course, he would say that, shit-grinning all the way to the bank.

To me, football has gotten too big and bloated for its own good. The players are making ever more money and the sponsorship and TV deals the governing bodies are making easily eclipse the GNPs of small continents. At the same time, the quality of play is deteriorating. If you want proof, you only need to take look at this World Cup and the Champions League of the past couple of years. Both gave us defense-oriented, low-scoring game after bloody game limping to its final whistle.

The trouble is - and it really mostly is this simple - it's become too hard to score goals in modern football; the defenses are too well honed, the players too good, and too many coaches play not to lose instead of wanting to win. Something's gotta give. You can say what you want about the Americans, but they certainly have understood something great about sports - it's entertainment, and if it fails to deliver, well, to hell with it. Sports isn't something dead serious upon which the fates of nations and the individuals within them hangs. It's bloody grown men and women running around, chasing after objects of differing sizes. So, when people in America have grown indifferent to a major sports league, they've introduced some changes to spruce things up, and with great results. The NBA and NHL have both seen the spectators returning in droves after introducing rule changes that make their respective games more audience-friendly. In this, if nothing else, Europeans should pay heed.

And what of The Headbutt Heard Around the World? Initially I was as baffled and horrified (even a bit depressed) as everyone else, but after getting over the fact that Italy undeservedly won it all, I find myself somewhat amused, even a bit sympathetic. After all, what would you do if a guy who looked like this called your mom and sister sluts? Of course, the incident has given rise to all manner of holier-than-thou huffing and puffing (sports writers are, after all, the worst offenders when it comes to knee-jerk moralism). I, however, probably liked this rather ironic take best - as it's said in the piece, "at least he went out like a G."

The Dawn of a New Era

Righty ho, so this is me starting over with this whole blog thing after being basically screwed over by the last blog provider I went with (whose name I shall leave out of this out of the kindness of my heart -- although you may or may not find the old blog here).

I'm trying to write this as I'm watching Conan; Martha Stewart is on, and she's just been released from the slammer -- which obviously means that Finland's Subtv is airing an old episode again. I really do not get the logic of this. They mostly show recent episodes with a few days' delay, but they also throw in one to three episodes dating from last year every week. How come? It doesn't make sense. If new episodes are being translated continuously, it should naturally follow that there are no breaks; that there is always a two to three-day-old episode to air. After all, where do the shows that aren't aired go? Presumably they go on the shelf to be aired some time next year, but where the hell is the sense in that? Beats me, but, then, a lot of things do.