The Soda Of Ignorant Deadbeats

So, here’s the latest television ad that is bugging me.

Guy’s watching a ball-game on TB, baby crying off camera. He looks off, says “I’ll be right there”, slurps from the can of advertisement, eagerly resumes watching the game. Baby still crying. He looks off, says “Just a sec, honey”, slurps and watches. Baby still crying. He looks off.
Suddenly his sense of duty kicks in and he goes to the crying baby. Turns out the baby is crying because it was just born, as we see the mother, doctors and nurses all huddled around the hospital bed. The mother (his wife we assume) smiles an understanding smile, as if to say, ‘yep, that’s the knucklehead I married!’. The final shot is of dad and swaddled baby, with dad telling baby a nuance of baseball.

Ha ha, so the guy was, like, watching the ball-game and drink product instead of participating in his child’s birth. Ha ha, that’s so 1982.

It doesn’t work for me. Not in the least.

Ditasia Burguarmo

When Ryan Seacrest brought out Paul Anka, I thought “Paul Anka? This is the exact reason why I should never watch this show ever again. Why the hell would they bring out Paul Anka? How many people watching even know who Paul Anka is?” (yes, 4 seconds of thought which contained the phrase “Paul Anka” three times). I was ready to fume at the absurdity of the whole show. Then, he sang his barely witty version of My Way, and the cuteness of the moment won out over my anger. Damn my softening positions!

Again, 3 songs each confirm my position: Being a singer isn’t just about singing. It’s about performing. Diana can sing sometimes, but mostly she screams. She cannot perform. Fantasia is always performing.

I am reluctant to give much credence to conspiracy theorists.
Whether her ear-piece monitor had a wardrobe malfunction or not, Diana does not deserve to win American Idol. In fact, she does not belong in the top 3.

If she does win, then God help us all. Well, okay, it wouldn’t be that dire. In fact, who cares?

Still, it would be discouraging if The Idiotic Masses of America give the nod to Bush over Gore. I mean, Diana over Fantasia.

In the end, when all is said and sung, I doubt I’ll ever buy a cd from either of these ladies.

Two hour finale? What the? Damn their infernal milking!!

In The Criminal Justice System…

Last week, it was reported that over half of the prime-time programming for all the major networks that week consisted of Law&Order and CSI episodes in their various incarnations. Let me repeat that: Over half of the prime-time programming consisted of Law & Order and CSI episodes. That’s a lot of eggs in them there baskets. And that’s not even counting syndication on other channels.

And yet, that wasn’t too much Law & Order for me.
I’ve been a fan of Law & Order since I discovered it way back in its second year. In fact, it has consistently been one of my favourite shows ever since I first saw it. My favourite of the L&O series is the original “two separate yet equally important groups” version, but I do find the SVU spin-off to be a close second. I’m not a fan of the other spin-off, ‘Criminal Intent’, basically because of the ‘brilliance’ of the character played by, I believe, Vincent D’Onofrio.

I don’t have anything against CSI. From the few times I watched it, it seems to be a good show. It’s simply that I haven’t allowed myself to become a fan of it.
I guess it’s a testament to the popularity of these series that network executives will run them so often through a week. But, come on. Over half. That’s a little pathetic.

Would You Mind, Terribly…

Tonight’s episode of Joan Of Arcadia, as written up in the TV Guide: God asks Joan to convince Adam not to enter his sculpture in the art show.

Okay, first of all, since when does God ‘ask’ anything? Secondly, why doesn’t God just phone Adam himself and ask him not to enter? Better yet, why not just give Adam severe cramping and diarrhea, so severe that it keeps him from entering his sculpture in the art show?

I’ve never seen the show, probably never will, but it sure sounds like Joan’s got God and/or Adam pussy-whipped.

Seven Spanish Senators

I don’t know who else caught the Chretien tribute on TV tonight. I saw about 40 minutes of it, and I don’t know if it’s my advancing age, or what, but I rather enjoyed what I saw.

I turned to it just as a wicked jazz trio were cooly burning down the joint (don’t get me to explain the physics of that). Sorry, didn’t remember the name of the piano jazz guy (which, by the way, is perfect Canadiana: a big tribute to your leader, and many of the performers are not household names), but they kicked it.
That was followed by the hosts’ banter. One host was Justin? Trudeau, the other’s name was Caslladh Shdohidsh (my ears avoided hearing her name). Their schtick was pretty standard, although Justin seems like a kinda hip, comfortable guy. In fact, their banter seemed very relaxed and off the cuff, even though it obviously wasn’t. So, kudos to them (can someone please inform them that I deemed their efforts kudos-worthy?)
Of course, one of the crosses we Canadians have to bear (bare?) is the bilingual official functions. I don’t mind it when people speak French then English. I don’t like the interpreter, though. An interpreter is necessary if one is watching the House of Commons (then again, so is Nembutol), but when it’s a casual speech or emcee situation, the interpretation really bugs me.
It was at this point that Karyn called out from the bath “What is that? It sounds like an American rah-rah propaganda type show”. I said that this show was, in fact, just the opposite of what the Americans would put on air, and that the next act was living proof of that theory.
The next act, of course, being some aged senator (no, not Daniel Alfredsson) and his two cronies performing a version of Seven Spanish Angels. Good god, I thought. Were BNL booked elsewhere? Gripping the couch cushion, I prepared myself for the worst. Turns out it was the highlight of the 40 minutes that I watched. They were fantastic. Not the greatest singers, looked nervous and all that, but it was totally charming. And charming in the best way, not in the ‘grade 4 recital’ charming way.
The Barra MacNeils performed next, but I yawned through that bit of done-to-death East Coast Representation. Then came Cirque de Soleil. Outstanding.
The last thing I saw before I switched to Survivor was the hosts announcing: “And now, Oscar Peterson!!” Oops, Oscar’s not ready yet. Fill Fill Fill…fill fill fill…fill fill fill. They were still filling time when I turned the channel. When I turned back during a commercial, I saw a couple of awful “congrats’ from the common-folk, and then the end of Paul Anka (as opposed to Paul Anka’s end…and I am, you know… opposed to Paul Anka’s end) singing what appeared to be a vegas-y rendition of My Way. So, maybe the 40 minutes I saw were the best?
All in all, this was a much longer post than I expected. But, then again, so was Chretien’s reign, so it all works out in Paul Anka’s end.