Let's revisit a battle of the sexes waged this past Thursday night after an evening of a little too much drinking that spilled over into an email exchange on this lovely Monday morning. Basically, the argument boiled down to the relative vapidity of sports to reality television. The men, Kevy and I, argued the two are incomparable. The women, both WWII dictators oddly enough, Mussolini and Stalin, obviously countered this argument, claiming sports were equally mindless while encorporating similar degrees of perverse ethics.
As most relationships are riddled with requisite comprimise, both men and women alike are forced with a certain degree of regularity to watch sports and reality television. If sports and reality TV are in fact equal but opposite, at least in terms of depth, why are sports seemingly incomprehensible for women? Stalin wondered aloud recently, I assume with a thick Russian accent, whether the New England Patriots were ranked second in the latest BCS standings. A third friend fo mine, also of the female persuasion, who for the purposes of this blog I think we can refer to as the attorney for the third Reich, wondered why a few of us were talking about the Giants and Cowboys when the Patriots played yesterday (because only two teams play per day). While men can decipher the stupidity/framework of any given reality TV show within 10 minutes?
My waxing chauvenistic elicited the following response (which just so happened to be well-written, interesting, and very much correct):
"So Seamus, let me briefly respond. I agree that the premise that sports and reality tv are equal and opposite is fatally flawed, I just want to point out another obvious hole in what I think is your implied argument that men are smarter than women.
let me remind you that there is an age-old argument of nature vs. nurture - whether it is our innate human qualities or our personal experiences and upbringing that determine our physical and behavioral traits as adults. one of these traits is intelligence. so while i think that you are implying - ever so subtly, i might add - that males are more intelligent than women as evidenced by a male's dual understanding of both sports and reality tv, please keep in mind that boys are taught from an incredibly young age the 'rules of the game.' Whether it's by doting fathers or competitive peers, boys are cajoled and trained into becoming fans and players, and a knowledge of sports rules and culture is developed as they mature, whether consciously or not. it's a cultural thing. as an example - is it not assumed that you can insert a guy into any conversation and as long as he can keep up with the current sports news, he'll be ok? thus it is not your inherent ability to understand sports and your unique intelligence that unlocks the mystery of the rules. rather, it is by serious training and studying for decades that you have mastered your supreme level of understanding.
meanwhile, there is no comparable arena for women. there is nothing that is considered a universal femail pastime. even fashion and shopping don't count, as they are relished really only by the relatively good-looking and wealthy who can benefit from them. reality tv is mindless. while entertaining and, yes, even addicting, it requires no specialized knowledge. any person who lives and breathes and can understand a few pop-culture allusions can enjoy the pleasures of the real world and america's next top model. most importantly, we girls don't deny it. we know that it's stupid, and we revel in it. we count colie as our hero because she's funny and cute and does stupid things that are great to gossip over. so while we sip wine and eat appetizers, we laugh (and sometimes high-pitch scream) over the latest embarrassment that happened on mtv. but the bottom line is - we don't hold ourselves out as experts for doing so. we realize that you guys get it, too, we just wish you wouldn't be so condescending about it.
and sports aren't incomprehensible to us. if we had the time or the inclination, we could learn the rules, the stats, the players, and the business of sports. we just don't have a decade to catch up. and to be honest, we don't care to. besides, why disturb the status quo? all is right in a world where women sound clueless and men get to make fun of us for it, no?"
Touche. I agree.
I should not have made it seem like I was arguing for the intellectual superiority of men over women. I was really just trying to establish that bad tv is less venerable than closely following sports. When I rail against bad tv, ultimately I mean not to rail against women but to address what I do see as a disconnect between the intelligence of many of the women I know and their propensity and undying hunger for the worst that television has to offer.
Now......on to the important stuff....If you had to be one of the following, which would you be? And why?:
a. Pirate
c. Ninja
d. Knight
Monday, December 04, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Cocktail Party
Admittedly, I haven't been to many "cocktail parties." Apparently, at some point between college graduation and one's 2nd or 3rd promotion at Chalmers Corporation Inc. LLC, the word "cocktail" is to be elegantly inserted before the word "party" for any and all mention thereof. This change in terminology brings with it an aire of sophistication previously unwarranted and inaccurate, now integral.....even if the garage will house a Beirut Table, a keg of Bud Light, and a population consisting mostly of gassy males seeking refuge from the feats of ettiquiette, restraint, and self-awareness demanded of them while inside and upstairs with their wives, significant others, and the other yuppies with whom their wives and girlfriends spend the bulk of the weekly 8 to 6 grind.
I am lucky enough to get along very well with the host (the wife of whom works with Mussolini) and two other "work husbands". Upon the conclusion of the Ohio State v. Michigan game, the four of us engaged in a game of Beirut, at the urging of the host, who seemed eager to mark the garage as exclusively male territory. The senior member of our little foursome, 34 years old and absolutely hilarious, I'm afraid pre-dates the advent of Beirut/Beer Pong (or at least his college experience did). As such, he demanded an explanation of the rules as we filled solo cups with Bud Light.
"What is this? Parents' weekend?" I mocked.
In one fell swoop his eyes shot accross the garage to the door, obviously double-checking to make sure his wife was not headed down the stairs to see what he was up to as he packed a dip into his bottom lip with his left hand, pointed to me with the other and replied, "Oh! It's ON!"
Inevitably, after a few drinks, I am rendered incapable of distinguishing between these two very separate worlds. After my first run on the table, I head upstairs and rub elbows without incident. "Chit chat chit chat. Babble, badger, ballywhoo, brewha ha, bicker, bicker bicker, banter, Talk Talk Talk." Mussolini seems happy with my performance.
After checking the Cal v. USC score, I head back downstairs for a second go round of Beirut. By now I have eaten (delicious food by the way) and drank myself a little silly. Par for the course. We win a game (I hit the last cup in a playoff round!) and lose the next. By now our topics of conversation have reached new lows [for a "cocktail party"] and the volume of my voice has reached new highs.
Feeling frisky, I bound back upstairs to see what my better, if not slightly authoritarian, half is up to. She puts her arm around my waste, pulls me in toward her, and introduces me to Jim and Jennifer Blah. Jim Blah and Jen Blah are married and just moved to the North End. Jim Blah owns a business in Blahville and he's going to be moving it to the North End as soon as blah. Blah. Blah. Mussolini and I briefly make eyes at one another (we've gotten good at this non-verbal communication thing over the past four years) instantaneously acknowledging to one another how bizarre all this hob-knobbing can be. A third couple joins the fray. Hand shakes and "blah's" exchanged. Our attention is briefly drawn to the football game on the television by an injury. As is fashionable now a days, the play during which the knee injury was sustained is replayed in slow motion and from every conceivable angle over and over again. I hear people throughout the room, behind me and in front of me, cringe. Jim Blah turns to me and says something about how distasteful he finds this morbid practice. And then it happened.....
I couldn't tell if I was upstairs with the "cocktail" or downstairs with the "party". They had actually fused together and become the same thing. It was all "party".
I went on to mention the incessant replays of Joe Paterno's recent injury, which was also shown in slow motion from every conceivable angle. And for good measure, I added, "Fucking grundle cam! I think they even had a grundle cam shot of Paterno's grundle! You could see the way the impact, impacted the old man's grundle!"
Everyone in the room froze. Silence reigned. Silence's reign must have lasted but a few moments, but it seemed much much longer than my reign over the Beirut Table downstairs at the "party". No one said a goddamn thing. I stood there.....frozen. Gradually, I heard voices. First faint and far away. Then, one by one, popping up here and there and all around me. They had moved on!
I went back to the basement.
I am lucky enough to get along very well with the host (the wife of whom works with Mussolini) and two other "work husbands". Upon the conclusion of the Ohio State v. Michigan game, the four of us engaged in a game of Beirut, at the urging of the host, who seemed eager to mark the garage as exclusively male territory. The senior member of our little foursome, 34 years old and absolutely hilarious, I'm afraid pre-dates the advent of Beirut/Beer Pong (or at least his college experience did). As such, he demanded an explanation of the rules as we filled solo cups with Bud Light.
"What is this? Parents' weekend?" I mocked.
In one fell swoop his eyes shot accross the garage to the door, obviously double-checking to make sure his wife was not headed down the stairs to see what he was up to as he packed a dip into his bottom lip with his left hand, pointed to me with the other and replied, "Oh! It's ON!"
Inevitably, after a few drinks, I am rendered incapable of distinguishing between these two very separate worlds. After my first run on the table, I head upstairs and rub elbows without incident. "Chit chat chit chat. Babble, badger, ballywhoo, brewha ha, bicker, bicker bicker, banter, Talk Talk Talk." Mussolini seems happy with my performance.
After checking the Cal v. USC score, I head back downstairs for a second go round of Beirut. By now I have eaten (delicious food by the way) and drank myself a little silly. Par for the course. We win a game (I hit the last cup in a playoff round!) and lose the next. By now our topics of conversation have reached new lows [for a "cocktail party"] and the volume of my voice has reached new highs.
Feeling frisky, I bound back upstairs to see what my better, if not slightly authoritarian, half is up to. She puts her arm around my waste, pulls me in toward her, and introduces me to Jim and Jennifer Blah. Jim Blah and Jen Blah are married and just moved to the North End. Jim Blah owns a business in Blahville and he's going to be moving it to the North End as soon as blah. Blah. Blah. Mussolini and I briefly make eyes at one another (we've gotten good at this non-verbal communication thing over the past four years) instantaneously acknowledging to one another how bizarre all this hob-knobbing can be. A third couple joins the fray. Hand shakes and "blah's" exchanged. Our attention is briefly drawn to the football game on the television by an injury. As is fashionable now a days, the play during which the knee injury was sustained is replayed in slow motion and from every conceivable angle over and over again. I hear people throughout the room, behind me and in front of me, cringe. Jim Blah turns to me and says something about how distasteful he finds this morbid practice. And then it happened.....
I couldn't tell if I was upstairs with the "cocktail" or downstairs with the "party". They had actually fused together and become the same thing. It was all "party".
I went on to mention the incessant replays of Joe Paterno's recent injury, which was also shown in slow motion from every conceivable angle. And for good measure, I added, "Fucking grundle cam! I think they even had a grundle cam shot of Paterno's grundle! You could see the way the impact, impacted the old man's grundle!"
Everyone in the room froze. Silence reigned. Silence's reign must have lasted but a few moments, but it seemed much much longer than my reign over the Beirut Table downstairs at the "party". No one said a goddamn thing. I stood there.....frozen. Gradually, I heard voices. First faint and far away. Then, one by one, popping up here and there and all around me. They had moved on!
I went back to the basement.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Big Weekend
So, anyone picking Michigan in this game tomorrow? Anyone rooting for Michigan?
I can honestly say I don't really care who wins. I guess I'd, by an ever so slim margine, prefer an Ohio State victory to a Michigan victory....provided is carries with it no negative connotations for Notre Dame's chances at the BCS title game.
Ohio State has the lowest graduation rate in all of college sports (or something very close to it) and I can't stand Tressel. I like Troy Smith and Ted Ginn Jr. I like that old men like my father don't like Smith, or at least are reluctant to give him the credit he deserves, because "He'll never make it in the pro's." I like freak athletes that play qb. I like that they bother the "traditionalists"/old people (aka my dad).
I can't stand Lloyd Carr. I hate Chad Henne (pussy). I like Michigan's uniforms though. Actually, the Buckeye's is a classic uni too. Neither compares to the home uni's of the Fighting Irish.
Ohio's a lamer state than Michigan for reasons in-articulable (one is hard-pressed to say much, good or bad, about either state)...but Ohio did produce Brady Quinn.....and his sister. You have to admire a program that consistently churns out Butkus Award finalists like Ohio State. This year is no different.
Ultimately, however, my attitude toward this game is best summarized by my dad's part in an exchange we had yesterday over the phone:
dad: So who do you like in the big game?
me: On paper, you gotta be thinking Ohio State. Too many big play threats on that offense while both teams seem comparable defensively.
dad: What? I'm talking about Notre Dame v. Army.
Go Irish!
I can honestly say I don't really care who wins. I guess I'd, by an ever so slim margine, prefer an Ohio State victory to a Michigan victory....provided is carries with it no negative connotations for Notre Dame's chances at the BCS title game.
Ohio State has the lowest graduation rate in all of college sports (or something very close to it) and I can't stand Tressel. I like Troy Smith and Ted Ginn Jr. I like that old men like my father don't like Smith, or at least are reluctant to give him the credit he deserves, because "He'll never make it in the pro's." I like freak athletes that play qb. I like that they bother the "traditionalists"/old people (aka my dad).
I can't stand Lloyd Carr. I hate Chad Henne (pussy). I like Michigan's uniforms though. Actually, the Buckeye's is a classic uni too. Neither compares to the home uni's of the Fighting Irish.
Ohio's a lamer state than Michigan for reasons in-articulable (one is hard-pressed to say much, good or bad, about either state)...but Ohio did produce Brady Quinn.....and his sister. You have to admire a program that consistently churns out Butkus Award finalists like Ohio State. This year is no different.
Ultimately, however, my attitude toward this game is best summarized by my dad's part in an exchange we had yesterday over the phone:
dad: So who do you like in the big game?
me: On paper, you gotta be thinking Ohio State. Too many big play threats on that offense while both teams seem comparable defensively.
dad: What? I'm talking about Notre Dame v. Army.
Go Irish!
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Bisco
Please bear in mind I'm a Bisco novice and that I am forced by cruel circumstance (no home computer) to write these blogs in about 20 minutes or less. Moreover, after having been once again stuck in traffic and running behind schedule, the power was also out at my apartment upon my arriving home to use the little boys' room. As such, and in addition to having to wipe my ass by the light of my cell phone (a tall task indeed), I had no time to eat anything.....just enough to pound 4 Jack and Ginger's and 3 pints.
I'm ashamed to say I missed them when they took the stage. The entire band was dressed in grimreeper cloaks but I have a feeling there was something more to their actual entrance that I must have missed. The drummer played the first few tunes with the hood on, which had a more interesting visual effect than is likely apparent right now from my description. This was my first dose of him and I must say I like him. He has his own style, is louder than Sammy, but it's not a distraction. And he can seriously ride that goddamn high hat.
The light show was particularly crazy (keep in mind this was my only my 3rd bisco show).....and they had a choir! Anyone who has ever discussed the Biscuits with me knows I'm particularly critical of their singing.....so I was pretty pumped about the [5 person] choir (as if they'd read my mind and heeded my advice). While they were on stage for a handful of songs, they're most substantial contributions came on Floyd's In the Flesh and the Stones' You Can't Always Get What You Want (where to my surprise the Barber's voice was actually on key).
At least more so than the last show I went to, most of the jamming was heavily techno and more about the interplay between each member of the band than the virtuosity of the Barber. This made for some frenzied dancing and for the perceived spotlight (I say 'perceived' because there were millions of different colored lights doing crazy things at each and every crazy moment) to shine on the band as a whole instead of any one of it's parts.
Shortly after noticing and commenting to Kevy Wevy that the kid who was selectively asking weirdos in the lobby if they had mushrooms would never in a million years ask the two of us, he came and asked me... And I felt cool :( ...Even though I work a 9 to 5 every day, I still seem sketchy enough, at 25, to carry around extra mushrooms! After I said 'no' he turned to Kevy, quickly sized him up and walked away without a word. Granted, the conclusions I've drawn from this exchange are convoluted at best.....but I don't really care.
One last thing I wanted to mention, having just glanced at the setlist; the Barber was particularly understated for Home Again. I didn't like it at first. I was looking for him to go big but this version grew on me and by the song's end, I loved it.
Set I: Triumph> Svenghali1 2, In The Flesh2 3 4> Digital Buddha2, Svenghali1 2> Rock CandySet II: Save The Robots, Reactor> O Fortuna2 5> Reactor, Home Again2, You Can't Always Get What You Want2 6Encore: Little Lai
I'm ashamed to say I missed them when they took the stage. The entire band was dressed in grimreeper cloaks but I have a feeling there was something more to their actual entrance that I must have missed. The drummer played the first few tunes with the hood on, which had a more interesting visual effect than is likely apparent right now from my description. This was my first dose of him and I must say I like him. He has his own style, is louder than Sammy, but it's not a distraction. And he can seriously ride that goddamn high hat.
The light show was particularly crazy (keep in mind this was my only my 3rd bisco show).....and they had a choir! Anyone who has ever discussed the Biscuits with me knows I'm particularly critical of their singing.....so I was pretty pumped about the [5 person] choir (as if they'd read my mind and heeded my advice). While they were on stage for a handful of songs, they're most substantial contributions came on Floyd's In the Flesh and the Stones' You Can't Always Get What You Want (where to my surprise the Barber's voice was actually on key).
At least more so than the last show I went to, most of the jamming was heavily techno and more about the interplay between each member of the band than the virtuosity of the Barber. This made for some frenzied dancing and for the perceived spotlight (I say 'perceived' because there were millions of different colored lights doing crazy things at each and every crazy moment) to shine on the band as a whole instead of any one of it's parts.
Shortly after noticing and commenting to Kevy Wevy that the kid who was selectively asking weirdos in the lobby if they had mushrooms would never in a million years ask the two of us, he came and asked me... And I felt cool :( ...Even though I work a 9 to 5 every day, I still seem sketchy enough, at 25, to carry around extra mushrooms! After I said 'no' he turned to Kevy, quickly sized him up and walked away without a word. Granted, the conclusions I've drawn from this exchange are convoluted at best.....but I don't really care.
One last thing I wanted to mention, having just glanced at the setlist; the Barber was particularly understated for Home Again. I didn't like it at first. I was looking for him to go big but this version grew on me and by the song's end, I loved it.
Set I: Triumph> Svenghali1 2, In The Flesh2 3 4> Digital Buddha2, Svenghali1 2> Rock CandySet II: Save The Robots, Reactor> O Fortuna2 5> Reactor, Home Again2, You Can't Always Get What You Want2 6Encore: Little Lai
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