The Hell that is Basic Cable

A little more than a year ago I had approximately 4,347 channels of TV at my disposal. I was a Dish Network man, with the Ultra Supreme Omniscient package I think the called it, plus a little HBO and Showtime or Cinemax (who can tell them apart?) Today, through actions of my own, I must admit, I now dwell in the nether regions in a place called Basic Cable. Or if there's a level below that, that's what I have.

Yes, I chose to leave my formerly comfortable surroundings - 42-inch HD flat screen, leather sectional, Tempur Pedic mattress, stainless steel appliances - for the sofabed, folding chair, and college-dorm type kitchen I now "enjoy." I walked away from comfort for a number of reasons - good reasons - but I never anticipated falling into the seventh level of Hell that is Basic Cable.

Yes, I could buy my way back up into the clouds with Comcast, AT&T, Dish or Direct TV, but as the man sang, "money's too tight to mention" and if any more of my diet consisted of cheap soup I fear a loss of muscle mass. So, for now the price - free - is right.

I know it's gauche to confess a love - a need - for TV, but I would only be lying if I said it's not critical to my existence. I grew up in a house where the TV was always on. Granted, there were only two channels at first, and later (oh joy of joys!) a third channel (some newfangled thing called UHF that called for wizardry with rabbit hears and loop antennas) but by God I watched just about everything offered and I watched it again in reruns. To this I credit my fondness for Walter Cronkite, Captain Kangaroo and Roy Rogers - Superman, Looney Tunes and Johnny Carson - Jeopardy and the weather map and election night news - the Marx Brothers and W.C Fields movies that were shown after midnight - Phil Donahue and Dick Cavett and Tom Snyder - and to this I credit my encyclopedic knowledge of a great many utterly pointless things. TV was my babysitter, my mentor, my friend - in a time before I made a new friend that comes in a bottle.

Imagine my chagrin to now have in essence, about the same number of channels I had when I was 9. Ok sure, I now have some channels in Spanish, public access TV, and PBS. I have WGN and Discovery and Fox. But the list of what I don't have is long, very long. No ESPN. No ESPN2. No EPSN News. No CNN. No MTV or VH1 or Fuse. No Food Network. No Lifetime. (Ok I never watched that but it was comforting to know it was there.) No TBS, no TNT. No Fox Sports Channel. I am bereft.

Let's face it, there is a direct relationship between a man and his number of channels. The equation also encompasses the size of his screen and the configuration and possession of the remote, for sure, but without a wide array of totally unwatchable crap channels, what's the point in having a nice big TV? What, am I going to watch reruns of "Rosanne" with surround sound, with a little school board meeting in the PIP? I have been stripped of my manhood. Shoot me now.

I propose a sort of "Big Sisters Big Brothers" program for men in my situation. Once a week, someone comes and picks me up and takes me to their home where we sit and watch "Emeril" or "TRL" or "The Daily Show" or "Big Love." Some chips and salsa would be nice. Then after awhile, I get taken back home where I sob quietly until another week passes.

You can help for just pennies a day.

Second thoughts on online dating

I've made a couple hundred posts on this blog since I started it, and I think the post about online dating got the most reaction. Did I hit a nerve there? Was I the most honest at that moment 6 months ago, and as a result sparked a lot of replies? Yeah, I think so.

Since then I had a few dates that originated from one of the popular online sites, and I did my share of cruising around the lake casting my bait to see who I might catch. Can't say that I landed any keepers, but it was - interesting. And like a lot of other people I've talked to, eventually you realize you're seeing the same faces on the screen and you're thinking "is she still on here? Must be something really wrong with her" and it's likely they're seeing you the same way - "is that guy still on here? Must be something really wrong with him!" - and so the whole thing stops being interesting real quick, and then it feels kind of desperate and sad and unhealthy, and so you cancel.

Along the way you meet a few people who seem really incredible but, like Seinfeld, you soon discover they have some kind of trait or behavior that turns on the stoplight, and you toss them aside and start trolling again, and you remind yourself that "there are a lot of hopeless losers on these online dating sites" and try to still the voice in your head that says you are one of them.

Along the way you start figuring out that maybe it's not so horrible to spend some time with yourself, and maybe you don't have to be with someone else to have value, and so what if all your friends are coupled up, and so what if no one invites you to their parties because you've become a fifth wheel, because you can just stay home and pop in a DVD, right? And eat soup from a can, and drink the whole bottle yourself, and -- wait, that's starting to sound desperate and sad and unhealthy again. Well, anyway.

Along the way you think maybe life in the monastery wouldn't be all that bad really, or if you just left your car and clothes on the beach somewhere and disappeared that wouldn't be all that bad really, or if you just stopped trying and stopped caring maybe that wouldn't be all that bad really, and some days it all seems bleak, and you feel like you may never laugh again.

But soft! What light through yonder email breaks? It is the east, and something funny is the sun.

So even though I don't subscribe anymore, I still get these emails from online dating sites I signed up for - and ok, sure, I was drunk when I signed up, I'm sure. What the hell, anyway - mostly I just delete them, but once in awhile I look, and once in awhile I am amazed at what I see. For example:

Here are some actual posts of "profile pictures" on an unnamed site. I have obscured the screen names in hopes I will not be sued, harassed or firebombed as a result of this post. But even so, I must simply ask - WTF??

Person 1 on the left - are you telling the world that (a) you have a cat that's really important in your life, or (b) you actually ARE a cat that has learned to use the internet, or (c) you identify with cats more than people and are on your way to becoming a "cat lady" news story, or (d) bottom line you just really don't want any men to contact you at all so this seems like a good tactic to remain alone? Just asking.

Person 2 in the middle - are you telling the world that (a) you actually are Cruella DeVille, or (b) you wish you were Cruella DeVille (which is way scary) or (c) you actually have no pictures of yourself at all and must result to clip art, or (d) bottom line you just really don't want any men to contact you at all so this seems like a good tactic to remain alone? Just asking once again.

Person 3 on the right - Um...never mind, ok? Just don't hurt me.

Moral of our story: All things considered, being alone really isn't all that bad.

Movies I have watched so many times I may now be embarassing myself

Wow, it's been almost six weeks since I've posted here - but I have a good reason, and I'll write about that another time. Right now, I'm thinking about (as I put one of them into the DVD player) 10 movies I have watched so many times I begin to think I am demented.
What is it about certain movies that makes you want to watch them over and over - when there are surely plenty of other movies you've never seen once that are worth seeing? Why would I invest yet another 2 hours in watching one I've already seen when there are both well-known and undiscovered masterpieces unviewed?

I will ponder these questions as I make this list of ten (representative but not comprehensive) and maybe an answer will define itself.

1. O Brother Where Art Thou?
Coen Brothers. George Clooney's funniest role ever. Kickass soundtrack. Who wouldn't want to watch it 17 times? Or 117 times? Enough said.

2. The Wizard of Oz
OK so sure, I watched it a dozen times before I was 18 but so what? I'd watch it again right now. Classic in every way, and even more so because all the actors in it were sure that it was stupid and sure to be a flop when they were making it, and because all the little people were pervy and troublemakers, and because it has so much history. The editing is perfect and the fllying monkeys still scare the crap out of me.

3. Amelie
Could any movie be more perfectly imagined? Could anyone be cuter than Audrey Tatou?

4. Singin' in the Rain
The zenith of the movie musical - all the pieces fall together so easily. All I ever wanted to be was Gene Kelly, so I am still working on the moves.

5. Rock Star
Super-underrated 2001 flick with Mark Wahlberg and a sexy Jennifer Anniston -produced by Clooney - that tells an inside showbiz story so well - combining the passion performers feel with the cynical reality of the business. Heartfelt and real and fun every time.

6. Gladiator
Shouldn't be a guilty pleasure since it's a Ridley Scott film and a Best Picture winner, but bottom line still really commercial so I need to feel bad that I like it right? Perfectly shot, perfectly scored, perfectly edited. Joaquin Phoenix at his best and before he went off his nut. What more could I want?

7. Waiting for Guffman
For theatre nerds this movie creates the possibility of a an aneurysm from laughing too hard. And the danger increases with every viewing. Christopher Guest's best to date IMHO.

8. Duck Soup
Before I wanted to be Gene Kelly (or George Clooney) Iwanted to be Groucho. Even taught myself to smoke cigars in preparation. Duck Soup is the ultimate insanity and anarchy that the Marx Brothers created - they were outside law and convention and hilarious at the same time.

9. Saturday Night Fever
Actually kind of choppy and flawed in a number of ways, like a lot of 1970s movies, but compelling all the same. Unforgettable to me in that it always reminds me that the first time i saw it I knew that something had changed in pop culture and things would never be quite the same again. Also notable in that Travolta was prettier than any of the women in the movie.

10. Battle of the Bulge
Always watch it when it comes on TV because my dad used to say "Maybe I'll see myself" when it was coming on. Took me a few years to figure out that was a joke, and yet I always watch it thinking somehow maybe i will see him after all.

This list could go on and on I think. But what so these over-watched movies have in common? Laughs? Comfort? Great timing? Zeitgeist?

What are your movies you've watched so many times you feel strange about it?

New pandemic: Inanity. Way worse than that hog fever

AVOID SWINE FLU! DO NOT LICK PIGS!!

Being the kind of guy who needs to feel plugged in all the time, I use Google Alerts to send me news stories about Napa. Back when I was on the radio every day, it seemed essential to have a fairly good idea of what the heck was going on around town, and ever since I started trying to know what's going on, people started expecting me to know what's going on, so now I actually need to know what's going on, or else I will let everyone down and I can't have that on my conscience. Expectation created, expectation pending, expectation must be fulfilled, or else I lose face. Tools like Google Alerts make it a lot easier to stay informed than it used to be (and a lot cheaper than using a clip service.) In my job with the City of Napa, then, I continue to try and have a clue most days.

So my Google Alerts generate these emails that have headlines and a few sentences from online news stories. All of these stories have the word "Napa" or the phrase "Napa Valley" in them. The majority are from the good ol' Napa Valley Register, and I have usually read all those stories, but the Google Alert also catches stories in the Bay Area press and online newspaper content from all over. Typically, it's a travel story about visiting Napa Valley. Always enjoyable to read those and see what restaurants are hot, and which hotel is hip (or really discounting like crazy) at the moment. (I also get a certain number of news stories that have to do with NAPA Auto Parts, and stories about a beach resort called Ayia Napa in Cyprus, and now and then a story about a boxer named Ian Napa. Amazing the things one may learn about without any desire to learn them, isn't it? I suppose if I created Google Alerts for a dozen other keywords - teakettle, rutabaga, oxycontin, hair plugs, Jimmy Durante, for example - I could expand my knowledge in many directions with very little effort. Or I could put all those words into one Alert so I would only get stories that contain every word. I wonder how many times I would get a message that someone has written a story involving teakettles, rutabagas, oxycontin, hair plugs and Jimmy Durante? My old junior high science teacher taught us that maxim about "possible" versus "probable" - that if you had a million monkeys with a million typewriters it was possible that one of them would type out the entire Bible. Possible, but not probable. But today with the internet, I think we do sort of have a million monkeys with a million typewriters, more or less, so there is probably someone out there who is writing regularly about Jimmy Durante and how he considered getting hair plugs but gave up the idea during his oxycontin addiction years - a habit he only kicked by drinking rutabaga tea. But I digress.)

So today my Google Alert merrily popped up in my email box, and there was a story that mentioned Castle Rock Cabernet. I don't know much about Castle Rock other than the fact that they make one of the best cheap everyday grocery store pinot noirs, but the name caught my eye so I clicked on it. What I get to then is something like "Tom and Judy's Wine Blog" (and I wouldn't link to them if I could find it because I wouldn't want Tom and Judy - if that's even the right names - to read what I am about to write because it might hurt their feelings) which turns out to be a very sincere, straightforward, well-presented blog that tells us all about the cheap, grocery-store wines they've been drinking, paired with something like tuna noodle casserole. "This big fruity red wine stands up well to the amazingly oversalted Hamuburger Helper and Rice-A-Roni feast that Tom I enjoyed while watching Wheel of Fortune," it very well might have said, but don't quote me. My brief glance told me that Tom and Judy were steadfastly blogging about their $10 bottles paired with TV dinners just about every single day.

Now it's all well and good for any citizen of the world with rudimentary language skills and at least dial up to write and post any damn thing they want. It's a free country, and thank God Al Gore invented the internet for us, I say! However, while this kind of "citizen journalism" may be self-satisfying, and fun, and sort of a hobby and all that, it is also overpoweringly inane.

(Let's pause a momemt and ponder this wonderful word - "inane" meaning silly, pointless, empty, fatuous, vacuous, complacently and unconsciously foolish, asinine. It's a beautiful word to use with someone who is being it. Usually someone who is being inane will not have the vocabulary to know what inane means, so you can call them inane and they will look somewhat puzzled but not offended.)

This deluge of inanity we're living in today is difficult to escape from. If it's not somebody's inane blog, it's the inane post on Facebook like "Off to the dry cleaners!" or some mouth-breather talking endlessly about sports. I don't care how much you know about sports - more than thirty seconds on any sports topic is about twice too much. And then there's politics - a topic everyone seems to think they need to spout off about. Truth be told, if you don't have an original idea - that being something you thought of yourself - chances are the talk show host you're parroting said it better when you heard it in the first place, so I generally don't want to hear your version, bub. Having survived what I think was a bout of the hog fever, I feel strong but I am not sure my immune system can handle the inanity pandemic.

Before your nostrils flare in disgust and you cleverly decide to post a comment saying "Hello Mr. Pot, meet Mr. Kettle! Your blog, sir, is as inane as they come! How dare you! When you point your finger remember there are three other fingers pointing back at you!" Before you post that, just keep in mind that I already know all that. But at least my fingers just got a good workout.

How I Survived a Chilling Three-Day Ordeal!

Throughout the annals of history (and it is in the annals where all the best history happens) there have been many well-known stories of survival against the odds. The Israelites and their forty days in the wilderness - that soccer team whose plane crashed in the Andes and went cannibal - Dick Cheney toughing it out in his undisclosed-location bunker - all inspiring in their courage, fortitude and sheer will to live on! Nothing, however, can compare with the horrendous crisis from which I have just escaped...

THREE DAYS WITHOUT FACEBOOK!!!

That's right, my friends - three long, anxiety-wracked days and sleepless nights deprived of my social media of choice. A 72-hour soul-searching test of resolve. A gut-wrenching off-line stress-a-lapooza!

How did I do it, you ask? Draw nigh and hear my tale of woe.

It all started with an email. An email that looked fully bogus, in fact, telling me my account was disabled due to my violation of the FB terms of service. I'm sure you, like me, have read, understood and memorized the terms of service, which prohibit harassing people, stealing other people's intellectual property, taking more than nine quizzes in one day, and posting porn, among other offenses. I have never done any of these things. OK, I have harassed a few people, but they have all been close friends - and deserving of harassment for sure. I harass because I love! But in the realm of the online brigands I am as innocent as a babe. Honestly, officer.

So I get this email and just ignore it, in part because I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, and in part because I could still log on. And we all get so many scammy, manipulative emails I was sure this was just another in that vein. Unfortunately, to my dismay, it was all too true. (Dah-dah-daaaahhh!)(That was dramatic music.)

Fast-forward about 18 hours. It's mid-day Monday, and suddenly I can't log on. I CAN'T LOG ON! A message pops up when I try to, and it says my account has been disabled. DISABLED! Imagine the weakness in my knees, the lump rising in my throat, the anguished cry welling up from the deepest crevasse of my being! "Save me!" I wailed, "Don't make me go back to MySpace, there's no one there!"

And so began my journey through the fire, my three days as Job. So began the endless hours during which I had no way to know who had joined Farmville, who was seeking weaponry in Mafia Wars, who had thrown a sheep at me. Endless hours of having no clue who was excelling at Bejewelled Blitz or who had taken the "How much do you know about (random person I hardly remember from high school) quiz?" Endless hours when I lost touch with the extreme political views from both left and right, boiling down complex concepts into single sentences with lots of !!!! Endless hours of just not knowing who was thinking "Time for lunch" and "Off to bed" and other deep thoughts that I wanted to share in. Try to imagine my misery.

So this episode of feeling violated will take its place alongside getting burglarized in the night while we slept upstairs, alongside getting our bank accounts emptied by some identity thief, and alongside two or three occasions of someone stealing my credit card number. (Do I have a big "kick me" sign on my back?)

To make a long story longer, I will simply say the problem was suddenly resolved and my account was restored. I have been exonerated of wrongdoing by the Gods of Facebook (perhaps aided by the intervention of a highly-placed FOAF - thanks Katherine) and yet I have no idea of what prompted the whole kerfuffle in the first place. And so my beloved Facebook is back - and just in the nick of time, because I was right on the verge of actually doing something productive.

Men are scum but Nick Hornby's ok and so is Glee

This just in:

TLC drops Jon and keeps Kate:TLC says the new show, which debuts November 2, will be "Kate Plus 8."

Let me be frank here - I have never grasped the pleasure of watching these people try to manage their lives with 8 freaking kids running around. And the few times I accidentally glimpsed some of this "reality" show, it always seemed like mom and dad were barely tolerating each other. So it came as no surprise that this guy was getting some side action. I mean, even the most devout husband would be looking for any excuse to get out of the house that had 8 freaking kids running around with poopy diapers and snotty noses. Granted, he should have joined a fantasy football league or taken some night classes or something rather than go on the make, but there you go. Men are scum, we all know that.

So now TLC can spin the whole thing into much more of a soap opera that it was before. I bet the ratings go through the roof if we have scenes of them yelling at each other, her throwing his clothes out on the lawn, him trying to turn the kids against her. A beautiful American tableau in the making.

And speaking of dysfunctional men, Nick Hornby's new book is just released and my copy showed up in the mail today. It's called "Juliet Naked" and I have no idea what it's about but I know it will be good, maybe great. Hornby never disappoints. OK, I overstate. "The Long Way Down" was a long letdown, but only because my expectations were so high. When you have written things so touching, like "About a Boy," and so heartfelt and true like "High Fidelity," you can leave your fans with some fairly high expectations. And somehow his good books become good movies, instead of "not as good as the book" movies. The guy has a magic touch. Writes a lot, writes well. Cheers, Nick, and I hope Arsenal has a good season for you.

And now looping back to where I started, I am starting to get the feeling that reality TV could actually be starting to peter out - and from my lips to God's ears! I know, I know, there's a lot to be enjoyed in watching people break each other's hearts, cheat and lie to win money, and suffer through weeks of public weight loss. But just spending a little time watching something like "Mad Men," "Sons of Anarchy," or "Glee," (shows within my reach with the basic cable and hulu.com that are my lot in life today) reminds me that reality is no replacement for fiction. Reality is just not all is stacked up to be. And besides, we all know they're feeding lines and situations to those reality show people anyway. It's just an unsophisticated script performed by amateurs. Reruns of "The Sopranos" never looked better.

Because you never know

"'In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes."

-Benjamin Franklin, 1789

Death and taxes. Inevitable. (How about death BY taxes? Some would say that's about to happen, too, but that sounds like the start of a political rant and I've lost all enthusiasm for those.) Funny that these two things we all know are so certain are the things we are so poorly prepared for most of the time. I mean, after all, you know you have to file by April 15 every year, and yet we still file extensions and fuss over it another six months. Human nature, I guess. And no surprise that so many of us shuffle off the mortal coil and leave it to others to pick up the pieces. When the eternal footman holds your coat, by the way, no extensions can be filed. Unless you have a really, really good CPA.

I had my little glance at mortality a few months ago when I joined the melanoma club. Made me take notice of things left undone. And lately it seems like people are just gone all too suddenly, unexpectedly. Napa lost a really good man this week, just 56 years old. (RIP Chris) There are no guarantees of living to your dotage (universal health care or no) - no guarantees of waking up tomorrow for that matter, or even making it to the other side of a busy street. We're all just hanging by a thread. So a person should be prepared.

To that end, I blog my last will and testament. Not a legal document, perhaps, but if it becomes my lot to take the dirt nap on short notice, here's the way I'd like it to play out:

1. Salvage the parts: take anything that's usuable and give to someone who needs it. I believe in recycling.

2. Into the fire: in my view it's an uncalled for trauma to the living to prop up the dead for display in a box. Just burn up the used meat sack and let a nice picture of me - something entertaining - be the remembrance. Apologies to the bottom line of the funeral home and the casket makers. It's pointless, but if you want to scatter my ashes I'll take Shubert Alley.

3. Whistle past the cemetery: graves and headstones are great for genealogy but otherwise just creepy and sad. Who wants to remember the dead by standing in a graveyard? Skip it.

4. Take care of the little ones: Flowers are nice but buy some for yourself, someone who can enjoy them. Money for the grandkids college fund is a lot better, meaningful gift, don't you think?

5. Party on, Garth: A lot of people have "a celebration of life" that is too much like mourning and not a lot like celebration. When I'm having the big sleep I want everybody who knew me - check that - everybody who liked me, let's say - to have a great big raging fucking party. A party with a lot of loud music and loud laughing and very loud drinking. A party where the cops come two or three times, like a fire that just keeps reigniting. That's how to celebrate, I say. So that you have such a bad hangover the next day you feel sorrier for yourself than the poor bastard who kicked off.

That's all there is to it. Simple last wishes. Party it up and move on. The best remembrance for anyone's passing is to take an even bigger bite out of life the next day and live with joy. Because you never know.