Archive | August, 2011

Move on

27 Aug

When you hate moving as much as I hate moving, there’s probably more to it than the hassle. Don’t get me wrong—that’s a big part of the anxiety. I like having stuff; I don’t like taking that stuff and putting it into boxes. I can’t use my stuff when it’s in boxes, and I can’t lift boxes when they’re heavy. There are a lot of obstacles here. Still, I’m self-aware enough to know that there’s a deeper root to my hesitation.

I remember moving to Berkeley seven years ago. The only way I could cope was insisting that it was a temporary situation. Never mind that I intended to stick with the whole college thing—I was determined to never think of the Bay Area as home. Which was naïve, obviously, but I was 17. (For reference, I also thought I’d be going to grad school!) The difference between “moving” and “a very long vacation” is what kept my stress level relatively low. And for that whole first semester away from home—my “real” home—I dreamed of returning to LA.

I’m not trying to be poetic: I literally dreamed about LA all the time. I also dreamed about my teeth falling out, but that’s neither here nor there. It was only at Thanksgiving, when I took my first trip back since moving north, that I realized how deluded I was. Life in your hometown doesn’t just take a time-out when you leave. It seems obvious now, but I assure you it wasn’t at the time. Just as I assure you I spent way too many tearful nights overidentifying with that scene in Garden State in which Zach Braff talks about losing a sense of “home.” Bad movie or not, the sentiment rang true. I suddenly didn’t feel as though I belonged anywhere. I was an idiot to purposely avoid adjusting to Berkeley, and I was an idiot to pin all my hopes on LA staying just as I’d left it. You can’t go home again, stupid.

If you told me I’d still be in Berkeley in 2011, I would have a) called you a liar, and b) been surprised humanity managed to survive that many years of a Bush presidency. But here I am, sitting at the same coffee shop I’ve been coming to since first forcing a caffeine addiction on myself. What I found after a few years of living in Berkeley was that I wasn’t so much looking for a “home” as I was looking for stability. I missed LA because I was used to LA, because I understood my life there (more or less), and because there were routines and patterns I associated with the city. Moving somewhere new means establishing new habits, and holy crap, that is not as easy as it sounds. But eventually I was settled.

Too settled, maybe. Sometimes I think I could live here forever. Not because I’m so smitten with Berkeley—although it’s objectively a nice place to live—but because I’ve once again let my fears of being uprooted get the better of me. As much as I’ve come to appreciate LA when I go down for extended vacations, I’m still comforted by my ability to return back to a rather mundane existence in the Bay Area. But there’s a difference between being secure and being stagnant. I could stay here indefinitely, but I don’t want to. I know there is more for me in LA right now. And while I’m also sure I could make more of my current life in Berkeley, experience shows me that I won’t.

I need to push forward despite the discomfort, and that means taking my stuff and putting it in the goddamn boxes. I’ll think about leaving my apartment for good. I’ll think about saying goodbye to the friends I’ve made here, though admittedly many have already left. And I’ll let that anxiety wash over me, because you have to feel it build before you can feel it subside.

I don’t want to move. There, I said it. I want to be in LA, sure, but I don’t want to have to make the choice, to take the action, to plunge myself into once-familiar waters. I’ll do it because I owe it to myself to not let anxiety hold me back. I’m nearing the quarter-century mark (hey, it’s as good a milestone as any) and growing up means facing fears, right? Besides, the logic of my decision to move will soon trump any feelings of unease. If it happened before, it will happen again.

And with that, I’m going to stop staring at the boxes—and start filling them.

Inane bullshit

22 Aug

you seem like a good writer, why waste your time writing such inane bullshit?

This is maybe the best backhanded compliment I have ever received. It was a comment on my last post, my (apparently controversial) defense of Kim Kardashian. And while normally I’d let a bitchy remark like that slide, I’d actually like to answer the question. So, “Ben,” you’re in luck! Why do I “waste my time” writing about the Kardashians and vampires and other seemingly useless facets of pop culture?

I’ve encountered various versions of this question over the years. Sometimes it’s not a question so much as a suggestion that I might want to write about something that matters. It usually comes from people who “don’t even own a TV” and only see foreign films and keep the radio perma-tuned to NPR. There’s nothing wrong with choosing to live your life free from pop culture clutter, but just as that’s your prerogative, this is mine. The way some people feel about sports, the way others feel about history—that’s how I feel about mainstream entertainment.

It’s not that I don’t also have an appreciation for the highbrow. (Ask me about Faulkner!) It’s just that I understand the importance of pop culture in our society. I also think that almost anything, however silly or irrelevant you might find it, is worthy of analysis. The Kardashians, for example, strike you as frivolous. A fair assessment, to be sure, but they obviously have a huge effect on the media, television, and angry commenters all over the internet. Doesn’t that make you wonder why? We can probe and expose trends without validating them. We can put our own spin on “inane bullshit.”

Kim K. aside, though, there is plenty of pop culture that I legitimately care about. It’s not all ironic appreciation and musings on popularity. I sincerely care about Buffy comic books and A&E’s Hoarders and the Final Destination series. I don’t necessarily think they’re great, but I do consider them to be worthwhile diversions. To that end, I never worry about wasting my time by indulging in pleasures, guilty or otherwise. As a wise pop musician once said, “If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.”

But am I wasting my time writing about this stuff? Am I wasting your time by suggesting you read it? Of course not. (And if you do think it’s a waste of your time, by all means, don’t read it.) The way I see it, someone has to write seriously about pop culture. It can’t all be E! News briefs and gushy TV Guide reviews. (Which is not to say those outlets are useless either—they just serve a different purpose.) I’ll readily admit that much of my writing has been inspired by the great Chuck Klosterman, who has a broader depth of pop culture knowledge than I could ever hope to attain. I highly recommend you check out his work, even though it’s going to make my blogging look worse in comparison. See, I’m a giver.

Why police what other people are writing, anyway? “Inane bullshit” is a relative concept: one man’s trash is another man’s camp classic. When you tell people to only write about what’s important, you’re ignoring the fact that a writer’s relationship with his subject is likely different than yours. Nothing is inherently a throwaway topic, especially for those of us who relish the opportunity to dig deeper. And luckily for you, Ben, my decision to write about Kim Kardashian doesn’t take away from other writers’ decisions to cover Bachmann’s presidential aspirations or Libya. There’s plenty of room on the internet for all of us.

So, why do I waste my time writing such inane bullshit? Because I’m not wasting my time. Because it’s not inane bullshit to me. But mostly, because I can.

Why I defend Kim Kardashian

20 Aug

Look, I don’t think Kim Kardashian needs any help from me: she’s far too rich and famous to actually let the haters bring her down. And yet, I feel compelled to come to her aid—if not out of genuine sympathy, then at least because her role as walking punchline is absurd. There are people out there who spew hate and actively make the world a shittier place. There are people more deserving of our mockery. Which is not to say that Kim should be off limits comedically—far from it. Make all the jokes you want, but do make sure they’re original. Because Kim’s mere existence isn’t as inherently hilarious as so many seem to think.

In light of her wedding, the jokes have been more and more persistent. And sure, some of them are funny, but the vast majority come down to the following—Kim Kardashian is a vapid, vacuous whore. Let’s break this down.

1. Kim Kardashian is stupid. Is she, though? I’ll give you that she doesn’t have a whole lot of actual talent and has gotten famous for, well, nothing, but that in and of itself is a skill. It takes some sort of savvy to know how to market yourself and make a career out of fame. So while jokes about Kim’s blatant attention-craving behavior make sense, jokes about how she’s a total idiot don’t, really. Not to mention the fact that, like Paris Hilton, her occasional airhead demeanor is likely a persona created to attract an audience. And it looks like it’s working. I’d also argue that there’s also a hint of misogyny to this humor (more on that in a bit). Kim Kardashian isn’t just dumb—she’s a “dumb bitch.”

2. Kim Kardashian is selfish. Spoiled, yes. Selfish is harder to prove. On Twitter, comedians retweet the admittedly shallow things Kim complains about, then counter her with a real world crisis or their personal problems. And yes, Kim’s nails pale in comparison to the number of unemployed individuals in this country, or the violent persecution of gay people in Uganda. But just because she’s tweeting about frivolous issues (which, I might add, we all do) doesn’t mean she has no sense of more pressing problems. How else to explain the clothes she donates to the Dream Foundation, or her trip to Africa in support of Russell Simmons’ Diamond Empowerment Fund? You can find a full list of her charitable contributions here.

3. Kim Kardashian is a slut. This one bothers me the most, because it reflects such an obvious gender disparity. We call Kim Kardashian a slut for the same reason we call Paris Hilton a slut: they both reached new levels of fame through widely publicized sex tapes. But while jokes about Kim and Paris being whores never seem to cease, we willfully forget all the men who have also had sex on camera. The list includes Rob Lowe, Colin Farrell, Eric Dane, and Tommy Lee. (Pam Anderson gained notoriety from her honeymoon tape. Tommy Lee earned a reputation for being well-endowed.) So, yeah, Kim Kardashian had a sex tape, and she profited from it. Good for her.

There are plenty of other easy jokes to be made. You could say Kim has a big ass, because making fun of the way someone’s body fat is proportioned is always hilarious. You could mock her for being Robert Kardashian’s daughter, even though that’s not exactly something she could have avoided. (Full disclosure: I made a Robert Kardashian joke on Twitter this morning. I stand by it, and don’t believe it targets Kim as an easy punchline.) You could make reference to Kim’s apparent penchant for black men, as though that’s some sort of character flaw. Relax, it’s not racist if everyone else is saying it!

I’m not trying to shame anyone: some of my closest friends, all of whom I consider to be exceptionally funny, make these jokes. And I don’t think less of them for it. I just believe that we should all hold ourselves to a higher standard. If you want to mock a celebrity, fine, as long as you’re being creative. Bonus points if you have a legitimate reason to tear him or her down—that is, something not related to gender, race, or sexuality.

You might, for example, ridicule Chris Brown’s insistence that he loves women in light of his violent beating of Rihanna. (Old news? Sure, but it’s still horrifying.) You could lampoon Katy Perry’s role as an ally in the LGBT community when her first major single “I Kissed a Girl” was a queer politics nightmare. Or maybe you just hate their music and think they’re annoying. Nothing wrong with that either. We’re all entitled to our opinions.

What do I think about Kim Kardashian? I think she’s a mostly obnoxious reflection of a celebrity-obsessed culture that values exposure above all else. I don’t feel sorry for her. I don’t think comedians should stop making jokes about her. But give me something new. I’ve told you why I defend Kim Kardashian—now tell me why you hate her.

Crossposted to Huffington Post Culture here.

Making nice

17 Aug

“You’re so nice. You’re not good, you’re not bad, you’re just nice.” – Witch, Into the Woods

I’m a pretty introspective person. Maybe too introspective, which leads to a lot of second-guessing. Two of my favorite questions are, “Am I a nice person?” and “Am I a good person?” These are useless questions, and my speculations are meaningless, but I can’t stop asking them. “Good” and “nice” are relative terms. Besides, does it matter what I think about myself, if “good” and “nice” reflect my interactions with other people? Thinking I’m nice means nothing if everyone else thinks I’m an asshole. The same goes for thinking I’m a jerkface.

Sometimes I do think I’m nice. I genuinely care for people. I try to treat everyone with kindness. But this is what I come back to—is the empathy I feel for others a genuine trait or the result of Jewish guilt? (It doesn’t have to be Jewish, but it is.) When I see someone hurting, I hurt, too, but the unspoken feeling is, “I could have done something to help.” And I want to make that person feel better, because, fuck, I really should have helped them avoid feeling shitty in the first place. Logically, I know I’m not responsible for other people’s pain, but there is definitely some twinge of regret that gets me every time.

Is that where being nice comes from? It doesn’t seem right to me. I want to be a nice person because niceness is an inherent trait, not out of some sense of guilt or obligation. But I also think I’m probably being too hard on myself. We’re selfish creatures by nature. We’d all probably do crappier things if it weren’t for laws and social mores. So if I do nice things because I’d feel guilty otherwise, or because I somehow feel retroactive guilt over another person’s suffering, maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Self-motivated empathy isn’t necessarily any cheaper than a more innate feeling of responsibility toward others.

I go back and forth on this. And it’s one of those things I obsess over that seems normal to me, because I have no sense of how often other people think about it.

But this is all abstract. Let’s look at an example. Offering a friend a ride is a nice thing to do. And why do we offer our friends rides? Because we are concerned about them, or because we are concerned about how they’ll feel if we don’t, or because we have nothing else to do and it feels like a dick move not to. For me, it is some combination of the three—a care for others mingled with anxiety over others’ perception of me, and a vague sense of, “That’s just what you do.” It’s not about congratulating myself on a job well done so much as the need to be validated and appreciated by others. I think that’s normal. I think it’s also somehow selfish.

Sometimes I think I’m nice, but I don’t often think I’m good—in part, because the dichotomy of “good” and “bad” is so silly. But also because, in my mind, goodness does necessitate a constant and genuine desire to make the world a better place. People who are truly good, if they do exist, were born that way. And while I’ve offered friends rides (see above!), I’ve never volunteered at a refugee camp in Africa, or participated in a clean-up effort after a natural disaster, or cooked meals for the homeless.

To be clear, I don’t think that not doing these things makes me a bad person either. I think it makes me average. Niceness aside, when it comes to “good” and “bad,” I’d say most people fall somewhere in the middle. Which is not to say we do bad things—I’ve never shot a man in Reno, to watch him die or for any other reason—but I don’t do a whole lot of good things either. I’m neutral. I’m nice, mostly, but I’m neutral.

Why is it so important for me to keep asking? I wish I could answer that. And for the record, I don’t think questioning my niceness or goodness makes me any better of a person! (Ugh, it might actually make me worse.) It’s just something I think about, a lot, when by my own admission, it doesn’t really matter. This is quite possibly just the way that humans work—we are flawed, and we try to be better, and that itself is a good thing. There are no superheroes, or to borrow from Tony Kushner, there are no angels in America. Sometimes I just focus on that, because it’s a comforting thought. It’s, you know, nice.

My vampire boyfriend

15 Aug

I hate Twilight for a lot of reasons—first and foremost that it teaches young girls to feel ashamed of their burgeoning sexuality. But Twilight also made vampires lame, and while that’s not as serious an offense, it’s not one I take lightly either. I’ve always loved vampires, even from an age when I couldn’t possibly appreciate the consequences of eternal life. I spent my high school years watching Buffy and Angel, and wondering why I never got to kiss anyone with fangs.

Now I feel ashamed of my vampiric urges. It’s not only Twilight‘s fault, but damned if it doesn’t feel that way. Tween vampire romance is hot right now, and that ruins things for the rest of us. Even more adult entertainment like True Blood has turned steamy vampire-on-human action into fluffy cuddleporn. (Yeah, there’s still fucking, but oh, God, the pillow talk.) But rather than accept defeat and give up my dreams of vampire romance, I’m going to reclaim the concept. When I say I want a vampire boyfriend, I don’t mean Edward Cullen or Stefan Salvatore or even Eric Northman. They suck. If that’s what vampires are like, I’ll stick to humans and maybe the occasional warlock.

But I’d like to believe the right vampire is out there, somewhere.

My vampire boyfriend will be a nice guy. He won’t drink human blood, ever, except possibly a little bit of mine, consensually. (I’m not 100 percent sure about this. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.) Part of the sexual appeal of vampires is that they’re dangerous, but I’d rather not be in any actual danger. And even if my vampire boyfriend is mildly threatening—not to me, but by virtue of the fact that he’s a vampire—I don’t want him to be a dick about it. Like, yeah, you’re a powerful bloodthirsty being: doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole. There’s nothing cute about bad manners. And to that end, if I do decide he can have some of my blood, he damn well better ask first.

My vampire boyfriend will respect me. He will not be a misogynist tool who thinks all women in the immediate vicinity need protecting, and he won’t look down on me because I’m a human. (A fragile, skittish human, to be precise.) He’s going to have to accept that while he has certain strengths mere mortals may be lacking, it’s obnoxious to lord those other over people. Plus, we all have different skill sets. Maybe he can tear off an enemy’s head with ease. No big—I know all the state capitals. (This isn’t true, but you get the idea.) Relationships are about balance: I want a boyfriend, not a bodyguard. Well, I want both. They just shouldn’t be one and the same.

My vampire boyfriend will know how to have a good time. None of that brooding shit. I am dating a vampire for the excitement, not because I need someone to out-mope me. (Seriously, though, don’t even try.) I have a pretty broad definition of fun, so going out to a movie is probably sufficient. But he has to sit through it without pouting—unless it’s about animals, in which case we’ll both cry. And if it’s a period piece, he’s not allowed to spend the rest of the night talking about how many historical details they got wrong. (My vampire is at least 300 years old. Crazy, right?) He’s going to laugh, often, especially at my dumb jokes. He’s going to be active on Twitter, where he will resist the temptation to overuse the #vampirepersonproblems hashtag.

My vampire boyfriend will not skulk around, ever. He won’t hide out in my room and watch me sleep, because I snore and I would really rather not subject his heightened vampire senses to that. Yeah, he’s going to have a different sleep schedule, but given that I keep pretty late hours, I’m confident we can make it work. And he’s going to have his own friends. Some of them will be vampires, but maybe he’ll hang out with a few werewolves, too. (So over that completely arbitrary rivalry.) We’ll never be bored waiting for one another to wake up, because we’ll have our own shit going on. Though, on that note, he’s not allowed to be grumpy when he wakes up at night.

My vampire boyfriend will love garlic or he will learn to love garlic. Anything else is a dealbreaker.

And that’s what I want in an undead life partner. Oh, relax, I’m not really deluded enough to believe in vampires or any other supernatural creatures, really. But just because I’m in my mid-twenties doesn’t mean I have to let go of all my youthful fantasies. Besides, I might one day meet a really pale musician, and a lot of the same criteria will apply.

The second coming of Roseanne

11 Aug

I want to be excited about a new blue-collar sitcom starring Roseanne. But as it stands, I’m about as optimistic about her upcoming series as I am about her presidential bid. It’s not that I don’t have faith in Roseanne: on the contrary, I place most if not all of my faith in Roseanne. She is the closest thing I have to a deity. Are you there, Roseanne? It’s me, Louis.

But I’ve been let down by comebacks in the past: Hot in Cleveland was supposed to be the new Golden Girls. Happily Divorced should have filled the void The Nanny left in my heart. Both were, in my mind, tremendous disappointments. And as the saying goes—fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on TV.

To be fair, neither Hot in Cleveland nor Happily Divorced were actual reboots of the quality series I’m referring to. But the association is there, like it or not—and I’d argue that TV Land likes it a whole bunch. The major selling point of these new shows is that they harken back to ’80s and ’90s sitcoms. Those who tune into Hot in Cleveland do so for the actors involved, all of whom made their marks in shows of TV past. For me, it was Betty White: as a lifelong devotee of The Golden Girls, I just wanted to see her on a series again. And Happily Divorced, conceived by and starring Fran Drescher, appealed to my unironic love of The Nanny.

Perhaps it’s my fault for expecting the same kind of series, but when the nostalgia factor is so high, I can’t be expected to ignore the associations. What’s interesting is that nostalgia usually suggests desire for a simpler time. In fact, the older shows I esteem (The Golden Girls and, to a slightly lesser extent, The Nanny) are far more complicated than the current iterations. Hot in Cleveland and Happily Divorced may bill themselves as contemporary projects featuring classic sitcom actors, but they’re actually watered-down versions of their predecessors.

Don’t believe me? Watch a few reruns of The Golden Girls or The Nanny. These are quality shows that still hold up. They are timely, raunchy, and hilarious—I’m far more likely to laugh out loud at either of those than at most current sitcoms. (A few notable exceptions: Parks and Recreation, Louie, Modern Family. I’m confident all of these will hold up 20 years down the line.) Are ’80s series dated? Of course. But the social commentary is so rich, the jokes so biting, that you don’t mind references that are now irrelevant. The Golden Girls in particular covered diverse and controversial topics ranging from immigration and the nuclear arms race to dementia and prescription pill addiction. Not exactly light fare. And both The Golden Girls and The Nanny featured queer characters and subplots before that was a hip thing to do.

Of course, neither series ever hit the heights of Roseanne, which I consider to be the greatest sitcom of all time. (Feel free to argue me on this. Fair warning: I won’t budge.) Roseanne was edgy and endlessly subversive, largely a credit to Roseanne herself. It’s not just the fact that the series featured so many groundbreaking plotlines and TV firsts (remember Roseanne’s same-sex kiss?)—it’s the unapologetic attitude that lasted throughout its run. These were complicated, flawed characters. Their relationships were real. Their problems were larger than what can be solved in 22 minutes. I could go on and on—and perhaps I will in an even longer Roseanne-centric post—but you get the idea. And if you don’t, it’s all on DVD. Watch the series and then we’ll talk.

I have no doubt that Roseanne could produce another great series, but I am skeptical when it comes to the current state of television. There are a few solid comedies on television, but there are an awful lot of duds, too. Can a new Roseanne show meet my (perhaps unfairly) high expectations, or is it doomed to follow the less-than-stellar paths of Hot in Cleveland and Happily Divorced?

I’m not dismissing it out of hand, but can you blame me for my reservations? I refuse to get my hopes up again, not when so many exceptional comedic voices have been diluted to fit into a climate of weak misogynist humor and dick jokes. While I don’t think Roseanne would stand for that, I’m not sure any network would be willing to fully embrace Roseanne’s vision.

Perhaps FX, which airs Louis C.K.’s outstanding series. The most recent episode of Louie showed us what a sanitized, mainstream version of his show might look like, and the results weren’t pretty. May that be a lesson to anyone who has similar plans for the almighty Roseanne. Amen.

Crossposted to Huffington Post Culture here.

Keep calm and carry on

10 Aug

Well, I thought it was harmless enough.

But sometimes even the most innocuous jokes are taken poorly. As my tweet spread, I became inundated with @-replies that ranged from mild frustration (“poor taste”) to rage and even a couple of death threats. (My first!) Oh, sure, plenty of people seemed to like the joke, too—and I imagine those that retweeted it, for the most part, understood its tone. But for every positive comment I got, there were ten more iterations of “twat,” “wanker,” “cunt,” “kike,” and “knob jockey.” That last one is the most adorable euphemism for gay I’ve ever heard, so by all means, slur away!

I was overwhelmed by the response—and also really surprised. What about my tweet was actually offensive? Yeah, if you take it literally, it’s an indictment of the English people, but why would anyone take umbrage at another country’s prompt clean-up efforts? As I explained in subsequent tweets—which I’m certain few of the furious masses read—it’s more of a joke about American inactivity and ignorance (particularly about the UK). Of course I don’t think that being quaint and proper are universal English characteristics, or that community action is worthy of criticism. I’m frankly astounded anyone could take it otherwise.

I think there are valid reasons to criticize me for writing that. The riots are taking a serious toll on the country, and it is, for some, “too soon” to joke about them. Fine. But to the slew of people who responded, “We’re cleaning up because we care about our community,” I have to ask, are you fucking kidding me? Of course I understand. Of course I sympathize and admire your efforts. I’d argue that the very stereotype I was lampooning, the “quaint and proper” Englishman, comes from a positive quality many British people do possess—that is, the ability to “keep calm and carry on.” This is not a bad thing.

And then there were the responses that compared the riots to September 11th and Hurricane Katrina. I’m not going to touch that, insofar as I’m not a fan of ranking tragedies. I will say that it strikes me as ass-backwards to suggest a rather tame joke is on par with making light of the deaths of thousands. Which is not to say that comedians haven’t made jokes about 9/11 and Katrina—because plenty have, and often. But the type of humor I was employing is, in my mind, a different animal entirely.

At this point, I have to address what many of you may be wondering—is this entire post just a humblebrag? I won’t deny that I enjoyed the attention I got yesterday: no tweet I’ve written has ever spread so far and so fast. That having been said, I don’t relish being called names, or threatened with violence. And I get no satisfaction from offending people. Now, I didn’t lose (much) sleep over yesterday’s outrage, because I stand behind my joke, and even elaborated it to diminish its potential for being misunderstood. Still, I don’t want attention for being a wanker. (Maybe for being a knob jockey. Aw, knob jockey.)

I’ll also admit I got twitchy at the number of tweets calling me ugly. But then I reminded myself that my avatar isn’t exactly flattering, and I am too adorable to be this insecure.

As always, this experience has reminded me about the downside of exposure. The more people you reach, the more people you can piss off. Someone is always going to be offended, whether for reasons rational or not. Someone else is always going to try to tear you down, perhaps just for the hell of it. I have written before about my need to develop a thicker skin, and I think yesterday’s onslaught of negativity was good exposure therapy. It’s not that I’m past taking harsh words to heart—I’m just learning to appreciate them for what they are.

I understand my humor. I know my heart is in the right place. And I know the people who matter don’t think I’m a soulless monster who deserves to have his house burned down. So it’s here that I note my explanation and reflection on the events do not mean I regret anything. I’m doing something that doesn’t come naturally to me—not apologizing.

Seven modern horror films you should watch

6 Aug

I talk about comedy a lot, and I write jokes on Twitter, so you might assume comedy is my favorite film genre. You’d be totally wrong. See what happens when you make assumptions? I’m actually a huge horror fan—not that horror and comedy are mutually exclusive. And since I’ve already made a post telling you what comedies you should watch, I figured I might as well do something similar for horror. While I have a great appreciation for the classics (favorites: A Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween, Night of the Living Dead, Rosemary’s Baby), I wanted to focus on films made in the 21st Century. (Look, I had to narrow it down somehow.)

So here are seven modern horror films I think you should watch, in no particular order.

1. Jennifer’s Body (2009). Written by Diablo Cody, directed by Karyn Kusama. I lied. This one’s first because it is my favorite modern horror film. It’s also one of the most unfairly maligned movies in recent memory. This is a sharp, witty, and—best of all—female-centric horror movie. It’s certainly not the scariest on the list, but it appeals to my sensibilities perfectly. Horror can be funny without being silly; it can offer social commentary without hitting you over the head. And why all the Megan Fox hate? This role is perfect for her. Bonus points for the queer undertones, which are overt long before the girl-on-girl action.
You might also like: Ginger Snaps (2000). Another great blend of horror and comedy, with strong female characters and high school metaphors.

2. Hostel: Part II (2007). Written and directed by Eli Roth. I once got in an argument with a friend over this movie. She said she could never watch it as a feminist and a human rights activist—I guess the implication being that I hate women and love torture. Which, uh, no. In many ways, this film is a play on the rape-revenge genre (I Spit On Your Grave, The Last House on the Left), so, yes, you see women suffer. But the women are your point of identification, and there is great satisfaction in the revenge. If you’re being tortured in the first half of the film, you’re also—spoiler alert—castrating your captor in the second.
You might also like: The Devil’s Rejects (2005). Lots of torture, but Rob Zombie’s film is interesting for the way you’re forced to identify with the torturers.

3. À l’intérieur (Inside) (2007). Written by Alexandre Bustillo, directed by Alexandre Bustillo and Julien Maury. Of all the movies on the list, this one was the hardest for me to sit through. It is completely brutal, a product of a movement Artforum’s James Quandt dubbed “New French Extremism.” Thematically, the story of a pregnant woman terrorized by a woman trying to steal her unborn child is horrifying. That aside, the violence is shocking and relentless. It’s also completely necessary to the film. Even if you have to watch this movie through your fingers, you have to watch it.
You might also like: Trouble Every Day (2001). Another New French Extremism movie with Beatrice Dalle, who is honestly just really scary.

4. Frozen (2010). Written and directed by Adam Green. You know what’s scary? A seemingly invincible urban legend serial killer. (Green’s Hatchet and Hatchet II.) You know what’s scarier? Getting stuck on a fucking ski lift. Frozen tells a very simple story: three friends are left hanging on their way up a snowy mountain. They have to survive frostbite, hunger, and wolves—things most of us don’t have to contend with, but that are grounded in reality. Frozen does a great job making the open air feel like a confined space—these three are outdoors, but they have nowhere to go. That sense of claustrophobia is palpable throughout.
You might also like: Buried (2010). Perhaps more thriller than horror, Buried is one of the best claustrophobic film I have seen.

5. The House of the Devil (2009). Written and directed by Ti West. This is a bit of a strange pick—not because it isn’t great, but because the film takes place in the ’80s and is very much indebted to the decade. Nevertheless, it is a modern horror film that is remarkable for the way it avoids and subverts so many modern horror conventions. I’m also a big fan of movies that traffic in subtlety, only to arrive at an over-the-top conclusion. The huge reveals aren’t what makes it scary—that’s the suspense. But the switch from creeping dread to “holy shit” is a fantastic mindfuck. You thought you knew what was going on, but you had no idea.
You might also like: The Last Exorcism (2010). Without giving too much away, this movie’s structure shares a few notable features with The House of the Devil.

6. Splice (2009). Written and directed by Vincenzo Natali. Yes, really. Here’s yet another movie I think most critics just didn’t get. It does have its share of ridiculous moments, though I’d argue all are intentional. In some ways this sci-fi horror film could also be called a dark comedy, but that doesn’t make it any less disturbing. There are plenty of movies about science gone wrong—don’t mess with mother nature, and all that—but Splice also includes incest, rape, and pedophilia. These aren’t intended to shock, but rather to unnerve the audience, and it is indeed a movie to squirm through.
You might also like: The Fly (1986). OK, it’s not a post-2000 movie, but it’s a classic, and you should watch it immediately.

7. The Hills Have Eyes (2006). Written and directed by Alexandre Aja. Let’s get this out of the way first—I am a huge fan of Wes Craven’s 1977 original. But Aja’s remake of The Hills Have Eyes is one of the few recent horror reboots that gets it right. The film follows the original pretty closely, until a certain point at which it goes off-the-walls crazy. In my mind, a good remake should honor its source material, but also expand on it. Not to mention the fact that Aja, a New French Extremism director, has a fantastic style. I loved about half of Haute tension, but he lost me with the awkwardly homophobic twist.
You might also like: The Last House on the Left (2009). While it’s not perfect, it also does some interesting things with Wes Craven’s original. Plus, Aaron Paul!

A conversation with Michael Ian Black

4 Aug

Photo courtesy Michael Ian Black.

Michael Ian Black needs no introduction.

Ugh, OK, fine. He’s a comedian and an actor and a tweeter. I asked him if I could do an interview to promote “Very Famous,” his upcoming Comedy Central stand-up special. Mostly I just wanted to grill him about his recent diagnosis of bursitis in his elbow. Does that count as gotcha journalism? Maybe. Here is a complete transcript of our conversation—you decide!

Louis Peitzman: Normally I prepare a bunch of questions in advance, but I just wrote these in the last five minutes. So they’re going to be really…
Michael Ian Black: This is going to be a freewheeling conversation.
LP: Yes. Basically. I wanted to start by asking the question on all of our minds, which is, how is your elbow feeling today?
MIB: Thank you for asking, and I know that everybody is concerned. I’ve been getting a lot of emails, a lot of texts, some telegrams from overseas. And the thing that everyone wants to know is, what’s going on with your elbow? Is your elbow OK? Are you gonna die? And after seeing the doctor, he prescribed some antibiotics for my bursitis, and he told me I should start feeling better within 48 hours. So, we’re gonna see. I think we’re all entering the wait-and-pray period right now.
LP: Are you disappointed that it’s not gout?
MIB: I am disappointed. Well, I’m disappointed because I really liked saying that I have gout, and I really liked saying that I have elbow gout, for all the obvious reasons. On the other hand, apparently once you get gout, you’re susceptible to getting it many times in the future. And having this experience, I don’t feel like I need to relive it. And the comedic effect will diminish over time if I keep saying I have gout. Like Chicken Little, eventually people will grow tired of that. They’re not gonna respond to it in any way, shape, or form.
LP: Well, I wanted to ask a little about your special.
MIB: You don’t want to talk more about my elbow?
LP: I mean, I do, but I feel like people might want to hear about what you’re doing on Comedy Central.
MIB: OK, but my health…
LP: Your health is kind of secondary to that.
MIB: [sigh] All right. Let’s talk about my special. I don’t care.
LP: Why did it take you so long to get a stand-up special on Comedy Central?
MIB: I never tried before. ‘Cause I didn’t really do stand-up before. I started doing stand-up a few years ago. And then I signed with this new agent, this new stand-up agent about a year ago, maybe a little bit more. And I said, “What do you wanna do?” And he said, “This is what we’ll do—you’ll go on the road and then in about a year, we’ll do a Comedy Central hour-long special.” And I said, “You can just do that? You can just say, ‘I want to do a special,’ and they’ll say, ‘OK’?” And he said, “Don’t worry about it.” And then that’s what happened. I don’t know if he had to pay somebody off. I don’t know how exactly it came to be. But he just said we’ll do that, and then we did it. Can’t argue with that, somebody in show business who keeps their word.
LP: Now, what’s the main difference between stand-up and being a talking head on VH1?
MIB: You see a lot more torso in the stand-up. And if you’ve got a torso like I do, that’s something you want seen. Do I have rock hard abs? No. But I have gently cascading abs. That’s the main difference—my abs.
LP: How do you stay in shape when you’re traveling?
MIB: I do what Wham! did when they were getting ready to go out on their “Make It Big” tour, which is, I played badminton for hours and hours and hours.
LP: Wow, that’s a lot of badminton.
MIB: It’s at least three hours. But that’s what they did, and it worked for them. I see no reason to change something that’s already working. And, what’s nice is, I got Andrew Ridgeley to play badminton with me. He wasn’t doing anything.
LP: The title of your special is “Very Famous.” Are there any other celebrities out there who understand where you are, fame-wise?
MIB: I think there’s probably a handful of celebrities who kind of understand the rigors and the trials that I go through on a daily basis being very famous. The Dalai Lama comes to mind. Vladimir Putin comes to mind. Silvio Berlusconi. Neil Armstrong. Bigfoot. I think that’s probably it.
LP: And some of those people aren’t even on Twitter, so they don’t really get the full effect.
MIB: Well, without giving away too much, they all are. But a lot of them don’t want to be found on Twitter. Understand what I’m saying?
LP: Yes.
MIB: When you reach a certain level of fame, and let’s call that level the “very famous” level, you basically know everybody in that level. There’s just events that you find yourself at with these people. And also, like you were saying, there’s only a certain small group of people who can really, really understand. And I’m not even gonna try to explain it to you, because it’s like going to Hogwarts. They don’t start you off with the most complicated spells. You start off with the easy spells, because it’s all you can understand. So all I’m going to tell you is, it’s amazing to be this famous, and it’s hell to be this famous.
LP: Do you think that Josh Malina is jealous of you?
MIB: I can’t speak for Josh Malina, but if I could speak for him, I would say yes.
LP: I wanted to ask a little bit about “Sad, Sad Conversation”: how long do you think you can sustain it? Do you think it’s just going to keep going with lots of sad, sad or just mundane things to say?
MIB: I don’t know. I mean, it’s certainly not experiencing any tremendous growth, either creatively or in terms of viewership. But does it need to? You know, some things are fine just the way they are. I’m not looking for “Sad, Sad Conversation” to take off and be the thing that lights the world on fire. It probably will, but I’m not looking for that.
LP: I also wanted to ask about Twitter. Did you know that Favstar is down right now?
MIB: I don’t really know what Favstar is.
LP: You don’t know what Favstar is?
MIB: I know that it exists, but I don’t really know what it does, or what it’s for.
LP: Well, for people who are less famous than you are, you can see who stars your tweets and retweets them. So if you don’t have as many followers or as much general adulation, you can kind of get that gratification from seeing tiny little avatars starring your tweets.
MIB: Oh, I see. And then what do you do with that information?
LP: Oh, you just congratulate yourself.
MIB: You feel really, really good about yourself?
LP: You use it to replace whatever’s lacking in your life.
MIB: And what’s an average number of retweets that you get?
LP: Oh, it really depends. If you’re saying something political about Sarah Palin, you might get 50. If you’re talking about your gas, I don’t know, five. It really depends on who you are. But I just wanted you to know it was down. I don’t know if you have any pull there.
MIB: No, I’ve never been in touch with those people. As I said, I don’t really know what that service is.
LP: I guess you don’t need it. It’s more for us.
MIB: It’s nice that people like you have something like that.
LP: I agree! Do you feel like you’ve discovered new comedic voices through Twitter and WitStream?
MIB: Of course, of course. Many, many, many. There are so many funny people out there, yourself included.
LP: Well, thank you. I wasn’t even fishing for comp—I was a little bit fishing for compliments.
MIB: You obviously were, and that’s fine.
LP: What advice do you have for people who also want to have 1.6 million Twitter followers?
MIB: I guess the best thing to do would be—well, there’s two things you could do. The first thing would be to very, very good at Twitter. Just be excellent at it, and do it all the time. But the second, easier thing to do is just become very famous.
LP: And that’s just something that happens to you?
MIB: Well, no, I mean, you have to do it. But you should just do that.
LP: Well, that’s good to know. People will appreciate that advice. I wanted to close by asking if you’d like to see a picture of me dressed as McKinley for Halloween.
MIB: Sure.
LP: OK. I’m gonna put that on my blog then.


(Halloween, 2007.)

LP: Well, thanks so much for doing this, and for all your support.
MIB: Look, I consider us friends. But I don’t know how to pronounce your first name. Is it “Loo-is” or “Loo-ie”?
LP: It’s “Loo-is.”
MIB: OK. I didn’t know.
LP: Well, now you do. Now we’re closer. Is it “Ee-an” or “Eye-an”?
MIB: Either one.
LP: OK. I’m gonna say “Eye-an” like Ian Ziering.
MIB: There’s no bad press, right?
LP: Not at all.

“Very Famous” premieres at 11 p.m. this Saturday, August 6, on Comedy Central.

Carry that weight

2 Aug

I’m not a weight loss blogger, but I’m playing one for the purposes of this post. Skip it if that’s not your thing.

Is it OK to want to lose weight? That might seem like a silly question to you, but it’s something I’ve struggled with over the past few days (weeks, months, years). The easy answer: yes, it’s your body. I’ve dieted and lost weight in the past. (I’ve also not dieted and gained weight in the past—that part’s way more fun.) But in order to convince myself that I was ready for a slightly stricter diet plan (in this case, Weight Watchers), I had to work through some of the issues I have with weight loss in general. To sign up for Weight Watchers, it was important for me to make sure I wasn’t doing it for any of the following reasons:

1. To attract a mate. I’ve been single for kind of a long time, and every so often (read: all the time), I think that it would be a lot easier to find someone if I were thinner. Maybe that’s true, as “thin” seems to be the preferred body type among the people I associate with. But I’m comfortable in my singledom: I’m not turning anyone away, but I’m also not actively seeking companionship. Losing weight is something I’m doing for me. I want someone who will love me as I am, like in that Blessid Union of Souls song.

2. To fall in line with society’s unrealistic expectations. As far as I’m concerned—and I’ve blogged about this before—women and gay men are held to unreasonable and sometimes unhealthy standards of weight. Models are bullshit. The BMI is bullshit. Basically all public perception of what is “normal” is bullshit, and that goes past weight. But I’m never going to be waifish—nor would I want to be—so I think I can move on. I’m not trying to make the cover of Out Magazine. Maybe The Advocate, though. Can someone hook it up?

3. To stop feeling insecure. This was a tough one for me. When I’ve lost weight in the past, I have felt less self-conscious. (One brief, glorious summer, I even took my shirt off at the beach. Until I burned 20 seconds later.) And I think that’s OK, but what I need to remember—what many of us need to remember—is that there is no quick fix to our insecurities. I have a lot to work through, which is why I’m seeing a therapist instead of a nutritionist. So while dieting may help my self-confidence, it’s not a cure: Weight Watchers is not the droids you’re looking for.

4. To be able to eat an entire pizza without feeling guilty. I’m not saying this will never happen, but I’d like it to still be pretty gross when it does. The goal of this plan is to make healthier dining choices, not to lose enough weight that I can shove cheese down my gullet without regret. Have you ever eaten an entire Dominos pizza? You feel like death the next day—and that’s if the crust was cooked all the way through, which it never is. I want to recognize that eating a whole pizza makes one vommy, even if it doesn’t make one fat.

5. To please my friends and family. In the same way I don’t want to do this to snag a boyfriend, I don’t want to lose weight as a response to the people who have said, “You’d be so cute if you lost some weight.” (Note: my family has never said this, because they’re not assholes, but other people have.) I hate to feel like I’m caving to douchebaggery, which is why I’ve been forced to remind myself that this is something I’ve wanted to do without other people’s unsolicited opinions. And seriously, if you have ever told me that I should work out more, I’ve probably spit in your drink. Don’t worry—saliva has no calories.

6. To be insufferable. The hardest part about dieting is not talking about dieting all the time. (Can you believe I’m blogging about this? What a tool.) Seriously, though, Weight Watchers is a personal choice. I refuse to be one of those pedantic dicks who points out how unhealthy other people’s meals are. I don’t want to urge anyone to diet, unless he or she happens to ask me if I have any specific dieting advice. And even then, I’ll probably be a little hesitant, as though I were a new father and someone asked to see photos of my baby. Like, “Ugh, are you suuuure?”

That having been said, this is the last time I’ll blog about dieting/weight loss/stretch marks for a while here. I have awesome friends who blog about losing weight and fat acceptance and body-positive fashion. (In fact, check out these blogs: The Curvy Nerd, Broadist, My Unacceptable Body.) These are all things I care about, but I’m really more of a pop culture guy, and I’ve devoted plenty of attention to body issues recently. Thanks for bearing with me if you read this post. And if you really want to know how I feel about Weight Watchers in a couple weeks, feel free to ask. If I bite your head off, it’s because I stopped eating frosting for breakfast.

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