Moot Point

Between Monday night, when I was making delightful plans, and Tuesday morning when I woke up, I was visited by the illness fairy. She left me a sore throat and an enchanted fever.

Seriously, I thought I’d be okay once I got to work, but my eyesockets hurt and my cheeks were burning so I went home to try to sleep it off before going to a Europop concert. Because I’m crazy.

Seriously: we were going with friends, so we made plans to meet them at the club early, just after doors, which were supposed to be at eight PM. Imagine our surprise when we were still standing outside the Mod Club at nine PM. Seriously, Mod Club, what’s the deal? By the time Annie hit the stage (around 11:30), my generic Tylenol medication was wearing off and I could actually feel my fever rising.

Annie’s set was ridiculously short — possibly shorter than the openers, the Postal Service-esque Russian Futurists — but pretty charming, even though she kept doing the running man and saying “woo!”

Anyway, I took Wednesday off work and spent the day on the couch. I watched a) last week’s Veronica Mars, b) at least three hours of Simpsons, c) new Top Model (Gina drives me nuts and is funny-looking, but I would have freaked out too if someone made me wear a giant cockroach on my chest), d) a bunch of Food Television, and e) Belle de jour. Which seriously? I liked. But? What was up with Catherine Deneuve’s deer-in-the-headlights face? I assume she has other faces, as I have seen her make them in other films, but they could have given her at least a little bit of agency.

Now I’m drinking my NeoCitron (which I realize is misspelled, but I say it in a robot voice, which I promise is adorable) and soon I will fall to sleep.

Even though I’m not totally nuts about the new solo project — I love Jenny Lewis enough that we (by which I mean I) decided to go see her play the Opera House last week. Boy was it worth it.

As Zoilus recently pointed out that she can’t really sing country, which is probably part of the problem. But live, the songs worked a lot better. Tracks I hadn’t particularly liked on the record were impressive, “Melt Your Heart” almost made me cry. Her voice was so much stronger and more beautiful and the songs just sounded so much better being played by an actual live band that new what it was doing. “Rabbit Fur Coat” was still cutesy and unmelodic though.

The opener, Whispertown 2000 was really confusing. I learned that they were formerly known as Vagtown 2000, which is awesome. And also, about 60% of their set was really enjoyable. The issue was the lead singer’s voice — which for the first few songs sounded like a Mirah impersonation, but without the goodness — she did these weird twee things where she was like, clearly trying to sound bad on purpose. But in the end I forgave them because a) they had been held up at the border and literally came onstage with their coats on from outside, so they had no time to warm up (literally or with the vocal chords); b) the last bit of the set was awesome and had a Gillian Welch cover; and c) …Vagtown 2000! Sweet!

Then there was the usual “teenagers don’t understand personal space” gripe. At least Annie is going to be 19+. I. hate. all-ages shows. Seriously guy, we were on the balcony. There was no one behind you. If you’re stepping on the heel of my shoe YOU ARE TOO CLOSE.

I need new stuff to listen to and watch and read. And maybe I should clean my bathroom.

Happy spring!

I so should stop writing about bad TV. I remember when I was young and my blog was new, I was so excited about like, writing on the internet.

Now it’s just blah blah American Idol. I am so an Office Lady. I’m cool with being someone who works in the office, but I’m not really cool with being an Office Lady who talks about Topics around the Water Cooler.

I know this is kind of bullshit, because 1) we do not have an actual water cooler, and 2) most of the office talk with 50% of my coworkers (aka the ones I talk to) is about like, STDs and grad school, but I still feel that Office Lady vibe. Where I’m like, “did you know you can order Swiss Chalet for delivery on teh internet!?!” And that’s like a big event in my day.

Also, I watch so much TV now. I never used to not watch TV, but now it’s getting kind of sad. I turn on the Food Network and if it doesn’t involve Rachel Ray (or however she spells Rachel) travelling around the US eating free food, I’m like “I’ve seen this one” and wind up watching Friends. Which I’ve somehow seen basically all of even though I swear I stopped watching after Chandler and Monica hooked up.

I miss school. I know film theory really doesn’t better the world, but I miss feeling like I had a purpose.

Okay, I’ll shut up about the Oscars. (Just to be clear, I know they’re stupid, but they’re still pretty influential.)

Now! Reality shows.

So last week, they were doing some kind of work in my house that involves turning some of the power off, but not all of it. Like, my TV worked, but not my kitchen lights. Which is great, because it meant I got to watch American Idol while eating cold cereal.

American Idol is a terrible show. (Aside: tonight, with the faux-schoolboy thing and the tie pin and the stubble I actually found Ryan Seacrest to be — momentarily — attractive. …I know! Take me off your blogrolls! I can never live this down.) I know this. Yet still, I watch.

Along the same lines, I figured out after weeks of study why the Muchmusic VJ search is such a bad bad show. I don’t mean terrible but fascinating in the Idol way, I mean, like it’s bad TV, but it’s also not especially good at being bad TV. It wants to. But it’s not there. They don’t actually show the challenges. Just a lot of 18-22 year olds bitching. I lived in res, I don’t need to see this shit played out at One King West. Seriously, they’re like “hey kids, produce a short segment for a crappy Canadian entertainment show.” And then it shows them arguing, and then it has interviews with them talking about how well or horribly their challenge went, but it only shows, like two-second clips of the actual work they did.

Then, it goes to the judges, who get lots of screen time referring to stuff we never actually see. Mostly it feels like they’re being judged as people, not by their skills in being entertainment TV hosts. However, having Secret sponsor the confessional is total crosspromotional genius.

Anyway, the point of any of the “job interview” brand of reality show — including Idol, ANTM, Project Runway — is watching how the contestants perform and judging for yourself. “I can’t believe they cut Austin Scarlett but kept Wendy Pepper on!” etc. This creates the suspense. With VJ Search, the judges all seem very earnest, but as far as I can tell, they cut the girl last week (Larissa) because she’s a bitch. I mean, apparently she didn’t do well with her “challenge,” but they don’t show enough of that shit to give you any clear idea. When you watch Idol, you see everyone sing, so it at least makes sense when someone is or is not cut. You feel involved. When you don’t know for yourself how anyone’s doing, it becomes this totally random exercise.

Lastly, my favourite part of reality shows is talking with people about them and everyone suddenly forming expert opinions on music, or modelling, or singing, or like, being a mogul or whatever. I thought I might kind of like VJ search because I sort of have experience being an entertainment reporter. Granted, for print, and I mostly covered art movies and like, university organizations butchering Oscar Wilde, but I did meet sort of Canadian celebrities a couple of times. However, it is profoundly bad. Just on all the time. On two channels.

But I think the film actually does more to assuage white guilt than anything else. “Everybody’s gotta hate somebody.” So when all of a sudden, a film with that worldview starts to have this series of snowy epiphanies, it’s dishonest, to me. This also plays into how the film is so ridiculously contrived to form some kind of racist paper chain, with the characters as nothing more than thin layers of whatever point the story needs to make at that very second. Like how Ludicris can be walking down the street illustrating a hot-button racial/political issue, and then here comes Sandra Bullock ready and willing to play a real-life visual aid to said issue. The writing itself is a problem in that it’s too blunt and obvious.

This totally sums up my problem with Crash. I walked out wondering what had just happened, and liked it less and less the more I thought about it. It’s just so easy.

Meanwhile, even if you discount Brokeback, which was lovely and totally didn’t have a political agenda, there’s Good Night and Good Luck and Capote, both of which were smart and rich in nuance and didn’t talk down to the viewers. I like Capote more the more I think about it, whereas the more I think about Crash, the more confused I get about what Haggis was trying to do.

(Also, as Alex recently pointed out to me Paul Haggis = creator, Walker, Texas Ranger. There’s totally a joke about roundhouse kicking racism here, but I should get to bed.)

I seriously thought Jack Nicholson was joking when he said “And the winner is Crash.”

Seriously. Crash?

I was convinced Brokeback would sweep. Ang Lee is crying tiny tears right now, along with the entire population of Taiwan. At least he won best director. It’s about time.

Jon Stewart was perfect as host; he was laidback, but he still made fun of the montages. Plus, Stephen Colbert snuck in on the attack ads. Hi-larious. Also, can we discuss the opening scene, where Jon Stewart wakes up in bed with George Clooney? It was prematurely grey heaven.

Though Clooney’s speech made him fall a wee bit in my esteem. He started off self-deprecating and gracious, but “This academy gave an award to Hattie McDaniel in 1939″? Ridiculous.

Again, Crash? I somehow managed to mostly remember how good Ludacris was, but totally forgot the whole story with the Hispanic locksmith and “It’s a good cloak.” That shit won an Oscar people.

Alex would like me to point out that Hattie McDaniel is one of our greatest actors.