the weblog @ interbridge.com
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Sue Trowbridge lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. She is the co-owner of an independent record label, 125 Records, and web diva of interbridge.com.
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January 04
February 04

 
 

03.30.04 bobbed

Interesting letter in today's Salon re: the Bob Edwards controversy. "Gotta write this anonymously, sorry. I'm an NPR reporter, and I have to say that those of us inside the newsroom are dumbfounded by Bob Edwards' enduring popularity. He does the show in his sleep. When he does 'two-ways' with us (i.e., interviews with correspondents about late-breaking news), he reads the questions we send to him verbatim. No follow-up questions, no engagement, nothing, because he's simply not listening. The whole show is scripted."

Oh, how I love inside information. I just hope no one ever destroys my illusions about Carl Kasell.

Still waiting on an Air America affiliate for San Francisco, despite the fact that it debuts tomorrow. I'm curious to hear Al Franken's "The O'Franken Factor."

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03.29.04 swan, swan, hummingbird

I've been fairly successful at giving up reality TV, except, of course, for "Survivor" -- "Queer Eye" doesn't count as a reality show, does it? It's practically educational! I'm still debating whether or not to tune in for the new season of "The Bachelor," with the pro football player.

But at least I can feel confident that I've gone cold turkey on FOX reality shows, which are frighteningly sleazy. Yes, the network that brought you "Married By America," "The Littlest Groom" and "Mr. Personality" is at it again, this time with "The Swan," which appears to be an unholy combination of "Miss America" and "Extreme Makeover." See, there are all of these very average, perhaps even troubled, women -- ugly ducklings -- and FOX has assigned each of them to "a panel of specialists -- a coach, therapist, trainer, cosmetic surgeons and a dentist." The job of the panel is to make the women into high-achieving beauties. But this is FOX, remember? "The contestants' work ethic, growth and achievement will be monitored," and if they're "not up to the challenge," they'll get a one-way ticket back to Uglyville, U.S.A. (I assume that even the losers get to keep their new noses.)

The women who make it through this gauntlet are rewarded with the chance to compete in a beauty pageant, where the winner will be crowned "Miss Swan." The losers will realize that even after three months of plastic surgery and therapy, they're still not good enough. I know, it sounds totally psycho. Even weirder: during their three-month "transformation process," the women aren't allowed to look in a mirror! They must really be keeping these chicks sequestered. Do they have to use plastic cutlery so they won't try to sneak a glance at their reflection in a spoon? What about in a window? Maybe trying to see yourself before the three months are up would demonstrate a lack of "growth and achievement" and constitute grounds for dismissal.

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03.26.04 you don't have to be crazy to live here, but it helps

Newsflash: Houses in the Bay Area are expensive! Really expensive! "Starter" homes here are now going for $700,000 and up. "We started out by saying that we'd like to get a home for $600,000 to $800,000, and then we realized that wasn't going to do anything for us," Jonah Mitchell, 30, told the Chronicle. "Now it's $700,000 to $900,000 and we don't know if that's even going to work."

Seriously, who makes that kind of money?! It's insane. I once thought that it would be nice to have a "real" house with a yard, but I don't think it's ever going to happen unless I move someplace like North Dakota. Besides, lawns and houses are overrated -- they require so much maintenance. I consider myself very, very lucky to own this little piece of East Bay real estate. And eventually The Big One will hit and everything will be flattened anyway. Unfortunately, that's probably the only thing that will ever cool off the housing market here.

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03.25.04 you gotta be good, you gotta be strong

If you go to this page and scroll down, you will have the opportunity to listen to what is, IMO, one of the most beautiful, moving, uplifting pieces of music I have ever heard. Last year, I saw the Polyphonic Spree at Slim's, mainly because I'd heard there were, like, 30 of them, and they wore robes and played lots of wacky instruments, like harp and theremin. The tickets were pretty inexpensive, so I went, and immediately became a member of their cult. I especially loved this song, and was disappointed to find that it wasn't included on their debut CD. It's stayed in my head for all these months, though, and now, I can listen to it again at last, courtesy of NPR!

The Spree's second album will be released in July. They are currently touring with David Bowie, but I decided to wait 'til they come back on their own instead of shelling out $75 to see the Thin White Duke. When the Spree plays the Fillmore or Great American (I'm sure they've outgrown Slim's by now), I'll be there, right up front, waving my arms and singing along. What can I say -- something about this band just busts through all of my usual cynical defenses.

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03.24.04 no whiners

Newsflash: Bob Edwards has been fired as the host of NPR's "Morning Edition." No replacement has been announced yet, but I understand that NPR is in serious talks with former Tampa "shock jock" Bubba the Love Sponge to take over for Edwards. "Let's face it -- Bob is 56," said an NPR staffer who insisted on anonymity. "We have to compete for the younger demographic, or in a few years, our entire audience will have died out. Bubba should bring in the crucial 18- to 34-year-old male demo -- the next generation of NPR listeners. Sure, some of our older audience may find him to be somewhat objectionable at times, but all of our focus groups tell us one thing: NPR needs edge. With Bubba at the console, no one will ever accuse us of being too bland or boring again." No word whether or not frequent "Morning Edition" commentator Baxter Black, a cowboy poet and former large-animal veterinarian, would continue to be heard on the show, but my source hinted that he might be replaced by "Jackass" host Johnny Knoxville.

Last night was the annual San Francisco Film Society members' night. This entails waiting in a long line outside the Kabuki Theater until you finally get up to the desk so they can give you your members' packet, except you're not on the list, despite the fact that you sent in your renewal check over a month ago. Ahem -- OK, that was just me. Anyway, then you proceed to a reception sponsored by Casa Sanchez, the official corn chip of the International Film Festival, and eat chips and salsa until it's time to go into the theater and listen to the SFFS directors tell you what's coming up at this year's fest. (Film I am least likely to go see: "The Green Butchers," a Danish cannibalism comedy.) After that, there is an open forum where members can ask questions and make comments.

This year, the SFFS changed its membership structure, eliminating a tier that was apparently dear to the hearts of many in the audience. It came up over and over again, despite the best efforts of the committee members to explain it. (It boiled down to, "We needed more money.") "I don't understand your logic!" one person cried out, as others in the audience applauded. Then a man stood up and complained that there weren't enough foreign films in the festival. "We have films from 52 countries this year. That's up from 48 last year," said the festival director huffily. "You are showing too many American films!" protested the man, to scattered applause. "We come to see international films that we can't see anywhere else!" I realized that the three films I've circled so far in the program book as must-sees are all American. I am a philistine. I sat quietly and feel a sudden stab of hatred of San Francisco, a place where much of the citizenry is only happy if they have something to complain about. I missed the Midwest. In Grand Rapids, you feel absurdly grateful when one of the local multiplexes deigns to bring in anything with subtitles.

Finally, it was time to roll the surprise feature film, which bore the meaty title of "A Thousand Clouds of Peace Fence the Sky, Love; Your Being Love Will Never End." It is a black and white Mexican film from 2003, directed by first-timer Julián Hernández. The first image we see is a young man with his hand down his pants. He tucks in his shirt. He has obviously just had a sexual encounter with another young man, who has delicate features and a flattop; he looks a little like a youthful version of the folk singer Phranc. The men plan another assignation. Phranc goes to a flea market and buys an old record. He goes to meet his lover. He waits on an overpass, the gift-wrapped record in his hand. He waits and waits. The other man doesn't show. Phranc walks around, moodily. He goes home, where he has received a "Dear John" letter from his lover. He unwraps and puts on the record. He takes his clothes off and studies his nude body in the mirror. He lies on his bed. Seriously, it took 45 minutes for this to play out. Forty-five long, long minutes. I realized I was tugging at my hair, perhaps in an effort to stay awake. If I got up to leave, would people think I was a homophobe -- or, worse, the type of person who prefers American films? If I leave now, I pondered as I watched Phranc meander along a set of train tracks, I can still use my Muni transfer before the timestamp expires. Yes. I will leave. I will save $1.25. And so I did.

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03.22.04 carry that weight

Newsflash from yesterday's paper: Curves, with its punishing 30-minute, thrice-weekly schedule, is such a time-waster. Now there's 21 Minute Fitness, with its giddy claim, "When you do it right, you only have to do it once a week!" That's right -- 21 minutes, once a week, in your street clothes. "Soothing music is playing," promises the web site (what, no Wang Chung or Laura Branigan?). It sounds tempting, but its sole location is a good half hour away from me, and it costs three times as much per month as Curves. I like the concept, though. Will the next breakthrough be "10 Minute Fitness," and you only need to show up once a month?

A woman I admire once vowed never to carry a purse. As far as I know, she still doesn't carry one. I, however, have never found a way around the purse thing. I like being able to have my sunglasses, wallet, pens, Kleenex, coins, moist towelettes, etc. in one convenient place, but the purse too often seems to be in my way. The one I have is black and utilitarian. It dangles from my shoulder (a clutch purse is definitely out, since it would always occupy one of my hands), but gets in my way if I need to, say, crouch down or carry a large parcel. When I go to the movies or to dinner, I have to keep it in my lap. I once bought a men's tweed jacket with inside pockets and attempted to use that instead of a purse, but that never quite worked for me. A fanny pack, despite its practicality, is definitely out, and toting a backpack everywhere just strikes me as somewhat immature (plus, I'd always need to check it at the front counter of shops). I guess purses are just one of those crosses women must bear, like wearing makeup. I feel idiotic standing in front of the mirror putting colored powders and pencil on my face, but sometimes it has to be done.

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03.21.04 eternal sunshine

Saturday: "Spartan" at the Landmark Shattuck Cinema in Berkeley, where, incidentally, matinees now cost $7 and the tickets sport the inane slogan, "Experience the EXPERIENCE!" The Shattuck is my least-favorite theater in Berkeley; the screens are absurdly tiny. I'll bet Roger's TV is larger than some of the screens in there. But I digress...

"Spartan" is the new David Mamet movie (yes, him again!). My favorite Mamet film is "The Spanish Prisoner," which was also the first one of his I ever saw. I loved the fact that it was always one step ahead of me, and I never had any idea what was coming next or what the characters' true motives were. "Spartan" has its share of surprises, but really, it reminded me of nothing so much as a taut, two-hour-long condensation of a season of "24," with Val Kilmer in the Kiefer Sutherland role. He's a special op, at times a rogue agent, who often resorts to killing or beating people up to get information from them. The body count soars as he and his fellow rangers attempt to find the kidnapped daughter of the president. "Spartan" is a deeply paranoid film that should appeal to conspiracy buffs and anyone who suspects that politicians would do anything, and I mean anything, to win reelection. (Ed O'Neill is Karl Rove!) In the end, it left me a little cold, perhaps because it's hard to fathom someone whose worldview is so much more cynical than even my own. Kilmer is terrific, though, and surprisingly, no Rebecca Pidgeon (a.k.a. Mrs. Mamet, who has appeared in the director's last four films).

Sunday: "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" at the Landmark California in Berkeley, where the screens are big, so at least you feel like you're getting your $7 worth, and not that you probably should have waited to rent the DVD from Netflix. After "Adaptation" (and to a lesser extent, "Being John Malkovich"), Charlie Kaufman is on my I'll see anything he does list. "Sunshine" is not as riotously funny as "Adaptation," but it's still darn good, and Jim Carrey -- surprise! -- gives a beautifully understated performance as the male lead, Joel. He can act! Who knew? I suppose by now, everyone knows that the movie deals with a process that allows people to erase part of their memories, so that if, for instance, you had a bad break-up, you'll wake up the next morning having completely forgotten about the lover who did you wrong. Kate Winslet plays Clementine, the messed-up chick with funky hair who hires the aptly-named Lacuna, Inc. to wipe out her memories of her failed love affair with Joel. I don't want to spoil any of the film's surprises, though. Suffice it to say that it's a breathtakingly imaginative work, both creatively and visually, and even though the remake of "Dawn of the Dead" is the #1 movie in America this week, what a joy that the occasional oddball treasure like this one slips into wide release.

I admitted back on 03.12 that I had never heard of Demetri Martin, #22 on Entertainment Weekly's list of the funniest people in America. I caught his Comedy Central special over the weekend, though, and Martin is very funny, rather like a young Stephen Wright with his deadpan observations. A quick web search turned up the information that he's a Yale grad ('95), is fascinated by palindromes, and has won prestigious comedy awards in the U.K. I'd definitely like to see more of Demetri.

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03.18.04 ok, so it wasn't that bad

After yesterday's pre-theater rant about David Mamet's "Dr. Faustus," I have to admit that it was actually a lot better than I thought it would be. Not that I necessarily loved it, mind you, but after the reports of audience members falling asleep and review quotes like, "Faustus's greatest sin seems to be logorrhea rather than pride," it came as kind of a happy surprise that it didn't suck.

The first 15 minutes of the play are primarily a dialogue between Faustus (David Rasche) and his friend (Colin Stinton) about Faustus' new work, which has something to do with man's superiority over God and reducing the meaning of life to a mathematical formula -- it's hard to tell, exactly, because this part is really tough going. Once Magus (Dominic Hoffman), a.k.a. the devil, arrives on the scene, things liven up considerably. He even performs some cute magic tricks -- oh, sorry, prestidigitation (Mamet's philosophy here is, never use a 25-cent word when you can bring out the polysyllabic stuff). He challenges Faustus in an interesting and lively fashion.

Hoffman was clearly the standout in the play; Rasche, who struck me as the poor man's William H. Macy with his lank blond hair and slightly squinty eyes, has an impossible task. I don't think anyone could play Faustus well. Don't expect this one to become the staple of community theater that, say, "Glengarry Glen Ross" is. Rasche is onstage every minute, his character is a pompous ass, and he's required to memorize and perform some of the wordiest dialogue in the history of the modern theater. Hoffman is able to develop a playful, almost teasing rapport with Faustus, trying to trick him into making a boast that will send him to Hell (which is where Act 2 takes place). Sure, he uses big words, but somehow, they roll trippingly off his tongue.

If nothing else, the play's language becomes almost contagious after listening to it for 90 minutes straight. I came out saying things like, "I must perambulate posthaste with the Canis familiaris so he may perform his postprandial ablutions" instead of "I need to walk the dog." Maybe the Magic Theater needs to borrow a technique from Disneyland, with its signs reading "You must be this tall to ride Space Mountain" -- "Patrons must have SAT verbal scores over 650 before they will be permitted to see 'Dr. Faustus.'"

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03.17.04 playwrights and wrongs

So you bought tickets to the brand-new show by that famous playwright -- you know, the play that was described as "the theater event of the season," the one so hot that its run was extended by a month long before it even opened due to high demand. The genius himself came to town to direct his new effort. Of course you bought tickets -- way back in early December, in fact -- because you wanted to be among the first to experience the magic of a new work by one of America's greatest living playwrights.

Then March rolled around, and the play opened, and the reviews ranged from tepid ("The show is not boring") to outright pans. "An eternity of [actors] speaking artificially contorted and convoluted lines...," "...[T]he fascination of watching a master fail...," "[P]unish[es] us and [the] actors with... cold, stilted, affectless language." Oh, now you're really excited!

And now the day has come, and you're not looking forward to it, but you have the tickets, and they're nonrefundable, and you console yourself with the fact that the play is only 90 minutes long so at least you'll be home by 10, depending on bridge traffic. No matter how bad it gets, keep telling yourself: I'm TiVo'ing "Survivor," I'm TiVo'ing "Survivor"...

And above all, at least try to keep an open mind.

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03.15.04 the saddest show on tv

I forgot to add Harmon Leon to my list of the funniest people around, based on his book The Harmon Chronicles. Leon is a media prankster who infiltrates TV shows like "Penn and Teller's Bullsh#%," "The Jamie Kennedy Experiment" and "Family Feud" by posing as, say, a UFO enthusiast or as the patriarch of a seriously dysfunctional family hoping to play the "Feud." He occasionally produces a multimedia live show in San Francisco with actual video clips of his antics, but for some reason, reading about the stuff is funnier than actually seeing it. Seriously, the book made me hyperventilate, I was laughing so hard.

I spent way too much of my Saturday watching VH1's "Bands Reunited" marathon. I hardly ever watch VH1 -- too much of its programming is E! lite, and how can you even get any liter than E!? -- but I was struck by the poignancy and human drama in this show. Adorably enthusiastic host Aamer Haleem racks up millions of frequent-flier miles in search of the original members of has-been '80s bands like Klymaxx, Kajagoogoo and Dramarama. I was particularly interested in the show on Squeeze, since I used to love Squeeze back in the '80s (sadly, they were one of only two bands not to take VH1 up on the reunion offer, Extreme being the other), but I quickly came to realize that it doesn't matter whether or not you cared about the band. It's all about the interaction between people who haven't seen each other in decades -- and in many cases, bear heavy grudges.

The show on A Flock of Seagulls was particularly noteworthy, since it involved estranged brothers Mike and Ali Score. Mike, the band's frontman, still tours with an all-new Flock, playing tiny clubs; Ali toils in a North Carolina plastics factory, leading one to wonder how on earth a former rock star from Liverpool wound up in that situation (we never find out). Mike is surly, portly and perpetually baseball-capped (no doubt his old signature swoopy hairdo has given way to a bad case of male-pattern baldness). The other two bandmates bring their own drama; guitarist Paul Reynolds was only in his teens when he first joined AFOS, and left the group due to a nervous breakdown. Bass player Frank Maudsley is living with his wife and kids in an isolated spot in France, renovating a chateau which he hopes to open as a bed and breakfast.

When the band does reunite for a one-off gig in London, Mike and Ali's mom beams approvingly, and the crowd roars -- probably a much bigger crowd than Mike's current Flock has ever played to. Mike's voice is shot, but it doesn't much matter; for that moment, they are stars again. At the end of a show, we learn that Mike and Ali have reconciled, and that Frank "got bored" with France and is living back in England, playing music again.

And that's the thing about this show. For every Rolling Stones or Wire or Yes that still carries on, there are a dozen Berlins, where the majority of the members have gone onto mundane jobs. Perhaps the definitive moment of this series came during the Klymaxx episode. The keyboard player, a dumpy-looking woman in her 50s who works in a bland L.A. high rise with absurdly tight security (they wouldn't let Aamer and his camera crew anywhere near the place!), sighed after the band's wildly successful gig: "How am I going to go back to the cubicle farm after this?" VH1 is plucking these people out of their dull suburban lives and giving them a chance to return to the spotlight. How tempting it must seem to give up on the whole corporate thing and return to your true love, rock and roll.

But the life of a musician is often a harsh one for the middle-aged has-been. Klymaxx's guitar player, Cheryl Cooley, is the only one who has stayed in the music business, touring under the Klymaxx name, even though she is the sole original member in the group. (The rest of the band, we learn, is taking legal action.) When Aamer tries to bring about a reconciliation between her and the four other women in the band, her old friends are openly resentful. "I was just trying to make it as a working musician," Cheryl says ruefully. The others are unsympathetic (in fact, they refuse to include her in their reunion), but I can't help but feel a little sorry for her -- she probably needs those few extra dollars the once-golden Klymaxx name provides, versus starting over from scratch. It's probably the difference between doing cushy corporate gigs and playing hotel lounges. This is the real face of rock 'n roll: Cheryl Cooley, Mike Score, Terri Nunn, still out there on the road, hoping against hope for a comeback, trying to make a living... holding onto their dreams.

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03.12.04 the funniest person in america

It's all about superlatives this week. But this particular pick isn't from me; it's from the controversy-lovin' Entertainment Weekly, which offers up "best of" lists on a regular basis, apparently because they know that people love to argue with them. (The response to their "Best Cult Movies" issue was so rabid that they had to do an entire follow-up article.)

So, who has EW declared as America's funniest person? None other than Chris Rock. Now, Chris Rock is funny. If his HBO show was still airing, I might still subscribe to the pricey channel. But look at what the guy's done lately. "Head of State"? "Bad Company"? "Down to Earth"? He does do stand-up in the Bay Area on a semi-regular basis (at posh places like the Paramount Theater, not comedy clubs), and he's an excellent stand-up based on his TV gigs (I've never seen him live). But clearly, the movies he's made prove that his comedy radar is far from 100% perfect.

(Please note that I'm writing this commentary without having read the actual article, which perhaps makes an excellent case for putting Rock at #1. I just wanted to get my own thoughts down before reading those of others. Because it's all about me here, y'know?)

2. Jon Stewart and "The Daily Show" team. I couldn't agree more. "TDS" is consistently hilarious, day in and day out.

3. Will Ferrell. I loved him in "Elf" and "Old School" and in nearly everything he did on "SNL" (I had an odd affinity for the "lovah" sketch with Rachel Dratch), so thumbs up here, too.

4. Larry David. I still haven't seen "Curb Your Enthusiasm" (though a tape of the latest ep is on its way to me even as we speak). I generally don't care for the sort of comedy that makes you squirm.

5. Dave Chappelle. "I'm Rick James, beeyotch!" Agreed -- Chappelle absolutely belongs in the top five. Comedy Central lets him get away with pretty much anything, so the show is gleefully offensive, but oh, so funny.

6. Ellen DeGeneres. She was good in "Finding Nemo," but her comedy stylings are more "make you nod, smile and think" than "make you laugh out loud."

7. Bill Murray. He has quietly turned into one of our finest comic actors -- who knew? Subtract a few points for agreeing to voice the title character in this summer's "Garfield: The Movie."

8. Amy and David Sedaris. Good call -- I've seen David read numerous times, and laughed myself silly every time. And Amy rocked in the live performance of "Wigfield."

9. Robert Smigel, aka Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. Juvenile, but he has a heck of a way with an ad-lib. Triumph's "interview" with Terry Gross on Fresh Air was really something else.

10. Jim Carrey. Never liked him, even back in the "In Living Color" days. I have to see "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" because Charlie Kaufman is so great, so I suppose he'll have another chance to win me over. (I'm sure he cares.)

11. David Letterman. Back in the '80s I'd have put him at #1, but his show has gotten kind of tired, due to the numerous phone-it-in (sometimes literally) bits with his assistant Stephanie, deli pal Rupert and schtick like "Will It Float?" and "Is This Anything?" The best part of the show is the post-monologue bantering with Paul.

12. Aaron McGruder. I would have picked "Get Fuzzy"'s Darby Conley to fill the comic-strip slot. I find "Boondocks," which I loved during its first year, a little too predictably knee-jerk and talking-head. But this week's strips, about Grandpa having a "talk" with the kids about gay marriage, have been a return to form, and I'd still rather read it even at its worst than most of the stale crap on the comics pages.

13. Jack Black. He seems to be very love-him-or-hate-him, and I happen to think he's funny, especially in the fab "School of Rock." I've never warmed up to Tenacious D, though.

14. Wanda Sykes. She was so great on Chris Rock's HBO show, and her hour-long stand-up special on Comedy Central was a laugh riot, but her sitcom wasted her talents. Apparently she now appears on "Curb Your Enthusiasm."

15. Augusten Burroughs, the author of Running With Scissors, which has been on my to-read list for ages.

16. Scot Armstrong, screenwriter of "Old School," "Starsky & Hutch" and the forthcoming "Six Million Dollar Man," to star Jim Carrey. This list is getting a little incestuous, don't you think?

17. Conan O'Brien. He mugs and hams it up a little too much for me. I've never really appreciated his show.

18. Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson. "Starsky & Hutch" was funny, but not that funny.

19. Bernie Mac. Don't watch his show, but he was good in "Ocean's Eleven" and "Bad Santa."

20. Maya Rudolph. Go Maya! She enlivens every "SNL" sketch she's in, and she's a wonderful singer, too.

21. Demetri Martin. Never heard of him.

22. Catherine O'Hara. A nice choice, though I might have opted for Fred Willard or Eugene Levy instead.

23. ego trip. Hip-hop comedy; never heard of them.

24. Sarah Silverman. Gratuitously offensive, like "Oh, isn't it funny when a cute, young girl talks dirty?" Her best gig was "Larry Sanders."

25. Dave Attell. I never tire of seeing Dave hang out with strippers, drunk people and folks working the night shift. I saw him live once, though, and I've never heard so many masturbation jokes in my life.

25.5. Kelly Ripa. I'm not even going to begin to try to explain that one.

Where is Patton Oswalt, who is the funniest man in America -- no, there is no room for disagreement here! Lewis Black (funny on "The Daily Show," but so much funnier live)? Dave Mordal (I am counting down the days until he comes to San Francisco later this month)? Al Franken? Heck, I'll even throw in Peter Sagal. But really, EW -- Patton Oswalt. Trust me on this one.

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03.11.04 the best show on tv

First, a newsflash: Pier 1 Imports spokeswoman Kirstie Alley has been fired and replaced by "Queer Eye"'s Thom Filicia. I found Kirstie's TV spots for the chain increasingly disturbing, particularly the ones where a wild-eyed Alley stormed into the store as if they were giving away gold nuggets instead of selling cheap wicker furniture and candles.

Now, I bow to no one in my admiration for Thom. The hunkalicious Kyle may be my gay boyfriend, but decorating guru Thom is the real transformative genius in the Fab 5. Thom claims he really does use Pier 1 items in his designs, so who knows -- it might be enough to get people like me, who roll their eyes at the thought of the store, to give it a second glance. Now, could someone please sign Kyle up for a commercial sponsorship? I recommend Speedos. Or maybe Jockey briefs.

Now, the best show on TV. It's "Monk," and it just ended its second season on the USA Network. I didn't watch it at all during Season 1, because it looked so "Murder, She Wrote," but thank God Joe decided to tune in one day -- you do not watch this show for the mysteries, people, you watch it for the characters. Although the mysteries are pretty good sometimes, too. But really, it's all about Adrian Monk and Sharona, his assistant (brilliantly played by Tony Shalhoub and Bitty Schramm). Monk was a San Francisco police detective when his wife, Trudy, was killed by a car bomb. Ever since, he's been crippled by OCD and about a thousand phobias, including "germs, needles, milk, death, snakes, mushrooms, heights, crowds, elevators." However, he's still a crime-solving genius, so the SFPD's Captain Stottlemeyer (played by "Silence of the Lambs" bad guy Ted Levine) often hires him to work on particularly baffling cases.

Season 1, which I caught up with via reruns, was good, but Season 2 had several truly classic episodes, including "Mr. Monk and the Three Pies," which introduced Adrian's even more screwed-up brother, played by John Turturro; "Mr. Monk and the TV Star," which hilariously lampooned "CSI" through the fictional show "Crime Lab S.F."; and "Mr. Monk Gets Married," in which Monk and Sharona went undercover as a married couple to infiltrate a marriage therapy clinic that a suspect was also attending. The shows are often laugh-out-loud funny, but also unbearably poignant -- Monk's OCD can be played for laughs, but the show never quite allows us to lose sight of what a broken man he has become since his wife died. It's a delicate balance, but it works, and the show just keeps getting better and better. Friday's episode, "Mr. Monk Goes to Jail," was the series' first cliffhanger; presumably, it'll be resolved in June, when the series returns. Season 1 will be released on DVD then as well. I can't recommend it more highly.

(While looking up the release date for the "Monk" DVD on Amazon.com, I happened to see an ad for the "For Dummies" book series, including Depression For Dummies. Personally, I think even contemplating buying that book indicates low self-esteem. Is that really what a depressed person needs?)

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03.10.04 by popular demand

There has been an overwhelming number of requests for me to add a page where people can post comments, instead of simply mailing them to me. (OK, Roger asked me to do it.) So, here you go -- comment away. Sure, I realize I could simply use any of the blog programs out there to do all of this back-end stuff for me, but I don't want to use the man's software when I can do it myself!

 

03.09.04 hey now it's the sun

We're enjoying the first nice, warm days we've had in months. The sun is shining and for a change, a frigid wind isn't blowing off San Francisco Bay.

Of course, I spent today like I spend so many days -- working inside and going to Curves. I arrived at 4 PM and McFadden and Whitehead's "Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now" was playing. Oddly enough, it kept going on and on. Was it the world's longest remix? At 4:15 (really!), someone finally figured out that something was wrong with the CD and changed it. When the new song started up, for a millisecond, I thought it was the Stranglers' "Skin Deep" -- but no, it was just another lame-o cover of a top 40 hit, and I fantasized about how great it would have been if it had been "Skin Deep."

That's the trouble with being musically sensitive. You can't ignore music, no matter where you hear it. Loving it deeply also means hating it deeply. Here's a little quiz to determine if you share this affliction.

1. Have you ever broken up or refused to go out with somebody because you hated his/her taste in music?

2. Have you ever left a grocery store or mall because the Muzak was so unpleasant?

3. Have you ever switched dentists because yours always kept the radio tuned to a horrendous E-Z listening station?

4. True or false: I often feel the urge to throw things at bad opening bands.
4a. I have actually thrown things at bad opening bands.

5. Will you refuse to see a movie if an especially bad song (say, Smash Mouth's "All Star") is prominently featured in the advertisement or trailer?

6. True or false: I decided never to watch "Joan of Arcadia" not because the show's concept seemed stupid, but because Joan Osborne's "One of Us" is used as the theme song.

7. Have you ever left a wedding or bar mitzvah because the band/DJ was so bad? (Give yourself an extra point if you left during "The Macarena" or "The Chicken Dance.")

8. True or false: OK, I'll admit it, I saw "Titanic" -- but even though I usually stay for a film's end credits, I leapt out of my seat so I wouldn't have to hear "My Heart Will Go On."

9. When you take a trip to a foreign country, do you remember it by the pop song that was most ubiquitous at the time of your visit (for instance, I remember one trip to Europe by 4 Non Blondes' "What's Going On," and a visit to England by Doctor and the Medics' cover of "Spirit in the Sky").

10. If you are riding in the back seat of a friend's car, will you leap into the front to switch the station if, say, "Seasons in the Sun" or a song by Nickelback comes on the radio?

If you answered "yes" or "true" to a majority of these questions, congratulations -- you're musically sensitive.

 

03.08.04 it's a gas, gas, gas

What are the odds -- last night, I saw the movie "Calendar Girls," which also featured a brief appearance by Patton Oswalt. Is he in every movie now? Not that I'm complaining, of course.

I keep seeing Toyota Scion xBs on the road here. Are these the ugliest cars around, or what? They're so square and boxy-looking -- all sharp edges. They're even worse than the Aztek, though the deliberate misspelling of "Aztec" adds an extra layer of annoyance. At least the Scions deliver pretty good gas mileage, which is important when gas is $2.25 a gallon, as it currently is here in the Bay Area.

 

03.07.04 sorta, kinda thumbs-up

One of the surest ways to get me into a movie theater is to tell me that the film in question is full of laughs. I'm a sucker for a good comedy. When reputable reviewers (i.e. not the "quote whores" who will rave about Kangaroo Jack or My Baby's Daddy) say nice things about a comedy, I'm soooo there, dude. And so it was with Starsky & Hutch, which looked pretty terrible but actually got into the "red zone" (at least 60% positive) on the invaluable Rotten Tomatoes.

In the past couple of days, S&H has tipped into the "rotten" column, since only 59% of its current reviews are positive. Personally, I think S&H is at least as funny as director Todd Phillips' last picture, Old School -- though certainly not as bust-a-gut hilarious as the funniest movie of '03, School of Rock. Yes, S&H is an incredibly arch satire of 1970s cop shows, but it has the following things going for it:

  • A great cameo by one of my very favorite stand-up comedians, Patton Oswalt (as the judge of the Disco Dance-Off)
  • Will Ferrell's bizarre dragon fetish
  • Ben Stiller's final "disguise" in the movie
  • "Don't Give Up On Us," which I can't imagine anyone who didn't listen to AM radio in the 70s getting
  • Every single sequence involving the Gran Torino
  • Snoop Dogg as Huggy Bear

In other words, this is a good but not great way to spend an hour and a half on a Saturday afternoon (it was worth the matinee price, probably not so much the $9-9.50 it currently costs here to see an evening movie). I also got to see the trailer for White Chicks, the new Wayans Bros. comedy and already a strong contender for the Worst Movie of 2004. Be forewarned.

 

03.05.04 dysfunction junction

A few months ago, Dr. Phil introduced what he referred to as his "Dr. Phil Family." The parents were on the verge of divorce, due to husband Marty's affairs and wife Erin's emotional unavailability. (Marty, by the way, was one of several children raised by a single mother -- each child fathered by a different man.) Their 15-year-old daughter was about to have a baby, which she planned to keep; their younger daughter felt ignored and wanted her parents to give up custody so another family could adopt her. Small wonder these folks were quickly given the sobriquet "FUF" on Television Without Pity's Dr. Phil board (it stands for, uh, fouled-up family).

There was just one trouble with these folks: they were too, well, normal. Dr. Phil obviously wanted dysfunction on a truly epic scale, and he went searching for a second Dr. Phil Family. He found a doozy. Stacy and Chris have been married for five years. Stacy has five kids: two from Marriage #1, one from Marriage #2, one with Chris, and one from an affair she had with a man of a different race while she was separated from Chris (she gave that one up for adoption). Chris has one child from a previous marriage. Another one is on the way (allegedly fathered by Chris, but considering Stacy's track record, he may want to insist on a DNA test). I haven't even mentioned their $125,000 worth of debt, or the fact that Stacy's oldest son (age 12) has been expelled from school for assaulting another student.

FUF2 has appeared on the show four times, but will there be a fifth appearance? Stacy has loudly expressed dismay with her portrayal, claiming that the viewing audience isn't getting "the whole picture." When Dr. Phil gave her a few minutes to express her views, the caption under Stacy read "Has cheated on her husband three times." (It's obvious the producers love this chick.)

Dr. Phil has given the family plenty of incentive to stick around; Stacy's problem child has been sent to the ominously-titled Happy Hill Farm at the show's expense, and a Harvard economist pored over their dire financial records. (One of the reasons they can't make ends meet is due to the fact that Stacy won't get a job; she claims that since she's a Mormon, it's the husband's duty to provide for the family. This despite the fact that Stacy is the one with the advanced degrees, including a master's in -- hold on to your hats -- marriage and family therapy.)

In short, Chris and Stacy make Marty and Erin look like the Cleavers by comparison. I know it's awful, but I'm totally hooked. Will spineless Chris finally give Stacy a piece of his mind? Will Stacy cancel her membership in a tanning salon to save money? Will Dr. Phil and Robin make a play to adopt Stacy's unborn child to get him/her away from that crazy family? Inquiring minds want to know.

 

All content © 2004 by Sue Trowbridge