I always wanted to be on TV. Ever since I was the mere wisp of a boy TV was my friend and hero. I wanted it all. To host SNL, have my own talk show, game show, make out with Jennie Garth on 90210, ride shotgun with Bo and Luke on the Dukes of Hazard and eat the lobster tails on the Ron Popeil Showtime Rotisserie. Set and forget it. I achieved my goal in 2000 as I appeared as an audience member for a taping of pro wrestling for the Aboriginal People’s Television Network. If you look close during the epic struggle for the North American Championship between “Showtime” Robbie Royce vs “The King of Old School” Steve Corino, I’m in the background. I can be heard yelling “Ol’ school, daddy” and scurrying about in my raincoat and football jersey. As my life went on I thought I would be awesome as a Chunky Soup spokesdude finally answering the Fork vs Spoon debate. Spoon, obviously. Continue reading
The spring has brought with it summery weather and with the end of the endless winter comes cries of celebrating the outdoors. But why would I go outside? Is there TV outside? Nope. No TV at the “lake”. No TV at the worthy causes walk-a-thon or worse yet marathon. So, I stay inside to honour (if not worship) my 22 inch Sanyo sanctuary. So let’s see what I have been up to as you have been getting skin cancer and adding to the weather beating of your decks. Continue reading
I have always been generally antsy in my TV viewing. Being more interested in what will be than what is. My favourite part of SNL is the second commercial break where next week’s guest and musician are revealed. I get very excited when next week’s football match-ups are announced in the 2nd quarter of the game I am currently watching. The future carries with it the possibility of perfection. That which came from TV and has seeped into everyday life. The next meal, relationship, blazer purchase et al.
I do miss it so. It was a weekly ritual. With appetites growing every week. I fully bought in. I would watch with a hearty high calorie meal. A dark whiskey to wash it all down. Mad Men in my bachelor apartment is not just a show but more of an event. We are making a meatloaf – that’s 2 hours towards the cause right there. Viewing the elite TV blogs they would have it be known that Mad Men has been on the slide for the past few years. Not to me. No siree jim bob dixie. Although to be fair to those with that opinion, I have fully bought into the sizzle. The style, the babes, the casual decadence of constant liquor and nicotine is pretty much all I need. They are like a sports team. Am I going to boo or not follow my teams just because they lose or play boring? Nuh uh. Go Joan Go! Sally Draper (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap-clap). So it really doesn’t matter much to me if the scripts are trite. I’m pretty pumped for Sunday’s season premiere. There will be a meal with gravy, there will be booing and hissing when Pete comes on-screen, and there will be bawdy locker room wisecracks when the lovely (and perhaps talented) Christina Hendricks bounces about as only her and perhaps the dark-haired Broke Girl can. Continue reading
This blog stands as a celebration. For the most part we discuss the good stuff. We sit in awe week in and week out of the moving pictures crammed into a tiny wire and illuminated on our magic picture boxes. But the best can’t look as good without the awful. Bad TV is usually just boring. It wallows with trite jokes or thin plots. Spectacularly bad television has its own glory. Which begs the question: what is the worst show on television today? I’ll include reality fare and cooking shows …anything on TV. My vote is a broadcast that fails on every level, but still is a tremendous viewing experience thanks to its bus crash-ian, train-wreck allure.
I’m really looking forward to it. More for history than anything else. Jay Leno will say goodbye to The Tonight Show this week. For good, so we are lead to believe. We can do the autopsy of the Leno administration – that he was likeable but vanilla; almost so mainstream that it almost went in a roundabout way back to edgy-ness. Rather, I like to look at the last five minutes, the goodbye and good times that have yet to be uttered. Its one of my favourite things TV has to offer; the comedy show goodbye. Not the last episode of a sitcom, although those are really fun too. When comedians are forced to be earnest, I find it compelling. This is no time for Bieber zingers, this is stuff that can be said over an instrumental version of Sarah McLaughlin’s “In the Arms of the Angel”.
It no doubt means more to me than it does to you. It represents a return from an absence of depression. That’s sort of what TV has always done for me. A few Christmases ago, it was the worst Christmas ever. My forty watt bulb burnt out and my debit card was lost in the ample snowy tundra of northern Manitoba. As a result, my Xmas dinner was the last 4 eggs in my fridge. I watched in darkness – a uncompetitive pro basketball game. As it hovered in the minus forties outside, I was left muttering the words of some Dickensian miser. So by the time the next Christmas rolled around I vowed to have a buxom holiday affair. That fall roared out an artistically successful year of Community. Issues arose so I missed the first couple of episodes, but was keen enough to keep them on my clunky VHS tape. Then it struck me: miss every episode live but keep it on tape and then binge on Christmas Day. I had to work that 25th. No problem as “work” included giving away a pick up truck. It’s not really work to make sure that Tricia Mymko of Denare Beach Saskatchewan has a new F-150 and a story to go with it. That was the day the usual brutal December temperatures gave the town respite, as it was 0 degrees Celsius.
I love shows about shows. From Dyke Van Dyke to 30 Rock I find the manic activity that comes from putting on a show to be fascinating and fun. I find plays about plays, movies about movies, even meta music videos such as Blink 182’s Rock Show to be good times. Continue reading
Just a little peek behind the curtain/a bit of fourth wall breakage to let you know how the blognificent elves and fairies of blogsburgh blog it up, bloggy style. Basically it’s a big smoke filled room with lots of clunky desks. Lots of coffee-stained mugs next to half eaten halves of coffee cake. Katie is dry for ideas and chugging a bottle of liquid antacid. Jane is scurrying around taking orders for the midnight run at the delicatessen that sits across the six lane highway. I sit with my cowboy boots on the desk trying to recall the two night stand Trapper John had in the Adam’s Rib episode of MASH (Merideth… Margie… Mildred…Mildred!) with a bank of clocks set to the times of world capitals behind me. Kerri stews in the big corner office chewing out an intern, who leaves weeping and is replaced with the indispensability and efficiency of a Kleenex box. Jane returns telling Katie that a turkey Reuben is not a Reuben and is just “pregnant lady food”; my veal parmesan has somehow become an eggplant parm. Kerri is furious – “I said a chicken salad, not chicken salad, oyoyoy”. Kerri calls me into her office (aka Kerri’s Lair-ee) to tell me she’s spiking my tribute to Yasmine Bleeth article. “She ruined seasons 4 and 5 of Nash Bridges and she’s not going to ruin me. Write what you know! In an hour….” This process happens constantly with ulcers for all and justice for none. Continue reading
The blog rotation has fallen on me this week and, as fate should have it, Breaking Bad wrapped. I was going to pontificate about my latest passion which has become mid-nineties Australian sitcoms – but the timing isn’t proper. The fine folks at AMC decided to thumb its nose at the Netflix enthusiasts and DVD buyers of world. They put one of their franchise shows, Breaking Bad, on in marathon form in a build up to this season. Friday nights were marathon sessions. I missed it during the first run and was very miffed when Bryan Cranston would beat out Don Draper at the Emmys. To me, Cranston will always be Malcolm’s dad. I hated Malcolm in the Middle. He was Tim Whatley, Jerry Seinfeld’s lecherous dentist. I knew him on the pilot episode of the Pam Anderson action series VIP -but his work as meth master Walter White must be celebrated. As he moved from sheepish milquetoast to evil drug lord, he turned into having the traits of a great wrestling champion. He started off as a good guy, with tag team partners like Hank and his wife. He had a protégé to mentor and bail him out in Jesse. Then he got a manager, in lawyer Saul. He battled in feuds with the likes of contenders to his meth title with the likes of Tuco, the grizzled Mike, and Gus. Like the great wrestler he became a villain. The bad guy. He turned on his wife, Hank, and his son. He put on his literal black hat with greed and power taking over for family loyalty. And in ultimate wrestling fashion, left to go to do movies. Continue reading