Monthly Archives: April 2014

Dear Media, We Need to Have a Talk About “Allegedly”


Today’s episode of NPR’s All Things Considered discussed the racism scandal surrounding Los Angeles Clippers owner Donald Sterling that erupted after this TMZ report over the weekend.  Repeatedly — seemingly at every turn — All Things Considered hosts and contributors stumbled over themselves in an attempt to appear careful and balanced, and they sound condescending at best and woefully unable to pinpoint blatant racism at worst.  Here are a few examples (emphases mine):

“The NBA is investigating a recording in which the owner of the L.A. Clippers allegedly makes several racist remarks.”  “We hear Donald Sterling allegedly saying, ‘I don’t hate anybody.  I love the black people.  I love everybody.’ … He’s apparently saying to his girlfriend, allegedly, ‘Do whatever you want in private, just don’t put [pictures of her spending time with people of other skin color] on your Instagram.'”

Yes, an NBA investigation into the recording is ongoing to determine whether it is indeed Sterling’s voice.  And, as the NPR report says, California law makes it a dicey issue if Sterling did not know he was being recorded, so it may all be inadmissible in court, if this were to become a legal matter.  NPR wants to cover itself in the astronomically unlikely case the recorded man’s voice is not Donald Sterling’s.  But the way they write their copy is lazy, amateurish, and so fearful of potential lawsuits that they look foolish.

Being careful in methodology, sourcing, and especially word choice are key tenets of journalism, but you don’t have to be stupid about it.  The above quotes, and others in the media — All Things Considered is far from the only culprit here — place the onus of their carefulness on whether these comments were racist, not whether it’s in doubt as to who said them.

And this is a problem.

Of course these comments are racism in its most naked form.  The man saying them is a racist, willfully trying to insulate himself from people with different skin color entirely because of that difference and exclude them from doing something they have every right to do.  Whether it’s Sterling saying these things, we can debate all day until there is confirmation by vocal experts and software — but really, it’s him, and the media is being overly cautious in reporting it — but to play this “maybe, maybe not” game with confirming the comments’ potential immorality is asinine.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.  There are simple ways for the people at All Things Considered to properly report on this story, and it only involves moving a couple words around and adding a parenthetical phrase or two.  They need to say, “The NBA is investigating a recording, allegedly of L.A. Clippers owner Donald Sterling, making racist remarks,” or, “the man in the recording tells the woman, ‘Do whatever you want in private, just don’t put it on your Instagram,'” and so on.  The moral quality of the comments is not what is in question, but the man saying them is.  It’s such a simple distinction, but it’s immensely important for anyone who cares about calling out the wrongs of society, which is is ostensibly every journalist’s job.  It takes an extra second or two to write these things in a way that both covers them legally and still makes light of how wrong it is to subjugate other human beings in speech or action.  It’s dismaying to see the media perpetually get this wrong when it’s so easy to fix it.

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Streaming Choices: The Do-Deca-Pentathlon (2012)


In Streaming Choices, I take a quick glance at the world of cinema available on Netflix Instant, Hulu Plus, Amazon Prime, and other streaming services.

Rating: Three and a half stars (out of five)

Our families sometimes make us become people we aren’t proud of.  Lifelong disagreements, misunderstandings, and ideological clashing can have that effect.  When estranged brothers Mark (Steve Zissis) and Jeremy (Mark Kelly) meet each other for the first time in years for Mark’s birthday party at their mother’s house, they succumb to their worst urges.  Mark gets tunnel vision, obsessed over his white whale, defeating his brother at their made-up athletic competition of the film’s title.

Mark is overweight, balding, and dealing with the “burden” of a calm, helpful wife who just wants the best for him at all times and a son who’s less ungrateful than he is desirous of meaningful conversation with his dull father.  Mark’s in therapy for his stress and general malaise of life.  Jeremy is a professional poker player — you can tell this was shot in 2008, as the online and ESPN-hyped poker boom was receding — who doesn’t care about what he does and doesn’t know what else he can do with his life.

So they meet and beat up on each other in feats of strength, athleticism, and underwater breath holding.  The 25 “events” in their Olympic-style tournament are each hilarious, and perfectly designed to bring out the pettiness in grown men who have been at this since the dawn of their existence.  They finish marathon ping pong sessions drenched in sweat, neither willing to give in.  They obsess over keeping a level playing field.  Mark says, “Are you wearing shoes?  I’m not.  Take them off,” during the arm wrestling bit, after they have wrapped their hands together in a bandanna and agreed to not grab the table for leverage.

The movie grows more poignant as it continues, with Mark grappling with his compulsive nature and Jeremy admitting his hip life doesn’t make him happy.  It finishes in a satisfying manner, like a 76-minute stage play.

And therein lies the problem.  Mark and Jay Duplass, the film’s directors, are among the most successful members of the mumblecore filmmaking movement, known for its documentary-style, immediate camerawork and attention to small stakes in the grand scheme of things; no world destroying monsters rampage through their movies.  But for as great as docu-realism and intimate stories are, movies are a visceral, visual medium.  There is no pure cinema on display in The Do-Deca-Pentathlon.

Let’s start with the camerawork.  It’s jittery to a fault.  The movie was shot digitally, with seemingly outdated equipment for even six years ago, which makes a later viewing like mine appear even more dated.  When the camera moves, there’s a faint ghost trail of colors and characters’ faces.  And the camera moves far too much.  There is nary a tripod in use.  Owing to mumblecore’s improvisatory nature, the camera operators are not able to plan specifically what to do.  Actors don’t have exact marks to hit, and the camera operators struggle to keep them in frame, jutting back and forth, sometimes seemingly on the verge of falling over during the quickest pans.

The editing is a little on the eccentric side, too.  This is likely a product of the improv, too.  The Duplasses probably did not get a lot of coverage during shooting because of the different lines for every take.  This leads the editors to piece things together in a hodgepodge of quickly cut moments.  This makes small conversations take on the visual language of modern action scenes, and it does not cohere properly.  These scenes should be more intimate.  The actors and directors do an admirable job of trying to overcome the obstacle, but they don’t quite get there.  The filmmaking does not properly function for the story being told, and this is a problem for the movie’s overall quality.

But that does not mean the movie is not worth discussion.  The acting, particularly the brothers and Mark’s wife, Stephanie (Jennifer Lafleur), do phenomenal work.  Their relationships are lived-in.  Love exists but it’s strained, just like a real family.  The Duplasses overcome a lot of limitations in what is available to them in order to tell a compelling, affecting story, aided by their troupe.  But again, it’s probably best suited to be performed on stage than, as currently constructed, a film.

The Do-Deca-Pentathlon is currently available on Netflix Instant.

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Necco Wafers, Ranked


The internet is overrun by unnecessary rankings of all kinds, usually in an attempt to reveal the greatest, worst, and most overrated or underrated ephemera “of all time!”  They’re easy lies to draw eyeballs, in order to make a quick buck.  I’m an attention-starved wannabe writer, so I need to swallow my pride and join the crowd because I am no better than anyone else.

This week’s rankings are inspired by the ample Easter candy I’ve been munching all week.  Necco Wafers are my favorite confection and I don’t care that they’re essentially flavored chalk.  And now, after eating them and little else in recent days, it’s time to definitively order their quality.

8.  Orange (Orange)

They’re terrible.  If you mashed them up and poured the dust into a solution with viscosity somewhere between yogurt and milk, you would get the exact taste of my childhood’s most hated medicine.  I don’t remember what it’s called, but the fact remains: Orange Necco Wafers taste like medicine.

7.  Chocolate (Brown)

Also fairly maligned by my taste buds, the chocolate flavor does not mix well with the chalky qualities.  If you’re going to eat chocolate, it needs to be at least somewhat chewy.  But when your chocolate is itself crunchy — without, say, rice like in a Crunch bar — it doesn’t work.

6.  Lemon (Yellow)

A huge improvement over the previous two entries, there is nothing wrong with the lemon flavored Neccos.  They’re a little on the bland side, as the lemon flavoring is not particularly overpowering.  But they’re pleasant and I don’t get frustrated when there are an inordinate number of them in a roll.

5.  Licorice (Black)

A flavor that has fallen precipitously in my estimation since my childhood.  It’s still good, but the amount of black licorice — and black licorice-flavored snacks — I’ve had in my life has numbed me to its finer points.  Still tasty, but not the overwhelming deliciousness I remember from my younger days.

4.  Clove (Purple)

One that has risen as I’ve aged, clove is tasty and always a pleasant palette cleanser after the lesser Neccos on the lower end of the list.  This is probably not reflective of the truth, but the clove-flavored wafers are seemingly the rarest of the bunch, and they almost never appear twice in a row.

3.  Lime (Green)

Now we’re talking.  I get genuinely excited when I see a green pop up in the roll.  They have a strange spicy kick to them at the beginning, but the aftertaste is smooth.  As a bonus, they tend to appear packed together several in a row.

2.  Cinnamon (White)

Much like the limes, the whites have the spice one would expect from cinnamon.  They’re overpowering in the best way, especially when chewed after the gross ones.

1.  Wintergreen (Pink)

I save the best for last.  With every roll I get, I unravel the paper wrapping and pick out every pink wafer I see, then pile them together.  Most other wafers disappear rapidly, but the pinks I savor.  The aftertaste sticks around for a while, which is nice, too.

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Slate and I Must Be Neighbors in the Idea Space


“… [A] space in which mental events can be said to occur, an idea space which is perhaps universal. Our individual consciousnesses have access to this vast universal space, just as we have individual houses, but the street outside the front door belongs to everybody. It’s almost as if ideas are pre-existing forms within this space… The landmasses that might exist in this mind space would be composed entirely of ideas, of concepts, that instead of continents and islands you might have large belief systems, philosophies, Marxism might be one, Judeo-Christian religions might make up another.” – Comic book writer Alan Moore on the “Idea Space” from the documentary, The Mindscape of Alan Moore [courtesy of Wikipedia].

Moore’s words are weighing on my mind today as I read Slate’s post about Bob’s Burgers by writer Jon Christian.  Christian takes the same premise, analyzes the same scene, quotes the same lines, and comes to (mostly) the same conclusions I did when writing for the TV Addict last week about Tina Belcher, the show’s eldest daughter.

From Christian’s opening, published yesterday, April 17.

There’s a wonderful scene in Season 3 of Bob’s Burgers, in which the eponymous restaurateur lets his 13-year-old daughter Tina drive the family’s car in a nearly-empty lot. “Let’s make this kitty purr,” Tina monotones, glancing nervously at her dad from the driver’s seat. She pulls out of the parking space at a snail’s pace, and starts to groan with anxiety. Bob talks over the groan, calmly reassuring Tina, his voice rising as she sets them on a glacial collision course with the only other car.

“OK, Tina, you’re kinda headed toward the only other car in the lot,” he says. “You have plenty of time to turn, Tina, so just go ahead, turn one way or the other.” Tina’s groan intensifies. “You’re just swerving back and forth,” Bob says, now alarmed. “Turn one way and stick with it, Tina. Tina for the love of God, turn away or stop! The brakes, Tina, the brakes!”

Needless to say, Tina totals the car.

And now, from mine, published on April 8.

Take, for instance, her driving lesson at the start of the season’s seventh episode, “Tina-rannasaurus Wrecks.” Tina’s father, Bob, gets the bright idea to let her drive his car in a mostly empty parking lot as a treat for helping him run errands. Tina’s unsure and antsy, but she hops in the driver’s seat and says with faux confidence (re: terrified trepidation), “Let’s make this kitty purr.”

What follows is perhaps the greatest slow-burn visual gag in years. Despite Bob’s initially reassuring tone, Tina starts groaning in the way only she can as voiced by Mintz (“Uuuuuuunnnnnnngggggh.”). She knows exactly what needs to be done, but it’s scary. She’s paralyzed. She’s also not moving beyond idle speed, which builds the comedic value exponentially the closer she gets to the only other parked car in the lot. Increasingly frustrated and later panicked, Bob tells her all she needs to do is turn the wheel slightly in either direction, and later to brake, but this goes about as well as you would expect.

The similarities follow with connections made to Tina’s groan being the perfect sonic example of the go-nowhere sense shared by many millennials in my situation.  They differ as Christian goes into a short discussion of Tina’s place in the zeitgeist as a feminist hero.

I joked with a few people this morning about how Slate “basically plagiarized me,” but that is likely a fiction.  My best days on this site get maybe 50 views, most of them from friends, family, and whoever actually reads the stuff on Blog Surfer before the time limit runs out.  I don’t have the readership numbers for my post on the TV Addict, but I can’t imagine some nobody like me would have garnered much attention on my first post there — speaking of which, I pitched some more ideas to them, so I’ll be writing there again, perhaps as soon as later today.

Which is an extended way of saying, I’m not interesting or established enough to plagiarize.  Yet.  I do recognize that Christian’s piece is surprisingly similar to mine, and maybe even suspiciously so, but I’m struck by how much better a writer Christian is than me.  He supports the ideas better than I did, which goes to show that I have a long way to go before I can get paid to do this; if anything, he refined my thoughts.  Besides, like the Moore quote above says, ideas tend to grow from multiple sources.  There’s no such thing as an original thought.  It’s all a matter of organization of those ideas to form something worthwhile.  Christian and I were struck by the same moment, and latched onto the same themes, likely because that was the intent of episode writer Jon Schroeder.  The idea came down our block of the Idea Space, and I said hello to it a week before Christian did.

Or, who knows, maybe he plagiarized me.

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The Elasticity of Early Disney


The Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago is running an exhibit called Treasures of the Walt Disney Archives until May 4.  I recently visited it and enjoyed the experience a great deal.  It featured hundreds of trinkets, pictures, costumes, handwritten notes from children and presidents alike, but what interested me most were the early short animations Disney made in the 1920s with and his friend and collaborator, Ub Iwerks.

The exhibit spurred me to seek more early Disney work, much of which is available on YouTube.  A handful of Oswald the Lucky Rabbit — done for Universal before Disney and Iwerks struck out on their own — and Mickey Mouse adventures have struck me with their irreverence, hints of lasciviousness, and general prankishness.  Disney, the consummate wholesome family entertainer, had an anarchic spirit before he had to navigate the Hays Code and the expectations of upholding a family friendly brand.

For instance, see this Oswald short, Sky Scrappers.

Oswald’s world is wholly different from, say, Snow White’s.  This is partially owed to the limitations of animation techniques available to Disney and Iwerks in 1928 — the timing is a bit off, characters move stiffly and unnaturally, etc. — but the goals they sought were also different.  Whereas Disney’s later features tended to endorse a set of chivalric values, Sky Scrappers gets comparatively filthy.  Ortensia, Oswald’s girlfriend, arrives to his construction worksite to share lunch with him.  Oswald’s coworker sees her, operates a crane to lift her skirt, and pulls her up the iron frame of the building to steal her from Oswald.  She falls out of her underwear and scrambles to get back into them.  The rival, who resembles Disney’s later Mickey Mouse antagonist/Goofy Movie lovable crank, Pete the Cat, laughs his head off at the notion that Ortensia would even try to resist him.  There’s a real sense of sexual malice in this exchange, and Oswald’s rival is a threat unlike anything in later works; he is effectively a rapist.

Beyond the sexual elements, the early Disney-Iwerks shorts depict a world that is, for lack of a better word, mushy.  Instead of the features’ aching beauty of the painted backdrops, Oswald’s and early Mickey’s landscapes are malleable.  The Oswald cartoon, Trolley Troubles, from 1927 shows this well.

Animate and inanimate objects alike — trains and railroads here, but also hot dogs, cows, and a number of other things — bend and twist to what Oswald — and by extension, Disney and Iwerks — want them to be.  Unobstructed creativity runs throughout all these shorts, and they are free of the stricter visual rules of many of the features.

Disney and Iwerks shape the world to fit their vision, and play with what it means to tell a visual story, often with darker connotations than perhaps they intended when trying to make people laugh.  By forcing a hot dog to lather itself in mustard as a death ritual, they hint at our world being a place of “compromise” with more powerful entities, much like their dealings with Universal that eventually led to losing the rights to Oswald.  In their animated world, though, they are in charge.  They manipulate objects and creatures to an almost surreal extent, warping their meaning from utilitarian things and beasts of burden to extensions of our drive, creativity, but more often, futility.  Ropes attach to nothing but air and characters realize much too late before falling to injury, annoyed.

Disney and Iwerks’s early shorts are snapshots of artists struggling with freedom, succeeding on a technical level but restricted and frustrated by what their bosses wanted.  Their characters constantly fall into traps set by the world, but through creativity they pull through.  They always pull one over on the world, usually through manipulating it beyond what reality would allow, much like hired artists at the helm often must sneak their true intentions into their work subversively.

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Anthony Rizzo: Meatball Destroyer


Through the early part of the 2014 season, Chicago Cubs first baseman Anthony Rizzo seems to be bouncing back from an unlucky (his BABIP was atrocious and unsustainable) 2013.  This is lucky for me, because he’s one of the few bright spots on the 4-10 team, and one of the only healthy players on my fantasy team.

The MLB Fan Cave has a possible reason for Rizzo’s reemergence as a solid hitter: batting practice with meatballs.

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Streaming Choices: Howard Zinn: You Can’t Be Neutral on a Moving Train (2004)


In Streaming Choices, I take a quick glance at the world of cinema available on Netflix Instant, Hulu Plus, Amazon Prime, and other streaming services.

Rating: Two and a half stars (out of five)

Leftwing writer, professor, and activist Howard Zinn led an eventful, opinionated life.  He grew up in poverty and never had a book in his house until he found a frayed paperback on the street.  He ran bomber missions in World War II.  He led a group of his students at black college at numerous civil rights protests.  He and a few other activists negotiated with the North Vietnamese to release American pilots when the U.S. government wouldn’t.  And that’s the problem with Howard Zinn: You Can’t Be Neutral on a Moving Train.  It’s all recounting the man’s activities, one after the other, without truly getting to the heart of what they mean, or where they come from.

A few times, Zinn gets a bit introspective about his writings and activism, but these moments are too rare.  Directors Deb Ellis and Dennis Mueller don’t prod him to continue in these times, rather content to fall into hero worship and a pattern of “This happened, then this happened, then this.”  Sometimes Zinn will remark that seeing something (poverty where he grew up, his first activism rally where he was hit by a nightstick, his misgivings about bombing a French town to punish German soldiers after WWII was effectively won) that “affected [him] greatly,” but the film stops there.  How did it affect him?  What specific things pushed him to write about them?  What about the looks on peoples’ faces when police brutality occurs?  But no, it’s just a vague recollection and onto the next bullet point.

Ellis and Mueller fail to negotiate the downsides of activism, too.  They get Zinn to mention how every war is supposed to be the last one, and how it’s like a drug for countries.  But if activism is this enlightened, higher calling to upset people into rethinking their place in the world and changing their behaviors, hasn’t Zinn’s anti-war rhetoric failed on some level?  War still exists, and the latest failed war, Iraq, was in its early days as this documentary was shot.  They don’t ask him about how he’s shifted tactics to convince more people on the need for peace.  It’s all about the so-called world changing, in-your-face attitudes of ’60s-style activism, with no mention of how that movement got jaded and petered out.  Zinn doesn’t say anything about disillusionment with his cause, or the possible boomerang effect of being in everyone’s face can have, but I suspect that’s because he wasn’t asked about it.

Luckily, it’s not entirely dreary.  Zinn himself was a magnetic man (he died in 2010), and one I would like to learn more about from a less hero-worshipping angle (full disclosure: I’ve never read anything by him).  But he was an engaging speaker, charming, and you can tell he genuinely cared about people, the world, and the United States.  He thought they can be better, and that’s an admirable, hopeful quality people respond to.

Unfortunately, this activity checklist of a film fails his messages.  Documentaries do not necessarily need a dramatic structure (“This happens, therefore this happens, but this happens, therefore this happens,” and so on), but they shouldn’t be blander than history books, either.  Howard Zinn: You Can’t Be Neutral on a Moving Train lacks emotional details about why these issues matter to society, and historical details about each event in Zinn’s life.  At an hour and 17 minutes, the film has plenty of room to explore more.  But it always chooses the easy route of, “Look at this Great Man,” when the Great Man probably would have been plenty willing to discuss the less-than-great parts of his life.

Howard Zinn: You Can’t Be Neutral on a Moving Train is currently available on Netflix Instant.

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