R.I.P. Tim Russert

In a country where Anna Nicole Smith's death overshadowed all other news stories for a month, Tim Russert was one of the last remaining great newsmen. He was one of the best interviewers I have ever seen, and he was one of the only level heads in the world of punditry. I doubt that watching Meet the Press on Sunday mornings is going to be much of a priority for me anymore. Sorry if you wanted something funny today. I just don't feel very funny at the moment.

Blind Review: The Incredible Hulk

This is still an experimental blog, and today's entry may seem strange, but I figure I'll give it a try and see what happens. This may end up being a recurring segment.

The idea behind a "Blind Review" is that I will review a movie that hasn't come out yet. I will comment on performances I haven't seen, plot points that may not be in the film, and I may add some stuff just for the sake of my own entertainment. Here goes nothing...

The Incredible Hulk

The Incredible Hulk follows the story of scientist Bruce Banner (Edward Norton), a man who toils endlessly in an attempt to control his own destructive rage. In the opening credits of the movie, we are treated to a series of flashbacks outlining Banner's backstory. Bruce and his team created a machine that used focused gamma rays to create a natural-looking, full-coverage tan. The machine was the team's ticket to a Nobel Prize in Fake Baking. Unfortunately for Dr. Banner, during his test of the machine the, uh...flux capicitor...malfunctioned. The resulting burst of gamma rays not only irradiated his cells, but they instantly cooked every Hot Pocket within a five-mile radius.

Banner's custom tanning bed/Hot Pocket cooker

The massive dose of gamma radiation wreaked havoc on the good doctor's blood sugar. Bruce Banner was stricken with Super Hypoglycemia, a condition which would send him into a severe rage whenever his blood sugar level dipped. This rage manifested in Banner physically, transforming him into a massive green cartoon character known as the Hulk. The Hulk is a seemingly unstoppable force when unleashed.

The next flashback shows Bruce Banner in a McDonald's, attempting to order a Big Mac meal. The cashier informs him that it is 10:20 in the morning, and they will not serve Big Macs until 10:30. A panicked-looking Banner doubles over, clutching his stomach. The camera pans in on his eyes, which are squeezed shut. Suddenly (and quite dramatically!), he opens his eyes to reveal glowing green irises. Fade to black, with an animalistic bellow heard in the background. Fade in, showing the smoking crater where McDonald's used to stand.

After the credits, we find Bruce Banner waking up in a bed. Next to him is Betty Ross, played by Liv Tyler. We see her from behind as she gets out of bed and pulls on a robe. She turns around. Her robe is open, but not enough to compromise the film's PG-13 rating. It is open enough, though, for the audience to see what seems to be a vertical row of stitches starting just below her ribcage and running all the way down the center of her torso. From this, we can confirm that this woman is the Hulk's lover. They are in a seedy motel, on the lam from the authorities. Which authorities? All of them. Cops, military, FBI, CIA, FCC, FDA, BET...the whole enchilada. Most of the movie is spent watching Banner and Ross sneak from town to town, hoping to avoid detection. Bruce must keep his blood sugar in check, lest he become a danger to those around him.

The authorities are thrown off the scent temporarily when Banner goes to a courthouse to legally change his first name from Bruce to David. Betty asks if he is doing this to throw their pursuers off course, but Banner tells her that the reason for the change is that the name Bruce is "just too gay." He is Jack's homophobic scientist. Unfortunately, Banner is taken to court by a rapper over the use of his new name, and he is forced to revert back to being Bruce Banner. The chase, once again, is on.

Banner's main nemesis in the movie is Emil Blonsky (Tim Roth), a psychotic soldier who is jealous that Bruce Banner has such a catchy (albeit kind of gay) name, while his own name sounds like something out of Hairspray. To aid his pursuit, Blonsky injects himself with Super Soldier serum. The serum has the unfortunate side effect of turning Blonsky into a massive reptilian creature named Abomination.

Pumpkin?

In the movie's climax, a very hungry Hulk is in the streets of downtown Los Angeles (nice place to hide from the public eye, jackass), cornered by the military. The soldiers are furiously lobbing cookies at the Hulk, hoping that he might eat one and balance out his blood sugar. The Hulk's transformation had been triggered by Bruce Banner's frustration at finding nothing but vegan restaurants along the streets of L.A. Their efforts are fruitless, though, as the Hulk is too enraged by the lack of substantial food to eat the cookies. The cookies merely anger him as they bounce off his computer-generated skin. Soon enough, Abomination shows up, ready to rumble. He and the Hulk begin to charge at one another, until Abomination realizes that he doesn't need to destroy Bruce Banner, because now HE has the cooler name. Instead, they work together to rescue Betty, who has been captured by...let's say the Green Goblin. Then it turns out that Bruce Banner and Emil Blonsky are actually the same person. Blonsky was a figment of Banner's imagination. Cue the Pixies song.

Overall, The Incredible Hulk is a disjointed and confusing movie. It's almost as if the writers just made it up as they went along, rather than take the time to write out a thoughtful script.

Rating: 2 Puny Human skulls. I'll work out the scale later.

The Next YouTube Star

Sometimes, there are no words.

Clinton and Obama: The Private Meeting Transcript

Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama met privately last week to iron out a few things. No one is completely sure what exactly they said to each other. Or at least, no one WAS sure. KBG has obtained a transcript of the meeting between the two Democrats (don't ask us how. We don't want to talk about it. And we still feel dirty), and now the whole world can know just what was said. For the purposes of the transcript, "H" stands for Hillary Clinton and "B" stands for Barack Obama.

B: Hillary! Glad you could make it.
H: How are you, Barack?
B: I can't complain. Would you like some coffee?
H: Barack, I watched my husband drink coffee for years. I've seen what it takes to drink coffee, and I can say with utmost certainty that I would not ever want to drink coffee.
B: Okay...a simple "no" would've been fine.
H: I'll just have some water, thanks.
B: Now Hillary, since we're meeting here in private, I was hoping we could work out a way to give the Democrats a definite candidate for the election in November.
H: Yes, I agree. Now, about your surrender...
B: My what?
H: Your unconditional surrender. Let's face facts, Barack. It's over. You lost. I've got almost as many delegates as you do, so I win.
B: Hillary, you're not making any sense. I've got more delegates, so I win. That's how it works.
H: Barack, once again you're showing your inexperience. I get to decide who gets the nomination, and I say I'm the nominee.
B: That's not how it works.
H: Yes it is.
B: No, it isn't.
H: I WILL KILL YOU!
B: ...Pardon?
H: I mean, uh, yes it is. My daddy said so.
B: Since when?
H: Since always. I grew up rich, so I get to do whatever I want. That's how it works.
B: Wrong party, sister. We're Democrats. We let the voters decide.
H: What about the Superdelegates?
B: Shut up, that's what.
H: Can I get some coffee?
B: Coffee?
H: Yes. I would like some coffee.
B: You said you didn't want coffee. You said you would NEVER drink coffee.
H: What? No. That's riciculous. I've always wanted coffee. I want to show millions of women in this country that a woman CAN drink coffee. Yes we can!
B: I told you to stop saying that.
H: What about that coffee?
B: Here, you can finish mine.
H: Barack, I will NOT suffer the indignity of taking your leftovers.
B: Hillary, have you been paying attention to the primaries? You've been taking my leftovers for months.
H: Which is why I'm winning.
B: No, you're not.
H: I will put your head on a pike and leave it on my front lawn as a warning to all the other senators.
B: What?
H: I said "mmmm...coffee."
B: Well, you're still welcome to finish mine.
H: Thanks, I think I will.
B: Now Hillary, I've been wondering why you claim such a strong connection to the blue collar workers despite being wealthy your entire life. It seems a little hypocritical of you to call me an elitist, especially when I'm the one who actually worked my way up in the world.
H: Barack, I understand what it's like to work hard every day and still make barely enough money to provide food for my family.
B: No, you don't. At all.
H: Well, I know what it's like to watch other people work hard every day, and then make barely enough money to fuel my own jet.
B: We're not getting anywhere here. How about this: you let me take the nomination, and I'll tell you where Bill's been going on Thursday nights.
H: Oh please...I know all about Tiffany. And Stacy. And Harold.
B: Okay...how about I tell you where he keeps his private pot stash? You know, the REALLY good stuff?
H: ...Deal. But when you're President, I want three free murders, no questions asked.
B: No.
H: Two?
B: Can't do it.
H: One?
B: Fine, as long as it's not you-know-who. Not even I could cover up the murder of a former President.
H: Him? Oh, no, Barack. He's the least of my concerns these days.
B: And it can't be me, either.
H: Frick. Okay. You've got a deal.
B: Are you done with your coffee?
H: I will not finish my coffee until I know that my supporters have had a chance to make their voices hea-
B: Oh, come off it. Are you done?
H: Yes.
B: Okay then. We should probably kill some time before we leave, to make it look like we were discussing really important things. Do you want to play with my Wii?
H: I thought you'd never ask! Oh...wait. You mean Nintendo Wii, don't you?
B: Of course. What did you think I meant?
H: I, uh...oh, nothing.

College Students Want No Part of the "Real World" Unless It's a Show on MTV

I currently live in a college town, and today a female friend of mine asked me why it is that yet another strip club has opened its doors in our fair city. I told her that it was because we live in a college town, and college towns and strip clubs have always had a symbiotic relationship. This relationship is not a phenomenon in itself, but is actually part of a larger concept I have dubbed "The Circle of College Life." I'll break the concept down into bite-size bits for easier digestion:

Strip Clubs

The benefits for a strip club in a college town are twofold. First, the common stereotype/joke about strippers is that they're all working to "pay for school." Med school, law school, veterinary school, clown college...you get the idea. But like any joke, there's some truth to it. There are some college girls who just flat out do not want to wait tables or work in retail. This leaves them with two main options for earning money: they can carry on a torrid affair with an aging English professor who buys them lots of stuff, or they can strip. The more talented girls will be able to find regular work at the clubs. The not-so-talented girls, well...that's why Amateur Night exists. This usually-weekly event is heavily publicized in college newspapers and on kiosks on most campuses. The purpose of Amateur Night is to bring in as many college students as possible. Females will flock to the club looking for an easy $200 payoff, and the male students will head to the clubs hoping to see that one hot girl from their chemistry class take off her clothes in public, which is way better than spending every night downloading her Facebook pictures. So the male students, by way of patronizing the local strip club, are in fact funding the tuition of many of their female classmates. This works out fine and dandy for the girls, but the guys soon find that their own funds are sadly depleted. If only there were some way for them to make their own quick cash...

Drugs

College guys generally aren't any more keen on working in food service or retail than their female counterparts. The bills keep coming, though, and a body has to make a living somehow. Now, there's always the option of hanging around the bars at upscale restaurants and hoping to meet a wealthy, elderly widow lonely for "company," but that could involve psychological damage to such a degree as to rival most of the girls working at the strip club (at least THEY never hear the phrase "you remind me so much of my grandson...). Stripping is still an option, but women don't frequent strip clubs nearly as often as men, and many of the straight guys would be too homophobic to work at the gay clubs. Plus, there's always the chance that they could end up on American Idol someday, and the whole "stripper past" thing can really come back to bite them (right, David Hernandez?). The best option for many of these guys is to become small-time pot dealers. Any guy attending college is likely to know other people who attend college. And guess what? A lot of those people smoke pot. So do their professors. So do their professors' TAs. So do their professors' TAs' dogs. And so on and so forth. The point is, it's theoretically possible to be a pot dealer on a college campus without ever having to get off the couch. Students from the honors college buy it because they're stressed out about school. Music, Art and Philosophy majors buy it because they need "inspiration." Pre-Med students buy it for "research." Strippers buy it because they want to escape the memories of horny frat boys and sweaty middle-aged townies drooling over them. It seems like a pretty sweet deal until the dealer realizes that the Reagan administration put laws in place that make it less of a crime to punt babies into a campfire than to be caught possessing, smoking, or selling marijuana. Sometimes they decide that maybe the risk isn't worth it. And that's where that pissy new cook at your job came from.

So you see, the entire college town economy is dependent on college students not wanting to work a regular job. Not when there are degrading and/or illegal jobs around that pay better than a part-time gig at McDonald's. Some girls strip to make money. Some guys blow their cash at the strip club and start selling drugs. Some musicians buy pot from the dealers with the money they made playing a show attended by strippers and dealers alike. Some professors buy pot with the money they get from working at a college where many of the students have to repeat classes and pay more tuition because they were too busy working, drinking or smoking pot to actually do any studying. Then the dealers go back to the strip clubs. And thus, the Circle of College Life continues.

Puny human college students.

Head to Head: American Gladiators vs. Ninja Warrior

Today's Head to Head is an East vs. West battle of physical challenge-based TV shows. In the blue corner, we have American Gladiators! And in the red corner, hailing from the land of the rising sun...Ninja Warrior!

American Gladiators: The Lowdown


American Gladiators was the granddaddy of consolation prizes during the WGA strike this past November-February. I may not have been able to watch new episodes of Lost, or Chuck, or worst of all, The Office, but for a glorious six-week span I was able to relive my childhood by watching juiced-up mutants smack cops and firemen around with Nerf clubs. My reaction to the news that Gladiators was being revived on television was nothing short of unbridled joy. Then NBC sweetened the deal. I learned that the Hulkster himself, Hulk Hogan, would be one of the hosts of the show. Now, I wouldn't exactly call myself a Hulkamaniac, but I have a deep appreciation for the massive "WTF?" factor that comes with anything involving Hogan and the English language.

Much to my delight, the new incarnation of American Gladiators delivered the goods. The events were fun to watch, the Gladiators had developed pseudo-WWE personalities (I'm sure Vince McMahon is keeping a very close eye on the potential future talent), and yes, the Hulkster uttered some classic Hoganisms. The Gladiators were more than happy to pitch in with their own confusing zingers. American Gladiators is arguably the #1 source on TV for mixed metaphors. Typical Gladiator trash talk goes something like this:

"You may be from the Motor City, Steve, but tonight I'm the Rocky Mountains and I'm going to eat you up like a can of bananas!"

The most confusing ongoing verbal mix-up during the first season involved the largest Gladiator, Justice. There was a great deal of confusion regarding whether or not Justice had been "served" at the end of his events. Sometimes Justice got "served" when he won. Sometimes "Justice was served" when he lost. The American Gladiators production team never quite settled on which interpretation was correct.

The physical challenges in American Gladiators are quite formidable. Many times, the events involve the 150-pound "Contenders" facing the Gladiators, who outweigh them by at least a buck, in some sort of one-on-one contest. This usually ends the way everyone expects it to end. Occasionally, the Contenders compete in an event simultaneously, and this is usually their best chance to score points. Those points get added up over the course of the program, and at the end of the events the point differential determines the leader's head start in The Eliminator. The leading Contender gets a half-second head start for every point they have beyond their opponent's total. The Eliminator is a "grueling" obstacle course in which the Contenders race side-by-side. The winner advances in the tournament bracket, and the loser is eventually mocked on Best Week Ever. In the first season, the two winners of the tournament (one male, one female) were given the opportunity to become Gladiators themselves in season 2. This worked out well enough on the female end, since the overall winner was Monica Carlson, who stood 5'7'' and weighed 130 pounds (slightly smaller than the other female Gladiators, but still within the ballpark size-wise). The male winner, however, was the 5'9" Evan Dollard, who tipped the scales at a whopping 150 pounds. This was the result of designing The Eliminator to be much easier for smaller, faster Contenders. Great for TV, bad for selecting new Gladiators. I really expected Evan's Gladiator name to be "Pipsqueak." This season, he debuted as "Rocket." Every time he stands next to the other Gladiators he gives the impression of a kid brother who wants to hang out with his older brother and all his linebacker friends. It's amazing that the words "gee wiz" have not yet escaped his lips on air. Maybe it's just a testament to the show's editors.

Season 2 has arguably been better than season 1, unless you think ratings are important. So far this season we've seen a deaf Contender, and a Contender with a prosthetic leg. At this point, I'm pretty sure before the end of the season we're going to see a blind albino Contender with no arms. That's just good television.

Overall, American Gladiators is a very physically demanding show, but The Eliminator would be scoffed at by the contestants on our next show...

Ninja Warrior: The Skinny


Ninja Warrior pits individual contestants against a four-stage obstacle course in Japan. Now, calling the challenges faced by Ninja Warrior contestants an "obstacle course" is a bit like calling Kujo a puppy. The Ninja Warrior course is so extremely difficult that in over seventeen seasons, only two men have completed the entire course. Most of the 100 contestants are eliminated before the end of the first stage. "But Grodd, how do they get eliminated?" you may ask. Puny humans. The contestants are eliminated when they fall in the water under each obstacle. Or if they TOUCH the water. Or if the timer, which barely allows enough time for a flawless run, expires. So yeah, it's pretty tough. Every stage is more difficult than the last, and the entire course tests a wide range of abilities, such as speed, strength, stamina, and agility. The first three stages vary from tournament to tournament, but the final stage is always some sort of vertical climb involving a rope and a timer short enough to make Spider-Man pee his pants.

The one upside for Ninja Warrior contestants is that there are no Gladiators on the course. A contestant may fall off a log and disgrace not only their family but their entire ancestral lineage, but at least they won't have to deal with a guy named Wolf punching them in the throat. The show really serves to illustrate the differences between Eastern and Western culture. In the West, our obstacle-course shows always have a winner. You don't have to necessarily be great to win American Gladiators, you just have to suck less than your opponent. Kind of like how Paul Hamm won his Olympic gold medal in '04 (he has not had the same success with Ninja Warrior. Poor little guy just can't get up the Warped Wall). In the East, the culture is more about accepting failure with honor, however disgraced your ancestors might be. That's why the timer counts down on Ninja Warrior and counts up on American Gladiators. Because nothing's as American as making sure people don't feel bad about themselves. I blame the schools.

And the winner is...

Oh crap, did I forget to establish criteria for victory? Am I picking which show is more difficult? More entertaining? Am I judging based on the amount of subtitles? Well, I guess I'll have to break it down. Ninja Warrior's obstacle course is far more difficult than The Eliminator. American Gladiators provides opponents for its contestants, resulting in a more entertaining "battle" aesthetic. But Ninja Warrior always provides completely insane commentary from its MC. I guess this one's a bit of a toss-up. I'll have to leave it to the readers. Assuming there's more than one of you out there. One way or another, justice will be served. Or not. I'm still not sure how that works.

The Detroit Pistons: The Cake is a Lie

It's deja vu all over again. Once again, the Pistons reached the Eastern Conference Finals, and once again they crapped out short of the Big Dance. And once again, Pistons fans must deal with the crushing disappointment that comes with supporting the NBA's biggest teases. The Pistons have played in the last six Eastern Conference finals. They have only reached the Finals twice, and only one of those trips ended with the Pistons as Champions. Clearly, something must be done. But what? Is the problem with the players? The coach? The front office? Here are my thoughts:

Flip Saunders is DONE. It's time for him to go. He is not a bad coach by anyone's definition, but it is pretty clear that he cannot get the Pistons to the Finals. Rick Carlisle was fired in '03 after the Pistons lost to the Nets in the conference Finals (the Nets? In the playoffs? Oh, how times change...). Even Larry Brown got canned after losing to the Spurs in the finals (though that had more to do with his off-the-court behaviors than with his actual coaching). Flip Saunders has lost in the Eastern Conference Finals each of the last three years, and I doubt he'll get a fourth chance. Joe Dumars is a man of decisive action, and he won't hesitate to pull the trigger if he thinks it's the right thing to do. Now it's just a matter of who Joe D will pick to succeed Saunders. Avery Johnson's on the market. Jeff Van Gundy could take the job, if he hasn't become too enamored with his commentary job. Zeke is available, but I doubt Pistons fans want any part of that particular Bad Boys reunion. I won't even try to predict who will take over as the new Pistons coach; I just know that Flip Saunders will be gone. Maybe he can fill the vacancy in Phoenix. He's a talented offensive-minded coach, so that might be a good fit for him.

For the first time in many years, I think the Pistons' roster is headed for a big shakeup. Tayshaun Prince is safe, and I'm pretty sure Jason Maxiell and Rodney Stuckey have job security in Detroit. Chauncey Billups and Rasheed Wallace are the most likely starters to be traded. They still have relatively high market value, and their inconsistent playoff performance could lead to them finding jobs elsewhere. If Rip Hamilton is playing for a different team next season, it'll probably be his choice and not Joe D's. If Dumars does unload Billups or 'Sheed, he may try to bring in a strong starting center and let Antonio McDyess come off the bench next season. Again, it's too soon to predict exactly what will happen, but I think the Pistons' roster will look very different by next November.

Shane Battier, at some point before he retires, will play for the Pistons. You can quote me on that.