Juan Epstein May Have Long Lost Father

After joking about Juan Epstein's mother all these years, someone finally decided to dig up his long lost father. Welcome Back Kotter stopped production more than twenty years ago, but don't let that bit of trivia stop anyone.

Now come reports of a man in Coober Pedy bearing a striking resemblance to young Epstein. Problem is the guy they're talking about seems to be some kind of meat-fisted, booze guzzling, tree- hugging, branch-slashing freakazoid on a bad "emu dreaming trail" trip.

I don't think this unusual suspect will be signing school excuse notes any time soon.

End of Tony Soprano Parallels Hillary Clinton Finale

Stop the presses. Talk about the unexpected death of Tim Russert throwing a nation into shock, this update from virtual Jersey has me reeling.

Tony Soprano got whacked in The Sopranos finale. So says a ridiculously long in depth scholarly analysis of the HBO mega hit. Why am I always the last to know? The author published this dissertation on May 11, 2008. May freak'n 11th!! Curses on all of you who've been nattering behind my back ever since.

With all the Sex and the City: The Move hype, I recently published my own secret longing for a Sopranos reunion movie. Boy, do I feel moronic now.

If you've got the time and the patience, slog through this stuff. It's logical, analytical, and well researched. Of course, those of us with short attention spans prefer the Cliff Notes:

Positioning of actors in Holsten's restaurant: Location, location, location. Even in a fictional TV show, location matters. If you don't believe me (or the tomb), re-watch the final scene of the final episode. Make a map of every character sitting in the restaurant. If you do it correctly, the analysis shows how third person camera shots and point of view (POV) camera shots conclusively establish Tony's murder. POV shots are seen through Tony's eyes. Tony sits in a restaurant booth facing the entrance, blocking his view of certain patrons. When the camera cuts to these patrons, Tony isn't seeing them, we are, making them third person shots. This blows the "Tony lives with paranoia" ending clear out of the water. Tony is not paranoid. The audience simply doesn't understand the underlying meaning of the camera angles.

POV sequence/blackout: Building on the POV camera shots theory, the author notes a telltale pattern. A cowbell attached to the restaurant entrance rings whenever a patron enters or exits. When Tony hears the cowbell ring, he looks up at the door. When he looks up, we see what he sees. To prove the point, the author notes a third person shot of two new customers, two black men, in the restaurant. We do not hear the cowbell or see them enter because Tony is distracted when they arrive. This shows the importance of the pattern established with static POV shots. In the scene's final minutes, we hear the cowbell. Going with the pattern, we should then see someone entering or exiting the restaurant. Instead, we see and hear nothing. The scene goes pitch black. There is no sound. This tells us that Tony's POV is pitch black with no sound, dead as a door nail. Never saw it coming. I say give Tony more cowbell! Where is more cowbell when you need it?

Man in the "Members Only" jacket: The only track shots in the final scene are when Tony enters the restaurant and when the Man in the Members Only jacket (don't ask me why, but the author abbreviates the reference to "MOG") goes to the bathroom. We get a view of MOG that Tony does not get which is him looking back at Tony. That's how we know it's a track shot. All other camera angles are either third person or POV. MOG is hazily framed in many of Tony's POV shots. He's in Tony's view, but Tony isn't seeing him. Also, MOG is the only patron shown behind the door before he enters. He doesn't register with Tony because AJ is directly behind him. Tony waves to AJ and ignores MOG. Clearly, MOG is the hit man. Tony should be paying more attention, but he is relaxed and happy to be with his family. We never see MOG leaving the bathroom because Tony never sees MOG leaving the bathroom. Carmela and AJ never see MOG leaving the bathroom because they are too interested in studying their menus. The hit happens suddenly behind Tony's back with a gunshot to the head. Makes perfect sense.

Never heard it coming/flashback: The author details several episodes where Tony discusses the life of a mob boss: death or jail. "You probably never hear it coming" and the like is often repeated in the last nine episodes. Significantly, Tony flashes back to a scene where the phrase is said. This foreshadows that when the end comes, Tony will never hear it coming. Don't Stop Believing will be playing on the jukebox and then everything will go completely dark. Sad, when you think about it. On a more positive note, I heard they recently found a new lead singer for Journey.

Dispelling the "nothing happened" theory: Antithetical to all of David Chase's work throughout the series, the author details many plot lines with satisfying build ups and endings. Having such a big build up to a nothing ending makes no sense, violates the show's basic structure, and therefore is not credible.

So, there you have it. The author further analyzes the meaning of Tony's death, Holsten's as symbolism, the parallels between the show and The Godfather, terrorism and the Iraqi War as keys to the finale, miscellaneous fun David Chase stuff, and the influences of The Public Enemy and Goodfellas on the show.

Exhausting. They'll have to study this work of art in classes about mythic television.

For my money, there is one interesting parallel the author either missed or chose to ignore: Hillary Clinton using the final scene as a parody ad for her presidential campaign. "Everybody wants to know how it's going to end," says Bill as they bond over carrot sticks. Hillary sits at the restaurant booth just a bit too relaxed, her perceived feelings of entitlement clouding her ability to run a top notch campaign, the lure of a stronger candidate fuzzily out of focus. In the end, she too took a symbolic bullet to the head. The parallels are glaringly obvious, but why polarize everyone before the convention?

Just want to sit and bask in David Chase's extraordinary brilliance.

American Idol Finale Season Seven Picks and Pans

I am just not feeling this outfit, dawg. Red is so not Randy's color. And what's the deal with the painters overalls? Covering up from martini spills?

Just a joke, peoples. Yeesh. But that IS Randy's outfit. I used an old Captain Kangaroo pix for illustration.

The American Idol season seven finale was a blast. Actually enjoyed the mainstream acts. Donna Summer came out singing amazingly, though she did look a little worn and tired. ZZ Top was the fershizzle. Seal rocked. Disagree that Bryan Adams looks too old. Man, what do people expect after twenty years?

Not liking the George Michael gig at the end after buzz reached a fever pitch about some REALLY big star closing the program. Then again, I guess Sir Paul had other plans.

The newer acts had their shine. One Republic sounded good, but not exactly studio. The 13-year old thought Archuleta sounded better, but what does she know? I tried to explain live never sounds as good as the recording unless they're lip syncing. Gotta appreciate those that dare to go live.

So glad Cook ended the show with top honors. Much as I like Archuleta, Cook deserved to be crowned. Such a humble and nice guy, too. Loved when he brought the other Idol finalists out for his swan song. I only hope he keeps his humility.

Finally, props to my girl, Charlotte. Oh yes, that was her on the finale stage. Once again, singing back up for Jordin Sparks. When last season's tour stopped in Baltimore, I made a point to fawn over Charlotte. Unlike last year's finalists, she had no problem signing autographs for fans. As nice as nice could be. It's time that girl took her career to the next level.

Celebrities Make A Fashion Statement for Barack Obama

As primary season rolls to an end, Barack Obama remains poised to claim victory on the campaign trail. Obama's uplifting message and charisma have inspired hoards of Americans to register for the vote, as well as cross party lines.

Meanwhile, the racist horse's patoot selling Curious George Obama t-shirts is about to be sued. You bet people are coming out of the woodwork to protest. Silly bigot. Doesn't he realize the Obama Camp and its supporters already control the t-shirt market?

Industry insiders say a run on political merchandise is a reliable indicator of electability. In that case, the Democrats can breathe a sigh of relief. The sparkly famous crowd is up to their ears in designer Obama.

Perez Hilton [Source]

Kim Kardashian [Source]

Ryan Phillippe [Source]

Jessica Biel [Source]

Halle Berry [Source]

The Original Obama Girl [Source]

Illinois State Senate President Emil Jones [Source]

Pete Wentz [Source]

Hayden Panettiere [Source]

Joel Madden [Source]

Spike Lee [Source]

Ban on Channel 4 "Skins" Poster Targets Wrong Media

Being from this side of the pond, I'm not exactly familiar with British television. It seems to run programs on public access TV that the colonies could only run on cable. Precisely the rub in this mixed-up brouhaha.

A controversy over teen angst drama, Skins, blew up in Channel 4's face after the Advertising Standards Authority received 42 complaints over this promotional poster. Supposedly, that's a teen orgy swirling around the main characters. The station must now remove all the posters.

I have to admit, the scene shows a lot of exposed skin and licking in a bedroom filled with young people, but this poster doesn't appear any racier than a show widely available to watch on television. Besides, any self-respecting orgy would have multiple teens going at it together at the same time, something clearly absent in this promotional material.

Teen angst is not my thing, having gotten my fill of it in the 1980s with Beverly Hills: 90210 (which I hear they're reviving as sequel). Since it's easy enough to find fan sites and videos of Skins, I thought I'd give the show a once over. Wow. If this stuff is on public access, the problem isn't the poster, it's the show itself.

In a widely circulated YouTube video, two boys wake up together in bed covered by a comforter possibly so inappropriate, I had to censor it for my blog. Wouldn't want to get cited and banned myself now, would I?

I don't want to tell you what the guy on the right was doing as the scene opened, nor do I want to describe what he did with his hands afterwards. Oh, those crazy Brits. This yokel is amazed at what passes for socially acceptable on their airwaves.

What really gets my goat is how the Advertising Standards Authority gave a pass to material in a second promotional poster. Oh yes, people complained about it too, but the ASA didn't see any reason to issue a second ban.

One of the characters lies in a bathtub under water, his eyes opened. I'm pretty sure the guy's dead. If not, he's possessed. Definitely not the sort of poster you'd want a 5-year old toddler to notice. And since it seems to glorify death or the supernatural, I wouldn't want impressionable teenagers to notice either.

In my book, a dead guy under water with eyes wide opened is far more offensive than a few half-naked teens sucking face.

[Source]

Fake Paparazzi for the Insanely Infamous

The Today Show ran a segment this morning about some positively revolting practice involving ordinary folk and fake paparazzi. It's bad enough that someone is peddling their services as fake paparazzi, but so much sicker that some mad pathetic losers are actually buying it.



For a corporate event or someone's B'ar Mitzvah, okay, okay, I get it. But the women on Today, who were simply out for a night on the town, got their jollies by acting like somebody famous with an entourage. At the end of the segment, one of them giggled like a school girl as a fairly nice-looking guy at the bar tried to guess her identity. I think these posers may have hired a limousine service and fake bodyguards for full effect, but truthfully, I was so nauseated after the first fifteen seconds, I tuned out.

Now to top everything off, we have bloggers coining and analyzing this demeaning and demented phenomenon, as if token respectability could make this freak show any more palatable. Have we really sunk so low as a culture that reality shows are no longer good enough vehicles for everyone's fifteen minutes of fame? At what point do such troubling developments cross the line of "having fun" and enter the realm of insanity?

Ah, the good old days. When being followed by crazy insane photographers was the price of fame for real celebrities. Now non-celebrities have priced fame as crazy insane photographers following them. In the future, when everyone will have their own personal paparazzo, there'll be no one left to hound the real celebrities. They'll be the ones with hats and sunglasses walking down the street so quickly, they won't even blip the radar.

In the not so distant future, ordinary people will be too busy scanning the wannabes to notice the real deal. Which is good because finally, real celebrities will get to shop in the malls and buy their own groceries.

The Guinness Tipping Pot

Must be how a St. Paddy's Day hangover feels.

Teaser Announces End of Darkness

OMG. I'm back. Does anyone care?

I'm a tad peeved at myself, if you want to know the truth. I had all these grandiose plans to reorganize the blog, get rid of certain categories, and develop new features, but here it is February 4th and everything's still the same. Guess I bit off a bit more than I could chew, peeples. Bear with me just a little longer?

Okay, Grease is playing on HBO as I type this and I still cannot get over how hot John Travolta looks tapping away in pink. Why doesn't someone like him turn up on Dancing With The Stars? Man, old Edna Turnblad really had tight junk in his day. I just can't figure out how the entire shape of his head changed in twenty-five years. I mean, it's one thing to get old, another to get old and fat, and quite another to end up with a different shaped head, don't you think?

Anyhoo, the reason the blog didn't make as much progress as I thought is because I took a freelance job and then the whole family packed up and went on vacation. To another country. With expensive wireless. That we couldn't afford. It was all I could do to keep up with the job, let alone e-mail and let's just say I didn't do so well with that either. With over five hundred messages in my inbox, I'm thinking of doing a Cathy. That's right, a bulk dump. Man, am I tempted.

If anyone out there sent me an e-mail and you haven't heard back from me by now, chances are you won't. I know that's bad netiquette, but strangely, I no longer consider that at the top of my priority list.

Okay, at least one of the changes around here goes into effect today. Yes, this post is lame, I know. It's really for my own amusement anyway as I know hardly anyone actually reads these articles. A teaser article of more to come. New format means more articles, less words, and more focus on celebrity politics. Check back later today to see it in the flesh...in the type...in the...whatever.

Heh heh. Danny's trying to feel up Sandy. "Oh, Sandy!" Gotta go.

My World is Beginning Today

Spent way too much time over the weekend reconnecting with family and some old friends. As a result, our usual Monday morning articles remain unready for posting.

But, hey, we've got a new logo, new tagline, some new subscribers, and a lot to look forward to in 2008. So as not to disappoint anyone dropping by at the crack of dawn (okay it's really 9:30 a.m., but on an extended holiday weekend, this is still way too early to rise), here's a trippy 70's-looking excerpt from that perennial holiday favorite, Santa Claus is Comin' to Town. Some folks decided Woodstock hippie types must have produced this children's classic and I'm inclined to agree. The dots fanning out in tunnel-like fashion reminded me of a bad Laugh-In segue.

Viewers who recall that era's acid dropping techniques may enjoy a walk down nostalgia lane. The rest of you? Feel free to surf while I get my act in gear. Cheers!

Luckily for Mr. Whipple, There’s No Toilet Paper in Heaven

Was there ever a television commercial that crawled under your skin and consistently evoked an urge to immediately change channels?

In the golden age before remotes, Charmin toilet paper commercials were my nemesis. I literally jumped for the knob at the sight of pearl and cardigan clad Caucasian hausfraus going gaga over toilet tissue. Portraits of giddy delight erupting in facial displays of ecstasy, manicured fingers repeatedly digging and releasing plastic swathed toilet rolls, noses buried in bundles of bathroom bales, these women seemed more akin to refugees from the funny farm than anyone I’d ever encountered at my neighborhood grocery store.

For reasons I never understood, the Charmin display cast an irresistible spell over these dipwads, like sex toys in the middle of an underground paraphernalia shop. At the time, I was far too young to understand any obsession over toilet paper, nor did anyone offer anything remotely resembling an explanation. I eventually developed a strong dislike for the clerk who policed these inane suburbanites. His name: Mr. Whipple.

A mustachioed middle-aged man, glasses precariously perched over a bulbous nose, Mr. Whipple was the definitive wimp, someone who couldn’t stop a dog from taking a piss on his own lawn. “Please don’t squeeze the Charmin” was his signature imploration. This pathetic excuse for a bodyguard always ended the spot by grabbing his own pack to furtively squeeze alone. The camera then rooted him out, sending a subliminal message that even its champion watchdog couldn’t resist finger porking Charmin's soft white folds. In time they added a voice over, just in case viewers didn’t understand the pitch.

Oh, I understood fine, I just couldn’t help feeling sick inside. Why would anyone be possessed by a toilet paper fetish, let alone indulge it in the middle of a grocery aisle? Clearly, my mother wasn’t telling me something. Switching channels became an automatic response.

Thankfully, the mystery of toilet tissue affixation ended around the time I hit puberty. By then, those infuriating Charmin commercials had all but disappeared.

Yesterday, the man who made squeezing the Charmin a guilty little pleasure succumbed to natural causes at the Motion Picture & Television Fund Hospital in Woodland Hills, California. Dick Wilson lived to the ripe old age of 91. He was a universally recognized pitchman who didn’t mind forging a career from a product people like me preferred not to contemplate.

Procter and Gamble put Mr. Whipple down in 1999. Although relieved to witness his demise, I’m saddened to hear about Dick Wilson. There should be a lavish tribute on the P & G web site. Dick Wilson shilled for those people more than 500 times.

Another fixture of my childhood is gone. Each passing symbol from my youth reminds me of a bygone era I'm not quite ready to let go. Call it nostalgic affixation. Too bad I can’t dig in my fingers and sniff for relief.

American Idols Concert Live

It's been two weeks since the kidlets and I trudged downtown to catch the last leg of the American Idols Live tour across America. An early purchase of floor seats lived up to the hype, although we did get somewhat pushy to be up close and personal. Thanks ever so to the white haired guard in gray.

Met their backup singer, Charlotte, outside after the show. This woman is really amazing and should not be singing backup. Charlotte says she's not ready to be mobbed by "50,000 fans everywhere" she goes, but I suspect there are other reasons afoot. All I can say is, Charlotte, hon, it's your time to shine.

No need to write a review, as I see someone from an earlier stop beat me to the punch. Photo creds go to my daughter, Arielle. You go, girl.

Not her best shot, but a good overview of the group.

Here, they've captured enthralled fans on an overhead screen.
Jordan entertained on guitar and asked us to pray for her grandmom who was sick. Hope she is out of the hospital by now.
Loved how she stood out in this outfit. Did not like a lot of her song selections. Hopefully, young Jordan will procure the services of a better manager. The kid has real talent.

Chris was unbelievably hot and rocked the place silly.

He and Blake were the real show stoppers. Be still my heart.

Haley didn't get much face time. Her numbers were good, but nothing to write home about.
Gina, you deserved a spot in the final three.
Not Sanjaya's sexiest, although he did come out in a tight red pants number bringing on the Elvis. Yes, the boy has a presence. Are you listening, Calvin Klein?

Sligh and Lakisha were also standouts. I hear Lakisha is now on Broadway working with Idols winner Fantasia in The Color Purple. And I eh yi eh yi will always love you ew ew ooo ew...
Under rated Phil brought home the bacon in a number dedicated to the U.S. armed forces.
Here's Phil again in a hot cowboy number.


This is the only shot of Melinda. A cute little group number. Sorry, but they didn't give her enough face time either.

Nice group shot of the final number. All in all, we had a great time. Just sorry we couldn't get backstage for autographs. Don't think I didn't try. Maybe next time 'round.

Can't Get Enough of those Simpsons

Sorry. I've been away on vacation. It's hard to keep blogging when you're away and having fun. I'll admit, the articles from last week were a little...meh....so what? At least now the whole world can understand why.

I first caught Life in Hell, a highly intelligent, avant-garde comic strip, in Baltimore's City Paper around 1989, give or take. Authored by Matt Groening, slightly dark, but funny as all get out, I could really relate to those rabbits. I remember being very disturbed when the paper stopped carrying it. After some digging, I found out why. The paper didn't drop the strip, rather, the strip dropped off the face of the earth. Groening stopped writing it. I was all set to start a letter writing campaign, you know, like the fans did with Jericho. Then The Simpsons came along. The rest, shall we say, is history.

Haven't caught the movie, but heard it is LOLF. In lieu of a review, here's my little tribute. The Simpson character is my own, courtesy of Matt and Fox head honchos. Special thanks to Zackkim.com. The featured guitar player is quite astounding.

Just one teeny tiny request to Matt (if I am ever so lucky for he of comic lore to drop by): Please bring back the bunnies.