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UNPAID ENDORSEMENT: I'm currently reading Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell. (I bought it for my mother for Christmas because I wanted to read it, and she just finished it and gave it to me to read. Mission accomplished!) It's chock full of interesting information about the assassinations of Presidents Lincoln, Garfield, and McKinley. Hooray, book!

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In today's newspaper, I saw an advertisement for the new movie Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film For Theaters. The ad included this endorsement: "Perversely entertaining,...whups the ass of TMNT!" -- Peter Travers, Rolling Stone.

If you ever make a movie, give Peter Travers a few bucks, and he'll say something good about it for you to put in your promotional advertising. I don't know what Mr. Travers' personal taste in films is, but he seems to have something banal to say about everything, no matter how bad a movie it is. And I'm not alone in noticing this. Travers is oft called a "blurbwhore," and hollwoodbitchslap.com names their annual award to the critic most often quoted in promotional advertising the "Peter Travers Whore of the Year Award."

To get a handle on how many movies Travers shills for, take a look at the five other ads published today that used Travers' comments:
300: "Prepare your eyes for popping -- they just might fly out of their sockets!"
Disturbia: "A nail-biter. Cool stuff. Cool movie."
Grindhouse: "This tour-de-force gets you high on movies again!"
Hoax: "A devilish satire with mischievous wit."
Hot Fuzz: "A blast!"

Well, guys, perhaps you shouldn't all chose to quote Travers in the same week. It sort of weakens his endorsement if he endorses everything, doesn't it?

His blurbs tend to be very, um, visceral, clearly tailored for an audience desperate for thrills. His blurbs might not tell you anything about the movies themselves, but at least they're entertaining. Recent favorites of mine include the following:
King Kong: "What you will see will spin your head six ways from Sunday." (Ouch. Look away!)
Mission Impossible III: "The movie to beat in the race to push your pulse rate past the danger zone." (Past the danger zone? Watching this movie will kill me?)
Poseidon: "Hits the action button and never stops!" (Never stops pushing the action button?)
Rocky Balboa: "Stallone steps in the ring and every day is Christmas." (Sweet.)

(P.S. Note that Peter Travers has never reviewed the movie TMNT, at least so far as I can tell at Rollingstone.com. Therefore, how would he know if ATHF whups its ass? Sounds good, though, doesn't it, Peter.)

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Ah, again we've reached that day of the year that royally chaps my hide. Perhaps it's because I can't stand to see other people happy. Or maybe it's because I'm so lonely that I become depressed to see couples enjoying each other's company. But I think that I hate Valentine's Day because it never shows up in superhero comic book stories.

There is a long tradition of comic book Christmas stories in both the DC and Marvel Universes. New Years, Halloween, and Thanksgiving are equally well represented. I can even remember St. Patrick's Day and Independence Day themed stories. However, I can't ever recall reading any comic book containing relevance to the events of Valentine's Day (save, of course, for the issue of Long Halloween, which was entirely holiday themed). If it's not important enough for Superman, I won't be bothered celebrating it.

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So this is Christmas? I must say that this Christmas was probably more enjoyable than recent years past. No one argued. No one threw punches or food. No one stormed out and drove home. (Though my father is sleeping in his car tonight. But it's just out of appreciation for tradition.)

The lack of friction around the table this year made me realize that I often hear people talk about their dysfunctional families' holidays, but I never hear anyone talk about their functional families' holidays. I think it's about time that the June Cleavers and Donna Reeds of the world speak up. Is Nixon's "silent majority" too busy enjoying the holiday season with their sweater vests and sober relatives to tell the rest of us that we're screwed up? Or are they just smart enough to lay low, lest they find themselves co-starring on a very special holiday edition of Cops with my father?

I even enjoyed a better than average gifting this year. The only thing I asked for was socks, but in addition to the socks, I also received 12 pairs of underwear and a fog machine. Wowee! I'd say it was "like Christmas," except for the fact that it actually was Christmas. In this case, my extensive mental inventory of useful sarcastic cliches has let me down, leaving me grasping for words with which to describe the event. (Sarcasm just can't be used to describe satisfaction.)

The 12 pairs of underwear made me wonder about why we call them "pairs" of underwear. A quick internet search reveals that back in the day, only nobility wore anything over the coverings of their genitals, so there was technically no such thing as "underwear" until the last few centuries. (Unless, of course, you were hanging out in a royal court wearing a codpiece or tunic.) Modern legged outerwear evolved from two, unattached leggings (a pair of hose, to be precise) to become the single garment that we now call "a pair of pants." As I understand it, the word "pants" evolved from the word "pantaloons," a type of legged, female underskirt garment designed to cover their highly coveted naughty bits. This would make "pairs of underwear" a vestigial etymological remnant of a bygone wardrobe in our lexicon.

Note that since "pants" originated as a type of underwear, modern outerwear "pants" should properly be referred to as "trousers" since "pants" is specifically derivative of a type of undergarment and "trousers" are outerwear for the legs. This appears to be yet another difference in American and British English languages. They get it right, whereas we American's don't care what you call it so long as you can't see our legs.

It turns out that "men's cotton briefs," such as I received for Christmas, weren't even invented until the 1930s in Chicago, Illinois. Named for the 20th century male undergarment called a "jockstrap," they were designed and sold by a company which would later adopt their brand name as the company name: Jockey.

Now, all this thinking of underwear has reminded me of an editorial that I once wrote to the University of Georgia's student newspaper, The Red and Black. I took the opportunity to satirize the University community's overreaction to one editorial cartoon by criticizing another by my classmate Mack Williams (now an accomplished animator for Cartoon Network's Adult Swim program Frisky Dingo). What does this have to do with underwear, you ask? Simple: "culottes," a French underwear that appears to be a cross between a skirt and shorts. I quote from one of the many, many responses to my letter:

First we had someone decrying Williams' Feb. 26 cartoon as an insult to the soldiers who fought at Iwo Jima, when it should have been plainly obvious such an insult was not the cartoonist's intent. Now we've got someone with his culottes in a bunch over Williams' portrayal of poodles in a subsequent cartoon ("Poodles not often angry or mean dogs," Feb. 28). Poodles! Come down off the ledge, Stephens, and understand that the poodle in that cartoon was a symbol for something else -- the cartoon was not about poodles any more than it was about bulldogs or people with facial hair.

The full text can be read from the archives of The Red and Black online. The event played out in the editorial pages' "Mailbox" from February 28 through March 3, 2003. The highlight of the affair for me was this dialogue exchanged in the online feedback section:

I am stunned at how many people have been writing in about the initial poodle letter. I know Americans are supposed to be irony-free, but this is ridiculous. The letter was satirizing the Iwo Jima complaints. Come on, people, show that you deserve to be at college.

Which received the following response:

He wasn't satirizing anything, it was written by a mixed up old secretary who has his priorities all mixed up. Not everyone is as clever as you think they are.

Now THAT is satisfying journalism.

Hmm. I seem to be rambling. It must be the effects of too much cranberry sauce, Hershey's Christmas Kisses, sweet tea, pound cake, Coca-Cola, and Klondike Bars. I suppose the point of all of this rambling is that I associate 17th century women's underwear with poodles. (But I don't endorse putting poodles into women's underwear. That's just weird.)

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Once upon a time I was told that more people died on Mondays than any other day of the week. I also have heard that more people die during the Christmas season than any other time of the year. Since Christmas falls on a Monday this year, does that mean that there will be an exceptional number of fatalities this December 25? (2006: The Christmas of Death!)

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Today's blog entry was going to be about how much I hate those stupid inflatable yard holiday decorations, but then I realized that everything in the blog has been negative this month. So instead, let me mention something that I actually like: Heroes on NBC.

Heroes is up against Monday Night Football and is marketed to that group of television viewers that is disinterested in sports (you know, geeks and women). As much as I love comic books, I'm not going to bypass weekly football for a television show about, well, anything. I wouldn't have ever discovered this gem except for NBC's brilliant decision to also air it on their sister station SciFi Network on Fridays before Doctor Who, which I also love. And starting last week, NBC.com now streams old episodes so that I can catch up on the elements that I missed. (Heroes is as much an episodic serial as any other soap opera, so, believe me, there was a lot to catch up on.)

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: America loves super heroes. (I think it's part of the American Dream.) Despite the entertainment ghetto to which comic books have been traditionally relegated, they continue to inspire more popular entertainments such as movies and television shows. If this show was a comic, it would never reach the mass audience it deserves. And it's a blast to find a well-written television show that contains as much wonder, suspense, and excitement as an issue of Grant Morrison's JLA. If Superman Returns had been written half as well as this, it could have been among the greatest movies ever.

Yet despite being a television show designed for a mass audience, the show is very loyal to its comic book roots. (In one episode, a major character is revealed to be a member of the "Merry Marvel Marching Society." Sweet!) Heroes is an enjoyable mixture of X-Men meets X-Files with a hint of Smallville. Though this makes it a little predictable for longtime comic readers, it more than makes up for that with an enthusiastic and encouraging embrace of the super hero genre. In any given episode, you'll find such echos of such characters as DC's Phosphorus Man, Thorn, and Waverider, or Marvel's Cannonball, Rogue, and Shadowcat. Excelsior!

So there you go. Something I like. This blog will now resume its regularly scheduled bitching.

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Look, up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's the Sun!

I think that if I were a religious person, I'd probably worship the Sun. Sure, the Sun provides the light energy that makes life possible on Earth, and it has been worshipped by humans for as long as we've been standing upright. Links between the Sun and Christianity (the religion of the "Son") are as well established as the date for Christmas. (Interestingly, the name of the Islamic god, "Allah," may have been derived for a pagan Arabic god of the Moon, the anti-Sun. But that's not today's point.) Despite all of this, the Sun's unique relationship to modern culture goes largely ignored. The Sun gave us superheroes.

The archetype of the modern costumed hero, Superman is powered directly by the Sun. The rays of the Earth's yellow sun charge Superman's amazing Kryptonian physique, allowing him the powers of flight, super sense, and invulnerability. Without the Sun, there's no Man of Steel. That makes the Sun directly responsible for Earth's greatest champion.

The anti-Superman, Batman, is also controlled by the Sun. Unlike Superman, Bruce Wayne has no alien physiology, and must limit his crime-fighting to survivable situations. He chose to adopt a demonic costume and fight in the dark, knowing that his training, combined with mankind's inherent fear of the unknown ("Things That Go Bump in the Dark") will give him an edge against the criminal element. The fictitious construct that is "The Batman" could not function in daylight, and only inspires fear in situations where the Sun is absent. (You can't have a Dark Knight without the dark night.) Again, the abilities and character of one of the archetypical heroes of modern culture, The Batman, is determined directly by the Sun.

As if those two weren't great enough examples of the Sun's influence on American popular culture in general and the superhero in specific, the modern archetype for the superheroic family/team, the Fantastic Four, gained their powers from Cosmic Rays, which by their very nature are generated by the Sun. The Sun's natural radiation must also be responsible for some of the X-Men's bizarre super-human mutations, such as those possessed by Sunspot and Dazzler.

If the Sun has provided all of these powerful and admirable superheroes with their reason for being, I can't think of anything better to devote to worshiping. It certainly makes more sense than Catholicism.

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McDonald's is out to brainwash America (and then the world -- Bwah-Ha-Ha-HA!) to eat their crappy hamburgers. I know that this is not exactly breaking news, but have you noticed the recent trends in McDonald's commercials? In order to dig the company out of the horrible publicity pit they have found themselves in recently, they have decided to simply try to pressure us back up to the counter.

First they tried to convince us that our grown friends would really love McDonald's gift cards for Christmas. Ask yourself, have you ever, even once in your life, wished that your wife or parents (or Santa, whoever) had given you a gift certificate to McDonald's instead of cash? "Gee, I sure wish that I could have nothing but tasteless, fattening meals everyday instead of paying my rent." Even as a child, I would rather have had the cash than a Happy Meal toy. (And yes, I do remember the first time I chose a Big Mac over a Happy Meal, and it was indeed because of peer pressure. >Shakes fist!<)

Then they tell you that their food is good for whatever meal you would next be having. In a commercial, one man serves double cheeseburgers as hor d'oeuvres despite his friend's objections. When the rest of "the gang" find the burgers served as finger food and approve, the lone dissenter, also known as "the voice of reason," is forced into compliance with his friends lest he risk defenestration or some such other fate as commonly befalls the malcontents of society. Certainly, McDonald's has no patience for traditions, mores, or manners so long as you can still stuff your face at their trough.

Just like the communists, they next attack the arts and the intelligentsia. In a commercial where "the gang" are going to a football game in face paint, the one fellow who actually makes an attempt at creativity and team spirit is ridiculed, emasculated by his friends. And this occurs after the artist has been demonstrated to perform due diligence: attempting communication with his friends about the planned demonstration. Apparently, to be an individual in Ronald McDonaldland is to risk constant belittlement and ostracism. (As I recall, "the gang" is represented by minority racial groups and women, and the "outcast" is a white male. This means that the peer pressure to conform is being issued by traditionally oppressed American ethnic groups, an insidious paradigm shift designed to subconsciously cow the skeptical viewer into compliance with the message to prevent the outward appearance of political incorrectness and the accompanying social consequences.) I don't suppose it's a coincidence that Ronald McDonald wears the same colors as the soviet flag!

In another ad, a married man conscientiously contacts his distant wife to ask if she would like a meal from McDonald's. She fails to define her desires to him, and he is left in the uncomfortable situation of having to buy her dinner without offending her. Clearly, McDonald's would have us believe that the failure to memorize both their menu board and the fast-food eating habits of our friends and lovers will result in relationship difficulties. According to the company of the clown, we must eat at McDonald's or we risk dying both alone and hungry.

Finally, in the most shocking of all, a red-headed young man sits on a park bench beside a statue of cross-legged, smiling Ronald. As the seconds pass, the young man finds himself compelled to assume the same pose as the statue. McDonald's peer pressure tactics are so great that they'd have you believe that you must conform even with their statues!

It's not 1984 anymore, McDonald's! Wake up and smell one of the 1.3 million cups of scalding hot coffee that you sell every day! Make good food and we'll come eat it. If your best idea for convincing me to come into your store is to hypnotize me with a constant stream of blipverts, you've got even more problems than Morgan Spurlock suggests that you have.

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I just discovered through Google that there is another online Wriphe who is over in the UK. (At least I think it's the UK. He likes cars, especially BMWs. That Wriphe even says "Cheers" at the end of his postings, so I know it's not me.) I think that's kind of cool. It's like a Mirror, Mirror thing. I hope he has a goatee.

On second thought, I suppose it could be a Fight Club thing. Or maybe a Time Cop thing. You know, it seems that most alternate future/phsycologically destructive alter-ego scenarios have only downsides. Why can't it be a Multiplicity thing? (I wonder if UK Wriphe is sleeping with Andie McDowell?)

Christmas time is stressful. Especially when you live hand-to-mouth and are trying to split your daylight hours between your mother's constantly-redesigned remodeling job-in-progress and puzzling through the legal and financial obstacles hazarding potential small business owners. What I've learned so far: 1) Allow the changes, but charge extra for the time that said changes cause. 2) There is way too much government interference in America's so-called capitalistic industries.

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