The following is an entirely true and somewhat amazing cascade of events:
Sometime early this decade, probably right around when I finished reading Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None, I decided I wanted to write my own detective novel. It was to be nothing short of a blatant rip-off of Christie’s concept—people dying one by one on an island cut off from the rest of civilization—with the small twist that a tried-and-true detective would be there, doubling as the role of the murderer. And because detectives always had such austere names and I had always liked the sound of “Jonathan,” I decided to name my main character Jonathan Ames.
Fast forward two years or so to a shot of me walking through my favorite bookstore. There, on the discount rack with a bright yellow spine, was a book called Wake Up, Sir! by a man named Jonathan Ames. Two days later, I finished reading the funniest book I’d ever picked up.
Now in the fall of 2009, we’ve come full circle. HBO has a new television series based off Ames’ short story, “Bored to Death.” And the main character is none other than a detective named Jonathan Ames.
The appeal of The Hills has always been its delicate balance of a few very key contradictions: the show is “real life” but quite obviously staged, these characters are on a very successful and invasive TV show that they can never explicitly acknowledge, the people on the show constantly talk about how much is going on in their lives while nothing actually happens on the show, and they all have to lead very dramatic lives while simultaneously professing a deep aversion to said “drama.”
The introduction of Kristin Cavallari, though, threatens to throw this symbiosis all out of whack.
In last night’s season premiere (called “It’s On, Bitch,” except MTV didn’t punctuate it, so it read as if something was on top of “bitch”), Kristin was treated as if her reputation preceded her like Winston Wolf, except instead of solving problems, she steals boyfriends. And in short order she starts pursuing Audrina’s ex, Justin Bobby.
Except Kristin’s reputation is repeated so often by so many characters that they sound as if they were reading MTV Production Notes (particularly Stephanie, who says both “This is the girl that’s going to stab us all in the back!” and “How is it possible that one girl can turn all of our lives upside down?”). Also, the only reason Kristin is pursuing Justin, as she more or less admits, is to cause drama and upset Audrina, which A) violates the rule that all characters must profess a “no drama” ethos; and B) highlights how forced Kristin’s inclusion is. She’s not actually friends with anyone on the show, as both she and Lo make clear at various points during the episode, which makes any interaction she has with the rest of the cast seem manipulated and contrived (even more so than usual). Continue reading
“Stick with him! Think of chewing gum … if he’s chewing some, by the end of the game, I want to know what flavor it is!”
—Coach Norman Dale
A few years ago, the Washington Redskins traded young but established star cornerback named Champ Bailey to the Denver Broncos for a young but established star running back named Clinton Portis. Most people thought the Broncos won the trade; even if Portis was a better player, Bailey was a star at a position that didn’t have any (and, of course, with their borderline illegal blocking scheme, the Broncos would have no trouble producing another 1,000-yard rusher. His name was Reuben Droughns).
Now, there haven’t been any clear winners in that deal. Each team has won a single playoff game, and both guys played a fairly significant part in those respective wins (gratuitous linking to that Bailey interception…NOW!). My hard-to-get-to point is this: At the time of the trade, Champ Bailey was the best cornerback in football and the only one who could even be considered a shutdown guy. Bailey was the only player who made teams think twice about throwing his way. And he wasn’t even that good, at least not by “Best Cornerback in the League” standards. (No offense to Champ, but he couldn’t hold a candle to guys like Darrell Green, Deion Sanders, even Aeneas Williams.)
Contrary to the opinions of Roger Waters and David Gilmour, we do, in fact, need education. In fact, according to President Obama and Secretary of Education Arne Duncan, we need more education. This weekend, the two of them floated the ever-unpopular ideas of expanding the school day and eliminating or shortening summer break.
Now, since I am no longer in school, I can admit it: They’re right. There is no reason for the school schedule to remain as it is. The current academic schedule is based on the socio-economic conditions that were prevalent when public schools were being established, over 100 years ago. But things have changed; as Duncan put it, “Not too many of our kids are working the fields today.”
Ignoring Duncan’s blatant disrespect for the <1% of the country that still farms, he’s right that the calendar should be changed. But simply expanding the length of the school day or school year is not all that should be changed. Continue reading
What we read while Google Earth-ing the rest of the Middle East:
- Our friends over at The Millions got a jump start on decade-in-review countdowns, ranking the best novels of the last 10 years. For those who, like us, enjoyed Roberto Bolaño’s 2666, No. 4 on The Millions’ list, they offer a complete “Bolaño syllabus” for how to read more of the still-being-translated Chilean. And if decade-in-review countdowns are up your alley, get pumped for December, when we exercise our own love of rankings and unleash a massive retrospective on the last 10 years.
- We’ve known about Tampa Bay Rays’ outfielder-cum-poet Fernando Perez for over a year now. Perez, a Jersey Guy and Columbia alum, is one of the most articulate athletes to come along in some time, a talent he showcases in an essay on poetry he wrote for the latest issue of Poetry Magazine. Perez has also written glimpses at Major League life for The New York Times‘ Bats blog and at Minor League life for MiLB.com.
- It was more than a week ago that Fire Joe Morgan staged a one-day reunion on Deadspin, but this takedown of Derek Jeter is, to some of us, timeless.
Back when I was a hard-working student, I took two very different classes. One was high school biology, and the other was on James Joyce. I got through the former by remembering one of the life sciences’ simplest platitudes: Form equals function. I got through the latter by pretending I understood what that meant when applied to literature.
Ulysses is the ultimate example of form overwhelming plot—of the how of the story transcending the what. Not quite coincidentally, it’s also widely considered the greatest novel of the 20th century.
Enter David Mazzucchelli’s Asterios Polyp. The aim of this 344-page graphic novel is in many ways similar to Joyce’s in Ulysses: Mazzucchelli attempts to tell the story of his eccentrically named title character in a manner that reveals more about him that straight words or illustrations ever could. Asterios’ tale isn’t just what he says or how he says it; it’s also how Mazzucchelli portrays Asterios’ words and actions.
Of course, this is a little easier to do in a graphic medium than a strictly textual one. Mazzucchelli takes full advantage of that by giving each of his characters their own individual style. For instance:
Let me set the scene for you: It’s the final week of the golf season, except nobody notices because the most important tournaments have already been played.
Let me reset the scene for you: It’s the final week of the golf season, and everybody’s* attention is riveted as the most important tournament wraps up six weeks of must-see golf.
*“Everybody” here does not, of course, mean “everybody,” but rather, you know, anyone somewhat enthused by the adventurous journey of that petite dimpled ball.
This is the third year of the FedEx Cup—golf’s subpar attempt at concocting end-of-season excitement with some absurd form of “playoffs.” There are four tournaments, a point system, and a reduced number of players in the field each week. But in 2007, Tiger Woods won easily because he dominated the whole year, and in 2008, Vijay Singh won easily because he won the first two of the “playoff” tournaments.
Golf’s problem is this: It wants the playoffs to be approached both by the players and its fans with the same level of seriousness and significance as the sport’s major championships, played intermittently throughout the season. But therein lies the rub: The playoffs won’t be taken this seriously while they’re competing with the major titles.