I always figured that one day our 21st century sensibilities would kick in and The Dukes of Hazzard would be res non grata on TV. I never thought the same would be true for The Cosby Show.
Yeah, up until now I’ve been a tacit Bill Cosby apologist (it just couldn’t be true, right?), but now I really do think of Bill Cosby differently.
Great. Our generation’s one TV dad that wasn’t a complete moron… down the drain.
This is how you spend July Fourth weekend if you live in the suburbs and have a one-year-old…
Friday night: celebrate all things great about America with pizza and s’mores.
(Silently curse neighbors with their fireworks going waaaaayyy to late into the evening.)
Saturday: doughnuts from a place called Duck Donuts. I was a Duck Donuts virgin until this weekend. Seriously, it’s worth driving past several other doughnut shops on your way there, including Starbucks, Dunkin’ Donuts, and the other two Starbucks.
Followed by…
Morning baseball. Seriously. Eleven a.m. start time? I’m in on that.
Gig 2-5 at a winery… outdoors in a rainstorm. Can’t win ’em all I guess.
Franklin and I played outside a bit in the evening when it stopped raining but he was asleep long before any fireworks began.
Fireworks on TV. I thought the lead up to the fireworks this year on “A Capitol Fourth” was pretty terrible, but passable with the sound off.
(Silently curse neighbors with their fireworks going waaaaayyy to late into the evening.)
Sunday: not a damn thing.
Perfect.
One of my more favored holidays is that which we celebrate tomorrow: the Fourth of July.
Or, if you work for the government, you celebrate it today, because no holiday is complete without a day off from Uncle Sam.
Truth be told, those government workers aren’t too far off in their celebrations. Actually, they’re no farther off than we are, for as we know the day our nascent congress voted for independence was July 2, not July 4. In a well-known letter from 239 years ago today, future President John Adams assured his wife that July 2 would become a great American holiday. Well, he was only off by a day.
However you celebrate the Fourth please do so responsibly. And while you’re at it, check out the Declaration of Independence for crying out loud. You may be surprised to find the language not only blustery and idealistic, but at times crude and menacing too!
Amen, brothers! Your movement lives on today.
The article referenced here is about a month old, but I’ve got a baby and am therefore behind the times.
CNN headline from May 26, 2015: “Fashion, plus-size modeling and race: When ‘diversity’ isn’t so diverse.” Yeah, the folks who clamor for “regular”-looking people (read: overweight) to be featured in magazine ads are now upset that more, let’s say people of color are not used in said ads.
What we have here is proof of two things: 1.) Our opponents will never be satisfied; and 2.) Even with 2015 politically-correct sensibilities (is that an oxy moron?) in place, it still comes down to appearances and physical characteristics, doesn’t it?
This one’s about a week old and therefore ancient history in media years, so most of the world has already forgotten about the hubbub surrounding the University of California’s system-wide policing of racist and sexist “microagressions” in writing and speech.
But I haven’t.
The real creation of this monster actually goes back to this past January, when UC’s president Janet Napolitano (remember her?) sent a letter to her deans and department chairs inviting them to attend seminars “to foster informed conversation about the best way to build and nurture a productive academic climate.”
Yup.
You see, phrases such as America is a melting pot, America is the land of opportunity, and I believe the most qualified person should get the job, can no longer be tolerated at that beacon of free speech, the University of California’s flagship school at Berkeley or any of its subsidiaries. To be fair, these phrases aren’t technically illegal, just, you know, frowned upon because “brief, subtle verbal or non-verbal exchanges that send denigrating messages to the recipient because of his or her group membership (such as race, gender, age or socio-economic status).”
Non-verbal? Are you kidding m—oh God, I’ve said too much.
So-called microaggressions, the argument goes, can lead to “hostile learning environment[s],” which politically-correct types view as legally actionable.
Eep.
But don’t worry, this won’t play any role in grades or tenure or hiring or firing or anything like that, because, you know… Everyone can succeed in this society, if they work hard enough.
Whoops.
[Editor’s note: The only thing that offends me about that last sentence is the grammatical error!]
Last week I had the pleasure of seeing a movie I’d been hearing about for roughly half a decade or so: The Rewrite, starring Hugh Grant and Marisa Tomei. What was the hook that got me to watch this maudlin piece of Hollywood tripe?
It takes place in my hometown.
Yup. Binghamton, New York. And seriously, it’s no incidental mention. Binghamton is a character the way New York is a character in old Woody Allen movies. The movie is about Binghamton. Or rather, it’s about Binghamton, and I have no idea how that plays if you’re not actually from there. I spent nearly 30 years of my life there, and for the most part The Rewrite nails it. Heck, the main plot line is that the protagonist hates that he has to live in Binghamton!
Director Marc Lawrence, who has teamed with Hugh Grant now in four films, is a 1981 graduate of Binghamton University (we called it SUNY back then), and luckily for him Binghamton’s been in a freeze-frame timewarp since then, so the Binghamton he remembers from 1981 is precisely what it looks like today. Well, it might be a little scummier but it’s basically the same.
Serling. Spiedies. Rain. Carousels. It’s all in there. And who knew J.K. Simmons and Allison Janney were going to pop up in the film too? My thought pretty much was: my God, those are real actors in this home movie… wait a minute, this is a real movie.
Predicable at every turn, The Rewrite isn’t going to win any Academy Awards. (Have you ever seen a chick flick before? Yup, you know how it ends.) But the characters, the acting, (some) of the scenery, and, in a starring role, the music make The Rewrite an ultimately enjoyable film, whether you’re from Binghamton or not.
And for your sake I hope you’re not.
Ha! They even get that right too.
A question.
Which was longer: the monstrous pregame show heading into this year’s Super Bowl game, or the appeal hearing yesterday for star quarterback and scapegoat Tom Brady’s suspension for his involvement in the so-called Deflate-gate scandal?
Answer: windbags with law degrees beat windbags with TV microphones every day of the week.
Now we await the real fate of Tom Brady, who as of this moment faces a four-game suspension for his involvement for the underinflation (is that a word?) of footballs preceding the 2015 AFC Championship Game. Brady is appealing his suspension as all scrappy victims do.
What the hell kind of topsy-turvy world am I living in that Tom Brady–football hero married to supermodel–is an underdog? Add him to the 2015 lovable long shot list with LeBron James, Alex Rodriguez, and Tiger Woods. I suppose you can throw Pete Rose and the Confederate flag in there too, but let’s face it, the Confederates have been underdogs since 1860. And for the first time in a century in a half, ain’t nobody rooting for them these days.
But Brady? Well, first time in a decade and a half for me this season, because you know I love an underdog.
If you’re me, yesterday was the last day of summer vacation: the few days between the end of school and the beginning of summer camp that always seems to pass too quickly.
Today’s the first day of summer camp at our local community center, and yours truly will be presiding. The kids call me “Mr. Mike,” or sometimes “Dr. Who.” Mostly I’m some actor they can’t name, or someone that reminds them of Bill Nye.
Please, kids. It’s the Bill Nye of Poly Sci, and don’t you forget it. Now let’s see if we can all keep our phones away long enough to remember we’re on vacation.
Over the years I’ve seen many lists labeled something like “Lessons my father taught me.” Usually they are things Dad never actually said, but you eventually picked up anyway. Maybe you were an adult or a dad yourself before you grasped them fully. Regardless, the lessons are invariably righteous and becoming.
My father’s been gone for almost a decade, but over that time I’ve pieced together some of those things he might have said were he around. The thing is, most of them are not noble or decent. They’re practical, and above all genuine. These are the real rules my father taught me, though he never actually said any of them. Franklin, I give this list to you.
Rules My Father Taught Me
1. Put yourself first.
2. Never let work get in the way of your hobbies.
3. Make sure other people are more indebted to you than you are to them.
4. Stash away as much money as possible.
5. But if you really want something you should buy it.
6. The only person you can really trust is yourself.
7. There is no need to meddle in the lives of others.
8. It doesn’t matter what other people think of you, including your relatives, friends, and coworkers.
9. When in doubt, consult Rule #1.
10. Every once in a while, do something selfless and generous, just to keep people on their toes.
I know scientists will tell me summer doesn’t actually begin for a few more days, but let’s face it, if you’re in school, summer starts when school’s out. For the first time in 15 years I’m on that schedule, and couldn’t be happier to be off today. (Oh, if the students ever found out that teachers love snow days and summer vacation way more than they do…)
Summer camp doesn’t start until Monday, so I’ve got a few days off in between. How am I spending them? Road trip? Fishing expedition? Rock and roll fantasy camp? Nope. It’s Camp Summerintown around here, and furthermore it’s Father-Son Day today. That’s the thing I enjoy doing most in life, and I plan to make it an annual tradition.
“Real” Father’s Day is this Sunday, and I’m looking forward to that one too. Stay tuned, this Friday, for a special Father’s Day-themed post. For now I’m milking these three days of summer vacation for everything they’re worth.
