Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Don't Call it a Comeback

Okay, so I haven't written much in months - or at all for that matter. Forgive me, I've been busy and haven't been very inspired. But, I have been writing on, and working for, the Craig Criteria so I haven't been entirely lazy. Speaking of the Criterion, I wanted to post my first article. It's a debate (against Mary Shaw, who is a complete fucking moron) about whether or not Sarah Palin should run for president. And instead of making this introduction any longer, here it is:

A Bridge to Nowhere

by Christian Pankow

While spending sleepless nights in the Hanoi Hilton, I assure you that John McCain had never entertained the idea of being more desperate. But when push came to shove, the dust had cleared, and that musky, leather-covered skeleton had removed all the proverbial aces from his campaign-sleeve, only Sarah Palin stood as his last hope. And desperate he was.

I hope for his sake that his rationalization to his advisors was, “Let’s snag the female vote with this surrogate woman; they won’t know the difference.” Any other justification for picking Sarah Palin as a running mate would lead one to question McCain’s mental stability.

Unlike rival Hillary Clinton, McCain’s choice of running-mate wasn’t well-educated, supremely classy or experienced in the highest levels of power—and she definitely didn’t own a comparable wardrobe of alluring power suits.

Palin did, however, own a well-deserved title as a “Christian Communist,” defined as a dictator-like figure that holds a political philosophy based on Christian ideals. Infamous for attempting to fire a popular town librarian and banning an assortment of “unfit” books, she added to her dictatorial reputation as governor when she ousted a Public Safety Commissioner who refused to fire a state trooper for divorcing Palin’s sister.

Cutting millions of dollars of funding from special needs children, opposing abortion even in cases of rape or incest—her ethics have always been in question—which may come as a bit of a shock when considering the holier-than-thou propaganda that cascades from her folksy, “Joe Six Pack” public persona.

Though it may not be necessary to add to her laundry list of blunders, it’s hard to talk about Palin without mentioning the kicker. The Gravina Island Bridge, often referred to as the "Bridge to Nowhere," was proposed to replace the ferry that currently connects the town of Ketchikan, Alaska with Gravina Island, home to an airport and 50 residents.

Being a hypocrite, Palin told the press otherwise, but it’s a fact that she signed off on the project. She was all for pouring millions of federal tax dollars into the pork barrel project, and even went as far as hoisting a pro-bridge t-shirt when she visited Ketchikan.

It wasn’t until the Republican Party began to use the Bridge to Nowhere as a negative example that she converted from pro-bridge to anti-pork. It’s no coincidence, but rather a testament to her shady character.

I can reach across the aisle and give credit where credit is due, though. She does have her impressive moments. For example, she has profound grace and poise in her struggle to appear a rung above George W. Bush on the public-speaking ladder.

And while it is easy and trendy to laugh at her, she does inject a certain entertainment value into the world of politics that nearly makes the Grand Old Party, well, a party again. Not to mention that she is admittedly a wonderful mother who teaches her children how to be safe, responsible adults.

So please don’t get me wrong: if modern day Republicans want to be represented by ‘aw shucks’ figures that care more about the size of their wallets than the good of their people, that is their prerogative. But if it were up to me, Sarah Palin would put her mucklucks back on, mosey on back to her village and shoot moose from her back porch with her husband Todd.

While they’re at it they might attend some more pro-Alaskan independence rallies. This might be considered penance for leaving Alaska in the lurch by resigning from the Governor’s office in mid-term, forsaking her beloved home state to promote a book which is mysteriously a best-seller before publication.

Not that there is anything wrong with outdoors types writing books or running for office—I just don’t find either a qualification for leading the free world, even if they can keep an eye on foreign neighbors from their back doors.

Simply put, we don’t need snow machines splashing mud on future presidential races. And the venerable McCain would surely roll over in his grave if Palin someday managed to attain the oval office that he so coveted.



I hope you enjoyed it, let me know what you think. I'll post my movie reviews (which is what my column is actually about) soon.



Wednesday, August 19, 2009

The Brat Saga

I'll be the first to admit that back in the hay day, I was the blindest Brett Favre fan in the world. The man could do no wrong through my Green and Gold colored glasses.


Vicadin? So what, he is a fucking iron man who plays with broken toes, he needs it. Most interceptions in NFL History? Yeah, well what stat is he not the leader in? Frankly, I think it's more impressive that he played long enough to throw those picks, and managed to throw that many and keep a job. 2005, 2006, 2007 he creates a circus by going back and forth with retirement, leaving everyone hanging? No problem, the guy is a legend. I want him back, of course, he's an icon, but if he doesn't, that's ultimately his decision. Retired in 2008, and decides to come back after all? Okay, fine, he can still play, he has that option.

Wait. Rewind that for a second.

It's not fine. He didn't just call it quits, he held a press-conference, cried his eyes out, and created an emotional ruckus. Merely months later, he change his mind; but it's not as simple as it sounds. He passive-aggressively pussy-footed around the matter. He's an attention whore who wanted to be asked to returned, he wanted to be fawned over, he wanted the press on his lawn. So he did what any self-respecting 12-year old would do, and sent out some text messages to stir the rumor mill.

So the circus begins. Favre wants back in, the fans are split down the middle, and Ted Thompson says he can come back, but only to battle for the starting position. I don't blame Ted, he didn't have a good alternative option. How was he suppose to let Rodgers, his guy, the guy he drafted, his golden boy for the future, be left hanging again? He gave him the keys to the car, he couldn't take them away, give them to a 40 year old quitter, and crush Aaron's confidence and trust again. This, of course, is without mentioning that at this point in their respective careers Rodgers would more than likely be the better QB (as he was).

Favre gives Ted a big "fuck you" when he realizes he's not immortal. He asks for his release, and transforms into Broadway Brett, who has a very good beginning of the season. But then it starts to happen, his age catches up on him. He throws out his shoulder, tears a rotator cuff, and has an abysmal second half of the season. You could attribute the Jets missing the playoffs to Mangini's decision to trust Favre down the stretch.

Make it two years in a row that Brett crushes his team's Championship Dreams, and two years in a row that Favre ends the season in a tear-jerking retirement. You had your last hoo-rah, you proved you can't withstand your age, and you proved that you're an interception machine when it matters most. Let's just forgive and forget, all is well in Packer Nation, all is well in Favre Nation.

The Ultimate Ringmaster is nothing without his final act. Not to say I believe it will be his final act, but to say that I'm not in disbelief that this has happened. In usual Favre fashion, waffling, letting things leak to the press, manipulating the media and team, skipping out on training camp because he didn't want to go, officially retiring...again, and putting on a good ol' boy facade to clear himself of blame and ingeniousness. He has crossed the enemy lines, donned the purple helmet, and is ready to do battle with the team that cherished him for the better part of the last two decades.


So he jets into the Twin Cities, in a fake down to earth outfit consisting of some Wranglers, an old T-Shirt, and a dirty baseball cap. He clearly "just hopped off the tracker". Bullshit. This guy is just so fake, and so good at it. He is a devious manipulator who is extremely underrated in the field of intelligence. He acts as if he just has an innocent love for the game and would like to continue playing, when in actuality he just wants to derail Ted Thompson for giving him the cold shoulder by beating the Packers, crushing their playoff hopes, and ultimately running him out of town (don't count on any of them). Favre playing for all the wrong reasons is just pitiful, and frankly, extremely conceited and selfish. He is hurting himself, his legacy, his fans, Packers fans, Viking fans, Sage Rosenfels and Tarvaris Jackson, his family, Brad Childress, and everyone else involved. Yet, he just doesn't seem to fucking care.

I'm not even sure if he fully understands the situation when he makes outrageous comments like "The true Packer fans will understand." Are you fucking kidding me? That either means one of two things. 1) I am not a true Packer fan, because I don't understand. Or 2) I am a true Packer fan, and therefore do understand. You're not giving me many options here, Brett. So I check-raise with this hand, "A true Packers player would understand why we don't." Beat that logic you dim, southern fuck.

Jesus is that offensive. Assuming we're not real fans because we don't support you. Which really, makes close to no sense, because you're not the Packers, nor do you play for the Packers, so I don't see the relevance. Being a Packer fan is not synonymous with being a Favre fan, despite most people falling under both categories.

I've been writing this on an off for three days, time to wrap this the fuck up.

So now we're to this season. Favre has effectively skipped the training camp he obviously didn't want to go to, and will be playing in his first preseason game tomorrow. Which may seem short notice, but it's really not because he has 17+ years experience, and he knows this Packer-like West Coast offense to a tee. He better get his reps in effectively though, because there's no way he is healthy or in playing shape, and the season opener is just around the corner.

And on opening day he better be at the top of his game, because he has tailored some big shoes to fill. His only option for the season is to win the Superbowl or Bust. It will be bad enough when he doesn't do anything against the gnarly Packer secondary besides throw a couple of horrible picks. But if he doesn't win that Superbowl, which c'mon, we all know he doesn't have it anymore and won't do it, he and Chilly are under huge heat. Chilly risked his whole team's trust, his integrity, and his job just to suck Favre's dick in the locker room. Favre on the other hand, will tarnish his legacy even further, hold an "aw shucks" news conference and "retire" again, go back home to play some two hand touch with his inbred cousins with the media tears him apart, and teams will be pressured not to sign him next year when he comes back because they don't want the circus or scrutiny.

With all due respect, I hope he doesn't have a terrible year or makes a mockery of himself. I just hope he falls on his face against the Packers, and doesn't get those purple faggots into the playoffs. And then, once he actually retires, formally apologizes to Packer fans, and puts his arm to rest, I'll revert to backing The Icon.

P.S. Better make your reservations to Favre's Steak House now, I heard it's going to be bustling this season.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

It's About That Time

V-V-V-V-V-V-V-down-set-hike.

Madden 10 hasn't even dropped yet, and me and Ben have already accumulated a pocket-full of instant-laugh memories. From me proceeding a 3rd and 28 conversion with screaming "Bitches on the Prowl!" for absolutely no reason; to Ben getting sacked, throwing his head back in disbelief, destroying it on a lamp, and then throwing a pick; to making ridiculously hyperbolic statements about players, i.e.: Brandon Jacobs has never been tackled, he has only gotten sick of scoring.

If this is any sort of sample of what is left to come, than I can justify how fucking giddy I am about the release tonight, and the inevitable weekend decimated in its wake.

Luckily, we're not going in blindly. As fucking ridiculous and nerdy as it is, me and Ben made a Madden Weekend Itinerary the other night. Starting with the Release Party at GameStop tonight, to the day-long practice session tomorrow, and ending with the Wal-Mart Madden Tournament on Saturday. Mix in some Lost, food, and minimal sleep, and you have a recipe for success.

Apart from me winning the tournament Saturday, I also have one to win next Saturday at GameStop, except that one is much more important, and much more legit. And whereas most people wouldn't take it lightly, I will, because I'm actually that good.

Talking shit online. Button mashing. Get pissed off at your friends. Being overly competitive. Staying up way too late. Wasting too much time. Squeezing in just one more. Throwing controllers. Eating horrible food. Frying your eyes. Magical.

Let it fucking commence.


P.S. Jesus Christ that post was horrible. Just, wow. I'll try and write something decent later.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

"Bon Appetit!"

Yesterday, as a part of Margo's going away party, her, Ben, and I joined a hundred grey-haired movie enthusiasts for another Meryl Streep knockout.

Julie & Julia

The movie is an adaptation of the same-named book, which follows the story of Julie Powell's (Amy Adams) life and blog about cooking her way through Julia Child's (Meryl Streep) cookbook, while integrating the story of Julia Child's adult life and rise to fame. It's much easier to follow than it sounds, as Nora Ephron does an excellent job mixing the stories of two American women who begin struggling to find excitement and meaning in their livies. But with the help of their respective supporting husbands, both women manage to find bliss.

Several natural laughs and over-the-top accents later, the film boasts great messages about life and finding success. It embodies the true lesson that it's never t0 late to find what makes you happy, and even in or after the prime of your life, you can search for, find, learn, and begin the career that suits you best. It's never too late.


For anyone pushing to make a case for an actor's talent proportionally rising with their age, Streep would have to be Exhibit A (with Jack as Exhibit B). It doesn't matter what age she is though, because she has always crushed expectations. She is a juggernaut.


She personifies Julia Child to a tee. Everything from the voice, to the personality, to the appearance is just remarkable. At one point, they show a picture of Julia that forces you to question which woman it actually is.


Ala Greg Maddux, she possesses infectious talent that enhances everyone around her. Alike in Doubt, Amy Adams is stunningly acceptable as a lead actress. She has dropped the tinge of obnoxiousness and replaced it with a touch of confidence that allows her to embody her character. I hope this is a sample of what is left to come from Amy, as Hollywood is in dire need of young, talented actresses. It seems like the pool of talent, for both men and women, has been a bit shallow as of late.


Although the movie is a 2 hours and 10 minutes long, it manages to do what the more recent excessive features have not been able to: keep your attention. At no point was I bored, checking the time, feeling like it was dragging on, or psychologically adding fictitious things to the movie to make it more entertaining. It didn't even give me the opportunity to divert my mind to the terrible stench of old people or considering how much I dislike them.

Really, the only exterior thoughts I had were those of jealously for how rapidly and amazingly Julie's (Amy Adams) blog blew up. If it were not based on a true story, I would've never believed how effortlessly she gained readership. I naively hope that over the course of the next year I can also be nationally covered by newspaper columnists and get offers from literary agents and publishing companies. I'd fucking sell both kidneys for that kind of success.


Assuming you have an interest in blogging, Meryl Streep, cooking, the smell of old people, Amy Adams, Paris, success stories, finding one's true calling, or just quality movies, I'd like to assert a strong recommendation for this delightful film.

That is, if you can stomach the sight of butter-filled bowls for two hours.

(4/5)


P.S. Old people are gross.

Monday, August 10, 2009

4 8 15 16 23 42

Fine, J.J. Abrams, you win you persevering, cheating fuck. I'm Lost.

After giving up Lost directly after Season 2, and for years answering, "Do you watch Lost?" with "Fuck no"s and "I hate J.J. Abrams"es, he has broken my will.

Over the past few times I've stayed at Ben's we've watched Season 1. I did so reluctantly at first but enthusiastically and avidly more recently. The shows is like a cross-fertilization between a car-wreck and a heroin addiction. You don't want to look, you don't want to have to look, but you can't not look.

You don't have a choice, really. J.J. writes it that way on purpose, because writing with integrity would expose the humbleness of his talent and people wouldn't be eager to return to him. He manages to do this in two ingenious, diabolical ways. The first way being to answer every question with 5 more questions. So one question turns into 1 answer + 5 questions, and then 2 answers + 9 questions, and so on until you're dick-deep in a pool of uncertainty. The second reason being that he ends every scene, commercial break, episode, and season in a varying degree of cliff-hanger. This meaning you psychological have no choice but to imperatively watch the following episode, which turns into a perpetually vicious cycle. His cryptic writing style is pure fucking evil.

I do applaud him, however, because he weaves subplots, outrageous story lines, and back stories together as if he has a 6th sense for it. This is, of course, if you can find it in your heart to overlook how mangled and abstract the end product is. He also has a great prevalence to referring back to prior episodes with small details and quirks, making you feel like you're super savvy or a part of the show when you pick up on them. Names and numbers we're not suppose to remember, costume details we can't believe they've stuck to, and several cliches they should get rid of but are fun to keep a tally on (lack of subsequent requests or clarification, vague descriptions accompaniment conflict, horrible coincidences, ect.)

I would congratulate him on his eye for the surreal and paranormal, but I'd be lieing because he tends to ruin the things that start out on a positive note and your expectations are never really met. The twists are never what you wish they would be, which I guess is a plus in the criteria of a twist, but the minus enlies in the disappointment that ensues when the twist becomes apparent. Although, he does throw quite a bit of numerology in there (especially 23, which, if we've learned anything, is atrociously evil), which I dig, but only because of how ludicrous it is.

At this point, if you've been paying attention, I probably seem a bit torn between whether or not I love or hate this show, and that's no mistake in your judgement. It's really just both. I simply love to hate this show. Most of my compliments are insults and vice-versa. I can appreciate how the writing is done on a week to week basis with no planning or foresight, I enjoy how out of hand the story lines and character developments get, and I love the capability to tear it apart and make fun of it from beginning to end.

There is really no debate in whether or not it is entertaining, because it is, which is really the point of a television show, the problem is that Abrams has no grasp for the ethics of writing, making him more of a conman than anything else.


P.S. The twist in Star Trek wasn't the realization of the split universes, it was that J.J. Abrams didn't fuck it up.