I used to be able to enjoy the Oscars in a relaxed, carefree fashion. Now, I run a pop-culture and entertainment blog, which means I enjoy the Oscars as a backbreaking workload. But somehow, I still sort of look forward to the entire, overblown thing.

We have been doing a ton of Oscar coverage at the blog this week, including some stuff I’m very happy about. We landed a fashion discussion with Heather and Jessica today, and we’ve got some other stuff up from this week, and I’m doing a liveblog on Sunday night with the Music Stylist and the Couch Baron, and tomorrow, I am spending all day seeing the Best Picture nominees (in most cases for the second time). Follow me on Twitter at monkeyseeblog, and I will tell you all the horrifying details. My hope is that the Twitter feed will become a good way to get very short updates on whatever is currently horrifying or thrilling me.

Now that Survivor and The Amazing Race are back on, I hope to make my way back over here to talk about them, but believe me, it’s mostly good news that I’m working very hard right now. I’m lucky to be dealing with NPR, and with MSNBC (where I’ve been doing Grey’s Anatomy every week and where I think I may be doing some Dancing With The Stars soon), and with whatever else comes along. I regret that I have, like, no time to write for free, but if you think about it…it’s kinda good news.

Everything’s good. I’m just wildly busy.

I seem to have nothing to say these days, so I have decided to fill time with the first three pages of what was to be a story about a major-league pitcher who turned into a head case and wound up in the minors. These three pages? Have nothing to do with that, really. I wrote this long ago; I am pleased to have it see the light of day, because honestly, this is my cheap, cheap sense of humor in full flower, because I love stories with people falling down.

***

Until the acquisition of Tom Finn, the most sensational event in the history of the Rockland Claws concerned the cereal box races. At every home game, between the third and fourth innings, three lucky kids from town would crawl into hulking foam cereal box costumes: a Cheerios box, a Chex box, and a Wheaties box. They would then race around the bases, and whichever kid finished first would go home with an autographed ball and a gift certificate from the DQ. The fans would leap up in the grandstand, knocking over beers and stepping on foil pretzel bags and yelling, “Cheeeeerios!” or especially “Wheeeeeeaties!” The Chex fans tended to try to get up something a little more percussive — “Chex! Chex! Ch-Ch-Chex!”

One summer, Mike Parco, who was at eight years old already a bigger asshole than most men can ever hope to become without being divorced at least twice, developed a certain fondness for racing in the Cheerios costume. His mother, Talley, was in charge of the lobster-roll stand, and she was widely suspected of sleeping with Doug Lexington, who worked in Fan Relations, which everyone had already snickered at so much after the first summer that no one even cared anymore.

For whatever combination of legitimate and scandalous reasons, Mike raced in the Cheerios costume for about ten games straight, but he never won. And that’s when Talley started to complain that there was something wrong with the Cheerios costume. Why did the kid in the Cheerios costume never win? She concluded, as only a mother could, that the cereal box races were fixed.

She demanded — in a letter to the editor of the Rockland Post-Gazette, no less — a scientific test of her theory. She proposed that Mike be allowed to wear the Wheaties costume at the next game. It was the only way to restore public confidence. Given the slowness of summer and the intriguing blend of sex, sports, and official corruption that permeated Talley’s complaint, it was no surprise when an unusually large crowd packed the stands on the night that this showdown between the giants of General Mills was scheduled to take place. Mike waddled out there in his Wheaties costume, standing up next to Dutch Halloran’s kid, whose name everyone hated (it was Addison), and who was thus generally called Double Dutch. He was wearing the Chex. And on the end, wearing the cursed mark of Cheerios, was Bree Blythe Netherington, the shortest girl in the third grade who, everyone suspected, could not see out of her eye holes and would most likely run directly up the first base line and keep going until she smacked directly into the right field billboard for Righteous Heating and Plumbing.

The kids waited impatiently at home plate until they heard, “Go!” They took off, or took off as much as three children can while wearing rectangular foam sleeves that cover them entirely down to about their knees — or, in Bree’s case, their ankles. Indeed, Bree nearly dragged the edges of the Cheerios box along the ground, but surprisingly, she was the first to get to first base. As expected, she continued running in a straight line. “Cheerios, turn!” someone in the crowd shouted, and she immediately spun to her left and headed for second. Bree was little, but she was spry. It was a dead heat behind her between Double Dutch and Mike Parco. In order to prove Talley’s theory that the Cheerios costume was bewitched, it now appeared that some mishap would have to befall Bree. Of course, when Bree passed second base, she headed into center field. “Turn, Cheerios, turn!” And she did.

It was just after the crowd coaxed Bree around third — she lost a little time on the turn — that Mike began to move away from Double Dutch. He came up on Bree, who had gotten the bottom of the Cheerios box thoroughly dirty by this time, and who was beginning to get tired from bumping its edges along in the dirt. As she passed the Claws dugout, Mike’s foot came out from under the Wheaties box and he almost appeared to be trying to kick Bree. “Wheaties is cheating!” someboy shouted. And just then, Mike jabbed that foot out again, and Bree tumbled forward, landing directly on what was, under all that foam, her face. Mike ran by her and crossed the plate as she lay helplessly on the ground with her arms and feet waggling.

They made Mike give back the gift certificate, of course, once the “instant replay” in the form of Mrs. Netherington’s digital video camera made the dirty deed perfectly obvious. Bree got her sundae, and Mike was banned from the cereal box races for life.

But as exciting as that was, CNN never came to Rockland to ask about Bree, the way they did when they found out about Tom Finn.

Hey, y’all. In case you didn’t know, one of the reasons things have slowed over here is that they’ve picked up over at the NPR blog, which sounds (and feels) more like me, I think, than it did when I was first getting started. There are TV recommendations, guest appearances by lovely people (including, recently, Miss Sarah Bunting), and lots of other goodies.

But one thing we’re doing over there that ISN’T me babbling like me is the new movie poll, or movie poll series, really, with which we could use your help. We’re going to open nominations in a variety of nifty categories over the next little while, and the more input we get, the better. Commenting does require registration, but it’s really not a difficult process, and as I’ve said before, you can enter the wonderful world of NPR social media and then we can be NPR social-media friends!

Anyhoodle, please head on over today and in the coming days and participate.

We begin with a look at the many animals of Africa, most of whom played no part in this season of Survivor whatsoever. I do not recall the episode featuring murderous, rampaging deer, nor any horned deerlike things that are not quite deer, which frankly I suspect of being fictional beasts created by the crew by tying cardboard horns to some actual deer, and frankly, shame on you, deer-defiling crew members.

Aw, I missed you guys.

Anyhoo, I do recall one elephant scenario, and then the Let’s Look At The Giant Sheltered Totally Tragical Gorillas incident involving giant sheltered tragical gorillas. But compared to the Africa season I recently watched, during which the players had to stay up all night and tend the fire so they wouldn’t be devoured by real actual things with big teeth, and which was played behind a lion-proof wall of thorns, the idea that there are renegade deer wandering around kind of makes this look like the kiddie pool of African landscapes. I’m just saying.

Anyway, previously on Survivor: As Jeff “No Fat Chicks, Or Skinny Chicks, Or Really Any Chicks” Probst recalls, 36 days ago, 18 yahoos were stranded with nothing but a giant American television production to sustain them. Charlie wore a tie – remember that? Jeff claims that “every move was shadowed by dangerous wild animals,” and then we cut to – you guessed it! – the single elephant scenario, which you’ll recall happened only because a couple of dudes went out in a boat chasing the elephant, who says in the clip, “AH AM BEING SHADOWED BY DANGEROUS AMERICAN DOUCHEBAGS!” “They were as far away from civilization as a person could possibly be,” says Jeff Probst, forgetting that some parts of non-civilization do not include crew trucks. It’s like going to Epcot and pronouncing, “It’s as close to Europe as a person could possibly be.” Because: beer steins!

Continue Reading »

I have a lot to say, but here’s the thing about Corinne on last night’s finale and reunion.

She explained it all herself. In so many words, she said that without the fact that she says offensive things that are hurtful to people, she’s “just another girl.” she said this is what’s “endearing” about her. She said in so many words that there’s nothing likable or interesting about her except that she hurts people: “When you take that away, I’m just another girl who doesn’t have much of a personality.” Much as I detest her, it was maybe one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.

This is someone who has lived in this headspace for such a long time, where the only thing she’s developed any skills at is bonding with Person A because they’re both picking on Person B, that she really believes this is what real affection between two people is about. She really believes not only that this is legitimately endearing, but that it will make people understand that behavior better if she says, in effect, “This is all I have.” She doesn’t understand that to most people, that means you’re utterly incompetent at everything that matters.

I’ve seen people before who are like this — who believe that being jerks constitutes their “color,” or who believe that the only thing people value them for is the ability to be the most unfeeling person in the room, because it’s kind of entertaining. But I think Corinne was the most direct in saying (and this part was not acting; this is what she believes) that without negative attention, she’d get no attention at all, and that this is why she goes out of her way to be cruel. I think it was an accidental moment of complete transparency, where something she thought would strike people in one way struck them in another.

There’s a particular ethos involved in this “I have no filter, and it makes me great” argument. It requires you to believe that having a filter means you’re a phony — that you make decisions about what to say and what not to say only if you lack the courage to face the consequences of truth-telling. This is where “keeping it real” comes from. This is where “I’m not afraid to say what I think” comes from.

It requires you to believe that you live in a world where everyone thinks nothing but awful, angry thoughts, so that “no filter” means “horrible and offensive.” If I spoke with no filter, then yes, I would hurt people’s feelings more. But I would also spend more time bubbling over with excitement about how much I love them, admire them, respect them, and appreciate them. You just don’t say everything. You just hope you say enough.

And in fact, the reason people apply a filter about hurtful comments is generally not a fear of dealing with the consequences of the unfiltered truth, but a simple choice not to create those consequences. You always choose what to say and what not to say; either way, there’s a filter of sorts. You have a thought; you make a decision about what to say about it. There was certainly nothing “unfiltered” about Corinne’s comments about Sugar’s father — undoubtedly, without question, the most indefensibly inhumane thing I’ve ever seen anyone do on this show. Those comments were entirely rehearsed, calculated, and preplanned to inflict pain. Why is tailoring your remarks to inflict pain more false than tailoring your marks not to?

As awful as she is — and she’s one of the few people on this show I believe has grown to be such a toxic, fundamentally amoral person that she will always be a toxic and amoral person and stands zero chance of ever changing — she’s mostly pathetic. If you listen to her saying, “Without that, I’m just another girl,” and it doesn’t get you a little, you’re missing the sadness of it, I’d argue. She doesn’t value anything loving or kind in herself. She doesn’t believe anyone else values anything loving or kind in her, either. There’s only being cruel and mean, because that’s what she does that other people don’t do or won’t do to the degree that she does it. It’s like being proud that you’re the only person you know who swallows ground glass or steals things out of cars.

She believes “nice” isn’t a personality, because she believes it’s necessarily false. She never has kind thoughts about people, because she’s learned not to. She would never think about whether “generous” is a personality trait, or “compassionate,” or “loyal.” There’s being intentionally cruel, like she is, or there’s being artificially “nice,” like she thinks everyone else is. It’s impossible for her to face the fact that other people simply aren’t as angry and negative as she is — they’re not filtering the desire to throw someone’s dead father in her face; they simply don’t have that desire. Her personality has darkened to the point where it’s either being vicious or constantly fighting the urge to be vicious, which is what she figures everyone else is doing. The fact that she doesn’t fight it? It’s “endearing.”

More later about this one.

I have an uncommonly busy day ahead, but over at Monkey See, you will find a discussion of network cost-cutting measures that — I’m not going to lie — was great fun to write. If I ever get tired of dissing Two And A Half Men, I will know it’s time to retire.

We’re starting to hit a good stride over there; I encourage you to go ahead and register to comment — I know it seems like a pain, but it gives you a cute little profile, and you can friend me through NPR social media! Anyhoo, hope to see you there.

If you wish to participate in Gloat Day, you may do so in the comments. Some people really do find gloating unseemly, and as I’ve said, I don’t really believe gloating is for the person you’re gloating at — it’s a release for you, so there’s no need for anybody else to see it. So if you go into the comments to read gloating and then feel gloated at, please don’t email me about it. We’re still fine, no matter who you voted for; I just need to release a little nervous energy. And I will be doing it in the comments.

It just felt like the right place to be. There was also a posterboard wall being constructed, where people were writing messages of goodwill for Obama. I wrote one myself. I don’t have a picture of it, but here’s a picture of someone else’s. I have more pictures I’ll pull out later.

I’m more than proud to be the originator of the Facebook group “There’s A 97.3 Percent Chance Nate Silver Is Totally My Boyfriend,” because…Nate Silver had a good night. Seriously. Look at the FiveThirtyEight.com final map, and look at the map of called states. Then look at the projected popular vote and the actual popular vote.

It’s like…a victory for nerds everywhere.

http://www.fivethirtyeight.com/

Polls are really unpredictable, but if you aggregate enough of them in the right way, they’re capable of giving up some pretty good information. Not perfect — a couple of state races went the other way. But I think it’s fair to say that site represents the best across-the-board sense of how an election night was going to go that I’ve ever seen. And he did it all with his juicy, delicious brain.