Portents of "The Plastics"

In “The Times They Are A-Changin’” Bob Dylan sang, “And you can’t criticize what you don’t understand.”

(Wait, he started his piece with a Dylan quote? How original! He never does that!)

In many ways, Dylan is correct (as usual). But that doesn’t mean you can’t question that which you do not understand. And in case you haven’t gathered this already, there are a lot of things that fall under this “I don’t understand” banner for me (just ask The JudgEmentress). Some are a tad serious (ex: the current state of the public school system baffles me) while others are legitimately important (ex: why would someone get Oreos if they weren’t “Double Stuf”?) In the end, they all pester my brain to no end, for many various reasons.

Seriously, why would anyone buy or eat Oreos if they weren’t Double Stuf?

Why would someone voluntarily listen to LMFAO?

Why isn’t Mountain Dew Code Red a more popular beverage? No, it’s not nearly as refreshing as original Mountain Dew, but it’s delicious nonetheless.

How can NBC’s The Office be this bad? I understand that Steve Carell (aka Michael Scott) left the show, and I understand how funny and important his character was to the program, but should the drop-off really be this stark? And if so, why isn’t every show producer and movie director on the planet throwing crazy money at Steve Carell to be in their next project?

Why are people so critical of Oklahoma City Thunder point guard Russell Westbrook? Yeah, he takes some shots away from Kevin Durant, but he also takes pressure off of him. And yeah he is a tad careless with the ball and forces it on offense at times, but the athleticism and drive and constant effort that he brings night-in and night-out on both ends of the floor far outweigh any negatives that might come with his game. Find me one NBA team that doesn’t want Russell Westbrook on their roster. He’s not perfect, but the dude is a stud.

Why are people so intent on bashing Jersey Shore and the people that watch it? It feels antithetical to me.  We know it’s a terrible show full of completely detestable human beings. Of course we know that. That’s why it’s on TV in the first place. That’s why people are watching it.

How has Nicholas Sparks survived this long without a bunch of dudes just banning together, hunting him down, holding him captive and torturing him until he swears on his life to never write another book, ever again? I in no way support unwarranted violence or cruelty towards another human being…but if I ever ran into that guy on the street somewhere, I’d make sure to do so with my car.

But the one question that has been eating at me more than all others of late involves neither politics nor America’s favorite cookie sandwiches. It has nothing to do with alternate flavors of Mountain Dew or television programming. It is tangentially related to Nicholas Sparks, but not imperatively. It actually involves Amanda Seyfried, and the question of why Hollywood continually tries to force her on the people of this great country. It’s not really offensive or abrasive or even off-putting. It’s just confusing. I just don’t get it.

The utter perplexity spawned by the mainstream media’s determination to make Amanda Seyfried a household name and A-list actress has been ravaging my brain day and night. What is the appeal? What is the motivation behind her path to stardom? What is it that makes her so endearing to those casting blockbuster movies or shooting magazine covers, and why don’t I see it too?

Before I delve further into this subject, let me first make sure that you know who Amanda Seyfried is. After breaking onto the film scene with a supporting role in Mean Girls (great movie), she has since gone on to leading roles in films such as Mamma Mia!, Dear John, In Time and the soon to be released Gone, among others. Secondly, I want to make sure you know that I have no qualms with Amanda Seyfried as a person. I’m not attacking her character or saying she’s ugly or assuming that she smells bad. I just think she’s in way too many freaking movies, on way too many magazines and walking way too many red carpets. Maybe she’s an outstanding individual. Or maybe not, I have no idea. I’m just perplexed by this idea of her as a superstar, and why it’s being forced on me by popular culture.

I don’t think Amanda Seyfried is a great or terrible actress. I don’t think she’s make-your-knees-weak pretty, but she’s clearly a long way from being unattractive. She’s not hilarious or dull, not engrossing or forgettable. She’s always somewhere in between. Always showing potential, but nothing that makes me think I’ll be bouncing my grandkids on my knee and telling them about her someday. She’s had a few bank-breaking box office returns (Mamma Mia!, Dear John) and major flops (Jennifer’s Body, Red Riding Hood). She’s received critical acclaim and widespread pandering, top billed weekends and forgettable openings. But through it all, she’s never struck me as having some unidentifiable magnetism. I think she generally does a good job, but I also think she’s benefitted from strong, big name supporters (Streep, Timberlake, the aforementioned Sparks). I’ve never viewed her as having the ability to draw in viewers, but based on the fact that she keeps getting leading roles in major, wide released films (and in turn popping up all over TV and the newsstands), I feel as if I’m being actively convinced to think otherwise.

For example, I’ll see just about any movie that has Denzel Washington, Ben Affleck, Will Smith, Brad Pitt, George Clooney or Mark Wahlberg. Plot, co-stars, reviews – all of it is basically irrelevant. If any of those guys have a major part in the film, then I’m banking on past experience and personal preference when I assume I’ll enjoy the movie.  The same can be said of women of my mother’s generation when it comes to ladies like Meryl Streep, Jennifer Anniston, Julia Roberts or Sandra Bullock. Even with the younger female generation of today we see a similar impact with people such as Reese Witherspoon and Natalie Portman, and we’re beginning to see the same effects with the likes of Emma Stone, Mila Kunis and Rachel McAdams. But Amanda Seyfried? Eh.

I have no grand point or ultimate observation. I have no vendetta against Seyfried or some larger issue I’m trying to address. I’m merely confounded constantly by this young actress popping up in every other movie; it’s beginning to reach un-ignorable levels. I don’t know how much longer this confusion will last or why I even put this much thought into it in the first place. And yet for right now, the lore surrounding Amanda Seyfried completely and utterly confuses me. I just don’t understand.

Until I realize that if she keeps getting all these movie roles and magazine covers, she must be doing something right. She must be well-liked by those casting her and working with her, and she’s probably on the verge of a major, post-Mamma Mia! breakthrough that just hasn’t quite happened yet.  Judging by her workload, she appears to be awfully dedicated to her craft and career choice.  She’s never done anything particularly stupid or offensive, and to my knowledge, she hasn’t been involved in any major scandals or internet sex videos. She’s probably snickering at those that question her merits as a leading lady, flashing her bank statements and kicking back outside her beachside mansion in Malibu while sipping on some fruity drink with a mini umbrella peaking out the top. And she most certainly couldn’t care less what I think of her, whether I’m criticizing her or not. Heck, as far as I know, she’s always spoken rather highly of me.

On second thought, maybe I do like Amanda Seyfried. Maybe I’m not nearly as confused as I thought I was. Where can I buy some stock in this girl? I'm all in.

I suppose the times truly are a-changin’.

Thanks for reading

You Had Me at 'Meat Tornado'

Everyone has a hero.

The choice is generally dependent on an individual’s age, lifestyle, social status, economic status and pop culture interests, but it’s true nonetheless. It can be a superhero, an athlete, a celebrity, a rock star, a public figure, a family member, a family friend or a deity. Seeing as how it’s a personal decision, a hero can really be anyone.

Mine is Ron Swanson.

I know what you’re thinking: He’s fictional. He’s a television character. Heck, there are probably a lot of people that have never even seen Parks & Recreation and therefore have no clue who Ron Swanson is. (These people are awful.) But it’s all irrelevant. He’s a perfect hero. He’s Ron Effing Swanson.

Why not one of my parents? I have amazing parents, but referring to them as “heroes” doesn’t begin to do justice to the time and effort they had to put in just so I could become a slightly tolerable human being.

What about God? Same deal. The designation of “hero” doesn’t do nearly enough to describe all that God has done for me. That’s why we call him God.

To me, a hero is more someone that we look up to and idolize in some way, while knowing that this person probably doesn’t care too much or concern themselves with us as individuals, or even know who we are at all. It’s not insensitive, it’s just the characteristics of being a potential hero – they are probably going to be far too famous or important (or fictional) to acknowledge every single person that looks up to them. And the best kind of hero is one that lives forever.

The term “superhero” is not a misnomer. These are a collection of (artificial) superhuman beings defined by their immortality and propensity to always do the right thing in the end. Every kid wants to be Superman or Batman or Spiderman at one point or another, because they recognize the inherent and ever-present good in each of them. In fact, despite the obvious childishness in venerating a fictional character, this is actually one of the most mature and culturally cognizant decisions that young people will ever make. It’s when they begin idolizing those that actually exist that they will inevitably be let down. To err is human. To make a mortal your hero will only lead to disappointment.

I love Bob Dylan. I’ve been known to refer to Dylan as “The Greatest American Hero.” But he is not perfect, and he has been known to disappoint (have you ever listened to Self Portrait?), even if on rare occasions. I could say practically the same things about Michael Jordan, another mortal that has been deified by people of my generation. These are amazing men that have done many great things. But in the end, they are merely men.

Ron Swanson is more than that – or I guess, in a sense, less than that, but it still benefits him all the same. Portrayed by Nick Offerman on Parks and Recreation, Swanson is the Director of the Parks Department for Pawnee, Indiana. He’s also a Libertarian that despises government and believes the very department for which he works for is entirely unnecessary.  He revels in poor management, bureaucratic stalemates and anything else that slows down the government. He thinks everything should be privatized, adopting a Chuck E. Cheese model for how the government should operate (“Drop in a token, go on the swing set. Drop in another token, take a walk. Drop in a token, look at a duck.”). He even says his ideal concept of government is, “One guy who sits in a small room at a desk, and the only thing he’s allowed to decide is who to nuke.”

But that is what Ron Swanson believes, not why Ron Swanson is awesome. In fact, his personal and ideological beliefs have nothing to do with his heroism; it is in the way that he conveys these things that make him awesome. Even the staunchest liberal cannot deny the phenomenon that is Swanson. He transcends ideology, philosophy and religion (his views on religion?: “I’m a practicing ‘none of your (bleeping) business.’ ”). He transcends greatness.

I could spend pages upon pages and Youtube links upon Youtube links on the best Swanson quotes out there, all of which would simply reinforce my qualifying of him as a hero. Whether it’s his love of steak and breakfast food, his Pyramid of Greatness (“Skim Milk: avoid it”), his best pick-up line (“I think you would make an incredible brunette – Ron Swanson”), the fact that he only cried once during his entire childhood (when hit by a bus at age seven), or the single greatest speech in the history of mankind – it’s all just fuel to the “Ron Swanson is amazing” fire. He’s a man’s man, the straw that stirs the drink, the Arthur Fonzarelli without the frills and flash. He is cool without even trying, which we all know is the coolest kind.

And despite his obvious and explicit distaste for emotion, compassion and human interaction in general, he’s a man that discretely cares for those close to him. He has a beautiful and mutually respectful friendship with Deputy Director Leslie Knope (played by Amy Poehler). He has a paternal protectiveness and adoration for April Ludgate, a mentoring interest in Andy Dwyer and a quiet appreciation for Tom Haverford. As much as he despises government regulation, he’d do whatever he could to help his co-workers (especially Leslie) without expectations of anything in return. He’s as covertly considerate as he is explicitly awesome.

But the most important thing about Ron Swanson, and the main reason he is my hero, is the fact that he will never give way to any disappointment. Similar to the superheroes we all idolized when we were young, Ron Swanson is fictional, living on forever in the new and repeated episodes of Parks & Rec. He won’t die or fade away or fall into the same traps as the mortal men of our society. He will always be there for the other fictional characters around him, will always ultimately do the right thing, and will never not be awesome, even when he isn’t acting or trying to be. And in all of that, he will never let me down.

He’s Ron Effing Swanson.

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Going Green

I recently watched the Terrence Malick film Tree of Life. The one starring Brad Pitt as Sean Penn’s father. The one that has been simultaneously lauded as inspired genius and panned as artsy-fartsy rubbish. And it was an interesting experience to say the least.

I went into the viewing with low expectations. Based on what I had heard, I feared that it would be a tad too existential and contrarian for me to enjoy, but I wanted to judge for myself. Plus, I enjoy the acting efforts of both Brad Pitt and Sean Penn, so I gave it a shot. What I came to find was a film that I found to be incredibly creative and interesting. It was smart. It was thought-provoking. It was original and unique. It was comforting and sad and mind-numbing all at once. And in many ways, it was beautiful.

At no point did I completely understand what I was watching, but in a manner that I somehow enjoyed. For a movie that was so frequently over my head, it was also oddly personal, relatable and identifiable. I couldn’t always explain what I was seeing, and yet still felt connected to it in a very intimate way.

Terrence Malick delved into the concept of life and existence, exposing the questions and musings we all ponder at one point or another. He didn’t so much ask what the meaning of life was, but rather examined it, from various angles and origins and points of view. Malick scrutinizes over life and death and relationships, mainly through the eyes of Jack O’Brien – during his childhood and his adulthood (Sean Penn) – but also through the visual and artistic genesis of life and creation and conscientious thought. His relationship with his mother (Jessica Chastain) and father (Brad Pitt) represents the earthly affiliation to grace and nature. Jack is the vessel through which life is contemplated, but he’s also the example through which life is conveyed. He embodies subsistence and evolution and religion, both in a literal and theoretical sense.

The abundance of (incredible) imagery and the lack of context or a linear narrative came together to form this amazing film – amazing just as much for what it does show you and tell you as it is for all the things it doesn’t. It’s far from my favorite movie, but it could very well be the most creative or mentally stirring one I’ve ever seen. And it is because of all of this that I found the ending to be somewhat disappointing. It wasn’t bad, but I suppose I was hoping for something more substantial, based on all that I had watched over the previous two hours. I found myself expecting something that wasn’t there. But maybe that’s what the film was trying to tell me.

The 2011 Cincinnati Bengals will always hold a special place in my memory. A team that had an aggregate pre-season ranking of “garbage” but still ended up making the playoffs. A team that started a rookie quarterback, rookie wide receiver, rookie offensive coordinator and a bunch of no-names and cast-offs on defense and still pulled off a winning season. A team that was young and inexperienced and without the luxury of offseason programs that still came together and competed as a team.

I went into this NFL season with low expectations for my Bengals. It had all the makings of a re-building year with some young players in place to contribute in the future, but who would probably need a year or two of taking their lumps before things got rolling. Our once franchise quarterback was sitting at home. Our team identity was in flux. A 3-13 record seemed to be a realistic prediction. Laughing stock of the league appeared to be the likely outcome.

Instead, something intriguing and interesting and incredibly unexpected happened. A franchise mired in decades of futility, cursed by the stars and destined for humiliation…actually began to catch some breaks.

We won the first game of the season on a fluky trick play. We came back from 2^nd half double-digit deficits three different times. We got defensive touchdowns, special teams touchdowns and flip-over-the-defender’s-head-in-mid-air touchdowns. It’s not like everything went right, but there were a heckuva lot of things that did, which is a massive change from years past. It was amazing. It was shocking. It was constantly haunted by worry and incredulity, the fear that at any moment it could all dash away. But it never did. And in many ways, it was beautiful.

At no point did I completely understand what I was watching, but it was in a manner that I enjoyed. For a season that was so frequently unfamiliar to my general expectations, it was just as personal, relatable and identifiable as the Bengals always manage to be. I couldn’t always explain what I was seeing, and yet still felt connected to it in a very intimate way.

Marvin Lewis, a man who I have praised and criticized at different times, was making a team of children look like men. Jay Gruden and Mike Zimmer were coordinating an offense and defense in a manner that seemed to extract the maximum amount of success and achievement. And Mike Brown – the confounding, mystifying and historically frustrating-to-no-end Mike Brown – was looking like a genius for the veteran contracts he extended in the offseason, the drafting of Andy Dalton and A.J. Green, and the draft picks he swindled from the Raiders in the Carson Palmer trade. Yeah, I said it. A genius.

The paltry expectations and subsequent postseason bid came together to make this season and this team amazing – amazing for everything it was and everything it wasn’t. It certainly wasn’t the best or most talented Bengals team, even of my lifetime (’05), but it could very well be the most likeable, surprising and impressive. And it is because of all of this that I found the ending to be somewhat disappointing. Yeah, making the playoffs was incredible, but I was hoping for that ever elusive playoff win, something that has escaped the Bengals since the first turn of “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” After everything that had taken place, all the improbability that had occurred, I had essentially convinced myself that it was going to happen. And in that shortcoming, I found my disappointment.

But maybe disappointment isn’t always a bad thing.

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The Best Albums of 2011

Four years is a long time. High school lasts four years. College allegedly lasts four years, although that’s rare these days. Most people go through at least three cell phones over a four year period. Emile Hirsch’s career lasted about four years before he disappeared. And I can only hope my first marriage lasts four years.

With that said, this is the fourth year I have written my Top 10 Albums list, and it’s back again for two reasons: it is always one of my most highly read and circulated posts every year (which I appreciate), and more importantly, I enjoy writing it. If anything, it gives me an opportunity and excuse to listen to and ponder over all of my favorite music from the past 12 months before heading back to school and starting classes again. Oh, and the chicks totally dig it.

As I’ve said every year: this list is simply my favorite albums of the year – not necessarily the most popular or most musically accomplished. By no means am I an elite music critic or anything like that, but I listen to a lot of music and feel I have a decent enough taste to select a list of albums that, at the very least, is acceptable. Maybe you’ll even discover a new band or artist that you hadn’t checked out before. Maybe you’ll have some suggestions to send my way (I welcome them). Nevertheless, it is simply my arbitrary judgment. (JUSTIN BIEBER!!!!!)

Without further ado, here are my Top Ten Albums of 2011 (with a few extras), courtesy of a 22-year-old with no real music education and little love for the country music genre (I’ve tried, I promise). Let the accolades begin.

• Close Only Counts in Horse Shoes and Hand Grenades

Slow Club – Paradise; The Head and the Heart – The Head and the Heart; Drake – Take Care; Augustana – Augustana; Blind Pilot – We Are the Tide; Wild  Flag – Wild Flag; Bon Iver – Bon Iver

• The Honor Roll

Foo Fighters – Wasting  Light

The most recent release by Dave Grohl and the boys was a strong one, but this makes my Honor Roll list largely because “Walk” was my favorite song of the year. I’m always a sucker for rock stars getting nostalgic and recognizing their own mortality, and on this song (and album), Grohl does it as well as anyone.

The Weeknd – House of Balloons/Thursday/Echoes of Silence

Abel Tesfaye – AKA: The Weeknd – dropped a trilogy of albums/mixtapes this year, all of which were released online for free…which was probably a mistake, because all of them are worth paying for. The sound is creative yet simplified for R&B, but also falls nicely into the new trend of smooth and melodic trumping flow and power.

• The Top 10

10. St. Vincent – Strange Mercy

Probably not the best listen if you are trying to cheer yourself up, but Annie Clark puts her heart and soul into this album, embracing her inner darkness. The intensity and honesty is refreshing, and you’ll come away assuming that Clark is simultaneously crazier and more brilliant than you could ever hope to be. Kind of like Claire Danes’ character in Homeland. And yes, that’s a compliment.

9. White Denim – D

Like a jam band on speed, White Denim plays around with blues, prog and punk on their fourth album. They sound somewhat like a hipster, indie-pop manifestation of Buffalo Springfield. Or maybe it’s a southern rock, Tex-Mex evolution of Phoenix. Either way, they made the leap on this release from versatile, innovative garage rockers to…professionally versatile, successfully innovative garage rockers.

8. The Joy Formidable – The Big Roar

For some reason I will more than likely never be able to explain, I’m always intrigued by indie/alternative bands that feature females on lead vocals. More often than not, I really enjoy the layer or stratification that I naturally assume is attached to it, and The Joy Formidable definitely fit into that category. I probably hyperbolize the true impact that these front-women have, but that doesn’t take away from the edgy, on-the-verge sound that this band displays on its first LP. I constantly feel like they are on the cusp of something bigger while listening, and I wouldn’t be surprised at all if that eventually proves to be the case.

7. Telekinesis – 12 Desperate Straight Lines

This is one of those albums where you will discover a new song you like best with each listen, before finally settling on the fact that they are all great, all complement each other well, and all sound similar-but-just-dissimilar enough to fit perfectly into one cohesive piece of work. I’m fascinated when bands can articulate an event or emotion (in this case, a break-up) with a sound, rhythm, or identity different than what you would typically expect, and yet still have it make perfect sense. On this album, Telekinesis did that a heck of a lot better than most.

6. Deer Tick – Divine Providence

Deer Tick cranked up the volume and pumped up the urgency compared to 2009’s Born on Flag Day, but it works just as well. It kind of sounds like the whole band just got hammered and started churning out a bunch of killer songs about living young, wild and free (as Wiz Khalifa might say). If you go to college anywhere in the Midwest (or America, really), I suggest putting this album in heavy rotation. “We’re full grown men, but we act like kids / We’ll face the music, next time we roll in.”

5. Wilco – The Whole Love

Jeff Tweedy and Company’s newest work of art sounds very much like an album I will be listening to for years to come. Tweedy finally seems to be at peace with himself and his music, something quite far removed from the band’s efforts in the ‘90s and early ‘00s. They can still oscillate from down-home saloon/pick-up truck cruising to backyard strumming and jamming, but their overall focus seems to be just that – focused. The band is clearly at ease, and while it might not be their best or most accomplished album (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot), I often find myself wondering if it’s the album Tweedy is most proud of.

4. Jay-Z and Kanye West – Watch the Throne

It’s brash. It’s loud. It’s powerful. It’s arrogant. It’s ridiculous. And it’s brilliant. Somehow, “ball so hard” and “that shit cray” have become regular and acceptable phrases in our culture’s vocabulary. Sound clips from a very average Will Ferrell movie make sudden and yet seamless appearances. Kanye somehow makes himself more likeable and understandable, simply by being a narcissistic douche. Jay-Z makes himself even cooler and more endearing by constantly reminding us that he is a former-drug-dealer-turned-mogul/icon who also happens to be married to Beyonce. It is an album that every hip-hop artist wishes they could make, despite the fact that none of them would even consider trying. I can’t explain it. You are now watching the throne.

3. Black Keys – El Camino

The Black Keys – right now, in their prime – are the best band in the world. No, that’s not a bold statement.  And no, I don’t care if you disagree, because you’d be wrong. El Camino is so good that it actually made me reconsider the extent to which I was impressed by the equally-impressive-if-not-better releases of Brothers (my #1 in 2010) and Attack & Release (my #2 in 2008). I had become almost numb to their prowess until realizing they were competing largely with themselves, as all three albums were better than the vast majority of their competition. The album is a musical recognition of how far the band has come, how accomplished they have proven to be, while still showing off all the skill, passion and fervent it took to reach this very point. For what it’s worth (and it ain’t worth much), as long as the Black Keys keep making albums, I’ll keep putting them in my Top 10 lists. And when everyone else finally recognizes just how freaking good the fusion of Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney is, I hope they all enjoy their heaping plate of crow.

2. Fleet Foxes – Helplessness Blues

Sophomore slump be damned, the Fleet Foxes take a turn for beautiful, soulful, folky nostalgia on their second full-length release. They embody Americana, embrace maturity and transform the spirit of Bob Dylan’s “My Back Pages” into an entire album’s worth of smooth, psychedelic reflection and contemplation. If Simon & Garfunkel had ever decided to hole up out in the country somewhere with the Beach Boys, smoke a bunch of narcotics, and then collaborate on an album, they would have ultimately been striving for the sound and splendor of Helplessness Blues.

1. The Decemberists – The King Is Dead

I often struggle over which album I will choose for the top spot on this list each year. Even after selecting it, I will usually look back after a few weeks or months and question whether or not I made the right decision. I don’t exactly lose any sleep over it, but I think about it. That will not be the case for 2011. The Decemberists released their sixth album on January 14, some 50 weeks ago, and yet even then a part of me knew that I was listening to what would not only be my favorite record of the year, but one that would enter my pantheon and impact me for years to come. “Walk” by the Foo Fighters was the song I enjoyed most in 2011, but “January Hymn” from The King is Dead is one of those pieces that will have a lasting and noticeable influence on me as an individual, up there with Dylan’s “Simple Twist of Fate” and The Bright Eyes’ “Bowl of Oranges.” The album is a masterpiece from beginning to end, a poppier and punkier change of pace from the folkier narratives of The Crane Wife or Hazards of Love, but leaving the listener with that same feeling of fully realized fruition. I’m certainly not one for sentimental self-reflection or tear filled moments of recognized enlightenment, but this album puts me as close as I’ve ever been to knocking on those doors. Every damn time.

Big things on the horizon in 2012. Screw the Mayans.

PS – For whatever reason, December 2011 was a record-breaking month in terms of visitors and page views for Arbitrary JudgEment (something in the ballpark of 145 million). I more or less write the blog for my own personal journalistic expression, but that it no way diminishes how appreciative I am of the friends, family and readers at-large that check in with the blog a few times each month. Your loyalty does not go unnoticed, and I am genuinely grateful. So for the last time in 2011…

Thanks for reading

Ignoring Ignorance

My omniscience is boundless. My premonitions are endless. I am a pop culture god. And, more than likely, so are you.

Ask me about David Fincher’s upcoming blockbuster film, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. It hasn't been released in theaters yet, but I already know it’s great. No, I haven’t seen it. But it currently sits at a 94% rating on Rotten Tomatoes’ website. Entertainment Weekly gave it an “A.” The Guardian gave it 4 out of 5 stars. It’s not too surprising either; Fincher is a great director, and the book was very, very good. And no, I haven’t read it.

Ask me about El Camino, the new album by the Black Keys. It came out on December 6^th, but I knew around Thanksgiving that it sounded amazing. Metacritic gave it 85 out of 100. Rolling Stone gave it 4 out of 5 stars. Spin gave it an 8 out 10. It didn’t really matter that I thoroughly enjoyed listening to it once it was released. I already knew how I was going to feel.

With the way pop culture is covered today, in terms of music, movies and television, it is nearly impossible to consume or experience anything without entering into it with very strong and pre-determined opinions. Everything is reviewed and judged by critics and professionals before the general public has access to it. Everything is already digested for me before it even reaches my plate. It’s one thing to assume that I will like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo because I’ve liked Fincher’s past productions, or to get excited for the new Black Keys album because I was such a big fan of their previous releases. Nowadays, my own preconceived notions are essentially worthless. I might as well just adopt those of someone else, smarter and more informed than I am. What I think is no longer as important as what I know.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not condemning critics or journalists or reporters of that ilk. They are simply doing their job. Heck, I might even be doing that job someday. But it’s all just indicative of a culture in which people seem to react to things based more on what they are told than on what they actually experience for themselves, if only because being told happens faster. I’m just as much a product of this as anyone. I could avoid reviews and reactions to all of these mediums fairly easily if I wanted to. I could remain skeptical to any word-of-mouth or advising from others until I saw the movie or television show or listened to the album for myself. I could relish in my own ignorance and rely solely on my own responses, and it wouldn’t be all that difficult. I just choose not to.

It is often said in the “internet/social media/24-hour news cycle” of today that things are chewed up and spit out the moment they occur. But with things like movies, TV and music, it might be more accurate to say that things are chewed up and spit out before they even occur. My level of excitement toward an upcoming episode of “Modern Family” is contingent to some extent on what the TV critics I follow on Twitter are saying about it during the days leading up to air. My anticipation for a new album is influenced not just by my musical affinities, but by what the reviews are saying about it. Two months ago, I would have openly admitted that seeing the upcoming Sherlock Holmes movie was far more enticing than checking out the impending Mission Impossible chapter, based purely on my own feelings toward the previous installments I had seen. But after checking out the critics’ takes? I think my feelings have changed. It’s oddly fascinating, in a twisted, Orwell-ian sort of way.

I’m not just a vessel – some empty, vapid, pop culture consumer that can only recite or communicate what others have told me.  I’m not the pony-tailed, sweater wearing chump from Good Will Hunting that Matt Damon verbally undresses in the Harvard bar (pronounced “Aahhhvaahhd baaahhh”) because all I do is adopt and regurgitate the opinions of respected voices. I have my own thoughts and outlooks and reactions to the culture I consume…but I can’t help but wonder how much I’m influenced by media and critical responses. Yes, I really like the new Black Keys album, and I would happily share my thoughts and offer it as a recommendation to peers and colleagues. But would I feel differently about it if the exact same record had received mixed or negative reviews? And yes, I actually found Friends with Benefits to be one of the more enjoyable and entertaining romantic comedies of recent years. But did I think that because it was more witty and funny than mushy and idealistic (while also allowing me to stare at Mila Kunis for two hours), or was it because I knew going in that Rotten Tomatoes had given it a 71% rating, when most movies from that genre are lucky to break 20%? It is undoubtedly a combination of the two, I’m just not entirely sure which is weighted more heavily. True, it’s idiotic to base your opinions only on what those “in the know” have bestowed upon us, but it’s naïve to pretend the impact is insignificant.

I suppose all of this is part of the reason why I (and countless others) find sports to be so intriguing. No matter how much we analyze or predict what will happen in each game, tournament, or event, the outcome happens live for everyone at the exact same time. There is no way to know for sure what will occur until it actually takes place, consumable to everyone in a solitary moment. The smartest college basketball analyst in the world was just as shocked as I was that Butler made two NCAA Championship games in a row. My mom and Lee Corso were more or less equals when Michigan State upset Wisconsin in football this season on a last-second Hail Mary. No one predicted the Packers to go undefeated this year, but it could very well end up that way. (Ed's Note: Guess not...) In sports, the element of surprise is always possible. Ignorance is a constant. Few other things within today’s entertainment culture can make that claim.

Critical reception within pop culture is not all bad. I would have never watched the new show Homeland on Showtime (which I really enjoy) without the hype that was surrounding it in the critical community. And I can even stomach sitting through something like the movie Greenberg (which sucked) simply because it received good reviews. But what’s missing is that feeling of uncertainty, of judging something based solely on my reaction as opposed to how I think I should react, or how I’ve been told I should react. That independence is both enlightening and captivating, and yet I strive to attain it far too rarely.

Case in point: the movie Drive, starring Ryan Gosling. Released in September, critics were raving about it from the start. Its score on Rotten Tomatoes was hovering close to 95% and people like Peter Travers of Rolling Stone were pegging it as a possibility for “best movie of the year” (a status which Travers just recently bequeathed upon it). I was very much looking forward to seeing it at the time, until a few of my friends and family had a chance to check it out. People that I considered to be smart, pragmatic movie watchers (including my father, who I generally trust in situations such as these) were telling me how awful and terrible the movie was. I was hearing two very different interpretations of the film. I had no idea what to think. So I had to decide for myself.

Upon going to see the movie, I had no assumptions or preconceived notions, as everything I had heard previously was too disjointed to take a stance on. And after seeing the movie, I realized that how I felt was more or less entirely separate and unique from what I had been told. I liked it a lot better than my dad, but certainly not as much as Peter Travers. I thought it was smart and understated, but a tad too artsy-fartsy to deem “great.”

And what made it different was the fact that my feelings toward the film were entirely my own. It was a singular feeling that I rather enjoyed – unencumbered by outside authorities – and one I hope to encounter far more frequently in the future.

Unless, of course, somebody suggests otherwise.

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Brokeback Ontogeny

I assume that one of the more intriguing (and often overlooked) aspects of adulthood is the ability to watch others grow up. I mean this in a literal sense just as much as I do in a figurative sense. Obtaining and understanding a 401k also falls under this “adulthood” umbrella, but that’s a completely different matter.

Being able to fully grasp and analyze another’s maturation process is distinct only to adulthood and subjects other than yourself. You could never accurately evaluate your own life from birth to adulthood, for obvious reasons. It is also basically impossible to do this with anyone else’s life while you are growing up, regardless of whether this other person is older or younger than you; your outlook changes far too drastically and frequently during your developmental years to comprehend someone else going through those same stages. But when you’re a fully materialized adult (generally 35+), you essentially are what you are (and are going to be), in spite of whether it’s good or bad. You seem to vary as an individual much less from the ages of 35-55 than you do from 11-27.

As an adult, you can watch others develop and mature from infant to grown-up with your same personal perspective and understanding of life, throughout the entire process. You can recognize whether an 11-year-old is actually funny or simply believes he/she is funny. You can see just how snooty and deplorable the popular high school girl is, or how little the college student is appreciating his ability to get tanked, talk to random girls, jump off a frat house into a swimming pool, and yet still be able to wake up for his 8 a.m. class the next day, integrity still intact. I view people, events and surroundings entirely different as a 22-year-old than I did as a middle schooler or high schooler, and I’m sure I’ll see those same things differently still in five years and ten years. But as an adult, this often isn’t the case. You can see things with a balanced and actualized eye, even if that view is right or wrong or different overall than how the next adult might see it. Your perception is more or less static, which makes the focus much easier to grasp. Your personal awareness has peaked.

This realization became evident to me on two occasions, in spite of the fact that I’ve not yet reached full adulthood. The first occasion was when I turned 22, and I realized that it is the earliest moment attained in one’s life in which you actually want to be younger. When you’re 17 (or so), you know everything and want only to be older – to grow up. When you’re 22, you discover that how much you know is trivial, because you’d much rather go back to being a day over 21 and would prefer to know nothing at all. To contemplate this concept further, listen to Face’s (or more simply, Rod Stewart’s) song “Ooh La La.” Oh, and my second encounter with this revelation came while watching Jake Gyllenhaal in the movie Source Code.

None of this recognition actually has anything to do with the plot of the film, but simply what it represents or says about Jake Gyllenhaal and his career maturation. It seems to me that Gyllenhaal’s acting résumé is the perfect representation of human development and maturation. I can’t know this for sure, partly because I am not yet a fully developed adult (skewering my perspective) and partly because Gyllenhaal’s own professional development is incomplete. Even still, it seems apparent to me that Jake’s track record is some type of microcosm for everything I’ve discussed, if only because the analysis of celebrities isn’t quite as convoluted as that of actual people.

Gyllenhaal has been acting on the big-screen since he was 10, but it wasn’t until October Sky in 1999 that he made a name for himself and truly began the maturity process (an actor’s development starts later than basic human development, a statement which is pretty obvious when you think about it). October Sky showed (or represented) the infinite potential Jake had. This was followed by Donnie Darko (2001), which at the time mirrored that weird, angsty teenage phase everyone kind of goes through, and in retrospect is more influential and coherent than initially assumed. Bubble Boy (2001) was evocative of those idiotic high school-ish years, in which they are funny and enjoyable in the moment, embarrassing and stupid immediately afterwards, and then looked back upon somewhere down the road as simultaneously funny and enjoyable while also slightly embarrassing.

The Good Girl (2002) – which at the time was Gyllenhaal’s most well-rounded, professional, and mature role – is when that potential of his was truly tapped into for the first time as a young adult, when the first significant steps are made. This was followed immediately – and not surprisingly – by a stint of egotism and bravado (something that would naturally result from sleeping with Jennifer Anniston…in The Good Girl, not real life…although you never know); it’s represented in Jake’s career by the blockbuster film The Day After Tomorrow (2004). In real life, this stage of audacity is defined by the binge drinking, frat-house-pool-jumping and random-girl-flirting discussed earlier. In Gyllenhaal’s film life, however, this stage is defined by outrunning a preposterous tidal wave that happens to be gushing through the streets of New York City.

Next up is a return to that potential, a much deeper and perceptible step into self-actualization and maturity. The moment is defining, not so much because it is the best or most successful, but because it is the most glaring and recognizable. For most people, it generally occurs late in college or early in their career path. For Gyllenhaal, this moment was 2005’s Brokeback Mountain. This particular film appears so clearly to be that significant occurrence for Jake, simply because of how different I personally view it now than I did when I was 16, and the fact that I’ll undoubtedly view it different yet again at some point. Also, there’s the fact that the movie and role evoke an immediate and identical labeling by those watching the entire process…regardless of how odd it is for that labeling to be “gay cowboys.”

The aftermath of Brokeback allowed for a continuation of more mature, idiosyncratic and challenging roles by Mr. Gyllenhaal, such as his parts in Jarhead (2005) and Zodiac (2007). This was followed by exploration of varying paths and emotions, whether it be dramatic (Brothers in 2009), self-indulgent unintentional comedy (Prince of Persia in 2010) or romance (Love and Other Drugs in 2010). And all of this leads us to Source Code, a film that establishes the role Gyllenhaal will probably be playing for the next few years of his life, embodying his acting maturation from youngster to adult.

Chances are that Gyllenhaal’s character in Source Code is basically the character he will be portraying over the course of the next decade or so. It’s a role we’ve seen many times before, and yet multi-faceted enough to allow for a talented actor like Jake to showcase the many layers of his onion. He gets to be a dramatic/charming/witty/funny action star all at once. He can still show off those emotional chops, while at the same time tossing in pithy or comedic dialogue and flashing his irresistible smile and/or abs at whichever bombshell they decide to complement him with. He has reached a distinct and more fixed level of maturation.

Sure, he may peel off into a few indie films to keep things interesting and explore his artistic side, and at some point he will probably deal with his mid-life crisis by completely transforming himself into the personification of another person, like Christian Bale did in The Fighter or Leo DiCaprio did for J. Edgar. But ultimately, each stop along the way for Gyllenhaal has served to develop him into what he has become. He is not just funny, or just dramatic, or just introverted, or just romantic, or just handsome, or just self-indulgent; he is not simply one-dimensional, just as very few actual people are simply one-dimensional. He is little bits and pieces of each of those things, a transformation that took place much like the growth and development of you and I.

Just as actor development starts a bit later than human development, it ends a bit later as well. Gyllenhaal is in his early 30s, meaning he will have at least one more significant developmental stage as an actor. He won’t be able to rely on this “good looks” or “action hero” phase forever, which is when those witty/dramatic capabilities will start to take over.

It is then that his career will be able to be viewed and analyzed as a whole, and done so more accurately by people slightly older (and pop culture-versed) than me. Jake Gyllenhaal will probably have a slightly better understanding of his own self (or his actor self) at that time too. He’ll finally be able to look back on those Donnie Darko days, The Good Girl days, The Day After Tomorrow days and the Brokeback Mountain days. And whether or not he recalls those moments as good or bad, successes or failures, you can pretty safely assume that Jake will wish he knew then all that he knows now…just like the rest of us.

Ooh la la.

Thanks for reading

Vacating Morality

“Oh but I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.” 

                                               – Bob Dylan

As a society, with the way today’s 24/7 media coverage works, we tend to overanalyze and pile on things. If Tim Tebow had played quarterback in 1987, he might have been an interesting topic, but there certainly wouldn’t be endless segments on Sportscenter where a bunch of dudes just sit around and argue about him for five minutes. And that’s just one example. A lot of things are that way. Everything is that way. Until something drags you back to reality.

College sports are a fascinating subject. Interest is high, passion is fervent, coverage is limitless and scandals are rampant. Investigating top-tier college football and basketball programs is a bit like doing a kitchen inspection at your favorite restaurant: if you look long and hard enough, you’re probably going to find something you don’t particularly like. And in recent years, it’s been more like doing an inspection of that small, poorly lit Chinese restaurant down the road from your house. You know, the one that has all those stray cats hanging around out back.

Just in the past few years, we have seen colleges exposed for providing improper benefits to student-athletes, whether it be providing funds or accessories for the kids and their families, giving the kids more money than they actually deserve for a fake job, or simply handing them envelopes of cash. We’ve heard of team members getting in trouble for selling their own jerseys and memorabilia, booster members throwing ridiculous parties or providing lavish gifts to players, and coaches getting in trouble for calling a player too many times, sending text messages at the “wrong” time, or picking up the tab on a recruit’s dinner.

We condemn these acts, condemn the kids, condemn the coaches, condemn the system. We argue over whether or not student-athletes should be paid, whether that would solve the problems or simply make them worse. We balance getting free tuition and education against players being a slave to money-hungry schools, conferences, championships, bowl games and sponsors; “why isn’t a free education enough?” vs “why don’t they deserve a cut of all the money they bring in?”. We tear down the secrecy, greed and under-the-table deals as if the entire structure were the most despicable and wicked institution in existence.

And then Penn State happens.

Consider the Ohio State football situation. I live in Cincinnati, go to school at Ohio University in Athens, and have a roommate whose brother plays for the Buckeyes, so I’m more than aware of all that has gone on there in the past year at OSU, and yet removed enough to have a somewhat objective opinion on it. Essentially, star quarterback Terrelle Pryor and a few other players (some more notable than others) got busted for exchanging autographs and memorabilia for free/discounted tattoos, and probably some cash or other benefits (although to be fair, we can’t know for sure). Pryor was also seen driving numerous nice cars around campus, something of which you can probably draw your own conclusions on.

Anyways, Ohio State was practically crucified for these transgressions. Head coach Jim Tressel was fired, players were suspended, a few left the program, and one of the top teams in the country came out the other side with a far inferior squad and one heck of a black eye. Shambles. Complete and utter shambles.

And then Penn State happens.

It’s early enough in the Penn State process that we can’t say for sure what has happened, as nothing has gone to trial. But because you’d have to be a hermit (or Aston Kutcher) to not know about the situation, here’s the short version: a PSU assistant coach has allegedly been molesting and sexually abusing young boys over the past few decades, largely using his position with Penn State to commit these acts. He was apparently questioned about it very quietly in-house in the ‘90s (with no public punishment or acknowledgment), and was then allegedly caught by another assistant coach while raping a 10-year-old boy in the locker room shower in 2002. This coach, after seeing this take place, allegedly told (legendary) head coach Joe Paterno about the situation, who allegedly reported it to his “superiors,” who then allegedly handled the situation very quietly (again) without taking any legal action (again). And in the past few weeks, all of this information came gushing out. As a result, just about everyone involved with the university and program that supposedly had knowledge or a hand in the situation has been fired or put on administrative leave. Once more, I’m sure I’m not telling you anything new here. But what stands out (aside from the horrible accusations of this case, which have been covered at length by reporters that are far more competent than I) is how stark the contrasts are between this situation and the other so-called “scandals” surrounding college sports.

I’m not condoning the acceptance of improper benefits. I’m not suggesting coaches should be able to take whatever measures they please when recruiting potential student-athletes. I’m not even sure where I stand on the whole “should college players be paid/compensated” argument, because I feel like there are legitimate points for each side. But I do know that, retrospectively, it feels pretty stupid raising such a big stink about free tattoos or illegal text messages when children are possibly being raped and molested, and then coaches and administrations are spending eight or nine years keeping quiet about it. What Jim Tressel did (or didn’t do, in terms of reporting his team’s violations) was wrong. But when thinking back to how his character and integrity were questioned and vilified, and then comparing it to what  Paterno did (or didn’t do, in terms of taking further actions with the rape/molestation charges), it kind of makes you sick to your stomach.

Oddly enough, Paterno saw an outpouring of support from Penn State football fans through this whole ordeal. Now I understand what JoePa has meant to that program over the years, and no, Paterno isn’t even the main villain here. But he’s one of them. Jerry Sandusky, the assistant coach accused of committing these crimes, is obviously the biggest offender. And yet that doesn’t change the fact that all of those involved were clearly in the wrong. Jerry Sandusky not only committed alleged morally offensive and reprehensible acts (I think child molestation is one of those few universal “wrongs,” regardless of one’s belief or culture), but he allegedly committed crimes – serious crimes – that could hold some serious punishments. At the very least, they deserve to be investigated. Paterno and the rest of the Penn State administrators that knew of these things prevented those investigations from happening for almost a decade. Sandusky will have to answer (and pay) for these allegations, one way or another. You can be sure of that. It just shouldn’t have taken this long to start the process.

Should Paterno’s slate be washed clean simply because he fulfilled the duties of his job description by notifying his superiors? Hell no. What about his duties as a citizen, as a human being? How can he be trusted or qualified to lead young men if (as the record currently states) he had at least some knowledge of Sandusky’s actions and did nothing to protect those young boys? Reporting to your superiors really doesn’t hold much clout if you see them on a daily basis for the next handful of years and never once bring up the accusations again or do anything about it on your own. If what we know now is in any way true, then Sandusky’s crimes are gross and obvious. But so are Paterno’s (and everyone else’s involved).

JoePa wasn’t fired for “lack of morality,” although in this case, those grounds probably would have been justified, as slippery a slope as that may be. But he was fired for the crimes and misdeeds that his “lack of morality” allowed to take place, unpunished and unbeknownst to the public or proper authorities. Don’t let his career wins or the fact that he “fulfilled his duties” let you think otherwise.

I generally refrain from delving into such deep or controversial topics on this blog, mainly because I don’t really think this is the proper venue for that. But I found it striking how harsh we as a society judge college sports, and how fundamentally it all seemed to change with the allegations at Penn State. Even as I type this, an investigation is being launched regarding a longtime assistant basketball coach for Syracuse and allegations of child abuse and molestation in the 1980s. One accuser has pointed to the Penn State situation as motivation for him to come forward in the Syracuse case. It pretty much puts everything into perspective, huh?

Again, I’m not condoning what took place at Ohio State or any other university that has faced punishment or allegations. What I can tell you is that if I were a 20-year-old dumbass college athlete (as opposed to the 22-year-old dumbass college student I am now), and someone was trying to give me cash or cars or whatever simply because I was good at sports, I would have had one heck of time wrestling with myself over whether to accept those things or not. And if I was that athlete, and knew that one of my teammates was accepting benefits or one of my coaches was using some fishy recruiting methods, I probably wouldn’t say anything. That doesn’t make it right, but it’s just the truth. If most people were being honest, they’d probably tell you the exact same thing. But if it were a Penn State situation? If cars and cash became child abuse? Yeah, that changes everything. And I think that says something, if the difference wasn’t already obvious enough.

I’m a big  fan and follower of college sports, and as a potential (and hopeful) journalist, it is part of my job to know and report and possibly hold opinions on these types of subjects, just as it is for others in the field and profession and society. And the next time a big-name collegiate athlete gets caught taking some cash or driving a car he didn’t pay for, or a coach gets busted for recruiting violations, you can probably assume that it will be looked upon a little differently by those parties. It doesn’t make it less wrong, but it’s certainly not the same either. We now know too much. We’ve seen the darkest of the dark side.

College sports can be a seedy, disturbing and scandalous business. And that was before Penn State happened.

Oh but we were so much older then…

Thanks for reading