To Each Her Own: Ending the Craft Beer Cold War

Another quick read featured on Ladies Of Craft Beer...

http://ladiesocb.com/blog/to-each-her-own-ending-the-craft-beer-cold-war-by-hanna-laney/

Malt Destiny: Jefferson, Beer and Bald Eagles

New post from yours truly on Denver Off The Wagon... Beer + history = fusion of nerdness.

http://www.denveroffthewagon.com/2011/04/01/malt-destiny-jefferson-beer-and-bald-eagles/

Thunderstorm (unrefined haiku)

the air sits. hot/wet.
growing, pregnant with fat drops,
a burst! then it's gone.

Repressing the People the World Needs Most

Bulletin, 2010

This week, as predicted, University President Thayne McCulloh has banned the Vagina Monologues from being performed on campus. After I let out a gale-force sigh, I had to figure out how best to respond personally, socially and in this column. Upon the news of the ban, I overheard a student say something to the effect of “this is just a group of angry, bitter women with nothing better to worry about.” To this person, I send an eye-roll that could throw the Earth off orbit. Forget the misogynistic musings of certain students; the issue is about more than petty name-calling. This issue is about who we are as students in the pursuit of knowledge and who we are as an intellectual and social community. This issue is the intersection of art, entertainment and our identities both individually and as a Gonzaga community.

I think it is most appropriate to begin with a bit of an aside. My following response to the ban on The Vagina Monologues is not meant to be a personal attack on Dr. McCulloh. I understand that as Interim President after the unusually powerful predecessor Father Spitzer would be both daunting and confining. I applaud Dr. McCulloh’s attempt at being as open-minded as possible in an infrastructure bequeathed to him and appreciate his continued efforts to search for the greatest good. Additionally, I take seriously the connection to Catholic teachings that many members of the Gonzaga community feel. I respect and admire faithfulness; I simply think it’s time for some honest discussion.

As a student on a college campus that waxes poetic about “educating the people the world needs most,” I am frequently disappointed with the number of times the university chooses repression over education, silence over honest discussion. Many times on this campus I have encountered young adults uncomfortable with the anatomical names of their body parts and utterly baffled as to their health and function. In our Anatomy and Physiology classes, the entire reproductive system is ignored. In our efforts to “educate,” we often silence information about birth control, reproductive health and anatomical fact.

For some, this stems from religious teachings and conservatism. I understand religious guidance and I respect that as an important facet of many students’ lives. However, I do not see how religious conviction should stand in the way of understanding our bodies. Especially in a church that places such a premium on the conception and rearing of children, it seems antithetical to deny the anatomy that does the work. Accepting our body as part of our holistic self doesn’t stand in the way of our relationship with God, it can strengthen it.

Some arguments against the Monologues focus on what some consider to be glorification of acts they see as immoral, often including frank discussions of heterosexual and homosexual sex. However, these arguments do not take into account the wide array of topics covered in the show. This argument is like saying The Bible is merely about the Creation story. Yes, some of the Monologues focus on sex, but there are many other topics discussed including: sexual violence, objectification, birth, intimacy, and the importance of language in gender equality. Acknowledgment of these topics is important, and indeed vital, in our creation of a Christ-like community of people who truly love each other as Jesus calls us to do.

On a campus under the heavy control of the Catholic Church, I find one of issues to be the ideal of Mary as the Blessed Virgin. One of the largest miracles celebrated in the Catholic tradition is the Virgin Birth. In this way, we create a climate on campus that separates Godly women from their bodies. Women of faith strive for closeness to God and, in the example of Mary, the anatomy and function of the human reproductive system are entirely by-passed. If we are to emulate the Blessed Virgin, we are to strive for alienation from our anatomy. This is not to detract from the miracle of the Virgin Birth, but rather, is merely an observation in what we value as a community and its effects on who we are as men and women of God.

Likely protests from both sides of the argument will continue to build. Likely, the Vagina Monologues will still be held off-campus. Likely, the event will be fraught with tension from fervent supporters and avid opponents. While these events may be the only knowable future for the debate, we must look to use this moment as a means by which we take an honest, rational look at what we really want to be known for as the collective body of the Gonzaga community. What will really matter is how we use this moment as a way to educate ourselves about our bodies, our health and who we are as holistic beings.

Morality, Artifice and Sex Robots, Oh My!

Bulletin, 2010

Every weekend, some women on the Gonzaga campus choose to dress like sex robots. By cramming themselves into skin-tight polyester and miniskirts, these women package their own bodies as a product.

Recently, TrueCompanion, Inc. shocked some by introducing Roxxxy, the first sex robot capable of speaking, retaining information, engaging in conversation and being used for sex. For about $7,000 any person over the age of 18 can purchase and customize their very own sex robot, complete with specialized personality settings, haircut and color, make-up, and nail polish, as well as other certain anatomical specifications.

Similarly, it seems some young women in relationships do not balk at the idea of getting a Brazilian wax to match the women their boyfriends see in porn and the myriad of underwear-less celeb pictures gracing the tabloids, without asking for anything in return. Many of the actions young women have come to see as pedestrian and necessary are products of sex as a commodity.

Critics and fans alike have been vocal in their response to the product since its introduction at the Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas in early January. Roxxxy has been a topic in a number of on-campus classes including Sex, Gender and Society and Gender, Family and Society, spurring dialogue. In almost every conversation on campus, the response seems to be vehement condemnation, but the conversation is a bit more complex than simple refutation. Upon examination, many of the arguments prove to be more complicated than they appear.

First, many opponents claim that using a sex robot is “just wrong.” Presumably, they are making the claim that it is immoral to use a robot for sexual contact. This argument raises other important questions about artifice in the world of sex; namely, is it immoral to use anything that is not human for sex? Where do we draw the line on products like the Fleshlight? Do those who oppose the sex robot also oppose products like sex toys, synthetic lubrication or Viagra? In a world where technological advance often outpaces societal readiness, it is naïve to not acknowledge a growing gray area when it comes to our relationship with technology.

There is another argument that we can’t ignore; sex robots bridge the gap between fantasy and reality. In a relationship with an actual person, the world of fantasy and the realm of reality have a barrier. However, with a device like Roxxxy, fantasy becomes an immediate reality in which any whim or predilection can be realized. In a world of increasingly accessible and prevalent porn, this becomes problematic.

Some opponents of sex robots (and of porn) make the claim that it hurts women. However, I see the unfortunate effects on both the men who are using sex robots and women at large. When there is no distillation of fantasy, no hesitancy to live out a whim, those who use products like Roxxxy alienate themselves from the organic, natural intimacy that can come from sex between humans. In this way, products like Roxxxy are the embodiment of ultimate human alienation. Roxxxy’s highly customized nature promotes an idea that women should be equally customizable, with each facet of their personality and body attuned to their partner’s wishes.

Another problem I see in the discussion is the level of delusion in the binary, us-versus-them world of people who would use a sex robot and people who would not. People are quick to put themselves in a category of those who would never use a product like Roxxxy (or Rocky, the soon-to-be-released male counterpart). However, every day we partake in activities I see as merely sex robotics re-packaged.

Women aren’t alone in this, though, as some men make it a part of their coming-of-age tradition to skulk into a darkened strip club to watch women gyrate in g-strings to “Pour Some Sugar On Me.” Some of these men would recoil in horror at the thought of using a sex robot. However, watching strippers and using Roxxxy are much the same. With Roxxxy, men pay for programmed, controllable sex. With strippers, men use dollar bills to dictate what women wear, how they dance, how they talk and what they do. To many, Roxxxy represents a completely new and decidedly bad advance in machinery. If we acknowledge the cultural meaning of our own actions, we see Roxxxy as merely the next baby step in a world of entangled sex and technology.

Products like Roxxxy will continue to push the boundaries of sexual technology. More importantly, however, they will force us to examine the activities we see as pedestrian that may be equally as hurtful to others and ourselves. Are we merely Roxxxys or Rockys ourselves? Do we treat others like sex robots that breathe? While a simple acceptance or refutation of these products is perhaps the most common response, I argue that an honest examination of our actions proves that we are perhaps already following a cultural, social and moral trajectory merely accelerated by products like sex robots.

Super Bowl Vs. Puppy Bowl

Bulletin, 2010

Last Sunday I made the epic hajj to the couch to watch the perennial return of the Super Bowl. The day had all the fixings to be great: a three-hour homage to a game predicated on a system of arbitrary and cryptic rules, enough junk food to make me question the power of my digestive system and the sensory overload that is the world of American professional sports. Soon, however, I was torn between hulk-like 300-pound men and adorable puppies. Which would I choose, the Super Bowl or the Puppy Bowl? In true sports fashion, I checked the stats:

The Super Bowl

What It Is: The Super Bowl is the finest display of homoeroticism since the carving of Michelangelo’s David, or, to some, the distillation of seventeen weeks of professional football. The pre-game show, halftime show and after-show cued every washed up celebrity has-been and confetti machine in the greater Miami area. For those who couldn’t care less about football, the ads typically guarantee laughs and, in this year’s case, controversy in the form of Tim Tebow and his mother railing against abortion.

Key Players: This year, fan favorite Peyton Manning and his Indianapolis Colts faced off against the New Orleans Saints and Reggie Bush, who is most famous for his other full-time job as the chief curator of Kim Kardashian’s pronounced gluteus. Additionally, Reggie Bush has remained a popular face of the NFL ever since he emerged from a highly successful college career at USC. Peyton Manning, progeny of football phenom Archie Manning and brother of NFL QB Eli, retains popularity through his dynamic appearances in commercials and his courageous battle against a lifetime of hardship brought on by having a freakishly large forehead.

The Good: The Super Bowl features flair and lots of it. Between the fireworks, the myriad of American flags, the confetti bombs, the celebrity box seats, the upturned Kool-aid coolers and the overwhelming screen graphics, the Super Bowl keeps viewers somewhere between constant entertainment and epileptic seizure. The Super Bowl is an explosion of visual and auditory clutter, just the way we like it.

The Bad: Ever since 2004’s Janet Jackson Nipplegate, the Super Bowl halftime shows have been sterile, boring mash-ups of mid-level country stars, crusty 1970s rockers and unobtrusive Disney music childbots. The halftime show is the dullest part of the multi-hour affair.

Wildcard: The Super Bowl commercials this year featured a motif that never fails to elicit laughs--talking babies. E*Trade, an online stock trading company uses computerized babies to show the ease and profitability of their do-it-yourself brokerage system. While many have heralded the Doritos commercials as the funniest this year, I always find myself laughing awkwardly loudly at a talking baby.

The Puppy Bowl

What It Is: The event follows this equation for success: puppies + puppies + puppies. Animal Planet’s Puppy Bowl consists of different kinds of puppies playing with chew toys, gnawing on each other and doing all of the adorable things puppies do. Viewers typically spend the first half of the game squealing at how cute the puppies are, the second half debating which puppy is cutest and the post-game wishing they could play with a puppy.

Key Players: This is not a Jeffersonian world of puppies. Not all puppies are created equal. While I chose my preferred pet (Garbanzo, an adorable cattle dog mix), my roommates quickly chose their favorites including the hideous Sir Winston, the Cavalier King Charles with lopsided eyes. We found ourselves bitterly divided over which puppies had redeeming qualities of cuteness, playfulness and overall charisma, begging the question in our minds; Manning who? According to the advertisement that ran almost constantly, there was online voting to choose the MVP (Most Valuable Puppy). Jake, the Chihuahua/Pug mix nabbed the title this year.

The Good: The draw to a continual loop of playful puppies seems obvious. However, the game also featured a Kitty Halftime Show where kittens played with an elaborate stage full of swishing cat toys, fake furry mice and swirling feathers. It’s the Puppy Bowl… with kittens.

The Bad: Once the hipster appeal of watching puppies play a fake football game wears off, the Puppy Bowl becomes a bit monotonous. One can only watch the Puppy Bowl in stints of a few minutes before switching back to the real game. Also, the ridiculous “refereeing” done by a random man with a striped shirt and whistle required liberal use of the “mute” button. Puppies are cute enough, calling a foul for “unnecessary ruff-ruff-ruffness” tipped the scale from precious to nauseating.

Wildcard: Two words--Hamster. Blimp. When the Puppy Bowl camera switched to aerial perspective, they used a box full of hamsters crawling over miniature blimp controls. The Hamster Blimp is genius. The Hamster Blimp combined with the bunny cheerleaders, puppy players and kitty halftime show made the event an outburst of adorableness.

Grasping in the Dark

Bulletin, 2010

In my hand, I hold a tiny, sleek device that promptly delivers my junk mail, Facebook updates, texts, and tweets with a delightful, cheery chirp. On my lap, a computer delivers to me on-demand music, anthologies of obscure and popular TV shows and endless sites to entertain me for hours. I love this. However, I have noticed a peculiar trend.

Clustered within the labyrinthine stacks of the legendary Powell’s bookstore, I stumbled upon the merchandise. Among the mounds of stuff, a laptop case caught my eye. Emblazoned on the front of the otherwise plain case was an inky, black drawing of an old-fashioned typewriter. Next to these cases were similar ones for an iPod, with old-fashioned gramophones drawn on the covers. Above the cases, a placard stated that they were called “Luddite Cases.” Below that, it gave a description of the Luddite Movement, which was an attempt by 19^th-century Brits to combat the (as they saw them) degrading forces of the Industrial Revolution.

The Luddites fought to destroy the means by which the Industrial Revolution affected their lives, largely focusing on the terrible conditions within the textile mills of the day. Their mission included destroying the mill machines they felt were ruining their society. Today, we romanticize the past in commercial products, and various cultural anachronisms are held in high esteem. Unlike the Luddites, however, we want to have our cake and eat it, too. Rather than destroy our iPods or our laptops (which, I don’t actually believe would solve much), we merely place them in handy, trendy, uber-expensive cases that reference nostalgia for a “simpler time.”

For just twenty-four dollars, I can, without kidding, listen to my iPod while simultaneously protecting it from the elements in that says I prefer to sit in the parlor and drop the needle on the gramophone to rock out. But the harking back to a history that perhaps never existed doesn’t stop with bags and cases. We don’t want to experience life as it was; we want to experience life suspended between then and now. Our cultural phenomena suggest both an embittered grasping towards a festishized history, and an utter dependence on and connection to modern accoutrement. Someone put the second part of the equation to me as, “becoming a society of people who think milk is made at the store.”

The trend of simultaneous entrenchment and refutation of technological reality seems to be built on one thing: realness. In a world where entire histories of conversation can be deleted with one stroke of a key, pictures only exist in clickable albums, and a physical letter in the mail is both alarming and alien, we grasp for a tangible reality—a realness we can feel. While binary, html, and the movement of electrons across millions of miles of wire mean something, they simply aren’t real. We are quick to make a fetish out of things that are handmade, vintage or in some way more tangibly individual than anything else, but we also want these things and our technology too.

One example of this is the idea of a “ranch vacation,” wherein the traveler can head to remote Montana or Wyoming to “work” on a ranch and see “Western frontier” life. Like the pioneers we are so quick to romanticize, we can ride a horse around a farm for a week and call it

ranching. Of course, few of those vacationers actually want to partake in the backbreaking, time-consuming and often exponentially unpleasant duties that go into running a working ranch. Likely, no one feels the urge to assist in the unseemly task of pulling a stuck calf out of a birthing cow or, gasp, actually kill an animal in an up-close realization of the circle of life. No, thanks, we would rather just watch the Lion King.

I assume these vacations are fun, and, if Montana is universally like any part I’ve seen of it, stunningly beautiful. However, when can we admit to ourselves that we just want to feel something real? One of the most popular Montana vacation ranches, Montana Bunkhouses, promises eager travelers “a real experience with real people.” This taste of “reality” can be tailored just the way we like it to fit our desire for immersion. On their homepage, Montana Bunkhouses suggests, “Those seeking adventure may sign up for authentic cattle drives, trail rides, or a pack trip. Others may prefer to ride in the pickup and visit with the rancher on daily rounds to feed and care for livestock.” Experience the thrill of a day in the saddle amidst a herd of horned bovines…or hop into the Dodge Ram and throw some silage into a trough.

Another example of this is the growingly popular TLC show “BBQ Pitmasters.” This show focuses on a group of traveling barbequers as they compete in contests nationwide. In a world of plastic food, drive-thru windows and preservative-packed microwave meals, it makes sense that we are drawn to a style of cooking that references an older era we imagine to be the epitome of masculinity. We imagine the BBQ Pitmasters as modern tribal nomads, cooking large quantities of raw meat over an open flame. Proving our reliance on the machinery of modernity coupled with our longing for a realer past, the show uses the technique and technology of today, while still paying homage to primal cooking. In each episode, the barbeque masters use state-of-the-art grills, high-tech culinary technique and sophisticated sauces while still connecting to the metaphor of the man cooking his kill over an open fire. The show’s popularity represents another fusion of our desire to return to realness while retaining the equipment of today.

On a smaller scale, I find myself involved in this exact sort of charade as I make the trek to Greenbluff every year. Often in the weeks leading up to Halloween, I look down upon those who buy their pumpkins at Safeway. Pshaw, how can they not go pick their own? I ask myself, my theoretical arm tiring from mentally patting myself on the back for getting a “real pumpkin.”

Aside from finding an excuse to eat two pieces of pie in one meal, I find myself wanting to return to Greenbluff because it seems more real. Somehow picking a pumpkin in Northern Spokane, where a docile pygmy goat sulks in a square cordoned off by chicken wire allows me to buy into the ruse that I am experiencing the season. Being at Greenbluff gives us, the idea of realness—touching, smelling, seeing and hearing the sounds of the season—no matter how canned they may be.

On the occasions that I darken the door of the gym, I am mesmerized by the Expresso Fitness Bikes. On these popular bikes, one can set the screen to project a mountainous trail, a grueling street climb or a dirt path. Granted, the snowy Spokane winter prevents much in the way of bike riding any time between November and March, but these machines may very well be the embodiment of the trend. We love the fact that we can ride a bike in a warm room at the gym, but we also want to pretend we are on a mountain trail, making the competition more real. With their computerized pacers, pixilated landscapes and rising popularity, these bikes give us exactly what we want—modern technology with a hefty homage to a glorified tangibility.

In the debate surrounding our place in the trajectory of history, we find ourselves in a proverbial no-man’s-land. We are not firmly planted in modernity, as we suffer from an undeniable discontentedness spurred by historical anachronism. However, we cannot claim full post-modernity as we are still indelibly tied to the technology that is paramount to material modernity. Perhaps the person who buys a pumpkin at Safeway hasn’t given up, they simply don’t buy into the sort of one-foot-in philosophy of things like Greenbluff, Luddite cases, Expresso Fitness bikes and Montana Bunkhouse vacations. Some of us are not so lucky and we find ourselves stuck in the middle, caught between the nebulous reality we experience and the yearning for a concrete reality we want.

Formatting Issues

Please disregard the formatting issues on the last few posts, I am in the process of trying to figure out what's wrong with the site...

Fox and Gaga

Bulletin, 2009

“She’s too weird.”

“She’s a slut.”

“I heard she’s a tranny.”

These are all criticisms we have heard of two explosively famous female stars today: Megan Fox and Lady Gaga. While these two starlets dominate the latest TMZ, Perez Hilton and Us Weekly circles, they remain on distinctly divergent paths. Plenty of tween, teen, young adult and middle aged people are more than happy to regale you with a full explanation of why they hate/love/can’t stand/are devoted to Fox or Gaga. I suppose this article is a continuation of that.

I hate Megan Fox. I love Lady Gaga. Let me tell you why.

Megan Fox has been proclaimed the “Sexiest Woman in the World” and continues to rule atop her throne as queen of the fanboy wet dream. Hated by many women, Fox continues to get into the press for her so-called “outrageous” quotes and her nearly nude photos. Most women who hate her emote from a place of jealousy, wishing they too had a stellar rack, toned stomach and pinchable tush. Women with low self-esteem everywhere woefully lament their physical differences from her. This is not why I hate Megan Fox. I hate Megan Fox because she is not outrageous. She sells barely scandalous smut to those who choose to pretend they aren’t sexual beings. Talking about bi-sexual trysts with Los Angeles strippers is not outrageous; it’s pandering.

What I hate about Megan Fox is that she plays into the very gender dichotomy she claims to be so ardently against. She knows that the average young American woman is uncomfortable with sexuality, sexiness and sex itself. She then tells stories to magazines like Esquire and GQ meant to titillate the tight-laced masses and get them to become engrossed. With one breath she whines about the “archaic Biblical principles” that bind women to repressed sexuality and with another she blurts, “It’s very unfortunate because men are embraced for their sexual prowess and women discouraged from it,” while she not-so-subtly sucks on an ice cube in a barely-there bikini for the ogling pleasure of readers everywhere, watching the money pile up.

On the topic of young girls in the entertainment industry, Fox gripes, “But it’s not right. They take these little girls, and they put them through entertainment school and teach them to sing and dance, and make them wear belly shirts, but they won’t allow them to be their own people. It makes me sick.” In the same article she appears in pictures that hundreds of women have appeared in before—the sexy swimsuit, the bra and panties, the men’s button-up, it’s all been done before, call it cookie-cutter sex appeal.

While Fox decries the horrors of blatant sexuality as a curse for the average woman, leaving her forced to pretend as if it doesn’t exist while living in a world that placed vapid sexiness at a premium, she whines about women not being allowed to be smart and sexy. Then, with the same sort of back-and-forth that makes my blood boil, she says, in an interview with the men’s magazine Esquire, “I don't want to have to be like a Scarlett Johansson--who I have nothing against--but I don't want to have to go on talk shows and pull out every single SAT word I've ever learned to prove, like, 'Take me seriously, I am intelligent, I can speak.' I don't want to have to do that. I resent having to prove that I'm not a retard, but I do. And part of it is my own fault." Let me get this straight, Ms. Fox, you want to empower women but speaking with a vocabulary meant to be mastered by high-schoolers and being sexy because you’re smart is to be looked down upon? You’ve truly lost me.

Megan Fox doesn’t degrade women by posing in a ripped shirt covered in oil on top of a muscle car. She degrades women by not bringing anything else to the table. It seems just as repressive to women’s (and indeed, men’s) rights to bottle up human sexuality as it is to flaunt it as a tool for international fame. Hiding your body and feeling ashamed is just as bad as using it as a pop cultural calling card. Empowering women involves embracing both your body and your mind.

Lady Gaga is often placed alongside stars like Megan Fox in the pantheon of the criticized as “too weird.” Her non-traditional outfits, music videos and live performances have created a swirl of condemnation from critics large and small. Gaga, too, goes on the record frequently talking about her bisexuality, what she looks for in a lover, and is an outspoken advocate for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender rights. Some use this as evidence that she is merely a modern day shock jockey, riding the controversy of her rule-bending comments. They are wrong. She is much more. One thing separates Lady Gaga from Megan Fox--substance.

According to her biography, Gaga makes her own costumes, learned piano by ear at age four, and was a student (one of only 20) at the highly prestigious Tisch School of the Arts at NYU. Her impressive resume stacks up with her impressive popularity and skyrocketing record sales. When questioned by Rolling Stone’s Brian Hiatt about her sexiness, she replies, “I don’t feel like I look like the other perfect little pop singers…I think I am changing what people think is sexy.” She is certainly changing perceptions.

As for the rumors of her purported transsexuality, Gaga shrugs off the critics and makes frequent reference to her true fans. She, like Fox, fights the same sort of sexist blathering of fools who can’t comprehend a strong-headed, in-your-face female personality bringing sexiness to the table. However, Gaga answers with a savvy confidence that radiates and truly inspires young women (and young men) to be who they really are. She proves more than a willingness to be different. She shows a willingness to be unique. In a world where counter-culture is as pedestrian as a trip to the local mall, Lady Gaga breaks the mold—calling for liberation by individuality.

In the same Rolling Stone interview, Gaga said, “My true legacy will be the test of time, and whether I can sustain a space in pop culture and really make stuff that will have a genuine impact.”

I can only hope her legacy is an empowerment of all genders and a validation of individualism.

Pop Culture to Hurt the Soul

Originally Published, Gonzaga Bulletin, 2009

Lately, the world of pop culture has remained relatively calm. Britney is back on the wagon, Paris has kept the crotch shots to a minimum, Rihanna-beating Chris Brown has been relegated to community service and the Kardashian wedding fervor seems to have subsided to a dull roar. While most sane, productive members of society do not care about these people and their outlandish lives, I can’t help but long for the days when I could fill my extra time with a horrifyingly serious following of this type of celebrity ridiculousness—and I think you do too. Well, take solace, all ye crestfallen and beleaguered masses—rejoice in the return of the worst kinds of celebrity trash culture. These shows and songs are sure to provide a more than ample fix of the sort of pop culture that hurts the soul.

Real Housewives of the O.C.(Bravo): This season, the housewives make a return to the original Real destination. While these women fall somewhere between human and plastic, their devastatingly tacky taste, their nouveau riche mega mansions and their penchant for public mudslinging keep the viewers coming back. This season opens with a return to the inter-season beef between housewife (who is technically not anyone’s wife) Gretchen and older self-professed MILF-wannabe Tamra, centered on nude pictures of Gretchen released earlier this year. It would seem logical that being on this show would be humiliating enough, but the addition of your nude photos released to the public would likely cause any rational being to seriously consider a life as a Carmelite nun. Luckily, none of the housewives feel this way and new episodes air on Bravo Wednesdays at 10. On the scale of one to soul crushing, I rate this show a 7.

Broke and Famous (VH1): This show features two things that are necessities in a hit show: obscure former teen stars and extreme mismanagement of young fame money. The first episode of this show features the downward spiral of Charles in Charge’s Buddy, Willie Aames. Likely, you are asking yourself, “Who is Willie Aames?” Aames has emerged from obscurity and the opening episode follows Willie as he attempts to crawl out from under massive debt, repair a broken relationship with his wife and kids and blah, blah, blah… This show typically airs in reruns around 3am and for good reason. Enjoy this show after a serious night of imbibing.

For the Love of Ray J 2 (VH1): This show is hands-down the best throw-down joke punch line for culture nerds. Many of the reality shows where a G-list celebrity searches for love amongst a bevy of strippers, “professional cheerleaders,” and gold-diggers don’t exactly fall under the category of “progressive” when it comes to gender. FTLORJ2 certainly follows suit, as the opening episode features a scantily clad cattle call of desperate skanks vying for Ray J’s attention. At their opening dinner, the ladies take a moment to step away from their Hypnotiq and cheap vodka to be given nicknames by Ray J himself. While many of the names were fitting, albeit obvious, somehow, I don’t think this is what Confucius meant when he referred to a “rectification of names”. The ladies stood up one by one and received names based on basic characteristics of their lives. The show’s only bilingual woman is re-named “Caliente,” the token Italian girl is “Fettuccine,” and an older woman with a short, frosty haircut is named “MZ Berry” in honor of Halle herself. This show falls somewhere between “genius” and brain-achingly bad.

Justin Bieber, One Time: Finally, a male answer to Miley Cyrus. This Canadian pop pipsqueak makes the pre-pubescent ladies swoon with hits like the grammatically depressing “One Less Lonely Girl,” and the slightly less popular “Favorite Girl.” With such inscrutable titles, great scholars still debate the true meanings of his fine lyricism and cryptic metaphors. As a protégé of Usher, Bieber has exploded onto this scene, showing an adept use of tools like YouTube to propel his music to the farthest reaches of teen pop fans. Bieber’s single, “One Time” features my new favorite contraction “I’ma,” and a frequent use of “shawty,” which never fails to evoke a chuckle. Catch his videos online and have a listen to Justin Bieber before his voice changes.

Kim Zolciak, Tardy For The Party: Real Housewife of Atlanta Kim Zolciak hits (shrieks) a high note (almost) with her much talked about single, “Tardy for the Party.” Watching this cartoonish woman “sing” on live TV and shamelessly promote her single is funny until you realize that she is mother to two young girls. Lyrics like this make me appreciate the fact that my own mother is nothing like this horrible woman: “I'll be feelin' good by nine/After my third glass of wine/On the dance floor lookin' fine/All the boys tryin' to get in line.” Boys? Dear Kim Zolciak, you’re gross. And old. Please act accordingly.

To William Safire

Many students on campus will remember last Sunday as nothing more than “that day I caught up on homework” or “that day before Monday.” However, I hope to remember it as much more than that. Last Sunday, September 27th, we lost one of the greatest masters of language, William Safire. While Safire’s inflammatory political past as a speechwriter for Richard Nixon likely stands in the way of garnering unanimous support, his faithfulness to intentional writing remains largely unrivaled.
In the mass of tweets, texts and status updates, many wordsmiths feel forlorn amongst the LOLs and the OMGs. Safire’s contrarian existence among the op-ed staff of the New York Times was only a glimmer of what made him so special. His keen observations of our relationship with the words that shape our world in his column “On Language,” remain a staggering collective masterpiece in a life characterized by an insatiably minute attention to the English language.
As a young, aspiring writer and self-professed “word nerd,” I long for Safire’s wit, immense vocabulary and inspiring belief in the power of words and their infinite combinations. Though his life was shaped by international political and physical breakdowns and buildups of centuries-long institutions, Safire never forgot the proportional gravity and power of the written word.
While we may not all agree with the content of his pieces, we must acknowledge his masterful grasp of our language. As we move closer to a world where our written exchanges are limited to 140 characters, I hope we will all try to be more intentional, deliberate and thoughtful in how we use the myriad of words bestowed upon us. Although Safire himself will no longer be around to chastise those “nattering nabobs of negativism,” he will always be present as writers everywhere delight in picking the perfect word.

Modern Day Rain Dance

Published, Bulletin, 2009

Typically by this time in the year, Gonzaga students find themselves breaking out their sweaters, trying to squeeze into last year’s jeans and sipping on hot coffee drinks again. However, Mother Nature has chosen to bequeath us with a bevy of sunshine and sweltering classrooms deep into the heart of September. Yes, it is nice outside. However, as a true Northwest native, I can’t help but yearn for a blustery day.

The idea of a “rain dance” is certainly not foreign to our collective consciousness. However, times have changed, and buckskin drums have been replaced with almost unnoticeable earphones blasting ninety-nine cent tunes. I have decided to put on my own rain dance of sorts, replete with dreary-weather-inducing tunes. As I stroll to class feeling uncomfortable in my shorts and tank top, hoping I will stop sweating before I reach the 4th floor of Admin (it will always be Admin in my heart), I plug in and hope for gray. Here are the songs that can put you in that blustery mindset, even if the weather outside disagrees.

Old College Try, The Mountain Goats: In this uber-depressing cut from their 2002 album Tallahassee, The Mountain Goats know how to make love lost poignant and perhaps even funny. This simultaneously catchy and soul-crushing song features the genius description of a relationship mess, offering, “Like a trashcan fire in a prison cell/ Like the searchlights in the parking lots of hell/ I will walk down to the end with you/ If you will come all the way down with me.” Put this in your ear when you wish you were curling up and snuggling down on a cold day.

Skinny Love, Bon Iver: Maybe it’s just the story of this band’s genesis that necessitates this Bon Iver’s place in the pantheon of bad weather music. Bandleader Justin Vernon found refuge in a winter Wisconsin cabin and recorded one of the most intimate, complex and unique sounding records in recent memory. While other tracks, including Flume and re:Stacks are equally great, this song is best for the long walk to class on Mondays.

Nothing Matters When We’re Dancing, Magnetic Fields: Most. Genius. Band. Ever. This song is both adorable and brilliant. Magnetic Fields is the perfect way to coax the gray day out from hiding. The music is both peppy and smooth and the lyrics include this gem, which may be one of my favorite lines of all time, “And nothing matters when we're dancing / In tat or tatters you're entrancing / Be we in Paris or in Lansing/ Nothing matters when we're dancing.” From their epic 69 Love Songs 3-CD project, this song is sure to be a good bet as the sun beats down on your face and you long for a cloud in the sky.

Nobody Knows Me At All, The Weepies: Don’t let the band fool you; this awesome group’s music is not as depressing as their name suggests. This song is particularly appropriate as an iPod cut, where earphones isolate you in your own audio world. Roll out knits, hoodies and boots; this short ditty is the perfect cap to a playlist that beckons the fall weather.

Perhaps you are a sun-worshipper, soaking up these extra rays of the Indian summer. If you wish for a cooler day to mix it up put on these songs to coax a stubborn raindrop from even the sunniest Spokane days.

A Smattering of Summer

The Bulletin, 2009

That perennial time has come again when returning students scuffle around campus in hurried steps, cinder blocks move to and fro and the year begins again. For three months, we have wandered aimlessly, you and I, untethered in the world of entertainment. It’s good to be back. As a welcome back of sorts, let’s take a look down memory lane. This summer brought us great movies, revolutionary music and TV that means something.

Movies like Adventureland and 500 Days of Summer touched our hearts, taught us how to re-live our own awkward adolescences and better understand the ups and downs of love, lust and growing up. Blitzen Trapper released a groundbreaking EP and Mad Men returned with more surprises.

Adventureland: OK, so this movie was technically released in April, but since I saw it in a second-run pub theater this summer, I am counting it as a summer movie. In Greg Mottola’s coming-of-age tale, the loveable, awkward, sonnet-loving James Brennan (deftly portrayed by Jesse Eisenberg) finds himself employed at the apex of nihilist nothingness—the Adventureland theme park, and finds himself falling for the gorgeous, yet troubled Em. Yes, this movie does feature the abominable Kristin Stewart of Twilight fame. However, don’t let that stop you from enjoying this simultaneously inspiring, hilarious, and heartbreaking film. Typically, the word “transformative” is reserved for big toothed, Tony Robbins-style self-help hacks, but this film is exactly that—it has changed the way the rite of passage film tackles the rough terrain of first love. Adventureland is for anyone who has ever fallen in love, anyone who hasn’t, and anyone in between.

500 Days of Summer: Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt wow in this austere, beautiful film about unrequited love. As Tom (Gordon-Levitt) remembers his 500 days with Summer (Deschanel), he swings from emotional highs and lows. 500 Days of Summer moves quickly between moments of elation and desperation and features a mind-blowing soundtrack. This movie is movingly honest and, when paired with Adventureland, skillfully captures the myriad of emotions embroiled in romantic endeavor.

Black River Killer EP: Portland indie fave Blitzen Trapper has been slowly gaining popularity in and out of the Northwest. Their new EP single Black River Killer is a haunting narrative that is marks a clear departure from their other work. Released in late August, Black River Killer tells a first person story of a serial killer traveling across the United States. This band oscillates between Grateful Dead-like tonality and storytelling ability unheard since old Dylan work. The EP features six other previously unreleased songs but Black River Killer is a must-hear, you won’t be disappointed.

Mad Men: The 60s sensation is back! Mad Men follows the lives of those at the Sterling Cooper advertising agency, in and out of the office. Its narrative complexity, expert costume design, dynamic characterization and historical bend all contribute to this show garnering worthy reputation as one of the most enthralling shows on TV. In addition to all its unique attributes, the show boasts two things no other show has—Christina Hendricks and Jon Hamm. The casting is superb across the board but these two actors, Hendricks as Joan and Hamm as Don Draper are enough to make tuning in worthwhile. Tune in Monday nights at 9pm on AMC.

Summer may be over, but you can still savor the times of late sunsets, tanlines and driving with the windows down with these music, movie and TV picks. Welcome back!

A Memo From Gonzaga University Administration RE: Swine Flu

Dear Students,

Please do not panic.

As your professors have mentioned, we have set up your classes on Blackboard as a safety measure in the event of imminent swine flu epidemic. Please take all necessary precautions to avoid getting the swine flu including, but not limited to: getting a flu shot, and avoiding eating, drinking, breathing or touching anything on this campus. Rest assured, you will still be able to access the assignments necessary for your class once you are enveloped in unavoidable feverish madness. Indeed, from the comfort of your own quarantined bed in a 19th century-style sanatorium that will be constructed to replace the COG, you can complete web postings, turn in essays and swap notes on the hideous pus extruding from your facial orifices.

But let’s be real. Swine flu is hardly the greatest threat facing this campus. Some of the threats facing us are not immediately quelled by a five-dollar flu shot. Have you ever considered your plan of action in the zombie day of reckoning? Do you know what to do in the event of a doppelganger army takeover? What will happen after the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse ride onto campus? Luckily for you, the University has prepared for all of these looming crises poised to derail our academic year.

Likely, in the near future, this campus, as well as the rest of the country, will be teeming with virtually unstoppable zombies thirsty for brain matter. When this occurs, please visit Crosby Student Center for your Zag Zombie Baseball Bat (all costs charged to your student account). When used deftly, these bulldog-themed aluminum sluggers can provide the cranial-crushing blows necessary to ward off an attacking zombie. Do not try any other method to rid your domain of these vicious creatures. While kicking, punching, yelling or spitting at zombies may seem reasonable, nothing is as effective or satisfying as hearing that familiar splatter of zombie brains fly through the air with ease.

Similarly, when an army of doppelgangers takes over this campus under the cloak of night, it will become a mess of students, faculty, and staff and their ghostly counterparts. Likely, it will be difficult for you to keep a clear mind regarding who everyone is. Once, again, Blackboard will come to your aid, as classes will be held online. When you greet them, make sure you do not allow them access to your Blackboard information. Additionally, make sure to mark yourself showing everyone that you are in fact you, and not your doppelganger. This extra effort will make attendance in class much easier for your teacher, as it will cut down awkwardness when you and your doppelganger reply in unison, “Here.” That is, unless the swine flu has already set in…

Lastly, if you are on campus and you hear the chilling clap of horseshoes you will know it is the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Try not to be afraid of their swinging scythes, black hooded capes and horses’ blood red eyes. These gentle giants are really just misunderstood. Hurt by the recession like many others, these four guys found temp work traveling the globe, dispensing unfortunate news to banished souls regarding their eternal damnation to the boiling cauldron of brimstone, fire and the High School Musical soundtrack known as Hell. Please be advised that you will need to notify your RA in the event of your untimely departure from this earthly realm to avoid penalties including the rescindence of your housing deposit. With each incoming class growing exponentially, we must use our campus housing to its maximum potential.

Hopefully, these tips provide you a moment of calm in a world of imminent threat. Please feel free to send any questions in a scientifically sealed, sanitary envelope to the Office of the President. When one or all of these catastrophes descend upon our beloved campus, DO NOT PANIC. Please utilize this manual and your Blackboard account to ride out the disgusting, life-threatening and horrific calamities predicted for the 2009-2010 academic year. Go Zags.

Sincerely,

Dr. Thayne McCulloh
Interim University President

Hello loyal fans (all 3 of you!) follow me on Twitter @bananalaney for bite-sized morsels of unabashed narcissism!

I promise I will entertain you in fewer than 140 characters.

Cheers,
Hanna

Cheers, Portland

2009

The town of Portland, Oregon and I have a relationship of extremes. That is to say, I am at once enraptured and disgusted, admiring and eye rolling, in love and exasperated. However, I suppose here is neither the time nor the place to go into the greater details of my history with the Rose City.

. . .

I had recently returned home for the summer. The moment was both promising and bittersweet. I was simultaneously on the cusp of an exciting job and an entire season of enjoying my newly minted non-minor status as well as doing the sort of re-evaluation one seems to find a necessary evil at some point(s) in their college career.

The first warm evening of the summer I found myself with nothing to do. With two good hours of sunlight left I rolled my bike onto the MAX and whizzed towards downtown. It would be my first excursion in the city with my new cherry red cruiser, which I had dubbed “Bettie Page,” thinking I was perhaps more clever than I truly was. Decked out in my ultra uncool red helmet and makeshift-reflective seafoam green workout shorts, I was ready to ride.

Once in the heart of the city I pedaled towards the twinkling lights, bustling noise and competing smells of cotton candy, hot dog and carnival pony coming from the waterfront Rose Festival. I gingerly weaved through the crowded bike path, crossing the bridge, watching the city sunset from the east. By this time, my new bike seat seemed less comfortable with each pedal and I pushed back on my coaster brakes and smoothly stopped near an open bench for a break. Slowly removing my helmet, I sat down and rested my feet on my parked bike sitting in front of me, squinting at the sun.

From my solitary seat the cars scooting along the bridges, the festival rides swirling and twirling, and the chatter of people on the bike path behind me provided an intoxicating glimpse into the city’s simultaneous discordance and harmony. I breathed a deep sigh of contentment and soaked in the city around me.

Suddenly, a noise startled me and I was jolted from a relaxed gaze. A man, perhaps in his early 30s met my eyes with a smile. His face was dingy, but not filthy, and he carried a faded backpack and guitar case slung around his shoulder. With one hand he pulled a bottle from a sixpack and set it in my hand, resting on the side of the bench.

“Can I give you a few bucks for this?” I asked, caught off guard by his generosity.

“No, no,” he replied with a chuckle. “Just keep sittin’ and starin’ like you were.”

As I opened the bottle with my shirt folded into my hand I quietly smiled to myself… Only in Portland do the homeless people drink microbrews.

I asked the man what his name was, he said it was Tracy. We chatted briefly, then found ourselves quietly sitting alone on our separate benches. After thanking him I sat back, took a swig from my bottle, and watched the last glimmers of the sun dance on the river water. Tracy and I made eye contact and I raised my bottle in a silent toast.

“Here’s to me,” he said, “and here’s to you.”

At that moment, his concise words seemed perfect. Perfect because the moment seemed to encapsulate what I love best about this city—everyone can simply be themselves. Perhaps this is the type of experience that writers for the New York Times hope to capture in their increasingly frequent articles about the city.

Part of me is excited that people finally see the unique world Portland has to offer, but, at the same time, the rest of me wants the city to remain a quiet treasure. That Sunday night I sat on the bench with my bike, beer and buddy, I experienced the city for what it is—the sights, the sounds, the smells and most importantly, the unique moments of human interaction.

To Portland, I think Tracy said it best… Here’s to me.

And here’s to you.

Summer Plans

Originally published, Bulletin, 2009

As the year comes to a close, we may find ourselves writhing in the emotional doldrums. The economy is in the can, snow flurried on campus in April and various other social maladies continue to pursue us with dogged perseverance. But never fear! There are still some great events yet to come and some simply ridiculous entertainment memories to reconsider.

This year brought the inevitable clash of Britney Spears' circus-like existence and her eponymous comeback album, we saw a greasy Russell Brand offend everyone with both his salacious pseudo-jokes and his preposterous rat's nest hairdo, and a cadre of celebrity crotch shots, not to mention a relatively lackluster year at the Hollywood box office.

While the school year may be coming to a close, the spring and summer entertainment season is just heating up. On-campus events like the Death Cab concert and Madonnastock still loom on the horizon. Also, regional summer events promise entertainment.

On April 24, Death Cab for Cutie will descend upon Gonzaga and headline a long set at McCarthey. Death Cab has gotten the brunt of the publicity but the concert also features Ra Ra Riot and Cold War Kids - two bands that shouldn't go unnoticed. Cold War Kids blend a rock style with a bit of a hipster edge and Ra Ra Riot is an indie rock band that pumps an energetic vibe. See below for info about where they will be playing this summer. I am the first to get in line behind Death Cab but their openers are not to be merely ignored as such. Tuning out during these opening acts in impatience for the main show would be a mistake!

The following day, Gonzaga University tradition Madonnastock will play on Foley Lawn. Last year, the weather cooperated and a bright sunny day ushered in the good, the bad and the hilarious in on-campus bands. Highlights included a jean short-clad Rod Aminian as frontman of Boy Rainbow 2.0. Ok, so maybe the tunes aren't always rockin', but who doesn't love sitting outside and enjoying (even bad) music? With an exceptionally long winter behind us, students campus-wide should be ready for a healthy dose of sunshine.

May 23-25, many will make the trek to the Gorge to see the Sasquatch Music Festival. This ultra-cool 3-day music-a-thon features kickass bands like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Kings of Leon, The Decemberists, Ra Ra Riot, former Spokanite DJ James Pants, Mos Def, TV On the Radio, of Montreal, Erykah Badu, Girl Talk and Santigold … just to name a few. The festival also features comedy from comedians like Todd Barry and The Whitest Kids U'Know. Just go see this thing; it's totally worth it.

If you don't want to travel far, Hoopfest is for you. A Spokane tradition, Hoopfest lines the streets with hundreds of ballers and wannabes playing 4-on-4 games. This year, the tournament is June 27 and 28 and promises the same sort of relaxed atmosphere it brings back year after year. Head downtown to see some of these games, ranging in competitiveness from laid-back to cutthroat.

For those who prefer their entertainment while they sit on the couch, the NBA playoffs are sure to thrill. Normally, I would make some snide remark about the extremely long playoff season or the glacial pace at which teams advance through the tournament, but this year it's different for one reason - the Portland Trail Blazers. You may be saying, "Why would I give a crap about the Blazers?" Well, with the unfortunate demise of the entity formerly known as the Seattle Sonics, the Blazers are geographically the closest thing Spokane has to a "home team" in the NBA. The days of the Jail Blazers are gone and what better way to celebrate the end of the academic year by cracking a cold one and watching Brandon Roy and the boys rock the tourney?

As we draw closer to bidding the 2008-2009 academic year adieu, let's get ready to celebrate with on-campus events and summer fun alike. So get out there and enjoy the sun! Take a study break to catch great on-campus music or set your sights on summer entertainment - either way, you're guaranteed to have a good time.

How MTV Became Cool Without Carson

originally published, Bulletin, 2009

Most of us can remember the days when middle school girls wearing their butterfly clips and their back pocket-less jeans and boys in their polos and cargo shorts hopped off the bus, enjoyed whatever micro­waved snack and religiously flipped the channel to TRL. Or perhaps, we remember entire high school Saturdays filled with "Next" marathons and being able to name the castmates from each season of "Real World." After years of arguing over MTV's relative coolness to "sell out" ratio and their noticeable lack of music videos, we reach a new point.

Today, there is no more "TRL," and "Real World" goes unnoticed in a sea of reality TV; a geriatric pioneer slowly drifting away, and shows like "Next" and "Room Raiders" are reserved solely for drunken 3 a.m. viewing. The current lineup includes shows like "Rob Dyrdek's Fantasy Factory," "Nitro Circus," Justin Timberlake-produced "The Phone."

These shows feature over-the-top stunts, wild re-creation of material dreams, neck-breaking dance moves, and heart-pumping drama . . . at least they're supposed to. With these new shows, as well as the rotating graphics-based identity of the MTV brand, many ask if MTV is regaining their cool.

At first glance, it seems so. The network's seamless integration of music and TV shows forces a top-40 soundtrack to our lives (much to the chagrin of music junkies) and likely provides ample space to drive iTunes downloads. However, it is the new lineup of shows that says a bit more. These shows provide escape.

In tense economic, political and social times, it sometimes seems like worldly woes burden our every thought. Each show offers a unique moment of withdrawal for the viewer in a different way.

"Fantasy Factory" is perhaps the most obvious of these escapist shows, offering both the subjects and the viewer a momentary promise of eternity spent in fantasy life within a pimped-out warehouse. Like his old show and undeniable crowd-pleaser, "Rob & Big," Dyrdek and Co. promise hilarity and outrageousness in 30-minute blocks. Whether Dyrdek is building a massive zipline across the building, enough skateboard ramping to inspire relative awe, or scheming up a new, outlandish fantasy to fulfill, the viewer is sucked into a world where one can remain a child forever. In "Fantasy Factory," looming economic fallout or global warfare stand down to giant inflatable toys and an indoor go-kart track. Like the title says, Dyrdek offers us a fantastical wormhole in which to escape the worries of the world.

Similarly, "Nitro Circus" contributes to the network as a crypto-"Jackass" without the drug-addled Steve-O or ringleader Johnny Knoxville (well, beside their persistent "cam­eos"). Just think of "Nitro Circus" as a "Jackass" with con­siderably fewer liters of vomit. In the show, Travis Pastrana and other BMX riders scour the world in search of the next stunt and thrill.

Years ago, stunt pros like Evel Kneivel captivated audiences with death defying jumps and cannon exits. The members of "Nitro Circus" offer an updated ver­sion of amusement through possibly bone-shattering feats of man and machine. However, unlike Knievel, it seems that the point of "Nitro Circus" is to capture an off-hand crash, burn, explosion or otherwise unfortunate bodily injury. Catering to a more stunt-sensitive audience today, "Nitro Circus" ap­peals to the same kids as Knievel but with a bit less class.

Justin Timberlake's "The Phone," which debuted Saturday night, puts contestants (who apparently have no knowledge of what awaits them) in a game of high-stakes cash prizes in exchange for daring risks at the beckoning call of an anonymous, heavily accented phone operator. Some say the show is merely an "Amazing Race" or "Survivor" remake with JT's face plastered on it. However, I argue the show is about much more than that. In a world where things seem constantly in flux, the idea of an omnipotent higher power (the phone operator, did someone say "Deal or No Deal") commanding seemingly heroic feats of mind and body for a greater goal appeals . . . and indeed holds some serious symbolism.

To some, these shows mean nothing; they simply rep­resent a dumbing-down of American youth, a gluttonous society based on conspicuous spending, or a culture obsessed with bloody injury. However, they seem to provide at least temporary escape from worldly woes and transport us to dif­ferent time, chronological age, or financial means.

Maybe MTV isn't so meaningless after all.

Kicking Out the Old School and Bringing In the New

Media Credit: courtesy of rottentomatoes.com That was then. [Click to enlarge]

Media Credit: courtesy of vanityfair.com This is now [Click to enlarge]

Published, The Bulletin, 2009

Comedy is changing. In an arena previously dominated by the Will Ferrell-Owen Wilson-Vince Vaughn-Luke Wilson powerhouse team, a new crew is taking the spotlight and doing it awkwardly. The grandiose goofballs of olde provided us with hours of entertainment, changing our vernacular to include every linguistic nuance of "Anchorman," "Old School" and "Talladega Nights," forcing us to witness more of a whitey-tighty clad Ferrell than we thought we could ever stomach, and just generally creating a ruckus.


That was old comedy - loud, raucous and vulgar as hell.

Today, though, the movie comedy world is controlled by loveable lads like Jason Segel, Paul Rudd, Seth Rogen and Michael Cera. These guys are changing up the game by providing us with incredibly accessible comedy. Where Ferrell and Co. provided us with outlandish characters we could laugh at from afar, Segel, Rudd and Rogen portray people we would like to kick it with. Girls crush on Cera, Rudd and Segel (and maybe, even thought we might not admit it, Rogen) and guys want to be them. In short, awkward is the new hot.

Movies like "I Love You, Man," "Knocked Up," "Superbad" and "Pineapple Express" offer a type of comedy in which the viewer can identify with the characters. Whether we watch Rudd in search of the perfect bromance, Cera pine for teenage love, Segel cry at his piano after a breakup, or Rogen deal with an unplanned pregnancy, we feel like we are watching our friends or even ourselves. These men make us laugh partly because they say the things we think, except they say it funnier.

Rudd and Segel's journey toward bromance in the recently released "I Love You, Man" provides ample evidence of this comedic shift. Segel appears in what has now become his typical role: a laid-back earnest guy with uncannily witty observations on daily life. When we first see the two "slappin' da bass" in Segel's mancave, we want in. The genius of these types of movies is that they revolve around simple guys doing simple stuff. There is a twinge of the old Farrell-esque comedy (cut to scene featuring Lou Ferrigno putting Segel in a sleeperhold) but the brightest moments shine when Rudd and Segel are engaged in awkward banter. Laughs are guaranteed as Rudd makes uncomfortable attempts at nicknaming, settling on the oddly hilarious "Jobin" for Segel. The two lovable dorks are charming.

This same sort of narrative also guides blockbusters like "Superbad," in which the played out teen sex comedy is revived. Cera shines as the sympathetic loser in all his films. Cera has reconstructed the heartthrob to fit today - where tube socks, a large vocabulary and earnest intentions trump washboard abs and a dickish attitude. Comedy used to be about the bad boy, now it's just about the boy next door.

This shift signals a change in the world of the comedy movie, but it may also say something about us that has little to do with film. The shift from outlandish to awkward ushers in an era of the resurgence of the nice guy. Wordsmiths unite, because in this world of new comedy, you are the kings and queens. No longer is someone's comedic value based on the decibel count of their yell, their ability to crack beer cans on their head, or anything of the sort. Today, a well-said joke has legs.

Undoubtedly, this new change is here to stay.