The trouble with Studio 60

*This is a picture of a pirate getting blown by a duck for no reason other than it’s funny.*

Tonight I watched last night’s episode of Studio 60 (I heart my TiVo). It wasn’t on last week and I’d read that the network had ordered three more episodes, but things didn’t look promising.

The show began with the ending, and I thought perhaps the writers were taking a page out of JJ Abrams’s book.

Interestingly enough, character Matt Albee tells the viewer why Studio 60 is struggling, though it’s really not that meta. When referring to the culture wars, he says to Rachel, “Your side thinks our side thinks you’re stupid. Our side thinks you’re stupid.”

That’s it. This is a show that appeals to people who get up in arms about things like censorship and the Christian right. It draws in those of us who are curious about the inner workings of television shows and networks, who decides what’s on TV, and how they make those decisions.

You know who cares about that? People who live in on both coasts (excluding the south), and maybe a few dots in between. Nobody else gives a fuck. According to this critic, last night’s episode let’s the red states have their say. But it didn’t really. It let them have their say while mocking them the whole time.

Perhaps if the show stopped kissing its own ass for a few minutes, people would get more into it. Even the D.L. Hughley-centric episode came off as patronizing. Watching it I thought, wow, they’re giving the black character more than five minutes. Hot. Then as I watched the monologue about Hughley’s character coming from the ‘hood and bringing “brothers” up with him, I got caught under an avalanche of douche chillery that threatened never to evaporate.

Bottom line: I dig this show, but if it got cancelled I wouldn’t be as pissed off as I was when they canceled Keen Eddie. Seriously.

Crazy Antics

As I sat on that chilly runway in Chicago, I felt rageful and impotent, waiting for the connecting plane to take off. It ended up being delayed two effing hours. Can women feel impotent, even though we don’t have penises? Is impotence a stage of forced inaction, or do you, dear reader, automatically think “can’t get it up”?

This afternoon I should’ve been working, but I’ve been on Craigslist looking for a job and an apartment in Portland. If The Honey didn’t feel the need to constantly suckle at the teat of his family, I would seriously consider moving to PDX. I loved it. Nice, chill people;  easy, clean, and cheap public transportation; great bookstore; great music store; interesting music scene; good seafood; nature everywhere…what more could a girl want?

Probably a few more black people. If it weren’t for the Asians, Portland might’ve been the whitest city I’ve ever seen. I experienced a bit of culture shock, coming from the Philadelphia area where things are pretty mixed. Interestingly enough, despite the lack of other brown-skinned peeps, I didn’t feel like I got stared at or treated badly. I’ve encountered more bigotry in Doylestown, and those motherfuckers have no excuse to act like they’ve never seen a black person before. Portlanders probably don’t see many, yet they just give you a smile and keep on truckin’. Shit was so mellow I got to wondering if everyone was slightly stoned.

Places I saw, described in one word:

Chinese Flower Garden: Meditative

Japanese Garden: Om

Everyday Music : Joygasm

Powell’s Books: Actually came in my pants

Portland Saturday Market: Nifty

At the Market, I bought myself a really cool shirt from ANTIC clothing. Props to the designer, who suggested Everyday Music, which was the quintessential music lover’s record store. Sort of like Princeton Record Exchange without the douchebag greater-than-thou cashiers. A guy with a curly afro and clear, beautiful eyes rang me up. He gave me some anti-bacterial soap and I would’ve given him my phone number if I’d been single.

Anyway, check out ANTIC here and get yourself a unique t-shirt or hoodie. I thought the designs evoked anger with a tinge of hope. There’s nothing better than wearable art.

May I have some more please?

Oliver! references aside, tell me this painting is not kick ass. Off on one of my hippie jaunts earlier this summer, I saw Oliver Vernon show slides of his work at Omega last month. The painting above is called Stillness in Velocity. It’s so gooey I just want to jump into the middle of it and slide down the grey strip in the center, right into green balls on the left. If life was anything like the alternate dimensions in What Dreams May Come, I’d totally be able to do that.

But life isn’t. So I’ll have to be content with staring at it on the Web. Or saving a dollar a day for 2000 days, heading over to Lineage Gallery on North 2nd and buying of these creations for myself.