Category: Social Media

Netflix, You Ignorant Slut

netflixThere’s no way in hell Adam Sandler should be Adam Sandler.  He should be that guy you meet in Vegas who’s sellin’ patio furniture and Amway breast implants.  The same guy who wants to get together with “you and the Mrs.” to talk about franchising opportunities, and whose business card has ‘Notary Public’ printed on the back — ’cause he’s got that goin’ on, too.  In other words he should be just another cheap hustler who, once upon a time, was in some movies.  But he isn’t.  He’s Adam Sandler and, for no apparent reason, he’s still making movies. And he’s worth a boatload of money.  WTF?

It’s not as if Sandler was a good actor (comic or otherwise.)  Basically he’s got one, and only one, comedy shtick — Bad Little Kid.  The rest of his cinematic career is based on yelling, fart jokes and blatant product placement.  His production company, Happy Madison, makes terrible movies. That’s what they do; they don’t do anything else.  These horrors are too numerous to name but That’s My Boy, The Cobbler and Jack and Jill immediately come to mind.  Actually, Jack and Jill is considered one of the worst movies ever produced (in all of history) and what Sandler did to Al Pacino in that piece of trash oughtta be illegal.

The thing is, though, a lot of people go to Sandler’s movies.  They actually pay money — millions and millions of dollars — to see Sandler and his buddies yell, fart, drink Coke™, and eat KFC™.  I don’t know why, but they do.  In fact, Grownups (a study in very bad slapstick) was such a roaring financial success Sandler made another movie just like it — with the imaginative title Grownups 2 — and it made tons of money, also.

So, here’s the problem.  Even though, philosophically, I don’t think Adam Sandler should be allowed within 10 kilometres of a movie set, I’ve got nothing against him making bad movies or tons of money.  Knock yourself out, Mr. Sandler.  My problem is Netflix has signed a four-movie deal with the guy.  Netflix!  These are the folks who gave us River, Occupied, The Bridge (in Swedish) Dicte, Wallander, Broadchurch and on and on and on.  Now, you’re paying Adam Sandler to make movies for our viewing pleasure?  I wish sarcasm had a font.  OMG! — Netflix Originals — Grace and Frankie, Orange Is The New Black, Jessica Jones and right up there on the same marquee Adam Sandler’s latest comic adventure where somebody gets nailed in the crotch with a garden rake.  My cup runneth over.

Women Can’t Win

hillaryOkay, folks, this is 2016.  We’re a decade and a half into the 21st century, 300 years beyond The Enlightenment, over 120 years since women first voted on this planet, but, for some strange reason, we still have to put up with this crap.

Take a look.

Eight years ago, everybody and her sister was calling Hillary Clinton frumpy for her infinite collection of pantsuits — up to and including some weird up-the-bum photographs of Ms. Clinton from behind.  Fast forward.  This week, Hillary all but locked up the Democratic nomination for president (first woman ever, etc. etc.) she gave a semi-acceptance speech in a super stylish mega-expensive Armani jacket, and — wait for it — social media went berserk.  Suddenly, Clinton’s an elitist cow.  And these weren’t just a few snide remarks; people were digging in their heels and really letting her have it. (It’s incredible how insulting a person can be in 140 characters.)  The last time the fashionistas got this excited (“bitchy” is such a hard word) Sarah Palin’s skirt was too tight and “OMG! Who’s paying for her underwear?”  And let’s be clear: this Twitter, Facebook, Instagram ambush didn’t come from Trailer Trash America.  There were no bathrobes, bony feet or bedroom slippers in sight.  No, no, no!  These social media snipers were (for the most part) sharp-dressed, serious, high-end urban professionals who wouldn’t say “fat girl” if their lives depended on it.  What’s the deal?

I’m not naive.  I wasn’t raised by wolves.  I understand that there’s always going to be a double standard — pie-in-the-sky gender politics be damned.  Women always have been — and always will be — judged differently from men; it’s tucked into the chromosome count somewhere.  (And, remember: it’s not necessarily men doing the judging.)  My problem is this current crop of social media malcontents are playing both sides of the street.  Their selective acrimony is a wonder to behold.

For example, any woman who’s ever walked the Red Carpet knows there’s a target on her back. She better get it just right because the knives are out and nobody’s taking prisoners.  On the other hand, find a bathroom mirror selfie on YouTube where somebody’s ample ass is stuffed into a two-sizes-too-small corset, yoga pants and rhinestone Reeboks and nobody says a word because — that, friends and neighbours — is “body shaming.”  One question: what the hell’s the difference?

In less than six months, Hillary Clinton could become the most powerful person — PERSON — on the planet.  She’s going to have the ability to obliterate Damascus, Baghdad, Tehran and everything in between, before breakfast, wrapped in a shower curtain if she so desires.  It’s unbelievable that there are still people spilling ink over what’s hanging in her closet — as if that really matters.

English is a Bitch!

englishStill hung over from the party that was Italy, I spent last week fighting off jetlag and fighting with culture shock.  (North American streets are too wide, too clean and too new.)  Anyway, it gave me time to catch up on Games of Thrones and wonder about all manner of curious things.  For example, hearing a lot of English spoken as a second language, I realized that it’s a damn good thing I was born with English because there’s no way I could ever learn its nuances secondhand.  And honestly, I applaud anybody who can, because they’re tons smarter than I’ll ever be.

Check it out:

In English, we “take” things.  I think it comes from our marauding imperious past.
We “take” a bus.
We “take” a taxi.
And we “take” the train.
Of course, we give them back when we’re done with them, but there are other things we “take” and just devour, like:
We “take” a look.
We “take” a vacation.
We “take” a nap.

However, we can’t simply “take” everything in life because (thank God) a lot of stuff we just “get” like some kind of all-inclusive gift package.
We “get” an education.
We “get” a job.
We “get” married.
But when we “get” married we don’t automatically “get” children.  They’re not a gift.  We “have” children.  It’s as if they were some pre-ordained possession, like:
“having” friends,
or “having” an attitude,
or “having” dinner.

Unfortunately, once again though, we can’t just “have” everything.  Sometimes, we must become active participants and “make” it first.  For example, unless you’re incredibly wealthy, you need to “make” dinner before you can “have” dinner.  It’s a curious thought, but we “make” all kinds of things.
We “make” mistakes (by screwing up.)
We “make” progress (by not screwing up.)
We “make” money (although, strictly speaking, that’s illegal: we should “earn” it — like trust or good credit.)
And we also “make” love.
Although this is actually changing and most people don’t “make” love anymore, they just “have” sex and if that doesn’t say a bunch about contemporary society’s willingness to active participate in romance, I don’t know what does.

And now that you’re hopelessly confused, there’s the other side of the coin.  Not only do we “take,” “get,” “have” and “make,” we can also “lose” things.
We “lose” our keys.
We “lose” our patience.
We “lose” our tempers.
These are all things we can find again if we try hard enough.  However, there are other things that we can never get back.  Sometimes, when we “lose” our temper, we “get” into an argument, and if we “lose” that — well — it’s gone forever.  Kinda like “losing” your virginity — which, as we all know, can only happen if we “make” love, “have” sex or get “wasted at a sophomore kegger” — a phrase that’s impossible to translate into any other language — although most people understand the reference.

So to all those people who endured my terrible Spantalian (Spanish/Italian) and spoke to me in my language because I couldn’t really speak to them in theirs: I’m still in awe at your linguistic skill because — take it from a native speaker — the intricacies of English must be a bitch to learn.