Thursday, August 30, 2007

Why I Hate Will Smith

Several times in the past few weeks, I’ve encountered metrobuses emblazoned with the phrase “Will Smith is going. Are you?” I don’t know what sort of event or activity these advertisements are advertising, and I don’t much care. In fact, Will Smith’s attendance or inclusion to just about anything would make me avoid it. I can’t stand Will Smith. I don’t care if he’s a huge box office draw (despite his limited range), the “most powerful actor on the planet,” or good-looking in a non-threatening way, or whatever. I can’t stand him.

I have no objections to the whole clean-cut and wholesome thing. There is nothing wrong with being either clean-cut or wholesome. I appear rather clean-cut myself. And I feel that modern American culture could probably use a little more wholesomeness. What causes me to detest Will Smith is his smugness about being clean-cut and wholesome. It’s great that his grandma told him not to cuss and to respect women. But dude, don’t brag about the fact that you don’t cuss in raps, as if that makes you better than other MCs. That’s obnoxious. In the words of the bard of Detroit, Mr. Marshall Mathers: “Will Smith don’t gotta cuss to sell raps, well I do, so f**k him, and f**k you too.”

The other thing I dislike about him is his constant pursuit of the lowest common denominator, whether musically or on film. His desire to be as well-liked as possible by as many people as possible causes him to shy away from anything remotely controversial, and thus, artistically challenging. Musically, this trend became most apparent when he parted ways with DJ Jazzy Jeff, who really was keeping him real (with the exception of the unfortunate “Boom! Shake The Room!”). This is also about the same time he contributed to the unfortunate trend of rappers using their real name, rather than creating a witty sobriquet. (I only approve of rappers using their real names if they are going to repeatedly use a screwed & chopped sample of themselves saying their name throughout their songs. Mike Jones!) And speaking of the lowest common denominator, what sort of rapper puts out a love song to his son? How sentimental and maudlin can you possibly get? Gag me with a shovel. He insists upon using samples from well-known songs by Stevie Wonder, Chic or The Clash, rather than actually working with producers who will come up with something interesting and new.

The main reason this is such a shame is that the erstwhile Fresh Prince is actually a really good rapper. The dude can flow. “Parents Just Don’t Understand” and “Girls Ain’t Nothing but Trouble” are deservedly ensconced in the pantheon of hip-hop classics. And “Summertime,” perhaps the duo’s greatest concoction, is one of the great jams of all time.

He has his defenders who will insist that he is a good actor. But that pursuit of the lowest common denominator is equally apparent when you examine his choice of movies. Let’s not forget that he has appeared in some truly God-awful films. He may have made Ali and Six Degrees of Separation, but he also made two Bad Boys movies. The first one was just piss-poor, but the second was so ludicrous and nonsensical that it actually crossed the line into camp. The only thing that saved these films was the comedic brilliance of the underrated Martin Lawrence. (Oh, and Gabrielle Union in the sequel. She’s got it going on.) Will Smith also appeared in Wild Wild West, which found two really talented actors (Kevin Kline & Kenneth Brannagh) slumming for a paycheck. He also was one of the leads in one of the worst blockbusters of all-time, Independence Day. In Enemy of the State his silly presence (combined with a bad script) created a mess that even Gene Hackman and Hollywood’s most underrated director couldn’t salvage. And the less said about “A Shark’s Tale” the better.

So, to sum up: I hate Will Smith.

Monday, August 27, 2007

It's a well-known fact that people named Dalton are awesome.

Yes, it's true, I am not the only person named Dalton who kicks ass. Obviously, there's the main character from Patrick Swayze's seminal film Road House, a Dalton who knows martial arts, has a degree in philosophy from NYU, and is considered by some to be the greatest "cooler" of all time. Also, apparently there was a "scholarly, bespectacled" vampire named Dalton on that Buffy TV show.

But today we're going to extol Dalton Carriker, the 12 year-old Georgian (the South seems to produce a disproportionate share of Daltons) whose 8th inning home run recently led the United States to victory over the Empire of Japan in the 2007 Little League World Series. This was actually the third year in a row the United States has won the L.L.W.S., which we damn sure should considering we invented the game. (This is in marked contrast to the U.S. National Baseball Team, which didn't even qualify for the 2004 Olympics in Athens. Disgraceful.) Way to go, Dalton! You rock. U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!

Sunday, August 12, 2007

The Miracle (Yes, That’s Right, I Said Miracle) of Air Travel

Quite often today you will hear cats voicing their grievances with the litany of hassles that have infected the process of air travel of late. Many of these objections are perfectly valid. True, the lines can be long. The forced removal of the footgear is annoying, but it is certainly not catastrophic. And the bagging of the gels and liquids is just one more nuisance that conspires to make the entire endeavor an enormous pain in the ass. These things are easy to focus on.

However, I prefer to focus on the sunnier side of the coin. And that merely requires remembering that air travel is a miracle. Yes, a miracle. Like all technologies, it quickly becomes so commonplace that we all-too-easily forget how amazing it truly is. This past Memorial Day, I winged my way across half of the continental United States to attend my brother’s nuptial festivities in Nebraska. I woke up in Washington, and went to sleep in Omaha, more than a thousand miles away. Distances that once took weeks or months to cover are now reduced to a few hours of travel time. A visit from New York to Richmond in the eighteenth century would have required weeks of time to be set aside, thus precluding the voyage for all but a handful.

Not only is this mind-bogglingly awesome technology available to us, but it is remarkably cheap as well. Not only can I go visit someone who lives a thousand miles away for the weekend, but I can do it for less than $200. Wow. Many of my friends, who could not be considered wealthy by the standards of an industrialized democracy, are fantastically well-traveled. Indonesia, Croatia, South Africa, Belize, Chile and dozens of other nations are a few hundred dollars and a few hours of time away. The world is open before us. And most of the time we take this for granted. We assume it has always been thus.

I cannot minimize the really unfortunate things involved in air travel, such as the enormous amount of gas burned by planes, or worse still, the efforts of intolerant old men to persuade impressionable young men that airplanes are an appropriate setting for indiscriminate mayhem. The many small irritants that collectively cause such trouble are real and irritating. But the next time you have to pay too much for long-term parking, or a flight gets delayed, or you have to get up at 6 AM to go stand in line for an hour before you even get to hear the whir of a jet engine, try and perk yourself up. You are utilizing an astonishing invention indeed. The fact that it is so prosaic that we forget this only makes it that much more miraculous.