Showing posts with label silliness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label silliness. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

Politicians With Facial Hair


I am currently reading a book called Manhunt: The 12 Day Search For Lincoln’s Killer by James Swanson. You can probably divine from the subtitle that the book details the search, which took place over twelve days, for John Wilkes Booth, the assassin of President Abraham Lincoln.

While perusing this volume, I came across a photo of Edwin McMasters Stanton. Stanton was Lincoln’s secretary of war, and the man who largely directed the manhunt. This got me thinking about facial hair and politicians. I’ve noticed this before, but American politicians are invariably clean-shaven. African-American politicians can get away with some facial hair, but it has to be subtle and discreet. A well-groomed mustache or goatee, perhaps. However, few white politicians in 21st century America would actually go out on the campaign trail for a major office sporting any kind of beard or mustache, regardless of how mainstream or well-groomed it was.

Compare this to Latin America, where politicians almost always have facial hair. In fact, it seems that Latin men frequently grow a mustache when they get to a certain age, to declare their maturity and gravitas. Most of the presidents and high-ranking politicians in Latin America have a ‘stache, and if they are leftists, they frequently have beards (like Luis Inacio da Silva of Brazil). There are a few exceptions to this rule, including
Alan Garcia of Peru, Nestor Kirchner of Argentina, and, obviously, Michelle Bachelet of Chile.

As far as I can determine, the last American president with facial hair was
William Howard Taft, whose orotund face was graced by a handlebar mustache. From Woodrow Wilson on, they have all been clean-shaven. I wonder how this started. Perhaps presidential candidates wished to distance themselves from the mediocre and forgettable heads of state of the late 19th century, nearly all of whom had beards. Whatever the reason, it is remarkable indeed to compare the dearth of facial hair on politicians today with the hirsute funkiness protruding from the chin of Secretary Stanton in the attached picture. This was one of the most powerful and distinguished statesmen of his day; a man who was largely responsible for directing the martial efforts of the Union in defeating the Confederacy. Yet today, if you saw someone with that peculiar agglomeration of whiskers, you would probably assume he worked at a record store.

Monday, April 9, 2007

The Rectification of the Vuldronaii

I have an annoying habit of repeating lines from movies. One of my favorite lines from Ghostbusters is spoken by Louis Tully as possessed by Vinz Clortho the Keymaster as portrayed by Rick Moranis. This is not one I repeat often as it's long and difficult to remember. But it is kind of awesome:

"During the rectification of the Vuldronaii, the Traveler came as a large, moving torb. Then, during the third reconciliation of the last of the Meketrex supplicants they chose a new form for him - that of a giant sloar. Many shubs and zuuls knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of the sloar that day, I can tell you!"

I found this on wikipedia, of course. It blows my mind that there is someone out there who has so much free time, and is so dorktastic, that he can actually sit there watching the DVD and pausing it so he can write down this ridiculous quote and place on the web. Bravo, dork. Bravo.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

"CSI: Miami" might be getting even sillier.

This past Monday I enjoyed the newest episode of "the worst show on network television." I was reminded of why I watch this show: Lt. Horatio Caine had a line in the first couple of minutes that was a true howler. For those of you unfamiliar with the format of the "CSI" shows, they usually open with a death. In this case, a wife (played by Leslie Bibb of "Popular" and See Spot Run) is giving a speech at a fund-raising party in the backyard of her tony Coconut Grove home. Champagne corks are popped, but the final pop sounds a bit different. It's a gunshot! Heavens! Her husband then stumbles off the balcony above her and falls onto a serendipitously placed ice sculpture, which impales him. This is all a set-up for Horatio's comment, of course. Alexx the Coroner remarks, "shooting somebody in broad daylight, at a party with all these people; that's cold-blooded." Horatio looks at the impaled corpse, puts on his glasses, and half-whispers, "It's cold as ice." (Sadly, this was followed by the usual Who theme song, rather than Foreigner, which would have been absolutely perfect.)
It seems like this season they're not even trying to maintain any sort of link with reality, however tenuous. The show is getting so absurd it's almost crossed into the realm of the surreal. On a recent episode a hunter was mauled by a grizzly. In the Everglades! This past Monday, the wife turns out to have an identical twin that her husband didn't know about. But wait, it gets even better! Halfway through the show, for no apparent dramatic reason, it turns out there's a third sister! They're identical triplets! As if this weren't ridiculous enough, it turns out the husband has hired some guy to have plastic surgery to resemble him so he can act as a double. Come on! It's hard for me to believe that the writers actually expect people to take this seriously. This level of silliness has to be intentional.
And another thing: why do people always confess immediately the instant they are confronted with the slimmest sliver of evidence? Here's how it usually transpires:
Lt. Caine: I understand you've been looking for your lucky peppermill. Well, we found it. At the dead girl's apartment.
Suspect: Yes, it's true, I killed her. Please cuff me and make me do the perp walk now.
For more information on this week's episode, you can check out the CBS page here: http://www.cbs.com/primetime/csi_miami/episodes/518/

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

No one's gonna save you from the beast with forty eyes.

And now, for no reason whatsoever, I give you the text of the full introduction to "Thriller," as originally read by the late Vincent Price:

Darkness creeps across the land,
the midnight hour is close at hand.
Creatures crawl in search of blood
to terrorize y'all's neighborhood.
And whomsoever shall be found,
without the soul for getting down,
must stand and face the hounds of hell
and rot inside a corpse's shell.
The foulest stench is in the air,
the funk of forty thousand years.
And grizzly ghouls from every tomb
are closing in to seal your doom.
And though you fight to stay alive,
your body starts to shiver.
For no mere mortal can resist:
the evil of the Thriller.
(Cue diabolical laughter)