Geek Gems

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Lather, Rinse, Retort #1: Let's Not Mistake WWE For Wrestling...

(A writer who writes more than he or she reads is called “a hack.”


My multi-thousand-dollar collegiate journalism education taught me nothing useful, if not that indelible truth. Reading great writing instills the qualities that make great writing great. Reading poor writing conversely reminds one gently, “Please, don’t be this guy.”


Dialogue has to start with somebody reading, hearing or seeing something somewhere. For that information intake to become a dialogue, somebody at some point must discuss information that’s presented and present a viewpoint. That’s the early strains of conversation, in which information flows one way, and feedback flows back the opposite way.


That’s sort of what I’m going for here. That conversation isn’t always the most intelligent discourse. Read YouTube comments sometime. That “conversation” alone convinces me that English will one day be a dead language. But at the very least, I can some expressed opinions I find here on these Interwebz, and maybe generate some talking points of my own. Keep in mind, I’m an ex-journalist, so expect what I sometimes write to center on the responsibility – or I warn you, more commonly, the lack thereof – exhibited by journalists and the blogosphere.


Because I assure you, they are not the same thing.)






I read about this originally via 411mania.com, who re-posted a rare accurate article synopsis from the original TVweek.com posting. Believe me, the more of these I write, the more you’ll see how much I hold myself back from week after week from simply defaulting to attacking 411mania’s columnists.


It seems TVWeek.com received a cease-and-desist bitch-slap from World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) publicist Kellie Baldyga for calling a spade a spade, and having the audacity to juxtapose “World Wrestling Entertainment” and “professional wrestling” within scant sentences of one another.


Writer Chuck Ross had written a brief piece announcing – per official WWE press release – that none other than Drew Carey would be inducted April 2 into the WWE Hall of Fame.
Spelled out, that would be the World Wrestling Entertainment Hall of Fame. It’s honor roll consists vastly of professional wrestlers, professional wrestling promoters and announcers who lent play-by-play and color commentary to professional wrestling matches. Even its “Celebrity Wing” members – so far including Pete Rose, William “The Refrigerator” Perry, William Shatner, Bob Uecker and soon Carey – have all created memorable moments associated with professional wrestling events.


For those that don’t already realize that significance, the Hall of Fame induction ceremony has become a showpiece tradition among the company’s festivities during it’s single biggest annual weekend: the Saturday night before Wrestlemania. See, ring announcer Howard Finkel first suggested the name because when the first event was born 27 years ago, WWE Chairman Vince McMahon and some orange fellow calling himself Hulk Hogan partnered with MTV in a campaign both parties dubbed “Rock and Wrestling” that spread professional wrestling’s popularity to a magnitude Finkel likened to Beatle-mania.


Hence, the then-World Wrestling Federation birthed an event celebrating professional wrestling nationwide . . . “Wrestlemania.”


But boy-howdy-doody-tutti-frutti, did Ross say exactly the wrong thing about Carey’s Hall-of-Fame credentials! I’m sure that the classic tease-don’t-tell headline initially looked great – the kind that evokes a “Tell me more!” curiosity that keeps eyes panning down, down, down the text.


Sometimes, such a headline only takes combining just the right odd-but-true elements, such as “Drew Carey Inducted Into Pro Wrestling Hall of Fame. Huh? Drew Carey??!!”


In his finest hour, Ross made his gravest error. The fool – the clever, clever fool! – in his tangled web of deceit to incite wonder by associating a famed and successful actor and comedian with brief past professional-wrestling exploits over-generalized that a Hall of Fame established by a company whose full, proper name included the noun “wrestling” would indeed be a pro-wrestling hall of fame.



Believer us, Drew: everything about this situation makes about as much sense to us as it apparently does to you.




But Ross then hit bottom and began digging. His brief article detailed, per the press release, that it was indeed the WWE Hall of Fame that would induct Carey. What came next must have seemed so logical once: explain why World Wrestling Entertainment would honor Carey. Well, few may realize this, but Carey and wrestl- . . . *Ahem* McMahons, pardon my impertinence . . . “WWE Superstar” Kane once engaged in a little schtick inside a ring during a professional wrestling match called the WWE (mind, that’s World Wrestling Entertainment . . .) Royal Rumble.


The backlash didn’t keep Ross or TVWeek.com owner Rance Crain waiting. Ross claimed that both quickly received Baldyga’s email “demanding” that Ross make a crucial correction.
"We are no longer a wrestling company but rather a global entertainment company with a movie studio, international licensing deals, publisher of three magazines, consumer good distributor and more,” Ross quoted from the e-mail in a March 18 piece on the site.


Ross then quoted this snippet from a follow-up conversation with the yappy little lapdog, after Ross referred to the 2001 Royal Rumble as a “wrestling” event. Please, every deity in Heaven, Paradise, Nirvana and the Farplane, let this be accurate because it is among the funniest things I’ve ever read.


“No, we don't do wrestling events. They're entertainments. And we don’t call them wrestlers. They’re Superstars and Divas,” Baldyga allegedly said.


(NOTE: I capitalized “Superstars” and “Divas” because for Zombie-Jesus-Only-Knows what reason, World Wrestling Entertainment constantly does. I have about the patience for this that Ross does.)


“Entertainments.”


But of course, I see the point. Of course it isn’t a wrestling company. It’s an “entertainment” company – an entertainment company that the general public and more importantly the company’s core fan-base, customers and source of revenue associates with its two weekly two-hour television programs, 12 annual pay-per-view events (including one clearly dubbed “Wrestlemania,” so as not to confuse anyone) and one web-exclusive series featuring action and activities that many mistakenly confuse with professional wrestling.



Yeah, we really want to think before calling what this guy does "professional wrestling" . . .




(Reading that again, “mistakenly confused with professional wrestling” sometimes rings true on so many more levels . . .)


But I won’t sell short the movie studio! No, not the movie studio – the very same movie studio bearing the name “WWE (remember, that’s World Wrestling Entertainment) Films” and prominently features performers that coincidentally engage weekly in that thing that everyone keeps mistakenly deeming “professional wrestling.”


Nor the merchandising – which includes replica rings in which performers do that thing which looks like that “W” word I’m not supposed to use, action figures bearing the likenesses of the not-wrestlers that people recognize because they’re on TV every week doing that not-wrestling thing.


But the magazines! I won’t besmirch the magazines, either – you know, the ones that tie in with the not-wrestling that takes place weekly on national cable and network television inside the not-wrestling ring.


Because doing that would be a disgrace and an insult to what so many performers gave their health – and, in some instances, ultimately their lives – to do: perform what I’m sure Owen Hart and Chris Benoit in their time on Earth proudly called “entertainments.


I won’t go into all that. Instead, I will stick to head-butting my monitor hoping that concussing myself repeatedly until I think two-plus-two equals “Jello” will put me into something close to Baldyga's mindset wherein this resembles logic.


First and foremost, I commend Ross simply for not personally flying to Stamford, Conn. to bitch-slap this nitwit for “demanding” that he do a damn thing. We’re a free press. As long as what’s printed or aired can be conclusively proven to be factually correct, the U.S. Supreme Court recognizes precious few mechanisms for forcing the media to do a single solitary damn thing. “We think your accurate description conflicts with our delusional, flimsy public-relations line” doesn’t rank among the grievous exceptions to the Court’s standard that a free press is among the most sacred, vital liberties – especially not when World Wrestling Entertainment couldn’t possibly prove any actual malice if they’d tried, let alone any damage incurred.


More to the point, every single additional revenue stream Baldyga rattled off flows forth from the intellectual properties made recognizable by a product that could loosely be defined as “professional wrestling.” I could start a baseball league in which teams play games by rules universally established and recognized as “baseball.” Just because I sell concessions between innings, doesn’t mean I can rationally jump down the throat of anybody who calls it “baseball” and insist that what the people playing the game are doing is actually called “nachos.”


Good Lord, even when McMahon made an ill-advised pass at creating a football league, he tapped ex-professional wrestler Jesse Ventura to join the announce team. When he started the equally stupid and equally ill-fated World Bodybuilding Federation, he advertised it most prominently during World Wrestling Federation events. No enterprise even remotely near the World Wrestling Entertainment umbrella lacks a tie to that thing so many people call “professional wrestling”!


You can’t undo what you’ve done. If I carved a Mount Rushmore of the four faces responsible with anybody making a living in professional wrestling today, it would be composed of Gorgeous George, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Hulk Hogan and Vince McMahon. Of those four, Gorgeous George (a man history credits with not only igniting wrestling’s first popularity boom, but doing so through the advent of television) died decades before he could ever witness Hogan’s staggering surge to becoming a pop-culture icon bigger than just the wrestling business; Hogan’s years as a wrestler have left him with replaced hips and knees and persistent, chronic back pain; Austin in many people’s minds eclipsed even Hogan’s success and drawing power, but broke his neck and lost multiple marriages doing so.
McMahon? He’s a billionaire living in denial of where those billions came from.


You run a successful wrestling company, Vince. Trust us, we thank you for it.


Now quit treating us like idiots.


I'm Sleepless Colin, and you're not.




To Chuck Ross' TVWeek.com account of this whole stupid mess:
http://www.tvweek.com/blogs/2011/03/whoaa-nellie-when-brands-go-horribly-wrong-pstvince-mcmahon-and-the-wwe-are-no-longer-in-the-wrestli.php

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Why Do I OWN This?: Defined By Limits

Stop me if you’ve heard this one: once upon a time, a publisher made a writer a bet.

This gifted writer was so artful with language, painting in so many vivid hues, that a contemporary felt like testing him. The writer’s previous book used a total 223 words over an entire story. The publisher bet the writer that the writer couldn’t write a good story using a mere 50 different words.

Good news! The writer won the bet! Bad news! You’ve probably never read the story. Who really remembers a story about some kid talking an adult into eating questionably colored eggs and ham, anyway?

The best news? The most inspiring, brilliant things sometimes arise not when the sky’s the limit, but instead the ceiling.

I could spend hours parrusing Netflix and never finish finding interesting movies – new ones that I can slip comfortably into like a hot tub, or awful ones that, like biting into a green egg, remind me what makes the good stuff so good.

But there’s the rub. I think I rely too much upon Netflix. At least a few hundred DVDs sit upon my shelves and draw dust whilst I forget little by little why I treasure them so much in the first place. Disturbing, considering that it’s those items – and not my Netflix queue – that hints to anyone at what I really value, movie-wise.

So I’m casting down my own gauntlet: Sleepless One, cast your analytical eye upon yourself and honestly assess what your collection says about what you actually like about movies. I’ll traverse my entire library, in alphabetical order, and ascertain exactly why I love and own the movies I do. So often among Internet critics, it’s eviscerating shitty movies that comes easily, and makes the best entertainment. I won’t lie, I own some awful bad movies myself. But I bet I can do something few other personalities can: make an intriguing case for actually loving certain movies.

For this purpose, I’m leaving out complete TV-series seasons and wrestling DVDs. Tv-on-DVD would just take too long, and some collections have their own dedicated reviews in the pipeline. The wrestling DVDs just don’t lend themselves to this format. Besides, if you’re not a wrestling fan to begin with, even what I really love about those DVDs probably wouldn’t register with you, anyway.

But I’m starting with “numerical” titles. That constitutes exactly what it implies: any title that begins with numerals. The first candidate? Well, here’s a hint:



You know as well as I do that something about “Academy Award-winner Eminem” will never, ever fully register just right.

Until then, I’m Sleepless Colin and you’re not.

Friday, March 18, 2011

Meet TigerCubGirl!

(S.C.'s NOTE: While I take care of a little business and ready a special little story to tell around the campfire's glow a little later, I'm leaving you scamps in the company of a trusted sitter!


Meet someone who's been on a wild, nine-year ride with The Sleepless One. She and I go way back to my early, early college days and she's seen many stretches of good and bad road with me since. That is to say, she's that one friend everyone has who knows where the bodies are buried . . .


She also has a unique approach toward traversing her iTunes library's twisting, vine-choked aural jungle.


So be good to the Diner's server of top-flight tunes, TigerCubGirl!)






A to Z #1: Mr. Monk Has Nothing On Me




A friend of mine once said that he believed that we all had a little bit of OCD in all of us.  Not necessarily pathological, but a little tiny part of our personality has a weird need for order, or cleanliness, or rituals, or all of the above. 

Ok, “all of the above” would probably put someone in the same category as Adrian Monk, but you all know what I mean.


Anyway, I believe that my friend’s theory is definitely true, as I have had a weird thing for order my whole life.  I love saving the best for last.  If I’m reading a stack of books, I like to read my least favorite first and my absolute favorite last.  If the stack is new, I start with the one that appeals to me the least, and work my way up. 

The same goes for my music.  I listen to my least favorite first, and save the album I’ve been dying to get for months as the very last album I listen to in my continually growing music collection.  I love the feeling of anticipation as I listen to music that I like, yet knowing that I’m going to be listening to music that I will absolutely love and will be putting on repeat for hundreds of times.  This type of behavior is quirky enough for someone to raise an eyebrow at, but not so weird and creepy that I’d need 500 mg of Efexor 4 times a day.

Yet as much as I practice this ritual with my physical CD collection, I use a different approach whenever I listen to my iTunes:  Alphabetically.

Being both a computer and music junkie, I get much pleasure out of listening to music on my desktop, regardless if it’s out of order concerning my favorite albums.  With my CD collection, that type of thing would normally bother me.  However, it’s not a problem with the digital stuff.  Perhaps, it’s because the music is already automatically sorted into some order, even if it’s not the system I usually use.  Whatever the reason, I’ve been listening to my iTunes in alphabetical order for the past several months, and that’s not going to change until I get to the end of my library.  And, starting next week, I will give you all a taste of what I like.


Each week, I will review an album in my library in alphabetical order.  One album from each letter.  And it will not necessarily be new stuff.  It will be any freaking thing I want.  One week, I could give you all ABBA, the next week it could be Bon Iver.  One week it could be Cake, the next it could be Dean Martin.


Of course, I should mention that alphabetical order in the iTunes world means that with solo artists, they are sorted according to their first name instead of heir last name.  So Ani Difranco, who I will be reviewing next week, is a legitimate artist to go first instead of fourth for the letter D.
So kids, I present to you iAnne: A-Z.  Next weeks review for the letter A….Ani Difranco’s Not A Pretty Girl.

Until next time…..long live OCD-type quirks.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Well, everybody wants a Walmart alternative...

The biggest challenge to finding a three-nippled fortune teller is knowing where to look....
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Snake bites boob, succumbs to silicone poisoning

I'm giving the benefit of a doubt that the headline speaks "amply" for itself. Rest in peace, you poor, motorboatin' son of a bitch, you....

Testing my text-posting functionality....

Test

Just a test of my e-mail posting functionality. Nothing to see here...
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry