Honk If You Don’t Like Getting Bumped
Tonight, I came around the corner in a parking lot and saw the car ahead of me slowly backing up so I stopped. When he was about six feet from my car, I gave a little beep. He kept going. So I gave a full honk. He kept going. I blared my horn since there was a car behind me and I had nowhere to go. But apparently I was behind the fucking Energizer Bunny who kept going and going until he bumped right into me.
A security guard who saw it all immediately walked over. I figured it was a good sign he’d seen the incident because there’s never any damage when witnesses are around. It’s only when there’s $2,000 worth of destruction that it’s your word against the other person’s. I quickly inspected the bumper and everything looked fine. The young guy apologized and said that his music was up high, which is why he didn’t hear me honk. I said, “If you can’t pay attention, you should turn your music down” (yeah, I’m turning into Cranky Lecture Woman).
At the time, I was concerned about the fact that I was holding up the person behind me so I got in my car and left. But I should have stuck around a bit and grilled the idiot. It wasn’t like either of us made any quick moves that resulted in the collision. Easily 10 seconds passed between my first honk and the bump. When I started driving, I learned this crazy backing technique where you LOOK at what’s behind you as you move. Maybe I could understand taking your eyes away for a second but 10 seconds? What in the world could he have been looking at? I didn’t see any pretty girls up ahead or any flashing billboards. Perhaps his cd got to the part in the song with his favorite riff and, like most guys, he couldn’t resist playing along with his air guitar. It made me realize how easy it is for criminals to pull that maneuver where two cars block in a victim and if you don’t move quickly, you have nowhere to go.
I’m fairly tolerant of the little mistakes anybody can make but this was just complete carelessness on his part. Luckily nothing was damaged and nobody was hurt- this time- but now I wish I’d harrassed him enough that he’d focus a little more in the future. It probably wouldn’t make a difference, but maybe he’d at least turn his music down a notch.
Attacking Myself In My Sleep
This morning I awakened to find a deep gash on my chin. I figure I must have scratched it in my sleep with my fingernails. Later, I was soaking in my bath and noticed that a mole from my wrist was gone (I have to confess, I took a quick glance to see if it was in the water before realizing how stupid that was). Do moles just suddenly fall off? I guess anybody who can answer that probably isn’t reading my blog. It wasn’t really a protruding mole, if was more like a slightly-raised freckle. I can’t think of anything I’ve done recently that would have ripped it from my skin.
I have a history of overactivity in my sleep so I’m wondering if I should be concerned. In the past, I’ve walked into other rooms, thrown things, even carried on phone conversations- all the while virtually unconscious. The weirdest incident occurred one morning a couple years ago when the trash truck was beeping outside my window. In my little trance state, I thought the sound was my car alarm. And for some reason, I thought my car alarm was deactivated by The Clapper. So I got out of bed, went to the window and held my hands out: Clap clap! Clap clap! Clap clap! Six a.m. in the morning and I’m hanging out my window apparently cheering on the trash guys. I kinda came around at that point and slinked back to my bed, embarrassed and confused.
Often, my conscious takes hold of me in the process of my sleeptime activities, though sometimes it’s not until the next day that something reminds me of what occurred. I suppose occasionally I never remember at all. Given that I don’t recall what was surely a painful attack on my chin, I think that’s a real possibility. I can’t imagine what happened to that mole, but I guess I’ll stay on blemish alert to determine if I’m slowly trying to take myself out in my sleep.
Lip Balm Addiction
In the last 10 years, I don’t think more than eight waking hours have passed without me applying something to my lips. I’m partial to Vaseline’s product. It has no flavor and contains sunscreen. Last week I squeezed my last tube dry and went to 7-11 to pick some up but all they had was Carmex and ChapStick. Carmex has this awful medicinal flavor to it. That’s fine as an absolute last resort but I can’t imagine why anybody would choose that as their preferred lip balm. So I ended up buying the cherry flavored ChapStick.
One week later, my lips are chapped.
I haven’t been in the sun at all and my fucking lips are chapped. I’m pissed.
I don’t remember the last time I had chapped lips. I know it’s been many years. I’ve spent long hours in harsh elements- snowboarding or jetskiing- and ended the day with my lips as soft as ever. I thought it was called ChapStick because it heals chapped lips, not causes them. The smart thing for me to do would be to toss the ChapStick but I’m stubborn. I’m going to give it a few more days and see if the problem worsens or improves. I don’t know exactly what I’ll do if the problem worsens, but I promise ChapStick will hear from me. And then I’m sure they’ll either ignore me or send me a lifetime supply of their product, so it’s a probably a lose-lose situation.
I hate always needing lip balm and I’ve heard accusations that there’s something in it that causes addiction. But I don’t suppose they make a patch for that problem.
The Folks Are Shaking It Up In China
Today started out kind of stressful for me when I read the headline that there had been a serious earthquake in Beijing. Mom emailed us yesterday saying she and Dad are where else? Beijing. That’s about right. Two native Los Angelinos visit China and within 24 hours the area experiences its worst earthquake in 50 years. It actually wasn’t an enormous quake. At 5.7 on the Richter scale, people in L.A. probably wouldn’t even stop what they’re doing, but it caused quite a lot of damage over there, even collapsing some buildings. Knowing Mom’s track record of injuries in foreign countries, I knew it was quite possible a little jolt could send her hurling to the pavement.
I spent about half an hour searching for the itinerary Mom made for me. I almost threw it away after she gave it to me, but she’d spent so much time on it, I couldn’t. It’s not really just an itinerary, it’s more of a travel brochure with pictures of their destinations. Mom likes to make things like that. After discovering they were scheduled to visit a portion of the Great Wall today, it took about another half hour to figure out where it is in proximity to the worst hit earthquake zone. It appears they were a safe distance away, assuming they didn’t make any changes to their schedule.
In this day and age of cell phones, it’s very frustrating to not be able to contact someone in a situation like this. Even worse is the feeling I had before I found the itinerary, not knowing where they were or how I could possibly locate them. I’m sure they’re fine, but this is one daily recap I’ll especially look forward to receiving.
Ways To Get Out Of Prison
There are four jailhouse stories in the news that I have to comment on:
Nine inmates escaped from Wa. jail: They escaped through the ceiling then used bed sheets to get them down the four-story building. I’m not an architect or a security expert, but I’m pretty sure I could figure out a way to keep a person from escaping from my first story unit. That nine “maximum security” prisoners broke out of a jail is unbelievable. Who’s on security patrol? Barney Fife?
Inmates vie for “Miss Penitentiary” title: Seriously- a beauty pageant for inmates. If Trump gets his hands on this one, the “Miss America” pageant could officially be dead (although, I suppose its move to the country channel is already worse than death).
Crips founder/death row inmate was nominated for Nobel Peace Prize: There’s been a lot in the news about the scheduled execution of Crips found Stanley “Tookie” Williams. He killed four people then spent the last 20 years in prison co-writing children’s books about the dangers of gang life. It seems like an odd subject matter to tuck the kiddies in with, “Tommy passed the Crips’ initiation test, but he won’t get to attend many of the group’s ice cream socials. As a result of his two day killing spree, he’ll be spending the next 20 years as Big Daddy’s lil’ bitch. The End. Ok, sleep tight.” I think it’s great when anybody turns a negative into a positive, but a Nobel Peace Prize nomination? A death row inmate should have a better shot at People’s “Sexiest Man Alive” title than a peace prize. I would think one of the criteria for the prize would be “hasn’t killed anybody in cold blood” but I guess they allow up to four murders.
Teacher pleads guilty to having sex with minor and avoids jail time: When it comes to statutory rape cases, I believe there is some grey area extending to about age 16, maybe even 15 in the case of a particularly mature “victim.” But when the potential punishment (15 years) lasts longer than one of the participants has been alive (14 years), that’s statutory rape. All this woman had to do was plead guilty to her crimes and now she’ll do no jail time whatsoever. She’ll serve three years of house arrest and seven years of probation. While I don’t believe the young boy was scarred for life- I’m sure he’s the most popular kid in school for scoring with his hot teacher- I don’t believe in the Christian theory of punishment: all you have to do is admit you were wrong and ask for forgiveness and poof! You’re absolved of your sins. Three years of house arrest? Please. That’s not so different from my chosen lifestyle. But I guess it’s what’s to be expected from the Jeb Bush state these days.
Turns Out, Today’s Thanksgiving
I’m such a dumbass.
I didn’t realize until last night that today’s Thanksgiving. The thing is, I don’t live by a calendar so I never know what day it is. I can keep track of the holidays that always fall on a specific day but not the ones that fall on some randomly determined day to suit the Holiday Decider’s vacation schedule.
I’m usually clued into the irregular holidays by the fact that the bank’s closed or I didn’t get mail or traffic in Hollywood was particularly busy late the night before. Though sometimes several days have passed before I wonder, “Did I miss President’s Day?”
Thanksgiving’s always been easy to remember because the family gets together and there are various phone calls and emails regarding times and what to bring. But this year, Mom and Dad are in Hong Kong, my brother’s with his new wife’s family in Oregon and my other siblings stayed home in Arizona. That left just my aunt and grandpa in the area. The nice thing would have been for me to take them out to dinner. Well, in theory. I’m really not sure if my company is considered a treat to them. Aunt Sandy’s pretty cool but grandpa doesn’t say much. That might be because he doesn’t like the rest of the family’s topics of conversation or because we’re all so damn loud he can’t get a word in.
Had I realized before last night that today is Thanksgiving, I might have cooked myself a turkey. Although, it’s been a good two or three years since my oven’s been turned on so it may no longer be suitable for cooking. Instead I dined at Jack-in-the-Box. I know I shouldn’t have since I just ate at Burger King a few days ago. But I remembered that the only other time I didn’t have turkey on Thanksgiving was in college and on that occasion, I went to Jack-in-the-Box. Since today’s all about tradition, it just seemed right to create an alternate Thanksgiving tradition. I was tempted to save face by ordering with a French accent, then realized I don’t give a damn what the cashier thinks. I just requested my side of ranch, took the handful of unwanted ketchup and enjoyed my turkey day chicken sandwich alone.
Second Thoughts On The Xbox
So today I hear on the news that the Xboxes, which retail for $299, are now going for well over $1000 on Ebay. This forces me to adjust some of the comments I made yesterday. I retract any criticsm toward the students who waited in line for the Xbox to make an $800+ return on their investment. There aren’t a lot of college kids who can make that kind of scratch in one day unless they’re peddling drugs or swinging from a pole.
Now I have to figure out who’s dumber: the people who braved the elements for two days to buy a $299 Xbox or the people who didn’t wait but are now paying $1000+ for an item that will be restocked in mid December. Tough one. Kid turning down the opportunity for a 4-500% profit or buyer paying a 4-500% markup.
I can’t decide. But I wouldn’t be opposed to a fight-to-the-death between the groups to determine who’s the lesser moron. Either way, society wins.
Not Even For The First Atari
Hundreds of video game fans camped out in New York’s cold and rain to be among the first to buy the new Xbox released today. I blame Miss Liberty for requesting the “wretched refuse” instead of the “worthy achievers.”
Now before I begin my usual barrage of ridicule, my regular readers don’t need to remind me that last week I waited in a long line for my little passion. But it was two hours in perfect 80 degree weather for a one-time-only event. I think that meets the criteria for mental stability. These fools risked pneumonia, muggings and possible inclusion in an Apprentice task to buy a stupid video game!
Who are these people? I know it’s not minors because all the kids who were raised by the kind of parents that would allow them to camp out a couple days for a game will just steal the Xboxes from those who did wait. And any grown-up video game addicts will purchase their Xboxes from the little thieves an hour later (at half the retail price). That leaves a small segment of the population: the college students. On reading more about the release, I learned that Peter Gonzalez, 19, who waited for nearly 30 hours, said he would stay up all night playing games before heading to classes in the morning. I always wondered what the “liberal arts” college major meant and now I’m certain it means “mental deterioration on Daddy’s dollar.”
It’s just plain stupid to wait hours or days for something that will be available to the public without delay in another week. Who cares who got a game or saw a movie on day one? Anybody whose friends are impressed or jealous of the fact that they were among the first to buy an Xbox would be smarter to spend that time hitting some bars and trying to get laid. I think it’s safe to assume they’d be first among their friends to do that.
Trippin’
The folks are vacationing in Asia right now and they send email recaps of their days. What a difference those recaps are from the ones I receive from friends on vacation. My parents are up at the crack of dawn while my friends go to bed at the crack of dawn. My parents visit botanical gardens while my friends visit beer gardens. My parents vomit from local viral infections while my friends vomit from local, well, beer gardens. Mom and Dad’s remedy for illness is to skip the day’s tours and rest while my friends’ remedy is to switch to weed for the day.
Very different trips indeed.
Most of the pictures my parents send are scenery shots. I don’t know why they bother. No matter where you are in the world or what you’re looking at, some professional photographer has probably taken a better picture of it. I tend to prefer my friends’ photos, which also show scenery… in the background, but it’s usually easy to miss since the foreground often involves some sort of nudity or potentially illegal activities (I’m a comic- how classy do you expect my friends to be)?
In the latest email, Mom mentioned dining with a couple named Marge and Berwyl. She didn’t say much about them, but I can only guess Marge has a delicious recipe for apple pie while Berwyl can recommend a good tax man. Dinner with Marge and Berwyl surely involves such topics of conversation as home remedies for hemorrhoids and the war in Iraq (Berwyl’s pro, Marge goes along with whatever Berwyl believes). After a pleasant evening, the group probably made plans to visit local shrines together the next day.
My friends also meet new people on vacation, but whatever names they’re given are likely to be either fake or “stage names.” A night out with “Iceman” and “Roxy” probably involves a heated debate on the proper way to roll and some mention of whether any of them have “done something like this before.” After a pleasant evening, “Iceman” and “Roxy” probably slipped out under cover of darkness with half my friends’ belongings in hand, never to be seen again.
I’m not saying that one style of vacationing is better than the other since both my friends and parents thoroughly enjoy their trips. The bonus for me is that I get to hear very different perspectives of the same destinations. But I have to admit, one style’s recap is a tad more fun to live vicariously through.
Fast Food Drive Thrus
I hit the drive thru at the ‘ol Burger King today. The overabundance of errors they pack into a five minute experience is truly mind boggling. Let’s start with the order. I asked for a small meal.
“We don’t have small, we have medium instead,” the voice told me.
What the…? By definition medium can’t be the smallest! Burger King’s got a lot of nerve to think they can just change the English language because their employees can’t effectively supersize meals. They could do small, large and largest or even large, larger and largest. But medium never gets to be at either end of the line. Do they really think they’re fooling anybody calling the small size “medium?” As much as I’m convinced the world is full of idiots, I don’t believe there’s anybody out there who thinks, “I got a medium sized meal at Burger King for the same price as a small sized meal at McDonald’s! I’m coming to Burger King from now on!” It’s the same way guests staying on the 14th floor of a hotel know that they’re really on the 13th floor. A spade is still a spade.
I drove up to the window and paid for my small-sized, medium-named meal. Why, oh why, do most cashiers insist on giving back the bills or receipt first and then the change? They might as well cut out the middleman and hurl the coins on the ground themselves. I wouldn’t be surprised if “fast food cashier” is listed somewhere on Sir Isaac Newton’s résumé. Coins first, then paper.
With my bag in hand, the cashier asked me if I wanted ketchup. “No,” I said, “But may I have a side of ranch, please?” As fast food employees always do, the A.D.D.-riddled cashier then threw a handful of ketchup in my bag. I’m aware of the existence of ketchup. I’m sorry if the ketchup industry feels threatened by the growing ranch industry but I don’t need ketchup forced upon me. Maybe next time I should say I also don’t want an apple pie and see what happens.
What’s always the cashier’s final act? To roll that bag up so tight you’d think they’re trying to squeeze it into a clown car. And what’s the first thing I have to do? Unroll that bag to make sure Mr. Minimum Wage Employee didn’t forget something important, like the meal. Keep the bag open so I can quickly check the contents and so you can continue to refer to your business as “fast food.” Although, I wouldn’t put it past Burger King to start referring to their service as “faster food.”
Sexiest Man Alive
People magazine has declared Matthew McConaughey its “Sexiest Man Alive.” I can’t help but wonder what happened to last year’s winner. Did he let the title go to his head, gain 40 pounds and discontinue his hair plug treatments? Did he show up at a premiere in a turquoise Members Only jacket? Was he bumped off by one of this year’s hungry contenders? That begs the question: is it really necessary to include the word “alive” in the title? I can’t imagine there would be a lot of reader backlash when their favorite 14th century poet doesn’t win.
I just don’t understand how someone can be anointed with a superlative like “Sexiest Man Alive” and never win it two years in a row. For that matter, it’s very suspicious that the person who beats out a couple billion other men is always an American in the entertainment industry.
It’s time for People to infuse their titles with a little accuracy, so I offer some suggestions for next year’s declaration:
- Sexiest Man We Know Of From Our Limited Awareness Of The World
- Sexiest Man Alive (But We Haven’t Seen All The Pygmies)
- The Guy Who Had The Hottest Picture Taken Just Before This Issue Went To Publication
- One Hot Dude With A Powerful Publicist
- The Best Looking Guy To Return Our Phone Calls Last Week
- Sexiest Man In Hollywood Who Thinks This Will Help His Stalled Movie Career
- Sexiest Guy Sleeping With One Of Tom Cruise’s Old Flames
- Sexiest Male Celebrity Who Hasn’t Been Arrested On Drug Charges (In The Last Year)
All I’m saying is People magazine needs to show George Clooney a little respect- at least until he’s no longer alive.
Bullet in a Bible Hollywood Premiere
Before I mention THEM again, let me explain my little obsession. I don’t even know if you could call it an obsession. I don’t have their t-shirts or other paraphernalia, I don’t take free stickers and posters when offered and I don’t keep the tickets from their concerts (well, not intentionally- I’ll have to check the purses I carried). It’s about the music, in particular, American Idiot. I can’t really explain it. American Idiot just grabbed me and shook me hard. “Holiday” isn’t just a song- it’s an anthem. It’s rare for any artistic endeavor to truly excite me but this did to a whole new level.
Green Day inspired me like nothing ever has before.
Seeing how much they’d grown as artists made me want to take giant leaps as an artist. Witnessing their amazing performances improved my peformances. They’re even indirectly responsible for me finally starting a blog. After reading one woman’s entertaining stories about her journey to several Green Day concerts, I decided to give it a go. I always enjoyed writing growing up, but once I became a comic, I felt this pressure for there to be a laugh every 10 seconds. But now that I’m not concerned about that and am writing just to get some thoughts out, I love writing again.
Most importantly, Green Day reignited that yearning inside me to create something great and reminded me that sometimes the biggest risks can garner the greatest rewards.
Explanation over, on to the premiere!
After two Green Day concerts in the last month, I still wanted more. I almost went to the Big Screen Concert preview for their Bullet in a Bible DVD a few weeks ago, but couldn’t bear to drive an hour to watch their concert sitting down. So I skipped it.
Then a couple days ago I read this on their website:
You are invited to join the band for the premiere of the live concert movie event of the year…Tuesday, November 15th, 7:30 p.m. Cineramadome, Hollywood. Tickets will be distributed to fans on a first come first serve basis starting at 2 p.m.
A free premiere only a couple blocks from where I live? I took the message to mean they were inviting ME personally. I’ve never understood the people who wait in line for hours to see a movie that’s going to be in theatres for the next four months, but this was a one-night-only opportunity. I had to go. I made several passes by the location in the morning and when it looked like the line was getting long, I plopped down on my cushion with my laptop and a movie to pass the two hours.
Looking at the others, it occurred to me that I was quite possibly the oldest person in line who hadn’t been dragged there by their kids. Not a great feeling. As much as this album speaks to the trials of youth, I wonder if these teenagers even understand and appreciate the message and not just the catchy tunes.
Almost an hour late, we finally got our wristbands and were told to return at 5 p.m. to receive our tickets. I’d had my fill of waiting in line for Green Day events, so I returned around 6 p.m. and, as I expected, found the long line moving nowhere. So I walked a couple blocks over to the Cat and Fiddle, where I worked years ago, chatted up some old friends and enjoyed a couple beers. It didn’t seem right to watch a Green Day concert without having at least one cocktail.
I returned to the theatre just before 7 p.m. to find the line finally moving and took my place at the very end of the wristband wearers but ahead of the couple hundred hopefuls whose best bet at hearing Green Day that night was across the street at Amoeba Music. I assumed I’d end up sitting in the very back but knew it still wouldn’t be that bad. As it turned out, the tickets had assigned seats and I was given one in the front row. Normally I’d consider it the worst location in a movie theatre, but probably not bad for a concert documentary.
I figured they’d stiff the riffraff on the usual premiere perks, but we still got our free popcorn and soda (though no free DVD as I’d hoped). I made my way into the theatre to find some kid in my seat. She and her friends asserted that the tickets were mistakenly handed out in reverse order and that the people in the front of the line were supposed to get the front row seats. I briefly tested their logic, asking how everybody was supposed to figure out what the opposite seat was. But they’re teenagers so their only argument was, “We waited in line all day! Waaah!” Frankly, the aisle seat I spotted about five rows up looked better to me anyway, so I didn’t put up a fuss, but I guess others did because I saw the kids get the boot a short time later.
I looked around at all the teenagers and felt like such a ‘tard. The upper section of the theatre was reserved for the band and invited big wigs. Part of me wanted to approach the security guards and plead, “Look, I’m old enough to buy alcohol. Can I please sit with the other grownups?” But I stayed put and endured the pack of 8-year-olds girls, one with dreadlocks, screeching, “We’re in a band! I’m the guitarist, she’s the keyboardist and she’s the dancer!” (The dancer)? The burst of excitement when Danny Bonaduce entered the theatre made me wonder if all these kids had been bussed in from the Midwest and if I should fear for my safety when Green Day finally arrived.
An hour late (which I’m getting used to), Billie Joe, Tr? and Mike entered (without incident, I might add) and made a quick appearance in front of the screen then headed to their seats with their lovely companions. When the bass player’s girlfriend looks like a supermodel, you know the band has made it. I couldn’t help but like Billie Joe’s wife as she earnestly studied her ticket to find the correct seat even though she could have sat wherever the hell she wanted. She could have told Bonaduce to get his ass out of his seat and the audience would have turned on him in an instant to support their beloved Adrienne.
Sitting only about 25 feet from the screen, I was tempted to run up to it and give big Billie Joe a kiss. Then again, I could have just as easily run 25 feet in the other direction, pushed Adrienne aside and given little Billie Joe a kiss. I might have done something that juvenile to the screen if I’d had a friend with me, but stupid stuff like that just isn’t as much fun without a buddy there to enjoy the inevitable eviction from the theatre (or possibly, to post bail). I think I’m also five years past the point where a stunt like that is cute instead of creepy. So I stayed in my seat, bouncing around but obeying the fire marshal’s order not to stand up during the show or the event would be cancelled.
The documentary, shot over two nights at England’s Milton Keynes Bowl before 65,000 people, was almost as good as being at an actual Green Day concert. The show was nearly identical to the one I saw in Albuquerque and I was quickly reminded why that was the best concert I’ve ever been to. Green Day doesn’t just perform the songs the way you hear them on CD; they’ll pause halfway through a song, do some crowd work for a few minutes to really build the anticipation, then close the song like it’s the grand finale. Their shenanigans offstage were just as entertaining as onstage.
I haven’t purchased the DVD, but I probably will so that 10 years from now, when Green Day creates another monumental album, one of my nephews will say, “I can’t believe Aunt Nene’s ever heard of Green Day, much less has their DVD.” And I’ll chuckle. And then I’ll wait in line with them for that DVD’s premiere feeling like I finally have a good excuse for being oldest in line.
While this probably won’t be my last mention of Green Day, it will probably be the last blog devoted to them since I don’t imagine I’ll be seeing them for awhile. But who knows? In the last month, I went from not expecting to see my boys at all to seeing them in a 13,000 person venue, to a 2,200 person venue to an 800 person venue. At this rate, I could be ringing in the new year in a m?nage a quatre with my favorite band.
Epilogue: An hour after posting this, I went to the store and whom did I see on the cover of Rolling Stone? None other than sweet Billie Joe. I SWEAR I was just going to browse the article but I opened the magazine a couple pages and saw a picture of a comic I play poker with, so THAT’S the reason I bought the issue (well… the two combined) . Just wanted to make that clear in case anybody I know stumbles upon the magazine in my possession and seriously worries about me being obsessed.
Can We Still Tease Pollacks?
The country of Kazakhstan is threatening to sue comedian Sascha Baron Cohen because one of his characters, Kazakhstani journalist Borat Sagdiyev, ridicules its people.
Are they serious? Can a freakin’ country sue for slander???
For those unfamiliar, Cohen is the star of the very funny Da Ali G Show, which airs in the U.S. on HBO. His main character is Ali G, a Cockney dude decked in rapper gear who primarily assaults political figures from around the globe with inane questions. The humor isn’t as much in his persistent denseness as it is in the responses from his interview subjects, who delicately indulge his stupidity to save face.
Cohen’s second character is the aforementioned Kaz (I can’t spell it out anymore- they need to buy some vowels) journalist Borat. This guy’s also clueless, but he’s lovable clueless. He’s the naiive foreigner trying to understand a language and culture that are totally unfamiliar to him. The fact that the character is from Kaz is almost irrelevant. He could be from any non-English speaking country and his antics would be just as funny.
Somehow the Kaz people have been oblivious to the Borat character through his five years on the air in the UK and America. I guess they don’t get HBO or BBC over in Kaz. But apparently they do get their MTV, because it was his recent hosting job on the 2005 MTV Europe Music Awards that got their burkas in a bunch.
I watched the awards ceremony (anybody who’s read more than a few of my blogs can guess why) and I thought he was hilarious. After Madonna’s opening number he said, “It was very courageous of MTV to start the show with a genuine transvestite. He was very convincing. It was only his hands and his testisatchels that gave it away.” He introduced performers by other bands’ names and closed the show with, “To the world, I love you! Apart from Uzbekistan. Assholes.” It was a rare occasion when I considered an awards show host entertaining instead of annoying.
But the Kaz foreign ministry disagrees with me and held a press conference yesterday on the matter:
We do not rule out that Mr. Cohen is serving someone’s political order designed to present Kazakhstan and its people in a derogatory way.
Do they actually think anybody has an agenda against Kaz? For that matter, do they actually think that a week ago more than three people knew or cared where Kaz is? They should realize this is good publicity for them. Borat put them on the map- literally. He should be their hero. They can’t possibly think their bustling tourism industry could be severely affected by one outlandish character’s appearance on an MTV awards show. Nobody’s going to be packed and ready to go to Kaz only to declare, “I heard that Borat guy mention cow punching is a sport over there. Maybe we should go somewhere more civilized and exciting like E. Timor.”
The whole world talks shit about Americans and it’s usually not in jest. But our politicians don’t hold press conferences every time it happens because we know we’ve got it good here. It kind of relates to the esteem issues I mentioned in my last two blogs: when you’re confident with who and what you are, you don’t really care what anybody else thinks. The Kaz government needs to just chill because taking a comic to court over a few little jokes makes them look much dumber than anything Borat says or does.
