Yawn-tourage

The trouble with a cast of men who refuse to grow up is exactly that: they don't evolve. The boys of Entourage have learned nothing from their ups and downs over the last 5 seasons, and therefore, Vinny being bankrupt again is not just deja vu, but it's plain boring. I'm not saying I need their moral compasses to align, but I am saying that these boys should at least be adolescents by now, if not full grown men. What once made the show fun and playful--boys playing in Hollywood with big bucks, babes and wheels--is no longer interesting. A friend of mine made the observation that where Entourage once was the "Sex and the City" for men, it now has become "The Hills" for men. I will add that it is the Hills, with marginally better acting.

Speaking of the show's acting, I want to talk to the voters of the Emmy Awards. Don't you realize that Jeremy Piven is NOT acting??? Why on earth would you give him an award three years in a row for simply being himself on camera? Good Lord, couldn't you have given it to Dexter's Michael C. Hall who plays Dexter Morgan with great subtle complexity? It's clear from Piven's acceptance speech that Piven, just like Ari Gold, is an asshole of catastrophic proportion. And I seriously doubt he's pulling a Daniel Day Lewis and staying in character well after the director yells "cut." Once again, it was interesting 2 seasons ago to see this asshole fly off the handle, but I think I'm done with Gold's temper tantrums.

I will cut Entourage a little slack just because the show is entering an awkward stage as it works through it's 5th season, which is a difficult time for any show to not only remain true to what made it popular, but change it up enough to keep viewers interested. This season might yet deliver the overhaul for which I am hoping. I think if the series is going to stay afloat, something's gotta give. I wouldn't even mind if they got rid of a character. I think E should go. Entourage, like the rest of the U.S., needs to cut some fat. E has long been the pointless middle man between Ari and Vince. Furthermore, the state of the economy makes it difficult to feel sympathetic for a group of frat guys who can't bear the idea of giving up a shamelessly decadent lifestyle. God forbid they actually have to work a 9-5 instead of spending the day getting high and going to strip clubs. In order to maintain its sinking caliber of entertainment, the boys of Entourage really have to man up.

If this is goodbye

This weekend, Yankee Stadium bid farewell to the world, its beloved fans, devoted New Yorkers, and pinstriped heroes. I was lucky enough to be able to attend the penultimate game with a large group of family. We sat in right field, behind Bobby Abreu. The bleachers were particularly animated on Saturday. After they called out all the players’s names, they turned to the crowd and chanted, “box seats suck.” God I love New York.

Before I even arrived at the game, I told myself to relish it all. Staring out at the grass, I was struck once again by the greenness of it. To me, taking in Yankee Stadium during the first inning feels like watching Wizard of Oz when Dorothy enters the bright colors of Munchkin Land. At Yankee Stadium, the grass is even greener than the other side.

The penultimate game was dull as far as baseball goes. I don’t think I’ve seen more pop flies and strikeouts. Even donning Giambi mustaches couldn’t bring on a hit. For each historic game that has gone down within the throbbing confines of the stadium, there have been 6 slow ones. Having watched Giambi win the game in the bottom of the ninth inning with two outs earlier this summer, I didn’t feel like I had the right to complain about the slowness of this particular game. You gotta take the good with slightly yawn inducing. The Yankees won in the blink of an eye, when Robinson Cano hit a single with the bases loaded. I think the Yanks were simply saving their energy—both physical and emotional—for the last game.

Sunday night, I watched the coverage of the last game and felt the sting of tears form in the back of my eyes as Yogi proudly stood in uniform on the infield. Despite the slight hunch of his back, his presence was still intimidating. The biggest cheers, mine included, went out not for Yogi, however, but instead for Bernie Williams. It was an overwhelming ovation, one that clearly registered on Bernie’s smiling face.

Saying goodbye to the legacy of the stadium is no easy task. Yet, I think it’s time for a new era, and there’s nothing more symbolic of change than a new setting. The Yankees were lackluster this season. It’s easy to get complacent within the walls of a winning stadium. Autopilot setting, however, does not get you to the playoffs. These guys need to change something so why not build a new stage?

Bernie Williams said that the fans really made the experience at Yankee stadium. “It was more the people than the stadium,” Williams said. “You talk about the magic and the aura, but what really made the Stadium was the fans. Concrete doesn’t talk back to you. Chairs don’t talk back to you. It’s the people that are there, that root for you day in and day out. That’s what makes this place magical.” This was clear as the camera panned across the stands, showing tearful young boys decked head to toe in Yankee gear hugging close to their Yankee cap-clad fathers. Yankee fans aren’t going anywhere any time soon. Actually, they are, but only a baseball’s-throw across the street.

Fantasy Reality

“I’m obsessed with DVR. Sometimes I find myself trying to fast forward meetings at work,” my friend Sonya said as she stretched out her arm, mimicking the click of a remote control, “Boring. Boring. Boring.” I laughed long and hard, as she spoke for me as well. I, however, feel a little less pain than Sonya, seeing as I do not actually have DVR yet. As I discussed in my blog post about “Life On Command,” I find man’s ability to stop time—at least what’s on cable—a bit eerie. There are a lot of pop culture tools with which people can skew their perception of life: DVR, so-far-from “reality” TV, video games, facebook, myspace. These are all platforms in which the world, time, and people can tweak with facts. Are facts facts anymore? Only time will tell—well, unless we fast-forward through it.

This brings me to another subset of pop culture where we play make believe: Fantasy sports. Yesterday, I participated in my first fantasy football draft. I used ESPN’s Live Draft program where a dozen girls all timidly and nervously picked players to represent us as the football season begins. The chat room, a neat feature of the program, was riddled with apprehensive confessions: “What are we doing?” “I don’t get it.” “I don’t know how to pick! How can I get auto draft going?” Suddenly, the draft started, and somehow, and we were on our way—whether we were ready or not. “Ah! I’m so stressed right now!” I typed. In the true spirit of good-natured girls, Team J-To said, “It’s okay. We’re all a bit lost and you’re first pick was good!!!” All’s fair in love and fantasy football, at least in an all female league. Soon, the chat room was filled with modest admissions: “My boyfriends helping me, thank god!” “Oh me too! “Haha my dad is over my shoulder.” The draft concluded, and we all wait anxiously to see how our teams will fair.

Fantasy Football, while not exactly DVR, is another way for us to deflect the cold hard truth of life. Now, even though I will root for the Giants with all my heart, I can justify a loss to the Vikings, since Adrian Peterson is my RB, or even the benighted Cowboys, as Tony Romo is my QB. (Forgive me!!!) In a roundabout way, Fantasy sports serve as some sort of fast forward button. Where DVR makes commercials go away, Fantasy sports makes fan heartbreak go away—at least some of it. It’s kind of like a glorified schoolyard game, where we can once again pick a team of our liking, leaving the particularly uncoordinated or dubious athletes near the tail end of our pick—kind of like Favre, who was one of the last to be picked as a QB.

At a certain point, I worry about society’s overwhelming urge towards escapism, or at least Fantasy sports escapism. Reality Football isn’t good enough? Did you miss last year’s NFL playoffs? The Giant’s streak was a fairytale. Who needs make believe leagues when Eli Manning helps facilitate an underdog win practically in glass slippers (or, rather, glass cleats)? Then again, perhaps Patriots fans would argue that last years season—at least the final game—was an absolute nightmare, which would require coping with a fantasy world….

My real worry is how modern day escapism entails an overwhelming amount of staring at a screen—computer, television, movies, cell phones, iPhones, iPods, etc. No longer is it about flying a kite or strolling with a parasol. How about letting the mind wander? How about books? The typical workday involves staring at a computer screen—with stolen glances at my cell phone screen—before I go home and stare at my TV screen. Half of every day spent at some sort of glowing rectangle. I suppose living vicariously through athletes who can avoid staring at screen’s all day is one step closer to playing flag football as a form of escapism. At this point, of course, there’s little I can change about the role of the computer in the work world. Maybe I’ll try to institute a “no screen” policy after work… except for Mondays, Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays. You saw my Gossip Girl post; do you really expect me to give up my shows?!?

Perhaps Sonya really was hoping to get work to go by faster. I just worry that society’s escapism ends up taking up more of our time than actual living. I guess I should get DVR, so if I really do try to go out and live a little I won’t miss anything. Oh wait, that's the whole point.

Thank God it's Monday

There are few things that can pull a New Yorker from the post-Labor Day depression. I admit that even I, the biggest skeptic of young children, found myself smiling this morning as I watched elementary school students heading off for their first day, backpacks bouncing and their hands apprehensively clutching that of their parent’s. Though this was a very short-lived smile. Post-Labor Day depression is the mother of all acute cases of the Mondays. This particularly case began creeping up on me yesterday afternoon as I drove into New York. Somewhere along the Henry Hudson Highway, I was listening to a Labor Day Weekend radio special that was counting down the top 200 songs of their listeners. Perhaps it was the developing depression, but I found it utterly offensive that Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” came in at 76, with Jewel’s “Foolish Games” at 77. Suddenly I was talking to myself “Seriously!?! ‘Born in the USA’ didn’t make top 25? And ‘Foolish Games’ is somehow juxtaposed with Springsteen’s most politically charged songs??? WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD TODAY!?!?”

I was reminded of all the good in the world, however, with a vicarious trip to the Hamptons with my most favorite melodramatic, preppy crew. That’s right, Gossip Girl is back! I have to say that it was a good premiere: Outfits were noteworthy. (OMG did you see Serena’s long flowy gown and perfectly messy up ‘do? The white was like totally symbolic of Dan and her imminent wedding!!!) Verbal daggers were thrown. (Insert any of the exchanges between Blair and Chuck go here.) Plots were twisted. (Awwww the Grandmother has found inner peace and is suddenly civil AND helping Dan Humphrey!) In other words, it was perfect.

The temporary Hamptons setting was a nice change up to start off the season. I am quite sure, however, that fans will be happier to see the cast in their true stomping grounds. The White Party was also great on so many levels. Blair, the ultimate manipulator and evil-doer, donned in pious white was no subtle irony. Of course, the lack of any diversity in the cast also makes the White Party a bit of a political statement. I have to say, in light of Sarah Palin’s recent family controversy, even Gossip Girl might have to step up the drama….

After the episode ended, I realized that, yes, the summer has concluded, but there will be plenty to look forward as the crispier shorter days fall upon us. On TV alone (I can assure that my social life will also give me things to look forward to), there’s Gossip Girl, the new cycle of America’s Next Top Model, Grey’s Anatomy, Football and the Office. I realize now that I am blocking out the post-Gossip Girl season finale depression I suffered from this May. In fact, cases of the Mondays might be all but vanquished now that Gossip Girl airs on that night. So, now it’s 9:30 on Tuesday morning. Is it Monday yet?