Top Thing of 2011 No. 5: My regards to Broadway

OK, a little Bono-fueled schadenfreude, a sentiment that probably deserves its own term.

I saw an early preview of the (similarly Bono-fueled) Spiderman musical near the end of 2010. The performance I saw was one of the least eventful in the show’s original run. At one point Spiderman got stuck in mid-air over some balcony seats and we had to wait a few awkward minutes as a stagehand reeled him back in, but there were no obvious incidents or accidents — which at that point was notable.

Actually, the production itself was quite awesome — you could see where the millions upon millions of dollars in budget went. With the massive, glowing sets and spectacular costumes and thrilling aerial displays, Spiderman: Turn Off The Dark sure was something to look at.

But whenever it came time to focus on anything besides the visual spectacle — namely the music or plot or dialogue — holy hell. For one thing, there were multiple times during the show that the entire audience laughed out loud at lines that weren’t supposed to be funny.

Most of all, though, it became clear that Bono got involved because he has some sort of Peter Parker complex. You could just imagine him watching the Spiderman movie at home being all like, “‘With great power comes great responsibility!’ That’s like my whole thing! I’m going to show the world the great burden that comes with all these talents I have, and I’m going to do it by making this into a Broadway musical! Get The Edge on the phone!”

And then Bono and The Edge — assuming they weren’t watching Spiderman together — discus the ways they could make the plot of Spiderman deeper and darker by incorporating a love affair between Spiderman and the Greek spider-godess Arachne because how badass is that, bro? Then The Edge is all, “oh hey Bono you know that one guitar sound I make all the time, like, ‘changety chang chang chang!’? Whaddaya say I put that on all the songs in the Broadway musical, and then in case that doesn’t make it obvious enough that it’s an awesome rock musical, we stand some dudes randomly on the corner of the stage playing the guitar like, ‘changety chang chang chang!'”

Then The Edge says, “My name is ‘The Edge.’ Isn’t that cool?”

And in the end they — with the help of Julie Taymor — wind up with an impossibly convoluted play notorious for injuring cast members with a bunch of songs that sound like U2 b-sides, except “Vertigo,” which is randomly played in the middle at some point. The show ran in previews for months before it was finally shut down for a re-write.

Anyway, the failures of Bono and the Edge on Broadway in 2011 were emphasized by the successes of Trey Parker and Matt Stone, them of South Park and BASEketball and Team America: World Police and not in any way “Stuck in a Moment,” who won about a million Tonys for The Book of Mormon. I haven’t seen that yet so I can’t say much about it except that it’s not by Bono and it is by the South Park guys, both of which seem like pretty ringing endorsements.

Top Things of 2011 No. 6: Chicken-fried steak for breakfast

This one will be brief: I can think of at least four times in 2011 that I ate chicken-fried steak for breakfast, and I’m certain it’s going to happen at least once more before the year is up. Chicken-fried steak is about the single most indulgent food imaginable, and for some reason you’re allowed to count it as breakfast. Oh, and in its breakfast variety it comes smothered in country gravy, which is the best thing.

With apologies to Ron Swanson, I’m not a huge breakfast guy. I love bacon and sausage, but eggs independent of egg sandwiches often make me feel sick (I don’t know why they don’t on a sandwich) and I usually don’t crave anything as sweet as syrup-drenched pancakes or french toast immediately upon waking up. Don’t get me wrong: I like all those foods, and at times I’m sure I’ve proclaimed them all delicious. But if I had to rank my top breakfasts, it’d look like:

1. Things covered in country gravy
(Huge break)
2. Everything else

Basically it’s chicken-fried steak, biscuits and gravy or GTFO as far as I’m concerned. Cardiologists, I assume, feel otherwise, and it is with respect to them (and my wallet) that I eat a bowl of high-fiber cereal most mornings instead of amazing fried steak.

Anyway the point is for some messed-up reason someone decided chicken-fried steak covered in creamy country gravy should count as breakfast, because hell f#@$ing yes this is America.

I know you want to know where in particular you should check out for fried steak. Off the top of my head, the only place I can think of is the Blue Benn Diner in Bennington, Vermont — and there I’m not even sure I’d recommend the chicken-fried steak over the ridiculous variety of other awesome things on the menu.

But basically, if you’re sitting at breakfast and mulling over what to choose and there’s chicken-fried steak on the menu, I think you owe it to yourself to go that direction. C’mon. You only live once, and you’re going to die someday regardless. Might as well eat more fried steak.

Top Thing of 2011 No. 7: We persist

It’s Christmas, and it’s certainly not in the spirit of the day to spend any part of it making fun of anyone else for their religious beliefs. So I’ll lay off those that suggested the world would end — or begin to end — on May 21st of this year, with some small fraction of humanity whisked off to an afterlife and the rest of us left here to suffer as human life on earth came to a triumphant and terrifying demise.

It didn’t happen, and our continued, utterly non-Raptured existence on this planet strikes me as at least the seventh-best thing that happened this year.

Plus, though I may not have ever been seriously worried about the coming Apocalypse, I do appreciate the heads up. The people put up billboards. That’s just good looking out.

It turned out they didn’t have what I believed to be a very convincing case, but in the event that someone does have strong evidence the world is going to end in a couple of weeks, I do want to know about it. I’m a serial procrastinator, and I’m inevitably going to have some crap I need to take care of before End of Days. I’d at least pick up my dry cleaning.

Anyhow, like I said: Didn’t happen this time around. So we get more baseball and fried food, and all the other things that’ll be on this countdown. And maybe that little suggestion of rapture-fear, however unlikely, is good for us every once in a while. There’s a bunch of stuff we should celebrate more often that we probably overlook, and this whole existence is pretty damn fragile. It’s probably not going to end like they said, but asteroids are very real bro.

Top Thing of 2011 No. 8: Beavis and Butthead

There’s nothing particularly unique about the story of Beavis and Butthead. I can’t speak for the way women interact amongst themselves but I know that when you grow up a dude in the ol’ U.S. of A., you’re most likely going to spend countless hours of your time with some other dude, keeping a running narrative of the things that are awesome and the things that suck, vaguely searching for girls and stuff to blow up. So we have Wayne and Garth, and Bill and Ted, and Magic and Bird, of course, Beavis and Butthead.

Theirs is not an explosive, fly-by-night Paul Rudd bromance. It’s more akin to something shared by an old married couple, not overwhelmingly thrilled by the arrangement but long-since resigned to the understand that they’re not going to do any better. And it’s hilarious, of course.

Beavis and Butthead was funny the first time around, but what makes it sing in 2011 is the protagonists’ takes on contemporary MTV “reality” fare. In the show’s initial run, Beavis and Butthead watching music videos made for an entertaining diversion from the episodes. They still watch some music videos now but mostly they tune to Teen Mom, Jersey Shore, True Life and the like. iIt feels like their take on pop-culture is the highlight of the show, and almost as if sometime in the past couple of years Mike Judge stopped on MTV while flipping through channels, watched for an hour and said, “Something needs to be done!”

That something, in this entirely fantasized sequence, was the return of Beavis and Butthead to skewer the programming. They’re entertained by it, of course — they’re laughing and cringing at Jersey Shore in the same way most others who watch the show do. But Judge does a pretty amazing job allowing Beavis and Butthead to present some pretty smart observations in a manner that seems sort of stupid, and, well, it plays. It’s like their straightforward teenage focus on boobs and explosions provides some form of clear-headedness.

The episodes themselves are still pretty great, too. In one, Beavis and Butthead think they’ve survived the apocalypse and decide to go live in the nicest place they know: Stuart’s house. In another, Beavis suffers an obvious existential meltdown after trapping a rat. They succumb to and provide fodder for the histrionic displays of a local broadcaster. They crash a car and get mistaken for meth dealers. Beavis becomes the leader of a religious cult.

It’s all funny, in part because at this point just looking at Beavis and Butthead is pretty funny. I think the animation might get undercut in the show because there’s so much else going on, but it’s really pretty awesome. If you watch the show, think about Beavis and/or Butthead dancing — just picture that in your head — and try not to giggle. They’re silly looking: Everyone else in their world is drawn close to reasonable human proportions, and they’re tremendously awkward, with giant heads and skinny limbs and huge hair.

Point is, I’m glad the show is back, so it’s the No. 8 best thing that happened in 2011.

 

 

Top Thing of 2011 No. 9: New York City

Not all of the TedQuarters Top Ten Things of 2011 will apply to everyone. I tried to skew them so that the top things most likely to be universally appreciated by readers of this site fall near the top, but the site’s called TedQuarters so you probably realize that these are all just my Top Ten Things of 2011. And I may have missed some, at that. Long year, long last couple of weeks, lots of holiday-shopping still to do.

Anyway, I suspect most of you did not move back to New York City in the last couple of months, so this one might not resonate like Pascucci homering off Hamels or the forthcoming Taco Bell item.

But New York City is awesome, which is easy to forget sometimes. My wife and I moved to Manhattan in November, forgoing the comforts of the suburbs for the convenience and excitement of urban living.

On a sunny day a couple weeks later, I found myself walking around downtown — in pursuit of a sandwich, incidentally. I passed City Hall and snapped a few photos for an effusive couple that had either just gotten married or just obtained the requisite paperwork. Their joy was transparent, unburdened and contagious: Passersby in starchy business attire smoking cigarettes smiled and waited out the short digital-camera delay, forgoing the photobombing opportunity as the couple tried to time their gleeful jumps to the shutter.

A few blocks north, I walked past the Tombs, the city’s longstanding detention complex. From a door on the building, with little hoopla, stepped a man in a black bandana, a well-worn black leather jacket, tight black jeans and black combat boots. I try not to judge people based on their attire and I have no idea how the getting-out-of-jail process really goes, but this guy’s whole look — combined with my inclination to make up stories in my head about strangers, combined with the fact that I actually saw him walking out of a jail — made me suspect I was watching a man leave jail. He looked left, then right, inhaled deeply through his nose, then jammed his fists in his pockets and started walking. Perfectly cinematic, really.

You see stuff like that all the time in the city: The major plot points of other people’s biographies. And everywhere you look there are acts of human decency large and small, and then, of course, people treating each other like crap for no discernible reason. It’s a great place for voyeurism, at the very least.

All that stuff happens elsewhere, obviously, but the way it is compressed by the city’s boundaries amplifies the spectacle. On any given day you can walk around any reasonably bustling neighborhood of the five boroughs and make several new observations about humanity, or at least confirm some old ones.

Plus there’s tons of stuff to do and see, and basically every type of delicious food to eat. So for that, you deal with dodging the occasional pile of dog crap on the sidewalk and the knowledge that at some point you’ll forget to close your blinds before you change and catch some weirdo across the street checking out your balls. Worth it.

UPDATE, 12:00 PM: OK, hold on. I meant to keep politics out of this list entirely (as I normally do on this blog) but upon further consideration I want to include one of my favorite images of the year here, in part because it fits with the whole “New York amplifies people’s peoplehood” theme of the above post and in part because I hate that the long-overdue legalization of gay marriage should even qualify as “politics.” On July 24, 2011, the first day same-sex couples could legally marry in New York, some protesters holding all sorts of hateful signs predictably showed up to demonstrate across from marriage sites. So some smart-thinking, decent people showed up with umbrellas to shield the grooms and brides-to-be from the protests and help the couples enjoy at least a part of their wedding day free of bigotry:

Top Thing of 2011 No. 10: Pascucci pwns Hamels

It’s easy to pick out Valentino Pascucci at the Mets’ Minor League complex in Port St. Lucie in early March. He’s massive, for one thing: Six foot six and mountainous. And he’s about a decade older than everyone but the coaches in camp early for the team’s STEP program aimed at preparing its best prospects for a long season of professional baseball.

He’s not there for the same training as 19-year-old Wilmer Flores or 21-year-old first-round draft pick Matt Harvey. He’s there hoping his early arrival will allow for some Grapefruit League at-bats with the big-league club when the David Wrights and Jason Bays rest or don’t travel, opportunities to show off in person the prodigious power he has been demonstrating in Triple-A most seasons since 2003, a few scant chances to leave the Mets’ new manager and front office impressed enough to consider him if at any point during the season they find a roster spot open and a need for some right-handed pop.

And maybe he’s there because hitting a baseball is awesome and he’s pretty damn awesome at it, and when you’re pretty damn awesome at hitting a baseball there probably aren’t many better ways to pass time than doing just that in fine Spring weather in Florida on beautifully manicured fields.

By now you must realize I’ve got a thing for Minor League mashers. I’ve followed Pascucci in particular because he has been the best in the Mets’ system for three of the past four years, and because I’ll go to my grave insisting he could have made a difference for the 2008 team that fell one game short of the playoffs, got a .624 OPS from its pinch-hitters and somewhat inexplicably carried three catchers and/or Marlon Anderson for large swatches of the season.

We all want to be Carlos Beltran, to have the unbelievable natural ability and grace and drive to achieve great things in whatever it is we endeavor. But I think the truth is, for the billions of us who are not Carlos Beltran, when we look at ourselves in the mirror and try to honestly assess our various skill sets we find we’re just average in most departments and damn near subpar in some others. If we’re lucky, we’ve got just a couple of things we’re confident we’re good at, and hopefully those things are the ones we enjoy doing. And maybe in life we’ll get a couple of times when everything just lines up right and we get a chance to do that one thing well at a most rewarding moment.

By “we,” of course, I mean “me” here. Maybe you’re good at everything. I’m pretty certain I suck at most stuff. You should see my jumpshot. Atrocious.

Point is, Valentino Pascucci’s not going to chase down balls in the left-center field gap like Beltran once could or steal bases at a historic clip. The guy hits home runs, he appears confident in his ability to hit home runs, and it seems like he likes hitting home runs. Again: Who wouldn’t?

And on September 24th, a couple weeks after the Mets called up Pascucci to reward him for another season of thrilling the good people of Buffalo, he got a chance to pinch-hit against Cole Hamels in the eighth inning with his team down 1-0.

Hamels is that dude none of us can really hope to be: He’s handsome (if you’re into that look), he’s unbelievably talented, he pitches for a perennial contender, and, let’s be frank, he can regularly pose for downright humiliating photos and listen to Lifehouse and Nickelback without shame because he’s probably so confident he’s better than us in every way that he just doesn’t care what anyone thinks.

But Hamels is human and Pascucci hits home runs, and if Hamels leaves something out over the plate, Pascucci’s going to do what he does. And it’s so f@#$ing awesome:

Watching it again, I regret not ranking this higher on the list. But it’s what I wrote first, so here it is.

Fastest and Furiousest movies yet coming

We have to pay off this story, we have to service all of these character relationships, and when we started mapping all that out it just went beyond 110 pages. The studio said, ‘You can’t fit all that story in one damn movie!’

Vin Diesel.

That’s right: The sixth and seventh installment of the Fast and Furious series will shoot back to back because there was just no way to contain all the awesome in one feature-length film. Suck it, Citizen Kane. FilmDrunk has more.

Slow day here today. Got busy trying to wrap things up before I take off for the year. The TedQuarters Top 10 Things of 2011 start rolling out tomorrow.

Studying the hit and run

Mike Fast at Baseball Prospectus — who seems to consistently produce the most interesting baseball research I read these days — takes his best stab at evaluating the merits of the hit-and-run play. It is, by his own admission, based on imperfect data, but it’s a great read regardless.

For whatever it’s worth, I’ve heard ex-players and coaches praise the hit-and-run as a manager’s means of forcing a struggling hitter’s hand in the right situation. By that thinking, if a skipper feels his player is not seeing the ball or approaching his at-bats well, calling for a hit-and-run when he’s likely to see a strike makes him adjust his approach while simultaneously taking the onus off his shoulders if the at-bat goes awry. I don’t know if there’s anything in there that’s quantifiable or if a manager is actually more likely to call for the hit-and-run with a struggling hitter, but I’ve heard it mentioned frequently enough that I thought it worth noting.

Big Boi play Word With Friends with me

It turns out Big Boi and Fabolous are fans of Words With Friends. I got pretty into it a couple of months back thanks to some thrilling matches against my mom and some of her English-professor friends, but I found that too much time hunched over my phone started nagging at my neck and my interest petered out. If I could find Big Boi’s username, though, I’d be right back in.