Your Pyrrhic Victories Quizo Update

It's tournament time, folks, and I'm sort of going back to my old ways. We all remember how I single-handedly caused Kansas to finally win the tournament last year through the judicious application of not doing a bracket and wearing the same t-shirt every time they played, but I figure that won't work twice. This year, then, I'm back with brackets and all that junk. I will bet money on Kansas, I will lose money on Kansas, and all shall once again be right with the world. Unlike last year, when for my money only maybe 3 teams had legitimate shots at winning, this year's tournament field looks a hell of a lot more wide-open. My earliest rough guess would say that any one of 9 or maybe 10 teams have a totally reasonable chance. Kansas unfortunately is not one of them, but as they say in French, c'est la vie.

All is not wine and roses in March Madness land, however.

A friend of mine got tickets to the first two rounds at Wachovia this weekend, and I'm trading him one of my US Open tickets for one of his tournament tickets. So that's, you know, pretty awesome, right? Going to the fucking tournament. March Madness in person! Rock and roll, right?

Wrong.

Because the NCAA are an organization so thoroughly venal and corrupt that they make Italian football look like the George Washington Appreciation Society, Villanova - who while talented are quite possibly the most overrated program in basketball - got a 3 seed and will play their first (and presumably second) tournament game at the Wachovia. So aside from the fact that the selection committee has ridiculously handed Villanova quite literally two HOME GAMES (Nova plays a couple games a year at Wachovia), I now find myself in a situation where I have paid money to watch Villanova play basketball against a team that is not LaSalle.

This is not a tenable position. I mean, it's not as bad as it might have been if, like, it ws St. Joe's playing a tournament game here. I'd probably have to legitimately kill myself in that case (or, more likely, someone else), but the fact that St. Joe's sucks has obviated that this year. Still, going to watch Villanova? On purpose? It's a good thing I normally shower three times a day already.

In other sports news, I caught a good chunk of the CA Championship yesterday where - and even I have a hard time believing this one - Phil Mickelson, Chokey McChokerson himself, couldn't even live up to the cruel nickname that I gave him because I hate him so, so much. Take, for instance, the 12th hole. Phil shanks his drive so far to the right that his ball stops under this hideous spiked little bush that looks like the mutant offspring of a palm tree and a pineapple. Phil, who I learned is right-handed and golf is the only thing he does left-handed, I guess because he's an even more gigantic douchebag than I originally thought, has to hit the ball with his club backwards because the bush-monster is where he would normally stand. Phil manages to whack that ball about 20 yards before it hits a tree and lands in the rough. He hits his third into a greenside bunker.

I saw that and said, "oh, baby, the choke is on."

Baron von Chokenstein remarkably only bogeyed that hole, and then rattled off a string of pars that would, eventually win the tournament. I watched this dumbfounded.

Motherfucker can't even CHOKE right. He choked on his choke. That is so freaking meta that if someone I didn't want to be crushed by a falling space station did it I would actually be impressed.

Also, finally, there will be an important Quizo-based announcement tonight, so be sure to stick around for that.

JLK

Your "Why So Serious?" Quizo Update

So.

The Dark Knight.

Yeah.

…

…

Yeah.

I had a reaction to a film once, I want to say it was Traffic but it feels much more recent than that; I had this reaction where when someone asked me what I thought of it I said, “it’s the best movie I never want to see again.” Unfortunately I’m probably going to have to see it again, what with the whole Imax thing and a couple people who haven’t seen it for whatever reason. I’m honestly not that thrilled at the prospect of watching The Dark Knight again because doing so is a pretty unpleasant experience at best. After I got home from the movie I had a number of people IM me (at 4AM!) asking for my review and I told them all the same thing: if you’re in the mood for a relentless onslaught of nihilistic brutality, The Dark Knight is just what the doctor ordered.

Folks, this is not a happy film.

Don’t misunderstand me: The Dark Knight is an absolute masterpiece. And I’m not talking as a comic book movie or a superhero movie or a big summer action movie or whatever. It is a straight-up real-movie masterpiece. It is certainly and easily the best film released thus far this year; it is probably one of the best films I’ve ever seen, though I’ll have to see it a few more times to really make that judgment, which I really don’t want to do since watching it the first time elicited a response that is similar to what I imagine it would feel like if someone rearranged my digestive system with an electric mixer. The film is absolutely flawless – and I mean that, it’s perfect, there is not a single element even a micron out of place anywhere in the entire film – but you don’t so much watch The Dark Knight as the movie repeatedly and continuously kicks you in the head and stomach. Lighthearted or hopeful moments are very few and quite far between; the other 99% of the film’s running time drowns in a sea of despair and desperation.

And then there’s The Joker.

There is little point in saying much about Heath Ledger other than the fact that yes, he is quite excellent; others have heaped metric tons of badly-written praise on his performance without, I think, very much understanding of it. In my case it is enough to say that he (and, in fact, the entire film) was good enough to immediately push past the annoying left-brain analytical barriers that automatically go up when I consume entertainment; I wasn’t dissecting every aspect of his performance while I was watching it and a) for me, at least, that almost NEVER HAPPENS, and b) I kind of wish I had, since I could have used some emotional distance between myself and the movie. Like a fractal of the film Ledger’s performance is note-perfect, and it combines with Nolan’s direction to create something truly unique. The Joker isn’t a character or even a person as much as he is a force of nature, a personification of chaos and anarchy that appears and disappears at will and leaves confusion and destruction in his wake; he is like nothing that’s ever been seen on film before and I doubt very much ever will be again.

My quibbles with the film are exceedingly minor, though, and are really a testament to how unbelievably good it is. My primary complaint is that the film makes me feel bad – and I mean feel REALLY bad, like the feeling you got the first time you saw Seven or Unforgiven – and the simple fact of the matter is that a lesser movie wouldn’t have that kind of effect. If there were any justice in the world and if things like this really mattered it would be a lock for a Best Picture nomination; suffice it to say that will probably not happen but that in the future that decision will be sorely regretted a la Raging Bull or LA Confidential.

To sum up: The Dark Knight is a goddamn masterpiece. See it if you have not done so already. If you don’t think so, as a professor of mine used to say, well, the world needs ditch-diggers too.

Also there was something interesting at the Open this weekend, I think.

JLK

Your Edge of Your Seat Quizo Update

My father and I have for a while now had an ongoing but civil disagreement - of course it's civil, because rule #1 is dignity, always dignity - as to the exact nature of the source of Tiger Woods' continuing excellence. He maintains that Tiger has made some sort of Faustian pact (c.f. Tom Brady, Dr. Faustus) in order to attain his golf prowess, while as we know I hold that Tiger Woods is in fact an android built by Satan, powered by the Dark One's unending hatred of the human race.

After this weekend's US Open, however, we have realized that were are both wrong and have come to the same conclusion:

Tiger Woods is, in fact, Satan himself.

No one but the First Among the Fallen could have engineered the kind of performance we saw at a BRUTAL Torrey Pines the last two days. Going into Saturday Tiger wasn't exactly out of contention, but he wasn't playing well - his gimpy knee was clearly giving him trouble - and then on the 6th on Saturday he took a tumble and further aggravated said gimpy knee.

Of course, this whole "injury" and "arthroscopic knee surgery" thing is obviously a clever bit of misdirection to distract us from the fact that Tiger is actually The Devil. What human being could, after further injuring a supposedly already-injured knee, go on to shoot FIVE UNDER FOR THE NEXT SIX HOLES ON the LONGEST COURSE IN GOLF HISTORY? After every tee shot Tiger grimaces in obvious pain, but it is not the pain of his "inflamed knee." No, it is the pain of maintaining the facade that he is human and not the Morningstar come to devour the souls of humanity.

This is a guy who, were he human (he is not), was walking around the course with an obvious limp, doubling over in (fake) pain after every shot and generally being - by his standards - wildly inaccurate off both tee and fairway, and STILL managed to force an 18-hole playoff for the championship today. Face it, folks. Tiger Woods is The Devil. It's the only explanation. Read your Bible. It clearly says in chapter 14 of 1st Kings, "and the Deceiver shall make an impossible 65-foot putt for eagle on 17."

Note that 1Kings 14 also tells us, "and on the third day, he of the sinister grip will make quadruple-bogey on 13 and prove that he is a gigantic fucking choke artist who sucks."

Tonight's game marks a number of semi-historic occasions as well. On the one front, Oprah's Book Club is going for their third win in a row, which is something I'm sure none of us want to see happen. On the other front, tonight will be Dr. Dan's (of Das Boot) last Quizo before he moves on to, I dunno, some kind of doctor thing in Arkansas. Dan's been a week-in-week-out regular since something like the third Dark Horse Quizo ever - back when his team was "Suck It Trebek," still one of my favorite team names of all time - and we are certainly disappointed at his departure. So we have Das Boot fighting to get a win at their team founder's final showing versus Oprah's Book Club looking to impose their hideous dynastic will on us all.

Hell, that's almost as exciting as watching Lucifer play golf.

Almost.

JLK

Your "Nothing Good Ever Came Out Of Delaware" Quizo Update

So, yesterday sucked on a number of levels.

Before we get to the meat of this weekend’s suckage, let me just state that Sergio Garcia winning the Players is an affront to decent people everywhere, and I hope everyone is as shocked and appalled as I am. You thought it was bad when the biggest douchebag you knew in college was dating the hottest girl in your class and all they ever talked about was how when they weren’t playing GoldenEye together they were having constant, ridiculous, space-time-continuum-warping sex every waking moment? This is much worse, because Sergio Garcia is five thousand TIMES the douchebag that guy was, and furthermore and that guy didn’t get 1.8 million dollars for fucking that whore whose name may or may not rhyme with “Katie,” and now that I really think about it you both can go to hell and take your goddamn Facebook invites with you. No website will say we are friends because WE ARE NOT! Also, yes those pants DID make you look fat, and yes I DID start that rumor about you and the men’s swimming team so HA HA BITCH!

God I hate Sergio Garcia.

Strangely enough I do NOT hate Manchester United, who won the English Premier League yesterday morning. I was at the bar for the happening and was pretty sanguine about the whole thing. Chelsea’s shot was slim at best, though a couple of dodgy refereeing decisions – Manchester United? Questionable officiating? Inconceivable! – basically helped put to the sword our title ambitions this year. However, fun was had by all parties and the two teams will still meet in the Champions League final. And most importantly, as I noted at one point toward the end of the games, we’re both better than Arsenal.

After the game but before the weather turned into the sordid late-winter mess that it is now some of us were standing around outside when Brian of Alias Pseudonym Undercover informed me that he would be taking a Quizo hiatus for the summer as he temporarily moves to Delaware City to work at a law firm.

My immediate, instinctive reaction to this news was, “nothing good ever came out of Delaware.” This is a topic about which I feel very strongly and could go on about at some length, but lest these missives all get completely given over to my demented ravings about various ex-girlfriends, let’s move the narrative forward.

Brian tried to contest this point, but the best things he could come up with were “George Thorogood,” “S-corporations,” and “nylon.”

Let’s look at the difference just between neighbors here, shall we?

Best things ever to come out of Pennsylvania: The Declaration of Independence, Joe Montana, The Constitution, Gene Kelly, The United States, freedom.

Best things ever to come out of New Jersey: Bruce Springsteen, Frank Sinatra, Frog Bog.

Best things ever to come out of Delaware: an ugly dude with a mediocre band, corporations that have more rights than human beings – it’s true, look it up – and the gunk that made silk stockings obsolete (if you weren’t aware, nylon in its original form is actually gunk).

Thanks for nothing, Delaware.

JLK

Your Extra Primo Good Quizo Update

A couple things from around the horn this week:

- Though I have never actually sat through, from beginning to end, an unedited version of it, Trading Places is by a country mile my favorite Philadelphia movie and is probably one of my top-five favorite comedies of all time. I watched it again yesterday for about the 90th time and sweet zombie Jesus it still cracks me the hell up, even when I'm on the tail end of a 17-hour, three-city wedding celebration extravaganza that saw me go something like 34 straight hours without sleep. I especially love the fact that there is an entire website - http://dangerouslogic.com/trading_places.html - dedicated to explaining just what happens at the end of the movie, which I cheerfully admit I STILL don't completely understand. But hey, cheer up, Coleman, in a couple hours you gonna be richest butler who ever lived.

- From a purely personal-health-related standpoint, I cannot in good conscience recommend embarking on a 17-hour, three-city wedding celebration extravaganza, unless you are a) suicidal, b) a goddamned idiot, or c) both. Seriously, kids, do not do as I do. I spent most of last evening flipping between Trading Places and the PGA Championship, alternatively counting the minutes until I could go to sleep without waking up at 4 in the morning and wishing God would smite me with a lightning bolt and end my interminable misery. Sleep is not for the weak. You will not sleep when you're dead (well, you will, but that's not really the point). Punch me in the face the next time I say those things.

- Obviously, don't punch me in the face. That would be, shall we say, an "exceedingly bad choice" on your part.

- I used to know a cocktail waitress at the Borgata who said that all the serious gamblers she knew were Bob Seger fans. I wouldn't call myself a "serious gambler" necessarily, but I am a long-time admirer of Seger and I have to put this out there: can anyone tell me what the FUCK the song "Ship of Fools" is actually about? I've been listening to it for more than ten years and the fact that I can't get my mind around it drives me absolutely bonkers.

- The Premiership season started this weekend, and yay! The soul-bludgeoning nightmare of seven whole weeks without soccer is finally over. Man these odd-numbered summers (i.e. without a World Cup or European Championship) are tough to take. Clearly, I (and others of my ilk) deserve some kind of commendation for enduring it.

JLK

Your Comfortable Shoes Quizo Update

This past weekend saw Wizard World Philadelphia - aka a comic book convention, aka "Nerdi Gras" (as one friend of mine calls such things) - and to I'm quite sure no one's surprise I attended.

Now for considerable percentages of those who go these events are an exercise in counter-social behavior ranging from quiet-yet-dignified protest against the oppressive regime of the Cool Kids (wearing a Green Lantern t-shirt) to out-and-out incitement of open rebellious warfare against our evil mainstream overlords (wearing a homemade Spider-Man costume). The latter, especially, can get very unfortunate as the vast majority of people wearing such outfits are, shall we say, shaped a lot more like yours truly than Spider-Man necessarily. Note that I would make an official exception for the folks dressed like stormtroopers, Darth Vader and the like, as since attending my first convention years ago I have learned that those folks are members of a group called the 501st Legion who a) make all that shit by hand - handmade movie-quality stormtrooper armor deserves no small amount of credit in the first place - and b) do tons of charity appearances for children's hospitals, museums, and the like. You want to snicker at the guy in the Thor outfit that's one thing, but never laugh at the stormtroopers.

The defining feature of events like this, however, is the fact that it means I essentially spend an entire weekend standing and walking around, which was a serious consideration even before I turned my lower spine and left leg into useless mush. As I said after my first convention years ago: the most important thing is to WEAR THE RIGHT SHOES.

Due to various ridiculous circumstances, this year of course I did not do that, and spent the rest of the weekend (and well into this morning) paying the price. A word of advice: when given a choice between doing something you KNOW is both stupid and will cause you considerable pain in the long run or getting to a three-day event ten minutes later than you planned on getting there, take the extra ten minutes and find your fucking sneakers.

My inability to walk led to the unlikely event of me watching the movie Rising Sun on television on Saturday night - primarily because going out would have meant that someone would have not only had to drive me wherever we were going but would have had to assist me, linebacker-with-a-sprained-ankle-style, from my front door to their car and no one seemed to be up for that. Rising Sun, aside from managing to be at once both quietly understated and hilariously overwrought, also has the distinction of being one of only two movies I can think of in which Sean Connery says the word "fuck," which is just really, really weird (the other being The Rock). For that alone it deserves commemoration.

Finally, my dad and I celebrated Father's Day by watching Oakmont Country Club win the US Open. As a golfer you don't really "win" the US Open so much as you just lose better than everyone else and pray the course does not literally swallow you whole and slowly digest you for a thousand years ( c.f. Boba Fett and the Sarlacc, Phil Mickelson and Winged Foot).

JLK

Your Peril Masquerading as Landscape Quizo Update

I was quite distraught this weekend that Tiger Woods did not win the Masters, despite the best efforts of everyone PLAYING at the Masters to let him win. Time and again Tiger would slip up, and time and again the entire field would back up their scores to keep him in contention. Once he put his second shot in the water on 15 yesterday, though, it was too late for the field to rush and course-correct themselves to keep Tiger in the hunt, since everyone else was pretty much in the clubhouse by then.

I will admit, though, that those Sam Elliott IBM commercials do make it go down a little easier.

That, however, wasn't the most important sporting news to come out of this weekend.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qr4e0us7zxI

This is a conversation I had Saturday afternoon with a friend of mine who is a big Manchester United fan.

Me: Hey, you know what the first mp3 player was called?

Him: No?

Me: The RIO!

Him: Shut up.

Me: You know what my favorite city in South America is?

Him: Shut up.

Me: Actually it's La Paz.

Him: Oh.

Me: But I'm also a big fan of RIO!

Him: Shut up.

Me: Hey, let me put my favorite Peter Allen song on iTunes. Let me just find The Boy From Oz on here...

Him: What?

[I Go To Rio starts playing]

Me: (singing) RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIOOOOOOOOOOOO... I GO TO RIIIIIIOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Him: Shut up.

Me: (over Peter Allen) Or, you know, I could put on my favorite Duran Duran album. Want to guess what that is?

Him: God I hate you.

Me: When I get a new car I think I'm going to get a Kia Rio.

Him: You're not going to buy a Korean car.

Me: Sure I will. You know why?

Him: Please die.

Me: Because HER NAAAAAME IS RIIIIOOOOOOOOO AND SHE DANCES ON THE SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND!

In all honesty I don't really have a favorite Peter Allen song - I do have the Boy From Oz soundtrack on my iTunes, though - but Rio actually is far and away my favorite Duran Duran album.

Most importantly, Chelsea is three points back with 6 to play. GAME ON, BITCHES! GAME ON!

JLK