en-us Copyright 2008 - All Rights Reserved. Mon, 23 Nov 2009 06:08:46 GMT 15 By Justin Williams
The blog is back! This is the third time in a row now that I have somehow convinced the higher-ups to allow all you blog readers to be subject to my many ramblings and insane thoughts on anything and everything. As usual, you can find the first two editions of the Buzz Blog somewhere on this site if you want to catch-up or refresh your memory. I feel making it to my third blog is a great sign. Many good things have come in 3’s; there is “The Godfather Trilogy” (always a classic), the Jonas Brothers (will likely challenge The Beatles for greatest band of all-time in the near future), and we are currently on the third season of “Flavor of Love” (I’m sure this one will stick for him). So yeah, I have obvious reason to be pumped about the third installment of the Buzz Blog. I mean, just having anything at all in common with the “Jo Bros” gets me excited enough as it is. Let’s get to it. The school year is winding down, and the “post-Spring Break” feelings of laziness have kicked in (they kicked in for me around October, but most have held out until now). But after experiencing the final Spring Break of the “Kindergarten-12th Grade” chapter of my life, I have finally come to a startling conclusion: Spring Break stinks. It’s hard to believe that any student would make this statement, that an 18 year-old high school senior would utter those words, but it’s true, and I’ll tell you why. Spring Break is the biggest tease in the education process, and has been for some time. The view from “pre-Spring Break” is always excitement over having a week off in late March or early April of your school year. However, “post-Spring Break” analysis clearly shows that you were given a taste of Summer Vacation, a hint of freedom, and suddenly it was all taken away. The summer is so close, and you are so burnt-out from the past six months of school, that going back after Spring Break is more torture than any student (or teacher) would have ever dreamed possible. It’s like that book “Flowers For Algernon”; we suffer through nearly an entire year of school, finally get to experience what our freedom might be like, and just like that we are back where we started from. How can we be expected to go back to school when we already know what it will feel like when we’re done? It just does not seem fair. (Short tangent: Is it a terrible thing that the majority of society would understand the “Flavor of Love” reference but not the “Flowers For Algernon” allusion? Is it disheartening that people of all age demographics identify more with the Jonas Brothers than with 9th Grade level literature? Hard to say.) If I had thought all of this through earlier, our senior class prank should have been that none of the seniors came back to school following Spring Break. Don’t really know if that would have proved anything, but at least I would have had the extra time off. While on my Spring Break I had the opportunity to get tickets to a NASCAR race in Tennessee, and I easily chose against it. A great deal of Americans are in love with this stock-car sport, but I have never been one to catch on. I can’t get into it. I have nothing against racing in general, or even the fact that they just drive around in circles. I think it takes a great deal of skill and concentration to succeed in the sport, but I have simply never found an interest in it. I think the biggest pet-peeve I have with NASCAR is the way in which fans and announcers of the sport see and relate to the cars as real people. It seems that at times they forget that human beings are inside the vehicles. The cars are more often referred to by their number rather than the driver inside. Hearing announcers say, “The 44 car really made a big mistake there,” or “The 22 car just put itself into the wall,” is mind-boggling at times. They know who’s in the car! Use the driver’s name! The car didn’t make the mistake, Bob Whatshisface made the mistake. The cars are not living, breathing creatures. What I find even more infuriating is when the drivers themselves make the cars seem real. “The 36 car really ran great today,” is one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard. You’re driving the car!!! You drove great today, not the car. If you had sat in the car, turned it on, and then done absolutely nothing, you would not have moved the entire race. No one ever hears sprinters complimenting their shoes or swimmers thanking their goggles, so why is NASCAR so obsessed with making the car out to be the hero. I will never understand. While I’m talking about things that bother me, let’s look at “Deal or No Deal.” Any frequent reader of the Buzz Blog knows that I have a deep seated hatred for the show; every contestant seems to become more and more annoying, and I have yet to see anyone on the show play the game right and come out making a good deal. It’s ridiculous. But one thing about the show that really gets to me is the way the “case girls” act. It never fails that the girls holding the numbered cases are always pulling for each contestant, seeming overcome with joy any time a “low case” (low amount of money eliminated) is opened and depressed beyond belief whenever a “high case” (opposite of low case) is opened. Now I could be wrong, but I have a hard time believing that each girl really invests that much hope in each contestant. Are we expected to believe that the girls are really rooting for them that hard? They stand on stage for two or three shows a week, witnessing two or three different contestants for each show. Do they truly want each one to win that badly? Do they honestly die a little bit inside each time the million dollar case is knocked out of the game? I suppose it’s possible, but I wouldn’t bet on it. I personally feel they are just praying to get their number called so they can open the case and go lounge around backstage until the next contestant comes on. And if that is true, I’m not criticizing or condemning them for it; I would feel the exact same way if I was in their position. As long as I’m whining about pet-peeves of mine, I might as well share my thoughts on rap music in today’s culture. Now I am not a huge fan of rap music, but I like a little of it and have never had a problem tolerating it. Plus, I would listen to it any day over country music, but that’s a different story. The thing I don’t get about rap music is why the rappers constantly yell out their names in each song they churn out. If you listen to rap music, you will hear the name (or names) of the artist singing numerous times throughout the song. It seems like they are afraid if they don’t throw their name out their, someone else will steal the lyrics and pass them off as their own. I don’t know if it’s an ego thing or just an unwritten rule in the rap culture, but it is something I have never understood. You never heard Frank Sinatra or the Beatles randomly shout out their names in the background of their songs. Bob Marley and Bruce Springsteen never worked their own namesake into their lyrics, so why do rappers feel obligated? And I doubt it has anything to do with their egos. If that was the case, Bono would be screaming his name during U2 songs and Madonna would be working her name into anything she wrote. I don’t get it. If the reason is commonplace knowledge or widely known among rap fans, feel free to fill me in. I (JUSTIN!!!) just don’t understand. I recently re-watched “Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones” on T.V. I hadn’t seen it for quite some time, so watching it reminded me of the defining characteristic of the film: Hayden Christiansen was bad. Really bad. Christiansen played young Anakin Skywalker (although not nearly as young as the Anakin from Episode I), and it was essentially his first big break into acting. Now I have nothing against Hayden Christiansen, and I’m sure he’s a great guy. He is, however, the kiss of death when starring in a movie. He has had very little success throughout his young acting career. While he showed potential in “Life as a House,” one of his earliest films, he has not impressed many since (myself included, for what it’s worth). His performances as Anakin in Episodes II and III were poor, and his last two major films (“Awake” and “Jumper”) were box-office duds. It’s unfortunate; he’s a good looking kid that has shown some potential, but he has the curse of making bad movies or acting poorly in the good ones. He’s on par with Dane Cook in the aspect of being a lead/major actor washout, but at least Dane Cook has his stand-up to fall back on. Christiansen does not have that luxury. Watching Episode II just reminded me how wrong he was for the role of “Skywalker/future Darth Vader” all together. First off, he seemed to be the only character that aged between the first two episodes. Anakin in Episode I was played by 10 year-old Jake Lloyd. Christiansen, however, was about 21 years-old when he played Anakin in Episode II, while everyone else in the film looked about the same as in the first movie (and were played by the same characters). Now this problem can’t be blamed entirely on Christiansen, but it’s just more proof that his casting was all wrong. As far as his acting went, he hardly seemed like a young Darth Vader. In the first three “Star Wars” movies produced (technically Episodes IV-VI) Darth was a cold, calculated villain that was always in control and always feared by those around him (save for the blubbering and suddenly compassionate Darth right before he died in Episode VI). Christiansen, on the other hand, portrayed Anakin as moody, immature, self-conscious, and in all honesty, somewhat of a wuss - for lack of a better word. I found it hard to believe that the Anakin played by Christiansen would become the same intimidating, threatening, “voiced-by-James Earl Jones” rogue that was Darth Vader (he could choke people using only two fingers, WITHOUT touching them!!). “Star Wars” had already given us Darth. It then needed to give us an Anakin that could live up to the hype as the most feared Sith Lord in the galaxy (and yes, I realize I sound incredibly nerdy while writing this, but I think you get my point). Maybe we were to assume that Anakin just hardened and became the menace that is Darth, but I’m not buying that. And it still doesn’t atone for Christiansen’s poor performance. The two characters just didn’t match. It would be like casting Wayne Brady to play a “pre-Samuel L. Jackson” version of “Shaft” or having Jude Law star as a “pre-Sylvester Stallone” version of “Rambo.” It wouldn’t add up. Finally, I wanted to close out this blog with some final thoughts on my late grandfather, Omar Williams. Better known as the “Dean of Sportscasters” in Dayton, Ohio, he worked for TV2 WDTN-TV as a sports broadcaster for some 47 years (he was kind of the “Ron Burgundy of Dayton”…kind of) . He recently passed away, just weeks shy of turning 84 years young. If you have yet to read my recent article about him (“A Final Farewell to the Dean”) you can find it on this site, and I encourage you to check it out; he was a heck of a guy. However, after talking to my aunt following his passing, I realized that the article would have been much too heavy for The Dean himself. I could never write enough words to do the man justice, but he was much more than just a sports broadcaster. He was a unique guy, a matchless personality. My Aunt Sue (a pretty unique gal herself) and I conversed over some of the “non-sports” sides of Omar, and I thought I should share some of them as my final thoughts. His full name was Omar Leroy Williams, Jr; now picture a rail thin, older Caucasian gentleman with a “Walter Cronkite-esque” mustache named Omar Leroy Williams, Jr…that image alone is pretty humorous. But Omar certainly had style. In his later years, he drove an ’88 navy blue Jaguar convertible (mint condition), and had previously driven a classic, light blue Mercedes (The Dean always rode in style). He always wore the old-school golfer style ivy caps, to go with the tight, pastel-colored button-up shirts and the brightly colored plaid slacks. Go back and watch the scene in the recent remake of “Starsky and Hutch” where Vince Vaughn’s character is playing golf; that’s how Omar dressed just about every day. It was stylish in the ‘70s, so The Dean figured he would stick with it. He even used to tap out jazz beats with his diamond pinky ring. Pinky rings are not an easy thing for guys to pull off (especially if they’re not wearing fur coats and feathered hats), but Omar did it without a hitch. The Dean was a published author. His first book, Check Your Local TV Listings, was a memoir released in 2000. He finished his second book, this one being fiction, about a week before he passed away; it will certainly be published in the near future. Back in his “hay-day” he owned a small pub called Omar’s Tavern in Dayton. They even made golf balls with a caricature of his face on it. He always used to jingle his keys in his pocket and was constantly singing, but it was never allowed at the dinner table. I hear he also made some mean French toast. The Dean would always stop and chat with anyone that recognized him, and always started off by saying “Hey gang…” when he would call us on the phone or come to visit. Anything good that ever happened was a “good deal,” and anything bad deserved a “dog-gonnit!” And when recalling an old memory, story or reminiscence of an old friend, he would almost always finish by saying “I don’t know where all the time went…” Those of us that knew him can now understand exactly what he meant. As always, thanks for reading. ]]> Tue, 20 May 2008 12:58:00 GMT