The Sounds My Neighbor Makes

June 21, 2013 by J. Nelson 2 Comments

Yeah, getting to know my neighbors means getting over myself

It’s funny, wanting to stand out. We desire individuality and to express ourselves uniquely, but we’re pleased when we discover we’re just like those we want to stand apart from. We enjoy learning that celebrities have wrinkles, blotchy skin, and one leg longer than the other. We gobble up captured private moments of public figures and we’re eager to learn how much in common we have with those whose fabulous lives we insist could never be ours. I can’t even imagine having anything in common with Paula Deen, but you get the idea…

Down here on earth and up the street on which my wife and I live, I smile when I hear my next-door neighbor drops his keys and mutters under his breath, still balancing things in his hands. I hear his daughter ask questions he either doesn’t have the answer to or has no patience to explain, and though I don’t have children myself, his impatience is gratifying. It’s not his exasperation that makes me root for him, but rather the certainty that I’d be likewise confounded. Soon the daughter will be older and bolder. Maybe she’ll hide his keys behind her back one afternoon and I’ll lean in to hear how it turns out.

In the meantime, like watching some vulgar, egomaniacal luminary who’s been stripped down to my level of hygiene and over-limit fees, overheard and superficial commonalities with my neighbors will have to do. Read more

Over Her Dead Body

June 6, 2013 by J. Nelson 1 Comment

No way was photographer Vivian Maier gonna go out on top.

All images © Vivian Maier/Maloof Collection

For those unfamiliar with the Vivian Maier story, it’s a simple one that never changes. Vivian was a professional nanny who, in her off time, wandered around bad neighborhoods and metropolises snapping pictures of just about everyone from derelicts to fashionable women, cops, and lots of kids. Before she died in a Chicago nursing home in 2009, Maier had amassed over 120,000 images of strangers in streets, slums, and shadows. An extremely secretive woman, she never shared her activities, travels abroad, or any of her photos. With anyone. Not in fifty years of practicing street photography.

At the time of her passing, Maier was in possession of none of her work – not a single negative. This is to say, reel after reel of 8 and 16 mm film; personal writings and cassette tapes containing her voice recordings; personal observations on you-name-it; and seven hundred rolls of undeveloped color film. In 2007, it all had been forfeited to a storage company due to unpaid fees, for Vivian had begun this century almost destitute. She was powerless to stop the contents of the unit from being sold to a Chicago auction firm.

To those who knew her, or thought they did (namely, the grown children she’d cared for), she was a recluse, a hoarder, and a peculiar spirit. But to the many who now consider her one of the most prolific and talented street photographers in the history of the medium, she is an ambiguous monolith of isolation, genius, and resolve. Read more

Josh Blue is Where Excuses Go to Die

May 19, 2013 by J. Nelson

Creator of the “Palsy Punch” is still swinging that “arm”

In my love of all things standup, near the top of my favorites list is the sterotype-defying Josh Blue, who rose to fame on NBC’s Last Comic Standing. Cerebral palsy may have its grip on Josh, but his audiences see only the spirit and soul of a hundred three-legged horses rushing the corral gate.

Josh works to change our perceptions of people with disabilities by shoving, ‘er shaking, them into the spotlight and relishing the discomfort the rest of us must get past as a result. If you’re not familiar with Blue’s comedy, you’re in for an uplifting surprise – and not like, “oh look, the boy in the wheel chair made a funny!” His bits are as relevant to fans as airport TSA screenings. (His proposed “No Ham, No Fly” screening policy is brilliant.) Blue’s no Zach Galifianakis, which is good, especially since million-dollar paychecks don’t really measure comedic success when your stock-in-trade –an awkward physical presence– isn’t an act. And for the record, no material Galifianakis offers is nearly as original or free of artificiality.

If you subscribe to cable’s Showtime, you can catch Josh Blue: Sticky Change running ’til the end of this month. It’s workman-like, practiced comedic craft. And though no Internet clips can match “Sticky Change” for irreverence and hilarity, YouTube has no shortage of Josh Blue samples for you to check out. The best of ’em, I think, are those that challenge people’s comfort zones, like when Blue pretends to be homeless or approaches a random gangbanger on the street for help with opening a popsicle. “It’s hard to look hard when you’re opening a Popsicle!”

It’s reverse teasing, as he calls it: “I’m makin’ fun you, makin’ fun of me, by making fun of me –again– and somehow cripple comes out on top!” Ah, but don’t confuse Josh Blue’s self-deprecating humor with some condescending “It’s okay to laugh!” tour of your own stereotypes of physical disability. That element is there for those who need it, but everyone is first required to get over their pity reflex. This stuff is funny; not just funny-from-a-guy-with-palsy.

Josh Blue was meant to lead by example and lead he does, sometimes with a middle finger in the air. I can think of no comedian working a microphone today who brings together audiences more diverse than Josh Blue. He’s clever, witty, and tremendously admirable – not least of all for his refusal to make excuses.

The “Poo” in Reese Witherspoon

April 23, 2013 by J. Nelson

Actress and patriot stands up for shit-faced Americans.

In Atlanta, Georgia last week, actress Reese Witherspoon did the Disorderly Conduct dance during an altercation with Georgia State Patrol Officers over her husband’s DUI stop. Witherspoon got mouthy, so the police got bossy. She was told to sit in her car, but she got in an officer’s face instead, allegedly multiple times. Once out of the car, she’s said to have shouted, “I am a U.S. citizen! I am allowed to stand on American ground!”

But the Stand-Your-Ground law doesn’t apply to drunk uncles, so only after hands were firmly placed on Witherspoon’s shoulders in anticipation of a struggle did she become physically compliant. Still, as the cuffs went on, so did Witherspoon, with the sanctimonious don’t-you-know-who-I am!? schtick. The arresting officer assured the tantrum-throwing actress that he didn’t need to know her name, but Reese wouldn’t let him diffuse things with his cop mind tricks. She reportedly insisted he’d soon find out who she is, and under the harsh light of national attention. But the harsh light of the Atlanta City Jail got to her first.

File this one under the Diminished Expectations reserved for most public figures, but Witherspoon deserves credit for not blaming her drunken stupidity on ibuprofen, eye irritation, Hollywood exhaustion, or a condition known as hotdog fingers. While staying clear of details or comments so loved by Saturday Night Live writers, the actress issued an apology, taking full responsibility for playing the celebrity card about as discreetly as Bieber or Lohan. As she sought to distance herself from the roadside antics of a skank – going so far as to state that her fear of the police is no excuse for her behavior – she showed relative class. Relative because the fear line is horse-poo. Berating police as if they were uppity house servants isn’t what terrified arrestees do, but she used the ides of it to her advantage, creating a platform upon which to rise above entitled pardons. The celebrity world has spoken in Witherspoon’s favor, as expected, but she earns it with:

“I was disrespectful to the officer who was just doing his job. The words I used that night definitely do not reflect who I am. I have nothing but respect for the police and I’m very sorry for my behavior.”

Who cares if she has respect for the police or not? Who cares whether those are really her own words? Her lawyer has already won approval for a pretrial intervention plan that would allow Witherspoon to avoid a conviction, yet her statement demonstrates an awareness of how her actions affect those around her. Like it or not, at least it’s contributory. She has every reason to be embarrassed, but for an event of such utter meaninglessness, it offers – Witherspoon offers – a meaningful lesson: Own your poo!

Excuses FAIL of the Month

April 14, 2013 by J. Nelson 1 Comment

A1 Dumbass offers a meandering, self-righteous “apology”

Let’s get one thing straight out the gate here: GET CHARACTER OR BECOME ONE!

Florida police sergeant Ron King was canned for offering his colleagues practice shooting targets with a silhouette resembling Trayvon Martin. Less than 24 hours later, King’s my-side-of-the-story video, which he was stupid enough to post on YouTube, is a rambling, groan-inducing effort that only negates any argument or principle he petulantly wants us to recognize.

“The events that took place on April 2 are as follows,” King says, only to literally recite his resume. Instead of coming from the heart, speaking like a real person, or offering a human perspective, he hides behind a learned chain-of-command persona. Far from helping him make a point, it made me think of the cop-groupie weirdness of George Zimmerman, Trayvon Martin’s killer.

King’s immediate reliance on semantics to muddy his intention leads directly to his claim of victimhood for himself and the Martin family. But King doesn’t see the Martins as wronged in the way you might think: this cabbage-head, who blithely proposed an illustration of their dead son for firearms training, believes that both he and the Martins are simply the subjects of agenda-driven manipulation and “lies,” for which they are equally entitled to “feel used and violated.” This jaw-dropping lack of awareness makes his opening “apology” to Trayvon’s family awkward as hell, and it’s downright cringe-worthy when King loses his place reiterating it later, after stating gallantly that he refuses to sit by and let himself be used for another’s gain. Read more

The Standards of a Stand-up Guy

February 4, 2013 by J. Nelson 2 Comments

Richard McCarthy’s 4-year-old son received oral sex on numerous occasions from a 5-year-old female classmate at First Lutheran Church of Carson School. McCarthy’s son wasn’t the only one, and it didn’t just happen on the playground.

The school was cited for a lack of classroom supervision and an inappropriate teacher-to-student ratio. The given reason for the school’s sudden closure is being called a lie, and parents are beside themselves with anger. The Department of Child Protective Services is all over the situation, a lawsuit is about to be launched, blah, blah, blah. That’s the stuff we can set our watches by.

And McCarthy’s a man we can set our admiration on. Read more

The Patron Saint of Pedophilia

January 24, 2013 by J. Nelson

Retired Archbishop of Los Angeles, Cardinal Roger M. Mahony, represents everything I despise about having been raised Catholic: the lies, the hypocrisy, the rhetorical and dogmatic absurdities, the intimidating ideology of compliance as a measure of success and happiness – all of it.
Granted, these are the characteristics of a church and its minions known to those who experienced so-called “old-school” nuns and priests, but here we are in 2013, and Mahony — a man who protected and made excuses for child molesters for many years — is only now getting that metaphorical boot in the ass, as he’s kicked into oblivion. Read more

LIVESTRONG SOMEWHERE ELSE, ASSHOLE

January 16, 2013 by J. Nelson

Everyone deserves a second chance, Lance, but you don’t get to have yours so soon. Right now, you just need to shut the hell up. You’re a clown. Compared to how much you’ve diminished our expectations of those we look up to, you’ve accomplished little. Thanks.

And what’s with the sudden need to half-admit your wrongs anyway? Are you gonna compete again? Ha! Anywhere you race in the future, the media will follow, robbing legitimate athletes of acknowledgment they deserve. Your presence will render competition pointless, you selfish, cow-blood injecting weirdo!

We’ve read about your angry denials; we’ve watched you dare others to courtroom challenges. Over ten years, you’ve either bullied or sued your accusers and railed against anyone who fingered you as a cheat. So it’s a safe bet your prime time contrition is as phony as your denials.

Your so-called “intense” confession to Oprah Winfrey is an egotistical joke, you no testicle-having weasel. And why Oprah? Her soft-hearted fans can’t save you. Your sympathy-for-the-asshole schtick smacks of ex-Illinois Governor, Rod Blagojevich, another guy who couldn’t live without media attention. For you, for years, the name “Lance Armstrong” will be synonymous with fraud and cowardice. There’s your legacy, you sport-tarnishing, cancer foundation-destroying drug dealer.

Happy Holidays – They’re On You

December 25, 2012 by J. Nelson

“Shooter” Is Now a Job Description

December 13, 2012 by J. Nelson

“I am the shooter!” Oregon mall gunman Jacob Tyler Roberts reportedly shouted as he opened fire. He did so as if he’d just reached the top level of an Xbox game. Roberts wasn’t playing a game, though: his actions were a Schizoid’s demand for attention. But Xbox or no, in his mind, he won.

I figure that at the rate America is crankin’ out these sick, dumb animals, it won’t be long before “Shooter” becomes even more aspirational. Of course, nobody aspires from childhood to kill themselves after spraying a Banana Republic with bullets, nor has any job application yet been written for a Highway Sniper. Yet Roberts wanted us to know he was in charge, if only briefly. Per his announcement, he’d achieved his “be all you can be” moment.

Welcome to the real Tomorrowland, where basic job application categories may soon collide horrifically with the mental distortion of dumbed down America. This is where “shooter” can substitute for “teacher,” “bus driver,” or “dentist,” because gaining notoriety — in this case for shooting up a food court — has essentially become a viable version of the American Dream. Read more