A Message From Poppycock
►
Wait, What?
Five Things I Never Want to Hear Before I’m Knocked Unconscious
“Wait a minute, man. Let me get the video camera. You know you’re gonna want to throw this trick up on YouTube. OK, go, go, go!”
“All right, you get his pants off and I’ll get the handcuffs. Wait, is he still awake? Get more Chloroform, dammit!”
“Look, I’ve tested the prototype on like 20 melons. You’re not gonna feel a thing. Just put it on and I’ll take a swing at ya. No big deal. Ready?”
“Yeah, man. I flipped all the breakers. You’re fine. Here, now just grab those wires…”
“I know you’ve been fucking my girlfriend, Steve. Not again, Steve. (Crack!) Shit, you’re not Steve.” (Crack!)
Page One Review
Page One is a compelling and revealing look in to one year at the New York Times; the Old Grey Lady. By dumb luck, the documentary is filmed during an incredible and controversial time at the paper. During a round of layoffs, as the news world crumbles around their feet causing people to question whether the paper can survive, and during the publishing of the wikileaks of secret government cables; the viewer gets an unfiltered look in to the behind-the-scenes goings on at the paper.
The film really centers around David Carr, a journalist for the NYT. David is a compelling character to center the film around. He is outspoken, unapologetic, and profound in his writing. David, after years of drug abuse, alcohol abuse, and dark times in his life, shines as a traditional reporter in the new media world. The documentary covers the Media Desk, which was created to follow the changes in the media and new industry, including what was happening at the NYT.
It is a fascinating study in the changes in news-gathering, which includes film from symposium about news, and how many new media figureheads seem to resent the NYT and big newspapers for a perceived lack of credibility, which David Carr takes an exception to, and at one presents a web front page from one of the aggregate sites, with all the stories taken from big newspapers cut out…there wasn’t much content left.
David is a great protagonist for the film, the look in to story pitch meetings, and real news gathering, trying to get confirmation on stories, get people to go on record, and the minutia of doing proper journalism which seems to occur mostly through a series of tedious phone calls.
The documentary is fascinating. As a “writer,” I found it to be truly provocative, exciting, and a fascinating look in to the back room hard work that goes on to make a daily publication such as this happen. There are great retrospectives in to some scandals the NYT has endured to compromise its integrity, a little history, and a daily walk through reporting and getting copy from a journalist’s desk to the front page.
It comes from some of the people behind Waiting For Superman; Food, Inc.; and An Inconvenient Truth. Though you can argue that there is a liberal bias to these earlier films, there is enough stark fact and truth to keep it from feeling too much like an agenda-bent film. I highly suggest a look in to the film to see what work goes in to the words, and to maybe make you reconsider your potentially toxic distaste for “lame-stream” media.
Page One is available for online streaming on Netflix, so pop it in to your queue.
GOP Storefronts: Whose Got The Best Swag?
There is plenty of criticism out there about the candidates that still feel that they have a snowball’s chance at the White House. With 18 debates under our belts, We are going to be exceeding the season episode run for most television shows. This is like the worst Survivor: Campaign Trail season ever. They are saving the best stuff for sweeps week, I’m sure. I can’t wait to buy the BluRay with all the featurettes and director commentary.
This not withstanding, I keep watching people give an edge to this candidate or another. Who won this debate? Who won this poll, this Caucus, this campaign ad run? Whose taxes are the most flattering? Who has had the most wives? Who is the most racist? Whose policies are the most toxic for this country? Which candidate will be the President in our final days before postapocolyptia?
These are all valid questions, and unless someone produces a talking Pegasus as a running mate, no one is going to look like the right guy for the job. I would love to join the pundit cacophony, railing on policy, voting record, plans, stances, personal background, and whether Newt or Romney looks like the bigger asshole (hint: it’s Gingrich). Instead, I want to rate these guys via a litmus test that is often overlooked: Whose got the best swag.
In a search of their respective campaign websites, you can get your hands on an abundance of campaign collectibles. Between the four remaining candidates there is a variety of design and thought, and not so much thought, that went in to the design of the goodies you can get your hands on to support (ironically or otherwise) the candidate you’d like to see champion the upcoming GOP Waterloo. Without further adieu, our rankings of the best place to get your GOPSwag.
4. Rick Santorum. Join The Fight
By the slimmest of margins, Rick Santorum is bringing up the rear. With just two T-shirt designs, no yard signs, and a fucking tote bag, Rick did not drop enough funds on design and marketing groups to double-check this haphazard storefront. The eagle design, Rick? Really? It’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think? Besides the overall design is the lack of choices and repetitive design. If you look closely at the stickers and other “gear” and stickers, you will see that the product is described as “Rick Santorum for President Bumper Sticker.” Upon further examination, the “for” is oddly absent, so the sticker just reads, “Rick Santorum President.” It’s presumptuous at best, a terrible design at best. With swag like this, it’s no wonder you will never top the definition of santorum when you Google yourself. I mean, a tote bag…no wonder you’ll never win. Everyone else is going network and you’re giving us public broadcasting. Tisk, tisk. You know how Republicans feel about that shit.
3. Newt Gingrich. Rebuild the America We Love
THE Newt Gingrich. Yep, the womanizing, racist, dodging dick, stays out of the bottom spot based on a couple of key points and with a worst case scenario kind of campaign slogan. If your Gingrich support doesn’t stop at exploitation, then you can pick up this adorable “small pet bandana” and truly Newt-er your dog. I like the “I’m With Newt” Sticker bundle. I love most of the bundles. The Volunteer Package is a nice way of putting your supporters to work…while making them pay to do so. My favorite is the “Victory Package.” If you don’t want to be out-newt-ed (even by Newt), you can get this all-inclusive pack for a scant $60. You get the T-shirt, the yard sign, the coffee mug (on which immediacy is taking a backseat to leadership importance), the decal, the buttons, and the hat. NEWT2012. I don’t like the fucking Polo though, Newt. C’mon. Blue collar folk can’t afford a $40 white-collar. Know the voting base to whom you’re pandering. So, you’re in third. If that hoodie had been zip-up, and not pull-over, you might have pulled second.
2. Mitt Romney. Believe in America
I’m a believer. I truly believe America is real and not a figment of my imagination. What else you got? As it is, Romney comes charging in at second. What landed this Mormon Capitalist at number two? It isn’t selection. There isn’t much here. It isn’t affordably price. After seeing his taxes and what he makes everyday in interest off capital gains, I can see that $35 for a long-sleeve T-shirt seems reasonable; and sixty buck for a quarter-zip sweatshirt doesn’t get a second glance. Wait, a quarter-zip? Hold your criticism, I’ll explain. There is one sweet ass zip-up hoodie here, and I’m a sucker for a hoodie. Furthermore, he doesn’t exploit animals as Newt does. No, fuck that. We put Romney logos on babies, bitch. Freaking Romney ONESIE! Despite a “R” logo that looks like the Pepsi logo fucked the Girl Scouts of America design; he’s got the yard signs, the exploitation of the too-young-to-vote, sweet buttons, stickers, a badass hoodie, and the obligatory one pretentious piece of apparel. Romney: Second with a bullet.
1. Ron Paul. Restore America Now
I know Paul wanted it to say "hell"
Ron Paul! At number one is our Ross Perot. It’s as if Ralph Nader was dehydrated and reduced to a frail mass of explosive political beef stock flavor. And his apparel!? Ed Hardy is on the ropes if Paul can get these threads in the storefronts, son. Okay, he’s got the yard signs. He’s got the stickers. Yeah, yeah, yeah. How about what he’s got that no one else in their right minds would sell to support a presidential campaign: Ron Paul Family Cookbook, “I HEART Ron Paul” wristbands, a pocket constitution, party balloons, and a fucking beer koozie! His shirts are awesome, his rEVOLution stickers and shirt designs remind me Sage Francis’ last album cover. I mean, look at this shirt! He’s even got a beanie. In true Ron Paul fashion, he’s also got packs of outlines of different issues facing America. Prosperity, energy independence, protect gun rights, standing up for homeschooling, pro-life, protect marriage, worker’s rights, lower taxes, and more! If I didn’t disagree so much with all his platforms, I’d fucking vote for him. He’s out of his ever-loving mind. He’s ever-imitatable and rife for parody. Ron Paul is the politician we all say we want to vote for, but we’re all too afraid of the sight of him once he’s right in front of us. I love his swag, though.
So there is our Poppycock breakdown of the political candidates left standing in the race. Based solely on political paraphernalia, we would like to call it now: Ron Paul will be the next GOP candidate for President. It’s bold, and it’s most certainly poppycock, but if his shirts are any indicator, he’s got this thing locked the fuck up!
For our first GOP candidate piece, and more traditional breakdown of possible candidates before it all began, click here. The person I feel the worst for is the guy now sitting on 1,000 Rick Perry for President buttons that arrived at his double wide last week. Poor bastard. You could’ve had a beer koozie.
The Myth That Died a Man: JoePa
“You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” -Harvey Dent
I suppose I could stop writing with this. As articulate and accurate a quote one might need to describe the rise and fall of the late Joe Paterno. There is more to this eulogy piece than just a pop culture reference and a sad tone of the death of a man; I really won’t be eulogizing anything as tawdry as dirty laundry.
Joe Paterno became a man more myth than reality starting in 1966. He was accessible and real as your average Joe, yet he was anything but. At a school as steeped in tradition as Penn State was, he steeped it further with undefeated seasons, almost three dozen bowl appearances, National and Big Ten titles, and a dedication to the University that saw him turning down NFL contracts for more money and higher prestige. He was Penn State, building its reputation and filling its trophy cases year after year; 46 to be exact.
Despite the revelations of the last year, Joe spent his career instilling moral fiber, ethics, and academics in to his student-athletes; he placed a premium on education first. Joe was a character, always good for a pull quote and a smile on game day. It took serious injury to keep him off the sideline and the practice field. In his last few years he took quite a few hits, including a cracked pelvis, I think, and injured himself while trying to show a 19-year-old football player exactly how to block…he was more than 80 at the time.
Joe lived for Saturday, for every practice, and clearly loved that University and what it stood for more than just about anything. He gave graciously and deeply of his wealth back to the school. He opened his home to students happily. He was a tenacious competitor and a man who literally loved what he did to death.
Many thought he was done coaching a few years back. Injuries, health complication, just the frank starkness of the numerical number of birthdays he’d celebrated on this planet. He never wavered. He signed that extension that stood, in my eyes, as the last contract he ever intended signing; it was the contract that guaranteed he’d be the active Lions’ coach when God finally took him.
We now know this isn’t the case. He left the school almost as fast as he left the good graces of the public. I would love to sit here and argue for Joe. I would love to spin a tale of a personal code and a man who came from “a different time.” “He’s old school” just doesn’t seem to cut it in this case, but I feel that I could build a decent defense for a man who molded men with a moral and ethical code that he may have lacked at his deepest principles.
One can’t ask him, can’t interview him, and he can no longer defend himself; so inference is just hearsay and presumption. I instead want to focus on the fact that it wasn’t the lung cancer that finally got ol’ Joe off the sidelines. He lost football.
Football was his elixir of life. His fountain of youth was turf, pig skin, and running out of the tunnel. His years were reversed with the never-ending odyssey of getting better, winning, and coaching up the best team he could. Time stopped for Joe when he was on the field.
In his later years, I think football didn’t just keep him young, it kept him alive. You hear of a man passing shortly after their wife of 50 years dies. You hear of people seemingly hanging on just long enough to see their grandchild born, or their only child finally married off and blissfully happy; and they do it despite all the odds against them. And lastly you hear of the men, the women, who spend their entire life in a career they love, and shortly after retiring, kick off. This wretchedness is what fell JoePa. He was a man stripped of a love of his life. Purpose keeps many men alive, and without Penn, the tides of time came washing in and claimed the years he’d cheated from Death.
I dare not speak ill of a man who embodied something as righteous as an institution that is not the buildings, not the board, not the trustees, but is the alumni and the student body; just as the church is the congregation, not the building. Everyone has their secrets, and JoePa almost made it to the grave with his. Had he died but months earlier, then he could have died a god, but instead he wasted away like any other man. This might be the thing that hurts many the most: He was just a flawed man and not the myth that had developed around him.
Joe was a man of small stature but inexplicably seemed to cast a shadow that all too many fell in; he was flesh and bone legend. It all came crashing down around him, for choices made; and as suddenly as he looked forever invincible, to look upon him after revelations was to see a now frail, aged, and near helpless man who seemed crestfallen and beleaguered in shoulders that once bore the weight of all the hopes of Penn State faithful every Saturday with not a second thought.
Joe was once a pillar of a community, now defiled and tagged with smeared graffiti at his own hand, and seemed to every year baffle analyst and people as to his ability to keep coming back despite injuries and illness. He kept getting back up when men his age had been in the ground for a decade, but once they pulled the life support from him his strength could bear the weight of debts owed no longer. His warped loyalty lost him football. Football was what kept him alive. A tragic suicide, but one to be held in some semblance of respect. No man should be judged by any one event. He is a culmination of all his actions, and the balance of the good done in his years will far outweigh the debt of his inactions when his life’s sums are counted.
“The seat of knowledge is in the head; of wisdom, in the heart. We are sure to judge wrong, if we do not feel right.” -William Hazlitt
