It's the beginning of another year and Hollywood is about to force the world's bored souls (you know, the type of people who sit around reading humor sites on the Internet) through another year of bland to bad movies.
But before we dive any further in, we here at Re:Whatever must make a great decision: Which movie gets the grand prize for 2002? We are not the Academy. No one is paying us off, and there is nothing political going on (except the partisan battle every week over who is slacking the most on the update). We will give the "Best Damn Movie of the Year" award based completely on fact-- our opinion.
But just to add to the warm fuzzy feeling of democracy, we want you to tell us what should get the grand cash prize, or, if you like, which film should be considered under no circumstances. At least one reason, however inane, must accompany each entry.
Those of you that have spent the past year whining that you want to write for us, but you don't know what to write about- NOW is your chance. So write a title and a sentence or two or 100. I anticipate great things. At least they had better be great things to change my mind (yes, of course it’s already made up).
Then sit by your computer and wait until we deem it the time to run another update. Anticipate with bated breath the chance that you may have chosen a winner. Too bad this is the internet and not a race track, because, frankly, you could make more money forwarding one of Bill Gates’ emails than off of us.
Thursday, January 30, 2003
Boxing Day: A Reform of the American Holiday Season
by Anna
As you return to your boring old daily routine, following the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, are you left with a feeling of exhaustion and relief that it’s all over? Or are you thinking, “More! More! MORE!”
If you are like me, you could use one extra day of fun in there with Hanukkah, my birthday, Christmas Eve, Christmas, Kwanzaa and New Year’s Eve, boys and girls, there’s an answer: December 26th, Boxing Day. (Yes, Kwanzaa also begins on the 26th, but no one gets the day off for Kwanzaa. I’m talking closed post offices here- the works.)
We don’t celebrate it for the same reason that we don’t drive on the left side of the road: we think the British are silly. But is a free holiday silly? Are we fine putting in a full day’s work on a day that Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders and Brits are dancing around and partying with their friends? Boxing Day has nothing to do with religion or the Queen, so everyone gets a go.
The holiday originated in England a long time ago when people had servants, and the servants had to work on Christmas. But the rich people would give the servants the day after Christmas off to go be with their families. Supposedly, their employers sent the servants on their way with some boxed gifts (possibly some of the rich family’s reject presents, like that sweater from Aunt Gertrude). . . Or it might have something to do with alms boxes and giving money to the poor. Whichever is fine with me.
If Christmas is on a Friday, everyone gets the following Monday off. It’s brilliant. The British have recognized it as a bank holiday since 1871. Do you see what we’re missing? This year, Friday December 26, 2003, don’t go to work. They can keep Boxing Day from us no longer!
As you return to your boring old daily routine, following the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, are you left with a feeling of exhaustion and relief that it’s all over? Or are you thinking, “More! More! MORE!”
If you are like me, you could use one extra day of fun in there with Hanukkah, my birthday, Christmas Eve, Christmas, Kwanzaa and New Year’s Eve, boys and girls, there’s an answer: December 26th, Boxing Day. (Yes, Kwanzaa also begins on the 26th, but no one gets the day off for Kwanzaa. I’m talking closed post offices here- the works.)
We don’t celebrate it for the same reason that we don’t drive on the left side of the road: we think the British are silly. But is a free holiday silly? Are we fine putting in a full day’s work on a day that Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders and Brits are dancing around and partying with their friends? Boxing Day has nothing to do with religion or the Queen, so everyone gets a go.
The holiday originated in England a long time ago when people had servants, and the servants had to work on Christmas. But the rich people would give the servants the day after Christmas off to go be with their families. Supposedly, their employers sent the servants on their way with some boxed gifts (possibly some of the rich family’s reject presents, like that sweater from Aunt Gertrude). . . Or it might have something to do with alms boxes and giving money to the poor. Whichever is fine with me.
If Christmas is on a Friday, everyone gets the following Monday off. It’s brilliant. The British have recognized it as a bank holiday since 1871. Do you see what we’re missing? This year, Friday December 26, 2003, don’t go to work. They can keep Boxing Day from us no longer!
Someone Hit John Mayer
by Stephanie Anderson
Legend tells us: “Video killed the radio star.” But, unlike many trusty camping axioms (i.e. “If your feet are cold, put on a hat.” and “A fed bear is a dead bear.”), this old standby about the music industry is utterly false. Video did not murder anything. The true culprit is the DJ.
Music, I think it can be said without much evidence provided, is an OLD thing. Thousands of years of Top Forty charts leave us with quite a selection (though in the beat-stick-on-rock days there was no Casey Casem). This day in age, you could listen to music your whole life, without ever repeating the same song, and still not hear everything.
Why then, WHY, do Radio DJs only play a list of 15 (give or take two) songs? I have run an professional field test on a number of occasions in various locations and discovered this: If you listen to any given radio station, in any city, for three hours, you will hear at least one song at least two times. If you try to compensate by switching stations periodically, you will hear those same songs more than twice in the given period. A law has apparently been decreed from the radio gods to all disc jockeys that playing any piece of music to death is, in fact, the ultimate goal.
This problem is only magnified if the song happens to be one you hate. Currently, “The Zephyr Song” by RHCP, is topping my list of ear numbing strikes per hour.
But, I personally would listen to nothing but the “puff of wind” song if it meant that I did not ever again have to hear “Your Body is a Wonderland” by John Mayer. (For a long time, I contended that the song was really titled “Thaddeus Wonderland,” probably because I had too much wax in my ears. Honestly, I think I liked “Thaddeus” better because it did not include the stupid imagery of a naked woman with “bubblegum toes,” and, it was also the name of a strange kid I sat behind in high school religion.) What’s worse than hearing this song sixteen times a day is that one of the DJs in the DC area has officially declared it the “Valentine’s Day Song of 2003.” What?!? I didn’t even know that Valentine’s had been officially declared a holiday, and now they’re using it as an excuse to fill my ears with “swim in a deep sea--- of blankets.”
I may become a pariah of pop culture, but I can’t carry on like this any longer. I am switching to the no-talk, easy listening jazz station and will even suffer through “Salsa Sunday.” (Except for popping in on a few of Casey’s “Long Distance Dedications.”) At least I will no longer have to listen to morning crews hawk restaurant gift certificates for whoever can call in and share the “zaniest story of a coworker stealing their lunch.”
Legend tells us: “Video killed the radio star.” But, unlike many trusty camping axioms (i.e. “If your feet are cold, put on a hat.” and “A fed bear is a dead bear.”), this old standby about the music industry is utterly false. Video did not murder anything. The true culprit is the DJ.
Music, I think it can be said without much evidence provided, is an OLD thing. Thousands of years of Top Forty charts leave us with quite a selection (though in the beat-stick-on-rock days there was no Casey Casem). This day in age, you could listen to music your whole life, without ever repeating the same song, and still not hear everything.
Why then, WHY, do Radio DJs only play a list of 15 (give or take two) songs? I have run an professional field test on a number of occasions in various locations and discovered this: If you listen to any given radio station, in any city, for three hours, you will hear at least one song at least two times. If you try to compensate by switching stations periodically, you will hear those same songs more than twice in the given period. A law has apparently been decreed from the radio gods to all disc jockeys that playing any piece of music to death is, in fact, the ultimate goal.
This problem is only magnified if the song happens to be one you hate. Currently, “The Zephyr Song” by RHCP, is topping my list of ear numbing strikes per hour.
But, I personally would listen to nothing but the “puff of wind” song if it meant that I did not ever again have to hear “Your Body is a Wonderland” by John Mayer. (For a long time, I contended that the song was really titled “Thaddeus Wonderland,” probably because I had too much wax in my ears. Honestly, I think I liked “Thaddeus” better because it did not include the stupid imagery of a naked woman with “bubblegum toes,” and, it was also the name of a strange kid I sat behind in high school religion.) What’s worse than hearing this song sixteen times a day is that one of the DJs in the DC area has officially declared it the “Valentine’s Day Song of 2003.” What?!? I didn’t even know that Valentine’s had been officially declared a holiday, and now they’re using it as an excuse to fill my ears with “swim in a deep sea--- of blankets.”
I may become a pariah of pop culture, but I can’t carry on like this any longer. I am switching to the no-talk, easy listening jazz station and will even suffer through “Salsa Sunday.” (Except for popping in on a few of Casey’s “Long Distance Dedications.”) At least I will no longer have to listen to morning crews hawk restaurant gift certificates for whoever can call in and share the “zaniest story of a coworker stealing their lunch.”
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