Rudolph the Red-Nosed Stooge
02/18/2000 01:44:22 AM
The holidays are a time for goodwill, forgiveness, and generosity of spirit. I'm all about that Christmas Cheer crap, so I'm just going to get this one thing off my chest, and then it's ho ho ho until International Commodity Exchange Day:
There are two things I want to see before I die. One is to walk into Taco Bell someday and see Steve Case asking his shift supervisor for permission to use the john. The other thing is to see my most hated Christmas carol/story fade into long-deserved oblivion.
I'm talking, of course, about "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," the "uplifting" tale of a misfit made good. Harmless, innocent entertainment, you says? Conformist propaganda, I says. Let's take a look at the storyline: a genetic freak, Rudolph, is born with a deformity that repels his family and causes him to become a pariah amongst the "normal" reindeer, who snub and ostracize him.
Isolated and unwanted, Rudolph languishes in the untouchable caste of the North Pole community until the head honcho, Santa Claus — who heretofore has taken zero interest in the plight of our hero — realizes that Rudolph's deformity is useful to him, upon which he finally deigns to acknowledge Rudy's existence, if only to press him into service.
Does Rudolph tell Santa to stick it where the sun don't shine? Nope — he cheerfully submits to this crass exploitation, saving Christmas with the very same anomalous appendage that had previously earned him only curled lips and dismissive snorts amongst his benighted brethren. Then, and only then, do the phony bastards condescend to accept Rudy, who, in true Uncle Tom fashion, soaks it up like a sponge, unquestioningly and without a smidgen of rancor.
To which I say, hum-freaking-bug. This song is nothing more than an anthem for conformity and abject submission to the shallow sensibilities of the ignorant masses.What exactly does this song teach children? That it's perfectly okay to revile and humiliate those who are different, unless their freakishness con somehow be put to use for personal gain. And if you're one of the misfits, your goal in life ought to be to appease and serve the very assholes who treated you like shit until they wanted something out of you.
It's all very good that Santa finally comes calling with his hat in his hand, but where the hell was he when Rudolph was being ejected from the reindeer games? What Rudolph should have done was to send Santa running back to his workshop with a candy cane up his rectum. Or at the very least, he should have done the one favor for Santa — for the children's sake — and then told the whole North Pole crew to go screw themselves and buy a goddamn halogen lamp next year. Then he should have flown off to find Hermie and the other Misfit Toys and form a badass Misfit Army to come back and settle Santa's hash for his centuries of mismanagement and incompetence.
But that wouldn't be very holly jolly, would it? And it wouldn't very well serve the ideological purpose of this song, which is to reinforce the status quo by patting the small-minded, unenlightened twits of the world on the back for their oh-so-munificent tolerance, while undercutting the resentment and anger of the budding non-conformist by inculcating them with the spurious notion that your worth as a human being lies solely in your usefulness to society.
Happiness, this song teaches us, lies in servitude to societal values, no matter how corrupt they may be. No doubt the sequel to "Rudolph" would see the red-nosed reindeer leading a cadre of jackbooted thugs on an ethnic cleansing of the North Pole, rounding up the "inferior" members of their society and pressing the useful ones into slavery while shipping the undesirables off to the concentration camp (a.k.a. the Island of Misfit Toys).
Then all the reindeer loved him
As they shouted out with glee,
"Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer,
Pawn of crass conformity!"
We now return you to your regularly scheduled holiday cheer.
El Tigre Furioso
07/18/2000 01:55:21 AM

Paris, 1947. Germaine and I were lunching at the Café Miasme,
a charming bistro perched alongside the Canal des Malades Chiens,
of the sort that used to blossom like wildflowers in Paris before the
war. We were waiting there for the arrival of Germaine's brother, Tito,
who had that very day been appointed to DeGaulle's cabinet. Germaine,
who I daresay was more anxious for his brother than the man himself,
was deeply into his third demitasse of espresso and was positively
shaking like a leaf.
"Germaine, old friend," I said, placing a paw on his quivering
shoulder. "Calm your nerves. It is a great day for Tito...a great
day for France, n'est-ce pas?"
Germaine only shook his head, his eyes never leaving the swirling blackness
of his espresso.
"Besides," I continued, casting my gaze out onto the busy
Rue de Chat Confus, where crowds of morning shoppers were already
congregating outside the booths of the produce vendors and volemongers,
"I hear tell that General DeGaulle himself has invited both you
and your brothers to the state dinner at Versailles." I glanced
at Germaine, hoping my words would bring the touch of a smile to those
anxious lips. But he remained unmoved.
Frustrated, I leapt from my chair and, oblivious to the startled gasps
of the other patrons, I stood over a shocked Germaine and clutched his
shoulders. "Germaine!" I roared. "It is me who stands
before you now El Tigre Furioso your friend of old! Did
we not stand together against the Führer in the Resistance? Was
it not I who saved your life at Nantes, at the boulangerie at Nîmes,
who sang war songs with you at Avignon? I ask you, dear friend
to whom can you unburden yourself, if not to me?"
Germaine stared up at me with wide, unblinking eyes. "Aiiieee!"
he screamed. "C'est un tigre! Aidez-moi! Aidez-moi!"
At that moment, the realization struck me I did not comprehend
a single word of French! Quickly I devoured Germaine and paused only
to finish my espresso before making haste down the Rue de Chat Confus
to my room at the pension. I was heartbroken, and to add insult to injury,
Tito gave me a frosty reception that evening at the state dinner. But
I learned a valuable lesson that day, my friends. A valuable lesson
indeed, in the vagaries
of the human heart.
Paxil Comix
08/31/2000 12:55:14 AM
Humor
11/05/2000 01:05:41 AM
Henry's First Day at School
12/02/2000 01:22:04 AM







Deconstruction of the Nerds
12/14/2000 01:37:45 AM
"Nobody's going to be free until nerd persecution ends."
Revenge of the Nerds
I'm
watching Revenge
of the Nerds on Comedy Central. Yeah, it's that kind of day.
Anyway, two random thoughts on this:
1) This print is amazingly clear. I thought I was watching Revenge
of the Nerds IV: Nerds in Love. Did they digitally remaster
this film? If so...why?
2) Thematically, this film just gets more interesting with time. I
mean, ostensibly, it's about nerds who empower themselves with a "taking
back the words they use to hurt us" approach, redefining the
"nerd" epithet as a badge of honor and exercising "nerd
power" by creating a kind of "geek chic," making nerdiness
look cool by emphasizing its advantages technical wizardry,
creativity, and of course, the immortal line "Jocks only think
about sports, nerds only think about sex."
But then, this film dates back to 1984, and it's very much "of
its time." So most of the things that were supposed to be examples
of nerd-cool, such as effeminate Lamar's breakdancing at the fraternity
talent show, or the whole Devo-esque synthpop performance, are now
hopelessly
dated and...nerdy. The impact of the film's "nerds can be cool"
message is diluted by the fact that these guys can no longer be seen
as cool by most standards. In fact, they seem even dorkier now than
they did before their "coming out," so to speak. When Lamar
does the "robot" while bloodlessly rapping, "Now clap
your hands everybody / And everybody clap your hands," you no
longer cheer; you cringe. And the audience's warm response to this
seems either nonsensical, or motivated by some sort of ironic appreciation
of retro camp humor.
Which brings me to my final point, that, from the perspective of the
camp aesthetic, Revenge of the Nerds actually takes on a certain
hip cachet simply by virtue of its out-of-fashion sensitibilities
passing, between 1984 and 2000, from cool to uncool and finally back
to cool, as kitsch, 80's style. Unlike a film such as, say, Ferris
Bueller's Day Off, which taps into a more universal and mainstream
aesthetic and therefore passes smoothly, for the most part, from unironic
80's cool to ironic, iconic 80's cool, Revenge of the Nerds
becomes a far more complex and multilayered work with each passing
year. Is anyone still reading this far? God, I hope not. I sure as
hell wouldn't be. Heck, I could probably write anything at this point
and no one would even notice. Hee hee. Ilsa yanked Frieda to her feet
and slapped her hard across the face. "Talk, or you'll suffer
the fate of your companions!" she screamed. Frieda, still dazed
from Dr. Winterbottom's elixir, blinked uncomprehendingly. Ilsa sighed,
grabbed Frieda roughly by the chin, and turned her face toward the
far wall of the cell. In the corner, Pauline and Raffaela lay on the
floor in chains, unconscious, covered from head to foot in lemon meringue.
Frieda gasped. The dwarf in the tattered clown costume glanced up,
startled, nearly dropping his Magic Marker. Then his watery eyes glinted
as he
