South Park Two-fer

I didn't write about last week's South Park not because I hadn't the time, but because, frankly, I was a little nonplussed by the episode. So, today, we get a South Park two-for-one, because this week's episode was far better.

Last week's episode, “It's a Jersey Thing”, was less of a brilliant piece of satire than a simple pop culture spoof. The subject? Everyone's favorite dysfunctional reality show: Jersey Shore. The episode featured loads of greased hair, heavy tans, and near-unintelligible cursing (muff cabbage being my personal favorite). There was also a Gollum-like Snookie stalking around, humping everything in sight.

If you like poking fun at pop culture, and are familiar with the trainwreck that is The Jersey Shore, you might have a good time with this episode, but other than that, there really isn't that much commentary there. At least not that I found. I, of course, generally prefer South Parkepisodes that are heavily grounded in political satire, and overall, that's just not what this episode was about.

But I would argue that non-political episodes like “It's a Jersey Thing” are critical building blocks to South Park as a whole. Not only do they typify the kind of broad humor that is generally accessible to those who haven't seen the show before (these are the kinds of episodes that surely help recruit more viewers), but they also ground it as a subversive playground where the idols of pop culture can be quickly cut down to size. This is also the reason that celebrities are constantly present in different episodes of South Park. By constantly reinforcing the notion that these people can be made fun of with impunity, South Park positions itself in opposition to the established powers that be, and readies itself to lob grenades at more substantial targets: i.e. the financial crisis, religious hypocrisy, government arms races, etc.

This week's South Park, "InSheeption," was also heavily concentrated on pop culture critique. It, however, feels much more significant and successful that “It’s a Jersey Thing.” The episode begins with an outbreak of “hoarding” (the inability to throw things away as shown on the popular [and in my opinion trashy] television show of the same name), infecting Stan and Mr. Macky. The cure, apparently, for hoarding is to go deep into the Unconscious of the subject, and find and destroy the source of the trauma that began the hoarding. So, Stan, Mr. Macky, and a hapless sheep herder (brought in for hoarding sheep) are hooked up to electrodes, hypnotized, and somehow flung into the childhood memories of Mr. Macky.

Entering into one’s dreams, of course, is a conceit of the recent Inception, and it is what happens surrounding this dream world that the episode is really about. For instance, those who are outside of the dream world question the logic of going into the dream world in the first place, a backhanded questioning of the basic logic of Inception’s premise. As those in the dream world wander aimlessly about, doing little but highlighting Macky’s lifelong geekiness, the cast of characters from Inception burst into the therapy room and announce that they just have to go in to assist. Now, there are about nine people in Macky’s dream world, and more are soon added with firefighters going in to rescue those who were trapped inside as well as a pizza delivery man who has an order for someone inside.

The episode is finally resolved when Freddy Kruger, the king of all dreamgoers, destroys the source of Macky’s hoarding by killing a Smoky-the-Bear-like mascot that molested the man while on a school field trip in his youth. Stan’s hoarding is solved as well (as he learns that it’s simpler to just get over a hoarding tendency than to go through all the hubbub of entering one’s dreamworld again), and all is well, save for the sheep herder who was killed in the dream world. Oh well, casualties happen.

What I love about this episode, and about South Park in general, is its way of undermining pop culture by questioning its relatively high stature in society. Inception is a perfect target. It is a cultural object that entered the public sphere largely by placing itself within the field of high art. Seeing (and appreciating) Inception garnered one a goodly deal of cultural capital. In fact, one joke made in the South Park episode has a character saying condescendingly, “You just don’t get it because you’re not smart enough” after explaining the same complicated plot that makes upInception. What the South Park episode attempts to do is knock Inception off its pedestal and remind us that the movie is not in and of itself “intelligent,” but is created as that through the conversation that is waged around it.

One way that they do this is by reducing the complicated logic of the movie to ridiculousness. For instance, in the episode, when we first hear the premise of entering into one’s dreams, as one character explains the logic, another provides the “background”, that is, an a capella rendition of the dramatic music that peppers every scene of Inception. This functions to remind the viewer that the “intelligent” premise of the movie gains much of its power through the use of other dramatic elements and cannot necessarily stand on its own ground.

Later on, as more and more people have to hear the explanation for the dream world (and how there can be dreams within dreams and such), the explanation becomes increasingly reductive.

“It’s very simple, you see, when the dream experts go in, they attempt to take inception to a dream within a dream.”

“Like a taco within a taco?” asks a confused fireman who’s for some reason being asked to go inside a dream. “Like a double-decker taco supreme!” exclaims another.

Finally, the logic of Inception is utterly destroyed when the architect of all the dream-entering shenanigans says, “Look if we can get the fire department in the dream [. . . ] it will be like a taco inside a taco within a Taco Bell that’s inside a KFC that’s in a mall in your dream!”

The South Park episode reminds us that the seeming smartness ofInception is actually quite arbitrary. It is defined as intelligent based on the conversation around it and other dramatic elements that operate on top of the logic.Inception isn’t a movie that’s inherently smart, but rather one that tellsyou that it’s smart – or that is constructed as smart by the discourse surrounding it.

One reason we needSouth Park is to be able to pop the cultural balloon every now and again. Culture and taste aren’t essences that one can achieve if he or she is smart enough, but rather artificial representations built by a myriad of political, economic, and social factors.

So, if you didn’t like Inception, not to worry. You’re not stupid – in fact, you may be smarter for saying no to cultural elitism. Yay you! Now let’s go get high and watch an episode of Hoarding.

South Park is Back!

So... yeah...

If you've ever heard a graduate student complaining over and over about how much work they have to do for school, it's probably because it's true.

Try as I might, I can't seem to tear myself away from my homework to keep up with this blog thing on a regular basis. However, I think I've found a possible solution. Instead of writing about sports, play reviews, movie reviews, and politics as often as I can, I'm going to try to write just one blog post a week on just a single topic. And since it takes a great deal of willpower to write a single word more than is required of me for class, I'm going to make it a subject that I care deeply and passionately about: South Park.

So here we go. The High Horse Blog is going to try (at least for the next 8 weeks) to be a South Park blog. These essays will likely be part critique and part structural analysis of each episode - that's graduate-speak for "what is the episode trying to say?" Let's see how this works. Hopefully, this will be a small enough endeavor to keep me writing from time to time.

And if Deidre can get her ass back in gear, we can include her column too.

Oh, and before I begin, I just want to say a brief word about the Reds: Fifteen years, guys. Fifteen years. It's not that I'm mad at you, I'm just very disappointed.

And now, on to season 14, episode 8 of South Park - Poor and Stupid.

Sad to say, this episode was not particularly funny. What gives, South Park? I waited four months with bated breath to take in your scatalogically-charged politically-savvy satire, and this is what I get?

But after the dust settled from the underwhelming comedic experience, I was left with a startlingly satisfying aftertaste. Because it's not the kind of episode you can sit down and watch over and over again, Poor and Stupid will probably never be high on my list of favorite South Park experiences, but it was still a very good episode that has very important subject matter.

To explore what I mean by this, what I'll do is take you through the episode. We begin with a rather disconcerting image: Eric Cartman is crying. When questioned as to why, he responds (something to the extent of): "It's always been my dream to race NASCAR, but I'll never be able to do it because I'm not poor and stupid." Ho, ho. Chuckle, chuckle. NASCAR is for ignorant, impoverished hillbillies. Very funny. Nothing I haven't heard before. And for the first fifteen minutes of the episode, this is the only real joke made. Over and over, Cartman states that he needs to try to get "poor and stupid" to be a NASCAR driver.

It's not really a funny joke, and this is what accounts for making the episode somewhat boring to watch. But hold on to this, because this overdone, unfunny bit is actually intentional and important to the overall message of the episode.

So, for the majority of the episode Eric tries to become a NASCAR driver. He meets with failure (in one case by sneaking on to a NASCAR track and being involved in a horrific car accident) due to the fact that, in his mind, he's not poor and stupid enough. This, of course, offends his friend Kenny who is himself a NASCAR fan and resents being characterized in such a fashion by Cartman.

Then, another (seemingly random) thread comes in. After seeing a commercial for Vagisil (a product which promises to cure feminine odor) and noting that one of its side effects is short-term memory loss, in order to become more stupid Cartman goes to the store and ingests as much of the product as he can. After the NASCAR accident, the spokesman for Vagisil visits Cartman and exclaims that the boy's stunt his given their product lots of great publicity. He makes a custom NASCAR (sponsored by VAGISIL) for Cartman to drive, so the company will continue to get great press. He also mentions that he invented Vagisil for his wife, Patty, who has had troubles with feminine odor for some time.

So now we have two threads: NASCAR, and Vagisil. The two collide when Cartman races the Vagisil car at a NASCAR event, with the Vagisil owner one of the announcers for the event. Cartman, doing his best to impersonate the stereotypical hillbilly that he believes typifies NASCAR, drives around like a maniac, knocking his opponents off the track until he is the only car left in the competition. Meanwhile, as he announces the event, the Vagisil owner constantly takes time to humiliate Patty for her odor. "We want women to know that Vagisil is safe and effective for use every day - every day. Every. Day. - and is available nationwide," he says for instance.

Just as Cartman looks like he is going to win the race in the Vagisil car, out of nowhere, Patty jumps into a semi-wrecked car and proceeds to race against Cartman. Long story short, Patty wins.

Ok, so what do we have here? On the surface level, Patty is simply fed up with being humiliated in public by her husband. But the genius of South Park is that it shows that the issue goes far deeper. What they're really showing is the way in which the power structure within a society creates both pressures and preconceptions about different social groups. What is Vagisil but a product invented by a man to cure a feminine odor that he deems offensive? And worse, he makes her take it "diligently. Ve-ry Diligently" despite the fact that it is known to cause memory loss.

In our other plot thread, we have NASCAR and its being for the poor and stupid. What is the significance of this being repeated over and over again throughout the episode, despite the fact that it is not very funny? Well, by the end of the episode, it shows that the discourse surrounding NASCAR defines the way in which it is viewed. Cartman acts stupid and poor in a NASCAR outfit (even going so far as to tape a bigoted anti-Obama video), and by the end of the episode, the national news is saying, "This proves that NASCAR really is for the poor and the stupid."

Certainly, there is in certain circles a preconception of NASCAR being only for a "certain sect" of the American populous; what the South Park episode shows is that this preconception is not based upon any logical conclusion, but rather shaped through the dominant discourse. Similarly, our views of what constitutes regular female behavior is also shaped through this discourse. When Patty jumps into the NASCAR, it causes bedlam. "It looks like a woman is trying to take over for Jimmy Johnson's car," says the announcer with surprise. Another man says (as if talking to an eight-year-old) "Ma'am, you are on an active racetrack. This is very dangerous." The preconception exists that women cannot be involved in certain sports.

Finally, we must turn again to the Vagisil. The Vagisil owner says, "Patty, did you forget to take your medication? You know how you get when you don't take your Vagisil." He speaks to her like a child that has a disease that must be controlled, when in reality, he simply wants to make Patty more desirable to him.

Women are made to use certain products to please men despite the fact that the product is dangerous. Women shave their legs and armpits, put on makeup, and "freshen up" not necessarily because they want to, but because society deems it necessary. All this is done under the guise of "normal behavior," but whose "normal" are we talking about? The episode suggests that "Normal" is constructed by men who are in power. And if we remember the NASCAR thread, we realize that "Normal" is constructed by upper-class men who are in power.

So, though the episode wasn't a comedic success, surely many merits can be seen in it. How many shows talk about these kinds of issues today? Poor and Stupid is perfect evidence of how Trey Parker and Matt Stone are writers of the most pointed and poignant satire on television.

We're Back - Politics Sunday

Greeting HHB devotees! Yes, I've been terribly off the ball for about a month now, and since I'm about to start grad school, you can probably expect things to just get worse. But I promise that slowly and surely I'll finish detailing the trip to Bonnaroo, and periodically chronicle movies I've seen, political issues that irk me, and, of course, the Reds' pursuit of the post-season (first place baby!).

But today, I have to address an important political issue:

Firstly, for the last year or so, we have been hearing debate about the Mosque that is planned to be erected near 9/11 Ground Zero in New York. Commentary has intensified over the last month or so as plans continue to be pushed along, and came to something of a head on Friday when President Obama jumped into the fray stating, "... Muslims have the same right to practice their religion as everyone else in this country. And that includes the right to build a place of worship and a community center on private property in Lower Manhattan, in accordance with local laws and ordinances." As one might expect, Conservatives were quick to decry the remarks, Sarah Palin using a sassy tweet to vent her ire.

Now, the issue itself is thorny and complicated, but what's wholly depressing about the situation is the way that the media has covered the President's remarks. I was first made aware of them by an AOL news headline titled, "Obama slammed, praised for backing Ground Zero Mosque." Though it did its job of making me aware of what the President said, the problem with this headline is that it immediately takes the emphasis off of the actual issue at hand (whether or not to build the Mosque) and places it in the context of political debate. The article focuses less on the debate of whether building the Mosque is the right thing to do, and more on whether it was politically expedient for President Obama to comment.

Cable news coverage (both Fox and MSNBC are culprits - I can't bring myself to watch CNN) was similarly bent. "Should the President have gotten into this mess?" one reporter asked an analyst. The real question is, "Is the President right about this?"

The answer is a resounding, seemingly obvious, "Yes!" But, the debate politicized (I thought we weren't supposed to politicize 9/11), Obama was forced to walk back from his comments last night, saying, "I was not commenting, and I will not comment, on the wisdom of making the decision to put a mosque there. I was commenting very specifically on the right people have that dates back to our founding. That's what our country is about." Sure. What really happened, of course, is that Obama faced pressure from Liberals who felt that his position was untenable in addition to the usual Conservative opposition to anything the President does or says.

For a President whose campaign was run on a platform of honesty and principles, this issue has certainly shown that politics trumps morality. The GOP playbook is to say in effect that the President is disobeying the will of the people, with polls showing that nearly 2/3 of Americans do not believe that the Mosque should be built. Newt Gingrich has even ludicrously called for a moratorium on building the Mosque until Saudi Arabia allows for churches and synagogues to be erected. "Enough with the double standard," he said, and it's refreshing to know that there are those who think America should be on a moral par with Saudi Arabia.

Gingrich and Sarah Palin are both on record saying that they have no problem with the building of Mosques in general, and claim that the American people feel the same way. Yet all over the country we've seen numerous protests whenever a new Mosque is erected anywhere. The danger of continuing to let this intolerance progress is that America will go the way of Switzerland, outlawing Mosques altogether. That may sound absurd, but Americans are uniquely touchy regarding Islam because of its relatively small practice in the country and the lingering memories of 9/11.

But this issue is an example of why the will of the people should sometimes not be followed. People in large groups occasionally behave irrationally, and taking the easy path to intolerance instead of working to understand a perceived "other" is an example. President Obama's remarks on Friday were a courageous sacrifice of political capital in order to make a moral stand, which is why it was all the more depressing to see him walk them back on Saturday. Obama followed his abovementioned remarks on Friday by saying, "This is America, and our commitment to religious freedom must be unshakable." His own commitment to this issue should have been similarly unshakable, and not prone abandonment at the first sight of political turmoil.

If President Obama was going to get into this issue at all, he should have been in all the way. As it stands, he's himself allowed politics to cloud morality.

If interested, ABC's This Week had a pretty good round table that discussed it at length.

Bonnaroo - Day 2

I had predicted that I'd be asleep until nine or ten in the morning - you know, the usual time - but with the sun up early cooking our tents like a casserole, it was impossible to stay in "bed" past seven AM. I awoke and stumbled to a port-a-let about fifty yards away. One thing to know about Bonnaroo going in: port-a-lets are used often by many people and are the only repositories available. Be prepared to hold it.

My companions and I had a hearty breakfast consisting of hot dogs and granola. These, along with a handful of fruits would be our main foodstuffs for the weekend. It was going to be heavy.

Of the many artists we had come to see, none piqued the passion of one my companions as much as an appearance by Conan O'Brien as part of his Legally Prohibited From Being Funny on TV Comedy Tour. The original plan was to get up to the campgrounds a couple hours early to wait in line so as to have a good seat for the show - after all, if we were sitting far away, how could my friend's dream to be hugged by Conan be realized?

Upon getting to the festival grounds, however, we realized the foolishness of our plan. A line as imposing as that to get into the campgrounds led up to the Comedy Tent where Conan was performing. We had no chance. Our only alternative was to relocate to a stage that was showing the live taping on a giant screen. We set out a blanket in the field overlooking the stage - it would be nearly an hour until the taping commenced and the Tennessee sun was looming overhead. Completely baked after nearly fifteen minutes, we split into two groups with half of us tasked to reserve our spaces for the show, and the others to seek mystical "water-filling stations" for our empty water bottles that supposedly existed but were difficult to find without the maps we were supposed to but never did receive as we entered the festival.

On our way, we stumbled upon Trombone Shorty & Orleans Avenue, a funk band with one seriously charismatic front man blasting on the 'bone. We momentarily passed them by, finally eying the water station that was currently being mobbed by a crush of overheated rockers, and after another long wait (are we developing a motif?) started back towards Conan. But we were unable to pass by Trombone Shorty a second time. As the 'boner wailed a solo, a huge audience cheered him on. Orleans Avenue sports a classic Louisiana jazz sound but with a funk sensibility. Heavy drums and impressive soloing.

But a quick glance at my watch reminded me that, *gasp*, we were late for Conan. We made it back just in time to deliver some much needed water to our sweltering friends, and catch the end of Conan’s opening band headed by Max Weinberg of E Street Band fame – this was a Bonnaroo miss, with their version of “Move On Up” continuing to haunt my dreams.

And on came Coco. His set was clearly geared less towards comedy and more towards hating on NBC for “destroying his life.” But by now, Conan’s ordeal of hitting a life low, seeking psychological help, and growing a beard were familiar to me, so it felt a little too much like rehash. I would have rather heard a straight up comic set from Conan, but instead, it felt more like a variety show, with other comedians and musical numbers featuring Conan himself (he’s worked himself into a pretty decent guitarist) periodically interrupting the stand up. The one highlight? Conan’s patented Walker Texas Ranger lever was featured, with the infamous Haley Joel Osment clip making an appearance - I don’t know what I’d do if Walker told me I had AIDS.

Finally, Conan was over. And a couple hours in the heat had nearly done us in. We were able to stagger over to a nearby stage where there was tree cover from the sun. Though the trees themselves had been the main draw, Edward Sharp and the Magnetic Zeros were playing at the stage, and we were able to catch the tail end of the concert. Though I didn’t know them and though that type of indie rock is generally not my thing, a stupendous rendition of “Home” charmed me into having a great time.

When they finished, we decided to move forward and get a good setup for Dr. Dog, another group that I hadn’t heard before. They put on one heckuva show, featuring dynamic indie rock with good stage presence. Not much to describe with the show other than the fact they brought an energy boost to what was fast becoming a lethargic day.

But I couldn’t stay too long for Dr. Dog. On the other side of the festival, one of the biggest draws was taking stage: Damian Marley & Nas. The son of reggae master Bob Marley, Damian’s music is much more confrontational than that of his father’s. His political lyrics combine with a hard beat that still keeps a reggae sensibility. Though I like Marley’s music on its own, the combination with Nas’s wordplay and flow made for a hip sound that kept things upbeat for the listeners in party mode. Definitely a Bonnaroo highlight.

Something that did become painfully obvious during Marley & Nas’s set was that there was little chance I would be up close for any featured group at Bonnaroo. For that concert, I was located about a football field’s length away from the main stage, and though the sound quality was still stellar (surprisingly stellar in fact) there was little stage visibility. Luckily, a bevy of large video monitors allowed for a visual experience even for those of us in the back.

While several of my companions ventured off to a variety of groups (She & Him, The National, OK Go, Steve Martin & the Steep Canyon Rangers), I elected to stay put with another featured group and one of my favorites: Tenacious D. Jack Black is one helluva performer (er, I should qualify that: one helluva musical performer. I could deal without some of his movies [I’m looking at you The Holiday]), and Tenacious D is one helluva rock show. Part of the beauty of the music is its irony, making fun of rock with songs like “Tribute” while at the same time creating considerably good rock music.

The concert itself mixed actual music with little skits between Black and Kyle Gass, the self-deprecating straight man and gifted lead guitarist. One, for instance, featured a cartoonish Devil in red spandex with a cape attacking the duo and being defeated by the power of Rock! They struck a great balance with just enough comedy to engage the audience, backed up by a backbone of solid rock tunes.

Though I would later be somewhat jealous that my friends got to see so many groups while I was watching DM&N and Tenacious D, both were excellent concerts that I consider Bonnaroo highlights. But by the end of Tenacious, the heat had done me in, and I needed to regroup at the campsite with the gang. There would be some food involved, but mostly, we rested up for the big night ahead of us.

That’s right. The day still wasn’t done…-

We're Back!

Ugh... Fine!

A writer writes, so the High Horse Blog returns after a month-long hiatus. What was I doing for the past month? Well, for starters,

BONNAROO!!!


There's an unwritten rule that the name of the 4-day music festival in Manchester, Tennessee can't be said without blasting it at the top of your lungs in the same way that someone would say, "ROAD TRIP!!!" or "VEGAS, BABY, VEGAS!!!"

For those of you who might not be familiar, Bonnaroo (not written in all caps to maintain some semblance of professionalism) began nine years ago as an attempt to recreate the un-recreatable musical orgy of Woodstock '69. To do so, they cordon off about a square mile field in the middle of nowhere for people to come, camp out for a few days, and listen to dozens of the country's most diverse and popular music groups.

What will follow is a series of articles detailing each day at Bonnaroo - both the music that was seen and the experience as a whole.

We start with Day 1:

Having slept over in Cincinnati the night before (so as to make for a shorter drive to the campgrounds than from our native Chicago), we hit the road at about seven in the morning, the same time that the grounds opened. Our plan was to arrive in Manchester around one in the afternoon, and we braced ourselves for a three-to-four-hour wait in line before actually getting to the grounds.

When we finally arrived in Manchester, our jaws dropped at what we saw: an immense line of cars stretching further than we could see. We knew from our directions that we couldn't be more than fifteen miles away from the place, but it was going to be an almost literal standstill until we got in. Then, disaster struck. We realized we were running so low on gasoline that we would likely run out before getting into the grounds. Begrudgingly, we left the line for a quick fill-up.

Turning around, we hoped and prayed that there would be another route that we could take, that we wouldn't be forced to the back of a line that we'd already devoted an hour and a half to. Our prayers seemed to be answered when we were diverted onto a country back road where traffic was moving pretty steadily. But, alas, traffic was eventually snarled there as well, and we had no choice but to wait it out.

Our prediction of a three-to-four hour wait was shattered, and our patience was pushed to the limit. Time passed, the sun set, and we could only creep forward, inch by inch, towards our destination. Nothing to be done... nothing to be done...

We thought that we were headed towards a separate entrance to the grounds, but at the end of our backroad ordeal, we were diverted onto the same highway we had originally come from, a mere eight hours after we first got there. But by this time, we were elated to just be able to see the campgrounds. As we made our way to the check-in point, we could taste the sweet victory of escaping our four-wheeled prison. A young man and woman came over to inspect the car. They greeted us and peaked into the vehicle. We were worried and intrigued about how thorough an inspection would come - we were packed in pretty tightly and after an eight-hour wait, were not about to start rearranging anything.

"If we open the trunk," said the woman, "Will a ton of stuff fall out?"

"Probably," replied our driver who had, heroically, taken the wheel for the entire day (thanks again, bud).

"Ok. We'll let it go, then," she said.

On the other side of the car, the young man poked his head in and said, "I'll just hang out here and pretend to inspect you a little longer. What're you coming to see?"

Well, that was easy. The "authorities" were likely more irked by the car next to us where they found an air-handgun in the glove box. Or perhaps the car pulled over to the side where a load of marijuana had been discovered. You can do almost anything at Bonnaroo. Almost.

But we were in. We pulled the car through the entrance gate and saw a magnificent image: a sea of cars and tents as far as the eye could look. Row after row after row, an incalculable number vehicles and, ergo, an incalculable number of people. Estimates would later show that over 80,000 people were in that vast field (Bonnaroo takes place on a converted farm).

We were ushered through the mass to a small plot of grass. This would be our home for the next three days, and, eager as eager can be to escape the vehicle, we piled out of the car and quickly put up our makeshift camping area. Our claim confined to about a 20x10-yard area, we had just enough space to throw up two tents (one big and one small) and a rain tarp under which we kept a group of folding chairs. Despite how packed-in the campsites might seem when looked at from afar, my companions and I (we numbered 5 in total) never felt crunched for space.

By this time, it was about 11:00 pm. We had anticipated being unpacked and ready to rock by about 6:00 pm - the best laid plans of mice and men...

But, the beautiful thing about Bonnaroo is that there's almost always music to be seen, so after a quick snack at the campsite we headed off to the festival area. Our fear was that since we had gotten into the grounds so late, we would be located terribly far away from the stages, but turns out we got lucky. Our site was only about an 8-minute walk away, child's play for a car-less Chicagoan. When we got to the gate, there was yet another inspection to get through - our bags were checked, again not very thoroughly, and finally, we were in. BONNAROO!!!

We had made it in time to see The XX - Thursday was jam band day as the festival didn't want to waste headliners while people were still funneling in. The XX put on a solid show, and were a perfect band to unwind with after a long day in the car. But we could tell that though it was going to be a decent show, it would be unmemorable, and so we decided to see what else was out there.

What we found was Lotus, a badass group of jammers with one helluva light show. We had found our destination for the evening. The music was exciting, even as it put you into a trance. And as a prototypical stoner band, we weren't surprised to see a bevy of people lighting up in the middle of the field. After a loooong day, we were relieved to be able to rock out all of our frustration.

And that did it for day 1. We started with incredible optimism, descended into a seemingly never-ending melancholy, and ended up rallying back. But the roller coaster had worn us out, and all we could manage to do was stumble back to our campsite and soundly pass out...

Sports Saturday - The Call

Everyone is talking about it - even the non-baseball heathens.

I speak, of course, about Jim Joyce's blown call that cost pitcher Armando Galarraga baseball's holy grail: A perfect game. But I'm not going to hem and haw and rail against the lack of precision in umpiring - baseball is by nature an imperfect game where even the most basic elements (balls and strikes) are judgment calls with human error playing a big part. After playing the game for years and years, most ballplayers have an understanding for this imperfection and realize the futility of arguing calls. And ultimately, how often does one call by the umpire actually decide the fate of the game?

But, almost despite myself, I find myself annoyed by Bud Selig's decision not to overturn the call. There are three main reasons:

Firstly, the impact of the decision. It cost someone a perfect game, what would have been the 21st in MLB history. That's roughly one every 5-10 years, which might be surprising given the recent spate of PG's within the last month. This is basically the rarest event in baseball, one that brings even uncelebrated pitchers (like Galarraga) instant fame and immortality. Part of the beauty of baseball is the way individual moments can shine through the sea of unfeeling statistics to be remembered into posterity - Merkel's boner, Bobby Thompson's home run, Bill Buckner's epic cock-up (trademark), these moments are immortal despite careers that may not have made them so. And any perfect game pitcher gets to be a part of that immortality. Most bad calls can, at worst, decide an individual game, and while this is upsetting, it's just a different number in the W and L columns. Joyce's call decided immortality.

Secondly, Joyce acknowledged as soon as humanly possible that he had gotten the call wrong. I'm sure he wanted to reverse the call, but knew that it was impossible to do in the heat of the game without ruining the integrity of the umpires. It's one thing to accept the imperfection of baseball umpiring, and another to adhere stringently to it when all parties involved agree that a mistake was made.

Thirdly, and most importantly, the correct call would have automatically ended the game. In most cases, disputed calls happen in the middle of games, even in the middle of at-bats. These are impossible to retroactively change because by the changing of just one part of a game, one would be unable to tell how the rest of the events would be affected. Take, for instance, the dispute two years ago over C.C. Sabathia's botched no-hitter: a close play on a ground ball was ruled a hit, and not, as some believed, an error. This ended up being the only hit in the game, meaning that had it been ruled an error, the game would have been a no-hitter. But making the game a no-hitter would rely on assumptions. For instance, how could we be sure that if Sabathia knew for sure that he still had a no-hitter the pressure wouldn't get to him and force him to err later in the game?

Had the blown call occurred with even 1 out in the ninth inning, I would be completely against changing the call since we never know what would have happened on the next out under the new circumstances. But since the real call would have actually ended the game, there are absolutely no what-ifs to argue. We know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that it would have been a perfect game, and therefore, it would be fair to retroactively change the call.

But while Galarraga's lost place in baseball lore is sad, the real travesty here is that this ordeal is surely to result in more instant replay in baseball. Generally, the human error in baseball is beautiful, and keeps the game more pastoral and relaxed than the rigidly ruled game of football where replay is commonplace. And wouldn't instant replay ultimately weaken the umpires' authority, the very thing that Selig's decision is meant to protect?

Joyce and Galarraga have handled this whole situation admirably, and as gentlemen. They behaved with tact from the moment the error occurred up through when they shook hands as they exchanged lineup cards the day after. Bud Selig is the only one who isn't with the program - by so stringently adhering to the dogma of baseball, he is ultimately weakening the rule of law in the sport. Selfishly, he has let Jim Joyce bare all of the wrath of the fans, and refused to make a controversial but just decision that would have relieved some of that burden. Sure, it would have brought criticism to his doorstep, but Jesus-like, he should have taken the sin upon himself to save the men involved. That's, to me, the commissioner's job.

A trip to the Symphony

While it's nice sitting comfortably in my house all day sipping beer and listening to whatever I feel like hearing at the moment on Grooveshark.com (greatest. website. ever.), last night I had the occasion to hear my first world class symphonic performance with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.

My hometown of Cincinnati is not without its own orchestra, but the Chicago Symphony is quite a step above, arguably one of the top orchestras in the entire world. It's a special treat to be able to see such a fine show of musical talent, and in some ways, amazing that I've waited until now to do so.

As I await attending the Bonnaroo Music Festival next week, perhaps the polar opposite musical experience of the CSO, I find myself pondering the significance of actually attending a symphony. Certainly, the programme was not the only draw - after all, I'd heard most of, if not all of the pieces before (Beethoven's 8th Symphony, the Overture to Beethoven's Fidelio, and for the finale, Beethoven's immortal 5th Symphony), and done by world class orchestras in their own right (perhaps I'd even heard a recording of the CSO doing some of the works). And surely, the recordings must have been a better sound quality after going through the rigor of a studio editing session.

But as I sat in a seat and awaited the start of the evening, I realized that I was about to not just hear music, but to experience it. The conductor or principal violin player comes onto the stage and the audience gives unsolicited applause, before even a note of music has been played. It's as if they are clapping not for the music itself, but as acknowledgement of the lifetime of practice and study spent in preparation for this one moment.

That's the key to what I took away from my trip to the symphony. I expect that next week, when I go to Bonnaroo, despite a massively larger audience, and hundreds of thousands of dollars being poured into creating elaborate light shows, costumes, and stagings, the emphasis will not really be on the music. People will be cheering for the musicians, but at the same time holding beer bottles and toking on reefers. This doesn't compare to the near-holiness that symphonic audiences seem to put on what they listen to. Symphony halls are like cathedrals, and audiences have a stringent adherence to etiquette, even refraining from coughing until the end of a movement so as not to spoil the melody (it's amazing fun to see how the auditorium turns into a hospital ward between movements as patrons try to cram their coughing into a minimal five-to-ten-second space). This seeming stuffiness may be why classical music is so unpopular amongst younger, diverse audiences, but it's also what makes the symphonic experience so special. Here is perhaps the one instance where a person is asked to just listen to and respect the music being played. It's not like having music on in the background while you have a good conversation, or even like attending a rock concert where your concentration is more on the party than the sound (not that there's anything wrong with that).

What the symphony does is command that those who attend study the music attentively, listen for subtle colorings and counter-melodies and transitions that add complexity to music. And in this way, one comes to better appreciate all music in general. While one can still enjoy modern music like, say, Jurassic 5 based on the catchiness of the beats and the flow of the rhymes, being able to latch onto nuances in the rhythms or appreciate a solid composition makes it a transcendent experience, and for me, the entrance into that kind of appreciation came from classical music. It's a mistake to think that all music is not interconnected. Old audiences who dismiss rap as an "other" and young audiences who blindly dismiss classical music as boring, are both missing worlds of musical experiences that inevitably enrich the soul (now we're really getting high-falutin').

The key is forcing oneself to really pay attention to what you are listening to. Symphonies acknowledge that you can't really appreciate what you're listening to unless you are just listening to it. To be sure, there's a non-auditory element of performance to a symphony - it's exciting and mesmerizing to see all the bows moving to and fro in unison, or to watch a conductor as he calls for a particular kind of coloring to the notes played - but for the most part, it is nothing more than an acknowledgement of the importance of music to our lives. There's something beautiful and primal about that.

As a seller of classical music subscriptions, I often encounter old ladies who are frustrated by the informality with which some people attend the symphony. For them, polo shirts, khaki shorts, and Birkenstocks have no place in their musical Church. To many people, that might seem uptight and ridiculous, but one can't argue that they have some founding in their sadness at the decay of an experience that, for them, is holy. And you also can't argue that deep, deep appreciation for the classics brings some sort of Enlightenment to their lives, in the same way that deep appreciation of rock or techno or jazz does to others. Music is a universal language and I would argue that a trip to the symphony helps one learn to speak it.