The Top 10 List of Top 10 Lists

It's that time of year again when editors need to fill space and people need to be told what to buy lest they actually think on their own. Thus, we have not only have The New York Times' Top 10 Books of the Year, but also their Top 100 Notable Books of the Year list which, now that I think about it, is a strangely vague title. Are they notable because they're good or just because they got the biggest PR, media and critical attention? Well, Nicole Ritchie's "novel" never made the list, so their credibility is intact for now, no matter how boring and obvious the list may be.

A more interesting list, however, is The Atlantic's 100 Most Influential Americans of All Time. This title is decidedly not vague, but it is a little unambitious. I mean, geez, only 100? "Of All Time"? Slackers.

The list is full of predictable (which I don't use to imply they're undeserved) choices: Abraham Lincoln (#1), George Washington (2), Thomas Jefferson (3) and Martin Luther King Jr. (8). What's interesting is reading about how the ten historians chosen to vote by The Atlantic made their decisions...

No celebrities! What? Are they all living in some stuffy, TV-less, elbow-patched-jacket vacuum? Historian Walter McDougall "eliminated celebrities altogether on the grounds that their influence is shallow, ephemeral, and replaceable." David M. Kennedy said entertainment is "highly evanescent" and that most entertainers "leave no lasting legacy." How colorless and asexual are their sad little worlds.

Of course, there is Elvis Presley (66) and Louis Armstrong (79), but, I mean, come on. Interestingly, Walt Whitman is ranked 22nd. Haven't they heard? Poetry is so 60's! A-duh hickey, too-cool-for-school (or should I say, too-cool-because-of-school?) historians. Since poetry is such a floundering, uninfluential medium today, how could Mr. Body Electric rank so high? (Please note: the last 39 words are totally sarcastic. Poetry isn't floundering. It's dead. Dead as a rotting carcass on top of a dried skeleton on top of Richard Grieco's career.)

So allow me, at the risk of making those so-called "historians" jealous, to make some of my own suggestions for this sorely lacking list:

3) John Travolta. Bear with me here. OK, in Grease he was this totally studly, good-looking, popular guy who could also sing and dance and wear fitted t-shirts all while appearing 100% heterosexual. So, thanks to him, a whole generation of women could believe that the studly, good-looking, popular guys who could also sing and dance and wear fitted t-shirts who went to their high school were actually straight, and those guys could actually convince themselves and others that they were all about chasin' the cooter. Thus, with one jut of Travolta's slithery hips, a whole generational high school survival system was solidified: millions of guys can avoid getting beat up and get to have prom dates and millions of girls can convince themselves that it's normal for really sensitive boyfriends to bake banana bread for their girlfriends. God bless this American tradition. God bless John Travolta.

2) The Sumerians. Because my .5 seconds of online research taught me that the Sumerians inadvertently invented beer 6,000 years ago (although it doesn't say specifically where they were when this happened, it's safe to assume it was either Vegas or the University of Wisconsin-Madison). Anyone who invented this sweet nectar must have been the celebrities of their time (even if we're talking about an entire culture). Sure, they may not be "American" (what does that even really mean anymore, anyway?) but because of them, ugly people get to have sex, frat boys accelerate the Darwinian process by killing 90% of their brain cells within two months of their freshman year and I get through life every day. (Please note: that last part was totally sarcastic. I also use pot. And Starbucks.)

1) Phil Donahue. Not because he introduced whiny, self-absorbed validation-seeking as self-help. Not because he taught us that the best way to communicate is through confrontation and televised humiliation. And not because he was a totally intellectual stud muffin paving the way for the Matt Lauers and Stone Phillipses (remember Stone Phillips? No? Neither do I) of the world. No, Donahue is influential because without him there would be no Oprah, and without Oprah there would be no Tyra Banks. 'Nuff said.

Yeah, so suck it, Thomas Edison. Eat you heart out, Walt Disney. And it's more like the "Wrong Brothers," Wright Brothers.

But, of course, these are just suggestions. The Atlantic's list is still kind of pretty good. I guess.

Kiwi, Tab and Turkey

In February I shared a poem and a video to celebrate Valentine's Day. Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, is coming up, but I can't exactly reach through the screen and give you all a plate of steaming mashed potatoes with turkey and cranberry sauce. So I thought I'd do the next best thing and share two videos...that have nothing to do with Thanksgiving whatsoever.

Unless, of course, your Thanksgiving feast is enjoyed with a tall, frosty glass of ice-cold Tab. And if it is, then maybe you also enjoy Thanksgiving wearing leg warmers and torn-up sweatshirts hanging off one shoulder, but that's not the point. The point is, Tab is awesome. And so is this commercial for Tab from the late 60's/early 70's (I'm estimating). I was directed to its brilliance via Elizabeth Crane's awesome blog, and I urge each and every one one of you to watch it. Description cannot do it justice, but the lyrics allude to its dizzy hilarity: "When you can't be with him, be in his mind. Be a mind-sticker." Yes, I'm serious. Tab was all about appealing to the ladies: "Being in good shape - shape with Tab. Keeping your shape in shape has its rewards." All being said in a creepy/sexy male voiceover as a husband comes home to his foxy, Tab-chugging wife.

Watch it below or check it out here.



Um, yeah. Totally makes me want to drink Tab. Or trip on acid. Or both.

The second video is completely different. By way of Popwatch, this is a master thesis from film student Dony Permedi entitled "Kiwi!" It's about a bird who can't fly who goes to great lengths for one last grande attempt. It's cute, funny, sad, complicated and - ultimately - heartbreaking. It's also three minutes long, so break away from your work and spreadsheets and emails to watch it at least once. But you'll probably want to watch it more than once.

Check it out below or watch it here.



So what do these have to do with Thanksgiving? Um, let's see...one is reminder for an underappreciated, overlooked beverage to take its rightful place next to your spiced apple cider, and the other is about being thankful for the things you have rather than dragging yourself down about the things you don't.

Maybe that's a stretch.

OK, it's totally a stretch.

But my brain is already so distracted by the inevitable pleasure overload of pumpkin pie that I can't think straight. So enjoy!

To Watch or Not to Watch, There Is No Question

How much do I love Slings & Arrows? Or, better put, is there a better show on TV than Slings & Arrows? I’m going to say no, and not just because I don’t actually have cable and therefore have limited access to the bounty that is network television. (Sorry, Battlestar Gallactica, it was never meant to be.)

(Warning: spoilers ahead)

Slings & Arrows, a Canadian comedy currently in its third season on the Sundance Channel, follows the action behind the scenes of the fictional New Burbage Shakespearean Festival (New York magazine called it "Shakespeare in Love meets Topsy-Turvy). Artistic director Oliver Welles (Stephen Ouimette), once the director of critically acclaimed, provocative theater, is staging a gorgeous yet lazy production of Midsummer’s Night Dream. While he’s making sure the fake goats bleat on cue, temperamental star Ellen (Martha Burns) interrupts rehearsals to discuss problematic blocking and general manager Richard (co-writer Mark McKinney) disrupts everything to make sure Oliver is meeting every need of the corporate sponsors. The pressures of running the festival, with its media coverage and long, lustrous history, drive Oliver to drink so much that he fatally stumbles in front of an oncoming truck the very same night the show opens.

Enter Geoffrey Tenant (Paul Gross, writer, director and actor in TV's Due South, Brian in the first Tales of the City miniseries and Burns' real-life husband). Passionate, histrionic, a little loony and strangely sexy, this extremely anti-corporate actor/director is failing to keep his own Shakespeare theater company afloat when the New Burbage calls on him to temporarily replace Oliver. New Burbage is where Geoffrey famously triumphed seven years prior as Hamlet opposite Ellen’s Ophelia, yet also where he then suffered a nervous breakdown only three performances into the production.

After begrudgingly accepting the offer, Paul meets the crew: neurotic assistant Anna (Susan Coyne), devious board member yet ironically named Holly Day (Jennifer Irwin), kooky actress Claire (Sabrina Grdevich) and her fresh-faced understudy Kate (a pre-Mean Girls Rachel McAdams), among others.

Like Shakespear in Love, the more you know about Shakespeare, the more you'll get out of the show. But I'm not a big Shakespeare expert and there's still a lot to enjoy. Geoffrey and Ellen's relationship is much deeper than just being co-actors, and their romantic history is further complicated by their director and shoulder to cry on, Oliver. Since the love of her life abandoned her on the stage, Ellen enjoys the company of local young boytoys, whether a bartender or delivery guy. How refreshing it is to have a non-ingenue leading lady enjoy her sexuality without flaunting or apologizing for it. Oh, and since Oliver can't be with them in person anymore, he decides to haunt Geoffrey, causing him to yell "Shut! UP!" during a conversation or televised interview.

Meanwhile, Kate is striking sparks with the Burbage's new Hamlet, Hollywood action star Jack Crew (Luke Kirby). I haven't seen a single Rachel McAdams movie yet, but she is so adorable here I just want to put her in my pocket and buy her lots of ponies. No wonder people call her the next Julia Roberts, however unprophetic that may be.

Also, Holly begins a kinky power dynamic with weak, "spindly" Richard, cruelly manipulating things so he can become the new chairman of the board of directors. Even though he might be the one ascending in power, slimy Holly clearly calls all the shots both in and out of the bedroom. In fact, Holly is so disgustly evil, with her perky smirks, affirmation tapes ("You are the center of the universe. You are God."), and disdain for anything and anyone in the way of her ambitions, you pretty much love to hate her. All of which is why Irwin is such a good actress.

This doesn't even scratch the surface of the large cast, which also includes an actor-hating stagehand and the two Irish actors who behave as less cranky versions of Statler and Waldorf. The show obviously has a large budget which I guess is possible with short, six-episode seasons.

The great thing about Slings & Arrows is that whethor or not you love Shakespeare or even theater itself, you can't help but be moved by the actors' and directors' love for what they do. They're not just crazy and high-strung just because they're artists, they're crazy and high-strung because they believe in the power Hamlet can wield over an audience. Their desperation is born not just out of vanity (note the "just") but because they sincerely want their screwy theater company to succeed! They live for the that thrilling, fleeting moment when the actors on stage forget they're on stage and just live it. Even if the show contaminates their personal lives or they have no budget for costumes or sets or the critics belittle them, these people clearly have no choice. They must do what they're doing. The hilarious side-effects are our benefit.