Deadly Ends to TV Dramas

What's the deal with hour long dramas these days? Time was that seasons ended with provocative cliff hangers to reel us back in next year. Call 2008 the year of death. It seems like every show I watch killed off (or jettisoned) a character to end the show. It is quite comical really. Want to play the death game with me? Let's see.

On "House," the writers killed off Wilson's love interest Amber via complications from a bus accident.

On CSI (the original), the writers killed off Warrick, via a gun shot to the head by the Vegas sheriff (who is secretly mobbed up). Apparently, the actor playing Warrick has some off screen drug issues.

On CSI Miami, the writers wrote off the Medical Examiner Alex, only to kill her replacement in the first 30 seconds of the show. While talking CSI Miami, how ridiculous is this show. But for the unintentional comedy caused by David Caruso's horrendous acting the show would be unwatchable. For a "science" based show, it's plot lines read like bad day time dramas crossed with every bad Schwarzenegger movie (i.e. Commando). Let's see. A few episodes back, Horatio is deported to Brazil on homicide charges, promptly kills about 10 guys with a handgun whilst being shot at with automatic weapons, and then magically (on a Lt's salary) charters a jet to fly back to Miami like nothing happened. Eric Delco was shot in the head and suffered brain damage, but is still able to keep his job (and of course hooked up with Calli). Ryan Wolf (although a twitch) is now conspiring to murder Horatio. Horatio secretly had a child a 16 years ago with former Saved by the Beller Elizabeth Berkely, who on the show had witnesses to her love child's son's crimes murdered and she, of course, is a billionairess, con artist. Alex's son was tangentially involved in a bizarre murder and now she has left the show. And on and on. That show Jumped the Shark in episode 2, season 1, but it is watchable only because of Caruso's head angles and sunglasses maneuvers.

On NCIS, the writers killed off good old Lauren Holly and might have sent off all of Gibbs' team.

On Criminal Minds, guess what, one of the cast members (unknown at this point) was blown up at the end of the show.

On Bones, no principal character was killed, was the writers converted sweet-hearted and brilliant Zach into a cannibalistic serial killer (no joke), after Agent Booth managed to instantly recover from a gun shot wound to the chest.

No one died in Numb3rs, but they wrote off the Megan character (good riddance - she stunk on Rescue Me too)

Going back to earlier this year, The Unit killed of Hector, Dexter killed off Sgt. Doakes. Heroes killed off Nathan.

Anyone have any explanation for all this killing? I have some ideas in the poll that follows.

Sam Johnson

Requiem To Utter Mediocrity

Well at least it's over. What once was an entertaining, ground breaking reality show that discovered real talent, is no more. At least for me. No more will I spend 15 minutes on Tuesdays TiVoing forward to hear just the songs and the inane commentary by a has been, a barely was, and a British nobody. And no more will I spend 30 seconds on Wednesdays finding out which little or no talent finished last in the first place voting. Don't feel bad. I don't hang out in Karaoke bars either. The sad truth is that American Idol is badly broken. Its producers and their ventriloquist dummies (Randy, Paula, and Simon) can't spot talent, so they don't find anyone with real talent for the show (I guess they are too busy trying to find freaks and whackos to fill up three fourths of their audition shows). Its producers are so out of touch with their target audience and their contestants that they promote mentors who are decades older than their oldest contestants and whose hits, while classics, are unknown by the contestants and utterly irrelevant for today's market. C'mon. Neil Diamond, Andrew Lloyd Weber, and Dolly Parton? What's next. Englebert Humperdink, Steve and Edie, and a Spinner? It's panel members are either drugged out sycophants who are afraid to speak the truth, inarticulate morons who have nothing to add so they just repeat a few catch phrases (just keeping it real, just ok for me, check it out dog, a little pitchy at times, you can sing the phone book, that was molten hot...), or sarcastic foreigners who like to hear themselves talk but don't really say anything worth remembering.

And, of course, there are the contestants. Mr. Adams said that talent won out in the end. I beg to differ. There was no real talent on this show this season. Just a bunch of average to marginally above-average singers who have no business being on the national stage and have no business being named anything much less an American Idol. Let's be real for a moment, Mr. President. There is no way you and Abigale are buying a David Cook CD. Just like there is no way I am buying a David Archuleta CD. Just like no one will be buying a Brook White CD (how terrible was that performance with Graham Nash - yikes). Just like no one buys Soul Patrol CDs. And hopefully just like no one will be buying another Jordin Sparks CD.

So for me, Idol ended last night. I can no longer afford to waste 15 minutes and 30 seconds of per week on it.

Sam Johnson

David Cook wins Idol

America got it right. I expected Archuletta to run away with the AI throne but in the end, Cook's talent won out.

I cannot imagine an Archuletta album:

1. Sappy ballad
2. Awful love song
3. Nasal nostalgic tune
4. Awful song that wants to be pop
etc.

Cook has the chops to actually put together a band. Give him a solid guitarist, bass, and drums, and he can make a good album.

It's my first season of Idol and I feel some vindication that the best man won.

On Dog Owners and Bowlers

There are two types of dog owners out there. The first love when strangers laud affection and praise on their four-legged best friends. The other casually tosses their bowling ball down the lane, turns, and walks back to their seat without bothering to see how many pins, if any, they knocked down. You see, I recently went to the park with Hester, lavished praise on a particularly handsome Labrador Retriever, only to be ignored and practically rebuffed by that dog's owner, who actually seemed annoyed at having to endure such compliments. I have no doubt that this curmudgeon - who shockingly seems to represent a good third of all dog owners - apparently takes little joy out of any of life's pleasures and most certainly does not EVER see how many pins she happens to hit when she goes bowling. How does any dog owner or bowler come to be this way? It's a mystery question of life.

Dogs exist to bestow love and affection their owners. Logically, dog owners love receiving such unbridled affection and, in turn, love their pet like a child (perhaps even more than their actual children who often direct very different emotions upon their parents). And what parent is annoyed or unwilling to accept a compliment about their children who - unlike their dogs - they didn't even hand pick (not including adopted children, of course)? None - at least that I have ever encountered! So why then are these same people so irritated when their dogs are complimented? It makes no sense.

Bowling is a form of recreation in which bowlers voluntarily participate presumably to have fun and to knock down as many pins as possible. So why then would anyone go to the trouble of traveling to an alley, renting shoes, picking out a suitable ball, putting on those shoes, throwing the ball down the alley repeatedly - but be totally disinterested in the ultimate result of all that effort? It, too, makes no sense.

Only one reason leaps to mind for this inexplicable behavior. These disinterested and dispirited dog owning bowlers have no joy in their lives and have certainly have no business bowling or owning dogs. In fact, there ought to be a law. If you own a dog, you should be required to gladly accept compliments concerning your fuzzy friend and if and when you also bowl, you should be required to see how many pins you've knocked down.

Sam Johnson

Idol Finals Wrapup aka Mr. Adams is on crack

Apparently my friend and distinguished colleague Mr. Adams watched a different program than I did last night. Since his Billy Jean performance, Mr. Cook hasn't found or produced anything that anyone is looking for. His first song was not outstanding, even given the confines of his limited talent. He is what he is. An above-average bar singer from Omaha. Cook had no business taking on a U2 song. He neither has the pipes nor the range of Mr. Hewson to do so. He rocked nothing in song 1. The Cashbah is safe for another day.

Song 2 was worse than song 1. Good plan. Under sing and unknown ballad on the biggest night of your life and then don't even show off your skills on the Les Paul. Methinks Mr. Cook has no such skills to show off.

Song 3 was "just ok for me." It wasn't bad enough to trash, but not good enough to beat Brook White if she was still in the competition. As much as I hate Cowell's inane one liners and uninspired commentary, Cook should have gone back to Billy Jean. And I am confident - and you can mark this down - that after a modest couple of CDs - Cook will find himself sharing the same grey twilight with Ace Young and Bo Bice.

As for Archie-boy, this was his night. Maybe, just maybe, if and when he cuts his father's cord and grows up a little bit, he might have a future. He sang the heck out of Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me in an arrangement that featured more vocal stylings than Reginald Dwight's classic original. It was definitely a top 3 performance of the season.

Song 2 was - as Mr. Adams said - a contrived piece of shit like the "A Moment Like This" that they foisted upon Kelly Clarkson in Season 1. Anyone seen old Kelly lately, by the way? She's packing an extra 20 lbs and sporting an atrocious Nancy cartoon bob. With all the cash and time that she has on her hands, how about spending a couple of bucks on a stylist and nutritionist? She really looked good by the end of Season 1 so she can do it.

Song 3 was the perfect choice. I can't Imagine him singing anything else. To hell with originality. As Robert James Ritchie would say, He was "in it to win it like Yzerman." The time to take risks was over weeks ago. This was the time to close with your best song which is just what Archie-boy did.

Verdict: 3 - zip in favor of Archuleta - the next American Idol. And Mr. Adams, the judges gave nothing to Archie-boy. He simply outperformed his mediocre (read: highly overrated) opponent.

A few final thoughts. It's ironic that Jim Lampley was featured on a boxing theme night for this wholesome All American fare. After all, Lampley was arrested in 2007 for beating up his then-fiancee the former Ms. California USA and then promptly violated his restraining order to which he pled no contest and was sentenced to four-years probation. It's nice that American Idol provided a forum to promote such good role models as Mr. Lampley. This said, when are we going to stop permitting spousal abusers to enjoy any future successes? For my money, once you pick up your hand and assault a woman, your days in the public's good graces should be over. But in this country, fame outweighs a little spousal abuse. Just ask the Brown and Goldman families. Had OJ been properly punished for the many prior times he assaulted his wife, she'd still be alive today. Heck, if Hertz and Hollywood had pulled the plug on his career the first time he assaulted his wife, she might be alive today too. "Am I bugging you? I don't mean to bug you," so back to Idol.

This season like the last two were major disappointments. None of the contestants should win and most should not have even made the final 12. I guess the people with real talent have already been signed to contracts so we are left - finally - with pool of inferior talent and studio rejects. Did you know, by the way, that as many as 10 of this year's top 12 had washed out of contracts with record labels? Anyway, it's time to turn our attention to a really excellent show that loses Idol in its wake: So You Think You Can Dance. Now that's a show.

American Idol: Finals (5/20)

It's Thunderdome. Two men* enter, one man leaves. Who run Bartertown? Hopefully David Cook.

David Cook.

"I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" by U2. He's confident and his vocals are great. He strolls into the crowd and works them up. Great song choice. Outstanding opening performance. His mom cries.



"Dream Big" Emily Shackleton. Some kind of new new artist crap that he was forced to pick. He's on the Les Paul and rocking. Good chorus. Looks like a rockstar. Got that great scratchy voice. For a song I never heard, I liked it. Simon says he didn't: Fuck you, you hairy chested King Kong body double.



"The World I Know" by Collective Soul. He's on the acoustic for this one. I didn't feel it--original composition didn't do it for me even though I love the song. He just seems off. After it's done, he sheds a few tears, enjoying his run--a nice touch that will get him a few more votes. All that said, for once, Paula is right: Cook is ORIGINAL. Such a contrast to Archuletta who is mass-produced McDonalds cardboard Wal-Mart Stepford-living in his ticky tacky houses that all looks just the same.

Cook is the artist tonight.




David Archuletta.

"Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me" Elton John. David sings the shit out of this song. Maybe my favorite of his songs this season. 3 seconds into the judging, however, he does his breathless bullshit "I'm so surprised anyone likes me" voice as the judges kiss his ass.

"Who gives a fuck" by Someone I'll never know. Some awful shit ballad made for man-on-man groping. What the fuck is David wearing? A jacket with giant anchor on the front and back? "Hello sailor!" (If you get that reference, you are likely to be eaten by a grue.) The song is unlistenable. Nasally eye-closing David is in full stereo. Randy uses the phone book line. I'd like to shove S through V down his throat but it's already filled with David's knob.



"Imagine" by John Lennon. Same as the first time he sang it. Of course, he couldn't sing something new or original. Big fucking whup. The judges were already drooling all over him and they continue to do so, doing everything they can to hand the title to the little prick instead of the guy who actually works at his craft.



Other observations.

Spectacularly gay Rocky and boxing intro gives a huge advantage to Archuletta's legions.



Jim Lampley is a fuckwit. Why would he do all that super-stupid boxing shit? Tool.

Judges went into the night deciding to give it to Archuletta. His first song was outstanding. Second was shit. Third is something we've already heard. Cook showed he can rock, ballad, and compose his own stuff. He's the more talented guy but the 13 year old girl network is out in full force tonight and Archuletta will win.

Tonight I ask myself, if I was single and had sex with Paula Abdul, would I get the "You were so wonderful tonight. You. Are. John. Adams."

All things Scrabulous, that is my simple request...

Yeah, so I'm on Facebook but unless you know my name, you won't find "John Adams" there. Or at least he won't be me if you do find him.

As far as I can tell, Facebook is best for playing Scrabulous, which is the IP-ripping-off game Scrabble. I've got 4 games going at once. How awesome is that?

If you're an adult--or at least a grown-up flavor of human--Facebook is also good for:

(1) Getting "friend requests" from people you haven't seen in 18 years. Ya know, if I haven't tracked you down in 18 years, there's a reason. And if the reason is that I couldn't find you, it's better that you stay unfound.

(2) Remembering all your younger nephews/cousins. Facebook forms a Pavlovian response in its younger members. The second they see someone they almost know, they "friend" them instinctively.

(3) Looking at younger nephews/cousins drunken pictures. With little regard for future job prospects, there's nothing like seeing 19 year old Tim--an aspiring education major--passed out with his naked and puke-bathed torso covered with Sharpie glyphs.

(4) I'm running out of things already. If you're over 35, you may have little use for Facebook beyond all things Scrabulous.