Between Random Planets

The Gateway Drug of the Gated Community

I am surrounded by suburbia.  I'm guessing that most of you out there are too.  Although you may find yourself wrapped inside of a community where all the houses and apartments look darned near identical (good luck finding it at 2 a.m. after a drunken Christmas party) you do have friends who feel your pain.  You are not just another brick in the wall, for you have the tools in your back pocket to become a unique and perfect snowflake.  It's called purchasing power.

A little bit of dollar distribution to kickstart the self-esteem is a warm and lovely feeling, though...a perfect introductory gateway drug that helps our mighty middle-class continue to keep up with the Joneses next door.  Of course there's the gated-community designer drugs that eventually follow (home loans, tearing out the perfectly functional kitchens and installing over-priced and under-used marble sinks).  I was watching San Diego's local news channel at an inhuman hour this week and one warehouse commercial actually started and ended by screaming, "We have every home improvement you need to make your neighbors insanely jealous!"  I laughed so hard I almost forgot that it was 4:50 in the morning.

So now you see what Nancy Botwin has to deal with on Showtime's Weeds.  Starting it's third season tonight, Weeds has now become a cult phenomenon for some very good reasons.  Everything in this suburban enclave is considered a gateway drug -- including power, sex, suburban competition, alcohol, prescription medications and....least of all...cannabis.

“The beauty of suburban life is that nobody really wants to know what's going on, allowing mischief to flourish"
~Melanie McFarland, on Weeds   

Nancy (played amazingly and adorably by Mary-Louise Parker) suddenly finds herself widowed and unable to afford the cushy gated-community lifestyle that she's become accustomed to.  Through some very funny circumstances she eventually becomes the suburban "baroness of bud", supplying cannabis to the soccer moms and golf dads in her little community.   The fact that these upstanding citizens were already long-term smokers before she arrived on the scene is not simply a writer's flight of fantasy, especially if you've ever lived remotely near one of the more anxiety-prone communities.

If you're a faithful follower, sign up for Showtime's VIP service and watch the new episode immediately online.   We watched the premiere a few days ago and couldn't stop laughing all the way through -- the writing is brilliant the acting just simply can't be beat.

Every politically correct notion that can be imagined is continually skewered, parodied and absurdly twisted.  The bad guys can sometimes be good, and the total wackadoo flakes (like Uncle Andy) can sometimes pinch-hit a home run for the family -- especially when it comes to explaining masturbation to his young nephew, an assignment given after Nancy simply couldn't cope with the task.

Speaking of which, it's one of my favorite scenes.  So I'll leave you with that encore golden oldie from Season Two -- please note that it's for mature audiences only.  Showtime's new ad campaign is "The Best Shit on Television" so there should be few surprises as to the nature of the content.  And yes...the grass is greener on the other side. 

The Cat Came Back

Look, I know that I said The Sopranos was not "passive television" in my last post.  I just didn't know how not passive it was until I sprinted off the couch in a cold swearing sweat during the last (now famous) eight second series finale blackout in order to call my brother (who is three time zones away) to make sure my DVR wasn't getting some long overdue revenge.

What happened when I found out that I had been had?  Snuffed out? Whacked by the big black nothing?  Absolute and instantaneous relief.  Strangely enough, unlike some viewers who have taken a day or two (and a little time with the Five Stages of Grief) to accept the ending, I found that the immediate acceptance of oddball artistic license was far easier than the thought of losing cable and internet connection.  There must be some constant in this universe, dammit. 

Cats are not constant.  But I love them because of it.  Through multiple household moves, we've had cats come and go according to their own capricious, feline whim.  I always hold out hope that some of them will come back into our lives in one strange way or another.  So, during the epic, very last episode of The Sopranos I was thrilled beyond belief to see the second appearance of Schrodinger's Cat.  Sure, it's physics -- but it's as painless as petting a pussycat and there will not be a quiz. 

To understand the "thought experiment" of Schrodinger's Cat (and how that brilliantly sneaky bastard David Chase snuck it into The Sopranos) we might want to take a peek at what came before the kitty:

The Uncertainty Principle 
Without the drama and boring stuff, this fundamental idea of physics states that the act of measuring something changes the result of that measurement.  If you're an anthropologist sent to study a remote African tribe, your very presence causes the village to behave differently...so your very presence while observing changes the entire dynamic and ultimately changes the outcome of the projected study you worked so hard on in the first place.

Schrodinger's Cat
This little "thought experiment" was designed to help explain that Uncertainty Principle, and fortunately no cats were actually harmed during the making of this film....er...thought experiment.

• We find ourselves with a sealed box, and one cat inside of it.  There's no windows, so no peeking!
• Also inside is a device that is able to randomly spit out marbles.  In the course of one minute, there is a 50/50 chance for this device to actually spit one out. Also inside is a sealed vial of poison gas. 
• If a randomly ejected marble hits this vial of poison gas, it cracks the glass and the kitty expires. If not, the kitty is spared a really icky (and thankfully hypothetical) death.

So....

• Now -- nothing on the inside of the box can be observed from where you sit on the outside.  One minute goes by while the marble device does it's random thing. 
• Question: after one minute what happens to the cat?  Answer: We don't know. 
• We can't predict with absolute certainty at this point whether or not that thing lost it's marble.  So at this point kitty is either alive or dead -- and with a 50% chance on a marble rolling it's consistent with physics to think that kitty is both alive and dead before you open the box to make sure (I'm an optimist so I tend to look upon it as "limitless possibilities").
• The outcome of the experiment:  The actual act of opening the box and observing the cat ("taking measurement") is the very thing that puts kitty into that defined state.
• The point: Our reality takes shape only when -- exactly when -- we sense it.  Is there reality without observation?   Existence without consciousness?  Until the box is opened, we are uncertain and spun into a realm of limitless possibilities.

P.S....this is a pretty down-and-dirty description meant only to highlight how the observer changes a scenario.  Schrodinger, being much smarter than the average bear, had a lot of other neat stuff to say about our perceptions of the "big picture" of the world (macroscopic systems and stuff we can measure/hang onto) and our perceptions of the "little picture" world (subatomic, ittybitty systems).  It's all related. Or relative.  Or not.  Which makes it very interesting indeed.

The Cat Came Back
Tony Soprano emerged from a near-death experience earlier this season.  At this time he was introduced to the Schrodinger's Cat concept by a dying patient Mr. Schwin (played by Hal Holbrook noted in the last post) who also quite elegantly used a pair of television prizefighters to explain the possible illusion of separate entities.  As Tony's crewmember Paulie moans about how "alone we all are", Schwin smartly compares the TV prizefighters to two waves or tornadoes who may appear separate but are "all connected" by smaller bonds that we can't easily see.

In Sunday's final episode, the cat came back.  A mysterious cat appears out of nowhere, sensing that there is something (as Tony says) "behind the walls".  But The Cat really came back during the last few seconds of the show.  It's been eight years since we were first introduced to this complicated family, and we played the role of observers and definers.  Our very observation or measurement changed the result (experience) of that measurement.  At that very last second -- the box was closed and we were all sent back to Schrodinger's realm of unobserved and limitless possibilities.

Larry Gross from Movie City News has an illuminating view: "the abrupt empty blackness or the 'ending'  was entirely about the show's relation to its audience" and an "explicit statement of the sovereignty of the audience. This is NOT the artist abdicating responsibility.  This is the artist, a most solicitous and engaging type usually, insisting that we assume ours."

The limitless possibilities are there for the taking.  And it's all a great big nothing.  Yet everything is everything.  I can so live with that.

So no quiz but let's have a treat....

Radio Free BRP is digging way way back this time for today's hunky 1981 power ballad by Journey.  Click with caution:  if you're a Soprano's fan you've already been hearing this tune in your head all...week....long.......

Download Dont Stop Believin.wma

"Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on...."
~Journey

Eighty Sixed.

We had no idea that this "thing of ours" was going to last so long.  I'm referring to both our recent self-imposed blog vacation and the reason why we've taken it.   Other entertaining forms of cultural random analysis have temporarily taken the front seat for their last big ride, and we're only now resurfacing.

The last episode of The Sopranos runs tomorrow ("Made in America") on HBO.  Have I paid my monthly  BRP tribute to the DVD Gods yet?  If I haven't, then it's most appropriate to now thank -- once again -- the technology that brought us DVD and the ability to watch this landmark show (complete with slow motion to catch every nuance) at our every whim, whenever we choose to watch it. How do you find the best moments in an eight year odyssey?  Patience, fortitude and lightning-quick reflexes on the remote.  I warn you though, it's like popcorn.  You can't just eat one piece.  You usually end up consuming the whole buttered tub.

The end of a human story is almost like visiting a dying relative in the hospital.  You know they have to eventually go (and don't we all) but we're consumed with the review of that life.  We are creatures who must find meaning.  We are also creatures who understand our lives better through story.

Coincidentally (or perhaps not) the last show is also Episode number 86.  To be "eighty-sixed" can mean anything from "the end of the line" to being tossed out on your ear at a local club.  This Baked Ziti has been a long time in the making -- it's contents include eighty-six hours of death, dismemberment, mobsters, murder, family crisis, personal therapy, sausage and peppers, fear, loathing, and strip clubs.  For dessert you were treated to stinging indictments on every "mob" in America -- from the illicit New Jersey Cosa Nostra to the more legitimate mobs in charge of our educational systems, psychotherapy, elder care, organized religion and even the the strong-arm tactics of the Italian Anti-Defamation League (who clearly don't consider themselves to be mobsters at all).  Really.

Those of you who watched this series but dismissed it as glorified violence -- you've always struck me as being a little odd.  Kind of like the poor sap who watches a cinematic masterpiece like The Godfather while simultaneously doing his income taxes and listening to his IPod.  All you see are the creepy capos and cannoli....and all this time you've had front-row seats to a metaphysical title fight of epic proportions between two of the biggest heavyweights around.

In one corner: the self-involved, self-pitying and ultimately nihilistic Mama Livia Soprano.  To her, the world is a great big bitter "nothing" and in the end you "die in your own arms".  Power and control are a man's only creature comforts, guilt is your most reliable weapon.

In the other corner: Tony Soprano's subtle dawning suspicion that there may in fact be "more out there" somewhere.  Tony's chance meeting with a hospitalized scientist (brilliantly played by Hal Holbrook) introduced him to physics, and the concept that all things in the universe are quite possibly connected.  Even the distance between the prizefighters that they were watching on television was considered to be an illusion, and everything was believed to be part of the same cosmic "stuff".  The Ojibwe poem left at Tony's hospital bed ("Sometimes I go about in pity for myself and all the while a great wind carries me across the sky") becomes a constant thread in this series.

But it's never that simple.  This story has always been about the battle.  In this moral boxing ring, viewers find rationalizations and extenuating circumstances that wildly spin their moral compasses every hour on the hour. The intense social dialogue that occurs after each Sopranos episode is worth the price of admission (or the monthly price of pay cable).  This is not passive television.  A viewer must have a taste for challenge, discomfort and a healthy dose of cognitive dissonance.

Tomorrow "this thing of ours" is over (if you watch the series you know what happens when the word "Mafia" is actually spoken).  Don't think for one minute that you'll get an easy resolution.  The best stories make you think for yourself.

"Whoa, I just found Jimmy Hoffa."
~Dr. Plepler, while examining an open incision during an operation on (fortunately anaesthetized) mob boss Tony Soprano 

Dismembered Constellations

We're Preparing For Life After Death 
Actually, life after a lot of death -- those wicked, tragic souls disposed of in glorious cinematic fashion ever since The Sopranos first aired on HBO in 1999.  I have my own New Jersey-bloodline Italian husband to thank for ensnaring me in this cable cocoon.  After watching that first episode (Rich only had the premiere of Season Two on tape way back then), I knew what it was like to taste cable crack.

All good things (and even the bad things that make you feel oh-so-good) must come to an end.  These last nine episodes, starting their air date tomorrow, conclude the Soprano Family saga.  What a ride it's been.  Want a recap?  I haven't seen a funnier or more accurate recap than the Seven Minute Sopranos.  Eight years of drama, death, guilt, betrayal and baked ziti scream by while each year of airtime is encapsulated in a few short seconds.  Beware if you have delicate ears, even the recap isn't a toddler show.

The one thing I love about this show is how they've always marked their mood with music.  So here's a little Radio Free BRP spin to get you in the mood for the final curtain.   It's a little slice of Cake -- an alternative audio treat from Season One of The Sopranos.

Frank Sinatra.wma

We know of an ancient radiation
That haunts dismembered constellations
A faintly glimmering radio station

While Frank Sinatra sings "Stormy Weather"
The flies and spiders get along together
Cobwebs fall on an old skipping record....

Showtime Buzz

We love that there is a little online community checking in with us every so often via blog post.  There is also great delight in this household when our random musings catch the eye of the casual passer-by.  We were fortunate this week to have Showtime feature our last post on their Blog Buzz which should satisfy at least 20 seconds of our allotted 15 minutes of fame per lifetime. 

Since they turn over their featured writers every other day or so, by the time you click through the Between Random Planets post might not be listed.  So for my Mom who (bless her heart) does read this on a fairly regular basis and for my pals in Japan who can't even access the Showtime site (believe me I tried when we lived there) here's where our recent post ended up on Showtime's Blog Buzz:

Download 15minutes.doc

One small step for itty bitty voices and the nonsense we have to share with the world.

Deck The Halls With Parts of Bodies

In a strange alternate universe, I wish I had made that one up.  Before you chase me with a net and a tranquilizing hypodermic, I'm referring to a little jingle sung during Showtime's new crime-drama series Dexter.  There will be bad serial killer puns aplenty in this post, so groan if you must.

By day, Dexter is a blood-spatter analyst working for the Miami Police Department.  A perfect gentleman, stylishly dressed, with a razor sharp wit.  By night, he's a serial killer.  The twist is that Dexter kills only bad guys...really bad guys.  Leaving small-time crooks to their dark dull deeds, Dexter stalks other serial killers. Hauling large Hefty bags after a successful stalking, Dexter effectively "takes out the trash" in and around Dade County. 

Judging by his copious use of Saran Wrap and duct tape (more "tools of the trade"), I'm guessing that he buys this stuff in bulk on a cop's salary.  These real-world thoughts matter very little once Dexter starts lecturing his tape-bound prey about their hideous lack of standards.  Then, those really bad guys (and their dented standards) eventually exit the room -- just in much smaller pieces.

The moral struggle is whether a monster's evil deeds can ever be viewed as a justifiable act.  On the couches of America, our collective struggle  is constantly facing that Inner Cheerleader that seems to do backflips everytime Dexter kills a child rapist/murderer.  What helps us get through the day is the elegant and unusual Code of Harry.

After suffering a hideous emotional trauma as a toddler, Dexter was adopted by his future monster mentor Harry Morgan .  Harry also happened to be one of the most ethical cops on the Miami Police force.  In flashbacks over the course of many years, we see Harry channeling Dexter's budding sociopathic "urges" by developing the "Code of Harry".  This eventually entails ultimate research and patience if one must kill -- verifying the absolute guilt of serial killers before making them prey, setting up a cautious and private kill zone, and disposing of the remains effectively and meticulously.  For Dexter, the Code of Harry is intended to protect and to serve in situations when the current legal powers-that-be simply can't.

Just like the best detective film noir, Dexter has an ongoing inner monologue that just slays you.  From the opening, "Another beautiful day in Miami.  Mutilated corpses with a chance of afternoon showers" to random musings on his boat Slice of Life that  "Harry and Doris Morgan did a wonderful job raising me. But they're both dead now. I didn't kill them. Honest." -- we get front-row seats into the machine that drives Dexter.  His goofy, nerdy and utterly charming adopted cop sister Deb is Dexter's polar opposite and one potentially humanizing force -- all puppy passion and completely lacking the monster's cool composure.

Noted in The Boston Globe, "Dexter may be an obsessive murderer, but he's also a hero of sorts.  He's Hannibal Lechter, but he's also Clarice Starling."  What a Christmas cookie that combination makes.

No spoilers for BRP blog pals who haven't seen the show, but it's the holiday season and I feel like singing. I will say that a really bad guy left Dexter some neatly wrapped body parts under a Christmas tree -- and sang his own "Deck the Halls" version while doing it.  Booyah!

Both books (Darkly Dreaming Dexter and Dearly Devoted Dexter) are worth the read.  They complement Showtime's storyline but some details are quite different, and they include great Dexter insight that doesn't spoil your dinner by eating dessert first.

"Needless to say I have some unusual habits, yet all these socially acceptable people can't wait to pick up hammers and smash their food to bits. Normal people are so hostile." 
~Dexter's voiceover, at a crab shack

Meg, How Could You?

Okay, let me parallel-park my High Horse here.  If I were Meg Ryan, I'd do the same thing.  I blearily walked past the living room yesterday hunting down my morning cup of Earl Grey -- and Meg Ryan was on my television set trying to sell my Japanese alter ego Nescafe coffee.

If you're stateside and have never been to Japan, you may be unaware that our high paid celebrities often moonlight on the side doing television commercials for Japanese TV.  Because they're getting paid astronomical amounts of cash, they often do some pretty weird stuff.  Stuff they hope that you're really never going to see.

Well, you can always see them on one of my favorite websites Japander.Com.  There are some hysterically funny videos of high-ticket celebs selling everything from deodorant to instant noodles.  My all time favorites involve Arnold Schwarzenegger.  I dare you to watch the "Peace Out" clip and not blow Nescafe out your nose.  You'll need the free Quicktime Download to view if you don't already have it.

I was gratified to see that Meg looked as confused and unkempt in her commercial as I do when I wake up (the above shot is from the Nescafe Japan site where she's dolled up a bit).  And what's with the poofy lips?  Have they always looked like that?  Does Nescafe do this?

Rest In Peace, Chef

Isaac Hayes gets the shaft, but ya can't say he shouldn't have seen it coming.

Since 1997, Isaac Hayes has voiced the character of Chef on the R-rated South Park.  In previous interviews for the show,  he expressed admiration for South Park's style. "Nobody is exempt from their humor," he said in the New York Daily News on Jan. 12. "Don't be offended by it. If you take it too seriously, you have problems."

Well even though over the years the crew has made fun of every single religion known to humans including the random insult to alien races (complete with plenty of anal probe jokes), last November's episode that skewered Scientology -- also his religion -- had a somewhat delayed effect on the man who voices our beloved Chef.  His offense-quotient finally caught up with him four months later when he tendered his resignation from the show.

Actually, it was a screamingly funny episode.  Everyone got the cattleprod, including Tom Cruise and John Travolta (both Scientologists).  Rumors were flying that Tom Cruise twisted some arms and caused the repeat performance to be mysteriously pulled.  So the season opener responds to that big-boy-bullying and puts our friend Chef to rest.  The interesting details lie here in an MTV article, and please note that there are spoilers within.

I actually live for spoilers.  When big media news happens I often have to run around making sure that I can find Comedy Central on someone's cable system here in Negishi.