If we can say nothing else of the raunch-filled, poorly-acted so-called talkshows of the Jerry Springer ilk, we can say that the hearts of the hosts are in the right place. Amidst the pre-planned catfights and the bleeped-out obscenities there is always The Lesson, delivered by our ghost-like hosts, serious if oft'-ignored. I thought Cratchette's hypnotism a bit much to deliver her "dream lecture," but after it all was spooked and done, I felt like Christmas. |
Delivered in the spirit if not the form of Lox's "Goldman Saxophone," Brot-Haus's graph-filled storytime was simultaneously sing-song and opaque, straightforward and homespun, earthy and ephemeral. And after it all, I'm still not sure if I'm losing all my money or not. |
Billed as an instruction manual and also a cultural critique, O'Brien's essay on the degradation of the language was more praxis than prolix. But, as with so many kinesthetically-based pieces of critico-pedagogy, it turned into a bit of a stretch. |
Who knew psychological criticism of FAA reportage could be so brassy? So BIG? I laughed until I cried, then I died, then I died. |
D-list celebrities weirding it up for the sake of the weird is one thing, but hybridized muffintop exegesis on Freud is something else altogether. At one distant point, a waterfall of eels. |
Marley
Povich: Lowbrow Talkshows as the Nation's Ghostly Consciousness,
a Conscience-Raiser in Three Dreams
Handel
and Gretel: Fairy Tales for the Fiscally Baroque, an Annual
Report
Apostrophe's
Are Us: Contemporary Language for the Punctuationally Challenged,
a Forum in Six Sun Salutations
Fright
or Flight: the Sully-Effect and Airline Passenger Overconfidence,
3 Acts of Vaudeville
CocteauMom:
the Surreality of Reality TV, a Giant Slide in Three Pigeons