What Brown Can't Do For You

In my academically formative years, my teachers always espoused the philosophy "write what you know." Personally, it was very difficult to adhere to this credo since I really don't know anything. Actually, the only thing that I unequivocally do know is that. I offer this Socratic explanation for why this blog has been dormant for going on a month. Nothing of note has happened over the past 30 days that would warrant my taking time from watching TV to add to this published journal. However, since I do have a small, yet dedicated readership, I feel like I owe those who frequent this website a small dose of inanity in an otherwise busy day full of hard work (something I don't know anything about, so you haven't read). So to compensate for the lack of activity in my life, let's address what has been going on in the universal medium of television.

One show that has particularly caught my attention is MTV's Making the Band 3. Since P. Diddy has run out of Sting songs to sample, he has staged this competition as a means to revitalize his music career by formulating the ultimate all-girl band. History is obviously on his side as the previous installments of the MTB franchise has launched the careers of O-Town and Da Band--two groups whose political overtones about the excess of sex, money, and baby mamas were lost on their target audience. Anyway, based on the majority of the remaining contestants, MTV executives would have better ratings if they just named the show under its original and more appropriate title: Who Can Give Diddy A Hard On?

"The Police" might have to orchestrate a "Sting" if P. Diddy doesn't stop silently lusting over the young female contestants on MTB

Another MTV offering that I followed intently was Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County. When I first decided to watch the program, I had a fair share of reasonable doubts. For instance, could the people, places, and drama all be real? My reservations were immediately addressed by the disclaimer preceding the show which assures, in no uncertain terms, that these people and, more importantly, the drama do indeed exist. However, as I watched the show each week, I found it increasingly disturbing that, in fact, everything about it is real. For those who don't watch this program, Laguna Beach follows the lives of the richest and most popular kids in Orange County as they all either bitch about or fawn over one person--Colin Farrel's stand-in Jason. Jason is the resident womanizer of the county who is able to overcome his potentially obstructive monosyllabic vocabulary to linguistically woo the likes of the scholarly Jessica, Alex, and LC. I found it really impressive that Jason was able to orchestrate this love triangle by continually toeing that ambiguous line of either being the strong silent type or a Jerry's kid. Ultimately, by the season's end, Jason squandered his chance for true love with LC as he understandably hooked up with his ex Jessica as LC and her family looked on. But could you blame him? Jessica was the only real straight shooter on the show who faithfully adhered to the enigmatic motto "Don't hate the game, hate the player."

And why would you hate the game? I, for one, love games, especially those that are displayed in an 8-bit format. The other day as I was cleaning out my room in the hope that one day I could move out, I came across my Old School Nintendo complete with the remote controlled gun. It immediately conjured up memories of playing the conservationist friendly Duck Hunt and shoot'em up game Hogan's Alley--the place the Brady Bill forgot. Although, I explicitly remember my utter futility at Duck Hunt. My hand-eye coordination didn't exist so even when I cheated and pressed the gun right up against the screen, I would inevitably hear the menancing chuckle of the overly judgmental dog serving as the hunting companion which indicated that I had failed to clip a single mallard. If I was lucky enough to get past the first few levels, I would get flustered as the speed of the ducks increased exponentially with each passing round--they literally went from zero to cracked out in the span of three levels. Hogan's Alley on the otherhand proved to be a little more liberal in its demands for accuracy as the targets were bigger and more plentiful. However, I never quite understood why the property values in the Alley continually spiked above the national average considering gangland shootings went up 800% on a hourly basis. Perhaps, its strong school district and the fact Charles Bronson ably served as mayor compensated for the random and reckless acts of gun violence.

This cute one room brownstone walk up is only $8,500 a month and is conveniently located next to a gun store

On a similar note, after years of thought, I have finally decided to start formulating my book, tentatively titled "Just Blow On It And Other Ways To Fix Your Old School Nintendo." Essentially, this would be an illustrated guide of the different methods people use to get their Nintendo to work and perhaps how this reflects their outlook on life. This book depends heavily on the input of those who have their own unique system of fixing their NES so, consequently, if you do have one, I implore you to please post your remedy. Anyway, I will try to provide those who read this blog with more frequent updates and I hope all of you had a great Thanksgiving. Take care.