Transfixed by the High Life Commercial for Miller High Life. Transfixed because it is a shameless rip off of the films of Terrence Mallick. The commercial steals both the Carl Orff music and the dreamy, wistful voiceover from “Badlands.” (with a nod towards Mallick’s great meditation on man and war “The Thin Red Line.”) Not a bad pedigree for a beer commercial. Stealing well…just part of the High Life.
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Posted on 10/20/2005
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Bad day for Vegas. A series of minor indignities, topped off by the recurrence of an old shoulder injury that had finally, finally healed. Deep animal misery. Rare liver-deep need to drink. Go to a bar on this desert of a sports night and find the perfect surprise opiate: A pre-season Knicks game. I check out the 2005-6 Edition New York Knicks as I might a used car that I know I'm already condemned to buy. Liking this kid David Lee. Solid, strong lefty. Shades of (pre-mortem) Debusschere. Knicks D looking veritably Jenna Jamison-esque . Not hot. Just really receptive to repeated penetration. Pre-season. Pre-season, I know. They have not yet been forged in the smithy of Larry Brown’s wrath.
I hardly recognize any of the faces. And from the way they're playing , it seems they don't recognize each other either. To the tune of 51-25. Down. But have to say, despite the score, I’m loving the audio-visual Xanax of NBA hoops. And the Stella. Give me beer and televised sports or give me death. (Speaking of death: A quick plug for an excellent book. "Being Dead" by James Crace. A braided narrative of the courtship, last moments and posthumous bodily decay of late middle aged husband and wife zoologists. Better than it sounds. Brutally impersonal but strangely compassionate. ). Nice left hand pass from Crawford to Curry. Big. Wide. Strong. Finished it off with an emphatic slam. In the wake of this deeply disappointing day, my left leg won't stop. Restless leg syndrome. Robinson, Curry impressing so far. If Curry doesn't pull a Hank Gathers or a Reggie Lewis, he might be a monster. Knicks’ D suddenly a bit less penetrable. Jenna seems to be closing her legs.
They cut to a clip of Torre's big press conference. Digging his hair plugs. Nice little V-formation on the open sea of his scalp. Good look. Listening to the guy next to me (some blonde entertainment bimbo guy in from LA) laying his rap on the woman he's with. It's a good thing guys don't have to hear one another's drunken, bad-faith attempts at seduction too often (or worse-on instant replay-their own). It would seriously interfere with their ability to perform their biologically determined tasks. If I have restless leg syndrome, he has restless mouth syndrome…and I’m suffering more at the moment from his condition than from mine. I focus my rods and cones back on the screen and put imaginary wax in my ears.
Just realized that neither A.I nor C-Web is playing. And we're down by 30. What's the word? Inauspicious? Liking Al Trautwig's absence of wig or hair plugs. A dignified descent into afollicularity. Works for him. My turkey burger arrives (a hangover prophylactic). Shoulder hurts so much I can't open the frigging Grey Poupon without wincing. Alcohol. It's about numbing the pain and clearing the associative pathways. Or, as I've often suggested for an ad campaign: “Alcohol. It's like Anti-bacterial soap for your insides.” I keep glaring intermittently at the vapor spewing guy a seat away with a look that says “DIE.” But his degree of self-satisfied narcissism is so great that I suspect he thinks I'm checking him out. God have pity on the man who can still tolerate his own bullshit. Or, more importantly, on the man who has to listen to it. Holy fuck, I missed the comeback. Knicks within 22!!
Curry looking good. Like a mini Shaq (ok, I’m officially drunk). Big. Aggressive. Jam-happy. I’m envious of all these fuckers. Not for their youth. Not for their wealth. But for their full range of pain free shoulder motion. Damn,. Larry Brown has gotten taller and balder and blacker since coming to NY. Oh, wait: That’s Herb Williams. I like the look of Lee and Nate Robinson. Both play strong and hard. Frye a little soft so far. I hope L.B. brings him along faster and more effectively than he did Donnie Darko Milicic. Knicks run a fast break like a Bush-Cheney state building initiative. Everyone ends up on the ground and the ball ends up in the other team's hands. Lee goes up for a dunk and is stuffed by the rim. This Romeo next door is killing me. Waxing romantic about the “specialness” of her letting him see what’s on her iPod. Imaginary ear plugs. Imaginay ear plugs. The woman suffering his insipid attentions interrupts my stupor to ask whether I think the light fixture looks more like a penis or a breast. I suggest that it resembles a penis with a nipple tip--an interpretation that seems to satisfy and delight the both of them in ways that make me a bit uncomfortable. They cut to a shot of a kid at the game wearing a Clyde Frazier NYK Jersey (10). A poignant reminder of the persistent human longing to hope, to dream, to transcend our workaday lives through the efforts of millionaire pituitary cases. Also a poignant reminder of how long it's gonna be before the NYK are anything like a force again. One thing’s for sure (as Jamal clangs the rim): Without Alan Houston, no one on this team is feathery and buttery. OK, down 23 with 3 to go. Guess I can mail this one in.
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Posted on 10/20/2005
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