Revisit Disco Demolition Night and Make America Better

July 12th is the 30 year anniversary of the infamous "Disco Demolition Night" at Comiskey Park in Chicago, between games of a White Sox double header against the Tigers.

For those of you too young to remember, this was a time when the popular culture was beginning to turn on the relatively shallow, beat-filled phenomenon known as disco music, which probably reached its zenith following the 1977 release of Saturday Night Fever. (For the record, I was, and still am, a fan of disco. I guess it's the hip hop of the getting ready for jello and shuffleboard crowd. Sue me). In response to the growing antipathy toward disco, and the format change of local radio stations, an area DJ worked in conjunction with Mike Veeck (son of legendary promotional huckster and then Sox owner Bill Veeck) to come up with a marketing event that allowed fans in for 98 cents if they brought a disco record (remember those?) to the stadium to be destroyed in "protest" between games.

Well, the promotion worked entirely too well. The fans came to the stadium en masse, all smoked and liquored up. The records were collected in a box in center field and blown the fuck up with explosives. Fans poured onto the field, cops followed, riots ensued, fires were started, the field was destroyed, the stadium shook and the second game was forfeited.

It marked a turn in the zeitgeist of popular culture, when people just got fed up with what was being force fed to them by all their entertainment outlets.

Now, as I mentioned, I actually liked disco, though I appreciated it for what it was and certainly didn't turn to Lipps, Inc or KC and the Sunshine Band for the lyrical depth I could get from a Dylan record. There was a time and place for it, but I can certainly understand the frustration of audiophiles whose radio stations suddenly stopped playing Zeppelin, the Stones and Floyd in favor of The Village People. As the anniversary of this event rolled around, I wondered, what could be so odious today as to make me show up at a stadium, frothing at the mouth to watch metaphorical christians fed to the metaphorical lions? And then it dawned on me. What is the biggest plague on the entertainment landscape today? REALITY TV.

Think of the parallels. Does is substantively dumb down another similar form of entertainment? Yes. Once it became popular, did the market flood with cheap knock offs that people lapped up without even considering the quality? Yes. Is it an affront to craftsmen who strive mightily to produce top shelf, written and thought provoking material? Yep. Does it succeed with the masses while more intelligent and artfully constructed offerings struggle to find an audience? You betcha. Does looking at the Top 20 produce a throbbing in your temples that can only be relieved by an act of wanton, bloodthirsty violence? Oh, yeah.

I suggest that some enterprising baseball marketing guru commemorate the anniversary of "Disco Demolition Night" with a similar promotion: "Reality Rampage Night."

Between games of a double header, the promoters would wheel out onto the field a wagon full of reality "stars," all chained together. The Kardashians. All the "real" housewives. Jon and Kate. Denise Richards. Paris Hilton. The vapid trollops and himbos from The Hills and its spinoffs. Supernannies. Anyone who has ever participated in a "rose ceremony." Anyone who has participated in a hot tub three way in order to further their "personal brand." Anyone who thinks having their "relationship" beamed into our homes doesn't make us want to stretch a condom over our widescreen. Anyone who has ever seen Bret Michaels or Flavor Flav naked. If you've been on television, the cover of US Weekly and are famous for having no discernible talent, skills, taste or intellect, you're on the chain gang. Also included are any and all television executives responsible for greenlighting these shows.

For admission to the ballpark, fans can purchase a 98 cent ticket provided they bring with them an Irish car bomb, a pitchfork, a chainsaw, a Molotov cocktail, a blunderbuss, a trident, nunchucks, a mace, a flamethrower or ninja throwing stars. Free 24 oz. tallboy beers are served to every fan who shows a DVD of an actual television program featuring a script, acting and directing. A recording of Harry Carey counting down "a-one, a-two, a-three" readies the crowd for the attack, and then the angry mob of scripted television fans descends upon the clueless, vapid morons chained together and rends them limb from limb. An announcement comes over the stadium speakers, the mob backs away, and the cancerous tumor toxifying our programming is finally excised as a series of explosives planted in center field finishes the job, blowing the "reality" pestilence into a fine red mist.

Surely this would be more satisfying, healthy and cathartic for the nation than burning a couple of Peaches and Herb records, right? Who's with me?!

Emmy Shortlist: Comedy Supporting Actors

It’s that time of the year, now that the regular television season is over, when folks start putting together a short list for Emmy Nominations. I’ll do mine in few installments, starting today with supporting performances in a comedy.

TNRLM Shortlist: Supporting Actress/Comedy

Lizzy Caplan, Party Down: Caplan’s Casey, a wannabe stand up comic coming out of a bad long distance relationship, was a great romantic foil for Adam Scott’s Henry, creating one of the most deadpan comic couplings this year (Caplan was also fantastic in True Blood last year, as Jason’s unhinged blood junkie girlfriend).


Kristin Chenoweth, Pushing Daisies: A tiny whirlwind of comic charm and spunky sass, with bonus points for glorious singing.



Portia de Rossi, Better Off Ted: Veronica was as icy and buttoned up as Lindsey Funke was scattershot and dimly self aware, and both were played to perfection by de Rossi.



Jane Lynch, Party Down: Lynch is hit or miss for some folks, and I’ll admit that a little of her goes a long way. Party Down used her to great effect as a bawdy former C-level actress.

Cobie Smulders, How I Met Your Mother: Both ladies (including Alyson Hannigan) from HIMYM are worthy, but since Hannigan was sidelined for month or so on maternity leave, let’s give the show’s nomination here to Smulders, who did great work all season, culminating in a terrific finale with Barney.


Jenny Wade, Reaper: Though the plotting in Reaper was as disappointingly unfocused as last year, the performances really stepped up. Wade was a fantastic addition to the cast, giving her “reformed” demon an adorable quirkiness underscored with some not so human menace.



TNRLM Shortlist: Supporting Actor/Comedy

Adam Baldwin, Chuck: First, we have to address the question of whether or not to classify Chuck as a “comedy,” since it’s a little bit of everything (romance, comedy, spy caper, action adventure). Given how loaded the pure “drama” categories are, and how many smiles and chuckles Chuck brings to the party, I think it’s fine to put it here, and nobody does more with less than Baldwin’s Agent Casey. Whether it’s a grunt, a look or a nod, Baldwin is consistently entertaining, funny and badass.

Rick Gonzalez, Reaper: It took me a while to warm up to Gonzalez. I couldn’t stand his performance or his character on Reaper last year, but he completely won me over in the show’s second (and hopefully not final) season. His romance with Jenny Wade’s demon Nina was the heart of the show this year, and his off-kilter and underplayed line readings were appreciably surprising and delightful.

Neil Patrick Harris, How I Met Your Mother: Harris should be a shoo-in winner in this category. He takes what could be a broad cartoon in a lesser actor’s hands, and infuses the scheming, womanizing Barney with an innate likeability. A masterful creation, masterfully played.

Chi McBride, Pushing Daisies: Reliably exasperated and caustic, McBride handles the labyrinthine plot twists and tangled, brilliant dialogue with aplomb.




Jason Segel, How I Met Your Mother: Marshall and Lily’s relationship is one to envy, in no small part because of Segel’s ability to play endearingly schmoopy. Plus, this last season gave him a chance to show more of a bromance with Barney, a welcome pairing we haven’t seen that often before.

Ray Wise, Reaper: Wise’s grinning, malevolent Prince of Darkness is a consistently terrific comic creation, completely dominating the screen while taking souls, looking for love or running a suburban botox party. If Reaper doesn’t get picked up by another network (or sold into syndication), I’d certainly watch a half hour sitcom with the Devil as a central character. He’s that “good.”

James T. Kirk laughs in the face of your insurance plan

Here's an amusing headline and post, courtesy of The Trek Movie Report.

Hey, I work in marketing, and right off the bat I would have realized that this billboard and "customer care" program concept would instantly amuse and possibly exclude the large segment of the population known as Trekkies (or Trekkers, as some prefer). Hell, even friends of mine who don't know the difference between Klingons and Vulcans are familiar with the term "redshirt."

Which got me thinking. Is the concept of redshirt deaths just a pop culture meme, or was there really something to it? Of course, almost anything you can wonder has probably been analyzed somewhere, and thanks to the usefulness of these here interwebs, we have an answer.

In three years of the Original Trek, 43 redshirts took the big galactic dirt nap. How do I know this? Check this out.

You have got to love it when statistical analysis is used to examine the death rate of red-shirted crewmen on the USS Enterprise. Complete with a fucking Starfleet Powerpoint, for crissakes! Brilliant!

And the conclusion: We can reliably improve the survivability of the red-shirted crewmen by only exploring peaceful, female-only planets (android and alien females included).

Of course, let's hope their insurance carrier wasn't (or rather, isn't going to be) "Independent Health."

Hasta La Vista, Moron

Yesterday, bigot, blowhard and intellectual dwarf Jerry Fallwell passed away. Slate magazine assembled a quick list of some of his more idiotic, offensive and nonsensical statements in one handy article. Of course, to list every contemptuous, ill-advised and profoundly stupid thing he's ever said might take up all the memory on the internet. Buh-bye, asshat.