SHAME ON YOU!

You know who you are. You’re the people that bitterly complain that nothing’s happened all season on LOST. And now you don’t watch. You, the fair weather fan, are jeopardizing the one show that’s managed to fill the void in my heart left by the untimely death of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in 2003.

And now another show has bit the dust. Last night we saw the season finale of The OC. I hear you laughing. The OC? Are you serious? That show was lame. No it wasn’t. It was funny, irreverent and utterly ridiculous and I loved it.

To examine why The OC died is to study the evolutionary course of episodic drama. Many a comparison has been made between The OC and its predecessor, Beverly Hills 90210 (hence forth referred to simply as Niners.) Niners lasted for ten years while The OC burnt out in under four. Sure, those final three seasons of Niners were atrocious (Vanessa Marcil as Tori Spelling’s illegitimate half sister/competitive ice skater? Blech) but the story telling was [relatively] strong until the seventh season.

I recently caught several episodes of Niners on the Soap Network and the show doesn’t hold a candle to The OC. The writing is dismal, the outfits, even by early 90’s standards, are comical, and the soundtrack (cheesy guitar riffs, anyone?) is obnoxious. But what Niners had that The OC so tragically lacked was pacing. Those writers managed to drag out the Brenda-Dylan-Kelly love triangle for nearly three seasons. Dylan’s father’s mysterious death in Season 4 was revisited again in Seasons 5 and he was brought back to life in Season 10. On The OC, a love triangle arc could be resolved in under four episodes. Marriages, career changes, arrests, etc… never lasted more than half a season. New characters were introduced and then removed in record time. All of this made for exciting, albeit unrealistic programming, but it didn’t encourage the show’s longevity.

So, what does this have to do with LOST? Many people argue that the writers haven't resolved any of the mysteries central to the show's core. They are frustrated that none of the storylines have yielded new information. That’s called pacing, people. I’ll remind you of another Fox episodic drama, and personal fave of mine, The X-Files. Oh, poor, sweet X-Files. For six, blissful seasons we were teased with black goop, alien-human hybrids and the omnipresent but mysterious Cigarette Smoking Man. Then the movie came out and explained everything. Now all they had to do was prove it. But the magic was gone. We, the viewers, knew too much, and the only thing left to do was change the channel.

Its my belief that LOST’s success is based on its ability to keep the viewer guessing. When a mystery is resolved (i.e. the identity of The Others – Scruffy, Walt-stealing “Zeke” was way scarier than poor, bumbling, possibly gay “Tom”) the balance of power shifts from the writer to the viewer. We now have the information, and if we like the way the narrative is headed, we’ll continue watching. If this new development displeases us, perhaps we’ll stop. But not having any information at all, keeps us intrigued, and that keeps us tuned in on Wednesday nights.

Perhaps the demise of The OC, and the pacing backlash that’s assaulted LOST this season stems from the changing pace of today’s society. We’re no longer content to watch our dramas unfold slowly and thoughtfully. We’ve become fixated on resolution with little regard to how that resolution is achieved. So, my dear, sweet readers: Use those DVRs wisely. Slow down and savor the LOST magic. Because its not always about how the story ends – its about what happened along the way.

Long Time No Blog...

I originally started this blog to examine my observed differences between life in Michigan vs. New York City. For a couple of weeks, I was on a roll. Then I stopped writing. Why, you ask? My official answer is I became engaged and singularly obsessed with reception sites, calla lilies and tulle. But that’s not the truth. In actuality, it got too damn cold.

With the exception of traveling to and from work I have not left the house in weeks. WEEKS. The temperature hovers at 10 degrees. It’s icy, snowy, sleety, slippery. At night wind chills dip dangerously low. As I’ve struggled to come up with a topic to write about, I realized I haven’t done anything blogworthy since the Great Kitchen Reconstruction Project. And I’m certainly not going to blog about the pivotal decision of straps vs. strapless wedding dresses.

I did, however, manage a dinner date with a girlfriend last week. I bundled up in my big, fluffy, purple coat and headed out into the cold. We met at Outback Steakhouse (which, you snooty New Yorkers, is actually quite scrumptious – I recommend the coconut shrimp, but I digress.) We exchanged pleasantries, chatted about work, discussed the aforementioned strapped/strapless conundrum and then we got into the (pardon the Outback pun) meat of the conversation.

My friend went on a first date with a guy she really likes. He took her out to dinner on a Saturday night and they really hit it off. She continued to talk to me about their blooming relationship, but I couldn’t focus. First Date on a Saturday night? A whole dinner? What is he, crazy?

Back in my pre-betrothed dating days in NY, Saturday nights were precious. They were reserved for my good friends. We went to nice restaurants (not Outback), saw plays, had birthday parties, and generally had a grand old time. First Dates are random. They are in fact, not a guaranteed good time and no Saturday night would ever be granted for a first date.

First Dates occur on Tuesday, usually over one drink in a heavily populated bar, where escape from both physical harm or social atrocity is easily accessed. If things went well, a second or third date would occur on a Saturday night. The First Date thus became the pre-Saturday night screening process.

But what if the New Yorkers are the crazy ones? During the work week, we’re distracted and short on time. Are we really giving the nice, sweet man who’s paying for the martini a real chance if we squeeze him in on Wednesday in between the gym and LOST? And, as much as we don’t like to admit it, when us girls go out on Saturday night, looking our finest, aren’t we really looking for someone new and interesting? Wouldn’t that time be better served sitting across a dinner table from someone whose attention is focused wholly on us, rather than the scantily clad chick at the bar?

New Yorkers are risk averse daters. They return emails after a several hour delay regardless of the beeping Blackberry on their desk. They impose 2-day moratoriums on returned phone calls. They withhold Saturday nights from first time suitors. Some people might call this “playing games.” I call it dating protection. However the real risk for New Yorkers is not taking any risk at all. As someone who has taken the biggest risk of all – I left New York and followed my heart to Detroit – I know that the net only appears once you jump.

All The News That's Fit to Find

I’m a news junkie. The number of times I check cnn.com a day is downright obsessive. And I’m not particular. I’m intrigued by a political commentary just as much as a Paris Hilton expose. Local, Domestic, International – if its going on, I need to know about it.

New York City is home to all of the major news outlets in the country and news just seems to happen there first. There’s no escaping it. There are newspapers to purchase on every corner. Flashing billboards stream the news live in Times Square. Even if you wanted to avoid the news, you couldn’t, as street peddlers dispense free papers at the mouth of every subway station.

In New York, there’s actually time to absorb the news. Time can be found on a subway platform, in a cab stuck in traffic, on the Long Island Railroad or on a cross-town bus. For a city that moves as quickly as New York, there’s an awful lot of waiting going on, and that’s when the news comes in handy.

Here in Michigan, the news is filtered. We hear about the big stories: The President delivers the State of the Union tonight! Lindsay Lohan back in rehab! Redwings lose again! Great attention is paid to any structural or economic change by the Big Three (GM, Ford and Chrysler) and the networks nearly peed with glee when they reported on the man who fell asleep in a garbage can and awoke to find himself trapped in a city garbage truck. (I’m not making that up. He called on his cell phone from inside the truck, but he didn’t know which truck he was in, so all of the garbage trucks in the city had to pull over and go through their loads. But I digress…)

Smaller international and domestic stories seem to slip by without mention. The Detroit Free Press is a fine paper, but who has time to read it? Not me. I’m too busy scraping the ice and snow off my car every morning. I can’t wait till I get home, because at that point the news is cold.

Many people argue that they don’t like the news. Too much bad stuff going on in the world! Too depressing! They may be right, but in this day and age, its important to stay abreast of what’s happening.

Several months ago a small plane crashed into a residential building on the Upper East Side. I didn’t know about it for hours. Someone I worked with mentioned in passing: “Hey did you hear about the plane that crashed into the building in NY?” To say that I had fear stricken flashbacks would be an understatement. I ran to the TV and quickly learned the details. That’s when I realized I’m in a whole different world out here - one where the news doesn’t penetrate my daily routine. So I continue to check cnn.com obsessively. For me, not knowing what’s going on is scarier than anything I could ever read.

The Iceman Cometh

It only has a shelf life of 6 hours max, but snow in NY is beautiful. It blankets all the dirt and debris. It reflects sunlight causing buildings to sparkle brighter. It even hushes the omnipresent street noise. The beauty, however, is fleeting. First the corners start to melt, sending rivulets of slush and dirt streaming towards the drains. Garbage collects on top, marring the pristine white surface. The last insult: the yellow tinged snow that can only mean one thing – the dogs are out. By midday, people bustle by barely noticing the snow, save for the white ring of salt that tinges pant legs and boots alike.

While snow in NY barely registers as an occurrence, here in Michigan, snow is a way of life. People drive in it, shovel it, lose their power because of it, love it and absolutely hate it. Snow and ice define the Michigan winter.

With the exception of a cold snap back in November, this Michigan winter has been mild. Because of El Nino, temperatures have hovered in the 40’s or higher and we have yet to see substantial snowfall - until yesterday.

A huge storm cut an icy swath across the Plains and the Midwest this week. Monday dawned on a world completely encased in ice. Tree limbs, unable to support the weight of the icicles that clung to their branches, collapsed to the ground, hitting cars and power lines. As the day progressed, the temperature dropped and the snow began. Left in its wake were ice-encrusted houses, cars and people, all of whom were stuck in traffic. As Michiganders always say “no one knows how to drive in snow.”

This morning the sun came out, but with temperatures only in the high teens, the ice holds strong. It glistens from every surface. And it’s beautiful.

Draft Dodgin'

I recently went to dinner with several friends, including one who now lives in Germany and was in Detroit on business. As usual, when an American spends time overseas, talk turns to how our country is perceived on foreign soil. In a nutshell: not so good. Our topics of conversation meandered from the economic rise of the European Union to George W. Bush and the Iraq War. And that’s when we started talking about the draft.
With the democratic victory in the midterm elections, Representative Charles Rangel of NY will now head the House Committee of Ways and Means. This is the committee that determines whether to reinstate the draft. Rangel, a democrat from Washington Heights, represents a district that is demographically Latin American and working class. It is his constituents that fight our battles. By reinstating the draft, he hopes serving our country becomes less about the economics of opportunity and instead the responsibility of all Americans.

On one side of the debate, it seems plainly apparent that our military is stretched beyond its capacities. Most military strategists argue that Bush’s “surge” to quell the violence in Iraq is far too little too late. To achieve the surge, in addition to new soldiers, troops that are overtaxed will be asked to extend their tours of duty. This may address the issues in Iraq, but what about in Afghanistan? And the Sudan? And the burgeoning crisis in Somalia? While some Americans may balk at the idea of U.S. entanglement in foreign civil unrest, the Bush administration argues these areas, once unstable, become havens for terrorists and therefore, cannot be ignored.

Unfortunately, we don’t have the manpower to go in and stabilize these regions. So instead, we outsource. We allow the Israelis to handle Hezbollah, even though all intelligence suggests Iran was behind last summer’s war. We let the Ethiopians usurp the Islamists regime in Somalia, in spite of the risk to the stability of the Horn of Africa. We let hundreds of thousands of people die in Darfur and leave the Sudan in the hands of a government that has active ties with Al-Qaeda.

Could more troops help? Absolutely. But what if they’re the wrong types of troops? Currently the people who serve in our military are volunteers. They fight because it’s a calling, its generational or its money for college. In their eyes, the military creates opportunity.

If instated, the draft would put more men in harm’s way. Men who have no interest in serving or have not been mentally and physically prepared to serve. And what of the loss? Had Albert Einstein been drafted and then killed in WWI, would we understand quantum theory today?

Some argue that our poor shoulder the responsibility of protecting this nation. Reinstating the draft would even out the socio-economic divide that mars the armed forces. The draft would make it the responsibility of all Americans, both rich and poor, to protect this nation.

The draft could also promote congressional responsibility. While many congressmen would undoubtedly pull strings to keep their offspring from the draft, they can’t do the same for all of their constituents. If all of the lives of America’s sons were poised on the tip of the blade, perhaps pre-emptive war would be considered with greater caution.

At dinner, we wrestled with this subject for the better part of an hour. It led to a spirited debate that prompted this blog entry. No conclusions were drawn. Hopefully Charlie Rangel’s committee will consider all options before moving forward on this issue. Cause what we’re doing now just ain’t working.

Tomorrow talk of kitchen cabinets and Michigan ice storms resume: I promise.

Nightlife for the Masses

New York City: The city that never sleeps. The city that’s home to 10,000 restaurants, bars and clubs. The entertainment capital of the world. How could a city like Detroit compare to that? Well folks, it does and then some.

As it turns out, there is fun to be had in Detroit (and not just 8 Mile Strip Club fun, although there’s plenty of that to go around.) The elements are all here: low-key bars, swanky lounges, cheesy clubs, but it’s the vibe that makes the city standout. There’s no pretense on Saturday night. It’s all about having fun.

In the time I’ve lived in Detroit, I’ve never come across a velvet rope or a snide doorman. With the rare exception of the bar that caters to the underage drunken hook up (Woody’s anyone?), everyone is welcome at all places. Take Boogie Fever, for example. Sure the club, which plays an assortment of 70’s and 80’s music, is a bastion of pure cheese, but through the smoke clogged dance floor you find hipsters grooving side by side with bachelorettes, soccer moms and frat boys. Is it ironic? You bet. But it’s also a ton of fun.

And that’s what’s missing in NY: fun for the sake of fun. The venues are gorgeous and the drinks are delicious, but its certainly not fun standing in line for an hour just to have the high school dropout doorman deride you for wearing last season’s coat. Or, to confidently march past the line, arrive at the door and discover a $30 door charge and a minimum two-bottle limit to secure a table. It would seem that just “getting in” is what makes a Saturday night fun in NY.

Of course, I’ve limited my discussion to only the crème de la crème of NYC bars and clubs. On any block in any neighborhood you can find a hidden gem with nary a doorman in site. The type of bar that boasts a burlesque show in the backroom and a pool table in the front. A bar, that for all intents and purposes, is just about having fun. And that’s when you realize Detroit and NYC don’t seem so different after all.

Driving: A Rebuttal

Perhaps I was too hasty. Millions of Americans drive everyday and most of them get to their destinations alive and on time. Maybe I need to look at driving in a new light.

Back in NY I lived on the fourth floor of a walk up apartment. Every time I left my house I had to walk down four flights of stairs and return up those same stairs at the end of the day. This was especially distressing when I would arrive in the lobby only to discover an instant monsoon situation outside. Then I would have to trek all the way back upstairs to retrieve my wayward umbrella.

My building also lacked a laundry room. Once a week I lugged a 12 pound laundry bag down those four flights, dragged it down three blocks and deposited it at the nice laundry lady who charged me wholesale prices for washing and folding. The next day, I would repeat but this time I'd be climbing UP the stairs with clean laundry.

The same went for groceries. I would have to plan accordingly. The supermarket was four blocks away. Four long blocks. If I was buying a gallon of Tropicana Orange Juice, there's no way I could carry a 6 pack of Stella at the same time. One liquid per trip.

What if I wanted to go to the gym? Sure, one might argue that with all the stair stepping, laundry dragging and juice lugging, the gym was rendered irrelevant. But let's just SAY I wanted to go (and to be truthful, most times all I did was SAY I wanted to go.) I would also have to carry around my gym bag all day.

That's where Michigan has NY beat - stone cold. In the span of one day, I can go food shopping (buying both Orange Juice, Stella AND a 14lb turkey), pick up dry cleaning, buy a couple of 2x4's for the hell of it, and go to the gym. All of this is possible because of my car. My sweet, little, gas guzzling, death defying car.