Some Oscar thoughts:

Thank god for TiVo, or more precisely my generic version of it. Fast forwarding the majority of the Oscars, even more self-aggrandizing than usual, made them at least relatively tolerable. I understand, sort of, the "we've screwed the pooch on this one too many times sympathy Oscar" for Scorsese, but the Departed for Best Picture? Come on... I thought Ellen was about as engaging as a Strom Thurmond filibuster, and the only briefly amusing moments came from the Jack Black/Will Ferrell duo and a quip or two. (Robert Downey Jr.'s comes to mind) The unintentional comedy award is a tie between Eddie Murphy and Peter O'Toole's inability to mask their disappointment. I think Murphy realizes this means he has to make Norbit 2, and O'Toole is old enough not to give a shit about false pretenses. All in all, a total dud, although I'm sure Melissa Etheridge thanking both Al Gore and her wife for her Best Song Oscar caused more than a few conservatives to, as Jon Stewart said, "vomit in their mouths" Discouraging movie fact of the day: More people have seen "Ghost Rider" thank "Babel" and "Letters from Iwo Jima" combined. (Full disclosure: I have yet to see any of the three)

I want to end on a positive entertainment related note: Tonight's episode of Heroes was hands down the most engaging forty minutes of television in a long time. Fast-paced, terrific writing, heart-breaking acting, and a legitimate "edge of your seat" tension. Good stuff.

Just got back from an amazingly easy trip to L.A. for my cousin Kevin's 40th birthday. It was great to see everyone (Kevin's brother and sister, along with their spice and kids, plus Mom, Dad and Aunt Shell), particularly because lately when a large segment of the family gets together it has been for less ebullient occasions. This was actually the first time all seven of my Uncle Chuck's grandkids were together, and it was really neat to see all the rug rats in the same place. (For what it's worth, when they are all capable of independent movement, we are in serious trouble.) Too tired for more muse-ing, but here are some photos.
Jon, Ava and I enjoying the hot tub
Pants? When you are going on a trip in your cardboard rocket ship, Max doesn't need any stinking pants!
Jon, Charlotte, Lilah, Rachel, Dalia, Ava, Avra. Phew!
Ava decided I need to have my toenails painted--a lovely shade of pink, I might add. (Good thing I'm secure...)

Easily my favorite product placement in recent memory occurred during last Monday's 24. After literally getting a drill in the shoulder and subsequently giving a lunatic the capability to arm suitcase nukes, our dear friend Morris O'Brien had a wee bit of trouble reintegrating into his work environment. Off to the corner store he went, which is never a good sign for a recovering alcoholic. Morris promptly bought a bottle of scotch, followed by a request for some Altoids. Cue camera pan in on curiously strong mints. I really wanted Morris to break the fourth wall, turn to the audience and say "Have you just fallen off the wagon and desperately want to hide your relapse from your employer and/or loved one? Try alcohol masking Altoids. Also available in cinnamon and wintergreen." Then again, I also really wanted Papa Bauer's text message to Jack to say "Call Rolo Tamasse" Last, but not least, how great was President Logan's "I'm in Witness Protection now" beard. Because, after being a traitorous President, a scruffy beard is really going to help you blend in and live a normal life in Bumble Falls, North Dakota.

Easily my favorite product placement in recent memory occurred during last Monday's 24. After literally getting a drill in the shoulder and subsequently giving a lunatic the capability to arm suitcase nukes, our dear friend Morris O'Brien had a wee bit of trouble reintegrating into his work environment. Off to the corner store he went, which is never a good sign for a recovering alcoholic. Morris promptly bought a bottle of scotch, followed by a request for some Altoids. Cue camera pan in on curiously strong mints. I really wanted Morris to break the fourth wall, turn to the audience and say "Have you just fallen off the wagon and desperately want to hide your relapse from your employer and/or loved one? Try alcohol masking Altoids. Also available in cinnamon and wintergreen." Then again, I also really wanted Papa Bauer's text message to Jack to say "Call Rolo Tamasse" Last, but not least, how great was President Logan's "I'm in Witness Protection now" beard. Because, after being a traitorous President, a scruffy beard is really going to help you blend in and live a normal life in Bumble Falls, North Dakota.

Sorry for the brief lag in posting, but to be perfectly honest it has been a few days since I've had an original thought. Having Jeff in was a good deal of fun, and we managed not to do anything TOO stupid. (Given that we once threw quarters on a map to decide what to do on a given evening, this is a more major accomplishment than it may seem. I believe we ended up at a hunting club...) One of the more amusing occurrences took place at Fiesta's, a Mexican restaurant. After a big meal the night before, we felt like something quick and easy. (Banish those impure thoughts you are having!) What could be simpler and tastier than some enchiladas, right? Boy, were we mistaken. Turns out that of the four waiters on staff, two had called in sick, making the place pretty much self-serve. After finally getting our drink orders in, the overstressed waiter presented me a beer that had not only a lime inside it, but also one sitting in the neck. (That's 2 if you are keeping track at home.) After I dispatched the extra lime, the waiter made another sweep, and fearing he had been neglectful, promptly presented me with a lime for my beer. That made a grand total of three pieces of fruit for one drink. Somewhere, the Men of the Square table are crying man tears. After getting our food, the waiter confessed that once the night was over, he would consume an entire bottle of tequila and use it to beat the people who called off. Neither Jeff nor I were entirely convinced he was joking.

My buddy Jeff is up visiting for the weekend, and having someone up here who doesn't get to see the Rockies every morning reminds me how bloody lucky I am, and how truly gorgeous it is up here. Despite a 3 1/2 hour delay, Jeff finally got in around 1 in the morning yesterday, and we got out for a terrific day of skiing today, with nary a cloud in the sky. They even had I-70 closed for a while, meaning that the President's Day onslaught was not as bad as I feared. That being said, we certainly got to see some of the stereotypical tourist crowd---the type that ski with their fur hood and Dior sunglasses. The amount of posturing and preening is pretty hysterical-much like a peacock, and the odd juxtaposition of the glamor shots with the laid back to a fault locals makes for some amusing chair lifts. On the subject of odd fashion choices, our hostess at dinner tonight was wearing leather pants. Unless I'm at an S and M club, I don't want to see you in leather pants, and certainly not at a nice restaurant. That, combined with our baked waiter named "Rife" only added to the amusement level. I must return to my futile attempts at digesting my ribeye....

Ahh, Valentine's Day, a guy's chance to temporarily atone for days and nights of being emotionally and/or physically unavailable in one fell swoop with candy and chocolates. When you think about it, V-D is kind of like a Yom Kippur for relationships. The best part about Valentine's Day? Only eight months until Sweetest Day! I feel obliged to point out that I just don't get this one---I don't feel the unbridled hatred I do for other holidays, just a general apathy. The apathy also doesn't appear tied to my relationship status-it's pretty much the same whether I'm seeing someone or not. (Note to ladies: The reason I am apathetic about Valentine's Day is, of course, that I am so sensitive that I don't need to set aside a special day to extol your virtues. I do it every day. I'm also a really good pretend listener. I mean listener.
Call now 847 555 HAIR)

[TV SPOILERS AHEAD]
So, the creepy ring lady on LOST tonight? Actually getting to see characters other than Jack, Kate and Sawyer? Leaving loads of unanswered questions but finding it captivating rather than irritating? To quote Mr. Pacino "Just when I thought I was out...they pull me back in. Hoo-ha!" I will admit, I am concerned that there is, at this point, almost no way to wrap this show up in a manner that resolves the plethora of unresolved issues. With the obvious exception of ninjas. Ninjas, who of course, will be led into battle by Vincent--the true heir of Alvar Hanso.

24, on the other hand, has had a few disappointing rounds. Don't get me wrong, watching poor Morris literally get drilled filled all those weird latent male tendencies towards violence quite nicely, and James Cromwell is sufficiently evil as his character from L.A. Confidential...I mean Jack's Dad. But, it does irritate me how often that show has to sacrifice character for plot. Palmer's barely-a-protest at Karen's resignation a few weeks ago, followed by the totally implausible notion that Morris would give Fayed a working detonation device this week-I understand that both choices were necessary to keep the pace moving, but both instances, particularly in Morris' case, rang pretty false, ultimately detracting from my immersion.

And now, a special Valentine's Day bonus video clip--The Colbert Report segment where Deborah Dickerson asserts that Barack Obama is, in all actuality, not black.

Poor Barack Obama---just out of the starting gate, and he is already having egg thrown at him from every possible direction. Bad enough that the guy's middle name is Hussein, but he also attended a madras, which is scary because it isn't an English word, and that must mean he is a terrorist. Ok, maybe not, since the story was a large crock of Fox News hooey, madras just means school, and the only terror being taught at Obama's school was the terror of dangling modifiers. Obama might not be a terrorist after all, but according to Bush stooge and Australian PM John Howard, his position on the Iraq war only emboldens the terrorists. As Obama pointed out in as many words, it can only be taken as a compliment if a Bush crony is attacking him the day after he announces his candidacy. Of course, much of the publicity Obama receives is because he is the first black candidate for President to have a legitimate shot of winning. Or is he? Not "or is he a legitimate candidate" but rather "is he black?" You see, salon.com contributor and author Deborah Dickerson asserted on the Colbert Report recently that Obama actually was not black, because he was not a descendant of West African slaves. Dickerson's argument was as convoluted as it was inane, but it illustrates the political quandary Obama finds himself in--if he wants a shot at capturing the Presidency, he will need the support of moderate whites, who would be alienated by Obama alligning himself with Black Power movements. However, he must also bring out the black vote in droves to stand a chance, and he won't be able to do this if he is perceived as an Oreo. Obama is perhaps the most riveting Democrat since Bill Clinton--despite his lack of experience he is a dynamic presence who possesses the rare gift of getting people excited about politics. It is a pity that rather than a substantive debate on his policy views we are reduced to juvenile banter about his "blackness" and what schools he attended some 20 years ago.

I've decided to stop crying over Anna Nicole long enough to ask that we all take a moment to acknowledge how bloody weird the Lisa Nowak ordeal is. (Yep, it's been an odd week in the news rooms.) In case you missed it, Nowak, a NASA astronaut, was charged with attempted murder after driving 900 miles to confront an engineer over what she perceived as a love triangle between the two and a Shuttle pilot. Nowak wore adult diapers for the entire drive to avoid the need for rest stops, and arrived in Orlando with a trench coat, wig, pellet gun and pepper spray. I have not made up a single element of this story. The story begs several questions, the first of which is "shouldn't NASA have tests rigorous enough to avoid sending someone clearly severely mentally disturbed up into space?" Moreover, is our society so screwed up that an admittedly sensational incident involving a sick woman vaults to the front page of newspapers and is only pushed aside when a former Playmate dies?? Our appetite for the odd is insatiable--if for no other reason than it makes us more secure in our own, relatively mundane, abnormalities. Unfortunately, this voyeuristic need to stare at the car crash obfuscates anything that might actually legitimately be considered "news". (I couldn't even escape the story on ESPN. What makes this a sport?) Then again, what could be more important than an astronaut wearing diapers?

Oh, and, the rights to the story have already been purchased by a movie production company.

Got out skiing for a few hours today in a desperate attempt to get back on track. It had been about two weeks, and it definitely showed. It was a little pathetic how rusty I was, but it was fun to get back out there. Actual conversation heard on the chairlift today between a 10-ish year old girl and her apathetic ski instructor:

Girl: My dad's old job, before he met my mom, was driving around a wrestler.
Instruction: Yeah?
Girl:No, wait, maybe it was a boxer. Yeah. Muhammad something. Ali I think. Yeah, he drove around this Muhammad Ali.
Instructor: After this run we'll stop and get lunch.

I was sorely tempted to push them both out of the chairlift to see if they floated like butterflies, but wisely restrained myself. How the hell could not a single synapse of this woman's brain recognize that her snotty student was talking about The Greatest?!? Argh.

Snicker Doodle Dandy

Much has been made over the Superbowl Snickers ad, so I figured I would add my two cents. First and foremost, the ad quite simply wasn't funny. It features two men, desperate to enjoy a delicious candy bar, who pull a Lady and the Tramp and find themselves almost kissing. To "atone" for this mishap, they decide to do something manly, which apparently equates to pulling out large clumps of chest hair. The ad was derided as being homophobic, and subsequently pulled from the air. What interests me about the ad is that there is nothing inherently homophobic about it---the point of the joke is that two people are kissing who shouldn't be. Given that it is a 30-second spot with limited time for character development, showing two guys kissing is the most effective way to communicate the joke. (Two girls and it would be a beer commercial) If the joke were used for a sitcom, it could just have easily been a brother and sister, or simply two friends. Any homophobia is contextually conferred by those who are viewing it. This speaks to the truth that the culture we live in remains predominantly homophobic. It is very easy to live in a liberal bubble, read the New York Times, watch the Daily Show, and forgot that the vast majority of Americans don't think like you do. This was manifest in yet another homophobic incident this week. After retired NBA player John Amaechi came out, Philadelphia player Shavlik Randolph commented " "As long as you don't bring your gayness on me I'm fine" reducing sexual orientation to a communicable disease and hearkening back to a time when AIDS was more commonly known as GRID (Gay Related Immune Deficiency) Remember, roughly 6 out of 10 Americans do not approve of gay marriage. Steven Colbert claims he doesn't see color, and only knows he is white because people tell him so. Hopefully, one day, we will arrive at a point where we don't see sexual orientation as.the salient characteristic of a human being. But it sure seems to be a long way off when we see it in a candy bar.

I saw the film Blood Diamond recently, and while flawed in many respects, it is also remarkably engaging. The captivating nature of the film can be attributed in large part to the performance of Leonardo DiCaprio, who is getting better and better at playing morally ambiguous characters. The onus of carrying this movie is placed on DiCaprio's shoulders from his very first scene, and he captivates throughout. (For what it's worth, I saw both this and The Departed and thought the Academy got it right in deciding which piece DiCaprio should be nominated for.) Any time you make what is essentially a "message" movie, you run the risk of getting preachy, and Blood Diamond certainly succumbs to this flaw. (Admittedly, it is hard NOT to be preachy about such horrors) Most of the hackneyed dialog falls to Jennifer Connelly, playing the journalist who still feels she can make a difference. The fault here is not necessarily Connelly's--she is saddled with a naive, half-baked character, and has to hold up her end of a predictable, equally half-baked romance as well. Plot contrivances notwithstanding, this is a good, if not great film, featuring great performances. (An underutilized Djimon Hounsou is arresting as always--I would pay money to watch him read a shopping list) In addition to being a good film, this is an important film, and illustrates the potential power of film making. There is an adage about theatre that holds a director has done his job if one audience member leaves the room somehow richer for the experience. Blood Diamond will not bring DeBeers to its knees, but it is both possible and probable that it will cause people who had never heard of the Kimberely Process and had no notion that Africa even had diamonds to think twice and ask a few questions before sliding on that new ring. Modern Cinema has unprecedented reach and thus unprecedented power. It is encouraging when every once in a while a film is released to a nation-wide audience that uses that power for something more noble than Eddie Murphy in a fat suit.

Thought I would post a few photos from when my Dad was in visiting a few weeks ago.

Multiple Ratner men doing something borderline athletic? (cue Twilight Zone music.)
Dad and I forming the base for a reenactment of Dumbo's "Pyramid of Pachyderms", starring cousin Ava
Joined in the Pyramid by Nora---note how red my face is..as I was to soon find out, I apparently make a good jungle gym.

Super Bowl Sunday is upon us, and shockingly the Browns are once again notable only by their absence. With the Cavs playing the Pistons early, I have absolutely no reason to engage in any activity more strenuous than operating a microwave tomorrow, and I'm damn proud of it.

I, like everyone except the Mike's (Ditka and Wilbon) am picking the Colts to win tomorrow. The Bears certainly COULD win. Peyton COULD throw a costly INT or 3, da Bears ground game COULD wear down the Colt's resurgent D and keep Manning off the field and Vinatieri COULD miss a clutch field goal. (Allright, strike that last one.) The reason I pick the Colts is two-fold, and has nothing to do with football knowledge, which I'll leave to the likes of TJ and Jaws. (Side note: How many males in the 18-24 age demographic do you think can name more ESPN personalities than U.S. Senators? I'm going with 63%) I think the Colts will win due to my (ir?)rational hatred of Rex Grossman, who just seems like a total sleaze bag, and my desperate desire for Peyton to get a ring. This is really not altruism on my part, I just have no desire to spend the next five years hearing talking heads prattle on about how Peyton has never won the big one. Colts 24, Bears 14.

I'm back! And I bring you this very important, breaking news: Fresh on the heels of Joe Biden's announcement he will seek the Democratic nomination, I would like to officially declare that I will not be running for President in 2008. Apparently, you have to be at least 35 years old. I tried to point out that age has clearly has no bearing on competence where politics is concerned but those stuffed shirts at the Electoral College just got their knickers in a bunch and spewed their wooden teeth at me. Oh well. I was looking forward to using the same slogan I used when I ran in 3rd grade, the oh so catchy "Vote for Matt, he's not a Rat" (I "tied" with Clifton Williams, and my attempts to stuff the ballot box with ill-gotten Kindergarten votes failed.) Of course, my more recent political history is a tale of failure, as you all surely remember my Dewey-esque loss to one Miss Sharm Starks, who, following her 9th grade Presidential victory promptly got expelled. I guess I needed more edge.

Indeed, I feel as though it has been a solid 8 years since I've been on here, but in reality not a whole lot has happened. My sexy new computer came about a week ago, but I promptly got the Black Death, which has me pretty well laid out. Thankfully, a rigorous treatment of antibiotics and leeching has (finally) taken hold, and I'm starting to feel a bit better. Better enough to blog in any event, and hell, that's more productive than I've been in a while. As you can tell from my post time, that whole circadian rhythm thing has yet to work itself around.