irrational hatred: james franco

Because that James Franco post from last night probably didn't make sense to anybody other than myself, I suppose I should explain where it came from and also, as a consequence, revisit an old gimmick of this here blizzog: the Irrational Hatred file.

Apparently, I like to discuss my irrational hatred during the Olympics, as the two previous entries were Anton Apollo Ohno and Michael Phelps. You probably don't remember them and I most certainly wouldn't, had I not irrationally hated them, but they were gold medal winning Americans with douchiness and arrogance to spare, respectively.

Maybe it's my recent infatuation with Charlie Sheen's epic WINNING meditations that has me reenergized to delve back into this (remember kids, Charlie Sheen says that you have to love violently and hate violently: there's no in between.) but I feel like last night's Oscars was probably the tipping point for this post about my irrational hatred for James Franco.

Yes, folks. James Franco.

I can hear you already: "James Franco? How can you hate James Franco? I love James Franco. James Franco's so, like, cool and, did you see him at the Oscars? James Franco looked like he was high and, like, James Franco seems really nice and like... James Franco James Franco James Franco..."

Well, I'm sorry, but I do hate him. And since you're here and still reading, I might as well tell you why.

For going on a good year, it feels like I have been unable to escape the endless barrage of stories painting James Franco as a renaissance man. Maybe it was just a coordinated effort by his people to get him the Oscars gig, but it felt like every magazine I opened or website I visited had some version of the same story going on Franco.

It goes something like this:

James Franco is not a man: he is a swirling storm of creativity that converts oxygen into art. James Franco is a renaissance man. James Franco doesn't sleep. James Franco is an actor and a fiction writer, who has found the time go back to school and complete a handful of graduate programs in New York. He's got an art collection opening in Berlin and he's probably an astronaut or, if not that, at least a classically-trained 12-string guitar player and a red seal chef and solar energy lobbyist and animal trainer."

I go to nytimes.com for some news and BOOM, James Franco header about how he's attending graduate school and writing a collection of short stories while also acting. He's GQ's Man of the Year because he's so... awesome. He's in the Gazette, the Mirror, the Hour... all the stories say the same thing.

James Franco is playing Alan Ginsberg. James Franco is a writer. James Franco is a renaissance man. James Franco invented chess and churns his own butter.

Well, so what? He's playing Alan Ginsberg in a movie; it doesn't mean he's Alan Ginsberg (someone who I don't irrationally hate, for the record.) I read one of his short stories, which was published in a glowing blog post I masochistically read. The story wasn't bad or anything. It was alright. I mean, it didn't suck, but it's not like I could tell you what the story was about six months later. Something about photographs and a girl and bad memories?

I think that's what I'm trying to get at with James Franco: does the fact that he is merely doing a lot necessitate the kind of acclaim he is receiving?

I mean, I've seen a few of his movies and it's not like I think he's a bad actor. I actually thought he played a pretty good spurned, loner best friend in Spiderman... and I didn't revolt against the 90-some-odd-minute James Franco soliloquy that was 127 Hours (which I again masochistically put myself through.) But the kicker is that people just LOVE James Franco and they absolutely SWOON OVER James Franco and when I ask why that is, it's always... "he was funny in Pineapple Express as that stoner."

That's it.

I feel this comment - which I trolled out from an latimes.com blog about the Oscars - sums up the pro-Franco sentiment perfectly:

A beautiful soul indeed. Thanks Linda...

People love him, but they don't really know why. Maybe my irrational hatred is necessary for the universe, in order to balance out all of that irrational Franco love out there?

With James Franco, are we confusing ambition and potential with achievement here? If so, why do I feel like there's something empty (and almost immoral) about celebrating that?

I didn't watch much of the Oscars really last night - other than to see that bat-shit crazy supporting actress broad from the Fighter go out-of-body during her acceptance speech and also to pray that Kirk Douglas didn't die during his monologue - but the brief glimpses I caught of co-host James Franco had me again questioning what all the hype is about. Sure, he was sort of funny and looked sort of comfortable up there, but I just didn't get it... Was anyone captivated or taking aback by his presence? (Other than good old Linda, of course.)

I think if anything, people should be applauding the talents of James Franco's PR staff for making us all love JAMES FRANCO, when really, he hasn't done all that much to warrant it. Has he? Am I missing something? I feel if Charlie Sheen had James Franco's publicist, we'd all be spewing GNARLYISMS and loving/hating each other violently.

So there, that's my opinion. There's my beef. That's why I irrationally hate James Franco. It's nothing personal (and remember, this is IRRATIONAL hate, people) but it's just something I had to explain, once and for all.

Note: The reason I irrationally hate him could also be due to the fact that he has that inexhaustible reserve of energy that I can't comprehend and because he isn't limiting himself to just one domain. Note for Note: I am a lazy c-word. And irrational hate is easy. Three times a Note: Ironic then perhaps that I would devote an hour to writing/poorly researching a post devoted to irrationally hating someone I haven't met. Fourth Note: I haven't yet decided whether I irrationally hate James Franco with violence. Sorry, Charlie.

random thoughts

I spent a while trying to think of how to unify all these thoughts, but it wasn't possible and, more importantly, I wasn't being productive. Productivity has become my main focus these days. It's been beaten into me at work. Be productive. Be productive. Be productive. We actually tally every single task we do each day, and with each task being given a specific time-amount value, our daily productivity is measured on a spreadsheet. What's more, our final tally is divided by our productive time -- meaning time spent working, and not on lunch or pissing or shitting or training -- and we are given a production-per-hour number.

This is not healthy for me. I'm a competitive person by nature. I can't help but try to get the high score. I've been conditioned since childhood. I blame it on an overload of video games and professional sports viewing as a kid. I find I'm completely out of it at the end of the day, having neglected using the washroom each time I have to go or taking a glass of water here and there, as I push myself to best my previous days' score.

I'll let you know how this goes in a couple weeks.

Anyways, onto the random thoughts:

In honour of the Olympics, I will give you my podium finish for the strangest things I've seen in Montreal over the past 48 hours:

4th place: Walking to a friend's birthday dinner in the Plateau after work Monday from my office downtown, I passed a Starbucks where a guy was interviewing a girl for what looked to be a position at the restaurant. What was strange about this was the fact that for a solid two minutes, some dude was pressed against the window watching everything a little too intently. I thought for a few seconds that he was a manager, overlooking the interview process, seeing that he wasn't too shabbily dressed. But then I thought, why the hell would anyone supervise an interview through a pane of glass. And then I found it strange that the two people didn't notice the guy. Until finally, the girl discovered him -- and the guy followed -- and then the dude just walked away talking to himself. They continued their interview like nothing had happened.

Bronze Medal: Getting off the train today, I watched a guy walk at full pace into the turnstile at the Berri-UQAM stop. In his own daze, he had forgotten to take out his Metro swipe pass. He literally doubled over on the metal bar. He then swore, took a step back, pulled out his pass, swiped it and walked through. Like nothing had happened.

Silver Medal: I started taking a new route to work. Well not exactly work, but to the Metro station I walk to every day. I found a really neat breakfast spot that I'm going to have to try out, but I feel like I want to wait for summer because it just seems like it would be better in the summer. Anyways, above the breakfast spot, there are maybe three vacant apartments. I'm thinking they are vacant because the windows are open and every few seconds, a pigeon flies out, picks something off the street and then returns into the apartment. It's like they own the places. It's awesome, but surreal. I really hope for the sake of humanity that no one lives in these apartment.

Gold Medal: On my way to work Monday morning, I sat aghast while a granny-aged Hispanic-looking Asian lady picked and plucked her eyebrows with these sharp-ass tweezers while the train herky-jerked downtown. I mean, people were bumping into each other with each abrupt stop or start, and this lady is going about her business with a sharp metal object pointed directly at her eyeball. It gave me the fucking heebie jeebies big time. I guess that woman has been doing her brows long enough to feel comfortable in those kinds of conditions. But it was too much for me, so I moved to the far end of the train, in case that thing went through her eye and sprayed some of that vitrious fluid all over the place.

So she takes the gold medal in the strange things in Montreal event, which by the way, is probably a bigger accomplishment than you'd think. People here are generally 86 per cent crazier than anywhere I've ever been. Like I've said many-a-time, I think one thing that qualifies someone as being Quebecois is the ability to feel completely at ease about talking to yourself in public.

I've heard some strange things as well these past couple days. Someone I met told me that they had been given a ticket on the Metro because the hockey skates they were carrying didn't have skateguards on them. Also, I recently found out my roommate did the voice for the Sixth Sense kid in the Quebec-French version of the movie. He did it before he was visited by the Pube Fairy, of course. Also, his old man is the Quebec voice for Brad Pitt and a couple other big actors. Pretty wild.

Onto the Olympics. Man. I kind of felt in a funk because the entire time I was finishing my studies (yeah right) in Calgary, and I was working in Yellowknife, I had sort of seen myself living in Vancouver as the Olympics were going on. It was this weird goal I had. Anyways, I'm not. And although I really haven't been excited about the games or anything, I think it would be fun as hell to be in that city right now. Also, I do get sucked into watching the games every time they're on and unfortunately, my roommate forgot to pay our cable/internet bill, so I can't even keep up with what is going on. I didn't even see the footage of the luge guy until Monday. I'm disconnected, mon.

Saw a bit of the opening ceremonies. I felt bad for all those native people that had to dance generically while all the athletes walked out. I hope they have good agents. Also, I want to cop some Azerbaijan pants.

I love those things.

Anyhow, last night we managed to hook up this mini-TV into our cable in the living room and get a crappy Olympic feed that only played the Men's Figure Skating event. And you know what? I watched it for two hours and got sucked right in.

I couldn't help but think that a lot of those guys are like stunted developmentally. Not from a physical standpoint, but maybe mentally. I mean, there was this one guy from Belgium decked out in a skeleton outfit.

A skeleton costume? For real?

I mean, I understand that it's all about skating a routine and becoming a character and everything, but this is probably the biggest moment of your life, your entire family and all your friends and their families and their friends are all watching you, and this is the culmination of your life's work and the most serious and important moment of your life... and you're going to wear a skeleton suit?

Pal, you're never going to have a bigger platform in all of your life and you go and decide to wear pajamas?

It's really the behaviour of a six-year-old. Does this guy need his food cut up for him in small pieces before he eats? Does he have a nightlight and need someone to check under the bed for him before he can go to sleep? Does he say 'lellow' instead of 'yellow'? I honestly wouldn't doubt it.

Also, I want to know how more people aren't getting hurt or killed in the biathlon. Really. You are giving people guns at the beginning of a race.

Think about that.

I'm sure if I ever took up that sport, I'd be tempted big time to pick off a couple of competitors ahead of me as I made my way toward the finish line. Now I'm not saying I would, but I won't lie and tell you it wouldn't cross my mind. And judging by some of the unstable cases competing in the Olympics (see Skeleton boy above) I'm surprised we haven't seen someone go Charles Whitman in a biathlon race. I'm just sayin.

And it's not like I think biathlon is uninteresting, but here's an idea to make it a little more exciting: give each competitor a revolver with one bullet in it, spin the cylinder Russian Roulette-style, and then set them off. The racers can use the bullet at any time, although they'll never know if their shot will count. Don't tell me you wouldn't watch this.

If you're not down with that idea, then what about turning the race into a paintball hybrid and the racer has to play dead for a minute or two when they get shot. That could still be entertaining.

And before I end this thing, I'm going to dust off the people I irrationally hate file and add another name...

Apollo Anton Ohno.

Oh man is this guy a douche. I can't even remember all the reasons I hate him so much, because it has been four years since I've had to tolerate his presence. But I'll give it a try...

First of all, that name! Apollo Anton Ohno. That screams someone who is desperate for attention and lacks personality (see the Basis of Personality post.)

Second, he was NBC's most marketed athlete in 2006 (or was it 2002) because he appears to have an edge. He was jammed down our throat and I remember him whining like a little bitch when he lost or something (definitely could not be true, but this is an irrational hatred thread.)

(I actually looked up what happened in 2002 and he made a big deal about this one guy passing him... yep, I am vindicated.)

Third, he was on Dancing with the Stars.

Fourth, he looks like a slightly healthier version of Michael Jackson. Just look.

Fifth, he's an American athlete and they are always fun to irrationally hate during the Olympics.

Sixth, there is this...

Definitely deserving of some irrational hatred, don't you think...

One more random thought: 70-year-old men should be barred from wearing suits and owning Blackberrys. People this age should care more about their grandchildren than lining their already fat savings accounts. In a nutshell, that's why our world sucks so much right now. It's all these self-interested, grey, old fucks who are making important decisions about our world, based on the brief timeframes of their lives, because they have nothing else at stake personally in the world. Financially wealthy, personally bankrupt.

Well Sheeeeeeeeeetttt... doesn't it feel good to get all that trivial detritus and irrational hate out of me.

Until next time, kiddos.

What's with the goofy events?

I apologize in advance for the long-winded Olympic rant to follow. It might be overkill after the 13,578,943-word basketball handicapping column, however I feel the time will never again be appropriate to to speak on the following:

What's the deal with the events they pick for inclusion in the Olympics?

The topic came up Saturday at the pub, with the ubiquitous games on TVs in every corner of the establishment. 

And tonight, I felt validated, just having seen a report about how many empty seats there were at the Beijing games for various events. Well, no shit. 

Take a look at some of the ridiculous 'sports' they have in there...

Synchronized swimming. 

I can only imagine that it's the slow kids who played by themselves at recess that get together to form synchronized swim teams.

The Steeplechase.

At one point, runners jump over a hurdle into a big puddle of water... I can only postulate that there is some sort of historical significance of this race? Like the retreat of King Charles I in 1642, fleeing to safety in Essex over hurdles and through ponds? There's gotta be some back story...

Table tennis. (Why not foosball? Or Pac-Man? Or quarters?)

Billy Mitchell: Olympic Gold-Medalist and world record holder in Pac-Man. Legally changed his initials from BM to USA

I know this is getting into winter, but bobsleigh. 

One percent of one percent of one percent of the world's population has probably only ever set their eyes on a bobsleigh course. What is the rationale behind having such a sparsely played sport in the Olympics?

And perhaps most glaring, the Hammer Toss.

Hammer tossing hasn't been relevant since the Hammer Bros. rocked the shit at the Seoul Olympics in '88 (pictured above)

My buddy Chris spoke with great disdain about the event and can't understand why there are four throwing events in the games (javelin, discuss, shot put and the hammer toss).

I couldn't agree more and after a lengthy discussion, we eventually decided that there should be but one event: the rock toss. We came to this conclusion because everyone in the world throws rocks -- including those who live in glass houses (even though they shouldn't).

Competitors would even be allowed to bring their own rock from home for the event.

"Team Palestine comes into this Olympics as the heavy favourites in the rock throw, Bob."

"You got it, Dick. They just start training at such a young age over there."

As we were talking about all this Saturday, magically Canada's water polo match popped up onto the screen. 

Now talk about a goofy sport (and watching it with the sound off makes it that much goofier, because I have no idea what penalties consist of or how the game is supposed to be played). It looked kind of like lacrosse, with 6 or so on each team. Everyone is constantly treading water, passing the ball around like handball. There is a little penalty area that perps have to swim and tread water inside.  Players finally try to whip the ball past the dope who plays goal. The goalie flails his arms and closes his eyes as the ball comes at him and sometimes gets hit in the face  to stop the ball.

The slo-mo has the greatest facial expressions of any sport I've ever seen. The players wear these bathing caps that look like baby bonnets. The whole game just appears to be one big exercise in awkwardness. The unintentional comedy is through the roof.

 

Yet, it's brutally rough, it's high-scoring and actually kind of entertaining. The face-off is like dodgeball where both teams swim like hell to get the ball floating at the centre of the pool. To tell you the truth, I have no idea why more people don't play this. It looks like it would be one of those games that would turn unhealthily competitive in two minutes if you and 7 or 8 of your buddies started playing it. Someone would be bleeding from their nose after two possessions.

Not a bad idea. He takes up a lot of room and naturally floats.

I'm gonna go on record as saying that water polo is my new favorite Olympic sport.

Then there is the equestrian, and Canada's Ian Miller competing at the age of 98. 

I'm sorry. I'm all about the elderly making contributions to society, but any 'sport' where a competitor over the age of 60 can win a gold medal, needs to be immediately removed.

Solutions:

We brainstormed some ideas to vamp up a couple of these events and make them a bit more watchable. Say you could implement cool requirements of athletes from these 'sports' to make them more entertaining.

Like how about a D-Cup minimum on female pole-vaulters?

Ashlee Simpson is knocking that bar down every time...

Or a 600-pound minimum for riders in the equestrian? 

If they International Olympic Committee is going to pander to the elderly (Ian Miller), why not the morbidly obese? Plus, we'd get to watch all those PETA morons embarrass themselves protesting the games.

Or have the tossers launch hammers at the steeplechasers?

Or have skeet shooting come out of the bedroom and replace the boring, archaic gun version?

Just some thoughts...

Oh, one more thing... The first installment of Herbiberous' irrational hatred, where I take someone (or thing) that I irrationally hate and try to explain it unsuccessfully.

Irrational hatred #1: Michael Phelps.

No one should ever get that excited. He made Kevin Garnett look like a furbie.

Okay, buddy. You're a great swimmer. You've done a heck of a job marketing yourself. But 8 gold medals? Congratulations, you gigantic doucher, you're the epitome of the hypocrisy of the Olympic games. There is something pathologically selfish and egoist about announcing before hand that you want 8 gold medals, without a hint of humility. It seems like such a perversion of the Olympic spirit. And the media is just eating it up.

I'm sick of watching you hold your heart during the national anthem for the second, third time. You don't even look like you're enjoying it. You're not supposed to get used to that feeling. It's ho-hum to you.

Maybe I'm just bitter because he'll end up with more golds than our entire country will medals.

Mens basketball update:

August 10, 2008

Germany 95 - Angola 66

USA 101 - China 70

We moved apartments last week. Oil Can just threw a hammer at me.

Herbiberous