The Business of Being Born

I was delaying watching this documentary (despite the great reviews) because frankly, I have always been squeamish about childbirth. My mother, god love her, has regaled me with somewhat graphic descriptions of my own natural birth, which left me with the impression that -- if and when I ever pop one out myself -- I'll definitely opt for drugs.

This film opened my eyes.

As the title suggests, the age-old practice of childbirth is undergoing a radical perversion in this country. In the New York metro area, where this was filmed, Cesarean births now account for more than a third of all hospital births. Why is this? Based on what I've seen here, I've concluded it's because The Man will not be satisfied until he has total control over women and their bodies. He's losing the anti-abortion war, but unfortunately, he's winning the baby birthing war.

The Man, in cahoots with The Media, has convinced women that childbirth is a painful, messy, dangerous, excruciating process. This is so we will fear it, and submit to our doctor's whims (such as, induced labor or - if that doesn't make something happen by doc's dinner time - a c-section.) Don't get me wrong - I'm sure giving birth hurts. I mean, I've never done it, but it looks pretty uncomfortable. But is pain really its defining feature? I challenge you to watch the footage of home births featured in this documentary (all of which are presided over by a midwife) (and show the women moving around, squatting, etc. - not strapped to a bed like they're undergoing surgery) and not draw a different conclusion. Namely, that childbirth -- providing it's free of complications -- should be empowering, euphoric, and a vital bonding experience between mother and baby.

This should be required viewing for anyone with plans to procreate.

Sesame Street: 20 Years... And Counting...

What a delightful way to start my morning!

I've tried watching recently broadcast episodes of Sesame Street, but couldn't get into them. Too much Elmo, and not enough late 70s/early 80s fashion. This documentary, however, was just what Dr. Teeth ordered. First of all, it was made in 1989, when Jim Henson was still alive. Seeing and hearing him speak gave me a warm "fozzy."

Bill Cosby hosts this special retrospective of Sesame Street past. (1989 also pre-dates the tragic murder of Cosby's only son, so he's still happy and dewy and cute, not ((justifiably)) angry and bitter like he is now.)

This doc is only an hour, but boasts some terrific clips (such as Ray Charles' rendition of my favorite song, "It's Not Easy Bein' Green," and the heart-wrenching scene in which Big Bird learns of Mr. Hooper's death.) It also features some on-the-street NewsFlash! spots with intrepid reporter Kermit the Frog, who catches up with a few of the Sesame kids now that they are all grown up.

For a more in-depth look at Sesame Street and its counterparts around the world (like Rechov Sumsum and Plaza Sésamo) I highly recommend "The World According to Sesame Street," which is available on disc from Netflix.

The Passion of Darkly Noon

This movie isn't good, and I don't advocate watching the whole thing. I only watched it because Viggo's in it, and it wasn't available on video back in the mid-90s when I was going through my "I'll watch anything Viggo's been in regardless of how terrible it is" phase. (Hm, maybe it wasn't a phase 'cuz I am still doing it.)

Like most movies featuring a pre-Aragorn Viggo, he doesn't show up until halfway through, so I was sitting there with ants in my pants for 45 minutes anticipating his appearance. Viggo plays "Clay," the live-in paramour of half-naked ho-bag Ashley Judd. It's 1995 (the same year as his lusty turn in Crimson Tide), so Viggo's lookin' hottttt. But here's the catch: Clay is mute. He doesn't freakin' speak. So Viggo is limited to communicating via whistling, sticking out his tongue (pictured), and sticking his tongue down Ashley Judd's throat (not pictured.)

Brendan Fraser has the titular role of Darkly Noon, a recently-orphaned Bible freak/cult survivor who is taken in by Ashley Judd. SPOILER ALERT! Here's a picture of how the movie ends:

Yes, that is Brendan Fraser, painted red and wrapped in barbed wire. He is spying on Viggo and Ashley having SEX. 'Nuff said I think.

Bastards of the Party

This 2005 documentary aired on HBO and played a couple of festivals, but was otherwise overlooked, which is a shame. Directed by former gang banger Cle Sloan, Bastards of the Party presents a decade-by-decade history of South Central L.A.'s African-American street gangs, from their unassuming origins in 1950s, to the aftermath of the Black Panther Party's demise in the 70s, to the unprecedented "black-on-black violence" of the 90s.

Interviews with Sloan himself provide most of the audio track, which -- given his long-standing personal history as a member of the Athens Park Bloods -- humanizes the conflict and lends a shit-ton of credence. He also speaks with black community leaders, OGs (that's original gangsters in layman's terms), and City of Quartz author Mike Davis, whose book inspired Sloan to begin his critical inquiry into the roots of his neighborhood's gangs. (City of Quartz was required reading for one of my intro Anthropology classes in college. Now I kind of wish I'd actually read it.)

What I liked about this documentary (in contrast to the more exploitative "A&E" or "True Hollywood Story"-types of street gang docs) is that it doesn't sensationalize any aspect of the life. It acknowledges the violence, the drugs, the money, the power-- but its core message is one of reform. It's not "Hey, look how hard we are!" but instead, "Look at how fucked up we are. Here's how it's happening and why. Now how can we start to fix it?"

Sloan's inexperience as a filmmaker shows, especially in the frenetic editing, which moves from soundbite to soundbite so quickly that it's often difficult to digest what's being said. But his charisma and ability to talk sense are what makes this film work. The soundtrack is pretty dope, too.

Gordon's Great Escape: India

Episodes 1 - 3

If your only exposure to Chef Gordon Ramsay has been through loathsome American shows like Hell's Kitchen, then you are sorely missing out. Unlike the one-note hothead he plays on FOX, Ramsay's actually got some depth to him, and is likable as hell. We already know that he is incredibly passionate about cooking. What I loved about this series, which follows him on a culinary journey throughout several regions of India, is that it highlights his remarkable ability to connect with all people, regardless of status or language, through a shared love of food. (Given Ramsay's intense pottymouth, it's probably better that most of the people he meets don't have a full command of English.)

His main reason for coming to India, Ramsay says, is to grow his skills as a chef. He's always loved curry ("Britain's Favourite Dish"), but has a nagging feeling that what Britons recognize as biryani and korma are dumbed-down perversions of the real thing. And from what we see here, he'd be right.

Gordon's travels take him from Delhi and Lucknow in northern India, to the remote northeastern states of Assam and Nagaland, to Mumbai and on to the southern states of Kerala and Tamil Nadu. Not only does he eat in all of these places-- he cooks, too. Whether he's learning to prepare sambar from a master street chef in the Dharavi Slums, or concocting an original Indian feast for Bollywood stars and dignitaries, Ramsay puts his ass on the line again and again.

Indeed, Chef Ramsay's cajones are on full display here. (Um, not literally. Although he does at one point wear a rather flimsy muslin kurta that barely grazes his knees.) What I mean is, dude is ballsy. He makes Anthony Bourdain look like a spineless wimp. Whereas Tony whines when his No Reservations producers force him into things like roller skating and surfing, Gordon gleefully volunteers himself for stunts that are truly crazy. Like Bull Surfing in Kerala. Or facing off against dozens of Indian housewives in a cooking competition. Or "tapping" a palm tree for toddy by shimmying up its trunk with a tea towel between his feet. (One thing Tony does have over Gordon is a fondness for the drink. In one scene, Gordon spits out a mouthful of the esophogas-searing palm wine and asks his fixer, "Are you trying to fucking kill me?")

That's my favorite thing about Gordon -- he is an open book. There's no onscreen brooding or ironical, self-deprecating voiceover. His honest response to most situations he's faced with in India is "Oh shit" or "Shit shit shit shit." But he says it with a smile on his face, and while you're watching him, you're sure to have one on yours, too.

Telechubby’s Back -- Now with 100% Fewer Commercials!

Sometime around the spectacle of the 2011 Super Bowl, I overdosed on television.

My enthusiasm for pop culture crack had started to wane in the months prior. First I grew tired of my so-called "favorite" TV show, Fringe. I couldn't make it through an entire episode without dozing off or getting up to wash the dishes-- a very bad sign. Then I spaced part 2 of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Reunion Special. Where was my head?! No longer concerned about Lisa, Adrian, and Kyle apparently. Soon even House Hunters International seemed cumbersome and predictable.

At the same time, our cable bill was skyrocketing out of control, especially considering our meager income(s).

Most significantly, every commercial was a ball of tin foil scraping against the enamel of my molars.

This confluence of circumstances led to what once would have been unthinkable for a pair of TV junkies: we gave Comcast the heave-ho. And since our television is a relic from the analog days, we don't get network stations. No ABC, CBS or PBS. No signal. Not even snow.

Since then, I've lost all interest in celebrities (except for you, Viggo.) I no longer browse (let alone buy!) tabloid magazines because I don't know who those spindly orange people inside are. With no TV schedule to hold me prisoner, I've found time to read books.

But do not despair, fair reader! This is not a blog about books.

We are now reborn as TV Streamers. Thanks to a tiny black box known as a Roku, we can stream Netflix (and other free and paid entertainment options) directly to our Idiot Box for the low-low price of $7.99/month. No TV Guide Channel. No 24-hour news networks. And best of all, NO COMMERCIALS!

With a cornucopia of options to "Watch Instantly," and so many of our friends going cable-free, I need a platform from which to share my good and bad streams. British Sketch Comedies? Check. Obscure Documentaries? Check. Forgotten 80s Sitcoms? Check. The requisite New Releases? Check. If I'm watching it, you're reading about it on Telechubby, new and improved after its tummy-tuck. Less fat, more definition!

The Guy Next Door vs. The GuyLiner

"I am a superstar in the making. I am the next American Idol."
--Adam Lambert, ostensibly said on the day of his first audition

Here we go, judges: Kara looks nauseous. Randy is wearing a purple tie and a purple shirt. Paula is wearing a dress made from the hide of Slimer. And Simon Cowell... eh, I don't have any comment about his appearance because he always looks the same. I wonder what he'd look like wearing a print? Say, a tartan plaid flannel shirt?

Kris won the coin toss (brought to you by a Coca-Cola coin) and he'll be going second. You know what that means... get ready for the glam man! But first a commercial, which is lucky for me, 'cuz my cookies are done. (Tonight, in honor of this momentous event, I'm simul-blogging, so no, you will NOT be spared the details.) Now on to the contestants' personal song picks:

Adam picks his biggest hit of the season so far, "Mad World." He looks awesome in silhouette, wearing a long trench coat and futuristic boots. (Dude, how come no sing Bowie? If they ever remake Todd Haynes' Velvet Underground ((heh, yeah like that'll happen)), Adam should play the rock idol.) How does he do that with his eyes? Randy gives him an A+. Kara is also a fan of the rehashed song choice because she considered that first pivotal performance a game changer. Paula claims it's "unbelievable" that he's standing on that stage right now... just what is unbelievable about it? He's been the forerunner for weeks, lady!

Awww, when he was a kid, Kris gave his mom handmade coupons for "music." I used to do that, too. My mom never redeemed them. For his personal pick, Kris has chosen "Ain't No Sunshine," which he performs at the piano. And it's a hot one. Cowell admits he wasn't sure whether America was right to pick Kris over Gokey, but says after hearing that performance, he's changed his mind. (No reaction shot of Gokey here, unfortunately.)

Simon Fuller's picks:

Adam does Sam Cooke's "Change is Gonna Come" and I can't think of a stranger song choice for him. Unless perhaps Fuller's trying to get Adam to demonstrate the far-reachedness of his range? But Adam's "theatrical" facial expressions don't do this song any favors, frankly. Still, the vocals are solid and his more sincere emotions come through by the end. Kara and Paula go a bit cuckoo with their praise, while all Simon says is, "You're 100% back in the game." As if he ever left-?

Katie Holmes and Suri in da house. Mama Holmes is covering Suri's ears. Well, it is a concert, lady. You don't have to bring your Baby Alive everywhere.

Kris plays guitar for Marvin Gaye's "What's Goin On." This song has never sounded so relevant as it does tonight. Whenever I hear Marvin's version, I think, "Ugh, this is so late 70s." But hearing Kris do it, I can actually appreciate the timeless qualities of the melody and lyrics, and not the datedness. Well done, lad. Randy thinks it's a little too light for the venue, but Kara disagrees and says Kris could enact social change with his music. Simon has a Jason Castro flashback and says it was all a bit "dorm room."

Cookies all gone. Me sad.

Top 12 reunion shot! Anoop's growing a depression beard and Scott apparently has no idea they're onscreen because he looks dour. And a bit haggard. Guess that one haircut was all he got.

Kara co-wrote this year's Idol song, "No Boundaries" (or some inspirational shite like that.) They're both going to sing the same song, apparently. That's pretty cruel. Is Adam wearing shorts? I thought I saw leg. No, they're skin tight bleach-treated jeans. OK, good. This seems like a really tough song to sing. Kara looks nauseous again. (She knows Simon's gonna shit on the lyrics.) Simon praises Adam and says he deserves the title. Hmmm. If he wins, does his first single have to be this mountains/hurricane song?

I can hear my cat puking in the other room. I'm serious.

Here we go again. "No Boundaries" as sung by Kris Allen. Snore. You'd think this type of song would be better suited for Kris's mainstream poppy style, but actually, I think I liked Adam's version a little better. Is Kris trying to grow a mustache? The judges seem to agree the key was too high for him, but ask people to vote based on the season and not on this final (lackluster) performance.

Who knows what will happen at tomorrow's results show, and I have to wonder: do these guys even care? Because let's be real: they are both guaranteed success in the music industry, with or without the title of American Idol. The judges love them both; the fans love them both; they are both different kinds of artists: separate but relatively equal. I think they're just relieved the competition is over and they can get to makin' records, makin' money and makin' love.

P.S. Carrie Underwood's jeans/boots combo is really cute.