On Notice: Facebook Fan Pages
It’s becoming an increasingly common occurrence: I’ll log into Facebook, scan my news feed, and see that a number of my friends have become fans of pages like “I bet the Phillies can get 1,000,000 fans before the Mets.” And I think to myself: if you become a fan of this page, are you really becoming a fan of the Phillies, or just of this stupid contest? After all, the Phils have their own official fan page, and the contest is just stealing potential fans from the actual organization. Wouldn’t it then be harder for the Phillies to get a million fans? Now, I understand the levity behind trying to get a pickle more fans than Nickelback, but the “more fans than X” meme has gotten out of hand. Meanwhile, some of my other friends are becoming fans of questionable marketing schemes that offer gift cards in exchange for spamming one’s friend list. Consider yourself on notice, Facebook. I don’t know what will take your place, but you’re going the way of MySpace with your obnoxious spam and fringe groups. Let’s try to get a little moderation going.
I Need Something Stronger than Champagne
Previously on “The Amazing Race:” funny hats, polo but not with real horses, the assumption that everyone should speak English, and the elimination of five teams you’ll forget existed by the time this is over. Oh, and I didn’t write anything on my website for more than a year. Let’s see if this kick starts anything.
Welcome to the French countryside. Once a hotbed of WWII activity, it is now home to stereotypical weaklings who surrender if you breath on them the wrong way. This quaint, verdant land was the fifth pit stop…in a racearoundtheworld.
The cops, having arrived first, are the first to rip their clue and butcher the name of wherever it is they are traveling. Apparently, it’s to a town where French kings went to celebrate their coronations. Because I guess Notre Dame wasn’t fancy enough. Damn tourists. The teams are instructed to find the world’s lamest street musician for their next clue.
Zack Attack
Long before writer/director/producer Judd Apatow collected praise for his mixture of filth and heart in The 40-Year-Old Virgin, writer/director/”actor” Kevin Smith made his mark on the subgenre with his signature blend of foul-mouthed soliloquies and bleeding-heart morals. It almost makes sense, then, that Seth Rogen, current king of the Apatow universe, would make a movie with Smith. The surprising part is how little the resultant work – Zack and Miri Make a Porno – feels like a stunt.
Seeing Red
There was a time when I thought there were only two kind of Weezer fans: the ones who identified with Pinkerton and the ones who jumped on the bandwagon because “Island in the Sun” was so damned catchy. But since the group’s 2001 re-emergence, more and more of the former group have shunned the band, writing off front man Rivers Cuomo as a two-trick pony and calling Weezer (The Green Album), Maladroit, and Make Believe nothing but average power pop. Early reviews for the band’s sixth offering, Weezer (Red Album), follow that path, solidifying the new kind of Weezer fan: overly analytical elitist. Surely, none of the post-cloister albums are as good as Pinkerton or Weezer (Blue Album), and some of them do have some awful songs, but they’re all remarkably listenable, and the red Weezer is no exception.
Shattered Crystal
As an administrative employee at a local university, I am consistently baffled at the idea of a sabbatical; do you mean to tell me that I can promise to do research for a few months and get a whole semester away from the office? Who are these softee professors who can’t stand a full year’s worth of teaching and research? Surely, they could take some lessons from Prof. Henry Jones, Jr., who fought off Nazis and recovered more than his fair share of fabulous artifacts while teaching a full course load. The adventurous academic returns after 19 years in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, and while Hitler, Marcus Brody and Henry Sr. are long dead, the fedora, bullwhip and sense of fun remain in tact. If only the last half hour of the movie wasn’t so far-fetched.
Warning: Spoilers ahead.
