Musings on topics of small or large importance. Especially partial to subjects that include baby boomers, public figures, friends, Corporate America, the Denver Broncos, NASCAR, my previous home towns of New York City and Columbia (Maryland), stupidity (mine and others'), diets and health and who knows what else!

Monday, July 23, 2007

Cougars vs. Kittens: A Meow-Fest

I'm not proud of this. I am watching NBC's summer reality frolic "Age of Love." It pits women in their 20s -- aka "kittens" -- against women in their 40s -- aka "cougars" -- as they all compete for the affections of Australian tennis star (and hunk, if you like that type) Mark Philippoussis, who's 31. The goal is a long-term relationship, possibly a marriage proposal. (Notice I said marriage proposal, not marriage.)

Oh brother!

I watched the very first episode a few weeks ago and I spent much of the hour shaking my head. Dumb, dumb, dumb. A total waste of time. Don't encourage them by boosting the ratings. Etc. But what the heck, it's summer! It's supposed to be fun. So now if I miss an episode on a Monday night, I stream the video on nbc.com. My only objection to the way NBC.com does that is that they play the very same commercial on every break! Geez, at least have different commercials for the same product. It's a waste to beat us over the head with the same one four times in the hour, no matter how good it is.

They started out with six cougars and six kittens. As of the end of tonight's episode, there are two left of each, kittens and cougars. I think they're all about as selfish, self-centered and immature as high school girls. They're all in it for themselves. They could care less whether they're right for the guy or he's right for them. They are competitive, bitchy and jealous. They just want to win whatever the prize is, and it's Mark.

The girls are great specimens of the best of their age groups. Flat stomachs, no discernable cellulite, smooth faces, bright teeth. But the backbiting is rampant. I think it's sad. I think the whole thing, the whole premise is shallow, counterproductive and demeaning not only to the participants but to the whole concept of real love. There's just no real love when a guy is dating 12 women, or, now, 4 women. He's been kissing and caressing all of them since there were 8. Even at the end, there will be 2. So Mark will be deep-kissing and running the bases (no proof but c'mon!) with both of the finalists until the moment he sends one of them home and then turns to the winner and says, "I love you" or "Will you marry me?" or "I'm serious about you."

Mark seems like a nice guy: considerate, sincere and well-meaning. He gets rid of anyone he perceives as playing games or backstabbing one of the other gals. Good for him! But Mark, you poor sweet sap, some of the women (two in particular) are running their manipulative games on you and you are falling for them. Being good at playing the guy game is not the same as being a good partner.

It's the meowing and manipulating, pouting and crying, and kissing and stroking that make for good television. Mary, the kitten who was sent home last week, was the best. She cried and wailed through most of the last two or three episodes and then walked away basically saying, "Well, at least I have my dignity." Gotta love it.

So why do I watch? I semi-secretly enjoy one guilty reality TV pleasure at a time. One summer it was "Big Brother." Didn't go back. This past fall it was "The Amazing Race," which was probably the best of the reality shows. The funniest was "My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance." I never got into "American Idol." Loved "Dancing with the Stars" once I started watching it. "America's Got Talent" is hilarious and touching.

I could be watching PBS or the History Channel or reading a book or learning the piano or Spanish. Yeah, well...maybe tomorrow. Meanwhile, if I could write the ending of "Age of Love," I'd have the Australian tennis star pick a cougar, with both of them knowing they'd end up good friends, and then after the show's over, he could go out into the real world and find a real, genuine love. I'd make a lousy TV program manager, wouldn't I?

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

IRL vs. NASCAR -- Give Me NASCAR!!

A wonderful friend of mine had an extra ticket for the Sun Trust Indy Challenge at Richmond (VA) International Raceway a couple of weeks ago and asked if I'd like to go. She'd pay for the ticket if I'd drive since she doesn't have or need a car as a Georgetown resident. Good deal for both of us.

Now I'm a NASCAR fan, have been since way before NASCAR was cool. It wasn't easy being a NASCAR fan when I lived in New York City, where the few folks who knew what NASCAR was would look at me like I'd just drunk out of the finger bowl. But that didn't bother me. I wore my red and black Dale Earnhardt (Sr.) windbreaker with pride, right out there on the streets of Manhattan. Nobody ever beat me up and a few would high-five me, even if just with their eyes. Out-of-towners, no doubt.

I don't even follow the Indy Racing League (IRL), never have. Though I did study up for this race by watching the Indy race the week before on TV. Who knows why, but the stock car races have always sucked me in, whereas the how-can-you-watch-those-cars-just-go-round-and-round attitude that people have who don't "get" NASCAR is pretty much the one I have for IRL. Yes, the Indy cars go faster and are sleeker. The many non-American drivers are sexy and suave. IRL has women drivers, the most famous of whom is Danica Patrick, all 100 pounds of her, though don't discount Sarah Fisher. And NASCAR doesn't have a driver's spouse equivalent to Ashley Judd, wife of IRL star Dario Franchitti.

But I don't care. I love the diversity of NASCAR fans. (Too bad the diversity doesn't extend to the drivers. How many NASCAR drivers or even crew members of color have you seen? And women? Not in Nextel Cup racing, yet, though a couple have slipped in from time to time in the Busch series.) I love the 42ish-driver field in each race. I love the long races, the longest of which is the Coca-Cola 600, which takes place in Charlotte, N.C., every Memorial Day weekend. The Indy race in Richmond was 250 miles, just a warm-up for NASCAR races, and had all of, I think, 12 drivers starting out and took only a little more time than it took my friend and me to wait and creep through the traffic getting out of the parking lot and crawl toward our hotel just a few miles away.

I love the strategy employed by NASCAR drivers. (Yes, strategy, you non-NASCAR fans who taunt us with, "Strategy? Turn left, turn left, turn left, turn left!") I saw a little of it in the Indy race too, but, unfortunately, it didn't appear to last long. The same roster of five leaders was frozen in place for the last half of the race. And there were no crashes. Neither would ever happen in NASCAR. The lead usually changes upward of a dozen times in each race. The last five laps in NASCAR are certainly when I sit glued to the TV when I'm watching a race on Sundays (or, less fun, on Saturday nights).

This isn't to trash IRL. As a racing car fan who has dealt with my share of NASCAR detractors over the years -- I view them as ignorant, not evil -- I don't want to demean IRL or their drivers or fans. I'm just ignorant about IRL.

The Richmond race was a wonderful experience. It was perfect weather, and day into night was beautiful. The novelty of a new racing venue was fun. My favorite driver, Mario Franchitti (what do I know?) won. The Star Spangled Banner live never fails to stir me. Being there with a friend was great -- I know more about NASCAR but she knew more about IRL so it was educational as well as entertaining. And, the thrill of all that speed never gets old.

I'm just sayin'....if I had my choice between going to an Indy race or a NASCAR race -- unless I was invited to an Indy owner's skybox -- you'd find me screaming myself hoarse at a NASCAR race.

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Have My Chips Been Dipped Before?

A couple of days ago, I went to my favorite little neighborhood Mexican food restaurant for lunch. The chips and salsa are especially good there. The chips are crispy, strong enough for dipping, salty enough but not too, and actually tasty rather than cardboardy like some of them can be. The salsa is flavorful, relatively smooth (tomato chunks and onion slivers are the lazy version of salsa) and, thanks to those little devlish jalapeƱo pepper seeds, spicy-hot. I made the mistake of not waiting for the water before popping a dipped chip into my mouth and found myself coughing and sputtering like a gringo. A few minutes later, I heard someone at the table two behind me doing the same thing. Now that's salsa!

Normally I overindulge on the chips before the entree arrives, but this little place is so fast that I only got through a small handful of them before my queso chicken burrito landed in front of me.

So, since I had a nearly full bowl of chips and a nearly full container of salsa, and since (I believe) by law they can't serve chips and salsa that have been served and removed from a table to anyone else, after my meal I asked to take them with me.

"We don't usually do that," the manager (who was also my waiter that day) told me. I looked him like "You've gotta be kidding!" and he quickly said, "But if you want to...." I said I did and he got me a foam box for my chips and a mini-cup and top for my salsa. And I was happy.

But...I couldn't help but wonder why they "don't usually do that." It's not like I ordered a refill. If they serve them to customers in open bowls, surely they wouldn't bus the tables and dump the uneaten but pawed-over chips into the big bowl they scoop them from, or pour the uneaten but dipped-into (and maybe double-dipped-into) salsa into the vat they ladle it from. Would they? WOULD they???

I've seen many restaurants in the past pour remaining salad dressing from tables back into the big tub from which they fill the little individual plastic cups. Oooooh, gross!

Even though I don't have any hard evidence that my maybe formerly favorite Mexican food restaurant returns chips and/or salsa to the community bowl, I admit that I feel a little squeamish about returning there. Of course, that didn't stop me from eating the chips and salsa I doggie-bagged home. I figure there are a million little things like that going on every day in restaurants that we don't see. And don't want to. So I just look at it as keeping my immunity up!