Narc, Narc, Narcing on Heaven's Door

A&E’s “Intervention” is, according to their website, “a powerful and gripping television series in which people confront their darkest demons and seek a route to redemption. The Intervention Television series profiles people whose dependencies on drugs and alcohol or other compulsive behavior has brought them to a point of personal crisis and estranged them from their friends and loved ones.”

Notice the religious language of this summary’s first line, intentional or accidental. Us Westerners, especially Americans born of the Christian tradition, tend to dramatize our existence, preferring epic struggle where personal anecdote would suffice. Ever since the Puritans (John Winthrop’s “Citty on a hill”), Ben Franklin (his “bold and arduous project of arriving at moral perfection”), and Walt Whitman (who “celebrated himself”), each canonizing a new form of American Exceptionalism, we have inserted our idiosyncrasies into a hazy, continuous narrative bound for some glorious destiny. We print “In God We Trust” on our currency in hopes of avoiding an economic crisis (don’t worry - Heaven called; they’re doing everything they can).

We think alcoholism, for another example, is not only the product of an excessive or idle lifestyle, but a lost battle with a Dark Angel, yea, one of Lucifer’s personal minions (!), who keeps us in sadistic bondage to spite the Lord. It is no coincidence that most recovering/recovered substance-abusers also find religion critical to their rebirth (baptism?) into sobriety and survival. We are hard-wired with Melodrama, eager to be heroes, but willing to be villains, if only we can play some role. To be alone, to struggle anonymously for survival, is a black depression, a vacuous coil constricting our airways. As the drug addict continues to hurt his/her self, maybe their best motivation is the false impression that no one is watching, no one is even there to validate their own self-loathing. Drugs block their users’ perceptions in that way. Drugs sever users from their most important relations, and finally isolate them in pure Duality: you are high, or you are desperate to become high – no other voice allowed, not even your own, which is already in use against you. The Duality even functions in recovered users: you are no longer high and doing the Devil's work, but sober and at peace with God.

One reason “Intervention” is an interesting show is that it exposes the addict in that lonely state, making his or her private deterioration impossibly public. One critic may say:

“I think the show is exhibitionist. While I feel compassion for victims of addiction (I was once married to an alcoholic), I don't think the show is designed to get victims of drugs off drugs. I think it's designed to entertain those who aren't drug addicts and who have a morbid curiosity about those who are. Maybe there is some value in showing how family members rally around the victim and bring them to health, but I don't know. It's TV, it's concerned with ratings, and it shows what sells, not what heals.

Plus, addicts seem to me to be pretty much alike . . . one addict's story is very much like another addict's story. There might be different personalities involved, but their modus operandi is always nearly identical: nothing gets between them and their drug of choice. Until a family member says, "enough." That's the plot, and it's played out with slight variation in every episode.”

Yes, TV shows are always geared towards ratings and thus not fundamentally made for genuine education or benefit. There is a serious trend in the last decade of TV toward "reality," or, as I prefer to say, "non-fiction" shows, which was partially popularized by the show "Cops." That trend adds a new element of interaction between the show and the viewer. We are granted access to the personal lives of real people like us (and not Brad Pitt), whose stories are neatly broken down, packaged, and sold to us. They are not humans, but characters who can only play the part of themselves. By nature, exhibitionist TV has to one-dimensionalize people in this way, and the audience is caught rubber-necking.

In his famous essay about the porn industry in the US, David Foster Wallace interviewed a porn-fan who said he watches it for that seminal moment (pun intended) when the actors achieve climax and involuntary drop their "mask,” showing their genuine, orgasmic facial expressions. Put simply, he sees their defenseless sides, and he feels a little less lonely for a moment. Non-fiction TV must be closely related to that porn phenomenon.

So is there any way to justify our addiction to watching addicts? Probably only if you accept that all TV non-fiction lacks a certain moral foundation.

I read recently that up until 2007, there were around 18 million Americans with substance abuse problems. I would bet most of them have access to a TV, along with those closest to them. More than pure entertainment for non drug-users, Intervention may be a legitimate source of reassurance to many people that something can be done about addiction. If there are around 300 million Americans, of which 6% are getting high in various ways, we have to assume at least 20% of America is affected in some way by drug use. "Intervention" is a way of addressing the white elephant (or white powder?) sitting in the living room of America. If addiction is such a big problem in our country, and TV is the largest and quickest source of distributing information, what better than an A&E series to increase not only the awareness of the problem, but to offer an example about what can be done? Subsequently, if a significant percentage of the show’s participants get clean and stay clean (and then get famous for it, and then in some cases start working in rehabilitation centers), is the show not ultimately contributing positively?

As much as an exhibitionist TV show can, anyway, given that it panders to a nation full of morally-exhausted TV-junkies.

Jurassic Park vs. Duke Men's Basketball

"Chaos theory originally grew out of attempts to make computer models of weather in the 1960s. The behavior of this big complicated system always defied understanding. A butterfly flaps its wings in Peking, and weather in New York is different." - Dr. Ian Malcolm, Jurassic Park

Why does my basketball team suck, according to ESPN? "Well," responds, for example, a sports analyst like Tony Kornheiser, "This is a team that fundamentally lacks experience. Nobody seems to be on the same page. They haven't fallen into their roles comfortably yet; you can't have your 'outside shooter' only show up to play once every four games, you can't have a point guard with a bad attitude whose frustration is evident in his careless play, and you cannot have your big man down low averaging 9 turn-overs a game!" (NOT an actual quotation)

In a 30-second, bullet-point film clip, that is why my basketball team is greatly separated from Duke- and UNC-quality teams. None of this information is false or misapplied because when I watch my team play, the above argument seems true.

But consider the absurdity of really trying to analyze or predict the outcome of a sporting event. Whole cities and multi-million dollar industries are wrapped up in such speculation. Think of the countless variables, both physical – pertaining to a game’s external environment – and mental – affecting an athlete’s performance – which contribute to a simple 50/50 probability of W or L in the record column.

As an example, consider the possible physical differences between one basketball court and another: the thickness of the hard wood, the type of finish used, the amount of polish, the presence of liquids or other particles, the color of the wood – all determining the precise bounce of the ball (which ball also varies within any given game), the footwork of the players or their running and jumping, or their eyesight. Does a player’s sense of his surroundings not make it significantly different to play on Vanderbilt’s square, black and yellow, wide-spread court than in Ole Miss’s blue and red, coliseum-style stadium? Maybe a player has been mentally sluggish lately, not waking up until 15 minutes after his alarm, particularly tired from hard work-outs, testing schedules, or satisfying his girlfriend last night, all of which affect his play, all of which are dependent on other grosses of variables. Crowd noise, team mates’ attitudes, competitors’ ability, air temperature, diet, coaching schemes, shoes, shooting sleeves, or a thousand other unknowns could be the difference between scoring a game-winning basket or not, or even the cause for their being consistently terrible.

Evidently, no 30 second film clip of Tony Kornheiser’s could ever begin to mathematically account for what produces quality basketball. To use Jurassic Park language, not even three Cray XMP supercomputers (which gave InGen more computing power than any other privately held company in America) could do it, and those bad boys were driving T-Rex gene sequencing.

Philosophically speaking, if we were able to define the complete series of causes and effects that should lead to a win, would science alone adequately predict the outcome? Who is to say some X-factor or Cosmic Interference wouldn’t obliterate the whole goddam logical system?

“Any sort of complex system where there is confusion and unpredictability…we can find an underlying order. Okay?” – Dr. Ian Malcolm

Despite the above musings, there is no denying that coach Mike Kryzyewski (pronounced “cry” “zi” “eeeew” “skee,” right?) and the folks over at Duke basketball have found a successful formula. They’ve had only one losing season in the past 25 years and won 3 championships in that time. And they haven’t cloned any dinosaurs in the process (though Sheldon Williams gave us hope they were trying).

Some of the more sapient among us seem to have developed an enlightened understanding of the sport, an all-encompassing comprehension and feel for the game which trumps the oppressive hordes of chaotic probability, assimilating them in their favor. Coach K is not sitting in a Jurassic Park-like Control Room all day tapping out calculations. He is also not dropping LSD and taking pipe-dream trips into the furthest echelons of human thought in order to decipher what his team must do to win (though the Duke Lacrosse team may have tried this).

Probably, he is just a man of unsurpassed dedication to his methods. Through trial and error, he has accumulated an admirable set of practice routines, coaching strategies, and philosophical approaches which have made him consistent. He uses his talent well, which attracts more fan support and more talent, which helps him fine tune his system even more, and thus his team returns to ESPN prime-time spots and the Big Dance every year.

And we are left with all of the same old analytical clichés from TV anchors: “This Duke team has experienced veterans, fires on all cylinders, and has clutch-shooting under pressure” etc. We never tire of them because we never cease to be amazed at the beauty of a game where men unconsciously, or maybe super-consciously, prevail against the odds. Why bother really trying to explain the details when you can just sit back and watch the show?

Just keep in mind: even Duke is susceptible to that one losing season once in awhile, though their program is as “proved” as any that exists.

“The history of evolution is that life escapes all barriers. Life breaks free. Life expands to new territories. Painfully, perhaps even dangerously. But life finds a way.” – Dr. Ian Malcolm

Beer Review: Sierra Nevada Early Spring Beer (ESB)

In a world of mediocre beer driven by quantity-of-consumption, Sierra Nevada stands out as one of the finest micro-breweries with wide-scale distribution whose beer is driven by quality-of-consumption. Many people are skeptical about paying nine dollars for a six pack of beer when the same amount could get them twelve Natty Lights, but the justifications for taking the Beer High Road are many. In the first place, if temperance concerns you as it did our old friend Benjamin Franklin, and you would avoid "drinking yourself to dullness," buying nice brews is your answer. Theoretically you will drink slower when there is less to be had. Also, good brews have what is called "body," which I suppose is the opposite of Bud Light's acclaimed "drinkability," meaning they don't go down easy because their flavors require your full attention. Also, they are significantly more alcoholic. They sit heavier on the stomach unlike a Bud Light (which seems to disappear), like eating home-made rye instead of Wonder Bread. The catch is that a micro-brew requires the beer-drinker to become a beer-connoisseur, to develop a pallet, to approach a beer as you would approach a steak: it is not a tool to facilitate drunkenness, but the product of an artisan to be admired.

Obviously, this reviewer falls into the latter category of seemingly-snobbish beer drinkers. Really, though, it is no more snobbish to appreciate beer in its most intricate form than it is insane to sit down and drink 24 beers on purpose, as Americans often do, which is equivalent to 2640 calories.

So imagine the delight of being able to walk into a liquor store in Arkansas and have access to Sierra Nevada's ESB, a seasonal brew from California. In terms of Style, ESB is closely related to India Pale Ale (IPA): a darker, more malty version of a pale ale (often with nothing pale about it). According to the bottle, "Our ESB combines the best of English tradition with West Coast style. A blend of malts featuring British-grown Maris Otter is balanced with the earthy spiciness of hand-selected English and US hops. The ale is left unfiltered, which enhances mouthfeel and hop aroma creating a slightly reddish-copper hue." To begin with, who knew "mouthfeel" is a word? Secondly, they knew we wouldn't know what "Maris Otter" is, but it doesn't sound like a plant.

However, "reddish copper hue" is a good way to describe ESB's color. ESB has a respectable amount of carbonation, as a bottled pale ale should. Ideally, the beer will have a head on it of about half an inch, more than this reviewers had.

Interjection: Freshness, as a category, is always underestimated when beer or other contraband is evaluated, and therefore one negative about being in Arkansas, for example, is that shipping the brew here takes enough time for freshness to wane.

Flavor-wise, this beer is intense. On the 10-point scale, its bitterness alone elevates it to at least an 8.0 in laymans terms (if we call Bud Light a 4.0). In technical terms, Sierra Nevada attributes ESB 45-46 "bitterness units" (yes, someone actually invented the "bitterness unit;" why not just use the 10-point scale?). Of course, 46 IBUs is high, surpassing most IPAs (LOL on the use of acronyms in that last sentence). Bitterness does not completely overwhelm the experience, though. ESB has a pleasant, if not sweet aftertaste. This reviewer picked up fruity, citrus flavors as well as toasted malty flavors (if you don't know what a "toasty" flavor is, try New Belgium's Fat Tire). Overall, a complex and manly beer. A worthy adversary that earns my $8.99.

I wouldn't recommend drinking all six of these bad boys in one night, as they have an alcohol content of 5.9%. Bud Light is down around 4.2%. "What difference does 1.7% make?" you ask? It's enough to make you re-evaluate the integrity of your stomach. ESB is not the kind of a beer you pound.

Overall, ESB receives a 7.7 on the Exacerbater 10-point Scale. It's a beer intended to herald the coming of early Spring with a extra-bitter flavor, and it generally accomplishes its purpose. Although, one question is: why is Sierra Nevada already shipping early Spring beer in the second week of February? Also, is this beer so bitter that it lacks individuality?

*A great resource in beer-analysis is any edition of Christopher Finch's A Connoisseur's Guide to the World's Best Beer. The man has done his homework and also has a large body of personal experience. I know: what a job. Wouldn't we all like to drink beer and write about it for a living?

A Further Note on Scales

I assign numerical meaning to everything in my life- books, movies, tv shows, women, friends, enemies, attempts to hit on girls named Nicole, etc- So it's no surprise that I subscribe to a scaling system. Most people do. My scaling system is fairly conventional and identical to JVB's in many ways...but there is one important (and shocking) caveat.

While I agree that many things in life (women) should be judged based upon how well they accomplish their stated or inferred goals, I also must insist that certain other things defy all classification as to purpose. Case in point, the holiday classic Jingle All the Way. Some might call this film a crass attempt by producers to rake in holiday money from witless moviegoers who simply want to see a man with gigantic arms play a humorous part. Others might call the film a seminal classic that defines a whole genre, nay, an era, nay, an epoch of filmmaking ingenuity.

But who am I to classify the purpose of such a film? (Even if I do fall into the latter and disproportionately larger category of critics) Who am I to assign it a numeric value in terms of wholesome goodness? Relativity, as my esteemed colleague suggests, is the answer to this question. I can arbitrarily assign numerical value to things because goddamit I want to. But more importantly because I'm aware of my own skewed perspective. For instance, I can honestly say that I like Commando more than I like The Godfather. How fucked up is that? You think that's a rhetorical question but it isn't. The answer is: Real fucked up.

Allow me to explain:

"Hey Sully, I like you. That's why I'm going to kill you last."

(Time passes)

"Hey Sully, do you remember when I told you I was going to kill you last?"

"Yeah, Matrix! That's right you did!"

"I lied."

If that isn't genius at work, then genius does not exist.

My point is that you, gentle reader, may not always agree with me. Hell, you may even hate me for the monster I am. But, deep down, you know that I'm right because on my own relative numerical scale, I cannot be wrong. So don't hate on me for loving Arnold Schwarzenegger (no spellcheck necessary). Don't hate on me for loving the movie Tremors. Don't hate on me for dressing like a school girl instead of a principal. Don't hate on me at all, and I shall impart unto you great fuming heaps of knowledge both putrid and useless.

On a final note, Jingle All the Way is a festering turd of a movie.

Jim Beam: Ideology As Aged As Their Whiskey

Listen up, guys: I don't know about y'all, but my future bitch better meet the following criteria:

1) She better be fine. I don't mean border-line MILF-ish or with a sufficient healthy glow. I mean she better surpass at least a 7.5 on the scale of Hotties. I should add that I would except a fixer-upper; for example, a girl with an 8.0 personality and 6.8 looks, with some surgery, can easily average out to a 7.5. It's imporant to foresee the un-tapped potential in a female. Double-meaning.

2) She better be naked, at least partially, for most of the time. Let's assume she'll spend 70% of her day inside my house. I need her to look sexy as hell in case I come home from work for lunch and decide I would like some dessert. Double-meaning. Therefore, at least 50% of her day should be spent flaunting her credentials. On a personal level, I will be more fulfilled knowing my fine-ass woman is sexually comfortable with herself, and also that her comfortability is devoted to inflating my confidence. At least a double-meaning there. This is just what a girlfriend does. In return for her fidelity, I spend some cash: put her in the SUV, if she wants ice, make her freeze, etc.

3) She should be fine with the fact that I'm a genuine, hairy, stanky man. No real woman can be satisfied by some Guido, metro-sexual, spiked-hair havin, popcorn-muscle flexin, polo-wearin, no-talent ass clown. No. Real women appreciate a portly mate - how else will they know that their cooking is making us fat and happy? They also don't mind excess hair because it gives them something to grab onto. And it keeps them warm.

4) She better tolerate lots of beer consumption. Sorry, bitch. Beer was my first love. Accept it or get your broom and your cookware and get out.

5) When I go out with my friends on the weekends (because believe it or not I don't want to watch movies with her and "talk" all night), she better be damn encouraging about it. When she needs a break from being naked, she can put her clothes on. When I need a break from her, I should be able to get my cake on. I believe in the "you can look but you better not touch" rule. The strip tease is just that: a tease - pregame. The girlfriend is for the actual game. Also, ladies: no guy ever minds a postgame show.

And there you have Jim Beam's latest whiskey commercial summarized. I don't know if the people at Jim Beam's advertising division truly have never studied the concept of alienation in advertising, or if they're smarter than I am. There are probably statistics which show that a minority of women drink whiskey (or that the ones who do aren't clever enough to recognize mysoginism). Therefore, the folks over at Jim Beam are just laughing about their commercial, saying, "Ladies, if you don't like it, well then don't buy the product. Oh wait, you already don't so who cares."

The point is this: beyond trivializing the role of a woman in a relationship, Jim Beam is also taking away the female voice by using a girl as a male mouthpiece (double-meaning?). This rhetoric is not new, but it is apparently effective because, in the whiskey market, her opinion does not matter. And, sadly, there must be enough men out there who are still receptive to this kind of ideology - just like the good old days of Jim Beam's beginning. But some males are receptive to the insuniations of such a commerical. Women are not the only customers alientated by such a bold statement. Whiskey is a specialty purchase; if I'm going to spend the money, I'll buy any one of the other readily-available top shelf bourbons who make their money by sticking to quality distilling, and not by trying to invent lame cultural catch-phrases, like "The Girlfriend," to be circulated in "The Frat House."

But "The Girlfriend" will have some success precisely because it's taboo. We like to laugh at racist jokes and homo jokes because we aren't supposed to, but it's important to do so with some irony or sense of self-deprecation. I saw no evidence of such irony in Jim Beam's latest attempt.

Here's an alternative slogan for Jim Beam: "Some things never get old. They just taste more bitter."

An Initial Note on Scales

The 10-point scale has become a cultural convention in America. Film-makers seek the 9.5 critical review as avidly as crack-fiends seek a dime-bag (although I don't think the "dime" refers to the crack's quality). And, of course, most women would loved to be judged as 10s, though most would settle for an 8 or higher rating (luckily for those hovering between the 6 to 7.5 range, there are surprisingly inexpensive and efficient surgical procedures dedicated to scale-jumping; in effect, a few thousand dollars can earn a woman as many as 1.5 scale points worth of silicon, and thus happiness). Ironically, as much as we love the 10-point scale when evaluating fine art, or sport, or people's asses, we have refused to fully accept the Metric System. Why use three feet to make a yard when you can have 10 perfect 10s to make a meter?

The point is, here at the Exacerbater blog we take pride in recognizing and flowing with cultural conventions. We are no exception to the rule; this blog seeks to be a perfect 10, but will be satisfied with anything in the 9s range - an "A." This scale will be used for books, movies, and, maybe even an ass or two. For example, one night a University of Arkansas patrol officer pulled over this brown-skinned blogger for pulling out of a dorm parking lot. I had been making a call in my 1986 Chevy El Camino SS. Almost positive that I was being lawful, and extra-responsible at that, I asked him what I'd done. "Well, he said, you're lookin' kinda suspicious." I asked if he could elaborate. "Well," he said, "Soon as I pulled around that corner you kinda took off." "Are you going to write me a ticket, " I asked. He said no, and that I should be more mindful of my appearance. On the Ass-Scale, this man was at least 9.2.

For the record, I am not technically Mexican by descent, but I might as well be.

The final issue to address about the 10-point scale is its inherent relativity. One man's 10 is another man's 6.5. One man's 6.5 is another man's wife. If this has happened to you, be kind - taste in women is a slippery slope, and most of us will fail eventually if we haven't already...multiple times. Moving on, we can only make a claim about how this blog's 10-point scale will function, which claim will hopefully be corroborated in the future. We review film and literature very harshly here. The Godfather is not the best film I have ever watched. I cannot honestly tell you what is the best. Rather, film and literature should be evaluated on how successfully they achieve their individual aims. The Godfather sought to be the essential mafia film, and it is. From the opening film score to Brando's archetypal portrayal of the "the Don," the movie achieves an unmistakable effect that American audiences devour. We love vice - especially when its backed by a vague, family-oriented sense of moral structure. So why not give The Godfather a 9.5? Of course, the question then becomes, what the hell does a movie have to do to earn a 10? We have no idea here at the Exacerbater, but we know we have never seen it. Jurassic Park receives a 9.5 in this blog's review. Can it really be compared to The Godfather? No, and that is the point. Even the shittiest of low-budget films (or books) can potentially receive a 9.0 or higher rating, given that they acheive their proposed goal. Of course, all reviews are subject to the infamous "qualification," which in the some cases may be, "Trolls 2 receives a 9.1 in its category, which we suppose is the Evergreen Elementary PTA's attempt to make a G-rated horror film with a $100 budget."

In conclusion, we offer an alternative, expanded view on the concept of scale. At the Exacerbater, more will be covered than film- or book-reviews. We reserve to right to capture - and butcher - or glorify - any element of the human experience. You, the reader, if you exist, are no exception.