Dave Talks Debacle

Here's a quick snippet of David Letterman weighing in on the NBC situation. Good stuff:



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The HoG25: The 25 Best Television Shows of the Past 25 Years (Part II)

We're back, and not a moment too late, with part two of our take on the idiot box. If you dropped by yesterday, you'll see we offered up picks 25-11, which, admittedly was a fantastic read. We can all but guarantee that you'll agree with us on at least nine one of our top 10 picks, which you're welcome to peruse, on two conditions: The first is that you must click the little "Read More" tab, and condition two is that you must comment, in the provided space (Editor's Note: This means you, and no, "I was going to comment, but..." will not suffice). So hop to it, Skippy, before you miss your favorite show.

10: The Sopranos

Old No. 7: Just as baseball is an individual game masked as a team sport, The Sopranos was a comedy masquerading as a Mafia drama. The show had moments of intense action and serious themes of life & death, crime & punishment, loyalty & betrayal. But what made it great were the laughs.

No other show has ever made better use of the malapropism. Christopher Moltisanti longed to "create a little dysentery in the ranks," while Tony wisely pronounced that "revenge is like serving cold cuts." We loved these guys, guys who had no education and little sophistication yet controlled a criminal empire that brought in millions. As with any well-made Mob film, we rooted for the bad guys and hoped they stayed one step ahead of the law. The cops in The Sopranos were given a human face and decent story lines, but were still cast as bumbling straight men to the comedic wiseguys.

There's a reason James Gandolfini doesn't get any more work, even though he's a very good actor. The character he created in Tony Soprano had such depth, such power, and such hidden emotional frailty that is is impossible for anyone to see Gandolfini as anyone other than Tony. He's this generation's Archie Bunker or Ralph Kramden, a larger-than-life family man who repulses us with his temper and draws us closer with his charm.

9: The Cosby Show

Bankmeister: Where, when discussing The Cosby Show, does one begin? It was one of the best television programs of the 1980s, and also of the past 25 years. Why it was so significant is a multi-layered cake. For starters, it was based, to some degree, on the personal and professional life of one Bill Cosby, who just might be one of the most interesting figures of the 21st century. Prior to the television program, Cosby had successfully starred in stand-up comedy, as well as children’s television programming, i.e. Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids and the Picture Pages skits on Captain Kangaroo. The street- and book-smarts of Cosby exuded from all three of these endeavors, but it was his work on The Cosby Show that we acknowledge here.



The beauty of Cosby was that it gave the viewing audience a somewhat suburban view of life in New York City, a metropolis almost always depicted as urban. It showed a functioning family of seven and did an impressive job of evenly distributing the focus of each family member and their issues for most of its eight seasons on the air. At a time when the American divorce rate was reaching unforeseen highs, this family exuded a sense of unity with both natural sibling rivalries and, although seemingly occasionally tilted, a pretty even distribution of power between the mother and father.

The family managed to balance the demanding careers of both parents, while still suggesting a realistic portrayal of ample time for healthy, successful child rearing. And the issues each child dealt with were very real to life: attempts at parental manipulation, household responsibilities, puberty handcuffed by teen intimacy and the occasional “early” pregnancy, reading disorders, violence, drugs, friends, and education. This was all done on a season-by-season basis, in a fashion that included culture, extended family, and of course, humor. While it certainly had its corny moments, The Cosby Show was a sitcom that cemented itself into a position of all-time great

8: Sesame Street

Bankmeister: I’ve not yet delved into parenthood, but I feel somewhat safe in saying that the kind of child you were probably has a heavy hand in determining what kind of parent you will be. I also feel like what kind of child you were was largely congruent to how much Sesame Street you watched. Let me back up: Sesame Street is one of those that, for the purposes of this series, we could/should leave alone because here, in just two short months, the program will celebrate its 40th anniversary. That, of course, projects it beyond 25 years old, but it also, in my opinion, singles itself out in the fact that it has been good enough and popular enough to be on television for 40 freaking years.

To be fair, Sesame Street probably deserves its own post, but in that same vein of fairness, we’re not doing that for any other show. Now, we, in this installment, are discussing shows that have to do with crime, comedy, sports, and, among others, animation. Sesame Street, to me, is above and beyond all of them combined, in that it captures the minds of children, and in the pure essence of doing that, educates them. Sounds corny, I know. But really -– the kids need something like Sesame Street, especially these days when they’re developing faster, getting pregnant sooner, and in some sad cases, dying younger, be it via disease or crime.

But back to my original point: Sesame Street was one of the major cornerstones of my childhood. I remember riding my bike, swinging at the park, and doing chores singing “Can You Tell Me How to Get to Sesame Street?”. I think of Cookie Monster’s “’C’ is for Cookie” every time I eat a chocolate chip. I hear the words to “Rubber Duckie” every time I see a duck on a pond or a kid in a tub. I think of the ol’ 1-2-3-4-5 pinball-machine tune every time I hear a kid counting. The interaction of people and puppets, them learning together -– hell, the interaction of different ethnicities living harmoniously, the everyday things we do in life like going to the dentist or milking a cow are just a few of many, many things kids learn every time they tune in to Sesame Street.

There are about four billion reasons why Sesame Street rules. Jim Henson and Frank Oz are two of them, but the rest are too many, the list too long to explain exactly why. Sesame Street kicked and still kicks all the ass.

7: David Letterman

Old No. 7: For this I'm folding Dave's old NBC Late Night show and his current CBS gig into one. I know, I know, he was more edgy in the later time slot and his monologues have turned painfully predictable. But Dave is the king of late night TV, every other host including Conan O'Brien and yes, Johnny Carson is jockeying for second place.

For years, though, Letterman lost in the ratings to Jay Leno. I could never, ever understand this, because Jay Leno is awful. He's an awful person and I'm sure he smells like a dumpster. Yet year after year Leno posted better numbers, which to some validated NBC's decision to pick the big-chinned knuckle-dragger over Dave's gap-toothed excellence. Who, on God's green Earth, actually watched Jay Leno?



Then I found out -- it was my dad. My dad loves Leno, and he even loves his new prime-time show that has received shittier reviews than Jake Delhomme. Apparently Jay Leno is a big car collector and aficionado of fine vintage automobiles, a hobby that appeals to my father. When I pointed out to Dad that Letterman also likes cars and is from Indianapolis and never misses the 500 and once owned an open-wheeled racing team -- in addition to being 600 times funnier and less annoying than Jay Leno -- Dad didn't care. Leno fills a void for many older Americans, because he is safe and predictable and provides a platter of "humor" and entertainment that reminds them of a simpler time.

Letterman is, of course, the choice for folks my age, or at least those that don't prefer Conan or Jon Stewart after hours. And don't get me wrong, Conan and Stewart are undeniably awesome. But the awkwardness and earnestness that make Conan's stand-up so brilliant also hinders him with interview guests. And Stewart is confined by his fake-news shtick and delightfully acidic condescension. Dave's biggest strength is his honesty.

There are some nights that Dave doesn't like his guests, or doesn't like his jokes, or really doesn't like doing his TV show. He still plows through because he's a pro. But he doesn't hide his displeasure, you can see it on his face and hear it in his voice. And that truth is what makes Dave great.

Bankmeister: For the record, my dad was a fan of Leno, too. Drove me B...a-n-a-n-a-S!

6: Saturday Night Live

Cecil: It is nearly impossible for me to imagine a universe without Saturday Night Live. It's like pepperoni pizza and the starry night sky, like Puff the Magic Dragon and existential despair. It's just there, hardwired into my cultural memory. I'll be on my deathbed and the last flickering image tracing the inside of my mind will be of Chris Kattan and Will Ferrell leg-humping some some guest celebrity. Maybe Drew Barrymore or one of the Tilly sisters.

There have been good years and years that, well, sucked flaming barbed demon cock. It's totally inconsistent season to season -- you think you have the makings of a good cast at the start, then a few episodes in they lapse back into the overlong and ill-conceived sketches that inevitably mark their down periods. You can break the show's history down in eras like geology: the late '70s were regarded as being some of the best American comedy of the 20th Century, even though the humor hasn't really worn all that well, and the early '80s were terrible, except for Eddie Murphy, and then he left and they were terrible again until Adam Sandler and Dana Carvey and Chris Farley, then they really really blew for almost an entire decade. Tina Fey oversaw a brief burst of quality and then fled. The results since have been mediocre at best.



Yet still, there it is goes. It'll just keep on a-soldiering, pumping out episode after celebrity-hosted, bloated sketch-packed and occasional belly laugh-riffic episode. And I'm sure we'll keep on getting terrible movies featuring ex-cast members, garbage like Corky Romano or Fat Albert. My advice, ala Bob Knight, is to lie back and enjoy it. These days I fall asleep 15 minutes in anyway.

5: Sportscenter

Old No. 7: There's really no point to explaining this show, because if you read this blog you have watched more hours of Sportscenter than any other television program. Probably ten times as many hours. Is there another show that you would leave on and allow to replay over and over and over again? Of course not. But you've done this with Sportscenter.

The anchors, of course, come and go, and some are annoying and some are great. I loved the years of The Big Show with Dan Patrick and Keith Olbermann, but looking back I don't really know why. Those guys weren't actually that funny, and when they try to recreate their glory years on NBC's football show they're downright agitating.

What Sportscenter did is condense the most visceral parts of being a sports fan -- the awesome plays. Sure, you cared about who won and who lost, and you cared about the stats in the box score, but you could get all that in the paper the next day. Bob Ryan could describe in vivid detail a Michael Jordan dunk, but you could read that story a hundred times and not get the impact one replay on Sportscenter gave you.

Plus, in recent years it's become the go-to repository of loony-tunes postgame press conferences. Repeat after me: Playoffs? Practice? I'm a man! I'm 40! They are who we thought they were! There's a bunch of assholes out there watching football games like a piece of shit with no pride! All brought to you by Sportscenter. Duh-duh-duh! Duh-duh-duh!

4: Seinfeld

Old No. 7: I love this show, despite the fact that I dislike every main character and the finale of the series was the worst TV show I've ever seen.



Curb Your Enthusiasm had a chance to surpass it as the greatest comedy in television history, but then Larry David's neuroses overtook everything, including his own life (on which both Curb and Seinfeld were partly based).

3: The Simpsons

Cecil: Simpsons creator Matt Groening was a respected and successful cartoonist for years before his sketches on the Tracey Ullman Show turned into the most popular television program of the last two decades, but as great as Life in Hell was -- and it really, truly was -- no one will remember the guy for Binky, Sheba, Akbar or Jeff. What's truly amazing is how long the show's peak lasted; for about 10 full seasons, up until the late '90s crash in quality, there wasn't a funnier show on television. Not even Bob Dornan on CSPAN could compete.

The Simpsons is such an important cultural touchstone for our generation that I spent several years of my life speaking little but quotes from the show. There are so many good ones that you can apply to daily circumstances, especially if you wear an onion on your belt (it was the style at the time.) In its heyday, the laughs would come so fast and furious that you'd have to wait for a re-run to collect all the chuckles you missed the first time.

Most impressively, it was never, ever, cruel or mean-spirited. (At least during the glory years it wasn't; by the time they started writing whole episodes around celebrities, it dropped back to Earth.) The characters weren't just cutouts with catchphrases, they were textured, complex and human. The shadow of its greatness looms large over every animated show that's come after -- one of my former co-workers at the Rocky once asked me if I liked Family Guy, and my response was, "Yeah, back when it was called The Simpsons."

2: Cheers

Cecil: Remember when Boston didn't seem like it was quite so full of doucheknockers? More like a blue-collar city where you could walk into a local bar and hobnob over beers with a group of quick-witted characters? Sure you do -- that time was the '80s, and you thought that because of Sam Malone and company.



Cheers was more than just the best televisions show of its era. To my mind, it stands alone in the history of the medium as being the one program that was as good the day it ended as it was in the first episode -- not M.A.S.H, not All In The Family, not The Simpsons, nada. There was no creative dip, the writing was always excellent and, amazingly, the cast remained virtually unchanged over the course of what, 12 years? New characters came aboard -- Woody, Frasier Crane, Lilith, annoying Kirstie Alley -- Coach left because he died and Dianne Long left because she wanted to make Troop Beverly Hills, but the core group never split apart, which happens to nearly every successful show. Think about it: McLean Stevenson left M.A.S.H, Sherman Helmsley left All In The Family, funny left The Simpsons. But Cheers just kept on bringing the clever, year after year, fake beer after fake beer -- that kind of consistency is rare in any form of entertainment, and almost nonexistent in television.

It's also one of the very few shows that I will unfailingly tune in for re-runs. It's amazing how well it aged -- maybe because "a guy walks into a bar" is just one of the great dictates of comedy.

Bankmeister: Coach: (with telephone receiver clutched to chest) "Some guy on the phone wants to speak to an Ernie Pantusso."

Woody: "Coach, that's you."

Coach: "Oh, right. (places receiver to ear) "Speaking."

1: The Wire

Old No. 7: The setting of any TV show is important, and that venue becomes a character in and of itself. We've all seen countless shows set in New York or Los Angeles, as well as Milwaukee (Happy Days and Laverne & Shirley), Las Vegas (CSI), Miami (Dexter), North Jersey (The Sopranos), Boston (Cheers), Cleveland (Drew Carey), Springfield (The Simpsons) and Cincinnati (WKRP). I've never felt a connection to any of those places like I did to the city of Baltimore through The Wire.

I've never been to Baltimore, but I feel as though I've lived there for years. I feel like I know what the streets smell like, or that I can sense the nip in the air as winter approaches. The word "genius" gets tossed around too easily these days, but I can proclaim with 100 per cent certainty that David Simon is one. He has created a masterwork of drama that will hold up forever.

Just watch this show. I implore you and I beg you, and I do that with full understanding of how annoying that is. I was hounded for years by friends and writers who told me I had to watch The Wire or I'd miss out on some grand cultural experience. I hate it when I'm told that I'm missing out on something, I hate it so much that I will usually intentionally continue to ignore what I'm missing out on, just out of spite.

Luckily I relented on The Wire, and I watched Season One in the least appealing way possible -- during a rebroadcast on BET, with commercials, and with the cursing and nudity edited out. My world was rocked, and I purchased that season and others on DVD before watching the last season on HBO. My current budget allows me neither DVD-buying nor HBO (damned reproduction), but a simple Netflix subscription or membership at your local Blockbuster is all that's needed to gain passage to David Simon's Baltimore and this tragically magnificent slice of America.

And there you have it folks. The top 25 television programs of the last 25 years, as The Iron Triangle sees it. Hope you enjoyed. In the event that you did, peep our similar lists on NFL QBs, cinematic endeavors, baseball stick-swingers, chaptered compilations, and of course, starting pitchers.
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The HoG25: The 25 Best Television Shows of the Past 25 Years (Part I)

If you frequent the House of Georges, or even if this is your first time here, there's one thing you should know: We like to argue. We've made this our bread and butter for two and-a-half years now, and we don't have plans to change anytime soon. Thus far in this particular series, we've covered quarterbacks, movies, hitters, books, starting pitchers, and now it's time for us to tackle some boob tube. Please, join us after the jump for the first of two parts of what we've deemed the best television programs for the past quarter century.

25. The Tom Green Show

Bankmeister: I took a lot of grief for drafting The Tom Green Show. Sure. It had a large ridiculous element to it. Sure. It might’ve gotten old quicker than most hits. Sure. Other efforts -– see: Jackass and Crank Yankers -– at real-life absurdity may’ve been more popular, even though they debuted long after TTGS, but Green’s show was the first of its kind, that kind being a brand of television that would bust your guts and make your cheeks sore with laughter. When the program first aired in 1994, there was a lot more on-set conversation than skits, a ratio that would sway heavily in the opposite direction. It was in these early years, however, that the content of the show, with very little actually happening on it was so damn funny that it frequently made me tear up.

There’s something to be said about genuine laughter, too. I’m a big fan of stand-up comedy, and one of the first to admit that there are very few comics that can just kill it. I don’t mean to compare Green or his show to the efforts of some of comedy’s best, but the ability to instill such horrific laughter is praiseworthy at best. The Tom Green Show, as egocentric as it might’ve come across, attempted to do nothing more than to make people laugh, and for that I applaud it.

The low-budget set featured Green at his desk, pal/co-host Glenn Humplik in a neighboring chair, and other buddy/co-host Phil Giroux behind a window behind Green and Humplik. Giroux seldom did much beyond sip his coffee and chuckle, but that was all it took; it was God-damned hilarious.



If I could find more clips like that, I’d finish all of my selections with them and little more. But the show progressed and they hit the streets. There was the time he pretended to be a cripple:



The time he spent in Japan, where he most notably rode the subway:



And the list goes on:



It would be foolish of me not to mention the tens of dozens of pranks he pulled on his parents, which he’s probably most remembered for, but I would argue that these bits were very far from his best work. The idea for the show was original, bold, daring, and frankly, one of the funniest (at times) bits of television ever recorded. I’ve never looked at ratings or tried to gauge its popularity, but for a moment, The Tom Green Show was one of the best damn things on television, period.

24: Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood

Cecil: Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood has no equal in the history of children's television -- well, OK, you can make a very tight case for Sesame Street, but don't be bringing any Captain Kangaroo or Electric Company up in this piece, because we will fight. Nothing but love for those shows, but step away from Fred Rogers. That means you too, Sid & Marty Krofft supporters, with your sandal-socks combos and single-room apartments filled with He-Man action figures. If you mention Blue's Clues or Dora the Explorer, our security guards will escort you from the premises.

There is no equivalent in today's market. Can you imagine any kind of television executive, even one who works on the public airwaves, greenlighting a show that features a middle-aged man in a cardigan talking directly to very young children? But MRN worked because Fred himself was the real deal, a minister who approached this work with genuine grandfatherly affection for his little viewing audience. He never talked down to you, he never pandered to you. He calmly and patiently showed you the value of being kind, of listening to the opinions of others, of being respectful to the world. I would like to take this opportunity to quote from a column by the excellent Leonard Pitts, one he wrote following Rogers' death:

Consider something Rogers told Nightline when he retired from his program two years ago. He mentioned a letter he had received from a woman who had been abused and raped as a child. "She would find her solace," he said, "in going into a little room that had the television. And she said, "'I really believed it when you said that people could like me exactly as I was, because I really didn't like myself that much at first. But I really came to believe you."'

"The space between the television and the girl became," said Rogers, "holy ground. A place where she could believe she was seen. And that somebody cared."

And that's why you don't fuck with Fred Rogers.

23: Quantum Leap

Bankmeister: Quantum Leap was one of my favorite shows as a kid. I never really knew anyone that watched it religiously, so I didn’t get much opportunity to talk about it, but I thought it was fantastic, and still fondly reflect upon it. My reasons for holding it in such high regard are several:

Originality: While the concept of time travel has been written about, produced, and recorded in many ways throughout pop culture, it has never been done with the eternal desire to make right what once was wrong. That is, many characters in time-travel stories engage in the activity for personal betterment, be it past, present, or future. In Leap, however, Dr. Sam Beckett (Editor’s Note: Excellent name choice), played by Scott Bakula, participates in the project in order to save the life of an individual not related to Beckett himself. The project, though successful, goes a bit haywire, sending Sam into perpetual travel, ultimately making many things that once went wrong into potential corrections.



With the help of Al (Dean Stockwell) and Al’s device that connects him with Ziggy, Sam is left to figure out what situation he’s in, how he might go about fixing it, and of course, who he is.

Benevolence: Sam, Al, and Ziggy, regardless of the embarrassing nature of each situation, become invested, albeit in varying degrees, in each episode to be successful. Of course the ultimate goal is to get Sam home to his own body and life, but they (mostly Sam) wind up caring for those involved.

Twists: Sam lands in the bodies of many different folks, and often times is, or encounters a person of historical significance, almost always lending to an educational aspect for the viewer. Frequently, there is a love interest involved, which, if I remember correctly, happened exclusively in situations where Sam inhabited a male’s body and therefore found himself sought by an attractive female. As an adolescent, I likey-d the spice. Finally, with most shows, a conflict arises, and it is solved by the episode’s end, or it is long, and drawn-out through an entire season, if not multiple ones. The ability to resolve each extremely unique situation, move on, and continue to demand viewer investment with only two real characters, was a move seldom seen in television of the late ‘80s/early ‘90s.

I really enjoyed looking forward to where Sam and Al would find themselves next week, and with the snippets the last few moments of each show would give, always found myself mirroring Sam’s thoughts: “Oh, boy.”

22: NHL 2Night

Bankmeister: It’s not easy being a hockey fan in America. I won’t get into why: That horse’s good and beated dead. I’ll say this, though: Most everyone loves football. A lot of us love baseball. Some of us love basketball. I’m speaking of the professional organizations. We grew up either playing these games, watching them, or both. We get the rules. We’re, to some degree, inherently good at at least one aspect of one of those three games. Most of us didn’t grow up around hockey, so we don’t get it, we don’t think we’ll like it, or simply have zero vested interest in trying. I love hockey. I’ve been a fan of the game for many years. I pull for the St. Louis Blues, and, before I was married, I watched a ton of their games. Now I see fewer of them, but I watch when I can, I attend one or two a season, I still play recreationally, and I follow the National Hockey League.

Ten years ago, and actually even more recently than that, ESPN televised a lot of hockey. There were nights that games were on ESPN and on the deuce as well. The lockout happened, ESPN said “no thanks” to a contract renewal with the league, and thusly cancelled NHL 2Night. It had a great 10-year run (1995-2004) and was super-entertaining, even, I posit, to the non-hockey fan. I watch ESPN’s NFL programs. I find their baseball and basketball programs far from stimulating and tiresome, mostly because I catch the highlights, blips, and news bits I need either before those shows air, or elsewhere. Hockey was never given a ton of time on SportsCenter, and it gets even less now. But, when NHL 2Night was on, it was poignant, full of incredible highlights from all the game, and it was damn witty.

John Buccigross is probably my favorite anchor of all time. He’s educated, meshes well with all of his co-hosts, and he’s funny. He would oftentimes draw comparisons of key players to musicians, and he always killed it, leaving one with the impression that he’s got a wide taste in music. For example, and I’m totally making this one up, they’d show a killer game-winning goal by Joe Sakic, and Bucc’ would say “What Thom Yorke is to Radiohead, Joe Sakic is to the Colorado Avalanche.” He had many other varieties of clever sayings as well. Like, a clip with an amazing save from Martin Brodeur, and he’d hype the shot leading up to the save, and then holler, “Brodeur! Groovy kind of glove.” Of course, it sounds dumb and cheesy reading it, but when he did it, it was impressive.

In an 82-game season that has baseball playoffs at the beginning and football happening through roughly the first half, it’s hard to keep up with what the rest of the league is doing. NHL 2Night iced that cake eloquently and what better to pair Buccigross with than Barry Melrose. Barry Melrose might’ve worn 15 different styles of mullet in his day. He might be a Canadian. He might wear his hair greasy, and he might be a prick. But, the man knows his hockey inside and out, and he’s a damn fine television personality. With Melrose, Bucc’, and the content of the show, it was one of the best around, and certainly one of the best sports shows on in the last 25 years.

21: Friends

Cecil: Friends gets a lot of crap, and rightfully so. It basically set the template for bad '90s relationship comedies, of which there were a metric shit-tonne. (Yeah, tonne. I'm thinking of moving to Montreal.) While it's hard to forgive the dreck that it inspired, there are two reasons to give it a spot on this list, this list which features no Night Court or Murder She Wrote:

1. Sure it's easy to make fun of in retrospect, but admit it, you laughed. There were moments. Joey was appealingly stupid. Ross wasn't too bad before David Schwimmer started getting movie roles and Chandler, played by whatsisface, was a character on a sitcom. It batted about .285, 75 RsBI a year, solid glove.

2. Jennifer Aniston. Seriously the only reason that most guys would watch this show without a girlfriend's insistence. She might be kind of a pop cultural meta-joke these days, but we have to remember just how absolutely smoking she was in the mid-'90s. Yeezow. Assuming, that is, that you could make it through the umbrella-dancing opening before switching back to scrambled pornography.

So, there you have it. Friends. Not exactly The Rockford Files, but that one didn't make the generational cut.

20: Dexter:

Old No. 7: All right, I'll just go ahead and say it now. Comparing premium-cable shows like Dexter to broadcast programs is completely unfair. If you're on HBO or Showtime, you get three massive advantages over appearing on a network: You get to cuss, you get to show boobs, and you don't have commercials. The difference between a premium-cable show and a network show is greater than the difference between the superior American League and the inferior National League. It's more like comparing the majors with Single-A.

For this reason, I have a ton of respect for network shows that are good. The folks that make them essentially have one hand tied behind their back. That being said, Dexter is pretty fucking awesome. You see what I did there? I cussed. Like they do on Showtime. Unregulated sports blogs have advantages that corporate Web sites do not -- quick, post some nudity.



Although it's only been on the air for a couple years (Season 4 just premiered, yo!), Dexter deserves placement alongside these classic programs. It's got a clever premise -- forensic investigator moonlights as vigilante serial killer -- but what makes it great is its constant challenging of its viewers. Dexter Morgan (played by Six Feet Under's Michael C. Hall) is extremely likeable and charming, yet every once in a while he veers down a road that makes you wonder why you're rooting for him.

19: Liquid Television

Bankmeister: Let me state for the record that I absolutely hate MTV. It pisses me off when that channel is on in my home, or anyone else’s for that matter. The programming that airs on MTV is nothing but fake, retarded, mind-numbing crap, and I wish it would go away. I do, however, love the original concept of the channel. I have really enjoyed some of its productions over the years, but now I don’t even understand the point of it, its design, if you will. Part of that problem is the larger topic of television, which has gotten -– and admittedly based on demand -- so out of control, that networks make spinoffs of their own shows and programs and channels and the consumer eats it up. All of this, of course, costs more money, and I, am not willing to spend more than it costs to have the good old-fashioned basic-cable package. Therefore, I don’t even know where one goes nowadays to see music videos.

But now that that’s out of the way, Liquid Television opened up the viewing minds of America in 1991, and remains a cornerstone for off-the-wall, somehow-intellectual, creative television that you still see debuting and airing today, some 18 years later. I remember, somewhere beyond the baked cobwebs in my brain, this program coming on in the late evenings, stacked next to Unplugged, and feeling as if it was the best one-two punch on television, the Diff’rent Strokes/Silver Spoons of the new generation of you will. It gave us music videos, bizarre skits like Aeon Flux, Dog-Boy, Stick-Figure Theater, and of course, Beavis and Butt-Head. There were, of course, many others, all respectable in their own regards, but it was Beavis and Butt-Head that became the icon of the show in a fashion not comparable, but similar to The Simpsons coming from The Tracey Ullman Show.



Beavis and Butt-Head, uh, ruled and stuff. It was low-brow, mindless humor that somehow, reached millions of viewers and put Mike Judge on the Hollywood map. The two teen boys, with their rock tees and their dreams of stardom, poked around their unidentifiable-yet-familiar neck of the American woods with a timid-while-daring stupidity that always equaled a good laugh. They were, perhaps, the touchstone for dick- and fart-jokes seeping in to today’s media. They made boners and bowel movements more laughable than they already were, yet had the acuteness for pointing out other areas of an intelligence-challenged society. If I’d had the foresight to create a character that once called himself The Great Cornholio, I could probably hire someone to clean my bunghole with t.p.

18. In Living Colour

Bankmeister: Ah, the Wayans brothers. For a moment in time, they were the most innovative crew in television. Their program was like a new, shorter version of Saturday Night Live but with quicker, wittier sketches. Like SNL, they had live musical guests, but they also had Fly Girls. More on that, though, in a moment. The reason In Living Colour merits a presence on this list is because of its raw brand of comedy. The Wayans Brothers put together an incredible cast of up-and-coming stars that included Jim Carrey, David Alan Grier, Jamie Foxx, and Tommy Davidson to say the least.

The show’s more memorable sketches included: Homey the Clown, in which Damon Wayans would utter his token phrase, “I don’t think so…Homey don’t play ‘dat.”; Men on Film, in which Wayans and Grier were two gay film critics and would snap their synchronized fingers to movies heavy on the dudes, and offer their “Hated it!” in the direction of pictures that were not; the Homeboy Shopping Network, in which Wayans brothers Damon and Keenen Ivory would attempt to peddle stolen goods ("Mo’ Money, Mo’ Money!") until the cops arrived; Fire Marshall Bill, in which Carrey would portray a cooky fire marshall that always caused injury to himself, just after saying “Letmeshowyousomething!”; and of course Hey Mon, in which multiple cast members resembled a family who did nothing but work. They would frequently argue about who had more jobs and call each other lazy by saying something like, “You only got five job, mon.”

There were a number of other great sketches, like Great Moments in Black History, and several one-time pieces, like the guest appearance from Chris Rock, wherein his character could never afford anything and try to finagle his way into deals, always saying “My Lord! That’s a lot of money!” when told the actual price of an item. And of course, the Fly Girls. They were choreographed in the likes of a Madonna show or a Janet Jackson video: quick, flashy, and impressive. And they were all very fly indeed. In Living Colour was something to look forward to each week for a solid five years.

17: The X-Files

Bankmeister: The reasons why The X-Files kicked all the ass are many. First and foremost is the ongoing theme centered on the possibility of other life forms in the universe. If you haven’t thought about that at least once in your life, then there’s probably something wrong with you. The next is conspiracy theory. Never have I seen a show take its primary idea -– the paranormal, the extra-terrestrial –- and so successfully wrap it around the possibility of government cover-up. The third is the two main cast members, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. I’m not gonna lie: If I was held at gunpoint and it was demanded of me to name a man-crush, Duchovny would be at the top of the list. Honestly, I think he’s a great actor. I’ve enjoyed most every role he’s played, and specifically, the fact that he pulls a ton of wool in every one of them. For the most recent, check out Showtime’s Californication. The bigger part though, is Anderson.

I’ve had a pitched-tent that wouldn’t fit into Woodstock for her since the first time I laid eyes on her. She’s gorgeous, intelligent, and skilled at her trade. And gorgeous. The pairing of the two was a phenomenal move by show producer Chris Carter. Duchovny’s Fox Mulder is the believer in the paranormal, the poster boy behind the phrase “The truth is out there,” and Anderson’s Dana Scully is the doctor, the scientist, the realist, assigned to Mulder’s X-files to basically disprove every theory and idea he has. I became obsessed for a time with this program. I didn’t much care for the episodes that involved monsters and werewolves and the like, filler for the true plot in my mind. But it was the idea of aliens, abduction, the plan for colonizing earth and human beings for the greater advancement of alien life that hooked me.

Throw in mysterious characters like the Cigarette-Smoking Man and his band of know-all, beat-you-to-the-punch henchmen and the suspense couldn’t be any greater. I dug The Lone Gunmen. I dug most everything about the show until agents Monica Reyes and John Doggett were introduced. I stayed on board because it was good enough to warrant it, but I was massively disappointed by the series finale. I still find myself intrigued, however, by the occasional rerun, especially if involves the sultry Scully toying with the notion of finally giving Mulder a piece. This series had a huge following for a reason, and could’ve tapped an even larger audience had they gone the route of soft porn with the two agents. Fantastic show.

16: Six Feet Under

Cecil: If The Sopranos started that great run of HBO dramatic programming that continues to this day, then Six Feet Under took the anchor leg. Aside from the aforementioned show, it's the best thing that HBO has ever done -- and consider, upon reading the previous, that I'm a huge Deadwood fanboy.

The simple plot, a family who runs a funeral business and deals with (for the most part) the relatively normal ups and downs of life, belies the depth with which Alan Ball and company wrote it. Sure, he occasionally went to the well of complete ridiculousness -- the bit a few seasons in about the murder of David's wife, for instance -- but for the most part he worked with situations that were sometimes banal, sometimes brutal, sometimes revelatory, but always deeply rooted in the familiar. We could identify with the responsible son feeling pissed at his Peter Pan brother while dealing with his own closeted nature, with the teenage daughter who couldn't believe this family was hers, with the mom who finally took charge of her own life after years of giving care to everybody else and thinking of herself last.

The dead frequently spoke to the living in SFU, which might seem ham-handed on the surface but really acted as a nifty way of expressing a kind of poetic reflection that never resorted to any overt and simple-minded ghost story tricks. These scenes were some of the most poignant, such as when Ruth re-marries and her deceased husband -- one of the major characters, even though he dies about 3 minutes into the very first episode -- is shown sitting on the porch with his head in his hands, smoking a cigarette. Six Feet Under was a masterpiece of writing and acting and, probably, deserves an even higher mark than we're giving it here.

15: Friday Night Lights

Old No. 7: If there is a more misunderstood television show out there I'm not aware of it. Try to follow along, please.

The original Friday Night Lights was a 1990 nonfiction book written by Buzz Bissinger. Yes, the same Buzz Bissinger who completely lost his mind while appearing on a forum with former Deadspin editor Will Leitch. Bissinger's book spent a year in the life of the football team at Odessa Permian High in West Texas, and was excellent (I'm familiar with the area; my dad's alma mater plays in the same conference as Permian). But that's not the Friday Night Lights we're talking about here.

Then a movie was made based on the Bissinger book in 2004, directed by Peter Berg. It used actors playing the real characters from Permian, and it kind of sucked. Football's a difficult sport to turn into filmed drama, which is why there's never really been a good football movie.

Then Berg decided to create a TV version of Friday Night Lights, but instead of real-life Odessa Permian he manufactured fictional Dillon High. This is what gets confusing, especially for folks that either read the original book or watched the movie. It's also a little misleading to even say that the show is about football, or sports. FNL sidesteps the difficulty of recreating football onscreen by nearly ignoring the Dillon Panthers and focusing almost exclusively on the characters and struggles surrounding the team, the school and the town.

It's a truly remarkable show, but anything I write about it will be less impactful than this passage from Chuck Klosterman:

Friday Night Lights is such a brilliant, effective TV show that — sometimes — I don’t enjoy watching it. Very often, I will feel on the verge of tears throughout an entire episode; it is the most emotionally manipulative show ever made. Part of it has to do with its brilliant use of music; if you play "Explosions in the Sky" loud enough, the process of hanging drywall can be a life-altering experience. But the larger reason Friday Night Lights is so moving is the way it taps into all the conservative impulses most mediacentric intellectuals try to ignore. The show’s moral code is so traditional and pure that it borders on cliché. It’s reactionary in the best possible way. Whenever I watch it, I find myself thinking, I bet my parents would love this.

I don't know a single person who has given this show a chance and hasn't loved it. It is a critical favorite, yet has never received high ratings. This is surely due to the confusion about the book and movie, as well as women not wanting to watch a football show (and men thinking a football show will be weak). But my theory as to why FNL has never caught on is simple: NBC is basically locked into airing the show on Friday nights, and almost everyone has better things to do on Friday nights than watch TV.

14: The Office

Old No. 7: Yes, I've seen the original British version, but you'll never convince me that it's better. Steve Carrell's Michael Scott is simply one of the finest television characters ever created, Everyone has had a boss like Michael Scott at some point. If you haven't, I hate to be the one to break this to you: You are somebody's Michael Scott.

The thing that impresses me the most about this show is its ability to bring new characters in and ditch old ones yet never miss a step. I was a huge Toby fan, yet his absence is inconsequential. Adding Andy was awesome. Even additions that haven't worked, like when Stringer Bell had an arc and fellow Wire alum Amy Ryan played Michael's girlfriend Holly, were quickly dismissed and forgotten. I'm positive that even mainstays like Dwight Schrute, Jim Halpert or Pam Beesly could move on and the show would still kick ass. Only Michael is indispensable.

This is surely a testament to great comedic writing. I have no idea if Michael Schur (the brains behind Fire Joe Morgan and currently head writer on the dreadful Parks And Recreation) is still working on The Office, but whoever's cranking out these lines gets three cheers from me.

13: Family Guy

Bankmeister: When Family Guy first aired in 1999, it was so good that I was baffled when Fox canceled it after just a few episodes aired in its second season. Fox obviously realized its mistake and brought the show back, and it has been uber-successful ever since. If you’re unfamiliar with the show, then shame on you. It’s cast includes the family who, most notably include the talking dog Brian and the clever, British-accented baby Stewie. There’s the paraplegic neighbor, the lecher neighbor, the actual pedophile neighbor, and the black neighbor. There are others, too, but mostly the family has a conflict to resolve in each episode, and the means they take to get there are mostly in contrast to what normal problem-solving skills might resemble.

In addition, the dialogue in the episodes manipulate language in order to make innuendos and crude jokes, which, if you don’t find humorous, shame on you. There are the asides, as I like to call them, as well. Or tangents, if you will, in which various cast members are having a conversation about one thing or another, and decide that one choice would not be wise, as it might resemble “that time I…” and the segment breaks away into something unrelated, but typically funny. These bits, along with others, are often used to draw numerous pop-culture and ‘80s references into the program, which are pretty hilarious.

I understand that the show has been criticized for myriad reasons, but those critics are idiots. If you can’t embrace the horny, drunken dog, or the conniving, hysterical talking baby, then really, what’s left for you in life? Family Guy is the bizzle, dizzle.

12: 30 Rock

Cecil: Tina Fey is the shizzle. Not only is she one of the most deft writers currently working in television comedy, but that librarian-glasses-smart thing works for us in a big way. So does her current project 30 Rock, which I humbly submit to be the best show currently on any non-cable network.

It's so tight, so ridden with subtlety and sneaky jokes that it has achieved that rarified air, occupied in my viewing lifetime only by the glory years of The Simpsons, where I just can't get 'em all because I'm too busy laughing and have to wait for the re-run to see what I've missed. (Since I also mention this in my (redacted) bit, you should know that it's a very serious indicator in my eyes. I don't take this humor shit lightly.) Tracy Morgan has the role of his lifetime as Tracy Jordan, and its possibly because, according to pretty much every source I've ever seen, he's simply playing himself. The guy is a flipping loon. Alex Baldwin continues to prove that he is better than every single other Baldwin combined, and twice so in Stephen's case. Even Judah Friedlander has a role in which I don't find him obnoxious, which is something by itself.

This comedy that expects you to keep up, comedy that doesn't beat you over the head with cleverness -- because it doesn't need to. This is Jordan in his prime, Ted Williams in '41, Traci Lords pre-scandal.

11: NFL Countdown

Cecil: NFL Countdown was must-watch viewing for the entire run of its existence. That, it need not be said (though I am anyway, because I'm a contrarian asshole), is an unusual quality for any show, much less one with such a narrow scope.

Or was it, really? After all, practically everyone in America who isn't a gay terrorist loves football. They like to watch football, think about football, talk about football, slur insults under their breath to football players they see at bars. They even like to watch highlights of games they may have no rooting interest in -- maybe because they have a few bills on the Bills or a couple of bucks on the Ducks, sure, but also because fans of NFL football will generally watch anything remotely related to the sport. I know, I've willingly sat through at least 10 NFL skills challenges.

It's hard to remember, now, but Chris Berman wasn't always so creepy and lame. There was a time when he seemed like a jovial ringmaster, the comic foil to the deadly serious tone taken by so many analysts and anchors. He kept the show moving, hit his cues and you could hardly imagine him finding a better fit in his professional career. Tommy Jackson, of course, is an absolute hero whose name should never be taken in vain by any football fan anywhere ever. NFL Countdown was the perfect confluence of subject and personality; it's hard to believe that they decided it needed the shelf after such a run. I blame Berman.

There you have part one, folks. C'mon back tomorrow for the top 10. We'll be waiting for you.
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Monday Miscellany: In Case You Missed It

When this blog was in its origin stages, I was an obnoxious, loud-mouthed anti-golf dude. Much has changed since those days: I like golf now, and actually watch it on the televisions from time to time. I thoroughly enjoyed some soggy U.S. Open this weekend, and was pleased to be tuned in when Bob Costas dropped this gem live:



Now, this sensation that has slowly but surely swept the nation, has roots. See some, after the jump.

Okay. Well, I couldn't find the one I was looking for, but whatever.



Also, congrats to Lucas Glover for winning the thing today.
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Evening Essay: "The Wire"

Five score and a handful of months ago, Old No. 7 called an all-staff House of Georges meeting of the ethics variety. The conference room was full of passion and disdain, and after the fact, Seven and I had a series of extensive phone conversations regarding, race, violence, and the American dream. Opinions were voiced, angst-riddled phrases were exchanged, and among other things, I was told the following: "Dude, you have got to check out season four of The Wire." It's kind of seldom that the man actually says something serious to me, so when he be fa'-real talkin', I be listenin'.

Stubborn prick that I am, though -- I can't dive into something like that; I've got to have the handle, the entire litter as opposed to the alleged pick. So I got on the NetFlix, and I ordered it up, one disc at a time, cordially interspersed with one movie for the wife, then one for me in between. Earlier this week, I finished the entire program, and I can't remember the last time I felt so thankful for a recommendation, so stunned by a production of any kind. And I say all that to say this: There is nothing current-events-related about this post. The Wire called it a wrap and ended their fifth and final season earlier this spring. But, like Jim Gaffigan says,



it's frustrating when you see a movie for the first time that everyone else has already seen ages ago, and you want more than anything to talk to someone about it. That's the position I'm in right now, so I'm talkin'.

Every once in a while, people are moved, and that's how I felt watching the credits of every single episode of this HBO series. The viewing experience was quite the marriage of adrenaline and dismay, one that fostered some kids by the names of outrage and inspiration. I'd get a disc with two to four episodes on it, and at my first opportunity, power through the whole thing, and find myself literally motionless on the couch, treading the depths of ponder. First thing the next morning, I'd get it in the mailbox and wait, oftentimes updating my queue if we hadn't gotten around to the movie on hand. In that exchange would come a fond animosity that wavered from hatred toward the postal service for taking half-days on Saturday and Sunday off, and a relief knowing that I was actually buying more time before the program would end, given that there are only five seasons. But this thing, this magnifi-tastic monster that David Simon and Ed Burns put together blew me away, and I'm not interested in attempting to convince folks to watch it. I'm really not. You simply do or you don't.

But I've got to talk about it, nine months (Editor's Note: Or five years; your pick.) late or not.

One common theme I've discovered surrounding folks that have discussed it or written about it is the program's realness. And for the record, you bumpkin Oklahomans, that word is pronounced "pro.gram., not "PRO-grum." But the show, even though I've never spent a prostitute's hour in the ghetto or a mayor's week in a city hall, is real. In season one, we're turned on to the Avon Barksdale drug ring, one that is henched by his main man, Stringer Bell. It should also be noted that I'm not going to apologize for ruining anything for folks who haven't seen it. This is an essay, not a preview. I watched all of the cast/producer commentary at the conclusion of the program, and one line (among many) really struck me, and it came from Delaney Williams, who played Sergeant Jay Landsman, and it went something to the tune of "At the end of season three, I had to wear a t-shirt that said 'I had nothing to do with the killing of Stringer Bell' for like six months."

You know, here in the blogospheres, you see the occasional writer or commenter that has a goofy screen name like Angelo Pappas or Morpheus or Stringer Bell, so it was of some surprise to me that there were actually fans of that character out there. The guy, played by Idris Elba, was a total, complete piece of mad-cow-riddled calf shit. The wretched, steamy kind with a pack of flies hovering. I didn't stand up for Barksdale; I was of course a fan of (Dominic West's character) Jimmy McNulty to the bitter end. I did, however, appreciate the way Barksdale did business, and I even liked that his power followed him to the clink in a seemingly authentic way. My point: Fuck Stringer Bell. If ever I start a new Web site, the domain will be www.fuckstringerbell.com. Also in the realm of side notes, listening to West speak in the commentary was like listening to someone interview Bob Marley. That shit fascinates me while it drives me to pull my testicles from my scrotum. When Marley sings, his English is annunciated and audible. When he speaks, his Jamaican drawl is far from comprehendible. When West acts, his American dialect is perfect; when he speaks as himself, it's back to wanker-ese, and I feel like composing a song called "Just Fucking Speak Normal Already."

Anyway, season one reveals the drug ring, the power, the money, and the same aspects of the Baltimore Police Department officers trying to track it and beat it. In season two, they re-craft the art of intelligent. That is, instead of delving deeper into the introduced scenario, they go the opposite direction: global. Cops, along with the curious citizen, want to know where the drugs are coming from. With that comes an implication of "find the drug boss and the thing's solved." This approach actually tackles where the drugs are coming from, like, who's bringing them to the boss. In that roost come dozens of eggs that hatch hooker smuggling, rugged blue-collar life, and conspiracy. Amazing stuff. An odd transition to adjust to, but really God-damned amazing, nonetheless. The puppeteers of the show are able to do this by an examination of a major Baltimore industry: overseas shipping receiving. Like its predecessor, the season educated and found a new way to exemplify how people's lives be bein'.

Somewhere in the mix of this, politics is introduced, hand-in-hand with money, blackmailing, power, and corruption, or, as I like to put it, "da' troof from da' boof'." The politicians want to eliminate symbols of drugs, gangs, violence, and poverty, and there's a massive moment where they detonate some apartment complex towers, edifii that define certain cast characters' entire lives. Yet, the drug ring works around it, finds new methods. Barksdale gets out of prison, secrets unfold, and dabbled in there like an accidental paint splotch, is the Brother Joe character who's outsourced from New York to come down and fend off the newcomer drug fellas. He's quite the presence. His re-appearance later in the program was masterfully done as he and Omar Little -- my even-though-I-have-like-six-way-tie favorite character from the entire series -- mow down Bell with the efficiency of a self-propelled Lawn Boy.



And season three, which appropriately did away with Bell after seeing him scammed by lawyers and property developers, is quite the Sangria of issues. We get back to the drug ring, get more detailed on the police investigation, but we also get into Baltimore politics, we dive into the mind of a newly released-from-prison, former gang-banger, and we look at a perhaps-insane attempt to tackle the inconceivably cumbersome animal that is the quote war on drugs. This all leads us to season four, and the impetus for Seven's insistence.

In season four, which by the way is not necessarily my favorite, the producers and writers deliver, in a word, culmination. As a blogger, I often wrestle with other gay men in unitards the logistics of cursing. In one venue, you can't be taken seriously if you drop eff bombs, while in the other, the liberty provides the opportunity to -- as one might think -- get the point across. But, Andre Royo, in an interview with the Smoking Section, says it best:

"In every season, I’ve had a great moment or great episodes. But the fourth season it was just everything just lined up, everything was powerful and the flow of the whole show, it never dropped...When I was growing up, my parents and everybody was having these parties. And it would be like a round table, and they would say, ‘It’s the school system,’ or they would say, ‘It’s the government,’ or they would say, ‘It’s the family,’ and they would argue all night, but in reality they were all right. Everything matters. You can’t just fix one thing and leave everything else fucked up. It won’t work. You gotta fix it all, know what I’m saying? And the fourth season just made that really, really clear. Everything is connected and everything has an effect on the other."

That quote defines the show. It really does, and I have to hand it to whoever at Smoking Section lined that shit up. This is the shaved almonds of the cereal Old No. 7 was spooning: It's all fucked. Understand that that statement doesn't come with a surrenderous white flag or a shrug to the Final Jeopardy question. It's an analysis. When talking about people, one member of one demographic can't finger another with the mindset of opportunity ignorance. The thought behind all of this is that if the drug ring is out there and even seven year-olds are a part of it, you can't chunk the education system in there or slice the economy out of the pie, or head nod in the direction of politics. You can't, and I can't. We, on many occasions, will, regardless. Because we want to fix things, because we want a perfect world wherein at the grocery-store endcaps of life, the Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie issues, the Madonna-and-the-Pope chats are our biggest concerns. Not the future of our offspring. Not the decay of our hometown cities. Not the actually never-ending cycles of non-consideration of life. This television program is about life. And not their life. Not his life. Or her life. It's about our life. It's about our cluelessness with regard to how to improve it.

That last sentence isn't an insult. I am the perfect example of a clueless individual. I wrap my aorta around the traffic this blog doesn't get. I'm embarrassed multiple times in a week when folks mention news items I've never heard of, ones that are already months old. My year teeter-totters on The Tradition. I feel that I am like most animals within this human species: I can be a good leader at one or two things, but for others, I need a leader to follow. I could rally my energies around a feasible solution to school systems, to violent crime, but how intimidated am I by the notion of determining the starting point to fix it? Really dang intimidated.

I dunno. Maybe this guy



was a step in the direction we were seeking. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe there is no difference between Republicans and Democrats. Maybe we're all in this mess until we figure out a way to fix it ourselves. Maybe we never will. But I naturally digress. We've gone to non-recognizable efforts to clarify that this blog is not about politics. This blog also isn't about television. This blog, at the risk of sounding Muenster, is about freedom. We have the capability of talking with the abundancy of oxygen, about our two favorite football teams, and whether or not one can or will beat the other and triumph. And that freaking rules.

But the fourth season goes into the schools, it introduces a quartet of young actors who play kids. They all portray crucial -- that word might get thrown around a lot but it's really significant here -- roles in terms of real world. You got Randy, Duquan, Michael, and Namond. And I ain't tryin' to get all Whitney Houston here. I ain't. But these kids are the future. The characters these youths play are real. They are. Again: Never done no time in no ghetto, but the point of this post is that this stuff is real. It's the Meyer of Oscar, yo. At one time or another, in the heart of their eighth-grade year, each one of these kids has a glimmer of a chance to go in a positive direction. One does. The rest become under-the-bed dust mites, products of the system, which doesn't lead down the path of positivity.

School. I don't know how or why, but somehow, some way, there has to be a means for change in school. Now, I don't own a soap box, and even if I did, I wouldn't be tightening my shoelaces. I'm talking about a portrayal on television. A real one.

Season five.

Given that I'm just under 48 hours of having finished it, I'm still not done processing. There are things that happened in those 10 1/2 episodes that absolutely murdered me. In fact, most of the concepts birthed in that season did. But like a gargle of warm salt water, I took them. But only for one reason. I tell you, I don't watch a lot of TV. I see a fair amount of movies, but almost always late, and on the rare occasion that I deem one "really good," my opinion of the movie as a whole is ruined by the ending. Take "No Country for Old Men" for example. Couldn't believe that what's-his-name, the dude from "The Goonies," the good guy, bit the bullet. Couldn't freaking believe it. I was flabbergasted that his ol' lady was killed off. And I was lock-jawed at the fact that the bad dude got away. Those events are crucial to the theme of the storyline. That I get. But I'm a fuddy duddy, or something like that. I want justice. I don't always need a happy ending, but I look for redemption, and for scores to be settled. When they don't happen like that, I'm pissed. Great movie either way, and many props to Cormac McCarthy, one of the greatest authors of our day. But in The Wire, I feel -- at least now -- like I needed some more redemption than I got. And this isn't a criticism of the show; it was a real canvas.

It was so real, that I, stubborn prick that I am, was fine with it. Because I knew it was real. And I knew it wasn't about a huge payday, or an Emmy. It was about making good television that served the purpose of a message, and I'm not the first to say it, but allow me: That was what Brown could do for me. I happen to like truth. I happen to like progress. I happen to like good writers and even hope to one day be one.

In conclusion (Note: Has a worse introductory phrase ever been invented?), I am mildly embarrassed to admit that I don't know that the purpose of this post was beyond writing about The Wire. It is phenomenal. Like cooler than Transformers. And I, a few weeks beyond Thanksgiving, couldn't be more thankful for having experienced the best television ever made.

There is the aspect of the fifth season that I have not yet touched on: the newspaper. Killer angle. The producers deliver some incredible newsroom angles and successfully address issues associated with the allegedly dying form of media: print. I've always been an optimist. I've always felt confident that the Chiefs will one day win a Super Bowl before my children put me in a nursing home, and I've, in recent years, felt that print journalism will rebound. I've also been called a fool on more occasions than there are words in this post. So who knows. The way things shake down for McNulty are rough, and the same goes with the city desk editor of the Baltimore Sun. In essence, there's a truckload full of bullshit dealt to the guys fighting for what's right. Further defining the galactic scope of what's wrong with "things," they lose. Tremendous insight, though. We also get an edge into some police work that only seeks the right thing, and we spy on some attorney-based corruption as well. And the thing, the final episode, wraps up with a full-circle examination of how things be. How things've been. How they will continue to be.

I'm sure that I've read a novel that exploded my cortex, met a woman that rocked my Tropic of Capricorn, and heard a song that gave me daydreams of rockstardom, but I cannot recall any that moved me as much as this production.

Cheers to David Simon, Ed Burns, and of course, Old No. 7.
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