Mister Faded Glory | misterfadedglory.com

Over the weekend, some of our discussions (meaning, you know, Mister Faded Glory and Franklin the Cat) turned to the tragic demise of film star Heath Ledger, who passed just over a week ago, and depending on how you look at it, upon the precipice of his seminal role.

A celebrated film-star who remained reportedly down-to-earth, it’s an unsettling and sad end – echoing Kurt Cobain or James Dean or whomever you preferred to compare Ledger. A supposed heartthrob who desperately attempted to shed any teen-beat matinee idol fawning, often appearing aloof (think Val Kilmer) while searching for challenging roles, the entertainment world already misses him, and we even felt like we’d actually miss Ledger further discover his talent.

Which seems fairly weird at first, because we can’t recall a single Heath Ledger movie we actually would recommend, or enjoyed. The Patriot? Absolute dreck. Monster’s Ball? Dull as hell. A Knight’s Tale? Cringe. Brokeback Mountain? You know where we stand. Lords of Dogtown? Abysmal. There’s more than 10 things I hate about this movie. The Four Feathers? Woof. Mr. Ledger was en route to a Nic Cage-like career of competent acting, but film choices ranging from bombs to overrations to aberrations to drudgery.

Until this summer, that is.

Perhaps the most anticipated movie of 2008 and certainly Batman fans’ most anticipated movie of all time, Ledger gained some early buzz upon what seemed to be his dubious casting as The Joker, and as photos, quips, film snippets, trailers, and ghost sites leaked out, even the most hardened Batgeek approved of Ledger as film choice. (Nice wrap-up of the zeitgeist at BOF.com). In seven months, it’s destined to be Ledger’s epitaph.

Monumental? Certainly. Haunting? Absolutely. Fitting? Read more

“This is why the future of media is an ever-increasing number of people sardonically commenting on an ever-decreasing amount of information. I see no reason to be optimistic.”Chuck Klosterman, interview with The Big Lead, today.

Well, here we are. Halfway through the penultimate season of The Wire, and, though this may in fact be the greatest show in television history (I know, I know, I’m shortchanging The Simpsons, and Cheers, and Newsradio), it’s simultaneously serving as another reminder of MFG’s four-season rule (Refresher: All shows peak only for four seasons in their existence – either bookended by or resulting in dramatic drop-offs).

Oh, sure, certain characters are still fascinating (Bunk, Omar, Prop Joe, Marlo, McNulty, Carver, Cutty), certain storylines still resonating profoundly – but some of what worked in the last few seasons is falling hopelessly flat. Sure, McNulty and Freamon‘s attempt to create a serial killer is farfetched – but is it really any more farfetched than Hamsterdam? It feels that way, and that permeates the entire fifth season. Rather than deep, encircling, futile character development – The Wire is attempting to build toward its crescendo, presumably tying up a lot of loose ends.

Which isn’t unsatisfying, to wit, but simply doesn’t feel quite right. And I hestitate to jump on the bandwagon of Wire-bashers during season 5, and the chorus of media either embarrassed or peeved at David Simon‘s newsroom portrayal, but, well, it is actually pretty lame, and it is, actually, pretty myopic. (Also, see here.) And he is, actually airing mostly dirty laundry, attempting to be profound rather than offering subtle commentary on society (Example: Schools, politics, rehabilitation, all in seasons past.). As a commentary on journalism, Simon has made no attempt either to disguise his rage with the medium, Baltimore Sun, or his pessimism. And it really drags the show down – each journalism scene reeks with Simon’s bitter notions that back-in-the-day was better. You know, like any discussion with every baby boomer you’ve ever met.

As a former staffer for The News-Times (Danbury, Conn.), and The Kansas City Star, I actually really enjoy a lot of the nuances of The Wire’s newsroom portrayals. The copy editors obsessing over “evacuated.” The shout-over-printers “budget meetings.” The constant wanderlust of young staffers, knowing career ladders in newsprint mean hopping ’round the country. A late-night copy-editing attack, doubting a correction made? Those happen. (Once, I was cut loose before the metro edition, sent home at midnight, only to drive 45 minutes in return, well past the slot editor’s deadline of 2 a.m. to doublecheck a headline. Which had been correct.)

The profanity, the needling, the camaraderie – inside an incubator of cubicles, no profession can hope to match the opinionated, collegial, atmosphere of a newsroom. At times, journalism is the most invigorating job on the planet. At other times, it’s the most mundane, frustrating, or tedious. And the interplay between several staffers captures that – the profession is fast, eager, energetic at its best. That’s why we kids are here. That’s why grizzled, bitter beat writers hate them, I suppose. Talk about elitism.

However, it’s the overarching theme which really harms The Wire. Certainly people in media or elsewhere often express fatalism or fret over the future of newspapers in this country, or journalism in general, similar to Chuck Klosterman in his quote above. And sure, the partisan nature of everything, the rush to judgment in everything from sports to music ot politics can be harmful.

But the “decline” in newspapers, presented by Simon in season five? Well, it’s a little insulting. Certainly, budget cuts and media conglomerations are a problem. But are they really presented in the good vs. evil cardboard cutouts as exist in The Wire‘s Sun? Certainly, a degree of cardboard characterism is necessary for a good portion of viewing public who do not live in a newsroom – but man, is it frustrating. The choreographed lectures, by suits exhorting reporters to do “more with less,” well, that’s a little blunt.

The newsroom dismissals of young reporters – Pendleton makes up quotes (Please. How tired is this storyline The fuck is this? Ripped from the headlines Law & Order?), Alma can’t quite get her head on straight, both of them want to leave, and the bought-out cop reporter can still scoop either of them with a phone call – please.

The biggest problem in newspapers today is not the advance of the internet, not the growth of television or radio, not the speed of the news cycle – it is jaded, old, dinosaurs who have no interest in changing or morphing with the times. Indeed, the internet should prompt more investigative reporting. Harsher and quicker opinions. More, thorough, easier backgrounding. An even more well-read investigating reporting corps. It does not forbid any of these things.

Yet old staffers, created by Simon as Gus, Twigg, etc. – they yearn for days of rotary dialing, sitting through board meetings, the painstaking craft of all news created on a beat cycle.

Well, those days are no more. I know many journalists – and they are almost to a fault the most passionate, opinionated, yet ethical people I’ve met. The profession and obsession hasn’t fallen by the wayside – and in many newsrooms today, there are legions of young writers endeavoring to make their marks, yet knowing the avenue to do so is through tireless phone calls, blogging, or deep, profound investigative stories. Often, what holds them back is not media conglomeration – but instead is status quo dinosaurs, assuming newsgathering and news packaging shouldn’t need to advance beyond the Times Roman and gray-lady fonts of the 1970s, and who discourage, dismiss, distrust, and shout down the young voices of newspaper reporters.

Simon himself doesn’t help things with the portrayal of the green Alma and the shady Templeton. He pays no heed to Internet advancement at all, as espoused in Slate’s excellent Wire reaction, there is no blogging, no web browsing, no nothing on the windows of The Sun’s computer screen. And, as remembered by Slate, Alma doesn’t fucking go to her web site to see her story – instead she drives all over town to find the first edition on a newsstand. A little bit preposterous, a lot shortsighted.

Certainly, there are many problems in media. Opinions, shouting, lines blurred in ethical ownership, job cuts and profit-mongering. However, in a profession as profound and exposed as journalism, haven’t these always existed? Maybe, just maybe with more news, media, and investigative coverage of everything – maybe we just know more about it.

There are good reporters and bad reporters, just as in Simon‘s apparent halcyon memories, shockingly. Nothing has changed, but everything has. Journalism itself remains an art, a profession, and a craft treated with respect by thousands of twentysomethings, young reporters, investigative powerhouses and even courthouse beat writers, nationwide.

Maybe I’m an optimist. (How many times have I ever said that?) Anyway, as a former editor, I don’t feel as though the profession is doomed. Instead, I look at the volumes of media on the net, I look at the intelligent discussion in thousands of blogs, I look at the speed at which we can digest news, and I look at the advent of more investigative reporting, not less (To wit: The NY Times, NY Magazine, The SF Chronicle, and the Seattle P-I), and I’m optimistic. Opinions and shoddy commentary always suck, they’re always a problem, just as jaded, bitter has-beens, and contemptuous self-important newbies are as well. The obstacles to reporting, writing, editing, and designing still exist, either in cyberspace, QuarkXPress, InDesign, cell phones, pay phones, lectures, or interviews. The difference is what we hold on to, figuratively, passively, and literally.

So, what, really, is changing?

(And, as a postscript, certain portions of season five are really fucking good. Marlo. Bunk. Carcetti. Daniels. Clay Davis. CARVER. And more. But, you know, I’m fairly young, so I bitch on my blog – in an attempt to paint myself as a journalist, even though a blog purports not to be reporting, or encroach upon journalism, in ALMOST EVERY CIRCLE OF BLOGGING KNOWN TO MAN. Quick, someone hand me a Pall Mall, a fried doughnut, and send me to a schoolboard meeting. It’s the only way we youngsters will learn.)

• The Big Lead, Mexican Death Metal, La Bamba, and Sunkist: An Interview with Chuck Klosterman., Jan. 28, 2008. (The Big Lead)
• David Simon, Does The News Matter to Anyone Anymore?, Sunday, Jan. 20, 2008, B01, (The Washington Post)
• Sara Libby, I’ve Got News for You, David Simon., Wed., Jan. 23, 2008. (The Washington Post)
• Jeffrey Goldberg, David Plotz & John Swansburg, TV Club: The Wire Final Season Discussion. (Slate)
• Big Daddy Drew, The Super Bowl Bye Week Jamboroo, In Which Drew Pauses to Make a Serious Point About Blogging…, Jan. 24, 2008. (Deadspin).

Check this out. (Warning: Tons of crappy sound that will blister your ears like a cheese grater.) I’m sure I’m late to the party, and that you’ve already purchased tickets, downloaded the soundtrack, and hugged your ticket stub after seeing Patrick Dempsey, James Marsden, and whoever gallivanting around in Walt Disney’s latest phony masterpiece intended to mine the depths of Disney’s library while updating for a brattier youth.

Anyway, that’s Enchanted. Looks blissful, right? Looks happy, right? Looks thoughtless, brainless, and mind-numbing, right?

Okay. Well, Into the Wild isn’t that great a movie, it’s ambitious but a little preachy, it’s thoughtful but a little contrived, and William Hurt, Emile Hirsch, and the movie’s landscape are the best parts, save for the soundtrack, and save for one song. You know I’m biased, because Eddie Vedder wrote the soundtrack, but Guaranteed is truly a testament to the power of song in movies. I struggle to think of another example – but think Into the Air Tonight from Miami Vice, or Danger Zone from Top Gun, or the score from Beverly Hills Cop (These not doing it for you? What about Three Six Mafia from Hustle and Flow? See, now I’m talking. That’s the Way or Tangerine from Almost Famous? You got it.). Anyway, Guaranteed is a heartfelt, solitary track that’s as resilient and caustic as Wild‘s main character. Perfect recipe for an Oscar nod, right? In fact, Guaranteed just won a Golden Globe. See below.

Well (you know where this is going), in their infinite wisdom, the Academy announced nominees for the Oscars today, and Enchanted clocked in with three nominations in the “best song” (paraphrase) category. Guaranteed is guaranteed no Oscar. Seriously, three nominations? They couldn’t decide on one? Enchanted is so freaking magical that three songs deserve an Oscar? Unbelievable.

Anyway, you know my supposed feelings on award shows. But this is ludicrous. Vedder deserved a win. The Best Song category deserves a little teeth. I mean, we’re only two years from Three Six Mafia winning for It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp. And now we’ve fallen right back down a well, and Oscar stands a chance at going to Cinderella, part 85.

Not one song from Enchanted, but three! THREE SONGS! Enchanted deserves its own freaking category. Best Enchanted Song in a Movie. How about that? And don’t get me started on The One The Only, which earned two songs? Really? Only five good songs on any soundtracks this year, and they come from two forgettable, bubble-gum pieces of tripe? Yuck. Disgusting, ridiculous, and totally stupid. Three fucking songs. Please.

I won’t go all Patriots on you and demand that everyone recognize Pearl Jam‘s greatness, or that my own enjoyment of their music fully depends on it – but, well, (I can’t think of an ending to that sentence.) in this case, it’s deserved. First Big Fish snubbed for Man of the Hour (note: terrible Tim Burton movie No. 34), and now this. Bleah.

Still a little unreachable. Here’s my thoughts, after arriving back from Zihuatenejo (85 degrees) in the Midwest (2 degrees).

1. Why does anyone live in the Midwest?

2. Thank you, Indianapolis. Glad to know that 2006 and 2007 was the aberration and not the rule. And next time the Colts (a) have a bye sealed, (b) decide to tank Week 17, (c) face a weathered opponent peaking at the right time, (d) suffer another Tony Dungy distraction, or (e) play in that stupid noon Sunday time slot, I’ll run away scared. Let’s just say even though everyone played like they were half-asleep, every call went totally for them, but they still choked and shot themselves in the foot each and every time. And they were the only team who could defeat New England. Get ready for the unconscionable hype of Brett Favre vs. Tom Brady. I hate sports.

And, just remember, if the Chargers knock off New England. Remember where you first heard the comparison between the underdog Steelers knocking off the Colts en route to a title, the Colts knocking off the Ravens en route to a title, and this year’s Chargers. Right here first.

3. Did the Cubs really sign Jon Lieber? This is the kind of move I can get behind. (Ducks while bloggers throw copies of Baseball Prospectus 08 at my head).

4. There better be an Oscar ceremony. Because Vedder won. And even though awards mean nothing to him, I’m pretty happy. Guaranteed.

4. Wow, a whole week without the internet or cell phones. You know what? I didn’t miss a thing.

“Smashing through the boundary, lunacy has found me, cannot stop the battery.”

Metallica, Battery.

Sitting down to type this blog post, I’m absolutely stunned by the sheer magnitude of events worthy of Mr. Faded Glory coverage, esteemed, faux, or otherwise. So, without any glorified introduction, Bill Simmons-style, we’re going to whip through anything worth commenting on. Sorry for that dangled preposition, it will bug me in my sleep. Here goes:

1. Oh, good. Another fake national champion. Comes now the 11,000 articles either discussing a frustrated president’s revelatory desire for a playoff, or emunerated reasons it won’t happen. As you know, our favorite logic in these articles reasons that “The BCS makes all games important during the regular season! Without the BCS, these games are all meaningless. You know, like the NFL, which isn’t popular. But honestly – the first three weeks of college football suck anyway when good schools are fattening up on crap. So that’s three “meaningless” weeks already. Secondly, if a playoff was developed placing paramount importance on conference championships, as the BCS purports to do, doesn’t that make the regular season MORE meaningful? Because a to-the-wire conference championship includes a playoff spot? Well, DOESN’T IT? (I assume college football beat writers now furrowing their brows in frantic attempt to understand converse of their repeated, flawed argument.)

2. Roger Clemens is, perhaps, pure evil. Not only has he been permitted to extort teams to pay him lump sums of millions of dollars as a mercenary, not only is he rarely called out for his continued failure in the clutch – now he assumes the pose of an embattled CEO, crime boss, or fallen don, grasping at straws to save his phony empire. His reputation supercedes the financial security he’s provided his family, and the livelihood he supposedly enjoyed over the last 20-some years. Roger stands up, contemptuous and furious that he’s not earned the benefit of any doubt, and plays a tape of a wholly choreographed phone call, in which he attempts to prompt a FEDERAL WITNESS to recant testimony. Ridiculous. This will not end well for Roger, and it’s looking uglier and uglier as it goes on. No surprise.

Also not surprising is ESPN’s failed coverage – it’s patently absurd, and perhaps unintentionally, it seems clouded as though they’d prefer to believe Clemens. (Maybe Jayson Stark is pulling the string). Most egregiously, legal “expert” Roger Cossack claimed the phone recording did nothing but help Clemens. Zuh? (I don’t have a link to this – it was on ESPNEWS sometime today.)

It seems to me, the phone recording is nothing close to exculpatory, and nothing close to revelatory. Never does Clemens confront his fallen friend as an angry, frustrated, fallen idol would – instead he simply tries to paint Brian McNamee in a corner. To me, it sounds like McNamee is fully aware of the phone recording, perhaps even perturbed. Any of the muffled discussion about his kid and jail sounds like an attempt to explain why he gave Clemens up. Answer: He had to. The feds are after Clemens, not Mac, and sure, he’s in huge drug trafficking trouble if he doesn’t give up a bigger fish. Smaller ones roll all the time, and on the phone, McNamee asks his old boss: “What would you have me do?” – not as an attempt to placate the man, but because he was in a situation where the only recourse was to implicate Clemens. ESPN’s reporting isn’t maliciously pro-Clemens, but it is sloppy, least of all the crawl attempting to inform meathead viewers of McNamee’s direct quote, without a shade of context attached, in a story that demands almost nothing but. (Though we will, actually, commend Steve Phillips – yes, that Steve Phillips – for noting that trainers never inject athletes with substance, injections are the domain of physicians. Ergo, a physician ain’t gonna inject a player with a steroid shot – but a trainer, illegally, might. Circumstantial, but sensical, at least.)

In our view, Clemens continues to exacerbate his skewed public image. Jason Giambi won Comeback Player of the Year after admitting steroid use. Clemens falls further down a well with each further vulgar display of hubris, decrying us all for reading a third-party investigation and having questions. But, honestly, from this guy, what would we expect?

3. Speaking of sports, the Colts take to the field Sunday with Defensive Player of the Year Bob Sanders leading the charge (ugh) against San Diego. Well deserved award for Bob – it’s with pride that we Hawkeyes who watched him help turn Iowa around in the early part of the decade pat him on the back for this award. And with a wink, and a memory, we sort of always knew how good this guy was.

The Colts should defeat San Diego, notwithstanding the Chargers’ late push and improvement, and not discounting the Chargers’ Week 10 win over a battered Colts squad. They should – but karma awaits.

I’m fully aware of the pattern of recent championship teams rushing out to blistering seasons, securing a first-round bye, spitting the bit, and following that up with a three-week blitz to an NFL title. Pittsburgh did it following their 15-1 season in 2004 (Winning Super Bowl as a No. 6 seed in ’06) and the Colts did it last year, winning it all after finishing 14-2 in 2005 and honking their first round game against Pitt. In the No. 3 seed, hardened role this year is San Diego – and we’ll see. I prefer to play the Chargers over the Jaguars, however – not because I think Jax is anything special (Their coach is still the dumbest on the planet) but because I quiver at the prospect of division rivals playing thrice in a season. Who knows what could happen. Go Colts – hope to see you when I return … (see below).

4. We’ve refrained from election commentary, suffice it to say, however, we’ve seen exactly zero surprises in the early caucuses and primaries, save for the younger voter turnout in both Iowa and New Hampshire, which is encouraging. Networks were eager to hand Obama and Huckabee (see, Iowa does have an insane contingent) the nomination nods after Iowa, which is patently absurd. Also absurd is any bewilderment over Obama‘s Iowa victory – as though he were rising from the ashes amid a state full of Klansmen. Get this, people, Iowa is small, but also is the most progressive state in the Midwest – Huckabee‘s victory signifies the seismic shift of independents and moderate GOPers to Dem candidates in the state, leaving only wackos to vote Republican – and also routinely tops in education of its children, year after year. Granted, I’m biased as a Hawkeye native, but I’m also fairly proud.

It’s a smart, progressive state, and Obama is a senator from neighboring Illinois, which, if you’ve visited Cedar Rapids, the Quad Cities, and Iowa City, you know Illinois and Iowa are fairly entertwined. Have you seen this reported anywhere? Not a word. It’s apparently easier to assume Iowa is full of hayseeds, and fill in an autotexted deadline story with the obvious racial angle, rather than you know, look at a fucking map.

(Speaking of maps, CNN’s horrendous superimposed Pop-Up Pie Chart which bulged, wavered, shrunk, and swerved as Anderson Cooper tried to manuever it in the Situation Room or whatever, is perhaps the most absurdly unnecessary graphic in TV news history. It’s weirdly fascinating, and hopelessly hilarious.)

So no surprises yet – including Clinton‘s N.H. win tonight, though commentators and pundits treated it like Liston defeating freaking Patterson. Now, instead of Clinton, pundits scramble to declare Edwards dead, though he will likely take South Carolina, and I would think that makes Michigan perhaps the most intriguing state. That’s my take – tonight, however, if you turn on the networks, they’re simply crowning the New Hampshire winners – and proclaiming Hillary’s victory Ridiculous. The media is rushing to proclaim themselves correct, rather than rely on objectivity. Not surprisingly, sloppy reporting is bubbling to the surface rather than reasoned commentary. If only some show would incorporate an analysis of media conglomeration and the death of reporting in its storyline. Hmmm..

4. Hey, The Wire’s back! What can I say? It’s the best television drama, ever. Were a local art center cinema to telecast 50 straight hours of all Wire episodes on a big screen, well, I’d be there with bells on. Fantastic. I’ll stop slobbering, because who cares.

5. Jon Stewart returned Monday night to a shell of The Daily Show, amid the returns of other late-night hosts (a skittish Conan, bearded Dave, etc.) and Stewart appeared annoyed, frustrated, hurt and bewildered at the whole writers’ strike. In short, he’s like the rest of us. I understand the rights of writers (snort!) and wanting compensation for your work. I also understand the exploitation by massive studios. Those competing concepts do exist – but to me, the association and the guild both fail to realize the uniquity of their labor situation. Not that I’m an expert, but, you know – we care about the product. Not any of this other legal, corporate stuff.

Sure, TV shows are important to all of us – but they’re completely disposable. At what point does all this fade away – networks are satisfied with selling ads for sports and reality shows, consumers search for TV from abroad or dedicate themselves to other pursuits, and in a few months, no one cares about the lost 13th episode of, well, Lost. And so the writers are in a somewhat hopeless position. Add to that membership in the guild isn’t exactly royalty, and The Daily Show as constituted is disappointing (especially amid election drama), but when are scabs hired? Who’s to say The Daily Show couldn’t be at least as funny with writers out there, on computers, witty but stuck in corporate jobs. Because when you think about it, aren’t most of these writers just like, well, Mister Faded Glory?

6. And finally, These Monks, by Mr. Faded Glory [actual name redacted.] and the official first novel of Mr. Faded Glory is finally complete, in manuscript form. Five years, three drafts, and we’re actually somewhat proud of it.

Parents, other relatives, and in-laws of MFG will be pleased to learn the book has been condensed from a blustery 400 pages to a streamlined 319, and the word “fuck” now appears a modest765 times rather than a robust 1,453. We’re ready to begin our illustrious search for an agent, probably before we shell out a lump sum to a web company to have the thing published once before it fades into oblivion. And so, our search begins January 22, right after a vacation to Mexico. That’s right, we’re leaving the country. We’ll be back soon, we’ll be flying during the Colts-Chargers game (grrr…) and we’ll hope to cover the AFC championship with gusto, rather than indifference. See you then.

You know, the days snowball into weeks and months and quarters, and pretty soon you’re vomiting into your trash can, and soon after that, the new year smacks you in the face,

And seriously, it’s 2008 and you’re not prepared. Resolutions? Sure, we’ve got them. Big things in store for Mr. Faded Glory? Uh, yeah, glad you asked. Um, isn’t it still October? Did we not just turn thirty? When the hell did all this happen? (sigh.)