I Don’t Even Know What to Call This One

Does everybody remember that episode of The Simpsons in which Homer and Flanders go to Vegas, get completely devastated, and wake up married to a couple of vulgar, gold-digging floozies? And then Flanders actually tries to live with his new “Vegas wife,” only to have her give up on her find-a-sugar-daddy scheme and run away because she just can’t take any more of his saccharine piousness? (The second part may have been a separate episode… I don’t remember for certain anymore.) As I recall, Flanders’ Vegas wife flees in the middle of the night, Amityville Horror style, yelling back over her shoulder something to effect of, “Just stop being so goody-goody all the time!” Does that ring a bell?

Yeah, that’s how I feel a lot of the time living in Utah. I mean, honestly, is there any other place in the known universe — or at least a place that doesn’t have a minaret in the middle of town — where this outfit would be considered immodest?

The young lady in the photo is Brittany Molina, a 21-year-old student at Brigham Young University, who experienced a moment of Internet fame last week because this unremarkable ensemble of a sweater, dress, leggings, and knee-high boots evidently proved too provocative for the tender sensibilities of some anonymous bluenose. As recounted on the Salt Lake Tribune‘s Movie Cricket blog, Brittany was on the BYU campus, minding her own business, when a young man she didn’t know walked up, handed her a note, and then scuttled off before she could read it. She thought at first it may have been a Valentine from a shy admirer, but it turned out to be something very different. The note read:

“You may want to consider that what you’re wearing has a negative effect
on men (and women) around you. Many people come to this university
because they feel safe, morally as well as physically, here. They expect
others to abide by the Honor Code that we all agreed on. Please
consider your commitment to the Honor Code (which you agreed to) when
dressing each day. Thank you.”

Now, I should probably explain for some of my Loyal Readers that BYU, which is owned by the Mormon Church, expects its students to follow a rigid set of rules — the aforementioned Honor Code — which regulates everything from attire and grooming to where students are allowed to live (BYU has to approve off-campus housing) to sexual behavior. Especially sexual behavior, which not-too-surprisingly seems to be the pitfall that trips up most Code violators, at least in the cases that come to the public’s attention. So just how strict are these rules? Well, believe it or not, they were a major factor in determining which local college I would attend following high school. Yes, yours truly applied to the Y back in my college-application days. And lest you think that seems, well, odd, I’ll be honest and admit that I was incredibly naive, knew little about the place, and chose to apply there largely because it was close to home and I wasn’t interested in going too far away for school. I even got accepted, on a provisional basis pending submission of a letter from my Mormon bishop or other ecclesiastical leader (this was a bit of a problem for me, given that I’ve been indifferent to religion since I was a small boy; I briefly considered writing my own letter and signing it “Master Yoda of Dagobah”) and, of course, my signature on a document promising I would obey this precious Honor Code of theirs. A handy rule book accompanied the acceptance letter so I could familiarize myself with the Code. I dutifully read through it, becoming more and more convinced with each new line of text that somebody, somewhere, was putting me on. It all seemed so… unnecessary.

Two items stand out in my memory as particularly insufferable: men were required to be clean-shaven (mustaches were allowed, although the Code’s phrasing on this point made it sound like they were grudgingly accepted at best, but beards and stubble were absolutely verboten), and you had to wear socks with your shoes. Leaving aside the fact that this was 1987 and I was still occasionally emulating Don Johnson’s Miami Vice look at the time, I couldn’t understand why a university, an institution of higher learning, a place whose mission is to educate and whose informal role is to help you learn how to be an independent adult, ought to have the slightest concern over whether I was wearing socks. I admittedly have something of a knee-jerk anti-authoritarian streak — I reflexively resent being told what to do, especially when I think I’m being told to do something stupid — but this was nothing short of insane micromanaging, as far as I was concerned. I was utterly repelled. However, I can thank my brush with the Honor Code for one thing, at least. It made a big life decision very simple for me. A week later, I was enrolled at BYU’s crosstown rival (and complete cosmological opposite), the University of Utah.

It’s probably also relevant to note that BYU is located in Provo, Utah, the seat of Utah County, which comprises the geographical area called Utah Valley. (It’s the Utah-iest place in all of Utah! In more ways than one, actually…) Utah Valley lies directly south of the Salt Lake Valley (and Salt Lake County), which is where I live. Things are different down there. Seriously, almost mind-bogglingly different. Non-Utahns tend to think of Salt Lake City as repressed, uptight, and highly conservative, but SLC is practically San Francisco’s Castro District compared to the UC. I actually try to avoid going down there, as my beard and ponytail instantly brand me as an outsider, and I’m not exaggerating when I say people do stare. Honest to god, I sometimes feel so out of place there, I expect a bunch of the locals to surround me and start up with the Body Snatcher scream. Even some of my Mormon friends report feeling less than worthy when they’re visiting Provo.

Anyway, given my complete alienation from the BYU/Provo mindset, I have a hard time grasping what’s so terrible about Ms. Milano’s outfit. The consensus among my friends seems to be that her dress is too short to meet the Honor Code’s standard, as it falls well above her knees, and I suppose that makes sense. But still… this is offensive to someone? Really? I mean, it’s not as if she’s dressed like one of the girls in a ZZ Top video, or like Julia Roberts in the beginning of Pretty Woman (not, just between you and me, that I have a problem with either of those looks; I guess I lack the gene that codes for moral outrage as generated by displays of feminine anatomy).

A couple of people have pointed out that it doesn’t matter whether I, personally, see anything wrong with her outfit or not, she was in violation of the rules she agreed to follow. I suppose there’s no arguing that. Brittany presumably got a chance to read the rule book same as I did, and she had her chance to make a run for it, the same way I did. But instead she willingly entered into a contract with the Y to follow their wretched Code, and she’s got to face the consequences if she doesn’t live up to her obligation. And really I know this whole story is just a tempest in a teapot, probably already forgotten by everyone who read about it last week. Nevertheless, it sticks in my craw because, regardless of whether she actually did anything wrong under whatever standard you want to apply, this incident encapsulates so much of what I really, truly hate about my home state. The pervasive, heavy-handed moralizing; the sanctimony and intolerance for anyone who strays too far off program; the nosy preoccupation with what your neighbors are doing and how “cleanly” they’re living, along with the misguided belief that you have the right to say anything about it; the casual misogyny that blames a young woman’s clothing for a young man’s sinful feelings; and, of course, the passive-aggressive behavior. Good lord, this place must surely be the passive-aggressive capital of the world. People who grow up here have it pounded into their heads from an early age to always be polite and agreeable, so few willingly engage in a direct confrontation if they can avoid it. (I’ll admit I’m guilty of it, too, for what that’s worth.) Instead, they find other, less direct — and less honorable, in my opinion — ways to attack: sarcastic jibes that are excused as good-natured humor, or intense competitiveness in sports and other social activities, or talking about people behind their backs. Or handing someone an anonymous note and running away before they can read it. Frickin’ coward. I have to say Ms. Molina apparently handled this situation with far more aplomb than I could’ve managed. I would’ve chased the punk down, pinned him to a wall, and told him that if he’s got a problem, he’d better tell me to my face. And then I would’ve impressed upon him how much better it would be for him to mind his own damn business…

(Ed. Note: For the record, I am not accusing every Utahn, or even every Utah Mormon, of behaving like this. Nor do I want to hear the usual defense made whenever a non-Mormon starts griping about how things are here, i.e., “if you don’t like it, leave.” This is my home, too, guys, and I have no intention of moving away. Nevertheless, there some aspects of life here that are… difficult… if you don’t happen to belong to the majority faith. And Provo is just plain weird, no matter how you slice it; it’s the world as designed by Ned Flanders, and that’s no bull. If I had to live down there, I think I probably would end up fleeing in the middle of the night, Amityville Horror style.)

Feb162012

Just Say No to Anti-Freeze, Kids

So, my dad (who, you will recall, recently had gall bladder surgery, a little detail which will shortly become immensely important to our story) is in the habit of walking up to my place with his cup of coffee in the mornings and chatting for a few minutes before I leave for work. It’s a pleasant little ritual we’ve developed over the last couple of years, a low-key means of connection for a father and his grown son who’ve never been terribly close. We rarely talk about anything more meaningful than whatever funny thing our respective cats did the night before, but these conversations matter anyway.

The other morning was a strange one for these desert climes. It had rained just before sunrise, so everything outside was wet and glistening, and there was a hazy, golden quality to air. It was far more reminiscent of what I remembered of England than Utah, cool and crisp but not truly cold, and Dad and I were both enjoying it. We felt cozy enough inside our coats. The concrete apron around Dad’s shop, which stands behind the old house where I live, was dotted with shallow puddles. As we stood there chatting, I noticed one of my cats lapping at the ground directly in front of a battered old Chevy pickup. Dad’s work truck. The one that leaks numerous fluids cats ought not be ingesting.

“Hey,” I said, “You don’t suppose there’s any anti-freeze in that, do you?”

Dad shrugged, shooed kitty away from the puddle, and then bent down, dipped a finger into the potentially toxic liquid, and stuck it in his mouth.

A little jolt of alarm zipped through my stomach. “Dad…!”

“Ah, it’s fine,” he said, wiping his finger on his pants and then taking a mouth-cleansing sip from the mug in his other hand. “Just rainwater.”

Seeing the expression on my face, he continued in a nonchalant tone. “I used to dip my finger into radiators all the time. It was an easy way of telling whether the mix was strong enough or if you needed to add some more anti-freeze.”

“One of those old-fashioned backyard mechanic things?” I ventured.

“Yeah. ‘Course, nobody told us it’d make your gall bladder go rotten after about 30 years.”

He said it was a deadpan face that would’ve made Buster Keaton proud. Then I caught the twinkle in his eye, and I laughed out loud, and my father, a man who once seemed to me the most terrifyingly humorless creature on Earth, actually cracked a smile himself.

I cherish these mornings.

Feb152012

TV Used to Be Better

Ah, the 1970s…

Hat tip to Christopher Mills for bringing my attention to this.

Feb142012

Special Valentine’s Day Video Entry

So, the Girlfriend and I returned from Hawaii early Sunday morning, and what with a brutal case of jetlag and the disconcerting effects of re-entering the humdrum after 10 days in Fantasyland, well… we both kinda forgot about Valentine’s Day this year. And you know, I’m fine with that. Not that I have anything against Valentine’s per se — the idea of a holiday to celebrate love and romance is fine, in principle — but in practical fact, it’s really just another one of those consumption-oriented holidays on which you feel pressured to spend money you don’t have (especially just after returning from 10 days in the most expensive state in the union!) on stuff you don’t need. Seriously, I have a banker’s box down the Archive filled with little plushy critters that are holding hearts and wearing red t-shirts with endearing messages on them, and they’re all adorable and were much appreciated when I first received them, but now they live in the dark shadows of a box in the basement, no doubt dreaming of the long-ago day when they were plucked from the shelves of the Hallmark store and how everything used to be happy and bright but now that’s all gone, and how sad is that? How can I possibly sentence more innocent plush toys to that Phantom Zone existence? What kind of monster would I be?

Cough. Ahem. Wow. Not sure where that came from. Anyhow, I may be content with not doing much of the traditional V-Day thing today, but I also don’t want to come across as a total curmudgeon on the subject, because I don’t feel all that curmudgeonly about it. So in the spirit of acknowledging the day without really engaging too deeply with it, I’ve got a video I’d like to dedicate to my eternally patient traveling companion (and new roomie!), as well as to all you lovers out there in InternetLand. This is most romantic song I could think of today… well, okay, actually it’s the first song I thought of, but whatever, I think the sentiment still applies… Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!

Feb022012

Aloha and All That Stuff

A word of advice, kids: don’t ever schedule a major vacation within three days of a life-changing event like having someone move in with you. Anne and I are leaving in the morning for a Hawaiian cruise with her parents, and we’re both completely frazzled. I always end up packing in the wee hours the night before any departure, but this time I’m feeling downright panicky because there just hasn’t been any time to do the things I like to do to prepare for a trip. I’ve been too focused on the move.

In any event, I won’t be posting here for at least the ten days we’ll be on the cruise, and it’ll probably be more like two weeks before I get back into the blogging frame of mind. Just so you know. Talk quietly amongst yourselves… and we’ll see you on the other side.

Feb012012

So How Much Has VW Paid Uncle George Anyhow?

Another Super Bowl commercial has slipped onto the Internet, this one being VW’s follow-up to last year’s wonderful “Vader Kid” spot, as well as to the “Bark Side” teaser that was released a couple weeks ago. The Star Wars connection isn’t immediately obvious, but when it comes, it’s a real pay-off:

Once again, it feels a little strange to realize how directly this is pitched at my specific demographic, how coldly calculated this ad must have been to so precisely push the buttons of we 40-something Gen-Xers. But whatever… it’s fun.

Feb012012

Another Grail Found!

Happy news today from Jahnke’s Electric Theater over on Facebook: it seems that one of my personal “holy grail movies,” i.e., the handful of films I’d like to own but which have been long been unavailable on DVD or any other home-video format, is finally on the way. In this case, it’s High Road to China, a 1983 adventure flick starring Tom Selleck. Although High Road is often dismissed as a knock-off of Raiders of the Lost Ark, it’s actually a fun little B-movie romp on its own terms, and not really that much like an Indiana Jones movie. High Road is being released on both DVD and Blu-Ray by Hen’s Tooth Video on April 17. Here’s a peek at the sales sheet:

High Road to China sell sheet

With this release, my list of MIAs is down to only three (well, okay, technically six) items: another early-80s Selleck vehicle called Lassiter; FM, which was sort of a forerunner to the WKRP in Cincinnati series; and, of course, decent-quality anamorphic transfers of the pre-1997 Star Wars trilogy, my perennial hobbyhorse.

It’s funny… the movie industry obviously feels the DVD is on its way into the landfill of history, and it seems to me that Blu-Ray really hasn’t caught on the way everyone hoped. The future, we are constantly hearing, is going to be all streaming and clouds. Maybe so… and yet it’s only now, supposedly at the end of the medium’s life cycle, that a lot of obscure titles are finally finding their way onto shiny silver discs. I almost wonder if the attention being given to streaming is making it possible… maybe because nobody expects big DVD sales anymore, niche titles are free to move in modest numbers without being considered a failure. Maybe… it’s just an idea I had…

Jan312012

2011 Media Wrap-Up

And here’s another of the myriad things that frustrate the crap out of me: my utter inability to stay on top of this blog to my satisfaction. The first month of 2012 is nearly over and I still haven’t gotten around to tying up the loose ends from 2011. Not that anybody else cares about what movies I watched during the past 12 months, I’m sure. But I care — I’ve been keeping lists of this stuff for years, and I find it interesting and sometimes even useful to track my media-consumption habits — and if I was doing this blogging thing right, I would’ve had this post up shortly after New Year’s, if not before. Yes, I’ve had a lot going on during the month of January 2012, but I know my situation well enough to know it wouldn’t have mattered either way. I’d still be playing catch-up regardless. Because that’s just the pattern I’ve lapsed into in recent years. A quick check of the Simple Tricks archive reveals I have 74 unfinished, unpublished entries on this blog. Seventy-four. And nearly every single one of them has followed the exact same pattern: some subject catches my interest, I start composing an entry, and then I get distracted by some mundane matter of daily life and a day or two (or five or ten) passes, and in the meantime more subjects of interest come down the pike and then the moment is lost and that poor orphaned scrap of writing slips into blog-entry limbo. Sometimes I can come back to them later, but usually the topic has lost its relevance and I can’t rekindle the creative spark to get back into it anyhow. Nobody knows or cares about these unfinished things except me, but they drive me batshit crazy.

So, this topic may be well past its sell-by date, but I’m going to do it anyhow. If you’re not interested, I understand. Lists below the fold…

Jan302012

Broderick? Broderick?

In case you missed it, a ripple of excitement rolled across the InterWebs last week following the release of a short “teaser” video featuring actor Matthew Broderick in what appeared to be a reprise of his signature role, Ferris Bueller. Many people hoped that whatever this was about would turn out to be a full-fledged sequel to the classic Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Well, the big secret was revealed today, and alas, it’s just a Honda commercial made for this year’s Super Bowl advertising extravaganza. (Personally I figured all along this was going to be the case. There’s no way a movie studio could keep a sequel to a generational touchstone secret throughout its production. Nor is there any reason for them to do so — as excited as people were over a mere ad, just think of how loud the buzz would be following the announcement of an actual feature.)

In any event, Honda is no doubt hoping this little exercise in Gen-X nostalgia will inspire all we 40-somethings who desperately need our own Bueller-esque screw-off day to rush out and buy a CRV, thinking it will somehow give us the freedom that Matthew/Ferris is enjoying. Nonsense, of course, and we should all be offended that the marketers think we’re so easily manipulated. But if you can manage to overlook the cynical purpose behind it, this is actually an entertaining little homage to one of my favorite movies:

I love the bit with the stuffed panda in the car. The scene in the museum with the walrus, though… I know it’s a reference to Ferris’ line about the Beatles song “I Am the Walrus” in the original movie (“I could be the walrus, it still wouldn’t change the fact I don’t own a car.”), but I can’t help but think Broderick is pondering his own increasing doughiness, and then I hate myself for being unkind, because I’m not exactly looking the way I did back in 1986 myself…

Jan272012

Friday Evening Videos: “Lorelei”

It is an interesting (and possibly pathetic — I leave that to your measured judgment) truth about me that I still enjoy most of the musical artists I listened to as a teenager. I’ve expanded my repertoire considerably since then, of course, adding new artists and even whole new genres to the great, swirling mass of music I find pleasing, but unlike many people I know, I’ve never really shed the older stuff… with a handful of exceptions. One of those is the band Styx. Once upon a time, I thought they were the coolest. I had their albums on vinyl and cassette, I wore a t-shirt, I coveted the Velcro-flapped wallet bearing their logo I saw at the state-fair midway booths, the whole she-bang. But at some point over the past 25 years, I just got bored with their sound. Blame the near-constant airplay of “Come Sail Away” on classic-rock radio, I guess.

Even so, there are a couple of old Styx tunes I still like, on the rare occasion I actually hear them anyplace. “Too Much Time on My Hands,” with its insistently throbbing bass line, is a catchy classic, and “Mr. Roboto” is a sublime masterpiece of 1980s kitsch. “Babe” is a lovely romantic ballad. And then there’s “Lorelei,” which is just a damn good rock and roll song. It was originally recorded in 1976, before the music video had fully materialized as a form, so here’s a live performance from 20 years later:

There’s a reason why I chose this particular song for tonight, besides me just plain liking it. The music you most care about is the stuff that resonates, you see, that forms a soundtrack for your life, and that lyric about living together, well… I have an announcement to make.

The woman I refer to here as The Girlfriend, my lovely Anne, is moving in with me tomorrow.

It’s a tremendous step for us both, the first time either of us have lived with a significant other, and it’s long overdue. Embarassingly so. If anyone out there doesn’t already know how many years we’ve been a couple, I’d rather not say, because I am honestly ashamed it’s taken us so long to make a big grown-up move in our relationship. I can’t even fully explain why it’s taken so long, although there’s little question in my mind that it’s mostly my fault. Basically, we found a pattern, and it was comfortable enough, so we stayed there. For years. But now we’re finally moving forward. I’m nervous, but also anticipating nights in front of the fire (I got a gas log for Christmas!) watching crummy old TV shows on DVD, and not feeling like I’m dividing my attention between two households, and all the other little pleasures of cohabiting.

Wish us luck, won’t you? After the way the year has gone so far, we might need it…

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