The Simpsons in HD'oh

Released Sunday, February 15th, The Simpsons opened with a brand-new, high-definition series. The lines were sharp and the animation was more like the movie than the show to which I've grown accustomed. I can leave behind the day-glow colors of older seasons, and the blurry outlines of characters and backdrops, but I have to admit the new format detracts slightly from the show's edge. Perhaps this is why the show held only 6.82 million viewers, or the lackluster publicity for a new opening by Fox has something to do with it. It's a shame Bart and the Gang fell to Family Guy in the Fox lineup, but at least they beat out the rest of animation domination and NASCAR (whose reign as America's sport is hopefully drawing to a fiery close).

I've watched the opening and decided to catalog some of the changes and patented Simpsonian nods to seasons past. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening, so my work was slightly more pleasurable than past responsibilities. Yet, it was hard to bid adieu to Bleeding Gums playing outside of Moe's.OK, what's with the crows? The mythological harbinger flew directly across the title, emitting a squawk off-screen, later reappearing flying around the town, onto Lard Lad's giant donut, made famous in Attack of the 50ft. Eyesores from Tree House of Horror VI. Well, I suspect it's a Groening inspired tip of the hat to his origins in the Pacific Northwest, as crows and ravens play a central part to local lore and appear throughout the region en masse.

We see Kearney and Jimbo slicing off the head of Jebediah Springfield, a la The Tell-Tale Head from the eighth episode in season one, which then falls onto poor Ralph. We are reminded here of Springfield's motto: A Noble Spirit Embiggens the Smallest Man.

Look closely to the corner of the classroom after reading Bart's punitive, weekly phrase and you'll notice a photo of Homer in his space suit from Deep Space Homer - seemingly out of place, but a delectable split-second gem for upper level fans. Upon Bart's departure, Barney is discovered drunk under a pile of leaves, and we cut to the power plant.

No longer are Mr. Burns and his life-mate Smithers watching over Sector-7G and Homer's whistle-blown escape. Now, Lenny and Carl are updating an accident free banner, only to fall prey to the cliched gag of having an accident while adding on another day.

Off to the grocery store, with Patty and Selma buying a carriage full of Laramie 100's. Look very closely and you'll see Marge buying a box of Mr. Sparkle detergent, the coincidental icon from the Matsumura Fishworks and Tamaribuchi Heavy Manufacturing Concern, a combination of a fish and a light bulb with a hilarious informational tape from In Marge We Trust from season eight. As Maggie is scanned through the register, as she always has been, she doubles Marge's shopping total to a whopping $486.52, the same total it has always been. I must admit, I once video taped an episode and watched the opening frame by frame to learn the total amount on the register. Maggie, once placed in the cart, shakes a tiny, adversarial fist at Gerald, the uni-browned baby.

Hanging on the wall of Mr. Largo's music room, a small black & white portrait of the late Bleeding Gums Murphy hangs as a solemn reminder of animated mortality before Lisa is ushered out of band practice. Sadly, Sherri and Terri were not removed from class for texting, but they should have been.

Cut to Homer's ride home with the same carbon-rod jabbing him in the back. Instead of falling down a drain, as in the old opener, Otto ingests the rod while sitting on a bench. As we cut through Main Street and follow Bart's skateboard ride, Sideshow Bob makes a cameo and tries again to kill Bart with a machete. I wonder if each opening will add to Bob's attempted Barticide total.

In the ever-present street crowd, we can see (in order): Helen Lovejoy laden with shopping bags, Apu + 8, Moe outside of his tavern, Comic Book Guy with his lunch from Krusty Burger, Disco Stu, Eleanor Abernathy (the Crazy Cat Lady), Colonel Antoine "Tex" O'Hara (the Oil Tycoon) firing rounds into the air, Chief Wiggum waving his night stick at Bart, and Hans Moleman popping out of the sewer before Marge runs him over. If you look in the background, Jebediah is still headless from the opening of the opening.

Little has changed in Marge's station waggon on the ride home, with the exception of Abe in the passenger seat, losing his teeth. On to the montage, a detailer's dream of Simpsons references.

Skinner, his mother, and Chalmers argue on the sidewalk before the school; Ralph plays sandbox over Frank Grimes' (Grimey) grave; Martin suffers the indignity of schoolyard bullying; Patty and Selma sunbathe in bikinis; SpiderPig/Harry Plopper entertains Cletus and Brandine Spuckler; Kang and Kodos fly aroud; Kent Brockman covers Captain Horatio McAllister's catch of the day, little Blinky the three-eyed fish; Sherri and Terri continue texting; Krusty smokes against a wall grafittied by El Barto; Snake steals a revolver from Lou's belt; a Mafia body dump overseen by Fat Tony; Ms. Hoover changes a flat tire on the bus; Sideshow Mel pushes Mr. Teeny in a Victorian stroller toward Jessica Lovejoy; God fights Satan; and Rod and Todd release doves into the air.

As the standard opening comes to a close, before the weekly refreshed couch gag, Marge hits Homer with the car instead of nearly missing him and the Simpsons have finally upgraded to a flat-panel television. More than likely installed by Homer, the frame rips out the wall and falls to the floor.

All in all, the sequence ran 2:01 minutes thanks to the couch gag, which consumed nearly fifty seconds to trot the globe before subduing the sofa in space. I hope this new sequence reinvigorates the Simpsons' writing staff and animators and we all may bask in another Golden Age.

Mister

I'm watching Fox News. While at my parents house, I find the channel set far to the right more often than it would ever be in my home. They're not necessarily conservative, but they're old and fear change. They prefer the traditional model of American politics advertised by republicans to the forward progress lauded by democrats. It's difficult to stomach at times, watching soap box cock fights from pundits and pseudo-journalists. However, it's just as bad on liberal news channels who can't see the American populace because their heads are jammed tightly up the donkey's ass. But my major issue, an inspiration of this post is an issue of respect.

I understand President Obama has thrown cool into the White House, sugarcoated in reserved hip and an undying attachment to his Blackberry, but he is still the President. And I have noticed more "Mr. Obamas" on the news than I care to recount. He is not a mister anymore; that large, oval shaped office with the canary curtains and eagle throw rug have wrestled him from the mundane ranks of Everyman. He won the election and deserves the title of his office. I don't remember any calling the other guy Mr. Bush; in fact, most news channels still call him President or Former President Bush, as well they should. It's a designation on fourty-four individuals have ever earned. Photo courtesy of Obamican.me

The Hads and Have Nots

Is it odd that the more time I spend out of work, the more I struggle to entertain people with jobs? It feels like that's constantly hanging over my head; some else has a job, while I do not. I'm constantly reminded of my current professional status, when I check my balance, or sluice through the deals on Amazon, or even think about what to do this weekend. And I don't really need the extra punch in the face of 24-hour news coverage squawking about the downturn economy, and the ethics of a government bailout in a free economy, or the rising number of people on unemployment.

I don't want to be out of work, sitting around, searching for job postings, but with such little opportunity, I don't have much choice. However, let me get to the real reason I figured up the old blog. I recently received some mail; no, I did not get a job. In fact, they were rejection letters, from Massachusetts' health care and a job application. Let's count. I received 6 (SIX) letters from the MassHealth organization explaining, in awkward terms with letters, numbers, and extra punctuation, why I am ineligible for their services. Even though I'm unemployed and cannot join another plan for eight months, I'm ineligible? My world won't end; I don't visit doctors too often, any way, but it is required in Massachusetts. What really fries my tomatoes is the six (6) letters I received, all stating the same thing. Why six? One won't work? Each cost $.32 to send, contained four sheets of paper, required ink for printing, and (probably) several individuals to review and mail. Why waste more money on the five extra copies that don't help me anyway? Jerks. Send out one letter; yes or no. That's it.

Oh, and wait, I also received two letters from the same company, for the same position to tell me I didn't get the job. Do you get off sending out those letters, superior in the fact you have a job and I don't? I can read; I know what "all positions have been filled" means. Actually, you sending me the same format letter twice wouldn't help me understand the situation any better if I couldn't figure out rejection number one. Stop wasting your money and my time. One letter. Just one.

Some would say in difficult times like these, we can't see the forest for the trees, but in actuality, we can't the forest because we cut down all the trees to send out the same goddamn letter fourteen times to one person. Knock it off and show some restraint.

Should be More Than 50

I'm not very interested in politics; however, like any conscious skin-sack breathing on his own accord, I can name the governor, a few senators, and some of the major figures in the political world. It's hard to avoid, 24-hour new's cycles, yammering talking heads, sound-bytes of sound-bytes, investigative journalism that uncover the shit storm we've found ourselves in. At this point in history, it's impossible not to know the president if you're American; actually, I think it's treason. I hear saggy, old bankers and investors, watch auto leaders crap themselves, selling out their first born's first born for some government credit, and see bumbling icons six months past dead filibuster a bill because it offers $5,000 for stem-cell research on abandoned muskrats of the Tallaweega River Basin. Politics gets on my nerves but has found a place in the social content of modern life, and is inescapable. Like siege warfare, the Olberman and the Maddow have surrounded us, barking up the walls to drive us out. You can see, I don't have much patience for political reports, especially those that push an agenda.

However, I cam across this website. The 50 most loathsome people in American in 2008 have found a comprehensive catalog of offences, evidence, and the proper punishment. I really enjoyed #40, the Free Credit Report.com Guy, and #32, Ben Stein. Uthman and Murphy, with all of their contributors, have drawn together the greatest annoyances of the past year with a great deal of wit and cynicism, making me laugh, honestly laugh while I read it. I boosted two of my favorite cartoons.Up top, Joe Lieberman visually depicted during the Democratic circus to find and support the leader of a party too easily fragmented by a weak, central power. Lieberman is "the kind of suppressive asshole who would accuse you of helping terrorists by beating him at checkers should not be Chairman of the Committee on Homeland Security." And to my right, the respected governess of Alaska, Sarah Palin who "used her baby as a Pro-life stage prop before crowds who cooed when they should have been hurling polonium-tipped javelins." If news were always this funny, maybe more of us would pay attention.

Yip, it's a Recession

"Once I built a railroad, made it run, made it race against time. Once I built a railroad; now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?"

I've heard Bing Crosby and Monty Burns croon out the old Harburg dirge, studied its relation to the Great Depression, stared blindly at the tower of later verses. But, I never paid much attention to Al, thinking like too many of us, the world could never peel back to those gritty times. Breadlines I would never see, except in grainy black and whites, or desperation I would never experience except through the suspension of disbelief during Bagger Vance. (Remember that little kid's shame at having a garbage man father? I watch too much T.V.)

However, the economy worsens; stores drop like turds from a bird's ass, and we're left looking at the rubble. Will our railroad run again? Should we don our khaki suit and follow the drum? Slog through Hell, full of that yankee doodle dee dum? I don't know. There are smarter minds working on restoration projects I don't understand. All I can really hold onto is that Yip Harburg, lyricist of "Brother", also penned "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", the Great Depression's most wonderful, hopeful and escapist anthem.

"If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why, oh why, can't I?"

Opportunity

I received a call this morning from a prospective employer and I'm anxious about the proposition. It's subbing, something that's like a last resort for me. I would be excited to earn some money, which is never a bad thing, unless you're peddling ass for it. However, I'm not looking forward to the frantic morning phone call and pursuant scramble to shower, dress, and eat before rushing out the door. Also, standing before a classroom of students as their substitute and not their teacher is threatening, perhaps I should see myself as their teacher, at least for that day. Anyway, I'm nervous about it, and wanted to express it.

Opening Statement

It has been 217 days, or seven months and three days, since I last arrived at a job. I haven't counted them on a calendar; I used the Calendar Calculator. It's a daunting figure, 38 weeks without reporting to a superior, without setting the alarm and driving in, without bitching about a boss or unfair policy change. Originally, it was an enjoyable break, one to which I had grown accustomed as a teacher. More recently, however, I've lost faith in my own ability to earn a living wage and run through a daily, internal lecture about change and determination.

Here's the history if you don't know already. I tried to type this into the blog's description, but it is too long and part appears in About Me. Sorry for the re-run:

I agreed to move to Portland, OR with my wife and left my job of three years in June, 2008. We drove from Massachusetts in August of the same year and spent several days exploring parts of the country we would not regularly see. The trip out was fantastic and you can recount the trip at my other blog.

Sadly, we had to move back in November due to a poor professional outlook. The trip back was more somber, more bitter, and more humbling. The entire adventure was a risk, one thing I generally shy away from, and did not work out. A moment of failure, but a failure worth more than many of my past successes.

However, the concern of returning home has been eclipsed by the stress of unemployment. I haven't worked since June and haven't cashed a paycheck since August. I'm concerned about finances. I'm concerned about job hunting, the economy, and supporting our new family.
I'm beginning this blog to document my time out of work, a time I do not enjoy. Surprisingly, I want a purpose in the morning, not just a seat on the couch. I want to accomplish something valuable, not to fill out a dozen job applications on Monster. I'll draw together my ups and downs, opportunities and interviews (as few and far between as they may be), and use this space to air my concerns and thoughts throughout this process shared by too many, it seems.

So there it is. Feel free to send me your wishes, your prayers, your job openings, and any lose change.