iPhone OS 3.0: Awesome and Big Bummer, All-in-One

In March, Apple announced its next major revision of the iPhone OS, version 3.0. In conjunction with the next generation iPhone, this new OS should have existing iPhone users everywhere salivating at its hot new features; although many – myself included – expected these features to begin with.

Better late than never, right? Yes and no, for ‘never’ seems to be Apple’s unequivocal answer to our cries from the wilderness. Some features - which should be standard on any modern mobile device - are still missing in action from this new release, a simple fact which threatens to make an extraordinary device, well…ordinary.

What’s New?
Here are a few of the major updates to the operating system used 'round the world. These ones all fit into my category of FINALLY!, and most of you will agree that they should've been there to start with.Most interesting (and useful) new features:

• Ability to search the iPhone
• Cut, Copy & Paste functionality
• Send multiple photos via email
• Send photos, contacts, audio files, and location via MMS (iPhone 3G only)
• Read and compose email and text messages in landscape mode
• Video recording (rumored)

There are many more proposed features for the OS (I'm not going to deal with those now, but I may if I do a hands-on review), which is scheduled as a free update for all iPhone users this summer. OS 3.0 beta 5 is currently available for registered iPhone developers, and while I normally shy-away from beta releases for gadgets I used on a frequent basis, I may bite the bullet and install it so I can provide a hands-on review. I'll keep you posted on that one.

What’s Not?
I'll cut to the chase. While I'm eager for the aforementioned add-ons, I still have some issues with the OS. Simply put, there are things which would make this little gad the only gad to own, if only Steve Jobs didn't hold every exec at Apple by the short and curlies.

MIA: (Better) Browser Support
It's been no DaVinci code that Jobs decides what goes and what doesn't at the Cupertino Gravenstein. First, there was the airtight policy for iPhone apps that means not only does Apple restrict what apps are available, but they also reserve the right to cancel them after the fact. Then there was Jobs' all-out snub of Adobe by choosing not to provide Java or mobile Flash support in Safari, the native iPhone browser. This move crippled what is otherwise a superb – and has potential to be the best – mobile browser out there.

Nor will we see any such support in the proposed future. This to me has to the most glaring omission from what is otherwise the best gad in the world. Seriously, I mean that. I've been a gadfreak since I was a little tater tot and I've never come across anything so close to the perfect app. "It's a phone. No, it's an iPod Touch. No, it's a mobile gaming device. No, it's a GPS. No, it's a MID. No, it's a…" See what I mean?

The glaring omission of the two most ubiquitous technologies on the web today – Java and Flash – means that the browsing experience is going to be stilted. And you're going to notice it, I guarantee you. You just can't surf to a page today without finding some sort of implementation of the aforementioned code and it just sucks when you're on a good-looking page – like this blog – and you see an ugly gap where the Flash should have been.

MIA: Skin(ny) Dipping
Another feature missing from the iPhone OS is the ability to use skins and themes. This is just a theory, but I believe Apple is so in love with its own OS that they can't imagine why anyone would want to mess with perfection. But if you're anything like me, then you like a little novelty in your life and the Spartan black screen just doesn't do it. If you're really brave, then you probably went and jailbroke your iPhone. Once there, you'd have access to all sorts of skins and themes using apps like Winterboard.

That Apple isn't implementing this feature into the next OS is troubling, because while it has little to do with functionality, it's one of those things that people expect in their gads today. If you doubt me, walk down to your nearest Apple Store, BestBuy or Radio Shack and browse the iPhone/iPod accessories. There you will find rows upon rows of things which, while relatively useless, make your phone pretty and somewhat unique.

MIA: Better Ringtone Support
Surprisingly absent from all iterations of the iPhone (including the upcoming OS 3.0) is the pretty-much standard ability for ringtone customization. Standard in even entry-level cellphones on the market today is the ability to assign specific ringtones to contacts, change ringtones for things like calendar events, MMS messages, emails, and so-on. Of the ones I've listed, this missing feature is probably the most frustrating, since we've been spoiled to expect this in our phones. Custom ringtone support is akin to leaping through tiny hoops, too, requiring a computer engineer and two level 5 wizards to get it working seamlessly in iTunes. On this one, I have no choice but to give Apple a big 'for shame.'

MIA: Background Apps
Arguably the most glaring omission from the iPhone’s bag of tricks is the ability to run applications in the background. If you’re like me and still suffer from an early childhood diagnosis of hyperactivity disorder, then you should be able to share my pain. A staple for any multitasker, background apps can allow you to do neat (and basic) things like flip over to your camera app in the middle of writing an email; or access a third party app while you’re browsing with Safari. Unfortunately, the iPhone forces you to head on back to the home screen every time you switch between applications, and you needn’t expect that to change with OS 3.0.

Conclusion
It's gadget 101. Everyone is vying for a piece of that big ol' apple pie, and even though iPhone has a solid installed base, one only need look at the device it usurped to get there. The new features of OS 3.0 are great, exciting even, but with a few unbelievably glaring omissions, is Apple giving the competition a chance to knock it off the throne? Time will tell, I suppose, but until then, I'll guess I'll just have to keep surfing the net without Java and Flash, live with my old fashioned ringtone for all my calls, and look away from the Spartan black screen when I'm swiping my finger.

(sniff, sniff)

Paper or plastic? Or utter frustration?

Most everyone today should have some sort of understanding of the environmental issues threatening to destroy us. One cannot turn on the TV without seeing a PSA extolling the virtues of wind energy or reinforcing the evils of 'clean coal .' We can't purchase a product without receiving some sort of message – subliminal or in-your-face flagrant – about packaging, CFCs and the new 'three Rs.' Yes, in gentler times reading, 'riting and 'rithmetic was the social message which got us motivated; but today, reduce, reuse and recycle has become the mantra for what will save us from experiencing the same fates as the dodo and dinosaur.

Generally speaking, the idea of recycling is a great idea. No one in their right mind is about to dispute it. But when does the social consciousness become madness? I'll tell you when. When it's hidden behind modern corporate greed and the ill-conceived notion that we're all morons who can't control the innate urge to toss an Oh Henry! wrapper on the street instead of a nearby trashcan.

Case in point: my trip to the supermarket this week. It's been more than a month since the Real Atlantic Superstore – a branch of national grocery giant Loblaw, Inc. – announced their new plastic bag policy. Here's the gist: when you buy their groceries, Loblaw will charge you 5 cents per plastic bag used. Simple enough, right? The intent here is to reduce the amount of bags going into landfills – in the case of Loblaw, by an estimated 1 billion bags by the end of the year. Sounds reasonable, right?

Perhaps we should all pat ourselves on the back now, for being forced to participate doing our part in a green initiative to save mother Earth. Oh wait, see what I did? We're not being given a choice, even considering the options forced down our throats given to us by Loblaw.

Option number one is to bring your own plastic bags. You know, the ones which pile up under your kitchen sink? Surely they've been there, decomposing, since you moved them out of your university dorm and into your new house, and every house you've lived in since.

Option number two is to shell out a buck for nifty cloth bags at the checkout counter. It's reasonable enough. The bags are strong and somewhat attractive. More importantly, they're reusable. But the reality is, unless you're prone to hugging that oak tree in your back yard on a daily basis, will you really purchase ten or twenty of these things and bring them with you each time? What if your family was particularly afflicted with the munchies last week and this week you need twenty-three bags? Okay, you shell out a couple of bucks for the sake of the environment, feel good about yourself and cart the bags back and forth from home to store. It doesn't matter that you're gonna look rather silly walking into the store, arms piled high with black cloth bags. It's all for the good of the environment.

(Please note that, since the policy was implemented, I have never seen anyone walking around the store with more than two or three bags in tow. Which suggests either: a) no matter how environmentally conscious, they just can't be bothered to carry twenty or thirty bags with them, or b) they eat like anorexic birds.)

Before I move on to what prompted me to opine about this, it should be noted that the cloth bags are not without their own troubling issues. Contaminated with bacteria? Are you kidding me? Fecal intestinal bacteria? What the hell are they doing when they make these bags?

Option three is to pay the 5 cents for the plastic bags we`ve all grown accustomed to use. 5 cents is a small price to pay, and one could theorize that by paying the 5 cents, you are (in a retroactive manner) doing your part to protect the environment. Loblaw has already stated that they will donate what`s left after they make their money "partial proceeds" to the World Wildlife Fund. It`s roughly equivalent to the recycling premium most people pay when they purchase soft drinks and bottled water. That little stipend at the end of your weekly grocery bill that doesn`t really bother anyone. Problem solved, right? We can all go back to feeling like the universe makes sense, right?

WRONG.

Since Loblaw implemented their new policy, I've taken to patronizing my local Sobey's store, another large supermarket chain. Currently, my local Sobey's hasn't implemented a similar policy, although Sobey's in the Toronto area have, so it's just a matter of time. In the few instances when it was less convenient to shop at Sobey's, I hauled thirty feces-laden cloth bags swallowed my pride and set out for the Superstore. Each experience has been one loaded with frustration. First, if you use the regular checkouts, you're greeted by someone who doesn't want to be there a pleasant cashier whose sole purpose in life is to ask you if you wish to purchase bags today. Since I don't like getting chocolate in my peanut butter mixing my foodstuffs with dangerous bacteria, I leave the cloth bags at home and say, "yes, I'd be delighted to shell out an extra dollar twenty-five for the sake of the environment." You see, I've been shopping for food nearly as long as the day I realized that my parents wouldn't do it for me anymore. After I moved out. Being a bit of a pro at this, I've already figured that my shopping cart today will require twenty-five bags, or a cool buck twenty-five. A small price to pay for the privilege of increasing Loblaws' already ridiculous wealth protecting the environment.

Imagine my shock when this brainwashed well-trained employee manages to stuff twenty-five bags' worth of groceries into ten plastic bags. Meat with my Oreos. Eggs with my bread. All crammed into these already-flimsy 5 cent bags. On the plus side, I saved 75 cents, partial proceeds of which would've gone to the WWF. We even lost some eggs a few weeks back because of this new sorcery, passed on down from the management at the Superstore to their minions. Reduce is a nice idea in principle, but in practice, it sucks.

Not wanting to draw the ire of the line of people behind me (all suspiciously devoid of their own feces bags), I kept my mouth shut and carefully transported my booty home. Grateful that a couple of eggs were the extent of the casualties, I went about my business and resolved to go to Sobey's the next time.

Alas, circumstances necessitated that I patronize the Superstore the other day. As I left the house, the few feces bags we own stared accusingly at me, surrounded by police tape and biohazard signs. I tried to ignore them because this time, I only had a modest amount of things to pick up. "I can use the self-serve checkout," I assured myself. I won't have to watch the cashier stuff my bag like my groceries are a china shop and she's the bull. After getting what I needed – six bags' worth of groceries – I went to the self-serve and waited.

And waited.

"This isn't right," I said to myself. Normally, the self-serve moves at a nice clip. I scanned the people in front of me. No little old ladies, no one with excessive amounts of produce that would require finding them on the system and keying in the code. A mystery. Normally, I like mysteries, but I did not like this one.

When a checkout became available, I quickly devised the insidious nature of the mystery. normally equipped with six weight-sensitive pads, the carousels had been reduced (there's that word again) to two. With a modest amount of bags and only two weight pads, I steeled myself and commenced checking myself out. With each new item I was greeted with the nasally computer voice. "Please place the item in the bag." I was trying! Really! But since I had to juggle six bags' worth of items on two pads, it was a lesson in futility, and had I eggs, I may have broken a few as a I placed bags upon bags, sweating profusely as I realized that impatient people waited behind me, invariably with more than two bags' worth of groceries.

Finally done, I heaved a sigh of relief and headed to customer service. The service rep was friendly and responsive and nodded knowingly when I began telling her how much her bosses' new policy sucks. She had heard it all before. All she had for me was a programmed response.

"You can always bring your own bags," she informed me, of something I knew too well. I shuddered when I thought of rat feces.

"It's not the cost," I assured her, keeping my composure because I knew it wasn't her fault. I even felt a little guilty about complaining about an environmentally-sound initiative.

Having said my piece, though, I headed home with my bags. After unpacking the groceries, I placed the bags under the sink, amongst perhaps hundreds of other bags, each which will be used. They get hung in our kitchen for trash, which reduces our need for traditional garbage bags. They get put in our waste bins throughout the house. They even get used for food preparation, when we make seasoned potatoes or anything else that would normally require a ZipLoc bag. They even get used to collect doggy poop (eww!), although I've been eyeing the cloth bags for that task. After all, what would be the difference?

Each bag will be reused, thus reducing the burden on the environment. Now that I pay 5 cents a piece for them, so what? It's still a good investment. Now, all I have to do is wait and see if Sobey's adopts the same policy here. Perhaps this is my big chance to revisit the fifties and start using my local family-owned grocery store.

I'm not above it.

Idol all done, the people cheered

In a surprising turn of events, last night's American Idol finale didn't suck was worth the price of admission.

The two hour show – with a whole three minutes reserved for the actual results – was replete with shockers - notwithstanding Kris Allen, who proved the judges wrong. Earlier in the season, the judges, led by Simon Cowell, crowned Adam Lambert and cheekily pronouncing him king (or, if you're Kara DioGuardi, God).

But the 22 year old Allen had something to say about it, and so apparently did America. Allen being the newest teen heartthrob, it's appropriate that all those young girls had twitchy phone fingers. Parents everywhere are going to cringe when they get their cell phone bills from AT&T.

For anyone who didn't catch it, there were nearly 100 million votes cast in the finale, a world record according to the accounting guy who appeared at the end of the show carrying an envelope. As if that would bring credibility to the whole thing. No one, including Ryan Seacrest, acknowledged the oddity of a show which averages 22 million viewers per episode getting nearly 100 million votes; but as if Idol's roots are in Cook county, no one ever said you can't vote multiple times.

Update: Nielsen reports that last night's finale was amongst the least-watched of the 8 American Idol finales, at 28.84 million viewers).

Good for Kris. There's absolutely nothing to dislike about the guy, and I don't think anyone doubts that Lambert will land on his feet. Which brings us to the biggest shocker of the night.

KISS. That's right, Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley and…that other guy. With Peter Criss and Ace Frehley long gone (as if anyone cares), the band still rocks it out and still looks great in the makeup. A perfect choice to pair with the nonhuman voice that brews in Lambert's chest, we were in shock and awe as it all played out. KISS. There, I said it again. I'm still flabbergasted that the producers managed to get the iconic band on stage for the performance, but it didn't stop there.

Queen. Rod Stewart. The Black Eyed Peas. Lionel Richie. Keith Urban. The list went on as mega artists past and present performed on stage with the show's finalists. It was a finale worthy of the most watched show in America, and perhaps appropriate, as I believe this was the swan song for the show's 8 year run. Yes, Ryan assured us that Idol will be back in January to net a whole 'nother billion dollars for Rupert Murdoch's NewsCorp, but I for one won't be watching, and if recent reports are any indication, the show's peaked and will soon find its place amongst the honored dead.

I'm going to predict that next season will be Idol's last, that Simon Cowell will be gone when his contract expires in 2010, and that Paula Abdul won't claw her way back onto the Billboard charts. At least one of those predictions is guaranteed to come true; care to guess which one?

Oh yeah: I finally found something redeeming about Kara DioGuardi, and it wasn't her singing voice.

Timing is Everything Edition: When America’s Next Top Models Attack

On the heels of last night's finale of The CW's America's Next Top Model, the show's limited appeal massive success was overshadowed by former supermodel Paulina Porizkova. Her revelation that she was fired from the show was ridiculously well-timed suspicious in the way it coincided with the conclusion of Cycle Twelve.

Telling the Late Late Show's Craig Ferguson that she was fired on her birthday, Porizkova waxed about how the producers wanted to 'cut the fat,' which doesn't make any sense to me, because I think Porizkova looks just super. (Okay, I know what she meant by 'cut the fat' but I couldn't resist) More telling was when she went on to state that the show's producers felt that she has a massive ego, which I find humorous, and I'll tell you why. The show's Executive Producer and creator is none other than super massive ego former supermodel Tyra Banks.

Anyone who's seen the show can't help but feel that the show really isn't about the young hopefuls who starve themselves compete for a guaranteed contract with Elite Model Management and a gig with CoverGirl Cosmetics. 'Ty-ra! Ty-ra! Ty-ra!' the show's opening sequence seems to cheer, like she hired a high school cheerleading squad to follow her around. Gratuitous shots of her strutting around like she's still a supermodel and not merely a successful talk show host and television producer. If I had to guess, I'd say that she loves money almost as much as she loves herself misses it and this is her way of getting those glory days back.

Not that I feel badly for Paulina Porizkova. I'm sure she'll land on her feet somewhere. And no, I'm not surprised that two former supermodels are going head-to-head like Saturday night at WWE Smackdown XLVII. But I had to chuckle when I heard that Paulina was told she has a big ego. OWWW.

'HELLO? POT HERE! KETTLE, YOU'RE BLACK.'

Oh yeah, Teyona Anderson is America's Next Top Model. Big deal. It's just another reason to pick up a copy of Seventeen, which I stopped buying because Christina didn't appreciate it when I left them on top of the toilet never read.

American Idol: America gets it right (sort of), & judges get it way wrong

American Idol narrowed it down to two last night. Fox's license to print money megahit reported 88 million votes from Americans wanting to have a say in who goes on and who stays behind to clean up the pile of junk sitting on the floor between Paula Abdul and Simon Cowell. Reportedly, it was Paula's mess of empty coke Coke containers, mascara bombs and love/hate notes between Paula and the inimitable Cowell. Not-so-reportedly, it was Danny Gokey who got the call to clean up the uncomfortable memories of PaulaCowell's antics.

Danny Gokey's gone, and I'm sad about that, but I'm not about to say that America got it wrong. He's talented; there's no arguing that. But what makes him interesting is his story. Four weeks before his audition last year, Danny's wife Sophia, his high school sweetheart, died on the operating table undergoing surgery for a congenital heart defect. Needless to say, the producers at American Idol milked that one for all it's worth, but eventually even Idol producers have to move on and focus on what the show's supposed to be about. Bags upon bags of cash. Talent. The young Gokey, a devout Christian who regularly leads his church in prayer in Milwaukee, WI, came down on the negative side of America's judgment, and it's probably the best thing that ever happened to him.

American Idol's track record ain't stellar. The show's seven winners – Kelly Clarkson, Ruben Studdard, Fantasia Barrino, Carrie Underwood, Taylor Hicks, Jordin Sparks and David Cook – have arguably had a mixed bag of success, with only a couple of those names really taking off and having significant careers. Don't get me wrong. It's still a pretty good track record, but the idea of the show was to take a barometer reading of America by having them vote by phone. Theoretically, if twenty or thirty million people care enough to pick up the phone and vote for one person multiple times in any given week, then twenty or thirty million should want to buy that person's album, right?

But a few names are missing. Jennifer Hudson, Chris Daughtry, Clay Aiken, Kimberly Locke, Diana DeGarmo, Josh Gracin, and so-on. Former contestants who got booted early or ended up as runner-up, they all went on to have pretty decent careers despite America's itchy and questionable (remember Sanjaya Malakar?) phone fingers. Of the list above, Jennifer Hudson is easily the most successful, with a Grammy and an Oscar to her name. Not bad for someone who was the seventh runner-up in the third season of American Idol.

So I don't think Danny has to worry. His gravelly voice and his compelling story pretty much guarantee him some sort of success, and given the track record of those who have gone on to win the whole ball of wax, I'd rather see him avoid the Curse of Idol and get ousted early.

But the judges are another story. What sometimes seems to be poorly-choreographed tension between Randy Jackson, Kara DioGuardi, Paula Abdul and Simon Cowell has turned into an uncomfortable exchange of egos. DioGuardi, who takes all her leads from Randy Jackson, has proven to be a bad addition to an already ill-conceived cast of characters. Normally, I might find their exchanges interesting, but the arguing and petty beefs now seem to overshadow what should matter: the talent. In so many instances that's it's impossible to count them this season, the judges have wasted their time bickering instead of doing what they're supposed to do. Provide critical analysis of the performers standing nervously in front of them. It's tough enough for these kids without having to stand there with everything exposed, while watching the inexplicable antics (like Paula giving Simon a pack of crayons).

As I stated in previous posts, I think it's time for this show to end, and I won't miss it. I can always get downloads of Simon from Britain's Got Talent.

I'm white and I like stuff.

Just over a year ago, fellow Canadian Christian Lander started a blog about the stuff white people like. Apparently, the blog, co-authored by Lander’s friend Myles Valentin, came about after Valentin teased Lander about watching HBO’s The Wire. Today Jeff Jarvis, author of What Would Google Do? and new media guru, tweeted that he didn’t like The Wire (actually said that he didn’t think The Wire was so damned genius). Shortly after Jeff’s original tweet it was brought to his attention that The Wire was #85 on the list of Stuff that White People Like. But how can that be? Jeff is white and says he doesn’t like it. I’m white and I loved the show... thought it was brilliant, especially the five minute scene/conversation using nothing but the word “f#@*”.

(Just so we're clear, it wasn't five straight minutes of gratuitous F-bomb use. It was a brilliant interchange between two of the show's main actors, Dominic West and Wendell Pierce, communicating non-verbally as they deconstructed the scene of a crime. Every so often, the strategic placement of the F-bomb was meant to speak volumes, as if the word itself was the revelation that would lead them to the killer. This scene showed the depth and versatility of a word, the mere use of which had our mouths washed-out with soap when we were young.)

Now Jeff isn’t just any Joe Schmoe on the street raving on about his opinions; as far as television and entertainment goes, he’s paid his dues and earned his right to be a critic. People flip channels based on his printed word. He created and was founding editor of Entertainment Weekly and was a TV critic for TV Guide and People among a slew of other journalistic endeavors.

Jeff's original tweet and the response about the blog of stuff that white people liked got me thinking about what else was on this list and how many I agreed with…in the end will I turn out to be nothing more than a stereotype?

To be fair, Stuff White People Like is a satirical examination of the interests of the stereotypical affluent, socially-conscious, anti-corporate white North American hipster who typically hold a degree in liberal arts. In other words it’s the yuppie culture of the new millennium.

The list consists of 125 things white people like. I like 76 out of the 100 listed. Or maybe it’s that I’m only 60% white – perhaps I should dig out that family tree. The stand-outs for me include:

• Coffee - Who doesn't like coffee? Especially when you have to dip into your child's education savings plan for your next fix.
• Free health care - Thank you Tommy Douglas.
• Facebook - aka 'how I found the people I went to kindergarten with'
• The Wire - I could go on and on and on...
• Arrested Development - dysfunctional families at their best
• Dogs - I like dogs of all kinds but I'm somewhat particular to Jack Russells and my little Emmy Jane (see photo on main page)
• Living near water - Heck, our lotto commercials have even focused on being able to afford 'cottages' on the water
• Apologies - This may be more particular to Canadians as we seem to apologize constantly and for everything. I bumped into a rack at the store last week and I caught myself saying "I'm sorry" to a piece of metal that later gave me a bruise. Apologizing seems to be second nature for us.
• David Sedaris - Buy his stuff, read his stuff, listen to audio books and then go see him read his stuff!! C’mon go buy it all, you know you want to.
• Farmer's Markets - I even search out farmer's markets when I travel
• Micorbreweries - mmmmm....beer...flavorful, unique beer...
• Musical Comedians - If a stand-up camedian picks up a guitar, good chance I'll be laughing by the time he is done. There is something about joking about a serious topic in a catchy little ditty that seems alright and that we aren't just plain poking fun at someone or something. Maybe I like it more because I don't feel I have to apologies as much for insulting anyone because it just doesn't seem as mean when put to music.

While I haven’t personally experienced all of the items on the list nor do I agree with all of them but, I have to say that if one were watching today’s white North American culture from afar, many of these would seem to fit. Does every white person like every item of ‘stuff’? Of course not. There are some very broad generalizations in Lander’s observations but it is worth a chuckle or two while looking at ourselves in the mirror.

It should also be noted that Lander’s little blog inspired by viewing habits of The Wire has seen more that 60 million hits and turned out to be a very successful book that reportedly landed him a $300,000 advance from the publisher. So maybe he isn’t that wrong in his observations. Perhaps it isn’t that we are all cut from the same cloth, but that we come from the same factory. And yes, as I’m sure Lander (or Nickolas Sparks, Steven King, Dan Brown, John Grisham, etc) will attest to over and over again, white people do like getting book deals (#92).

Waiting for Kirk

I'm glad to see you back. I thought you were gone forever.
- from Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett

I remember the original Star Trek. I was only four, but I remember when it aired. Not in syndication, but when brand new episodes aired on NBC on Tuesday nights. I remember arguing with Mark Lydon, my bff at the time. I thought the transporter room was behind the doors off the bridge and he didn't. I was wrong.

Since then, I've seen every episode of Star Trek. All 80 episodes of the original series (including the pilot, which didn't feature James T. Kirk). 176 episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation. 173 episodes of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. 170 episodes of Star Trek: Voyager. 98 episodes of Enterprise. 22 episodes of Star Trek: The Animated Series. All in all, that's 719 episodes.

There were ten films and two documentaries. I can still remember anxiously waiting in line for the return of the valiant crew of The Enterprise when William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy et al., hit the silver screen with Star Trek: The Motion Picture in 1979. Gripped the edges of my seat when Spock died in Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan. And so-on.

But after an unceremonious end to the poorly-received Enterprise, in 2005 I was suddenly faced with a grim reality.

That was it.

The sounds of crickets chirping in the night haunted me. No more Trek, no more Trek, they seemed to echo. For the first time since 1987, a part of me, something which has been around my entire life, was gone. Gene Roddenberry's epic mythological universe was no longer. No movies, no shows. No Picard, no Spock. No Data, no Kirk.

No Star Trek.

I felt like Vladimir in Waiting for Godot. Alone, destitute, wondering when - or if - Kirk would ever save me from my existential reality. During the past four years, I've often speculated if or when Paramount Pictures would revive the massively successful franchise. While Trekkies all over the world continued to don Klingon outfits and give their Starfleet counterparts the 'live long and prosper' salute, the studio was suspiciously silent. Shocking, really, considering the success of the franchise, which has generated billions of dollars and influenced millions of peoples' lives.

Honestly, I believed the studio would respond immediately to the cries in the wilderness with a new television series. I even came up with a few ideas of my own: Star Trek: Starfleet Academy, or Star Trek: The Fourth Millenium. Sitting and waiting for Kirk, I devised my own characters and lived-out imaginary episodes (not really; I'm just waxing poetic. Bear with me).

But when I first heard that uber-producer/director J.J. Abrams was going to do the unthinkable - start all over again - I did what most Star Trek purists probably did. I cringed. I tried to reconcile the terrifying images that come from trying to imagine anyone but William Shatner as James Tiberius Kirk. Say it ain't so, J.J.! No way, man! NO WAY!

That was my first impression. But, perhaps assuaged by relief knowing that Star Trek wasn't dead forever - and made a religious convert to Hollywood's latest trend of reinventing franchises (à la Batman) - I quickly got over it and searched for my plastic pointy ears. I knew they were in that box somewhere, amongst a panoply of fake communicators, posters of Jonathan Frakes and a Seven of Nine action figure. 'Beam me up!' I cried from the highest hill I could find. (Actually, I was in the tub playing with Seven of Nine, but it was nothing kinky. Really.)

Now, I'm excited. Enthralled, anticipatory. Downright anxious to get myself to the theater to find out why those teaser trailers have made me salivate like a pathetic Pavlov dog. Sadly, it won't be this weekend. Unlike December, 1979, when I was ready to brave the cold and stand in line for ST: The Motion Picture, for the eleventh instalment of the series my fiancée and I have decided to sit-out the initial fracas and see it when we're not going to be threatened by pubescent Ferengi and smelly Nausicans.

Once I see it - in the next week or so - I'm sure that I'll have some things to say about the film, but I'm pretty confident it won't be negative. It might be a little depressing, though, for like the ending of The Wrath of Khan, seeing this latest instalment will leave me with one unpleasant feeling: that I'll have to suffer another two years before the next one.

Live long and prosper.

Hollywood Bad Boyz Part II: 'Lost Boys' Meets '24' Edition

As if I'm some sort of reincarnated Oracle from ancient Delphic Greece, no sooner had I posted 'They ruined it for me: Hollywood bad boys or just jerks?' than Kiefer Sutherland received my telepathic message. Answering the call to foolishness, his recent head-butting extravaganza is the stuff legends are made of.

For those of you who are too engrossed in my writing to click the link above, here's a quick recap. Sutherland, the star of the Fox megahit 24 and countless Hollywood ditties - although I can't think of any memorable recent ones - is fresh off a DUI conviction in Los Angeles last year, for which he served 48 days in a California jail. The intrepid Jack Bauer lookalike is on the front end of five years' probation for the offense, so it would make sense for him not to rock the boat by shooting up a New York street or beat up on thoughtless fashion designers, even if it is to save the free world from terrorist threats. With me so far?

But when the President - or, in this case, Brooke Shields - is endangered, SutherBauer must listen to the call of his instincts, even if they're really, really bad instincts. Earlier this week, Sutherland attended a party, following an annual costume gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Enter fashion designer Jack McCollough, who apparently bumped into the lovely Ms. Shields and didn't have the decency to apologize. Can you hear 24's eerie and impending dee-dee! dee-dee! dee-dee!? I can. So did JacKiefer, whose mind must've been on the filiming of 24 earlier in the day and (I like to imagine) thought he really was Jack Bauer.

So what does he do? Get the careless McCollough in a full-nelson and escort him to the door? No, that would be too cliché. Draw his fake Glock 19 on the rude designer and point him toward the exit with the plugged barrel? Admonish him with his gravelly Jack Bauer voice?

Nah. C'mon! This stuff writes itself! He HEAD BUTTED him!

I could stop right there and my work would be done; but it goes without saying that Kiefer's incredibly thick skull impacting with Mr. McCollough's head caused the fashion designer to bleed. Duh.

It goes without saying that Mr. Sutherland is in a world of trouble (real world, not the 24 world where the President would already be on the phone demanding his release). An assault charge is a serious violation of his five year probation, so we must wonder what's in store for Sutherland, the show, and the state of a world without Jack Bauer in it.

This one hits a little close to home, since Kiefer's father, the arguably more successful Donald Sutherland, is a native of Nova Scotia, and so am I. We Bluenosers are world-renowned for our friendliness, our hospitality and, like all Canadians, our banal personalities. This is, of course, a myth, but it's fun to keep a low profile, 'cause that way they don't see you coming.

Now it's not just the Nova Scotia connection that has me thinking about this. In 1980, I met Daniel Petrie, the late Hollywood director who made some interesting films, including Buster and Billie, Fort Apache the Bronx and a movie called The Bay Boy, Kiefer Sutherland's second film. Danny Petrie was my father's childhood friend and when we went to his home in Hollywood in 1980, he showed us a script for The Bay Boy, which is based on actual events from their childhood in Glace Bay, Nova Scotia.

The main character, Donald Campbell, was loosely inspired by my father and the character Kiefer Sutherland played in the film. Of course, at that time he was a relative unknown and simply the son of Donald Sutherland.

Kudos to him for having an impressive career that stands apart from his familial connection. But shame on him for becoming a Hollywood cliché, like the aforementioned Tom Cruise and Christian Bale. Maybe if he hadn't had the DUI and a host of oft-rumored character flaws, his act on Monday night might come off as being valiant and chivalrous, but here's the uncomfortable truth.

Tit for Tat...or something like that

Okay, since I reported yesterday that my fiancée watches American Idol because I do, it's only fair to mention that my reciprocity is to tolerate The CW's America's Next Top Model, or as I like to call it, The Tyra Banks Show II. Tit for tat, right? Well, after watching several seasons (or cycles, as our fun-loving supermodel likes to call them), I have to confess that I'm into the show. It has a certain kitsch to it that reminds me of a fifty car pileup I saw once. The idea of young, talentless women – most who, at some point in the cycle, tearfully state that this is their only chance for a life – strutting their stuff and morphing into fashionistas is…compelling. There, I said it.

It's almost the antithesis of American Idol! On Idol, contestants don't have to look good (but it helps). What they do have to have is TALENT. On Top Model, you could be a talentless seventeen year old with a supremely bad attitude. As long as you look good (or can be made to look good, by virtue of multiple makeovers and the miracle of Photoshop), then you, too have a shot at becoming a glam girl with a jetsetting lifestyle and a lifetime supply of Ipecac.

To be fair, some of the girls are really sweet, and a few of them even seem to have a brain in their head. But it seems that these ones get ousted early, at the behest of regular judges Banks, former supermodel Paulina Porizkova, all-man fashion photog Nigel Barker and all-something 'Miss' J. Alexander (a dude, for those of you who don't watch the show, but I use the term loosely and so does he). What's left (in the case of last night, where the current cycle narrowed it to the top three) is a dubious collection of people with questionable virtues and a shot at becoming the next face of Cover Girl Cosmetics. One in particular – Teyona – talks like she should be hooking on the streets of New York, but they're not there to talk, right>?

I guess this show leaves me wanting to watch the ambulances roll-up, in anticipation of the bodies to be carted off at the end of each episode. That's something, right? But the young woman who was ejected in last night's episode was criticized – at several points in the show – for being too old. 26 is too old.

Huh? I understand that the fashion biz gets 'em young and after having its way with them, leaves 'em for dead before crow's feet creep in; but seriously? I think this show derailed from the moment it began, by pandering to all the things that are wrong about the fashion industry. You have to be a certain height, a certain look. That paradigm is as old as the fashion industry. But recent trends have highlighted the problems with anorexia and other evils of modeling (Google Naomi Campbell). If Tyra is to be a pioneer – and rule the world in the process – then I'd like to see more emphasis on things like inner beauty, personality, and breaking the mold.

Now, to give Tyra credit, last year's winner was a 'plus model,' which basically means she was normal sized. Good for Tyra. Recently, a ridiculous riot occurred during auditions for the next cycle; apparently, the auditions were for wannabe models shorter than 5'7". Good for her. Last year's cycle had a finalist who was socially uncomfortable due to her asperger's; and this year's cycle had a finalist who was a burn victim. Great. But I'm a cynical person, so to me these seem like acts of political correctness.

And they still don't address the ever-important inner beauty issue, which is crucial for those impressionable young people who aspire to follow in the impressive footsteps of Tyra Banks.

When looking at 50 car pileups, it may be difficult to look away. But that doesn't make them pretty.

Idol dirty. Need soap.

It's 7 AM and I'm already working on my third cup of coffee. My mind's been working overtime, mostly trying to figure out the specifics of my next novel. It will be a sequel to the one I just completed (called Distortions, it's my fourth novel), but I don't want to write anything until I've gotten a better sense that Distortions will be published. It's a little frustrating, since my ideas are rampant and way cool. If I ever do write this sequel, it will rock the block, I'm sure of it.

But I digress. This is a follow-up to yesterday's post, '(Almost) Done with American Idol.' Seems I was off-base in my prediction of the final results, but I was on-base with my thoughts on the gratuitous on-the-fly revising of the show's rules. If Ryan Seacrest said it once, he said it at least three times, by my count. 'These are random results.' (I'm paraphrasing).

In other words, Kris Allen, who was returned to safety first, wasn't the top vote-getter. No huge surprise there. As I stated yesterday, at this point talented singers will have to go home; so I shouldn't have been surprised that Allison Iraheta was the one to go. I suppose 'disappointed' is more appropriate, because who doesn't want to see a 17 year old step onto the train to stardom? It's a nice story, but nice stories don't sell and someone had to go. In other words, no big surprises last night, not even Ryan Seacrest's repeated stressing of randomness. An obvious and expected ploy, to try to inject some drama into the show. Really, producers?

American Idol is the perfect candidate for the next hit daytime soap. Seriously, the contrived plots and preposterous cast of characters are ripe for a Daytime Emmy. Randy Jackson as the loveable yet goofy protagonist; Kara DioGuardi as the conniving yet innefectual temptress; Paula Abdul as the (dare I say it?) blonde bimbo saddled with dialogue crafted by four monkeys, two typewriters and a mime; and (of course) Simon Cowell as the moustache-twirling villain. Notice I didn't mention Seacrest. In the aforementioned soap, he'll be replaced mid-season by David Hasselhoff; and within two years - after falling down an elevator shaft - his diminutive Seacrestiness will be revived in the form of an evil twin, played with aplomb by Zac Efron.

The next General Hospital? Or is Days of Our Lives more in-line? You tell me. I'll even propose a name for the show. American Suicidol. Okay, it's not sexy, but let me remind you of paragraph 1, sentence 1. I'm only on my third coffee. Geez.

So Danny Gokey and Adam Lambert are safe, but the feeble tension that remained after Ryan Seacrest's 'random' results should still leave us with that unsettling feeling. You know, the one that begins in the pit of your stomach after too many chili cheese fries. The unsettling feeling that this season still has two more episodes. TWO more!

I really, REALLY hope that the rumored tantrums by DioGuardi and reported hints that this will be Simon Cowell's last season are true. First, because I don't like DioGuardi, not even one bit; and second, because although I like Cowell and his acerbic honesty, his departure should signify the show's timely demise.

Regardless, I do believe I'm done with the show, after I force myself to see this season to conclusion.

They ruined it for me: Hollywood bad boys or just jerks?

Last week, Christian Bale finally broke his silence and spoke out about the temper tantrum heard 'round the world. Conspiracy theorists who might wonder about the upcoming release of Terminator: Salvation - the fourth installment in the mega-series made popular by Governator Arnold Schwarzenegger - need not wonder any longer. Of course Bale made nice: the May 21st release of the Warner Brothers film is supposed to make the studio bags of whatever currency they use in post-apocalyptic Los Angeles. But when Hollywood bad boys open their big mouths, people tend to listen. And that can translate into box office oblivion, because people today aren’t as nearly as forgiving as they used to be.

Considering the current recession, who can blame them? While people struggle to make their mortgage payments, the mega-rich, like Christian Bale, are losing it over getting too much foam on their latte, or so it seems. His rant was coarse, vulgar and disappointing. And he ruined it for me.

I liken it to walking into your parents’ bedroom and finding them doing it. Ick, right? That’s an unpleasant image you’ll never lose. Well, in the same way, Christian Bale ruined the upcoming Terminator: Salvation, and that angers me, because I’m a huge fan of the series and now wonder if I’ll even watch the film. Worse than that, he ruined Batman for me, another series of which I’m a huge fan. You see, once you see your parents doing it, you never forget. Ever.

What makes it worse is that Bale wasn’t even that remorseful. Instead of falling on the sword and admitting that he has way too many Ferraris to relate to the common people, he made his interview about trust between actors like Bale and the supporting set workers (you know, the ones who actually make the movie?). In one breath Bale states that he “takes the consequences” but then says that director of photography Shane Hurlbut violated an “essential trust.” Really? It’s tantamount to saying ‘I can say whatever I want, whenever I want, because I’m Christian Bale. Even if it means the uncomfortable demeaning of someone in front of others. So there.’ Here’s an essential trust for Christian Bale: people pay money to see his movies. What’s going to happen when that essential trust is broken? Ask Tom Cruise.

People like Bale, Cruise and Sean Penn are what’s wrong with entertainment. Now I’m willing to admit that Penn’s cleaned it up a bit, but perhaps that’s because he has a good publicist. And I won’t dump on Cruise too much, because he does a fine job of it all by himself. But the other night I finally watched Valkyrie. Yes, I bit the bullet, swallowed my pride and watched the film, because I’m a bit of a history buff and I'm interested in the topic. But when Cruise appeared on the screen, I couldn’t see his character, Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg. All I could see was the monkey-man jumping up and down on Oprah’s couch. The guy who just couldn't keep his religious beliefs to himself.

Listen, I respect anyone who has religious beliefs. In these times, so many seem not to. But I don’t go around spouting my religious beliefs, nor do I appreciate it when people with bibles ring my doorbell.

Enough on that. My point is that it was so glaringly obvious that Cruise’s ‘people’ needed to apply the paddles to his dwindling career, they came up with a brilliant little scheme (not unlike the scheme in the movie): ‘let’s have Tom Cruise assassinate Hitler!’ It didn’t work out well for Stauffenberg, nor did it work well for Tom Cruise. Why? Because when he came out with his diatribe on Brooke Shields and his utter disdain for antidepressants, he pretty much made us do something horrific - watch him doing it.

Walk in on our parents doing it.

There was a time when being the bad boy was the ‘in thing.’ We romanticize when we think of Errol Flynn, James Dean or Jack Nicholson. But these guys were classy and icons unto themselves. Today, our tolerance for people who don’t understand basic concepts like ‘respect,’ ‘honesty’ and ‘decency’ has grown incredibly thin.

For good reason. We live in a world where YouTube and Google are only a click away. That Christian Bale is like that isn’t surprising. That we discovered he’s like that isn’t either.

We all know our parents did it – how else would we be here? But knowing they did it and seeing them do it are two massively different enchiladas.

I think I will have to see Terminator: Salvation; but when I do, I probably won't enjoy it. Christian Bale has ruined it for me. By letting us see (hear) what he’s really like, he let the genie out of the bottle.

No feigned words of ‘remorse’ can put that genie back.

(Almost) done with American Idol

Last night, the producers at American Idol managed to do it again.

Piss me off.

As if the unashamed plugs for AT&T, Apple, Coke and Ford haven't been enough to drive most of us to click over to Dancing with the Stars, the 'reality' show (see what I did? I used the term loosely) further insulted anyone with a brain by changing the rules in mid-air. Yet again. No, I'm not referring to the shocking format change of pairing-up the final four for duets, although I have my thoughts about that. The crime committed by the producers of the show has been so prevalent throughout 8 seasons that it befuddles me how they've gotten away with it for so long.

First, the order of the final four contestants, combined with interspersed duets (one by Danny and Kris, one by Adam and Allison) seemed as crooked as a three dollar bill. In case you were off-planet last week and missed the big shocker, Adam Lambert, rocker extraordinaire, found himself in the bottom two, in what arguably was the biggest surprise in the mega show's eight year run. The looks on the judge's faces said it all. Whaaaaa? I was shocked, too. But I think the order of last night's performances shocked me more.

In the past, Ryan Seacrest has occasionally mentioned the show's 'rules,' but I don't imagine the accounting firm of Price Waterhouse Coopers has a briefcase handcuffed to someone's hand somewhere. Having seen nearly every episode of American Idol over eight seasons, I imagine the rules to be more inline with Drew Carey and a great big glitzy wheel. Oh yeah, and Idol producers pushing a button where they want the ShowCase wheel to stop.

In case you didn't see it, Adam Lambert came out first, performing Led Zeppelin's 'Whole Lotta Love.' The way the judges oozed all over his performance was embarrassing. Kara DioGuardi's uncomfortable gushing had me reaching for the remote, but mercifully, her repeated shouting of Yes!' ended (but not until she managed to extoll that Lambert is a 'rock god').

Next came Allison Iraheta, who was in fine form as she rocked out Janis Joplin's 'Cry Baby.' Why, oh why, was I able to predict that the judges wouldn't like her performance? If there was any doubt, that sad and tired cliche from Randy confirmed it when he started his critique with a sigh, saying, 'Y'know, dog...' You can fill in the blanks, for that's what they were. Blanks.

Duet Number One - Danny Gokey and Kris Allen performing Styx's 'Renegade' - was super, but I was a little put-off by the break in performances. It seemed awfully pat that the producers wouldn't have the final four contestants each perform solo first, and then have the duets. But I'm giving away the ending. Even though the two finalists rocked it out, the judges were predictably unmoved by Kris, and they managed to provide a few kudos to Danny. In the one thing Jackson, DioGuardi, Abdul, Cowell and I agreed upon, they did love the harmonies.

When Kris Allen came right back and performed the Beatles' 'Come Together,' I cringed a bit. I didn't think it was the right song for the teen heartthrob, and yes, the judges agreed with me again. But things were starting to get a little strange. Especially considering last week's outcome, the order of the singers was beginning to feel awfully contrived. The judges' comments were clearly biased towards last week's shocking bottom two finalist Adam Lambert. I was beginning to hear the voices again. The voices of the show's producers, who value the almighty dollar over everything else. Something wasn't right.

I was thrilled when Danny Gokey performed Aerosmith's 'Dream On.' Perfect song for the gravelly-voiced Gokey, and even though that note at the end challenged even Steven Tyler, I felt Gokey could do it. Surprise, surprise, the judges were lukewarm at best. If Tyler himself had come out and performed the song, I think the results would have been the same. Randy Jackson sighed and used 'dog' gratuitously; Kara DioGuardi was intolerable; Paula Abdul was her typically nonsensical self with halted speech and indiscernable comments about Gokey; and Simon Cowell? Well, he just said it all. 'You'll still be safe tomorrow.' Yes! There it was. The final clue I'd been looking for. Typically, Simon promising that someone will be safe marks their untimely departure from the show. If I had a chalkboard and a better understanding of Chaos Theory, I'd explain it to you. But his placement of the comment was not only suspicious, it was deliberate.

The producers had spoken, and if there was any doubt, the bookend of the show was Adam Lambert (remember him? The guy everyone said would be in the final two and win it all? The guy who was nearly eliminated last week?) If the producers had their way, Lambert would have been performing a duet alone, providing both parts of the harmony. But they stomped their feet and grudgingly allowed Allison Iraheta on stage while the two performed Foghat's 'Slow Ride.' Monotonous and eponymous, the song choice - or the performances for that matter - didn't matter. The judges gushed like the Old Faithful they were meant to be. No way they were going to let Adam Lambert go early. No way, no how.

I like Adam Lambert. What I don't like is being made the fool, and over eight seasons, that's just what the producers of American Idol have managed to do. Making fools of the viewers and voters. Changing rules arbitrarily. Being obvious in who they think should be in the finals. If you doubt me, look at Jennifer Hudson. Believe me, they don't want another embarrassment like that.

Tonight, we may very well see Danny Gokey go, although I personally believe it will be Kris Allen. Allison and Adam are most likely safe. It's true that at this point in the competition, talented singers are going to have to go. But after last night's travesty, it may very well mean the wrong talented singer will go. Frankly, my interest is already waning, like the show's luster. Last night, my fiancee reminded me that the only reason she watches the show is because I want to, and that she lost interest a long time ago. I wonder how many other people have gotten wise to the show's bias?

I truly believe this may be my last season watching American Idol. Don't gasp. I'm not. It's more like a slow, painful wheeze.