A Seinfeld Aficionado Analyzes One Reason Why Not Everyone Was Such a Huge Fan of the Emmy Winning Sitcom

Since Seinfeld ended it's long and popular run over 10 years ago, I have yet to find another sitcom to equal its brilliance. Of course, I've watched less and less T.V. since that time, as my humble beginnings as an internet dweller began almost simultaneously with the conclusion of that series. While I had never been a particularly stalwart fan of Jerry Seinfeld's stand up performances prior to the show's premiere, he grew on me with every passing season. But it was the supporting cast of characters that made the show and grabbed all the best moments -- a tribute to the humility and lack of ego of Seinfeld himself, perhaps.

Despite my belief that the writing was on a level that far exceeded most T.V. sitcoms -- and a majority of big screen comedy's, for that matter -- the number of people who just didn't warm-up to Seinfeld never perplexed me to a large degree. Awhile back, a friend explained that she couldn't get into the show because she just couldn't work up any empathy for any of the characters. That I understand, as I couldn't either; however, that's never been a requirement for me when it came to bonding with television characters.

Granted, I would not want to spend any time in real life around Jerry, George Costanza, Kramer, or Elaine -- at least by the mid point of the series, and definitely not by the final season. In the beginning they were just merely a little neurotic and slightly emotionally arrested. By the end of the run, they were totally vacuous, self absorbed, and occasionally, downright nasty. At the end of season seven, when George's fiancee Susan dies as a result of the toxins she ingests from licking dozens of cheap wedding invitation envelopes, the lack of emotion shown by the cast as the doctor delivers the news made even me cringe.

As Shallow as these characters began, had they "drained too much out of the pool" as Elaine once commented about Jerry's character? Perhaps, so. The series finale, which I found somewhat disappointing when it first aired, brought 9 seasons worth of the characters that were unfortunate enough to be come in contact with Jerry, George, Kramer, and Elaine's bizarre, insular universe. In the end, after being convicted of breaking a Good Samaritan law, they sit in the jail cell still carrying on their trivial banter. After digesting the episode a second time, I found it an apt closure to psychoanalyze -- and assassinate -- the cast in such an inventive fashion.

Initially, it was the realism of the dialog and everyday situations that was particularly endearing. But by the final seasons, that realism blended with almost surreal story lines. For instance, when Kramer installed Frank Costanza's old screen door on his apartment entrance to capture a slice of small town America, complete with hanging plants and lawn furniture -- it was brilliantly quirky. As the characters grew more void of redeeming qualities and humanity, the plot lines grew more divorced from the real world. Jerry and his companions seemed to be living entirely in their own universe, governed by their own bizarre laws and standards, while at the same time retaining a generous amount of relatability.

Being able to connect with a show's characters from a human stand point had long been one of the cardinal rules of television dramas and comedies. The character's could be nasty or obnoxious, but had to have some likable qualities. Carla Tortelli of "Cheers", and Dan Fielding of "Night Court" are perfect examples of objectionable characters who pushed the audience to the brink of disgust one moment, then shifted gears with one of those "warm and fuzzy" sitcom moments that exposed their human side. No, Seinfeld had none of those warm and tender moments -- nada! Being the part time curmudeon I am, it's another of the reasons I loved the series so much.

After year's of being brought to the brink of nausea by such saccharine T.V. scenes, I found Seinfeld's lack of pathos refreshing. What you were left with was seriously funny, edgy -- dark at times -- comedy. Certainly, we could all connect with the characters, though; the observational humor was marvelously astute. Terms like "close talker", "low talker", "bad breaker upper", for just a sampling, are references with which we could all identify. These phrases became a part of the Seinfeld aficionado's lexicon.

Obviously taste in humor accounts for another large percentage of those who were not take with Seinfeld -- the gags could be crude, sophomoric, and tasteless, to say the least. That's never bothered me if such humor is well crafted, though. So I'll keep on watching the reruns, over an over, probably until I'm a very old man. And I won't miss those those warm, fuzzy feelings one bit.

Samuel L. Jackson Reads 'Go the Fuck to Sleep'

Yeah, you know you've uttered these words, so don't deny it. It's how your kids turned into the potty mouths they are.

The Adam Mansbach mock children's book, Go the Fuck to Sleep, obviously strikes a chord in a great number of parents, out there. It debuted on the NYT bestseller list, after all.

Honestly, who is better suited to recite the volume than one Samuel L. Jackson? When it comes to spewing expletives onscreen, nobody does it with more panache and conviction.

Moron in Florida Bans Casey Anthony Jurors from Restaurant

Now I know one restaurant to avoid if I ever find myself in Clearwater, Florida. John McClure, owner of Skyline Chili, put up a sign in the window of his dining establishment expressing his disapproval of the Casey Anthony verdict, by banning all members of the Pinellas County jury.

What a wonderful way to get a little cheap publicity, as well as show a complete lack of respect for anyone who has ever taken on difficult task of serving on a jury.

May your pressure cooker explode, Mr. McClure, and plaster your ignorant face with the gastrointestinal nightmare you serve your customers.

Funny or Die Spoofs NFL Lockout

The hilarious folks at Funny or Die have some seriously high production values for their short videos. This time they take on (I could "tackle" for a a cheesy pun, but then I'd need a shower) the four month long NFL lockout.

The spoof is wrapped around the 1989 film, Field of Dreams . If you haven't seen the film, I'm too lazy to explain the plot to you. That's the kind of mood I'm in, today. Go to Netflix, maybe they have it available for streaming.

Lots of high profile sports and Hollywood celebrities feature prominently. Watch it. It's worth three minutes of your time. And even if it isn't...well, it's only three minutes of your time.

Field of Dreams 2: NFL Lockout with Taylor Lautner from Taylor Lautner

Brief Thoughts on the Casey Anthony Verdict from a Cold, Dead Fish

If you go by the outrage currently enveloping the internet, it would seem my lack of shock over the Casey Anthony trial puts me in the minority. Perhaps it's because I didn't have much of an emotional investment in the outcome -- that's to say I didn't watch the long, drawn out spectacle on television, nor did I follow it particularly closely in the news. In fact, it was only the last couple of days that I caught up with all evidence and conjecture presented over the past weeks. The smoking gun, forensically speaking, just wasn't there. I didn't see how they could possibly convict the woman.

So, my opinion came from what I learned from reading a few articles -- no videos of testimony to tug at my heart strings.

I won't even tell you whether or not I believe she was guilty. It's not relevant. The judicial system has cleared of the murder, manslaughter, and child abuse charges. Next big story, please.

Yeah, you're thinking I'm a cold fish -- dead inside. Maybe. Or perhaps I'm just so sick of all the media manipulation of our emotions that I refuse to let anything that thoroughly monopolizes the news have crack at stirring up my innards.

Kind of like when I used to jokingly proclaim that I refuse to laugh at commercials because that's exactly what they want me to do. Geico ads are the hardest. It helps to jab myself in the thigh repeatedly with a cocktail fork.

I'm sorry that a 2-year-old was brutally murdered, of course. If the mother is guilty, may she be the harsh recipient of a swift dose of Karma. But I'm sick of phony outrage from journalistic hacks like Nancy Grace and everyone else who enjoys that sort of hyper emotional style of reporting.

Another Rage Against Flip Flops

I've written on this before.  But with summer in full swing,  I thought it was time for another rant on my least favorite fashion trend of all time:   flip flop sandals.   

Now that I've established that my feet don't take kindly to a web of fabric being wedged between my toes -- and that I honestly don't like shoes that  announces my arrival with annoying sounds -- it's time to take it to the next level with a campaign to wipe out the acceptance of this abomination parading as footwear in all business establishments.  Aside from the home and beach,   they really have no place in decent society. 

As a culture, we've already come to the conclusion that bare feet are not socially acceptable in the marketplace.   And seeing that flip flops do not conceal the often grotesque human foot (hot women are excluded from this assessment)  it would seem to me that a mere platform loosely attached to the bottom of this anatomical structure should not be, either.   

It's a double standard.      If you can't walk into an Olive Garden in bare feet,  you shouldn't be able to sit down, scarf down a plate of Pasta Pomodoro, with exposed nail fungus, bunions, and subject the entire establishment to possible noxious fumes. 

Once again, hot women with perfect feet please ignore my comments.    Now that I think about it, perhaps there's another solution to this dilemma.    How about allowing both bare, and flip flop adorned feet,  in restaurants and shopping venues, if they are able to pass a foot inspection at the door.      After a visual assessment is made, preferably by a licensed podiatrist,  the acid test for gaining entry would be smell.     Similar to drug sniffing canines,  small dogs could be trained to hone in on any pair of feet emitting odors that are even remotely unpleasant. 

Sure, you're probably thinking I'm crazy, and that there are plenty of other sandals styles that expose nearly as much of the foot as flip flops.      Am I in favor of banning those, also?   Nahhh.    In reality, what this is really all about is that I hate any mass fashion trend that doesn't  suit me, personally, and am prone to spend to let loose long winded insane, tedious, worthless rants for no other reason  than to get it off my chest.     I'm also prone to composing the occasional run-on sentence when I get in these moods.

I feel all better now.