Joel Murphy

We all remember the ad campaigns. Alec Baldwin, Denis Leary and Seth McFarlane all revealed to us that they were secretly part of an alien race (a badly CGI-ed alien race not above whoring out for commercials, but I digress) who were stocking Hulu with an endless supply of TV shows in order to turn our brains to mush so that they could eat them.

However, the site’s billing as a one-stop shop for all of your television needs is a bit misleading. Restrictions from the networks on what content is available on the site and for how long have kept Hulu from living up to its brain-melting promise. Networks are still struggling to figure out how to deal with this newfangled Internet and its effect on how people watch television, so they aren’t comfortable giving their shows away for free online in a timely and convenient manner. I think it’s unfortunate though and it misses the bigger picture.

Due to tough economic times, I have been forced to embrace a more Amish lifestyle these days. I haven’t had to churn butter on street corners to make extra cash just yet, but I have had to look for ways to cut spending. One of the causalities of my thriftiness was my DVR. That means I only have two choices when it comes to keeping up on my favorite shows – watch them when they air or watch them online.

Now obviously, the networks would prefer that I watch their shows live. (Well, technically, they don’t really care if I watch or not, since I don’t have one of those Nielsen boxes on my TV, so there is no way of tracking my viewing habits for rating’s purposes.) Their livelihood depends on ratings – the ratings their shows garner determine how much they can charge for commercials during a given time slot. Sure, they run a 30-second ad on every commercial break on Hulu, but that money is nothing compared to what they are getting for 30-second spots in primetime.

Normally, this isn’t really an issue for me. Like I said, I’m trying to save money these days, so it’s not like I’m going out on the town every weeknight. I can usually sit in front of my TV and watch shows as they air. However, from time to time my school work or the occasional spur of the moment hookers and blow bender crops up and I am forced to turn to Hulu to catch the shows I’ve missed.

Now, in a perfect world, if I missed an episode of House or Psych or Sons of Anarchy, I could simply pop onto Hulu the next day and watch it. But, since the networks want to discourage me from watching online, these shows are released on the site on an eight-day delay. Now, in their mind, this move will convince me to always watch the show when it airs, but in reality it has the opposite effect. Because I have now missed one episode, I can’t watch the following week’s episode when it airs seven days later because I’m a week behind. And because every single episode is aired on this eight-day delay, I never get caught up. So if I miss the premiere, suddenly instead of simply watching one show on my computer, I am forced to watch all 12 or 22 episodes of that season on Hulu.

As I mentioned before, the other problem is in how many episodes the network makes available online at any given time. Over the summer, I was starved for entertainment, so I ended up raiding my brother’s DVD shelf and borrowing his How I Met Your Mother box sets. I was instantly hooked. I ended up plowing through the first three seasons in less than two weeks.

The problem was that season four of the show had just ended and wasn’t out on DVD yet. I went online to catch up, but CBS only had the last three episodes of the season available on their website (full episodes of How I Met Your Mother aren’t actually available on Hulu, only clips). I guess they wanted to force people to buy the DVDs to catch up, but thanks to horrible planning on their part, the season four box set was released yesterday, two weeks after the fifth season’s premiere.

So now I’m in a position where I have to rush through the season four box set while season five is going on. Presumably, if I don’t finish season four quickly enough, they will pull the first episode of season five off of their website and once again, I will be an entire season behind with no way to catch up.

I know this all comes down to money. Like I said, the networks depend on ratings to make money and they are terrified the Internet is going to ruin everything. And perhaps it will. The web has already changed the way we watch TV and the networks really aren’t sure how to adapt. Someday a change is going to come and things will be completely restructured. But until that day, they should work with the Internet instead of against it.

I’ve always believed that the best approach is to simply put out the best product you can. If you provide something people want to see, they will find you. People will watch your show live on TV if they enjoy it. The people who only watch your shows online are going to find a way to do it no matter what. Even if you don’t provide content to Hulu, they will still find an illegal site that streams your shows or they will download the torrent. They will find a way.

Meanwhile, you are screwing over people like me who would actually watch your shows on television if you work with me. I don’t particularly like watching shows on a tiny, grainy computer monitor or having a scene abruptly stop whenever the strength of my connection dips down too low. I have a beautiful high def TV that I would love to be using more.

So get rid of the eight-day delays and make full seasons available online. ABC already does this – you can watch every single episode of Lost on their website right now (and their video player is even better than Hulu’s). And NBC does this to some degree – they make shows like The Office and Chuck available the day after they air, but they don’t make all of the previous seasons available online. Everyone else should follow suit.

And, if I am completely wrong and making your shows available online ends up bankrupting you, I promise to set you all up with lucrative careers churning butter on street corners.

Joel Murphy is the creator of HoboTrashcan, which is probably why he has his own column. He loves pugs, hates Jimmy Fallon and has an irrational fear of robots. You can contact him at murphyslaw@hobotrashcan.com.

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Aaron R. Davis

By now you may have heard that new cast member Jenny Slate accidentally said the word “fucking” in her very first Saturday Night Live.

One of the more immediately ridiculous aspects of American culture is our fear of the power of mere words. Sure, we like to boast about how brave we are as a nation, but the mere utterance of the word “fuck” on television sends a cold fear through society that’s usually reserved for health scares, terror alerts and talk of a new Uwe Boll movie. And not only is it hilarious, it’s also completely hypocritical.

Honestly, how shocked are we by the word “fuck”? I’d say not very much. We’ve all heard it. We’ve all used it – hell, I use it in front of my mother. We heard our parents say it when we were kids. The only shock to the word now is hearing it out of context, like, in this case, on late night television. And even then, why does anyone care? Everyone’s heard it. Why do we still pretend that it’s offensive – and worse, dangerous?

I think it’s worth pointing out that Slate’s slip of the tongue came in the middle of a sketch called “Biker Chick Talk” or something, in which the word “frickin’” was being tossed around. So it’s not like she screamed it at a bunch of kindergarteners, or anything; she simply slipped and used the actual word instead of the word that was being used as a substitute for it. That alone makes the mini-fervor over her mistake doubly annoying.

Yes, how dare Jenny Slate say “fuckin’” instead of a euphemism that’s being used as a stand-in for the word, anyway? If this were really a forbidden word that caused the brain of any child to melt upon hearing it, we wouldn’t be able to use words like “freaking,” “fricking” and “effing” that are clearly meant to be the same word on television, would we? You think kids don’t know what your clever ruse is hiding?

And for that matter, what kid is up watching Saturday Night Live at 12:40 AM Eastern? When I was a young and impressionable kid, I wasn’t even allowed to watch SNL because it was “too grown-up” (and check any of the other sketches that aired this weekend, like the bit with the naked Transformer or Kenan Thompson simulating sexual positions with Megan Fox). Any kid watching the show at that point probably has parents who don’t care if their kid hears a swear word. It’s not like kids don’t hear it on the playground or from their angry parents, anyway.

It’s worth pointing out that the FCC probably isn’t going to fine SNL because the slip occurred so far outside of prime time. It’s also worth pointing out that the word “fuck” is permitted on the air in Canada during overnight hours. So once again, we’re behind the rest of the world in our supposed sophistication. As if it weren’t ridiculous enough to see grown adults reporting on this story using silly euphemisms like “F-bomb” and “the F word,” apparently with straight faces. Just typing those terms right now made me feel infantile.

It’s also worth pointing out that I heard the words “penis slot” used as a noun on SNL. I wasn’t offended by it, but it was a grosser use of the English language.

And it’s even worth pointing out this list of 10 other occasions when this has happened on SNL. It’s not even a new moment of shock, assuming you’re one of the ten people left who really think it’s shocking.

I think if people want to focus on the real problem with Saturday Night Live’s 35th season premiere, it’s that it was thuddingly unfunny. Like, even for Saturday Night Live it was unfunny. That “Biker Chick” sketch was painful, and Slate’s mistake was the only exciting moment in the whole thing. The overrated and odious Megan Fox (who just proved with Jennifer’s Body that she can’t open a movie on her own) didn’t do anything funny, terrified of moving away from the “generic hot chick” comfort zone. Tired old-hat musical “stalwarts” U2 wheezed anciently around the stage, bringing to mind all of those old jokes about how the Rolling Stones are too old to keep on touring. Nothing funny happened; Jenny Slate should be thanked for providing the only moment of real energy.

Lorne Michaels has said that he’s not going to punish Slate for her mistake; that “the pain that Jenny is going through is, I’m sure, considerably worse than that experienced by anybody who saw it.” But really, didn’t she do her career a huge favor? She’s brand new to Saturday Night Live, and she just immortalized herself as “the new girl who accidentally swore.” She’s already got an identity and recognition with the audience. Instead of languishing in the background for a year like most new cast members, she’s made her name already.

Jenny Slate makes her name, Saturday Night Live gets in the news for more than just a terrible premiere and op-ed pundits like me get another opportunity to expound on our hatred for the seemingly arbitrary rules of society that only exist to instill inside us a deep and crippling fear of who we actually are.

Everybody wins!

Aaron R. Davis lives in a cave at the bottom of the ocean with his eyes shut tight and his fingers in his ears. You can contact him at samuraifrog@yahoo.com.

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Courtney Enlow

This past weekend, I, for the first time ever, honored an age old tradition in mating and celebration. A classic expression of the intrapersonal dichotomy between social status and propriety. For the first time in my life, I went clubbing.

Raise the roof, my bitches.

Before I begin on this word journey, I want to explicitly point out that I am in no way referring to the group of revellers with whom I visited said club as assholes. Quite the contrary. Because there are three types of people who attend clubs: the curious, the arm-up gyrators and the asshole. Let’s explore. But first, a tutorial, based on one experience in one club. That is the extent of the experiment, because that’s all I required, and my conclusions are irrefutable.

When you arrive at “da club” as they call it in da clubz, you gather at various points around some manner of red rope thing. In theory, there is an area where a line should be forming, but there appear to be only thirty people in said line. The other one hundred ninety are encircled around the opening. Though they will at some point be ushered into the aforementioned line, years of scientific study has never proven why no one starts in the line. Once you reach the front of the line, you are asked to pay a really large cover fee. Then there is a haggle of some sort, and your money is returned (variables: being female of gender, having at least one member of the group who is a police officer and can bust out her badge).

After all this, you go inside and realize that TV and movies really kind of always got it right. It’s very loud and dark, though there appear to be all kinds of lights all over the place. There are mostly-naked lady go-go dancers on boxes being largely ignored by attendees, save for your the non-dancing pinned pupil guys with waxen complexions sitting alone in the dark (this will be discussed further in “the asshole” section later in this article). You then experience this interesting bit of insanity known as “bottle service.” I’d heard the term before, but never really knew what it meant. Honestly, I thought “bottle service” was what happens when you go to Magic Kitchen and bring your own wine and they offer to unscrew the cork for you. Apparently I was incorrect. Actual bottle service is ridiculous.

How much is a bottle of Ketel One? I’m pretty sure a fifth is like thirty bucks. A fifth of Captain is another thirty. Six or seven for four small Tropicana bottles of orange juice, two bucks for two carafes of Coke (the drink, not the powdery substance – that’ll cost you extra) and maybe another buck-fifty for a carafe of cranberry juice. Throw in some sliced lemons and limes, I’d guess that this tray was maybe a hundred bucks. Pricey, but makes sense.

Again, I’m so wrong. SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS. Holy fucking tap dance shit.

Apparently, the brunt of the charge is to pay for your table’s own personal waitress. Fun fact: every restaurant I’ve been to has offered me a table with a waitress. When I heard how much the bill was, I wondered at which point someone received several blow jobs. Because six hundred dollars for this girl to appear at our table every half hour or so and fashion someone a drink (and get tongue raped by the wasted girl at the next table) would just be silly. If you’re going to spend six hundred dollars in one night, you better get to wear it.

I don’t want to appear in anyway ungrateful towards the individuals who paid for this evening, because it sure as shit wasn’t me. I had a very fun time. It was certainly a learning experience, and not just a learning experience in the way of “if we’re paying this chick, quit making your own rum and Coke.”

The revelation that clubs are dens of bland sticky iniquity was not exactly earth-shattering. Not like finding out that the guy who played Niles on The Nanny wasn’t really British. I mean, that shit blew my mind. This was more along the lines of “Lindsay Lohan may not be 100 percent sober”. But I learned something else. I learned that club goers are not merely your standard Ed Hardy-wearing douchebags and the girls with visible labias who love them. They are so much more.

The Three Types You’ll Find At Clubs

The Curious
The curious type is easily spotted, but can just as easily be confused with the assholes. Tread lightly. The curious type rarely ventures away from their group and give themselves away via their dancing. Their dancing tends to be small, much like their ever waning interest in the path they’ve chosen for that evening. They are often underdressed and checking their phones/texting. When the curious disappear into a bathroom stall for an extended period of time in pairs, they are not doing what the other types are doing. Rather, they are simply on the phone or talking about boys. When asked how they enjoyed their evening, they will respond with “it was good,” to be said in the exact same tone they used when asked their feelings regarding the movie Idiocracy the first time they saw it and were mildly disappointed.

The Arm-Up Gyrators
When the curious become comfortable, they can easily shift into the AUG, or Augies, as I’d call them if I actually used these terms I just made up. The Augies are generally female. They hit the dance floor, the only people out there not air-humping to attract a mate. In fact, if approached, potential partners will be met with a terse glance and closed off body language. They are out there to dance, and you need to get off their jock, buddy.

The Asshole(s)
Like most things in the annals of “Things Assholes Like”, enjoyment is not limited to assholes. But like all things in the annals of “Things Assholes Like,” boy howdy do assholes love it the most.

Also, like most, these assholes come in many flavors (ew). We have the aforementioned pinned-pupil creepster. Our lurky friend has recently discovered that the liberal application of a fine white powder from the hills of Colombia to one’s nose can make them feel very attractive to women. This in no way makes them attractive to women, but they genuinely feel that it does, and it’s the thought that counts. They will stare at you in that way that makes you keep looking back three or four times, and on the fourth time you lock eyes with them, you finally become so uncomfortable that you have to move to a different spot behind a taller friend so they can no longer see you. To the creepy, this is foreplay. You minx you.

There’s also the grindy air-sexing ladies in the scant dresses. They are sad and daddy did not love them. They will most likely have sad weepy sex with Creepy McStareslots above, then pray he’ll call again soon. They’re all aspiring models working at Bebe to pay for headshots, most of which are ass shots, ironically.

Of course the classic club assholes are the rich over-gelled douchebags. They will pass you, wipe their hand across your back, and offer you a pre-made drink. If I have to tell you not to take it, then sorry, but you’ve already had to be carried out of a bar on your friend’s shoulder because you mysteriously passed out. Theses are the guys who pay the six hundred dollar bottle service fee every week, and will continue to do so until they are finally arrested for embezzlement / killing hookers and taking their money / selling coke to the creepy dudes.

In summation, I have not been swayed and still prefer the kind of bars where they play more than forty-five seconds of a good song before it launches into a hyper synthesized version of “Ridin’ Dirty.”

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

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After 40 years in the business and more than 100 films under his belt, to say that Malcolm McDowell has had a long and successful career would be an understatement. The charismatic star of classic films like A Clockwork Orange and Caligula has most recently found himself doing voiceover work for shows like Metalocalypse and playing Daniel Linderman on the hit series Heroes.

Last year, we caught up with McDowell to discuss his distinguished career, his golf game and how it feels to play the role of the villain.

If you missed it then, here is a second chance:
http://www.hobotrashcan.com/2008/10/02/one-on-one-with-malcolm-mcdowell/

Hobo Stu

Hello everyone,

Kelly Stables comes across as such a sweetheart in her interview on the site this week. It’s hard to believe that she gave me nightmares for months because of her role in The Ring 2. In fact, she’s so adorable that I can’t even hold it against her that she is the reason I still sleep with a nightlight and refuse to pop any unlabeled VHS tapes into my VCR.

And, on a completely unrelated note – is it just me, or would “Tinkerbell with knockers” be a great name for an all-girl rock band?

Here’s what’s new on HoboTrashcan.com this week:

One on One with Kelly Stables
If you were placing bets on how the warm and bubbly Kelly Stables would get her big break in Hollywood, chances are you wouldn’t have guessed “playing a creepy little girl who attacks Naomi Watts in a bathtub.” But thanks to legendary makeup artist Rick Baker, who helped her land the role of “evil” Samara in The Ring 2, that’s exactly how it happened.

Luckily, Stables has found a role closer to her cheerful personality on the hit show Two and a Half Men. She plays Alan Harper’s girlfriend Melissa, who has been described as “Tinkerbell with knockers.”

Stables recently talked to us about breaking into the business, working with Charlie Sheen and John Cryer and her “make-me-pee-my-pants-if-it-ever-came-true” dream.

Murphy’s Law – Jay Leno, a study in mediocrity
Jay Leno’s new primetime talk show faced its first real competition this week. Joel Murphy takes a look at how the show did against CSI: Miami and Castle and speculates on what Leno’s ratings might mean for the future of his show.

Positive Cynicism – Giving credit where credit isn’t due
When movie studios and bands like Metallica get upset because their intellectual property is stolen, it’s one thing. But when the intellectual property thieves complain that someone stole their bootlegs without crediting them, it’s just ridiculous. Aaron R. Davis takes a look at this bizarre phenomenon.

Guest Blog Post – Some things never change
Guest blogger Rich Lovatt recently overheard a young boy arguing with his mom over whether his Star Wars toys were dolls or action figures, which reminded Lovatt of his own childhood, where many similar conversations took place.

Finish That Fortune 4
We provide you with the first half of a real fortune from a fortune cookie and it’s up to you to fill in the blank (and you can’t just write “in bed”). Every week, we will pick the funniest response. You won’t actually win a prize, but you will get the satisfaction of knowing that you are better than everyone else. And your name will be printed here on the site, so that others may bask in your glory.

From the Vault – One on One with Robert Wisdom
Maj. Howard “Bunny” Colvin traveled down an interesting road on HBO’s critically-acclaimed drama, The Wire. In season three, he legalized drugs in Western Baltimore in what became known as Hamsterdam. In season four, he attempted to radically reform the flawed Baltimore school system.

It’s fitting that the man who plays Bunny, Robert Wisdom, lives life a bit off the beaten path – finding his way to Hollywood after stops in Jamacia, D.C., New York and London. Fortunately for us, in 2006, as season four was getting underway, he slowed down long enough to sit down and talk about life on the road less traveled. If you missed the interview then, here’s a second chance to enjoy it.

- Hobo Stu

Hobo Stu’s Weekly Recap is also available as an email newsletter. To sign up for the newsletter to ensure you never miss an update, send an email to newsletter-subscribe@hobotrashcan.com.