Momo Fali's - Forget your troubles; come read about mine

The Ramifications Of The Writer’s Strike

posted by Momo Fali on February 13, 2008

The Writer’s Guild of America strike has officially ended, but because it went on so long the industry lost over $1 billion. In addition to the massive financial loss, there has been another travesty. American Gladiators has been renewed for a second season.

In case you haven’t watched it, the show is based on pairing gigantic ~~steroid-filled~~ men and women against average folks in tests of speed, power and agility. It is hosted by Hulk Hogan…

…and Laila Ali (that would be Muhammad’s daughter).

American Gladiator challenges are named things like, “Gauntlet”, “Assault”, “Hit and Run”, and “The Eliminator”. Sometimes the competitors prevail, but most of the time…well, let’s just say they’re lucky to be wearing helmets.

Just imagine competing against people with names like Titan, Stealth, Militia, Fury and Mayhem. Here are a couple of their bios…

This is a lovely Swede named Hellga. She’s a delicate lady coming in a 6’1”, and weighing 205 lbs. In her spare time she likes to make meatballs from scratch and split wood with her bare hands.

This is Wolf. He thinks he’s, well…a wolf. Really.

As if their massive size isn’t enough, the Gladiators attempt to intimidate the competitors by saying things like, “Crush is gonna CRUSH you”, or, “Venom has your lethal dose right here.”

The competitors often have snappy comebacks too.

Despite the tough talk, the producers try and throw the contestants off by dressing the men like women.

Thanks to the writer’s strike, and without new shows to air, NBC has declared American Gladiators a surprise hit. Apparently, the network executives didn’t consider that we just didn’t have anything else to watch.

filed under Ramblings, Reality TV

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This Doesn’t Bode Well For His Future Wife

posted by Momo Fali on February 12, 2008

18 comments

This is Wilson.

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Wilson is my son’s much-loved, torn and tattered “friend”. Their relationship began when my son and I used to wait at his sister’s soccer practices. I didn’t want him to feel left out watching all the other kids play, so I bought him his own ball. Within a short time, Wilson was going places with us, and my son started having conversations with him.

My boy would get out of bed in the morning, and before he would say a word to anyone else, he would greet his ball with a big hug and a jolly, “Ohhhh Wilson!” I’m not sure what this ball was saying to my kid, but apparently he’s quite a comedian. No person, place or thing could make my son laugh like Wilson.

But, not long ago, Wilson really started falling apart. His outer layer was peeling off and I was finding little bits of foam all over the house. I figured it was time to retire him to a top shelf somewhere. Someplace out of reach, but within view. The two of them would have to skip the long walks and holding hands, but they could continue their conversations, and still have some laughs.

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I thought this would be traumatic for my son. Wilson had become his best friend and I just knew he wasn’t going to like the idea. So, to ease the pain, I went out and bought a new soccer ball.

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Now, I don’t want to generalize and make comments about men or anything, but it was as if my five year old was going through a mid-life crisis. Because, when he saw the new, shiny, white ball…the younger, prettier model…he quickly handed me the beat up version and said, “This is the OLD Wilson. You can throw it in the trash..”