The Daily Paragraph -- The Human Canvas Jury

I've mentioned the past that I'm a fan of the reality tattoo competition showe Ink Master. It's overwrought and ridiculous, but the competitors do appear to be genuinely talented artists, and the judges clearly take their roles seriously -- a little too seriously. One element of the show is clearly there just to create tension: the Human Canvas Jury. This is the panel of tattooees who received free permanent art work on their bodies during the challenge (probably after signing a pretty impressive legal waiver relinquishing any right to sue for dissatisfaction with the final product). They gather in an isolated room after all the needlework is done to decide who received the worst tattoo of the day. The responsible competitor becomes eligible for elimination in front of the judges shortly thereafter. This season, the Ink Master production team added a nice little wrinkle to the process. This time around, the "canvas" with the worst tattoo gets to come to the judges' discussion to confront their artist before the final elimination. It's a nice little touch of drama, which always makes for good TV, but here's the thing -- it's totally pointless. The judges don't really care what the Human Canvas Jury thinks. If they disagree with the jury, the selected artist is definitely safe. If the jury truly selects the artist most deserving of elimination, you can bet the judges would have booted him or her anyway. Here's my suggestion of how to tweak the system a little to make the Human Canvas Jury a little more relevant, and I think it would make for good TV, too. Instead of having the judges make the final decision, have them nominate the bottom artists and let the jury decide who packs up shop and leaves. It only makes sense, right? They are a JURY, after all. I think this approach would be great. The judges could make the case for why each bottomfeeder deserves to go home in front of the jury before they're all sequestered for deliberation. What do you think, Dave Navarro? It's a great idea, right? If you use it, I don't even need any money, but some kind of producer credit would be nice.

The Daily Paragraph -- Rock Band Name Scoring

I'm an advocate for aesthetically pleasing band names, but it's hard to define exactly what the criteria are that define that. So here's an attempt at a scoring system that might make the rules a little clearer. Let's see how it goes.

1. Part of speech: 5 points for noun (1 bonus point for being plural), 3 points for adjective, 2 points for verb, 1 point for anything else. 
2. Number of syllables: 5 points for 3 or fewer syllables, 3 points 4 or 5 syllables, 1 point for 6 to 8 syllables, 0 points for 9 or more syllables (a "the" at the beginning of the band name doesn't count in the total)
3. Originality: 5 points if there is no other well-known band name similar to it, 3 points if there are one or two other bands with names somewhat similar, 0 points for unoriginal band names
4. Additional points:
1. Add 1 point for using one of the colors red, black, or white (using two colors does not add more points)
2. Add 2 points for alliteration or assonance
3. Add 3 points good use of rare consonants (q, k, z, v, j)
4. Add 5 points for coolness
5. Deductions:
1. Subtract 3 points for each of the following: pretentiousness, cutesiness (unless properly balanced edginess), and self-importance
2. Subtract three points for obnoxious/incorrect use of rare consonants
3. Subtract one point for puns and nonsense words (sorry Beatles, this means you)

Okay, let's see how this works out with some examples:

The Rolling Stones get a 21 (plural noun, 6 points; 3 syllables not including "the", 5 points; originality is hard to judge here, let's give them 3 points; 2 points for assonance; and 5 points for coolness; no deductions). Pretty good! Seems appropriate.

Imagine Dragons get a 3 (1 point for being an imperative sentence; 3 points for 5 syllables; I don't feel like the deserve any originality points; 2 points for assonance for the long a sounds; minus 3 points for unbalanced cutesiness). Maybe a little harsh, but I agree, Imagine Dragons is not a good band name.

Here are some more, just for kicks:
The White Stripes  -- 19 points
The Jam -- 21 points
Hootie and the Blowfish -- 7 points
Nickelback -- 10 points
The Red Hot Chili Peppers -- 10 points

Well, I dunno. I wish Nickelback got a lower score because the suck so bad, but maybe the band name itself isn't entirely to blame.

I think the system could use some tweaking, but it's a start.

The Daily Paragraph -- What am I watching?

TV. I like it -- probably too much -- but it can't be helped. It's so much better now than it was in the 1980s, and I watched a lot of TV then, too. I can't imagine myself anxiously anticipating new episodes of Night Court today, and yet I loved that show 30 years ago. Loved, loved , loved it! Or maybe I just had the hots for Markie Post. But since that time, actually funny shows have kicked the tar out Night Court humor-wise. And action dramas? Holy crap! I used to get charged up over Knight Rider. It's embarrassing just thinking about that.

So what am I watching these days?

I try to keep my Reality TV limited, but I do indulge. I favor skills competition shows, and these days I watch would-be special effects make-up artists conjure up cool creatures on Face Off, and I watch testosterone-addled tatooists permanently alter people referred to as "canvases" on Ink Master. When Top Chef rolls around, I watch that, too.

With the finales of Breaking Bad and Mad Men in the past couple years, I'm down to one serial drama -- Better Call Saul. I have to keep these type of shows to a minimum, though. They're too stressful. I literally lose sleep over them. I think watching The Wire may have speed up my male pattern baldness and taken a year off my life. Season four of that show? Torture! Anyway, I've decided I'm not going to get sucked into Game of Thrones or Walking Dead. My heart can't take it any more.

Half-hour comedies are really my bread and butter, and the ends of shows like 30 Rock, Parks and Recreation, and How I Meet Your Mother have left me looking for replacements. I can't tell if Community is really over, but I would definitely watch more if Dan Harmon decided to make more episodes (or a movie). As far as I know, New Girl is coming back for another season. I like how that show transitioned from quirky cuteness to occasionally raunchy wackballitude. God bless Tina Fey for picking right up where she left off with 30 Rock by creating The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. And Will Forte has definitely earned my attention with The Last Man on Earth (and good for him for hooking up with January Jones in the process).

Apparently, I'm also a sucker for cartoons with title characters voiced by H. Jon Benjamin, too, as I enjoy both Archer and Bob's Burgers tremendously.

The internet age of scripted television has brought out some other good stuff that I'll watch as long as no one tries to charge me too much to see it. Duckie and I are both happy that The Mindy Project has apparently found a post-Fox home on Hulu, and if Mitchell Hurwitz decides to make more Arrested Development for Netflix, I'll certainly watch it. I also really like Catastrophe on Amazon, and I look forward to more of that, too.

Comedy Central always seems to have something worth putting on your DVR, whether it's Key & Peele, Inside Amy Schumer, Broad City, or Drunk History. I'm even thinking of giving Another Period a second look (I like the cast a lot).

See, there's plenty of good stuff to watch, and I'm always hearing about new shows I want to check out. But in the end it doesn't matter. Ultimately, I know that I'll watch whatever is on -- except maybe the reruns of Rules of Engagement that WGN America is always playing. I don't even understand why that show got airplay in the first place.

The Daily Paragraph -- Unwanted Bills

For the second time in about two and a half years, we received a single greasy dollar bill in the mail in an envelope with no return address. Last time I didn't think much about it, but Duckie was pretty freaked out.  My rationale was that a friend sent us the money to compensate us for feeding a parking meter on his behalf.  Receiving the second dollar in the same fashion pretty much put a knife in the heart of that little fantasy. I decided not to take any chances this time. I opened the letter in the backyard wearing a pair of disposable nitrile gloves, and once I confirmed the contents (one dollar, no note) I crumpled everything up and tossed it in the trash. If this whole exercise is a joke to somebody, I don't get it. If it's a game, I don't know the rules, and I don't want to play. If it's a mistake, well, it's weird and I still don't get it. The final option is that we're the beneficiaries of the oddly generous actions of  a nut job. In any case, I'd like it to stop.

Daily Paragraph -- Some Dogs Names

Some dogs I have known: Squeaky, Whiskey, Kahlua, Phoebe, Belle, AJ, Barney, Fletch, Bailey, Nugget, Cooper, Toby, Meekah, Dilan, Murphy, Kaya, Puff, Duke, Archie, Eliza, Eddie, Jasper ...wow! I'm really surprised that's all I can think up. I know there were lots of others, but I just can't think of their names. I guess friends' pets' names are just one of those things you lose as you get older.

Daily Paragraph -- Ending Up in Stitches

By the time you've reached your forties, chances are good you've had stitches a few times depending on how accident prone or unlucky you've been. I can think of four sets of stitches I've had in my lifetime. I think that's a pretty low number, especially for someone who spent a number of years being a teenage boy.

My first set of stitches resulted from a yardwork accident in 1989. I was trimming some hedges with a set of electric clippers that had once belonged to my grandmother. It wasn't equipped with any of those fancy-schmancy safety switches that folks are so fond of these days. If you turned on the clippers and then let go with one hand, they just kept running. They were generally indifferent to what you then did with that free hand. And the clippers didn't come with any of them protective guards, either. If you recklessly let your free had drift toward chattering blades, you wound up with a chunk of your index finger popping out of the skin like a lump of bloody meatloaf. And that's what happened to me. A mostly pointless trip to the Penfield Volunteer Ambulance followed by an off-hours trip to see Dr. Nazarian later, and I had my first set of stitches.

My second set of stitches resulted from my wisdom tooth extractions when I was 19. I had all four taken out at once, and per standard practice, the gum holes were sewn up afterward. I think those stitches all dissolved, so maybe they don't count.

My third set of stitches were needed to close up a slice in my forehead I received by bumping into jagged wall of rock in a gorge in Ithaca one summer during college. I was edging my way up a waterfall when it happened. It was shocking at the time. I thought I gently tapped the wall, but when I reached up to check on it, I ended up with a handful of blood. The total stitch count was low, but I was still surprised that I needed them at all.

The last set of stitches came from a lab accident at Exelixis more than a decade ago. It was classic glassware handling mistake. Any smart chemist will tell you never to use too much force to connect two pieces of glassware together or pull them apart. I forgot that one day and ended up with a nice little laceration in my thumb. Again, not a lot of stitches but enough to drive the lesson home. It could have been worse, though; I knew I guy in grad school who severed a tendon with a similar lapse in caution.

All told, I've been lucky, stitch-wise. I'm not going to tempt fate by speculating future sutures (hey that rhymes!).

Daily Paragraph -- Rumplestiltskin Redux

The following is a story I told my son today. He made me tell it three times, each time interrupting more frequently for different embellishments. The bedtime version was fundamentally incomprehensible. Anyway, here's a moderately coherent telling for your perusal:

Theo was five years old, and he rode the bus every day to kindergarten. One day, Theo met a small man in a green suit on the bus. The man told Theo his name was Rumplestiltskin and that he was a leprechaun.

"What do leprechauns do?" asked Theo.

"We hide treasure," Rumplestiltskin answered.

"Can you tell me where you hid some?" asked Theo.

"Oh no, I can't do that. That would be cheating," Rumplestiltskin answered.

Theo decided that he was going to try to guess where Rumplestiltskin might have hidden some treasure. He noticed that the little man had pamphlet from the Upper Noe Recreation Center in his pocket and that his shoes were covered with sand. Theo connected the dots and said, "I think you buried some treasure in the sand box at Upper Noe Rec Center."

"I can neither confirm or deny that," said Rumplestiltskin. "But I can tell you that if you find some of my treasure, you have to share it, or it will disappear."

After school, Theo convinced his dad to take him to the Rec Center, and they started digging away in the sand box. All the other kids in the playground thought they were crazy, except for one boy who decided to help.

After a few hours of digging, Theo heard a clunk as he jabbed his shovel down into the ground. He and his dad and the other boy cleared away some more sand and uncovered a big wooden box with the name Rumplestiltskin written on it in gold. Anxiously, they opened it up and found it was full of Rescuebots!

Theo was thrilled, and he wanted to take them all home for himself, but then remembered what Rumplestiltskin had said and realized he needed to share the toys so they wouldn't disappear. So, he gave one Rescuebot to the boy who helped him dig up the treasure, and the next day at school he gave most of the rest of the Rescuebots to his friends, keeping only one for himself.

Sure enough, the Rescuebots never disappeared, and Theo found that sharing them with others was more fun than hoarding them and playing alone anyway.

The End