A friend sent me this defense of the now viral Olive Garden review by Marilyn Hagerty of the Grand Forks Herald:
I’m going to level with you: I love the Olive Garden. LOVE it. I love the Tuscany-by-way-of-Atlanta decor, I love their horrible Italian portmanteaus, I love that you can buy their unpalatable wine by the jug (I know this, because my friends and I split one on Valentine’s Day). I love that their corruption of lasagna is so far beyond the pale that it’s borderline transgressive.
The author, Julieanne Smolinski, spends valuable column inches defending Olive Garden, which is pointless because I don’t think anyone cares that much if she eats there (although she seems to care a great deal that we care). I also don’t dispute that Olive Garden is successful. That’s one of the reasons I found Hagerty’s column absurd: It’s similar to printing a review of a new Starbucks or McDonald’s. Olive Garden is a national chain with an extensive advertising reach. It doesn’t need Marilyn Hagerty or the Grand Forks Herald.
It’s possible the Grand Forks Herald’s readers don’t watch TV or have never set foot in an Olive Garden. However, any public interest would have been satisfied by a review half the size. Arguably, a “review” itself was unnecessary. A brief news blurb about the arrival of the restaurant would’ve been sufficient.
The article, regardless of its subject, was horribly written and edited. Or as Smolinski says, “The real issue is that Marilyn writes in a style we’re so unaccustomed to.” Yes, because it’s bad.
Smolinski would have us believe that “earnest” and “sincere” are synonymous with or a justification for incompetence. I disagree.
My booth was near the kitchen, and I watched the waiters in white shirts, ties, black trousers and aprons adorned with gold-colored towels. They were busy at midday, punching in orders and carrying out bread and pasta.
It had been a few years since I ate at the older Olive Garden in Fargo, so I studied the two manageable menus offering appetizers, soups and salads, grilled sandwiches, pizza, classic dishes, chicken and seafood and filled pastas.
At length, I asked my server what she would recommend. She suggested chicken Alfredo, and I went with that. Instead of the raspberry lemonade she suggested, I drank water.
This should’ve been edited down to “I ordered the chicken Alfredo.” If it was an especially slow news day, I might have allowed the overview of the menu. Although, she repeats it more concisely in the final paragraph.
The story I’m interested in is why Hagerty is even employed at this paper. I’ve read a few of her columns — including her “cheerful persons of the week” — and it’s like paying to sit next to a talkative elderly woman on a cross-country flight. Her piece about airline seating was similar to the five-hour-go-nowhere conversation I endured when flying from New York to Portland before my wedding.
I know someone has to sit in the middle, but I wondered this past week why — on two longer flights — did it have to be me. The aisle is OK. You can get up and go to the lavatory. The window seat is good. You can look out over the landscape. That is, on a clear day and if you aren’t right over the wing…
The existential conundrum of why one is condemned to the middle seat would have more impact if it wasn’t so easily avoidable. Book your flight sufficiently in advance and select the window or aisle seat. Even when traveling relatively last minute for business, it was rare that I was assigned a middle seat. But I digress.
I saw a man in the airport in Minneapolis taking off his woolen socks and putting on lighter socks for the trip to Florida. I heard a woman tell another, “My husband and I have played golf together for 45 years. We have two rules. We don’t get mad, and we don’t keep score.”
I checked a news magazine rack in the Minneapolis airport with scintillating headlines. They included, “Whitney Houston’s Autopsy Secrets” and “Burn 300 calories in 22 minutes—lose that arm jiggle.” Then there was a headline asking, “Is everyone kinkier than you?” And another saying, “Flatten your belly.”
This is not a column containing insightful observations or amusing anecdotes. This is a fourth-grader’s essay about his first trip on a plane. And it would get a C.
Sorry to be ungallant but the least anyone can do for someone who has lived to the age of 86 is not to lie to them. Age isn’t really the issue. Either her writing has always been bad or it has dramatically declined in her later years. If the latter is true, then Grand Forks Herald should have the decency not to publish her anymore. I have too many friends who have lost jobs due to the shrinking print journalism market. Unemployment is around 8 percent. So I don’t think Marilyn Hagerty’s “earnest” pseudo-Onion articles are cute. I think they’re depressing.
And Smolinski’s piece doesn’t cheer me up, either.
MaryAnn Johanson at FlickFilosopher linked to this article about the upcoming, long-delayed Eddie Murphy film, A Thousand Words.
“This is a sweet, heartfelt movie, and it’s a chance to see Eddie do some very physical comedy,” said Megan Colligan, Paramount’s president of domestic marketing and distribution. “He’s really funny in this film.”
OK, funny Eddie Murphy — we all remember Coming to America… 24 years ago.
What’s this new film about?
Successful but prone to ethically dubious behavior, Jack McCall (Murphy) is thrown for a loop when he discovers a tree whose leaves fall off whenever he speaks. He’s told by a mystical figure that the tree’s branches will be bare after he utters 1,000 words, at which point he will die. The set-up yields numerous opportunities for Murphy to engage in gestures and exaggerated body language.
Huh? He plays a man marked for death, who will expire after speaking roughly as many words as the average college essay? This is supposedly going to result in pratfalls and vaudevillian hijinks?
Maybe they’re just not describing it well. Let’s see the trailer.
Wow, that’s terrible. I’m not one to question ludicrous “mystical figures” in movies, but it doesn’t seem like Murphy’s character’s problem is that he talks excessively but that when he does speak, it’s usually a lie. Shouldn’t a leaf fall whenever he repeats a Mitt Romney talking point? Shouldn’t it be safe for him to guide an old blind man across a busy intersection?
If it’s any consolation, Eddie still looks great. It’s like he stopped aging around the time he stopped being funny. Hey, wait a minute, did he make some sort of deal with Ursula the Sea Witch?
Andrew Sullivan raised a valid concern about efforts to pull sponsors from Rush Limbaugh’s radio show.
It’s a free country, but I get queasy with boycotts to target disgusting but free speech.
Writer Peter David is not a fan of boycotts, either. He has often stated that the answer to free speech (even disgusting speech) is more free speech. There is no shortage of outlets for the denunciation of Limbaugh’s idiocy (The Daily Show is but one). Shouldn’t we support an open dialogue and exchange of ideas?
Sure, but Limbaugh has never been about that. He’s not interested in the discussion of actual issues. The Sandra Fluke incident is a clear example. His sole goal is to make a lot of money doing what every 6 year old is trained not to do during kindergarten. He’s a shock jock. Some people compare him to Howard Stern but that’s an insult to Stern. Stern is not a bully. He makes fun of himself as much as he does anyone else. His political statements — when he makes them — are often crass but occasionally insightful.
Of course, that’s all personal taste. I don’t like NBC’s 30 Rock. I think it’s facile and empty with no legitimate laughs (as a friend once said about Family Guy, “A reference is not a joke). I could stage a boycott of 30 Rock but I wouldn’t make much headway on those grounds. Advertisers would not be ashamed to continue an association with the show just because I don’t think it’s very good.
What’s happening with Rush is that advertisers are ashamed. They can’t just dismiss the pressure from outraged groups. It’s hard to support a “personal taste” for referring to women as sluts and prostitutes.
It’s not about free speech. It’s about economics. Limbaugh should find it as profitable to spout his garbage as it is to self-publish your own Twilight fan fiction. If he’s talking about private citizens releasing sex tapes, advertisers should find him as potentially toxic as many advertisers find Stern, who has actual prostitutes on his show discussing their sex tapes.
Limbaugh has a right to be an ass for money. He doesn’t have a right to be a respected voice on any subject. During the 1992 presidential campaign, Bill Clinton criticized the rapper Sister Souljah for perceived racist statements. His words were far stronger than the tepid tap dance Republican presidential candidates had for Limbaugh.
Perhaps once this is all over, Republican politicians will feel free to describe Limbaugh’s more repugnant statements with the same scorn and contempt they usually refer for members of the same sex who want to marry.
From the New York Times article about the legal battle between Julie Taymor and the producers of Spider-Man: Turn off the Dark.
A courtroom battle would likely force Bono to respond to the e-mail claims that in January 2011, soon after “Spider-Man” actors were injured because of technical problems and when the musical was a laughingstock on late-night television, he showed up at a creative meeting with supermodels in tow, too drunk on beer to contribute usefully.
Oh, Bono, I love you. Certainly more than the use of the term “in tow” to describe actual human beings. “In tow” is defined as “to draw or pull behind by a chain or line” — usually in reference to a barge or a trailer. Also, supermodels are defined as “highly paid fashion models with a worldwide reputation.” You know, someone you might refer to by name. Random, unnamed, tall, thin women hanging onto an aging pop star are more the Wonder Twins of supermodels.
It’s possible actual supermodels were in attendance — although that would require their parents or guardians explaining to them who the old drunk guy was and why it would be cool to hang out with him during meetings for a poorly conceived Broadway musical when they could be making millions on an assignment.
serhasacomplaint 
Of old ladies and Olive Garden..
A friend sent me this defense of the now viral Olive Garden review by Marilyn Hagerty of the Grand Forks Herald:
I’m going to level with you: I love the Olive Garden. LOVE it. I love the Tuscany-by-way-of-Atlanta decor, I love their horrible Italian portmanteaus, I love that you can buy their unpalatable wine by the jug (I know this, because my friends and I split one on Valentine’s Day). I love that their corruption of lasagna is so far beyond the pale that it’s borderline transgressive.
So when an earnest review of the chain in a small North Dakota paper set the Internet ablaze like the scornful Tuscan sun, I felt compelled to defend my favorite midpriced chain from all this web inhospitaliano.
The author, Julieanne Smolinski, spends valuable column inches defending Olive Garden, which is pointless because I don’t think anyone cares that much if she eats there (although she seems to care a great deal that we care). I also don’t dispute that Olive Garden is successful. That’s one of the reasons I found Hagerty’s column absurd: It’s similar to printing a review of a new Starbucks or McDonald’s. Olive Garden is a national chain with an extensive advertising reach. It doesn’t need Marilyn Hagerty or the Grand Forks Herald.
It’s possible the Grand Forks Herald’s readers don’t watch TV or have never set foot in an Olive Garden. However, any public interest would have been satisfied by a review half the size. Arguably, a “review” itself was unnecessary. A brief news blurb about the arrival of the restaurant would’ve been sufficient.
The article, regardless of its subject, was horribly written and edited. Or as Smolinski says, “The real issue is that Marilyn writes in a style we’re so unaccustomed to.” Yes, because it’s bad.
Smolinski would have us believe that “earnest” and “sincere” are synonymous with or a justification for incompetence. I disagree.
My booth was near the kitchen, and I watched the waiters in white shirts, ties, black trousers and aprons adorned with gold-colored towels. They were busy at midday, punching in orders and carrying out bread and pasta.
It had been a few years since I ate at the older Olive Garden in Fargo, so I studied the two manageable menus offering appetizers, soups and salads, grilled sandwiches, pizza, classic dishes, chicken and seafood and filled pastas.
At length, I asked my server what she would recommend. She suggested chicken Alfredo, and I went with that. Instead of the raspberry lemonade she suggested, I drank water.
This should’ve been edited down to “I ordered the chicken Alfredo.” If it was an especially slow news day, I might have allowed the overview of the menu. Although, she repeats it more concisely in the final paragraph.
The story I’m interested in is why Hagerty is even employed at this paper. I’ve read a few of her columns — including her “cheerful persons of the week” — and it’s like paying to sit next to a talkative elderly woman on a cross-country flight. Her piece about airline seating was similar to the five-hour-go-nowhere conversation I endured when flying from New York to Portland before my wedding.
I know someone has to sit in the middle, but I wondered this past week why — on two longer flights — did it have to be me. The aisle is OK. You can get up and go to the lavatory. The window seat is good. You can look out over the landscape. That is, on a clear day and if you aren’t right over the wing…
The existential conundrum of why one is condemned to the middle seat would have more impact if it wasn’t so easily avoidable. Book your flight sufficiently in advance and select the window or aisle seat. Even when traveling relatively last minute for business, it was rare that I was assigned a middle seat. But I digress.
I saw a man in the airport in Minneapolis taking off his woolen socks and putting on lighter socks for the trip to Florida. I heard a woman tell another, “My husband and I have played golf together for 45 years. We have two rules. We don’t get mad, and we don’t keep score.”
I checked a news magazine rack in the Minneapolis airport with scintillating headlines. They included, “Whitney Houston’s Autopsy Secrets” and “Burn 300 calories in 22 minutes—lose that arm jiggle.” Then there was a headline asking, “Is everyone kinkier than you?” And another saying, “Flatten your belly.”
This is not a column containing insightful observations or amusing anecdotes. This is a fourth-grader’s essay about his first trip on a plane. And it would get a C.
Sorry to be ungallant but the least anyone can do for someone who has lived to the age of 86 is not to lie to them. Age isn’t really the issue. Either her writing has always been bad or it has dramatically declined in her later years. If the latter is true, then Grand Forks Herald should have the decency not to publish her anymore. I have too many friends who have lost jobs due to the shrinking print journalism market. Unemployment is around 8 percent. So I don’t think Marilyn Hagerty’s “earnest” pseudo-Onion articles are cute. I think they’re depressing.
And Smolinski’s piece doesn’t cheer me up, either.
Posted by Stephen Robinson on March 9, 2012 in Pop Life, Social Commentary
Tags: Julieanne Smolinsk, Marilyn Hagerty, Olive Garden