Ashton Kutcher: Important Public Figure or Most Important Public Figure?

Get a load of this asshole, flaunting his rakishness, mugging for Nikon and its misguided attempt to convince you that this camera is versatile and state-of-the-art. Like all of Kutcher's work, the ad is slight, derivative, and puzzling. But it is significant. What if I were to tell you that Ashton Kutcher and, by extension, this commerical could be the key to understanding fame in the 21st century? His career during this decade, more than anyone else's, reaches down and defines our changing nature of celebrity.

Beginning in 1998, Kutcher transitioned from modeling and starred as hunky goofball Kelso in That '70s Show, a teenaged stoner strain of that most American of forms, the sitcom. As the most physically comedic component of the show, he got many of the more memorable laughs. He was younger then, but still way too old to be a believable high schooler, which is yet another part of the formula.

In 2000, he parlayed his role on the show to a role as a hunky gooball in the teenaged stoner comedy Dude, Where's My Car?, which turned out to be a commercial success, earning $46 million against its $13 million production cost. At this point, he was fulfilling our exact expectations for him and his identity, which was the early part of the decade's recipe for success. We knew who Ashton Kutcher was, and he did nothing to complicate that. As they always do though, things got more complex.

What or who Ashton Kutcher was had been confirmed to us, but he spent the middle part of the aughts attempting to play against that type. His audience met that experimentation with indifference. From 2003 to 2006, he acted in more subtle and mature versions of his persona. My Boss's Daughter (2003) was a slapstick farce, but this time Kutcher's character--shockingly--had a job. Just Married (2003) saw him and the late Brittany Murphy as real-life married grown-ups. The former flopped, but the latter, boosted by a powerful Valentine's Day opening, earned $56 million against its $18 million investment. Audiences vote with their pocketbooks, and the Ashton Kutcher business was still good. He wasn't the most reliable movie star, but he was a fine option on the B+ list.





















 


Part two of this can be about how many years he set us back with the trucker hat.

So what do you do if you're in Kutcher's enviable position in 2004: handsome, rich, and powerful for being dumb, young, and immature? You test your audience by doing the opposite of what you're so famous for. Like Tom Hanks, Robin Williams, and Jim Carrey before him, Kutcher went serious in 2004's The Butterfly Effect. You can tell how serious it is because he has a beard in it. A comedic actor performing in a drama is kind of like a basketball player's heat check. If it doesn't work, it isn't disastrous; but if it does work, you've reached a whole new level of success. The Butterfly Effect worked even better than we remembered. It had a relatively small budget and grossed almost the exact same amount of money as Just Married, without the built-in audience of Valentine's Day or a marketable second-lead. What's more, even though it isn't regarded as a good movie, many critics singled out Kutcher's performance as not terrible.

So if an actor's commercial success in the first half of this decade is predicated upon filling a role, and Kutcher played against type successfully, doesn't that negate what I've written so far? No. The movie was a success not because Kutcher was doing something new. It was a success because he was, paradoxically, doing exactly what he was supposed to do at this stage of his career. He was still--even by subverting expectations--fulfilling expectations. And his audience, at the media-savvy mid-point of the decade, knew this, even subconsciously.

It helped that Kutcher mitigated the risk of that movie by creating and producing MTV's Punk'd. There, he shouted and guffawed his way through elaborately staged pranks on his unsuspecting celebrity friends. He's a prankster, folks. Just in case you were wondering whether or not he was the damaged, conflicted brooder seen in New Line's The Butterfly Effect, here he is showing you he's the fun-loving enfant terrible in real life that he always pretended to be on the silver screen. Watch him make this driving test impossible for Hilary Duff! Kutcher's audience was ready to move on with his acting as long as it was clear who he really was. Importantly, this was also the first instance of Kutcher being famous for something other than acting.

By 2006, Kutcher was choosing projects to include his loud-mouthed buffoonery within a structure that extended it, as seen in the romance A Lot Like Love (a disaster), the prestigious remake Guess Who, or the actioner The Guardian. In each of these, he played the Lewis to bigger and bigger Martins: Amanda Peet, then Bernie Mac, then Kevin Costner. Guess Who and The Guardian weren't hits--no Ashton Kutcher-driven vehicle has been--but they made money. The perception, however, which is all that is important when it comes to fame, was that Kutcher had become desperate. This was the time to anchor his own pictures, and he was hitching his wagon to another star.

Hijinx. You can tell how generic these movies are by the titles. How can you name your film The Guardian with a straight face?


So what do you do if you're a little older, a little less dumb, and a little more mature? If you're Ashton Kutcher, you have no idea. You try some voice work (Open Season), producing (Miss Guided, Beauty and the Geek), and small roles in independent films (Bobby), none of which works. You pick another role aside a more established, bankable star in a madcap, broad-faced comedy (What Happens in Vegas), and it becomes one of the bigger hits of the summer. Every time he plays an idiot alongside other idiots, people flock to movie theaters. Cast him as a retarded person alongside Adam Sandler, and the screen might spontaneously combust. You confirm what you already know: how people approve of your existence.

Here's what I've been getting at though: If you asked someone to summarize things Ashton Kutcher did to continue being famous in 2008-2009, he might say, "Starred with Cameron Diaz in What Happens in Vegas, which was one of the worst movies of last year." But it's much more likely that he would say, "Amassed a poo-ton of twitter followers, strangely stayed married to Demi Moore, and shilled for Nikon." None of these things have to do with what originally made him famous, but they somehow make him more famous, whatever that word means now.

In all of the examples leading up to the present day, I've used box office figures--all from imdb--to prove whether or not people accepted the different incarnations of what Ashton Kutcher was doing. By the end of the decade, that proves useless. We no longer have any data to support a celebrity's influence. Because he's presently known for things other than acting, he exemplifies the changes in the way we view celebrities. We started this decade knowing what we want from a star and promoting that image with our wallets. By the middle of it, we're second-guessing ourselves because of over-exposure and a more complicated understanding of media. Today, your guess is as good as mine. We've seen what he has to offer as an actor, and we've chosen the real Ashton Kutcher instead. Whereas we used to support cultural developments by paying for them, now they just kind of happen to us.

Kutcher's most recent film is 2009's Spread, which was such an enormous misfire you might not have even heard of it. Domestically, it made $250,000. He probably owns cars that are worth more than the receipts for Spread. In it, he plays a kept-man inching toward thirty, who takes advantage of wealthy cougars. Is this autobiographical or pure acting? Is this a validation of what audiences want or a rejection of it? Is Ashton Kutcher one of the most famous people in the world, or is he past his prime? We have no way of knowing this anymore, and Spread is the best shrug Ashton Kutcher can give.

The Kanye West Post

#6 Album of the Decade- Kanye West- The College Dropout (2004) Kanye West feat. Mos Def, Freeway- "Two Words"

#1 Song of the Decade- Kanye West- "Jesus Walks"

#35 Album of the Decade- Kanye West- Late Registration (2005)

Secretly, as I read other writers' fin-de-decade retrospectives, I grow bristly when I see something patently obscure. Although I'll admit that I deal in the same cultural capital they do, and that I have elitist choices sprinkled throughout, there's a nagging part of the critic in me that shudders to admit: art doesn't really matter if it isn't popular.

Combing through alternate takes of b-sides or fighting sleep to finish a Taiwanese chamber piece is alienating, even when it's fun. Most critics, even the self-appointed and undistinguished ones like me, are lonely and anti-social. They articulate things that are ineffable, and they practically beg a reader they will never meet to feel the same emotions that fuel them to write. By becoming better at this process, they only grow apart from the needs of their original audience. That's where that critical-commercial divide comes from. While most people wonder why critics like movies and albums they've never heard of, I wonder why the two groups have anything in common at all.

Elitism, however, is not satisfying. Information has no power if it can't be shared. Music, more than any other type of art, is transcendent in its ability not only to transport, but to unite. Good music doesn't endure because it's unique or influential or even moving. It stands the test of time because it's universal. Not too long ago--the seventies--the most critically-acclaimed art was also the most commercially successful. There's a reason Led Zeppelin is still on the radio and The Godfather is still on TV. In an age of stratified choices for entertainment, it's high time someone united us again.

Not very secretly, Kanye West knows all of this.

That understanding is the reason he does things like, you know, interrupt a teenage girl to rectify the oversights of a banal and inconsequential awards show. It's because he profoundly cares about his legacy. In five years he has shaped a genre of music as much as anyone ever has. Imagine what he might look and sound like in ten more. It's because of that impact that he can just as easily burn out in a year or change music for another forty. Neither of those options would surprise me, which only adds to his immediacy and mystique and ownership of this moment. So forgive him if he thought ol' squinty shouldn't have taken home the Moonman.


Ownership of this moment.

In discussing the best of his work, it is helpful to view West through these two guidelines:
1. Kanye West is historically great because of the breadth of his vision.
2. Kanye West's vision is historically great because of his exactitude in achieving it.

1. Despite its cultural influence, hip-hop is a niche genre in that there are some people who will never consciously listen to it, regardless of how good it is. But a lot of those people end up listening to Kanye West.

His first trick was cross-pollinating an already divided hip-hop audience. The College Dropout's focused songwriting, sense of humor, conscious rap tag-teaming, and boom-bap Tribe throwback beats endeared traditionalist heads, while its underdog spirit, big name co-signs, superficial trappings, and glossy production value convinced the unwashed rap masses. The College Dropout is, as the title suggests, both smart and stupid at the same time. Although it's structured as a conflicted bildingsroman steeped in the dusty soul platters of a misspent youth, Kanye is still trolling Black Planet for bubble-butted chicks at 3:00 AM.

If you want it in elitist shorthand, Kanye West is basically Ralph Waldo Emerson. Both are obsessed with spiritual growth learned through experience, even if that growth has to be filtered through self-reliance. "Whosoever be a man must be a non-conformist" and "that that that that don't kill me can only make me stronger."

It got weirder though. "Gold Digger's" punch-lines and serendipitously topical Ray Charles scratch-up hooked fifteen-year-olds and my mom, and 808s and Heartbreaks (which I was completely wrong about) is being played in a more upscale-than-thou clothing store right now. With each album, West has collected a wider, more divided audience. Not since Michael Jackson has a musician amassed a more diverse and demanding set of fans to please, and the miraculous thing is that he seems to satisfy all of those fans every time.

2. Of West's Big Gulp-sized Graduation, I wrote: "The songs sound like they were made by someone staying up all night by himself, and that's something that can't be faked." While rap has had many Mozarts and Rimbauds and Basquiats, it didn't really have a Stanley Kubrick until Kanye West. The College Dropout is not the tossed-off improvisation, the flash of genius standard that most of hip-hop has set; it's the imperfect work of a perfectionist. On it, West's vocals are curiously high in the mix, there are numerous punch-ins to disguise his poor breath control, the skits are mean-spirited and momentum-sapping, and the puzzling sequencing buries the epochal "Through the Wire" into the final third of the album. Likewise, Late Registration is over-ambitious, uneven bombast.

But you cannot deny that, warts and all, these are the exact records West sought out to make. Each hard snare and bongo roll is hand-crafted, and the intensity of his voice overpowers you, even when it's clumsy and undeveloped on the debut record. On The College Dropout, he's not yet a great rapper. But he's trying so hard, and he cares. He is trying to articulate the ineffable, and he's practically begging the listener to feel the emotions that fueled him to write. He thinks like a critic and embraces contradiction when most of his contemporaries are scared of it.


It should be mentioned that there's a whole other column I could write about my personal response to the music, since I've connected with maybe two or three other musicians in the way I have with West. I know every word of every album, I've written as many words about him as I have about any other pop culture figure, I quit a job in the summer of '04 to catch a show of his in Atlanta, etc. Some other time.

Combine all of these elements, and you have the recipe for why "Jesus Walks" is the defining moment of a career that defined the decade. Constructed around a sample of "Walk with Me" by the ARC Choir, the song's maximalism knows no bounds. It is reported that West layered over 100 overdubs of violins onto the bridge, and one of the track's biggest strengths is how centered it is while still dipping into flourishes, building and receding with the tension that mirrors the entire album.

As overpowering as the lush, militaristic sonic atmosphere is though, the lyrics stand out even more. This is the most assured West sounds on the entire album. It's poignant but not overbearing, and the most telling lines are:

"So here go my single, dog, radio needs this
They say you can rap about anything except for Jesus
That means guns, sex, lies, videotape
But if I talk about God, my record won't get played, huh?
Well if this take away from my spins
Which'll probably take away from my ends
I hope it take away from my sins and bring the day that I'm dreamin' 'bout
Next time I'm in the club everybody screamin' out (Jesus walks)"

It's not enough to make a bold declaration of faith in a mainstream single. He has to make it clear that the vision, as calculated as it is, is not complete until it is embraced by an audience. He's going to be iconoclastic, and you're going to love it. Information that can't be shared is useless. A personal statement will be converted to a public acceptance. He thinks like a critic but acts like the audience. He's conflicted but confident. He's lonely but not alienated. He's elitist and universal.

It was Walt Whitman, Ralph Waldo Emerson's boy, who wrote:
"Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)"

To which Kanye would have replied, "Best poet of all time! All time!"

#31 Film of the Decade- 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days

31. 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days- Cristian Mungiu (2007)

Imagine you're a young Romanian woman. You had a rough day at school, and you spent the afternoon trying to arrange transportation for your bestie to get an illegal abortion. Once you have lied your way past a suspicious desk clerk at the hotel you've scrounged up money for, you have to haggle with a shady, free-lance abortionist, whore yourself out to him, then--OMG--make it across town to the family dinner you promised your boyfriend earlier. Then you have to endure their unrelatably bourgeois conversation, fend off your boyfriend's advances (not in the mood?), and make it back to the hotel in case ol' girl bled herself to death. Why wasn't there an XBox game adapted from this?

So yeah. This is the way Netflix makes money. This disc will be on top of your DVD player for a few weeks before you psych yourself up to watch it. Otilia's day in this film makes Michael Douglas' day in Falling Down seem like Christmas Eve. But once you watch 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, you'll be thankful--relieved maybe--to have experienced something so wrenching, gritty, and eventually beautiful.

The intelligentsia decides every few years which culture to follow, and--on the heels of the Iranian cinema craze of a decade ago--Romania has become the country to watch. With The Death of Mr. Lazarescu; The Way I Spent the End of the World; Police, Adjective; and, most importantly, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, the filmmakers of that nation have done something no other tradition has been able to: They have made film the medium essential to analyzing (and revising) their own history. Funded by juries and grants, Romanian artists are finding new ways to reflect upon the fall of Ceausescu's Communist rule, and each stab at doing so seems more vital and energetic. While we've known for a long time that film is the most democratic form of entertainment and artistic expression, Romania is finding a way to prove it and revel in that democracy. They're putting their leu where their mouth is.


"I really meant to watch it. It was just a busy week. I had planned to finally get to it on Friday, but I got drunk and watched basketball since I wasn't in the mood to read subtitles. I switched to two discs at-a-time, thinking that would be a solution to the problem, but now I just have two discs sitting on the machine, and I'm paying twice as much..."

Since the film takes place in the late '80s, the fall of Communism is, tragically, not yet realized for Cristian Mungiu's protagonists. Instead its compromises are ever-present. Otila, played naturalistically by Anamaria Marinca, guides Gabita around the entire movie, seemingly wise and sneaky and controlling in the way she uses the black market or navigates the town. But we easily see--through the practices of the hotel, through the humiliation she faces at dinner, through bartering for something as inconsequential as American toothpaste--that she's a tool of Communism. If such a strong woman is powerless in this political system, what hope do any of us have? If this were just a treatise on the economic and spiritual results of the collapse of Communism, it wouldn't be affecting. The viewer engages with it because the characters are not accents on some grand thesis statement; they're complicated and validated by this backdrop.

Despite its political intensity, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days exemplifies the power of minimalism like few other films of recent memory. It's half-lit and soured by drab, pre-rain atmosphere. Mungiu rarely moves the camera, and the story unfolds in interminable episodes. Much like the sublime Inglorious Basterds from earlier this year, most of the suspense is mined from the paucity of actual scenes. If there are only about ten scenes in your entire movie, they're all going to count. In some of these interactions, the negotiation with the creepy doctor for instance, we want to cut away desperately. But realizing that we can't cut away, that this is real and necessarily painful, is kind of what the movie is about.

If you only see one Romanian baby-killing buddy thriller this decade, make it this one.

Bring Me the Head of Les Miles!

Today was the most embarrassing finish to an LSU game since I've been a fan. The coaching problems have come to a head.

prior to working at LSU, Miles was Heath Ledger's lifecoach

Today has not been a good day! LSU lost cause Les Miles is an idiot and should be fired

wtf les miles.

LOLOLOLOL, how does Les Miles still have a job?

WHAT THE F*** WAS THAT?!? FIRE LESS MILES IMMEDIATELY!!!

Fuck Les miles. WTF

I think anyone who has been a fan of LSU would agree, this is a new low. The team plays hard but when you have coaching that apparently is at the same level as WW Lewis middle school, it makes it kinda hard to win any game against real teams. DOWN WITH MILES.

These are Facebook status updates and tweets (@cbowes) that I collected after LSU's controversial game on Saturday. This week I've heard both casual fans and die-hards alike insist that Les Miles, because of but not limited to his mistakes on Saturday, should be fired. While Miles' clock management was inexcusable--and while his team's weaknesses are symptomatic of his own weaknesses--firing him would be the most counter-productive measure possible for the program. All of these statements--especially the one about Les Miles being Heath Ledger's life-coach--are ridiculous. Because we all know Mary-Kate Olsen was Heath Ledger's life-coach.

Anyone who objectively looked at LSU's schedule before the season began would have predicted three losses for such a young team in such a competitive conference. The Florida and Alabama games never seemed winnable to me, and I figured that we would fall to either Auburn in a trap-game or Ole Miss on the road, a team who, let's remember, began the year ranked in the top five. That is exactly what happened; LSU has lost three games. With a new defensive coordinator, a bulls-eye on their backs, and a nineteen-year-old quarterback who frankly isn't good, they have met expectations. That is, unless your expectations were a National Championship, and you forgot that only one team can win that per year.

Yes, LSU should have won that game. I'll admit that Miles' poor play-calling and clock management down the stretch cost them the victory. His team is undisciplined and over-matched. And even if you want to blame Jordan Jefferson for the loss, he makes bad decisions because of the relaxed environment his coach has created for him. Jefferson hasn't grown because Les Miles hasn't made him. Much like that other successful "players' coach," Pete Carroll of USC, Miles is starting to see the fallout of his laid-back, reckless style. But when that laid-back, restless style won all of those games LSU had no business winning, my tweets were much different.


"Say hello to the bad guy." I would encourage you to google-search "anyone associated with college football + photoshop." It's a good way to spend an afternoon.

At no point this year was LSU better than Florida or Alabama, so it's a moot point that we won't play for an SEC title. Should the loss against Ole Miss matter? Certainly. You might be saying that we should still hold our heads high. You might be saying that you "refuse to let the program gravitate into mediocrity," which is exactly what Nebraska athletic director Steve Pederson said when he canned Frank Solich after he went a disappointing 9-3.* Two coaches later, now under LSU familiar face Bo Pelini, the Cornhuskers haven't come close to 9-3.

Or look at Michigan, who pink-slipped the "mediocre" Lloyd Carr--this time a guy with a National Championship to his credit--after one too many disappointing seasons. The Wolverines then spent millions of dollars on Rich Rodgriguez, who has an 8-16 record since taking over. Notre Dame made the same mistake by pulling up shop on Tyrone Willingham, and they're making the mistake once again by firing Charlie Weis.

Despite what Urban Meyer would have you believe, after winning a title in his second season with Florida (and we'll see how he does once he no longer has the most dominant player in the country on his side), continuity is the most important factor for a college football program's success. Most LSU fans would admit that the team's biggest weakness is its immaturity and inexperience. So the answer for that is...get a less experienced coach to take over?

Because who would take over the reigns for the helpless and unprepared Les Miles, overreacting Tiger fans? Boise State head coach Chris Petersen in the best case scenario? It that such an upgrade? Maybe we could promote Gary Crowton, the other guy you're demonizing?

If you're assuming that LSU is a prestigious enough program to attract an NFL coach, what precedents are there for success in that arena? Lane Kiffin and Bill Callahan haven't lit up any scoreboards. And you're counting on either a guy who is getting fired this season or a guy who has sat out a few. Let's say Bill Cowher, Mike Shanahan, or Joe Gibbs is interested in taking $3 million to coach the Tigers. Cowher would want to install a new staff and probably knows as much about Louisiana recruiting as I do about his zone blitzes. (Can you imagine Harry Coleman on one of those? I'm nervous enough, thanks.) This would, once again, destroy continuity. Right now at least, there is no one who can do this job better than Les Miles, whether that angers you or not.

I'm not complaining, but LSU is a team that was given too much too soon. Its fans have understandably followed suit. Pete Carroll is in the same situation as Miles, but is anyone in California calling for his head? LSU is a team two years removed from being the best in the country, and it just had another top five recruiting class. Whenever his back is against the wall and he needs to get wins, Les Miles finds a way--witness his undefeated bowl record. I expect nothing but his best against Ar-Kansas and our bowl opponent.

So I'm sorry if you had a bad day or were embarrassed, but you can't win them all and firing your coach is not the right move. If you've reached the end of this column, you're undoubtedly patient. Show that same patience with your football team. Or at least go watch the Saints and shut up for a few months.

*- qtd. in Stewart Mandel's Bowls, Polls, and Tattered Souls: Tackling the Chaos and Controversy That Reign Over College Football.

Top Fifteen Babes of the Decade

I need a post for this week, so I started on a Bill Belichick column. Four paragraphs, two funny pictures, and some variation on "Bill Belichick is America" later, I realized I wasn't saying anything concrete or original, and I trashed it. You can ask P.T. or Jelly--there are a bunch of half-finished columns lingering on the TANBR profile, and I have a lot of half-baked theses that I never return to. (One of these includes the lines: "Don't you see, man? Electronic picture frames! We are in the future.")

Toiling on the best of lists, I found myself pretty naturally ranking babes of the decade as well--not girls or hotties or anything like that. Babes. Every age has its own babes: women/objects who reach down and define what is desirable or captivating, whether those babes were Raquel, Marilyn, Farrah, or Pam. Is this shallow? Yes, of course it's shallow, and of course it's subjective. There are girls who have fallen off the map dramatically as of late but probably still belong on a decade list (Heidi Klum), and there are chicks I have become obsessed with for a week and then forgotten about. And of course this is going to be cheesy and fratty. And of course I'm worried that this post with minimal commentary reveals more about me than anything else I've written. And of course I've probably spent too much effort on trying to justify this. Here are the top fifteen babes of the decade.

15. Keeley Hazell- She was neck-and-neck with Yvonne Strahovski and Eva Green for the last spot. Although, to be fair, I've never really looked above her neck. (What did I tell you about cheesy frattiness?)
14. Charlize Theron- She's finally starting to show her age, and her body type is a bit more athletic than what I normally like, but few this decade could match her mixture of raw sexuality and elegance.
13. Jessica Biel- We're beginning a run on really predictable entries, but what can I say? The point of this is summing up the zeitgeist. I'm sorry to admit that as far as thickness goes, she's pretty much the Blackest chick on this list. There were some in the honorable mention, I swear.
12. Adriana Lima- I kind of hate myself for being so attracted to her over-the-top sultriness. One commonality among a lot of these broads? I like belly-button rings. Or, to be more accurate, the long torso that would accentuate a belly-button ring. The belly-button ring itself is sort of incidental.
11. Alexis Bledel- Finally, one that women can't argue about. It's been said before that there are two types of attractive: the modest, classically beautiful type that other women have to accept (see number seven) and the fake, wanton sex objects that get something thrown at you. (Number 12 is a sore subject with my wife.) Bledel is definitely in that first camp with eyes that would look fake if they weren't so unique. I'll also admit that part of my fascination with her has to do with the indie cindy she played on eight seasons of Gilmore Girls. (I told you this would be revealing.)
10. Christina Hendricks

I promise that the list is not completely populated with zaftig bombshells. But number 10 is another one.

9. Rachel Bilson

We don't see much of her anymore, and she doesn't have the best smile. She does, however, have the best smirky fake-frown.

8. Mila Kunis

This might be a bit high for her, but, again, this is a girl we've spent the better part of the decade with, and she's gotten 7% hotter each year as she's grown into herself. No ceilings.

7. Anne Hathaway

First off, I like pale chicks. Moreover--and I've used this corollary before--if you ran into Anne Hathaway at an Ikea and invited her to a party you were throwing, there's a small chance she might show up. There's just something approachable about her, as beautiful she is. I've got to be down to ride for a woman like that.

6. Angelina Jolie

Fading fast due to increasingly skinny arms (and kids), you can't deny how powerful her sexy has been this decade. Consistent and one-of-a-kind.

5. Laetitia Casta

For about a year, she seemed poised to become the biggest supermodel in the world. Now only French people know who she is. I have no idea why this is.

4. Zooey Deschanel

Terrabull.

3. Diora Baird

Diora Baird actually belongs on the top fifteen babes of next decade list. You'll hear from her; she's like Catherine Deneuve with bigger hooters. Good twitter follow also. By the way I got this picture on chickipedia.com. I'll stop now.

2. Bar Refaeli

She's taking over.

1. Scarlett Johansson

Never any doubt. You can start making fun of me in the comments now.

The Essential Tyler Hansbrough: Air Quotes Edition

Tyler Hansbrough makes jokes about the food quality of cafeterias. The term "mystery meat" is usually involved.

The only verb Tyler Hansbrough associates with computers is "download."

According to Tyler Hansbrough, "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."

Tyler Hansbrough is a woman who describes herself as "expensive."

Tyler Hansbrough defines "denial" as a river in Africa.

When his phone rings, Tyler Hansbrough claims that he's "blowing up."

Tyler Hansbrough spells "breakfast of champions" K-I-N-G V-I-T-A-M-I-N.

The Changing Back of Michael Jordan

I help to coach a high school basketball team, and last week we passed out this season's jerseys for the first time. The jerseys were hung up in numerical order, and I braced myself when number 23 came around.

Anyone who has played organized sports can tell you that, as silly as it is, a lot of significance and inspiration is wrapped within the folds of whichever number you wear. I usually asked for 34 because I modeled my undersized but aggressive play after Charles Barkley. Most kids, however, fought over 23, looking to share a small piece of Michael Jordan's leadership, competition, and clutch performance. Based solely on my own experience, I expected all of my players--mostly fourteen and fifteen year-olds--to jump for Jordan's number. If anything, it's LeBron James' number too, so there's an added incentive to share in the tradition of the jersey.

Much to my surprise, the jersey is still hanging in the closet. Things have changed. For the first time, boys that age experienced more of Jordan as this:


than as this:



I've written about the changing legacy of Michael Jordan in this space before, but this experience showed a different side of him than either the negative anecdotes circling about his reputation or his delusionally petty Hall of Fame speech. In judging the futures of Larry Bird and Magic Johnson, William Goldman once wrote, "The greatest struggle an athlete undergoes is the battle for our memories...it begins before you're aware that it's begun, and it ends with a terrible fall from grace."* Since I'm thinking about it, that struggle has begun for Michael Jordan. The difference between his fall and Magic and Larry's falls is that he brought it upon himself.

Many contemporary celebrities speak of "building their brand," and the example set for them is Michael Jordan's infiltration of our culture. As the face of an expanding sport in a westernizing world, with countless endorsements to his name, Jordan became more famous than any other athlete before or since. What those other celebrities are talking about is having their name be synonymous with an idea or a logo, and MJ did it first. He was so successful, in fact, that the Jumpman--legs outstretched, arm reaching high above his head--has survived without him.

See, these kids spurning the 2-3, many of them were even wearing Air Jordans. However, instead of wearing them because they're hoping that the air in them will help them to jump from the free throw line, or that the aerodynamic sole will help them cross over Byron Russell, they're wearing them because Chris Paul and Dwyane Wade do. Jordan still gets their money, but it's no different from Phil Knight getting their money. The symmetrical dunking symbol might as well be Adidas' three stripes. To paraphrase as big a Jordan acolyte as any: "He's not a business man; he's a business, man."


Another thing that has gone out of style? The hoop earring. Come on, Mike. You can't afford a makeover?

Because teenagers didn't experience Jordan's greatness first-hand, they don't have a connection to it. That's no surprise. I didn't grow up with, say, George Mikan and only know about his dominance from other people's memories. The difference here is that Jordan gets the short end of his own legend. All the expectations of his own myth are there, but none of the acclaim.

For example, all of my players have done time in AAU or summer leagues, and they have played with or against the kid wearing 23, and that kid is always a dickhead. He's delusional and petty enough to fight for the number. Then he has lent himself expectations that he never lives up to. (Because who can?) This has gone on for a generation until the guy who originally wore it has been marginalized as much as any billionaire demi-god can be.

Wearing 23 is a cliche. It's derivative. It's the wrong type of brand: a knockoff. And LeBron? He's just another dickhead whose downfall we're presaging. There's a lot more to be made of a number than there is to be made of a man.

* Bill Simmons quotes this in his Book of Basketball. That's where I saw it.