Saw this yesterday - it was good. Cute story, some solid comedy, not particularly corny or saccharine. Worth seeing, though certainly doesn't require a theater viewing.

I expect that I'm a potential-Brony. Pre-brony? I don't know. All I do know is that I haven't had time to watch it yet, but every single thing I see and hear about this show virtually guarantees I'll be a fan once I do. They nailed a sweet spot with the art and animation, and that ridiculously saccharine-sweet tone is just the right kind of self-parody and legitimate cuteness that only comes along once in a while.

Country music in general.

I think.

I had a feeling that my love of this was related to having grown up hearing such .... saccharine sentiments.

It's enough to put your teeth on edge, if they are doing it fer real.

Just to be devils advocate... I didn't enjoy that at all.

Boring, middle of the road, trendy, and saccharine.
For christ's sake, it's the "Our Father" translated into Swahili, purely for the sake of having some kind of "magical africa" nonsense that belongs in the Lion King.

Sorry, but it's just awful.

Since the ancient Romans had an artificial sweetener you'd have to say that Saccharin is the first modern artificial sweetener rather than the first.

From a feminist friend of a friend:

“This is nice and it’s cool for a straight guy to talk about having a new perspective on the male gaze, good for him. but the fact that it’s gone so viral is a little upsetting to me. do we really expect so little of men that Dustin Hoffman recognizing that, you know, beauty doesn’t necessarily accompany substance (and vice versa) is inspirational?”

So, what's his big revelation here? That unattractive women are interesting, too? Really? Not impressed.

He admits to working his fame on attractive women and then felt guilty for it, and made Tootsie to make up for his guilt (and cashed in, in the process). I don't hold it against him for having a "come to Jesus" moment, by dressing up in drag. I don't even care that he got emotional when he shared it with the American Film Institute, as some sort of cultural revelation.

What bothers me is that we live in a culture that feeds off these momentary glimpses of heart, when we all know that there is really so much more. And that this admiration for such a minor insight really sets the standard far too low.

Let's not mistake a sincere moment with actual, you know, integrity.
Sure, it's a sweet video and a sweet message (maybe a bit saccharine for my tastes). And Tootsie is, for sure, a great flick! But, crying on camera is not the limit-case for what constitutes a touching and meaningful moment, particularly one like this, devoid of any real context and depth. It's emptiness masquerading as meaning.

Crocodile.

What "assault"?

It was merely pointed out that is the kind of saccharine nonsense that gets passed around in an email chain or on facebook.

Sorry, but I'm with @BicycleRepairMan on this one.

It is the infantilizing of the woman that bothers me. The guy doesn't sound like a college cheerleader, with coy body language.

I actually get a bit nauseous when women do this, fakily. When it is genuine, at least if I perceive it to be genuine, I have no problem. It is the playing into that saccharine stereotype that gags me.




In reply to this comment by Deano:
>> ^bareboards2:

Is anybody else annoyed by the fake enthusiasm and "cutesy" of the woman?


That's the contrived bit. Contrived enthusiasm and energy, very common in these sorts of shows particularly when they have multiple presenters each of which need to have a "personality". I blame Top Gear :

Setting the topic at hand aside, I think we should have a discussion on cat video aesthetics. Anyone can put a cute cat in a tea pot and film it. That doesn't make a great cat video. It ads nothing to the genre. And when you slather on the library music and cheesy home editing software titles and visuals, you border on parody. Don't pull a Lucas and try to cover up weak narrative by overloading it with graphics. Careless cat video production can risk proving cat video critics - who believe the genre to be a bunch of empty oohing and awwing with no artistic merit - to be correct.

You all need to study up on your cat video history. Look at the greats, study their work and discover what made them great. From Keyboard Cat's deft digits and flamboyant attire, to Stealth Cat's mastery of movement, to OMG cat's gift for physical comedy. Cats that can sing, climb or have narcolepsy are also fine contributors to the genre. Once you understand the basics of your craft, it is then AND ONLY THEN that you can begin to find your own cat video voice.

And once you have created a good video, you need to support it with appropriate commentary instead of overly saccharin glurge. I don't care who you are, that is not important to me. What is of major fucking importance is that you respect the craft and are responsible with what you choose to share with others on the internet.

Remember MySpace: Never again!

Good day to you.

Play them off keyboard cat:

Funny how these remakes/sequels/prequels/reboots/reimagainings do kind of give you a SENSE of having watched a classic but without any of the emotion or gravitas that made it remembered in the first place. A 23 year old girl told me she liked Singer's Star Trek 'because it wasn't like sci-fi'. I passed a bunch of middle aged women a while back and caught the words "..doctor manhattan.."

Modern marketing is reshaping, monetizing and pushing EVERYTHING that was interesting, exciting and cult, into a sort of vanilla paste to be squeezed into the minds of people who have less and less ideas about life but who vaguely know that these titles are remembered for decades for some reason.. it seems some extended cartoony dance-fight for the boys and some saccharine melodramatic romance for the girls is all you need to get in there.

The world is run by inheritees.
They can't be expected to know how great things were done by their forebears.
They do however own the show and are forced by their own need for self respect to believe they are entitled to make creative decisions WAY beyond them.

What are they going to do? Imitate and resell the past till its worth nothing. Anyone want to take this bet: spiderman reboot reboot reboot by 2020, Lawrence of Arabia with Robert pattinson by 2015, and on and on until we all kill ourselves.
As long as they do Krull with Samuel Jackson I'll go quietly.

This is probly a private story, but wtf.

This track (REZ) defined my adolescence. My older sister was a party kid (read: raver) and I thought she and her boyfriend were just about the coolest people on the planet when I was about 14. She had crazy colored hair and hosted all her crew's house parties at our house. He was an "agro-skater" as we called them in the mid-90s, and he taught me how to grind rails and do stairs backward. I used to hang around them like the classic cloying little brother, just trying to absorb all their coolness by proxmosis (that's a term for proximity osmosis I just made up).

Late one night, my sister came in to my room when I was in bed and she popped a disc into my stereo and cued up track nine on some nameless trance compilation and pressed the repeat button. REZ. I listened to that track over and over as I fell asleep that night, and for many nights after. I don't mean to be saccharine, but I think all your inner fourteen-year-olds will understand when I say that it gave me a sense of the universe, of all the sensory wonders this life and body had to offer, and even some beyond what I thought possible at the time. I can recite every note of that melody and every drum line in the track as if I were breathing. I danced by myself in the reflection of my bedroom window, making sure I could hit every beat and even started making up some silly shit I thought I would never show anyone. I spent about two years soaking up all the trance I could get (and thankfully my tastes grew more mature and eclectic as a result) and before too long, it was my turn to step out into the night.

My first party was a small affair at a tiny little club on 28th street, where I danced for an hour before falling fast asleep. As I came out of it, I thought I was still dreaming. It was about 3:30, and every single person in that club was sweating like a demon in an incredible symphony of movement. The first notes of the REZ melody were just coming in. I stood up, still a little unsure, or perhaps so excited I couldn't really believe it, and began to move. Before I knew it, I was writhing with the abandon I'd taught myself in the bedroom window and I truly had never felt so alive. A friend of mine had taught me how to figure-eight with sticks earlier in the night (we didn't have LEDs quite yet), and within seconds I was off. And people noticed. A lot of people noticed. By the apex of the track, I was at the center of a circle of party veterans, who seemed to see straight into the center of my transcendent bliss. I laughed like a madman. I cried like a baby. I danced like an animal. By the time the next track began to wind it's way in, I had made friends who followed me and whom I followed for years to come. I never heard REZ out at a party again, but I knew I didn't have to. It had given me an incredible gift, and I am still inspired and filled up whenever I hear it.

My sister broke up with that dude, and it turned out she wasn't really a party kid after all. But I was. Through and through I was a party kid. My friends and I, some of us wear suits now (@handmethekeysyou), some are still dancing (@youmakekittymad), some, well who knows...but I really do believe that what cemented my bond to that scene, and to the people I came to love, had a lot to do with REZ.

Christ, am I ever glad I never watched this show. So disgustingly saccharine!

I think a certain Neko Case interview quote is appropriate there;

Case: 'When I think about Jackie Wilson or the Platters and then I think about modern, Top 40 music that’s really horrible, it makes me mad. … It’s not to do with the people who are doing it as much as the people who are producing it. There’s technology like auto tune and pitch shifting so you don’t have to know how to sing. That shit sounds like shit! It’s like that taste in diet soda, I can taste it– and it makes me sick.

When I hear auto tune on somebody’s voice, I don’t take them seriously. Or you hear somebody like Alicia Keys, who I know is pretty good, and you’ll hear a little bit of auto tune and you’re like, “You’re too fucking good for that. Why would you let them do that to you? Don’t you know what that means?” It’s not an effect like people try to say, it’s for people like Shania Twain who can’t sing. Yet there they are, all over the radio, jizzing saccharine all over you. It’s a horrible sound and it’s like, “Shania, spend an extra hour in the studio and you’ll hit the note and it’ll sound fine. Just work on it, it’s not like making a burger!”'

PITCHFORK: She’s pretty busy making videos and shit though.

CASE: It’s rough, I know. She’s so rich she could get somebody else to do the other stuff while she spends that extra hour in the studio. Or Madonna! Just hit the note! Don’t pretend it’s William Orbit being crafty — we know you’re not hitting the note because you have other shit to do. You can do it, I have faith in you. But don’t leave the studio before you hit that fucking note. And you know what? When you do hit it you’re going to feel so much more valid that it’ll come through in all the other shit you’re supposed to be doing later in the day. Seriously!

And if Celine Dion is supposedly the great singer that she says she is why is there auto tune on every fucking word in her songs? Can’t you just hit it, Celine? Do you have another baby book to shoot? You gotta paint your baby to look like a pot of peas? What are you doing that you can’t be singing in the studio? It’s your fucking job!
http://stereogum.com/2489/neko_case_hates_auto_tune_not_babies/

I quit, but before I did I tallied all the time on all my characters that were above level 10. Didn't delete them, but I'm not playing (or paying) anymore.

saccharin - 117 days, 11 hours, 11 minutes
olaaj - 2 days, 3 hours, 5 minutes
akamdunga - 1 hours, 57 minutes
cuecue - 5 days, 15 hours, 44 minutes
menamuna - 1 day, 20 hours, 59 minutes
dwinny - 1 day, 6 hours, 45 minutes
heilender - 9 hours, 48 minutes
alkabamahma - 2 days, 9 hours, 59 minutes
saccbank - 17 hours, 3 minutes
cuecue 1 day, 18 hours, 14 minutes
usiku - 16 days, 10 hours, 20 minutes
manarae - 3 days, 14 hours, 4 minutes
sauce - 11 days, 13 hours, 42 minutes
pregnancy - 1 day, 15 hours, 29 minutes
shysty - 18 hours, 11 minutes
unavailable - 9 hours, 8 minutes
phala - 4 days, 2 hours, 19 minutes
luul - 3 days, 15 hours, 34 minutes
nirahccas - 7 hours, 21 minutes
sacked - 13 days, 13 hours, 15 minutes
emulsifier - 20 days, 14 hours, 42 minutes

so.. total

days: 117 + 2 + 5 + 1 + 1 + 2 +1 +16+3+11+1+4+3+13+20 = 200. heh!
hours: 11+3+1+15+20+6+9+9+17+18+10+14+13+15+18+9+2+15+7+13+14 = 239 hours
minutes: 11+5+57+44+59+45+48+59+3+14+20+4+42+29+11+8+19+34+21+15+42 = 590 minutes

590/60 = 9.83, so 9 hours, and 50 minutes

239+9 = 248/24 = 10.333, so 10 days, 8 hours

210 days, 8 hours, 50 minutes.

This song and video just blows me away. I've taken to looping it when things get rough...much as I used to do with Pink Floyd when I was young. It's got so very many facets that resonate with my own personal history that it has forced me into the stereotyped reaction; it feels like she wrote this song specifically for me.

It's so rare to find a truly melancholy song that actually ends on an upbeat, without getting all preachy and saccharine. She has managed to remind me that life really does have it's high points...and that I really need to open my eyes and appreciate them. That makes this the kind of song one hopes to discover, but it's more than you could ever actually ask from a songwriter...it's a damned happy day when it all comes together.

So, I promise you one thing. This video -will- end up getting sifted. Even if it takes me five more years to get the votes! I've got points, and I'm not afraid to use them. LOL

*promote