Domed Stadiums (1994) and California (1994)

California, like domed stadiums, is a grand delusion

Jack Perkins is the greatest narrator ever. If forced to deliver a half-hour monologue on petrified cat turds, Perkins could inject a fair amount of gravitas into the turds simply by varying the timbre of his grandfatherly baritone. Domed stadiums, the subject of a 50-minute A&E documentary, are about as interesting as petrified cat shit, so it's a good thing Perkins is the deliveryman. Essentially an acquittal of Toronto's SkyDome and flowing Canadian mullets, Domed Stadiums is, unfortunately, dated at age ten. The Blue Jays suck, the Astrodome and Pontiac Silverdome no longer host mainstream professional sporting events, and Seattle's Kingdome has been detonated into pieces of pigeon poop-caked concrete. Domes are so yesterday.

Rand McNally is also a relic of the past. How else to explain the drab, two-color cartoon map of the Golden State, crappily stitched-together stock footage from the '80s and stereotypical background music utilized for varying ethnic and social groups throughout California's excruciating 30-minute running time? Case in point: California spends all of ten seconds on San Francisco's robust boy-meets-boy population, wherein a doughy, conservatively dressed Reagan-era fag gently scratches his "buddy's" upper back while walking through Castro as a horrendous disco riff plays in the background. Please -- everyone knows all gay dudes have six-pack abs, place their hands in one another's back pockets and dress exclusively in leather boy-shorts while flamboyantly Rollerblading through city streets with their headphones set to Whitney Houston's remix album. Be realer, Rand.

It is worth noting that there are no domed stadiums in California. If Death Valley obtains a professional sports franchise, this might change. But odds are it won't: Weather in California's major cities is just too perfect -- as is the state itself. California, like domed stadiums, is a grand delusion. Both should be avoided like the plague, or a line of cocaine.

Each week the author treks to the Schlafly branch of the St. Louis Public Library, where a staff member blindfolds him and escorts him to the movie shelves. After selecting a film at random, Seely checks it out and reviews it.

 
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