Throw Fish at Bear

Video: Top 10 TV Shows You Like The Best, a Tumblr Meme

2011-12-06T14:29:00.001-08:00

Tumblr Meme: 10 Days of Television - 10 TV Shows You Like The Best

On Tumblr, the meme that this video was birthed from is actually supposed to be 10 different graphics made, one for each TV show, but I am a lazy person... so I decided to spend weeks hunting down clips, piecing them together, finding quotes, and adding sound design instead.

Since this is a blog, here's a little behind the scenes of 10 TV Shows You Like The Best (in order of appearance):

Better Off Ted: Quirky, off-the-wall, but generally heartfelt -- even if that heart was being turned into an experimental weapon -- "Better Off Ted" exemplified a kind of sitcom that elevated past its genre. It gets the honor of being a favorite thanks to killer dialogue, that the actors were able to deliver flawlessly every time. The characters were all just enough aware of their own oddities to keep the reactions greatly wry. Plus, Portia de Rossi. It was cancelled after two seasons, and I think it could've picked up steam with more.

Buffy The Vampire Slayer: This Joss Whedon classic was a staple of my teenage years, filling many a VHS tapes when I'd rush home to capture it. Witty dialogue has no better place than at the end of Whedon's pen. But Buffy had equal parts action, sentiment, and conflict. The titular character was both a hero and a woman, who grew up too fast for her life but at a pace where viewers could feel connected to her through the years. Plus, Spike. It ended on a seven year run, coming to a slightly sped up but at least planned conclusion.

Dollhouse: Another of Whedon's, "Dollhouse" was an examination in a humanity much more sinister than Buffy's. The truths of behavior and questions of morality it dug into were spectacular watching -- and there was some eye-candy to go along with it. Perhaps the best thing "Dollhouse" had to offer was its two unaired "Epitaph" episodes, showing what happened to the world after the events of the show, very apocalyptic-style. It was cancelled after two seasons.

Community: "Community" is a special snowflake full of wit, wry, and pop-culture weirdness. Epically self-aware and endlessly bemused by its own mythology, it's a whip-fast show that manages to be out-there but then pull you back with the all too realistic neuroses of its characters. Extreme things might happen, but there's a sense of actual personality in the denizens of Greendale that puts it past other shows just looking for a punchline. (Anyone sensing the theme of 'witty dialogue' in these yet?) Community is on-going. For now. Maybe.

Life: Representing the beloved genre of cop shows, "Life" takes the story of a former cop who's been wrongfully imprisoned for twelve years. On getting out, he returns right to the job, causing many people to question his motives -- and sanity. Damian Lewis carries this show with an amazing stride, assisted by a smooth story arc and quirky episode-to-episode crimes to solve. His odd behavior is a good sell, letting him be both sunny and then suddenly remind you that he's been in prison for over a decade. Also starring Sarah Shahi with a badge, so. It was cancelled after two seasons. (Pattern?)

Lost: "Lost" was its own little world for most. But I didn't come upon it from the beginning, instead being enticed in by a glimpse of what could be. Of course, then the epic mythology, symbolism, and intense adventure captured me whole-heartedly. It has its flaws, and its question, but "Lost" is a show you can really talk about. And talk about, and theorize about, and argue for and against; it outlives even its six seasons. Highlights include: Michael Emerson, Michael Emerson, Michael Emerson, and Henry Ian Cusick. And some other people.

Fringe: "Fringe" perfects a style of procedural mystery blended with overarcing story. It grips you into its science-fiction world and never lets go. Anna Torv, John Noble, Joshua Jackson, and the gang deliver masterful performances even when talking odd science gibberish. In this show is crafted a wonderful escape, while also humanizing it with the characters that have to discover these mysteries. Olivia Dunham is an FBI agent tasked with a phenomenon known as the "Pattern", odd unexplainable occurrences. She hires on Noble's Walter Bishop and son Peter, but it all proves a lot bigger than them -- or does it. "Fringe" is in its fourth season.

Carnivale: Speaking of sprawling worlds, "Carnivale" takes place in the Dust Bowl Era, which it artistically recreates with great scenery and effects. But all is not the same in this world as ours, for powerful supernatural forces are at work. This show has an amazingly deep background and expansive character development, but is not for those who need a thrill each episode. It has a definite slow-burn, day-to-day pace that will bore some. But the ride is worth it. Also, hey, it's pre-"White Collar" Tim DeKay (and so many other cool people). It was cancelled after two seasons (wtf), and it's obvious that it wasn't supposed to.

Pushing Daisies: Another quirky little piece that stands in its own genre, really. From creator Bryan Fuller (Wonderfalls), "Pushing Daisies" is about a guy who can raise the dead, but that's about as morbid as it gets. Rather, PD relies on bright colors, fanciful outfits, and alliteration. It exists in a world trapped between modern times and the past, with occasional new technology paired alongside 50s outfits or language. The dialogue is again something to pay attention to, as each turn of the phrase is cleverly worked together. It was cancelled-- can you guess? After two seasons.

The 4400: 4400 people are abducted, and then returned on the same day, none having aged a moment since they left. That's the premise that "The 4400" purports. Each of these people return to very different problems, trying to return to life -- but they also have to deal with their newfound superhuman abilities. "The 4400" never tries to become too much, always grounded in the humanity of its characters, and the difficult decisions that must face a changing world where some are new and ostracized. The abilities -- while awesome -- are used more as a vehicle than a spectacle. Its finale remains my favorite episode of any to date. It was cancelled after four seasons; a strange blessing.

Picking ten television shows out of everything I watch was a difficult enough feat -- not to mention that new shows are starting every season, mid-season, and summer. But the 10 here will likely stand the test of time, and should all be tried at least for 1-4 episodes in.

If anyone's wondering how I picked "Where The Streets Have No Name" by U2 as the song... it goes like this: I was driving, thinking about this meme, and the song came on the radio. I didn't know what it was, but I could imagine sweeping visuals to it. When I got back to work, I couldn't remember the lyrics for the life of me and spent a good fifteen minutes or more on the radio station's website, desperately clicking through pages of songs to try and see if any stuck out. Just as I was about to give up, the last page I clicked on yielded the U2 hit and I immediately knew. That felt enough like fate to use. (My remembering of the lyric was something like: 'go different way' or something about a river)

TV Recap: Dexter, S610 "Ricochet Rabbit"

2011-12-06T11:43:00.001-08:00

Parallels continue to build, as Dexter is forced to confront the truth about Travis. The show's tenth episode, "Ricochet Rabbit" focuses on Dexter's attempts to regain the ground he lost by falling for the young man's act of repentance. In a way, Dexter continues to lash out at a vision of himself: man and father figure, versus man and father figure. The episode opens with the disillusioned killer's revelation about Gellar in the freezer, as Travis looks down on him from above.

"Travis, you killed Gellar." But Travis doesn't want to hear it, and he locks Dexter inside, stumbling out to the lawn. He falls down outside where Dexter can conveniently see him talk to the invisible Gellar. "Talking to someone who isn't there," mocks Dexter's father who isn't there. Gellar's spirit says that he called Travis delusional, that it was Travis' religious delusion all along. That he thought he'd survived the stabbing. Travis may be a parallel for Dexter in that he follows the guidance of an invisible father, but his code is all his own, and Gellar was only a vehicle for that. He seems to have been birthed from a justification of Travis' mind, attempting to make itself feel right with what's happening. Sound familiar? Harry's code is no big leap from there. For sociopaths, they're both rather indentured to these visions of reason (even deluded reason).

But in this, Travis has gone from innocence to full-on psycho. He seems to have forgotten that, a second ago, he felt bad for all that he'd gone through. The truth must have broken his head. Dexter recognizes this, as Harry questions "What happened to saving him?" Dexter identifies Travis as being like him, accusing Brother Sam of leading him astray. The situation has clearly affected Dexter, personally. He cuts off Gellar's frozen hand and leaves fingerprints on items around the church so that the police won't stop looking for him (just another way he undermines his own team), then morbidly keeps the hand for a 'rainy day'.

He posts on Gellar's blog as Gellar saying that he was 'wrong'. In an internet cafe somewhere, Travis isn't too pleased, calling Dexter's post out as a "false prophet" then moving on to the convenient videos of his fans. Travis is out there proving the danger of meeting people on the internet.

The cops make it into the church and don't have to do much -- or any -- digging to know that this is the Doomsday's place. But as she looks around, Debra begins freaking out. She leaves to get 'air'. Which is universal language for 'some space to freak out'.

Quinn's continuing to costar in 'Dude Where's My Car', with the car. He wakes up with a leg out the window, a shoe on the lawn, and no spare shirt.

Dexter arrives and Debra tells him how she's feeling -- Dexter actually shares, comparing this incident with his panic attack in the hotel room full of blood, and manages to make her ease up. Dexter and Masuka pair off to examine some jars of blood, leading Dexter to think: "Now that I've done my job, I can get on with my work." His separation of church and state is his constant mistake.

Louis is having some worries about showing Dexter his video-game, but Jamie convinces him to just go for it. Her argument is that Dexter's just a puppy-dog under that hard, emotionless facade thanks to having seen him sing children's songs to his son. Because a man will always treat a complete stranger with a weird fixation the same way he does his baby son. Yes.

At the station, LaGuerta decides to run the meeting and Debra decides to not stand for that. During this feminine ball-measuring contest, Dexter wonders if the girl he let go is Travis' next victim. But as he goes to find her, Louis tries to talk to him. However, the nerd proves easier to blow off than Debra.

Dexter's search for Holly leads him to a yacht called "The Title Of This Episode", which Travis has found first with his new congregation: Steve Dorsey the Super Fan (Doomsday Adam, played by a guy who didn't even get his credit on IMDB) and his adoring wife, Beth (Jordana Spiro). Holly seems to be doing well for herself, for a woman who was held captive and made to drink blood. Good until Travis introduces himself to her doorway. Team Religion proves its worth by cornering her at the other exits.

Angel and Quinn do some slapstick partner stuff.

"His sister seemed so convinced he was a good guy." Irony continues to doggedly pursue Debra and Dexter at the crime scenes, and Debra takes that unresolved tension back to her continually ominous therapist. They discuss how Dexter merely being there calmed Debra down, leading to the decision that he's her "safe place"; Debra reminisces very sweetly on when she would sneak into his room at night when they were kids. Maybe it's selfish, but her dependence going away would feel like a loss.

On the boat (a motherfucking boat), Travis has fully embraced his Gellar side, leading his Super Fan Steve to Holly. Beth's having some doubts but Travis waxes on that familiar speech about how killing her will absolve her of her sins -- it's a kind of love, what they're doing. It's hauntingly echoing of Gellar's own arguments to Travis. And it works. As Travis slits Holly's throat right in front of the audience, Steve relishes his own 'love' by giving her a good stab.

At his house, Dexter also has a fan. Louis shows him his game about being a serial killer. "You can be the Bay Harbor Butcher." Dexter shoots him the hell down, causing Louis to cancel his date and giving Dexter time to hunt down the yacht's location which -- surprise -- has a security camera. Dexter does the mature thing and sets off a car alarm so he can sneak into the security office and have a look-see.

Debra follows a lead left on her desk and discovers the secret of Chief Matthews' rendezvous. The first person she calls is Dexter, but he's off on 'personal business', which Debra manages not to freak out about. She seems to be straddling the fine line of leaning less on Dexter while also identifying that she likes leaning on Dexter.

Louis shows them freaky fan's video claiming that they've been chosen, and that he's already figured out who he is. They've definitely been leaning on this intern a lot. Angel can't get ahold of his partner, however, so he soldiers on as the lone Stooge this time, entering Super Fan's home by way of Steve's wife. Beth puts up a good front for Angel, claiming the videos were only an internet joke. But Angel's a detective, so he gets an intuition, causing Travis to have to smack him over the head with a cross. Travis decides that Angel's badge is a sign for where to release his poison.

Dexter tracks down the yacht and, despite seeing a man wearing a Hazmat suit, decides it's a good idea to walk in without any kind of protection at all. He wrestles down his victim, only to see that it is Super Fan and not Travis at all. Oh, and Wormwood is out. Sorry, Dexter; it's not the end of the season yet. Hearing something outside the boat, Dexter pulls up the anchor, upon which is skewered Holly's body. His father questions if he should call the police, meaning that Dexter is wondering if he should call the police -- progress. But in his anger, he kicks aside a sheet and finds the poison, and his anger causes him to lash out at his invisible, internal father. And then call the police. This is a big step for Dexter, who's always, as these recaps have pointed out, been too selfish to give Miami Metro a hand. But now he calls into 911, leaving an anonymous tip that would probably be more actually anonymous if he didn't have an incredibly distinctive voice.

What do you think: does Debra's increasing tolerance for a brother she's realizing is her rock and solid place make her the most effective new target now that Rita's gone? All those therapy sessions have to be adding up to something.

TV Recap: The Walking Dead 207, "Pretty Much Dead Already"

2011-12-05T21:29:00.001-08:00

The conflict of The Walking Dead's midseason finale "Pretty Much Dead Already" comes from each leader -- or wannabe leader -- feeling the standstill of their situation come to a boiling point. Hershel's secret is out, putting pressure on Rick to challenge their host's belief structure, while Rick is continuously undermined by Shane's impatience towards their sitting still. It's probably the only thing that Shane shares with the viewing audience. Even Glenn's feeling the strain of his former complacency, and the scene opens on his inability to not act.

Camp's quiet, in the aftermath of secrets spilled, and everyone sits in contemplative quiet with the slow-burn of anxiety and Andrea's persistent whet stone. Til Glenn drops the bomb, partly, it seems, by Dale's influence. A quick hop-skip over to the barn ensues, where Shane decides to stick his face right up to it. Shane proposes leaving -- he's sick of looking for a girl who's got no chance -- which gets even Darryl to call him out being an asshole. Ah, the familiar sound of internal squabbles and punches being thrown. "I was going to tell you this morning, but Glenn wanted to be the one" explains Dale over why he knew already. Good thing nobody asked how long Glenn's known. Their yelling clearly upsets the zombies, who don't like to hear mommy and daddy fighting.

But as the action returns-- there is no action. Just Shane getting some scouting out around the barn, deciding that sticking his face into it once wasn't enough. He's pretty keen on opening it up. Glenn goes to talk to Maggie, but sort of gives himself a bad start by already starting out on the other side of a literal fence. He wants to talk; she breaks an egg over his head. It's going well.

In the other neck of the woods, Carl continues to ask the difficult questions. Which is probably more entertaining than the homework he's doing. Even the apocalypse can't stop math. But while he's disillusioned towards Shane, he's not lost hope in Sophia.

Sophia's mother catches Darryl heading out on another probably stolen horse while still injured. She expresses doubt for the first time, confessing that she's come to care for Darryl, and losing him while Sophia's already gone would wreck her. But emotion makes Darryl cranky, so he calls her a bitch and retreats to where he can pretend he has no heart.

In the RV, Dale expresses his doubts towards Shane to Andrea. She's caught in the allure of Shane's ability to turn off his emotions-- her own twisted and burdensome to her. "He's not a victim," she tells Dale, who remains unconvinced. For as much as she says she doesn't like his concern, when Dale says he's calling it quits, Andrea can't quite let it go. But she leaves anyway, to hang out with her bald hunnybunny. Dale hovers rather suspiciously over his bag o'guns as he tells Glenn to give him a moment.

Hershel's enjoying a lunch and light read when Rick arrives. Hershel tells him to leave, and Rick tries to reason with him, telling him that there's only two kinds of people out there in the world. You either get dead, or become "something a lot less than the person you once were." He gives Hershel a state of the world address, trying to convince the stubborn patriarch that the physical cocoon he's embalmed his family in here has blinded him to how harsh conditions truly are. When Hershel seems unwavering, Rick lays the last card on the table: by the way, my wife's pregnant, you insensitive bastard. Not in so many words. Hershel sends him out, but the damage is done on the nerve of eavesdropper Maggie. Storming outside, Rick manages not to get into it with Shane about sleeping with his wife, just everything else.

Maggie pleads the case with Hershel, but they're interrupted by "it". What is it? Hershel comes upon Rick planning a new course of action over Sophia, and asks for Rick's help with "it", denying Andrea's assistance. With the husband away, Shane confronts Lori, calling Rick out: "He ain't built for this world" and claiming that he's saved Lori's life more than Rick ever has. Which... is a weird grading system. Even though the world's gone to shit, Lori wants more than a bulldog; she wants a husband. Shane wants the baby to be his. Shane gets no leniency anywhere; Carl even tells him what's what, and that his attitude is full of crap. That's about as much as Shane wants to put up with, but when he storms into the RV, he discovers the guns are missing. So's Dale. Convenient.

Hershel brings Rick to a swamp where walkers often get stuck, testing him by asking him to help rescue the walkers out who are trapped there. The swamp is apparently a dangerous place. It's also the chosen hiding place of Dale -- except that Shane's already found him. Dale levels a gun on Shane but is unable to pull the trigger. When Shane takes the weapons, Dale defends his actions. "When the world goes to shit, I didn't let it take me down with it." Dale's moral stability continues to make him a candidate for early death.

Darryl and Sophia's Mum have a heart to heart where Darryl proves less allergic to his own one. "What else I got to do," is how he puts it. Rick struggles with steering a walker out of the swamp. Glenn tries to talk to Maggie, finally defending his own action "I'm sick of secrets; secrets get you killed." He has it out, finally realizing that he's been treating the apocalypse like a video-game but that doesn't mean his view is less valid than Maggie's. Walkers are dangerous. But they also get you some action, apparently, since his newfound balls have Maggie forgiving him pretty quick. Only Glenn is getting any.

Oh yeah, there's a black guy in this. He walks up just in time for Shane to give a call to arms -- and some arms. He even tries to give Carl a gun, before everybody spots Rick herding the new walkers in with Hershel. This pretty much is about all Shane can take. So he flips his lid and shoots the walker Hershel's been herding. Then he decides all the walkers in the barn should join the party. As he breaks the locks and walkers begin to wander out, the rest of Rick's camp step up to the shooting gallery, each taking their stance of survival -- Glenn shooting a look to Maggie for permission to put a lead one in the face of her loved ones. Opening fire, they determinedly gun down every single one of them until there's only a pile of corpses as Hershel and his family stare on in mute shock, their precious world stability crumbled like so many downed walkers.

There's just one more moan to attend to. The tiny shuffling feet belong to none other than Sophia, who emerges from the barn with white hungry eyes to the horror of everyone looking on. And looking on is all they do. Previously trigger happy, the band stand there like hypocrites when it comes to as efficiently taking out one of their home. Sophia is left to hobble over the bodies of the others until Rick's face hardens. He purposefully moves past each other person to confront Sophia -- confront the task -- straight-on with a practical but empathetic stare. He shoots. Sophia falls. No one else would.

This is why Rick's the leader.

TV Recap: Dexter, 6x09 "Get Gellar"

2011-12-04T22:37:00.001-08:00

Open on Dexter and Travis right where we left them -- chained to a church, and trying to unchain him from the church. Dexter notices a painting marked with '2LOT' which he later deduces to be the book of a famed atheist hated by Gellar, and likely the angry professor's next target. Since Travis is a wanted man, and basically useless, Dexter sets him up in a hotel. His sister is in with her psychiatrist. Again. After dropping the Brian and Lundy bombs, it's even suggested that they begin meeting more than once a week. There's something vaguely sinister about the way this therapist turns Debra's thinking, even if she needs it.

Arriving at the station, Debra uses her freshly found sentiments to call Dexter a chair and then tell everybody to get their shit together. Which is kind of how all these meetings are sounding. Oh, and Quinn's not there, which Masuka blames on the strip club they visited which, as he clearly remembers, had such highlights as the errant detective attempting to propose to the dancers.

Angel goes to bust Quinn's ball, being the great partner that he is. But as they start to get ready for work without even letting Quinn change his shirt -- you really want to be in the car with that, Angel? -- they notice that Quinn's gun is missing. Oops. Good thing he already had some kind of GPS history pulled up on his web browser that would pinpoint where he must've left it. They visit the house, only to have the hot teen who answers the door call for her far less Barbie-looking mother. So Quinn slept with a homely lady or something. Angel and Quinn are relegated to some kind of side-show Odd Couple storyline, where even Angel's car breaks down. Though it allows Quinn some valuable time to insult every aspect of Angel's life, leading to a fist-fight where Angel probably would've broken his nose if a lady hadn't threatened to call the police. Great partners.

The badge gang notice Gellar's updated blog, and all the fun fanatics who posted that they support him, including convenient video-posts where they show their faces very clearly to the authorities. Better With You (Louis) thinks he can get to the IP address. After some of his smooth-tapping fingers -- interrupted briefly by Masuka with some bizarre love advice, "In matters of the heart, always think with your dick" -- he gets them within viewing distance of a church. Debra orders uniform to fan out and canvas the area.

Later inside, Debra's visited by Jessica Moore's father, asking her to reopen the case, but he's unable to explain why he has some pretty specific details of the case. Thanks to a particularly motivated session with her therapist, Debra tells LaGuerta that she's 'breaking the cycle' of their arguments to opening the case, whether LaGuerta likes her not -- and if not, she can fire her. LaGuerta slips off to a covert meeting with the illicit man she holds blackmail over, none other than the Chief who gave Debra the job. Whoops. On a whole, this situation feels like a sadly deprived way to keep LaGuerta in business -- certainly not relevant, as she continues on the same path she's always held, one of arrogance and holding secrets over other people's heads. Sullying the one person who was above her feels like a possibly cheap way to advance her, as she was already promoted once on dirty information from the same plentiful source.

Meanwhile, Dexter continues to follow his own leads, including a rather overly suitable comment that he's pulling against his own team -- you're a little late to that realization, Dexter. Your entire existence has been to try and cheat the police out of their arrests so that you can have the pleasure of a kill and feel better about yourself, while leaving them in the professional lurch. Gellar's no different, but he acts as though he were. This, in some way, to endear us to his quest to help the unfortunate Travis. So, he visits upon the good Professor Casey, famed atheist, and tries to warn him he's in danger. No dice.

Deciding to be proactive, Dexter brings Travis to the school and they stakeout until Travis sees Gellar entering the building. Dexter tells Travis to hold the stairs while he takes the elevator to cut Gellar off, only to have it grind to a halt less conveniently in-between floors. Being a ninja, Dexter is only slightly put-off. But as he gets to the upper doors, Travis pries them open and they search the office only to find that Gellar has already gotten to Casey. And another one bites the dust.

Despairing that this is his fault, Travis seems to have lost most of his steam, which Dexter reignites by telling him to reach out to Gellar on his blog, pretending to be repentant so they can lure Gellar in. Too late, though, to save Casey, when Dexter is called to the scene where the professor's body lies on the very stage he taught upon. One hand is missing, and so is everything inside. As Dexter raises his eyes to the heavens, Masuka raises the stumpy arm -- triggering the buckets above which overturn, raining blood and manly professor guts down upon the detectives. Drenched in an innocent man's blood, Dexter makes a rare messy figure, drenched in the liquid of his profession, but sneering -- seeing, as you will, red. He promises wrath on Gellar, and we believe him.

Meanwhile-meanwhile, things are heating up for Louis, the tall nerdy intern, when he resolves to bring hot Jamie home to show her his collection -- and then his bedroom. And the audience gets to see his prized Ice Truck Killer hand. And the impression of Aimee Garcia's naked legs.

Debra goes straight to the one person she thinks she can talk to -- her therapist -- to talk about what just happened. Does this woman have no other patients? They discuss Debra's trend of bad decisions when it comes to relationships, notably not bringing up the latest and greatest, Quinn, whose brutal fist-match with Angel has been left with less resolution. These therapist visits are clearly leaving quite an impression on the young lieutenant, who greets Dexter's next attempt to ask her how she's doing with a snarky comment and a nice view of her back. Even though the therapist was talking about Debra's romantic relationships being unhealthy and changeable, she seems to continue to inspire sister and brother to connect less and less, a depressing venture when it was the one relationship always able to bring around Dexter's lament for real human emotions. Now, he swears in the name of Harrison.

It's this Harrison that he claims to be working for, when his Obi-Wan-Kenobi vision of his father questions him at the church later. "I want to be better", Dexter claims. Not a better person, which he believes to be beyond his grasp, but a better father. Dexter, my friend, we're not sure those two things are mutually exclusive.

This confrontation is thanks to Travis waking up from a fretful sleep to find that Gellar has written "BRING THE FALSE PROPHET TO THE CHURCH" on the bathroom wall in blood, and lent him a hand. Travis calls Dexter, telling him that the message came from the blog. Once at the church, Dexter tells Travis to go in first. He does, confronting Gellar whose menacing comments about second chances and repentance do not bode well for the tearful Travis. Stepping into Gellar's out-stretched grasp seems to spell no more than his doom -- one that would wreak a grave unhappiness in Dexter, as he relies on Travis to prove that second chances away from Dark Passengers is possible. But when he stalks into the church, neither man is anywhere in sight. He eventually spots Travis on the ground, still breathing, but out of it. A search for Gellar shows him a secret door in the floor under the altar table, and Dexter descends.

He finds a basement, filled with trinkets. And a giant freezer. And in the freezer is Gellar's long dead and respectfully preserved body. Above, Travis' eyes open. Dexter comes to the heavy conclusion that Gellar is dead, has always been dead, and it's Travis who's been killing all along: he's made a "grave mistake". Dexter runs to the passage entrance to see his nemesis there -- for, truly now, Travis and Dexter are equals, haunted both by Dark Passengers and father figures who appear to them as if real. Only Travis' two figures are the same, leading him astray in a darker code than Dexter's attempt towards the light. As the episode closes, Dexter will find himself with a hard purpose: stop Travis, who he put so much stock in saving.

TV Recap: American Horror Story, S108 "Rubberman"

2011-11-29T21:43:00.001-08:00

Once again, an aptly named episode rolls around as "American Horror Story" begins its eighth episode, promising "Rubberman" for all. The opening shot is no less than the titular character, stalking the hallways as he's been apt to doing lately in small glimpses. The fear of the Rubberman so far has been in his few, subtle -- and a not-so-subtle encounter with Vivien -- appearances, lending a brooding quality to his appeal so that the shit's proximity to the fan can be measured by if that shiny bit of latex has appeared down the hall. Like when you can tell a boss battle is about to start in your video-game because suddenly everybody's dropping health items. So, when the identity is revealed...

But first, we see the real estate woman looking inappropriately unhappy about the fact that she's sliding that 'Sold' sign up above the For Sale post she probably keeps in her trunk for this house. Inside, there's somewhat less than the owners stalking about. Unless you count being irrepressibly possessive after death as proof of ownership. In what is likely a christening for new owners, the doctor's wife -- this episode was riddled with me forgetting everyone's name -- wanders around insulting the gross decoration choices that have taken over her house. We can't see who she's talking to but he lays on her a sympathetic hand, acknowledging her lonesome wail: "Where's my baby?"

A timely flashback to the Rubberman introducing himself to Vivien seems to point a big shiny arrow: here. Here is your baby. We even doubled your order for you. After the reminiscing on baby-making, we get to follow the rubber-clad baby-daddy to the bathroom where he disrobes at the face, revealing that of Tate. And all before the credits that I consistently skip through.

While the audience has had time during commercials to drive over to Twitter and express their shock/awe/disappointment/general feeling of let-down at seeing the previously enigmatic and frighteningly inhuman representation of our inner sado-masochism given a human face, Vivien is still pretty riled up about everything that's been going on with her. Marcy (that's her name!) feels free to blame it on hormones, since mockery is always a good way to approach a pregnant lady, but Moira gets a bit snippy over the real estate agent's close-mindedness.

In the next of what will be a series of smooth transitions, we're shown the one who has Zachary Quinto's face lamenting that he also feels crazy -- and cheated on, and unloved, and generally paranoid -- proving that the house has decided that he's the woman in the relationship. And no one's surprised. His best girlie friend lays on him the truth that relationships have to be fought for, especially ones with hunky guys from old lawyer shows, but her advice seemed slightly off: hey, you're uncomfortable with kinky behavior? Well, better get over it if you want to kowtow to your cheating boyfriend's needs. That's a way to to a healthy relationship right there.

But Zachary Quinto -- oh, Chad, thank you, dialogue -- is a gamely fellow, so he does the open-minded boyfriend thing and visits a fetish shop. When he says he's not into pain, the rather casual and intuitive shop-keep suggests that maybe Patrick wants to top for once, oh, and here's a full-body latex suit that you may never be able to get out of once you're in. Because, really, can you imagine sweating in that thing? Anyway, ZQ-Chad buys the suit. Obviously.

Back in Avenue Q, the dead mistress of the cheating dad (naaaames) decides it's time to lay the truth on the original lady ghost because it's incredibly tiring listening to her cry all the time. Gotta say, the girlfriend has come to terms with this all fairly quickly. Her tale of here's-the-facts reveals how some of the ghosts spend their time when they're not on-camera, including that Moira and the girlfriend have some issues with each other's lifestyles, and Hayden (oh, hey, girlfriend's name) may have some deep-seated unresolved issues versus cheating husbands that she takes out on Constance's former flame Eric-Close's-face by sexing and then repeatedly stabbing him. It turns out, this gets pretty unsatisfactory pretty fast when she lies down to cuddle with the dead body only to have it wake up and decide he's peckish. Through all this, she convinces the lady ghost that they need to take back what's rightfully theirs: some babies. Her plan? Prove that Vivien's crazy so she's never able to keep them. Hayden should probably use some of her dead down time to come up with a back-up that doesn't involve the baby's mother leaving the house before she ever gives birth. Oh, and, Vivien was totally right earlier about who was trying to steal her life.

Hayden begins enacting her plan just after that with all the regular signs, proving that she's a classic horror fan. Stuff breaks, lights flicker, and laughter echoes down the corridor. As Vivien staggers and gasps and runs about, she makes a loop back to the bathroom and sees the rubber mask lying there in wait. It's appearance cues another smooth transition to Tate sliding the face mask on right before he goes to dispose of Chad in the bobbing for apples bin. Seen that. But this time, we're treated to his slightly longer struggle with Patrick, whose constant days at the gym can't save him from getting his head bashed against the table. We can only hope that's what killed him, and not Tate's instant instinct to roll him over and tug his pants down while holding a fire-place poker...

Jump to Patrick's body dropping down the basement stands into lady ghost's proximity. She decides not to comment on the nice view of blood on Patrick's backside, so neither will we. Instead, she wants to know what's up from Tate, who reveals that he offed the unhappy couple because they were backing out on their plans to have a baby, and he's bound and determined to get her one. Mommy issues, etc, etc. By now, the mood is quite set for his purpose with Vivien later, but we're given an interlude into Violet trying to play fetch with Beau. Ben catches her talking to thin air and summons her upstairs for a 'talk' about how she's been missing school, the naughty girl. As Violet grows defensive, Ben goes into therapy-mode, which is probably the last thing you want to do to your daughter. Violet throws his affair in his face -- at which point she mentions that Moira is an old lady in her eyes, but Ben doesn't have time to pick up on that fact when she storms moodily out.

Speaking of Moira, she's fixing Vivien some of that tea she promised way back in their first scene, listening to Vivien blame the drugs she's been taking. Instead of drugs, Moira has a better answer: men. "Since the beginning of time, men find reasons to lock women away," she laments, recalling the tale of "The Yellow Wallpaper" and some creepy things that happened to creepy people once. After expounding liberally on the faults of men, including the estranged Mister of the house, Moira asks: "May I speak freely, Mrs. Harmon?" As opposed to... what he's been doing this entire time? 'Free speech', as it is, turns into a confession that there's spirits in the house, and if Vivien knows what's good for her and her babies, she'll book it.

In a shockingly un-television-like move, Vivien listens. Immediately. So immediately that she springs upon Violet in her bed and announces that they're up and out of there. They even get so far as the car before Violet notices Tate giving her the sad-face. She gets in the car, but, surprise! There're some dead home intruders in the back-seat. Violet and Vivien bolt back into the house and Hayden's ghost smiles, clearly quite pleased with herself and how well she seems to have tamed the other ghosts into caring about her angry quest.

Ben's first reaction to this is to bitch about how Vivien was trying to separate him from his family, the horrible wench, managing to completely ignore that there were crazy people in the car. It's a good thing Vivien has a track-record for being crazy now or he might look like a terrible person. When Vivien comes to her own defense, Ben begins to therapy her too, because he remembers how well that worked with his daughter. It works really well with Vivien, too, obviously. She suggests he talk to said daughter to prove her point.

So. Apparently, Violet and Tate had some sex while we weren't looking. A rather prudish and cheap out for the typically unabashed show. Speaking on the very nature of his being, Tate reassures her that he'll "always be here", if that's what she wants. I'm willing to venture that this is true even if she didn't want it, as he didn't do a very good job of leaving her alone back when she was less committed about this relationship. Violet has a better concern: "They'll always be here, too, won't they?" But Tate claims that they can't hurt them. He clearly hasn't been kept abreast of Hayden's fun-ventures. In fact, he's pretty adamant that Violet not reveal her crazy belief in ghosts so that she isn't taken away from him to the funny farm.

Just in time for Violet to be called downstairs to be witness to her mother's defense. Fresh off her post-coital sharing time with Tate, Violet lies through her teeth about having seen the dead people. Ben excuses her, and demands to stay the night, following Vivien's insistence that she's seen Hayden around. She accuses Ben of being in cahoots with his former fling and of leaving the rubber mask around. Ben reveals that he's never worn the suit; he threw it out. Dun dun.

Hayden's little game moves onto Tate after all. But he's having none of her climbing into his lap, claiming 'love' as his out. This doesn't rub Hayden too well, probably because she's spiteful towards all relationship things, and men in general. There's gotta be a reason she keeps sex-stabbing Eric Close. Besides the fact that she clearly was kind of unstable to start. But it's probably just the undead baby hormones, right! Actually... there could be a whole situation there relating to those women who steal other people's babies after losing one because of their depression -- and other things that should probably be researched before being referenced...

Vivien decides she's taking things into her own hands when she invites Marcy over to tell her that they're leaving tomorrow, and that's it. Her really rather brutal verbal abuse of Marcy gets called out and they start to fight, but Vivien collapses in the throes of pregnancy illness. Excep-- psych! As Marcy's off to fetch her water, Vivien steals something from the agent's purse and asks that she get some time to lie down. Marcy lets herself out, and we see that Vivien has stolen her gun. Good things are on the horizon, clearly.

In the bedroom, Vivien goes through the checklist of all small children everywhere: she checks under the bed, behind the curtains, and in the closet for monsters. She's barely into the covers -- in fact, she's just perfectly comfortable when it happens; ghosts are bastards -- when there's a noise. Rubberman! Vivien presses the panic button, helping to pay for the security guard's luxurious lifestyle (has that been used in every episode now?), and then proceeds to shoot her husband. See! Good things.

A patched-up Ben seems to be recovering just fine, though, when Luke barges in and gets super on his case. It's fairly obvious where his bias lies, as he spills all of Ben's secrets to the police who start to wonder if they've let this guy drug his wife after all. Ben has a right to be suspicious of the situation, but he's utterly tactless about leaping down Ben's throats, earning him no points for not remaining reasonable for a single second.

Vivien's drugged, so what does she care. Except that Hayden is there to wake her up with a startling yell. Vivien tries to agree with her, but it comes down to what Hayden wants -- "what's in your womb." Vivien's having none of this: "You're sick," she says, but Hayden counters, "No, I'm dead!" and introduces her to the father of her children: Rubberman! Tate wrestles Vivien into the position only for him to suddenly turn into Ben. Oh, and Luke is there, too. Just in time to listen to Vivien freak out about two people being there who aren't there.

The whole room becomes silent like a funeral, as the policemen step pointedly inside. No words, but the cool dawning on Vivien what is occurring. Violet stands in, a wide-eyed witness to her mother's trial -- one that she helped lead her to -- a veritable Judas, staring at what she's done but unable to speak up, even as Vivien is escorted out of the room and down the stairs. Slow-motion lets us watch the wash of relief or acceptance as Vivien descends the stairs, finally taken from a house she could not escape by her own power, until she lost it all, even over her own mind.

Violet watches, and is given the last reassurance every lying teenager wants to hear from a proud father: "You told the truth." Whoops. It'll weigh heavy on her, this betrayal of parent for boyfriend. Speaking of: Tate approaches from behind, fluidly stepping in as Ben steps out -- Violet's one life replaced by the one she's chosen. "It's okay; I'm here," says Tate, and the house's architecture frames the happy couple.

The epilogue is no surprise, but a cool commentary, punctuating a purpose, as Tate hauls Chad into the basement and causes him to stir. He and Moira coldly discuss the purpose of framing the job as a murder/suicide while Chad reaches poignantly out for his dead boyfriend's hand. Murder heals all grievances for a moment. Until Tate brutally sends the bullet through his chest, trapping him forever in a cycle of paranoia and disgust for the boyfriend whose hand he can never grasp.

Can't say that Hayden's plan seems particularly sound... but only more episodes will show for sure -- and, well. The fact that the writers can basically have it work out however they need, despite. All in all, "Rubberman" tells a fluid story, revealing many missing scenes and gaps, but the unmasking of its most iconic and inhuman menace can't help but feel like a slight let-down, as "American Horror Story" begins to unfold more as a story about the craze that descends on people in relationships than strictly supernatural forces.

TV Recap: The Walking Dead S206, "Secrets"

2011-11-27T22:07:00.001-08:00

"Everything's food for something else." From the mouths of babes. It's Carl's flippant air of survivalist nature that runs as catalyst for Lori's inevitable decision in The Walking Dead's episode 6, "Secrets". There has never been a more appropriate episode title. But, as we found out, Walking Dead writers aren't interested in stringing us painfully along with secrets that shamble on like the walkers that are so prevalently missing from the show -- they're interested in exploring what effect these secrets have on the people who must work with them. We're shown a bevy of secret-keepers, and how they deal with their pesky issues.

First up is Glenn, who couldn't lie to save his life, but at least he's honest about it -- although, really, at that point, what choice does he have. The problem with Glenn's inability to lie is that he also has an ability to look like he isn't covering something up. He's easy prey for Dale's cool intuitiveness, which we'll explore in more depth later. Glenn's progression is an interesting one, as he offers a hand to Lori, acting in both the interest of the child and of his perceived friendship with the woman. Nevermind that she asked him to go pick up some birth control pills.

Taking Maggie along on the venture with him proves troublesome when she's angry at him, then disagreeing with him, then bitching about his friends, then almost killed. But at least after she's done chucking things at Lori, she admits she has feelings for him. The most notable point comes from this last confrontation, where Maggie gives Glenn's passive character the kick in the ass he's been needing: "You're walker bait," she says, after telling him he's a better leader than he lets the team give him credit for. She also uses the term "walker", which she had, minutes ago, denounced him for saying.

Glenn's dangerously fraught journey into the town with Maggie didn't just allow her to express her feelings, but demonstrated the continued tension of one lifestyle versus the other. Directly after Maggie described the walkers as "people", she was attacked by one. In saving her, Glenn also seemed to be pointing out the flaws in her point-of-view; though he has been seen as the "weakest" member of his own group, to those with Hershel's blinders on, he is still a brutal killer, who is able to do what it takes to survive. (Although, can we take a second to wonder, again, why the shelves are so low in the pharmacy? Some things are understandable, but how many other women seriously needed to raid the pregnancy test collection before Lori.)

Off elsewhere, Rick and the menfolk are making plans. They huddle over a map, still absorbed in the task of determining where a frightened Sophia might be hiding. Based on Darryl's discovery last episode, they have a point to work from. But don't expect to hear much from Darryl on that; after a tiny apology from Andrea, he won't be showing up again.

We should be honestly surprised any of them allowed guns after what happened before, but okay. They've promised to behave so clearly things'll be different, right? Sure. At least Rick demonstrates that he's the only television character who learns from the previous episode by requiring all supposedly Hershel-approved endeavors to be run by Hershel. Revolutionary.

This leads us to Lori's protest that Carl be allowed to learn how to fire. At this point, the kid's already been shot -- as she herself says -- he might as well know how to fire. The odds are fairly high that the need will come up eventually, and a kid who's trained is better than a kid flopping around traumatized by the thought of a weapon. Learning to use one doesn't mean he has to walk around with one in his pants (sorry, Carl). We are, however, left wondering how actually comforting it is to hear that Shane used to teach younger kids how to fire. The argument makes Lori have to be the 'bad guy' again, but she folds, insisting that Carl treat this as serious as it is.

Once they get firing, Andrea proves herself to be a rather keen natural marksman, which presses all of Shane's manly buttons. Their courtship continues in the vein of Andrea seeking a bit of that danger and swagger that Shane projects, while Shane probes Andrea (not literally; yet) for a like-mind. When he gets her out alone and tests those boundaries by riling her up when she can't hit a moving target, Andrea balks. She's unable to surpass her sentimental psyche that says bringing up Amy is too sensitive in order to break into the survivalist, brutally uncaring world that Shane wants her to join him in. Also, at this point, I have to ask: at what point are they learning, and at what point are they just wasting bullets?

The courtship ritual moved on to Shane chasing Andrea down in his car -- this very familiar sight from more romantic venues was a surprising vision of the world they left behind. A man and a woman having an argument. It was as simple as that. Oh, until they journeyed into the walker-infested suburbia (social commentary?) and Andrea had to prove herself under fire. Or, that she could fire. Under fire. She proved it; and it's pretty obvious that she liked it. She even decided to show Shane just how much she liked it on the ride back. Regretfully, for some of us, that meant with sex, and not a bullet to the head.

Dale's the unexpected hero of this episode, emerging while everyone else is away having their own personal dramas or firing their guns off. Gleaning information from Glenn was perhaps not too difficult, but the cool, non-confrontational approach he takes when talking to Hershel about the walkers in the barn shows a sophistication the rest of the group sorely lacks. He even offers to contribute by making sure the area is secure, rather than jumping down Hershel's throat that they all be shot.

While everyone else blusters around, Dale is able to come at Hershel without that build-up of butting heads. Though Rick is docile and generally puppy-doggish, he's also a younger man, in his prime, and a leader who works towards the desires and benefits of his own group. This is a challenging picture to an older gentleman who just wants his own family and to do things his own way. However, no matter how calmly Dale presents his case, Hershel poses a question for both him and viewer: "Rick's a man of conscience; but are you so sure about everyone in your group?"

The magical power of Dale's intuition didn't stop there. He also smoothly approached the topic of Lori's pregnancy, expressing little actual surprise over her revelation that she'd been with Shane. Once again, he handled the passing of secrets with composure and sensitivity. He just wasn't able to reassure her that this was the best place to pop out a baby. Don't sweat that one, Dale. Instead, he moved onto the next person in need of a little intuitive wake-up call: Shane. Unfortunately, a romp in the front seat wasn't enough to mellow the cap-wearing cop once Dale approached in father-mode. Dale confronted Shane over the possibility that Otis hadn't 'died in the way Shane suggested. "I know what kind of man you are" he levels. Shane's own "a little boy lived because of what went down that night" condemned him as well as anything else -- his non-specificity pointing a giant glaring headlight at his lie of omission. And, yes: we think you're the kind of guy who threatens other guys while trying to sound insulted that it's suggested you're that kind of guy.

Last on the stop of the secret train was Lori's conflict with telling Rick that she was pregnant, and if she wanted to have the baby. Flying by the highly controversial abortion attempt, more of note was her confrontation with her husband earlier: "Were you gonna tell me?" accuses Lori, when Rick is revealed to have concealed the information that Hershel wants them gone. That one'll come back to bite her later. Testing the waters of trust isn't exactly wise when you're holding onto a big one, yourself. In fact, she had the balls to ask "Does it matter?" when Rick asked her how long she'd been keeping the secret of her pregnancy from him. Really, she of all people should have known that was an extremely stupid question.

Perhaps the single most amazing thing about "Secrets", however, (besides Dale and his magic) was that things got said. Not a lot else happened, as is theme with this current season -- but secrets were outed, and people acted responsibly about them. Rick tried to reason out why his wife slept with another man. Possibly because he is made out of empathy and eats understanding for breakfast. There is likely to be fall-out from this in the next episode, but that's what makes The Walking Dead's explorations continue to be quality writing: people learn, people evolve (except you, Shane), secrets get to be said, and then we know that we'll get to watch how that affects everyone.

Till next time: exactly how much did Glenn's vaguely foreshadowing-sounding "I always do [come back]" alarm you?

TV Recap: Dexter, "Sin Of Omission" S6E8

2011-11-27T19:29:00.001-08:00

Dexter's characteristic narrative picks up the episode expunging on the innocent nature of children -- trusting everything and everyone -- but maybe what he really should have been expounding on is the relationship between a brother and sister. That's certainly what Dexter's Season 6, Episode 8, "Sin Of Omission" seemed to be circling around, while Dexter circled the DDK killer.

Having newly returned from his unscheduled hiatus in Nebraska, Dexter attempts to apologize to his sister. He uses his newly minted -- and perished -- best friend's death, along with that of his wife, for his weepy doe-eyed defense, while Debra points out that his unauthorized but unpunished vacation will make it appear like he's being given preferential treatment. Plus, you know. The maniac out there offing people. But Dexter's careless use of Debra's blinders when it comes to her brother is more the touchy subject. And it's truly a tough situation for both of them. Their pointedness, and her sighing acceptance of his apology (how many of you could tell she knew she was going to forgive him?) continues their relationship as one of the better parts of the show.

But things aren't going to be getting easier. Because let's jump to Travis being affectionately adorable with his own sister -- a clear indicator that everything's going to end poorly. It's a tried and true process, especially since Professor Gellar has nothing better to do than stand around in people's backyards. He's clearly suffering some kind of separation anxiety, but Travis wants none to do with it. His age-old attempt to get his sister to take an impromptu vacation tanks on the usual note. Because that worked out so well for Dexter, too.

Meanwhile, our sad sister-lying anti-hero has found himself at a funeral where he gains a particular twitchy nose as Brother Sam's ashes are spread. It looks vaguely like he may be feeling emotions. And is drastically allergic to them. Also, his curiously proud thought that Sam's message may have helped him because he didn't kill Jonah seems to fall vaguely flat when considering that he did, in fact, kill Kyle, the actual person Sam asked him to forgive. But good try, Dex. But... no.

So Dexter decides to use his newfound powers of not killing certain people when it's emotionally convenient to approach Travis, laying out such blatant lies as "I'll take care of it" and that the police don't need to know. Gives you strange visions of a future where Dexter works for hire. Got a problem? Not anymore you won't!

At this juncture, "Sin Of Omission" offers us a side case to take a breather on. A call-girl has gotten herself dead, thanks in all part to the solid combination of drugs and slippery surfaces. Dexter proves that he's still actually really good at his job when he decides to show up, and new black detective proves that he's starting to fit in by showing displeasure at LaGuerta's surprise appearance. For lecturing Debra so hard on how a lieutenant doesn't go to the crime scenes, she's not really setting a great example. No one's surprised.

Back at homebase, some things happen with Dexter's new fanboy -- that guy from the righteously cancelled "Better With You" -- which are mostly throwaway, and even more likely to have bearing later when things explode in a dark and morbid fashion. This is "Dexter", after all, and lest we not forget that Fanboy is working on an alarmingly accurate 3D version of the station. More importantly for our episode theme, however, Batista's sister arrives with an agenda her overprotective brother can't quite accept. Their banter is somewhat predictable, but continues the thread of siblings and their -- occasionally convoluted -- attempts to shelter one another. But whereas Dexter or Travis' is born of the need to shield from darkness, Batista is shouldered with the common dating problem.

As Dexter indulged in a bit of illicit research, concerned over the police's ability to actually do their jobs, it has to be pondered how poorly Dexter's habits reflect on the station. His somewhat selfish aim to off the city's most infamous serial killers continuously leaves the police out in the cold, appearing crippingly unable to catch even the slightest one. He should possibly be concerned with how the public is going to run him and everyone else out of there with pitchforks if they don't catch somebody once in a while.

In some filler, LaGuerta confronts Debra with some more of her passive-aggressive bullshit, and Travis is forcefully reunited with his mentor, but the most poignant, again, is Debra's questioning of Travis' sister. In just a few words, the woman gets across exactly what situation Debra can look forward to -- is in now. It should've been slapping her across the face. When faced with early trauma, brother shuts himself off and won't speak up about his feelings? Debra thinks that the woman probably knows something -- not necessarily that Travis is a killer -- but is hiding it? Does this blind-spot for a brother's darkness resonate at all with her? Cause it should. Her later joke with the therapist about believing Dexter will one day kill her can be laughed off, but not by the viewing audience, who might feel a bit of a jar for that potential foreshadowing. "Sin Of Omission" makes it feel as though we are temptingly growing closer to that inevitable moment when Debra accepts -- because, in a way, don't you think she knows something's up? -- that her brother is not who she thinks he is. Oh, and he kills people.

And, of course, her therapist has a point -- but not one that will serve Dexter. Driving Debra home to give her brother some potential venting time only causes her to see him as he leaves for parts unknown, unable to explain to her where he's going. His continued "something's come up" and "gotta go somewhere" are no longer going to cut it, as Debra feels increasingly let down by a relationship she's coming to depend too heartily on. Her need to stand over Dexter and vent to him every single tiny frustration in her life gives her a crutch that she'll soon pick up and beat him over the head with for not reciprocating. It feels definitely like she's no longer going to let him get away with as much shit as before.

But this episode manages to mix the sweet with the bitter. Her emotional "It's not a burden for me to be there for you" rings heartfelt and thoughtful to the family condition. Too bad she forgot that she has an emotionless lump for a brother. Dexter hasn't though; he has no compunctions leaving her in the lurch to go hunt down Gellar. On the bright side, he manages to phrase it as going to "rescue Travis", so we manage not to hold it too much against him. This time. Or else we are merely reminded that we are rooting for a guy whose urges to kill are stronger than his human feelings.

Oh, and, Quinn is drunk (he should realize he's at his lowest point when even Masuka displays more restraint and better judgment), LaGuerta has some dirty laundry (no one's surprised), and Batista scares Better With You off of his sister.

But perhaps the most gut-wrenching part was also the most inevitable: the reveal of Travis' sister as the whore of Babylon, Gellar's latest victim. The episode strung it out as long as possible, pulling away at the curtain, only to have her trussed up in a mask. Debra's reaction was meant to be our own: a gasp of recognition and guilt. And here ends the line of Travis' attempts to protect his sister, the last powerful emotion he was able to cling to, and begins an even more dangerous one: vengeance. In trying to get back his disciple, Gellar has created a powerful enemy -- whose allegiance with Dexter marks the end of the episode.

One sister down. What does this say about Debra's chances?

Fairytales in Movies: A Hollywood Ever After

2011-11-27T11:37:00.000-08:00

"Trends are undoubtedly a Hollywood affair, and recent productions make it clear that re-envisioned fairytales is one that has been plucked and embraced whole-heartedly. With two Snow White theatrical releases on the horizon — and one red-headed step-child going straight to video — two fairytale-rooted television shows, and the announcement of a pair of Beauty and the Beast projects, it’s evident that the time is ripe for the reign of princesses, the sweeping romanticism of happy endings. But the creative trend is not to satisfy the wistful child’s spirit in all of us, as instead a second pattern has formed: the ‘dark’ retelling...."

[ Read more at Picktainment.com ]

Star Wars, Comics, & Ray Park: The Day I Had The Best Idea Ever

2010-02-22T21:58:00.000-08:00

I know, I know, I owe you guys some movie reviews; but since there's only five of you or something, I don't feel all that bad. We're gonna take a little detour towards What Happened To Me This Weekend instead.

Also, this post is sponsored by Your Mother Buying You Pizza.

Last Friday, I was sitting on the internet -- doing something very productive and responsible -- when my Twitter alerted me that I had a message. I'm sure I finished whatever productive and responsible thing I was doing before checking it. The point is-- the message was from a friend who'd seen a message that actor and all-around hotstuff Ray Park would be at some place called Frank 'n Sons comic store on Saturday, the 20th. Who was I to ignore a call of destiny like that? Saturday, the 20th, was the next day. So I went right to the business of looking up this Frank and something place. The name actually came up as Frank 'n Sons Collectible Show and turned out to be AN ENTIRE WAREHOUSE OF COMIC RELATED GOODS.

I found this part out when I drove there and an hour and a half later was greeted by a gigantic warehouse, a gaggle of Stormtroopers (official term for multiple Stormtroopers in one area, fun fact), and the equally gigantic traffic pile-up its lack of parking space created. Eventually, though, I found some overflow and strode by way back to the quite obvious celebration.

After loitering outside to see if I could see anything really exciting worth sticking around for, I decided to head into the building proper and check this thing out.

As it turns out, a "collectible show" is kind of like a convention that is open regular business hours. Walking into the entrance, past vendors of hot-dogs and tacos, I was immediately greeted with the fact that I couldn't go anyway because thirteen people wanted to stand back and take photos of Darth Vader. So, exactly like a convention.

They'd basically put all the Star Wars event stuff right in the entryway so it was easy to find and also sure to create as much of a human traffic pile-up as possible to the point where you have to physically force people around you to go in another direction. So... exactly like a convention.

... and I got a picture of Darth Vader. I mean, hell, why not, I was stuck there, wasn't I?

Notice how all my pictures are slightly out of focus and yellow-tinted? exactly like a convention!

Also, this girl who I bothered for a picture for reasons obvious to my family members.

Following this Celebration-flashback moment, I decided to get myself a look-see at what the rest of the building held in store. Ha, get it-- cause it's a store. Anyway, I started to do a loop around the entire outside. The place is basically filled to the brim with booths of varying sizes pretty much filled to bursting with trading cards, illegal movies, comic books, action figures, anime posters, figurines, old Barbie dolls, a surprising amount of Disney Princess propaganda, and, of course--

... tables for the gamers.

Evidence of all that other stuff, now showing:

In the milisecond it took to take this picture, the screen went from showing all the rangers to just Tommy's face. I know, I like it better this way, too.

Hahahaha. ... Twilight Barbies suck.

... yeah, I definitely only took that picture to do that.

This is probably my favorite action figure ever. As a child, I know I wouldn't have needed anything else in the world once I had a zombie Spiderman holding his own detached leg. I mean. Really. We were all missing out in our younger years, and we didn't even know that this empty hole we felt but couldn't ever reach was just waiting for zombie Spiderman holding his own detached leg.

(He's got a leg off.)

"What's with all the Belle stuff?" you might ask.

"Seriously, get back to the Star Wars part."

"I'm so eff'n serious, take your freaky obsession with Beauty and the Beast and get off the internet."

Well, too bad. Those were for my sister. And so is this:

But not this. This is just for some girl who knows my sister:

And this is for me:

And this is OF me:

By now you might have guessed that I had company. That's right. Sometime while I was wondering around, the girl I'd invited and then forgotten to tell her where I'd be standing to wait for her found me anyway. Her name's Taryn and she has the debatable pleasure/no other choice but to work with me at our mutual non-paying office. But Taryn didn't find me until after I-- Oh, damn. I seem to have left out part of the story.

Okay, forget all that shit about dolls -- but not the first part, because that was real -- just the-- you know what. Remember when I was doing that circuit all the way around? Well, I finished it. And I ended up back where I started. (There's something depressing and philosophical in that)

That place was here:

Staring at some dude's cool artwork. There were three... possibly four or more of them there -- all with tables set up to display their art. Mostly people show off trade cards at these sorts of things and sell them for a lot more money than I imagine trade cards are worth, but since they also take custom orders and sit there and work on them in front of you so you can see how painstakingly awesome it takes to make one of them... I guess they get away with it. Unlike me getting away with that sentence.

The point is, I struck up a conversation with these fine gentlemen and usurped most of the space in front of both of their tables with little to no shame. We learned all about each other, and I got a free comic book series out of calling myself a writer, so I'd say it went pretty well. In fact, I spent quite some time there. Standing right there. Looking right at this view:

Do you see anything notable about this picture? No, it's not the head of the man using a tiny-ass paintbrush to paint a kick-ass picture of Darth Vader. Here, let's give you a more obvious and slightly less camera-blurry try:

Is that... I don't know... RAY PARK STANDING RIGHT THERE? HOW LONG HAS THAT BEEN GOING ON? -- that's pretty much what my brain did once I realized that's whose ass I was generously staring at whenever I glanced up to get a feel of the room. Somewhere, somehow, Ray Park had ninja'd himself into the room and there was already a line of people forming who'd become aware of this fact slightly faster than I had.

This was also about the time Taryn showed up, so I suggested we get into that line. It wasn't very clear where it ended, so we transfered ourselves around the area several times -- once, I awkwardly opted we not stand at the very end because then we'd have to bustle past the other, less known actor who I had no desire to pay for a signature from, much less anything for him to sign. Up to this point, I hadn't had anything for Ray Park to sign, either, but I solved that by purchasing an over-priced trade card from that artist whose head you observed in that other photo if you weren't too busy recognizing Ray Park's ass before I could.

So it's now the part of the show called: Watch Me Get Closer to Ray Park Like A Stalker Getting More Courageous Right Before He Hits A Stresser And Resorts To Physical Measures (I'm going to regret my sense of humor should any of Mr. Park's associates ever Google this and get just the right combination of letters in the short summary you get from your search queries)

At which point, it was my turn, and there WAS a picture taken, but it's for posterity and not, in fact, sharing on the internet. You guys can all shut it, because you already got that dorktastic picture of me wearing the sunglasses from Watchmen, so. Yeah.

On a more normal, well-adjusted note, Ray was a doll and he shook everyone's hands and politely pretended I didn't look like a pale, exerciseless wonder when he asked if I practiced martial arts after I told him his combat skills were kickass. I dodged past the topic by also informing him that he was, quote, woefully underused in Heroes, to which he agreed. We then decided that there was still hope for him next season because he was (useless spoiler warning format) not dead. Since this was Heroes we were talking about, we probably could have come to this conclusion even if he WAS (useless spoiler warning format for something not even a spoiler) dead. Unless they decided Sylar didn't have enough screen-time or they needed another uselessly dramatic real-death to make up for all the uselessly dramatic just-kidding deaths. Again, Heroes.

I walked off afterwards in a kind of glow of happiness having to do with how I didn't just blurt out OMGIAREFANCANITOUCHYOU, and because Taryn wanted to get a look around the place. We'd made a second circuit, and she'd bought me a corn-dog before my brain decided to alert me that I SHOULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING HEROESMUSH RELATED. HeroesMUSH, as it were, is the community of awesome and yet rightfully scary internet friends I have that roleplay Heroes related things with me. This community likely fuels my last ill-omened attachments to the fandom far better than the show itself could do. Plus, one of them had told me about Ray Park being here in the first place, so I rightfully owed them. Plus, I wanted to see all their text-faces when I showed them later.

So, I flipped open my notepad I keep in my purse and cleverly scrawled out a 'hello' to them on one page. Then I added the internet's version of a heart because, why not, and poor Mr. Park probably wouldn't realize what it was until it was too late anyway.

Now, the dilemma here was that 1) I'd already been in the autograph line and would look odd jumping in it again, and 2) I'm frightened of things.

Taryn got to watch as I inched my way closer and closer, debating inwardly about whether or not I'd actually do this thing and did I feel it was worth the potential surprise and admiration of my friends to suffer the potential embarrassment of being called out for budging in line a second time. If I'd known the reaction HeroesMUSH would have then like I do now, I probably would have done something a lot racier. The point is, I didn't know, and 2) I'm frightened of things.

Somehow, someway ( much like how Ray Park got into this building in the first place ), I wiggled my way towards the front of the line and waited until everyone was distracted by some asshole busting into the line to film some celebratory handing over of a honorary membership plaque to insert myself into the front of the line like I'd been there the whole time. I apparently did this with enough authority because, while being filmed, Ray glanced over to me, apologized for being a second, and said he'd be right with me. On the one hand, huzzah, I'd successfully infiltrated the line. On the other hand... I was clearly forgettable enough to get away with it.

Some Asians dudes who'd also sort of busted their way into the line looked like they were about to overrule me, though, as the cameraman waltzed off, and they'd even opened their mouths and started to talk -- when I started to talk LOUDER. That's right, I, who am 2) frightened of things, thrust out the notepad and asked very quickly and importantly if I could just get one more fast picture and would he hold this for it. He glanced at the writing first, though, which was wise of him, and asked me what it was for. I blurted out about how it was a greeting to my friends so he took me at my word and flashed his best 'saying hi to your friends' face, which I am fairly positive is the face the creators of emoticons meant when they invented :D.

Everyone on the game basically flipped the fuck out at the sight of this picture and it now adorns the front page to the game. I'm fairly certain I've never been more happy to have had the courage to do something in my life. Also, I'm keeping that page in my notepad and assaulting every Heroes star I can run across to make this awesome moment into an awesome trend.

Oh, and here's Stalker Watches Ray Park Get A Plaque, for your viewing pleasure:

It's like an old-time flip-book, ain't it folks?

Afterwards, I basically chilled out with the artists some more -- which included having Ray Park ninja himself right next to me at one point (amazingly, I stayed calm and just sort of nonchalantly glanced over at him) -- and got a bunch of business cards and the booth number of a guy who's so fantastically British that the BBC sends him real Doctor Who memorabilia. I'm seeing it already, my next birthday: A real jacket worn by David Tennant... what's that? An apartment? Who needs it! I'll be the best Doctor ever.

But yes. I spoke a lot, Taryn listened a lot, and then we watched that kid actor take cute pictures with the Mandalorians.

The name Daniel Logan sprung to mind just now. So maybe that's Daniel Logan. Which doesn't sound foreign enough for the odd accent he has that I couldn't place.

Basically, after that, the shindig was over because I'd spent so much time chatting up the same two-three artists, so Taryn and I split ways and I walked back to the car and drove the hour and a half home dying to already be there so I could share my :D picture with the rest of the internet. And now it's with you guys. I hope you feel as special having witnessed that as I did taking it. Now get out of here and find out for me where Brea Grant will be in the next week.

Oh, and here's the card. It will now go in a place of honor next to my one of Biggs signed by Garrick Hagan. Are we sensing a pattern? I love patterns.

Now I'm going to go complain about this Joaquin guy who Quality Checked the second lava cake out of my Dominos' order.

Movies: My Run To The Oscars, The Shortlist

2010-02-02T14:51:00.000-08:00

This announcement is a bit overdue, but here it is:

A while back, after seeing an article in Entertainment Weekly about "25 Movies You Should See Before The Oscars", I then and there decided to make a Run To The Oscars (March 7th, 2010). In previous years, I was interested but not very invested in the Oscars because, after Return Of the King swept up, annihilated, chewed up, spit out, and then liberally mocked the competition during its year, I really didn't see many of the movies nominated. Most of what I had seen fell into the sci-fi/fantasy categories, meaning they'd be up for Sound Editing or Costumes, if that, and then were never spoken of again.

This year, though, I have a list. A list which is now narrowed in a bit more that the actual nominees have been announced. It runs as such:

The List as it appeared in the Entertainment Weekly article
I've gone ahead and added what they've been nominated for, if anything, so I can keep that in mind while watching.

Up in the Air (George Clooney for Best Actor, Vera Farmiga for Supporting Actress, Anna Kendrick for Supporting Actress, Best Director, Best Motion Picture, Adapted Screenplay)
Avatar * (Art Direction, Cinematography, Best Director, Film Editing, Original Score, Best Motion Picture, Sound Editing, Sound Mixing, Visual Effects)
The Hurt Locker * (Jeremy Renner for Best Actor, Cinematography, Best Director, Film Editing, Original Score, Best Motion Picture, Sound Editing, Sound Mixing, Original Screenplay)
Precious (Gabourey Sidibe for Best Actress, Mo'Nique for Supporting Actress, Best Director, Film Editing, Best Motion Picture, Adapted Screenplay)
Inglourious Basterds * (Christoph Waltz for Supporting Actor, Cinematography, Best Director, Film Editing, Best Motion Picture, Sound Editing, Sound Mixing, Original Screenplay)
Invictus (Morgan Freeman for Best Actor, Matt Damon for Supporting Actor)
An Education (Carey Mulligan for Best Actress, Best Motion Picture, Adapted Screenplay)
Up (Animated Feature, Original Score, Best Motion Picture, Sound Editing, Original Screenplay)
A Serious Man (Best Motion Picture, Original Screenplay)
The Messenger (Woody Harrelson for Supporting Actor, Original Screenplay)
Julie & Julia (Meryl Streep for Best Actress)
A Single Man (Colin Firth for Best Actor)
Crazy Heart (Jeff Bridges for Best Actor, Maggie Gyllenhaal for Supporting Actress, Original Song)
The Last Station (Christopher Plummer for Supporting Actor, Helen Mirren for Best Actress
Nine (Penelope Cruz for Supporting Actress, Art Direction, Costume Design, Original Song
Star Trek * (Makeup, Sound Editing, Sound Mixing, Visual Effects)
District 9 * (Film Editing, Best Motion Picture, Visual Effects, Adapted Screenplay)
Fantastic Mr. Fox (Animated Feature, Original Score)
The Lovely Bones (Stanley Tucci for Supporting Actor
(500) Days of Summer
It's Complicated
The Young Victoria (Art Direction, Costume Design, Makeup)
Bright Star
The Informant

Because some of these films are still in theaters, or not released on Netflix until later March, the list will likely remain incomplete, so I'm focusing in on the really important ones so far. Actually, I made the mistake of starting with all the ones I was interested in seeing outside of wanting to complete the list, so... the next few weeks might lack in inspiration unless I'm really surprised.

The ones I've currently watched have *s next to them, and their individual reviews will follow. Till then, here's a short, hopefully frequently updated Shortlist you can use for easy reference:

THE SHORTLIST

Avatar * B. A grade for pure visual effects, if anything else. The plot is tried, but no untrue, but the greatest criminal activity is the highly underused but potentially huge characters. B is really for beautiful, beautiful, Beautiful.

The Hurt Locker * B+. Gritty, intense, with a brilliant sense of pacing inside individual scenes that doesn't quite make it to the whole picture. Very real deliveries from all actors. I support Jeremy Renner's nomination in this.

Inglourious Basterds * B-. Inventive storytelling, gratuitous use of violence, humorous caricatures that somehow still fill the screen. Yeah, it's Tarantino. Very brutal in its uncut gore, unforgiving, but a good round of fun if you don't take things personally. Holy crap, Christoph Waltz for his role. You'll never love and hate to be creeped out by another bad guy more.

Star Trek * C+, B. Fantastically fun, full of action and gumption. Unfortunately, also full of a less charming and more pushy-brat Kirk. Between him and an equally angsty Spock, there's no time for anyone else. Also, death by lens flare.

District 9 * A. The set-up and documentary style pulls you into an every day story about illegal aliens, from space. Earthy yet otherworldly, meaningful and visual. A fresh cast of faces you won't have to recognize from other films.

"Up" is currently in the queue.

1 month and 7 days left.

Life: I Believe I Can See The Future; Because I Repeat The Same Routine

2010-02-01T17:19:00.000-08:00

At 7:00 AM this morning, I was in my car, illegally planted by the curb, eagle-eye watching the cars parked in a more legal fashion along both sides of my street in furtive hope that one of them would soon leave, allowing me to squeeze into its vacated spot. At least once, I was not fast enough spinning my car around to the other side and someone pushier than me waltzed in instead. By 7:40, I was camped out behind the car of a woman walking towards it with her purse, with my blinker insistently informing anyone hopefully waiting behind me that this one was friggin' mine.

The funny (read: not) part of this, of course, being that I would be moving my car again later the same morning to drive to work. By the time I returned home, the dance would begin again. It's really the only thing so far that's regularly frustrated me about living here. Because the roomy parking lot directly next to our building requires you to be out by morning, we're forced to play this ridiculous game battling too many cars for too few metered spaces out on the street.

As for the rest of the life, the blogposts have slowed because I've been gathering enough to even say. Life has become a repetitive schedule of familiars, and mostly all in the good way.

My mornings see me in one of two offices where I go about trying to find things to do or people to pay me to do them. More than half of those days, I'm out by 2 PM, home by 3:30 PM with the help of some lovely traffic, and it isn't usually too terrible making a few rotations around the block before a parking spot becomes available. This, however, does not usually endear me to wanting to move it again until I utterly have to.

The rest of my time has become divided between two options, both of which are centered around their ability to give me internets. They are as follows:

1) The Starbucks I Can Walk To From My Apartment

Not wanting to move my car makes this walking-distance business a favorite. However, guilt compels me to buy something when I go there so, it costs me money. Also, when it rains, I'm not so much encouraged to go out walking. However, since the latter only applies to APOCALYPSE WEEK, it doesn't quite count.

APOCALYPSE WEEK, as it were, was a full week of rain. Rain, not so bad. Torrential downpours of biblical proportion... slightly more so. You can't even see the rain right in that picture, but I assure you is it going almost straight sideways and at speeds that could stab you in the neck. Rain like this drives Californians crazy, as it turns out, and I'm fairly certain that half of the state remained cradled in their homes out of fear during that week because traffic was terrific, ignoring that you were thundering through huge slippery puddles and had a visibility of little to none.

It was, actually, this WEEK that allowed me to discover option #2, nestled in this shopping mall connected by this courtyard which I'm positive looks better when it's not raining but I haven't bothered to take another picture so you're just gonna have to deal.

2) Borders That Has Free Parking

That's right. Free. Parking. In a garage. And for this, I will forever love them. Not to mention that they are comfy, not powered solely by their A/C, and are full of books which I love a good deal more than coffee, which I do not like at all. Borders is not without its down-points, however.

For instance, though I discovered this perfect cozy spot on a windowsill behind some bookshelves where all anyone could see of me was my feet and I felt secret and alone... there was no outlet in sight. Okay, there was an outlet. But it didn't work. So I'm not counting it. Therefore, no outlet. Approximately one and a half hours after sitting down, I was forced from my comfort zone to find a source of electricity.

In Borders, you have about two options (if you want seating... which, I don't always get around to). The first is the coffee shop below which is quite like Starbucks and where you will be surrounded by a similar crowd all going for the same spots. It is also here that you're apparently presenting yourself to be approached by anyone in the vicinity willy-nilly.

The second option are the chairs along the stairs where you can probably get an outlet if you manage to claim a seat on the outsides near the pillar. I like these chairs. Mostly because I'm allowed to turn them around backwards and use the railing as a foot-rest.

This position is especially endeared to me now because it allowed an Encounter. This is what I'm counting as my first real Celebrity Sighting because the first one was someone I didn't know, and the second one was someone no one else knows. So that kind of defeats the purpose.

No, this one was bona-fide. Because, I was chilling out in my seat with my feet up on the railing and my computer in my lap and, you know, something really epically important on my screen, when a tall lanky form bounded up the stairs. Perhaps he was followed or lead by the attendant he later began talking to... I don't know, why would I be watching the attendant... the point is, I thought I recognized the face despite that it was being partially blocked by a cleverly worn hat. In my sheer surprise, I yanked my headphones off to see if hearing the voice would cement it. And it did. The face? Matthew Lillard. I'm so very sure of it. Check out this tiny-ass, highly questionable evidence.

I whipped open my backpack to take instant proof of this sighting only to find I'd cleverly left my iPhone at home where it would do me loads of good sitting on my desk like a shiny paperweight. So I had to snap this one with my phone where I was instantly reminded that I hadn't turned the sound off because it resonated the store with its extremely obvious "shutter" sound. After this, I was pretty much too paranoid to look up to see if I'd been pointed out for my paparazzi-impression. So I just watched. And lamented that I wasn't obnoxious enough to harass someone who looked like he was in a hurry and didn't feel like being noticed like he wasn't a normal person on a hunt for a good book.

Unfortunately, Borders closes at 9PM. This is early. Not only is this early, but it is part of their new 'winter' hours. These hours are so very new that, without fail, every time they make an announcement over the PA about how they are closing in half an hour and it is eight-thirty someone near me makes a surprised exclamation about how they're closing early. Without fail. Either that or, like me, they are just so irritated by this fact that they feel they must announce it out-loud in similar surprise.

So days sort of blur together as one giant choice between deciding whether to go to Starbucks, freeze, but have one more precious hour of online time, or go to Borders, be comfy in a chair but have to leave in a herd by nine.

Oh. Though, there was this one nice day where my sister and I decided to go to Sprinkles to get her a celebratory birthday cupcake. Then she said we should find a nice place along the beach to sit down and eat them. So I plunked down in the passenger seat with the cupcakes in my lap and we drove for a while... a really, actually, incredibly long while. Apparently, no place all along Malibu was satisfactory because we ended up not on the coast at all but entering Camarillo before the day was over. I comically asked my mother what she'd like from this venture into our old place of living but, since we only stopped right at the limits to get gas and turn around, the snapshots are all out the window of various places along the beach instead.

Enjoy anyway. Because they're just that pretty. And I don't feel like saying anything about them.

Actually, one more thing.

This is what I did on Saturday while other people I happen to know were, like, shoveling or something. I was planted in the lovely courtyard outside the walkable-distance movie theater I just discovered, ruminating over my first 3D movie experience (AND HOW MUCH IT COST ME) and sipping on this delicious Coldstone Cake N' Shake.

You may now commence being jealous.

Then you can reassure yourselves by checking your bank account and being secure in the knowledge that you are less broke than me. I guarantee this is true.

Life & Shelf LIfe: Beating A Dead Horse Then Milking It

2010-01-12T18:01:00.000-08:00

Previously when I mentioned walking all about and everywhere being my new leisure, I neglected to mention that my first outing of such a nature was to procure myself a Subway sandwich - this being back when I had no food for myself, and only a vague idea of what was around me. This also happened to fall very close to a certain celebration day. That being, The Rose Parade. So, it made out that the parade-affected streets afterwards looked like they were out of a post-apocalyptic future instead of lovely Pasadena.

You can't even really imagine the extent of the mess by these two pictures, but you can give it a good effort. Whole streets. Covered just like that.

Now, however, the place is looking much more precious. The five or so blocks that I walk to Starbucks to get streaming fast internet include several nicer stores and restaurants as well as a courtyard into an Antiques Mall I think I will be visiting in the near future.

So far my new lifestyle is only taking a toll on me. Loving California as much as I do can only go so far when new sleeping hours, an exercise regime, excessively more walking than I used to do in a day ( everything's excessive compared to 'none' ), and the patience of sitting through hours of traffic both ways to and from office jobs where I am not paid. I'm hoping for that next moment of spirited inspiration but, barring that appearing on my lap, I shall be making it for myself.

Until then, there are just script readings and errands in my future. One of which included buying Christmas cards for the office janitors - a trip that had me discovering the thus far most hit-you-over-the-head What Does This Remind Me Of: Drinks For Everybody!

Since there's very little to relate at the moment except settling into a schedule, I'll be including this remark:

A lot of Television news has been coming up and I'm as excited as I can be for that, but there as one thing that disappointed me in all those ways a show not being canceled shouldn't -- an Ausiello Files article mentioned that there was now a hovering chance that Supernatural creator Eric Kripke would lead the show into another season, its sixth. While I am a fan of Supernatural, and I trust Kripke with his own vision, I am not and will never be a fan of shows that continue on past their welcome or freshness.

Too many TV shows go strong, flare out, and then limp on past the finish line towards a pit of boiling failure with a tenacity that can only be blamed on persistent thoughts of creative suicide. This being, of course, the natural enemy of that thing called milking something for all the money it can produce, even if that something happens to be a dead horse spitting its own fluids back at you.

Pleasant imagery, I know. But this is how I feel about it. Many good shows have dragged on too long and, in doing so, their legacy becomes that sort of sad, wibbling ending instead of their - possibly many - good years. One of my bizarrely happiest moments was when "The 4400", a show I greatly treasured, was canceled. Why? Because its season finale is one of the most emotional, most beautiful, definitely the best finale I've ever experienced. I couldn't imagine it leaving on a better epic and yet still open-ended enough to be interesting note, and wouldn't have wanted to see it try.

So it worries me that Supernatural might leap past its projected date. Especially when it was clever and well-rounded enough to even have a projected date. This seems to suggest to me that the story had a natural end. Doesn't that mean everything after will only feel unnatural? And even Supernatural shouldn't feel that unnatural.

I'll, of course, reserve full judgment until I see what comes of this, but I definitely felt some concern, and a little bit of sadness, when I read this notice.

Movie Poster Trends: I Think I've Seen This Somewhere Before

2010-01-07T12:27:00.000-08:00

While I was browsing for movie trailers for that last post, I happened to notice a particular new one that caught my attention in its familiarity. It was called "Crazy On The Outside", and its poster looked like this:

Surely, I thought to myself, I have seen this before. It just feels so gosh-darned done.

A very small bit of Google searching later, I was proven right. I'm sure there's more, but these were the only ones I could recall off the top of my head ( which is scary enough, considering ). So, take a glimpse at this well-rode comedic poster style which henceforth will be titled Oh No, I Can't Contain The Hilarious Craziness That Is My Family. It requires that one person stand on a side of a door or structure of some kind, attempting to hold off what is a pack of surely hysterical and over-the-top characters known as the first person's family members who it would be simply disastrous for anyone else to meet so they'd better just stay on the other side of that door now.

Then there's this subversion, where the craziness of the single family member is such that the whole rest of the relatives have to block them off, instead.

Movie Previews: Coming Soon To A Theater Near You

2010-01-06T09:12:00.000-08:00

Since it is a common practice at the office to visit Apple - Movie Trailers and pass around opinions, I thought I'd bring this interest to the internet for some sharing. So, without further adieu, the current movie trailers that get me all excited inside:

Clash Of The Titans aka The Movie Troy Should've Been

In theaters: March 26, 2010

Iron Man 2 aka RDJ's Still Got It Let's Hope Tony Does Too

In theaters: May 7, 2010

Prince of Persia aka Shucks He's Not Actually Middle-Eastern

In theaters: May 28, 2010

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus aka Tribute To Heath Ledger

In theaters: December 25, 2009 * technically in a theater, possibly not near you.

Legion aka More Wings Please

In theaters: January 22, 2010

Life & Writing: Okay, Will You Watch Me?

2010-01-04T12:57:00.000-08:00

It doesn't behoove me to go on about the holidays except to say that they were cheerful but cold, with that kind of snow that sticks to the shovel when you try to move it, and now they are over. I was gifted with plenty of shiny new technologies to make my life easier and more dependable on machines so that the day when robots take over the world will be twice as devastating when my belongings revolt against me.

The highlight of this trip, besides that it brought me back to the wintry sunshine of California, was one of those freak chance encounters in the airport. My sister didn't want to see by other people in those crowded gate seats, so we sat a good distance off to the side at a different gate that had more room. Despite being placed that far off, we were joined later by a man at this diagonal from me.

Not an instant later: *ping*. I felt that particular itching feeling that I knew this face. Then, a second after that, I knew. Ballet of the Dolls. Romeo & Juliet. I knew him. Because I couldn't signal to my sister without being suspicious, and because I covet proof in these sorts of instances, I struck up some inane reason to be fiddling with my iPhone right then. Briefly, I was distraught by the fact that I had anally left the plastic covering on which meant my camera was blurred behind recognition. So I also carefully crafted a reason to be fiddling with, but not removing ( still anal ), the plastic enough to take a clear picture. Well, clear-ish.

After he got up - to board our flight - I, of course, shared the news with my companion. We speculated on the reasons, further so after I spotted him in his seat as I passed by to mine - but, as we were unable to catch him leaving the plane there was no further stalking. It shall forever remain an interesting mystery.

My return was, admittedly, at first very stressful. I couldn't remember how it felt to be comfortable at my job, I had to approach my landlord for the first time, and I couldn't legally park on my own street without paying out all of the precious quarters I'd been gifted over Christmas. Getting a permit seemed daunting because it required them caring that I'd sent a request into the DMV to have my car registration address changed, instead of kicking me to the curb until I got confirmation back.

This was all to be handled after my first day back at the office - I day I actually began to anticipate with some glee because, as it turns out, I was internetless the two days before that. The story there is about how I have no internet in my apartment and knew none of the companies that serviced my area. My research had to be conducted either on my phone, which I find inhibits much of my normal typing speed ( but none of my impeccable grammar, thank you very much, Adam ), or at the public library - conveniently located in the immediate vicinity.

In fact, a good deal of things are now in my immediate vicinity. I find it both awesome and doubly awesome because it means I get to walk around in this fine weather and feel good about myself for doing so.

Anyhow, the library has a wireless, but not one that will allow such things as mu*ing nor streaming episodes. So, a replacement had to be made.

A note, though, on the library's behalf. Until I cheat-y parked in its parking lot to avoid paying meters while I trekked to City Hall this afternoon, I hadn't really walked further than the front lobby. I hadn't, then, really quite been able to realize exactly how freakin' neat this establishment really was. I felt compelled to share. Showing here:

I'm going to make this shot of glancing down the corridor What Does This Remind Me Of?: X Marks The Spot. But I'm not really going to hold it against anyone when they don't get it.

Also - awwww. The mystery section is so cute, it knows exactly what I was looking for.

Hint: it's the DOY. As in Doyle. As in Arthur Conan. As in Sher... yeah, you get it.

Lovely though it is, the library has an evening replacement: this replacement is named Starbucks. After relieving me of five of my dollars, they've granted me access to an internet that does both of those things the library doesn't. They are, however, wickedly air-conditioned. I don't know. Fifty degrees? I'm not begging for a fan at that point, so. Not getting it. Also, it's a rather good thing they offer smoothies and, when they are out of bananas like this particular evening, hot chocolate or I might be forced to, I don't know, drink coffee so they wouldn't kick me out for not being a paying customer.

This is from where I will be making my blogposts from now on, most likely, however. Making me this:

In conclusion, this is the beginning of a trial week where I can see if I can survive a week without internet at my apartment with the aid of the public library system, the extensive Starbucks chain, and the iPhone I have henceforth named T-1000. It's gunmetal.

Peace out.

P.S. This is City Hall.

I'm pretty sure I've climbed it in Assassin's Creed.

Movie Review of Terminator 4 Salvation OR: How Robots Are Good With Kids

2009-12-19T11:53:00.000-08:00

Review coming soon.

Life: How Beautifully Blue The Sky

2009-12-16T14:48:00.000-08:00

Since I didn't have work today, and it was so gosh-darned California gorgeous out there, I rolled out of bed this morning, plucked up my camera, and took off in a random direction. Actually, it was just the opposite direction of how I usually drive to work cause, well, that seemed newer and more interesting.

Let us commence with the photo dumping, shall we?

A Dalmatian plantation, I say!

I spent a good deal of time tiptoeing by bushes until this bird got into a place where my camera would focus on it properly.

Admire the oddness that is Christmas decorations on green grass.

I liked that these people's patios were over the garage for some reason.

So, during my outing, I happened upon an Antiques store and couldn't resist popping in to look around based on the overly crowded window full of dusty oddities. I browsed a bit while the owner spoke with another older gentleman who obviously visited frequently. This man left, and I asked if I could be allowed to take a few pictures. The owner said he'd have to charge me for that, because some people had taken advantage of taking pictures earlier, so I contemplated then asked if he'd take my card - or should I come back another day with cash. I also happened to slip in that I was a student, hefted out my big expensive camera, and he was generous enough to relent. I decided to only take one picture. Here it is:

I'm fairly positive I have at one point - and may still - owned at least half of those horses.

After I left, I went to take that fence over the underground tunnel picture up there and the guy who'd been in the store earlier came by and noticed me taking pictures and asked about my interest in photography. Good ol' Rudy and I got into a very nice conversation in which he shared some spots he thought I could get good pictures, the place everybody goes for the best brunch around here, and where he worked should I ever want to stop by and ask where any of these places were again. He works in transportation, so I guess he'd know best.

And now, a little section I'd like to call: Palm Trees In The Sky... until I think of something more interesting.

I want to retake this one when the sun's in a less inconvenient spot.

How beautifully blue, indeed.

Life: But The Cat Came Back

2009-12-16T14:43:00.000-08:00

That my first day at the office was unusually hectic for them was a solid truth I would come to discover in attending my next three days of work. Everyone had more time to sit back and chat, I met new people, and learned new things. Relatively new, at least. I'd be a poor excuse for an art-school graduate if I didn't already know the vague concepts of scanning and copying things - but each machine is slightly different, so they took me through the steps.

As it turns out - and as most of you probably already knew or guessed - interning generally comes down to "sit over there, and if I need something I'll ask you". This is beneficial to all teams because they have an assistant who can do the time-consuming jobs they don't have the multitasking concentration for, and the interns get to sit at a desk and work on their own projects in the meantime. Meaning, no one's wasting time. Well, not too much. For a while there, I was nervous about opening something of my own, like I should be somehow more dedicated, but even asking if there was anything I could do brought up no responses so I began to relax.

Among my miscellaneous tasks during those first three days, I was asked to do a "run" - basically, I was asked to drive around on some errands. Mike gave me a Mapquest picture of an area and circled where I was to drop off a certain package, and also visit a nearby bank to pick up their money. He also requested that I not give into the urge to take this petty cash and make a run for the border. I made no promises ( but was fairly certain I didn't have the gas nor the patience to make it all the way to Mexico anyway; I didn't even consider Canada at the time. )

Since my task took me straight to Rodeo Drive, I was promptly in the midst of LA-style and immediately underdressed. By the third day, I'd gotten very used to wearing comfortable, warm clothes for the office, so being sent back out onto the streets reminded me of my lax wardrobe. Oh well. I was only the messenger.

Picking up money at the bank was a strange experience. Not because I felt suspicious standing at the teller waiting for them to confirm I really was from where I claimed I was from, but because as soon as I slid that plastic bag in my purse and walked outside, I was fairly certain everyone for miles could immediately sense that I was carrying very large sums of money. Even though I was underdressed. Kept me on my toes.

The second task was to drop off the package. Right. I had another little map that was to show me where, just a few blocks away, I could find a talent agency this package was meant for. Since I had to make a quick phone call to my ever-helpful mother to find out the street the map didn't name for me, she also took the time to inform me that this company catered to some high-minded individuals and I should keep my eyes open. Ah haha. Yeah, okay, mom.... ( but secretly I am keeping these eyelids peeled, man. )

There comes a moment where, once you know you're in Possible Sighting Territory, every single person that passes you by starts to look familiar. You catch yourself staring at completely random faces in an attempt to squint hard enough and turn them into some passer-by on some network show once. It really plays with your mind. As does hordes of cameras.

This discreet photo-taking opportunity of mine happened as I was strolling casually down the sidewalk and suddenly walked into this pod of camera people glued to the glass window of a Nail parlor. My furtive glance inside as I realized what was happening produced nothing of interest and I wasn't really of the mind to stop and geekishly ask them who they were waiting for, so I passed on and just flashed my phone at them as I went to get this reminder. They were still there later, freaking out as the person left the store, but all I saw was a woman with dark hair from the back. One of LA's paparazzi mysteries.

Driving back was full of traffic and more traffic, so I took my leisure time enjoying the sites. Including this incredibly large Bloomingdale's. These two quickly snapped pictures cannot really capture its grand size - or, at least, what I presume to be its size, unless it's part of a larger mall, but still. The building seriously loomed. And went on for a while in a wall of neutral cream off to the left. I also wondered if the store was actually on top of the parking ramp like it appeared, or if that hulking addition of hunk on top of it was just so they could more monstrously swamp their slightly less grandly sized font.

I also noticed this sign here. Maybe you can't read it, but it's an advertisement for a speech coach teaching people not to talk with their accents anymore. Found that pretty interesting, and not something I've ever really spotted anywhere else.

Speaking of which... driving along did not prepare me for this sight, either. Don't be fooled by the apparent skirt and bra - that is a man, as a surprised glimpse into my rearview mirror as I passed revealed to me. The bra conveniently opens up at the boob area, generously revealing man-nipples in all their glory for us.

Henceforth, this picture is dedicated to my friend, Owen. Not because he has sagging man-nipples and a penchant for bras... but because he has an appreciation for people who do. Rock on, Owen. Until China shuts you down.

Life & Hollywood: I Haven't Got Him

2009-12-11T16:50:00.000-08:00

So I joined Twitter, right. This is just a small example of that community of crazy - an experiment, if you will. ( I also started watching "Glee", more on that later ) I happened to notice that hash-tags, or whatever these # things are called, sometimes show up on the sidebar, I guess by popularity that day. Anyway, I clicked on the #Glee one out of curiosity and sort of scanned through the options. Actually, I didn't even get that far - a couple of seconds if - and that little notice popped up. Since I'd clicked on the link, 53 more people had used that tag in their tweet. 53. .... fifty-three.

I know that's not a huge amount of people in comparison to how many there are in the world or anything, but, to me, that's still an impressive number to be talking about the same thing, using the tag, and all in the last second. Says something about the world. That I am now a part of.

Back to reality: I went in for my first, equally experimental, day at the production office. Naturally, I was nervous as all get out, but at least I knew the way there ( sort of ) and knew where I could park without feeding the meter ( I hoped ).

This is my noble stead, Red Three. It's a 2005 Chevy Aveo. I think. We got it at a Mazda dealer, so I am sometimes confused. The car's used, but the speedometer works and, really, that's all I can ask for. Also, not white. There's a super abundance of white cars in LA and, practicality and all that but, I'm sorry, I don't really like white on cars. ALSO, the radio face was already taken out so I'm gonna leave it in my room lest anyone come by hoping to steal such things. ALSO, it's cute. Come on. I fulfilled my main goal of getting a pretty short car so I could feel extra comfortable parallel parking anywhere, and it definitely worked.

So, after arriving for work an easy half an hour or more early, I chilled in my car then went up. This is what the courtyard looks like on the third floor - I'd been in this part before because of the interview. For the record, I still don't enjoy that the elevator doesn't light up the number floor it's on, but I have determined that it makes a loud, obnoxious beeping sound for every floor it passes, so. You just have to be paying attention. For loud obnoxiousness.

When I went in, things weren't crazy yet, lulling me into a false sense of security. ... Who am I kidding, it could've been a day spa, and I still would've been crying inside. The point is, things were quiet, almost no one else was in -- including the guy supposed to be "showing me around". Since all of the rooms are visible from the main one, it turned out later that this wasn't such a huge task for him, but oh well. I was given a script and told to sit in that intern room and read it. Can do.

I spent a good four+ hours in this room reading scripts, taking me through lunch-time, but not much after. For all that time, however, I sat here, on this couch, with this view. I could hear as other people came in and took phone-calls - let me say right now, I jumped every time the phone rang and my stomach dropped, even though the two planted in this room didn't ring on the same lines. So I wasn't even responsible for them yet and I was already dying whenever it happened. Go start, right?

Anyway, I went through the scripts. The first one was one they are currently putting through and the second one... I'm not sure. They're looking at? Maybe. He didn't have to write or give my opinion, so I just sort of took notes in my booklet just in case and moved on every time.

More view. The desk I decided not to use ( come on... couch! ), some movie posters that distracted me, and a SUCCESS! motivational list of things you should remember that just made me more nervous. Wooo, motivation.

This is the absurdly blank wall on the other side. I guess... that's supposed to be a window there. I don't know. The blank white boards on the floor remind me of art school and all the canvases lying about.

Lunch is at 1:00 PM, and you're given free reign until 2:00 to spend it how you please. I decided I would get out of that room, despite the decided comfyness of the couch, and take a stroll around the block. It was a gorgeous day, I'm in LA, why not, right? Here's your picture-guided tour of the neighborhood behind our building. I'm going to call this, Know What's Cool?: Eagle Dive. It has to do with housing architecture being so cool. Observe:

I don't know what these are, but I saw them under at least one or two trees while I went. There were others like them later on, but they were spiky instead of fuzzy. I think I like the fuzzies. They're like... baby tribbles. Or those dust-mites from Spirited Away. Whichever you prefer.

I think my phone camera has a finger-print on it...

Home-stretch! After this, I put my camera away and called my sister to wish you a happy birthday. Since all of that only took up about half of my time, I spent the rest of back in the room taking those earlier pictures you saw of my surroundings. Look at me, shaking all this chronology up. It's like I don't even recognize myself.

The rest of the day was probably even more dramatic than the first, because there was some deal that was supposed to have closed at 5, or then maybe it was 6 and then it was 20 after 6 and nobody knew what was happening yet. Lots of loud talking into the phone and listening in on other people's conference calls. Also it was more dramatic because I was technically "at the phones". This involved me sitting at a desk with nothing else to do but get the phone if Mike didn't get it first. Mike is, like, supernaturally fast at answering the phone, but sometimes he's already on it, or he's off doing something else. As it turned out, one of the other interns took pity on me and moved herself to a phone station after seeing my looks of desperation. So half the time, she got it instead, and I sort of just let her. I did answer it a few times, and had to be corrected twice on my protocol. I doubt anyone will remember those mistakes come next week, but I still found it in myself to be ashamed.

Anyway, that's how four more hours went by. Four hours. I was so nervous about the phone ringing that I couldn't even use the computer in front of me to browse the internet. Actually, that's a lie, I checked my mail, but then I didn't have anything to do that I didn't care about an entire office of people seeing me do, so. Yeah. I sat there. And hoped the phone wouldn't ring. Fun freakin' times. I'm clearly going to go far in this business.

I'm refraining from going into detail because apparently in Hollywood you should never tell anyone more than they have to know. That's what my intern pamphlet told me. Kind of like the show "Lost", where the first response is always "Doesn't matter." or, that failing, "It's not important."

THIS IS NOT HOW IT WORKS.

Since no one was telling me to go home or stay, I hovered around there until Mike dismissed us ( it was at 7:00 PM, a mere hour since I bothered to go move my car to parking that lasted later ). The other interns left at the same time, so we were able to chat it up a bit. We bonded some when I had to give my cell-phone number and no one recognized where my area code was from. Neither of them are from Cali either.

Driving home at night has an advantage of that there are far less pedestrians to be cautious about, but the disadvantage that it's darker and harder to notice streets you aren't used to yet. But I made it - clearly - and the trip seems to be getting shorter every time. Huzza.

Life: Estimated Time Till Destination

2009-12-08T17:45:00.000-08:00

I didn't take this picture. I did, however, drive into ( and past ) LA to talk with the fine people at a production office today. Having been liberally warned about the state of California driving, I allowed myself an hour and a half to get to my destination which was clocked at being "29 minutes" away, without traffic. I looked up the directions beforehand so I'd generally know the freeways it would suggest without solely relying on my GPS, which I wouldn't be able to see at all times without staring obsessively at my lap and, well, common sense informs me that might not be the best technique on the road.

As it turned out, I still made several wrong decisions but, since the GPS had been telling me to head towards a street labeled "Buses Only" while a cop car drove steadily behind me, I'm okay with that. I also ended up making the route easier for myself, so, more power to wrongness. Making the various twists and turns and more turns and sharp turns and mergings that were required of me, I began to get the odd sensation like John Cleese ( my GPS voice of choice ) was attempting to teach me how to lose a tail instead of arrive at a destination.

At one point, I cheered up as I neared a street with several impressively sized studios with their featured movie posters displayed all along the side in larger-than-life form... but was led right past them. I was going to take a picture of these, but even as I began to pull out my cell-phone I remembered that using it in my car in California was one of those newly prohibited things, so I tossed it away. No studio photos for you. Sorry.

Once at the building, I did the vulture-circle dance around the block to find parking - most of it was residential and therefore off-limits without a permit - and eventually realized I was going past three craftily placed meters. Two of them appeared out of order, so I took the one in the middle that was not. Go me.

After nearly getting off the elevator on the wrong floor because it didn't display any numbers that told you what floor it was on, I arrived at Suite 306. I wandered inside and was asked by a man if I was there to meet 'Mike'. Oh, yes, I was. Oh, well, what do you know, he was Mike. Okay, great. Sit here on the couch? Sure, I'll do that.

THREE HOURS LATER -- no, just kidding. But, it was, like, thirty phone calls. Following the first handful of check-ins and reroutes, I started to wonder if this was some kind of test, was I expected to behave a certain way when left alone to wait. Should I look patient? Should I be... doing something to show I'm productive? Should I-- blarrrgh! What should I do?! ... So I was very importantly jotting down a map for myself about where I'd found the available parking when one of the men from the front office went in to help a woman claiming to be doing something involving the "three-act structure". Oh ho ho. But now my writer senses are tingling!

I shamelessly eaves-dropped on their conversation - come on, the door was still open and everything - when I heard the "f" word dropped. Several times.

... A sense of comfort and belonging fell over me in that moment.

No, but, really - casual swearing makes me feel better inside. 1) You can talk like yourself there, 2) They are normal people who talk like normal people. Pleasant conversation has its place, I'm not saying that, it's just nice to be able to relax in a work environment.

Anyway, I got in to have a chat with Mike and he laid out the basics of what interning would be like, where I could find free parking, etc, etc. Those important details. I drove home after that in the lovely backed up but not unmoving LA evening traffic, where I was glad for the slow pace because it allows me to get my bearings without people honking, and turn up my music because I don't need to hear the GPS as often. And maybe it's the slowness of the traffic already, but I found people to be fairly considerate so far when it comes to merging. They are, however, less considerate when they think you had time to make your right turn and you didn't.

In celebration of driving, I present the first installment of What Does This Remind Me Of: California Rivers

I spotted these particular structures the first time my parents and I were driving to our hotel. This view isn't very beneficial to the game, but what these are is cement "rivers" moving alongside the street that collect water when it rains. However, when they are dry, they are just "V"-shaped pathways conveniently out of traffic, sometimes when provided bike paths that perhaps... a bike, or a motorcycle... or a hijacked semi might travel.

Guess away, all 4 faithful blog-followers. What do these remind me of?

TV Review, Stargate Universe: Clearly Cylon In Its Design

2009-12-07T15:16:00.000-08:00

Stargate Universe, highly anticipated and eagerly awaited, did not disappoint in its first episode full of gate-dialing, alien attacks, artistic jumps in time to keep suspense, cameos by its predecessor's more famous members, and the obligatory newcomer who got to experience the awe of the Stargate for the first time. The characters were each given brief outlines - a flittering suggestion of their problems - and that's okay, because a first episode should tease and not over-saturate. The hectic mayhem, liberal use of shaky-cam, and moral dilemmas of a people trapped on the run relate easily to the need to seduce those mourning Battlestar Galatica fans.

On a whole, these aren't bad things. However, ten episodes in and this sequel series seems to be missing some sci to its fi. There's been, arguably, two to three alien encounters and very little visible dialing of the gate - because of the ship suffering from power failures. Destiny, itself, is gorgeous but also underused. There's one man (well, not anymore) who knows how to function it in the slightest, and he spends most of the time in front of the same console battling a language we don't get to read. The premise is not terrible, but the lack of exploration and discovery is beginning to wear against its panic-of-the-week. Or, as some say, "What Are We Out of This Time". The argument isn't that people in this situation wouldn't butt heads as much as they are on SGU, merely that sucking the camp out of the show makes it lose the flavor of its namesake.

Of course, this isn't the same show, and it's battling bringing in people who have never wanted to watch the previous Stargates. The turmoil is real, the relationships thick and interesting; there's just an itch to know more and more about the alien part of the universe. On the flip side, the fact that every episode isn't treated as stand-alone is appreciated. Older Stargate episodes started to feel like nobody ever learned from what had happened previously-- Oh my, why is Daniel Jackson acting so crazy? Could it be.. because he's been infected by an alien parasite like has happened to us numerous times before? Naah, he must just be crazy! -- yeah, it happened.

Concerns aside, SGU is visually wonderful to watch, emotionally stressing (mostly in the good way!), and full of brimming possibilities that will hopefully get cracked out further in January after a very game-making move in this mid-season finale. Its return is definitely greatly anticipated.

Stand-Out Character: Dr. Nicholas Rush

There are many who would disagree with this purely on the standpoint that Rush is a nasty, underhanded man only out for his own intellectual gain, damn anyone in the way. This is only complimentary. Dr. Nicholas Rush is a fully-actualized, living, breathing, decision-making force on SGU - which is not just a little credit, of course, to his portrayer, Robert Carlyle. As the antithesis to Col. Young's straight-up, leave no man behind bravado, Rush must represent a perhaps less likable but occasionally more practical viewpoint. He is very much the "for the greater good" believer, calculating his every move not to cause harm to others but merely to nudge them in the right direction - his direction.

An argument once went that Rush's distasteful behavior in the opening episode made him a presence to dislike. And it's true, it'd be easy to hate him. But that doesn't make him a bad character. Even the first episode pointed to several moments of emotional vulnerability, making him instantly the most fleshed out, and potentially the most interesting simply for his suggested depth. Current episodes seem to be aiming towards his animosity with Young growing into something potentially more dangerous for both of them... however, there is some glimmer of chance that this much antagonism in the beginning could point towards an epic redeeming act further down the line. The deeper one digs himself, the more sacrificial the twist later on.

Only continued watching will unlock this dastardly doctor's true potential, as long as SGU keeps aiming true.

Struggling Character: It's a toss-up.

They conveniently took a photo-shoot of just the people I was looking for. It's almost like someone knew. The fact that several characters are listed as "struggling" is not a testament to the show being bad, itself, but just that it's suffering slowly under more characters than it seems to want to deal with. Then again, this is only mid-season. The show hasn't even reached its whole creative peak yet - so these concerns are vented with caution, and understanding that they could be blown out of the water by even the next episode.

Greer (far right) suffers in that he hasn't had an episode focusing on himself yet, but each episode should be able to reveal at least one new thing about its cast, and so far he hasn't done anything to really bring him out of his stereotype. Scott (pictured far left) is the least in danger, but his dizzying-ly fast hook-up with Chloe (just right of him) has relegated her to mere make-out status when her emotional issues over her father and career should have given her so much more to do than lip-lock. As for Tamara (second from the right)... well, who is she? Besides patching up people and feeling bad, she has very little to contribute so far. It hasn't been yet that anyone of them are badly written, only that they haven't been exposed enough; the characters are all primed. Excited to see when they get to put their best foot forward again.

Eli Wallace (pictured middle) is, naturally, supposed to be the viewer's "in", as the youngest, most clueless member who gets to ask the obvious questions so people who don't know the world can get some idea. He's also a math whiz. Mostly, we see him as Kino-Operating Expert - which gets him in trouble with people more often than not. (Kinos are like floating video-cameras, allowing him to constantly vlog about his depressing circumstances for posterity) As a character, he isn't terrible. He isn't even bad; it's just a sort of "waiting in the wings" thing. He cracks jokes and makes lol references to sci-fi movies that none of the hardcore military elite understand; he's the everyman.

Except.. he's got more to do. He's supposed to be an intellectual and moral baseline for 1) the aforementioned military elite who do everything their way, and 2) the uppity and questionably sane Dr. Rush. But he's been frequently left out of the scientific debates now, and his relationship with Rush seems to have stalemated for the purposes of pitting Rush against Young instead. It's this viewer's opinion that he could be better utilized than just as a punchline, and there's hope to see him come into his own in the future. Him turning to the older intellectual and spouting "... Well, you are [crazy]"? More moments like that, please. (Although recent episodes may make that slightly more difficult...)

So far, no one seems to be a lost cause - it helps that all of the actors are splendid, making the most of the melodrama, and that SGU is really just gearing up and could easily jump every one of these hurdles with the rest of its season. More power to it!

Life: Just To Know That You're Around

2009-12-06T11:17:00.000-08:00

Know What's Cool 2: Facial Recognition Software

So you're in LA, land of the rich and famous and televised. You don't want to get your hopes up or anything, but you allow this tiny glimmer of hope - of "what if". What for? For a sighting. Know what's cool? Spotting people from movies and television on the street. And I don't mean so you can mob them and ask them dumb questions and make a nuisance of yourself. I mean because, to me, seeing faces that I've seen so often on the screen right out there in the real world is really very amazing. I love television. And everyone's allowed a little fangirling once in a while.

Naturally, however, the story that goes with that picture is less about me. We went to this restaurant, see, that my sister ( told you she was all-knowing LA-style ) said was simply the best for breakfast - or brunch, I don't honestly remember what time it was. So we went inside, ordered, and decided to sit outside to eat. We're there for... oh, a healthy amount of time because by then our food had come, when three others stroll up to the entrance gateway.

No more than seconds later, my dad says, "I know her." I make my best effort to look around without being grossly obvious but I'm getting nothing. All those hilarious stories about me spotting obscure faces starring in other roles, and I got nothing. Eventually, the people come around our side and they're talking. Then my mom says, "Oh, that voice! That's definitely her."

But whoooooo!

As it turns out, it was some actress from the show "Samantha Who?" Ironically - my parents couldn't remember that part, so I had to supply - but I still didn't know who the actress was. We just happen to go to a restaurant at the just right time.. and it's someone from a show I haven't even happened to watch because my parents turned it on while I was in the room. Not even that.

Well, I've got four more months, right?

Current TV Shows 2010: Put Down The Remote

2009-12-05T12:20:00.000-08:00

Since everything is going on fall break and leaving me in agonizing pain and denial.. I felt it would be a good time to address this topic -- Television.

Back when the leaves were turning and the world seemed new, I began charting the progress of television shows that would be premiering or returning soon and that I was eager to see. At the time, I titled this picture "TV Rules My Life" for the obvious reasons of how it was clearly dominating my schedule and, should I be obeying its every notation, I would barely have a night not sitting in front of the TV for several hours. Except Tuesday. What's up with Tuesdays?

As it were, I was subject to the limitations of living in a home with my parents at the time, and they, themselves, had a number of programs - most of which were wildly separate from my own. This caused a bit of a clash when it came to watching, but more precisely when it came down to that the TiVO they owned could only record two shows at a time and then you weren't allowed to watch a third station if that was happening. Really, the most problematic time came on Mondays. Monday, Monday, Monday... I wanted to watch Heroes ( God knows why ) and Trauma and Lie To Me... the parents wanted to have recorded Big Bang Theory and Two And A Half Men and How I Met Your Mother and House... and Lie To Me. During these times, I'd take myself into my bedroom and watch Heroes and Trauma on my own with my iffy antenna - iffy because perhaps, maybe one of them had been snapped in half and hastily replaced....

Lie To Me got recorded, though, so Mondays were never a total loss as far as TiVO went.

Time went by, though, and shows premiered, and leaves fell and the sky darkened... and I began weeding out those shows that I knew would start becoming a chore instead of a pleasure to watch each week. The last cuts were made, in fact, only a few days ago, so I share that new image with you now.

Shows that got the axe: House, Law & Order: SVU, Flash Forward, Dexter, White Collar, Better Off Ted

House: I really lost interest in keeping up with the show a while ago, but since it was supposedly taking a new direction this season, I'd at least been curious to catch the premiere, despite that I'd missed a good deal from earlier. As it turns out, I wasn't actually that interested since I missed the premiere, put off watching the premiere when my parents kept it on the TiVO for me, and still have only seen one episode since. However, that episode was great because it was about Wilson ( which wasn't the great part ) and in the background it lampshaded its own predictable formula of how the sick patient cases go by having House's team occasionally run past shouting weird diagnoses or lamenting that they'd gotten it wrong and now the person was crashing.

House quickly went off my schedule because I just wasn't thinking about it enough.

Law & Order: SVU: While it still remains my favorite L&O, it is no longer my favorite cop procedural and I've found that, in watching it, I'm more amused than invested. The characters have always been sort of one-hit-wonders in their own boxed up cliches, but I liked Stabler and I liked the way the cases were handled. Now, I just have seen too many episodes of it and the appeal is waning. To break out, they'd need something new - but to change too much would no longer be the right show. It's a great thing to sit back and catch up on when you need some entertaining noise in the background, and I'm glad it's still going for that, but I can't make myself keep up with it in a weekly fashion.

SVU left the schedule because I couldn't be bothered.

Flash Forward: Here's a more interesting one, because Flash Forward I was initially very excited for and sat down to watch as it premiered. I was intrigued, as I usually am by large puzzles, clues that need to be added up, and actors with the last name Fiennes. But two things had already started to bother me once it was over. 1) Everyone seemed to be hamming it up, acting melodramatically and giving me a bad feeling. 2) Puzzles were solved too quickly. Now, I understand that the audience needs to feel like something happened in the episode, like they are receiving new information, or they'll quickly become frustrated by having more questions than answers ( Hey, Lost ). However, I like a little time to suss things out myself. It seemed like they'd introduce these huge epic plot twists just to have them solved by the end of the episode - or sooner! Sometimes even by the next scene. After missing a few episodes, I found that I was dreading having to catch up with it rather than hurrying to do so...

Flash Forward was dropped because of its over-the-top acting, plot twists, and uninteresting pacing. And, man, I didn't even make it to Dominic Monaghan.

Dexter: Oh, this one's easy. I love the show, but we didn't get the station it was on. Showtime wasn't offering episodes, so I just got busy watching other things.

White Collar: Another one I was super excited for. I really like cheeky criminals one the one side, and Tim DeKay on the other, so, seemed like a surefire hit. Now, this is unfair because I only watched the Pilot, but I watched wowed off my feet by it. I liked Neal, but I didn't like how he instantly got the better of his FBI handler by smoozing his way into that nicer apartment. It would've been nice to see him struggle a bit. There was also a good deal of focusing on how he was running, oh they knew he'd run why did they ever trust him, and then him... not being running. I'd say stretch that one out a bit, so the tension can build a bit more about why he's doing or not doing certain actions. Anyway, like I said: unfair because I only watched the first episode.

White Collar was dropped mainly because I wanted a shorter schedule and I wasn't knocked off my feet by it.

Better Off Ted: Now this is a show that I just went crazy for every episode. I cannot possibly describe right now how much I did enjoy this show. And since this post is already too long, I won't. Better Off Ted premieres again soon, so maybe it'll be back on my schedule. Or maybe I'm afraid that it won't be able to keep up what it had.

Shows that actually got the axe: Dollhouse, a lot of deserving sitcoms

Yeah, well. Whatever to you, too, FOX.

Shows that survived: Trauma, V, Stargate Universe

Trauma: I didn't even expect to watch Trauma, except that it came right after Heroes so being the kind of lazy person I am that leaves the TV on until something that really sucks comes on, it's a natural progression. Also, I'd seen the ads ( I really like the new NBC brand right now ) and thought I'd recognized one of the actors. I really wanted to know who he was because I felt like I liked him for some reason. As usual, my character-instincts were strong, and Rabbit became one of my fast favorites from the very first instant he was on. Trauma isn't radically different than other medical/procedural shows out there, but I like what I'm seeing so far, and I like seeing the different cases and how some of them aren't huge epic disasters but just, say, small accidents or even people scamming for a drug fix. It's nice. ... and kind of gross.

V: I'll start off by saying this one is edging closer. Again, unfair, because I only watched the first episode. Actually, I watched the whole old miniseries and then the first episode, and I like some of the changes that were made, but I wasn't so hooked as to eagerly skip right to the next episode either. This means that either I'll catch up one of these days and plug along, or I'll forget about it for a while, realize I've missed too many episodes to bother, and drop it.

Stargate Universe: Let's ignore for a second that the most recent episode did something by which I am baffled and put off -- and focus on how I'm enjoying it as a whole. Different, yes, than earlier Stargates. Perhaps, yes, attempting to channel BSG and LOST a bit too much... but not so much that it turns me off. I'm starting to feel like I'm missing the sci-fi element to it all, though. In focusing on some much-needed character development, it is still losing its touch that its a sci-fi show and should, hopefully, feature some more aliens, spaceships, and, well, sci-fi elements. I understand that they're in space, and in an old spaceship they're trying to figure out... but only one of the characters is really invested in doing just that, and he's shown to be an immoral, smarmy man who could be trying to get everyone killed. So. Not sure what SGU is trying to say about space discovery...

Shows I can't give up: Heroes, Lie To Me, Criminal Minds, Supernatural, Fringe, Dollhouse, LOST

Heroes: ... I don't know. I don't even know. I hate where this show has gone, the writing is the most sheepish retconn-y contradictory stuff I've seen in a while, and it's courting a love affair with a villain who should've properly met his end back when the show was good in Season One. But I morbidly tune in out of curiosity... and a love for superpowered carnivals. And Ray Park.

Lie To Me: Ever since Monk took off with the trend, and House spat out his first insult, quirky investigators has been a niche digging itself a large hole in the television environment. A grave? Perhaps. But since then, snarky misfit leads have been hit or miss as it whether their brutal intensity ( or stifling complex ) is endearing or annoying. Or both. To me, Cal Lightman is both. And I love him for it. It helps that Tim Roth is amazing and delivers lines that most other people wouldn't be able to get away with - much like his British-but-pretending-not-to-be companion Hugh Laurie. Except, unlike House, for me, I watch Lie To Me for its cases and its supporting characters, not just for its sadistic leader.

Criminal Minds: My new favorite cop show, having topped SVU, because of its focus on behavioral analysis. I'm a sucker for a good psychology, and I enjoy the way Criminal Minds delivers. It isn't stunning television by any means, and hits the same one-points as other procedurals, as well as occasionally seeming out of hand, but I like what it does when it does it.

Supernatural: I'll be with this one to the end. And it had better end. I don't want to see Supernatural's name dragged through the mud because it made the mistake many do of lasting longer than it had enough story for. Supernatural is some entertaining, good, flawed, television with some supremely entertaining actors at its helm who clearly enjoy what they are doing. I can appreciate that as much as I appreciate a good religious mythology.

Fringe: This is honestly one of my favorite shows now. I find myself excited to watch it every time there's a new episode. It has the mystery-of-the-day that lets you have some mode of satisfaction by the end combined with a smooth, over-arcing plot that is revealed over time without being rushed or ignored. I might not understand the "science", and half of it is likely bogus, but they make me believe, and I like hearing about things such as telepathy and teleporting as if it were a bit more grounded. But only a bit. Because.. ya know, fringe science.

Dollhouse: I wasn't sure how I felt about Dollhouse for a while. Although it had deep, human themes to it, I found most of the episodes to be just lightly entertaining and fun to watch. But as it went on, and, actually, through a second viewing of the first season after I bought it on DVD, I found I was even more caught. Unfortunately, it was then announced to be canceled. Thems the brakes when you're Joss Whedon, I suppose. I love the questions Dollhouse asks, and I love the world. I will miss it a good bit.

LOST: My introduction to loving LOST is a long and twisty story I will share another time. Now all we need to know is that I'm trapped in that world whole-hearted. I haven't quite found another one I like discussing and theorizing about more than this one, and I'm terrified and sad that it will be over. However, I am glad that it has a set end-point because we all know the worst fate of a TV show is to last too long. Then you're just left with a bitter note of what used to be good. No, I hope LOST goes out with a bang... which is... ya know, sort of backwards since.. that's what.. this season is starting with...

ANYWAY. These are the things currently fueling my love for television. Everything stated here is my opinion, and can be challenged. And, who knows, maybe one of my favorites will crash and burn. It's not like it's never happened before, Heroes.

Life & California: You're So Damn Hot

2009-12-03T14:11:00.000-08:00

Know What's Cool? Installment One: Someday My Prince Will Come

So I feel this didn't get properly addressed in my previous article - but do you know what's cool? I'm in California.

It's an entirely odd and not altogether unpleasant sensation when you realize that what you told yourself you were going to accomplish is what you're doing right now. This isn't to say that all my dreams have come true and I can now rest and retire... but being in the state of California before the next Minnesota winter was just supposed to be this thing I told myself... and now it's happened. No matter what goes on next, I'm still scheduled to spend all my wintry day-times in a state that doesn't seem to remember what that season even is.

I hope it's a feeling I can continue to use to make all those other things happen. Until then... I'm in California! I drove past an honest to God studio. ... which I've done before, but okay. Still cool.

Also drove to Sprinkles, on favor for my sister. She knows all these spots by now, living here for a while before me. I mean, in all honesty, my parents drove - it was one of their last acts before they shipped themselves back home. Reportedly ( by this sister ), Sprinkles has the best cupcakes you ever could desire. Do not be fooled by shops with devilishly similar names and logo-styles ( I was ).

I did actually drive, though. To my sister's place, with all of my worldly belongings ( well, the packed ones, as we went over earlier ). I will now be squatting ( seriously, no rent ) till such time as Christmas when I'll brave snow to see family then return to a place of my own ( except, not really ) to be blessedly free to sing along with my music as loud as I want ( maybe ).

Peace out.

Life: Rock Down To Electric Avenue

2009-11-30T16:32:00.000-08:00

The first task I was asked to do in the systematic stripping of my old but not as old as my childhood residency of my once childhood bedroom was remove the cage I'd come to refer to as my 'bedroom'. The cage had been left over from the not-so-glory days of cat breeding when a certain brown male - who shall not be named for his own safety - had to be separated. He had to be separated because he peed a lot. Yes, it was a mighty existence.

Anyway, I was lazy and the cage was already in there so... it only seemed natural to build the bed inside much like it were a ship and the cage were, perhaps, a bottle. With slightly more wiggle room. Just slightly.

I liked the effect it had on the room, giving the illusion that somehow my apartments had more class than just being a basement bedroom. I did not, however, like the large black boxes it put in front of my TV screen when I wanted to watch late night movies. It was a trade-off. And now it had to go.

I laboriously undid and removed the entire thing, discovering mid-process that I hadn't quite cleaned it on all sides as well as I'd originally thought, and ended up feeling rather good about its leaving after all. This also affected by how I was getting paid for doing it.

The second task - which I skillfully held off till the last second as is my usual record - was packing. This became difficult because I had to sort through a lot of my useless shit and because I had to pick which of my movies I didn't want to watch for six months. This is a pain because there's not really any way you can positively know which movies you will or will not feel like watching. In the end, I grabbed a couple of favorites and a couple of ones I'd never seen and left it at that.

Then someone else decided she had to oversee these processes. As per usual, my luxurious silver cat hefted herself onto my bed and laid right across the 'coming with me' pile as if she knew I was getting ready to take off. She later transferred herself to the very Bunny-sized luggage I'd put out to start packing my clothes into.

This made things harder because 1) she was lying on my suitcase and 2) she was not, in fact, coming with me. I let her sit wherever she wanted, though, because it would be our last chance for a while.

If anyone ever had a doubt, though, mark it now - you really can fit all your clothes into one over-sized suitcase. I actually got to a point where nothing was in my carry-on but I couldn't think of what to bring. I packed a few extra movies, in the end, but it was like... ummm. I dunno. I didn't want to take a bunch of extra just for giggles... it would just end up sitting around...

But I got all packed and we went to the airport and stuff. That's boring. Nobody wants to hear about that. Hey! How about we jump right to California.

Mainly what my parents were doing here with me was buying me a car, making sure I knew the area, harassing me too much about finding a job, freaking out about every little detail, getting all up in my shit, using my computer too much because they were too lazy to plug their own into the hotel wired internet, and being loving nice people who paid for everything.

Oh. And seeing my sister who goes to school here.

As per more usual, she wanted to go to Santa Monica. We go there, like, every time. I took some pictures for... I don't know. Cause it feels like that's what you should do there.

Honestly, I don't know what else to do at a beach. I'm not a huge fan of sand. Or sitting in the sun without moving. Or salt water. Or other people who do enjoy those things.

Know what is cool, though? Colorful birds that don't fly away. There we go.

We walked a bunch, too, just to end up at a restaurant that was closed. My sister's a big fan of checking the star ratings of restaurants before she goes to them. I just walk in. Or don't. Depending on how I feel. So, I was a bit peeved at having gone blocks to a closed place when we'd passed a whole bunch but walking also makes me peevy, so, it was sort of an unfair weight against my family at that point.

I hope to do more walking here, though. I dunno. Now I own a car, so. We'll see.

Look, folks! Santa Monta! ... yaay.

Whatever.

sexy, sexy, sexy

2009-11-02T10:20:00.000-08:00

Oh hay. There's been fairly constant love shown for my Movies And Television You Should've Seen But Probably Didn't project, as I have the type pages up on Deviantart, but I got a comment recently where the person said she put my designs up on her blog. So I went to check it out, right, naturally. Not only are two of my designs on this blog post, but under the heading 'Sexy Typography'. WOO.

Unfortunately, after a visit, I was fairly positive those two pieces belonged nowhere near the other ones she was featuring... but I'll take it.

http://blogpost.dj23.net/2009/10/movie-quotes-in-sexy-typography-posters/

Sexy.

CALIFORNIA COUNTER: 24 DAYS

monsters are real, and ghosts are too

2009-10-31T14:16:00.000-07:00

It's a bit past the time now, but I thought I'd share with ya'll how we celebrate holidays around here. The house didn't get all fancied up with Halloween or anything - in fact, my mother up and forgot to buy candy until the day of - but she did decide we'd have at least one person to cater to. With the seven bags we now had. She also thought I looked festive enough in my orange and black striped tights to answer the door for her.

I sighed and indulged her, whilst drinking Sierra Mist cranberry out of my new skull goblet. Yes. It was very awesome.

Actually, the kids were very cute. But before I could allow all sorts of unsavory characters to approach our door on this the most hallowed of all eves, there were some precautions that needed to be taken.

While I wholly thought I'd be stopped and hounded as I strolled to the cupboard, removed the large cylinder of salt, and moved to empty a large amount of it on our doorstep in a vaguely straight-ish line, my mother, in fact, approved of and encouraged this endeavor. As did several of my buddies on the Heroes MUSH.

Enablers, all of you.

So, late holiday cheer. Just in time for a new holiday.

Demons, ye shall not pass.

wish they all could be california girls

2009-10-23T11:04:00.000-07:00

What's this? Is it... perhaps, my departure time for a flight to California, where I will be hacking out an experimental living for several months before destiny or bankruptcy claim me?

INDEED.

The general plan is to live at a friend's and/or find an apartment where I can do my best to find a job. The experience so far has been that people want you to be local so as to conduct instantaneous interviews. It is, indeed, easier for everyone to be in the same place, so I'm taking that first step. We'll see where it takes me.

Plane, housing, and car expenses are being helped along by my very supportive parents -- so, should it happen, I really owe them everything.

EDIT: Have now checked the weather in Pasadena. Sunny across the board. Highs above 80, lows above 50. Wtf, plane ticket, why aren't you for TOMORROW?

Seriously. This is what I'm working with ( courtesy of thefuckingweather.com. most accurate weather site ever )

since sliced bread

2009-10-22T18:26:00.000-07:00

So a phenomenon I've been particularly entertained with tracking is the creation of "remix" music-videos that rely on the repetition of a surprisingly melodic or amusingly iconic phrase from its source of choice. These also usually include a techno track -- possibly also created from the movie or clip's soundtrack. Making the techno track, for one, is awesome. Finding dialogue that fits into it as if they were meant to be? Genius.

I don't honestly know what came first, but I would love to credit this work of "Lord of the Rings" awesome. Created by Erwin Beekveld, it features some of the catchiest music I will ever not be able to get out of my head. The timing and the quote choices guarantee you will never be able to watch a certain part of The Two Towers without laughing from now on. There's, like, two dozen different versions of it out now in the related field. ( What, I ask you, is the obsession with 'Chipmunk'-speeding everything and its sequel? )

This song may also be my ring-tone...

The next bit of hilarity is not as much from a movie as an interview spawned by that movie. It's not only well put together -- besides a couple of video glitches -- but makes you forever question how the hell these sound bytes weren't a joke to begin with. Seriously. I cannot explain. You must only click "play" on this masterpiece of genius unofficially called: "Somebody had to go and ask Shatner why Kirk is climbing a mountain in that one Star Trek movie..."

This last one is a bit of a cheat, honestly: I had been aiming to add the other two in and thought - hey, wouldn't this blog post look better with a third example? So I went hunting. It didn't take long. This person even credit the earlier "They're Taking the Hobbits to Isengard" for their creating of this, so, see? My decision to give it first place is well done. But this it not LOTR: though it IS a similarly popular trilogy featuring a man who doesn't wash his hair frequently enough. There are some visual choices in this one I disagree with - although the style and proficiency with editing is there, I don't think it's quite as polished as the others. Still, this "Pirates of the Caribbean" piece is quite catching and fetching. Feast.

Got the tunes in your head? I do.

come into the new world

2009-05-15T11:52:00.000-07:00

There's this shiny new piece of paper in my apartment that tells me I have a degree now. Which is... yeah, that's pretty cool. It also means that there's no more homework and no more finals to stop me from posting to you, my precious blog.

Expect epic writing to follow.

Right after I eat.

Peace out!

avon's new t-virus

2009-03-03T19:56:00.001-08:00

Has anybody else noticed that this is looking a little bit like this?

I'm just saying.

If there was ever a company that was closer to releasing the T-virus and dooming us all... it's Avon. Some day, we should try matching their ads up to the fake Umbrella ads. Pretty sure they'll sync just right.

Everyday, we get closer to zombies or robots.

On the robot front, however, we have Japan making high-school aged looking contraptions that can strut ( sort of ) down a catwalk. So... we only have to start worry when they develop senses of propriety and demand fair wages and non-sexist robotic images.

Friday the 2nd, May: Jesus Christ Superstar

2008-06-25T08:45:00.000-07:00

By amazing coincidence, whilst I was in the printshop no less, I happened to be listening to my iPod while the other inhabitants of the work space were using the radio there, instead. They stepped out but left the device on and I, well, I was chilling in a chair waiting for my screen to dry so yeah right I was getting up until that happened. And a good thing, too. There were commercials playing, I knew that much, but only just when my song ended and was taking a second to turn to the other did I catch a distinctive word -- the announcer saying "- for the legendary Jesus Christ Superstar" just as the ad ended.

Wait, /what/ about the legendary JCS? I was desperate to know. It is, after all, my favorite musical. So, of course, I was obliged to Google it. What else could it mean when a musical's name is on your local radio then that the musical is also or is going to be local? And what kind of fan doesn't jump on the chance to go?

Sure enough, a search revealed that "Jesus Christ Superstar" was playing at the Orpheum -- like, /this/ weekend. Surely, it was only a miracle that let me hear about it in time. Because, further miracle of miracles, they weren't sold out. And then I glanced at the flyer for it.

And read the name "Ted Neeley". Starring Ted Neeley.

This is Ted Neeley. He starred in the 70s movie version of JCS and I had a huge religiously confusing crush on him. This was it. This /was/ Jesus. I had to go.

So I went.

And here's what I thought:

First of all, I went twice. When I realized I'd bought tickets for Sunday matinee, I panicked that I might be given an understudy, especially considering that Neeley is 64 years old and could, understandably, need a break from screaming his throat hoarse out on stage. ( He being known for his amazing rockstar screams ) My second bought tickets were for Friday, the opening night, where I was pretty sure it was a guarantee he'd be there.

The theater was full fairly quickly. Full, too, of teenagers in jeans, hoodies, and lazily texting on their phones up until the lights went down - and a tiny bit after. Theater etiquette had certainly changed. Or maybe texting is just -way- too easy now.

Anyway, the show starts with limited scenery - a platform, stairs on either side, and a walkway across. All black. Lighting. The music starts. I'm somewhat surprised when people come out and begin to move during the overture. It's a couple of disciples and the guards they're hiding from. When spotting each other, the two groups engage in a slow motion fight. Yes, slow motion. always slightly questionable, but okay. Because pretty soon it's over and everyone's crying over their lost companion and as the music begins to swell... Ted Neeley - Jesus arrives.

He spread his hands and looked at the audience ( or maybe someone else, as I'll get to later ) in an anticipatory looking move. We obliged by bursting into claps, screams, and tears. Yes, tears. Two rows ahead of me were several teenaged to young-twenties women in front of me and one of their group was the obviously recognized "biggest fan". Her shoulders were shaking, she looked to be crying. It was sort of an amazing response. I can't say I didn't feel a very similar way.

So the scene progresses. Jesus does what he does best and everyone runs off happy except a very petulant Judas. And I mean this guy played a very sulky Judas. He always seemed to be holding his head down and shuffling his feet in an eternal tantrum. He was a great singer, but I was distracted. As soon as the opening lines of "Heaven on Their Minds" were sung, I couldn't concentrate because I was sitting there hearing how it was different from the version I knew. I didn't know if it was his decision or the director's, but the music was different. Maybe it wasn't bad-different, but it was certainly enough to throw off a person so used to hearing something else. I'm biased because of what I've grown up on, I can admit that.

Another sort of amusing note was Caiphas. I'm ready to believe that he was picked because he -could- go that low, not because he was supposed to. He sang as many of the shorter more dramatic lines as he could at the famous Caiphas level but, at longer verses, he jumped dramatically and somewhat jarringly to a higher range. I don't blame the guy - Caiphas' part is ridiculous and hilarious - but it was still kinda funny and, again, distracting.

Which leads me up to the most distracting of all -- how distracted Jesus was. The stage direction for this pivatol role took a whole new shift here. It began right off the bat, when Ted Neeley was giving what appeared to be props to the crowd. He looked up and lifted gentle but acknowledging hands. People even waved back from their seats. I thought at first that maybe someone had started it by gesturing wildly to him.

But the gestures from Jesus' side continued. Then he started to talk to himself. Then I realized he was talking to God. He would stare at the back of the top of the theater and make hand motions and move his mouth and everything. Once or twice and this was interesting... but it continued throughout the entire production to such an extent that he had to be shaken out of his reverie almost every time whenever the disciples wanted to sing a line to him. That was a bit bizarre, and saddening. I like to see a human Jesus, a troubled but friendly Jesus who's becoming more and more frustrated and on-the-edge. But he was very calm, though occasionally he'd 'yell' or 'argue'-like at God, and the way he was never quite aware of what was going on around him didn't let him be angry enough about it.

On the other hand, Neeley was nearly spot on. You could hear in his voice, yes, that he was an old man and it crackled and was rough accordingly. But I had already gone into this prepared to forgive him since you can't possibly sing like he does for that long and come out the other side with a perfect voice. The point was that he could still hit those notes, and still scream. And when he needed to, boy, did he. I was under the impression later that he was holding himself back somewhat in the first act to prepare for the more physical, more emotional, more demanding second. I understood, but my sister made a good point when she went that it made his outbursts seem less understandable when he was so calm and reserved every other moment.

As a little personal comment: yay, they were doing the old version. Despite some changes in music for Judas and for Herod, the words and themes were reverted to what I knew best. And this included a "Jesus Christ Superstar", the titular Judas song, done in uplifting white.

My gripe is that in the revival, Judas is shown dressed in leather and red, surrounded by dominatrixes in scanty-wear ( though the 70s accompanying angels aren't baring any less skin ) and exercising a vicious need to break Jesus down and taunt him in his time of suffering. It makes the whole song extremely mocking and Judas' journey completely pointless. One of the things I like about JCS is the way it examines Judas and Pontius' individual struggles as people, who don't understand what's going on around them, and are forced by circumstance or momentary weakness to succumb - but succumb to a fate that God made necessary. If it wasn't Judas, it would've had to be Peter or John or anyone. He needed a Judas and a Pontius Pilate to condemn Christ. They had roles. Mean, hard roles.

So even though I may not be sure that suggesting Judas went to Heaven after this ( and after killing himself ) I certainly think that the taunting Hell version is not the message the musical orgiinally intended.

So, I was glad. Judas was in white, and he sang with emotion and not sarcasm.

Unfortunately, there was one other change that did irk me quite a bit. The show was obviously taking a pretty heavy stance here in saying that God was real and God was a part of this and they put their foot down during Gethsemene by having Jesus suddenly refuse, repeat "No" several times - only to be immediately struck by God's wrathful lightning.

... Say what? I mean. Come on. The point is supposed to be Jesus' struggle to come to terms with what he's about to do ( die ), not "and then God said: you ain't got a choice, -----". Which may explain the awkwardness that occurred when they attempted to insert this new direction right after the lines "Alright. I'll die." If they had to do it, maybe they should've gone back a bit earlier in the song.

However, they finished strong. After the crucifixion ( during which Neeley is stripped and hanging on a cross in the middle of the stage writhing around and convincing us that this is a man suffering and dying seemingly alone ), Jesus is raised. Nothing too triumphant, just the simple pulling of Neeley into the rafters, still frozen in the crucified position. It was very strong. And kind of amazing that he was 64 years old.

All in all, the show was more than enjoyable. Nothing can compare to the experience of getting to see Ted Neeley in the flesh and I would never, ever pass up the chance to see JCS again and again and be able to compare notes between all the ways people decide to put it on.

Now I might have to... go listen to the soundtrack again.

Thursday the 1st, May: The Printshop

2008-06-10T12:51:00.000-07:00

So I haven't talked enough about my school lately, and because it's been taking up so much of my schedule, I felt the printshop would be a wonderful topic today. Finally time to unveil all those nasty mysteries that have my online friends chomping at the bit to set this 4th floor establishment aflame.

So there it is, folks. The printshop. This is seen from the angle that I have most recently been working. The door in is actually on the other side of that photo. The white tables are what you print on, and those yellow-ish things to the left are people's screens. They come in a variety of flavorful sizes.

This is the piece I've currently been working on. It is my final project for Intro to Print, Paper, Book. We've been allowed to make up our own assignment for this one so I decided to just have some fun and run with it.

I decided to take some of the more hilarious or iconic WWII propaganda posters and turn them into advertisements for current television shows. Considering how demanding, insulting, and promoting of violence these old posters can be, it wasn't too hard to translate that into the world of TV. Plus, ya know, something I love.

The one on the rack there is the only one I'm printing. The others are going to remain in purely hypothetical mock-up form because I barely have enough time to get through one poster with nine layers much less three or four posters with as many or more. That one's the Supernatural themed propaganda. For Supernatural, I choose the share ride poster:

Since cars are a big deal in Supernatural, they get to have the car-themed poster. As the text to keep, I chose the "when you ride alone" line.

Anyhow, if any of you are curious what I'm doing whenever I tell you that I can't type anymore, it's this. That's my screen being propped up. You stick the block of wood under there to keep it up when you're moving paper around and prop it lower than that to flood the screen. My screen has a stencil exposed out of emulsion on it that makes sure the ink only goes through in the exact shape that I want. The shiny plastic bit there is duralar, which I print on and then tape down so that I can slide my paper underneath to see where I need to put it to make sure my placement ( registering ) is good.

Then I lower the screen and use that rubber-edged squee-gee/scraper deal to push the ink through. Usually that's through the motion of dragging it across the screen towards you.

So yeah. There's your five second badly written crash course in screenprinting.

When the printing's done, I take my screen to the back where the sinks are:

You hose 'em on down in that sink there -- effectively spraying yourself in the face with dirty paint-water more times than you care to count. Further in past that curtain-like thing is the power wash. That's when you're srs business about cleaning and want to take your stencil off as well.

Next to the sinks are the drying racks and this ominous black curtain that leads to the very very back room where the lights are safe so you can carry your unexposed emulsion'd up screen around and not have to worry. There's some crazy exposing equipment back there but I'd be a terrible person to bring my camera back there and get my shiny flash all over people's racked screens. You can just wonder about that room some more.

So, with clean-up, I put all my stuff away and lay my new prints on the rack to dry until the next layer can be done.

Tada. There it is. I just printed the grey layer you saw on the duralar earlier. Pretty exciting, huh? That Impala is really starting to take shape. After, you know, two weeks of planning and half a week of printing. Whooooo. It'd better be exciting at that point.

The other two posters are currently LOST and The 4400 themed, featuring the kept lines "loose lips" and a quote from the president about preserving the future. If you know the shows, you should easily be able to figure out which goes to which.

Peace out!