Only Thing the VMA's Were Good For

I'm preparing to re-read The Hunger Games trilogy, not just in anticipation of next year's movie, but for the fun of it. I said it: reading is fun. At the MTV Video Music Awards last weekend a teaser trailer was revealed featuring Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss, and it was all I could do to now chuck the book I'm currently reading and launch right into the tale of a girl, her family, two guys, and a seriously fucked up dystopian vision of the United States. Check out the teaser:

Suzanne Collins' books (Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay) are technically for teens. When and if you read them, you'll realize that not only is this a serious misconception, but book critics who pooh-pooh younger-skewing novels are big jerks, and Katniss Everdeen is as real, as fleshed out, as compelling a character as anyone Dave Eggers or Jonathan Franzen ever cobbled together from letters. More so, because those writers and their fancypants brethren (while infinitely skilled, amazing, auteurs, blah blah) are also a bit on the unrelatable side. They tend towards the overly-wrought. Collins writes like a punch in the stomach, direct and unflinching, with no handwringing. Perfect.

In reality there are dozens of books being published right now under the Young Adult banner that are superbly crafted novels, period. YA stuff gets a bad rap from serious literati types because, well, the characters are primarily teenagers. Teenagers in real life are messy and horny and not always possessed of introspection into the human condition. Teenagers in fiction are created by adults, though, and thus have the ability to distill their chaotic hormone-soaked feelings into logical action. They are relatable to us as adults now, and to the inner teen we all still carry. Messy, horny, chaotic.
If you've read and liked Hunger Games, try a few of the other sci-fi/fantasy/post-apocalyptic books that have come out of the woodwork recently: Delirium by Lauren Oliver; Divergent by Veronica Roth; Matched by Ally Condie; and Incarceron by Catherine Fisher.

On Doctor Who and Attractive Scots

David Tennant courtesy DreamWorks

I paid good money to see Fright Night, despite my belief that no one will out-sexy '80's Chris Sarandon (creepy-sexy, not sexy-sexy.) It was decent, happily, and written by Buffy scribe Marti Noxon, so it had smart dialogue. Colin Farrell did his best Nic Cage (seriously strange,) only hotter, and Anton Yelchin was as adept and adorable as he always is. The reason I put my butt in that seat, however, was David Tennant.  And it was worth every penny. Tennant played a Criss Angel type, a Vegas illusionist with goth trappings, and he owned every scene he was in. And the eyeliner! I could die! More thin Scottish men in leather pants, please. David Tennant might not be anyone you've heard of, but he's been Hamlet, and Barty Crouch in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Most importantly, he's my Doctor.

"Doctor Who." British TV show, broadcast off and on since 1963, and he's been played by 11 different actors--the character's body regenerates, conveniently. It's a thing. He's got a blue police box called the TARDIS that is really gigantic on the inside and can travel through time and space. Want to spy on Shakespeare? Sure. Visit New Earth in the year 5 billion and twenty three? OK, but watch out for the cat-faced nuns. The Doctor (his name isn't Doctor Who, never ever call him that) travels around the universe in the TARDIS, with human companion(s), saving some civilizations and damning others. He's like the sheriff. Of the entirety of space and time.

The show returns to BBC America on Saturday night for the second half of season 6. The first 7 episodes aired in April, ending on a crazy cliffhanger, but jumping right in is strongly encouraged! There are plenty of stand-alone mystery hours that don't require encyclopedic knowledge of the mythos. The show is, at its heart, classic sci-fi with fantasy elements, a bit of horror, and a new lesson every week about what it is to be human, or to have humanity. Easy to get.  And you get to look at this guy:

Matt Smith and the TARDIS

This is Doctor Who in his 11th incarnation, portrayed by Matt Smith since series 5 began last year. He's younger, naughtier, and the vibe of the show is edgier and more fairytale-esque than the Tennant years. Smith has a distinctly nutty-professor thing going on that is very, very appealing. The guy's like 25 and he gives you nothing but ancient soul and the weight of the world when he needs to. Then he goes and dips fish sticks in custard and you realize "Ahhh, he really is the whole wacky package." You immediately want to leave your dismal existence and climb aboard his police box. You want him to pick you. That's the essence of imagination, and as an adult it's difficult to suspend your pragmatism long enough to access that feeling without a little help.

Mention must be made of Alex Kingston, as the mysterious River Song, who is evidently the Doctor's great love (but due to time travel hoo-ha, he doesn't really know it yet,) and the superb Karen Gillan, as Amy Pond. She delivers willful intelligence with just a purse of her lips. She is funny, feisty, and utterly devoted to her husband, Rory, played with excellent comedic timing by Arthur Darvill. Darvill is the heart of the team, though, not just the funny yutz in the corner. The two actors have goofy, sweet chemistry, and to watch the Doctor watch Amy and Rory have a loving relationship has added extra dimension to every relationship on the show.

So to review: Doctor Who--TARDIS--Time/Space travel--Cool aliens--Bow ties.

He wears bow ties. They're cool. It's a thing.

Watch BBC America on Saturday night at 9:00, let me know what you think.

My Stunted Creativity is Your Gain

I spend entirely too much time with my nose to my smartphone, playing Yahtzee Adventure and lamenting my current career stallage, silently pissing and moaning about my lack of opportunity.
Today is the day I realized the internet is its own opportunity, and my idiot brain and idiot hands are all that is needed to create my own outlet for the ridiculous number of words that clog my head at any given moment on any given day. I say "idiot" because it's an obvious solution, an obvious fix, and I tend towards the Type-A-know-it-all class of folks, so…I loathe admitting that I've been my own enemy. Idiot.

Steve from Collider.com and me at Wonder Con

Truthfully, I LIKE getting in my own way. I must! I do it early and often. I secretly judge acquaintances who thrive on relationship drama, but I don't know that my perpetual procrastination and refusal to live up to my potential is really any better. I thrive on career drama. To my loving husband who is awesome: you really suck at giving me any bullshit to obsess over. Could you please consider a) smearing a random lipstick on your collar, b) telling me "you look fat in that," or c) smacking one of my friends on the ass? It would help get my mind off my work, or lack thereof. Thanks.

I've decide to throw my bag of self-sabotaging tricks out the window, though, and just do it, this, blogging-- for fun. I remember when writing and the idea of writing was fun before anything else. Hmph.

So this is what you're gonna get: some snark, a lot of geeky adulation and sincere fangirl wistfulness, and a deep love and understanding of television in particular. I'll include reviews and speculation and coverage of genre entertainment of all kinds, plus comic books, movies, fiction (like, real books,) and the artists that produce and create the bright and shiny escapism we all consume. I like to recommend huge swaths of books and TV shows, so expect dips into my library too.

I will eventually branch into the podcasting realm, because if there's one thing I'm better at than anything, it's talking. Consider yourselves forewarned.

Don't Get Your Nerd On Without Me

Comic-Con has descended on San Diego, geeks in a thick blanket over the city like locusts devouring a midwest crop. The geeks, my brethren, they gnaw at the new movie and TV footage unveiled there; they gnash their chompers at the bastardization of precious geek-verse commodities; their antennae wiggle waggle when they detect Olivia Munn from Attack of the Show anywhere nearby. These are my people, as my husband likes to remind me.

When I was a little kid I was positive I was going to grow up to have superpowers or be a vampire. And when I say positive, I mean pillowcase-on-the-shoulders, jumping off the couch, waiting for my mad flying skills to kick in. And why wouldn't it happen? I wanted it badly enough. I was a relatively well-behaved child, which is to say I had ethics even when I was being a brat. I could use my powers for good, not evil, with a couple of brief pit-stops for mischief or good-natured trickery. No super-villainy. As a vampire I would only feed on evil-doers, of course. And then I'd be able to amass a great fortune and travel the world and have long flowy hair and perfect skin. I would scrunch my face up and concentrate on moving that pencil over there with my mind. I would stay perfectly still and close my eyes and will myself to hear people's thoughts. Now I'm a good judge of character, and very occasionally I'm a little bit psychic, but I'm also visible and bound by gravity and of average strength. Not super.

All those people at Comic-Con? They aren't super either. Maybe it's that we're not willing to contain our imaginations. Maybe it's that we needed to fit in somewhere, and the best place we fit

is on alternate planets, in other galaxies, anywhere but here. Maybe we have a predilection for homemade costumes made from shiny synthetic fibers and a vast collection of Pogs we need to get rid of. It makes no difference, because the last thing a Comic-Con attendee is going to do is pass judgment on a person according to socially-mandated standards of "normal." If you get Green Lantern and The Green Hornet mixed up, though, stop drop and roll, dude. Get out of there.

I know Comic-Con is TOO BIG. I've been there. It's lines for years and crowds like you've never seen outside of countries with severe civil unrest; it's embarrassing to see some studios and execs pimp projects like freak show barkers. There are people at Comic-Con who have never even picked up a comic book, much less held one by its spine with gloves on. I don't give a flying fig. The purists are still there. The ones who tied the pillow case around their shoulders and jumped off the couch. I am them. We are a tribe.

Originally written 7.09

Megan Fox Can Do Whatever She Wants

Let's spend a minute, shall we, extolling the virtues of the non-manufactured movie star. The celebrity who refuses to let his or her publicist craft tidy little soundbites for public consumption that always contain the words "grateful," or "fortunate," or "team effort."

Let us praise the actors and actresses who don't seem to care one whit what reporters or media types think or blog about them; and who figure the fans of their movies will either like them as people or they won't. These are the people who seem the most authentic out of all the shiny happy Hollywood confections that are trotted out on our screens on a daily basis. They get irritated, and show it. They are perfectly comfortable with themselves (as much as anyone can be) and they don't hold back with the sardonic or the personal information just because their current film appeals to tweens. They are rarely apologetic, but typically VERY compelling on screen--probably because they let their insides show on their outsides already.

I'm talking about people like Shia LaBeouf and Megan Fox from the Transformers movies. Shia is well known for running off at the mouth and offering up information that might make a less squeamish person urp in their Wheaties. I am not squeamish, though, and therefore find it amusing and, yes, strange, that he finds his mother the sexiest woman alive, or that he watched his parents have sex and smoke weed and engage in all-around bohemian activities. Megan Fox has already admitted to being bisexual and entertaining a serious crush on a stripper; she's claimed to essentially be a man in a girl's body; and she's talked about the fact that she loves smoking pot and doesn't get why everyone's so effing bent out of shape about it. Katherine Heigl from Grey's Anatomy is notoriously plain-spoken, and might have tanked her movie career because of that fact. But in a business that is molded and injected with artifice as a rule, even abrasive bluntness is an applause-worthy quality. Bloggers, media critics, and the like have called this sort of behavior in stars inappropriate, diarrhea of the mouth, yadda yadda; and I don't agree. Those critics seem to be trying to get actors to all fit in the same neat little box, where they act well and look good and try to avoid any pesky human foibles. Boo to that.

Now, this is where I make a distinction. There are actors who say what they want to, and never come off as inapporpriate. Take Tom Hanks. That guy doesn't give pat answers to anything, doesn't come off as generic or practiced--he comes off as the single nicest guy on the frickin' planet because he probably IS that guy. On the flip side, actors like Sean Penn say whatever the hell they want, too, but very easily project "I'm an asshole" with every answer because he's defensive any time anyone asks him anything, even if it's about ice cream or puppies.

Encourage spontaneity in our celebrities. Encourage spontaneity in yourself. Don't think about every single thing you say before you say it. Unless it's really racist or something. That's just rude.

Originally written 6.09

Funny-looking and Hot NOT Mutually Exclusive

I have often been accused of being boy or girl crazy because of my ability to find beauty and sexiness in a lot of different people. Beauty is such a nebulous concept that it has to evolve and change and hinge on things other than facial symmetry or huge ta-tas, though, and I consider my tastes to be varied as opposed to indiscriminate. A woman can be less-than-thin, or have a strange nose, or a funny mole, and yet command a room when she walks in simply due to the power of her voice and carriage. A man can have sunken cheeks or flinty eyes or a prominent forehead and easily be the best choice for a hay-rolling you've ever met.

Men like Willem Dafoe, Robert Knepper from Prison Break (and the new season of Heroes, woo-hoo!) and sci-fi/fantasy staple Jeff Kober all have that dirty-sexy thing going on: they're rough around the edges, yes, but there's something going on with the voice, or the mannerisms that makes them incredibly hot to me. Most of the time it's a look in the eyes, like they could rip your clothes off before you even notice their hands are moving. And then when your clothes are off they make you their slave. Women have this going on too--Tilda Swinton is a perfect example of someone who straddles the line of androgyny in a way that intrigues me and makes me think she was born to seduce people. Maybe not people, maybe just me.

For clarification, Amy Winehouse is NOT the right kind of unattractive for our purposes--she's just too sad. Courtney Love--too sad. Sandra Bernhard--she's right up there with the best of the turn-the-lights-off-then-get-naked types of people. Mickey Rourke? Verdict's still out.

Originally written 4.09

Tell Me You Remember DARYL?!

Everyone's got a few of these--the movies you saw over and over again as a kid, the ones you forget about except for little flashes every 5 years or so. I'm not talking The Princess Bride, or Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, or The Neverending Story. Everyone's seen those, and if you haven't, well, get thee to your Netflix queue and feel shame.

No, I mean the weird ones, the scary ones, the random ones. I saw Videodrome when I was still in the single digits and almost had a coronary in front of my VCR. Ditto Poltergeist. Troop Beverly Hills was one I watched about 63 times, but I can never find anyone who doesn't say, "Is Diane from Cheers in that? Never seen it." And HOW dated is this paragraph so far? Sheesh.

The reason I bring this up specifically is a movie that was released recently on DVD, a movie that my stepdad made me watch one ridiculously hot Saturday or something when we were stuck inside because it was 105 degrees. I then watched this movie over and over and over, and then through the miracle of cable, over and over again. Anyone ever seen D.A.R.Y.L.? It's on DVD! Like right now! It's got a boy! Who's a robot! And he's brought into a family to live! And then he flies a jet!

There was also some stealing of money from an ATM with Daryl's magical pre-internet-networking-from-machine-to-machine capabilities. That appealed to either my more felonious side, or my greedier side, maybe both. And D.A.R.Y.L. is multifunctional: it's both the robot boy's name AND the acronym for Data Analyzing Robot Youth Lifeform. Bad ass.

And WHY haven't you added D.A.R.Y.L. to your queue yet? Didn't I mention Michael McKean, and child actor extraordinaire Barrett Oliver, on whom I crushed so hard (who was also Bastian in Neverending Story)? Go!

Originally written 3.09