L o b a B l a n c a {dot} c o m

So, let me get this straight (and that particular pun will become more apparent in a moment): These TEA baggers, lovely conservatives that they are, don’t want to be taxed any more by the federal government because, as they so plainly put it, they are Taxed Enough Already. But they don’t mind donating money to the RNC, which in turn uses their donations for such worthy tasks as taking in a light repast and some equally light bondage play at a West Hollywood club known for its “[i]mpromptu bondage and S&M ‘scenes’ being played out on an elevated platform by scantily clad performers throughout the night.”

Yes, that’s right TEA baggers, your RNC donations may have helped cover the cost of a $2,000 tab run up at a lesbian bondage club known as Voyeur (yeah, probably mildly NSFW, but it plays a pretty tune). A place where the women wear all variety of bondage accouterments, including horse bridles, and simulate sex acts, I guess as part of their dinner service (I wonder, is it like at Lonestar when the servers just suddenly stop what they’re doing when the music starts playing and it’s time for the hourly floor show?). Personally, I think that’s so much more awesome than paying more tax money to the federal government.

This latest revelation about the RNC made me so simultaneously giddy and furious that I had to marinate on it for a while before even composing any kind of rational thoughts. Giddy, you may ask? Of course! I love schadenfreude, especially when it involves revelations of utter hypocrisy within the God-Ordained Plutocracy (Ooh! There’s one I haven’t used in a while!).

But why furious? Because this is precisely the kind of bullshit that makes me hate the Republican party. These self-assumed scions of morality, who sit on high, damning the sins they so eagerly accuse the Democrats of committing and embracing…why? Because as long as you’re pointing out the “sins” of others, hopefully no one’s going to be noticing that you’re doing the same damned things.

What makes me even more furious, though, is how the Republican party has convinced so many people that they’re the responsible party, that they’re the ones who should be in charge because they know how to manage funds and reduce debt and grant all their constituents three wishes and a chicken in every pot and a Lexus in every garage and a free sparkly pony…and all with a tax cut or three thrown in!

Never mind that the national deficit we now rock was caused by the reign of a Republican president and his Republican Congress. We’re not supposed to remember that. So just shake your heads vigorously and let the GOP control the vertical and the horizontal on your Etch-a-Sketch brains.

Oh, and of course, keep fighting against true evils, like health care reform. Because poor people don’t deserve health coverage and it’s perfectly acceptable for pharmaceuticals to continue to drill us dry and for doctors to prescribe completely unnecessary tests and procedures that often don’t do anything to help us and in some cases kill us…but not before the insurance companies are tapped to pay out. And if you don’t have insurance? Don’t worry. You won’t get those tests or procedures, even if you actually need them.

Sigh. I feel anger sparks in my fingers now.

Is the recently passed health care reform bill perfect? Of course it isn’t. Will everyone be happy? Nope. Then again, name me one thing that everyone can universally agree upon and I’ll show you a second season episode of TNG starring Dr. Crusher. Nothing is ever going to please everyone. Nothing is ever going to be perfect. But this should not be the excuse to continue to avoid doing something that should have been taken on decades ago.

Our health care industry in this country is horrid. We’re nothing more to these people than a means to make money. Money that they, in turn, use to pocket politicians from both sides of the aisle to ensure that they can continue to make maximum profits in the name of health “care,” Hippocrates be damned.

And are we angry about this? NO! We’re angry that the government is trying to step in and repair what has been allowed to devolve into such an utterly unchecked train wreck. We’re angry that someone is trying to do something to help us.

How dare they?!

And, of course, the ever-vigilant, ever-pious Republicans are at the very forefront of instigating this anger. Instead of trying to work with the Democrats to just this one fucking time try to come together and do something for the good of the people rather than the good of the corporations (who are not people, you stupid effing Supreme Court wankers!), what do they do? They help fund the efforts of TEA baggers (you know, with RNC donations not used to fund bondage parties). They send out their pretty (empty) talking heads like Sarah Palin, to burble insipid but easy-to-chant mantras like “Repeal and Replace” or “Lame-stream Media.” And they offer no alternatives, no solutions. No help.

I’m sorry. I don’t want my new lair to be an angry lair. But this has me so furious. So frustrated. So utterly disgusted and disappointed in the whole lot of fools. Truth is, it’s too late for health care reform for so many members of my family, and that truth has struck a vein of sadness within me that aches more than any palliative effort could ever hope to relieve. But it’s not too late to offer help to so many, including even those who have been duped by the bloviators into believing that these reform efforts are bad.

So what’s it going to take to get people to see beyond the shallow sheen of obfuscation and realize that we deserve better than what we’ve been getting? And that, while a little side order of lesbian bondage play with your meal might be more fun, maybe putting that money into reforming a system that we desperately need to reform might do a bit more good in the long run.

Late on the posting today. I hit the road early this morning and I haven’t really had much of a chance to stop since 5 a.m. Spent a large portion of the day driving, Sammy burning up the miles in high style as I burned my way through several of my favorite podcasts.

In between a couple episodes, however, I hit some of my favorite playlists. One is called “Old Skool Happy.” It’s filled with some of my favorite old school rap and go-go music. Fun, bouncy, and nothing like a lot of the negative, derogatory, misogynistic crap that passes as rap these days. No, these songs are from greats like Big Daddy Kane, Salt-n-Pepa, Eric B. and Rakim, MC Lyte, Biz Markie, Queen Latifah, EU, Junkyard Band, Grandmaster Flash, Heavy D, Whodini, Sugar Hill Gang, Sir Mix-a-Lot…Old Skool Happy.

Then there’s Kool Moe Dee’s “Wild, Wild West.” I don’t know why, but there’s something about this particular song that represents perfectly the part of my life in which these were the only artists that I listened to. It’s strange with a catchy beat, an easy-to-remember chorus, and a video that gives a whole new meaning to “Urban Cowboy.” I remember standing around with friends while waiting for our turn at kickball during PhysEd, rapping all the lyrics to this song over and over. A few years later, it would be the lyrics to “Tom’s Diner,” whispered during study hall. Such is the life of teendom.

It is with mixed pride and embarrassment that I admit now that I can still rap almost all the lyrics to this song. This and MC Lyte’s “Lyte As a Rock” are two songs that I can break out any time, any place. In fact, a spontaneous rendition of “Wild, Wild West” at the back of a martini bar in Chicago secured my nickname of “K-Dub” with my boss and coworkers. Before you ask, no, it wasn’t a karaoke bar. Who needs karaoke when you’ve got martinis?

Will Smith tried to ruin this song just like he tried to ruin the television series of the same name with that crapfest of a movie he and Kevin Kline made back in the 90s (for which Smith did a version of this song, sampling parts of the original). Thankfully, I successfully avoided ever spoiling my memories of the original by ever listening to the full version of Smith’s “remake.” I am a purist, dammit, and it’s either the original or nothing.

So, here for your listening and viewing pleasure, Kool Moe Dee’s “Wild, Wild West”…

And, because I’m in a particularly giving mood this evening, here is the video to MC Lyte’s “Lyte as a Rock.” Meh to the video, but I absolutely heart this song.

Finally! A poster from my own collection! I’ll try to refrain from excessive gushing about how much I love the book and the musical or relay yet again how I stalked Idina Menzel all the way to London for the chance to see her as Elphaba. That’s not the purpose of the Poster Pick entry. Besides, you already know I’m unhinged. Must we dwell on the evidence that supports this?

True to my love of simplicity, I adore this poster design. It’s a very sparse line drawing, which makes perfect sense in its context. This is a poster advertising a musical, which not only has a rapid turnaround on cast members but can also be playing in several different places at once. And, unlike movies, when a musical is playing many places simultaneously, it’s obviously never going to be with one universal cast.

So, as a means of saving on cash as well as the time it’s going to take to keep updating all the marketing materials, a lot of musical promoters stick with something a bit more generic. Case in point: Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, Cats. Three of the highest-grossing musicals ever, and all three have very generic but universally recognizable poster designs.

So, anyway, back to Wicked. We start out with a brilliant tagline: “So Much Happened Before Dorothy Dropped In.” This depends heavily on a bit of pop-culture knowledge, since the “Dorothy” in question is Ms. Gale of the star known as Kansas (of course, if you’re not familiar with The Wizard of Oz, this isn’t the only time you’re going to be a bit lost with this poster pick). The impish part of this tagline is the “dropped in” part. Dorothy’s arrival into Oz occurred when her house dropped on top of the Wicked Witch of the East.

But, what took place before this splatterific arrival made us privvy to the machinations of this fantastical world?

Then we get the major design element: two witches, sharing a secret. We know that they’re witches because they both wear pointy witch hats (duh!). We also see one is in black and the other is in white, classic visual delineations of good versus evil. What’s noteworthy is how the “wicked” witch not only occupies the center spot of this poster, but also takes up the most room in the design.

Okay, from here on, I’m going to refer to them by their names in the musical: Glinda is the Good Witch, of course; Elphaba is the Wicked Witch.

We see more of Elphaba’s hat, and her hair and cloak blend together to take up most of the bottom portion of the poster. Also, the portion of the poster not taken up by either witch is a green the same color as Elphaba’s skin. She is the controlling element in this design, without question. Glinda is relegated to the edge of the design and is seen only in profile, with most of her face covered by her hand, while Elphaba faces us straight-on.

Don’t you love the wicked little grin on Elphaba’s face? Whatever could Glinda be whispering in her ear? Also, this is another key part of the design. We know from the original story that Glinda and Elphaba are supposed to be enemies. This pose speaks to quite a different relationship prior to Dorothy’s arrival. Were they once friends? What happened to change that so dramatically? Do tell!

One more comment on the black/white overlay of the witches: I love how the curve of Glinda’s sleeve against Elphaba’s cloak forms a design element reminiscent of the curve of the yin and yang, two contrary but interconnected elements. Mmm, tasty, tasty foreshadowing.

Throw in a few flying monkeys, and you’ve got your main design. The flying monkeys are both another link to tie this story to the original as well as another bit of foreshadowing regarding the story that this musical is going to tell us. Of all the recognizable images they could have used, what could be so important about the flying monkeys? Hmm…

The next part of this poster utilizes one of my favorite tricks of the trade: how to deal with two leads who might be offended if they don’t get top billing over the other. This poster is from the original musical, which starred the aforementioned Idina Menzel as Elphaba and Kristin Chenoweth as Glinda. Note that, looking at the names vertically, Menzel’s name is listed higher than Chenoweth’s. Looking at it horizontally, Chenoweth comes first. Bruised egos averted. Brilliant!

The next name to be mentioned is the Wizard himself, played in this version by Joel Grey. Theater buffs will immediately recognize his name (Willkommen? Bienvenue? Anyone?), so that was a wise play by the designer to include him as an extra hook. Besides, he is the eponymous character from the story that gave inspiration to this one; I think he deserves at least one mention.

[And while it is true that this poster is still going to have to be tweaked each time the leads rotate out, it's going to take far less time and effort to update text than it would be to update a slew of cast shots from poster to poster. Time is money, remember.]

Finally, we get the name of the musical, written in a gorgeous, bold serif font, complete with a little wicked witch on her broomstick to dot the “i.” Right beneath, in a complementary green, is the second tagline: “The Untold Story of the Witches of Oz.”

It’s such a simple design, isn’t it? But it works on so many glorious levels.

Poster Pick Bonus: UK Wicked Poster

A few brief words on the UK version of this poster. Wicked debuted on the West End back in September 2006. This would be the debut that partially inspired Loba’s London Stalker Tour. To prepare, the British company gave the original Wicked poster a bit of a sprucing (kind of like what Dorothy & Co. received when they entered the Emerald City). The simple design was given more realism, the witches given definition to their faces and wardrobe.

It’s a lovely effort, but I think I like the more abstract American design better (Loba is choosing an American version over a British version? Quick, check the temperature in hell!). Still, the designer did a great enough job with the update that it deserves a place here as well.

I had a moment of epic geek proportions on my commute home this evening that I simply had to share with my denizens.

My drive home takes me through a busy section of city that calls for a lot of stop-n-go for about 3 miles. It’s not as bad as it sounds as I typically spend the time waiting for the traffic report and deciding what I’m going to listen to for the rest of the time I’m on the road. I know, tsk to me for splitting my attention.

So today, we’re all in a relatively speedy groove and I’m lucking out with all green lights. I’m also well ahead of the bus that runs its route along this same stretch of road. I can see it about five cars behind me and I’m well chuffed because I’ve beat it (and obviously listening to a British podcast, which encourages me to use slang like “well chuffed” even though I know it would make me sound like a proper git if I ever actually tried to use it in casual conversation).

Anyway, there are a couple of people standing at the bus stop, including a somewhat largely built guy (I think the proper term for him recently appeared in my Rob Zombie rant: “built like a brick shit house”). He’s wearing camouflage shorts, work boots, an unbuttoned jean shirt, and a T-shirt. More precisely, he’s wearing the T-shirt you see above. Yes, he is sporting a vintage fourth season Star Trek: The Next Generation cast T-shirt.

I have this same shirt. It’s in sad, over-laundered shape thanks to becoming the shirt that I slept in all the time, but I still have it, folded up in one of my “boxes of shame” (Pandoro ain’t got nothin’ on Loba). I loved this shirt. Loved the poses. Loved the weird layout that made it look like the crew was: a) letting off a weird nuclear glow; b) floating in space; and c) GINORMOUS in comparison with the Enterprise. Loved Beverly’s yellow hair.

What do I love even more? That I literally squeed when I saw this shirt on a dude I never in a million years would have pegged as a Trekkie. Just hanging out and heading home at the end of the work day. Wearing a shirt that’s more than 20 years old.

Tell me that doesn’t just blast awesome.

How To Massacre a Horror Movie Classic In Three Easy Steps

Here, first, is a brief list of Things That Never Should Have Happened:

• Rob Zombie’s remake of Halloween.

Well, I did say it was brief.

OMGWTF.

Typically, I don’t condone real violence of any kind, but I would like to officially request that I be allowed to kick-box Rob Zombie in his outtie bits for the full 2 hours that I wasted on this piece of shit movie.

I warn you now: This post will be graphic in language and anger, and will spoil the hell out of Zombie’s remake. Why? Because I’m angry that I wasted time on what I knew in the very core of my being was going to be shit, and I want to make damn certain that none of my denizens make the same stupid mistake.

Unfortunately, I may ruin bits of John Carpenter’s original movie as well, so be forewarned. Actually, though, if you’re reading this and you haven’t seen Carpenter’s Halloween, stop right now and go watch it. I’m not kidding. I’ll still be here when you’re finished, venting and howling pointlessly.

First let’s begin with…the beginning. The opening of the 1978 version is so classic and so iconic. The clown mask. The fastest sex scene in the history of movies. The killing. The reveal. Oh, the reveal. What a brilliant moment that was, wasn’t it? How the camera that has been, up to this moment, showing us the action from the killer’s POV, changes to now show us that the killer is a tiny little boy with the most chilling, expressionless face in the history of Haddonfield. I can honestly say that I found this to be one of the most disturbing setups for a horror movie villain ever.

How does Zombie fuck it up? The same way most people from my generation fuck things up: by taking it TO THE XTREME!!!11!!!!1 We’ve got to see everything! We have to have reasons! Why and how!! We can’t be satisfied with just seeing a little boy fall into the abyss of pure darkness. We have to see what made him that way!! So what’s Zombie’s take on what made Michael Myers? He’s full-blown, over-the-top, no-holds-barred White Trash, of course.

I hate copouts like this. It’s a benchmark of lazy, unimaginative writing to fall back on something so trite and, quite frankly, stereotypical.

Also, which do you find more disturbing? The idea that Michael Myers was the product of a by-the-Hollywood-numbers dysfunctional upbringing, with his stripper mom (of course she’s a stripper!!) and her abusive, useless boyfriend, his slutty sister and houseful of predictable White Trash insanity? Or that Michael Myers was the son of a bland suburban family living in a bland suburban house in a bland suburban neighborhood, with two happily boring parents and an older sister too busy fooling around with her desperately-in-need-of-stamina boyfriend to notice that her baby brother was getting ready to step into the darkness of pure evil for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

I don’t know about you, denizens, but the latter version is way more disturbing to me.

Plus, in addition to the White Trash angle, Zombie heaps on gluttonous helpings of offensive language and over-the-top unnecessary violence, including showing Michael Myers massacre his entire fucked-up family minus his mom, who’s off stripping, and his baby sister. Yeah, Zombie decided to embrace that portion of the Halloween franchise and make Laurie Strode Michael Myers’s baby sister.

Of course, what Zombie fails to then explain is how exactly Michael Myers knows where his little sis ends up after he’s put away and his mom kills herself over the clusterfuck her family became. He also fails to explain how Myers ends up being built like a brick shit house when all he does is sit in his locked room in his locked ward, making papier-mâché masks for himself. We all have to suspend disbelief now and again, I suppose. After all, Carpenter’s Myers not only knew how to drive a car but also seemed to instinctively know how to return home, even though he’d been locked up in a mental asylum since he was a little boy. However, I feel far more amenable to suspending belief for Carpenter than I will ever feel for Zombie.

I do not understand why anyone allowed this remake to happen. I know that Zombie told Carpenter that he was doing it, and Carpenter’s response was that Zombie should make it his own story. But all Zombie did was bring FAIL to name Halloween. Carpenter’s original 1978 movie is sheer horror brilliance. Yes, it shows its age in many areas. Yes, there is this weird puritanical undertone that only virginal good girls survive horror movies (thank you, Sidney Prescott, for disproving this “rule” with such panache; now please go away and take Gale and Dewey with you).

Put all that aside and what you have is an amazing script brought to life by a director who knew that, to really scare his audience, he needed one thing. Come on, you know what word Loba’s about to write, don’t you? Let’s say it all together now…ATMOSPHERE!!

Carpenter’s vision of this story is so expertly controlled. He never takes it over the top, never makes it seem implausible (okay, the asylum breakout scene was a bit vague). He didn’t need gallons of fake blood or CGI trickery or truckloads of pedantic and patronizing exposition. Truth is, he and co-writer Debra Hill banged out the script in a very short period of time, made minimal rewrites, and filmed the original movie for about a dime more than what a Starbucks Venti latte costs today. Further evidence to support my motto that “Less Is More.”

Carpenter’s Michael was a whisper on the wind, a diaphanous demon who skirted the perimeters, always watching, only seen by us, the helpless audience, who could do nothing but scream impotently at the screen as our protagonists bounced, popped, sang, and screwed their way along (“Totally!”), until Michael deemed it their time to exit, stage left. It’s torturous bliss, done to perfection by Carpenter’s direction. Myers is there in the flutter of a curtain, the creak of a door, the shimmer of candlelight. And then…he’s gone.

There was none of this greatness in Zombie’s take on the story. If Carpenter’s Michael was a whisper, Zombie’s Michael was a freakin’ bulldozer: all rumble and destruction, no grace or tact.

Also, and this is my own personal pet peeve, when we first see him as a young boy, he speaks. Michael Myers doesn’t effing speak!

Then there’s Dr. Loomis. Donald Pleasance should be granted permission from whatever afterworld that might exist to exact unmerciful punishment against Zombie and Malcolm McDowell for this insipid, touchy-feely bastardization of the great Dr. Loomis. Dr. Loomis was fierce and scared and heartless in how he spoke of Michael to others he was trying to warn, and we didn’t need any freakin’ explanation as to why. We didn’t need to know what he saw during those 15 years that he worked with Michael. We were a smart enough audience that we could figure out on our own that it must have been some pretty fucked-up shit.

And Pleasance’s Loomis would have never…I repeat, NEVER in a bajillion years, told Michael at any point that “in a weird way, you’ve become like my best friend.”

OMGWTF!!!

You know what? Zombie should have left his original ending in which Michael killed Dr. Loomis, because this version of the character didn’t deserve to live. I don’t care how great Malcolm McDowell may be in other movies, in this he stinks. Of course, you’re only as good as the material you’re given to work with, and that’s not saying much in this instance. You’d think that someone who obviously loves McDowell as much as Zombie does (ever see his video for “Never Gonna Stop”? Red, Red Kroovy, baby…) would have given him something better to work with than a shitty hairpiece and a shittier script.

To call this remake an abomination is a gross understatement. Every time I heard Carpenter’s original Halloween theme play, I understood the true meaning of the word “sacrilege.” It’s also further proof that Hollywood respects nothing beyond the almighty dollar. If they did, they would have never let anyone remake this movie, but they would have especially been vigilant of placing such a classic in the hands of the man who directed House of 1,000 Corpses and who continues to insist on casting his wife even though she has the acting ability of a can of potted meat.

I’m actually angry at myself for renting this movie; I feel as though I’ve somehow validated the remake by doing so. It was my own stupidity though. I’ve resisted watching it for this long, but after listening to a podcast recently that said not completely unkind things about the remake, I decided that maybe I was being too critical (as I am prone to be) and perhaps I needed to learn a little lesson in leniency. Consider this post to be this horror disciple’s penance before the cock crows three times.

Burn, Zombie. Burn and take every last copy of your shitty remake with you. This is the perfect movie to explain why I hate remakes right down to my very core. Also the perfect reason why I’m not even giving the Nightmare remake a second thought. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish rinsing my brain with peroxide.

Ooh, no time loss on this latest BookBin posting since I just finished this book last night. Loba’s on the ball this afternoon! Either that or she’s suffering a horrible bout of work-related procrastination…and has decided to channel Bob Dole and speak about herself in the third person. Loba is quirky like that sometimes.

So, John Scalzi is one of those sci-fi writers I’ve known about for quite some time but have never given a try…until now. Oh, I’m so very glad I finally gave him a go, because I think The Android’s Dream is possibly the most fun I’ve had with a modern sci-fi story since I read Robert J. Sawyer’s Calculating God last year.

Let’s start with the title. Getting a familiar tingle in your sci-fi nodule from the name of the book, combined with images of sheep? You should be. I’d love to explain to you what it’s all about, Alfie, but I’d hate to spoil the surprise or the accompanying goofy grin you’ll probably experience when you finally come to the explanation. It’s a good one though, denizens. Good and geeky.

That’s the perfect summation of this entire story, really. Good geeky fun. I was a bit worried at first. The opening of the book is rather puerile, depending upon an extended fart joke to get things started. After reading that, I honestly contemplated switching over to one of my other library books rather than wade in any further. I’m so glad that I chose to stick with Scalzi. Minus a stinker of a first chapter (haha), the novel is equal parts entertaining, silly, exciting, and satisfying. There’s political intrigue, intergalactic warfare, spying, religious tomfoolery, and a tad bit of cross-species sex that’s slightly off-putting but integral to the story nonetheless.

Also, either Ron Moore read The Android’s Dream prior to cooking up Crapica Caprica or else he needs to read it for some pointers. Scalzi’s depiction of human consciousness transferred into a purely technological existence is pitch perfect as well as succinct…two things that the rather off-key and long-winded Caprica could definitely use (not that I care either way…the dancing Zoe Cylon moment was such an affront to my nerdness that I baled after that episode and haven’t regretted the decision for one micron).

Hmm. All digressions aside, Scalzi slammed this one out of the galactic park. Minus requiring a little bit of editing for length (look who’s talking, right?), The Android’s Dream is well-paced and fun, with lots of different genre flavors all wrapped up in the pretty, shiny wrapper of science fiction.

Final Verdict: All the library seems to be doing for me lately is adding to my already ridiculously long book wishlist. Add another to the pile! The Android’s Dream is awesome and well worth another visit!

I actually finished this book about 2 weeks ago, but I was too lazy to post it here for some reason. I’m not really sure why, since obviously I haven’t been a blog slacker in general. It’s also not because of a lack of enthusiasm for this novel. Quite the contrary, to be honest. Unlike my last experience with Gaiman, this time I was thoroughly engrossed by what I was reading.

Fragile Things is a collection of Gaiman’s short stories and poetry, all well-written, well-conceived, thoroughly British (even when pretending to be American), and thoroughly enjoyable. There’s something so delightfully concentrated about tales told in the short-story format. Plus, this is the perfect sorbet for those who like a little variety in their reading matter, especially if you typically tackle tightly packed tomes brimming over with lots of brain-stretching information and ideas. Pick up this collection and fall into all variety of worlds, each one dark but different, sometimes humorous, tragic, but more often than not a bit on the creepy side.

True, there is a bit of an uneven gait to this collection, but I think that’s more the fault of the range of stories. This was Gaiman gathering together works that he had written for all variety of outlets, including other short story collections and contests as well as a story he wrote for The Matrix universe and vignettes he wrote for his BFF, Tori Amos.

[Seriously, that has to be one of the strangest friendships in the history of the world. I'd love to be the fly on the wall of one of those get-togethers. Of course, their distinctive strangeness could all be for show for the public, and IRL they could be the most boring, non-unique people ever. I highly doubt that, but, hey, it could happen.]

Other stories include a tale featuring Shadow, a character from Gaiman’s novel American Gods, a tale about vampirism that’s even creepier than most, a couple of cautionary tales directed toward childhood and teendom, as well as a story about a “Sunbird” that he wrote as a birthday present for one of his daughters. It’s quite a mix-up of tales that don’t necessarily dove-tail in any particular way, which might put off some readers. However, if you’re looking for some quick and easy (although most definitely not “light”) reads that fit your dark and quirky reading tastes, then you might want to give this collection a try. I’m positive anyone who is a Gaiman fan will find something inside suited to their liking.

Final Verdict: This is another one of those damned library books, so I don’t get the option of keeping this one…which I most definitely would if it was mine. Thank goodness for wishlists to keep tabs on those books that simply must become a permanent part of the Loba Library.

“T double-E double-R double-R double-I double-F double-I double C, C, C!”

What an appropriate (if not mildly confusing to a child learning to spell) description of this classic tale! I’ve loved this E.B. White story since I was 6 years old. Our first grade teacher started reading the book to us toward the end of our school year, as a reward for how well we were all doing in our studies and our behavior. I remember being completely captivated by the tale she spun for us every day during our lunch break (and, yes, I did just make a cheesy spider web joke).

I also remember that the ultimate lesson from Charlotte’s Web about friendship and loss took on a more poignant meaning for us when our teacher had to leave before the school year or the book was finished. Her father had become critically ill and she needed to return home to China to take care of him.

So we got our first lesson in geography when we asked why she couldn’t just visit with her father in the evenings after school, and many of us got our first lesson in how much it stinks to have to say goodbye to someone we’ve grown to care about. She did return the following school year to resume her duties, but I remember the rest of our year was one far less bright. The substitute teacher brought in to take her place was fine and even finished reading Charlotte’s Web for us, but it wasn’t the same. Some teachers are simply irreplaceable.

Skip ahead a few years…actually, skip ahead several years to the first time I ever saw the 1973 animated version of Charlotte’s Web. I was well into my teens by the time I first saw this movie. Thank goodness I’ve yet to lose my ability to appreciate things that most people would deem “silly” or “childish” as they get older. I love this movie! First, it’s a veritable smorgasbord of 70s talent: Paul Lynde, Agnes Moorehead, Henry Gibson, Danny Bonaduce, Dave Madden, and the mellifluous voice of Debbie Reynolds. Plus, the movie was animated by Hanna-Barbera, co-directed by Scooby Doo creator Iwao Takomoto, and featured voice artist Don Messick, the original voice of that groovy Great Dane!

Yes, the movie is über-trippy at times and screams 70s with its animation style, but it’s such a sweet and simple story, beautifully told. Plus, it features Paul Lynde as a selfish, voracious rat. How do you not love that?

I know there’s a live-action remake out there, starring Dakota Fanning and a whole passel of famous voices like Julia Roberts, Steve Buscemi, Robert Redford, Kathy Bates, Oprah Winfrey…blahblahblahttyblah. I don’t know what that version is like. I love the original so much that I didn’t want to tamper with that joy by taking a chance on what might be an inferior remake (I did that recently with one of my most beloved horror movies and, believe me, you will be hearing about that experience soon enough). Plus, no offense to Dakota Fanning, but she kind of scares me. She’s way too intense and mature for her age. Although I liked her voice work in Coraline and I will be seeing The Runaways when it comes out.

Anyway, thanks to A2 for informing me that this should be my next Flashback as well as for re-watching the cartoon with me recently. For you, here is your favorite song from your favorite rat (and mine), Templeton

Enough serious. It’s Friday, FFS.

So, here. A combination of two of my favorite obsessions: the British and Star Trek. I think I may have pulled something with how fiercely I smiled throughout this entire video.

It remains a simple truth that, though I may not have my own Twitter account, I continue to haunt the tweets of my ImagiFriends^TM.

One, two, Loba’s coming for you…

Here, then, is a statement made by Robert G. Marshall, a Republican delegate from the Commonwealth of Virginia, during a press conference to oppose state funding for Planned Parenthood:

The number of children who are born subsequent to a first abortion with handicaps has increased dramatically. Why? Because when you abort the first born of any, nature takes its vengeance on the subsequent children.

In the Old Testament, the first born of every being, animal and man, was dedicated to the Lord. There’s a special punishment Christians would suggest.

Hmm. I guess we’ve been misinterpreting that “suffer the little children” verse all this time. Of course, that’s from that pesky New Testament. True Republicans like to keep it real and kick it Old Testament.

I wonder: Will Sarah Palin be as forgiving of Marshall’s statement that a child’s handicap could be the result of God’s “special punishment” as she was of Rush Limbaugh’s “satirical” use of the word “retard”?

By the way, Sarah, “kook” is some of that inappropriate, unnecessary, time-wasting name calling you refer to. It’s also a derogatory word for the mentally ill. Guess you were being satirical, too.