Flashback Friday: Sir Mix-A-Lot

~ lobablanca

Oh, denizens. You ever get a flash of music from your past that you just can’t shake from your brain, no matter what?

That happened to me earlier today with a Sir Mix-A-Lot song. No, not that Sir Mix-A-Lot song. See, I knew his music before he informed the world of his…undeniable fondness for generously portioned backsides. First Mix song I ever heard? The one that popped into my head this morning as I watched an old-school Cadillac roll past me on my way to work:

//www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/l_F76ySzk48

Dang, Mix, even here, you’re checkin’ out posteriors. “My Hooptie” was one of my favorite songs back in the day. What other song would you love when your first car is a 1980 Chevette? To be fair, though, my little Chevette was in way better condition than the Buick he and his posse roll in throughout this video. Speakin’ of his posse…

//www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/SBPpy_SVV_0

Of course, when you couldn’t find Mix and his posse on Broadway…well, good luck finding him as he made his way across the country. Better jump on it…

//www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/tmCKnVaU7H0

Getting tired? It’s true, you’ve gotta be an Iron Man to keep up with Mix most of the time:

//www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/sWMHa-ccRtQ

Yeah, that was “Iron Man.” If you’re curious, the metal group is San Francisco band Metal Church. They relocated to Washington State, which is probably how they ended up running with Sir Mix-A-Lot. He’s always called Washington State his home. It’s one of the things that I always found so interesting about him. While so many other rappers were drawing lines in the sand around their respective coastal allegiances and defending those lines with threatening lyrics, Mix always maintained a mellow groove up in Washington. He rolled to his own beat and always seemed secure enough not to need all the posturing and posing that so many others resorted to to make names for themselves. Mix-A-Lot never seemed to need all that. He just needed a great hook and clever lyrics.

And…yes, denizens…he needed butts. Big butts.

//www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/FlItMpGYQTo

Yes, one could make an argument that this video is about as subtle as a sledge hammer when it comes to innuendo. Whether it’s the lyrics or the visuals, you’re really not going to miss the point. Mix-A-Lot loves booty. But you know what? From the flip side of the coin, Mix-A-Lot is actually reaffirming a healthy body image for women who won’t ever meet the stilted criteria of PhotoShopped fashion mag models.

Ross understands. Don’t you, Ross?

//www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/XQglwughEyc

Could they be worse parents? And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bunch of Friends clips to watch now…and, yes, I sense a future Flashback Friday idea, too, my denizens…

Personal Aesthetic

~ lobablanca

The woman who taught us how to apply theatrical makeup for our high school play one year chose me for the “old age” portion of our lesson. She told me the lines that formed around my eyes when I winked provided her an “easy template.” She also let her 4-year-old daughter run around the classroom wearing a greasy chicken bucket on her head. I should have taken her words in that context. A 16-year-old kid already equipped with low self-esteem doesn’t understand context.

I think about that woman and her bucket-wearing child every now and then, usually when I’m washing my face in the evenings or applying eye liner in the mornings. I’ll wink and watch the lines feather away, arrow fletchings along my skin. I’ve gained new lines since those “easy template” days…lines that curl upward and join the creases that undulate along my forehead or loop across my nose. If I crinkle my brow and wrinkle my nose in just the right way, I can form ridges like a Bajoran. I’ve practiced this move several times.

I notice the lines. I rub them with SPF lotion (for I am pale and freckled and love the sun). I clean them with face wash. I sometimes run my fingers along them. Every now and then, I confess that I try to smooth them away, revealing for fleeting moments that younger me, only now with a perpetually shocked lift of her brow.

Better to look shockingly young than dour and old!

And yet. I like my lines. They tell me stories. They mark my worries, my thoughts, my moods, my years. They remind me parenthetically that I love to laugh, that whole flocks of glee have marched across my skin. They map summer journeys and connect the dots that sunshine left behind.

And yet.

These lines tell you nothing. They are my prologue to the story I know. They tell you nothing of my joys or my sorrows. They don’t tell you who I have lost or who I have found. They don’t teach you anything about me deeper than those superficial creases.

These all seem like obvious statements, logical sentiments.

And yet.

Your body does not define you. Your body is not beautiful. It is not ugly. It is a shell for the beauty or ugliness you choose to cultivate within.

You are you. Make that mean what you want it to mean.

BookBin2014: Gone Girl

~ LobaBlanca

gonegirl

New year, time to start the new BookBin litany. Of course, I’m still promising to get through all the books from my own collection that I need to read…and now that I have them all properly arranged in one place thanks to relocating to a new domicile that has, of all wondrous things, denizens, my very own reading den, I see how many books I own that I have never read. It’s alarming.

So what did I do? I went to the library and checked out a stack of books…including the book that I saw most frequently at the top of people’s book stacks last year: Gillian Flynn’s suspense thriller Gone Girl.

I was a bit worried about getting this book, which was why I avoided picking it up last year whenever I saw a copy available in the New Releases section. I’m infamous for balking at those things most people bury under mounds of hyperbolic praise. There is nothing more difficult sometimes than living up to other people’s hype. Amplify that hype through the ever-present, always wired online echo chamber and good luck trying to hear an honest opinion above the roar.

However, I recently read a book-to-movie list for 2014, and Gone Girl was there, directed by David Fincher, one of my favorite modern filmmakers. I decided this was the push that I needed to finally read this novel.

Here’s a quick snippet of the “official” description:

On a warm summer morning in North Carthage, Missouri, it is Nick and Amy’s fifth wedding anniversary. Presents are being wrapped and reservations are being made when Nick Dunne’s clever and beautiful wife disappears from their rented McMansion on the Mississippi River. Husband-of-the-Year Nick Dunne isn’t doing himself any favors with cringe-worthy daydreams about the slope and shape of his wife’s head, but hearing from Amy through flashbacks in her diary reveal the perky perfectionist could have put anyone dangerously on edge.

Under mounting pressure from the police and the media – as well as Amy’s fiercely doting parents – the town golden boy parades an endless series of lies, deceits, and inappropriate behavior. Nick is oddly evasive, and he’s definitely bitter – but is he really a killer? As the cops close in, every couple in town is soon wondering how well they know the one that they love. With his twin sister Margo at his side, Nick stands by his innocence. Trouble is, if Nick didn’t do it, where is that beautiful wife? And what was left in that silvery gift box hidden in the back of her bedroom closet?

That’s all I’m going to give in regard to plot. I’d hate to give away anything here, as this is a suspense novel. Part of the fun of these stories, I’m told, is figuring out the mystery for yourself. I found that some of the twists in this novel become quite obvious, especially as you get a better feel for the truth hidden among the flotsam of falsities that saturate this story. Some twists are less obvious, but if you’re paying close enough attention, especially to those “innocuous” throw-away lines, you’ll be okay.

Admittedly, I found that I couldn’t put down this novel. This became a problem in the evenings, since I usually read as a means of mellowing out and shifting into “sleep” mode. This book did not make me want to sleep. It made me want to keep reading. I finally capitulated to this need and spent the better part of this past weekend devouring the remainder of this novel.

My general opinion of Gone Girl is that Flynn is a masterful writer who apparently has chosen to specialize in showcasing some of the worst that humanity has to offer. I disliked practically every character. I think, though, that’s the point. Apparently, Flynn wants us to believe that some people live their awful lives, surrounded by equally awful people…or people far more awful than they could ever aspire to become. For Flynn, awful attracts awful. Twisted forms more twisted. Repulsive is the new black.

Then there is the ending. Many people hate the ending. Many view it as a cop-out. Many view it as ruinous. I can understand these reactions. I didn’t experience any of these responses, but I think that’s because I was not invested in any of these characters. I realized pretty early on that I didn’t care what happened to any of them. I was more fascinated by Flynn’s writing and her incredibly warped sensibilities…watching how she tied the knots and then watching how she would untangle them all in the end. I might have experienced some sympathy for a couple of the characters, but that didn’t last long. If anything, they are interesting to observe before leaving them behind and thanking your lucky stars that you don’t know anyone who even remotely resembles any of these people.

If you do know people like the ones in a Flynn novel, I’m supremely sorry.

I didn’t think the ending was all that out-of-character. I also didn’t have any other preferred ending in mind. I know many people were probably looking for an ending in which certain characters received retribution. No one likes to think that bad people can get away with doing bad things. Sadly, though, it happens all the time in real life…and we apparently want all our escapism to be just the same as the reality we’re seeking to escape. So…retribution denied.

As for the movie, I’m actually pretty on-board with most of the casting. I think Rosamund Pike will make a great Amy Elliott Dunne. I actually think Ben Affleck will make a good Nick Dunne. I do wish they were closer in age, but that’s an aesthetic complaint only at this point. Strangely enough, I was actually picturing Neil Patrick Harris as Desi Collings in my mind as I read the novel, so I’m obviously okay with his casting. I disagree with Tyler Perry as Tanner Bolt, but that’s because I disagree with Tyler Perry. Kim Dickens was a surprise to me as Detective Rhonda Boney, but that’s another aesthetic gripe (the novel’s Boney does not sound like she would look at all like Dickens). I really hope that Emily Ratajkowski can do more than make “duck face,” because she’s going to be really irritating if she can’t.

Final Verdict: I don’t think I want to add this novel to my own collection. It has made me want to seek out at least one more example of Flynn’s writing style, but probably not for a while. I don’t know if I want to submerge myself so soon into the warped psyches of the inhabitants of Flynn’s world. However, I will be keeping an eye on movie news. I might even go see this in the theater. Probably not…but you never know!

Flashback Friday: “Fluffy Bun”

~ lobablanca

Bet that title got your attention, eh? Now, let me whisper three little words that I’ve been meaning to say to you all for quite a while now…

“Where’s the beef?”

Yeah, okay. Those words have never been whispered. They’ve always been yelled. By this tiny, incredibly hard-of-hearing octogenarian:

clarapeller

Or a presidential candidate.

(And we wonder why we were stuck with Reagan for two terms.)

So, what’s this all about then? On January 10, 1984, American fast food chain Wendy’s launched a new marketing campaign, aimed at making viewers believe that their competitors skimped on how much beef they used for their burgers. The campaign, originally named “Fluffy Bun,” featured three elderly women examining a big, fluffy bun before discovering that the bun hid a tiny little hockey puck of a burger. One of the women, disgruntled by this discovery, proceeds to utter this now quite famous line. Multiple times. Loudly.

For full disclosure, Clare Peller yelled the line because she was quite hard-of-hearing. She was totally allowed to be hard-of-hearing. She was 81 years old at the time Wendy’s ad firm cast her in this and subsequent commercials. Because, of course, America fell in love with her and her memorable delivery of this catchy line. She starred in several different “Where’s the Beef” commercials until Wendy’s fired her a year later for spoofing her famous line in a Prego commercial. In 1987, Peller passed away at the age of 85.

I can’t believe today marks the 30th anniversary of the debut of this moment of marketing genius. Is it fair to ascribe so much to this series of commercials? I think so. A quick, pithy catchphrase is priceless. Just ask Nike. Combine it with a memorable spokesperson and you’ve struck gold. Just ask Hertz.

Er. Maybe not.

Of course, Wendy’s regrouped after “Beef Gate” and came back with a new campaign starring founder Dave Thomas that proved equally memorable. Just without the cool catchphrase designed to drive everyone crazy after a week. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Still, it was fun while it lasted.

This was my favorite of the “Where’s the Beef” ads:

//www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/l7udCXqTGFg

And then there’s this…er, gem. Enjoy!

//www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/egGS8jONZ6Y

TL;DR

~ LobaBlanca

I give this my vote for one of the ugliest acronyms in the indecipherable sea of txtspk brevity: “Too Long; Didn’t Read.”

The first time I ever saw it was in regard to an article that was, admittedly, longer than one typically has time to absorb during work-day downtime. However, recently I’ve been seeing it with more and more frequency, sometimes in reference to pieces that dare to be more than the length of a tweet. And that greatly bothers me.

I’m old-school in a lot of ways when it comes to words. I see beauty in words the way many see beauty in a Van Gogh or a sunset. Words unlock my imagination in ways that no amount of CGI manipulation ever will. Want to not hear a sound from me for an entire day? Place a stack of books on one side of me and a fresh supply of coffee on the other. You’ll forget I’m even there. The best part? I’ll forget I’m there, too, because I’ll be in myriad other locations and times…wherever those beautiful words lead me.

Sometimes, I feel as though I am a dying breed…that I’m the awkward, bloated blog post in the room full of fit tweets, all silently judging me for not shedding my verbal lumpiness and joining them in their snappy bon mot runs every day because I’m too busy gorging myself on wordiness.

Other times, however, I feel as though I am succumbing to the wordless void. It’s so easy. Open up your social media account. I’ll bet one of the first things to pop up in your feed is going to be a photo or a video posted by one of your friends

Photo Fun Friday: Why So Serious?

~ lobablanca

So, New Year, new opportunities to rejuvenate the lair…dust off the cobwebs that settled last year, get back on track with writing, musing, rambling, and just having fun. I hope.

Sooner or later, I’ll even get back to Flashback Fridays. Today, however, I needed to scratch an itch that’s been tickling my brain for a while now. Ever hear the P!nk song “Raise Your Glass”? No? Well, here, in all its NSFW glory…

//www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/XjVNlG5cZyQ

I love that song. I love the video, too, for all its strangeness. Okay, some of the strangeness is just downright weird. But it’s still fun. The one line that always jumps out at me, though, is when she sings, “Why so serious?”

Obviously, as a comics fan, all I can think of when I hear that line is Heath Ledger’s Joker. Successful ad campaign is, obviously, successful. Of course, you know my wacky brain, denizens. Each time I hear this song, I immediately start combining P!nk and the Joker. It just kept getting worse and worse, until finally? Well, finally, this happened…

pink_whysoserious

You’re welcome.

BookBin2013: Batman R.I.P.

~ LobaBlanca

batmanrip

Yes, that’s right…one more BookBin review for the late, great 2013. I didn’t completely finish this one last year, but I finished the bulk of it…so it counts, dammit.

To be honest, I felt mostly lost the entire time that I was reading Batman R.I.P., written by Grant Morrison and illustrated by Tony S. Daniel (with cover art by the impeccable Alex Ross…who likes Batman’s eyes to be brown while the book artist makes them blue). I don’t really follow Batman in the comics. I know enough about him through comic book osmosis, the 1960s show, and the Tim Burton movies (well, at least the first one was awesome). The only thing the Christopher Nolan movies taught me was that I could really hate Batman under the right circumstances.

Nolan’s movies also taught me that I really don’t like The Joker being played as totally psychopathic and cruel. He needs to have some kind of softening humor to him. Some kind of Cesar Romero or Jack Nicholson joie de vivre. Without that whimsy, he’s just…like any other psychotic killer. Even Alan Moore’s Joker was more interesting than the way the character comes across now. And having him split his tongue with a straight razor (SPOILERZ) so that it looked like a serpent’s tongue? That was around the point when I kind of shut down on that character. I can’t help it. I grew up with Romero’s kooky, loveable Joker and “This town needs an enema!” Nicholson Joker. Besides, why does everything have to be so sick and twisted and dark anymore? Tongue-splitting Joker. Neck-breaking Superman. Spoilerz. What happened to having fun with these stories?

I get that Batman’s had a rough life. As rough as a life can be for a multimillionaire who never has to work an honest day in his entire life. I guess we should be thankful that he wants to do good and fight evil rather than jet off to Bora Bora every weekend with his latest fling. Still, lighten up, Brucie. Dark Knight is Dark. And mopey. Then again, this is called “Batman R.I.P.” Moping is allowed, I suppose, when everyone is always trying to kill you.

All in all, it was an entertaining read with some really fine artwork, even if: A) I felt like I was missing key information while reading parts of it; and B) It does go a bit off the rails here and there (although maybe those moments would have made more sense if I’d had all the pieces to the puzzle). Also, no one is ever going to believe that any of these characters is ever going to really die. People who don’t really die: Star Trek characters and comic book heroes. Whether they come back as half-Romulan hybrids or they’re rebooted back into existence, they’re always going to be around. Not even having a bridge dropped on him could stop Captain Kirk, in the books at least. SpoilerZ. So at no point did I ever believe that Batman was really going to die. Also, I have the pleasure of being in the now and knowing that Batman does, indeed, still live.

I also don’t really get the back story for all the different Robins. Yeah, I know that one of them is now Nightwing. And I think one of them is dead (okay, so some characters do die…but only the replaceable ones). Not that I really care all that much. Still…it feels like there’s something questionable going on in Gotham that they keep remanding all these boys over to Bruce Wayne’s care but not investigating when they “go missing.” Maybe that’s just me. I had to laugh at the appearance of original Batwoman, in her yellow onesie and her Bat lust for Bruce Wayne. Oh, Katy Kane. You so cray.

And now excuse me while I wash my brain out with peroxide for actually using the word “cray.”

Final Verdict: Even though I found the novel enjoyable enough to finish it, I guess it’s safe to say that I’m not much of a Batman comic fan. I still love the original series and I still love the Tim Burton movie. I also like the concept of the character, for the most part. However, I think I find others from the Bat Family more interesting than the Dark Knight. Still, I’ve got a “classic” Batman graphic novel in my collection that I need to finally read. I’ll let you know how that goes…

BookBin2013: The Underwater Welder

~ LobaBlanca

underwaterwelder

I nearly put Jeff Lemire’s graphic novel The Underwater Welder back before even giving the story a proper go. Why? Because the Introduction’s author likened the story to “the most spectacular episode of The Twilight Zone that was never produced.” That’s not what set me off; I actually love The Twilight Zone. What set me off was the author himself: Damon Lindelof. Otherwise known as “The Butcher of GallitepStar Trek Movie Scripts.”

My honest initial reaction was, if Lindelof knows as much about The Twilight Zone as he does about Trek, then no thank you. However, I resisted the temptation to judge the book based solely on the questionable choice of Lindelof as the one responsible for introducing this novel. And I’m very glad that I did.

Lemire’s story of Jack Joseph, he of the titular profession, is equal parts eerie, surreal, mysterious, and moving. Jack is facing the life change of a newborn son

BookBin2013: Elmer

~ lobablanca

elmer

Another graphic novel posing another allegorical examination of another human flaw. This time, rather than examining our obsession with war by putting animals in the path of bullets instead of humans, we examine humanity’s intolerance of those who are different…through racism toward sentient chickens.

I know, denizens. I know.

Actually, though, sometimes the best way to get someone to think differently about a topic or to look at it with fresh eyes is to pull it out of familiar settings and turn it on its head a bit. Why do you think Star Trek has been so popular for so many years? When we remove these topics from the realm of the familiar and put them in unexpected settings, we’re forced to view them in new ways. Perhaps even view them in ways opposite from how we would typically view them.

Such is the case with Gerry Alanguilan’s graphic novel Elmer. Part social commentary, part family drama, the novel tells the story of the strange and sudden evolution of chickens into creatures capable of intelligent communication and interaction with humans, and what this means for a global society forced to accept that what was once part of the dinner menu at McDonald’s now demands the same rights and freedoms as any other sentient being.

Where my previous BookBin review left me feeling quite depressed, Elmer left me feeling amused as well as enamored of the fact that Alanguilan succeeded, for even the briefest of moments, in encouraging me to re-examine my rather carnivorous eating habits. What would I do if, tomorrow, chickens actually did start speaking? Or, even worse, cows? How would we deal with no longer being able to depend upon these creatures for sustenance?

Insert parallel comparison with slavery and emancipation. Minus the consumption. Again, always interesting when someone can force us to view old arguments through new lenses.

Sadly, I’m still just a carnivore at heart. I’ve greatly reduced my meat consumption in recent years, particularly my red meat consumption. But sometimes…sometimes. Sorry, Bessy, but sometimes I just need a steak.

Final Verdict: I might be tempted to add this to my wish list, just to keep an eye out for a cheap copy through Amazon Market Place. It was an interesting enough concept executed in a captivating enough way that I wouldn’t be averse to revisiting it later on (could I sound any more non-committal?).

BookBin2013: We3

~ lobablanca

we3

Obviously, I’ve been hitting up the library quite a bit in this last half of 2013. This past trip, I spent even more time than usual in the graphic novel section. Seems they got a new shipment of books in recently, and I couldn’t help myself. That’s the only way I can explain how I ended up with this strange three-comic collection, We3, written by Grant Morrison and illustrated by Frank Quitely (Scotland Tag Team, woot!).

“We3” stands for “Animal Weapon 3,” a government experiment to turn common house pets into lethal weapons. This particular group of weaponized animals, the third in a series of tests, consists of three pets stolen from the streets: a brown Labrador mix named Bandit, a tabby cat named Tinker, and a black and white rabbit named Pirate (yeah, I’m not really sure why the rabbit was hopping out on the streets either). They are reclassified (rather originally) as “1,” “2,” and “3” and outfitted with body armor that contains missiles, razor-sharp claws, machine guns, and mines. Scientists also somehow soup up their brains to a point where they can speak in rather rudimentary ways.

Yes, before you even say it, the basic story does sound a bit silly. Then again, with a culture as obsessed with war and destruction as we are, sometimes I wonder if we even have limits to what we would be willing to do in the name of defending ourselves.

Beyond finding the concept both silly and disturbing, I just felt depressed after reading this book (even with the questionably “happy” ending). Still, kudos to Morrison for writing a compelling story and to Quitely for beautiful artwork.

Final Verdict: This series posed an interesting (and definitely unsettling) question about our limits when it comes to war, but I don’t feel as if it’s a question that I want to revisit exploring. Perhaps that’s my own unwillingness to face this particular darkness that surges through humanity and that could actually cause us to consider doing something like this…or worse. We send children to die “for [insert deity of choice here] and country” all the time. Sometimes, even someone as jaded and dark as I can be prefers to put some things out of mind.