The Road to Independents

~ LobaBlanca

Ever since my last post, I’ve been thinking of ways to show that I’m serious (well, that and I took a little time to party for my birthday…priorities and all, you know). I’ve got an idea or two, but I’m letting them soak in for a bit before bouncing them off you all here (the title of this post may or may not be a clue).

However, I thought I’d share something I found recently while sorting through some random Word documents I had on my memory stick. I’m not sure when I wrote this…obviously, it was in 2008 and it was after one of the Clinton/Obama debates, but I’ve no idea which one, and no idea what the “XEROX quote” is all about. I’m sure I could look it up, but meh.

It doesn’t really apply to the now, but I thought it was interesting enough as a flashback to where I was politically four years ago: The disenchantment was beginning, but I still held steadfastly to my hope that something good could happen, if only the right person was elected for the job.

Person.

The 2008 Democratic primaries taught me an important lesson regarding my place in the Democratic agenda: Good enough to pander to for my vote; not good enough to be taken seriously as a presidential candidate because I might do something offensive…like age or cry or have “cankles.”

Of course, had Hillary won, it would have probably been four solid years of uphill battle after uphill battle while she was constantly critiqued and criticized for every decision, both politically and personally (probably mostly personally). At least she got to be Secretary of State. And at times more popular than the president himself. And be the inspiration for a really groovy meme.

And now it’s 2012 and women seem to have become an even greater…what? Mandatory voter demographic to capture? Asset? Threat? Our bodies apparently are incredibly threatening. You know what’s even more threatening? Our minds. It’s time, then, that we started listening more, paying more attention…not to what is being said to us, but what is being said about us, oftentimes without our input and without our consent…what is being valued, judged, ruled, overruled, controlled, and taken from us in a continuing attempt to reduce us to nothing more than…our bodies.

There are many things transpiring in this country that I find worrisome, but the ongoing ramp-up of rhetoric regarding what is ultimately politicians deciding for me what can and cannot be done with and to my own body is definitely of key concern. I’m not talking about the minutia; I’m talking about the overarching message being sent by every politician, from both sides, who thinks that they have the right to speak for women, to determine overall what is best for us rather than letting us decide for ourselves. Can’t stop us from choosing for ourselves? Then just limit our options across the board…you know, to make sure we’re protected from our own attempts at making up our own minds.

Whenever a politician uses rhetoric aimed at a woman’s body as a plank in their party’s respective political platform, they’re simply reiterating one of my steadily growing concerns: that we’re nothing more than something to walk over, to stand on. Use us to reach what you want and then pack us up until the next election cycle.

I’m tired of it. Are you?

We are more than our bodies. Just ask Hillary Clinton. She might answer you if she has a free moment while running the world.

I think one of the most telling moments of last night

Putting Away Childish Things

~ lobablanca

You might have noticed that I haven’t been around the lair all that much lately. It’s not for lack of desire, denizens. I’d love nothing more than to come hang out at with you all with the same frequency I used to. It’s for lack of other things…lack of time, mostly. But also lack of motivation. Lack of inspiration. Lack of give-a-damnedness.

There’s been a lot going on IRL: good things, great things, frustrating things, worrying things. It’s a Damoclean life, the professional one I lead, and presidential election years only make it that much worse. Plus, the state of things is so depressing that for a while I simply lost my will and way.

Mainly, it’s because I am so tired of and sickened and disheartened by the continuing devolution of the “of, by, and for” part of the equation: We The People.

Plainly put, We The PeopleTM kind of suck, and it’s time we started to fix that. It has to start with us because, if all those sacred and holy documents are to be believed anymore (if ever), we’re supposed to be the lynchpins of Mr. Toad’s Wild Government Ride. We’re supposed to be the ones steering this ship; the politicians are supposed to be the ones reporting to us. Yet, somewhere along the way, the politicians mutinied, started changing the rules when we weren’t paying attention. Wasn’t that difficult to do, really…for a “highly evolved species” or “greatest nation in the world” or whatever other self-awarded accolades we like to tout, we’re not exactly the brightest crayons in the box. We’re kind of like the Pakleds of the planet.

For you non-nerds, this is not a compliment.

Now here we sit, a divided, divisive muddle of easily distracted dolts, unable to see the forest because we have to stop and piss hate-filled comments onto every tree. Corruption continues to run amok while we stand in line to buy a fried chicken sandwich. Because that fried chicken sandwich represents the protection of our freedom of speech!

To paraphrase Inigo Montoya for a moment, “You keep using that phrase, but I do not think it means what you think it means.” Seriously, look up “Freedom of Speech” and learn what it really means. That’s a really good place to start.

Now, the title of this post is sort of a tip of the paw to a recent episode of Dan Carlin’s Common Sense, which he called “Put Up or Shut Up.” I used to love listening to Common Sense, mainly because Carlin’s viewpoints on so many things match my own viewpoints. Everyone likes to listen to people who
agree with them, right?

However, I stopped listening a while ago because, quite frankly, I was tired of listening to reinforcement of how I felt, but no suggestions for how to change things…how to make things better…how to reroute the abysmal direction of this country.

Seems like Carlin felt the same way. In “Put Up or Shut Up” he basically stated that even he was tired of listening to himself go on and on about these things without providing a plan for how to fix it. And he called on himself and listeners to…put up or shut up.

So this is me putting up. It’s time to start turning things around before we really do end up plummeting off into the abyss. Our government is corrupt and unresponsive, why? Because we let it become so. All of us. Not just the Republicans. Not just the Democrats. All of us. Somewhere along the way, we lost our ability to reason and debate and problemsolve and now we spend most of our time and energy attacking each other, either in person or via the vitriol of online comments where anonymity apparently bleeds us dry of any empathy or compassion.

What do I propose as part of the solution to this mess? It’s time to grow up, America. Time to start behaving like the “evolved intellects” we liken ourselves to be. Because whether you believe we’re 2,000 or 2 million years old or more, we’re old enough to know better.

First on the agenda? Stop playing the Blame Game. Blaming everyone else for your problems is what little kids do. Also? Doesn’t fix a damn thing, does it? No. So stop it. Stop pointing fingers and saying that it’s _______’s fault that things are the way they are. It’s lazy and ignorant. It’s also how the politicians keep us from ever coming together to fix the problems we have…because they know that part of the fix will mean stopping their free run of the place. Divide and conquer…who knew it worked, eh? George Orwell, actually. I always fall back on one particular passage of his book 1984, which once again speaks relevance to our current state of affairs:

Heavy physical work, the care of home and children, petty quarrels with neighbours, films, football, beer, and above all, gambling, filled up the horizon of their minds. To keep them in control was not difficult. A few agents of the Thought Police moved always among them, spreading false rumours and marking down and eliminating the few individuals who were judged capable of becoming dangerous; but no attempt was made to indoctrinate them with the ideology of the Party.

It was not desirable that the proles should have strong political feelings. All that was required of them was a primitive patriotism which could be appealed to whenever it was necessary to make them accept longer working-hours or shorter rations. And even when they became discontented, as they sometimes did, their discontent led nowhere, because being without general ideas, they could only focus it on petty specific grievances. The larger evils invariably escaped their notice.

Primitive patriotism. “You’re either with us or against us.” Sound familiar? Aren’t you tired of it all as well, denizens? Aren’t you tired of bloviators telling us who’s to blame and riling up this primitive patriotism as a means of blocking true progress, true change, true hope? We are capable of so much more, so much better.

So stop playing games. First, stop your own part in the Blame Game. I’m just as guilty of this game as anyone else. I’m in no way proud of how I have readily bought into various notions that it was X group’s fault that things were the way they were. I was negative, bitter, and resentful. It didn’t solve anything and it just served to make me feel even worse about everything and about myself. Even more? It wasn’t true and it wasn’t fair.

You cannot blame all the problems that ail us right now on one group of people. You also cannot broad-brush an entire sect of the population based on interactions you’ve had with limited members of that sect. In true scientific method of inquiry, it’s a matter of case-by-case analysis that will continuously test, form, and modify ideas and opinions. We’re “individuals” for a reason. Is it easy? HELL NO! Why do you think so few people do it? Is it what needs to be done?

Yes. Yes, it is. It’s called logic. Spock it to me.

Second, call people out for their part in the Blame Game. If you find yourself surrounded by people who just want to spew this kind of negative passive bullshit, call them on it.

Hold on. Don’t go out and start screaming at strangers. Start at home. Not with the screaming though. That doesn’t go over well at all. Be respectful, but point out that blame doesn’t solve anything. Also? Constant complaining is actually antithetical to problemsolving.

So, combat negativity and complaining and blaming with proactive responses. “Okay, what can we do to fix the problem? How can we improve things?” Start seeking solutions! And if you find that there are people who simply refuse to change…well, then leave them be. That’s right…leave them be. Some people would rather throw themselves the mother of all pity parties than try to come up with solutions. You don’t have to stick around and help them celebrate.

See, right now, the United States of America looks like a hard drive that hasn’t been defragmented since it was purchased…all the way back in 1776. And there has been a whole long line of fragmentation ever since. It’s time we activated the national defrag program and leave those “unmovable files” right where they are. They won’t be able to stop the rest of us from rejoining and working together efficiently, if we want to. They’ll just stay where they are, inevitably being as useless to the improvement of this country as all those groups they like to hate on so much. Karma, betches. Look into it.

We live in a country of extraordinary freedoms. It’s one of the many reasons I am, indeed, thankful that I live in America. But I am not proud of who we have let ourselves become as Americans. We have allowed the politicians to take total control, to divide us with incendiary wedges designed to blind us to the solving of true issues and the striving toward true progress. We bicker and blame like children, and we gain nothing by doing so. We simply harm ourselves while the politicians continue to drag us further downward toward a drop we might not survive.

It has to stop. I’m willing to try. Are you?

Flashback Friday: Sisters

~ LobaBlanca

Gather ’round, denizens, as Loba spins a yarn about how Star Trek: The Next Generation led to my addiction to probably the girliest, most soap-opera-y television series I’ve ever loved.

I make no secret of the fact that I have a very low tolerance for soap operas. Unending character drama is one of the quickest ways to lose me as a viewer, especially if it’s of a variety that makes you go “Seriously? When would that ever really happen to anyone?!”

I was subjected to several different daytime soaps during summers when I was little and spent time with the elderly woman across the street. Some of those story lines were the most absurd things I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life. If things like that happen to you or someone you love on a regular basis? You might want to look into going into witness protection. Or relocating to a cave.

Soap operas give me a horrible NO feeling.

“Nighttime dramas” are supposedly better. They’re a little less ridonculous, a little less over-the-top. At least that’s the theory. They’re still chock-full of inescapable…drama. Guess that’s to be expected, though, right? Meh.

But what does this have to do with Star Trek? Or me liking a soap opera? One Saturday evening during my misspent youth, I was home, clicking through the VHF and UHF dials on my little portable TV and trying to find something to watch (High Life, Party of One!). I happened to click over to the local NBC station just as whatever show was currently playing began to fade to black for a commercial break, and who should appear there on my screen? Ensign Robin Lefler!

Ensign Robin Lefler! On mah TV screen!!

It took a moment for my brain to process what I’d seen, and by the time I clicked back, there was a commercial playing, so I couldn’t verify that it was indeed Robin Lefler. Then, when the show did come back on, it came back to some story that included a bunch of people who were decidedly not Robin Lefler. However, the interactions between the characters and the story line they were discussing was interesting enough that I stuck around. And then another story arc popped up, and I found that one interesting as well…and then Robin Lefler reappeared! HUZZAH! I was right!!

Okay, it wasn’t Robin Lefler. Robin Lefler doesn’t really exist. It was, however, Ashley Judd. Seems that in addition to a briefly recurring role on TNG, Judd had a regular gig playing the character of Reed Halsey on the NBC nighttime drama Sisters.

Robin Lefler Totally Looks Like Reed Halsey

As I’m sure you can deduce from the show’s title, it’s all about…sisters! The four Reed sisters, to be exact: Rich Girl Alexandra “Alex” Reed Halsey (Swoosie Kurtz); Bad Girl Theodora “Teddy” Reed (Sela Ward); Homemaker Georgiana “Georgie” Whitsig (Patricia Kalember); and Baby Sis Francesca “Frankie” Reed Margolis (Julianne Phillips). Here they are, in order from right to left:

I don’t know how it happened, denizens, but that one moment of thinking I saw a Trek actor on another show and waiting to prove it to myself got me hooked. After that, every week I’d either tune in or set the VCR to tape it (I did have some semblance of a life when I was in high school, thank you). I had to know what was going on with those crazy Reed sisters and their respective families.

For the most part, the stories were relatively realistic at first. Yeah, there was the arc where Teddy spray-painted “SLUT” on Frankie’s car because she was dating Teddy’s ex-husband. Then again, with how people behave toward each other now, is that really a stretch? Is discovering that there’s a fifth sister, born from the father’s extramarital dalliances and hidden from the family for years…is that a stretch either?

I guess not. I just don’t like

BookBin2012: How to Be A Woman

~ LobaBlanca

I do believe that Caitlin Moran and I might have been separated at birth. True, she is a year older than me, we look nothing alike, and there is the whole issue of her being English and me being American. But if I were to believe in sociological/societal/feminist doppelg

BookBin2012: Marvel 1602

~ lobablanca

As anyone who has followed my literary exploits here at the lair already knows, I’m a bit of a Neil Gaiman fan. Even when I don’t particularly like one of his offerings enough to add it to or keep it in my collection, I still am able to find aspects of the story to enjoy and carry with me. And the stories are always intriguing enough that I keep returning to him as one of my favorite modern genre writers.

My latest library discovery belonging to Gaiman is his 2003 graphic novel Marvel 1602. The year is…1602, and strange events are transpiring all throughout the realm of Queen Elizabeth I. Strange meteorological events, the existence of dinosaurs in the New World, disappearing colonists, savages, demented villains…and the premature arrival of some strangely familiar characters.

That’s right: Gaiman transports a large selection of Marvel heroes and villains back in time to Elizabethan England. Part of what I enjoyed most about this novel was trying to deduce who was whom. Some are easy: Sir Nicholas Fury, Dr. Stephen Strange, Peter Parquagh, Sir Richard Reed, Carlos Javier and his “witchbreed” students.

Wait. I always enjoy saying that name out loud a few times. In a bad impression of Mr. Roarke from Fantasy Island. Carlos Javier.

Heh.

Others are a bit more difficult to suss, but they’ll come to you sooner or later. One is actually the key to the early arrival of our favorite Marvel characters into the timeline of Human existence.

Gaiman’s transition of these characters into an earlier historical period is quite well planned and executed. It definitely helps that his tale is supported by a beautiful pencil and coloring collaboration between Andy Kubert and Richard Isanove, with gorgeous “scratchboard” covers by Scott McKowen. The artwork itself has a rather unique appearance. I did a little research and learned that, rather than sending the pencil work first to an inker, Kubert sent his pencil drawings straight to Isanove for digital coloring, creating what is referred to as an “enhanced pencil” technique. It’s a beautiful and unique art style that I enjoyed immensely.

It’s also enjoyable and impressive, how well Gaiman slips his selected Marvel representatives into historical reality, nipping and tucking the timeline or simply splitting it open per his own crazy creative whims. I’m by no means an historical expert, but I’ve studied enough English history and the early history of America to be able to recognize several real events scattered through Gaiman’s story and to be able to laugh at how Gaiman tweaked them for his own purposes.

Because I’m a bit of an all-around nerd, this kind of historical/fictional commingling amused me greatly. Do I think it would be everyone’s cup of tea? Probably not. Hard-core history nerds would probably grind a molar or two flat out of frustration, and hard-core comics fans might find the historical angle more than just a little below their expected “BAM! WHAM! KAPOW! ZING!” enjoyment level.

However, if you find yourself amenable to all variety of nerdery, and especially if you have a bit of a soft spot for Gaiman and/or characters from the Marvel universe, I think this might be an enjoyable exploit.

Final Verdict: I might be tempted to add this to my library at some point, but not today. However, if you do read and enjoy this collection, you might be interested in knowing it spawned three sequels. One was even written by Peter David. Do with that knowledge what you will.

Photo Fun Friday: Tawny Kattan

~ LobaBlanca

This came about as the result of a pronunciation error and I knew it simply had to be made:

Welcome to tonight’s nightmare.

Don’t know who I combined to make “Tawny Kattan”? Well, here is Tawny at probably her most famous (rather than her more recent infamy):

https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/i3MXiTeH_Pg

And Chris Kattan…well. Er. There’s Corky…no. Well, there’s A Night at…never mind. Hmm. Monkeybo…no. How about this Bowling for Soup video for their song “1985” that parodies the Whitesnake video? Yeah? Okay.

https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/K38xNqZvBJI

Flashback Friday: “Crucified”

~ LobaBlanca

Ah, I bet you thought that this was going to be a Tori post, didn’t you? While I will gladly admit that Amos’s song “Crucify” is one of my favorites of her songs, that’s not what I’m here to blather on about tonight.

Nope, this would be the 1991 release of a similar name, from the Swedish band Army of Lovers. I think I’m like the Aussies on this one, but I have a bit of a thing for Swedish bands.

[Loba Tangent: I’m assuming that Australians have a thing for Swedish bands…or at least one in particular, since both Muriel’s Wedding and Priscilla, Queen of the Desert prominently feature music of and/or anecdotes about ABBA. And, of course, two movies can perfectly capture the musical preferences of an entire continent. Oh, and now I want to watch Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Again. For probably the 20th time.]

Anyway, I wish I knew more about this group, but unfortunately, “Crucified” was the only one of their songs to ever make it far enough up the mainstream to reach me back then. I stumbled upon the video for the song one late night, WAY back when MTV still played more videos than craptacular shows.

To call this video bizarre would be like calling Ebenezer Scrooge cheap. It’s one of those videos that has “car wreck” stamped all over it…so very strange to the point of being a little unsettling. I blame the rubber pants. Or maybe the adult diapers. Combined with leg armor. Or was it Elvis? Possibly Napoleon. Maybe the flowering panties, too. And yet you simply can’t look away.

Don’t believe me? Watch for yourself:

https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/EdooYar_A6g

I saw the video maybe three more times before it was finally pulled from heavy nighttime rotation (I don’t think I ever saw it play before 10 p.m.). It wasn’t until years later when I heard it at a club that I remembered how utterly crazy it and the band were. And how much I loved the song and the video. Of course, being the naughty little pirate monkey I was at the time, I promptly proceeded to find an MP3 for download from my pre-Napster FTP hopping days.

Naughty, naughty Loba.

While driving home this afternoon, I had my iPod set to random shuffle on my “Club MP3s” list and this song came up, and I knew that I had to share it here for Flashback Friday. Seriously, how do you not share a song this awesome? And just because I’m in a giving mood this evening (must be the wine I had), here’s a video for the Nuzak remix of the song. Even more rubber pants, adult diapers, leg armor, flower panties, and cats and dogs!

Man, I miss the 90s…

https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/Me4sOR2VhWs

BookBin2012: Before I Go To Sleep

~ LobaBlanca

What’s this? Another blog post? Three in one day? My goodness, it sure is feast or famine here at the lair lately, eh?

Sadly, even with this post, I’m still not finished catching up with my recent BookBin reads. Still haven’t caught up with other posts either…time slips away so quickly lately.

But this has nothing to do with why we’re really here, now does it? And what’s the reason for this latest meeting? To discuss S.J. Watson’s Before I Go To Sleep.

First, I’m doing a rather embarrassing job yet again of trying to stick mainly to books from my own book collection. This is another find that I picked up from the library. How could I resist though? The dust jacket description listed this as “Like Memento on meth.”

I love Memento. No, I don’t also love meth. However, any description that calls upon a Christopher Nolan movie that I actually really like already piques my interest. That being said, I was also slightly reticent in my excitement, considering the last time I allowed myself to be swayed by dust jacket comments.

I’m pleased to say that this novel came much closer to living up to its description than the other novel did. I don’t necessarily agree that it’s a more amped-up version of Memento (I’m assuming that was the implication of the drug reference? What the hell do I know about meth though?). I don’t even completely agree with the comparison beyond overarching similarities. Both have protagonists who suffer from bizarre forms of amnesia in which they are unable to form any new memories.

For Watson’s protagonist, Christine Lucas, her form of amnesia is such that she can form new memories throughout the day, but the moment she falls into deep sleep, everything is lost. Fragments might resurface, but each morning is a frightening state of tabula rasa in which she must be refreshed on everything that is her life now…who her husband is, where they live, what he does, what happened to cause her to lose her memory…it’s rather tiring to consider, really. Imagine having to re-learn everything about yourself each morning, waking up thinking that you’re still in your 20s (Christine’s early memories are the only ones that survive her nightly reboot) only to realize that you’re actually almost 50 and trapped in this hellish mental purgatory.

Of course, this can’t be the only thing going on with this story, with a description like the one that hooked me into picking this up in the first place. Where’s the meth? Well, things don’t seem quite right…even beyond the obvious things. It’s kind of complicated to delve into in a short synopsis, and really, it’s not something that I actually want to get into because I don’t want to spoil anything. Let’s just say that while you might not want a “Remember Sammy Jankis” tattoo, you definitely might want to start writing things down. That might help, because something’s definitely rotten in Denmark.

I will also say this: The layering and complexity of this novel are quite brilliant, especially considering that this is Watson’s first time at the rodeo (oh, there’s something so delightful about mixing British and American slang). While I wouldn’t recommend this novel to everyone (especially those of you who hated Memento, shocked though I remain whenever I encounter someone who doesn’t think it’s wonderful), I do think that it’s a definite for people who enjoy a good psychological thriller.

That being said, I do warn that there are several aspects of the plot that, if thought about too hard, make the entire novel unravel right before your eyes. It’s difficult for me to silence the overly analytical part of my brain, so this happened for me a few times. However, it wasn’t enough to cause me to dislike the book. I think that Watson did a remarkable job of taking this concept and making it uniquely his own. There are just some aspects of the story itself that are intrinsically flawed, both with this and with Memento. If you are able to overlook those flaws, however, I think that Watson’s debut novel is something you could enjoy.

I just read on Wikipedia that Ridley Scott has bought the film rights to this book. I approve of that. I also just read that Nicole Kidman is tentatively being considered for the role of Christine Lucas.

Sigh. Not exactly who I envisioned playing Christine. I think that should be left to an actress whose face still actually has the ability to show a wider range of emotion beyond “Botox” and “Botox.”

/ snark

Final Verdict: As much as I enjoyed this novel once I silenced the nitpicker portion of my brain, I don’t think I would want to add this to my collection. I do think I might want to borrow it from the library for another read, now that I know the ending. It’s definitely one of those books that will reveal more to you once you know how it all wraps up. However, I do think that two, maybe three reads is enough for this one. Of course, this is coming from someone who has seen Memento many more times than three. Would it be bad form to say that I just can’t remember how it ends? 😉

BookBin2012: Heart-Shaped Box

~ lobablanca

So, remember how crazy I went over the first volume of Joe Hill’s graphic novel Locke & Key?

It’s definitely a series that I want to continue reading, just as soon as the local library starts bringing in other volumes. Either that, or I might just break down and buy the set. I don’t know. Cheap Loba is cheap.

Regardless, I was impressed enough by Hill’s writing that I knew I wanted to experience it in its longer, less-illustrated form. When I returned Locke & Key, I checked to see if the library had any of his books in stock and…huzzah! Indeed, they did.

This is how I ended up reading Heart-Shaped Box…and falling even more in love with Joe Hill.

Okay, for full disclosure, I’m just going to come out and say what I alluded to in my review of Locke & Key: Joe Hill’s full name is Joseph Hillstrom King and he is the undeniable offspring of Stephen King. Why undeniable? Look:

Beyond the aesthetics (by the way, I’m not entirely convinced that Hill is King’s kid…I think King is slowly reincarnating himself and becoming Hill…mark my word, soon King will just disappear and all that will exist will be Hill), Hill definitely inherited his father’s ability to spin a nice, solid scary story. With his debut novel, he tells the tale of aging metal rocker (and oh-so-subtlely-named) Judas Coyne who, in his retirement, likes to work his way through young women on a state-by-state basis (he’s currently with Georgia, but Florida is about to really rile him up), name his dogs after fellow rock musicians (he owns two German shepherds named Bon and Angus), and collect all manner of creepiness. He owns an authentic snuff film, a witch’s confession, and now, thanks to a weird online auction, he owns the spirit of an old man, which comes attached to a suit that arrives packed in? A heart-shaped box.

Hmm.

There is, of course, more to the story behind this haunted suit as well as who is haunting it and how they are linked to Coyne. Hill wouldn’t be much of a horror writer if he couldn’t spin this bare-bones synopsis into something far deeper, far darker, and far creepier than what I’ve written here. Okay, it’s not a lot deeper. He’s not Tolstoy. He is, however, quite a capable storyteller, with a clean, captivating style reminiscent in all the best possible ways of his dad’s earlier works.

I hate to compare son to father, but really? If you’re going to be compared to someone, wouldn’t you want it to be someone like King? Hill manages to take two popular horror tropes

Fabulous Photo Friday: Sarah McLachlan

~ LobaBlanca

Know what makes this past week of power outages, extreme heat, sticky-sweaty-ickiness, and general WTFery all better?

I was this close to Sarah McLachlan last night:

All your arguments are now invalid to Loba.

Seriously, this was the perfect way to make up for the hella week we’ve been having here in the D.C. area. I’ve loved Sarah McLachlan since my college days (all those many moons ago, right?), and she is only one of two musicians I will gladly pay top dollar to see in concert whenever they come to town (can you guess who the other is?).

Speaking of Tori (guess I gave that answer away), McLachlan seems to be taking a page from Amos’s current play book. Just like Amos, McLachlan is currently touring with orchestral accompaniment, from the National Philharmonic.

As with Amos’s music, McLachlan’s often down-tempo, haunting songs are perfectly suited for this type of musical enhancement. Regardless of the swelter that surrounded us (she played at Merriweather Post Pavillion, which is an outdoor venue), McLachlan’s voice, strengthened by strings, winds, and percussion was well worth the sweet summer sweat.

The highlight of the evening, as it usually is (for me, at least), was the new arrangement of “Possession,” one of McLachlan’s songs from her third (and my personal favorite) album Fumbling Towards Ecstasy.

The story behind this song is actually quite a dark one. McLachlan wrote “Possession” in response to rather disturbing letters received from some fans, including one “self-admitted stalker” named Uwe Vandrei. Vandrei sued McLachlan, saying that his love letters to her were the basis for “Possession.” The case never went to trial, however, because Vandrei committed suicide not long after filing his suit.

With lyrics like:

And I would be the one
To hold you down
Kiss you so hard
I’ll take your breath away
And after I’d wipe away the tears
Just close your eyes dear

you can’t help but wonder what kind of memories this song must invoke for McLachlan each time she sings it. Yet to watch her sing it is to watch her become the possessed and the possessor