Covering “Welcome to the Hellmouth” and “The Harvest,” in which we meet beloved characters. Sort of.
Thursday, July 2, 2015
Monday, June 29, 2015
Recently, I was tasked with reading a YA vampire novel. Needless to say, I did not care for the experience, and I ended up spending a lot of time going to cases I felt dealt with similar material better, some of which I hadn’t read or watched in many a day. You can guess one of those cases pretty easily, I bet.
It put me in mind for another undertaking, whilst I await Furious 7 on the blu-ray.
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
I like jokes. I particularly like jokes that are dark and pointed, and that puncture power structures and the small-minded. As such, jokes about the “White Culture of Violence” were great. It’s a really simply joke—just talk about some predominantly white incident in the same way the Right likes to do with black people, usually leading off with “When will the white community address their culture of violence?” Where are the white leaders condemning this? What of white-on-white violence? It’s all the music they listen to—‘I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die?’ Horrific! And so on. The joke, in this form, is a subversion and reversion of the narrative, meant to highlight the idiocy in the way outlets discuss black people.
This isn’t much of a joke any more.
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Then, I got pissed.
Friday, March 20, 2015
Famous person deaths are weird. In all likelihood, you never met them, and yet there is a sort of a loss all the same. And the weirdness is compounded by how we usually learn of famous person deaths these days—we read it on the internet, which just sort of reinforces the remove. And that’s how it’s been for me, and I bet many, many more, with most recent famous person deaths. Leonard Nimoy? Internet. Maya Angelou? Internet. Philip Seymour Hoffman? Internet. Then again, I didn’t know any of them, so shouldn’t that be the way? Yet I recall distinctly hearing about Paul Walker’s death, because someone else read it on the internet. I was at either a book club or a game night, when someone else looked at their phone and flatly said that he had died. It sort of took me a minute. “Man,” I said, “I’m legitimately bummed.” He was, after all, an integral part of something I loved.
Thursday, March 12, 2015
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
“The men we’re after are professional runners. They like speed and are guaranteed to go down the hardest possible way, so make sure you got your thunderwear on. We find them, we take them as a team, and we bring them back. And above all else we don’t ever, ever let them into cars.”