In Defense of Boys

...My Boys, that is.

(No, this isn't an April Fool's joke.)

Normally I'm the first person to dismiss these stupid basic-cable sitcoms. Hell, I'm usually the first person to dismiss all sitcoms. (Pipe down, HIMYM people.) But I love My Boys. There. I've said it. I feel like Starbuck and Apollo that night on New Caprica.

I won't say it's perfect. Last night's ep suffered from a few groan-worthy running gags (though personally I found the idea of a mustache contest to be both realistic and hilarious), and sometimes PJ's VO's fall flatter than any Gossip Girl punnery could.

And I will admit that half my love probably stems from the fact that the show is based in Chicago, my favoritest city in the entire universe. (Suck it, New York.) It's kind of like Chicago porn, really. You've got Cubs references, shots of the loop and the river (those Yankee Hotel Foxtrot buildings!), an Old Town setting. It's comforting.

The dialogue's not half bad, either. And it's refreshing to see a sort-of tomboy who can actually adapt and function in adult society. So often we only see girls who are too much like "one of the boys," and they never get any guys and are relegated to perpetual friend status. And they only ever wear dude-like clothes. Here, PJ has a girl bestie, dresses up occasionally and goes on dates, drinks and plays poker with her boys, and balances it all with grace and charm.

Basically, it gives all of us non-Conde-Nast-like women hope. Except instead of sports, I'm into LotR. It's...almost the same? Sort of?

On Creepy Demon Children

I made the mistake of watching the trailer for Orphan the other day.

This was a mistake for a couple of reasons. Now, I'm not by any means a chicken. I might wince at gore or startle easily (really, really easily), but in general I tend more towards the former response in "fight or flight."

But there is something about creepy demon girls that just gets me. The girl in The Ring? Absolutely terrified me. And I know I'm not alone in that fear, but honestly, I shouldn't have been scared at all. Her face looks like an orc's!

Samara:


An orc:


And I am certainly not afraid of orcs.

After seeing a few trailers for more Asian-based horror flicks (side note: Why are Asian horror movies so fucked up? They're the only horror movies I've seen that are actually...horrifying. Is it a culture thing? They do seem to have a penchant for creepy demon children), I tried to posit that maybe it's just the way these characters move that makes my skin continue to crawl hours after seeing whatever clip/movie they're in. They always have that weird crab-walking kid, or one that sort of awkwardly teleports, like you're playing a particularly dangerous game of "Red Light, Green Light."

But the girl (Esther) in Orphan does not move this way. And yet, I still had a dream that night in which she tried to kill me. Repeatedly.

Of course, that's not the reason I won't see this movie. It's the same demon child story as all the others, and probably not worth shelling out $12.50. Still, way to creep me right the fuck out, Warner Brothers.

P.S. Vera Farmiga? More movies about Boston mob politics, less movies about creepy demon children. I say this out of love.

Billy what now?!

People who call Williamsburg "Billyburg" are why I refuse to live in that neighborhood.

That's all.

(A friend alerted me to that "Meet Up" thing. I don't actually use that stuff--I prefer to be a hermit.)

The Adventures of (Not) Ben Silverman

[Note: What follows is an entirely fictional account of Ben Silverman's day-to-day life, the thought process behind his decisions, etc. There's no harm meant by it; my excellent friend Braids and I simply thought it would be hilarious to blame everything bad in the world (and NBC) on him, even though in real life, this probably isn't the case. So, again: Light mocking along the lines of the Girls' Bike Club over at Tomato Nation.]

Int. 30 Rockefeller Plaza, 13th Floor. (Not)Ben Silverman, male, mid-30s caucasian, enters, flanked by his two white tigers, Silvertooth and Moonbeam.

NBS: Dave? Davey? Bro, where you at?

He plays the official NBC chimes hanging from his belt. Dave Howe, President of Sci-Fi, runs out of an office.

Dave Howe: Ben! What are you doing way down here?
NBS: Oh, just chillin' through. Wanted to see how you're dealing with the name change.
Dave Howe: Name change?
NBS: Shit, we didn't tell you?
Dave Howe: Tell me what?
NBS: Well, Davey, Zucks and I got the best fucking idea last night, bra. You know how we can't put that little ^TM thing after Sci-Fi?
Dave Howe: Sure.
NBS: Yeah man, we can't have that wack shit. So from now on you're "SyFy^TM." Zucks even said I should change my name to "Sylverman." Tight, yeah?
Dave Howe: Is that...really going to boost our ratings?
NBS: Are you questioning me, Davey?
Silvertooth growls.
NBS: Silvertooth thinks you're questioning me, Davey.
Dave Howe: Oh, no.
NBS: Because I greenlit The Office, you know. And Parks and Recreation.
Dave Howe: I heard the focus group numbers were pretty ba--
NBS: You heard shit, man. Everyone knows that shit is bogus.
Dave Howe: Why do we bother, then?
NBS: Man, I don't know. Fuck this noise, I got some ladies waiting for me up on Fiddy. Sylverman OUT.

He mounts Moonbeam and, playing his official NBC chimes, bounds away.

B.T.

Thanks to my dear friend Eddie for introducing me to this:



Now, I'm the first person to complain about Twitter. I never understood the point--yes, some people use it for quick news blasts, sometimes your friends say something funny (theoretically, that is; I'm not actually on Twitter). But honestly? People do not need to know the minutiae of your existence. No matter who you are--celebrity, journalist, accountant, or copy machine from an awesome show--your life is probably not that interesting. The people who do seem to care about Ashton Kutcher's Tweets are, I'm sorry, the sort of people with whom I do not wish to interact.

But Twitter just recently blew the fuck up. Before that, there was Facebook. I loved Facebook. Way easier to keep in touch with people than, say, via e-mail. And the introduction of status updates was kind of fun for a while, too. I'd put up random ones like "...is dead" or some apropos song lyric. I never put up actual locations or said what I was actually doing at the time because, um, who cares? Yes, I would roll my eyes whenever I saw someone using it in that exhibitionistic way, but it was easy enough to ignore. Of course, the new Facebook design makes it impossible to ignore, so thanks for fucking that up, Faceberg.

Even before Facebook, though, people had this compulsive need to share shit about their life to people who are, essentially, strangers. See: Xbox Live.

That leads me to believe this is a generational thing. If Generation X was the "me" generation, then we, the so-called "Millennials" (God I hate that term) are the "me, me, me!" generation. Life is no longer about connecting with people and interacting with them in a meaningful fashion; it's about people seeing you interacting with people on an entirely superficial, fictional level. It's like throwing a surprise party for someone, but inviting only your friends instead of theirs. You don't want to see the look of surprised joy on your friend's face, you want to see your friends' reactions when you tell them about this great thing you're doing for someone else.

And that just makes me sad.

Hell bra, this is the best!

I'm going to go ahead and ask we retire "bromance." It is the new "cougar," and I can no longer stand to read it on a daily basis. 'K?

On the other hand, I am totally down with "Guy Love" (below).

Cloudy With a Chance of Crap

Sigh.

Okay, so I think we can all agree that this whole "taking all the symbols of my childhood and raping them for profit" thing has gone way too far. Granted, the poster for Where the Wild Things Are (below) looks pretty awesome.



But for every WtWTA, there's a Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. The just-released trailer is over here.

How horrendous does this look? Let's put aside the idiotic 3-D whatever for right now (hell, that deserves its own post) and just look at it from the point of view of a child and/or adult who's read and loved the book:

The whole point of kids' books is that they look awesome. Cool illustration is what separates the Animals Should Definitely Not Wear Clothings from the...Well, I can't think of any crappily illustrated children's books off the top of my head, but I'm sure there are plenty out there. Once you take away the unique style of illustration (something Spike Jonze appears to not be doing, thank God), you're left with...a story. A story that is very, very thin on plot. And while a lack of plot sometimes works for books (coughmostofTwilightcough), that's really hard to get away with in a movie. So, the director comes up with a plot. This plot is usually banal and overdone (The Cat in the Hat, anyone?), and the entire experience turns out to be no different from any other crappy kids movie (see: most animated movies not produced by Pixar/Pixar alums).

So why not just...let sleeping books lie? How about we come up with a rule that says, "If you have to invent a plot that is not contained in the source material (be it children's book or game), you're not allowed to make that movie"? Yes?