Anyone who follows me on Twitter* has recently been subjected to a barrage of tweets about Season 3 of Veronica Mars. You see, I stopped watching VM after the second season SUCKED SO HARD. I had no idea the third (and final) season was all Veronica Goes To College-y just like in BTVS Season Four when Buffy Goes To College! SQUEE!
And, unlike the original Beverly Hills, 90210 (which really went down the pooper when the kids all decided to attend the same fake UCLA school) when VM embarks on her path to higher education, Veronica Mars: The College Year is actually watchable. And smart. And funny. JUST LIKE IN BTVS SEASON FOUR WHEN BUFFY GOES TO COLLEGE SQUEE! Although I have to admit I was disproportionately angry when Veronica's new R.A. said "frak" and then had to explain it to her. Ugh. At least she's learning something important in school, though? I guess?
Why am I talking about Veronica Mars, you ask? What does a series about a smart, funny, forthright and beautiful girl with a penchant for investigating female hate crimes brought to an abrupt hault just when things were getting really good have to do with anything? Are you a moron? OUR BLOG IS SHUTTING DOWN. Do I have to draw you a picture? Because I will. I like drawing pictures. Anyway.
Ah, the Boy Scouts of America. That venerable club of "packs" and "pack leaders," homophobes and pedophiles, knot tie-ers and knot tie-ees. BSA, you old dogs you, what have you come up with now in a vain attempt to distract the world from your Roman Catholic Church-like offenses? A what? A VIDEO GAME MERIT BADGE? Wait just a minute there Boy Guys of Murka, that sounds almost decent of you! What molestations, I say? I can't even think about them through this warm haze of fuzzy, feel good emotions I have towards you now due to this Video Game Merit Badge gambit! And well, one would assume where there is a Boy Boys of The Americas Video Game Badge, there is a Girl Scouts of America Video Game Badge. I mean, this just makes good science sense. So anyway, I..what? THERE IS NO GIRL SCOUTS OF AMERICA VIDEO GAME MERIT BADGE?
I have a confession to make: I am hot in the pants area for Gemma Arterton. Okay, so maybe I'm not so much hot in the pants area as I don't necessarily swing that way--it's more of a "I want to be Gemma Arterton and maybe make a skin suit of of her" feeling.
Anyway, my point is I hated the new Clash of the Titans but I looooooved Arterton's turn as the feisty demi-goddess "IO." I also loved her as Strawberry Shortcake or whatever her Bond Girl name was in Quantum of Solace. So I was completely baffled when Kotaku ran a post Wednesday boldly asking this stupid fucking question in regards to Arterton:
By the time this post is cranked out by the blog presses, the Web's 2nd Annual Streamy Awards Show will have come and gone and uh...THEY DID NOT GO WELL OMG.
In the interest of full disclosure, I was busy watching Treme and The Pacific on HBO and missed out on the live streaming of the Web Series Awards Extravaganza Thing, but through the magic of Twitter, it quickly became apparent to anyone paying attention that the show was NOT GOING WELL OMG.
BEHOLD! A new Lara Croft action figure! Kotaku is claiming this is a victory of sorts due to the focus being on her face and outfit and weapons, etc. and not her GLORIOUS BOOBS, but my (admittedly 12-year-old) mind went directly to one place when I saw the pics:
She looks like she's pooping.
Am I right? She's even got reading material-a jungle map of some sort. Now don't get me wrong-the idea of Lara Croft doing her daily doesn't upset me. In fact, the more awareness we bring to ladies' bodily needs being the same as dudes' bodily needs, the sooner we'll have less products like Activia and laxatives marketed at women. You see, females are not allowed to poop or talk about poop or think about poop, and this leads to constipation and IBS and all kinds of digestive issues, and please don't even get me started on women starving the fiber right out of their diets.
This time around the culprit is Ruffian Games' Crackdown 2. In an interview with 1Up, RG spewed forth this line of "reasoning":
"In Crackdown, the amount of memory that it was going to take for it to do all the actual animation, the texture sets and the models for the females -- we would've needed to massively reduce other sections of the game...so rather than do two separate models, we cut it back and gave the player as much customization as we could on the male character and that allowed us to use that extra memory to do other things in the game."
If Zooey Deschanel is this decade's manic pixie dream girl, then Michael Cera is her male counterpart. Mention Zooey to any girl I know, and even though we might all covet her hair, the eyes begin rolling and the disgust for her stupid singing voice comes spewing forth. Mention her in hetero male company, and the butterflies and puppies and kittens alight in a riotous display of love and fluffy, fluttery excitement.
Tina Fey posed for Esquire and I can't stop looking at the pictures because A. I love them and 2. They make me feel a wee bit conflicted.
I recognize the importance of publicity, and I fucking celebrate the glory of a sexy, smart woman or vice versa or one or the other or whatever but Esquire is such a terrible entity, I hate the idea of Tina Fey being a part of that soul crushing machine. And even though she sort of addresses this issue, she also backs out of it with the slippery logic of a politician.
Has Zoe Saldana (Avatar, Star Trek) been hanging out with video game denouncer Miss America? Saldana told Essence magazine this week: "I think in American society, we're messing up our kids by taking away the education on awareness of sexuality and replacing it with violence, guns and video games...we're breeding little criminals."
It's been "Girl Week" over at Comics Alliance for the past5 days, and I have enjoyed every single panel of it. GET IT? PANEL? Because comics are...and the panels....oh never mind. Sigh.
I'm going to be completely honest with you guys. I love comics, but sometimes I think I love the idea of comics more than the things themselves. This has everything to do with an inability to spread my geekery out over the vast plains of nerddom like a shallow layer of water in a parking lot after a light rain. Let's take a minute to celebrate and honor the beauty of that metaphor, shall we?
When I first saw Rockstar's new trailer for Red Dead Redemption introducing us to the women of the game, I was super-excited (they were real characters! Not naked!), until I was hit with the cold water of knowledge dropped on me by my husband via chat messenger.
"I just got word that the Buffy the Vampire Slayer creator is developing a documentary feature about Comic-Con that will be centered on a still-to-be-cast group of convention-going superfans...Whedon is teaming up with award-winning Super Size Me director Morgan Spurlock, according to a source."
Excuse me for a moment....SQUEEEEEEEEEE!
What I mean by "squeeeeeeee" is this could be really, really good. I like Morgan Spurlock because I am a middle-class Caucasian urban modern person living in Portland, Ore. and, let's face it--I am kind of his bread and butter. I'm not saying he doesn't have appeal or relevance to all cultures (he proved this over and over again with his FX reality series 30 Days), I only mean his audience tends towards the middle- to upper-middle-class left leaning, socially "aware" (whatever that truly means) crowd. ANYWAY, we can argue about that in the comments section.
Oh ladies and dudes, I can't pretend I did anything other than play Bioshock 2 this week because that would be as disingenuous as Frank Fontaine faking his own death in order to orchestrate the rise of the proletariat and a man named Atlas. Am I right?
Because I am not technically a big shot gaming journo, I had to wait like the rest of you humans to get my Rapture on via my super-exclusive (snort) exalted Amazon Prime status. I LOVE YOU AMAZON PRIME. (Side note: I am considering ordering all household items with my Amazon Prime free shipping, one scrubby sponge at a time. I am that lazy.)
Thanks to Amazon, I received my game early on Tuesday and immediately ripped it open and shoved it into the XBox, Diet Coke in hand, ready for my return to Rapture. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Bioshock story, I direct you here, as it's a long, complex saga and absolutely worth the read whether you play games or not.)
Now, my memory may be a bit fuzzy (what with the 90's being all of 10 years ago) but I'm pretty sure television had been invented, along with such wond'rous advancements as the combustible engine and indoor plumbing. So, it strikes me as rather odd that Miss America would pine after her days playing kick the can on the cobblestones next to Old Man O'Malley's Fruit Stand and Mr. Adelson's Livestock and Livery Stables or whatever. She is 22, for goodness sake. She was born in 1988 and presumably lived in a home with electricity, running water and other modern day conveniences...LIKE A FUCKING NINTENDO.
Howard Zinn died this week and the politico literatti mourned appropriately. Zinn was a hero to anyone who gave a crap about oh, I don't know, THE FUTURE OF THE WORLD, and when he passed, the internet quietly tweeted and blogged and facetubed or whatever about it in a tasteful manner. And then yesterday, Salinger's Blue Period ended for good and the World Wide Web imploded with cynicism, splintering into many, many camps--those who loved him, those who hated him, those who loved him and wanted movies made out of his books, those who loved him and NEVER wanted movies made out of his books and hipsters who wanted whatever anybody else didn't want.
For the record, I stand firmly in the "I love him and would be thrilled to see a For Esme With Love movie and goddamn it if I don't think there isn't at least one gentle filmmaker out there who could do it justice" camp. I am looking at you JJ Abrams. KIDDING. Sort of.
I don't love the man JD Salinger; I'm not naive. I think he was a crazy, misogynist hermit with a gigantic ego and a somewhat tyrannical nature who was kind of into Scientology, so I understand why his death is a bit more problematic than Zinn's. But MY GOD PEOPLE, he was a fucking excellent writer. I dare you to read Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters and not fall head over heels in love with that awkward, emotional, hilarious and sweaty New York story--laughing and cringing and laughing until you're not laughing or cringing anymore because you're crying. I dare you.