The Office

So, I finally discovered The Office.

I'd caught a random episode at one point, and I couldn't figure out what in the world people found so funny about this show. Maybe it's the absence of a laugh track to clue me in to what was supposed to be funny, but I just didn't find myself amused in any way. Office Manager Michael Scott (Steve Carell) was inane and stupid, and paper salesman Dwight Shrute (Rainn Wilson) was downright mean. I was supposed to tune in to watch these two goof balls act like idiots?

Then, a few weeks ago, I was trolling through the remote when I happened to catch the Tuesday night airings of The Office in syndication on TBS. Two episodes, which I watched intently, and I was good and hooked.

I have no idea what spurred me to give this show another try when I hadn't gotten it the first time. Actually, yes, I do know.

Jim and Pam.

In various formats I've come to learn that this couple called "Jim and Pam" are really appealing and offer up loads of UST and are just one of the cutest things to watch on TV. Since I'm always game to find a wonderful new 'shipping opportunity, I even went so far as to YouTube Jim and Pam and caught a few "My Favorite Jim and Pam Moments" vids which, to be honest, were enough to catch me up to their story and convince me that, yes, they seem to be 'ship-worthy. I figured if I ever got the chance, maybe I'd tune in again if only so I could watch this lovely couple get their romance on.

Come to find out, when I watched those two rerun episodes that Tuesday night, I was jumping into the Karen-As-Obstacle chapters of the Jim and Pam romance. Even though this might be consider the lowest valley in the Jim/Pam relationship rollercoaster, I still found them compelling as both a couple and as individual characters. Plus, what do you know, some of the other characters were kind of funny as well.

Some easy wikipedia reading caught me up, I set my DVR to record any old and new episodes, and headed to Amazon to see how cheaply I could find Seasons 1, 2, 3 or 4 in the "Buy New/Used" section.

Over the past week, I've watched all of Season 1, all of Season 2, most of Season 3 (the local Blockbuster didn't have the 3rd disc on hand for rental) and the Season 5 episodes that have aired in the last few weeks.

What I don't get is why in the world I didn't find this show hilarious the first time I saw it. This show is a roll-on-the-floor scream! And it's not just the Jim/Pam romance that keeps me hooked. It's Michael taking the women of the office shopping at Victoria's Secret and Dwight giving Pam a hanky to wipe away her tears and The Dundies and Bob Vance of Vance Refrigeration and Jan's boob job and creepy Creed (actually, he's the one character I do not like) and the entire premise and execution and all of it. This show is a masterpiece. Of course there's no laugh track. You don't need a laugh track.

And there is Jim. Oh my goodness, there is Jim. What a wonderful hero. He's every-guy. The perfect template for the true beta-hero. He's cute but not gorgeous, sweet and charming but just a little bit goofy. He's romantic but clueless, he's naughty but not cruel. His sense of humor is right up my alley - sarcastic and dry and amused by the absurd. John Krasinski owns this character, and if I worked for Dunder Mifflin Scranton branch, he'd be the reason I showed up at the office every single day. Never before could I have imagined a fantasy wherein I was a receptionist for a paper company.

Pam and Jim's romance has been absolutely perfect. Friends who feel more than friendship, kept apart by Pam's relationship with another man. When Jim confessed his feelings for her at the end of Season 1, I wanted to melt. And knowing that she wanted to be with him as well but felt she couldn't leave Roy...perfect. Then it was too late. Jim was gone and then he had Karen. Or had he?

Best thing about this relationship is how it unfolded so realistically. Just as such a relationship would in this situation, an office friendship turned romance. You can imagine the daily flirting, the lunches together and shared experiences that little by little by little push these two together and deepen their feelings for each other. That's the way we as viewers got to experience it as well. Each episode gave us the same tiny amount of development that one might expect in the real world, nothing huge, no grand gestures or dramatic events. Just a slow evolution that seems very organic but is unmistakable in its direction. Thus the obstacles standing in the way seemed natural as well. You can believe in this relationship because it's based in our reality.

It will be interesting to see how Pam and Jim's engagement and (presumable) new marriage will play out.

One thing I have come to know about this show is that it does need to be experienced from the beginning to fully appreciate. To a casual drop-in viewer, Dwight's antics and Michael's incompetence come across as absurd (see my above experience). You have to live with these characters to understand them, to care for them and understand their appeal. I think that's what was wrong when I saw my first episode. I had no background from which to gain context, so Michael and Dwight came off as stupid rather than funny. Now I've had a chance to see their layers and their actions make a lot more sense.

He's A Magic Man

Holy Cow!

Why do I find this guy amazingly sexy?

He is everything not what I normally imagine when I think of my "perfect guy."

First of all, he's openly gay. Not that I have any issue with homosexuality. But I'm a woman, so the preferring of the males kind of doesn't work for me so much.

Secondly, he's really embraced the whole goth/emo look, complete with black fingernail polish and guy-liner so thick he probably goes through more in one night than I have in my entire life. I've never been big on fingerless black leather gloves or jet-black hair dyed colors not found in nature. I've never been a big fan of any look that requires so darned much effort to affect. Give me a pair of faded Levis, a white tee shirt and a comfy gray hoodie any day of the week for pure honest sexiness. Same with the hair. If I have to fight my guy for the flatiron, something isn't right.

And if all that weren't enough "not my cuppa", the guy looks like he's rocking some ear gauges. I hate - HATE - ear gauges. Granted his aren't the inch-wide, disfiguring horrors they could be, and they are black and thus blend in with his hair. Still...ick.

He's not an alpha male, at least not in the traditional sense. He's a hard core theatre boi, as far from the special operator/firefighter/super spy/he-man manly man as any male could probably be. He's prettier than most women, and not in that masculine male-model way. He's androgyny personified.

So what is it about American Idol contestant Adam Lambert that has me glued to the screen whenever he's performing? I simply cannot look away. I'm mesmerized.

I find him to be walking, talking sex appeal on a stick. He's a gay man who makes straight women want to do very wrong things. He's the antidote to vanilla. He's the thing that entices you into the dark and keeps you coming back for more. He's Spike. He's that boy your mama warned you about but you just can't stay away from.

And I have absolutely no idea why this is. Really.

I do know that I'm not the only one who has reacted to him this way. In last night's critique of his performance, Kara DioGuardi told Adam that he made her feel "confused, but happy." I'm so on board with this. Completely.

Or, as recapper Jacob put it in his latest AI recap on TWoP:

"It is... I hate this, because he makes me talk like Paula because people words don't work for things that are essentially otherworldly, so every week it's difficult to describe without resorting to these weird labored metaphors. So -- beyond saying that the Jeff Buckley vocal resemblance gets stronger every week and somebody needs to mention that already -- like... It's sort of like what if that movie Queen Of The Damned were not only real, but interested in slipping you a roofie and selling you on the black market. He screeches out some kind of artsy orgasm and nearly pulls his shirt up over his head, and then just starts wailing like some forgotten homosexual Greek myth about sailors that never come home. It's... Totally awesome. Of course. I feel weird and crazy, and entertained. Those sudden register shifts used to freak me out with Jeff Buckley too, like, "And now I am a lady... And now I am a dude again." I can't imagine how uncomfortable that must have been for lots and lots of people."

There just aren't the right kind of words out there to describe what goes through my head when Adam performs. It's beyond me.

I can identify one undeniable aspect of his appeal, at least as far as I go. Adam simply oozes confidence. He knows who he is, what he is, what he wants to be, and he makes zero apologies to anyone for any of it. I think confidence is the sexiest trait a man can have, and Adam has it in spades. When he's on it, he owns the stage.

I admit, Adam is an extremely polarizing performer. You pretty much either love him (!) or hate him. You get him or you don't. Unfortunately, from what I've garnered on various message boards and via various Idol reviews, getting him/liking him or not is much dependent on where you stand in general conservativeness or liberalness. Seems like the Obama supporters are on board whereas the McCain/Pallin cheer team simply doesn't get him. I think you have to have a pretty wide open mind in order to appreciate the experience that is Adam Lambert.

You can check out the video of his performance last night here. Check out the rest of his videos if you want to see if you, too, will fall victim to Adam's brand of magic.

Should Be a Four Letter Word

There are a few words in the English language that I cannot stand to hear spoken. One of those words is a racial slur, and two others are slang for parts of the female anatomy. Honestly, I hear those words and my skin crawls and I want to find a hole to hide in.

But now there is another word that causes me to cringe when I hear it used in a particular context - cougar.

I'm talking about cougar when defined as: a woman, usually over the age of 35, who seeks out the sexual attention of men who are younger than she is, usually in their early-to-mid twenties.

Basically, cougar as it is used to describe the female version of a dirty old man.

The local radio station that I listen to recently ran a gag wherein they were sponsoring a "cougar" party, stocking the event with young guys and inviting self-proclaimed or wannabe cougars to call in and win chances to attend. The radio station would play a snarling cougar sound byte as part of the promo, and every single time I heard that sound, I had to turn the station.

I have no idea why this irritates me so much. Maybe it's because I'm over 35 and the idea of anyone thinking of me as a cougar humiliates me. I do appreciate the pleasing face and form of a young, physically fit male, but I'm in no way on the prowl. In my world, cougar is far from a compliment.

Too, I can't get out of my head the stereotypical image of a middle aged woman, face painted with layers of makeup, body stuffed into lycra pants and a gaudy beaded top, cruising the bars looking to score. This is just as bad as the depiction of some balding middle aged guy cruising college campuses in his mid-life crisis vehicle, looking to score some young ass. Ick on so many levels.

I guess I also have issue with what I perceive is certain amount of desperation being turned into some kind of joke. I'm sure there are many cougars out there who love their lives, are happy with their choices, and are very proud of their ability (after a certain age) to attract the attention of younger men. But for me, the word cougar denotes a certain amount of desperation and neediness - that these women must have the attention of younger (and presumably attractive) men in order to validate themselves. If this is the case, why is it okay to make that into a joke? Nobody thinks it's okay to be a dirty old man. And certainly no radio station I know of would consider sponsoring a "Dirty Old Man" event wherein men over the age of 35 or 40 are encouraged to call in so that they can win a chance to attend a party stocked full of women in their early twenties.

Of course, my pity is probably unwarranted. These cougars are probably having the greatest sex possible and should be the subjects of envy. Somehow, though, I can't manage that reaction.

I'm not a fan of extreme May/December romances, which I admit is totally unreasonable. No reason an older woman can't or shouldn't find love and happiness with a younger man. But I've figured out why I have a problem with it - I can't manage to get rid of the cougar factor.

This Is Good Writing?

Holy cow. Ever have one of those reading experiences that leaves you wondering in complete bafflement why in the world that particular book ever got published?

I'm not talking having a problem with the plot being full of holes or the characters acting TSTL. I'm talking about the writing just being so bad that you can't believe that this is what passes for publishable writing?

Over the weekend I tackled my To Be Read pile, which has begun to take over my house. I realized there are really a lot of books that I own that I'm just dying to read, and I need to get busy. So I grabbed a YA title off the top of the pile and crawled into bed an hour early.

After the first chapter, I was left shaking my head over the narrative voice, which was so scattered that it made buckshot look like a laser beam. The story was told in the first person, so I can handle some amount of stream-of-consciousness flow. But this was so out there, all I could think was that the narrator - a young, 15 year old girl - must be afflicted with schizophrenia. The dialog was equally random, with non sequiturs so abundant I wondered if parts of the text had gotten deleted from the file used to create the printing press plates.

Then there were the type Os that somehow squeaked past copy editing. In a book of 80,000 plus words, you've got to expect the occasional missed type O. But I found six - SIX! - within the first two chapters alone. And these are ones that jumped out at me. I wasn't looking for them with a fine toothed comb. Some copy editor out there is highly overpaid.

But what really got me was just how bad the writing was. I mean, it was just bad. It reminded me of a rough draft, where a writer just brain dumps the story with the intention of going back and fixing sentences to avoid duplication of words (within the same sentence!) and make things less awkward wording-wise. But in this case, that second (or third or fourth) pass was never done, and the book reads like a very amateur offering.

I'm not discussing this to rant about my disappointment over the book. More, I'm just a bit confused and frustrated that something like this got published in the first place. For the past five years, I've paid a lot of attention to the publishing process, following with keen interest the anecdotes and advice offered by published writers of all different success levels as well as editors and other publishing professionals. And the the one issue that always comes up first is how competitive the industry is and how good you have to be to make it to the top of the pile.

But then I read something like this and I have to wonder that if THIS is what represents something someone in the publishing industry considers good writing, what is going on?

When people don't like a book because of story or character, you don't necessarily need to wonder what the editor/publisher was thinking for printing it. If the writing is good, then other aspects are subjective enough to believe the decisions were a matter of taste. But when the writing itself is bad - so bad that you can't get over it to even see the story or characters - what is the answer to the question of why this particular writer is considered "good enough" to be published? I just don't get it.

Because this book is a YA title, I had the scary suspicion that no one thinks it needs to be any better that it is, given the target audience. It's okay to print crap because the only people who read this stuff anyway are teenage girls. How discouraging that idea is.

I couldn't stomach this book enough to finish it, so I started to toss it in the bag to be taken to the used book store, only to pause thinking that maybe my daughter would want to read it in a couple of years. But heck if I want her to read this tripe. Into the bag it goes.

But here's the real WTF moment for me. Wondering if anyone else out there (everyone else!) agreed with my assessment of this book, I went searching for some online reviews. I was horrified - All About Romance gave this title a B-, and one YA review site simply raved about how great this book was.

Am I really that off base? I am not a literary snob by any means. My standards are not uber high. This was really, really bad. I would love to post excerpts here and gather other opinions, but that's a douchey thing to do. Darn it.

A Hard Stop

I had this great idea for a story. It was loosely based on a classic about three sisters (as in, same basic plot arc but with a lot of changes to specifics and situations). One of the sisters - the youngest - didn't actually have much of a story in the original. But I determined that all three ladies would get equal time in my story, so I went about arcing something interesting for her.

But then something unexpected happened. I found myself way more intrigued by the littlest sister's story than the other two sisters'. I got more excited when writing about her, and the scenes I needed to write for the older girls became chore-like.

In addition, this young lady's antagonist began to develop a personality and a voice all his own. Originally I sometimes wrote out scenes from his POV, both because it helped me fill in some things, let me explore why this guy acted the way he did, and, well, I kind of like him a lot and love to spend time with him. I'm finding those throwaway scenes are some of my favorites, and relegating them to my "Little Darlings" file is really unappealing.

All of the sudden, my story has gone from a three POVs to four.

So now I'm faced with a dilemma. I feel like I should let go of my original idea. Cut the two older sisters loose and focus on the youngest. She's far more original, and I like her best of the three.

Except, when I originally concepted the story, the three individual sisters' plots intertwined. What happened to one sister affected the actions of the other sisters, which in turn moved their plots forward. If I cut out the two older sisters, some of the younger sister's story wouldn't happen.

Too, the younger sister's personality was formed by being the youngest of three girls. She fits into a particular slot in her family, and the ways she's differentiated herself from her two older siblings makes her a lot of what she is. If all of the sudden she is sister-less, she changes fundamentally.

I could shove the two older sisters deep into the background. Flesh out only what I need to have fleshed out in order to keep the plot intact. But part of me kind of misses the thought of writing the older sisters' stories, at least at some later date.

Ideally, I'd write three books - one from each sister's POV. Their stories would happen simultaneously, which is where it all falls apart. Any sense of anticipation would be nonexistent, because in reading one sister's story, you'd know what happens to the other two.

Grrr.

I may have to poke around this one for a while longer.

The Things I Know

Yesterday my husband looked over my shoulder at the website I currently had open on my laptop.

"Why are you reading about jellyfish?" he asked.

"I need to know how to treat a jellyfish sting," I replied.

A moment of silence while he processed this. "Is there something I should know about?"

"Nope."

This got me to thinking about all the obscure things I now know or know how to do because of writing.

For example, in addition to offering first aid for a jellyfish sting, I can:

• Start a fire with a flashlight.

• Name all of the runes in the Elder Futhark and their general meanings

• Discuss in disturbing detail the various ways of collecting horse semen for use in artificial insemination

• Identify which plants and herbs would have made a good hair dye in late sixteenth century colonial America

• Explain the process a juvenile delinquent would follow if he were to commit a crime in the UK

• Spew obscenities in eight different languages (well, three of these are variations of English but they count)

• Tell you what drugs to add to a cup of tea to render the drinker unconscious

• Find a great topless beach in Maui

• Take photos in the dark, without using flash so as to not give yourself away

If I get nothing else out of writing, at least I'm gaining an interesting education.

Top Romantic Scenes Cliche

I'm sure this is far from original, but since I love this in any form, I'm going for it any way.

In honor of Valentine's Day, I'd like to share my all time favorite movie and TV love (and kiss) scenes. In no particular order:


1. The final scene from An Officer and a Gentleman. This may have to be the defining Romantic Movie Scene of all time. I mean, who isn't moved by the sight of Richard Gere in his military whites, rescuing Debra Winger from a dreary future in the paper factory when he whisks her literally off her feet and carries her towards the adventures they will share together? Not to mention the movie's quintessential love can heal even the most damaged soul theme. Any one who doesn't melt over this has no soul.


2. The moment when best friends Watts (Mary Stuart Masterson) and Keith (Eric Stoltz) share a "practice" kiss in the movie Some Kind of Wonderful. Neither one of them expects the way the kiss affects them, and it's so clear to us, the viewers, that these two share something way more than friendship. The ending of the movie runs a close second (so I've linked it because I love it!), but this is one of my all time favorite movie kisses.




3. This is a quickie but quite possibly the best example of Finally Resolved Sexual Tension ever presented on TV. It's the kiss between The West Wing's Josh (Bradley Whitford) and Donna (Janel Moloney) in Season 7's "The Cold" episode. For six and a half long seasons, loyal viewers (and Donna/Josh shippers) had been longing for this. The payoff was well worth the wait. It also proved the perfect example of how to drag UST on and on without frustrating viewers.


4. The next two examples are beautiful because of the tragedy they present. Any fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer knows why Buffy and her soul mate Angel can't be together. But it isn't until the episode "I Will Remember You," in Season 1 of Angel, when Angel is made human and the two have a chance to experience what life could be like, that the true sadness of the situation comes to light. In this scene, Buffy and Angel realize that they can never be together, and not only is their future taken from them, but the one glorious day they spent together will also be lost to Buffy when her memory is stripped. Too, Angel must live the rest of eternity knowing how good he almost had it. This scene breaks your heart.



5. The next scene is kind of an obscure choice. It's the last scene from the movie Green Card. Now, generally I'm not a big fan of Andie MacDowell (that rain scene with Hugh Grant in Four Weddings and a Funeral was god awful), and Gérard Depardieu has to be the homeliest romantic hero I've ever encountered. But the moment when his character George kisses uptight Bronte for the final time, the look on his face is one of pure torment. At last he's obtained the love of this prickly woman, only to face immediate deportation. I remember watching this movie with my father, and looking at him with dismay at the end of it, wondering WTF?! For nearly two hours we watch these two people fight and then fall in love, only to have them separated at the end? But upon rewatching, I realized that their separation is far from final. She can always join him in France. Even so, there is a bittersweetness in these moments between them that is pure romance.



6. This one is just hot. H.O.T. I stopped watching Lost after the second season and haven't managed to pick it back up again to find out how the romance between Kate and Sawyer (and Jack) is progressing. But when Kate and Sawyer turned to each other and sex as a way to find comfort in a hopeless situation, you couldn't help but swoon. Forget that they are dirty and most likely smelly, and that they are basically in zoo cages on display for one and all to watch. This one is steamy.


7. Okay, this needs a disclaimer. This is romantic in the sweetest, most innocent way possible. In the live action remake of Peter Pan, I finally understood the relationship between Peter and Wendy. The tension between the allure of remaining a child forever, and the irresistible pull of growing up. When Wendy gives her first "hidden" kiss to Peter, it is simply wonderful in that way that all first kisses are.

I couldn't find a clip to embed directly, but you can check out the scene here.

8. I'm not sure if this ranks as most romantic, but it is by far one of the most passionate, desperate kisses I've ever seen portrayed in the movies. The tragedy of Brokeback Mountain was in how two people so obviously meant to be together had to hide every emotion they had toward each other. But sometimes, the feelings were so strong they couldn't be denied. After four years apart, Ennis Delmar simply can't help himself when he sees Jack Twist, and the result is explosive, almost violent.


9. I think only about a thousand or so people will understand the hotness of the following scene since probably only that many were ever fans of the short lived series, Men in Trees. But the heat between Marin (Anne Heche) and Jack (James Tupper) was obvious from the first second the two met in a bar in Elmo, Alaska. It takes a heat wave for them to finally act on it. But when they finally do, dang, the screen is on fire! Jack is a guy of very few words, but the look on his face is fierce enough to say it all. Sorry for the poor vid quality, but this show is yet to be put on DVD, so there isn't much out there.

10. Maybe not romantic, per se, but definitely hot. When Annie (Susan Sarandon) and Crash (Kevin Costner) finally get together in Bull Durham, it's a match made in heaven. And who doesn't love a man as confident as Crash? I tell you, cornflakes never looked so good.



I have a lot of ideas for more, but I'm having problems linking vids. Seems everyone wants to use movie clips to make music videos rather than posting them pure. Anyway, here's some runner up scenes:

The love scene in the library, between Kiera Knightly and James McAvoy in Atonement. Whoa.

Any scene where Keanu Reeves is kissing the heroine. He is quite possibly the best on-screen kisser out there.

The reunion seen between Jude Law's Inman and Nicole Kidman's Ada in Cold Mountain. I can't bear to watch the entire film again, but I could watch this love scene over and over...

Isn't love grand? Happy Valentine's Day.

Living, Breathing Fake People

Any writer who goes about things through her characters is well familiar with the notion that fictional characters become almost real to those of us who conceive them and spend inordinate amounts of time thinking about them and then writing about them. These people who are nothing more than figments of our imagination become as real to us as people we know who actually move and breathe, even if we keep this little fact to ourselves. We can hear voices, imagine what a character will do in a given situation, even attribute a runaway plot to a character who isn't doing what we expected him or her to do.

But in the interest of creating three-dimensional characters who are able to engage a reader and draw them into the story, I have to wonder when a writer has gone too far. When the character becomes a little too real.

I'm sure each writer has his or her own particular line.

I have an entire village worth of characters who populate my brain, each person as unique and familiar to me as my own family members. And I've done some crazy things in my efforts to get to know the ins and outs of these folks.

I've interviewed my characters. Inserted myself into a scene, asked questions like a reporter and responded to the answers I was given, just as if I were as fictional as my character. I find this is a great way to fine-tune my character's voice. It also helps me dig deep, to follow threads that reveal motivation and deep seated feelings I'd never before considered. I have a lot of fun with this, and often it threatens to take over the actual writing of the story.

I've heard a song on the radio and thought about whether or not a particular character would like it. More often, I hear a song and think how much it suits a particular character or his/her situation. Usually the songs ends up on a playlist.

I've cruised through catalogs - on-line - looking for clothes I can imagine my characters wearing or the way I imagine their rooms might look.

I've come up with elaborate family trees.

I've created dossiers, complete with photos. Someday, I think these would be fun extras on a website for the published books. Hey, they did it with the James Bond movies.

I've filled out form after form, answered questionnaires and taken personality tests as my characters, and even explored their horoscopes, looking for tiny clues about what makes them tick.

I've sprayed cologne from the testers at the cosmetics counter onto a piece of paper or tissue and sealed it in a baggy so I can recapture the way I think a particular character smells. I think this was probably the closest to my personal limits line that I've ever gotten.

Things I've never done:

I've never bought an item for a character because I thought he or she would wear it/like it/want it. I did once buy a bayberry-scented candle because one of my characters used bayberry soap, and I wanted to check to make sure I liked the smell. I excused this by calling it research.

I've never accidentally called someone in my real life by a character's name.

I've never allowed my characters to actually interact with real people as if they were living humans themselves, a la the Brotherhood vampires on JR Ward's Black Dagger website.

I've never celebrated a fictional character's fictional birthday.

I've never let a character hijack my story. Sure, they may have introduced a tangent or two that I'd never thought about, but I've never had a problem with misbehaviour or downright mutiny.

In the end, however a writer goes about making her characters as real as they can be, the ultimate test is conveying that to the reader. Whatever gimmicks are necessary, I say go for it.

Oh, Man. Why'd She Have to Go and Do That?

I know that writers are only human. They have limits, just like the rest of us, and when those limits are pushed, they break. And because of the public nature of their chosen profession, when a writer experiences one of these messy implosions, it is witnessed by many. Complete strangers can then poke their noses into the fray, commenting and inciting and generally stirring up trouble. Pretty soon, a full-blown broohaha has erupted and there's no telling what the aftermath might bring.

This reality sucks, but as they say in the truck driving industry, them's the brakes.

I've remarked before of when I thought a writer reacted poorly to extreme amounts of criticism heaped upon her lastest bit of genius. Now I'm sad to see that one of my all time favorite writers, Suzanne Brockmann, has fallen victim to too much criticism. Because that's the only thing I can imagine would cause her to go so completely out of line.

It seems that too many readers have taken exception to Brockmann's latest, Dark of Night, in which the couple that many had assumed would find their HEA did not, in fact, end up together. (Instead, Sophie and Decker found their happinesses with others.) Many readers who had been following their saga over the course of many books were. not. happy. And as unhappy readers will do, they've launched into five hundred verses of "Your book sucks" in such a way that Brockmann apparently couldn't tune out the noise.

A sidebar: I, myself, had no problem with the way things ended up. I wasn't so invested in these characters that I had any issue with the ultimate pairings that occurred in DON. I had some other issues with DON, but nothing that would cause me to hate on Brockmann publicly.

Anyway, it seems that Brockmann's tolerance for the vocal complaints against DON reached the boiling point at a fairly low temperature, and she shifted into Fangirls Only mode on her message board, banning those who harshed on the book in any way. My thoughts on that - immature, a form of censorship, and an expression of a some level of egotism. BUT - it's her sandbox, and she can play with whomever she wants. I tend to avoid the MBs of writers because I find them very scary places.

Then, however, Brockmann took her frustrations to a more public playground, and now I can't ignore what I perceive is at the best, unprofessionalism and at the worst, behaviour that means I can no longer divorce the writer from the writing.

You can read the post yourself and formulate your own opinions. But what I took away from this, besides a sad realization that Brockmann really doesn't hold her readers in very high esteem (at least those of us who turn to the internet on a regular basis, romance sites specifically), is that she will assign any - ANY - dissatisfaction any person has with any of her writing as nothing less heinous than homophobia.

If you think the heroine acted TSTL? You must hate gay people. If you found the plot full of problems and holes? Closet homophobe. If you didn't think the main couple had any chemistry and were disappointed in how their relationship unfolded? Stupid homophobe. If you got clues out of her stories that led you to think one thing only to find things changed in ways you didn't understand? Stupid, ignorant homophobe.

My affront to this implication is kind of funny given I'm not in any way homophobic. My love for Jules Cassidy is complete, and I've always thought Brockmann a hero for the way she stood up for her son, risked her career by following a path that would turn most romance writers purple with fear, and has never once caved to the haters of the world. I should be able to say to myself that, given that I didn't hate DON and that I'm not anti-gay, her remarks did not apply to me.

Yet, I'm still insulted. Because she's refusing to own her work, warts and all. She's refusing to acknowledge that some people out there might have valid reasons for their disappointment. She's acting like the person who cries racism/sexism/xenophobia for every single problem they have ever experienced in life. She's painting herself as a victim of Evil People With an Ulterior Agenda. Because she now has an Excuse for why people don't like her stuff, she doesn't have to try very hard, does she? It's not her. It's everyone else.

Too, by painting everyone who disagrees with her with the same brush, she's showing herself to be the worst form of hypocrite. She decries those who judge people who are outside the mainstream (i.e., homosexual), yet she'll judge me (and other readers) simply because we disagree with her on some point. With her remarks, she has shown that she will reduce me from an intelligent person capable of forming thoughts and opinions based on my likes, dislikes, personal experiences, and multiple other factors to someone who is either A Fan or a A Homophobe based on my opinion of her latest book.

Real fair, that.

Now I'm in a quandry. Generally I'm capable of divorcing the writer from his or her writing. I can fully accept that not everyone holds the same beliefs that I do, and that to deny myself a good story because I might not think the same way politically as the writer is kind of stupid.

But in this instance, it's not a matter of different beliefs that gives me pause. Nor is it a matter of me not being able to enjoy the stories Brockmann tells, because this doesn't change the fact that she's a good writer. It's more a matter of not wanting to give my money to someone who will accuse me of homophobia if I fail to love every word that comes out of her word processor.

I have an issue when the writer reaches through the fourth wall and smacks me across the face.

ETA: I have since had time to reread the question/reply post that inspired all of this, and I do need to admit that Brockmann did not say that ALL of those who disliked or had issue with DON are probably homophobes. She did say that some might have issue with the book not because of the character pairing, plot or story issues, etc. but because they have issues with her personal politics. Some, not all. So in essence, my above rant is also in the extreme.

Even so, I do think this entire fiasco has brought out a side of an author that I'd rather have not seen.

Passing the Torch

I generally don't like TMI blog entries, but I kind of have to go there. Two days ago, my daughter announced to me that one of her friends just got her first period. I had given her the birds and bees basics several years back, but we hadn't really discussed any of the actual details in the when and whats of this particular woman-hood moment yet, because, frankly, it seems like it's kind of early for this. My daughter is only in the fifth grade, so she's just beginning the joy that is puberty. Lucky her. Anyway, I was a bit taken aback that she'd become so savvy right beneath my nose, gathered myself together before the surprise could show, and tried my hardest to be Cool Mom Whom You Can Always Go To For the Answers and She'll Give It to You Straight.

Turns out her big question is what she should do if this were to happen to her when she's at school. Should she go to the nurse? I downloaded my advice about what to do and reassured her that I didn't think she had much to worry about yet. She seemed satisfied and headed back to AIM, her lifeline to the world.

And I headed straight to the bookshelf where I have all of my YA keepers, those current and those from my past. I pulled out my battered, purple-covered copy of Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret, smiling to myself when I opened the front cover and saw where my mother had penned in my name - my maiden name - on the book's title page. I don't know how many times I had read that book when I was in the fifth and sixth grade. Perhaps close to a hundred. But at long last, I was going to pass down a real part of my own history to my child, thrilled that this would be one growing up experience we would have in common.

I headed back downstairs and handed the book to my daughter, telling her I thought she might enjoy reading this particular story. She glanced at it, tossed it on her desk and said "Thanks" then headed back to the computer. The book hasn't moved an inch in two days.

Hmmm.

I don't know what I was expecting. First of all, my daughter's reading tastes are all over the place, but she has a surprising predilection for fantasy and the books that tend to win children's literature awards like the Rebecca Caudill Award. No biggie, cause she also reads the Clique books and is dying to jump into Twilight, so I know she's capable of enjoying mind candy like the rest of us. Plus, when you read the blurb on the back of AYTGIMM, it somewhat misleads you to think that the book is all about God and religion rather than training bras and getting your period. And there is the fact that I'm her mother and everyone knows that reading something your mother thinks you should read is going to turn out about as well as dating someone your mother thinks you should date. She's well practiced at eye rolling whenever I mention how cute little So-and-So is growing up to be and that she should be nice to him...

Even so, I guess I was hoping she'd grab the book from my hands, plop down on her bed and immediately dig in. Does she have any idea at all how good that book is? How much it influenced me when I was her age? She has no clue what she's missing!

I thought, maybe if I go to the book store and pick up a copy with a cover far less dated than my circa 1978 version she'd be more receptive. But I've vowed to cut back on frivolous spending, and I think this applies. Too, there's a good possibility that AYTGIMM is included in a Judy Blume collection bound into one volume I picked up at some point on some bargain table. I just need to get off my butt and go check. Regardless of the format, there's the chance she just won't be interested.

So I'm just going to ask her casually now and again if she's had a chance to look it over. Obviously I can't force her to read it. Or can I? No. Really. And even if she does, I can't guarantee that she'll find it as life affirming as I had. This is one of those leading a horse and just hoping it's smart enough - in this case, intrigued enough - to drink.

This isn't the first time I've had to deal with one of my kids ignoring the fact that, indeed, I might have a clue. And given that we're heading into those teen years, I suppose I'd better get used to it.

Little sidebar: Did you know that AYTGIMM is one of the top 100 most frequently challenged (i.e. parents want it banned from school libraries) books, at least according to Wikipedia? Wow. Who knew.

It Won't Leave Me Alone

I've come up against that old philosophical question - if a tree falls in the woods, and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?

Or, translated as it applies to me...if a story is written but no one reads it, was it worth writing?

I know a lot of writers claim that they began writing stories for themselves, writing stories they wanted to read without regard to the idea that maybe they'd someday want others to read them as well. I totally and completely get that. I think that's why most writers are first inspired to write - they have a need for a story to be told that no one has yet managed in the precise way they want it. You read a story and are dissatisfied with how it was executed, how it unraveled, how it ended, how one or more of the characters are portrayed, or any combination of factors. So you attempt a rewrite of sorts. Enter the realm of things such as fanfiction. And fantasy football.

Sure, maybe you invent new characters or new scenarios rather than borrowing someone else's, but in some way you are trying to meet a need that you have that hasn't been met by anything you've encountered to date. Truly, I would wonder that if there was a way to catalog every single story ever told by humankind in such a way that a person could easily access the data, no one would ever need to write anything because someone somewhere probably wrote the very story they were looking for.

So you write the story you want to read, and even if it's utter crap, you smile when you read it again because it's the story as you thought it should go. Good enough. And for many, that's plenty. They tuck their notebooks or their computer files in a neat little box and pull them out for a grin time and again, quite satisfied.

But the rub comes when the itch to write the story for yourself grows and starts to climb the garden walls. All of the sudden, you as the sole audience member isn't enough.

And I'm wondering why this is and what makes this happen and who becomes subject to this?

For example - I've confessed before to dabbling in fanfic. Not going into the rightness vs. wrongness of fanfic here or now, suffice it to say that I think fanfic is the perfect training vehicle for newbie writers, and I owe a lot of my learning curve to that questionable genre.

Of late, I've got an itchin' to write a fanfic. A couple of reasons - it's a good place for me to loosen up my writing muscles when I'm stuck on my own stuff. I love the characters and the world already created and want to play with those toys. Like getting some new Barbies or Legos. And mostly...there is a story that I'd like to be told involving these particular characters and this particular world that hasn't yet been told the way I want it to be told. So it's a matter of, if you want something done, you have to do it yourself.

Given these above reasons, I should be able to write up my little fanfic, save it on my hard drive, and pull it out every once in a while when I want a smile (the story I wanted is right here!) or a laugh (gads, what awful writing) or an exercise (how can I make this better?). No need to share this with anyone, right? I can't make money off it. I can't convert it to my own stuff because it's very specific in terms of premise, characters, setting, etc. For all intents and purposes, it's useful as nothing more than a pleasant hobby, a way to spend a rainy afternoon. And there is nothing wrong with that.

But something in the back of my brain keeps tugging at me. It keeps asking the question, if I'm not going to show this to anyone else, why bother writing it up at all? Why not just let it linger in my imagination, where it's all perfect and flexible and instantly accessible? Why do the words need to be on the paper if no one will ever see them?

What's the point?

I know I've already said that it's good exercise of craft, so I could use that as an excuse. But, heck, if I'm going to do that, I might as well work on my own stuff. But I want to write this story. I want to read this story.

In fact, I keep trying to push the dang thing out of my mind. Heck, it's kind of clichéd as far as this particular fandom goes, so this story has probably already been written. A couple thousand times. I'd be embarrassed to put it out there in the cyber world only to have a bunch of hardcore fans ream my butt up and down about how unoriginal I am and how so-and-so already did this and a billion times better. I'm so not looking for abuse, or even, honestly, feedback of any sort.

But I still can't stop wanting to tell this story. I still can't stop thinking of scenes and hearing dialog in my head and imagining the climax and all of the fall out and the angst, picturing in my head the way the movie reel looks, the music playing in the background...the dang thing won't leave me alone. I'm haunted.

So I suppose I could write my story and post it on LiveJournal or someplace similar with the intention that if anyone stumbles across it, whatever. It's out there, but I have no intention of advertising that fact.

Why couldn't my passion be something simple? Like juggling chainsaws.

Not As Outraged As I Probably Should Be

I didn't watch the Superbowl (couldn't have cared less who won), not even tempted by the idea of the hysterical ads. This morning, however, I did cruise through the "Best and Worst" as judged by Entertainment Weekly. My favorites are the E*Trade babies, Doritos Crystal Ball and the Monster Moose Head ad. I laughed out loud, big time. (You can find links to all of these via the EW link since I haven't mastered embedding HuLu or YouTube vids yet.)

And, okay, this becomes a true confession moment because of all of the broohaha I've since discovered in the various blogs I hop through daily, but I laughed a lot at the Telaflora Boxed Flowers ad. I found it a riot. The look on the woman's face as the ugly tulips spouted snark in her face. The ending when, after the flowers told her that no one wanted to see her naked, the geeky guy begins "I'd like to see you..." and she stops him cold. I thought the thing was a scream.

But, I guess I'm in a teeny tiny minority. SmartBitches has pulled no punches in calling Teleflora on their shit, and the commentors over that way are up in arms. Others have blogged and polled, and it seems many women find the ad insulting at the least, downright misogynistic at worst. Wow.

At the risk of bringing down the wrath of the she-gods, I think maybe people are over-reacting just a tiny, wee bit. I honestly and truly don't believe that the ad writers and Teleflora intended to insult women with this ad. I think their message - and the one that I walked away with initially - is that in sending boxed flowers, you run the risk of sending the wrong message because you just never know what you're going to get when the flowers arrive. Presumably, with Teleflora, you can be sure that the message you are sending is one of love and joy and cute cuddly kittens because the flowers are delivered by a really hot delivery guy live human who would never let dead, wimpy flowers give your intended recipient the wrong impression.

This isn't to say the the ad writers didn't, perhaps, take the wrong tack in promoting their ad message by going to such extremes in the insults their flowers spewed at that poor, unsuspecting woman. I, personally, caught the slam against romance readers (as in "go home to your romance novels" = "ugly, lame, stupid and desperate women read romances" = this is a huge insult), as well as cat lovers. I was insulted by this remark, but by now I'm pretty much used to the propensity of the media (read: the majority of the western world) to use romance novels and romance readers as shorthand for the lowest possible level of culture, artistic expression and taste. Rather than getting my panties in a twist, though, it made me disgusted that supposedly talented ad writers in some supposedly successful advertising firm are being paid supposedly real money for being unoriginal and cliché. Boo hiss.

I, personally, find the booze ads with skimpily-clad bimbos being ogled by horn-dog men far more insulting to my gender. In fact, I find those ads insulting to both men and women - to the latter because it so completely reduces women to nothing more than a pleasing compilation of body parts and to the former by implying that they are incapable of being communicated to in any way other than via their penises (peni?). I often ask my husband if he isn't insulted by ads that use nearly-naked women to try to sell him something, implying that he is incapable of making decisions with his Big Brain instead of his Little Brain. He usually tells me to get out of the way, I'm blocking the TV screen.

I'm sure Teleflora is going to get a slew of hate directed their way for a while. I myself thought briefly of penning a "I'm a romance reader and damn proud AND a purchaser of flowers who will be avoiding you intentionally in the future" e-mail, but then I figured, why waste the energy. I'm simply not that offended, and I consider the source. Like Meljean Brook pointed out in one of the comments on one of the blogs, these flowers are supposed to be asshole flowers, thus implying that only assholes would say such a thing. True, that.

Plus, truth be told, I don't give Teleflora any business anyway since I always Google a local florist in the town where the flowers are going in order to avoid all of those fees tacked on by large-scale, nationally based florists.

And I would ask those of us (me included) who are blogging about this, aren't we, in our vocal outrage, actually helping this company by giving this ad legs? We are giving so much word of mouth weight to this that what might have been a vaguely remembered Super Bowl ad is now becoming a Hot Topic. I probably couldn't have named the company responsible for the ad had this been No Big Deal, but now, forever, when I think of florists the name "Teleflora" will be one that pops to mind. And that's the true purpose of advertising - to make buyers aware of your brand so that when it comes time to fork over the cash, they turn to you.

But, dang, can I tell you how psyched I am to see the Star Trek movie now?

Super-Unnatural

I've recently become hooked on the TV show Supernatural. Hooked as in, I've watched two seasons on DVD over the course of a week, am waiting very impatiently by the mailbox for my Season 3 DVDs to arrive, and have downloaded Season 4 episodes off iTunes so I can catch up to what's currently airing each week on The CW. Never let it be said that I don't dive in fully committed.

This show is custom built to suck me in. Two tormented brothers, played by two hot young actors, traveling the country protecting every day folks from things that go bump in the night. Loads of angst and self-torment, underdog heroes. Even a cool 1967 black Chevy Impala. What's not to love?

And as I do when something captures my fancy, I turn to the internet for more. People who share the same passion and want to talk about it ad nauseam when the live humans in my life have absolutely no interest. Maybe a fanfic or two to indulge my need to explore outside the official canon box. However, when you dip your toe into the waters of fandom, you often find the depth is way - WAY - over your head.

Case in point: I've learned a new word. Wincest. And I have to admit, it's quite disturbing.

To those who watch the show, the meaning is self-explanatory. You know what I'm talking about. Wink. Wink. To non-believers, I'll try to explain without actually saying the words. The brothers' last name is Winchester. They are both gorgeous, healthy, strapping young men. They hang out with each other all the time. Pretty much exclusively. Alone. In a state of constant tension due to their demon-chasing work. One thing leading to another...Wincest.

And yes, major big time ick.

I found this blog entry that really sums up my feelings about Wincest pretty accurately. I can completely understand how such a concept came to be. I am no prude, and Queer As Folk showed me in living color how utterly hot man on man action can be if they are the right men (hello, Brian and Justin, that would be you). It's not the boy on boy aspect of Wincest that stops me cold. It's the brother on brother.

Incest is probably the most universally taboo social construct known to mankind, bar none. I know of not one group of peoples on the planet who accepts sibling on sibling action when the siblings share real genetic material, aka one or more parents. Even beyond the social, there are biological imperatives that give good reason it is forbidden.

So while I understand why fans might be drawn to the idea of Sam and Dean hooking up, I just can't jump on board that crazy train. I have no interest in going there. I don't mind if you torture my favorite characters, drag them to and through Hell and back again, break them, separate them, twist them up and wring them out. Just don't go there.

Because...ew.

Unbelievable

So, this week America entered a new era of hope, and it is a very good thing. We've entered the 21st century at long last.

But then I read something like this, a blog post in which I learn that some people in this country simply have no clue what the word "freedom" really means, and I shake my head in disbelief.

It appears that at some elderly care facility in this great country of ours, one prudish, repressed old prune is taking it upon her/himself to determine what kind of reading material the rest of the residents may read. S/he is sorting through books donated by well-meaning citizens and removing those s/he believes are inappropriate and tossing those into the garbage bin.

Wait a minute? WTF!?


First, for any one person to honestly grant themselves such authority to make such decisions on behalf of anyone else is arrogance and narcissism to the nth degree. Who the hell does this person think s/he is? Who made her/him King of Everything? Was there an election?

Secondly, for anyone to think that people who've lived long, experienced lives might not have the ability to determine for themselves what they find appropriate and inappropriate reading material is mind-numbing.

And if the insult to these senior residents - people who have already had so many of life's freedoms denied to them by virtue of their physical and/or mental deterioration - is not enough, how dare this person take yet another choice from them? This person is stealing something from these people just the same as if s/he went into their closets and walked out with their things. Disgusting!

Much blame needs to be laid at the feet of the resident home's administrator who is so spineless as to be unable to stand up to possible complaints that she allows this to happen. She is permitting the desires of one to dictate the choices of all. Not very Spock-like, to be sure.

I think the solution to such blatant and horrifying censorship is exposure. People need to be aware of what is happening in this place. Families of those who live there need to know that their loved ones are being denied something without any choice in the matter. If I discovered that my 97 year old grandmother lived in such a home, I would be calling my congressman about the situation, writing every newspaper in print, and bitching to the high heavens until something changed. This is not acceptable. I'm so outraged, that I'm itching to write a letter to this particular place and I have absolutely no connection with it whatsoever.

Too, if I determined that my donation of books would best serve this particular community, and I took the time and effort to take my books there and my donation was accepted, I would be beyond livid to learn that they were disposed of at a later date and without my knowledge. This is a fraud. At the very least, donors deserved a phone call telling them that all of their books were not going to be used, and would they like to retrieve them. We are trying to keep books out of landfills.

So, yeah, I'm pissed. Because this is wrong. On oh so many levels, this is just wrong.

It's Back and Better Than Ever

I have DirecTV, so I've been lucky enough to get to watch Season 3 of Friday Night Lights. My love of the show is no secret. It is, without a doubt, the best TV show I've ever watched (and I say this feeling slightly guilty due to my absolute adoration of Burn Notice, but they are different enough that it's apples to oranges, and I love both). Even Season 2, which disappointed many fans because it veered too far off into traditional TV melodrama land, was better than anything on TV then or now. I can say, as a person who has been invested in this show since Day 1, Episode 1, that Season 3 is as close to perfection as possible. If FNL doesn't get picked up for a fourth season (shame on you, NBC, if you wimp out on us!!), I will at least feel satisfied at the way things ended.

This Friday, NBC will begin airing Season 3. (You can catch a preview of Episode 301 if you don't want to wait that long.) I will be both watching the episodes as they air and re-DVRing them. If you are a fan of this show, please press your friends and family members to jump on our bandwagon. We need to save this gem.

If you've never watched the show, I implore you to give it a try. While any show is best viewed from the beginning, IMHO, you can pick up at the beginning of Season 3 without missing a beat. Because this show doesn't rely on soap opera-like continuing dramas and hyped up cliffhangers, it's not necessary to know every character's backstory in order to become intrigued and completely hooked. I refer you to an excellent post at Zap2It, where she not only cheerleads for the show but offers a tiny catch-up synopsis that is quite sufficient to prepare any non-viewer.

Really, if I can get two new fans of this show, I will be happy. Even more and I will be ecstatic.

Watch it. You won't regret it. I promise.

What Are They Thinking?

I know that these decisions are made by many smart business men and women with MBAs up the ying yang who know a heck a lot more about marketing and retail store placement than I do (despite my BS in Marketing/Advertising), but I just have to ask. What the hell are the Barnes and Noble Powers That Be thinking?

They are moving all the freestanding stores to the mall. And these examples don't include my local B&N's recent move across the street to Oak Brook mall or the move scheduled in April by the B&N where my mother has worked for ten years to the mall a mile down the road. Everywhere I go, the cozy little all-by-itself B&N store has shut its doors in favor of the behemoth mall version close by.

Now, I'm sure this decision to do away with freestanding B&N stores in favor of attaching themselves to the new "shopping campuses" that are growing off the ends of all the malls these days has something to do with increasing foot traffic. In theory, people who go to the mall to buy other things or even just to wander around aimlessly as a part of the time honored American tradition of shopping-as-entertainment, will hopefully meander into the handy-dandy B&N and pick up a title or two. I mean, hey, you have an hour or six to kill. Might as well spend your money on a book as the latest useless gadget from Sharper Image or $50 tank top from Abercrombie and Fitch, right?

Except, what about those of us who...god, don't strike me dead...hate the mall? Those of us who would rather spend a Saturday afternoon getting a root canal over the prospect of negotiating mall traffic, gangs of teens, and the limited seating at the Food Court? If I have to go to the mall because I need something I simply cannot find anywhere else or need faster than I can get by ordering online, I park by the pertinent store, make my purchase, and escape as quickly as possible.

I already feel sorry for my daughter as she enters those tween and teen years because this is one mom who hates to shop. I'll drop her off at the mall, but I won't be cruising it with her.

So having the only B&N outlet located at the mall means...I won't go there.

To be fair, I did give it a shot.

Our B&N moved on November 11th. Yesterday, I decided to check out the new store - at the mall. I figured things wouldn't be that bad at noon on a Tuesday, as compared to any time on a Saturday or Sunday. Shored up with false optimism, I gritted my teeth and entered the mall parking lot. And I drove up one lane, looking for a parking spot. And then down another lane. And then up a third lane. And back down the first lane. After ten minutes of looking - and I'd reduced my location requirements down to simply being within visual distance of the store - I finally settled on the only parking spot left. I sludged about a quarter mile through ice-rain and mush. By the time I actually arrived at the door, I was freezing, wet, and beyond irritated.

And you know what? Only about 1% of the owners of all of those cars were actually shopping at B&N. The rest were at one of the gazillion other mall stores.

Yes, the new building is gorgeous, with a beautiful atrium that will let in all kinds of natural light when the sun actually shines. It's got two stories, lots of check out counters, and a huge Starbucks cafe. It has a music and movie section (the old store was too small), and everything is fresh and new and shiny. It's lovely.

Know what? I don't care. I won't go there because parking is such a god awful headache. When I want a book - for myself or a gift or just to browse because that's how I perform my shopping-as-entertainment ritual - I want to go to the bookstore. I don't want to go to the mall.

So, I'm going to tell my mother to let my B&N membership lapse when it comes due for renewal. She always renews it for me for my birthday, and I love the savings I get which at the very least pay the sales tax. I won't be needing it anymore.

I'll do my book shopping either online at Amazon or at the Borders across the street from the mall.

The Borders that is large, with plenty of check out counters and an extremely sufficient non-Starbucks cafe. The Borders with a movie and a music section, the Borders that isn't quite as new and shiny but is neat and well organized and always has the books I'm looking for.

The Borders with its very own expansive parking lot where I never have a problem parking, even at Christmas time. Sure, when it's a busy time of year I may have to walk a few extra parking rows to get to the building, but at least I understand because my fellow parkers are shopping at the same store as I am. They aren't parking there so they can catch the Midnight Madness sale at Macy's with a quick stop by Auntie Anne's for a cinnamon sugar pretzel.

The Borders that isn't at the mall.

I sure hope that casual mall walker who may or may not drop in to maybe or maybe not buy a book is worth losing my guaranteed sale when I come looking with a purpose. Because I won't be there.

I wonder if those B&N business geniuses took the course that talked about the concept of a bird in the hand being worth two in the bush?

The Winner, Hands Down

I've seen all three. I've liked all three. But the winner, hands down, is Australia.

I enjoyed every single second of this movie. It's long, and it's full of cliches and archetype characters, including the mustache-twirling villain straight out of central casting. There really aren't any surprising plot twists, and you can pretty much predict what's going to happen from one moment to the next. I cried on cue, smiled on cue, sighed on cue.

But I don't care. This movie is pure crack for anyone who loves sweeping, epic love stories. It's a romance novel brought to the big screen.

To anyone not in the know, the story is pretty straight forward. Lady Sarah Ashley travels from England to Australia, where her husband runs a cattle station named Faraway Downs. When she gets there, she finds her husband has been murdered and the cattle station is in financial ruin. Her first plan is to sell the station and get right back home. But the station's corrupt and morally reprehensible manager pushes Lady Sarah's buttons, and she determines that she will see through the last cattle drive that could push the station back into the black.

She's helped by a cowboy known as The Drover. Sidebar to say, never in the entire 165 minutes of running time do we discover that this man's name is anything but The Drover. Together, Sarah and the Drover and a handful of ragtag station hands drive the cattle to Darwin. We meet a young half-white, half-Aboriginal boy named Nullah. Not only does Lady Sarah fall in love with the Drover, she also falls in love with Nullah. As did I. Because, dang, Hugh Jackman? And the boy, played by Brandon Walters, is as cute as all-get-out.

But things aren't so easy down under. The Drover is a wandering spirit who chafes at the idea of domestic permanence. After all, he's called The Drover, not Mow the Lawn Guy. And the Australian government has some sort of sadistic practice of taking half-caste children (half white/half black) away from their parents and sending them to mission orphanages where "the black is bred out of them". So Nullah is in constant danger of being snatched by the authorities.

Add to all of this the Japanese's impending attacks that everyone expects after the bombing of Pearl Harbor and getting to the HEA is not always a sure thing.

Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman are perfectly cast as The Drover and Lady Sarah Ashley. They had amazing chemistry together. In fact, my biggest complaint is that we didn't get to see near enough of them being in love. The movie is actually pretty chaste by today's standards. But I challenge any red-blooded hetero woman to deny that she seriously considered calling Qantas over the prospect that Australia is populated by men like Hugh Jackson/the Drover.

If you are in the mood to be told a wonderful story, I can't recommend this movie highly enough. The critics are claiming that it is far from original, but who the hell cares?

Twilight, the Movie

Well, the reviews for Twilight are pretty much as I expected. Rotten Tomatoes brings in a 44% fresh, which is the positive way of saying 56% rotten. But given the hype surrounding the movie which sets up a nearly unreachable bar, the fact that the story/movie is aimed at teenage girls who by default are given second class status as far as anything they like and value, and the truth that movie critics in general are cultural snobs, I'm not at all surprised by this.

I saw it this afternoon. I waited until the weekend rush was over, horrified by the prospect of sitting in a theater packed with teenage girls raised in the age when apparently public viewing venues differ from one's home only in the number of stalls in the bathroom given how much talking, texting, and general disregard for fellow movie viewers goes on. My patience was rewarded since I had the theater to myself save for a dozen other hold-outs, all of whom maintained both a respectful distance and a polite silence throughout the entire two hour film.

Before I share my thoughts about the movie, my Twilight pedigree. I bought Twilight shortly after the book came out, after reading some positive internet buzz and thinking it sounded like my kind of story. But I didn't read it right away. In fact, New Moon had already been released by the time I picked up my copy of the first book.

I admit it, I'm a mom of a certain age who fell absolutely in love with Bella and Edward's story as told in Twilight. I was ecstatic that I could immediately pick up the sequel because when I closed the cover of Twilight, I didn't want to leave that world behind.

New Moon was okay. Decent except that Edward was gone for so much of it. Not as good as Twilight, but it didn't suck. I waited (im)patiently for Eclipse, bought it as soon as possible after it was released, and dove in with great expectation. Sadly, it was then that the wheels fell off the bus. The characters I'd fallen in love with in Twilight had been replaced by doppelgangers of the worst sort, the soul-mates love story of Edward and Bella had been defiled, and I was left devastated that Meyer had taken such a tragically wrong turn with something I had loved so much.

It was with great - great - ambivalence that I purchased Breaking Dawn. I feared that I would hate it, but I longed for Meyer to make things right again in this last chapter of the story. Maybe BD would be so great, I could forget the mess that was Eclipse and view the whole thing as a trilogy with an unfortunate side trip into fantasy land.

I didn't even get all the way through Breaking Dawn.

So, I'm a Twilight fan. Not a Twilight series fan, but a fan of the first book. So I was really looking forward to seeing how the story would translate to the big screen. I wanted to like the movie, I didn't hold anything against the actors, director or screenwriters for the downward slide I thought the series had taken, and with that attitude in mind, I've completely ignored the critics and detractors. After all, I can make up my own mind what I do and don't like. I don't need to be condescended to by people who find themselves superior to me simply because they didn't fall under the spell of some pop culture phenomenon they don't understand. My attitude towards those with the tendency to bash Twilight (both book and movie) and those who like it - too bad for them, more for me.

And I did like it. Overall, I really enjoyed the movie. It had its faults, to be sure. But I was very pleased with the end results. In detail:

The Good
1. The cast. I think Kristin Stewart and Robert Pattinson are very well cast as Bella and Edward. They look much like I imagined the characters to look when reading the book. And I thought they acted as Bella and Edward were presented. Pattinson, especially, really captured Edward's inner struggle, doing a decent job expressing it without benefit of us seeing his point of view.

A quibble I do have is that Stewart is almost too humorless as Bella. No doubt she'll be able to absolutely nail Bella's incapacitating despondency after Edward leaves her in New Moon. But there is such a lack of joy around her that you have to wonder what would ever make her smile. Too, I didn't quite buy it when she told Edward on more than one occasion that she wasn't afraid of him. She always seemed too held-back for me to believe her words, as if she herself was saying them out loud but didn't quite feel them in her heart.

Billy Burke was excellent as Charlie Swan, Bella's father. The Cullens were all well cast physically, but since they got very little screen time and even less dialog, I can't comment on their acting ability. The secondary characters did what I wanted them to do - moved the story along but didn't detract from the main couple - so as far as I'm concerned, they were smashing successes.

2. The adaptation of the book. When a book I like is made into a movie, I want as few changes as possible. To this end, I think the movie was spot on. Nothing was left out that I missed, and the few changes added were necessary to explain aspects of the story. I do wish the Big Reveal and the meadow scene were depicted a little bit closer to the events in the book, but in the end, the result was the same.

The Bad
1. Okay, the makeup artists on this film should be fired. The Cullens are supposed to be pale, but they aren't supposed to look like they are wearing white grease paint. And that's what the actors looked like. There is a difference between pale skin and chalk-white skin. The latter would never go unnoticed and unremarked upon in any normal town, especially if every member of an entire family looked that way, so presenting the characters this way in the movie pretty much makes the entire population of Forks look really stupid and unaware. Perhaps they can improve the concept of "paleness" in New Moon. After all, they managed to make Bella look very fair-skinned without a thick layer of mime face.

2. Only one scene really bothered me. At the end, when Bella is in the hospital and Edward tells her that she should move away from Forks for her own good, Bella's reaction is awful. Or rather, Kristin Stewart's depiction of Bella's reaction is awful. She stutters and can't manage to form a complete, coherent sentence. But rather than coming off as if Bella is so upset by the prospect of being separated from Edward that she can't even speak, it seems more as if Stewart forgot her lines and is stammering her way through the scene. The Bella in Twilight the book would have been yelling, in full, emphatic sentences, that she can't - won't - be separated from Edward. This scene was the chance to show those who hadn't read all of the inner dialog from the book to get a true taste of how much Bella loves Edward. The whole scene was a blown opportunity.

3. The special effects were a little cheesy. But I give the movie a big pass on this given their limited budget. Too, in this day and age of Star Wars, Pixar, and action hero blockbusters, we've all come to expect the impossible out of our special effects. Not every movie has that kind of money to invest. I think the movie makers got the point across the best way they could, so I can ignore this problem.

I left the theater with a smile on my face, thoroughly satisfied. And I'll buy the DVD when it comes out, and most like see New Moon in the theater if it manages to maintain the same cast and production team (with better effects and better makeup). I don't regret a single penny of the $6 it cost me.

In the end, I think this movie is simply of the type that if you are a fan of the books, you will most likely enjoy the movie, despite its faults. And if you aren't a fan of the books or if you are completely ignorant about Twilight either because the books aren't directed at your demographic or because you are far too superior to stoop that low, then you won't like the movie regardless of the quality. This will be just another chance to jump on the snark train.

And in that case, do us all a favor and just stay home. We don't need you to suffer for our sakes.

Christmas Comes Early

So, how cool are the next


three weeks

going to be?

Honestly, I don't know which movie I'm most excited about. I loved -LOVED - Casino Royale. It turned me into a James Bond fan. Well, it turned me into a James Bond as played by Daniel Craig fan. I was already a Daniel Craig fan. But I can take or leave the other Bond movies, so I know I'm a band-wagoner. Sue me.

As for Twilight, I admit I'm still a bit bitter, which is dimming my enthusiasm for this movie somewhat. I'm still excited to see how the first book translates to the screen. This is a case where I'm hoping for a near-exact transfer from page to screen.

And Australia looks amazing. I love these grand, sweeping romantic epics. This reminds me so much of one of my all time favorite books, A Town Like Alice (the movie/miniseries is awesome as well). Too, it has one of my all time favorite themes - two completely different types of people falling in love. With Hugh Jackman as the rough cowboy drover, how can you go wrong?

My biggest problem is finding time to see all of these movies. My kids are a few years short of being able to stay alone at night while the hubby and I make a date of it. My son would love to see QoS, but by the previews, I'm judging it too violent. My daughter hasn't read Twilight - too young - so I'm thinking this one is a pass for her as well. And I'm probably the only person in the house with any interest in seeing Australia. Add to this our vacation plans which keep us away from home from Thanksgiving through the beginning of December and I'm kind of freaking. I'm one of those geeks who sees movies on opening weekend because I simply can't wait.

I feel like it's Christmas Eve for grownups!

So Very Proud

Today, for the first time in a very long time, I feel so very proud of my country.

For the first time, in a very long time, I don't feel the need to apologize to the rest of the world.

As a nation, we've declared with our votes that the way things have been the past few years are not okay. That we want change. That we believe things can and will be better. That we are not apathetic or lazy or ignorant. It felt so good - wonderful - to be voting for a solution instead of voting against the intolerable.

I took my son with me when I went to vote. I told him what an important day it was. I let him stay up late to watch the returns come in and to see Obama's speech that took place in a park only fifteen short miles from our very house. He was so excited to be a part of history.

I am so grateful that my son has gotten to live this experience. I am so proud of my country for giving it to him.

Thank you, Mr. Obama. And congratulations!