This might could change the Superman Universe. No, I’m not kidding. A few months ago, in a post devoted to the lameness of Gaying Out Green Lantern, I said this about Superman: Superman is God in a fancy outfit. Superman can fly, shoot heat from his eyes, blow cold from his mouth, survive a nuclear… Read More Superman to Become a Blogger, and Thereby More Interesting.
Ace has a nice good long post (which are always the best posts at Ace) on the staggering inanity of deciding that this: is sexual assault. His response, appropriately, is to troll the trollers: Many movements or eras — most, probably — enter a decadent phase at some point. I don’t know of a textbook definition… Read More How Many Rapes Can Dance on the Head of a Pin?: Feminism in Its Decadent Phase
And he shoots first!
This may get rant-y. I hate Cable TV. Hate it. I hate skimming through the hundreds of channels looking for the Weather Channel when it storms. I hate Comedy Central’s two-hour blocks of It’s Always Sunny in Danny DeVito’s Career and The Roast of Some Poor Sad Bastard From the 80’s Who Needs to Cover His Mortgage when… Read More Here’s $10, Bring Me the Head of Verizon FiOS
You’re not gonna take it? No? You’re not gonna take it? Anymore? You’re not gonna let Paul Ryan use your one hit to introduce him? That’s, like, beneath you? You have serious moral issues with that? News flash, you aging no-homo drag queen: that piece of art you excreted all over MTV back in 1984… Read More Really, Twisted Sister?
Yesterday I spent with the baby, who is still below that blessed age when she can process what’s on the television, so I can watch whatever I want. What I seemed to want was documentaries. To wit: 1. Absinthe, a film that labored like a stevedore to take away everything bohemian or dangerous about the… Read More Absinthe and Posers
Duller than a great thaw is Vertigo, hurdling contrivance upon contrivance with such impossible conveyance of thought that one watches it like a man at a mark, praying that the firing squad kills you straight off. And while the preceding bastardization of Much Ado About Nothing is entirely too pretentious to be clever, it’s still… Read More Lileks Speaks the Plain Truth: Vertigo is Lame
Authors, like teenage girls, hate each other, and while this is mostly banal, expressions of it can occasionally be entertaining in a mindless-drivel kind of way, rather like The Expendables or the upcoming political conventions. I would like to report that the titular letter (via Word and Film), a 1970 bit of flamebait from Burroughs… Read More William S. Burroughs’ Boring, Prophetic Hate Mail to Truman Capote
I don’t get anything about what I’ve been watching for the last few days. Maybe for the past few Olympics. Things were simpler when I was a kid, when the Olympics were nothing more than the Cold War in athletic form. It seemed to matter then; I seemed to care. But every passing of the… Read More The Olympics Make No Sense
Content Blues 