My biggest problem with Powerless is that every time Vanessa Hudgens is on the screen (and she is the main character, so she is on the screen a lot), I get really angry because she is a national park-grafittiying jerk.
Anyway, her character is the perky, always-look-on-the-bright-side kind of person that just rubs me the wrong way.
But the show itself is funny, and I like the other characters, because they are mean and broken like me, and also they hate Vanessa Hudgens, because how can you not?
The pilot episode establishes that the characters work for Bruce Wayne, inventing things to protect the powerless from supervillains (and also the fallout from superheroes, as evidenced by one character saying the number one cause of workplace injury is Superman crashing through windows), and they’re not doing great, and everyone gets fired, but then Vanessa Hudgens comes up with a brainstorm, which is silly, because she is NOT an idea man, and then all their jobs are saved. And then Batman uses a similar invention to fight a bad guy, and the characters and my daughter are all like: “Wow, what a coincidence,” and I shook my head in shame because I have told my daughter Batman’s secret identity so many times I probably qualify as a supervillain by now.
In the local paper this weekend, there was an advertisement placed by a “church” celebrating Trump’s election and reading, in part, “We are very thankful and rejoice that the Obama nightmare is no more.”
By the way, if you’re interested, you can purchase the minister’s book on demons.
And in today’s paper, there was a letter to the editor from a woman identifying herself as a “proud” member of the “basket of deplorables” who is horrified at the hatred in the hearts of the people marching for human rights.
The Good Place is this new show starring Veronica Mars…
… Sam from Cheers…
…this actor I’m not familiar with playing Chidi…
…this tall drink of water playing Tahani…
… the hilarious living app Janet…
… and Manny Jacinto.
Anyway, it’s about heaven and how Veronica Mars doesn’t belong there, and it just ended its first (only????) season with an awesome twist that my daughter informs me I totally called back in the fall when we first started watching it.
You should watch it.
Actually, you should’ve watched it when it was airing, because it might not be back for a second season, and that would be sad, because it’s really funny.
So I just had an immense feeling of déjà vu, which means, of course, that I am trapped in a time loop.
… Here’s a list of television shows I’ve been watching lately that are kind of awful.
The Great American Baking Competition. My mother and my daughter love this show about people baking stuff and then we don’t get to eat it.
Ransom. I watched what was clearly the first episode of this paint-by-numbers procedural last night because I think I’m suicidal or something, seriously, why didn’t I do anything else? And at the end, it was all like: “New episodes! Saturday evening, where TV shows go to die!” So clearly CBS thinks as highly of it as I did.
Some procedural on ABC that has Iceman or his twin brother in it, and I can’t even bother to remember the name of it. It’s some show about how they try to save people from execution, I think? And they were trying to get this girl who murdered her rapist out of prison? And then it turned out she wasn’t the real murderer? And I was like, “Um, it’s obviously the rape counselor?” And 20 minutes later, the characters were like, “Oh, it’s obviously the rape counselor?”
To Tell the Truth. This actually had a Soul Train dancer and a Solid Gold dancer show up, so, by default, it is the best thing I have watched on television lately.
Sherlock Series 4 started yesterday! But I didn’t see it, because PBS has decided to stop working on my television, and I didn’t get around to streaming the new episode in a totally legal manner, so I decided to review last year’s Christmas special instead.
I probably should have reviewed last year’s Christmas special last year, but why don’t you get a blog and I’ll tell you how to run it.
Anyway, the Sherlock Christmas Special is called “The Abominable Bride” or somesuch, because I can’t be arsed to look it up. It’s set in Victorian England, because Holmes has gotten his hands on a time machine. Alternately, he did a lot of drugs and is in his mind palace, which is a conceit that is really beginning to wear on me.
So in Victorian England, Holmes and Watson are trying to solve the case of the suicidal bride who kills her husband after she’s already dead. Along the way, we meet the Victorian England versions of our favorite Sherlock characters. Lestrade has some incredible mutton chops. Molly Hooper, the cute morgue girl, is disguised as a dude, and Holmes totally can’t tell that she’s not a dude, because he is the worst Best Detective Ever ever.
Mrs. Hudson is Mrs. Hudson is a retro dress, and John’s Annoying Wife is still there.
The dead bride keeps killing dudes, which is spooooooky, except it turns out it’s a conspiracy of ladies, and then that whole plot line of STOP IGNORING WOMEN DAMMIT gets totally dropped.
Then Moriarty shows up and is annoying, and then he and Holmes fight on a waterfall, because why not beat The Final Problem like a dead horse, and then Holmes jumps off the waterfall and it’s totally the end of Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, and then we’re back in London and sexism is solved, forever.
Okay, so it’s not bad enough that 2016 took David Bowie and Prince and Muhammad Ali and George Michael and a bunch of other awesome people, in addition to giving us President-Elect Trump (seriously, 2016, you’re a bastard). But now it had to take CARRIE FISHER?
Damn all of this. Carrie Fisher, you were a beautiful and funny lady, and you will be missed so much.
My mom gets really irritated when I describe a white person as being white, so I like to do it every chance I get.
Because I am actually a 12-year-old boy, when I saw the sign on my drive home last night advertising “Steel Erection,” I immediately thought of Superman.
I don’t usually review books on this blog, because I’ve been mostly reading biographies of silent movie stars and Depression-era criminals, so why would you guys care, right?
But I decided to delve into Japanese literature, except, you know, translations, because the only word I can read in Japanese is “bizu,” which means bead, and looks like a guy sitting down throwing a ball to a guy running with his arms behind him.
So I read Audition by Ryu Murakami. It’s a short book, around 127 pages or so, which means it’s not like I wasted more than a couple hours of my time (I read really fast, and by the end, I was skimming because I was like UGH WHEN IS THE NARRATOR GOING TO GET MURDERED ALREADY).
But I still wasted my time.
The gist of the story is that this jerk-ass piece of crap Aoyama has been widowed for seven years. He cheated on his wife, but she was a real classy lady, so she didn’t mind. Then she died, but, being a real classy lady, she died quickly and without complaint. So obviously she was A CARDBOARD CUTOUT AND NOT A REAL PERSON AT ALL. Like, Jesus, Murakami-san, I get that she’s not all that relevant to the plot, but she was so obviously fake.
Anyway, this cheating asshole Aoyama has this wonderful teenage son (whom he never spent time with before his wife’s death, but then he does, and they totally bond and whatever) who says: “Hey, dad, why don’t you get married again?”
So then Aoyama and this friend of his decide to fake a movie and hold auditions for the role of the main character, who coincidentally has all the traits Aoyama would want in a wife (those traits being 1) classically trained in some art or another; 2) being cool with his cheating; 3) dying without complaint).
So he finds this chick whose name I’ve already forgotten, and Aoyama falls head over heels for her because she is 1) like, 20 years younger than him; 2) the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen; 3) seems to match all his criteria for spousedom.
So they start dating, and everybody’s like, “I don’t know, there’s something odd about this chick,” even though she never does anything odd, it’s just this vibe they pick up on, but Aoyama’s like, “whatever, guys, she’s HOT,” and then finally in the last couple of pages she stalks him and tries to cut off his feet.
BUT SHE DOESN’T KILL HIM. She kills the dog.
Then his damn son comes home and rescues him by stabbing her in the throat. And then the book is over.
So I guess if you like a long, dull buildup to a jerk WHO DOESN’T EVEN HAVE THE DECENCY TO GET MURDERED and two-dimensional female characters and male characters being all, “Jeez, why aren’t there more beautiful, classy women for us sexist pigs to cheat on our long-suffering wives with?” then this is the book for you.