Re: the new Whedon.
C+, for now, with some caveats. It’s not the gender stuff I’m on about; if you’re squicked, and you probably are, it’s in the mission statement, and remember he’s made yet another devil’s pact with the Maxim of network television, and if you can’t ultimately bring down the master’s house with the master’s tools you can at least wreak some interesting havoc before they come take them away. —I’m more keen to see what might be done with class: “normal” people on TV have always been (with some notable exceptions) what would be comfortably wealthy in the real world; the folks here have all the same material trappings of TV-normal, but they’re actually acting like the rich. So I want to see some mammalian certainties.
Other than that: everybody’s saying Topher’s the Xander of this one. Well, if by Xander you mean the young guy with the cynical wisecracks, I suppose, but that was never really what Xander was. Xander was the gut, as the Spouse likes to put it; the moral ground, the I-guy somewhat taken aback by all the paranormal goings-on, who calls bullshit despite the beam in his own eye, and is right more often than not; the mammal, as it were, which means Boyd Langton is the show’s Xander, thankyouverymuch.
No, Topher—the mad scientist, who lovingly details the backstories of the characters he creates every week for his Actives to play—Topher is the show’s Whedon.
But keeping that in mind will excuse only so much turgid dialogue. Up your game, people!
Happy Presidents’ Day.
It’s true. They do.
L’Withnail, c’est les autres.
Meanwhile, anent (to me, yes, to me) the previous: Kate Moss and her I are planning to buy Sleddale Hall.
Jupiter’s dropped.
Muzak’s filed for Chapter 11. —I wonder if they ever managed to shut off the feed to that Rax in Oberlin?
Nossir, don’t like it.
When did they start having Super Bowls in February? I mean, it fucks up “Cubs in Five” when you do that.
Else.
Okay, I’m haunted:
Race fail 2009.
This past Monday, on Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday, on the eve of Barack Obama’s inauguration, I discovered that the casting of the four leading characters for the upcoming live-action movie, The Last Airbender (based on the TV show, Avatar: The Last Airbender) had gone entirely to white actors. I want—no, need—to say something about this.
Following Jackson Rathbone’s footstep in addressing fans’ criticism over The Last Airbender casting, pop singer Jesse McCartney comes to MTV to share his response towards fans’ protest of the “all Caucasian” [sic] casting. The 21-year-old who is tapped for Prince Zuko part tries to assure hard core fans of the animated TV series that he will do his best to do justice for his character.
“I heard a lot about this online,” the singer who fills the voice of Theodore in Alvin and the Chipmunks explains. “There’s a lot of hard-core fans out there [who] probably know more about it… I’m still learning. This is M. Night’s vision and this is what he wants. To all the fans, I can tell you I’m putting my best foot forward.” He further adds, “I’ve been in kung-fu training for the last month and half-learning all the moves. I’m looking forward to it.”
The casting controversy came out after reports surfaced that karate-trained Texan Noah Ringer, Twilight actor Jackson Rathbone, Deck the Halls actress Nicola Peltz and singer Jesse McCartney have been offered the roles of Aang, Sokka, Katara and Zuko respectively. The casting of the four Caucasian actors brought out negative reaction from fans with accusations of racism.
Earlier, Rathbone has responded to the complaints, stating that it is his chance to show his range of acting. Speaking to MTV, he added on what he will need to do for Sokka’s transformation, “I think it’s one of those things where I pull my hair up, shave the sides, and I definitely need a tan. It’s one of those things where, hopefully, the audience will suspend disbelief a little bit.”
—“Jesse McCartney Answers The Last Airbender Casting Criticism,” ACESHOWBIZ.com
“And can you, can you imagine fifty people a day, I said fifty people a day walking in singin a bar of ‘Alice’s Restaurant’ and walking out. And friends they may thinks it’s a movement.”
Since getting angry doesn’t help my daughter, though, I took a breath and tried to do damage control.
I told her that love makes a family, not size or gender or anything else. She wanted to know, then, why other families aren’t the same.
“There are some like ours, honey. Like Austin’s family—”
“Austin has a dad. He just lives somewhere else.”
I froze. I don’t want to say that the same is true of her. It’s not. She doesn’t have a dad, she has a biological father who doesn’t even take our phone calls anymore, who either doesn’t tell his girlfriends that she exists, or lies and tells them that I cheated on him and he doubts he’s really her father. (The Missouri and Pennsylvania courts would be surprised to hear that, considering they ran three paternity tests and garnish his wages every week, none of which he even contested.) I don’t want to lie and say he loves her and misses her and thinks of her all the time, that the only reason he doesn’t see her is because he lives so far away and doesn’t have enough money to travel. It would end this argument in a heartbeat, it would make her feel better, but it would still be a lie. And it’d be a lie I’d have to answer for ten years down the line, when she becomes a teenager and he starts building his replacement family without her.
I froze for too long. She started to cry.
“Sweetheart, there are other families like ours.”
“Then where are they?” she demanded. “Where are they?”
I dropped the ball on this one, you guys. I dropped it so hard it rolled away down the street and off a cliff.
Help 
darlas_mom pick it back up and more. She’s looking for photos “of you with your actual families. Straights with kids, gays and lesbians with kids, single parents (both moms and dads), blended families, families of different ethnicities or multiple ethnicities.” She wants ’em all. —Get yourselves into her book.
I can’t believe they missed the obvious snark.
I mean, Katee Sackhoff is available, right?
Elegant.
Okay, I was charmed:
Form / Content,
or, The nail replaced.
Douglas Wolk incisively surveys the brand new and much-improved whitehouse.gov; Ben Orenstein tells you about the little, critical change you won’t see at first glance. (While we’re on about websites and such, would someone please give the New Republic whatever it takes to make theirs usable? The litany of “I’d link to this article I wrote for TNR but their website is as we all know borked” from the wonkosphere is beyond embarrassing at this point. —I ought to be able to click on a link from one of Douglas’s columns and bring up a directory of all of them; I ought to be able to search for his name and not have the first page of hits be nothing but front page teasers for the article I just read and a link to Marty Peretz’ columns. How else am I going to point y’all to the Critical Browser stuff?)
Pith from the comments:
So I commiserated with Julia over the whole having to read Twilight thing; she said, “oh, you really should. Feel for me, I mean. If Susan Pevensie wrote an Ann Rice novel…” —And would you look at the air now, full of glitter?
Recession.
n. That period of time in which it is seen as economically feasible to run infomercials advertising a device that sharpens disposable razor blades. (cf. Depression, n., that period of time in which you can’t sell enough devices that sharpen disposable razor blades for $14.99 after mail-in rebate to cover your marketing costs.)
Other odds and ends.
Since they keep piling up, and for whatever reason I’m in a pithy mood: Dylan Meconis has a new website; Sara Ryan, who has new glasses, points us to Vice’s interview with Ursula LeGuin; the Spouse has had a tasty epiphany; and this, while not strictly speaking safe for mixed company, might nonetheless prompt a small slim smile.
Hyperbole,
or, Yup, it’s a silverfish.
Yeah, I know, you’re all, dude, Achewood is brilliant? I was never made aware of this fact until now! —But you know how they say every age gets the Achewood it deserves? This is that Achewood.
