I had been looking forward to watching this for a really, really long time. If you know me, you know that I’m rather fascinated by Mormons, so it basically seemed like HBO had personally selected my random/odd interest for the topic of a show and proceeded, assuming correctly that I would bite, eventually. And so I let the Beach Boys wash over me and settled into the premium cable version of LDS’dom.

I was bored for the first two-thirds of this season. I think that amounts to, like, 8 episodes. Sure, there was sex and intrigue and creepy prophet guy and creepy young wife chick and all that, but frankly, it weirded me out. I have a fair number of Mormon friends, so whenever someone relates polygamy and Mormonism, I always defend my friends, reiterating that the Mormon church abolished polygamy quite some time ago and pegging the FLDS peeps with polygamy, which is true, anyways. And yet, while watching this show, I couldn’t help but think that I was peering into the lives of real Mormons. It’s funny, too, because the fictional Henricksons don’t explicitly state that they’re Mormon. They’re basically not. They just live by the Principle, in Utah, in modest clothing, and they refer to God as Heavenly Father. Those are all very Mormon things, or at least archaic Mormon things (in the case of the Principle). So, for me, it was hard to separate the two. I felt like I was trespassing, and not in that awesome-TV-voyeurism way. More like in the I’m-not-sure-I-want-to-know-what-these-people-are-doing-behind-closed-doors way. I don’t judge the characters, or the people on which the characters are based, so it’s not that polygamy made me uncomfortable. It’s … the characters themselves. None of them were enjoyable for me to watch, up until a point. Barb (Jeanne Tripplehorn) began bland, Nikki (Chloe Sevigny) began annoying, Margene (Ginnifer Goodwin) began clingy, and Bill (Bill Paxton) began borzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Sorry, I fell asleep thinking about Bizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Bill Paxton is the most boring-looking, boring-seeming person on the planet. I can’t trust the chemistry he has with any of those three beautiful women! It’s ridiculous!

So why did I keep watching? Well, for one thing, I wanted to figure out why the hell anyone other than me would want to watch this show. And why people kept watching even though someone like me wasn’t even that interested. I realize that sounds incredibly arrogant, but it’s true. The show contains so many LDS references and terms and jokes, and having Mormon friends has let me in on many of those references, but the majority of the world is not aware of what Relief Society or CTR or Temple Recommends are. I’m still wondering why people care, but I have come to the realization that many people are curious, and so they tune in. Mormons keep to themselves, which seems silly to say when they deploy missionaries all over the world to spread the gospel, but they don’t exactly brag about their religion or wear it on their sleeves like many others do. Is this a window into Mormonism for many onlookers? If so, they’re getting a weird taste for it.

I admit I’m really curious about the Temple episode that caused all that controversy. But I ultimately decided to add Season 2 to my Netflix queue because of Margene. Her storyline fascinates me, especially on account of her almost-converting and almost-making out with some random guy her age and all that. And Ben’s story is really interesting, too. The perspective of the writers, whom I believe are at least in part ex-members, is so intriguing. They’ve got Utah down pat, from the box stores to the flat highways to the impersonally beautiful mountains to the awkwardly Southern accents to the Family Values to the haircuts. And, oh, the Mormon dating. It’s perfect.

So there you have it. I guess it just comes down to curiosity, and I can’t blame anyone for being curious. I just hope, as I’m sure all Mormons do, that this show hasn’t given people another reason to stereotype members of the LDS church. No matter how many disclaimers you print, no matter how many times you say it, people will assume that this show is about all Mormons, fundamentalist or not. And that sucks. Because it’s not. It’s a show about semi-interesting people who happen to be polygamists.

About a year ago, I remember most of my writers making a Huge Fucking Deal about this album. TV on the Radio is God. TV on the Radio is coming to the Warfield. I must tell you about TV on the Radio. That sort of thing. With my Important Editor Duties, I avoided this so-called “new music” and sunk deep into my Michael Jackson/Eric Prydz haze and proceeded to absorb as much AP Style as humanly possible. Then I graduated, went to Outisde Lands, saw said weird-acronym’d band in person, and gained some respect for their little outbursts. Hey, these guys are pretty fun to watch! Hey, that guy was in “Rachel Getting Married”! Hey, that guy has sweet hair!

So I bought the “best album of the year” according to many sources beyond my circle. And I listened to it. And … drumroll please … seriously? THAT WAS IT? THAT WAS THE BEST ALBUM OF THE YEAR? SOMEONE EXPLAIN PLEASE.

I really don’t get it. I mean, they have some catchy beats and interesting melodies, but I’ve heard better music. I’ve heard a lot of better music, actually, and yet this little thing was at the top of every Top 10 last year. Granted, I think these guys are a live band, which is surprising because of all the electronic nuances and the lack of stage presence provided by the lead guitarist, but DAMN was I underwhelmed. I couldn’t HEAR a lot of the music. It was all covered up by those damn electronics. And all the mumbling.

Throw me a bone here, people. Tell me I’m ignorant.

After 2 classes with Prof. Levina and countless conversations with TV fans, I finally broke down and watched this. What can I even call it? A cult classic? Joss Whedon’s first major self-masturbatory contribution to pop culture? An excuse to show SMG in crop tops? An experimental period in visual effects and makeup? Who knows. In any case, get ready for my underwhelming opinion: I liked it, but I didn’t love it.

I have this rule. I finish out a season of television. Not a disc, not an episode, but a season. I finished Season 1 of Flight of the Conchords and, if you know me relatively well, you know that I kind of hated it. But it’s a matter of principle. And so I stuck it out — though sticking it out with the very sexy David Boreanaz turning up now and then and looking like this is not exactly torture.

You know what? I’m glad I stuck it out. I learned a few things. Vampires are fucking fascinating — no shit. I loved that they all weren’t hot. Like the Master guy. He was an ugly dude. And all the others looked like meatheads or dye-job blondes. It was grossly refreshing.

Also, Nicholas Brendon was Chandler before Chandler was Chandler — I’m talking sarcastic comments, body movements, even the way his mouth moves when he speaks. He is hilarious. And I admit I’m terribly curious about Willow’s storyline. Allyson Hannigan is an adorable actress, and I think her tale might convince me to rent the second season, if I ever get around to it.

Nothin’ much to report on the SMG front. She’s … fine I guess.

But mostly, I just wanted to watch Angel. Maybe I’ll watch that show instead.

You knew I was going to see this. I had to. It was a form of closure for me.

I say these things in all seriousness. Some people don’t like Michael Jackson, don’t understand Michael Jackson, don’t particularly appreciate Michael Jackson, but I do. I really do. He was my first favorite artist, he was a special, special man, and no amount of “little boys” or “plastic surgery” arguments will change that.

This is not a film, really. It’s a tribute. It’s a bunch of archived rehearsal footage sewn together into a logical sequence. It tells no story. It has no meaning. In fact, it’s purely self-indulgent for the fans. You learn something from watching it, but it has no Life Lesson. If you aren’t a fan, don’t see it.

If you are a fan, however, please do. It’s beautifully simple. And it’s magical. It’s magical to watch this withered, muscular shell of a man move in a pair of baggy sweats and an oversized metallic jacket. It’s magical to watch him audition dancers and teach choreography and instruct musicians and joke with producers. He was a real person, and this is one of the only pieces of evidence that can attest to that.

One of the reasons why I never want to be famous is because I would lose my ability to have a real personality. People like Regis Philbin and Paris Hilton and whoever aren’t even famous. They’re personalities because they’ve got some weird character trait that’s been magified for the world to see, and it has to be consistent otherwise people will think they’re irrelevant or they’ve gone off the deep end. And most other celebs have no real personality. They’d rather be known for their work than their person. It’s respectable. Michael Jackson was the biggest celebrity of all time. His music was so good that people needed a personality to latch onto. And it’s too bad, because he was a freakin’ weird guy. But a lot of people can get away with being weird — Gallagher, for example, or Weird Al. It’s in his name. But MJ was an anomaly. A phenomenon. Cut from a single piece of cloth. So his avenue for normalcy was his work — the part that people could relate to, and that’s what you see in this footage. You see a man who is arrogant, humble, immaculate, lazy, human. You see him rehearse the “Thriller” dance so perfectly, and yet with so little effort. He could do it in his sleep — hell, he could have done it paralyzed — and he still rehearses it. He has the campiest taste in the world — but it’s brilliant.

It’s so sad to think that we’ll never get to see this spectacular show he was planning. But I do feel like I got a backstage pass, and that’s the best gift I could hope for. Christmas came early this year — but, unfortunately, so did Michael’s time.

I should have listened to my writers. Why didn’t I do that sooner?

I have been playing this album non-stop for the past month. Actually, I’ve been playing the same 4 songs (with a little GaGa thrown in. she never hurt nobody.) on repeat at work for the past three weeks. Caleb Followill’s voice is hauntingly beautiful, especially in these songs.

Notion
Use Somebody
Closer
Sex on Fire

I haven’t heard talent like this from a vocalist since Amy Winehouse, and before her, I’m not sure what else is out there in the world of rock. This man needs to sing passionately at all times, because that’s when you hear the real music. Wikipedia tells me that it’s a band of brothers from a Pentecostal family — there ought to be some passion in there either way. And from the sound of this brilliant album, it looks like they’ve found it.

I confess I finished this awhile ago (and have since finished Buffy, Season 1 and a few other things). But I remember hearing from other Wired peeps that this season was so-so. Maybe it was. I can’t really tell. I’m not as pretentious as most Wire fans — and by that, I mean that I admit I understand maybe 40% of the dialogue. It’s all police mumbo-jumbo. Man, I hate when people can’t admit to liking something partially because it’s above them. I admit that fully. I actually read something about pretentiousness in the Mad Men viewership today and I liked it, because I am one of those people.

That was a digression. But here goes. I guess I can see why people thought Season 2 was underwhelming. The action was a little more predictable, the dialogue was a little more deliberate, and the Dominic West wore a stupid hat with ear flaps for, like, half of it. But I think I was able to get into this season a little more precisely because it was dumbed down a teeny bit. The characters explained stuff. Okay, maybe it made for less believable lines, but at least I understood it! I could follow their logic as they were thinking it, rather than seeing why they did what they did after the case was solved. And now that I’ve gotten the lay of the land, I feel very confident about delving into Season 3.

Other things. Firstly, both Lance Reddick and Dominic West are shirtless in this season, and many thanks are owed to whoever made those decisions. West tends to take his shirt off a lot, and I am not opposed to that. But who knew that beneath those oversized suits and that bony Daniels (almost said Broyles! whoops.) exterior lay a FIERCELY CUT CHEST??? Seriously. Check that OUT.

The newcomers this season — Amy Ryan, every single dockworker — were phenomenal. They didn’t even seem like they were acting. It was like HBO went in a did a job to stake out a Baltimore dock, and let it play out with all its mundane conversations and cryptic codes and everything. A work of art, and an interesting one at that. It’s just too bad that the end of this case was so … anticlimactic. Kinda leaves you with a foul taste when they don’t solve the crime with a triumph, like the first one, but it is refreshing to see cops portrayed as heroes, not the heroic. Inevitably the Greeks will stir up some trouble, as will Stringer Bell (who, by the way, had the hottest scene of the season with D’Angelo’s woman). And what about Nicky? Pablo Schreiber impressed the hell out of me. This entire cast needs to act more.

There’s a first time for everything, right? A first time for a drink at the Warfield, a first time for the upper deck at the Warfield, and a first time for Europop at the Warfield. I experienced all of these in one night, and the experience was pleasantly surprising. In the best possible way, of course.

I’m not opposed to seeing a band cold — I saw Guster before I had heard of them, I watched Mingus Big Band without knowing any of their songs. And Phoenix — well, they were terrific. And, considering my first impression of them was AHHH LOUD HIPSTER MUSIC!!!!@!@!, they were phenomenal. But that’s probably an exaggeration.

They’re not meant to be deep. The music isn’t that deep, as far as I could tell. But it’s all pure power chords, complex backbeats, and major chords too. And that means excellent, happy, loud, syncopated dance music. That’s all you really need, right?

The drummer was absolutely amazing. And even though the rest of the band had almost no presence — they were shoegazers playing good music — the music spoke for itself. Bravo, Phoenix. You won over another American.

Maybe I’ve hit a rut or something. I don’t know. But I do know that I enjoyed this book the least of the four I was supposed to read for Linguistics 155AC back in the fall. I felt like Tony Hillerman was trying to channel Ernest Hemingway, except about Native Americans, and it only worked to a certain extent. Everything was short and succinct and it all left a lot to the imagination, but not always in a good way. Rather consciously, actually.

The thing is, the story was good. But the alternation way of telling a story (chapters alternate between 2-3 stories) is just confusing sometimes. All the characters seemed to similar to distinguish. Plus the Native American aspect of it seemed secondary to the murder mystery part of it.

Whatever. What’s done is done. I’m not going to expel energy on something I wasn’t particularly fond of anyway. Onto the next book!

The hotties are on the loose. I swear. They’ve even caused me to actually use the word “hottie.” Betcha can’t guess what taste I have.

10. Part of me always wanted to be Adriana. Up until a point.

9. To channel the GFY girls, Pacey is always the best accessory.

8. I’ll trade places with January Jones any day.

7. Party of two, please.

6. You’re the only enjoyable part of Judd Apatow movies.

5. Let’s not be on a break, mmmkay?

4. Sometimes, I wish I owned a pink velour sweatsuit.

3. Teach me something, Mr. Medina.

2. Stay domestic, will you?

1. Uh, sex on a stick. More or less.

Yo! Spoiler alert!

Normally I don’t do this. But I have to do it. The last line in this movie might be the most brilliant line or last line or whatever, ever in the history of movies. I realize that, as someone who has not and never will see every movie ever made (a fun thought though!), this statement is a bit … shall we say … exaggerated. But I’m going to stand by my statement, especially as an aspiring screenwriter. Also a bit exaggerated. But you never know.

Like, I bet the writer of this film wrote the whole thing around that line. I certainly hope he did, because IT’S SO GOOD. The joke has probably been made a hundred times before, but it worked so damn perfectly. It saved this movie from being completely depressing, and it also saved this movie from having a cheesy ending. Case in point: Boy chases after girl named Summer, boy loses girl named Summer, boy sinks into terrible funk, boy comes out of funk and introduces himself to new girl, new girl replies with, “Hi, I’m Autumn.” WHAT I WOULD NOT GIVE TO WRITE THAT LINE.

The funny thing is, the script wasn’t incredibly dazzling. Or maybe it was. I guess it wasn’t the words, save for those at the end, that weren’t impressive so much as the assembly of everything. The whole thing was taken out of context, out of chronological order, out of its natural environment in time to tell a specifically “boy meets girl” but not “love” story. It was really refreshing, as everyone seems to be saying, mostly because FOR ONCE, THE GIRL FUCKS IT UP. Granted, I’m sorta pissed at Zooey Deschanel’s character for totally not helping us ladies out, but frankly, it happens. Girls do change their minds. Girls don’t make up their minds, either. And both of those real, actual circumstances were made clear in this movie. Summer was kind to Tom, but she obviously never loved him. He, however, was blindly in love, and she should have seen that. Maybe she should have let herself fall a little, too. Point is, it’s a real story. Shit like this happens all the time. Thank God someone made a movie about it, and thank God someone included these two sexy individuals to tell it, too. Storyline aside, I would never turn down Joseph Gordon-Levitt. What a fine individual he has turned into.

If you’re used to happy endings, this film will piss you off. But if you’re looking for a change of pace, in more than one way, this film will make you laugh. And think. And hope that the direction of Hollywood is changing, even if it takes the indies to make the first move. We were all disillusioned by the movies into thinking that fairytales do come true — maybe this is the first film to go against the grain. Cinderella could go back to housecleaning — after all, it is a recession.