Who Shot Mr. MacGuffin?

The MacGuffin is that ellusive plot element in film that impels the story toward its culminating purpose. In many cases the MacGuffin is completely insubstantial. For instance, the green light emanating from the briefcase in Pulp Fiction. That specific element is also called Agalma (in philosophy) or even the Objet Petit-a (in psychology). Other examples include Rosebud in Citizen Kane and the monster in Cloverfield. Sometimes the MacGuffin plays a huge role in the film as a means to distract the audience from realizing that they are becoming emotionally involved in the development of the characters they are observing, and in the end the MacGuffin loses meaning or is cast aside, if not completely forgotten. Take for instance Solomon's diamond in Blood Diamond. The coveted jewel is all but denounced, thus creating the same emotion for the audience that exists inside the main character: regret for ever having cared.

On some occasions the MacGuffin is apparent and despite any obstacle or trial will be satisfied in the end, like in the film Children of Men. In this film the MacGuffin is satisfied even though it means a tragic end for characters we've come to care about. In the Mel Brook's classic High Anxiety, Mel makes fun of the MacGuffin by depicting a mysterious phone call from one Mr. MacGuffin. What I'm leading up to here is the recent atmospheric change in the film industry in relation to the MacGuffin. Personally, I blame Eli Roth. Were it not for his approach to horror film as a main character aggrandizing heyday to take out on the bad guys that which we've spent years building up in our cinematic minds (I heart Eli Roth) then Quentin Tarantino would never have caught wind of the notion and perfected it. First, Death Proof. We all know this was the film that Quentin and Eli really got their balls out on and made the decision to go for it. Don't get me wrong, a lot of Eli's content is crap. It’s his approach I respect.

Now folks, I give you Inglourious Basterds: A superbly told fairy tale in the highest regard. **SPOILER ALERT** The MacGuffin is the violence, and it is constantly dangled before us like it were a piece of bloody meat and we are famished wolves, but never withheld eternally. Each act leading to higher and HIGHER climax until our desire is finally fulfilled to its utmost extreme. So I ask again... who shot Mr. MacGuffin? Eli Roth did*. He shot his fucking face right off his fucking head.

I'd like to take a brief moment to warn you all about an upcoming review I intend to do (after I watch the film) of the movie Antichrist, starring Willem Dafoe. Its a movie I've been looking forward to seeing for some time. When I saw the trailor I felt the intensity, and yes, unabashed violence made it worth a watch for me. Not to mention I consider director Lars von Trier a respectable filmmaker and tend to follow his work.** I guess the reason I feel the need to warn you is because I don't know if I will come back from this expedition or in what form.*** Two dear friends of mine, both full grown males straight up and down, watched it and were by their own assertion "permanently traumatized". One of them, a self made horror movie connoisseur, actually had to close his eyes during some parts. They're probably overreacting. Probably. They called it "gratuity for gratuity's sake". But I find it hard to believe that Mr. Dafoe would partake in a film that had no theme or purpose.**** So, as I set out on this perilous journey I hope that I will return to you in one peice and capable of reporting my findings. And if I do not return remember me, but ah! forget my fate.

* Well, Quentin did too, indirectly.

** When it doesn't suck.

*** Wishful thinking. :)

**** Mr. Bean's Holiday!!

Looking For Dick in the Dark: A final analysis of Dating in the Dark Season 1

I've said before that relationships are a mutual delusion. And now even as I consider being deluded, I can't help but investigate that fact. Slovaj Zizek says that the ego and super ego are constantly occupied with pre-registered fantasies (that are arguably masculine in nature, but that’s a topic for another day). Zizek goes on to say that each time you engage in an act of sex or romance, you aren't really thinking about the partner you are with but rather how that person quantitates to your own fantasy. You're never really seeing each other; you're only seeing what you want. Which, on that token, I think we can all agree is a narcissistic image of ourselves. So in the same way that a man is never really fully considering the partner he is with while in the act of sex, but instead imagining to the best of his ability his supreme sexual fantasy, women equally delude themselves into believing their partner to be the archetype fantasy they've created in their mind, oftentimes more sensitive and attentive than their partner actually is. The defining difference between these two perceptions, male and female, is that the man focuses on the fantasy at hand while in the act, and the woman focuses on the fantasy that will be, or the story that she'll tell (herself or others) later in a past tense. She fills in the holes of her sensory experience with tenderness and emotion that likely didn't exist at all and make them the focus of the future reverie. In many ways it’s hard to decide which side is worse. While the man has defaced his partner as a purely sexual masturbatory prop, the woman has built an entirely fabricated partner out of the parts she's been given.

Now shut off the lights.

The sensory experience is changed somewhat. Ideally, two people will go into a dark room and be forced to get to know each other for who they truly are. Obviously that’s ridiculous. There is still an entire societally-driven hierarchy of delusions pushing each and every action our two blind players make. I mean for christsake, these are the kind of people that would go on a dating show. But let’s just ignore all that for a moment. Let’s consider also, for just a moment, that Freud was right and that it really is all about the DICK. The ladies are just aching to creep up on one, and the men are just thrilled to put theirs to use. But more specifically, lets employ Jacque Lacan's re-interpretation of Freudian psychology and assert that it’s really more about the word DICK, or the preconceived notion of the DICK. See, Lacan believed that the real divider was language. The unconscious is language and the structure therein. That makes it very difficult for us to conceive any sort of tacit knowledge. Difficult, but not impossible. So here we are, two people in the dark, with every intention of romance. No way to intuitively familiarize yourself with the essence of the person you're with via language, since we know that’s just a handicap anyway. Besides, in the first three days of knowing a person, you're not really telling them anything about yourself. You've just been talking about your ego, ground floor of the Bates Motel, everything you're willing to let someone see. No way to apprise the other person with your characteristic quirks, the little things that make you you, like facial expressions or gesticulation. Those little things that, BTW, offer a contrast for the person’s sincerity and can make a smooth talker a transparent liar or a shy geek an endearing sweetheart. The only real sense you have to work with now is your sense of smell and touch, a purely primordial approach to dating. I suspect if these senses get worked appropriately then the conversation will flow "naturally" and everything will click. Now what we have is real. We've stripped away all the bullshit. Because, truly, in the end, it’s all about the smell and the taste. I mean think about it. How many people do you know that put up with a whole lot of shit from their partner for seemingly no reason? Why? You can't fight pheromones.

Now turn the lights back on.

Reality comes crumbling down as our contestants re-insert their pre-conceived ideals into the experience. My theory is that this is why we so often come to the end of the program with the same result. The man struggles momentarily with his decision to go meet his pick on the balcony, but he does it in the end. The woman seems to know right away she ain't going out there. Why is this? Because the male delusion, while superficial in many ways, is much more flexible than the female delusion. Everything is riding on this for her. For a man, the only thing riding on this is his DICK.

Throttle it back...*

*Throttle it back?

Owls. What, pretending to be wolves?

Avis' description of our respective roles (plight in my case) is pretty spot on. And what with being the logical one (Vulcan), I tend to get a little confused when it comes to the ways of the heart. I will indeed confess my own schema, on this very public forum, in an effort to relate my own experience to our readers (of the future)*. I have what you (Oprah) call "Defectiveness/Shame Schema" (Unlovability). It has to do with vulnerability and childhood trauma and blah, blah, blah... I tell ya... I couldn't get through the book that Avis (bless her heart) gave me, Emotional Alchemy, which was supposed to teach me to evaluate my emotions without acting on them and thus grow beyond my perpetuating trauma. I got bored (scared) and put it away. One thing that I have come to know to be true in regard to me and love... I am constitutionally incapable of being right. Whatever the question is my answer is wrong, which, some could attest, is quite strange for me. Is it because I dissect everything down into meaningless bits? Is it because I re-interpret everything a million ways until I find a way to turn it against myself? Perhaps it’s my obsessive, mad scientist approach to matters that drives me so far from understanding.

I think that there are certain irreducible truths that most people are only ever occasionally intuitively aware of. I aim to understand these things implicitly and one day communicate them to others. But recent events have forced me to admit that my previous conclusions may not have been correct. For instance, the afore-mentioned concept of the NPC… Now we all know what an NPC is I'm sure, but just in case a layman happens upon this blog, it stands for Non-Player Character. In RPGs (Role Playing Games) it refers to the pre-designed, computer-manned characters that are not capable of breaking out of their programming. Many times I have used this term to refer to the Big 90 (90% of the population) who meets this classification. It seems derogatory, but it’s really meant to make me feel better. It's not that they won't... it's that they can't. But what with the state of my own personal evolution as well as the state of our current understanding of A.I. technology and the possibilities therein, I don't know that it’s fair to suggest that this massive chunk of the world is INCAPABLE of moving beyond their programming. Slower, maybe. And while I've fancied myself a pretty advanced student in many realms of philosophy, I think I’ve got a lot of growing up to do when it comes to that silly little thing—I used to deem it “co-operative mass and individual delusion”—romance**.

Now I've never been an optimist, so I'll leave you now with something to muse. WOULD YOU RATHER... live in a world full of people incapable of learning and self-actualization, OR live in a world full of people who'd just rather not?

*Travelers of the past!

**Puke. Puke. Vomit. Puke.

God & Guns

Mab and I aren’t typical females. Really we aren’t typical humans, if you want to get technical about it. Her specialization is logic; she assails you, impales you with monster truck force. My forte is emotion and the understanding and communication thereof. Although I am quite a reasonable young lass, and she quite emotional, we accept our roles as the human embodiments of reason and intuition, respectively.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my many years of experience, it’s that human emotion is complex and indiscriminate. Females have long been assigned the title of the emotional sex, and we (yeah, yeah) are often the subject of ridicule for our (let’s just call it) self-expression—often deservedly so. But I think we can all agree—it is 2009 after all—that men are equally emotional, albeit generally less inclined to discuss the matter. None of us beings are exempt from that harsh truth.*

So here we are at this time in history with our human brain computers, input to be processed, output—our proclivity for language and communication (truly a boon in the history of human existence), our complex emotions, and at least two different kinds of genitals. I’m certain we agree thus far, but here is where things get more complicated. I believe we (humans) process information mostly in the same ways, even though we have unique experiences with which to build our personalities and behaviors. That is assuming we are actively participating in the processing of information (i.e. learning).**

Back to the subject at hand (for those of us who can learn), we now must agree that communication is a rather complicated tool. I mean we’re smart, right? Can it really be that hard? But we’re all prone to our individual perceptions which are often colored by our pervasive emotions. This natural breakdown leads to mistakes, miscommunications, frustrations, hearts broken for no reason at all, or the feeling that you're being eaten alive.

And now, finally, for the truth of the matter at hand: you and I, in our attempts at communication, are deeply influenced by our prior experiences. For example, my parents were generally busy, self-involved, or otherwise preoccupied during the course of my childhood. I essentially raised myself. As a child, I felt a deep sense of rejection and perhaps bereavement, in a way. I was alone, and my needs—although expressed—went unmet. As a result, I learned that I should be independent and not bother expressing my needs and desires. Ultimately, I have a tendency to become attracted to individuals whom are emotionally unavailable. As it turns out, humans have a psychological tendency to try and re-live painful or traumatic childhood experiences with the hope of eventually having a different outcome, thereby undoing damage done. Crazy, I know. (These tendencies are called Schemata***, and they vary from person to person.) My own schema is known as Deprivation Schema; a child deprived of attention, affection, acknowledgement becomes accustomed to these things, but is also consistently looking for a different outcome. In a manner of speaking, we all suffer from Battered Wife (or Eoin) Syndrome. I can offer discourse on these matters unabashedly, because I have come to understand them about myself and how they influence my thoughts, actions, and reactions. And in understanding that, I can recognize when I have a real, viable connection with someone, regardless of if that person is emotionally available or not. You have your own schema(ta) after all. So be it.

My dear Mab, in her response to this discussion, might experience some catharsis in unveiling her own schema, so I won’t use her (or you, my friend) as an example.

Sometimes the things we cling to for protection, little children that we are, become the things that hold us back in the long run.

*I herewith re-label the term “girl tricks” to “people tricks.”

**I will say that I think there are certain categories that we humans fall into; Mab previously mentioned NPC’s, a term we use affectionately for folks without souls (in other words, those who don’t seem to have the capacity for Meta-ethics—refer to future posts from Mab). We also call them first-timers. Asian girl who no longer likes the beach because you buried your grapes in the sand and somebody stole them… I’m talking about you.

***In my research, I discovered that Oprah Winfrey offers a quiz that can determine your schema. How convenient!

IF SHE DID NOT EXIST WE WOULD HAVE TO INVENT HER

Promethea: Issue #1 August 1999
The Radiant Heavenly City

Created By: Alan Moore and J.H. Williams III with Mick Gray
Writen By: Alan Moore
Penciled By: J.H. Williams
Color and Ink By: Mick Gray and Todd Klein
Publisher: America's Best Comics

Promethea is a metafictional fantasy about a debatabley (because the back story indicates the fictional character arrived in literature basically out of nowhere in the 1700s) ancient goddess who inhabits the bodies of humans via the mechanism of the written language over several generations giving them her god-like powers. Now, I pretty much never like metafiction. I like the concept of it; it’s paradoxical and complex. Yet somehow the eloquence always evades me. Unfortunately, at a young age The Never Ending Story pretty much ruined me on the concept. (Go back and watch that movie now that you're grown, and tell me if it makes any sense to you). The series is 32 issues long and is said to explore concepts not often touched upon in the graphic novel industry, which, along with my kismet introduction to the book, is what sold me on it. Later throughout the series we'll see such concepts as the Apocalypse, the Qabbalistic Tree of Life, transcendentalism, and (more subtly) post-structuralist feminist theory or Écriture féminine (believe it or not).

In the first issue we are introduced to the main character Sophie Bangs and her best friend Stacia. I appreciated the rapport they held with each other; it was playful and realistic. The first issue very quickly throws us into the world of Promethea via flashbacks to a theoretical origin of Promethea, as well as Sophie's initiation as the new host of Promethea's essence. The setting is an alternate reality/futuristic type city referred to as The Radiant Heavenly City, with flying saucer police cars and the Five Swell Guys superhero team on call as an ever present sense of Moore-ian social commentary, ala Watchmen.

I felt the illustrations overall were great. I liked the colors and texture just fine. But best of all (for a geek like me anyway) for 1999 it was probably one of the least predictable comic books as far as framing and arrangements go. There is a lot of symbolism in the arrangements alone that I think adds a depth to the comic book that would be noticeably missed without it. Take for instance a two page spread of Barbara Shelley's (the previous Promethea host) apartment in which the building creates an outer framing for the scene where Sophie inquires, for her term paper, about Barbara's late husband who had been the writer of the most recent Promethea-related comic book. The image unfolds a timeline for the entire interaction while also portraying a mirror like quality. I think the imagery suggests that upon Sophie's introduction to this woman, which is seemingly fruitless, she has transcended into a new existence.

The storyline itself, I felt, was a little weak in this first issue. That could be because it was all set-up and no real plot. And on that token, it could be a good thing for future issues that the reader was rushed so fervently into the concept. Were it not for the 2 page back story at the end of the issue, I might have been disappointed. But I think good things will come from this series as I move forward.

The Grading Scale will hereafter proceed as follows.

Overall Story (per issue): 6 out of 10 points
Back Story Development: 10 out of 10 points
Character Development: 6 out of 10 points
Illustration and Framing: 8 out of 10 points
Cover Art: 7 out of 10 points

2 bonus points for the Star Ocean ad at the end. ( I need a copy of that game).

Overall that gives it a C+, which is a modest score, but I'm optimistic about what's to come. For those who would like to read along with me but don't want to buy the entire series you can download it (illegally) on www.scrapetorrent.com.

Through the Looking Glass

If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?

Hush, baby. Mama's watching her stories.

Mab and I have discussed (at length) ABC programming, and we agree that Dating In the Dark is just one among many shows that we're willing to waste our time scrutinizing. We'd like to think that we have an important obligation as members of society to understand what folks are thinking, but let's be honest here... we don't know!

There was a time when a thing like Days of Our Lives was enough drama for us as a people. MTV's Real World snuck in, and we all thought: hmmmmmmmmm. Enter Big Brother. And more seasons that we'd like to count of Rock of Love. Now it's an unabashed emotional exploitation reality programming free for all! But I think you would concur that those who decide to participate kinda deserve what they get. Namely, public humiliation. Somewhere, Adam Corolla is agreeing with me in the form of a screaming rant.

Voyeurism. We do it. We like it. I'll be the first to admit that I'm a voyeur right down to my core. One time in the girl's locker room in junior high, I was called out for staring at another girl (by her) while she was changing. It's true. I was staring. But I wasn't thinking what I suspect she thought I was thinking. Actually I'm not sure at all what she was thinking I was thinking. But in my defense, I'm never not staring as if I don't think others can see me. I keep forgetting that I inhabit a human body, so it's mostly observational. In case you were wondering, that girl went on in high school to become one of the sluttiest girls in my class, and she also got a giant cross tattooed all over her back, which she proceeded to show to everyone she came into contact with, including me. Saw that coming.

But I digress. Why do we love to watch others act? Why do we so enjoy seeing them feel? Or fail, or succeed? Is it a vicarious thrill? Do we feel closer to them or to human, or further away? Is it empathy? Do we learn anything? I'm not sure why we do it, or why some of us are willing to let others see us in action, or why some of us aren't willing. I've never been particularly skillful at understanding the motivations of others. Regardless, I think Dating In the Dark has something to offer every person, NPC or not.

We now interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for this important message....

I'm just going to say what I'm sure we're all thinking. ABC's new reality dating show Dating in the Dark is pure, evil genius. Don't give me that look. I dare you to stare me straight in the eyes and convince me that you don't delight at the idea of seeing human emotions (albeit shallow NPC emotions) completely exploited. In case your silly (obsolete) social conscience has prevented you from watching it I'll set it up for you: Three guys and three girls are brought to a house. They aren't allowed to see each other so the girls stay in one wing of the house and the boys in the other. Their only contact is in the dark room where you can't even see your hand in front of your face. After having a few encounters in groups and one on one, it's revealed who they have been matched with based on compatability. They have a one on one with their match and after that they get to pick which one they'd like to have a final date with and then see with the lights on. If they like what they see they can meet that person on the balcony. If not they can walk out the front door (which is visible from the balcony) and go home. Sounds simple enough, right? And it is. But if you'd have asked me beforehand what I thought of the concept I would have said a resounding "Boring!" and assumed the average result would be that the lookers were gonna walk out on the dogs in overwhelming numbers. To my pleasant surprise it's far more depraved than all that.

The show's host poses the question each week "Is love blind?" but I think we all know that's not what any of us are here for. No, we're here to see just how stupid people are willing to make themselves look on TV. Interestingly enough, they seem to have no limit. It's not like the producers have told them "Now if you go out on this balcony, that's it. You're done with dating. You're legally bound to this individual for life." So logic tells me if I don't want to look like an asshole I should go out there no matter what a hideous chud the other person is. Apparently this doesn't occur to the daters. And the best part is they really seem to struggle with the decision once they've figured out how "ugly" the person is. (Will I be able to tolerate her whopping size 8 figure in a long term relationship? Can I really overcome the obstacle of his weak jaw line and curly hair?) I mean its not hard to imagine that people are going to make their real decision based on attraction rather than a feeling of sympathetic understanding with the person. But that they would do it so unabashedly, without shame or even vain attempts at justification, speaks volumes about what I don't know about our society.

Don't get me wrong. The show has surprised me in more ways than one. I even found myself taken aback by people who seemed to actually overcome their preconceived notions about physical attraction. Its been a life long problem of mine to misunderstand why people are drawn to the things that draw them, and I've likewise been drawn to what most people detest for the very same reasons they detest it. But mostly (and most pleasantly for my purposes), it warms my heart to know I'd given the majority of people too much credit for the better part of my life. Thanks ABC. I'm looking forward to next week.


Fret not. The Promethea review is on its way. But first a word from our dear Avis.

Please enjoy the music while your party is being reached.

You might be asking yourself, “Why doesn’t it matter if it’s real?” Good! You can draw whatever conclusions you like, but I think Mab’s point is that if you want to play around here, have a reasonable explanation for the conclusions you draw. It doesn’t matter if it’s real because you’re a participant, willing or not. Try as you may, you can’t detach yourself from what is.

Although we would all like to be implicitly understood (tacit knowledge be damned!), that just isn’t possible. The two of us have managed to refine our ability to communicate knowledge to one another, and I feel it is one of my civil duties to build a bridge for you, Beginners. Know that Mab begins at the foundation. She makes no assumptions. And although quite a passionate human (dancer), she is able to quarantine her emotional bias for the sake of veracity.

Communicating with Mab is about asking the right questions. She wants to be understood and to understand, and I’ve taught her that explanation is necessary in this day and age, as we still use vocal and written language and not telepathy. Bend, don’t break.

Beginners, you need to know that if you decide to come ‘round with guns of preconceived notions a blazin’, you’re liable to receive a seriously incisive tongue-lashing. And not the good kind. (At some point, she’ll probably threaten to punch you in the face, but that’s all talk.) I’ll mostly just chuckle, as I’m the Vince Noir to her Howard Moon.

That being said, we plan to tackle topics of all sorts. Existentialism just happens to be a favorite. Eventually we’re going to say things, instead of saying things about what we plan to say. Dun dun dun!

If the baby isn't real, leave it on the stove.

Welcome. I'd like to establish some guidelines, right off the bat if I could, for how this little exercise in narcissism is going to play out. First off, I want to invite any and all to discussion whenever you feel the desire. If you hate or love something we post, I wanna hear all about it. One might say I like to debate... that I'm argumentative. But don't listen to them ‘cause they weren't listening to me. What I do is consider. I like it. I like to take all possibilities into consideration. And when all logical possibilities have been considered, I like to muse on the illogical. Some might say that means I'm fair and intellectual and looking for what’s right for me. But don't listen to them... they only heard part of what I was saying. In truth, I am a nihilist. Not because I believe in nothing, but because I don't believe in anything. No, that doesn't mean I don't care about anything, or that I don’t have an ice cream preference, or that I let hygiene go by the way side. I care deeply. With a little bit of Googling and some chit chat, all that I just said might not sound so contradictory. But I'm not here to debate the definition of nihilism or my interpretation of it. Scratch that. I am here to debate nihilism, but only on a case by case basis.

Today I'd like to focus my efforts on debate in and of itself and, appropriately I feel, establish a sense of communication that will be important for you, the reader (if, in fact, you exist). My words are but a mere approximation of that ugly tacit knowledge that we all hold too close to make communicable, and so I'd like to make sure we understand each other, you and I. No circle talking. No semantic arguments. I won't deny your comments. And here at Time Travel for Beginners we encourage free thinking no matter how stupid it is. I tend to be pretty respectful of other people's opinions and comments but I by no means expect that from our reader(s). Nor will I deny you the opportunity of fighting amongst yourselves. Please feel free to be as open and respectful or closed minded and disrespectful as you like. All I ask is that you put some thought into it and try to have conviction in your statements.

More importantly, I'd like to find a common ground with the world, wherein I can feel as though we are on the same wavelength when it comes to the analytic and synthetic (See Immanuel Kant's Critique Of Pure Reason conveniently linked for you in the reading list). I want to feel myself giving to the community of communication and know when it’s giving back. I think the best way for me to introduce my personal approach to conveying concepts would be to tell this story:

When I was a little girl, I loved to play house. My family was poor, but I still had the whole setup; I had my baby doll and my play stove (back then they were aluminum) with pots and pans. This one time, another little girl came over to play with me. Everything was going just fine. I was making a pretend dinner while she was taking care of the pretend baby. And then right in the middle of everything, she left the baby on the stove. I was alarmed and upset by this. How could she so quickly go from caring for the baby, and convincingly might I add, to utter and detrimental disregard of the child? I collected myself and told her simply that she could not leave a baby on the stove because the baby could be hurt. She defensively remarked that neither the baby nor the stove were real. I was taken aback. I thought to myself, well of course they're not real. I'm not a crazy person. But if we’re not going to act is if all this is real, then what the hell are we doing here? I really never stopped thinking about that.

Moral of the story: It doesn't matter if it’s real.

Also I'd like to give a big thanks to Sparkles of Psychedelic Kimchi for his tip of the hat on our debut. I've been a secret reader of that blog for a long time now and only recently became a "Constant Retard" when I decided to enter the blogging community. If you haven't had a look at PK, then do. Seriously guys, there’s some important knowledge there. Being among a small population of FEMALE North American gamers, I learned quite a bit about what I missed out on while I was busy learning to put on makeup and wear sideways ponytails (wasted youth). Come for a dose of pertinent information you didn't know you needed till now. Stay for the endlessly entertaining inside jokes and (most recently) incredibly intriguing lists of nameless wonder.

Up next a word from my other. But tune in next time for a review of Promethea #1, written by Alan Moore. (That's a comic book, kiddies)

Separate yourselves from yourselves!

Ah yes. You’ve met the brain; now observe the heart. If there be blood, and There Will Be Blood, I manage to churn it in her direction. She, receptive to her role, is then able to function in accordance with her highest capacity. (Why do you resist, steak-buffet steak?) I wouldn’t call myself an idea man, per se, but give me something substantial to work with, and you’ll see that I’ve got more sway than Jesus Camp. Best of all, I use my powers for good and not evil. Barely anyone ends up having seizures.

But our journey truly began before today. I remember the first time I almost met Mab. I was at a local punk show at Western Illinois University, some 120 miles from our current locale. She was also in attendance: this silly girl with glasses in a silly hooded sweatshirt with silly animal ears. She didn’t even attend the university. Pff! Then there was the second time, at Lincoln Land Community College, some one year later. Albeit this time she did attend, only she’d made her way into the wrong class, then made her way out of it ten minutes into the lecture—while taking a phone call, discussing aloud her need to take the phone call, dropping her things several times, and tripping irreverently all over the garbage can.

As a matter of fact, most of our missed opportunities to meet occurred within various educational institutions. I suppose, beyond our knowledge at the time, we were looking for a different sort of education. What can I say? It turns out that silly, animal-ear-headed trips-a-lot has been integral to my development as a self-aware and reasoning human being in these last few years. In turn, I read directions on her behalf.

Please allow me to use my own refined credibility to offer a small wad of truth: Mab is indeed a cunning genius. My qualities tend to speak for themselves. Together we are unstoppable will possibly bore you, but rest assured that we’ll manage to entertain the hell out of ourselves.

Comment on that, Joe Dante.

Manche Menschen andern sich nie.

Today we embark on a journey. A journey that, without a doubt, will be our road to glory. I think I speak for all of us (both) when I say that this day will be remembered for generations to come and held in esteem alongside some of the most notable historical moments. For instance, the DVD release of Gremlins 2 (with special commentary from director Joe Dante), that time there was a Mork and Mindy marathon on for well over 24 hours and I watched every episode even though I don't really like it, and of course the crumbling of the Berlin Wall. Like these events I too have been ignored, underappreciated, and most days forgotten. But alas, now my name will no longer exist as a tree that is falling in a secluded forest, existing in spite of dismissal from society. A society that has rejected my every thought from the time of my birth and thus alienated me in the cold lonely abyss that is wisdom. Until now!

Allow me to introduce the other half of my aforementioned "we" and my herald to the world as we set out together to be the purveyors of that which might go unnoticed otherwise. With my cunning genius and her dashing charisma surely no one can ignore our revolutionary musings on all things important and trivial. Allow us to massage your mind with witty observations and social commentary and then blow it (your mind, perv) with astute findings on the existential and cosmological. Come with us on the journey of self actualization and the actualization of all things not self. And now without further ado, I present the one who will make them all take me seriously, my other... Avis.