There is contrasting tension between the two movies. In Clouzot’s movie, the trucks move at a snail’s pace with every bump in the road adding tension, whereas in Speed, Annie Porter (Sandra Bullock) barrels down the highway, unable to stop or even slow the bus.

Anyone would be crazy to board that bus in Speed or drive those trucks in The Wages of Fear, but the motivations are fairly well fleshed out in both movies. Stuck without money, Mario must take the risk because he has no other option. The movie makes a strong comment on the insignificance of the worker when compared with the great demand for oil.

Although there are no subtitles for this YouTube clip, this scene is very important. Soaked in oil, Charles Vanel’s character, M. Jo, nearly drowns in a pool of crude. Rather than risking the truck getting stuck in the mud — and therefore stopping the shipment of nitroglycerin to the oil field — Montand closes his eyes and literally runs over Vanel’s character. Oil is significant — human life is not.

In Speed, Reeves’ Officer Traven breaks every rule in the book, and is advised by his best friend on the police force that his luck will run out one day. Like the bus plowing through everything in its path, Traven is a force of nature, and the intense action and drama of the plot draws him toward Annie Porter — regardless of the fact that they have nothing in common and barely talk. Listen to Keanu describe their relationship off-screen…

What the fuck is he talking about? Springtime? Twice during the movie, Traven and Porter talk about how relationships borne under intense stress never work, but finally they agree that sex will suffice. Traven didn’t have to jump on that bus, but he felt compelled to, and his love of action and adrenaline brought him to fall for Porter when they both are against the odds. Speed is meant to be fun, but it also touches on what compels cops to do their jobs: they are all adrenaline junkies.

Speed is better than you remember it. The script is crap, but the idea is novel. Also, it’s directed by cinematographer Jan De Bont and has a surprisingly good look. The Wages of Fear, however,is a classic that must be seen — with or without Keanu and Sandra.

I was not girly growing up, and could probably count the total numbers of dolls I ever owned on one hand, but I have never wanted anything more for Christmas than I wanted an American Girl doll in 1997. It was an infatuation. I knew the catalog front to back: there are some spreads I can recall from memory even now, 14 years later (Molly’s school set! Kirsten’s Christmas kit!). Back then — operating as “Pleasant Company Inc.” — American Girl Inc. sold five models of these historical dolls in the late ’90s, three of which were originals that had been around since the company’s inception in 1986: Felicity, Kirsten, Addy, Samantha, and Molly. Each girl possessed her own set of honorable “American” traits, and each came from an exciting, romantic period of American history.

In 1998 the company also sold “My American Girls,” modern-day dolls that resembled you, but I didn’t know a single girl in the third grade who decided to go for a doll without a backstory.  In the ’90s there was a genre of historical fiction for kids dedicated to the pioneers who traveled West in the 1800s (true story, look it up), and I was obsessed with it. There was something epic about moving across the entire country at a glacial pace that thrilled me, I guess. Kirsten Larson, this 10-year-old girl whose Swedish family settled in Minnesota in the 1850s, the star of the Meet Kirsten books, was “my American girl” from the beginning.

I keep saying “girl” and not “doll” because these were not the kind of dolls intended to instill in girls some sort of maternal trait. Each American Girl had her own book series, with titles like Meet X, X and The Holiday She Celebrates, X Faces a Big Life Thing, etc. In order to appreciate the dolls, you needed to have read the books: the dolls are essentially statues — not just of their characters, but of the whole era their characters represent. So when Christmas ’97 came around, I had read all of Kirsten’s books and knew her whole story, and so I needed the Kirsten doll to seal the deal, to make her character (and all of the pioneers involved in the crossing) tangible and real.

Sure enough, when Christmas morning came I opened a box with Kirsten (“a brave, steadfast girl of the Frontier,” according to the catalogue) inside. There she was, in the (plastic) flesh, dressed in her petticoat and her blue apron, her shiny blonde hair styled in looped-up braids. For my sister, my parents chose Felicity, whose resume listed adjectives like  ”spunky,” “brave,” and “independent-minded.” Felicity represented the Revolutionary War era.

That is what these dolls did well: represented, and introduced girls to, history. My sister, who never read books, slowly developed an interest in this period of American history, brought on by a curiosity of Felicity’s life. She too wanted to be familiar with the era in which Felicity lived. To keep up with my sister I had to cultivate an interest in Colonial America as well, so that year, to quench our sudden fascination, my parents took us to Old Williamsburg for a long weekend (Minnesota was too far away, not enough of a tourist spot). Clari brought Felicity, and I brought Kirsten along for the ride. After all, it was their country’s history, too.

Today, when you go to American Girl Inc.’s website, their mission statement states that “American Girl [dolls] show girls of today that they can do great things if they believe in themselves and each other.” There is no history aspect mentioned. The company’s PR changed its tune after receiving a lot of criticism in the ’90s by feminist groups who claimed that, by selling dolls in dresses, the company was doing nothing to actually empower young females. It isn’t the same anymore, but in 1997 when I scoured their catalogues, every single doll you could order came clad in a pretty dress.

In response, the company published a line of self-help books, in which the company taught American girls about hygiene, ettiquete, and how to deal with every kind of feeling. American Girls, Inc. began to focus more on making sure their company was empowering girls socially, rather than focusing on the education through which girls could also feel empowered.

The flagship American Girl Store opened in Chicago in 1998. Before that, dolls were mailorder only. In Chicago for the first time over New Years, I went, not the least bit ironically, to check the place out. The store is awesome: huge, colorful, and way better than the Barbie house in the Toys “R” Us Union Square. But I was almost immediately bummed out when I noticed the majority of my fellow morning shoppers were young girls huddled around the “My American Girl” kiosk, where they were all browsing for dolls that resembled themselves.

“But I need a green eyed one! And it needs to have brown curly hair,” I heard a girl who looked to be about 11 explaining anxiously to her mom. “They only have green eyes and straight. And it comes with a journal, yeah?”

I must have looked totally depressed by what I was eavesdropping, because that’s about the time when the sales associate approached me.

“Are you having any trouble? You’re gonna have to wait in line to order one of these,” I was told as she motioned towards the My American Girl kiosk we stood near. “But if you want one of those historical ones over there, it isn’t much of a wait.”

“Are people just, like, not into them anymore? Like Kirsten and them?” I asked, almost wanting to cry.

The saleswoman raised an eyebrow at me. She wasn’t very sweet. “Rarely, a lot of collectors though. ‘Old’ isn’t ‘cool’ anymore. You think these girls give a crap about the old girls?”

Something came to mind to say something about history not being old, and history being more of a perpetual thing you can still learn from, and that history, like stories, cannot get old. But the sales associate totally didn’t care — she was just here to sell this shit, so I kept my mouth shut.

It’s 2012 and all those girls have YouTube accounts where they record themselves talking and I should have known. American Girl History is dead.

—

Christina Drill is from Fair Lawn, New Jersey and currently writes and teaches in Panama City, Panama. Follow her on Twitter! (@stidrill.)

Orson Welles worked on his version of Othello for years. He ran out of capital multiple times during filming, and there are several different versions of the final film in circulation. The version I watched was the one reedited by his daughter in the ’90s.  I’ve heard mixed reviews, but like all Orson Welles movies, it is at the very least visually striking.

In the ’30s, Welles reportedly wore blackface in another Shakespeare production for the stage, and he returns to it here in the part of Othello. It looks pretty ridiculous, almost like a fake tan from a can, more fitting for Snooki or Pauly D than for the great moor warrior. Shakespeare’s Othello has great and meaningful things to say about race relations, but the message is lost on Orson Welles’ unfortunate decision to cast himself.

Welles plays up the contrast between light and dark, sometimes smothering Othello with cinematic darkness, whereas Desdemona on the other hand is enveloped in light. Just before Othello commits murder, he becomes no more than a silhouette; as he narrates his soliloquy, the camera plunges into total darkness. In the clip below, Othello explains his crimes, his face floating, isolated in the darkness.

Whereas the cinematography of Othello presents itself in shades and shadows, White Chicks is a bright, bubbly affair of colors similar to most low-brow comedies. Shawn and Marlon Wayans are FBI agents who dress up as white chicks in order to solve a kidnapping case. Though ludicrous comedy, the strange, grotesque girls they become remind me of something out of a horror movie. They look digusting, but everyone loves them — especially Latrell Spencer, a black basketball player (played by Terry Crews), due to the fact that they are “white chicks.” Take a look at this lovely date scene:

At the end of the movie, when Latrell discovers the Wayans’ characters true identity, he freaks out. “You’re not white!” he screams. A minstrel show turned on its side, parodying the excesses of socialite white woman who live in the Hamptons, White Chicks is surprisingly entertaining as far as bad movies go. Watch the racial commentary in this scene:

I’ll admit, this makes a pretty ludicrous double feature, but both movies are good in their own very strange way. If Orson Welles donned blackface today and played Othello there would be widespread outrage, but the minstrel tradition lives on in the Wayons’ masterpiece of crap.

—

Sick in the head and tummy, Kevin Munley should be dead. But he isn’t.

Back in June, I wrote a column pleading with Showtime executives to restore “Dexter” to its high quality season four prominence, while also offering suggestions as to what could make for a killer sixth season. I asked for a finale that packed a bigger punch than the melodramatic season five finale, which focused more on personal relationships than dealing with the season’s bad guy, Jordan Chase. I asked for a villain who could hold a candle to John Lithgow’s diabolical Trinity Killer, a villain who would be a worthy competitor to Dexter’s brains and brawn.

Most importantly, I asked the Showtime execs to remember that every good story has a beginning, a middle, and an end — that “Dexter” shouldn’t just be kept alive for countless seasons solely because of the revenue that the hit show brings in annually for the network. I suppose one out of three isn’t bad, considering that Showtime has decided to end “Dexter” after renewing the show for two more seasons to give the writers time to conclude their story. The problem is, after watching the season six finale on Sunday night, it’s clear that the show’s narrative direction and reason for remaining on the air actually ended two seasons ago.

The Dexter Formula

A large part of the problem with season six is that the show has been adhering to the same stale method of storytelling since the first season aired back in 2006. In every season, Dexter realizes that there is a void in his life that killing does not fill, and this coincidentally mirrors his relationship to the villain of that season.

Season three focused on his need for a friend, so Miguel Prado represented what would happen if Dexter had a friend who became aware of his dark passenger. In season four, Dexter wanted to know how he could be a father and a husband as well as a serial killer, and Trinity represented what would be required to successfully navigate all the roles in his life. The fifth season’s villain, Jordan Chase, was a motivational speaker who focused on healing the broken psyches of his followers. This happened just after a seemingly shattered Dexter felt responsible for Rita’s death in season four.

Season six kicks off with Dexter realizing that he doesn’t want to pass on his dark passenger to his son Harrison. So what should Dexter pass on to his son? The writers picked religion, so predictably, the season six bad guy just happens to be a religious nut job convinced that by staging the events of Revelations in the Bible, he will bring on the end of the world.

Okay, I get it — we as viewers aren’t smart enough to follow Dexter’s exposure to religion without the season’s villain showing us the perils of faith gone wrong. Unfortunately, Travis Marshall ended up being another villain who did not measure up to the Trinity Killer in terror or believability. What resulted were 12 episodes that dragged along, as seasoned fans waited for an uninteresting, nonthreatening villain to end up on Dexter’s table in the finale. The mid-season twist that Gellar was imaginary was actually detrimental to the season, as James Olmos’s character was far more interesting than Colin Hanks’s Travis. Putting Harrison’s life at risk in the last episode seemed like an ill-conceived last-ditch attempt to make viewers believe that this was a high stakes finale.

Just Kill Me Already…

Showtime casted Mos Def to play Brother Sam, a religious friend to Dexter who would instill him with faith that he could overcome his darkness and be better than the murderer we have grown to know and love. Brother Sam’s mid-season death seemed poorly timed considering that Dexter’s internal struggle with faith and belief seemed to end with Brother Sam’s life.

So in reality, we have a season that started with strong religious undertones but essentially amounted to nothing in regards to character development. Ironically, Brother Sam’s death seems to convince Dexter that he and his dark passenger will be inseparable until death do they part. Counterproductive, to say the least.

Then there is the horrible inconsistencies in the writing. For example, in Sunday’s finale when Dexter shows up at the crime scene where Travis has painted his likeness on a giant canvas, it just so happens that the officers on scene are waiting for Dexter to arrive before they go inside. So all of a sudden, after six seasons of the show, everyone — including Masuka — is going to wait for Dexter to first enter a crime scene which just so happens to contain evidence that would link him to Travis Marshall? Okay…I guess.

And then there was the incest. I don’t know what else can be said about the writers pushing us towards a Deb/Dexter hookup, except for the fact that they have clearly run out of ideas. During a breakthrough session with her psychiatrist, Deborah is told that the reason that she has made horribly stupid relationship decisions in her past is because she is secretly in love with her adopted non-biological brother. Since we are made to believe that Deborah and Agent Lundy would have lived happily ever after if he hadn’t been killed, this seems to be another afterthought plot line from the writers room. And, as a side note, it’s just kind of creepy. All that coupled with Deborah’s last second realization that Dexter was a killer just seemed like I was being force-fed last season’s should-have-been finale after the carrot had dangled for way too long.

According to Wikipedia, “Jumping the shark is an idiom used to describe the moment in the evolution of a television show when it begins a decline in quality that is beyond recovery.” It is synonymous with the phrase, “The beginning of the end.”

My friends, the shark has been jumped. Although this revelation is sad, it is also freeing. I know now that “Dexter” as I knew it is over. I’ve read a lot of an opinion on the finale since it aired, and although there seems to be a rift on its level of quality, everyone is in agreement that season five and six of the series have not measured up to the quality of prior seasons. And Showtime knows this, which is why they have already signaled for the curtain call before the ratings inevitably plummet. Thank God it is almost over.

F MY L.

Put on your Sunday's best, kids! We're going to Sears!

In a recent stupor, I rewatched 1995′s The Brady Bunch Movie. I watched the whole thing and I couldn’t stop. It was so bad. The idea to watch it came from my roommate in New York, who tweeted what is without question the movie’s best quote:

She’s harder to get into than a Pearl Jam concert!

This is said by a high school dork as he watches Marcia strut across the hallway in her short, pink, polyester skirt. If in 1995 you missed this blockbuster, here’s the premise: the saccharine Brady Bunch (recast perfectly, with Christine Taylor as Marcia and Shelley Long as Carol) are removed from their 1970s suburban bubble and placed instead in the 1990s — ’70s morals, fashion, and exuberance intact. It’s funny to watch this movie and realize how the Brady family’s naivete and relentless optimism is supposed to infuriate that early Clinton, still-grunge-and-fuck-you world that was the mid-1990s. But what’s even funnier is how absurd the 1990s look watching them from out here in the new millennium. They look really mean.

For example: in the scene above, Cindy — hands down the weirdest Brady — goes over to her neighbors’ house to askth for her familysth mail, only to be greeted by a rude Hollywood guy on his treadmill (treadmills! So ’90s!) who is simultaneously drinking a Bloody Mary and shouting into a cell phone about money he is owed.

The (bad) joke is that Mr. Ditmeyer, a flashy up-to-date  turn-of-the-century guy, finds Cindy’s lisp, blonde curls, and politeness abhorrent. And I mean, Cindy’s pretty irksome, but watching it now, Ditmeyer’s character is the one who makes me LOL. What’s supposed to be funny about this scene has changed: in 2011, it’s hard to relate to Ditmeyer and hard to relate to his outrage. What got me laughing isn’t Cindy Brady’s outrageous sweetness, but Ditmeyer’s inability to stand it. Yes he’s a parody, but people like this existed in 1995! That in itself is laugh-worthy.

Another stereotypical character that cracks me up: the ’90s version of the teenage lesbian. Ubach’s character Noreen seems to be the only lesbian at the Brady’s high school, and, naturally, she has a crush on Marcia. Marcia is by nature oblivious to the her best friend’s crush, and invites her over for a sleepover, during which they sleep in the same bed like pigs in a blanket. Noreen, who doesn’t seem to have much faith in her unrequited love until now, reaches over and touches Marcia’s leg under the blankets. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought that was my leg.” Noreen apologizes, looks bummed, and the scene ends.

Noreen is the only ’90s female character who’s in more than a scene or two, and she’s stereotyped as frumpy, an outcast, shy — a girl without agency other than her personal preference for girls over boys. The joke is her frumpiness paired with Marcia’s beauty, and Marcia being too clueless to ever realize that her best friend is 1) a lesbian, and 2) in love with her.

Marcia’s oblivion is funny to a point, but so are Noreen’s awkward and desperate attempts: why’d she just go down and touch her leg like that? Who does that? Today, when I think of stereotypical teenage lesbians, I think of Naomi and Emily from “Skins” who are both super cute and fairly ballsy and not at all like poor Noreen:

Anyway, my point is this: if you want to watch a movie in which one decade tries to make fun of another decade and just ends up mocking itself, The Brady Bunch Movie is a good place to start. It has everything you miss about the 1990s: mushroom haircuts, french kissing in convertibles, a “battle of the bands” talent show, and a brief and surprise appearance by an older but still awesome Florence Henderson.

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Christina Drill is from Fair Lawn, New Jersey and currently writes and teaches in Panama City, Panama. She is Taylor Swift’s biggest fan. Follow her on Twitter! (@stidrill.)

“The Good, the Bad, and the Sophia”
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. AMC’s “The Walking Dead” ended its first season run as the most watched program in AMC’s history with more than six million viewers tuning in for the finale. This only made it all the more shocking when series show-runner Frank Darabont was quickly fired by the network only three days after promoting the hit show heavily at the Comic Con convention in July.

The exact reasoning for Darabont’s termination was never explained, but sources close to the matter state that a dispute over AMC’s reluctance to give the show more funding resulted in the separation. AMC has had very public budget disputes with the executive producers of network shows “Breaking Bad” and “Mad Men,” so a similar incident doesn’t seem unlikely.

So what happens when the guy that fought for five years to bring Robert Kirkman’s vision of a Zombie-fied civilization to the small screen gets abruptly ousted? The answer appears to be simple: all hell breaks loose, but, unfortunately, not in the way I would have liked.

First, the Good
Character development in season two has been top notch thus far, and the writers should be commended for making me become attached to every character regardless of their episode-to-episode shelf life. In season one, there was some gray area about what made Rick or Shane a better leader for our group of survivors. Season two has created a clear line in the sand dividing their ideologies and placing you firmly on one side or the other. Shane’s character in particular has been a pleasure to watch as he tiptoes the dangerous line between human compassion and full on “Lord of the Flies” survival instinct.

Andrea and Daryl are other prime examples of character development done right. In the season one finale when Andrea decided to let herself get napalmed in the CDC, I honestly couldn’t have cared less either way. It has been interesting to watch her transformation from victim to “Tomb Raider” in the span of so few episodes. Daryl’s character was very one-dimensional in season one, and although he still isn’t as multifaceted as some of the others, it is nice to see other aspects of his personality as the show goes on. It would have been easy for the writers to turn Rick’s discovery of Shane and Lori’s romance into an episode of “Maury,” but they cleverly had him react as his character should, with logic. The only scenario that seems forced is Glen’s budding romance, but even that becomes slightly more believable as the show progresses.

Now, the Bad…The Young and the Zombie Restless
Uh, this show is still about the zombie apocalypse right….right? The excellent character development of season two definitely comes at the sacrifice of any kind of coherent plot line or narrative direction from the writers room.

In the first episode of the new season, the survivors are still in the process of making their way to Fort Benning after the events that transpired at the CDC in the season one finale. One of the group goes missing after the RV breaks down on a highway, and we the viewers have been treated to a “Little House on the Prairie”/“Young and the Restless”/“Jerry Springer” montage ever since. Throughout the six episodes that have aired, there has been no indication that the survivors are any closer to getting off this farm, and if the previews for the episodes to come are to be taken at face value…there are more farm adventures to be had before Fort Benning is ever mentioned again.

Season one was described by words like exhilarating, suspenseful, and terrifying. None of these would be applicable for season two’s lamentable compilation of zombie lassoing and group drama. Season one also did an excellent job of balancing the weight of character development and plot advancement. Season two is unbalanced in comparison.

And Then There Was Sophia…
Oh Sophia, that sweet, sweet infected angel of mercy. Executed at point-blank range by Rick himself after Shane and company went all ballistic on a barn full of corralled zombies. I’m sure this moment was meant to invoke sadness — or even pity — for the loss of another one of the tribe.

Instead, for me, as well as many fans of the show, the moment was unexpectedly met with a moment of jubilation as one ubiquitous thought cascaded through our minds: Finally, the first sign of being able to move on from this effin’ farm! Six episodes is way too much for any show to devote to a seemingly random plot line. It’s almost like the writers said, “Well, we can’t let them get to Fort Benning too soon, so… uhh… hmm… oh, I know. We will have Sophia get lost in the zombie infested woods for half the friggin’ season and then, uhh…they’ll find her five episodes later in the barn that they have been sleeping right next to.”

Seriously, guys…really?

Wrap Up
Bring back the fear, AMC. You took it from me and I want it back now. Bring back the fight for survival, or at least the fight with some actual purpose. Bring back the claustrophobia-inducing enclosed areas, which gave off the illusion that anyone could die at any moment.

Maybe Darabont was onto something, because nothing in this second season has been remotely suspenseful. Without Shane’s standout episode (where Otis was sacrificed) and the much-needed character development, this season would be a total flop. Never have I seen a show with such a great first season stumble so quickly in its second. Then again, I cant think of another hit show that fired its series show-runner after the first season. Luckily for us, the second season isn’t over yet, and February, when the story is slated to continue, is just around the corner.

F MY L.

On November 11, 2011, Lana del Rey sings her “Video Games” song live on Amsterdam’s DDWD show. This counts as Lizzy Grant’s second live broadcasted performance as Lana del Rey, and it’s already loads better than her first.

Back on “Later With Jools Holland” in early October, the pale, strawberry blonde singer drones that same hit song into a microphone that seems curiously glued to her unpainted lips. Del Rey looks, in that first performance, nothing short of embarrassed of herself. Embarrassed not by her new identity, or her new face , but by the idea that the people watching are well aware of — or are even looking for — this “newness.” It’s as if she is trying to hide from the world, or pardon it of, the same surgically-enhanced pout that got people talking about her in the first place.

But chicks in the music business reinvent themselves all the time in order to win our hearts: just look at the intergalactic Lady Gaga. Look at her translucent skin and her large fishbowl eyes. Gaga was hatched from an egg on stage at the VMAs, and reigns from another hemisphere. That’s the way we like to think of her. When we are reminded that Lady Gaga’s real name is Stefani Germanotta we might feel uncomfortable, confused, or even lied to.

When I watch a forgettable talent show performance starring this Stefani girl on YouTube, I feel uneasy. This isn’t Lady Gaga. The dissociation between the “Pop Star” Lady Gaga and this “Stefani” character who used to play shows around the Lower East Side is so that these two are blatantly not the same person. We the public don’t care about Stefani, because Stefani is boring. We care about Gaga, the woman who does not have an age or bones or kidneys. This androgynous alien woman who lives under lightbulbs and survives off whiskey shots fascinates us, and we could give a shit (rather, we just aren’t interested) about who she was before.

So why is it that everyone is so mad that the “Video Games” singer changed her name from Lizzy Grant to Lana del Rey after her first album failed to garner any response? Who can blame Lizzy for removing her album off iTunes, redesigning her image (with help, of course), and morphing into this ghostly, pouty housewife thing that is supposed to represent the America we are nostalgic for?

Critics of del Rey argue that an artist who has been marketed as “indie” should be marketed as “authentic.” But first one needs to think about what it means to be marketed as indie. If a record company — Interscope, in del Rey’s instance — slaps that “indie artist” label on one of their artists, the market changes. The line between mainstream and indie is that change of market — that change in target audience.

But where there’s an audience, there’s manufacturing. And the way del Rey was portrayed the second time around just so happened to have popular appeal. Many audiences, not just the indie crowd, are nostalgic for this Old Hollywood, post-war America image del Rey represents — “the mainstream” included. So because del Rey has crossover appeal, is this a reason to label her as a “fake”?

Just something to think about: Kelly Clarkson, “American Idol’s” first winner, won America’s hearts by being the girl next door from Texas. The public chose Kelly Clarkson back in 2002 for three reasons: she was a sweetheart, she was all-American, and she could sing. “Idol” watchers weren’t rooting for “a superstar” (in fact, that first season of “American Idol” was actually titled “American Idol: The Search for a Superstar,” but the second part of the title was scrapped come season two).

Kelly Clarkson won that first season of “AI” because she was likable as a person before she was likable as a pop star. Nowadays, this tactic doesn’t work. Nowadays, Clarkson’s record company hides her image beneath synthy, club-heavy pop songs. Even our beloved Britney Spears has long since shed her down-to earth Louisiana girl image for one that is sleeker, sexier, more supernatural.

In terms of popular allure, Lana del Ray wavers somewhere between Clarkson and Gaga. She appeals to people who are nostalgic for the idea of that romantic, pre-fucked up America: fundamentalists, apathetic music bloggers, OWS protestors. On a personal level, we don’t know who del Rey is. Nor should we care. Because the image del Rey represents isn’t authentic at all. Nostalgia is inherently inauthentic: it’s the most ersatz concept that exists. We knew who Kelly Clarkson was before she became a pop star. She became a pop star because of who she was, and it didn’t work.

The retro-USA that Del Rey represents is an appeal that we find, much like Lady Gaga’s, both alien and fascinating. She reminds us of good times we don’t quite remember. And she sings about them too, in that elegiac voice that’s been described over and over again as haunting.

Del Rey’s haters are mad because they fell for the act. So give it up, everyone. There is nothing to be ashamed about. Manufactured or not, the spirit is there. And you love it! You support Lana del Rey.

—

Christina Drill is from Fair Lawn, New Jersey and currently writes and teaches in Panama City, Panama. She is Taylor Swift’s biggest fan. Follow her on Twitter! (@stidrill.)

In these enlightened times of social networking, smartphone usage, and the Interweb, it is difficult to encounter a person that does not have an opinion on the likes of a Casey Anthony or an OJ Simpson.  Stories of alleged murderers who beat the system tug on the heartstrings of citizens who otherwise generally have zero interest in the American justice system.  Unilateral discussions filled with conspiracy theories, monetary allegiances, politics, race, sex, and religious perspective erupt around water coolers across the globe during lunch breaks while 24/7 media coverage saturates.  My Facebook status update following the Casey Anthony verdict read, “I wish there was as much outrage for an innocent person that gets convicted as there is for an allegedly guilty person who walks free.”  Apparently, the planet must frequent my Facebook page because the conviction and execution of Georgia native Troy Davis is forcing everyone to take a look at the intricacies of the aging US justice system.

My personal opinion has always been that in the event that a person commits an act to intentionally cause the death of another human being, the perpetrator is deserving of death.  My hard-earned tax dollars shouldn’t go to paying for a convicted murderer’s Metamucil as he or she ages into their twilight inside a cell.

I am not alone in this way of thinking: a Gallup Poll conducted in November of 2010 showed that 64 percent of American citizens support the death penalty for persons convicted of murder.  I’m just going to go ahead and assume that America’s support of the death penalty is contingent upon an overwhelming, unquestionable level of evidence — essentially the smoking gun.  And the lack of that smoking gun is what ultimately has so many people everywhere riled up about the execution of alleged cop killer Troy Davis.  In actuality, a gun was never recovered at all.

The facts of the case are simple enough:  On August 19th, 1989, Troy Davis and Sylvester “Redd” Coles assaulted homeless man Larry Young over a beer in a Burger King parking lot next to the bus station at which off-duty police officer Mark Macphail was working security.  Officer MacPhail rushed to break up the altercation and was shot to death as a result of intervening.  The next day, Sylvester Coles went to the police and stated that Troy Davis assaulted Larry Young the night before while he was in possession of a .38 caliber gun.  Interestingly, it would just so happen that the bullets that killed Officer MacPhail were fired from a .38 caliber firearm.  The only physical evidence recovered from the scene were .38 caliber rounds. The morning following the assault of Larry Young, Troy Davis turned himself in to police custody.

Based primarily upon the prosecution’s 34 witness testimonies, Troy Davis was found guilty of Officer MacPhail’s murder and sentenced to death on August 30th, 1991.   And that, as they say, is where the plot thickens.

After the Georgia Supreme Court upheld the lowers court’s conviction, a 70 percent federal funding cut to the Georgia Resource Center led to Troy Davis losing access to the majority of its investigators and lawyers.  An affidavit by the Executive Director of the Resource Center stated, “There were numerous witnesses that we knew should have been interviewed but we lacked the resources to do so.”

Then, after 1996, seven of the nine key eyewitnesses in the prosecution’s case against Troy Davis recanted all or part of their testimony that was used during the trial.  One witness stated that she felt “under pressure from police to identify Davis as the shooter because she was on a parole conviction for shoplifting.”  Another witness affidavit stated that the police convinced him to falsely testify by leveraging the threat of accessory charges against him.  Three others stated that their previous testimony had been coerced by police force and not by free will.  And to make matters even worse, another three witnesses stated that Sylvester Coles had confessed the murder to them personally.  All of these signed affidavits resulted to nothing as the ruling Judge stated that they were “insufficient to raise doubts.”  The rest of the story plays out with countless appeals being denied until Troy Davis’ execution on September 21st, 2011.

The purpose of this article is not to imply that Troy Davis was innocent, as many other outlets have taken the liberty of doing.  The purpose of this article is to inspire you, the reader, to take a good hard look at the “Cliff’s Notes” of the facts from the case, and to hopefully compel you to make a logic-based determination as to whether or not you could be sure that Troy Davis was guilty if you were on that jury.

Based solely on the facts of the case, do you believe that Troy Davis was guilty beyond a reasonable doubt?  Did the American justice system fail Troy Davis?  If enough people say that something happened, does it mean that it happened? Is it constitutional for a person be put to death in a murder case with no fingerprints, no surveillance footage, and no DNA evidence? It’s questions like these that are what I believe is pissing off the world so much.  After analyzing the evidence, it is quite possible that the right man was punished for the murder of Officer Mark MacPhail.  The problem is that in regards to a man being incarcerated and put to death by execution, “quite possible” just shouldn’t be enough.

By now, 750 million active user have logged on and taken a part in the fine arts of picture tagging, “Like”-ing their favorite television shows and musicians, or harvesting crops in digital farming communities. Facebook bridged the gap between friends and family members in other states and countries, and provided a forum for people to be heard who otherwise would have been too lazy to have a voice.

And then one day, out of nowhere…it became a clusterfuck. I donʼt know when it happened exactly, but everything changed.  I began to dread signing into the social network to get my daily fix. After a couple minutes of newsfeed browsing, I felt slightly more depressed with the state of the planet than I did before logging on. So whoʼs to blame for my current disposition on Facebook? The answer is simple: we are. The true problems with Facebook do not reside with Mark Zuckerberg or the real smart people he hired behind the scene that keep the hamster wheel turning. My issue is with…us. Humanity.

5)Everyone is not a philosopher

I sign on to Facebook at least once a day and just check my newsfeed to see what people are talking about. I notice that 40 percent of the the status updates Im sifting through are cryptic life instructions from people who were exclaiming “FUCK my cheating significant other” 24 hours earlier in their previous post.

Look, people — do us all a favor and get a job, a car, a house, a spouse, and then hold all that together for more than five minutes and then maybe — just maybe — we will want to hear what you have to say. Or, if youʼre truly feeling inspired, get off your ass and write a book with that all wisdom you possess. Until then, spare me and the rest of the people on your friends list the anguish of throwing up just a little bit in our mouths every time you decide to bless us with your enlightenment. Okay, Plato?

4)Yes, Yes, We know, We know……You hate your job

WTF? Does anyone know what a recession is? Heres a definition: “A period of general economic decline, typically defined as a decline in GDP for two or more consecutive quarters. A recession is typically accompanied by a drop in the stock market, an increase in unemployment, and a decline in the housing market.”

Do you actually understand what that means? It means that while you are moaning about whatever position you were fortunate enough to obtain, five trillion people probably just lost their job. Suck it up, do what you have to do, un-friend your boss before you get fired, and move on, you simple bastards.

3) The haters keep hating on my hatred

Alright, so this one is going to be directed more toward the women on Facebook, mainly because men are dumber and are more liable to resolve their issues in a more barbaric “Ill just knock your head off” fashion. You know how they have those statistics that say “every 60 seconds a car is jacked,” or “every 60 seconds a video featuring a kitten is uploaded onto Youtube?” I feel like every 60 seconds a woman makes a ranting status update about some haters hating hoopla.

The beauty of Facebook is that it allows everyone to feel more important or popular than they actually are in reality. Humans are social beings; we yearn for catharsis and approval from others in ways that many other animals donʼt. Without social interaction with others, you end up like Tom Hanks in Castaway; i.e., batshit crazy talking to a volleyball you dolled up. With that being said, I suppose the best I can do is to just take these hater-directed ramblings with a grain of salt. I just wonder if the thought ever crosses their minds that in reality, no one is hating on them, and more importantly, (gasp) that nobody actually gives a shit.

2) Micro-updates

Nick James is writing a blog article. Nick James just ate a bowl of cereal. Nick James is proofreading his blog article. Nick James just turned a doorknob. Nick James just found his missing sock…

1) Fuck yo couch SPOUSE

In the event that you and your spouse are having problems, Iʼd like you to take a wild guess as to where the most illogical place to voice these frustrations might be. Go ahead, take your time, I can wait… If youʼre having some trouble, then let me help: it’s Facebook. There are only a few things that a “FUCK MY SPOUSE BECAUSE OF XYZ” post can get you. For starters, it confirms to the people on your friends list that you are a moron and should have listened to them when they told you not to deal with the douche bag that youʼre venting about. Secondly, it makes any person who was potentially interested in dating you realize that you are clearly a loose cannon when it comes to dealing with your emotions. And, lastly — and also most importantly — no one really wants to see your dirty laundry stretched out to dry across cyberspace….well, except maybe for your haters.

Now I know what youʼre thinking: If Facebook sucks so badly, then I should just purge my friends list or just deactivate my account altogether. And while one day that may be my only option, I’m going to continue to use Facebook for the same reasons people continue to waste money on Michael Bay movies. Sometimes you just donʼt have anything better to do.

F MY L.

Sadly tonight is not the night for fans mulling through the lull of a Dexter-less summer. Filming of Showtimeʼs hit series sixth season just started production in May which would imply that the series may once again premiere the first episode of its new season around September.

Season five concluded with Julia Stilesʼ character Lumen Pierce leaving Miami for locations unknown but not before unleashing her primal self all over motivational mastermind Jordan Chase. While most fans of the show enjoyed season five, a vast majority of those viewers felt that the show was taking a step in the wrong direction without measuring up to a killer season four. Apparently Showtime executives agreed and decided to change showrunners for the upcoming season six. Unfortunately they didnʼt think that they could afford me so I didnʼt get a call for the job. Luckily for them, these five suggestions will help to ensure that “Dexter” continues to take out the trash in true foster father pleasing fashion.

5) End the finale with a bigger bang
Color me spoiled by the wife killing conclusion of Dexterʼs fourth season but, I found the ending of season five to be rather…well…anti-climatic. Donʼt get me wrong, the writers made a valiant effort in building up tension while attempting to convince us, the viewers, that Jordan Chase was definitely worthy of Dexterʼs table. Itʼs just that when Lumen executed Chase at almost the halfway mark of the final episode, it was deflating to realize that the main reason you were watching the episode had already occurred. For the 20+ remaining minutes we were treated to a “Young and the Restless” montage of relationships gone right with Deb and Quinn and wrong with Dexter and Lumen which coincidentally brings me my next point…

4) No new love interest for Dexter
Please for the love of everything holy Showtime, I beg of thee…NO. NEW. LOVE INTEREST. FOR. DEXTER! The writers made the ballsy decision to allow the Trinity Killer to eliminate Dexterʼs series companion Rita in the Season Four finale. After watching that finale my mind automatically started generating scenarios for all of the possibilities of what the removal of a character as prominent as Rita could do for the series. Dexter could have left Miami for a part of the season or could have totally lost control of his dark passenger with no Trinity alive for vengeance. The only scenario that my mind did not conjure was the writers creating another female love interest for Dexter to become entangled with. With the overabundance of relationships on the show piling up as it is, do fans really want to watch Dexter taking another sociopathic stab at love?

3) Create a villain capable of making me forget about Trinity
Not so unlike the onslaught of super hero movies crashing into theaters on a seemingly weekly basis, the strength of a “Dexter” season relies heavily upon whoever he is facing off against. Season fiveʼs Jordan Chase was played brilliantly by Jonny Lee Miller and he executed the material given to him by the writers flawlessly. The problem is that by design, Jordan Chase just wasnʼt a compelling villain to begin with, especially when compared to the likes of John Lithgowʼs Trinity Killer. I understand the writerʼs decision to not attempt to top Trinityʼs madness in the following season. Just make sure you give us a villain thatʼs ready to get his or her hands dirty before the last two episodes of the season this time.

2) Keep your family and your business completely separated
When news broke last year that Michael C. Hall and Jennifer Carpenter were putting an end to their real life marriage, my inner Dexter fan shuddered at the thought of their break up corrupting the on screen relationship of Deb and Dex. Iʼm hoping that the duo can handle the situation with professionalism and integrity since they decided to start a relationship with such a screen time sharing co star.

1) Know when to kill the cash cow
Lets face it folks, “Dexter” is the sole reason that millions of non-torrent using viewers are willing to pony up a required donation to Showtime every month. We know this, the network knows this, even the cast of “Jersey Shore” probably knows this…..doubtful. With that being said, all good things must come an end. As “Dexter” is entering itʼs sixth season I, as well as many fans have begun motioning for the curtain call. I know this could be seen as treason but hear me out before you start breaking out the kill tools. There are only so many scenarios that the writers can intelligently create where Dex almost gets caught or Deb almost finds out who her brother really is. There is also no guarantee that the main characters of the series will want to continue acting in these roles once the quality of the seasons inevitably decline over time…cough cough CUDDY. Thereʼs a reason why shows like “24” and “The X-Files” bow out with series finales ratings equal to a fraction of the shows viewership at its prime. I mean seriously, how many 10 season shows have you been a fan of for the entire ride?

The only way “Dexter” will continue to live on and be remembered as the great show that it is will be if the ending of the series is brought to an intentional, well thought out conclusion. The writers need to stop dangling the carrot and start moving towards wrapping up the major plot points before we get force fed an overstuffed final season or worse. Oh you donʼt believe me? Fine, just ask a “LOST” fan how hard it is to re-watch the series or recommend it to a friend knowing that the majority of the last season should have been left on the killing cutting room floor.

The new teaser released by Showtime promises that we will see a “renewed, recharged, refocused” Dexter in season six. I for one, cannot wait for the new season and hope that the writers can measure up to that claim. Was I too harsh on season five or was I precise with my incisions? Give me your thoughts.

F MY L