Amanda Ryan's Blog, page 2

Guest Post: Mr. RaunchyRyan Explains Green Lantern

Today’s post is a guest post hosted by…wait for it…MR. RaunchyRyan!  That’s right, folks.  My husband is the bomb-shit-sha-bang and actually took time to chat about his love of all things Green Lantern.

RR: Welcome, baby! Thanks for doing this.

MRR: Do I have to make this all romantic and stuff?

RR: No. (shoots him an evil look)

MRR: *laughs to himself*

RR: So what’s the deal with Green Lantern?

MRR: Green Lantern has always been my favorite super hero, and I think I know why. In the end, here’s what the story of Green Lantern is all about: Human will and imagination are able to hold their own against the most powerful forces in the universe. If you can dream it up and have the will power to back it, everybody had better watch out.

RR: Let’s pretend I don’t know jack-crap about Green Lantern (MRR snorts at me). Can you give me a brief background?

MRR: Here’s what I consider the basics of Green Lantern. Hal Jordan is a hotshot test pilot for a private aeronautics corporation that builds fighter jets (like Boeing). Hal is full of himself and something of a jerk, which is why although I’m not a big fan of Ryan Reynolds I think he’s a great fit. One day an alien dude in a green outfit crash-lands on the test flight grounds and gets Hal Jordan’s attention. As he dies, the alien gives Hal a powerful green ring and names him the new Green Lantern and protector of Sector 2814. Hal has no idea what this means, but over time he comes to learn that the Green Lantern Corps is an intergalactic police force established by an ancient race known as the Guardians. They are small and blue, like menacing magical Smurfs. Long ago, they created a power battery out of what is called “the green element” (it’s a glowing green boulder). They choose individuals to become Green Lanterns. Each Lantern is given a ring, which allows them to create anything (made of green light) they can imagine and will into existence–green laser beams, green Winnebagos, green guns, green force fields, green safety nets, green x-ray scanners, whatever. (Once they stop imagining it, it disappears.) One downside is that every so often Green Lanterns have to return to the power battery to recharge their rings. The power battery is in the shape of a giant lantern, and is housed on the Guardian’s home world, Oa (“oh-uh”), at the center of the universe.

The Green Lanterns spend most of their time flying around the universe fighting crime and helping people, not unlike Batman. (Both Green Lantern and Batman are DC Comics characters.)

RR: Oo, I like Batman.

MRR: It’s not just about peace and justice, though. It’s about fighting evil head-on. Once in a while something huge goes down. For instance, the Parallax saga involves evil characters who focus on exploiting the Lanterns’ greatest weakness. If will and imagination are what give the Lanterns strength, it is fear that is that weakness, since it’s hard to maintain your resolve and to imagine good things when you’re crippled by fear. Just as will is symbolized by the color green, fear is symbolized by the color yellow, hence Parallax is yellow.

RR: Ok, so where does the new movie fall in the greater time line of Green Lantern?

MRR: The new movie tells the story of Hal Jordan becoming the first human Green Lantern, and how the Green Lantern Corps takes on Parallax. I’m excited to see how it all goes down.

RR: What draws you more to Green Lantern over any of the other DC guys?

MRR: The stories are the most sci-fi of all the major super heroes. (Superman comes from a far-away planet, but is there anyone more American than him?) In fact, in the Green Lantern world, the known universe is divided into 3,600 sectors, and each sector is assigned two Green Lanterns as protectors. So, there are many Green Lanterns, and almost all of them are non-human. Much of the action in the Green Lantern stories takes place in outer space.

RR: How does Green Lantern relate to other super heroes?

MRR: Earth’s Green Lantern (a role assumed not just by Hal Jordan but also by others later on) is part of the Justice League, the DC Comics equivalent of The Avengers. There have been various incarnations of the Justice League, but it almost always includes Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Flash, and Green Lantern. Flash and the Hal Jordan Green Lantern have similar personalities and are good friends, which led DC Comics to introduce John Stewart as a new Green Lantern to mix things up–he’s black and more bad-ass. Sometimes the Justice League includes a character named Green Arrow. The cool thing there is that although they share the whole green thing, there’s a lot of contract between Green Lantern and Green Arrow. Green Lantern is a law-and-order policeman, whereas Green Arrow is more of a live-and-let-live guy who stands up for the people instead of carrying out the will of any authority like the Guardians.

RR: What’s the coolest thing about Green Lantern?

MRR: His ring. The ring can literally make anything you can imagine. If I had one, I’d use it at the movies to send out a frequency that shut off all cell phones in the theater.  How would you use it?

RR: I have a vision of a super clean house, and all the chores being done without me having to get up off the couch or put down my book.  And mind you, I wouldn’t be holding my own book or turning my own pages.  Mah power would.  HA!

Green Lantern, starring Ryan Reynolds, Blake Lively and Peter Sarsgaard, opens today in theaters nationwide.

Guest Post: Mr. RaunchyRyan Explains Green Lantern from The Raunch Dilettante: http://www.raunchdilettante.com/

Romance Kills: Romance Readers are Addicts

There was a whir of controversy in the romance community over Utah’s KSL.com posting a short article entitled “Romance Novels Can Be as Addictive as Pornography,” By Kimberly Sayer-Giles.  My Twitter feed has exploded in response with many outcries as well as humorous hashtag responses (i.e. RT @anawi Was kicked out of night classes for hitting on my hot professor, convinced he was a tortured vamp seeking redemption #romancekills)

This isn’t a new argument.  What I found intriguing, however, was the assertion that “women are more stimulated by romance than sex.”  It gave me pause.  Really? I found myself wondering.  Sure, the sexes are wired differently.  Our inherent biological imperatives are coded into our genes, and we can’t physically help that we’re wired to ogle ( i.e. men are lured toward curvaceous women because they’re equipped to carry children; women are lured toward strong, buff men because they stand a better chance at survival).  You know how it is…the whole caveman thing.  The Darwin “survival of the fittest” thing.

What irritates me about this whole huff worthy argument is our continual hangup about sexuality, and the assumption that women are not inheritant sexual beings.  Sexual desire is a masculine trait. Let us not forget the ever-pounded (*snicker*) Christian connotations associated with sex and sexuality.  Christianity’s stance on sex  has evolved over it’s 2,000 year history (sex and masturbation is sinful; sex before marriage is condemnable; sex between a man and a woman is only for making babies; sex should only be between a man and a woman). SEX SEX SEX AHHHHH!

Here are some stats.  According to a Nielsen/NetRatings survey, in the first three months of 2007 one in three visitors to online porn sites were female; during that same time, nearly 13 million American women logged in at least once a month to pornographic web sites (CNN). Science has suggested that “women are at least as stimulated by porn as men.”

Here’s something even more interesting:  “While the men responded more intensely to porn that mirrored their particular gender orientation, the women tended to like it all.”  Ha HA, byatches!  We. Like. It. All.  Ah, the pleasures of being a woman.  *snort*

I personally am not into same-sex erotica and/or romance.  I’m not one to purposefully seek it out, but I won’t turn away from it either.  There are fellow rombloggers out there that really enjoy reading male-male erotica, or have even cornered it as their genre.  I’ve read a fair share of it – hell, I’m curious;  I’d be lying if I said it didn’t do anything for me.  Intrinsically there is some sort of base instinct in all of us that reacts to the attraction of two people, be it romantic or sexual.  It’s chemical. It’s ingrained. We’re wired to react, otherwise we would have gone extinct loooong ago.

Women are sexual beings.  We have sexual desire, and we can respond to sexuality just as much, if not more than, men. Romance is wonderful.   So is sex.  We need to ask ourselves why this is  so difficult to a) accept and b) embrace? We’re also endowed with consciences and a sense of morality.  Most of society is able to curb acting on our basest impulses at every turn.  I say “most” because, having being a former New Yorker I’ve witnessed people without that sense of conscience do some pretty ridiculous things in public.

So what’s the difference between porn and romance novels? Here is what makes a good romance novel to me:  the tupping, wanking, ravishing, fucking, making love-ing, shagging, banging…it’s rarely senseless.  There’s a point to it.  There are also consequences to it.  I like best how Teresa Medieros explains it on her FAQ section of her blog: “…romances are actually incredibly moral books. The hero and heroine generally have a monogamous relationship that always ends in a lifelong commitment, usually marriage. I’ve probably become a MORE moral person by reading and writing romance. I also don’t feel like art is required to depict a perfect life. Every plot may not lend itself to marrying off the hero and heroine before they do the deed, but you’ll usually find that while they’re still basking in the afterglow, my heroes are already thinking, “Hey! I need to marry me that woman!”

Kimberly Sayer-Giles’ article goes on to imply, ““Some marriage therapists caution that women can become as dangerously unbalanced by these books’ entrancing but distorted messages as men can be by the distorted messages of pornography,” -Author Shaunti Feldhahn.” Do wha?  So, because I’ve become “entranced” by the romantic ideals in a book I’m in danger of becoming unbalanced?  Well SHHHIIIITTT!  This statement is so condescending it defies comprehension.

If you are so engrossed in literary fiction you’re unable to function in day-to-day life: SEEK HELP.  Edward Cullen isn’t real, ladies.  If you’re depressed because your husband/wife or significant other isn’t made of stone-cold vampiric perfection, you’re in for a rude awakening.

Am I addicted to romance novels?  It’d be more accurate to say I’m addicted to reading in general.  I’m currently reading Doris Kearns Goodwin’s Team of Rivals simultaneously with many other of my Raunch Dilettante assigned-reads (erotica, historical romance, YA).  I’m also addicted to potato chips. And  McDonald’s.  And playing video games (my ass can attest to all of these, by the way).  Do these things affect who I am and how I interact with those around me?  Maybe.   Does my love of romance novels  affect my relationship with my husband?  Yes, I think it has.  My nose is practically almost always buried in a book when we’re not doing something together (watching TV, chatting, eating dinner, etc.).   Does that bother him?  Sometimes.  He has to compete with a book to get my attention.  On the flip side, I often have to compete with his iPhone.   That said, however, he supports my hobby.  He’s helped me with my blog and has even purchased books for me.  We joke about the ridiculous covers and titles.  We’ve even read snippets  together.  Hubs has his own hobbies, too, which I support.  We generally, you know, talk to each other about our interests and ideas.  Who’da thought?

What offended me most about the implications in the above mentioned article are that women are:

At risk of being unable to distinguish between fiction and reality
Are susceptible to romantic fantasy
reading romance novels to escape their husbands
lusting after fictitious characters (oh wait…I *may* be guilty of this one)
Objectifying and romanticizing sex (I’m personally not threatened by this, but that’ s just me)

Are romance novels chick porn?  Sure, why not.  Are romance novels threatening? To a regularly functioning human being capable of reasoning between reality and fantasy, it’s a big, fat resounding NO.

Thoughts, my fellow Raunchers?

Romance Kills: Romance Readers are Addicts from The Raunch Dilettante: http://www.raunchdilettante.com/

Ode to an end of an era

I found a short story/post I had written for myself several years ago about my personal experience as a New Yorker during September 11, 2001.  Bin Laden’s death this past week brought back a lot of emotions for me, emotions that come from a place that’s hard to put to words.  I vaguely recalled writing something about 9/11, and I was thrilled when I found it, buried in the dregs of my long-dormant Xanga blog.  Oh…Xanga.  I thought it appropriate to share, my way of bringing that chapter of my life into closure:

 

On the day of September 11, 2001, my classmates and I were hoarded from our concluded 8am class and into the student lounge, where several other groups had gathered.  The atmosphere was odd – no one had any idea why we were directed into the tiny room, jam packed with students, or why the director of the floor was so intent on getting us in there.  For the life of me I can’t remember the woman’s name.  I recall that she was snarky and tough, and I hadn’t quite figured out if I liked her.

“We’re under attack.”

The first words out of her mouth were met with silence and strange looks from everyone in the room.

“Two planes just hit the Trade Towers.  One hit The Pentagon earlier this morning, and another plane just went down somewhere in Pennsylvania.”

Oh.  So this wasn’t some sort of theater school joke.

That last addition to her blunt statement is what really made my heart stop.  My family lives  between Baltimore, Harrisburg, and Philadelphia – all major cities.   The room went from a buzz to a roar.  The truth of her words had blindsided us all,  and everyone in that tiny cramped room was running the gamut between being dumbstruck, to terrified, to angry, and other emotions in between. Try to imagine what hysteria would be like in a room filled with theater people.

Then there’s my psychotic roommate.  But I’ll get to her later.

We were told to go immediately back to The Stratford, our “dorm.”  No stopping.  No sidetrips.  We’d be safest in the dorm.  I should make a note here that The Stratford Arms makes a brief but meaningful appearance in The Catcher in the Rye.  You remember that dodgy “hotel” Holden goes to with his prostitute?  Well, that’s my dorm building. We shared it with several grandfathered tenants, rumored to include the original Buckwheat from Little Rascals.  It was irony in itself that The Strat was going to be our calm place, our safe house.

While walking back, I attempted to call my parents, but with every push of the send button I was greeted with the Verizon “bbbblllllllliiiiiiiiiinnnnngggggg…we’re sorry.  All circuits are busy.  Please try your call again later.”  I tried almost everyone in my contact list but was unable to get through.  No one was.  Every one of us had our cell phones glued to our faces in vain hope of reaching the outside world.  We were cut off.

The details of our trip back to our dorm were a blur.  What I vividly remember is the weather.  It was absolutely beautiful.  It was warm, but not hot, and the sky was incredibly blue.  I can still remember exactly what I was wearing (green cargo capris and a red Old Navy tank top).  Most memorably, though, was the sight of standstill.  The inhabitants of cars, taxis, and buses had  taken to the streets, and people were just…hanging out.  It was calm, which was incredibly strange.  People were standing around listening to hand held radios, or the car stereo that the turbaned taxi guy had turned up to full volume.  It was as if everyone who had previously walked with their eyes bearing down to the sidewalk, headphones on, or cellphone poised at their ear, had come out of their metropolitan-induced coma.  Even the crazy homeless guy who would scream “FUCK YOU SUCK MY COCK!” on the corner of 71st and Broadway had lowered his voice.

At that time, I was living with three girls: B, D, and K.  Apparently, our room was one of the only rooms that had clear reception of the news besides the crammed lounge of The Strat, so our room quickly became in-and-out central.  People, mostly friends from each of our groups, would trickle in and out, bringing with them food and drinks, eyes glued to the lone standing Trade Tower (the first tower had already fallen by the time we got back to the dorm).  There were people in my room that I didn’t even know. I didn’t care.  I was just glad to be surrounded by beating hearts.

The second tower collapsed, and I had to step out of the room.  I paced a little back and forth in our shared kitchen area, trying to calm myself.  Some people were crying.  Some were chatting.  Some were silent.  And then there was K.

“…where’s my Dr. Pepper?”

For some reason, I heard her distinctly through the buzz of the other commotion, and I turned to look into our room.  A few others had heard her too, because their heads had turned to her in confusion.

“I can’t find my Dr.Pepper!”  She actually got up, and began violently rummaging through things, including other people’s stuff, to find her blessed bottle.

The atmosphere had already stretched thin, and when our openly gay mutual friend H opened his mouth to respond to her I wasn’t at all shocked by his disgusted tone:

“Oh my God, K, we’re fucking under attack here, and all you can worry about is your Dr. Pepper?”

“Shut up, H.  This isn’t even your room.  You need to shut your fucking mouth!”

“Shut up?  Shut up?!  You are pathetic…”

This escalated into shouts of “faggot” and “whore” and other derogatory terms used in not so creative ways until K stormed out of the room in a rage.  Or maybe H did. I don’t really remember.

This morning, however, while reflecting back on September 11, 2001, I remembered that I, in fact, was the one who threw away K’s Dr. Pepper.  It had been sitting there on a table for at least a day, and I had decided to toss it when people started filing into our room to watch the news.  Why did I suddenly remember it this morning?  I have no effing clue.  I was just spacing out, playing Zuma on my phone, and I got to thinking about the fall season, and college, and that made me think of 9/11.  And then, I had visions of Dr. Pepper and the bottle that got away.  I had never told anyone I was behind the absconding Dr. Pepper.  I figured I should finally tell somebody, because looking back on it, it’s pretty damn funny.

Of course, I can laugh about it now because I realize that was K’s way of dealing with her fear.  She was attempting to cling to what she knew, which was, in this case, her Dr. Pepper.  She always was a strange one, that K.  I still talk to her from time to time on Facebook.  I sometimes consider fessing up to her that I was the thief, but it seems wrong somehow to go back to it.  It’s like that period of our lives has been time locked and can’t be touched or altered.

Certain things still take me back to that moment: a beautiful blue, warm day; pictures of the Upper West Side; pictures of Ground Zero.  The most startling one for me is a smell.  To this day I can’t wear Armani’s “Elle” perfume.  It was my favorite (and still sort of is), and I wore it all that time during that point in my life.  A whiff of that perfume has me standing back on the corner of West 70th and Columbus, pacing the sidewalk while anxiously pattering on my cell phone.

I was barely a New Yorker before that day.

Ode to an end of an era from The Raunch Dilettante: http://www.raunchdilettante.com/