Jennifer Susannah Devore's Blog, page 11

Accessories for The Fourth? Paper, Quills, Inky Fingers and Full, Pewter Tankards

In the 237 summers which have come and gone since July 4th, 1776, the date has increasingly become a juncture for white sales and auto dealer blowouts. In fact, lost amidst the mall madness and car lot carnivals is a simultaneously fascinating and pedantic period of committee meetings, assignations, rewrites, copies, messengers, vote-taking and gallons of coffee, ale and wine. As I currently scribe the fourth novel in my six-part, historical-fiction series of books, Savannah of Williamsburg, Independence Day takes on a more front-and-center appearance than usual as research takes me through the 1750s, well into the meaty burgeoning of colonial revolution.

Even as I contemplate the importance and sacrifice involved with 237 years of sovereignty, I still can't help but fret over whether my red-white-and-blue argyle, Brooks Brothers ankle-socks will look fabulously Gatsby, or just clash with my red-white-and-blue striped, Unisa sailing pumps and the polka dot dress I've selected for my own Fourth of July pool party. Sure, the Fourth has vaguely patriotic elements incorporated into contemporary festivities, including fun, over-the-top, nationalistic fashion and cheesy, throw-away, dutiful décor at park picnics, beach BBQs and backyard pool parties countrywide. Still, maybe the best accessories and décor of all would be rolled up bits of parchment, feather quills and some sturdy, pewter tankards. Funny enough, I actually have all those things ... in multiples.

As King George III whiled away the time with amateur astronomy and overseeing his vast acreage of crops at Windsor Castle (hence the moniker "Farmer George"), he also spent a great deal of time making proclamations and conjuring new tax revenues for his rowdy, naughty, Americans across the Atlantic. Revenues were vital to the British coffers in the mid- to late-18thC., much needed to recover from the Seven Years' War (a.k.a. The French and Indian War) and various scuffles elsewhere with Spain and France. Who better to help pay than the beneficiaries of, in particular, all that French fighting in the forests of the Seven Years' War? Hence, the Stamp Act, the Townshend duties and more. By June of 1776, the original Thirteen Colonies had enough. Enter, Richard Henry Lee et al.

On June 7, 1776, Virginia representative Richard Henry Lee introduced his Lee Resolution to the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia. Lee, an early member of the still-influential Virginia/Ohio/Maryland/Pennsylvania family dynasty, was a descendant of Richard Lee I: a.k.a. "The Immigrant", coming to Jamestowne Island in 1639, and making a fortune farming, curing and selling to England, Virginia tobacco. Representative Lee was also descended from Thomas Lee, founder of the Ohio Company; and, would become an ancestor to famed Civil War Gen. Robert E. Lee.

Instructed by the Virginia Convention, Lee crafted and drafted a three-part proposal for colonial independence in America: a declaration of independence, a call to form foreign alliances, and a plan for confederation. In response, on June 10, 1776, Congress appoints three committees, one to address each component. The Declaration of Independence is the big bit we know best.

The committee to draft the Declaration of Independence was comprised of five men, representing all regions of the original Thirteen Colonies: John Adams of Massachusetts and Roger Sherman of Connecticut (representing New England); Benjamin Franklin of Pennsylvania and Robert R. Livingston of New York (representing the Middle Colonies); Thomas Jefferson of Virginia (representing the South). The tall, quiet, scholarly redhead from Virginia was tasked with the actual writing of the Declaration, as Adams claimed Jefferson the one best possessing "the happy talent of composition".

Jefferson spent the next seventeen days, June 11-28, drafting the first version of our Declaration. He then passed it over to Adams and Franklin, whom offered suggestions and tweaked some phrasing. (Thought: As a writer, I've oft wondered how that scene played? Writers, no matter how magnanimous or altruistic, don't really appreciate constructive criticism. "Which words should I change?" will always be asked with a polite, tight smile, unblinking, wide eyes and just a touch of acid. Go ahead. Try it with a writer you know.)

After the full committee agreed on a final draft, it was then presented to the Continental Congress. Because the Lee Resolution, notably the section containing the Declaration of Independence, was so dramatic a turn holding such far-reaching effects, many delegates, just as today, were concerned about how their constituents back home would react. It took until July 2nd for twelve of the thirteen colonies to adopt the Declaration of Independence section within the Lee Resolution. New York was the only hold out, waiting until it's newly-elected New York Convention approved the section on July 9, 1776.

After the July 2nd adoption, Congress' revision process took only July 3rd and most of July 4th. All in all, the entire process, from Lee's Resolution of June 7 to the July 4th adoption, seems pretty timely by modern government standards. In the end, even with the various alterations and modifications, the Declaration is still, in soul and in practicality, Jefferson's creation.

With Jefferson's oversight, John Dunlap, official printer to the Congress, printed the first copies on July 5th. One copy was attached to Congress' July 4th "rough journal" notes of the day and dozens more were messengered up and down the colonies to state assemblies, conventions and commanding officers of Continental troops. These originals contained only two signatures: John Hancock, president of the Second Continental Congress and Charles Thomson, secretary. Above those signatures read the words "Signed by Order and in Behalf of the Congress". Today, there are twenty-six known, surviving copies. Commonly referred to as the Dunlap Broadsides, there are twenty-one in American institutions, two in British institutions and three owned by private individuals.

July 19th, 1776, Congress ordered the new Declaration of Independence to be "engrossed" on parchment, meaning to copy an official document in a larger type, and give it a new title: The Unanimous Declaration of the Thirteen United States of America. It was also ordered "that the same, when engrossed, be signed by every member of Congress."

On August 2, 1776, president John Hancock signed the engrossed copy first with his notable, large, flourished signature: so well-known that even today John Hancock is synonymous with a signature. Those delegates in attendance that muggy, Philly, August day signed under Hancock, in order of colony geography, starting with the northernmost New Hampshire and ending with the southernmost Georgia. Eventually, fifty-six delegates would sign the Declaration of Independence. Of the late signers, Matthew Thornton of New Hampshire was unable to sign with his fellow Hampsherians due to a lack of space. Ironically, Robert R. Livingston of New York, one of the original, five committee members serving with Jefferson, Adams, Franklin and Sherman, never did sign.

Celebrating the Fourth with fanfare and spectacle began as early as its very adoption day when church bells rang out and the brethren of Philadelphia and elsewhere alighted fireworks and merrymaking to mark the symbolic funeral of King George III, simultaneously burning him in effigy in town squares up and down the East Coast whilst imbibing great quantities of beer and wine. We need not go that far today; well, the burning-in-effigy part. We dig the Brits! They're, like, our BFFs on the globe. We should, however, try to recall the arduous efforts that endured in the decades leading up to the Revolutionary War and those in the two-hundred-plus years since. Eat your Boca Burgers and snausages, sip your Pinot Grigio and dip your prettily painted toes in the cool waters of America's beaches and pools; but remember what it took to get there and for goodness sake, if you're going to drink a cold ale or a lager, be truly patriotic and make it a Yuengling or a Sam Adams!

"The X-Files: Season 10": Taking Scully Under The Covers

The dark, dicey harbors and grand, Georgian suburbs which spiral outward from the nation's nexus of Washington, D.C. maintain a consistent ripple of clandestine rendezvous and the hiding-in-plain-sight, double-dealing that keeps the Capitol flowing. Amidst the briny, back alleys of Annapolis and Fell's Point, and the wainscoted, chintz-covered parlors of McLean and Georgetown, secret lives meet with secret identities in an effort to keep us safe from government conspiracy and monsters lurking in the shadows … maybe. Even D.C. has room for only so many two-faces; lucky for us, the X-Files have been reopened.

Agents Dana Scully and Fox Mulder are back in town as The X-Files: Season 10 returns to us that which we lost so long ago: haute conspiracy theory, paranoia and the dry snark of runway model-ready Fox Mulder. It's been a long time since we've peeled into the grey matter of an agent hell-bent on exposing and combating the tightly-woven, non-existent, government syndicate. Surely, if anyone understands the pebble in Washington's loafer today, Edward Snowden, and his supporter, WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange, it is Spooky Mulder. It's also been a long time since we've been mesmerized by the marmoreal, porcelain skepticism of Dana Scully, M.D., tossed regularly to Mulder via beauteous, sideways glances. You may not be able to watch Scully's enhanced, ginger beauty by TV's blue haze this time around; but you will be able to take her under the covers with a flashlight at lights-out, just like summer camp, and read the continuing, cloak-and-dagger, comic book adventures of the F.B.I.'s Most Desired.

Serving as a "Where are they now?", The X-Files: Season 10 picks up alternatively, which suits it well, in comic book form: hence the summertime, undercover, late-night delectations. Set in  present-day D.C. Metro, our favorite agents in navy blue are living, à la Rob and Laura Petrie in Arcadia (S6e15), as a married couple in suburban bliss under the aliases Dr. and Mr. Anthony Blake: Scully working in pediatrics private practice, Mulder writing his memoirs, I Want To Believe. Many a fan “just want to see Scully and Mulder hook up”. Well, we got our wish, kind of.

 

"They are indeed living under the same roof as a married couple," divulges IDW Publishing editor Denton J. Tipton. "The relationship between the two has always been the heart of The X-Files, and we will carry on that tradition. But things are far from "happily ever after."

 

Winter has come and gone nearly a dozen times since we last spied on our basement odd couple: Mulder forever nursing his neuroses, Scully forever rolling her baby blues. 2013 brings them well into the 21stC., giving them a whole new arsenal of wireless weapons to fight. Walter Skinner, now Deputy Director Skinner, knows this and arrives in the burbs to alert Scully and Mulder that someone, or something, is systematically picking off those formerly associated with the F.B.I.'s X-Files division.

"I'd call you DD Skinner, now, but that just makes me feel dirty." Mulder gives us what we want, as his revived character is spot-on from the first moment we see him in print, interacting with neighborhood kids playing baseball in the street, proffering advice in form and philosophy. "Play deeper when the big guy hits."

Some will note Mulder's alias, Anthony Blake as a nod to The Magician (1973/4): a short-lived mystery series, starring The Incredible Hulk's Bill Bixby. Centered on playboy philanthropist Tony Blake, he was a  "master of magic, romancer of women the world over and solver of even the most stubborn crimes", as Mulder explains the origin of his new identity to a clueless Skinner.

A bigger fan of the supernatural than duplicitous, government syndicates? Fret not. Season 10 will weave in classic MOW's (Monsters of the Week) "to let things breathe, explore other mysteries, and give us a break from the mytharc," assures Tipton. "There will be some direct sequels to fan-favorite episodes, and lots of new threats and thrills for Scully and Mulder."

"But rest assured that many other familiar faces will be returning in the comic," Tipton continues with a tease. "Krycek is a favorite of the writer Joe Harris, so I suspect that he'll [Krycek] turn up in some fashion sooner or later."

"Who doesn't love Alex Krycek?? Maybe Skinner, I guess... ," ponders Harris.

A collaboration of 20thCentury Fox Consumer Products, IDW Publishing and (a.k.a Ten Thirteen Productions, founded by Chris Carter in 1993), The X-Files: Season 10 has the ultimate blessing of original-creator, now-executive producer Chris Carter.

"He sees and comments on everything we do, from outlines, scripts, art, to final product. Nothing will be released without his final stamp of approval," relays Tipton. "The X-Files remains very near and dear to Chris Carter's heart, and it's been an honor to collaborate with him. I don't think he'll ever truly have Scully and Mulder out of his system."

XFS10 commences with Believers, a five-part segment within the series. It seems a quizzical turn, this continuation of such a storied series in comic book form, versus television. Still, in the new age of mobile and personalized media, who needs broadcast television? To boot, the artists behind this endeavor bring most everything we need to the inked page. The spooky docks, the robed villains, the dead-eyed children, Mulder's smirk and Scully's cheekbones all come through gorgeously through the art and colors of Michael Walsh and Jordie Bellaire, respectively. If you're curious as to how different Scully and Mulder (originally played by Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny in The X-Files TV series and films) will look in pen and ink, fret not.

"Gillian Anderson (Bleak House, Hannibal, The Fall) and David Duchovny's (Goats, Californication, Things We Lost in the Fire) likenesses are being used in the comic, and all our artists must be approved by both. We're as official as official can get!" guarantees Tipton.

[image error]The X-Files television series aired for nearly a decade, spawned two feature films and birthed a regiment of rabid fans known as X-Philes, most of whom would be shocked and amazed to know there actually exists another Chris Carter. (What?! 'Tis true. A sports figure, it seems.) Will the franchise sustain as a comic book? Just as this year's San Diego Comic Con celebrates the 25th anniversary of The Sandman graphic novels and the 20th anniversary of Bongo Comics Group (The Simpsons et al), might we be celebrating a milestone anniversary of The X-Files Comics in cons to come? When asked if IDW and 20th Century Fox will be proffering spin-offs like, perchance, The Smoking Man or the one-season, television series The Lone Gunmen (2001), Tipton handed over this hopeful prognosis.

"That all depends on the demand for such a spin-off. As it stands now, the debut issue is selling very well, and the reviews have been great, so I want to believe that there will be!" (See what he did there? " … I want to believe … ")

Despite the fact that reading issue #1 causes involuntary, over-and-over flips of the book to see how the tale continues, then an obsessive countdown until next month's issue #2 hits the shelves, there is still one component missing from this satisfying new series: the azure candescence of TV. Minus the hypnotic glow of tel-e-vi-sion, however, XFS10 is a welcome, long-awaited return of the crew on the Potomac.

Going to San Diego Comic Con this year? Do yourself a favor and stop by IDW Publishing (booth #2643) and give the other X-Men & Women a little of your own glowing kudos; I certainly will.

Barenaked Ladies sang it best: Watching X-Files with no lights on, we're dans la maison, I hope the Smoking Man's in this one.

Then again, indie musician PB3 sang it pretty well, too: Scully looks so hot, just a-standin’ there, and Mulder never seems to care. And I wonder, what must be wrong with Mulder … ?

 

The X-Files: Season 10 #1

Story by: Joe Harris with Chris Carter

Written by: Joe Harris

Art by: Michael Walsh

Colors by: Jordie Bellaire

Editor: Denton J. Tipton

Letters by: Robbie Robbin

Executive Producer: Chris Carter

 

Follow @JennyPopNet #xfiles #xfs10 #comicbooks #idw #sdcc #xfilesseason10

 

Chill, Americans: Kid Rock and Sean Penn Are

If I could say it all better, I would. However, Kid Rock, Sean Penn and director Jameson Stafford have done it far better than anyone with their short film: a PSA titled Americans and originally shot in 2K12, on the real cheap, for FunnyOrDie. Produced as a tongue-in-cheek approach to combating the vapid, uneducated, ignorant, checkbox-stereotyping of political opponents, it serves as a fine, philosophical approach to keeping alive friendly debate and tolerance of opposing Weltanschauung ... regardless of which party you support.

Today's political climate objectively bites; so, I dedicate this to all my dirty, hippie, commie, weed-smokin', vegan, lib friends and my uptight, conservative, dogmatic, hillbilly, moonshinin', red meat-eatin', GOP pals alike ... you know who you are! Rock on, Americans! Embrace thinking differently and share a bit o' booze with a pal on the other side of the aisle!

 

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Need a Moment to Think? Learn The Lorem Ipsum Lip

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit … Memorize it, kids. It could come in handy. If Lorem ipsum can work as a centuries-old, standard placeholder for text, why not for speech? Consider the awesome applications: political conversations over the holidays; awkward, totally unexpected, sexual advances by a friend; foot-tapping queries about your Internet-browsing history; traffic stops by your local boys in blue. (On second thought, don’t give coppers the Lorem Lip. They don’t seem to have much of a sense of humor these days.) In fact, the mysterious, quietly-omnipresent Lorem ipsum we all know and love has been used as a text placeholder, almost as long as there has been text … almost.

Bored with telling the same stories at every Fourth of July, Thanksgiving and Super Bowl party, ancient Chinese Buddhists living circa 650 C.E. decided it a far better idea to share their holy texts with loved ones via print: enter stage-left, the first movable type, Chinese woodblock. Using rag paper methods learned from the far reaches of the Islamic Empire (Mesopotamia 3,000 B.C.E. being the birthplace of cuneiform handwriting and, eventually, putting all that to paper), these scholarly Buddhists, notably Wong Jei in 886 C.E. who printed a scroll for his parents, believing it to bring them good luck, set about printing many a scroll filled with kindly, Buddhist tenets. These kind ideas were met with mass silencing and murder of the printers by their own government, not to mention the burning of those very nice scrolls.

Fast forward to 1450-55 C.E.. Johann Gutenberg replaced the wood and clay, blocked type (whole pages set vs. individual characters) with metal type and printed the first substantial, commercial book with individual, movable type: The Gutenberg Bible. Some sixty years after that, Martin Luther would use movable type to tell the Catholic Church a thing or two about a thing or two.

On Hallowe’en Night 1517, Luther tacked his Ninety-Five Theses on a church door in Wittenberg, Germany, arguing against the Church’s “sale of indulgences”: basically buying one’s way out of purgatory. Before the Church could say “Hail, Mary!”, scores of Luther-fans, using Gutenberg’s printing press method, helped spread The Ninety-Five Theses all over Europe, much to Catholicism’s dismay.

By the by, there are forty-six surviving copies of original Gutenberg Bibles, most of them resting peacefully in Germany. There are, however, eleven in the United States. If you know how to have fun the right way, including throwing around words like incunabula, and are fortunate enough to live near The Huntington Library, Yale, Harvard, the Library of Congress, Indiana University or any of the other American venues, I suggest you treat yourself to one of mankind’s wonders of ingenuity, before the growing masses of half-wits and jelly beans make the printed book completely obsolete.

 

Anyhoo, to the point of all this: Lorem ipsum is merely dummy text used until permanent text is put in place. Designers and printers have long realized that potential clients will be distracted by actual content when perusing a spec piece of print: pamphlets, books, theater bills, advertisements, etc. Lorem ipsum looks just enough like a natural distribution of letters and phrases to fool the brain, without taking focus off the layout. First recorded usage of Lorem ipsum is c. 1500 C.E. when an anonymous printer used it to create a type specimen book. The interesting thing is that whilst it looks like Latin, it also looks like random twaddle. It is, in fact, a combination thereof.

Lorem ipsum actually comes from two sections of Cicero's De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum, or The Extremes of Good and Evil, written in 45 C.E., in Latin. If you're just geeky enough, and I know you are, you'll scroll down to see the full, standard Lorem ipsum passage used by printers and designers. You'll then note one of Cicero's sections, from whence the passage comes. The letters marked in bold make up the now-standard, fill-in text of Lorem ipsum. It's like taking bits of text from a Simpsons comic book and creating your own language: Eat my shorts, man! becomes Atmy ort sma! Finally, if you're still interested, Cicero was translated for us, lovingly, by one H. Rackham of Cambridge, Mass. in 1914. Note his work below, as well.

Like so much political discourse, Lorem ipsum is simply a Straw Man, or an Aunt Sally, as the Brits call it: superficial, space-filler taken from original ideas and used to create the illusion of words and meaning, until something better comes along. Try the Lorem Lip next time your boss wants to know why you've logged so many hours at hamstergrrls.com or your prof asks if this is your own work.

"Well, sir. You see, lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Right? Oh, and also, atmy ort sma!"

If you say it with confidence and add proper gestures and facial expressions, it will take them a few minutes to figure out what's going on. If that doesn't work, there's always Ctrl+Z, kittens!

 

Follow @JennyPopNet #loremipsum #printing #history

 

For the truly geeky ... read on!

Standard Lorem Ipsum passage, used since the 1500s

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

Section 1.10.32 of "de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum", written by Cicero in 45 B.C.E.

Sed ut perspiciatis unde omnis iste natus error sit voluptatem accusantium doloremque laudantium, totam rem aperiam, eaque ipsa quae ab illo inventore veritatis et quasi architecto beatae vitae dicta sunt explicabo. Nemo enim ipsam voluptatem quia voluptas sit aspernatur aut odit aut fugit, sed quia consequuntur magni dolores eos qui ratione voluptatem sequi nesciunt. Neque porro quisquam est, qui dolorem ipsum quia dolor sit amet, consectetur, adipisci velit, sed quia non numquam eius modi tempora incidunt ut labore et dolore magnam aliquam quaerat voluptatem. Ut enim ad minima veniam, quis nostrum exercitationem ullam corporis suscipit laboriosam, nisi ut aliquid ex ea commodi consequatur? Quis autem vel eum iure reprehenderit qui in ea voluptate velit esse quam nihil molestiae consequatur, vel illum qui dolorem eum fugiat quo voluptas nulla pariatur?

1914 translation by H. Rackham

But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?

 

Velma Dinkley: Scooby-Doo's Original Geek Girl Goes High-Tech Ghosting

Freddy Jones: With these cameras set up around the house, we'll be able to watch and record anything that comes after my dad. There's only one problem; I'm a trap guy. I have absolutely no idea how this stuff works.

Velma Dinkley: Don't worry. I've been stripping dielectric insulation off my coax since before I could walk. Get ready to worship The Velma!

Just as 21st C. CGI and fantasy SFX finally caught up with Tim Burton's imagination, 21st C. ghost-hunting gizmos and paranormal paraphernalia finally caught up with the original Geek Grrl, Velma Dinkley and her tech needs. Allow Moi, your own Miss Hannah Hart, ghostdame of the Hotel del Coronado to elucidate.

See, kids, before there were tacky, black ops wannabe, caravans of windowless, black Suburbans cruising the countryside at night, there was the Mystery Machine: the epitome of groovy, a rockin', hippie, aqua-and-orange surfer van carrying four hip, sleuthing friends and their ever-hungry, always scaredy-cat, Great Dane named Scooby-Doo.

Scooby, Shaggy, Freddy, Daphne and Velma have been hitting the road in style, in the Mystery Machine for nearly thirty-five years, meddling in the nefarious affairs of grouchy, greedy locals; these wayward townfolk oft disguised as the supernatural in a variety of form and function. Although Velma Dinkley, short, curvy, turtlenecked, know-it-all, bobbed-brunette, appears the wallflower of the gang, she is the bespectacled brains behind this adventure crew, forever playing second fiddle to the beauteous ginger, Daphne Blake. To boot, like any geek girl in love from afar, her passion for Shaggy goes mostly unrequited, sitting backseat to the shared loves between a boy and his dog: mad sandwich skillz and Vincent van Ghoul flicks.

Interpersonal issues aside, the Hanna-Barbera creation (1969) of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears just finished its eleventh iteration of the family-friendly, spooky, sleuthing series: Scooby-Doo!: Mystery Incorporated (2010-2013). The first incarnation not run first as a Saturday morning kids' show, this latest series contains a running, arcing mystery involving an antique locket and a Tod Browningesque parrot named Mr. E. The overarching tale knits in and out of fifty-two episodes which originally aired on Cartoon Network in a 2:00p.m., afterschool time slot, over a spotty three-year period. If you missed its original run, S1 is now available via Netflix.

A Warner Bros. Animation, Mystery Inc., shares the same quality as many another WBA production: Pinky & The Brain, Animaniacs and just about any Looney Tunes short. The writers understand adults are watching, too. The genius and longevity of such entities as The Muppets, Disney and Warner Bros. comprehend that vital, full-spectrum hook.

"Grab this! It's a fairway wood, it's safe!" Freddy Jones puns as he extends a golf club toward the ceiling to save his dad, Mayor of Crystal Cove, who's being tossed around the room by a violent poltergeist. A fine example of WBA humour, indeed.

Now, some three decades of understated humour and Witching Hour investigations later, Velma Dinkley has access to an arsenal of high-tech ghost-hunting tools she's been waiting for and, paired with Freddy's Traps Illustrated obsession, mystery solving in 2013 could not be easier. An excellent example of this? Scooby-Doo!: Mystery Incorporated, "A Haunting in Crystal Cove" (S1e23).

Although the supernatural inevitably end up just being rubber-masked, servo-driven, CGI-enhanced townfolk, the front-end of any Scooby-Doo endeavor has the best of spirit-hunting intentions, entrenched in the hunt for the unexplained. Whilst Daphne's smokin' hot-pink getaway sticks get more screen time than Velma's digital, detecting devices, you know she has them stashed somewhere and puts them through more tests and trials than a Wired product reviewer.

Full-spectrum cameras: Velma's got the hammer-and-nails of any pro ghost-hunting outfit. No consumer-grade for this kitten; she's gone pro-grade with a modified 16GB card-compatible, 18x zoom, 12.2 MP resolution, dual image stabilization Fuji PRO series. (I think our Dr. Lucy might be jealous and/or nervous. Time for a new camera and/or better hiding places, Lucia!) Set up a string of these babies in any room and along any stairwell, hallway or doorway and they'll catch the invisible light waves, and the clandestine action therein, at either end of the light spectrum, a.k.a. infrared and UV, where we spookies reside.


EVP monitor: Similar to a baby monitor, it picks up cooing and gurgling throughout the netherworld via telepathic electromagnetic impulses, all while weeding out external, earthly noises. Babies, too, I guess.


EMF detector: With Southron gatorpeople and evil Renaissance Faire gnomes lurking about the night, Velma will need a gauge identifying varying electromagnetic fields. It seems high EMF readings could not only signify a cluster of electrical wires bundled in attic walls and giving you monster headaches and hallucinations, but it could also signify the very real energy of Demon Frightnight. It would be good to know with which one you're dealing. Trust me.


After the biscuits, come the gravy: tricolor flashlights (full colour spectrum for night vision and clarity), laser grids (for detecting disembodied movement), thermal imaging cams, temperature change sensors, wireless phone pods and headphones (for on-the-go listening to iPods, mp3s and EVPs), FM frequency sweep radios and shadow detection devices (for, well, detecting shadows).


Best of all is the creepiest of all: the Rag Doll K-II, sold by TheGhostHunterStore.com. An EMF detector hidden within Dolly's dress, it's meant to be a kinder, gentler object for child-spirits to approach than boring old, shiny, sharp, tech gear. If Spookedy Ann's face or hands light up … you might have a ghost child. ~shiver~ Run, kittens, run!

Clearly, Velma doesn't schlep all this gear to each and every mystery. We rarely see more than a Smartphone and Coke-bottle glasses on her person. If she did, the Mystery Machine would be packed to the gills, with cables, power sources and monitors alone, rather than housing just Shaggy, Scooby and their various to-go feasts in the back. Still, the instruments and implements appear when necessary. Maybe Velma stores them at the back of her mom's coffeehouse/bookstore/town museum.

Long before the stars of reality TV's paranormal invasion were just filthy thoughts in their fathers' eyes, Scooby-Doo and his groovy gang were criss-crossing theSouthern swamps, abandoned theaters, run-down plantation homes, dilapidated boardwalks and rusted-out amusement parks across our great, haunted country. Long before nice guys Grant & Jason of SyFy's Ghost Hunters, before those thug half-portions Nik, Aaron & Zak of Travel Channel's Ghost Adventures and before the moody Ryan and Eilfie of A&E's Paranormal State, there was the affable, optimistic, fashionable and cheerful Scooby-Doo and the Gang. You won't find Freddy schlubbing around in jeans and a black t-shirt to meet the Lord of the Manor. (Okay, Shaggy is, well, a bit shaggy; but at least he sports corduroys and is almost always flashing a smile.)

Even before we were blessed with The X-Files' Scully and Mulder, our grunge-era, supernatural sleuths extraordinaire, there was another skeptical but open-minded, saucy, brainy, bespectacled, over-achieving, single, geek girl with a short do and sensible shoes who was so fierce, so confident and so rockin' she needed only one name: Velma. Rock on, Velma. (BTW, kids, if you see any new episodes with the Mystery Machine crossing the bridge onto Coronado, give me a heads-up! Lucy and I might need to hit the road!)

Abyssinia, kids!

 

Hannah’s fave places to haunt online? JennyPop.net and amazon.com/author/jenniferdevore

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Brooks Brothers and Prada: The Greater Gatsby

 

 

If one film has recently pinged my annoyingly particular radar screen with a single sparkly note, it is The Great Gatsby. Thrilled at the prospect of a big-budget feature finally dedicated to the art of storytelling, eschewing the long-overdone, over-hyped, cheesy SFX genre, I instantly started swinging my vintage Whiting & Davis handbag round my wrist in anticipation. Just as my tootsies started to join in the fun, my Mary Janes ready to Charleston, I learned Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby of 2013 is in 3-D. Zowie!

Be clear, yours truly is no Luddite. I adore and applaud progress, when necessary. If you've read my novels and regularly read my geek-culture articles and blog posts, you shall well know I embrace the Zeitgeist. Love me some Zeitgeist! Still, F. Scott Fitzgerald's literary masterpiece of self-doubt, jealousy, betrayal, murder, manipulation and heartbreak has zero need for 3-D confetti.

Still, how could a jazzy sweet patootie such as myself pass up this sumptuous, vicarious, visual fête of champagne, glitter, diamonds, feathers and fishnets? Surely the story remains in tact; certainly no main chacarters have been sidelined or their magnanimity diminished. So, I agreed to plop down my cabbage and see it, despite the threat of such aggressive progress ... then, I read Rex Reed's brutal and scorching review. Though I am not generally given to paying much mind to film reviews, Reed's warning left me aghast and faint-hearted, stunned by a gilded sense of foreboding. Reed proffers a glimpse into a film so ruthlessly bad that, were I to see it I might turn to stone, like a victim of Medusa, my face frozen in perpetual horror as a Duesenberg hood ornament flies at my powdered face. I had to rethink my decision to shell out said-cabbage. Then, happily, along came new information about the costume design.

The 1920s marked an age as pivotal and dynamic as our own technological age. America was shifting from an agricultural existence to an industrial one as feverishly and unabashedly as a drunken, desperate, last-hurrah, Labor Day dock party in the Hamptons. Single girls were moving from family farms to the big cities in droves, ready to pop their champagne corks and break free from the wasp-waist whalebone corsets and high-neck lace blousons of their Victorian and Edwardian grandmamas. No more milking the cows and darning Pa's socks. The Jazz Age was nigh and it was America's well-earned, Naughty Weekend: sex, cocktails and jazz. (Step off, 1960s. You old hippies never even came close.) It was as though we knew the Thirties were coming with it's Great Depression, Dust Bowl, dowdy Red Cross shoes and the distant knell of WWII. It was time to party and party hard. So, ask any twenty-something, what's the best way to party harder than your grandparents ever did, annoy your elders and distance yourself from your parents? Attitude, excessive booze and, of course, style.

By the Roaring Twenties, gone were the tight-laced, buttoned-up, sartorial standards of the wet smacks whom came before this Jazz Age of rowdy pips. Enter stage left: swishy fringe, fouffy feathers, dyed furs, beaded minis, overflowing accessories, unstructured waists, mannish bobs and scandalous hemlines showing off all those great getaway sticks capped with shiny kitten heels, clearly not cobbled for dour farm girls and stay-at-home bankers' wives. Hit the road, Gibson Girl. Hello, Dolly! The middle class was climbing down from the hay lofts and with their new lives came a desire for kippy threads. Brooks Brothers, already a hundred-year old establishment, was there to answer the call, even if their price points have never been solidly middle-class.

If anyone knows Jazz Age dressing, it's our American Brooks Brothers. If anyone knows flash, soiree style, it's the Italian atelier of Prada. If anyone knows production design and costuming it's frequent Luhrmann collaborator, fellow Aussie and BAFTA- and Oscar-winner Catherine Martin (Moulin Rouge, Romeo + Juliet, Strictly Ballroom). When I learned these powerhouses of the posh and panache were responsible for Luhrmann's eye-candy, it was clear I needed to, as I said, rethink this spectacle.

In an instant, I knew Brooks Brothers was involved. When striped, regatta blazers, straw boaters and striped ties make the scene, it's clear they're involved. In fact, the nearly-200-year old haberdasher has been involved from the get-go, even outfitting The Great Gatsby author F. Scott Fitzgerald himself, ordering directly from their catalogs throughout the Twenties. He devotion to the outfitters helped make popular various styles, including their signature button-down attached collar shirt. Founded in New York City in 1818, the same year the White House reopened after having been torched by the Brits during the War of 1812, and the same year the U.S. Congress decided our flag would have thirteen red and white stripes and twenty stars, Brooks Brothers is America's oldest clothing retailer and first ready-to-wear emporium. Spanning nearly the entirety of our country's existence, Brooks Brothers is no drifter when it comes to bespoke clothing for the upper-crust, making history, notoriously as well as famously.

President Abraham Lincoln, a loyal Brooks Brothers customer, was bestowed a special coat upon his second inauguration, the lining embroidered with an eagle and the inscription "One Country, One Destiny". Eerily, he was shot at Ford's Theater wearing that same coat two tragic weeks later. Life goes on and along the way, Brooks Brothers quietly held history's hand. Charles Lindbergh, unable to carry much luggage on his transatlantic flight, borrowed a coat upon his Paris landing, a Brooks Brothers belonging to the American ambassador. Clark Gable wed an aristocrat in B.B., his custom suit of choice, as no one else could fit his impressive physique of a 44" chest/32" waist. Legend has it pop artist Andy Warhol spent his first paycheck on a B.B. No. 10, white button-down. Perhaps, most impressive of all, Kermit the Frog owns at least one tiny, bespoke, amphibious tuxedo.

If you think Brooks Brothers is a bit blue-blood and starched-collar for this tacky and gauche film business, you are correct. Still, Brooks Brothers' vice-president of global relations, Arthur Wayne told Adweek, "We’re not a highly promotional brand. But, we do it when it feels right.” Considering Brooks Brothers was at the original party with Fitzgerald himself, one imagines it does feel right. Though they are also not usually known for film tie-ins, they are sporting a raw-ther nifty collection of summer togs for the lean of frame, beautiful of face and hearty of cabbage: Bright Young Things.

Where posh is concerned, Prada wrote the travel guide. Founded in 1913, Prada began its couture trek as a leather goods purveyor: steamer trunks, luggage, beauty cases, porte-monnaies, handbags and a variety of luxury accessories. By 1919, just about the time Gatsby's sycophantic circle of friends were swinging from his chandeliers, Prada was appointed an official supplier to the Italian Royal Family.

As Egyptian travel became all the rage, thanks to Howard Carter, Lord Carnarvon and their 1922 discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb, Prada jewelry cases and resort bags saw action sailing up and down the Nile on Agatha Christie-style excursions. Queen Mary's polished decks were littered with Prada steamer trunks in the 1930s, many of those marked "P.O.S.H.": the abbreviation stamped on luggage belonging to passengers with top-flight rooms. What defines the best room on a cruise ship? The view, of course, sailing HMS Queen Mary in and out of Southampton and Dover: Port Outbound, Starboard Homebound, or P.O.S.H.

By 2012, four very posh gentleman donned their Jules Verneesque best as Prada reached back to Victoriana and embraced fashion's current obsession of steampunk. View Gary Oldman, Garrett Hedlund, Jamie Bell and Willem Dafoe in some very fetching, very attractive glad rags.

Before Brooks Brothers and Prada, the most recent posh designer to tackle the mighty task of Fitzgerald frippery was the legendary Ralph Lauren, dressing the ever-dapper, butter-and-egg man, Robert Redford in The Great Gatsby of 1974. Well done, Ralph. This time, Leonardo DiCaprio gets the swanky, onyx cufflink treatment, along with Tobey Maguire in shawl neck sweaters and deck shoes, looking a bit like he borrowed Father's cruise wear and unsure how to wear it. That could be the problem. One does not wear Brooks Brothers; one sports it. If one cannot, one should not.

According to more than a few critics, come awards-season, the special effects, acting and directing may just have to sit in the rumble seat of this Duesy. Brooks Brothers is driving Miss Daisy and Miuccia Prada is riding shotgun, with costume designer Catherine Martin sitting on her lap. This trifecta of fashion may be what pitches this pony over the finish line. To boot, whilst Jay-Z's hip-hop-infused Jazz Age soundtrack may be off-putting to purists, it seems a welcome addition to this dame. After all, modern-day hip-hop finds its roots in Twenties jazz and, considering the fashion may be the star of the show, one must have some high-kicking, free-swinging, jazz-hands tuneage to accompany those svelte Flappers and slick-haired Big Spenders, all togged to the bricks. As with many things in life, it really don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.

Yep, you shred it, Wheat. Looks like I just might have to hand over my cabbage to Mr. Luhrmann after all.

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Seoul, I Guess I Wait: Cat Face Stockings For You

'Tis rare I cannot find that which I seek: spiritually, commercially or otherwise. Now, I need help! Thanks to a presumably charming girl with a sense of style close to my heart, I am left without an ability to purchase what are only knownto me as "Cat Face Stockings For You".

"You need these, don't you?" my Viking asked upon seeing a friend post them on FB. "Yes!!" geek girl that I am squealed. Alas, the original poster merely highlighted them from another link: just posting cuteness, no shopping links. Using my Google powers, I eventually found one shop, I think. `sigh`

Sold at SeoulRhythm.com, maybe, it appears site-owner Emily is on holiday in South Korea buying loads of new goodies for her store. Until returning in June, she has taken her site off-line. Why, Emily, why? At least give me the opportunity to know the price point and availability of "Cat Face Stockings For You".

So, until Emily returns, does anyone have any clue where to find "Cat Face Stockings For You"?

Merci beaucoup!

 

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It's a Bird, Mother! Netflix Brings Arrested Development Home

 

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Michael: It's just hard to accept that it's really come to begging.
George: Sometimes, it's the only way to stay in the game.
Narrator (Ron Howard): Please, tell your friends about this show!

Ron Howard, we did. We looked the other way, for a just a second, and they snatched Arrested Development from our sticky, chocolate-covered banana hands with swift and heartless indifference. So, we told on the offenders. We told our parents, our teachers, our friends, our families, our congressmen and our pets. We wrote, emailed, blogged, Tweeted, Facebooked and clipped up YouTube homages in the multi-millions of copyright infringement violations. Apparently, it all worked.

May 26, 2013 at 12:01 a.m. PST (That's O.C.-time, kids.), hordes of rabid Bluth devotées will commence their Memorial Day celebrations with Trader Joe's frozen bananas, Grey Goose Vanilla and O.J. hiballs, Gangytinis and the words that started it all ... And that's why you always leave a note!

After Fox cancelled Arrested Development, similar to their unwise, initial cancellation of Family Guy, executive producer Mitchell Hurwitz explained he was not interested in Showtime's offer to pick up the show, nor any other network offer for that matter. Even though his show was brutally cut short after a mere three seasons, Hurwitz was "more worried about letting down the fans in terms of the quality of the show dropping" than he was worried about letting down fans by leaving them without it altogether. Hurwtiz offered hope to fans everywhere by further stating, "If there's a way to continue this in a form that's not weekly episodic series television, I'd be up for it." In 2011, Netflix snapped the towel off the competition and exposed their cutoffs, leaving them crying in the shower. Netflix earned distribution of the long-awaited fourth season. Steve Holt!

This month, Netflix will proffer the patient and the tenacious fifteen, brand-new Arrested Development episodes, one more than originally planned. Officially season 4, it will serve as a where-are-they-now?, visual omnibus of the Bluth Family, each episode focusing on a specific member: episode no. 1, George Michael.

“Everyone, ourselves included, seems to feel like the Bluths left the party a bit too soon,” said Brian Grazer and Ron Howard of Imagine TV, which co-produced Arrested Development with 20th Century Fox TV. “Bringing a series back from cancellation almost never happens, but then, Arrested always was about as unconventional as they get, so it seems totally appropriate that this show that broke the mold is smashing it to pieces once again.”

You'll find few creative comparisons of Arrested Development to other shows. There are no blah blah-meets-blah blah kind of descriptions, because there has never been a show like it. Which leaves yours truly fretting, hoping that season 4 will live up to past memories and future visions of the Bluths.

Winning awards from AFI's TV Program of the Year to a Primetime Emmy for Outstanding Writing for a for Comedy Series, Mitchell Hurwitz' Arrested Development has garnered, thus far, twenty-five awards and thirty-eight nominations. The comedy series set in Newport Beach, California is simultaneously as random and tightly-knit as a ensemble production could be. Like Seinfeld or The Beatles, there really could be no magic without everybody. Plucking out any one character would be like knocking out a support beam; it might stand for a bit, but you want to get the heck out of there, in case of an earthquake.

It has been a very long seven years since the brilliant-but-booted story of an Orange County real estate dynasty living in genteel poverty was ripped from our hands. Now, it's come back to us and we'll take it the way we want it: on our devices, on our schedules and gorging ourselves on Tobias, Buster, Gob, Gangy and George Micheal, making ourselves as fried and sick as we want to be on cornballs and Lindsay's hot ham water.

As for the future, beyond May 26th that is, S4 will also serve as a primer to the eventual, fan-driven, feature-length film. Along the Bluths' Balboa boardwalk, Netflix will be measuring not only be counting bananas and dollars, but watching carefully the dynamics of the fire-sale user-model they call binge-viewing.

"While Netflix doesn’t release viewership numbers, critical response indicate that the first direct-to-Netflix original series, House of Cards, was particularly popular with viewers inclined to watch a whole series in only a few sittings," writes Rachel Edidin of Wired magazine.

Like a line of gratis, birthday shots set up on a long bar, or an open bag of Gardetto's, if they put it in front of us, we will consume it. With deftly placed plants and payoffs throughout any Arrested Development episode, it's impossible to stop at just one. Netflix, as well as other distributors and broadcasters, will be studying the hungry hordes closely and, most likely, adjusting formats and viewing models. Heads up, HBO and Bravo; you might still try to force us into cable contracts and programming on your schedule, but that's all over. Sure, HBO GO is a great app; but one can't use it unless one adheres to the front-end, archaic, cable subscription model. Even the scraps CBS, NBC and Discovery begrudgingly throw at us under the Hulu fence, or even via their own websites, are becoming boring and passé: dictating on which devices we may watch, for how long we may watch and how many episodes we are worthy of receiving. (Psst, broadcasters, we're still watching your commercials; why do you care so vehemently when and where we watch them?) As George Bluth, Sr. reminded the dolls of his attic tea party with a strong, pointed finger, "I don't let 'em tell me what to do."

Now, get your Bluth frozen bananas, grab your Gangytini and crank up "The Final Countdown": it's time you blue yourselves!

 

Executive Producers: Mitchell Hurwitz , Brian Grazer, Ron Howard , Jim Vallely and Troy Miller

Production Companies: Imagine TV and 20th Century Fox Television

Exclusive Distributor: Netflix

 

Arrested Development Central Cast:

Jason Bateman as Michael Bluth

Michael Cera as George Michael

Jeffrey Tambor as George Bluth Sr.

Jessica Walter  as Lucille Bluth

Will Arnett as George Oscar Bluth II, a.k.a. Gob

Tony Hale as Buster Bluth

Portia de Rossi  as Lindsay Fünke

David Cross  as Tobias Fünke

Alia Shawkat as Maeby Fünke

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Just For Fun: Vintage Disneyland

Just a wee summat for the Disneyana geeks: my latest vintage acquisition! 'Tis an authentic, 1957 Disneyland lunchbox complete with mint-condition, Mark Twain Steamboat Thermos, already put to fun and fab use as my Springtime purse! To keep things in perspective, this lunchbox was produced a mere two years after Disneyland's Opening Day on July 17, 1955.

Take a peek at the side-views. Tomorrowland and Frontierland were as Spartan and bare as the Moon and the Wild West themselves. To boot, there are even teepees in Frontierland: long since removed, a no-no due to sensitivity issues. (This Native American gal has no issues with it, BTW, as long as the teepees are accurate to local, Orange County tribes. More Juicy Couture, less raw leather, I believe.)

Fifty-plus years later Disneyland is even more magical and glorious than it must have been Opening Day. Want a wee bit o' the Park's history? My birthday ode to Walt Disney: This Used To Be Alllllll Orange Groves!

Have a SuperCALIfragilisticexpialidocious Day!

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Header: Savannah of Williamsburg Bookshelf

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