Jennifer Susannah Devore's Blog, page 16
August 25, 2012
Sun, Sun, Go Away: I Wish For Rain In Which to Play
It looks fun, these slow and lazy, dog days of sand and surf. Mid-April, I couldn't wait to toss off the Hugh Hefneresque smoking jacket and fur-lined, ghettofab, Lil' Kim boots. Now, late-August, I haven't worn real shoes in who knows how long and, like a second grader at Grandma's for the summer, I've taken to sleeping in my bathing suit and consuming nothing but Red Vines, San Pellegrino and tortilla chips. It's just too dangnabbit hot to eat anything, really. My hair is rebelling and totally fiigmo in this heavy and heinous August humidity and I've given up trying to style it on any level; it's up in a twist or a ballerina bun from the moment I wake or tucked in a side-chignon under a wide-brimmed hat until nighttime. I will concede that nighttime around here is at its summer peak and the evening air is simply glorious, busting with the aroma of bonfires and barbeques. It smells like somebody spilled a bottle of Hawaiian Tropic SPF2 all over a Yosemite campground.
Nevertheless, I am so done with summer. If you've been reading my blogs, books and bewildering Tweets for a while, you know well of my linen-thin tolerance for picture-perfect, postcard weather. To be sure, I can be bikini & martini girl when the situation calls for it; but it's just not my altogether gig. Weirdly, I dig the love-hate dichotomy of it all. Heck, my alter ego blogger is Miss Hannah Hart, 1930s ghost chick of the Hotel del Coronado whom finds tans vile, but oddly, loves lounging poolside. (By the by, note that Miss Hannah is now a Staff Writer at GoodToBeAGeek.com, upgraded from Contributing Writer. Thx, Jessa!) Oh sure, my SoCal life is, to quote Alec Baldwin on Jerry Seinfeld's seemingly charmed life, "One unbroken boulevard of green lights." 'Tis all lovely, but I need some rain once in a while, dangnabbit! I need it now. Pronto. Good old-fashioned, Seattle-style, day-after-day, don't-want-anything-except-soup-and-Guinness-and-espresso kind of rain. Besides, sunscreen is bonkers expensive. (Apropos, I am bringing back Dangnabbit! and Horsefeathers! as remarks of strong exclamation.)
'Tis even too warm for my beloved reds. The juxtaposition is just wrong. Photo: JSDevore
Horsefeathers!, you say. I know. Don't hate, I'm just Moi. Whiny or not, this is my traditional, late-summer ennui. Fellow Spooky Girl, Kat Kinsman, a.k.a. @kittenwithawhip, devotee of The Smiths and Managing Editor for CNN's food blog Eatocracy, understands fully. I bet right now, in her Brooklyn-based, raven-maned noggin, she's scheming her Hallowe'en party pâtisserie and a kickass Bellatrix Lestrange or Lady Ligeia costume. Thankfully for us Spooky Girls, September is nigh, which means October is only a tad further nigh. To boot, mein Mann und mich even have the good fortune of a totally righteous Hallowe'en this year: Salem, Massachusetts! Look for a Hannah Hart ghost-post, to be sure!
When I can, I dash to the Haunted Mansion up the road at Disneyland, to assuage my gothic and autumnal needs. During the August-October interim, film and TV like Sleepy Hollow, Midnight in Paris, Ed Wood, Hocus Pocus, Northern Exposure, The X-Files, Black Adder, Charmed and the Edward Gorey-opening titles to PBS Mystery! keep my psyche in Burberry trenchcoats, ruffled blouses, patent leather boots and vintage bowlers. There's also a score of literature and art to keep Moi excited about an East Coast autumn: Nathaniel Hawthorne, Phaedra Weldon, Anne Rice, Edgar Allen Poe and, of course, old Charles Addams comics.
In case you're feeling a tad sunstroked, please enjoy a smattering of delightfully gloomy imagery. Snaps of rain, d ark skies, puppies in sweaters and Vikings in scarves. These things are divine. In case yours is also strangely sunny/gothic soul, I highly recommen d the literary oeuvres of one of my fave authors Tonya Hurley. She's kind and unassuming, I assume, replies to Tweets and digs things like crows, Poe, Haribo gummi baren, Jack-o-lanterns, silver spider cuffs, drippy candles, black fortune cookies, Johnny Depp (I suppo se. Spooky Girls always like Johnny.) and black parasols, too.
Photo: Nico Genin
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
And if I should die before I awake,
I pray the popular attend my wake.
-Tonya Hurley
Old goths don't die. We just dress that way.
-Kat Kinsman
Some girls are bigger than others. Send me the pillow, the one that you dream on, and I'll send you mine.
-The Smiths
Wheeeee!!!!! Stripey socks season ... away!!! Cheers, all :)
August 21, 2012
The Starbucks Name Game: Who's Your Alias?
Even more fun than the Name Game itself, is playing with someone whom is, as yet, unaware. Funny enough, there's an unspoken etiquette to the game, even to the uninitiated. If the cohort in question becomes slightly confused upon hearing you proffer your alias upon the requisite, " ... and your name?", most will simply shoot a sly, sideways glance and never say a word. My sisters-in-law are exceptionally respectful of this rule. They've heard all my Starbucks names, rarely bat an eye and have never once said, "That's not your name!". Beware, he who calls out the charade! For shame!
My Starbucks names are varied, but few: Lourdes, Hannah, Veronica, Brigitte and, one time, Saffron. Lourdes is my standard. Hannah and Lucy were de rigueur for my sister-in-law and Moi at Comic-Con this summer. Occasionally, I'll go with Veronica, mostly at Orange County locations. Initially, I adopted Veronica in an effort to promote my latest novel The Darlings of Orange County. My bright idea? All my friends and fam in the book should use their character names as their Starbucks names. "Lorelei" tried once, but got all nervous, stammered, then just blurted out her own name. "Ryan" did it a few times, to amuse me and "Pardo" seems to have chickened out altogether after getting all nervous at a La Jolla Starbucks, à la Lorelei. Pardo? Quad shot over ice? Pardo? See how nicely that works, especially at an Encinitas store, where his character resides. I go for café often with Pardo and Ryan; both refuse to amuse me anymore.
My first Starbucks name was Brigitte, which I happily used for nearly a year, until one too many baristas misspelled and/or mispronounced my name. It's bri-ghee-tah. Not Bridget. Brigitte, with the final e prounouced strongly, as in Porsche. (Yes. Please, people, Porsche is a family name, a German name. In German, that trailing e is pronounced, strongly. Not Porsch ... Porsche. I know from firsthand knowledge. I speak German, not as well as French but better than Italian, and can get by adequately. Ist es nicht vertig, meine Hiltrud? Also, mein Vater owned a couple of the great, rumbly beasts. The first one he bought, he accidentally drove in reverse when driving it off the lot, waving goodbye to the sales staff. It's clear where I get my dork genes.)
Lourdes, my go-to go-by, proves difficult for many a barista as well: Lordis, Lotus, Lortus, Loordin, Lorus, Lordus and so on. Still, it's easier than Brigitte. To be fair, a barista in Portland, Maine not only spelled it correctly, but called it out in the proper, French pronunciation: no s. Cheers, Portland!
There once was a fellow I knew named Pete. Pete was a tall, uberkind, Dutch-type and a veterinarian from Aliso Viejo. He patronized a Starbucks just down the road in Laguna Hills and there, he was known as Pedro and he was not a veterinarian, but a construction worker. He did drive a pick-up truck (large animal vet, by training and education), but was a snazzy dresser and very Norlander-looking. How he pulled it off effectively each morning, I'm not sure.
Now, to be fair, one of the original Name Gamers is my brother-in-law. Zim, we'll call him. Zim has used the name "Lord" for ages. Like Cher or Madonna, it's just Lord. For full disclosure, he is in fact, an English lord of sorts: an occurrence of title which happened well after the Starbucks fun had commenced. Not nearly as romantic, historic or posh as a royal grant given a family ancestor under the auspices of Charles II or some such nonesuch. Yet, not in an altogether different manner than many a nobleman throughout history, he bought his way into a title.
Zim purchased a wee bit o' land yonder and, voila! ... is now Lord Devore, really. He still eats bisquits and gravy like an animal, but he's an English land-holding lord nonetheless. There is probably little effect day-to-day, however whenever he books a Virgin Atlantic or British Airways flight, he can verily tick "Lord" in the Title-dropdown box when entering his name. Now, that might get him early boarding and perchance an upgrade, if space is available. I've always deemed this Lord business of Zim's as a wildly fun divertissement. I very well may follow his lead. I may have been born an Only Child, but not a contessa, and I should have been. I blame my ancestors. Zim, if you're reading, be a doll, give us a link or two. Contessa Devore has a very nice ring indeed. Together, we could rule Christmas.
Why do all this, you ponder? What kind of wackadoo not only makes up a fake name for café, but then writes about it? A writer. Nice to meetcha! I love names, I always have. When I was very wee, preschool-wee, I had a fave doll whom I named Miss Anais Thirinkous Ornistinous. She was Greek, apparently. I had a Hawaiian rag doll Daddy bought me on vacation and I named her Penina Noelani. (Noelani is actually one of my middle names. Hmm. Maybe that's where I get it. Maybe it's innate, as I do have three middle names.) I name my laptops (Farfel, Charlie Brown), my luggage (The Judson T. Welliver Society), my pets have all had middle names (Ichabod Wolfgang Crane, Catrina Tituba, Onyx Treacle, Bella Lugosi, Constanze Wolfy) and, like any good, California girl, I've always named my cars: in order, Gidget, Gromit, Petra Petrovich, Adm. Horatio Jameson, Lord Kilwillie. I even named my Starbucks card, really: Little Jerry Seinfeld.
Pssst, baristas. By the by, I do have to speak out on one matter, silly as it may be. 'Tis highly disappointing when, after we give our nom du jour, you simply call out the drink. It's a little thing, but it makes us really happy to hear our persona come to life. You know, Where everybody knows your name, and all?
Note: If you are a Darlings of Orange County character, especially when in the O.C. (don't call it that), be a mensch, use your Darlings name pour Moi? That's you Kieran, Ceasar, Chet, Lorelei, Dr. Mandy, Tucker, Sasha, Astrid, Pardo and Sugar Belle. In fact, you don't even need to be a namesake. Feel free to use any of my character names for your Starbucks name! I'd love to hear Pardo, Astrid or Sugar Belle called out one day!
Now that you know, in case you were one of the uninitiated, will you play the Starbucks Name Game? What will your Starbucks name be? Already play the Name Game? Who is your alias? If you're patronizing, or working at, a SoCal Sbux and hear a barista call out, or perchance you are the barista, "Iced Venti Americano with two pumps of raspberry?" or, in the autumn, "Pumpkin Spice Latte made with soy, no whip?" for Veronica, Lourdes, Hannah, Saffron or maybe even Magnolia, for I sometimes call myself Magnolia, look around ... it just might be Moi!
Tchuss!
August 1, 2012
Miss Kitty, Madame Scheidel & Dr. Watson's Steampunk Odditorium
Prairie purveyor Harriet Oleson, might well turn up her nose at the bottled, dried and otherwise preserved mammalia in the curiosity cabinets of Dr. Watson’s Steampunk Odditorium. Of course, that would be the well-bred, prim, Victorian in Mrs. Oleson: posh country-wife to Nels and mother to the precocious and glorious Nellie Oleson. The sales-savvy, shrewd Mrs. Oleson, the pioneer proprietress of Little House on the Prairie's Oleson's Mercantile, would covet and embrace San Diego's newest emporium of steampunk ephemera. She would see thriving capitalism, bordered and framed fancifully by ruffles and feathers of gilded, Victorian-era proportions. Word-of-mouth about this beachside bazaar is running at locomotive speed and powering Dr. Watson's, and its formidable owner, straight into cauldrons full of 21st C. gold nuggets.
Having recently covered San Diego Comic-Con for GoodToBeAGeek.com, I naturally went in costume. It’s what I do, as many of you long-time readers know. Amidst the fervor, chaos and unrelenting joy that is Comic-Con, my cohort and I fielded the same question ad nauseam: “What is steampunk, anyway?” Imagery from Sherlock Holmes to Jules Verne, Wild Wild West to Copper were invoked and, despite the seemingly enthusiastic discussions, most glazed over midway, stole a few snaps and moved along toward less taxing, more easily explained cosplay like Catwoman, Doctor Who, Bender and Duff Man. Whilst overall, steampunk was a rarity, my cosplay partner-in-crime and I found a smattering of, if not small, worthy steampunk folk about the Con. League of Steam, for one: "Victorian-era Monster Hunters Serving All Your Supernatural Elimination Needs Since 1884". (Check back here at Hallowe'en; I shall be posting a League piece during the season!) Still not certain what this damned steampunk is? Voila … a succinct introduction.
During my quest for further sartorial inspiration in the final weeks before Comic-Con, I ventured up the beach to Dr. Watson's. A personal recommendation plus a bit o’ Bing searching lay the leather-and-mechanical path to whimsy. Mise-en-scène amidst one of San Diego's most eclectic populations -marines via Camp Pendleton, surfers and skaters, tatted rockabillies, Bettie Page wannabes, wealthy property owners, hippies, retirees, vacationers, Real Housewives, the homeless, shadow immigrants and so much more- Oceanside, California is just the fragmented and funky community to welcome this proctor of peculiar paraphernalia.
Dr. Watson's is part-natural history museum, part-western general store and all saloon decor. It is run by one Tracy Scheidel, best described as an AntennaTV-worthy, feisty-yet-soft-hearted protagonist, an amalgam of Gunsmoke's Miss Kitty, Little House on the Prairie's Harriet Oleson and Dukes of Hazard's Boss Hogg. I'm guessing if she likes you, you're in good shape about this town. Owning a fair swath of property and store-frontage along famed PCH, (Body Piercing by Tracy and About Face Tattoo, to start) Tracy Scheidel is an affable, intriguing and inquisitive conversationalist. Possessing a quality so few have, yet so many covet, hers is a social talent leading the visitor to believe of their utmost importance in her day. What you want, she has. What you need, she’ll attempt to satisfy. What you love, she loves. In another life, she might have been a formidable madam, saloonkeep or politician.
The Odditorium is sentried nicely by a charming, bombilating black-tressed, pale-skinned, rouge-lipped, saloon girl-slash-manageress called Miss Celeste. What you need, she also wants for you and will go to lengths to get it. She will also ask, sincerely, "How did you hear of us?" As eager and positive about the Odditorium and its livelihood as is Madame Tracy, Miss Celeste also maintains the shop's Facebook page, posting photos, articles and upcoming events.
Like a welcoming saloon after days on a lonesome desert ride, Miss Celeste and Madame Scheidel, in this surfside museum-cum-mercantile, amidst the shrunken heads, dried bats, vintage Playboy magazines, leather top hats, feathered baubles and mechanical goggles, will have you nestled nicely on their inviting divan. From there, you can watch a private fashion show, your special girl model striped, Victorian bloomers, Betty Grable-inspired bathing suits, Dita Von Teese-styled tap dance shorts, Sherlock Holmes-worthy plaid trousers and Lonesome Dove-ready cotton chemises. All the while sipping gratis coffee and noshing from an assortment of Little Debbies. Before you know it, just like that oasis saloon, you’ll have happily and easily spent a few hours and a few more dollars. Makes me think a steampunk saloon might not be a bad idea, for Madame's next venture.
Until we do get a Gunsmoke-styled, steampunk saloon in San Diego, you might want to wet yer whistle at Dr. Watson's Sweltering Summer Tea Party, Fashion Show and Charity Event: Sunday, August 12th, 2012, 1:00 - 5:00 PST.
Dr. Watson's Steampunk Odditorium, proprietress Tracy Scheidel
421.A South Coast Highway
Oceanside, California 92054
760.757.6628
July 31, 2012
Adrianne Curry & RDJ Sightings, Johnny Depp & Seth Green MIA: SDCC 2012
“There’s an awful lot of weird, pasty people in here, myself included.” So went my recurring, silent observance throughout this year’s Comic-Con, striking oft as I flitted hither and thither through the San Diego Convention Center, like a frantic mosquito seeking an open window on a muggy, Malibu, summer’s day. The pastiness was not truly what struck me, nor was the definitive weirdness. The real oddity was, like in so many gatherings where we geeks gather en masse -Renaissance Faire, Disneyland- the convergence of and shoulder-to-shoulder conditions pressed upon so many individuals not generally prone to mainstream socializing. Moi? I haven’t left my Hotel del Coronado much since 1934. Dr. Lucy, my ghostie cohort? 1904. Judging by the bevy of pale and malleable bodies endeavouring some severely awkward social interactivity, they’ve not left their abodes since 1904 either. (Need more than just one fat Slave Leia? Dr. Lucy’s Comic-Con 2012 Gallery of Oddities!)
No caption necessary. Photo: Twisted Pair Photography SDCC 2012
On the flip side, after the initial shock of being face-to-face with strangers on a trolley and crushed side boob-to-side boob with fat Batman at Starbucks, a comforting calm washes over one and the irony of being surrounded by two-hundred thousand other Earthlings hits.
San Diego Old Town Trolley ... all aboooard! Photo: JSDevore
Suddenly the looks, stares and comments are friendly and complimentary. Instead of thinking the standard, snarky, “Hey, mook. Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”, I’m posing and flashing my Colgate smile and jack booted-gams left and right for anyone with a smartphone or a news camera. “Make sure you spell my name right!” becomes my de rigueur response, as opposed to my usual, “Grody”. (Yes, by the way, occasionally the more telekinetic of you live wires can actually see Lucy and me: Ghost Hunters types are quite adept. The stares and the infrared cameras do get to be a little boring after a while though. Costumed and fancy dress affairs tend to bring out more believers. Ergo, SDCC and Faire are perfect places for us to play without too much unwanted attention.)
Disco Vader, Boba Fett and Coors Light Man. Feels like a party! Photo: Twisted Pair Photography
Of course, once I hit the train each evening, my snark and sneers revived nicely, especially to a particularly forward sleazebag whose interest in my ruffled bloomers was creepy. Lowering my aluminum goggles down off my pith helmet and onto my face, now resembling Johnny Depp’s Willy Wonka, I gave the letch a hard stare à la Paddington Bear and, pulling my skirt tightly over my Victorian bloomers, I replied, “These are for the convention only.” and turned to watch the bay the rest of the way home. Thank goodness for Lucy; she handled him deftly and politely for both of us. Her Victorian manners are far more genteel than my Flapper Girl gums.
Back at the Con though, and all those other wackadoo jelly beans in your personal space, a thumbs-up from a dapper Mad Hatter and a 360-spin from a vixen Catwoman to tell you how amazing your costume is, combined with all the other praise throughout the day, tells you you’re not quite the freak you so oft feel. When a chap from the L.A. Times chases you down for a snap, a fellow from the Houston Press says he’s been stalking you for thirty yards and wants to know more about whom designed your gear and a gorgeous Ruby Red Riding Hood compliments your corsetry, well, it makes for some strong self-esteem boosts. (Stalking though, sans costume, generally bad.)
Dude. Both your faces are looking in the wrong direction. Zowie! Photo: Twisted Pair Photography SDCC 2012
Sure, it sounds needy, feeding on compliments greedily like a truffle pig zeroing in on the hunt. Still, when a trip to Trader Joe’s or even Nordstrom can be fraught with elbow nudges and snickers due to something as simple as a parasol or an oversized hat (No, I am not going to a wedding, the races or a funeral, thank you very much.) it’s nice to be in a venue, even if crushed like a pack of nematodes, and feel like part of the gang. Even if we usually don’t want to be part of any gang.
The only downside to the Con, if one can call it a downside, Dr. Lucy and I did have to field the query, “Now, who exactly are you supposed to be?” and then followed by, “Ah. Interesting. Now, what is steampunk?” Dr. Lucy had a great, if not lengthy description. Most tended to glaze over mid-description, but I liked it.
Think Jules Verne and Victorians and what their concepts of future technology would have been, utilizing the machinery and technology at their hands, in the 19th Century.
Blink, blink, the inquisitor would respond. I would then add succinctly:
Have you seen Sherlock Holmes, the newer versions with Robert Downey, Jr.?
Ahh! Yes, yes! Iron Man! Cool! they would exclaim, pleased with themselves. See, Lucy, people are obtuse, mostly. KISS, as the politicians say: Keep It Simple, Silly. Still not sure about this damn steampunk business? Keep a keen eye for steampunk stylings in BBCAmerica’s newest crime drama by Barry Levinson, Copper, set in 1864 NYC. Can’t wait ’til it airs August 19th? Find a bit more steampunk here.
Hannah & Lucy, Steampunk Chicks, Day 3 SDCC 2012 Photo: Eugene Powers, Whedonopolis.com
Steampunk chicks need beer, too. Breakwater Brewery: xlnt Guinness. Photo: Twisted Pair Photography SDCC 2012
Hannah and Dr. Lucy, Steampunk Chicks, Day 1. Photo: Maria Stefanopoulos, IngeniousTravel.com
Admittedly, speaking for both Lucy and myself, we did feel a tad out of place at one point. The old pangs of being the only kid dressed up at school for Hallowe’en flooded back in waves. Fortunate enough to garner admittance into the SyFy Press Room, Lucy and I attended a Being Human roundtable interview. With the exception of one chick in a hot pink anime wig, Lucy and I were the only ones dressed up in costume. Poor Sam Huntington, a.k.a. Being Human‘s Josh the werewolf, as he sat at our table, nearly had a cardiac event upon sight of Lucy’s corseted bosom, crushing a small, plastic water bottle to subdue his carnal desires. Good for you, Lucy. At 108 years young, you’ve still got it! The rest of the press room was filled to the brim with black-bedecked, serious journalists. A few were friendly, but the odd looks were there. (Why they were surprised, I have no idea. It IS Comic-Con.) As is oft the case IRL, nervous attempts at jokes and small talk were met with long blinks. Bueller? Bueller? Anyone? Anyone?
Why, Dr. Lucy! You'll give the boys heart flutters!
Photo: Twisted Pair Photography SDCC 2012
In the waning hours of Day 3 of the Con, as Lucy and I sat against a wall in the Meeting Halls catching our breath, a crowd piled up in front of us as they were held off by guest control, waiting for cross-traffic to pass: a ridiculous line for a Mythbusters panel. As I watched Hobbit feet and blistering stilletos shuffle by, I caught a good portion of a conversation as a lovely and petite blue-haired fairy and a somewhat beefy Harry Potter came to stand nearby us.
So, is it what you expected? Harry asked his pretty pixie.
Ohmygod! So much more! I’m already planning next year’s costume! she clapped.
What’s your favourite part so far? Harry asked further.
She thought for a moment, then replied, Remember when we went to your Mom’s that time? ‘Member we stopped by before that Halloween party? We did the Alice in Wonderland thing?
Yeah. Your White Queen costume?
Yeah. Well, nobody here has looked at me even once the way your mom and sister did that night. It feels natural, just being here. It’s amazing.
Exactly. What she said. How was your Comic-Con experience?
Note: Whilst we did see Mark Hamill, Adrianne Curry (beyond hot), Parasol Protectorate author Gail Carriger and Robert Downey, Jr. (Very, very hot. Sherlock, indeed.), we did not see Seth Green or Johnny Depp. Be assured, this was not from a lack of effort. Seth Green was indeed there, visiting the Peanuts booth, participating in a Robot Chicken panel and making general happy mayhem of the grounds. My final effort, a lone Tweet, is recorded for Comic-Con history:
Jennifer S. Devore @JennyPopNet
Might as well seek w effort 
Is @sethgreen anywhere near aisle 1400 @Comic_Con ? Would love to say Ciao! #sdcc
No words. Too hot. Dig you, Mizz Curry! Photo: Twisted Pair Photography SDCC 2012
The honour is all mine, Miss Carriger: Parasol Protectorate Purveyor. Photo: Twisted Pair Photography SDCC 2012
Klingons. Not so tough IRL. Photo: Twisted Pair Photography SDCC 2012
Go ahead, try not to sing it. Photo: Twisted Pair Photography SDCC 2012
What did you get up to during Comic-Con 2012? Photo: Twisted Pair Photography
July 25, 2012
Comic-Con Inside Buzz: SyFy’s Being Human, Season 3
Ciao, kittens! It's me, Miss Hannah Hart, ghostdame of The Del. Well, San Diego Comic-Con 2012 is in the rear view mirror and I can tell you Dr. Lucy and I had a ridiculously swell time! Aside from the media barrage, celebrity sightings, celebrity rumours and the over-the-top Con bags (Why so big, guys? Why?), the people-watching and cosplay stole the show. Dr. Lucy, being the mechanical tinkerer she is, took nicely to an EOS Canon Digital Rebel XT and gave us a veritable Egyptian tomb of snaps, a gallery of which I shall post soon. Today, I bring you an insider’s look into SyFy‘s Being Human.
JavaScript is disabled!
To display this content, you need a JavaScript capable browser.Adobe Flash Player not installed or older than 9.0.115!
Natch, Being Human is right up my alley. As I am wont to do, I started with the U.K. version, then warmed to the U.S. iteration. Being Human U.S. is a strikingly spooky adaptation and, being a ghostie girl myself, it only makes sense that the beauteous, lead ghost Sally is my personal, vicarious fave. She’s far lovelier and more delicate than those mooks over at Ghost Adventurers, has a great pair of getaway sticks and is spades more genteel than those wheats running Ghost Hunters International. (Note to GHI: You don’t always have to be saying something in the dark. Silence is lovely sometimes and, moreover, we know you’re there.)
[image error]
Thanks to the good folks in the SyFy publicity office and press room, particularly Kelly and Blair, Dr. Lucy and I were afforded a brief, press roundtable with the stars of Being Human and their executive producer, Anna Fricke, prior to the Being Human panel discussion in the Indigo Ballroom at the Hilton San Diego Bayfront. Dr. Lucy snapped some pics and I had the opportunity to chat with Anna and the actors whom portray Sally, Aidan and Josh. Anna divulged no details about Season 3, which airs January 2013, but did offer some tantalizing teasers about where our supernatural friends are headed, come winter.
“More levity”, “less dark” and “more solidarity” were E.P. Anna’s cornerstones of what’s to come. Season 2 went down some pretty dark roads indeed and the characters enacted some serious choices.
“Season 2 ended up being a very dark, crazy, bananas place where everybody had to make very life-threatening choices and decisions. Obviously, we have to see, did they get themselves out of those decisions?,” Anna offers.
Anna also admitted to more flashbacks.
“We always have flashback because we love to do the wardrobe! (laughter) It’s great to delve into the past to see where they’re coming from, what made them who they are today.”
To continue, a very brief interview with Meaghan Rath, Sam Witwer and Sam Huntington:
GTBAG: Where do all the characters go this season, inwardly?
Sam Huntington (Josh): Aidan protecting Aidan. This is something we tackled this year. (laughter)
Sam Witwer (Aidan): There you go.
Sam Huntington (Josh): I think Josh’s primary goal this year on the show was to be, he’s the mother, you know? He wants to keep everyone safe. And he wants desperately to get everybody what they want. It’s uh, he’s needed to ask Aidan for a lot of help. That’s true. Because of his knowledge, because of his strength. It’s because of Josh’s newness as a supernatural being and his lack of knowledge. So uh, yeah , I think Josh has grown a tremendous amount. This season he really does come into his own, in a big way. Yeah. Yeah!
GTBAG: How do they progress? How do they grow together?
Sam Witwer (Aidan): We already know how they progress.
Sam Huntington (Josh): There’s no hope. (laughter) We have no hope.
Sam Witwer (Aidan): You know what’s great? We’ve really had a chance to collaborate with the writers this year. So, I can say with a good amount of certainty that its going exactly where I would have it. I, I love the direction it’s taking. My character gets to be around people and that allows him to be awkward and allows him to be sad and also more dangerous considering what happened last year and it’s kind of a sweet spot for the character, in terms of him being interesting. And these two guys have so much new stuff to deal with it’s ridiculous, but we can’t tell you what.
Sam Huntington (Josh): That’s the tricky thing. That’s because we were all left in such uh, you know, horrible, extreme situations last season it’s like, to say anything about what, the result of that.
Sam Witwer (Aidan): Yeah, it takes us a year and a half after the last season.
At that point, the kind yet efficient talent manager swept through and corralled the attractive trio to another table, all before Miss Meaghan could give her thoughts on Silly Sally’s forthcoming journey. What I did get, was a close-up of her smashing, heart heels!
What about Aidan and his coffin, some of you may wonder? Well, all Anna would tell me is this:
“Sam is such a fine actor. We don’t want to see him in a coffin for thirteen episodes.”
Hmmm.
July 21, 2012
75 Years of Catwoman Chic: SDCC 2015 Souvenir Book Article
��
by
Jennifer Susannah Devore
��
They say a little black dress is a timeless classic. We say a little patent-leather jumpsuit with a mask and a whip beats that.
-Suzan Col��n, Catwoman: The Life and Times of a Feline Fatale
��
Simply because the night includes midnight Parkour and pilfering, doesn't mean a girl should look homeless, even if she is. Confident yet wary, the youngest Selina Kyle yet, of FOX's Gotham, sprightly portrayed by Camren Bicondova, has perfectly honed the hip, desperately-casual style of Millennial America (designed by Lisa Padovani): storm colours in leather and wool, jeans, hoodies and knee-boots. Although, oddly, like Star Wars, Gotham seems set in the future and a long, long time ago, thus explaining Selina's futuristic/vintage steampunk goggles and 1930s, Marion Davies curls.
Bicondova's Selina is a magnetic addendum to Catwoman's bio; but she has years to grow into Batman's nemesis and the sartorial significance that transmutes Selina into Catwoman.
Spring 1940 (Batman #1) introduced us to the dishy ne'er-do-well known prosaically as The Cat. Boarding a yacht to pinch a diamond bauble, she wears no catsuit, only the unimaginative mask of an elderly woman. Yet, the rest of her? Long legs, tiny waist, form-fitting pencil-dress and bombilating blue-black locks. Clearly, more Old Hollywood glam than old lady scam.
We needed a female nemesis to give the strip sex appeal. So we came up with a kind of female Batman.
-Bob Kane, Catwoman co-creator (artist)
Soon, she was dubbed Catwoman and receives what any hot villainess requires: mask, cape, kick-ass boots and whip. Even so, costume uniformity came slowly.
Summer 1940 (Batman #2) saw Catwoman sporting dramatic, primary colours in the standard, pre-WWII silhouette of the day: fitted dress, shoulder pads, puffed sleeves, full skirt. Unfortunately, by autumn of that year she also started sporting furry, realistic cat masks. The Fifth Avenue dame with the cat head was just creepy.
Autumn 1940 (Batman #3), the gold and red ensembles transitioned to more mysterious, black numbers in leather
with purple capes. On-target, but the fur masks lingered. Why obscure the pretty? Modeled partially on Hollywood bombshells like Jean Harlow and Marlene Dietrich, why give Catwoman the figure of Jane Russell and the ��lan of Lauren Bacall, but the face of Clark Gable?
As WWII raged, Catwoman shimmied out of her day dress and into a voluptuous violet frock with shoulder pads and a full skirt, great for twirling and swinging around Gotham rooftops. A Kelly-green cape and Robin Hood boots finished the glam-bandit look.
The fur mask was finally shed, too. Half-face with cat ears and wide eye-holes, the new mask highlighted her intense peepers, sharp cheekbones, ruby lips and waves of black curls in the Gotham moonlight. Kitty can still scratch, but now she doesn't have fleas.
And don't underestimate her, just because she's a woman!
-Robin, Boy Wonder
After WWII, Catwoman re��ntered peacetime unscathed, sashaying easily into the well-manicured 1950s. Vacillating between prowler and proper citizen, she kept busy in a variety of "jobs": jewel thief, fashion editor, pet shop employee. Each gig meant new gear, which meant getting said-gear. The magazine gig was solely a ruse to misappropriate a mink coat.
The Fabulous Fifties presented Catwoman as a bored socialite with plenty of cabbage but a penchant for shoplifting. Until 1954, she reflected post-War America perfectly, save the kleptomania: swank, comfortable, blas��. She had an itch though, and Gotham nights provided the scratching post.
Whether slinking through Gotham at night in her mask and cape, or manning the pet shop by day in her silk and pearls, Catwoman remained a dashing yet ladylike knockout. Then, came the Sixties.
After a ten-year stretch under a sunny window, Catwoman returned to print comics in 1964, in a flurry of costume variations. 1967 (Batman #197) found her in a weird green, scaly bodysuit that looked like something she'd catch for dinner. About that same time, television had better designs on Catwoman. Thankfully, that included Julie Newmar.
Is it any wonder she gave him "curious stirrings in his Utility Belt"?
-Adam West, Batman (1966-1968), Batman
TV oft sets its own parameters. Sometimes that's good and brings new generations of fans. Batman (1966) lured a whole new fan base using little more than a black, Lurex bodysuit. Julie Newmar looked as though she'd been dipped in quicksilver: shiny, mesmerizing and deadly. Add a low-slung, gold belt, elbow-gloves with claws, and black kitty ears resting perkily atop wavy, golden-Titian hair and, "Hello, curious stirrings".
Newmar wasn't the only screen-Catwoman; surprisingly she appeared in only six Batman episodes. She was, however, the first. Like Windows 3.1, Newmar was America's first GUI Catwoman.
TV Catwomen of the Sixties numbered three: Newmar, Meriwether and Kitt. Though each brought her own twist to the role, each essentially wore the same thing: same cat-suit, same cat-ears, same cat-accessories (designed by Pat Barto). Though Eartha Kitt rose above the discussion of race, it cannot be denied three years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964, Catwoman was black.
Was it a racial victory? A black woman portraying a traditionally white character? I don't think of myself in terms of a race. I'm an artist.
-Eartha Kitt, Catwoman (1967-1968), Batman
Lee Meriwether, a kind of slinkier Laura Petrie in leather and revenge, claimed, "Eartha, for my money, was the best Catwoman."
As far as Kitt's legendarily sexy purrr, Newmar admits, "I started it, but I'll tell you. Eartha Kitt did it better. My God, no one could top that!"
"Her Catwoman was sinuous and sexy and she exuded intelligence and craftiness from every pore," cooed Adam West of Ms. Kitt in 2003.
Since her creation in 1940, Catwoman's bio, and wardrobe, has changed multiple times: nine lives indeed. By the 1980s though, her backstory, and costuming, becomes darker and less forgiving: more panther, less sex kitten. Depending on the tale, she is an abused prostitute, or an abused socialite, no longer just bored, but victimized. Either way, she escapes her violator and hits the streets with her natural acumen leading the way. One twist finds her recycling old dominatrix work-gear into Catwoman threads. This pattern of finding opprobrious men, save Batman, eventually reduces all men to mere cat toys. The Catwomen and catsuits of the Eighties and Nineties, in print and film, exhibit this more volatile psychology: notably via auteur Tim Burton and actress Michelle Pfeiffer in Batman Returns (1992).
If Catwoman was polite and Stoic before, Pfeiffer pierces her with an enjoyable infusion of pure wackadoo. Pathetic cat-lady Selina Kyle spends too much time at the office and irritates the boss; so abusive boss Max Schreck fires her by defenestration. Remarkably, Selina rebounds uninjured, but totally bonkers. Being tossed out a window will do that to a girl. Naturally, she next fashions a latex catsuit (designed by Mary E. Vogt). Barely held together by crazy-stitches, much like her psyche, the suit proffers a new Catwoman with a bit of batty behind Pfeiffer's almond eyes and cherry lips.
More than a decade later, Halle Berry would continue the dark theme in Catwoman (2004). If Pfeiffer makes Newmar look like a daring secretary at the office Hallowe'en party, Berry makes Pfeiffer look like a rubberized version of Betty Rubble. More Sturgis than supervillain, Berry's leather bra, hipsters and whip (designed by Angus Strathie) left less to the imagination, but inspired comicverse debate and a controversial Catwoman Barbie. With some complaining Berry was more stripper than blackguard, the next Catwoman seemed less lethal and threatening, like a sorority girl in a cheap, devil costume.
Anne Hathaway brings the catsuit full-circle (designed by Lindy Hemming) in The Dark Knight Rises (2012), poured into head-to-toe leather, spiked boots and, reminiscent of Newmar, perky kitty ears atop long, shiny, brunette hair. Hathaway looks less lascivious libertine and more Comic-Con cutie. In the end, befitting her natural charms, Hathaway keeps Catwoman chancy, but returns a whit of the Catwoman you'd maybe take home to Mom and Dad ��� maybe.
February 2014, DCComics writer Genevieve Valentine changed the bio again, exposing Selina's bisexualality. Catwoman #39 sees her retired and the Calabrese crime-family chief. Obviously, her panache is also retired: pixie cut, sensible heels, black pantsuit. Where's her flair? Hiding across town, it seems. In the Gotham shadows lurks another, younger dish waiting to sluice into the old catsuit: Eiko Hasigawa, heiress bred into the rival, Yakuza crime-family.
Usurping her identity and costume, Eiko strives to use Catwoman's persona for good: scotching the Yakuza's ill-deeds, and spying on Selina. Too much spying can lead to obsession though, and after some discourse on identity theft Selina and Eiko kiss. Not surprising, really, given Selina's history. Batman never fully fit the bill and every other man she's known has been a complete bastard, except Alfred. Where this storyline goes? Only Valentine knows.
"Will they dramatically implode? I mean, it���s comics, it could happen. But it will be a relationship," writer Valentine tempts.
��
Was that for me, or the suit?
-Eiko to Selina, apr��s-kiss
The suit, Eiko. It's always the suit.
��
Author Jennifer Susannah Devore, Catwoman fangirl, age 9. Photo: JSDevore
Past years��� books have included her articles on Peanuts, Tarzan, Bongo/Simpsons Comics and Hellboy. Read them? Read this one? Tell her you like it; send her a nice Tweet��@JennyPopNet! #Catwoman #SDCC #comics #geekgirl
July 18, 2012
That Other Jane and Carrot Top: JennyPop's Comic-Con Tarzan Article
For those of you whom did not make it to San Diego Comic-Con 2012, or did and possibly lost, tossed or neglected your coveted Official Souvenir Book, I feel sad that you missed out on my Tarzan article. No worries! Swing on over to my tree, grab a Sailor Jerry Banana Hammock and read it here!
Reprinted by me, with my very own permission, from the 2012 Official Comic-Con Souvenir Book
(Special thanks, again, to Gary Sassaman, Director of Print and Publications Comic-Con International: San Diego)
That Other Jane:
100 Years of Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, Heartbreaker
by Jennifer Susannah Devore
I was so jealous. I thought she was a wimp. I was sure I’d have been a better mate.
-that other Jane … Goodall
Herein lies the innate appeal of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan, Lord of the Apes. Be he an object of affection, admiration or competition, Tarzan falls neatly into the untidy world of animal instinct, feral existentialism and personal authority: a Lord Greystoke of the Flies, if you will.
Burroughs composed an enduring theme and a permanence of characters spawning not only a succession of film and television iterations, but also serial books and eventually comics, penned not by Burroughs himself, but a veritable jungle encampment of devotees. From Dell Comics' cheerful adventure yarns of the 1940s, which featured a ripped, yet stick-thin version of Tarzan, to Psychology Press' Ways of Being Male: representing Masculinities in Children's Literature and Film by John Stephens to George of the Jungle, Tarzan has been a centenary of topic. Scholars may argue a garden of reasons why the jungle Brit in the loincloth has remained ever so popular; but the reader's heartbeat will tell you unequivocally there exists solely one answer. Stimulation.
Certainly, the sight of a well-sculpted, 1930s Johnny Weissmuller slicing into a sheath of river or even the hot, animated Disney Tarzan of 1999 swinging on a vine (Watch out for that treeeeee!), brings a swoon to many a fan, just as Captain Jack Sparrow, Indiana Jones or Han Solo does. Be not fooled, it is not simply the silky hair flop, the cheekbones and the swagger (uh – well, it kind of is). It is primarily what brings about said-swagger and the flip of that flop which oft has a nuclear power to melt its unsuspecting, doe-eyed victims like wax. It is the hero’s confidence, fearlessness and willingness to machete his way through the jungles and bridge the rivers, only to pop back to the surface victorious and, even if a bit broken, durable enough to shake off the snakes, the leeches and the authorities to forge ahead.
Edgar Rice Burroughs, born of Mid-western stubbornness and raised on Western ruggedness weathered the literal, as well as figurative, frontier realities of a changing America at the turn of the 20th Century. The son of a Civil War veteran and a protective yet yielding mother of six boys, two having died as infants, Edgar was the youngest of a large and prosperous family prone to enterprise, exploits and chance. From Chicago business ventures to Idaho gold dredging and cattle ranching, a young Edgar saw a world of possibilities; he certainly recognized his growing America was whatever a man wanted it to be. After a smattering and sampling of job-jobs like railway security, clerical manager, door-to-door salesman, pencil sharpener wholesaler, ditch digger and accountant, amongst others, Edgar found his future in the fertile pages of pulp fiction.
Burroughs would state later that if people were paid for writing rot such as I read in some of those magazines that I could write stories just as rotten. This was in the same spirit as, Mark Twain, claiming some thirty years previous and Hunter S. Thompson claiming some eighty years after Twain, that a lot of folks make an awful lot of money writing some really awful schlock. It appears the unifying theme was, hopefully, they might be equally as fortunate. Mark Twain summed it up best when he prognosticated about Huckleberry Finn, They have expelled this from their library as, quote, trash and suitable only for the slums! That will sell 25,000 copies for us, sure.
Screaming through his tales, like Carol Burnett’s clear-as-a-bell Tarzan yell, Burroughs’ Wanderlust and spirit for adrenaline ripped through his tales of pirates, jungles, space, cavemen, dinosaurs and, lest we forget, The Land that Time Forgot. Over the decades of his long and successful life, Tarzan would be his Goose That Laid the Golden Egg. If Tarzan book money was good, Tarzan film money was out of this world.
The first celluloid representation was Tarzan of the Apes (1918) starring Elmo Lincoln as the silent hero. Whilst this iteration would follow most closely the events of the original novel, it was Tarzan the Ape Man (1932) that would explode out of the water like a surfacing submarine to penetrate pop culture. It would give us not only a taut and toned Olympic gold medallist swimmer named Johnny Weissmuller but also, as the first Tarzan film with sound, that iconic Tarzan yell which many will cringingly attempt. Raise your hand if you never tried it while swinging from the monkey bars on the playground.
As they often do, successful writer/film types take those sawbucks and buy Hollywood ranches, Palm Desert compounds, Caribbean islands or spooky manses in the Maine woods. Burroughs bought a sprawling one of the former just north of H-town. As a testament to the zeitgeist in 1923, the residents and citizens of the L.A. suburb burgeoning around his ranch, voted to incorporate as the town of Tarzana. Just five years previous, he had already incorporated himself: a savvy and uncommon move for a writer of this era.
Adventurous in word as well as deed to the end, Burroughs served as a WWII correspondent in Hawaii, embedded with U.S. Air Force bombers and even crossing paths with his equally unflappable son, Hulbert, a war photographer. After the war, he returned to the sunny jungle of Tinsel Town. Passing away in 1950, he would miss the continuing success of Tarzan throughout the Fifties via comic books and reprints of his novels and serials. He would also miss out on the explosive rebirth of his chef d’oeuvres as the Sixties would bring Tarzan the television series and a paperback book smash that introduced “Me Tarzan, you Jane”, their son, Boy, and a charming chimp named Cheeta to a whole new generation of restless rowdies ready for anything that wasn’t suburbia.
“It was somewhere between ten and eleven that I read Tarzan and decided I would go to Africa, live with animals and write books about them,” Dr. Jane Goodall, founder and mentor of the Jane Goodall Institute, recounts in a 60 Minutes interview. One-hundred years after the initial October 1912 publication of Tarzan of the Apes in All-Story magazine, Edgar Rice Burroughs’ creations match, if not absolutely mirror, mankind’s quest for self, sufficiency, survival and stimulation … well, and the cheekbones.
From creatures At The Earth’s Core, to a Martian Princess to the Lord of the Jungle, from The Cave Girl to The Girl From Hollywood to The Mucker and Pirates From Venus, Burroughs proffers vicarious pleasures and fantasy to the desk-bound, the cubicle-trapped and the homebodies of the planet. Simultaneously, he gives hope, inspiration and itineraries to the modern-day travelers and dreamers of the world.
Wanderlust is just ein deutsch Wort away from lust. Adventure-lit hits all the right buttons. Burroughs and Tarzan sliced their own paths, just like Captain Jack, Han Solo, Grizzly Adams and each real-life Indiana Jones throughout modern history, including the likes of Margaret Mead, Diane Fossey, Alan Shepard, Buzz Aldrin, Jacques Cousteau, John Glenn, Charles Lindbergh, Sally Ride, Teddy Roosevelt, Neil Armstrong, Gus Grissom, Valentina Tereshkova, Admiral Richard Byrd, Sir Richard Branson, Sir Edmund Hillary, Amelia Earhart, all the Monkeynauts and, finally … that other Jane.
In an October 2010 CBS 60 Minutes interview, reporter Lara Logan asked Dr. Jane Goodall: Why Africa? Dr. Jane replied: Because of reading Doctor Dolittle and Tarzan. Doctor Dolittle rescues animals from the circus and takes them back to Africa. And then, Tarzan, of course. The Lord of the Jungle.
Then the subject of Jane Porter, Tarzan’s girl, arose. In a statement soaked with decades of irritation and disgust, Dr. Jane exclaimed: I was passionately in love. He marries that other, stupid Jane. I think I’d have been the perfect mate for Tarzan, don’t you?
While today we’re bombarded with everyone else’s imagination, it’s satisfying to recall an era when we worked our own, fueled simply by Burroughs’ words … and, at least in Jane’s case, the loincloth. Now that’s what I call stimulation.
Author bio: Jennifer Susannah Devore authors the historical-fiction series Savannah of Williamsburg, as well as the contemporary The Darlings of Orange County. She is a regular contributor to GoodtobeaGeek.com under the pseudonym Hannah Hart, ghostdame of the Hotel del Coronado; her tribute to the 60th anniversary of Peanuts was published in the 2010 Comic-Con Souvenir Book She lives on a San Diego beach with her husband, a Pomeranian and an immortal cat she believes is Binx from Hocus Pocus.
You're Having Fun Wrong: A Pale, SoCal Geek's Summer Alternatives
Some are born Geek, some achieve Geekness and others have Geekness thrust upon them. For those of us whom are verily Geek-at-Heart, we shall not be shedding the title as quickly as a West Hollywood hipster sheds his iPad the moment Apple bids him so. Whilst many will claim the title of Geek, as to be Nerd/Dork/Geek/Wonk is très chic, it is a dangerous, double-edged lightsaber ... wait, they're columnar in shape. Anyhoo, we may live blissfully in our own, little biospheres; yet we are easy targets, like a wounded dolphin, or the only kid dressed up like a pilgrim the Wednesday before school lets out for Thanksgiving Weekend.
From sea to nerdy Cameron-submersible sea, forest to dorky Bigfoot forest, Skywalker Ranch and beyond the solar flares, this proudly pale populace has some serious ideas about what is fun and what is not. Summer is here and it can be a tough time for us, what with the sun, the outdoors and the prospect of a proper, dress-up holiday still months away. Never mind all that; we know what makes for real summer fun and with all due respect to the rest of you, to quote The Big Bang Theory's Dr. Sheldon Cooper, "You're having fun wrong."
Summer can be a bit of a free-radical situation for us: left to fend for ourselves amidst the plains and savannas of a deconstructed season, fighting against the harsh summer sun and the expected, traditional, normal outdoor activities of the average, summer reveler. In adult-life, as in school, just because it's summer, doesn't mean the wedgies cease. In such situations, it is only natural to seek the like-minded. When the broad landscape is dotted with the frequently unavoidable herds of roaming, aggressive, beefy, sunny, beachy, geek-squashers it is often necessary for the more fragile, the proverbial 98-pound weaklings, to gather and move in clusters. The sand-kickers can’t get us all if we move as one.
If it is entirely plausible that you could spend a joyful afternoon at Peet's Coffee having a serious debate about whether Han or Greedo shot first, you just might find the following summer alternatives to beach volleyball, backyard BBQs and 5K mud runs great fun indeed. I cannot advise on alternatives in your backyard, but as a Cali Girl, I will gladly walk you through some of my Golden State's finest, oft air-conditioned, cerebral, summer dork attractions.
San Diego Comic-Con : Certainly a toss-up, as to whether this should take the number one or two spot. In the end, it had to be crowned as supreme. Comic-Con is Mecca for con geeks the world over, even the new breed of geek: the poseur. C-C has become the new Studio 54. Few at the 1970s, iconic, NYC discotheque probably actually loved disco. Today, it's questionable how many Comic-Con attendees even read comic books, let alone have a passion for the medium. Still, decades after Richard Alf et al gifted the Geek World with Comic-Con and after all the poseurs have moved on, when The Big Bang Theory runs its course, the real fans will still faithfully flood the San Diego Convention Center each July, giving the San Diego Fire Marshal four sleepless nights every summer.
Disneyland : Like Salieri to Mozart or Sean Penn's Emmet Ray to Django Reinhardt, were there no Comic-Con, Disney would clearly reign on this list. If you’re fortunate enough to have an annual passport, chances are good you can’t get enough of Star Tours and its fifty-some possible scenarios, The Haunted Mansion, Indiana Jones, a Johnny Depp-frosted Pirates of the Caribbean and browsing ad nauseam the Capodimonte-laden glass shelves of Main Street's Disneyana. We Disney devotees do enjoy the occasional, audible snort of derision at new attractions and additions and love to regale newbies and family first-timers with behind-the-scenes Park trivia (especially those of us whom worked there). Overall, it is our church of sorts and if you don’t like Goths, stay away mid-September through January, for The Nightmare Before Christmas overlay at The Haunted Mansion is really, honestly, to die for, kids.
Renaissance Pleasure Faire : This one’s the original, yon friends. It's usually over before summer solstice hits, but you'll find plenty of other faires up and down the state. Yet, prithee, this is the Hamlet of Renaissance festivals. Oft simply called "Southern" or "Ren Faire", it’s been around since what feels like Queen Elizabeth I and Sir Walter Raleigh were playing footsies behind hogsheads and if you’re well-acquainted with Faire, then you know the tacit rules of conduct: no polyester, no real names, no Victorian Gary Oldmans from Dracula, keep your tongue in character and do not ask us if our costumes are hot. It's almost always 100 degrees and with the exception of our cleavages, we're swathed head-to-toe in leather, velvet, suede and fur. What thinkst thou? Faire is no place for steampunk and there’s also an internal, heated and on-going debate about Captain Jack Sparrow, because he’s a "made-up pirate". Of course, most of the pirate guilds are themselves comprised of made-up pirates. I give you geek.
Conan : Deserving of a Larry King suspenders & glasses/Arnold sausage snap combo-pantomime, this day trip can’t be beat, even by the Masturbating Bear. Whether you're a lucky local of beautiful downtown Burbank or saving up your game tokens for a Golden State sojourn, a Conan taping is probably the second best taping you can attend in The Valley. Tickets are free, but the online lottery is hit 'n miss. Still, if you can nail a date and don't mind being in Burbank on a weekday, you’ll be better than just about everybody back home on the farm.
Huntington Library & Gardens : Word nerds, book geeks and art history-snarks, this is your perfect afternoon, except Tuesdays and only from 10:30-4:00 in the summer, 12-4 otherwise. Of course, if you want to miss traffic getting out of the Pasadena-area, you’d best try to be out of the parking lot by 2:30, 3:00 tops. Home to a Gutenberg Bible, an Ellesmere manuscript of The Canterbury Tales, scores of early-Shakespearean papers, Audubon folios and a selection of 18thC. French and English decorative arts that would make Sofia Coppola swoon, the quiet and hidden treasure of L.A. museums is clandestinely tucked away in upscale, residential San Marino, an old money suburb of Pasadena. If you’re drawn to English incunabula, powdered wigs, French Lace roses and think Joshua Reynold's Sarah Siddons as Tragic Muse is just downright hot, then you’d better get going. Traffic will be a total nightmare in about forty minutes.
As a bonus, I must toss in The Hotel del Coronado. Though not a geek-oriented destination in and of itself, unless you’re bonkers for Victorian architectural detail, it is home to our favourite geek ghost, Miss Hannah Hart, ghostdame of The Hotel del Coronado. What?! You don’t know Miss Hannah Hart? Zowie!, as she would decry! Best get yourself over to GoodToBeAGeek.com and introduce yourself to this sassy and brassy, 1930s, Old Hollywood dame whom finds your casual wardrobe and slack-jawed vernacular a disgrace. Boyz-o! Does she have some opinions about you!
Clearly, because we are Geek, I rest assured many of you will disagree with my list, if only to dispute its hierarchy. Moreover, I expect others will rant and rail over omissions and inclusions. Please, do share @JennyPopNet or @GoodToBeAGeek. Like learning a Hotel Del ghostie girl is as bonkers for Carl Barks comic books as I am, it's always a thrill to learn where more of my own kind roam at will, without threat or fear of a good swirly.
You're Having Fun Wrong: SoCal's Fave Five Geek Attractions
Some are born Geek, some achieve Geekness and others have Geekness thrust upon them. For those of us whom are verily Geek-at-Heart, we shall not be shedding the title as quickly as a West Hollywood hipster sheds his iPad the moment Apple bids him so. Whilst many will claim the title of Geek, as to be Nerd/Dork/Geek/Wonk is très chic right now, it is a dangerous, double-edged sword. We may live blissfully in our own, little biospheres; yet we are easy targets, like a wounded dolphin, or the only kid dressed up like a pilgrim the Wednesday before school lets out for Thanksgiving Weekend.
From sea to nerdy Cameron-submersible sea, forest to dorky Bigfoot forest, Skywalker Ranch and beyond the solar flares, this proudly pale populace has some serious ideas about what is fun and what is not. Summer can be a tough time for us, what with the sun, the outdoors and the prospect of a proper, dress-up holiday still months away. Never mind all that; we know what makes for real summer fun and with all due respect to the rest of you, to quote The Big Bang Theory's Dr. Sheldon Cooper, "You're having fun wrong."
We are Geek. Photo: San Diego Air and Space Museum
Summer can be a bit of a free-radical situation for us: left to fend for ourselves amidst the plains and savannas of a deconstructed season, fighting against the harsh summer sun and the expected, traditional, normal outdoor activities of the average, summer reveler. In adult-life, as in school, just because it's summer, doesn't mean the wedgies cease. In such situations, it is only natural to seek the like-minded. When the broad landscape is dotted with the frequently unavoidable herds of roaming, aggressive, beefy, sunny, beachy, geek-squashers it is often necessary for the more fragile, the proverbial 98-pound weaklings, to gather and move in clusters. The sand-kickers can’t get us all if we move as one.
If it is entirely plausible that you could spend a joyful afternoon at Peet's Coffee having a serious debate about whether Han or Greedo shot first, you just might find the following summer alternatives to beach volleyball, backyard BBQs and 5K mud runs great fun indeed. I cannot advise on alternatives in your backyard, but as a Cali Girl, I will gladly walk you through some of my Golden State's finest, oft air-conditioned, cerebral, summer dork attractions.
Xyon Koreen knows. Han DID shoot first; yet, I forgive George. It's his film after all. Photo: Twisted Pair Photography, SDCC 2012
San Diego Comic-Con: Certainly a toss-up, as to whether this should take the number one or two spot. In the end, it had to be crowned as supreme. Comic-Con is Mecca for con geeks the world over, even the new breed of geek: the poseur. C-C has become the new Studio 54. Few at the 1970s, iconic, NYC discotheque probably actually loved disco. Today, it's questionable how many Comic-Con attendees even read comic books, let alone have a passion for the medium. Still, decades after Richard Alf et al gifted the Geek World with Comic-Con and after all the poseurs have moved on, when The Big Bang Theory runs its course, the real fans will still faithfully flood the San Diego Convention Center each July, giving the San Diego Fire Marshal four sleepless nights every summer.
Disneyland: Like Salieri to Mozart or Sean Penn's Emmet Ray to Django Reinhardt, were there no Comic-Con, Disney would clearly reign on this list. If you’re fortunate enough to have an annual passport, chances are good you can’t get enough of Star Tours and its fifty-some possible scenarios, The Haunted Mansion, Indiana Jones, a Johnny Depp-frosted Pirates of the Caribbean and browsing ad nauseam the Capodimonte-laden glass shelves of Main Street's Disneyana. We Disney devotees do enjoy the occasional, audible snort of derision at new attractions and additions and love to regale newbies and family first-timers with behind-the-scenes Park trivia (especially those of us whom worked there). Overall, it is our church of sorts and if you don’t like Goths, stay away mid-September through January, for The Nightmare Before Christmas overlay at The Haunted Mansion is really, honestly, to die for, kids.
Renaissance Pleasure Faire: This one’s the original, yon friends. It's usually over before summer solstice hits, but you'll find plenty of other faires up and down the state. Yet, prithee, this is the Hamlet of Renaissance festivals. Oft simply called "Southern" or "Ren Faire", it’s been around since what feels like Queen Elizabeth I and Sir Walter Raleigh were playing footsies behind hogsheads and if you’re well-acquainted with Faire, then you know the tacit rules of conduct: no polyester, no real names, no Victorian Gary Oldmans from Dracula and do not ask us if our costumes are hot. It's almost always 100 degrees and with the exception of our cleavages, we're swathed head-to-toe in leather, velvet, suede and fur. What thinkst thou? Faire is no place for steampunk and there’s also an internal, heated and on-going debate about Captain Jack Sparrow, because he’s a "made-up pirate". Of course, most of the pirate guilds are themselves comprised of made-up pirates. I give you geek.
Are you Faire enough? Photo by Twisted Pair Photography
Conan: Deserving of a Larry King suspenders & glasses/Arnold sausage snap combo-pantomime, this day trip can’t be beat, even by the Masturbating Bear. Whether you're a lucky local of beautiful downtown Burbank or saving up your game tokens for a Golden State sojourn, a Conan taping is probably the second best taping you can attend in The Valley. Tickets are free, but the online lottery is hit 'n miss. Still, if you can nail a date and don't mind being in Burbank on a weekday, you’ll be better than just about everybody back home on the farm.
Huntington Library & Gardens: Word nerds, book geeks and art history-snarks, this is your perfect afternoon, except Tuesdays and only from 10:30-4:00 in the summer, 12-4 otherwise. Of course, if you want to miss traffic getting out of the Pasadena-area, you’d best try to be out of the parking lot by 2:30, 3:00 tops. Home to a Gutenberg Bible, an Ellesmere manuscript of The Canterbury Tales, scores of early-Shakespearean papers, Audubon folios and a selection of 18thC. French and English decorative arts that would make Sofia Coppola swoon, the quiet and hidden treasure of L.A. museums is clandestinely tucked away in upscale, residential San Marino, an old money suburb of Pasadena. If you’re drawn to English incunabula, powdered wigs, French Lace roses and think Joshua Reynold's Sarah Siddons as Tragic Muse is just downright hot, then you’d better get going. Traffic will be a total nightmare in about forty minutes.
Photo: Hotel del Coronado Archives
As a bonus, I must toss in The Hotel del Coronado. Though not a geek-oriented destination in and of itself, unless you’re bonkers for Victorian architectural detail, it is home to our favourite geek ghost, Miss Hannah Hart, ghostdame of The Hotel del Coronado. What?! You don’t know Miss Hannah Hart? Zowie!, as she would decry! Best get yourself over to GoodToBeAGeek.com and introduce yourself to this sassy and brassy, 1930s, Old Hollywood dame whom finds your casual wardrobe and slack-jawed vernacular a disgrace. Boyz-o! Does she have some opinions about you! She's also headed to Comic-Con with her cohort Dr. Lucia Devereaux ... keep up with them on the Convention floor and maybe even win some goodies!
Clearly, because we are Geek, I rest assured many of you will disagree with my list, if only to dispute its hierarchy. Moreover, I expect others will rant and rail over omissions and inclusions. Please, do share. Like learning a Hotel Del ghostie girl is as bonkers for Carl Barks comic books as I am, it's always a thrill to learn where more of my own kind roam at will, without threat or fear of a good swirly.
June 28, 2012
JennyPop's Sweet San Diego Comic-Con Goody Giveaway
For all of you whom wanted to go but can't make it, either because you were unsuccessful in nicking a badge through the Con's wonky, mad, digital dash for online purchases, or it was just never in the cards for you to get to America's Finest City this summer, I shall be your big eyes and perky ears throughout Geek Mecca.
Directly from the San Diego Convention Center floor I shall be Tweeting and Facebooking only the choicest gossip and sweetest pics: hot Manga girls, celebrity sightings, bonkers cosplay, even that guy who absolutely should not be wearing Spandex. If it's worthy, I shall be covering it for
Of Course, What Do I Know?
, JennyPop.net and GoodtobeaGeek.com. If I'm lucky and can squeeze into a panel or two, I might even be able to get you some dishy goodness on the likes of Bob's Burgers, The Walking Dead, Children's Hospital, The Simpsons, True Blood, Spongebob Squarepants, American Dad, The Big Bang Theory, Vampire Diaries ... phew. You know what? Take a peek here at the full list of TV panels for 2012: far too many to reference. If I could corner anyone for you, who would it and what would you ask them? Tweet me @JennyPopNet and let me know; I'll do my best!Moi? I'll have my eyes peeled for the likes of Gail Carriger (The Parasol Protectorate) Seth MacFarlane (American Dad, Family Guy), Matt Groening (The Simpsons), Loren Bouchard (King of the Hill, Bob's Burgers), Bill Amend (Foxtrot), Henry Winkler (Children's Hospital, Happy Days, Arrested Development) and the entire Once Upon a Time cast and writers crew. Witness my love for Once here! Although, I do have to say that if the rumours are true, according to Variety , The Lone Ranger may be hosting a panel, possibly featuring Helena Bonham-Carter, Gore Verbinski and Johnny Depp ... well, I think we all know the outcome if this happens. Pack the smelling salts!
Best of all for you jelly beans, I'm giving up the goods! Not those goods, ya wet smacks. Con goods! Now, pay attention:
2 Grand Prize Goodie Bags Incl. one official Comic-Con Souvenir Book, autographed by author Jennifer Susannah Devore on her article, That Other Jane: 100 Years of Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, Heartbreaker , plus a collection of goodies from random floor vendors as well as some official Comic-Con Schwag Bag contents. (Note: fewer than twenty writers appear in each year's Souvenir Book. Getting a signed one is a rare treat indeed. Keep yours mint; Jen's getting bigger by the day! Fan-wise, that is.)
3 Goody Giveaways per convention day (Goody = one promotional item from random convention floor vendors) I don't even know what these are, yet! I'll be Tweeting them live from the floor. Trade shows and conventions are chock full of awesome tidbits ranging from coffee mugs and comic books to games and anime key chains. Who knows?!
How to win? Easy Peasy! Just Tweet or FB the following during the SDCC dates of July 12th-July15th!
2 Grand Prizes:
One Facebook Fan: "Like" Savannah of Williamsburg on FB and post a quote from one of Jennifer Devore's Savannah of Williamsburg books. (Don't have a book? Get a free Kindle or Nook sample at Amazon and BN.com. Every quote gets you an entry!)
One Twitter Pal: Follow @JennyPopNet and Tweet a short quote from any of Jennifer Devore's Savannah of Williamsburg books.
Daily Goody Giveaways: Follow @JennyPopNet with a Tweet containing #SavannahofWilliamsburg and #SDCC, or "Like" Savannah of Williamsburg on Facebook and post a Comic-Con greeting on her wall!
Already a follower on Twitter? Already a Facebook fan? Sweet! Then all you have to do post a quote, Tweet a hashtag and wish me luck on tracking down Johnny Depp! (Wish Johnny luck, come to think of it!)
Abyssinia at the Con, cats!
All prizes will be mailed after SDCC. All winners shall be selected at random from qualified entries. In the event of any dispute whatsoever, I will be the final arbiter of final judgement under any circumstance. There is no cash value. As a condition of entry, entrants are expressly prohibited from making any claims whatsoever. No third party shall bear any responsibility whatsoever in relation to this promotion, including but not limited to syndicates, partners and affiliates. This contest is held solely by jennypop.net. This contest is held solely for fun. Have fun!
