Helen H. Moore's Blog, page 1024
August 10, 2015
“True Detective” recap: The beauty of the finale couldn’t save this flaming disaster of a season
The best thing I can say for last night’s 90-minute “True Detective” finale, “Omega Station,” is that it’s very beautiful. The direction of this season has left me a bit cold, but material aside—very, very aside—“Omega Station” is the first episode of “True Detective” this season that had any kind of visual style, any sort of cinematic narration. I found the opening scene to be legitimately fantastic—a layering of dialogue with non-linear shots of Ani and Ray in various stages of waking up, alternately watching the other sleep, smoking cigarettes, getting dressed, staring into space. Ani says the first word of the episode, and oddly, it’s “trees”: That’s primarily what she remembers from being abducted and molested at the age of five. Insofar as it’s snapshot of a moment in time, an oasis in between moments of chaos, it functions beautifully.
Donald Trump’s guide to acting presidential: How the lumbering goon is making a mockery of the electoral process
I'm old enough to remember when it was important for presidential candidates to be, you know, presidential. If a particular candidate couldn't quite wrap his or her head around the idea, they were usually weeded out by voters relatively quickly.
For the sake of clarity, being "presidential" is generally a have-it-or-don't personal character trait that's difficult to define and difficult to learn, but we know it when we see it. Generally speaking, it's about carrying oneself with unflinching dignity, self-confidence, and discipline. It includes a natural gift for projecting an ability to lead, and to do so without too many embarrassing, awkward gaffes. Whether we admit it or not, we like to feel as though the president is awake all night, every night, hunched Kennedy-style over the Resolute Desk worrying about how best to improve our lives.
(I was never able to get past the idea that George W. Bush went to bed earlier than most children.)
The Iran deal: How far will Americans go in extending “special status” to Israel?
This past week saw the horrible murder-by-arson of 18-month-old Ali Dawabsha, killed in the middle of the night by cowardly assassins who set his home ablaze as he and his family peacefully slept. His father died days later, and his mother’s life hangs in the balance. Their crime? Simply existing on their rightful land, a land that Jewish settlers and Netanyahu’s government wish to appropriate. The very presence of Palestinians on land Israel wishes to permanently annex is an affront to these settlers. It also saw the death of 16-year-old Shira Banki, one of six people attacked at a gay pride event. Yishai Schlissel, an ultra-Orthodox Jew, who carried out a similar attack in 2005, was arrested at the scene. In both cases the purity of the notion of Israel as a Jewish state was at the center.
These terrible events happen to coincide with another event that is forcing Americans to reconsider just how far they will go in extending “special status” to Israel. I am talking, of course, about the Iran deal. Let’s return to a key moment in the debate: Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s appearance before Congress.
August 9, 2015
How I cured my “sexual dysfunction” without a pill
“Maybe you’re just not a very sexual person,” said Dr. Fay in a slow Southern drawl. Seated before me in a gold miniskirt and bright blue eye shadow was the hypnotherapist I’d gone to see because I hated intercourse.
Her diagnosis: Hyposexual Desire Disorder, HSDD.
Now, three years later, a drug treating this condition, flibansersin, might get FDA approval by the end of this month. If green-lighted, women with low libido will be told that altering brain chemicals is a potential cure. However, at the same time this “Pink Viagra” was being tested on premenopausal women like me, I was able to heal myself of HSDD — and five other kinds of dysfunction — without pharmaceuticals. It turned out what I needed was not medication, but a married-sex education.
My problem started on my honeymoon. Finally a bride at 46, I was thrilled. Gone were the bad Internet dates and nights sleeping next to an opened container of Trader Joe’s chocolate-covered almonds. On the first days of our vacation though, coupled with the first groom I’d ever had — in romantic Rome of all places — lovemaking suddenly hurt.
When my therapist dared me to sleep with her
It’s the waning moments of my fourth session with a new therapist. I’m holding back — and she knows it. My entire body feels tense, not ideal for the setting. I try to relax, but the plush leather couch crumples under me when I shift, making the movements extraordinary. I’ve barely looked into my therapist’s blue eyes at all, and yet I think the hour has gone very well. Of course it has. On the surface, when the patient has been highly selective of the discussion topics, therapy always resembles a friendly get-together.
More from Narratively: "Lessons from a Childhood Spent Touching Myself"
“Well,” my therapist, Lori, says, the millisecond after I become certain our time is up and I might be in the clear. “I don’t think I should let you go until we’ve at least touched on what was put out there at the end of last week’s session.”
I so supremely wanted this not to come up. My eyelids tighten, my mouth puckers to the left, and my head tilts, as though I’m asking her to clarify.
The girls who weren’t saved: Haunted by the 40-year-old Lyon Sisters kidnapping, a writer wonders why the biggest clue went unexamined
On March 25, 1975, Sheila and Katherine Lyon, ages 12 and 10, disappeared after spending the afternoon at Wheaton Plaza, a shopping mall in suburban Washington, D.C. Last month, authorities finally indicted a man for their murder, and authorities believe the girls were sexually assaulted before being killed. Lloyd Welch, a convicted sex offender, was linked to the scene by a sketch made from information given immediately after their disappearance to the police by Darlene (not her real name), a local girl, 13 at the time, a friend of the Lyon girls who saw them at the plaza the day they vanished and came forward with details about a man who had followed and leered at the sisters that day. Police made the sketch, dated two days after the girls were kidnapped, from the detailed description Darlene provided.
4 reasons why every “Awkward Black Girl” should be watching “Transparent”
Anyone who has experienced the first season of Amazon’s “Transparent” has likely walked away with the same set of questions by the time the credits roll at the end of “Why Do We Cover the Mirrors?” The inner dialogue goes something like this: “Why aren’t all of my friends talking about this? Why isn’t the whole world talking about this? Why does the theme song keep making me cry? Has Jay Duplass always been hot? If so, how have I missed that? I wonder which one am I — Ali, Sarah or Josh? Rabbi Raquel? Ed? Why is Carrie Brownstein so perfect?” For an Awkward Black Girl watching the series, an additional question might be, “How can I get that friend who just watched the 'Love & Hip-Hop Atlanta Reunion' with me to also watch this right now?”
This question highlights the conundrum in being an ABG — a phrase made popular by the brilliant Issa Rae’s YouTube series. If you’re a self-proclaimed ABG, there’s a chance you can’t resist the “Love & Hip-Hop” series, because it’s as delicious and problematic as some of your favorite ratchet music; otherwise you’re currently boycotting all VH1 shows, but still wonder about Stevie J and Joseline from time to time. If you’re an ABG, you probably loved “Mad Men,” but wish there had been way more Teyonah Parris fierceness served up.
Born to riot: Why sports fans love to brawl, smash and set things on fire
Back in the fall of 1983, me and my friend Jimmy snuck out to an Oakland A’s game. It was a school night and the A’s were terrible but we were both devout fans and the tickets were insanely cheap, something like six bucks apiece.
The game went into extra innings and we started worrying about getting home, so we watched the end of the game through a tall temporary chain-link fence that had been erected near one of the outfield exits.
We started shaking the fence as the A’s mounted a rally. By the time the winning run crossed the plate we were so jacked up that we pushed the fence over. It came down with a resounding crash. I don’t think we injured anyone, though I’m sure we did some damage to the stadium. But honestly: I don’t know for sure, because Jimmy and I immediately bolted. We didn’t stop running till we’d reached his car, in the far reaches of the parking lot.
I thought about this incident as I was reading Justine Gubar’s fascinating new book, "Fanaticus: Mischief and Madness in the Modern Sports Fan," because her central thesis is that “just about anyone can turn into a rioter.”
My “Magic Mike” moment was truly magical
None of us really wanted to go to Montreal—not even “Mary,” the bachelorette we were honoring that weekend. We didn’t know Mary very well, except that she was a sweet girl and much younger than the two other women coming along on this adventure: my best friend, “Dee” (who asked to be called Destiny for the purposes of this story, so know that about her), and our friend “Laurie.” We’d met Mary when she got engaged to our friend “Andrew.” (Yes, all of the names have been changed, for reasons that will soon become clear.)
Soon after the engagement, Dee, Laurie, and I invited Mary to join one of our Sunday evening wine fests. In a naked attempt to be the friendliest most inclusive one, I asked Mary if we could throw her a bachelorette party. I was immediately superseded by Laurie, whose one flaw is the chronic traveler’s one-upmanship. “How about a bachelorette trip?” Laurie asked, armed with a list of destinations. Mary’s delighted expression was matched only by Dee’s startled one.
Steven Moffat on why he hasn’t cast a female Doctor yet: “I think it would have been a disaster”
Steven Moffat is the most reviled television showrunner working today. As the creative force behind two beloved BBC shows — the long-running and iconic “Doctor Who” and the internationally beloved “Sherlock” — he’s created enormous fanbases that hold him directly responsible for their happiness, whether that’s casting Peter Capaldi as the 12th (and current) Doctor or writing in an atrocious caterpillar mustache for Martin Freeman’s John Watson. Other showrunners hear from their fans, yes. But due to the popularity of Moffat’s shows — and the fact that he himself comes as a fan to both humanoid Time Lords and 221B Baker Street — he is often called upon for a particularly personal reckoning with fans.
