Look who’s back! That’s right, our dear friend John Ross is back to continue his anthropological survey of what teenage girls seem to be into these days. His dedication to science is a blessing to us all.
Scott Spencer, the author of the novel Endless Love, really, really regrets selling the movie rights to his book. In this devastating op-ed in The Paris Review, he equates viewing Franco Zeffirelli’s 1981 movie adaptation to being stabbed in the heart, and predicts that the 2014 remake will be a “Valentine’s Day massacre.”
My reaction to the new remake was somewhat similar in that it also involved stabbing. That is, during the film, I wanted to stab myself in the eyes and ears, and when it was over, I wanted to go to a crowded place and see how many people I could stab before the police shot me. That might maybe cancel out the experience of watching the new Endless Love remake.
Spencer himself describes the book as an “unhinged novel about the glorious destructive violence of erotic obsession,” and from what I’ve read of it, that sounds about right. Read the rest of this entry
It’s funny, to remember the year 1993, and the minor civil war that broke out between television-loving nerds: Specifically, the rift between those who chose to watch the premiere of Lois and Clark at 8 PM Sunday nights on ABC, and those who chose to watch SeaQuest DSV during the same time slot on NBC. Funny, because it’s a battle now made irrelevant by DVRs, and funny, because I’m pretty sure neither show was actually very good.
I know you were a Lois and Clark person, Frank, because of your deeply held Superman alligence, but I definitely fell on the SeaQuest side of things, for reasons that we’ll get into over the course of this retelling. However, it has been close to 20 years since I’ve seen an episode of this show, and I suspect that it doesn’t hold up. Let’s find out!
This thing opens with what I think is an old speech by John F. Kennedy and some stock footage of whales and dolphins, which, yay. How to win a pre-teen Liz’s heart, right off the bat? Motherfucking WHALES AND DOLPHINS. When I was a kid, I either wanted to be a marine biologist or a writer, and the major reason I went down the latter path is that I suck at doing actual science. Read the rest of this entry
If I ever have kids, I’m not too worried about them being exposed to graphic media. I mean, I’m going to keep them away from the really violent stuff as long as humanly possible, and yeah, maybe I’ll try to keep a lid on the swears.
But when it comes to comedy, I’m pretty confident that if my kids hear a dirty joke, they won’t be terribly scarred for life — because they just won’t get them. How do I know this? Well, growing up, one of my all time favorite movies was the Mel Brooks Star Wars parody Spaceballs.
Here is how much my brother and I watched Spaceballs growing up — the VHS cassette case BROKE, and my mother (whose excellent qualities include a MacGuyver-ish ability to fix stuff) had to transplant the physical tape into a new case. Here is how many of the really dirty references we got: Pretty much zero. Here is how many times I’ve seen Spaceballs as an adult: Maybe one, and years ago. (You might have seen it as well — but I’m certain not recently. We’re both in the same boat here.)
However, the film is available on Netflix, and I’m a sucker for anything set in space. So, Frank, let’s revisit this classic! Read the rest of this entry
So my history with romance novels is long, complicated and surprisingly personal — but it began at summer camp. The year I was 12 or 13, one of the girls in my cabin at camp received a care package from a friend containing a half-dozen paperback romances, and they were passed around during hushed nights outside or in, the books falling open easily to the naughtiest bits.
It was exciting and fun — I found sex on the page to be far less scary than the prospect of real sex with a human being — and even when I stopped reading them, I never lost a residual fondness for the genre.
Since those smoky camp days, the romance novel industry has undergone some major shifts, but none so big as the advent of self-publishing, which has allowed writers with followings to make more money from their books than they might with a traditional publisher — it’s such a huge shift in the business that it’s led me to explore self-publishing myself (I make significantly less from sales than most romance novelists, alas).
But one of the things self-publishing rewards is specification — which is why, when I heard about author Virginia Wade, who makes $30,000 a month from her self-published Bigfoot erotica on Amazon, I wasn’t terribly shocked. Amused, sure, but not shocked. Especially when I saw that she employs one of the self-published ebook author’s most common strategies — make the first taste free, have them coming back for more.
This strategy also made it possible for me to read Moan for Bigfoot, the story that kicks off Wade’s epic Sasquatch romance series, for absolutely no money. Given that “absolutely no money” was the price I was willing to spend on it, Frank, it worked out really well!
So, how does Bigfoot erotica actually play out? I sat down to find out! Bigfoot erotica! WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG. Read the rest of this entry
Tonight’s viewing of The Following‘s pilot comes by reader request, and even though she immediately regretted making that request, I remain a slave to our loyal readers. It’s only 44 minutes long, Frank! How bad could it be?
Sigh. Time for gross serial killer drama seen fit to be aired on a major broadcast network!
Time marches on, and so does the telling of Frank what happened in stuff. But what stuff should he be told about? You guys tell me!
I currently have plans to tackle RuPaul’s Drag Race in January; other currently pending suggestions include Ayn Rand’s works and Dragonball Z. But maybe you guys have ideas! Better ideas! So sound off here in the comments or one of our other social media things! And Happy New Year!