So it was that in pursuit of general understanding of an apparently important cultural moment, I found myself sitting in a movie theater preparing to experience THE AVENGERS. I had no connection to the material, having never read the comics or feeling any real connection to the characters other than seeing most of the previous blockbuster superhero movies in which they appeared. Still, I had been hearing nothing but positive things about the movie, I had reasonably enjoyed some of the individual Marvel Comics movies, and most of all I was beginning to feel really left out since it seemed everyone else in the world saw the damn thing on opening weekend. So off I went, plunking down my $20 (or however outrageously high the ticket price was) and settling in for what I expected would be a positive communal experience.

The crowd was certainly into it. A week after opening the matinee screening was still filled up. As the movie started, it became clear that everyone was really into the film. With the appearance of each hero, villain, and zingy one-liner, the crowd swooned. This wasn’t like the numb audiences I’d shared through the last two TRANSFORMERS sequels, who seemed to be there simply because a blitz of marketing and American pop culture had brainwashed them into thinking it was mandatory. This was an audience that specifically wanted to see a movie with a bunch of comic book characters running from explosions, causing explosions, flying over explosions, and fighting some kind of robot-ish monster army (spoiler alert).

The film itself is both easy to attack and easy to defend. It’s not a good movie, but clearly it works in engaging an audience emotionally and leaving them satisfied. And really, how nuanced can a movie be combining a man in a robot costume, a bastardized god from Norse mythology, a big green cartoon character, and a “super soldier” whose only weapon is a shield? There’s plenty of witty(?) banter and impressive effects, so everyone leaves happy, not caring that the plot was stolen from an episode of MIGHTY MORPHIN’ POWER RANGERS.

When I was on the cusp of teenage-hood, I went through a period where I was really into comic books. It only lasted a few years (luckily, since it’s a surprisingly expensive habit), but aside from avoiding most Marvel books, I tried to read a bit of everything, or at least keep up with what was going on via Wizard magazine. I loved some of the stories dearly, yet always I felt a hint of shame in my enthusiasm. I knew deep down that most of what I was reading was trash, poorly written, clichéd, and sometimes blatantly plagiarized. Because of this, I didn’t like the message I sent out reading them publicly. I didn’t want some imagined sophisticated older person to see me and assume this was the only thing I was into, or that I was just some fanboy. So for the most part I kept my comic reading confined to my bedroom. Some 12-year-old boys had a porn stash; I had my comics collection (which ironically could serve the same function as porn in creating in a young man wildly wildly delusional expectations for the female form).

I bring this up because while sitting in the theater surrounded by people of all different stripes who were fully engaged in what has become the most popular movie in the world, I suddenly found myself overwhelmed with the same sense of shame I felt when I was spotted reading a comic book when I was 12. I know it’s completely irrational, but I felt like what I was watching was almost too childish and I didn’t want to be identified with it. This is of course absolutely ridiculous, but the feeling was there, and it only got worse as the two hours and change unspooled on screen.

So in its way, you could say THE AVENGERS made me feel like a kid again. It’s a film for children, and it’s no wonder kids go out of their minds for it. But it is a little surprising that adults seem to be going just as gaga over something that is really a very expensive Saturday morning cartoon. Maybe I’m just jealous of their enthusiasm, but it does strike me as a little sad. It’s disappointing that as a 12-year-old I felt embarrassed for my childish enthusiasms, not wanting some imagined adult to think me immature, only to grow up and find out that immature has become the popular thing.

It might be silly and pointless on my part to rail against such an inoffensive summer movie, but if you’re over the legal drinking age, maybe you should temper your enthusiasm for THE AVENGERS just a tad. If it’s something that a 12-year-old would be embarrassed to like, maybe a 30-year-old should feel a little shame at tweeting about how awesome it is. Save some of that excitement for a film more appropriate to your age and sophistication. I think BATTLESHIP comes out this weekend.

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A few weeks ago, some generous soul saw fit to bring in a box of extremely delicious buttermilk donuts to be shared by everyone who works in my office. Extremely delicious translates to heart clogging, gut expanding, sleep-inducing goodness. Some office mates sensibly took only small portions, cutting the donuts into pieces for a nibble. Being capable of great gluttony, I of course took the whole thing. As I was taking it, I made a comment to someone about how you could tell by looking at me that I enjoy my sweets. In response I got an incredulous and slightly annoyed expression as my coworker commented, “What are you talking about—you look svelte.”

Here’s the thing. She wasn’t just being kind. I actually am fairly trim right now. I’m not skinny by any sense of the word, and I still have a roundish quality, but even according to the body mass index I am at worst just over the edge of “overweight” and actually usually fall into the category of “normal” (and keep in mind, those BMI calculators are cruel—if you’re trying to lose weight and you want a disappointing shot in the gut, check one out to see how far you’ve got to go. It always seems a little unreasonable.).

This is not a column to brag about weight loss, though (even if I did find a way to work it in). What I find interesting is that when I made what I thought was a self-deprecating comment about my size, I completely believed it. I wasn’t looking for a compliment—I had forgotten that when people look at me the first word to describe me physically would no longer be chubby (I still think I’m roundish). I lost weight by dieting, then started exercising and running regularly, and am currently in training for some races. Yet I still think of myself as a fat guy. Every time I look in the mirror (and this is not an exaggeration), I’m a little surprised at my appearance.

I would posit that anyone who has ever been overweight and shed it feels similarly. Shows like the BIGGEST LOSER and diet plans talk about finding your real self under all of the weight you’ve put on. But the truth is, once you’ve let yourself get to the point of being fat that is your real self.

Unless you’re some crazy method actor who gained the weight for a role and shed it quickly thereafter, you probably didn’t gain weight on purpose. It was a natural result of living life in modern America—eating what is convenient and economic, earning a living doing work that is generally not physically strenuous, and finding leisure in sedentary activities that usually involve sitting and looking at something (whether it be a screen, a book, or spying on your neighbors). It’s simply easier to be unhealthy than to be healthy, and with all of the other cares we have, from work to family, the American life is very conducive to gaining weight.

Now losing weight, that’s tough. Sure, there are a number of diet plans that can shock you into dropping pounds fast. But after those pounds are shed, the real test begins. Because you then have to spend the rest of your life working to keep that weight off. And it’s hard, because you don’t have the visible rewards. People get used to you being thinner, yet you still have to work just as hard to avoid eating poorly and finding time to be physically active. You’re really just an injury or sickness away from expanding back to your true self. It’s kind of like being an alcoholic. According to A.A., people never stop being alcoholics; they just count the days since their last drink. For me, no matter how fit I am for how long, I’ll always think of myself as a fat guy.

This isn’t a bad thing. In a way, it’s kind of reassuring—it keeps you motivated to not become lax as you always feel like you’re staying one step ahead of the chub, like Henry Hill avoiding the mob. Like a mafia snitch, however, you accept that probably some day it will catch up with you, and can only hope it’s after you’ve gotten what you wanted to get out of this life.

The most annoying thing in the world is when someone, who is not overweight, complains about how fat they’re getting. It might be worth keeping in mind, though, that there could be more at play in these socially inept comments. Yes, sometimes the speaker might be an annoying, skinny bitch (or the male equivalent), but it might just be the case that though outwardly seeming fit, deep down the commenter still feels like the soft, squishy self he or she once was and could easily be again.

(And in case you’re wondering, the donut was delicious.)

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featured image credit: Chasing Donguri

Case and point, one of the best shows on television right now, GAME OF THRONES, is not only amazingly well produced, acted, and written, it also follows faithfully the fantasy adventure novels of George R.R. Martin. And it’s POPULAR! This isn’t some niche show that airs late night on Fridays. This is a multi-million dollar production that is arguably HBO’s flagship show, and now it occupies the Sunday night time slot once tended by THE SOPRANOS. This is fantasy taken seriously.

The show is epic in scope, but the complexity of its plot and social dynamics, as well as the richness of its characters reminds me of nothing so much as a medieval fantasy version of THE WIRE. It’s got intrigue, violence, intelligence, magic and monsters (although they are never the focus), larger and more substantial roles for women than is common in the genre, and if that wasn’t enough, a surprising amount of gratuitous nudity and “sexual situations.” There really is something for everyone.

Spurred by the fantastic first season that aired last spring (and a Kindle that seemed hungry for more books), I dove into the source material for the show—Martin’s series of novels, which he calls “A Song Of Ice and Fire.” In retrospect, I’m sure he wishes he would have called the series “Game of Thrones” (the title of only the first novel and now the HBO series) since it’s what everyone calls the books anyway. Martin’s books are dauntingly long, but not difficult reading, and the first season of the series ends on such a cliffhanger that you want to know immediately what will happen next.

Reading the books after watching the series, however, had a surprising and counterintuitive effect. Normally you would think that going to the book would reveal an even richer and more detailed experience than any filmed version could bring. Look at the HUNGER GAMES right now—the movie is fine, but can’t compare to the emotional resonance that the beautifully written book brings. Not so with Martin’s novels. It must be said, he is a fantastic story spinner, and constructs wonderful characters, but while there is certainly more detail in the books and more “stuff happens,” the material rings much more hollow than the emotionally complex experience of watching the show. Reading the books reminded me of reading an exceptionally long and incredibly precise Wikipedia article.

Part of this could be because Martin insists on changing the point of view of the story from chapter to chapter, and introduces so many characters that it becomes impossible to keep up with all of them. On television you have the benefit of a face and a voice to help remember each character rather than remembering hundreds of invented fantasy names.

Martin seems to be very enamored of his world, which is fine for the author, but an expensive television show with only ten episodes to each of its seasons has to be more economical in its storytelling, so scenes are forced to do a lot more. In trying to get all the information across while also developing characters, working in wit and humor, and finding ways to both build and subvert audience expectations, the show has taken all of the good stuff from Martin’s books and made the story equivalent of a super food.

Who knows how long the series GAME OF THRONES can keep up its run? There is an immense amount of material still to cover from the novels, and things only get more complex as it goes on. It will take years to put it all to film, and the Golden Age of the Nerd could run its course and flame out before the story is complete. For the time being, though, we nerds are spoiled to have an incredible group of filmmakers and actors taking a good nerdy property that 20 years ago would be consigned to the page or at best B movies and turning it into truly great television.

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It’s the perfect time to sign up for an organized race. Most people tend to fall into one of two categories—those who run, and those who don’t. Those who do tend to overemphasize the positive impact running can have on a life, obsess over mileage and personal bests, know what hill repeats are, and view a race as a fun event. Those who fall on the other side of the divide tend to view running as hard, boring work that is not fun, and might even be harmful to joint health. I have at one point been on both sides of this divide. For a long time I thought of myself as too heavy and awkward to run, and even if I could the prospect seemed like the hardest form of work and far from any notion of fun.

Then I ran a race.

Now to be fair, I didn’t just sign up for a 5K and go. There was a certain amount of getting into shape and finding inspiration in reading Christopher McDougal’s “Born To Run.” Even when I felt fairly confident in running three miles, I was still very reluctant to pay money to do something so hard and potentially humiliating as running a race. I still bore memories of being the slow kid growing up, always being left behind in the elementary school “races,” and always forced to rely on quick tag-backs whenever playing tag, since there was never any hope in running down my quicker peers. So the concept of voluntarily entering a running event as an adult seemed like self-abuse, and not the fun kind Father Simeon warned about. For some reason, though, I felt compelled to try it just once to see what all of the hubbub was about.

I was glad I did. The experience of the race was completely different from any memories of painful forced track meets. It was much more like a great early morning party (most races take place before 10 am, though there are exceptions). Sure, I saw the hard core runners there with their 0.3% body fat, but I also saw people in their 60s jogging around, groups of friends walking, and lots of people who looked a lot like me. And when the thing started, I found I wasn’t trying to “beat them.” I was sharing an experience with them—an experience of hard work to be sure, but also one that of incredible joy. It was like a celebration of movement, like dancing at a club, but without the alcohol, dim light, and loud music to numb the senses. I learned that the so-called “natural high” is a very real thing.

All kinds of people come out to race...even Ancient Romans

Races are held all the time, and range in distance from 5 kilometers (about 3.1 miles) the mythic marathon (26.2 miles—like all those bumper stickers say). Most people in reasonable shape can run/walk a 5K, though it’s still a good idea to do a little training ahead of time to get used to the movement. Most races also are done for charity, so it’s easy to find one you’d like to support. They also afford you the opportunity to go places you might not normally have access to. In my limited racing career I’ve hoofed down the “Seinfeld” New York City street set on a Hollywood back lot, zipped around Seattle’s space needle, and trotted onto the field and jumbotron at the Steelers home in Heinz Field. Even just getting to run through the streets of your hometown can be a rush.

I realize this has turned into a heavy-handed self-encouragement spiel about the virtues of running. I really don’t mean to be preachy. But as the author of a column entitled “On The Contrary,” I often find myself cutting down things other people like, or at least trying to temper enthusiasm. In short, I too often go negative. This is something I can’t go negative on. The feeling of finishing a race is one of the few accomplishments that you can truly own completely. You can have help in the training, and hopefully lots of encouragement from others, but deep down it is you and you alone who has fought the fight to get to the finish line. You can run, you can walk, you can pedal or roll, but when you finish there is no feeling bad about it. Everyone who races wins.

Another racing perk...you always get a t-shirt.

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In her telling of one historical event, General Lafayette’s tour of America during his twilight years, she reduced me to tears. And I’ve re-listened to it, and cried again. And again. Not because it’s sad, but because she manages to find in history the human soul. And she makes me so pleased to be an American, embracing both our historical shames and triumphs.

She is a writer of ideas and heart, and can be as funny as David Sedaris, but also much more poignant. And after reading her and listening to her again, I find her voice isn’t really that annoying, it’s just different. And in Sarah Vowell’s America, there is plenty of room for people to be different.

Everything is about to happen, but nothing is actually happening at the moment. It’s like the scene in THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE TWO TOWERS when all the orcs march up to walls of Helms Deep and just stand there looking up as the defenders on the walls look down on them. We’re so intent on what’s about to happen that there is not time to consider how we got here.

But in this “deep breath before the plunge,” I’ve found the rare opportunity to evaluate my sports enthusiasm from a more rational and logical position, and have come to a realization. While pragmatism and logic must be deployed by the owners and general managers of sports franchises across the country, they have no place in fandom, and trying to think about why you love the teams you do will only make it apparent that you have devoted an inordinate amount of your life to watching and thinking about something that doesn’t make much sense.

Now don’t get me wrong, I think there is an absolute need to occupy our time with things that are inconsequential, especially in a modern world when our minds are free of spending every moment of our days toiling to keep ourselves fed, clothed, and sheltered and safe from predators and invaders. And sports is perhaps one of the best, in that it can cross political lines, social lines, and always gives me something to talk about with my dad. It also gives an outlet for vicarious aggression and the sense of victory — that is, so long as my team wins.

But what am I cheering for? Teams change every year, each season losing players and brining in new ones. If you stay behind a team long enough you won’t recognize any players. This week, my team, the Pittsburgh Steelers, cut loose three veteran players—Hines Ward, James Farrior, and Aaron Smith. These guys were on the team before I even cared to follow football (admittedly I was a late bloomer). Hines Ward in particular was THE quintessential Steeler — thinking of the team without him feels a bit like thinking of the Muppets without Kermit. And now he’s gone. Plenty of great players I’ve rooted for are still there, but one day they will be gone as well. And I will likely still be cheering for the Steelers, even though it will be an entirely different team.

In the world of fandom, we tend to respect, or at least give a nod to the “long suffering” fan bases (ahem, Cleveland), honoring people who support teams through losing years in hopes that some day they will turn things around. We also tend to demonize perennial powerhouses unless they happen to be our home team (I might not care about baseball, but I still hate the Yankees). But does this really make sense? A team is a product, and the franchise is the company that puts out that product. In other fields we don’t support the company — we choose the product that is best. I don’t go to see a movie because Warner Bros. produced it — I see it because it’s a movie I want to see. Yet in sports, the Steelers could field a terrible team of boorish thugs (some would claim they already do — hello again, Cleveland) and I would still choose them over an exemplary team of humanitarians who forfeit 50% of their salaries to charity. And I would be proud of it.

I think a lot of this comes from a misplaced sense of nationalistic pride in our hometowns. This is encouraged by sports franchises, which usually have no connection to their cities at all and could easily pick up and move towns on a moments notice should a better deal present itself (I’m really picking on Cleveland today). So they’re not actually a city, but just a company that happens to be working out of it and using its name as branding. (The public owned Green Bay Packers are the one exception.)

Collegiate teams are a little different, as your college is in fact a club to which you once belonged (and likely accrued tremendous debt for that honor). Ditto with high school, but in both these cases you are still not really cheering a team but the institution that fields the product.

If you’re like me, the idea of cheering for a company out to make a profit is a little unsettling. If not, you probably like Ayn Rand. Form me, I’d much rather think of cheering my team as supporting my city or my alma mater. Hell, it’s better to think of it as cheering for the colors or the logos. So many non-sports fans are ridiculed for cheering for the team with the prettiest uniforms, yet really this is something we’re all doing to a point. Most fans don’t look at the makeup of players and coaches each year and decide which team they will cheer on through the season, and those that do are usually put down as “not real fans.” And I suppose this is true—they’re not fanatics. They’re more like sports connoisseurs.

I’m not going to buck the trend. I’ll still support my Steelers and Penguins (note the possessive pronoun—I must be a fan). I’ll bond with the new players and chemistries that form in the next season, and the season after that, on and on. I’ll defend my position, and deny ever espousing an opinion belittling fandom, and pretend I never wrote this. But deep down I’ll always know the truth—my real loyalty lies not with people, but with colors and a logo.

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image credit: daveynin

So, in the spirit of stalking an ex, I’ve been thinking a lot about the movies Oscar sees fit to bestow its highest honor on. The Best Picture award might be the most controversial award given, since very rare is the year when everyone can agree upon what was the best movie. We can disagree on the other awards, but ultimately at least someone is happy to get the golden statue, and we can feel good about the joy of another person on a human level. The best picture award is the only one of the major awards that is bestowed upon a thing—not a person. Yes, the film’s producers receive the award, but the record lists the movie, not the people. It’s hard to feel good for a winner you didn’t like when it’s not a person, even if the Citizen’s United decision wants us to think of companies as people too.

Anyway, we wait the whole show to see what wins Best Picture, and we are either bored (because we expected it, as with most recent years) or shocked that that they could pick such a turd (as with CRASH). In the case of the latter, there is the lingering feeling that we wasted an entire evening watching a show about awards that clearly have questionable judgment. Either way, the end of the Oscars is usually a let down.

But there I go, attacking my ex again. What is actually interesting about the Best Picture Award, at least in recent years, is how fast they seem to slip from memory. Granted there could be a number of reasons for this—how much time do we spend thinking about movies that came out over a year ago?—but the forgetfulness seems greatly increased. When RETURN OF THE KING won the award in 2004, the movie didn’t drop off the face of the earth. We still were making references to it and its release on DVD seemed like an important moment. But I could not think of the last three Best Picture winners without looking them up. They were: THE KING’S SPEECH, THE HURT LOCKER, and SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE.

I’m not going to trash any of these films—they are all great movies. And they were loved at the time (both KING’S SPEECH and SLUMDOG made over $135 million at the box office, while HURT LOCKER felt important and influential even though box office success eluded it). But if you referenced SLUMDOG in a conversation today, it would feel a little off and need some qualification, while THE DARK KNIGHT (which came out the same year) still feels fresh. The same could be said for a number of films, and I suppose it holds true for much of the history of the Oscars, but it really seems magnified recently. The movies that win Best Picture are those that peak at the right time. The Oscar race is becoming like the 2012 Republican Primary—you just need to be the hot candidate when people cast their votes.

The hot candidate for this year seems to be THE ARTIST, a (mostly) silent film in black and white about the golden years of Hollywood starring two unknowns French actors. This is what is favored to win the Best Picture of the year. It was a slow year for Oscar-type movies, but even so this feels like a reach. Anyone who has attended film school has seen this movie made a hundred times by film students trying to make a modern silent film, albeit with less production value or quality actors. The story is beyond cliché, following every classic Hollywood trope and pandering to the audience in every way possible (even a bit with a dog). The gags that bring sound into play not only feel gimmicky, but technically amateurish, as though they were done by Sound Design Grad Student at USC (no, scratch that, a Trojan would make it sound good—I mean an NYU student). The cinematic style is straightforward and bland. For a film that relies entirely on image, the picture is curiously lacking any memorable visuals. And yet this elongated, glorified student film is the frontrunner for Best Picture. How?

Charm. That’s the only explanation. If you found yourself growing annoyed as I took pot shots in the previous paragraph and wanted to defend the film, ask yourself why. You could say that the film is meant to be simplistic and archetypal, that cliché was a stylistic choice, but I think the real reason we feel drawn to defend this movie (which despite its flaws I enjoyed) is because this is a picture that is just plain charming. There is no irony, no hidden messages, but the movie has an upbeat quality that is undeniable and makes it difficult to dislike. There is an intangible charisma to the movie, much of it residing in its stars (including the dog) but expanding beyond them in creating an intoxicating world of naivety.

We do not get to see charm in movies very often anymore. Usually movies descend into overly sentimental claptrap or defensively postmodern irony if they deal with emotions at all. When a movie comes along that is actually charming, we tend to blow its merits out of proportion and forgive its flaws, however glaring (see JUNO and UP as recent examples). We seem to be doing the same with THE ARTIST, a slight film that nevertheless has a very good chance of going home with a little golden naked man next week. We might scratch our heads in the years to come about what we saw in this little movie, but it seems to have cast its spell on audiences (and Oscar voters) at just the right time. It’s like the homely funny guy who stayed late at the bar and gets to go home with the drunken underwear model because he stuck it out and was in the right place at the right time. Hey, it has to happen sometimes.

And really, this is not a year that has produced any films that seem to lay a claim on Best Picture. It’s difficult to get excited about the field. So maybe this might actually be a movie that we can be happy for when it wins—even if we know it wasn’t the best picture of the year.

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Ah babies. They’re so polarizing, and yet we have to pretend they aren’t. No creature in existence can be at once completely helpless and at the same time wield such absolute control over the dominant species on the planet than the human baby.

Just to make it clear from the start, I am not a parent, nor am I expecting to become a parent anytime soon. I am an uncle, though, and I’m also reaching the age where many of my friends are married and having children of their own. So while there are no babies front and center in my life, they seem to be around my perimeter, like the Pacific Ocean is to Los Angeles, or prescription drug abuse is to Utah.

Now let it be known that I am not a baby guy, but I like kids. Once they are little people, anywhere from 2 onwards (really whenever they can kind of talk), they are magical. Before that, I don’t really know what to do with them. I understand why people like them, and I can appreciate them in theory, but they just feel—underdone to me. The good news is, all babies are growing, so the underdone phase is pretty fleeting in the grand scheme of things. Unfortunately, it seems like parents do their best to capture as many images of these ultimate awkward years (or is it months?) as possible.

Case and point—the newborn photo. It has always been customary to take a picture of a new infant as soon as possible. Sometimes it’s a wonder people even let the doctors towel the thing off before they thrust baby into the unforgiving permanence of a photograph. I can understand the excitement of a new parent at seeing his or her progeny (and usually I would think the photographer would be the parent who did not just go through labor) and wanting to capture that for all times. Unfortunately, this image is often then shoved into the face of other family members, friends, and too often disinterested co-workers who just wanted to get their lunch out of the fridge without being accosted by Excited New Parent. For a long time, this was the extent of flashing newborn photos around, a quick look and a forced comment about how cute the kid is or how much “he looks like his father.” Now, though, this encounter is not fleeting. Now we have Facebook.

How many new parents change their Facebook profiles to their newborn’s mug shot? I would venture to say at least 75%, and I think it is probably more. This is unfair in two ways. For one, it’s simply inaccurate. A photo of your baby is not you, and so making that your profile picture is simply a misrepresentation. The biggest injustice, however, is to the child. As Mrs. Lovejoy always would proclaim on THE SIMPSONS, “Won’t someone think of the children!?”

Imagine your worst morning. One of those days that you had to get up much earlier than you wanted, and you awoke to find your home a freezing temperature. Now imagine you awoke that morning soaking wet, and instead of climbing out of bed you were forcibly pushed out, only it wasn’t a bed, it was a overly tight sleeping bag that was cinched up around you so all of your body and face crushed on your forced exit. You see where I’m going with this?

We’ll skip the other graphic steps of birth like the cutting umbilical or circumcision (though these would contribute to a pretty shitty morning indeed). On this hypothetically terrible morning, how excited would you be to have your picture taken? I don’t even like to talk to people before I’m showered, dressed, and have some sort of caffeine in me. I doubt many people would be keen on having a picture taken with their bed head in full effect. Yet we do this all the time to the least of us, those helpless little people who are too young to do anything about it or yell, “Get that camera out of my face!” Then we take these photos and put them on the Internet, where they could presumably live forever…an undying record of a human when he or she most resembles a turd.

I would feel a hypocrite if I contributed to pattern, so in to make sure I hurt no one new, I submit this image that was taken of me in what was apparently the worst morning of my life.

(I look like an undercooked piece of meat. And kind of Asian. Hmm.)

I am not advocating we do away with baby photographs. Like it or not, parents are going to take them. But keep them where they belong—in a photo album to be perused only occasionally. The photo of the new baby that should be passed around the office and posted on the web is the image of the new family. Don’t leave that baby out there alone. Photos of a new mother or father cradling their progeny are lovely. They don’t put the kid on the spot, they give a nice perspective of how the kid looks in relation to the parents, and they give context for the picture. They also usually have the baby wrapped up pretty well, so he or she is “dressed” in the best condition possible.

I can imagine what mothers might be thinking. You just went through the rough ordeal of labor, something I as a man can never experience and as a non-parent I have no perspective on. Fair enough. But I don’t think I’m going out on a limb to say that your baby had a day at least as rough just as yours.

So have your babies, take your pictures, and Mazel Tov to all new and expecting parents. Just remember to show that kid a little love and restraint from the start, and let him look his best before you take his headshot.

Won’t someone please think of the children?

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Once again most of our bloggers are resolving to lose weight and hit writing goals this year — we’re kind of predictable in that way. However, maybe because of the continued recession or the fact that we’re getting older, almost all of the resolutions seem a bit more practical this year — except for Sarah Fazeli’s. Actually, I think that’s why I like Sarah Fazeli’s resolution best of all. 

BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, … AND LOSE WEIGHT

My resolution last year was to “change my eating habits for the better.” I did that, and even though it took me till the last few months to do so, I have managed to not only succeed, but also to drop 30 pounds in the process. My resolution for 2012: to stick with my gym habits and keep working out till I reach my goal. If I stick to it like I have over the last few months, I will be healthier and more fit than I have ever been in my whole life.

Zack Bunker from Tall Glass of Shame and Runway Rundown

Lose 25 pounds.  In 2011 I think I gained 25 pounds.  So I am looking to go back to 2010 basically.
Patrick Connolly from Piping Hot Nerd: Adventures of a Bagpiper Mastering Manhattan

My 2011 resolutions were: keep my job, lose weight, finish novel. I did all of those things: kept the job until they fired all of us, lost weight and then gained half of it back, and yes, I finished the novel. This year the big resolution is to get paid to write, for the first time ever. The rest is always the same. Lose weight. Work. Be happy. All that. Goes without saying.
Gudrun Cram-Drach from Secret Life of an Expat

I think that for 2011 I resolved to be nicer to myself, and I think for the most part I have been pretty good at refraining from constant self-recrimination.  For 2012, I resolve to take better care of my health.  I’ll be thirty-five this year, and while a marathon is not my style, I’d like to maintain my recent healthy habits like walking and eating more veggies, and add some new ones in time.  Also, I’d like to be less angry.  I’m pretty sure it will kill me or incarcerate me if left untreated.
Roya Hamadani from Fierce Foodie

Since I didn’t make a resolution last year, I didn’t have to stick to one. It worked out really well. Can’t I just stick with that one for this year too? No? Ok, I resolute that I will lose 10 pounds (and gain it back, and lose it, and gain it back again, and, well… you get the picture).

Frankie V from Frankie Says…

I always keep my resolutions pretty simple and vague, as to make them easily achievable. So this year I will continue to “show them all”, “get even” , and “settle the score”… oh and lose ten to fifteen more pounds.

Sam the Sham from FIERCE ANTICIPATION

BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, … AND WRITE! 

Maybe this is how it goes when you have kids – your New Years resolutions become lifetime resolutions.  Maybe I’ll get last years done this year, maybe I won’t, but I can certainly start.  Keep working on my scripts.  Shoot a microbudget feature film.  Plug away at the self indulgent novel that I know at least 5 people want to read.  Find a good day care for my sprouting child.  Run a 5K in under 30 minutes.  See my friends more.  Score a goal.  Surf.  Dunk.  Get a dog.  Buy a house, if only to no longer be president of the HOA.  Too many?  Too few?  Too early to start now?
Josh Pullin from Stay-at-Home Dad

The one thing I didn’t get around to is finishing my memoir THE YEAR THAT SUCKED. So, that’s what I’ll do in 2011. Really. Honest. I just took a memoir intensive course and ventured into a writing partnership for just that purpose. Plus, if I don’t finish it this year, then I’ll have to face up to you guys next year. I don’t wanna do that. Oh and I need to lose 20 lbs before our big 10th Anniversary party in June.

Amy Robinson, Blogumnist Editor and writer of Tall Drink of Nerd

So the 2011 goals – Overall grade: C-

• Write one new novel, one new screenplay, and shoot one short film. Check on the novel. CHeck on the screenplay. Fail on the short film.
• Volunteer two days per month. Total fail. I tried to assuage my guilt by over-donating to my regular charities. While they were happy, I’m still faced with the knowledge I didn’t get out into the real world and help others.
• Limit news/political intake to 15 minutes per day. This probably wound up being about right. But only because there were days when I was on a complete media blackout and other days where I didn’t stop reading HuffPo. Providing that it’s possible to fail through success.

2012 Goals:

• Be better. In general and specifically.
• Volunteer once a month.
• Write ten pages per day, every weekday.

R. B. Ripley from Hyperbolic Tendencies

THE RESOLUTIONS THAT (GASP!) DON’T INVOLVE WRITING OR WEIGHT LOSS

I will finally do that burlesque show I’ve been talking about since 2009. There. Now I’m on the record! I’ll be the one in a wig and glitter. Get out your tassles, Frances!

Sarah Fazeli from Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered

Less moping, more hoping!  (which is kind of ambitious for an election year) (and seems like a more succinct iteration of last year’s resolution) (so we’ll see how it goes)

Michael Kass from Single White Nerd

My 2012 resolution is to try and be more organized. Things really get messy cos I am working on lots of things at once, and I love to multi-task. You do not want to see my craft room, trust me. My resolution for 2011 was better penmanship. I started out good, and sometimes I take my time writing my name when I sign a check, but I feel I have slipped up again. My writing is not so neat lately. I need to slow down and take my time.

Missy Kulik from Dork Lifesyle

Finally get around to watching BREAKING BAD. I know. I know [dodges boot] I’ll get to it. Geez. I got around to quitting smoking in 2011, I’ll get around to more important things like watching a television show in 2012.

Joshua Mauldin from FIERCE ANTICIPATION

I think I wrote about keeping your resolutions to yourself, but what the heck. Last year I vowed to try to run a half-marathon. I did that in October, and felt really good about it, but I know there’s more in the tank. This year, I’m doing a full 26.2 miles. Pittsburgh Marathon. May 6. I’m already registered, so there’s no backing out now (and no reason to keep it to myself).

Joe Rusin from On the Contrary

Last year I resolved to do better with anger management. It didn’t really go so well, but it’s not really my fault since the rest of the world didn’t live up to their resolution to STOP PISSING ME OFF.  So this year, I’m just gonna try and keep my DVR above 50% and make more gratuitous and obscure musical theatre references. God, I hope you get them.

Eric Sims from California Seething

Travel more?  My 2011 Resolution was to travel and i didn’t do any of it, because I was so busy. So I guess 2012, Im freaking going somewhere. Even if it’s Dallas. Ok, not Dallas, but somewhere.

Matt Udvari from Gamer by Design

THE REBEL OR JUST FORGETFUL NON-RESOLUTERS

I don’t do this.
CH from CH’s Picture of the Day

To remember my 2011 resolution and accomplish it.
Ryan Dixon, FIERCE ANTICIPATION editor and writer of The Ryan Dixon Line

ONCE UPON A TIME, AMERICAN HORROR STORY, PAN AM and gasp! NEW GIRL all made both the Best of and Worst of lists. The bigger surprise, however, is how many cable shows ended up in the Worse of, which in the past might as well have been called a “worst broadcast and reality shows of the year” list. However, in 2011, many of us were disappointed by what were supposed to be the quality shows. Especially…

THE WALKING DEAD 

THE WALKING DEAD. I so didn’t care what happened to that little girl after she wandered off… After two episodes I was already sick of hearing about her, so dragging the storyline out to the mid-season finale (whatever the hell that is) really annoyed me. All the fun of the first season’s constant change was replaced with pregnancy tests and a big boring farm housing a barn full of zombies. I know i’ll tune back in when they resume episodes in February, but if they don’t pick up the pace soon I’m going to tune out. I have been reading the graphic novel it is based on, and boy don’t I wish they did it better justice. Now I see what all you fanboy purists were bitching about after episode 3 last year.
Zack Bunker from Tall Glass of Shame and Runway Rundown

For the second year in a row, I’m giving Worst of honors to THE BORING WALKING DEAD. Last year, it felt like I spent an entire season waiting for this show to live up to the promise of its series opener, only to be disappointed by the season finale. This year, I spent the entire season just waiting for something to happen, only to be a little bit pleasantly surprised by its last two episodes. That time-spent math is so bad. Sadly, I feel compelled to keep watching, because the show has promised that Michionne (one of the most badass black women in comic history) will be introduced in season, and I’m hoping that even this show’s writing staff won’t be able to figure out how to render her completely boring.

Ernessa from Fierce and Nerdy

THE WALKING DEAD. I want to love it.I try and try, but it just keeps disappointing.

CH from CH’s Picture of the Day

MORE NON-QUALITY CABLE

Pfff I don’t know. HUNG has lost its appeal, but I couldn’t say why. And the last episode of ENTOURAGE was pretty terrible. I hope there’s an Ari spinoff where he turns into an a-hole again.

Gudrun Cram-Drach from Secret Life of an Expat

 
The second half of AMERICAN HORROR STORY. It’s not that hard to engross viewers in a mystery, it’s damn near-impossible to pay off that mystery in a satisfying way [see Dexter Season One]. Once the writers started to reveal the secrets (I had a bad feeling when they note-for-note copied the Columbine incident for a character’s exposition) the show went downhill fast.

Joshua Mauldin from FIERCE ANTICIPATION

PAN AM was a total plane wreck. A wanna be that never got off the ground.
Patrick Connolly from Piping Hot Nerd: Adventures of a Bagpiper Mastering Manhattan

It’s sad how far  GLEE has fallen. It was my favorite show in its dazzling, unmarred first season. Now its a crapshoot if its even watchable week to week. Inconsistent much? Also, anything with “Real” and “Housewives” in the title.

Sarah Fazeli from Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered
 
The GOP debates- or as they are known on Bravo- The Real Nutbags of the American Right. They are like one long infomercial for Obama’s reelection. Also, GLEE. Is this what teen entertainment has been reduced to? John Hughes must be rolling in his grave. I ought to track down the writers of GLEE and duct-tape their butt-cheeks together. Saturday detention would be totally worth it.

Eric Sims from California Seething

Sadly, I must say SUPERNATURAL has been deeply disappointing since the whole “Cass is the new God and not a very good one” plot line.  Woe is me!

Roya Hamadani from Fierce Foodie

GRIMM.  I don’t understand why people like this show.
Michael Kass from Single White Nerd

PARENTHOOD.  An over-dramatization of an already overly dramatic experience.  None for me, thanks.

Josh Pullin from Stay-at-Home Dad

I’m not sure I have the right to say this, since I only watched about 7 minutes of it – but it was that bad that I had to turn it off. TWO BROKE GIRLS was so annoyingly stupid for the 7 minutes that I watched it, that all I could keep thinking was, “Wow, Kat Denning’s got big boobs, and a nice ‘real-girl figure’…”

Frankie V from Frankie Says…

NEW GIRL. Zooey, STOP IT. You’re adorable. I get that, America gets that. You don’t need to do this… Let’s stop this charade… call me.

Sam the Sham from FIERCE ANTICIPATION

 DISAPPOINTING REALITY

SUPER BOWL XLV – Green Bay Packers 31 – Pittsburgh Steelers 25. Enough said.

Ryan Dixon, FIERCE ANTICIPATION editor and writer of The Ryan Dixon Line

WE THE PEOPLE with Gloria Alred.  Why does she have a court show?  I hope everyone understands that this show is 100% fake.  These are actors doing re-enactments of old court cases.  It’s from Entertainment Studios, the same people behind AMERICA’S COURT with Judge Ross, which is also fake.  And don’t get me started on the sub-par production values.  My high school AV department could crank out a better show than this.

Jersey Joe from Kicking Back with Jersey Joe

LADY HOGGERS - I mean, WHY???

Missy Kulik from Dork Lifesyle

All Real Housewives shows. Why do I feel like I’m the only person who’s not entertained by manufactured conflict? It raises my blood pressure to watch 5 min of this thing.

Matt Udvari from Gamer by Design