L o b a B l a n c a {dot} c o m

No, I didn’t read a novelization of the awesome James Cameron movie, The Abyss. This Abyss is the third book in the Deep Space Nine compendium, Twist of Faith, that I started reading last September. Remember how much I loved book one and book two of S.D. Perry’s Avatar?

This time the book wasn’t written by Perry. Instead, the story was done by Jeffrey Lang and David Weddle. Admittedly, I was a little spoiled by the powerful kickoff that Perry provided for the DS9 “eighth season” with her amazing two-parter, but I was willing to give this third book a shot (especially considering the fact that it’s part of this collection that I’m obviously keeping if only for Perry’s novels).

The problems I had with Abyss right from the start were two-fold: 1) the story focuses on Section 31, which was one of my least favorite additions to the Star Trek mythology; and 2) the book focuses on Julian Bashir. When I first watched DS9, I hated his character. That hatred has mellowed considerably throughout the years and, if anything, is now a tepid acceptance with mild spikes of “like.” However, combine both these issues and you’re really not starting out on a positive note with me regarding your tale.

I should point out here that this novel was part of a four-book Section 31 story arc that ranged from the original Star Trek to The Next Generation, this DS9 story, and finally Voyager.

Knowing that this was one part of a four-part story, I was a little worried that I wouldn’t understand what was going on in my part of the arc (but not worried enough that I ever considered buying the other three novels; again, I really don’t like Section 31). However, Abyss worked perfectly as a stand-alone story. If there was anything missing, I couldn’t tell. This book does tie in with events that took place in Avatar, as it should. Lang and Weddle did a great job, in fact, of connecting their story to Perry’s novels, picking up nuances and threads throughout. I very much enjoyed these aspects of the novel. There were also some great character development moments that were worth the effort to find as well. One of the greatest joys of all these eighth season DS9 books thus far has been the care and quality the authors have invested into character development. The DS9 crew is being handled in ways almost more impressive than they were on the actual show.

Regardless of my lack of enthusiasm over the actual Section 31 story, I still enjoyed reading this novel. If you did like Section 31, then you’ll probably enjoy it even more. It’s a well told tale with wonderful character moments scattered throughout. I’m still very much enjoying what they’re doing with Ezri Dax. There were equally intriguing moments concerning Ro Laren as well as a plot point concerning Colonel Kira that was kicked into motion by the events of Avatar and has left her quite vulnerable to those who do not wish to see her continue as commander of Deep Space Nine.

I’m very glad there’s still another book to go in this compilation (along with a short story), because I don’t want my time with the eighth season to come to a halt just yet. If things keep running at the impressive pace of the first three books, I will definitely be continuing with the next batch of novels in this series.

Final Verdict: Really now…what do you think I’m going to do with this book?

Isn’t this the most wonderful mashup of science reality and science fiction EVAR? It’s the cast of the original Star Trek (sans the Shat) and Trek creator Gene Roddenberry at the dedication ceremony for NASA’s first space shuttle orbiter, the Enterprise.

Really, was there any other name they could have given this first shuttle? Well, actually, yes. The original name was going to be the Constitution, because shuttle construction was slated to be completed in 1976, America’s bicentennial year. However, when NASA made this announcement, they were inundated by letters from thousands of Trek fans who simply could not believe that anyone would dare suggest a name other than Enterprise for the first shuttle. NASA wisely rethought their plans…and meta history was made.

What could be cooler than this, you might ask? Allow Loba to show you.

What’s that? Is that…could it be…?

Well, yeah, that sure does look like a space shuttle. And that ginormous American flag must mean it’s an honest-to-goodness original! But…is it the Enterprise?

Would I give you anything less, denizens?

A brief explanation: In December 2003, the Smithsonian opened their Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center near Northern Virginia’s Dulles International Airport. This center, an annex of the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum (NASM), became the showcase for all of the larger pieces that NASM had collected over the years, like the Enterprise, but had no room at their D.C. location to showcase. Most of these pieces had been in storage for years, hidden away from public viewing, sometimes rolled out to the downtown museum for temporary exhibits but never finding a permanent home.

Pieces like the controversial Enola Gay, the Boeing B-29 Superfortress that dropped the first atomic bomb, code name “Little Boy,” on Hiroshima, Japan:

Or this Air France Concorde supersonic airliner:

(Can’t forget a shot of that famous needle nose!)

Or this beauty, the Clipper Flying Cloud, the only surviving Boeing 307 Stratoliner in existence:

Or the always X-citing SR-71 Blackbird (please, someone get my geeky comic book joke!):

The SR-71 and the Enterprise? There might actually be more awesome than legally allowed in this shot:

Okay, I think you get the general idea. The Udvar-Hazy is, without a doubt, one of the most amazing museums within the Smithsonian Institution. Why it took me this long to finally visit is beyond my comprehension. However, I can assure you that if you live within driving distance of this museum and you’re a big geek like me, then you need to visit. And, if you’re ever coming to the D.C. area, you should schedule a nice solid chunk of afternoon to pay a visit. You won’t regret it.

This is going to drip with geekery, so if you’re not really into these things, you might want to just skip this entry. You have been warned.

So I’ve been going through this comic book reawakening lately. I blame the women in in my life: Kate Kane and Diana Prince. Everything was fine until I realized that Batwoman was hitting the comics circuit in such new and exciting ways. And then alternate universe discussions about the possibility of a Wonder Woman movie (if anyone utters the name Megan Fox at this point, I swear I will have you spaced by one of my Internet Personalities^TM) combined with the imminent rebooting of Wonder Woman’s comic storyline has inevitably pulled me back in in a huge way. Sitting on my desk right now, in fact, is a stack of Batwoman comics and issues 600 and 601 of Wonder Woman’s comic.

[Loba Tangent: I think those are the only two of the new Wonder Woman comics I'm going to be getting. What a meh storyline. Disappointed!]

Truth is, however, that I’m not much on collecting actual comic books anymore. I haven’t purchased comics on a regular basis since I collected the first three or four issues of the X-Files comics from Topps. Yes, it was that long ago. As much of a collector as I may be, I must draw the line somewhere, and lots of issues of comics are a little more clutter than I’m willing to bear right now. I guess this is why most of my comic books are in a trunk stored at my parents’ house.

Therefore, I tend to go for the graphic novels, those glorious compilations of several comics in one handy, pretty book. Like Elegy. Or like the latest graphic novel that I found at the library: Alan Moore’s Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?

I think the one thing that I have taken away from this graphic novel is a final acceptance that I enjoy Alan Moore as a conceptual thinker. But I really don’t enjoy his execution of those concepts. I didn’t come to this realization based on this collection per se, but I think it’s something that I already knew and just needed an excuse to finally accept it as the truth. I guess this book was reason enough to finally embrace what I already knew. Honestly, the stories collected in this novel weren’t all that bad. They weren’t all that great either. Middle of the road is where I would place the Man of Tomorrow.

The titular tale is easily the best of the bunch, and deals with some intriguing ideas concerning the Superman story. Is it possible for the indomitable Man of Steel to be stopped, eliminated from existence? Moore posits some interesting takes on these questions. Then comes a story involving Superman and Swamp Thing. I don’t really think anything else need be said about that one. It’s best experienced on one’s own. The final story, “For the Man Who Has Everything,” while not as strong as the eponymous story, is equally intriguing and equally enjoyable. And it features Wonder Woman. A lot. Oh, and Batman and Robin feature prevalently as well.

Truth is, I found each of the stories fun to read. They just weren’t…WOW. Apparently, the older I get, the more difficult it becomes to make me say “Wow.” Of course, I’m also the one who thought that a photo of my Wonder Woman and Xena action figures together was cool enough to warrant their own blog post. Go ahead, try to figure me out, denizens. I double dog dare you.

If you enjoy Superman as a character, which I generally do even if he isn’t one of my favorite superheroes, then you might enjoy these offerings from Moore.

Final Verdict: This book goes back to the library and doesn’t go onto my wishlist.

In response to a question regarding Wonder Woman and Xena, Lynda Carter once stated that she thought that Wonder Woman was very classy and that Xena…well, wasn’t. Don’t believe me? Here.

At first, I was a little miffed by this statement, even if it was said by La Carter herself. Xena, not classy?

Well, I’ve been rewatching my Xena DVDs lately…and, yeah, “classy” isn’t really a word I’d use to describe the warrior princess. There are myriad other far more suitable words that spring to mind. Classy just isn’t anywhere near the top of the list. Then again, in a time of ancient gods, warlords, and kings, you don’t really have much of a chance to be classy like Wonder Woman did.

All that said, regardless of whether or not even Carter thinks it’s right or fair to compare the two, it is an inevitable comparison. Which is what prompted this geek break photograph of my Wonder Woman and Xena action figures. Minus the shocking size differences (which shouldn’t be all that shocking; Diana is, after all, the Amazon princess of the two), look at them! There are far too many similarities between these two outfits than can be ignored. Okay, you can ignore them. Unless you’re a geek. Like me. Then they just scream at you every time you look at these figures. Which I do frequently.

I’m not saying anymore. I feel as though I’ve already said too much.

Oh, one more thing: bonus geek points if you can identify the photograph in the background.

I’ve mentioned before that I have a penchant for reading bleak, dark, sometimes post-apocalyptic stories. That’s how I ended up last year reading the dismal attempt by Cormac McCarthy to add to the post-apocalyptic subgenre of science fiction.

To be honest, that read caused me to shy away from this particular subgenre for a little while. That is, until I found the copy of Pat Frank’s Alas, Babylon that I had bought during my last trip to the local used bookstore. I don’t really know what caused me to buy this book, as I had never heard of it prior to finding it in the sci-fi section. I found the cover to be striking enough that I read the back cover blurb on a whim. When it sounded like something that I would find intriguing, I went ahead and added it to my pile of purchases.

[Subsequently, I haven't been back to this particular used bookstore, since this is the kind of scenario that occurred each time I went there. In for a penny, in for...at least 10 books each time I walked out of the store.]

In all the ways that McCarthy’s story failed me, I believe Frank’s novel succeeded. In fact, I would rank this very high on my admittedly short list of experiences with such novelizations. Frank provides us with his take on what might have happened had the Cold War escalated into the constantly feared nuclear attack by Russians on American soil. Having been written in 1959, this was one of the first post-apocalyptic tales written during the height of the nuclear age and subsequent nuclear fears. Focusing on the town of Fort Repose, Florida, it tells of the survival of protagonist Randy Bragg and his circle of friends, lovers, and neighbors after massive nationwide nuclear attacks on all of America’s major cities, including the locations of all major military outposts.

What I found most intriguing about Frank’s tale, especially in comparison with the bleakness of McCarthy’s novel, is the surprising optimism of the story. Whether a genuine belief or perhaps a nationalistic attempt to placate the fears of the masses that, yes, we will survive anything because we are Americans, Frank puts forth a scenario that, while reflective of a dismal expectancy should something like this actually occur, remains hopeful. The protagonist and his co-survivors continue to push forward, continue to succeed in ways that are surprising and pleasing. There are pitfalls and there are heart-rending moments, but overall, Frank shows a collection of characters with an undaunted communal will to survive and thrive.

Additionally, while McCarthy presented a scenario in which all bets are off and to the most violent and ruthless go the spoils, Frank seemed determined to show us that not even something as destructive as nuclear fallout will bend the will of the upstanding American citizen. These survivors are not ones to be frightened or defeated by the appearance of scurrilous looters. They are determined, cautiously optimistic, and convinced that continuing to do what is right and just is the way to move forward, even when the enforcers of those right and just rules of play are no longer in effect. Perhaps this was nothing more than an exercise in convincing Americans that this is how we must remain, should nuclear attack ever become more than just a threat or a deeply ingrained fear, but regardless of its purpose or intent, it was an intriguing look at the mindset of one of the Americans who lived through those fright-heavy “duck and cover” years.

Final Verdict: Although this book at times dove deeply into the language of military and warfare (two things that admittedly do not hold my attention if they go on for long stretches), I found myself unable to stop reading, even when I was well into the time of night when I usually am settling down to sleep. I found this to be a very interesting peek into a period of American history about which I know only what is written in scholastic texts. Whether correct or conceived, it was well worth my time and shall remain a part of my library.

A long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile…

Well, sort of. It hasn’t been quite that long since music made me smile. I actually really enjoy music. It’s the concert experience that doesn’t make me smile all that much anymore. I’m not exactly sure when it happened, but at some point concerts became little more than soulless money sucks.

Actually, I do know when it happened, at least for me: Madonna’s Drowned World Tour back in 2001. What a dismal first (and only) Madonna concert! Plunging a clogged toilet is a more satisfying (and interactive) experience than this concert was.

But there are still lots of musicians on tour who put on exemplary concerts. For example, regardless of what you think of her or her music, Tori Amos is always going to be worth the price of admission. She is bizarre in the most wonderful ways, and her playlists always include music from her entire career, even sometimes going all the way back to her Y Kant Tori Read days.

And then there’s Sarah McLachlan, possibly one of the loveliest music imports that Canada has been kind enough to share with us. Her voice is beautiful, her smile is enchanting, and her concerts are always a joy to attend. It’s been a while since McLachlan was at the top of the popular music game, but she continues to release new music and continues to be involved in the music scene.

[She also continues to make Loba feel guilty on a regular basis with those soul-crushingly sad ASPCA commercials that make Loba want to run out to the nearest shelter and adopt EVERYTHING THERE. Seriously, I'm not allowed to watch these commercials anymore, because by the end, I'm looking for my car keys while sob-singing along with "Angel."]

McLachlan is also the driving force behind Lilith Fair. Quick history herstory of this event: Back in 1996, when McLachlan was literally everywhere, she decided that it was ridiculous and completely misogynistic that concert promoters refused to place more than one female artist on a ticket at a time. The boys were being allowed to play together at venues like Lolapalooza…why couldn’t the girls be allowed to do the same thing?

So that summer, she paired up with equally hot-at-the-time musician Paula Cole (who has apparently gone the way of those mysterious cowboys she was looking for back then) as well as a few other female artists, and they all played several venues together around Canada and, I think, the United States.

These concerts were enough of a success to prove to McLachlan’s promoters at Nettwerk that there might actually be something to this all-girl line-up thing after all. So they teamed up with some marketing folk in New York and Lilith Fair was born.

[Loba Fun Fact: No, the concert is not named after Frasier's ex-wife. Lilith is believed by some religious sects to have been Adam's first wife, who subsequently left Adam after hearing too many times, "Baby, bring me a beer...and what's for dinner? I'm starving!" Of course, she is demonized by the patriarchal religious texts in which she does appear. Then again, so is Eve...]

The original Lilith Fair played every summer from 1997 through 1999, and it was amazing. Almost every active female performer from the music world, big names and small alike, wanted to be a part of this annual event: McLachlan (of course), Sheryl Crow, Paula Cole, Jewel, Fiona Apple, Joan Osborne, Queen Latifah, Lisa Loeb, the Dixie Chicks, Shawn Colvin, Missy Elliott, Bonnie Raitt, the Pretenders, Mary Chapin Carpenter, the Indigo Girls, Meredith Brooks, Natalie Merchant, Erykah Badu, Luscious Jackson, Liz Phair, Juliana Hatfield, Nelly Furtado…the list just went on and on. If you want to see all the performers, check out the Wikipedia page on Lilith Fair.

I only went to the 1999 Lilith Fair, but I remember having a hella great time. The concert started in the early afternoon and didn’t wind down until around midnight. We had lawn seats, which were perfectly priced for recent college graduates treading the waters of a final summer of freedom before diving into the deep, dark waters of “Big Girl” employment. Of course, one cannot enjoy an outdoor concert unless it rains…and it poured for most of that afternoon. I think it took almost an entire week for my sneakers to finally dry after that day!

I also remember that the line-up was amazing. It was my first time seeing several of the singers I loved: Sarah, the Dixie Chicks, Sheryl Crow…of course, I did have to suffer through the Indigo Girls, but it was worth it.

[Yeah, I hate the Indigo Girls. Deal with it.]

It was a great day, a great concert, and a great experience, getting to see an entire venue packed with all variety of concertgoers from all ethnicities, genders, religions, sexualities, socioeconomic status, etc., gathered together by a commonly shared love of really awesome music. I’ve heard lots of disparaging comments about Lilith Fair throughout the years, especially when it was at its most popular, but you know what? It was epic in many ways, least of which in how it was able to bring together so many disparate people without conflict, at least for the duration of the day of performances.

Another thing that was great about that 1999 event? I won this:

This is a Takamine electric acoustic guitar, black finish with mother-of-pearl trim. It was supposedly played by Sarah McLachlan at one of the Lilith Fair stops. She then signed the guitar, as you can see in the photo, and donated it to some upstart Dot Com whose name I can’t even remember now, as one of the prizes for their “Sweet Sounds of Summer” contest (yes, I can remember the name of the contest, but I can’t remember the name of the company).

Honestly? I entered the contest because I wanted a signed copy of Sheryl Crow’s newest CD. I had no delusions of actually winning anything, however, let alone the first prize. I feel a little guilty that this beautiful guitar is stuck with unmusical me, sitting in its pretty case for the past decade…brought out only when people want to see it or when I want to photograph it for geeky reasons. Then again, would a musically inclined person actually play this guitar if they owned it? I think not. So I don’t feel that guilty. Plus, one day this puppy is going to be worth a fortune, and I’m going to sell it and buy Rhode Island and turn it into my own geek Utopia. And I shall rule with fairness and geekiness. And Beverly Crusher will be our queen.

…

Fast forward 11 years to the summer of 2010. McLachlan’s first new studio album release in seven years, Laws of Illusion, came out in June of this year. She was coming out of a divorce, primed with new music, and ready to jump back into the musical deep…so what better way than to revive Lilith Fair?

To be honest, the 2010 Lilith Fair was a pale comparison to its earlier iterations. The list of names was much shorter, several of the “big names” dropped out for various reasons, and in the end, ticket sales were poor enough that several of the scheduled events were canceled.

That being said, we went to the D.C. Lilith Fair this past Tuesday, and it was a mostly enjoyable time. The heat made everything a little wilty, but it’s been that way all summer, so nothing we haven’t been dealing with already. I did feel a little over-saturated by all the marketing this time: Chevrolet wanted me to win one of their cars, and Luna wanted to give me their super-sweet energy bars, and Degree wanted me to wear their deodorant and their body mist, and Style magazine wanted me to know how much they love Lilith Fair, and prophets know I now have enough free feminine care products to carry me through to menopause.

Then there was the line-up. You know the adage, “If it’s too loud, you’re too old”? I think that could also be changed to “If it’s too unknown, you’re too old.” I barely knew any of the secondary stage acts. Corrin who? Missy what? Nneka? Butterfly? Is that really your name?

[Okay, I actually did know who Butterfly Boucher was, but that's because she toured with McLachlan back in 2005. She's pretty cool and I really like saying her name. Butterfly Boucher (prononuced like "Bau-chər"). Say it. Out loud. NOW.]

I guess that’s the point, though: to introduce us to these new and rising singers, and several were very enjoyable…but a lot of them started to sound alike after a while. And that was when I knew I was too old. That and when I caught myself saying of Ke$ha, “I’m actually okay with her not being at this Lilith Fair. She looks like you’d need a dose of penicillin after seeing her in concert.”

Ouch.

Of course, the main stage was the big draw of the day anyway. And “Big Girl” employment means no more lawn seats. We traded in our soggy sneakers and picnic blankets for six rows away from the stage. Mmm. Favorite non-Sarah act? The Court Yard Hounds, which is basically the Dixie Chicks minus Natalie Maines. Sisters Emily Robison and Martie Maguire decided that they were ready to go back to recording, but Maines was still enjoying her time out of the limelight. So the sisters formed the Court Yard Hounds, with the promise of returning to the Dixie Chicks once Maines is ready to go.

I’ve always loved Emily and Martie. Last time I saw the Dixie Chicks in concert, I wrote this of their instrumental prowess:

Emily is to a banjo like Hendrix lighting guitars and Martie could beat the Devil and Johnny both down in Georgia any time on her fiddle.

That’s one of the reasons I did love country music for so long: I love the bluegrassy frenzy of banjo and fiddle. I can’t explain it. I just like it. Plus, look at how country awesome they look!

Needless to say, their performance at Lilith Fair convinced me to buy their CD, so apparently I am quite susceptible to marketing. And my love of country music is apparently returning.

Oh, and of course, McLachlan was delightful as the final act to what had become the final stop of Lilith Fair 2010 (thanks to those unfortunate cancellations I previously mentioned). She seemed hopeful that Lilith Fair would return for another go next summer. I don’t know if that’s actually in the cards or if it was just wishful hoping, but I’m glad I had the chance to visit once more with Lilith and rekindle some happy memories from my college days.

Kind of swamped at work, and I’ve been doing fun things away from work (things that I may or may not discuss here at a later time…). Thus are my excuses for any dip in appearances here at the lair.

Mea culpa, denizens.

Here, then, is a photo apology. Here is…BUNNEH. I snapped a shot of this little guy during my Father’s Day visit to North Carolina (yes, it’s been a while…I’m quite behind in posting photos here as well, but hope to resolve this soon with some very exciting photos taken during a recent away team mission).

I think my favorite thing about this photo isn’t even part of the actual image. Instead, it’s the memory of my dad yelling to me as I stalked Bunneh with my telephoto lens, “I think there’s something wrong with that rabbit. He should have run away by now. Why is he just sitting there? Is he frothing? You know, there have been several cases of rabies reported recently in this state. You might not want to get any closer!”

I wanted so desperately to make a Holy Grail Killer Bunny comment at this point in his monologue, but sadly, my dad has never seen the movie.

“Run away! Run away! Run away!”

It's just a harmless little bunny, innit?

Still howling happily about Craig Bevan’s debut CD, I Think We’ve Made It. Missed my last musing on the subject? Here you go.

Better yet, here. This is the first official video, for the CD’s title song. It’s brilliantly directed by Tristan Ofield. Watch it, love the song, buy the CD or the music download. It’s that simple.

Okay, I have to confess that this is a bit of a cop-out this week, as I already wrote about the Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine during my Angry Blogger^TM days. This is what I wrote:

Reminisced a little this weekend. Does anyone out there remember the Snoopy Sno-Cone machine? Best. Toy. Ever. Of course, they could never sell it today. Kids are so stupid now, they’d probably try to shave off their tongues with the thing. Hell, I know some adults who are too stupid to operate this toy. But what a toy it was.

Loba is always willing to re-examine her statements (even her more incendiary ones), and apparently people aren’t as stupid as I once assumed (either that or corporations just don’t care about the stupidity factor in light of possibly making a buck off someone’s nostalgia kick). Turns out that the Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine has been reissued. You can even find it on Amazon.com!

I loved my Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine. It was silly and clunky and required way more effort than the end result could ever possibly live up to, but it was still awesome. For those wondering how it worked, first let’s look at the machine, shall we?

See the adorable Snoopy at the top, with the weird red hat? You lift Snoopy up and you see that he’s got an oblong extension attached to his bum. This is what you will use to press down on the ice cubes, which you insert into the shaft you’ve now cleared by removing the Snoopy-topped pestle.

At the bottom of this shaft is a cylindrical piece of perforated metal, sort of like a round cheese grater. This is attached to a crank in the back of the machine. As you press down on the ice with your Snoopestle, you turn the crank in the back, which causes the round cheese grater to slice against the cubes, shaving slivers down into the drum, as shown in this photo.

When you have enough ice shaved for a serving, you can either let it drop into one of the little paper cups that come with the machine, or you can use the snow shovel-shaped scoop seen on the right side of the photo. Once you have a serving in the cup, you can use the little snowman squeeze bottle, on the left of the photo, to squeeze syrup onto the shaved ice (the machine comes with a set of syrup mixes).

Sounds like a big potschke, doesn’t it? Well…it is. Also, minus the metal cheese grater portion, everything on the Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine is plastic. Plastic and flimsy. You feel like you might actually crush the entire thing in the process of trying to press down hard enough on the ice cubes. And believe me, you have to press hard. The cheese grater cylinder on my original machine was unbelievably dull. After reading some of the Amazon reviews, I get the impression that it’s still dull.

So why such fond memories? Well, I have always loved Snoopy and the Peanuts gang. One of my first stuffed animals I can remember getting was a Snoopy dog with a bunch of cute little outfits to dress him in: a raincoat, a soccer uniform, a hoodie and blue pants. My first Christmas ornament was one of the Hallmark ball ornaments with a little diorama inside of Snoopy leading a team of Woodstocks to deliver toys for Santa.

I love Snoopy.

I also remember making sno-cones with my mom, which is obviously a memory that is that much more special to me now. I think she might have even enjoyed making these sno-cones more than I did. She was often a big kid when it came to silliness like this. Guess that’s from where I get that silly, eternally-a-kid part of my personality.

Part of me is tempted to get another Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine, probably not to use but just for the nostalgia value of having this sitting on a shelf.

Okay, maybe I’d use it. Once or twice. Ooh, I could bring it to work and we could have sno-cone breaks on Fridays!

Mmm, that’s an OSHAlicious event just begging to happen!

I don’t often review movies here at the lair beyond what I’ve been reviewing through my DVDregs project (which I haven’t forgotten about; I just prefer to spend more time reading books than watching movies). I also find that most movies that come down the Hollywood pipeline are such disappointments that I anticipate very little from the movie world anymore.

I was, however, greatly anticipating The Runaways. I’ve been a HUGE Joan Jett fan since I first heard the opening percussion and guitars of “I Hate Myself for Loving You.” And when that gorgeous, gravelly, smoke-saturated voice kicked in, my little Blackheart belonged to her. She is one of the original rocker grrls who still wails like nobody’s business, even at one notch past the half-century mark.

I didn’t learn about her early roots until much later (thank you, Interwebz!), but when I did discover The Runaways, I had another squee attack. This is the band that started the careers of Joan Jett AND Lita Ford?! Close my eyes forever, indeed.

So I began paying more attention to the cinema chat swirling around this one, and that’s when I stumbled upon the teaser poster for this movie.

What a big hot mess of sexual innuendo!

Let’s start with the tagline: “It’s 1975 and they’re about to explode.”

Okay, this could be interpreted in non-sexual ways, especially if you assume that people viewing this poster know who The Runaways were in the music world and subsequently look at this statement from a purely musical standpoint. 1975 was a year filled with some…interesting chart-topping musicians: Captain and Tenille. Glen Campbell. John Denver. K.C. & the Sunshine Band. Barry Manilow. The Carpenters. The Bee Gees. Melissa Manchester.

1975 was basically an easy listening station’s wet dream. But something was brewing under the surface on both sides of the Atlantic…something awesome and raucous and loud. The punk rock scene hit huge in ’75, with the appearance of groups like the Sex Pistols, Blondie, and the Ramones. I won’t try to ramble on anymore about punk rock since I have already pointed out that music knowledge is not one of my strong points (I only knew about these three groups because I like their music).

However, just this little bit of knowledge gives credence to the tagline’s statement that “It’s 1975 and they’re about to explode.” The Runaways were most assuredly nothing like The Carpenters. Their different-from-mainstream sound was ready to explode onto the scene and take that filthy muskrat love hostage. Plus, their arrival on the music scene meant the arrival of the girls to the predominantly boys’ club of hard rock.

Then we get to the poster’s solitary graphic: a ripe, red, luscious, dripping cherry with a lit fuse for a stem.

Again, let’s assume some Runaways knowledge. Probably their biggest hit was the song “Cherry Bomb.” It not only shows up on every Runaways compilation out there, but Jett has included her renditions on both her greatest hit CDs. So here we have the visual representation of the proverbial cherry bomb, made even more prominent by the black background.

[Loba Tangent: I love how this bright red image against the black background is so evocative of the poster for that 1975 movie cult classic, The Rocky Horror Picture Show.]

[Loba Post-Posting Tangent: I just realized, after looking at the poster on a monitor with a brighter contrast than the monitor I was previously on that the black background has the overlay of a record (you know, those crazy huge discs that artists now melt and sculpt into bowls?) ghosted into it. Nice touch!]

Then you get the names of the two principal actors, Kristen Stewart and Dakota Fanning, in a simple white sans serif, hovering above a roughly spray-painted and smudged stencil of the movie title, in matching cherry red paint. It’s amateurish but bold, which are definitely two things that could be applied to the early days of this band.

Of course, if we remove the assumption that people looking at this poster have any idea of who The Runaways were or what they meant to the music world, this poster drips with sexual innuendo (literally!), just like I originally said. Then again, with lyrics like “I’ll give ya something to live for! Have ya, grab ya til you’re sore!” there’s very little room for interpretation here. The Runaways were fiercely sexual, often referred to as “Jail Bait Rock” for obvious reasons: They were all in their teens or barely 20, with original lead singer Cherie Curie only 15 when she joined the band. Gives that “ready to explode” cherry a whole different connotation there, eh?

Sex sells, and this poster definitely sells the sexuality of this movie and this group.

Bonus Movie Review

I’ve already said a lot about the group The Runaways with my poster review. So what about the movie? I cringe a little at calling this movie a proper biopic of the entire group. It really isn’t.

The screenplay is based upon Cherie Curie’s Neon Angel: A Memoir of a Runaway. Curie was only with the band from 1975-77, so obviously basing the script on her recollections isn’t going to give the full story. Also, it’s her memoir so it’s told from her perspective with her take on what was happening. Jett was tapped to provide additional information, to help flesh out the story (which is only appropriate since Jett was the group’s founding member with drummer Sandy West, who died in 2006 of lung cancer).

That being said, obviously the focus of this movie was Curie, with Jett playing a substantial secondary role. I was actually very surprised by this, for two reasons. One, Joan Jett is the most successful musician to come from the original line-up and she was a co-founder, so you’d think she’d be more of the focus. Two, look at the teaser poster: Kristen Stewart received billing ahead of Dakota Fanning. I took this as an indication that her role would be more substantial. I guess it really was a matter of box office pull. Stewart is the bigger name thanks to those shitty twinkly vampire movies the Twilight franchise.

I’ve never read Curie’s memoir but I can only assume that it’s a bit of a weak read based on the overall weakness of this movie’s screenplay. There’s an absence of cohesion throughout the storytelling. Also, the band members who aren’t Curie or Jett get supremely shafted in screen time as well as character development. Case in point: The biggest scene for Lita Ford is brief and tantamount to a hissy fit. Regardless of whether or not this was an accurate portrayal or just how Curie remembered this particular moment, it makes Ford one-dimensional and rather unsympathetic. Again, though, since this is from Curie’s perspective, maybe that was the ultimate goal.

Negatives of the screenplay aside, this movie’s strength resides in those two names on the poster. I still find Dakota Fanning unnerving. She’s literally the oldest young person I’ve ever seen. However, she brings a fierceness and energy to her portrayal of Cherie Curie that is incendiary. Her transformation from mousy waif from a broken home to corseted, drug-addled prima donna jail bait was almost completely believable (hindered only by the obvious and unchangeable truth that Fanning isn’t all these things, so it’s really all pretend in the end).

As for Stewart’s performance as Joan Jett? This is the kind of acting I want to see more of from Stewart. She has an ability to completely immerse herself into a role to spectacular effect. For this movie, Stewart was Joan Jett, right down to the burgeoning of those amazing sexy-growly vocals that are synonymous with Jett’s solo career.

Jett herself is on record as stating that the first time she listened to a recording of Stewart singing one of the movie’s songs, she thought the producers had made a mistake and sent her a recording of herself from those days. Whether this is movie hype hyperbole or not, both Stewart and Fanning nailed their musical impersonations, making their contributions to the movie’s soundtrack excellent additions.

Yes, I have the soundtrack already. It’s actually quite good, a substantial mix of movie Runaways and real Runaways music interspersed with songs from other punk/rock scions like Suzi Quatro (Leather Tuscadero!!), The Stooges, Sex Pistols, MC5, and David Bowie.

Regardless of screenplay flaws, this is one raucous, vulgar, in-your-face, wild ride into the true essence of “sex, drugs, and rock and roll” and the brakes are out and there’s no stopping until the cliff appears ahead and we all go plummeting to our rock goddess deaths. But we’ll be so hopped up on whatever pills and booze we can get our hands on, we just won’t care.

I think the only thing that I would have loved to see more of was toward the end, when Jett began to be the dominant character and we started seeing her metamorphosis into the soon-to-be Jett of Blackhearts fame. And when Stewart appeared toward the movie’s end, wearing that fuchsia blazer with the hyper-huge shoulder pads? I squeed a little. And immediately pictured this in my mind:

I love rock-n-roll, too, Joan. Oh, yes, I do.

Of course, we don’t need a biopic on Jett. We know what happened with her post-Runaways. But I wouldn’t complain if Stewart wanted to finally stop hanging out with sparkly vampires and sink her teeth into another Jett-based role. Until then, though, I’ve added The Runaways to my wishlist and am looking forward to firing up the soundtrack for my commute home. Drive me wild…