Scott Pilgrim versus my inability to say anything bad about Scott Pilgrim

Just a shorty short today, my adoring public.

The highly anticipated fifth volume of Bryan Lee O'Malley's unclassifiable and awesome Scott Pilgrim series- Scott Pilgrim vs. the Universe- came out a week or so ago. I bought it on a whimsical and unplanned trip to the comic store even before I had started my re-reading the previous four volumes master plan. I wasn't worried though, because each book in the series is so enjoyable it takes roughly pi seconds to blow through. I was able to muster the patience to make it through those four, which was no small feat. Not only was I clawing to get some new Scott Pilgrim action, the cover of Scott Pilgrim vs. the Universe is shiny. Gold and shiny!

To re-cap, the premise of the series is fairly simple: boy meets girl, boy loves girl, boy has to fight and defeat girl's seven evil exes before they can officially be together. Then there's the glorious cast of side characters, many of whom you probably know/ are. Subspace highways, dastardly robots, unexplainable glowing heads, and musical battles to the death round out the series' refusal to be placed into a genre. Even a heavily hyphenated one. Ok, MAYBE a heavily hyphenated one. AND, O'Malley's incorporation of pop culture into his story is legendary; from band t-shirts to character stats to the manga-reminiscent visual style, you can't escape contemporary nerd culture here. And it's awesome.

So anyway, what can I say about the latest ish? O'Malley is still up on his game, and the fifth installment of Scott's tangles with love, life, and rocking gets two eight-bit thumbs way up. Scott and Ramona's relationship takes a rather serious turn and there's a bit of people coming-and-going, which adds to the slightly somber-er tone of the story. Still, there's plenty of silliness and snidely sarcasm to go around, and Kim Pine (my favorite!) gets lots of screen time... panel time? While I wouldn't say it's my favorite, I did have to fend off a wave of forlorn nausea when I reached the last page.

Random fact: for the Scott Pilgrim movie (please god, let them pull this off without ruining it), evil ex Roxie will be played by Mae Whitman, the very Mae Whitman who lends her voice to Katara on Avatar: the Last Airbender. There are not enough exclamation points in all of existance to express the blowness of my mind upon learning this.

Sex Drugs and Cocoa Puff: review for the breakasts of champion

I've been chipping away at Chuck Klosterman's Sex Drugs and Cocoa Puffs: a Low Culture Manifesto and I finished it a couple days ago, sort of unfortunately, because it was really fucking hilarious. Thanks to the ever provident youtube, I was watching some of his interviews and Q&As, and I figured out what the deal is: he writes like he speaks or he speaks like he writes, and either way, one translates so flawlessly to the other that you get this feeling you're having a conversation. He's a funny guy, and the conversation is his medium: what makes his observations, frustration, and experiences so damn entertaining is that he could be telling you, the reader, all this like you were old pals or acquaintances or just strangers shooting the shit in line waiting for coffee. His personality- or one he projects, which would be pretty close to the real thing, I think it's safe to assume- makes up his writings as much as, if not more than, his prose and his musings.

Klosterman's collection of essays does come with its hitches, for example, the layout of the chapters supposedly resembles a CD track listing, adding nothing to the work as a whole. Since most fans and readers, I assume, know him as a popular culture and music critic, there's continuity between this chapter set up and the author's public persona (as opposed to his private persona...?), which I guess could be relevant. Sort of. In any case, it's not a bad idea, but I think it's wasted here.

Namely because the essays and the interstitial commentaries (that was my freebie, no more stupid crossover terms from unrelated fields) hold themselves up fine. I don't always agree with Klosterman's conclusions and sometimes he does come off as kind of dick, but he's obviously not writing this stuff with hopes of winning Mr. Happy Fluffy Bunny of the Year. And overall, he does make some fantastically relevant and entertaining observations revolving around TV, rock bands, Sims, relationships, the sub culture of journalism, and the preoccupations that seem to run underneath current-ish popular culture. And it's funny. I laughed out loud reading this book more than any other since Christopher Moore's A Dirty Job, which slayed me until about three quarters of the way through. It disappoints one so when that happens; when a book rocks until ALMOST the end. Freedom from the constraints of keeping a good plot going is, it turns out, something collections of non-fiction essays have going for them, which brings me back to Klosterman (aha, that sounded like a tangent for a second, didn't it?).

It's tempting to just prattle on about my favorite bits of Sex Drugs and Cocoa Puffs (why Pam Anderson and Michael Jordan can never be together; 23 hypothetical questions; the oddly frightening social implications of youth soccer; the uncoolness of academic conferences on pop culture- I've noticed this myself; Internet porn; you see why I have to resist this temptation? I might as well put an annotated table of contents here). But I won't (any more), and instead, recommend this one for a good laugh, a conversation piece, and a strategy guide for social navigation.

American culture: still totally insane

First and foremost: hell yeah, Mr. Obama! Thank you, America, not just for electing the guy I wanted, but for getting out there and voting at all. In record numbers. If democracy's going to work, WE, the masses have to take responsibility for it, and that means, at the very least, voting. Of course, there are serious flaws in the democratic aspect of a representative democracy, but that's a whole rant unto itself. For now, we work with what we have, and at this moment, I can say, without any sarcasm: America, fuck yeah!

So, I went to bed last night feeling more patriotic than I have in a matter of years, and this morning, to rein in all that sentimental, feel-goody-ness, I did the most American thing I could think to do. I went to Disney World.

Actually, Epcot, which is the closest I want to get to Disney World, short of conducting an anthropological survey, and even that's a stretch. Lemme splain. I happen to be on a family vacation in Orlando at the moment (yeah, I know), and we had planned on going to Epcot the Wednesday following the election, that is, today. No causality there, that was just the plan (and god, if my family can plan something, ANYTHING, I am not rocking that boat). So, there I was, riding an uncharacteristic wave of pro-America enthusiasm when we strolled up to the ticket counter. 75 bucks for a day at Epcot. 70. 5. Dollars. Plus tax. Really, Disney? Damn. I'll go ahead and say right now, for this post, Disney= America. Indoctrination of American youth, American middle class, American myth. It's all practically synonymous. And 75 smackaroos for one day in a theme park that already is overcharging for stuff on the inside and already isn't hurting, come whatever economic crisis, this doesn't cry 'America' to me. Or rather it does, a lot. Cue waning of love of country. We may be taking a step in the right direction politically, but culturally, well, there we are.

I knew going into the park that I was in for insupportable Disney music all day, little kids running around thinking they're having these magic moments, not realizing they're being programmed (I honestly can't hold them totally accountable for this), and creepy as hell automatons. And I think I handled all this pretty well. What really bowled me over was the American Adventure in the American Theatre thingy in the World Showcase. I know, I know- what was I expecting, but a sappy, jingostic account of history with songs and those god damned robots? Well, it was still enough to make me cringe. But enough kvetching, because I should've known better.

Here's what totally rocked about Epcot:
Again, in the world Showcase section/ whatever, there's a Norway pavillion where you go on this stupid ride thing (automatons a plenty!) that represents Norway. The narrator sounded like a cross between Dracula and Swedish Chef, and damn, if that didn't make my morning.

Then I got to use my knowledge of the Norwegian language- which encompasses the word for 'thanks,'- at the over priced gift shop to get a chocolate bar called Daim. As in daim, that is some sweet candy, you might say. Yeah, language practice is nice. I will say this for Disney- at the world show case, they have Norwegians in the Norway Pavillion, Germans in the German Pavillion, etc. If nothing else, this adds another glorious level to the hyper/ surreality of a Disney theme park. Forget Waldo, find authenticity! Whee!

Later on, I was filling up my 2 dollar water bottle at a fountain (take THAT, Dis!) when I heard these two kids playin around behind me. Their repartee is as follows:
Kid 1- O yeah, well you're a freak. You're a freak-a-zoid!
Kid 2- You're a freak of nature!
Kid 1- YOU're a freak of ... Norway!
Rock on, little kids. Rock on.

Finally, on the closest thing they have to a roller coaster out there, I sat next to this tiny girl who A) wasn't wearing a princess costume, and 2. was going 'faster! whoo!' the whole time. They're not all conforming to their gender roles. Not totally, not yet. There is hope.