I am truly fascinated by slash and shippers, but also how media with this kind of fan base (Supernatural and the Twilight franchise come immediately to mind) capitalize on this phenomenon, and the resulting weirdo impact on the real lives of people who play these characters.

So, yeah...

Why is the Chinese Internet Obsessed With Writing Gay Sherlock Fanfiction?

I know there is some hardcore, super cray going on out there as far as Sherlock slash shippers are concerned, but after reading this PG take, a better question is: what makes Asia, and Asian languages, so conducive to teh adorables?

The 37-year-old [Benedict] Cumberbatch, whom the Chinese call Curly Fu, "is the reason a new wave of Chinese viewers have turned to British television." (‘Curly' describes the star's hairstyle, while 'Fu' is a shortened Chinese transliteration of 'Holmes.')

CURLY. FU.

Also: no worries about the impending Chinese takeover of the United States; we will simply harness the power of gaijin catmen.

One journalist with the Beijing-based newspaper Jinghua Times surveying viewers of the 2013 blockbuster sci-fi movie Star Trek Into Darkness found that most had gone to see Curly Fu, a villain they declared "impossible to hate" because they had "never seen a bad guy so handsome before."

As not only a fan of the Batch but a lifelong Star Trek and Khan fan, this line of reasoning is really hard to disagree with. Oh handsome brutality!

Anyway *fans self* what was I saying? Oh yeah, full circle...

Some fans cataloguing [Cumberbatch's] good traits also listed his "cute wife" Watson, whom they call ‘Peanut,' because the Chinese phoneticization of Watson, huasheng, is a homonym for the legume.

Speechless.

promotional photo from the third series of Sherlock

Oh Curly Fu and Peanut, I wish you good luck.

(original article from Foreign Policy, here.)

I really do love everything about the BBC's Sherlock -- even its implausible British fight sequences -- but there is one itty bitty thing about it that helps it along a bit more than others.

*swoon*

(can't help it, I'm a red-blooded straight woman. sorry lads.)

(photo by Ian Derry for Entertainment Weekly)

I periodically need to watch this to maintain my mental health.



Bonus today: Jimmy Fallon fangirling Alan Rickman as he tells a story about his first movie role as Hans Gruber in that iconic American classic, Die Hard.

Alan Rickman Hurt His Knee in Die Hard, Discovers Punk in “CBGB”

Adorbs all around.

Good morning, US of A.



If it turns out that President Barack Obama can make a deal with the most intransigent, hard line, unreasonable, totalitarian mullahs in the world but not with Republicans, maybe he's not the problem.

Wow, even the mainstream rags are going to town on this.

Though I still let out a big ol' le sigh, because sometimes, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

(at which point I transition away from the depressing and/or infuriating news of the day and aim my post toward the slightly less frustrating but more entertaining and sense-making (if I do say so myself), world of my bloggity blog, in abstract.)

Still with me?

I've been blogging here since March 2, 2006. I know! And teh internets are like dog years, which makes me, oh, at least middle-aged in internet time. Yes, I am not a Millennial! Microblogging, what? Nope, just me and the year to year grind of blogspot, baby. But if you're closing in on ancient like me, one thing that time and being both politically inclined and shallow in equal measure -- as well as holding on, pitbull-like, to your granny technology having archives -- will get you is teh hits. I've been getting a lot of hits lately where folks are clicking through my tags (which only date back to like, 2007, but whatever, that's almost 7 YEARS of my world), so, in an effort to placate my vanity see how consistent I am, I've been reading through my old posts.

Some observations...

I made a lot more time to write when I was a dewy-eyed 30-ish than a glassy-eyed [shut your mouth!]. Before I had a smartphone, or teh facebooks; when I had crappier jobs with more time that paid me more back then when I was building my career than now where I am in the midst of it; when I was less tired of EVERYTHING.

Again, the more things change...the more they stay the same.

Even though this ride has been less than a blip, a nanosecond in the life of mankind, it's been nearly a decade of mine and my contemporaries' lives, so it is disheartening to see that we're still fighting the same old battles forever and ever, and harnessing the same old fears to hasten the trading of freedom and scary civil rights violations for perceived security.

But we're winning a lot in a short time too. And even in this forever recession (RIP, amazing 21 Grand), my friends and I who were making art are still making art and living joyous lives.

Interesting, this internet life; one that is stored on both human and mechanical servers, to be reviewed at any time and, given circumstances, assessed in vastly different ways. Short and sweet, but forever there for somebody.

As if I need to remind you, 1) about how real men should dress, or 2) of my forever love for British fashion house Alexander McQueen and how their great accessories can make anything pop, or 3) about why Benedict Cumberbatch.

(Press photo for The Fifth Estate press conference at TIFF)

Cumberbatching aside, I write because I also love fashion and cinema; there's been a lot of jabbering about whether or not Cumberbatch's fashion choices for his full-on three film assault on TIFF 2013 are too conservative, uptight, and British.

This surprised me, because his fashion choices are clearly those of a man who has the right people in his corner to go about crafting a career and public persona based, in part, on his quintessential classic Britishness, sure, but who also dress him** beautifully while adding just the right amount of whimsy to keep the look young and current. Perfect.

Anyway, to wit: the slim cut suit in dark blue, the crisp whites with just enough cuff, and the pocket kerchief square are givens, but it's all about that tie. Isn't anyone paying attention to details?

**or, he's getting his cues himself from Sherlock as well as recycling that tie for a long-ass time. Big ups either/or.

Russell Brand used to creep me out so much, but in the last few years he has really let both his intellect and his compassion shine through in his comedy.

This Joke About a Sponsor's Nazi Ties Got Russell Brand Banned from the GQ Awards After-Party



Contender.

Sure, disrupt the dealers, but it does no good if you fail to wean the addicts (or, in fact, instead encourage them).

Benedict Cumberbatch Goes to War: Celebrity and Diplomacy

Great assessment.

Cumberbatch may be dreamy, clever goodness, but he's also an army of payroll for a carefully projected persona with a skyrocketing career made possible in part by the same folks he faults. Meh, why can't we all do like Damon?

The failure Cumberbatch perceives isn’t one of supply but demand. The star should have raged at his fans directly, not at his photographers. What if instead of chastising the paparazzi, he had written “Go look at Egypt.”

Benedict Cumberbatch might have reflected on his own experience as one of the most photographed individuals in the world. He has become an image himself. Photographs circulate endlessly of him at work and at play, in public and in private. Does his overexposure mean those who have seen his image know him or understand him?

Consider again his handwritten plea over the weekend: “Go photograph Egypt and show the world something important.” If he had spared the paparazzi his scorn and skewered his fans with the imperative to go look at Egypt, what would they see? What are we to make of the images so perilously obtained by photojournalists embedded in these protests?

Stephen Colbert is forever, but in a crisis I'd settle for a Matt Damon booth.

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Bonus: Jimmy Fallon *hearts*

The supposed story.

Getting All Up in ComicCon, First Time Styles Edition

Can you believe with all my Star Trekking and comic-booking and nerd love fangirling that I've never attended ComicCon in San Diego until this year?

A good friend who attends on industry passes invited me along this year, and I jumped at the chance to go to geek mecca.

Also, I heard a little show called Sherlock would panel this year.

Oh girl, it was ON.

We packed up and made the 6 hour trek down from the Bay to pit stop in Los Angeles for a few days prior, down Interstate 5. Usually the flats are a wasteland, we were lucky it was an unusually GORGEOUS drive. We're cool like that.

A few days of shopping and dranks and shoring up sleep in LA, and we headed to the Con.

We arrived.

It was MADNESS.

(This is like, 1/8 of the floor.)

And we had a great time. I could go on and on about the displays (BBC America's Doctor Who fashions over the years was stellar), or the cool orgs tabling (Kirby Museum! Comic Book Legal Defense Fund!) or the nice artists we chatted with (Brom!) but what I was really struck by was not only the sheer massive volume of geekery on display and in conversation, but at how absolutely wonderful we geeks are. It's not merely a back-patting, it's the truth. In an enormous mass of excited and sometimes bulkily-attired people, every time I was bumped I received an "excuse me" or "sorry." On several occasions we were witness to expensive electronics being found and turned in immediately. Everyone was stoked to be with their people, and I must say I was so impressed with the camaraderie and friendliness and willingness to talk about nerd love in a rational (and may I say, Vulcan-like, even!) manner that was displayed over my 4 days in geek heaven.

Ah, and alas, the Sherlock panel was not to be on my agenda as it looks like any panel of extreme note (this one had Stephen Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and Sue Vertue) required overnight campouts in line. And when it comes to that kind of fangirling, saudade does. not. play. Also of note: Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch sent their regards via video, but they did not attend -- something I was a bit surprised by given not only Sherlock, but their current roles in that bastion of geekery, The Hobbit, AND Cumberbatch's roles in both the recent Star Trek and as Julian Assange in the upcoming The Fifth Estate.

So, yeah...I was a bit taken aback at the underrepresentation of Sherlock at the Con, given there was a significant panel, A-list star profiles/projects, and a growing American fanbase (my own recent Cumberbatching may have influenced this as well, but STILL, c'maaaaan). Even the BBC America booth only had what looked like a hastily put-together and half-assed t-shirt (which, ok, yes, I attempted to buy but it was sold out in my size. What?! I am that person.)

Anyway, I'm still a bit high from the nerd love holiday I just experienced. Lovely, lovely time, and I am definitely planning on attending again next year.

O neglect

I am reminded by my recent gushy Cumberbatch fangirl post -- wherein, he is inducted officially into my man harem, in a wee bit part on rumors of his motorbike love -- that I have yet to post about my own motorcycle! Trevor gifted me with lessons a year ago and I got my license and my bike a month later. It's been super fun and exhilarating, yet also a bit scary at times, and of course very  convenient for city living. I feel both indignant and admittedly hella awesome when I'm out and dudes think that I'm carrying a helmet solely because they think I'm going to hop on the back of some guy's bike.

I also feel that I've become a better automobile driver. Once you ride, you do of course become much more aware of the perils riders face, and if you tend toward being safe and responsible (or generally not a driving nightmare), I suppose that uptick in auto safety may be par for the course.

Anyway, I hardly ever put personal photos up here, but I'm feeling saucy.

Big ups to ladies who ride.

Happy PRIDE!

Happy Pride!

P.S: That adorables gif choice is no random googling accident; I just now started watching Sherlock because it was recommended to me and it is AMAZEBALLS.

P.P.S: And ugh, file this under nerdgirls are easy -- predictably, irrevocably (and as per usual, totally late to the party): Benedict Cumberbatch's brilliant turn on the BBC as Sherlock (okay, for real, it's also those thick. black. curls.), mind-blowing performance as bizarro reboot Khan in Star Trek, Into Darkness (okay, for real, it's also that. body.), and (just in case you're insane and didn't click on that Khan link) good lord sweet jesus his baritone, sex-oozing voice (gurl, for real, that. voice.). And so here we are, hook line sinker: one more for the man harem. If he stays away from man harem lifetime member James McAvoy's odd career choices he has a shot at a Paul Newman or Laurence Olivier caliber career.

The internets also pinky swear that Cumberbatch is, essentially, perfect: not merely satisfied with being talented, and handsome in that alabaster alien meets sexy ginger Keebler elf way, he is rumored to also be highly intellectual, modest, witty, polite, charming, and kind. He claims to love both his mother and reading books. He supposedly rides a motorbike, is OK firing up the occasional smoke, and speaks Latin. Holy hot hell. He's also remarked that he desperately wants to breed, so OK, baby daddy dealbreaker aside, he's almost my perfect man harem piece. But, since I will never really know any of those more intimate details for sure, better to stick with the basics, non? Can't go wrong with possessing documented talent AND teh sex (unless you're a rumored jerkface *cough*Fassy*cough*); most signs though point to his likability and general good guy-ness as fact. Cumberbatch is first string, lifetime member material all the way.

Seriously, click on that voice link. Do it.

I used to get an inexplicable (but figurative, obvs) rash around Matt Damon. I know.

Purely based on his political and philanthropic work, plus Bourne and 30 Rock, he should have been a shoe-in. But I waited. And now, with his amazing performance in Behind the Candelabra, he's in!

So. Good.



I also have a renewed admiration for Michael Douglas. And holy smokes, Rob Lowe! Or, rather, Rob Lowe's cat face. Fabulous.

Eames as my Tiny Dancer?



Oh guuuuuurl. I squee something awful fierce.

Man harem alert!

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A little late to the party, but this is oh so good.

Stephen Colbert Spoofs 'Accidental Racist'

If you haven't heard the original 'Accidental Racist' I think that really, it's not necessary: Colbert covers the salient points. I also think David Graham at The Atlantic does a bang up job of laying down how offensive, and in many ways, damaging, this song is.

It really hits home here:

It's pretty insane to compare an inoffensive piece of headgear to a flag that represents a treasonous secession movement devoting to maintaining the practice of slavery. It's even more insane to compare jewelry to, you know, slave shackles.

The deeply offensive gold chains and iron chains thing aside, we're also talking about a flag that represents a movement devoted to maintaining the practice of slavery and comparing it to a 'do-rag' -- a piece of clothing that has been given connotations of offense by, well, racists. The flag, however, remains what it is. I get that these guys probably had good intentions, but good intentions aren't enough when it comes to learning how not to be entitled. This song does not much more than bolster white privilege and white entitlement around racism.

In the wake of the Boston Marathon bombing and inevitable fallout for the Muslim community (and the poor Czechs!) I've been thinking a lot about "accidental racism" and white privilege. I read two great pieces on this recently.

For anyone who struggles with the idea of white privilege, this:

The Saudi Marathon Man

Why the search, the interrogation, the dogs, the bomb squad, and the injured [Saudi Arabian] man’s name tweeted out, attached to the word “suspect”? After the bombs went off, people were running in every direction—so was the young man. Many, like him, were wounded; many of them were saved by the unflinching kindness of strangers, who carried them or stopped the bleeding with their own hands and improvised tourniquets...In the midst of that, according to a CBS News report, a bystander saw the young man running, badly hurt, rushed to him, and then “tackled him,” bringing him down. People thought he looked suspicious.

What made them suspect him? He was running—so was everyone. The police reportedly thought he smelled like explosives; his wounds might have suggested why. He said something about thinking there would be a second bomb—as there was, and often is, to target responders. If that was the reason he gave for running, it was a sensible one. He asked if anyone was dead—a question people were screaming. And he was from Saudi Arabia, which is around where the logic stops. Was it just the way he looked, or did he, in the chaos, maybe call for God with a name that someone found strange?

And this one, which while written from the perspective of a Swede, had so many hallmarks of my own tiny town American childhood that I could recall my Japanese mother's pride, shame, and anger at the hands of "accidental racists" like it was yesterday:

Sweden's Closet Racists

Being 6 years old and walking toward passport control with Dad, who has sweaty hands, who clears his throat, who fixes his hair and shines up his shoes on the backs of his knees. All the pink-colored people are let by. But our dad is stopped. And we think, maybe it was by chance, until we see the same scene repeated year after year.

Being 7 and starting school and being told about society by a dad who was terrified even then that his outsiderness would be inherited by his children. He says, “When you look like we do, you must always be a thousand times better than everyone else if you don’t want to be refused.”

I remember my mother's bewilderment -- then fear when security arrived, then shaking rage when she realized what was happening -- when a department store in my hometown wouldn't take her check; the check with her strange and difficult-to-pronounce name printed in script below my white father's, the check accompanied by a military ID ("it's from the US government, it's better than a driver's license," my non-driving mother repeated over and over, in vain). They demanded that my father be there, in person, for them to honor the check. I remember her shame and defeat, and moreover I remember my embarrassment at yet another thing that set me apart from my white peers -- an embarrassment only rivaled by my shame now in looking back on my childhood lack of perspective and support for my mother.

When someone wears a Confederate Flag in spite of the fact that it is first and foremost a symbol of whites owning human beings, and then has the nerve to tell me that foundational symbolism isn't intended -- it's only "accidentally racist" and purely on me -- privilege is the first thing that goes through my mind.

I *heart* Kal Penn

Obama and Kumar go to the DNC

Which is more adorable: that the president of the United States is so obviously reaching out for the stoner vote, or that Kal Penn, the star of the “Harold & Kumar” movies, has carved out such an impressive political career? 

Just in case anyone forgot...

Penn, who was the associate director of the White House Office of Public Engagement for two years before leaving to make another “Harold & Kumar” movie, is hosting the Democratic convention live coverage on BarackObama.com this week. He’s also speaking at the convention Tuesday night.

Proper.

This guy.

Nathan Fillion Reveals Why He's Hooked on Books

Let me get this straight: he loves reading -- especially nerdy adventure, fantasy, sci-fi and comic books -- gives serious props to his English teacher mom, and was not only creepy priest on Buffy and Joey Buchanan on OLTL, but BOTH Captain Mal and Captain Hammer? This is a man who knows how to work his audience into a steamy mess. Hot damn.

If I didn't already have my handsome, smart, talented, and awesomely nerdy hubby, I would be all over this and moving to America's hat, stat.

So, I saw Haywire over the weekend.



Seriously a good time. Directed by Steven Soderbergh, it has super fun casting, with Ewan McGregor, Antonio Banderas, and Michael Douglas, and MMA fighter Gina Carano in the lead. I loved the clean and lean look of the film, and I especially liked the lack of jump cuts in the fight scenes, which lent them precision and a gritty realism; it felt like a European action flick. Really well done.

OMG, and I so get the Michael Fassbender thing now. Holy everything that is holy. And let me just say straight up: I am a sucker who would totally be killed by Fassbender's sexy, charismatic British freelance assassin Paul. Oy vey. This is why: I was talking to Trevor after the film about Fassbender's role and how I thought he was made out to be a bit more sympathetic than the other black ops guys, and he laughed at me. "Paul is charming and handsome, but he was willing to frame an innocent person and kill her for money! Now you know what it's like to be a man around a beautiful woman." Touché.

But wait a minute: not only is he charming and handsome, he can kill a man with his bare hands while wearing the hell out of a suit. Hot. Oh wait, that also describes my husband. No wonder.

I first noticed Fassbender in the passably entertaining X-Men First Class as Magneto (also starring man-harem lifetime member James McAvoy as Xavier), though I had seen other films that he had smaller, ensemble roles in, like 300 and Inglourious Basterds. Most recently I saw him again in Steve McQueen's beautifully shot and acted, but sometimes wincingly trite, Shame. This film was when I starting sitting up and paying attention to Fassbender as an actor (I know what you're thinking, and no, really, it was the acting!). The sterility and quietude of a film like Shame requires someone who can convey a bevy of human emotion over the course of several uncomfortably long close-up still-shots, without speaking. He nailed it (and okay, yeah, that pun was intended). I was riveted.

Anyway, I digress. Haywire: fun, action packed film well worth the unspeakable amount of money you pay now for a movie ticket. The Fassbender Sexy: confirmed. And he's not only beautiful, but he's absolutely flawless as an actor in this film, as well as Shame. Looking forward to seeing if future projects and personal conduct deem him man-harem worthy.

I've been cooling on Neil Gaiman lately, for ridiculous reasons unrelated to his writing that I will not go into here. Lovely bloke at each reading I've been to of his, but...oh, let's not talk about that when he's just an itty piece of my post, m'kay?

I know the departure of David "phwoar, come to my man-harem" Tennant as Doctor Who was eons ago, but as a yank I am really just getting to know Matt Smith as the new Doctor. Was very sad about the latest regeneration, but as all Doctors do, he is growing on me. Amy and Rory, however? I was on board from the beginning.

Those things said, "The Doctor's Wife" (spoilers at the link, sweetie) -- written by Gaiman -- was possibly the best episode ever. Really, truly.













I wanted to see the universe, so I stole a Timelord and ran away. You were the only one mad enough.

Positively brilliant. And I mean, brilliant. Deliciously romantic and terribly clever.

So, am back in the saddle again boys, on both counts.

Amazeballs.



"17 countries and it has to be unanimous -- unanimous! I can't even get three friends to agree on a restaurant, can you imagine how hard it would be if none of us spoke the same language and our grandparents killed each other in WWII?"