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If I keep following Kevin Bacon, it’ll end in a restraining order.

Because Downton Abbey sucker punched me right in the heart, I decided a serial killer soap opera chaser was an awesome idea.

So Kevin Bacon is a drunken maverick and some shit with his sister and he sort of but not really bonds with Mike the adorably scruffy FBI kid but… I actually don’t even care that much. Aside from a flashback that involves adorably drunken Kevin Bacon, the FBI people have lost my interest entirely, and I’m really just watching them for the big reveal that everyone but Kevin Bacon was a secret serial killer all along or some shit like that.

This show is truly a soap opera, and the serial killer threesome of Jacob, Paul, and Emma are where it’s at. As disturbing as it is to admit that.

“You kill Megan and I’ll make pancakes.” And this is why I find them compelling in a way that creeps me out if I think about it too much. They’re so disturbingly… domestic. And familial. And they have so much more in the way of interpersonal dynamics than Kevin Bacon being drunk and grumpy and tragic and refusing to actually have meaningful interactions with anyone he hasn’t slept with.

With our serial killer trio the huge revelation for this episode is – gasp! – Jacob’s never really killed anyone! (Paul ratted him out; I’m guessing Jacob must have confessed to him during a drunken (no homo!) makeout session.) The shock with which this is greeted by Emma is adorable, like someone being told their lover is somehow actually still a virgin. But he seemed so normal! Later we get a flashback of the story he made up about killing someone, like he was just trying to impress his frat brothers.

The poor woman Megan goes from being Paul’s problem to Jacob’s, as Emma and Paul decide this is the perfect time for Jacob to bust his serial killer cherry. And instead, Jacob ends up letting her go, which really does lend credence to Emma’s earlier question of what in god’s name he’s doing with this crew of nuts. Paul and Emma chase the girl down, roll around in the mud a lot, then go take a shower together.

And this is the bit that made the episode for me, if made is really the word I want. Jacob discovers Megan, muddy and tied up in the basement. Then goes to find Paul and Emma in the shower. They both look at him, tell him we aren’t going to give up on you and then, I shit you not, there is a group hug. Can someone please explain to me how the hell three supposed psychopaths have become the most human characters in the series?

I am now officially incapable of watching this show un-ironically. Well, I think I lost that ability somewhere during the second episode, but I’m admitting it now. Emma/Jacob/Paul has become my OT3 and I’m not sure if I can even live with myself any more.

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And now my house looks like this.

[pe2-image src=”http://lh4.ggpht.com/–Y3JmfNhSa8/UR7EMmHr5SI/AAAAAAAAKwk/998WMwLxqEA/s144-c/2013-02-15%25252011.24.38.jpg” href=”https://picasaweb.google.com/104914909709893493346/DropBox?authkey=Gv1sRgCLryga_w-LbXeg#5845325087043740962″ caption=”2013-02-15 11.24.38.jpg” type=”image” alt=”2013-02-15 11.24.38.jpg” ]

 Which is close to the same view as this:

[pe2-image src=”http://lh4.ggpht.com/-5snIc_WEP9c/URXql05HloI/AAAAAAAAKu8/mQEi1HQsKaE/s144-c/2013-02-08%25252023.18.56.jpg” href=”https://picasaweb.google.com/104914909709893493346/DropBox?authkey=Gv1sRgCLryga_w-LbXeg#5842834027157362306″ caption=”2013-02-08 23.18.56.jpg” type=”image” alt=”2013-02-08 23.18.56.jpg” ]

 So yes. On Thursday a trio of nice men (Marco, Francisco, and Greg) came to my house and took everything away. It’ll be delivered down in Houston on the 24th or 25th. And it only took them about two and a half hours to load, since everything was packed already.

It’s really weird to only be going back to my house to clean things. I’m finally starting to really have the point driven home… we’re moving. We’re leaving Colorado. I’m still trying not to think about it too much, to be honest, since I still have my thesis defense waiting ahead. But we’re living with my parents for now (it only took two days for the cats to stop freaking out about being in a new house so that’s good) and we’ll be driving down to Houston next week to get Mike set up there before I fly back to Denver.

And then I’m just here for a few more weeks before I stuff the cats into another car and do the drive again. (Yeah, wish me luck with that. Hoo boy.)

This is weird. I’ve lived in Colorado basically all my life, or at least all my life that I can remember. It’s weird to be leaving.

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Science is my engine of wonder

In response to something seen on tumblr:

This makes me sad in so many ways. I’m a geologist, and that science has done more to introduce me to the grandeur of the world than nearly anything else – and perhaps oddly, to make me feel more connected to the rest of humanity.

I always feel weird quoting myself, but I’ll do it anyway because I don’t think I can come up with better words at the moment. In the wake of the Sendai earthquake, I wrote this:

The Earth is so very, very old, and so very, very vast. We are tiny, and frail, and even the longest life any one of us can hope to have is less than the blink of an eye in the history of our planet. The Earth does not care about us. We have no special significance. We have only each other.

We are all just engines that run on chemical reactions. Our thoughts are just electrical impulses. We are all just made of the same atoms has gravel and slugs, heavy elements that were made in the heart of a dying star an unimaginable stretch of time ago. Maybe it’s easy to get lost in the dry minutiae of it, but step back and consider those things for one moment. We are all mindlessly simple and at the same time breathtakingly complex. Everything is connected on the most fundamental of levels.

I can walk to the top of a lithified dune and know that dinosaurs once walked there; and know the incomprehensible length of time over which the dune was built, sand grain by sand grain by the wind; and know that even today more dunes are being built and insects and mice and humans walk across them and some day, someone else might see those dunes as rocks and wonder who we all were and how we lived; and know that quatz is made of a framework of silica and oxygen made more beautiful by the intrusive imperfections of other atoms; and know those atoms came from deep within the Earth but before then came from the death of a star, and before that and before that…

(and maybe this is why I have never felt the need for religion)

I read a lot of science fiction and fantasy. I write both. And I know my art will never be perfect until I can fully express the overwhelming wonder that fills me every time I consider this fundamental fact: I am just like a badger, like a banana, like a diamond that was ejected from Archean basement rock in a fountain of magma traveling at approximately the speed of sound, and I can dance and dream and love.

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This is what my house looks like right now.

So yeah. That’s an adventure.

[pe2-image src=”http://lh4.ggpht.com/-5snIc_WEP9c/URXql05HloI/AAAAAAAAKu8/mQEi1HQsKaE/s144-c/2013-02-08%25252023.18.56.jpg” href=”https://picasaweb.google.com/104914909709893493346/DropBox?authkey=Gv1sRgCLryga_w-LbXeg#5842834027157362306″ caption=”2013-02-08 23.18.56.jpg” type=”image” alt=”2013-02-08 23.18.56.jpg” ]

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Following Kevin Bacon on a Bender

There is something intensely awkward about, “previously on The Following…”  Maybe they should rethink that one.

So this week another little serial killer got his murder on, going after people for revenge because they made Professor Poe-Obsessed Serial Killer’s life rough. It made revenge seem very shallow and petty which, to be fair, it mostly is. Only the whole revenge aim lacked the motivating rage that makes the story of vengeance at all interesting, and so pretty much just turned into, Gosh if I kill enough people maybe daddy will love me best. The twist at the end might have been more surprising if there hadn’t been a “oh and this person is a serial killer too!” twist at the end of every episode thus far. I’m waiting for Kevin Bacon’s mom to call him up and tell him, “Honey, I just ate a sorority girl’s face.”

Anyway, is it bad that serial killer chick Emma is getting to be my favorite character in the series? I’m highly amused by the way she apparently approaches serial killing as art – “We’re supposed to find out own voice.” Murder, now a thousand times more pretentious. I’m also thinking that by now, everyone around her should know not to even look at her funny when she has a knife. She gets slashy.

Well, and in every sense of the word. In one of the more meaningful flashbacks (and there were a lot of flashbacks, many of which really didn’t seem to have much of a point) we see Emma cheering her two fellow serial killers to kiss because they have to pretend to be a gay couple. It gave me flashbacks to my first Yaoi Con. I mean, for the trying to get boys to kiss. Not the murder.

Other than Emma being disturbingly likable for a sociopathic mom-stabbing killer, the episode was basically a study in Kevin Bacon’s stubble, which sort of ranged anywhere from manly and rugged to Wall Street trader after a three day bender, and seemed to shift between these states at near randomness. Maybe the man just needs a new razor.  There’s a lot of slightly open-mouthed, dark-eyed and moody staring, accompanied by the aforementioned stubble. And another agent calls him “vodka breath” which was kind of the high point of the episode for me.

To be honest, I’m not sure why I keep watching this show. But I will be back next week for your regular Kevin Bacon stubble report.

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Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters

This will come as a surprise to no one at this point I’m sure, but Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters is a terrible movie. And please note the use of the word terrible as opposed to bad. To a certain extent that I should probably be ashamed to admit, I rather love bad movies. Because bad moves that are gleeful and scenery-chewing in their badness (e.g.: The Man With the Iron Fists and Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter) are actually very fun.

But no. This movie is terrible in the way Avatar: the Last Airbender was terrible. It is so devoid of joy and life that it actually begins to suck the life from the audience, like some sort of evil, cinematic vampire. The only thing that made Hansel and Gretel at all better than A:tLA was that I didn’t have to listen to my husband’s running list of complaints regarding the poor quality of Katara’s tai chi in this movie. On the other hand, A:tLA also had the (un)intentional hilarity of Aasif Mandvi to enjoy for his brief moments of smirking. No one in Hansel and Gretel was half that lively.

I received a text message in the middle of the movie (don’t worry, my phone was on vibrate) and I got up and left to check it, hoping for good news. All said and done, I probably missed a good 5-7 minutes of the movie and I could not have cared less.

I think it could have been a fun movie if there had been a nod and wink to the audience like Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter had given us in abundance. Instead, Hansel and Gretel couldn’t seem to decide what it wanted to be. It was overly serious about a concept that should have been darkly hilarious, needlessly gory, and with anachronism that made the entire thing feel off balance rather than whimsical. I feel like they really tried to get their R-rating, set out for it, and there is absolutely no purpose behind it. I like the word fuck as much as the next person, but frankly there was no point to its addition to the dialog beyond a badly aimed attempt at edginess that the movie did not warrant and should not have needed.

The one and only thing I liked about this movie was Gemma Arterton as Gretel. Not because I was in the least bit convinced by her performance or interested in her character, but because for once there was a woman in an action-y movie that got to be badass without being made simultaneously into a sex-kitten. She never has a love interest. She never gets subjected to sexual assault or humiliated based on her gender. I really liked that. 

But on the other hand, the woodcut-like illustration of the opening titles made me deeply uncomfortable at the beginning, which I think killed any cheap enjoyment I might have garnered from the overly fake gore. Frankly, all I could think of from the beginning was the Burning Times. This is not a mental association that’s a recipe for fun, no matter how deliberately anachronistic the setting becomes later; I started the movie feeling creeped out and the feeling never went away. (I realize this is not a reaction the vast majority of people will have, and I can’t say why it bothered me as much as it did; I certainly didn’t go in expecting to feel that way. But it may explain why I personally just could not find anything even remotely cute in this move.)

I wouldn’t even waste my time netflixing this one unless you’re desperate for some Jeremy Renner and can’t find The Bourne Legacy anywhere.

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Lighting a candle instead of cursing the disturbing internet circlejerk of hate.

Recently I’ve been reminded of the sad existence of a guy, internet handle of Vox Day, who frothily hates pretty much everyone who isn’t a white, straight, Christian man. (And no, not linking to his site, because gross. Google it if you want to end your evening snorting borax. Actually check that, I think I should be fair and link to what he’s posted of his platform.) The reminder came in the form of him throwing his hat in the ring to run for SFWA president, and oh hell no. Because of things like this:

[F]emale independence is strongly correlated with a whole host of social ills. Using the utilitarian metric favored by most atheists, a few acid-burned faces is a small price to pay for lasting marriages, stable families, legitimate children, low levels of debt, strong currencies, affordable housing, homogenous populations, low levels of crime, and demographic stability.

Which he later defended as “science” somehow, and I’m not sure if I find this more despicable as a scientist or just as a general human being. As someone who isn’t Christian, male, or all that straight, the ways in which he offends my sensibilities could be a dissertation all its own, and would probably end with this:

So anyway. I don’t get to vote in these elections since I’m a lowly associate member, so all I can really do is just sort of stare at the process. I imagine the expression on my face while doing so is similar to the first time I saw a roadkill armadillo by the side of the road in Texas.

Rather than raising my blood pressure over an awful little internet circlejerk of hateful and small-minded people, I would much rather do something good. John Scalzi came up with a good thing to do: every time Vox Day shits forth a blog post that mentions Scalzi, directly or indirectly, Scalzi will donate money to charity. And we can play along at home, too! The more he hates, the more we give.

I once donated $50 to a candidate for state senate purely because her opponent sent me transphobic campaign advertising. I’ve given money to Jane’s Due Process and Planned Parenthood before just because the Republicans did something to piss me off. This is right up my alley. I’ve committed to $1 per hate-filled screed, up to $200 at the end of 2013. Come, join in the fun!

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Relief is a kind of magic

About three weeks ago I was in kung fu, business as usual, and something in my right shoulder spontaneously imploded. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as how much it scared me. I had surgery in my right shoulder a little less than a year ago. The smallest creek and pop in that shoulder makes me nervous because shoulder surgery sucks so horrendously I never want to do it again.

And the surgeon promised. The surgery would fix everything. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

I went to my GP and she wasn’t comfortable making any kind of diagnosis, so immediately referred me to my orthopedic surgeon. I think after someone’s artificially reconfigured a part of your body, it permanently becomes their baby. But getting an appointment in orthopedics takes some waiting time.

The pain slowly retreated to soreness, but that never completely went away. It’s been like a cloud that’s hung over my head, day and night. I was terrified something had gone wrong, I’d need more surgery, and that I’d also have to permanently quit kung fu. That this would be it, just out of the blue, when I’d been doing everything the physical therapist told me. It wasn’t fair. (Life isn’t, but pain turns anyone into a six-year-old in their head.)

Well, I had my orthopedic appointment today. They did an x-ray series and my surgeon looked them over. He had me do all the little tests – push my hands down, flex my arms apart, reach behind me. Everything was all right. He showed me my new x-rays, and my old ones. In the old ones there was no space between my clavicle and shoulder joint, the ghostly images of my bones apparently connected. In the new x-rays, the artificial gap he created is still there, just as it should be.

Everything was fine, he said. I hadn’t undone anything, or created a new horrible twist in my skeletal system. It was probably just a muscle strain.

I felt lightheaded. I almost started crying, that was how good it felt to have the surgeon tell me that it was okay. And then he said I should go to kung fu tonight, and just take some ibuprofen and ice my shoulder later if I needed to.

And that’s what I did. My shoulder’s a little sore now, but I know I don’t have to be scared.

Having someone take away a fear is a kind of magic.

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Weight loss myths

I think I’ve made my position clear before – losing weight sucks. The process in general sucks, the mental gymnastics suck, the frustration sucks. Probably what sucks the most are the people constantly on your back about weight loss. Particularly since they’re largely full of shit and just trying to make you feel bad.

So about them being full of shit: Myths of Weight Loss Are Plentiful, Researcher Says

Now, he is trying to set the record straight. In an article published online today in The New England Journal of Medicine, he and his colleagues lay out seven myths and six unsubstantiated presumptions about obesity. They also list nine facts that, unfortunately, promise little in the way of quick fixes for the weight-obsessed. Example: “Trying to go on a diet or recommending that someone go on a diet does not generally work well in the long term.”

This article isn’t so much there to tell you what bits of weight loss canon are bullshit – though there’s a handy-dandy quick list at the bottom of it you should really read – but to point out what a shambles research into weight loss seems to be. And it should highlight that if anyone tells you they have all the answers, they are probably full of it, or outright lying to you.

At this point I’ve managed to lose the magical 25% of my starting bodyweight. It actually makes me feel a lot better to know that it’s not unusual at all that I’ve plateaued. Sometimes the truth isn’t what we’d like (sure, I’d love it if riding my bike literally melted fat, but how about I just ride my bike because it’s fun) but it’s better than beating ourselves up over a misconception or a lie.

Beating yourself up at all doesn’t accomplish anything. There’s plenty to fight out there, and none of it should be you. So don’t do it, okay?

Speaking of Gina Kolata, she’s written a book about weight loss research, which I own – Rethinking Thin. At five years old now, it might be getting a little dated, but it was a good book to read since it’s all about where the science was at. (Or wasn’t at, as the case often seemed to be.) I can’t say I exactly enjoyed having that many not-fun truths dropped on me, but there’s a certain power to, after having been struggling up a mountain for years, having someone confirm that yes, it’s a fucking mountain. Losing weight does suck.

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Following Kevin Bacon Again (spoilers)

Kevin Bacon was still quite Kevin Bacon in this second episode, though he was also around a lot less, thus lowering the KBQ (Kevin Bacon Quotient) to dangerous levels.

Honestly, the best part the entire episode was when someone in a hilariously awful Edgar Allan Poe mask attacks Kevin Bacon in a creepy serial killer house (you can tell it’s a serial killer house because there’s writing all over the walls) and it was just sort of laughable and pathetic instead of worrying.

Yeah, like this but less festive.
Yeah, like this but less festive.

There was relatively little murder of pretty blonde girls this time around (just a bit at the beginning that I barely noticed) and then most of it was flashbacks of Kevin Bacon hooking up with the master serial killer’s wife, or two of the main bad guys hooking up over a romantic dinner where the lady serial killer knifes her mom in the back with great precision, having had her haircut criticized one too many times.

The most forehead-slapping bit was when Kevin Bacon and the utterly worthless police crew walked through the serial killer house and paid careful attention to all the quotable Edgar Allan Poe scrawled on the walls.  Apparently our serial killer mastermind in prison has made a religion or something out of Poe because: “…there’s a pathology to our modern internet-bred minds. It creates a vacancy in our humanity…”

All I can think of is… oh if only the antisocial sector on the internet was actually as literate as this show makes it out to be. Then: and really, we’re going to go with the “internet makes us disconnected and therefore sociopaths” thesis here? Do the writers not read anything but the frothiest of subreddits?

Kids these days, with their internets and serial killings and so forth.

The second most forehead-slapping bit was when they realized (gasp) the main serial killer wants to kill his former wife Claire! So instead of, I don’t know, getting her out of the fucking house in light of the fact that in last week’s episode someone got snatched directly from her own home and horribly killed, they just left her there so daddy’s special little serial killer could take a shot at her and gosh, you almost ended up feeling bad for him.

You’re losing me, The Following, for anything but comedy value. All you’ve got is Kevin Bacon. He’d better keep on Kevin Baconning his tush off or I’m going to give up entirely and watch Law & Order reruns on Netflix because they’re measurably less silly.