Virtual Flaneurism

Video blogger takes on artist Alison Blechdel's test for female presence in films. Films pass her test when:

1. There are two or more women in the film.

2. They speak to one another...

3. ...about something other than a man.

It is surprisingly hard to find a film that passes this test.

YES THANK YOU. I have spent two days listening to people say this show ended well. It only ended well if you are the kind of person who is pleased reading a five hundred page book that has pages 450-498 torn out and pages 459 and 500 are TERRIBLY CORNY DENOUEMENT.

Of course, one cannot truly blame the finale itself. The finale was the inevitable conclusion to a story with creators who never bothered to write a plot-line. It infuriates me to think about how much time I spent despite so many people saying, "They'll never tie this up, they don't know where they're going with it." True enough: they clearly had no clue. The lack of nuance in the "answer" given to the mysteries they did answer fully suggest that they were more focused on twists than ever delivering a coherent solution. LOST should be remembered not as the ground-breaking show it seemed to be, but the pinnacle in failed promises. The main draw of LOST was its eventual solution - the cathartic moment when all those puzzle pieces clicked into place. What we got instead was a weak, "we're all together again" drama-rama and a bunch of loose ends.

It should not be too much to expect a mystery to have a solution. Dramatic television, I have lost (no pun intended) my trust in you: fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...

Oh, oh, this video never ceases to be a delight.

An entire half of my childhood was spent cursing out that $!*%ing bastard Donkey Kong, Jr. Usually this would culminate in me tossing the controller at the television in a furious rage and shouting a confusing insult at DK Jr. about how he was a white trash palette swap of the McDonald's Grimace.

All of this anger applies equally to the ever infuriating Princess Peach, whose plastic Carol Brady hair and orange poo-shrooms continue to haunt my dreams.