Watching shows in this house means we're eating dinner. And that also means we're winding down and creating a mood for our evening. This is always way more fun during holiday seasons. Mealtimes become an event, dwarfing the feature/sex combo that follows. We'll turn a cold shoulder to our standard sandwich or pasta night and fill our bodies with delicious oil dripping delivery. We'll message each other all day to try to pair the right meal with the right show, hopefully nailing that perfect episode. A longstanding tradition that we will pass on to our son.
If I had to choose a Horror genre, after giving it an unreasonable amount of thought, I would I have to say it would be 'Anthology.' Horror is best when presented like little nightmares. After all, it's the tiniest cuts that are the most painful. And so I thank the universe for giving me The Horror Series. The bad dreams can weave in and out and change a hundred times, depending on the writers' imagination. A neverending compilation. These are this year's Top 5 meal-enhancing, nostalgia-inducing, monsters in my closet. Viewer discretion is advised.
To say that I have a low self-image is a dramatic understatement. There were portions of my teen years especially that were very unkind. I would agonize in front of a mirror and long for a more socially accepted physique. What I always loved most about this particular installment was how body positive it was. The grotesque looked down upon great beauty with disgust, leaving the viewer not only creeped-out by their horrific reveal, but also to maybe think about the choices they make. Maybe they won't pick on little Dick or Jane tomorrow.
Growing up I wanted to be a million different things, all influenced by a million things that I loved. And added to the jar was to own and operate my very own Spooky Boutique. A goth store, or store of mysticism. I would sells gemstones, good quality black clothes, stinky herbs, and spider jewelry. I came close during my Hot Topic management years, but working for a huge corporation, where we don't choose what we sell, is very different. I do have to say, that every morning, when lifting that gate to open, I would hear Lydia's jingle for her store commercial.
Bookish nerdy men with glasses are hot. I will probably think about getting in your pants. But if you add to that a repressed demon worshiper with a punk rock edge, and you hold my genitals in your hands. Any Halloween episode of any show is exciting, but watching a belligerent chain-smoking Giles trying to nail Buffy's Mom, and I'm wet.
Newspapers, magazines; periodicals in general are the closest thing we have to time travel. Journalism is the only art form (because yes, we should call it that) that is traditionally and ideally objective -- a true account of a time & place without all those pesky abstractions you get with TV, books, music, etc.
This is the toughest one to describe - mostly because I think they didn't really know what they had -- and by "they," I mean the plucky publishers at Starlog. That's right: this is another one of Fango's "sisters" that popped in there at a peak pop culture era - literally sitting on the racks next to its siblings. I mean, it could totally hold its own in terms of style, but not substance; still with the big, splashy, colorful pages, but often the content of the articles (and even how they're placed within the structure of the book) manages to be disorienting (which is a notable failure for a teen trash rag with arrestingly simple subject matter).