After a disappointingly ordinary showing at NYFW’s Fall 2013 Ready-to-Wear shows, I’ve found my bat$h!t. It was in Russia.
Knowing that Rachel allowed the rest of the world to fall into chaos to save her son doesn’t do much to endear her to me. I’m not a parent, so of course, I could’nt imagine the type of choice she must have been faced with. However, I’m a student of the great philosopher, Spock, who very memorably reminded us that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.
I maintain that Rumpy never wanted to be good for the right reasons in the first place. The right reason to be good is that it’s the right thing to do. Rumpy has only wanted to be good because being good gets him Belle.
This week, Rhea and Destiny keep things short and go through their regulars. There’s talk of Superman, Rhea’s tax refund adventures, games, and teasing for a future Evil Dead (2013) nerd fight.
The history and legacy of the DC Universe surrounded its superheroes with a culture of heroism that is reflected in those that came before them, a culture that has its own mythology. It could be argued that the convoluted history of the DC Universe seems more immersive of an experience, whereas the heroes of Marvel rarely give a fig about [their heroes]
Or, My, How I Hate Hiatuses. What is the plural for that anyway? I had to look it up because I thought “hiatuses” just looked weird, but then “hiati” didn’t work either.
One of the reasons I stopped reading fashion magazines a few years ago was because they regularly made me feel like garbage and like I was doing it wrong. “It” being getting dressed. And life. And everything. (Because if you’re a woman who’s visibly getting older, you’re obviously doing it wrong in America).
Today we have a copy of Paul Cornell’s new book, London Falling, to giveaway to a Pink Raygun reader. To enter, answer me this: You’re a paranormal beastie in an urban fantasy novel. What city are you terrorizing and why?
Labels permeate our society. We can’t exist without some kind of succinct definition as to who we are, usually given to us by someone else. It’s the invisible name tag we’re handed and we sometimes get stuck with it. I’ve struggled with my label, growing up at a time where it wasn’t cool to be on the outskirts. While I was never bullied, it hurt not be included.