Absolutely, I would take that bet … I have nothing to fear. I don’t do matching undies.
Absolutely, I would take that bet … I have nothing to fear. I don’t do matching undies.
Did I die and go to heaven? Is there a game that covers my two personal geek niches, trivia and horror, at the same time? Well, yes, yes there is. Here it is. One hundred years of horror! Sign. Me. Up.
You may not realize this, but 1981 was a great year for nerds. This epic year saw the release of Trivial Pursuit (thank you Canada!), the game that allowed us to shine. Cut us some slack; chances are, if we were masters of Trivial Pursuit, we didn’t have a whole lot of outdoor sports skills available to us. The game itself was originally released in 1979 … but it took a couple of years for it to catch on and catch on it did. It has since exploded with a litany of variations: Star Trek (lucky UK!), Baby Boomers, Lord of the Rings, Silver Screen, and even a Book Lovers edition, just to name a few.
At the peak of Trivial Pursuit’s meteoric rise – between 1983 and 1986, I was lucky to be surrounded by other nerds, and we threw intimate parties to showcase who knew the most about nothing at all. We took this seriously, and generally divided ourselves into teams: the classic boys vs girls, with the boys excelling in the sports category while the girls swept the rest. I think it goes without saying that alcohol was a part of these parties, but my memories are of good friends and good times. At least I think that’s what I remember; like I just said, alcohol played a part of the gatherings.
Trust me, the apple didn’t far fall from the tree… at least in so far as gaming goes (remind me to tell you about my mother’s addiction to the original Mario Brothers sometime). Like most of us in days gone by, my family had game nights. Today’s kids will never know the joy of bankrupting your brother in a rousing, friendship ending game of Monopoly. My parents taught us card games like Hearts, and a quirky little game called I Blew It (back off, guys, it was just a dice game). Then, geeks and nerds everywhere rejoiced with the release of Trivial Pursuit, and my family was right there with the best of them. We were able to showcase our knowledge of state capitals, obscure authors, foreign etiquette, and bizarre scientific facts. Take that, jocks!
I still love Trivial Pursuit and it’s new-age ilk … I have an unrepentant addiction to the aptly named TriviaCrack. My brain isn’t full of many useful things, but by golly, I can tell you that John Tyler was the tenth president of the United States, that the first letter on a typewriter is Q, that Yankee Stadium is the House that Ruth Built, and that amoebas can group together and form something called a slime mold.
At the same time, anyone who would be so inclined as to check my Netflix lists would think I am slightly, or mostly, unhinged by my “recommended” movies and watched list. Goofy monsters, slashers, aliens, and ghosts; if its creepy, I’ve watched it three times. I am nothing if not a horror aficionado.
Now, Trivial Pursuit has raised the bar with a horror movie edition. Horror trivia? Be still, my heart.
I can’t recall where I am supposed to be tomorrow at four (but I know it’s someplace important), what I had for breakfast, or what I did last night, but I can sing every word to the creepy “One, two, Freddie’s coming for you” song and I just happen to know the best-selling fiction book of all time. Hint: it’s Don Quixote.
In a world where walking fast is an Olympic Sport, I want to find a way to make money playing Trivial Pursuit, the Horror Edition.
Sex has become such a predictable part of novels and movies that it isn’t a matter of if the protagonists are going to get it on, it’s when are they going to get busy. For me the burning question is, where are our sex-starved lovebirds going to get it on? It seems no setting is too awkward and no place is off-limits. I recently watched Jurassic World to familiarize myself with how the movie left off before seeing the next one. Out of all the special effects, blood, gore, body parts and roaring dinosaurs, one scene struck me as ridiculous. Towards the end, in a burning street with pterodactyls swooping around them and picking up kids to carry them off for unpleasant pterodactyl things, with dinosaurs thundering towards them while they were covered in dirt, sweat and blood, the protagonists stood atop an overturned car and shared a passionate kiss. Really? No matter how much I like the guy, I’m not thinking swallowing tonsils is an appropriate response to rampaging dinosaurs. Maybe that’s why Chris Pratt isn’t knocking down my door.
In staged sex scenes, everything is smooth and perfect. The bedroom is large enough to house a family of four and their seven cats, three dogs, and parakeet. The participants’ clothes slide off and fold themselves nicely on the chair. Candles light themselves with no outside help. The bed is neatly made and no one trips over the comforter. No one’s head slides between the pillows, and the female never gets her hair stuck under her back or in the male’s armpit. No one giggles like a child over noises or says “eww.” When it’s over, everyone finds their socks. Flawless execution, beginning to end.
What really fascinates me are the shower scenes. Somehow our extraordinarily perfect heroes fit into a perfect shower perfectly. Where can I find these showers? I don’t want to have shower sex with anyone, I just want to find a shower that would fit two people in it to begin with. And who the hell has a bathroom the size of my living room? Seriously, I just want their living quarters.
Let’s compare, shall we?
Movie shower scene:
Female is in shower, hair slicked back and sexy with water. Gentle billows of steam frame her naughty bits as the chiseled male slides back the glass door. He lifts her effortlessly, pushing her against the wall or pushes her against the glass door for added visual fun for the viewer. These two are obviously Yoga masters. They kiss passionately, the deed is done, and suddenly they are having coffee in the kitchen while wearing bathrobes.
Female is in the shower with mud mask on her face, shaving her legs while her hair is lathered. Male pulls aside the shower curtain. Female protests about the puddles of water now all over the floor. Male diligently adjusts shower curtain. He turns to female and attempts to lift her smoothly, but her skin is slippery so…not so much. They both pretend they meant to stand at the awkward angle in which they now find themselves. Male reaches around female to lower the temperature of the water. Female turns it back up. Both struggle to stay under the spray so no one is left out, shivering in the cold. Kissing ensues, followed by spitting mouthfuls of water out as sexily as they can. They turn in the space, about as large as a kitchen cabinet (if you lived in a studio apartment, that is), to find an angle where they can fulfill their shower fantasy. Bottles of shampoo go flying off shelves, and the shower-caddy is knocked to the floor. Female ignores it because bending over to pick it up is…not sexy. She is covertly trying to wipe shampoo from her now burning eyes. Feet are placed in shallow corners of the tub in a vain attempt to balance. What transpires next depends on the height differences of our heroes, but it probably isn’t pretty. Afterwards, male plops down in front of TV to watch football while female straightens the bathroom and mops water off the floor.
Couch sex isn’t pretty, either. Somehow in movies they find couches that are seven feet long and six feet wide. Our heroes will never know the frustration of sliding pillows, or the victory of finding a Dorito between the cushions. They won’t hit their shins on the coffee table or knock over the lamp, or know the special joy of a dog trying to get on the couch, too.
Let’s face it, real sex isn’t necessarily pretty. I honestly don’t want the perfection of movie sex, because the laughter is part of what makes it so enjoyable. Our heroes never seem to make the mistakes that make sex so fun.
But damn, I would love to have their houses.
Pay no attention to the woman lounging on the couch in her pajamas browsing through the “new releases” on On-Demand, counting down the hours until the new Thor and Justice League show times roll around while daydreaming about those tickets, lovingly ensconced in a bureau drawer, to the ‘Chocolate Binge Festival’ about to hit town in another two weeks. You see, there ARE a few things that are worth dragging my
lazy relaxing weekend butt out of the house.
Have you ever wanted a superpower? Of course you have…it’s just a matter of which one. While more of a supernatural power than superpower, I always thought it would be awesome to have the freezing and blowing-things-up abilities that Piper from “Charmed” had. Her power centered around being able to control molecular motion — she could slow it down to freeze things (and people) and speed it up which resulted in the thing or person exploding. I’m not sure I’d be nearly as ethical as Ms. Halliwell though, in the use of such powers. So perhaps it’s for the best that I’m just ordinary.
But I got to thinking of other powers, and the pros and cons of each. You know, I’m not sure all superpowers are all they’re cracked up to be. After watching “Jumper,” I realized that teleporting would be a particularly cool skill to have. Think of the places you could see, the travelling you could do, the banks you could rob…umm, I mean, the travelling you could do!
Although, knowing me…it wouldn’t help my social calendar at all.
There’s not many things that will make me shout out “Hallelujah!” but it did recently happen. Care to guess why? Was it because I nearly avoided being involved in a terrible car accident with my one and only daughter in the vehicle with me? Did a friend called me with news of their cancer going into full remission (I wish!)? Was Publisher’s Clearinghouse outside my front door one morning with a big check? No such luck.
Sadly, none of these are the reasons for my exclamation. In those examples, I think a word like “Hallelujah” is pretty appropriate. There’s no shame in admitting that. Unfortunately, the real reason might not be quite as noble. So enough with the suspense. You want to know what happened? Here you go…
A show I really like just released a new season on Netflix.
Wait, wait. Before you judge my use of religious superlatives you have to understand. I’d been waiting SO LONG to catch up on the latest episodes and re-watch some others.
Something tells me most of you understand that feeling; the jubilation that you can finally see how that cliffhanger turned out. The wait between seasons is becoming more and more common and as much as I enjoy the higher quality television we’re getting, I am not a fan of the wait.
It used to be such a simple formula. Shows began their seasons in September. There’d be a good couple months of new episodes, then some repeats, then another stretch of new shows up until the big season finale in May. We all have our summer vacations where we spend time outside and away from the TV. In August, the commercials whetting our appetite would start again, then in September the cycle would start over again.
Not anymore. This new “Golden Age of TV” is like the wild west. There are no rules. No promises of when we’ll see these characters again. There’s not even a guarantee that they’ll be back on the same station. It’s all up in the air now making some of the wait times far, far too long.
I only need to bring up Game of Thrones and any devoted watchers are sure to understand my frustrations. But if you’re not into GoT that doesn’t mean you’re immune. Walking Dead anyone? Season 2 of Jessica Jones? Peaky Blinders? Don’t even get me started on Sherlock. Always Sunny in Philadelphia just ended their latest season in March and won’t be back until 2019! Heck, there’s a comedy on TBS, Nobodies, that just finished their first season. I repeat, their first season. At the end of the finale they had the audacity to put up on the screen “We will return in 2018.” 2018!? What the hell? I sort of understand when you have shows with high production values and intricate set pieces, but this show is literally just about three writers sitting around their office getting into awkward situations. There are no CGI dinosaurs to create. No monster make-up to apply head to toe. How can it take so long for them to give us another season? If a tiny show like that can take more than half a year to give us new material, what hope do we have of quickly made Westworlds or Fargos or, be still my heart, Taboos?
Like I said previously, I’m loving what TV studios are putting out there for us now. Trust me, I don’t want to go back to the days of choosing between King of Queens and Malcolm in the Middle (blech). But a person can only be expected to be so patient and I’ve been finding that patience tested on a regular basis when I get invested in a new show. All I have to say is thank god for books and Netflix. If I didn’t have them I don’t know how I’d get through.