Whatever you think of Michael Jackson, you can’t deny his impact on pop culture and music… for FOUR DECADES. Wow. This movie answers a few questions I had about his musicianship, which is astonishing. I was agog watching MJ working with his band, and fairly impressed by his physical willingness to entertain. Fifty years old… hard to believe.

The film ignores tabloid topics, which is probably appropriate. It is an homage to influence of a man who became a phenomenon. I couldn’t help mourning for the show itself – the people involved in it, pouring so much effort and money into an endeavor that never came to fruition. You feel their enthusiasm as a real force, their worship of this man who was a true icon, for better or worse. Like I said, if nothing else this film is fascinating for the curious.

And yeah, I couldn’t hold back. I did a little Thriller dance in a my seat. I wasn’t alone. :)

I have a crush on Peter Sagal. Simple.

I honestly didn’t know Katherine Hepburn could be funny. This film is full of completely unnecessary scenes and silly dialogue, but that’s exactly why I love it. I mean, Jimmy Stewart opening his coat to show the butler he isn’t hiding the silver…

Cary Grant thaws long enough to give some warm performances, but the women in the cast really shine, Hepburn especially.

This movie blurs the line between documentary and realistic fiction, even moreso because the acting is incredibly – and I mean in-credibly – natural. The teens blew me away.

John Green and I have a private romance, by the way. In my head. And insofar as he can do no wrong, I loved loved loved this book. But then I got to thinking a bit about what I love about his writing. He’ll have his character thinking all kinds of intricate, intelligent, self-analytical thoughts but only able to mutter, “Uh huh,” around his hormones. That rings true to me.

So I guess the Margo/Q encounter was jarring to me because it was too eloquent once they got cookin’. I mean, both characters had a lot of time to think, of course, but the dialog rang as a tad self-indulgent on the author’s part. It sounded like conversations I script in my head after the fact – the “I shoulda saids” of life. And the idea that Margo had a crush on him all along…? I’d like to write a book about my not-so-prom-date of yore where it turns out like that, but I’d call it therapy and keep it in a veeery safe place where nunnayall could read it.

Am I just cynical, here? Do correct me.

Gotta love that this book made me laugh out loud on the train. Embarrassing, but worth it.

This gets my “worth consuming” with the huge caveat that it’s only worth consumption for those already hooked. At this point in the series, Meyer’s editor has let her foot off the brake entirely. Here’s a self-indulgent book that makes it a stranger to the first book in the series. From artfully constructed literary parallels in books one and two, we now have a sort of pet plot and pet characters. That’s okay with me – I’ll be honest – because I wanted to see everything gel. It’s just not a literary accomplishment at this point.

I’ve been thinking hard about this series and why it’s uncomfortable in its way. I think it has to do with Bella as the gothic romance heroine. The problem here is simple: gothic heroine’s have little to no agency, and there’s not much room for that doormat female character in contemporary literature. I have to say there’s something backwards-ly brave of Meyer for creating a main character who’s a complete dishrag, but it’s the same kind of backwards step that makes Sarah Palin a self-proclaimed Maverick. The more I think about it, even Bella’s favorite literary characters (Jane Eyre, etc) had more spine than she did. That’s saying something.

Ah well. I enjoyed it. A good ride while it lasted, with a fairly satisfying end.

I hope not. I’m aching for another Chrestomanci book. This one was a satisfying tapestry of characters throughout the loosely joined series and had the air of a Last Book. Love how DWJ allows you to discover her characters slowly. No two-dimensional cutesy crap here.

Meera Syal is one of my favorite British comediennes, and I was expecting a laugh in this book. I was blindsided by the depth, the rich characterization, real-life impossible situations, and the casual, but continually sharp investigations of the Asian/British culture clash. I’m fascinated by Syal’s perfect rhythm of humor and poetry.

My first experience with Sarah Vaughan was fittingly pubescent; I had a 2-disc set of her Colombia years, orchestral arrangements floating with flowery trills and radio-friendly lyrics. I was impressed, loved the songs, but there was something too straight-laced about the voice.

And then come the jazz sides… Holy shit this woman can sing! On this album you hear Vaughan’s impeccable sense of rhythm, improvisation and humor. She proves herself as a scion of be-bop. I can’t stand it. I have so much to learn from this woman!

This surprising slim volume starts several discussions beyond the biography it tells. Along with the life of an extraodinary inventor, I also got a glimpse into the morals of industrial chemistry, a technical history of the fashion industry, and the history of the rise of women’s consumerism. Pretty sweet for such a short read!

And no, I still won’t be caught dead in mauve.