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Archive for January, 2012

CLASSIC: It is an honor I dream not of.

Posted by kozemp on January 13, 2012

Since, as we all know, my motto is and has always been “Safety First” – followed closely by “Dignity, Always Dignity” – we’re going to return today to our occasional series of seminars on drastic and dangerous life events.

This week’s topic is “how to survive going to two weddings in one day.”

– Firstly and most importantly – this really cannot be stressed enough – do not wait until the day you are attending two weddings to buy the shoes you are planning on wearing to two weddings. For while your brand-new shoes may be very impressive in their own right, and when combined with your brand-new suit and shirt and tie, all selected and coordinated specifically for the two-wedding day, make you resemble nothing so much as the reincarnation of Burt Lancaster himself, and we’re talking like vintage 1955 “I just got finished sleeping with Ava Gardner AND Lana Turner and, my oh my, what’s your name, sweetheart?” Burt Lancaster, wearing brand-new shoes to two weddings in one day is a CATASTROPHICALLY BAD IDEA. Doing so will cause your resemblance to Burt Lancaster to rapidly erode, as it is a known fact that Burt Lancaster was in possession of both his feet, and after a couple hours of wearing brand-new wingtips the only thought in your entire head – overriding your base, lizard-brain lusting after food, sex, lower taxes and oxygen – will be a burning desire to chop off your own feet with a rusty axe.

– Have backup. This is valuable in several respects. If, for instance, you tear the price tag off your brand-new tie a little too vigorously and rip out one of the moorings of the little tie-holder-label-thingy, while driving to the first wedding you can call your backup and say, “you got any safety pins? What do you mean you threw out all your safety pins? How the fuck can you throw away anything as fantastically useful as safety pins? Fabric glue? Will that set in time? Okay, fine, bring that.” (This is an actual, complete quote.) Or, when partway through the first of two weddings in one day, you can say to your father, “if you don’t get me a pair of golf shoes that look like wingtips I’m going to chop my feet off with a rusty axe.” If your backup gets snippy, you can remind them that pain overrides family and that once you start chopping off body parts it can be very hard to stop. You know, like Jedi.

– While buying nice new Burt Lancaster-izing clothing for two weddings in one day is endorsed, if you are buying your clothing at someplace you have never shopped before be sure that you actually look at the prices of the clothes you’re buying, so you can avoid situations such as tearing the price tag off your brand-new tie a little too vigorously and, while wondering how you’re going to fix the little tie-holder-label-thingy, glancing at the too-vigorously-removed price tag and realizing that you have paid more for a tie than you normally do for a shirt, and that you normally pay pretty handsomely for shirts to begin with. This realization is closely followed by a feeling of growing horror while you try to calculate how much you paid for the new shirt from this place, then wondering whether the guy at the gas station on the way to work on Monday morning will accept the change from your cup holders as payment.

– While the bucolic location for the first reception might make you think that everyone will be very relaxed and easygoing, always remember to be very, very careful when surrounded by large groups of Germans. This advice applies pretty much anywhere, really. And for god’s sake, whatever you do, don’t mention the war.

– Your desire to end the lives of certain guests at the reception is not something you should verbalize.

– At the first reception, if your father has been hopelessly addicted to the bride’s grandmother’s pastries for the last 40 years, telling your father that the dessert tray is a collection of pastries made by the bride’s grandmother and that they are out and ready to be eaten is a surefire way to guarantee that you do not get to eat any of said pastries.

– Silk suspenders do not have the same kind of “give” in them as the cheaper, elastic suspenders you may have worn in the past. This means that things like going to the bathroom take exponentially longer as you will spend several minutes trying, Houdini-like, to extricate yourself from them, since after you realize that you could have made a car payment for what you inadvertently paid for said silk suspenders you will find breaking your own back preferable to doing any damage to the goddamn things.

– Wearing contact lenses for the first time in almost a year is recommended if the first reception is outside on a beautiful sunny day, as it makes the wearing of sunglasses possible. Trying to drive from one reception to another in the dusk of twilight while wearing contact lenses for the first time in almost a year is not recommended, as the combination of your eyes adjusting to your slightly-different vision and the tricky, shifting light of the immediate post-sunset period will make driving in under-lit suburbs much more exciting than it really needs to be.

– When arriving at your friend’s parents’ house for the second reception, do not trip over the SAME GODDAMN TRICK DOORSTEP THAT YOU HAVE TRIPPED OVER EVERY ONE OF THE HUNDREDS OF TIMES YOU’VE GONE INTO THAT HOUSE FOR THE LAST TWENTY FUCKING YEARS! Seriously, don’t do that.

– No matter how much your new clothing makes you resemble Burt Lancaster, the sentence, “you look so much like my ex-girlfriend that I really thought you were her, but when you walked past and didn’t punch me in the face I realized you weren’t” is not the first thing you want to say to someone you’ve just met. The fact that it is 100% literally true does not matter. Even at a nighttime, outdoor reception, where the darkness makes you resemble Burt Lancaster that much more, saying things like this clearly marks you as “not relationship material.”

– Get your friend who lives out of town and is thus marrying a woman you haven’t met yet to introduce you to his new wife BEFORE he is drunk.

– If you once watched one of your friends drink 26 beers in one night, offer him a ride home BEFORE people start playing beer pong if you want to leave the party any time soon.

– And, finally – whether your belief tends toward Jehovah, Vishnu or the Lords of Kobol, never let anyone think that you don’t thank the powers that be every day that you have the friends you have, without whom none of these fun things are possible. (Or necessary.)



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I could be the good guy.

Posted by kozemp on January 8, 2012

I was involved in a conversation on Facebook about Jean Grey.

I realize that some people will read that sentence and feel an urgent need to bail on this whole thing right now, so I’ll pause here for a minute to give them the opportunity to do so.

So, yes: there was a discussion, of which I was a part, about Jean Grey. A point was made that Jean Grey is pretty awesome. Now I had thought that this point was so blatantly, unassailably obvious that no one would even bother voicing disagreement.

Problem is, someone did not disagree – I mean, how could you? – but made a corollary statement so reprehensible, so unthinkable, so simply and fundamentally WRONG that had Cthulhu himself heard it he would have replied, “dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

This statement was:

“Emma rocks.”

Oh no.

Oh, HELL no.

Emma Frost does not rock. Not even a little. And even if she did – which she fucking well does not – Emma Frost does not compare to Jean Grey. Emma Frost is to Jean Grey what… you know what, I don’t even need the SAT analogy question. Emma Frost is to Jean Grey what Emma goddamn Frost is to Jean Grey. They are not even remotely comparable, and I will give you ten reasons why.


Jean Grey is a redhead. Emma Frost is a blonde. I have nothing against blondes, and have historical records to prove this, but in terms of pure hotness they lag behind redheads. I mean, that’s just science.

The only way, in a purely physical sense, that Jean Grey could be any hotter would be if she were a tall, curvy brunette, and yes, people in the back raising their eyebrows right now and muttering “I don’t think THAT part is science,” I can hear you.

This 100% scientific fact, conveniently, segues nicely into my next point.


In the movies, Jean Grey is played by Famke Janssen. Famke Janssen is incredibly hot. This, again, is science, and the fact that she is a tall, curvy brunette is pure coincidence.

In addition to being incredibly hot, Famke Janssen is also incredibly awesome. Think about the things you’ve seen Famke Janssen in: Goldeneye. Rounders. The first two X-Men movies (i.e the good ones). That one TNG episode. When you think about that stuff, invariably the first thing you think of is, “man, Famke Janssen was awesome in that.” If you watch the end of X2 and don’t cry like a little girl at Jean’s death scene, well, I’m pretty sure you aren’t human. And I once read an interview with the writers of Rounders where the first question – I am not making this up – is “why didn’t Mike have sex with Petra?”

If your movie stars Matt Damon, and Ed Norton, and John Malkovich, and John Tuturro, and is single-handedly responsible for jump-starting a multibillion dollar industry, and the first question you get asked is “shouldn’t that guy have fucked Famke Janssen,” you are talking about a woman who leaves a fairly indelible mark.

Jean Grey is played by Famke Janssen.

Emma Frost is played by January Jones.

I don’t think I need to elaborate any further THERE, do I?


No, seriously, January Jones. EOL.


January Jones! For chrissakes! She’s AWFUL. She’s awful in EVERYTHING. Like everyone else, I used to think it was just Betty, that the problem was that she was playing the worst character on television. Alas, this is not the case. She is wretchedly unlikeable and awful in everything. EVERYTHING. Yes, even Love Actually. I know, right? You think, “wait, that can’t be, Love Actually is a perfect movie!” And every year I agree with you, and spend a whole year in anticipation of watching a perfect film, and then every December I (and you) get to that scene and say, “oh, fuck me, I forgot January Jones is in this.”

When your ass is getting blown out of the water acting-wise by Ivana Milecevic and Elisha Cuthbert – Elisha Cuthbert! – you have serious problems, and their names are all “I am a terrible actress.” I even watched that shitty Liam Neeson movie she was in – I legitimately cannot remember the name of it now, and refuse to look it up – and she’s fucking terrible in THAT.

And First Class, Jesus Christ in a handcart, don’t even get me started on that. In First Class her performance brings every scene she’s in to a screeching halt. I believe Damon Lindelof, after viewing First Class, said it best: “turns out Emma Frost has three mutant powers: telepathy, diamond form, and sucking at acting.”

Famke Janssen > January Jones. That is all.


Wolverine, if you weren’t aware, has been secretly-or-not-so-secretly in love with Jean Grey since time immemorial. This has been played up and down in the comics over the years, and was played very nicely and poignantly in the first two movies, until BRETT FUCKING RATNER showed up in the third movie and decided to turn something nice and poignant into just one more sledgehammer to bludgeon the audience with.

BRETT FUCKING RATNER plays the end of X3 as “Wolverine has to kill Jean because his powers will let him survive!” No, dickface, Logan has to kill Jean because he’s the only person left alive who still loves her after you cockmongers killed off Cyclops because he made a movie with Bryan Singer, and that’s how the goddamn story has to end.

The point of all this being that Wolverine is, pound for pound, basically the most awesome thing in the entire universe, and HE wants to fuck Jean Grey. If you’re the most amazing thing in the universe and there’s someone other than yourself that you want to have sex with, that person must, by definition, be pretty goddamn amazing.

Once again, this leads nicely into my next point, which is…


The only person who wants to have sex with Emma Frost is Cyclops, and…


Jean Grey’s greatest and most important mutant power is the ability to put up with Cyclops. Yes. Tolerating Scott Summers is more impressive than turning into a giant flaming space monster and using your mind to destroy an entire galaxy.

I’m sure we’ve all noticed this, but just in case you haven’t, Scott Summers is a gigantic douche.

Let’s see: you are a handsome and affluent white male. You are highly intelligent. You are in physical shape that would make Olympic athletes weep with jealousy. Though they are admittedly of somewhat limited use you have SUPER POWERS. You live in an ultra-mansion in Westchester County where, and this really cannot be stressed enough, you are the LEADER OF A TEAM OF SUPER HEROES who kick 14 kinds of ass across MULTIPLE GALAXIES AND PARALLEL UNIVERSES. One of your brothers is (or was, I haven’t entirely kept up) a government secret agent, the other is an Emperor, for chrissakes, and your father is a PIRATE WITH A SPACESHIP.

And all. You do. Is WHINE. You whine constantly about how hard your life is.

Oh, and, lest I forget: your wife is a smoking hottie who is one of the most powerful beings in the universe. Who, more importantly than being one of the most powerful beings in the universe, puts up with your whiny bullshit. Loves you, even!

Seriously, every time I see Cyclops I just… I don’t even want to punch him in the face. I want to kick him in the junk. And this, Jean Grey marries.

She’s not a mutant. She’s a goddamn saint.


The reason that stuck-up douche Cyclops even gets to think about Emma Frost is because his wife has the unfortunate habit of dying, and in the periods where she temporarily shuffles off our mortal coil, in his grief, Scott chooses to fuck the blonde chick dressed like a prostitute who hangs around the mansion because everyone else on earth hates her.

But wait, you say, temporarily? That means…

Yes. Jean Grey dies a lot, but that’s not really a big deal because Jean Grey always comes back to life. She scoffs in the face of death. Seriously. She’s died, what, five or six times now? When she died at the end of Morrison’s X-Men run, did you say “ZOMG JEAN DIED!” No. Of course not. You’re not stupid (like Emma Frost). You calmly sat back and said, “well, of course Jean died. That’s what Jean does.” And, if what she does is die repeatedly, then by extension something else she must do is always come back to life. It’s incredible. Doomsday, whose stated superpower is coming back to life, looks at Jean Grey and says, “wow, that chick is pretty amazing. And hot, though it wouldn’t kill her to darken to a nice brunette.”

Emma Frost is a slut who turns into a rock and reads minds (turns out most people near her are thinking “wow she looks like a slut”). Jean Grey is a dignified schoolteacher who is IMMUNE TO DEATH.


January Jones. Seriously, man, January fucking Jones.


Let me be honest for the barest picosecond here: guys who are smart and competent, despite public approval of cheerleaders and fashion models and Britney Spears, like women who are also smart and competent. The smarter and more competent the better.

Bearing that in mind, let’s see:

Jean Grey graduated from a prestigious and selective private school, can fly a jet, teaches children, has a level of sheer patience with whiny douchebags unparalleled in human history and, oh yeah, can’t die and is the most powerful telekinetic in the universe.*

Emma Frost was Sebastian Shaw’s girl Friday.


One of these women exudes class and brains and competence. The other is Emma Frost.
















* Barring, possibly, the son of her demonically-possessed clone who was raised two thousand years in the future, but that’s another show.

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