This is my ode to Shannen Doherty’s nipples.
The jewels of her perky breasts peek through slinky dresses and tops. Free from bras, the nubs are still bound by cotton or silk. Only outlines of nipples are clear.
I want to see more. (more…)
Every day, I marvel at the ease of access to information on the Internet. Whether I’m looking up the filmography of an obscure actor or actress while watching TV or finding how to fix a plumbing problem on YouTube, the Internet has it all. But it’s definitely a different beast from what it was even ten years ago. Sure, the world as a whole has changed, but in some ways it’s also a case of same stuff, different day of the week. As a preteen I desired access to much information, but that required checking out a stack of books from the library or spending a chunk of cash I didn’t have on film and genre magazines. Nowhere was this more apparent than with information pertaining to that old taboo known as sex. Fragments and elements of sex were accessible on TV, but it was ultimately confusing indeed, like setting out to construct a He-Man jigsaw puzzle that winds up being a Smurf. (more…)
I like wrestling. I can’t stop. I’ve quit actively watching wrestling many times, for many years, and caught maybe ten minutes of the WWE between 2002 and 2009, but during that time I still regularly checked several different wrestling websites multiple times a day. I’d buy burned DVDs of ’80s NWA shows that were transferred over from decaying old VHS tapes of the original TBS broadcasts. Even if I can rarely tolerate the WWE, I still can’t get over my childhood obsession with this weird fake sport that’s offensive, insulting, exciting, hilarious, occasionally smart, always sordid and often deeper than most people will ever acknowledge. And yet, even though I can’t shake my love for wrestling no matter how hard I try (and I tried hard after Chris Benoit, you guys), I still have no interest in watching this weekend’s WrestleMania. (more…)
Whenever I’m in a dollar store one of my favorite things to do is look for the toys, specifically action figures. More often than not comedy gold can be found In the form of cheap knock-off figures based on Spider-Man, Lord of the Rings, Transformers, Robocop or even generic G.I Joe knock-offs with names like “Action Fighting Man”, the packaging promising such exciting things as “Aplomb!” and “Service!”.
1993 was a year of ambitious beginnings. The Trans-Siberian Orchestra was founded and began rocking Christmas. In What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, Leonardo DiCaprio made his debut in a major big-screen role. Square properly introduced the Mana series to U.S audiences with Secret of Mana. And I attempted to create my first videogame.
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My first memory of Star Trek’s Pavel Chekov was seeing him scream.
My mother was (and still is) a big Star Trek fan. Our family watched Star Trek on WPIX every afternoon, so I saw every episode of the series multiple times over the course of a decade. But the first real impression I had of Trek was when a slimy, brainwashing slug crawled into Chekov’s ear in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. It was pretty intense. While Khan wasn’t my first exposure to Star Trek, Khan and the subsequent film, Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, colored how I viewed the series. For instance, while most Trek fans would get psyched on Kirk or Spock, I found myself gravitating towards the supporting cast members like Sulu, Uhura, Scotty and poor, poor Chekov, because they were so prevalent in both of those films. (more…)
My formative years were spent playing with G.I. Joes, reading books and comic books, playing Super Mario Bros. 3 on our tired but dependable Nintendo, and exploring the high speed world of fighter jets. The only time my father had patience with anything was when he was building model airplanes. He had a knack for airbrushing the bodies for authentic coloring, using miniature brushes for cockpit details and even melting strands of glue to create radio wires attached to the plane’s nose and tail.
When he showed us the video for Van Halen’s “Dreams,” featuring the Navy’s Blue Angel squadron, I was awed by the nimble twists and turns of the F-18 Hornet. The plane spun and dove with such precision and such ease that I instantly fell in love with the fighter jet. I vowed to one day be a pilot. (more…)
