My kids finally convinced me to watch an episode or two of Nickelodeon's new show, "Victorious," with them yesterday. I had seen a few minutes from the end of another episode and wasn't too impressed. Like many of Dan Schneider's other shows (iCarly, Drake & Josh, Zoey 101) the funny scripts took a hit from poor teenage overacting--except for anything with Gibby in it on "iCarly." That kid is fucking hilarious.

That's not to say I wasn't interested in "Victorious," just for the wrong reason. The only thing I knew about it was that its star, Victoria Justice, had previously guest-starred on an episode of "iCarly" where she wore a sports bra for 80% of the show and made me feel like 100% of a creepy perv for the rest of the week."Victorious" wouldn't make me feel much different. I wasn't prepared for was the highly sexualized content in a show about a half-dozen sexy teenagers who go to a performing arts school. Of course, I'm far from the type to jump on a soapbox and decry how we're corrupting our youth. Instead, I want to know where the hell were shows like this when I was fourteen? Do you know how hard it was to masturbate to "Saved By the Bell" and "Double Trouble?"

In this particular episode, the kids went to the beach in an RV and, in a take on the classic trope of "people getting locked in stuff" (i.e. walk-in freezers, bank vaults, elevators stuck between floors) another RV parks beside them while they are getting ready, preventing them from getting the door open. The air conditioner doesn't work and the windows can't be opened, which is all an excuse for flat-stomached teenage girls in bikinis to lounge about getting sweaty.Meanwhile, one of the girls had already left the RV to go pee, serving as a reverse McGuffin that the trapped characters must wait to find and save them. Unfortunately, she gets sidetracked when she bumps into four hot dudes on the beach and...

Whoa...

Um, I mean what really caught my eye was that sexy hip shake. That is not something a cold person does to get warm. That is something a drunk sorority girl does when she's trying to win a wet T-shirt contest.And just in case that was too subtle, the four guys then surround her for a Supersoaker circle jerk.Now, I'll grant you the Ghost homage was pretty funny, though I doubt any of the kids watching the show got it... which indicates to me that the producers understand, "While our target audience might be kids, a significant portion of our viewers are creepy dudes in their 30's and 40's who want to see sexy teenagers, so throw in a few jokes for them, too."

And once you realize that, it's hard not to overanalyze everything else. Why does the pottery guy later emphasize his desire to "glaze" her pot for her? Why do the four guys want to eat tuna with the girl? When they get snowcones, is there something symbolic about her getting cherry? She sure is eager to get rid of her cherry (snowcone) since she gets a brainfreeze from eating it so fast.

And of all the images to include in a montage...... I guess it could be worse.

In celebration of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, NFL cheerleaders will be demonstrating proper breast self-exam technique in a very special routine performed to "Rock Star" by Pink.

1. Stand in front of a mirror with breasts exposed and your arms at your sides.
2. Raise arms above your head. Look for dimpling, swelling, soreness, or redness in all parts of your breasts in the mirror.
3. Repeat with hands placed on hips and shoulders slightly forward.
4. With left arm raised, palpate your left breast with the fingers of your right hand, feeling for lumps. Feel both for the area just beneath the skin and for the tissue deeper within. Go over the entire breast while examining. Repeat with right arm raised.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, so plan on seeing pink shit all over for the next 31 days. The NFL has announced players will be wearing pink wristbands and shoes (the one's pictured on the right belong to Cincinnati's Chad Ochocinco) and will have pink ribbon decals on their helmets.

Why?

Is the problem with having a tumor grow inside your breast the fact that so few people are aware of it? How many people have never heard of breast cancer? The official word from press releases is:
"It's about two words that were considered taboo in public conversation 25 years ago..."

Okay, the 80's were a weird time. We were nearing the end of the Cold War and suddenly had a realization of our collective mortality. In 1983, people who watched The Day After were shocked by the movie's contention that surviving a nuclear war might be a bad thing.

This flew in the face of the zeitgeist of America, which was about immortality. The Reagan administration had us striving to be proactive, especially after the Malaise Era of Carter. The very basis of Reaganomics was that you were the master of your own destiny. If you wanted to be successful, you would be! If you weren't successful, you didn't try hard enough! If you wanted to survive nuclear winter, you just had to want it bad enough!

This attitude made cancer, AIDS, and other medical maladies a tough subject. It was pretty clear that cigarettes caused lung cancer, but until 1985 labels merely said smoking was "hazardous to your health." AIDS, which was nicknamed "gay cancer" for a while, barely received any funding for research until the 1990's.

Add our fear of death to our long-standing American puritanical fear of discussing anything that goes on with the parts of our bodies covered up my bathing suits and it's no wonder breast cancer (and testicular cancer for that matter) was a taboo subject 25 years ago.

However, it's not 25 years ago anymore. Today, you can't watch a sporting event on TV without a barrage of ads reminding you that middle-aged-to-elderly men are fucking women against the will of nature thanks to Just for Men, Cialis, Enzyte, and Viagra. In 1984, the courage to discuss child molestation, date rape, or sexual assault on a TV show warranted a "very special episode":
Today, we have a version of Law & Order that discusses nothing but child molestation, date rape, or sexual assault.

The point is that NFL players aren't wearing pink wristbands in 1984. Major League Baseball players weren't swinging pink bats in 1984. This isn't about bringing breast cancer into the collective consciousness of Americans who are willfully ignorant because they are afraid of acknowledging terminal diseases and/or naughty body parts. Instead, it's about pandering and being behind the times. Why not have a month of games demanding women's suffrage or drawing attention to this country's need for some kind of proclamation of emancipation for the slaves?

I understand that more than 170,000 cases of breast cancer are diagnosed each year, but the NFL's goal is not to cure breast cancer, only to raise awareness, which is what I find disingenuous. I will be shocked if one single person who watches a football game in October is led to look up how to perform a proper techniques for doing a breast self-exam because she saw Drew Brees wearing pink shoes.

The suggestion that anyone watching an NFL game, much less a majority of viewers, might be unaware of breast cancer and its dangers is pure ignorance. The only reason the NFL has any interest in Breast Cancer Awareness Month is because it hopes that using its multi-billion dollar machinery to raise a couple thousand bucks to research a woman's problem will draw attention from the annual handful of domestic violence charges raised against its players and the fact that the highest ranking women in the NFL employ wear short shorts and shakes pom-pons to the beat of Jay-Z songs during commercial breaks.

In America, a show like "Desperate Housewives" is considered risqué.

In Germany, this is a commercial for ceiling tiles:

I've been saving this video tape with two hours of German TV for about 14 years just in the hopes of one day preserving this commercial for future generations.

Last night saw the airing of the finale of "The Search for the Next Elvira" on Fox Reality. This blows my mind for several reasons.

1. There's a need for another Elvira.
2. The process of finding another Elvira is so rich and complex someone thought it could be milked for longer than eight minutes.
3. There is a channel on my television called "Fox Reality."

Nothing against Elvira--she's carved a nice little niche for herself--but is there really so much demand for Elvira that one woman alone can't handle it? I know she's getting older, but if she's thinking about retirement, wouldn't she just retire the gimmick too? It's not like Al "Grandpa" Lewis held auditions for his successor before he died. Somehow, he came to accept the fact that the world would find a way to cope without a elderly, wisecracking vampire with a raspy laugh.

When I cancel my digital cable at the end of the three month promotion Cox offered ($10 a month for the first three months), this may be the only reason I give them. Seriously, I'm so disappointed with digital cable. You get sold on all the channels you're going to get, but the majority of them are just obstacles I've had to reprogram my remote control to avoid. Do people really pay $20-40 a month for more home shopping channels? Or the Real Estate channel? I originally wanted it for BBC America, but quickly learned I already own the DVDs of almost all the good shows currently being aired on BBC America and Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares isn't enough to justify the cost.

Tate Hemlock, the guy who works at a desk just outside my office and whom I was going to refer to as "the guy at work" until he found out I was writing this and asked that I mention him by name, controls the iTunes for our office. How this happened is mostly just by coincidence. iTunes was loaded on his computer before it even was "his" computer and when he took over the job from the previous guy, he inherited the role of Atomic Corporate Office DJ.

Unfortunately, Tate listens to a lot of music. He's the kind of guy who can listen to four seconds of a song by some obscure punk band and launch into a story about how it was recorded with a replacement bass player because the regular guy had to attend his little brother's swim meet that afternoon. Being such a music connoisseur, he might be expected to provide some of the greatest playlists you or anyone else can imagine, but--as you may have guess from the "unfortunately" above--that's not the case at all.

There are days I'm almost certain Tate is actively trying to find the worst music ever recorded. In fact, I feel safe declaring exactly that. He actively seeks out song poems and records by bands who recorded jingles for Ford in the 1960s. He's proud of the fact he's tracked down nine different variations of the "Bewitched" theme (and seven of "The Munsters"), but laments the three others he hasn't yet found. "There's this one they used when they'd come back from commercial in the third season that has more harp than when they came back from commercial in the second season," he'll sadly explain in response to your question of why you've never heard the They Might Be Giants albums you uploaded despite hearing Wesley Willis's "Vampire Bat" and "Oil Express" six times in four days.

But a few evenings ago, as I was putting away dishes with the ever-irritating, high-pitched shrieking "Bay-BEEEEE" of Frank Zappa's "Baby Snakes" echoing in my ears, it occurred to me that I was in no position to judge Tate for his taste in music. His decision to subject everyone else to his music maybe, but I could not fault him for listening to complete shit all day every day.

More and more I find myself dedicating my free time not to things I enjoy, but rather to things that "fascinate" me. Most of the television I watch, from "Brett Michaels: Rock of Love" to "Who Wants to Be a Superhero?" to Paula Deen explaining the glory of God to Larry King is anything but enjoyable, yet I can't stop watching. I read plenty of good comics, but I whisper a prayer of thankgiving for the creators of .zip files every time Top Cow sends me a preview of the next issue of Witchblade Takeru Manga. And why the hell did I even open the cover of Spider-Man/Red Sonja?!?! Hell, this blog didn't really take off until I began nitpicking Silver Age Jimmy Olsen books.

It was an old episode of This American Life about artists that opened my eyes. Unlike most episodes, which I find thoroughly enjoyable, "Blame It on Art" pissed me off by focusing on artists, specifically people who churn out shit and blame others for not "getting it."

I came to see a parallel between those artists, music fans like Tate--and in turn comic book fans--and pornography, which isn't too surprising as I generally see a parallel between everything and pornography. I'd been at a loss to explain how someone could purposely seek 17-minute bongo solos or the slurring shouts of a schizophrenic drug addict over the synthesized beat of a Casio keyboard, but then I realized how I could say many of the same things about some of the fetish porn I... um... accidentally stumble across sometimes while innocently searching for bible verses and lyrics to Amy Grant songs.

How does someone reach a point where the only thing that can get him off is watching a girl shove her fist up a horse's butt? Or sitting on balloons and popping them? Or getting an enema and unleashing a shit tempest on a tile wall? The answer is shockingly the same for both porn and music.

Boredom and familiarity.

Most people have their first experience with pornography at a young age, when we're first titillated by the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Fit young women in very little clothing is enough to excite, but the more you look at those tiny pieces of fabric, the more you wonder what is underneath. To this day, I recall every frame of the Making of the Sports Illustrated 25th Anniversary Swimsuit Issue video in which Elle MacPherson was hit from behind by a wave while adjusting her top, exposing her nipples for half a second, as vividly, if not moreso, than I do the births of either of my children.

Further exposure comes with seeing an R-rated movie where some girl exposes her breasts--Animal House on Showtime when I was eight is my first recollection though I also remember the Showtime viewing guide had a page of "After Hours" movies every month which I knew simply as the movies where women showed their boobs--and/or coming across a Playboy that wasn't put away. You see boobs and you like them.

Eventually, topless pictorials wind up featuring one bottomless shot and another door is opened. Films that feature nudity imply sex and others eventually simulate it. That leads to movies where sex is explicit and with the familiarity of each level of porn, boredom will eventually set in and curiosity will be raised about what else is out there.

Now follow the same path with music. First you hear a song on the radio that you like. Eventually you find the album it's from and that leads you to buy other albums by the same artist and eventually albums by other artists of similar styles. The more you listen to, the more likely you are to get bored and seek out new things.

So, just as someone who looks at porn for six hours a day is less likely to find a single exposed breast as stimulating than someone who has a real job, someone who listens to music all day every day since high school is much less likely to go buy Kelly Clarkson's new album.

Thus, as the field of exposure broadens, the focus of interest narrows. The search for something unique takes precedence, and what may appear to be something completely unappealing to an outsider becomes a rare diamond for one aspect, whether it be the prefect way a drummer transitions from one beat to another regardless of how god awful the rest of the band sounds or the dimples on the small of a girl's back as she squats on a bowling pin.

Comic fans who read more and more books every month are more likely to latch onto some piece of crap indie they'll insist their friends read and just like the artists on This American Life, when those friends call the crap "crap," the reply will be an accusation of "not getting it."

Okay, maybe we don't get it. But that doesn't make us wrong. Maybe the reason we don't get it is because there is so little of substance to get. You've just positioned yourself so close to one tree, you can't even see the branches above your head, much less the forest. "Different" and "genius" are not interchangeable terms and just because Copernicus was considered a crackpot in his lifetime doesn't mean a song that features seven minutes of random electronic beeps and funny voices is going to be considered revolutionary in the decades to come.

In short, subjecting us to your crappy music, telling us about your crappy comic, and inviting us to your crappy gallery show are about as rude as setting someone's screen saver to photos from a gay old man orgy, so knock it off and enjoy your crap in peace.

Time for "The Pick-Up Artist"...

I, for one, think J. Michael Straczynski deserves a big pat on the back for being so brave. If you haven't read the latest issue of Squadron Supreme--and for shame if you haven't... unless you just hate feminism and are threatened by strong, empowered, self-reliant female characters--the story takes place during and after the team fights an army of a hostile Middle Eastern country. After the battle is over, we learn a little of the background story of Inertia, a woman capable of redirecting kinetic energy.

Her story is a sad one, but one that must be told!

Inertia is unlike any other character in comics. First, she is a woman, but she doesn't rely on men to take care of her and protect her. No, sir (or ma'am as the case may be)! Instead, she takes care of herself and is just as capable of kicking butt as any of the big boys.

Second, she wears skimpy outfits and has a lean, muscular body. She is beautiful and isn't afraid to show it. I will, however, draw attention to the fact Gary Frank's rendering of her makes her seem a little flat-chested. She appears to be no larger than a B-cup, though she wears a sportsbra, so she may be larger. Either way, I would encourage Frank to be bolder and give her large mammaries. Do not try to hide her femininity! If anything, fanboys who are afraid of strong feminist icons like Inertia should be visually assaulted by their feminine virtues.

Third, she grew up with a father who was unloving and who cheated on her mother. He is very mean to her and suspects that her powers are a result of her sinfulness. At one point, when he realizes he cannot harm her by hitting her, he opts instead to hit her mother. This abusive background helps to shape her worldview.

Fourth, she is a lesbian. The plight of homosexuals may be taboo dinner conversation in this country, but Squadron Supreme is pushing it to the forefront of the national consciousness by confronting the homophobes out there in a way no other comic is daring enough to do: with images of sexy girls kissing each other! Take that, Ma and Pa Kettle!

But last, and most important, she is the victim of rape. If you thought lesbianism was verboten, just while Middle America is reeling from that revelation, we're hit with this hot button issue. Straczynski is one of the few writers, comic or otherwise, willing to take on the subject of sexual assault. What's really interesting is the way he frames it and the fact that it took place early in Inertia's life to have it truly become a motivating factor behind what she does and who she is.

Rape, it seems, can be a traumatic experience for some women and Inertia is one of them. In fact, it is still something she thinks about even though it happened years ago. This powerful juxtaposition of a strong woman, who has taken charge of her life and become a hero with the intention of helping others, with the scenes of her helpless against sexual assault, makes you think about how rape is a really bad thing and how normal "non-superpowered" women might have an even harder time putting the pieces back together.

I know when most of us read stories about Psylocke or Black Cat or Wonder Woman, we only see the strong, daring women within, but this is a grim reminder that some people are more likely to see them as nothing but sex objects.

It's a shame more writers haven't the guts to explore pressing issues like these or to create characters as deep, unique, and multifaceted as Inertia. Industry pundits who are always complaining about the lack of female comic book readers need look no further than Mr. Straczynski and Inertia to see exactly what it's going to take to pull in that all-important demographic: strong, foul-mouthed, sexy, scantily-dressed lesbians who have daddy issues and recount their sexual assaults in graphic detail. Why can't we have more characters like this?

I know a lot of the men out there won't like it, but that's why they publish Archie.

Earlier this month, Harvey Jerkwater discussed how She-Hulk's cheesecake covers cause him public embarrassment. The obvious solution? The next time you buy a copy of She-Hulk where Greg Horn has chosen to portray her rubbing a banana in her cleavage on the cover despite the fact it has nothing to do with the content of the actual story, dig through the quarterbox and find a copy of Team Youngblood #14.

Slap down this cover promising Riptide nudity within and no one's going to look at your She-Hulk. Hell, the guy checking out in front of you with a couple copies of Cherry Poptart and some tentacle porn DVDs is likely to look at you funny, but not because of the She-Hulk.

This issue dealt with the introspective journey of Riptide as she debated the pros and cons of posing nude in Pussycat magazine and the effect it would have on her career. Along the way, she hears the opinions of her teammates, which range from muted support to perverted curiosity to confusion to outright disapproval.

It should be noted in writing that two sentence synopsis, I gave the book more depth than writer Eldon Asp did in 21 pages. Now, onto that disapproval.Sentinel brings up a good point. Riptide is a role model to little girls everywhere. Magazines like Playboy, Maxim, and the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue get a bad reputation for giving women a skewed sense of reality when it comes to body image. In fact, though, it should be noted that women's magazines like Glamour and Cosmo are as--if not more--accountable.

Women who see the startlingly beautiful images strive for a similar level of perfection, a level unattainable without professional airbrush touchups. Add to these already dangerous waters the potential of girls aged 10-14 seeing someone they look up to like Riptide putting her superpowered, athletic, toned physique on display and you have a recipe for body dysmorphic disorder of pandemic proportions.

Especially if the girls strive to make their bodies look like this:Apparently, Riptide is 6'9" and 5'10" of it is legs. Also, a little known fact about her powers is that they cause her reflection in mirrors to be slightly different that in reality.

Have Chap Yaep or John Stinsman ever even seen a naked woman? If you take art classes, they bring in naked women for you to draw so you know their hips aren't in their armpits, right? Yaep did layouts and Stinsman did pencils, so who shoulders the majority of the blame here?

It doesn't really matter, because there is plenty of blame to go around. Whoever is to blame can't plead ignorance of the anatomy of a female torso as I first suspected, because apparently, he can't draw female heads either.Okay, boobs, hips, belly, and even shoulders (She has one boob and a shoulder that juts forward from her throat at a 90 degree angle!) I can understand, because more often than not, women cover them up when they go out in public. But heads? Did these two grow up in Kabul where all the women wore burqas, leaving them to make a best guess at what a woman's head looks like?

"Hmm, do you think a woman's skull is bigger than her shoulder or smaller? Probably about the same. Are their eyes in the front or do they kind of wrap around the side because they're so wide? Do they have hair like me or is it... oh, wait, if that was drawn in 1994, that hair's actually not that bad...

Oddly enough, when Riptide actually poses nude, just like in Playboy or Cosmo, she gets touched up. In this case, the artists obviously threw a centerfold on a light table and traced her as the art suddenly stops sucking for the majority of one brief splash page (though Stinsman tries to hide his porn swiping by cleverly fucking up her eyes as only he can).Hmm, throwing a centerfold on a light table and tracing it? Sounds like we're back to discussing Greg Horn's She-Hulk covers.