I haven’t done one of these in a while, in part because I’ve been so disappointed with the current edition of Amazing Race (just like Tom the Dog). The casting department really biffed things this time, picking contestants based on potential for conflict rather than charisma or potential audience appeal. One couple, Jonathan and Victoria, was so toxic that I jumped ship about halfway through. I know they’re gone now, but I’m beyond caring.

The current season of The Apprentice is off to a marginally promising start, with one fairly glaring flaw. Television Without Pity recapper extraordinaire Miss Alli puts it best:

“This time, Trump is eschewing gender warfare in favor of class warfare… So Trump’s plan is to see whether ‘practical experience is more important than academic knowledge.’ And this will be a great opportunity to learn exactly that. Welcome to America’s referendum on the value of higher education.”

That motif seems to be fading a lot faster than the men-versus-women dynamic of previous seasons, so that’s a plus. Still, reality shows are artificial enough to begin with, so why add an extra layer?

I’ll be interested to see the Martha Stewart edition of the show. And at this point I will come out and say that I hope Stewart enjoys the kind of comeback that makes every journalist and pundit who took unseemly glee in her conviction and imprisonment vaguely ill. Am I saying she didn’t break the law and didn’t deserve to suffer the consequences for that? No. I am saying that, of the slate of corporate malefactors who have popped up like mushrooms in a rainy forest, Martha is easily the least offensive. I am also saying that I think much of the aforementioned unseemly glee derived from an ambitious, aggressive woman “getting hers” as publicly as possible. Feel free to disagree, but I will not be dissuaded from this position. Take no prisoners, Martha. Living well is the best revenge. (Alternatively, you could insert a gazpacho/served-cold joke if you so choose.)

Deep breath. Moving on.

I’m pretty sure Stewart’s Apprentice will make Wickedly Perfect entirely superfluous. Its title, shamelessly chosen to invoke thoughts of Stewart despite her complete lack of participation, doesn’t work because the show is neither wicked nor perfect. It’s not a bad idea for a reality show, but it errs fairly badly in execution.

For one thing, and this is odd for competition-based shows, it doesn’t put enough emphasis on the contestants’ personal charisma. If the goal is to find someone to be a televised “style star,” I’d think you’d spend more time evaluating their ability to communicate ideas and techniques. There are plenty of people in the how-to field who make up for a lack of specific skills with sheer charisma and the ability to communicate to an audience. It’s why Rachael Ray can get away with making nachos on 30 Minute Meals. (Sometimes you don’t have to pick between goods and charm, as with the excellent Alton Brown on Good Eats or the gifted Candce Olson on Divine Design.)

For another, they have picked the worst panel of judges imaginable. David Evangelista? Candace Bushnell? Bobby Flay? How the hell would they know what a general audience is going to respond to? Okay, maybe Flay might not be so bad in that area, though I personally can’t stand him. But Evangelista and Bushnell are evaluating projects from an entirely urban, upscale, Euro-trash perspective, and I can’t picture either of them having any idea what would constitute a successful general-interest style program. Worse still, they don’t even ultimately decide who gets the boot. That’s left to the contestants themselves, which takes merit even further out of the equation. (I know, I know. Big surprise.)

In my opinion, Wickedly Perfect would do well to model itself more after Project Runway than The Apprentice. While interpersonal conflict plays a part (and how could it not with that pack of freaks), it’s more organic. I like the judging system better, because it’s a more direct evaluation of what the designers have done within the parameters of each week’s assignment.

Anyone following the Postcards from Buster story might want to swing by The New York Times (registration required) to read this column by Frank Rich. He doesn’t think much of any of the parties involved, from Secretary of Education Margaret Spellings to the leadership of PBS. He also has some interesting theories on what prompted this particular shot at non-traditional families:

“What makes this story more insidious still is the glaring reality that the most prominent Republican lesbians in America are Mary Cheney, a former gay and lesbian marketing liaison for Coors beer, and her partner, Heather Poe, who appeared as a couple in public and on TV during the presidential campaign. That Ms. Spellings would gratuitously go after this specific “lifestyle” right after taking office is so provocative it smells like payback specifically pitched at those “pro-family” watchdogs who snarled at the mention of Ms. Cheney’s sexual orientation during the campaign whether it was by John Kerry or anyone else.”

Rich covers a lot of ground, from Buster to Spongebob Squarepants to Michael Powell to Fredric Wertham.

Oh, and thanks to BeaucoupKevin for his handy word count of the State of the Union. To make an addition, “marriage” was used two times, in precisely the context you’d expect. And, right on cue, the Marriage Protection Amendment has gathred 26 co-sponsors in the U.S. Senate. Find out more here.

The Little Marvel Players present: New Avengers 3!

(At the skyscraper.)

Captain America: That, my friend, was mythic.

Iron Man: Um… I guess.

Captain America: Can’t you feel it?

Iron Man: Well…

Captain America: It’s like Lee and Kirby are in the room with us. Magic time, old friend.

Iron Man: But don’t you think… Oh, never mind.

Captain America: What?

Iron Man: No, it’s nothing.

Captain America: (Sighs.) No, you’ve got something to say, so say it.

Iron Man: It’s not really… new, is it?

Captain America: (Rolls eyes.) Here we go.

Iron Man: Hear me out. It’s like… old story, new paint job.

Captain America: But it’s an old story through a new lens. It’s… it’s new. And cool.

Iron Man: (Pauses.) Wouldn’t it have been… cooler if we’d actually… seen the cool stuff? I mean, instead of talking about it later?

Captain America: Not that “show-don’t-tell” rap again.

Iron Man: We just seem to be spending a lot of time trying to convince ourselves that it’s cool and new. And it’s really just kind of a Marvel Team-Up Annual. Don’t you get that feeling?

Captain America: (Pauses.) We’re in a skyscraper now.

Iron Man: (Shudders.) From quaint to corporate. We probably shouldn’t draw too much attention to—(Jarvis enters.)

Captain America: (A bit desperately.) Hey, it’s Jarvis! Look, old friend! Jarvis!

(In the apartment of Jessica Jones and Luke Cage.)

Jessica Jones: Cap! Huggles!

Captain America: (Sniffles. Pats Jessica’s belly.) How’s your constantly imperiled symbol of hope in an increasingly dangerous, cynical world coming along?

Jessica Jones: The baby? She’s fine.

Captain America: Great!

Jessica Jones: (Thinks for a moment.) Wait… don’t I hate you? Because of that Secret War thing?

Captain America: You might. It’s hard to keep track.

Jessica Jones: But… the same guy writes all these books. (Luke enters.)

Captain America: (A bit desperately.) Hey, it’s Luke! Look, Jessica! It’s Luke!

(On a rooftop.)

Captain America: Set-up.

Daredevil: Meta statement.

Captain America: Set-up.

Daredevil: Plug for solo title.

Captain America: Set-up.

Daredevil: Meta statement.

(Outside the skyscraper.)

Spider-Woman: I don’t know about this.

Unseen Figure: What’s not to know?

Spider-Woman: This whole “potentially untrustworthy chick” gig.

Unseen Figure: Come on, a comeback’s a comeback.

Spider-Woman: But, see, I’m the chick who always seemed untrustworthy but was really ace. It was my thing.

Unseen Figure: Yeah, in the 1970s. Times change.

Spider-Woman: It still makes me nervous.

Unseen Figure: That’s cool. We can always call Tigra.

Spider-Woman: I didn’t say –

Unseen Figure: And Warbird’s free.

Spider-Woman: Okay, I get it, all right? Dozens of unused heroines just dying to be the femme. Point taken. (Sighs.)

Unseen Figure: (Impatiently.) So?

Spider-Woman: Fondly remembered obscurity is looking better and better.

Unseen Figure: Time is money, Jess.

Spider-Woman: (Narrows eyes.) You said the magic word. I’ll do it, but I’d better at least get a solo mini out of it.

Unseen Figure: That’s the spirit!

(Somewhere else.)

Sentry: Um… hello? (Waits.) Anyone?

Okay, I’m not going to try and recreate the shopping list, but I have noticed something about one of today’s arrivals, Adam Strange 5.

At Cognitive Dissonance, Johanna notes:

“I was enjoying this more before all the buzz, and definitely before the rumors about it tying in to some big DC event.”

The Pickytarian expresses a similar sentiment:

“I’m also a little unhappy that what started out as a series of light-hearted, self-contained adventure stories is already devolving into a crossover-initiating, grim n’ gritty, continuity-heavy morass.”

DC has noted repeatedly that Adam Strange will be one of the paving stones for its pending trio of line-wide terror. (For a mighty astute examination of that, scamper on over to Comic World News and read the latest Past the Front Racks.) I’ll be interested to see if this message actually boosts sales for the book.

It seems like DC decided at a certain point that they had to get the word out that Adam Strange… y’know… mattered. “It’s not just a quirky, well-crafted space caper that you can enjoy entirely on its own merits. It’s a feeder fish for our Next Big Thing!” Because we wouldn’t want anyone enjoying a stand-alone story, now would we?

And DC gets the the bulk of its profits from its Next Big Things. I get that, though I do wish its more interesting, smaller-scale titles would manage to turn a profit.

Honestly, nothing about Adam Strange has changed except for the way it’s being marketed, and that really shouldn’t mess with my response to it as an entertainment. But, for whatever reason, it does. It seemed like the exception to DC’s Next Big Things and the crossovers they spawn, and to see it presented as another rung on that particular ladder is disappointing.

What do Love Fights, Maison Ikkoku, and Sideways have to do with each other? Not much, at least outside my tortured brain. Suffice to say timing and other triggers have led me to think about the ways they overlap.

(Big honking SPOILERS wait below about all of them.)

So a package comes from the Big Internet Bookstore containing the second volume of Oni’s Love Fights. I’d been a little ambivalent about the first volume, but I decided to give it a shot. I’m glad I did, though I’m still ambivalent. It’s a different kind of ambivalence, though.

Backing up a bit: after finishing the first volume of Love Fights, I thought it felt rote. It seemed like another “how do normal people live in a super-heroic world” story with a modicum of quirky charm to distinguish it from a fairly thick pack. I liked Watson’s illustrations a lot, and I liked the supporting cast. I immediately connected with Nora, with her mix ambition and pragmatism.

I didn’t like Jack, though. And I realized later that I didn’t like Jack for some of the same reasons I didn’t like the men in Sideways. I found him immature in some fairly unpleasant ways, particularly in regard to his sense of entitlement. It wasn’t hard for me to see why he hadn’t had a date in years, what with his jealousy and pettiness. While I didn’t particularly admire the way his co-workers handled the break-up of their artistic partnership with Jack, I couldn’t exactly blame them, either.

It made sense to me that Nora might spark with Jack initially, and it made sense that she’d pull away when she got to know him better. Sure, his jealousy and bad behavior were driven partly by outside forces, but they seemed consistent with what I’d already decided about his character. Good for Nora for putting some daylight between them, I thought.

By the time I finished the first volume, I didn’t feel a burning desire to read much more. The super-hero stuff was nice, funny window dressing for a romance I didn’t really support. Weeks passed, I saw the solicitation for the second volume, and I thought about passing on it. But people whose opinions I trust liked it a lot, the Big Internet Bookstore was offering free shipping, and I needed a third item to meet the “for orders of…” requirement.

I read it shortly after reading the sixth volume of Maison Ikkoku, which also features an immature man pursuing a woman who’s probably much too good for him (though to generally heartwarming effect… Godai is immature because he’s young, not because he’s stunted). At one point in the digest, Godai’s grandmother tells a touching story of how she chose her husband over a richer man, feeling that her would-be husband’s devotion and love would sustain her for the rest of her days. Just as the reader (and Granny’s in-story audience) is getting a little sniffly, Granny mutters, “Biggest mistake I ever made! I just have been out of my mind!” It’s a tiny, tonal masterpiece of misdirection, from sentimental to ruefully hilarious in the space of a panel.

And I thought about that bit a lot as I read the second half of Love Fights. It reminded me of Nora’s position as the story progresses. Jack clearly loves her, but that’s all he offers. I’m not talking about financial security or material things. I’m talking about the ability to be a good companion in the long run. And then I realized that this was probably precisely what Watson had intended and how well it tied into the themes of the fan-hero-commerce dynamic.

I mean, look at the revelation about the Crisis analogue. How brilliant is the reason that the normal people have kept this defining event from the super-heroes? It’s so sweetly protective (and a little condescending), and it’s such a perfect embrace of the ways many comic fans feel about their fictional heroes. We accept their inconsistencies, their bad patches, almost by group consensus. We feel protective of them, in part because we know if they looked at their lives stretched out in a line, they’d probably go nuts. And we know them too well to take them seriously, instead blending nostalgia, irritation, optimism, and abiding (sometimes irrational) affection.

And that hero-fan relationship resonates for Nora and Jack. He loves her, though perhaps not wisely. The depth of his feeling probably won’t ever be returned. On Nora’s side, she responds believably, guardedly to Jack’s naked, problematic devotion. It’s nice to be loved, she knows, and she feels something for him, but do those feelings outweigh the buzz of being admired? Or the persistent flaws in his character, particularly since he never seems to fully own up to them? Is it fair to accept love from someone when you don’t know if you reciprocate? These are wonderfully complex questions, really meaty ideas.

Even the mechanics of plot dovetail so nicely with the story’s emotional core. The revelation of the child’s identity creates an emotional paradox. Does Nora cautiously acquiesce to Jack’s advances because she knows she won’t be with him forever? Does Jack really understand what he’s getting into, and would he care if he did? It’s Nora’s pragmatism and Jack’s immaturity in sweet, probably fleeting synch.

The ambivalence I’m left with now is driven by the story itself. Is this a happy ending? Bittersweet? Is it an ending at all, or is it just respite, which would resonate perfectly with the super-hero tropes the book employs. Everything ends eventually, but nothing ends forever.

As much as I ended up liking Love Fights, I wish I’d read it all in one sitting. I can’t imagine it working as well in monthly installments, though that might just be my natural impatience talking. But even in two halves, I still felt strangely robbed of Watson’s slow-burn intertwining of themes. It really seems like a story that should be collected and read all in one chunk. But that’s probably a whole different discussion.

Blogger ate my shopping list, and I’m too busy grinding my teeth to recreate it. Stupid Blogger. Robbing the world of redundant snark.

Okay, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

This is depressing. The John S. and James L. Knight Foundation surveyed high school students, teachers, and administrators on their views on the First Amendment:

• “Nearly three-fourths of high school students either do not know how they feel about the First Amendment or admit they take it for granted.”
• “Seventy-five percent erroneously think flag burning is illegal.”
• “Half believe the government can censor the Internet.”
• “More than a third think the First Amendment goes too far in the rights it guarantees.”

Not to worry, though! Surely our new Secretary of Education will turn this around, won’t she? I mean, now that the administration is done paying journalists to promote No Child Left Behind? Or maybe she’ll be too busy smacking around disobedient PBS affiliates for airing Travels With Buster?

What’s in the water of the comics web lately? Seems like I can’t turn around without running smack into genitalia, metaphorically speaking. Blog entries, column titles, lead paragraphs… all exhort readers to contemplate the evocative power of manbits and the various ways with which they can be… um… interfaced.

I realize now that there’s just nowhere I can safely go with this subject. I’ll stop before I truly humiliate myself.

I’ve been watching early reviews of Peter Carey’s anime-and-manga travelogue, Wrong About Japan, trying to decide if it will make the buy list or the borrow list. Marcel Theroux writes a puzzling commentary in Sunday’s New York Times (free registration required) that makes me throw up my hands and wait until the book reaches my local library.

The bottom line seems to be that as a writer of non-fiction, Carey is a great novelist. And there’s nothing wrong with that, provided nobody had any scholarly or journalistic expectations for the book. Still, it seems like something I’d rather read for free. (Part of this may be my growing disappointment with the last hardcover I bought, Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs. After really enjoying his first two autobiographical pieces, Running With Scissors and Dry, this seems like David Sedaris Lite.)

There is one passage in Theroux’s review that stopped me flat:

“By the end of the book, you feel you’ve witnessed a series of rather moving encounters between the author and one of the more baffling cultures of our time: one that combines technological sophistication and inscrutable inwardness; a culture largely impenetrable to outsiders, yet which remains unignorable — not least because of its economic power.”

Initially, I thought Theroux was talking specifically about manga/anime culture. (If it’s so baffling, why is it so popular in so many places?) Then I realized he was talking about Japanese culture as a whole, which strikes me as much, much worse. It’s like Theroux is saying, “They’re weird, but they’re rich, so what can you do?”

Now, I used “inscrutable” in this week’s Flipped, but I did so with tongue in cheek (and, yowza, do I hope it came across that way). I honestly never expected to find this kind of “mysterious east” stuff presented without irony in the New York Times.

(For those who don’t get the post title reference, have you still not listened to the soundtrack to Avenue Q? What are you waiting for?)

The latest Flipped is up at Comics World News. It’s the column that will have you asking, “Why did he bother to construct an elaborate lead-in when all he wanted to do was crush on some of his favorite shojo titles?”

Why? Because black coffee is my writing coach.

Just be thankful I managed to strangle the impulse to suggest a bunch of terrible pun headlines that play off of Yu Watase’s first name. In fact, I should post this before that impulse rallies for another bout.