Zach Woods, we need to bone.

I know, I know. It seems insane. After all, you’re on The Office and I am barely employed in an office. But love has summited more seemingly-insurmountable obstacles than this! You’re basically the Prince William of the UCB (with better hair), and I can be your Kate Middleton (with somewhat worse hair). But we wouldn’t even need a royal wedding. Or any kind of wedding, for that matter. All I ask for is one solid night of good old-fashioned boning.

Here’s the deal. You are one of the funniest improvisers currently working in New York. Your gift for playing the straight man and garnering huge laughs simply by stating the game of a scene is unparalleled. You have taken your talents to screens both big and small. But that’s not my point here. My point, sir, is that you are an eminently boneable man. You are approximately six feet and three inches of comedy dreamboat with very blue eyes. You do this thing where, when you’re not in a scene, you lean against the back wall of the stage and tug at your hair. Your clothes all seem to be just a little too big on you, but in a really endearing way like you just don’t care that much about clothing, which I super respect and find adorable. You are cute, sir. Very, very cute. And I think we should bone.

“But what does this random chick sexually harassing me online bring to the table?” Good question, Zach Woods! Here’s what I got. I’m 5’2”, my writing has been published on the Internet, and can troubleshoot all your Apple devices. If your iPhone is doing something weird lately, I’ll totally take a look at it. After we bone. (If you don’t have an iPhone, I can also probably take a look at your iPod or your Macbook. I’m pretty good at this stuff and I don’t give you judgmental looks like those snobs at the Apple Store.) Think about it. It’s a pretty excellent deal. One sweet night of boning a petite chick with brownish hair, and I’ll fix that weird thing your iPod does when you put it on shuffle!

“But will we have chemistry?” Hell to the yes we will have chemistry! For instance, you once played a zombie in a Starburst commercial. I love Starbursts and am indifferent to zombies. Something to talk about! Or we could skip the conversation altogether in favor of going to see a showing of The Avengers, followed by a light post-movie meal. Sushi, perhaps? I will pretend to like sushi for you. But only if it’s followed by boning. Same goes for The Killing. If you want to watch The Killing before, during, or after the boning session, I can get on board with that, even though I feel the same way about The Killing that I do sushi. I am willing to drink Brooklyn Lagers (the worst of New York’s local beers) or eat some kind of pineapple-flavored dessert (the worst fruit) so long as I am with you. As long as we’re boning, it’s all right by me.

So here’s the deal, Zach Woods. You’re super cute, like the living personification of a baby giraffe that also happens to be really, really good at improv. You’re a dude Zooey Deschanel in a hoodie; a totally delicious midnight snack; must-see TV that keeps me coming back each week. I am an able-bodied and relatively normal-looking female human of legal age who just happens to have a big dumb crush on you. Clearly, we’re some kind of romantic comedy meet-cute waiting to happen – but, well, I’m tired of waiting for that meet-cute to happen on its own! Sometimes, you gotta grab destiny by the scruff of its neck, write an earnest and somewhat pervy essay, and publish it on the Internet! And look, my friends are tired of me talking about how I have a celebrity crush on Gabe from The Office every time they’re going around waxing lyrical about Ryan Gosling abs or Benedict Cumberbatch’s cheekbones or whatever. But my friends don’t understand. They don’t know about our love.

The love that will surely, undoubtedly flourish as soon as we get to boning.

(If not, maybe we could at least make out?)

Lara Croft is not a woman to be messed with, and her games are both ridiculous and fun.

Recently I heard that in the Tomb Raider reboot I have been eagerly anticipating, the creative team decided that they would include a rape/attempted rape scene. I didn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it, and so I surfed over to YouTube to check out the trailer they premiered at E3 2012.

After picking my jaw up off my desk, my nerd rage activated. Because my strong and fearless Lara Croft is nearly raped in this new game. Really, Crystal Dynamics and Square Enix? You thought it would be a good idea to rape Lara Croft? Not just rape her, but make the player experience that? Really? Thank you, game developers for making Tomb Raider, a universe that I’ve loved for years, into something I don’t want to play for fear of being SEXUALLY ASSAULTED.

Now, some people have said that this could make Lara Croft more relatable to women gamers, and help male gamers understand what it is like for their female friends/family/fellow human beings, who have to worry about unwanted sexual harassment/assault all the time. Just an FYI — there is never a time when I am playing a video game when I pause it, squint my eyes and think: “You know what this game needs? Rape. There is not enough rape happening on my screen.”

Here’s a tip for you game developers: just because there are reports that say that high percentages of women experience unwanted sexual advances and assault, that doesn’t mean we want that in our games. In fact, I will put it out there that one reason I play video games is because there is a very real lack of chance for getting raped. Watching Lara Croft – the Indiana Jones of video games – get even almost raped does NOT make her more relatable. In fact, it alienates players, and could easily end up triggering both men and women.

For the latter part of the above argument, maybe I am cynical and jaded, but if real live women who discuss why they are afraid of rape in real life isn’t enough to break through the veil of mystery surrounding fear of sexual assault, slapping it into a video game isn’t going to make the case for these men. Now, I think that most men are not stupid, and they can and do have a grasp of the issues with women and rape. So that argument is insulting, not just to women – who in that scenario are less real and important than a fictional character – but to men, who are assumed to be too stupid to understand a concept if not presented to them in something like a video game.

These are, however, not my only issues with this. There are two major complaints I have, and they fall under the following: 1. The offense factor, which is just as much, if not more disturbing by arguments and justifications made; and 2. The laziness factor.

It has been argued that, because the reboot is gritty and realistic, it would stand to reason that if Lara found herself in that situation, of course she would almost be raped.

Let me explain to the people who would make this argument a little something you might not know. Lara Croft and the situations she finds herself are invented. Fictional. Fake. So, yes, if she were in the real world and somehow managed to survive everything else in the game up until that point, maybe she would indeed find herself under the rape-gun. But this woman has made a career of falling off of tall things then warping back to the top. Up until the attempted rape part of the Tomb Raider trailer, we see her thrown off cliffs, crushed, shot at, blown up, and fall 40 feet to be impaled on a bone.

That crap ain’t real. If it were, she would be dead. Not kinda, or sorta, but most definitely dead. There is no conceivable reason to accept the magical aspect of the game, and then insist that it would violate the Laws of Realism to make her not get raped/almost raped. That is just madness.

Need further proof? Her butler. Any franchise in which that undying bastard exists is not one of gritty realism.

Now, let’s talk about using rape as a cheap and easy way to create fear and tension, for a second. When I saw the trailer, I tried to imagine how the conversation went when raping Lara Croft came up. It seems like the following dialogue could very well be how it went down.

Head Guy: We need something to make this game dark and intense. Frightening and hard hitting. You know, like everything coming out this year.

Underling Guy: Should we develop atmosphere, using music, backgrounds, camera angles, and other visual/audio/storytelling techniques?

Head Guy: Nah, it’s about a girl. Just make her almost get raped. That will immediately take all the ladies to that dark, scary place, and make all the men want to be heroes.

Maybe I am being uncharitable and there was lots of thought and love put into the idea of raping the hero of the game. The hero who the players are controlling and embodying, if not for THE scene, then at least for the game. Except that, funny enough, there are a million ways to achieve the gritty realism that they seem to be going for. And, oh look, they chose to do none of them. Seems a bit lazy and irresponsible to me.

Also, side-note camera two, isn’t it interesting that no male action-game heroes have ever been put through the same treatment? The reboot, from the trailer and game-play demo, is more reminiscent of a later Resident Evil game – say 4 or 5. Neither Leon, nor Chris, find themselves being held down and stripped. Yes, they fight zombies, but Lara Croft fights dinosaurs.

In an interview with Kotaku, executive producer Ron Rosenberg said that brutalization and attempted rape of Lara would force the character to grow, and make people want to protect her. The same character who was once strong enough to defeat prehistoric beasts is now one that needs to be protected. Nay, the developers WANT us to feel like we have to protect Lara. Rosenberg went on to say that players do not project themselves into the character, like one would a male protagonist. On the face of it, it seems like he is saying that, not only do people not identify with female protagonists, but that they should be protected from the big, bad world.

I have been accused of making a big deal out of this, and that lots of other things have rape, or equally hard hitting and dark, themes in them. One lovely commenter on the vast internet brought up The Hunger Games, where children brutalized and killed one another, for example. This commenter’s point was (paraphrased fairly, I assure you): ‘If you have a problem with Lara Croft getting raped, you should have a problem with all stories where bad things happen. But you don’t, so you are being unfair/inconsistent.’ I have seen these sorts of arguments before. They are kissing cousins to the “you are offended, which makes me feel awkward so I am going to make it seem like you are overacting or being too sensitive about this” arguments. They are, “but Johnny is doing it, so why am I getting in trouble, you are just mean/unfair/a bitch” arguments. Victim-blaming at its best.

The fault lies not with the offended, but with the offender. The fault lies in the rapist, not the victims. Johnny and his friends are busy walking around with lit cherry bombs in their front pockets, so think long and hard about comparing yourselves to them. I am not making a huge deal of it. I AM however making A deal of it. A Deal is being made. As it should, because otherwise no deals are made and crap like this flies.

Bet you are thinking, but really though, are you saying it shouldn’t ever be spoken of or depicted in media? Of course I am not saying that. Rape, like all painful subjects, absolutely needs to be talked about, for many reasons. But there are instances, like this one, where including such scenes are not just pointless, but tasteless. Zero taste involved. This rape/attempted rape does nothing for the plot or character development, and adds no nuance.

Unless the statement is that, in order to become a bad ass, a woman must be raped. But, even in the middle of my most intense nerd rage, I refuse to believe that the developers were thinking that. I don’t think the people who made this game are evil — just irresponsible and insensitive.

I have been accused of not understanding the purpose of the reboot. That Crystal Dimension and Square Enix had a vision and wanted to take Tomb Raider to darker places. Maybe, but it seems like the developers have forgotten what makes a Tomb Raider game not the next Call of Duty Modern Warfare 625 or Resident Evil 38 (all of which I love, by the way) – it’s fun. Hell, it seems like fun wasn’t even a factor in this game. And the fact that people have forgotten that Tomb Raider is SUPPOSED to be fun and tongue in cheek, instead of gritty/dismal/horrific, makes me think that THEY have missed the point in the opportunity presented to them when making a reboot.

Do we introduce new audiences to this franchise, while updating the aspects of the previous games that were clunky and glitchy? Or, do we produce the same game as everyone else in the past five years, and slap a Lara Croft skin on it?

The latter? Oh, okay. But, it needs something to make it edgier.

Oh, I know, rape.

I’m feeling this low-grade shame about how deeply affected I am by this man’s death. This stranger. This celebrity. I can hear the cynical sneer of a million anonymous internet commenters telling me that I should be crying over Darfur, or the economy, or something Obama said, but certainly not over a celebrity, as if this is a dirty word to be forcefully spat out with bits of phlegm. His widow, his daughter, his parents, and his friends have a right to sadness, but everyone else must remain stone-faced and resolute in the face of all this actual serious business. There can be no mourning for the artist with the record deal. Certainly not by a stranger like me. I’m just a random person with an iPod full of old school hip hop.

Shame isn’t what I should be feeling. Not even a little. I should feel pity for anyone who has never been so deeply touched by an artist’s work that they wouldn’t shed a tear about them passing. It’s part of our humanity to feel so moved by music that it can send those chills rolling over your skin, raising goose bumps and that hard-candy lump of emotion in your throat. It’s odd how the cynicism of others can make you doubt your own emotional responses, thoughts, and actions.

The night before he died, I was working on a piece for PopGurls, a defense of my favorite band from the haters writing angry screeds about their induction into The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. So I was lost in thought, pondering the joy and wonder of Paul’s Boutique when my roommate spun her iPad in my direction with the same expression of pain on her face she held when The E Street Band’s Clarence Clemmons passed on. My stomach tightened into a fist, and I said, “I thought he was going to get better. I thought we’d see them at the Greek Theater in a summer or two. I don’t understand.” The headline had to be a mistake. But then, there it was, confirmed in the The New York Times. He was gone, my favorite stranger, who would now always be a stranger. A man I’d never meet, a hand I’d never shake, a voice I’d never hear ring out from the stage. Despair shook me. And now, a week later, I feel a cool, dim, emptiness. I wasn’t even completely aware that there was something there, filling me, to begin with.

So instead of writing the fierce defense of a body of work by a band I loved, I’m writing about grieving this stranger who lived with me, nestled next to my eardrums, connected by that white, plastic umbilical cord dangling out from underneath my chin to an old iPod buried inside my jacket pocket.

For years, I’ve taken the same shortcut home from work, through Atwater Village, where these three young men recorded, played, lived, and wrote. There’s always some Beastie Boys mix straining the bass of my crappy sound system, (“so put your worries on hold and get up and groove with the rhythm in your soul…”) and as I round the corner onto Los Feliz Boulevard, whatever bullshit job issues holding a death grip on my spine melt away, and I am at peace.

Music has a way of creeping in to your subconscious, affecting you in ways you don’t realize. Kerry King’s guitar solo in No Sleep Till Brooklyn immediately transports me back to my grandmother’s living room. She had cable, and therefore MTV, and therefore the Beastie Boys. Ergo, No Sleep Till Brooklyn is now a song that reminds me of Thanksgiving at my Nana’s house when I was a kid.

Shake Your Rump brings me to the grungy girls’ bathroom in high school, my hair a crispy nest of aqua net, crying over a boy named Ralph. Intergalactic is a summer traffic jam on the Southeast Expressway in Boston, in a car with no AC.

And then there’s “Sure Shot.” When you’re a woman, there are times when every man looks like just another subway groper, catcaller, or abuser who will tell you that your experiences aren’t real, that your thoughts are silly, and that your mind is worthless. I was having one of those days. Something horrible happened to me, and I felt like garbage. Auto-piloting down the 5 Freeway, toward that Atwater shortcut, feeling numb, with a side-order of angry, the CD on random, when the words rang out: “I wanna say a little somethin’ that’s long overdue, that disrespect for women has got to be through. To all the mothers and the sisters and the wives and friends, I wanna offer my love and respect to the end.”

That something wasn’t little. Not at that moment. It was everything. I’d heard the song a million-and-one times before, but the lyrics came through the shitty factory-installed speakers of my Chevy (not an) Impala at just the right second in my life to remind me that the world was filled with good men who weren’t going to put up with this hatred any longer. That he was sorry about saying all that shit about roofies and toilet brushes. I pushed through to “Song for the Man,” and Adam Horovitz continued the thought, shoving back at all those assholes who felt entitled to my ass on the T, when I was a scared kid praying that the pervert would exit at the next stop. “What gives you the right to look her up and down?”

Usually, it was that trademark silly rapper bluster that lifted me up, my lip curling up in a smirk right about the time the Boys were shouting that they had more hits than Sadaharu Oh. It was “Sure Shot” on a summer day in SoCal that gave me courage when I needed it. It’s still “Sure Shot” that echoes through my brain when some dude makes a boneheaded remark. I think, “Someone cooler and smarter than you’ll ever hope to be is on my side. Now shove your male privilege up your ass and waddle away, motherfucker.” An old friend of mine explained, “…that one line makes so many things bearable.” And I wonder if he knew that, if any of them know that.

We feel this deep connection to the artists of our time; they can speak to us, for us, lift us out of the shit that pains us, sing at our weddings and barbecues…it’s as if they’re joining us in our celebrations and comforting us in our tragedies. It wasn’t the actual human, the artist named Adam Yauch who put his arms around me and lifted me up when the cesspool was pulling me under, it was his art. So I could never hug him back and thank him for always being there, because really, he wasn’t. That’s the frustration of this kind of grief.

It’s the one-sidedness of it all that’s killing me. When someone you love dies, it’s usually someone you know, someone to whom you’ve expressed your love. Maybe you even get to say goodbye, to express what they’ve meant to you, tell them they’ve brought you joy and meaning. You can seek comfort from family, pore over emails and photos of memories you shared, and find some peace in the knowledge that they experienced your gratitude for having them in your life. When an artist dies, someone you never knew, but still someone who seemed to know you so well, whose words gave you comfort…there’s a special kind of empty left in your heart. It’s not that I’m broken because I didn’t get to say goodbye. It’s that I was never able to say hello. I was never able to say thank you.

I don’t know that I’ll find any comfort by writing this into the void. I hope that he knew that for every person who shook his hand and told him that his work brought them joy, there were a thousand others feeling that way, too. I hope that Adam Horovitz and Michael Diamond can absorb that the love and respect ringing out for their brother also belongs to them, that this love is their legacy, too.

Adam Yauch, I will miss you. I didn’t know you, and I never met you, but I loved you, and I will mourn you. Thank you for the kind words, especially the ones that made me laugh and gave me courage and comfort. It’s called gratitude, and that’s right.

Dr. Elizabeth Weir and Colonel John Sheppard, of Stargate: Atlantis.

In brief, this show was a spinoff of Stargate: SG1 which was itself the TV spinoff of the movie Stargate. SGA, as it’s known, is about an expedition to find the lost city of Atlantis, which is in another galaxy, go figure. Dr. Elizabeth Weir, civilian, diplomat and negotiator, leads an international cast of characters on this trip. John Sheppard is a Major at the start of the action. Thanks to the discovery of the creepy vampire space aliens who are the bad guys in that galaxy, he ends up the military commander, so John functions sort of as Elizabeth’s second-in-command.

Because of the situation, the two are friends – eventually close friends who are each other’s family – and co-workers with nothing more than some subtle flirtation going on occasionally. Such a relationship is ripe for subtext, though, and within the first half of the first season this pairing utterly captured me and a lot of other people. A friend of mine had a coworker (male, for the record) who watched the show, who without any prompting from her once observed that Elizabeth and John “totally had a thing” going on.

There are five particular areas of the show that made them my one and only (so far) OTP.

1. Exchanges of Meaningful Looks

Or, as the Weir/Sheppard fans call it, the immense amount of eye!sex.

These two look at each other all the time. Big whoop, right? But the thing is, the show’s camera work and editing make a big deal out of a lot of these looks, because Elizabeth is the boss and John is the military commander. When Elizabeth and John look at each other, the video cuts from one to the other while Scary! Music! plays to emphasize the Big! Danger! of the moment, or what have you.

You know it’s a dramatic cliffhanger when the two of them start looking intensely at each other. They also glare when they argue, and then share amused looks at the antics of their coworkers, who sometimes resemble hyperactive five year olds.

2. Lack of Personal Space

Elizabeth, as the person in charge, spends most of her time somewhat isolated from everyone. So one of the reasons why this pairing took off is that she spends more time on screen with John than with anyone else. As the first season arc concluded and the two of them began to trust each other and act more as a united front, the personal space between them kept shrinking. A lot of scenes were walk-and-talks where they were side by side, or John was trailing after her like a puppy. Then there’s Elizabeth’s office – most people sit in the chair across from her, but John sometimes parks himself on the edge of her desk instead.

3. Rescues

Let’s face it: life-saving can be a really easy way to start shipping two characters. Stargate: Atlantis being a science fiction show with creepy vampire space aliens and other assorted bad guys, mortal peril is a regular plot feature, so there are lots of chances for life-saving activities. However, there are more subtle issues at play here.

On the score of straight up life-saving, the two-part midseason episodes “The Storm” and “The Eye” in the very first season involves a group of bad guys invading the city. They take Elizabeth and Rodney McKay (the head scientist) hostage, and John has to go all John McClane to save them and the city.

First John offers the terrorists a trade to save Elizabeth’s life. The terrorist leader lies and says Elizabeth’s dead. John’s response is a chillingly cold “I am going to kill you,” and he then spends a good half the episode mass-murdering the bad guys until the leader finally has to admit Elizabeth’s not dead. After which point John has to shoot the leader, who is holding Elizabeth in front of him as a human shield.

Then, when he asks “Are you okay?” Elizabeth breaks her professional cool, admitting to him in a shaking voice, “No.”

John replies, “You will be,” then takes her hand and leads her away.

And that’s just the first rescue.

Actually, before that, in the third episode “38 Minutes,” Elizabeth stubbornly insists on getting John and the rest of his team back safely, despite intense time pressure and all the odds being against them. This is how Elizabeth’s rescues generally work, because she’s usually back home while John is off exploring. But she does go to rescue him in person more than once.

There’s also the fact that the show starts with John serving in Antarctica, not exactly a plush assignment, and having some mysterious black mark in his service record. When Elizabeth insists on him joining the expedition, she saves him from that “exile” to start with.

4. Trust

In the pilot, John is slightly better than a stowaway on this expedition to find the lost city of Atlantis. He has a genetic mutation that allows him to use technology. Elizabeth is leading the expedition, and she’s the one who convinces John to go and gets his military superiors to go along with it. She trusts him, even though John is very unsure of himself and unsure about the mission. The pilot episode involves some catastrophes, and John ends up not as a tagalong, but in charge of the military side of the expedition.

Elizabeth and John argue. A lot. Beginning with a big fight in the pilot and continuing for a good portion of the first season. And yes, for shippers, that can be a gold mine of subtext. The two of them also gradually begin to understand each other. In between arguments they save each other’s lives a few times. Then at the end of the season, in “The Siege Part 2,” John risks his entire career to back Elizabeth up against the powers that be. Elizabeth trusted him, now he trusts her.

It’s a rare thing for any show anywhere to build a relationship like that over an entire season and do it intentionally.

The trust theme keeps going. In later episodes John talks Elizabeth into taking risks that she is reluctant to take, largely because she trusts him. When he gets infected with a virus and begins mutating into a monster, Elizabeth walks unarmed into his room alone. Twice. Not the smartest move, maybe, but an expression of trust. When Elizabeth is trapped by an alien technology and convinced Atlantis is an illusion, it’s John who brings her back.

5. Honor

The two of them honor each other. What I mean by that is that they don’t act out of selfishness when the other person is concerned, and instead respect the other person’s wishes. In “Common Ground” John is taken hostage by one of the villains, who wants to trade John for a third party (presumably to kill that person). John uses his one chance to speak to Elizabeth and the rest of the expedition to tell them not to cut a deal. Elizabeth doesn’t — even when she has to watch John being fed on by a starving alien space vampire. She hates it, but she doesn’t give in. (She does, however, go against her general desire to avoid conflict by ordering a rescue team to go in there and get John the hell out by any means necessary.)

In the season 4 premiere “Adrift,” Elizabeth is dying but they have a technology that could save her life. However, based on Elizabeth’s past experience with this technology, there’s no way she would want to go through that. With Elizabeth hurt, John is both effectively in command, and functioning as her next-of-kin. Even knowing it means losing her forever, he tells the others not to use the technology. The scientists, unsurprisingly, ignore him, use the thing and heal Elizabeth, who is exactly as horrified when she finds out what they did as John thought she would be. This episode would seem like a goldmine for shippers, and it is, but unfortunately it’s also right before the show wrote Elizabeth out and she became a recurring character who appeared in a couple of episodes in Season Four, and none in Season Five, so it’s a rather bitter milestone.

I was heartbroken and furious, in the way only an OTPer would get, when Elizabeth was no longer part of the show. It killed my enjoyment, taking what was the heart of the whole thing out of it for me. I hadn’t entirely realized how invested I’d gotten in the development of this relationship until it was taken away. I don’t know if any other pairing will ever have this level of power over me again, but now I get the passion and energy people pour into a single pairing that just happens to hit every button you have, and be a relationship that fascinates you so much that you spend hours talking about it to anyone who will listen.

Thankfully, there are DVD sets, reruns, an awesome fan community that persists even with the show off the air for three years (we celebrate the pairing in October each year), and proselytizing to potential new fans.

The Top Three Weir/Sheppard Episodes, in chronological order:

Season One: “Before I Sleep”

This is really mostly an Elizabeth-centric episode, where they discover an alternate version of Elizabeth who is 10,000 years old. It’s on the list for a few reasons, number one being the opening. Elizabeth is stealing a moment for herself when John appears and gives her a present. Apparently it’s her birthday, which she hasn’t told anyone about, but he found out somehow. This has been the grist for many a fantasy and fanfic. Later John stays with Elizabeth as she keeps a vigil at the bedside of her dying, alternate self, comforting her.

Season Two: “Conversion”

John gets infected by a virus and starts mutating into a monster. Not a complex plot, but Elizabeth and John have some funny conversations at the beginning about her terrible bedside manner. She also keeps going into his room as he gets more and more dangerous, her blind trust in him is an admirable, if foolish trait. When the new military commander orders the men to hunt John down and stop him with force if necessary, Elizabeth contradicts the order in front of God and everybody and orders them to retrieve John alive and unharmed (and the rest of the team follows her orders – the new guy isn’t exactly popular).

Season Three: “The Real World”

Elizabeth gets infected by alien machines that try to convince her the Atlantis expedition is a delusion, and that she’s been in mental institution on Earth the whole time. While she struggles with confusion in the fantasy world, John and the others on the team are trying to find a way to wake her up. Why it’s so good: John’s eventual solution is to walk into the isolation tent and risk getting infected himself in order to touch Elizabeth and thus communicate with her and get her to fight off the alien presence. Which she does, and there’s an adorable, awkward conversation at the end of the episode.

So, it’s really no surprise when, around this time last year, Amanda decided to buy one of her pals porn. After all, he’d never really seen much porn, and he didn’t need much else. Turns out, she was a hero (once he told all his friends about this cool girl who bought it for him), and you could be, too!

‘Cuz nothing says Christmas like porn.

However, it’s not all wham, bam, thank you ma’am. There’s stuff you need to know before you make your transaction. And don’t you just know that we’re always here for you?

1. Beware the online porn-purchasing trap.
   It may seem simple and less humiliating, but you never know what you’re actually gonna get. Your VHS might come unlabeled, without a box. It might come with bizarre sex toys (which, given the right person, is actually a bonus). You might get sucked into a never-ending web porn loop, which is particularly bad at work. Read the fine print on the site carefully. Reputable porn dealers will spell out exactly how they ship their items and whether or not they sell their customer lists to third parties.
2. Don’t be afraid to buy your porn in person.
   What are you afraid of? That the sales clerk is going to snicker and say, “Hot Girl-on-Girl Action, huh?” You’re buying porn for the enjoyment of others. He’s making minimum wage selling it. Who’s got the upper hand here? You do! If Beavis hassles you at the counter, just give him your best icy glare and respond, “Well, it’s no Behind the Green Doorbut, then, what is nowadays?”The key to an in-person porn shopping trip is to show no fear. You’re buying porn and you’re damned proud.
3. Know your audience.
   Some people don’t find gay porn sexy! Some people don’t understand why Jenna insists on barking like a dog! Some people actually care about plot, lighting and stuff like that (although you should just buy him or her The English Patient, mock them behind their back, and skip the porn).
4. Porn marketed toward women is not always sexy to women.
   Just like Harlequin romance novels are not actually romantic to a great deal of the female population, some gurls don’t need all the love with their sex. Deal with it.
5. Hard core vs. Soft core.
   People unfamiliar with porn frequently misunderstand the term “hard core.” No, it doesn’t mean there are whips and chains. That’s not to say that there can’t be. But usually the chains are relegated to adorning someone’s bustier and the whips are pink and wielded by a girl named Candee. Hard core means that you’re seeing actual sex. Penetration, people! Soft coreis the warm and fuzzy kind of porn where there’s a lot of nudity but no one actually gets it on.Our personal recommendation? If you’re plunking down your hard earned money, go for the hard stuff. Save soft core for those boring nights when there’s nothing on TV but Showtime After Dark.
6. Define your intentions.
   Is this porn for your poor younger friend who’s never seen porn before? Is this porn for your best friend who hasn’t gotten any for a while? Is this porn for your significant other, in an attempt to spice up your sex life? Is this porn for some unsuspecting person, who you secretly want to fuck? (Note: it won’t be a secret after you buy them porn for Christmas.)
7. Consider the ramifications.
   Assuming you’re buying this to spice up your sex life or turn an old friend into a little something more, there may be some unforeseen complications. For example, some people can be rather literal minded. If you buy your honey a video for Christmas featuring erotic bondage… well, don’t blame us if you wake up on New Year’s Day tied to the bedpost. Communication is an essential factor in giving the gift of porn. Make sure your recipient understands that while you might think watching two people getting their freak on in a glassed-in conference room is hot, you aren’t really looking to reenact the scene just before your next staff meeting.
8. Research.
   All porn stars are not created equal. Some of them have specialties! For example, Janine (no last name) only works with women. So if you’re not looking for the above referenced girl-on-girl action, it’s best to put back that copy of “Blondage 3.”
9. Know the Lingo.
   Money shot? Clam shell? Huh?Avoid anything labeled “bukkake.” You don’t want to know. We’re not telling you. Just don’t go there.
10. Time your porn-giving carefully.
    You might think it’s amusing for your friend/lover to unwrap the Debbie Does… boxed set in front of the neighbors, but let us give you a hint. It’s not.

But it wasn’t until The WB signed off with a five-hour block of pilots — Felicity, Angel, Buffy and Dawson’s Creek — that I realized what this meant, and how this, as cliché as it sounds, is truly the end of an era.

Like a lot of people I know, I love television. I’ve been a fangurl since Sesame Street, The Facts of Life and Knight Rider. (Yes, I was smitten with Michael Knight. I wanted to be his mechanic, April. I also wanted to be Amy, the chick from The A-Team… Face was supercute, people.) But it was when I discovered The WB that I realized what it was to truly anticipate an upcoming episode. To have those giddy shakes on a Tuesday night because there was a new Buffy, or to turn off all the lights, curl up on my bed, cell phone in hand (to call Amanda during commercial breaks) while the Roswell episode “Heatwave” played and… my god, was that opening scene hot. The only time I’d felt this passion before was during the all-too-brief run of My So-Called Life.

But The WB was more than its shows, even more than the “music you just heard” brilliant marketing scheme that has been adopted by so many channels that you don’t even notice the blatant band promotion anymore. It gave us teen angst junkies a permanent home nearly every night of the week. There was a serious amount of time when the only channel I’d dedicate myself to was The WB. I knew what day it was by what was on that night — Roswell, Popular and the aforementioned shows. And I loved, loved Grosse Pointe, the overlooked and underappreciated, yet delicious tongue-in-cheek look at life behind the scenes of a television show that aired on a fictitious version of The WB itself.

Without The WB, there’d be no snark. Of course, it would exist but — just a few years ago, people would ask me what the word meant. Now no one blinks when I say something is lacking in snark. Joss Whedon and his writers brought the snark in spades — rewatching the Buffy pilot made me realize just how much of it is not only quotable, but also in my daily speech. Point me to another show that’s on air right now that is as infectious — a difficult task, indeed.

The WB reminded the television industry that not everything teen related had to be a “very special episode,” and that the audience had very expendable incomes. Roswell brought back the mall tour, last seen with the previous incarnation of teen angst, Beverly Hills, 90210. Remember the Roswell Levi’s campaign with gorgeous photography, for which we rushed out to buy the magazines? And there was the Maxim photo shoot with Katherine Heigl — all you Grey’s Anatomy latecomers, we loved her first, in all her Isabel Evans glory. I think Teen People stayed afloat in the early years simply from revenue generated by The WB stars’ photo shoots.

And The WB brought us pretty, pretty boys. Sometimes we mused about lawsuits, that the channel had given us unrealistic expectations of what we should expect in a boy — a perfect mix of Xander Harris, Pacey Witter, Noel Crane and Harrison John, with dashes of hero-complex Max Evans and bad-boy Michael Guerin. I still have a hard time assessing ages — thinking that any guy up to age 30 should still look like he can play a teenager on The WB.

I’ve read a few comments lately about how The WB changed people’s lives. Is that possible — a television channel having that much impact? Most definitely. I caught an episode or two of Buffy on my crappy, tinfoil-laden antenna TV at college, but it was the next summer, when The WB played Buffy repeats on Monday and Tuesday, then started Dawson’s Creek the following fall that I was hooked. I still had my post-graduation ennui and my broken, My So-Called Life-loving heart fell in love with television all over again. I found The Bronze, the famed BtVS posting board, and six months later, flew across the country to meet people I’d only posted to before. (It wasn’t my first online outing, the first Vulgarthon burst my cherry.) From my love of Willow and Xander, I discovered fanfiction and wrote my own — strengthening my confidence in my writing. That continued on with Roswell, which I still maintain had some of the best fanfic, the best writing in general, that I’ve read in any fandom. And, of course, had it not been for my progression of show to Bronze to making good friends, PopGurls.com would not exist.

I don’t watch The WB as much anymore. I’ve stayed with Gilmore Girls through the run and I’m actually quite looking forward to the new season with a new showrunner at the helm. The Supernatural boys hooked me midway through the season, and I’ll follow them both, along with Veronica Mars to The CW.

The September 17th retrospective was a nice way to bow out, but I couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. The promised promo campaigns, for which I had mainly tuned in as I own the DVD sets of the shows aired, were barely sprinkled in. And there were far too many faces repeated in the four spots, and some blatantly missing shows like Popular and Roswell — c’mon, for the cases and cases of Tabasco sauce ALONE, they should have been featured. I would have liked to have seen more people, different imagery and maybe some random outtakes or Upfront presentations. I would have loved to see an interview with “The WB Promo Guy” — who was part of The WB branding as much as the shows were. Tell me you can hear his voice and not think of a wildly misleading promo, or that a new episode was about to begin. The WB went out with class, but for the fans that have stuck with the network for so many years, we deserved a bit more.

It was at the end of the five-hour pilot repeats, the final promo and the bowing silhouette of Michigan J. Frog that I finally got it, and I finally felt it. This defining feature of myself no longer means anything, almost like a citizen of a renamed country. It’s over, and no matter how many times we watch the DVDs, that time and space is gone and truly, I’m a bit sad about it.

Felicity‘s series premiere promo campaign blasted Madonna’s “The Power of Goodbye” all summer long. The theme song was eventually changed to “A New Version of You.” Time will tell if The CW helps create a new version of us, shapes our memory and experiences like The WB — I’m guessing not, because it’s hard to recapture that magic, but I’m willing to give it a try. But when I finally get rid of all my VHS tapes with the first airings and original promos… that’s when I’ll finally be ready to say goodbye.

Oddly, though, shoes are not a status symbol for me. With the exception of my running shoes, I rarely spend over $100 on a pair and don’t get hung up on labels. Designer Shoe Warehouse (DSW) is my shoe Mecca, and I’ve spent quality time in its cousin store The Shoe Pavilion. Finding a great pair of heels for a great bargain can make my whole week, and I have a very specific shopping strategy which requires me to visit every nook and cranny of a store to find the best deals.

I like shoes that are fun, look good on my feet, and occasionally make me feel sexy. Comfort is not high on my list of priorities, as you will see. I like strappy straps that snake around my ankles and sky-high delicate heels. I am drawn to bright colors and prints that don’t match a damn thing in my closet. And I like cute sneakers (though my collection is anemic at the moment) to wear with jeans and capri pants.

As I was piling box after box on my kitchen table so that my husband could shoot all the photographs below, I was reminded that like anything else we collect shoes have stories. Awards shows and parties and weddings, these are the things that spur me to shop, and this collection of pictures and thoughts is almost like a diary of the last several years…without all the naughty bits. (Sorry, ya’ll.)

THE SHOE: Assorted flip flops
THE BRAND: Unknown
THE STORY: These are all so old that I have no idea what the brand was on any of them, but they came from places like Old Navy and Target (except for the blue ones, which came from O’Neill Surf Shop in Santa Cruz, CA). Each of these pairs should be thrown away. They’re brittle and carry the imprint of my feet, but for some reason I chose not to get rid of them at the end of last summer when I tossed out several other pair. Because I love flip flops so much and they’re so cheap, I’ll amass dozens of pairs by September.

THE SHOE: White leather braided flip flops
THE BRAND: Aerosoles
THE STORY: I also own these in black (which were problematic to shoot against the black background), and I have never worn the white ones. I’m not even sure now why I bought the white ones, as I never ever buy white shoes. I think it had something to do with wanting a flip flop that was dressy enough for work. When I look at them now I think of old ladies and cruises. The black ones look pretty cute with casual skirts, but they rubbed one heck of a blister between my toes. To be truthful, the fate of these is uncertain.

THE SHOE: Black leather and suede t-strap with 2.5″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Aerosoles
THE STORY: For Halloween last year I bought this amazing showgirl costume off of eBay, and I needed a pair of shoes to go with it that would look right but also be comfortable enough to dance the night away. I always walk by the Aerosoles store and wish the shoes were cuter, because I know they have an almost unrivaled reputation for comfort. It just so happened that, when I was looking for this pair, Aerosoles had the exact right thing. These were the perfect mix of dancing shoe and femininity for my costume. And they are damn comfortable. I highly recommend this brand, which has really kicked it up a notch in the fashion category.

THE SHOE: Gray and black t-strap with 2.5″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Ann Marino
THE STORY: These are great shoes for work. First, they’re several years old and still look almost brand new. Second, they’re comfortable as all get out. Third, they’re feminine but professional, and add just the right touch to almost any black or gray outfit. I am a big fan of the t-strap – my mother has always loved them, and she has these gorgeous tiny feet that look super sexy in this type of shoe. My foot is slender at the heel and wide at the toes, and I’ve nicknamed them Duck Feet. But these shoes look great even on me. People always comment on them when I wear them.

THE SHOE: Strappy black satin sandal with 3″ heel
THE BRAND: Anne Klein
THE STORY: The year *NSYNC performed “This I Promise You” at the Grammy Awards – Madonna opened the show, and Jon Stewart hosted – I was able to snag tickets through work. I already owned a great black strapless dress and a long auborgine velvet jacket, but I insisted on new shoes. These were the ones, and I think I’ve maybe worn them three other times since then because they’re dressier than I usually like and, also, if I have a special occasion I always buy a new pair. Almost always.

THE SHOE: Black leather slingbacks with 2″ heel
THE BRAND: Anne Klein
THE STORY: I just wore these last week, and despite being several years old I got complemented on them twice. They look great with black pants and are super comfy. However, the elastic on the slingback is seriously shot. Each time I wear them I expect something to snap, which will make me super sad.

THE SHOE: Black velvet slingback with 3″ heel
THE BRAND: Banana Republic
THE STORY: These were purchased for my agency holiday party in 2004. I had a sleeveless dress completely covered in bugle beads patterned in a way that was vaguely 1920s. These shoes were perfect for that, but after a night of drinking and dancing, the straps got stretched out and now they always slip off my heels. Also, they’re velvet, and velvet isn’t appropriate in most situations. You’d never know it by looking at my collection, though, because I have several pair.

THE SHOE: Red and cream canvas espadrilles with brown leather ankle ties and 3″ platform heel
THE BRAND: Banana Republic
THE STORY: I was in NYC with an ex-co-worker. I had just purchased the best Marc Jacobs halter dress ever at Saks Fifth Avenue, and whatever shoes I was wearing at the time were killing me. We stopped into Banana to look for pants or something, and these shoes were on sale. Like, a crazy sale. I think I paid $14 for them, and it was one of those weekends in NYC where there was no sales tax. Score!

THE SHOE: Floral canvas slingbacks with 3″ platform heel
THE BRAND: Bandolino
THE STORY: I bought these with my mom and grandma on their last trip to San Francisco. These shoes are great, but what I remember most about that trip was that my mom had just lost a ton of weight and she let me run around dressing her in fabulous clothes that she would never buy herself. I had just convinced her to buy her first luxury blue jeans, and we were all flying from the high.

THE SHOE: Pink patent leather with silver buckles and 3″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Bebe
THE STORY: This was the first ultra pointy-toe shoe I ever owned. I held out on that trend for as long as I could, but this sassy pair broke me. The first time I ever wore them was dancing at Rain at The Palms in Las Vegas with my friends Erin and Amy. We danced for three hours, and my feet were a mess for a week. It was totally worth it, though. The last time I wore them was for a job interview, to spice up a black suit with subtle pink pinstripes.

THE SHOE: Pink and purple t-strap with 3″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: BCBG
THE STORY: These were purchased at Loehman’s at the Beverly Center in West Hollywood specifically to go with an amazing Nicole Miller sweater dress that I have only worn once. They make me feel like a super sexy secretary.

THE SHOE: Tan leather with ankle strap and 3″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Bisou Bisou
THE STORY: I’m pretty sure I paid $7 for these shoes. I was looking for a pair of flexible summer heels, and even though these felt a bit 1982, once I put them on I knew we were made for each other. When all else fails, this is the pair I reach for. They make my feet look slender and cute and they work with anything in my closet. No one else has ever said a thing about them but I don’t care. I love them madly.

THE SHOE: Pink suede Mary Janes
THE BRAND: Børn
THE STORY: My super-cute friend Nicole loves this brand as does seemingly every other crunchy granola girl I’ve met. I found these hiding in a sales rack, the only pair, and exactly my size. They’ve never been comfortable to me, though. The backs make my heels bleed and the straps cut into the tops of my feet after just a few hours. I am gradually breaking them in by wearing wooly socks – but you can tell by how new they look that I don’t wear them much.

THE SHOE: Black leather Mary Jane slingbacks with 2.5″ heel
THE BRAND: Circa Joan & David
THE STORY: I have a weakness for mary janes, especially black ones. A year or so ago I had to cut myself off, because every other pair of shoe in my closet looked pretty much like this. Yikes. I bought these with my friend Andrew at a strange designer discount place. They give me that old-fashioned typing pool look whenever I wear them, but the toe is pretty narrow and causes pressure against my big toenails. Because of this, they’ve never made it into heavy rotation.

THE SHOE: Black leather sandals
THE BRAND: Dansko
THE STORY: This is another brand that friends always rave about. So comfortable! So sturdy! Bah, I say. I bought these when I was launching a NASCAR sponsorship at my old job. Working at these races would require me to hike miles and miles each day around stadiums and parking lots, but required footwear that would still look professional and would be sturdy enough to handle the wear. (NASCAR fans are probably calling bullshit on my wearing sandals to a race, but I always had a pair of sneakers with me in case I had to go into the pit – where open-toed shoes were not allowed.) The first time I wore these the leather insole pulled up at the back of both shoes. Also, the straps would twist at the buckles, causing chafing. People urged me to send them back, but I didn’t keep the receipt. Also, I was annoyed. I don’t know why I still have them – the insoles are held down with duct tape.

THE SHOE: Black leather sneakers
THE BRAND: Diesel
THE STORY: For Halloween one year, the PopGurls had *NSYNC-themed costumes. Melynee and I went as JC Chasez and Lance Bass, while Amy and Michelle went as our hoochie groupies. You can bet there are stories a’ plenty there, but all I’ll say is that Melynee had a yam in her pants to make her an anatomically correct boy. These were the shoes I bought for my Lance costume, and they were so comfy and fun that I still wear them. They’re a big hit with the boys, who always ask if I bought them recently.

THE SHOE: Black leather ballet flats
THE BRAND: Dollhouse
THE STORY: These were in the clearance section at DSW and they looked fun and comfy. Oh, the pain they caused. The elastic that surrounds each shoe rubs and digs into my flesh, especially at the heel. The darling transparent black strap across the top sticks to my skin. Finally I bought some moleskin and applied it to the heels, which you can see in the picture. I can wear them for almost an entire day now without having to kick them off. Huzzah!

THE SHOE: Black leather boots
THE BRAND: Dr. Martin
THE STORY: These were purchased for another Halloween costume, when I thought it would be fun to go as Myself: The Teenaged Years. I thought my coworkers would get a kick out of seeing me goth-out, so I bought some wacky pants from Hot Topic with more hardware than a Home Depot and a spider-webby shirt to wear under a corset I already owned. The Dr. Martins were an afterthought, but I used to own four pair at once and it seemed that Halloween or no it’d be a good idea to have a pair in the closet. Anyone who has ever owned Docs knows that you have to break them in. Somehow I forgot this rule, and wore too-thin socks that resulted in bloody and bruised heels. The costume was off – I bought the showgirl dress instead, and months later I’m still trying to break them in.

THE SHOE: Bronze leather with ankle strap and 3″ heel
THE BRAND: Franco Sarto
THE STORY: I bought these to go with a fantastic strapless silk dress from Anthropologie for my friend Kelly’s wedding. Shoes were bound to be a tough affair, because the dress was made from a dusty rose print with a multitiered skirt, and wouldn’t have worked with something modern. I’d been wanting something in a metallic but hadn’t found just the right thing, until I saw these in Nordstrom. They were feminine enough for the dress but gave it a little pizzazz, and with a bronze Hobo clutch the outfit was complete.

THE SHOE: Black leather with ankle strap and 3″ heel
THE BRAND: Franco Sarto
THE STORY: I keep these around because they’re pretty comfortable and look great with black pants, but I’m not particularly passionate about them. I seem to remember having a similar pair that I had to get rid of, and these were the not-quite-as-good replacement. I can’t remember the last time I wore them, and the leather is in such good shape that I obviously don’t pull them out of the closet that often.

THE SHOE: Black leather motorcycle boots
THE BRAND: Frank Thomas
THE STORY: These were a gift from my friend Jim, for riding around on the back of his motorcycle. In the summer we used to go almost every weekend, and while I bought myself a kick-ass jacket, he footed the bill for these boots and some gloves. I loved riding on the back of his Triumph, going places that made me carsick at other times. Sadly, Jim moved to Texas, so there’s no more motorcycle riding for me. My husband won’t let me buy my own bike, no matter how much I beg, so I should probably get rid of my gear eventually. It’s too depressing to have it around and not use it.

THE SHOE: Black, red and white with ankle strap and 4″ heel
THE BRAND: Guess
THE STORY: These are actually almost a full size too big for me, but I thought they were super funky, fun and 80s and had to buy them anyway. I can’t remember which store they came from, but know that my friend Kristen was with me when I bought them. Because they’re a little big, I usually stuff Peds in the toe which is cushy until about midday and then things start moving around. I don’t wear them often, but when I do I always feel like Joan Jett.

THE SHOE: Brown leather slides with 3.5″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Guess
THE STORY: The only plain brown shoes I own, these pull all the weight when brown is called for, which can be problematic in sketchy weather. Also, when I’ve been wearing them for a while they make that annoying smacking sound as the insoles stick just a bit to my heels. For such high heels, though, they’re pretty comfortable, and as long as they still look good I’ll probably keep them around.

THE SHOE: Green suede and silver sneakers
THE BRAND: Kangaroos
THE STORY: Complete with a zippered pocket for your milk money! I purchased these at a DSW in Cleveland while helping Miss Melynee shop for a pair of shoes to wear to a fancy schmancy donor dinner at her grad school. The rubber is starting to peel a bit at the back of each sole, and the super glue I bought hasn’t been doing the trick. One day I’ll maybe take them to a cobbler to have them professionally reaffixed.

THE SHOE: Brown plaid with t-strap, brown leather ties with ceramic flowers and a 3″ heel
THE BRAND: Keno
THE STORY: These are the most expensive pair of shoes I ever bought on impulse. I mean, look at them. They’re BROWN PLAID! I had to go out and buy a pair of brown pants and a brown skirt just to have something to wear them with, and still don’t have just the right thing. I found these at a DSW and learned that, when you’re buying shoes there that are of a certain price, they only put one shoe out of each pair on the sales floor and someone has to go to the stockroom for the other one if you are serious about purchasing them. While I was waiting for my extra shoe, my friend Eric took a picture of another pair on the shelf that he used to (maybe still does) use on his cell when I call.

THE SHOE: Blue floral fabric with blue leather 3.5″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Laundry by Shelli Segal
THE STORY: I saw these on a shelf at a DSW and fell in love with them. They’re just so impractical. What you might not notice in the accompanying photo is that the print on these is actually 3-D in places. Some of the flowers curl up at the edges, which is so darling. About the only thing you can wear them with, though, is jeans and neutral things like khaki skirts or white dresses and the like. I don’t own many of those, so I don’t wear these often, but whenever I do I stare at them constantly. And if I’m being honest, they aren’t that comfortable and should only be worn when one will be sitting down a lot.

THE SHOE: Teal leather slides
THE BRAND: Liz Claiborne
THE STORY: I bought these in a weak, girly moment and don’t wear them often. I did buy a pair of seersucker capri pants from Ann Taylor that are a perfect match, and with a cardigan I look like a sophisticated mom. It’s such a departure from the kind of thing I usually wear that someone inevitably comments on them. They are amazingly comfortable, but come on. They’re TEAL with a BOW.

THE SHOE: Teal leather with open toe and 3.5″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Marc Jacobs
THE STORY: All I’m saying, pretty baby. La la love you. Don’t mean maybe. < / Pixies moment > Oh, these shoes. They were a steal at DSW, and they are sexy-making for any foot that slides them on. Sometimes I just want to sit around in gorgeous lingerie and these shoes, drinking champaign. That’s how great they are. Sadly, the heel of one got caught in a sidewalk crack and there’s a little knick in the leather. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry.

THE SHOE: Blue paisley fabric with open-toe and 3″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Melian
THE STORY: I purchased these knowing full well that they wouldn’t go with anything I own except for one white eyelet Banana Republic skirt from several seasons ago. But they look great on and are super girly. The first and only time I wore them, the heel broke clean off the right shoe. I kept the box in my office for almost a year, intending to get a referral to a cobbler. Never happened. The shoe is still broken, but I love them, and hope to one day get off my ass and get them fixed.

THE SHOE: Olive green suede boots with 3″ stacked heel
THE BRAND: Michael Kors
THE STORY: The first time I saw these, I was helping my friend Kelly shop for her wedding shoes. I kept walking by and eyeing them, but when I said something to her she dismissed them as ugly. They had already captured my heart, though, so it shouldn’t have surprised anyone that I went back and bought them when they went on sale. It’s too bad that it’s almost never cold enough to wear these in San Francisco. I’ve paired them with low-rise capri pants and hoodies before, and felt just a wee bit like Paris Hilton.

THE SHOE: Brown and pink canvas/leather with ankle strap and 3.5″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Michelle K
THE STORY: I think these are really great shoes, they’re not too uncomfortable, and other women always coo over them. But I never wear them, because nothing in my closet goes with brown and pink. Seriously. I never wear brown, and almost never wear pink. It’s a tragedy, truly.

THE SHOE: Tan leather knee-high boots
THE BRAND: Naturalizer
THE STORY: For a while Melynee was a resident at a theatre company in Media, Pennsylvania. On a visit to see her in The Importance of Being Earnest my luggage got lost and I needed something to wear to the show. I bought these boots at the mall to go with a lightweight denim shirt dress (which I just realized is a style that is back “in”). It’s hard for me to find knee-high boots because my calves are too thick, so finding these in the dead of winter was a godsend. I still wear them often, but they’re starting to look a little worn. I dread finding a replacement pair.

THE SHOE: Brown leather motorcycle boots
THE BRAND: Nicole
THE STORY: I know several women who swear by Fry’s motorcycle boots, but the pairs I have tried on pinched in all the wrong places. I found these at the same time/place as my Kangaroos. They look exactly like Fry’s, but didn’t require a long breaking-in time. They’ve never made my feet bleed, they’ve never bruised me. And they’re great with jeans and cords, and were less than $100.

THE SHOE: Multi color striped canvas slingbacks with 2″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Nine West
THE STORY: I always forget about these because it’s hard to find things to go with them, but they are comfortable and darling on. These are the kind of shoes that even men comment on – perhaps they are less intimidated by these than some of my other pair – and in fact the last guy to compliment them was an ex-boss who I hate. Hmm. I will not let him ruin these shoes for me, and I vow to wear them more often this year.

THE SHOE: Wine-colored floral fabric with ankle tie and 3″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Nine West
THE STORY: I wish I had these in other colors, because they are girly and comfortable and perfect with summer skirts. The scarf-like ankle tie is like nothing I’ve ever owned, it feels amazing against your skin without ever cutting in. Unfortunately, the floral pattern makes these hard to wear with just anything, but I find myself shopping for things that work just so I can wear these shoes.

THE SHOE: Black leather strappy sandal with 3″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Nine West
THE STORY: These are so hot that I feel a bit like a high-class stripper whenever I wear them. And sometimes that’s a good thing, you know? I bought these when the weather in Northern California was still wavering between rain and summer, and couldn’t wait until it made up its mind to wear these for the first time. That just so happened to be a trip to San Jose to see Jay Mohr do standup. Standing outside in line in the cold I got lots of bitchy looks from other women. That’s a good sign, I say.

THE SHOE: Black leather knee-high boots
THE BRAND: Nine West
THE STORY: The first-ever knee-high boots I ever owned – that weren’t from the Army surplus store – were another pair of black leather boots from Nine West. Those had a much higher heel than these, but they fit over my calves and I wore them into the ground. This year I had no choice but to replace them, except I couldn’t find a single pair that worked. I wanted a more reasonable heel, but low heels made me feel like a Storm Trooper. These were a last attempt to recreate the good old days. They fit pretty well and are a nice height. There’s just one problem. They squeak. Loudly and with every step. I have tried everything I know except for taking them to a shoe-repair place to make it stop and nothing works. It’s HORRIFYING how loud they squeak, and unless I’m going to a loud bar I can no longer wear them. It’s heartbreaking, and now I’ll have to start the search all over next season.

THE SHOE: Black velvet and silver leather with ankle strap and 4″ stiletto heel (not pictured)
THE BRAND: Nine West
THE STORY: These were purchased for my agency holiday party, 2005. I looked all over for shoes to go with a black, strapless lace dress, and everything was just a little too shiny and modern. These were actually not the perfect thing, but once I bought them I felt like I had to wear them. Sadly, I mixed Tylenol severe flu with wine and stumbled around the dance floor with a charming proofreader named Peter. Poor Peter. I hope I didn’t pierce his foot with my shoe.

THE SHOE: Running shoes
THE BRAND: Saucony
THE STORY: My whole life I worked out in Nike cross-trainers, but when I started running a little more seriously I wanted a serious runner’s shoe. Luckily, Saucony makes this pair (named the Grid Trigon) that fits my weird arch and controls my pronating. This is my second pair – the first was retired after about 100 miles and would have lasted longer with someone without all my weird foot issues.

THE SHOE: Black leather loafers with 3″ platform heal
THE BRAND: Sbicca
THE STORY: Recently I started a new job by flying to Atlanta and then San Diego for focus groups. Because I knew that I would be traveling with boys, who undoubtedly would be wearing comfy shoes just made for running through airports, I wanted to make sure that I had the right shoes for keeping up. I went back and forth on these shoes. My friend Nicole said they were “like nurse shoes, only cute” and I wasn’t sure that’s the look I was going for. They feel like slippers, however, and they are the right length to wear with most of my work pants. I got them for less than $40, and it was a great purchase. These are lots of fun and never hurt my feet. While they may not go well with skirts, they’re perfect with pants and jeans.

THE SHOE: Teal suede ballet flats
THE BRAND: Seychelles
THE STORY: First, these types of flats always make me think of Micsha Barton, who made the style famous as Marissa Cooper on The OC. Other folks would know better than I, but I think she wears them because she’s pretty tall by Hollywood standards, and her leading man (Benjamin Mackenzie) is short. So, I like The OC but have always hated Mischa for some reason, and therefore I held out on wearing ballet flats. My podiatrist, however, feels that I should wear nothing but flats and out of respect for him I decided to give it a try. Ohmygod! Ballet flats are so cute! But they were not comfortable. Not to me. For a girl who wears a whole heck of a lot of high heels, in the beginning flats were like torture. And even though I easily know half a dozen girls who swear by the comfort of the Seychelles brand, these made my heels bleed every time I wore them until I discovered Dr. Scholl’s heel grips. Which seriously changed my life, and now live in over half of my shoes. Because of that, these shoes are having a Renaissance. I even wore them on my first day of my new job.

THE SHOE: Baby blue leather ballet flats
THE BRAND: Seychelles
THE STORY: I should have bought these in black, but the baby blue ones match my car. No, seriously. I have a baby blue VW Beetle convertible, and ever since I got it three years ago I’ve had a sickness for buying matching accessories. Like iPod cases, handbags, and shoes. Thus, I own these, which I’ve only worn once. They’re darling, but haven’t yet gotten heel grips and therefore cause my heels to bleed. They’ll be great for summer, as long as I can find neutral things to wear them with.

THE SHOE: Purple leather and suede with an open toe and 3.5″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Steve Madden
THE STORY: I feel like I must have worn these at some point, but I honestly can’t remember when. I always put them on with casual capri pants and such, hoping to give my outfit a little kick, but then I realize they are too fancy for that. Or maybe I just can’t pull off that look. I keep them around, though, hoping that something will be just right.

THE SHOE: Black leather with 3″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Steve Madden
THE STORY: These are my new favorite going-out shoes. They’re great with my favorite jeans and sassy with a number of dresses in my closet. For something so pointy and tall, they’re not even too dreadfully uncomfortable to wear. With one notable exception. Last month I went out dancing with some friends, and spent too much time on my feet. I carried the bruises for three weeks…but at least I didn’t dance in a cage like some people I might mention.

THE SHOE: Black canvas espadrilles with ribbon ankle tie
THE BRAND: Unknown from Target
THE STORY: Even though these look kind of sketchy, I can’t throw them away because I can’t find the perfect pair to replace them. These are the perfect example of a pair of shoes that cost less that $20 but can still incite envy in others. People stop me all the time to ask where they came from. I think it’s the cute ribbon tie, which is hard to see in the picture, but can wrap around my leg twice before tying almost to the knee.

THE SHOE: Brown canvas sneakers with pink polka dotted lining
THE BRAND: Unknown from Target
THE STORY: These are a lot of fun, and are strangely matchy-matchy with a pink and brown striped sweater that I bought on clearance at Old Navy a couple of years ago. At the time that I bought these, I had been looking for a pair of actual Converse low-tops, but hadn’t found the right ones. For $15, I thought these were a good substitute. And, while people comment on how cute they are, there’s something weird with the left shoe that causes pain across the top of my left foot. I have to wear thick socks, or else I bruise.

THE SHOE: Trail running shoes
THE BRAND: Vasque
THE STORY: Like most college backpackers, I used to own a pair of Vasque Sundowners. This particular model of Vasque hiking boots used to be the shit back in the day, and mine lasted for years until they were finally destroyed in the red clay of Kauai. My brother-in-law hiked the Appalachian Trail several years ago, and told us that many hikers were shipping home their heavy leather boots in favor of trail running shoes. When my beloved boots died, I took his advice and bought these. While I haven’t done much hardcore hiking since I got them, I have really loved them on the few trails we’ve seen together.

THE SHOE: Black leather with eggshell polka dots, an open toe and 3″ stiletto heel
THE BRAND: Via Spiga
THE STORY: These might be my favorite shoes ever. To begin with, they look absolutely amazing with almost everything. They’re super girly and a little old-fashioned, so that when I wear them I feel like I should be posing with a big smile in a modest swimsuit with an ice-cold Coca-Cola. All that, and they’re comfortable enough to wear all day long in the office and out for drinks after. I would wear them more often, but I worry that they will get worn out.

THE SHOE: Patent leather and snakeskin Mary Janes with a 2.5″ heel
THE BRAND: Zodiac
THE STORY: These are maybe the oldest pair of shoes represented here, and I actually debated about throwing them out and not including them at all. I’ve had them for so long that I can’t remember when I got them or where I was living, but they used to be my favorite shoes. They represent the days when I preferred a chunky heel and a square toe, back before I had such a good relationship with my podiatrist. Oh, how fashion wounds us all.

Anyone else out there obsessive compulsive about her shoes? I’d love to here from you! Email me at amanda@popgurls.com with pictures (150 pixels wide by 100 pixels tall) of your favorite shoes, and tell me why you love them so much. If we get a good enough response, perhaps we’ll create a new article with submissions from our readers!

2006-04-16

Except, well, it’s not. Over the past few months, I’ve found myself reevaluating all the things I think are sexy. And, sure, those things fall in there. I mean, I’m human. I’m going to look at Patrick Dempsey all half-naked on the cover of People and say “Mmmmm.” But what I’ve found lately is that sexy isn’t what sexy looks like. Sexy is what sexy does…and doesn’t.

I thought for a long time about what I think is sexy and once I got past staring at pictures on the internet, I realized that the movies and shows I watch and the relationships I care about aren’t ones that focus on the sexy so much as the sensual, the subtle, the promising, the anticipation. Sexy is about the build-up.

Sexy is. And yet, there are things that are what sexy is about. In the interest of scientific research and such, I’ve made my way through my library of TV shows and movies and books to further define the elements of sexy that make it what it is, that take it from a concept to something given form. These are the things that take an ordinary person and, for a miraculous instant, make them a force to be reckoned with.

I’m not saying these five things will get you on the cover of your weekly tabloid magazine as the “New Brad Pitt!” but they are things that everyone can do, everyone can employ to make themselves and their intended other feel imminently sexy, wanted, desired. And really, that’s all we all really want, isn’t it?

1. The Lean

There is nothing sexier than the Lean. The Lean, when used effectively, conveys more than words ever could. The Lean is about breaking into someone’s personal space slowly. It’s about insinuation and bypassing defenses. The Lean conveys wanting without touching, it conveys need without aggression. The Lean is slow and easy like a caress that never touches you. The Lean, when done right, when done well, steals your breath away. The Lean parts your lips for the kiss that doesn’t always come because the Lean isn’t about taking. It’s about wanting.

Best Representations of The Lean

• Bill Pullman and Sandra Bullock: While You Were Sleeping
  He’s falling in love with her, she’s falling in love with him. There are wacky mix-ups. It’s a romantic comedy! But in this one instant, his jealousy and desire overwhelms his common sense and he leans. He’s supposedly making a point about leaning, but in doing so, he does all the things that he knows he shouldn’t do. He puts his arm up beside her for balance. He angles his body over hers. He looks into her eyes and he leans. And everything he says is in right there in his body language, in his eyes, in his mouth as he says the words. You speak differently in The Lean. Your voice drops to just above a whisper, it rasps, it catches. The Lean is an invitation and it’s all the more arousing when nothing is allowed to happen.
• Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher: The Empire Strikes BackThis is a lean that leads somewhere. It starts, as so many good things often do, with banter – she insults him, he teases her – and they slowly move closer, him towering over her as he rubs her hand gently, stroking the back of it under the guise of cleaning the dirt away. She trembles, he closes in and she protests to the last, both of them knowing the words are only token as her lips part under his kiss.

2. The Look

There are a hundred different names for this look, from simply The Look to more graphic descriptions, but basically it’s that hot, sultry, knowing look that tells you exactly what someone would like to do to you if they had a few moments of your time. The Look lights eyes like a flame. It’s not that “love at first sight” thing, with angels singing and soft focus. It’s that “eyes meet across the crowded room and then you’re stripping each other’s clothes off in the coat room.” The Look is lust in a glance. It’s eyes that see right through you to what you want and need, even if you don’t know it yourself.

Best Representations of The Look

• Angelina Jolie
  
• Catherine Zeta-Jones
  

Both Angelina Jolie and Catherine Zeta Jones are prime examples of women who tell you very clearly with one look what’s on their mind – and most of the time, it’s not knitting. They exude appeal based on a smoldering gaze alone, their eyes telling you everything you need to know, promising so much with a glance and a sly, knowing smile.

And the smile is all important in that it tells you more about the man than you’ll get from his eyes. The eyes make promises. The mouth and smile lets you know exactly how he’ll carry them out. There are different types of smiles – wide and hungry and aggressive, slow and sly and smirking. Men who smile, men who laugh, men who know humor know sex, know how to have it, how to make it fun.

Best Representation of The Smile

• George Clooney
  George Clooney seems to crop up a lot in this, which amuses me as I’m not an avid fan, but I can admit the man has sexy covered, and one of the ways he does it is here in the look. His eyes focus on whomever he’s talking to. He speaks to them without glancing away. He narrows in like they’re the only one in the room, in the world for him. He smiles as he speaks, his mouth making promises with sly curves and smirks, the crinkle of skin near his eyes urging you in on the joke.

• 
  Another who has mastered this lethal combination is Andre Braugher, with his wide grin that is as easily effective on ferreting information out of criminals with its promise of danger as it would be enticing someone into his bed. Still another is Anthony Stewart Head, who made Giles sexy under tweed and glasses and, when met in person, can actually physically make you short of breath and swoony.

3. The Lack of Skin

Lately, I’ve found myself watching some period dramas – Regency era stuff as well as some noir, and the key to sexy in those things isn’t what you see or hear. It’s what you don’t see and hear. It’s the words they can’t say, the things you can’t see.

First there are the costume dramas – In such things as Pride and Prejudice or Emma (or Sense and Sensibility or Horatio Hornblower or Vanity Fair or An Ideal Husband) there are layers and layers of clothes – corsets, doublets, waistcoats, breeches, stockings, slips, petticoats, hats, gloves, suits, ties, hell – even an ascot or two. But that allows for the focus to fall on the seemingly innocent, to make something that is normally forgotten the subject of intense scrutiny, the repository for sensuality.

The high sweep of hair and the shoulder level neckline of a dress draws the eyes to the creamy, pale curve of a neck or the slow removal of gloves is the erotic equivalent of a strip tease as long, graceful fingers are uncovered. Every glimpse of flesh (the fall of a man’s shirt away from the hollow of his neck) is given deeper import because so little of it is ever seen.

To put it in a more contemporary context though, let’s look at Playgirl (No! Hush! I have a point!). When “stars” are in Playgirl, they usually don’t do the full spread. Men, whether they admit it or not, intrinsically know that their boyparts are rather comical looking. So they pose with their shirt off, jeans unbuttoned and/or partially unzipped. They give you the hint of what’s to come. Or a man who will wear and opened shirt and jeans or slacks and be barefoot. There’s comfort and familiarity and yet it’s tinged with danger. Promise.

Or, perhaps the best example of all – look at George Clooney in a tux. Mind you, he’s a good looking man all the way around, but you put him in a tux, almost the most clothes possible for a man, and he’s sexier than he could ever be naked.

4. The Double Entendre

The heyday of the entendre came back in the age of noir where dames had legs that disappeared into tight skirts and hats that covered their cunning and conniving glances. No woman was to be trusted, and not just because she’d just as likely get you killed as anything else. No, the real reason to watch out for them was that everything they said meant something else, and our smart but rather dim-witted heroes never quite seemed to get that. I mean, you can believe that wise, kind, sweet Fred MacMurray fell prey to Double Indemnity because she was promising him sex and money, but the truth is that Barbara Stanwyck snowed him under with words that meant everything she wasn’t saying.

Best Representation of The Double Entendre

• In To Have and Have Not, Lauren Bacall’s character, Marie, turns to Humphrey Bogart’s character, Steve, and says: “You know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve? You just put your lips together and…blow.”
• For the true master of double entendre, you have to look to Bond, James Bond. From Pussy Galore to Holly Goodhead to Octopussy, Bond’s a man who makes even the simplest, most innocent thing sound like a slow come on that’ll have you surrendering before you even know you’re playing to lose. And really…nobody does it better.

5. Moving in for the Kill

There is a moment in every love story where the first kiss happens. Sometimes it’s an accident or a hurried, painful thing. And sometimes – the best times – it’s something much, much more. It’s slow. It’s deliberate. It’s eyes meeting. It’s moving in so slowly it’s almost imperceptible at times. It’s breaching personal space. It’s eyes darting from eyes to lips and back again. It’s looking and wanting and telegraphing your intentions with every quick glance. It’s lips parting and tongues sneaking out to wet them. It’s the corners of the mouth curling up in the promising hint of a smile. It’s exhalations of pent up breath, caught in your chest on the anticipation. It’s tilting heads and noses touching, nuzzling. It’s shivering with nearness and desire and want. It’s pausing just before the lips meet, prolonging it just a bit longer to relish the moment before it all descends into that first, perfect kiss.

Best Representations of Moving in for the Kill

• The best example of this, and the scene that all of the above is based on is from a movie that five people in the US have seen (I know this to be true, as I’ve sent them all copies) and some of Britain and the rest of the world may have caught. It’s called Another Life and it stars Ioan Gruffudd, and the above mentioned kiss happens in very slow, very exacting detail. He watches Natasha Little’s face with a mixture of amusement and desire and knowing and when he finally kisses her, you get that amazing rush of completion.

But, in the interest of being fair, I thought I’d mention a few scenes someone other than my friends have seen so I give you two other moments in television in movie history that nail the spirit, if not the letter, of the law:

• Take, if you will, Dawson’s Creek– Season Three. Yes. That season. The Miracle Season. And then skip along happily to episode 19, “Stolen Kisses.” At this point, you skip over a whole lot of stuff that includes bad art work, Dawson and Joey “singing” and stop at the point where Pacey’s sitting on the chair outside and telling Joey, in so many words, that she’s killing him. And then she caves.Pacey’s walking away, ready to give up, give in and Joey finally admits that, in spite of everything, she feels it too. So he turns, slowly. His voice lowers and his breath hitches. He walks toward her with intent and need written plain on his face and he informs her, very seriously, that he’s going to kiss her. She’s left him no choice and, if she doesn’t want it, she has until the count of 10 to stop him. He reaches her and stops, both of them silently ticking off seconds in their heads before he leans in and whispers, “Ten.”
• Now, for those who didn’t indulge in the cheesy goodness that was Dawson’s Creek, let us venture back further in time to one of the quintessential films in the 80s movie oeuvre, Some Kind of Wonderfulwhere a boy from the wrong side of the tracks woos, with the help of his best friend, woos a girl who thinks she’s too good for him. A best friend who, it must be said, loves him and is willing to take the smallest steps toward humiliation for something as simple as a kiss.In preparation of his hoped-for kiss with Miss Amanda Jones, Watts walks Keith through the motions, urging him toward her, placing his hands on her hips, wrapping her arms around his neck. She tells him to close his eyes, allowing herself an endless moment to watch his face, pretend it’s her he wants to kiss, pretend he’s hers. She moves in slowly, pausing to look away and then back at him, savoring the slow moment until their lips meet, her hands grasp his hair and they both sink deeper into the kiss.

Now, here’s the true secret to being sexy – whether you’re young, old, short, tall, fat, skinny or anything and everything in between – attention. Pay attention to the person you’re talking to, flirting with. Keep your eyes on them. Make them the only person in the room, the only person in your universe. Make every smile, every gesture for them, and they’ll be putty in your hands. Every one of these steps is something easy and simple that everyone can do (even the clothes – you talk to someone and bring your fingers to the button of your shirt, and their eyes will follow, and they’ll end up thinking about what those buttons hide).

Every girl and every boy wants to be the only person in someone’s eyes. Make them that and even Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie or Halle Berry or Jensen Ackles will have nothing on you.

Though exceptions may have to be made for George Clooney.

I do not have an iPod. At first it was simply because I don’t listen to enough music to warrant shelling out a few hundred bucks when I’d most likely use it to play the same 20 songs over and over again. I can easily do that with a burned CD and my car’s CD player. With my newfound obsession with podcasting, I’ve been rethinking my decision to keep the cash in my pocket – although I’ve decided to hold out for a second generation video iPod. (There’s enough glitches in the first one to keep me from Early Adopter status.) However, as days pass, I’ve become more and more convinced that when I do dole out the dollars for a portable player, I’m not going to get an iPod. Not because of the technology or company itself, but because of the people who already have them.

To you, iPod users, I heave a very hearty “fuck you.”

I don’t want to hear your music. I don’t even want to hear my music all of the time. I have chosen NOT to purchase an iPod of my own because I like the quiet. I do not pay a ridiculous monthly fee for a bus pass so I can be annoyed by you, selfish little fucker. And when I’m on my way to work, I don’t want to hear what you’ve deemed the pep-me-up song of the moment. I’m relishing the last few moments I have to myself before I get inundated with e-mails and phone calls. And you took that away from me. I hate you.

Now, before I go on with my rant, I must commend the 20 percent of iPodders who actually understand the concept of respect and personal space. I wish I could say there were more than 20 percent of you, but honestly, I’m being generous with that number. Spend a day or two in the general public sans your handheld DJ and you’ll see what I mean.

The iPod (and I blame the iPod because it’s usually the folks with the white headphones sprouting from their ears that cause me such anguish each day) has become the new cellphone. Remember when they were new and people had to show HOW!IMPORTANT! they were by shouting so loudly so that everyone could see that THEY had a CELLPHONE? Yes, people still do that today but now it’s far more common for them to be chastised for their utter rudeness. But no one seems to know what to do with the loud iPodders. I do – I tell them to turn it the fuck down. Because I’m a bitch, and honestly, since they’ve shown me that they don’t give a damn about respecting me, I’m sure as hell not going to shed any tears if their feelings are hurt.

Before anyone goes pointing fingers, my very unscientific study has shown that it’s not just one genre fan that takes top prize in The Rudest iPod Fucker competition. It’s true that the scales might be tipped a little to the hip-hop side (probably stemming from a long history of SUVs and broken-down beaters crawling down city streets with obnoxiously cranked-up tunes), but the music I hear on a daily basis spans all musical types. Hipsters are just as guilty – and so easy to blame as they’re generally trying too hard to look cool anyway – as are rock and pop fans. While I love me the 80s music, I want to hear it on my own time.

I tend to get even more annoyed in elevators because it’s a relatively short ride and I feel a little silly saying something. Not that I don’t shoot the offending iPodder dirty looks. People, there’s a reason Muzak in elevators has been mocked for years and is rarely to be found these days. It’s annoying and no one wants to be imposed upon by someone else’s musical choices – be it for 10 seconds or two minutes. I once asked a friend once to turn her volume down (nicely, I swear!) and she told me that she wouldn’t, that she likes to listen to her music loud. Well, fuck you, too. Once you get in the realm of public space, personal likes and dislikes need to be modified. I like to walk around my house in the least amount of clothes possible and swear like a sailor but I ain’t doing that in the hallways of my company.

I will say, however, that a good amount of people turn the volume down immediately to a tolerable level. (By tolerable, I mean that I can’t hear it, or just catch the occasional pumping bass.) Almost as if they were completely oblivious to the blaring noises that could deafen a seasoned roadie. Maybe I’ve got it wrong. Maybe it’s not the user’s fault. Maybe there’s a some subliminal message that Apple or some ingenious hacker tweaked into the software that integrates the following message into every track: Play your music as loud as possible. You have great taste. It is up to you to be the soundtrack for everyone’s life. C’mon, you know you can play this louder. The guy six rows back in the bus can barely hear you.

It’d be nice if it were that easy and I could find the glitch and make it go away, but it’s not. Deprogramming thousands (or is it millions yet?) from their rudeness renaissance will prove to be far more involved and personal. I shall try to soldier on, tapping on shoulders and plastering on a fake smile while mentally reciting my “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you” mantra. We all have to work to change the world somehow, and if Coke can teach the world to sing, I’m up for the challenge to tell it when to shut the fuck up.

These days I’ve settled down with my lovely husband, but I still get around. Fandoms, that is. I dive into each new television show like we were having a tawdry affair. I passionately consume each episode and read everything I can get my hands on about the cast and crew. I lovingly stroke each new spoiler, sweetly caress each in-focus screen capture. By the end of the first week I’ve memorized all the necessary trivia about the show and its cast. I can recite entire paragraphs of dialog. I have read at least one reputable fan fiction archive. (And I mean the ENTIRE archive.)

To date, I’ve been fairly predictable in my affections. I go after well-written shows with slightly unconventionally hot actors (The West Wing, Veronica Mars and Sports Night). I dig low-key science fiction, especially if the characters are angsty young adults (Buffy and Roswell). It follows, then, that I would also like other shows about angsty young adults (Dawson’s Creek and The O.C.). The good news here is that I’m not into crime dramas like Amy, because there are a gazillion of them and it could seriously be my undoing. The bad news is that I’m not getting any younger, and there’s a real danger of me asking for a Degrassi: The Generation After That Last One cake for my 50th birthday.

Despite the enormity of the above list, it’s only a few shows that can make my heart go pitter patter. As I heaped six new shows on my Tivo lineup this season, I wondered which ones would make the cut. Would there be a show with the power to knock Veronica Mars out of its current position as Number One Fandom Obsession? (I now know that the answer is a resounding “no,” but there’s something fun about starting each new television season with such potential.) So what is it about a show that turns me on? Is there a tried and true formula?

Kind of. And since I’m not good at math, now’s a good time to break out the trusty bullet points. I am almost guaranteed to go ga-ga over a television show if it…

• …has appealing actors who fall into one of two categories: Awkwardly Sexy or Geeky Cute.
  On VM I was head over heels for Logan Echolls (Jason Dohring) before he’d finished his first cutting remark to Veronica. He’s got hot arms this season, but if you put him in a lineup with 15 other actors in Hollywood, he probably wouldn’t earn any awards for pretty. It’s Logan’s spunk, his gritty tragedy and his predilection toward angry violence that makes him unbelievably hot. VM has lots of other things going for it, but if Logan were to simply read the phonebook in his intensely quiet way, I’d still go scampering off to the web to find fan fiction about him reading the newspaper.At the other end of the spectrum, there is my beloved geek. We’ve immortalized our love for Xander Harris ( Nick Brendon) before, and if hard pressed to explain my love of the geek, I always end up blurting out something like, “Xander was so sweet and hot and such a losery dork that I just wanted to have sex with him!” But he is not the only dork to catch my eye. Josh Lyman (Bradley Whitford) from The West Wing could easily fall into the awkwardly sexy category, but I list him here because what I love most about Josh is how he is utterly incapable of carrying on a normal relationship with a woman. It is guaranteed that he will say the absolute worst thing in every situation. He’s a political genius who still carries an old backpack around the White House, and somehow he looks hot doing it. When Josh fucks up he does so spectacularly, and each time I want to give him pity sex, feed him soup and cuddle in bed to watch C-SPAN. His utter dorkiness pulled me into TWW fandom so quickly that I can’t even pinpoint the moment it happened.
• …it has exceptionally witty dialogue that I want to find ways to quote in real life.
  Buffywas the show that started it all for me. I was helpless against Joss Whedon’s quirky banter and had no choice but to go online to find the best quote pages. I still, to this day, add the suffix “age” to pretty much every verb possible. I shamelessy steal quotes and use them in everyday conversation, soaking up all the glory when someone laughs and thinks I’m funny. Among the most quoted lines are:+ I’m the Slayer. Ask me how! (Replace “Slayer” with something that applies to me. Like, “I’m the producer. Ask me how!”)
  + I’m just gonna go home, lie down and listen to country music. The music of pain.
  + Well, we don’t have cable, so we have to make our own fun.
  + Don’t walk away from me, bitch!
  + Bitca?
  + I may be love’s bitch, but at least I’m man enough to admit it.
  + A ritual sacrifice… with pie.
  + Been there, done that, and deja vu just isn’t what it used to be.
  + My head… feels big. Is it big?
• …it has a dedicated online community that has not yet gone insane.
  This last part is super important. If I’m late getting into a show, which happens more than I would like for it to, my fandom status hangs on whether or not I walk into a community full of bickering or one full of thoughtful meta. When I got into The X-Files, I was about four years too late. After consuming all available episodes in a mad rush, I ventured online to find others to talk with about how mulderandscullyaresoinloveomg! What I found was madness. There were no fewer than five warring ‘shipper factions, each with their own theories and code names and other wackiness.It is extremely hard to become part of a new fandom when it’s in the middle of a war. You’re forced to pick sides almost immediately, and when you’re new it’s hard to understand all the choices. For instance, if I am a new Roswell fan watching the show for the first time via DVD, I am faced with some scary options. First, there’s the pairings. Do I want to pledge my allegiance to Max and Liz or Michael and Maria? Do I want to be part of the fringe and pick Max and Michael or Michael and Liz? Or do I really want to go outer limits for Isabel and Sheriff Valenti or Liz and Tess?

  Second, there’s the type of community. Do I make my debut giving feedback on a Yahoo! fan fiction group, or do I find a message board on a Roswell fan site, or how about a LiveJournal community? Choosing an initial fandom affiliation is important, because a) you don’t want to be associated with lame-ass fans, b) you don’t want to be part of a group at war with another group you might like to join, and c) you want to make sure your new friends will help you get the most out of your fandom experience.

  Finally, you have to choose what kind of fan you want to be. Will I post only the day after new episodes, when I’m the most in love with the show each week? Do I feel the pull of the characters so much that I’ll probably end up writing fan fiction? Or am I looking for a new home-away-from-home on the web where I can talk about Roswell and get away with bitching about my boss?

  This is an intimidating process. But let’s say I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to root for Max and Liz and will read, but not write, lots of fan fiction about them via a Yahoo! group that will allow me to have the fic-y goodness delivered to my work-safe email account. I’ve already got lots of friends, so I’m pretty much just looking to talk about how hot Jason Behr (Max) was that one time when he kissed Liz in the diner, and I mostly want to talk about that stuff right after it happens. Even if I’ve decided ALL THESE THINGS, I will run screaming away from the fandom if all I find are turf wars and other wanky zaniness. Because those things kill fandom, dead.

• …there is a wealth of quality, lengthy fan fiction.
  In the minds of non-fandom-oriented people, I’m guessing that this is the thing that sets “normal” away from “freak” on the Scale of Being Obsessed With TV Shows. Like, people usually tolerate my rambling about various shows I’m watching, but when I pull out the fan fiction references, the conversation goes downhill or ends abruptly in a blank stare. (Just imagine how those people would feel if they knew about all variants within each fandom, huh? Sometimes I like to tell people about Harry/Snape in Harry Potterjust to horrify them.)But, for me, fan fiction is a necessary part of the fandom experience. It’s the perfect way to satisfy my craving for new material every day – why wait a week or more for a new episode, when I can read a fake mini-ep whenever I want to? Frankly, one of the best reasons to come into a fandom late in the game is that writers have had enough time to produce enough stories to keep you busy for a while. When I first started following a certain boyband, there was already six months worth of fiction just sitting there waiting for me to read. There was so much stuff that I started keeping a list of the stories I had read, just to keep it straight. Conversely, when I was digging on the now-canceled Radio Free Roscoe, there were maybe seven non-crappy stories in all of Internetland. Bummer. My love for that series remained a spark when it could have been a flame.

  Of course, all fan fiction is not created equal. In a perfect world, every story would be well plotted and edited, with spot-on characterization and snappy dialogue and poetic prose – and in MY perfect world, every story would be novel length and take days to finish. Sadly, the reality is that most of it is shite, and if you go in for the smuttier stuff (and who doesn’t, really?) the percentage of quality stuff goes way down.

• …it has well-organized online archives.
  Fandom archives fall into one of two categories for me: Fan Fiction archive or Information archive. Fan fiction is pretty self explanatory, right? A good archive will have lots of stories sortable in lots of different ways – by author, title, character, length, rating, etc. Information archives, though, are a different beast altogether.When I’m first getting into a fandom, I want to know things. Can I find my favorite cast member in other TV shows? Is that cute boy who plays a teenager on TV actually a teenager? What song was playing when my two favorite characters macked on each other for the first time? Is there an episode guide? Is there a quote guide? Is there a reputable gallery for quality episode screen captures? Can I easily track down the cast photo from the cover of Entertainment Weekly six months ago? The Buffy fandom spoiled me for all of these things, because there were dozens of really good sites that provided all the information I could ever want. Imagine my shock to learn that every fandom isn’t like this! My love for Joan of Arcadia, for example, was almost single handedly snuffed out because it had poor online archives – fic and otherwise. My interest in Lost in on a rollercoaster ride because, while Lost-Media.com is a brilliant place to find information and pictures, but there isn’t a similarly awesome fic archive.

Now, I’m a list-making psychopath, who actually plotted out this story in a spreadsheet before I wrote it longhand with a Pilot Razor Point II pen in my hardbound college-ruled notebook. So I’m curious. What kinds of things do YOU look for in fandom? Are there things that should light my fire that I’ve never thought of? If I’ve overlooked an important facet of fandom, I want to know! Hit me at amanda@popgurls.com.

2005-11-23