Dawn and Bobby share an injury. Patrick and the listeners share a trip to Sonic. We all share a moment where we realize our parents were just frustrated grownups who really didn’t want to pay for the hospital trips our idiocy inevitably required. And then, while we’re discussing parents, and father issues, Dawn boards a Star Trek Into Darkness, and a full-on review session breaks out regarding the latest Star Trek movie, the qualities of JJ Abrams’ rebooted universe in general, and it happens almost completely spoiler free. Almost.

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The episode begins with a YouTube rabbit hole that led Dawn to learn way too much about the lead singer of Jabba’s band in Return of the Jedi, and from there, we lurch sideways through the dinging doors of a Plaid Pantry, where we have our first Convenience Store Adventure in quite awhile. A woundrous journey full of heat-lamp hot-dogs, oddly flavored potato chips, cheap sake in a microwave, and the latest alcoholic beverage from the minds at Mike’s Hard Beverage Company. And then getting smashed in one sense leads to a story about Dawn getting smashed in the more literal sense, as she shares that ends with her upside down in a blackberry bush just outside of West Linn.

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Baz Luhrmann is not a subtle director. To those of us who enjoy his movies – and I’m definitely one of those people – this isn’t a flaw, it’s a feature. A Luhrmann film is loud and bright and campy, hyper-kinetically edited and broadly acted. Not for Luhrmann the underplayed scenes or the cinematic realism that attempt to make you forget you’re watching a film. On the contrary, Baz insists that you never for one second forget that he’s throwing a movie at your eyeballs, and he intends to cram as much candy-colored entertainment into the experience as possible.

Looking at his “Red Curtain Trilogy” of  Strictly Ballroom, Romeo + Juliet and Moulin Rouge, it’s easy to see why he was drawn to “The Great Gatsby” as source material. Many of the working parts are reflective of Moulin Rouge – operatic love, a guileless young man flung into a modern new society of decadence and excess, and the tragedy of life cut short. The Roaring 20s is a perfect sandbox for Luhrmann to stage lavish set pieces with dancing, and drinking, and classic music mashed up with a hip-hop beat. On paper, it makes sense. On the screen, it’s gorgeous to look at, and delightful to behold. At least, it’s delightful during the parts where Luhrmann is solidly working within his usual wheelhouse.

The biggest problem with Gatsby is the source material.  F. Scott Fitzgerald was an inarguably brilliant writer, and “The Great Gatsby” is considered one of the Great Books, but it really isn’t a great book. Watching this new Gatsby, I couldn’t help but wonder if Luhrmann had actually read all of it before he started the project. Because while “The Great Gatsby” offers up one fascinating character,  a canny, gimlet-eyed observation of America at a specific period of time, and a boatload of elegantly crafted sentences, it also has a simplistic and, frankly, stupid plot. It’s a plot that works as – and we all remember this from studying it in high school – a morality play about the vapid immorality of the rich, and the way that wealth corrupts innocence. But it falls stupendously short as a narrative.

This is one of a number of reasons why movie adaptations of “Gatsby” have been lacking to date. Another reason is that Daisy Buchanan, the great, all-consuming love of Gatsby’s life, is dull and underwritten. In the book, this sort of works – the focus is on Gatsby’s obsession, not Daisy herself. She’s the motivation for, and a symbol of, Gatsby’s social climbing, and what she’s actually like as a person isn’t all that important. But watching the book remade on screen, you find yourself wondering just what the hell is so interesting about this girl that a man would devote five years of his life to remaking himself just to win her. Look at the 1974 version with Mia Farrow as Daisy to see the problem – she’s a pretty cipher, with nothing to compel.

Luhrmann seems to understand this problem, though, and in casting Carey Mulligan as Daisy, he finds a pretty girl with something more behind the eyes. And he lets his camera drink up her beauty, and her spunk, and he gives her more scenes with Gatsby(1), so we understand his mission a bit more. Less effective are the other female characters – tennis player Jordan Baker (Elizabeth Debicki), who in the book becomes Nick’s girlfriend at Daisy’s behest, yet seems barely more than acquaintance here, and Myrtle Wilson (Isla Fisher), whose importance is trimmed back in the film to the point that her fate seems utterly random and pointless.

Where Luhrmann’s Gatsby excels, though, is where the book itself is strongest. The character of Jay Gatsby has been a difficult one to portray effectively on-screen.  Even Robert Redford, blond-haired, blue-eyed and at the height of his handsomeness in the ’74 film, still came off as a blank slate(2). Here, Leonardo DiCaprio is offered up as Jay Gatsby, described by Fitzgerald thusly:

 He had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced, or seemed to face, the whole external world for an instant and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself.

In Luhrmann’s hands, when the wide-eyed Nick Carroway (Tobey Maguire) meets the mysterious Gatsby, the audience is treated to the sheer magnificence of his personality. He turns, he looks straight into the camera, and DiCaprio’s broad, beefy face fills the screen. His aquamarine eyes glint with pleasure. Then he smiles, and the symphonic strains of Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” drive the point home. Over the top? Absolutely. But you certainly get what Nick sees when he looks at Gatsby.

Other set-pieces in the film are so literal — and yet, writ so overlarge — as as to almost be comic, like when Gatsby finally shows Daisy around the castle-like mansion that he’s built to impress her. In a massive room that serves as his closet, Jay flings shirts down upon Daisy, who lies a story below on an incongruous bed in the center of the room, It’s his way of showing her how much he has acquired, and to make her realize that he’s now worthy. Fitzgerald again:

 He took out a pile of shirts and began throwing them, one by one, before us, shirts of sheer linen and thick silk and fine flannel, which lost their folds as they fell and covered the table in many-colored disarray. While we admired he brought more and the soft rich heap mounted higher—shirts with stripes and scrolls and plaids in coral and apple-green and lavender and faint orange, and monograms of Indian blue. Suddenly, with a strained sound, Daisy bent her head into the shirts and began to cry stormily.

“They’re such beautiful shirts,” she sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds. “It makes me sad because I’ve never seen such—such beautiful shirts before.”

DiCaprio is a fine Gatsby(3), capturing everything that’s both endearing and frustrating about the character. In fact, both he and Luhrmann grasp the most unpleasant aspect of the story, that Gatsby doesn’t really care about Daisy at all since at some point in his compulsion to become worthy of her, she stopped being a person to him and became a personification.  That he ultimately treats her so wretchedly is far more tragic in Luhrmann’s hands than it was in Fitzgerald’s, or in other adaptations, because we finally get to see the depth of  love that started his crusade.

As with most Luhrmann films, many viewers will hate his musical choices, again returning to the use of modern sounds in a period setting. I’d argue that here, as in Moulin Rouge, they set just the right tone, illustrating how fantastically modern and fast and bright this new society was, and helping us to relate to the fish-in-a-bigger-pond feelings of the main character.  The musical direction by Jay-Z is a perfect Luhrmann soundtrack, the Roaring 20’s accompanied by the likes of Andre 3000 and Florence + The Machine, with notable party strains that pay homage to Beethoven and Cab Calloway.

Basically, The Great Gatsby is pretty much everything that you’d expect Baz Luhrmann’s Gatsby to be. It’s a big, loud, sloppy mess. You’ll either love it or you’ll hate it. But at no point will you forget you’re watching a movie. Which is, of course, the point.

(1)     Despite the irritating issue that it utterly breaks POV. The story is all told – in this film, even narrated – by Nick Carraway, so there should be no scenes between Daisy and Gatsby that could not be witnessed by Nick. I admit that I’m an obsessive when it comes to things like POV. And I understand why it was necessary here, and actually helps the film. But it still annoys me.

(2)     Indeed, that seems to have been the point of that script, co-written by Francis Ford Coppola. The gist appeared to be that Gatsby, by recreating himself anew, was a Don Draper -like figure who had no real character of his own. An interesting idea but, again, unless it’s done exquisitely well it ends up boring as hell in a film.

(3)     With the exception of his repeatedly calling every single person “old sport,” and calling them that every few seconds. I know that Gatsby said “old sport” in the book. But I did find myself wondering, while watching the movie, if Fitzgerald’s Gatsby actually said “old sport” so goddamn often. To the point that I almost pulled a copy off the shelf to count the number of times he says it. Which I didn’t do, because that would be work.

This started as a Facebook post, but then I got ranty and it went long, and I thought, screw it, I have a blog, amirite?).

I don’t do the “fat activism” thing. I don’t do any activism thing. That’s because I’m deeply self-centered and really don’t give a crap about anything that doesn’t affect me, Dawn Taylor, Queen of the Universe. (See also: Gun control, polar bears, Somali orphans, clean water.) But sometimes something global is personal enough that I get all militant about it. And being fat is as personal as things get for me.

There’s a lot of nasty shit said on the Internet about fat people. This isn’t news. It’s so common, and so obnoxious and over-the-top, that it’s actually kind of easy to ignore. You see it, and think, “Oh, there’s another whack-job fat hater spewing toxic waste from his sad studio apartment full of out-dated Maxim magazines,” and move on. It’s like litter on the street, or the Kardashians. It’s ugly, but so common it’s just part of the landscape.

No, what’s gotten on my last nerve are the ostensibly non-hateful comments on the Internet about how sad it is that fat people are fat, and that you, the commenter, don’t HATE fat people, you just feel sorry for them, because obesity is an EPIDEMIC, and they’re making bad CHOICES, and it’s making EVERYONE’S HEALTH INSURANCE cost more (yes, that and people who don’t wear motorcycle helmets … that’s why insurance is fucked!) and it’s sad that they don’t care about their HEALTH, and that they can come up with all sorts of JUSTIFICATIONS (like, say, fat activism) for being  gigantic blobs of useless flesh. So sad. So much deep feeling in your heart for these unfortunate losers.

Today, I snapped. Here is my response to reading the 15,000,000,000th comment in that vein:

Dear Caring Person Who Doesn’t Hate on Fatties, No, Really, You Don’t:

I’m never sure what to make of people who express pity for fat people. I mean, I’m fat. Okay. That’s a thing. It’s not like I’m unaware of it. But really, I’m not a pathetic creature that needs your pity. And I don’t need to justify or rationalize anything, because I’m not doing anything that I need to make excuses for. I live inside my body, and it’s a round one. Trust me … I’m not being fat at you, even if I’m sitting next to you on an airplane, or eating a sandwich in your line of sight. So I don’t need to rationalize. AND THAT’S BECAUSE, let me repeat myself,  I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING WRONG BY WEIGHING MORE THAN YOU .

And here’s another thing: As unpleasant as it is to hear people say that they think fat people are repulsive, at least that’s a sentiment that makes sense — my particular look is aesthetically displeasing to you. Okay. I totally get that. I don’t like handlebar mustaches. We all have preferences. But I don’t ever find myself thinking how UNFORTUNATE that poor man is for having that mustache, and I never FEEL SO SORRY for him, nor do I assume his quality of life must be terrible because OH MY GAWD HE HAS TO HAVE THAT ON HIS FACE EVERY DAY. Might I giggle a bit? Perhaps. Do folks giggle at fat people? Well, sure — hell, Eddie Murphy made bafflingly successful movies based on that very premise. Is it nice to laugh at fat people, or at people with handlebar mustaches? No, it’s not, but I’m willing to acknowledge that we’re all politically incorrect on occasion, and shit happens. As long as you’re not pointing, and making squeally pig noises, or yelling, “Hey, got any extra mustache wax?” or in any way making someone feel bad about themselves for your own pleasure, I think we can cut a little slack there.

There is no slack to be had, however, on the subject of my health. Even if it was bad (which, aside from my arthritis, which did not manifest because of my weight, is just dandy, thankyewverymuch) how is that anyone else’s concern? My loved ones get to care about my health because they have a vested interest in my not being so bed-ridden that they have to wipe my ass and pour Ensure into my feeding tube. But strangers? Nope. You don’t get to have an opinion about my health. First, because you know nothing about my health from looking at me, any more than you could look at a thin person and know if they had something wrong with them. Second, and more important, it’s none of your damn business. I mean, would you like me assuming that you have, say, high blood pressure? And then even if you say that you don’t have high blood pressure, I told you that, well, something else is bound to happen to you soon if you DON’T MAKE CHANGES IN YOUR LIFESTYLE and that, even though I don’t know a blessed thing about you, I’m only telling you this because I CARE SO MUCH?

No. You would not like this. In fact, you would hate it.

Now multiple that by 5,000, and you get an inkling of how often fat people have to put up with this shit.

I don’t believe, even for a second, that strangers DO care about my health. I firmly believe that any time you, Caring Person Who Doesn’t Hate on Fatties, No, Really, You Don’t, say that you feel sad, or sorry, or concerned about fat people that you don’t even know, it’s just a way to make yourself feel good about disliking fat people. You’re like the Mother Teresa of weight management! You just want to help the unfortunates! You are such a good person!

Stop lying to yourself, and to us. You aren’t a compassionate person who just cares deeply about others. YOU SIMPLY DON’T LIKE LOOKING AT FAT PEOPLE, and you feel superior to them because you think you have, I don’t know, more self-control, and better genes, and less God-given tackiness. (I mean, look at the fat man in that sweater! Dear god. So many unsightly lumps.)

And you know? Even if all that was true about the genes, and the self-control, and the superior fashion sense, it’s STILL NOT YOUR PROBLEM — AND NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS — THAT SOMEONE ELSE IS FAT. It’s just not.

So climb down from your judge-y high horse and stop pretending that it’s all about how much you care. You are utterly full of crap.

Thanks,

Dawn

Today’s episode starts with alarm and concern, as we discover Patrick has history with bears. Multiple bears, even. How did this rugged individual stare down hairy death each time? Then the episode turns to a more somber topic: Dawn is tired, and is thinking about packing up and going glamping in a secluded area that isn’t The Internet. A quick primer on the stupid games people play, and the stupid tricks they think they’re pulling when they get into arguments about anything, be it political stances, pop-culture stances, or the mix of the two that often happens when conversation spins out long enough. Also, glamping is totally a real word, and Dawn’s been watching some TV that you might wanna watch too. Maybe.

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Yes, this happened! Enjoy our live episode from Stumptown Comics Fest! Dawn and Jaime talk to Tradd Moore (The Legend of Luthor Srode, Deadpool), plus surprise visits from David Walker and Ryan “Seacrest” Reid. Fun for several members of the whole family! Recorded/engineered by Mary-Suzanne Lamkins of RadioStumptown.net

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The recording of the live episode from Stumptown Comics Fest will be available later in the week, but for now, please enjoy these bumpers that were dropped into the stream here and there.

Yes, we’ll once again be live at Stumptown Comics Fest this year! Join us this Saturday in Podcast Alley (which is less an “alley” than a rectangle of sorts, but you get the drift) when we broadcast live from the Portland Convention Center, 1:30-2:30 on Saturday, April 27th! Dawn Taylor and Jaime Kirk will be there with special guest Tradd Moore, and maybe a couple of prizes, and you can hang out while we do the show. FUN.

Even if you won’t be there for the big show, you can listen to all the local podcasts coming to you live at Radio Stumptown! Just click on the pretty picture below, and it’ll take you right to the action!

Want more info on Stumptown Comics Fest? Go here.

Want the live podcast schedule? Go here.

Want an adorable picture of a kitten? Go here.

The episode starts with the soothing sounds of Tyrion Lannister, and he ends up being a very apt choice of lead-in, as Tyrion’s got daddy issues. So does Dawn. And the show ends up becoming a meditation on relationships and how they break down over time, and what we take away from those relationships ending. Sometimes that means you’re cutting someone off on Facebook. Sometimes that means you’re forced to end a relationship because the other person is too lazy and/or scared to do it themselves. The value of acquaintances and real friends are weighed up, and we talk about why some people let bad friends stick around in their lives way longer than they should.

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The episode that is posted a good 3 days after it should have been is the episode where Dawn discusses movies that didn’t get the love they should have gotten until too long after they were released. For those of you that like your Ham-Fisted drizzled in movie discussion, congratulations: After a brief bit of business at the beginning where we discuss why Patrick Hurley is the most endearing man on the face of the Earth, complete with the sort of Eeyorish examples you’ve come to expect from Patrick stories, Dawn busts out a list of 100 severely underrated movies, and from there – the nerdery ensues. Listen to this one w/ a pen & paper, or have a copy of notepad popped open. Your netflix queue is getting fat tonight.

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141 years in the future, Jodie Foster will have Miley Cyrus’s haircut, wear a white power suit with 1980s shoulder pads, and live at a fancy spa that has its own monorail. Which looks pretty sweet, really. According to the Words on the Screen, there’s no poverty! No war! No sickness! Does this mean we finally get our personal jet packs and flying cars? Man, I want a flying car. Also, tanning beds get rid of cancer instead of causing it! The future is awesome.

But wait! There’s a catch! Jodie Foster doesn’t wear her white suit on Earth. Oh, no. It’s a clever switcheroo! The space spa is really a satellite, or a ship, or a space island owned by Richard Branson, and Earth is a dirty, smoke-covered pile of crap, like one huge Kosovo train station, or many parts of Kentucky. There’s no way in hell Jodie Foster would wear a white suit on that dung-heap of a planet! And even if they do have flying cars down there, you know they get terrible gas mileage, and the back seats are full of half-eaten Subway sandwiches.

Our hero appears to be Bald Matt Damon, who wants to get from Crap Earth to Jodie Foster’s magical space spa (because come on, swimming pools and movie stars), but he has to have some sort of metal gear surgically attached to his arms and head to achieve this.  Which makes him Wolverine in reverse, combined with Iron Man and Wall-E. Not that this is a bad thing.

A space ship flies around (presumably with Bald Matt Damon inside of it) and Bald Matt Damon gets really sweaty. Jodie Foster looks over her shoulder, and guns are fired.  A black man wears a helmet and looks alarmed! Then a bearded guy has a sword, which doesn’t make a lot of sense because future space guns, guys! Also, blue lasers.

Then a robot grabs a kid, and I have no idea what this thing’s supposed to be about anymore. Even Jodie Foster looks confused.  “They will hunt you … to the edge of the Earth … for this,” says a whispery man-voice, and we see the back of Bald Matt Damon’s mechanically enhanced noggin.

 Elysium! A movie about a filthy future Earth-dweller who crashes Jodie Foster’s space-spa, and saves a child from a robot! Or something. Seriously, though, it’s from Neill Blomkamp, who did such a bang-up job with District 9, it should be worth watching. I guess we’ll find out in August.

How do nice, caring, loving people like Dawn and Patrick find themselves consuming books of blood by the bucketful? What is it about people like HP Lovecraft and Clive Barker that appeals to them? Is it the same thing that makes the Evil Dead movies so fun – and do those things translate to the latest Evil Dead film? The difference between horror with a purpose and horror just for the horror of it is investigated, as are the problems of sexual assault by forest spirit, and whether giving the “real fans” what they want is a good idea. Also – Dawn considers giving some pirates a taste of their own medicine, and a quick remembrance of Roger Ebert, and how he influenced Dawn to be the kind of writer she is. Join usssss

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Life hasn’t been the greatest lately. Especially since life consists of having no money and being forced to find somewhere to live by the end of the month. Good thing Dawn is a master of escape, and by escape, we mean losing whole days to trying to forget about crappy situations by watching TV and playing video games. You know – like grownups do. And just like grownups, our discussion on time management and distractions gets completely distracted by Kurt Russell and John Carpenter, and dudes in gimp suits and sexy vampires, and poker games and all manner of thing to provide a little respite from all this uncertainty.

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Dawn gets into the defense mechanisms we employ when we realize we’ve put ourselves in a vulnerable place; sometimes through no fault of our own, like our bodies simply getting old and unattractive, or through things that are completely our own fault, like speaking maybe a little-too-frankly in front of people who might not understand what you’re trying to get at. Sometimes we catch ourselves faking it, sometimes we decide to own it and not just own it, but MANAGE it. Because it’s the managing that makes the difference. Secret neuroses (we still have some) are unveiled, and as a cherry on top – you get yet another awesome Patrick Hurley Shopping Adventure!

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A geeky gathering leads Dawn to discuss the ever-awkward art of small talk, and leads Bobby to reconsider why it is alcohol plays such a large role in Portland’s nerdier social circles. Conversations can be sparked up, and they can also burst into angry conflagrations. The kindling for such fires? Deprivation of context, and no middle ground for people to move towards. Dawn and Bobby, no strangers to wielding words like weapons, examine the art of argument, and wonder why it’s become such a zero-sum game full of bloviating idiocy as opposed to anything even remotely resembling an exchange of ideas. Also: Why do you persist in taping concerts with your cellphone? Knock that off. As a matter of fact, Dawn has an idea about how best to blend the cellphone with social gatherings and interpersonal interaction. Listen and learn.

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Bobby may have been a little under the weather last week, but Dawn had the more trying time. Sniffles can’t compare to the prospect of having your home yanked out from under you. It also doesn’t help when the week’s been dominated with contentious arguments about the power of language and the choices people make when they use the words they do. Luckily, this is what pets are for – the comfort and companionship they provide regardless of all the things you failed at over the week. Except we discover that pets only provide those things on their own terms, and they’re just as troubled as we are, in their own ways.

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There is no new show this week (please send your best wishes to the cold/flu-soaked Bobby Roberts) so this seemed to be a fine time to inaugurate a new feature: Dawn’s Half-Assed Movie Reviews!

Please enjoy.

Jack the Giant Slayer (in theaters)

Directed by Bryan Singer (Football Wives), this is a movie about an enormous computer-generated beanstalk that bursts from the ground when the zombie kid from Warm Bodies trades his cow for a fistful of beans and then stupidly drops one through the floorboards of his abusive uncle’s shack. Which makes it sound like the beanstalk is some sort of metaphor for personal freedom in the face of domestic violence but no, it’s just straightforward how-the-hell-do-we-make-a-beanstalk-happen writing.

Zombie Kid ends up climbing the beanstalk to save a generic princess while her dad, King Swearengen, wears awesome gold armor and paces a lot down on the ground. Zombie Kid is joined on his journey by a True Good Paladin (the guy from Moulin Rouge!) and by Julia Child’s husband, who plays Count Rugen from The Princess Bride.  At the top of the beanstalk they find themselves in a bunch of cut scenes from video games and have to fight animated giants, some of whom look like Charles Bronson.

SPOILER: There is no golden goose for some reason.

Red Lights (DVD and Netflix streaming)

Dr. Scarecrow from The Dark Knight teams up with Ripley from Alien and the Olsen sister who isn’t one of the twins to investigate paranormal activity, which they believe to be totally fake. Then Robert De Niro, playing Blind Robert de Niro, shows up as a world-famous psychic healer guy, and spoons start bending and birds fly at windshields, and everyone tells Scarecrow, Nooooo, don’t investigate Robert de Niro! You’ll be sorry! But he does anyway and then the end of the movie comes and it’s so stupid you’re sorry you wasted your time watching everything that led up to it.

SPOILER:  Ripley dies halfway through the film for no reason at all, probably because she knew how crappy the movie was and just wanted to go home.

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 2 (DVD)

Now that she’s a vampire, Hair-Chewing Girl is way more animated and athletic, and can beat everyone in arm-wrestling. Sparkle Vampire Boy looks at her a lot and smiles, kind of. Muscular Werewolf Guy is in love with their freaky CGI baby because it’s destined to grow up and be his lifemate, and then the Bad Vampires show up to kill everyone, led by Giggling Vampire Tony Blair. Awesome vampire-werewolf battle ensues, with lots of heads being yanked off, and bodies flung about higgledy-piggledy.

SPOILER:  The vampire-werewolf battle turns out to not be real. Everyone lives.

One of the classic Scruples questions gets pulled out of the headlines and dropped into our Ham-Fisted laps: Say Dawn and Patrick find an unmarked bag, filled with tens of thousands of dollars. Do you take it, do you turn it in, or is there some sort of combination of both that you can reconcile? There are questions of morality all over today’s show, morality and drugs, and why neurotic people with self-esteem issues are maybe not the best suited to crimey-type endeavors. Especially considering Patrick is like some sort of leather-clad superhero throughout the show.

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An episode that starts out being solely movie-and-politics related ends up veering sharply into what Martin Lawrence would term as things “getting real” by the end. Eric D. Snider, co-host of “Movie B.S.” returns to the show to dig into the pageantry and the poppycock of the Oscars, but then Dawn has some dental problems live on air, and the resultant embarrassment ends up leading to a conversation about mortality, decision-making, and the role your real friends play in bolstering your self-acceptance, even if that role seems counterintuitive at first. Basically, listen to learn how best to bet next weekends Oscar parties, and then listen to learn how best to go softly into that sweet goodnight knowing you are loved and appreciated, even if you don’t feel the greatest about it.

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Dawn is in fine grumpy form for today’s show, and Patrick is right there with her. Dawn has just about had it with people taking their displays of affection and caring, and making them artificial and roided-out for the sake of having something cool to watch on YouTube. Patrick’s just about had it with Comcast, for reasons that should be obvious to anyone who has used their service. Dawn and Patrick BOTH have thoroughly had it with their downstairs neighbors, who led them on a weeklong chase for their half of a utility bill, which led to the appropriation of a bag of Kung Pao Chicken that led to the threat of arrest. It’s fun, exciting times in Dawnville. Come join us!

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The title will make sense once you hear the episode. Dawn catches a bunch of shrapnel from a nostalgia bomb, because one of the dark sides of nostalgia is that you have to recognize how OLD you are in order to feel it properly. And then a Stephen King discussion branches off of the conversational ivy that sprouts in about 5 different directions, including the trials and tribulations of being a horror fan, why this is yet another 45 minute show, and why the Wednesday version of Ham-Fisted Radio is no more as of this episode.

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Dawn is full of vim, and vigor, even if the meaning of the word “vim” is lost to most people. Doesn’t matter. She’s got a lot of it, and it is expended over the course of two major conversations that make up the entirety of today’s show. The first topic? JJ Abrams is making a Star Wars movie, and while there’s speculation about what might come from this, the conversation mostly focuses on people’s unfortunate habits when it comes to self-affirming their own cleverness. The second topic? How Glee is produced by some rather unsavory people, and how Jonathan Coulton is feeling the effects of their unsavory behaviors. Plus, Michael Crichton makes us feel really old. And some other stuff too. Just listen already.

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This is a show cut down in its prime. A show that left us far too soon. A show that had to be sacrificed all for want of a Hot Pocket or something. You will discover the depressing details when you listen. But before this brief candle is snuffed, we discuss a couple movies (Fish Called Wanda, Django Unchained, Empire Strikes Back) we talk about some news stories, we get into body-issues, and the things that always work on us, every time, no matter how much we’re exposed to it.

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Why not talk about horrible things? They’re fascinating as hell, right? I mean, what possesses a person to steal underwear? How do you let a restaurant descend to a level that even the least erudite person you know would consider “Grotesque?” Snail teeth: It’s a thing, apparently. And once you’re down there, in the weird place, where the grotesque, horriffic things are waiting with the snails in the dentist office of hell; why wouldn’t you start talking about Spiders? And Clowns? But nightmares aren’t just for the outwardly freaky: Did you know there’s a phobia for snow? Did you know Dawn and Jaime know somebody who has that phobia? At this point, you’ll probably want a drink. Right on cue, Aaron Duran enters the show talking about mead-making, and the art of sangria. Drink up, mateys.

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Who better to help delve into the topics of friendly ribbing, happy antagonism, and the joys of flicking your friends crap than Ryan Reid, better known as “Seacrest,” A pirate of the Jersey Shore, a heckling heel at Portland nerd events, and a chiropractor following in the footsteps of his father, who just wants to help people feel better and have a laugh or two with his friends. So how do you reconcile the brash, trash-talking villain with the genuinely nice young man who appears on this show? Same way you’d reconcile the amiable, genial man that is Patrick with the guy who threatens to stab his dog twice a week, and his wife thrice a day. Dawn especially appreciates the poking of fun, as the more sarcastic, pointed side of her humor just recently helped her through a weeklong bout of anxiety and depression that had a foggy beginning, and an unexpectedly pleasant end. With a special cameo appearance by a past guest, a quick couple of recipes guaranteed to make your next dinner a little more tasty, and the provincialism of Portland is put under the microscope on Ryan’s last public appearance before leaving our magical wonderland for the hinterlands of Medford.

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