Once upon a time, there was a very beautiful queen; hair, black as the raven; eyes, brown as chestnuts; and skin, smooth as cream.  She was the fairest of the land, but the unfairest of heart in that her inner self-loathing manifest itself in an evil, Freudian way, and was displaced throughout the queendom onto those who wished to live their own truth and happiness.  In a desperate, last ditch effort to ruin the happiness of her closest, female rival, the Not-nice Queen cast a curse on her fairy tale subjects locking them all into a one dimensional, single spot in time, along the New England coastline of the United States.  Controlling the small-town populous with a cunning, iron-will and poison produce, Mayor Queen establishes an electorate oblivious to their storied history and the world around them…which is quite the effective cover as the ruse blends in quite well with most American voters.

Few outside the maine-land know that the sinister spell can be broken only by true love’s kiss.  (Not true love’s FIRST kiss…everyone knows that abstinence stuff doesn’t work.)  As circumstance would have it, a tough-talking stranger, of tank top and handsome features, arrives by cover of night in quest for answers regarding the first child.  The Evil Mayor, having stopped the passing of her town’s present time, needed only to adopt a son to silence the sounds of her own biological clock.  The origins of the male heir in question, the blonde stranger becomes quite the antagonist to the lovely, but troubled town leader.  Threatening to unearth the true identity of the sleepy town and ruin her sinister plan, the evil queen of the town council makes it a personal point to keep a close eye on the comely stranger.

It is a grim fable to believe that absence makes the heart grow fonder.  It is actually the presence of sexual chemistry and constant, unrequited tension that provide the fertile ground for the planting of true love’s kiss.  One close-up, emotional encounter too many, the stranger follows the instinct of a wanting heart and pulls the raven-haired beauty into the softest of passionate kisses.  The now civil servant bristles no more and lets down her beard of personal doubt.  The birds begins to sing, the sun begins to shine, and the dark cloak of the curse is lifted from the people of the town.

The two beautiful women move to Vermont with their son, buy an apple orchard…and live happily ever after.

It could happen.  In fact, something similar is happening right now on ABC’s Once Upon a Time.  I’m not saying that the Disney network won’t stay true to form in its historic editing of fables and fairy tales to assure a happy ending with a white steed and the opposite sex lip-lock of a handsome prince.  What I am saying is wouldn’t it be nice if ABC had the courage of a huntsman to do the unexpected?

From Snow White, to Sleeping Beauty and Little Mermaid, to a myriad of other fairy tales, fables, and folklore, true love’s kiss has become quite trite in its portrayal.  This is the 21st Century with evolving attitudes of what constitutes love and family.  Yes, ABC’s Once Upon a Time is scoring high with all those Nielsen soccer moms, but there does seem to be some groundbreaking and gallant potential.

via Tumblr

I know, know…subtext can be found under a rock if you look hard enough, especially if socially marginalized and searching for some self-reflective form of representation.  But what if…just what if…ABC could find its big old Mouse balls and make the bold move that defines true love’s kiss in terms of the heart instead of gender.   Maybe it could happen, once upon a time..in my lifetime.

“Always let your conscience be your guide.” – The Blue Fairy

**Swan Queen gif created by: kpfun  Thank you.

There doesn’t seem to be many middle of the road opinions about Tuesday’s Glee episode, “I Kissed a Girl”; most either love it, or they hate it.  From what I have read, it seems to me that those with strong opinions, on either side, tend to forget this is Glee, the Fox network’s offering to multi-generational, iTunes downloaders.  Sure, Santana’s coming out was rushed, but what isn’t on this show?  This cast is too big for arcs to play out the way they should over 22 episodes.  As it is, this week, the Irish potato can only smile and nod, and Blossom 2.0 gets to lip-synch in the background.

Ok, let’s take this thing for what it is…something.  Which is more than can be said for all those other lesbian-themed story arcs out there.  Wait, there are no other lesbian story arcs out there. (I know, Grey’s Anatomy fans, I hear you, but you know what I mean).  SPOILER ALERT:  Boardwalk Empire just sacrificed their offering, and no matter how many times you board the bandwagon in the Rizzoli & Isles pander parade, that duet just doesn’t have play.  I surmise that it is no accident that Santana’s coming out is set on election day Tuesday, and just as with any hopeful foray to the ballot box, I go into it with the knowledge I will NEVER get everything I want.  Right, President Obama?

I wrote last week regarding my opinions on Finn and Santana and the whole outing thing.  I won’t rehash-tag that here, what I will say is that I spend a great amount of time speaking to high school students and in high schools, and when Santana elevated their war of words to a physical altercation in front of four faculty members, the zero tolerance policy kicked in.  These blatantly black and white policies, blanketly administered nationwide after Columbine, are certainly fodder for another discussion, but they are what they are, they do exist, and certainly apply the moment Santana slapped Finn.  Plus, let’s face it, the whole slap thing and the trip to the office is nothing more than a leverage tool for moving the storyline into the lesbian rock download portion of the episode.  She either sits for the lesson (generously applied at $1.29 a pop song) or she is suspended.  She is not the victim here, she is the perpetrator, and it’s as simple as that.  A bigger crime is that assault on Kurt’s wardrobe.  Who the hell is the stylist for this show?  He goes from some rag-tag sweater a third eaten by moths, to something from vintage Hilter’s youth, to a poncho from a spaghetti western.  Please, it’s distracting.

As far as the coming out criticisms go, I don’t think it is justified to myopically pull out one portion without looking at the hole.  And no, this isn’t a typo, I meant it as “h”ole.  This is a campy television show that arcs some of society’s gay woes, but it has never been a serious, socially political show that plans their arcs like dissertations on gender politics.  Are the plot lines rushed?  Yes.  Are there dropped moments in the plots?  Yes.  Is Mr. Schuester a terrible teacher?  Hell, yes.  But that’s Glee…always has been, always will.  For every lovely, emotional moment with a protective, yet understanding parent like Burt, there are moments of complete, one dimensional bat-shit…like Quinn.  No, Katy Perry’s serenade of alcohol induced curiosity is no lesbian anthem, no more so than Melissa Etheridge or k.d. lang should be painted with a wide brush as stereotypically Sapphic.  That being said, I certainly can’t deny that what Ms. Perry purrs about in I Kissed A Girl doesn’t ever happen.  Being completely honest, I experienced in my single days occasional, eventful, evenings with inquisitive women who over-wine.  And though, thankfully, a fabulous Cabernet doesn’t taste like cherry ChapStick, it’s a part of life, and life is good.

I have to admit that I had the unforgiving Abuelita part of the story backwards in my Mind.  Maybe it was just personal experiences, but upon reading that the character’s coming out would not be as uneventful as Kurt’s, I surmised that Santana’s parents would not be accepting of the their daughter’s truth, throw her out of the house, and she would turn to her grandmother for support.  Though I like the way my Mind works better, it’s not that I don’t have perspective of why the Glee creators forged the path they did.  Yes, the parental acceptance was a little too quick to be true, but Brittany has been taking baths in their house for quite some time, and not the separate-tub, dysfunctional, Cialis commercial kind.  Perhaps they got a clue their daughter is ducking her best friend.

I get it, one actor is cheaper than two, and in the eyes of a realist, the money for two actors would take away some of that iTunes download money, and rumor has it they are waiting for Gloria Estefan to turn the beat around.  Either way, we don’t have to she-bang the “Santana is gay” drum out loud the rest of the season.  Like Kurt, it is now a fact and not a flag, and I’m good with that.

Can I just add that Naya Rivera is wonderfully heart-breaking in the well-written kitchen scene with her grandmother, and I am happy to see the only Lucky Charms are in the pantry.  But, I couldn’t help looking for Jessica Lange to pop out of that borrowed kitchen with a Ryan Murphy horror story of her own.

Once again, it may be personal experience, but I’m having a difficult time interpreting this episode as hero heavy instead of heroine.  Sure, Finn angrily outed Santana as was established last week, but he became her ally, not once, but three times this week.  I took it as Finn attempting to support Santana, not save her.  Ironically, I didn’t have many female “besties” in high school.  My closest friend, a male, kicked my butt more often than I can count as my mouth had a bad habit of writing checks my ass couldn’t cash, but he was also the first one standing beside me when I needed it the most.  Like it or not, Finn and Santana have a connection.  You never forget your first, and Finn didn’t.

I am often reminded the setting for Glee is in Ohio, the Midwest, not the more liberal edges of our fringe coasts.  Though I recognize and admire the sentiment of the “it gets better” type campaigns, it doesn’t always, not really.  It gets tolerable with every ally; it seems increasingly less desperate knowing someone else understands.  I sat on my couch and wiped away tears as Finn sang to Santana that strangely lovely Cyndi Lauper/Eagles-ized rendition of Girls Just Want to Have Fun.  You see, I had a love of my life years ago that was emotionally tortured by her family because she dared love a girl, this girl, me.  She could have used a hero of any combination DNA to say, “Just hold on.”  Too late…my earthly angel became a celestial Angel and never saw the joys of life beyond the parental-imposed pain of 21.

On another musical note, this is Glee, so of course there are at least two or three other story arcs playing simultaneously.  How wonderful is Dot-Marie Jones and her performance of Dolly Parton’s Jolene?  Juxtaposed against the emotional, sexual, angst of teenagers, Beiste reveals that with maturity, and again, with a little encouragement from friends, comes clarity.  The coach exhibits the determined strength and fortitude of a female with fight…maybe that, too, comes with maturity.  I don’t think it is a stretch to say only on Glee could two “sporty-type” females play the angles of a love triangle for the affections of a male Cooter.  Even the Shelby-Puck tryst serves more than a predatory purpose in this episode.  It moves Idina Menzel quickly off the landscape and back to Broadway.  Kissing this school-girl is certainly a gray area, but Puck has long been established as cougar meat.  I don’t really see him as coming to her rescue her as much as she uses him.  He is 18 and available; she is lonely, limited, and a little wicked.  And what example as a teacher should Shelby follow, Mister Schue?

Glee’s “I Kissed a Girl” episode is certainly up to personal interpretation jaded by our own personal experiences.  Though it has its problems of script, character development, and consistency, I just can’t see any conspiracy theories of under-the-thumb male savior complex keeping the women down.  The Fox offering is a mile wide in its reach, but an inch deep in its message.  Let’s face it, Glee just wants to have fun and in the meantime throw a directive or two against the wall.  If anything sticks, let’s pull the piano player out of our back pockets and sing about it..and perhaps nudge a kinder, more informed generation as an accompaniment.

Once again a friend has introduced me to something socially viral, but at least this time the consequences won’t require antibiotics.  Yes, the ‘Schmootz is now on Tumblr!  Not that I didn’t go kicking and screaming…ok, it was more like whining, but you get the picture.  But just like the genre of science fiction, once you try it out, your resistance is fracked.

The Mindschmootz Blog isn’t going anywhere as I still have too much to say about life, entertainment, and the body politic.  The Tumblr site is an addendum to include video content, both original and collected, and a few things that just make me happy or pique my curiosity.

So, try the ‘Schmootz Tumblr…drink it in.  It’s not Kool-aid I’m pouring, it’s just my quick thoughts on a topic, and I welcome your input and your discussion.

While Glee and its girl-girl Brittana storyline was garnering most of the attention this week, rumor has it there is more action brewing over on cable.  Just as I paused the Tivo to make a snarky statement about HBO’s Boardwalk Empire abandoning it’s Season One lesbian storyline of Angela and Mary,

look what washed up on the beach.

Yes, I have to take back everything I said about Boardwalk Empire turning Angela (Aleska Palladino) into a baby-gangster’s Stepford wife after Mary left her in dry-dock and sailed off to Paris without her.  I actually thought this Prohibition pairing had potential until Angela’s husband, Jimmy, came back from the war and beat the hell out of Mary’s beard.  It was pretty much downhill for Angela at that point as she was relegated to the background darning socks, pouring coffee, and raising her son.

Until…click on the picture below to see video:

Boardwalk Empire is one of my favorite shows, and in my opinion, one of the best dramas on television.  It is intelligent, gritty, provocative, and good…and what do you know?  Gay.

Wait a minute, I’m not finished.  Cue Tivo sound effect, and I’m on to Sons of Anarchy.  There will be a longer, more extensive blog on this phenomenal offering from FX, but for now, I have to share a moment I found interesting in this week’s episode.  Gemma, the rock-hard matriarch of SAMCRO (Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club), brilliantly portrayed by Katey Sagal, is approached after years by Wendy (Drea de Matteo) the once meth-head girlfriend of Gemma’s baby boy and mother of Gemma’s first grandchild.  These two certainly have a history, as Gemma has tried to kill Wendy on no too few occasions.  Watch as they catch up (Double Click the Pic):

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Yeah, I’ll explain later what happened to Gemma’s face, but my point for now is that a character in a popular and highly acclaimed drama just announced she likes women as nonchalantly as recounting what she did on summer break.  Progress?  I’d like to think so.

It is no great secret that I feel American television networks willingly stroke a sista’s curiosity, but ultimately satisfy the carnal needs of the sponsor when it comes to lesbian relationships, so my first reaction was Santana’s heart would broken when her bath-buddy, “Brittany”, goes back to her chair-bound boyfriend, Artie.  After all, “Brittana” was not showcased in last week’s after-school special about sex, right?  Then I thought, this IS Ryan Murphy and this IS Fox…most American networks may be pandering hacks, but Rupert Murdock will hack into anything for a buck, so I held out hope Brittany and Santana would soon be knocking pom-poms in public, and the angst I saw in the video would be from the populace.

Which one happened?  Well, it seems Glee is actually going there as Santana was outed by Finn in the student-filled hallways of higher learning to the ears of half the student body and the niece of a fellow Congressional competitor of Sue Sylvester’s.  The candidate uses the information to produce a negative, retaliatory campaign video to carpet bomb the tracksuited trash-talker…leaving Sue’s less than conservative family-valued head cheerleader the collateral damage.  Now this being Glee, with about a hundred cast members and twenty-five storylines going at once, the viewer is not allowed to see the fallout, but the artistry of the mash-up performance allows us to fill in the blanks quite well.  Just look at their faces:  We all know.

Santana is PISSED, and she takes her hurt and her rage out on Finn.  Some will say Finn deserves the wrath of his re-pay pawn, but I’m not so sure.  Finn reacted as he has reacted historically, immaturely…like that of most sophomoric teens who lack the cognitive tools to constructively deal with overwhelming emotions.  Just as an uncomfortable Finn reacted badly with a verbal slur toward Kurt when being pressured by his once-crushing classmate to decorate their newly shared bro-room like a Turkish bathhouse in Season 1, I believe he reacted in character as he lashed out at a venomous Santana verbally trashing him and those who he loves.  An vengeful eye for an eye, yes, but fortunately hindsight does provide a little clarity.

Where will the story go from here?  It’s Glee, so it’s anyone’s guess.  At least now we know the root of some of Santana’s anger.  It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to diagnose Santana’s Freudian emergence into this season’s Karofsky, who is now a confident, yet hibernating bear cub.  I certainly remember the frustration, the ill temper, and the living-on-the-edge rebellion that came from a frightened inability to live my teenage truth.  Not everyone has the same coming out experience that the character Kurt had, with an internal flair of confidence and an embracing, loving parent.  In that regard, I’m pleased that Ryan Murphy is beginning (I think, but who knows) this brave new journey of personal ownership over paranoid displacement.  Bring on abuela!

Huge accolades go out to Naya Rivera and her performance both in script and in song.  From the moment I viewed the YouTube video of the Rumour Has It mash-up until Santana slaps the hell out of Finn, I was gleefully along for the ride.

I don’t hesitate to add that the writing of Michael Hitchcock and the keen direction of Eric Stoltz go hand in hand with the performance.

I have to add that I have looked up the song and artist choices for the “I Kissed a Girl” episode in a couple of weeks.  k.d. Lang, “Constant Craving”?  Melissa Etheridge, “I’m the Only One”?  I guess we have already established, “Yes I Am”.  LMAO.  Ok, I get it, but I better not see Santana and Brittany shopping the Home Depot sidewalk sale dressed in flannel and comfortable shoes…at least, not until the finale.

There is nothing quite like a woman dressed in a LBD and a nice pair of pumps.

To be continued…

Well, it’s no rumor any longer.  Shamim, and her wife, Hanan Kattan, are utilizing today, the lucky-numbered November palindrome of 11.11.11, to announce that I Can’t Think Straight is a web series in fund raising pre-production.  The creative team is willing to bet that audiences will double down on what most would consider a sure thing.  After experiencing Think Straight and its South African step-sister, The Wold Unseen, I’m willing to go all in as well.

A new ICTS web series website, complete with web series news, community pages, FAQs, and sponsorship packages, has been created for fan interaction and input.  When surveyed, an overwhelming 97% of Think Straight fans said they wanted more of Tala and Layla.  Big surprise, that’s like asking do you want more chocolate, more world peace, or for me, more shoes.  After viewing the original film a hundred or so times, it would be nice to compare the couple’s future created in my mind to the journey to be created in Shamim’s mind.

As any loyal Think Straight fan, I have to wonder, will there be changes in the web series from the original film?  My guess is, of course there will.  Time and careers don’t stand still.  Sheetal has confirmed that she will be joining the web series to reprise the role of Layla and as an Executive Producer with Kattan and Sarif.  Lisa Ray as Tala?  Well on that one, I’m not too sure.  One of the questions on the fan survey asked for suggestions if recasting the role.  Now before you start kvetching about original character continuity and Lisa Ray, I feel your pain.  If ever I had a partner-approved girl crush, it would have to be Lisa Ray (ok, there are others, but that’s a different blog).  That being said, I trust Shamim and her team completely, if required, to cast someone whose beauty and chemistry match perfectly with that of the doe-eyed Sheetal Sheth.  Oh, those big, brown eyes… (Update: it’s my fantasy; they are brown.)

Sorry, back to my professionalism.

I have said it before, and I look forward to the day that I won’t say it again, but as of now, we still need more quality lesbian content.  In an age where television networks are more comfortable pandering the potential of two women in love or historically sweeps-ing in and sweeps-ing out a CSI-induced, steak knife wielding psycho in love with a straight girl, the web is where the quantity and more specifically, the quality, will be born.  Unfortunately, fundraising is the Achilles heel of any foot in the door a web series might receive.  So, until corporate sponsors recognize the potential of the internet based, short-form film, then the cravings for content and quality will have to be sated by the viewer.  So, I’ll bite…because I’m hungry for more, and I encourage others to step up to the plate as well.

I have confidence, and just a little feeling, that the Enlightenment team will not disappoint.  After all I think Shamim will agree, I Can’t Think Straight is like life insurance, “it sells itself”.

In past offerings, I have made quick reference to pasty, old, white men, from corporate sponsors such as Proctor and Gamble, handing down from their ivory snow towers edicts of control regarding American network standards and practices.  Creative powers that be are handcuffed (and not the fuzzy, pink, padded kind) to storylines that hint at a same-sex pairing, but nothing is ever consummated.  Simply saying you are lesbians without the physical proof just doesn’t make it true, and I think Kelly Clarkson would agree with me over and over and over again.  ABC Daytime finally got it right with the “Minx” characters, but what did they have to lose?  All My Children had its boob-tubes tied, and would produce no further offspring to sensor.

And that’s daytime, prime time is worse.  For the most part, networks depend on pandering the heavy petting potential of obvious straight women with no curves.  Let’s face it, those of us on our third DVD copy of I Can’t Think Straight (soon to be a web series) will jump at this stuff, and American networks know it.  Do you really think Rizzoli and Isles will EVER be a couple?  The USA TNT network doesn’t have to follow through, there is fan fiction to feed the masses and satisfy the hunger created while rubbing the platonic pairing under our noses.  Do I actually think the desirous duo of Warehouse 13’s Myka and HG, of whom I have written, is any different?  Hell no, I just happen to like that show.

I have to hand it to my friends in Canada.  In a time when American companies such as General Mills are saying cheerio to funding family dramas with positive lesbian characters, and Southwest Airlines’ in-flight performance of Lesbians on a Plane is given an R-rating and canceled, our neighbors to the north are bounding over the societal border when it comes to same sex.  Though Canada’s Showcase is known as an edgy and adult network, it is still a network that allows more than the good wife to be occasionally bad.

Lost Girl is an extremely entertaining sci-fi crime drama (soon to appear on SyFy Channel in the US) that pairs light versus dark fae, supernatural creatures of folklore, that feed off of humans, in a continual contest of good versus evil.  In a nice change of pace, instead of a hero that is wound too tight with too much testosterone and a rippling chest, there is a heroine in tight leather, with a huge pair of ovaries…and a rippling chest.  And did I mention she is a succubus, living off the sexual energy of others?  As of last week, she is playing doctor with the doctor, and it’s physical.  Take a look. (Thank you, OML.)

Now in a few weeks, it is rumored that the Ryan Murphy series will premier it’s I Kissed a Girl Episode where Santana comes out to her family.  Will she proudly pronounce with Glee that she is in love with the female rainman and begin to draw a warm bath, or will she become the American version of Lost Girl, and simply go down the drain?  I guess we’ll see.

Ok, first I thought, what shoes will I wear?!  I mean, come on…the book is called Changing Shoes, right?  As long as you can change your shoes, you can change your life.  My catalogue of pumps, platforms, and peep-toes began to race through my mind.  And then I thought, what car will I drive?  I can’t show up in that little red thing of mine and ask her to fold herself up and get in, it’s Tina Sloan.  And what if she has “people”?  Ok, I’ll take the SUV…not great for maneuvering downtown streets, but greater seating capacity and more comfort.

As luck would have it, Tina arrives to the first snow storm of the year, a twelve inch blanket of nature’s frozen beauty.  Yeah, it’s beautiful, but it sure puts a crimp in the shoe choice.  Out are the black, suede peep-toe, 4-in heels…in are the motorcycle styled Uggs.  Ugh!  Luckily, I have read Tina’s book and I followed her advice.  Being confronted with some act of an inconvenient god, I just changed my shoes.  Sure the ugly Australian brogans are the appropriate pick for an unplowed parking lot, but knee high, new-copper-penny-colored, crocodile-embossed, boots are more applicable to Driving Miss Tina.  I simply made the modification in the car.

I arrive early to the hotel, as any daughter of a Junior Leaguer and graduate of the Miss Pittypat Southern school of manners would.  Yes, you can take the girl out of the South, but you never quite take the Southern out of the girl.  I circled the block a couple of times, and giving further credence to the idiom, third times a charm, standing on the sidewalk outside the historic hotel is a strikingly beautiful blond woman dressed in winter white, a pale, lime green jacket, a cream-colored scarf with just the hint of sparkle, and off-white ballet flats…yes, Tina, I noticed.  With a wave of acknowledgement, and a graceful climb into the steroidal kin of the family station wagon, our journey begins.  Cue the Hans Zimmer soundtrack, I’m driving Miss Tina.

It’s rush hour, so I avoid the freeways and cut a determined transversal through the heart of the city by way of the financial district and Capital Hill, honking in solidarity to the #OccupyDenver sidewalk encampment and the 99%ers.  Most assuredly, I am an excellent driver, and display my tour guide skills Liberally.

Let me just say at this point in the conversation, Tina Sloan is an absolute pleasure, and it gets better from here.  She is kind, funny, gracious, giving…and patient.  Southerners should come with a warning label, “CAUTION: If you ask a storyteller a question, you will get an answer…a long one.”  As a result the forty-five minutes of drive time into the suburbs were filled with personal stories of parents, family, significant others, home towns, education, Twitter, and politics…just like new old friends.

Arriving early at the book store, we have plenty of time to grab a bite to eat after checking in.  Now, it must be coupon night in suburbia, because all the places nearby where we could grab a nice bite and a good glass of red (for me) are packed.  When I offered a few more places, or as I nodded to the bright yellow sign above our heads, the unlikelihood of a burger, be still my heart when Tina said she loves burgers.  Fatburger it is!  Inside we walked, ordered two Fatspecials and noshed like girlfriends over greasy protein and Game 6 of the World Series over our heads.  Now, for all you Venice fans out there, I got a bit of scoop on Season 3, but what happens in Fatburger stays in Fatburger.  Plus, though I may relish the fantasy of it, I’m not willing to risk the reality that Crystal Chappell might cut me.

After introducing Tina to my better three-quarters, we dashed through the snow over to the bookstore across the way.  Indie bookstores are usually quite small and intimate, but these are the suburbs, so the combined square feet is comparable in size to that of a WalMart.  Never fear, Tina’s personality fills every square inch as she recites for the crowd, raucous re-tellings of the live soap days of yesterday.

Looking around the room, I am observing who is sitting around me.  The ages range from near 20 to near 70.  They are Tina’s Twitter friends, actual friends, and all friends in between.  They are breast cancer fighters, domestic abuse survivors, and yes, even lesbian survivors.  One young man in a wheelchair announced to Tina that he was very jealous when “Lillian” kissed “Buzz”.  These are the people who were touched every day by the social significance of Guiding Light and the other daytime dramas that have been snuffed out to game shows, weight loss shows, and cooking shows.  These are the people Tina speaks to in her book signings using the example of “Lillian’s” yearly regression to behind the scenes, culminating in a Christmas episode where the character is relegated to a position behind the tree.  After the obligatory wallowing in a bag of M&Ms, Tina announces, “Hey, I’m in the room!  I’m tired of being invisible.”

She changed her shoes that day, letting us all know that we don’t have to walk around in the orthopedic, white nurse shoes life gives us.  We can don pink hiking boots and conquer Mount Kilimanjaro.   We can put down the bag of M&Ms, and put on those Chanel pumps, the ones reserved for relationships and romance.  We can put on our comfortable shoes, #Occupy(anywhere), and stand up for our Constitutional rights.  Or, we can put on those running shoes, and race for the cure.  Don’t like where you are standing?  Change your shoes.

Thank you, Ms Sloan.  Though I may have been the one driving Miss Tina, it was I who was taken on a journey…what a ride.

Yes, the above picture is of my partner and me watching our favorite web drama, Anyone But Me.  The below photo is more representative of how I felt when the production team announced that the next episode would be the last and final installment of the award-winning drama.

It seems like only yesterday that a friend I was interviewing for breast cancer awareness month, suggested that I watch a coming of age web series about a post-911, New York City teenager, who takes the bullshit of societal norms by the horns, and with the help of friends and family, rides it out the best she can.  It’s no great secret that I watched the entire first season late one night curled up with my laptop and a bottomless cup of coffee.  Fully intending to watch an episode or two and come back later, I found myself clicking through one episode after another lamenting the timer as it approached that damnable, web-budget-determined, ten minute mark.  It is also no great secret what I think of the series, as frequent readers know I advocate for what I like.  For those who have not seen Anyone But Me, here are a few of my assessments, and I encourage you to check out all previous seasons (1 through 3) on their website.

Season One and Two of the drama were a gift from the production team, provided free of charge for our viewing pleasure, each a baited hook for just one more anxious bite.  However, without some kind of corporate sponsorship, or unless you are the Koch brothers, personally funding a social movement for an extended period of time is impossible.  It soon became evident that the fans would have to fish or cut bait to catch a Season 3.   And as a result, Season 3 of Anyone But Me was funded by fan donation, not subscription, and consisted of 5 episodes.  Season 4 will be a fan-financed as well, a single episode, Series Finale.

As I said above, I believe ABM is a gift, the whole package.   The box, or the foundation, is the writing, it holds the shape and contains the well-defined parameters of this character drama.  The wrapping?   That’s easy; it’s the actors.  They bring vivid color and eye-catching attention to the package.  Speaking in terms of the main characters, Rachael Hip-Flores is brilliant as Vivian.  She pulls at my heart strings, and she makes me want to be Vivian’s champion.  Conversely, she plays the character flaws with believability, so much so, that I want to scold her sometimes.  I believe that is the definition of depth.  In Aster, I see quite a bit of me at that age, and it probably explains why I’m so hard on that character at times.  Nicole Pacent plays her with an appropriate amount of white-hot, sexuality, but with an obvious and believable insecurity.  Tying all this up in a tight package, is the direction.  How these characters interact, when they interact, and where they interact is vital.  It ads to the credibility.  Combine all these elements of the whole package, and there is the gift.

Now, normally, I would consider re-gifting to be tacky and just a little bit common, but in the case of ABM and its finale, I am going to make a rare exception to my rule.   In fact, I sent my re-gifted donation toward ABM’s season finale last week.  I don’t know, maybe it was all those October Christmas trees in Home Depot that put me in the spirit, but  whatever the reason, I felt compelled to do my part to tie up the package that was Season 3, and I encourage you to do the same.  If we don’t support those who so proudly and eloquently support the community, who will?  In an age where all too often networks and corporations dance the box-step around lesbian content all the while pandering to lesbian viewers, it’s refreshing to have our experiences reflected in the loud and proud, yet subtle works of Tina Cesa Ward and Susan Miller, the creators of Anyone But Me.

At the risk of sounding a little Ecclesiastical, for everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.  For Anyone But Me, the season is four, and the time is now.  Please donate here what you can, and re-gift the gift of art.

*Spoiler alert

I have already written why I think you should be watching Warehouse 13, and now I’m going to expound on why you should continue after Season 3.  This recap hits the highlights of the action-packed finale, so for character explanation, please read my original post first.

As I viewed the Season 3 finale of the Syfy Channel selection, alternating exclamations of “Yeeeessss!” and “Noooooo!” were articulated between commercial breaks so many times that the occupants of the adjoining hotel room began beating on the wall.  For two hours, I found myself caught between an emotional Scylla and Charybdis as my questions were answered regarding the fate of these quirky characters I have grown to love.  I had a few prognostications about what would happen in the finale, but I had no idea the carnage that would ensue.

To set it up, the Warehouse, the thirteenth in a long line of camouflaged containment vessels for the world’s supernatural artifacts, is under attack by a sinister member of the Breakfast Club who is a genius in math and physics, but a grade-F idiot when it comes to making a lamp.  Andrew Sykes (Anthony Michael Hall) is pissed because Agent Pete’s (Eddie McClintock) mamma, Jane (Kate Mulgrew), once a Voyager of the Warehouse herself, confiscated Carlo Collodi’s bracelet from his adolescent clutches.  Woven from the strings of a marionette, Collodi’s bracelet, named for the angry and bitter author of Pinnochio (not Walt Disney), gave the wheelchair bound boy temporary control of his legs, but also planted an eventual evil seed in his soul.  Watered with wrath, the grain grew into a vile vine of vengeance and a desire to destroy the entire Warehouse and everyone in it.

To achieve this, Sykes must coerce the help of one vital person, Emily Lake.  Who?  I know, I know.  Just hold on.  Myka (Joanne Kelly) and Pete, the wonder twins of the Warehouse, figure out from Claudia’s (Allison Scagliotti) partial hack of the Atlas 66 file that Emily Lake is a high school English teacher in Cheyenne, Wyoming.  When they arrive at the school who do they find?  None other than the genius of H. G. Wells (Jaime Murray) dressed in mom clothes and less than sexy, Plains American accent.  (Can I just say that even in bad floral and a cruel green cardigan, Jaime Murray is still, uh, Jaime Murray.)

Emily Lake doesn’t recognize Pete, but worse yet, gets no ping, darling, from Myka at all.  Curious.  Upon further investigation, Myka discovers H.G. is bi-sectional.

Like some sort of historical savant, Myka remembers that H.G. Wells was born in Atlas House in 1866, thus cracking the code of the Atlas 66 file that eventually leads them to the two-faced Janus coin artifact and the truth that the essence, memories, and fashion sense of H.G. has been separated from her physical body, Emily Lake.  Now, if you read my previous delivery from the Warehouse, you will know that H.G. has been spanked by the Regents, the foremen (and woman) of the Warehouse, for trying to destroy the world in Season 2, and now resides as a hologram in a black ball.

Now, I must say that it is here that we discover Warehouse agent Jinks (Aaron Ashmore) is playing for the other team.  No, sure, he’s gay, but I mean he passed over to the dark side to work for Sykes when scary Mrs. Frederick fired him for pulling a gun on her while she was water-boarding that flipped FBI agent-lady from Denver with the bad Atlanta accent.  And no, there is no relation.  Jinks helps Sykes’ henchman, the amazingly immortal Marcus, kidnap Emily Lake and steal the Janus coin to reconstitute H.G., thus freeing her from that cardigan.

I have to stop with the recap now to extoll the acting talents of Allison Scagliotti (Claudia).  In my opinion, it was the addition of Scagliotti in Season one that gelled this drama into the complete package it is today.  The Season 3 finale elongates her acting limits as the developing situations call for the gamut of emotions including betrayal, heartbreak, anger, and resentment.  Hang in there, Claud, I have a feeling, whether using the immortal Metronome artifact or not, Agent provocateur, Jinks, is coming back.

Ok, H.G. is a whole, and readies for her close-up with Mr. DeMille’s riding crop, a body controlling artifact that Sykes uses to force H.G. to play a tortuous and medieval game on Myka’s chess.  Team Bering & Wells prevails, Myka keeps her head with the Brazilian blowout that makes her look amazingly like H.G., and a portal is opened between a Chinese Restaurant and the Warehouse.  Normally, that would be Pete’s stomach, but this time it’s a Panda Express back to Regent Jane.

Sykes’ fortune cookie crumbles, but not before he plants in the Warehouse a nuclear WMD artifact, a piece of masonry from the British House of Commons that absorbed all the force from the Blitz during WWII.  Artie (Saul Rubinek), Myka, and Pete try desperately to disarm it, but fail.  Unselfishly, H.G. taps into the high voltage and puts a force field around her friends, shielding them from the blast while she holds the wires together outside the protective bubble.  Hey, somebody had to do it, right?  And since H.G. is rumored to have a prequel in the works, it makes perfect sense.  But, as I was screaming “No!” and asking why she didn’t put the field around the bomb and therefore live to ping another day, the question was answered by Eddie McClintock.

So, as the script calls, the Warehouse explodes around Myka, Pete, and Artie sending shock waves to the boarding house where Mrs. Frederic (CCH Pounder) falls off her chair and deflates, looking very similar to Cicely Tyson in The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman.

Claudia and Leena (Genelle Williams) stare in disbelief as they always heard from Oprah that black don’t crack.   Meanwhile, back at the incinerated remains of what used to be Warehouse lucky #13, Artie holds in his hand a pocket watch that I can only hope to be the Cher-at-Caesar’s artifact that turns back time.

Whew!  Those were the amazing highlights.  Please go watch wherever you can and fill in the gaps yourself.  Season four can’t ping fast enough.