The Good, the Bad, and the Un-be-freakin-lievable

Robin McKinley's got a new novel out; I've read it, it's lovely, and if you like fantasy/fairy tales/YA fiction and AREN'T reading Robin's books, then what the hell's wrong with ya? Give 'em a try! I've been a fan of her stuff since college--LaraB, didn't we have a copy of The Blue Sword kicking around Ottoman Central at one time? I know it wasn't the pizza book, at least--and she is notable, among other things, for having heroic female characters that Don't Suck. She's got a couple adult novels as well--my favorite is her retelling of the Robin Hood story, and she's also got a good vampire novel. Anyway, Robin's a friend and a talented author to boot, and so I figured a little shameless plugging was not out of place here.

Since into each life some rain must fall, I should also tell you that I finally got around to watching the MST3K version of one of the most godawful B-movies it has ever been my wretched experience to watch: Teenagers from Outer Space (1959.) Sweet mother of god, what a horrible film. Even Joel and the gang could not make watching this movie a pleasurable experience for me--unlike The Creeping Terror, which is still in the top eschelon of worst films ever formally released. I could laugh at Creeping Terror. But this.... oh god. What do you get when you combine actors so wooden you could carve your name in them, an alien teen named "Derek" whose space uniform is obviously a jumpsuit with electrical tape piping, a "disintegrator ray" which is obviously a toy gun purchased for 25 cents from the Woolworth's up the street from the studio, and a monster which only appears in the final 5 minutes of the film and is, I shit you not, created by waving a live lobster in front of a spotlight and filming its shadow menacing the townspeople? You get CRAP, that's what you get. Further proof that the creationists were right and God really IS dead in our secular society.

But for sheer "AUGH MY BRAIN" value this week, I present you with the short to end all shorts: Mr. B Natural. Here's part 1, and here's Part 2. It's like watching the Death of Music Itself. If listening to "Mister" B-Natural chirp on and on doesn't make you want to bludgeon yourself repeatedly with a sousaphone, then you're just not a music lover.