And Now, What You've All Been Waiting For...

 And now, what you've all been waiting for...

The final chapter of Aren't You All Aglow In Your Thousand Yard Stare!

Starting now...

WHOOOOOWHEEEEEE!!!!!!!

 Hey, Dear Reader!

It's ProvidenceMine here with some great news!

I am finally finished with the latest story for this blog!

I literally just finished writing the story just a few minutes ago, so now comes the typing!

Argh!

The end of this story will be posted as soon as possible along with a very important message about the future of this blog, so as they said during the Golden Age of Television...

Stay Tuned :D

Honoring Should Not Mean Exploiting.

 Hello, Everyone!

ProvidenceMine is here.

This blog post will be a short one, but it's about something that I have to get off my chest (yes, again ).

I was at the bank, and had decided that afterwards I would pick up a few things from the drug store next door. 

Well, I was able to pick up my vitamins and toothpaste so I headed to the cash register.   I was on line waiting a few minutes as a woman was helping her elderly mother pick up her items, and when they were finished I was called down to the register ( one thing I like about this whole Covid-19 thing is that there are no crowds or long lines ) where the cashier rang up my items, and while I was waiting I took a look at the magazine section and noticed on the rack a commemorative issue of Entertainment Weekly dedicated to the late actor Chadwick Boseman, star of the enjoyable but overrated blockbuster The Black Panther.   

I was rather hit sideways when I saw the issue.

As you know, Mr. Chadwick Boseman died from a four year battle of colon cancer quite recently, and the outpouring of condolences has been huge, and while the news was tragic, I simply can't understand this commemorative issue by Entertainment Weekly.

Why, you may ask?

I will tell you simply by relaying my own personal experience.   Honestly, I had never heard of Mr. Boseman until the movie Black Panther was out in theaters.   Before that time, he wasn't even in my radar.   Was Chadwick Boseman really that big of a name to even warrant such an issue?   

Let's be clear.   Chadwick Boseman was not Burt Reynolds nor was he Paul Newman.   Reynolds and Newman were Hollywood legends, and a commemorative issue on them would make sense.   If James Earl Jones or Denzel Washington had died, it would make sense to give them a commemorative issue as well.

I realize that Boseman had played James Brown and Thurgood Marshall in two films, but I didn't know this until after The Black Panther had been out for some time.   I don't think this actor had been in the industry long enough to have any real impact.   He starred in one blockbuster movie following films that came and went.

You are probably wondering why I am going off on Entertainment Weekly's commemorative issue in this fashion.   I'm doing so because there is something creepily exploitative about it.   This actor was a man who was literally on the cusp of what looked like stardom, but never really got there.   I know that he had done other films afterwards, including some action thriller where he played a cop-does anyone know the name of that film, even?   I seem to remember that it came and went with a snap of a finger.   

Listen, I know who Dwayne Johnson is.   I know who Chris Pratt is.   I knew both actors for many years because they have established themselves in a number of hits throughout the years.   Those two are household names.   

Chadwick Boseman was not a household name.   That doesn't mean that he would not have been sometime in the future, but he really wasn't when he died.   He was an up and comer.   Never in my life have I seen a commemorative issue dedicated to an up and comer.   

It's clear to me, that Entertainment Weekly decided to make a commemorative issue on Chadwick Boseman in order to cash in on his very recent and untimely death and all of the outpouring of sympathy that his family has been getting.  I would also go as far as to say that the whole resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement had played a large hand in influencing the planning and publishing of this particular issue. 

Now, you might ask, wouldn't a commemorative issue on established Hollywood legends be exploitative as well?

Perhaps, but it would make more sense because there is a hell of a lot more to commemorate.   

Boseman has had one blockbuster hit movie while the rest of them have not been such.   I only know of the James Brown film and the Thurgood Marshall film, and I don't even know the titles of those particular films.   The only thing I remember is when I saw one picture of Mr. Boseman as Thurgood Marshall and thought how he looked absolutely positively nothing like the legendary Supreme Court Judge and of how he was a bizarre choice for the role.   As for the James Brown movie, I had thought that the actor who played Lafayette in True Blood was James Brown, only to find out-when he had passed-that he wasn't James Brown, but was in a supporting role.   

Exactly what kind of fillers were inserted in this commemorative issue of this unfortunate actor?   

You just wanted the money, Entertainment Weekly, that's all.   You just wanted to make money off of this man's corpse, so you decided to squeeze out what you could in order to put it in your junky gossipy trash heap of a magazine and sell it.

Disgusting.

Really and truly.

Seriously, between tag teaming a bad review on a streaming series that your critics had hardly viewed and a commemorative issue of a man who barely had a career to talk about as of yet, what in the hell will be next?   

 I shudder at the thought.

Do Your Job, Or Disappear.

 ProvidenceMine is back, Dear Readers!

As you might have guessed, I'm not finished with the last chapter of my story yet, but stay tuned!

I have just finished watching a Netflix original series called The Witcher, and I really enjoyed it.   

No, it is not a masterpiece, and as far as fantasy goes it is not The Thief of Bagdad.   It is, however, a binge worthy show that is fun, escapist fair.   It is not Game of Thrones, and thank goodness, as that show for me was nothing more than something to watch in reruns whenever I happened to be suffering from insomnia on any given night.   

I want to make it clear that I am not going to write a review of The Witcher, as that is not what I normally do.   What I will do is comment on a certain critic who reviewed this show quite unfavorably in a magazine that I rarely, if ever, read-and that's Entertainment Weekly, and the critic is Darren Fanich.   I will point out that I don't know if I spelled his last name correctly, and I really don't care if I did or not-mainly because I don't really have much respect for critics of film or television.   

Now, this Darren Fanich didn't like the series, along with a female colleague of his whose name escapes me, from lack of even a faint interest in her identity.   I don't really have a problem with anyone who didn't like the series, as everyone has a right to their opinion.  However, I have a big problem with anyone who claims to review a whole movie or series when they have not done so.   It turns out, according to one of the story forerunners of The Witcher ( I don't know your name, forgive me ) this Darren Fanich, who gleefully tore this show apart along with his nameless, faceless, co-writer, had only watched Episodes One, Two, and Five.

There are eight full episodes of The Witcher...

...count them-EIGHT!!!

He didn't even watch them in order, for Christ Sake!

Considering that this Fanich person has a job that many people would kill for, sitting on his butt all day critiquing the creativity of others while not appreciating the hard work that goes into their projects, I can't understand why it was so difficult to simply sit down and watch one season of a streaming series.  Face it, this man is getting paid to do something that many people don't even consider to be a real job-because watching movies and tv for a living is basically hanging out for pay compared to what health care workers, delivery workers, school teachers, and other workers with real jobs have to do.   

Why then, would Entertainment Weekly even count this as a real review?   Maybe the female critic should have reviewed this show by herself, if she is a more honorable person and saw the whole show.

Let me recount something here.   Way back in the day I was sitting in a movie theater watching a small arthouse film starring Ed Harris and Blair Brown, and who did I spot but the film critic Jeffrey Lyons.   Watching him was actually more entertaining than the film itself, as he squirmed in his seat, got up, and walked out of the mezzanine.   Next, he stood right outside the mezzanine hall where he even greeted some viewers who were leaving the film with a smile that said "Boring, am I right?"  A few minutes later, he was gone.   He didn't even bother to stay for the whole movie.   I can remember looking for his review of this film in the places where he worked as a critic, and guess what?   There were no reviews of this film by him anywhere-not WPIX News, not at the radio station where he worked and not At the Movies with Neal Gabler.   Why were there no reviews of this film by Jeffrey Lyons, you may ask?   Because Mr. Lyons, being an honorable man, didn't write a bogus review where there was no review to be had.   

Another example of an honorable film critic is David Denby, formerly of New York Magazine.   I can remember the list of movies in his index where you could see films he reviewed, films he hadn't reviewed yet and films that he never got around to reviewing, probably because he had no intention of reviewing them as they were probably not films to his taste.   

I've seen many reviews of The Witcher, most of them being positive.   What I did notice was that if only a few episodes were viewed it was clearly noted, so you knew that you were not getting a full review of a series.   In one of the poorer reviews, a critic on his blog talked about what the series needed in order to improve as it entered its Second Season.   Why was he able to give an intelligent assessment?  Because he watched the whole season.  While I didn't agree with his conclusions, I was at least able to appreciate his clearly thought out points.

I am not saying that you have to like The Witcher, or anything that you sit down to watch, but as a paid critic who is supposed to be a 'trusted' voice in what to recommend to viewers, Mr. Fanich's review falls way too short.  Even with the hand holding that he got from his female colleague, it is not the same as if he had watched the whole series himself.  I would go as far as to say that Mr. Fanich's review, or his part of it, should have been edited out of the final review.   His contributions were at best thin and at worst unnecessary.  

I think Darren Fanich would do well to make more of an effort to do what he's being paid for.  His livelihood is already in grave danger, as sites like Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic are taking reviews and watering them down to nothing more than scorecards, and with the huge numbers of citizen critics on blogs, YouTube and social media, the professionalism and exclusivity of film and tv critiquing is most assuredly disappearing from any kind of relevance.

Bye for now,

ProvidenceMine :D 

Good Grief!

ProvidenceMine is back!


So soon, you say?


Yep.


I have another thing that I want to rant about.


It's about the fans of a soap opera actress named Nancy Lee Grahn and her criticism over Viola Davis' speech on her Emmy win.


I know that this is old news, but so what.   This really isn't about Ms. Grahn or Ms. Davis.


It's about Ms. Grahn's fans.


You see, Nancy Lee Grahn didn't like Viola Davis' speech about her historic win being for all black actresses, because it seemed to her like it was elevating only black actresses while ignoring those who looked like her, so she expressed her displeasure on Twitter.   Never mind the fact that Viola Davis is the very first black actress to win a Primetime Emmy for a Series ever.


Some people call it historic, while I call it pathetic.  Just like Cardi B's historic Grammy win ( first female rapper to win ) and just like Kathryn Bigalow's historic win ( first female director to win an Oscar ).  I call these wins pathetic because these wins took place very late in the game-the 21st Century, for crying out loud!  Why did these wins take so fucking long?!


But, I'm getting besides myself.


When Ms. Grahn tweeted her criticism of the speech, what is known as Black Twitter criticized right back to the point where Ms. Grahn ended up apologizing for her questionable tweets.


Well, not long after that Ms. Grahn's fans took to Twitter and defended her right to free speech, claiming that she said nothing wrong and that this was America and she could say "what she fucking wants."   Blah Blah Blah.  The defense of their soap queen went on and on.


Can we just stop, please?


Of course, Ms. Grahn can say "whatever the fuck she wants."   This is America.


That's the whole point.


Since when did people get so thin-skinned over criticism?  When you embrace free speech, you take the risk of being criticized.  That's the plain and simple fact.   Criticism is, in today's world, seen as censorship and it is not.   Clearly Ms. Grahn's fans don't know that.  Even Right-Wringers like Ann Coulter are very well aware that speaking her mind is risky.   She knows this, or she wouldn't be on so many debates and dialogues.   She has been proven wrong and made foolish quite a bit, but she keeps coming back.   There is even a picture of her backstage at some show somewhere holding up a handmade sign up to her chest that reads "Bring It On."


The price of free speech is being challenged.  Ms. Grahn knew that and paid the price.   If her fans are going to feign victimhood on behalf of a soap opera actress that they clearly live through, then maybe they shouldn't be on social media ( I left that joke years ago, albeit for different reasons ).


As a matter of fact, the only intelligent thing that one of her fans on Twitter tweeted was that they were going to stop dealing with Twitter.


Smart move.

Get Off My Back!

Hey!

ProvidenceMine here.


No, I'm not finished with the last chapter of my story just yet.   Almost, though.


But, there is something that I need to get off of my chest because it annoys me to no end.


In recent years I have been seeing silly, makeshift hurried "studies" trying to tell me how, as a woman, I'm supposed to conduct myself in all things in sexuality and romance.  These "studies" are generalized, the sample participants are always small and the studies usually don't even last a year to conduct.  Now, I'm not going to go into great detail as to the particulars of these studies-what I will do is to mention them and tell you my feelings on them.


There is one three year old study that claims that women are happier in marriage if they are married to average or below average looking men, even going as far as to say that women are happier with men who don't look as good as they do.  This stupid study was based on, listen up, 225 newlyweds.


Now, I ask you.  Just how many newlyweds are around at any given time?


Let's put it this way-they are probably in the millions each year in this country alone.


So, tell me.  How in the fuck can you come to such an inane conclusion with such a small sample of people.


There was another study done around the same time, I believe on a college campus, that unequivocally declared that women preferred what is known as a 'dad body,' which is a flabby out of shape body, over a body that is fit-firm, muscular and symmetrical.


Honestly, who writes this bilge?!


There seems to be this obsessive, sick need to try to tell women what it is that they are supposed to like sexually, which is obnoxious enough as it is.    This obsessive fetish as of late has taken it a step further as it steers women into telling them that, not only do we not care about men's looks the way that men care about women's looks ( I've heard that nonsense all my life ) but that now we are supposed to actually PREFER unremarkable or ugly men.


I have something that I need to say on this matter, and that is...


BACK THE HELL OFF!


How dare you try to make me your pliable idiot.


I was not put here on this earth, nor is it my job nor duty, to make physically unremarkable men feel good.  It should not always be about their egg-shell male fragility.


Women are individuals.   There are women who do prefer men who are average to ugly,  and there are women who, quite frankly, prefer men who are beautiful.   There are also women who don't care one way or another.   And, you know what?   All of the above is just fine, thank you very much.


These "studies" seem to make it a point to lump all women into one malleable pile of clay, and in the age of MGTOWs and MRAs this is, not only maddening, but disturbing.


So, this strong proud woman would like you to do her a big favor...


GET OFF MY BACK!


Don't tell me that I prefer the 'nice' guy who might not have the looks but who has the heart.   What the hell does that even mean?!   Don't try to tell me that guys who are not good looking have more to offer and are not shallow like their good looking counterparts.   How in the Name of God could you know this?!   People are individuals.  Stop generalizing.


I will never apologize for preferring the newly trim and chiseled Chris Pratt over the fat and doughy one.


Sorry.   Well, no I'm not sorry.


This is how I feel and it's simply how it is.


You will not continue to police my sexuality, and you will not guilt me about my sexual preference.   Each woman has a right to how they feel and what they like-whether that woman prefers a Jean-Claude Belmondo, a Hugh Laurie, or an Anson Mount-her sexuality is her own and not yours.   It is not in service to satisfy your bogus agenda.   Know this...


...and know this well.


Women are of their own sexual agency.


Period.

Aren't You All Aglow In Your Thousand Yard Stare Chapter 6

Aren’t You All Aglow In Your Thousand Yard Stare

Chapter 6

ProvidenceMine

It was the smell that woke her up;  Sweet, heady, musky, medicinal, metallic.   Hitting her nostrils, it snaked its way through her nasal passages and enveloped her brain.   Rand’s head reeled, the lightness pulling her upward like a sky lantern floating towards heaven.   Her vision was like a descending elevator, the floors rising above her until, on closer watch, she realizes that her cell and the whole cellblock was being submerged in water.   

Rand could feel panic as the surrounding water threatened to engulf her.   She scurried about, slamming herself against the walls like a trapped animal, her body growing hot and shaking uncontrollably.   There was no escape.   

None.

Rand collapsed in the corner next to her cot.   She was frightened, helpless alone.   She had stopped fighting as the water rose reached the ceiling of her cell, and then the ceiling of the complex itself.   

Everything in Rand’s vision was blurry.  The silence was deafening and stretched out for what seemed like forever.  

Then, seemingly from a distance, Rand spotted a swirl of colors begin to make their way through the haze of the water, wavy, slow and ghostlike.   

The rays slivered their way towards Rand, ebbing and flowing around like a snake trapping its prey.   These colors flash before her, alternating between low and bright, first fast and then slow.  The slower the flashing, the more Rand was being pulled into the light and out of her body, reaching higher as an eerie monotone strobe pulsed followed her, getting louder with each beat.   The colors themselves got closer until she and her cell became completely engulfed as they stretched into wide expanses, undulating into curving fiords and rising into mountains and hills thick with flora that had hues unlike anything Rand has ever seen in her life.   

Surrounded by this alien flora was a glistening black lake, shining like an obsidian mirror that reflected back at Rand’s suspended body.   She looked down at her reflection, transfixed by the reflection of her hovering body, laughing as she saw herself bobbing and swerving in the air.   Then, without warning, she fell from the sky.   She screamed as she plunged into the frigid water.   

Rand struggled as she felt herself being pulled deeper and deeper in, the surrounding water becoming warmer the further she was pulled, the blackness of the water so entrenched she couldn’t see anything, not even her own arms waving about in panic.  

In the mist of this fear, something suddenly hit Rand.   She stopped waving her arms about and inhaled deeply.   

She could breathe.

Rand had stopped falling.   Her feet hit soft, spongy ground.

WTF?!

Rand took slow, careful steps, her arms suspended on either side of her.   As her sense of safety grew, the quicker and more relaxed her stride-in spite of the fact that she was still encompassed by complete darkness.  After a while, her relative calm started to get shaky, and she wanted to get the hell out of wherever this place was, this dark.   But how could she, when she didn’t know where the fuck she was going-she could have been walking around in circles for all she knew.   

Then, against this pitch blackness, she spotted it. 

A thin crack of light formed in front of her, creating a small horizon that opened like a lid.   Two shadows emerged from the light, coming closer to Rand until she was able to make out that they were hands that gripped themselves onto the light.

As the light widened, a lean sinewy man pulled himself up.   He slithered himself out of the light and fully materialized in front of Rand.    

He was a magnificent man with long, straight glistening black hair.   Rand stood where she was, not able to take her eyes off the man.   She was both sexually aroused and frightened.   The man glided towards her like he was riding a cresting wave with his whole body until he towered over her, seemingly making himself sexually available.  

Rand looked into the handsome angular face, which returned her gaze, the dark almond-shaped eyes piercing, intense.     She could feel the man’s fingers trace their way along the arm until they rested in the crux of her elbow.   He tightened his grip.   Rand opened her mouth, ready to speak, but before she knew it he lifted her up and tossed her, her body hurdling back into the solid darkness, which seemed to go on forever until she saw them up ahead.   

Clouds.   They formed one whole blanket over a glistening, obsidian sea.   She hurls closer towards the clouds until she hovers over them and then plunges in accelerated speed into the black ocean, which is seductively and surprisingly warm.   

She swims upward to the surface where she found herself in a hot spring surrounded by a mountainous snowy landscape with little snow monkeys at different stages of play; frolicking in the trees, on the shore, and swimming towards Rand.   She is bobbing naked in the water, her arms fluttering at her sides while she relished the warmth of the clear water.   The snow monkeys surround her and begin working their fingers through her hair.   The feel of the monkeys’ fingers relaxed her, soothed her. 

Rand was content.   Everything was perfect as she felt herself sinking and ebbing into the warm water and the working of the monkeys’ fingers through her hair.   Comfort and bliss held her, surrounded her.   She was safe.

Or…was she?

Rand looked around her; the monkeys, the water, the snowy landscape.   She was suddenly jolted, away from the lulling of the warmth of the water and the attentive grooming of her simian companions.  

“No,” she said as a rise of panic surged through her.   “No!   This is not real!   This is not real!”

Rand’s vision started to double, and she could feel the back of her eyes contract and the pit of her stomach leaden.   Her head was now pounding mercilessly, and she closed her eyes.   The warmth that had been around her was replaced by an icy cold, the attentive fingers were gone, the water replaced by a cold floor, her naked was now covered by the stiff fabric of prison guard.   She opened her eyes and she was back at her cell, which was still submerged in water among the swirling, strobe lights.   Her body heaved and jerked as she covered her mouth and ran to the toilet where she threw up.

End of Chapter 6.