General radio silence for a bit, but I’ve just finished Lupin III: The Woman Called Fujiko Mine, and really enjoyed it, and also really wanted to link to Vrai Kaiser’s discussion of the series. I’m not that familiar with the Lupin-verse, but if you are you will enjoy Vrai’s knowledge of the older series. And if you aren’t, then you get to learn about a sexy thriller series with amazing art and a leading female character who’s a grown woman and not a martyr or an evil witch! It’s not about 13-year-old schoolgirls with gigantic breasts and short skirts and the nerds who love them!* Because every other anime is about that!
Except maybe My Neighbor Totoro. Maybe.
* OK, that’s not true. Some of them are about 13-year-old schoolgirls with smaller breasts. And the nerds who love smaller breasts.
Why would a man want to label himself as a psychopath? At least self-proclaimed female psychopaths or sociopaths or whatever are sexy and less likely to go to jail. And no, please do not bring up your crush on Hannibal Lecter to me because Hannibal Lecter isn’t real. Real-life male “psychopaths” are upper-middle-class pasty white 20-year-olds who murder schoolchildren after playing too much World of Warcraft. That’s what CNN tells me, and that’s what I’m sticking with, OK?
Meet Dr. James Fallon, the good psychopath. How does James Fallon know he’s a psychopath? He’s a neuroscientist, and he’s found that psychopaths’ brains “light up” in certain places during an MRI scan, and Fallon’s brain lights up in the very same place, so he is a psychopath. Or at least he can go around telling people he is a psychopath, like M.E. Thomas, only with a set of scan results. And a penis. Continue reading →
I’m working on a post about self-diagnosed, self-promoting male psychopaths, because who doesn’t love that sweet, sweet not-actually-murder, but I have to take time out to throw shade at all the bloggers out there writing about being one’s authentic self on the Internet. “Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart,” indeed. The breathings of my heart are pretty sulfurous right now.
I’m really just sulking because I want to vent, but can’t, so I’m taking it out on random advicegivers. And also on Romantic poets. Go suck a daffodil, Wordsworth.
(And no, the reason I can’t express myself is not that I’m secretly a psychopath and can’t give away that I’m dancing in the moonlight in a cloak made out of somebody else’s skin. You should know that already because I’m busy writing here, who would interrupt the intricacies of their Satanic murder ritual with something as dull as blogging?)
There’s been a lot of talk about male sociopaths lately, for obvious reasons. For now, let’s deny them the pleasure of occupying our brain meats. Instead, let’s relax by talking about lady sociopaths.
Film editor Merve Emre recently wrote this article about female sociopaths, including several fictional sociopaths and one real one. I’m not sure about Emre’s collection of fictional sociopaths, but I’m going to focus on M.E. Thomas, the real live sociopath. Continue reading →