Find a fucking way to afford it!!

So, I returned from the doctor's appointment today and checked the tweets I missed while I was making the D_O face (I may have mentioned my Twitter addiction...) And linked in two different tweets was this article from EW.com: Futurama getting new voices for Fry, Leela, Bender, and Others.

Did I say article? I meant obscenity.

To sum up:

Fox released a statement saying "We love the Futurama voice performers and absolutely wanted to use them, but unfortunately, we could not meet their salary demands. While replacing these talented actors will be difficult, the show must go on. We are confident that we will find terrific new performers to give voice to Matt and David's brilliantly subversive characters."

Seriously. Obscenity. That whole quote needs a black bar over it.

I know I probably come across as a pretty rabid fan right now, but I do think something like this is a big deal. As terrible as it is to inflate an actor's ego, the choices they make for the characters are as important as those made by the writers, directors, and everyone else involved in any type of performance. Everything matters, and I've been given to understand that quality voice acting is actually pretty hard to come by. Ever seen a bad anime dub? God-damn right you have!

Like Family Guy before it, there was enough fan/public interest in Futurama that it was granted a resurrection, first in the form of direct-to-DVD films, and now the promise of new seasons. Firefly was able to get its Serenity almost certainly for the same reasons. But would anyone have gone to see Serenity without Nathan Fillion, Summer Glau, and all the others? Would Family Guy have eight seasons if there were no Seth MacFarlaine or Alex Borstein behind their characters? Hell, I'm not even much of a Family Guy fan, but I'll admit that I like what Mila Kunis does with Meg a lot more than what Lacey Chabert did in the first season. There's a difference, and it matters.

The long and the short of it is simply that FOX can look at these talented people who voiced some of our favorite characters two ways: an expense, or an investment. And I won't lie, I don't think internet petitions ever really work, but I do think this is something the nerdlinger fans ought to get up in arms about. Because for something like this, the original voice actors are sure to prove worth every penny.

Here's another good article from Forces of Geek.com.

According to no less than cast members John DiMaggio, Phil LaMarr, and Maurice LaMarche on their Facebook pages, a casting notice has gone out to replace actors DiMaggio, LaMarche, Billy West and Katy Sagal.

...

Nevertheless, any attempt to recast these talented folks should be the first indicator that the new season is poorly executed and just a cheap attempt to push out product.

Birthday Lilies!

A Little This 'n That

Another catch-all blog post, because I'm bored and easily distracted.

• Is it just me, or does Alexandre Dumas get more boring with each book? The Three Musketeers was fun, The Count of Monte Christo was excellent, Twenty Years After was good enough but took me for-fucking-ever to read, and The Vicomte of Bragelonne is damnably hard to get into. If I make it all the way to (and through) The Man in the Iron Mask, I think I'll deserve a huge fucking pat on the back. All things considered, though, he's it's not as bad as Hugo and The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I've never wanted to stab a book so badly in my entire life...

• I tried the Bacon Cheesy Potato Burrito from Taco Bell today, because I saw a commercial for it last weekend and declared "I must have that!" Verdict: they put sour cream on it, which is what I blame on the... unpleasantness in the bathroom that ensued; normally, all my taco-related products are without sour cream and I never have such difficulties. Otherwise, it was bacony.
  

• My boyfriend's mother asked me if I wanted to go clothes shopping with her last weekend, because my birthday is coming up. I felt bad saying no, but clothes shopping is fucking painful for me. Socks don't fit, because my feet are too small - the heels invariably end up above my ankles. Pants don't fit, because my legs are too short. Even petite sizes are too long. Bras and shirts definitely don't fit, because my tits are bigger than my head. The only thing I can safely buy is skirts (which I never wear) and underwear. Body fail!

• Whenever Kevin Smith tweets about the amazing sex he has with his wife, and Wil Wheaton tweets about the amazing geeky things his wife says, itgives me hope for the American marriage, which Time.com seems to think is on the brink of fail. But what do I know about the American marriage? I was divorced at the age of 21. Actually, I probably know more about the American marriage than most.

• I may be growing addicted to websites like Texts From Last Night and Not Always Right. Each site makes me both glad and regretful that my life isn't more interesting. But it's seriously addicting to just read through the archives.
  

• I have a doctor's appointment next week; I finally get to talk to someone about the headaches I get every day! I'll be very disappointed if the doc suggests I see a chiropractor. It's hard to take the profession seriously when a chiro gave your ex-husband a stroke through a botched adjustment. Also, I wonder what expression the doc will have when he or she gives me my breast exam; I strongly suspect the dressing gown will surprisingly downplay how big they actually are, and am hoping for a look of shocked horror. Morbid? Me?

To wrap things up, here are some photos from last weekend, when we went home to SD to visit friends and fam.




World's Largest Pheasant, standing proud and tall in Huron, SD. Outstanding...

We bought fireworks here. Apparently that's a ride that hasn't worked in 30 years or more. If you look closely (or embiggen the photo by clicking on it) you can see a blue swastika painted on the side of one of the cars.

Fireworks and beer ALWAYS go together!
We dropped a smoke bomb in a puddle.

Kaboom!

I love him like I love Fresca.

So... my boyfriend is pretty much obsessed with fish. Not quite Troy McLure-obsessed, but almost. In spite of living in the Midwest, where there are decidedly few opportunities for actual delicious seafood, he craves it constantly. There is pretty much never a time when there isn't some fish sitting in our freezer, waiting to be cooked by me for his tummy. He could be content to have a fishy-centric supper every day of the week, and probably some lunches and breakfasts too.

Now, I like fish, but mostly because I've recently discovered that it doesn't taste like gross, which is the opinion my mother holds. Having grown up knowing that opinion, I shared it until my boyfriend shared with me the joyous experience of sushi (something a Japanophile like me cannot resist for love or money or even a nice juicy steak). So, I like fish, and go out of my way for a nice sushi meal, but there's still a part of me that is aware of when the fish isn't cooked to its full potential.

As I am most frequently the cook in question, this is problematic. On the one hand, I have this wonderful but crazy man interested in salmon, and perch, and hali-butt, and all sorts of other things he finds at the grocery store. And on the other, there's me, asking... "How the fuck am I going to cook that and not turn it into utter fail?" The only method I've had any real success with is baking it with a combination of spices that I discovered on one recipe website or another; and even then, it's touch-and-go (I too often overcook it, which makes it dry and awful). So often, Nick and I will be standing in front of the freezer doors, and he'll ask, "Do you think you can cook sole?"

Sure, I can cook sole. I don't have a recipe right off the top of my head, but I can find one. I've found that AllRecipes.com has a pretty good selection, and being able to read comments by folks who've tried these recipes is also helpful. But no amount of incredible, easy-to-make recipes for outstanding types of fish can overcome my ability to totally fuck shit up.

I'm lucky he'll eat anything no matter how crappy it tastes. And I need to figure out how to broil shit, just for a change of pace.

Woe, woe, woe!

I made my second excursion to the local library today, having finished the three books I'd joyously acquired on my first trip. Today I made a more serious exploration of the library and discovered that it was not as magical a place as I'd previously imagined. Woe, for the paperback section is startlingly small; many of the books I have long-hoped to track down and immerse myself in are not to be found!

It was with a great deal of dismay that I wandered through the shelves today, searching for authors that I am at least currently familiar with. The collections I found were either nonexistent, woefully incomplete (often to the point of being diminished by my own collection). Today I was in luck. I found three thick books to take home with me, but future trips will have to be more planned out. I cannot go back and simply hope to discover.

Still, it's better than running through my own stale collection again and again.

I'd call that joy.

Library cards are magical things. They bring magic into my life.

Whoops!