I'm a little concerned for Wonder Woman

What's up with Wonder Woman?

Seriously. Why can't Hollywood figure out what to do with this iconic heroine? Hard to believe it's been over three decades since anyone did something viable with WW on screen, with the campy-but-fun Linda Carter TV series. Subsequent attempts to revive her have been stalled, aborted and abandoned, by some of the industry's biggest names (hi, Joss Whedon).

Among other issues or problems with re-booting (pun intended) WW, there are two that have struck me as particularly troublesome. One is the general larger-than-life nature of some of DC Comics' characters; i.e. Superman and Wonder Woman. As super-humans - Kryptonian or Amazonian - they are hard to relate to in the flesh and blood world of mere mortals. I always thought Marvel did it right when they created more "human"-type heroes. It's tough to relate to an invincible hero. How do you bring Wonder Woman down to earth?

Then there's the whole tricky balance between feminism and sexuality. Wonder Woman has always walked a fine line between being a true feminist hero and a hyper-sexualized fantasy. Do an online search for images of WW and you find a ton of overly sexual interpretations of the character. Really? Pole-dancing superhero?

  

It's a problem that plagues nearly all female super-heroes, but maybe none more than Wonder Woman. Through the years, her costume, as iconic as it is, has always been super-sexy - which many fan-boys may enjoy, but which damages her in the credibility department. Hard to take her seriously when she looks like a super-model or playmate in stars and stripes.

I'm still holding out hope that someone gets it right with Wonder Woman one of these days. Now there's talk that she may make an appearance in the upcoming "Superman-Batman" movie. Fingers crossed that Zach Snyder gets it right. In the meantime, I was kind of encouraged by this viral short film that someone made recently depicting a modern WW. Granted, the costume is still hyper-sexual and she looks like a double for Megan Fox. But there's an interesting tone to the film that feels dark, appropriately warrior-like, and compelling.

Of course, we still have to figure out what to do with the magic lasso and invisible plane.

Drops of Blood on My Forehead

God, I hate blogging.

Weird for one who writes professionally to admit such a feeling. But if you're going to look inside this copywriter's head, that's a truth you're going to discover.

One of my favorite quotes about writing is from American journalist, author and dramatist Gene Fowler, who reportedly said,

  Writing is easy: All you do is stare at a sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.

That's what it feels like for me when it comes to personal blogging. I write for a living, all week long, in a variety of channels including blogs. Every day, I speak as the "voice" of someone else – our agency, our clients, etc. So when it comes time to speak in my own voice, via this blog, why is it such a struggle? I suppose a therapist could have a field day with this – uncomfortable speaking in my own voice, perhaps? Afraid to open my head and heart publicly?

I prefer not to analyze it, but simply to acknowledge it. And as any writer knows, sometimes you just plough through and hope that in the course of writing a lot of drivel, occasionally something gold will show up. You just may not recognize it, covered in drops of blood as it may be.

Much To Do About... Lists

I'm a list guy.

I thought about this recently when I saw the title of Aubrey Plaza's new film, The To Do List. (Granted, her list is a bit more colorful than mine...). I almost always have a "to-do list." Things to do over the weekend. My list for the week ahead. My daily little punch-list that sits by my computer at work. Reminders of things to get done. People to see. Places to go.

I sometimes wonder what it says about a person who lives by the list. A bit OCD, perhaps. Time management gurus would applaud the lists, I suppose. They do help me to organize my life, or at least to not forget all the things that I want or need to accomplish. But for me, it's a bit more about the odd moments of satisfaction I get when I cross things off the list. There's some unusual sense of fulfillment that occurs whenever I am able to check off or cross off items from my list. It is finished. I have accomplished something. Now I may rest, or play, or do something less important.

I suspect I inherited this tendency from my mother, who was equally - if not more - obsessed with lists than I am. She was a librarian, and I suppose this makes sense. She maintained order in every aspect of her life, and I adopted this tendency. I even remember her adding items to her list after she had already done them, just for the pleasure of being able to cross them off her list. I won't admit to that much.

But I will admit that "write blog post" has been on my list(s) for weeks now... and it will be tremendously rewarding to go cross that one off, just as soon as I edit this and hit "publish."

An Uninvited Visitor

10:27 a.m. Stall #1, men’s room, 25^th floor.

I am minding my own business, finishing my business, when an unexpected guest crawls under the door, stopping near my left foot. Unaccustomed to visitors when I'm in the stall, it catches me by surprise. I prefer privacy in here and my peaceful respite has just been invaded. We quickly reach a “Cuba Missile Crisis” moment, me staring down at him; he staring up at me. Who will make the first move? 

Confession: I’m not fond of creatures that crawl. They make me squeamish. My initial response is to squash. For some reason this morning, however, I’m feeling a little more inclined to pardon this intruder. Or maybe I’m just not as confident in my squashing ability from this position. Instead, I try a tactical move. I stomp my left foot a few times and move it around a little, intending to scare the creature out of the stall. Wrong move. Instead of instilling fear or a flight response in him, I seem to have ignited a fight response. He scurries even closer to me and I suddenly have an “eek” moment, akin to the old lady on a chair screaming from a mouse. I have a split second to act before he reaches my foot and, dreadfully, please Lord, no, makes his way up my pant leg. I choose violence, and abruptly squash him good. 

Not a pleasant way to end my time in the stall, but better than the alternative cockroach-up-my-pant-leg scenario. I quickly suit up, scraping the bottom of my shoe on the floor to erase the evidence - and this messy reminder of my encounter.

(Note: Couldn't stomach posting a picture of a real cockroach, so this will have to do. Had the little critter actually been this cute, he may have lived to see another day.) 

An Unexpected Introduction

Hello, lady in bathroom on Amtrak train. Nice to see you. Most visitors to public bathrooms choose not only to shut the door completely, but to lock it. You chose a different path, and hence our introduction. I'll always remember your startled expression and flailing hand, which I don't think was an invitation to shake it. Anyway, pleasure to meet you under such awkward circumstances.