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|Tuesday, January 10th, 2012|
|Book Review: My Friend Dahmer
So, I have finally broken my longest-ever streak of total writer's block -- compelled by this grimly fantastic graphic novel
. Alt-weekly readers are probably familiar with Derf's "The City"
comic, and alt-comix fans may be familiar with his longer pieces, Trashed
and Punk Rock and Trailer Parks
, as well as the much shorter self-published version of My Friend Dahmer
he wrote a few years back.
The expanded Dahmer
is a queasy, complex, weirdly sorrowful read. I grabbed an ARC off a distributer's table at an indie booksellers' con a couple of months ago because, hey, free book, graphic novel, and true-crime creepiness, but I severely and sorely underestimated the richness of it. Dark and messy and profoundly uncomfortable, and incredibly well composed, art and language one seamless whole. I couldn't shake it; it haunted me, until I had to write about it. Read the review, get the book, or pester your local library to order a copy or three.
And if you want to tell me what I should be reading next, please say so! Current Mood: pensive
|Tuesday, May 3rd, 2011|
|Do we really need yet another book blog? Yes, because MY MOM wrote it!
This is a long overdue post that I've been promising my mom to make for a couple of months, but now I really need to; her birthday was last week and Mother's Day is this weekend and if I don't post now I am really one sad, lazy bum of a daughter.
My mom, a retired Bay Area indie bookstore manager, current book reviewer for her former local paper, and eternal voracious reader, has started her own book review blog, Bookin' With Sunny.
She doesn’t write high-toned critical studies of what she deems Works of Great Import; she writes pretty much exactly the way she talked to customers when she was a bookseller: This surprised me. I fell for these characters. I got lost in these lives. I loved it, and I think you will, too, and here’s why.
Her publishing rep friends have stayed in touch and are supplying her with new titles and ARCs at a dizzying rate, and now that she’s retired from the bookstore she is racing through her TBR pile and updating the blog with a new review damn near daily. (I am supposed to be contributing as well, but my reading pace is painfully slack between the day job, the editing gig and the 4-year-old; I don’t know how to manage it, but I swear I’m gonna turn in at least one review before the end of the
year if it kills me.)
She’s a great resource for librarians, fellow booksellers, and fellow voracious readers. Read, subscribe, and if you know a deserving but neglected book that more people should know about please let her or me know; suggestions are welcome and eagerly devoured. Bookin' With Sunny.
‘Cause my mom rocks.
|Monday, March 7th, 2011|
|Great Moments in Parenting
Reposted from b.org, because I really do need to start writing more:
This morning as I was getting ready to leave, I snuzzled down with Matilda for a little bit of cuddling and bonding (she complains mightily if anybody walks out the door without paying the hugs-and-kisses toll). She patted my face, inspected my lipstick and proclaimed it sufficiently red (I had worn a subtle shimmery shade to juliana's play on Saturday, and Matilda Did Not Approve), and then put her hands on my cheeks and gazed into my eyes. Her pink little face, framed in muzzy bedhead curls, grew alight with an intense, delighted ardor, and my heart broke into a million helpless pieces.
"Mommy?" she said in tones of reverent, numinous delight.
"When I look at your eyes, I can see my own reflection!"
I've come to the conclusion that dealing with 4-year-olds carries many of the same pitfalls as dealing with cats and dogs. Just as with my pets, I keep making the fatal mistake of anthropomorphizing - I receive some kind of feedback and erroneously attribute it to a recognizably human emotion. With a 4-year-old, just as with a cat or dog, this is almost always 100% completely wrong. Current Mood: amused
|Thursday, July 22nd, 2010|
|Matilda's Class Story
This is going behind a cut tag, because it's way, way tl;dr unless you have a crazy high tolerance for small child narrative chaos. But...Matilda's class wrote a group story with their storytelling teacher, each kid contributing a sentence or two (and good God, are the boys' sentences boyish and the girls' girlish, and Disney is king of everyone's world. Sigh.).
A fabulous prize of some sort to anyone who can pick out which sentence Matilda wrote. Starfish Story
(not a story about a starfish; her class is called the Starfish) ( CLICKYCollapse )
|Saturday, June 19th, 2010|
|Oh. This is why...everything.
Signal-boosting: "How to Keep Someone With You Forever,"
a grimly brilliant dissection of sick systems (work, family, relationships) by issendai
that is a brutally perfect description of the office environment I've been staggering through for the last two years. The only thing more disheartening than the queasy realization as I read the post, "Oh, they do that. They do that. And that too. I suppose that possibly this is why every Sunday night when I think about getting up the next morning to go to the office I wonder why God couldn't just let me die in my sleep instead."
was reading through the comments and seeing so many people I know from elsewhere, on and offline, saying, "You just described my office. You just described my life." How many of us are stuck in these hells? The follow-up post
is a lot shorter but just as brilliant. They both deserve to be read and passed on, or possibly screamed from the rooftops. Current Mood: thoughtful
|Sunday, March 21st, 2010|
|Big stuff for sale
Asking for a signal boost for the latest thing I've put up on eBay: this print,
my first and so far only really big art purchase ever.
Not that I expect anyone on my flist to buy it, but should anyone know anyone who's actually got a hunk of disposable income and likes giant honking great flipping wodges of artwork, maybe you could pass it along? Because I sort of knew from the moment I spent a small windfall on it years ago that I might have to sell it again someday, but I've really loved it. I've missed its presence the last few years in our wee dark SF apartment with no space or light to hang it properly, and if I can't keep it I want it to end up in the hands of someone who loves it and shows it off and doesn't store it in a closet somewhere.
Also, I have no idea if it's actually a good
auction posting, and if anyone has any suggestions for improving the listing, the keywords or anything else, please tell me. I mostly just tried to convey at least a little of what I find so deeply lovable in what really should be a big foofy frivolity, but I've never written about any visual arts before.
Tell me what needs fixing or tweaking, and pass the link along if you know anyone who might be the right next owner.
|Tuesday, March 16th, 2010|
|One of the most splendid persons I've never met
Crossposted from b.org:
Words cannot express how devastated I am that I never knew this remarkable person ever existed until four days after she died:RIP Suzanne Beauclerk, Dowager Duchess of St. Albans
My Very Young Co-Worker forwarded me the above obituary this morning with the note "She sounds like exactly your kind of person." Oh, she is, she is!
Dude! Her infancy was marked by the care of an amah who soothed her unruly charges with small doses of chloroform! She spent her childhood in a decaying villa in the south of France, stomping grapes with the townspeople, and thence to Malaya with her one-eyed Swiss nurse, storing her collection of live pythons on the nursery shelves while miniature owls nested on top of the wardrobe! She was recruited by British intelligence during WWII, but set to work at basic reporting as she was congenitally incapable of deception (and yet she had such an elfishly gleeful smile)! She is probably the only person on earth whom Graham Greene ever caused to dissolve into helpless giggles! She wrote memoirs to pay the bills and ran an art gallery that exhibited Mervyn Peake's sketches! Her husband was a descendant of Charles II and Nell Gwynn, and among his titles was that of the Hereditary Grand Falconer of England! Her great-grandfather married one of the scandalously beautiful mulatto women of 18th-century New Orleans (the ones in whose honor glittering balls were held, and who were mistresses of the richest and most powerful men in Louisiana, but who were never meant to be anyone's wives and true partners) and fled with her to Australia!
And, from what I can gather from her obituary, all of that isn't even the half of it, or half of the half of it. I just...I... Sigh. I fear I'm girlcrushing on a dead woman.
Also, I'm fairly certain I need to make an LJ/Dreamwidth icon of that photo. I mean, really,
now. Current Mood: ecstatic
|Monday, December 28th, 2009|
I'm tossing a metric assload of stuff up on eBay in an attempt to improve our finances from grim to merely dismal -- so far, just a handful of oddball antiquarian books, but there's more to follow, including a gloriously weird self-help series and a Victorian young lady's own book containing excruciatingly detailed instructions for properly modest comportment for every possible alarming situation, from sitting down to a formal dinner and finding a fork missing to being in a room where somebody has just started playing cards, small enough to slip into your reticule and carry about with you everywhere so you need never be at a loss again. If your tastes are Wildean, Carrollian, theologianian, or OMGWTFBBQian, you may browse here
|Monday, August 31st, 2009|
|Random Matilda update
As I haven't posted a damn thing in approximately forever, a brief child update.
This weekend was immensely good: full of play and stories and a visit to the park and odd little conversations and multiple excellences. She patted and petted all of us and told us to be very careful and that she would take care of us and that we should get ready for Halloween by dressing up like big scary monsters and big scary lions and big scary meerkats and big scary babies. Also, I am her puppy dog and my name is sometimes Sheena Dog and sometimes Lisa Dog. But it is this story from David of the drive home from daycare today that best sums her up:
David: Look, there's Golden Gate Park. It's one of the best parks in the world.
Matilda: I'M in the world! This is my life! I love my peoples!
That. That right there is why so many of our conversations about her end with us quoting Raising Arizona
to each other: "I think we got the best one."
|Thursday, March 19th, 2009|
|Not sure what to do with these feelings
I just got an email from a close friend that this man
died this morning, of cancer. I hadn't spoken to him in at least three years; I'd heard a few months ago from another mutual friend that he had cancer, and then from a third mutual friend that he was trying to keep quiet about it and let as few people know as possible, and so I never wrote him to check in because I didn't know what to say to him. ( Personal ramblings...Collapse )
This person was here and now is not.
Things I remember: He had a deep, rumbly voice and kind, merry eyes. He knew at least 200 stories off the top of his head and was a vivid and mesmerizing storyteller (I'll never hear the word "carcass" without also hearing the entire glorious tale of the foolhardy and wise Lady Carcasson), and he said that the true master storytellers of the Western world (all Irish) would scorn him for his measly 200. He had a massive collection of terribly beaten-up stuffed animals--he collected stuffed roadkill, the abandoned toys you see in gutters or in the middle of the street or on the side of the highway, usually hurled out a window by some frustrated toddler. He'd dashed across a couple of dangerous highways to retrieve some particularly precious specimens. He vividly remembered almost all the kids he'd worked with at the home for emotionally disturbed and profoundly disabled children, especially the sly silent humor of one deeply autistic boy who let glimmers of himself slip through to a few select persons. He was endlessly patient with children. He was endlessly impatient with bureaucracies. He had utter contempt for ideologues of any stripe whatsoever. He was relentlessly truthful, even if it cost him. He always smelled good. He didn't value himself highly enough. eta:
Lying awake at 4 a.m., I remembered something else about him. There's a wooded area walking distance from the house he and a friend rented in Novato: maybe public land, maybe a lot some owner hadn't bothered to develop. But wooded and wild and walkable. He liked to ramble through it and build little treehouses and twig/leaf/acorn/bits of string sculptures (whimsical, not Blair Witchy) and make funny faces around the knots and boles in the tree trunks. It pleased him to think about some stranger wandering through and puzzling over these artifacts, but it also pleased him just to think of them there in the woods even if nobody else ever laid eyes on them.
A podcast of some of his storytelling can be found here.
This person was here and now is not, and should not be forgotten.
|Wednesday, December 24th, 2008|
|My goddamn job
Last Friday Matilda's daycare provider started her annual (paid, and well deserved) 2-week vacation, as a result of which we've been fending for ourselves, as we don't have the money to pay for an extra seven days of daycare. My mom is sitting Matilda on Mondays, Emmett's mom is sitting her on Tuesdays, we don't have to worry about the official holidays, and I'm taking time off for the three workdays left over--last Friday, today, and next Friday. Which brings me up to a grand total of four vacation days taken in the last 8 months.
The nurse that Very Young Coworker and I share our office with has been here forever, is a very senior person, and is really generally very kindly and motherly, but she gets occasional yelling storming flash rages over major or minor infractions. I've been the recipient of three so far, two deserved (though both occurring literally weeks after the infractions), and one extremely WTF-y, and I've apologized and buttoned down and tried to make myself as small and inoffensive and not-wrong as possible as a result. It's all rather stressful, though, because she'll also occasionally blow up over nothing at all, and the blow-ups are completely random and unpredictable. Once she's vented, whatever pressure she's carrying around is gone and all is well, but it's distinctly un-fun when it happens and there's a constant low-lying Will it be today? Will it be me or VYC?
snappish-dog-appeasing fretfulness beneath the surface of all my interactions with her.
So last night, as I'm beavering away at the last of the mountain of work at 5:30, trying to make sure Very Young Coworker doesn't have to worry about any of my stuff tomorrow, only her own, the nurse comes in to clear away her own desk.
She doesn't like Christmas much anyway, has grumped about the wretchedness of gift-giving (like everyone else, she's living paycheck-to-paycheck, and our division's ridiculous office politics mandate lots of gift-giving) and about how her granddaughter is the only real pleasure of the season (her relationship with her daughter, the toddler's mom, is less than perfect), just finished another round of preventive chemo for an unspecified cancer that's been mostly in remission for the past few years but still requires twice-yearly dosing, and on this particular day clinic has been shitty and stressful. So I understand how tightly she's wound and how tough things are for her.
She walks in loaded down with all this, starts shuffling her papers, and suddenly blows up at me over the cubicle wall about how incredibly selfish I am for taking all this time off from work over the holidays, how now VYC isn't going to get to take any time off at all because she has to cover for me, how I have a husband who could take care of my daughter, and how she herself used to work with nurses who did this shit all the time and it was just selfish and I should think twice next time before I act like this.
Note that VYC has no problem with my taking the time off (my doctors are also gone so she doesn't have to take care of them, my work is done, and her own docs are gone too so really, even though the office has to be open with one staffer, she'll be spending today and next Friday reading Fark.com and playing web sudoku--she's pissed at the admin head who won't let her just close the office and go home, but not at me). And she herself has just about maxed out her sick leave in the last two months -- all legitimately, but all leaving me jumping to cover her desk and answer her phone and deal with all her office crises. Which I do, each time, without complaining. And Hec damn well
take the time off; he's just a temp, it's his first job in months, and we desperately need his income. Not to mention that none of this impacts the nurse in the slightest and none of it is remotely her business.
But, you know, that's not relevant. What's relevant is that she needed to blow off some rageful steam and I had the bad luck to be there, and so she raged and raged and spent herself, and then gathered up her stuff and left without a word.
I hate this. I hate it. I know she's mostly nice, I know how much shit she has to deal with in her own private life and how much she has to keep bottled in, but...FUCK. I can't take it. I cannot cope with this kind of ticking-bomb atmosphere and stay happy or sane. And I can't complain; she's very deeply rooted in the division and very much senior to me. And she is who she is, and at 50+ she's not going to change her ways, or retire, or change jobs, anytime soon.
There's also the fact that one of the doctors I work for and VYC's doctor absolutely hate each other, blow up at each other once a month or so, speak about each other with withering contempt behind each other's backs, and mostly communicate through me and VYC (she sometimes whispers to me when they're having a closed-door meeting, "Jacqueline, I'm scared. Why are Mommy and Daddy fighting again?").
I can barely tolerate my own drama and remain functional; nobody's giving me combat pay to compensate me for this shit. There's so much that I like, even love, about the actual work
I'm doing here, but the environment is so epically not worth it.
The capper? After the rant about my monstrous selfishness and the silent flounce out, I stayed another half hour finishing up and getting more and more vomity with suppressed rage and frustration, and when I was finally ready to clear out and go home, I left my keys on my desk and locked the door behind me and couldn't get back in and couldn't go home. All this over four damn days in eight months (and all of her own miseries--but, hell, I've got miseries of my own; I just don't take them out on my officemates). Merry Fucking Christmas. Current Mood: pissed off
|Thursday, December 11th, 2008|
|Aw, what the hell. Booky meme.
What we have here is the top 106 books most often marked as "unread" by LibraryThing’s users. As in, they sit on the shelf to make you look smart or well-rounded. Bold the ones you've read, italicise the ones you own but haven't read, underline the ones you started but didn't finish.( BooklistCollapse )
Apparently I really need to work on this whole reading-books-by-people-who-are-still-al
|Friday, November 21st, 2008|
|Meditations on Lilo & Stitch and stuff
After a couple of false starts over the last several months, Matilda has fallen deeply in love with Lilo & Stitch,
so much so that the new constant refrain at our place is "Watch Lilo 'Titch?" (if we say no, that's too much TV in one sitting, she counters with, "Jussa little bit 'Titch?") And it has to be said that it holds up amazingly to repeated viewings. I owned the movie long before it occurred to me that there might ever exist such a person as Matilda, and I loved it way back when. And, watching it now for the twentieth time in two weeks? I may possibly love it more.
It's so visually rich and lush and full of a glow that's somehow simultaneously deeply saturated and light as watercolor. The characters all look so distinct, but so much part of a unified, fully imagined 'verse.
And the small character details: Captain Gantu slumping in his chair and thumping one weary, defeated fist against the armrest as Stitch makes his escape, the way Mr. Bubbles has to shuffle his spats-clad feet just a bit to get his muscle-bound body crouched down at Lilo's level; Lilo smoothly, angrily snapping up his business card without even looking; Noni's face as she tries and fails to tell Lilo that they're to be separated tomorrow morning; Stitch's face crumbling when Jumbu says, "Family? You haven't got one." Just so, so many beautifully rendered bits of physical business with so much emotional weight.
And, damn, but Tia Carrere is incredible as Noni--snarky and impatient and worn-out and heartbroken, with great sisterly chemistry with Daveigh Chase. Why doesn't she ever get non-cartoon roles that rich and lovely?
The whole movie, also, always makes me think of a conversation I had with one of Emmett's teammates' dads at a Little League picnic a couple of months ago. He was a very pleasant, bright, lovely man, and in his non-baseball-dad life he works as a senior executive at Pixar. We talked a bit about Wall*E and how much Matilda loved it, and I mentioned how sad it was that probably the best female role in any big-studio movie that year was a computer-animated robot. He said they were all very proud of the excellence of EVE, and we were off dancing around the Bechdel Test without actually saying the phrase. He was genuinely baffled that I thought there might have been more female characters than there were in the last couple of Pixar movies, pointing out Jaenane Garafola's character in Ratatouille
and wanting to know why I didn't like her. She was fine, I said, but she was practically the only female of any species in all of Paris. Well, he said, we do worry about that. But it's hard sometimes to figure out how to fit female characters into the story and have them make sense.
I'm still slightly headdesking over that--it's such a perfect, well-intentioned, completely unconscious example of boys-as-default, girls-as-significant-primarily-in-their-g
irlness. And I couldn't figure out any possible way to address that in the course of polite kids' party chitchat over the potato salad table that wouldn't come across as a total crazed attack. But...headdesk.
And another reason to love Lilo & Stitch.
The two human female leads, of course, but all the others, too--the dog pound manager, the grocery stand owner and coffeehouse manager and hotel concierge and lifeguard to whom Noni applies for jobs, the Grand Councilwoman (and--judging by voice, at least--nearly half the staff in her command station and one of Captain Gantu's two chief lieutenants). No fuss, no need to make sense of their femaleness or fit it into the story; they're all just female because half the universe is female. Why is that so unusual in a kid's movie--in any movie--still?
|Monday, November 10th, 2008|
|Customer service is fun!
Best Phone Call Ever, as of half an hour ago:
Me: Good morning, Cardiology, this is Zmayhem.
Random Woman: I'm a longtime patient of Dr. S's. I'm looking for his assistant.
Me: Yes, that's me. How can I help you?
RW: He usually sees patients on Mondays, right?
Me: Yes; he's in clinic now.
RW: I need to know if I could slip in to see him this afternoon.
Me: Well [if you're a longtime patient you already know he's always booked four or five months in advance, so I'm fairly certain that as of right this minute a melting snowball in hell has a better chance of getting an appointment for this afternoon than you do
], ma'am, the clinic would be able to answer that for you; let me give you the number and transfer you.
RW (in winky-winky confidential tones): I'm just very concerned, and I thought I'd better get in to see him while I still can, before socialized medicine happens. I'm used to being able to see my specialists right away. I'm very concerned.
Me (brightly): Well, socialized medicine would be a wonderful thing, but I regret to say that we're probably at least a decade away at the earliest.
RW: Well, then, single payer. Isn't that even worse? Anyhow, I want to see him today, before the socialism.
Me: ::brains explode:: Current Mood: irate
|Thursday, October 30th, 2008|
|Marriage meme - vote NO on 8 (CA), 2 (FL) and 102 (AZ)
Copy this sentence into your livejournal if you're in a heterosexual marriage, and you don't want it "protected" by the bigots who think that gay marriage hurts it somehow.
Damn right I don't.
My youngest brother married his partner of almost a decade about two years ago in Boston. I was proud to have them both at the altar with hecubot
and me in our wedding party four years ago, and overjoyed when they took advantage of Massachusetts's affirmation of the right to marriage for all couples (still mildly annoyed that they had a private, noontime midweek ceremony and still haven't gotten around to the reception they promised us ages ago, but whatever).
Their marriage is not a threat; it's a joy and a blessing. To them, and to everyone who knows them--especially everyone who knows my brother, who for so many years was a glum sardonic emotionally guarded balled-up knot of sadness and smallness and quiet anger. He started to loosen in college when he came out; since meeting his husband, he has thrived. His husband is sweet, gregarious, quick to tease and laugh and hug, out for most of his life and just a wide-open person from birth. And, living year after year in the glow of this man's love for him and delight in their life together, my brother has grown softer, kinder, more generous, less guarded, a million times more present to family and friends. Admitting his own gayness brought him out of the closet; this man's love has brought him out into the world. As all true spouses and partners do, his husband makes him free to be his best self, to his husband and to everyone else.
They're not a threat to my marriage or anyone else's; if anything, they're an example.
If you're in California, vote NO on 8
; if you're in Florida, vote NO on 2
; if you're in Arizona, vote NO on 102
|Monday, September 15th, 2008|
|Very Young Officemate Update
She's gravely disappointed in McCain. At my urging she Googled the history of the Keating 5 a couple of weeks ago, and has been rather quiet since on the topic of his honorable and upright history.
She's openly agnostic and gagged on all the Jesus-bless-us backpatting at the Republican convention (and was heartened to hear my openly theistic self also gagging on same).
She has horrified her older brother by admitting to him that she's probably voting for Obama.
Her mother, a staunch Orange County Republican, called her recently practically foaming with rage; she feels Palin's nomination makes it obvious that McCain thinks all Republican women are morons, and he's lost not only her vote but any donations she might have been planning to make. She may or may not bother to vote at all, but she's decidedly not voting for him, and right now she's gunning for him with all the scorn, spite and email forwards she can muster.
So, um, qualified possible yay in progress? Current Mood: hopeful
|Wednesday, August 20th, 2008|
Yesterday evening Hec and Matilda and I came home to a small and lovely packet of gifts both useful and shamefully frivolous, sent by a completely anonymous doer of good deeds somewhere in downtown San Francisco. Whoever you are, mysterious downtown fairy(ies), your kindness makes my heart all squinchy with happiness, and I swear that once we turn this corner out of the bad place toward something better, we're going to pay it forward. Bless, and bless, and mwah! Thank you, good fairy(ies)!
|Tuesday, July 22nd, 2008|
|ganked from debg
Folks on my flist who've read my husband's excellent book Swordfishtrombones
(and if you haven't, why in heaven's name not? It's a nice brisk read, both full of literary Easter eggs for the hardcore Tom Waits fan and very accessible to the non-fan, its editor thinks it's one of the best and most purely fun of the entire 33 1/3 series, and it won't set you back much at all), could I possibly trouble you to go over to WorldCat and give it some stars
(WorldCat is an online resource used by librarians as an ordering guide; a librarian friend has pointed out that they'll only use it as long as they can trust it's reliable, so please don't go rating the book unless you've actually read it--but please go read it!)
|Friday, July 11th, 2008|
a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker
1. What is your first name? Jacqueline
2. What is your favorite food? Cheese
3. What high school did you go to? SOTA
4. What is your favorite color? Indigo
5. Who is your celebrity crush? Seth Green
6. Favorite drink? Root beer
7. Dream vacation? Rome
8. Favorite dessert? Chocolate mousse
9. What you wanted to be when you grow up? Actor
10. What do you love most in life? (aside from the obvious persons) Reading
11. One Word to describe you? Shy
12. Your flickr name? Zmayhem
|Monday, July 7th, 2008|
|Variation on the film meme
I've seen about 2/3 of the movies on that EW list that's running all over LJ, and own or have owned about half of that 2/3. Which of course leaves a good 30-some-odd that I've never seen. And, thanks to my very generous baby brother and BIL, I also have a shiny new Netflix account. So, behind the cut is a new list for Netflix consideration: ( UNSEENCollapse )
What belongs on my queue? Is there anything I can safely continue to not see? (I'm fine with avoiding either wall-to-wall bodily function jokes, dead children as plot points, or Juliette Lewis, which I think may eliminate at least three movies.)