I’ve been thinking a lot about Supergirl lately, both the TV show and the character in general.

One of the criticisms that bugs me about Supergirl is that she is a “masculine” ideal because she’s strong, invulnerable, and beats up bad guys. It bugs me because it assumes that superheroes (who generally kick butt as part of their job requirements) are a “male” genre. We all know the cliche of the arrested adolescent who escapes to empowerment fantasies, and while there is some small truth to that negative stereotype, that’s ignoring much of what makes the genre appealing.

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The Coming Star Wars Wars

Often in life, I’m reminded of the different positions people occupy, and how it is most evident in the way they view things.

As the observation goes: “Men’s number one fear of women is that women will embarrass them. Women’s number one fear is that men will kill them.”

This is very true. I’ve rarely felt threatened by a woman, even a woman behaving threateningly. It’s not that I don’t believe a woman can hurt me. It’s just not something I’m geared to perceive, and why should I? I’m stronger than most women. I’m not combat trained, but neither are most people (women included). More importantly, it just doesn’t come up all that often. When I’m alone on an elevator with a woman, I’m not afraid she’s going to pull a knife and stab me. She could. But I just don’t imagine it happening.

Posted in Blog, Movies | 1 Comment

Sympathy for Beni

If you read only one essay devoted to a supporting character from 1999’s The Mummy this week, be sure it’s this one.

Yes, I’m often walking down the street, as I am wont to do, and random strangers will come up to me and ask, “Is there any character from modern fiction that reflects our perception of ourselves, others, and the duality of our own egotism versus reality?” And I reply, with a good-natured, condescending chuckle, “Why, yes, random stranger. His name is Beni Gabor.” And then I stroll on without offering any further explanation.

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Clean Plate Club (short fiction)

Divine Misfortune


The goddess of the underworld stared across the table at Taavi. Hel stared at the boy with her two pitiless black eyes, and she frowned.

“Finish your broccoli,” she said.

Taavi pushed the plate away. “They’re yucky.”

“No, they’re not. They’re yummy and good for you.”
She plucked a piece of green in her long, thin fingers and tossed it into her mouth. She chewed with a forced smile and swallowed. She stuck out her tongue.

“All right, so they’re not yummy. But they are good for you, and your mom said you need to be part of the clean plate club.”

Posted in Short Fiction | 1 Comment
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