As summer transitions into fall and temperatures start to cool down (yes, in Texas, we are only just now dropping below 80 degrees), the holiday season starts to heat up.  Red holiday cups at Starbucks have made their sassy debut (in case you didn’t know, the internet exploded), certain radio stations have started playing 24-hour Christmas music (it’s November 11th – please calm down), and the panic of what to get everyone on your list has slowly started to creep in.  Winter is (officially) coming, and with it comes the busiest travel day of the year:  The Day Before Thanksgiving, a/k/a, the Air-pocolypse. 

While the Airpocolypse may not involve killer machines waiting to scratch your face off (Skynet-style) or aliens threatening Will Smith and Bill Pullman with total annihilation (a la Independence Day), it’s just as real.  And it’s UPON US.  If you have ever braved the gauntlet that is the airport during the holiday season, you’ve stared death (or a United employee) in the eye, and I salute you, fellow crusaders.  Forget the family drama that occurs once you reach your destination – getting there will take guts, prayers and every ounce of sanity you have. 

What should be the most wonderful time of the year certainly doesn’t seem so cheery when it’s overshadowed by (a) the mad dash to the airport to try to beat other would-be holiday travelers at their own game (like the Amazing Race but with much higher stakes - everyone’s a player, but if I don't win, everybody loses); (b) the zig-zagging security line backed up for over an hour because there is only one lane open; (c) being forced to pray/cross your fingers/perform a ritual sacrifice to ensure that your flight actually takes off on time but refusing to talk of it out of fear of the ever-looming “jinx;” or (d) trying to create some sort of barrier between you and that awful-excuse-for-a-human stranger sitting beside you who either smells, eats loudly or is about to snore in your ear and let his arm creep over the invisible line down the middle of the arm rest into your territory (unfathomable).  BOTTOM LINE:  Holiday travel = death by 1,000 paper cuts.  Why, you might ask?

Because people on a travel day – both travelers and airport "workers" alike – just don’t give a sh*t.  Let's take a look at the mounting evidence:

1.  The scam that is TSA Pre-Check.  Have you heard the one about a mythical shortcut through security where you get to keep your shoes on and bypass all those plebs in the regular line?  HILARIOUS.  That tale is this generation's knock-knock joke.  Think again.  Turns out that even after you go through the interview process, get finger-printed, answer background questions and finally receive a “known traveler number,” oh, and PAY, you aren’t guaranteed to receive pre-check on your flights.  Like EVER.  Joke’s on me, TSA.  I thought when you said I’d get access to pre-check benefits by going through the interview process, I’d actually get access.  LIES.

2.  Trying to get to the airport early to avoid the Home Alone mad dash through the airport?  NEWSFLASH, Walter Cronkite – it’s a losing battle.  And I would know.  I grew up in a family in the travel business.  Getting to the airport 1.5 hours before flight time wasn’t just a rule; it was LIFE.  But even that pearl of wisdom won’t help you make it through the security line any faster.  Why, you might ask?  Because no matter the time of year, no matter what hour in the day, security will no doubt only have one lane open (well, one general lane open – there is always one “special people” lane open, but good luck making that cut (see above)), and the people running it will be in the middle of a “shift change.”  EVERY time.  ALL THE TIME.  And on top of that, there will inevitably be some asshole in front of you who doesn’t realize he still has his belt on until he tries to go through the machine, or some woman who claims she “didn’t know” about the liquids rule (really, Nancy?  It’s been a “thing” since 2006.  Just throw out your Go-gurt and keep it moving).  If people would be people and abide by the social contracts of our time, none of these issues would be issues.  GEEZ.

3.  Cramped seats.  You kids today should know something:  there used to be three glorious more inches of seat room on flights than what you currently have.  Ah, I remember it well:  basking in the glow of 7.62 additional centimeters of room.  I felt like a queen (YAS)!  In the last few years, though, such riche living was ripped from our grasp, and we were forced to cede those precious inches to the growing demand for additional seats on planes.  While we weren’t happy about this, we agreed (eh, agreed, were forced to accept…same thing).  But now the unthinkable is happening – airlines are considering STACKING us on top of each other.  Like sardines.  Literally.  Like someone at the airlines had to hear me, er, someone on a flight complain about being packed in like sardines and think to themselves, “huh, what a great idea!”  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the future of air travel (Parental Discretion Advised, as this is an atrocity against humanity):

​4.  Dirty planes.  I can’t believe this is even a thing, but it is.  Who hasn’t experienced that true pit of fear that starts to grow in your stomach when you look up and see that the threat of brown liquid dripping on you from what should be an AC vent is real and is directly above your head?!  AIRLINES, I CAN’T BELIEVE I HAVE TO SAY THIS, BUT CLEAN YOURSELVES UP.  I’m embarrassed for you.  We’re definitely paying you enough to keep your planes clean, so how about you give those planes a whore’s bath and at the very least spray a little Febreeze around before the next herd of passengers boards.  GAWD.

5.  People smells.  PEOPLE OF EARTH, HEAR ME:  sitting on a dirty plane is bad enough, but sitting next to a smelly person makes it INFINITELY worse.  And don’t pretend like you don’t know you smell.  You KNOW.  You HAVE to know.  Let’s all make a promise to bathe before a flight, mmkay?  If you can’t do that, there is only one other acceptable option:  buy a deodorant (any deodorant) from one of the 87 Hudson News stores in whatever airport you happen to be in, slather it on and then dowse yourself with cologne/perfume, as that smell, though over-powering, is much more preferable than radiating body-stink.

6.  FOOD smells.  I can’t believe I even have to go into this.  If your food smells, leave it off the plane.  I don’t care how good it is, your Panda Express should be eaten before flight time.  And this is coming from someone who hearts Panda Express.   I know some of you out there are saying “But I had to rush from flight to flight and I didn’t have time to eat it!”  If you had time to stop and buy the offending item, you had time to either (a) scarf it down before you got on the plane, or (b) buy a pre-packaged food item that does not smell.  There is no excuse here. If you break this rule, you’re a terrible human being.

7.  Baggage Claim.  This is like last call at a singles bar.  Everyone is hoping not to be the last one standing – waiting in internal angst as they watch the bags slowly come tumbling off the conveyor belt.  You watch the person next to you grab their bag, smile and look around as if to say “I’m a winner, peace out, lowly airport peeps.”  And realizing your bag is the only bag that didn’t make the journey home is a feeling of sadness mixed with rage with a dash of incredulity and persecution dropped in (I mean, you KNOW someone working at the airport decided to make it a personal mission to wreck your day).  You begin the slow trudge to the baggage claim office, knowing immediately that your next 3 hours are going to be ruff.  Ah, the joy of air travel.

AND there you have it.  My list of grievances, in no particular order (though I think we can all agree that smells of any kind take the cake).  Perhaps my biggest grievance, though, is this:  no one has offered me a free wing pin in years.  By my calculation, I’m owned 4,367 of them.  I will humbly accept dollars.

If you know me at all, you know that when I’m not squawking about sharks, I’m pontificating about the unadulterated sexiness that oozes from a man with a beard.  True story.  To me, there is nothing manlier than a man with a face mane.  It shows that he has SO much testosterone that it literally has nowhere else to go but out.  Out of his face.  Like a peacock but with lustrous hair rather than stupid feathers.  Ugh, birds.

ANYWAY, back to the matter at hand.  I am a sucker for a beard.  Now, mind you, I’ve dated some baby-faced men in my time, but those romances were short-lived.  And you know why?  Because they didn’t have beards (or they were crazy…one of the two).  That’s not to say I’ve never been attracted to fresh-faced gentleman, but I can assure you I passive aggressively pressured each and every one of them to grow a beard at some point.

So what is it about this mystical facial growth that draws ladies in like a moth to a flame?  Aside from the distinctive badge of manliness that one wears while sporting a beard?  It’s the fact that a beard-owner is rarely, if ever, found inept at survival skills.  Let’s take a look:

1. Lumberjacks.  Flannel.  Work boots.  Axes.  These sultans of the tree world grow beards for a number of reasons:  a) to protect their faces from the elements, b) to make the trees swoon, thereby eliminating the need for an axe altogether, and c) to mask themselves (Zorro-style) as they steal the hearts of young lasses the world over. 
2. Sea captains (and/or pirates).  Swords.  Sea skills.  Smoldering eyes.  The ability to kill a shark with their bare hands.  Pirates.  Are.  HOT.  Don't believe me??  I dare you to watch Black Sails and argue with that statement.  You can't.  It's a fact.  The thing about pirates is, they live their lives on the edge.  The rules of society don't apply to them.  They're rebels.  Better yet, they are the rebels of the sea.  And they'll for sure take you on an adventure.   I’d trust one of these swarthy gentleman to get me from port to port.  FOR SURE.
3. Ron Swanson.  Woodworking.  Whiskey.  Wooing.  Everything that a man should be.  ‘Nuff said.  Never was there a more manly, beard-sporting specimen than Ron Swanson.  He can win you over with a simple, steely gaze over his whiskers.  And that raspy, deep voice doesn't hurt either.  He may only be a TV character, but the great news is Nick Offerman is REAL.  And he is SPECTACULAR.      

However, the beard “posers” are a totally different story.  If you’re wearing skinny jeans, you probably shouldn’t sport a beard – it sends a conflicting message, as I’m pretty sure you can barely find your way out of said jeans, let alone survive on your pure grit alone in the wild.

I should also note that there is a beard tipping point – a point at which you surpass ruggedness and pure sex and cross over the line to unkempt and likely-smelly.  Sometimes, that line can be blurry.  Like when you’ve hosted a healthy dose of stubble for years and decide to begin growing it out.  I get it – there is a necessary transition window for growing your beard out.  However, I think a fair rule to live by is if your beard is long enough to have its own flair, it is too long.

Think I’m exaggerating?  NOPE.  There’s a whole segment of society out there that celebrates beard flair:

So whether you're only sporting subtle stubble or you're going full on wookiee, I applaud your effort and I tip my hat to you, you bold, bearded pioneer, you.  Also, CALL ME.

Well, Thanksgiving has officially come and gone.  The turkey has been carved, the mashed potatoes devoured and the pumpkin pie has miraculously disappeared.  This holiday is undoubtedly my favorite; THE holiday amongst holidays.  Why, you might ask?  Because it is a day to forget about whatever B.S. might be plaguing your daily life, to remember how wonderful being around family (at least for a few hours) can be and to gorge yourself on the most delicious carb-loaded food around.  Nothing goes together better than biscuits and...more biscuits.  But the one main reason to love this holiday is that it is about pausing to look around yourself and be thankful for what you have and the people with whom you get to share it.  In the immortal words of Ferris Bueller:  "Life moves pretty fast.  If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."  I love Ferris Bueller.  Ipso facto, I love turkey day.

And there's a reason that this holiday is all about thanks:  because starting at 12:01 the following day, the world goes CRAZY.  CRAZY FOR CHRISTMAS.  Meaning Thanksgiving is the last big "push" we give ourselves to hang on to our sanity before holiday traffic, holiday shopping and an abundance of relatives and family drama puts us over the edge.  Serenity now, people.  Serenity now.

It's as though everyone is suddenly panic-stricken that they might miss the next holiday (NOTE:  30-ish days later) if they don't start preparing for it right that second.  WHY must there be such a rush to usher in the next holiday??  Is Thanksgiving not enough??  And odds are this 'Christmas Is Coming' mentality likely started weeks before Thanksgiving.  I know I saw the first holiday lights start showing up at my local Starbucks on November 1st (the day after Halloween), along with the Christmas cups and holiday offerings like eggnog lattes (vomit).  I'm a sucker for a twinkle light, but come on, people - is celebrating Christmas in November really necessary?  I mean, I know we have about a gagillion Christmas movies to show before the Big Day, but I'm pretty sure we're going to flame out early.  Not ideal.

And it's this very specific brand of crazy that always accompanies the holiday onslaught that baffles me:   the obsession with making THIS year's holiday season better than last, the one-upmanship and the refusal to be outdone.  And so I give you the Top Three Holiday Offenders to watch out for this time of year:

1.  The Overly-Excited Office Worker.  We go to the office to do work.  On the sliding scale of office acceptability, mine isn't too bad a place to be, but, as I've said many a time, if they didn't pay me, I wouldn't go.  Which is why this particular offender really grinds my gears.  These are the co-worker who are just SO excited for the holidays that they bust out the holiday sweaters the day after Halloween (usually paired with stretchy pants and sneakers) and start humming the holiday hits "to themselves" but loud enough for those around them to be unable to avoid.  They usually put up decorations in their cubicles, and, by decorations, I mean more than a mere tchotchke or two.  They are usually guilty of making their desks into a holiday destinations, whether with a nativity scene or an elf on shelf or a mini-tree...or, with the worst offenders, a combination of all three AND more!  I'm not a total Grinch - I definitely appreciate the time it took you to turn your work space into a holiday fun land.  But your insistence on making me a part of the bizarro-holiday fun land that is your DESK is simply unacceptable.  I did not sign on to be "Santa's Little Helper" the day I signed my employment contract.  So I will admire your work from afar and will happily join in with the office pot-luck, but asking me to try your eggnog in November and to sing "holiday jams" with you at the water cooler is a non-starter.  If that makes me a Scrooge, call me Bill Murray and sign me up.

2.  Shopping Mecca Traffic Directors.  This might sound like a weird one, but I cannot STAND these guys.  They think they are SO important with their red onesies and giant orange airplane-directing batons.  Oh MAN these dudes roast my potatoes.  And their appearance on the scene is usually the first sign (other than the constant holiday music blaring from the radio) that the Apocalypse, er, I mean, the Holidays are upon us.  So in reality, it is not necessarily the dude in the traffic suit but what he represents that gets to me.  They signal a change in the air, an impending cloud of holiday cheer mixed with over indulgence (cookie-style) and a dash of crazy that is sure to last the entirety of November and December.  Buckle up, kiddos.  It's time to brace yourself for the oncoming holiday onslaught.

3.  The Holiday One-Upper.  All of us should be familiar with this particular offender (NOTE:  If you're not, you probably are one).  These are the jerks who find a way to brag about how awesome they are at Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanza related things and, by comparison, how sucky the rest of us are at them.  These are the humble (but not humble) braggarts who can't help but share about how great they are at gift-giving, or how charitable they are by giving the latest gift, the most expensive coat or their own kidney to someone who needed it.  Things you might hear from a HOU:

• "You mean you haven't gotten any of your gifts yet??  I finished holiday shopping weeks ago.  I just love finding the perfect gifts for the people I love, so doing my holiday shopping was really easy."
• "You mean your holiday meal was store-bought this year?  I couldn't imagine not cooking it myself; slaving away in the kitchen just brings me so much joy."
• "My life is just SO perfect.  Perfect job, perfect relationship, perfect presents, perfect holiday outfits.  I'm just perfect."

Bragging about all the nice things you're doing or have done only goes to show that you're not generous and not doing this out of the goodness of your heart.  So, to sum up, you're not awesome, you're an asshole.  Way to really show us what the spirit of the holidays is truly all about:  making yourself look like the biggest saint to hit the earth since Jesus.  He's not impressed.  So simmer down.

So there you have it, friends.  The holidays are HERE.  Serenity now...insanity later.  Oh, and happy holidays!

It’s that time of year again.  The time of year when kids hopped up on sugar go running through the streets screaming bloody murder; the time of year when those without children hide behind locked doors until after bedtime; the time of year when slutty versions of otherwise normal outfits emerge.  That’s right, I’m talking HALLOWEEN.  But what I don’t get – and what I will never understand – is why we insist on making it scary.  Why why WHY would anyone ever choose to be scared when they could be…not scared?  It’s even in the Halloween message – be HAPPY.  Happy Halloween.  Not Let’s-Scare-The-Shit-Out-Of-People-And-Scar-Them-For-Life Halloween.

Believe me, those scars are REAL.  And never is the threat of fear scars more imminent than around the days and weeks leading up to Halloween, as every TV station busts out their own personal arsenal of scary movies.  Here’s the thing – if I can’t rationalize my way out of why something scary in a movie can't possibly happen to me, then I cannot see the movie.  Why, you ask?  Because I’ll have nightmares for life.  I’m still not convinced that I won’t die in some freak garage door mishap (see Scream)...or by gremlin, for that matter.

I just don’t understand why people want to be scared.  And the scariest movies to me are those where inanimate objects come to life.  Most notably:  creepy dolls.  I never saw Child's Play, and I certainly don’t plan to.  And don’t even get me started on this new Annabelle movie that’s out.  The previews alone make me mute the TV and leave the room for fear my eyelids will betray me and suddenly snap open at an inopportune moment during the commercial. 

I’ll give you three scary movies (out of the ones I’ve actually seen) that absolutely scarred me for life.  Disclaimer:  I avoid scary movies like the plague, and I in no way claim to have seen all or even a healthy number of them.  And my friends and would-be-nay-sayers should thank me.  If you think I’m neurotic now, you should see me after a night of scary TV.  So the list below is by no means a "scariest movies of all time" list; it's simply a list of the most scarring movies of my childhood.  In no particular order:

Candyman.  This is HANDS DOWN one of the scariest movies of all time.  So scary, in fact, that I cannot even provide a photo of the man himself, as his eyes would burn a hole straight into your soul.  Basically, this dude, the son of a former slave, is an artist who falls in love with a white woman and impregnates her.  He is then set upon by a mob who cuts off his painting hand and replaces it with a hook, covers him in honey and leaves him to die by bee stings.  Obviously, the stuff of fairytales.  If you say his name five times in the mirror, he shows up with the hook hand and kills you.  By hook hand.  And I'm not talking the laughable, Captain Hook kind.  This movie was scary enough on its own, but I made the mistake of telling my friends that it scared me.  They proceeded to lock me in a bathroom and scream his name five times from the outside.  The only thing that kept me sane during what seemed like hours in that bathroom prison but what was, in reality, about five minutes, was knowing that they were in for vicious deaths, not me.  I’m not the one who said his name.  Never have; never will.  This whole "Candyman Debacle" scared me so badly that when Final Destination came out years later, I had to leave the theater ten minutes into the movie (I like to push myself), when I discovered that Tony Todd, who plays you-know-who, was in the flick.  Let’s be honest – I never would have made it all the way through that movie in the first place, but just hearing Todd’s voice gave me the heebie-jeebies.  He even made it almost impossible for me to sit through The Rock.  Almost.

Pet Sematary.  Oh man.  OH MAN.  I love pets, so obviously I would love a movie where pets come back to life, right??  WRONG.  In this thriller, a family from Chicago moves out to the woods of Maine and into a house near a local pet sematary, where townsfolk bury their dead animals.  The family’s cat dies, they bury it there, and, SPOILER ALERT: it returns home the next day…but it's not the same.  Clearly the cat is possessed by an evil force, having broken the laws of nature to return to the living world.  The family’s son then dies in a tragic accident, and the dad hopes to bring the son back, so he buries him in the pet cemetery.  He comes back alright…as demon spawn.  I mean, REALLY?!  The dad had to know that kid was coming back as Satan himself.  The scariest scene in the entire movie, without question, is when the family’s elderly neighbor is getting ready for bed and Gage (the demon child) pops out from under the bed and slices open his Achilles tendon with a child-size scalpel.  Simply terrifying.

The Craft.  Four teenage girls in high school become obsessed with magic.  One, the newcomer wallflower-type who happens to be pretty and sweet and the least outsider-ish, is actually pretty badass at it, but she’s so powerful it scares her, so she keeps the extent of her powers under wraps.  But one of the other group members, Nancy, who appears to be the truly terrifying leader of these girls, becomes obsessed with black magic and basically offers her soul up to the black magic gods in exchange for all their power.  She and the “good” witch have a battle to end all battles at the end of the movie.  Thank GOD the Nancy threat, played by Fairuza Balk, is neutralized in the end, but Balk's devilish smirk and cackle still haunt my dreams <shudder shudder>.

But not all Halloween movies are bad news.  I’m a HUGE fan of movies that might be somewhat scary, but cut the scare-factor with humor.  So, in contrast to the above monstrosities, I give you the top three Halloween movies to watch this season:

Shaun of The Dead.  First of all, I heart heart HEART Simon Pegg.  He is a master at taking a story line that you think you are following and throwing a big metaphorical (and sometimes physical) wrench into it.  He'll lead you through awesome twists and turns and eventually leave you feeling satisfied with the knowledge that certain people got what was coming to them and others, though not heroes of the day-to-day variety, have overcome their shortfalls and helped win the day…the “day” usually being an apocalyptic event of some kind.  In Shaun of the Dead, Shaun (played by Pegg) is a bit of a loser – he works as a sales guy at an electronics store, spends all his free time at the pub with his bestie Ed (played by the glorious Nick Frost) and is broken up with by the girl of his dreams.  After a debaucherous night of drinking, Shaun and Ed wake to a zombie takeover of London (later known as “Z Day”).  He rounds up what’s left of his crew, fights off zombies from all sides, and wins his girlfriend back in the process.  Ed does actually fall victim to the zombies in a form of self-sacrifice and becomes one himself, but as the world emerges from Z Day, we see that Shaun has found a place for his now-zombified friend:  playing video games in his garden shed until the end of time.  Smiles all around. 

Hocus Pocus.  Three witches, played by Sarah Jessica Parker (the hot, young one), Kathy Najimy (the large, dumb one) and Bette Midler (the ringleader) are killed in 1693 by hanging in Salem, after they kill a little girl to steal her youth and turn her older brother, Thackery Binx, who bravely attempts to rescue her, into a cat who must live forever.  As they are hung, they cast a spell that will allow them to come back to life when a virgin lights the black flame candle in their home.  We then flash-forward to the year 1993 (when this epic movie came out), when high school newcomer and non-believer Max Dennison challenges the legend as “hocus pocus” to show off for the class hottie and lights the candle.  As it turns out, like most dumbass high school boys, Max is a virgin.  Binx, who has been standing guard over the candle for 300 years, attempts to stop him (he has learned to speak during that time), but to no avail.  The witches return and attempt to suck the youth out of all the girls in town, including Max’s little sister, Emily.  Binx, Max and the hottie put a stop to it and Binx is finally released from his cat-form to join his little sis in heaven.  It’s the perfect Halloween flick – danger, mayhem and teen angst.

Beetlejuice.  No list of Halloween movies would be complete without making reference to this gem.  A small town couple, played by Geena Davis and Alec Baldwin, dies in an accident and returns home to haunt their house.  They haven’t really figured out how to be ghosts, so they go to ghost-training and read a ghost book on the subject.  They even try to enlist the help of this bad boy ghost named Beetlejuice, realize he’s bad news and decide to avoid him.  Davis and Baldwin appear destined to "live" out their days in the attic of their home, as a new city-folk family (think hipsters before hipsters existed) has moved in during their “transition” to the other side and they have no idea how to scare them away.  The new family, with extremely modern taste, includes a daughter, played by Winona Ryder (think hey-day Ryder, as opposed to shoplifter Ryder).  Ryder isn’t a big fan of her parents and, as it turns out, she is the only one that can actually see the ghost couple.  Why, you ask?  According to the ghost book, “the living ignore the strange and unusual,” but Ryder herself is “strange and unusual.”   So ANYWAY, Ryder’s parents want the ghosts out, and they try to force Davis and Baldwin to cross over.  It nearly kills the ghosts, who enlist Beetlejuice’s help.  As payment for getting back at the family, Bettlejuice insists that Ryder marry him.  He’s gross.  Like real gross.  Like face fungus gross.  All ends well, and the new family and the ghosts (sans-Beetlejuice) agree to live in peaceful coexistence.  And Ryder does a dance number with a bunch of other ghosts at the end.  Fine holiday fun.

So there you have it – my movie guide for this most festive of holidays.  Happy Halloween to all you ghouls and goblins out there!!

It’s officially my favorite time of year:  FALL.  Some of you reading this may think this post is coming in a bit late, as it’s already mid-October, but if you live in Houston, Texas, you know that we are only just now getting our first taste of the fall season. 

It’s been 95+ degrees here since mid-May, which, if you don’t know, actually means that we had a fairly “mild” summer.  That’s right – 100+ degrees for anything less than three full months is a reprieve.  It’s not just the heat, though, that gets you.  It’s the humidity that comes with it here in the H.  The two are a package deal.  If you are not soaking wet within one minute of stepping outside, you are a freak of nature and I wish I had your genes.  

Things you can’t do in Houston in the summer:

1. Stand outside with an iced beverage you actually want to stay iced.
2. Participate in any kind of activity without mandatory hydration breaks.
3. Not sweat.         
   

For months (from May through September), you will hear residents of our fair city lament the heat.  It comes up in every conversation.  Every.  Single.  Conversation.  EVER.  Because who can even think about anything else?!  And for those few months I absolutely forget why I still live here. 

People from other cities are always saying, “Are you kidding??  You’re SO lucky to have so much sun!”  And what I have to explain is that it’s too hot.  Like too hot to swim.  Think about that.  Too hot to get into the water and splash around, because what should be a way to cool off turns into a human crock pot.

What I have discovered about myself over the years is that I have a much lower heat tolerance than normal humans.  Not that other people enjoy sweating.  I mean, who really wants to leak water?  I just hate it the most.  And the thing is, I’m a sweater.  Always have been, always will be.  Which means I am bravely embracing this not-so-pretty shortfall of mine every time I step outside.  Guys, hold your applause; I’m not a hero...yet.  There are a lot of things I can take, but being overly hot without a proper cooling mechanism is not one of them.  And quite honestly, nothing drives me crazier than being hot in a place that should be properly cooled (e.g., restaurants, planes, office buildings, and really any other public place where someone else has control of the temperature).  If you want to see me lose it, put me in a hot place without anyone apologizing.  My normally cool and collected demeanor turns murderous in 0.2 seconds, taking rage to an 11, because really, it’s about injustice.

But on this fateful day, the high dropped below 80, and it was a crisp 55 degrees this morning!  So it is officially fall, and no one loves sweater weather more than me.  NO ONE.

I live for heather grey cable knit.  And red and orange leaves.  And pumpkin ANYTHING.  To me, the smell of pumpkin pie embodies home, happiness and comfort…even though we never had it in my home growing up (hi mom), and I really only eat it once a year.  And, irony of ironies, I am NOT a fan of pumpkin spice lattes.  I mean, I’m not against the idea of them per se.  I just don’t like that everyone else likes them.

But nothing says fall happiness more than making it rain with a big pile of leaves in 60 degree weather.  Or slutty Halloween costumes.  Or Thanksgiving dinner.  I’m going to save my Thanksgiving gush for, well, Thanksgiving.  But for now, FALL.

The time has come for every summer grumpkin to throw open those doors and rejoin society, to take their football viewing to the streets (or to a restaurant patio) and to do it all with a smile.  What I mean is, when fall finally hits, you see every office and cubicle worker longingly looking out of their office windows and considering taking a Ferris Bueller style ditch day (NOTE:  I didn’t include high school students here – you jerks JUST got back from summer vacation, so stop complaining…and stay in school for as long as you can.  TRUST me.).  You see people that would otherwise be in a huff over humanity in general and the oppressive heat suddenly melt from within and start smiling at each other.  That’s what fall is really about - uniting cultures.  Just ask the pilgrims.

So fall, welcome to Texas.  We could not be more thrilled to host you.  Please stay as long as you like...or forever <giggle, giggle>.  But SERIOUSLY.

I know some of you saw this title and immediately rolled your eyes and thought “oh boo-hoo for you, GOD I wish I was tall.”  You (a) are obviously average height or shorter; (b) have probably never hit your head on a ceiling or wall hanging; and (c) are clearly speaking from an unenlightened perspective. 

Well, I’ve been in the 95th percentile of height for my age group since I was 5, and I can tell you this:  being tall ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.  As Kermit the Frog once lamented the harsh realities of going through life green, we “Talls” of the world have been bombarded with our own unique set of obstacles and commentary.

If you’ve ever been asked “how’s the weather up there,” this post is for you.  If you’ve ever gotten the “I bet you played basketball in school” comment, I feel your pain…and high five, since we probably played against each other at some point.  And, finally, if you’ve ever heard the dreaded “can you stand in the back for this photo so you don’t block anyone,” I share your murderous rage.

Shorties out there, here’s something you don’t get – being tall is great, functionally, but it’s a pain in the ass when it comes to socializing.  

1. It’s easy to find your friends in a crowded room because, well, you can see over the heads of many.
2. It’s easy for your friends to find you because giants tend to stand out.  See Big Tex.
3. People sometimes think you’re a famous athlete for, like, half a second.  Sometimes.
   
4. You can reach things other people can’t without a ladder.
   
5. You have go-go-Gadget arms and can win almost any tickle-fight.
   

AND that’s it.  See, the list really isn’t long.  NOW let’s look at the Cons:

    1.    You never, EVER, get to be in the front for a photo, meaning you probably shouldn’t worry about wearing a cute outfit because, when future historians of the world look back at those photos (I know the paps are constantly snapping photos of me - you too, right?), no one will be able to tell.          

    2.    Tall guys NEVER want to date tall girls.  Ever.  Like never ever.  Tall men appear to have an aversion to tall women.  They avoid them like the plague.  Rather, they seem drawn to the shorties of the world.  Perhaps that’s because men LIKE to feel like giants any time they can, as opposed to most tall women I know, who want to stand tall, but not necessarily tower.  Now, on the other side of the coin:               

     3.      Small guys ALWAYS want to date tall girls.  I don’t know what it is, but shorter men are drawn to tall girls like moths to a flame – it’s like their DNA realizes that it needs to merge with some taller DNA for the sake of their would-be-children.  That’s not a bad thing, EXCEPT:  Most tall girls want to date guys their height or taller.                      

• Most girls want to feel safe in a relationship, both physically and emotionally, and being with someone “bigger” than us can give us that feeling (or at least the illusion) of physical security.  Basically, I just want to know that if someone steps to me in da club, I’m with someone who will step back.  Now, that doesn’t necessarily mean you have to be physically bigger than me, but, if not, your personality and confidence level need to make you 10 feet tall.                  
• Friends always try to set us up with shrimps.  They’ve always got “the perfect guy,” who, they’ll say, is tall (generally).  This is equivalent to being “kinda tall, with hair.”  NOTE:  If anyone ever says that to you, be ready to be set up with someone at least 5 inches shorter than you are.  It’s a given.      

     4.     You’re more accident prone (at least, tallness is what I’m blaming it on).  It may be because our center of gravity is off, or maybe it’s just that we’re in closer proximity to things that can jump out of nowhere (like wildlife…or walls), but tall girls suffer from chronic clumsiness.  True story.  Let’s just take a look at some of the many “accidents” I’ve had to deal with:

• Being hit in the head with a baseball bat at a professional baseball game because I couldn’t duck down far enough for it to miss me; 
• Constantly hitting door frames with shoulders, toes and other appendages;
• Cutting my chin open by tripping over the dog in my youth (every tall person I know has a scar under his or her chin due to the same/similar injury);
  
• Getting caught between two booths at a restaurant when I tried to scoot out and got tangled in my limbs;
• Falling in my office because my daddy long legs got caught in my computer cords;
  
• Feeling like I was trapped in a clown car when my friends made me sit in the back of their two-door vehicles.  Worst offender:  The Ford Mustang; AND
  
• A bird flying into my head and trying to pull a piece of my hair out for use in its nest (NOTE:  This actually happened to another tall friend of mine and not me personally, but it holds up).  Also, see Birds v. Bats: The Great "Hand" Debate for further information on the awfulness of birds.

     5.    Street performers always ALWAYS single us out as the people to mess with.  They never go for people of average height, and you know why??  Because average height people don’t bring in the laughs.  Think I’m wrong?  Just look at Kramer.

     6.     You can never find long enough pants.  No explanation needed.  

AND there you have it.  The plight of “Talls” the world over.  So don’t ask us how the weather is “up there,” because you know what, jackass?  It’s just f*cking peachy.

This week, I've decided to dedicate my post to one of the true loves of my life.  To that one man who always treats me right, even when I'm grouchy and bloated and feeling murderous.  That's right, Gluttony, I'm talking to you.

Last weekend, I spent a whirlwind, romantic few days with my man Gluttony, taking on the wilds of the wine country.  Our eyes met over that first wine sip of the weekend, and I knew I was a gonner.  From there, he led me down an endless path of confectionary items, cheeses, pastas and, of course, wine (think Templeton at the aftermath of the state fair...but with WINE).  It was like he could see past my gums and into my soul.  Gluttony, you managed to find your way into my heart, er, stomach, first by wafting the faint aroma of truffle just past by nose, knowing full well I was powerless to  resist, and then by catching my eye with a chocolate truffle (that's right, TWO different truffle references in ONE sentence) - just one, you said, but then you kept them coming.  I don't even crave chocolate, but it was there.  LAY OFF ME I'M STARVING.

So Gluttony and I started out the weekend with a simple "tasting" (i.e., three fairly full glasses of wine), followed by three additional tastings, before finally making it to dinner, where he and I indulged in a decadent meal of quiche, tortes and moscow mules.  It was a glutton's paradise.  We just glut-glut-glut-ed all night long.  Seriously - Lionel Richie style.  Mr. G left me very satisfied. 

The next day, did we feel regret?  Oh no.  The usual food hangover hadn't kicked in yet, so to ward it off, G and I hit a coffee shop, where we indulged in one of my very favorite items - an egg croissant.  My mouth is watering just thinking about it.  Gluttony and I made eyes at each other over the few remaining crumbs, which he of course let me have, before returning to lounge by the pool and soak in sun to our heart's content.  It was at that moment - there as I basked in the sun and felt Ol' G-Money cuddle my stomach in a warm embrace - that I knew he really loved me.  Suddenly, it wasn't gravity keeping me on Earth; it was Gluttony, and all the food and wine he talked me into consuming.  Literally.  I mean I was FULL.

The next day (Note:  we were too exhausted from glut-glut-gluttoning to do anything later that night), 'Tony and I hit some more wineries, where we "tasted" wines (not sure you can really call it "tasting" per se when your taste buds go numb after winery No. 2) with meat and cheese chasers (because...CHEESE).  Glut and I then retired to our humble abode, so we could take a nap (it's very important to stay rested when you hang with Gluttony, you know, to keep your strength up) before dinner.  That's right - I said DINNER.  Oh, it was really fantastic, this long weekend with my love.  

Alas, Sunday hit and it was time to head home.  Our tryst had come to an end (my body was relieved), and I had to say goodbye.  It was then that I told him about the steady thing I had going with my boyfriends back home, Greek Yogurt and Salad (don't tell them about each other - that could get ugly).  I swore to return some day, and just like that, he was gone.

Gluttony, I'll never forget you.  But back to reality...and the gym.

(Other title considered:  "Oh no, True Blood is over!  How will I ever- OH look, something shiny!")

For those of you not "in the (vampire) know," HBO's cult hit, True Blood, had its series finale this past Sunday.  If you haven't seen the show, all you need to know is this:  Vampires exist, and everyone knows about it.  Ever since vampires "came out of the coffin," the citizens of one very unlucky small town, and, in particular, one Miss Sookie Stackhouse, have been terrorized, as vampires and other scary mythical creatures alike (and, also, MANY stupid creatures no one cares about) seem determined to make the underworld pilgrimage to Renard Parish, aka, the undisputed location of the gates of hell, located in - you guessed it - Louisiana (I mean, is there a better place for a Hell Mouth?!).

Even as I attempt to explain the show, I'm embarrassed that I watch it.  When it FIRST started, I was able to make the argument that the show was truly an allegory, using story lines about vampire rights to make statements about civil rights issues in the world today.  AND then they introduced werewolves, shape shifters (i.e., humans that can change into animals other than wolves...and also wolves), faeries (think fairies...spelled funny), witches, were-panthers (i.e., humans that can change into - wait for it - panthers) and maenads (I still don't even know what this is - presumably some sort of demon) into the mix.  Suddenly a show that started out gritty, dirty (in a good way) and super violent became a parody of itself, seemingly overnight.  And that all happened in season two.  THIS SHOW WENT ON FOR SEVEN SEASONS.

But it wasn't all bad - the show did a lot of things right.  But also a LOT of things bad.  Let's take a look:

   1.     HOTNESS:  Everyone in the case was hot.  Like REAL hot.  Like "you-can-bite-me-anywhere-as-long-as-you-give-me-a-sexy-smirk-first" hot.  See below, just for a taste:

   2.     VAMPIRES:  The show did vampires incredibly well.  They made them mysterious, and sultry, and managed to make each one surprisingly unique.  They made them into characters you swore you would never want to meet in a dark alley...but also secretly prayed you would one day.  Basically, they nailed the vampire formula:  scary enough to frighten you, but hot enough that you pine for terror.  The best part of the show, in my well-vampire-versed opinion, were the flashbacks (think Wayne's World-style, but with less wiggle and more smoke and mirrors...literally), where over the course of the show we learned how each vampire came to be, and why each now had a tortured soul that repulsed you but at the same time drew you in.  Those sneaky vamps.   

And they should have stuck with what they knew.  Vampires alone can carry a show for any number of seasons.  Don't believe me?  Look at all the other vampire-themed shows out there (e.g., The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, Buffy, Angel, Blade (YES - apparently, there was a TV show.  I was SHOCKED...and so SO excited.)).  They should have picked a horse and stuck with it, a la The Walking Dead.  

   3.     VIOLENCE:  When your subject matter is vampires, you get a lot of leeway when it comes to the violence factor.  Especially when your show is on HBO.  And True Blood nailed it with the vampire deaths.  They were GROSS.  They were hard to watch at times.  And they were always brutal.  All characteristics of what a good Death-By-Vampire should be.  If a vamp is going to kill you - whether you're a human or another vampire - it's not going to be easy...and you're definitely not going to enjoy it.  In addition to the victim death rattles (I can't believe we didn't get to see Tara's lip quiver one last time), there were many battle scenes over the show's history.  Like when the vamps battled the witches on the mean streets of Shreveport.  Or when the healthy vamps battled the sickly, Hep-V vamps (yep, you missed a lot) outside of Bellefleur's.  The battle scenes were always well done.  And you were almost always guaranteed to lose a character you actually liked in the mix.  Way to keep us on our toes, TB.

   1.     THE ACTING:  Unfortunately, much of the acting on the show left more than a little something to be desired.  Don't get me wrong, some of it was great.  For example, Alexander Skarsgard gave us a fantastic portrayal of viking vampire GOD Eric Northman - the callous tin man to Sookie's Dorothy.  You knew he was bad news, but he showed us a softer side, too, and it made us love him forever.  Or Deborah Ann Woll as Jessica, the goody-two-shoes turned vamp that was all wholesome and good until she wanted to explore her dark side before returning to Hoyt, where we knew she belonged all along.

UNFORTUNATELY, not all of the shows actors rose to that level of greatness.  Case in point, the show's two main characters:  Sookie (the faery telepath who pulls all these creatures to Bon Temps like moths to a flame) played by  Anna Paquin, and Vampire Bill (Sookie's on-again-off-again vampire love interest) played by Stephen Moyer.  Sookie always looks like she's a few cats shy of a nuthouse, and she always takes at least two full seconds to have a simple reaction to other people's lines or emotions.  Bill, on the other hand, has an ultra-creepy way of saying "SOOKIE" - like he's hissing at her.  And every time his fangs pop out, he quivers his lips.  It's not sexy.  It's repulsive.  He also attempts to walk with swagger...which he does not have.  I mean, REALLY.  He's in skinny jeans.  Always.

   2.     THE ACCENTS:  The Louisiana accent all the characters on the show were expected to have was grating.  In all fairness, most of the actors playing these Louisiana "natives" actually had foreign accents that they had to overcome in order to play these cats.  Alexander (yep, we're on a first name basis) is originally from Sweden, Stephen Moyer is from Essex, and Ryan Kwanten (who plays Sookie's adorable, but bumbling, brother) is from Australia.  And Stephen and Ryan are both supposed to play characters from DEEP woods Louisiana.  All I can say is thank GOD they are easy on the eyes.  Same holds true for all of the cast members, though I do admit that at some point the accents became horribly lovable and endearing.  Maybe I'm just a softie at heart, but I may actually miss some of those accents (probably not, but I will miss the actors trying their darndest to use them).

   3.      THE STORY LINES:  There was just too much going on at any one time.  You want to give us a show about vampires living amongst humans in (almost) perfect harmony?  Great.  But you want to compound that with threats from witches and demons?  It gets a little murky.  And those are "beings" that we've actually heard of!  Throw in were-panthers, maenads and shape-shifters (all of which could be found in any ONE episode of the show), and viewers' brains are bound to explode.  And that's basically exactly what happened.  It just got too convoluted.  To the point that if you missed one episode, there was no going back.  And who could keep track of all the various types of villainous misfits threatening the safety of the Bon Temps residents??  It was just too much.  And not "too much of a good thing" too much.  Just TOO MUCH.  

And unfortunately, the fact that we, as viewers, had come to expect death, destruction and convoluted plot twists from each and every episode of the seven season show is exactly why people were disappointed with the hum-drum series finale.  There wasn't even a creatively brutal death scene!  C'mon, HBO - do what you do best:  gross us out, devastate us with a surprise death and send us on our merry way.

So, to sum up, it's the end of an era...but maybe that's not such a bad thing in this case?  Though I will be mourning the loss of such a high level of testosterone in one show for a very VERY long time...or at least until Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead come back on.

Well folks, we did it!  We survived Shark Week 2014 dry as a bone and slightly (tremendously?) more scared to venture back into the water.  We met some interesting characters around the way (i.e., "Dickie" the stoner shark enthusiast, shark photographer and master of overall bad-assery Andy Casagrande and Paul de Gelder, who you'll be introduced to shortly) and learned many an interesting tidbit.  And now it's time to put this baby to bed.  

BUT before I do, I have one last show to recap:  Great.  White.  MATRIX.  

Confession:  I had to take a brief pause from my shark-ing last week to get some much needed R&R - as it turns out, talking about my love/terror-inducing relationship with sharks is not only physically draining, but mentally and emotionally draining as well (even as I write this, I have Usher lyrics dancing through my head).  Why, you might ask?  Because I owe it to myself, to you fans-of-fin and to sharks near and far to do the subject justice and pay homage to not just any apex predator, but THE apex predator.  But I'M BACK BABY!!  And ready to take this last Shark Week 2014 post to pound town.  

I've chosen to highlight this particular program in my last post for one reason and one reason only:  Paul de Gelder.  For those of you yet unfamiliar with this hero among heroes, let me sum it up for you:

1. He's hot.  Like REAL hot.  Like "I-would-get-in-the-water-for-you-and-you-alone" hot.
2. He is an Australian Navy diver.  Hello accent.    
   
3. He was participating in a Navy training exercise (clearly learning the newest puppy-saving techniques) in Sydney Harbour when a Bull Shark attacked him.
4. He lost an arm AND a leg in a shark attack but despite that continues to have a very positive outlook on life and healthy respect for the species.
5. We're totally Facebook friends.

So let's see what Paul and Andy have in store for us in GREAT WHITE MATRIX.  Andy Casagrande and PDG take us to Port Stephens, Australia, where countless Great Whites are roaming the coastline and appear to be feasting on humans.  The dynamic duo attempts to uncover the reasons why sharks are congregating here and posits that perhaps the answer to this mystery can actually be found in the bites of these sharks.  BUCKLE UP.

Andy has designed a special camera rig that will allow him to capture a Great White bite from all angles during an attack, so all they need to do now is find the sharks (SPOILER ALERT:  They totally find them).  First, they take to the skies, locating the sharks from a helicopter.  They then trail the sharks by boat, finding out that, apparently, and contrary to previously held beliefs, these guys are constantly cruising into the bay areas near surf clubs and people-populated beaches.  Clearly they're on the lookout for Jimmy Buffet.  Duh.  In this part of Australia, there are up to 250 Great Whites in the surf at any one time.  

Why here?  Because this is the one spot where warm and cold areas of ocean are mixed together by a massive vortex of currents, which supercharges the marine food chain (...I'm just going to say it:  Think "sharknado.").  So apparently no one has ever filmed sharks in this area from the water...until now.  Andy decides to jump in with a juvenile Great White CAGE-FREE!!  And we all know that teenagers (shark or otherwise) can be moody and unstable, what with new hormones pumping through their system and nothing but angst to cling to, so this is going to be good.  

They lure one Great White close to the boat so Andy can get a good shot, but then the shark lures Andy out from the boat and blocks his return path.  And so the student becomes the teacher.  Andy does survive.  Barely.  And then he and PDG head out to an area where larger prey attracts larger Great Whites.  Here, they both get in without a cage to check it out.  PDG is nervous, which is totes adorable. 

After the dive, they meet with a professor who drops some knowledge on them regarding the shark attacks on record and what they mean:  apparently, most people bitten by Great Whites are bitten by sharks 2-2.5 meters in length, which is around the size they are when fish stop being a sufficient food source (i.e., when they graduate up to bigger prey), so they are probably just giving humans exploratory bites that are confused for attacks.

So PDG and Andy take this knowledge to the other side of the country - to the Neptune Islands, where huge adult Great Whites are known to feed.  Andy gets in the cage with his rigged up camera arc and "a notoriously aggressive dominant male," Sidewinder, shows up.  The crew starts baiting the water while Andy films from below, and Andy nails the shot.  From his footage, we learn that in an adolescent shark, the lower jaw is poised to bite but the upper jaw remains stationary (i.e., an attack from a juvenile Great White is survivable...as opposed to an attack from Juvenile, the rapper).  But with an adult, its jaws reach maximum width when it bites, and it bites not just with its teeth, but with its entire body.  Instant DEATH.

Factual Takeaways and Interesting Tidbits:

• White Sharks in Capetown, South Africa, will use penguins as target practice while they are learning to hunt seals.  WHAT?!!
  
• Juvenile White Sharks learn to hunt surface level prey in the shallows by going after birds chilling on the surface.
• Attacks on Australia's West Coast are on the rise because sharks follow populations of seals from the Neptune Islands to that area of the coast.

Bottom Line:  "With Great White Sharks, size matters."

So there you have it - Shark Week 2014.  AND SCENE.

ZOMBIE SHARKS:  Well let's face it.  They had me at "zombie."  But zombies AND sharks??  In ONE badass program?!  Sign.  Me.  Up.  I've been talking about a shark version of The Walking Dead for years, since zombies are basically just the dead version of land sharks - rubbery skin, crazy eyes and out for nothing but human blood.  Sharknadoes?  Please - totally unrealistic.  But land sharks (i.e., zombies)??  Absolutely.

The program opens with a disclaimer:  "Handling of sharks is not advised.  It's nuts."  Thank you, Captain Obvious.  But the real scary thought?  That they needed this disclaimer in the first place.  That means some yahoo out there saw Shark Week and fancied himself invincible.  Rookie mistake.  However, I kind of hope that dude lost, like, a toe, because a) he deserves to get bitten, but b) he does not deserve to have an awesome shark attack story he can brag about at dinner parties.  GEEZ.

So we find out that Great Whites - previously thought to be THE predator to be reckoned with - are being "hunted" by something.  Some mysterious force has been manhandling these sharks.  And they think it might be...wait for it...ORCAS.  This is like Christmas morning (I would assume) for ocean lovers the world over - sharks AND orcas in the same program??  

Great Whites are, supposedly, apex predators, which by definition means there is NO GREATER NATURAL PREDATOR out there (i.e., no next rung to get to - this is it), so how can there possibly be something hunting them?  Eli Martinez, a shark diver and conservationist, believes the only way that a predator could trump a Great White would be to put the Great White into an immobile state and wonders if other ocean predators have evolved and adapted, somehow figuring out how to exploit a shark's hidden weakness - tonic immobility.  

Tonic immobility is a defense mechanism in many other animals but is induced in a shark when turned upside down.  Eli decides to test this theory - first on Silk Sharks, then on Reef Sharks, and then on Tigers.  They use chain mail suits to protect themselves from the bites.  Not gonna lie, it was hard to take them seriously, as all I could think about was a Renaissance Fair (mmmm, turkey legs).  We learn that larger sharks (like Reef Sharks and Tigers), which are harder to fully flip over, can be put into a tonic state by "overstimulating the shark's electrical sensors," called the ampullae of lorenzini.  When they do this, they, and I quote, "send the shark into a state of ecstasy."  Whoa.  When that happens, they can stand the sharks up vertically by the nose.  It's equal parts breathtaking and terrifying, because you know the second the shark comes out of that state he's going to be pissed that they made him look stupid.

Luckily (or sadly, depending on your taste), everyone comes out of these trials unscathed.  So they believe sending a Great White into this state is possible, but what is capable of doing that?  ORCAS.  The team locates a family pod and then Eli gets in the water with them...without a cage.  But GET THIS:  he befriends them by snapping.  Apparently, orcas love a snap (they are fascinated by hands.  True story.).  It's in this segment we learn that not only are orcas capable of sending sharks into tonic states, but that they do this, like, ALL the time.  Tonic immobility is snoozeville to orcas, a skill they mastered long ago.  First they karate chop (technical term) the shark with their tails to stun it and then flip it over so they can eat as a pack at their own pace.  So mystery solved - the orca is the culprit here (which isn't surprising, given that they are pretty much dressed up as old-timey French robbers).

Factual Takeaways and Interesting Tidbits:

• Silk sharks are one of the fastest species of shark in the ocean.
• Tiger Sharks can weigh up to a ton and are known for their bone-crushing jaws.  UM if you know anything about sharks, it's that Tigers are the worst.  Like will eat anything at all worst.  Like "oh-look-at-that-rusted-out-car-over-there-I-think-I'll-give-it-a-try" worst.  UGH. 
• Orcas are the most advanced hunters in the ocean - they even beach themselves to snatch seals and create waves to knock prey from floating ice (that's dedication).
• Each population of orcas has a favorite food and, thus, has developed a specialized hunting strategy in order to obtain it.
• Orcas live in family pods and work together to hunt, a la wolves.

Bottom Line:  Orcas rule, sharks drool.


SPAWN OF JAWS:  The Birth:  This program involves a search for the birthing locale of one Great White.  We learn at the outset that no one has ever revealed the nursery of a Great White - one of the truly baffling open-ended questions of our time.  We know how a Great White stalks its prey, how they attack and how they mate, but what we have yet to learn is where exactly they give birth to their pups.

The show's protagonist, shark scientist Dr. Michael Domeier, thinks he has the answer - "natal homing."  Under this theory, a Great White would return to her birthplace to birth her own pups.  To prove this, Mike comes up with a newly designed tag and, with the help of Paul Walker, manages to finagle it on to the dorsal fin of a recently impregnated Great White he dubs "Gill Rakers."  Ms. Rakers is the biggest shark EVER captured and tagged anywhere in the world.  Sharks have an 18-24 month long gestation period, so the duo make plans to reunite in a year to use the tag to track Gill down and locate her birthing center.  Unfortunately, Paul passed away three weeks later.  It should be noted that Discovery Channel did a great job of paying homage to Paul Walker - a true supporter of sharks and ocean conservation generally.  

The mission continues in Paul's absence.  They track Gill up the Oregon coast line where she heads to feed on the seal population before she returns down the California coast line and settles out around Santa Monica beach.  It is here the team believes she plans to birth her babies.  To test this theory, they look for evidence of other Great White pups in the area - and they actually find one!  This is a landmark achievement, as footage of a Great White pup this young had never before been captured.  So Mike is pretty sure Santa Monica is the spot...but Gill throws him for a loop.

Apparently, she's got post-birth 'ritas on the brain - she bee-lines it for the Sea of Cortez, one of the most lawless fishing areas in the world, and one where Great Whites have been killed on the regular.  All the sudden, her tag just shuts off, causing the audience major heart palpitations.  Apparently "finning" - the deplorable act of killing sharks for their fins and tossing their bodies - is quite common in this area, especially during the Great White's birthing season.  Moreover, there is a commercial fishing operation taking place in the area.  So Gill is literally risking her life to pup.  Mike heads down to Mexico to try to find her and finds clues that Great Whites are around.  Many sharks go to shallow, coastal areas, away from predators, to pup, which is what Mike is hoping that Gill herself has done.  Using the water surface temperatures from the area, and cross-referencing it with Gill's last "ping" on their radar, they locate her, alive and well!  Mission accomplished.

PSA Time:  I may joke about sharks being my enemy, but finning is a brutal and totally disgusting practice.  Not only that, sharks are absolutely beautiful creatures who play a very valuable role within their ecosystem - killing off an apex predator can do nothing but hurt the remaining living things within that system, which in turn can have an effect on the surrounding ecosystems (including our own).  I am 100% against the killing of sharks, for this or any purpose, as I have a healthy respect for the species and for their natural environment.

 Factual Takeaways and Interesting Tidbits:

• Open wounds on a shark might suggest that the shark recently mated, as a male will bite her to hold her in position.
• A preggo shark needs to consume more than 20 lbs of food every day.
• Great Whites ram their seal prey with the same force as a human car going 25 mph.  
• Over 2000 Great Whites patrol the coast of California, and 97% of all shark attacks there are by Great Whites (while either searching for food or scoping out a place to pup).
• Both Great Whites and Lemon sharks give live birth to a litter of around 12 pups every 2 years.
• 2/3 of a shark's brain is dedicated to the nose - their sense of smell is so sensitive that it could detect a chicken nugget in an area 16 times the size of central park!