Passing On 'Precious'

I'm not going to see "Precious."

Back in the '90s, I knew several people who had read (or attempted to read) "Push," the novel "Precious" is based on. To be fair, I'm one of those people who can't stomach stories, real or imagined, about child abuse. Reviews and word of mouth convinced me that I was the wrong audience for a story about a morbidly obese girl who is repeatedly raped by her father, impregnated with his children, and subjected to depraved acts at her mother's hand. It's not that I didn't know those things happened (I was a newspaper reporter, after all), but I had zero desire to be immersed in that world in my down time.

The Washington Post's Courtland Milloy said it better than I can, but I just don't see the value in watching this hellish story play out on the big screen. I'm all for tackling hard truths through art, but I have a hard time believing that "Precious" will do anything to make a difference in the lives of real-life abuse victims. Plus, there's something deeply grating about the idea of a privileged film festival audience seeing this movie and gasping, "How powerful! I had no idea this world of ghetto tragedy existed!"

There's a valid argument that "Precious" represents a thoughtful alternative to movies about African-American men dressed in drag and adaptations of ham-fisted stage plays. (Irony! Tyler Perry is one of the big names promoting "Precious.") But are those my only choices if I want to see a movie with more than two black people in it?

Sorry, Oprah. I can't go down this road with you.

The Goat's Mustache is Cameron Diaz

I really want to meet the person responsible for casting "Community," because he or she is a genius. It's no surprise that Joel McHale and Chevy Chase are funny, but Danny Pudi is a real find as the intense, unfiltered Abed, who appears to have Aspergers. As sketchy as that sounds, there's nothing pitiful or mean about the way Abed's quirks play out on "Community" — especially since most of the characters are odd ducks. I definitely see shades of my son J. in Abed, and it's great to see that represented in a genuinely funny way.

For the record, J. gets a kick out of Abed's shenanigans, and the above clip is one of our favorites. Major props to my friend V. for turning me on to this show.

Michelle and Me!

Well, this is pretty doggone cool. The folks behind Mrs. O, the lovely blog devoted to Michelle Obama's style, have written a book, "Mrs. O: The Face of Fashion Democracy" — and yours truly is quoted in it! I've written hundreds of articles, editorials and essays over the years, but this may excite my mom more than anything I've ever done.

A while back, Mrs. O readers were invited to offer their thoughts on what makes the first lady a style icon. I wish I could remember exactly what I wrote, but it was something about how she helped make fashion seem more accessible. I understand the fantasy aspect of clothing design, but a lot of the stuff coming down the runway has nothing to do with the average American woman's needs. OK, Michelle Obama isn't exactly average, but her clothes are both stylish and grounded in reality. She has her pick of designers, but she also wears clothes from J. Crew, Target and White House/Black Market.

This is probably as close as I'll ever get to Michelle Obama (or Michael Kors, included in a full Q&A), but I'm stoked. Thanks, authors!

Stay Awesome, "Glee"

I love "Glee" so much that I'm already worried about the moment, perhaps inevitable, when it starts to make me crazy. I saw it happen to my friends who got sucked in to "Lost" and "Heroes," and the depth of their disappointment when those shows went off the rails ... well, it was troubling.

So far, the musical bits have been fabulous and the casting is spot on. I don't know how much Fox is paying Jane Lynch to portray cheerleading coach Sue Sylvester, but it's probably not enough. The woman is a master of the withering one-liner ("I’ve always thought the desire to procreate showed deep, personal weakness."), and her character is terrifying. Then there is Kurt, glorious Kurt, who cracks me up with the mere arch of an eyebrow. I thought the episode where he came out to his flannel-wearing dad was expertly handled. After Kurt stammered that he was gay, his dad shrugged and said, "I know." That he wasn't thrilled about it but still openly loved his kid seemed realistic — and it was touching.

In fact, that particular episode illustrated what makes "Glee" work so well: its successful combination of absurdity (the football team dancing to "Single Ladies") and poignancy (quarterback Finn's terror of being stuck in his hometown forever because of his girlfriend's pregnancy). And don't even get me started on how effing fabulous Kristin Chenowith was a few weeks ago as a drunken, former glee club star. The show's high goofball factor helps it get away with stereotypes that would otherwise be annoying.

But I'm not completely blinded by devotion. No show is perfect, but sometimes I worry that the things I don't like about "Glee" will start to overwhelm the rest. Like the constant focus on Rachel and Finn's mutual infatuation. I really like Rachel's character, particularly her awareness that her ruthless ambition alienates people. Finn's hunky/dim schtick is adorable. But what initially hooked me was the motley crew of glee club members, and the assumption that they'd all get a chance to shine. I want to know more about Tina, the Asian girl who auditioned with a ridiculously aggressive rendition of "I Kissed a Girl." But she's barely spoken since the pilot. Will Mercedes, the club's budding Aretha, be given more to do than make sassy remarks about her friends' shenanigans? I love the fact that Artie's wheelchair is regularly worked into song-and-dance routines. And the boy is funny. What's his story?

I realize the show hasn't been on that long, and maybe the "Glee" writers are getting to all that. For all I know, Artie and Tina may become an item. But I've been watching television too long to expect the unexpected, even from a really good show. Now that the show has caught on and grabbed the attention of people like Madonna, I fear a parade of Rihanna-esque cameos and repetition of themes that are already starting to wear out their welcome.

Here's hoping I'm wrong. For now, I'm unavailable Wednesday nights from 9 to 10.

A Familiar Story, Beautifully Told

Does Geoff Johns sleep? From where I'm sitting, it looks like he's writing roughly 70 percent of the books DC is putting out right now, including event stories like "Blackest Night." He's like the Joyce Carol Oates of comic book writers.

Johns' work rarely disappoints, but I approached his latest project, "Superman: Secret Origin," with trepidation. The Man of Steel's backstory has been told many times in almost every medium, and it was hard to believe that there was anything new to say. But while I'm not a rabid Superman fan, I am a sucker for how-it-all-began tales and Gary Frank's artwork. I'm glad I put my skepticism aside, because "Secret Origin" No. 1 is winning in its simplicity and obvious affection for all the origin tales that preceded it.

In Johns' version, Clark Kent is a teenager who is freaked out by his burgeoning powers. Like all adolescents, he's stuck in a changing, unpredictable body. The difference is that when he kisses his childhood sweetheart, Lana, the embarrassing, involuntary reaction is scorching heat vision. Ma and Pa Kent realize they can't put off The Talk any longer, and as a parent, I found myself wondering how I'd break the news to my kid that he dropped out of the sky in a rocket ship. Their big reveal goes badly, especially after unexpected holographs of Clark's — uh, Kal-El's — Kryptonian birth parents appear near the rocket they've hidden in the barn. Clark goes nuts with anger and confusion, and Pa Kent's loving reassurance ("You are my son.") is so touching that it made me a little teary.

The art in this book is gorgeous. Frank draws Clark exactly like a young Christopher Reeve, who is the gold standard for Superman. There's one panel where teen Lex Luthor's facial expression is so perfectly furious that I kept flipping back to study it. Even if you knew nothing about who Luthor eventually becomes, it would be chilling.

Rarely has my 9-year-old son so entranced by a comic book. As I watched him read "Secret Origin" for the second time, I was struck by how few of my comics I've been able to share with him. Let's face it; once you leave the kids' section, a great many comic books are filled with imagery inappropriate for children under 13. "Secret Origin" isn't a "kids" comic book, but it is accessible in the best possible way. He's antsy for No. 2, and so am I.

Video Of The Week

For years, my friend C. and I have been mocking R&B love songs that offer literal, step-by-step previews of the night ahead. Besides being unintentionally hilarious, the songs are often bossy (Don't tell me what color dress to wear!) and ridiculous. All night long? No thanks. I've got an early conference call.

I have C. to thank for unearthing the satirical gem "Ooh girl!," which is the perfect answer to years of goofy sexual braggadoccio in song: "I apologize in advance. I can probably give you seven minutes if you don't move around too much."

R.I.P., Swagger

I remember the precise moment that the word "crunk" jumped the shark. I was still a newspaper journalist, and a colleague was writing a story about a popular college event in town. One of the quotes in the article contained the word "crunk," and the editors decided that the term needed elaboration. It was a perfectly reasonable decision, but when the article ran the next day, I knew the word's days were numbered.

I think we can all agree that the death knell for "swagger" is its use as the name of an Old Spice product. Even LL Cool J as a pitchman can't make this work. Granted, swagger was a legitimate word long before it began peppering hip-hop songs and youth lingo. But in recent months, we've been treated to a Swaggapalooza courtesy of T.I. and Soulja Boy, who downsized it to "swag." (I love how putting words in quotation marks makes them extra unhip, like when the Curtis comic strip writer makes references to "rap" music.) It was great while it lasted, but once Madison Avenue gets its hands on something with a cool factor, the expiration date is just around the corner.

If I were a single man, I wouldn't want to get caught with this in my medicine cabinet, no matter how good it smells.