indefinite articles

I suppose I should start by admitting that my knowledge of Batman, and comics in general, is minimal. Furthermore, I confess that my interest in expanding my knowledge on the topic is lukewarm at best. On my list of Things to Do So I Can Be Awesome, it is above learning to play the ukulele, but below mushroom hunting. I am hopeful, however, that my naivete might provide for some interesting insights on the matter of the Batman.

Television was the foundation of my childhood existence. In the summers I’d lie in my plastic pool pretending I was somewhere far away until I got tired of imagining and wandered into the refrigerated comfort of the den. There I would sit on the cool wood floor in my towel and wait for the TV to take me somewhere my imagination couldn’t.

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Dear Gwen Stefani,

Seriously, if you hadn’t sported the bindi in 1995, I don’t know what sort of tired trend us pre-teen suburbanites would’ve latched on to. You liberated us from the greasy, grungy, helplessly style-challeneged, rock-chick prototype: the Alanis Morissettes, the Fiona Apples, the Courtney Loves. You kept “cute” interesting in sweet vintage numbers when Jewel, Sarah McLachlan and Tori Amos were sporting gauzy, fairy-inspired, piano-ballad-in-the-desert style get ups. You even managed to glamorize the fierce pencil-thin eyebrows and black lip-liner of The Chola while bearing your broken heart in the “Don’t Speak” video. Screaming, peroxided, and always perfectly manicured, you were a role model with style.

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