The Devolution of Carol Peletier

**If you haven't watched the season six finale of "The Walking Dead," TURN BACK NOW!**

“The Walking Dead” has often struggled with its representation of women. For instance, we had Andrea, whose eharmony profile could have read, “I enjoy pina colodas, getting caught in the rain, and sleeping with psychopaths who are all about that premeditated murder.” Then there was Beth, who spent a lot of time being pretty and singing in the background like some sort of post-apocalyptic Disney princess. During her involuntary stay at the hospital, she finally began to show some real agency, only to die a pointless and inane death in order to give the other characters FEELINGS. And don’t even get me started on Lori, who occasionally took a break from being a neglectful mother and an awful wife to snap at other women for being useful in ways that didn’t involve housework. 

God image found here.

Things have gotten better. Michonne is a smart, capable woman warrior with a good heart. Maggie, who was always likable and intelligent, has come into her own over the seasons as a fighter and a leader. Rosita may be criminally underdeveloped, but girlfriend knows her way around a firearm. And Sasha is a strong character who gave us an intriguing depiction of PTSD. But the biggest saving grace for “The Walking Dead” when it comes to its portrayal of women was Carol Peletier. And believe me, those are words I’d never thought I’d say.

There was a time when Carol was near the top of the list of the people I didn't mind dying to feed the show’s body count. Shrinking and meek, she seemed to exist in those early seasons solely to feed Daryl’s character development as he transformed from surly redneck menace to gentle victim hiding his bruised heart behind manly posturing. 

Found here.

Then Carol became intriguingly complex. For the good of the group, she killed and burned two sick people to keep their illness from spreading. When Lizzie’s mental illness manifested, making it clear that she was a liability and there was no way to save her, Carol was the one who stepped up and told her to “look at the flowers.” Then Terminus happened, and Carol the battered housewife became freaking Rambo. No, actually, I think Carol Peletier might be the boogey man that Rambo checks his closet for before he can fall asleep at night. The effectiveness of her one-woman assault to save her friends from the cannibals was awe-inspiring. And just when you thought that she was going to openly embrace being the action hero goddess that her friends knew her to be, she went undercover in Alexandria, simpering, wearing cardigans, and baking cookies like a wily, post-apocalyptic Martha Stewart. By this time, Carol had learned all about the element of surprise, and nothing surprises people more than a pink-cheeked, doe-eyed housewife who can mow down ranks of Wolves without batting an eyelash. In this manner did she go from being a ho hum trope to being one of my absolute favorite characters. 

But of course, the good “Walking Dead” giveth, and then the good “Walking Dead” taketh away. Just as Carol was beginning to shine as a beacon, being one of the few, precious female antiheroes on TV, she suddenly began to dim.

There was no build up. No arc. No trigger. One minute, Carol’s Facebook status was, “I will totally kill Morgan for not killing people.” The next, she’s posted, “OH MY GOD, I’VE BEEN MURDERING PEOPLE ALL THIS TIME???!!? WHY DIDN’T SOMEONE TELL ME?!” (See below.)

Yes, I made this. Yes, I need a life.

I realize that a crisis of conscience is an inherently internal thing, but this is a TV show. In a novel, you could just ramble out her internal monologue so that the reader could follow her thinking. In a show, I need to see what happened to trigger the character arc so I can follow along and evaluate whether it makes sense. Otherwise, the character develops BECAUSE THE WRITERS SAY SO, THAT’S WHY, which is seldom an acceptable reason. And honestly, the only thing that’s been suggested so far as a trigger for her recent transformation is the death of Sam, the kid she threatened and bullied until he got himself killed. After all, she did leave cookies on his grave. The problem is, his death was not her fault. She also had no time to develop any sort of attachment to him. As my friend pointed out, she actually bonded more with Lizzie before she shot her in the head and still walked away without coming anywhere near the mental collapse she suffered in season six's final episode.

Ultimately, no matter why they decided to turn Carol the Badass into Carol the Whiney Crybaby, it’s not a good reason. Carol the Badass was complicated and interesting. As a rare, morally ambiguous woman who is able to use the fact that people underestimate her to her advantage, she was the TV heroine equivalent of a goddamn unicorn. As a woman whose emotions suddenly got the best of her, putting her and her friends in danger, she’s as common as a TV trope penny. “The Walking Dead” fans deserve better than tired tropes. The fans deserve Carol the Badass. 

Behind Blue Eyes: Reflections on the Demise of Merle Dixon

The death of Merle Dixon echoed through the "Walking Dead" fandom like a gunshot. For a moment, there was only stillness and horror as we watched Daryl dissolve into sobbing, inconsolable grief. Then, as the younger Dixon stabbing his zombified brother's face into a messy goo and the credits rolled, the internet erupted.

Admit it. If you ran into a zombie with a knife hand, you'd poop yourself and die.

Even dead, Merle scares the crap out of us.

Original image found here.

Some folks were pleased. They never liked Merle. And honestly, what was there to like? Merle was a drug-using racist asshole who was introduced to us in season 1 as the guy playing alpha male and popping shots off in the middle of zombie-filled Atlanta. When he turned up as the sadistic right hand of the Governor, no one was really surprised. Merle had "henchman" written all over him. The way he pummeled Glenn into mush and then shoved a walker in to finish him really cinched it. Merle was the devil. He recognized that everyone must see him that way, himself, in "This Sorrowful Life."

"Buck up, son. This is still better than if it came to arm-wrestling."

Original image found here.

But Merle had always given hints that he was more than just a redneck stereotype fit only for slaughter. For one thing, whether you love him or you hate him, you can't deny that he's  a complete badass. I don't think a single one of us can imagine having the stones to saw off our own hand, stumble downstairs without fainting, and cauterize the wound on a stove. And even if we could even manage such a thing, I doubt the average Joe would be able to fight his way out of Atlanta one-handed and haul ass to safety while weak from blood loss. No, I think in Merle's situation, most people would've curled up into a weepy, shivering ball of human misery and waited for death to find them.

"I have feelings. Shhhh. Don't tell anyone."

Original image found here. 

Coming back as a hallucination in season 2, Merle was as antagonistic as ever, haranguing a fallen Daryl with a varied and colorful array of insults to his manhood and fortitude. But even as a hallucination, there was a  sense that Merle considered himself to be acting for Daryl's own good. And indeed, through his stinging hail of verbal barbs, he drove his weary brother up and out of the gorge so that he could seek treatment for the injuries he sustained in his fall.

"And if you do not go, I shall taunt you a second time!"

Original image found here.

When we finally catch up with the corporeal Merle and his shiny new knife-hand in season 3, the only thing our pal Merle can think of once he knows Daryl's still out there is finding his baby brother. And you have to wonder why. Merle's been painted as an unsentimental hardass up to this point. He's not a nice guy, he's not a caring guy, and we'd never actually seen these two interact in the flesh. It seems like a harsh question to ask about any human being, but I had to wonder, did he want his brother back because he loved him or was it a control thing? Did he miss his brother's company, or did he have to have him because he was HIS brother?

*singing* "I can't liiiiiiiive... if living is without you!"

Original image found here.

Honestly, I didn't know until the two Dixons left the group to fend for themselves in "Home." Predictably, despite Daryl leaving the people he'd come to care for and respect to be with Merle, Merle continued to berate and deride his brother. And seeing Daryl spurred to heroics to help stranded strangers escape from walkers doesn't make Merle any kinder. He clearly regarded his brother's bravery as the worst sort of foolishness. But then their conversation takes a turn. Merle is aghast to discover that his brother had taken the beatings Merle used to suffer at their father's hands in Merle's absence. It sets him back, throws him off his macho game, and leaves him fumbling for equilibrium. You can tell he hates that this happened to his brother, and he wants to make things right somehow, but he knows that he'll never be welcome at the prison. In the end, he goes back, because Daryl makes it clear that he's going back with or without him.

"This Sorrowful Life" then gives us Merle in his death throes, thrashing like prey in the jaws of an alligator. He knows how they all see him. Even as Daryl tries to talk Glenn into forgiving Merle for that whole attempted murder business, Merle is aware that the group looks at him as the bad guy and probably always will. There's something particularly wild in his search for drugs in the prison bedding. I saw someone who can't stay still, who can't stay within his own skin without the benefit of a little medicinally-induced dullness. 

He seemed to welcome the grim, murderous task of delivering Michonne. This was the best they could expected of him, that he would do their dirty work for them. And he decided, when Rick asked him to do it, to live up to their expectations. If they wanted him to be soulless garbage, then he would be soulless garbage and do the thing that none of them had the stomach for. And Merle decided there would be no going back on this. Rick wanted him to be the hooded executioner taking the taunts and jeers of the crowd for him, and he was going to carry out his orders even if they were rescinded. So he took Michonne and bore her off to be their sacrificial lamb.

She did get under his skin, digging in about how he wasn't the man he tried to pretend he was. That he wouldn't lament being a bad guy if he really was one. And truthfully, it was telling that he had never killed anyone before the apocalypse and that he kept count of those he did since then. The count suggested to me a man who felt each death leave a mark on his soul, which wouldn't be the case if he had no soul to speak of. 

When Merle let Michonne go and went on his sniper mission against the Governor's men, we all knew Merle had decided then that he wasn't coming back to the prison. That he wasn't coming back anywhere, if he could help it. But the why of it had people confused. And yet, while I wholeheartedly agree that the motivation behind Merle's final mission could have been much more clearly developed, I completely understood it.

In this episode, Merle realized that his brother had a new family. Daryl had a place in the prison, with these people who cared for him and respected him. They would never feel that way about Merle. He could only linger in the shadows, pissing them off and accepting the brunt of their hateful stares as his due, and be the outsider there by Daryl's grace alone. And chances are, he was going to screw it up for Daryl. I think when he was hunting up drugs, he could feel the restlessness that drives him to sin stirring, wanting to fight and rant and raise Hell. And he may have been trying to resist it, to dull it, but he'd give in eventually and ruin everything. Then he'd put Daryl in the position of choosing between Merle, who didn't know how to treat him well, or the group of people who did. 

It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Merle had come to see himself as the others did, to believe himself incapable of better. And because all he could do was drag Daryl down with him, he did the only useful thing he could think of: he decided to take himself out of the picture and bring as many of those Woodbury bastards with him as possible. 

What he couldn't do was go back and face the group after doing exactly what was expected of him. He couldn't pretend like he was capable of being a better man. He just had to fight as cleverly and as brutally as only he knew how, and hope that his brother would be better for it. 

Which actually showed that he would have been capable of being a good man, if he had only been able to believe it, himself.

"You've got to play the hand you're dealt. I only got one."

-Merle Dixon in "This Sorrowful Life."

Original image found here. 

I wasn't happy that Merle died in the end. I was torn apart by Daryl's reaction, and by the notions of what might have been if Merle had just had an ounce of faith in himself. And for myself, I suspect that even if this had to be Merle's end, it could have done him more justice if we'd gotten to see a few more glimpses of the man he really was beneath the bad guy, the henchman, the racist redneck and verbally abusive older brother. There was more to Merle, and we only scratched the surface. But I was happy to have the answer to my question in the end. Merle did love Daryl, and he loved him more than his own life.

This one's for you, Merle.

"Behind Blue Eyes" by The Who

My Geeky Valentine

If there a certain nerd girl or guy you wish you were cozied up with this Valentine's Day? Or perhaps you've already landed the geek of your dreams, but you don't know how to express your feelings properly? Well, here are a few tools to make your nerdy love's glasses fog up.

Helpful Links: 

Na’vi, Klingon and Elvish Valentines: Heart Talk for Geeks- Live long and prosper with your nerd honey after sending him/her Valentine's Day greetings in Na'vi, Klingon or Elvish. 

Lord of the Rings Pick-up Lines- Not sure what it takes to get your One Ring on your sweetie's finger? Start with these Lord of the Rings-inspired pick-up lines!

100 Geeky Valentine's Day Gifts, Geeky Valentine's Day Gift Ideas, Think Geek: Geek Love- From a Bat-bra to Star Trek cologne, these sites are your guide to presents for your preciousssss.

Geek Candy- Though this article was intended to provide Halloween candy suggestions, I suspect any geek would be your sweetie for a chocolate Vader pop! However, if these aren't the treats you were looking for, perhaps you'd prefer a light-up candy light saber, a Legend of Zelda tin of mints, or a Limited Edition Star Trek Pez set from ThinkGeek?

And Now For Some Randomness:

Today, I was sending out Tweets to the sweet, showering my Twitter followers with nerdy sentiments. I've included my favorites here. 

The Empire is watching. Get some Valentines love today or be Force-choked.

Original image found here.

With great vest comes great responsibility... to spread the love and 

not let bun-head hoard the goods!

Original image found here.

Don't mind if I R2...

Original image found here.

If his tree palace is a-rocking, don't come a-knocking...

Original image found here.

Because you can't hurry love... Or wizards, apparently.

Original image found here.

Here's hoping you have someone to make sweet music with...

Original image found here.

And because I love Daryl Dixon like a fat kid loves cake, 

I looked up some cool images of him and made these: 

Because the other guy 'bowed out.

If you feel like chasing tail this Valentine's Day...

The Thrilling Conclusion: 

So there's your dose of Valentine's Day nerdiness. Until next time, remember to be...

Original image found here.

The Visual Guide to Redneck Burns

Ok, so maybe it's just one redneck burn in particular, but nonetheless, just in case one needs a visual aid...

Burn on who? That's right, burn on you, Jimmy.

CLICK THE IMAGE TO VIEW FULL-SIZE AND UNOBSCURED.

A Prediction for Walking Dead, Season Three

Merle's coming back next season, and of course, the hand-related puns just write themselves. Of course, I'd as soon mock a badass like Merle Dixon as I would try to tickle a polar bear, and I assume in both cases I'd get eviscerated. Nonetheless, I just had to express these notions in a little comic strip. And because Glenn is the perfect candidate for the insert-foot-in-mouth moment, well, this is the result.

UPDATE: I gave this picture to Steven Yeun at Dragon*Con 2012 and he was very sweet. He insisted that he was going to tape it up immediately and kept saying, "that is so good!" *blushing* Was very gratifying. Albeit, I tweeted at him later that I forgot to sign it, and he tweeted a thanks back, and then I looked at this blog and went, "Oh my God. I did sign it. I am SO blonde." So, you know, hopefully he didn't think I was just being a total attention whore. :P

Of Barn Fires and Magic Gas

All right, I've been off the grid for a while, but very dire things have been consuming my attention. First, we had all the TV season finales, which pretty much absorbed my undivided attention. Without going into excruciating detail, I'll give you a thumbnail sketch of how this season's shows left me:

(Caution- spoilers ahead. TURN BACK NOW BEFORE IT'S TOO LA- Aw, you're screwed.)

The Walking Dead- "Beside the Dying Fire"- aired March 18, 2012- Walking Dead went down this season in a blaze of glory, and so did poor Hershel's farm. The body count skyrocketed as all of the red shirts who have been lurking in the background finally got picked off- that means you, Jimmy and Patricia!-  and our heroes had to haul ass to greener, less zombie-filled pastures.

"Hey, we heard you were giving out free wounded chickens!"

Original image found here. 

Highlights included:

1) The survivors jousting, knight-like, from inside of cars, gliding in and out of the fray with the designated shooters hanging of the window;

"Hi-ho, Ford pickup truck, AWAAAAAAY!"

Original image found here. 

2) In the midst of Maggie's nervous breakdown as she and Glenn are separated from the herd, Glenn finally tells the woman he loves her;

"Wow, confessions of love in a parked car always sound more sincere from the front seat."

Original image found here.

3) Angela gets left behind and goes on a marathon flight/zombie-massacre through the woods until she final collapses and is rescued by...

"What happened to my comrades? Well, let's just say that next time they'll think twice before getting handsy with a chick wielding a sword."

Original image found here.

We won't even go into Rick explaining that if they want him to the boss, he's gonna be the biggest boss since Tony Danza (ok, I'm paraphrasing a little...); the shocking revelation that everyone's infected and that any death, even if not from a bite, turns one into the undead; or the slow pan to the prison waiting in the distance, chock full of gym equipment and fresh, undropped soap. The end result? Sheer, unadulterated awesomeness.

If you missed the finale, or any episodes this season, check out the July 7-8 Preview Weekend on AMC, in which we receive a marathon of seasons one and two, fresh doses of Chris Hardwick-y goodness, and sneak peeks at Season 3!!!

Once Upon A Time-"A Land Without Magic"- aired May 13, 2012- "The Walking Dead" wasn't the only show that decided to go all action hero on our pansy asses. "Once Upon A Time" had a few swashbuckling scenes to make sure we were paying proper attention to the thrilling final chapter of season 1.

We returned to the story as Henry lays dying, having bitten the bullet, uh, apple, for Emma to prove to his Scully of a mom that all this magic hooey isn't hooey after all. Nevermind the mysterious accidents when people try to leave, mystical deaths, miraculously waking coma-patients, and the man who did a nose-dive out a window and appeared to have disappeared into his hat. What finally convinces our Doubting Thomas is the fact that Henry's symptoms aren't consistent with poison!

"If a doctor doesn't know what it is, it must be magic!"

"Um, weren't you on 'House'? And was it ever 'magic' on 'House'? Dumbass."

Original image found here.

Finally hip to the fact that she's been living amongst fairy tale creatures and is now going to have to send her roomie Mother's Day cards every year, Emma consults with Rumplestiltskin and discovers that the only way to save Henry is to retrieve the last bit of magic from inside the belly of Maleficent, who is trapped in dragon form below the town. And since Rumplestiltskin/ Mr. Gold has been so incredibly and unswervingly trustworthy all along, of course she runs to do exactly what he suggested.

"How is this not a face you can trust?"

Original image found here.

Meanwhile, back in the fairy tale world, we find out Emma's pops put the damn magic egg inside Maleficent in the first place while doing Rumplestiltskin's bidding. Of course, though, he did it to find a way to track down Snow, so we forgive him. This all leads us inexorably to the anti-climactic moment where he reaches Snow and finds out that she ate the apple and, rather than keeping the doctor away, it put her into a death sleep. They kiss, blah blah blah, and she wakes up and wuvs him dearly. They decide to tie the knot and as a wedding gift to themselves, to take back the kingdoms from their respective non-parents, the Evil Queen and the Not-So-Great-Either King. And kindly enough, nobody points out that Charming is actually really only entitled to inherit a sheep farm, not really being a prince n' all, because that would just be awkward.

"Cause if I told the girlies I was just a sheep farmer fresh out of lockdown, I wouldn't be getting no love, yo."

Original image found here.

Back in the "real world," the Queen has reneged on a promise to help Jefferson get his kid back (who despite diving into his hat when he fell out of a window a few episodes back, is still firmly in the world and recently claimed that the hat doesn't actually work anymore without being fed magic, which we're all going to conveniently overlook). This makes Jefferson angry, and you won't like Jefferson when he's angry, because he knows where you lock up your crazy people. He releases Belle, who Regina's been keeping in the nut house, and tells her to pop by Mr. Gold's and tell him "hallo" and, oh, maybe something about how Regina had her locked away.

This makes Mr. Gold angry and you won't like... Well, you'll never like Mr. Gold no matter what mood he's in, unless you're a weirdo. Or maybe a doe-eyed princess with a purring voice. 

"My eharmony profile says I'm looking for a cackling gold-skinned imp who can spin straw into gold and draft devious magical contracts. No smokers or Tauruses please."

Original image found here.

The upshot is that Emma slays a dragon and is OF COURSE double-crossed by Gold, who steals the egg for himself. Therefore Henry dies and is OF COURSE kissed awake again by his mom. This breaks the curse...

...ish.

The "ish" is due to the fact that the wee fairies are still people-sized, Jiminy is not a cricket, and Snow's 'do is still a bit butch. On the surface, absolutely nothing has changed. But underneath all this seeming of normality, everybody just got their memory back. And boy are they ticked.

We end with Regina in flight and a big magical cloud of gas that signifies magic being brought into this world by Mr. Gold. So while the tables have turned on our Evil Queen now, I get the feeling she's about to turn them yet again back on her lynch mob and get back up to her old tricks again. And her tricks aren't for kids!

PHWEW!

Ok, well, that was way more involved than I meant it to be. Whilst I may sound somewhat skeptical in places regarding "Once Upon a Time" and there are some weird little plot holes I hope they fill at some point, by and large I was suitably amused and impressed by the finale. And of course I loved "The Walking Dead" finale more than a fat kid loves cake.

Others may have let me down a little.

"The New Girl" finale, coming on the heels of fantastically hilarious episode after fantastically hilarious episode, felt a little "waa waa WAAAAAAAAAAH" to me. It seemed like a pointless contrivance to keep Nick and Jess apart to have Caroline zip back in and whisk him away and the "threat" didn't even last long enough to make it believable. The episode still had its funny moments, but after "Jess and Julia," "Injured," the "Fancyman" episodes, and "Kids," this was comparatively weak sauce, my friends. 

"GCB" also went down with a whimper, with a somewhat funny episode involving the ladies getting kidnapped in Mexico and stumbling around the desert in heels, but again, they were foiled by their own prior brilliance. Standing alone, the episode was fun. Compared to what we've seen from these gals in the past... it's C+ work from a straight-A student. 

There were others, but alas, I am fatigued. There's been a lot of to-do on my end since March, all TV-watching aside. I quit my litigator job, moved from Fort Lauderdale to Tallahassee to be a judicial clerk, and broke up with my boyfriend of about 2 and 1/2 years. I also finished my solo edits of the novel I've been writing for 10 years and sent it out to beta readers for testing and wrote a children's book for my nephew I'm hoping to get published. It's all good news, gentle readers. The ex and I were BFFs before he was a BF, so we've just reverted back to form, and things are still good there. Tallahassee is far more my speed, being as I'm a North Florida girl, born and raised, and despite taking a pretty decent pay-cut to make the move, the cost of living is so cheap here I'm pretty much in the same position financially. My new job rocks, the people at work are badass, and I am soooo much less stressed out. I'm also editing the novel I'm co-writing with my buddy, Sabrina, and essentially entering a cyclone of creative activity to rival Picasso's Blue Period. Only slightly less monochromatic. I like my colors, yo. 

In any case, I'll do my utmost to check back in with more nerdy nonsense soon!


P.S. Incidentally, I'll be hitting up Dragon*Con in the ATL come Labor Day Weekend. Hope to see some of my fellow Vixens and Ringers out in full force! Fangirl power!

The Measure of a Man-Boy

I see him setting up his camp at the edge of the woods. He marks his territory with dangling squirrels and zombie ears, hanging them along a line like another person might hang paper lanterns or colorful lights. It's an odd moment for me, seeing what happens when the resident crossbow-wielding badass is left to his own devices, living out the alternate future he might've had if he'd never found other survivors and began forging cautious friendships. Instead of the man who shot a zombie with an arrow he pulled out of his own torso, I see one of Peter Pan's Lost Boys, or perhaps one of the children from "Lord of the Flies," embracing his inner beast with juvenile savagery. For all the reasons that a little boy's nose wrinkles in sheer joy at violent wrestling matches on TV and squished frog guts in the street, our redneck hero decks his fortress of solitude with furry corpses and gruesome trophies. And he just dares you to try tresspassing.

"I, er, love what you've done with the place. Who's your decorator, Van Gogh?"

I speak, of course of Daryl Dixon of "The Walking Dead" fame. As I've previously mentioned, he caught my attention kind of like Dorothy's house caught the attention of the Wicked Witch of the East during the ode to Daryl that was episode 5 of season 2, "Chupacabra." In the course of one episode, we saw a man obsessed with his heroic quest, then rendered into boyish vulnerability by the spectre of his ogre of a big brother, and finishing in a spectacle of sheer zombie-slaying badassery worthy of the Chuck Norris-style jokes that have since sprung up around the character. Needless to say, I've been a Daryl fan ever since.

Somewhere, Chuck Norris is gnashing his teeth and punching a wall.

From http://dixonfacts.tumblr.com/

 Since then, the show's taken care not to neglect the fans' fascination with Daryl Dixon. He doesn't say much, still, but when he does speak, it's worth hearing. And every twitch and glare and reserved glance falls into place like a piece of a puzzle that's just beginning to come together before our very eyes. In our second episode back after the devastating mid-season finale, "Triggerfinger," we saw the above-described camp scene wherein our hero has chosen to stand apart from the others distrustfully and hunker down among his trophies. And consistent with what we saw in "Chupacabra," where you expect to see a lone wolf-type warrior, there's a little boy peeking warily out from his pillow fort in that moment. Far from undermining his authority as a ass-kicking machine, these moments save him from being just a one-dimensional action hero and make him seem like a relatable human being.



"You wanna come play in my fort? I got some dead squirrels!"

But the man-child sweetness wasn't all that this season had in store for Daryl, post-Chupacabra.  In "Judge, Jury, and Executioner," we start out with Daryl as an enforcer, torturing their captive, Randall, in an effort to find out if he's a threat to the group. There is something frightening, but judicious in his torment. Calculation flits through his stony-eyed stare, and you can see that he's not just bloodying Randall up because he enjoys it. Still, the brutality scares Carol, and did send a little chill through yours truly. Lest we forget that Mr. Dixon is not just about giving us the warm fuzzies, let those bloody knuckles serve as a reminder...

But later, as Dale endeavors to convince the group to spare Randall and, in doing so, hold on to their humanity, he comes to Daryl not for his brute force, his deadly accuracy with a crossbow, or his creative ways of smashing in zombie heads with nearby sticks. He comes to him as someone who has Rick's ear. (Hopefully not in the literal sense... *eyes ear decor suspiciously.*) Dale speaks to him as a decent man, someone who wanted to save Sophia and searched for her tirelessly, and someone whose opinion is worthy of respect. And suddenly, Daryl pipes up that he knew Shane lied about how Otis died. He points out that Shane claims Otis was covering Shane's retreat from the school, but Shane returned with Otis' gun. Aaaah... Now I didn't put that one together, myself. Well done, redneck ninja. Or shall we call you the redneck Sherlock Holmes now?

"It's elementary, my dear Shane. No, seriously. That's the highest grade I went to. School is for suckers. Everything I need to know, I learned in redneck kindergarten."

 Picture from: http://www.examiner.com/slideshow/daryl-dixon-tracks-the-whereabouts-of-sophia

Dale's perception of Daryl's worth is vindicated a short time later when Dale is attacked in the field by a walker and has his guts scooped out like a generous serving of gooey butter pecan ice cream. Daryl is the first one to come to his rescue, slamming down onto the walker and smashing its brains in. But it's too late for our dear Dale, who is dying in horrible agony. And in this moment, when there's nothing to do but watch him suffer or help him end it, no one can stand to put him out of his misery. Except for Daryl, who takes the gun from Rick and puts a merciful bullet in Dale's brain with respect and reverence.

Everytime a bell rings, a redneck gets an angel vest.

 By the end of season 2, and especially in the wake of Shane's (timely) passing, we can see Daryl stepping forward more and more as second-in-command, the Oats to Rick's Hall. And boy, does this make Rick's dreams come true. He's got to feel thankful that Daryl's shown about as much romantic interest in any of the women in the group as he has in selling Mary Kay products door to door to make a little pocket money during the apocalypse. So Rick can rest easy that his new number 2 won't be sticking it to his wife and then trying to lead him out to a nice dark place with his stabbing knife at the ready. And if he can get the enigmatic redneck to be a bit more forthcoming, we've gotten a smattering of clues that Big D might have quite a lot to contribute.

Still, I'll be very interested to see where they take our guy in the future. We still don't know where he's coming from, not completely. We've had the most fleeting glimpses of his childhood trauma and the bullying relationship he had with big brother Merle. So while I do want to see Daryl as the enforcer, the sleuth, the second-in-command and the brutal warrior, I hope that whatever comes in the action-packed throes of Season 3, we don't lose that glimpse of the wary boy in his fortress of solitude. When he's surrounded by squirrels and ears and that fury that really just hides the fear that all these unlooked for connections might blow up in his face and leave him with still more scars that won't heal, this is what makes me watch his character with such keen fascination. Because I came for the badassery, but I stay for the child-like vulnerability. So may my favorite redneck man-boy ever reign supreme in the coming seasons, but continue to stay true to his roots.

What You Didn't See in Season 2, Ep. 5 of The Walking Dead...

We all saw Daryl Dixon shoot and later eat that squirrel in the episode of "The Walking Dead" entitled "Chupacabra." What we didn't realize is that he awakened the spirit of squirrel vengeance...



**EDIT: I sent this to Norman Reedus back in May and the squirrels made his blog o' fame in this post: http://bigbaldheadstuffboom.blogspot.com/2012/05/may25xxx.html. Woohoo, my squirrels are famous! #swagged**

8 Things I've Learned from "The Walking Dead"

***SPOILER ALERT**** DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T GOTTEN TO THE MIDSEASON FINALE OF SEASON TWO!!!
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
As the TV shows start trickling back in from their holiday vacations, I'm find myself still having to kill time while I wait for the stragglers. "New Girl" isn't actually new until next week. "How I Met Your Mother" gave us one new ep and then decided to slam us with a repeat. And I'm not sure, at this point, if "Cougar Town" is ever coming back. And unfortunately, "The Walking Dead" is at the back of the pack, shambling back onto AMC on Feb. 12th. So in the meantime, I put on random episodes of "The Walking Dead" after I run out of things On Demand that I haven't seen it and half-ignore them while I surf the net. At this point, having half-listened to every episode again twice, I've gotten to the point where I'm truly appreciating the lessons the zombie apocalypse has to teach. So to those who haven't quite reached the point of epiphany, I'll share what I've learned so far:

1. We never really appreciate having Jerry Springer to tell us who our baby-daddies are until he’s gone.
2. A parked Hyundai is a just a love machine. But it will work for somebody other than you, if they find it left abandoned after your untimely demise.
3. Being bald, even voluntarily so, turns you evil.
4. Squirrel intestines are the Wheaties of the zombie apocalypse. Wanna jump higher, run faster, and have the strength to crush zombie heads? Well, you better eat your squirrel parts!
5. If you are left handcuffed to a roof, maybe wait a little while before you decide to saw off your hand. Chances are, the moment you do it, the bastards who left you are going to show up to set you free.
6. Standards for pick-up lines go downhill after most of the eligible bachelors get picked off by zombies. “I would never have sex with you,” for instance, will apparently get things done.
7. A bird in the hand is still worth two in the bush. But a zombie kid in the barn is not worth more than any number of kids in the bush, because it just makes people sad.
8. Rolling downhill with a crossbow is waaaaaay worse than running with scissors.

So there you go. And someday, when you wake up one morning and realize that your neighbors are walking funny and chewing on people bits, you'll know how to handle yourself. Or at least the general philosophy to keep in mind.

From Elves to Zombies in Just Three Easy Steps!

Once upon a time, my sister started bugging me about watching a show on AMC called "The Walking Dead." "It's awesome," she insisted. "Seriously, you have to watch it."

"I don't know," I replied, skepticism lacing my voice like a poison for her enthusiasm. "Zombies are really more your thing than mine. Me, I'm strictly elves and vampires."

"Come on, Manda, it's badass," she said, undeterred. She was used to me being hard-headed about jumping on a trend, and had learned to ignore my sourpuss response. "Just watch an episode."

I did not watch an episode. Not a single one for the whole first season. Even when my facebook newsfeed was starting to look like a "Walking Dead" fan site, my reaction remained a vehement, "So what?"

Then, the summer after my big move from Tampa to Fort Lauderdale, while I was hiding in my apartment out of cultureshock and a subdued horror at the way people in South Florida drive, my boyfriend downloaded all of season one and suggested we have a marathon.

I finally caved. Sure, whatever, I thought. It's not like I have anything else to do.

The rest is history. Or, at least, it's becoming an integral part of the history of how I lost that last shred of self-respect I'd been clinging to after previously succumbing to the seedy underbelly of the Tolkien world.

You see, circa 2001, "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring" changed my life. I have been an avid reader of fantasy and science fiction novels since I learned to read in the first place. However, the dearth of good fantasy movies made me feel like I still lived in a world where my kind were relegated to the back of the literary bus, somewhere behind "serious" literature, crime dramas, chick lit, and books written by celebrities. Then I heard a rumor that someone finally made a well-budgeted, well-written adaptation of a fantasy novel. I went to the movie theater with cash and a healthy skepticism in hand and I walked out feeling like I'd just woken up from a beautiful dream. It was perfect. I felt like I'd been transported to another world for the low low price of $6.50 a ticket, inhabiting a vivid, frightening place where elves with flowing hair and gorgeous cheekbones floated around ethereally, ringwraiths lurked in shadows waiting to snatch at the passerby with  ghoulish fingers, and a wide-eyed hobbit who looked like a Precious Moment was the key to defending life, liberty, and the pursuit of Old Toby. Because it was the first movie in a long time to make me feel like fantasy geeks were recognized as a class which deserved recognition, it has always been my favorite of the trilogy, despite the poo-pooing of other fans at this notion. And it set me off on a path into messageboards and fan fiction and joining a group of women called "The Elf Huntresses" for a series of merry and sometimes risque conversations and imaginary adventures through Middle Earth.

I learned that I was a "Pervy Elf Fancier," and gradually became proud of that fact. I bought merchandise: rings and posters and an action figure. I wrote fan fiction, and actually went to the MTV Movie Awards in L.A. with a group of "Huntresses" to try and give Orlando Bloom and Elijah Wood funny t-shirts we'd made them. This, of course, was a wildly unsuccessful trip in terms of actually giving them the t-shirts, but was quite successful in the nerd-bonding, frolicking, and consuming-of-mashmallow-fluff sense.

When the whole crazy Tolkien ride ended, I told myself that was it. I mean, eventually, the third movie came and went, and the craze died down. There was much talk on the message boards of this being fine, no big deal, it just would take away all the fad-based fans and the true blue Ringers would be left holding the fort. This turned out to be more bravado than anything else, as interest dwindled all around, the conversations became less enthusiastic and diverse, and people just stopped coming back. It was the end of an era, a period in my life where I never felt like more of a dork, but was never so accepted for the quirky, dorky girl I was. It was difficult, and I still miss my huntresses, and the silly fun I had with them when it was all new and exciting. But it was over, and I had to move on with my life.

So I went back to "real life." Went to law school. Graduated. Moved back to Jacksonville. Got a job in Tampa and moved to Tampa. Somewhere in there, I lost a lot of weight, but never quite learned to stop trying to make people laugh so they wouldn't beat me up and take my lunch money. Then moved to Fort Lauderdale for work with my boyfriend and fellow nerd, and tried to make a go of it in South Florida.

Then, in one night of watching "The Walking Dead," suddenly, I'm a big dork again. I ordered an action figure. I have wiki'ed several of the actors because I somehow got interested in who they are as people, which is never a good sign for me. Having become a bit smitten with the character of Daryl Dixon in the Season Two episode entitled "Chupacabra" and having watched that episode about seven times the week it aired, alone, I ended up going on this obsessive quest to track down another movie featuring the same actor, "The Boondock Saints." People had been telling me it was awesome for years, but my snotty "just 'cause everyone else is jumping off a bridge" mentality kicked in and I resisted. But Daryl Dixon was now my hero, and Norman Reedus was my hero by association. And, consequently, the man was kinda hot, even without the crossbow. So on Black Friday this year, I went to four different stores until I found the movie and its sequel, and I bought them both, sight unseen.

This subsequently led to the purchase of another action figure. For which I could not help but judge myself.

The culmination of my nerd yearning for the company of other fangirls led me, most recently, to send an inquiry to a group mentioned in an episode of "The Talking Dead" who were like-minded fans of my man, Daryl: the Dixon's Vixens. I'm still waiting to hear back on that one, but I've got my fingers crossed. When I get to the fan fiction stage, I'll know that, no matter how old I get, or what size I wear, or how much I try to involve myself in the high-fallooting lifestyle of the city around me, I'm still the same nerdy girl who hid in the library in middle school reading Dragonlance novels and daydreaming about what kind of weapons I'd use if I was an elven warrior living in Krynn.

I like to think it's part of my charm.

So to recap, and give the title of this article any meaning whatsoever, here is how to transform a typical elf-fancying Ringer into a Zombie freak/ Dixon's Vixen- hopeful:

STEP ONE- Corner her with a copy of Season One of "The Walking Dead." Duct tape and a length of rope shouldn't be necessary. Just catch her when she's bored and too tired to argue.

STEP TWO- Once Season One has her sitting there going, "Oh my God, now what? No more CDC?!?", capitalize on the interest stimulated by the action and intensity of the first season by queuing up the first half of Season Two On Demand.

STEP THREE- Now this is important here, so please pay attention. You must make sure your "victim" gets to episode five. You can run out of time getting to episodes six and seven, that's fine. She'll be back for more of her own accord, no carrot or stick needed. But the ace in the hole in turning the head of your elf-fancier away from longbows and nice cheekbones to the grit and hidden vulnerability of Daryl Dixon lies in getting her to the ep where Daryl's insecurities and toughness get played up to full advantage. Where the man pulls an arrow out of his body and shoots it into the face of his enemy. Where squirrel sushi is eaten to triumphant blue-grassy music in the background, and the "redneck ninja," as my favorite recap calls him, emerges victorious against the forces of Zombiedom.

Once you've completed step three, it's over. Go ahead and have her copy of "Boondock Saints" waiting, with links to AMC's online store marked as a favorite on her computer so she can order her Daryl Dixon action figure. Your elf fancier doesn't have a prayer.