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Synthesis - Columns

From 2008 to 2015 I wrote a weekly column for Synthesis Weekly under the name Zooey Mae. What started as an outlet to review graphic novels and comic books evolved over the years to cover everything from pop culture to whatever menial event was happening in my life. Looking back, I think I spent much too much time regaling Chico with tales of my allergies. 

Not The Hero Chico Wanted, But The One We Deserved

Originally published in Synthesis Weekly: November 2014


Last week I was so caught up in my “I Voted” sticker ordeal (see also: not an ordeal at all, I’m just easily distracted), that the thing I had planned on discussing flew right out my brain window. I refer of course to Chico’s favorite holiday to hate, the thing everyone spends weeks lamenting and planning for, then it flies right by: Halloween. (In hindsight, the aforementioned description could conceivably describe all holidays. Except Easter. Depending on how “OK” you are with seeing your father dressed as a bunny rabbit, because in some cases that shit will stick with you.)

So. Halloween. I learned a few valuable lessons on Halloween. One: if you choose to dress as the fat landlord from The Big Lebowski during his one-man play, everyone will think you are either supposed to be Eve or Poison Ivy. By the way, if you’re making a Poison Ivy costume out of a nude onesie and ivy leaves, I’m not sure whether to applaud you or refer you to a healthy dose of Joel Schumacher. Two: if you pass on the full nude onesie and instead wear a nude leotard with two pairs of thick-as-hell nude tights from Rite Aid, your legs will definitely lose feeling after about an hour. Note: I lasted about 2 hours in this nude-nightmare contraption of my own making.

In other news, I’m sure by now you’ve all heard that a time capsule was recently discovered at Bidwell Mansion. This is really exciting, especially because of the endless myriad of things that could be in there. My initial thought upon hearing the news of the capsule was to recall how my favorite cousin Sarah once told me about how she once farted in a mason jar for a month, then sent it to her friend who lived across the country. My second thought was to imagine what John and Annie Bidwell’s farts might have smelled like. A stately smell, I’m sure. If this were a Michael Bay film, the capsule would probably contain a deadly airborne illness (weaponized by aliens wanting to take over the world, naturally) that would wipe out the crowd before one man rose above the rest to defeat the aliens, but not before blowing up the Bidwell Mansion and taking off in the diamond atop the the Senator (which was actually a spaceship), to fight the aliens.

Come to think of it, if this were a Joel Schumacher film, the capsule would be the size of a tomb. Annie and John Bidwell would come dancing out in a puff of smoke, each wearing impossibly sparkly catsuits and high-stepping like puzzling amalgamations of Jim Carrey’s rendition of the Grinch and The Riddler. John Bidwell’s catsuit would have giant pointy nipples. Obviously. Hmm…. I think I’m onto something here. Just a sec, I have to call Schumacher and Bay and tell them I have a wheelbarrow full of coke and a trillion dollar idea: John Bidwell: Freedom Dick Puncher.

Note: In doing research for this column I discovered some excellent news (Bad Boys III is rumored to be in pre-production), and terrible news (Transformers 5 is definitely in pre-production).

Arielle Mullen