I have now spent what seems like 14 full days watching the Where The Wild Things Are trailer. It’s nourishment for me, sustenance, at this point. I feel that if I don’t watch it, dissect it, consume it, I will lose it, and that is a loss I am not prepared to handle.

There is a lot about culture, specifically pop culture, which is dispensable. Forgettable. Trivial. You watch it on a lark, or because it’s pretty, or the explosions, or the Rachel McAdams, and you don’t feel one way or the other, emotionally, about it. Sequels meant to provide you with that safe feeling of security; no brain power is needed, you have already rode this ride, you know the loops and the spins, you will be OK. And that is all fine, to a point.

The other side is culture that is vitally important to your life on a conscious and subconscious level. Stories that have affected the way you think, characters that define you, words you live by. Art is a visceral experience; an active viewer registers a chemical response to the thing being viewed. This chemistry is inherently fixed, as Malcolm Gladwell would tell you, and is affected by synapses in the brain that cannot be comprehended. In other words, you have no choice over the things you love and hate. Everything that makes you who you are, environment, experience, et al, affect your chemistry.

I’m going on at length about this, so that when I tell you the chemical reaction I am having to the WTWTA trailer is so potent my skin is literally heating up, you won’t think I’m speaking in hyperbole. I watch this trailer and I lose my shit. Lose it.

I do so because the combination of images and sounds is so beautiful. Because the care being put into this movie is so readily apparent. Because I have long desired to see the Wild Things come to life, and here they are, as real as in my dreams, and I can not seem to shake the feeling that my imagination, my wild imagination, was right on on this one thing, and that validation is more enriching than love, in this moment.

My Mom read me this story. I looked at the pages and she read the words. I was that boy. I was Max. I had feelings of anger and hope and ambivalence. I was confused by my parents’ behavior, by how different I felt from my friends and schoolmates. I longed to be part of a community where I was the focus, where I was set free to revel in my id. I wanted to ride in my sail boat to that faraway land. This was important to me. And it has stayed important to me, as all landmark art does.

When I point out the difference between trivial and transcendent pop culture, I do so to illustrate just how vital certain works are, and how important it is for them not to be mangled or disrespected. My Dad read me The Cat in the Hat, but as I had no real connection to it (I care about a cat coming to life and playing with paint?), seeing Mike Myers piss on Dr. Suess’ memory wasn’t such a travesty. The story just didn’t resonate with me on a physiological level. Where the Wild Things Are did.

Had the creatures been made to look fake or “funny” or childish, I would have been heartbroken. Had Max not been wearing his costume, had he not danced and ran and growled, had the Wild Things not roared their terrible roar, it would have crushed me. Because it would have taken away that memory I have of being a child, being told a story, and believing in my mind that this was real. That it was right. That it was OK.

And so I watch this trailer and become a child again. And my mind moves and whirls and my heart breaks and my soul dissolves into molecules. And I close my eyes and relief washes over me; this memory, this sacred thing, is safe. I am safe.

And then I lose my shit.

The best shadow since the Episode 1 teaser poster.

This is EXACTLY what a kid looks like when he confuses fear with anger. How human is this movie!

The ultimate. Just the ultimate.

The “E” is a Wild Things foot. Did you just die? Did you just die a beautiful death? I thought so.

Aaaaaaand I have lost control of my faculties.

Holy Jesus. They actually made the Wild Things legitimately frightening. Love it.

An inside peek into what a boy sees when he uses his imagination.

This is where I truly lost it. That Spike understood that the book, in its basest form, is a cry for help from a young boy, slays me. Max is acting out because he lost his father. The Wild Things ARE his Dad. When he plays with them, he is really playing with the Ghost of his abandoned Father. There just aren’t words for the astounding tragedy of that idea.

When was the last time you rolled down a hill? It’s been too long.

Are you five years old, curled up into a ball, eyes wide with the wonder of the world at your feet? Cause I am. And continue to be…

Bangarang!

I want to see all sorts of this movie. All sorts!

Bangarang!

A quick word about the judges… were they all drunk? Or just really tired (in general or of each other, doesn’t matter)? Way too much bitchiness and disagreement and restless behavior tonight. Ryan kept twitching at the judges table, expecting a slapfight or gay joke from Simon, Kara and Paula were alternately mad dogging each other and orgasming over the grody Jonas Brother, Adam Lambert. And Randy found a way to have even less to say. I also didn’t like that Ryan was dressed in casual wear, and how shrimpy his short-sleeve button down made his guns look. Where’s your killer instinct, Rybo?

There’s a real lack of effort problem on the show this season. Hopefully the Top 12 round will make some bitches up.

Anyway! Here we go…

GROUP 2 – Top 12

Jasmine Murray - In any other season she’d be a lock for the Top 12.

Matt Giraud - A shivering, shaking mess of pitchy douchebaggery. Doesn’t matter. He’s being groomed.

Jeanine Vailes - The homeless persons Leona Lewis. But with better legs… and less talent.

Nick Mitchell - Why are they letting him make such a mockery of the show?

Allison Iraheta - Hate the hair, hate the dangly star ring, but love the voice.

Kris Allen - Forgettable, with no shot for the Top 12. But I liked him.

Megan Joy Corkrey - Was it special needs? Yes, but it was ADORABLE, boofy special needs.

Matt Breitzke - Loved the song, bored the singer. We wasted a slot on him?

Jesse Langseth - Great body, great voice. But I’d rather have my special needs boof.

Kai Kalama - Boring boringness that bored me to boring. But I liked his name.

Mishavonna Henson - Total punim boof, but why did she sing that rancid Train song?

Adam Lambert - A bigger fake than Nick Mitchell. Except Lambert could actually win Idol.

And the predictions…

Top 3: Allison Iraheta, Adam Lambert, Matt Giraud

Wild Cards: Jasmine Murray, Megan Joy Corkrey, Kris Allen

Real quick before we begin, a word on each judge:

Randy: Should never wear scarves. Ever. On his person. Ever. Again.

Kara: Should flirt with the lighting guys a bit more. They’re practically spotlighting her giant schnozz. But she gave good notes tonight.

Paula: Should always have bangs. On her person. Always.

Simon: Should remind the studio audience to STFU more often. Kara is just as bitchy as Simon, and in a far less commercially constructive way, so why is everyone always giving him hell? Haven’t they picked up over the last seven seasons that he’s ALWAYS right?

Anyway! Here we go…

GROUP 1 – Top 12

Jackie Tohn - Please never do that with your legs in those pants, again. Ever.

Rickey Braddy - Can a great voice triumph over bad fashion & zero charisma? For now.

Alexis Grace - When did Chloe from Smallville start belting out diva ballads? And well?

Brent Keith - Will be a successful country singer at some point. Just not here.

Stevie Wright - Who puts their big opportunity in Taylor Swift’s songwriting hands? Epic Fail.

Anoop - American just isn’t ready for a male Indian-American Idol. Who sings ballads.

Casey Carlson - I never expected my BOOF to be a good singer. Good thing…

Michael Sarver - Gavin DeGraw is a lay-up. Way to take a risk, guy!

Anne Marie Boskovich - Looked eight kinds of boofy, sang eight kinds of pitchy. Nice try.

Stephen Fowler - So forgettable & charisma-deficient I forget to put him in this post.

Tatiana Del Toro - I don’t care that some moments were good, she’s still Crazy McPsychopants.

Danny Gokey - As the current front-runner, shouldn’t he try to dress better? Or shave?

And the predictions…

TOP 3: Danny Gokey, Alexis Grace, Michael Sarver

WILD CARDS: Tatiana Del Toro, Rickey Braddy, Casey Carlson (BOOFiness alone got Haley Scarnato into the Top 9, it’ll keep Casey in the game for at least one more round)

How are we a full month into the season and literally nothing has happened except a heinous girl in a bikini, Ryan not-fiving a blind guy and the world-crushing awfulness that is Tatiana Del Toro? Seriously, has there been ONE good note of music sung in four weeks?

By this time last season David Archuleta had already birthed puppies across the globe, Brooke White had put Vanessa Carlton out of business and Ramiele Malubay had started me down the path of the BOOF!

Who are even the front runners this year? We usually have at least one by now. Danny Gokey has been getting the camera time, but he’s too homeless person’s Elliot Yamin to even come close to sniffing the Top 2. Joanna Pacitti is a hot mess, Anoop is riding an Obama wave that will never last, Nick Mitchell is Nathan Lane, Von Smith is an actual alien being and all the rest are who cares? So basically we have Jasmine, my BOOF! and a dude to be named later.

I have a sickening feeling that Season 8 is Season 6 in disguise; a hodgepodge of unattractive medium-talents who combine to make the blahiest blah that ever blahed after the break. And here’s to you Blake Lewis, a nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

For what it’s worth, as I do every year, here are my American Idol Season Eight Early Favorites:

CASEY CARLSON

My reasoning is thus: BOOF!

The defense rests.

DANNY GOKEY

A dead wife, a Joe Cocker voice and a compelling hetero lifemate scenario make for a fastpass to the Finals. He’s gonna be with us till Early May, trust The Jay.

JASMINE MURRAY

The token perfect African American/amazing sixteen year-old that gets to the Top 5 every year. In a month’s time we will all secretly agree she’s the most talented kid on the show, and hope to God Tatiana doesn’t kill her in her sleep. Also, btdubs, if Jasmine doesn’t sing “Halo” at some point this season, I will come out this show like a spider monkey.

SCOTT MACINTYRE

How are you gonna kick off a blind guy? It’s not happening. Besides, Ryan needs at least seven more weeks of helping him down steps and politely describing the set, to atone for humiliating himself on national TV in the Not-Five Incident. And you find me one man on this Earth doesn’t want to see Scott try to do the choreographed group routines. You find that man!

STEVIE WRIGHT

A great name, an endearing horse face, a passing resemblance to my College girlfriend (always a good way to make this list, ahem Amy Krebs ahem), a solid voice and not a chance in the world to make it past the Top 9, what’s not to love?

ADAM LAMBERT

If only because staring at his ruddy, pock-marked skin in HD each week will remind me to moisturize, exfoliate and bust some micro derm-abrasion my face on the frakking daily. Because really, the face is pretty much all I got. Also, you know, he’s talented.

…Like that’s ever helped ANY contestant on American Idol!

Bangarang!

Seriously, that’s a hot picture.

Bangarang!

I’m also quite fond of the guy’s “we are” as he sneakily leans back. And her head tilt response. And his bit of business straightening out his shirt.

This is quite the well-directed commercial.

And how she walks into the room and presents herself, fully expecting a big response, gets it, but doesn’t quite know what to do with it because he’s not equally as dressed up, and therefore delivers the “thanks” in the way she hadn’t practiced in the bathroom mirror as she was getting ready. Which, then, begs the question: are we to assume she’s a stereotypical dumb blonde, or did the adwizards hire a beautiful blonde girl who can do a parody of a stereotypical blonde girl?

This is quite the well-cast commercial.

I’m also confused as to where this is all taking place. Obviously they’re dating, maybe even boyfriend and girlfriend. Did she get ready at her place, then come over? Wouldn’t she expect to be picked up? Why didn’t he open the door for her if she was knocking? Who leaves their apartment door open in any situation that isn’t an NBC sitcom from the 90′s? And why am I putting so much thought into this?

This is quite the mysterious commercial.

And who even eats Carl’s Jr. for dinner? Or, for that matter, any other time of the day that isn’t “lunch” or “drunk at 2 am, unable to locate a Jack in the Box, and confident in their ability to make it to a bathroom within eight minutes of completion of the meal”? And seriously, HE expects HER to eat Carl’s Jr? Or any fast food at all? Or “steak”, for that matter? This guy is delusional. And a dick boyfriend. But also? Kind of my hero.

Oh, and did I happen to mention she’s really hot? Cause: BOOF. This is her, btw: Tamara Brown.

Is this the best “unbelievably hot chick in a surprisingly good commercial promoting terrible junk food” since Ali Landry caught Doritos in her mouth? It may be too early to tell. We’re gonna need to see if Tamara can parlay this spot into a third-billed lead in a CW teen drama, a Playboy magazine cover and a failed engagement to at least one former child star.

But one thing is for sure: this is QUITE the commercial.

Bangarang!