Studio 60 riding off into the sunset strip

Well, to all three of you “Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip” fans out there wondering if the much-hyped Aaron Sorkin show-within-a-show would ever return, your wait is over. NBC slyly announced (if you call a website banner an announcement) that the dramedy would be back May 24, the day after May sweeps ends. Yeah, that’s not a good sign. This probably means that the Peacock is giving Sorkin and Co. a courtesy run off of the remaining six episodes before it goes off to that great back lot in the sky.

My response to this news is a resounding, “Meh.” As much as I was wowed by the show’s initial smarts and as much as I adore Sarah Paulson, the last few episodes have been decidedly unimpressive. In fact, since the Christmas episodes, it has been a downhill slalom of Olympic proportions. It’s almost as if the writers knew that the show was doomed and started updating their resumes instead. Now, I’m not even sure if I’ll bother to tune in to see how it all ends. Which is sad, because the show had such potential. Goodbye Harriet, we hardly knew ya. Sigh.

My Weekend Crush

Audrey Tautou is so exquisite, she seems almost better suited for a museum than the movies. While some might dismiss her as just another gamine of the moment, I believe the lovely French actress is one for the ages. If you didn’t fall just a little bit in love with her after watching “Amélie,” then you may want to check yourself for a pulse. Yet her appeal goes beyond woman-child adorableness. Certainly, the comparisons to Audrey Hepburn are obvious. But I think her charm comes from a more off-beat and down-to-earth place, as does her elegance. And then there’s the whole French thing. What can I say, I’m a sucker for a gal with je ne sais quoi. Happy weekend, all.

Blind Curve

OK, this is going to be a somewhat long and winding rant (I know, sounds fun, right?) If you’re feeling a bit peckish, now would be a good time to get a snack and possibly a beverage. OK, are you back? Feeling full and hydrated? Good, cause here we go.

After posting a picture of Michelle Rodriguez possessed by the spirit of Marcel Marceau over at my second home, a commenter mentioned that the actress had come out in the latest issue of Curve. I thought, “Finally!” All this hemming and hawing and being outed by crazed possible girlfriends was getting old.

So I dutifully went over to the magazine’s website to check out the story. Sadly, there was no direct link, just a headline that blared: “The Rebel Girl: Everything you’ve ever wanted to know about beautiful, bi bad girl, Michelle Rodriguez.”

I thought, “OK, fine. She is identifying as bisexual. Whatever, that’s cool.” Then I saw that that pillar of accuracy and tact Perez Hilton had apparently read the same headline and was praising Michelle for coming out as a “big dykon.” I rolled my eyes and thought, “Well, I’d better go dig this article up myself since it sounds like something I should probably blog about.”

Now, I canceled my Curve subscription years ago. I grew weary of the lame writing and quite frankly didn’t have time to read stories that had, for the most part, been reported by other outlets long ago. But, against my better instincts, I went out and bought the damn thing. Then I read the article.

What is this crap!?! First, it’s not a new interview (it appears to be cobbled together from past interviews and a skimming of Michelle’s Wikipedia biography). Second, the actress never makes any direct mention of her sexuality (it cites her past declarations that she wasn’t a lesbian, but had “experimented” with women). So, essentially, Curve just assigned her with the label of bisexual. Hello? Isn’t the GLBT movement about being able to love who you want and define yourself however you want, operative word being you? Finally, and possibly most importantly, the article just plain sucks. Seriously, how many synonyms for “tough” can you cram into two pages?

Have the ethics of celebrity outing been forever changed by that kooky masquerade ball Out magazine cover? Are we just randomly assigning sexual orientations to people? Now, Michelle’s sexuality is a not-so-secret secret to anyone with even the faintest gaydar and, you know, eyes. And, of course, I wish that all closeted celebrities would just be open and honest about who they are with the public. The more people come out, the more the world realizes that we are everywhere and we are everyone. But randomly outing celebrities and labeling them just to sell a few magazine, well, that serves no purpose other than greed. Long story not short at all, I want my $4.95 back.

Thank God It’s Thursday

This makes me want to marry Tina Fey and have her babies. Hey, it could happen.

Not so Rosie

The latest it-has-to-be-true-since-it’s-on-the-internet rumor making the rounds is that Rosie O’Donnell will announce later today that she is leaving “The View” at the end of the season. According to TMZ, “sources inside the show” say the word on Rosie’s departure has been spreading throughout Hollywood. No word, however, on why Rosie is exiting the morning chat fest. But if I were one of those people prone to random speculation (which, clearly, I’m not) I would say that the non-stop scrutiny of every single statement finally got to both Rosie and Barbara Walters.

Now, I’m no huge Rosie fan, but it is nice having an open, out and opinionated woman on national television every day. I also like her willingness to go out on a limb and say whatever the hell pops into her head. Of course, problems arise when she doesn’t think things through before she opens her mouth. And they are magnified when she doesn’t grasp the ramifications of those words. Still, overall, I have come to appreciate her presence on the show. She is loud and vocal and there is nothing wrong with that. Plenty of men on TV are loud and vocal and no one calls them nasty names or demands they shut up. What I have disliked most about the media coverage of Rosie is the misogynistic double standard that the exists in each gleeful proclamation of the latest “celebrity feud” or each over-hyped discussion of the newest “controversial comment.” But possibly the worst thing about this news (if it is indeed true) is that you just know it’s going to make Donald Trump’s day. Oy, that schmuck.

UPDATE: Yep, it’s true. Rosie is leaving the building in June when the season is over. Watch it unfold through the powers of the great oracle of our time, the internets. She and Barbara cite that old standby “failed contract negotiations” as the reason. Oh, Rosie. What will Fox News get all hot and bothered about once you’re gone?

Hey mom, can I borrow your pants?

What the hell? Seriously, neither of these two own full-length mirrors? Please, let this not mean that super high-waisted pants are really, truly back. Now, as overjoyed as I am that the era of the visible coin slot may finally be over, this is in no way an improvement. We shouldn’t go from pants that show off your ass cleavage to pants that come up to your actual cleavage. Is there no happy medium, people? Can we not agree that ultra low-rise and ultra mom-rise cuts are both terribly unflattering and just plain wrong? You shouldn’t be able to tuck your breasts into your pants. Ever. We must be vigilant and nip this latest trend in the bud before the warm weather arrives, otherwise we’re destined to a summer of starlets wearing high-waisted formal shorts and… Sweet merciful Jesus, no! We’re too late! Run, save yourselves!

Surrenders Turns One

Despite all odds and odder technological breakdowns (not to mention the mental ones), today marks my one-year blogging anniversary. That’s right folks, Dorothy Surrenders turns one today and I couldn’t be prouder of the wee tyke. OK, so the blog still tends to drool, isn’t properly potty trained and can’t string together a coherent sentence, but baby steps, people, baby steps. Overall, it has been an eventful and rewarding year. A look at the first 365 days, by the numbers:

• 342 posts posted
• 530 comments logged
• 2 awards lost
• 7,251 typos typed

In all seriousness, I started Surrenders on a whim and now it has become a whim with readers. For whatever reason, you marvelous fools keep coming back. You come from Canada, England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Greece, Malta, The Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Norway, Poland, Latvia, Estonia, Romania, Bulgaria, Hungary, Slovakia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia and Montenegro, Czech Republic, Croatia, Russia, Iceland, Turkey, Morocco, Israel, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Iran, India, China, Japan, South Korea, Malaysia, Thailand, Cambodia, Singapore, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Philippines, Indonesia, Australia, New Zealand, Senegal, Namibia, South Africa, Guam, Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, Trinidad and Tobago, Ecuador, Venezuela, Peru, Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina, Chile, Bolivia, Panama, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Mexico and even these here United States. (If I missed your country*, my apologies and holla!) As Jenny would say, “Big kiss to you!” So pucker up, all of you. You really are the reason I do this. Well, you and the voices in my head.

*NOTE: I’ve added your countries as they’ve popped up. Yes, that includes the shamefully overlooked Iceland. Thank you one and all for the kind blogday wishes. I’m feeling this strange sensation. It’s warm. It’s fuzzy. Must…resist… Awww, dammit, it’s hard to be a misanthrope when you feel this loved.

Pre-pre-L: Three in, one (hopefully) out

As you might have already read over at Ye Olde AfterEllen Blog, Showtime announced that Jodi, Phyllis and Tasha will return for another season of talking, laughing, loving, breathing, fighting, fucking, crying, drinking, writing, winning, losing, cheating, kissing, thinking and dreaming on “The L Word.”

Marlee Matlin will be back to bring the battle for Bette’s affections we all know is coming to fruition, and this time she has been upgraded from guest star to series regular. Oh, it’s on! Season 5 is going to be all, “Oh, no you di’int, Jodi!” “Bring it, Tina!” At some point, and I’m not proud of this, I hope we get a little hair pulling. Cybill Shepherd will be back again as a guest star. What I think this means is that Phyllis will again be relegated to brief moments of over-the-top cheese and/or clunky plot exposition (seriously, can she possibly speak more of Bette’s subtext out loud?). Which is good -- when it comes to Phyllis, less is so much more.Rose Rollins will be back as Alice’s soldier girl (no word on whether she’ll be back from Iraq as well). This, of course, only makes sense since otherwise it would be the most dangly, most glaring of loose ends in the show’s long line of dangling, glaring loose ends. This also makes me all sorts of happy because Alice and Tasha together are cuter than a bowlful of kittens. But, possibly the best news is the news that isn’t here. No word on Janina Gavankar, which probably means that Papi will not be back to torture us with her playa posturing and bad hats next season. This can only mean that there is a God, and she loves lesbians.

EDIT I: Yes, yes, it’s an “i” not a “y” in Jodi, my bad. I will go flog myself with a dictionary (which of course is no help with randomly cutsie spellings of names anyway). But seriously, with the rapid and inexplicable growth of the cast of late, who can keep up with all the spellings of all the revolving characters? And who adds two new characters in one season and ends both their names with an “i” anyway?
EDIT II: Well, this certainly hasn’t been one of my more successful posts. First, I misspell the name of a character I’ve spelled correctly all damn season, then I have people on message boards rejoicing in another typo. For the record, I have no problems with Janina, she seems like a very nice young woman. But I have all kinds of problems with the one-dimensional writing that turns her into a caricature that’s all swagger, no soul. Anyway, this serves as another reminder why I shouldn’t post so late at night. Yes, folks, those time stamps are correct. And also part of the reason my sentences on occasion look like they were typed by monkeys with hammers. The other reason, of course, is that I am an idiot. Sigh.

My Weekend Crush

Last weekend, Steffi Graf and her husband Andre Agassi were playing a charity event in Houston when he accidentally hit her in the face with his racquet, requiring three stitches. The news was relatively unextraordinary (but, if you are so inclined, you can watch the whack on YouTube), but it served to remind me how much I used to love to watch tennis. In particular, I used to love to watch Steffi. Her explosive whip of a forehand was a thing of beauty to behold. And then there were those seemingly-endless legs. Damn. I’m pretty sure that if we stood side-by-side her legs would stop somewhere near my armpits. I started rooting for Steffi back before her Golden Slam, when she was still playing Martina and Chrissy. I kept cheering as a string of would-be rivals came and went from Gabriela Sabatini (Ooh, remember her and those grunts? Man, I used to love tennis...) to Arantxa Sánchez Vicario to Monica Seles to Martina Hingis.

I know it’s cooler to root for the underdog, but the sheer dominance of Graf’s game was mesmerizing to watch. In fact, her loses were so unexpected that a friend and I once had to paint our toenails pretty colors to console ourselves after a nail biter of a French Open went the other way. Some called her cold and emotionless, but I always though of her as shy and reserved -- something I related to growing up as a very shy kid. When she and Andre first got together, I was a little quizzical. Fräulein Forehand with the Las Vegas Rebel? Really? But now – unfortunate face smacking aside – I think they make a good pair. They seem happy; she seems completely relaxed and he seems totally devoted. I still wish Steffi had won that last Wimbledon instead of Lindsay Davenport, but regardless she is a true champion for the ages. Happy weekend, all.

Campari = Cleavage

I can’t decide if this is pure genius or pure sexism. I suspect it’s a lot of both. A while back, I saw that Salma Hayek had signed on to appear in ads for Campari. A couple of the Hotel Campari-themed images appeared, showing a sultry Salma showing off her, uh, generous assets. Then, the other day I rediscovered the Hotel Campari campaign and saw that they had added a video and more pictures. Well, you guessed it, it’s breasts ahoy. In fact, all but one spot for the bitter apéritif prominently display Salma’s heaving bosoms. Of course, that shot showed off her butt instead. Now, I am all for boobies. Trust me, I’m all “Yeah, boobies!” over here. But, shouldn’t these ads be just a little more, I dunno, subtle? Apparently, not. Who needs such trifles as copy, dialogue and storyline? All we’re supposed to think is Campari = cleavage. Though, I guess when you’ve got breasts as amazing as Salma’s at your disposal, less is more. Or, in her case, more is more.

Sadly, not a lesbian movie

As I peruse the coming attractions, I’m always looking for new movies with intriguing titles. So, imagine my delight when I came across the film, “In the Land of Women.” A land of women? Sign me up! Book my ticket. My bags are already packed.

So, then, imagine my disappointment when I learned that the film was not about the Isle of Lesbos or Northampton or even the local Home Depot. It’s about Adam Brody searching his soul and finding love. Oh please. Seriously, yawn-o. If there is one trend I can do without it’s the rise of the insecure, narcissistic male antihero (for reference, I speak of the Zach Braffs of the world. Lloyd Dobler did it better, boys. Granted, a lot of new trends bug me – including, but not limited to, Ugg boots, high-waisted pants and Girls Gone Wild lesbianism).

But then, after I got past my initial distaste of the whiny male in arrested development genre, I took a look at the actual women in the cast. Hey, isn’t that Meg Ryan? Gee, could that be Olympia Dukakis? Wow, do I spy Kristen Stewart all grown up? Yes, yes, and – ahem – yes.

Kristen, you will remember, played Jodie Foster’s tomboy, look-alike daughter in “Panic Room.” She is, for the record, 17. And, as the movie poster so without-a-doubt shows, she plays Adam’s love interest. Adam, for the record, is 27. I’m not wonderful with the maths, but what kind of hurried-up May-December (OK, more like May-early October) relationship is this? The film synopsis calls Adam’s character a TV writer who goes back to Detroit to find himself and instead finds a whole family of women next door willing to offer him sage advice and, in Kristen’s case, a little tonsil hockey. So, basically, he returns home to date a high school student. Somehow, I don’t think this sort of thing would happen in a real land of women.

A light in the dark

I haven’t commented on the terrible tragedy that happened at Virginia Tech earlier this week because, well, this site tries to keep its sticky fingers away from the more pressing, more important news of the day. Surrenders is about fluff and fun, not death and destruction. But, in the end, I couldn’t keep ignoring the heartbreak. We are all part of this world and we all feel its pain. That the senseless hatred of one man can bring misery and pain to so many is one of the great unexplained injustices of our universe. May the victims’ families and friends, the campus of Virginia Tech and a grieving nation find the strength to heal their broken hearts and the will to believe that this world still can be a better, more peaceful place.

Herbie Fully Lesbian

So, the latest totally unsubstantiated lesbian rumor making the rounds is that Lindsay Lohan and her DJ friend Samantha Ronson are in a relationship. I am trying to decide if I care. On the one hand, OK, that’s fine and good for them. On the other hand, great, lesbianism is the new rehab -- all the starlets are trying it. Ugh.

“She actually has always been quite open. I would love to name all the young Hollywood she has slept with, but I will keep that for the ‘book.’ Maybe she was tired of the boys and that is why she decided to spice it up with BFF Samantha Ronson.”

Of course, it should be noted that this “story” came from the blog of a former publicist who is writing a “book.” In the same entry he calls Carson Daly a smelly drunk, Mark McGrath a coke user and Da Brat a closeted lesbian. So, really, this post should come with the label: “WARNING: Celebrity gossip, please add salt.”

Kerplewie finally over

Hallelujah! The planets must have aligned just right today, because my modem finally arrived. And, believe it or not, it both works and is the right model. Clearly, this is a miracle. My wireless is again humming happily and I no longer want to rip the limbs off of incompetent customer service representatives. I think it’s a win-win for everyone involved, no? So now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Click play now and thank me later

This is, without a doubt, one of the most fantastic and most dykey things I have ever seen. In fact, it’s so good, it’s dyketastic. Because after you see a young Jodie Foster singing a love song in French while wearing a variety of suits, all you’ll be able to say is, “Wow, that was fucking dyketastic.” This is Jodie circa a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away singing on French TV. My rough translation of the song title is (help me out, French readers) “I’ve waited for you since the beginning of time.” I can’t catch the rest but, really, all you need to know is this: triple your Jodies, triple your fun. White tuxedoed Jodie (The Sophisticate). Tweedy bow-tied Jodie (The Professor). Adorably page-boy capped Jodie (The Scamp). And all three are singing just to you. The more you watch, the better you feel.

p.s. For those wondering why French, Jodie attended the French-speaking prep school the Lycée Français de Los Angeles. Jodie also dubs all of her own lines in her movies for release in France. And just in case you can’t get enough of Francophone Jodie, here is one more video from her crooning days. C’est magnifique.

Kerplewie continued…

So, apparently there was a “hang up” (AT&T’s oh-so technical terminology, not mine) with my order and the DSL modem that should have been hard at work in my home by now is instead sitting blissfully idle in some warehouse. I cannot express to you my levels of frustration. Actually, I could, but a whole page full of expletives -- while fun to say -- isn’t all that fun to read. Needless to say, I’m beyond annoyed and things are still agonizingly hit-and-miss in the wireless department.

I’ve abandon all hope of a reliable connection over the weekend. But, really, it’s a moot point because my sister is coming into town and we have a girly weekend planned. And by girly I mean she will try on clothes and I will tell her that her ass does not - in any way, shape or form - look fat in that. So, I probably won’t post again until Tuesday, by which time my ISP has assured me my modem should have definitely arrived. A gal can dare to dream.

UPDATE I: Oh and My God. Let me just tell you how AMAZINGLY FUCKING ANGRY I am with AT&T right now. First, it took them an entire week to get me my new modem (when they promised it would only be three days). Then, when it finally arrives, it is the wrong modem (without a wireless router). And finally, the modem they did send is broken (no ethernet connection). To recap: AT&T sucks. They are idiots. I still don't have reliable internet connection. So, what does this mean for you? Worst case scenario: no posts until Wednesday. Best case scenario: No posts until late Tuesday, but I scream at customer service and at least feel a little better.

My Weekend Crush

Growing up, one actress was the most spunky, the most scrappy, the most Shirley -- Anne Shirley, that is. Megan Follows was the perfect Anne of Green Gables. As a young girl, my love for L.M. Montgomery’s books was insatiable. I had the entire Anne (with an e) series, the entire Emily series, both Pat books, countless short stories and assorted random novels. In fact, I still have them all on my bookshelf. I even made my family vacation on Prince Edward Island one summer. So when the Canadian adaptation came out on PBS, I sat rapt as Anne, Marilla, Matthew and Gilbert Blythe (to this day, I have to say his first and last name together) came to rich, vibrant life. There was the red sand of P.E. Island. There was the charming, gabled farmhouse. There was the carpetbag-totting orphan with long, red braids.

As Anne matured in the series, Megan seemed to magically mature from girl to woman before our eyes. I’m pretty sure my affinity for red-heads can be traced back to her. Not to mention freckles. I always hoped Megan would find continued stardom after she was done being that Anne girl. And while she has kept busy acting, particularly in her native Canada, Megan hasn’t had the breakout success stateside that she so deserves. Ironically, part of the problem is probably people like me who have never let her leave Green Gables. But Megan should be heartened by the fact that she will forever be a kindred spirit, a bosom friend, to girls (and grown up girls like me) everywhere. Happy weekend, all.

Moore than meets the eye?

Every now and then, believe it or not, I misjudge a person. I know, I know. You’re reeling from the shock of my non-infallibility. I will give you a minute to recover and realign the very bedrock of your moral underpinnings. ... OK, all better?

So, I’m starting to think I might have misjudged Mandy Moore. I know, I know. She sang that damn “Candy” song. And, just look at her. She’s so darn wholesome. When she first came on the scene, I kept confusing her with Jessica Simpson. But, I have to say, the girl is growing on me. Plus, the brown hair helps.

Music aside, Mandy has made some wickedly wise choices in her acting career. Sure, there was the requisite teenage tripe, but there was also that delicious turn in “Saved!” If you didn’t enjoy watching Mandy throw a bible at Jena Malone’s head while screaming “I am FILLED with Christ’s Love!” then perhaps we shouldn’t be friends.

Mandy is on a PR offensive of late, appearing in Vanity Fair, Elle and C magazines. Unsurprisingly, she also has a new album coming out in June, titled “Wild Hope.” Will I buy it? Yeah, still no. But the more I read about her, the more I like Moore.

On her singing and acting skills to Elle:

“I’m mediocre at both. I’m not trying to be self deprecating. I’m just being honest.”

On her figure to C:

“I’m not willing to deprive myself. I am who I am. I know I don’t fit into the trendy look right now, but I’m much happier representing this body type. I have to make other sacrifices, like not seeing my friends, for my career, so if I want French fries, I’ll have them.”

On her hopes for “Wild Hope” to Elle:

“I don’t want any expectations. I just want people to know that I still sing. Most people don’t realize that, or else they hate my music – rightfully so.”

Well, she is definitely saying the right things. And she seems to be working with the right people, too. Mandy collaborates with some talented indie singer-songwriters on her new album, including Rachael Yamagata, The Weepies and Lori McKenna.

So here goes. Mandy Moore, I am giving you a second chance. You seem like an intelligent, centered young woman. I am going to leave my residual high school resentment toward cute, perky cheerleader types behind. I am going to overlook Andy Roddick, Zach Braff and DJ AM. And since you seem to be beating yourself up quite a bit about the whole “Candy” thing, I’ll even let that one go. So, here is your chance. Prove me right.

My Blog Crush

Since my internet connection is still painfully unpredictable, I thought instead of my normal prattle I’d shine a little light on some other fine specimens of blogology out there on the world wide interweb. I’ve wanted to do this for a while, since sending out blog love is a great way to pay it forward (but in a good way, not in that crappy, Kevin Spacey-is-a-scarred-teacher-with-a-tragic-past kind of way). So now seems like a perfect time to start a new occasional feature called “My Blog Crush” (Weekend Crush, Blog Crush…I take an idea and run with it until my legs hurt).

To kick things off I am going to spotlight one of my first blog crushes. Long before I had this little outpost, I stalked Post No Bills: New York Adventures in Banality obsessively (seriously, I think one weekend I sat down and read her entire archive…Sorry, Ms. Post No Bills, I’m taking medication now and there is no need for alarm…I think…) Her tagline reads: “Like Bridget Jones, except gay, more hopeless, and an even bigger ass.” Now if that isn’t endearing, then the word has lost all meaning to me.

Why the love? Well, the writing is spot on. Equal parts honest and hilarious, Ms. Post No Bills (whose nom-de-blog is NYC Rouge) chronicles her relationship with the Big Apple and lesbian life. Plus, she likes to curse. I fucking love a woman who swears.

If you bookmark her site (which I highly recommend), you’ll be treated to her ongoing lesbian adventures, adorably acronymed OFTL: Operation Find The Lesbians, OFAG: Operation Find A Girlfriend, and OPMW: Operation Prove Me Wrong.

Also, while I’ve never met Rouge, she seems like a very nice gal with a great little wit on her (Who doesn’t like a nicely formed wit? Can I get an amen, ladies?) So, if you are Single and Sane and live in the New York area, drop her a line. Just make sure you are both Single and Sane. I know, that girl has impossibly high standards.

Damn good coffee

Back in the early 90s, my television watching life revolved around one simple question: “Who killed Laura Palmer?” I loved everything about David Lynch’s dark, hypnotic drama “Twin Peaks.” Even today if I think of its eerie theme, I feel equal parts nostalgic and freaked out. Last week, the long-awaited second and final season was released on DVD. Really, looking back, it’s amazing Lynch ever got his unabashedly weird show on prime time television in the first place. With its motley cast of oddballs and even odder balls, “Twin Peaks" was (until the wheels came off toward the end of the second season) unmatched in its surrealist vision. Plus, no other show could brew up as good a cup of coffee.

NOTE: Since we all know who killed Laura Palmer, let’s delve into an even bigger mystery -- what the hell happed to the careers of the women of Twin Peaks?

Rock on

Last week, “30 Rock” was renewed for a second season causing joy among fans of the show and lovers of smart girls with glasses everywhere. Tina Fey has long been a personal favorite and the show will forever be in my good graces for introducing the world to bi-curious shoes. Wired magazine recently ran an interesting little piece on how the rise of HDTV affects the sets and stars of “30 Rock.” Tina had her own thoughts on perils of hi-def:

“HD video is beautiful for sports, but it doesn’t help comedy, and it doesn’t help humans. I hate being shot on HD video, because I look like two Frankensteins raped a Dracula.”

I can only assume that Tina is referring to the mysterious childhood scar that runs up her left cheek. And while I couldn’t agree less with her self assessment, I couldn’t love her more for her self-deprecating, whip-sharp humor.

Kerplewie

Alas, my modem died a quick painful death this weekend, so until I get a new one posting will be spotty and tardy at best. Please bear with me and say a little prayer to the technology gods for my poor, tortured soul.

UPDATE I : Modem -- still broken. Me -- Sitting in the furthest corner of my living room where I can pick up a very faint, very tenuous wireless connection.
UPDATE II: My ISP promises that my new modem with a newer, faster connection will arrive Wednesday. For now, I cling to this feeble wireless signal as if it was the last life vest on the Titanic.
UPDATE III: Fucking hell. It’s Wednesday and NO MODEM! Damn you AT&T! You’re dead to me. Dead, I say.

My Weekend Crush

Lucy Liu is ridiculously gorgeous. Her cheekbones alone inspire fantasies of alpine adventures. And her freckles, well, don’t get me started on her freckles. Volumes could be written on the adorable constellations that dot her otherwise pristine face. If only her opportunities would match her beauty. But, it seems like Hollywood of late isn’t quite sure what to do with the American-born actress of Chinese immigrant parents. Instead she has appeared in big-screen dreck like “Code Name: The Cleaner.” Though, happily, on the small screen she has a guest spot on my favorite hour of the week, “Ugly Betty.”

Her next movie role is the lesbian vampire flick “Rise: Blood Hunter.” Now, I have no problem - clearly - with lesbian movies or vampire movies or even lesbian vampire movies. Sadly, it’s hard to find the latter that isn’t an exploitative exercise in selling tickets to horny frat boys -- aside, of course, for the mother of all lesbian vampire movies, “The Hunger.” Clips of Lucy serving as bloody neck candy for a Carla Gugino popped up on the web this week (sidebar: Carla deserves some sort of Best Supporting Lesbian trophy for her frequent Sapphic appearances in at least three previous films: “Jaded,” “The Center of the World” and “Sin City”). Also, I didn’t realize Lucy had made her own ambiguously gay comments to the press. As she told Jane magazine:

“I think people sometimes get the wrong impression when they’re like, 'Oh, well, so-and-so was straight and then she was gay, and now she’s straight again,’ you know? But it's like, how many times do I have to kiss a woman before I’m gay? Everybody wants to label people. Sometimes you just fall in love with somebody, and you’re really not thinking about what gender or whatever they happen to be. It think that if I happen to fall in love with a woman, everyone’s going to make a big deal out of it. But if I happen to fall in love with a man, nobody cares.”

Well, Lucy, I’m not sure either how many times you have to kiss a woman before you’re gay. But, they say practice makes perfect. Happy weekend, all.

Buffy #2: Sight for sore eyes

The second issue of the new Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 8 comics came out this week. Did you get your copy? If you did, you would have been treated to more training bythe new slayer army. Giles drinking tea. Xander and Buffy doing things Xander and Buffy never did on TV (well, sort of). And the return of the great red-headed lesbian witch. Say, what’s with the St. Pauli Girl outfit, Willow? Oh, who cares, welcome back girl.

Hot Betty

In February, W magazine put Ellen on the cover and now it is America. This deserves a polite golf clap and then some. To have such an arbiter of fashion pick two non-traditional beauties to grace its cover in the span of three months must be some sort of record. America looks, as always, stunning. And, as in every interview I read with her, she comes across as smart, sensible and stable. That includes her perspective on her own body.

“I mean, of course I want to be at a weight where I’m happy. There are times when I go to the gym and really try, and there are times when I just don’t. I gain a pound; I lose a pound. But I think I’ve developed a really good sense of when I’m doing something for myself as opposed to when I’m doing something because of other people’s expectations of me. And honestly, even if I wanted to be anorexic, I just don’t have what it takes. After four hours of being anorexic, I’d be like, 'It’s been four whole hours! Feed me!'”

That being said, do you think W exaggerated her collar bone to make her look thinner? Oh, Ms. Snarker, focus on the positive. It was one of your New Year’s resolutions. That and not referring to yourself in the third person. Damn. Fine, I am just going to enjoy these pictures. Does that make you happy?

Out, out damn star

Well, I’ll say this about “Out” magazine, its editors are ballsy. The (primarily) gay men’s mag put Jodie Foster and Anderson Cooper on its The Power 50 issue cover. OK, that’s not entirely true. The editors put models wearing Jodie and Anderson masks on its cover, with the headline “The Glass Closet: Why the Stars Won’t Come Out and Play.”

Now, don’t get me started on the irony of a magazine called “Out” putting celebrities who aren’t out on its cover. Should we start call the glossy “Outed” now instead? But more significantly, the move signals a dramatic shift in the long-standing policy in the major gay (not to mention mainstream) press of not outing closeted celebrities.

The ethics of outing are always tricky and intensely personal. I’m willing to bet that none of us would have wanted to be outed on the cover of a national magazine. Still, there is a strong and important tradition of outing people whose private sexuality poses a direct contradiction to their public policy (i.e. the Ted Haggards of the world). So do the same rules apply to public figures like Jodie and Anderson who are openly supportive of the gay community, but steadfastly refuse to address their own sexual orientation?

Regular readers here will note that I’ve mentioned Ms. Foster frequently and also made not-so-veiled reference to her orientation, her longtime partner and her need to go ahead and publicly accept the toaster oven already. But I draw a distinction between what I do on this little blog and what a huge, national magazine does (aside from, you know, the much bigger budget). My blather on this site is akin to water cooler talk. It’s glorified gossip with a heaping dose of snark and (hopefully) a little dash of insight. But what a magazine like “Out” does is public record which also requires public responsibility.

In our effort to hasten society’s acceptance of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people, are we sacrificing those among us who simply aren’t ready, or willing, to have their private lives become public spectacle? Then again, in refusing to be open with their lives are these stars undermining the largely unspoken political statement regular Janes and Joes make every day by simply living their lives honestly?

Right or wrong, publicity stunt or earnest discourse, “Out” should definitely get people talking. Let’s just hope it’s not cheap.

p.s. As long as we’re picking bones here, hey “Out,” why only 13 women in a list of 50 powerful gays? And only two (no-brainers Ellen No. 3 and Rosie No. 6) in the Top 10? Plus, Anderson ranks No. 2 and Jodie only No. 43? Must everything be a boys club?

Lucky star

Oh, to be that star. Halle Berry got her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame yesterday. Is it possible to be jealous of the ground?

Ashlee gets Cured

When I first read this, I was sure it was an April Fools’ Day gag. Robert Smith of The Cure teaming up with Ashlee Simpson? Clearly, it had to be a joke. Something akin to Google’s toilet-based wireless broadband kit. But, then I checked the date on the original EW story and, holy shit, it’s legit. Say it with me, “WTF?!?”

The pop singer/lip syncher formerly known as Jessica Simspon’s brunette sister could be collaborating with the boy who doesn’t cry or expose himself to direct sunlight or own a comb. This is as wrong as Robert Smith is pale. As a teenager, The Cure was the soundtrack to all my dark and broody dreams. Even today, when that HP commercial comes on playing “Pictures of You” I stop to listen. This news is, to quote Bette, so fucking unacceptable.

Little Miss Smarty Pants

Oh dear, this could be trouble. Repeat after me, “She is only 16! She is only 16!! She is only 16!!!” Must keep thoughts pure. Must not think about her coyly cocked eyebrow. Must not focus on her delightfully askew necktie. Must not fixate on the tantalizing top button of her cardigan. No! Stop! So very wrong! In my defense, Emma Watson turns 17 in two weeks. But, 17 isn’t 18. And 18 is still way (way, way, way) too young.

I blame the smart girl factor. Now, I have no idea if Emma is, indeed, a smart girl like her Harry Potter character Hermione Granger. But she plays one so convincingly, I’m going to go with yes. You see, I have a weakness for smart girls. They make my knees wobble and my tongue tie. Thank God she isn’t wearing any Tina Fey glasses, because then all hope would be lost. Lord, she is young. I must now go wash my brain out with soap.