Vacation Vixen: Lucy Liu

Freckles. I want to... They make me... I just can’t help... Freckles, everywhere.

Vacation Vixen: Heather Morris

That episode made no fucking sense. But Brittany as Britney made me want to lick my television. If I wasn’t watching with my mom, I might have.

Vacation Vixen: Jodie Foster

I have a lot of complicated feelings about Jodie Foster. On the one hand, she is my first girl crush and my favorite brilliant, independent, uncompromising woman in Hollywood. On the other hand, she stands up for some real assholes like Mel Gibson and Roman Polanski. Well, I guess the one thing my brain can agree on is that she looks fucking hot (and gay) as hell in a tank top. OK, fine, it might be a muscle shirt instead – but it’s Tuesday and gets the benefit of the doubt. What can I say, when life gets confusing I hold on to the simple truths.

Vacation Vixen: Marion Cotillard

Now if this photo doesn’t make you think about the very opposite of the start of a work week, I’ve failed in the most fundamental sense possible. As you’ve no doubt guessed, I’m taking a quick vacation this week. Not one to leave a friend hanging, I leave you with lovely vixens to fill the void. First up the magnifique Marion. See, Monday isn’t so terrible after all. And, if you’re so inclined, you can follow my utter unproductive @dorothysnarker.

My Weekend Crush

You guys, I love Heather Morris. No, really, I love her. Brittany and Sue are in a death match for my heart on “Glee.” It’s like in those cartoons where one is an angel and another is a devil sitting perched on either shoulder and fighting for my soul. If it weren’t for those two I think I’d watch the show on mute until the musical numbers. But we all knew before “Glee” that Jane Lynch was something special, she was just never given the proper showcase until now for the rest of the world to come to the same conclusion. But with Heather, no one even knew she could act let alone steal every scene she is in.

By now Heather’s story reads like a Hollywood fairytale. She was the dancer who was brought in to teach the cast Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” dance (she did, after all, back up Queen B herself on stage) and then became a featured and beloved cast member. But thanks to Heather, Brittany isn’t just about getting the easy laugh for being the dullest crayon in the Crayola box. She also brings something entirely unexpected, a sweetness. I mean, come on, when Brittany clutched the little tell-me-where-the-bad-lady-touched-you doll on the way out the door in the premiere your heart had to melt a little. Brittany’s burgeoning sexuality (her interest in boobs, her interest in Santana) is the show’s sliest storyline. As for Brittana, hell yeah, you know I ship that.

And, sweet fancy Jesus, if that preview for the Britney Spears episode next week didn’t make you stop, drop and drool you might want to check for a pulse. Sweet and sexy. Damn, is it Tuesday yet? Happy weekend, all.

Tina Fey Thursday

Look, I know. “Glee” and “Modern Family” and “Parks & Recreation.” Wheee! I love all these shows, I watch all these shows, I laugh like a drunken monkey at all these shows. These shows have a guaranteed “Until I Delete” season pass on my DVR. But my first, my last, my always is “30 Rock.” Even the uneven episodes, even the uneven last season. This show owns me. Tina owns me. I want to take her behind the middle school and get her pregnant. Or at least try really, really hard. She is my forever Fake TV Wife. FOREVER.

So, naturally, I am excited about tonight’s “30 Rock” premiere. And by excited I mean, “If you call me during 30 Rock, I will cut you.” Too much? Well you’re just lucky I didn’t say “shoot you,” instead. The show continues to be an oasis of witty, urbane, goofy, smart and relevant writing.

With the premiere comes delightful Tina Fey late-night talk show appearances. Earlier this week she was on with her former Weekend Update co-host Jimmy Fallon. And my gal explained those delightful Drunk Tina shots from the Emmys after parties. You know, the ones where she and Amy Poehler were making a Jon Hamm sandwich on the dance floor. Yeah, you know the ones. On Fallon she lovingly referred to it as “The Night of the Drunk Moms.” (International folks can see it here.)

God, what I wouldn’t have given to be a fly on that wall. Amy’s pregnancy rack. Tina’s fake ponytail. Don Draper encouraging alcoholism at every turn. I want to go to there, times infinity. (Also, don’t worry fidelity lovers, that’s Jon’s longtime girlfriend and Jessica Stein herself Jennifer Westfeldt in the bottom right of the last picture. She, apparently, likes to watch.)

You may recall the Tina leaving for the limo paparazzi video as well. A refresher:

Oh, Tina, I love you even more now for clarifying that last bit. It’s so much more amazing knowing she also said, “Why are you filming me? Did I fuck Ray J in a video?” Like I was saying, I love her. I will never not love her. Also, don’t call me at 8:30 p.m. tonight. I’m on an unbreakable, unendingly awesome date.

Pull the Trigger

I love movies because, unlike most TV, they are an experience shared at the same time in the same room with a bunch of strangers. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love TV, too. And thanks to the globe-shrinking powers of the internet, watching TV has become one of our greatest communal experiences. But there’s just something about stories told in the dark that always makes my pulse quicken. I am also a person who enjoys watching the trailers. In fact, if you come late and make me miss the trailers I will hog the popcorn in revenge.

Now, once again, the series of tubes has made trailer watching a different experience than it once was. It’s rare that I see a trailer for the first time in the theater anymore, rarer still that I haven’t heard of the movie altogether. But that’s just what happened when I got an email recommending “Trigger” last week. [Big, swooping hat tip to Babs!]

“Trigger” is the kind of movie trailer that makes me want to run out and see the movie immediately. It makes me excited about movies. It makes me want to share it with strangers. So, I will.

I know, right? A movie about two women rockers and their friendship and possibly more? Ticket – I want one. Now.

So, as I do with anything that excites me, I try to find out more. A little digging and the story of “Trigger” unfolded, and, once again, only made me want to watch it more.

Indie film regulars will recognize its stars: Canadian actresses Molly Parker and Tracy Wright. You might know Molly from “Deadwood,” “Six Feet Under” or the intense and disturbing “The Center of the World” (where she shares quite a kiss with Carla Gugino). You might remember Tracy from “When Night is Falling” (as the circus director’s wife, and the circus director was also her long-time, real-life husband Don McKellar) or “Me You and Everyone You Know.”

And now, well, there’s no way to sugar-coat this, so I’ll just say it straight. This next part is sad part. Tracy died in June of this year from pancreatic cancer. “Trigger” was her final film, made in only nine days as everyone rushed to work with her before she became too ill. I know, tinges the excitement with melancholy and weight.

>So now, not only do I want a ticket but I want the movie to be special. And, from the glowing review in Cinematical, it really is. Reviewer Monika Bartyzel calls it perhaps the best example of female friendship put on the screen: “Quite simply, Trigger is to female friendship what Before Sunrise/Before Sunset was for romance.”

Some wonder what it takes to make a realistic woman for the big screen. Can a man write a well-formed female character? If they do, is it just a result of collaborations with a woman in their life? To me, the success of a female character depends not on the person writing it – Daniel MacIvor wrote the film – but on the humanity put into it, and how a female actress can then infuse that with their own gendered experience. In Trigger, these women are about as real as they come.

It also probably must be noted that the male reviewer for The Hollywood Reporter was considerably, condescendingly less impressed with the film saying that nothing said between the women in the film’s conversation-heavy dialogue makes it “the least bit compelling.” I guess two chicks just chatting to each other doesn’t do it for him. He also bums us out even more by revealing that “There’s also a hint-- more a perfumey whiff really -- of homoeroticism in their relationship, but it vanishes quickly.” Sheesh, dude, even lesbians don’t get that bitter when the lesbianism fizzles out in movies.

Look, we all know movies about women and their relationships outside of those with men are a rare breed. Think back to the movies you saw this summer and count how many passed the Bechdel Rule. That is a movie with at least two women in it who talk to each other about something other than a man. How many did you get?

So, naturally, any movie that both satisfies that rule and brings together such tremendous talent and is about women in rock-and-roll is a no brainer in my book. Take my ticket. Dim the lights. I’m going to the movies.

Tank Top Tuesday: Premiere Week Edition

Oh, premiere week, how I love you. It’s like Christmas and your birthday all wrapped up in a big bow and placed with love on the couch for you. What is hiding underneath the pretty wrappers? Something you’ll love? Something you’ll return? Something you’ll regift at the office holiday party next year. So far, Monday night belongs to Yvonne Strahovski (with a kick-ass assist from Linda Hamilton). “Chuck was the best thing I saw yesterday. As for the big “Hawaii Five-O” vs. “Chase” showdown, I’m somewhat underwhelmed with both. The big Five-O seems more like a potential gay boy Rizzoli & Isles with Alex O’Laughlin McGarrett and Scott Caan Danno bickering like an old married couple. Just wait until they both show off their abs and start making googley eyes at each other. Grace Park was quite nice, but I’m generally adverse to any show that only has one regular female character amid a sea of male ones. Call it my Bechdel Test for TV. As for “Chase,” it was pretty straight forward: Bad guys run, good guys chase them. Truth in advertising, I guess. I hope Rose Rollins gets to have more than two lines of dialogue per show.

Handicapping of the rest of the week, Tank Top Tuesday style.

TODAY

Lea Michele, Glee I am displeased to report that Rachel is still the same old Rachel in the second season premiere. Her voice sure sounds great, though.

Heather MorrisI am pleased to report that Brittany is the same old Brittany in the second season premiere. With more discussion of boobs.

Naya RiveraSantana’s boobs are also a hot discussion topic, though perhaps not how you’d expect.

Jane LynchThough, if it were up to me, we’d talk about Sue’s boobs. I knew something spectacular lurked beneath that track suit.

Keri Russell, Running Wilde“Running Wilde” is getting shitty reviews, but Felicity looks great.

WEDNESDAY

Sofia Vergara, Modern FamilyLet the ridiculous rolling of Rs commence.

THURSDAY

Amy Poehler, Parks & RecreationI really wish they’d bring this back now instead of midseason. I need my Tina/Amy punch like back in the Weekend Update days.

Alison Brie, CommunityI don’t watch this. This may be an error on my part.

Nina Dobrev, The Vampire DiariesI know, I know, you don’t watch. But, come on, she plays two characters. Double your pleasure, kittens.

Maggie Q, NikitaStill not entirely sure I’m sold yet. But there is running with a gun in a tank top. So it can’t be all bad.

Anna Torv, FringeI don’t know how I’m going to fit this in to my watch/DVR/stream schedule this season. But, dammit, if this doesn’t make me want to try harder.

Brought to you by the letter R

So last night in a fit of late-night iTunesing, I had to muster up all my willpower to resist buying “Imagine Me & You” to carry around with me in my pocket forever, always. (I already own the DVD. I don’t want to wear out its welcome. I need to be sensible and eat my vegetables, young lady.) So I turned to Twitter for support (y’all are a bunch of enablers, by the way). But, instead, what you really did was draw my attention to something very, very odd and very, very frustrating.

“Imagine Me & You” is rated R. Which means here in the United States no child under the age of 17 could see it in a theater without an accompanying parent or guardian. In essence, that means that the Motion Picture Association of America thought there was something so objectionable about this movie that children must be shielded from its potentially harmful effects. Its official MPPA rating says it earned that R for “for some language and sexual material.” Now, normally R is reserved for movies with explicit sex scenes, sexualized nudity, extreme foul language and/or graphic violence. All the “Saw” movies (including the upcoming third “Saw” in 3-D no less), which feature murder, torture and dismemberment of every imaginable variety, are rated R. “Boogie Nights,” a movie about the porn industry and a man who uses his enormous penis to become a star in it, is rated R. The first two “Scary Movie” films, which were all about supposedly satirizing sexy flasher films by showing excessive sex and slashing, were rated R (the last two only were rated PG-13).

Does “Imagine Me & You” have nudity? No, because I sure as hell know I would have remembered seeing Lena Headey naked, or Piper Perabo or even Giles Anthony Stewart Head. Does “Imagine Me & You” have murder, torture, dismemberment, blood, guts or any of those in any combination in 3-D? No, though the awful stock broker boss does make me feel momentarily stabby for being such an ass. Does “Imagine Me & You” have extreme foul language? Well, No. 9 might argue this but I really don’t think there’s too much past a “fuck” here or there.

But what it does have is two women kissing and falling in love. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HIDE THE CHILDREN!

Now, if you’ve seen “This Film Is Not Yet Rated,” this is not news to you. Gay-themed movies are often rated much more harshly than straight movies. “But I’m a Cheerleader” was given an NC-17 (No children under 17, period, even with an adult) at first, then downgraded to an R after cuts. “Boys Don’t Cry” was initially given an NC-17, then trimmed to get an R. “American Psycho” was initially given an NC-17 rating, but then when they cut not the axe murder or the chainsaw dismemberment or the serial killing in general but the one three-way sex scene it was graced with an R. Message: As long as there’s no sex in your violence, you’re A-OK. Also, if there happens to be gay sex in your violence you’re totally screwed – and not in even a remotely kind of fun way.

While the ratings are “voluntary,” they mean everything to both the film’s exposure and eventual bottom line. Many theaters won’t play a NC-17 movie. Many distributors won’t stock a NC-17 DVD. A R rating, in turn, will limit a movie’s potential box office because a whole segment of the population is excluded. But money and audience aside, what this is really still saying is that gay relationships are so different, so frightening, so unacceptable, so deviant that we have to protect the young impressionable minds from seeing them.

The only scary thing about these two women together is that someone would look at them and think, “Shit, they’re scary.” And the only way this movie could ever really be rated R is if the “R” actually stood for “Repeat Viewing.” Which I think I’ll do now. On my iPhone. Just to prove a point. And that point is: “You’re a wanker, MPAA!”

My Weekend Crush

Few things stay beautiful forever. Photos fade. Paintings crack. Books yellow with time. Most music feels out-of-date a few weeks after it falls off of heavy rotation. But some songs stay beautiful. Some songs never age, always enchant. Yesterday my friend Lesley tweeted that “Fade Into You” was quite possibly the perfect song. And it is, it really is. For 4 minutes and 28 seconds Mazzy Star and the also forever beautiful Hope Sandoval take you someplace not of this Earth. Dreamy, moody, melancholy, achingly gorgeous. You don’t hear the song as much as it melts slowly into your body. Plus we could talk for hours about that tiny, downcast slip of a thing hiding behind her hair. And darn it, if that isn't the prettiest, saddest tambourine in all the world. While the song is 16 years old, its emotions are ageless. Whenever I hear “Fade Into You,” I just can't help it. I fall in love all over again. Happy weekend, all.

Face Time

I’ve come to the startling realization that I have a disease. I’m not sure if it’s curable, I’m not sure if it’s contagious. I’m pretty sure it isn’t recognized by the American Medical Association (though, man, it should be). My affliction, my sickness, my curse? I’ve got Chronic Screencappers Disease. I can’t watch a movie or TV show on my laptop without screencapping it. If you need to see further evidence of its symptoms, just check out my “Rizzoli & Isles” screencap folders.

This, of course, makes a relaxing night of watching a movie more difficult. I’ve found I’m not overcome with the affliction while watching TV or DVDs on my regular TV. But the urge to open up Photoshop is too strong when I’m watching something on my computer. Like last night, when I finally saw “Chloe.” Now, I can’t really recommend the movie for its plot. Its last half hour devolves into a ridiculous mish-mash of “Single White Instinct” proportions.

Though I can recommend the movie for its shear eye candy. Because, let’s be honest, “Chloe” is just 96 minutes of unapologetic wallowing in the face porn of Julianne Moore and Amanda Seyfried. Granted, you can’t really blame director Atom Egoyan for luxuriating his lens on these lovely ladies. They’ve got the kind of bone structure that were born to be projected two-stories high on the big screen. As such, a good half of the movie is tight shots of their faces. There are also a few choice close-up of other areas. But, you know, it’s a workday.

The plot, such that it is, involves Julianne hiring high-class call girl Amanda to seduce her husband (Liam Neeson) whom she suspects is cheating. And then it kind of turns that hooker with a heart of gold trope from “Pretty Woman” inside out. (Spoiler Alert: Also, dude, they totally do it.)

So this is when my illness works to your benefit. Because of the aforementioned Chronic Screencapper Disease and because of the aforementioned face porn, I will now share the bounty of my sickness with you. Please enjoy.

OK, fine, I’ll post one NSFW one. But remember, NSFW, so scroll down at your own peril. And by peril I mean yum.

The funniest, truest review I read of this film came from The Daily Beast which contains this perfect line: “Julianne Moore can act with her bosom.” She really can, kittens. She really can.

EDIT: Since you asked so nicely, here goes. If you don’t have a DVD program that takes screenshots automatically, you can follow these four simple steps to Basic Screencapping 101 on a PC. 1) Pause DVD/video on the scene you want to cap. 2) Press the “Print Screen” (PRTSC) button. 3) Open Photoshop (or MS Paint in a pinch). 4) Click “New,” then “Image from clipboard” (just click “Paste” in MS Paint). And, voila. You can crop and run it through various filters, but that right there is a screencap, friends. So now I’ve infected you all with the disease. Bwahahaha!

Ellen v. Allison: Welcome to Hilaritydome

So ESPN apparently has this great special about the Martina Navratilova/Chris Evert rivalry/friendship called “Unmatched” playing right now. It has gotten very high praise indeed for its portrayal of the two women and their long history, and I need to set my DVR before I forget (schedule is here, if you want to record it with me). But, of course, this rivalry got me thinking (always dangerous) about other rivalries. Which naturally led me to mortal enemies Ellen DeGeneres and Allison Janney. These two women share a vicious, some might say obsessive, rivalry that has spanned years. Competitors cheat. Competitors talk smack. Competitors draw blood. And we, we laugh like crazy people.

Ellen v. Allison: A Retrospective


Ellen v. Allison: Sumo Wrestling


Ellen v. Allison: Arm Wrestling


Ellen v. Allison: I’m Gonna Smash Your Face


Ellen v. Allison: Being Ellen


It’s awfully hard to pick a winner. I’d say us.

Tank Top Tuesday/SGALGG: Rizzoli & Isles

Kittens, do we need to hug out last night’s “Rizzoli & Isles” finale? Why am I even asking, get in here. *hughughughughughughug*

Better? Still no? What about if I combined a very special Tank Top Tuesday with a very special Straight Gals Acting Like Gay Gals Edition? I think it is only fair after what can only be classified as a really fucking traumatizing cliff hanger. When I said “HOLY FUCKINIG SHIT,” I meant “HOLY FUCKING SHIT.” Of course, we know she will be fine. The show has already been renewed for a 13-episode second season and they’re not going to rename it “& Isles.” So for the long, long, long year that we have to wait until our leading ladies get touchy feely in a non-“let me dress that wound” way with each other again, let this tide you over.

[Click any and all to enlarge the therapeutic T3/SGALGGing]

HUGGING!GAZING!TOUCHING!SHARING THE SAME BED!

DREAMING – SWEET, SWEET DREAMING![Another Photoshop masterpiece by the amazing Bee!]

And if none of that helped, take comfort in the inevitable Dr. Isles nursing Det. Rizzoli back to health fan-fic that will no doubt flood the internet until next summer. Tell the doctor where it hurts.

UPDATE: My Subtext Recap for the finale is up at AfterEllen. Mmm, subtexty.