Leap of Beals

Every four years we are given one extra 24-hour period to do as we damn well please. We could be lazy, and use it as a shrine to sloth. We could be helpful, and do unto others instead of unto ourselves. We could be spontaneous, and do whatever the hell we feel like whenever the hell we feel it. But me? Me, I like to use Leap Days as a bonus day to try to right a great injustice in the world. I know, I know – please, do not stare directly into the nobility of my actions. You might lose an eye from the imaginary sword I’m using to imaginarily bestow a knighthood on myself.

So this year, with great beneficence, I have chosen to concentrate my Leap Day Injustice Righting on one of the greater injustices of our time. Yes, yes – I am talking about the tragic lack of Jennifer Beals on our televisions. There’s a sign-up sheet on the back wall for those interested in volunteering to pass out water and megaphones for the protest rally I have planned later today. Together, we can right this terrible wrong.

Some of you will fondly remember the news that Jennifer was going to guest on “Castle.” Others of you fondly remember the promo pictures of Jennifer standing next to Stana Katic while guesting on “Castle.” And still others of you fondly watched the episodes where Jennifer acted alongside Stana while guesting on “Castle.” Well, I’d like to take a moment to unite all those clearly disparate groups toward the common goal of finding Jennifer a permanent show where she is not just a guest. I know with hard work and determination we can create the change we want to see on our television sets. Because otherwise, it means we are missing seeing this on a regularly scheduled basis.


Think about your life, think about your choices, television executives. We shall overcome, comrades. Keep the faith.

SGALGG: Oscars Edition

I love the Bridesmaids more than cheese. Granted, this isn’t saying a ton because I’m lactose intolerant and too much cheese makes me bloaty. But still, dammit, if I don’t love me a hunk of Camembert every now and again. You always hurt the ones you love, no? But, truly, the Bridesmaids typified what I enjoyed about this award season. Ladies enjoying each other’s company, making each other laugh and giving us all great entertainment in the process. Which, after all, is the true spirit of Straight Gals Acting Like Gay Gals. Sure, it’s about the touchy feely fabulosity of those fauxosexual moments. But it’s really about women being comfortable in the presence of other women and appreciating each other for the fantastic creatures that we are. So, in that spirit I give you a very special Oscars Edition of SGALGG.

Rose Byrne & Melissa McCarthyNo true drunken straight gal hookup starts without shots. Scorsese!

Viola Davis & Octavia SpencerI just love these two together. Also, this is a Viola Davis Arms Appreciation Post.

Viola Davis & Meryl StreepI just love these two together. Also, this is a Viola Davis Back Appreciation Post.

Busy Phillips & Michelle WilliamsThese two are obviously taking a couple shot for their Facebook profile pictures so they can simultaneously change their statuses to “In a Relationship.”

Gwyneth Paltrow & Penelope CruzIs it just me, or does this totally look like albino Batman is giving hot Robin a hug here?

Glenn Close & Janet McTeerGlenn’s all, “Did you see her flash those puppies in ‘Albert Nobbs?’ Yeah, keep your hands off. They’re MINE!”

Claire Danes & Rashida JonesI am overcome with the unshakeable desire to see Claire guest on “Parks & Recreation” as a grown-up Angela Chase who befriends Leslie and Ann.

Jessica Chastain & Milla JovovichI feel like they’re silently acknowledging to each other that 1) They had two of the prettiest dresses on the red carpet and 2) They’d love to see each other’s dresses in a pile on their hotel room floors.

Dianna Agron & Malin AkermanI feel like Dianna is not-so silently acknowledging the No. 2 point above.

Amy Adams & Olivia WildeReboot. I’m sorry, I think my brain short circuited for a minute from all the pretty. Reboot. I’m sorry, I think my brain short circuited for a minute from all the pretty. Reboot. I’m sorry…

Ginnifer Goodwin & Sasha AlexanderSuddenly, looking at Ginnifer’s sexy pixie cut, Jane Rizzoli is starting to feel a little insecure.

Heidi Klum & Bar RefaeliClearly they did this purposely to get into SGALGG.

Cameron Diaz & Kate HudsonPlease see above.

Miley Cyrus & Kelly OsbourneWell now it’s almost starting to feel desperate.

Amy Adams, Jennifer Westfeldt, Claire Danes & Paula PattonYou want us to do you one on one? Or two by two? Or we could do three on one? Or we could do four by four? Do four by four? Four by four.

And finally, I call these last group of pictures: Meryl Streep Seduces The World

With Sandra BullockSandy is reminding Meryl of the time they kissed and trying to impress her with her finger size.

With Rooney MaraNow is your chance, Rooney. Kiss her! Hard, on the mouth!

With Octavia SpencerAnd we’ve come full circle with the drunken straight gal hookups. Someone must have yelled Scorsese and Meryl obliged.

Bonus: Angie’s Right LegI think we should acknowledge that Angelina’s bisexual side was alive and well at the Oscars as her right leg was obviously trying to initiate a threesome with Angie & Brad.

Yes, her, again

I will have a full Straight Gals Acting Like Gay Gals Oscars Edition post for you kittens tomorrow. Also, you can hope over to AfterEllen later today for my Oscars recap. But right now, right now let us luxuriate in the wonder that is Meryl Streep’s “surprise” third Oscar win. Look, absolutely no offense to other two-time Academy Award winners like Jane Fonda, Sally Field, Jessica Lange and Hilary Swank, but it’s about time Meryl FUCKING Streep had more shiny naked gold man statuettes than you guys. And, while she has those 17 nominations, the last time she actually won was 29 years ago for “Sophie’s Choice” and 33 years ago for “Kramer v. Kramer.” So, thank heavens it was “Oh, no! Oh, come on, why? Her – AGAIN!”

One more, and she’ll tie the great Katharine Hepburn. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t bet against her.

My Weekend Crush

You guys! You guys, you guys, you guys. Wait. Stop. Make that, you gals! You gals, you gals, you gals! You know what’s making me super excited about this movie year? A shock of cascading red hair, a sure-tipped arrow and a badass display of self-bodice ripping. Yeah, I’m talking about the two minute and 30 second clip from “Brave” released this week. Pixar’s first film to feature a female lead isn’t in theaters until June 22. That’s four months away. But already the film looks to like it will add a rich, spunky, capable heroine to the cinematic pantheon. Also, who doesn’t love a good mooning gag? Now I love me some Pixar and, of course, I love the ladies, so this movie is aimed right at my bullseye, so to speak. Oh, and Scottish accents, I kind of can’t resist a Scottish accent. Happy weekend, all.

What doesn't Glee you

Most Very Special Episodes strive to cover one Very Special Issue. Like, say, drug abuse. Or child neglect. Or that funny shaped mole that turns out to be the C word. But not “Glee.” Nooooo. “Glee” has to be different. “Glee” has to be even Very Specialer than the most Very Special Episode. It’s the Very Specialest of Episodes. To wit, it crammed not only teen suicide, not only teen marriage but also teen texting while driving into one hour-long Very Specialest Episode. When it was over, I felt a bit like poor Quinn – hit by a truck.

Here’s what I can say about “Glee.” What it does well it does so achingly well you want to catch it in a jar and put it on your nightstand and watch it slowly dance before you as you gently drift into slumber. But what it does badly or, even worse – heavy handedly, it does so badly you want to throw said jar against the nearest wall and watch it crash into a million little pieces, each of which represents an infinitely frustrating missed opportunity.

But let’s address them one by one, shall we? First, teen suicide. Teen suicide from bullying is a terrible thing. People from across the globe came together to address this issue in a beautiful show of grassroots solidarity with the It Gets Better Project more than a year ago. So, taken on its own, the interspersed images of an emotionally distraught Karofsky agonizing about being outed and bullied was poignant and important. Kids can be cruel. Adolescents can be hell. The world can seem hopeless. But you’re not alone. It does get better. And living is the only way you can ensure you get to the good stuff.

But here’s the thing, “Glee,” what you do doesn’t happen in a vacuum. You can’t say, outing is so terrible and so wrong and so tragic and so possibly suicidal one minute, yet just three months earlier say outing is A-OK if the popular hero quarterback dude does it to a kinda bitchy mean girl and then makes her sit awkwardly in front of him as he sings a song about girls wanting to have fun. Granted, sure, everyone’s experience is different. But you can’t really have your cake any way you want it. Otherwise the message is: Boy outing is super bad, girl outing is super helpful. Not cool.

Oh, and while we’re on the subject, what the actual fuck with Kurt lecturing Quinn on how she should feel about Karofsky’s suicide attempt? What kind of my minority issue is more important than your minority issue speechifying is that? No. Uh-uh. Not cool. This isn’t the Ism Olympics. This is a silly little show about a Midwestern glee club that can, at its finest, provide crystalline moments of emotional resonance. And other times, they just sing and dance really well, and stuff.

Right, so there’s now on to teen marriage. All I’m going to say about this ridiculous Finn and Rachel getting hitched storyline is it is ridiculous and no one who writes a word of it should be paid in real, actual money. Instead might I suggest reimbursement in community college credits instead so they could take a Critical Thinking Skills 101 class and realize that this out-of-nowhere, this-helps-make-Finn-special story is at best illogical and at worst ludicrous. p.s. Yes, Faberry Nation, I know that wedding totally should have been Quinn and Rachel because that, that would have made sense.

Finally, the teen texting while driving storyline, a.k.a. Let’s hit poor Dianna Agron with a truck. Hey, remember when she wanted to steal Shelby’s baby? This kinda makes me think back fondly to that plotline. I bet Dianna couldn’t be happier that Quinn’s a senior. If I was her I’d run as far away from Ryan Murphy as my legs could take me. That is if her legs still work when the show returns April 10.

Also, don’t get me started on the intrinsic cruelty of voicing poor Tina’s simple desire to be able to sing a song and then not actually letting her sing a song. I think this makes “Glee” even more of an asshole. At least if it was oblivious to its flaws you could hope to improve them. But to know your flaws and flaunt them? Yeah, total asshole move.

So, there you have it. “Glee” in a nutshell. Flashes of genius. Long stretches of why is this happening. Giant sinkholes of logic. And some real asshole moves.

Also, can anyone tell me what the actual fuck that peanut butter nonsense was all about?

Well, at least we got to see the Troubletones. What “Glee” doesn’t kill, makes us all stronger for stomaching.

My lady business, myself

When life, both personal and public, gets really frustrating often the best medicine is a little laughter. The whole “if we don’t laugh, we’ll cry” thing is real. Well anyone who has been paying attention to our political landscape recently has been howling to keep from hysterically weeping. A Congressional hearing on birth control with no female panelists? A Virginia law that would requires women to be penetrated with a transvaginal ultrasound before being allowed to have an abortion? An Indiana State Representative who thinks the Girl Scouts of America are “radically pro-abortion,” “promote homosexual lifestyles” and in cahoots with “feminists, lesbians, or Communists?” One of the biggest financial backers of GOP presidential contender Rick Santorum telling women that birth control is cheap, just put a Bayer between your knees and squeeze? Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. SOB.

Sure, this war on women from the right wing of politics is nothing new. But the fact that things that seem so basic – like birth control is important and should be accessible basic – coming under attack is pretty fucking ludicrous. I keep thinking the Republican presidential candidates have arrived in our dimension from 1952 via a hidden rip in the space-time continuum. But no, here we are in 2012 talking about why it’s bad to exclude women from the conversation when we’re talking about women’s bodies. Though, maybe that Indiana idiot is onto something – I was a Girl Scout and I’m a feminist and gay lady and while not a Communist, I do believe some careful application of socialist principles could help our country a great deal. Also, their cookies are delicious.

So now, to keep from crying, please enjoy some very hearty chuckles at those wingnuts expense.

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
Get More: Daily Show Full Episodes,Political Humor & Satire Blog,The Daily Show on Facebook

To quote Amy Poehler, don’t tell me what to do with my body or brain, GOP.

Tank Top Tuesday: Global Warming Edition

It’s been an unusually warm winter out here in California. Granted, it’s California. So it’s always going to be warmer in the winter than, say, Minnesota. But still, even for the Golden State it’s a little nuts. Especially up here in Northern California. I mean, it’s supposed to hit the 70s this week. It’s still February, right? I know this should probably be wringing my hands about global warming and our carbon emissions. And – don’t worry, Al Gore – I totally do. But I’m also a tiny bit selfishly grateful for our depleted ozone layer. Because it means ladies are going to break out the tank tops that much faster. Hey, don’t judge me. I recycle.

Troian Bellisario

I’m so behind on my “Pretty Little Liars.” Is Spencer gay yet? Because she should be.

Lena HeadeyRemember when Lena was on that show about robots from the future and she ran around in a lot of tank tops. Yeah, me too.

Olivia WildeRemember when Olivia was on that show about teenagers from The O.C. and she made out with Mischa Barton? Yeah, me too.

Maria BelloOh, “Prime Suspect,” you could have been so damn good.

Halle BerryIt’s been 10 years since she won her Oscar. I know, that is blowing my mind too.

Mila KunisMore movies where you make out with Natalie Portman. Less movies where you make out with Justin Tumberlake. Oh, and don’t even consider making out with Ashton Kutcher again, honey.

Charlize TheronEvery time I see her in a tank top I think, “You know what, $140,000 for a kiss might even be a little low.”

Michelle RodriguezIf I had a dollar for each time Michelle gave a camera this look I’d be able to buy everyone of you a tank top, and then some.

Hope Solo

OK, OK – this isn’t “technically” a tank top. But it sure makes me appreciate warm weather. Also sweat. Also abs. Mmmm, abs.

Right, so maybe our carbon footprint isn’t looking so great. But until the rising oceans swallow all the land, I’m going to enjoy this silver lining while I can.

BAMF FLOTUS

Let me just get this out there immediately, our FLOTUS is a BAMF. Yeah, I said it. Our First Lady of the United States is a Bad Ass Mutha F-(word I cannot say because this is the presidency of the United States of America we are talking about, not some juvenile detention hall cafeteria). Still there’s no ifs, ands or butts about it. What I like about her isn’t just that she has been a gracious and vivacious First Lady, which she certainly has. It is that she seems to have a great sense of humor about all of it. Both about herself and about the situation. The way she gently ribs her husband, the President, is pretty damn endearing. And the way she has presented herself in the public eye is pretty damn impressive. Also, have I mentioned she’s a BAMF? Yeah. I’ve particularly enjoyed the “Show, Don’t Tell” approach she has taken to her Let’s Move Initiative to end childhood obesity. Watching the First Lady run, jump, dance, hula hoop and even potato sack race has truly been a pleasure. Thank you, Mrs. Obama. A grateful nation salutes your stellar athleticism. Also, damn, those arms. Happy Presidents’ Day, indeed.

Michelle v. Jimmy

Can you see Barbara Bush doing this, let alone being able to do this?

Michelle v. Ellen

I don’t think Ellen let her win. I think she flat-out beat her.

Michelle v. The Dougie

Fuck yeah, our First Lady can Dougie.

My Weekend Kiss

So let’s talk about The Kiss. Let’s really, really talk about The Kiss. The song may say a kiss is just a kiss, but the reality is often so much more complicated. A kiss, The Kiss, is always more when it comes to gay relationships both on screen and in real life. Something as simple as a smooch takes on complex cultural and socio-political ramifications when you’re gay. I know, and all you wanted to do was make out with your girlfriend.

So then, let’s talk about The Kiss. The thing is The Kiss wasn’t even the first kiss. That was the small peck shown earlier in the episode. The first kiss was the briefest of A-frames, a split-second lip touch we gives to our loved ones almost without thinking. A “I love you”-drive-by by way of your lips. But The Kiss, the one at the Sugar Shack, well, that’s different. And, as we all know, that kiss wasn’t really their first kiss either. But their first on-screen kiss. And in short, it was perfect. I could go on for a couple days about how perfect, but it was all there, the love, the tenderness, the passion. Granted, no tongue. But, hey, this isn’t Showtime.

But what I’m more interested in, besides the gorgeous aesthetics, is what led to them. Instead of just having them deliver their long-overdue first kiss – the one us faithful on the S.S. Brittana had been screaming for since the beginning – they made sure to make a point. Which is, why can’t gay couples kiss just like straight couples – on TV, in the street, at school, anywhere for public consumption? What’s with the insane double standard that lets Finn and Rachel suck face for several uncomfortable minutes but that takes nearly three seasons to let Santana and Brittany touch lips?

In short, to quote Santana, it’s bullcrap. Gay couples should get to kiss in public just like straight couples. We shouldn’t have to worry who a simple sign of love might offend. What someone might say. What someone might do. Yet, all too often, we do. Or, at the very least, we know and we don’t care. If I want to hold your hand when we go out, I’m going to hold your hand. If I want to give you a kiss on the cheek when we’re sitting together, I’ll give you a kiss on the cheek. If I want to kiss you at the Valentine’s Day dance, I will damn well kiss you at the Valentine’s Day dance. But there’s the thing, there’s always – even if only in the backs of our heads – the moment of recognition that someone might object. And it’s not there for straight couples, and that’s fucking bullcrap.

Granted, I’m not talking about some gratuitous make-out session here with hands up shirts and down pants and all over. Gay, straight, whathaveyou – that’s the “get a room” kind of stuff that should be private. But the everyday affections – the little kisses and big hugs and long lingers – those we should all share all the time because they make us more human. In the end, we’re really not that different. All I want to be able to do is kiss my girlfriend. And you should be able to kiss your boyfriend or your wife or your husband or your non-labeled, full-committed life partner whenever and wherever. Because kissing is awesome. And everyone should do it more. Happy weekend, all.

p.s. Oh ye of little faith who were impatiently waiting for me to get my Brittana on this week. Have I ever jumped ship, ladies? Our girls sure have come a long way. And what better way to seal it than with a kiss. Once more, from the beginning. Le sigh.

With a Faberry on top

Well, well, well. “Glee” certainly outgayed itself this week. Not only did we (finally) have The Big Brittana Kiss. But we also had The Big Faberry Validation. That’s right, Faberry, Glee’s biggest ship that passes in the night, but not on actually on screen, crushed the E! Online TV’s Top Couple Tournament Poll. Yes, a couple that is only a couple thanks to the pride, devotion and fervor of us shippers won a TV couples poll. Give yourself a hand, Shipper Nation. You’ve made the big time.

In fact, shippers dominated that poll, period. The second place finisher? Dean and Castiel from “Supernatural.” Yes, another gay slash pairing was second place in, and I cannot repeat this enough, a mainstream favorite TV couple poll. You keep your normal, average America. We here on The Interwebs will take our subtext and run away with any survey you can throw at us. So much so that according to E!, Faberry fans set a new record high for page turns on E! Online for any single post in the entire history of the website. Remember when I said to give yourself a hand? Give yourself two.

So then, what does it all mean when the gay slash loving from the depths of our hearts makes a splash out there in the outside wider world? I don’t know, really. More exposure to a fanbase that previously could only be seen stalking the virtual hallways of Livejournal and Tumblr. Perhaps a little more acceptance of those who love a different kind of love. But probably most of all validation for the fans out there who spend countless hours watching, reading, creating, commiserating and celebrating the couples that everyone might not see at first glance. Ship whoever you want to ship, and ship them proudly. Because, clearly, you are not alone. And if you can dream it, there’s a fanbase to make it reality.

p.s. Not only did Faberry fans dominated the E! poll, they also got Hulu to sit up and pay attention. Oh, fandom. You truly are a wonder.

The Kiss

I will, very soon, have so much more to say about the Big Glee Valentine’s Episode. But for now, because love is still very much in the air, please enjoy The Kiss. I don’t know about you, but my heart grew three sizes that day. Perfect ladies, simply perfect.

Be my Valentine

Dearest Kittens,

Happy Valentine’s Day! I know many of us consider this day to be the Hallmarkification of emotion. People in love don’t really need a special day to be reminded of said love, it should be with them everyday. And people not in love certainly don’t need to be reminded of their lovelessness by an overbearing candy-heart industrial complex. Still, it never hurts to let the ones you care about (that being you, dear kittens) that you care about them. That you appreciate them. That you want to see them naked. Wait, what? Just seeing if you were paying attention.

So I’ve dedicated this Valentine’s Day to a love I know we all share. A love that often does not speak its name. And for some of us, the longest love of our lives. Please allow my friend Hannah Hart to serenade you today. This one’s for you, Internet.

Love,
Ms. Snarker

Whitney, always

Sometimes I don’t really know what to say. The second album I ever bought, with my very own money with my very own hands, was Whitney Houston’s 1985 debut, “Whitney Houston.” It was a tape – come on, that was cutting edge in 1985. That small rectangular box filled with untold delights. I remember taking the cellophane off the tape and seeing this sleek, beautiful, impossibly poised creature staring back at me. And then when I popped it into my cassette player, it was just smooth, sumptuous heaven. “Saving All My Love for You,” “How Will I Know,” “Greatest Love of All.” So two years later of course I ran out and bought her follow-up, “Whitney.” The cover instead showed this bubbly, radiant woman. A smile as big as the sun, skin as delicious as the richest caramel. “Didn’t We Almost Have It All,” “Where Do Broken Hearts Go,” “So Emotional.” She sang about things I still hadn’t felt – love, heartbreak, passion – yet she made them feel very real and very present.

It was all, of course, because of that voice. That instrument from another dimension. So clear, so strong, so magnificent. Whitney didn’t need back-up dancers or pyrotechnic displays or whip cream-spouting bras. She just mesmerized. Years of singing the good word in the gospel choir taught her how to make the most joyful of noises. And with that joyful noise she became one of the biggest superstars on the planet. One of the one-named ranks. Still today, say “Whitney” and no one in the world thinks you’re talking about that awful NBC sitcom. Nope, you’re talking about Whitney. Sure, later years were less kind – and often in a spectacularly public way. And how we like to make sport of those who fall from such great heights. But never, ever was there any doubt that we were graced with a talent, a voice, that would ring through the ages. News this weekend of her passing hit me like a bolt. Because it wasn’t just a piece of my youth that left us, but a talent that made the universe stop and listen. And now she is gone. And I don’t really know what to say. But thank you, thank you for sharing your voice. I will miss it, always.

p.s. Also, because I can, please enjoy this slice of pop perfection. Precious little gave me more joy growing up than bouncing around my bedroom to this song. Dance along with me now, won’t you please.