My Weekend Crush

Sometimes, out of seemingly nowhere, I remember this “My So-Called Life” scene. It’s such a simple scene on its surface – a rehearsal of a high school production of “Our Town.” But it contains multitudes. And, as with so much in life, it’s what we don’t see that makes this so very powerful.

The set-up – Angela and her best friend Rayanne have stopped being friends because the latter slept with the former’s ex-boyfriend – is remarkably pedestrian. Female friendships torn asunder over a boy. Nothing revolutionary about seeing that on television. But it is the execution that never fails to bring a lump to my throat. I wondered why this particular scene sprung to mind so vividly the other day. And I think it is because I’ve been watching “Girls.” The past few episodes have dealt with the ways young women support and alternately let each other down in the most mundane ways. But when played for more than the lazy catfight, the way it feels when women break each other’s hearts and how – if we’re very lucky we heal them again – is unmistakably riveting. That’s all human beings are. Just blind people.

Right, so I think my subconscious is telling me it’s time to marathon “My So-Called Life” again. Happy weekend, all.

Send in the Clones

Amid the frenzy of “Rizzoli & Isles” coming back and the season finale of “Lost Girl” wrapping up and “Orange Is the New Black” finally knowing when we’ll be sitting in front of our TVs for two-days straight again, I almost forget to get excited for the return of “Orphan Black” in a little under two months. Almost. Because each teeny-tiny sliver of a preview gets my zomghappypuppyiwashidingundertheporchbecauseiloveyou excitement going. Seriously, all it takes is 15 seconds of Tatiana Maslany taking on Tatiana Maslany for me to be hook, line and sinkered again for this show. Bring on the clonespiracy.

p.s. Does Tatiana as Rachel look amazingly like Megan Follows, or what?

ETA: Did you see the latest teaser? Cosima! Delphine! COPHINE! Jesus, this show has it all, plus an infinite number of Tatiana Maslanys.

Welcome back, Gayzzoli

So true. pic.twitter.com/5NviIXx0Zx

— Jan Nash (@JanNash100) February 24, 2014

This Post-It, tweeted by new showrunner Jan Nash, is how I feel about watching “Rizzoli & Isles” to a T. Sometimes I wonder why I keep watching this show. Other times I know for sure. Certainly, it doesn’t have the best writing. Definitely, the crimes aren’t the craftiest. And, sweet merciful Zeus, is the police procedure is beyond ridiculous. But that is not and never was why I watched. Instead, since the beginning, I’ve been in it for the chemistry, camaraderie and comedy. And the stupid obvious lesborific subtext. I just can’t help myself.

p.s. Gayzzoli subtext recaps start up again tomorrow on AfterEllen.

What Glee?

So “Glee” is back today, I guess. I’m not really sure because, quite frankly, I’ve lost track. I stopped watching back in November after that atrocity wrapped in a steaming tortilla of awfulness that was “The End of Twerk.” I took it off my DVR season pass that night. And I haven’t seen an episode since. How do I feel about that? Hmm, well, I feel really fucking good about it, actually – thanks for asking. Over the months I’ve toyed with the idea of catching up. I could put it on in the background and do more important tasks like organizing my sock drawer or cleaning out the cat box. That last seems particularly appropriate. But in the end, I would rather watch a rerun of “House Hunters” where two whiny people whine about the lack of granite countertops than “Glee.” Somehow, even the people who complain about not having stainless steel appliances seems less grating than those kids. I’m still deciding whether I’ll watch the 100th episode. I’m leaning toward a maybe yes, only because I know so many of the actors and characters I actually cared about when I used to actually care about this show will be returning. And for a flash I was worried that if I did tune in I would be confused, having missed so many episodes. But then I laughed at myself for a good 10 minutes because, idiot, this is “Glee.” It probably has better continuity the longer you don’t watch. I don’t really know when the 100th episode will be airing either. Obliviousness toward “Glee” is my new happy place. It’s strange, really, how something that once felt fresh and – while always seriously flawed – important can fade into such obscurity. But, there you have it. That’s “Glee.” I guess. I wouldn’t actually know. Like I said, I stopped watching.

LOLcats, word

Welcome to your week. Cats, Ellen and Rebel. Cat Ladies of the Internet, represent. Happy Monday.

p.s. Apologies for the short post. But tomorrow is Gayzzoli. I gotta rest up and stretch my subtext muscle.

My Weekend Crush

The world can really wear you down out some days. But then we catch a glimpse of beauty and, if even for only a moment, everything is lifted. So please enjoy these romanticized images of LGBT love, shot by out photographer Braden Summers. The photos, which are dramatized images of couples (many of them models, some real), depicting love across six countries. The All Love Is Equal traveled to Paris, India, Lebanon, South Africa, Brazil, and the US to shoot the photos. And as Summers told Buzzfeed her was inspired by the standard romanticized images of couples we see everyday, all which generally featured exclusively straight couples.

“The work is meant to speak to a large audience, it should be reminiscent of the highly-produced romance images that we are fed on a daily basis.”

So, please enjoy a little beauty this Friday. May it lift you where you need to go today. Happy weekend, all.

You old battle axe, you

Dude, I was totally right about Lauren’s Magical Vagina necklace. “Lost Girl” showrunner and all-around lovely Canadian writer lady has confirmed that the gift Lauren gave to Bo was, indeed, a symbolic snatch. Essentially.

My “Lost Girl” finale recap made light of the necklace’s, um, anatomical similarities. And I guote:

“Before going to save her lady, Bo makes a quick pit stop to accessorize. She pauses to put on Lauren’s gift. It’s the necklace she found hidden in Lauren’s apartment. The necklace that looks an awful lot like, OK–I’m just going to say it, it looks like a vagina. Oh my freaking God, Lauren gave Bo a necklace of her Magical Vagina.”

Clearly, someone has been shopping at the Georgia O’Keeffe Collection.



Well, the good news is it’s a symbolic vagina of shorts, because as Emily tweeted out, it is a labrys. Yes, a labrys, like the ancient Greek symbol for an axe and feminist symbol for female power and the lesbian symbol for, “Dude, I’m totally into chicks.” I mean, it’s the axe tattoo Violet admired on Corky’s arm in “Bound.” Come on.

The necklace was painstakingly designed by Exec. Producer J. Firestone, and is based on the labrys charm. And...

— Emily Andras (@emtothea)February 21, 2014

...replicas of the necklace will soon be available for purchase, with proceeds going to a charity chosen by the#LostGirl cast.

— Emily Andras (@emtothea) February 21, 2014

Thank you #LostGirl-ers, for your support; For giving us the freedom to love...and we do! Think you'll be pleased with the charity, too.

— Emily Andras (@emtothea)February 21, 2014

Fine, so it wasn’t “technically” ladybits. But metaphorically. Yeah.

@dorothysnarker BOOM. Happy birthday. Forever.

— Emily Andras (@emtothea) February 21, 2014

Though, for an axe those are really elongated labia blades. Ahem.

Dame Twerk

Dignified people being generally undignified, in the most charming way possible, is one of my favorite things. So on this hump day, I give you the incredibly dignified and undeniably charming Dame Helen Mirren reluctantly twerking. I love how she refused at first, but relented because her subjects demanded it. Twerking is dead, long live twerking – when done by this dame.



p.s. I have no idea why this video quality from the Harvard Hasty Pudding Awards looks like it was shot in 1973. Hold up, wait, maybe it is from 1973 and Helen Mirren actually invented twerking. Kidding, kidding. Glee invented twerking. KIDDING EVEN MORE.

p.p.s. Helen Mirren can totally get it. Not kidding. Not even a little.

Waiting Is the New Black

Don’t even think of bothering me June 6. Don’t call, don’t write, don’t even think of me. I’ll be binge-watching “Orange Is the New Black” with every other lesbian. The release of the season 2 premiere date (still waiting for the season 1 DVD set, Netflix – ahem). The news and teeny-tiny promo clip released to preview the return has me beyond keyed up, and it’s still more than 100 days away.

I love the glimpse of Lorraine Toussaint as new character Vee. And I’m so happy to see Nicky, Taystee, Crazy et al again. Though, come on, where is Alex Vauseeeeee? Sigh.

I kind of don’t know what I’m going to do with myself until June 6. (p.s. Dear Boss: Taking a vacation day. Love, Snarker.) So I guess I’ll just enjoy the magnificence of Uzo Aduba showing off her 10-years of figure skating training in the Olympic setting she deserves.



Until June 6 I guess I’ll just stock up on pie (to throw) and duct tape (to make shower shoes) and, of course, screwdrivers (to shank a bitch). Hey, we all pass the time in our own ways.

Another Ellen

For all those wondering if coming out still mattered, let me answer that with three simple words. It fucking matters. And Ellen Page coming out on Valentine’s Day fucking matters. Not only was it a love note to LGBT people everywhere, but it was a reminder of the power of three other simple words: I am gay.

Sure, most of us already knew. Or strongly suspected. Or hoped. But the power of Ellen telling the world she is gay, of anyone telling the world cannot be denied. It fucking matters. Each time another person comes out, I feel the rush of camaraderie that only comes from being part of a group that claims it's own identity. I feel it, some questioning kid in a tiny town in Kansas (Jesus, fuck, Kansas) hears it, and LGBT people all over the world feel it.

I kind of love how you can tell she is nervous when she starts her speech. The import of it. She knows it fucking matters. And she makes the most of her platform with a beautiful, eloquent and powerful speech. So many of us know what it means to lie by omission, to hide and suffer. But like Ellen, we can come out the other side. Damn, it was a good Valentine’s Day to be gay. Now, the line form behind me to hug Ellen with our legs in friendship.

p.s Never mind the winter of our discontent. With all the recent folks coming out (football star Michael Sam, Chicago Fire star Monica Raymund and England soccer captain Casey Stoney), we should call this the winter of our discloseting.

My (Lost) Weekend Crush

Right, so what the actual fuck is happening on “Lost Girl” this season? This week’s episode was confusing on many levels. There was so much plot and so little making sense. But mostly, I was annoyed how much of the storyline this season revolved around brand new characters who we have little to no (or, to be honest, negative) emotional investment in. How are we supposed to care about Bo’s sacrifices for Rainer, if we all hate Rainer? He truly is the Warlow of “Lost Girl.” (Check out my full recap of episode 4.12 over at AfterEllen to fully understand the extent of my mass confusion.)

I have enjoyed many things about this season, particularly its penchant for making every crackship dreamed up in fandoms most feverish dreams come to life on screen. ( Really, really enjoyed Lauren in that nightie, too. Really, really much.) But the logic holes we’re left with with only one episode to patch them is perplexing, at best. Not to be cruel, but this is a show with a somewhat spotty record on its season finales. Remember the Dawning Yawning? Probably best we all don’t.

Still, I dream the impossible dream that everything will make sense after Sunday night’s finale. Maybe they’ll pull this big crazy train into the station and we’ll all be like, “Oh, that’s where it was going.” And if that is asking too much, all I really want from the finale is for Rainer to die. What can I say, I am a gay lady, so I just hate BoNer. Now lady boners, that is something all together different. Happy Weekend, all.

Everything is...awesomely behind

I have not seen "The Lego Movie" or "Frozen" yet this winter, which gives you an idea of the severely behind I am on basically, you know, life. (This post if the least of my lateness worries, alas.) Maybe I'll catch up by spring. Or summer. Or, who am I kidding, next winter.

28 Reasons

One of the most powerful and transformative human emotions – besides love and that little adorable hot head, anger – is humor. To laugh, in the face of whatever adversity faces us is a way to exert power over all that vexes, tests, burdens and otherwise pisses us the fuck off. In the United States, our racial history has been one pocked – screw that, cratered – with inequality, brutality and good old-fashioned hate. So during this Black History Month, besides appreciation, acknowledgment, atonement, et al I encourage everyone to laugh. Not at our often ugly history and too often tense racial relations today, but with or common understanding that even in 2014 we’ve got a long way to go, baby. Also, Jesus fuck, this skit is funny. And, it features Sasheer Zamata – the first black female SNL cast member in six years. I want Sasheer and Kate McKinnon in all the sketches. ALL THE SKETCHES.

Luge like nobody's watching

Are we all just a little bit in love with Kate Hansen? The Team U.S.A. women’s luger is the surprise sweetheart of these games so far. It’s not because of her medal-winning performance necessarily (she competes in the finals today – I think, freaking timezones), but because she’s the most adorable fly girl Olympian you’ve ever met. During coverage of the women’s luge it was revealed the 21-year-old’s pre-race routine was simple. Crank up Queen Bey and dance like nobody is watching. Get it, guuuuurl. The NBC broadcaster watching her epic dance moves was the biggest, boringest killjoy in the world. But please ignore his inability to feel joy and enjoy this clip of Kate getting her groove thang on.



Get down, girl, go on get down. Though I would expect nothing less from someone whose Twitter bio reads: “I know all of Beyonce’s choreo by heart and I wear spandex for a living.”



In a post-race interview she told a decidely more fun NBC broadcaster that she always, always listens to Beyonce to get her game-face on:

“Strictly Beyonce. My girl, B. She just gets me fierce and I get stoked and I have to. I have such good mojo going on. So that’s just how I roll.”

And then when prompted by the same reporter to show off her popping and locking, she told him to drop a beat.



See, now this is why I watch the Olympics. Not for the politics, not for the medal count. It’s to meet fun athletes like this who clearly love what they do and are having the time of their lives at the pinnacle of their sport.

And, besides having moves, Kate isn’t a bad cinematographer either. She filmed and edited this video of her fellow athletes at U.S. Winter Olympics training facility last fall. (p.s. She has a whole YouTube channel with similar videos, by the way.)



Oh, have I mentioned one of her biggest goals is to get on Ellen? Oh, Great Panted One, hear your people’s cry. Let this girl dance.

Chasing the Gay Dollar

So, you might have heard that Russia, the country hosting the Sochi Winter Olympics, is a little anti-gay. You might have also heard a lot of people are boycotting watching the games (like lesbian fandom dreamgirl Zoie Palmer, for instance) and others are protesting in other ways (rainbow unicorn mittens of solidarity) and still other companies have made their own statements (AT&T and Google were early out of the gate). While companies have tailored ads for LGBT events, publications, etc. Now there have been a handful of commercials that have put their inclusiveness where their advertising dollars are in the mainstream. There was that cheeky Canadian ad with the lugers. (Oh, Canada, indeed!) And now Chevy, Coke and Chobani (above) have all created LGBT-positive advertisements, which have all been released during the Olympics. These sorts of gestures often make me feel torn. On the one hand, amazing – so fucking amazing that finally we’re being represented in mainstream culture in something as All-American (yes, yes – I know, they are global brands) as Chevy and Coke. On the other hand, is it just a crass way to use the LGBT audience as another consumer pawn to be played in search of the almighty dollar? Though, I guess being seen as just a capitalist tool is in a way its own victory. If inclusiveness and diversity is seen as a way to make money, I guess I’ll take it. So gay sells now? It’s better than the opposite, that’s for sure.

Chevy

Coke

p.s. Here’s a Norwegian ad which premiered the same day as the Sochi opening ceremonies and features some prominent sports stars.



p.p.s. Interesting that major corporations are jumping on the LGBT bandwagon for the Olympics, but the major sporting organization of the NFL (particularly its anonymous cowards) can’t get on board with an out prospect and potentially the first out professional football player. Go, Michael Sam, go. Suck it, NFL.

My Weekend Olympics

I am an admitted Olympics junkie. I love them. I love the pageantry. I love the drama. I love the passion. I love the hot athletes. Without fail I always get a little choked up during Opening Ceremonies because it represents the culmination of a lifelong dreams and a lifetime of hard work.

But this Olympics? Dammit if they’re not trying to break up with me before we’ve even started dating. What with its kidnapping of wild orcas, killing of stray dogs and warnings to visitors about “dangerous face water.” Oh, right, and there is also all that terrible mistreatment and persecution of LGBT people. Faster. Higher. Stronger. Fewer Civil Rights. Ugh. It is just so fucking awful.

This is the first Olympics which I have truly, unshakably mixed emotions going into. Certainly, there were questions about human rights issues with Beijing. But Sochi has had so many that are so well documented they’re practically impossible to ignore. And they’re kind of ruining everything. The illusion that the Olympics are about the purity of sports and talent was shattered long ago. But it’s still nice to hope that we can rise above the geopolitical posturing, rampant consumerism and endless corporate sponsorship to appreciate the thrill of human accomplishment.

The good news is the world is watching. NBC kicked off its Olympics coverage tonight with Bob Costas mentioning Russia’s anti-gay climate in the first few seconds of broadcast last night. And there was an in-depth discussion of the civil rights issues in the country (with the even more depressing stat from a veteran Russian journalist that 85 percent of the country is virulently homophobic). And while most corporate sponsors have stayed silent, AT&T was the first major corporate sponsor to take a stand against the country’s anti-gay laws. And yesterday Google posted took an unmistakable stand on its homepage (as well as its Russian homepage). I swear to God, I got genuinely choked up looking at my search engine yesterday.



So, starting today, we’re all faced with a choice. Watch the Olympics, don’t watch the Olympics? Boycott Russian vodka? Toast with some Stoli, baby? Hard to say what will be most effective. I’ve decided I’m still going to watch. I’m going to cheer for these athletes because they deserve to be cheered for. But I’m also going to continue to advocating for change, continue shedding a light on Russia’s oppressive anti-gay laws (and other general bumblefuckery). And I hope more athletes, sponsors and world leaders do the same. Perhaps the glare of the international spotlight will do some good, or at very least expose all that is wrong. Perhaps the torch can shine some light into some dark places. In fact, I think it has an obligation to do so. In the end, you don’t have to love Sochi to still love the Olympic spirit. Go, world. Happy weekend, all.

p.s. Oh, and I have a few thought on the ridiculous hypocrisy of having fake lesbian Russia pop duo t.A.T.u. play at the opening ceremonies tonight as well, if you’re so inclined to care click over here.

p.p.s. When not rooting for Team USA, I will be rooting for Team Canada. A little gay indeed, eh.

Emma Delightful

I would pay for an online service that sends me daily video compilations of Emma Thompson being awesome. I really would. I’d open up my email every day and it would be like a little present. You’ve got delightfulness! This awards season Emma has been particularly delightful, which is actually a hard thing to say considering her average level of delightfulness is already off the charts. But whether she is throwing her Louboutins off on live television, photobombing Lupita Nyong’O, plotting how to kill someone with an Oscar statuette, explaining the secrets to marriage, making Oscar-worthy animal sounds, discussing how being in a musical made her clinically depressed and drinking at award shows, she never disappoints. I know we have the gifs, but I demand a video editing service. Think how much happier we would all be? Make it happen, Silicon Valley.

p.s. I mean ,even when she is trying to not be delightful, she is - of course - delightful.

Vause and Effect

Oh, be still my heart. “Orange is the New Black”creator Jenji Kohan has told Us Weekly that Alex Vause will be back for “most” of season 2. Now, I know the massive heart attack every lesbian, some straight women and an assortment of gay and straight men felt when news dropped last summer that Laura Prepon was leaving and/or severely cutting back on her time at Litchfield. It was a terrible, terrible dark time for us all.

Kohan told the magazine:

“Yes, yes, she is coming back. Not the whole season, but...you'll see her for most of it.”

So, that means more than the four episodes that have been previously reported. If we do a little basic math – 13 episodes a season, half of 13 is 6.5 – that would mean she would have to be in at least 7 episodes to constitute “most.” Yes, Jenji, I am fucking counting.

So if this math and “most” holds true, let us rejoice at the re-Alex Vause-ification of our hearts. Because when we said don’t you fucking leave us, Alex Vause, we fucking meant it.

Deconstructing Woody

Trigger Warning: Sexual abuse and rape culture discussion follows.

The last Woody Allen movie I saw in the theater was 2008’s “Vicky Cristina Barcelona,” which I will readily admit I watched to see Scarlett Johansson and Penelope Cruz kiss. Before that the last one I saw was 2005’s “Match Point.” I don’t know, maybe – like its creator – I was going through a Scar-Jo phase.

Throughout my life I have seen many, many Woody Allen films. My father, a Brooklyn native with the accent to match, was an enormous fan of his when we were growing up. We sat and laughed through rented copies of “Annie Hall,” “Sleeper,” “Love and Death” (pretty much the entire Diane Keaton era) in our living room.

But then, after the ugly end of his Mia Farrow period, it all changed. I haven’t felt good about seeing a Woody Allen movie since 1992. And I believe, once and for all, I am through. The separation between artist and art is something I’ve discussed, at length, before. I don’t necessarily have to like or agree with a person’s ideology and actions to like his/her art. But if a person’s character is so repugnant, it is also my prerogative to not support his or her work. I feel the same way about Roman Polanski.

And I find Woody Allen repugnant. While some have long rooted for the way his nebbish, neurotic nerd persona has always gotten the girl, I have continually found it jarring. I’m all for nerds getting the girl. Hello, story of my life. But I have never found Woody’s brand of nerdom particularly endearing. I find it narcissistic, whiny and continually obsessed with bedding young women. “Manhattan” is considered one of his enduring classics. It’s about a 42-year-old comedy writer who starts dating a 17-year-old girl.

But then the sexual assault allegations on his then 7-year-old daughter and fact that he began a sexual relationship with his longtime girlfriend’s adopted daughter happened. Let me address the latter first. I know, I know those into technicalities like to say that Soon-Yi was not his adopted daughter. And he never married her mother, Mia. But the two were in a relationship for 12 years. And the relationship only ended when Mia found nude pictures the then 57-year-old Woody had taken of the then 19- or 20-year-old (her adoption records are incomplete) Soon-Yi. I am adopted and I can tell you 100 percent, flat-out, without reservation, that shit is weird and gross and wrong. End of story.

Then there is the separate issue of the alleged sexual assault on his daughter, Dylan Farrow. The allegations, which were first made in 1992 and then became part of the bitter custody dispute though never prosecuted criminally, resurfaced a few days ago with an open letter from the now 28-year-old Dylan Farrow. Her letter recounts – for the first time publicly in her own words – what happened and how it has affected her life. It isn’t pretty. As mentioned earlier, trigger warning if you click this link.

There has been a lot made about the ambiguities and fact that Allen has never been charged or convicted of the crime. The “Who can know what really happened?”-attitude is pervasive. But its implication could not be clear. “I the absence of clear facts, I’m going to assume this girl has been lying for 21-years and keep supporting Woody Allen and seeing his movies.” Indeed, we have a presumption of innocence in this country, and it is a good thing. But it shouldn’t automatically equate to a presumption of guilt on the behalf of the accuser – especially in cases of sexual assault and abuse. Rape culture is everywhere and is real. It’s that toxic atmosphere which allows everything from casual rape jokes to actual rape because such violations are totally the same as your favorite football team getting blown out of the big game and a girl is totally asking for it because she is drunk/wearing a short skirt/what was she doing there in the first place anyway, etc. etc. Blame the victim, blame the victim, slut shame and repeat.

So let’s go to the numbers. In the Unites States, every two minutes someone is sexually assaulted, according to the U.S. Department of Justice's National Crime Victimization Survey. Nationally, 60 percent of sexual assaults go unreported, also according to the U.S. Justice Department. And nationally 97 percent of rapists never spend a day in jail, again according to the U.S. Department of Justice. Meanwhile, an average of methodical international studies on sexual assault claims finds they are only between 2-8 percent of all reports to police are false, according to The National Center for the Prosecution of Violence Against Women. So, statistically speaking: Rapes getting reported? Rare. Rapists going to jail? Rarer. Rape reports being false? Possibly rarest.

Allen, by the way, has vehemently denied the claims through his lawyer and lays basically all the blame at Mia Farrow’s feet.

You don’t necessarily have to take a side in this debate. You can continue seeing Woody Allen movies and appreciating his work. Your conscience is yours and yours alone. I just known mine feels a whole lot better believing a 7-year-old girl. I can live with giving up on some movies. In the scope of things, it’s really the least I can do.

p.s. Yesterday New Yorker TV critic Emily Nussbaum unearthed this gem from a one-act play Allen wrote and had produced three years ago. Yes, it’s a child molestation joke. Ladies and gentlemen, a comedy genius.

Triggerish, FWIW. Here's a graphic WA joke about child molestation from Honeymoon Motel, a 1-act produced 3 yrs ago: pic.twitter.com/at1Z7DrXxd

— emilynussbaum (@emilynussbaum) February 4, 2014

We're Not Going to Take It

How about that terrible waste of time and money game? Boring as it was, I was glad I watched for a few reasons – none of them about football. (Also, did you know the NLF, which makes $9 billion a year, has not paid a single cent in taxes since 1966? Awesome.) Given the ridiculous blowout, the ads were by far the most interesting thing about the whole overblown event. Well, that and the snacks. The vast majority were a combination of uninspired, unmemorable and unintelligible. Hey, VW, cool that you apparently only have all male engineers. Weird you’re in a car commercial, Bob Dylan. Seriously, Maserati? But there were a few standouts. I loved seeing Sarah McLachlan appear in an ad with a dog where I don’t want to cry and throw my wallet at the TV. I enjoyed the instant 80s flashback of Radio Shack. And the multi-culturalism and gay dads of Coke (yes, I know they’re still a problematic Sochi sponsor). And, of course, the puppy and the Clydesdale was just awwww.

But the best ad? That was the one for GoldieBlox with all the girls turning their pink and pastel toys into a rocket ship. The tiny little startup creates engineering toys for girls. Its mission is to “disrupt the pink aisle.” So how could a tiny fledgling business get one of the precious $4 million Super Bowl spots? It won Intuit’s Small Business, Big Game challenge by popular vote and got a chance to shine between all the beer, car and body spray ads. It seems so simple just still so revolutionary to say, “Girls like creating things other than princess hairstyles.” But now that I have both a niece and a nephew in prime toy-buying ages, it is not a joke. From the color-coded toy aisles to the learning/creating versus cooking/cleaning toy disparity, it’s no wonder we still have such rigid ideas of male and female roles. Remember when Lego ads used to look like this? Now there are BOYS’ and GIRLS’ Legos. Are you fucking kidding me? Yeah, well, screw that. Blow shit up, girls. Blow it all up.