My Weekend Crush

Back when I first saw Marlee Matlin in “Children of a Lesser God,” I remember being impressed. How could you not be? In her film debut she pretty much blew the doors off in a raw yet vulnerable performance that earned her an Oscar at the age of only 21. Through the years she has worked steadily. She had her own TV series for two seasons, “Reasonable Doubts,” and regular roles on “Picket Fences,” “The West Wing” and – of course – “The L Word.” While at times Jodi Lerner was a difficult character to like (like all of the sixth season), Marlee is immediately likable. Energetic, passionate and resolute, she has a positive outlook that can be infectious. Marlee reminds us that our limitations are not our limits. Yes, a deaf actress can go on “Dancing with the Stars” and not just do well, but be impressive. Marlee also continues to champion causes she believes in from The Children Affected by Aids Foundation to Red Cross (which she has been promoting heavily along with other relief efforts for Haiti on her Twitter feed). All that and she got to make out with Jennifer Beals. Like I was saying, impressive. Happy weekend, all.

God bless the child

When the homes fall down and the hospitals fall down and the presidential palace falls down, it puts everything in our lives in instant perspective. The earthquake that ripped through Haiti this week has left rubble, dust, blood and tears in its wakes. The call for help has gone out across the globe, though every technology available. Literally, you can now just lift one finger to help by texting 90999 with the message “HAITI” to donate $10 to the Red Cross. It’s so easy, it almost feels like cheating.

Celebrities have rallied support, the President has pledged support. Hillary Clinton called the level of devastation “biblical.” I don’t pray to any particular god, but I’ve asked the universe to help those hurt, scared and alone. More than 100,000 souls feared lost, maybe some 3 million more in desperate need.

In times like this when the enormity of the world’s suffering come crashing down around us, I’m reminded why I look to entertainment in the first place. Diversion. Joy. Meaning. Beauty. We can’t always find one, let alone all of them, in the things we consume. But sometimes, if we’re really lucky, the art we enjoy takes us through a rabbit hole of imagination and back again to the other side to make our waking lives more vivid and clear. We can’t ever escape the world’s problems, but maybe we can understand them just a little bit better.

HOW TO HELP.

I’m with Coco

Look, middle-aged white men aren’t the focus of this blog. I know that. That has not changed. But this Conan/Leno late night clusterfuck is so crazy and absurd and, in a way, insulting that it begs comment.

First, let us establish the ground rules. I am on Team Conan.

I’ve always enjoyed his brand of off-kilter, geeky smarts. Also, that hair. But now that he has given a definitive “No!” to NBC’s lunatic idea of pushing “The Tonight Show” to 12:05 a.m. (which would no longer make it “Tonight” and instead need to be called “Tomorrow”) to accommodate a half hour of Jay Leno, I’m on Team Conan for life. That has to be one of the one of the classiest “Fuck Off” letters ever written.

What I can’t understand, even for a moment, is how NBC would trade its past for its future. Johnny Carson, who held the chair for 30 years, retired at age 66. Leno, who hosted the show for 17 years, will be 60 in April. Conan, who had the job for seven months, is 46. Squeezing maybe five more years out of Jay at the expense of decades worth of comedy with Conan is, well, idiotic. Beyond idiotic.* This is no short-term investment.

But then, NBC is a network that defines every cliché of dumbassery. Putting Leno on at 10 p.m. five nights a week was an experiment we all knew would end badly. The same old thing but earlier is not a successful programming strategy. But now, instead of admitting failure they’re doubling down on a time machine to solve their problems.

Granted, the new Tonight Show wasn’t totally clicking with me yet. L.A. Conan had lost a certain edge and unpredictability. But it’s really hard to judge something like this after only half a year. “Late Night with Conan O’Brien” wasn’t an immediate hit either. But he grew into it and I had every confidence he’d do the same with Tonight.

But now, I guess not.

Look, Jay Leno signed a contract with NBC until 2004. He could have demanded a longer contract. He could have left the network after his reign ended. But he stayed and in the process helped to bring the whole damn house down.

I watch three shows on NBC: “30 Rock,” “Parks and Recreation” and “Chuck.” Sure, I catch the ever-present Law & Order” now and then, but almost exclusively in rerun. It as far as the rest of their primetime lineup goes, it’s a wasteland (apologies to “The Office & “Community,” – you’re good but Thursdays are brutal and I can only catch up on so much). Even after this whole sorted mess is over, I will still watch those shows.

But it’s just another reminder that if we wait for big corporations to do the smart and ethical thing, the only things left of our once mighty civilization will be cockroaches and Jay Leno.

[* Offending idiot comments removed with apologies.It was not my intent to be hurtful to anyone but the idiots at NBC.]

p.s. Thank you for indulging my pop culture philosophizing on dumb boy drama. To express my gratitude, please enjoy Olivia Wilde in her underwear. It’s the least I could do.

NOTE: Olivia has been very active since the earthquake happened in Haiti, raising awareness and relief funds to the devastated area via her Twitter account. Hot and socially conscious. Score.

Do you want me to seduce you

So, my suspicions have been confirmed. “Chloe” does look good, like mindfuck and the more, um, traditional kind of fuck good. From its first (and French) trailer, the Atom Egoyan drama featuring Julianne Moore, Liam Neeson and Amanda Seyfried is quite promising. And not just for the very special naked time Julianna and Amanda appear to spend together. [Note: That means its NSFW folks, so watch appropriately.]

Normally, I’m not that into the other woman kinds of thrillers (think “Obsessed,” otherwise known as the movie where Beyonce headbutts a bitch). But with a cast this caliber and Egoyan’s penchant for dark, thoughtful material, I’m sold. Granted, the aforementioned very special naked time does help.

And, as I also mentioned before, I’m excited about the chance to see Amanda be bad – as in “you’ve hired me to seduce your husband to catch him in an affair and report back on each encounter in increasingly graphic detail while I also seemingly get it on with you”-bad.

Even though I have a sneaking suspicion this will all end very badly, it’s going to be a heck of a ride getting there.

Fuck it

Do not let those motherfuckers fool you; sometimes you need to swear. That’s right, goddammit, I’m talking about cursing. It’s natural, necessary even. I’ve always thought that purposely exchanging perfectly good profanity with sanitized substitutes in the company of other adults is kind of, well, bullshit. Around kids? Keep it clean. At work? Probably not appropriate. But otherwise, shit yeah. Piss off, puritans. Granted, there are words I don’t use. Hurtful, hateful words. Sexist, sadistic language. No thanks. But there is something so satisfying, so supremely expressive about just saying fuck when you really mean it. And on a day like today when the full reality of being back to work (that first week after a vacation is a blur of catching up and settling back) and the long, cold, gray slog ahead before the next break becomes all too apparent, you’d better believe I mean it. In substitute, please enjoy Portia de Rossi and the rest of “Better Off Ted” really meaning it, too. Mondays, they can fucking suck it.

[Clearly, language is NSFW so, headphones.]

And, just in case you didn’t watch the two-hour premiere of “Chuck” last night, here is one more reason to swear. I know. Fuck.

That, my friends, is the 1:14 mark of last night’s episode. So you won’t miss anything equally juicy, be sure to tune in tonight for a new episode as the show settles into its regular timeslot of 8 p.m. Mondays on NBC. Right about now a fuck yeah would be in order.

My Weekend Crush

If you judge a person by the company she keeps, then Amanda Seyfried is critically-acclaimed, funny and hot. Hmm, guess you can judge a person by the company she keeps. The 24-year-old actress has shared the screen with Meryl Streep, Julianne Moore, Vanessa Redgrave, Robin Wright Penn, Holly Hunter, Tina Fey and Megan Fox. Granted, that last association is probably most notable for the kissing. In 2010 she has not one, not two, not three but four films coming out – “Chloe” (with Julianne), “Letters to Juliet” (with Vanessa), “Dear John” and “Marmaduke” (yes, as in the dog – they can’t all be award contenders).

There is an inherent sweetness behind those big eyes. But as much as they could out doe a doe, there is also a flicker underneath that speaks of so much more. I’m particularly looking forward to the new dramatic thrilled “Chloe.” First, it’s by Atom Egoyan whose movies are always arresting and was also one of the first to introduce the world to Mia Kirshner – and in a Catholic schoolgirl outfit no less. Second, it co-stars Julianne and Liam Neeson. Third, it stars Amanda as a prostitute who just might seduce them both. And finally, it’s got this poster. See what I was saying about a flicker? Happy weekend, all.

We need a resolution

Only one week into the new decade and I’m already behind. Can you turn over a new leaf when a bunch of old ones are still covering the lawn? Now, I’m not normally the kind of gal to make formal New Year’s resolutions. I prefer to brainstorm and then take my results into casual consideration so the disappointment of not completing any of them isn’t a crushing at the end of the year. Hmm, note to self: add something about optimism this year. But in honor of a fresh new decade (the tens, one more decade and we all get to wear flapper outfits and drink gin from bathtubs again), I’ve decided to make my resolutions official this year. And, as with everything I do, I’ll look at them through the cotton-candy colored lens of pop culture.

Ms. Snarker’s New Year’s Resolutions:

1. Read better.
Now, granted, I read a lot now. In fact, I’m constantly reading and writing and reading so I can write more. But I’d like to read less fluff and filler (and, let’s face it, internet) and more substance and style. Basically, I need to read better, more challenging books. Though, my alternate plan should my high-minded literary aspirations fall through is to find and marry the person at Borders who keeps making such sly social commentary through shelving.

2. Move more.
Most of my waking (and occasionally a few of my non-waking if I can get away with it) hours are spent in front of a glowing rectangle. Which, in turn, requires a certain level of sedentariness. Given the homicidal tendencies my gym evokes, my plan is to Wii myself out of my holiday fat pants. If I’m going to look sweaty and klutzy, why not do it from the comfort of my living room? Alas so far my plan has been thwarted by chronic shortage of the EA Sports Active game I had planned to buy. I fear if I buy the Jillian “If I fall in love with a woman, that’s awesome. If I fall in love with a man, that’s awesome” Michaels game instead, all I’ll do is stare sedentarily at her abs. Not that I’m not considering it, mind you.

3. Be responsive.
This is really short-hand for “Answer your damn email.” When I started this blog and for most of its existence I’ve been truthful to my “I write back” mantra. But this past year things got out of hand. Like 1,000 messages in my inbox waiting impatiently for an answer out of hand. I apologize to everyone who so graciously wrote me in the last year that I haven’t had a chance to write back. Please know that I’ve read every single email, tweet, PM, whathaveyou. I’m trying to do better. I promise.

4. Follow through.
I am a procrastinator from way back. In fact, if I don’t have a definitive deadline it pretty much doesn’t get done. That’s why this blog is nice – once a day, no excuses (even if it’s occasionally later in the day thank I’d like – cough, like now, cough). But I need to cut out the dawdling and just get all Nike on my life. So I just need to follow through and finish what I sta…

So, kittens, that’s it. Four simple rules to live by in 2010. I’ve shown you mine, now you show me yours.

Paging Ellen

So, how did our little Homeskillet become a pitchwoman while no one was looking? The more I’ve seen of Ellen Page shilling for Cisco Systems, the more I’m perplexed. Who knew deadpan irony sold information technology specialization expertise?

Now, when I first saw Ellen pop up in a Cisco ad back in early November, I thought it was perhaps a one-off thing. The ad coincided with a rather clever product placement in “30 Rock” as Jack videoconferences on – what else – a Cisco system. But more ads keep popping up and there Ellen is on the Cisco homepage looking relaxed with a dog and the supreme confidence in “the human network.” Whatever that means.

Her series of ads (three so far) are actually sort of funny in WTF-is-that-Ellen-Page kind of way. I’ll post them chronologically, because I think they get better (or possibly Ellen just gets cuter) as they go along.

Also, did you know Lunenburg, Nova Scotia is a real place? I wonder if the whole town got networked flat screens courtesy of Cisco. Now that, that would be something to sell out for.

Look, actors and actresses lending their names, faces and talents to sell products is nothing new. But I’m slightly befuddled at some of the recent moves. Like, how is Luke Wilson looking a little paunchy and possibly lost for AT&T a good career move? The thing is, these endorsements have usually been limited to a certain sort of celebrity – the mega stars or zeitgeist sirens. Think Catherine Zeta Jones, Ashton Kutcher and Kim Kardashian-Paris Hilton-thenextbigwhatchmacalllitgirl.But now the indie and – I say this with as little snobbery as possible – credible actors are entering the fray. It’s disorienting.

Not that I’m necessarily complaining. Anything that brings a cutie like Ellen into my living room more is welcome, I suppose. I just never guessed that one day she would be the cheese to my teleconferencing macaroni.

Where things are hollow

Every era can be defined, quite succinctly, by who it deifies. Prophets. Politicians. Powerbrokers. Poets. Us, well, we worship at an entirely different altar: celebrities. I say this knowing full well that I am among the ranks of huddled masses laying sacrificial offerings at the feet of the famous. I love pop culture, I steep in its bubbly froth daily. But that doesn’t mean I always drink to intoxication. And it doesn’t mean it can’t worry about where our addiction will ultimately lead us.

I say this as news of another high-profile death surfaced yesterday. Casey Johnson – heir to the Johnson & Johnson fortune, daughter of the New York Jets owner, lesbian socialite, Tila Tequila fiancée, mother to a 2-year-old daughter and a 30-year-old young woman – was found dead in her L.A. home. Other than those well-publicized profile points, I don’t really know anything about Casey. Most people probably don’t. I didn’t follow her life or exploits in anything more than the most peripheral way. But now, less than a month after she made a seemingly unavoidable splash on the red carpet with Tila, talking about their engagement and landing on gossip pages everywhere, she is gone.

Fame can’t save the famous, and it certainly can’t save the rest of us unknowns either.

But what this sad situation really reveals is our evolving esteem for celebrity. Sure, we all still worship there, but we don’t necessarily like the demigods we created in the first place. How else can you explain the vitriol that followed Casey’s death toward her self-proclaimed fiancée? Of course, much of it unfolded on what has become our new town square: Twitter. This is, after all, the age of the 140-character eulogy. Tila tweeted her grief, then tweeted that Casey was actually in a coma, then tweeted she wasn’t in a coma while confirming the worse, then tweeted for privacy. It was a mess and it was unseemly and that’s life sometimes.

Granted, defending her is not my mission here. If you want to distill that relentless drive for fame down to its most concentrated form, I think what would come out of the spigot would look remarkably like Tila Tequila. I’m not a fan, but I wish her no ill will. I certainly wouldn’t, as some in the professional asshole business have done, call her a “vile subhuman” or chastise her for “clawing your way from the F list to the D list of fame” within the same hour she found out that the person she was at the very least friends with had died.

But then, that’s the flip side of our obsession. We’ve become contemptuous of our own creations. Because it wasn’t just Perez offering up harsh condolences, but so many anonymous others lambasting and lashing out, cackling and crowing. Which is just so strange to me. What would drive a perfect stranger to write someone at a traumatic time and tell her she sucks? What glee can be gained from such shaming? Is it simply revenge against those who have – even in the most superficial way – made it to that mountaintop?

I don’t know; I’m not sure I want to know. But I do know that death, no matter the person, is terrible and sad. And fame, no matter the kind, doesn’t change that. Not one bit.

Mirror, mirror

A whole new year, a whole new decade. A change to reflect, anew. We like to put importance on certain numbers, days, milestones. The beginning of a year holds the same promise each time – a clear slate, a fresh start. We look back on what has passed. We hope for what lies ahead. And we reflect on what we want, what we really want. Today, I want to look at beautiful women looking at themselves. What? You reflect your way, I’ll reflect mine. Why hello, 2010. My, you look pretty.

Rachel WeiszMia KirshnerHelena Bonham CarterMichelle WilliamsMaggie GyllenhaalLeisha Hailey & Jennifer BealsJulie AndrewsTallulah BankheadChristina RicciOlivia WildeDid you know Olivia’s real last name is “Cockburn.” Yeah, clearly that had to be changed.

Vacation Vixen: Hilary Swank

Just in case you needed any help sticking to that resolution. Happy New Year, all.

Vacation Vixen: Mia Kirshner

Fine, I admit it. Sometimes I miss Jenny.

Vacation Vixen: Zooey Deschanel

I always wanted a big purple crayon like Harold. Some girls have all the luck.

Vacation Vixen: Maggie Gyllenhaal

I can’t decide if this photo is cute or hot. I’m going with cot. Don’t judge, it’s better than hute.

Vacation Vixen: Zoe Saldana

Awww, you’re back at work already? And Zoe was just going to invite you for a swim. Guess I’ll be forced to go in your stead. I mean, it’s the polite thing to do.

[Follow my continued vacation loafing @dorothysnarker]

Christmas time is here

Merry merry, happy happy.

Vacation Vixen: Jodie Foster

Just in case being home for the holidays is making you live through your awkward stage again, please know that circa 1984 Jodie sympathizes. Deeply.

Vacation Vixen: Grace Park & Tricia Helfer

This picture presents one of life’s great chicken or egg conundrums: Who has the better view, Grace or Tricia?

Vacation Vixen: Ellen Page

I can’t roll my tongue. It’s one of my great disappointments in life.

Vacation Vixen: Rosario Dawson

Being on vacation means I can sit here and think about Rosario’s skin all day long. In other news, being on vacation rocks.

[Follow my vacation loafing @dorothysnarker]