Sing it, sister

I’m – as many of you know already – not really a reality TV fan (other than almost everything on HGTV and sometimes Food Network and, on one of those lazy Sunday nights, “Hoarders”). But sometimes the realities of reality TV (real enough for you, just wait, there’s more) make me realize I should probably sit up and take notice.

And the reality I’m talking about today is out contestant Michelle Chamuel, who is in the finals of “The Voice” tonight. As on of three finalists on the hit reality singing show, she is competing for the top prize. And I’d very much like her to win. Not just because she’s a gay lady (though, believe you me, it helps) but because she’s different. Of course she can sing, but there’s also delightful nerdy quality about her – and it’s not just the glasses.

Though, did I mention she can sing?

Pink, Robyn and Cyndi? Sold.

And of course she has other cool qualities:

She wears (colorful) lady jackets.

She rocks (stylish) sensible shoes.

She makes (incredibly) intense singing faces.

She understands the (extreme) ridiculousness of pleather.

All that and she could be (at least to my knowledge) the first out gay lady to win a major American singing competition. Which would be pretty damn cool. So go, Michelle, go. The finales are tonight and results will be announced Tuesday. So, I guess what I’m saying is, please go and vote for the cute, slightly dorky glasses-wearing gay lady in the colorful blazers, America.

p.s. I know there was another out lady contestant this season (hey, Karina Iglesias) and in the past. But Michelle is the only one left to vote for.

My Weekend Crush

I like “True Blood” because after the regular fall TV and serious spring offerings (Can we cool it on the beheadings and castrations, “Game of Thrones?”), I’m ready for some straight-up vampire craziness to lull me into the blissful embrace of summer. And this season, more than any other, has me really excited. Why? Because Pam and Tara, dammit.

Pam has long been one of my favorites and one of the more underutilized characters on the show. Unlike Sookie, I’ve always got time for her lesbian weirdness. And while Tara has occasionally annoyed the ever-loving shit out of me, she has been one of the most resilient characters on the show. I mean if you can come back from a shotgun to the head, you’re pretty much badass for life.

So when the two got together at the very end of last season, maker and her sire, it was cathartic. And we, like Jessica, all pointed at the screen and yelled, “I KNEW IT!” Yeah, we knew it. And we love it. Let us dream the impossible dream of a happy ending for these two. Or at the very least there had better be a lot more lesbian weirdness between them coming up this season. Happy weekend, all.

How a Hart beats

I’m not even going to. I just wanted to share. I can’t begin to set-up. You know what, just press play. Press play and when you’re done laughing and hitting replay and laughing again, we’ll talk.

[Appropriately long pause to allow for laughter, replaying and more laughter.]

Yeah. I know. Right, so that was Hart, who also goes by Heartbeat, who is a young gay comedian from Southern California and is, as you can clearly see, very funny. Also pretty fearless. Also very, very funny. Also loves watermelon. And has adorable dimples. Yeah. I know. That just made my whole damn week, possibly longer.

Want more? Subscribe to Hart Beat’s YouTube channel right here.

Do us part

I try not to follow celebrity hook-ups, breakups and breakdowns. I mean, sure, I sometimes see the screaming supermarket tabloids while trying to fight the urge to sneak a Twix bar onto the conveyor belt. But every now and then a celebrity breakup creeps into my consciousness and makes me say, “Aw, dammit.”

And earlier this week that breakup was Jane Lynch and Lara Embry announcing their divorce after three years of marriage. Say it with me, “Aw, dammit.” After three years of marriage, the women are separating and it bums me out. Because they seemed so very happy and so very happy together. And they were so sweet family with Lara’s daughter. But alas, not all things are forever.

This is both sad news and also sadly reassuring news. The sad part is obvious, because we all want to believe in the happily ever after. The sadly reassuring part is that gay couples are like any other couple – sometimes their relationships work and sometimes they don’t work. And it’s another reminder why legal marriage is important – not just for the benefits is confers with a commitment, but the clarity it establishes with the end of a commitment. The rights and responsibilities go both ways, and it is important for the law to recognize that as well.

I wish Jane and Lara well during what must be a difficult time. I hope it is as amicable as these things can be. I hope both can find lasting happiness. And in other news, Jane Lynch is single, ladies. Too soon? Yeah, probably too soon.

Tweets from Hillary

Sassy. It’s such a great word (and a great, but sadly extinct magazine, RIP). And a word that almost never gets applied to straight men, much to their own detriment. Because sassy people (straight women, gay women, gay men, et al) are kind of the best. That cheeky boldness that indicates an understanding that it’s all ridiculous anyway so why not enjoy it.

Hillary Clinton is sassy. This is, I believe, one of the very few female-identified adjectives without pejorative overtones. She has personality and smarts, but is willing to take the piss out of herself and others. She is, in short, sassy.

And if you ever needed definitive proof that Hil owns her sassiness, look only to her newly established Twitter account, @HillaryClinton.

“Wife, mom, lawyer, women & kids advocate, FLOAR, FLOTUS, US Senator, SecState, author, dog owner, hair icon, pantsuit aficionado, glass ceiling cracker, TBD...”

Also, she used the famous Texts from Hillary photo for her Twitter avatar. And her very first tweet was a shout-out to the Texts from Hillary creators. Hilz is good at Internet, no?

This light-hearted approach to her official Twitter persona took (let’s say it, male) reporters by surprise. Women being funny? Powerful women being funny? Powerful women the media narrative have told us are shrill harpies being funny? Up is down, black is white. WHAT IS THIS MADDNESS?

Oh, shut the fuck up. Those of us who have actually been paying attention to the actual woman have known, for years/decades/forever that Hillary is one funny lady. And, if I may broadly generalize, I have found that female politicians tend to be much funnier and self-deprecating bunch than their male counterparts. Perhaps it is a defense mechanism to coping with such a tiresome boys club. Or perhaps it is because men just won’t tolerate a woman with as big an ego and as thin a skin as they themselves have. Who knows.

All I know if you didn’t already love this hair icon, pantsuit aficionado and glass ceiling cracker, you certainly should now. Bring us your tweets, Hillary. You sassy lady, you.

New year, same Gayzzoli

I have seen your future, and it looks – well, it looks a lot like “Rizzoli & Isles.” The gayest non-gay show on television is back with its mix of ridiculous chemistry and ridiculouser (not a word, but neither are there chief medical examiners for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts that look like Dr. Maura Isles) crime solving.

Will you like it? If you like “Rizzoli & Isles,” of course. Will you be frustrated it? Well, if you are a gay lady who likes “Rizzoli & Isles,” of course. If the first two episodes of the new season are any indication, there’s plenty to make us smile and shake our heads. You know, like normal.

Yet still, I can’t help but love the show. Its banter and bickering keeps bringing me back. As a crime show fan I watch different shows for very specific reasons. Sometimes it’s the pleasure of putting the puzzle together. Sometimes it’s for the satisfaction of the good guys beating the bad guys. And for “Rizzoli & Isles” it’s for the enjoyment of the symbiotic relationship – specifically the symbiotic lady relationship. Because, even in 2013, shows centered around two female leads are sadly a rarity. Fine, it also helps that they totally act like a couple even when talking about their totally unconvincing gentlemen callers.

And, yes, while I understand the real frustration lots of us feel with the too gayzzoli to not be intentional and therefore teasing scenarios that emerge, I have resigned myself to it never being canon in anything but my own fertile noggin. Sure, I wish it was different, but I won’t get mad that it isn’t. Nor will it keep me advocating for more shows with real gay characters in real gay relationships (and championing those that exist – hello “Orphan Black” and “The Fosters,” you lovely things).

So, in just over two weeks when Jane and Maura are back for another season of “The Adorable Bickersons,” I’ll be there. With my subtext bells on. Until then, we always have the bloopers.

My Weekend Crush

You know you know Teri Polo. From “Meet the Parents,” et al, and “The West Wing.” She has often played the supportive and/or long-suffering wife. She has popped up in numerous TV shows and movies. And each time you see her you think, oh – yeah, her. But now, perhaps finally, you’ll see her and think, oh – of course, her.


Because in just one episode of her new series “The Fosters,” Teri has made her character Stef Foster her own distinct person. Yes, she’s the loving wife again. But she’s the loving wife in an equal relationship not one where she is background scenery to Ben Stiller or Jimmy Smits. I especially like how in a few short scenes she has been able to establish both Stef’s sense of authority and abundance of compassion. Her little dashes of dry, even awkward, humor help, too.

Another thing I enjoy about “The Fosters” against stereotype characters is that while Stef on the surface might seem like the butch one, being a cop and all, she’s also the one who was married before and had the couple’s biological son. Also, I like how they’re letting Teri look her age, which is a settled in 44. She ‘s beautiful, obviously, but not trying desperately to be 24.

Also, dammit if Teri doesn’t look exactly like Jodie Foster’s slightly butcher little sister. I mean, it’s almost distracting. I keep expecting Jodie to walk on screen and introduce herself as Aunt Jo and there to be lots of inside jokes about how lesbianism runs in the family.

I hope the show continues its very solid course, and I look forward to seeing a lot more of what Teri can do. Oh, and don’t you worry, we’ll be talking about Sherri Saum’s glorious hair porn soon. So soon. Happy weekend, all.

Hottest of them all

Right, so each year I feel a little responsible for creating The Beast that is the AfterEllen Hot 100. It was, after all, a post about my fury over Lindsay Lohan and the Maxim Hot 100 oh so many years ago that helped to start it all. But each year, I also dutifully tell you my vote. (Sure, this year it can be votes, but I am old school and choose to vote only once like the Founding Fathers intended or whatnot.) My picks vary, there are some constants (Tina, duh), but really whatever is turning my brain and/or heart and/or other regions most on at the moment is what makes my list. And this year is no different. Seeing as today is the last day to vote in the AE poll, I thought I would show you mine. So here they are. For all to see. Now you show me yours, it only seems fair.

p.s. You can vote in the AE Hot 100 here.

Ticket to the couch show

When I was a kid, I lived for the movies. Watching the trailers in the theater before a movie started was almost sacred, your one glimpse of what’s to come and what to get excited about. You couldn’t just pop onto YouTube to see all that summer had to offer. You had to wait and anticipate and decide in those two minutes if the fourth Superman movie would really solve the problem of nuclear proliferation.

But over the years, film has become less a driving force in my life. Sure, I still love the movies. The smell of movie theater popcorn makes me instantly feel 13 again and excited about sitting in a dark room with strangers and told fantastical stories.

But that at once solitary yet completely communal act of going to the movies has become less of a cultural driver in recent years because of cinema’s once scoffed upon little sibling, the television. TV is now our cultural barometer, with endless chatter and words and hand-wringing spent on the latest “Game of Thrones,” or “Mad Men” or “Breaking Bad” et al. The serialized nature of TV, its long burn versus quick payoff, makes it perfect for our media obsessed minds. Why just hyperventilate about a 2-hour movie when you could freak out about 22 episodes hour-long spread out over months and month.

I suspect part of TV’s appeal now is the ability to discuss it with dozens, hundred, thousands, millions as it happens. “OMG THE FUCKING STARKS!” said everyone at 9:59 p.m. Sunday night. You can be part of a live conversation and share your opinion with the universe the second it happens. In movies, that immediacy is blocked by basic human decency and the desire not to be the asshole in the theaters who lights up his cellphone to type, “Cool movie, bro.” Heaven forbid we have to wait two hours to tell the world exactly what we thought. But besides the more superficial I tweet therefore I exist aspect of social media, there is also more of a chance to help mold the creative process on TV. That long season means a longer production process which means more fan input which means more audience feedback which could have an impact on storylines and characters. It happens, just ask Brittana (circa seasons 1-2, that is).

But for me, what has turned me over the years away from my first love of the darkened theater and into my current love of my couch (besides comfort and better snacks) is the fact that TV has done a better job of giving women more and better roles. Period. One needs only to look at the current summer movie season to see it’s the same-old boys club where big things go boom. By my informal count there are only three female-led movies coming out: “The Bling Ring,” “Blue Jasmine” and “The Heat.” Two are arthousey fare – Sofia Coppola and Woody Allen projects – and the latter is a buddy cop comedy.

On TV meanwhile the summer offers “Rizzoli & Isles,” “The Fosters,” “The Killing,” “Covert Affairs,” Major Crimes,” “Pretty Little Liars,” “True Blood,” “Hot in Cleveland,” “Unforgettable,” Mistresses” and many more I can’t think of off the top of my head. Women get to be the crime fighters and action heroes and antiheroes and damsels who get themselves into and out of distress almost everything in between.

So I guess what I’m saying is even though movies won my heart first, TV is who I will always go home with. Here’s to long hot summers. And if you want to watch in the dark, just turn off the lights.

Foster the people

When I first heard about a new ABC Family show with two moms and rainbow tapestry of a blended household I wasn’t sure what to expect. Politically correct afterschool special? Womanhood sisterfire kumbaya drum circle? Jennifer Lopez dance montage retrospective? But this story of two women raising their three children – one biological to one of the mothers and twins adopted from the foster system – who bring in a new troubled teenage girl is more than the demographically engineered sum of its parts. It is, quite simply, good. (For a more thorough and verbose analysis, check out my full review on AfterEllen.)

What makes it is good is that it feels so solid right from the start. It’s particularly solid in the things that usually take time – family dynamic, unspoken chemistry, ease of togetherness. This show from Jenny from the Block seems like real people could live around the block. And in a wonderfully, understated way it turns Norman Rockwell’s quintessential American portrait inside out and upside down while still retaining their essential ideal of everyday exemplariness. Like I said, it’s good.

For all our rightful demands for more and better representation of LGBT people in our culture, it’s also important to celebrate the goods stuff. Right now we’re lucky to have well-drawn portraits of gay women in ridiculously diverse walks of life our teevees. A gay teenagers being chased by murderous stalkers. A gay succubi and her scientist lover. Gay clone and her French scientist lover. And we haven’t even mentioned the surgeons, bomb girls, private investigators, former cheerleaders and all the rest. So here’s to The Fosters, a welcome addition to the pantheon of gay ladies. There’s always room for two more hot mamas.

Send in the clones

My God, “Orphan Black,” my good God. It’s hard to think of a show I became more quickly, completely and addictively engrossed in. A week ago I’d never seen a single episode and now I’m clamoring with impatient indignation for the second season to begin already. Spring 2014, really? I cannot wait that long for more Tatania Maslany. I will not. It’s wrong. It’s mean. I hate time and space.

Right, so let’s get right into it then. How about that finale, eh? WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD! (Side Note: Those who asked for legal viewing options can purchase the show on iTunes of Amazon Instant. Those looking for less legal options are welcome to search the previous and current comments for alternatives.)

The show has made something very dense and complicated like a sci-fi clone conspiracy seem so edge-of-your-seat thrilling yet so heart-breakingly human. And none of it would work without Tatania who, if I was an Emmy voter, would singlehandedly sweep the Best Actress, Best Supporting Actress and best Guest Actress categories. One cannot simply talk about how thoroughly and convincingly she becomes each different clone – Sarah, Alison, Cosima, Helena and now Rachel. One must truly see it to believe it. What makes it even more dazzling is how much we care for each disparate clone. Sarah, the scrappy survivor. Alison, the desperate housewife. Cosima, the questioning scientist. Helena, just batshit homicidal maniac. Yet each becomes more than just her archetype, to become deeply human, flawed and worth saving in our eyes – well, maybe not Helena. And that’s what makes this show so amazing. We’ve become a culture that loves to pick sides. But to pick between Sarah, Alison and Cosima is beyond cruel.

Which is why Alison signing the contract we all know she shouldn’t sign with Dr. Leekie is so deeply affecting. We want this tighty wound, booty-burn cardio dancing, best frenemy non-life saver to have a happy life. But we know very bad things are on their way. Same goes for poor Cosima, who is coughing her way to a Fantine-like end in a race against corrupt genetics. Plus, while I may not fully trust Delphine yet, I completely buy their connection – blinded her with science, indeed. And then Sarah, oh Sarah – the key no doubt to this whole unraveling puzzle along with her oddly resilient and precognitiant daughter, Kira.

Few TV shows so fully embody the concept of a page turner as “Orphan Black.” It’s not that the show teases us with manufactured cliffhangers. It’s that the story, and its pacing, is like a thrill ride we never want to end. Each answer leads to another questions which leads to another emotion which leads to us screaming, “MORE!”

Of course I want Sarah to find Kira, Cosima to live, Alison to be set free. But more than anything I want to story to keep revealing itself in wonderful, twisty and unexpected ways. Spring 2014, hurry up dammit.

My Weekend Crush

This week I asked The Internet which TV show to watch and The Internet responded, “Orphan Black, you wanker.” And, since you can’t say things that aren’t true on The Internet (for instance, that wanker thing is totally true), I obeyed. Never before (this is only mild hyperbole) have I been so happy I listened to The Internet. I ended up marathoning six episodes in one night. And I only stopped because my idiot brain required a modicum of sleep before rebooting for work the next day. But then the next night I inhaled the remaining three episodes. And now, like you, I am waiting anxiously for the Season 1 finale on Saturday night.

For those of you who have not listened to The Internet, “Orphan Black” is about a woman who discovers she has many clones as part of a vast and vastly creepy scientific conspiracy. The series therefore lives and dies on the skill and style of its star, Tatiana Maslany, who plays multiple characters at multiple times. The 27-year-old Canadian actress is more than up for the task. In fact she transforms so thoroughly from one clone – Sarah, Alison, Cosima and more – to another that were it not for her same face flashing its same toothy smile, you would might be fooled into thinking they were entirely different actresses. She is, to put it simply, damn good.

And so is the show. It plays out more like a thrilling movie than a TV series. Each episode builds deliciously on the next twisting and turning and revealing more and less so it becomes almost impossible to stop because, ZOMG, what happens next? Have I mentioned that one of the clones is gay? Truly, this show has everything. Mad science, crazy intrigue, diabolical murder, insane motives – and there’s also a healthy dollop of sex and a sassy gay best friend. Yes, everything.

If you haven’t been watching you are in luck because you, like me, can get sucked into your own marathon as BBC America airs the entire first season back-to-back starting at noon Saturday, culminating with the season finale at 9 p.m. But, hell, don’t trust me. Trust The Internet. Well, at least for this. Happy weekend, all.

Hold a candle

I, like countless other gays, watched the Liberace glitztravaganza “Behind the Candelabra” over the weekend. Part of it was because who can resist that much rhinestone. And part of it was to see how one of the world’s most famous postmortem gays lived his life in the closet. And, OK, part of it was to see Michael Douglas and Matt Damon kiss. But I found myself having another interesting reaction to the film. This reaction at first may seem contradictory considering yesterday’s post, but – if you really think about it – is actually complimentary.

I wish they’d shown more sex between Douglas and Damon. Most of the sex scenes were the standard-issue kiss followed by the fade-out and finished with the sweaty roll off into crumpled sheets. You know, Movie Sex*. Sure, we saw a bare tush here and lots of man pecs there. But there was no full body shots of them engaged in anything sexual and only one fleeting in flagrante scene that served mostly to as a plot point to highlight how Damon’s Scott started out firmly against drugs only to later descend completely into them courtesy Dr. Startz**. It was, all in all, pretty tame. Though keep in mind this is a film made for HBO – a network currently reveling in the exposure of “Game of Boobs and Butts Thrones.”

So does the double standard remain? In mainstream and mainstream-celebrated films, does lesbian sex and gay male sex get the same treatment? If you compare reports from “Blue is the Warmest Color” and evidence from “Behind the Candelabra,” the answer would still be a hard “No.” Same-sex sex between women is celebrated and same-sex sex between men is still makes folks squeamish. Maybe this is because straight men – who are all too many of the creators and also consumers – also get off on lesbian sex, but shrink from the idea of two fellas getting it on. Also female nudity – gay or straight – has always been more casually accepted than male. Sure, you’ve got your Harvey Keitels and Michael Fassbenders who gave us the full monty. But it’s almost easier to count the actresses who you haven’t seen naked than those have. Le sigh.

It’s about time that cinema – literally and figuratively – nutted up. It’s 2013 and if a critically adored movie can feature “impressive scissoring” by on-screen lesbians then it can also feature impressive love-making for the fellas, too.

* We could talk for weeks about how bad, unrealistic, misleading and often unsexy all Movie Sex is in the first place. But, heavens, who has the time. Fade out.
** I would, however, watch an entire movie of Rob Lowe’s plastic surgeon/nightmare factory Dr. Startz.

A different kinds of Blue

For the first time ever a lesbian drama won the top prize at the Cannes Film Festival. Over the weekend the three-hour French coming-of-age film “La Vie d’Adèle” (“Blue Is the Warmest Color” for English audiences) won the Palme D’Or, a prize that was preceded by gushing reviews from critics and frequent breathless mention of its 10- to 15-minute graphic sex scene that made the audience stand up and applaud when it was over. Reviewers of the scene in question have, generally speaking, done the literary equivalent of rent a neon sign that read “HOT LESIAN SEX” and turned it on for all to see. My friend Heather had a nice round-up of reviews of Le Scene over at AE yesterday.

To sum them up:
“writhing, moaning erotic hunger,” “fingering, licking, and, as a friend called it, ‘impressive scissoring,’” “undeniably titillating” and “red hot.”

Now, I am no prude. As yesterday’s post might suggest, my sense of humor might run more blue than some and believe you me I like a hot lesbian sex scene as much as the next gay lady. So it’s not the scene so much that has me perplexed, but the focus on the scene. I guess it’s inevitable. Sex sells everything from cars to deodorant, and it’s been a part of the movies since the first images flickered across a screen. So if the sex gets some folks in to see quality drama, maybe it’s worth it. I just wish one didn’t have to be such a selling point to get us to enjoy the other.

Though, to be fair to critics, they didn’t only wag their tongues at the sexysexytimes. Most also praised rich emotional portrayals and dense character journeys in the film (which was based on a graphic novel). And raves have also been handed out to its stars, Adèle Exarchopoulos and Léa Seydoux, who play 15-year-old Adèle and blue-haired art student Emma – two young women who meet and begin an intense relationship. So that alone has me excited for the film to hit American theaters. Though, this being a French movie, I’m ready for inevitable crushing heartbreak. I love you, my French friends, but your movies tend to depress the living crap out of me – but in a good way. Mostly. Just thinking about “The Dreamlife of Angels” makes me eat a whole box of chocolates.

In conclusion: Rich Lesbian Drama + Hot Lesbian Sex = A Whole Lot of People Are Going to Be Going to Reading Subtitles Soon.

Comedy Call

You know how you love all the Jon Stewarts, Stephen Colbert, Conan O’Brien, Jimmy Fallon, Chris Rocks and Louis C.K.s of the world, but sometimes – no matter how funny the boys can be – you just want a really funny lady to make you laugh? Of course you do. That’s why we love the Tina Feys, Amy Poehlers, Wanda Sykes, Melissa McCarthys, et al of the world. Well now add another one. Get ready to get “Inside Amy Schumer.” Comedy Central’s newest sketch show is the perfect antidote to all often too Testosterone soaked humor on the network. There are only so many riffs on dudes getting hit in the junk, exposing their junk in humiliating ways and/or consuming disgusting junk that can be made before you yearn for a more feminine touch.

This is not to say that women must be stereotypically feminine to have this feminine touch. (Or that all dudes revel in junk humor). But I say that because women bring a feminine perspective to humor that is all too often lacking. And that’s what I love about Amy’s new show. While I haven’t loved every single sketch, most of them are refreshing and – most important – hilarious. It’s not that it’s “chick humor” as if there is such a thing. Women can be just as crass and crazy and craven as the fellas – if they want to be. It’s that when most our representation of humor is being given from a male point of view, we’re missing a whole lot of funny. That’s it’s important to get more female comedy writers on shows. And why it’s important to get more female comics in the spotlight. Because more perspectives ultimately means more funny. And isn’t that the whole damn point in the first place?

“Inside Amy Schumer” airs at 10:30 p.m. Tuesday nights on Comedy Central. Set your DVRs ladies, and discerning gentlemen. But don’t take my words for it.




Also, have I mentioned out comic Tog Notaro writes for her show? Yeah, told you you’re definitely going to want to watch.


p.s. More on Tig later. So much more.

Late Development

So on Sunday I did what legions of other pop culture savants did and marathoned “Arrested Development.” No, not the new fourth season just released on Netflix. But the first season. Right, so I’m a little behind. But after catching up on what everyone else was already caught up on 10 years ago, I have to say. Jesus, I hate all the Bluths. I mean, they’re hilarious. But what a horrible, horrible, horrible – have I mentioned horrible? – family. Every single one of them is reprehensible in some way. Every. Single. One. Yes, even Michael – for being the idiot in charge.

Of course, having said that, I watched all 22 episodes of the first season in one day. So, clearly, I didn’t hate it even though I hate the people. Which is curious. Call it the Seinfeld rule. A group of not especially sympathetic characters brought together to do increasingly off-the-wall things can be curiously entertaining. Of course, the fact that it’s whip smart and funny as hell helps. Aztec tombs, blind seeing-eye dogs, one-armed life lesson coaches, Korean adoptees inexcusably named Hello in Korean and Liza Minelli.

Fine, so maybe the Bluths are growing on me. Guess I have two more seasons to catch up on before I can be as excited as all of you were yesterday. But maybe I was the smart one all along. Because I didn’t have to wait seven years to watch season four like the rest of you.

Vacation Vixen: Zoie Palmer

Ever since I began Googling Zoie Palmer some three years ago, this old image of her holding a cat has been one of the first search results to pop up. Oh please, like you don’t do it every other week, too. And I’ve always wondered about the backstory behind the picture. It does not appear to be her own Twitter-famous cat, Clover. Nor does it appear to be from a shoot from some long-ago pet food commercial. Perhaps the photographer just saw two irresistibly cute things and wanted to pose them together. Or, as I like to believe, it was a sign that Zoie was destined to become a lesbian fan favorite. Because, as we all know, we gay ladies love us some hot...um...cat action. Meow. Happy weekend, all.

Vacation Vixen: Alison Brie

I do not watch “Mad Men.” Nor do I watch “Community.” But if Internet chatter is to believe Alison Brie is lovely in both. And it’s a lovely Thursday and she is wearing a lovely suit. So, well, there’s that. What, they can’t all be deep. I’m on vacation.

Vacation Vixen: Jennifer Lawrence

Air travel in America is proof the terrorists have won. Just kidding! Mostly. I just want to leave my shoes on in public like a civilized human being, dammit. After a day of travel it’s nice to take joy in the little things. Like sunshine and kittens and Jennifer Lawrence sliding down a banister after the Met Gala. (She’s in the top left hand corner at the 4-second mark. Please also note Marion Cotillard fully appreciating her antics.) Yes, the little things. Never stop being fucking delightful, Jennifer Lawrence, or the terrorists really do win.

Vacation Vixen: Dorothy Gale

I grew up in the Midwest, where tornado season blew in every year with its warning tickers on the TV and sirens across the city. I remember afternoons spent watching cartoons with my “Go Basket” next to me filled with the essentials – my best flashlight, my most beloved book, my favorite stuffed animal. I remember middle-of-the-night runs to the basement where my PJ-clad parents shepherded us – sleepy kids, barking dogs – into the cold safety of the basement. I remember the calm, sickly grey-green the sky always turned before the winds came. And, as I’m writing this, back in my childhood home, there is a tornado watch for the county until 6 a.m. Luckily, while there were touchdowns around my city, one never hit us. And there was never anything the scope of what happened in Oklahoma yesterday. Explain the convergence of high and low atmospheric pressure systems all you want, but it still feels a lot like fury. My thoughts are with all those who lost more than they can bear. Heal from unspeakable grief, rebuild from unbelievable devastation. May you emerged stronger from the storm and find your rainbow again.

p.s. How to help those in Oklahoma.

Vacation Vixen: Toni Morrison

“If you surrendered to the air, you could ride it.”
- Toni Morrison, Song of Solomon

Vacation Vixen: Minnesota

Marriage equality? You betcha. Welcome, lucky No. 12. This week Minnesota made it an even dozen, following the small flurry of states to pass marriage equality this year (high fives, Rhode Island and Delaware!) Sure, there are still 38 to go. But the momentum is unmistakable and our friend inertia knows that bodies in motion tend to stay in motion. So let’s all make like Mary Tyler Moore and throw out proverbial hats into the sky with joy at a more equal world we’re creating today for all of our tomorrows. Also, you gotta love a state with hot dishes and rainbow bridges.

Vacation Vixen: Lucy Liu

Did you know Lucy Liu was, besides being a rather talented actress with rather adorable freckles, a rather impressive abstract artist? Well, now you do. Also, dear Watson, am I ever excited for the two-hour season finale of “Elementary” tonight.

Vacation Vixen: Julie White

Fuck wank bugger shitting arse head and hole. I am so goddammed pissed they canceled “Go On.” I mean, seriously. Did you have that much going for you in the comedy department, NBC? Sure, you wisely renewed “Parks and Recreation” and “Community” (well, depending on how you liked the Dan Harmon-less incarnation). But axing “Go On” just as it had begun to really find its groove and could become something truly great. YOU FUCKING SUCK. I now demand that Julie White’s character Anne be wholesale moved over to another show – any other show. Comedy, drama, crime procedural. Though, to be honest, I’d be happy if the glorious Ms. White got cast in anything decent because that lady is good and need to be on my teevee on the regular. Sigh. Well, we’ll always have the memories. What I am feeling is getting more, but in an angry way.

Vacation Vixen: Angelina Jolie

So much has been written and gossiped and mythologized about Angelina Jolie over the years it’s hard to remember sometimes that she is a real human person leading a real human life. But yesterday, at midnight, when her essay about getting a preventative double mastectomy posted to The New York Times, it was impossible to think of her as anything but human. A real, honest, brave human.

I have known women who decided to have preventative double mastectomies because they carry the so-called breast cancer gene, BRCA1. And I know it is a very difficult, very personal, very courageous choice. Women should never be judged for wanting to control their own bodies or trying to save their own lives. The sad reality is too few women have the option Angelina had. The test for the gene is expensive and the surgery and breast reconstruction afterward even more so, if your health insurance will even allow it. Or if you have health insurance in the first place. But all women should have the opportunity she had. Shouldn’t a smart health care system want to prevent fires before they start instead of only rushing in after we are engulfed in flames?

What Angelina Jolie did was her choice. Though when you hear that having the procedure made her go from having an 87 percent to an under 5 percent chance of developing breast cancer, it seems like a no brainer. Still she did not have to tell the world of her decision, but did so to raise awareness, create change, express solidarity. So much of our body image as women can be wrapped up in our breasts. But our bodies never define us, only describe us – and even that is just the superficial that the eyes can see. We are, all of us, just humans. Humans who want to stay healthy and be around for the people we love and who love us for as long as we can. Even one of the most beautiful, rich, famous women in the world. Only human, also brave.

Vacation Vixen: Brittany S. Pierce

I could use a lot of words (and more than a few cuss words) to tell you how I felt about the season finale of “Glee” last week. Or, as I like to call it, “Goodbye, Heather Morris. Thanks for all the Sweet Lady Kisses and the Amazing Ass Dancing.” But mostly I want to marvel that someone brought in to teach the other actors the “Single Ladies” dance turned into a season regular, series favorite and someone who genuinely mattered in the lives of a lot of people – especially young people finding themselves. Sure, things may not have turned out as we liked or hoped or made any kind of sense given the laws of space and time and quantum physics. And I have long since sold my stock in the S.S. Brittana cruise ship company. But to quote Rayanne Graff, we had a time. And while it may well be over, it’s nice we got to see that weird, beautiful, unexpected unicorn at all in the first place.

p.s. I'll be on vacation for the next two weeks (well, part vacation, part staycation). So I will be posting mostly Vacation Vixens these next 14 days. But, I might pop in a few full posts because I just cannot help my damn self.

My Weekend Crush

One of Mother Nature’s greatest gifts is the ability to change. Evolution is our never-ending pursuit of perfection – the path toward a better, stronger, faster, smarter us. So then it shouldn’t be such a surprise that in the few months we’ve sat and watched as country after country, state after state evolves before our eyes on marriage equality. Uruguay, New Zealand, France. Rhode Island, Delaware and on Monday (fingers crossed) Minnesota. Still this seeming swiftness of our recent progression up the evolutionary ladder of equality (after, it should be noted, far too many years of inaction) is a wonder to behold.

So on this Mother’s Day weekend, when even The New Yorker celebrates two moms on its Mother’s Day cover, let’s give a shout out to all the moms out there. Be they two-mom families or single-mom families or mom-and-dad families, they’re all families. (Two-dad families, don’t worry – you get your day, too. In June.) Good families – whatever shape or size or make-up – all want the same thing. To love and be loved and raise their kids right. (Yes, childless couples – your cats and dogs and assorted other flora and fauna count as kids – I know mine do.) And, of course, let’s not forget the Big Mama herself, Mother Nature. Without her constant, loving nagging (in that supportive, for-own-good mom kind of way) we might never have gotten out of that primordial ooze. Thanks, moms. Happy weekend, all.

Water, water everywhere

Another rushed day, another late post. In all the hustle and bustle and bullshit it is good to breathe deeply and remind yourself “This is water.” Please take 9 minutes to yourself and enjoy David Foster Wallace’s 2005 Kenyon College commencement speech (slightly abridged) and delicately animated.

And, if you haven’t already, pop on by Hyperbole and a Half to see the first post from the always brilliant Allie Brosh in almost two years. It’s about depression and is dark but true and also terribly funny. Which is pretty much life for you.

The JLaw of Delight

Oh, Jennifer Lawrence. Just when we think you’re the most delightful person in Hollywood you go and delight us some more. At this point she is clearly the entire Internet’s BFF. Be it her effortless relatability or guileless charm, she is – quite simply – the best. She’s the opposite of stand-offish – no emo red carpet glares of this gal. The antithesis of too cool for school – which of course only makes even cooler. Hilarious – but in a dorky way. Be she falling on the Oscar steps or freaking out at being hit on by professional skeazy old guy Jack Nicholson, she is awesomely real.

Plus, when this gal mugs for the camera, she actually mugs for the camera. Like photobombing Sarah Jessica Parker at the Met Ball Monday night. And then laughing hysterically like we all would when presented with SPJ’s insane fauxhawk headdress. And that, after all, is what we like best about her. She’s like us – sure an incredibly talented, beautiful, famous, rich version of us – but us none the less. Human, and delightfully so. Never change, JLaw. Never ever change.

p.s. I love Marion Cotillard and Lena Dunham’s reactions to the left and right of her during the photobomb.

p.p.s. She also flubbed President Bill Clinton’s name while hosting the GLAAD Awards (fast forward to 3:55). To not love her is surely a sin.

Tank Top Tuesday: Perks Edition

Slowly, so slowly, but surely I am indeed completing my Indiegogo Perks. Would it help if I told you I’m sorry? No. Well, how about if I said I’m sorry with tank tops? Here are the Thank You Perks for the people who pledged at Tank Top level. So, perhaps you should be thanking them as well? These are the tank top dedication subjects you choose. So please accept my endless gratitude for your generosity in the form of two thank top pictures each as a continued apology for my tardiness. Everyone else, please enjoy with my compliments.

Sasha Alexander


Thanks, Lynda!

Sarah Shahi

Thanks, Nedley!

Lauren German

Thanks, Lisa!

Amanda Seyfried

Thanks, Catvix!

Lindsey Shaw

Thanks, @UhHuhDaggr!

Felicia Day

Thanks, Elle M!

Claire Forlani

Thanks, Babs!

Diana Rigg

Thanks, Cindy S!

p.s. Isn’t Diana awesome in Game of Thrones? And those abs?
Answer: Yes, yes to both.

(Please Note: a few of you never responded to my initial perks emails about who you wanted as your tank top dedication. If you would still like to be included in a future Tank Top Tuesday dedication just reply and I’ll get your selection in there as promised.)

Get in loser, we're going robbing

Mindless fun. Mindless fun. Mindless fun. Say it with me, it just feels good. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been replaying this song in my head since the very first ‘Bling Ring” teaser trailer was released, and each subsequent snippet of the film has only a) increased my desire to watch it and b) increased my desire to dance on tabletops while this song plays. The song in question is “Crown on the Ground” by Sleigh Bells. And that electrocrunky opening riff makes me want to do body shots in a sweaty club. Metaphorically though, because both body shots and sweaty clubs tend to be overrated in real life.

The newest “Bling Ring” trailer showcases both Hermione’s spot on SoCal accent and Dana Fairbanks as her lawyer. (Yes, yes – Emma Watson and Erin Daniels, in real life – I know.) And while the mindless fun of robbing from the rich is the initial appeal, something tells me this movie will manage to sneakily slip in some sharp commentary on our strange celebrity culture. Or, you know, whatever. Get in losers, we’re going robbing.

My Weekend Crush

What I like, what I love, is when people defy expectation, assumption and stereotype and assert their right to do as they please and do it well. When people break boneheaded barriers, when people command deserved respect, when people demand to be treated like a rightful equal. When a female gamer puts male online trolls in their place. Like badass Aisha Tyler. The actress/comedian/gamer’s epic takedown of all the haters posted on Facebook last summer has been making the rounds again this week. It started when Tyler started getting endless shit from dudes about hosting the 2012 Ubisoft E3 press conference last June.

Her response to their misogynistic questioning of her gamer cred is magnificent and deserves repeating. Read the whole damn thing here because that much handing jackasses their own asses must be seen for yourself to be truly appreciated. A sampling:

You think you know. You don't know.

I've been a gamer since before you could read.
Since I aced midterms after staying up all night playing Evil Tetris.
Since I became dorm champ at Leisure Suit Larry.
Since I double-wielded on Time Crisis 3 at Fuddrucker's.

I was a voice in not one, but two major video game titles.
I hosted the Reach Beta tutorial.
I was a Gears of War superfan panelist at ComicCon.
I hosted the Ubisoft presser at E3 2012.
I didn't do any of it for the money.
For most I got paid next to nothing, and for some, less than that.

I did it because I love video games.
Because I've dreamt since I was a kid of being in one of the games I love.
How many games have you done voices for?
How many cons have you repped at?
Your buddy's Unreal Tournament garage deathmatch doesn't count.

I go to E3 each year because I love video games.
Because new titles still get me high.
Because I still love getting swag.
Love wearing my gamer pride on my sleeve.
People ask me what console I play.
Motherfucker, ALL of them.

All that, and how cool is her gun?



And that, that’s what I love. When we refuse to accept the “norm.” Be it in gaming or politics or sports. Just because video games are unfortunately often marketed mainly to men and even more unfortunately mainly made by men, does not mean women do not enjoy and kickass at them as well. If we never challenge those assumptions, say this is just the way it has always and will always be, nothing will ever change. So here’s to the badasses out there fighting the good fight. Game on, ladies. Happy weekend, all.

p.s. On a similar norm-defying note, I saw this on a tow truck while driving down the freeway recently and it made me unreasonably happy.

Our Q.U.E.E.N.

I apologize for taking so long to post today. My only excuse is that I was rocking the fuck out to the undefinable fabulosity of Janelle Monáe featuring the unfathomable fierceness of Erykah Badu. Every time Ms. Monáe puts on a suit and tie and opens her mouth I think, sit down Justin Timberlake, our Q.U.E.E.N. is speaking.

UnfoRettable, that's what she is

Please, treat yo self and watch Retta performing stand up on Jimmy Fallon on Monday night. Also, if you haven’t been watching “Parks & Recreation” this season you have one last chance to redeem yourself on Thursday before the season ends. Peace, love and let’s Barack the choke together.

p.s. You should really be following Retta on the Twitters. For serious. Best delayed live tweets of TV shows ever.