Wow

I Know What I'll Be Doing Sunday Night

Tidbits

I lovedlovedloved Betty White on SNL. She's a bawdy broad, a comic genius, and, yes, a national treasure--not the kind that Nicholas Cage digs up. I've been pointing at Carlos all weekend and saying, The Wizard Of Ass!

I watched the end of The Amazing Race and was thrilled beyond words that Idiot Model Couple Caite Upton and Brent Horne lost. Lost. It was disgusting enough to watch these two morons routinely put down people in other countries for not understanding English, but to watch Little Miss The Iraq And Such As Caite Upton call a cabdriver in San Francisco a dumbass--repeatedly--just shows that she is an idiot of epic proportions. Caite? Honey? You lost. Again. Boo-fucking-hoo.

Is it me or is Oprah getting bigger by the second. I watched, er, DVR'd, her show on Friday because I wanted to see Christina Aguilera, and when I watched it, seeing Oprah in that sequinned Pepto Bismol skirt, well, made me wanna hurl. It seemed to be growing as I watched. Further making me wanna hurl was Carlos saying Christina was doing Madonna from the 80s because she had platinum blond hair and ruby red lips. I reminded him that Madonna was accused of doing Marilyn back in the day, and before Marilyn there was Jean Harlow--look her up. There has always been a blond bombshell, and there will always be a blond bombshell.

Like many of you, I am sick of George Rekers and his Luggage Lifting Full Body Massage Travel Assistant. I loathe closeted gay men who work, and earn a living at, persecuting gay people at every turn. But I also feel somewhat sorry for Rekers and his ilk. I mean, how sad to hate yourself so much that you will spend your life working against people like you, deny people like you, and lie to anyone and everyone you know. Rekers didn't make himself anti-gay; society did.

Here in the Great :::cough cough::: State of South Carolina, Mark Sanford, our Philanderer-In-Chief, is expected to announce today whether he'll sign a bill raising the tax on a pack of cigarettes by fifty-cents. Lotsa folks crying foul; most of those cigarette smokers. As a man who lost his mother to lung cancer, I can only say, STFU. You don't wanna pay the extra coinage, then find a way to stop. And, when you stop, I imagine you might feel a whole lot better, and live a bit longer. Isn't that worth fifty cents?

Lost. Don't get me started. I wept like a baby last week. Sun!! Jin!!! Get out of the sub!!! And Sayid? I think I'll miss him most of all. I am readying my box of tissues for these last episodes, and for the aftermath of no Lost. Where shall i go? What shall I do? What will become of me?

I am going to admit that I watched some of The Real Housewives Of New Jersey [RHONJ] last year. That whole Prostitution-Whore-Table-Flipping scene by white-trash-with-money Teresa was worth it. This year? Not so much. A bunch of bored rich, and not-so-rich-anymore, bitch housewives who spend their days talking about another woman and putting her down is just plain ugly. I'll stick with The Real Housewives Of New York, though Jill and The Countless can go screw themselves.

I watched a bit of Half-Term Governor Quitter Sarah Palin talk about how we are a religious country founded on Christian beliefs and that we should run the country the way God wants us to run it. Um, Sarah, you dipshit? Whose God? Yours? Mine? My Muslim neighbor? The Jew down the street? And what about the atheist on the corner or the agnostic on the next block? They don't get a say? Whose God, you asshatted wingnut? You should learn to keep your illiterate uninformed mindnumbingly dumb right wing opinion to yourself. For a more comprehensive, and especially well-written viewpoint on The Quitter and religion and the Constitution, head on over the The Junction, Nutwood Junction [HERE]. Miss Beth has a mouthful to say, and as usual, it's fantastic.

Things That Tickle My, Um, Fancy

Glee.
It's back. tonight. Not the Madonna ep; that's next week, but still........
It's on opposite Lost.
I have a DVR.
All is right with the world because I can be a Gleek and a Lostie all at the same time!

Y'all know about my feud with Lindsay Lohan, right? I mean, she beat me out for The Love Bug sequel, and I got cast in Twilight instead of her--I played High School Girl Number 14. It wasn't a big part but I got felt up by Rob Pattinson.
So, Lindsay and I have been frenemies for a long time.
Well, it seems that Nintendo, after a long five year wait, has decided to make a video game out of Lohan's mediocre movie, Mean Girls. But, and this is where I giggle, they left Lindsanity off the box cover. And she STARRED in the movie.
It's mean, to a mean girl.
And I love it.

This is kinda cute.
Yardley is using Ricky Martin's coming out party to advertise their new line of waterproof mascara, because all those girls who love Ricky are crying since he's revealed himself to be a man's man.
Um, yeah, Yardley? There aren't any of those girls left. They all got the memo in 1992 and moved on. And, as for boys who wear waterproof mascara, they ain't cryin' over Ricky's coming out either.
They're dancing.

I will have to say that i might be the Lone Gay Man who isn't dying over Sex and The City. I saw a few episodes of the series; cute, funny, I'll give it that. But it didn't ring my bell, you know. And I didn't see the first movie until DVD and probably won't sequel until DVD or OnDemand.
But that doesn't stop me from getting all giggly over the latest one-sheet for SATC2 with EssJayPee strolling single toward us.
Where are the other girls? Where are the other girl's names?
Uh huh. I smell SATC2 catfight.
Or, perhaps, SATC3: Carrie's Funeral.

American Idol Rant

We got the results of American Idol last night on a channel surf from Lost to AI. Now, I loves me some AI, but ain't no singing competition gonna keep me from getting Lost, er, watching Lost. I mean, I found out what Kate did with Aaron; what Sawyer said before jumping from the chopper; and how Ben Linus came to join the Hostiles. Good, good stuff.

So I flipped channels on Lost breaks and I didn't see Megan Joy get the actual boot, though I did catch a bit of her final screech, and lawdy lawdy lawdy that was not pretty. But the fact is that Megan Joy marched to her own drummer. Now, he may have lost the beat and been out of tune, but she was doing it her way. And I think that's what matters most.

And so Carlos chimed in this morning about Miss Megan's "Please pack your song and go" moment, and then talked about the flame-haired rocker girl Allison. Apparently, on Tuesday's show she wore some hideous outfit and the judges said she looked awful; Carlos trotted out his old chestnut, She looked like a pinata.

And it got me wondering. Does it really matter what they wear? How they comb their hair? If they wear the black nail polish or not?

I mean, Adam Lambert's rendition of Tracks Of My Tears was beautiful, and yet more than one judge commented on the fact that he wasn't wearing the black nail polish that night. What difference does it make? He isn't a nail polish spokesmodel, any more than Allison is a pinata expert, or Megan a dance instructor--y'all know, girl cain't dance.

What would life be like if, say, in the 60s, a young bohemian girl with fur boots and a fringed vest was on a little show called American Idol? Would they rip Cher apart because of the wardrobe? Or would the performance be the key thing?

What about that 80s girl in the cone bra and wedding gown? Would those judges say Madonna couldn't be the next American Idol because she wasn't dressed properly?

Would Amy Winehouse's beehive send her packing?

Would Lady Gaga's plastic clothes and big sunglasses get her a ticket home?

Why don't the judges focus on talent and song choice and stage presence and performance, and lay off the clothes and hair, because, after all, it is a talent show. I mean, if we're gonna critique anyone about wardrobe let's talk about Simon's tight T's and man-boobs. Brit needs a Manzier...or a Bro. And Paula? It looks like a glitter factory and a pharmaceutical company upchucked on her. As for Kara, apparently her clothes are flown in from 1983. And Randy suffers from a similar affliction: he never met a loud shirt he didn't like.

Let's talk about music, and not fashion. Eh?

It's Baaaaaaack

I saw this on Shakesville.

Highlarious!

So, I am a huge Lost fan....huge....from episode one on...polar bears...smoke monsters....Mr Echo...traveling back in time and forward in time and across time...two islands...the hatch.....Boone's baby blues...the Dharma Initiative...Sawyer....I see dead people. It's all good.

So, Carlos comes home from work and we have dinner--a delicious ground turkey and black bean soup with mole sauce and store-bought roasted garlic bread--and then I tell him.

Lost is on tonight and all I ask is that, if you're going to watch it, do not speak.

I can speak if I want.

No, seriously, you can't. You'll start asking me who that is, or aren't they dead, or that doesn't make sense, or, ooooh that's a pretty lamp, and I'll stop to explain and then miss something important.

Just catch me up.

You can't 'catch up.' You either watch or you don't. If I explained the show to you we'd be here all night and I'd miss the 3-hour premiere.

Three hours? For what?

Leave the room.

But it's back. It's back. And I'm still hooked.

Then about an hour-and-a-half into the show, Carlos comes back into the room, sees Desmond and Penny in bed, and says, Ooooh, papi, who's that?

Stop!

Just tell me who that is.

Desmond.

And what's he doing.

He's going to Oxford and you're leaving the room.

I may have to get a lock for the office door and lock Carlos in next week.