And the Oscar Goes To….

A white person. 

Shocker, right?

Hollywood is a very white town. White and Jewish. So it should come as no great surprise that Black actors get short shrift in the awards categories.  But still we hear the outcry for equality and diversity in Hollywood’s mutual masturbatory trophyfest.

But I started looking at the whole Black actor/academy award thing and realized something. If you’re Black, this is NOT an award you want to win as it’s basically a parting gift for your career. 

I mean, let’s look at past winners:

Hattie McDaniel– no career after. And Is dead

Sidney Poitier– basically white. And also dead

Lou Gossett Jr. — um, what career?

Cuba Gooding Jr. — who??

Whoopi Goldberg– no films for you. Only Depends commercials. 

Jamie Foxx– meh. Nothing for awhile now. 

Forest Whitacre– nothing except a dropper eye. 

Halle Berry– nothing good except going a bit cray-cray. 

Mo’Nique–  again… Who??

Jennifer Hudson– no acting career AND no music career

Octavia Spencer– love her, but she’ll be gone soon enough. 

Lupita Nyong’o– more famous now for having a pearl dress stolen. 

About the only two actors to buck the trend are Denzel Washington and Morgan Freeman. And when’s the last time you saw something good from Denzel?  Or remember Mr Freeman for anything other than voiceover work?

I’m telling you, when the Academy gives a Black actor an Oscar, it’s basically telling them “You done good, now go away.”

I think I’d stick with being unrecognized, yet still being shown da money on a regular basis. But that’s just me. 

Moar Favorite Things.

I’m just gonna put this here.

Favorite Things.

File “Leslie Hall” under my new favorite things.

I randomly this video show up on a Twitter or facebook feed and was all “What in the gay fuck?” See for yourself:

I thought, “This has to be a joke, although it feels like someone who is bad but doesn’t know they’re bad and instead confidently thinks they’re kind of awesome. But they fail in a spectacular manner.”

Which is exactly what it is. Sort of.

I’m actually quite convinced Leslie is a musical genius.

After watching this video, I did an iTunes search for This song. And was astonished to find five albums of music out there. Including an album of remixes.

I started listening to her catalogue and was absolutely hypnotized. This isn’t like that weirdo Tonetta guy wearing a mask and dressing like Buffalo Bill doing tuneless songs in his basement. Oh no. Bitch can sing!

Which just makes the above video even more humorous because she’s singing bad on purpose. Which can be really tricky to do well. And her videos are low-budget camp on purpose, as well.

Ms Hall’s songs are actually really good. And I mean good good. Lyrically, they are interesting and clever. And very dense (complex). And she crosses sound genres: folk, dance, pop, country. And her hooks are melodically catchy.

I downloaded a fuckton of her stuff and have really been enjoying her style. It’s quirky and fun– but also smart. And refreshingly different in this day and age of pop crap.

And I actually love that she’s developed this gold-lamé catsuit wearing, nerdy “big gurl” personality that she unabashedly and unwaveringly adheres to.

It’s like watching a musical version of Amy Sedaris.

Here’s another song/video that I love even more than the first. And I think it illustrates what I’m trying to get across about her talent level:

I love that you can see the tear away pants cables.

Leslie actually lives in Iowa and my friend Robert from Welcome to the Middle Ages has actually met her!

I’m a bit jealous.

Video Information Series #17

Live it. Love it. Learn it.

He’s Just Not That Into You… Again

A week ago I wrote about meeting a guy that I thought had potential.  We had a nice time together and he made me laugh.  I found him handsome, fun, funny, witty, and above all “interesting”.  Definitely worth a second look.  I thought, “Well, even if this doesn’t go into romance, he could still be a cool guy to hang out with and actually double the number of friends I have in Minneapolis.”

Well, it’s now quite clear the feeling wasn’t mutual.

It started off well enough, with some back and forth texting.  But that lasted only about a day.  Then he just… stopped.

No biggie, I thought.  We’re both busy, and I had to go out of town for business.  So I let it rest, and then on Friday just sent him a quick text to say I was back in town and basically saying I hope he had a good week.

Nothing.

Then, of course, today I see him online.  So I did the girl-thing and sent him a message:  “Hey man, I’d love to hang out sometime.  But if you aren’t interested that’s cool.  Let me know.”

He logged off about 5 minutes later.  No response.  Nothing.  I’m surprised he hasn’t blocked me, as he now seems the type.

What the fuck IS it with gay men?  Cripes!  I didn’t stalk him and leave countless voicemail messages or send a text that I love him and want to have his gaybies.  And I certainly didn’t want to marry the fucker– I just thought pizza and a movie would be nice.  Something that he seemed receptive to when we parted.

If’ a guy’s interested in you, he’ll let you know.  I was interested and let him know.  If he wasn’t interested, a courtesy “I don’t think I’m interested” text would’ve been most welcome.  And a real time-saver.  But just ignoring me or pretending that I don’t exist after having a decent time together?

Chickenshit behavior.

And frankly disappointing.

Naturally I’m now wondering if he was as nice a guy as I originally thought.  Either he’s exceptionally gifted at deception, or he’s emotionally damaged.  Or perhaps he’s just one of those handsome guys who treats people like a jerk because he can.

Regardless, I get it.  He’s just not that into me.

Kingsman: The Secret Service

Really good movie. Deliciously violent. You should go.

It’s part Bond. Part Mission Impossible. Part The Avengers (the original avengers, not the crap Marvel movie).

It is also part dark and part humorous, with cheeky direct nods to Bond films.

Samuel L Jackson is an interesting villain– an über rich, quirky tech whiz with a strong lisp and a weak constitution. Like a gayer Bill Gates. His right hand is a chick with blade runner legs, with quite literal blades built in. Very fun!

Colin Firth is awesome, as usual. And the newcomer Taron Egerton?

Dreamy. And good!

It’s a fairly decent plot– standard evil genius bent on world destruction and only the Kingsmen can stop him– but with a few modern twists for freshness.

It has a good mix of old school spy stuff and new tech. And humor. And darkness. And social awareness.

So All in all I rather enjoyed it. Also because it didn’t feel like a “reboot” or a “reimagining” of a hero story that’s already been done to death. So that’s good, too.

And if you need a gratuitous violence fix? Well, here you go. There is one killing sequence set to Lynard Skynnard’s “Freebird” that is utterly astounding in the depth and breadth of different egregious methods used to slaughter folks.

Go see it if you haven’t. Go!

Smitten

Um, I sorta met someone this weekend. And he’s handsome and smart and FUNNY and I like him a real lot and I don’t think he likes me back.

Well, he may like me back. We’ll see. The verdict is still out.

It’s so rare that I meet a guy who ticks so many boxes, that it kind of put me a bit off balance.

I mean, for starters he’s SINGLE! Which is a true rarity here in the land of “partnered but open”.

He’s also not on drugs or in recovery (another rarity in the land of treatment centers). In fact, he’s as anti-drug as I am.

And I think he’s handsome. Bearded. Blue eyes. Great smile. Yet he doesn’t think he’s handsome, which makes him all the moreso.

He is also smart and has an interesting job. And his own place. And life. And– get this. On Sunday’s he actually volunteers his time at an animal shelter.

Is this guy for real??

We have different interests, but common ground if that makes sense. It was very easy being around him.

But the best part, by far, is that he made me laugh. Not a mildly amused ha ha ha you’re funny laugh, but a full on, caught me off-guard with a witty comment rolling, belly laugh.

And I haven’t had that in a really long time.

Which is why I’m smitten.

Which worries me because I never feel this way. It’s been a day and I’m thinking about him all the time. And I really hope I get the chance to spend more time with him.

It sure would be a nice change.

Good (Valen)Times

In horror honor of this be”love”ed holiday, I present you with some Valentine’s cards.

Been to DisneyLand lately?

Nothing says Happy Valentine’s like implied rape…

Or horrible racism.

Or Passive Aggression.

Fifty Shades of Valentines.

Children and knives never gets old.

Or babies with guns.

Milk me, bitch!!

And then ski over it like a mogul.

And now for a creepy trio:

Or how about this classic?

And last but not least:

Nothing says “I love you” like threatening suicide.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Comeuppance

I must admit, one of my favorite schadenfreude things involves people getting their comeuppance.

I also just like the word (heh heh heh).

We have a radio station here that does a weekly segment called “War of the Roses”– I’ve mentioned it before. This is where a spouse or partner thinks that their sig-oth is cheating on them, so they have the radio station call pretending to be the cheater’s phone/cable company. They have a quick survey and if the person participates they get a free dozen roses to send to whomever they so choose.

Then we all get to hear if the suspected philanderer sends the flowers to the spouse or the piece of ass on the side. Usually it is very comfortable to listen to.

Most times it involves a guy cheating, and the girlfriend/wife doesn’t get the flowers and arguments ensue. The guy invariably tries to lie and weasel his way out of the whole thing. Insults fly. Relationships end. And all on the radio for the enjoyment of the listening public.

This is not what I enjoy.

What I do like is when a cheater gets busted in an egregious lie, and the spouse already knows his/her partner is guilty and they just use the radio to destroy them publicly.

Like today’s “War of the Roses”.

This one involved a guy who’s wife had already cheated on him (right after they got married) and after couple’s counseling and therapy, everything appeared to be going well…

Until this past weekend when his wife was supposed to be in Chicago for work. Only she wasn’t. She was photographed by the couple’s babysitter at a restaurant in an outlying suburb. With another man.

Whoopsie.

So the radio station did the call/survey ploy and then offered a romantic dinner for two (in lieu of roses) and asked for the name of her would-be guest.

As expected, she chose some other guy (not her faithful husband). Aaaand BAM! Down came the hammer.

Oh yes, hearing her squirm in this case was delicious. And when confronted she even said “I wasn’t at Emma Crumbies this weekend.” (Crumbies is a local restaurant). Only nobody had said the restaurant name where the picture was taken at that point.

Busted!

The husband of four years basically told her that he was going to be changing the locks, and that she and her new boyfriend could come pick up her shit and get the fuck out.

The wife kept saying that she wasn’t going to have this conversation on the phone (I don’t think she realized it was on the air) and that she couldn’t believe that her husband would do this.

“I hope you’re pleased with yourselves,” she says scathingly.

“You hope WE’RE pleased? That’s funny. Why would I be pleased about you being a whore who ruined our marriage.”

I do feel a tad bit sorry because the have a child together, but mostly I felt triumphant in a way. I enjoyed the guy becoming empowered to leave his cheating wife and also having the brass cajones to get some public revenge.

Comeuppance. It’s a good thing (unless it’s yours).

Fifty Shades of…

Well, it’s finally here. The movie version of the mommy-porn book Fifty Shades of Grey is dropping this weekend.

Along with the moist panties of middle-aged women all across America.

I don’t quite get the fascination that surrounds this story. I mean, I get just as turned on by erotic fiction as anyone else. But it’s not like I’m reading Faulkner– it’s FUCKner.

I will say I’m totally jealous of the woman who wrote this filth. She’s laughing all the way to the bank!

But let’s face it. She’s no J.K. Rowling. Hell, she’s not even Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings.

From the little I’ve heard (yes, heard, since I’ve been subjected to several passages read aloud), the prose bounces somewhere between painful and comical.

His breathing is ragged, matching mine.
“When did you start your period, Anastasia?” he asks out of the blue, gazing down at me.
“Err… yesterday,” I mumble in my highly aroused state.
“Good.” He releases me and turns me around.
“Hold on to the sink,” he orders and pulls my hips back again, like he did in the playroom, so I’m bending down.
He reaches between my legs and pulls on the blue string… what! And… a gently pulls my tampon out and tosses it into the nearby toilet. Holy fuck. Sweet mother of all… Jeez. And then he’s inside me… ah!

Or:

I pull him deeper into my mouth so I can feel him at the back of my throat and then to the front again. My tongue swirls around the end. He’s my very own Christian Grey-flavored popsicle. I suck harder and harder … Hmm … My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves. (137)

No, this woman basically churned out a harlequin romance novel with a BDSM twist and in a perfect storm of American boredom and Internet viral dissemination, the thing became a hit in book clubs and coffee klatches across the country.

And now it’s a movie.

Yeah, I don’t care how hot the guy is, I’m not even watching this one on Netflix.

Maybe I’ll see the musical though.