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Real Housewives of Atlanta: Birthday Parties and Banjos March 19, 2012

Posted by Skippy in Uncategorized.
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Last Time: Phaedra wants to get her hands on a dead body, NeNe wants to divorce somebody, and Sheree starts shit between some bodies.  Cynthia defends her shitty husband after he treats her sister like a nobody.

We begin with the Supermodel of the World and her geriatric failure of a husband.  He thinks that the stupid one-year anniversary party “went great.”  I guess if you think dissing your wife’s sister is a good thing, then the party went splendidly.  Supermodel doesn’t understand what Mel’s “issue” with their marriage is and claims that she’s done.  She’s also dumb.  Papa Smurf doesn’t understand Mel’s issue with him.  And Supermodel is claiming that Mel caused a scene?  Damn, this woman is dumb, dumb, dumb.

Kandi goes back into the belly of the beast.  She visits the Biermann Manor…and is immediately asked by Lady Kim about what happened.  She wants Lady Kim to know that it was Supermodel who made the crack about holding black babies. They rehearse the music issue and make nice.  Me and you will never part!

Speaking of parting, NeNe visits her lawyers.  Well, they’re lawyers.  I don’t know if they’re her lawyers.  They’ve got some sweet offices overlooking Midtown Atlanta.  Anyway, NeNe has been separated from Gregg for a year and there’s a divorce settlement on the table.  She claims that she’s got a man ready to “scoop her up.” Um, yeah. Whatever. That said, NeNe isn’t sure she wants to divorce Gregg, but the lawyers keep thinking “billable hours,” so they won’t shut up.

Hey, Hot Piece of Ass!  Long time no see!  Anyway, HPoA is going to speak to the Masonic Lodge…about his passage to manhood.  I’m not saying another thing, other than this: fool, DO NOT read while you’re trying to drive, you fucking idiot!  The hell is wrong with you!

Ok, now I have to make fun of this Masonic Lodge.  They’re holding their event at a Picadilly Cafeteria?  Holy mother of Spock, I didn’t know Picadilly Cafeteria still existed!  Clearly, Prince Ayden Adonis ain’t crazy about the choice of venue either, because he smacks Lady Phaedra in the eye and cries.  Anyway, HPoA doesn’t share Phaedra’s “gift of gab.”  No, no he doesn’t.  But he sure is nice to look at. 

Kandi is at some dude named Lil Ronnie’s house.  Oh, so we’re back to this Kandi Goes Country bullshit?  Meh.  But damn, he’s got insane computer equipment.  Looks like the bridge of the U.S.S. Enterprise.  Kandi’s nervous about working with JoDee Messina.  I truly couldn’t care less. 

It’s Shit By Sheree!  Tierra, Sheree’s sensible child, visits.  She’s got a job in television production—good for you!  She’s got news for Sheree…Tierra’s boyfriend Damon might propose! This, for some reason, does not make Sheree happy.  It should—they’ve been dating for seven years!  Sheree basically shit-talks marriage.  Yeah, Tierra, I don’t think your mother is the best person to talk to concerning marriage. 

Speaking of idiots talking, Mel stops by Supermodel’s fugaboo agency.  She wants to apologize to Supermodel before she jets off to France, but Supermodel wants a pound of flesh.  Mel explains that when she sees Papa Smurf, she sees failure, but Supermodel wants to make digs on Mel’s man. “You are in my shadow, get it, bitch?”  That’s basically what Supermodel says.  She interviews that Mel is acting like a “hater.”  Supermodel is one dumb, dumb, foolish child. 

Prince Ayden Adonis is turning one!  More importantly, Apollo is shirtless.  More stupidly, the Lady Phaedra decides to have the baby’s first birthday party two hours away. 


And why the hell is Dwight there? 

The Lady Phaedra has twelve cakes presented to a one year old who couldn’t give a flying shit.  Sheree: “Now, who gon’ eat all that damn cake?”

Lawrence tries to talk sense to the Concubine.  It fails.  Commercials.

Ok, so now Sheree meets Damon the Boyfriend to grill him and present incontrovertible evidence that she will be a meddlesome mother-in-law.  I feel badly for Damon.  The minute he makes ANY mistake, she will be all up in Tierra’s grill and telling her that he ain’t no good.  Their only hope is to move far, far away from Sheree.  I’m just sayin’ 

We’re back in Nashville at JoDee Messina’s recording studio and…zzzzzzzzzz.  Oh, I’m sorry.  I fell asleep there for a few hours.  Anyway, when I wake up, Kandi is telling us something we already fucking know: there aren’t a lot of black country singers or producers.  JoDee sings the song that Kandi wrote about money growing on trees and then tells her that she wants to sing the song live in front of people.  It makes Kandi nervous.  Still don’t care. 

NeNe sees a therapist!  ‘Bout damn time. 

Oh, GOD. We’re back in fucking Nashville and now we’re at the Bluebird Café.  Pardon me for not giving a shit about this.  Anyway, they sing and they sing and then the episode is over. 


Real Housewives of Atlanta: “Shaping Up and Shipping Out” January 23, 2012

Posted by Skippy in Real Housewives, Uncategorized.
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Children, I know I missed a week. Life has been busy, but watching this week’s installment, it’s clear that I haven’t missed a thing.

This won’t be so much as a recap as a bit of a rant about the proceedings. The framing device for this episode is a trip to “Africa.” Apparently, Phaedra has organized this trip–and I have no idea what that actually means. Anyone with two partially-functional brain cells knows that Bravo’s footing the bill for this. That doesn’t bug me nearly as much as the repeated invocation of going to “Africa.” They talk as though Africa is some undifferentiated whole. The women keep mentioning lions and safari and other stereotypical shit that you know they wouldn’t mention if they were going to, say, England. Cynthia mentions South Africa, so I can only assume that that is indeed where they’re going.

Speaking of Cynthia, she apparently inveigles NeNe to come along. The producers had nothing to do with that, I’m sure, just as I’m sure they didn’t bother to get Kim to go. They’re saving that dogwhistle for next week. Of course, NeNe says yes. What’s a trip to “Africa” without some damn drama? So NeNe does what any reasonable person does: she invites Marlo the Concubine along for the trip. And, of course, the Concubine says yes.

Let’s talk about the Concubine for a moment, shall we? There’s a little bit in which NeNe goes to visit Marlo the Concubine with a rap sheet longer than this recap. Remember, NeNe has described the Concubine as “high society,” as was allegedly displayed during the “Captain Planet” jewelry “charity” auction. Anyway, you’d think that someone as “high society” as the Concubine would be living in a Buckhead high-rise or in a palatial manor on Cascade Road.

No. This useless wretch lives in a tackily over-decorated townhouse. As the Concubine drags NeNe through the house, she shows NeNe every bit of nouveau riche bullshit. Again, this is all designed to put NeNe in her place. If NeNe foolishly thinks she’s high-society, well, Marlo’s going to go the extra mile to let Ms. Leakes know that she is not, in fact, hot shit.

Well, guess what, Concubine? Neither are you. Sure, you can show off a high-tech security system, designer furniture and a closet chock-full of designer shoes, but all this is garish “new money.” She–and I’d probably say the majority of the cast–don’t have anything the form of real money. Outside of Phaedra and Kandi, all I see are tacky homes, tacky clothes, and a pretense at wealth. Also, it’s a pretense which will quickly fall apart.

Anyway, off to Africa! The ladies are all at Hartsfield…when Marlo shows up. Watching the looks on their faces was priceless. Phaedra didn’t appear to bother to conceal her disdain at the Concubine’s arrival. Looks like next week should be quite interesting.

Vegetarian Bumper Stickers: A Rant September 9, 2011

Posted by Skippy in Rants, Uncategorized.
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The other day, I went to the grocery store—you know, my favorite place in the world. Anyway, I pulled into my parking space, and found that I was parked next to an SUV bearing the following annoying, overbearing, utterly douchetastic bumper sticker:

Fig. 1: Bumper sticker of a douchebag.

I really wanted to write a note to the owner of the pretentious SUV with that bumper sticker and other car magnets featuring their kid’s soccer league and haute taute day school that said:

It is apparent that you think eating meat is the hallmark of a thoughtless individual who doesn’t have quite the cognitive abilities that you allegedly possess. Have you considered that your bumper sticker is indicative of a simple mentality that seeks to elevate itself on a purely arbitrary basis? Have you considered that human beings, the primates that we are, have a natural disposition towards eating meat? Certainly, as rational creatures, we can choose to not eat meat–however, that choice does not make you or anyone else a morally superior person, as your bumper sticker so arrogantly asserts. Furthermore, while you’re congratulating yourself in the most elitist and offensive way for not eating meat, have you considered that driving an SUV is not helping the poor animals you claim to be so concerned about? Your vehicle isn’t a hybrid or an electric vehicle; therefore, you’re contributing to pouring tons of exhaust into the air; in turn this further damages the climate, which in turn ruins the habitats of those animals you refuse to eat. Well done!

A Meat-Eating Wielder of a Ph.D.

P.S. Life is not good, either. Only an idiot who is totally ensconced in an upper middle class bourgeois lifestyle and utterly lacking in any awareness of the world around them would put that shitty sticker on their car.

News You Can Use: Karl Lagerfeld Thinks It’s Hard To Have Ugly Kids August 24, 2011

Posted by Skippy in General Weirdness, Observations, Uncategorized.
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It’s amazing when the super-rich open their mouths about the mundane problems of the proles. It’s always so entertaining to find out what fetid thoughts fester in their foolish minds. Fortunately, super-rich people who are also famous tend to not keep those fetid thoughts to themselves, so we get the “pleasure” of being treated to their mental and verbal diarrhea. Today, we get to find out what Karl Lagerfeld, “fashion” designer thinks about “ugly” children:

In the new issue of Interview Magazine, designer Karl Lagerfeld chats it up with former French Vogue editor Carine Roitfeld. The fashion big shots commiserate about wealth (“You’re in your jet—you don’t have a grip on reality. We can lose touch with reality quite easily.”), and being oppressed by jobs.

And then there are Lagerfeld’s views on kids.

Regarding Roitfeld’s children, Julia and Vladimir, Karl comments: “You’re also lucky because they are very beautiful. It would have been difficult to have an ugly daughter.”

Luckily, the former Chanel guru was spared the horrors of raising an unattractive daughter, as he is childless.

“If I were a woman, I would love to have lots of kids,” Lagerfeld opines. “But for men, I don’t believe in it.”


As they say, “What is this? I don’t even.” Karl, dear, let’s deal with a couple of things.

1. You’re ugly.

Karl, dear, I know it’s been a while since you’ve looked into a mirror…and frankly, I’d be surprised if you were able to see your reflection in the mirror. Anyway, you kinda look like death warmed over and kicked in the balls. I just thought you should know that. And you dress like Dracula. Also, your personality sucks. Actually, your personality contributes significantly to your ugliness.

2. In what way would it be “difficult” to have ugly children?

As far as I know, having kids is pretty difficult regardless of their subjective attractiveness. But Karl seems to think that there’s some additional burdens to raising putatively ugly children. What would those burdens be, Karl? Do tell, you shriveled fossil of a humanoid.

3. What do you mean when you say that you don’t believe in men having kids?

Karl, dear? Can we get some clarification? Are you saying—are you actually saying that you don’t think that men can raise children? Also, dear, saying that you “don’t believe in it” doesn’t actually make any sense. Men raise kids all the time; are you saying the you don’t agree with men raising children? It would help us all greatly if you’d be more specific in your analysis. As it is, you sound like a sexist, self-hating homophobe…on top of being an elitist shriveled fossil that is completely out of touch with anything remotely resembling reality.

Fig. 1: I’d rather take fashion advice from someone who is not undead, thank you very much.

Skippy Goes To The Movies!: “Horrible Bosses” July 8, 2011

Posted by Skippy in Movies, Uncategorized.

Verdict: Raunchy, raucous, irreverent…FUCKING HILARIOUS.

Usually, commercials and trailers for comedies show you all the funniest parts of the movie, and if you go to the movie, you are disappointed by a middle act that is boring and a conclusion that is far less than satisfying. “Horrible Bosses” is decidedly not one of those movies. Directed by Seth Gordon and packed with established movie stars like Jennifer Anniston, Colin Farrell and even a cameo by Donald Sutherland, one might expect the television veterans Jason Bateman, Jason Sudekis and Charlie Day to be overshadowed. The writing is tight, effective, and not ashamed to “go there.”

The plot of the movie is fairly simple: three workaday guys hate their bosses. Nick (Jason Bateman) works for an antichrist of a boss (Kevin Spacey) who lies to him about a promotion he thought he was to receive. Dale works for a dentist (Jennifer Anniston) who is sexually harassing him. Kurt is an accountant for a small chemical company that is taken over by a cocaine-addicted douchebag (Colin Farrell). Their bosses are plainly insufferable and the three guys decide that they must die. Not knowing how to do such a thing, they chance upon a “murder consultant” named Motherfucker Jones (Jamie Foxx). I refuse to say anymore as that would give a bunch of hilarious plot points and spoilers away. Suffice it to say that things do not go according to plan. Also, the commercials only give the barest of hints as to how funny this movie is.

As I noted above, this movie is raunchy, raucous and irreverent. There is a scene where the three men find themselves in a “bad” part of town—however, that part of town is occupied solely by African Americans. I tensed up, thinking, “Oh, hell. Here we go.” Fortunately, the writers did not go down familiar roads of racial stereotype; rather, they took what could have been a potentially offensive moment and made it funny. I expect some Internet ink to be spilled on a couple of these scenes in the movie as examples of white privilege run amok. It’s also very interesting that the obvious choice of these men finding other jobs is contextualized in light of our crapped out economy. As a comedy that is set in our current economic reality, I find that it projects a little darkness and absurdity. Not to get too “deep” about this movie, but I think it could stand alongside “9 to 5” as a comedy that exposes some of the anxieties of the time in which these respective movies appear. That’s a whole ‘nother essay, I suppose.

Anyway, all of the actors acquit themselves very well. The chemistry and comic timing between the leads is excellent—you can tell that Jason Sudekis was having a very good time making this movie. It didn’t hurt that his character was a bit of a lothario. Bateman is pretty much the same character he was in “Arrested Development”—a critic might say that this is a bad thing, but I don’t care. He’s at his best when he’s playing straight to other characters. In this case, he plays straight man to Sudekis and Day.

In sum, I would say that this movie is funnier than “Bridesmaids.” It eschews any kind of sentimentality, choosing instead to go full-bore raunchy—it earns its R-rating not through gross out humor, but through a lot of sexual humor and profanity. This isn’t a movie to take your kids to (as I saw at least one idiot family do today). Rather, get the kids a sitter, go have a nice dinner and go see this movie and laugh your ass off for two hours.

Oprah: A Post-Mortem May 27, 2011

Posted by Skippy in Observations, Popular Culture, Uncategorized.
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So the Oprah Winfrey Show has aired its final episode. I decided to watch Oprah’s final episode and see how she’d end 25 years of being on television. Certainly, the promos for the final episode presented it as the End of All Things: she had clips from M*A*S*H, The Cosby Show, Cheers, and other beloved television shows and asked, “Where Will You Be?” Presumably, she was equating this final episode to those other television moments. I note she didn’t include any of the Star Trek series finales as “Where Will You Be?” moments. I am bummed. Anyway, I sat down and thought, “I can do this. I can watch an entire episode of Oprah.”

Turns out, I couldn’t—at least, I couldn’t watch it in one sitting. That was an hour of self-indulgent treacle the likes of which I don’t think I’ve ever seen on television. She was right about the finale in one respect; I would never forget it, but not because it was good or anything like that. You see, Oprah decided that she would spend her last episode preaching at her audience. Her grateful audience. Her audience of largely middle-class white women who do nothing but Oprah okays it. Her supplicants, happy to have gotten a ticket to the taping of this, her Final Episode, should have been as happy to hear from her as the supposed multitudes who flocked to hear Jesus of Nazareth—especially if it might mean they get Something(tm) from the Great and Powerful Oprah. So powerful and great is Oprah, that she was able to…um, persuade the Chicago Bulls to move their playoff game so that Oprah might make use of the United Center in order to trot out every celebrity in the known world to pay tribute to the Great and Powerful Oprah. Hell, she gave some of her devoted a trip to AUSTRAAAAALIAAAAA, so wouldn’t you expect to get something from Oprah on her final episode? Something memorable?

Well, folks, you did get something memorable. You got a forty-five minute sermon. You got Oprah virtually erasing the tabloid talk-show history of the show (she mentioned it briefly and dismissed it as her not knowing any better). You got Oprah spouting lame platitude after lame platitude and, at at least one point, dramatically pausing as though she had said The Most Profound Thing in the World and you would rapturously applaud. You didn’t. Your mistake, for your television savior would then go on and on and ON with Oprah’s Beatitudes.

After mangling a principle in physics, she told you that you “are responsible for the energy that you bring into a space.” Really? This is what Oprah thinks Newton’s Third Law of Motion means? Anyway, she then went on to tell you that you are responsible for your life. No one will save you. Or give you a free car in exchange for listening to this pedantic psychobabble. But wait—Oprah told you no one will save you, but she proceeded to subtly contradict that assertion with a brief clip show of many people disclosing Deep Dark Secrets…on The Oprah Winfrey Show.

You see, that’s the “genius” of the Gospel of Oprah and we saw that genius encapsulated in Oprah’s Sermon on the Mount. She spent the better part of twenty-five years telling you that “you” were responsible, you were capable, and you were special. However, you could only achieve such responsibility, capability and specialness via Oprah. Oprah’s Book Club, O Magazine, and, to the delight of shows like MadTV, Oprah’s Favorite Things promoted a gospel of consumption in which you could achieve all that specialness by buying stuff Oprah likes. As she ended her show, she dispensed more pop wisdom in the form of “you’re worthy.” Indeed, I saw Facebook status updates that contained some of the Beatitudes dispensed by Oprah. People responded as though those statements were the very soul of wisdom. I wanted to ask these people, “Did you really need Oprah to tell you that?”

Ah, a defender of Oprah says, she gave glory to God and Jesus! That proves that she’s humble enough to give glory to something larger than herself. Indeed. But God–that “presence bigger than herself”–deemed it so that a sperm and egg united and gave the world Oprah Winfrey! Applaud, meager supplicants! In this moment, if you were not clear that you were being preached at, it became unmistakable. The show and its history now becomes the inevitable result of divine providence.

What’s the word for that? Oh. Yes. Hubris.

By this point, a follower of the Gospel of Oprah becomes fairly indignant. “Oprah funded scholarships for young Black men!” “Oprah has done many charitable things–why do you need to tear her down?” “Oprah is one of two Black billionaires–we should honor her for her trailblazing success instead of acting like crabs in a barrel!” To all that, I say, “Poppycock!” Cultural criticism is not a zero-sum game. Oprah’s followers—and everyone else—are clearly aware of Oprah’s charitable giving, primarily because she’s let the world know that she’s engaged in charitable giving. I am much more concerned about the sheep-like devotion to Oprah I’ve seen in people. I’m irritated by statements that begin with “Well, Oprah says” as much as I’m irritated by statements that begin with “Well, pastor/bishop says,” because they are both devoid of any critical thinking. They are evidence of a slavish preoccupation with letting someone else direct, letting someone else provide pithy, one-line answers instead of doing the hard work of being honest with one’s self. Her extensive charity work doesn’t absolve her from a critical assessment of the show and the way in which she promoted a gospel of consumption and cheap self-help.

It’s interesting to note that, as she spent the hour preaching and using the twenty-five year history of the show as the focal point of her sermon, Oprah didn’t mention the controversies, the moments in which she was revealed as fallible (or, in my words, full of bullshit). What about her giving airtime to people like Jenny McCarthy, the anti-vaxer? What about her own promotion of pseudoscientific nonsense (i.e., “The Secret” or fad diets)? Oprah’s Sermon on the Mount now functions as a way of rewriting the history of the show itself and the leaving of the stage was full of religious symbolism; Oprah has now finished the course (of doing a daytime talk show) and is now ascending into her own private Heaven (control of a network). All praise your digital savior.

Skippy Goes To The Movies!: “Thor” May 12, 2011

Posted by Skippy in Movies, Popular Culture, Science Ficton, Uncategorized.
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Verdict: The best superhero movie since “Superman: The Movie”

Children, I think I’m on record for not being a big fan of movies based on Marvel Comics superheroes. While I liked “X-Men” and loved “X-Men 2,” I absolutely despised each and every one of the “Spider-Man” movies (especially that third abomination), loathed “X-Men 3,” and found the “Iron Man” movies merely tolerable. The less said about both of the “Hulk” movies, the better. This, of course, is part of my DC Comics partisan fanboyism. A Marvel superhero movie has to be awesome for me to like it (see the aforementioned “X-Men 2”).

That said, “Thor” was absolutely awesome. Director Kenneth Branaugh took a story written by J. Michael Straczynski (I was surprised when I saw his name pop up in the credits) and crafted a thoroughly delightful and visually arresting summer flick. Throughout the movie, I kept thinking, “THIS is what a superhero movie should be!”

The story is fairly simple: Thor (Chris Hemsworth) is a cocky son of god Odin. Because of his arrogance, he nearly starts a war with the Frost Giants; as a result of his arrogant disobedience of Odin (Anthony Hopkins), he is banished to Earth. On Earth, he meets astrophysicist Jane Foster (Natalie Portman) and her band of merry scientists; meanwhile, his brother Loki (Tom Hiddleston) is causing all sorts of trouble back in Asgard. Needless to say, Thor’s time on Earth humbles him and he learns how to be a hero just in time to save the day and set up the impending Avengers movie. Unlike other superhero films, this isn’t about a human (or alien who finds out he’s an alien) coming to terms with superpowers. This is a simple story of redemption—Thor has been cast out of a heaven and has to reclaim his rightful place as heir to Asgard’s throne. As such, the movie flows fairly smoothly. There aren’t any spots in the movie where the narrative begins to drag and feel padded, even at an hour and fifty-four minutes. Frankly, the near two-hour running time flew by.

I have to say, I love how Marvel has structured their movies so that each movie (Spider-Man and X-Men excluded) is part of a shared universe. I think a major flaw in DC’s movie-making strategy is separating each movie franchise. For example, the upcoming Green Lantern movie will have nothing to do with Batman which has nothing to do with Superman which has nothing to do with either Batman or Green Lantern. On top of all that, Warner Brothers (the company that owns DC Comics) wants to do a Justice League movie! And as far as I can tell, they want different actors to play Batman and Superman in the JL movie—how stupid is that? Anyway, even though this movie is part of a shared universe, it doesn’t at all require having seen the Iron Man or Hulk movies. Frankly, I am interested to see how the Avengers movie turns out. How will they integrate all these superheroes in one movie without it turning into an incoherent mess? I guess time will tell.

While this movie will not be submitting any Oscar reels, I think that Branaugh got serviceable performances out of the actors. Anthony Hopkins didn’t have much to do, so there were times in which he seemed rather…listless. Natalie Portman shines in this movie; when she’s got a good director, she brings it. So, basically, her performance in the Star Wars prequels? All George Lucas’s no-directing fault. Anyway, she has amazing chemistry with Chris Hemsworth—it was reminiscent of the chemistry between Christopher Reeve and Margot Kidder in “Superman.” Portman and Hemsworth’s rather chaste romance was actually believable and not (too) corny.

And can we talk about Chris Hemsworth?

Fig. 1: Well, hellooooooo, Thor!

Ok, let’s talk. While Hemsworth might be something of a putz in interviews, onscreen he has a magnetism that is…wow. He was an inspired–nay, perfect choice to play Thor. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s GORGEOUS. Seriously.

Basically, this movie is going to be the second Blu-Ray DVD I own.

A Modest Treatise on the Real Housewives of Orange County April 25, 2011

Posted by Skippy in Observations, Real Housewives, Uncategorized.

Some of you may have noticed a lack of “Real Housewives” recaps/commentary. Well, children, I got behind in my RHoOC watching…and frankly, I stopped caring. Rewatching a show and then writing about it highlights more of its flaws than merely watching does. After watching the boring RHoMiami and now the OC, I can safely say that this so-called franchise has run out of gas. The OC, the original show, has run out of stories to tell about this assemblage of mostly-broke botoxed bottle blond, so it has taken to doing a number of inane things to remain “fresh:”

1. Bringing back old crazy people
From previews I’ve seen, Jeana from seasons 1 to whenever is coming back. Hoo boy, does she look like ten miles of bad road, to boot! This economy did a number on Jeana (she’s a real estate something or other) so she dropped out of the show. Well, she’s apparently back and will eventually get into a fight with Tamra, who is trying for all the world to be this show’s NeNe. Which brings me to…

2. Stealing plotlines from other shows
The aforementioned Tamra started this boring season “befriending” a Latina lesbian named Fernanda. It was insipid watching Tamra act like she was the slightest bit interested in having any kind of sexual relations with a woman. And guess where that plot line came from? Yep, it came from the RHoAtlanta series, where Kim Zolciak was kinda-sorta-maybe dating a lesbian named Tracey. That supposed plot line got dropped with a quickness as Tamra started tv-dating some oddball named Eddie. Either way, Tamra’s dating a homosexual, is all I’ve got to say about that.

3. Bringing on new crazy people
Gee fucking whiz. They’ve brought on this crazy whackaloon named Peggy who is allegedly friends with Jesus Barbie, aka Alexis. I thought I couldn’t stand Alexis—and I can’t, but that’s another rant—but Peggy is just a whole ‘nother level of crazy. She claims that she’s into homeopathy and natural whatever. She makes a point of telling the camera that she is into wholistic whatever…but yet she got plastic surgery to re-enhance her boobs.

Children, between crazy Peggy and Jesus Barbie and Vicki emasculating her husband, I am spent. I’ve run out of snark with these women, because it occurs to me that these are grown women thinking that they can live the life of a damn Barbie doll. And that’s not funny. It’s sad.

This Week in Netflix: “Funny People” (2009) March 27, 2011

Posted by Skippy in Movies, Uncategorized.
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Verdict: Goes nowhere…slowly.

Children, I don’t even know why I put this movie in my Netflix queue. I’m going to blame this on my man-crush on Seth Rogen. At any rate, I got this movie, and popped it into the PS3 on a boring Saturday evening…and was promptly rewarded with a movie that inexplicably falls apart into incoherence in the final act.

Adam Sandler plays George Simmons, a self-absorbed comedian who finds out that he has a Plot Contrivance in the form of a fatal illness (of course, it’s not so fatal that it results in any kind of disfigurement or noticeable physical change). Seth Rogen plays Ira Wright, a young comedian who’s trying to get his career off the ground (it might help by actually telling funny jokes, but whatevs). Ira’s such a struggling artiste that he’s living on the couch of a successful sitcom actor (Jason Schwartzman) and his roommate, Leo (Jonah Hill). Simmons and Wright meet at a comedy club and Simmons decides to offer Wright the opportunity to write jokes for him…and act as his personal servant. Along the way, we get to see Sandler try to play serious as his character “confronts” his impending demise from Plot Contrivance. It’s about as convincing as you’d expect.

I thought the premise of this movie was that a comedian finds his humanity in the face of a life-threatening plot contrivance, but about halfway through Judd Apatow (writer and director) seemed to say, “Fuck it, I’m tired of this life-threatening Plot Contrivance.” So, in a few short lines of dialogue, a wonder drug appears and apparently cures George Simmons of his fatal case of Plot Contrivance. In the meantime, George has reconnected with an old flame (played by Leslie Mann) who is kinda-sorta unhappily married to an Australian (Eric Bana) who is always away on business. Well, in another case of Plot Contrivance, the Aussie happens to return home after Laura and George have had sex and she has tacitly declared her marriage over! DRAMA!

As if all this plot wasn’t enough, Ira (remember him? Yeah, don’t worry–Apatow forgot about him too) is pining away after some inexplicably bland comedienne named Daisy (Aubrey Plaza), but is too much of a schmuck to ask her out…and he gets mad at her for sleeping with the sitcom star. Don’t worry, Dying George somehow gets those two crazy kids back together. But since this movie seems to be All About George and Ira’s troubles are as much a plot contrivance as the Not-Quite-So Fatal Plot Contrivance, we don’t really get to know much about Ira, other than that he, like the rest of the world, really thinks that this George Simmons guy is really funny.

Well, after Simmons is cured of his Plot Contrivance, he heads at warp speed back into dickery and douchebaggery. He bitches at Ira and then fires him. Well, I hope Ira enjoyed the benefits of working for an unfunny asshole for the…how long did he work for this fool, anyway? I guess I really wasn’t paying attention, because I have no idea how much time passed between George’s Plot Contrivance diagnosis and the end of the movie. I do know that watching this movie felt like hours.

In sum, this is a tepid movie that doesn’t even have the courage to follow its own premise and kill the main character. It gets so bogged down in various plot twists and too many characters in this movie, that it winds up being an incomprehensible, boring mess with mostly unlikeable characters.

Oh, and another thing: you mean to tell me that any sighted woman would choose this:

Fig. 1: Old and busted

over this?

Fig. 2: New hotness

Yeah, Apatow. Get the fuck outta here with that bullshit.

The Jokes Just Write Themselves December 17, 2010

Posted by Skippy in General Weirdness, Uncategorized.
Tags: ,

What the…I don’t even.