Greatest Award Acceptance Speech Ever

If you can get past the Paris Hilton bullshit, you will witness the single greatest acceptance speech in the history of televised award shows.

Better yet, just forward it to 2:15 for the magic.

Why Kurt Russell's Life Is Infinitely Cooler Than Mine

Besides the fame and money, here's three reasons:

1) He was Snake Plissken, goddam it.

2) He spent the better part of his life tagging Goldie Hawn, whose ass stands as one of Hollywood's finest.

3) He got paid for this:



Thanks to Dana for the vid.

Everything I Know About Love & Sex I Learned From Pop Culture

Last month, with the help of the glorious and all-too sexy Skye from Met Another Frog, I recruited a number of impossibly cool female bloggers to help balance out the massive amounts of testosterone flowing through this place since Ginger left. This week, I'm happy to present a post from the brain behind No One Reads the Copy. I have dubbed her The Greek Goddess of Awesome, because she is hot, funny, well-read in all areas of pop culture, and also because I desperately want to eat ice cream off her ass.

So here we go.

* * * * * * * * * *

I know a lot of things.

Admittedly the things I know are stupid inconsequential things mostly related to pop culture. The only time this ever proves to be actually useful and not just something I can secretly gloat or feel superior about is when I’m trying to win a free round of drinks at Trivia Night in a bar.

When girls my age were turning to Cosmopolitan to learn the feminine art of “pleasing your man” and reading guides to giving the perfect blow job, to make the all-important pubescent transition to womanhood easier, I regarded another publication as the holiest of sources for all the information I needed: Entertainment Weekly.

So as I sit here, a mild to moderately attractive (depending on how much junk you like in a lady’s trunk) perpetually single female in my late 20’s, who knows a whole heck of a lot about The Bachelor (even though I’ve never watch it – I SWEAR) and can speak eloquently about the metaphysics in LOST, I can’t help but wonder:

How did the nerdy 14 year-old who translated Shakespearean English into contemporary English for, you know, FUN, end up having every romantic situation of her adult life feeling doomed from the start? Relationships that are the source of lots of tears and self-doubt and self-loathing, and on occasion, a shoe thrown dramatically across a room? And of course, a ton of emotional and/or passive aggressive texts and emails?

Where did I go wrong?

My therapist and I sit together pondering that very question every week, and we’ve concluded that it’s because everything I know about love and sex I learned from pop culture.

And besides I’m a writer. Drama is kind of my thing.

Here is the number one (just the top one really. There are a lot more examples. But save something for the book, right?) thing that I believe has shaped my love life and ultimately made me a very frustrated person.

It’s not real love if it’s not very, very, VERY dramatic.

If your current love interest is not:

-- exorcising a demon/the Devil out of your body - Days of our Lives;
-- running dramatically across a field with his hair waving in the wind as he offers his life for yours to a Indian chief - The Last of the Mohicans;
-- plotting to steal your virginity but then falling in love with you and appearing mostly-non-creepily at the top of an escalator - Cruel Intentions;
-- defying the laws of nature itself and traveling through time to leave you love letters in a mailbox that should not in actuality exist - The Lake House (I don’t have to actually enjoy a movie like The Lake House to have it affect my psyche and expectations of a man).

Well then... I guess he’s just not that into you.

Honestly though, I still think it’s gonna happen for me one day.

Biding My Time...

So, er. Is Miley Cyrus legal yet?

Not asking for me, of course. For my nephew. Who's 63.

My Pioneering Ways

In another example of my dreams becoming reality, Gawker reports that the newest dance craze in Brazil involves women slamming their asses into guy's faces.

You can thank me in the comments.

No Way She's In It For The Money

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Hola, Chicas

Everyone knows the Spanish Channel. If you're a guy, you likely spend an inordinate amount of time staring blankly at it.

And, like me, you probably don't speak a word of Spanish.

This is like TV from another planet, where hot chicks aren't relegated to soap operas and sitcoms, but roam freely through news shows, weather reports, sports shows. Skintight pants. Oversized hair. Breasts that don't simply defy gravity, but taunt its wife and children as well. The Spanish Channel is a good place, and I like spending time there.

Even the kids shows are frighteningly well-populated by golden twenty-one year olds who, in between elaborate, booty-centric dance moves, relate such important lessons as "drugs are bad" and "stay in school" and "Would you please ask your dad to leave the room because I can feel his fifty-year old eyes burning a hole directly through the television screen and it is freaking me out."

The Spanish Channel is my oasis. My escape. Where I don't have to hear about the sunken economy or who's being voted off the island or how many North Korean missiles are aimed at my house. Everybody's dancing. Everybody's happy. The chicks are smoking hot. And I can't understand a bloody word they're saying.

Romance Through the Ages: A Brief History as Reflected in Popular Culture

Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare:

"O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."


"I Really Like Girls," George Thorogood and the Destroyers:

"I really really really really really really like girls
Yeah, I really really really really really really like girls
I like girls
I like girls
I like girls
I like the way that they giggle
when they walk up and ask you to dance
I like the way that they wiggle
wrapped up in their skin tight pants
they're really really neat
they're really sweet
they're real petite
I like girls."

Stop Stepping Out

Do not want.

Jesus Christ, can anyone keep it in their pants anymore?

First it was Tiger Woods. Now it's Mr. Sandra Bullock and reality TV staple Jesse James who's seen an array of tattooed women come forward and say he liked to have unprotected sex with them at his office.

I'm all for having as much sex as you can possibly get while you're on this planet. Sex, along with hot pizza and House Hunters marathons, is one of the few pure joys we get as humans. But everybody just needs to be up front about their proclivities, predilections, and desires.

But, as my grandmother always said, you should not make promises you can't keep. If you go on cake tastings, rent a church, and do the chicken dance with a lady and you promise to her that you will be monogamous until one of you dies, then don't put your dick in other women. Or, you know, maybe hold off on that marriage thing until you get tired of putting your dick in a lot of women.

And for fuck's sake: If you are going to have an affair, at least bag it, dude. God.

Not Goo Goo for Gaga (This Time)

It took me a long time to be comfortable admitting this, but I really love Lady Gaga. Her music is hella catchy, and anyone who rages against the tyranny of pants so wholeheartedly is OK in my book.

But this new video for her song "Telephone" with Beyonce? I am not digging it.

On her Twitter account a few weeks ago, the Lady remarked that she felt bad for the "Bad Romance" video because "Telephone" would be so much more epic. But it shouldn't have been. "Bad Romance" is a German-industrial-meets-pop creation that references Hitchcock films and is about seeing all the ugliness in a person you love. You can't half-ass a music video for that.

"Telephone" is a great club song. It has just as much artistic merit as "Bad Romance," but it's not as epic. It's about a woman who's sick of her boyfriend calling and texting her when she's out dancing. Maybe I'm being too conventional, but in my mind what this song called for was some sick choreography, performed by the adriot Gaga and callpygian Beyonce. Perhaps in a club setting. It should have been more "Just Dance" than "Paparazzi."

I totally support Gaga's over-the-top-ness. But sometimes the truly shocking move is to do something more average.

Well, maybe the Kill Bill-inspired killing spree is necessary. That dude must have called them a lot.