Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Lamenting Languishing Literature

Apparently, Lauren Conrad's new book, L.A. Candy, will be turned into a movie. Who is Lauren Conrad, you ask? Some girl who became a reality TV star and then deluded herself into thinking she was talented because she's on TV. Now she's also a "fashion designer" and "author". Please. I saw her appearance as a guest judge on America's Next Top Model. The girl didn't know shit about modeling. She was very good at regurgitating the other judges' opinions. Tyra, what the f*ck? Usually your guest judges are much more fashion-savvy, and have a personality.

That L.A. Candy is a bestseller makes me want to give up on humanity. To add insult to injury, it's the first of a three-book deal. I forced myself to read an excerpt. After the first sentence, my initial suspicions were confirmed: Lauren Conrad is not a writer. The subject matter is vapid; the flow of phrases as smooth as a porcupine quill. And now they want to turn it into a movie. Of course. Because everyone wants to see the life of a reality TV bimbo depicted on a big screen for two hours. Are we really that masochistic? 

If Jon Gosselin, newly minted jet-setter from Jon & Kate Plus 8, ever writes a book, and someone actually publishes it, and then a movie is made based on it, I may have to strangle myself. But I digress.

Lauren Conrad is one of numerous bland young women populating the red carpets and the Hollywood psyche these days. They are so eerily similar, it's hard to tell them apart: Lauren Conrad, Heidi Montag, Kristin Cavallari, Stephanie Pratt, Lauren Bosworth, etc... and together, they seem to be sinking the lowest common denominator down to new depths of imbecility. If we continue down this path, the National Enquirer may someday be considered our highest form of literature.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Tina Fey - Diva of Divine Dialogue

"My uncle used to get that look in his eyes after he'd been drinking from the air conditioner." Best. Line. Ever. Where did I find such a gem, you ask? It comes from an episode of 30 Rock,  a show created by Tina Fey, who is also an executive producer, co-writer and plays the title character, Liz Lemon. She is the new Master of the Universe. I'm totally girl crushing on her. She's funny, intelligent and hot. The trifecta of awesomeness.

If you haven't seen an episode of 30 Rock, watch it, rent it, download it, find a way to get your hands on it. It's the most brilliant network sitcom since Seinfeld. The ensemble cast is stellar, the writing is to die for and it's freakin' funny. Perhaps network TV is not quite dead yet. That this show actually airs on NBC, one of the American "big three" networks is utterly surprising, but pleasantly so. A creation of this caliber usually seems reserved for HBO or Showtime. And that this show is coming into its fourth season is nothing short of a miracle, and gives me hope that good taste is not dead. 30 Rock has not yet suffered the fate of predecessors such as Arrested Development, which received critical acclaim, six Emmy awards and one Golden Globe but not enough people were watching it. So it was canceled after Season 3. Tragic, yes. 

That Arrested Development no longer airs but a "new" Melrose Place is debuting this season is like rubbing coarse salt in an open wound. Memo to network executives: if it's brilliant, they will come. Seinfeld didn't really take off until its fourth season. FOURTH. Just something to keep in mind the next time you decide to cancel a great show and recycle one that showcases the intelligence of a Darwin award winner.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Saying goodbye to a cherished companion

Sometimes life sucker-punches you in the gut, and the sass gives way to sadness. Last night, I had to say goodbye to one of my beloved feline companions. He was in the end stages of kidney failure, and I had to make the decision I knew was coming but didn't think would be so soon. I found out about a month ago that his kidneys were failing so I had time to prepare myself. But you're never really prepared when the end comes. It's still gut-renching and irreversible.

When my cat was diagnosed, he wasn't suffering, comfortably unaware of his impending fate.  That started to change in the last week. There was a moment, a few days before our parting, when I knew. I knew it was coming sooner than I expected. Watching his frail, delicate movements, I knew the end was near. 

Having a living creature's fate in your hands is a hefty responsibility. Grappling with feelings of guilt and doubt, but knowing on some level that my pet was asking me to help him. His meows had turned into what sounded like anguished cries; he was a shadow of his former self, his breathing labored, his body weak. And as I looked into his sweet eyes one last time, it's as if he knew what was coming and didn't fight it one bit. I held him in my arms as the veterinarian administered the drugs, assuring me it was painless and quick. And then he was gone.

I was strangely calm in the moment I lost my cat - it was before, and now after, that I feel as though the tears will not stop. His sister is still with me, in very good health, but the house seems eerily quiet, like something's missing. When I look at her, I can't help but feel that I'm looking at only half of a whole.

I think a part of the sadness comes from the stark reminder of our own mortality, a fate none of us can escape. Having witnessed my cat's death, I also realized that we are not our bodies. They are a vessel, we are Spirit. My beloved feline was a sweet, innocent, loving, playful spirit embodied in a soft, furry and cuddly body. I know his spirit lives on, and I hope he'll remain close to me until our paths cross again someday.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Grey's Shit-natomy

I saw the Season 6 premiere of Grey's Anatomy last night. Jesus Christ. The melodrama was oozing out of every line, every tear shed, every predictable tug-at-your-heartstrings moment. In other words, it was shit. There are barely any vestiges left of the once funny, witty, unpredictable show I used to know. 

Two hours devoted to the death and mourning of George O'Malley? Please. T. R. Knight is the reason the show lost one of its best actors, Isaiah Washington, and its best couples - Christina and Burke. I do not mourn the passing of George O'Malley. Good riddance. Now bring back Burke, and Addison while you're at it, and the show might have a second chance at actually being good. 

McSteamy is still funny. Not once was I distracted by the thought of his naughty threesome sex tape. Why? Because his Grey's character is still interesting. 

My boyfriend couldn't even get through the whole show. It was too much bad cheese. I endured until the bitter end, and the corny voiceovers. Ugh.

Code blue at the Grey's Anatomy writers' lounge - imagination arrest.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Nivea needs a new creative team

It used to be, back in the day, a "happy time" consisted of copious amounts of alcohol, or a reefer and a big-ass bag of cheezies. Now however, "Happy Time" is a new body lotion from Nivea. "Happy Time"? Are you kidding me? It's like that Always pads/tampon commercial telling us to "have a happy period". A happy period? How this ever got approved by the folks at Always is beyond me. And if there were women involved in that chain of command - shame on you! Anyone who's ever had a period knows that there is no such thing as a happy period. There are mood swings, headaches, cramps, bloating and intense cravings for greasy food. Have a happy period? F*ck you! But I digress.

"Happy Time" body lotion sounds like some born-again Christian name for a product, not a creative, bold, "I want to buy this product" kind of name. I'll admit, the commercial caught my eye, but for all the wrong reasons. As soon as I saw the name of the product, I thought to myself: "What the f*ck?" I would not be caught dead with a product called "Happy Time" unless it was a vibrator. So if you're not advertising to 4-year-olds, this product line is ludicrous. As quoted from Nivea's website: "Happy Time - Smile with all your body and discover the feel-good sensation." Lame. 

Daily moisturizing does not become a sublime experience because of orange flower scented body lotion, unless you're on Ecstasy, in which case rubbing up against sandpaper might have  the same effect. 

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

What's on HBO?

For the past month or so, when there's jack shit on "regular" TV, which sadly, happens quite often, I now find myself asking "what's on HBO?". The fact that I now have this privilege is not lost on me. Sure, I've watched HBO shows when they came out on DVD after they'd aired, but I did not comprehend the awesomeness that is HBO (and the Movie Network - which also comes with our subscription to HBO) until we had access to these channels. Sweet mother of all that is good, I had no idea what I was missing. 

My boyfriend and I were on holiday in the Caribbean this summer and had American satellite TV in our room. This is when we truly discovered HBO, and realized that we must have it. Upon our return, we called the cable company and Presto! - for a few extra bucks a month, we have access to provocative, intelligent, hilarious TV shows. Commercial free! I now fully understand the acronym HBO - "Home Box Office" - no annoying advertisements, only kick-ass, totally addictive TV. 

Once we got the HBO hook up, I was a little perturbed because we'd missed most of the second season of True Blood and I thought we'd have to wait for the DVD release to see it. Not so, my sassies, not so. The Movie Network carries recent episodes of HBO and Showtime favorites such as True Blood, Dexter and Californication. When I found this out, I realized I would never leave my house again. It was like an orgy of fantastic TV. I could catch up on all my favorite shows. I didn't know where to start. It was sheer elation. DVDs had suddenly become so yesterday. 

In a few short weeks, we were all caught up on our faves. Now we've started watching new shows like Hung and Nurse Jackie. For the TV addict, it's like shooting heroin. One amazing show after another. 

Network TV should be ashamed of itself and the pointless drivel that regularly occupies its airwaves. Apart from some rare exceptions like 30 Rock (f*cking brilliant) and Glee, every other network TV show seems to be about cops and lawyers. ER ends and now there's a new show called Trauma? What the f*ck? It's an insult to my intelligence.

A show about a high school teacher with a big dick who moonlights as a prostitute to make ends meet - now that's original.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Et tu, Kristen?

Kristen Stewart has disappointed me. I saw Adventureland on the weekend and realized she was playing Bella, except it was the eighties and she was working at an amusement park. Same character, different movie. Then I realized she played the same forlorn teenager in Into the Wild. That was the first film I saw her in, and was impressed with her performance. Of course, at that time, I had nothing to compare it to. Now I do. She was the weak link in Adventureland. The supporting cast kicked ass with genuine, believable performances, and original acting choices. Kristen = yawn.

Then I realized I had my suspicions when I saw her in
Twilight. Yes, I've seen the movie, and read all four books, and plan on seeing all subsequent movies because I figure I've earned as much, having survived reading Stephenie Meyer's vampire saga. But I digress. There was a moment, an important moment in Twilight, when Bella reveals to Edward that she knows he's a vampire. It felt totally contrived. Fakey, fake, fake. I think I physically cringed. And I thought to myself: "This can't be. It's Kristen Stewart, a much touted about "up and comer"". A supposedly "talented" actress. Not so, my sassies, not so.

It pains me to think that she may be descending into the ranks of fame-whoring, talentless Hollywood trash such as the Jessica trifecta (Jessica Simpson, Jessica Biel and Jessica Alba), Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, etc... What's even worse about Kristen is that she plays the "artiste" card: I'm a serious actor. Don't ask me stupid questions in interviews. I don't care about being famous. Whatever... If she had talent, I could tolerate that.

Kristen was recently filming a Joan Jett biopic. This will be her chance to redeem herself. I am all for second chances. I want her to succeed. Don't f*ck it up Kristen. It's Joan Jett, not Bella playing Joan Jett.

Monday, September 21, 2009

Welcome to Sassy Stylings!

Welcome to Sassy Stylings, what will soon be a collection of my witty observations on everything from celebrity culture, to the awesomeness that is HBO, to my personal tragedy of being dairy-intolerant (a life without dairy... it's like cake without the icing, Brad without Angelina, yoga without Lululemon, but I digress).

I'll be posting daily (except on the weekends - a girl's gotta have her downtime). Here's my first post, slightly dated (early September) but entertaining nonetheless. Yes, it was already written, I'm lazy, I know... but still relevant:

Eight is enough... or is it?
Reality-star/ fame whore/ budding fashion designer (WTF?) Jon Gosselin was in Las Vegas recently to host a party at the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino. According to, “it wasn’t long before he was surrounded by women” and he “was spotted collecting a few phone numbers and mixing drinks for scantily dressed women”

I think I just threw up in my mouth. How f*cking DESPERATE are you for fame that you’ve become the groupie of a father of EIGHT children, who got divorced a minute ago. 

My sisters, you disappoint me. You bring shame to the sisterhood.
Is this the new standard? Some reality tv douchebag who’s decided to relive his youth because he feels he’s missed out on the fun stuff ? Because of, you know, the eight kids he had with his “controlling” ex-wife at such a tender, young age. 

Sure, he claims he’s still taking care of his kids, between the Vegas parties, and the trips to Europe and hanging out with his new BFF, designer Christian Audigier. Am I on crack? How does a suburban father turn into a fashion designer, seemingly overnight? WTF!

Jon Gosselin = Z-list celebrity who should be in therapy and NOT hosting vacuous, bikini-clad groupies at a Vegas pool party.

Ugh. I still taste vomit.


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