Category Archives: girlcrush

“The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks”

“The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks”

It’s a gorgeous sentiment, from a beautiful and talented actress.

It almost feels like the tide might be turning, like those ridiculous hate-filled arguments against gay marriage are finally being exposed for the small-minded poppycock that they are.

I count my blessings, not often enough, that here in the UK Civil Partnerships became a fact of life with little more than a few placards at Parliament and some snippy opinion columns from the same people who hate anyone who isn’t straight, white and morbidly dull just like them.

We managed that, and the hippy-dippy state of California was thwarted by the rich, white old people in Orange County (and their ilk) and uh, the Mormons.

But it’s going to be okay, because you’ve got Massachusetts, Connecticut, Iowa, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine already on board. As Mark Morford notes in this article, the tide of ‘what’s the big deal?’ is getting bigger and will eventually sweep aside the bigotry and disgusting intolerance of the past.

If, as Patricia says, this truly is the age of Obama, it would be nice to see his administration spending less time defending DOMA and more time actually implementing that change we’re supposed to believe in.

“I kissed a girl, and I liked it”

People, we are living in some rather dykey times.  Just when you thought people had forgotten about lezzbians, we’re suddenly in every corner of the media.  Used to be you had the occasional big splash: Ellen coming out, Madonna snogging Britney, or um, that-Brookside-storyline-I-hate-having-to-reference.  Now we’ve got the sensational, but fairly well-received Lindsay Lohan being all loved up with Sam Ronson and Jodie Foster outing herself at last in an acceptance speech.

Really, it’s all just one big elbow in the ribs for me to get out and make some comment as the Grand High Lesbo that I am.  Let’s turn our attentions to the issues of the day, or whatever I just clicked on from the Guardian homepage as the case may be. 

Since I tolerate commercial radio during my driving lessons, I got the super-catchy “I Kissed A Girl” by Katy Perry stuck in my head.  Not being able to absorb lyrics until I hear them through my earphones, I made a quick iTunes purchase when getting ready for work tonight.  As soon as I got the jist, I couldn’t help but smile.  It’s funny, it’s feelgood and it references cherry chapstick.  Sure, it’s all ‘oops, don’t tell my boyfriend’, but the ultimate message is kissing girls = a very good thing.  How can I disagree with that?  And yet, as soon as the iPod shuffled on to the next track, I mulled over the possibility that a percentage of the gay community would be up in arms over this trivialising lesbian relationships.  Predictably, today’s Guardian has this.  No doubt we’ll be hearing about a Stonewall boycott before long, and while I didn’t know about her previous single which is a little bit more pejorative about the homos, I just can’t bring myself to get worked up over a little bit of name-calling.  With all the honest to God oppression still going on in this world, can we really devote so much time and energy to reclaiming the word gay?  It’s the same as this stop bullying campaign which only deals with kids being bullied for homosexual tendencies.  Guess what?  Kids get bullied.  Not ideal, but why should the gays be exempt?  Maybe I’m just sheltered because I didn’t ‘realise’ until out of the pressure-cooker school environment, but it just doesn’t feel like a priority. 

I should preface my next item by pointing out that I haven’t actually read The Well of Loneliness.  Sure, it’s sitting on my bookcase, somewhere near the bottom of my haphazard ‘to read’ pile; there was never any doubting my access to it, given that I live with a double-Masters expert in books and queerness.  I struggled through Oranges are Not The Only Fruit out of a misplaced sense of obligation, and generally resist any recommendations about books that are formed purely from them being about the lezzbians.  Reading this article I’m tempted to conclude the label is in fact defunct.  Mostly I used to feel a little self-conscious about hitting the Gay/Lesbian section in Waterstones Piccadilly, but more because I thought people would assume I was looking for p0rn than because I was ashamed of my sexuality.  Surely though, the whole essence of a good story is that it ‘transcends genre’ as my bezzer expressed it (with her customary eye-roll) last week.  Some of the greatest books I’ve ever read have had, on the surface, so very little in common with my own life. A skilled author, however, can take anything from the life of a magician’s assistant, a homeless man, or a teenage terrorist and make it resonate with me.  While the historical breakthrough is something we ought to be grateful for, since acceptance in the arts can go a long way to acceptance in society, I think doing away with the label of ‘lesbian’ fiction can only further that progess.  Think of the close-minded sorts who might never pick up something like that, but who could stumble across it and gain just a little bit more tolerance from a story well told, something that can humanise the abstract idea they held a prejudice against.

To round off a busy few days, it seems the Archbishop of Canterbury no longer bemoans our very existence.  So long as we don’t shag around obviously, but then churches are that uptight about the heteroes as well.  Maybe he mellowed because there just aren’t that many lesbians on TV these days.  Maybe there would be more if the L Word wasn’t so utterly rubbish.  Thank God the torture is almost over, and as long as I avoid the constant late-night repeats on cable, I won’t accidentally sully my brain with any more of it’s unrealistic nonsense.  To think what a vehicle it could have been for the lesbian community, and instead we get poorly-acted soft p0rn with no basis in reality. 

With that, I’m off to stare at the latest promo pics from House, because a girl needs some eye candy after thinking all these serious thoughts about her lifestyle.

“I’m done chasing monsters in the dark”

I should warn you, the following content is SPOILERRIFFIC and will completely ruin the movie for you, so don’t click if you haven’t seen it, mmkay?

I could wax lyrical about the cultural and emotional significance of getting to see the return of The X-Files in my favourite city with my bezzer, but she already did it so well I have nothing more to add on that front. Suffice to say my ‘oh it’s just like press night’ nonchalance evaporated right about the time my foot first made contact with the red carpet.

Sure, there may have been some head-shaking and muttering about the ‘There But for the Grace of God Society” on my part, but my crippling self-consciousness about seeming over-excited was thrown by the wayside when I stood in a room full of screaming fans seeing David and Gilly right in front of us. They thanked us for coming, like there was ever any doubt we would. I would have broken into the cinema and camped out if I had to.

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“It feels like I’m shitting a knife”

Hot ladies WHO ARE FUNNY

Hot ladies WHO ARE FUNNY

I love you Tina Fey. But I sort of want to cheat on you with Amy Poehler, if that’s cool with you?

So we may have been too impatient to wait and see Baby Mama in the cinema. I can’t say I have any regrets, because with 30 Rock pretty much the only outright funny thing on TV these days, damned if I’m waiting when I know the interwebs can give me a Fey fix. Since her reunion with Amy was so hysterical on SNL earlier this year (“bitch is the new black“), I must admit that the word “squee” may have passed my lips as the download completed.

This is what a chick flick should be. There’s actual *gasp* intelligence at work here, but with enough spit-take funnies to make it effortless watching. We all know by now that these girls work bloody well as a comedy duo, and the zing zing timing is delightful. Sigourney Weaver is perfect as the surrogate finder, and while I dislike Greg Kinnear at the best of times, you do see him as the sort of crinkly-eyed ‘good guy’ that Tina Fey’s Kate is supposed to be interested in. Actually, a caveat to my Sigourney Weaver comments, as soon as you think of her and pregnancy there’s an automatic “ruh roh BURSTING OUT THE STOMACH” moment; don’t worry, it soon passes.

Even if it’s not your cup of tea, stick with it (or fast forward) to the eventual hospital scene. I nearly laughed myself into an aneurysm at Poehler’s delivery of um, the delivery. This film at least tries to remove itself from the conventional, but keeps a little just for the feelgood factor. That the plot actually attempts a twist or two is commendable, and what’s not to love about the dorkalicious Tina doing a DJ set? It has to be seen to be believed.

I seem to be on a girly film roll, but trust me, if you have a uterus and only enough money for one cinema ticket, splash out on this before Mamma Mia or Sex and the City.

“Don’t fall for her Alan, she’s just a guest star”

Because I am the most impatient being to ever walk the planet, it shouldn’t come as a shock to learn that I’m already watching America’s schedule of TV shows rather than waiting for the nonsense that is British TV scheduling to catch up.  Of course, some of my existing favourites are still running, but since some have slipped from must-see status (I’m looking at you, Grey’s) it’s perhaps only to be expected that I would check out some of the other shows being ripped apart (or not) on TWoP.

Let’s start with the obvious – spinoff central with my beloved celebrity girlfriend, Kate Walsh.  Private Practice seemed at first to be simply about proving that supposed maturity doesn’t make you any less messed-up than a bunch of seduced-by-their-bosses interns.  While it still has problems (most painfully the complete absence of chemistry between Tim Daly’s Pete and my darling Addison) it’s slowly but surely growing on me.  It’s not trying to keep up the original medical pace of Grey’s (now neglected to the point of “oh yeah, shouldn’t we do like, a surgery?”) and the weird folksy charm is sort of working.   I won’t bother commenting on the longevity of my viewing here, since I think we all know that I’d even sit through “Watching Paint Dry With Kate Walsh”.  Girl is gorgeous, is all I’m sayin’. 

Pushing Daisies.  Honestly?  I would never have watched it were it not for J reminding me about the presence of La Chenoweth.  That said, it kind of grabbed me before she even had a decent scene.  Far be it from me to spoil anyone, but when she gets an honest to God musical number in the second episode, it sort of makes your brain explode: in the good way.  It’s kitsch, it’s bizarre and there are more unexplained issues than you could shake a small pie at, but it’s escapist TV – you really do just go with it, and so I shall for the foreseeable.

Now, as for Dirty Sexy Money, I’m not sure where I sit with this one.  At first glance it seems an absolute certainty: Kennedy clan updated for the 21st century, complete with transsexual h0okers and more Paris Hiltonian storylines than you could hope for.  It has also inspired me to hurry up and assign personal ringtones for my favourite people on my Blackberry.  It might be all about Nate Fisher  Casey McCall  Nick George in all his Krause-ian glory, but the absolute star is Donald Sutherland.  After being the only good thing about the short-lived Commander-in-Chief, particularly as a masterclass in how to play an evil Republican, this is another show that’s lifted by his very presence.  Called upon for more exasperated sighs than one man should have to deal with, he also manages Swedish comedy and one-look-heartbreak.  I don’t know that I’m hooked per se, but I’ll watch it when I run out of anything else to do.

Holy Mary Mother of Bad Ideas – Bionic Woman.  Fair play to Zoe from Eastenders, since making the leap from Walford to Hollywood takes a lot more than getting on at an imaginary Tube station, but man this is some tacky TV.  I’m not even that bothered about gayhab escapee Isaiah Washington getting hit in the nuts, since I couldn’t be bothered with his gay-bashing palaver at the time, and care even less now.  Still, the effects budget might be impressive but the storylines and most of the acting suck.  I’m all for suspending disbelief (as you can see above) but this is just nonsense, so stupid in places that it becomes completely jarring.  It’s clearly geek-fodder for sad guys whose only enjoyment in life is watching vaguely hot girls fake-fighting.  Bleurgh.

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Listening to: Diana Ross & The Supremes – Baby Love
via FoxyTunes