Becca's Blog

I snorked out loud.

If you watch The L-Word, you must go here.

Sabrina wuz robbed.

That Cheetah Girl can dance circles around Jenny Garth or Marie Osmond. There is no justice.

I really got the TiVo in September so I could record Chuck while watching Dancing With the Stars and we wouldn't have to squabble about missing John Stewart. But thanks to it I may eventually catch up with Ugly Betty and I know that Exes and Ohs is execrable and I don't have to bother. But dang, why did Clatterford go off the air before I could record it? I suppose BBC America wants to get me to buy the DVD.

The last lesbians in America

... to watch the third season of The L Word. Jane anxiously awaited the release of season 3 on DVD, and it finally came to our local video store. (I dunno why we didn't check the cable company's video on demand selection, but I digress.) But every Friday or Saturday evening that we stopped in someone had already rented the first disc.  We imagine that our video store clerks see an endless stream of middle-aged dyke couples on the weekend, toting their pizza boxes and clutching the latest arthouse release, preparing for the usual big night in.

So I outwitted my neighbors by stopping in on a Wednesday evening and scored disc 1, and we tore through all the episodes by the end of Friday night. And as with the first two seasons, my inner critic could not fucking shut up.

First, what the hell have they done with Shane? Now she's mature and emotionally available, and had a head-on collision with the eyeshadow counter at Fred Segal? Ick. Granted, I would happily trail after Carmen, holding her hand and gazing at her moony-eyed, but it's a big evolutionary leap from the Shane of old.  And all the characters now look like they've been assaulted by the makeup artist, with the possible exception of Bette. It's kind of like kabuki.

Second, can Kelly Lynch come back, please? Even just to collect loan payments from Kit and be mean and vindictive? I suppose Moira/Max has taken the single gender queer slot in the ensemble. At least I hate Jenny less in these episodes, and it's always fun to watch Alan Cumming chew the scenery. I love the special musical guests, too.

It made me sad that Alice and Dana broke up, since Alice is my favorite character, but her inability to move on rang true, unlike Bette's depression over her humiliating job loss and disintegrating relationship. A real woman would gain 20 pounds and start drinking during the day.

I'm ashamed to admit this because I know better, but the fact that the production is so glossy and all the actresses so physically flawless depresses me. I know I'm supposed to be a more sophisticated media consumer by now, but I can't see anything of myself on the screen (especially when they glop pink lip gloss on Alice). It's just one more message that only beautiful people deserve to be desired.

We just finished up disc 2 last night, and I invited my inner critic to take the night off and let me enjoy the lifestyle porn and soft-core sex. Mostly it worked, but Jane and I both liked Helena better as an undiluted villain. What's with all the emotional growth (that happens in big, blocky chunks)? People usually grow in tiny increments--they don't wake up and decide "I've treated people really badly before, but now I'm going to be an ethical slut!" Or maybe they do, and they try, but then they backslide.

The writers are rushing things with Dana's cancer, too. The tribe behaves like the immature, self-absorbed idiots they are when they all rush to her bedside after her surgery and mournfully stare at her like she's dying already. And almost overnight, Dana goes from the embodiment of innocence, sweetness, and light to completely despairing and bitter. It's actually a pretty believable reaction, but the abruptness is like flipping a light switch. A character with the inner resources to be a champion athlete probably wouldn't go there so quickly. She deals with losing her hair by shaving herself completely bald and going without any makeup? Makes for a dramatic visual but is a creakingly obvious device. (BTW, I know what happens to Dana by the end of the season; the NYT TV writer is a huge spoiler.)

Maybe I should follow the example of the straight male TV character (from Six Feet Under? I don't remember) who made a crack about watching The L Word with the sound turned off. At the least, that would take care of hearing the show theme, which is a Grade-A earworm.

If they'd just hire a few good writers (can't they get Jill Soloway? and maybe Kate Bornstein?), I wouldn't have to turn the sound off.

Michael Kors should cinch up his truss and STFU.

His snotty little swipe on last week's episode of Project Runway— "granny panties, oh that's alluring"— which was delivered with a snigger, was quite the cheap shot. Sure, maybe they were an improvised fix, and maybe Stacey's dress wasn't put together so well, but it was pretty. And Kors and his clients would know from granny panties.

I actually watched the first episode a second time last night. Last week when it premiered, I was half asleep. In this week's episode I think Angela really got the short end of the stick--Vincent was a tempermental asshole and his design was weird and ugly. He shouldn't have gotten a pass. And I thought Malan would be around longer, and what was Keith doing *touching* Miss USA's ribcage? Why didn't she deck him?

I can't believe I waited so long.

Last week something snapped, and I ordered digital cable and HBO. To be honest, it was Em's posts about Viva Blackpool, which I'd never even heard of.  But I finally got fed up with not seeing Footballer's Wives, and the original, good version of What Not to Wear, and being at the mercy of my corner video store's stock of Six Feet Under, and who knows what else we've been missing. (I adore my corner video store, btw--they stock great movies without being snooty about it.)

So the installer came this afternoon (at the beginning of the appointed 4-hour window! amazing!) and set it all up. And despite my good intentions, I spent the next 90 minutes watching TV, in the middle of a workday. But it wasn't my fault, really. Because along with the nine flavors of HBO and three extra VH1s and about sixty religious programming channels, we now get LOGO. Yes, one of the gay cable channels! And it was playing My Fabulous Gay Wedding! which for some reason has been renamed for the U.S. market as First Comes Love.  Geesh, is that dumb. But anyway, I watched for a solid hour, and I snuffled.

And the thing is, I have kept it as a surprise for Jane. I'm pretty sure she'll be thrilled, even though this does not mean unlimited reruns of The L Word--we'll keep patronizing Five Star Video for that. Viva Blackpool starts in less than an hour. The orange lap bandit and I can't wait.