Remembering Ms. Ephron.

I will readily admit that I was not in love with most of Ms. Ephron’s work. I hated Sleepless in Seattle, found You’ve Got Mail nauseating, and thought Bewitched was the perfect cure for insomnia. In an old blog post, I likened her to Tyler Perry. In my defense, I was two-months post partum and hated everything.

Then I watched Heartburn…again, and laughed. And cried. And cried some more.

Heartburn is the fictionalized account of Ephron’s tumultuous marriage to journalism legend Carl Bernstein. In it, she discovers he’s having an affair, leaves him, takes him back, and then leaves him again in a ceremonious fashion that had me laughing for at least 10 minutes. Heartbreaking in its honesty, Heartburn was a story that nearly every woman could relate to. It appealed to my cynicism. Validated it. What happens when you fall in love with someone knowing that it’s doomed to fail? What happens when the ardor cools and you find yourself alone, left with nothing but a carton of Rocky Road and your shame? That Ephron was brave enough to bare all–much to her ex-husband’s dismay–is pretty fucking ballsy.

It is that bravery, that no-holds-barred honesty that will leave me (and scores of other women writers) forever in her debt.

Her passion, acerbic wit, and verbal dexterity were all things to be envied, and will certainly be missed.

“Sometimes I believe that some people are better at love than others, and sometimes I believe that everyone is faking it.” – Nora Ephron

Respecting People’s Feelings: A Lost Art.

If you’ve been on the internets for the last week or so, you’ve probably noticed the Awkward Black Girl/Crunk Feminist Collective kerfluffle, in which the CFC reached out to ABG after watching CeCe drop the “T-bomb” in the latest episode. The open letter addressed to Issa Rae and Company was clearly written in good spirit and reverence. (You can read it in its entirety here.) Notice that there is no stomping of feet, no demand for an apology, no sanctimonious grandstanding. It’s more of a “hey, we just wanted y’all to know that we noticed this and it kinda made us feel uncomfortable but we still love y’all, ‘k?” which–just so we’re clear–isn’t an nasty, hate-filled missive.

But the vitriol the CFC’s gotten for having the audacity to speak up? Definitely nasty and hate-filled.

You’ve got cats over here  applauding Rae for not giving in to “pandemic hypersensitivity.” You’ve got broads over here telling the CFC to STFU and have seat. And in the race to be Johnny-On-The-Spot when controversy explodes, the main point tends to get lost in the clamor. That most of the backlash is coming from black women is terribly troubling, because if any group has been more maligned in the last, say…several years? Let’s just say it hasn’t been white women. Or unicorns.

I get that it’s art and that it’s neat to see one of us on the small screen and that everyone likes it. I, too, am a big fan of the series. But that doesn’t mean it’s beyond reproach. Art exists to be critiqued. It exists to be explored and debated. It also exists to be improved upon. No one was asking for a “this week, on a very special Blossom” moment; they were merely asking the writers to be mindful of the language used. As fans (and perhaps financial supporters) of the show, they have a right to make that request.

Unless you’re a part of that group, you don’t get the right to dictate how people respond to hurtful language. (And even if you *are* a member of said group, realize that mileage varies.) Nor do you get to dismiss the feelings of others because they don’t fit your myopic worldview. Understand that whenever a debate like this happens, whenever we take it upon ourselves to deny the humanity of others, we, too, suffer greatly for it.

NBC Shelves Community, Greenlights Munsters Remake

Trust me, if this broad went missing from NBC's lineup in favor of Community? NO ONE would miss her.

What is the Peacock Network if not consistently disappointing?

NBC, in its infinite wisdom, has decided to shelve Community midseason to make way for 30 Rock. While I don’t begrudge 30 Rock its slot, why can’t we have both and scrap the show with the annoying brunette pictured on the left?

Let’s face it: Whitney Cummings is phenomenally unfunny, and the primetime vehicle bearing her name is an affront to the craft of comedy itself. If I wanted to sit through a half hour of painful dialog, exaggerated facial expressions and nonsensical plots, I’d turn to TVOne and watch a Martin rerun.

But, no. Whitney gets a stay of execution while Community gets the “indefinite hiatus” shaft. Though network brass took steps to reassure fans the show wasn’t canceled, they aren’t exactly sure when it’s coming back.

Many writers and critics have made the case for saving this show, and in a much more articulate way than I ever could. For me, this sitcom is something of a rare occurrence in which everything comes together so perfectly that you have to pinch yourself to know that it’s real. Fearless, imaginative writing. A strong ensemble cast. Storylines that artfully weave humor and whimsy and still manage to sneak in a lesson or two without the usual ham-fisted preachiness. You can’t help but root for Community‘s band of misfits, even Chang, who–in the real world–would be in an asylum by now.

Meanwhile, NBC has ordered a pilot of…wait for it…wait for it…The Munsters!

No, that’s not a typo.

The project, headed by Pushing Daisies’s Bryan Fuller, promises to be a darker, edgier version of the cult classic, in the vein of current shows like Grimm and Once Upon A Time. Unless I see Herman snorting a line of coke off of Lily’s bare back while shooting mobsters? I think I’ll pass.

NerdgasmList: Five of the Thirstiest WOC Characters in History.

It’s hard for a Black woman to find love in real life, let alone on the big (or small) screen. Here are five women whose dogged pursuit of unavailable men led them wookin’ pa nub in all de rong places.

Haaay, Professor! My low self-esteem will have me chasing your funny-looking ass for five seasons!       

When career junior college student and fashion disaster Nikki Parker (MoNique) locked eyes with Professor Oglevee (Dorien Wilson) in the first episode of The Parkers, it was a match made in shitty sitcom heaven. Darling Nikki pushed the boundaries of friendship, common sense, and the law, all for the love of a man who–if given the opportunity–would strangle her and leave her for dead in a ditch. How fitting then, that in one of the most bizarre endings in television history, Nikki and the professor wind up together after he realizes that she’s stalked her way into his heart. Moral of the story? Persistence pays off, restraining orders be damned.

Kim Parker never met a dead animal or a hot peen she didn't like.

And now, a look at what desperation and bad fashion sense begat. Kim Parker spent three seasons on Moesha running down Hakeem in her Thirstmobile. When that proved unsuccessful, she drove it to Santa Monica College, where she and Ma Dukes raised hemlines and eyebrows with their antics and pordy-chasing. She did manage to snag a boyfriend or two while flunking classes and pursuing her dreams of fashion design. The series ended with her having a fiance.

Kelly Kapoor: Model Employee, Flaming Nutjob.

Poor Kelly. All she wants is to be loved. So what if she has the emotional maturity of an Eggo waffle and her fascination with celebrities would give Stan pause. She’s just a hopeless romantic!–who bullies men into relationships. Like Ryan Howard, who had to fake leaving the country just to break up with her. Of course Ryan was no prize himself, what with the pathological lying and manipulation, but that doesn’t stop Kelly from throwing herself at him every five minutes. Her hard work pays off as well; Ryan eventually puts a ring on it, only to divorce a week later. But not even the dissolution of their marriage (or their neuroses) can tear them apart.

Have you had some Lynn? Would you like some?

While Lynn is one of my favorite tv characters of all time, I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t one big boho ball of need. For five seasons we watched the brilliant but romantically daft flowerchild fall for a trailerload of unavailable losers. Men of the cloth. Celibate poets. Manwhoring musicians. Unemployed busboys. Lynn’s love of creative, strange-looking dudes was boundless. Inspirational, even. Perhaps that’s why I felt such a connection to her character. Thankfully, the series ended with her turning her focus to her budding music career.

Even Tyler Perry knows that every sitcom needs a thirsty yamp.

 

When you live a cableless life, you will subject your brain to the most horrific things, including Tyler Perry sitcoms. Most of you are well aware of my masochistic tendencies, so I don’t have to elaborate. Let’s just say 2010 was a dark, dark period for me and that dark period involved regularly viewing House of Payne. Claretha Jenkins (left) is the show’s resident man chaser who employs a variety of devices to snag dudes, including wigs and food. She manages to snag a prince, only to divorce him for reasons unexplained a few episodes later. She then boo’d up her arch-nemesis’s bff Floyd, which was great until she discovered he was two-timing her with his ex-wife. Womp womp.

Getting to Happy: A review.

 (I know some of you tried to talk me out of it, but I had a moment and the next thing I know it was on my Kindle. Read the entire book in six hours. And now, for your (dis)approval, a review.)

Twenty years ago, I snuck my mom’s copy of “Waiting to Exhale” out of her room and read it cover to cover. Of course, 14 year-old me couldn’t relate to much, but I was blown away by the strength and vulnerability of these women. Life challenged them in ways I couldn’t imagine then. Now, as I approach Year 35, I can.

 

I was hesitant to download the sequel because the reviews for it were pretty awful, and I didn’t want to deal with all the doom and gloom that would befall Savannah, Gloria, Bernadette and Robin. I thought it would be nothing but angst and woe. And for the most part it is. But there is a hopefulness, a beauty in McMillan’s writing that at once soothes and disturbs you. It compels you to reevaluate your life. What does it mean to be happy? What are you willing to        compromise to get there? Throughout the book we see each character struggle with these questions in the face of tragedy.

 

While McMillan seems to overcompensate for the nationally televised faux pas she made on Oprah several years ago with a number of LGBT characters who could’ve been fleshed out more, I appreciate the effort. She seems to be doing her best to handle her personal demons, and that definitely comes through in her writing.”Getting to Happy” isn’t going to change your life, but it will at the very least give you food for thought. Sometimes, that’s all we need.

Paranormal Activity 3: A review.

Move over, Dakota Fanning. There's a new, creepier- looking girl in town.

There’s something to be said about the Paranormal Activity franchise and its ability to pull folks in year after year with the same formulaic “smoke and mirrors” spookiness. This year’s installment managed to rake in over $114 million in nine days, which includes the $24 I plunked down so that my bestie and I could enjoy it in all of its unremarkable glory. And give it the MST3K treatment.

The story opens with a missing scene from Paranormal Activity 2 in which the Rey family returns home to find their posh McMansion tossed all about, presumably by a prowler. But the only item missing is a box containing old VHS tapes from Kristi and Katie’s (the now-possessed sister from the first film) childhood. We are not told who unearthed these tapes, or even how. And in a few minutes, we stop caring.

Soon, we are transported to 1988, where a young Katie and Kristi (who I thought was the older sister, not the younger one but appears to be the younger one in this instance) are sharing a house in a friendly California town with their mother, her live-in boyfriend, and Toby, Kristi’s imaginary friend. The bestie and I surmised that Toby was really the angry spirit of Kunta Kinte and had been waiting for years to exact his revenge on any white folks he could find. Which, honestly? Would’ve made a lot more sense.

Anywhoozle, Toby is a pretty demanding imaginary friend, waking Kristi up at ungodly hours to do mischief, forcing her to invite that creepy Teddy Ruxpin to their mid-afternoon tea parties. He’s also a touch sensitive about the “being imaginary” thing. After getting Kristi into some wacky hijinks, Dennis, the live-in videographer boyfriend (played by Christopher Nicholas Smith) decides that all of his downtime would be better spent installing cameras around the house in hopes of catching some cool, spooky shit.

What could go wrong?

Everything, Sally. EVERYTHING.

Every perceivable slight causes Toby to step up the haunting. Katie’s round of “Bloody Mary” finally causes the demonic spirit to reach his breaking point, treating her to some good old-fashioned bed-moving and kid-dragging, Poltergeist-style. Another funny scene involves Toby yanking the child up by the hair and slamming her to the ground like The Undertaker. In my head I imagined him muttering, “Think I’m still imaginary now, bitch?”

Throughout it all, Mom Julie (played by Lauren Bittner, another virtual unknown) comfortably adapts a “See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil” policy that serves her well until the last 20 minutes of the film. Because the ghost of Kunta Kinte–much like a crazy bitch who boil rabbits in your kitchen–will NOT be ignored. Nor will the massive plot holes, sadly.

Jessica Tyler Brown plays Kristi so well that I’m convinced she’s going to be the next Dakota Fanning, who happens to be the patron saint of creepy child actors. And Chloe Csengery fares well as constantly annoyed big sis Katie. But it’s angry spirit of Kunta Kinte who really steals the show.

Final Rating: Two and a half Smileys and a West. On the upside, the best friend and I have been inspired to kick off our Paranormal Activity Tour, where we’ll be snatching random bitches from beds nationwide. Tour dates to come.

RIP, Steve Jobs.

The life of a visionary is a fascinating one, and Jobs’s was no different. Here was a man who went from crashing on dorm room floors to heading one of the most powerful and influential companies in the world. A man whose passion for technology not only changed the game, but inspired millions of others to change it as well. Today people are breaking news with iPhones, making music on their iPads, and editing award-winning films on their Macbooks. His life’s work is a permanent part of the pop culture landscape. Not bad for a guy who dropped out of college after one semester.

I was a late convert to the Church of Apple. Staunchly PC, I spent most of my teens and early 20s avoiding college Mac labs. It wasn’t until I started dating a guy–one who had given his life to Apple at an early age–that I even deigned to touch one.

I never looked at my Gateway Solo the same after that.

So thank you, Steve Jobs, for sharing your genius with us. Thank you for staying hungry and foolish. Thank you for changing the world.

Why is Glee So Addicted to Failure?

Diverse, but not really.

Three years ago, Ryan Murphy (the mastermind behind such hits as Nip/Tuck and Popular), decided to bring the story about a group of affable losers with amazing voices to the small screen. Glee became an instant hit, garnering a large fanbase and impressive Nielsen numbers. Though it didn’t start off perfect, most POC fans stuck it out in hopes that Murphy and Company would, at some point, would take full advantage of the diverse cast and stop using them as ethnic window dressing.

That time still hasn’t come. In the last three seasons we’ve seen Mike, the breakdancing asian kid (who at first I assumed suffered from some form of selective mutism) be trotted out every seven or eight episodes to teach the kids some new moves or make out with Tina, the other (non-dancing) asian kid who gets about as many lines as he does. Then there’s Mercedes, the big beautiful ebony diva who has a wild, passionate love affair with…tater tots. Lauren, the other resident big girl, get a shot at Bad Boy Puck but that’s even played for shits and giggles.  I mean, Puck couldn’t really have a thing for The Other Fat Chick, right? Meanwhile, Idina Menzel Jr. (otherwise known as Lea Michele), Finn, Quinn and Kurt get actual storylines and love interests. They get to be three-dimensional, fully-fleshed out characters. (They also get a FUCKLOAD of solos.)

In the third season opener, we saw…well, more of the same, except Mercedes had moved on up from potatoes to a brotha on the football team. The asian couple is still “Asian” and “Other Asian” (Mike is trotted out to, of course, help his fellow Gleeks out with some choreography) and Santana’s still a Spicy Latina. Oh, and then there’s the new character, a trust fund kid who punctuates every insulting run-on sentence with “I have Asperger’s.” I’m sure that went over really well with those affected by the disease.

And we won’t even talk about the other gaffes. Like Murphy’s insistence that Blaine be gay instead of bisexual so that “kids will know he’s one of them.” What? What does that even mean? Were bisexuals kicked off the LGBT team? What about the less-than-flattering portrayals of female characters? Either you’re a slutty ditz, an evil slut, a frigid priss, or a sassy asexual with remarkably shiny hair. Or, in Tina’s case, invisible.

It’s depressing, really, that a show that had so much promise continues to devolve into boring, uninspired shlock and “Very Special Episode of ‘Blossom’” moments. Just when you think the show has let you in on the joke, you wind up getting Slurpee’d.