Mad Men Frenches it Up. Oh Mon Dieu!

It's 7 episodes into the 5th season of Mad Men and holy dirty pubic hair, a lot of nasty shit has gone down on the show. But last night's episode took the cake for me. They don't make water hot enough for me to finally feel clean after showering in it. So basically, this was a Sally episode who after spending just one afternoon with Megan's pretentious euro-trash parents (Julia Ormond and Ronald Guttman) already speaks like Leisl Von Trapp ('Papaaa, may I try on my new dress?') and comes out looking like a girl Roman Polanski would loooove to photograph one warm night at Jack Nicholson's house...too far? It's this sparkly Nancy Sinatra get-up with go-go boots and a ton of make-up. Any father like Don would of course get nervous and run right out to buy a sawed-off shotgun, but he plays it cool, old-fashioned in hand and ciggy in mouth tells her to lose the boots and the whorey face paint. 

Daddy like? No Sally, Daddy no like. Daddy want kill himself.

Meanwhile, all of them have to deal with Megan's annoying parents, which is weird considering they are clearly French (I know because my BFF is French-Canadian and can tell the difference between the accents, so there!) and somehow Megan is French-Canadian, but whateves. As if we don't have enough racial stereotypes on the show, the most recently added is the middle-class Brooklyn-raised fast-talking nervous and neurotic Ginsberg who works as a junior copywriter at SCDP, and Layne with all of his unbridled bare-knuckle boxing Britishness, now they're going to lampoon the French by portraying them as sex intellectuals, or at times just intellectuals with an endless cannon of pretentious things to say.

'What a pleasure to meet you. You can tell I'm French by the slow and specific way in which I talk and how impeccably dressed I am, would you like a blow job in the empty lobby no one is using for some reason?

Let's cut to the chase. The episode culminates when Sally, still in hooker attire walks in on Roger 'her date for the night' because he was trying to be cute' receiving a pretty graphic BJ from Megan's mother. She's pretty disturbed, as are the rest of us. First of all, Julia doesn't look like she's simulating at all, and it was a couple camera angle's shy of being The Brown Bunny (2003). So basically what it's taught us is that no matter if you're cleaning the house in your black lacey underpants, or blowing some guy you literally met seconds earlier, if you're French, it's all good. The last scene is between Sally and world's biggest future pervert slash serial killer Glenn discuss they're budding discoveries of the sexual clusterfuck around them, him asking her 'so how's the city?' to which she replies 'dirty'. That about sums it up.

I hope that they give Peggy a scene like that because she's seeming a little sex-starved and uppity of late and I'm really starting to think it's this student-leftist 'I'm going to change the world as soon as i finish my degree in ornithology' (Charlie Hofheimer) asshole is spending too much tying arguing with her rather than making sure she get's properly effed. And you know who I think would be an ideal candidate of course is Ginsberg (Ben Feldman). Get on it Peggy.

Why 'Don't Trust the B----- in Apt 23' is 100 Times Better Than 'Girls'

Ok here's why. 

Ritter and the Beeks get into all kinds of improbable shenanigans just being themselves.

I can compare the two because both are set in New York, and the main characters of each respective show are ideally the same. Both are young professionals, put down by crippling financial circumstances that force them into situations that make them uncomfortable.

But as much as I enjoy quirky slightly chubby girls bitch and moan about their white-people-problems, after a while, it gets rather old, and by a while, I mean one episode. The rule is if after three episodes, the show is tanking, then it's tanked honey. On the other hand we have a show like Don't Trust the B---- in Apt 23 which after a pilot episode which is usually problematic is already blowing me away.

We've seen this kind of sociopathic anti-heroine character a million times, literally. But Krysten Ritter comes at it with such a feisty-ness and unapologetic fervor that she's akin to a character like Brian Kinney (Gale Harold) on the much understated landmark program Queer as Folk (2000-2005), the hedonistic, opportunistic, vile, yet magnetic main character who is reviled and desired all at once. Of course Chloe (Krysten Ritter) is not the main character, she's the lovable antagonist, but for all of her outlandishness she still seems somewhat tangible and believable.

'OMG do you want to have ironic, misguided, and passive-aggresive conversations about how tough our lives are because none of us have jobs but all along we knew that this day would eventually come where we'd have to actually worry about it?'

 She's learned to use her feminine wiles to survive in an unforgiving place like Manhattan rather than bitching and moaning about it the way that Lena Dunham's character does in her adorable quirky way in Girls. But what Jeffrey Sconce refers to as 'the market in quirk' is getting out of hand in syndicated TV shows, and it's not just the Lena Dunham character with whom we are supposed to identify with that the networks are ramming right up our asses, but are any of her friends interesting? I mean seriously. None of them barely have a personality to speak of. They just wander through life with their individual quirks shitting a nugget of wisdom into the plot every once in a while. They remind me of those really banal roommates I had through college that made the worst part of my day after 4 back to back classes and a work shift until 11:30pm walking past them while they were cooking dinner in the common room together, talking forever about nothing. 

And the writing is just better in Don't Trust the B----... it's wittier, it's of course extravagant and skewed, but it's fun and it's genuinely hilarious, not that awkward kind of hilarious that you get with Girls where you're just waiting for the running joke to mercifully end but it never does. 

'Oh I just love goldfish, you wanna have sex with me?'

Honestly, the best and filthiest part of Don't Trust the B---- in Apt 23 is the Beeks. For those of you not playing the home game, I'm talking of course about Ke$ha video thespian and Katie Holmes' 90's paramour with the five-finger forehead James Van Der Beek who plays basically himself. He's Chloe's best friend and spends his time trying to prove himself a serious actor all the while nailing squeaky undergrads or as he likes to call them 'those fucking NYU students' (represent!) who want nothing more than for him to sing 'I Don't Wanna Wait' by Paula Cole and put on the flannel. He's just as much of a slut as Chloe and she refers to him as her straight gay best friend. Now, that's something that's relevant in today's youth culture, take notes Girls. 

So basically what I'm saying is, though both shows are skewered towards identifying with a lawless, fragile, and frustrated culture of New York's youth today who are just trying to get by damn it, and not have to live on old bagels for the rest of their 20's, Don't Trust the B---- in Apt 23 seems to have it down much better than Girls...so far that is. 

Promo below: 

James Deen: A Consummate Professional

The gym was closed today, so I had a couple of hours of free time before I made myself an Ambien smoothy and called it a night. I was in a crabby mood (no pun intended) so I came home, and put on the Redtube. Even porn has been depressing me of late, but there's always someone I can rely on. And the body attached to it's name is James Deen. Oh you've never heard of him? first of all, bull. Second of all, let me enlighten you. No relation to Paula Deen (thank the lord), Deen is a nice-Jewish-boy-who-could-be-a-doctor, precious-faced, 20-something with an innocent disposition who just happens to fuck like an alpha gorilla on steroids. 

He's been in everything you can imagine, and...everyone for that matter. 20/20 just did a segment on him that's how huge he is, and I swear I'm going to stop using double entendres right...now. You could say he's the James Dean of porn, but that would be wrong, considering his craft is so versatile and nuanced you would actually have to say he's the Peter O'Toole of porn, which is ironic considering 'Peter O'Toole' is a better porn name than 'James Deen', anyway, I'm getting off track. He can fuck it gently, or he can mess your shit the eff up, either way, you're going to leave with a smile for the camera, and not the kind you get from the occasional genius joke on Modern Family. 

Hey girl, when I suggest role-playing I'm not talkin' about drama club rehearsal.

Though he's far from 13 inches, he's got that good ol' stamina and charisma of John Holmes that first made porn so gosh darn fantastic back in the 70's, and has since lost it's way. We all watched Boogie Nights (1997), we know the story. He's a real character actor, in fact if you're listening Hollywood, he might be your ideal cock for the coveted role of sadist Christian Grey, you know he's got the 'credentials'. 
And no, I'm not posting any links though it would be perfectly legal and free and probably doing you a big service, go find it yourself, I am not your porn fairy...or am I? 

Peggy Gives Handjobs to Filthy Hippies in Movie Theaters

Peggy Olsen sure has grown up a lot on Mad Men from the mousy frumpy secretary who was madly obsessed with Pete for some reason and rejected the advances of both Ken and Paul (remember him? he was the Orson Welles looking guy that disappeared after the third season). She had a secret baby, sexual tension with Tom Hank's son, and a rather sorry affair with a man named Duck. 

Now she's dating some faux-socialist 'writer' who's actually attractive (Charlie Hofheimer) having lesbian tendencies and hooking up with strangers in the movie-theater a la PeeWee Herman. Perhaps she's absorbing all of that mid to late 60's sexual awakenings and experimentation, but what I think is happening is that she's becoming a man at heart. She's becoming her mentor Don Draper who's sexual ambivalence gives him basically 'the power'. 

In the last episode before tonight's, Peggy opened up to the new receptionist at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce that she feels like a man sometimes, and that's of course what's to be expected considering she's in a man's world, in a still very repressive world for women, and one of sexual cautiousness. She's had to conform; now she makes men come to her rather than take late night booty calls or quick romps in the office after hours, and they do. In a sense, Peggy has grown to be the most sexual apparatus on the show that is female rather than Joan who's promiscuity is merely a facade. Joan falls in love, Peggy would never allow herself to go there. She's become the one in control, and the master manipulator. And guess what, we love her for it. 

Poor Little Not-Rich Girls

Sex is awful in your 20's...are you aware? This is one of the things that is awful in your twenties of the many that are explored in Lena Dunham's sarcastic new tragicomedy Girls which premiered on HBO on April 15th. It's a new show that starts off with a pretty familiar bang, there are so many of us who spent hundreds of thousands of dollars going to liberal art schools and remained in New York to do unpaid internships with the financial support of our parents while we chased some kind of dream, which one in particular we weren't sure of at the time.

But now it's time to grow up, and Hannah Hovarth's (Lena Dunham) parents have had enough. They want the lake house in Vermont damn it, so they tell her the words we all dread to hear but eventually do 'you are on your own'.

This show is brilliant in that there isn't a moment in which we aren't squirming because of how the worst moments of our twenties are being dragged out for a national audience bringing back so many painful memories, like that time we fucked that loser undergrad who only wanted to do you from behind with your clothes on and weren't sure if he even wore a condom.

Or that time you get so dissatisfied with the person who you currently rely on for daily orgasms that you would rather swim in a river of miserable fatty's who've never had one than take another from him.

Or that time you sucked up the remaining remnants of your teetering pride and begged like a dog in the street 'don't cut me off! I have dreams!' and no one listened.

as someone who's had her fair share of awkward sex with social retards whom you wouldn't walk down the street to piss on if they were on fire the next day, I found this scene particularly devastating in its accuracy.

Now you're on your own bitch, and here's the thing.
1. Find a real job
2. Find a grown up boyfriend who can last longer than 4 minutes
3. Buy a vibrator
4. Stop listening to MGMT
5. If you're frustrated about writing, write about how frustrated you are with writing.
and 6. NEVER drink opium tea.

I think that about covers it. I look forward to more life lessons along the way as we learn more about Hannah Hovarth and her motley crew of 20-something comrades.

Plant or Daltrey?

Part of this blog post was because I can't mercifully shake that performance of One Direction on SNL last week out of my head no matter how hard I try, and it's crap that this is what we consider 'sex symbols' in music today. First of all, they are children, second of all, their music is just dogshit, third of all, I usually don't have a problem with skinny jeans but come on! 

Excuse me for getting all old school but I'm watching one of those awful arbitrary countdown on VH1 which they clearly just raffled rather than judged based on actual merit because The Sex Pistols were higher up than Queen and Miley Cyrus was on the list of 100 Greatest Artist of All Time. Anyway, it's at #3 right now and that spot went to Led Zeppelin, which I consider a fabulous band don't get me wrong, but I wouldn't put it above The Who or The Stones...or The Stooges for that matter. 

And then I remembered how when I was younger and listening to 70's rock because it was cool back in the 90's when there was that whole neo-hippie movement, remember that? Woodstock '94, black lights, and ecstasy? Good times. Anyway! To me, it wasn't really about the music, it was who looked better in those crazy low-rider bell-bottoms, who had the bigger white-guy fro, and who wore those fringe vests just the right way. Was it Robert Plant the squealing sexual institution that had an orgasm every time he sang 'Whole Lotta Love'? Or was it wash-port abs, curly angelic locks, and pale baby blue eyes otherwise known as Roger Daltrey. The ultimate battle between British rock band frontmen golden gods. 

I would say that the who wore their pants tighter and lower clearly goes to Plant. I mean, I did not have to read 'I'm With the Band' to realize he wasn't circumcised and just exactly how big his dong was (10 inches by the way). As to who has the better chest/midsection, no contest, the abs of steel on Roger Daltry take the gold medal. Now, who has better androgynous Rapunzel locks is a tie, because sometimes you want the perfectly quaffed blonde bush of cherubic curls that Daltrey sported, but sometimes you want that crazy-messy sex-hair of Robert Plant, though it looks like it would smell like pubes and could have used some Head 'N Shoulders. 

Ironically I don't think either of the men were crazed sex pots with an endless stream of teenage groupies waltzing around naked in their dressing rooms lighting their joints and taking care of their morning boners, just kidding. This question has bothered me literally since adolescents; who was better in bed. I'd love to call it a draw but for my taste, I'm going to say that Plant wins this round as well...hypothetically of course. He seems like the more unbridled one. And I mean the less British one, you know, not as inhibited. Daltry for all of his rockstar glory still seems like he does it with the lights off. But who's to know for sure? So I guess what I'm saying is; Plant and Daltrey, if you are reading this, please feel free to prove me wrong by showing me. For the love of god. 

Watch the videos below and come to your own consensus. 

Seductress Pick: Krysten Ritter

Don't Trust the B____ in Apartment 23 might be the most asinine title for a television show in the history of asinine titles of television shows, but I have to admit it has potential. I'm glad they gave the superbitch junkie that eventually chokes on her own vomit and ruins Jesse in the head forever from Breaking Bad her own show, because she's pretty badass. 

With her Bettie Page bangs, pouty lips, and penchant for tight black dresses, Krysten Ritter looks like a revamped smut version of Ingrid Bergman, and I mean that in the best way possible. She's kink on crack, and she's not a bad actress either. She speaks to the inner badass in all of us, that always wanted to order drinks and then not pay for them, wear mini-skirts with platform pumps and not be called a slut, and not have to purse our lips. We needed someone to fill that neo-goth ice princess pasty-skinned vixen void after Kristen Stewart started getting on our nerves with her not-so-adorable awkwardness which comes off as unbridled arrogance, and Krysten is doing it beautifully. 

She's just the right amount of rebellious without being irritatingly gimmicky, even though her name is spelled with an unnecessary 'y'. She has a unique look in a muted aesthetic world of baby-faced ingenues and buxom sexpots. I'm glad being an unapologetic cunt is becoming en vogue right now. We don't need many more field mice and frustrated housewives cluttering up our primetime line up. 

Season premieres April 11th. The Beeks will be on it. What more do you need?

Free Associating with Ryan Gosling!

This is taken verbatim from my conversation with a friend over this recent momentous Gosling news. I can be very random, but I'm completely enjoying all of the insane places my mind has been going to since this incident. Trashy fan fiction here I come!

Just imagine you're walking into traffic listening to your headphones, blasting the Ke$ha without a care in the world just walking right into traffic...and then suddenly a warm large hand grabs you by the arm and yanks you to the curb...

its comforting...

its exciting...
you don't even understand what just happened and all you see is...

a face looks up at you...
breathing heavily, kind of scared himself
with those ridiculous blue doe eyes...

and says 'hey, easy there'

try and not to have a full on party in your lady parts...

if he did that to me, it would be in vain because i would faint and hit my head on the curb and die anyway...
but it's nice to have the fantasy... 

The only man better than Ryan Gosling was Paul Newman...Ryan Gosling is the new Paul Newman...Ryan Gosling should PLAY Paul Newman in the movie about his life...I'd watch the shit out of that...
i bet his breath smells like roses...

and his hands are like super soft...

not women's hands soft just that right kind of manly soft...
This would make for a great porn premise ...
But I think Gosling would fight that...
If he ever did porn I'd lose respect for him...
But i'd still watch it, are you kidding me?

 Is Ryan Gosling still Mormon...because i'm pretty sure he's Jesus.
I'm telling you he's Jesus...
..would that make him mormon Jesus...
Then his name would be Ryan Godling...
I'm sure I'm the first one to come up with that...

To be continued...

Oh and just for shits and giggles i'm posting some stuff from Gosling's early years. I'm not even going to front, I totally used to record Young Hercules on VHS back in the day. I never missed an episode.

Hey Everybody It's Ok to Make Fun of Fat People Again!

The new Betty Draper which launched a million OMFG's

Against my wishes, they decided to thrust Betty Draper back into our faces, fat first. I don't know if you've noticed or anything but she's kind of put on some weight since last we saw her. And apparently, we as the public cannot get enough of making fun of it, myself included. In this day and age where rapid escalation in bullying has become a serious life-threatening issue, it's nice that we can still sit anonymously behind our computers and ridicule chunky people in the media with impunity. 

Now I'm sure that when we all tuned into the second episode of the 5th season of Mad Men (2007 - present) we were all 'how did Paula Deen finagle her way to AMC?'
You see what I did there? I'm speaking out against internet ridicule and simultaneously engaging in it. That makes me a very special type of hypocrite.

It probably has a lot to do with the fact that none of us really like Betty Draper, in fact she's one of those women we love to hate. My office was agog with comments around the water cooler about how gross she looked. When honestly, it's about time that girl put on a few. We as the public love to see seemingly flawless people be given their comeuppance for being so apologetically hot and better than the rest of us, so when they're taken down a few pegs (i.e. fat-suit and body double) then there's no better schadenfreude.

We can all sleep soundly knowing that even Betty porcelain-doll Draper is not above getting old and getting fat like the rest of us. 

Excuuuuuuuuuse me for having tits. J-Law's new spread in Glamour magazine. Take that skinny bitches!

This is coming off the heels of internet outrage about Jennifer Lawrence being too 'supple' to play a starving teenager in The Hunger Games (2012), which basically translates into people thinking she's a fatty just because she has a normal female form and her rib cage isn't protruding out of her chest. I thought we were over the whole women have to look like they're in the terminal stages of heroin addiction a long time ago, and all of a sudden we can't embrace a full-bodied figure because we all want to fit into Ellen Page's jeans? Um, I'll call BS. 

Remember when heroin chic was a thing? I blame all of my body issues on it to this day. 

Spotlight On: Fifty Shades of Grey

Every once in a while I make an exception around here and talk about politics, or music, or in this case, the greatest American novel since 'The Grapes of Wrath'. Of course I'm talking about the book that has taken this nation by storm in a sweep of controversy that was originally based on Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series called 'Fifty Shades of Grey'. Two volumes have followed, the last installment of which was just published in January of this year and just a few weeks ago topped, that's right, topped the New York Times Bestseller List. 

Collectively we as a nation kind of went 'oh yeah, books, you mean we can read these? words that make pictures in your head? will it fit on my iphone?' and then we got wind of what it was about and everyone was in faux shock and awe. Like we've never knew that such things as erotic S&M novels even existed much less become the viral juggernaut of erotic fan fiction.  

I've been writing erotic fan fiction for years, what's so new around here? Granted, I never based it off 'Twilight', it was more like 'Lord of the Rings'. Merry and Pippin were secret lovers, Merry was pushed into an arranged hobbit marriage with some frumpy jolly girl and would engage in kinky rendezvous with Pippin underneath the moonlight behind the hobbit bridge...did I just share too much? 

I think what the general public has the biggest problem with is that the author is female. Like women don't fantasize about BDSM activity in the extremities and get off on it, wake up America. 

In this day and age, it still had major publishing restrictions, but thanks to the internet has become a viral sensation due to blog word-of-mouth, and it's virtually unstoppable. Focus Features just optioned the rights on the 26th, and casting is in the works. 

It is a no-holds-barred sexual fantasy about a college student and a stubborn billionaire who fall in love and engage in anal bead and handcuff play...among other things. This girl E.L. James is no Mark Twain, but it's an amazing read. Something you do with the door closed and the phone off with the roommate out for the night. Boys, it's not really for you, I hope this makes everyone realize that what we as women perceive as erotica and are aroused by is rudimentarily different. It's rather empowering actually. It's taking the BDSM subtext of 'Twilight' and making it ecstatically blatant. Put down 'The Hunger Games' and indulge yourself. You know you want it.

For some reason, I can't post this video directly to my blog, so check it out here: It's everything you need to know.

Fifty Shades of Grey on CBS - March 26, 2012

Still from The Story of O (1975) based on the iconic BDSM novel of the same name originally published in 1954.

For more guilty and subversive pleasure Netflix is streaming The Story of O, a 1975 film based on the seminal (perhaps bad choice of words) erotic BDSM novel about a Parisian fashion photographer who signs a contract to be a mysterious millionaire's submissive and gets thrusted (again wrong choice of words) into an elite club of sorts of rich gentlemen who keep her and others as their consensual sex slaves. It's a very '70's' movie I'll just tell you that right now, where the actors' lower body doesn't move, but they convulse they're heads around like they're in the middle of a major seizure. It's very glossy, surreal, and over-the-top. It's fantastic. It's kind of like that high-class British porn that people make fun of, ironically the film is French with English dubs. 


Or, you can be old-school and read the works of The Marqius de Sade, particularly 'Justine' which is my favorite.