Beyoncé Bores me. I said it. Don’t hurt me.
Do I need to hire a bodyguard? Will my children be safe? Is my job secure: I am admitting, with fingers shaking and extreme heartburn: I have Beyoncé Blasé.
It is a condition that inflicts many, but people live in dread of admitting it, even to themselves. The illness is often confused with squareness, racism or simply “not getting it.” The sickness usually strikes after Beyoncé performs in a widely-watched telecast such as Superbowl 50 and for the whole time you’re left wondering, “didn’t I just see her do this?” Yes, you kind of did.
The black onesie, the robotic look of anger mixed with sexiness that ends with a feigned shy smile and a bashful “thanks” to the crowd. Yes, we’ve seen it all before. From her beautiful face to her luscious locks to her exposed derriere. Been there, done that.
The Juice is Rotten
O.J. Simpson is having a true resurgence in pop-culture. I want to be bigger than this, I want to stay away from paying any more attention to this man, but when FX’s American Crime Story is so compelling, how can I?
Even worse, my humiliating guilty pleasure, the brain cell popping Housewives of Beverly Hills practically has OJ as a ghost of a recurring character. This season, Faye Resnick and her bee stung face join the cast along with Kathryn Edwards, another supporting member of the OJ Simpson cast of repugnant hanger-ons. These two never-beens are right up there with Kris Jenner and the Kardashian patriarch, OJ lawyer Robert Kardashian in the Wretched People Hall of Fame.
I watched, along with the world, when OJ Simpson was found innocent. I was a sophomore in college, a budding feminist and a sensitive soul/basket case (your call). I called my father, in a fit of anger and tears over the verdict, and I remember my father telling me, “Life’s not fair.”
No, the Sex Scene Can’t Save ‘Carol’
You know what else is not fair? How tedious critics’ darling and Oscar contender Carol felt. Go ahead, critics and movie snobs, tell me I’m wrong, but I wish I’d spent my $11 on Daddy’s Home and I despise Marky Mark Wahlberg. Exquisitely shot with beautiful costumes, the flick is blanketed in beauty. Rooney Mara’s expressive face can tell a story with a blink, but it can’t carry a movie. I stomached the movie in a state of mental exhaustion, but even that can’t explain the lack of chemistry between Cate Blanchett and Mara. Add on an over-acting Kyle Chandler and a sex scene that arrived approximately 22 minutes too late and you’ve got a painful few hours. My friend told me that it was a dud, and I chose to learn that on my own. Please, see Revenant or Room instead.
Life’s Swell Thanks to the Arctic Monkeys & Therapy
I don’t dislike everything. I currently love the Arctic Monkeys, therapy, carrot sticks and beer as much as a person can love anything. My therapist just assured me that my daily need to crunch on carrot sicks at the same time everyday doesn’t really make me insane. He’s also guided me to drink water with every alcoholic beverage I consume, what marvelous advice! Wish I’d thought of that on New Year’s Eve, but there’s always next year! Oh yeah, he also told me that my goal of shocking people when I speak with them is perfectly normal, but that I should DEFINITELY keep coming to therapy.