Beyonce

The 2017 Grammys, a smorgasbord of phoniness & disappointment.

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Why do I set myself up for disappointment? It’s like I’m in college again and trying to date the Greek god, it’s just never going to work out, at least not in the way I think it might.

I was so excited for the damn Grammys, and now I have no idea why.

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Louder, Hetfield, we can’t hear you. Via GIPHY.

I suppose I wanted to see Lady Gaga outcool Metallica, an all-time least favorite band of mine. My hatred for Metallica harks back to the year that they headlined the 1996 Lollapolooza when I was basking in my Riot Grrl phase. I traipsed through Metallica’s crowd wearing a dirty white slip and a crown of thorns while proudly displaying the word “slut” written on my arm a la Courtney Love. The Metallica crowd didn’t get my shtick and it was one of the few times I was really picked on. Then Metallica was escorted to the stage via a helicopter and I threw up my party accouterments.

Oh, thank God cameras were barely used during my misspent youth.

But hey, Lady Gaga & Metallica is something that I can get behind. Unfortunately, the sound technicians couldn’t and James Hetfield’s microphone wasn’t on. It was embarrassing to watch him have to switch mics mid-song, but it was worth it to spy his rock star temper tantrum afterwards.

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It was magnificently…dull. Via Giphy.

But who cares? Let’s get to the icky part- the Beyoncé verse Adele battle of phoniness.

First, before the Beyhive swarms into my modest home and steals all my gin, Beyoncé should have won Album of the Year, without a doubt. Lemonade is a religion, while 25 is a  Church of Scientology in Arkansas. And, Adele bores me more than Beyoncé’s performance annoyed me, so there’s that.

Part of me gets it, that I’m not really supposed to get it. First, I’m old as dirt and am clearly out of touch. But, I do possess a freakishly high bullshit/phony meter and during Beyoncé’s performance, it was higher than Mike Posner. I mean, who knew being preggers was so profound? Two married billionaires that already have one child had sex and that act resulted in two living things in Beyoncé’s belly. How… bourgeoisie. I’ve squeezed 3 brats out and I caressed my belly less throughout those 27 months than Queen B did in her way-too-long Grammy performance.

Beyoncé’s performance was certainly better than most, but for it to lauded as epic and groundbreaking just seems silly. The spoken word element, freshly torn from the sticky pages of a 14-year old’s discarded journal were funny, but I do not think that was the intention. But, I am an equal opportunity hater because my Holden Caulfield-inspired phony meter was at an all-time high (again, Posner) with Adele.

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Can we start again? No, please, no. GIPHY.

Adele, you won. Take the award, thank a bunch of people we don’t know, make a thinly-veiled political statement and leave. Oh and while you’re performing, try to sing the flipping song without swearing on national television and having to start all over again. That’s what you get paid  millions of dollars to do. It was so sad to watch the crowd applaud her mediocre tribute to George Michael with tears in their eyes, not tears for George Michael’s recent passing, but because they felt badly that Adele felt badly that she messed up. Again.

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What’s worse than a sore loser? A bad winner. GIPHY.

Oy vey.

I did enjoy a lot of the Grammys. The Weeknd was excellent, Chance the Rapper was awesome, and even Katy Perry was better than usual and I absolutely loved her blonde hair. Ed Sheeran always entertains and is utterly charming.Most importantly, Bruno Mars, Morris Day & The Time did Prince right. It was a tribute worthy of pop star royalty.

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Blackbear, Mike Posner. Posner’s seen better days. Via GIPHY.

And, let’s give it up to Mike Posner who appears to be 8 days away from death or rehab. Wow, didn’t this guy just look like the former Duke University frat boy that he is? It looks like he took a lot more than a pill in Ibiza, he looks like he emptied the whole  pharmacy.

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Damn, this is Mike Posner a few years ago. Wowza. Via Huffington Post.

Till next year.

Millennials Killed Feminism & Gen Xers can’t even make it to the funeral.

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I thought I had the best idea for a funny blog and plan on going ahead with it, but first, I must acknowledge that it’s been the most disgusting week , even worse than when poor Barb was found decomposing in the upside down world on Netflix’s Stranger Things.

I promised myself not to get too political on social media or at parties, but the Donald Trump “grab them by the pussy” story has got to be a new low, even for a man that bastes himself with tanning oil, chauvinism, Viagra and bad fashion.

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Oh Trumpy, do you kiss your mail-order bride with that mouth?

First, don’t get it twisted- I’m not even a huge Hillary Clinton supporter,  I am a true Gen Xer so I don’t really like anything, other than Courtney Love. And gin. And Jared Leto circa My So Called Life time.

But now that this sniffling, orange statement of tackiness, ineptitude and victimization took a dump on our political stage, I love Hillary about as much as I loved getting wasted at every Lollapolooza. Yeah, I’m that serious.

If I can find ANYTHING amusing about Trump’s recent leaked tape, it’s that he refers to himself as a  “star”: “And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything…Grab ’em by the pussy. You can do anything.”

Oh, you misguided Ommpa-Loompa, you’re not a STAR! You’re a D-grade celebrity whose claim to fame is a show that nobody has watched in years.

Millennials Killed Feminism & Gen Xers are too “busy” to care.

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Lena Dunham-  The new leader of feminism (for every college-educated white girl in Brooklyn).

I’m a feminist. There, I wrote it. And, I loathe new-age feminism.

There, I wrote that, too.

It’s too easy to blame it ALL on the millennials, but Lena Dunham‘s smug stare of entitlement, importance and good breeding jolts me pissed and I have to cast generalizations everywhere.

Oh damn, I just ridiculed a woman, is my feminist card revoked?

Well, I’ve read every word of Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique & Jong’s Fear of Flying, do I get it back now? They both sure as hell beat Not That Kind of Girl, by Lena Dunham, but that’s another rant.

See, Lena Dunham, our fearless new leader, has formed a new brand of feminism. One where women can’t speak poorly about other women no matter what. We can’t observe that Kim Kardashian probably should have had security while she  went to bed IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY with $11 million in jewelry in her room. Lena argues that we shouldn’t be making jokes because Kim Kardashian is “someone’s mother and daughter.” Well, her mother is Kris Jenner so there goes the “someone’s daughter” argument.

Stop it! I can’t say that, we must all have each other’s politically-conscious, Urban-Outfitters-adorned backs!

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I should do something about all this, but “Reality Bites” is on tv. Maybe tomorrow.

AGH! I get so angry that I want to scream!

But, I wont. We Gen Xers are so darned busy planning our children’s schedules for every minute of their free time to make up for the neglectful parenting that we endured that we barely have time to rock the Anthropologie 40% off sale. Then, we start to feel so old & boring that we  schedule our own social lives with rock shows, book clubs and movie dates because we feel awful about how goddamned uncool we got.

It’s exhausting, so just screw it and pass me the Zima, please.

I’m About to Kick a Beyhive

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Send all hate mail right to Rhode Island.

I respect Beyonce’s astounding talent, beauty, obvious intelligence and drive. Really, I do. So please, put down your hammer. But, is it a badge of feminism to create the masterpiece that is Lemonade, and have virtually the whole album be an angry portrayal of adultery, revenge and ultimately, forgiveness?

If art is life and life is art, are we to believe that the Queen Bey lets her Machiavellian-like, father-figure of a husband, Jay Z., cheat on her and forgive him? Are we really to believe that it’s “Becky with the good hair” fault?

I don’t know, something doesn’t resonate. If that is a triumphant act of feminism, then I’ll let Trump grab me by the…well, you know.

Oh well, whatever, never mind.

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We’ve come a long way, baby. Pop singers grab crotches just like men!

I’m a feminist afraid of being honest for fear of not adhering to this new set of feminist logic. I can ridicule Angelina Jolie for stealing two hours and 12 minutes of my life by directing “By the Sea,” surely the worst movie ever made, but I can’t voice my opinion on her being a nutcase, right?

Jolie is an obvious piece of work, a homewrecker and a joke. Did I just get in trouble again? Was I just supposed to blindly side with Brad Pitt because there’s been murmurs of his drunken behavior? I mean, he is a man and I am a woman so I better just go with her.

And yes, I understand that I do not really know any of these people, but we all do know these people, right? People just like this.

I want to confess that although I love to gaze at Lena Dunham’s out-of-shape ass on “Girls” (looks better than my fat ass), that doesn’t make the show interesting, the Lenny newsletter very readable or her a spokesperson for feminism. It makes her brave and slightly overweight, but we’re not really breaking new ground here, folks.

 

 

 

Beyoncé Blasé is an Illness from which I Suffer, The Juice is Rotten & ‘Carol’ Disappoints

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Beyoncé  Bores me. I said it. Don’t hurt me.

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Hello, my name is Kathleen and I have Beyonce Blase. Getty Image.

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?

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FX’s “American Crime Story” It’s good.

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’ 

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Can thousands of critics be wrong?

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.