Lena Dunham

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.

 

 

 

‘Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck’ is stunning, Lena Dunham and I share self-hatred: HBO keeps me warm at night.

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Captivating, stunning, disturbing.

Captivating, stunning, disturbing.

I found my new substance in the form of an HBO subscription. I could no longer take myself seriously as a cool person without watching “Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck”, the heartbreaking and honest Kurt Cobain documentary. The HBO purchase gave me bliss, entertainment and a reason to stay inside. I haven’t left my television since the transaction, unless you count last weekend’s three parties.

Frances Bean Cobain, executive producer and Courtney embrace.. (Photo by Chris Pizzello/Invision/AP)

Frances Bean Cobain, executive producer and Courtney embrace.. (Photo by Chris Pizzello/Invision/AP)

Montage of Heck was just what I needed to revamp my fascination with Kurt Cobain and my love for Nirvana. I could not look away. Frances Bean served as the executive producer and she sprinkled cool-girl meth dust all over the film. It is unflinchingly bold, sad and beautiful. Kurt’s parents cast him away like a used Temple of the Dog c.d. and his mother’s ignorance concerning her obvious neglect and poor maternal instincts is paramount. Listening to his obese step-mother ramble on about Kurt’s unfulfilled quest for family life broke my heart more than watching Kurt nod off in a heroin daydream while trying to hold Frances.

I challenge anyone to watch this movie and not be spellbound by Courtney

It's a love story. Image by © Dora Handel/CORBIS OUTLINE

It’s a love story. Image by © Dora Handel/CORBIS OUTLINE

Love’s performance. I say performance because she’s always playing a part, and she is mesmerizing. The home videos of her and Kurt ridiculing Guns & Roses, showcasing their mess of a home and getting ready for the day are filled with humor and love. Viewers get a good look at Love’s nakedness, physically and psychologically. She is the best that Frances has and her punk rock parenting and fits of pop culture musings are hysterical.

Expect much more from Frances Bean.

Expect much more from Frances Bean.

As Kurt’s drug abuse deepens, so does the movie’s somber tone. Kurt’s suicide was not his first attempt and he looks haunted, hungry and confused as we know that his days are numbered. Kurt’s drive was strong, his ambition was intense, but ultimately drugs and depression took over his life. Fame was his ultimate dream, but he lost himself in the pursuit. His music, artwork and spirit live on in Frances’ impressive future.

I was, and am, an enormous Nirvana fan. I vividly remember being stuck in my all-girl dormitory in my stuffy Catholic college waiting for my bad-boy boyfriend to pick me up for a secret weekend away and receiving a phone call that Kurt Cobain died. My boyfriend’s kernel of comfort as I numbly relayed the news was, “Wow, who’s going to headline Lollapolooza?” I subsequently stumbled around in a thicket of smoke for the weekend while my mother kept trying to call me to see how I was taking the news. This was before the invention of cell phones and it was tricky to pretend that I was safe in my dorm bed while I was sneaking around. I bought a Jack Kerouac book that weekend and found a new love, but my sadness was very real.

Lena's body is my body.

Lena’s body is my body.

I then watched the entire last season of “Girls” in an insomnia-plagued stupor, is this show supposed to be as funny as I think it is? Do Lena Dunham and I have the same exact body, and if so, could I have scored a real rock star boyfriend along the way? Just watch the show for the sex scenes. Seeing Allison Williams, Brian Williams’ lovely daughter with the mediocre singing voice and enormous forehead, in the most compromising of positions is a gift from the television gods.

Do I lose my feminist card because I think Adam Driver is the best part of Girls?

Do I lose my feminist card because I think Adam Driver is the best part of “Girls”?

Girls is so wretched it is awesome. I know these characters and I loathe them and that is the point. Their self-absorption, feigned intelligence and hipster vibe is right on. To know Marnie is to hate her and Hannah’s horrible writing is akin to Lena Dunham’s mediocre writing, but astute observations. I dislike Lena’s Hannah in the same fashion that I dislike myself: she’s another smart woman with all of life’s advantages that chooses to sit around on her fat ass complaining about life’s inconsistencies instead of actually doing anything to change them. Ow, that hits me right where my stretch marks start and my crow’s feet end.

2014: A Not Bad Year

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2014: A year of nothing much?

2014: A year of nothing much?

365 days filled with Kardashian filth, Meghan Trainor’s increasingly annoying voice, Chris Pratt’s hotness, ebola and a flurry of hacking scandals.

2014 Loves

Donna Tartt's latest novel will capture you for days.

Donna Tartt’s latest novel will capture you for days.

FKA Twigs, currently better known as Robert Pattinson's girl, is a fresh face in music.

FKA Twigs, currently better known as Robert Pattinson’s girl, is a fresh face in music.

1. Movies were good, “Gone Girl” “Guardians of the Galaxy” and “Boyhood” were highly entertaining. Cool books include Donna Tartt’s “The Goldflinch” and Meg Wolitzer’s “The Interestings” and “Belzhar”. New music by Lana Del Rey, Jack White and FKA Twigs were stellar standouts.

2. Lana Del Rey is exactly what I crave from a rock star; she’s troubled, intelligent and beautiful with addictive tendencies and questionable taste in men. Del Rey’s sexiness and darkness make up for all the stupid things she keeps saying in interviews and for her lack of credibility. I do love a Connecticut girl gone bad. Her macabre album Ultraviolence is hauntingly cool and her videos are luscious.

3. Jay Z. and Solange: Hate in the Elevator This was the must see silent movie of the year. It cements my belief that Beyonce is not human, she’s actually a robotic alien that Jay Z. created when he was slinging crack as a teenager. She never did give birth to Blue Ivy, Blue Ivy is actually a robotic alien that eats money and platinum for nourishment.The silent movie of the year.

4. Jack White is the coolest man in the world. It’s unhealthy how much I dig him. I don’t know that I can ever forgive myself for missing his Newport Folk Festival performance this year. Lazaretto does not disappoint.

5. Who was Lena Dunham first? Her or me?  I think I could have been Lena Dunham, but better. I watch “Girls”, speed read through her ridiculous friggin memoir “Not That kind of Girl” and smash my modest upbringing, “I’m Lena Dunham without the NYC pedigree and famous folks!”

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She’s stealing my shtick.

Sour grapes? Maybe. I love to hate Lena Dunham, hate to love her. I’m repulsed and turned on by her constant state of undress. I cringe at and envy her homely designer clothes. I appreciate her rocker beau’s band The Bleachers. She’s so complicated, a lot like someone else I know.

6. Nick Jonas: Goodbye purity ring, hello abs.

Nick Jonas, you can put your shirt on now. We get it.

Nick Jonas, you can put your shirt on now. We get it.

I always knew that Nick Jonas was the hottest Jonas Brother, even when he was the 12 year old kid breaking Miley Cyrus’ heart. Nick Jonas, welcome to the perverted world of every middle aged woman that took their kids to see Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience and could sense your pre-pubescent attractiveness lurking under your fedora. Did I mention that I am fond of this song?

7. Shovels & Rope is a terrific new band, this husband and wife duo are a gritty mix of whiskey, talent and love. Bruno Mars’ Uptown Funk” may be the best song of the year, and he was the best part of both the Super Bowl and Saturday Night Live. NBC’s Parenthood is just about as good as a television drama can be.

The Lowest of the Lows

1. Bill Cosby is a predator and anyone that is defending him is on my shit list. Whoopie, I am talking to you. His first public display of poor decision making was firing my first bad girl love Lisa Bonet in 1991 for “creative differences”. The girl was merely exercising her artistic freedom.

Fun times.

Fun times.

2. Gwynnie and Chris Martin “consciously uncoupled” or started to loathe each other after a bland ten years together and filed for divorced, as we mortals call it. This breakup will remain friendly until they start fighting over the juicer machine, tan cashmere sweaters and yoga mats. Yawn. Martin almost redeemed his own mediocrity by dating Jennifer Lawrence while the rest of the world just gazed at Jennifer’s nude photos. Didn’t last long, but good try Chris.

Kardashian broke her face.

Kardashian broke the internet and her face.

3. What do I despise about the Kardashians? I hate their deep voices void of infliction or words over three syllables long, I cringe at their dead valley girl jargon. I detest their dark, shiny and glossy hair screaming for a different style, I abhor their hairy babies with stupid names. I’m disgusted by their mascara application habits and shared taste in bohemian wear and I especially cannot tolerate that I once thought Kanye West was the real deal.

Andy,stick to scouting for Housewives trash.

Andy,stick to scouting for Housewives trash.

4. Andy Cohen, you need an image consultant. 2014 thrust you on the edge of awful. I actually sat down and read this “book” you just published “A Deep Look at a Shallow Year”. Andy, I am worried. I thought you went to BU? I thought you were smart. After reading this book I was reminded of my journal as an 8th grader. But, you are a 46 year old man. Your first novel was a fun read, but this is a waste of time. Do I have to read 24 pages to get to two stories that include you partying with Madonna? Your Housewives franchise should partner with America’s Most Wanted. Tacky.

5. Roger Goodell, most of Sony and my local Starbucks barista should be fired.

During my misspent youth I was fired for getting my nose pierced, wearing a Ministry t-shirt to work, habitual lateness and for throwing up in a cafe bathroom during 4th of July weekend in a tourist town, but these executive-level assholes just can’t get fired.

Isn't there another person that can do a better job for over $40 million?

Isn’t there another person that can do a better job for over $40 million?

I make a sport out of not watching football, but this season has been difficult to ignore.No amount of Tom Brady closeups can get rid of the taste of domestic assault, child abuse and rapes that Goodell is not handling properly. Roger Goodell made $44.2 million in 2013. Why is he still employed at the NFL? He is a public relations disaster.And those public service announcements that are now being played ad nauseam  are terrible. Stop. Yes, I know nothing about football but I do know a thing or two about being fired. Let him go!

I give Amy Pascal another 7 months at Sony.

I give Amy Pascal another 7 months at Sony.

Amy Pascal and the gang at Sony are guilty of not having a clue. Don’t we all know to be careful when composing corporate emails? How can this group of professional ass kissers still be employed after biting the hands that feed them? The stars that they are paid to worship.

Yeah and my local Starbucks barista is a mess. I can’t believe that I give him money to screw up my coffee order every week.

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I will pay you to stop Grande’s career. Her brother may stay, but she’s got to go.

6. Ariana Grande is as wretched a human being as she is a pop star. Reports surfaced that she berates staff, insists on being cradled like a baby after performances and only allows photographers to frame the left side of her face. What can I do to stop her meteoric rise? Can I pay someone with my soul to produce audio of her saying racist words? Can we drum up a child abuse story? Anything, just put an end to the Ariana.

This Week In La La Land- American Music Awards

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The American Music Awards were filled with artists to ridicule, dig and wish laryngitis on.

Let’s start with Rhode Island’s very own shining star, T. Swizzle. The girl can act, she can saunter, she can emote, but the pop genius just can’t sing. It’s okay, neither could Madonna. And, Madonna never had those legs.

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Your luscious legs make up for your off-key pipes.

Taylor’s obviously hoping that Lorde’s coolness can seep into her pores if she ingratiates herself into Lorde’s family. That must be why we were forced to watch Taylor dance with Lorde’s mother. What? Was Lena Dunham busy? Mrs. Lorde, you are taking up valuable space. If I want to watch some old hag with bad hair dance, I will look at myself in the mirror.

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This is a coveted spot, bouncers, please remove Mrs. Lorde.

Oh, and poor Selena Gomez. She also cannot sing, but she talk-sings fairly well. Was that song about Justin Beiber breaking her little heart? Were people in the audience crying because her performance was so bad or because it was so funny? Most importantly, did she whisper “thank you Jesus” is the middle of her laughable performance? Yes, indeed, thank you Jesus because it was close to over. Amen.

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I cry when I laugh, too.

Three is always a bad combination, a ménage a trois often ends awkwardly and I predict that the one-name pop star trio of Lorde, TayTay and Selena will end poorly. Lorde will have a tedious time conversing with Selena over topics like eyeliner, Beliebers and nose jobs. Run, Lorde,and take Sia with you!

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No, Lorde,do not look to your left, Selena’s bosom is exposed.