This Week in LaLa Land: ‘Stranger Things’ Warps, Beck Charms, the Tao of Winona + Taylor

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Today,  I want to dunk myself in silliness, then scrub off the Weinstein sewage of  sexual harassment stories from my enlarged pores. Let’s get back to the insipid stuff for a second, okay? Don’t worry, we can quickly return to wondering if civilized civilization is deader than Kevin Spacey’s career. But don’t worry about too much because we’ve always got our moral compass, Courtney Love, to lead us.

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Beck approves my Taylor fascination.

Taylor Swift’s “The old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now” is the new “It’s Britney, bitch.” It’s the battle cry for all the T. Swizzle lovers out there that just can’t take the critiques anymore. After going back and forth about the uncoolness of my affection for Tay and wondering if my make-believe friend Beck would unfriend me because of my Taylor obsession, I’m okay with it and in my mind, Beck loves Taylor, too.

I’ll eventually forgive Taylor for neglecting to invite me to her Rhode Island “Reputation” listening party. Perhaps she watched me prowl her property donning my homemade “Will Sell My Soul for Taylor” shirt or maybe she knows about my college side job of stalking.

Whatever the reason—I was clearly not on this list.  But really, it’s Taylor’s loss. She and I would have had such a girly time, I can see it now: I would’ve asked her if John Mayer is a true Lothario or a needy mother’s boy with abandonment issues, I’d then segue into a discussion over how her brother Austin feels to be so overshadowed by his big sister, then end with a probing question asking if she actually likes Lena Duhman. You know, small talk!

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Oh, Jim Hopper.

“Stranger Things” just might be the best thing that has happened to me since Johnny Depp celebrated his love for Winona Ryder in permanent ink with his soon-to-be Wino Forever tattoo. The show makes my heart skip a beat like the good old days of Mulder and Scully ridding the world of aliens with the help of sunflower seeds and religion.

 

What is it that I love about “Stranger Things?”

Let’s start with the revival of Winona Ryder’s career, one crazy eye at a time. I never did understand where Winona went. Big deal, she got a little pilled out and stole a few frocks from Saks. I mean, we’ve all been there, right? She also dated every influential 90s alternative rocker, befriended and became enemies with everyone’s favorite mean rich girl, Gwyneth Paltrow. She even dated Matt freaking Damon. The woman is the “It Girl” for strange girls and I never understood why her career fizzled after the shoplifting fiasco.

Either way, Wino’s back forever!

My fondness for “Stranger Things” does not end with Winona Ryder. I’m also in love with Chief Hopper, the gaggle of cool and geeky kids and the new feisty redhead, Max. And, may I ignite the Sean Astin  “Best Actor” Actor Emmy campaign right now?

Back to the Beck thing. If you still purchase music and are into Beck, I highly recommend that you check out “Colors”. The album is whip smart and gleeful. It just might make you dance and smile. Don’t worry, there’s still a healthy dose of Beck being Beck with his perfect combination of weirdness, poetry and his strong grasp on the current world vibe, but more than anything, it’s a crowd-pleasing rainbow of an album.

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Cheers to Twitter employee that suspended Trump’s account!

While I am handing out nominations, can someone also get the Nobel Peace Prize committee on the phone and help me nominate the Twitter employee that suspended Donald Trump’s Twitter account for 11 minutes? That person just saved the world for 660 seconds.

Till next time.

2016: Our Own Upside Down World

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2016 began, for me, with a small spell of alcohol poisoning.

And, the year never really lost that distinct aftertaste of vomit, Prosecco and wasted promises. The last 365 days were exhausting. I just finish getting over my last brassy dye job, only to see baby white hairs sprout again. And as a final “screw you,” I now spy them in my eyebrows. As if I didn’t inflict enough damage on my damned brows in the ‘90s, now middle age will finish the job of completely eradicating my brows.

#Blessed makes me #Sick

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Can you #killme before I #choke ?

Oh gosh, forgive me, I forgot that I am supposed to feign positivity instead of being honest.

My negativity is grating, and I just don’t care. Can I be forgiven for intellectually knowing that I have it pretty damned good, but internally feeling down and out? Can I eliminate myself from the hashtag blessed bullshit that permeates every adult conversation I’m forced to endure? Yeah, I get it, I could have it so much worse, but instead of respecting that, I’m going to complain about everything. I am nothing if not consistent. Well that, and a bummer.

Pain is relative. We can’t all compare our own pain against those with more pain. Pain is pain, and to engage in insipid conversations about how much worse life could be doesn’t actually make anyone feel better, not for any longer than that talk lasts.

2016’s Little Pockets of Love

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“Stranger Things” dominates 2106.

There were rainbows of coolness that sprang from the mushrooms of shit, little pockets of love like Winona Ryder’s cool-girl reemergence in “Stranger Things,” and Netflix’s newer installment of anxiety-inducing terror, “The OA”. And, The Lumineers’ “Cleopatra” is just about as good as it gets for music to my ears.

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Jaon’s Isbell’s Twitter presence is one of the better things in life.

I was transfixed for every second of FX’s “The People vs. OJ Simpson” and  transported to my idealistic youth and my horror at the OJ trial outcome.  I went to see Jason Isbell at the College Street Music Hall in  Connecticut, and I remembered that life is beautiful and talent like his is an amazing thing.

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If only I knew as much about geography as I do about Scientology.

A&E’s new hit docuseries “Leah Remini: Scientology and the Aftermath” is perfect for my Scientology obsession. This show gives Leah Remini the role of a lifetime and shows that Scientology is scarier than “Stranger Things” upside down world.

Awash in Melancholy

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“April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land” T.S. Elliot’s The Waste Land

But, it’s not all Pop Tarts & Quaaludes here, peeps.

In April, Prince died at the age of 57. To make Prince’s death even worse, he died from an accidental drug overdose and it was like a final blow- not because I think less of Prince because he used drugs but because I thought he was one of my idols that didn’t. The thought of Prince, alone and dead in an elevator at Paisley Park isn’t how I wanted him to go.I’d much prefer to think of him dying in his sleep surrounded by a harem of women, blanketed in purple sheets of the highest thread count.

But 2016 didn’t care about that kind of stuff. We lost Prince, Barb, David Bowie, Leonard Cohen, George Michael, Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds,to name a few.

But, let’s not get too down, right?

We lose Carrie Fisher, an actress from an acting dynasty, a sharp-witted writer, a paramour of rock stars and an all-around extraordinary person. She was chock-full of demons, honesty and zingers. But, we get to keep Lena Dunham, a woman from an influential family, fully equipped with a pricey  education and a rock star beau, a ridiculous lack of humor and a book that is actually unreadable.

Making fun of Lena Dunham has become easier than ridiculing the Kardashians, so in 2017, my resolution is to stop. Not because I am being kind, but because she’s just so boring.

My Celebrity-Stalking Side Gig is Booming

Between furrowing my brow and applying coconut oil all over my face, I found time to snap pictures with some of my favorite celebrities.

To celebrate the 4th of July,  I did what any good American might: I planted my whole family on a hot beach to watch  Tom Hiddelston & Taylor Swift fawn all over each other. My sunburn had barely healed before I I met lil’ Rhody’s favorite alternative rock goddess, Tanya Donelly. Not to be outdone, I capped off the year with a  New York City encounter with one of America’s original, smart and cool gals, the awesome Sandra Bernhard.

The Kardashian Curse Spreads

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Kim Kardashian’s unattractive cry gets real. Image by How Should I Sass You

For another year, I want to thank the Kardashians for all the entertainment. The ne’er-do-well son in a family filled with losers procreated with Blac Chyna, only to implode in a nasty split that coincided with their own reality show. Kim & Kayne’s marriage lasted another year, but not without a mental breakdown and an awesomely awful burglary in Paris.

So, I’ve been thinking, can we start blaming everything on the Kardashians? That’s my plan.

Book Recommendations

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Beware, I only dig disturbing books.

Well, I do still take time to read books, and here are a few recommendations:

Hunger Makes Me a Hungry Girl: A Memoir by Carrie Browntein

When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi

A Mother’s Reckoning by Sue Klebold

The Girls: A Novel by Emma Cline

All the Missing Girls by Megan Miranda

My Name Is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout

Happy New Year, y’all!