the list isn’t long but it’s meaningful….
- Surprise, surprise! Madonna’s Instagram
- That I DVR’d The Awful Truth — such a madcap, romantic movie with palpable chemistry between Irene Dunne & Cary Grant and the tribute to Miley Cyrus is divine.
- What a thoughtful profile of New York’s new First Lady
- Wonderful spot to stock up for New Year’s Eve
But Olivia, I understand.
I don’t wish that kind of conflicted love on anyone but Olivia, I understand.
I am so there!
First Look: Scandal Season 3 Promo [Glamour]
I should be embarrassed at watching the latest reality TV shenanigans, but I’m not. I revel in watching delusional people act out their behavior. I find lousy social skills, unhinged narcissism and life cluelessness FASCINATING! There is nothing better than a reality show marathon to help me power through apartment cleaning or accounting chores.
Imagine my glee on a recent Sunday when TV One offered up non stop hits of R & B Divas lunacy. For me? Yes, yes, yes. My straight no chaser exposure to these women sparked so many thoughts, sane and otherwise, that I decided to share via my own narcissistic delivery system….
- I’ve renamed the show Beyonce Stole My Career Like a Thief in the Night. I’m excepting Angie Stone from this classification because she has a sustainable songwriting/producing career and also excepting Monifah Carter, Faith Evans and Latocha Scott because they seem well adjusted but the others? I can smell the lust that Nicci Gilbert, Syleena Johnson and Keke Wyatt have for Mrs. Carter’s career, life, EVERYTHING through my TV screen! There is nothing that would convince them that they are not owed a multi-hyphenate existence in pop culture. The scene of Nicci preparing for the sad, pathetic Brownstone reunion concert and mentioning Beyonce’s Super Bowl performance was….hilarious. It made me question if Nicci actually saw the performance:
- And speaking of Nicci Gilbert — the fake charity, the fake reunion tour, the fake fashion line. And on some level, her fakery should work in this context but it doesn’t because she’s so prickly when her bullshyt is exposed. If Nicci knew authenticity and honesty, there would be no ragefests when she’s questioned about the words that come out of her mouth. Of course, she may be crafting a villain narrative to build a ‘brand’ but can she be more Bond villain than cretin villain?
- Oprah has built a brand. Martha Stewart has built a brand. Paula Deen has built a brand, even if corporations are scurrying away from it like rats, it’s still a brand. Not one of these women has a brand, no matter what snake oil Rufus from Atlanta is trying to sell to them. They have voices and a reality show. Keke Wyatt’s wide eyed assertion that she has a brand clarified two things for me: 1. She doesn’t know what a brand is and 2. She doesn’t know what a brand is. Keke’s confusion seems to stem from a belief that her desire to be fascinating automatically means that she is and that fiction can be converted into albums, tours, books and other pop culture platforms. Syleena has the same problem — what kind of mogul in training hosts an event with a captive audience but without product to purchase? I wish there was an understanding from Syleena and Nicci of the baby steps required to build a brand out of a mid-level R&B singing career.
- Finally, what amazes and befuddles me is how these women are stuck in the time of their past glories. The collective mindset on display seems to be that the marketplace hasn’t fundamentally shifted and they can still have sustainable careers just because they want it. I don’t watch to laugh/mock them; I watch because I like being able to identify lunatic behavior so I can manage it.
….people will do anything to alleviate their anxiety. We will overindulge in legal and illegal substances. We will ignore what we say matters most. We will lay down and opt out. But by far, the coping mechanism that benefits the creator of the enormously popular Mad Men is our obsessing over the emotional worlds of the employees of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce.
(An aside: I feel dumb writing about Mad Men. It’s pop culture/blogger catnip, but what does this post offer other than working out my own emotional reactions to a 21st century take on denial and regret? Solipsism is icky. Keep reading, there may be an answer.)
Weiner has had me (and maybe you?) on the hook for five seasons wondering how Don Draper does it. How does he vogue as upstanding citizen while smothering the part of him that is despairingly lonely and small? Remember the episode in season five when Don breaks down to Peggy after Anna’s death:
When is Don Draper going to realize that it’s not Dick Whitman vs Don Draper, but it’s gonna be Dick Whitman and Don Draper? Too terrified to let his sadness, heartbreak and tenderness breathe and heal. And Sunday’s season opener showed he’s still fighting it.
My soul sank when I saw him bed with another woman who wasn’t his wife. My brain screamed again with this shit? All this time to return to being a drunk adulterer hiding from himself? And rationally I know it’s familiarity for him but that was it. I broke up with Don Draper.
For me, what I enjoyed as entertainment (oh how I love Roger Sterling) is now torture. Hoping, fearing what happens if/when Don does or doesn’t actually accept who he is is getting to me. I can’t watch or wait for what’s next for Don. Or Peter. Or Roger. Or Joan. Or Betty. (I’m not worried about Peggy or Megan — they were built for these times.) For me, it’s too painful to watch people not deal with themselves because it’s all too close to life.
I applaud Matthew Weiner for knowing how to make viewers squirm in recognition that Don’s constipated monkey routine is fear and stagnation personified. Thankfully, I heard him when Don said “I want to stop doing this.” Ah hope. But right now in this space and time, there’s nothing more to be gained for me to keep hiding out with Mad Men.
…had a play day at Building 92 at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. It seems too remote to become a habitable community with apartments, delis, dry cleaners and oh oh coffee shops, but Dumbo was just as remote at one time and look at it now! The hard part is if the BNY developers will figure out how to residents will get home safely after the sun goes down.
…a guy exposed himself on 6th Avenue. I didn’t look directly at his peen, but I saw it in his hand. Other people saw it too but they had the mental quickness to look away. Doubly stunned because it was under 40 degrees.
…have a new Thursday night ritual: Scandal, facial, red wine. Beauty and drama!
…homemade pear gorgonzola salad with walnuts does it for me.
…Roger Ebert’s review of Tyler Perry’s latest movie moved me. Ebert really loved film with his brilliant big heart. Tyler Perry needs to figure out if he does.