SGALGG: BFF Off

Hey, who wants to see pretty gals being pretty together? Yeah, I thought so. And who wants to see pretty gals being pretty together pitted against other pretty gals being pretty together? Do I know you people or what? I’ve decided to pit TV best friends against actual best friends and see who comes out the victor. It’s a very special SGALGG BFF Off. So here you have it: “Gossip Girl” BFFs Leighton Meester and Blake Lively v. Aussie BFFs Nicole Kidman and Naomi Watts. Make believe or reality? And…fight (but in a friendly way)! [Click any and all to enlarge.]

Hand HoldingHugging it OutInappropriate PDAGet a Room, Already

Well? Who takes it? Or is this a very special Girl Scouts moment where we’re making new friends, but keeping the old?

Fly on, my sweet angel

Believe it or not, I didn’t watch “Charlie’s Angels” too much as a kid. I was too young when it first started airing and then there was this thing about my undying love and devotion to Wonder Woman. Not that you have to pick one or the other. But when you’re pre-school age and your parents are convinced TV will rot your brain, you might only be allowed to watch one show featuring impossibly hot women in skimpy outfits who jiggle a lot when they run. So the Angels phenomena was a little lost on me until years and years later. And, as long as we’re being completely honest, Kate Jackson – turtlenecks and all – was my favorite Angel and crush. I just have a thing for the smart ones.

This, of course, takes nothing away from the spectacular, tawny wonder that was Farrah Fawcett. Everyone knows The Poster. Fuck “Baywatch,” she made the one-piece red swimsuit. And, of course, the hair – heavens, the hair. So her passing last week after a brutal and brave battle with cancer was a stark reminder of our collective humanity. It was also a reminder that people’s personal connections with the icons of their youth are stronger (way stronger – damn, people – I come in peace) than we realize sometimes. Last week, almost every tribute to Farrah I read mentioned the countless teenage boys who had her poster on their walls. But let’s not forget the gals who, no doubt, stared with more than just girlish admiration at Farrah’s thrown-back head and cascading golden mane.

Still Farrah was more than just a pretty face. Not all spectacularly sexy women want to be more than just spectacularly sexy. But Farrah did. In groundbreaking roles like “The Burning Bed” and “Extremities” she shed light on the plight of abused women. And then, sadly, when she was diagnosed with cancer, she again used her light to shine it on her battle and raise awareness about the disease. Gorgeous, iconic, conscientious, courageous. Farrah’s life – filled with its beauty and grace, struggle and pain – is a reminder that it’s the journey not the destination that matters.

My Weekend Crush

If you think about it, after yesterday’s shocking death of Michael Jackson, Madonna may be the most famous living person in the world. There are only a handful of stars left in that stratosphere. You can name presidents, Popes, Oprah. But for sheer celebrity power, it was really only Michael and Madonna atop a mountain of fame so universal it transcended borders and languages and possibly time itself. As we all know, the spectacular, strange and ultimately sad life of Michael Jackson ended yesterday. After the news broke, I couldn’t help wondering if Madonna felt lonely, if only for a moment, standing by herself on top of the world.

Their lives were intricately intertwined, yet followed sharply different paths. They were both born in the middle of America, only 13 days apart. They both rose to fame in the 80s, pioneering the age of wanting your MTV. They both sang and danced and entertained in a way no one had seen before. They both thrived on reinvention, even if one’s was less calculated and more pathological. They were both icons, in the truest sense of the word. But from there, their lives forked. The details of Michael’s spiral from fairy tale to cautionary tale don’t need to be rehashed. Whereas Madonna has been able to remain both relevant and relatively (dare I say it) normal. Well, as normal as anyone known globally by a single name who has sold 200 million albums and starred in more than a dozen major motion pictures can be.

Through her smarts, strength and savvy, Madonna has built a career that is both impressive and unparalleled. No one succeeds at that level and for that long by accident. She is unquestionably talented, but it is her staying power that truly dazzles. Quite simple, she has something that so many others lack: the will and the might to shape her own destiny. In light of this singular moment in our pop culture history, and in honor of Pride, I can’t think of a better crush this weekend. The king is dead, long live the queen. Happy weekend, all.

Gender Fuck Thursday

Today, we’re kicking it old school with our gender fuckery. No, not old skool. Actually old and possibly things you learned in school. After all, a nicely tailored suit isn’t the only way to have a drag. Something I noticed about these period piece drag shows? Men (or women dressed as men) used to wear a lot more layers. And buttons. And, gosh, their shirts were frilly. I’ve got to say, today’s standard dude gear of a T-shirt, cargo shorts and sandals should be considered a reverse Darwin on the menswear evolutionary scale. Let’s let these ladies show us how the boys used to do it. (Bonus points for Natalie Portman, above, for showing us how the boys AND girls used to do it).

Anne Hathaway, “Twelfth Night”Is that a sword in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
[Hat tip, Sarah!]

Keira Knightley, “Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest”You’d wear a lot of hats too if you looked that good in them.

Gwyneth Paltrow, “Shakespeare in Love”Worst. Soul patch. Ever.

Rachael Stirling & Keeley Hawes, “Tipping the VelvetDouble your drag, double your fun.

Hey, four eyes

Am I the only one who totally geeked out about Rachel Maddow recently debuting her new blue glasses? I can’t be, surely. In fact I know I’m not. But my geeking out over her new, blue Clark Kent look comes in part because earlier this month I took on my own new, blue Clark Kent look. And now I’m little worried that people will think I’m pulling a Maddow. Not that there is anything wrong with that, clearly. But I’d also like people to think I do – every now and then (usually then) – actually have an original thought in my head. The good news is my new glasses have a few very important distinctions from Rachel’s.

First, I wear my glasses less than her – just mostly around the house, when running errands, being lazy and feeling incapable of poking myself in the eye with my contacts. Second, mine are metal frames – I can’t wear the big, bulky plastic ones. Actually, I’ve kind of been going back and forth with my choice of frames. Too nerdy? Too 1950s high school principal? Too look up in the sky, it’s a bird, it’s a plane?

Well crap, I might as well let you weigh in:

But what I really think Rachel has done is help me finally make peace with my purchase. (No one here needs to be told she is “the new sexy,” as dubbed by The Village Voice.) My glasses are just nerdy and just hot enough. Who knows, with pride coming up this weekend, maybe I can even get a little of Maddow’s smart-girl magnet charm to rub off on me. (Yes, that’s Ana Marie Cox and Rachel making lesbian hearts everywhere go pitter-patter over the weekend).

Plus, I’ve got one more thing over Maddow for sure in the glasses department. I actually can take off my glasses, shake out my hair and say, “Do you know what the penalty is for an overdue book?”

So slay me

I have, as I’ve admitted repeatedly, never seen or read “Twilight.” I just couldn’t quite wrap my mind around the idea of a Mormon housewife writing a not-so bodice ripper about a chaste, sparkly vampire who obsesses stalks falls for a human girl. That said, I certainly don’t begrudge anyone who enjoys the series. And I don’t begrudge that Mormon housewife. Get down with your bad, not-getting-down self, lady. But what I don’t and will probably never understand is the phenomena that is “Twilight.” OK, sure, it’s the star-crossed Romeo & Juliet story told with vampires and without the unfortunate drinking of poison or stabbing of one’s bosoms. But I guess what I really want to know is, um, why? Why this vampire story? Why this fangmance?

And, more importantly, why not “Buffy the Vampire Slayer?” Sure, Buffy had its fans – its wonderful, loyal, equally-crazed fans. But Buffy was always more of a cult show; a series enjoyed by those in the know. And, clearly, David Boreanaz is dreamy and all, but I don’t think his mere presence caused 13-year-old girls to practically self-immolate in a firestorm of squeals. I mean, the show was on the WB (back when they had a frog as a logo) and the UPN (back when, well, when UPN existed) for God’s sake! Perhaps (and very likely) I’m just in the wrong demographic to understand. Though, I’ve seen more than a few of my female married-with-children co-workers toting around the books slavishly. So, to make a long, rambling questioning of the universe somewhat shorter:

What does this have?That this doesn’t?

Oh, and just for the record, Buffy would totally, totally have kicked Edward’s ass. No contest. End of story. Seriously, put a stake in it.

p.s. Buffy also had Willow. Nerdy. Lesbian. Witch. Enough said.

Suck it, Monday

I know I should wait until Thursday, I know I should. I mean, if Tilda Swinton isn’t the living, breathing embodiment of Gender Fuck Thursday, then the words have no meaning to me anymore. But, sometimes you need a little of Thursday (or even Wednesday or on those most terrible of weeks Tuesday) on Monday. Granted, it would be greedy to wish for a Friday on Monday. But, what the hell, I’m a greedy fucking bastard. You know what else I’m greedy about? Beautiful women being beautiful. And, for the photo snob in me, it helps it they’re being beautiful in black and white. See? Greedy.

Old School TildaIf I was that horse, I’d lick her, too.

Marion CotillardBoy may not, but this girl definitely makes passes at girls who wear glasses.

Helen MirrenNever mind that other Lady, meet Dame Gaga.

Cate BlanchettMaking a joyful noise never looked so joyful.

Rachel WeiszI’ll let you know when I regain the ability to speak…

Pam GrierWhen all else fails, just beat the shit out of Monday until it complies.

My Weekend Crush

I love smart gals. I love funny gals. And I really love wicked gals. So when you find a wickedly smart, funny gal, well, swoon. Ana Marie Cox is all three served up with the best smirk in the business. The snarky journalist extraordinaire, political junkie and frequent Rachel Maddow flirter contributor has brought a refreshingly bold brand of reporting to the political arena. Equal parts policy, personality, passion and pubescent delight in sex jokes, Ana Marie is the kind of gal you’d love to have a beer, or six, with. She is unfailingly witty, unquestionably knowledgeable and unexpectedly fluent in the language of LOLcats. The former Wonkette editor made her bones in new media and continually connects with her audience through her blog, Twitter account and accompanying Twitpic stream. The Air America correspondent also writes for The Daily Beast and just started as a contributing editor and political columnist at Playboy.

Ana Marie is a pioneer in the new journalism that turns the messenger into a person, not just a byline. Sure, I don’t think Edward R. Murrow would have ever updated his viewers on his pants status or bed head situation. But in this age of the overshare, we want to make personal connections with even our news media. You don’t have to like a reporter to trust that what she tells you is true, but it also doesn’t hurt. And there is so much to like about Ana Marie. Her love of making Rachel blush. Her soft spot for all creatures great and small. Her proper employment of the term ZOMG. Her propensity for posting pictures of herself in bed all rumpled and delicious (for the love of ginger, click those). And her hair, her seriously lesbian hair. Oh, Ana Marie. If you were a gay lady, you’d give Rachel a run for her money with the lesbians. As is, you’re already getting us all to read Playboy “for the articles.” Happy weekend, all.

Don’t stop...

Alright. So, I’m not even going to set this up. I’m just going to let you hit play, wait 4 minutes and 15 seconds and then we’ll discuss. The only thing I will tell you is that there will be Journey, so headphones on if you’re around people opposed to rocking out.

Sooooooo. Yeah. That was. Yeah. I really have no idea whether I’m more amused or bemused by Ellen Page, singer Har Mar Superstar and “Whip It” co-star Alia Shawkat getting their Journey on. The video, unearthed by Ellen Page Online [Hat tip, Hellsturner!], is dedicated to Ellen’s mom, Martha Philpotts. I have no idea its significance beyond that. Maybe Martha has a thing for arena rock anthems. Or possibly she loves “Glee.” But I will say it warms the cockles of my heart to know that even a precociously-talented, Oscar-nominated actress can be afflicted with the horror of bad video and crappy audio.

My other take-away from those 255 seconds of endearingly odd off-key emoting is that Ellen Page is just the gayest cutest thing ever. Sure, I could have done with a little (OK, a lot) less of Har Mar’s naked torso. Still I discovered I’ll sit through a lot to see Ms. Page do push-ups and lean against a wall all Jordan Catalano-like.

Also, dude, what is up with all the “Don’t Stop Believin’” love of late? I mean, sure, you can play a wicked air guitar to the number and all, but this is getting ridiculous.

So, of course, this begs the question: Which recent rendition fills you with more (yes, I’m going to say it) glee?

Cherry (let’s hope it’s not a) Bomb

So, I really don’t know all that much about Kristen Stewart. I know she was in a movie I never saw about some sparkly chaste vampire. I know she looked eerily like a young Jodie Foster when she was 12. And I know she sets off all sorts of bells and whistles and alarms on some people’s ‘dar. But, given my limited exposure to her work (tabloid covers don’t count), I can’t share a certain demographic’s instaswoon when it comes to all things K-Stew.

But what I do know is that I love Joan Jett and The Runaways. And, given the current crop of pretty young things, I guess I’m OK with her selection as Our Lady of the Jett Black Hair for the new biopic on the seminal all-girl rock band. Christ, imagine if Megan Fox was picked to play Saint Joan? Shudder. To. Think. Also, am I the only one who thinks she is looking very Shane today?

Granted, when you see the Real vs. Memorex side-by-side, Kristen clearly needs to work on her swagger. Also, does Joan ever fucking age? Holy crap, what devil did she make a pact with and where can I sign? I’d even happily sign on to be a minion.

Then there’s also the business of formerly precocious tot Dakota Fanning playing Cherie Currie. Kristen and Dakota side-by-side look kind of like they’re orphans at the scruffy waif mall instead of teenage sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll machines. I mean, when you’re about as big as your guitar can you really bring the noise?

Sure, Cherie was 15 when she joined the band and Dakota is 15 now. But, um, I hope she’s a quick study in bad-assery.

Well, I guess we’ll find out if both gals can pull it off in 2010. But, for now, I’m going to try to keep an open mind and optimistic attitude about this project.

If nothing else, we can always just revel in the real thing.

Yeah, good luck rocking that garter belt, Dakota.

Tank Top Tuesday

Seeing the old, crazy, horse-loving Angelina yesterday got me feeling nostalgic. Sure, we all respect the new St. Angelina of the United Colors of Benetton. But, let’s face it, it’s the knife collection flaunting, blood-vial wearing, wet T-shirt wearing wild child we fell in love with in the first place. And you always remember your first. So today I thought I’d mix a little trip down memory lane with my tank tops. Here’s to some ladies who make me long for the good old days.

Drew BarrymoreI miss the old, crazy, Dave-flashing Drew, too.

Courtney CoxPlease let “Cougartown” be more funny, loveably neurotic Monica and less cold, dour Dirtmonger Lucy.

Katie HolmesThe robot masquerading as Katie will always, always make me sad.

Lauren GrahamGet this woman back on my TV. Now.

Erin DanielsSee above. Seriously.

Sarah Michelle GellarWild horses couldn’t drag me to see the new Joss-less, Scooby-less Buffy.

Danica McKellarI love it that Winnie Cooper grew up to be a math genius. And hot.