Toronto Diary - February 2012
Wednesday, February 29, 2012

The post-Carrie Bradshaw world

Today, the blogospheres lit up with reports about a new CW series that would serve as a prequel to Sex and the City. The Carrie Diaries would focus on gay-fave Carrie Bradshaw's life before she grew up to be TV's premier fag hag. As someone who started watching SatC around the dawn of adulthood, I do have a special place in my heart for the plucky yet vulnerable sex-columnist who made it in the big city.

Which is why I think we need to let Carrie die.

The original incarnation of Carrie Bradshaw was powerful and confident in her worklife and her sexuality. Much like Xena, Buffy and even Ally McBeal, Carrie came around in a time when powerful women were becoming more prominent in pop culture. The '90s were a time when sex and power stopped being monopolized by straight men, and the largely male-dominated culture was forced to cede the fact that biologically speaking, gays and women still had enjoyed sex as much, and even more, than they did.

But then something weird happened: around the fifth season, something went haywire in Michael Patrick King's brain -- something that spilled over into the otherwise very funny 2 Broke Girls -- wherein MPS started confusing extravagant materialism for sexual liberation. Instead of being a powerful woman, Carrie became a woman with shoes. Unabashed sexuality was replaced with strappy Manolo Blahnik sandals.

Which is why I don't want to see any new Carrie Bradshaw. As far as I'm concerned, Carrie Bradshaw is still the woman from the first four seasons: confident, self-assured and unapologetic when it comes to her sexual desires. I don't want to see that idea permutated for the sake of shoes. 

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Tuesday, February 28, 2012

The Drag Race RuCap: SHNAP OUT OF IT!

Yes, another week has flown right by, and it's time again for another installment of the Drag Race RuCap. But this isn't just any episode. No . . . it's time again for the annual SNATCH GAME! Yes, the game show where the queens have to give their best celebrity impersonations! Let's take a look at the shit that worked and the shat that Chered.

The queens arrive back in the work room after the ousting of Madame LaQueer, who I still think should have gone further on the kitsch factor of her name alone, but I digress. In her voluminous wake, she leaves behind a message on the mirror, thanking Chad Michaels, Sharon Stone, Dida Ritz and Milan for being friends. Willam is temporarily saddened that she's not considered her friend, but then . . . nyeh. Not so much.

Ooooo, girl! You got SheMail! Ru name-drops a bunch of game shows, which means IMPENDING SNATCH GAME HOLY SHIT ON A WAFFLE FREAK THE FUCK OUT!!! But for now, we have to let ourselves simmer with the mini-challenge, where the girls must compete against each other in a round of game-show stunts. That Bitch Phi Phi, Sharon and Jiggly Caliente must play pin the chicken on Ru's face. That Bitch Phi Phi wins because Jiggly gets it in her hair (hey-o!), while Sharon uses the opportunity to feel My Imaginary Boyfriend Astronaut Mike Dexter. Bitch.

Chad, Latrice Mothafuckin' Royale and Dida are tasked with blowing a feather through the air across a finish line. Of course Dida wins, because Dida is a dirty, dirty whore, and she likes it like that. (My, that went to a weird place, didn't it?) And finally, Willam, Kenya and Milan are tasked with throwing rings around a rooster. Get it? Cock? Ring? Cockring? Oh Ru, you and your phallic punnery . . . Anyway, Milan is the only one able to even get so much as one ring around the rooster, so she wins.

Finally, That Bitch Phi Phi, Dida and Milan have to carry eggs in their vajenises through a gauntlet of wigs and lay them in a bucket, all while ignoring the fact that Ru appears to be wearing sofa upholstery. That Bitch Phi Phi wins, since Dida's thunder thighs disable her from carrying anything between them without crushing them into dust, while Milan is just . . . Milan. Anyway, TBPP wins a call home, and Ru finally reveals that this week's challenge is (Oh God . . . Oh God . . . OH GOD . . . ) the Snatch Game. (NNNNNNNNNNNGYUH. Towel please.)

That Bitch Phi Phi is nice enough to give Chad her phone call, since it's Chad's anniversary the next day. And before we go any further, can we talk about Chad Michaels for a hot minute? Let's get one thing straight: Chad is winning this challenge. This challenge was custom-made for Chad. Chad is such a convincing Cher, major tabloids have actually mistaken her for Chad. Sorry to spoil the ending for you, but honestly, there is no way in hell anyone will come even close. So basically, I'm considering whoever comes in second to be the winner of this challenge.

And oh, how Chad will just go on and on and on and on about Cher. Hell, considering his Cher impersonation pretty much paid for a down payment on his home, I can't blame him, but his devotion to Cher is insane, and I mean that in the best way. The other queens, however, don't see that in the best way. That Bitch Phi Phi, meanwhile, has decided to do Gaga, which is the most colossal mistake ever. Listen up, fledgling drag queens: you cannot do a Gaga impersonation. Here's the thing about Lady Gaga: she has zero personality. None. Nada. Zip. Lada Gaga thinks that costumes are a good substitute for having any sort of personality, so doing her is suicide, as demonstrated by Season 2's Sonique, who was sent packing for her on-point-but-still-entertaining-as-beige-paint Gaga. 

Anyway, on to the other queens. Kenya is doing Beyoncé, despite her syrup-thick accent; Willam is doing a perfectly dim Jessica Simpson; Milan is doing Diana Ross; and Sharon Needles is throwing some serious dice by playing Drag Race judge, and possible drag queen herself, Michelle Visage. Oh, and Jiggly is doing Snooki, Dida Ritz is doing Wendy Williams and Latrice is doing Aretha Franklin. But we're gliding over them because chances are they'll all be just safe.

On to the festivities! On hand to guest judge the competition are Loretta Devine and Ross Matthews. Who's Ross Matthews? Beats the shit outta me, but let's move on. Sharon's Visage is pitch-perfect when it comes to her look and abrasively funny persona, while Milan's Diana Ross looks like a child's birthday clown/serial murder-rapist. Willam's Jessica is adorable derpy and her look is fierce as fuck, and Latrice's Aretha is . . . just okay. Not great, but she'll be safe. Jiggly's Snooki is pretty damn close to the original, but That Bitch Phi Phi's Gaga is -- oh, how can I put this lightly? Oh, yes, she's off-putting as hell. Dida's Wendy is pretty good, Kenya WOOS! her way through her Beyoncé, and Chad Michaels IS Cher. IS. CHER.

The key to great improv comedy is specificity, something Sharon has in spades as she recounts the fake good ol' days with Ru. Kenya, on the other hand, literally manages to crazy herself out of her chair, which does not bode well, considering how often she's been called out for relying too heavily on crazy to fill the void. Chad/Cher still IS Chad/Cher, the line between the two of them becoming more and more blurry with each passing second. Milan's Diana Ross, on the other hand, seems to drift more and more toward some sort of dadaist Eddie Murphy impression, in a parallel universe where Eddie is a hacky singer, rather than a hacky actor. Willam's Jessica has some breaks where Willam starts to seep through, but ultimately, he has some incredibly witty moments, so I'm willing to look the other way on it. And Jiggly at one point borrows from the South Park spoof of The Jersey Shore, pouncing on That Bitch Phi Phi with wanton cries of "SNOOKI WANT SMOOSH SMOOSH!" Well played, Mz Caliente. Well played.

Latrice Mothafuckin' Royale, on the other hand, is not having it. She finds the antics of Jiggly, That Bitch Phi Phi and Kenya to be too much and resigns herself to glowering at everyone over their unprofessionalism. The glowering, it should be noted, is some of the shadiest shade that I have ever seen, and I am loving it. Chad is feeling the same way, and it looks like the two mama bears may need to step in and spank them children before the night is over.

And what do you know: in the workroom, Chad and Latrice sit the girls down and tell them in no uncertain terms that they will not have these shenanigans. Not just hijinx or tomfoolery, Latrice declares full-on SHENANIGANS. And you know what? She has a point. Some of the girls went too far in their physical comedy. Jiggly apologizes, but That Bitch Phi Phi and Kenya just sort of sit and fume. But never mind their shenanigans, because Chad gets to call his partner and wish him a happy anniversary. Everybody say "awwww!" But enough of that. Onto the mainstage we go, with RuPaul herself sporting a Cookie Monster chic dress. The category: Dressed to Impress. 

Jiggly's dress is a light-blue prom dress that brings to mind Jujubee, and Chad/Cher stomps it out in a giraffe-print bodysuit. Milan tips on the tightrope with a Janelle Monae-inspired tuxedo and pompadour that I feel would have served her better in the challenge than on the mainstage. Willam rocks a fetishy jumpsuit, complete with a foxtail, which I think must mean something in hanky code. If anyone has any answers, leave 'em in the comments. That Bitch Phi Phi is wearing the shoulder-pad dress she wore in her publicity stills for Drag Race, which is . . . kinda lame, actually. Dida, for once, manages to pull everything together with a pink-streaked black wig, teddy-bear skirt and makeup that all form a cohesive look. Kenya is wearing a boxer's cape because meh, why the fuck not. Sharon Needles is covered in bandages and carries a syringe with her, bringing to mind the sexy demon nurses from Silent Hill. Latrice's royal-blue dress is a little reminiscent of what she wore last week, but I'm still gagging on her eleganza.

Straight off the bat, Latrice, Jiggly and Dida are given their safety cards, which, given the trainwreck that this season's Snatch Game was, is probably for the best. Duck and cover, girls. Now for the tops and bottoms. Chad/Cher is, of course, praised beyond words for her portrayal. Willam's dumb little Barbie is also given her due kudos, but Michelle wants her to start showing more personality. Milan is raked over the coals for her terrible Diana impression, makeup and her drag king look. That Bitch Phi Phi is, of course, trampled for trying to impersonate Gaga, she of the non-existent personality and stupid costumes. Michelle Visage loves Chad's impression of her, as well as her mainstage look. And finally, Kenya is taken down for delivering a Beyoncé that is actually more Kenya.

Naturally, Chad/Cher wins, with Sharon coming in second (which means she won in spirit), but Willam also gets to have an . . . almost emotional breakthrough? She's sad to see a girl go home but thinks she's going to win anyway. The moment is . . . a tad nihilistic, to be honest. How odd. Anyway, That Bitch Phi Phi is also given a safe card, and oh look, more crying! Did someone throw on a copy of Beaches when I wasn't looking? Whatever. Milan and Kenya are in the bottom two and have to lip-sync Madonna's "Vogue," and Milan once again employs her classic "Mop the floor with your entire body" technique. Honestly, if Ru wants to cut the budget a bit, she should really just fire the janitor and hire Milan to sweep and mop up after everyone by smearing herself on the catwalk.

RuPaul apparently feels the same, because she delivers a shantay you stay unto Milan while giving the heave-ho to the pint-sized Kenya, who must sashay away back to Puerto Rico.

No, can we talk about Kenya Michaels here? Fierece bitch. Super fucking fierce. But the thing about her is that she was a lot of crazy with no real personality. High energy needs some sort of conduit or medium to pass through, otherwise it's all just a lot of wasted potential. So long, Kenya. I'm sure Madame LaQueer will be waiting with a cocktail for you. 

(Once again, gif credits to Logo's tumblr and FuckYeahRuPaulsDragRace.

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Monday, February 27, 2012

Because you can't see bitch-tits on the radio

What? How often will I get to make fun of Rob Ford AND give a shout-out to Georgie Girl in the same headline? Two birds: meet one stone.

Anyway, Rob Ford and his brother, Doug "What's a Library?" Ford, were given their own radio show on Newstalk 1010. In all fairness, if Rush Limbaugh's radio show can keep bringing in listeners, then doubling the number of pudgy, moon-faced morons on a radio show would be even better, right?

Only, it turns out it was kinda boring. Turns out, the guy really wants a subway. That's about all that anyone could glean from the two of them. They just really want a subway. And they named-dropped Scarborough. A lot. It was like that scene in The Wizard of Oz where Dorothy looks behind the curtain and behind all the bluster and theatrics there is just some weird guy sitting by himself yammering into a microphone. Up the sadness factor by tenfold and you have a basic approximation of what it's like to listen to Rob Ford and his brother wish for things that will never be.

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Sunday, February 26, 2012

Remembering the heroes

Look, I know that in a couple hours we'll all be up to our nipples in the Oscars (side note: I hate the word nipple. I have no idea why. Love nipples, but hate the word itself), but for just a tiny little moment, let's all remember that there are men and women out there serving overseas to help keep the peace. Like this soldier, who got to return home to the man he loves. Aren't they adorable together?

Anyway, whether or not you'll be watching the celebrity circlejerk known as the Oscars tonight, take a moment to send some good vibes to everyone who's out there fighting to keep everything on the level. (Adding: Yes, I know, the guys are American, but it's all just too damn cute to pass up! Also, everone loves a man in uniform.) 

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Saturday, February 25, 2012

Oscar betting without giving a f*ck

Anyone can put down $50 on The Artist to win Best Picture, and anyone can measure the odds as to whether or not Octavia Spencer will win Best Supporting Actress over Melissa McCarthy. Fact of the matter is, the Oscars are usually boring and unwatchable, and all the winners are picked by an insular group of people about as far removed from you as a relaxing massage is from teabagging an anglerfish. My point is you need to spice up the Oscars, and what better way to do that than to bet on the Oscars without giving a single fuck? Here's your guide to Oscar betting like the honeybadger you are.

 

Odds Billy Crystal will spend the entire show in the same "I just shit my pants" position as James Franco did last year: 100 to 1.

Odds Uggie will do something cute in order to wake up the audience: 2 to 1.

Odds the horse from War Horse will do something cute in order to wake up the audience: 25 to 1.

Odds the horse from War Horse will be sold to a glue factory immediately after the ceremony when the movie doesn't win anything: 150 to 1.

Odds Melissa McCarthy will shit into a sink again: 1,000 to 1.

Odds Gary Oldman will shit into a sink again: 3 to 1. 

Odds one of the Kardashian sisters will show up, even though they've never been in a movie -- Epic Movie doesn't count -- have no talent and shouldn't be there: 1 to 1. (Feel free to take a shot when you see them on the red carpet. In fact, take two if it's the one who looks like a Wookie.)

Odds one of the nominees will wear a sheer dress that accidentally reveals her nipples: 10 to 1.

Odds it'll be Christopher Plummer: 5 to 1.

Odds Meryl Streep will accept her Best Actress Oscar while still in her character from The Iron Lady: 20 to 1.

Odds Meryl Streep will accept her Best Actress Oscar while still in her character from The Ant Bully: 500 to 1.

Odds Woody Allen will masturbate just a tiny bit anytime someone mentions A Night in Paris: 5 fingers to 1 penis.

Odds you'll get sick of referring to Jonah Hill as "Academy Award nominee Jonah Hill" reeeeeeeeeal fast: I already hate it.

Odds George Clooney and Brad Pitt will just get it over with and fuck already: Please?

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Jeremy Feist


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