What Can You Say About a Legend?

A more appropriate question has perhaps never been asked about Elizabeth Taylor.
Eight marriages, violet eyes, and “White Diamonds” aside, the woman was a humanitarian, mother, and film icon in the way they don’t make film icons anymore.  It goes without saying that the world is a sadder and (might I add) less glamorous place without her.
While I attempt to formulate something in the way of a passable literary tribute to Ms. Taylor in time for TCM’s 24-hour marathon of her films on Sunday April 10th (beginning at 6 am ET/PT), here’s what Paul Newman (who is also missed) had to say when he was asked to speak about his dear friend, Elizabeth, for the channel a few years back:

Rest in peace, Dame Elizabeth.  You were one hell of a woman.

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There are some things I can’t deal with…

And this is one of them.
It’s like, can we not? Way to ruin one of my favorite songs from the late 90s, Glee. Were there no Kings of Leon songs lying around for you to massacre instead? Oh wait…
Apparently, this is the kind of shit that wins Golden Globes.  Darren Criss and his excessive mugging need to GTFO. Who would’ve thought A Very Potter Musical would still be the most respectable credit on his resume?

Our Whole Universe Was In a Hot Dense State…

Warning:  The following blog contains perhaps one too many potentially awkward metaphors.  Reader discretion is advised.

I grew up on television.  As a proverbial child of the 90s, television was many things to me before the internet intruded upon our relationship and shamelessly swept me off my feet: babysitter, surrogate parent, forbidden lover, and above all, friend.  I was a “couch potato” — as most modern children with parental-induced agoraphobia are — and unapologetically so.  For a long time, Saturday morning cartoons and family sitcoms were my shit.

Then things changed, as they are annoyingly prone to do.  ABC cancelled One Saturday Morning, family sitcoms became obsolete, and… I grew up.  The Dark Ages of American television had begun with “reality programming” at the sinking ship’s stern and— okay, I’ll stop with the dramatics and put it like this: things sucked until Chuck Lorre gave us The Big Bang Theory.   

TBBT is, quite simply, my crack.  Been onboard since the pilot, own all three seasons on DVD, would name my goldfish Sheldon Cooper if I had a goldfish, etcetera, etcetera.  Lorre (creator, writer, and producer) managed to do what so many in Hollywood couldn’t – he brought the sitcom into the new millennium, making it fresh, watchable, and most importantly, funny (can’t say I’m entirely surprised; he did, after all, do major work on Roseanne, the Holy Grail of sitcoms). 

My love for this show runs so deep that I feel obligated to be completely honest in my critique of its latest season: up until this week’s episode, I was worried.  Worried because the characters weren’t exhibiting any signs of growth; worried because Sheldon appeared to have become a caricature of himself; worried because the jokes were stale; worried because I wasn’t laughing.

Season Four is about one season too early for any show to jump the shark, and yet the signs, which I outlined above, are already there (it won’t happen officially until the writers go COMPLETELY assbackwards and give Sheldon a steady girlfriend).  I just pray that this week’s episode, where the gang hilariously embarked on a weekend getaway to a science conference, marks a turn for the better.  Interestingly, it appears the comedic stylings of Melissa Rauch (Bernadette Rostenkowski) and Mayim Bialik (Amy Farrah Fowler/Blossom) will be TBBT’s saving grace until the writers figure out to do with everyone else.  

But just like with a marriage, I’m in this thing for the long haul.  For better or for worse. In sickness and in health.  And that’s no bazinga.   

Oh, and here’s a little sumthin’ sumthin’ for the other sitcom lovers out there.  

When Sampling Goes Right

Theophilus London knows what’s up.
This is how you sample a song, make it your own, and still pay homage to the original artist.
While I’m still getting acquainted with his music, the best way I can describe what I’ve heard of this guy’s flow is this: Listening to a Theophilus London tracks is like seeing colours.  Lots of them.  Hey Wonderful samples Stevie Wonder’s 1984 hit Love Light in Flight. Isn’t he the cutest dancer?  Video below.

Is He Trolling Us?

This is what happens when an actor takes himself too seriously.
I’m referring to Zac Efron’s acceptance speech at last week’s People’s Choice Awards.  Whoever decides these things chose to name Efron this year’s Favourite Movie Star Under 25.  Ignore the fact that nobody watches the People’s Choice Awards.  And ignore the fact that Efron was named anyone’s (let alone “the people’s”) favourite anything under 25.  These are discussions for another day.  We’re here to talk about his voice.  Video below.
Get a load of that drawl.  For those of you who’ve never heard Efron speak before, no, he doesn’t normally sound like that.  Dude was born and raised in California, not Louisiana, where, indecently, he spent the last few months filming Hollywood’s latest movie to be based off of a Nicolas Sparks novel, The Lucky One.   His character’s from the South so the only logical explanation I can find for this fuckery is that Efron’s gone Method.  For a Nicolas Sparks movie of all things.  SMH.
And what the hell kind of speech was that?  Remember where you are, Zac.  Or is that asking too much since, evidently, you can’t even remember where you’re from?
I hope he’s just trolling.