I Like TV As Much as the Next Gal, But C'mon

Like the other 23 million Netflix subscribers out there, I wasn't pleased to receive their recent email announcing a substantial rate hike without simultaneous improvement to the generally meh streaming library. However, I was taken aback by the intensity of the massive public outcry against what amounted to an additional five dollars a month. A slap in the face? A betrayal? Strong language for a modest bump in the entirely non-essential entertainment budget line. Only days before, the California State University system announced a 12% tuition hike that hardly received any coverage. Priorities? Yes, we have them and our future idiot workforce will be our proof.

Apropos of nothing, I am loving on Martha Plimpton so hard right now. She was just nominated for her role on the very funny Raising Hope and her Twitter feed is freaking fantastic. Yes to follow!

And here is Stephen Colbert, responding to a recent and thoroughly eye-rolly advertising campaign in the only sane way one can (probably NSFW):

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Extreme Rain, Extreme Couponing

Item 1: This fucking rain. Enough. Already.

Item 2: Extreme Couponing. I grew up with a coupon-clipping mom who took the Sunday ritual of rifling through the circulars seriously. Scissors in hand, she would file coupons into her blue alphabetized accordion file which we were not to touch except to retrieve for her en route to the grocery store.

Extreme Couponing is nothing like this. The goal of extreme couponers is not to save a little on things you need this week but to pay as little as possible for as much as possible, whether or not you need it or can possibly use it within this millennium. Extreme Couponers strategically apply coupons, rebates and grocery store discount cards for things they don't need like bags of Nerds and fistfuls of Mentos to apply savings to things that they do need, like cases of soda, valu-paks of hot dogs and pallets of instant mashed potatoes. The goal of every Extreme Couponer is two-fold: to walk away from the grocery store with hundreds of dollars worth of items for less than $50 (less is ideal) and to grow their stockpile--a beloved collection of neatly arranged items warehoused in spare rooms, closets and garages. This show is like Hoarders cross-pollinated with off-the-grid survivalists with a sprinkling of Oprah fairy dust. The sheer determination and organization of these women made me wonder why they weren't applying their prodigious talents running global businesses instead of amassing bottles of Febreeze and Olay Body Wash, but that question is beyond the scope of this ranty post.

Item 3: The FDA issued new eating guidelines last week to address the growing obesity epidemic, called MyPlate.



Pretty straightforward, right? Much easier to look at how your plate is divided than to figure out how much 3 ounces of meat is or how many green beans are in a half cup. If you've even watched ten minutes of Extreme Couponing you'll know that no one on that show is filling half their grocery carts with fruits and vegetables and the most prominent grocery item featured on the show is soda, nowhere to be seen on MyPlate.

Check out nutritionist and food activist Marion Nestle's reaction to MyPlate but if you're not feeling clicky here's a hint of what might need to change to ensure all Americans have access to affordable fruits and vegetables to cover half their plates:

Pat Tillman

I reluctantly wrapped up the first season of The Walking Dead, leaving the post-zombie apocalypse world to find my next Netflix offering: The Tillman Story. On the surface, reader, this was a queue management fail but I persevered. There was nothing else to watch.

I knew the Pat Tillman story had something to do with the war in Iraq. However, I think I may have been conflating the Tillman family with the Sheehan family. My lack of sports knowledge is entirely to blame. It truly is a cultural handicap for which I require a reasonable accommodation.

Both the Sheehans and the Tillmans are from California. Each had sons killed in war in 2004: Casey Sheehan in Iraq and Pat Tillman in Afghanistan. The mothers of each man were spurred into action following their deaths; the similarities end there.

After Casey Sheehan was killed by enemy fire in Iraq, his mother Cindy subsequently became an outspoken critic of the war and of Bush's and later Obama's foreign and military policies. In 2008, Sheehan launched an unsuccessful bid for Congress in California, although she captured 16% of the vote, which is really pretty good considering she ran against Nancy Pelosi.

If you're anyone other than me, you already know who Pat Tillman was, but humor me: Pat Tillman was a football player for the Arizona Cardinals who famously turned down a $3.6 million contract to enlist in the Army with his brother Kevin shortly after September 11th.

The documentary, directed by Amir Bar-Lev, describes Tillman as disillusioned with the war after his first deployment in Iraq but returned for his second deployment to Afghanistan, where he was killed by friendly fire. This is not what the Army first reported to the family. In fact, as the movie unfolds, it becomes clear that the Army went to great lengths to cover up this incident, then try to cover up their cover-up.

On the one hand, I get it. The country's most famous soldier, a poster boy for patriotism and sacrifice for country, has been killed by another American with no enemy combatants in sight. What a shit show. Yet, this is one of the things that can and does happen during a war. Based on interviews in the film, I bet the Tillmans would have had a lot more respect had the Army simply acknowledged the terrible reality of these kinds of deaths that are part of war. But no, they suppressed the truth and tried to cover it up despite the event being witnessed by a fellow soldier who has consistently maintained what happened that day. I mean my god, if you're really intending to cover-up, then cover up! Kill all the witnesses! It's like the toddler who 'hides' by covering their eyes with their hands.

It gets worse. When responding to the Tillman family-encouraged government investigation of what happened and why, the responses from military leaders were all essentially variations on "I didn't get the memo" that Tillman had been killed by friendly fire.

Really! It makes total sense that when Tillman enlisted, Donald Fucking Rumsfeld sent him a personal thank you letter, but when Tillman was killed by fratricide, Rumsfeld didn't find out. At least not right away. Actually he's not sure when he found out. The memo may have been sent to the wrong office or misfiled by some incompetent clerk. Sure! I believe that! It's so hard to find good help.

The movie doesn't address the question of whether Tillman was actually assassinated. This is odd, because the circumstances surrounding his death are rather questionable--there was no sign of enemies according to the witness, no evidence of enemy gunfire, so what exactly prompted the other Americans to start shooting?

There are lots of articles on interwebs positing that this is exactly what happened. In addition to the lack of the cue for the shooting, Army medical examiners felt the bullet holes in Tillman's head did not support the story as relayed, but rather pointed to a closer-range shooting. Could the Army have been so worried that Tillman, their celebrity soldier who was disillusioned and not afraid to say so, would publicly tarnish the war that they decided to have him killed? I think I need to entertain the possibility.

Turkeydaze

Reader, I thought I would be writing a scathing commentary about the incessant marketing of "Black Friday" and "Cyber Monday." How we can't possibly allow our gratitude to spill over into the day after Thanksgiving because what we really care about is stuff. Cheap stuff.

But then I encountered this clip and thought, this is disgusting. What in the world did black folks ever to do Sandra Lee?

Music Monday Meets Confessional Tuesday

Reader, I'm coming out of the closet.

I like some of the music of John Mayer.

Whew. That's a relief. It's no longer a dirty little secret between me and Pandora.

I know, I KNOW! He has said some of the douchiest things in recent pop star history. He should never allow himself to be interviewed, twittered or facebooked. Music and music only!

Bear with me, reader. Live is the only way to go here. Live, the whiff of cheese emitted by his studio work dissipates.

Two of my favorites:

Wait, Whut?

Reader, interesting news is afoot. Read on:

Jessica Simpson has announced her engagement to some football player she's been dating for seven months. A week after her ex Nick Lachey announced his engagement to his girlfriend Vanessa something or other. I get no pleasure in predicting there will be no wedding for Jessica.

As suspected since he resigned as Obama's chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel finally announced that he is indeed running for mayor of Chicago. I don't get this move at all. Any politically minded reader care to 'splain?

Please go look at the stunning creations of one Tex Saverio. He appears to be the heir of Alexander McQueen, may he rest in peace. Btw: highlight of a recent trip to Vegas was a visit to the Alexander McQueen store at the Wynn.

Gwyneth Paltrow sang "Country Strong" from her upcoming movie of the same name at the CMAs and it was real boring. No link for you, reader. Trust. Here she is guesting on Glee with "Forget You." Also boring. This whole paragraph is boring.

Let's Hope This is a Hoax

Reader, did clothing retailers learn nothing from the Gap logo redesign debacle?

Maybe not. Urban Outfitters just unveiled their logo that looks a lot like what you designed for your junior high literary magazine. In 1993.

What. The. Heck?

Another Celeb Couple Calls It Quits, Plus

Oh, reader. I'm no better than US Weekly with my gossipy ways. However, I will make a commitment to never broadcast anyone's cellulite. There's a standard for you.

Moving right along. The incredibly talented and gorgeous Rachel Weisz and her husband director Darren Aronfsky have split after nine years of marriage. Can it be true that she's with Daniel Craig? He seems too old for her. Nope, I'm wrong. He's 42 to her 40 but check him out. Weathered, no?

I'm not sure why gay rumors have been swirling around Jake Gyllenhall for years. Is it solely because he played a gay cowboy in Brokeback Mountain? Interwebs search yields one Austin Nichols, actor and friend of Gyllenhalls's since high school and prime suspect boyfriend. Here they are at a Lakers game. If they are together, they are unbearably cute. I would pick this guy over Taylor Swift any day of the week.

Reader, if a train wreck had a wreck with another train wreck, it would be a lot like Married to Rock, the new reality tv show on E! about rock star wives. Wreckiest of all is Josie Stevens, wife of Steve Stevens. What can I say? My jaw dropped the moment she hit the screen ad pretty much never closed. Here's a clip for your viewing torture.

Troubling Fashion Trend: Spats

Reader, while perusing a Garnet Hill catalog I saw two pairs of boots that made me go 'hmm.'





There's something about the second pair that's kind of zexy but I think it's the corset-style lacing rather than the spat effect. I'm cosigning the tan suede as the black ones just read as professional dom, don't you think?

What the hell is the point of spats, anyway? I thought they were originally supposed to keep your shoes and lower part of your pants protected from all the horse poop in the streets back in the day but I can find nothing to support this theory. I guess they're just decorative. MJ sports gangsta spats in the Smooth Criminal video. Great dancing in this video btw.

I'm inclined to thumbs down this shoe trend. What say you, reader?

"You Can't Tell Me I'm Not Giving You Hot Pants"

What it is, reader! I've just launched a new blog called Second Life. Go on over there and check it out.

I'll still be posting here at Professional Critic. I know you have procrastination needs during the workday and I take that seriously, trust.

To celebrate the arrival of the fourth season of Mad Men, here's a montage of seduction scenes to make your pants hot:



For me, Duck at 2:06 takes it. Enjoy!

Professional Critic Rounds It Up

What it is reader!

A round up of the most important news of the day.

Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel. On? Off? Rhianna? Yes? No? Can I please get a straight answer?

I'm sort of excited to see Whip It!

There are so many new crappy shows this fall! Avoid especially: Eastwick, Trauma. Epic suck. But Glee is pretty awesome.



Kate Harding reminds us that Roman Polanski raped a child. With people (including, yes, Woody Allen) falling all over themselves in their codependence to protect Polanski from the consequences of his own assholic actions, I think they do need to be reminded.

Baby pygmy hippos are so fucking cute:



I guess David Letterman had affairs with some of his staffers, then was the victim of an extortion plot. Can't muster up any feeling about this.

This is Banned Books Week. Celebrate your freedom to read by picking up one of the most challenged books in the US.

Timeless

Reader, tonight I was watching some episodes of Flight of the Conchords. Bret and Jemaine are super fabulous, as I wrote about here and if you have never seen FOTC, do correct straightaway. During episode 3 of the second season, Bret's newly-formed gang busts out into song and dance a la West Side Story:



Which reminded me how a few months ago I decided it was bordering on criminal that I had never seen West Side Story, which is all like classic and stuff, so I attempted to watch it on Netflix Watch Instantly. I say "attempt" because I couldn't make it past the Prologue. Unfortunately I was unable to suspend disbelief long enough to be convinced that the roving band of flaming homosexuals in tight pants and dance shoes was a menacing street gang. I just couldn't do it. Here's the whole Prologue; 1:40 on should fill you with fear:



Have you ever seen anything so deliciously gay?

What Not To Wear: Cutting Deeper

Reader, today was my birthday. I am OLD years old. So I wanted to look, you know, a little nicer. I pulled out a lovely 3/4 sleeve ballerina style wrap sweater with crochet detail that I bought at Filene's Basement about six months ago but had yet to wear. This would be the right occasion to finally take the tags off!

Reader, it looked TERRIBLE. Whatever possessed me to buy a sweater that looked this bad? I clearly remember standing in front of the mirror at Filene's, tying the sweater this way and that, trying to get it to look the way it did in my head. You know, like Debbie Allen in Fame:



My efforts were in vain, but I bought it anyway, of course. I fell into Big Clothing Myth #1: If you love it, it must look good. Never mind what your reflection is actually telling you.

Since I couldn't put my finger on why exactly I didn't look like graceful Debbie Allen but possibly more like homeless woman, I chalked it up to things that I could change. With better pants, better hair, better lighting, in a different time zone, I was going to wear the shit out of this sweater.

But now, it will join the ranks of the discarded, unworn. With eyes unclouded by visions of Debbie Allen, I can see the problems, and they are legion: the sweater terminates at maximum love handle. The back is too loose and boxy, the opposite of what a slim ballerina sweater should be. Though interesting, the color is somewhat difficult. And it is highly likely that my cats would have snagged the crap out of all that crochet work.

Oh well, reader. Chalk it up to a learning experience.

What Not to Wear: Oakland Edition

I live in a one bedroom apartment with a pretty good amount of closet space but no other storage to speak of. Hence, the trunk of my car serves as a closet annex where I store camping gear and other outside/dirty stuff that would otherwise go in a garage like the grill, beach chairs, etc. But even with this storage on wheels, my bedroom closet was getting over-full and yet I still felt that I had nothing to wear. It was with this sense of frustration that I plowed through my closet this weekend. My mission: ditch anything that hadn't been worn in a year, was not flattering, or didn't fit properly. And be ruthless.

What I learned from today's exercise:

1. It doesn't matter how nice or expensive they are: unless I lose significant inches from my hips, stomach and butt, or grow four inches I must never EVER wear pleated pants again. I have seen tall, lanky women rock pleated pants in that fabulous gender-bending Greta Garbo way. But on my short, short-waisted, muffin-topped self? Schlumpy librarian. Goodbye.

2. Long dresses/skirts: disaster. Skirts should end anywhere in the zone between right above the knee and mid calf. Period. Though I would make an exception for a fabulous muumuu should one ever cross my path. I decided to spend some money shortening my very favorite skirt, an awesome Goodwill find, and a dress that I love, so that I look more fabulous and less like an extra on Big Love.

3. Boxy sweaters make me look like the Liberty Bell. Goodbye.

4. Despite the media blitz on the ropy muscular arms of Michelle Obama, Madonna and Sheryl Crow, I must admit defeat to my gene pool. I have the sausagey upper arms of the Russian/Italian/Irish peasant stock from which I come and am definitely not willing to go to the lengths it would take to overcome it. Instead, I ditched a half dozen shirts whose sleeves were too snug in that critical top third of the upper arm.

5. My sister recently met Stacey London of What Not to Wear and she gave the audience a lot of grief about capri pants, especially for the petite. I'm still on the fence about capris, or as my mom called them, "clam diggers." Done well, they seem to work on even semi-midgets like myself but I did ditch a few pairs today. I'm not sure if I understand yet what causes one pair of capris to be great and the other to be weirdly Munchkin-like. Thoughts, reader?

6. I've got quite a bit of junk in the trunk, as they say. Just like Sir Mix a Lot, I don't think it's possible for a woman's ass to look too big.



The downfall for the callipygian? Poor pocket placement, overly high-waisted, or both. To wit:



Poor Jessica Simpson got slaughtered for being fat in those last two pictures. Sure, she had gained some weight since sporting the Daisy Dukes, but the weight wasn't the problem. It was the damn high-waisted, weirdly-pocketed jeans. (Though that belt didn't help matters.) I said goodbye to a few of those today, too.

Reader, I filled four bags within an hour, brought them to the sidewalk outside my building, and they were gone almost instantly. I love city living! Not only does this save me a trip to the thrift store but I am thus prevented from having second thoughts and putting stuff back in the closet.

There are still some items in my closet that ought not be there according to the rules of my purge, but I made enough space so that I can open the closet door without all manners of clothing, blankets and lampshades falling on my head, so I'm satisfied for now.

Also? The older I get the more it becomes clear that I have exactly the same body shape as my mother. To think of all the times I mocked her unyielding shapewear, or compared her giant undies to a sail! Sorry I was such a brat.

Mrs. Lewis, Signing Out

What it is, reader! I've been sans interwebz for a bit now and learned that while an iphone is a lot like a computer, it can't actually take the place of one. Turns out that many of my favorite sites don't have mobile versions and even when they do, must have been tested on people using magnifying glasses.

But all is well again technically speaking at Professional Critic. Though I did find an impressive array of teeth marks in the phone line, it turns out to not be the cat's fault this time.

What the problem was exactly, I'll never know. While driving to work today I received a call from an AT+T robot this morning in response to the trouble ticket, urging me to stay on the line as it was URGENT THAT I SPEAK WITH A CUSTOMER REPRESENTATIVE.

So I listened to hold chatter for a very long time until I was connected to a service rep. After a comedy routine to rival Who's On First, surprise! He can't find me in their system, totally my fault for not having my trouble ticket number with me in the car or memorizing my DSL number, a number which I have never dialed in my life and never will because that's how these things work, friend. And though I have an AT+T cell phone number and every customer service rep I talked to in the past three days has repeated it back to me dutifully, he cannot find me that way, either. And he calls me, over and over, "Mrs. Lewis," which is not remotely close to my name, and really? Isn't my account up on the screen in front of you? Does the name "Mrs. Lewis" appear anywhere in my account? Because I bet it doesn't.

I'm not sure what was so URGENT because everything is copacetic now. But I'm horribly behind on what's been happening on the information superhighway and have nothing to offer except this baby elephant Luk Chai, from the Taronga Zoo, courtesy of Zooborns:

Oy and Then ...

Reader, preeminent African-American scholar and Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. was arrested on his own front porch for allegedly breaking into his own house last week. NOT GOOD. Then James Hannaham from Salon writes that the incident has made him "proud of America" because Gates was only arrested and not actually lynched by the police? Umm ... hooray? You can read more about this fiasco here and here.

Let's take a break from racial profiling and cancer to watch a clip from 30 Rock. This particular segment has got to be one of the damn funniest moments of this show and one of the many times I am absolutely mesmerized by Alec Baldwin:

Music Monday Tribute to Mother's Day

This digital short from Saturday Night Live is a little bit wrong, but mostly pretty right. May not be super safe for work; keep the volume down and you'll be okay I think.