Blogging the Golden Globes

I missed the first hour of the Globes because there was an all-new episode of Rock of Love on. I’m not sorry, it was definitely the right decision. There weren’t enough shots of Bret strumming his guitar by himself or enough fights by the coke-addled hookers in retirement, but Bret kept Brittaney the psycho around for one more week, so bravo.

Also, I live in Los Angeles, where all the award shows are filmed, but somehow come on television on a tape delay, so all the winners had already been announced and I could see all the results on imdb. I really wish somehow we could figure that whole mess out, it seems stupid to be sitting here in the entertainment capital of the world watching an award show that already happened three hours ago. All the Golden Globe parties are happening as we speak and only those of us not cool enough to get invited to one of them are sitting around watching the awards. But I digress…

9:18 – Wow, they really cleaned Megan Fox up. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she wasn’t that skank from “Transformers” with the random tattoos on her midsection.

9:30 – 30 Rock wins another Best Comedy Series award. I swear, 30 Rock wins so much the Yankees are scared to play them (yes, that’s a poorly paraphrased old Chris Rock joke, deal with it). Also, great call letting Tracy Morgan give the acceptance speeches from now on. “I’m the new face of post-racial America. Deal wit it Cate Blanchett!” A black man really can’t get no love at the Emmys.

9:43 – God, Pierce Brosnan looks old. That reminds me, I’m buddies with his son. Pierce might be croking soon, I should probably give him a call.

9:44 – They’re calling him Sean Combs now and apparently being referred to by his government name is severely inhibiting Diddy’s reading capacities. Although, I suppose you don’t really need to know how to read to count money and yell at people. Am I really the only one who wants him to scream “I’m shuttin down the studio!” or ask AR Ruhman — who just won for Slumdog Millionaire — to go fetch him some cheesecake.

9:53 – They just showed another commercial for Friday Night Lights on NBC. Minka Kelly is so absolutely fuckin gorgeous. Why doesn’t anybody realize how gorgeous Minka Kelly is? And why doesn’t anyone watch Friday Night Lights? The following commercial was for the late-night news. News in LA is amazing. They’re devoting the entire newscast to the award show, I just know it.

10:03 – Spielberg goes up to accept his Cecile B Demille award.

10:04 – Adding Tom Cruise and David Duchovny to list of dudes who look completely Manerexic tonight.

10:06 – Spielberg is still talking. The just showed Cameron Diaz and I think she’s literally about to fall out of her chair 1/3 from boredom, 1/3 from not eating in the past three days and 1/3 from being piss drunk off Moet.

10:08 – Spielberg finally shuts up. Yes, he just went on for five minutes. I know he’s Spielberg and all, but if I want to listen to some old guy drone on about the good old days when he was talented and good at his job, I’d listen to my grandfather’s stories about his days as a high school principal. At least my grandfather retired before he started shelling out useless, regurgitated crap and calling it work.

10:10 – They just showed a commercial for alli, the weight loss supplement, and it featured Carnie Wilson. Not slimmed down, post-gastric bypass Carnie Wilson, no, fat put all the weight back on after having her stomach stapled and now weighs 200 lbs again, Carnie Wilson. Why do they insist on using fat women to sell diet products to other fat women? If I were a fat woman, the last person I would want trying to sell me on weight loss products are rich women who are unable to lose weight. Am I missing something?

10:18 – Sandra Bullock looks good. Really good for 44. I can’t believe she’s 44.

10:21 – I’m not sure if Collin Ferrell is nervous or high. He just won a Golden Globe for some movie I’ve never even heard of. I suppose I can understand why he’s so blathering on like this, he hasn’t made a film that brought in more money than it spent since his career started, yet he somehow continues to get decent roles.

10:27 – Salma Hayek looks damn good. Unfortunately, I still can’t ever look at her without seeing the unibrow she wore for “Frida.” From the neck down, though…

10:29 – Props to Borat for having the balls to make the Madonna joke. “Madonna was forced to get rid of one of her personal assistants…Our thoughts go out to Guy Ritchie.” Maybe it was more a joke about Guy Ritchie. Either way, very funny. It’s great that Sacha Baron Cohen is the guy who can make tasteless, low-blow jokes about anyone in the room and everybody just loves and respects him that much more for it. It never seems like he’s out of place at these high society type events even though his humor is so blatantly directed at the lowest common denominator. He somehow finds a way to be tacky and classy all at once.

10:36 – It’s nice when a foreign film gets noticed and sheds a little spotlight on some talented foreign actors that no one has ever heard of. Slumdog Millionaire wins again.

10:40 – Kate Winslett wins best actress in a motion picture and hyperventilates. Kate seems like the kind of girl who is really great at first because she’s so enthusiastic and passionate about life, but then you start spending more and more time around her and you realize how annoying she is because she never shuts up. Looking at Leo, he seems like a guy who’s sitting next to that girl who he really admires because she’s such a genuinely nice person and so good at what she does, but can’t wait to get away from he because she never shuts her mouth.

I do like Kate Winslett, though. I’ve never met her, but she seems like one of the genuinely nice people in Hollywood.

10:51 – Mickey Rourke beats out Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio for best actor. Every ugly, drunk old man in Hollywood rejoices collectively. Props to Mickey for this role, though. It’s nice when someone who’s actually passionate about a project gets to do it, instead of some douchebag who just wants a vanity project or something to win an award.

10:55 – They just announced the sponsors for this years award show. With the way they marked down the advertising rates, I’m surprised this year’s Golden Globes aren’t sponsored by Tito’s Man Thongs or Jared for Prom King 2009.

10:59 – Slumdog Millionaire wins the award for best drama and all the rich white guys jump up and down for joy. Ain’t show business grand?

I Don’t Think Girls Appreciate How Hard it is to be a Guy

Sure, that's funny, but imagine how shitty that guy must feel.

I was talking to a female friend of mine the other day and she was telling me a story about how unfair it is to her when she gets hit on by guys she isn’t interested in. More particularly she made a comment that at a bar she went to, that she really liked, she couldn’t muster up the desire and the courage to go back because she’d gotten hit on by the piano player at the bar who she wasn’t the least bit interested in and now if she goes back to the bar she’ll no doubt have to field his advances. In addition to my general lack of sympathy for girls who can’t just say they’re not interested (because honestly, if she had just said, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn’t interested he would have left her alone, but like all women being upfront with a man is a concept that’s lost on my friend due to 20+ years of female socialization) and my general lack of sympathy for girls complain about getting hit on (because God forbid someone you aren’t interested in finds you attractive and wants to pay you compliments, buy you things and make conversation), my main problem with my friend’s predicament was that she could only think about how awful the situation was for her. She gave no conscience whatsoever to the plight of the pianist who had come over to her and tried to pick her up.

Given that I don’t think my friend is alone in her naivete, I’m going to make a declaration, ladies: It’s hard trying to hit on you. Here’s how it goes.
1. You go somewhere, a social scene of some sort where alcohol is served. Sometimes you even have to pay just to get in and be granted the privilege of being around feminine company.
2. You look around for a girl who you might find attractive, who’s attractive enough but not too attractive for you, lest you be mocked for going beyond your attractiveness parameters
3. Once you find her, you have to hope she’s not already occupied by another guy or taking care of her drunk friend who’s too intoxicated to stand
4. You have to muster up the courage to go and talk to her.
5. You have to think of something clever to say. Not something too clever that it’s obviously a line, but clever enough that she’ll be interested enough to talk to you

That’s five steps before we even say a word to you. And what steps have you taken? You showed up.

After step five, there’s a number of different ways you can go with it, but no matter what you do, as a man, you’re always trying to be good enough. You have to be good enough that she won’t get bored with you, good enough that she finds you worthy of her time, good enough that she deems you worthy to spend more time in her presence, and good enough that she finds you romantically stimulating and not just stimulating as a friend, otherwise she goes away. All you women have is three steps total. For the entire interaction:
1. You show up
2. You listen to the pitch
3. You decide if you like it or not

Yes, I know, it’s tough for women to go out and have to bat away men who they don’t like, but imagine being on the other side. Imagine, if you will, continually being shot down and rejected after going through five preparation steps just to make the walk over. Do you have any idea how emotionally draining that is? After you’ve finally looked and looked and looked for someone you might want to talk to, finally psyched yourself up to talk to her, put the last set of rejections out of your mind and propelled yourself into the social stratosphere to go do it all again, do you know how much it stings to fail? Do you have any idea how defeating it is to go through those five steps over and over only to be rebuked time and time again, often in less than polite fashion, by the object of your affection just because you aren’t what she’s looking for? Of course you don’t, because you’re women. My advice to the women of the world is to imagine our struggle and our side in this vicious mating ritual.

Not only that, but you women are so critical of the “lines” we use. We have to use lines because when we just try and walk up with a “Hi, how are you?” we’re not original or captivating enough. So we resort to lines. We’re not all brilliant artists, masterful in the works of rhetoric, and for a lot of us just walking up to a girl is hard enough. We aren’t all poets and we weren’t all blessed with a silver tongue. Everything we say to you can’t be magic, because we’re just people. We’re human, and we are trying our damnedest to get over our fear of rejection and tell you something you like. I mean, really ladies, could you cut us some slack?

This doesn’t just apply to bars, this goes for any social situation that requires us approaching you and attempting to garner your favor. It’s tough. And I know there are some creepy, disgusting guys who say terribly inappropriate and dirty things, but they’re people too and all they’re trying to do is keep you from embarrassing them in public. Keep in mind that when you reject a guy, not only does he get rejected, but his friends see it, other girls see it and everyone that might be paying attention sees it and he’s judged for his failure. We go on risking public humiliation all for the solitary hope that maybe you’ll like us. So seriously, ease up.

I don’t mean this as a complaint because that’s how things are, men are lions and women are gazelles, I just think women should gain a little bit of appreciation for the struggles of being male.

Have You Seen Jennifer Aniston on the New GQ

Why is she still fucking John Mayer?

Jenifer Aniston GQ Magazine – Get more Docstoc Buzz

I never thought Jennifer Aniston was hot. Never. I always thought she was kind of cute, but I never really got it with her. But that was before this cover.

I would cut off both my testicles and eat them for a chance to get on this woman — and she’s 39 years old! Here’s the thing, she’s obviously had a lot — A LOT — of work done. She admitted she’d had plastic surgery to one of those worthless tabloids. I have also never been a fan of plastic surgery. I always thought plastic surgery was kind of dirty and something that pathetic losers did to try to stay young when they should just accept the fact that they’re old and move forward. No more.

I had a bunch of text here, but fuck it. Enjoy. God, she looks good.

I Hit the Mute Button Anytime a New Beyonce Video Comes on…

Is this Sasha Fierce?

I am convinced that Beyonce’s alter ego Sasha Fierce is really Beyonce’s whiny, delusional, mildly retarded side. I’m judging her solely based on the two singles, “If I Were a Boy” and “Single Ladies,” but the picture has been made pretty clear. I just watched both videos and I just want to grab Beyonce by the shoulders and scream “YOU’RE MARRIED, YOU CRAZY BITCH!” Unless Sasha Fierce isn’t married.

Maybe Sasha Fierce is just too neurotic to be tied down by the likes of Jay Hova. Maybe Sasha Fierce is the crazy bitch Beyonce becomes when Jay-Z pisses her off. Maybe Sasha Fierce storms out of the house and has sex with the first five guys she meets after they have a fight. Maybe Sasha Fierce puts on gold-plated brass knuckles and beats Jay-Z until he tells her he loves her in a way that pleases Sasha Fierce. Maybe Beyonce is actually a schizo and Sasha Fierce is her split personality and this is how she’s letting the world know. Kinda like that United States of Tara show .

Beyonce, you’re not allowed to sing a song with the chorus, “If you liked it then you should’ve put a ring on it” when you have a ring that he already did put on it! Yes, we all know. Just because you don’t wear your wedding ring, doesn’t mean we all just forgot that the whole $2 million ceremony happened.

Also, you can’t slide your uncredited cover of Ciara’s “I Wish I Could Act Like a Boy” by us under a different name just because it’s whinier, less resolute and a piece of shit. Or maybe you can because I seem to be the only one who’s noticed. I think the video is supposed to be one of those things that we guys don’t get because, you know, we’re just boys, because really I don’t get the big deal.

In the video, Beyonce is apparently replicating the actions of her on-screen boyfriend and doing all the things that he does to show us guys how our behavior looks from the other side. The only problem is – and maybe this is just me – I didn’t really see anything wrong with what she was doing. (Oh, and she also completely ripped off the video idea from Ciara too. I’m really surprised her people haven’t sued). She goes to work with a male partner and, while there is overt flirtation, nothing actually happens, the two don’t even share a hot look. Then at the party she’s dancing with her partner who she leaves to go kiss her boyfriend, who rejects her. That would never happen.

If anything her boyfriend would grab her ass and shove his tongue down her throat to show everyone at the party who Beyonce was really there with. In case there were any questions. We men are territorial like that. There’s no way any man who’s dating Beyonce would ever – EVER – run off like that. If it were me, I’d have snatched her up off the dance floor like a pimp and slapped her in the face in front of everybody. (No, not really. I don’t condone domestic violence unless it’s Sasha Fierce beating an insolent Jay-Z with gold-plated brass knuckles). But aside from the obvious flaws in logic – that come with being a woman, because women are by nature completely illogical – there’s the lyrics. The lyrics don’t make any sense. Here they are (my comments and denoted by the asterisk and text in caps).

If I were a boy
Even just for a day
I’d roll out of bed in the morning
And throw on what I wanted and go *GIRLS DO THIS ALL THE TIME*
Drink beer with the guys *AND THIS*
And chase after girls
I’d kick it with who I wanted
And I’d never get confronted for it
Because they’d stick up for me *ACTUALLY, THAT’S TRUE, GIRLS DON’T STICK UP FOR EACH OTHER, BUT THAT’S BECAUSE GIRLS ARE STUPID*

If I were a boy
I think I could understand
How it feels to love a girl
I swear I’d be a better man *WHY?*
I’d listen to her
Cause I know how it hurts
When you lose the one you wanted
Cause he’s taken you for granted
And everything you had got destroyed *WHY DOES HIM TAKING YOU FOR GRANTED DESTROY EVERYTHING?*

If I were a boy
I would turn off my phone
Tell everyone its broken
So they think
that I was sleeping alone *CAN GIRLS NOT TURN OFF THEIR PHONES? IS THERE SOME MAGICAL SETTING THAT SENSES THE VAGINA AND REQUIRES THE PHONE TO BE ON AT ALL TIMES?*
I’d put myself first
And make the rules as I go
Cause I know that she’d be faithful *GIRLS CHEAT ALL THE TIME*
Waiting for me to come home (to come home)

If I were a boy
I think I could understand
How it feels to love a girl *WHY DO YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO LOVE A GIRL?*
I swear I’d be a better man
I’d listen to her *NO YOU WOULDN’T, BECAUSE AS A MAN YOU WOULD HAVE RATIONAL, SENSIBLE THOUGHTS AND WHEN SHE WAS SPOUTING OFF HER STUPID INCOHERENT BULLSHIT ABOUT HOW NOTHING SHE OWNS LOOKS GOOD ON HER AND HOW SHE WISHES SHE WERE A BOY YOU’D GET REALLY ANNOYED*
Cause I know how it hurts
When you lose the one you wanted (wanted)
Cause he’s taken you for granted (granted)
And everything you had got destroyed

It’s a little too late for you to come back
Say its just a mistake
Think I forgive you like that
If you thought I would wait for you *WAIT FOR YOU TO DO WHAT? WHERE DID HE GO?*
You thought wrong

But you’re just a boy
You don’t understand (yea you don’t understand)
How it feels to love a girl *I THOUGHT IF YOU WERE A BOY YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND HOW IT FEELS TO LOVE A GIRL. YOU JUST SAID THAT! YOU JUST FUCKING SAID THAT! WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT JUST HAPPENED BETWEEN THE LAST LINE AND THIS LINE? DOES NO ONE KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO LOVE A GIRL? IS SASHA FIERCE THE ONLY ONE CAPABLE OF KNOWING HOW IT FEELS TO LOVE A GIRL? AND EVEN THEN, ONLY AS A BOY?*
Someday you’ll wish you were a better man
You don’t listen to her
You don’t care how it hurts
Until you lose the one you wanted
Cause you’ve taken her for granted
And everything you had got destroyed
But you’re just a boy… *SO, I THINK BEYONCE IS SAYING THAT IF SHE WERE A BOY SHE WOULD BE CAPABLE OF DOING ALL THESE THINGS THAT THE BOY THIS SONG IS ABOUT IS NOT BECAUSE SHE WAS A GIRL AND IS NOW A BOY. RIGHT? RIGHT? OK, HERE’S MY VERSION .

Why the Fuck is Adele Famous? And Other Grammy Musings

It’s always quite a to do every year when the Grammy nominations are announced and every year the Grammy Awards are a big deal and here in LA there are parties all over the place and everyone about breaks their arms patting themselves on the back for the sub-par music they’ve made. This year the field of nominees is as unimpressive as usual, but what’s different is that I can’t really think of anything that really deserved to be nominated. Maybe this should’ve been the year the Grammy people just got together and said, “Fuck it, nothing good came out this year, no one deserves to be rewarded.” I mean, honestly, what the fuck that was any good came out between October 07 and September?

2008 Grammy Nominees – Get more Docstoc Buzz

The thing I’m genuinely pissed off about is this Adele chick who got four nominations. I had never heard the Chasing Pavements song, so I checked it out on YouTube…It’s terrible. 1. The lyrics don’t make any sense. 2.She’s every singer from London ever, minus anything that makes the rest of them stand out. We already have Duffy, Kate Nash, Amy Winehouse and Lily Allen, all of whom bring something at least original to the game, she’s just kind of there, with this cute song about chasing pavements that lead nowhere. 3. She’s not even cute. Whenever I hear songs like this, where the girl can’t really sing and it’s backed by some melody we’ve all heard a million times laid over basic string arrangements, I just assume the girl has to be hot. What other reason could there be for people giving two squirts of piss about the song.

This girl has Lily Allen’s vocal ability and Amy Winehouse’s capacity for songwriting, minus the drug references and sly innuendo. Her songs are about as original as whatever the fuck Paul McCartney is doing these days and she’s the one who gets nominated for Record of the Year…OK. I’m blown away at why on earth this girl is famous, but at least she does something, so I guess that’s a win.

Lil Wayne leads the way with eight nominations, for his absolutely abysmal “Carter III” album. I suppose this is one of those things where the academy doles out awards for selling enough records to single-handedly prop up the faltering record company in this disturbing depressing economy. They should really just give that award out instead of hiding behind the misnomer of Album of the Year.

Here’s the thing, I love Lil Wayne. I think he’s our generation’s Hendrix, I really do, but The Carter III was terrible. It was an unmitigated disaster in every possible way. The singles (aside from Lollipop, which I will concede was hot, but even that song when put with the rest of the album was hollow, vacuous and completely void of the trademark brilliance and lyrical creativity that make Lil Wayne the amazing force that he is) were bad, the album tracks were bad and everything in between was bad. I listened to that album and all I could think was that the album sounded more like a cry for help than what was supposed to be his magnum opus.

I completely understand Wayne getting all the noms, though. It’s something of a lifetime acheivement award since the recording academy basically ignored his existence up until he moved 1 million units in his first week. That’s what the recording academy always does with rappers. Shovels them in with the best hip-hop solo performance until their careers are too grandiose to ignore and then throws a million nominations at them. See Kanye West, Jay-Z, Outkast, Eminem, the artist formerly known as Puff Daddy, et al. I’m pretty sure no one in the academy actually listens to the rap nominations. I’m convinced that’s why Eminem got all those nominations the year all the homos picketed, because no one actually listened to the fucking thing and when the gay protesters called them out on it, they couldn’t very well admit that fact.

All that said, here’s who I think will win. I base my Grammy winner formula on a mathematical formula of amount of records sold, level of fame, amount of surprise if this person were to win and how much people will give a fuck about the Grammy’s after it’s all done. That’s what it’s all about is making people remember who won, not whether their album deserved it. That said:

Record of the Year: It’s tempting to go with Krauss and Plant for that Godawful piece of shit they put out last year, given that they really should have gotten the nomination last year for this release, but I think the academy is trying to go young this year so I’m gonna go with M.I.A. “Paper Planes”. I’m pretty sure this album came out more than a year ago, but whatever.

Album of the Year: Lil Wayne “The Carter III”. I think after “Speakerboxxx/The Love Below” the recording industry realized that giving rappers Album of the Year awards improved ratings, so…

Song of the Year: Coldplay “Viva La Vida” They won’t really give Adele a Grammy, right? Right? I’m pretty sure Plant and Allison Krauss will win every other award they’re nominated for. But since they’re not nominated for this one…Dark Horse pick: Sara Bareilles “Love Song.” I think that album was one of the best of the year and one of the most surprising.

Best New Artist: Jesus Christ. I know the Grammys never go country but I’m hoping for Lady Antebellum. Seriously Grammys, you couldn’t have nominated one of these new worthless rappers like Piles or someone? They won’t really give Adele a Grammy, right? My pick: Duffy because she sounds like Dolly Parton and old people like Dolly Parton. Why won’t anyone admit she sounds just like Dolly Parton?

I’m not going to dip into the “best vocal performance” categories, but I absolutely love that “Chasing Pavements,” “I Kissed a Girl” and “So What” are up against “Bleeding Love,” “Love Song” and “Mercy.” It’s like they purposely put three girls that can’t really sing up against three girls who can. I’m glad the Grammy noms came out so we could all reflect on a supremely shitty year in music.

Why I Love “The Bad Girls Club”

“The Bad Girls Club” on Oxygen is finally back. I absolutely love this show because it’s what every other “reality TV” show wants to be but isn’t. Below is the trailer for the new season and I think it’s going to be the best season yet.

The premise is simple: they pick the seven craziest women they can find from across the nation and stick them in a house together. They give them money and booze and then stand back and watch what happens. Now, let’s be honest, you couldn’t even put seven sane girls in a house together and expect them to actually get along for more than half an hour — because quite simply, all women are crazy — but when you add the extra-craziness of girls who have seen the show and still want to be on it to the mix, it’s just amazing television.

The show epitomizes exactly what’s wrong with women of this generation. They’re completely willing to air all of their dirty laundry on television in exchange for — not fame or fortune or even any sort of monetary compensation whatsoever — the opportunity to be on television. They get in front of the cameras and showcase their crazy for all the world to see, just so they can be in front of a camera and feel like they’re somehow important. It seems like women today have this incessant need to feel like they’re better than the next bitch. Sure, I get it, girls need attention the way Superman needs the sun. But it’s kind of sad the depths they’ll go to get it.

Some people have told me that they don’t like the show because it panders to the lowest common denominator of humanity, and this is true, but that’s exactly what I love it. It’s not like “The Real World” or “Flavor of Love” or “Rock of Love” where you might catch a fight if you tune in the right week, this is straight to the chase. You know that every week there will — not might — be a fight and that every week someone will — again, not might — cry over something stupid that doesn’t make any sense at all. And the best part is, no one actually gets kicked off for fighting. Last season Jennavicia and Tanisha got into a fistfight on the lawn in front of the cameras and everyone else and even pulled out each others extensions and neither of them was even asked to leave. It wasn’t until Jenn refused to do the retard-level job that they gave her of inviting people to the “parties” they were promoting, that she actually got the boot.

This show doesn’t operate under the false pretense of finding love or actually improving these girls lives like “Charm School” or “[Add quasi-famous persons moniker here] of Love,” it tells you from the beginning that you are here to watch seven crazy, alcohol-dependent nymphomaniacs tear each other apart for 12 weeks. All of them have obvious emotional deficiencies and very serious problems that they should seriously be seeking psychiatric and psychological help for, but Oxygen figures the best therapy for each of them is to be surrounded by six harlots that are as crazy as they are.

These girls are America. They are Tara Conner . They are Paris Hilton . They are Sarah Palin . They’re the unqualified, uneducated, untalented refuse that wouldn’t have passed for groupies in generations past but now serve as the role models and lightning rods for women of the next generation. They’re the girls who are so desperate for attention that they will do annnnnnything, and we love them for it. They pass because this country seems to love nothing more than having someone to gossip about, and who’s easier to gossip about than people we all know because we’ve seen them on TV? And we sit back and watch and talk about what a mess they all are, never really taking a look at how much they mirror the women in our own everyday lives — our daughters, our sisters, our friends, our loved ones. This behavior has become acceptable for women. When did this happen? When did this become acceptable behavior for anyone?

These girls all act like spoiled, trashy, entitled hookers and no one bats an eyelash because it’s entertainment. The great thing about the show “Dallas” from the ’80s was watching these crazy women do crazy things. What was great was that no one really did this in real life. I mean, certainly people really did it, but no one did it in public. And when it was done in public, we frowned upon it and called the people who partook uncouth or ghetto or uncivilized or white trash. As a society we used to frown on such behavior in real life, because when it was done for entertainment, it was entertaining, but in real life you couldn’t possibly be allowed to act like that.

Apparently no one has taught the women of this generation that, and “The Bad Girls Club” serves as an edification of that very sad fact. Somewhere in women’s struggle to garner the male attention that they hold so dear, they lost sight of where the line of acceptable behavior was drawn. I think “Girls Gone Wild” shaped this generation, and women — even the classiest of them — came to realize that to get the attention that they desired — nay, craved, needed even — they had to up the ante, and there’s been no one to say “Um…no, you can’t actually act like that in real life.”

The line between reality and entertainment has been so thoroughly blurred that porn stars can’t even make money anymore because everyone’s a porn star. Seriously, there’s no money in porn anymore because every girl in America is now willing to take her clothes off on the internet for a couple extra dollars in spending cash. Remember when porn was taboo? A lot of people say the internet killed porn, but what really killed porn — and trust me, porn as we know it is dead — was the influx of female talent en masse to the porn industry.

So rather than try to fight the good fight on behalf of feminism and femininity of days past, I’m content to sit back and watch these crazy bitches make complete fools of themselves on television. Because, it’s entertainment and I’m entertained. The really sad thing is that these women are going to be someone’s wife and mother someday. The next generation will be a generation raised by public concubines who resent the implication that they’re going to sleep with you just because they’re topless, giving you a lapdance and letting you snort lines of blow off their ass. They’re not strippers, they’re just having fun — on their terms; yay third wave feminism.

I love “The Bad Girls Club” because it’s this generation’s cry for help for and it doesn’t even know it. And also because it’s hilarious.

Somehow I Became That Dumb Bitch at the Bar and I Hate Myself

I recently became everything I hate. Have you ever gone to a bar or club or any sort of other social scene and met the girl who is absolutely no fun? She goes to bars etc. and any guy that tries to talk to her she just dismisses, as if it’s somehow an insult to her grandeur that anyone even fancies themselves good enough to speak to her. She has no fun, she just kind of sits there with this disinterested look on her face. She chats with her friends, texts, does whatever, but she never actually interacts with anyone at the bar other than the people she came with. And she seems to be determined to do just that.

I always thought these social places were set up for people to be social, not just with people they knew but with people they don’t know. I thought the entire idea of paying $5 for a beer that you could buy at a store for $.50 and drink in your house for free was that you were provided with an atmosphere to meet people and have fun with new and exciting people, not just sit there with the same tired group of hags you walked in with. But this girl doesn’t see it that way, she comes in with her friends, drinks with her friends and leaves with her friends, and any male that tries to interrupt that routine, be he Brad fucking Pitt himself, will be spurned and sent packing.

I never understood this girl. What makes you want to come to a social place, if you have no intention of being sociable? You could sit around with your friends and talk to just them at your house or at their house or your shitty two-bedroom apartment, whatever. But the other night – and I’ve come to realize a few other nights – I became that girl.

I got talked into going to some gay clubs in West Hollywood by a friend of mine who loves the cock. I don’t refer to him as gay because apparently there’s now this whole sub-genre of men who fuck other guys but don’t consider themselves gay. They’re “men who have sex with men,” whatever that means. That’s another subject for another day, so I digress. I met him for drinks at a club in West Hollywood (Weho as the locals call it, and I will too, not because I’m trying to sound cool or esoteric, but because it contains less letters, which means less time spent typing).

Inevitably he would start talking to guys, flirting and doing whatever men who have sex with men do, and the gay guy he was talking to would have a friend and I would basically just ignore him. Certainly I was being a terrible wingman, but I have no idea what to say to a man who wants to fuck me. I suppose I could start with, “So, I love pussy and there’s absolutely no way I’m going to fuck you or vice versa,” but I feel like that would be a tad curt and really no way to begin a conversation. Being a polite fellow, I just sort of sat there feeling out of place.

The worst part would happen when my friend would engage a guy who wasn’t with another guy because I would just sort of stand there or meander off into the distance, bewildered and looking lost and helpless, which is apparently just what the boys in Boystown are looking for. So I would get approached and approached and approached. The thing about gay guys in Weho – and I don’t really know very many gay guys outside of LA, so forgive me if I’m generalizing – is that they have very little tact or subtlety when going after the object of their affection. I’ve heard that guys can say some really fucked up shit to girls, but I can’t imagine even thinking, nevertheless verbalizing, some of the things that have been said to me by homosexual men trying to get into my pants.

But after getting home and sitting on the experience for a while, I started to realize that, really, I was the asshole. These clubs are where the gay guys come to hook up and meet new people and there I was just sitting there all alone, looking like I was having no fun and completely disinterested in anything anyone had to say. I didn’t want to even start a conversation for fear that I might lead them into thinking that I might somehow be interested, so I would just sort of ignore whoever was talking to me until he figured it out and went on his merry way. Who does that?

Girls, don’t think I’m empathizing because I’m not. If I had no intention of at least giving the gay men of West Hollywood a bit of conversation and an honest “I’m not interested,” I should’ve stayed my straight ass at home. My friend told me I should have at least parlayed some of the male attention I was getting into a couple free drinks, but I’ve always hated the girls who will take drinks off of guys they have no interest in talking to just for the free drinks. I, personally, would never buy a girl a drink at a bar and I feel like if any guy out there is stupid enough to offer he deserves what he gets. I would like to say in our defense, though ladies, there are so many girls who act just like I did that night in Weho, who sit around and look lonely and as if they’d like to have a conversation but if you actually approach them, dismiss you. So guys figure if we come bearing gifts, maybe we can appease the tiger.

Again, I’ve gotten off the topic at hand, so I digress. Why come to a bar if you don’t want to talk to other people? If you want to drink with your friends, do it at your house. If your friends all want to go out and you go along just because you want to be with them, maybe you should find a different group of friends who are antisocial losers like you. I’m not attempting to justify the behavior of some guys when they hit on a girl, because certainly I’ve experienced the worst of it and it’s not OK, but going out and not wanting to get hit on is like walking outside in a rainstorm and not wanting to get wet. It’s probably going to happen and you should really just be learn to deal.

Against Marriage

Before I begin this rumination, allow me to dispel any possible pre-conceived notions or conclusions and confess my personal biases. Yes I am the product of a broken home, and admittedly that may have soured my perceptions and opinion of the matrimonial ideal. No, my parents didn’t go through a messy divorce that scarred me for life – at least not that I’m aware of. Yes, I have been in love. No, she didn’t crush me when it ended. Yes, I believe in true love and love at first sight, or something that owes to that effect. Yes, I have had a one-night stand. No, it’s not my idea of the ideal relationship. Yes, I do want to find that special someone some day. No, I am not actively seeking them out. I kinda think that ruins the magic of the whole thing.

That said, the other night I was talking to some friends of mine about how I don’t ever want to get married. Of course, as everyone is when I express this opinion, they were shocked. Shocked! Why would anyone not want to be married? Marriage is the ideal; that cozy little ball of comfort that tells everyone you’re doing OK.

I think the idea of marriage is arcane, asinine, wholly unnecessary and generally stupid. It is my firm belief that the only reason anyone still gets married is because we never actually think about it. We read the fairy tales when we’re younger and listen to the old folks talk about who we’ll settle down and have kids with and we never really stop to think about what we’re getting into. I think we’ve bought into this whole mini-van notion of marriage, that as Frank Sinatra once crooned, “love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage” – pause for you to go on singing the rest of the chorus. And we’re back. I think we’re all unwitting slaves to institution and routine. To question the routine is deviant and with deviance comes consequence and labeling (I learned that in sociology class).

Think about marriage, really think about it. There’s a book by Laura Kipnis (I don’t generally read, so if I’m recommending a book you should probably at least check it out) called Against Love that calls into question the idea of the married domicile. While Kipnis opined that the idea of this thing we call love is really just an imaginary conceit that’s been invented by them (you know who them is) to keep us all docile and towing the assembly line that is life, I stop short of fighting the concept of love, because as Kipnis herself admits “Who could be against love?” In fact, I’m not even against marriage – for other people.

I think love is wonderful. It’s a spectacular feeling that can’t be duplicated or carbon copied by anything – including great sex, which is really a pretty good substitute for anything. However, in the 21^st century, in the year 2008, we’ve really got to figure something better out.

Sure, marriage made sense when it was all about conjoining two equally affluent, dynastic families to imbue both with a greater fortune. I even think marriage was a good idea way back when it was generally used to transfer the property that was a woman from her father to her husband in order for her to bare male children who would then bring in other females to the family, or female children who would amalgamate other males into their gentry. I would even see the benefit – nay the importance – of getting married back in the days when sex out of wedlock meant dishonor and possibly death. That I get. But what’s the point of getting married today?

Sure, there’s spousal privilege, duty-free property transfer, income tax and property tax deductions, but you can arrange all those things and others through an attorney. No one’s waiting to have sex until they’re married anymore, save for the brave few still bemused by religion. There’s certainly not a stigma against those who have sex before marriage, if anything it’s the opposite. Most of us aren’t marrying for the purpose of wealth amalgamation – and if you are, by all means ignore every forthcoming point in the note – so what’s the point? Love?

And there it is. Love and marriage. Why aren’t we capable of viewing the two as separate entities, not only capable of being, but enhanced by their mutual exclusivity? I’m not embarking on the idea of having both love and a marriage – that’s a whole other note, that I do intend to write – but having just love. Why do we need to corroborate and substantiate our love with some arcane ritual? Isn’t that really what marriage has become these days: proof that you really mean it. It’s not enough to tell people – and that includes the one you’re with – that you’re in love and that you want to be with that person as long as you live, you have to prove it with a license and a ceremony and a ring so that complete strangers know it.

There’s really no benefit to marriage anymore, only detriment. The detriment of course is that thing called divorce. Divorce is a multi-million, if not billion, dollar business that’s just getting bigger everyday, and we continue to feed the beast as more people line up to get those marriage certificates. I can’t believe the venture capitalists masquerading as politicians currently running our nation right now have any problem with gay marriage, because that just means more money from divorce. More lawyers’ fees, more arbiters, more court-appointed such-and-sos with government titles.

I really don’t mean to make this into an anti-establishment piece, because that’s really not what it’s about. I just mean to say, let’s examine this thing we call marriage. Let’s examine its relevance and its necessity and rather than just doing as we’re told, let’s maybe do some critical thinking and decide if marriage is really something we want to get ourselves involved in. Why not just love someone and not get the feds involved? Why not marry someone strictly for the tax benefits?

Wouldn’t marriage – in its current incarnation – really be better suited as a business agreement, where well meaning parishioners can join together in an amicable agreement to jointly save annually on their taxes? You could be madly in love, living with your one and only for the rest of your life and once a year, around the January, get on the phone and call your spouse who lives across the river ‘cause it’s time to file the taxes. So much of our behavior in this country is governed by rules that really don’t make any sense when you sit down and think about them. Whether implicit or stated, norms of the past are sometimes not functionally consistent with the times in which we live. Isn’t it time we thought about that?

Exploring the myth of the double standard

Allow me to begin by stating that I do believe in the existence of a sexual double standard between men and women. I give credence to the idea that when men are promiscuous and have multiple sexual partners they are labeled as pimps and players and other such honorable nicknames that afford them great regard amongst their friends. Women, conversely, are derided as sluts or tramps or other lugubrious monikers that are not so pleasant. What I opine herein by referring to the double standard as a myth is not that it does not exist, but that its existence has been greatly exaggerated.

A myth, by definition, is not untrue or without merit, it’s simply a hyperbolic expression of that truth. To hear the illustrious dictionary.com tell it a myth is “A traditional, typically ancient story…that serves as a fundamental type in the worldview of a people, as by explaining aspects of the natural world or delineating the psychology.”

I am not for a moment trying to convince you that this so-called double standard doesn’t exist, my point here is that it’s unfair to blame or bemoan men for its existence. Women’s unfortunate position in this so-called double standard is no one’s fault but their own and I’ll explain why.

Sleeping around, as a girl, is like being a pitcher in baseball and bragging about how many homeruns you gave up. It’s like “Ooh, look at me I can get the ball in such a great spot that the batter will hit a home run.” It’s not impressive because you’re giving the batter what they want; it’s the same thing with sex. As a girl you’re socialized – however unfairly, and believe me I will get to that – to abstain from sex and to not have it. As men we’re socialized to go after sex and to have it as often as possible. So, just as the hitter is trained to hit homeruns – even if the hitter isn’t trained to hit homeruns, if you throw a giant whopper over the plate, he’s gonna nail it eventually – the man is trained to (actively) want, e.g., go after, sex.

When you give the man sex, you haven’t done anything profound or impressive, you’ve just gotten in line with his objective and helped his cause. You’ve gone against your idealized objective and this is why you get chastised by your teammates. A batter who doesn’t know any better will continue to think that every pitcher he faces is going to be looking to further his objectives and couldn’t possibly take seriously another pitcher, because why should he?

The so-called double standard actually makes sense. This is why when women have a lot of sex they’re called easy, not because of some underlying, patriarchal inferiority complex that we’re reinforcing through sexuality, but because it’s easy to get what you want from them. When a homerun hitter hits a lot of homeruns and is championed for it, it’s because he’s scored against an opponent who was attempting to keep him from his objective.

When a man scores, it’s impressive because he won. When a girl has sex, she hasn’t won, she may not have lost, but she certainly has not scored a victory. For a girl having sex is like scoring on an open goal, of course she was able to score: there wasn’t any defense. No man is trying to keep girls from having sex with him, and if there are men out there – which I will concede to the existence of – having sex with them isn’t really a victory either because no man has had the lifelong sociological preparation a woman has.

But getting to the sociological implications of this opinion, who then is to blame for this sociological disparity of sexual ambitions? I’ve heard some academics suggest that the primary socialization of chastity in girls is done by fathers, and honestly I think that’s complete horeshit. Sure, fathers don’t want their daughters to be thought of as the town tramp, but think of how much more actively mothers attempt to instill chaste virtues into their daughters. Beyond the parental sphere or primary socialization, the world of secondary socialization points distinctly to same sex peers as the ones who enforce labeling and gender norms and ideologies. This then is also where females get the idea that sex is impure and uncouth, long before they even get to a point where they’re having sex.

There are sluts in every age group; I’ve heard of sluts at elementary school. The idea of slut labeling – and for the record slut labeling can be any number of terms that are essentially the same thing, slut is just the most popular – takes place mostly in junior high and high schools, where there are still large numbers — 50 percent high school and 90 percent middle school — of girls who haven’t even had sex. These names and labels are coming not from male peers, who are more the recipients end result of deviance and labeling than the purveyors. Of course all the guys in a given area know who the sluts are and may even begin rumors that begin a “slut’s” reputation, but the taunting, the name-calling and the enforcement of consequence for slutty behavior is formidably perpetrated by females.

I will admit that the so-called double-standard does act as a role sustaining instrument; it does create a framework for reinforcing sexual norms of men and women, but the primary intermediaries of this policy – that is, the oft whined about double standard itself – are females. As a man I will attest to the fact that there are certainly repercussions for being known for sleeping around with a lot of girls. If found out, men face the same repercussions as women: a reputation for sleeping around, and a reputation for being “slutty.” The same things happen: a lot of women are reticent to sleep with you, many women don’t take you seriously as a potential relationship partner, and you are generally given less respect by the community of ladies who are in the know about your habits. But men – the team we play for – celebrate our achievements because they realize just how difficult it is to have sex with so many women, even if most are putting up a great deal of fight.

Women still think of us as dogs, sleaze, players, man-whores, etc., when we sleep around, but fellow men fete our worth and achievements. Women – the team they play for – chastise, insult and degrade other women for being known as promiscuous with a lot of men. Instead of reveling in the quantitative accomplishments of their peers, as men do, women routinely reprimand fellow women for sleeping around. A lot of female literature I’ve read has noted the stark dissonance in men’s and women’s reactions toward men who are promiscuous. But little, if any, has typified the similarity between women’s and men’s reaction to women who sleep around. The same disdain from one team to the other for having a lot of sex exists; it’s just the reinforcement from ones peers – their team – that is different.

I accept the reality of the so-called double standard in our current world of dating. I would like to point out though, that in our current world of dating men are expected to ask the girl on the date, pay for the date, buy the drinks, go in for the kiss, buy the presents on “special days”, make the move to have sex and if everything goes swimmingly, propose the engagement. There’s a lot of responsibility on our shoulders and all that’s really expected of a woman in all that is to show up and be herself. Yes, I know you have to wear those God-awful high heels and your super-tight clothing and make-up and push-up bras, all to deceive us about what you really look like. But for what you’re getting in return, it really doesn’t sound like a terrible investment, right?

I’m not even talking about the glass ceiling and the improprieties of a woman making 70 cents for doing the same job as a man who makes a dollar. That’s an indiscretion that comes with men being the bigger, stronger, more rational ones who went out for centuries, if not millenniums, to kill the food and fight then enemy. Sure, now women are fighting the battles and are sometimes (I mean that to say that sometimes they are, and sometimes they aren’t, not that men are more often) more capable and qualified to do an essential job than a man and they should be paid accordingly. But progress is a slow process, ask the black people in America who still haven’t gotten their 40 acres and a mule. That’s not what this is about.

This piece is directed to all the women who bitch, whine and moan about how they can’t get their rocks of with legions of unidentified strapping gentleman because of the so-called double standard. Think about the fact that it’s unfair you can’t fuck the hot guy you’re dating after only two dates the next time you call Sally, the assistant, a slut because you’re “absolutely sure” something is going on with her and the boss. “How else could she have gotten a promotion so quickly?” Think about how unfair the so-called double standard is next time you call the Barista at Pete’s a fucking tramp because she gave your boyfriend “a look.” Most of all, think about how God damned unfair the double standard is the next time you and all your friends are sitting around talking about that little skank who you don’t even know, but you continually deride because she wears a skirt that’s just a little too short for the office.

Ladies, think about how unfair the so-called double standard is and then think about just how much and how often you reinforce its existence and validity everyday. Think about that and then complain to a man. We’ll probably be too busy to pay attention to you because we’re chest-bumping our buddy for fucking that hot waitress last night. We could totally tell she wasn’t a slut or anything. Man has game.

Preamble

I, the creator and moderator of this site, created the Girls are stupid blog with the intention of relating my feelings on being a modern man, dealing with modern women in the modern era we live in. This is a weblog and as such does lend itself toward a polemical nature. Anything said herein that offends, appalls or shocks is regrettable, but necessary. This blog, and its creator, seek only to entertain. Any other effects — rage, despondency, idolatry, etc. — are unintended. Enjoy.