Now I am not usually one for watching awards shows. I’m not typically a reality teevee watcher of any sort, but when I do imbibe I am ALL in. And I was all in Sunday night for the Golden Globes.
Ellen was the catalyst for this decision, as she is for most of my important life choices. She interviewed Ricky Gervais and his giggly, weirdly schoolboy-ish manner and the sparkle in his eye as he coyly promised celebrity skewering and filthy minded humor sucked me right in. Oh, the controversy. Oh? The controversy? Am I obtuse or was there none to be found?
But still, sucked in. So I gorged on gorge fashion. My best dress of the night? Unfreakingbelievable.
Also amazeballs of fire.
I’m not even getting in to the worst dresses. Because I’m not an f’ing B. And it must be harder than a barrel of dicks to choose a dress, get did, work that carpet til it’s bare(I <3 Tina Fey) and do it all whilst being harshly judged. Also, every one of these peeps is looking better than me on my best day. So Imma take off my Judgy McJudgerson pants.
You know no one really gives two shits whether Clooney is wearing a blue suit(he was) or if Elton John was the best man(he wasn’t, that went to Madonna whose balls are bigger than anyone else’s, as per her ushe). What we want from the dudes is a good dick joke. And thanks to Seth Rogan we got just that.
I did learn a few important tidbits during the 4 and 1/2 hours of excess I viewed.
1. Ewan McGregor is my movie star soul mate.
I am not one to gush and drool over dudes. I am all about characters, not actors. I mean, Sydney Carton was my first true love. But I feel a little gushy about this dude. Not due to the smile. Which is both infectious AND megawatt. Not due to the eyes. Which are sparkly AND dreamy. Not even due to obvious commitment to his gorge wife and four daughters. Which is just…le sigh.
Like I said, I’m all about characters and this guy is full of them. Shallow Grave, Trainspotting, A Life Less Ordinary, Moulin Rouge!, Big Fish, Beginners. All of his characters were chock full of character. And whimsy. I do so love the whimsy. And whatever exactly it is that Ewan is full of is exactly what I’m all about.
2. HBO is a bitchass mofo. A bitchass mofo that I crave like a drug. A bitchass mofo that I’d have to sell a kidney to afford, especially because I’m already hooked on the smack that is Showtime. Enlightened, Luck, Life’s Too Short – how can I get through this entire upcoming viewing session without the opportunity to see them? Not to mention Game of Thrones(totally in that for Peter Dinklage) and True Blood(god only knows why I’m in that at all). Free the good teevee, yo. Quality for the masses.
3. Meryl Streep is a golden goddess. She heads up a group of actors that appear to have it all figured out. This includes, but is not limited to, Morgan Freeman, Dustin Hoffman, Diane Keaton, Diane Lane and Helen Mirren. These people seem to be having a lot more fun than anyone else and don’t seem to give a fuck about what anyone thinks of them. And all of this WITHOUT Scientology. Maybe it’s getting older, maybe it’s a lifetime in the biz, maybe it’s all the dolla, dolla bills y’all. Whatever it is, I’m looking to get paid in that sort of way.
4. The Help was actually not racist. Y’all might remember the controversy when the film was released and I was certainly stirred by the beautifully stated thoughts of Mocha Momma, among others. I was on the fence about seeing the movie after the idea was planted that it could be hurtful to Black people to have this idea of the White savior myth continue to be perpetrated. But I had read the book and had not felt those feelings. And, after much debate, I viewed the movie with trepidation and a wary eye, but again didn’t find the White savior at all. I felt an empowerment of each of the women by themselves, reaching down deep into some unknown well of awesome and coming up with some balls out courage. And then those women proceeded to lift each other up to reach their goals of bravery and honesty, which is what we women NEED to be doing on the daily.
5. Everything is, and will continue to always be, coming up Clooney. This is our Cary Grant, y’all. He’s just so improbably tan and sort of lithe. And then there’s the self-deprecating humor. The gentle teasing. The head tilt/crinkly smile/from under the eyes magic that he wields so well. Clooney in ’16, yo.