This Can't Be Broccoli

Last year, people decided to revisit the Monica Lewinsky scandal. This time, however, they did so with compassion. Poor Monica was the victim of a sexist time. Bill got off easy, while Monica was dragged through the mud, and then thrown in history's scrap heap. Okay, I thought, I'm onboard for this line of thinking.  After all, when the scandal went down, Lewinsky seemed like an adult to me, because I was just a kid, and now I'm almost a decade older than she was when it happened, so I can look at her with a different perspective. People in their early twenties do stupid shit.  And the stupid shit you do in your twenties shouldn't ruin your life. But then this year rolled around... And suddenly, Monica was off the hook, and Hillary Clinton was impaled on it. As for Bill--Well, he's the guy, so people love him.  They don't want to love him, but they just can't help themselves.  He does that "Aw shucks, I'm just a country boy, but here...

This has been my experience with ambition When you decide you want to do something There are people all around you saying— Do whatever you have to do To get that thing you want If you don’t do whatever it takes Somebody else will And they’ll get the thing you want So you start out to get what you want And you think, Okay, so I just need to work hard And eventually, I’ll get the thing But what you don’t count on Is that sometimes it isn’t about Who works hard and who doesn’t Even though most people work hard And a lot of people seem to be working harder Than you could ever work What you don’t count on Is that sometimes the obstacle in front of you Isn’t the work you’re going to have to do But something else Something moral or political A choice you have to make That goes against what you believe in Or what you think is the right thing to do But there’s a sign in front of that choice saying— If you don’t do this You st...

Some quick Oscar thoughts: First and foremost, this is not the first year everyone is glaringly aware that the Oscars have a race problem, but now it seems like the race problem breaks down into two scenarios: 1.  A year where African-American actors just aren't given roles that would earn them accolades, which is more of an indictment of Hollywood than the Oscars--like last year. 2.  A year where there were plenty of amazing performances by African-American actors and the Academy is just like--"Oh?  Black people?  Didn't see any.  Sorry about that." #2 is a straight-up Oscar problem, and that's where we are this year. Let me just do the rundown for you, since I hate when people bring up snubs but don't say what should have been nominated and what should have been left out. I'm going to be blunt about this: Idris Elba from  Beasts of No Nation and Jason Mitchell from Straight Outta Compton are better than Mark Ruffalo is Spotlight  and Ch...

I realize it’s pretty early in 2015, but I truly can’t imagine a worse movie than Jupiter Ascending opening in the next ten months. This movie is like Battlefield Earth without—No, actually, it’s just like Battlefield Earth .   It is a hot mess of a movie that is also totally unfocused featuring career-low performances from just about everybody associated with it. The script reads like something a fifth grader would write if he tried his hand at penning a Blade Runner sequel. Eddie Redmayne turns in a performance so bad, I almost have to wonder if we should ever allow him to be on film again at the risk of something this bad happening again. Channing Tatum looks even more confused than he normally does in this movie, probably because there are aliens, reptilian aliens, magical bees, werewolves, rollerblading on air, immortal aliens, stem-cell researching aliens, pop-up spacesuits, and more double-crossing and backstabbing than an episode of Big Brother . A...

I have a problem I think a lot of men have—maybe women too, I don’t know. I hate going to weddings. The trouble is, I’m also mortally offended anytime somebody doesn’t invite me to their wedding.   (It’s the Portuguese in me.   I was raised to believe that if you’ve ever had any interaction with a person at any point in your life, you’re entitled to a wedding invitation from them.) So I either get a wedding invite and feel pleased only to remember that I hate actually going to weddings, or I don’t get invited and I vow never to speak to the person again. I should mention that I love the idea of a wedding—it’s just the whole getting dressed up, mingling, eating stuffed chicken thing of it all.   The ideal, I guess, would be somebody calling to say ‘I’m getting married and I want you there, but please don’t come.” That’s the kind of invite I’m looking for.

In addiction, there are enablers.   On Facebook, there are the commenters.   No matter what you do on Facebook, there’s somebody who will tell you that you’re right. Get engaged. Get married. Have a kid. Buy a house. Get a divorce. Adopt a puppy. Move to Prague. No matter what you do, you probably have an aunt who’ll congratulate you on it.   It doesn’t matter how well they know you, or if they really believe what you’re doing is a good idea.   It’s as if they only live to blindly support others in their endeavors.   There might not be any real harm in it, but something about them still seems insidious, like little devils on the shoulders of everyone with a social media account.

Ever since I was a young man, I have mourned the era of the nighttime soap opera.   Oh sure, every once in awhile, a show would come along that would have the spirit as those old Aaron Spelling classics (Dynasty, Melrose Place, etc.), but none have truly managed to capture the right balance of camp and high drama. That is—until Empire. For the first time in years, a show has come along that seems urgent enough to require that you actually be home to watch it.   It lingers in a perpetual state of “jumping the shark” and yet pulls back from the edge every time. And Cookie—where do I even begin?   It’s like somebody took the love child of Joan Collins’ Alexis and J.R. from Dallas and gave it to Amanda Woodward to raise.   If there’s any justice in the cultural Universe, this show will run for years. Or at least until there’s a wedding in Moldavia.