Rizzoli & the Isles of Lesbos

Hey, did you catch that show last night where, yes, there was some sort of horrible murder happened but mostly it was just a chance for Angie Harmon and Sasha Alexander to insanely flirt with one another? I know I did. And I know many of you did, too, because you all joined in on the #RizzKissedAGirl live tweet-up of the Very Special Lesbian “Rizzoli & the Isles of Lesbos” episode last night. I’ve made a full, exhaustive recap of all the intense eye contact, ridiculous rack ogling and disappointingly chaste neck nuzzling over at AfterEllen today. But, as promised, I’m going to let your own tweets help tell the story.

So, how gay was the episode you ask? I’ve give it one tick below a full-blown Jane Lynch.Having Maura and Jane double-date is clearly just an excuse for them to play footsie under the table.Straight women go to the bathroom in pairs to talk about girls. Gay women go to the bathroom in pairs to make out.Well this is just a true fact.She is whispering it because she doesn’t want people to know about the one they used together last night. Clearly.Well, that or the profile picture they’re using to make them look like Angie Harmon is actually from 1993.If they do, I need to start getting friendlier with more straight girls.Again, just a true fact.This is just what I’d call a happy accident all around.See, this is why you always go straight for the mouth, people. You never know when your hot date could be surreptitiously trying to collect your DNA.Oh, and one more thing, courtesy the lovely Feromoon. This, my friends, is what I’d call a genuine “come to Jesus” moment.

Sorry I am

They say love means never having to say you’re sorry. But that’s an enormous crock of shit. Love means always having to say you’re sorry, and if you’re lucky, being forgiven anew each time. What the fairy tales seldom say is what happens after all that riding off into the sunset. Because after you do win the girl, it’ll be your ability to apologize for everything from life’s little annoyances to life’s colossal fuck-ups that will actually allow you to keep the girl. (Helpful Hint: Crying never hurts.)

I finally got a chance to finish Season 4 of “Skins” over the weekend and, woo doogie, that was big slice of holy hell. (Spoiler Alert: Skip to the next paragraph if you haven’t finished Season 4, or you ever plan to – which should be all of you who haven’t already. Seriously.) OK, first of all, they Chaikened Freddie? It’s just… I don’t… And then… BASEBALL BAT. Also, don’t the British play cricket? I can’t even get into the insane intricacies of how this show about the outrageous slings and arrows of being a teenager in the tenth year of the 21st Century turned into some sort of mad midnight slasher flick. All I can say is, oh my God, they killed Freddie!

Right, but back to what we were talking about, which was saying you’re sorry. Movies and TV tend to be a good job of showing the grand romantic gesture. Cymbals, fireworks, screaming about wankers on the top of a cab. But the raw, oozing innards that make up a really good apology, well, that’s tricky. Yet, when done right that release of one’s pride, that admission of one’s failing, that acceptance of pain caused, that acknowledgment of pain felt, that promise to do right, try harder, be better – all of that can be more beautiful than a moonlit kiss atop the Eiffel Tower. Which is just a very long way of saying that Naomi’s apology to Emily just might be my favorite apology ever committed to screen.

Thinking about “Skins” makes me think about my other favorite show about teenagers, “My So-Called Life.” Which, in turn, had its own rather spectacular apology by way of classroom note and Cyrano de Bergerac.

These sorrys serve as a reminder that the best apologies are, in their own way, grand romantic gestures. But this time, you know how high the stakes are and exactly what could be lost. Which also makes them that much more important.

My Weekend Crush

Look, everyone who knows me even a little knows my love for all things Tina Fey is unflagging. I worship at the alter of Feynimism daily, something more, and repeat “I want to go to there” as my personal mantra. All this is to say, I really like Tina Fey. But now If I were ever a way to test my loyalty, to – shall we say – flag my unflaggingness, it would be by tempting me with the possibility of a naked Sofia Vergara. The “Modern Family” star has promised* to run naked down Hollywood Boulevard if the show wins the comedy Emmy this year. (*Cast member may change without notice.) Way to test a gal’s loyalty. Of course, thanks to the fine print, we could be treated to Ed O’Neill running starkers through the streets of Los Angeles instead. There’s always a catch, isn’t there? Still, even the idea of a naked Sofia is enough to make a gal swallow her tongue. Sofia is many things. Hot, so hot, amazingly hot. And funny, so funny, lose bladder control funny. Plus that accent is its own living, breathing creature. You’d be hard-pressed to create a more sexy, spunky, delightful, delicious and flat-out hysterical human being than Sofia from scratch. She is the thing that sex dreams dream of when they dream. Wait, does that makes sense? Whatever. Bottom line: Damn, girl. Happy weekend, all.

p.s. Forgive me Tina. I’m only human. You’re still my No. 1 Gal.

Burn, baby, burn

“I love the smell of napalm in the morning, it smells like victory.” Violence has always been a part of our popular culture. It’s as much an American pastime as baseball, apple pie and scurrilous Wall Street money grubbing. But when the lines blur so easily, so seductively between entertainment and anger, sex and violence, perhaps it’s time for a new hobby.

I’ve been bothered by Eminem and Rihanna’s “Love the Way You Lie” video since it debuted last week. Actually, I’d been bothered by the song since it came out several weeks ago. Is her rapping about, wait, yes, he’s rapping about how he and his wife used to beat the shit out of each other. All righty then. Now, granted, it’s unmistakably catchy. Eminem has always had a way with a hook. Still the song also follows the musical gimmick du jour of having a pretty female vocalist sing a few pretty verses in between all the hip hop. (p.s. “Ghetto Supastar” called and wants its idea back. Oh, and then “Rapture” called and said, “Not so fast with the ‘your idea’ stuff, Pras and Mya.”) But that’s all peripheral when it comes to the video. This video.

The video with Eminem and Rihanna in front of a burning house and Megan Fox and Dominic Monaghan burning said house down – metaphorically and plain old literally. The video that features two of the biggest celebrities with high-profile, highly volatile run-ins with domestic violence. The video that shows both Megan and Dominic hitting each other, making out with each other and, yes, catching ablaze with the passionate, crazy, angry intensity of their love for each other. Or is it hate? Whatever, have I mentioned it’s sexy?

The problem with “Love the Way You Lie” is not so much that it glorifies domestic violence as it wallows in the beauty of its rage. The video is pretty. It has Megan Fox and Rihanna, it can’t help but be pretty. The violence is, well, violence. But it’s also all-consuming, yearning and, yes, kind of beautiful. And therein lies the problem. Because through all the punched walls and tonsil hockey, Eminem also raps “If she ever tries to fucking leave again I’m going to tie her to the bed and set this house on fire.”

Which, I think we can all agree, is in no way beautiful. There’s too much sex in my violence. Love that burns the house down, that is the real lie.

Cocktail hour

Emma Thompson got her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame last weekend. So, naturally, she celebrated with a pint and a pig. Naturally. Now, my love for Emma is unwavering. She may falter at times, but her heart is always unquestionably in the right place – even when she is talking smack about Audrey Hepburn. She is among those celebrities I put in my “I’d love to have a beer with” category. I mean, wouldn’t she be a blast at the bar? These are the folks whose big, magnificent brains and bubbly, radiant sense of fun make them the perfect candidates for a cocktail, or six.

Emma ThompsonSuch a pity her Safe website is still down. That last picture of her would have been a real conversation starter.

Helen MirrenIf you think she is a saucy minx sober, just wait until you get a couple cocktails into her.

Wanda SykesMy only worry is I’d laugh so hard I’d pee my pants, especially after a few drinks.

Rachel MaddowI believe it’s a life goal to taste a drink mixed by the master.

Jane LynchThat stuff I said about Wanda, ditto.

Leisha HaileyAnd if she brought along Kate Moennig and Erin Daniels, all the better.

Hillary ClintonOh, Hill. I will buy you a drink anyplace, anytime, anywhere. Standing offer, forever.

Kiss the girl

I’m not sure if there’s another show on TV right now that makes me scream “KISS HER!” more at my screen. Now I’ve expounded on just exactly how gay “Rizzoli & Isles” is before. A lot. Seriously, I won’t shut up about it. But with each passing episode the show seems to get even more gay. Lover’s spats. Chocolate apologies. Come on, honey, try my beer. This show is so gay. So gay. I don’t know if Angie Harmon and Sasha Alexander are intentionally playing up their insane chemistry (one would think not give the former’s political predilections), but it is undeniable. I think we’ll all find out how much they intent to flirt with the subtext next week with the show’s Very Special Lesbian Episode, “I Kissed a Girl.” Jane goes undercover as The Gay to catch a killer. And, just like a jealous girlfriend, Maura insists on filling out Jane’s fake online dating profile. She has her looking for a “Lipstick Lesbian.” Projecting much, darling?

Soon lesbians won’t say they’re “butch” or “femme,” but “Rizzoli” or “Isles.” For the record, I’m a Rizzoli.

But the true test of any show’s ultimate gayness is whether the femslash YouTube videos have surfaced. Welcome to the gayborhood, Rizzoli & Isles, you’ve arrived.

Naked Lady Monday: Velveteen Edition

Everyone goes through a lesbian movie phase. That time when you devour every lesbian movie ever made in a mad frenzy of curiosity, anthropological discovery and how-to guide practicality. It’s that time of your life when you actually watched “Claire of the Moon” and “Bar Girls” from start to finish. That time of your life when you’d watch an entire movie just to see Jennifer Connelly and Kristy Swanson kiss for like a half second, and was excited for that half second.

Of course, almost more fun that recalling your lesbian movie phase if comparing notes on your lesbian movie phase with other lesbians. The only thing that can redeem the irreplaceable 95 minutes of your life you spent on “Bar Girls” is to share your pain with others who also spent those 95 minutes wondering if perhaps lesbianism wasn’t such a good idea after all. But the really great thing about comparing notes on one’s LMP is to introduce someone to an entirely new lesbian movie genre. Hence this weekend I introduced some friends to the sublime British smut that is “Tipping the Velvet.”

Now, the first time I saw the BBC adaptation of Sarah Waters’ lesbo suit-and-bodice ripper was on BBC America. And the problem with watching the BBC in America is our Puritan roots start to show and you miss all the good bits. Having read the book as well, it was a far cry from the sweaty, thrusting romp through Victorian England that I remembered. But then I watched the British version. Oh, BBC, you so naughty.

So, naturally, I showed my friends the good version. And darn it if we didn’t stay up until 5 a.m. watching the adventures of Nan and her magic fingers (and other add-ons). I’m fairly certain I’ve created a new customer for “Fingersmith” as well. So in case, by some fluke, “Tipping the Velvet” has escaped your LMP as well or if you just want to relive the naughtiest of the naughty bits with me, here is an entirely NFSW trip down memory lane. I can’t believe they played this on regular old TV in the UK. Oh, to be British.

[REMINDER: Totally, completely, really not kidding NSFW]

As I told my friends when it was all over: “You’re welcome.”