A league of our own

So, my question is this:

How…

many…

of…

these…

movies…

must…

we…

see?

I know the dorky guy/hot girl genre has been all the cinematic rage for a while now. Look how revolutionary, men don’t have to be hunks anymore to land impossibly beautiful women. Isn’t that great? Whooo dorks! Well, it would be if we saw a similar number of dorky girls/hot guys movies in return. But until the day you show me a girl who looks like Seth Rogen paired with a guy as hot as Katherine Heigl (or a girl as hot as Katherine Heigl, or just Katherine Heigl), I’ll keep my whooo to myself, thank you very much.

p.s. Yes, youngsters, there was a time when Patrick Dempsey was a dork. It was called the 80s.

Out of the Wilde

This is going to sound crazy. This might just be crazy. In fact, this is flat-out crazy. But I really wish Olivia Wilde would stop posing like this. OK, OK, you probably want to throw something at me right about now. Go ahead, I deserve it. (Dodges a toaster oven.) Hey, nothing that could hurt me!

Here is the thing, whenever you discuss beautiful women there is always a fine line between appreciation and objectification. I try, though probably not always successfully, to stay respectfully on the side of appreciation. But make no mistake, there is a real and unmistakable distinction. One can appreciate a beautiful woman as a whole without objectifying her for a single salacious purpose (that’d be s-e-x, in case any of you haven’t had your morning coffee yet).

I’ve been a fan of Olivia’s for a while now. She first caught my (not to mention Mischa Barton’s) eye as bisexual cutie Alex on “The O.C.” But then she went brunette (nothing against blondes, blondes – I just think darker tones work better on her) and I really, really started to notice. Now, I’ve had my problems with Thirteen’s storyline on “House.” Snoreteen hasn’t helped. But Olivia has always been spectacular to watch.

From reading her interviews and following her tweets, I believe her to be a smart, funny and deeply compassionate person who just happens to be strangle-a-mountain-ox hot. (I mean it, she is really, really, really funny.) But poses like this, well, they undermine all that other stuff a bit and just scream SEX BOMB. Not that women can’t be intelligent and hilarious and sexy, all at once. Of course they can, and deliciously so. It’s just a matter of frequency. Here are Olivia’s last five major magazine spreads.

[Click any to enlarge for research, yes, research.]

Elle, March 2010
GQ Italia, January 2010
GQ, October 2009
Maxim, July 2009
GQ, June 2009

OK, so that’s a lot of skin and a lot of sexy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Nothing at all. Heck, I’ve posted many of these at some point. It’s just that’s all we get to see of Olivia in the mainstream media. Now, it’s not really her fault. The magazines and photographers set up the shoots and pose her as they like. But wouldn’t it be nice if she was in, say, a gorgeous gown. Or a sophisticated suit. Or, better yet, celebrated for her philanthropic work. Or, best yet, her brain. Did you see her on Bill Maher? Girl’s smart. (Check out that last video, particularly.) Basically, anything that wouldn’t give people the opportunity to write the headline: “Olivia Wilde Gets Down on All Fours for Elle.”

Appreciation/objectification – there’s a fine line. And that’s pretty much it, right there.

SGALGG: Winter Olympics Edition

I can’t believe they’re over. All those amazing athletes, all that human drama, all that spectacular triumph – heck, even a little heartbreak. But now, now all we have the memories of super hot sports stars at the top of their physical form, hugging each other like grabby high school students. What? You have your memories and I have mine. So, in honor of the Vancouver Winter Olympics, one last look back in wonder. A Straight Gals* Acting Like Gay Gals to remember. (*Note: I cannot vouch for all these ladies straightness. And when I say all, mostly I mean you, hockey gals. Beer in cans and big old cigars? Just saying.)

Kaillie Humphries & Heather Moyse, Canada, Bobsled, GoldI think the big, brawny gals of bobsled are all kinds of sexy. There, I said it.

Shelly-Ann Brown & Helen Upperton, Canada, Bobsled, SilverSee, told ya.

Anette Norberg & Eva Lund, Sweden, Curling, GoldSame goes for curling. But mostly I think that’s just because the women keep screaming HAAAARD at each other.

Cheryl Bernard, Canada, Curling, SilverSee, told ya.

Bingyu Wang & Yin Liu, China, Curling, BronzeAll the kissing helps, too.

Stephanie Beckert & Anna Friesinger-Postma, Germany, Speedskating Team Pursuit, GoldWhat the Winter Olympics lack in tank tops, they make up for in clingy body suits.

Lee Sang-Hwa, South Korea & Wang Beixing, China, Speedskating, Gold & SilverSee, told ya.

Tatjana Huefner & Natalie Geisenberger, Germany, Luge, Gold & BronzeLuge is fucking crazy. Ditto for skeleton.

Claudia Nystad & Evi Sachenbacher-Stehle, Germany, Cross Country, SilverIs cross country the speed walking of the Winter Games? Just putting it out there.

Tania Vicent & teammates, Canada, Short Track, SilverCuddle huddle!

Marie Dorin & teammate, France, Biathlon, BronzeI don’t know who is hugging Marie*, but if I were her I’d be doing it, too. She’s adorable, and she can shoot things well. (*Apparently it’s Sylvie Becaert. Lucky gal.)

Ireen Wust & teammate girlfriend, Netherlands, Speedskating, GoldShe’s actually a GGALGG. So, you know, niiiice.

Team Canada, Hockey, GoldO, Canada. You are so adorably gay Canadian. Don’t ever change. Though, seriously, after these last 16 days I think I’m a little bit in love with Canada. Thanks, neighbors. Awesome Winter Games, eh?

Lezzing Out

Well, it’s certainly been strange this past week campaigning for something I was mortified to be called in gradeschool. But here I am asking one last time for your vote in The Lezzys for best entertainment/culture blog. Today is the final day to cast your ballot for your favorite lesbian blogs (remember to click the link in your confirmation email to make ‘em count). Thanks one and all to those who have voted (and have kept voting every day). And, don’t forget, everyone who votes can enter to win either the “Weeds” season five DVD or a review copy of the Indigo Girls, “Poseidon and the Bitter Bug.” Just forward me your confirmation emails by the end of the day today. Win or lose, you folks are fucking awesome – you big lezzies, you.

My Weekend Crush

Yes, another post about women’s figure skating. Don’t worry, this only happens once every four years. So if impossibly graceful young women with iron wills and knives on their shoes bore you, go get a sandwich and come back Monday. Who knows, maybe there’ll be naked ladies again. But back to the ice, where last night was witness to – in my most humble of opinions – the most fucking amazing women’s figure skating finals I’ve ever seen.

This is why I watch the Olympics. Not just for the ice skating, per se (though, as I’ve said before, I do love it so). No, I love to see athletes reach their potential, do their best and truly enjoy their moment. I cannot recall ever seeing a more well skated final round from all the medal contenders. Not ever. None of the women in the last group fell. Very few made errors, and small ones at that. All shone in some way. Almost all were radiantly happy with their performance. Even the disappointed silver winner landed not one but two – two – triple axels in her program. And those plucky teenage Americans didn’t medal, but still showed their mettle. Hello, history, the ladies on Vancouver are calling.

And then, of course, there was Kim Yu-Na, the flawless golden queen of figure skating who carried an entire country’s expectations on her willowy shoulders, and Joannie Rochette, the adopted daughter of these games who battled through excruciating loss for a triumphant bronze. Damn, it’s almost like it was scripted. Bigger damn, I can’t believe the Olympics are almost over. Happy weekend, all.

“C’est pour toi, Maman”

Women’s figure skating is why I fell in love with the Winter Olympics in the first place, all those years ago. While I was too young for the Dorothy Hamill hoopla (or, blessedly, the haircut), I distinctively remember the power and, let’s face it, sexuality of Katarina Witt. Then, as a teenager, came the Asian sensations. My heart stopped at the great Kristi Yamaguchi versus Midori Ito duel. My heart still hurts for Michelle Kwan. I identified immediately with these tiny dynamos. Sure, I lacked their grace and strength and dedication, but at least they looked more like me than Nancy Kerrigan (or, blessedly, Tonya Harding).

These Olympics again feature some great Asian skaters, none more so than South Korean Kim Yu-Na – the skater so famous she had to flee her country to train in peace. But the heart of the competition, and perhaps these games, beats and breaks with Joannie Rochette. By now, everyone knows the story. The Canadian skater took to the ice only two days after her mother died suddenly and unexpectedly of a heart attack after arriving in Vancouver to cheer on her daughter.

You could see the emotion, the pain, the tension in her face before her short program began. I held my breath. The announcers fell silent. And then it was just her and the ice. To say she skated well would be trite. She skated transcendently – her performance came from a place occupied only by muscle memory, pure grit and a mother’s love. And then after two minutes and 50 seconds of strength came the tears.

We have all had that moment – though probably never on so grand a stage or when it meant so much – that feeling of holding the world together and then finally letting it all go. I lost my father five years ago, also suddenly and unexpectedly, and I cannot imagine doing anything as beautifully as Joannie did Tuesday night so soon afterwards. While some might question why she would go on to skate after such a tragic loss, I understand it intrinsically. It is the one thing she understands. The one thing that makes sense. The one thing she knows she can do even though nothing else will never be the same. She had to.

But that she had to is one thing, that she did it so spectacularly is another. The Olympics have always been a microcosm our human condition played out over a fortnight. It is all of our dreams and life’s work distilled to that second when the starter’s gun fires. It’s your moment. Win or lose, what I think each athlete hopes for it to do her best. That is what makes it so universal. We all have dreams, we all work hard. We don’t all get rewarded at the end of the day with a gold medal or a Wheaties box. But we all try.

So now, on the day of the women’s free skate, I hold my breath again. My entire body aches for Joannie to do well. But even if she falters, if the understandable and unimaginable pressure gets to her, she will have already won. It’s not a victory for precious metal, but something much more precious. Love.

Find a happy place

In case you hadn’t noticed, I love “Glee.” Fun, fabulous and so fucking gay, the show has almost everything I love. Singing, dancing, snarking. Jane Lynch, jazz hands, gay cheerleaders. That’s just quality television, right there. One of the other things I love about “Glee” is how it has become such a massive cultural phenomena. It’s cool to love this show. Hell, even President Barack Obama has jumped on the bandwagon and invited the cast to sing at the White House for the annual Easter Egg Roll.

Yay, Gleeks! We’ve arrived! Right? Um, right, sort of. For all the show’s success, it also represents a fundamental dichotomy in our culture. While the larger world is perfectly happy to laugh along with us, they’re still not completely comfortable making us equal. We’re allowed into their living rooms for an hour each week, but we’re not allowed to live totally free every hour of every day.

Even this White House invite, while fantastic, typifies our struggle. Pres. Obama supports and is pursuing the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, but does not support full marriage equality. One step forward, one step still stuck in the mud. Granted, that one step forward is a big one. I don’t recall any open invites to tea from W.

Though, as impatient as we are, the “Glee” movement might just be a sign that better days ahead. Because, instead of breeding contempt, familiarity in this case could breed acceptance. Polls have shown over and over again that younger generations are more comfortable and committed to gay rights. The future, it seems is bright – there’s just that tricky matter of getting there, and quickly. The song remains the same: Don’t stop believin’.