Life needs a blooper reel. Like, say, you’re going about your day and trip on an imaginary rock while walking into the office. Blooper reel! Or you’re grabbing a latte and spill the entire thing on your white blouse while the cute barista you’ve been trying to chat up for a month watches. Blooper reel! Or you walk into your boss’ office hoping to ask for a raise and accidentally call him by your secret nickname for him: Mr. Nutter Butter. That is going to kill in the blooper reel! Sadly, life does not have a blooper reel, but TV blessedly does.
In honor of tonight’s two – yes, TWO – live “30 Rock” broadcasts (East and West coast shows), here are a few very choice bloopers reels. I don’t wish flubbed lines on anyone, but if they must be flubbed let them be this funny.
30 Rock
So many sparrows, and by sparrows I mean flubbed lines.
Grey’s Anatomy
Snorting is always, always funny.
Chuck
Was I supposed to laugh at Yvonne StraHOTski dancing? Because mostly there was just drool.
Fringe
Pacey is hilarious. What? I don’t watch Fringe enough to remember his new name.
Smell Like a Muppet
Not a blooper, just adorable.
Hell, I think I’m just going to yell “Blooper reel!” next time I screw up royally. Couldn’t hurt, right?
Sometimes I’m amazed a show like “Glee” makes it on to network TV at all. It’s not that we don’t deserve to see the subject matter (and jazz hands) that “Glee” broadcasts. It’s not that the subject matter is even terribly progressive (watch some British TV, it’ll remind you why the Puritans left in the first place). But it’s just that this is America, and we don’t like it when our teenagers are gay on TV. And we don’t really like it when our gay teenagers on TV have sex. And we really, really don’t like it when gay teenagers on TV talk about their sex as “scissoring” – partially because they then have to run to Urban Dictionary and look up scissoring.
Also, I have just two words to say on the whole Brittana situation: CAN. ON. Canon, baby. On screen, no ambiguity, totally scissoring, endless sweet lady kisses canon. I know it wasn’t much (but, come on, it was the only kissing in the episode), but it was total cake for people who have been scarfing up every single Brittana crumb since the beginning. Speaking of the beginning, who wants to reminisce?
Sex is not dating. Scissoring is not dating. Sweet lady kissing is not dating. Only wanting to make lady babies and singing “Come to my Window” is, apparently, dating. Or is that being in love? Oh, Santana. Denial is a long and winding river through your heart.
Speaking of denial, it has become impossible to deny that Brittany is not just experimenting. She isn’t just in a phase. She isn’t just promiscuous. Brittany is gay. She might be bi, she might be lesbian – but she is definitely not straight. Wanting to touch Coach Beiste’s boobs. Calling Brittany Spears hot. Telling Santana she is still mad at her, but she is still so hot. GAY. So gay. So, so, so gay. Also gay, that no-boobies-for-you gesture she gave Santana.
For all its flights of incredible (Where’d all these matching outfits come from when we have no budget?), unapologetic (Who needs plot when you have dancing?), irrational (Seriously, do these kids have any other classes?) fancy, what “Glee” has consistently gotten right is the gay thing. Kurt’s struggle, both the come out to his father and be the only out gay kid in the school, mirrors the experience of so many other gay teens. His triumph, week after week, is a promise to everyone watching that it really, really does get better.
Similarly, Brittany and Santana’s relationship (because that’s what it is even if you don’t want to admit it – cough, Santana, cough) also mirrors the relationship so many young women have with each other. You fall in love with your best friend. You fool around. You hope your best friend falls in love with you. You don’t label it. You do deny it. You go out with boys to cover it. You make each other jealous. You practice the Lady and the Tramp meatball nose roll on your own. Fingers crossed that Ryan Murphy The Universe allows those two crazy kids to end up together. They so are this show’s best OTP.
“Glee” can be ridiculous and nonsensical and totally lacking all semblance of a narrative storyline, but it is also super, fabulously, scissorifically gay. And for that I will always be thankful.
This month seems like a good time to bring the music of Lisle Mitnik to your attention. Lisle has been a presence on myspace since 2004 and throughout the last six years he has been steadily releasing his self-produced, twee, lo-fi, dreampop under the name of Fireflies. In September, Fireflies also became a presence on bandcamp. Currently, Fireflies have three albums and two EPs up on the site and you'll be delighted to learn that the EPs; 'Strange' from March 2008 and 'Butterscotch' from March 2009 are available as free digital downloads (the albums are also very reasonably priced).
The good news is that Fireflies attempt to grab the attention of the indie-pop world continues apace during October. I'd like to introduce you now to the Bubbletone Club 7 Digital Singles Club. What is it? Well, essentially, on the first day of every month Bubbletone release one, sometimes two, freely downloadable digital single(s). That's right, just like a seven inch single, except for the inches. So go ahead grab one for free right here, it's all yours. Enjoy and share with your friends and family. The Fireflies tracks featured are 'New November Leaves' and 'Pale Flashing Light'. We here at the Streetlamp are especially fond of the latter. Have a listen below:
And there's more! As you will hopefully be aware the lovely people at EardrumsPop have recently made a commitment to release a free digital single on the 10th and 20th of every month. Every single will include two songs by the band, and in addition several will include a cover-version of a song the band think deserves more attention. The cover art will be made by the label's favourite illustrators, and they would like the public to see the single as a split-release between the band and the illustrator. For this release the beautiful cover illustration comes courtesy of Minkee. The singles will vary in style, from acoustic folk-songs to noisy indiepop and covering everything in between, but always warm and melodic. The 10th of October saw the release of ePop005 by Tiny Fireflies. You may remember Tiny Fireflies featuring on EardrumsPop’s 'Between Two Waves' compilation earlier this year. Basically, Tiny Fireflies are Lisle (from Fireflies) and Kristine (from Tiny Microphone). Indie know-alls may also recognise that both are also members of Chicago-based weePOP! band Very Truly Yours. Those self-same indie know-alls will also recognise three superbly crafted dreamy pop-songs when they hear them and will rush to download this here. My own personal favourite on the single is the otherworldly cover of 'The End of The World' but then I've had a soft spot for this particular song for a very long time. Have a listen: Tiny Fireflies - ePop005 - digital single by EardrumsPop
So there you go, two brand new releases and a wonderful back catalogue to boot. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Fireflies (and Tiny Fireflies)!
I have a theory. OK, it’s not so much a theory as I have eyes. Minka Kelly and Leighton Meester are the same person. Not just look alike or could be sisters, the same damn person. Sure, one appears to be dating Derek Jeter and the other fake dates Chuck Bass. One has darker hair, one has hair to gossip about. One is on a show about football, one is on a show about money, sex and scoring (wait, isn’t that football?) Whatever, they’re the same. Same same same same. This could be the sleep deprivation talking, but I’ve compiled what I believe to be irrefutable evidence of their sameness. Are you ready? Because I am about to blow your mind. Bonus: Even if it actually is the sleep deprivation talking, you still get to look at pictures of two really hot ladies side-by-side. So, I say, win-win. But, really, same-same.
I hereby dub them Meighton. Also, I want to commend the cinematographer on their upcoming movie “The Roommate” together, because that is some very sophisticated smoke and mirrors work to get one person to look like two.
Can you femslash the same person? Guess we’ll find out.
Hello, Monday. It seems every few days while checking my blog stats I’ll come across someone who found me by searching “Naked Lady Athletes.” First, I commend you smutty searchers. Second, here come 1,000 more search hits. The annual ESPN Body Issue is chock full of heavenly bodies, all ripped and ready to go. I can't really speak to the reasoning behind such a shoot other than as a shameless showcase of the most beautiful specimens of human perfection. Or, to be less verbal about it, UNF. It’s a Monday. Not everything has to be cerebral. Oh, before you shut off your brain entirely, NSFW.
US Women’s Water Polo TeamWater, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.
Diana Taurasi, WNBA Phoenix MercuryIs it weird that I’m wondering if that ball is regulation?
Rachel Yurkovich, JavelinPeople usually mean men when they refer to Greek gods. They’re really missing out.
Jeanette Lee, BilliardsPeople call her “The Black Widow.” I do not have a joke to go along with that because I am totally scared of spiders.
Kim Glass, VolleyballBump and set sound a lot dirtier when looking at this picture.
Esther Vergeer, TennisThis picture explains why they score tennis with “aces” & “love.”
Julia Mancuso, Alpine skiingWinter weather gear is, clearly, a sin.
US Women’s Water PoloGratuitous, in the very best sense of the word.
One of my many dirty little secrets is that I don’t always find Sarah Silverman all that funny. Sometimes, sure – fucking hilarious. But other times, eh – not so much. I just don’t really dig potty humor, so when she veers overboard into adolescent absurdism I have to roll my eyes. But I do appreciate Sarah for her unending boldness and unabashed independence. She is willing to say the unsayable. Quite frankly, the world needs more women who are unafraid of putting it all out there. After all, any gross thing boys can go, girls can do grosser. What I have always appreciated is Sarah’s unwavering support of the GLBT community. In fact, it was a tweet of Sarah’s about marriage equality that got me to follow her on Twitter in the first place. This week it was another tweet of hers and the very succinct, very heartfelt message behind it that reminded me why I keep following her. So even if I’m not big on licking dog butts, I am always going to be big on Sarah Silverman. Happy weekend, all.
We, the assorted gay ladies of the world, apologize for hitting on you. OK, that’s a lie. We do not apologize for hitting on you. We love hitting on you. We dream about hitting on you on the regular. If given a chance, many of us would crawl over broken glass or any such similarly jagged and therefore painful surfaces to hit on you. These are just facts which like science and fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies cannot be denied.
What we apologize for is hitting on you in front of your husband. Bad form. As you told Harper’s Bazaar, women apparently hit on you all the time. Gay men, too. We’re tickled you find it flattering. But we’re a tad worried that your husband finds that so many of us hit on you “odd.” He has eyes, right? I mean, not to be mean (which, have you ever noticed, whenever something is prefaced by that what follows is undoubtedly incredibly, shamelessly mean?) he is also aware of all of our unending resentment at his very existence, right? Nothing personal, it’s just we resent anyone who gets to go home every night with the object of international lust and countless sweaty fever dreams.
I guess what I really wanted to say is thank you for being flattered, we’ll try to hold off on the flirting in front of your husband and, dude, just sit back and enjoy it. You’re married to Christina Hendricks. You lucky fucking bastard.
Cheers, Ms. Snarker
p.s. There was also that one time Christina did this on “Without a Trace.” So now, well, I hope you can understand where all those sweaty dreams are coming from.
Life needs a blooper reel. Like, say, you’re going about your day and trip on an imaginary rock while walking into the office. Blooper reel! Or you’re grabbing a latte and spill the entire thing on your white blouse while the cute barista you’ve been trying to chat up for a month watches. Blooper reel! Or you walk into your boss’ office hoping to ask for a raise and accidentally call him by your secret nickname for him: Mr. Nutter Butter. That is going to kill in the blooper reel! Sadly, life does not have a blooper reel, but TV blessedly does.
