It's a Small, Small State of Rhode Island

 

I wouldn't give you even this much for 

your new legislation.

Here's a misnomer for ya: Rhode Island.  It's not an island.  It's also not a Rhode, but I won't split hairs. 

Something else that's misleading is the idea that civil unions achieve some sort of parity to marriage.  They don't.  Neither legally nor metaphorically are these things the same.  Plus, there's no getting around the fact that popping the question, "Will you unionize with me?" lacks a lot in eloquence and sense.  Unless you're Norma Rae Webster.

This past week the governing body of Rhode Island passed legislation to permit same-sex civil unions, piggybacking onto the historic New York state passage of same-sex marriage.  There are so many reasons why this is just a ridiculously poor effort that is also badly timed.  Even Rhode Island's governor, Lincoln Chafee, knew he was on the wrong side of the civil rights highway.  He bashed the bill even as he signed it into law.

Here's my feeling: From now to eternity there's a line in the sand, on one side is marriage, on the other institutionalized bigotry.  And all the rest is just chin music by bloviating, prevaricating politicians and their lackeys.

The state legislators of the little (in all senses) Rhode Island can take their piece of unions sop and shove it up their asses.

See what I mean about misnomers.  We're really not that civil.

Why is Tracy Morgan doing this to me?

Raise your hands if you're a bigot.

Aargh.  The webosphere is all aflutter about Tracy Morgan's bitterly homophobic rant during a stand-up performance in Nashville.  People are outraged.  People are virulent.  This is fine, but let me explain something to you all: Mr. Morgan is not behaving badly in order to hurt you.  He's doing this to hurt me, personally.

A few years ago Mr. Morgan was caught up in similar scandal.  That is, acting like a tool about gay folks.  I had a dark night of the soul where I considered no longer watching 30 Rock - then my very favoritest show.  But then came the apology.  It seemed sincere.  Or maybe I just wanted it to seem sincere.  Because I got to keep watching my beloved show, without any heavy guilt weighing down on me.

But it's deja vu-time.  (What's that famous George W. Bush proverb?  About the fool who can't get fooled again?)  I can't be that foolish, can I?  Because I still love you 30 Rock.  Admittedly not as much as I love Community or The Good Wife, but still oodles and oodles.

I guess I could compartmentalize.  I could rationalize.  Like when you watch Triumph of the Will, and think it's okay to acknowledge that this is superlative filmmaking.  I'm just responding to the aesthetics, not the message or the meaning is what you say, you know, at parties.  But I don't really want to do that here.  Sitcoms should be fun and easy, not demanding.  I really shouldn't have to work to suppress feelings of rage or anger.  That's why I won't watch anything called Two and a Half Ann Coulters.

Tina Fey, I bought your book in hardcover (something I do so rarely - because I'm nearly out of shelf space).  So you know I support you, but...

Here comes the classic break-up line:  I want to tell you Liz, Jack, Jenna, Kenneth, Frank, Pete, and Danny - It's not you, it's Tracy.

Single Female Director

One is the loneliest number

One of the least involving or distinguished Oscar ceremonies in memory is over.  And everyone is rushing to point out what was so very bad about every aspect of it.  Some of it's deserved criticism, some just catty and pointless.

But I must take issue with Television Without Pity's condemnation of Hilary Swank's intro, highlighting the sex of last year's Best Director: "Really? We're still singling Kathryn Bigelow out for being a female director? What year is it, again, Oscars?"

I'll answer that.  It's just one short year after a female director finally won that award.  After 82(!) straight years of men winning the damn thing.  So, why mention it?  Maybe to prevent such a staggering drought from happening again.

Better yet, to prod this year's Academy voters toward the realization that Winter's Bone and The Kids Are All Right didn't direct themselves into Best Picture Nominees.  In fact, for my money (a paltry sum to be sure), Lisa Cholodenko should have won.

A big hole in the doughnut revolution

Here's something that bothers me: When the zeitgeisters decide there's a revolution happening all over the world, that's really occurring within about a three to four block radius.

Over the past couple months I've been reading articles and seeing reports about the gourmet doughnut industry that's sweeping the nation.  That's right, the whole big nation.  Provided every state except New York and California has recently seceded from the U.S.

Because, as per usual, if you want the scrumptious, handmade, locally sourced, free-range, touched-by-angels, lumps of organic lard pictured above, you're going to have to live in New York City or Los Angeles.  Otherwise, you'll be enjoying the same overly processed, husks of sugar and fat that are available at the corporate donut emporiums on every street corner.

And doughnuts are a stand-in for everything.  Not just food (but, really, the food is better - compare the baked goods at Bouchon Bakery to anywhere else).  But also, more significantly, prosperity.  Wall Street and the big banks have returned to their natural fiscally overabundant state, while teachers in Wisconsin and Indiana are staging the fights of their lives so the government can't railroad their unions.  Los Angeles and San Francisco housing prices have come back to record levels, while the rest of the country has seen housing dip again.  In December, home prices were at their lowest since before the recession began.

The hole most Americans find themselves in now stretches from sea to shining Nevada.  That's too big.

So here's my plan: Let's all move.  Big cities are designed to accommodate millions - so what's a couple hundred million more?  Yes, it will be messy.  There will be a culture clash to end all others.   Closet space will overnight become the new gold standard.  But it will prove a point - that we're all tired and crazy.  That trendwatching is not a real job.  That "we the people" are a damn lot of people.

At the very least it will put the fear of God into our corporate overlords at Dunkin' Donuts.

Charlie Sheen does not have cancer

Now that CBS is considering dumping their eternal problem child, it appears the "Save Charlie" campaigns are about to commence in earnest.  The first salvo being fired by his father, actor Martin Sheen.  He told Sky News of his undying support, saying "If he had cancer, how would we treat him? The disease of addiction is a form of cancer..."

I like Martin Sheen as an actor and a person.  I think it's only right that he stand by a son in crisis.  But I think comparing his troubles to the ones facing persons with cancer is just egregious bollocks.

People choose to take drugs.  No one has ever chosen to have cancer.  Moreover, if the addiction is too strong for an individual, there are many facilities that will train you to be better.  There is no rehab for cancer patients painfully dying from disease.  Therefore this is the falsest of equivalencies.

Memo to CBS:  I hear you're worried about whether the show can continue without Mr. Sheen.  Trust me, if his exploits so far and the fact that the program has become awful and unfunny, have not turned away viewers - well, this thing is pretty much bulletproof.

Maybe look into the availability of Liz Lemon's soul-mate.  He's funny, and you wouldn't have to change the name on the parking space.