List-a-mania: Top 5 Things I'm Obsessed With This Week

Well Unpro-ites, if you're in certain parts of the country, it's been a hell of a week.  Personally, I'm so over this snowpocalypse and all the other corny names it's been given by Weather Channel reporters who have nothing better to do than sensationalize natural occurrences.

The one good thing about all this freezy precipitation?  It's given me an excuse to hunker down with some awesome TV, books and music.  Behold, the top 5 bits of pop culture goodness that have captivated my brain, heart, and some other parts of my anatomy of late:


1.  Community: "Advanced Dungeons and Dragons"
Each episode of this keeps-getting-better comedy bears the name of a fictional class that ties to the themes of the wacky study group's current adventure.  With that in mind, last Thursday's ep could easily have been called "How to Save a Life."  The basic plot is this: when Jeff Winger (Joel McHale) becomes afraid for his depressed pal "Fat" Neil (played with downtrodden dignity by Charley Koontz), Jeff organizes the study group in Neil's favorite role-playing fantasy game.  But what happens when wily old man Pierce (Chevy Chase) threatens to take over?

Initially I was suspicious of this episode: I've never played D&D in my life, and I was afraid this would be another "Abed's Uncontrollable Christmas" and sacrifice genuine laughs for the sake of being clever.  But that scamp Dan Harmon, once again, made me a believer.  From the Cate Blanchett in Lord of the Rings narration, to the too-good-for-TV musical score, to a hilarious mute imaginary sex scene, to the insightful look at complex group dynamics and insecurity between friends, "Advanced Dungeons and Dragons" was a winner.  It's vintage Community: where you're laughing so hard and smirking so much, then at the very last minute, realize your heart is smiling and hurting at the same time.



2.  Poser: My Life in Twenty-three Yoga Poses (Claire Dederer)

I adore yoga and have practiced for almost three years now, but I still don't go a bundle on yoga books.  I'm not talking about the instructional stuff, which was very helpful when I was starting out.  I'm talking about the Eat, Pray, Love type crap where everyone's all hippy-dippy and faux-spiritual and say things like "journey" and "energy."  It's that type of talk that scared me away from yoga for so long.

But Poser is different.  I was intrigued by the title and blurb at Barnes & Noble, and in a rare moment for me, bought the hardcover at full price.  (In my defense, one does funny things when a blizzard is a-comin'.)  Claire Dederer, a Seattle freelance writer who began practicing yoga after the birth of her first child, isn't a long-haired tight-bodied 20-year-old telling you how to live your life.  She's imperfect.  She's funny.  She loves some poses and is skeptical of others.  And almost unintentionally, over ten years of practicing yoga she DOES indeed learn to live better.

I loved Dederer's sharp, witty voice and her descriptions of various teachers and studios in Seattle and in Boulder, CO.  More importantly, her journey (yup, I use that word now) reflected my own.  After years of skepticism, I started yoga as a way of regaining flexibility I'd lost, and in the wake of a huge tragedy just outside my city, to understand why the world was the way it was.  And it worked: not only did I feel healthier, I started to realize a recovering Catholic could find spirituality in movement.  Whether it's through dance, yoga, or just walking around Chicago, I discovered that being put squarely in one's own body is a religious experience in itself.

3.  Nicki Minaj
About a month ago, Bob persuaded me to download Kanye West's "Monster" because Bob had become obsessed with it.  I did as I was told and got hooked, in particular on the verse rapped by a sassy Sri Lankan chick named Nicki Minaj.  Normally I'm not so into hip hop, but sometimes when I'm angry at the world or I just want to get my groove on, there's nothing like sharp words and strong beats.  Also, because it's not my favorite genre, I rarely find a female rapper I can get into.

Minaj rocks my socks: very tough and very feminine at the same time.  Plus, she loves pink and y'all know I'm all over that shit.  I'm loving her single "Blazin'" (featuring Kanye), and am also getting into her new album Pink Friday.  But I keep going back to "Monster."  Because, really, when you're pissed there's nothing like mouthing the words, "First things first, I'll eat your brains/then I'mma start rockin' gold teeth and fangs."  Aw yeah.



4.  Smut, Vol. 1 (Edited by Nerve.com)

In the past year, thanks to my author friend Bryn Donovan, I've discovered romance novels are just damn good.  As is erotica, romance's kinkier cousin.   I'm way more turned on by well-chosen dirty words than dirty pictures (no matter how gorgeous the latter are, the Catholic schoolgirl in me still wants to giggle and go "ewwww").

I picked up Smut, Vol. 1 off the clearance rack at Borders, and damn if it wasn't the best $1.99 I've ever spent.  Written by authors such as Steve Almond, Jay McInerney and Alice Sebold, these stories of all kinds of love and sex are both intelligent reads and totally, completely hot.  Let me put it to you this way: I have no desire to procreate.  Ever.  And yet Paula Bomer's "Fucking His Wife, Four Months Pregnant With Their Third Child" made me want to get married and knocked up.  It's that fantastic.  (Really glad my mom doesn't read this blog.  Watch this be the week she does.)

5.  RuPaul's Drag Race

You guys, words cannot express how much I adore RuPaul's Drag Race.  It is, quite simply, the best reality show EVER.  Ever.  Forever and ever, amen.  Nothing is more hilarious, touching and glittery than watching a handful of drag queens compete for a cash prize, free makeup for life, and a chance to headline a tour.  And in the midst of it all is Miss Thang herself, RuPaul, alternately jumping around like a bald pogo stick in men's suits, and fabulously decked out in glam gowns enhanced by magical boob cutlets.  In between silly challenges like dragging up Barbie dolls and turning thrift-store finds into tinsel-rific holiday outfits, there are the queens themselves: men who love dresses, makeup and performing, who often didn't feel they fit into the world until they put on some heels and threw a hearty "fuck you" at anyone who didn't accept them for who they were.  No manufactured drama here: the guys/girls bring their own and then some.  As RuPaul says: "Gentlemen, start your engines, and may the best WOMAN win!"


RuPaul's Drag Race runs Monday nights on the Logo network, and for free on Logo's website.  Also, if you like recaps, you should read mine every week at TVgasm.com (hey, I'm all about the shameless self promotion).



What are YOU obsessed with right now?  Any recommendations?  Leave a comment!

TV Twin: Community's Britta Perry

Remember in the heyday of Sex and the City (or, hell, seven months ago when that abomination of a fanfic-gone-bad second movie came out) when ladies and gay guys were all, "I'm a Carrie/Charlotte/Samantha/Miranda?"  (My friend Bob swears that calling oneself or someone else a "Carrie" is the very opposite of a good thing.)  I will admit that I more or less participated, as my sister swears I'm Miranda 2.0.  Thank God my ex didn't knock me up after getting one of his balls removed.

So, okay, I'm somewhat of a Miranda.  But even more these days, I'm a Britta.

Last May, I posted a tribute to one of my favorite shows now or ever, Community.  This season, the show's  gone in some new directions (not to be confused with New Directions on Glee, which I have a love/hate relationship with, but that's a whole 'nother post): more episodes that are stand-alone, more objectification of Joel McHale (not that I'm complaining), and most of all, more of an ensemble feel.  What began in the pilot as a morality tale of a lying asshole being put in his place has evolved into a story of a group of friends, at once archetypal and multi-layered, stumbling and grappling as they search for the next stage in life.

It's been fun to watch everyone grow--even old-man Pierce has his moments, falling into the "wrong crowd" with a clique of sassy old people known and feared as the Hipsters.  However, one of my favorite character evolutions has been Gillian Jacobs' Britta, who's gone from bland everyalternagirl love interest to full-fledged human being, equally misguided and wise as she frequently knocks heads and boots with McHale's Jeff Winger.

By "favorite," I sometimes mean "painful."  Britta's blundering antics can be wincingly hard to watch.  Because at times, they are so much like my own.  Here they are, the top 5 reasons I relate to Britta more than any TV character ever:

1.  Terminally unique, for better and for worse.
When I was an obnoxious pseudo-goth-depressed law student, one of my favorite professors warned me against alienating my preppy classmates by being "terminally unique."  My dark and despairing but stubborn mind had no idea what she meant then, but now I look back and wince at what a poseur I was. Throughout my late teens and twenties, I fell right into the hipster trap of disdaining things I deemed mainstream and embracing the alternative.  There's nothing wrong with doing this, if that's genuinely what you believe.  Not me--I loved indie bands but also secretly cranked the pop music I publicly denigrated.

Even though we don't see flashbacks, Britta stands out as the girl who never quite fit in.  She's a high school dropout, she wears leather jackets, she's lived in New York and is a vegetarian.  And she's very, very vocal about all of this.  I like to think I've evolved past terminal uniqueness (and yes, I know this is an NA/AA term), and I just own it.  However, sometimes my friends tell me otherwise.  We're growing into who we are, Britta and I, and hopefully we'll get to the point where we don't need to advertise, we'll just be.

2.  "I don't think straight with nothing to prove."
Oh, how I identify with this Fun. quote.   And if she knew about it, maybe Britta would too.

It was revealed in Season One that Britta is a high school dropout, and part of the reason she's at community college is to get back at everyone who thought she was a failure.  It's unspoken that many of these people have forgotten about her, or give even less of a crap than they did ten years ago.

I did graduate high school; however, I was almost held back in kindergarten.  Not because I was behind academically, but because I was shy and physically a little behind.  Upon getting confirmation that my smarts were more than up to speed, my mom and dad (the latter of whom studied to be a teacher), basically told my teacher she was full of crap.

I found this out in seventh grade, when I ALREADY felt like a freak amidst my loud, athletic, pink around the collar classmates.  It made me even more determined not to be like them.

I graduated valedictorian (and a kickass dancer to boot).

Even now, at age 30, I often feel like I'm two steps behind everyone else.  And I need to catch up at all costs.  No matter what I accomplish, it isn't quite enough for me to prove that I'm no longer the shy little farm-town girl who walked slower and talked quieter than the rest of the class.  Ridiculous?  Yeah.  But like Britta, I constantly feel the need to "show" everyone.  Even though--surprise!--nobody cares.

3.  Likes all the wrong guys.
Even though she's a smart, tough chick, Britta's romantic judgment often leaves a lot to be desired.  In season one, she had two main hookups: professional Hacky Sack-er and hippie musician Vaughn, who eventually wrote a song declaring Britta a "gee dee bee" (figure it out), and cocky lawyer/fellow Spanish 101 survivor Jeff.  When Jeff's former girlfriend Professor Slater decided she wanted him back, Britta used her status as candidate for Transfer Queen to make a declaration of love she wasn't sure she felt.

Been there.  Oh God, have I been there.

I tend to go for the guys who are confident to the point of arrogance, smart-ass to the point of borderline disrespectful.  I like the ones who flaunt their brain cells in the face of those less astute.  And sometimes, these guys turn out to be jerks, but oh no, I keep coming back.

Vaughn is long gone, but Britta and Jeff's relationship remains interesting in its stickiness.  Do they have a genuine love connection?  Probably not.  Jeff's a preppy douche, Britta's a wannabe hipster.  But they're both cynical, darkly humorous, and enjoy a good argument.  I don't know if either is looking for romance, yet they're perfectly suited as friends with benefits.  I joked the other day to Bob that I may as well wear a T-shirt saying, "Looking for Jeff Winger."  'Cause snarky friend with hot benefits sounds pretty amazing right now.

4.  Opinionated, yet goofy.
Britta goes to protests, eschews meat and takes women's studies courses.  Yet she also does the robot, spews awkward comebacks, and once dressed as a flower for a dance recital.  Sure, the quirky not-quite-together gal has been around since Mary Richards and Diane Chambers, but rarely have I connected more with one.

I hate it when TV shows and movies manifest female quirkiness in the form of manic pixie dream girls (see also: Natalie Portman in Garden State.  I have never wanted to murder a fictional character more).  Everyone has their little weirdnesses, but it doesn't mean they're a) dumb, or b) a plot device for a sad sack whiny male to realize that life is awesome.  Britta and I both try too hard to be different sometimes, without realizing that we're strange already--just not in the ways we pretend to be.

5.  "I try to act compassionate, because I'm afraid I'm not."
This line, uttered after Britta and Jeff's paintball game tryst in the seminal "Modern Warfare" episode, hit me in the gut like a ton of bricks.  For a rare moment, these two stop posturing and sexual-tension squabbling and have an honest conversation which results in Britta's confession.  And it makes so much sense for her character, a vulnerability that feels real rather than put upon.  Britta's proud of the white liberal shell she's built around her, but deep down she's worried she's just not nice at heart.  (Jeff has similar struggles as he realizes more and more that he's not as clever as he thinks he is.)

Yeah, this hit home.  I mean, I donate to charities whose work I believe in.  I work for a nonprofit about whose mission I am passionate.  I try to be a good friend to those with whom I am close.

Yet I struggle with the fact that I'm probably not a nice person.  I'm snarky.  I'm judgmental.  I like to think I'm better than I used to be, but maybe I'm not.  And it wears on me a lot more than I'd like to admit.

That one line, so succinct and earnest, is the one that made me sit up on my couch and say, "Damn."  It put into words what I'd never been able to verbalize.

So yeah, I love Britta.  It may be weird to identify with a fictional person so deeply, but I do.  Might as well own it, right?

I think I should add Gillian Jacobs to the list of Celebrities I Never Want to Meet.  Because I'm sure I'd blather, "Omigod, I am SO Britta," and I'm sure she gets enough of that noise.

Two of my favorite Britta moments:

Anatomy of a Girlcrush: Zooey Deschanel

Up until this year, I went back and forth on Zooey Deschanel.

Those of you who read my (500) Days of Summer review will recall that I liked her more snarky roles, such as Anita Miller in Almost Famous and Sarah Jessica Parker's bird-hating roommate in Failure to Launch, but was a bit bugged by her performance as Summer and her persona in general.  Could anyone really be that whimsical?  Kind of like Natalie Portman's character in Garden State, whom I hated with a passion, I felt that Zooey/Summer was created out of thin air (or maybe by an L.A. publicist) as the ultimate male fantasy: beautiful, ethereal, just informed enough to keep up with the manboy in question, but just dim enough so he felt more man than boy.

Granted, I felt Summer redeemed herself at the end of the film (plus I agreed with her lackadaisical view on relationships for the movie's first three quarters).  I still wasn't sure about Zooey.

Then I got into the first season of Top Chef Masters (won by none other than Chicago's own Rick Bayless, holla!).  Zooey was featured in a challenge: the cheftestant finalists had to make lunch for her, her mother, and a group of friends . . . however, Zooey was a vegan at the time and had various food sensitivities, including a gluten allergy.  Now I have NO PROBLEM with people with food allergies--I want to make that clear.  If you can't eat something, or you just plain don't want to, that's your prerogative (and if it's an allergy you can't help it!).  However, these were some SERIOUS dietary restrictions, and I snorted to my roommate, "oh my God, could she BE any more of a special snowflake?"

Then the actual lunch party happened, and despite my earlier snarkiness, I couldn't take my eyes off the girl.  No airbrushing, in outdoor lighting (not always friendly, especially in reality-TV land), and just chilling with her friends . . . she was luminous.  Lovely.  And apparently blessed with good genes, as her mom was gorgeous too.

And I couldn't hate her anymore, because she was so pretty.

Dude, I'm a feminist.  Saying I like someone because they are pretty feels like the equivalent of not reading Catcher in the Rye because there are no pictures on the cover.  Judging a book by its cover, in other words.  I mean, yes, I've done my fair share of ogling hot dudes, but it feels different when you're judging your fellow woman, you know?  As a gender, we're supposed to be better than that.

And yet there's something to be said for beauty, whether it's a lovely Degas, the sun going down and the city lights coming up, or seeing an attractive person.  It makes you happy.  And the best kind of beauty doesn't intimidate you.  It just makes you smile.  It makes you want to be better.  Whether it's man made or natural or a combo, it may inspire you to do some creating of your own.

For me, that moment will forever be known as The Zooey Effect.

And then a few months ago, Bob introduced me to a music group, whom I'd vaguely heard of but never checked out for myself.  "They're called She & Him, and they've got sort of an early-seventies sound that you'll love," he enthused over email.  "I know a lot of girls don't like her, but she's got a really sultry voice."  "Who's 'her'?"  I responded.  "Zooey Deschanel," he wrote back.

A week later, I was in love with Volume One.  The lyrics were simple, the melodies true, and the harmonies, well, harmonic.  What I love about sixties and seventies supergroups like Creedence Clearwater Revival and Queen is the sheer emotion of their songs: those guys put it ALL out there.  (If you don't believe me, listen to CCR's "Have You Ever Seen The Rain?"  One of the best musical expressions of grief ever composed.)  Zooey and M. Ward not only sounded perfect together, with tunes in my range that I didn't feel embarrassed singing under my breath or out loud to my cat, but their music made me at once happy and sad, content and longing.  Faceted in its simplicity.

At this point, I went from being lukewarm on Zooey to wanting to be Zooey.

Not in a gross, it puts the lotion on its skin way, of course.  But Christ, the girl has a pretty solid acting career.  She met M. Ward on the set of an indie flick and for the first time was inspired to share the songs she'd been writing for years, and a dynamic duo was formed.  Her fashion sense rocks.  Her voice at times reminds me of Loretta Lynn, who I've always loved.  My mom said it best: "it's like she's from another era."  A way cooler, more dreamy retro-chic era where more people strummed guitars and no one got Botox.

I know how the L.A. PR machine works.  I know that Zooey's indie girl image is just as packaged as Megan Fox's overtly sexual one.  However, there's something genuine about Zooey Deschanel that you don't see in most post-millenial stars.  A coworker and I were discussing her appeal the other day: "you just can't hate her," my coworker said, "because it seems like she actually IS that way."  "I know!"  I agreed.  "I know it's part of her image, but it doesn't seem affected.  You get the feeling she just is."

Last week, I was fortunate to see She & Him live at Chicago's Millenium Park.  Live, the songs were both soothing and surprisingly rockin'.  The gaggle of fans, most of whom were dressed like me, all had a grand old time bopping and mouthing along as the sun set and the downtown lights came up.

And Zooey was just lovely.  Clearly happy in her musical world.  She didn't do much talking onstage, but I've read that she's shy, so that's understandable.  And honestly? If musicians aren't comfortable with onstage banter, I prefer they not engage.  Better minimal than forced, ya know?

All in all, it was a wonderful night and when she sang "Home," I felt like I was in the exact right place.

I'll never be Zooey Deschanel, that's for sure.  I do have blue eyes, but they are nowhere near as cornflower.  I'm blonde and bespectacled and argumentative.  My voice is more loud than pretty, and I've never strummed a ukulele in my life.

As Bob has observed, I'm way more Britta on Community: outspoken yet often unsure, with an agenda and an ax to grind, but plenty of awkwardness too.

And you know what?  That's okay.

But I'll always have the divine Ms. D to look at, and look up to.

For some Monday morning smiles, check out this supercute video, where Zooey and Joseph Gordon-Levitt are having too good a time.  (And despite the fact that I am in looove with JGL, I'm not even jealous of her.  Much.)

P.S.  A big fat CONGRATS to LadyJ3000 for winning last week's Deception giveaway!  I will be emailing you soon for your info.  Hope you like the book!

The Unprofessional Critic Becomes the Analytical Fangirl

He made me laugh.

That's been it all along.

I know what y'all are thinking: oh crap, ANOTHER love letter to Joel McHale.  Another obsessive missive from an almost-thirty-year-old who should know better.  Hell, I'm halfway thinking it myself.  And as a result, in the hours before I finally saw my snarky hero live, I finally asked the question: what is it about the dude I dig so very much?

I know, I know, I've already devoted a blog post to this (two if you count last week's rundown of the awesomeness of Community).  And true, the guy's easy on the eyes, funny as hell, displays a Midwestern-esque work ethic (not surprising, considering his dad's a native Chicagoan), and by all accounts (though of course we can't know everything that goes on behind closed doors) appears to be a devoted husband and dad.  All admirable, sexy even, but not necessarily the source of fandom with a capital F.

Also, I realize how annoying and hipster-ish it is, but I usually make it a point not to follow the crowd, i.e. crush on the very man that gazillions of women are lusting after.  I mean, for years I chose Rainn Wilson over John Krasinski, for chrissake.  (Still a toss-up in my mind.)  So what makes Joel McHale so different and special?

It all boils down to four words:

Dude made me laugh.

In 2004, I was in my second year of law school and Joel was starting on The Soup.  I was hidden away in a rural dorm room and he was on a Friday-night clip show, yet to be appreciated by the masses.  I don't know about Joel's personality, but I do know that I was far from the easiest person to deal with at that time.  In fact, I downright antagonized nearly everyone I met: classmates, family, even friends.  I'm still surprised that ANYONE who knew me in those days chooses to continue speaking to me.

During my three years of law school, I hardly smiled.  I was angry a lot.  It was just the way things were.

I thought it was part of growing up.  Adjusting to a world I only knew as "real."  In reality, I was forcing myself to continue in a hell of my own making, trying to convince myself that it was all for the best and failing miserably.

And then, one night in my dorm room, on my shitty boxy heavy mini-TV, I caught a spiky-haired gentleman in a skinny tie sassing to the camera about The Real World.  I remembered Talk Soup and how much I'd loved John Henson, but at the same time reluctantly appreciated how this dude wasn't trying to be him.  I studied this newcomer, now rolling his eyes at a dumb Fox sitcom and goofing around in front of a bad green screen of Los Angeles.

And I laughed.

During my last two years of law school, I watched only two shows faithfully: Arrested Development (as it bounced from time slot to time slot, damn you Fox) and The Soup.  Joel McHale had no idea who I was, but as I shivered under my cheapo comforter in a cinder-blocked room, law books weighing me down into a life I knew I didn't want but was too afraid to admit, he made me giggle.  Because as much as I hated the person I was becoming, The Soup's aptly narrated reality clips showed I wasn't the biggest dumbass out there.  I could count on a comedian with one camera and a Chihuahua named Lou to prove that to me.

And he never let me down.

After law school, things got better.  I don't mean they got easier: I stumbled quite a bit before I found my footing.  I had bad jobs, low pay, boy trouble, you name it.  But through it all, I had my friends.  I had Bob, my roommate at the time.  I had a family who didn't always understand me but never stopped supporting me. At this point, Joel was better known but not always recognizable.  He wasn't working much outside The Soup.  But to hear his interviews, he had a great family.  He had his wife Sarah, who'd stuck by him since their early twenties.  When you're struggling financially and personally, a strong support system means everything.  I haven't forgotten that.  To hear his stand-up, neither has Joel.

Eventually, I landed a job I liked, and a year later got a promotion.  About the same time, Joel got The Informant!: not only the third lead in a Steven Soderbergh film, but a completely non-comic role.  In the summer of 2008, we both got promoted.  I was really proud of him.  And of me.

These days, I still have that job, which rocks, especially considering the economy.  I also have a blog and several freelance writing gigs.  Joel has a kickass sitcom and a promising film career, and routinely sells out venues doing stand-up comedy.  Yet he still auditions like crazy, as the film industry doesn't really recognize the TV industry.  In the meantime, I polish my latest manuscript, in the hopes an agent somewhere out there will like it.  These days, we've got some good stuff going on, but are still trying to be better.

This is someone I'll most likely never meet--unless Bob gets really famous and they become buddies--yet I feel a kind of kinship with Joel McHale.  We've gotten ahead not on notoriety or stupidity, but hard work and a little bit of luck.  We're both insanely fortunate to have loved ones along for the ride.  And we both are grateful, but don't want to stop now.

These days, people rail against celebrity culture.  In many ways, people are right: I mean, there's a reality show devoted to a girl who robbed actors' houses, which is wrong in ways I can't begin to describe (judging from his genuinely disgusted look when he describes the show, Joel agrees with me).  And when you place someone on a pedestal, as civilians tend to do with celebs, disappointment reigns supreme if and when they display simple human faults or egregious human errors.

However, there's a different side to celeb worship too.  The ones we admire--for whatever reason--can inspire us to work harder, do better, be more than we thought we could be.  By just doing their job, they can comfort us, a gentle and nonjudgmental presence that is at once completely unknown and strangely intimate.

More specifically, the right celeb can take a depressed, angry law student silently screaming, and for half an hour each week, make her laugh and years later when she's happy, make her a little verklempt when she sees him in person while surrounded by the friends who stuck by her, and make her laugh once again.

Joel?  You rock, dude.

Thanks for the giggles,
Unpro

P.S.  Your Chicago show was the ultimate in pee-your-pants, fall-out-of-your chair hilar, and I will heartily recommend your stand-up tour to anyone who asks, and some people who don't.

Love the One(s) You're With: Community

At a certain point in your life, you realize that nothing's turned out like you thought it would.

You're not working in the field you studied in school.  You're single or married, when you always predicted you'd be the opposite.  The age you thought you'd have figured everything out?  You're still fumbling and confused as ever, maybe even more so. 

There's also the people you surround yourself with.  At a certain age it becomes a motley crew: those you grew up with, maybe even dated at some point; pals from high school, college and work; and then the ones who are way more random.  The person you agreed to give a ride to one time, from rehearsal of a show you almost dropped out of, that ten years later is like family.

It's meeting these random people, and letting them into your life, however reluctantly at first, that helps you to realize: not having the exact future you wanted or predicted can be a very liberating thing.

I started watching Community for two reasons.  One, a friend in the industry recounted a little exchange from the pilot script that cracked me up (similar to the way I was sold on 30 Rock because of one line: "If you're a gay guy looking for a beard, I don't do that anymore").  And two, well, Joel McHale.  In the days before my obsessive fandom kicked in, I read an interview where he said that he was offered several sitcoms and Community was far and away the best.  No matter what you think of The Soup, the guy has made some good career decisions (witness: The Informant!).  I was intrigued.  Besides, it was on after The Office.

Never have I seen a pilot that touched on moral relativism, Asperger's syndrome, and The Breakfast Club in twenty-two minutes.  With Trudy from Mad Men, the sex addict from Reno 911!, and Chevy MoFo-in Chase.  As in Fletch, Gerald Ford, Clark Griswold: any way you slice it, the guy's a comedy legend. 

McHale's character, Jeff Winger, is a cocky former lawyer disbarred when it's discovered his undergraduate degree is fake.  (Yes, I know it's a slim premise, but think of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 and sing along with me: "Just repeat to yourself, 'it's just a show.  I should really just relax.'")  He enrolls at Greendale Community College and immediately starts hitting on his cute Spanish 101 classmate Britta (Gillian Jacobs).  Britta, however, is not having it, and when Jeff invites her to form a one-on-one study group, she brings along a whole crew: sitcom aficionado Abed (Danny Pudi, Chicagoans represent!), fallen football player Troy (Donald Glover), rehabbed type A Annie (Alison Brie, almost completely unrecognizable from Mad Men and just as awesome), and Christian mom Shirley (Yvette Nicole Brown).  Oh, and corporate magnate-turned-dirty old man Pierce (Chase) also wanders in.  Quite possibly the most diverse group on network TV, the gang experiences weekly dalliances and misadventures, with recurring characters such as the overenthusiastic Dean Pelton (Jim Rash) and surly Professor Chang (Ken Jeong) along for the ride.

A group of wildly different people finding out they have a lot in common, and learning a little bit about themselves along the way?  We've all heard that premise before, but Community makes it fresh while at the same time reminding us that it's the simple stuff that good shows are made of.  The cast is fiercely witty, the writing even more so.  Creator Dan Harmon based the series on his own experiences in a community college study group, and it shows: not only is there a real tenderness in even the silliest joke, but the characters both play into and play with the very stereotypes they're dealt.  Jeff isn't the show's moral center, nor are most of his actions particularly commendable--but he's learning, even as he stumbles along the way, that he's capable of poking fun at himself and doing nice things for others.  Though Britta is smart and confident, she can be awkward in dealing with sensitive social matters (she's sort of a walking Stuff White People Like).  Even Pierce, with his heinously backwards worldviews, is at heart a lonely dude: and though his younger counterparts don't always love what he says, they embrace him for the old fart he is.

I freaking heart the group dynamic of the core cast: they're the kind of characters that are so fun to watch even when they're not doing anything particularly interesting (which according to one of my favorite bloggers, is one of the marks of a kick-ass protagonist).  I love Mad Men, but I wouldn't really want to be friends with any of the characters (except maybe Peggy and Joan).  However, I'd hang with Community's Spanish 101 crew any day of the week.  And the characters form relationships, they stumble, they screw up, they learn from one another.  They may have been thrown together by random acts of course catalog, but now they're thick as thieves (and they protect each other to the end!).

Yes, there have been some eps that aren't so great: just like with Modern Family, Community can falter when it lets itself slide into wacky-antics territory.  At its strongest, however, Community (again, like Modern Family) works real magic combining absurd with emotional, satirical with genuine, and motormouthed with simple.  Think Avenue Q without the puppets.  And at its heart, it's a show about being okay with your place in life, no matter how imperfect that may be.

Did I mention that McHale is naked on one episode?  From a feminist perspective, it's interesting how the show objectifies the hell out of the guy.  Not that I'm complaining.  I just find it intriguing: men usually aren't blatantly objectified on a show that's NOT specifically geared toward women.  Not just the naked ep: he's in tight jeans and T-shirts quite a lot.  That's normally reserved for female characters.

Community airs Thursdays at 7 on NBC.  The most recent episode, along with a host of really funny clips, can be found on Hulu.  Also, there's a hilarious website for the fictional Greendale Community College.

Here's a video of the cast finding out that they were renewed for a second season.  They're so genuinely surprised and happy (and unaware they're being filmed), it's adorable.

The Way You Make Me Feel: Rules of Attraction

Forbidden love is hot, y'all.  I'm a sucker for a good Romeo and Juliet story.  You know what else I'm a sucker for?  A Beatrice and Benedick story (from Shakespeare's unparalleled Much Ado About Nothing): where the hero and heroine stop arguing just long enough to realize they're in looove.  Take R&J, add a healthy pinch of B&B, and you've got Simone Elkeles' Perfect Chemistry, which I bought and subsequently devoured last year.  A fantastic YA novel that's got it all--love, lust, intrigue, and fightin'!--Perfect Chemistry chronicles the romance of Caucasian pom-pom girl Brittany and Latino roughneck Alex, reluctant class partners turned star-crossed lovers in the suburbs of Chicago.  I hearted this book: Elkeles wrote male and female perspectives equally well, and the relationship and character development were organic and achingly real.

So naturally, I was excited to hear that Elkeles was penning a Perfect Chemistry sequel, entitled Rules of Attraction.  And I scored an ARC, woohoo!

Coming out April 13, Rules of Attraction picks up two years after PC left off and is told from the perspective of Alex's younger brother Carlos.  Sent from Mexico to Boulder, where Alex and Brittany now attend college, Carlos is expected to turn his thug life around by living with Alex's former professor, Dr. Westford, who happens to have a lovely daughter, Kiara.  But even as Carlos and Kiara grow closer, Carlos' gangbanger past is catching up with him.  What's a reformed bad boy and a good gone girl to do?

There was a lot to like about this book.  Namely the two protagonists.  Even at his most asshole-ish, Carlos is eminently likable: he's got a snarky sensibility and a good heart.  Plus he has tattoos!  Totally swoonworthy.  And Kiara's fantastic: she's like the anti-Bella Swan.  Even though she's shy (as a recovering stutterer), she completely knows who she is--sporty and crazy about fixing cars--and is comfortable with it. So refreshing in YA lit to see a chick with a strong personality and sense of self.  Again, Elkeles does an admirable job telling the story from the alternating boy-girl perspectives: she gets into the mind of a troubled teenage boy and gives him a distinctive, interesting voice.  Also, it was fun to hang out with Alex and Brittany again: you can't help but root for those two crazy kids from the 'burbs.

That said: while I enjoyed Carlos and Kiara's relationship, I didn't quite believe it the way I believed Alex and Brittany's in the previous book.  It seems that Carlos and Kiara go from bitching at each other to making out in about two seconds--I know teenagers' feelings can turn on a dime, but even with that in mind there wasn't much evidence of the relationship growing.  Also, the subplot with Carlos and his illegal activities felt a bit tacked on.  I would have been content watching him change as an individual, or if his past had to become an issue, I feel it could have happened more naturally.  Sorry, I don't want to give too much away.  

Still, I'd recommend Rules of Attraction to readers young and old.  The characters are consistently convincing and will tug at your heartstrings, and the writing's stellar.  Although the book explains necessary plot info from Perfect Chemistry, you should read that one too.  Just . . . because.  You'll thank me.

And now, for the moment we've all been waiting for . . . ARMCHAIR CASTING DIRECTOR TIME! (Disclaimer for those new to the 'pro: I don't always choose super accurately in terms of age or era--just who I pictured while reading the book.)

Carlos: Jay Hernandez

If you've seen Crazy/Beautiful and Nothing Like the Holidays, you know this dude can play whip-smart, strong and nomalicious all in one line reading.  No one does reformed bad boy better.  Plus, he's got the expressive face that portrays light and dark moods equally well--essential for a character with the most troubled of pasts.

Kiara: Alison Brie

I heart Alison Brie so much: she can play a 1960's socialite wife and a rehabbed type A on my TV at the same time.  I also hate her because she gets to interact with Jon Hamm and Joel McHale on the regular.  Bitch.  Anyhoozle, Brie's the ultimate fresh face--I'd totally buy her as sweet but sassy tomboy Kiara.  Plus, I bet she could do a convincing stutter.


Dr. Westford: Liam Neeson

This guy wrote the book on "devoted dad who's also a badass."  Taken, anyone?  And who didn't love him in Love, Actually?  He encouraged his son to run through security for his lil crush, AND he got Claudia Schiffer in the end . . . don't tell me that's not badass.  Sure, he's a little older, but a lot of professor-types wait before having kids.  And he can use the Jedi Mind Trick.  You can't do better than that.

BLOG ANNOUNCEMENT
So I know that March was Awesome Authors Month, and (duh) it's not March anymore.  What happened is this: I scored a couple more reviews and ARC's, so the AAM fun is going to continue into April!  Cool, huh?

Anyhoozle, hope you enjoyed reading this review as much as I enjoyed Rules of Attraction.  To pre-order, click here.  To order Perfect Chemistry, click here.  And for more information about Simone Elkeles, click here for her website (which includes book trailers, music videos and info about her other fabulous books) . . . and stay tuned for an interview!

I love you too.  :)

For the Boys: Patrick Swayze and Joel McHale

I was agonizing over the subject of this week's post.  I mean, Kanye's a talented douchebag, everyone's up in arms over whether Megan Fox can actually act, and OMG, Pam on The Office is pregnant!  It's all been done, several times over, by better bloggers than I.

Then, like the dorky bespectacled boy BFF in a classic teencom, I realized what I really wanted was right in front of me all along: a recently-departed dancer-turned-actor who was not only lusted after but respected in 80's nostalgia AND cult circles, and a cable comedian coming into his own while remaining sheepishly humble about his well-earned success.

The former: Patrick Swayze.  The latter: Joel McHale.  The blog post: 5 reasons why I love them both.

1.  They won me over from a place of utter skepticism.  I didn't see Dirty Dancing when it first came out--I was in second grade, and my mom closely monitored what I watched.  Though she did concede to renting it and letting me watch the electrifying final number, she drew the line at the entire movie--and with good reason, looking back, as the abortion subplot is definitely not something I'd want my (hypothetical) seven-year-old to ask me questions about.  Then, when I was fifteen, I was at a lock-in, mourning the fact that my former best friend was hanging with his ditzy girl of the moment instead of me.  Someone popped in Dirty Dancing, and I was hooked.  Not just for the excellent daddy-daughter/good girl-bad boy drama, not just for the politically active teenage girl lead (far from a bland ingenue), not just for the sweet moves.  But Swayze.  DAMN.  Whether he was swiveling his hips, comforting his pal Penny, or yelling at Baby not to put her heel down, he made Johnny Castle pop off the screen as more than just a droolworthy rebel, but a hard-knock guy who also became a better person that fateful summer of '63.

My first reaction to Joel McHale was, "Ugh, who's this frat boy?"  Though I could appreciate Aisha Tyler and Greg Kinnear, I was first and foremost loyal to John "Skunkboy" Henson, host of The Show Formerly Known as Talk Soup.  I even attended a live taping of Talk Soup in Chicago ten years ago.  (In case you recall that historic airing: NO, that was not me making out with my boyfriend in the audience because we correctly assumed it would get us camera time.)  So I wasn't  immediately enamored of Joel's preppy appearance and dry delivery.  (It probably didn't help that TS was relaunched as The Soup when I was in law school, when I wasn't much enamored of anything.  It's an understatement to say that I wasn't the most pleasant lady to be around back then.)  Until one day when my sister was visiting and on TV, Joel introduced the Clip of the Week: a truly terrible boob-grabbing moment between Pamela Anderson and Carmen Electra on the abysmal Foxcom Stacked.  I turned to my sister, sighed and said, "And they canceled Arrested Development."  EXACTLY ONE MILLISECOND LATER, Joel looked at the camera, sighed and said, "And they canceled Arrested Development."  Color me a superfan.

2.  They stay(ed) classy.  Granted, I don't know what goes on behind closed doors.  That said, I don't ever remember hearing about Patrick Swayze getting a case of road rage, partying with 15-year-olds, or whaling on some unsuspecting fan for requesting an autograph.  (I have heard that he didn't like the line "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" and would only utter it once, but honestly, I can't really blame the guy.  Come on, it's far from the best moment in the movie but it's quoted all. the. time.)  But he just seemed . . . good.  He worked hard.  He stayed out of trouble.  He loved his dance teacher mom, and even teamed up with her for a dance video in the late eighties (which my mom ordered from the Avon catalog).  He stayed married to Lisa Niemi, a fellow dancer in his age range, his whole adult life.  I'm sure he wasn't 100% perfect, but who is? 

Regarding Mr. McHale, he eats stupid celebrities for breakfast, lunch and dinner on The Soup, and we adore him for saying what we're all thinking in funny, well-chosen words.  But he also knows that famous people are humans too, and there are occasions where skewering just isn't appropriate.  Like many others my age and otherwise, I was devastated by the sudden death of Heath Ledger, a genuine talent whose personal darkness got the best of him much too early.  A few days later, it was Friday and I wondered what, if anything, Joel would say to mark the occasion (especially since the tabloids were rearing their monstrous heads, threatening to release a video of Heath in an altered state and badgering poor Michelle Williams).  The episode passed without any mention, until the very end, when Joel's smirky countenance turned serious and a little angry.  He said something to this effect: "And one last thing.  Heath Ledger passed away this week, and in all the years we've been doing this show, we've never had cause to mention him.  So stop digging for dirt, weasels.  A talented, decent guy is gone, and our thoughts go to those who knew him."  He then smiled and said, "See you next week," amid cheers from the crew.  Now that's a good guy.

3.  Masculinity redefined. Don't get me wrong: I love the Seth Rogens and Jason Segels of the world.  Knocked Up and Forgetting Sarah Marshall are two of my favorite films of the past few years, skillfully combining gross-out humor, heart, and coming of age as the doofy slacker learns to be a man with the help of a cute, together chick.  The thing about Swayze and McHale, though?   When it comes to being a man, they're already there.  In a culture where pot-smoking job-shunning manboys are revered, it's reassuring to switch on the TV or pop in a DVD and watch a guy who needs no guidance from a pouty-lipped stunner who's way hotter than he deserves. 

No one could say dancing is sissy after watching the Swayze.  Watch one scene of Dirty Dancing and you can see the guy's life-long ballet training emanating from each beautiful muscle.  That choreography is much more than grinding, y'all--I mean, during the final dance, Swayze executes a friggin' double tour (two turns in midair) and in tight pants to boot.  Scrappy, graceful, and clearly adored the women in his life--that's a real man.  And Joel elevates snark to a place that's swift, quick and clever.  I'm not just talking about The Soup, but Community--how many half-hour sitcoms discuss moral relativism in the pilot?  I know he didn't write it, but the guy knows his shit when it comes to choosing scripts.  No Transformers for him, thank you very much!  Okay, he had a small part as a loan officer in Spider-Man 2, but everyone has to start somewhere.  (Besides, you know who else was in Spider-Man 2?  Alfred Molina.  And y'all KNOW how I love me some Molina.)

4.  Genuinely good at their jobs.  Neither Swayze or McHale have ever fallen victim to the one-trick pony-ism that infiltrates Hollywood these days.  From a young age, Swayze trained as a dancer under his single mother Patsy, and like another fave actor/lust object of mine, Rainn Wilson, Joel boasts an M.F.A. in Acting.  I'm perpetually in awe of beautifully trained dancers and actors, but neither dude stopped there.  Even though his career choices weren't always Oscar-caliber (yes, I know some people love Point Break; I, however, am not one of those people), you cannot deny that Patrick Swayze had some acting chops.  Johnny Castle wasn't just a kickass hoofer and bad boy Baby deflower-er--he was a street-smart survivor, a loyal friend, and an open admirer of Baby's courage and willingness to go the distance for the underdog.  A lesser actor couldn't have brought all those nuances to the screen in less than two hours.  Speaking of nuance, Patrick brought on the smarm fifteen years later as a sleazy motivational speaker in Donnie Darko--his character was delightfully despicable throughout the film, and yet I couldn't fight the lump in my throat when a single shot of Swayze blubbering as "Mad World" played in the background surfaced at the end of the film.  Plus, in a culture where straight dudes often BALK at going gay on screen, Patrick took it one step further and was utterly fabulous as Miss Vida Boheme in To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar.  You go, girl (boy).

On The Soup, Joel is a master of cadence and gesture.  He doesn't just spout witty remarks, he dissects them as only a true actor can.  With a quirked eyebrow, a dry tone, or a gleeful yelp, he voices the absurd zeitgeist that is reality TV--and he's right there with the bemused public.  He doesn't stand above us, smug and removed like Craig Kilborn in the pre-Jon Stewart Daily Show days.  No, Joel's right there with us in the D-list trenches--he watches this crap too!  And like the rest of us, he sort of hates himself for it, but realizes that the best thing to do is laugh at the ridiculosity.  And for that, I lurve him.

5.  *wolf whistle*  Oh, whatever.  I'm a red-blooded female, and I like my menz attractive.  Even in his fifties, Patrick brought the hotness--what is it about dancers that makes them age so damn well?  I can't really think of any exceptions.  I mean, have you seen Barishnikov?  Hell, even George Balanchine wasn't terrible looking till his very last days.  It's interesting--dancers strain their bodies to utter breaking points and many are known to flirt with toxic chemicals (nicotine, steroids, silicone).  Yet each and every one of them carries a youthful maturity into their twilight years.

Joel may not possess the Swayze features that transcended multiple bad hairdos, but his wide smile, pointy nose, and spiky hair, combined with sharp wit, translates to an adorable package.  Not to mention that he can wear the heck out of a sport coat and jeans.  Yum yum.

So Patrick, I wish you an eternity of boogie-ing in that Big Dance Hall in the Sky.  Save a turn for me, eh?  And Joel, may your snappy star continue to rise.  A bazillion pop culture vultures and TV junkies are pulling for you.