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Apparently in Rick Perry's America women would be relegated to the only job that God ever intended them have, breeding.Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy
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Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy
Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy
Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy
John Waters famously said: “We need to make books cool again. If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck them.” I could not agree more. Books are sexy motherfuckers. Their straight spines, their crisp pages, their tight bindings. All those bold black letters etched across soft ivory expanses. See, sexy motherfuckers. Like everyone else, I read a lot of my copy from backlit screens these days. But there’s still nothing quite like picking up a real book. The smell of it. The weight of it. Holding something in your hands gives it import. It makes it feel more real. We are a tactile people, after all.
Books and a puppy and a cocktail. That’s just straight-up porn for lesbians.
My, Nigella, what big books you have.
Contemporary design and plentiful bookcases. It’s so sexy it’s almost NSFW.
I can’t be the only one who wishes she was wearing glasses and her hair up so she could do the sexy librarian head shake for us.
Reading about Abraham Lincoln is totally hot.
This isn’t technically her library, but I can’t resist the lovely lines.
I don’t think this is Madonna’s library either. But who knows. She can definitely afford to have a room in her house just dedicated to ancient parchments.
Fine, so she isn’t in it right now, but don’t you wish you were?
Admit it, old-school Hollywood stars had better lounging-around-to-read clothes.
Did you know she was an avid reader? She had a personal library of over 400 books. Bombshell and bookworm. Be still my heart.
So, I still can’t stop thinking about those smart girls. If there is one accessory that almost automatically adds points to a woman’s IQ, it’s a nice pair of glasses. Give a gal with glasses a book (particularly a book about kissing, like Mia Kirshner above) and be still my big nerdy heart. Now, as some of you might remember, I’m a glasses wearer. I wear contacts most of the time, but I’ve always got my specs on in the evening to write and watch TV and hang about the house. As a kid, I wore glasses full-time – big clunky things that for some incomprehensible reason covered more of my cheeks than my actual eyes. Seriously, were we trying to look through some heretofore unknown fourth eye with those enormous hubcap lenses in the 80s? Back then they used to say “Guys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses.” But that was before the whole sexy librarian thing really took off. And now, well, I still can’t speak for the guys, but this gal sure likes making passes at girls who wear glasses. In particular, these gals. No need to take your glasses off and shake out your hair, ladies. I mean, feel free to shake out your hair, but definitely keep the glasses on while you do it. Here’s looking at you, four eyes.
Big brown eyes behind big brown frames make my knees weak, instantly.
Blue eyes behind blue frames ain’t half bad either.
Of course, gingers can wear whatever color frames they want.
And then sometimes you don’t need any color at all, just the world’s most expertly arched eyebrow.
Everything in this picture works for me. Glasses. V-neck. Ponytail. Laptop. Books. Heck, I even like the lamp.
Everything in this picture works for me, too. Plus, I know Padma could cook me an amazing dinner afterwards. And then we’d talk shit about Tom Colicchio.
Now that’s what I call a nice pair – of glasses.
This whole ensemble is crazy. But crazy good, not crazy Bellatrix Lestrange.
Oh, to have her look over her Clark Kent glasses and talk dirty, dirty politics to me.
Oh, please, like I wasn’t going to include her.
This is them, the insane hubcap-sized glasses we used to wear in the 80s. Of course, they look fine on Marlee and Jennifer. Whatever, I’m not jealous. Though, we probably shouldn’t talk about the hair.
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.
Such a pity her Safe website is still down. That last picture of her would have been a real conversation starter.
If you think she is a saucy minx sober, just wait until you get a couple cocktails into her.
My only worry is I’d laugh so hard I’d pee my pants, especially after a few drinks.
I believe it’s a life goal to taste a drink mixed by the master.
That stuff I said about Wanda, ditto.
And if she brought along Kate Moennig and Erin Daniels, all the better.
Oh, Hill. I will buy you a drink anyplace, anytime, anywhere. Standing offer, forever.
Now, as a rule, I only luxuriate the Weekend Crush love on a lady once (and once with me is all she needs – rimshot!) And this lovely lady has, indeed, already felt the Crush. But this, this is an extra special case. You see, this bodacious blonde babe is apparently Rachel Maddow. Rachel Maddow circa her school days at Castro Valley High. Rachel Maddow with bleached-blonde hair. Rachel Maddow with a pearl necklace. Rachel Maddow with pearl earrings. Rachel Maddow in what looks to be an off-the-shoulder dress. My head? Have you seen it? I think it exploded!
It does not appear to be a hoax (though, there is always that possibility). But if you look at verified pictures of a teenage Rachel (yes, there was a bleached-blonde phase) as well as compare the neck freckle (seen here and here and even Simpsonized), it’s hard to deny that this femmey fantasy is our very own Dr. Maddow. I am going to give you a couple seconds to realign your universe. Planets will need to be juggled. Gravity will need to be reassessed. Also, can someone help me put back the pieces of my head?
Now, I point out now just to gawk (though, seriously, how long have you just been staring open-mouthed at the screen?), but to make a point. And that is that we, as humans, are constantly changing. Who we are today may not be who we were yesterday or who we become tomorrow. And this is a good thing. If you are unhappy, uncomfortable with the hole the world wants to pigeon you into, you can change. You can’t just look at a person – at age 18, at age 40, at age 4 – and say, “Oh, this is who this person is.” Like books, we can’t be judged by our covers. But, also like books, hopefully our covers accurately reflect our insides. And if they don’t, may we will have the freedom to fix that as best we see fit.
Of course, who knows, maybe Rachel loved her high school look. I pegged my pants for a couple years in the 80s and thought I looked was awesome. So rock on with long, blonde self, high school Rachel. I wonder if she and Susan ever pull out this picture and laugh and laugh and laugh. And later play dress up. Happy weekend, all.
About 10 years ago, everyone went crazy for a commencement address supposedly given by Kurt Vonnegut about the importance of wearing sunscreen. It got emailed endless from friend to friend and even got turned into a hit song by Baz Luhrmann (yes, the “Moulin Rouge” guy). But, thing is, it wasn’t by Vonnegut at all. It was written by Chicago Tribune columnist Mary Schmich. My point to this long intro, and I do have one, is that famous people and memorable commencement speeches do not always go hand in hand.
Which brings me to Professor Maddow. Rachel was the commencement speaker at Smith College (I know, I know, so gay) last weekend. There she delivered a very good, surprisingly pointed speech cautioning against our national obsession with fame and personal triumph. It’s quite a thing to say to the Facebook/Twitter/YouTube generation where even something as mundane as lunch is turned into a public spectacle. But it’s the message she chose to give and once completely consistent with her ideology that government, and people, can do great things to help society when we realize that “personal triumphs are overrated.” Instead we should shoot for “durable achievement to be proud of for life.” You know, stuff you’ll want to tell your grandkids.
Of course Maddow being Maddow, she weaved in some wonderfully wonky history tidbits including the story of wacky Temperance activist Carrie Nation, the AMC Gremlin and KFC Double Down. All in all, it was very memorable and more than that an important message. I don’t think anyone will turn it into a hit song, but I think I could happily hum “Do not for the fame, but for the glory – learn the difference.” to myself in the shower.
p.s. I have it on good authority that Rachel gave out many hugs and smiles afterward. Talk about your glory.
This long and painful march toward full equality, it seems to me, boils down to something quite simple – normalcy. For all the fighting and chanting and rallying and protesting, what we really want at the end of the day is to be seen as normal. We are, after all, just like everyone else. We pay taxes, we have families, we fall in love, we fall out of love, we vote, we go to the dentist, we buy groceries, we argue about what to watch on TV. There is just this little business of what kind of genital we prefer that differs. Minor, really.
Whenever we’re treated outside the gay community as just that, normal, I feel we’ve accomplished our goal. So, when I picked up People magazine to read the feature on Rachel Maddow and her partner Susan Mikula, I almost felt like screaming “Victory!” How incredibly normal, how delightfully mundane was the feature on them? Look, they have a cute house – just like you! Look, they do the dishes together – just like you! Look, they eat Cream of Wheat – just like you!
The short piece (read the full scans here) has none of the “What’s it like to be gay?” drama that sometimes accompanies such mainstream features. It’s not an issue, just a fact. Other interesting facts? Rachel works 60 hours a week (I bet it’s really more than that). They live in a 275-foot Manhattan apartment during the week (How do you shoehorn that much smart into that small a space?). And Rachel says they way the two met while she was doing yard work for Susan was “very ‘Desperate Housewives.’” (Sample pick-up line: You want me to trim your bush? Groan. Sorry, had to).
So thanks, People, for making us love Rachel even more and realizing – besides her abnormally big brain – how so very normal she actually is. Also thanks for making every gay gal on the planet frantically take to Google to find Rachel’s adorable ringer T.
