Cocktail Party Primer: Exhaustion, Confusion, and Hardly Any Sparkly Dresses

What with one thing and another, the last few weeks have left me
more tired than the dregs from last night’s gin and tonic, but there’s
so much going on this week, I just couldn’t stay away. So, without
further ado, the DGA, Rachel Ray, and even though there’s no one to
write them, award shows that won’t go away.

  • On Thursday, it was announced that the AMPTP and the Director’s Guild came
    to an agreement on a new contract. Reams and reams of text have already
    been created on the subject, and I still can’t figure out if this is
    Rather Good News or Potentially Horrendous News. It may signify that
    the producer’s are finally willing to make some concessions about Internet
    content. Or it could be that those wily AMPTMPETAMP rascals are just
    manipulating the situation to end up in a stronger bargaining position.
    Or possibly it means that we’re heading for a nasty El Nino season and
    that we can expect droughts in the West and deluges throughout New
    England this summer. Or maybe that was the Weather Channel. Honestly, I
    don’t know anymore.
  • In more unequivocally good news, it seems that Rachel “Shove this EVOO up your nose”/ “Now with 72% more smoker voice” / “I Act this way because I’m addicted to speed” Ray has
    lost her deal with Dunkin’ Donuts. Apparently, she prefers Starbucks
    coffee, and she doesn’t have the good sense to keep her distressingly
    Joker-esque trap shut about said preference, even when on the set of a
    Dunkin’ Donuts commercial. I thought I’d gotten lucky when Bionic Woman
    went away, but this? This is like the Easter Bunny brought me a
    birthday present consisting of the whole world’s Tooth Fairy money. A
    world when there’s less of that woman cluttering up my TV is a shiny,
    happy place indeed.
  • Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles premiered
    this week. For some reason, no one seemed suspect that a TV series
    based on a series of films based on robots and time travel and the
    shifting date and questionable inevitability of the Apocalypse might
    have the teeniest smidge of difficulty keeping its timeline straight.
    In practice, it’s about as clear as a mug of hot cocoa. As near as I
    can tell, the show is set in 1999, and then the lady Terminator from
    Firefly jumps everybody to 2007, where Sarah Connor is dead. The end of
    the world is in 2011. Either that or 2029. Regardless, once they’re in
    2007, they jump back to 1215 to sign the Magna Carta. Then, when
    they’re on they’re way to 1969 to watch the moon landing, they stop
    back in at 2007. Only this time it’s 15 minutes earlier because they
    want to preheat the oven so that they’re frozen pizza will be finished
    by the time they get back from hearing Neil Armstrong say the “It’s one
    small step for man” bit. Possibly they also jump in to disrupt the
    WGA/AMPTP talks. I got a little lost, but that would explain a lot.
  • The Golden Globes, such as they were, aired last
    Sunday night with all the glitz and glamour of a church basement bingo
    game. Although I understand that people who write about fashion feel a
    bit like their favorite puppy just died, it suits me just fine that
    instead of a lengthy ceremony, they just had a little mini press
    conference type thing. I wasn’t going to watch regardless, but this
    way, I don’t have to pretend to feel sad I missed it. In other awards
    news, the Academy insists that the Oscars will go on as planned and
    that there won’t be any weenie Access Hollywood-style nonsense for
    them, no siree Bob. You can pry their masturbatory self-congratulation
    fest out of their cold, dead hands, and they don’t give two damns that
    there’s no writing dweebs around to dweeb all over it. Hollywood is
    about style and fabulousness and beautiful people and feeling
    important, and they don’t need none of your stinkin’ substance.
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