So I just watched “My Cousin Vinny” for the first time last week. I know. Crazy that it took me so long! What’s better than a film with Marisa Tomei, the Karate Kid, and heavy New York accents? Not much. Except maybe one of my elaborate metaphors that equates today’s GOP bro-battle to this early 90’s courtroom comedy.
That’s right. I’m. About. To go there.
Donald Trump is Joe Pesci. He’s the outsider. The big talker. The guy who has a style all his own, with the kind of deluded self-confidence you wish you had. He’s there to clean up the mess. Continue reading
Tomorrow it all begins again. The butterflies, anxiety, excessive drinking, bloating, and emotional hangovers.
Otherwise known as, “The Bachelor” Season 20.
Now, I’m really not a cult-tv watcher. I don’t fill the DVR with “my shows” or host weekly viewing parties of the latest scripted series, but I am totally into “The Bachelor.”
I find reality t.v. to be somewhat relaxing. After spending hours each day reading through news articles and carefully crafting colorful talking points, the last thing I want to do when I get home is work on following a plot line.
Thankfully, “The Bachelor” is a show that not only thinks for you, but clearly points out each season’s villain, town drunk, class clown, and princess. All while carefully editing to clue you in to exactly who will be the last 4-6 women standing in stylish stilettos.
Even better, in a world where terror is a real threat and social issues confront us at every corner, “The Bachelor” is an isolated bubble of optimism and intrigue. It’s as simple as boy meets girl and girl and girl and so on.
For those of you who may not know me so well, I am a huge advocate for the arts and arts education. I think that a kid who can get on stage and do some sort of performance, can truly do anything.