On…Ghostbusters

I saw Ghostbusters today.

It’s SO good, you guys. It gave me a WHEE feeling of UTTER HEARTBUSTING GLEE.

I saw it with my almost-12-year-old niece who is visiting NYC from Ireland (and Fox and my brother-in-law and sister-in-law and 14-year-old nephew).

My niece asked me on the way out “Who’s your favorite? I like Holtzman! She’s so cool.” And I was like ME TOO. Then I thought, how fucking awesome that girls of her generation get to have these Ghostbusters! And I almost burst into tears.

Because those movies were never FOR US before. They were for men! But we’re used to the patriarchy after a million years, so we just sort of got on with the fact that the women in comedy action movies like Fletch and Die Hard and Beverly Hills Cop (and Rush Hour and Bad Boys and Men In Black and everything, everything, everything else) were interchangeable, forgettable bimbos/wives, and the cool/funny/smart people were always, always men. We didn’t complain too much because frankly, we’ve only had the vote a hundred years, we were just happy that we’re allowed to know how to fucking read.

But now we have this! These fucking hilarious brilliant smart cocky awesome female Ghostbusters! When I was her age, we never had movies about women talking about physics with out being self-deprecating or embarrassed or teasing each other about it. We never had female franchises where the women were funny in a way NOT related to love (and certainly not in a hopeless, I’m-borderline-unable-to-function-in-the-world way). We never had movies or TV shows where women were action heroes you’d actually want to have a drink with, who weren’t wearing latex/ and who are action heroes without – AND THIS IS KEY – without being overtly pouty perfect sexy.

Because, yes, we had some funny female superheroes, especially on TV. But they were sexy. Buffy? Kick-ass smart-ass in fuck-me-boots and a blow-out. Ditto Alias. Ditto Welcome To The Dollhouse. Black Widow? Come ON. She’s wearing latex corset or some shit. Tomb Raider? Angelina Jolie was genetically engineered for men, and she knows it, and we all know it too. Angelina Jolie would not piss on me if I was on fire, that’s how much she hates women. Milla Jovovich? I happen to love The Fifth Element, and she’s great in it, but she’s wearing like a tampon wrapper and a rubber hairband around her body. I watched those movies and I felt bad about my body. And the women in those movies aren’t even funny. They have the odd one-liner put-down to keep the hero in his place (ah, the Rachel from Friends approach to humor) but the real funny is left to the men. The cocky, quirky, arrogant, smart-as-fuck humor? Only. For. The. Men.

The only kick-ass feminist sexy-but-not-like-that female hero I can think of, actually, is Sigourney Weaver in the Alien movies, and she was awesome. But not funny. And maybe Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, but even in that horrific yellow outfit, she was seen through a sexual lense at all times. Remember those close-ups of her toes? You could practically feel Quentin’s toe-boner. Ew. Plus, again, not particularly funny. And maybe Jamie Lee Curtis, in True Lies, she was amazing, and that movie made a zillion dollars. But the scene where she discovers her inner superhero spy power is when she stripteases down to her underwear for a man she thinks is a French spy of some kind, and I remember most of the press being about her bangin’ bod. Sigh.

It wasn’t that these Ghostbusters look bad – they look fucking great – but they don’t look good FOR MEN. It’s FOR ME. And girls. I have no idea how big any of their tits are, but I could pick ScarJo’s tits out of a line-up, that’s how much I have been exposed to them. I think also Kate McKinnon is sexier than any of the original Ghostbusters, and don’t get me wrong, I drive stick (sidetone: I have a real Harold Ramis thing). But I ADORE her. I want her to do the next Die Hard movie. I want her to do Fletch. If no one is making new big movies any more – and look around, dude, they’re not, not really – then, fuck it. Let’s take the good ones from the 80s, the ones that had bullshit bimbo/wife roles for women, and make them with female leads. PLEASE. SOMEONE. DO IT.

Anyway. Go! Go. Enjoy. It’s great. You’ll love it. And help make it a success because these things matter.

I don’t know why I’ve been writing funny romantic female empowerment books/tv shows/movies all these years, actually. Ima go write some action movies. Laterz.

 

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On… Boygroup Boys, We Are The Boys

Just when you say to yourself ‘Germans doing a pitch-perfect 90s boy band parody song? Never!’, THIS happens. This video alone proves why Britain should have stayed in the EU. You think Welsh people are making perfect parody videos? Are they fuck.

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On… Oh Wonder – Lose It

Another fairly fucking terrible day for humanity. This song made me feel momentarily less sick.

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On… Love Stinks

The first twelve seconds of this clip make me laugh out loud every time.

WHOOPEDEEDOO pretty much sums up, oh, everything, sometimes. (It’s from The Wedding Singer, by the way.) (But you already knew that.) (Did you know that? We know that stuff here, right? It’s baseline knowledge.) (It’s not like I’m assuming you’ve watched Grown-Ups or whatever. I’m not delusional.) (But I AM growing increasingly attached to these endless parentheses.) (I might just keep writing in them forever.) (Even though I have a script to finish and it’s not going to finish itself.) (See? Still doing it.) (I wish I could train my scripts to finish themselves. It’s so EXHAUSTING sometimes, like running a marathon in my head. I’m basically hallucinating the last four or five miles.) (LOOK A SCHOONER!)) (This is why people have writing partners. Because otherwise they end up writing endless parentheses just to amuse themselves and procrastinate finishing the damn script.) (If I had a writing partner, this is when I would send off my script and think ‘find me a plot twist, biyatch’.) (Then it would come back with a spelling mistake or the wrong ‘their’ and I would be forced to kill them.) (Still doing it. Still doing the parentheses.) (It’s just a really good way to avoid having to make a point.) (Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Going now. No seriously. I’m hanging up. You hang up. Stop reading.) (Stop reading!) (Seriously!) (Bye. Mwah. Bye.)

 

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On… Shit I Know For Sure

Oh, man. What a horrible terrible awful week. Is everyone okay? No? Me either. Is the world batshit crazy? Probably.  

Here are a few things to get you through the metaphorical night.

The best banana bread ever. (I don’t use words like ‘best’ and ‘ever’ lightly, so you can trust me on this. I am also not an obedient cook - i.e.  I never do exactly what a recipe tells me, ever. Too boring. So with this one, I throw in chopped apples or blueberries or yoghurt or sour cream or kefir or great big dollops of jam or whatever else floats my boat, and the result is ALWAYS amazing. This banana bread is bulletproof. I also put sea salt and brown turbinado sugar on top before baking because, well, everything tastes better with extra salt and sugar.) 

The best vanilla cake ever. (I’m slightly more obedient with this recipe, but still mess with the number of eggs, or add coconut flakes or almonds meal, for fun.)

Pretty damn good chocolate chip cookies. (See? I didn’t say ‘best’ or ‘ever’ because that would be a lie. But they’re pretty damn good. Actually, cookies and I have a mixed relationship. Sometimes I just think they’re too crunchy and tiring.)

If you’re pregnant, you only need to wear Cos and Topshop Maternity. I love those posh brands but dude, I wouldn’t spend $250 on a freaking t-shirt dress that I’ll wear for a decade, let alone one that I’m only going to wear for nine pathetic months and then HATE the sight of immediately afterwards. (No, I’m not knocked up. This is just something that I often think about. When someone I know gets pregnant I text them ‘Cos! Topshop!’ and they reply ‘oh i’ll just wear my own clothes as long as possible’ and then I laugh so hard I walk into a wall. Then they text four and a half months later ‘I am HUGE’ and I reply ‘Cos! Topshop! And you’re not huge. You’re just pregnant. But you still deserve to look nice and feel pretty.’)

The only game I ever play on my phone is WordWarp. It is basically Tetris-level technology (millennials, Tetris is the caveman version of the entire Internet), and I only ever bother to get the six-letter word, because I’m writing out ‘tap’ ‘map’ ‘rap’ ‘tarp’ etc is a waste of my valuable time. 

When you have a newborn, get this. It will save your life.

I don’t know this woman, but her advice columns are BRILLIANT. 

If you get really bad stomach pains and/or bloated after eating certain foods but can’t figure out what or why, look into Fodmaps. It’s probably not dairy or wheat that’s bothering you, it’s probably the polyols: watermelon and peaches and onions. Those things are total bastards.  

Watch this movie and this movie and this movie and this movie and this movie and this movie and this movie and this movie and this movie and you will feel better about the world, which is very important this week. And hug someone. Hugging is even more important. 

 

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On… Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping

This is the movie you’re going to laugh popcorn out of your nose at this summer.

And this is the song you can’t get out of your head.

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On… UnReal

Did you guys watch UnReal last season? Because it’s fucking epic.

Here’s a good summary.

Here’s a good preview of next season.

And this one I’m just including because, I love it.

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On… Ali Wong

Stumbled across Ali Wong’s Netflix special last night, decided to watch five minutes, watched the whole thing, laughed so hard I started crying a little bit, and fell completely in love with her.

Enjoy.

 

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