What’s not to love??? This series aptly refutes the theory of lesbian bed-death. Each week not only do smokin’ hot women bare flawless flesh with the finesse and depth of gifted actors, they… oil wrestle in white t-shirts! engage in threesomes at hip night clubs! have sex in elevators! deflower straight girls! It’s soft porn at its finest: gorgeous lighting, capable writers, good directors and a beautiful cast. There must be a better term for it than “soft porn” (lady-porn?), but I don’t know what it is. Do you? I revel in the L.A. hook. Of course, they’re stunning. Of course, most of them are divas. Of course, they live lavishly. Of course, the world revolves around their every whim and emotion. It’s what I loved most about living there. If one does more than dabble in self-absorption, Hollywood is the place to call home, sister. I don’t believe there’s another place on earth that embraces self-centeredness like they do, hence, the cesspool of creativity. As the saying goes, “Los Angeles: a great place to live, but I wouldn’t want to visit.”
The other show I’m catching up on is The Tudors. It’s accused of being slow and I won’t argue the point, but what holds my interest is the art of weaving historic fact with fiction. HBO’s Rome was masterful at this. One of their weaves was that the assassination of Julius Caesar was actually plotted by his scorned lover. As far as I know this is fiction, but it makes for a captivating and believable backstory. Jonathan Rhys Meyers’ icy blue eyes and sculpted, hairless pecs is another reason I’m into The Tudors. I suspect he’s a bit touched in real life, but at the hands of talented writers: perfection. And just as I’m drawn to glistening lesbian skin, I am also drawn to opulent jewels. Each week The Tudors provides a garish parade of gems the size of my head. The men wear imposing rings, heavy gold chains and bejeweled frocks. The women don crowns and broaches and bracelets and chandelier earrings. My oh my, it leaves me salivating (similar to The L Word, I suppose). So this Showtime thing is really working out for me.
We await the return of This American Life, which I’ve never seen. And our all-time fave, Dexter. “Dexter” was in the running for a while, but we just can’t bring ourselves to name one of our sons after a serial killer no matter how principled the character is. With these cable series, American Idol and Red Sox opening day just around the corner, I’ve returned to a comfortable state of evening brainlessness. Ahhhh…. praise the idiot box.
Nobody ask about my writing (G4). It is a well-known fact that the brain shrinks during pregnancy.