YouTube cuteness

Am I the last person to know about Julia Nunes? She's a YouTube phenom whom I hadn't heard of until today. She plays the ukele (among other things), sings, makes really fun videos of pop songs and is in general highly entertaining. I want to stress that I do not have a crush on this girl, because she is a child, oh my gosh. I don't know how young she is, but one look at her tells me she's wayyyyyy too young. Still, how cute is this video? It's "Accidentally in Love," by Counting Crows. Check out her other videos and music here.

Not cool, Grey's. Not cool.

So, since the outrage about Brooke Smith getting canned from Grey's Anatomy is all over the lesbo blogosphere, I'm not going to get into all that. OK, I will just a little bit. I call bullshit! If the rumors are true that she wasn't "pretty" enough for ABC, they can go fuck themselves. There is nothing wrong with Brooke Smith. Granted, I wasn't completely in love with the way this story was playing out -- we were reminded one too many times how much Callie looooves sex with dudes (which is fine, I think she's clearly at least bisexual, but give us a break, already). But I did love the layers it was adding to both of their characters. And now, poof! No more. But again, I don't want to break it down too much, because like I said, it's being done all over the place. I just wanted to mention this: Grey's has always used song titles for its episode titles. It's colossally FUCKED UP that they fired Brooke Smith and ended a lesbian relationship on an episode called "Rise Up," the title of an Indigo Girls song. Faux pas, dude.

A new season of hot

I have been kind of busy and distracted lately, but I could not let September pass me by without acknowledging that new TV is back! Meaning, my many girlfriends have returned. Hooray! Just a quick appreciation for my Monday night megababes: Yvonne Strahovski (from Chuck) and Sarah Shahi (from Life). I've blogged about them before, but whatever, I don't care, I'm doing it again. Because they are hot. At the end of the first season of Chuck, I was lamenting the demise of the Wienerlicious restaurant, where Strahovski's character worked (as part of her CIA cover, of course), because that meant no more hot Wienerlicious outfit. But I'm happy to say that in her new "job," as a frozen yogurt slinger, she wears a tank top. Oh, how I love television. If I can dig up a screen cap, I will post it. Until then, a lovely photo from the Chuck premiere party:

I am thrilled to say that I had much better luck on the tank top front with Shahi. The promo photos for season two of Life delivered the goods.

Always a fan, always a friend

More than a dozen years ago, when I was in college in Denton, Texas, I got invited to the dank, smelly little music club right off campus. My roommate's friend Laura had been raving about this singer from Austin named Patrice Pike, who was in town with her band, Little Sister. I desperately wanted Laura to think I was cool, so I was more than happy to go along (I had a little crush on her, although I still didn't really know it at that point — I was pretty dense). I didn't really know much about the band, other than Laura loved them and the dean of the journalism school was a big fan. I'll never forget Dr. Wells telling me, "You've got to go see that chick in Little Sister. She's like fuckin' Janis Joplin, man." Yeah, our j-school was a little different.

I confess that I don't recall many details about the show. I remember that I loved the music. I remember that I had a great time. I remember Laura whispering in my ear, "Isn't she so sexy?" But even though a fair amount of it is fuzzy, that night started something. Since then, Patrice and her music have been constant threads running through my entire adult life, in ways I never would have expected. Corny, sure. But true. So while I stood on the dock last Friday night at Clinton Lake in Lawrence, Kansas, watching Patrice charm and enchant a crowd of my friends (and a few strangers), I thought for a moment about my 20-year-old self. If someone had told me that over the next decade, I would see Patrice in dozens of shows — including one in my own driveway — would I have rolled my eyes? If somone had said that this amazing singer, sweating and writhing on the stage in front of me, would one day consider me a friend, would I have believed it?


If the name Patrice Pike sounds even remotely familiar to any of you (well, any of you who don't know me), it could be a few things. Two summers ago, she was on "Rock Star: Supernova," that reality show where Tommy Lee was looking for a lead singer. Patrice did well; she was the third-to-last female to be eliminated. I wanted her to last longer, but truth be told, I didn't really want her to win. That band of Tommy Lee's hasn't done jack squat. I just wanted her to pick up some more fans. That's happened, although not to the degree I would have hoped. If she had been able to play this song, "Kiss Me Baby," on national TV, I'm guessing she would have picked up a few more. Not exactly a Tommy Lee kind of song. I wish there was full video, but you'll get the point. Panty-dropper.



But if you didn't catch her "Rock Star," Patrice has also been on the Lilith Fair, she's played at the Michigan Womyn's Festival and countless other similar chick shindigs (this is a neat moment from one of those), her band Sister 7 (Little Sister had to change its name) had some radio and VH1 play with a song called "Know What You Mean." In Austin, she's beloved; she's in the Texas Music Hall of Fame. But if you haven't heard of her, that's okay too. It's the whole reason I'm writing this. If it makes even one person check out her music for the first time, then I'm happy. It's not just that I think her music is worth sharing with anyone and everyone (although it is), it's also because outside of Texas, I'm not sure how well-known she is in the lesbian/bi community, despite being an out-and-proud bisexual who actively supports and promotes gay causes. I consider the song in the snippet below (it's not the full song) a great "fuck you, I'm queer" song.



I got to know Patrice, oddly enough, when I moved away from Texas. Down there, at a Sister 7 show the club would be packed wall-to-wall. In Kansas City, it was a little different. Good crowds, but nothing like that. So it's hard to miss when the same people are coming to the shows over and over again (sometimes on consecutive nights in different towns). My friends and I became faces that she was used to seeing when she came to town, and she would always make a point to say hello to us. But I didn't really get to know her until one weekend nearly seven years ago, when Patrice and her band at the time got booted out of a Sunday-night gig in Lawrence at the very last minute. (The owner of the club and its manager had unknowingly each booked a band for that night; Patrice's band lost out.) My roommate Sarah and I were commiserating with Patrice after the Kansas City show that Friday, and being a bit drunk and mouthy, we were like, "Fuck it, just play the show at our house." Patrice didn't miss a beat. "How many people do you think you could get?" Sarah and me: "Uhhhhhhhhhhh ... what? Seriously?"

So, 48 hours later, Patrice Pike and the Black Box Rebellion were playing a fully plugged in, all-out, two-hour show in our driveway for a few dozen of our closest friends. It was one of the most fun experiences of my life, something I'll never forget. And I know Patrice won't either. She's said several times that the experience meant a lot to her, and knowing that means a great deal to me. I generally try not to get too personal in this blog, mostly because I think it's kind of boring. I tried several times to write about Patrice without getting personal, but it just didn't work. And I don't want to give the impression that we are close friends; that's not the case. Because I've been listening to her music for so long — and because it was such a huge part of my life when I was figuring out my sexuality, moving to a new town and making new friends — it would be intensely personal to me whether I knew her or not. But because I do know that she is every bit as kind-hearted and genuine as she is talented, it makes me want to share her music with others all the more.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading about her, and I hope you check her out: www.myspace.com/patricepike and www.patricepike.com. OK, enough shameless promotion. I'll leave you with a photo from the Driveway Show, plus a snippet of one of my favorite Patrice songs ever.

Barefoot, blind and barely awake

I have these neighbors who can't seem to figure out their car alarm. They're always setting it off accidentally, especially early in the morning. I am used to this. Which is why I shouldn't have been suprised or disturbed in any way when it went off the other morning — weeeee-ooooo, weeee-ooooo, weeeee-oooooo. The problem was, I was deep, deep into a dream in which I had a really fun little scooter. And when the car alarm sounded, I thought, someone is stealing my motherfucking scooter, noooooo! So I leap out of bed and barrel out the door without fully waking up. Of course, as soon as I get out there I realize that a) it's the neighbor's car, b) I do not own a scooter, and no one has scooter alarms anyway, and c) my front door has just locked behind me. I am in my pajamas and not wearing my glasses. This is where I should mention that I am blind as a bat. Without them, I am like Velma, feeling around some creepy cave going, "Oh no! My glasses! Where are my glasses? Jinkies!"

I panic for a brief moment, then I remember the little hide-a-key turtle I keep on the deck in the backyard. No problem, right? So I go back around to the deck, and I'm looking and looking, and guess what? No turtle. How is this possible? I'm thinking. Where the hell does an inanimate hide-a-key turtle go? I think that it must be there, I just can't see it because I'm so blind. So I crawl around on the deck for a while, looking everywhere. Still no turtle. Then I come up with the brilliant idea of kicking in one of my basement windows. They're shutter-style, and the locks are weak. So I give the window a few good kicks before deciding I would rather not risk having a huge shard of glass lodge in my bare foot. On to another idea. My dining room window looks like it's unlocked, so I pry off the screen. Of course, it's locked, and I'm an idiot.

I walk around the front yard for a little while, cursing and generally looking like a crazy person. Have I mentioned that I have no clue what time it is? It's about sunrise, but because I never get up early I have no idea when that is. So I knock quietly on a neighbor's door for help, but I bail because I'm paranoid that it's insanely early. (Turns out it was 6:30ish, so, good call.) I decide to assess the situation with the basement door. While I'm under the deck checking that out, I see something. The turtle! Apparently it fell off the deck. It broke apart in the fall, so of course, no key. I drop to my hands and knees and blindly paw around for a while, digging for it among the dirt and rocks and groundcover plants. That goes about as well as you might expect.

I give up. You win, forces of the universe. I happen to see a gardening tool I had left out the night before. One swift swing and one broken door pane later, I'm back in the house, filthy and with a squinty headache. Moral of the story: Don't keep important stuff in a plastic turtle.

Olympics: Deep and shallow thoughts

Can someone please point me toward the person who invented high-definition television? I want to kiss him or her on the mouth. Oh my god, am I ever addicted to the Olympics in HD. You can see every grain of sand on Misty May and Kerri Walsh's sweaty, well-defined abs, and it is tremendous.

But for once, I'm not just all about the hot women. (Though many, many of them are hot. I've seen hot Ukrainian fencers, Aussie swimmers, Kiwi soccer players, Spanish basketball players, Dutch field hockey players, you name it. Need more examples? The incomparable Dorothy Snarker provides a few.)

So in watching these Olympics, glorying in all these amazing female athletes, it strikes me that much of what makes them so attractive – their abilities, their strength, their power – is precisely what is killing women's gymnastics for me. Those women and girls are extremely powerful; they're all muscle. They perform astonishing feats of athleticism and agility. But they have to do it wearing sparkly makeup and hair ribbons, while prancing around and performing these goofy dance moves in between their tumbling skills, and it makes me insane. Obviously, the floor exercise is the worst offender. What's the deal with the music? The men don't have music in their floor exercise. It's got to go. I know that it's called "artistic" gymnastics, and you're never going to be rid of some of this stuff. But a lot of it just feels so archaic and unnecessary next to other women's sports, and even next to men's gymnastics. There's this pervading sense of forced femininity that just bugs me. The men have to do some of the annoying little toe-pointy, arm-flappy moves too, but not nearly as many. For them, it's mostly about the power. I just don't see why it can't be that way for the women too. Why not add the high bar? From the looks of some of their uneven-bar routines, the women have advanced strength- and skill-wise to a point where they could compete in that discipline. Pommel horse and rings, not so much, but high bar seems attainable. Right? Am I crazy?

Don't get me wrong; I still enjoy watching the gymnastics. I was absolutely thrilled for Nastia Liukin (Side note: best name ever, right? Nasty!), and I don't want to belittle their skills in any way. Because they're badass; they're just hampered by the system they compete in. But this isn't 1984 anymore. The phrase "female athlete" doesn't make people think of Mary Lou Retton, it makes us think of Venus Williams. Mia Hamm. Dara Torres. Diana Taurasi. Annika Sorenstam. And yes, Misty May and Kerri Walsh. OK, those two wear bikinis, which I know has some impact on the decision to put all of their matches on NBC, prime time. (I know I'm crossing my fingers for another celebration like '04.) But I like to think that it also has something to do with the fact that they beat the crap out of the volleyball and have laid waste to nearly every opponent in their path for four years solid.

Boom! Hold that thought

So, Imagine Me & You was on Logo the other night, and even though I had a thousand other things to do and had already seen it a thousand times, I watched it anyway. Why? Because I am physically unable to resist this film. If I don't watch it at least once every six weeks or so, I start to feel weird and unsettled. Food doesn't taste as good; my fabric softener seems to lose its effectiveness, that sort of thing. Exaggerations aside, the movie just makes me smile. Yes, it is an utterly predictable bit of trifle with an ending so corny it tests one's gag reflexes to the limit. But darn it all, it's a cute, fun, funny and well-acted bit of trifle, and the romantic leads are gorgeous and have fabulous chemistry. Plus, there's something to be said for high production values (something sadly lacking in many lesbian films, due to their indie nature). So I make no apologies for loving this movie. None!

I'll spare you the rundown of the movie and get straight to the appreciation of Rachel (Piper Perabo) and Luce (Lena Headey). From the instant they meet, they can't seem to stop flirting with each other, and it is very cute. As I said before, their chemistry was really solid. Oh, and there is a decent amount of kissing, which is pretty awesome. I don't know how others felt about this, but the fact that there was no sex scene didn't bother me a bit. I thought it was quite nice that they fell for each other without that.

Anyway, despite the aforementioned cheesiness and predictability, I do give the movie credit for throwing a couple of nice curveballs. For one, in your heart you're rooting for the guy a little bit. Usually in these scenarios, the guy is a total boor and we can't understand at all why any woman would be with him, but in the case of Hector, you get it. He's kind and charming, and completely deserving of someone who loves him. The other nice departure is that Rachel never really fights her attraction to Luce; she fights her desire to act on it. We're spared any hand-wringing over (gasp!) being attracted to a woman. We also don't have to tread a similar tired path as Rachel worries about what everyone will think, how she'll tell her family, etc. She's not concerned about any of that; all she cares about it not hurting Hector. Also, no one goes insane. Which reminds me: By playing the lovely and not-crazy Rachel, Piper Perabo redeemed herself in my eyes for that crapfest Lost and Delirious. And she and Lena Headey both get extra points for playing gay more than once in their careers. Bravo!

A sight for sore eyes

A while back, I went with a friend to see The Happening. (Which sucked with mighty Hoover power, but that's another story.) We're watching the previews, and there's a trailer that looks pretty interesting. Dark and creepy, mysterious Scottish guy, Leoben from Battlestar, Amanda Peet as an FBI agent (hot!). Then, it happens. The screen goes black, and we hear: "Scully?" "Mulder." At which time I pitch a bona fide fangirl freakout, right there in the theater. I knew the movie was coming up soon, but I hadn't seen the trailer. My friend is still speaking to me, but I wouldn't blame her at all if she wasn't.



The X Files: I Want to Believe could be terrible. The first movie was certainly a letdown. But this time, I don't really care. Why? Because SCULLY IS BACK, BITCHES! It's been far, far too long. So even if the movie is a steaming pile of crap, I feel pretty confident that I'll enjoy it. After all, what lesbian worth her salt didn't have a crush on Scully? She's brilliant, pragmatic yet deeply emotional, the skeptical scientist who sees and experiences pheomena she never thought possible. And yes, she's ridiculously, unbelievably hot. Over nine seasons, Gillian Anderson brought a lot to the Scully role, and lesbian nation thanks her for it. (She knows we love her, and she loves us back, god bless her.) I'm not sure I'm completely feeling the long hair. She's beautiful, don't get me wrong; it just seems weird and un-Scully-like. But whatever, people change. Dana Scully can grow out her hair if she damn well pleases.

I've been going through old shows, trying to get caught up. There are a lot of episodes and plot points I had forgotten about entirely (some with good reason). I'm counting on the movie to bring me up to speed, because I'm still a little unclear about how the series left it, with regard to the shape-shifters, the super soldiers, the black oil, the evil alien overlords and whatnot. I need X Files Cliff Notes. Part of that is because I had kind of checked out of the show the last couple of seasons, the Mulder-less seasons. I just couldn't get on board with it. Of course, I still watched, but not with the same kind of interest. At that point, it was basically a drinking game. You know, "When Scully and Agent Reyes throw each other an intense look, drink!" We owe Gillian and Annabeth Gish a debt of gratitude for keeping things interesting with the smoldering gazes. Even though, as a wishful thinking lesbian viewer, you know they're not going to drop everything and make out, they did their best to make it look like they might. Also, Scully was at her hottest in the later seasons, so that was nice. I mean, right?


Anyway, going back through those episodes, I'm finding that my favorite Scully moments are the humorous ones. Like the episode where the Lone Gunmen trick her into going to Las Vegas, and she gets roofied and spends half the episode giggling, lolling around and calling Langly "cutie." Or "Bad Blood," which involves Texas vampire shenanigans, or the one that's shot like an episode of COPS. She and David Duchovny always played off each other very well, but that really came through in the funny moments. At the risk of sounding like a weirdo, I also have to point out that Scully is never more beautiful than when she cries. And homegirl went through some shit, so she cries a lot. If I can find a good screencap, I'll post one later. But in the meantime, here's another old-school shot for good measure.

UPDATE: The movie sucked. It was a thrill to see the Mulder and Scully again and I'm really glad I saw it, but it was not a good movie. Well, it was for a while, then it devolved into some gay Frankenstein bullshit that I'm not even going to get into. Sigh.

I heart Beth and Val

Obviously, May was not a great month for me, blogging-wise. And June is shaping up to be much the same. But I'm going to get it together, I swear. So let's get right to it. Beth and Val are my new internet obsession. They are video bloggers, and they are so, so funny. They do an occasional vlog called "TV is the Answer" at Television Without Pity, plus "Ask Anything with Beth and Val" at DotComedy. In addition, they also apparently work for Chiller? I'm not sure what they do with that, since I don't get that channel. (How I wish I did, though, because I love horror movies.) Anyway, they just riff on whatever cultural phenomena that strikes their fancy, using a viewer question as the jumping-off point. They're both very funny and attractive, but I am desperately in love with Val. Her wit is seriously sharp. Such a turn-on. One of my favorite vlogs was "How will you keep Jerry Falwell's memory alive?" Their take on super-lesbian Jackie Warner and "Work Out" is really amusing too. But almost all of them are pretty damn great. I couldn't figure out how to embed those, so here's another one that's also quite funny and lesbian-related. (Val is on the left, Beth on the right.)

Cure for blog doldrums: Hot chicks locking lips

Some friends and I were talking last night about the pros and cons of having so few moments of lesbo happiness on TV. I know what you're thinking – pros? There are pros? Well, sort of. If I could turn on the TV at any given time, any given day, and find two women making out ... OK, that would kick ass. For a little while, I would never leave the house. But at some point, it would become commonplace. We should be so lucky, I know. But that would mean that when Dr. Callie Torres kissed Dr. Erica Hahn last Thursday on Grey's Anatomy, I probably wouldn't have raised my arms and shouted, "Yes! Awesome!" at my TV. And then I wouldn't have immediately downloaded it, just so I could screencap it. Well, I might have anyway, because these two are burning up my screen.

I'm fired up because I called this one. Well, sort of. It seemed far too much to hope for, back when Dr. Mark Sloane was chasing after Hahn. She rebuffed him, but grudgingly, and the show was sort of sucking in general, so I let my lesbian storyline dreams die. I should have known better. Suddenly the writers' strike ended, and Hahn and Callie became BFFs who were into each other just enough to raise some eyebrows. At first, I figured the actors might just be having a bit of fun and adding something extra to the roles. Then glorious, glorious Addison Montgomery showed up and rocked Callie's world by assuming Callie and Erica were a couple. At that point, it became clear that the show was totally going to go there. Whee! I don't even mind the fact that it took a bunch of sex and dirty talk with man-whore Mark for Callie to figure it out. It doesn't seem like this character development is being played for exploitive, male titillation purposes. Even though I haven't personally experienced this, I do believe that for many people, sexuality is fluid. The way I look at it, I don't care what it took for Callie to figure out that she had real, honest-to-god romantic feelings for Erica. I'm just glad she figured it out. I can't wait to see what's in store for them next season. I don't expect them to ride off into the sunset – it seems impossible for anyone to have a healthy, stable relationship at Seattle Grace – I just hope that the storyline stays smart and interesting.

In other liplock news, I saw something a couple of weeks ago that may have even trumped Callie-Hahn in terms of sheer, breathtaking awesomeness. On Battlestar Galactica, the astoundingly beautiful Tricia Helfer kissed herself. Yep, you read that right. See, on Battlestar, some of the actors who play Cylons have to play multiple versions of the same Cylon model. The actor who has had to carry the toughest load, by far, is Helfer, who plays myriad roles as the Number Six model.
All of the Sixes she's played are different, but they share a few traits. They all want desperately to love and be loved in return; they want their lives to have meaning, purpose; they're a bit wacko religious (but in a "God is love" way); and to borrow a phrase from Willow, they're kinda gay. Some of the more significant Sixes: Caprica Six (seductress, had a polyamorous relationship with Dr. Gaius Baltar and the Number Three model D'Anna); imaginary Six (who exists in Baltar's head and may or may not be an angel); Gina (who was in love with Admiral Helena Cain, then was brutally abused after her Cylon identity was discovered); and Natalie (above), the newest Six to the party and the leader of a band of rebel Cylons. I don't want to get into too many details that led to the kiss, because it takes too much Battlestar geek-speak to explain, and I've done enough of that already. But suffice it to say, it was a gut-wrenching set of events that led Natalie to kiss another Six, tenderly, before shooting her in the head. And even in the heartbreaking moment, I will admit that I paused my DVR, because holy shit, Tricia Helfer just kissed herself. So if I ever wondered exactly how shallow I am, now I know.

"Finally!"

That was Danica Patrick's relieved and jubilant exclamation about an hour ago, after she became the first woman to win an IndyCar race. Finally, indeed. I'm not an auto racing fan, but I am a big sports fan. As such, I like to watch all the biggest events, even if it's a sport I'm not really that into or don't know that much about. So although I don't really follow IndyCar racing, I do watch the Indy 500 almost every year. I watched every minute of it in 2005, when Patrick, then a rookie, started on the first row and damn near won the whole thing. It was absolutely thrilling. Since then, I've made it a point to check in on races every now and again, because I knew she would win one at some point, and then many more. The rest of the season passed, then the next, and the next ... and nothing. I got apathetic, I admit it. So when I got home from work tonight, knowing full well the race was going on in Japan and I could watch it if I wanted to, I read a book instead. A couple hours later, I thought, "Oh, I wonder if it's over?" So I flipped on SportsCenter to see Patrick and her family celebrating in pit road. Damnation! I missed out on history to take a bath and read a book. Ninety-nine percent of the time, that's an evening well-spent. Tonight, it turned out to be a stupid move. But I'm still thrilled, even though I didn't get to see the victory as it happened. No matter how one feels about auto racing in general, this is a tremendous milestone for women in sports.

I'm still not too crazy about the grody, almost-spreadeagle photos she did for FHM, but whatever. Danica Patrick is hot and a hell of a race-car driver, and this is her day. Congrats, Danica.

Long live Lahbib!

The TV gods, they are smiling on me this weekend. First, season four of Battlestar Galactica begins on Friday. (Insert fangirl squeeee! here.) I just watched the season three finale the other day, and have pretty much been in constant OMG mode since. In a way, I'm thankful I just started watching the show a couple of months ago. If I'd had to wait a year to find out what the frak is going on, I don't think I could handle it.

The other exciting TV development this week is that BBC America will start airing season five of Wire in the Blood on Sunday. Oddly, they're starting with an episode titled "Prayer of the Bone," which actually aired in the UK after season five, as a precursor to season six. But since it's a one-off episode, I guess it's no big deal. Unfortunately, "Prayer of the Bone" is built solely around Robson Green (who plays Dr. Tony Hill, the brilliant but odd psychologist), so it is sadly devoid of Simone Lahbib, the show's co-star and this blog's patron saint. Lahbib plays Detective Inspector Alex Fielding, an intense, skeptical sort. She's kind of a Scottish Scully to Hill's occasional wackadoo Mulder-ness. The show is not an X-Files ripoff, but their dynamic is kind of similar. I don't know much about the structure of UK police departments, but it seems to me that Alex is the head of an SVU-type investigative unit. If you haven't seen the show, it can be quite good at times. There are only four or five episodes a season, but each one is about an hour and 20 minutes long, so you get pretty invested in the story. Lahbib's character is kind of frowny and stressed out, but you better believe she still looks good.



One more thing: Although there's no LaBabe in "Prayer of the Bone," and it's not a terribly great episode, it's still worth watching because it's set in Texas, and it's so cute to hear some of the "Texan" characters recite dialogue written by Brits.

Hoops heaven

Wasn't March a magnificent month? The long, mother-effin' winter is finally over, the daffodils are blooming, and the smell of postseason college basketball permeates the air. I have watched so much basketball the last two weeks, it's ridiculous. My favorite thing is the first weekend of the men's and women's tournaments, because for six straight days, Thursday through Tuesday, there is basketball happening at just about any given hour during the day.

And, OK, let's be honest — women's hoops is total lesbo eye candy. Young, fit, sweaty women running and pushing each other around? Good stuff. I'm not going to get specific and talk about individual players, because it was all well and good to have college hoops crushes when I was 25, but now it seems kind of gross. I mean, I'm not old, but I'm old enough that I shouldn't be crushing on 20-year-olds. Coaches, however, are fair game. This weekend was weird, because Gail Goestenkors' team was not in the Sweet 16. Goestenkors took Duke to the Sweet 16 the last 10 seasons. Now she's at Texas, where she has some rebuilding to do. They made the tournament, which looked iffy for quite some time, but got mauled by UConn in the second round. I don't have very many coach crushes (head coaches, anyway), but Coach G is always welcome on my TV. In the last couple of years she's been looking a bit, shall I say, pinched. But she's still a total cutie.

Anyway, the women's Final Four gets set tonight; LSU and Stanford are already in. Stanford's back in the Final Four for the first time since 1997, a year that lives in infamy for Stanford fans. The Cardinal lost a heartbreaker to Old Dominion in the semifinals, 83-82 in overtime. My first major hoops crush, Kate Starbird, had 21 points in the first half, then disappeared in the second half. I was a huge Stanford fan back then, and that game was one of the biggest sports letdowns of my life. I have it on tape, and I've never watched it. Kristin Folkl fouls out on a totally bogus call, Vanessa Nygaard misses a chippie that would have won it, Jamila Wideman (my second major basketball crush) misses a contested three at the buzzer ... It just suuuuuuucked. (Saddest post-game photo ever: Jamila and her mom. All these years later, I still want to give her a hug.) Of course, Old Dominion then laid an egg against Tennessee in the championship game. Not that I'm still bitter or anything. The last 10 years, I've been a fan, but each year it seems I've been less and less invested. Last year, when the Cardinal, as a No. 2 seed, got bounced out of the second round on their own home court, I decided I'd had enough. So when Monday night came around, I wasn't stressed out. If they lost, no big deal. Naturally, they pulled out a completely awesome win over Maryland. Just when I thought I was out ... they pull me back in! Damn. I'm actually going to the Final Four in Tampa, so it looks like I need to dig my Stanford gear out of the closet. Fair-weather fan? Guilty.

I'm voting for T&A

The funniest thing I've seen on the Internet today:


I'm not really a fan of T-shirt Hell, which is where I found this. Their stuff has a decidedly lowest-common-denominator bent to it. I'm all for laughing at ourselves, but a few of their shirts really cross the line, in my mind. But Tits and Ass '08? That is hilarious. Count me in as a proud lover of T&A.

Sweet, sweet Clementine

It's been a bit tough to find new TV girlfriends lately, with the writers strike creating a dearth of non-reality shows. I'm pretty choosy about my reality TV girlfriends. I'll develop a slight crush, then the woman will inevitably say or do something really annoying or mean, and poof! Crush gone. I think maybe I'm more forgiving with fictional characters. I'm more willing to hang around to see whether the character will be redeemed. (Or whether they'll be so evil that it;s fun, i.e., Wilhelmina Slater) Anyway, I've been out there looking, but not as many women on TV have been catching my eye lately. That is, until Clementine Ford, a.k.a. Cybill Shepherd's freaking daughter, showed up on The L Word. Ford is beautiful, and a total dead ringer for a young Cybill. I mean, check this out:

The screencap is a bit dark, but you get the point. A pair of knockouts, these two. You have to love a mother and daughter who, while playing mother-daughter characters, will do sex scenes on a lesbian TV show. Including one scene in which mom walks in on her little girl getting busy with another woman. I mean, God bless America. Ford plays a straight girl named Molly who is taken in by Shane's charm and goes "advanced placement gay" for her. Molly is smart, sarcastic and has that killer smirky smile thing going on, which is right in my wheelhouse. Shane appears to be simliarly smitten. She doesn't just want to sleep with Molly, she wants to be around her, talk to her, get to know her. I approve, Shane. You screwed up big-time by dumping Carmen (I will never get over it, ever, I swear). Don't let it happen again. I don't think I can handle losing another TV girlfriend because you have commitment issues.