An Ode to Becoming Irrelevant

In an era where your relationship doesn't count unless it's on Facebook, an idea isn't legitimate until it's on Pinterest, and a thought is meaningless until it's broadcasted to the Twitterverse, one can't help but to ponder the topic of irrelevancy. Hell, the sole reason why this blog exists is to remind myself that I have a semblance of a sense of humor and, on occasion, a poignant thought or two (bold statement... noted). Though, amidst this seemingly universal sentiment, there is a frightening amount of TV becoming as irrelevant as the Yellow Pages, beepers, or even terrestrial radio (like... what is that?). Let's take a look at those shows slowly but surely securing their place in the cobwebbed attic of the silver screen...

Jersey Shore

Is this show back? No seriously... is it? It's pretty bad that I even have to ask that question as an entertainment industry professional (weird... I've never said that aloud before). Hold on... I just Googled... ah well yes it appears that the new season is in fact running. It also looks like Vinny may have left? (I always liked him) ...But then he came back? (Ugh, comeon). Bottom line: this show has stretched out it's welcome much like Deena's stretched out JWow's hand-me-downs. Snooki can diet as much as she wants; nothing is going to change the life expectancy of this show. The moment Jersey Shore becomes relevant to me again is when in 4o years MTV decides to air a reunion special: Boca Raton Shore. I'd love to see what years of tannarexia does to their aging faces.

GLEE

At least this show recognizes that no one cares anymore. No way in hell they'd toy with a "Finn and Rachel" getting married story line if anyone was actually paying attention. Next thing you know, aliens from planet Schuster will come and abduct all members of New Directions (Ryan Murphy you'd love that, wouldn't you?). Aside from gimmicky episodes like this week's MJ tribute (which, despite my bellyaching, was ridiculously entertaining), it's becoming all the more clear that McKinley graduation day and the series' doomsday are one in the same. Sorry, Britney.

Desperate Housewives

I've never left a show in its final season... that is until now. Yes, I'll always have a spot in my heart for the series that gave women and gay men everywhere a shirtless Jesse Metcalfe, but I can no longer stomach James Denton's blatant disrespect for the acting craft. Sure, he's OK to look at but watching him act makes my brain shrivel. I held on passed the "fast forward" all too long... farewell old friend... farewell.

The Bachelor

It's no secret to faithful readers that I've had my ups and downs with The Bach franchise. So many fond memories... yet so many doody bubbles. In my humble opinion, it's all gone sour since Jillian's season. We've had nothing but weenies, whiners, and ugly ducklings ever since. Until this show cuts the fat and starts from scratch with someone remotely desirable, my Mondays will be exclusively spent with CBS sitcoms.

Merry Christmas Love, Sofalista and the Cast of Glee

Dear Loyal Readers,

While admitidly I've let you down this year with the lack of television commentary produced from this silly little blog, I bring you good news of great joy: Thanks to Santa, you can unwrap the gift of snarky prose every day this year. You see, Santa has made two of my wishes come true this Christmas: an iPad with a keyboard for happy and plentiful blogging and a Glee Christmas special which not only made me cry, but has revived my faith in happy television.

True to my inner gay man, nothing spreads Christmas cheer quite like a Judy Garland inspired special featuring songs from the Sound of Music. Accordingly, true to my inner teenage girl, nothing gives me lady tickles like Noah Puckerman ripping on a guitar to a Bruce Springstein tribute. All around, Ryan Murphy, Bravo. I knew your little bald head would start producing magic again. Actually... now that I think about it... there's something very elfish about that man.

From all of us at Sofalista (namely, myself) I want to wish you a very Merry Christmas and a happy and safe new year. May your day be filled with the warmth of quality television. xoxo

From Gleek to "Eeek"

It’s no secret that McKinley high is in serious need of a renovation. BLECHK… excuse me while I hack the asbestos out of my lungs for lingering around the halls of this show for far too long.

Yes, it’s a sad realization when you find yourself watching your ex-favorite show like you once watched the 1960 version of The Tempest the night before your Shakespeare exam; fast forwarding through any dialogue to get to general understanding of the nonsense storyline. From what I can gather from the season 3 premiere, it went a little like this:

· Blah blah blah… Quinn has fake hair and can’t “pretend” smoke a cigarette to save her life

· Blah blah blah… Food fight

· FAB IT’S NOT UNSUAL MUSICAL NUMBER WITH THE MCKINLEY HIGH DEBUT OF MRS. KURT HUMMEL! (Climatic moment of the hour)

· Blah blah blah… Rachel is annoying

· Blah blah blah… Kurt is annoying

· Blah blah blah… Mr. Shu is annoying

· Blah blah blah… Mr. Shu is annoying and also has a serious case of blue balls

· FAB ANYTHING GOES MUSICAL NUMBER WITH NO ONE FROM THE PRINCIPAL CAST (YAY!)

· Blah blah blah… Santana rules

· …and of course finale cheeseball performance showcasing how resilient the New Directions group is. Shocker.

Womp. Womp. Womp.

Who knows—maybe the fact that my new roommate is allergic to Glee has made me a bit more sensitive to the mind-numbing nonsense that this show has become. Finn no longer gives me lady tickles; in fact, the mere thought of him dries my vajayjay up like a craisin. I no longer have a tolerance for Lea Michelle’s bowl-movement faces during her songs. My inner-gay-man is no longer giddy at the thought of a Barbara song. All-in-all, the show is going to have to step up its game to keep me from watching HIMYM reruns on WGN in its place.

Luckily for Gleeks everywhere, Tuesday’s 2^nd episode was a bit redeeming. Nothing like throwing a Tony Award winning actress in the mix to stir up some fab musical numbers and semi-interesting storyline. Some promising moments:

· Brittany is a genius… no really…

· Puck is a doting dad wannabe that draws his baby girl pig clowns

· Quinn is blonde again (that was fast)

· Rachel is still annoying (but at least her rendition of Somewhere was actually something)

Let’s get real, I’ll never actually stop watching. I mean, what the hell would I have on my iPod if I did? But hear thee now, Ryan Murphy: Until I am satisfied with the state of this show I pledge to post a new adulterated photo of your bald head wearing a dumb hat every week. Exhibit A:

Never underestimate the powers of Microsoft PowerPoint.

Don't Do Drugs... Watch Rocky Horror

I have a confession...

...It's not that I once peed on Lindsay Lohan's house (I'm not ready to confess that yet).

...Nor is it that I ever pooped my pants (Though, I can confess that my best friends are capable of such accomplishments).

...It's not even that I once told a doctor that my 8-year-old sister had a scorching case of herpes (Haha--that was a good one).

My confession is that before Sunday, I had absolutely no freaking clue what the hell Rocky Horror Picture Show was. I know what you're thinking: Me? The incredibly well versed entertainment enthusiast that I am was ignorant to the most notorious cult classic film in the history of American cinema?! Well I have news for you... NO ONE knows what Rocky Horror is about. Anyone who ever tried to understand the meaning of it was probably too high on their acid trip to create any semblance of thought. Even the weirdos who show up to revival theaters in full costumes with rice and water guns (cough... mom... cough) have no know idea what it's about.

After Jean Machine and I watched it about 85x on repeat this past weekend, I've been able to scrap together the following synopsis (to preface what you're about to read, no, I'm not on crack):

A newly engaged couple stumbles upon the castle/laboratory of Dr. Frankenfurter, a cross-dressing alien scientist from the planet Transexual of the Transylvania galaxy. They witness the unveiling of Frankenfurter's experiment, a sexy piece of man candy he creates using half of a delivery boy's brain. Frankenfurter murders the delivery boy (who miraculously is able to survive with half of a brain) with an ice pick. Then the whole gang, including a zombie handyman, a maid with a frizz problem, and a groupie in serious need of an eyebrow consultation, all has sex with each other and dance around in drag before the traitor aliens zap Frankenfurter with an anti-matter ray and he dies. Then the house blasts back to Transexual, Transylvania so they can do the time warp again. The End.

And people say our generation is fucked... HA.

Moving on, I now feel comfortable reporting on last week's Rocky Horror Glee Show. And what did I think? Bravo, Gleeks, Bravo!

Though Mercedes didn't have to flip the tip in her portrayal of Frankenfurter, the casting seemed to be spot on. Finn and his dumpy abs as Brad? Check. Sam and his chiseled-by-angels abs as Rocky? Check. Artie as Dr. Scott? Umm... duh. Yeah, yeah, all very exciting.

BUT if I'm going to be honest here, nothing thrilled me more than the performance we've all been waiting for... The Glee musical debut of Uncle Jesse. Did you hear me... I said UNCLE JESSE KATSOPOLIS). I knew the Rippers were gonna make a comeback one day. Someone is going to have to institutionalize me if he ever sings "Forever" with New Directions. Hmm... who's got Ryan Murphy's number? I have a proposition for him.

Rendered Speechless With Excitement...

Britney and Britglee tonight...

...everyone hide your lady boners.

So Many Feelings

Last night, I think I finally understood what double-rainbow guy was talking about (without the drugs.... unless you consider sniffing magic markers a drug... in which case, suckit). I was so freaking happy you would think that I was the Pixyland.org Peter Pan (please only click if you are able to laugh at frighteningly inappropriate people).

What was it that allowed my heart to jump out and sprinkle fairy dust everywhere? Was it...

...Puppy on a pony? Nooo. Yet this does make me happy; probably not for the reason it should. I'm most happy to know that a real life Barbie exists and she really does live the fantasy life I've always dreamed for her (If you don't know what I'm referring to, check out sista-friend in the picture above. If those legs/shoes/dress aren't made of plastic then slap my ass and call me Ken). Back to the subject at hand: what DID make me so happy? Was it...

...A giant plate of meatballs?! Not this time. Most likely because I just finished a giant plate of meatballs and now I feel like I'm going to give birth to an 18lb food baby. Could it be...

Gus the bulldog? Nah. Look at that face!! I just want to squeezeeeeee him and shake him and eat his widdle cheeks! ...but then I will be in trouble with the ASPCA and they'll most likely confiscate my meat dress. Hmm... what about...

...No pants o'clock?! You know me so well! Of course I love to escape from the confines of clothing and truly experience the aerodynamics of the crotchal region. But unfortunately the workplace frowns on nudity during work hours. Not the winner, but could the winner be...

Tiny baby shaving?! I LOVE tiny babies shaving. In truth, I love seeing babies doing all sorts of grown-up things: dressing up in suits, telling jokes at dinner parties, helping me develop my e-trade portfolio. Also, seeing tiny babies shaving makes me feel less hairy... which reminds me that I'm hairy... which ultimately doesn't make me as happy as....

...you guessed it....

GLEE!! Ahh yes... the name really says it all doesn't it? What made Tuesday night's premiere more special than all the rest, you ask? Well, for starters, Quinn is back in the uniform and throwing bitches into lockers. I'm so proud of Quinnie; shedding off the never-existent baby fat in time for cheer season. And correct me if I'm wrong, but I DO believe she's back on top of the "pyramid" (which, by the way, should NEVER be referenced in the modern world of the Rah Rah sisterhood).

Tuesday night was also special to me because Rachel Barry got shown up... by a 6-year-old. Yes, it's been confirmed that "Sunshine Corazon" is in fact the "little girl" who sang with Celine Dion on Oprah. I guess we'll never know her true age... I mean... just look at the Chinese gymnastics team.

And SPEAKING of Asians, aren't you just the happiest little chopsticks that Tina and Mike were counselors at an asian summer camp? Hell... I wish I went to an asian summer camp; get all hyped-up on MSG and watch my counselors go at it. Niiiicccceeee.

Anyway, you already know all the reasons why this show makes me and everyone else in America practically giddy. Let's just enjoy the high, shall we?

The Soundtrack to Our Lives

A few months ago I went to a Rolling Stone event where The Airborne Toxic Event put on a comped concert for the media poverty elite. I had lady tickles all over because the group sang my favorite song at the time, "Sometime After Midnight," which concequently was the only song I actually knew. Let me preface this story with this: To me, all musician types look the same; blindingly sexy and "unconventional." So when I thought I was bumming a cig off the lead singer of the main act I couldn't be blamed.

"Your songs are the soundtrack to my life," I told the 5'3 brunette Kate Gosselin head. He was so overly floored that I actually thought to myself, 'wow this loser doesn't deserve his band-status.' After that, he offered me his entire pack and probably would have serviced Star Jones if I asked him to. So there I was, with my "I'm with the band" tude and bummed cigarettes looking for other band members to make me feel even more entitled. I ran into another one, and again shot him my line. "Sorry," he said, "that's pretty sad." Fail. It would've been fine if the lap dog behind me didn't pipe up "Um. We're not in the same band." So, in effort to save my dignity I told them that their hair was stupid and that leather pants have been known to give grown men UTIs.

In truth, the soundtracks to our lives are crucial in evaluating the quality of our existence. Whenever something monumental happens I always wish my own personal DJ followed me around making the moments that much more memorable. I still remember when manfriend and I had our first kiss: Hammerjacks in Baltimore--Pour Some Sugar on Me blasted in the background while we poured beer on each other. Totally set the tone for our relationship.

But on to bigger and better things, I can only hope that a Queen medly plays when I have a baby. GOSH Quinn is so lucky! Her baby is going to come out a superstar with a welcome-to-the-world song like "Mama." She's already going to be the sexiest tot in the nursery with Puck and Quinster as birth parents. THEN Idina Mendzel adopts her? HO-Kay... The life lotery this girl just won is failproof. Puck on the other hand may not be so lucky; after taking a peek at Q's crowning chocha, he may never go within a mile radius of a vajayjay ever again.

Ahh Vocal Adrenaline. Now that's a Glee club I could really get on board with. Get swung around by beautiful men while Jesse takes all vocal responsibility and still win skyscraper trophies? Yeah, I'll take it. Plus, the coaching is clearly superior. I'll take Elfaba and Maureen over Briar-Patch head any day.

Disagree? Well I ask you this. What would you rather have as singles in the soundtrack of your life? Take me or Leave Me or whatever Matthew Morrison sang on Broadway? You chew on that. I'm going to go mourn a summer without Glee, my weekly morsel of eupheria. Hmm... I wonder what song that calls for. I'll start with the music from the finale...

Dolphins are Just Gay Sharks

One hundred and twenty five days, twenty eight minutes, and :14 seconds. That's how long I've waited to re-release my inner gleek into the wild abyss of my living room. And how did I celebrate? With a solo, pantless dance party, a hummus bowl on my lap, and song in my heart. It's a fact... you can't really enjoy yourself with pants on. Um, so moving on...

While every second of Tuesday's Glee return made me as giddy as a toy store owner with Peter Pan syndrome, my biggest smiles were the result of the true, shining star of this spectacular program... Brittany. Yes, Brittany--The magical creature who believes that the square root of 4 is rainbows, forgets her middle name, and believes that dolphins are just gay sharks. Oh bless her little blonde heart.

I'm pretty convinced that my deep love for Brittany stems from my own fond memories of high school cheerleading. Yes, yes... I too once dawned the iconic uniform that conveyed the most timeless and impactful message to so many girls... "Stop Eating." Ah--the glory days. Listening to Brittany instantly transports me back to that time so many years ago; a time where I would surround myself with girls who thought that they couldn't pee with a tampon in or that the ocean was salty because of whale semen (uhh... sorry, Liz). Yes, these girls are real.

On Fox's Official Brittany Glee wiki (not that I know that exists or anything...), Brittany is labeled as a "stereotypical blonde cheerleader." Now, as the former pom-star that I am, I take offense to this; Brittany is not just the stereotypical blonde cheerleader... she's the pretty much the gold standard that all cheerleaders should aspire to whether blonde OR brunette (ha... like red headed cheerleaders are allowed). Let's take a moment to reflect upon her shining tidbits of wisdom.

Beggars Can't Be... American Idols

The setting: 4th grade slumber party. The year was 1995.

The mood: Tense. The host, with her early developed chest and enabling parents, was by far the most popular girl at school. I? Nicknamed "Hairy" and not even allowed to shave my legs or listen to TLC? Not so much.

The game: "Who is going to be famous"

The rules: Sing (a cool song), dance (provocatively), act (sexually), or call a boy (always a good idea) to impress the host and her posse of under-aged plastics so that they can ultimately decide your fate as a future superstar. Awesome.

As I sat in line, rehearsing the lyrics of "Colors of the Wind," I thought to myself 'Wow! This is my chance.' I mean, I had scored the leading role in the 4th grade production of Pocahontas opposite the elementary school equivalent of Brad Pitt. Despite my unusually hairy arms and un-proportioned sideburns, clearly I would be the most famous when I grew up. Without a doubt, the popular girls would deem me fame-bound and would want to be my bffs... ae.

I stood before the judges table, the host bitch's canopy bed which I would later learn she had peed frequently, and confidently sang my solo in the delusional likeness of Vanessa Williams (no... NOT the voice of cartoon Pocahontas). I awaited applause... but was only faced with booming laughter. "Nice song, Pocahairy." Womp womp. Isn't that what it always comes to? Fucking song choice.

Ah yes. Song choice: The key to American Idol success. Pick a wrong song and you might as well just stand up there and pick your dingle-berries. Sing Gwen Stefani when you should be singing Barry White? Well sweetie, you just sang success sionara.

The only thing more appalling than picking the wrong song is to beg the judges for another chance. Hello people! Have you seen the show?! (Warning: nerdy career-based learnings ahead) Based on the ratings for A18-49 I would assume so! In that case, there is NO excuse for groveling. Call it pride, call it arrogance, but I refuse to beg for anything (ever since the 4th grade, that is). "Can I sing something else?" "Lemme get another stab at it." "Comeon, Dawg this is my dream--give me another chance!" No... the answer is always ALWAYS absolutely NOT. Salvage any bit of dignity, man. Idiots.

Luckily for the viewing public, begging was at a tolerable minimum this week as the judges decided the fate of remaining Hollywood week contestants. What were we left with? A top 24 selection that would surpass a selection of 24 of anything--baked goods, hits of the late 90s, Westminster Kennel Club dog show finalists, etc. We were also left with a new Glee preview so nipple-ticklingly exciting that I had the pee-pee sensation for a whole 24 hours. I've provided both videos below. Yeah, I know... you love me.

Want more American Idol videos? Click here.

An Ode to the 4 Time Golden Globe Nominated: GLEE!

You can give me Idol. You can give me The Sing Off. But you will never take my Glee.

-William Wallace



Three things I pray: To see Glee more clearly. To love Glee more dearly. To follow Glee more nearly. Day by day by day.

-Gaylord Foker



And fare Glee well, my only Love, and fare Glee well a while! And I will come again, my Love, though it were ten thousand mile.

-Robert Burns



How do I love Glee. Let me count the ways.

-Elizabeth Barret Browning



One, Two, Glee... Finn and Quinn and Artie. Gettin down with 3P. Everybody loves Glee.

-Brit Brit



And YOU and YOU and YOU... you're gonna love GLEE!

-Amber Riley



A much deserved conGLEEtulations to the perfectly adoreable and hilarious cast of Glee for their 4 Golden Globe nominations in their freshman season!



-Jane Lynch: Best Supporting Actress in a series, miniseries, or TV movie.

-Lea Michelle: Best Actress in a comedy

-Matthew Morrison: Best Actor in a comedy

-Glee: Best comedy!



While I do hope that Glee cleans up shop at the globeys... I'm especially crossing my fingers that the TV gods bestow their best luck on Jane Lynch. Ever since I heard the words: "You think THAT'S hard? Try living with hepatitis--now THAT'S hard," I knew she was destined for countless statuettes.



And though I will be limitlessly sadder on Wednesday's until April, it brings a little song to my heart knowing that I will be able to catch the Gleeks on my second favorite silver screen venue... the red carpet. Oh yeah... I'll be making sure Santa brings me Season 1 Part 1 on DVD for Christmas. Yayyy Santa!

Mr. Shu Finally Grows a Pair

It wasn't such a great day for Mr. Schuster on Wednesday. First homeboy has to fork over a check to by an ad in the school's own yearbook so that the Gleeks can get a measly photo op. Then he's forced to step down as Glee club director because the kids went diva rogue on his ass. Then he finds out that his sociopathic wife has been lying about her pregnancy for months (which of course means that the poor guy hasn't gotten laid in quite a while). Then he's forced to sleep on a discount mattress that you KNOW put knots in his back (woof... they were like 3 inches thick!).

Does it suck? Sure it does. But you can't argue that red-in-the-face isn't a hot color for Mr. Shu. To be honest, I was never able to shake the theater-queen vibes that he sends out there until I saw him rip off the Mrs.' fat suit. People argue it was a little intense; well in that case, slap my ass and call me Richard because I LOVE intensity. It's pretty much my favorite thing... you know... besides marching and sancerre. Seeing Mr. Shu get mad was like watching Mr. Rogers pull a Whitney Houston (Please click here). I've always been a fan of sweater vests and passion--now put your hands together.

The real victim here is not Mr. Shu. No, it's Quinn. Poor girl is doing the bravest thing a woman her age can do and with no help of her dingo parents or Terri-ble Schuster. Thank God she has Finn--but I can't say for how long... He made bedroom eyes at me at the Glee luncheon. Yes. That's right.

Well folks, when the clock strikes midnight my mourning process will begin. Yes, tomorrow marks the day of the Glee fall finale. We'll then be forced to wait until April to get our weekly dose of gleefulness. I blame FOX for my seasonal depression.

I HATE YOU TIME WARNER! But I LOVE you, GLEEEE!

As some of you may know, I recently upped out and moved into Manhattan. Here I am thinking I have the world at my fingertips; "The place where you can get whatever you want whenever you want at a moment's notice," some say. Well, all I asked Manhattan for is an apartment walking distance from my office and a decent cable provider to satiate my above-average television needs. I just found out my office is moving to SoHo and my Time Warner DVR just stopped recording GLEE half way through last week's episode! Good thing I watched it online! Phewwwwffff.

In brighter news, I'm happy to report that it is possible to put light-up wheels on your wheelchair! Yes, Artie's wheelchair is totally pimped in this episode, equipped with wheels serving as the disabled equivalent to LA Gear light-up sneakers (damn I used to rock those hard back in the day). In addition to being flashy, the wheels surely stimulated some toungin' between Artie and Tina (favorite line of the episode: "I want to make very clear that I still have total use of my penis"). May I take a moment to give some well-deserved applause for Long Island's own Jenna Ushkowitz! Way to work it, girl!! The NYCHSAA would be so proud!

The whole gang sported chairs of the wheeling variety in last week's episode, and to my surprise, they all were surprisingly agile with the exception of Rachel (totally awk in the last number). More importantly, the gang held a bakesale. Most importantly, Puck leveraged the cupcakes as snacks for the mary-jane munchies. I mean, let's face it... there's nothing better than a cupcake when you're Mary Magdelened.

Also, I can't say that I wasn't peeing my boyshorts in excitement knowing that "Defying Gravity" and "Proud Mary" were the selected songs of the evening. I also can't say that I didn't spend Saturday night having a Glee karaoke fest in my living room (Who's the coolest blogger on the block? This guy!). I also can't say that I'm still slightly jealous whenever Cory Monteith has a romantic scene with anyone who isn't me, ya know, after we made bedroom eyes with each other at a Rolling Stone event. Yeah... that happened.

There's not much topping that. Until tonight! TGIW!

Wait... Kurt is Gay?

Sometimes I find that I love so many things--it's impossible to just shove all of that love into the mere 24 hours of a day. This is why I so appreciate the invention of items that combine the things I love... like grilled cheese, tinted moisturizer, the romper, blood orange margaritas, the snuggie, the puggle. Actually, I also REALLY like combining. I'll stop.

So you can understand my enthusiasm when I found the most perfect little television show that combines comedy, music, teen romance, and delicious high school satire; a show that in so many ways satiates my every sitcom need. If you haven't realized I'm talking about Glee yet, turn on a freakin television.

I'm pretty obsessed--so much so that's it's hard to pinpoint the things that I love... but I will...

Coach Sylvester and Kurt.

Speaking of Kurt, I'm a little confused about the last episode. We're talking about a kid that tried out for Glee club with "Mr. Cellophane" and wears double breasted cropped blazers to school... he really isn't out of the closet yet? Yeah... that's believable.

My favorite is how Mercedes goes as far as to pull a Britney and smash poor Kurty's windshield in when her love was unrequited. Hmm... girlfriend needs to quit Diva's Live and watch a few episodes of Will and Grace.

Heart Kurt! Heart this show! Yayyyyy Gleeeee!

YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!

GLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

That's it... no really... that's all...