What’s Sexy?

The other night at the Academy Awards, 61 year old Actress Dame Helen Mirren wasn’t wearing panties underneath her tight fitting dress.

I’m still trying to wrap my mind around it while simultaneaously trying to forget it, evict the image from my brain. See, I can’t figure out if I find her going commando hot or not. It’s starting to raise unsettling questions for me.

Am I attracted to a 61 year-old bird from Britain?

“It was all made for me so I didn’t have to have any underwear,” she told presenter OPRAH WINFREY.

“It fitted me like two angel’s hands,” she giggled, cupping her boobs to illustrate the point.

“I cried when I put it on, it is a work of art.”

I must admit she fills the dress out nice and fits it like a glove. If it’s okay for a 16 year-old to espouse the philosophy ‘if you got it flaunt it’ why can’t a 61 year-old?

Sex is about attitude.

Dame Helen is sexy.

She’s got attitude. What we in America call spunk, but that means something else entirely in England – picture yogurt that comes out of a snake-like part of a man’s body – so I’ll refrain from calling her spunky.

She’s just, well… a lady.

A dame.

And she won an oscar so more power to her.

Meanwhile, on our side of the pond, Britney Spears is burned out at 26. It’s obvious the drugs have done her wrong. I never liked that Lolita act anyway and after you watch a woman in a trucker hat burp and question time travel it’s really hard to ever find her sexy again.

Is she crying out for attention?

Discovering herself?

Throwing a tantrum?

Has she lost her mind?

Who the hell cares?

She was always a dumb hick from Louisiana who followed her puppet masters to riches off of exploiting her Mickey Mouse Club “virginity” sex appeal. Now that she is white trash again no one finds her sexy anymore.

Big surprise.

Can anyone feel sorry for her? Who here will argue that the laws of karma are not executing their poetic justice upon her? Isn’t she reaping what she sowed when she inspired a million bare mid-drift tween army?

And of course this pearl of wisdom from Brit:

“I think we should just trust our president in every decision he makes.”

Don’t worry too much about her.

She’s filthy rich.

America still loves her.

Pondering the 80’s

You can change the world. We can do it together.

If we dare to try.

We’re capable of impossible, fantastically incredible feats. The ability for one person to make a difference has been a core component of my generation.
I am a child of the 80’s.

We are dreamers.

I grew up on tales of individuals single handily accomplishing great things with nothing but bold ambition and some mousse.

Defying physics and travelling in time.

Saving their town by discovering pirate treasure.

And more sinsiterly, saving America from Communisim.

On a related note, the Academy Awards were on last night.

The Departed won of course.

Everyone felt good for Martin Scorcese. He finally got his little statue. But Jack Nicholson was the star of the show, mugging it up for the camera with his shiny, bald dome. Acting like he owned the place.

I heard that there is a special secret room at the Staples Center for Jack to smoke weed at halftime. I’m convinced that’s why he’s always wearing shades and grinning like the Cheshire cat. He’s higher than a bird.

It might be fair to say that Jack is unofficially the coolest man in America.

I bet he could call up George at 2 am all drunk and tell him he’s crashing in Lincoln’s bedroom for the night and Georgy would send a limo.

The man’s got game like that.

Still, I miss the geekiness of the cinema of my youth.

The camp.

Every movie out now gets bloodier and more depressing or maybe I’m getting older and more squeamish but I miss those silly, corny flicks of yonder years.

Why were 80’s movies so gloriously cheesy?

I don’t know. Let’s ponder it together.