You Really Don't Want to Know

TMI!

That's such a gag inducing cliche' of the modern age, reduced, like everything else these days, to a bleedin' acronym.  You could simply utter the actual phrase that pays. "Too much information!" delivered in chirpy fashion by some perky little thirty something with a skinny latte in one hand and a phone in the other after a not-very-strenuous session at L.A. Fitness that was just that moment posted on Instagram. Twits like this repeat this line several times in one day, always extending their newly manicured paw in a "Talk to the hand" pose and acting like that it their own signature phrase. When it invades my air space, it usually makes me cough up a little vomit from lunch.

Unfortunately, there is a grain of truth in that line. It occurred to me when I was listening to YOU OUGHTA KNOW by Alannis Morrisette on the radio the other day. I never fail to crank up the volume whenever this plays. It really fractures and slays me. The fact that the song's main character is the craziest psych bitch since Glenn Close in FATAL ATTRACTION just adds to my overall enjoyment. The record itself kicks royal ass and Alannis just drives this baby like a primal screaming banshee on an alcohol fueled Saturday night. Few recording artists in the last ten years have had a better debut than this and, unfortunately, nothing she has done since has ever risen to this this level.

But sooner or later, thanks to her sudden rise to superstardom, facts about Ms. Morrisette came to light and it was discovered who YOU OUGHTA KNOW was written about...and we are all the worse off for it. It seems that Alannis had a steamy love affair with...

Dave Coulier from TV's FULL HOUSE.

Not John Stamos. Not Bob Saget. Not Mary Kate or even Ashley.

Dave Coulier.

Ew.

"EW OUGHTA KNOW".

Okay. This is old news and has been pretty common knowledge for anyone that gives a rat's ass for this kind of trivial garbage. I almost wish it was an urban legend like the Rock Hudson-Jim Nabors wedding. (Turns out Rock was gay. What's the truth about Gomer Pyle? Did Rock ever make him say "Shazam"? Goll-ly!) But it's not.

And it really doesn't matter. Poor little Alannis can't be chastised for her previous indiscretions or partners anymore than the rest of us can. But let's face it, she is, thanks to the unrelenting scrutiny of the Public Eye. (Along with myself who is digging this dead carcass up yet again) Her problem is that she didn't keep all this to herself. YOU OUGHTA KNOW, while a demented ode to obsession, just overflows with passion. And now that we know who could inspire such a lust and longing desire...it makes this song even more of a joke, and now kind of a creepy one, especially what Alannis does to Dave in a movie theater. Zoinks.

Carly Simon knew to keep her mouth shut about who YOU'RE SO VAIN is about. Hell, she even auctioned off the secret to one person a couple of years back. Rumors have circulated that it might be Warren Beatty or even Mick Jagger, who, if you didn't know, sings back-up on the song. (Try listening to it now and you can hear Mick sing "You're so VAAYNE..YEW probly think this song is ABOWT YEW....") The truth is probably that is none of the above and the guy she sang about in this early seventies hit is someone like Bill Macy from MAUDE. But Carly has kept this secret to herself, maybe for that very reason. Smart girl.The mystery has kept YOU'RE SO VAIN alive, whereas YOU OUGHTA KNOW becomes...just a punchline.

And that is too much information.

Ba-dump-bump.

Oscar's Big Boner

 Well, hoo-ray for Hollywood!

The biggest event of the year in the entertainment capital of the world known as the Academy Awards was quite the hoot this go around. This shimmer has dimmed on Oscar, the Golden Boy in recent years thanks to an non-stop onslaught of awards shows, all of them televised to drive the point home that YES, MOVIES STILL MATTER. That is, despite the fact that cinemas are on the endangered species list with the massive swift toward home entertainment and that currently, TV rules the roost in the current Zeitgeist. (No, no the sequel to Poltergeist).

This year's circle jerk was more entertaining than usual thanks to the efforts of new producers Michael De Luca and Jennifer Todd who took a page from the Golden Globes and gave this old chestnut some much needed life with more of a party atmosphere. It began with a bang with Justin Timberlake's nominated song "Can't Stop the Feeling", a rousing little ditty that brought the crowd to its feet for the first time. While not one of my personal faves, JT did kick the show off quite nicely. This led to Jimmy Kimmel's entrance as this year's host and, quite frankly, he owned it. They have been looking for a more permanent host for awhile and Kimmel fit the bill near-perfectly, nearly as smooth as Bob Hope and Billy Crystal back in the day.

The general celebration actually muted the political posturing with less speechifying than I expected, which I was getting ready to dread due to political fatigue. When points were made, they were appropriately placed for the most part and carried more weight as a result, perhaps with the exception of Gael Garcia Bernal's ham-handed two cents on the Trump wall. It was awkward and unnecessary as he preached on before giving out the award for Best Animated Feature. Bad timing. Much better was the letter written by Iranian filmaker Asghar Farhadi (read by Anousheh Ansari) upon winning Best Foreign Film for THE SALESMAN, a strongly worded statement on the Trump travel ban.  The other Trump digs during the night were more teasing in nature, especially Kimmel's Tweet to the Donald "Meryl says hi." but it was obvious that knives were sharpened and ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.

As though Blake Edwards ran the show, this seemed to be a slapstick affair from the start with poor adorable Aul'i Cravalho getting smacked in the back the head during her otherwise quite excellent rendition of the nominated song from MOANA, Then Seth Rogen bonked his noggin climbing out of the Delorean with Michael J. Fox. And the usually somber In Memoriam segment (aka The Death Parade) included a tribute to Australian costume designer Janet Patterson. Well deserved to be sure, except they showed the wrong Australian- producer Janet Patterson who is alive and well at this writing, but I haven't checked today, Janet, you alright, sweetheart? Sorry the Academy killed you prematurely.

But it was still all fun and games until we hit the three and a half hour mark when the Best Picture was finally about to be announced by Hollywood icons Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway when...WHOOPSY-DAISY!

You know the story. LA LA LAND was mistakenly announced when MOONLIGHT was the actual winner.

Conspiracy theories have abounded hither and tither over this major gaffe, one including Leonardo DiCaprio, the other involving the Academy itself attempting to amp up the drama and prove they are good Liberals after all by taking the trophy out of the hands of LA LA's white privelege and handing it over to MOONLIGHT to prove without a doubt the BLACK LIVES MATTER. (But not as much as THE MOVIES.)

But that's not what I believe happened at all.

The Russians were behind it all. They hacked into Pricewaterhouse and successfully sabotaged the awards to denigrate this beloved American institution in front of the entire world. And Warren Beatty was in on it the entire time. Hold on a second. Isn't he like a  Tinseltown Liberal god, second to none except maybe Babs Streisand herself? Well let me ask you something in return, Ivan, Didn't Warren Beatty write, direct and star in a movie called REDS? Hmmmmm? Look it up, comrades! The Russkies probably paid off the enormous debt accumulated by his recent flop RULES DON'T APPLY for his "cooperation". And the cherry on top of  the entire shit sundae, President of the United States Donald Jabroni Trump, masterminding the entire debacle to humiliate those he hates just as much the Fake News organizations...and that is THE HOLLYWOOD ELITE. (On the other hand, Putin preferred FENCES. He loves him some Denzel.)

I rest my case. (Don't have a mike, so I'll just drop my pen)

So ends another fairy tale evening in LA LA LAND while basking in the MOONLIGHT.

See you next year!