Under The Wagon

Girls aren’t funny. We’re not. Really. Everyone knows this. It’s canon.

Jay and I spent the weekend playing video games (we HAVE to, he says, “it’s research”), but we managed to tear ourselves away for a couple of hours to watch the first season DVD of “30 Rock.” We were late to the party on this one, but holy crap, what a great fucking show. When “Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip” came out at the same time…on the same network, with the exact same concept…I pretty much pooh-poohed “30 Rock.” If I was gonna watch a behind-the-scenes comedy sketch show, I was betting on Sorkin. Then it turned out that Aaron Sorkin was a massive, ego-wanking douchebag. Ragingly masturbatory, preachy rants didn’t seem so bad on “The West Wing,” as politics naturally lend themselves to preaching, rage, and masturbation. However, if you make a show that’s “saving” television through the magic of comedy, you might want to make it, you know, funny. We deep-sixed the thing two episodes in, it was just that painful, but apparently we’re a little more prescient than the NBC programmers who let the crap-fest quietly finish out a good 13 episodes of self-righteous, audience loathing doggerel. Suck it, Sorky.

Anyway, back to “30 Rock.” Everything Aaron Sorkin did wrong, Tina Fey rocked out of the goddamn park. Absolutely brilliant. It’s a pitch-perfect show, top to bottom. If you’ve worked in entertainment (me), are a comedy writer (Jay), or have ever lived in New York (Jay, me, our dogs, couple million other people), “30 Rock” is like looking in a painfully real, utterly hilarious mirror. Even if you haven’t done any of those things (you’re a better person because of it), the show is still the smartest, funniest thing on television right now. And it was created and written by a GIRL.

Tina Fey is my new girl crush. I can’t make her have my babies, of course. But I’d like my husband to knock her up. Knock her up real good.

Thinking about how great “30 Rock” is, I found it really sad that when a Vaginal-American does something that’s legitimately hilarious it shocks the hell out of me. I mean, the whole “girls aren’t funny” thing should have gone the way of “black people hate swimming” by now, right? It’s a blanket statement, a stereotype. Surely there are plenty of exceptions. But goddammit, if it is just a stereotype, then why do so many female comedians (I refuse to say “comediennes”) suck? REALLY suck. And even if you find a chick that is funny, she’s just not as funny as a guy.

Sarah Silverman is funny. Or she can be. You’ve got this super cute but not traditionally gorgeous chick saying completely awful things. I don’t want to denigrate the act she has, because it really is good. Her show is awful, and she’s best in small doses, but Silverman is legitimately funny. I like Sarah Silverman, but Tina Fey is a fantastic writer and has the kind of comedic timing that makes me want to stab her in the throat from pure jealousy. She’s that good.

And those are the only professionally funny women I can think of off-hand. Oh, and maybe that chick who started “The Daily Show,” but even that didn’t get really good until Jon Stewart came in.

The thing is, girls don’t have to be funny. I think that cuts to the core of the issue in a nutshell. We got vajay-jays. We’re judged by other standards, we don’t NEED to be funny.

Think back to high school. Think of the guys that were athletic, good looking, and had loads of personality. Those three guys got laid. Everybody else had to be funny. It was the only way they could get someone to pay attention to them.

Girls don’t have that. Think of the ugliest, dumbest, most hideous woman you’ve ever met in your life. That woman, should she so desire, can get laid any time she wants. It won’t be pretty, but she can get some. That is the power of the vagina. We don’t have to be witty, interesting, intelligent, or by any stretch of the imagination attractive…by merely possessing a squishy pink wet thing between our legs, we can make some guy out there toss us a high hard one.

Dudes don’t have that advantage. So guys developed humor. Smart funny, dumb funny, weird funny…all of it came about because somebody sucked at football and needed to get laid. You might not be the strongest or smartest, but you could be funny. And sure, a couple girls needed that coping mechanism just as badly. In high school, I was a 4’10” brace-faced four-eyes with a limp - you bet your ass I’m fucking hilarious. But fewer girls had the type of experiences (wedgies and swirlies being a near exclusively male domain) that create the roiling resentment, cynicism, and burning frustration that is the creative cauldron of really good comedy.

And guys value that comedy over everything because they EARNED it. If I tell Jay I have a smoking hot fantasy about Clive Owen whisking me off to a magical sex island, he won’t blink an eye. If I told him another guy made me laugh really hard at the dog park, he would freak the fuck out. Now I think my husband is incredibly attractive (and I’m not just saying that because he will read this and Christmas is coming up and I want some big ass diamonds), but my insistence that he’s the funniest guy in the world is what keeps him married to me.

Sure, women value humor, too. The most common response to “What the hell do you see in that guy?” is invariably “He’s really funny!” rather than “He’s got a trust fund and a dick that looks like a baby’s arm holding an apple.” Girls like to laugh. And they like to THINK they’re funny. “All my girlfriends say I’m hilarious after my third green apple Cosmo-tini!” In the end, though, we just don’t have the same appreciation, or need for humor that guys do.

So unfortunately, when a girl decides she does want to be funny, we tend to end up with either Erma Bombecks (“Oh when will these kids pick up their laundry, am I right?”) or girls who act exactly like guys (“Look, I said “cock” and I’ve got tits! I’m AWESOME!”). The cunny crowd seems to have major difficulties developing something that is legitimately unique AND funny. Most of the female comics I’ve seen tend to stick to the gender equivalent of “Black and/or White people be talking like this.” Men are helpless imbeciles, gynecologists have cold hands, babies poop a lot. Even the “edgy” lady comics just cuss more when talking about tampons and how stupid their boyfriends are, what with their dicks and all. And it makes me sad.

Which is why Tina Fey is my new girl-crush. “30 Rock” isn’t chick humor, it isn’t guy humor, it’s just plain funny and smart and interesting. If we can get a few more like her working their way up the ranks, the bitches might have a shot. But I think it’s gonna be a bit of a wait.

In the meantime, I gotta go get me a green apple Cosmo-tini. I hear I’m hilarious after a couple of those.

Tags: Essays, Manifestos, & Unsolicited Opinions by Karla Pacheco
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I have a feeling I’m a bad tipper to taxi drivers. I always try to round out a buck or two for the fare, but I either do too much, or too little. I wish someone would just TELL me what the appropriate tip is. Whenever I get out of a cab, I either get eternal gratitude and assurance of being the godmother of the next little Achmed or Taniesha, or I get the stink-eye. It’s hopeless.

The other morning I hailed a cab on my way to work, and discovered the price of the flag pull had gone 35 cents higher. At first I thought my driver was trying to rip me off. “I’m no rube!” I nearly yelled, “Not some country hick with no idea of what you’re up to. You’ll feel my wrath as soon as we get to my destination!” (I was already late and figured I’d best deal with this miscreant when we arrived.) Luckily, I noticed the shiny new fare card stuck to the seat divider in front of me, and remembered I’d heard something several months back about fares going up. I just hadn’t noticed until now. What with being incredibly drunk for the past three weeks.

Yes, I’ve been out of it lately.

But here’s what I’ve been up to, completely uncensored, for those of you with a purient interest in the lives of strangers. You sick little puppy, you.

* I have two weeks left in my current apartment, and my job security is nil. It’d be nice to blame my employment woes on a fragile economy, or inept management, but quite frankly, I have been a bad employee. I have an attitude problem. Knowing that the clock is ticking on regular income or shelter, you’d think I’d be beating the pavement, looking for a second job and an apartment. Or at least you’d think that if you assumed I was an intelligent go-getter. I am not an intelligent go-getter. I have an attitude problem. Also my procrastination knows no bounds. This has never been more evident than when:

* I pissed my bed 2 weeks ago. Drunk, drunk, drunk, passed out half naked, and apparently at some point in the night decided that the bathroom, a mere 10 feet from my bed, was simply too far to walk. You’d think that after such an embarrassing event, I would immediately strip the sheets from my bed, do some laundry, and swear off the bottle. But once again, you’re assuming (you certainly do assume a lot) that I’m not the type of person who would blearily scooch over to the dry side of the bed, pass out until the sheets air dried, and then sleep in a pee bed for the next 2 weeks. As I write this, I am sitting in a pee bed. I am a disgusting person. Which is quite evident when you realize:

* I went all last week without showering, and left the house only for furtive trips to buy cigarettes and beer. You’d think that with my job and living situation, I’d be trying to save money, and would eschew such frivilities, but once again, that’s you assuming I’m not a TOTAL FUCKING MORON.

I could go on, but you get the point. I’m barely employed, soon to be homeless, and I’m sitting in a pee bed. I’ve spent the past few weeks doing nothing but drinking and reading www.televisionwithoutpity.com relentlessly. I barely even watch TV, but for some reason I’ve been obsessed with their recaps of C.S.I. At this point, I have read over a hundred painfully detailed episode play-by-plays for a show I don’t even watch.

Life is grand, let me tell you.

On the good side, I’ve got a fellow who seems to think I’m keen, and tells me I’m pretty even when he’s staring at the living epitome of human filth. I have some friends who’ll be making sure my sorry ass isn’t exposed to the elements, and I’ll be attempting to NOT pee on their couches as I “get back on my feet.” And while I may be sitting in a pee bed (I just really find the phrase “pee bed” amusing. Say it out loud. C’mon. Pee bed.), I am also enjoying a cold beverage of an adult nature, and life doesn’t seem too impossible.

Also, I’ve been playing around with Photoshop, and I’ve written a comic. It’ll be up this week, with new episodes twice weekly or until I get tired of it, and go back to drinking and surfing the net all day.

So I give it a week. But check it out anyway. If you get a chance.

Don’t forget to tip your driver.

Tags: Essays, Manifestos, & Unsolicited Opinions by Karla
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I haven’t been to the movies very much in the past few years. I used to go to the two dollar, second-run movie theater all the time. On a slow afternoon, I’d take 10 bucks and watch two or three movies in a row. And I’d still have enough for popcorn or nachos (it’s impossible for me to watch a movie without munchies). Nowadays it’s 8 bucks for a matinee, not to mention my popcorn or nachos. So I stopped going. I’d see commercials for all these movies I wanted to see, but never went.

Even when I finally got my cheap ass DVD player, I still had a huge list of “Movies I’ll eventually get around to.” But the man-friend bought me a Netflix subscription, and suddenly the list just got shorter. Woo! (I assume I don’t have to tell you how cool Netflix is? Most of their business is from their awesome and well deserved word-of-mouth. If you don’t have it, get it.) Suddenly, I am totally up to date with all the hottest films. Of two years ago.

Kill Bill Volume 2: I borrowed Volume 1 from a friend (about a year after the movie came out) and loved it. Then I just sat on my ass until a month ago, when I Netflixed V.2. Eh. I liked the first one better. I didn’t feel like any of the questions I had from the first one were answered. How am I gonna pretend to be a sword wielding, bad ass lady assassin if I don’t know how lady assassins are recruited by Bill? Or how Bill and the Bride fell in love? This is essential to my fantasy dream world. (Not that I’m itchin’ to bone David Carradine. In my version, Bill is played by Clive Owen.) But overall a good westerny, nicely violent flick. I hear it works best if you watch both movies back to back. But that would take up two spaces in my Netflix queue, and I know eventually Tarantino will come out with some big ultra-DVD with lots of extras and shit and psycho-commentary. I can wait.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind: Okay, this one I feel like I waited too long to see. It was a great and interesting story, some amazing performances, and yet…I was disappointed because I figured out the twist in the first 10 minutes. It’s one of those movies I wish I could have seen with no previous knowledge. Though I would like to know exactly when Kate Winslet stole all of Helena Bonham Carter’s roles. Used to be, you need a chick in a corset, Helena was your girl. Then Kate started sneaking in to all the Merchant-Ivory films. Helena breaks out and smokes it up as a spiky haired freak in “Fight Club.” And Kate becomes the kool-aid coiffed free-spirit in “Eternal Sunshine. Seems suspicious to me. Winslet and Jim Carrey were both awesome in it, though. Kirsten Dunst sucked.

28 Days Later: 28 Days Later scared the shit out of me.

Hero: Jet Li regrets deciding to do “Romeo Must Die” instead of “Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon,” and does this instead. I could leave it at that, but Hero really is a beautiful film. Gorgeous use of color, and all the fight scenes are these amazing ballet sequences. Which means there’s no blood and very little ass kicking. It’s a pretty movie. And I totally sound like a girl, writing this. I’m gonna go fart.

Shaun of the Dead: Hey, a movie that’s somewhat recent! Cool. Like 28 Days Later with a sense of humor. And nicely British. I dug it. The extras on the DVD are cool, because they fill in all the plot holes from the movie in an amusingly British fashion. Very good, even if you don’t like horror movies.

About a Boy: And even more Brits! Less zombies in this one, unless you want to use “zombie” as a metaphor for people going through life without purpose, or fighting the demons of depression or adversity in their lives. Which I really don’t want to, as this really was a sweet, funny, poignant film. Which makes it sound like a chick flick, but it isn’t. Nick Hornby does a good job of tapping into universal bachelor mindsets. That sentence will make sense if you watch the movie. And you should. Hugh Grant plays a self-centered prick instead of a bumbling but adorable goof-ball, and he does it well.

X-Men 2: X-Men United: I really want me some mutant superpowers, that’s all I’ve got to say. I don’t need to say much about this, if you’re into the series, you’ve probably already seen it. If you’re not, you might try giving it a shot. Well done action flicks with SUPERHEROS! Oh, and note to Bryan Singer: Yes, we know you’re gay. It’s all right.

Closer: Alrighty, we’ll wrap it up with a movie that IS fairly recent. Clive Owen, Jude Law, and Queen Amidala in a thong. Nice. I leave Julia Roberts out of this because I think she’s a horse faced gum-mouth, but she didn’t annoy me in this film, and she usually does. Closer is more of a “mentally” sexy film. You can certainly see its theater roots. It IS essentially a stage play on film, but it’s a fascinating look male-female relationships. It’s interesting because you never see “the action” of the story, just the aftermath. Some of the best dialogue I’ve ever watched, wickedly clever stuff. This might sound a bit boring, but it’s one of those rare movies you can actually talk about for hours afterwards, discussing character motivation and relationships and…Okay, it still sounds boring. But quite frankly, Clive Owen is all man, and Queen Amidala is wearing a thong. Goddamn.

And now I’m off to update my Netflix Queue. What will I watch next? Tune in to find out! Or just keep checking to see when I get drunk and make an ass of myself next. I gotta get out of the house, here.

Tags: Essays, Manifestos, & Unsolicited Opinions by Karla
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Gotta hold it in, gotta hold it in!

The thought races through my head as the man sitting shyly on the edge of my bed begins to speak.

“Hey, that was fun. You know, I normally don’t do things like this.” I nod absently at him, still rummaging through the pile of clothes on the floor, looking for his t-shirt.

“Yeah, well… first time for everything, I guess,” I reply. Gotta hold it in, just a little bit longer…
“Well, maybe I’ll call you some time?”

I hand him his shoes (one under the bed, the other inexplicably resting on top of the dresser).

“Sure, why not.” I smile tightly. Would you get OUT of here already…Can’t hold it in!“Okay. Well. See ya’ around.” I nod again, gently herding Jim (Or possibly Alex) out the door. As I slam the deadbolt behind him, I lean against the door with a sigh of relief.

“BRRROOOOOTTTT.”

Thank God. I totally had to cut one.
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Tags: Essays, Manifestos, & Unsolicited Opinions by Karla
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The EL is a bit creepy at 6 in the morning.
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I’m not doing my part.
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