It’s baaaaaaack! So I guess Jane didn’t down. Big shocker, right? Anywaaaay. I thought they were just coming back for three episodes, but it looks like there’ll be six. (I’m not crazy, they added episodes because the original episode order for Season 5 was only 15 episodes. I swear.) But, you know, the more the merrier. So, of course, the return of Jane & Maura & Co. means the return of Gayzzoli. Subtext recaps will fire up again this week, so check back at AfterEllen on Thursdays for all the eye sex, Totally Gratuitous Totally Gay Touching, random sleepovers et al. I can’t say what the remaining six episodes of the season will bring. But we can guess given some of the new promo photos. And by guess I say imagine the gayest scenario possible. Duh.


Wow, I mean, presume much? We never agreed to a foursome, so get off that table and put your clothes back on, OK.


I knew it! I knew it! Prof. Jack Beard was on an assignment all along and now he is ready for his treatment. This whole relationship with Maura was just for an episode of “Dollhouse.”


Jane, just because we’re both wearing gloves doesn’t mean we can slip away to a backroom. Dead body, remember? Priorities, remember? *slips off to backroom to make good use of the gloves anyway*


Jane is drinking wine. Jane is drinking wine for Maura. Jane really wants sex. From Maura.

Sorry, I’m a little rusty. But, you know what they say, subtext recapping is just like riding a bike. Fine, no one says that.

So this Sunday are the Oscars, a.k.a. the Pop Culture Super Bowl. I have been watching the awards since I had to ask my parents permission to stay up way past my bedtime to see who took home best picture. In short, I never miss them. But you know what I don’t mind missing? The red carpet. Granted, I watch because I like to see what everyone is wearing just like everybody else. But I have grown to loathe what passes for red carpet interviews. Maybe it is because I grew up watching Army Archerd interview the stars as they walked in and now we’ve got…um, these idiots. Oy. I mean, I am not expecting long discussions on non-proliferation of nuclear weapons treaties or sustainable energy strategies. It’s movies, not Mensa. But how about this? Each star hands the interviewer a cue card that says who made their damn dress and the interviewers ask them questions about the movie they were in instead. Eh? Also, ban mani-cams forever.

I don’t know why this four-year-old video of Taylor Swift petting her cat fills me with such joy, but I do know I only got about four hours of sleep the other night which means recapping season has returned. Get your fresh, steaming Gayzzoli Recaps over at AfterEllen today. Or, you know, just keep petting that kitty cat. Come to think of it, maybe I do know why that four-year-old video of Taylor fills me with such joy. Is there anything more relatable to lesbians than a woman who is being trained by her cat? I think not.

Aw, man. It’s always the good ones who go too soon. Earlier this week singer Lesley Gore died of lung cancer at age 68. As a teenager Lesley became the quintessential 60s singer with songs like “It’s My Party,” “That’s the Way Boys Are,” “Maybe I Know” and – of course – “You Don’t Own Me.” The latter was an instantly iconic feminist anthem of independence and defiance. Keep in mind, that song came out in 1964 right at the earliest cusp of second-wave feminism. Over the years she has also been vocal about the difficulties of being a young woman in the male-dominated music industry. And in 2005 the singer came out as a lesbian in an interview with AfterEllen (yes, really) and discussed her long-term relationship with Lois Sasson. The couple had been together for 33 years when Lesley passed earlier this week. And during the 2012 presidential election Lesley brought back “You Don’t Own Me” – and a few dozen of her famous feminist friends – for a PSA sing-along to get out the vote. It’s true, nobody owned her. But she always had our backs. Happy weekend, all.

"You Don't Own Me" PSA from You Don't Own Me on Vimeo.

Fine, “Glee,” fine. You made me watch the big wedding. It was uneven and unrealistic, but that’s pretty much “Glee” in a nutshell. But the Brittana bits, fine, they got me, fine. They got me not necessarily because of the poignancy of the actual moment. That was ruined by having Kurt and Blaine horn in on Brittana’s big day. Seriously, how can a show this freaking gay not take the time to make two episodes dedicated to two different, independent same-sex weddings for its two different, independent same-sex couples? Also, Kurt’s jacket was otherworldly awful. It was blue shiny camo. BLUE. SHINY. CAMO.

But, now I’ve veered off the point. And the point was the episode didn’t necessarily get me on its scripted poignancy. Sure, there were nice moments between Brittany and Santana – lovely even. But what got me was what watching something like this can mean for fans who have stuck with this coupling. Yes, this was pure, unabashed fandom service. But, hey, this fandom has been through a lot – they deserve it. What I like that – unless Ryan Murphy & Co. royally fuck this thing up in the final five episodes – lesbian viewers will have another happy ending.

This sort of thing is still important. Do all of our stories have to be happy, of course not. But there need to be enough happy endings to allow us to dream of our own. So, thanks for that. Thanks for all the pinky holds and scissoring talk and the Lebanese goodness. Thank you to Naya Rivera and Heather Morris. Thank you for Brittany and Santana. Now ride off into the sunset, you two. From background characters to forever OTP. You made it, ladies. You made it.

Aw man, I can’t believe it all ends tonight. Like my beloved “30 Rock” did, “Parks & Recreation” is ending its run after seven seasons. And tonight is the night. And, also like my beloved “30 Rock,” “Parks & Rec” never got the mass public adoration it deserved. Through its run it has been ratings challenged, but filled with overflowing heart. To those who have watched and loved it over the years it has always been a darling to us. And much of that, almost all of that, was because of Leslie Knope. Leslie Knope is that indomitable spirit. That unlimited optimism. That unstoppable force. What has set the show apart from the start was its lack of cynicism. It hasn’t been about being cool or making fun of the uncool. It has been about civil servants in a small Midwestern town. It has been about the characters you see everyday who grow into a patchwork family if you’re lucky enough to have that kind of workplace. Through it all the show, and Leslie, have been unabashed peddlers of feminism and hope and winsomeness. Hos before bros. Uteruses before duderuses. Ovaries before brovaries. I’ll miss Leslie Knope on my TV. There’ll only ever be one Leslie Knope. But we all could use a little more Leslie Knope in our lives everyday.

p.s. Granted, the series never had a lesbian character. But it did have a handful of memorable lesbian moments. When Ann was mistaken for Leslie’s trophy wife. When Leslie’s city council campaign consultant told her she was gay. And who can forget the lesbian Afro-Norwegian funk duo Nefertiti’s Fjord.



p.p.s. If you’re looking for a new a new Tuesday night show now that “Parks & Rec” is done, might I re-suggest “Fresh Off the Boat?” I mean it, watch this show. I don’t want it to become another “Go On” or “Trophy Wife” or [Insert Name of Great Show Gone After One Season Here]. Smart, funny. And they had a whole joke about teaching your son not to date rape, that wasn’t about “ha ha, isn’t date rape funny,” but “no, seriously, don’t rape women” as its punchline. Constance Wu, y’all. Get on board.

So I get that “The Slap” is supposed to be a big prestige drama. It’s got a ton of recognizable stars like Uma Thurman and Thandie Newton and Spock and that bad guy from “Boys Don’t Cry.” Plus it’s directed by out filmmaker Lisa Cholodenko of “High Art” and “The Kids Are All Right” fame. The pedigree is there, I get it. But, mostly, I just don’t care. I’d be more interested in watching a show about someone who slaps parents who don’t vaccinate their children. No, seriously, I would watch the hell out of that show. But this? Eh. Also, it’s just a given that I’d watch a show of just Ellen slapping people.

Where there is an award show there will always be Straight Gals Acting Like Gay Gals. These Oscars are, of course, no different. I mean when you seat Jennifer Lopez next to Meryl Streep, what were you expecting?

Jennifer Lopez & Beyoncé

Fine, if JLo had to trade in Meryl for any other snuggle partner, I guess Queen Bey is an OK substitute. I guess.

Amy Adams & Amanda Peet

All I hear in my head when I look at this picture is “mwah, mwah, mwah” kissing sounds.

Jennifer Aniston & Emma Stone

Starting the Hugs Across America movement all over again.

Jennifer Hudson & Angie Harmon

DOES MAURA KNOW? And on a Gayzzoli Recap Day. For shame.

Reese Witherspoon & Nicole Kidman

Everyone’s a cheater today. Nicole, you’d better hope Naomi Watts doesn’t find out.

Emma Stone & Julianne Moore

This is a two-timing I approve of. I mean, I like Jen. But Julianne all day long.

Iman & Paula Patton

No cheating here. Paula kicked that Blurred Lines idiot to the curb where he belongs.

Patricia Clarkson & Sienna Miller

I’m having major “High Art” flashbacks, minus the heroin.

Natalie Portman & Rashida Jones

Fine, so they’re not acting super gay to each other. But I just dig that they’re friends.

Meryl Streep

Jacket on point.

Scarlett Johansson

Undercut on fleek.

True story. At first it was white and gold. And then it was blue and black. And for a brief second I could see the white and gold again. But then it was back to blue and black. So, long Internet story short, reality does not exist. Nothing matters. There is no spoon.

Might as well succumb to the glorious gloom that is April Ludgate. I will miss Aubrey Plaza’s glorious mix of Daria and Wednesday Addams immensely. She was always the one you could count on to shirk a hug and complain about the sunshine. Her brand of frightening yet loveable nihilism seems appropriate at a time when the entire world has no idea what damn color combination a dress has. I will miss you, April. You won’t miss me, and I totally accept that. Happy weekend, all.

p.s. Her dislike of Ann Perkins was as misguided as it was marvelous.

I’ll say it up front, I’m not that excited about the boy clones. Granted, it’s an interesting twist and expands the “Orphan Black” universe considerably. But it’s also something I fear that will dilute the core of this show which is about these incredibly fascinating, flawed, forceful female characters who all happen to share the same faces – and, you know, everything else. But, you know, that’s just my two cents. Also, for the love of God, someone just fix Cosima because her constant, looming possible demise is NOT OK. So there’s that.

I, admittedly and happily, no longer need a whole roll of antacids when I think about the pending Supreme Court ruling about marriage equality. But I am pass-me-the-Rolaids nervous about SCOTUS taking another look at Obamacare. But you know what I don’t worry about? My gal RBG. Also, can we please for the love of all that is hilarious, can SNL just please have Kate McKinnon do everything. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. If not, I’ll sic RBG on ya and then you’ll really be Gins-burned.

Hey, America. Better late than never, eh? So Syfy FINALLY announced the start of “Lost Girl” Season 5 here in the states. Damn, network, why you gotta make a gal wait like that. They’ll start airing the first eight episodes of the fifth and final season April 12 on Syfy. Of course our Canadian friends – and those of us who like to pretend we’re Canadian – started watching last Decmeber and have been waiting patiently for more since the end of January. No word on when the second half will air, either in the U.S. or Canada. Way back when the first season was announced they said it would air in “Fall 2015,” so I’m guessing October or November. *harumpf sound* But, hey, this is still good news for everyone here who likes to watch things old (and legal) school. Ahem. I think I might have to rewatch, because just watching that video of these crazy kids being crazy makes me all nostalgic. Come back, Lost Girls (and a few of the guys), come back.

So while you’re circling April 12 on your calendar, go ahead and keep that big red pen out and put another circle around June 12. That day is National Lesbian Call-In-Sick Day because that day is the return of “Orange Is the New Black.” I’m not lying, I took a vacation day last year and I put in for another one this year. This is SERIOUS LESBIAN BUSINESS (also bisexual, trans and straight people business – because inclusion matters and all that good jelly). Anyway, in honor of the announcement of the Season 3 return date, as well as the announcement that Jason Biggs’ Larry– UGH, LARRY – will not be a part of Season 3, please enjoy an OITNB dance party. I know I did.

Ugh, you guys. I had such a long week. So, you know, that is why this is so late. But, even if you have already seen this because it has been on everyone's Facebook and Tumblr and Twitter and whatnot this week, it it worth repeating. And after the week I had, a little reminder of something nice is always terribly nice. Happy weekend, all.

p.s. In case you also want to learn more about this PSA, there is always this.

On this, “Rizzoli & Isles” day, it’s only fitting we talk about a new female cop show. While solo female-fronted crime procedurals are becoming more and more common (from The Fall, Top of the Lake, The Closer, Saving Grace, In Plain Sight, Cold Case, Prime Suspect, Police Woman), female buddy or ensemble crime shows are still a rarity. I think I can name then on less than one full hand. “Cagney & Lacey,” “Charlie’s Angels,” “Women’s Murder Club…and that’s about it.

But into that mix now comes “Broad Squad,” about the first four women to graduate from Boston’s Police Academy in 1978. Now, I can’t decide if I love or haaaate the show’s title, but I certainly am intrigued by its premise. (Also, the title apparently comes from what the four graduates were actually called in the press – so there’s that.) Another thing I’m sure of is how psyched I am about the cast.

“Six Feet Under” alum Lauren Ambrose, “True Blood” alum Rutina Wesley, “Magic Mike” love interest Cody Horn and relative newcomer (seriously, she was “Whore #3 in “Les Misérables”) Charlotte Spencer. Fine, two of the three are really exciting, and one of those two is really, really exciting because The Hollywood Reporter has revealed that Rutina’s character will play a “guarded, professional and private” lesbian cop on the series.

Yep, I think I’m gonna want to meet these broads. Now if only they’d actually make “Dyke & Fats” I’d be in female cop buddy show heaven.

That sound you heard yesterday morning? Just me squealing with delight at the news that I’ll be able to (professionally) stare at Gillian Anderson’s beautiful face for hours on ends again thanks to “The Fall” being renewed for a third season. Those in the know know that the BBC series is one of the most unapologetically feminist shows on television. Gillian’s DSI Stella Gibson is complex in the ways real women are complex yet also allowed to be smart, sexual and give zero shits about what anyone else thinks in a way real – and fictional – women often aren’t. Naturally, I’m curious where the series will go now that Stella (spoiler alert) quite literally has her man in her damn lap. And, clearly, I’m anxious to see if Dr. Reed Smith finally gets on the damn elevator. But mostly I’m just excited to have such a good show with such a great female character back on my television.

So here’s to more unwavering feminism…


…undeniable sexual chemistry…


…and general Stella Gibson badassery for another season.


p.s. If you haven’t watched, and want to know a little what it’s all about you can cruise over and check out my The Fall Recaps over at AfterEllen for the past season. Both seasons are currently streaming on Netflix so, you know, get on that.

After nearly nine years of writing this blog and countess expressions of my love for “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” I came to the startling realization yesterday that I have never properly crushed on Sarah Michelle Gellar. Granted I’ve sung the praises of the show and Buffy Summers. But the woman behind the leather pants and kicky boots? I am so terribly remiss.

So now, appropriately, on the 18th anniversary week of the premiere of “Buffy” here is a very belated appreciation of SMG. Without her, obviously, there would be no Buffy. I mean, I like Katie Holmes and everything (mostly pre-Cruise) but she is no Buffy. In fact, one of the clearest signs that someone has completely owned and inhabited a role is your complete and utter inability to see anyone else in it.

Of course, it’s that very unshakeable association that she has had to (ever so gently) fight against ever since Buffy ended. In the nearly dozen years since the finale aired, she has done alright. Several movies, two one-season TV shows. While I watched both “Ringer” and “The Crazy Ones,” it was admittedly on-and-off for both shows. (Though, I really thought “The Crazy Ones” deserved a shot at a second season because it was incredibly likeable and darn funny.) But nothing has stuck like Buffy.

But I continue to have faith (no, not that Faith) that someone as supremely talented as SMG will find her way to something else really great. She deserves it. The more you watch her, the more you realize how very good she is at pretty much everything. Action? Duh, check. Comedy? Hello, check. Drama? Please, if you didn’t cry your eyes out at her in “The Body” you’re among the undead.

p.s. Her Buzzfeed gif answers further prove that she actually writes her (funny/corny/adorable) Twitter feed herself.

p.p.s. Also, she can spit some rhymes, yo.

If you will allow me, I want to talk about a straight white male today. Yes, I know, it is highly unorthodox for a lesbian pop culture blog to spend valuable time and space talking about straight white men. That’s what the rest of the Internet is for, duh.

But if you’ve been watching the HBO documentary series “The Jinx” at all, then you know that we just have to talk about last night’s shocking-as-fuck finale. If you haven’t been watching, finish this paragraph, log onto HBO Go (or beg your friends/parents/siblings for their HBO Go password) and start watching immediately. Spoilers be ahead (if you can call events that happened in real-life spoilers…)

The series follows the so-called “Jinx” himself, Robert Durst, the eldest son of New York real estate dynast the Durst Family (net worth: $4.4 billion). The title is meant to leave some ambiguity about who in fact was jinxed, Durst or anyone who happened to meet Durst. But the facts are three people close to Durst were murdered (well, one disappeared and was later declared dead without her body being ever found). While he denies two of the killings (his first wife who disappeared and his former female best friend who was shot execution style), he admitted to killing the third person (his former next-door neighbor), chopping up his body and throwing it in the Bay.

Now, the kicker is of course Durst has not been convicted or served any prison time for any of these deaths. None, nada, nothing. And, to me, this is perhaps the most textbook example of white male privilege – especially rich white male privilege – that I have ever seen. Ah, see, I knew I could work in some liberal, lesbian world view into this post. Man-hating mission statement, accomplished!

Durst’s riches and privilege meant police didn’t look too hard when in 1982 his wife, Kathleen, disappeared. He told them she took the train back to New York and was never seen again. They pretty much believed him, despite discrepancies and out-right lies and much more. They never searched their house. They never interviewed his other family members. You know, wives sometimes they run away and stuff. Am I right, fellas? Rich. White. Male. Privilege.

Durst’s riches and privilege meant investigators didn’t look into his connection to the shooting death of his long-time friend and one-time protector Susan Berman in 2000. After NY detectives reopened the now 18-year-old case of his wife’s murder, they had planned to speak with Berman but she was conveniently killed before she could talk with anyone. Still, at the time no one pressed too hard to figure out of Durst was in California at the time or find other evidence of involvement. Rich. White. Male. Privilege.

Durst’s riches and privilege meant he could (and did) hire the best legal counsel in the world after he was arrested for the murder and dismemberment of his 71-year-old neighbor in Texas. His lawyers argued self-defense and placed some of the blame for his erratic behavior (i.e. hacking the body into many pieces and throwing it into the Bay in trash bags) on the fact that an ambitious, politically driven female district attorney was aggressively pursing him for the old case of his wife’s murder in New York. Ambitious career women, amirite, fellas? Rich. White. Male. Privilege.

I’m going to go way, way, wayyyy out on a limb and compare Durst’s real-life Texas trial to the fake-comedy trail on “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt.” The not-real trial of the preacher who kidnapped and held Kimmy and three other women captive for 15-years as part of his underground doomsday cult played on exactly the ways we hope against hope that our justice system doesn’t work. Folksy charm sways instead of facts and likeability trumps evidence. But then you watch the actually real Durst trial unfold and it’s exactly what happened. Jurors who were interviewed afterward said they believed his story because they felt he didn’t have it in his heart to commit a murder. So he was acquitted even though, again, he admitted to killing him and chopping up his body. Likeability – or more like very carefully trained and practiced body language and answers – won. It’s so fascinating and so infuriating.

Which leads me to last night’s episode. The almost too-perfect timing that Durst was arrested the day before the finale aired for the Susan Berman murder would have made a fine ending in and of itself. But then the real ending happened and there wasn’t an O-M-G in the world big enough to express my OMG. The cliché “my jaw hit the floor” is usually just that – a cliché. But I swear to God during the final scene my jaw involuntarily dropped and if I wasn’t already sitting on the couch it may well have found the floor. We could argue the ethics of the “hot mic” confession and more than likely someone with the resources of Durst will hire an expensive-enough lawyer to make sure the footage never sees the inside of a courtroom. But, still, from a public opinion perspective you can’t really come back from, “Killed them all, of course.”

Rich white male privilege means for more than 33 years Durst has been able to continue living his life in luxury and freedom. Rich white male privilege means the Durst family continues to thrive and prosper, even just acquiring the leasing rights to New York’s new, instantly iconic One World Trade Center. Rich white male privilege means Durst can continue to afford the best, craftiest, most effective legal counsel in the world. Justice may be blind, but she certainly ain’t poor.

Look, I’m a sucker for crime stories. I loved “Serial” and there’s hardly a crime procedural I can’t get sucked into (except “CSI: Cyber” – Jesus, that show is teeth-grindingly bad). But “The Jinx” took it to another level. No, it’s not fair, that’s for sure. But it does make for some extremely riveting television.

p.s. If Durst’s blank, blinking lizard eyes don’t haunt you to your grave, I worry about your humanity.

p.p.s. Don’t worry, I’ll be back to tank tops tomorrow, just like you like it. Suggestions always welcome.