Bmac’s Official Review: Magic Mike

Intro: I think I first heard about the concept of Magic MIke almost two years ago, and needless to say, I was ecstatic. And then I heard the film was really happening – I almost couldn’t stand the wait. Believe me, those last few weeks crept by, but then the big day finally came! It was time for the premier of Magic Mike. And the verdict? Did it live up to the hype? 

Expectations: Before I jump into the review, I think it’s important to talk about my expectations prior to seeing the film: I was expecting major cheese factor, lots of dancing. loads of laughter, large volumes of almost-naked screen time with the boys, and maybe - just maybe – a little peen.

Review: The first 30 minutes or so totally lived up to the hype. I mean, we saw Channing Tatum’s ass within the first 60 seconds. I thought, “This is the film I’ve been waiting for!” There were some great dances, old-school songs, glitz and glamour, and a pack of seriously hot men.

But then the film meandered somewhere else. Somewhere dark. It took a dive into the world of sex, drugs, and relationships. And this is not somewhere I was prepared for Magic Mike to take me. I just kept waiting for director Steven Soderbergh to take the journey back to the fun stuff, but alas, he never did.

If I had to sum up my feelings for the movie in one word, it would be unsatisfied. Here’s the deal: I love cheesy movies, and I love dark and twisty movies. I just need some commitment to one or the other. Sadly, for me, since Magic Mike tries to be a bit of both, I was left wanting more.

Loves: The dancing! Channing Tatum has the moves! And all the guys were funny and sexy and genuinely seemed to be having a great time in the film. Matthew McConaughey was another one of the stand-outs for me; he really took his character seriously and completely let his guard down.

Gripes: I know the movie is supposed to focus on the relationship between Channing Tatum’s and Alex Pettyfer’s characters, but there was literally zero character development for any of the other guys. And there was so little focus on the actual stripping. I could have used some more of the sexiness on-screen.

Verdict (for women): All the women came out of the theatre looking happy and smiling, and they all seemed to genuinely enjoy the film. I definitely think Magic Mike is made for the ladies. If you’re of the vagina-kind, I most definitely think you’ll enjoy this movie.

Verdict (for gay men): All the gay men coming out of the theatre also had the same look on their faces: frustrated. I mean, I see more nakedness from one episode of True Blood! If you’re looking for cheese factor, go re-watch Burlesque. And if you want something dark and twisty, try Shame with the intoxicatingly sexy Michael Fassbender. And if you’re looking for peen, just go watch some porn.

Top 5 Current Internet Annoyances

I love using the innerwebs for reading. No, not reading books – I can’t stand fiction. I’m talking about reading blogs, news articles, tweets, lists, galleries – you get the idea.

But lately, I’ve been hyper annoyed with some Internet trends that try to sabotage my reading experiences. I normally try to put a positive spin on my posts, but let me just be honest – this list is simply about stuff that’s bugging the shit out of me.

Here we go:

1. Mobile ads: If you’re in mobile advertising, shame on you! These things block the content I’m trying to read, and sometimes they completely freeze my device! I’ve had enough of this nonsense, and I have stopped visiting some sites altogether because of their piss-poor use of mobile ads. I totally understand that peeps gotta make money, but get your shit together already!

2. Signing into an app: Have you ever tried to click on a Yahoo! article in Facebook? Yeah, it makes you sign in with an app first before it lets you read the article. Well, you know what, Yahoo!? F*** you. This is a PITA, and I don’t need your shitty article anyway.

3. Arrow navigation for a list: Sites like Mashable and EW love this mess. Instead of just putting the list in a, well, list, they make you click an arrow to get to every. single. item. This literally makes me scream, and I just leave the site. The only thing worse is when a site combines this technique with #4…

4. Losing my place when I hit the back button: Really? When I click the back button, you’re going to go all the way back to the top of the page? Way to make me feel like I’m in 9th grade with AOL dial-up. Yeah, that’s how stupid this technique is. Do you know how many ‘new tabs’ I open to try to avoid losing my place on a page?

5. Making me click on a link to ‘read the rest of the story’: I get it. You need a way to measure which of your posts are more popular, so you force me to navigate to a unique URL. But please figure out something besides this mess. Ninety-nine percent of the time, no story is worth clicking on a new link and LOSING MY PLACE ON THE PAGE!

And, friends, that is all. I promise next time to write a post that’s chock-full of heart and positivity. Thank you for indulging this random hot-mess post of negativity.

PS – you’re welcome for that sexy hotness at the top.

Allies & Equality

“I’m limited.
Just look at me.
I’m limited.
And just look at you.
You can do all I couldn’t do.
So now it’s up to you,
For both of us.
Now it’s up to you.”

If you’re familiar with Wicked, then you’ll know why these lines are my favorite part of the play. And for the rest of you, let me explain…

If you’re the green girl, you can’t be the one who successfully convinces everyone that it’s okay to be different. You’re limited to what you can do and whose minds and hearts you can change. But if you can find a perky blonde who’s already popular and accepted – that’s the girl who can really make a difference.

That’s how it is with me too. I’m already the different one, the weird one. So, why would the haters listen to me? Those are the people who need someone of their own kind to tell them it’s okay.

And that’s where you come into the picture.

I sincerely ask you – from my heart – to stand up for what’s right. I’m your neighbor, your friend, your employee, your boss, your family. Tell me that you value me, not in spite of my differences, but because of them. Show me you think I’m your equal with your words and actions. For the love of God, stop saying “that’s gay”. No excuses. Stop hiding in your subdivision and turning a blind eye to the Pride parade. I come to your weddings, your baby showers, your church ceremonies, and a bunch of other events where I’m uncomfortable. So it’s okay if you’re the one who’s uncomfortable for a little bit. And when your friends say something derogatory about gay people, stand up for me. I know you might lose a few friends, but I guarantee I’ve lost more.

So, what’s in this for you? Why should you rock the boat and be my ally? Because I’m fiercely loyal and will jump through hoops for you. Because I’ll work my ass off for you even more than I already do. Because I’ll give you my undying love and friendship. But I hope it’s simply because it’s the right thing to do.

I have a couple of amazing (straight) friends who are helping organize a float in this year’s Columbus Pride Parade. In years past when my friends weren’t involved, the float had about 10 people. And this year? It’s about 200.

And I know many of you love and support the gays every single day in your own special ways.

“Just look at you – you can do all I couldn’t do.”

And from the six year-old boy – who battles anxiety because he already knows he’s different – I thank you.

Bmac’s Rules of Flying

I just got home after three weeks of traveling all over the country, and I’m feeling pretty snarky about the whole flying process. So, I decided to make a few rules – in traditional Bmac fashion. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them! 

Here’s Bmac’s Rules of Flying…

1. Get to the airport early. Yes, an hour early. Really. If you don’t, be prepared to run your ass off. And don’t get mad at anybody else at the airport– it’s your own damn fault.
2. Just go to the freaking kiosk already. I’m still amazed by the number of people who act a fool and try to bypass the system. If my two year-old niece can use an iPad, you can use the kiosk.
3. Do not try to take a liquid through security. Have you heard of 9/11, moron? Yeah, the TSA means business, and they’re not going to let you through with that bottle of water, snow globe, shampoo, or anything else resembling a liquid. But you can bring Jeni’s ice cream with dry ice – it’s a solid.
4. Speaking of security, get your shit together for this dreaded task. First, pick the right line. Don’t know which line to choose? Here’s a hint – if you’re with your small children, you probably don’t want to go in the “Expert Traveler” line. Next, mentally prepare yourself with this checklist: shoes off, pockets empty, metal off, computers in separate bins, boarding pass in hand. Finally, sling all your shit on the conveyer belt at lightning speed because, lord knows, you and your toddler chose the “Expert” line and you’re holding me up.
5. Now that you’re through that mess, go get yourself a snacky-snack. Please don’t be one of those old farts who gets on a five-hour flight and then bitches because you didn’t know the airlines stopped feeding people. Get out from underneath your rock, jackass. The airlines are broke, and only the most successful ones can offer you a small glass of Coke and a sad pack of peanuts.
6. Go take a pee or poo break. Because if you get on that plane and take a shit, you’re going make the entire plane smell like ass. And then I’m going to have to give you my stank eye. Believe me, that ain’t pretty.
7. Get to your gate. And for the love of Gaga, don’t stop in the middle of the walkway for anything. If you must stop, get your ass over to the side because I’m right behind you, and if you get in my way, I’ll give you my stank eye.
8. There is no need to stand in that long line of people waiting to get on the plane. You already have a ticket, so relax and sit your ass down until the line dies down.
9. When you’re boarding the plane, do not take weird, bulky shit with you. If you do, then be prepared for an uncomfortable ride. And don’t expect the flight attendant to have to help you. This is your problem – deal with it. Trust me, I’ve flown internationally with a rice basket, a hammock, a king cake, artwork, and drums – that shit sucks.
10. Be a good neighbor. Get in your correct seat. No, I don’t want the middle seat. I purposefully chose the aisle seat because I know how bad the middle seat sucks. And don’t talk to me. This isn’t my first rodeo, so there’s not much of anything you can say that’ll be interesting to me. Just sit there quietly and eat your damn peanuts.
11. Do not bring a baby onboard. And if you do, you better Google that shit. You better be prepared and have every trick up your sleeve for getting it to stop crying. Even if you can’t get the baby to stop crying, you better at least pretend to do something to help. Because if you just sit there, I’ll give you my stank eye.
12. Turn off your freaking electronic device already. Here’s the deal, when the cabin door closes, shut that shit down. And if you don’t, be prepared to face the wrath of the flight attendants. Believe me, they can be some mean bitches, and they’ll call your ass out. I know that my iPad isn’t going to blow up the plane or make it crash, but you’re fighting a losing battle with the FAA. Lord knows they haven’t updated their rules and regs since the Wright Brothers.
13. The flight is going to suck. I’m not sure when people started thinking that flying should be like staying in a five-star hotel, but trust me, it’s not. You’ve been on a bus before, right? Well, it’s like that. It sucks ass.

Whitney Houston: I Will Always Love You

I distinctly remember the moment I fell in love with her. I was ten years old, sitting in our living room floor, watching The Bodyguard late one night with my daddy. I remember begging him to stay and watch it with me because I’d heard it was a little scary. (In hindsight I realize what an amazing father he was. But I digress.)

I was instantly mesmerized, and I obsessed over that movie (like I tend to do with everything) until I knew every word, every note, every move. No, I didn’t want to marry Whitney – I wanted to be Whitney. I was my own Queen of the Night, dammit.

But none of the other little boys in Winnfield seemed as connected to her as I was. Nobody else talked incessantly about her outfits, her hair, or how sexy she made the “f word” sound. Growing up in that little town, I often felt isolated and that nobody else was like me. But then I’d go home at night and re-watch my new favorite movie, and I’d just get lost – and forget about not fitting in. I knew Whitney was different, too. I’d never before seen a black girl as the main character. I’d never heard a voice like that before. I’d never seen a white man kiss a black woman. And I loved it.

My love affair continued throughout high school, and I jammed to her Greatest Hits on a daily basis. I’m still kicking myself for leaving one of those CDs in my Physics book. When everybody else was discovering love and all the feelings that teenagers experience, I had Whitney. She was my escape from the sadness that haunted me every hour of every day.

And then there were the rough years – for me and Whitney. The cracks began to shatter the perfect images that we both tried so hard to show. We both faced some pretty bad demons, and neither of us fought them in healthy ways.

Well, yesterday, Whitney stopped fighting her demons. And I don’t care what her cause of death was – that doesn’t matter. What matters is the legacy she left behind. What matters is how many lives she changed. What matters is that she made a little boy feel okay with being different.

This morning I begged another man to watch The Bodyguard with me. No, I wasn’t scared of the movie anymore. I was scared of facing the fact that Whitney was dead. I was scared of seeing her back in her prime – before things got bad. I was scared to recognize that not everybody gets the happy ending.

I know what it’s like to live life with a storm brewing inside you – a storm that never goes away and is only briefly dulled with destructive vices. And I know that Whitney’s sea has finally been calmed, and her eventual peace gives me comfort.

I will always love you, Whitney Houston.