Cranky Lesbian

Look what the homosexuals have done to me!

Author: Cranky Lesbian Page 15 of 54

Cranky Lesbian is a disgruntled homosexual with too much time on her hands. Click for film reviews or to follow on Instagram.

Wimbledon Ends with a Whimper, Not a Bang

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On July 10, 2022

In Tennis

“I have a dinner date with Dame Maggie Smith after this.”

My excitement at the start of this year’s unusually controversial Wimbledon carried into the second week. Even without Serena Williams and Iga Świątek, who suffered early-round losses, there were intriguing matches to take in. (There was also the matter of Roger Federer appearing at the Parade of Champions, dressed in formal wear that was winkingly accentuated by white tennis shoes.) But the tournament has culminated in a championship weekend unlike any I can remember: I don’t particularly care about the outcome of either match.

On the women’s side, there’d been a sense of inevitability for the last week or so that this was Elena Rybakina’s for the taking. Wimbledon had banned players representing Russia and Belarus as a result of the Ukrainian invasion, but the ban didn’t take into account that matters of nationality are hopelessly tangled in tennis. Players with the option of playing for multiple countries (and there are many such wanderers) align themselves with whatever nation offers them the greatest support in developing their talent.

Naomi Osaka and men’s semifinalist Cam Norrie are prominent examples of players whose similar decisions greatly boosted their prospects. And now Rybakina’s the global poster girl for this phenomenon. She’s a Russian who circumvented the ban by way of a (rather dubious) affiliation with Kazakhstan established four years ago. Whether you find it laughable, maddening, or both, it’s tennis in a nutshell. (It’s also Russia in a nutshell. Parts of my family came to the US from Imperial Russia, but if you want to be more specific, they were from places like Ukraine.)

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Privacy Policy

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On July 9, 2022

In Privacy Policy

Programming Note: This isn’t a new post! I apologize to subscribers who receive an automatic email notification about it. I’m doing a bit of housekeeping and switching this page’s designation to ‘post’ so that I can more easily move the link from the top menu to the side menu. Its URL remains unchanged.

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Methotrexate Patients and Post-Dobbs Fear

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On July 5, 2022

In Complaints

Apologies for the conversational detour here—new film or TV content is coming later this week. There is something I need to rant about, and this is as good a place as any to do it.

For the second time in two years, Republican lunacy is scaring autoimmune disease patients. You might recall the great hydroxychloroquine stupidity of 2020, a craze eventually replaced by mass consumption of ivermectin. What we have now is a little different: Confusion over the continued availability of methotrexate.

In the case of Plaquenil, some patients really did face shortages. I was fortunate: my supply never ran out, even as idiots like my uncle (physically healthy, mentally not so much) attempted to order a side of hydroxychloroquine with their MyPillows. My methotrexate refill isn’t due for another month, and hopefully there are no disruptions. I’ll provide an update once my prescription’s in hand.

It will be weeks before my next rheumatology appointment, and who knows what anecdata the office will have to share by then. My first opportunity to speak with a prescriber came today, at a routine GI appointment. To the best of my doctor’s knowledge, none of his patients have yet encountered difficulties obtaining methotrexate. He has seen some of the same “the end is nigh” tweets as me, and we both felt there was something incomplete about at least a couple of those stories.

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Superstition Ain’t the Way

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On July 2, 2022

In Tennis

Muriel models my freshly laundered socks.

We’re nearly a week into Wimbledon and I woke up this morning as excited as I was for the start of tournament. On the men’s side there’s a third round meeting between Nick Kyrgios and Stefanos Tsitsipas with blockbuster potential. Nadal’s due to play Lorenzo Sonego, and Jack Sock faces off against Jason Kubler. Sock, who a long-suffering friend can attest is my perennial dark horse pick at every Slam, is up two sets to one as I write this.

On the women’s side, Harmony Tan, conqueror of Serena Williams, dismantled Katie Boulter with such efficiency that the match ended before I was awake (and I’m an early riser!). Coco Gauff takes on her compatriot, Amanda Anisimova, and Qinwen Zheng vs. Elena Rybakina is quite promising. Simona Halep, a personal favorite due to her ethereal movement, will also take the court. (At the peak of her marvelous footwork, her shoes rarely seemed to touch the ground.) She already gave us one of the best moments of the tournament with her emotional sendoff of Kirsten Flipkens; I’d love to see her in the second week here.

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Cheryl Ladd’s Oddball Dancing with Danger

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On June 30, 2022

In TV Movies

Saving the last dance for Cheryl Ladd is a dangerous proposition.

How or why Dancing with Danger was made is a mystery lost to time, but the answer might be found in its love scene. Before we get to that, let’s reacquaint ourselves with this 1994 USA Network telefilm. Cheryl Ladd stars as taxi dancer Mary Dannon, whose various disguises (all-black ensembles, berets, large sunglasses) counterproductively raise her profile.

Mary is already as conspicuous as any Guess Who? character in the opening scene, when she witnesses a street slaying in Atlantic City. She then moves cross-country to the Pacific Northwest, where trouble follows. She lands a job at the Star Brite, punching a time card before and after each dance. Her profession, popular in the ’20s and ’30s, was moribund by the ’50s and ’60s. Virtually no taxi dancers existed in the US by the ’90s, but this isn’t a movie concerned with realism.

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Wimbledon 2022 Begins

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On June 27, 2022

In Tennis

“My favorite Wimbledon warm-up is Queen’s Club, if you catch my drift.”

Stan Wawrinka’s 2014 Australian Open championship run meant more to me than any tennis victory besides Federer’s 2017 Australian Open triumph. It wasn’t just the thrill of him finally breaking through against Djokovic (who’d beaten him 14 times in a row) in the quarterfinals, or the distinctive sound of his ball strikes, or the lethal beauty of his one-handed backhand. It was Samuel Beckett.

Wawrinka’s now-famous arm tattoo of a Beckett quote read “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” Those were words I needed to hear then. Even now, I think of Beckett, and of Wawrinka’s dedication to failing better, quite often. And I have tried, with mixed results, to fail again, and fail better, myself. I like to imagine I’ll never stop. Wawrinka certainly hasn’t: In an era thoroughly dominated by the Big Three, his Grand Slam singles total stands at an astonishing three.

As I write this, Wawrinka, now 37, is heading into the third set of his first-round Wimbledon match against Italy’s Jannik Sinner. He’s in the twilight of his career, which he, like Andy Murray, is struggling to finish on his own terms after being repeatedly sidelined by injury. (Murray’s another sentimental favorite of mine, someone whose on-court negativity stands in sharp contrast to his off-court decency and honor.) If either man advances to the next round, I will be quite pleased, even though deep runs are unlikely.

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Sia’s “Hostage,” and a Walk Down Memory Lane

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On June 25, 2022

In Stories of Triumph and Inspiration

The first time I saw my wife it was February; I was as miserable as a woman could be, and unfit for human company. Still, there was a jolt of recognition, a feeling that if we met in better times, we would surely become friends. Our maiden introduction had gone absolutely nowhere, but when our paths crossed again that summer, a tentative bond began to flourish.

It was soon apparent that she was interested in something more, but I felt incapable of it. At the same time, I knew that if I ever rejoined the living she was someone I would’ve pursued. She was intelligent, mature, rational, kind and terrifyingly ambitious, all qualities I greatly valued—and she could quickly and unerringly select the right Arrested Development quote for every occasion. More than anything, I admired her emotional strength, deep reserves of empathy and dedication to a job that required every bit of both.

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Pervy Things Charlie Said to His Angels: Part 2

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On June 23, 2022

In Charlie's Angels

The Angels fight crime but tolerate sexual harassment in the workplace.

In the summer of 2014, for reasons far too stupid to recount here, I decided to watch every episode of Charlie’s Angels. My goal was to meticulously catalog the disgusting things Charlie said to his Angels. Unbeknownst to me, my future wife was lurking just around the corner. After meeting her, I tabled that ambitious project in favor of slightly more respectable work.

Now I’m picking up where I left off, and you’re invited to join along. Here you can find my original coverage of the pilot episode and “Hellride,” the first episode of season one. With the exception of the infamous “Angels in Chains,” I’ll try to do future installments in multi-episode batches to keep this from becoming the In Search of Lost Time of sexually exploitative television.

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Danger Calls for Lynda Carter in Hotline (1982)

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On June 21, 2022

In TV Movies

There’s a killer on the line in Hotline.

If you’ve ever wanted to see Lynda Carter wear a trucker hat, operate a microform reader, or wield a harpoon as she takes down a deranged serial killer, have I got a movie for you. Hotline premiered on CBS in 1982, and, unlike other made-for-TV fare of the same vintage (see: 1981’s No Place to Hide), it backs up its suspense with some genuine scares.

Carter plays Brianne O’Neill, an art student and part-time bartender at a country-and-western watering hole. Widowed when her Navy pilot husband died in an accident—fortunately, there are no Thin Ice shenanigans afoot—she attracts unwanted attention wherever she goes, and particularly at work. “Watch out, Bri,” a waitress cautions at the start of her latest shift. “I think there’s a full moon out tonight. The fanny-grabbers are out in force.”

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Stalked by My Doctor Violates HIPAA, Good Taste

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On June 17, 2022

In TV Movies

The doctor is in(sane) in Stalked by My Doctor.

Written by a bot, directed by a Pomeranian recovering from dental surgery, and starring Eric Roberts (supported by a cast plucked at random from a Target parking lot), Stalked by My Doctor has no reason to exist. Since premiering in 2015, it has spawned 78 sequels, because something must fill the void in our hearts left by the conclusion of Syfy’s Sharknado saga. Recently, when curiosity about this morbid, unrepentantly tacky franchise finally got the better of me, I went to Amazon to see what I was missing.

Before pressing “play,” I invited my wife, Dr. Crankenstein, to share in this special viewing experience. (As previously reported, that was a terrible mistake. I’m now obliged to watch its sequels.) She personally knows a physician who was stalked by a patient, but no patients stalked by doctors. Of this premise, Crankenstein somberly remarked, “That’s not just a violation of the Hippocratic Oath, it’s also a violation of HIPAA.”

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