After watching a million hours of MSNBC News the other day, I decided to look for something else to watch. Lawrence of Arabia had just begun on Turner Classic Movies and since I’ve never seen it all the way through I decided to give it a shot.

Peter O’Toole was such a babe, duh, but I mean truly gorgeous. His black eyeliner was subtle but gorgeously queeny. I’m not a fan of blond men but in this case, I get it!

Since it’s a slow movie, I had the time to reflect on Peter O’Toole’s finely chiseled nose and wondered if he’d had a nosejob. Lots of actors did this back in the day, far more than actresses for some reason. So I googled it.

Google has removed all mystery from everything, a double-edged sword if ever there were one, right? I am constantly looking up everyone’s age to make sure I look better than them or at least less wrinkly. I particularly love before and after pictures of celebrities, who keep morphing before our eyes.

So anyway, yes, Peter O’Toole got his nosejob before he became a star but after he’d had some notable success. It came out much better than Harrison Ford’s or Jeremy Sisto’s. It works with his patrician facial structure and I’m okay with it not being natural.

I also read a review of a biography that catalogued his bad behavior on set and in his long marriage to Sian Somebody. His drinking is legendary and part of his persona, but I was disturbed by the account of his divorce. After his wife could no longer endure his affairs, she moved out of their house. He never let her return and refused to let her have her famed collection of antique jewelry. He banned her from visiting her children and a messy court battle went in his favor.

Here the story rung a sinister bell for me: A friend described him as “a man who prided himself on his resolutely unforgiving nature.” I’ll repeat it for emphasis:

a man who prided himself on his resolutely unforgiving nature.

Do you know anyone who might be described like this? I do.

In fact, I used to cherish a self-image that could be described as “You don’t know who you’re fucking with!” I enjoyed feeling like the embodiment of never giving an inch. I scoffed at people who gave up grudges and felt it was proof of how shallow they were; a person of substance should take their grudges to the grave.  If you’re a longtime reader, you know this as deeply as my family and former friends.

Both of my children admired this posture. But Max was nothing like me in this respect. He forgave people right and left…including me. He never even hesitated when someone wanted to patch things up.

I’m trying hard to be different. I’m trying hard to be the shepherd, you might say. I’ve learned to say “I’m sorry, I was a jerk” and “Please forgive me!” In fact, I say it all the time these days.

Life is so hard, so full of calamity and tragedy and unexpected turns. It takes effort to be compassionate, like Morrissey says, but eventually it comes naturally. Empathy is sometimes all we can offer each other, but what are human relations without it?

So I’m trying and I’ll keep trying. There’s nothing noble about being stubborn and hardhearted.

Lawrence of Arabia also reminded me of the disastrous date I had with Michael Shamberg, who bought the movie for us to watch on his gigantic home movie screen and then got huffy when I said I enjoyed the homoerotic energy between the co-stars. So I was going to write about the part where we had terrible sex because he was so ignorant of female anatomy…but I decided not to.

That’s how nice I am now.

I’m just going to jump in with Adam Driver.

I know he’s not the world’s biggest threat or even irritant, but I’ve been wanting to complain about him for ages.

First off, I find it hard to remember if his name is Driver or Diver. I just had to google it. I’m sick of being corrected when I say the wrong one. Second, why is he so popular? Isn’t he a guy from the Girls TV series? Why is now the leading man in so many movies?

He is too tall and his voice is annoying. It sounds like he’s speaking through a Muppet costume. He is both too much and too little. His performance in that movie about Marriage is excruciating. I just don’t want him. Is he somehow an appendage of Adam Sandler, who I obviously also hate?

Here’s my next  choice and I don’t know if there’s an actual term for this. It’s the Instagram girl with a zillion followers who appears to offer nothing more than an array of plastic surgery and cosmetic debacles. Huge boobs, gigantic lips, voluminous hair extensions, pounds of make-up, long pointy nails and fake eyelashes. What are these girls for?? I can’t tell them apart except for the two categories of hair color. The brunettes are usually exotic/ethnic looking and the blondes look like generic porn actresses.

Speaking of Instagram, I’m also sick of the positivity posts. They’re all like,

“I’ve worked so hard the last year and there have been pitfalls along the way but I’m learning to love myself more and I’m so grateful to god for bla bla bla and I know my path is bla bla bla.”

Who gives a shit? Can’t they save this for their shrink or life coach or BFF? It’s so faux-spiritual and pointless. Do they think that social media is a cheering section for them personally? I don’t even get it but make it stop.

I would like to stop seeing the term gut-health. Nothing about gut or guts. Nothing about prebiotics or inflammation. People should only discuss their digestive system with close friends and medical experts.

As a human being and a female, I don’t need to read about how women are powerful, with a list of this year’s Most Powerful or a list of women’s accomplishments. Women make up half of the world’s population so stop trying to position them as a rare population. I mean, Jesus Christ.

I don’t want any more think pieces about tribalism. We get it already!

I don’t want to hear about your best life. I don’t want to hear about optimizing anything. I don’t want to hear about micro-dosing. I DO want to hear about which strains of weed are the best for creativity or relaxing, so hit me up if you know.

I hate myself for writing “hit me up.” So many of our trendy expressions are contagious! I now say the word “ew” with two distinct syllables, “ew-uh.” But I will never, ever, describe something good as “fire.” Ew-uh!

I’m through with tracking the latest Twitter beefs. It’s exhausting. And when I try to tell someone, “guess who everybody’s mad at on Twitter!” no one wants to know.

Obviously I’m through with wellness and self-care. Everyone needs to redirect themselves to care for OTHERS! We already care far too much about our own selves. Trust advertising to persuade us that we’ve been neglecting ourselves. It’s the greatest ruse since “rinse, repeat.”

I’m planning a list of banned words for 2020, to publish at Miista. Feel free to share yours, as well as shit you don’t want any more of. Extra points if you can explain why we have Adam Driver.

Let’s pretend you live in another solar system and you don’t follow celebrity gossip. I’ll try to get you up to date. Asia Argento is an Italian actress with a penchant for the dark side. She’s covered in tattoos and she likes to be shocking. Anthony Bourdain fell in love with her in the last year of his life. She has been a leading voice in the #MeToo movement, having publicly accused Harvey Weinstein of raping her in a hotel room.

Okay, so recently, it was reported that Argento paid hush money to Jimmy Bennett, a 22 year old actor who claims she sexually assaulted him when he was 17 years old, a crime in California, where the incident allegedly took place.

Argento made a statement denying Bennett’s story, insisting that he had been trying to extort money from her for some time. She denied having any physical relationship with the actor, who played her young son in a film she directed years ago.

But people got mad, because that’s what they do. They called Argento a hypocrite and  whore, and took out their anger on Rose McGowan, another outspoken #MeToo leader (and Weinstein victim) who had formed a close friendship with Argento.

Poor Rose McGowan didn’t know what to believe, but asked her followers to “be gentle.” This inflamed people even more. Why should they be gentle to Asia Argento, who had not favored gentleness toward Harvey Weinstein?

So then, TMZ published some private texts between Asia and an unnamed person, who presumably had leaked it. In their conversation, Argento admits to having sex with the actor, who “was horny” and “jumped her bones” in a hotel room. (note: stay out of hotel rooms.)

So now, we have Asia admitting she did it! But she’s pissed off because she herself had an older lover when she was 17; big deal. Plus, Anthony was the one who wanted to shut the actor up, fearing it would harm her reputation.

But then, someone leaks Asia’s text conversation with Bourdain, in which he offers to pay the actor $380,000, if that’s what she wants. He can see that Bennett is a screwed-up person and feels sorry for him. Of course, Anthony Bordain can’t weigh in, because he killed himself a few months ago.

In the days prior to Bourdain’s suicide, Argento was photographed in Rome, holding hands and making out with a young journalist. THIS DOES NOT MAKE HER GUILTY FOR HIS DEATH. And yet.

Now, pay attention! Rose McGowan has made a long statement, conceding that Argento molested the young actor, and should be held responsible for her actions.

How does she know Argento is guilty? Because the person who leaked the stuff to TMZ is none other than Rose’s partner, Rain Dove!

Now, Rain Dove is a model whose pronoun is they. McGowan refers to them as a “being” in her statement about how she came to learn the truth about Asia, who may not be a being but is certainly a cunt, I feel it is safe to say at this point.

Here is how Rose says she wised up:

But then everything changed. In an instant. I received a phone call and series of messages from the being I’ve been dating- Rain Dove. They said that they had been texting with Asia and that Asia had revealed that she had indeed slept with Jimmy Bennet. Rain also shared that Asia had stated that she’d been receiving unsolicited nudes of Jimmy since he had been 12. Asia mentioned in these texts that she didn’t take any action on those images. No reporting to authorities, to the parents, or blocking of Jimmy’s social media. Not even a simple message “Don’t send me these images. They are inappropriate.” There were a few other details revealed as well that I am not at liberty to mention in this statement as investigators do their job.

She had me at “being,” obviously. I mean, what more could you want here, except for Anthony Bourdain to have never crossed paths with Asia Argento??

If you were the god in charge of shit like this, what would you want to happen next? Please show your work, unless it’s a mystery to be revealed in the fullness of time.

If you’re not watching Wentworth on Netflix, you’re making the biggest mistake of your life. (If you voted for Trump, the second biggest mistake.)

Wentworth has it all. I thought it ended after the third season, so I’ve been binging to catch up. Watching three episodes in a row is like living in another dimension. It can be hard to readjust to life outside the Australian women’s prison where the series takes place. It’s emotionally exhausting but irresistibly addictive.

Wentworth’s villain is a monumental figure whose match is rarely seen on TV. Governor Ferguson, played by Pamela Rabe, runs the prison like a sadistic Big Nurse, scheming against the women with a vindictive malice than knows no bounds.

She is a fucking psychopath, and at six feet tall, she literally looms over the prisoners like a giant Nazi. I wish someone would agree with me that she looks like Alec Baldwin! The likeness gives me an extra frisson of pleasure whenever she purses her lips or sneers.

Ferguson’s opponent is Bea Smith, whose arc takes her from frightened middle class mom to Mad Max as she earns the position of Wentworth’s “Top Dog.” An earlier Top Dog who Bea must defeat is Jacs, a coarse mobster who looks like Martha Stewart gone bad. Jacs is truly terrifying. I had to cover my eyes constantly when Jacs was around.

Bea’s rival is a boyish lesbian called Franky, who has an enormous lovesick enforcer, Boomer. There is tons of grisly violence that everyone usually forgives as part of the territory.

The Australian accents are an added joy: Debbie is Dibby, and sex is six. Not that there is any six; the seductions here are more visceral and psychological.

Wentworth’s characters are cartoonish, but the actors are so brilliant and committed that they transcend cliches. No one is afraid to be repulsive or grotesque. And once you’re past season two, they’re your family.

Here’s a great scene between Ferguson and her lieutenant, Vera, that might be a spoiler, so beware. If you’re already a fan, please share your favorite Wentworth moments!

I am happy to report that since the last time I wrote about my TV habits, I’ve discovered three new shows to watch, all awful.

Most compellingly awful is Billions. It is excruciating. It stars Damian Lewis and Paul Giamatti as adversaries obsessed with bringing each other down. The former is a hedge-fund billionaire and the latter is a District Attorney. The great thing is that they both speak in weird, unnaturally husky whispers, with long pauses between each phrase. The result is so comical that one has to assume it’s deliberate.

On the other hand, the writing is so stunningly terrible that maybe nobody notices how ridiculous the acting is. It’s like a room full of writers tried to think of the worst dialogue they could come up with, in a battle of wits or lack thereof. There are a lot of stupid literary references to make the viewer feel educated, and plenty of over-the-top sexual analogies that all break down to “taking it up the ass.”

Damian Lewis is as physically repellent as a used condom, with his red hair in a greasy pompadour and and his tight little mouth always curved in a nasty smirk. He wears skinny t-shirts and expresses his masculinity by liking Metallica. Really, I can’t say enough about this show. If you don’t watch it, you’re missing out on some great TV.

Another new favorite is Shades of Blue, a cop drama starring J Lo as a seasoned NYPD detective who is raising a teenage daughter. What could be better? J Lo’s commander and mentor is the corrupt Ray Liotta, more queeny than ever as Lt. Wozniak, who is struggling with the demon of bisexuality. Sold? Need more persuasion?

Okay, so J Lo wears a ton of make up, except when she’s in the shower, miserably trying to cleanse her tortured soul while caressing her wet hair. Her acting is achingly bad, as always, but her charisma remains intact. The writing is rich in stupid cop cliches, and everybody always runs directly into danger, despite all logic or common sense.

Finally, there is Bosch. Detective Hieronymus ‘Harry’ Bosch is an L.A. police detective who does things His Way. Played by a Titus Welliver, who was great in Deadwood, Bosch has a black sidekick and a teenage daughter who looks around 25. Bosch lives in an architectural masterpiece up in the hills, where he stares out at the sky a lot. He’s a morose sad-sack who gets the job done, while exasperating his lesbian chief. The most amazing thing about  Bosch is that he continually cocks his head to one side, even while walking out of the shot. The head-cocking is just nuts. Did the actor have a stroke or is this his idea of a quirk? That’s the mystery that keeps you coming back.

Now, who can recommend another show in this league??

I hadn’t heard that Justin Theroux‘s penis was an issue until I read a quote from Liv Tyler, his co-star in that awful new HBO series.

“There was this scene where he was jogging, and there was quite a large bulge in his sweatpants and it was all over.”

Now I find that Justin’s penis is not just a huge distraction but a huge distraction. There are all kinds of pictures of his crotch, especially in sweatpants. Let’s have another look.

You know what, I don’t like this penis. What is it doing? Why is it down there, did it fall? Where’s the rest of it? And why can’t he wear underwear? I’m starting to hate him.

I have vague recollections of liking Marky Mark‘s penis.

This looks more appetizing.  Renaldo and Beckham aren’t bad either.

I don’t think we girls like men for their silhouette in sweats or briefs. A man’s brain is so important when it comes to real attraction.  A hot guy who says something stupid is a waste of hotness. Justin Theroux needs to stop giving interviews so I don’t have to feel worse about him than I already do.

He needs to put up or shut up, with regard to Jennifer Aniston. He needs to stop talking about his clothes. He needs to stop hanging out with Terry Richardson and he needs to give up that whole biker charade.

Most of all, he needs to either show us his penis so we can figure out if it’s anatomically sound, or put on some fucking underpants so Live Tyler can resume whatever it is she’s trying to do.

This year, I can honestly say that I got what I wanted.  My choice for best picture, best actor and best actress came through, somebody fell, Adele was a goddess, and David O. Russell didn’t get to gloat over his importance.

Let’s review the fashions. Halle Berry wore a hideous striped dress from Ross 4 Less and her hair was dreadful. In the bad hair category, she was outdone by Jen Aniston, whose short broken ends stood up in the light, guaranteeing the death of Chris McMillan. Jane Fonda looked hideous in a yellow gown from “Dallas“, and Shirley Bassey, at 100 years old, was majestic in gold sequins as she belted out the theme to “Goldfinger“. I tried to remember an old scandal about her involving one of the British Royals but failed to retrieve it.

Seth MacFarlane was alternately funny and crass, but who could resist his crack about Kardashian facial hair?

Barbara Streisand looked like an old wizard from Harry Potter, Anne Hathaway overdid her boy-in-a-dress schtick, and Jessica Chastain, as always, was a flawless porcelain doll. Several older men had long silky white hair, outclassing the clean-cut youngsters.

Reese Witherspoon wore an ugly blue thing and grew her chin since last year. Renee Zellweger reappeared out of retirement with the exact same grimace we know and love her for.

Christopher Waltz was a charming Oscar winner, generously quoting Quentin Tarantino, who exuded coke from every pore as he manically thanked the Academy.

Daniel Day Lewis was a witty dreamboat, revealing that he was originally signed to portray Margaret Thatcher. Ben Affleck was emotionally affecting as he alluded to some grudge he had given up but clearly hadn’t, and I still managed to watch “Shameless” even though I missed the first 8 minutes.

What did I forget?

In his quest to annoy every living being, James Franco is set to portray Robert Mapplethorpe in an  upcoming  movie project.

He will also play Hugh Hefner and the Wizard of Oz in two movies currently in post-production. But you can’t fully appreciate his work until you’ve see him play Allen Ginsberg in “Howl.” Hearing him intone Ginsberg’s poetry in his thin nasal voice, you can almost detect the rustling sound of the poet spinning in his grave.

I hope to see James Franco play Hitler, Mao Zedong, Golda Meir, Emily Dickingson,  Napoleon, Isadora Duncan, Jack Kerouac, Miles Davis,  Florence  Nightingale, Salvador Dali, Maya Angelou,   Albert Einstein, and of course, The Holy Trinity.

I can even see him playing Patti Smith opposite his Robert Mapplethorpe!

Who would you like to see James Franco take on next?