Why Sterling Archer Is My New Straight Boyfriend

I guess I have a bit of explaining to do.  Given that PFC’s demographic apparently skews thirty to forty-five, most of our readers might not be aware of the salty adult animated comedy series Archer currently in its fourth season on FX. (‘Salty’ is my new favorite adjective since our contributor Eric Baker referred to this site that way as a warning to the readers of his own blog before linking them here.) 

Audrey Hepburn My Fair Lady

Life’s a Drag: The Surprising Fashion of RuPaul’s Drag Race

Gentle reader,

Autumn has finally arrived in Los Angeles and it’s about damn time, too.  I’m sitting here sipping one of Kevin’s amazing Bellinis at St. Felix Hollywood in a black velvet blazer and jeans, so thankful to finally wear some actual clothes.

It’s especially satisfying to be fully clad having just returned from our usual October trip to San Jose del Cabo, where we lived in swim trunks for a week.  I know my kind of swim trunks aren’t for everyone but, as I thought to myself one afternoon while lounging by the pool, at least there weren’t so many obese Americans around this year.  Then I glanced over at the swim-up bar where it looked like a herd of water buffalo had decided to take advantage of happy hour.


Once I got home, I immediately jumped into fall L.A.-style with Claire and David’s Annual Pumpkin Carving Party, a red carpet launch for my friend Doug Spearman’s upcoming film Hot Guys With Guns and a screening of Cloud Atlas, which is beautiful and brutal and quite a feat of filmmaking.  With all this plus the last presidential debate and all the election stuff, it seemed a challenge to think much about fashion.  Hell, there’s so much going on right now I can barely dress myself!

Doug Spearman Hot Guys with Guns

Doug Spearman and the Hot Guys with Guns cast

Charlie Hunnam Sons of Anarchy

No Exit from Elsinore: ‘Sons of Anarchy’ Kicks Even Badder Ass in Season 5

Spin classes are often studies in staged enthusiasm, but in L.A. they are more theatrically over the top than any I’ve done in Europe or other parts of America.  Most instructors here have ambitions to be performers, and that hour of class several times a day is their moment to shine up there on a mini-stage for all of Hollywood to admire and follow, riding that high-tech stationary bike like Paul Revere summoning the healthy into battle, accompanied by a throbbing emotional slash aspirational soundtrack they have carefully selected themselves for maximum drama, equipped with a mic through which they bellow and inspire.

Claire Danes Homeland

REPOST: ‘Homeland’: The Co‑Best Show on TV?

UPDATE:  I wasn’t surprised by last night’s upset at the Emmys.  Well, okay, I was—as I mention in the repost of an article below, it’s the first Emmys I’ve ever paid attention to.  I was on the money about Claire Danes, but my hesitation about Damian Lewis cost me a firm call in the Best Actor category.  Had I done my homework and seen that Bryan Cranston from Breaking Bad had already won three times, I would have definitely called it for Lewis.

In the end, I guess I’ve been told which show to like better.  Although, to be honest, this season of Breaking Bad is killing it, more so than ever, but it wasn’t eligible for this round of awards.  So, compared to last season, Homeland was the better show.  Or was it?

Here’s the original post:

Borgias v Kennedys, O – O


by James Killough

It was Fat Bitch Sunday yesterday at Tuttle’s.  I made my slow-cooked Bolognese sauce and we downed cranberry margaritas while we settled in to watch The Borgias followed by the infamous The Kennedys, the production that was dumped by The History Channel, apparently under pressure from the Kennedys themselves, or from “friends of the Kennedys,” of which there are many because they themselves are multitude.

Smoking makes your voice a better actor.

For those of you more interested in what a Fat Bitch Sunday is than in a review of shows that turned out to be less interesting than the margaritas, a Fat Bitch Day of any kind — Mon, Tues, Fri, or Sun — is the one day in any exercising Ghey’s week when he can eat what he wants, and take in twice the amount of his allocated daily fat, if not more.  This means cheesy things like quesadillas de carnitas from Baja Fresh, carrot cake with ice cream, and tankards of high caloric cocktails.  To give you an idea of how serious a Fat Bitch Day is, Tuttle had two full shakers of margaritas in the fridge at any given time all night long.

First up was The Borgias. I was really looking forward to this.  Not only does it star Jeremy Irons, whose industrial-accident voice, strafed by years of chain smoking, I aspire to, but it’s also directed by Neil Jordan, whose work I have been a huge fan of up until recently.  He lost me with Ondine, the Irish selkie movie starring Colin Farrell and his ex Alicja, which was beautifully shot, but brought to mind a one-sentence review Mira Nair spiked at me personally on the opening night of a film I wrote: “The characters were believable, and that’s a lot coming from me, but I just ask myself, Why make this film?”