I spent much of the weekend immersed in pop culture. After thumbing through my pile of magazines (People, Entertainment Weekly, Radar, Interview and, uh, Cook’s Illustrated), I decided to watch HBO’s Bernard and Doris. Being the Doris Duke freak that I am, I was totally jazzed to see this movie. I knew it would be full of drama and half-truths — and it was — but it was also totally camp and Susan Sarandon was fabulous. She played Ms. Duke as a sexually voracious boozehound with a penchant for smoking weed, and I loved it. Ralph Fiennes was terribly understated and played the role of Bernard Lafferty with probably more respect than the actual man deserved.

My thoughts on the Grammys after the jump.

Last night, I tuned into the Grammys and ended up watching and chatting with Megan at the same time. Which was really fun. We snarked and made rude comments about Aretha Franklin’s giant breasteses, wondered when exactly everyone is going to calm down about Feist, and threatened double-suicide whenever “Umbrella” won anything. And seriously, whoever tried to shoehorn “Umbrella” and “Jungle Love” together into some sort of medley should be shot. Don’t mess with Morris Day and the Time. What the fuck is wrong with people?

I’d also like to thank the Grammys for destroying my memories of one of my very favorite songs in the world. This song:

Was then turned into this:

Yes, that’s KID ROCK, that smelly redneck. And check out Dave Koz just wandering around the stage. MESS.

It was awesome to see Daft Punk appear with Kanye. And congratulations to Kanye West for cementing his reputation as being the biggest crybaby in music. GET OVER YOURSELF.

Also, a big thanks to whoever stuck Jason Bateman outside the arena and made him read off cue cards. He was a perfect mix of adorable and irritated. I just wanted to reach through the screen and rumple his hair.

What happened to Tina Turner’s face? Her body is SLAMMIN, but her face just looked…weird.

Amy Winehouse held it together nicely.

As for Alicia Keys singing with the ghost of Frank Sinatra, let’s all pretend that never happened, okay? And I must have been in some sort of sugar coma from the birthday cake, because I thought I saw some nerd in a cowboy hat come out and sing a song about picking ticks off somebody.