Rock dreams really do come true. Green Day played a show at Madison Square Garden on Monday. Lead singer Billie Joe Armstrong went looking for an audience member to join the band on guitar—and settled on a girl named Stephanie. Who shredded it.

The New York Times' Arts Beat blog reports:

After rejecting a few wannabes he stopped and asked a girl in the mosh pit if she knew how to play, then looked unconvinced when she said she did. “What key is it in?” he asked. Seemingly satisfied with her answer (it’s somewhat complicated, but for the sake of brevity, let’s say the correct response is C sharp major) he pulled her up onto the stage. The girl—her name later was revealed to be Stephanie—was wearing jeans shorts, a torn Misfits t-shirt, and a head scarf over her pigtails. Mr. Armstrong handed her the guitar, conferred with her briefly, then let her sit on an amp to get started. And then she ... ripped! A few bars in she was wandering the stage like a pro and when Mr. Armstrong introduced her at the end, the crowd was shouting “Ste-pha-nie! Ste-pha-nie!” in appreciation.

Sorry, Courtney Cox-in-"Dancing in the Dark"—as concert fantasies go, this one is way better. Arts Beat has some video clips, and they're awesome. (See clip below for a taste.) Stephanie's like a rock-'n-roll Susan Boyle—a normal, unassuming woman who blasts through her humble-seeming exterior to reveal unexpected musical superpowers. She's an inspiration. Here's hoping we see more of her—she writes in the Arts Beat comment thread (in response to another commenter's question):

At the moment, I’m not in a band but I am looking to start one up sometime in the near future. One that will definitely have some punk roots :)

Photograph of Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day by Bryan Bedder/Getty Images.

Tags: green day, guitar, stephanie

June, Drop Dead Diva ties together two things we’ve been kicking around the blog the last few days: Is T.V. a better place for women than film? And why on Earth do we keep paying to watch terrible romantic comedies like The Ugly Truth, when we could be sitting around in our PJs watching something slightly better for free? (or, at least it feels like it’s free once you pay the cable bill.)

Regarding the first question, Drop Dead Diva is pretty convincing evidence that T.V. is a better place for women, or at least for ones that don’t look like movies stars. This show, with this cast, is not about to end up at the cineplex any time soon. It is also, Nina, a comedy, suggesting that genre can be as good for fully developed female characters as dramas. There are some moments of seriousness and no laugh track, but that’s just because the latter is out of style. The cast mugs, often. My favorite recurring joke, and one pulled off only because Brooke Elliott’s really good at her job, comes when some of Jane’s intelligence bounds to the forefront of Deb’s previously dim brain. It hurts. Deb always reacts with a yelp of prideful, painful surprise, like you would if you smashed your big toe on the top of a door frame: ouch, but, oh my god, you are so awesomely flexible.

Of course, if this show somehow did end up in theaters, but were reduced to two hours, it would seem, as Nina suggests, pretty damn silly. Also, how would it end? With Jane/Deb landing Deb’s old fiancé? I know we’re supposed to root for this, but I have a hard time swooning for the guy who fell for an idiot. When the show flashes back to Deb’s first meeting with him, I couldn’t understand what he liked about her, except that she was hot. Jane, and also a newly intelligent Deb, deserves better.

But before I go anointing television a better place to see rom-coms than the movie theater (though, another really good T.V. rom-com, that Sam praised earlier this year, and, much like Drop Dead Diva is a whole lot more charming than its plot synopsis might suggest, is Soapnet’s Being Erica—seriously, good stuff), I think it’s important to talk about expectations. We expect more from movies than we do from television, especially television that airs right before Army Wives. If The Ugly Truth were playing on basic cable, or rather, when The Ugly Truth is playing on cable, I will be excited to watch it. Perhaps it will be airing right after 27 Dresses but before How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. If so, I will happily waste six hours of my life. (It is possible watching romantic comedies on cable is like drinking diet soda? Most of the taste, none of the guilt?)

But, you know what? I kind of want to see The Ugly Truth in theaters, too. Jess wondered if there was a reason we keep paying to see mediocre films like The Ugly Truth, other than for a good old “hate watch.” But, honestly, I never go see a movie for a “hate watch,” or seeking an ironic, “it’s so bad it’s funny” viewing experience. I go for all the same reasons that I sometimes eat Twinkies and Dominoes and read Twilight and watch The Bachelorette: Sometimes bad taste tastes good!

I don’t go see lame, girl-hating romantic comedies in theaters just so I can knock them—I go see them because I don’t really care that they are bad. (Of course, if they suck as much as Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, which clocked in at about 95 percent suckage, I get very bitter. But the 60 percent suckage of The Proposal did not bother me at all. As bad as romantic comedies have been of late, to get to 90 percent suckage is still pretty rare). All I want from a stupid rom-com is, boy meets girl, boy and girl get complicated, boy and girl end up together, and, maybe, three real laughs, one well-realized scene, nothing hugely, overtly misogynistic or racist, and for both the boy and girl to be really attractive. Of course, I would prefer, hugely, for romantic comedies not to be stupid, but, well, I would also prefer for all bagels to taste like they were made in New York City. Sometimes, you just crave the carbs anyway.

And this (the bagel analogy!) is the real problem about the state of romantic comedies in film: Once upon a time, Hollywood mostly made New York City bagels, while television was churning out, like, microwaved bread in the shape of a donut. Recently, T.V. has learned a trick or two about making entertainment (and about making art), while movies have forgotten a trick or two about making entertainment that is art. If T.V. keeps getting better and better at romantic comedies, and films keep getting worse and worse, there will be some day, not so long from now, when even I get fed up with the stupidity and realize movies will never ever remember how to make bagels like they used to, and I will just have to watch The Philadelphia Story on my computer, before turning on the 60th episode of Drop Dead Diva. But that probably won't happen until after Love Happens, because I kind of want to see that.

Tags: drop dead diva, film, romantic comedies, the ugly truth, TV

I was a major, unabashed fan of Sex and the City. (The show, that is—the movie was a grating, be-crinolined, poopy joke nightmare.) The things that bothered other people—the sex and status obsession, the what-planet-are-you-on depiction of a freelance writer's earning potential—never really bothered me. Its lily-white vision of New York, however, did. A lot. It wasn't just that there were no recurring characters of color, save Blair Underwood's dashing doctor. It's also that, whenever a person of color did appear, there was usually something cringe-worthy about it.

OK, so Lucy Liu and Margaret Cho made some non-disastrous cameos. But think of the sweet, misguided Pakistani waiter who tries to take Samantha home after she's been stood up; he gets brushed aside as a totally inappropriate partner. (By Samantha! She'll sleep with anything! She slept with this guy!) Or the horrifying, double-crossing Thai maid who inspires what is, perhaps, SATC's worst pun ever: "She wasn't so dim, that Sum." (No mean feat, winning that accolade.) And of course, as many, many commentators pointed out, there was Jennifer Hudson in the movie, playing the magical black helpmeet.

All of this is preamble to explain why I'm so interested in the new extras casting call for Sex and the City 2, which Gawker posted yesterday. Next Tuesday, casting agents will be looking for the following:

Fashion Models, Celebrity types, Upscale Socialites, Fashionistas, Urban Club goers, Gays and Lesbians, International types (Middle Eastern, Arabic, Asian, European, British), Professional Soccer Players.

I would love, love, love to see more "Middle Eastern, Arabic, [and] Asian" faces in the new movie. I hope that they're actually used for New York scenes, not just in scenes that are supposed to take place abroad. (It doesn't count if you show more brown people in a country where everyone's brown.) And of course, it would be even better if they cast some actual characters of color. We live in New York and like shoes and fancy dresses and expensive cocktails, too! We fall in love with wildly inappropriate men, too! How big a stretch would it be?

So, for the moment, cautious optimism for one of my favorite franchises. Is it justified, do you think?

Photograph of Kristin Davis, Sarah Jessica Parker, Cynthia Nixon, and Kim Catrall in Sex and the City: The Movie courtesy of New Line Cinema.

Tags: Race, sex and the city

A guest post from Newsweek writer Jessica Bennett:

I've never been in a relationship with two people at the same time, but I've spent the last two months talking about it constantly. Not because I'm obsessed with the idea—though, um, increasingly I am—but because I was writing a piece for Newsweek about one particular multi-partner family. Terisa and Scott have been together for 12 years, and live in a lakeside neighborhood of Seattle, where they share a vegetable garden and three dogs. For 10 years, Terisa has also been dating Larry, who on the side is dating Vera, who is married to Matt. Now Terisa is dating Matt, too. It’s like a real life Big Love, without the Mormonism: they’re “polyamorists”—a term used to describe people who believe in loving, consensual, multi-partner relationships. And while it’s easy to brush off anything with the word “poly” as some kind of frat-house fantasy gone wild, polyamory has a decidedly feminist bent.

The key to poly relationships is gender equality, and women have been central to the creation of the practice. The word "polyamory" itself was coined by two women, in the early ’90s, and the first five books on the topic were all female-authored. Over the past year, writers like Jenny Block and Tristan Taormino, the sex columnist, have written on the topic, while celebrities Tilda Swinton (who called herself a “freak” in an interview with Double X) and Carla Bruni, the first lady of France, have spoken out in favor of open relationships. “Multiple-partner relationships have always gone on, but they have rarely had the gender equity characteristic of poly relationships,” says sociologist Elisabeth Sheff, one of the few researchers to study polyamory.

The way these families make their relationships work is perhaps the most feminine of all of this: by good old-fashioned talking. (Terisa, Matt, and the rest of the clan describe how they make their polyamorous relationship work in this video segment.) Imagine having the problems you have with one partner with three. It requires constant communication—so much that polyamorists joke they have no time to actually have sex, because, well, they're so damn busy talking. “I like to call it polyagony,” one of my sources joked. “It works for some, and for others, it’s a f--king nightmare.”

Photograph by Getty Images.

Tags: big love, newsweek, polyamory, relationships

Yesterday’s David Brooks column was written in response to the rarely asked question: What would happen if a freak solar event sterilized everyone in the Western Hemisphere? Without progeny, explains everyone's favorite National Greatness Conservative, we of the West would plunge into a “cataclysmic spiritual crisis,” deem our lives to be “without meaning and purpose,” and forgo any grand ambitions we might once have nurtured. Politics would become “insignificant,” the very word justice would “lose meaning,” and adults would live out the rest of their lives in a state of hedonic infantalization. Even if we opened our borders to the still-breeding East, no one would move to be a part of a “fading society.” And if they did come, well, that’d be even worse—“everything would break down and society would be unrecognizable.” The new immigrants “wouldn’t be like current immigrants because they wouldn’t be joining a common project, but displacing it.”

Social anxiety over the “death of the West” is usually bad news for those of us with the capacity to create small Westerners; reproductive freedom and natalism do not sit well together. Brooks, who doesn’t seem to notice that most transnational immigration is currently from high-fertility to “fading” low-fertility societies, is arguing that we will only work, save, and suffer for the benefit of “our own.” Only those we view as our natural inheritors can imbue our lives with meaning.

You can buy this, or not. Brooks takes it to be so obvious as to require no defense. Without trying to predict what would happen if the West went sterile, I’ll just say that Brooks’ dystopian projection takes an unwarrantedly fixed view of national identity. In arguing that we’ll only work for our own, he ignores how quickly the definition of “our own” can change—how rapidly the boundaries of inclusion can and do shift. Who counts as a member of an in-group changes over time, sometimes very quickly, which is why nations with relatively little genetic relatedness among their citizens—such as the U.S. and Singapore—are as stable as any ethnic enclave. Within a generation, national public schooling taught French children to replace their local identities with a national one; their parents might have been from any given province, but they were French. I don’t know any Americans who refuse to accept the American-ness of Hawaiians or Alaskans, despite their relatively recent addition to the map.

Brooks has a thing for bold dichotomy-making, so he declares that immigrants must choose between “joining” or “displacing” a common project. No one actually believes the choice to be this stark; the common project itself is a moving target. Language and norms change in response to myriad factors, just one of them being the composition of the non-native population. And you have to have a fantastically static definition of “community” to believe that if Americans went collectively sterile tomorrow and 100 million fertile Chinese moved in, American adolescents would see no reason at all to go on living, working, and improving the world.

Photograph by Getty Images.

Tags: David Brooks, fertility, natalism

Tracy Quan, who is normally so sex-positive and has written extensively about her life as a call girl, has an article in the Daily Beast warning women against using withdrawal as a birth control method, even though new research has shown it to be almost as effective as condoms. When I wrote about the withdrawal study from the Guttmacher institute in May, I remarked on some of the same issues that Quan does with withdrawal vs. condoms: Withdrawal doesn't protect from diseases, and getting teens to use it properly is probably never going to happen.

What surprised me about Quan's argument against withdrawal was that it allowed grown women very little agency in their contraceptive choices, and takes an incredibly dim view of men. "The folk wisdom—endorsed by this paper—that withdrawal is a valid method puts women in a very awkward position when discussing contraception with male sex partners," Quan writes, "Getting men to take birth control seriously has never been easy. One laddish website is astutely touting the news as a 'happy hour fact to amaze your drinking buddies with.'" Quan even goes so far to say, "I can’t help but feel that researchers and health care providers who 'just kind of dismiss withdrawal,' as Jones puts it, are actually doing us all a favor."

Certainly, no one is recommending that women use withdrawal with casual sex partners who have not been given the full battery of STD tests. But keeping valuable contraceptive information away from grown men and women is doing everyone a disservice. Adult women should be aware of all of the contraceptive information out there so they can make educated choices about their reproductive lives. What's more, if you can't trust a man to "take contraception seriously," maybe you shouldn't be sleeping with him. We should be telling that to young women, rather than shielding them from the truth about withdrawal.

Photograph by Getty Images.

Tags: call girl, condoms, contraception, Guttmacher Institute, tracy quan, withdrawal