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This Week

• A new internet meme, a new existential crisis.
• Biden goes to Hollywood.
• The new Amy Schumer movie.
• A very fun Wicked rumor.
• A new mantra.

What a Time to Be Reheating Nachos 

There comes a time in every Old’s life when they wake up, and suddenly it seems like everyone around you is speaking a foreign language. 

The Youths have staged an uprising and transported you to some terrifying, unfamiliar modern-day Babel, where they’re all using phrases you’ve never heard in your life and, according to your experience on Earth thus far, don’t even make sense as a sequence of words. And there you are, grinning nervously like Steve Buscemi in 30 Rock, conspicuously trying to fit in: How do you do, fellow kids?

I experienced this over the past week when I showed up to greet my best friends—my social media timelines—as I do every morning of my screen-addicted life, and suddenly everyone was talking about reheating nachos. 

Specifically they were talking about celebrities reheating nachos. The celebrities were, apparently, reheating other celebrities’ nachos. Some celebrities were reheating their own nachos. Others rejected the concept of nachos at all. (I guess they’re the ones on diets.)

I had no idea what the heck any of this meant, so I decided to delve into it. And, good lord, trying to figure out what “reheating nachos” meant sparked an existential crisis. 

Things were already surreal on this most recent Sunday night. I was working, blogging my boob-brained lil’ thoughts about the Grammy Awards, which happened to, fittingly, hinge largely on one star’s boobs and another’s penis. I was already suffering a dissonance of purpose of several layers, a veritable Bloomin’ Onion of self-loathing.

The Grammys were, in an instance I can’t remember since I was a kid, actually kind of great this year. It was a marathon of spectacular performances. The winners were great (Beyoncé!). There was a touching refocusing of the Hollywood spotlight on the victims of the Los Angeles fires and the heroism of emergency workers. And stars like Lady Gaga, Doechii, and Chappell Roan were meeting the moment, speaking truth to power corruption about issues, rights, and identities that are personal to them and under attack. 

And here I was making some jokes about a hot new crooner adjusting his package, for clicks. 

Then there’s the fact that, while the telecast was happening, the blizzard of alarming executive orders and DOGE’s playground of malfeasance continued their winter storm of chaos. But, sure, while all of this is going on, let's give musicians some trophies and participate in an exercise that leads me to thinking things like, “I’m so glad that song ‘Espresso’ is getting its due!” 

Listen, every court needs a jester, and I’m happy to oblige in moments like these, when maybe it’s even more necessary. I can burp out some one-liners about the Grammys in times of need. But a jester needs to know the tricks of the clowns he’s competing with, especially if the clowns are younger and more in-the-know. So I vowed to figure out this whole “reheating nachos” thing. 

Like most memes, it didn’t make any more sense once I got down to the bottom of it. And, also like most memes, that lack of logic does not matter.

I did not appreciate that the first result of my Google search about this was headlined, “Here's What The ‘Reheating Nachos’ Meme Means, For All You Millennials Out There.” I know we are in anti-woke times, but I still don’t see a need for such violence against us Olds.

Here’s Buzzfeed’s very helpful explanation. (Yes, I’m so elderly that I still go to Buzzfeed to have memes explained to me.):

“Think of it like this. Nachos are tasty. Everyone wants a bite. When we have leftovers, because they're so dang good, we try to reheat them. Sometimes they have hints of their prior flavor; sometimes they're soggy; sometimes you'll get a good bite; sometimes...they're just not quite right.

They don't always taste as they once did...yet, you could say that, still, at heart, they hold the foundations of the original dish. Similarly, when a person or artist is seemingly inspired by someone else (like, say, Benson Boone by Harry Styles, or perhaps the both of them by Freddie Mercury, Prince, or Little Richard), sometimes it's a hit, sometimes it's a flop, sometimes it's done juuust right. Either way, you could say that they're at least trying to reheat the other person's nachos.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever grasp this fully enough to contribute to this meme trend myself. But, at this moment, the concept I kind of resonate with. 

I’ve been this jester before, blogging my way through silly celebrity happenings while things I believe in and institutions that matter to me were being obliterated, the world around me became unrecognizable, fear and confusion battled for first billing on my daily Playbill, and everything kind of just sucked. Now that it’s all happening a second time, am I, so to speak, reheating my own nachos? 

I’d like to think things are different this go-round. I feel different this time. My job feels different this time. What’s happening feels different this time. But it does still have that lingering soggy tortilla chip taste.

I feel like we’re all existing in this monumental game of Jenga, except each of those bricks carry actual stakes. The tower keeps getting wobblier and more precarious. Someone keeps poking at the piece that should make it crumble down, but it hasn’t yet, and each new piece pulled makes the fact that it hasn’t tumbled yet scarier and scarier—and the inevitable crash down potentially even more catastrophic. 

But every good game night, even one that involves this particularly traumatizing game of Jenga, needs a good snack. So let me reheat some nachos for us.

Today’s Top Entertainment News 

• That Bombshell ‘Severance’ Theory About Helly Is Finally Confirmed
• ‘RHOSLC’: Secrets Behind Bravo’s Best Real Housewives Season Ever
• ‘Parthenope’: A Movie About the Most Beautiful Woman in the World

Mr. Biden Goes to Hollywood 

The events of the last year in politics—particularly the presidential race—were so twisty, surprising, and dramatic that they either would have been fodder for a thrilling movie, or considered so preposterous that no studio would greenlight production on the script because it would be considered too unbelievable. 

Perhaps it makes sense, then, that one of the major characters of that narrative, Joe Biden, has made his first big move since the inauguration: He’s going to Hollywood. Specifically, he’s signed with one of the industry’s top talent agencies, CAA, which represents stars like George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Julia Roberts. 

While the practical side of me knows that the relationship is likely to negotiate speaking tours and book deals for Biden, the chaotically wishful part prefers to imagine Biden attempting to break into showbiz. What could that look like?

Keeping Up With the Bidens: A Biden-family centric reality show? I mean, we’ve basically been watching an unofficial version of this already over the last few years, and it’s been juicy. Indictments! Grand juries! Felonies! Pardons! Bravo would do unsavory things to capture this kind of drama with its cameras. Let’s not forget this is the family in which, after one son tragically died, his brother then began dating his widow. 

But let’s be real about who the true reality star of the family would be. Andy Cohen, it’s time to greenlight The Real Housewives of Rehoboth Beach, and hand Dr. Jill her much deserved center crab. (I dunno. You try to come up with something Delaware is famous for…)

Perhaps Biden follows the lead of other former White House fixtures and surrenders to the indignity of celebrity talent competitions. Sarah Palin and Rudy Giuliani have done stints on The Masked Singer. All I’m saying is that if there’s a crooning ice cream cone on the next season, I have a strong guess of who it might be. 

If The Drew Barrymore Showneeds to juice ratings, I’d say bring on Biden as co-host. He already has a propensity for getting uncomfortably close and touchy with people. He and Barrymore could tag-team guests on the show’s couch, encroaching on their personal space until they squirm their way off set. 

Personally, I’d love to see Biden test out his acting chops, and I know the perfect vehicle. We’re in the Golden Age of B-level comedies starring older Hollywood legends basking in late-in-life friendship and getting their collective groove back. Book Club 3, co-starring Joe Biden, anyone?

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Kinda Pregnant Is Kinda Sweet 

I’ve mentioned before how underrated and undervalued the completely adequate, non-game-changing, delivers-exactly-what-you-want-and-nothing-more comedy movie is. We’re in a renaissance of sorts with them, with Cameron Diaz and Jamie Foxx’s Back in Action, Will Ferrell and Reese Witherspoon’s You’re Cordially Invited, and Keke Palmer and SZA’s One of Them Days. 

I’m happy to announce, lukewarm on those heels, another perfectly pleasant and satisfactory addition to the trend: Amy Schumer’s new Netflix rom-com, Kinda Pregnant. I just watched Kinda Pregnant on a plane and can’t stress enough how this is the ideal plane movie. Giggled a little bit. Guffawed once or twice. Could predict every plot point, leading up to and including the big emotional climax: a moment that, 30,000 feet in the air, made me roll my eyes and cry at the same time. Bliss. 

Schumer is very good at this kind of movie, mostly because she’s as skilled at self-deprecating humor and bawdy physical comedy as she is at nailing what could otherwise be corny emotional beats. Also, I love how Schumer casts actors you’d never expect to be swoon-inducing romantic leads in her movies, who then end up, well, making you unexpectedly swoon. She did it with Bill Hader in Trainwreck, Rory Scovel in I Feel Pretty, and, now, Will Forte in Kinda Pregnant. Will Forte, romantic lead? It really works!

I Couldn’t Be Happier 

There’s a report/rumor/whispering/gossiping/scuttlebutt that the Oscars is going to open with a Wicked medley performed by Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande. While I’m loathe(ing, unadulterated loathing) to repeat what right now is just a report, it is the kind of good news for a person like me—a person who is writing this newsletter while wearing a Shiz University sweatshirt—that just makes the rest of everything bad disappear for just a few seconds. 

Who knows if it will actually happen. But for now, let’s just belt “thank goodness” in our best Glinda voice for even imagining something fun like this. 

Words to Live By 

While accepting her Best New Artist Grammy, Chappell Roan wore a medieval princess hat that would not cooperate (as medieval princess hats are wont to do). “My hat’s gonna fall off, and it’s gonna be OK,” she said. 

You know what? I think that’s beautiful. We all need to abide by this. I want it stitched on a throw pillow. Friends, sometimes our hats are gonna fall off, but don’t fret. Even with our heads naked and exposed, it’s still gonna be OK. 

More From The Daily Beast’s Obsessed 

• Attention Bravoholics: Southern Hospitality should be your new obsession. Read more.
• Juicy new revelations about Saturday Night Live’s internal revolt over Trump’s appearance. Read more.
• The nostalgic mayhem of being a grown adult at a Disney Channel convention. Read more.

• Clean Slate: The late Norman Lear’s fingerprints are all over this endearing new Laverne Cox sitcom. (Now on Prime Video)

• Apple Cider Vinegar: The only thing Americans love more than being scammed is watching TV series about scammers. (Now on Netflix)

• Super Bowl: I have to watch it for work. If I have to watch it, you all should be forced to, too. (Sun. on Fox)

• Heart Eyes: I will never understand the desperation to make Valentine’s Day-themed horror movies happen. (Now in theaters)

• Love Hurts: The Oscar curse is alive and well! Ariana DeBose, you need a new agent! (Now in theaters)

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