JUNE '04 ARCHIVE

6/28/04

“Sugah, yore luck’s about to change.” --- Dennis Quaid as Detective Remy McSwain to Ellen Barkin as Assistant DA Ann Osborne, after she says she’s never had much luck with sex.

THIS JUST IN: FIRE IS HOT

Because God hates me for being an atheist, Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11 opens at number one this week. Yet another entry into his “Duh” school of documentary filmmaking. This time it’s the war in Iraq. Gee, it’s not like every other issue of every other newsmagazine in the world doesn’t question the validity of the war every single fucking day. It’s not like congress doesn’t hold hearings on this, questioning the president’s very cabinet. It’s not as though there aren’t half a dozen best selling books out right now about it. Oh, no! It hasn’t truly been questioned until Michael Moore does the questioning in his screaming, over the stop style. Apparently this fat bastard didn’t get the memo that being right doesn’t excuse you from being a complete and total asshole. I’m actually curious to see some of the Iraq war footage he got, but not enough to put up with his holier than thou routine and I’m one of the most holier than thou, self-righteous bastards you’ll ever meet. Not to mention he’s just preaching to the choir. If you believe in the war, you’re not going to see this, so then it just becomes one big leftist, liberal circle jerk. And I’m a leftist liberal who likes to get jerked off, but not like this. When he makes his documentary about grown women who like to dress up like cheerleaders and have sex with the uniform still on, give me a call. Then I’ll be in line with my bottle of lube. Until then, he goes into the Oliver Stone, Spike Lee pile with annoying directors I avoid at all costs.

NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH THE XXX CLASSIC “LET ME TELL YA ABOUT WHITE CHICKS”

Opening at number two is White Chicks and let me join the chorus of people who point out that if two White guys dressed up like Black women, acting how they thing Black women act (neck popping, gum popping, weaves, children out of wedlock) they’d be crucified---and every Black person in America would see it and laugh their asses off. But, as we all know, the oppressed have certain rights towards their oppressors and so long as White men still rule the world, Women and minorities will have to right to mock them in a way they can’t mock us. Why is this fair? Let me put it this way: which would you rather have? Total domination of the earth, or the right to make White Chicks? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Eighty cents on the dollar and a couple of extra jokes really aren’t that great in comparison. But racial issues aside, this goes on the pile of “Hey, Isn’t Dudes Dressed As Women Funny?” movies, and the jokes it seems, never change. Not since Some Like It Hot forty years ago or Tootsie twenty years ago. The most obvious being they so obviously look nothing like women. Personally, I think it would have been funnier to just cast a couple of White women to play the guys in disguise, then have them act like Black guys, trying to act like White women. That way, everyone takes a shot, White men, White women and Black men. The other upside is you’d see almost none of The Wayans Brothers.

IT’S ALWAYS FUNNIER WHEN YOU SAY “BALLS”

Funnier than it has any right to be, Dodgeball is down to number three and as I’ve said before, I prefer Ben Stiller when he’s playing a loser who doesn’t know he’s a loser, because his theater of pain has grown tiresome. It takes a little while to get started, and the fact that Vince Vaughn literally looks like he’s sleepwalking through this doesn’t help (I swear he sounds like made up all his dialogue on the spot), but once the actual tournaments begin, the movie kicks into high gear and never looks back. It follows the tried and true method of never doing just one joke at a time when you can throw three out there. One of them will stick and often all of them do. Still, I long for the days when movies like this would chuck all caution to the winds and earn the “R” rating with foul language and nudity. Not that anyone wants to see either Ben Stiller or Vince Vaughn nude, but if Stiller (who also produced) insists on casting his Marcia Brady lookalike wife (she actually played Marcia in the Brady Bunch Movie) in everything he does, then we might as well get something out of her presence. Actually, I’d still rather see Maureen McCormack. Marcia still looks good, as witnessed in a recent cameo on Scrubs.

UNINSPIRED BY TRUE EVENTS

The Terminal is down to number four and it does my heart well to see both Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg fail to dominate. Yeah, I’m sure it’s not exactly breaking their hearts with their swimming pools full of money, but I’ll take my tiny victories wherever I can get them. This is based on a true story of an Iranian whose passport was stolen on his way to London, thus stranding him in the Paris airport where he remains to this day. The French government the granted him amnesty years ago. He’s still there because HE’S FUCKING CRAZY. And there’s the rub. The true story is infinitely more interesting than any shit they can come up with (I believe there’s actually a documentary about him). And what’s this bullshit about Catherine Zeta Jones falling for him? Give me a fucking break. And she wonders why her career isn’t the same as Nicole Kidman’s. Word of advice, dear: STOP SUPPORTING PEOPLE! You wanna be a star, you gotta star. And stop letting that old bastard knock you up. You can’t work if you’re pregnant or still fat from getting pregnant.

THE BOOK OF LOVE

The Notebook opens at number five and believe it or not I wouldn’t mind seeing this. I’m more a romantic comedy guy, but that’s only because they fuck up romantic dramas even more than they do comedies. It’s no wonder that the two romantic dramas I love the most French Lieutenant’s Woman and Possession actually resemble one another (dual stories, one in the present one in the past, one ends well, one does not). It’s a hard nut to crack, but period always helps. Another is: NO DEPRESSING ENDINGS! Yes, I know tragedy is romantic, but this is the advantage romantic comedies have over dramas. You know, no matter what, no matter how illogical, it’s going to end well. Whereas with the drama, there’s always some asshole who thinks, “Wouldn’t it be great is he/she died?” No, it would not and fuck you and Love Story. This has two of the primary characteristics of a decent romantic drama: it’s period and there’s a triangle (though obviously you only want one guy to win) and there’s the class issue. It’s a cliché ­fest, but that’s what we’re looking for.

YOU KNOW YOU MIGHT BE GHETTO, IF…

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is down to number six, followed by Shrek 2 at number seven and I had the distinct displeasure of listening to my dad and my cousin talk about how much they’d enjoyed seeing it---on fucking bootleg. Sigh. Why is my family trying to be ghetto? We’re not. We’re as middle class as fucking middle class can get. Not even lower or upper middle class. Just middle fucking middle class and here they go getting ghetto on me with bootlegs. What the fuck? I’m incredibly grateful to my cousins, because they’ve become the sons my dad never had, not only giving him the grandchildren I won’t (I blame you bitches who insist that I leave the house to meet you), but they also love hanging out with him. Nonetheless, take your fucking kids to the fucking movies. Instill them with some honest values, not this “buy it on bootleg” ghetto bullshit. I’d respect him more if he at least downloaded Shrek 2, because then it might be digital clarity, but you know this was some sub-par---and forgive my language---nigga with a videocamera bullshit. I’m so ashamed. But then again, he was born in the Bronx. I guess it’s too much to think he could shed it.

SATAN APPRECIATES EVERY DIME

Garfield is down to number seven, but the fact that it’s even here is still a blow to the forces of truth, justice and light. Yeah, it’s not even making its $77M budget, but given that something like Around The World in 80 Days (which was strangely sold as being about Jackie Chan, even though he wasn’t playing Phileas Fogg, whom the story is actually about) dropped out after a week making only about half as much, you have to wonder who’s doing this?

HOW ABOUT AN ANIMAL WHO HATES HOME AND WANTS AN APARTMENT?

Two Brothers opens up at number eight and there must be a tremendous business for animal movies on video, because they never do well theatrically, but people keep fucking making them. Has even one made money since Born Free? And I really have no interest in “stories” about animals. I prefer the Discovery channel where we get the real deal. Think you’re going to see tigers acting like real tigers in this? Nope. They’re going to be cute and cuddly and not the half-ton of killing fury that Siegfried and Roy were reminded of the hard way. And the stories are always the same: they’re trying to get home. Yawn.

BESIDES, ELMO SUCKS

Finally, proving my point about Garfield doing better than you think, The Sepford Wives, with an all-star cast is leaving the top ten not making even as much as Garfield. Then again, it may actually be worse than Garfield, which wouldn’t surprise me, because this isn’t that good. And Frank Oz has no excuse, because the man knows funny. He directed the great, if unsuccessful Bowfinger and he’s the voice of Miss Piggy, goddamnit! Yeah, Yoda, Grover and Elmo too, but fuck that. And Nicole Kidman must be A-list purely because of the rules of celebrity, which dictate you’re still hot if everyone still wants to fuck you. It certainly isn’t because of her box office track record. This is yet another flop for her (Dogville, The Human Stain and even Cold Mountain didn’t live up to expectations).

GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

It’s out of the top ten, thus insuring Vin Diesel’s appearance in Fast & The Furious three (it’s so bad he’s already making a family film to try and save his career), but there was something I wanted to mention about The Chronicles of Riddick. The character of Jack from the first film turned out to be a girl and she’s all grown up and hot here in the sequel, trying to make herself into kind of a female Riddick. And you know it’s a science fiction film, when she’s in an intergalactic prison called The Crematorium, but still has shaven armpits and a bare midriff. In any case, if there could be said to be such a thing, this was a Dina Myer role, all the way down to kinky, curly hair. If you don’t remember Dina Meyer, she was the tomboyish female love interest/lead for Dennis Quaid in Dragonheart. And the tomboyish female love interest/lead for Keanu Reeves in Johnny Neumonic, and her most famous role, the tomboyish female love interest/lead, Dizzy, for Casper Van Dien in Starship Troopers. She’s the one who loves him and dies. Yeah, now you remember. She was also in the last Star Trek movie and played Barbra “Batgirl” Gordon on that lousy TV “Birds of Prey” making her a minor science fiction fantasy goddess. Well, this girl, Alexa Davalos, just stole her place in the science fiction fantasy pantheon. Aside from this job, she also appeared on “Angel” as “Gwen Raiden” the thief with superpowers. She not only looks like Dina Meyer, but sounds like her as well. The difference between them? About 13 years, as Dina is about 36 and Alexa Davalos was born in the 80’s. And was born in France, as opposed to Dina Meyer, who is one of my fave B&T girls, being from Queens.

THE BIG EASY

So, as man of leisure I felt obligated to take a vacation from my vacation. The Frenchwoman, whom I met 20 years ago this September, was in New Orleans for a conference and suggested I join her. Because it’s me, you know this has no sexual or romantic connotations. It might as well have been some guy saying, “Dude, come and hang in my free hotel room and we’ll get fucked up!” I haven’t been to New Orleans since I was a kid and because it sounded like a decadent thing to do, I accepted. But first I had to go home. I cannot venture into the south without going home. To do so would be a death sentence from my mother. She loves me, but she could love me just as easily in a grave in the backyard. So I went home first for a few days beforehand. Ate like a pig and slept like a rock. Good times. But these caught up with me on my way to New Orleans. Ever have a cheeseburger with Piemento cheese? It’s good going down. Not so much coming up. See, getting out of Atlanta these days is hell on earth. My mother hasn’t a flown in a few years, so she is unaware of the lines and waiting these days. This means I got to the airport later than I’d planned, which means the hour wait for the ticket counter cost me. I was taking off my shoes to go through the metal detector when they were calling my name at the gate. I ended up running to it with my shoes in my hand, only to fail. Now, between the aggravation of this and the sickeningly sweet smell of burning sugar from the nearby Ben & Jerry’s and god knows what else, I began to get nauseous. This resulted in me puking up the Pimento cheeseburger, not just in Atlanta, but also when I landed in New Orleans. So I, a “sport-eater” arrived in a succulent city with a wreaked stomach. I got to the hotel just to crawl into bed and sleep for a few hours. The Frenchwoman, who had reinvented herself for New Orleans as a glamorous babe (gone were the camouflage pants and sneakers to be replaced by a series of lovely skirts and dresses, with no such thing as small hair), looked upon me with great pity, no doubt questioning her choice of companions. But I was fine when I woke up and proceeded to explore the city while she attended her first conference. This is when I learned something that I’d apparently missed as a child: New Orleans is as hot as a crotch. This made my first quest to find a Gap to purchase enough shorts to make it through, ‘cause I’d forgotten one pair and those jeans weren’t going to see the light of day. Not to mention nothing was going to get worn twice. The way I sweated through the crotch of the single pair of shorts I brought made me think I might have to burn them, they felt so disgusting. And I had to go to The Gap, because, thanks to Regan’s fucking day, I didn’t get my severance check until the day before I left, so it hadn’t cleared yet! This left me with the $60 I had in my pocket to make it for a weekend in New Orleans. Thankfully, everything is much cheaper in the south, even for a tourist spot. Not to mention everyone there but me was officially “working” and could expense meals and had a tendency to pick up the check. The Frenchwoman works at a private girl’s school in San Francisco (some of it was used in The Princess Diaries) so her friends were all teachers at that school. Needless to say, they had some steam to blow off, but more on that later. The first one I met was a tall, fun guy, who was using a cane because tendency to pursue sports that try to kill him, like mountain boarding (that’s a skateboard DOWN A FREAKING MOUNTAIN). The Frenchwoman told me she’d almost never known him without some sort of injury and had once taken him to the hospital herself, where he narrowly missed having his foot amputated. Mr. Cane was fun guy and though only 33, was able to join us in our game of “Guess What 80’s Song This Is” where you say a line and the other aging, Gen Xer has to guess. He was also a master of the screaming “Woo!” You know, that primal scream you hear at concerts when something good happens. And it was infectious. By the end of the trip it was how we not only greeted each other, but how we located each other in the crowds. In addition to Mr. Cane, we were joined by a new employee of hers, The Uber Geek. I kid you not. He was one of my finest subjects, knowing all things geeky to an extreme, and given to such habits as discussing complex math equations while drunk. Not to mention saying things like, “Let’s say we were a math equation. What number would the person right next to you be?” I’m not kidding. He realized I was his king when I showed up in public in my gay Captain America tank top (a Captain America tank top, but only ribbed and fitted). I confirmed my status by explaining the John Walker Captain America (in short: in the 80’s, elements within the Reagan Administration fired Captain America when he refused to work for the government and replaced him with a dumbass who so fucked things up that not only did Reagan himself wind up being turned into a snake, but the government gave Captain America back his identity along with all legal ownership of it). Needless to say, we all (eventually our group numbered seven) got drunk at least one night and scandal ensued. Let me sum it up as thus: if you think those drunk college girls during spring break look stupid, imagine a drunk, 37-year-old teacher showing her multi-colored, horizontally-striped thong in a bar. And on the street. And in another bar. We ended the night at another bar that opened only at midnight called The Dungeon, filled with your usual all-in-black heavy metal goth types---with me in my kaki cargo shorts and a Captain America shirt and the Frenchwoman looking lovely in white linen. My favorite moment was when The Frenchwoman and I played one of our favorite tunes, “Du Hast” and the metal boys hit the dance floor doing their weird kung-fu-goth dance moves---until the one in the monk’s robe yelled out, “Hey, Mike. Titty bar.” And the floor emptied out. It seems even in the realm of darkness, there’s nothing like a naked boob. It was fun, but the evening ended on a low note for some, with one person unbeknownst to us, outside alone and puking. And some drunken flirting ending with one person getting severely embarrassed when the other flirter drew a line in the sand he would not cross (despite the fact she never stopped showing the multi-colored, horizontally-striped thong and dancing lewdly with his cane, which strangely upset the bouncer who ordered her to give it back). The final night it was just me and The Frenchwoman going outside the French Quarter again for a nice meal at a French restaurant called Café Degas. Yes, the eatin’ was good all over, my fave being the blackened shrimp I had one night, but the oysters ($4 for half dozen) at Felix’s were a close second.

DRESS YOU UP IN MY FAMILIAL LOVE

So, while home, my wardrobe once again came under assail from my sisters. It being the summer, this time it was my shorts. They hated my pleated shorts. We tried flat fronts, but once again it seems my balls got in the way. Cargo shorts were the happy compromise. I lose the pleats for them and I get the many pockets for myself. I personally believe shorts should be short. Not Gay Pride Parade short, but above the knees at least. I’ve got nice legs, goddamnit, and I wanna show ‘em off! Cargo comes a little long, but at least not down to the shins like that other shit I see. I mean, why bother? Just get some real pants. I also have to change my sandals (cruelly mocked as “mandals”) and get new frames for my glasses, but I was going to do that anyway. Still, my choices for frames were mocked ruthlessly and the decision was taken out of my hands. Even though I have to pay for it.

WHENEVER IT RAINS, IT POURS

Needless to say, within weeks of losing my job, my TV started to die on me, because that’s what you want when you have no income, major electronics purchases. Seriously, I didn’t want to buy a new TV. Hell, I didn’t want to buy that old one, but had to because it was too old to accept my DVD player. Granted, I was probably going to blow the TV money on an ipod, but still. You hate being forced to make such large purchases. Better they be done out of depression or impulse buying. And it gets better. My eyeglass frames are falling apart, so even that decision is based on need, rather than the sneaking suspicion that they’re still wrong for my face and no one will tell me…LIKE LAST TIME! And now my cell phone has decided that it will no longer acknowledge the “0” button. Sigh. Looks like I actually have to start looking for a job. It’s getting expensive being unemployed.

THIS NOTE’S FOR YOU

Aside from any opportunity to see Halle Berry, those Revlon commercials also contain a song called “Belissimo” which I love. Well, it’s from a group out of San Diego called Ilya and all their stuff is like that. Yes, it’s booty music. Put it on and do your business. Something to tide us all over until that new Sade album comes out. They were in Atlanta when I was home but I found out too late. They don’t have any New York shows, which makes no sense. You’ll play fucking Rochester but not the Big Apple? But my real fave right now is Jamie Cullum’s cover of The Neptunes’ “Frontin’.” You may never go back the original it’s so damn good.

ART

Finally, that picture you see knocked me off my ass in New Orleans. We were walking down Royal Street (to avoid the toilet that is Bourbon) and The Frenchwoman noticed it in the window. A year’s worth of Art History at NYU suddenly came bubbling up from me as we discussed the meaning of the piece (the man is unformed, looking almost corpse like, suggesting that no matter what he is, husband, lover, client, he’s dead to her as she dresses to leave). It moved me so much I returned to the gallery the next day to discuss it with the manager. He loved it too and took to a back room to show me the piece under the proper lighting which only made it more incredible. Apparently the first one, the original sold for over $800K and an alternate version was shipping out that day for $300K. See, the artist does variations on that piece. In others there is no man; or her dress is red, or just her shoes are read. I could have one of the smaller pieces for about$1900. If I had it, it would be mine and for a hot second, it seemed worth my entire severance package to get one.

6/16/04

“Evil comes from the darkness of women.” --- Antonin Artaud

HARRY POTTER AND THE E TRUE HOLLYWOOD STORY

Hanging in at Number one is Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban and is it too early to begin predicting the horrific endings for all these kids? Okay, they’re English, so they may simply leave acting altogether once this particular series is done, but if they don’t you can pretty easily expect the worst. He’ll grow up good-looking, which is pretty rare for Englishmen, but not so rare that there won’t be a couple dozen of them competing with him for every role. And if he tries to come here, forget it. Pretty boys everywhere. Even with an accent, he’ll only get so far. The ugly one might actually have a career because all English actors are pretty ugly and it doesn’t slow them down. However, if he can’t really act, he’s toast. Now, she’ll probably try the longest and the inevitable Maxim layout will occur, but England is actually filled with pretty young things baring it all in those magazines, so it won’t even register. Even when she does her eventual nude scene, it’ll barely register except for a small “Guess whose bum is out there?” article that might occupy a quarter of a page. Think I’m kidding? Remember the show Charles in Charge? Well both those girls got boob jobs and did nude scenes. Did you know? Did you even care? And it doesn’t matter how huge the movies are. Henry Thomas from E.T. is a working actor. When was the last time you saw him? Dying so Brad Pitt could bang his wife in Legends of the Fall. And he grew up good looking too. Lotta good it did him.

MY NAME IS RIDDICK. RICHARD B. RIDDICK.

RIDDDDIIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCKKKKK! Get used to that. The Chronicles of Riddick opens at number two and that’s the one phrase you’ll hear more than any other. It’s not simply a word in this movie, but an exclamation ranging from “You dirty no good bastard” to “Save me, you unbeatable human machine of destruction.” And he is, to the point where it gets kinda boring. You know he’ll defeat the inhuman army of a thousand with nary a scratch. He’s like a future James Bond, but without the light fantasy touch that saves that franchise more often than naught. This is a sequel to Pitch Black, which I declined to see because I didn’t want to see Radha Mitchell or Claudia Black (Aeryn from Farscape) die and die they did, because only three characters survived that movie and they’re all here. Sadly, even though there’s an actual flashback to Pitch Black, the fact that Radha Mitchell died saving Vin Diesel goes without mention or seen as having any impact on his character. But the girl he saved seems to have had tremendous impact because a good third of the movie is all about their relationship. Interesting, but seeing as it’s not really the plot of the movie, the movie pretty much stops while we deal with it. I mean, there’s still action going on because she’s in a mega-prison on a world where the surface temperature is 700 degrees during the day and it’s strangely policed by guards from South America and scaly CGI dogs, but it’s got little to do with Riddick vs. The Bad Guys and is one of the reasons this good looking movie ultimately fails. The fact that it was beaten out by Harry Potter on its second week does not bode well and it’s a mystery they even pumped $100M+ into this budget. Didn’t they see what happened to XXX? Vin Diesel’s rep as the next big thing was nothing but hype. If anything, the PR machine that propelled him the next big thing. Those are the guys you want working for you. I hope The Rock (another half-Black would be action star) is paying attention to this. There was talk Vin Diesel would come back for Fast & The Furious 3. You can pretty much bank on it now.

AS LIL’ LUKE SAYS IN SAY ANYTHING, “BITCHES, MAN.”

Shrek 2 is down to number three followed by The Stepford Wives opening at number four. To call this a comedic remake of the first is to ignore the novel by Ira Levin upon which the movie is based was satirical to begin with. This is just the next logical step. The screenplay is by Paul Rudnick, so does it come as any surprise that the flamboyant gay character gets all the best lines? While this movie has many problems, the first is that your protagonist, Nicole Kidman, is nowhere near being sympathetic. Anyone would want this bitch to change. Same for her buddies in Stepford, the aforementioned gay man and Bette Midler. They’re obnoxious and annoying, so how can anyone who’d want to change them really be all that bad (granted there is one great line about this: when Matthew Broderick asks if a clad-in-black, Manhattan-dwelling, castrating bitch is all Nicole Kidman wanted to be, she flatly replies, “Ever since I was a little girl.”)? If they were going to forgo any hint of tension for laughs, then there should have been more of them, especially since one of the underused visual gags is that all the men are geeks, so below the women they’ve married it’s not even funny. And you can forget about the bleak ending of the original (where the main female character is murdered by her robot double and her eyes are taken out to complete its construction). Here there’s a lesson to be learned and boy is it taught to you in no uncertain terms. There’s also “twist” which can be seen coming from a mile away and would have been wonderfully subversive if handled correctly. Needless to say, it’s not. It’s kind of a disappointment, because there was so much to be done with this idea. I mean, in a world where millions of women voluntarily get plastic breasts and see being oiled up in Maxim as an accomplishment, do men really have to try and turn them into robots?

BILL MURRAY IN JAWS V

Garfield opens at number five and this soulless horror of this enterprise was summed up with the words “Bill Murray must be some kinda whore for money,” said by Jon Stewart, who uncharacteristically roasted poor Jennifer Love Hewitt on The Daily Show last week. Aside from tormenting her about having his dog eat her dog, he wisely questioned why you’d make a movie about a character twenty years after its peak. I mean, does the average kid even know who Garfield is? And given the hell Bill Murray put Sofia Coppola through for an actual film (she chased him for the better part of a year for Lost In Translation), how the hell did the producers of this pile of dog shit land him? Now Jennifer Love Hewitt obviously needed the work and couldn’t afford to be choosy, but Bill Murray? Some kinda whore for money indeed. He must be entering his Michael Caine phase.

THE WAVE IS NOW DATING THE EVIAN SOURCE AFTER DUMPING POLAND SPRINGS

The Day After Tomorrow is down to number six and I’m beginning to hate Jake Gyllenhaal. He’s starting to stink of “I’m the next ‘It’ boy and I know it.” Yeah, you and Heath Ledger. Sorry, buddy, but looking like Toby Maguire, schtupping his ex-girlfriend and being the leverage Spider-man producers use to threaten him is not the same as being him. It’s pretty damn close, but no. You’re one of many B-list stars in a disaster film where the real star is the wave that engulfs Manhattan because it’s what people paid to see and what got most of the money. Donnie Darko-loving freaks do not a superstar make.

ONE LAST SHOT

Raising Helen is down to number seven and someone’s agent should be feeling very insecure right about now. He won’t be alone, as Brad Pitt should be having a very serious talk with his own agent. He’s forty now and hasn’t carried a film in a decade. This was supposed to be the comeback and it’s not. Heh-heh-heh. But there is a god in the film---kinda. Julie Christie, who is a goddess, plays Achilles’’ mother, Thetis, the Nerid (water goddess). She’s actually in water when we see her, so that’s as close as you get to a god-like presence in the film. Well, that and Peter O’Toole.

BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T WANT TO SING “CANDY” IN VEGAS AT 40

Saved enters the top ten at number nine this week, thanks to non-stop fucking ads on TV. Jesus (no pun intended) are they pushing that fucking thing or what? But Mandy Moore’s future in films is a lot more secure than the others. Not simply because she’s tall and attractive, but because she’s willing to be more than just the star and willing to be the bitch the way she obviously is in this. In fact, she’s the only reason I’d like to see this, but it’s still not enough to get my ass off the couch.

NOW THEY CAN AFFORD THE BEST TRAILER MONEY CAN BUY

And closing out the top ten at number ten is Mean Girls and how funny is it that Lindsay Lohan’s family is such white trash? Dad not only did coke in the 80’s, but was also arrested for slapping mom around and recently was arrested for kicking his brother-in-law’s ass and it’s not the first time he’s been given to doing that either. And he called his wife’s family white trash. But this just tops it all off: the fight broke out at a First Communion party! And if that red hair and those freckles didn’t tell you how Irish she was, mom’s maiden name is “Sullivan.” Poor girl, how long before those damn Sullivan cousins start showing up asking for money? And my favorite part was right before the scuffle, dad says he took his shoes off “in case I had to throw some kicks.” BWAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, man. That’s funny. That’s the mark of the bullshit martial artist. He needs a wardrobe change before he can get down. Trust me, if can you throw a halfway decent punch, “Bruce Lee” Lohan is yours.

NEXT TIME I’VE DEFINITELY GOTTA HAVE HOT WINGS

Speaking of Lindsay Lohan, the MTV Movie Awards aired last week and if you saw Lindsay Lohan’s---ahem---“dancing” then you saw my primary objection to young girls. Yeah, they’re nice to look at, but just by watching her move you could tell she knows jack shit about how to move her body. And you can be pretty sure she knows even less about a man’s. Colin Farrell would have been severely pissed had he gone through with it…the Ben Stiller Vince Vaughn opening had been done before and got old quickly…does Andy Dick have a tape of someone at Viacom having sex with a duck? I can’t think of any other reason he keeps finding work with them. He was funny on The Ben Stiller Show and NewsRadio, but that was it!…I don’t think much of Tom Cruise as an actor, but when it comes to selling his film, he is the best friend you could ever have. The man will do whatever it takes to get his work out there, even if it means tolerating Jamie Foxx. But did you notice how when Uma Thurman won and was towering over him, he moved to the steps behind them to take away the height difference?…the Ron Burgundy segments were also old quickly…how short is Mark Ruffalo? Either he’s very short or Kate Beckinsale is taller than I imagined…someone should tell the Beastie Boys they are old, old men and need to stop…I like the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs, but they sound like an 80’s band…Sharon Stone and Christina Aguilera make the scariest couple of blondes ever. Two totally delusional people severely unhappy with their state in life…who is D12 kidding? They don’t exist without Emenim…maybe I’m just old, but this show seemed incredibly boring. Maybe I just enjoyed it more last time because I hanging with Surrogate Sister and eating hot wings and cheese fries, but I don’t remember it ever being this freaking dull despite the total A-list line up.

MONDAY/IN THE PARK/IT DEFINITELY WASN’T THE FOURTH OF JULY

Speaking of Surrogate Sister, since she works freelance and I am…A MAN OF LESIURE, she dragged me to Central Park so she could get some sun. My thoughts of the park are a matter of record, but Monday afternoon has a surprising dearth of assholes, so it wasn’t quite the same annoying experience (besides, she was in the sun, whilst I dwelled only in the shade). But when I’m king, let me tell you, men sunbathing in their underwear is not going to fly. Your underwear!?! Your fucking underwear!?! You don’t own a singe pair of fucking shorts!?! You’ll get thirty days, sun worshipper. Thirty days to think of your crime. Because she’s crazy, Surrogate Sister complained about non-existent fat on her pencil thin body. So when you see that I’ve been arrested for choking some woman to death, know that it’s her. Sadly, because it took me a little time to get myself together (being…A MAN OF LEISURE, is not about organization) I didn’t get there in time to stop the guy who decided to sit next to her and start whacking off. Besides, I feel it would have been a tad hypocritical to beat down another chronic masturbator merely because of a choice of venue.

AND WAAAAAAAAYYYY TOO MUCH DURAN DURAN

The All Request shows on VH1 Classic are the best. It’s all aging Generation X people like myself. That’s why all you see are groups like Hall & Oates, Living Color, The Smithereens, Icehouse, OMD, The Tubes, Echo & The Bunnymen and BIG. DADDY. KANE. I actually saw for the first time a godawful video for the never-was Fiona, who made a horrific movie with Bob Dylan and Rupert Everett called, Hearts of Fire (co-written by Joe Eszterhas and directed by the director of Return of the Jedi and on second thought, maybe god actually killed him for this). That runs a close second to Jacob Dylan in things over which Dylan should be most ashamed for having participated. Three is that Victoria’s Secret commercial. Even the graphics for the show are 80’s inspired, showing the work of Patrick Nagel whose work literally sums up an entire decade (he did the cover for Duran Duran’s “Rio” album). Now, I’m addicted and I usually abhor all types of 80’s nostalgia. I’m tempted to request the JoBoxers “Just Got Lucky” to see if it shows up. I know for a fact they’ve run my 80’s fave, The Producers, because the guy who runs a website about them got their videos just that way. Yes, there are losers out there the likes of which you’ve never dreamed and thank god for them.

DEATH IS REALLY STARTING TO PISS ME OFF

A true giant of music, Ray Charles, died. Fuck Reagan (whose day of mourning delayed me getting a much needed check), this is a guy who deserves to have heads at his funeral. Personally, I blamed the movie of his life being made. If Jamie Foxx was going to play me, I’d wanna die before it came out too (though it was that Billy Joel duet that should have killed him). Yeah, he actually went to college on a music scholarship, but he still annoys the shit out of me. And what’s this crap about Ray Charles being a ladies man? Are you kidding me? HE WAS FUCKING BLIND! His handlers lead women to him and he’d have sex with them. He had no what they looked like. It was simply women who wanted to fuck Ray Charles. There was no, “Hey, she’s hot. Think I’ll get me some of that.” You really can’t do that when you can’t cross the room under your own steam. Not to mention, you can’t tell beauty by sense of smell.

NOW YOU FIND FREAKING MODESTY

Finally, as you well know, I abhor Playboy, but occasionally they put someone in it that forces me to pick it up (especially when the damn issue is sealed in plastic). This time it was Peta Wilson of La Femme Nikita The Series. Not the prettiest girl in the world, she’s always had a raw sex appeal, so I bought this instantly. Needless to say, I was disappointed. Yes, another lame “no-bush” pictorial. Why are you in fucking Playboy if you’re not going to be completely naked!?! Even worse, in the interview she talks about the movie Mercy, where she actually is completely naked (she is a natural blonde, by the way). Let’s see, you could do it for a film about a serial killer who targets rich, closeted lesbian and cuts off their eyelids, and in a scene where you pretend to get shot in the head for a guy who gets off on pretending to kill you, but you can’t do it for the relative normalcy of photographic nudes? And she’s not even an American. She’s Austrailian and they, like the Brits, usually have no shame about this. And the centerfold was lame too. At least the Charisma Carpenter issue had a Japanese centerfold. This one is another surgically altered blonde. Sigh. Ray Charles is dead. Johnny Cash is dead. Hugh Hefner lives on. Yep, Death is really, really starting to piss me off with her choices.

06/9/04

“Work is the curse of the drinking class.” --- Mike Romanoff

“WHEN IT'S TIME TO CHANGE/YOU’VE GOT TO REARRANGE…”

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban opens unsurprisingly at number one and I’m not part of this cult no matter how much the people around me try to drag me in. Sorry, but I walked away from reading science fiction years ago and even then I had no tolerance at all for fantasy. At least science fiction followed some rules, hence the “science” part. No air or gravity in space was always a constant in every single science fiction story. But fantasy was anything you wanted at any time. Made-up kingdoms in made up worlds with zero application to reality. Sometimes dragons spoke in the world of Bumbladumbfuck, but Stupidinia, they were just animals. Drove me nuts. Even the dumbest science fiction novel was preferable to that. This seems a little better, actually being based on earth, but no. If I can’t spare the time to read the other hundred books in my library, I’m not giving up time to read these 800 page tomes. So what does that leave me to talk about? Well, without having seen the first two, I can tell you this one is automatically better than the first simply because Chris Columbus is not directing it. The man is a plague on cinema and of course he got his start through Steven Spielberg. When you look down the corridor of evil shit, with no imagination, wit or intelligence in their work, you’ll see two names regularly: Jerry Bruckheimer and Steven Spielberg. Aside from his own well-made dreck, Spielberg can claim as his kids, Bob Zemeckis, Brett Ratner and Chris Columbus. A trinity of pure evil. But if you’re going to make a movie about magic then Alfonso Cuaron is an excellent choice, because even his flawed Great Expectations had a very magical quality to it and was beautiful to see. And even before that you had A Little Princess, known for little else but its style. Et Tu Mama Tambien also gives you hope that he won’t pretend like every other children’s film that boys and girls don’t have some sort of interest in one another. This is very important given the nice development of at least two of the principal cast members. The kid who plays Harry Potter is turning into a nice looking teenager, which isn’t always the case. They also scored with the girl (whose name I don’t know and have no intention of learning), who is also growing up well. Their audience should be going through the same changes and taking very close note of it. A lot people will grow their first pubes in this movie (and at 142 minutes, I’m not kidding). The other one isn’t quite as fortunate, but as a red-headed male, he was doomed anyway. He can only hope he just doesn’t get worse. But if you want to see a cruel awkward stage, look at the evil blonde kid. Puberty is not being kind to him. But again, that should serve the story well. Not that I’ll ever see it.

CHILDREN OF THE DAMNED

Down to number two is Shrek 2 and it occurs to me the reason this is so much better than the first is because it’s more like a Pixar film with all the throwaway irreverent humor. The only difference is a Pixar would have had it from the beginning and not take half an hour for it to kick in. Also, as much as I like it, I still have to wonder what’s here for the kids, something else Disney does manage to get right. Their best recent films operate on two levels like an old Warner Brothers cartoon. Then again, if we’re talking about the kids who were sitting behind me in the theater, then fuck ‘em. In case you’re wondering about the next generation of obnoxious, asshole moviegoer, rest assure their demon spawn are now currently walking the earth. It was the rare occasion when I didn’t rise to catch an early flick to spare myself the presence of an audience and I did pay for it. These little shits didn’t stop their snide remarks about everything until the movie began officially, which is how you can tell they’re still in the larval stage. When they reach maturity, they’ll never shut up. And that’s when I’ll kill them.

YES, I INCLUDE MICHAEL DOUGLAS

The Day After Tomorrow is down to number three and melting polar glaciers aside, is there anything more frightening that the sight of Perry King as the President? Yes, Perry King, continuing the tradition of blandly attractive, middle-aged men in modern day portrayals of the president, the most notable being Bill Pullman in Independence Day, but also including Gregory Harrison in the “First” series of movies on TNT; Mark Harmon in Chasing Liberty and James Naughton in First Kid.

ALWAYS STEAL FROM THE BEST

Raising Helen holds at number four and Entertainment Weekly just needs to go ahead and fucking hire me, considering everything I say winds up in their magazine a week later. I extol the virtues of the original Punisher movie, they extol the virtues of the original Punisher. I say Kate Hudson’s career is going to hell, they say her career is going to hell. So, let’s give it another try. Just what the fuck is Joan Cusack doing in this movie other than collecting a paycheck? Didn’t she get some juice from the unjustified success of School of Rock? Granted, she’s not a leading lady, but she deserves more than the role of “dowdy foil” for Kate Hudson. And John Corbett is just determined to piss away what little heat Sex & The City gave him two freaking years ago. First, that lame series on cable and now this. Nia Vardalos can afford to screw up because she got a cut of the profits from My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but I’m pretty sure John-boy here did not. Any moment now I expect him to get into a bar brawl with Mark Ruffalo over who gets the next “nice boyfriend” role for a major Hollywood starlet. Not that forty-something John Corbett should have been the love interest for twenty-something Kate Hudson to begin with. Yeah, I’m back on that! At the rate her career is going she’ll be playing someone’s hot mother or cool aunt on Fox or The WB sooner than she thinks (Brooke Shields and Moria Kelly can explain it all to you).

MORE FUN FACTS FOR ALL YOU GRADS OF PUBLIC SCHOOL

Troy is down to number five and I’m running out of bile for this and can only hope Peter O’Toole was well-paid for his work. Some critics have praised his portrayal of Priam, the king of Troy, who humbles himself before Achilles in order to get back the body of his son, Hector, which Achilles dragged around by the heels after killing him (this was accurate and in fact, it was during his attendance of Hector’s funeral, when he was actually meeting to discuss peace that he was ambushed in Apollo’s temple and shot in his tendon by Paris), but it didn’t move me. Sorry, but Peter O’Toole is a god and this was nothing compared even some of his smaller roles, like the tutor in The Last Emperor, much less something great like My Favorite Year.

THE SIMPLEST ANSWER IS USUALLY THE CORRECT ONE

Mean Girls is down to number six, followed by Soul Plane at number seven and D.L. Hughley has a role in this and do you think guys like him and Jamie Foxx and Marlon Wayans get drunk together and wonder what it is that Eddie Murphy has that they sorely lack? Hell, even Martin Lawrence has done better than they have and they’re actually both funnier (not that it takes much to be funnier than Martin Lawrence) and not nearly as ugly (not that it takes much to be better looking than Martin Lawrence) so it can’t simply be looks and talent. Well. Maybe it’s because Eddie Murphy, even during his run of flops NEVER DID SHIT LIKE SOUL PLANE! Just a thought.

JACKMAN, HUGH JACKMAN

Van Helsing is down to number seven and I suspect Hugh Jackman will remain A-list despite this because why? Because everyone, male and female (as Sara Jessica Parker pointed out, when she essentially outed Nathan Lane for all of those who didn’t know---but if you didn’t know you probably weren’t watching The Tonys to begin with), will still want to fuck him and if you saw him singing and dancing in his tux on The Tonys, you know why. You can also see why there was talk of him taking over as James Bond. The man looks good in a tux. But better in claws. Excelsior!

I DIDN’T KNOW THERE WAS AN OSCAR FOR STATING THE FREAKING OBVIOUS

Man on Fire is still, still hanging around at number nine and also still here at number ten is Super Size Me and the fact that Michael Moore likes this guy only further damns him in my mind. But no wonder. Michael Moore thinks he’s special because he gave us the earth shattering news that corporations are heartless and guns are dangerous. Next up: his film on how water is wet.

THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF…A MAN OF LEISURE!

So, as A MAN OF LEISURE, I’m up for all leisure activities---providing I don’t actually have to get up or actually engage in any activity. But I don’t consider going out to eat and drink actually and activity and since it was happy hour, I didn’t have to get up. This is how I wound up at $1 oyster night at a bar/restaurant on Lower East Side just above Chinatown with the Former Miss Pretty Boy. In addition to a dozen oysters on the half-shell, there were potato pancakes with goat cheese and arugula, a lobster salad and fried calamari with three dipping sauces. All washed down with the latest martini in my life, the pomegranate martini. Best of all, because she recently got a promotion and I’m recently unemployed, The Former Miss Pretty Boy picked up the check. Ah, such is the life of A MAN OF LEISURE! After that, we went to her apartment where her fiancée made margaritas. Hey, it’s not like I had to get up the next day, for I am…A MAN OF LEISURE!

IT’S ALMOST ENOUGH TO MAKE ME GIVE UP BUTTERED BAGELS. ALMOST.

There were a lot more women than usual in the gym after the Memorial Day weekend, so I can only guess things weren’t quite as ready for beach viewing as they were anticipating. Apparently, just cutting back on bagels didn’t get rid of as much of that winter coat as they’d hoped. But oddly enough, when I dragged my guilty ass out of bed Friday morning to go for a swim (because I’d been out with The Former Miss Pretty Boy the previous night and didn’t work out), I saw nothing but freaking perfection. See, when you’re really good looking, chances are you make your living by being really good looking, so you don’t have to keep your average nine-to-five job, which is why I kept seeing flat stomachs and gravity defying buttocks attached to dangerously symmetrical faces. And on women no less! But the question is, will this be enough to get me out of bed again?

HEY, HE MADE MOVIES, HE DIES.

So death took someone really, really major this week in the form of ex-president Ronald Regan, who was an actor first, thus dooming him to death. And of course this will set off another round of fighting between the haters and the apologists, giving them a break from screaming at each other about the war. I was no fan of the late president by any means (yes, we’re going to tax your student loans and scholarships, but cut capital gains taxes), but it’s hard to gloat when a 93-year-old man dies after suffering from Alzheimer’s. Besides, I think the irony of him suffering from an incurable disease is readily apparent. It would be hypocritical to take pleasure in his suffering while condemning his lack of response to the AIDs crisis. Yes, this is the kind of thing reading too many Superman comics does to you. Now, if I were a Batman fan I’d be dancing on his fucking grave. Well, standing grimly on it while my dark cape fluttered in the midnight wind anyway. What’s really odd is that, despite her well-deserved rep as the Icy Queen of Evil (when your daughter gets her tubes tied because she’d rather not breed than be like you, then you’ve severely fucked up) Nancy Reagan actually tried to influence him on both homosexuals and abortion. If that’s surprising then you’re just not paying attention. She was an actress in Hollywood when being gay and getting abortions were hardly acceptable, but hardly unknown. I’m sure she had no small number of friends living secret lives, moreso than her husband ever would have.

DATE: AN APPOINTMENT TO GO OUT SOCIALLY

Jennifer Lopez got married again? Let’s see, he’s a B-list star (and that’s being kind), while she is totally A-list, despite not having a hit recently because of the true definition of “A-list” which, as we’ve learned, means everyone wants to fuck you. He’s also a Latin male. Hmm, what do you think is going to happen there? Think watching her become bigger and bigger (this remake of Shall We Dance is such an obvious slam dunk it’ll be a shock if it fails, not to mention starring with Jane Fonda in her comeback vehicle, Monster In Law) while he becomes “Mr. Jennifer Lopez.” Sorry, but that shit don’t fly in East Harlem, where he’s from. But she’s definitely gone back to lesser lights. There’s no way Mark Anthony will ever eclipse her the way Ben Affleck could, nor will any of his friends. Hell, even Puffy couldn’t really eclipse her, not to mention not being a star in the medium she truly lives for, film (think Puffy’s post Lopez acting career may have something to do with that?). Puffy had no Oscar, Oscar-winning ex-girlfriends, Oscar-winning best friend, box office hits, or history with successful directors to make her look small in comparison. And neither does Mark Anthony, whose latest film was a supporting role in Man On Fire. This might make a year, but not by much.

AREN’T THERE LAWS AGAINST THIS KIND OF BEHAVIOR?

Apparently Fred Durst has recently put the moves on Avril Lavigne---who blew him off. Hmm, can we see a pattern? Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera and now Avril Lavigne (whose new display of hips shows puberty has been kind to her as well). Hilary Duff, Lindsay Lohan, watch your backs, a creepy old guy is coming. Gee, think old Fred has a problem with mature women who might just question what a loser he is? Hell, even the young girls can see he’s a loser (with the exception of Britney, who nonetheless still retained the common sense to lie about knowing him). Well, it’s good to know R. Kelly has at least one person probably still in his corner. Well, two if you count Prince. Okay, three if you count Lenny Kravitz. Sorry, but in a world where Juliana Margulies walks around single and you have access to her, who the fuck chases children? I had semi-respect for him taking a shot at Halle Berry, but that was apparently a momentary surrender to reason.

FORGIVE US ALL. IT WAS THE 80’S.

Speaking of Brooke Shields, I’ve got a soft spot in my heart for her commercial where she dances around to “Obsession” by Animotion, then apologizes to her baby for playing it, saying, “It was the 80’s.” Damn right! And because I’m a trivial person, the closest thing to a follow-up hit was their song “Room To Move” where all but one member of the band had been replaced and the female lead was now Cynthia Rhodes, best known to most of you as cute blonde dancer in Toto’s “Roseanna” video (which was about Roseanna Arquette) the annoying cute blonde dancer from Flashdance, the cute blonde pregnant dancer who gets a bad abortion from Dirty Dancing, the cute blonde love interest dancer in Staying Alive and her worst role of all, Mrs. Richard Marx.

KELLY, WATCH THE STARS

So, star sightings have been rather dim these days, so this is it: Issac Mizrahi walking his dogs on 13th Street. Or was it Harvey Firestein?…Lili Taylor riding her bike down Sixth Avenue…Griffin Dunne walking along 9th Street…and the Reverend Al Sharpton sitting in a cigar bar on Sixth Avenue waiting for a tourist outside to take his picture.

SEX IN THE HIGH SCHOOL

The Sex & The City movie is off because Kim Cattrall won’t sign and even if she does, she wants script approval, which probably only Sarah Jessica Parker will get. Well, I’m for her. The show was on fumes when it ended, why totally ruin it with a big screen version, which will have the unfortunate side effect of showing us just how old all they really are? Sorry, but when even Kristin Davis (the prettiest cast member) is showing signs of age, you know you’re in trouble. And I don’t have to tell you what Sarah Jessica Parker and Kim Cattrall will look like with their crow’s feet forty feet high. The only thing I lament is that producer Michael King said the film was going to show us how they all met. That’s one thing I always felt was missing from the series. How did four such dissimilar people become close friends? Miranda and Sam would never be friends. And Charlotte would never friends with either of them. They might all be friendly with Carrie, but not close and they would most certainly all look down their noses at her, silly columnist who liked to wear ugly clothing. But according to the show, they had been friends since the 80’s. But fear not, the people at TBS, which will somehow be running it this summer, came up with a version of this in their promos. It’s pretty funny, showing the four of them at a lunch room table in 1982. The Sarah Jessica Parker girl is appropriately reading Judy Blume’s “Forever.” But I have no idea how TBS can run this show, even on cable. Yeah, I know they shot alternate versions just for this, but how can you make “up the butt” and “funky spunk” acceptable in any way, shape or form?

I’M GOING TO STOP INSISTING I’M NOT GAY. IT MAKES ME LOOK LIKE I’M LYING.

I didn’t mean to watch the Tonys. I really didn’t, but when I came past it and saw Hugh Jackman high-kicking with the Rockettes… Then came the audience shots of every Hollywood star they could find. They’re trying to get people like me to watch. But we won’t because we simply don’t like theater. We just don’t. It’s just odd seeing real people up there doing stuff. We need the safe distance of movies. Theater is too much like actual human interaction which is exactly what we’re trying to avoid. I only hung around long enough to see what I’d hoped they’d do: the “Defying Gravity” number from Wicked, which is what ran on Letterman so many months ago and got me started on this. Only this time Kristen Chenoweth was part of it. Plus, we got a shot of the husband of Idina Menzel (who won for Best Actress Musical), better known as Taye Diggs. Ironically, it’s still not enough to get me trying to see it again. I tried for a week. That’s all you get from me, theater. Unless my roommate suddenly gets a part in it, it’s doubtful I’ll try again. Then again, since I’m now A MAN OF LEISURE, maybe a matinee might work for me. But I’ll wait for this Tony heat to cool off first. Damn tourists.

SITE MAINTENANCE

So, since I have time on my hands, I will be updating the site during the week, most notably the “Shit You Need To See Section” which as been the same for about five years. You fuckers better be checking it. I’ve got better things to…aw, who the fuck I am I kidding? I’ve got nothing better to do. Watching “Footballer’s Wives” on Trio hardly counts. Besides, those accents are so thick they need fucking subtitles. And they blur out all the nudity!

6/1/04

“Like every man of sense and good feeling, I abominate work.” --- Aldous Huxley (I know we used this one last week, but it turned out to prophetic before the day’s end)

“GOTTA MAKE A MOVE TO A TOWN THAT’S RIGHT FOR ME…”

Shrek 2 holds on to the number one slot and the music has a weird indie aspect to it, the absolute shit theme song done by Counting Crows notwithstanding. Not only do you have Tom Waits as the voice of Captain Hook (singing in a dive bar prominent in the movie), but all sorts of little indie groups like Frou Frou. And they’re not just singing your average covers either. You’ve got Pete Yorn singing The Buzzcocks “Ever Fallen In Love With Someone,” (double your indie, double your fun) along with Butterfly Boucher doing David Bowie’s “Changes” (with a little vocal assist by the Thin White Duke himself) and the aforementioned Frou Frou doing “Holding On For A Hero.” Not to mention songs by The Eels, Dashboard Confessional (a group I dislike simply because of their “obviously-to-get-pussy” name) and Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. It’s as if the obviously indie-inclined music guy decided to give all his favorite bands some work (but “Funkytown” is the original by Lipps Inc, not that shitty attempt at a rock cover that popped up a few years ago) Again, this is not for the kids which is probably why it’s doing so well. You’ve got people like me, who fucking hated the first one, gushing over their favorite jokes from this one (with me it’s the parody of “Cops” which is called “Knights where Puss In Boots gets busted with catnip that he insists is not his).

THERE’S GOT TO BE A MORNING AFTER

The Day After Tomorrow opens at number two and there are few things as reliable as the disaster movie. You have the Obvious Disaster About To Happen, the Guy Who Warns It’s Going To Happen, The Idiots Who Ignore Him, The Young People Guaranteed To Survive, The Cannon Fodder Doomed To Die To Generate Faux Emotions and The Ending To Let You Know It’s All Right. This is no exception to those rules. All that’s really missing is a really cheesy theme song. Also, they go easy on killing The Idiots. Usually, they all meet horrible ends, but they strangely spare them this go around. And there’s not as much Cannon Fodder either. I mean, sure, millions and perhaps billions die, but we never see them, much less get to know them. But this is what we pay to see. Hell, a million tickets alone were sold from the sight of New York being not just being flooded, but also a frozen wasteland. Some questioned the tastefulness of using New York in the wake of 9/11, but they need to stop being such pussies. It’s a freaking science fiction movie and bad science at that. And it’s not like they were knocking down the World Trade Center again. Hell, the Japanese made trashing their country in a national pastime barely ten years after having not one, but two atomic bombs dropped on them and they suffered a helluva lot more. I question the use of the term “artistic instincts” for someone like Roland Emmerich, but I’m glad he stuck to his. Apparently in other countries you see other landmarks trashed. Posters in England and Australia show Big Ben frosted over and a wave hitting the Sidney Opera house (http://www.beyondcommunion.com/film/dayafttertomorrow_international.jpg). But I’ll be super pissed if this actual footage exists and we never got to see it. Just watching New York and LA go down really wasn’t enough for me. I mean, who the fuck went to see this movie to see Dennis Quaid and Jake Gyllenhall reconcile as father and son? No one. We went to see cities get trashed and then walk out knowing we’re all right. It’s cathartic. This means the more cities the better. Besides, it would allow nations all over the world to vent their not-so-secret hatreds of one another. Trust me, the footage of America suffering along has guaranteed international box office and if they’d had some footage of Paris going under, then this would have beaten out Shrek 2 this weekend.

WHO WOULD NAME A DETERGENT AFTER A SUICIDIAL WARRIOR?

Troy is down to number three and where else does this fuck up? Oh, it has Hector killing Ajax after an intense battle. In fact, it was seen as a testament to Ajax’s skills as a warrior that he not only survived the battle with Hector, but actually managed to wound Hector at one point. In the end, however, he killed himself after failing to win the armor of the late Achilles, who does meet his end at the end of Paris’s arrow, but only after incorrectly helping to invade the city in the Trojan Horse. Neither Paris or Achilles lived to see the fall of Troy. Still, it’s kind of fitting that young, upcoming pretty boy, Orlando Bloom, with his quiver full of huge hits (Lord of the Rings, Pirates of the Caribbean) is the one to kill the aging pretty boy, Brad Pitt, his quiver empty for almost a decade (Brad Pitt has not headlined a hit film since se7en in 1995). I once asked before how he and Angelina Jolie remain so A-list hot when all their films fail and I was told that it’s because everyone wants to fuck them. I cannot argue with that logic. Ironically, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are currently making a film together, supposedly with explicit sex scenes to try and guarantee someone shows up to see it. Sorry, but it didn’t work with Antonio Banderas in Original Sin so it’s probably not going to work for them either. Though the fact Doug Liman is directing does offer some limited hope.

AND HOUSESITTER COULD’VE EASILY BEEN CALLED “GOLDIE HAWN’S ASS”

Sorry, but you couldn’t pay me to see Kate Hudson’s Ass. I’m sorry, I mean Raising Helen, which opens poorly at number four after a three day weekend. Hell, Troy made more and it’s three hours long and has been out for three weeks. I keep calling it Kate Hudson’s Ass because that’s what the poster is all about: Kate Hudson’s Ass. I mean, I see no kids, I see no John Corbett and I sure as hell don’t see the other Oscar nominee, Joan Cusack. All I see is Kate Hudson’s Ass. And maybe if it had actually been about her ass, I might have seen it. As it is, Gary Marshall makes shit. He’s funny as hell in a movie, but he makes shit. He inflicted Julia Roberts on us with Pretty Woman and for that he shall never be forgiven. And his myopia is sad in its relentlessness. He fails to see the sordid nature of being a hooker ruins any romance, he fails to see the sadness of the mentally deficient in love (The Other Sister) ruins that romance, he fails the see the horrific nature of Rose O’Donnell in anything sexual (Exit To Eden) ruins the sexuality of that and he fails to see that you simply cannot make a silly family comedy about a bunch of kids who lose their parents and a woman who loses her sister. It’s simply not fucking funny. My big problem with Party of Five was always that teenagers who suffer that kind of trauma would act out. Period. Drinking, drugs, promiscuity, they would vent their anger and pain somehow. They wouldn’t just act like a normal family who simply didn’t have any parents. Same here. Kids aren’t just going to go on like nothing happened, laughing and playing with their new mommy. They’re going to be angry and even she’s going to be a little angry at losing her life over this. Even in Houseboat with Cary Grant almost 50 years ago, the kids had a certain amount of anger over losing their mother. One credit I will give Kevin Smith for Jersey Girl is that in one scene he has Ben Affleck vent his anger to his daughter over the fact that getting married and having to raise a child alone cost him the career that he loved. It was probably the only truly honest moment in the film. Something Garry Marshall is incapable of. He’d better be glad he’s got The Princess Diaries 2 coming up after this.

I’M AN CRANKY OLD MAN TOO, BUT I’M NOT A MORON

Soul Plane opens at number five and once again this film has set off all the Old Black People who hate anything that doesn’t depict Black people with a kind of Sidney Poitier purity. These complainers are the same people who bitched and moaned over the Blaxploitation films in the 70’s. You know what? GET. A. FUCKING. LIFE. Among the problems of Black people in the modern world (racism, crime, poverty, drugs and the belief that Eddie Griffin and Martin Lawrence are even remotely funny) I hardly think a movie that paid a lot of them well for doing relatively nothing is high on the list. In fact, the irony present is that most of the Black people who will this film will steal it in the form of bootlegs, thus guaranteeing that it doesn’t make the money it should and thusly fuck with all the futures of all those involved. Now that’s a cycle of self-destruction that should be addressed, not the danger of Snoop Dogg not giving a positive portrayal of Black people onscreen. And face it, if someone is a bigot, they’re hardly going to be changed by a movie. I hardly think Sidney Poitier caused one racist anywhere to take pause and think, “Hmmm, his noble portrayal makes me think maybe I’m wrong in burning that cross on The Johnson’s yard last week.” Know why? ‘CAUSE THEY WOULDN’T SEE A FUCKING SIDNEY POITER MOVIE TO BEGIN WITH! I take heart in the fact that these complainers just get older and closer to death with every passing day.

I SAY OLD CHAP, SHE IS SIMPLY SMASHING

Mean Girls is down to number six, followed by Van Helsing at number seven and Kate Beckinsale along with Rachel Weisz is the latest in a long line of hot English brunettes to hit these shores (Thandie Newton is hot too, but not germane to this discussion). Strangely the English don’t seem to make good blondes. Or maybe the haughty English tones with blonde hair just make them too cold, but brown hair and an English accent go well, all the way back to Olivia DeHaviland and Merle Oberon. It continued on through the hottest Englishwoman ever, Jacqueline Bisset and the woman who could’ve been her sister, Charlotte Rampling. There were pretenders to the throne in the 80’s, with Amanda Pays, Rachel Ward, Helena Bonham Carter and one my faves, Amanda Donohoe (who can actually be seen with Hugh Grant in Lair of the White Worm) but the closest to Jacqueline Bisset has been the skanky Liz Hurley, from whom Beckinsale has picked up the torch. But I still take issue with the fact they do nudity (full frontal no less) in English movies, but stop when they come to America, even though we’re giving them more money. What the fuck is up with that?

THE END

Finally, Man on Fire is down to number eight, 13 Going On 30 is down to number nine and Super Size Me hangs on in the top ten at number ten with it’s oddly popular idea of “Hey, let’s state the completely fucking obvious.”

FREE AT LAST, FREE AT LAST. THANK GOD I’M FREE AT LAST

So I’m free! Yes, I no longer have nine-to-five job. As of Monday, I am now one of the great masses of unemployed Americans. I am a “Man of Leisure.” Ah. Feels like coming home. My year of unemployment in my 20’s was the best fucking year of my life. Because I signed a legal document prohibiting me form slagging my former employer, I can only say that the responsibility of the COMPLETE AND UTTER FUCKING WASTE OF THE LAST 12 YEARS OF MY LIFE falls upon me and me alone. And they do. I could’ve left at any time, but I’m a lazy bastard and have always thought that sex and success would simply knock at my door one day. Oops. Needless to say, this means the end of therapy. Aside from the simple cost of it, given that one half of my depression probably came from my job alone, I’m pretty much cured by the end of it. Ironically, this comes when I get my first sign of any real progress, when a disastrous encounter with The Otter Queen (the probably other half of my depression, 9/11 notwithstanding) strangely left me no worse for wear, when normally it would have sent me fetal. It was amazing. It was like being thrown off a building only to realize you can fly. Yes, I’m still a control freak, but that’s only a problem when you’re wrong. The funniest part of the layoff was the extra-consideration they now play in showing you the door because they’re so afraid of you coming back with an AK-47. Like I have that kind of motivation. If I didn’t have it in high school, I sure as hell don’t have it now. I was spoken to in only the most soothing and comforting tones and all my needs were seemingly prepared to be met (they were prepared to send me home in a car). I had to fight to laugh when asked if I needed a box to pack up, when I’d not only cleaned my office out last October, but had taken to keeping a bag under my desk for over a year for just such an occasion (or if I went off and told the CEO to go fuck himself, like I desperately wanted to do and then stormed out). I was let go on a Monday, which prevented me from filing for unemployment immediately because I’d technically worked that week. Hmmm. What a coincidence. I’m sure they didn’t FUCKING PLAN IT THAT WAY! It was merely a coincidence. I’d love to spend the summer just becoming an even fatter bastard, but with my luck I’ll probably find something immediately, given mockery to my last seven fucking months of job searching. I had two interviews at Nickelodeon/Spike/Comedy Central, but that turned into shit. Too bad too. Fuck my liberal political views, there are few things better than working for a major conglomerate like Viacom. I would have been in the MTV building too. I live for the opportunity to tell John Norris, “You’re old and you’re bald. Get a real job! Jesus, even Tabitha Soren left.” Now, my celebration of my freedom has been somewhat low-key. Some people drink, I eat like a pig. Since the “layoff” it’s been chicken nuggets, tacos, another batch of coconut shrimp, cinnamon raisin bagels that are fucking soaked in butter, frozen pizza with extra mozzarella, margaritas, cupcakes and never-ending pints of ice cream. It’s okay, because when you sleep twelve hours a day, you actually don’t eat as much. I tell myself I can now work out every day at my leisure, but what’s the chance of that happening, really? So, my only plans now are to go home and see my parents and then go on vacation in New Orleans. After that maybe the job hunt will begin because my habits are a bit too expensive for the dole. Shit, I spent $30 on comics just last week alone. Factor porn, DVDs and cheese into that and you’ve got a man who needs a real job. And if you’re waiting on that traditional gathering in a bar to send me off, don’t hold your breath, because I was lying when I said I’d do it. Are you kidding me? I hated going to others, so you think I’m going to inflict one on myself? Some of you fuckers will never, ever see me again. But don’t take it personally. My mom barely sees me twice a year. You actually think you’re going to get more consideration than the woman who bore me? Besides, I tend to nap between five and eight. Not to mention it’s Cary Grant month on Turner Movie Classics. I’m planning on my first bedsores by July.

SO AMERICAN PIE WAS QUAINT COMPARED TO THE REALITY

The article about teen sex in the New York Times magazine this week both frightened and depressed me. It frightened me because it made me realize just how old I am, as the internet now plays an incredible part in the social lives of today’s kids. Something someone my age would obviously know nothing about. Look at the total absence of it in Mean Girls, written by 30-something Tina Fey. Because she’s old, it never occurred to her this might exist. Most of the phone conversations between the girls would have actually taken place by email or instant messengering. What’s even more depressing is how easy the girls of today are simply giving it away under the delusion that this somehow empowers them. I call it a delusion because the girls openly admit to often getting no sexual pleasure from the hookup. The sole purpose of a hookup is sexual pleasure. If you’re not getting even that then how can you possibly be “empowered” by it? This is why male domination of the world will continue for yet another generation, because we’ve managed to delude you into thinking something that benefits only us also benefits you. Previous examples of this are “bald men are virile” and “women mature faster than men.” My favorite is the latter because it allows me to act like an infant while you stupidly endure it thanks to a benefit-free feeling of superiority. It’s akin to the Black guy taking the bus feeling superior to the White guy in the Mercedes because he has rhythm and the White guy doesn’t. Please. Take the fucking “Electric Slide” and give me the superior automotive import. But what’s really mind-blowing about these hookups is that they usually result from an exchange like this:

Him: You wanna?

Her: Sure.

Him: Come on over.

Her: Okay.

I mean they’re even coming to your house to either bone or blow you! Man, was I ever born in to the wrong decade, ‘cause I’m all about the no-effort sex. They’re not even working for it now. Hell, I’m almost forty and still working for it (okay, so I’m too lazy to work for it, but if I wanted it I would have to do some work). What’s ironic about this is, my generation was perhaps the last to follow the traditional rules of dating---not that I dated then either. Even funnier still is that these rules disappeared in the post-WWII era and didn’t really come back until the 60’s & 70’s. In other words, there was probably more sex between teenagers going on in the 40’s and 50’s than in the 60’s and 70’s. Funnier still is that Gay teenagers tend not to engage in these random sexual encounters as much and state that flat out in their internet activity. But what didn’t surprise me is that there’s more fucking in the suburbs than in the cities. It’s always been that way. There’s nothing to do but fuck in the suburbs. The most boring city nights beat the most exciting suburb or rural nights hand down.

OPRAH’S ON!

So, because I’m now at home during the day, I’ve discovered Oprah. Last week I caught George Michael and Sharon Stone. Sadly, I missed Halle Berry and all her insane glory. Sharon Stone is crazy too, but I don’t want to fuck her. Well, not as much. George Michael was both sad and interesting. Interesting because he was explaining where he’s been (mourning his mother) and sad because he’s gotten an eye job. I didn’t want to believe it when Original Geek pointed it out to me, but it’s pretty obvious. Now he’s just another gay man struggling to hang on to his youth so he can keep his young, pretty boyfriend. He’s put on weight too. Thankfully, he sounds the same. He did his boring new single and closed with “Faith” but his centerpiece was my favorite George Michael song: “Father Figure.” This song means a lot to me, not simply because it’s good or because it was one of the first songs I actually semi-learned on guitar, but because of not one, but two women on a drunken night in a bar after a wine-tasting (it would be three, but I don’t count the one that was married). Yes, we went to a bar after a wine tasting. Talk about asking for trouble. You’d think between that much booze and two women I might have gotten some (at one point I was actually dragged into the women’s bathroom but it was just for emotional support). Instead, all I got was some guy making a pass at me. Sigh.

NONE OF THIS IS LOUD BECAUSE I’M OLD

So, I’d planned on picking up Frou Frou before the Shrek 2 soundtrack, but that sealed it. It also made me finally decide to get Butterfly Boucher’s album. My buddy, Original Geek, had introduced her to me about a month or so ago. He also introduced me to the English group Faithless. It’s a band with Dido’s brother and she was actually a backup vocalist for them before she got noticed and went off on her own solo career. The song that got me was “Don’t Leave.” And you have to get the “floating mix” version of it. Also, because I love her sister, Shelby Lynne, and since she seems to be moving in that direction, I also picked up the new album from Allison Moorer. And because I initially couldn’t find these albums at my local cd store, I bought a compilation of Brazilian music called “Caipirinha.” And yes, it includes the proper recipe to make the drink. It’s okay, but not nearly as good as the soundtrack to Woman On Top, but that’s Brazilian jazz. And since I was on a music roll, I decided to indulge in a little downloading, locating the lost jewel of Jim Steinman’s solo album. For those of you who don’t know, Jim Steinman was the man behind Meatloaf. You can always tell a Jim Steinman song because it has the slow build up, the crashing crescendo of the main chorus and then the slow exit. Think of “Two Outta Three Ain’t Bad” “I’d Do Anything For Love But I Won’t Do That” (by the way, “that” refers to “lying”) “It’s All Coming Back To Me Now” and probably his best example of this, “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” In any case, when Meatloaf began to have his breakdown and his voice failed, Jim Steinman took the songs he’d written for him and recorded them himself. Needless to say, he needed Meatloaf as much as Meatloaf needed him, but I still liked “Rock & Roll Dreams Come True” which I actually managed to find and download. Ah, what did we do before the internet?

YOU KNOW IT’S ALL ABOUT THE ART WHEN THEY KILL THE HOTTEST BABES

So, they killed off Drea DeMatteo on The Sopranos last week, which means I’ll never have to even glance at it again. While some may claim she was killed for her new sitcom opportunity, anyone who knows anything about Sopranos creator David Chase knows he probably had her death planned from the moment she was made a government informant, if not from the very beginning. Besides, it’s not like there isn’t ample time between Sopranos seasons to do another show. I watched the episode on fast forward on video-on-demand and she sadly died without another gratuitous scene in her underwear. Oh, well. I’m sure during sweeps they’ll find ample excuse for it on “Joey” the “Friends” spin-off where she plays Joey’s sister. It’s already been shown to the press with positive response. Shit. I love that she’s going to be making money hand-over-fist, but I hate that I’ll have to watch it just to see her. But who knows, I eventually couldn’t watch The Cosby Show to look at Lisa Bonet and Lois & Clark was so stupid, I never saw it again after the first season, so I do have my limits. Speaking of Teri Hatcher, I finally watched a full episode of Two And A Half Men because she was on it (still pretty, but still too thin) and it was much better than I expected, mainly because they don’t even try to be cute and precocious with the kid. In fact, the humor is mean-spirited even when directed towards him, which you never see.

“LET IT FLY IN THE BREEZE/GET CAUGHT IN THE TREES/MAKE A HOME FOR THE BEES IN MY HAIR…”

Finally, I saw a film called Code 46, which won’t be released until this August but I have to comment on one aspect of it now because it so disturbed me. There’s one incident of nudity in the whole film, which is odd for director Michael Winterbottom, but the fact that it’s full frontal is not. It’s of Samantha Morton and I could have died a happy man without knowing she prefers the full bikini wax (and it looked brand new too). Sorry, but I was just not prepared to see a forty-foot hairless vagina in final minutes of an Orwellian science fiction movie. This only strengthened my resolve to make it illegal when I’m king. Sorry, but you’d better have at least a landing strip or Hitler mustache (which will still result in fine; only a “V” shape will be tolerated, no matter how small), otherwise you’re going to jail and not getting out until it grows back. I don’t care if we have to Rogaine your pussy. You’re not walking the streets of my world hairless. Sorry, but it’s just creepy. Only children are hairless. And while I appreciate and even practice grooming for aesthetic and odor reasons (the onset of summer temperatures results in the one thing I truly hate about it: sweaty crotch, which means the boys are not wearing a sweater again until October), taking it all off is simply not the answer.