JULY '04 ARCHIVE

7/26/2004

“A man should be careful not to raise the anger of a woman, for he has to sleep sometimes---and with his eyes closed.” --- Chinese Proverb

WHO NEEDS Q?

The Bourne Supremacy opens at number and Matt Damon has formally left Ben Affleck in the dust, which is amazing considering he’s the shorter and uglier of the two. Then again, Good Will Hunting wasn’t about Ben Affleck, now was it? Almost the entire cast of the first one is back, albeit some only briefly (and some ain’t gonna be around for that third), as one of the saddest sequel clichés occurs in the first ten minutes. The rest of the movie is spent with another one. Matt Damon himself stumbled across what makes Jason Bourne appealing and that’s the fact he’s an average guy superman. Like John McClane in the Die Hard, he’s the average guy doing James Bond things, so it’s easier for people to relate to him. Also, it’s a bit more interesting to watch. I mean, are you really so surprised someone who looks like Sean Connery or Pierce Brosnan does amazing things? They’re supposed to. They look like gods. But when some pug ugly bastard like Matt Damon does (and don’t tell me he’s not fugly, because he is), it’s much more impressive. And if you thought he did some shit in the first film, he does everything but fly in this one. And it extends to vehicles too. Suddenly, because Jason Bourne is driving it, a Russian cab becomes an almost indestructible vehicle, taking out a series of Mercedes, including an SUV. The cab was either an Audi or a BMW, but either way, their guys are smiling while Mercedes guys are going “We gave them our cars for this shit?” But the real star of The Bourne Identity for me is Joan Allen. She’s a ball busting, take-no-shit Deputy Director of the CIA and my love of her causes this film to border on porn. All that was missing was for her to have a gun in her hand. Paul Greengrass replaces Doug Liman as director on this and his presence is missed, as Greengrass has the annoying habit of going in and out of focus to try and imbue the film with a type of grittiness, as if the less-than-picturesque settings of urban Berlin and Moscow don’t already accomplish this (housing projects are shit the world over).

JUST BECAUSE IT’S ABOUT ROBOTS DOESN’T MEAN YOU ACT LIKE ONE

Down to number two is I, Robot and you know you’re in trouble when the robot is easily the most interesting character in your movie. But it’s not just a robot. Like Lord of the Rings, the robot in this case is partially played by a person, with CGI then laid on top of him. What a double-edged sword that is. “Hi, mom. I’m gonna be in a big budget summer movie with Will Smith. Um, a robot. No, I’m not wearing a robot suit, I’m kinda like…um. Well, it’s my voice. And my body. Kinda. Um, look, I’m gonna be able to pay off my student loans now, okay? So let’s just be glad about that. Talk to you soon. Bye.” But at least he has an excuse. What’s Bridget Moynahan’s? I fully expected the big twist to be that she was actually a robot, so wooden was she, but alas, it was just her, she whose career depends of Famke Janssen being too busy. You know her best as the young wife of “Mr. Big” on Sex & The City, but she became my hero recently when she dumped her writer boyfriend for Super Bowl winning quarterback, Tom Brady. Why would I, writer geek myself, find this to be a good thing? Because it’s the reality of the world. Much in the way Joey Lauren Adams left fat boy geek Kevin Smith for Vince Vaughn. Hot women with dweebs is a violation of the natural order of the universe and it’s always funny when it rights itself and these dweebs are surprised by it. She left a writer for a fucking jock. The pretty girl is dating a 6’4” two-time Super Bowl Winner. Why should that surprise anyone!?! If he’s a real writer, this should just fuel his writing. Look to the future for a movie about a model who leaves her boyfriend for a football star.

BECAUSE PUSSYWOMAN SOUNDS DIRTY

Catwoman opens at number three and was there ever any doubt how much this would suck? From the very idea to remove all traces of Batman to the hiring of some Eurotrash, one-named director, it was doomed to failure. Why would anyone think this would work? As much as I hate Tim Burton, at least his planned version with Michelle Pfeiffer would have been somewhat interesting, if for nothing more than her performance. They keep the basic concept from that movie, of a woman being mousy, pushed around, then ultimately killed and seemingly resurrected by cats, but in this one they throw a whole Egyptian motif into it, which could have been interesting, but for that you’d need talented writers. Now, I can’t get too hardcore geeky about it, because in the comic books, Catwoman has also been through numerous origins. Originally, she was a jewel thief called “The Cat” who turned out to be a stewardess with amnesia. Then later, she revealed she as lying about the whole stewardess thing, but it was okay, since Batman didn’t believe her anyway (this was the Golden Age Batman of the 40’s and 50’s who later married Catwoman and had a superhero daughter, The Huntress). In the 80’s, Frank Miller revamped Catwoman again and now she was a flat out S&M hooker who is inspired by Batman to start wearing a costume and start stealing. This was bit too much for DC Comics, so they amended it and removed the whole hooker thing. But in none of these incarnations did she ever have superpowers. Apparently, studio execs are obsessed with comic characters having superpowers, so now she has them. Being brought back by Bath, the Egyptian cat goddess, means Halle Berry can not only run and jump like a cat, but has “cat senses” and needs to sleep like one as well. Yawn. But I use Halle Berry “loosely” in this because, I’d say 90% of her jumping around was CGI and she had three stuntpeople, one of whom was a man. Hell, as my boy, O.G. (Original Geek) points out, even her milk mustache is a computer effect. That’s how lame this is. And the plot? Catwoman versus an even cosmetics empire? Could we be more pathetically sexist? Why not have her fight an evil tampon company? Saving women from toxic shock? Or maybe the makers of breast implants. Given that she’s Black, I suppose we’re lucky that she wasn’t fighting a fried chicken manufacturers or the makers of Hennessey. But what really makes this movie suck, what really makes it painful to watch, are the scenes with Halle and her gal-pal. Their dialogue is horrifically bad, so leaden, so misguided with clichés (do you need me to tell you the best friend is heavyset?) it sounds like what a bunch of frat boys would do with a Sex & The City script. But believe it or not, Halle Berry isn’t as bad as I expected her to be. She can actually do strong and sexy well, but only when downplayed, as in Swordfish. When she kicked it up a notch in Die Another Day, it wasn’t nearly as appealing. And no, it wasn’t simply the nudity. She was at her sexiest in her first meeting with Hugh Jackman (and I still say we were cheated out of a sex scene). Benjamin Bratt is no Hugh Jackman and while he may be pretty, he doesn’t spark with Halle Berry at all. And only Sharon Stone seems to realize just what this was and applies the appropriate level of camp performance. But can we say there’s progress being made here, given that minorities are the good guys here and the White, blonde woman is the bad guy? Nah, I wasn’t going for it either. All this proves is that you can make bad, big budget summer movies with minorities the same way you can with White people (as if Bad Boys 2 didn’t prove that last year).

AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THE TEETH

Spider-Man 2 is down to number and Kirsten Dunst has said after she finishes up her contract for the third one, she’s done with it. Good riddance. Sorry, I love Bring It On and crazy/beautiful deserved better than it got, but she is not Mary Jane. In the comics, Mary Jane is a freaking professional model, something Kirsten Dunst could never do. And for god’s sake! This is a $200M movie. Put. Her. In. A. Fucking. Bra. My god, do you have any idea just how unattractive a pair of jiggling breasts has to be to make a man want them hidden?

NEVER TOO YOUNG TO BE A DIRTY OLD MAN

A Cinderella Story is down to number four and isn’t this guy a wee bit too old to be playing high school kids? I mean, I will confess to briefly being interested in One Tree Hill, but the fact that everyone is simply too damn old-looking to be in high school is distracting to me. Not to mention this is starting the whole Hollywood trend of younger female actors with older male actors way early (coincidentally, he was also Lindsay Lohan’s love interest in Freaky Friday). Face it, the difference between 23 and 17 is pretty damn large. I mean if your friend who you just graduated college with told you they were dating a high schooler, you’d wonder what the fuck was wrong with them.

HEY, HUMPHREY BOGART WAS TINY TOO.

Anchorman is down to number five, and also starring in this is Paul Rudd, whom I saw on the street during my night out in the meatpacking district and yes, he’s no taller than I am, so that 5’9” stuff is bullshit. Now, Lisa Kudrow actually does have some height, so if he was her love interest on Friends, then she was in flats and he was always in boots to hide this little discrepancy.

LIFE AFTER CAMELOT

Fahrenheit 9/11 is down to number seven, followed by The Notebook at number eight and King Arthur is sadly down to number nine, thus insuring Clive Owen’s participation in a third round of BMW commercials, Ioan Gruffudd in another Horatio Hornblower, and Keira Knightley’s inability to ask for too much more money for Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s too bad Ray Winstone’s performance as Bors is wasted, because it’s easily the highlight of the film and I’m sure a welcome relief for him. I mean, how many middle-aged, abusive English husbands can the man play?

GOTTA SPEND MONEY TO MAKE IT

Finally, Shrek 2 reenters the top ten at number ten. It went public last week, so do you think a bunch of stockholders went out to see it just to inflate their holdings so they could dump it quickly for a tidy little profit?

WHAT TIME IS IT!?!

So I’m a little pissed at Prince. O.G. in Atlanta told me The Time opened up for him there, so I was looking forward to a little “Jungle Love” “Cool” and “777-9311” when I saw Prince here. Nope. No opening act. Then I learn that New Jersey, fucking Jersey, got them too. WHAT. THE. FUCK? Normally, I’d think I was getting gypped, but if you know anything about Prince and The Time, you know he probably just didn’t want to share the biggest venue in America with them. When they toured together in the 80’s, if Morris Day got too popular a response, he would flat out be told by Prince not to do certain things. And then we all know how Terry Lewis and Jimmy Jam, who were once the bass and keyboards for The Time, were fired by Prince. They consoled themselves by going on to write and produce Janet Jackson, Boys II Men, New Edition, Herb Alpert, Usher and damn near everyone else, making millions and millions and millions of dollars. After The Time broke up, Prince formed another band called The Family and wrote a little song for them called “Nothing Compares 2 U.” Ironically, the same week Prince was here, Morris Day was in town with Rick James and Teena Marie. Prince also has a history with Rick James. They used to tour together and it was Rick James who’d get pissed when Prince would outplay him all the time. Plus, Prince stole Vanity from him and that probably hurt most of all.

LOOKS FADE, KIDS. SMARTS IS FOREVER.

I’ve lost some TV shows recently, so how happy was I to discover Entourage? This is now my favorite fucking show in the world. I watched the first show over and over during the week it was so good. In case you didn’t know, it’s based on the life of Mark Wahlberg and his crew, whose names they actually use (“Turtle” “Johnny Drama”). But, of course, what I really like about it is the center of the group is actually the short, smart, less-attractive best friend. THAT’S RIGHT, GODDMANIT! I mean, um. It’s interesting. But you don’t have to guess what the writers on the show look like, now do you? I can pretty much guarantee you none of them look like freaking Adrian Grenier, who was saved by this show from a career as a C-list pretty boy. My favorite line so far? As a joke, two of the entourage tell the other that his ex-girlfriend was now with Vince Vaughn and he replies, “Vince Vaughn? That puffy muthafucka!?!” To which they reply, “No, this was Swingers Vince Vaughn, not Old School Vince Vaughn.” This makes me think of The Larry Sanders Show and greater praise is hard to find.

SOME CLOTHING IS WORTH DYING FOR, BUT NOT JEANS

That Levis commercial about the mannequin stalking the guy who bought the jeans is just plain creepy, because you know he’s going to kill him to get them back. That doesn’t make me want to buy their jeans. It makes me even more creeped out by mannequins than I already am.

IT’S BEST TO LOVE FROM AFAR---SO SHE WON’T CALL THE COPS

So, my absence from yoga class last week was noticed by Hot Yoga Instructor, who then engaged me in a brief discussion during class over where I’d gone on my night out. I was almost buoyed by it (as much as it being yet another wonderfully braless class for her), but in the conversation after class, I was abruptly dismissed at the bottom of the stairs by a sudden, “Well, see you next week,” meaning “This conversation is over. Go away, geek.” Sigh.

WE’RE STARTING A BAND

So, I actually saw The Bourne Supremacy with Around The Way Girl because she’d asked me about it weeks earlier, having liked the first one, which surprised me. In any case, she instantly reminded me why I don’t have movie buddies any longer. First, I had to wait on her. I mean it was an 11:30 showing on a Sunday morning. Who cares what you look like? But oh no, Miss Thing had to look good. Then, she made me take the bus to 42nd Street. FROM 49TH! Sigh. It was abated somewhat by her paying my admission, but still…it’s the principle of the thing! Then, because we were later than I’d like, we didn’t have our choice of prime seats (it was unusually crowed for a Sunday morning) and had to sit behind guys I’d have avoided instantly, because I knew they were going to talk. They didn’t do it too much, but any is annoying to me, especially for a morning show. Afterwards, we had brunch at Cajun Grill on 48th & 9th. I’d had dinner there years before and it was good, if a bit pricey for my cheap ass. It was an odd meal. It wasn’t bad, but nothing tasted as it should’ve, especially to two people from the south. Not the biscuits, not the grits (which were like oatmeal) and definitely not the French toast, which wasn’t challah bread, but some weird-ass thick raisin loaf. But she was happy, because there was a live band doing jazz standards (she used to sing). One of her roommates needed to borrow some Mac OS discs I happened to have on-hand (courtesy of Bad Influence), so I spent the next hour or so hanging with them in her apartment while he loaded the software. He had a guitar and since Prince I’ve been more inclined to pick it up, so in a rare instance of sober behavior, I actually played in front of another human being. Even worse, he had a book of Beatles music and through some odd circumstance, Around The Way Girl wound up dragging our her keyboards so they could attempt some harmony as we punished “In My Life.” Needless to say, we also will not be opening for Prince anytime soon.

MONDAY NIGHTS WILL SOON BE GREAT AGAIN

Smell that? It’s still July, but it’s already sliding in over the horizon. Football season. Yeah, baby!

7/19/2004

“I wish it. I command it. Let my will take the place of reason.” --- Juvenal

I, STUPID

I, Robot opens at number one and sometimes I do lament growing up, because if I were still a kid, Will Smith would so be my hero. Yes, race does play a part in it, because even though I had no problem seeing myself as Luke Skywalker or Superman, I found myself buying really lame comic books like Black Lightning simply because he looked more like me. Trust me, it’s like this for everyone, Black, Latin, Asian, Jewish, Italian, even female…it’s always nice when your hero actually looks somewhat like you. Will Smith would have been great because he’s never, ever been the sidekick. He was the kick ass cop who gets laid (Bad Boys 1 & 2) and not the comic relief sidekick who dies, or the sensible family man. He was the fighter pilot who helps saves the world (Independence Day). He was the new, young agent to help protect Earth (Men In Black). He was the wrong man in the wrong place and time facing evil government agents (Enemy of the State). And in a role that gave me mixed feelings because I so loved the series, he was secret agent James West in the horrible Wild Wild West remake. We’re going to pretend The Legend of Bagger Vance never happened because I refused to see him play “happy magic nigger” for Matt Damon. But I’m not a kid and Will Smith is actually younger than I am and tends to annoy me even when I’m trying to like him (and Jada Pinkett, his “nobody-knows-I’m-a-lesbian” wife just makes my bile rise). But if you are a fan and especially female or gay, then the first five minutes are just for you. Will Smith rises from bed buffed up in just black boxer briefs. And if that wasn’t enough, he loses the boxers to take a shower, filling the screen with nekkid Fresh Prince ass. In I, Robot, based on a collection of Isaac Asimov stories that I read and have completely forgotten, he’s the only person in the future who hates robots, which are a harmless part of everyday human existence. And not that you can ask for much realism in a movie about robots in the future, you still have a hard time believing any good cop is this much of an asshole. And even in the future, shouldn’t homicide detectives have partners? But when you’re the star and executive producer you I guess you don’t need one and see the advantages of not paying yet another actor. Will Smith is the improbably named Dell Spooner, who is investigating the first murder committed by a robot ever and of course, stumbles onto something more. Now, if you’ve ever seen a science fiction movie in your life, you know the secret the moment the first clue appears onscreen. I’ve seen many, not to mention all the childhood reading, so I knew instantly, so now it was just about the bells and whistles for me. Eh. I mean, it’s fun watching all the robots and special effects (again, something I would have enjoyed more as a kid) but the loss of a substantial context cost it for me. And the illogic just kills it. On one hand we have this super-sophisticated future, where computers drive your car for you at speeds of 185 mph, but strangely, none of this is monitored? Hell, we have traffic cameras now just to ticket people who won’t stop at a red light, but no one is monitoring cars going at almost two hundred miles an hour? This is important because “the bad guy” is trying to either kill Will Smith or prove that he’s crazy so no one will listen to him. One nice touch, however, is the reason why Will Smith hates robots. It’s not obvious, it’s very effective at defining his character and if the entire movie had tried for that emotional resonance tied to the plot and not cared more for the spectacle of thousands of attacking robots, it would be a better film.

SPIDEY SWINGS! GET IT? GET IT!?!

Spider-man 2 is down to number two because the audience that would have seen it a third time was busy seeing I, Robot this week and next week will be busy seeing Catwoman just to talk about how much they hate it. I know. I’ll be one of them. For the first film they, of course tried updating and selling the classic Spider-Man theme song (from the first animated serried back in the 60’s) by having Aerosmith do it. Yeah, no one else knew either. Well, they redid it again for the sequel, but this time it works because they went retro with it and did it 40’s big band style with Michael Bubel, who is the latest Harry Connick Jr., Sinatra wannabe type (it’s amazing when you think of the shadow Sinatra cast over music). It may be the best thing to come out of this movie for me.

ALWAYS A BRIDESMAID, BUT NEVER A BRIDE

A Cinderella Story opens decently at number three, but Lindsay Lohan has long since left Hilary Duff in the dust in their informal competition, becoming “the” sexual obsession of dirty old men everywhere, the real proof of young girl stardom. Then again, Hilary Duff doesn’t show up at every premiere with her tits hanging out, which is why accusations of her breast implants died quickly when they first popped up (one more time, it’s called puberty). Then again, Hilary Duff actually sold a few albums, something Lindsay Lohan has tried to do and failed. But one of the reasons Lohan wins is because she’s not making movies where she needs a prince charming, which is the raison d’etre of Cinderella. Somehow, I think teen girls of the 21st Century would rather see a movie about them winning and getting the guy than some movie that says they win only because they got the guy.

LOIS LANE VS. KELLY BUNDY. ALL WE NEED IS HOT OIL. OR MUD.

Anchorman is down to number four and Christina Applegate has one hell of an agent, because she keeps turning up in movies supporting A-list stars but has oddly avoided the purgatory of bad films and even worse TV shows (except her own). Let me put it this way: she turned up on Friends in a potentially reoccurring role, while Teri Hatcher, another 90’s sex symbol, turned up on Two and A Half Men in a potentially reoccurring role. She was in A View From The Top with Gwyneth Paltrow; Teri Hatcher was barely in the first Spy Kids movie (as Miss Gradenko, get it?). I’d pay money to see Christina Applegate get naked, while I’d pay good money never to see Teri Hatcher naked again (her full frontal nude scene in Heaven’s Prisoners still gives me nightmares). Christina Applegate married B-list actor Jonathan Schaech and are still married; Teri Hatcher married B-list actor Jon Tenney and are now divorced. BUT Teri Hatcher played Lois Lane and even at her skin and bones worst was still prettier than Christina Applegate. The difference? A good agent. In fact, it seems the only two people from Married With Children who didn’t have good agents were Michael Faustino and Amanda Bearse, because Ed O’Neil had a series and turns up in films, Katey Segal had Futurama and now 8 Simple Things and Ted McGinley has the best agent of all, because the man never, ever stops working and is now on Hope & Faith.

NO MAGIC, NO BLOOD…GUESS WHAT, NO MONEY EITHER

Fahrenheit 9/11 is down to number five and if you need any more proof at how fucked up this film is, they love it in France. But there is one good thing about both it and the number six film, King Arthur. The success of the former and failure of the latter are both marks against Disney, which ditched the first and fucked with the second. They aren’t going to be part of the most successful documentary in history and have a $160M turkey on their hands because they fucked with the director’s vision to try and make a wide appeal PG 13 film. Hell, even the goofy-as-hell Troy was still allowed the balls to go with an “R” rating (which no doubt helped save it overseas, where it’s actually making money). Also cut was more of the Guinevere/Lancelot relationship, where she’s flat out using his attraction to her to manipulate him because they wanted her to be more appealing. Also, that goofy ending with the wedding you see in the commercials? It was shot just weeks before release to make it softer. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I love Arthur, but I’m loving this failure even more.

“…K-E-Y…WHY? BECAUSE IT’S SATAN’S BREEDING GROUND…”

The Notebook is down to number six and Ryan Gosling is yet another Mouseketeer made good. Yes, he’s from that same class as Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Justin Timberlake, JC Chasez and Keri Russell (think the ones in that group who didn’t make it feel like total fucking failures?). In fact, he admits that the younger ones would come to him will all sorts of sex questions and maybe he’s to blame for Britney and Christina. Silly boy. You can’t make someone into white trash (though the recent Elle layout by Christina shows she’s desperately trying to make herself over---while denying it all the way to the shower and a new stylist). Ryan Gosling also bears the distinction of being Sandra Bullock’s boytoy for the better part of a year after making Murder By Numbers with her.

ETC.

White Chicks is down to number eight, followed by Dodgeball at number nine.

FOLLOW THE WACKY ADVENTURES EVERY WEEK AT…THE TERMINAL!

Finally, in a triumph of truth and justice (“the American way” was only added during the 50’s because of the red scare), The Terminal closes out the top ten at number ten, still having failed to make its budget domestically. And one thing about the film I’m grateful not to have seen is the warm and caring motley crew of airport workers. How fucking sitcom can you get?

“LET’S GO CRAZY”

Because I’m a middle-aged man, I shelled out the bucks to see Prince at Madison Square Garden this week and I wasn’t the only one. Man, it was middle-age crazy in there. There wasn’t a flat stomach or full head of hair to be found. And some women seemed unaware of the passage of time. Sorry, honey, but you simply cannot wear the skintight pants with the Prince symbol any longer. Nor is your midsection worthy of sight by the general public. There hasn’t been that much money being made by babysitters since the Duran Duran reunion blew through town. And it was a great show. But Prince has always been known for his shows (I still regret not seeing the greatest tour, which was Prince, Vanity 6 and The Time). When he plays, every musician in a twenty-mile radius shows up to watch him. The show was “in the round” which means he plays to all sides. It also means you can sell more seats, and don’t kid yourself that this tour isn’t about money in the way the past tours have not been. Prince hasn’t been making dough like he used to, but he still spends it like he is. But this show is stripped down. No sets, no dancers, no one onstage who isn’t playing something. In other words, less money going out. Also this tour is about the hits. Like Bowie before him, this is “the last time” he’ll play them. Uh-huh. In any case, it got my ass out there. Yes, I went alone. I thought about buying two tickets, but at $100 a seat, I wasn’t going to be spending that on “a friend” and this was back in March before there was a Hot Yoga Instructor to think about. Yes, I could have gotten two of the cheaper seats, but why do that when I could spend it all on myself and get a really good seat. One level up from the floor, which is best because if you’re on the floor and someone tall is in front of you, you’re fucked. Plus, I was on the aisle, so no one could ever block my view. The show was a mixture of classics and some of that crap on his new album, but mostly classics. If I have one complaint, I could do without a twenty minute version of “D.M.S.R” in favor of just playing five or six other classic songs. And if you hadn’t heard, after years of talking about God on all his albums, he’s finally actually become an uber-Christian type, so some songs he just won’t do (“Soft & Wet” “Head” “Sister” “Darling Nikki” “Erotic City”“Come” “Pussy Control” etc.,) and others he “edits.” This means he takes out “work your body like a whore” and “strip right down to your underwear” out of “D.M.S.R.” Excuse me, but if the word “Sex” is in the title you shouldn’t be doing the song at all, so stop fucking with it. Also, “I Would Die 4 U” has the line “he’s your messiah” instead of “I’m your messiah.” And when he does “Little Red Corvette” he lets the crowd sing “Trojans and some of ‘em used.” “Little Red Corvette” is part of a great forty minute acoustic set he does by himself or with just another guitarist. There was some serious old school stuff thrown in there. I doubt most of the crowd which probably came onboard around “1999” or “Purple Rain” knew what was going on with the semi-rock “Bambi” which was on the second album. Or got the line “all the critics love me in New York” which he threw into a bluesy song he was doing (it was the name of a song on “1999”). There also strains of The Time during a drum solo by the fucking machine of a man Prince had behind him. I mean this guy was a fucking animal on the drums! And during a break for a costume change the keyboardist did a little “Sometimes It Snows in April” from “Parade” which was the soundtrack to “Under A Cherry Moon.” It was a horrible movie, but that soundtrack was one of his best and most underrated albums. In fact, I think the only albums he didn’t touch were “For You” (the very first one), “Lovesexy,” “Graffiti Bridge” “Batman” (thank god), “Come” (his last one before he did the name change) and “The Gold Experience” (which had the god-awful “The Most Beautiful Girl In The World”). He has over half a dozen more (I’m not kidding, he really does), but they are simply beneath notice. But the most grievous oversight was not playing anything from my favorite album, “Dirty Mind.” Especially in New York, when one song is called “Uptown.” Two other large flaws with the show were 1) singing covers. I didn’t pay a hundred bucks to hear you do other people’s songs (though his acoustic, instrumental of “Sweet Thing” where he had the crowd sing was nice and just the idea of him doing “Whole Lotta Love” knocked me out). And 2) bringing a host of women from the audience to dance onstage. Jesus Christ. Not only did it go on forever, but some of them were determined to make the most of their time in the spotlight. One woman obviously had some dance training and was going to show it to the world. Too bad she couldn’t show it to the woman who couldn’t dance a lick. And it was so obvious they’d been given orders to not to touch Prince, because he didn’t interact with any of them. THEN WHAT WAS THE FUCKING POINT!?! Of course, the song that wrapped it all up (for the encore) was Purple Rein, which I never really liked all that much, but the show was so good he made me like it. Everybody sing! “Oooh-oooh-oooh-oooh/Oooh-oooh-oooh-oooh/Oooh-oooh-eeee-oooh…” It made me restring both my guitars and start practicing again.

HEY, IT’S NOT LIKE I’M DOWNLOADING TIFFANY

Speaking of middle-aged music, I’ve got to stop watching VH1 Classic, because I keep downloading all this old crap. In the last few weeks, I’ve cluttered my hard drive with The Mary Jane Girls (“In My House”), Bonnie Tyler (“Total Eclipse of the Heart”), Peter Wolf (“I Need You Tonight”), Cliff Richard (“We Don’t Talk Anymore”), Johnny Mathis and Denise Williams (“Too Much, Too Little, Too Late”), Patti LaBelle (“If You Asked Me To” so much better than Celine Dion’s overwrought remake), guilty pleasure Jeremy Jordan (“Right Kind of Love” co-written by Robbie “C’est La Vie” Neville) and the Britney Spears of her day, Debbie Gibson (“Only In My Dreams”). I’ve already started to delete some of it. I go through these phases. I had Bon Jovi and Loverboy on my hard drive once too. That lasted for maybe a weekend.

AND ITS NOT LIKE I KNOW MAKE-UP OR ANYTHING

So, what is it that brings me to saying to a woman I’ve just met, “You should go with those jeans, the heels, the v-necked long-sleeved top, hair down and do you have other earrings?” Yes, I’ve taken the “Will & Grace” act routine I normally do with my roommate on the road. After giving the “Wicked” lottery one more shot (geez, can I get more gay?), I joined Around The Way Girl and Former Miss Pretty Boy for dinner at the latter’s home. After dinner (which was very tasty) and three bottles of wine, the social plans of one of Former Miss Pretty Boy’s co-workers---who was also a guest---came up and she asked for advice on what she should wear. This occupied the next half hour of conversation. I swear it’s an uncontrollable reflex. But damnit, she needed help! Who else was going to tell her that the pink corduroy jacket she has should not see the light of day between May and September? That everyone needs a nice crisp white shirt and a nice black shirt? And she really needed some less conservative earrings? It’s a social obligation that makes me do this. And it’s not like the sadistic pleasure my sisters (those my parents gave me and those I’ve acquired on my own) take in critiquing my wardrobe. I’m benevolent in my opinions. One slip-up in wardrobe critiquing and you could scar a person for life. “Nutcrunchers” will haunt me forever.

GET A JOB, YOU BUM!

So, because fate likes to fuck with me, my unemployment checks stopped suddenly. I tried to be patient, but not receiving one in three weeks set off some alarms. Especially when I had to write a long overdue thousand dollar therapist bill. What happened? Well, it seems that Sony, which formerly owned half my former employers, had told Unemployment that I was still working there. This was so amusing it almost made up for it. One friend suggested that I just show up at Sony and demand to see my office. That sounds good, but what if it’s Tommy Mottola’s job? You really can’t pay me enough to fuck the flat-assed, flat-faced Mariah Carey. So, phone calls were made, my termination was verified and checks arrived a day later. Ain’t it great when the system works? Especially when I’m not.

“WELL, WE’RE MOVING ON UP…”

Death continues its needlessly vicious pruning by taking Isabel Sanford, a.k.a., Weezy Jefferson from us. Now that’s just mean. You can argue that Eric Douglas (son of Kirk, brother of Michael) wasted his life, but Weezy never hurt nobody.

I NEED GLASSES TO MAINTAINMY SECRET IDENTITY

So, as always, the moment I decide to change something I’m met with a greek chorus of “Thank god! I didn’t want to say anything, but that ‘fill-in-the-blank’ was as ugly as hell!” This time it was my glasses. The moment I mentioned it all my sisters (those my parents gave me and those I’ve acquired on my own) started vocalizing how much I needed to do it and how long I’ve needed to do it. Sigh. In any case, the choosing was done with my Baby Sister at a Lenscrafters in Georgia, because I obviously cannot make these decisions on my own. Needless to say, all my choices were vetoed and the pair I eventually bought (after having the tiny screw on my old glasses pop free one time too many) was one of her choosing. Other sisters have also given their seal of approval. Sigh. Soon, I’ll have no free will left.

MY SUBJECATION CONTINUES

Finally, Around The Way girl succeeded me getting out on a Saturday night. I agreed, then thought better of it and tried to back out (so I could spend my evening improving my website and learning Coldplay’s “Warning Sign” on guitar), but then guilt took over and I changed and went along with it. One of the reasons I was backing out was that she wanted to go to The Apartment, which was one the last paces I visited back when I was drinking with Chasing Amy. It was also one of the reasons I started making martinis at home. The evening’s total expense was painful. Her Tall Friend joined us and we cabbed it down to the meatpacking district. When last I was in The Apartment, they weren’t shy about making it difficult for people to get in. Now, however, the doors were wide open and everyone was walking in. Strangely, the downstairs bar was empty, while upstairs was full. Personally, I prefer to have someplace to sit, but Around The Way Girl insists other people are the reason to go out, so upstairs we stayed, with our weak-ass drinks. Her Tall Friend felt there were far too man gay men, but I had to ask what did she think it was going to be like in the west of downtown Manhattan? In fact, I pointed out to her, there couldn’t be that many because the music sucked. We left there to got to PM, where Around The Way Girl had partied the week before. On the way, her Tall Friend began to say she might just go home, to which I replied, “Hey, if she gets to leave, I get to leave.” Even though we both stayed, it looked like the evening might be over when we saw the line at PM and the doorman was not the one she’d met the previous week. But then I saw a familiar face. But it couldn’t be. She was in Fire Island (where all the good looking gay men probably were, along with my aerobics instructor who I haven’t seen for two weeks and his replacement sucks). But it was. Surrogate Sister. It seems my mother’s birthday wasn’t the only one I’d forgotten. Saturday night was the night of her birthday party with her friends. We’d talked about it all week, but I never bothered remembering it because there was no way in hell I was going. But there I was. Lucky for me, I have no male friends, because I doubt she would have been able to get three guys in. It’s a nice place and as Surrogate Sister pointed out, they play music for old people like me. Of course, the moment she said that, the old school song ended and “Frontin’” came on. One of the things I did like about going out with Chasing Amy was that she shared my love of people watching. Of course it’s more fun with a multi-sexual crowd (this place was pretty hetero, which was surprising, but again, all the boys are on the island for the summer), but there was still something to be seen. In this case it was some Black guy who was obviously someone. He was too short and skinny to be a jock and Surrogate Sister assured me he wasn’t anyone in fashion, so he must have been a music guy. In any case, he loved him some White women. From the deathly white, obviously underaged Blonde model he started with, to the skanky blonde who showed up later, to the even more skanky women he flirted with in the club. Like most race fetishists, he tends to prefer the ugly ones (yes, John Lennon, I’m talking to you). Granted, there wasn’t a lot of sistas present to choose from, but Around The Way Girl ain’t ugly and even did a little modeling, but he had no interest in her. Later, I saw him go to the door to pull even more tall, skinny model types. Again, all White. Finally, Around The Way Girl went up to him to find out who he was and all she got was an accented, “Francois.” This explained a lot. He was probably Haitian, because if he were French, White women wouldn’t be so fascinating to him. Then there were the uniforms being worn. The other disappointing aspect of such a “straight” place. There were no freaks. Everyone pretty much dressed in the same “downtown, New York, clubbish” manner. Uber-fashionable jeans on everyone. The women more often than naught wore a camisole top, while all the men wore stylish, long-sleeved dress shirts, untucked. Hell, even I was dressed that way (though mine was white, linen and short-sleeved). Also, there was no dance floor per say, but women danced on the sides on the booths as well on a lighted strip between two rows of booths in the middle of the floor. Both Around The Way Girl and Surrogate Sister (whose instant mutual appreciation is only going to cause me trouble in the future, I just know it) were up on the side booths as soon as they could, and Around The Way Girl was one of the first girls to hit the middle strip. Yes, even I fell prey to some booth dancing when a song I liked came on (“Too Close” by Next). This led to my second left-handed-compliment from Around The Way Girl. First she was surprised I could dress myself (“I barely recognized you.”) and that I could dance (“You can actually move those little hips, can’t you?”). Though I was having a good time we had to cut it short. Why? Well, first, you can’t keep a booth without buying a bottle---which is $300. This meant it was a very crowded standing area. Secondly, well, I was bit uncomfortable because I had to go to the bathroom. Not it’s not that I couldn’t go there, it’s just that I wouldn’t go there. Why? Well, because I had to take a dump and I wasn’t doing that anywhere outside my home (oh, shut up, you love my brutal honesty). Not to mention, I pretty much like to shower afterwards because I simply don’t feel clean any longer. And my final reason was Around The Way Girl was trying to get me dancing in the center on that strip and one more drink and I probably would’ve. So it was time to go. One the way out, we bumped into Surrogate Sister having a smoke and had an amusing encounter with some douchebag trying to get into the club and trying to hit on her. He was recently from San Francisco and wasn’t used to just getting flat out rejected even before he had a chance to get his game running. These are the pro leagues here, kid. Take your sorry game back to the bush leagues. So that was it. My venture into New York nightlife for 2004. It’s not happening again, kids. It cost me seeing Hot Yoga Instructor the next morning (I slept until 1pm). Hell, that’s the closest thing to a relationship I’ve got and I can’t afford to lose it.

7/12/04

“Money doesn’t always bring happiness. A man with ten million dollars is no happier than a man with nine million dollars.” --- Anonymous

GRIST FOR THE MILL

Spider-Man 2 holds at number one and this only signals bad things for the future of comic book lovers all over the world. See, everyone wants some of this Spider-Man type money, but they completely overlook his last four decades of comic book and TV success and think that any character can duplicate this type of success. No. You could make the best Wonder Woman movie ever, and it would not make this kind of money. Next to Superman and Batman, Spider-man is the greatest single superhero ever, and it’s not because his powers are so great or even that he has the best villains. No, as I said before, the success of Spider-Man is in Peter Parker, the character everyone can relate to. Even Superman derives a great deal of his success from Clark Kent (not that the whole omnipotent thing isn’t a part of it) and the fact that he’s a bit of a dweeb too. The most successful comic book characters have great alter egos. No one ever gets that, so this means more lousy Daredevils, Punishers, Hellboys and Catwomen (you know that’s going to suck like Michael Jackson at a grade school) to come. But hey, if you’re a computer geek who can do some CGI, your kids are going to college, because you guys will never lack for work from this.

YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE UGLY TO BE FUNNY, BUT IT COULDN’T HURT

Anchorman opens well at number two and I couldn’t find the time to see this, and given that I have nothing but time these days, that means I couldn’t find the interest. Sorry, but the saturation of ads just made me less and less inclined to see it. Not to mention that since every one of them was different, I felt that I’d already seen the whole movie. I like Will Ferrell. I do, and anyone other than Jim Carrey being successful at being funny is always a good thing, ‘cause he annoys the shit out of me. But like Jack Black, he’s a supporting character, not a lead and I see him getting very annoying very quickly with his whole manchild shtick. It works in Old School (which is on cable all the time these days, but I never seem to get tired of it), but that’s because you have the bland Luke Wilson and smarmy Vince Vaughn (who both appear in this, along with Ben Stiller and virtually every funny person with a day off) as his foils. This may be another case of “it’s great…on HBO” but I won’t know for another year or so.

“IN SHORT THERE’S SIMPLY NOT/A MORE CONGENIAL SPOT/FOR HAPPILY EVERY AFTERING…”

King Arthur opens disappointingly at number three, but it’s Disney’s own fault for fucking the film over right out of the gate. First off, the poster lets you know exactly where the focus is: whatever makes money. It’s not called Guinevere, but because Keira Knightley is the biggest star she’s the largest person on the poster and the center. The next major flaw is one even the director is publicly lamenting. King Arthur was originally supposed to come out in December of last year, a dark, bloody revisionist story. When it was pushed to summer, pressure came down to lighten it up for the teen summer audience. In other words, say goodbye to your “R” rating and the film does suffer for it. Fights are obviously cut to pieces to hide the reason why the knights are oddly soaked in blood when it’s over. Granted, it all rests on your story, but when you ruin the one thing we had to distract ourselves if that sucks, you’ve truly fucked up. And they truly fucked up. Now this movie claims to be based on the “real” Arthur. Well, there was no “real Arthur.” Arthur literally wasn’t a name in Britain at that time, so there was no way there could be one. This is based on an actual roman soldier name Lucius Artorious Castas who was stationed on Hadrian’s Wall, as is the Arthur in this film. The only problem is, this was a few hundred years too early for many aspects of the Arthurian legend, most notably, the Battle of Badon Hill. But there was another warrior by the name of Ambrosius Aurelianus, who was not a king, but a warlord who fought against the Saxons and after his victory over them, there was a time of peace in England (though the Saxons did eventually win, establish themselves as Englishmen, exile the Britons to Wales and Normandy, only to see the “Normans” return four hundred years later and retake England altogether in the Norman Conquests). If Arthur and Camelot are based on anyone, it’s him. But the truth is, the legend of King Arthur is an amalgamation of a few people living centuries apart (there’s a third guy, but fuck him). And the final legend was then layered centuries later with chivalry and shining armor, neither of which existed in Arthur’s time. Also added were Welsh creations, such as Bedevere, Gwain, Tristam and Kay. Nor was there a Guinevere (another Welsh creation), Camelot, or Lancelot, the latter two being totally French inventions along with his adulterous relationship with the queen. See, marrying for love is a relatively modern thing, so for most of human history, love was only found through adultery, because you married for everything but that. But there was a Lucius Artorious Castas at Hadrian’s wall, who was a Roman, who did have a cavalry of conscripted soldiers from Eastern Europe who fought against the native “barbarians” of England. This film is based on him. In this movie we have Arthur as simply a soldier and his knights, his cavalry from Eastern Europe, whose only desire to end their service to Rome and return home. Before they can do this, however, there’s one last mission, and if you know anything about movies, “on last mission” changes everything. Now, I’m a Clive Owen fan. I’m not one of the women whose knees go weak at the sight of him and they soak their seats. Nor am I one of the legions who believe he’s destined to be the next James Bond (an idea he’s publicly rejected), but I loved him in those BMW short films as “The Hire.” But he’s no Arthur. I’m sorry, but Arthur, even as soldier, simply does not slouch the way Owen does throughout this film. Ioan Gruffudd is a good Lancelot and in one of legendary revisions, Galahad is just another knight, not his son and begins narrating this story, though that is abandoned almost immediately. Yeah, it’s that different. Bors, Gwain, Tristam and Dagonet are here, but hardly in their traditional roles (Dagonet was Arthur’s fool who became a knight, not the ass-kicker we see here). As an Arthur geek, this was no big deal to me, as there’s literally centuries of Arthur revisionism, especially the modern, brutal sort. Even the idea the Guinevere and Merlin as Arthur’s pagan enemies is no big deal. What is sad, that Merlin is barely here. As a painted blue warrior, smiling and snarling as she slices a man about the legs, Guinevere is fun, but outside that, there’s not much going on. And if you’re looking forward to a Keira Knightley/Clive Owen love scene, I’ll say it again, the “R” rating is gone. I could literally talk about this for hours, but I’ll stop here saying Excalibur still rules as the best movie yet about King Arthur (Monty Python made the second best), but this is still better than First Knight, Merlin and Mists of Avalon, the most recent takes on the legend.

THE SAD THING IS, MOST PEOPLE DON’T GET THE TITLE ANYWAY

Fahrenheit 9/11 is down to number four and one more person pissed at Michael Moore is Ray Bradbury, whose famous novel, Fahrenheit 411 was the inspiration for the film’s title. It’s not politics that has the science fiction god upset, but the fact that he simply wasn’t asked for permission for use of a variation of his famed title (which ironically, was supposed to a project for that other guy pissing people off with his indie film, Mel Gibson). But this is what every kid in America knows. If you don’t ask mom and dad, then they can’t say no. Michael Moore knew damn well that if he asked permission for his little piece of propaganda, there was a better than average chance the 83-year-old Bradbury would’ve said “No,” so he didn’t (not that it would matter; titles can’t be copywritten which seems very strange to me). In fact, Bradbury called him months ago after learning of the film. Moore, realizing what would probably happen, ducked him until it was obviously too late to change it. Like I needed more proof of what an asshole he is.

I’M SHOCKED, SHOCKED TO FIND BOOTY UNDER HERE

The Notebook is down to number five and at $43M it’s actually made past its budget of $30M, so it counts as a modest success of summer counter-programming in a way The Terminal did not (heh-heh-heh). Also, it’s getting word-of-mouth from the softies of the world, including Around The Way Girl, who got two of her friends to see it, one of whom loved it. This means, she’ll also be recommending it to people---which means I have to work twice as hard to stop them. This also means Rachel McAdams might have the career the blonde from Heathers never had (Rachel McAdams essentially played her role in Mean Girls). All the better, because even though they deliberately try to hide it, Ms. McAdams ain’t no stick figure. She’s got that Kristin Davis thing going on, where a slender upper body leads to a shocking display of white-girl thickness. But she definitely looks better as a blonde, and you don’t know how much it hurts me to say that.

MONEY CHANGES EVERYTHING

White Chicks is down to number six and now someone is crawling out of the woodwork saying it was their idea because supposedly one of the Wayans was discussed for a role in a comedy where he played and FBI agent infiltrating mob as a White guy. As opposed to that lame idea where a Black guy hides out from the mob by pretending to be White mobster from 13 years ago called True Identity? Let’s face it, this is ripping off Some Like it Hot and mocking the Hilton sisters. If you’re going to sue, you’d have to get in line.

IF IT’S GOT CAPTAIN KIRKAND THE KNIGHTRIDER IN IT, YOU KNOW IT’S GOOD

Dodgeball is down to number seven and the cameos help make this movie. Where else are you going to find Chuck Norris, Jason Bateman, David Hasselhoff, William Shatner and Lance Armstrong? And given that the Tour De France is going on right now, I can’t believe there isn’t an new round of commercials for this showing him. Not that it needs it, when it’s about to break $100M, putting Vince Vaughn, Ben Stiller and Stephen Root (we discussed him last week) in the top ten twice this week.

WOULD YOU RATHER BE A PASSENGER ON A SINKING SHIP OR THE CAPTAIN?

The Terminal is down to number eight this week and its $65M might actually be impressive if we didn’t know it cost that much just to get Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg on-set every day. And we still haven’t gotten to paying Catherine Zeta-Jones. The film’s budget was $75M, so everyone probably took less up front for a payoff on the back end---which there isn’t going to be. That’s right, Cathy, go back to stabbing your Nicole Kidman voodoo doll. Yes, The Stepford Wives flopped too, but at least she was the star of that flop. I mean, you see anyone else’s face in those ads?

SHE WAS BETTER WHEN SHE LOOKED LIKE ELLEN BARKIN

Shrek 2 is down to number nine and Cameron Diaz supposedly has a dirty video out. Well, not really. She’s just topless in what amounts to a bad music video. Hello? Does she not know the rules of celebrity video? They have to be you from a few years ago, it has to be sex and it has to be “stolen” so you can’t be blamed for all the free sordid publicity it gets you. What’s sad is how little publicity it really hasn’t generated. Know why? ‘CAUSE SHE’S NOT FUCKING that’s why! Who wants to see her topless? Hell, you can find that anywhere on the internet from her modeling days (which was the same time the video was shot) anywhere. Yes, they are nice breasts. Well, they were. Who knows what they look like now, now that she’s half her original size.

WITH A TITLE LIKE THAT, YOU NEED ALL THE HELP YOU CAN GET

And opening at a disappointing number ten is Sleepover (in more theaters than White Chicks, Fahrenheit 9/11 and Shrek 2) and someone at MGM needs to be fired, because nowhere in any of the ads is it mentioned that this is the little girl from Spy Kids. Yes, that’s her. You think maybe, just maybe, that might have been of some fucking interest to kids who literally grew up with her?

THE ATTITUDE COMES A LA CARTE

So, every once and awhile, The Roommate (a.k.a., Common Law Wife) and I actually go to dinner together. I promised her that when I got my severance check that we’d go someplace in our neighborhood that we’d otherwise avoid. Well, faced with Olympic swimming trials on Friday night, I decided that was the day. My first surprise of the night was that she changed clothing. Which means I had to change, because I wasn’t going to look like a slob next to her. So once I did that, I look down the hall to see that she’s changed again. So now I have I have to change again, finally settling on a pair of light blue Calvin Klein jeans (which don’t crunch or hug my nuts, a black mesh-like Kenneth Cole long sleeved shirt which accentuates shoulders but hangs loose on the torso to hide the ice-cream loving belly and the only slightly less-painful Kenneth Cole flip flops. Yes, I looked good. I know this because once we arrived at 44 & X (the wait at Hell’s Kitchen was too long) my roommate insisted the buff waiter spoke only to me and not to her. Gay men are men in their purest form. Meaning they’re totally shallow. You have to look good to get their attention. But this is good and bad. Good, because it was the third compliment I’d received in a week. Bad, because none of them came from women. Sigh. Like I’m going to the gym because I want to be healthy. In any a case, 44 & X (44th & 10th if you hadn’t guessed) was where we once had a nice dinner a few years ago. Well, the years have not been kind to the place. It took over half an hour just to get the appetizers and by then the bottle of wine was all but gone. Now, a good restaurant would have comped us something, aside from an apology from our waiter, we received nothing. It took me hinting to get something and their idea of compensation was not a free dessert or another bottle of wine, but merely two additional glasses. Gee thanks. To top it off, not only were the appetizers were actually better than the meal (a bland grilled salmon with pineapple chutney and roast BBQ pork), but we even had to wait to pay. But we now live in the age of the internet and revenge is had with a few choice keystrokes. So not only am I trashing it here, but on Citysearch I rag on it as well, so anyone in the world can know what a shithole its become. And I didn’t even mention how the gas station across the street so floods it full of light, anything even resembling atmosphere is impossible.

ONLY BEING LECTURED BY MAXIM WOULD BE WORSE

So, my blistered feet meant the search for summer footwear had to continue. This time I just gave up and got some of those lower end rubber types, but they are Tevas. So now I’ve got something to just walk around in, but also something nicer that torture my feet. Sigh. I’m becoming such a woman. And just as I do this, the Sunday Daily News has an entire spread on mandals. I’m so ashamed. I was so clueless even the fucking Daily New would have educated me. But even they agree, Velcro is for losers and if it’s totally covering your feet, what’s the fucking point of wearing sandals?

FOOD, ATTRACTIVE WOMEN…ALL I NEEDED AS A COMIC BOOK TO MAKE IT COMPLETE.

So it’s been a week of eating for me. In addition to my dinner with The Roommate (a.k.a., Common Law Wife), I also had a nice meal at Rosa Mexicano with Around the Way Girl. I also had lunch with a friend I hadn’t seen in years, The Tall Thin Italian Blonde, who bought me a nice Korean place at one of the many near Macy’s. There was a nice dinner and one of my favorite Italian places, Cuccina D’Staglione on Bleecker with Former Miss Pretty Boy, and after my yoga class (the first time I’d seen Hot Yoga Instructor in a month) I had breakfast with a hungover Around The Way Girl at Mercury Bar, which I’d sworn never to go to because of its annoying yuppie-puke-frathouse type clientele. But it was okay. I had a cheddar omelet with roasted peppers while she had a burger and fries to help her recover from a night of vodka and meeting the Wayan’s Brothers who blew off two substance-abusing hoochie mamas to try for her and her friends. Afterwards, she reached forward to remove a crumb from the sad facial hair I’ve been growing for the last three weeks---only to realize it was a gray hair. I took it off that night.

HOW SHARPER THAN A SERPENT’S TOOTH

Finally, I’m going to the deepest, darkest, coldest level of hell. No, not for being an atheist. Or for being holier-than-thou. Or for my growing hatred of old people. Or for that courier I killed in Berlin in ’81 (he was just a boy, but playing a man’s game of tradecraft. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as I slit his throat. James tells me to forget it, it’s our job, but I cannot…wait, what was I talking about?). No, I’m going because I forgot my mother’s birthday last week. Again (I did it before in ’91). And I wasn’t alone. Out of three children, not a one remembered. NOT EVEN THE ONE WHO’S STILL LIVING THERE! I got a frantic call from my baby sister the day after asking me if I’d called. The only reason suicide was out of the question was because that would hurt mom even more. Needless to say, when I called to apologize and beg for forgiveness, my mom just laughed and said it was okay. This lie, of course, only makes it hurt a thousand times worse. My father, bastard that he is, took full advantage of it. Not only did he not remind any of us, but told my mom it was proof that only he loves her. Gonna dance on his grave one day. This I swear. There’s only one thing I can do to make this up to her: time to give her a grandchild. Let’s see, who’s within reach? Sadly, Around The Way Girl failed to consume her burger with the type of gusto I’d need, so she’s off the potential breeders list. Shame too, because mom and dad would have loved her (yes, she is a sista). Sorry, but I can’t have the mother of my children being incapable of taking a righteous bite out of an oversized burger. I mean, the onion and the tomato were totally untouched! Roommate is simply too nice. She’d last thirty seconds in my take-no-prisoners home. Surrogate Sister too much like me and one us would be dead before she came to term (though that Afro-Asian baby would look nice). Former Miss Pretty Boy is true eater, but getting married and I’ve pretty much alienated anyone else who’s still single (Chasing Amy, Meadow Soprano, The Otter Queen…etc). Just as well, if you can’t take my shit, a two-foot version of me with no sense of restraint would drive you to an early grave (“No, mommy! Anyone who likes Friends is just stupid!”). Granted, Former Wild Child and I are talking again (again, that Afro-Asian baby would look nice), but only after a two year break over a fight neither of us can remember. That’s fine for us now, but not as parents. I can’t only see my child at 2, 4, 6…etc. Especially if it’s a girl. That’s just like saying, “Daddy wants you to be a stripper.” Maybe I’ll just get her a cookie jar. Yes, my mom collects ceramic cookie jars. You got a problem with that?

7/05/04

“Life never treated me as well as a drink did.” --- J. Evans Pritchard PhD

AND NOW A WORD FROM THE GEEKS…

Spider-Man 2 opens predictably at number one and believe it or not I wasn’t bowled over by it, but then again, I wasn’t bowled over by the first one and the reasons are the same: bad writing and clumsy, non-action directing by Sam Raimi. Let’s face it, the guy simply cannot do normal situations very well. He can’t handle mood or stage a setting or anything not over the top. I still shudder at the rooftop scene between Spider-Man and The Green Goblin from the first film. He did it so poorly, it became two weirdoes in costumes talking, rather than two super-powered adversaries. Like James Cameron and Titanic, if you get any humanity at all, it comes purely from the actors making the most of a bad situation. And the writing…Yes, I know a lot of it was "homage" dialogue, lifted from the old books, but that suddenly doesn't negate how badly it sounds onscreen. What makes it more jarring is that it's not a consistent tone in the film. If you're going to go with this type of hyperbolic speech, fine. But to have "normal" dialogue one scene and then something Stan Lee wrote in the next is just awkward and awful. And then there's the bad writing period. The scene where JJJ suddenly begins to extol the virtues of Spider-Man makes no sense whatsoever in terms of character and is horribly, horribly staged. Even when Stan Lee did it (wayyyyy back in Amazing Spider-Man #10, which I know, because I’m King) it was Jameson alone with his self-loathing. It’s really sad considering some of this came from Pulitzer Prize winner Michael Chabon, which proves prose and screenplays are two entirely different animals. My other problem was all the freaking CGI and there’s even more of it here, but even in just two years, it’s improved, making it less annoying. But it’s not all bad. The key is the one thing they’ve gotten right in both films: the true star of the movie is not Spider-Man but Peter Parker. Spider-Man is just Peter Parker in a funny outfit. Not that there’s much mystery to it in this film. His mask comes off so damn much, it almost becomes a question of who doesn’t know it’s Peter Parker, which is another problem. The loneliness of being unable to reveal his secret to anyone has been a tremendous source of Peter Parker's angst. His almost pathological need to keep his secret identity the source of many of his troubles. Not in this movie. That mask is off as much as it's on and for no good reason. A little damage would hardly cause him to suddenly rip it off in public. Yes, the scene where the crowd cradles and protects him is nice, but could have just as easily been done with the mask on. And I don't know what planet the filmmakers live on, but even in the comic books, you simply do not get a subway car full of altruistic New Yorkers who will keep a secret (a better movie would've had a resulting scene with ten different people giving ten different descriptions, including people describing him in terms of their own ethnicity). Also, he’s got public support. Another huge change. The feeling that the public hates him despite his efforts is also part of the great angst that makes the Spider-Man character. Even Aunt May likes Spider-Man, which is a gigantic change from the comics. Again, the burden of hiding his secret from Aunt May is part of the angst. That bothers the geek in me, as does the fact that he can’t seem to punch Doctor Octopus out. In fact, in the first Doctor Octopus story, Spider-Man is amazed that all it takes is one punch to knock him out given the amount of trouble he causes. What’s good about it? Well, it is fun watching him swing around the city. And seeing Doc Ock visualized is nice too, but that’s about it.

YOU PEOPLE DON’T NEED MICHAEL MOORE, YOU NEED FUCKING EASY READER

Fahrenheit 9/11 is down to number two and I knew I’d regret putting my email address on this fucking site, but I didn’t know it would happen so quickly. Apparently one of my liberal brethren took offense at my offense of Michael Moore, stressing how important the film is. Okay, here’s a big ole’ piece of reality for you: IT’S A FUCKING MOVIE! Yes, kids, it’s primarily designed to entertain you first, and enlighten you second. It’s not one of the DOZENS OF BOOKS written about the subject over the last three years, which would have told you every thing this movie does if you bothered to peruse the written word (Michael Moore himself admits to this in interviews). Reading. I’ve heard it’s fundamental. I learned of the thirty year connection between the Bush family and the Bin Ladens because I actually read my issues of Time Magazine (I was in the toilet and it was all I had), while most others read it in the New York Times less than a year after 9/11. If it took a movie to teach you this, then your cause is doomed because what you’re saying is, “Oh, I’d love to learn about my enemy, but I’m gonna wait for the movie.” And don’t tell me the movie isn’t for you, but for “those people” who wouldn’t “get it” without a movie, because that’s the worse kind of bullshit pseudo-intellectual conceit. I’ll say it again: being right doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole about it. Michael Moore is like a guy who warns you a truck is about to hit you, but calls you a dumbass while doing it. And it never ceases to amaze me how people who are technically successful still play the victim role. Here you have liberals screaming how everyone should see a movie THAT FUCKING OPENED AT NUMBER ONE! The most successful documentary in history! As if it was some unknown art film that wasn’t in the news almost every day for the last six goddamn months! It’s the same as all those Christian yahoos claiming that Passion of The Christ was an underdog. A world famous multi-millionaire made a movie about Christ in a Christian country, that was in the paper every day for months. Where’s the underdog part again? And I hate to break it to you, but you can’t claim moral superiority without taking on all burdens of morality, such as fair play. Showing Britney Spears in all her empty-headed glory talking about supporting the president is hardly that. That’s like dropping a rock on a frog to prove the existence of gravity. This is Fox News type of bullshit and if I’m not watching those assholes, I’m not watching this and putting more money in Michael Moore’s pocket. Or did you people think the profits for this were going to feed war orphans?

IF YOU’RE GONNA STEAL, STEAL FROM THE BEST

White Chicks is down only one notch to number three and the funniest part of the trailer is when the car full of girls calls that Vanessa Carlton “A Thousand Miles” song “their jam.” Now that’s funny. Their “jam.” But a couple of Black guys dressed up as White girls? Not so much. Apparently, the limitations of that joke aren’t lost on the producers as well, as the new ads emphasize the character of the big, Black guy who lusts after one of the guy, yet another gag lifted from the godfather of these drag movies, Some Like It Hot.

“DAMN RIGHT, IT’S BETTER THAN YOURS…”

Dodgeball is down to number four and make sure you stay through the end credits to see Ben Stiller’s unique rendition of Kelis’ “Milkshake.” You’ll be glad you did. I never liked that song until he did it. And I’m always glad to see Stephen Root in a movie. For those of you whose knuckles drag on the ground, he was a member of NBC’s truly funny ensemble comedy (before Scrubs and god knows they’ve had no other for the last ten years), Newsradio. He played Mr. James. Damn, that’s good comedy. If I had a job, I’d buy that DVD set. And the Wonder Woman set. And the Batman Animated Series set. And the Spider-Man ’67 Animated Series set (oh, yeah!) and…

LOVE TO LOVE YA, BABY

The Notebook is down to number five and remember what I said about it being more difficult to make a romantic drama than romantic comedy? Well, this movie kinda proves my point. Its sole purpose is to make you cry and not much else. It’s a Lifetime/Hallmark movie that somehow slipped into theatrical release. Though the leads try hard, the material doesn’t support them. The main story takes place in 1940, but you don’t believe it for a second. It never, ever feels like a period piece. Everyone acts exactly the same as they do now. Not to mention, I hardly think a boy in the 40’s would tell his girlfriend that she had “a two second rebound rate.” And there are seemingly no emotions beyond the main story. Ryan Gosling has a father (played by Sam Shepherd, obviously needing to make a car payment) and a best friend, both of whom Rachel McAdams knows well, but when they meet again after seven years, she doesn’t ask about either of them, which is odd considering they both died in that time (the father’s death is given such a short shrift it’s almost “by the way”). Not a single “Sorry about your dad,” or “Sorry about your friend.” Nope. It’s all about their love and nothing else. But I will give it credit for going hardcore with her Alzheimer’s. The reason he’s reading to her is to help her remember her life, but for the most part she doesn’t. Not him, not the story, not even their kids when they visit. At one point she does come back and just when you think “movie bullshit” she’s gone again, not knowing him, screaming to the point where she needs to be medicated and he suffers a mild stroke. That was impressive for such a crappy movie. But the sole point of this is to make you cry and the audience had some criers, not the least of which was Around The Way Girl sitting right next to me. There was more sniffing at the end of this movie than a Studio 54 bathroom in 1978. I won’t say I was totally unaffected, but it was so deliberately manipulative and otherwise shallow, that I couldn’t give it the dignity of my tears. Afterwards, I explained to Around The Way Girl what does make me cry: Highlander. The scene in the first Highlander movie where the dying wife asks Christopher Lambert just why he stayed with her even though she’s aged and he has not (while Queen’s “Who Wants To Live Forever” plays in the background). She then asks that, in the future he light a candle and remember her on her birthday. And after she dies, he buries her and then burns their home to the ground and leaves never to return. I started to choke up just explaining it to her. Hell, I’m choking up now just writing about it. Why? Was it well written? Nope. Well acted? Hardly. Well directed? Are you kidding me? What makes it work is that it wasn’t trying to manipulate me. It was simply telling this character’s story and I decided on the emotional resonance. It wasn’t forced on me. And don’t get me started on Dorry’s speech in Finding Nemo…

TIME TO ASK YOURSELVES: WHAT WOULD JESUS SEE?

The Terminal is down to number six, followed by Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is down to number seven, followed by Shrek 2 at number eight and the devilspawn Garfield still here at number nine an up to freaking $63M. Still not making its $70M budget, but still. Tell me again why I’m wrong to be an atheist when this is going on? Obviously we live in a godless world. But imagine the people behind Stepford Wives, Chronicles of Riddick, Around the World in 80 Days, all of whom didn’t make it that far. They’re all looking for new religions…along with new jobs. Who would have thought a comic remake of a 70’s thriller, a stupid remake of a bad movie to begin with and a $200M sequel to a low-budget movie few people saw were even worse ideas than a movie about a comic strip that peaked twenty years ago? Does this mean we’re finally gonna get that Bloom County movie?

HIS SKELETAL LOOKS NOT WITHSTANDING

Two Brothers hangs on one more week at number ten and some people simply don’t want to be stars. Guy Pearce is one of them. Between L.A. Confidential and Memento he could have easily have had a Russell Crowe type of career, but it’s obvious he doesn’t want it. He was actually offered the lead role in The Count of Monte Cristo, but opted instead for the bad guy supporting role. This is another one of those steps. Unlike most, you know he didn’t do a family film to save a dying career. He probably did it for a chance to play with tigers. Shame too, because his name was mentioned for Daredevil and he would have been perfect. He even looks like freaking Matt Murdock. And I’ll bet you he doesn’t run like a girl either. Yeah, Affleck, I’m talking to you.

FUNNY, IT’S NEVER ILLEGAL IN THE MOVIES

Apparently, there’s a movement within teaching to prove women are as dirty as men. So in addition to a female teacher here in NYC sleeping with one of her 16-year-old female students (yes, it’s a porn movie come to life), there was also a 23-year-old teacher in Florida boning one of her 14-year old male students. I hate to say it, but she’s not entirely unattractive and this is purely a double standard, because I really don’t feel too badly about it. Now, if it were a 23-year-old male and a 14-year old girl, I’d be screaming for his balls. And even if it were my son, I’d want her ass in a sling, but since neither of these applies, as a former 14-year-old boy, I can say with some assuredness that if my hot teacher had wanted to bone the life out of me, I’d be into it (and I did have a hot 23-year-old teacher when I was 14). What’s really funny is how they got her. His cousin didn’t believe him, so he set it up so that his cousin could drive them around while they had sex in the backseat of her car while her husband was out of town! This was his undoing, because it was the cousin’s mom who told police. The police then got him to call her and got her on tape telling him condoms were something he needn’t worry about. Intellectually, I know it’s wrong (it’s really no different than Michael Jackson fucking boys) and he probably is damaged by this, but the part of me that was 14 is still saying, “Man, you were having sex with the hot teacher who didn’t want you to wear a condom!?! That is so awesome!”

STELLA!

Marlon Brando is dead. Death is swinging for the seats now. A god has fallen. There are very few people who can be seen as single-handedly changing an art form, but Brando was one of them. When he ascended to stardom as a method actor, everything changed for good in acting. Without Brando, there is practically no one in the modern pantheon. No Robert DeNiro, no Dustin Hoffman, no Daniel Day-Lewis, no Meryl Streep or even Adrian Brody. They are all Brando’s children. Now, the use of Superman may seem a bit odd, as at the time it was seen as the first real sign of his bloated behavior. He received an ungodly amount of money for 20 minutes of screen time and had his name above the title (along with Gene Hackman; Christopher Reeve came after the title). But in retrospect, Brando did some nice work with his monologue (was actually very nicely done and that kills me because I hated the writers with a passion for all the liberties they took and mistakes they made)---which was on a cue card right in front of him. And though it was mocked incessantly, think about it this way: anyone can have a cue card in front of them, but how many of them can still do what Brando did with it? Lazy brilliance is still brilliance. Because I’m not just a geek, but king, the monologue: “You will travel far, my little Kal-El, but we will never leave you even in the face of our deaths. The richness of our lives will be yours. All that I have, all that I’ve learned, everything I feel, all this and more I, I bequeath you, my son. You will carry me inside you all the days of your life. You will make my strength your own, see my life through your eyes, as your life will be seen through mine. The son becomes the father and the father the son. This is all I, all I can send you, Kal-El.” No, it’s not the end speech from The Godfather (“I never wanted this for you, Michael”) or his speech from Apocalypse Now (“You’re just an errand boy, sent by grocers to collect a bill.”) but it ain’t bad neither. Mainly because he elevated it the way he did almost everything he did, even The Freshman. Think Tom Cruise can do that shit!?! Hell, no!

NEXT DOCUMENTARY: THE “C” WORD

The “N” Word, a special on the word “nigger” in society, was on Trio. It was very entertaining if somewhat incomplete (no David Chappelle or Spike Lee). My favorite part had to be when Samuel L. Jackson said he made it a habit of telling people he was a “nigga” and not simply some “nice colored guy.” Cross him and he would act “niggardly” on your ass. Second was Ice Cube refusing to apologize and saying he’d say whatever he wanted, when he wanted, a sentiment backed up and articulated by Dick Gregory, who rightfully pointed out that to castrate words like “nigger” with “The N-Word” was to destroy history. Even limiting ugly speech is limiting free speech. There was also a reoccurring segment where Black celebs would recount the first time they’d been called nigger and Ving Rhames was lying when he said 1989 and LA. To use a phrase appropriate for this discussion: Nigga, please! If you’re Black in America, Samuel L. Jackson described your first experience: in your own home probably when you were in diapers and maybe even about you from a relative (“Damn, that’s a good looking lil’ nigga.”). And yes, I grew up saying “nigga” and because I grew up in the south, I heard “nigger” thrown my way a couple of times, usually by a bunch of rednecks in a car (and yes, there in a difference, no matter what the Black intelligentsia likes to believe). But, I remember when Richard Pryor killed my use of it along with his own in Live on The Sunset Strip, with his epiphany during a trip to Africa. At first I was horrified, because “nigga” is simply funnier than “Black” and damn sure funnier than “African-American.” I swore never to join him, but without even noticing, I did. It only comes out of my mouth now during moments of extreme aggravation (like in my last tirade on Shrek 2 being bootlegged) or sarcasm when I talk to one of my oldest friends. The simple fact is every group owns its own ethnic slurs, but “nigga” is the only one gone mainstream because only acting Black is cool. As Whoopi Goldberg said so adroitly at the end of the show, “Try saying ‘spic’ and see what happens to you. Try going down to Chinatown and saying ‘chink.’” Even better, don’t be Italian and go into Bensonhurst slinging “guinea” or “wop” around. Hell, even try being a man in a group of women and using the word “cunt.” See how long before your blood is spilled. I remember once in college, I went in to get my check and I just threw on a ribbed tank top t-shirt and one of my co-workers, Anthony D’Angelo, told me how much he loved my “guinea-t” and how all it needed was sauce stains to be complete. Now, if I’d called my shirt a “guinea-t” and said all it needed was sauce stains, both he and his buddy, Ralph Infantino, would have beaten my skinny ass to death and I knew this. But while I don’t use my own racial slur, I understand those who say their use is “claiming it.” And while it’s true to an extent, it’s also true that the moment someone else can say your word without fear of death, your claim has been lost. And this is the case with the word “nigga.” Even Snoop Dogg felt the need to point this out in his Saturday Night Live monologue when he said White people need to stop talking like him, because you really don’t know what you’re saying when you’re saying “nizzle.” All the other races still have fear behind their slurs, but we’ve lost ours. The solution? Time to start kicking whitey’s ass each and every time he says it. No matter when or where, beat downs need to be handed out. Either that or just get the fuck over it.

NEVER JUDGE A MAN UNTIL YOU HAVE WALKED A MILE IN HIS SANDALS---IF YOU CAN

So my sisters (those my parents gave to me and those I’ve acquired along the way) all ganged up on me and told me I couldn’t wear sandals anymore after I literally walked a hole in my old ones. At best I could wear flip-flops or thongs as they’re also called, and the word was final. When I would protest, I’d get a resigned sigh and then be told, “Well, of course you can wear whatever you want,” in only the most patronizing of tones. This then sent me off on a quest to find some I could tolerate. My first choice was the Tevas, the choice of The Frenchwoman. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find them in my size for less than $50, and because I’m not a woman, I cannot bear the idea of paying that much for two strips of leather attached to a bigger piece of leather and rubber. On the second day of my quest (yep, this took two days) I found a sale in SoHo and got some from Kenneth Cole for only $35 (all the summer shoes are on sale now). After that I did what I always do: look at other stores to make sure I got the best deal. I never found the Tevas or the Kenneth Coles cheaper so I was satisfied. Until I started wearing them. OW! OW! OW! The downside of insisting they be leather and not the cheap rubber kind. Leather needs to be broken in. OW! OW! OW! Not to mention, I’ve never worn these types of shoes before, so the whole “between the toes” thing is annoying. No wonder they named the other type of thongs after this. OW! OW! OW! Again, I’m not a woman! I’m not used to living in constant pain just to look good in a pair of shoes. Hell, that’s one of the reasons we run the planet and you don’t. It’s hard to overthrow nations when you can barely walk and harder to acquire wealth when you keep blowing it on shoes. OW! OW! OW! But they do look good on me.