SEPTEMBER '05 ARCHIVE

09/27/05

“Self-righteousness is a manifestation of self-contempt.” --- Eric Hoffer

THIS IS YOUR CAPTAIN SPEAKING, THE “SCRIPT SUCKS” SIGNS ARE NOW LIT. PLEASE REMAIN SEATED UNTIL WE GET A REWRITE.

Flightplan opens at number one and if you didn’t know it by now, Jodie Foster is the undisputed queen of the estro-thriller (the real female action movie). There are pretenders to the throne (Jennifer Lopez, Ashley Judd), but only the one true queen can take literally years off then open at number one. You can almost see Jodie brushing imaginary dirt off her shoulder at the thought it would be a problem and sneer, “Bitch, please. Do you know who I am?” Too bad it had to be in such a piece of crap. Sorry, but it is. Disney actually refused screenings at one point because they realized what a tremendous piece of crap it is. Apparently Jodie was too busy with her children to fully read the script. Or was too caught up in the acting challenge of a woman who may be having a nervous breakdown on a transatlantic flight. Either way, this is so beneath her it’s not even funny. And while I despise David Fincher, who directed Panic Room, at least that made some sense and they arranged their film well enough to explain how you could be trapped in your home in New York City and go unnoticed. Here, when you learn the secret behind everything that was going on, your eyes will roll so far back into your head, you’ll finally get a look at your own brain stem. As always, advertising bears some responsibility for this. After all, it’s in the commercials and trailer that you see the clue that her daughter is real and not just a figment of her imagination. Had we been denied that, we might actually have been able to enjoy the suspense of “Is or isn’t she crazy?” In reality, some characters might as well have been wearing shirts that read, “No One Knows I’m The Bad Guy” while others should be wearing “You’ll Never Guess I’m The Red Herring.” And while her talent hasn’t lost a step, Jodie is finally showing her age. It was a nice run, but it’s finally happened and we’re seeing the first sings of sag in her face. That angular perfection (which was so complimented whenever she wore Armani---no, I’m not gay) is starting to fade. Sigh. And she’s only 44. I blame Russell Crowe. She was trying to make a movie with him for a while and I’m sure that aged her at least six extra years.

I NAME THEE….POSEUR!

Finally going into wide release, The Corpse Bride jumps up to number two and I didn’t see this because of my first experience with Tim Burton’s animated work. Maybe I should give it another try, but I actually fell asleep in The Nightmare Before Christmas, so I’m in no great shakes to see this. And then there’s the simple fact I despise Tim Burton and one of the major things I despise is this bullshit faux-goth thing he’s got going on with films like this. Sorry, but you cannot be a mainstream filmmaking millionaire and still hold on to it. Look at fucking Ozzy Osborne. He’s not pretending he’s some dark lord. He’s too old and rich for that. It’s only truly for the young and the truly edgy. Not for a fucking studio-based millionaire who bones models and actresses. He’s not even leading an eccentric’s life. I could buy it if he were, but he’s not. He’s like the corporate lawyer who throws on his old Clash t-shirt to show how much of a rebel he is. No, you’re not.

YES, FIXING THAT PROBLEM DOES REQUIRE A CERTAIN “TOOL”

Just Like Heaven is down to number three and Mark Ruffalo continues his journey to become this generation’s David Strathairn, who has played the husband for Meryl Streep, Sigourney Weaver, Jessica Lange, Andie McDowell, and Glenn Close. He’s now the go-to guys for young female stars you want ably supported but not overshadowed. So far it’s been Gwyneth Paltrow, Jennifer Garner, Naomi Watts and now Reese Witherspoon (and one exception of the older Meg Ryan). But this makes him something of a whore, given how the former indie boy talked crap about 13 Going on 30 after collecting his paycheck. Like this is some sort of an improvement. They’re both about women whose lives would be better if they were with him rather than devoting time to their careers. Which actually makes him an egomaniac, something I might actually respect a little. “Yeah, I like to do movies where I solves bitches’ problems, ‘cause that’s how I like to see myself. A bitch problem solver.” Wait. It think it was one of my uncles who actually said that. Or maybe a guy on the train.

NO, THE SONG IS NEVER PLAYED IN THE MOVIE

Roll Skate opens at number four and what happened to “Bounce”? We all know it’s “Roccccccccck , Skate/Roooooolllll/Bounce…” That’s how the song goes. In any case, you know you’re getting old, when more and more nostalgia movies are about your youth. Actually, this isn’t quite my youth. I was 12 in 1978 and these kids are 15-16. Also, hated roller-skating. Skating of any kind in fact. Also, this is set in Chicago. So actually, this isn’t about my youth at all. Damn. In any case, I do remember the roller-disco craze, which was brought to a quick and merciful end by the Linda Blair film, Roller Boogie. That was in 1979, so the people in this film are like passengers on the Titanic; blissfully unaware of the horrible end so soon to come. This is by-the-numbers, coming-of-age filmmaking. Young boy/girl finds solace in his/her hobby after losing mom/dad. Hangs with collection of friends, including the girl/guy next door. Has unfulfilled crush on the hot boy/girl and there’s a big contest at the end. Nothing new at all and no real spin thrown on any of it except for the fact that it’s roller disco, which you never thought anyone would be nostalgic for. Even the “twist” at the end is a cliché in itself. But it does border on bad each and every time it goes for “The Drama.” There’s a screaming father/son moment involving a baseball bat and a smashed car, which makes NO. SENSE. AT. ALL. But in these films you have to have “The Big Dramatic Fight” so can have “The Touching Make-Up.” In fact the most interesting thing about it for me is the mini-reunion it has of the young female stars of Eve’s Bayou: Megan Good and Jurnee Smollett (yes, you’re pronouncing that correctly---there are stupid Black hippies too), who played sisters, despite being twenty shades different. Megan has always been the extremely pretty girl, who unfortunately has a bit of a hoochie vibe to her, not helped by over -tweezing her eyebrows, too much lip-gloss and appearing in rap videos with dirtbags like 50 Cent. She may not be a ho’, but she is definitely drawn that way. While not nearly as pretty, Jurnee has much more charisma and it’s disappointing they chose to go with the cliché of “The Pretty Girl” and not the “The Girl Next Door.” But that actually would have had twice the cliché, because then it would also have been “The Less Attractive Light-Skinned Girl Over The Darker Pretty Girl” which also runs through so many black movies. The male in question with these two women is Lil’ Bow Wow, who as actually grown up well and needs to drop this Bow Wow shit and go by his real name of Shad Gregory Moss. Okay, maybe drop that “Shad” crap.

LIKE THE GAY AND JEWISH MAFIAS WOULD EVER LET THIS HAPPEN

The Exorcism of Emily Rose is down to number five and there was an article in the NY Times about how movies like this one and Just Like Heaven are the signs of a new right wing movement in films. Sigh. Just when you thought “liberal/gay/Jewish Hollywood conspiracy” was the dumbest thing you’d ever heard. Bear in mind, he included The Island as part of this trend. Yeah, that’s how dumb it was. By they way, even though The Island found an audience overseas ($121M overseas, as compared to $35M domestic), it’s being sued by the producers of an even worse movie called The Clonus Horror with the exact same plot. What’s even worse is, I remember reading about The Clonus Horror in Starlog when I was a kid. I am that freaking geeky. So not only will it not turn much of a profit, but whatever they get will be taken away. Heh-heh-heh.

IF YOU’RE GOING TO BE A MORALITY-FREE DOG, AT LEAST HAVE TASTE

Lord of War is down to number six and also in this as Nicholas Cage’s brother is pretty boy Jared Leto and in case you think there’s something odd about that, I have two words for you: The Quaids. Jared Leto has always been a huge poseur, not doing interviews, doing method acting, but this all falls away in the face of young Hollywood booty, as he’s dated Scarlett Johansson and one of the Olsen Twins in the last year. He’s 34. You can’t even respect him as an ass bandit because of the Olsen Twin. I mean, it’s not like he’s chasing Jessica Alba. And you can’t respect him as a gold-digger because Scarlett Johansson has no money. You just can’t respect him.

FROM THE MICHAEL CAINE SCHOOL OF ACTING

The 40-Year-Old Virgin is down to number seven, followed by The Constant Gardener at number eight and also in this is the hardest working man in England: Bill Nighy, who has a very funny line in a film pretty much devoid of laughs (when asked why he believes a gay man may have raped and murdered a woman, he replies with a straight face, “I’ve met some savage queens in my time.”). He’s also going to turn up in one of the Pirates of The Caribbean sequels as Davy Jones himself (no, not the one from The Monkees). It’s too bad Keith Richards couldn’t find time to be in the movie because of the new Rolling Stones tour, because if you’ve ever seen Still Crazy or Love Actually, you know that Bill Nighy does burned out rock star just as good as the real thing and it would have been fun seeing them onscreen together.

ANYTHING TO AVOID READING

Transporter 2 is down to number nine and between what it’s made worldwide and what it will probably make on DVD, you can expect a third one. And yes, I will probably see that too.

THE END

Finally, Cry Wolf closes out the top ten at number ten.

PSSST! I’M LIVING WITH A…THESPIAN!

Out of loyalty to my common-law-wife -roommate and distinct fear of being killed in my sleep (she’s half-Sicilian, half-Irish, which means she’ll plant a bomb under my bed as she slits my throat), I traveled up to Stamford, CT to see her in a play called “Children” (she was also on Law & Order: Criminal Intent last night, showing up on in the last five minutes as “Distraught Teacher”), which is based on a short story by John Cheever, which means it was about repressed WASPs who drink, keep secrets for the sake of appearances over happiness and struggle with burgeoning self-awareness, due in no small part to the influence of a left-leaning Jewess who wears no bra. She was the wife who directly experiences said awakening due to said braless Jewess. Yes, it was good. Yes, she was good. I’m easily the least talented of all my friends who have all been paid at least once for their artistic vocations, which is why I’ve hitched my wagon to all their various stars. At least one of them has to work out. And then I’ll be one of their paid hangers on. The guy you read about in The Star who bitch slaps a yogurt store counterperson for not putting on enough sprinkles (“Miss Ross wants her sprinkles, goddammit!”). This makes my fourth straight trip out of the city in four weeks. It was the early show, so even pushing forty I was still half the age of the average patron, who then bolted out at the end of the show, no doubt to catch the dinner special. Because I was unfortunately raised right, when I met another person who was also headed back to the city, I offered her part of my ride to the train station so she didn’t have to take a cab---and was then stuck with her for the ride back. No, she was not attractive and yes, she was as weird as hell (another actress). When the small talk ran out, I cannot tell you how grateful was to nod off. But the trip back was not without amusement. At the Greenwich stop the train was suddenly boarded by a gaggle of tall, thin, blonde teenage girls who all looked and dressed alike. It’s like they’ve got a Barbie factory up there. Even funnier still was there was a group of brunettes the same age AND THE TWO GROUPS DID NOT MIX! I love America.

TV: IT LOVES ME WHEN ALL ELSE HAVE ABANDONED ME

So much TV, so little time. Half the new shows this year all started last week in addition to new episodes of old shows. Thank god I don’t read books…How I Met Your Mother got surprisingly good reviews. I don’t know why. Did the world need another depiction of New York as young and white? All that saves this is Doogie Howser. He was the best thing about Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle and he’s the best thing about this…what the fuck happened to Lara Flynn Boyle who is now on Las Vegas? I’m not talking about her weight. I’m talking about her lips. I always take collagen accusations with a grain of salt, but she looks hideous. Repeated injections and her party girl life have taken their toll. She’s not beautiful any more. Such a pity. Has no one learned from Mickey Rourke?…the French Woman went to school with the writer of Bones, so I had to see that. It’s crap, but it’s crap like junk food is crap, meaning, don’t think about it too much---at all if you can help it---and you might enjoy it. They used a great song by Spoon called “I Turn My Camera On” which was worth the time I wasted watching it…My Name is Earl is great. Surprisingly it totally lives up to its hype. The question now is can it maintain?…Supernatural is an obvious attempt to rope in some lingering Buffy fans, but with only half the wit and none of the estrogen. In fact, you get to watch the heroes’ mother and one of their girlfriends die the same horrific death in the opening episode and if you didn’t see it coming then you’re sadly even dumber than these writers. And that’s dumb…I fast forward through Joey solely to see Drea DeMatteo but unlike Friends which took almost ten year to acknowledge there were minorities in New York, they managed to meet a Black guy the second year…and sitting on my DVR are Kitchen Confidential and Just Legal, because I have a bad habit of watching Don Johnson in just about everything. I had no intention of every watching Head Cases, but it cracks me up that it’s the first show canceled, because I hate Adam Goldberg. Mainly because he’s an ugly fuck who doesn’t seem to know he’s an ugly fuck and can’t get the leading man roles. BECAUSE YOU’RE AN UGLY FUCK! And now the other half of all the new shows start…and will wind up unseen on my DVR as well. It’s almost like a second job.

ANOTHER LESSON LEARNED LATE IN LIFE

So one of my former bosses shares my birthday and my point of view of the world---except that she’s a Republican, which seems contradictory, but remember I’m from the south. Despite my big pussy liberalism, I believe in the right to own guns and the death penalty. Just violence and killing as a solution to problems in general. In any case, she’s the one who hurt me with margaritas that time, so of course we met up after work to have more margaritas. Big ones. I was all-but-drunk by the end of the night and lost my ability to whisper, thus letting my playa-hater run free. There was a middle-aged man at the end of the bar, perhaps in his late 40’s early 50’s and he struck up a conversation with a pretty young thing. He was about to move over to sit next to her when he heard my drunken non-whisper about how he was the sad, dirty-old-man bastard I feared becoming. He literally stopped in his tracks and sat back down, confirming he was me, unable to act on his impulses out of an allegiance to a morality that doesn’t actually matter to anyone but him. But I may have saved him, as he was soon joined by a female friend his own, who probably would have roasted his ass when she saw him. I mean, that’s what my friends would do. But when I left, the pretty girl looked disappointed and lonely. Another successful night out. My work there was done. I went home and pretty much passed out---only to be awakened by Around The Way Girl, who will need a new name, as she’s moving uptown (no, we’re not using any Billy Joel). She wanted to go visit a dive bar in the neighborhood before she left and for some godforsaken reason, I agreed. Such a mistake. I was hungover at midnight in a dive bar with far too many pre-maturely balding young men letting their thin hair grow long in an effort to hide it. Also the female-to-male ratio was dangerously low. Then I made the mistake of ordering a beer rather than some straight-up hard liquor. All the while she’s got this mantra of “Drink, mutherfucker! Drink.” Any other time that might have been midly sexy. Not that night. I finally managed to beg off and go home to pour myself back into bed where I had all sorts of ugly drunk dreams much to horrible to reaccount here (an inventive way to kill a man using a ferrets comes to mind). The bright spot of the night had to be Around the Way Girl’s ass. Now that she’s moved away I can say this without fear of being accosted in the local Duane Reade (and she stopped reading this long ago). It is such a piece of globular perfection (she was gymnast) it makes me question how I’ve done without it in those times I’ve chosen to betray my race and lay in the arms of “Mistuh Charley’s Woman.” No, offense, but Sista Booty rules.

09/20/05

“Writing is a solitary occupation. Family, friends, and society are the natural enemies of the writer. He must be alone, uninterrupted, and slightly savage if he is to sustain and complete an undertaking.” --- Jessamyn West

TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS, YOUNG JEDI…WITH AN ODD FEMININE TASTE IN MOVIES

Just Like Heaven opens at number one and while I love the romantic comedies (especially those set in San Francisco) I can now tell on sight what is shit, and this looks like shit. First of all it starts off with the caveman thought that a woman can’t possibly be happy with just a successful career. She has to have a man. I’m sorry, but when your prime audience is women, what kind of shit premise is that? Imagine this reversed. Reese Witherspoon’s husband, Ryan “Angel Boy” Phillipe is now the hardworking young doctor with no time for a social life. How many snide comments about him not having a wife are going to be made by his colleagues, especially when it’s pointed out that the absence of said wife is what makes it possible for him to be around TO HELP HEAL THE SICK! “Oh it’s great you don’t have a home life, doctor. Otherwise this person might have suffered and died.” Didn’t anyone tell these people that sacrificing your personal life to help others is actually a noble attribute? Apparently, if you’re an unmarried, childless female, it’s a failing. Then you add Napoleon Dynamite as the guy to “spell it out” for the morons in the audience who couldn’t figure out the story on the forty-foot-fucking screen in front of them. “Dude, you two are falling in love.” Over-the-top goofy supporting characters are to be used sparingly in romantic comedies and by no means are to make the romance work. Tim Robbins actually stands between our couple in Bull Durham. Hugh Grant’s wacky friends are pretty much unaware of his relationship with Andie McDowell to the point they’re almost in another movie. The only time over-the–top goofy is acceptable is if they’re one of the leads, to, of course, contrast with the uptight manner of the other lead, that standard being set by Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant in Bringing Up Baby. This is actually based on a book by some French guy and was a bestseller there. One of the reviews from 2000 read---and I’m not making this up---“One can imagine it as an offbeat romantic comedy on the screen, with charismatic actors and some nifty special effects, but as a book it's slight and one-dimensional…actually reads more like a draft of a screenplay…” Sigh. He’s crapping out drek and getting rich, while I’m being somewhat witty for free.

…AND ON THE THIRD LEVEL OF HELL: THE DISCOVERS OF DNA!

The Exorcism of Emily Rose is down one notch to number two and perhaps these people need to send Mel Gibson a check, as he proved there’s a theatrical audience for movies that reflect a hardline Catholic dogma, not even pretending to accept anything else. The irony being, Peter Blass, the author of the original Exorcist books, is one of those people, but the most recent sequels to his book haven’t done nearly as well as this film. Probably because it was just about fighting Satan, as opposed to fighting Satan and his unknowing helpers, scientists, doctors and pretty much anyone who doesn’t believe the earth is flat.

MR. KISS KISS, BANG BANG

The Lord of War opens at number three and it’s beginning to seem that Gattaca is going to wind up writer/director Andre Niccol’s best film because he was able to hide his message (it’s the spirit that matters) in the film’s science fiction premise of genetic superiority and privilege. He wasn’t quite as lucky in the pseudo-science fiction of S1mone which---gasp---showed up how shallow Hollywood is and how celebrity obsessed we are, but gets a little more gritty this time taking on the international arms trade, which is, you know, bad. The problem with the film is that the main character lacks any depth. He pretty much becomes an arms dealer because he knows he can be good at it. We never really get why guns and not any other type of merchandise, especially when we’re not only told it’s just like selling vacuum cleaners, but we see him being successful selling other things (drugs, oil, timber) Is it the power of firearms, the thill of rule-breaking or is it merely the love of money? Any additional knowledge would have helped, but we get nothing. Just two hours of Nicholas Cage in his resigned, nasal drone about the absurdities of arms dealing over the last twenty years. And there are very few surprises. Guns are bad, governments are uncaring and certain parts of Africa are fucked beyond belief (between this and The Constant Gardener, it’s amazing there’s anyone there left to be killed). The second some characters hit the screen, you know they’re dead (though he does, thankfully, avoid the most pathetic irony of the consequence of being a merchant of death). It does have moments of humor, but Niccol would have been better off spending a little more time on that, than giving us yet another detail on how an arms deal is brokered. And if you want to talk irony and humor (albeit unintentional humor), how about Bridgette Moynihan, a model who cannot act, delivering a monologue about being a model who cannot act?

ACTING ON A PRAYER IS MORE LIKE IT

The 40-Year-Old Virgin is down to number four, followed by Cry Wolf opening at number five and where is the PG13 slasher film that did so well that all slasher films are now PG13? This is ridiculous. People are going to see a little nudity and some blood being spilled. This pretty much rules out both. Surprisingly enough, this has gotten some decent reviews from critics for having some semblance of a brain, which would ease the blood requirement, but not the nudity. Not for me. And the only thing more surprising than that is the presence in the film of…Jon Bon Jovi? As an English teacher? And what does it say about your current star status, when a movie doesn’t even bother to mention you’re in it? I mean, this isn’t some prestige indie film. Ignoring Gary Cole is one thing, but the second biggest rock star out of New Jersey?

ETC…

Transporter 2 is down to number six, followed by The Constant Gardener at number seven and Red Eye at number eight.

LESSON LEARNED: AMERICA LIKES PENGUINS MORE THAN PIMPS

Those penguins simply won’t go down as March of the Penguins rises back up to number nine and apparently this was overlooked at Sundance in favor of Hustle & Flow, which topped out at $22M, which isn’t bad for a film that only cost $2.8M, but you add the $9M MTV/Paramount paid for it and marketing costs of $15M and suddenly you’ve lost money (do I have to point out, again, that Black people probably bootlegged this more than anyone else?). This, on the other hand, was bought for a song and has made $70M domestically alone (with another $15M overseas).

THE END

Finally, Wedding Crashers closes out the top ten at number ten and all this time we never mentioned that Christopher Walken was in this and has always done what Robert DeNiro on recently discovered: played comedy and drama exactly the same, which only makes the comedy that much funnier. And with Christopher Walken, even the bloodiest drama is equally funny.

WHAT KIND OF COUNTRY STAR DRESSES LIKE THAT?

Kenny Chesney and Renee Zellweger split. If I gave a shit, I’d mention how completely unsurprising this is. So you say the musician you married after knowing him for two seconds, right after you finished dating two previous musicians (one of whom was Damien Rice, for which I will always respect her) didn’t work out? Wow. I never would have imagined. Is this another case of JLo-ism, the inability to date someone for more than a few months without thinking of marriage? Not to mention she met while on a break from working. What did she think was going to happen when he went on tour and she was off in England gaining twenty pounds or in Toronto learning to dance? And am I the only one who thinks his fashion sense of shell necklaces and tank tops is rather…suspect? Unless he lives in Margaritaville, what straight country guy dresses like that?

TROY BEYER: NOT QUITE THE NEW NATALIE WOOD

Death is back to claiming the talented, with producer/director Robert Wise dying, but he was a thousand, (actually 91) so it’s no great surprise. Of course he is best remembered for West Side Story and Sound of Music and not the horrific Rooftops (Lower East Side Story, if you will, with none other than Etta James singing about “Avenue D”), which bears the ignominy of being his last theatrical film, but I remember him most for directing two of the best science fiction movies ever: The Andromeda Strain and The Day The Earth Stood Still. Yeah, he directed Star Trek The Motion Picture, but we’re going to pretend that didn’t happen. He also did movies like I Want To Live, Executive Suite (with the great Barbara Stanwyck), The Sand Pebbles and Run Silent, Run Deep. But I realize that I didn’t mention the death in August of Joe Ranft. Yeah, you know him. He was the voice of Wheezy the Penguin in Toy Story, Jacques the Shrimp in Finding Nemo and Heimlich in A Bug’s Life. But that was just for kicks. His real job was story supervisor on all those films as well as the stories for Beauty & The Beast and The Lion King. He also worked on The Incredibles, Monsters, Inc and The Nightmare Before Christmas and was a producer on the forthcoming The Corpse Bride. Yeah, now you know why you should be sad. He died in a traffic accident. He was only 45.

NEXT YOU’LL TELL ME SHE’S PROMISCUOUS

Kate Moss uses cocaine!?! Well, I’m shocked! Shocked, I tell you to find out that a supermodel whose current boyfriend has MAJOR drug problems is a user herself! Somewhere Johnny Depp is sighing, “That’s another bullet I dodged.” Or is it that all Johnny Depp’s childwoman former girlfriends are going to fall on hard times? Kate Moss is a cokehead with a drug addict boyfriend and Winona Ryder is drug addict klepto. What are Sherilyn Fenn and Jennifer Grey doing right now?

STAR SEARCH

So, you know celebrity sightings are slim when all I can say is Dee Snider in Forbidden Planet with a typical rocker type of wife (harsh, plastic-looking, middle-aged blonde) and Chloe Sevigny, who cannot dress herself. Onscreen, dressed by others, she seems to be tall and thin with a nice body. In reality, she seems short and slouchy and what is up with the high-waisted shorts? They don’t look good on anyone. And the high point was seeing the little Asian girl from the IBM commercials (“I live in a small village in China.”) in the window of a small pizza place in the East Village with her dad. She looks just as adorable in person.

AND IT WASN’T BLACK CHEERLEADER SEARCH EITHER

I’m not saying I was with a close friend when she discovered her boyfriend had been watching porn using her DVD player. Nor am I saying that they are an interracial couple and he’d been watching porn with women specific to her ethnic group. And I’m seriously not saying “Big Black Wet Asses” was the title of that DVD. But if this had happened, in exactly that way, it would be some of the funniest shit I’ve seen in a looooooong time. A Chris Rock joke come to life. But it could have been worse (if it had happened, and I’m not saying it did). It could have been women who looked nothing like her. I don’t know exactly how I’d feel to find my non-Black girlfriend had “Geeky Four-Eyed Bruthas” in the DVD player. I think I’d be so impressed it actually existed I’d have to keep it for myself and show all my friends. But “Geeky Four Eyed White/Asian/Spanish Guys” from my White/Asian/Spanish girlfriend might give me pause.

WHAT ELSE IS THERE TO DO IN OHIO?

64 girls are pregnant in one Ohio High School. Not Los Angeles, not New York, Caton-fucking-Ohio. Apparently having the Pro Football Hall of Fame just isn’t as compelling to the kids as one might have thought. “Hey, Suzie, you wanna look a Y.A. Tittle’s old jersey or do it? You sure? ‘Cause that jersey’s mighty nice.”

FAMILY BUSINESS

So, my brother came to town and you know what that means. I had to go see the Mets play the Braves, making it my third straight weekend of leaving the city. This time we were joined by his nieces and nephews by marriage, who ranged between 18 and 22 and are apparently loaded. The Rich Nephew I’d met before had his father just recently get him an apartment in the village and pay his rent in advance…for the whole fucking year. When I first met Rich Nephew, he didn’t seem to be too much of a rich kid. This time, however, he wore and wore it well, with his perfectly coiffed hair, whiter-than-white designer shirt, designer shades that never came off and girlfriend, who was apparently channeling Paris Hilton, with her blonde hair piled on head like I Dream of Jeannie. Her designer sunglasses that never came off either, even though we were never directly in the sun. It doesn’t help that he’s also a good-looking kid (kinda looks like Dale Midkiff from the first Pet Semetary movie). If this were a movie, he’d be the rich pretty boy the heroine is dating before she leaves him for our poor, artist hero. The others made no real impression, except for one of the girls who had a hickey on her neck the size of a dollar piece. I didn’t think the kids were still doing that today, what with their oral sex parties and whatnot. It seemed sweetly old-fashioned…for an ugly, gigantic, purple-brownish bruise. While I despise baseball, seeing it live isn’t all that bad, especially when it’s bobblehead day! Yes, the pain of having to buy a second $4.50 soda when I accidentally kicked over my first (not to mention $4.50 for and hot dog and $3.50 for fries) was marginally offset by being given a Willie Randolph bobblehead doll. One of you should expect it as a gift for Christmas. That the Braves lost means nothing, but my Falcons fell as well and I feel it was because I was at this goddamn game.

MAYBE I SHOULD RUN PARAMOUNT

So, I finally sold off the 1556 comics (the number is exact because I’m anal enough to have created an excel file with every single issue catalogued) I purged from my collection. Initially, I tried comic shops, but they weren’t responding in time and this stuff had to go! I didn’t go to My Dealer, because I’d feel guilty somehow taking his money---even thought I’d be giving it back with every new Superman figure I buy (I’m up to ten). I put it up on Craig’s List and eBay simultaneously and within three hours someone bought the whole thing for $250 plus $80 shipping. Now if that seems good, bear in mind that I paid no less than $2 each one, which at the very minimum is $3000 spent. But some were up to $6, so it averages out to be about $4 a comic, which would be around $6K spent over the last thirteen years (that’s $461 a year on comics). My return was about $.16 an issue. But don’t cry for me, Argentina. I buy comics not as an investment, but for the pleasure I get out of reading them, period. They’re like hit of booze or drugs and what I spend on comics is nothing compared to what people spend on booze. Think about it. How much of the booze or coke you’re had over the last 13 years can you resell on eBay? And the ultimate goal was actually just to have more space in my closet without taking a total loss and I did accomplish that. Now comes the shitty part of having to ship this shit out, which as we all know, is the worst part of eBaying.

IT’S OFFICIAL: SUMMER’S OVER

Well, I know for sure summer is over because after three months of relative peace on the weekends from next door (remember my neighbors, the Hard Humping Gay Guys?) it’s gotten loud again but now in an even more annoying way. Now it’s the very annoying “pre-club” ritual. This means that on Friday and Saturday nights (thank god they’re not young and gay, ‘cause then it would be every night but those) one-hundred-beats a minute club music comes pounding through the walls for half an hour or so, then around 11:30 or midnight it stops and I then hear them in the halls, ready to get their groove on. How is it gay men can have impeccable taste in virtually everything else, but like that crappy Eurotrash type of dance music? Where are the divas? Where’s the R&B? Why is it I’m not hearing Mariah Carey coming through the walls? Even that would be better. Oh, well. At least they’re not waking me up anymore. Just another price to pay for livin’ in the big city. Maybe I’ll start practicing my guitar again (my Foreigner obsession ended quickly and I stopped). That’ll make sure we all suffer.

CALL ME F. SCOTT…I’VE GOT THE CRAZY GIRL THING COVERED

Finally, if you’ve ever wondered why there are still so many mistakes in this column, despite spell-check, it’s because I rarely do it without a few drinks in me. Cheap chardonnay enhances my creativity. Well, it does! I feel I’m channeling James Joyce. Stream of consciousness and all that. Hey, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

09/13/05

THE DEVIL IN MISS JONES

Opening at number one is the Exorcism of Emily Rose, which was based on the true story of a priest pretty much killing an epileptic girl because they thought she was possessed. I’m sure all the legions of poor, uneducated Catholics who always seem to be the prey of Satan made this number one. Strange how Satan never seems to go after people like, say, The Bush Daughters or the Hilton sisters (though can be argued that both are already instruments of the devil). And where are the men? And why is always devout Catholics? If you were Satan and you wanted to make some poor kid your instrument, wouldn’t you be better off with a family of atheist scientists, who would never, ever bring in the church to expel you? Why go fight the one group of people who recognize you on sight and do exactly what is necessary to bring you down? That’s like an arsonist continually attacking the houses of firemen. While sheer stupidity is the actual reason I won’t see most horror films beyond my usual “I Don’t Do the Scary” this is a special kind of stupidity keeping me home. Even my beloved Laura Linney couldn’t get me into this. Nor could she get me into The Mothman Prophecies, which was also inspired by “real events.” Well, they were real in the minds of the freaks that reported them anyway. Just like this. And the rest of cast is filled with people you wouldn’t expect to be wasting their time this way. Campbell Scott, Tom Wilkinson, Colm Feore, Mary Beth Hurt…car payments aplenty must have been due. But given this only cost $18M to make they must either have some cheap cars, too much free time on their hands or owed someone in this production a favor. I swear more money went into the obviously effective marketing campaign.

PROMISE AND $2 WILL GET YOU ON THE TRAIN

The Forty-Year Old Virgin holds at number two, followed by Transporter 2 down to number three and also in this is Matthew Modine and remember when he was a hot, young leading man? Rising up things like Private School with Phoebe Cates (and the also smoking B-list actress of the 80’s, Betsy Russell) up to the lead in Full Metal Jacket with Stanley Kubrick and Married to the Mob, firmly establishing him as a star…then came the slow slide down. Gross Anatomy, Pacific Heights, Wind (with post-op Jennifer Grey) and the movie that was nail in the coffin of no less than three careers, Cutthroat Island. When I would think of Matthew Modine in the 80’s, I saw the guy you called when you couldn’t get Timothy Hutton and sadly, his career has mirrored Timothy Hutton’s.

THE FEEL BAD MOVIE OF THE YEAR

The Constant Gardner is down to number four and this is one of those movies you know you should see because it’s good, but don’t know want to because it’s going to depress you and make you feel bad about living in the privileged part of the world when there’s so much suffering going on elsewhere and you’re doing nothing about it. Well, your fears are totally justified here. Ralph Fiennes, who apparently never found a role where he felt the character suffered too much, is the mild-mannered, low-level British diplomat whose activist wife is found raped and murdered, most likely because she got in the way of a major pharmaceutical firm. He is then spurred into action to finish what she started. Yes, if you’re looking for light-hearted forget-the-world-for-a-few-hours entertainment, this is not your film, but if weeping a little over the state of the world doesn’t bother you (if you don’t cry when Ralph Fiennes and Pete Postlewaite have to leave a little girl behind when bandits attack a bush village in the Sudan, and we see her running in the dust as the plane takes off…then you’re not human) then this is well worth your time. But you will want to run out and give all you money to Amnesty International afterwards. If the film has one flaw, it’s the odd casting of Danny Huston (son of John, brother to Angelica) as an Englishman amongst all these real brits, like Ralph Fiennes, Rachel Weisz, Pete Postlethwaite and Bill Nighy. And speaking of Rachel Weisz, all her to the list of great women Ralph Fiennes has had the pleasure of love scenes with onscreen. Before her there was obviously the amazing Kristin Scott Thomas (The English Patient) and then Julianne Moore in The End of The Affair. He’s also had the pleasure of working with Angela Basset, Cate Blanchett, Uma Thurman and Emily Watson. So for a seemingly miserable bastard he’s mastered the fine art of being with some great women onscreen (we’ll let that JLo thing slide).

NOT A SEQUEL TO THE DR. DRE/ED LOVER CLASSIC

Red Eye is down one notch to number five, followed by The Man opening up at number six and how cruel is it to think about how the producer wanted to show this to the evacuees of the Superdome---knowing damn well they can’t run away from it. Haven’t they suffered enough!?! Why did anyone think this would be a good idea? Show ‘em the freaking penguin movie! And if this doesn’t get Samuel L. Jackson the Michael Caine award of Biggest Talented Whore Working, then I don’t know what will. Does the man say “No” to anything that comes across his desk!?! I’m thinking not. Not if you think “Okay, it’s you and Eugene Levy in a mismatched buddy comedy…” is a good idea. The only thing that could have saved this was an excessive amount of cursing on the part of Samuel L. But then you’d have to call it The Muthafuckin’ Man.

AND CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM IS A FRUIT

The Brothers Grimm is down to number seven, followed by Wedding Crashers at number eight, cracking $200M! While on one hand I’m thrilled with the obvious return of the “R” rated comedy, complete with boobs, I am also dismayed by the firm establishment of Owen Wilson as a star. And who knew this actually helped Vince Vaughn more than anything? All this time I thought he was somebody, turns out he wasn’t able to command the big money until now. Maybe now he can hire a long-overdue personal trainer. There is almost no connection between that guy in Swingers and this puffy bastard. But given that he’s leaving LA to return to his hometown of Chicago, where beer is considered a vegetable, I would say a healthy diet is a long way away.

MORE MOVIES I’LL NEVER SEE

Four Brothers is down to number nine with March of the Penguins closing out the top ten at number ten.

I AM A JELLY DOUGHNUT

So, believe it or not, I not only left the house on Saturday night, but I left it to socialize. At a party. In fucking Queens. I wasn’t quite sure why I did it---at least until the end of the night. It was “That Guy” again, who uses every opportunity to attempt to sell his evil wares. You know that part of the Godfather after the treaty had been set when Brando says, “Tatalia’s a pimp. He never could have outfought Santino. What I didn’t until this day was that it was Barzini all along”? Remember that? Well, if laziness and apathy are my Santino, then “That Guy” is my Barzini and Tattaglia is my social sense. There’s no way my Tatalia could have out fought my Santino, but working behind the scenes, my Barzini, a.k.a., “That Guy” managed to sneak me out to Queens, so he could, yes, hand out business cards at the end of the party. Sigh. I was invited out by The Fun Girl, who shall henceforth be known as “The Libertine” because it not only reflects her politics, but her lifestyle, as we learned upon the first encounter. The Libertine works with a lot of Germans, so it was German heavy at the party and I’m going to resist going for the cheap jokes here, but after a few drinks, there was a call to “reunify” the peoples of the 2nd floor and at 39 minutes past the hour, they took the apartment of the Polish couple next door. The board of the building was helpless, as their lighting strikes brought them both the third and fourth floors in record time (the French family surrendered before they were even out of the elevator). Despite these quick successes, The Libertine’s dependency on mysticism cost them and they lost the heavily homosexual fifth floor, in a conflict that shall be known as “The Battle of The Bulge.” The end came quickly after that, with The Libertine committing suicide in the kitchen at 45 minutes past the hour, while those that didn't escape to the South American restaurant downstairs were captured by the Building Board and now work on their space program. Actually, it was very low-key and the Germans were very nice. One guy had to be the luckiest man in NYC, having not only beaten a $115 parking ticket because the officer didn’t write down the location, but also got his laptop back after leaving it in a cab’s trunk because the driver was a devout Muslim. As it turns out the girl who looked 15 was actually 21, not 30---but she still looks 15, which became a running gag for the night. She also displayed the only scary German attribute of the night, when she responded to a guy’s comment that The Libertine’s cd case was heavy. “You’re just weak,” she snorted without a smile. Ooookay. I also met The Libertine’s boyfriend and managed to refrain from saying, “I know what you’re getting for your birthday!” which was best, considering he took my card for his brother. As it wound down, a group of guys were going to a club nearby and asked me along. Needless to say, I declined, because if I don’t club in Manhattan there’s no fucking way I’m clubbing in fucking Queens. I also received several invitations to something called a “stammtisch” that they have every Wednesday at a bar. It supposedly just drinks…but I fear that it will nonetheless end with an invasion of Poland. Sorry, it’s just such an easy target.

OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES

One last note on The Libertine…in that way young people have to blurt out the most basic truths, she in advertently managed to sum up my entire life during an email exchange. After reading my site, she commented that I was more “cantankerous” than “cranky” like the old men her mother the nurse use to work with. They’d complain about how much life sucked while trying to grab her ass. “Complaining about how much life sucks while trying to grab ass.” If that isn’t the perfect description of me, my life and probably the title of my autobiography, then I don’t know what is. It’s so accurate on so many levels. This easily ousts the old title, which shall just have to be the chapter on my sex life: “I Can’t Believe I Gave My Panties To A Geek.” As many of you will know, that’s from Sixteen Candles, but also the look I’ve seen the morning after on pretty much every woman I’ve ever been with. But look for “Complaining About How Much Life Sucks While Trying To Grab Ass” on your bookshelves soon.

REMEMBER WHEN WE AVOIDED TELETHONS?

Telethon for Hurricane…you thought the worse thing that happened to New Orleans was the hurricane. Nope, it was Randy Newman writing another painfully obvious song about it. Who knew this fucker would peak with “Short People” and “I Love LA.”…I’m digging U2 and Mary J. Blige…I have no love of gospel, because it always turns into just a bunch of screaming, so I just skip this Alicia Keys part. Thank you DVR…Quick! Can you count all the celebrities on the phones?…damn, Jack Nicholson puttin’ his mack down on a telethon, making Debra Messing sticky in her seat next to him…Cameron Diaz ruins the story that affected me the most about this whole ordeal. The 6-year-old boy who showed up leading six other children…Neil Young trying to sing? Just stick to rocking in the free world…Chris Rock couldn’t resist. He’s back to being someone I respect. And they were just waiting for someone to screw-up. As soon as he made his joke, the music almost drowned him out…you know, I don’t like John Fogerty, so I don’t like the Foo Fighters doing John Fogerty…Jennifer Anniston shows Brad Pitt she can save the world too…Mariah Carey in her size 12---I mean 6, jeans…damn, Paul Simon. Loves me some Paul Simon, even if he creepily married half-his-age Edie Brickell. Then again, it killed her career so maybe it was a good thing. He’s not hitting those high notes, though and needs to stop and call Garfunkel---if he’s made bail yet for pot possession…Sela Ward is a southern girl? Who knew?…oh, this must have made someone smile. The Dixie Chicks. If Bush was watching, he sure as hell turned it off now…can we stop with the obvious songs with water in them? Yes, Sheryl Crow, I’m talking to you…damn, that English white boy desire to be Black never goes away, does it? All the blondes in the world can’t fill that space in Rod Stewart’s soul…I’m an atheist and hate Kanye West, but “Jesus Walks” has a kick to it…and now the greatest evil of the hurricane is revealed as it brings Garth Brooks out of retirement to sing, yes, another song with water or rain in the lyrics. And it’s John Fogerty too. Strike three....Dr. John finally shows up. This is the guy Randy Newman wants to be…okay, anyone think it’s weird that the most famous person from Louisiana hasn’t been seen or heard from? Yeah, Britney, I know you’re pregnant, but still if you’ve got time for Elle covers…

A NICE STORY

The story that Cameron Diaz screwed up was that of the little boy who led six other children to safety and is my favorite story out of New Orleans. He’s six and was carrying his five-month old brother, with three two-year-olds behind him and three-year-old who was leading her 14-month old baby brother. They were all holding hands. If you’re not crying right now you’re not human. One of the two-year-old girls refused to give her named until a relief worker took a picture and showed to her, where upon she pointed and said, “Gabby.” Again, you’d better be affected by that or accept that you’re a fucking monster. But in all this, there is humor. Where? Well, because of their names. The boy who led them all was Deamonte Love. His little brother was Darynael Love. The two girls who were his cousins, Tyreek Love and Zoria Love and the others were Gabrielle Janae Alexander, Degahney Carter and Leewood Moore Jr. Yes, they’re Black. How ever could you have guessed? The only white people who do that to their kids are musicians and movie stars. A helicopter rescued them when their parents decided to send them ahead first. The helicopter never came back, but they were eventually evacuated to San Antonio and found their children on a website that had been set up for just that purpose. They all rejoined their parents last Sunday. Whatever else happens in his life, no one can ever tell Deamonte he’s not a man. He could go to Vegas tomorrow and demand a hooker and drink and if anyone questioned him, all he need say is, “My name is Love. Deamonte Love.” The only reply would be, “Sheila will be down in a minute. In the meantime, would you like that on the rocks, sir?”

REMEMBER WHEN WE AVOIDED TELETHONS PART II

Another telethon, this time on MTV, and another opportunity to show the road to hell is paved with good intentions…Kid Rock with the surviving members of Lynard Skynrd, which is pretty much no one who mattered. Actually, he should just join the band and be the charismatic lead singer they’ve needed for the last 30 years. Especially, since his overrated career ended years ago and let’s stop pretending part of his success wasn’t because he was the “Great White Hope” before Eminem…I like Kelly Clarkson because she’s such a cute little girl and refreshingly enthusiastic about her career (that big ass doesn’t hurt). God knows it’s not this song…Green Day is writing seriously annoying ballads for their generation. First it was “Hope You Had The Time of Your Life” and now “Wake Me Up When September Ends.” In another decade or so, expect all the kids who grew up with it to throw them into every poignant scene. Or maybe not. After all, when was the last time you heard REM’s “Everybody Hurts” anywhere?…”Waiting For A Friend” remains one of the great minor classics by The Rolling Stones, which has the honor of being not being overplayed. And if you ever catch the video, see what the East Village was like before it became a hispter’s paradise…John Mayer let his hair grow and has gone serious pretty boy in the process. Wasn’t he getting enough pussy?…who wants to hear rappers sing? No one, David Banner…we’ll skip past Rob Thomas without even stopping…I should probably listen to Buckwheat Zydeco, but I gave money, so I feel that frees me…at least now no one can complain Coldplay’s dreary English pop is inappropriate for the setting…Big & Rich? Fast and forward…when did Trent Reznor become a middle-aged man? And sorry, but Johnny Cash took your song “Hurt” and you cannot take it back. But I feel for him. I saw his house in a tour in New Orleans, so this is very personal to him…Sheryl Crow, Bon Jovi, U2, Common, Beck, The Neville Brothers, etc. All singing very low key, emotional songs and I just can’t take it any more. Look, I’ve been depressed all week. How about you use your musical gift and lift me the fuck up!?! Enough with the depressing music. You don’t see Jerry Lewis having depressing music telethons every year! The point is to entertain people for their money. Of all people only that fuckhead Kanye West understood this. And what the fuck made Maroon 5 think they could sing “Don’t Let Me Down”?

JEFF SPICOLI CANNOT BE SUPERMAN

Sean Penn is a fucking tool. While I cannot fault him for at least trying to get involved in the world around him, it’s simply because he’s been a star so long that he has not one fucking clue on how to do it properly than these big, grandstanding methods. This time he’s in New Orleans on a boat helping people. Fine. That’s great. But please explain the professional photographer. If you’re just there to help people, why is there a professional photographer? Such a fucking tool. I’m glad he’s being raked over the coals for this.

EVERY GIRL’S CRAZY ‘BOUT A SHARP-DRESSED MAN…

Okay, I was girly-man enough to buy the first issue of Men’s Vogue. How could I not? The cover was George Clooney in a Ralph Lauren camel hair coat. I would kill all of you without hesitation for a Ralph Lauren camel hair coat. But it sucks and it sucks for the same reason Vogue has always sucked to me: it’s all about the ads. Yeah, I know, “Duh.” But technically it is a magazine with articles to read, but I swear with Sherlock Holmes and Batman beside me I couldn’t find the freaking articles. Not to mention this is aimed at very odd section of rich gay men. Sorry, but it is. Sorry, but your average gay guy is as interested as looking manly as your average straight guy. But this damn thing is filled with what can only be described as “dandy” or “fop” fashion. It’s not how men who want to attract either women or other men would dress. Besides, everyone knows gay guys read the latest incarnation of Details. No, I’m not kidding. They’ve stopped even pretending. I also bought the September Vogue---all four pounds of it---because of that gorgeous Sarah Jessica Parker cover. Well, that’s all it had because the layout inside was by the idiot who decided to put her hair up for every photo. I love SJP, but she needs hair framing her equine face like she needs air to breathe. I gave it to my Surrogate Sister who is a professional stylist and actually needs this crap and soon will hand over the Men’s Vogue to her as well. I’ll stick with my middle class GQ and Elle magazines, thank you very much.

FOR REAL?

So, I’m watching My Fair Brady and the truly screwed up Danny Bonaduce and I’m wondering: when I’m 50, will I also suddenly begin pumping iron every day, because these to fuckers are built! Damn. Poor Christopher Knight. Just what did he think was going to happen with a girl 25 years his junior. He’s settled, she’s not. Well that’s because you were fucking 25 on the day she was born! And he wants her to suddenly grow up for him. No, dude. You don’t want that. Because if she grows up, she’ll look at you like a grown up woman who wonders what the fuck a 50-year-old man is doing dating someone young enough to be his daughter. Her maturity is your enemy. Enjoy the fat-free body for as long as you can. What’s funny is that while he and Jane Weidlin both look good for their age, when you stick them next to her you suddenly realize “Damn, they’re old!” And could Florence Henderson’s lack of approval be any funnier? I wonder how many times a day Barry Williams (he was Greg and is a true media whore) calls begging to be on the show? And Danny Bonaduce is just a train wreck like no other. Apparently, he actually tried to kill himself during the filming of the show. I won’t be watching this. I wish I could say it was for some moral or intellectual reason, but the simple truth is, I have no interest in shows where everyone is ugly. Period. I actually sat through some of The Girls Next Door about Hef’s three latest peroxide girlfriends and that is sadness on a stick (a woman with a Masters degree weeping because she’s never been in the magazine) because you realize for these girls it’s either concubines to that withered old freak or being back in a trailer park with the people they grew up with. Not a hard choice, but what happens when the ride is over and you have no skills other than being the rock bottom basic of conventionally attractive. And with all of Hef’s money, why can’t he get them better dye jobs. Talk about your suicide blondes. I’m surprised it doesn’t all fall out at the slightest touch it’s so damaged.

WHEN WILL YOU ACCEPT THAT I’M ACTUALLY A MAN!?!

And…FOOTBALL IS BACK AND MY FALCONS ARE ON MONDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL! Needless to say, I will be even more difficult to reach than usual while this game is on!

09/06/05

“I love mankind - it's people I can't stand.” --- Charles M. Schulz

WHO’S GONNA DRIVE YOU HOME TONIGHT…

The last gasp of the mindless summer fun movies, The Transporter 2 opens at number one and for a simple action movie riding solely on the appeal of its star, Jason Stratham, it’s not too bad. It’s got a little too much CGI for my taste and while the first had an odd homage to Raiders of the Lost ark, no such extravagant set pieces are here. Also the big showdown between him and the bad guy on a crashing jet is slightly disappointing because the bad guy never really brings it, even though we’re shown him kicking ass when he’s introduced, in true martial arts movie fashion. On the upside, at 88 minutes, there’s no really overdrawn fight scene like the big “grease fight” from the first. The high point is the model Kate Nauta, who plays a psycho blonde who likes to fire off twin uzis in high heels and her underwear. She’s a fun villain used just enough that when she finally meets her end, it’s all too soon. Apparently the movie is all out to keep unemployed models off the streets, because on the good side we have model Amber Valleta in her second number one film of the year (including Hitch) as the mom of the boy Jason Stratham is protecting. She naturally has a small crush on the strong, silent no-mozzarella-on-his-pizza, Handsome Rob (oops, wrong movie) and they must have had Stratham standing on phone books to have them at equal heights. Reminded me of Stallone and…just about everybody. One thing I always felt went unacknowledged by this film and its predecessor was the debt it owes to a small Ryan O’Neal film called The Driver. It’s nice little piece of modern-day noir (though the idea of a tough guy driving an automatic simply does not fly). Or rather it was modern day when it came out in the 70’s. Now it’s just another period piece. And I can’t believe no one has thought to remake it with someone a little more manly than Ryan O’Neal. Which is everyone. Hell, that could be Transporter 3.

WHEN YOU’RE TALL AND GOOD LOOKING, YOU DON’T NEED TO BE WITTY

The 40 Year Old Virgin is down to number two and also in this is Paul Rudd, who seems to be the boy of choice for the type of women who are fans of The Daily Show and never quite got over him in Clueless, despite the icky pseudo-incest going on. He never quite blew up after that, opting to follow the indie film/theater route, which is why his fan base is limited to mostly smart chicks (no, that is not a euphemism for “fat chicks”). Bad news, though, ladies. I saw him on the street once and he’s no taller than I am. I’m slowly beginning to realize that the thinner you are the more height you can fake…as I sit here eating nachos with three types of cheese melted on them.

LET’S NOT GET INTO HIS BROTHER’S CAREER

Opening at number three is The Constant Gardener letting you know the idiot films of summer have come to a close and the smart, dramatic and loooooong Oscar bait films of fall have begun. The director of this two hours+ suspense drama is Fernando Meirelles, who did the amazing City of God a few years back, so I will see it, but I saved it for next week when all that’s available is JLo, so I’m pretty sure my weekend’s viewing will be free. But this opening as well as it did does actually represent a bit of a comeback for another JLo costar: Ralph Finnes, who had no idea what to do with himself or his career after the disgusting success of the horrid The English Patient andwound up making formula romantic comedies with JLo and playing a supporting role in a needless remake of Manhunter with Brett Ratner, who couldn’t direct traffic. His attraction to depressive, morose characters didn’t help him much, though in this he does play a man investigating the murder of his pregnant wife, so I guess if you throw enough at the wall, something’s gonna stick. Then again, he’s got some odd looking teeth, so maybe smiling isn’t what we want from him. But this has me thinking: where’s my beloved Kristin Scott Thomas?

A WARNING FOR YOUNG GIRLS EVERYWHERE

Red Eye is down to number four and also in this is always dependable Brian Cox who should have been in the commercials because the man does have fans and given that this film cost only $26M to make and has now hit a healthy $44M, Rachel McAdams may now officially be called a star. All she needs to do now is to stay the hell away from Vanity Fair.

BUT I LOVED HIM BACK IN THE 21 JUMP STREET DAYS

The Brothers Grimm is down to number five and Terry Gilliam’s first choice for the role Matt Damon plays was Johnny Depp. Why? Yeah, he’s prettier, but for Pirates of the Carribean, his resume is littered with failures and he’s fucking 40! Matt Damon is a much better choice to play the brother of Heath Ledger. And he needed some star power, because at $80M it’s going to need someone with serious international appeal to make its money back and Damon has much more of that than Depp thanks to the Bourne movies and the Ocean’s movies. And yeah, Johnny Depp just fucking annoys me these days in a way that Matt Damon does not.

HAVE AT YOU!

Four Brothers is down to number six and speaking of Matt Damon, whatever happened to the Mark Wahlberg/Matt Damon feud (fugly vs ugly)? Oh, yeah. Matt Damon didn’t know about it and it’s hard to battle with someone who is totally ignoring you and your existence.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS…

Wedding Crashers is down to number seven, followed by March of the Penguins at number eight and Skeleton Key at number nine. And sadly, Skeleton Key will now become noteworthy as one of the last major movies that completed filming in New Orleans before Hurricane Katrina. A lot of what’s seen may no longer exist. Even sadder is that movies like Hard Target, Storyville and Heaven’s Prisoners may also become noteworthy for similar reasons (well, that and the full frontal nudity of Teri Hatcher’s surprisingly lackluster body).

ARE YOU SURE THE BOULEVARD OF BROKEN DREAMS IS IN NEW YORK?

Finally, The Cave closes out the top ten at number ten and Cole Hauser is seemingly destined to have the same B-movie career as his father. Also in this is Piper Pearabo, who shows that the curse of “the new hot girl” isn’t solely limited to Vanity Fair covers. When Coyote Ugly opened five years ago, she was everywhere as a result of the Bruckheimer PR machine. Then came the realization that it was a piece of PG-rated crap where none of the hot girls came remotely close to getting naked and didn’t even make out with each other.

DRUMLINE 2: THE SOPHOMORE SLUMP

And while normally you have to be an art film to get mention if you don’t break the top ten, special mention must go to Underclassman, Nick Cannon’s sad, sad attempt to become the next Will Smith (he actually had a small role in Men In Black II). If we’re lucky, this will put the kibosh on the movie he has planned with Lindsay Lohan where she’s an aspiring fashionista in New York (because so many teenage girls are) who dates a blind Black guy. Yes, you read that correctly. There’s simply no way I could make up something that fucking stupid. They’re doing a semi-remake of the Sidney Poitier movie, A Patch of Blue. But it gets better. It’s written and directed by the writer and director of The Hot Chick (who went to Harvard by the way). How can anyone not know this is a piece of crap!?! How can anyone claim to not deliberately make a bad movie with those ingredients? Of course, this was planned back when she had a little thickness to her. Now that it’s gone, she may not have that built-in audience of bruthas. She said herself that 50 Cent and Puff Daddy were calling her and she didn’t understand why. What can I tell you? Bruthas make like ass above all, but in lieu of that we will take big thighs and breasts (or as we like to call them “breasteses”) and she once had them both. I can only hope Nick Cannon’s MTV “Wildin’ Out” is doing well, because his movie career is going to hell in a handbasket. He got super-lucky with Drumline. And let’s not mention his music career where he made a song about a fetus begging not to be aborted. Never heard of it? Well, join the rest of the nation.

LIVING A LIFE OF DANGER, EXCITEMENT AND GASTROINTESTINAL BLISS

So, given the city is never more empty than this weekend, I decided stop laying around the house drinking frozen margaritas and learning Foriegner songs on my guitar and venture out to Peter Lugers to try their famous burgers. Unfortunately they are only served during lunch, which ends at 3:00. Considering, I don’t eat lunch and usually don’t eat breakfast until after four on weekends, this was a major pain-in-my-ass. But what really made it suck was that it’s in Williamsburg, which means I had to endure fucking-upper-middle-class-white-kids-pushing-working-class-families-out-with-daddy’s-money-so -they-can-walk-around-in-fucking-Fraz-Ferdinand-t-shirts-sipping-lattes- hipster-trash. Even worse, if you’re cheap or broke or both (like me) you use the free transfer to bus all the time. So I finished my meal in plenty of time before the two hour expiration---but it only served to dump me on the lower east side with more fucking-upper-middle-class- white-kids-pushing-working-class-families-out-with-daddy’s-money-so-they-can-walk -around-in-fucking-Fraz-Ferdinand-t-shirts-sipping-lattes-hipster-trash. They both bitch equally about Starbucks moving into “their” neighborhoods, apparently too stupid to realize Starbucks is following them! They’re like Julianne Moore in The Lost World (aka Jurassic Park II) who, despite being a paleontologist, is unaware her BLOOD-SOAKED JACKET is how the T-rex is tracking them. However, I have a little more respect for the Manhattan hipster trash because the unbelievably full of shit Williamsburg types (like the Park Slopers before them) are always pretending they “chose” not to live in Manhattan. Who the fuck do you think you’re you kidding? You didn’t come here from Massachusetts or Minnesota or wherever the fuck you’re from to live in Brooklyn. You settled for Brooklyn because you didn’t have the balls to endure Manhattan rents. You may have carved a hipster paradise out there by pushing out the people who may have truly chosen Brooklyn or---gasp---actually been born there, but it wasn’t your first choice and you’d sell it out in a heartbeat for the same space for the same price in the Village or SoHo. The only people who truly love Brooklyn were born there. All the rest of you are full of shit and Minnesota is calling. The burger? Oh, it was good, but I honestly think burgers should be made from ground chuck and not really good steak (the Peter Luger burger is made from porterhouse steak ends). That’s like chopping up a Porsche to make a VW Bug. But I haven’t had juice stains on my shirt since I was nine, so they definitely know how to make it. I was so caught up in my burger, I didn’t play with the three-year-old Asian boy sitting next to me with his family (he was so pretty he could be a girl, which will serve him well later in life). He seemed fascinated by my presence and would reach out to touch me when he thought I wasn’t looking. My mom would kill me to know I ignored a baby, but the burger took precedence.

NO SITUATION TOO TRAGIC TO DISTRACT ME FROM MY NAVEL

Apparently Death decided everyone in New Orleans was entertaining, but I’m egocentric enough to wonder if it’s all about me, as I’m seeing the place of origin of women I’ve desired suffering from either terrorist attacks or natural disasters. Remember my Hot Yoga Instructor? She’s from New Orleans and thanks to a very scary, all-to-informative internet, I tracked her down (her website: www.faith-hunter.com; yes, she’s got a name like a Bond girl or science fiction character) to offer my condolences over the situation, whereupon she told me there was someone actually missing in her family but they were still hoping for the best. Bear in mind, the first communication I had with The Englishwoman Who Used Me For Sex in months was after the London Bombings, because she was from London (only her mum is still in London and she was okay). Other places? Ireland. Check. Middle East? Check. India even. Check. New York, obviously and my hometown of Atlanta (Olympic bombing). This means you’re pretty much only safe if you live in Boston and have that godforsaken accents, because I can’t think of anything less attractive.

WHAT’S THAT SAYING ABOUT TALKING AND REMOVING DOUBT OF IGNORANCE?

I’ve always hated Kanye West so I’m delighted he embarrassed himself on national television. It wasn’t so much what he said (the rich don’t care about the poor? you don’t say?), but his total lack of articulation. You’re a fucking performer and you can’t do any better than that? That glassy-eyed stare, fumbling with words like English was your third language…are you sure you dropped out of college, because the more you open your mouth the more I think they threw your ass out.

ADVENTURES IN THE REAL ESTATE TRADE: PART 1

So, I kinda, sorta had my first customer. Movie Buddy ’98 had a friend returning to town for few months to write for the upcoming offshoot of The Daily Show, The Colbert Report and needed a place. Now, given that this was the friend of a friend, money was sadly not the primary goal, but perhaps Daily Show tickets and contacts with people I could give a shit about and milk thoroughly were. The idea was a furnished place in the Hell’s Kitchen area for a few months under a certain amount. I couldn’t find much that was suitable through my office system and I was actually competing with other people in my office (who know a whole helluva lot more than I do) who were looking for similar places at the same time. This led me to uncharacteristically (or perhaps in character with my anal retentive nature) to do a little searching on Craig’s List, which would have the added benefit of being totally free if I found something there for him. I actually managed to find a girl who was not only in the exact same situation of having to go to LA for a few months, but she used to work at The Daily Show and still knew people there. In fact, they could work out a straight swap, which meant that he would only have to pay his rent at home (which he was still doing because he couldn’t find a subletter) and pay no broker’s fee. Of course this is when I lose touch with him. He lost his cell phone and using logic I cannot understand, still failed to call me when he arrived in NYC. So that opportunity was lost, but I still managed to locate something to his exact specifications and because it was also through Craig’s List, it would be free. This is when I learned why my boss curses so much. Seriously, I’m all for vulgarity, but it’s like the man sometimes has Tourette’s and I couldn’t understand why. Now I do. When someone who asks for muthafuckin’ midtown and then fucking complains about how many fucking people are around and how fucking overpriced it is, you realize that nonstop fucking cursing is all that’s stopping you from fucking choking them to death! It didn’t help that he’s a pudgy Paul Giamatti/George Constanza type of whiner. Obviously he’s very talented on paper to be writing with Daily Show people, but if you’ve ever seen Robert DeNiro or Prince interviewed, you know that an exceptional talent doesn’t necessarily mean a great personality, if fact if may preclude it. My sister laughed at me when I told I was getting my real estate license because she said I lacked the temperament for it. Never dismiss the opinion of someone who’s known you her entire life and shares your DNA. Maybe it might have been different if I didn’t feel some sort of personal obligation, but if not for that personal obligation I might have choked the living shit out of someone who asked for Manhattan and then complains about the number of people and high prices. Then again, I wanted to choke the shit out of the millionaire who called ten minutes before a showing to say he wasn’t coming, and the buyer at a closing because he was such a stupid frat boy oaf. Basically, I hate people. What made me think a job where all I did was serve them would ever work for me? The goal now is to just recoup what I spent on the classes, exam and license and then get the fuck out. Put it down to experience and move the fuck on. Is it too late to start that band?

I’VE FOUND A NEW REASON NOT TO GO TO PARTIES: ME AND THE EVIL I’VE BECOME

So, Around Way Girl’s roommates had another cookout, but for the first time she was actually there for it. It was also there I realized I’ve got to stop making friends with women I meet, because they’d be much more fun to date. This time it was talking with two women who’d dated the same guy and were actually talking about it---in his bedroom. Like any sane man, my balls shrunk at the idea of this ever happening to me, but they maintained he wouldn’t give a shit about his sex life being discussed, though I’m probably sure the “Does he still keep the lube in the top drawer and the toys in the bottom drawer?” discussion might have changed his mind. They also had no problem letting the little Jason Priestly pretty boy look-a-like know that toys were not an indication of manly failure. As one girl put it, “There are two orifices…” And she wasn’t even the fun one. No, the Fun One was the one who had no problem discussing bestiality, the importance of girth over length, why she’s not afraid the sex tapes she’s made will ever come back to haunt her, what it’s like watching porn for four hours while under the influence of Viagra, the immense size of her boyfriend’s member and the birthday present of another woman she was going to give him on his 31st birthday. I shudder to think what might have come out of the mouth of the German girl (who was 30, but looked 15), because those are the freakiest people on earth, but thankfully she kept quiet. But because I’m geek---and quite frankly, am surrounded by women like her and have been since high school---I was most impressed with Fun One’s color, 30 gig iPod (the benefit of a dead aunt she hated), which had everyone on it from Gene Kelly to Snoop Dogg. She was also so music oriented, she created covers for mix cds she made and before leaving sat down to write a list of new bands that she felt should be heard. For a second, I thought my brother had taken over her body as he’s spent the last twenty years trying to keep me on the cutting edge of music. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a vagina, so I never listened. But my favorite line of the encounter wasn’t “The walls were so thin we knew when you changed orifices.” No, it was when the man they had in common grabbed her ass and said, “You know, you could have any man you wanted…if you just toned this up a little.” God. Damn. Talk about an anti-commitment reflex. That’s like the guy who gets tapped in the knee by the doctor and then kicks him through a wall. Needless to say, he didn’t catch up to her until she was nearly at the subway and didn’t speak for four months after that. And you know she’s a WASP because had he said that to a sista, a Latina or an Italian girl, she would have cut his throat---if he were lucky. But the worst part of the evening was when I became “That Guy.” You know “That Guy” right? He’s the guy handing out business cards AT A FUCKING PARTY! Sigh. I’d originally brought them just to show Around The Way Girl because we’d discussed it, but I wound up giving them all out. And the worst part? I got a nibble. A Philippino girl who impressed me by saying, “I don’t have an ass. I’m Asian,” because that kind of self-awareness is hard to find. But the truth was, she did have a little bit of an ass (not to mention rythym) to which I attributed Philippino being more Pacific Islander (and technically she’s half Chinese and half Spanish, so you know where the rythym and the ass came from), which actually impressed her, but I can’t take credit for it. The Japanese guy that I lived with for a year---who was cross between Toshiro Mifune and Frank Sinatra---had a regular rant about Philippinos being the bottom rung of the Asian ladder because they were actually Pacific Islanders (needless to say, when he finally married, he married a Philipino, for which I gave him no end of shit). In any case, she said she was looking to buy a place, so she may be my way out of this horrendous business. But before that, I have be “That Guy” again. You know “That Guy” who meets you at a party and when mention something offhandedly, he tracks you down days later because he wants your money? Yeah, that’s also me now too. My self-hatred has reached a quantum level. If self-loathing were energy, I could not only light Las Vegas, but cool it in the middle of August.

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