"There is no human problem which could not be solved if people would simply do as I advised." --- Gore Vidal
ACTING---THE FINAL FRONTIER
Opening in the top spot is K-Pax and I've realized that Kevin Spacey is the same in everything he does. That understated acting style is pretty much the same whether he's playing a criminal genius, frustrated husband or serial killer. It's quiet, modulated, dry, then BRILLIANT DISPLAY OF INTENSE EMOTION, then back to quiet, modulated, dry. He's like an exceptionally talented William Shatner. Jeff Bridges, on the other hand, has a thankfully, less obvious style, leaving us to focus on the loss of his looks. Sigh. What can I say? He's hit that time in a man's life (usually early 50's) where he just balloons up. I mean, at times, he looks like he's got gout. That flabby bulge under his chin is so large, I thought they suddenly replaced him with Mr. Toad. Damn shame, because his Oscar-nominated portrayal of a man from space (Starman) was wonderful and anything but obvious (and he was the best thing about The Contender last year). This movie is similar to another film called Brother John, starring Sidney Poitier. The problem is, just telling you that it's similar ruins the surprise, because you have no idea what the secret is about the Sidney Poitier character until the last five minutes and it doesn't bode well for the future of mankind.
SHE'S A MAN, BABY!
13 Ghosts opens at number and Matthew Lillard is the new Crispin Glover, as in an actor most likely to irritate the shit out of you simply by being there. His career is even more of a mystery than Freddie Prinze Jr.'s, with whom he's made three films. Another odds challenger present is Shannon Elizabeth, who essentially looks like a drag queen version of Elizabeth Berkley. I have to admit the trailer for this looked interesting enough, which is amazing for a horror movie, as I normally dismiss them outright. But without an appealing cast, nothing was getting me in to see this. I'm one of the few, it seems. With a budget of $20M, this may turn a profit and inflict its odious male and female leads on us for at least another year.
EXCUSE ME, BUT YOU'RE JUST AN ACTOR
From Hell is down to number three with Riding In Cars With Boys nipping at its heels at four. Outside of the movie, both Johnny Depp and Drew Barrymore have been annoying the shit out of me. First, Depp is the latest to jump on the "Europe is better" bandwagon, completely overlooking the fact that he's living a life of privilege that few Europeans share and the money supporting it was made in bad old America. Now he's scared to fly and may stay in Europe. Do it. I fucking dare you. See how easily it is to maintain your lifestyle making French films. And Drew Barrymore had a moral crisis over publicizing her film in wake of September 11th. Please, like the world would fucking change if she stopped making her bad movies. Just when I think the narcissism of actors has hit rock bottom, they start tunneling. They so have no sense of their place in the world. The best thing she could do was to totally push her stupid movie on people in hope that it might make someone, somewhere feel better. Not to do that would be the mistake. And she became hysterical because she was in the building at NBC when they discovered their anthrax. Again, who the fuck cares enough about Drew Barrymore to try and kill her!?! Other celebrities are refusing to accept their fan mail because of it? Like they open their own fucking mail! Hell, I don't open my own mail and I'm a corporate cog. Not to mention that they can afford the best medical care possible if something should happen. Dig, dig, dig. Tunnel, tunnel, tunnel.
ALWAYS BET ON THE PRETTY BOY
Training Day is down to number five, followed by Bandits at number six, creating an odd ying and yang of leading man as bad guy, one serious, one comedic. Seeing as how much better Training Day is doing, I get the impression people prefer the former. Either that or Ethan Hawke is a better co-lead than Billy Bob Thornton. And there aren't any women in Training Day either. Well, of course there are, but none in major roles like Cate Blanchett in Bandits. So basically, you can get more with two good looking men in a dark film than you can with two ugly guys and a woman in a funny film.
HOW ABOUT "FUCK HER GENTLY" BY TENACIOUS D?
Serendipity is down to number seven and while the music fit the film perfectly, I listened to it again and it's total crap. Total sensitive, singer-songwriter, touchy-feely crap. Good romantic songs are hardly bland and sometimes a bit scary in their intensity. Roberta Flack singing "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" is a good example. I love that song, but it's pretty goddamn heavy. Someone drops that on you and you either realize you've met your soulmate or you get a restraining order.
SAVE YOURSELF; PLAY A BASTARD
Robert Redford's sleepwalk, a.k.a., The Last Castle is down to number eight and maybe if Redford had been as willing to be bad as Denzel Washington, this might have been a better movie and more successful.
HEY, WHADDA YOU LOOKIN? AT?
Making his second appearance in the top ten is Snoop Dogg in Bones (Snoop also plays a crippled informant in Training Day). It makes perfect sense to me that Snoop would make a horror movie as he scares the shit out of me. He looks like one of those guys you just don't want around you in a bar, because trouble is coming no matter what you do. Either you look at him too long, or he notices you're avoiding looking at him. Either way, he's gonna be in your ass before the end of the night. "You lookin? at me, muthafucka!?!" "Um, no." "Why not, muthafucka!?! You too good to look at Snoop Dogg!?!" It's purely a lose-lose situation.
PIG BOY IN THE MUCK
Finally, Corky Romano closes out the top ten at number ten and the less said about this the better, but I can't help but take comfort in the fact that Peter Berg has been reduced to this, such an arrogant bastard he is.
MORE LIKEA LARGE CLOSET AT THIS POINT
Not breaking the top ten is Life As A House, which I seriously considered seeing, but was put off by yet another two hour movie of people talking to one another. I may see it still, given that Kristin Scott Thomas is in it (the Englishwoman who used me for sex looked like her, so I consider myself a very fortunate geek). As you all know, my personal version of Four Weddings & A Funeral ends with her getting together with Hugh Grant. Gareth never dies and Andie McDowell never comes back. They're rolling it out slow, art film style, obviously hoping for awards. I doubt they're coming. Another reason I couldn't get to see it was the obvious TV-movie veneer it wore. Kevin Kline is dying and wants to reconnect with his son before he dies by building a house. Gee, wonder what happens?
SLACKER DREAMS
Purely on the art house circuit with no intention of crossing over is Waking Life, the latest from director Richard Linklater, one of the fathers of this latest generation of indie film with Slacker (Kevin Smith specifically mentions this as the movie that prompted him to make his own). Waking Life reminds me of just how much I never want to see Slacker again in my life. The conceit of this movie is that it's film painted over and animated. While interesting at first, it quickly wears off and you realize you're trapped listening to a bunch of people pontificate on life and politics, but mostly dreams. It has no real narrative to speak of, though it seems they became aware of this and tried to give it one in the last half hour (a man trapped in his dreams). But it was too late for me. It's only when the animators take it one step beyond that it becomes interesting. For example, in a few segments, whatever the speaker speaks of pops into existence, or the speaker is changed to reflect what he or she is speaking of. Unfortunately, this is rarely used, begging the question, what's the fucking point!?! And it didn't help that not only was Ethan Hawke in it (playing the character he played in Linklater's other talk-fest, Before Sunrise), but he was also there watching it and got in my way in the bathroom because he was listening to his idiot friend talk about how amazing the film was. Hardly. And he looked like shit. Uma must dress him when they go out together, because he looked like slacker crap on his own. My god, is it so difficult to tuck in your fucking shirttail?
AND CROWN THY GOOD/WITH BROTHERHOOD/AND BREASTS IN A VERY LARGE C...
I hate baseball. It's boring and it doesn't have any cheerleaders. As a child, I was forced by my dad to play it for two years (I was also forced to run track and play baseball, giving me above average physical coordination for a geek, which is why I'm king), but I never learned to like it. This is why the only interest the World Series holds for me is that it means the end of the season. In fact, the only thing that stopped me from skipping over it entirely while channel surfing the other night was Jewel singing the national anthem...dressed like a ho. I know patriotic chic has swept the nation, but has it to the extent that patriotic slut is also acceptable? Do you think if she?d been bursting out of anything other than the stars and stripes it would have been allowed? Can you now walk down the streets naked so long as you have a tattoo of the flag on your ass?
IF THREE IS THE HAT TRICK, WHAT'S FOUR?
So, by Monday afternoon last week, it seemed as though I'd pissed off every woman that I'd mentioned. Given that two of them have known me for almost twenty years, that's saying something. Now, does that mean I'm very bad at this or very good at this? But as yet another female friend said to me, "If they were really mad, they wouldn't be telling you they were mad." This is true. The opposite of love isn't hate, it's apathy. The Meadow Soprano incident was met with total silence, so you know she was super pissed. So why don't I piss off my male friends, you ask. Well, for one I don't have that many and they all got married in their 20's to their perfect matches, so there's no more insanity going on there.
MORE FROM THE MOUNTAINS
While I did enjoy my venture into the mountains, I didn't enjoy the insects. Most specifically, yellowjackets. What the fuck is up with all the yellowjackets? Now, I know bees have a necessity, but what do yellow jackets do? If bees are the workers, I get the feeling that yellowjackets are consultants. If you really want to see my dumb photos, go to Yosemite
. Jesus, how did my calves get so big? Aside from all the wine and cheese, we also got very French by having French toast prepared by a French person. She also made crepes. All we needed was for her to be needlessly rude to us and not support us in a war and it would have been truly authentic. I swear Europe in 2002. Well, either that or Vegas. I plan on marrying someone in a Elvis chapel. Send in your applications now.
WRITING JONES
So, I often throw on DVD?s as background noise while I do other things. Usually action movies or comedies that I can tune in and out of at will. So, while doing my geek inventory (bagging comic books, getting rid of videos and discovering that I own almost every freaking movie Lara Flynn Boyle has made) I throw on love jones. It hasn't gotten any better with age. The first time I saw it, it was just me, the male half of The Young Married Couple, Spike Lee and a hundred women in the theater. Horrible marketing mistake. Not to stereotype my people, but you don't release a Black film during the NCAA Playoffs. You just don't. One half your audience isn't leaving the house. In any case, it was made by a bunch of commercial vets and it looks it. Very pretty, but with a forced retro chic (everything was vintage and no one seemed to own a computer or watch television). Also, the writing sucked and the directing ain't winning any awards either. Still, the soundtrack is great (booty music) and any movie that displays the marvelous form of Nia Long justifies its own existence.
WHERE LUTHER VANDROSS IS ALWAYS ON THE JUKEBOX?
So the Young Married Couple was robbed---of all their DVD's. That's right, all that was stolen from an apartment break-in were the DVD's (the dog was there the entire time, but don't get me started on that). Not the computers, not the TV, not the DVD player, not the jewelry, nothing. Only the DVD's. Now, I took this little break-in personally. Not just because they're my friends, but because the DVD player was a wedding gift from me and I'd supplied a good deal of the DVD's stolen (but not The Big Kahuna---that was a purchase independent of me). Seeing as how they refuse to get cable, I couldn't let my friends live without entertainment and bought them a few DVD's. Sorry, but telling me you don't have cable or movies is like telling me you don't have hot water. It's uncivilized, goddamnit! In any case, to thank me, they bought me dinner at a nice Italian place on Christopher called Malatesta Trattoria. Now, near that is a gay bar that is different from the other gay bars in the West Village. How? Well, not only is it all Black, but it's a thug bar. That's right. If you're Batman or Starsky & Hutch and you're looking for a Black, Gay gangster in NYC, this is where you go. Here, being known as "Huggy Bear" has an entirely different meaning than say, Brooklyn. So when cops roust this place, how do they threaten these guys? Usually, it's the threat of sex with men in jail, but this is a place where the show Oz is considered an erotic show, so it's not going to work. Do they threaten them with women? "Listen, punk! You tell me who your partners were or I'm going to bury you in pussy! I've got six nympho cheerleaders with jungle fever behind that door just waiting for a shot at your muscular, finely chiseled ass! Now talk!"
TRYING TO SMUGGLE DILITHIUM CRYSTALS OUT UNDER HER UNIFORM
As King of the Geeks, I would be remiss in my duties for not weighing in on the new Star Trek series, Enterprise. Well, it sucks. Surprised? In fact, they've all sucked for the most part. The Next Generation was nothing but techobabble crap. Deep Space Nine actually earned points from me for being usually very bleak and actually killing off its star in the final episode (luckily I'm not racially paranoid or I'd point out that it was the Black captain who died). And Voyager had a captain so dumb she trapped her crew on the other side of the galaxy in the very first episode. Only Jeri Ryan's fine (or foine, as the bruthas say) physique redeemed it in any way. The first problem with Enterprise is the casting. Scott Bakula? Quantum Leap was truly shitty faux-social consciousness show, but this cheeseball deserved no better. Then they burdened it with the worst goddamn theme song known to man. Why they chose to ignore thirty five years of purely orchestral history and one of the most recognized theme songs ever is beyond me. And apparently Jeri Ryan succeeded all too well for them, as they decided to combine two of the most successful characters of the series and came up with a hot Vulcan. Well, I guess she's supposed to be hot. Sorry, but the fake boobs throw me. You'd think in the future they'd be able to make a boob that looks real, or the super-logical Vulcans would realize just how stupid breast implants are. Speaking of Vulcans, they're supposed to have total control over their emotions, but spend most of their time being very pissed off. Newsflash: anger is an emotion. I couldn't sit through the first episode in its entirety and refuse to give it a second chance. I've got too many other things waiting to piss me off.
DON?T BE THE X FILES
I've missed the last two episodes of Buffy The Vampire Slayer and I don't even care. What does that tell you of my interest in the show at this point? It's time to wrap it up, kids. Half the cast is on the bad side of 25 and looks it, which isn't good for people who are supposed to be college sophomores. And why is Zander so fat?
THE WASTELAND
Other crap...Jim Belushi? Where's the fan base for this? And paired with Courtney Thorne Smith? He's fat, ugly and 15 years older than she is. This was obviously cast by a middle-aged man. But, she?s lucky to have a job after blaming her last show (Ally McBeal) for making her eating disorder worse. People won't hire you if they know you're going to trash them if you leave...Richard Dreyfuss must have some sort of huge debt he has to pay off to be doing a TV show. Apparently, they couldn't get the rights to make Mr. Holland's Opus The Series and just decided to rip it off. And Marica Gay Harden must have agreed to this before the Oscar came through. Then again, ain't no money in indie films. A series is good for at least $100G's a week, though maybe a little less for her...Crossing Jordan is super crap. It ended for me in the first five minutes in her therapy session when she was asked what makes her angry. Her reply, "I'll tell you what makes me angry. Injustice makes me angry?" You know what makes me angry? Crappy writing that recycles Dirty Harry's dialogue from thirty years ago makes me angry. Where's my goddamn show?...Life is too short for me to even glance at Emeril , Bob Patterson or any of these other sitcoms based on a celeb who's seen better days or realizes their 15 minutes are just about up and are looking for a safe haven...Alias is the latest attempt to cash in on Buffy's success and someone needs to tell these people that a sense of humor is the only way crap like this works. When you take yourself this seriously, you instantly become a parody of yourself. You know, like Dark Angel. And what is this trend in almost all the buttkicking girl shows to have male leads prettier than the female leads? Alias has Michael Vartan, the pretty boy from Never Been Kissed, The Next Best Thing and Mists of Avalon. To make matters worse, he's French. Try keeping your girlfriend after she meets him.
JUPITER AIN'T THE ONLY ONE CRYING OVER THIS CRAP
Can I tell you how much I hate the band Train? Their painful sincerity just makes me want to puke. I thought it couldn?t get any worse than "Meet Virginia." I was wrong. And you know these are the guys who never stop pointing out how they aren't about flash, just good music. Well, actually you're not about either, 'cause your songs suck. Please go back to whatever bar you came from. I'd much rather hear N'Sync than this crap.
BYE, BYE, BYE
Speaking of N'Sync, this latest teen wave is just about over. This movie starring the gay one, On The Line, failed to even break the top ten, something that would have been unheard of just a year ago. Also, aside from the obvious return of disillusioned mope rock (Staind, anyone?), they've started to write their own songs now and that's always the beginning of the end. However bad those other songs may be, at least the writers understood melody. There's nothing in either "Pop" or "Gone" that any 14-year old girl can hum while walking down the street, which is the kiss of death. Same with Britney and her Vanity 6 rip off song "Slave 4 You" (from The Neptunes, who I once respected, but no one sells out like a failed jazz musician). No melody to speak of. 'Bye, kids. It's been fun. Look for them soon in the road shows of numerous Broadway musicals.
CAN'T "THE MAN" GET SOME LOVE?
Is it just me, or are the police not quite getting the same amount of love that the firemen are? Granted, the fire department lost literally ten times the amount of men, but still... You know why? Firemen save lives, period. They do nothing else. Police, on the other hand, are called upon to enforce social order and often times, someone's bullshit political agenda. Hardly a job that endears you to the very people who need you. I mean, when was the last time a fireman came and shut down your party or popped you for buying a few ounces for said party? For example, that Captain America picture that so many of you liked came from a collection by the writers and artists at Marvel Comics called "Heroes" ($3.50 at your local comics store). Out of 65 pictures about September 11th, only 16 were about or include the police, as opposed to 39 for the firemen.
THE NEVERENDING BATTLE...TO REMAIN A GEEK
Despite my moments of mature, adult clarity, the geek within cannot be denied. Not only can I not stop watching the crapfest that is Smallville, but walking home last week, I passed a store in my neighborhood called The Fire Monkey which had a Superman bank and a Superman alarm clock in the window. I already have the bank, so I only bought the clock---for $30. Later I discover it retails for $15. Sigh. Someone save me from myself.
"BUT HATRED IS A MUCH MORE DELIGHTFUL PASSION AND NEVER CLOYS; IT WILL MAKE US ALL HAPPY FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES." --- LORD BYRON
FROM FUNNY BOOKS
From Hell opens at number one and for anyone who thinks that comic books are silly and lacking in any intelligence has obviously never read the work of Allen Moore, most notably, his painfully detailed novel about Jack the Ripper on which this movie is based. Yeah, it’s based on a comic book, but a comic book as thick as the freaking Bible with as many accurate details about the Jack the Ripper case as any non-fiction work. Needless to say, I only glanced at the chapter of it someone gave to me for free. For me, the obsession so many people have for Jack the Ripper is only slightly less silly than the obsession people have with the Kennedy assassination. I mean, you’re never really going to know, so what’s the point? In any case, saved from writing it from scratch themselves, the Hughes Brothers have actually created something worth watching, though a bit long (like I said, it was a big graphic novel). Johnny Depp and Heather Graham do better English accents than Keanu Reeves and Winona Ryder did in Bram Stoker’s Dracula, but that’s about it. And while many like Heather Graham’s wide-eye good looks, she still comes out a distant second to Johnny Depp in terms of sheer beauty. Sometimes he’s so pretty it’s sickening. Then again, maybe it was the fact he was surrounded by so many Brits. In that crowd, most anyone would look great. It’s funny how the English have spent most of their history fighting the French, when their worse enemies have been the Vikings who stole all their beauty.
MOM DIDN’T FEED ME FOR THREE DAYS---SHE’S SO FUNNY.
Riding In Cars with Boys opens at number two and there’s no chance in hell I’ll see this. First of all, Drew Barrymore looks like shit in it. I’m not a fan to begin with, so why would I endure an unglamorous vision of her? Also, from what I know of the book, it’s about a woman who, quite frankly, was a horrible mother. Since I sincerely doubt that ever-so-sensitive Drew is willing to play such an unpleasant character, all you’re going to get is a watered down version of it, with what should be bad behavior dismissed as being "kooky."
SLACKER NARC! COMING THIS FALL ON FOX!
Training Day is down to number three and this is one of those movies rushed into production before the would-be strike earlier this year, so it probably needed at least one more rewrite (especially the third act) before actually being made. Like the great Kirk Douglas, Denzel Washington is one of those actors who’s good when he’s good, but better when he’s bad (Alec Baldwin is another). In fact, it’s when his magnetic, malevolent character (who delights in calling Ethan Hawke "my nigga") disappears from the screen for about twenty minutes in the third act that the movie begins to fall apart. And Ethan Hawke continues to be who you call when you think Tom Cruise is too short and you can’t afford him anyway. You don’t believe for a second that Hawke could cut it as LAPD, much less LAPD narcotics. Let me put it this way, Dr. Dre comes off as a more credible cop than Hawke does. It’s sad, but just as Robert Downey Jr., will never really be any other character than he played in Less than Zero (which turns out to be art predicting life, as it were), Ethan Hawke will never be any other character than the slacker he played in Reality Bites.
BUTCH CASSIDY & THE FREAKO KID
Bandits is down to number four and I was about to see this when I was realized just how much I hate Bruce Willis when he’s in his "smug" routine. His best work is usually done without it. He’s much more appealing when he’s got that North Jersey frat boy thing under control. Even in the Die Hard movies he was more worried than cocky. Also, Billy Bob is just too creepy to watch. He’s one of those guys who needs facial hair. I mean needs it. Like Tom Selleck. Without it, they become that kindergarten teacher that everyone is afraid to leave their little boys with. Still, I love Cate Blanchett. It’s amazing how a woman who is, quite frankly, not that pretty can still be so goddamn gorgeous. She’s simply luminous at times. Still, not enough to get me into the theater. And let’s bring out an oldie, but a goodie. Cate is 32, but the two, bald creepy losers she’s paired with are no less than 14 years her senior. God forbid they hired an actress of equivalent age, who, quite frankly ,would have been better suited to play a middle-aged woman having a breakdown.
HE’S A SELF-IMPORTANT, VAINGLORIOUS BASTARD, BUT DAMN IT, THE MEN LOVE HIM!
The Last Castle opens at number five and again, this is a movie that needed a serious set of re-writes, not to mention a new, less heavy-handed director. The mistakes Rod Lurie made with The Contender last year can easily be blamed on Speilberg, but this one is all his fault. Robert Redford plays a three star general in an military prison who leads the other prisoners in a revolt against the warden, James Gandolfini. There are interesting aspects to the film (like the acknowledged fact that both men are using the people around them as chess pieces), but it’s lost in the ridiculous premise that the convicted prisoners are good, good, good and the warden is bad, bad, bad. It’s a waste of a lot of good actors, including Mark Ruffalo, Robin Wright, Delroy Lindo and a personal favorite, Paul Calderone in supporting roles. I have to think that the two dimensional nature of the characters is a result of Redford’s being cast. Leatherface, has been doing the golden boy routine for damn near 40 years now and has pretty much refused to do anything else. It’s the antithesis of Jack Nicholson’s perennial bad boy character. It seems to be what you do once you cross the line from star to superstar: start coasting. Whatever the script says before a superstar signs on is changed to accommodate him or her. For example: the cop Harrison Ford played in The Devil’s Prey was a corrupt cop. After he signed on it was changed. Still, I will give Leatherface credit for looking damn good for a sixtysomething man. He has a shirtless scene and I don’t think I look that good right now. Then again, I doubt Redford eats his own bodyweight in cheese the way I do.
REVEALED! MY SOFT PINK UNDERBELLY!
My love of romantic comedies is an established fact. This is how I end up in something as horrible looking as Serendipity (at number six this week)…and liking it. I admit it had a lot to do with my expectations, which were very low. Having suffered though something similar called Till There Was You (where the couple misses each other for a lifetime and only meet in the last two minutes) I couldn’t think this would be much better. It was. Think of it as a champagne cocktail and you’ll be fine. Bubbly, sweet and over in a heartbeat (less than 90 minutes, baby). My audience helped. Again, I think I was the only male, so every near miss for Kate Beckinsale (quite thick down below for an Englishwoman, I must say) and John Cusack was met with a gasp. These ladies were into it something fierce. For me, the engine that drove it was the easily annoying Jeremy Piven. He’s a supporting player and needs to realize that, but it’s his enthusiasm that made this work for me. His character brought the frothy, too-cute romance down to earth and made it work.
SO LOUSY IT COULDN’T EVEN BE A SKETCH
Corky Romano is down to number seven and do they really even write scripts for SNL people anymore. Did they ever? I get the feeling everyone just shows up to the set with an outline and then just improvs for the next few months. Honestly, who thought a veternerian member of crime family goes undercover in the FBI was actually a funny idea?
MASTER OF THE HARRIED JOWL
Don’t Say A Word is down to number eight and once again Michael Douglas is a put upon, urban, upper-middle-class professional drawn into a world of trouble. I have to give the sleazy old bastard some credit; this is his genre and he does it well. There’s nothing wrong with this movie, but there isn’t much right about it either. It moves quickly, but perhaps a little too quickly to generate any real suspense and the cliches are hard and fast (gee, is my friend who "accidentally" got me into this mess really my friend?). But it gets points for two reasons: 1) Jennifer Esposito and 2) they left in a shot of the World Trade Center in the skyline.
BUT WHERE’S THAT RIGHT SAID FRED SONG?
Zoolander is down to number nine and for a movie based on a sketch, it’s not bad. Ben Stiller’s flaw remains that he won’t go for the jugular when he needs to. Fashionistas are easy targets but it’s still hard to parody them. I mean, how do you mock a body whose most respected members include a middle-aged Eurotrash queen with a ponytail and a fan? Owen Wilson, who I formerly despised onscreen, steals the movie with his new-age model performance, which briefly shows the biting wit that this film truly needed. And the less said about Stiller’s generically pretty blonde wife, Christine Taylor, the better. I mean, the most distinctive thing about this woman is that she looks like someone else (Maureen McCormack, a.k.a., Marcia Brady). And it is just me, or is the only Jewish woman Stiller ever kissed onscreen Winona Ryder (a.k.a., Winona Horowitz)? Okay, Jenna Elfman in Keeping The Faith, but you see my point. The Daughters of Abraham ain’t exactly in demand by their brothers, especially if they dare to look Jewish.
IN MY HOUSE "IRON MONKEY" MEANS SOMETHING DIFFERENT, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN
Iron Monkey is down to number ten and I find it hysterical that the commercials for this have not one word of dialogue to hide from only the dumbest people on the planet that it’s Chinese and dubbed. Like the kind of person that would see this cares! Actually, the audience for this has been watching it on video for years, as it was made in 1994. Hell, I had a DVD copy of it that I sold because I had it for six months and never opened it once.
BACK TO HELL
Okay, so I’m back. Why? Well, I was planning to do it eventually, but the World Trade Center kind of put a rush on things. Time is shorter than we thought. But did you really need me? Did you really need me to tell you not to see the pain that was obviously Glitter? The too-long at 90 minutes Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back? The funnier than the first, but still crap American Pie 2? The waste of the talents of Bill Murray, Chris Rock and Laurence Fishburne that was Osmosis Jones? The pedophile directed Jeepers Creepers? Julia Stiles’s above-average white girl ass seducing yet another brutha in O (actually made three years ago)? The purposeless Rock Star? The useless The Musketeer? More bad Black filmmaking in Two Can Play That Game? Keanu Reeves burning off so much Matrix goodwill that he might as well be touring with his band Dogstar in Hard Ball? Leelee Sobeiski blowing her chance with The Glass House and Joy Ride? Anthony Hopkins entering Robin Williams territory in Hearts In Atlantis? And Mandy Moore hoping to disguise her album failure with a movie career in Max Keeble’s Big Move? I think not. This you could do on your own.
YEAH, YEAH, YEAH SO YOUR CANCER IS IN REMISSION, SO WHAT DO YOU WANT, A MEDAL?
So, I’m thinking of kicking my Instant Messenger Buddy who helps me pass the time at work to the curb. It’s her own fault. She doesn’t seem to understand the rules. We’re supposed to spend the time in casual conversation and bitching about life, but now she’s gone and gotten happy on me. It’s not so much that she’s now having great sex and I’m not (if that were my rule, I’d have no one to talk to), it’s that she needs to share it in a big, gooey way. It’s not that I begrudge her a little boning . After all, I sent her my booty mixes in anticipation of this day, but keep the happy-happy, joy-joy to yourself. Obviously she doesn’t know the rule that you never share your happiness with your still miserable friends. It’s just rude. Maybe it’s simply a Southern thing, but I just wasn’t raised that way. Where I come from, misery is shouted from the rooftops, while happiness is hidden away, like what’s going on between the pastor and his 16-year old "church assistant." All my other friends seem to understand this. We only share horror stories, like the time your dog hopped on the bed when you were trying to do it and wound up puking on the both of you (true story, just not mine). I mean, I don’t push my brief moments of carnal happiness on you people. I share the pathetic geek happiness, yes, but they’re more sad than anything (I’m so enjoying my cd-burner), but not the real human-type bursts of happiness like when I’m actually buying red wine and condoms and not more $50 Captain America statues (it sits on my TV at home). Why? Because that’s boring. It’s only funny after she gets tired of me or turns out to be the kind of psycho who secretly copies your keys, then moves in while you’re at work. Now that’s funny. I finally had to cleanse myself of this burst of happiness by calling The Lunatic, my eternally bitter friend whose goal is to never marry and never breed. I call her The Lunatic because if she weren’t insane I’d marry her tomorrow (she keeps rejecting my marriage proposals---what greater proof of insanity). Then we’d breed and make smart, mean children that would torture all of your kids in school with their cruel wit and send them home crying. Heh-heh-heh. The Lunatic cleansed me in her bile about the futility of all relationships and the general loathsome natures of both men and woman. Is it any wonder I love her so? Crazy bitch.
TICK, TICK, TICK….
Speaking of marriage and kids, I’ve discovered that I can no longer joke with my female friends about such things. At least not the ones my age. Where once we’d joke about what a bad marriage it would be and how twisted our children would turn out, now at the mention of it, their eyes narrow as they start calculating your worth as a mate. "Have I met his father, because I need to know what I’ll have in twenty years?" "How is he with kids?" "How clean as his apartment the last time I was there?" "Do I like his friends?" "Is his penis really that small?" And of course the last question is vocalized, "How much do you make?" In fact, one of them is flying in to stay with me for a brief while. I never thought I’d be grateful for being too short. She wants tall sons and my genetics just don’t run that way. Besides, she’s got this crazy no oral sex rule (giving or receiving) that just ain’t flying in my house. We eat pussy in the house of the angrygeek, so get used to it.
REALITY TRULY DOES BITE
Undeclared is the new series from the creator of Freaks & Geeks and is thankfully less painful than its predecessor (then again, what isn’t?). It even borders on total fantasy, like having the geek get laid by the pretty girl the first night there. It doesn’t work like that. Let me tell you how it really works: you ask the RA at the first dorm party where’s the beautiful girl you saw earlier. The RA then tells you that she’s still in her room and that maybe you should go up and personally invite her. So you take your geek ass up to her room where she answers the door with a glass of wine in her hand (your sorry ass wouldn’t take a drink for another four years) because she’s entertaining! Unlike you, you loser, she doesn’t need a dorm party to meet people! Now she spends the rest of the year looking at you like you’re a freak! Well, not really, but you think she does, so she might as well be! That’s reality, baby!
MAKING ME ANGRIER THAN EVER
Smallville sucks. Yeah, I know I’m a biased, angry, angry geek, but it still sucks! Beyond the changes to the legend (which don’t bother me like you think they would), it begins and ends on one point with me: Lana Lang is a redhead. Forget the limited nature of this show’s premise (how long can Clark Kent and his buddies fight super-powered evil in Smallville without getting noticed?) or the fact that it’s simply a rip off of Buffy The Vampire Slayer (which the WB lost), or that it’s really poorly written at times (Lana talking to her dead parents? Are you kidding me?). It’s the total disregard for something so small, yet so important. Lana Lang’s red hair is as important to the legend as Superman’s blue-black hair. You’ll notice the pretty-boy actor playing Clark Kent isn’t blonde. He’s not because it’s a detail that matters. Making it worse is the fact that redheaded Annette O’Toole, who played Lana Lang in Superman 3 (she was the best part of it), plays Martha Kent now. They have to know it’s wrong. They simply don’t care. And if Superman (or Superboy) is never going to make an appearance, can we dispense with the stupid "in jokes" with the red cape-like robe or discussions of men flying? It sucks.
MIND OF THE MARRIED MORON
I finally can sympathize with people who hate Sex & The City because of HBO’s new show Mind of The Married Man. It’s not like some bad show on TV you ignore. You’re still paying for shit you don’t even watch! I don’t like Arliss either, but it doesn’t offend me by its very existence the way this does. In the 21st Century how can anyone either make or want to see another variation of the "oh, I’m just a dumb guy who doesn’t understand women" premise? And this whole conceit of this ugly, worthless fucking loser being afraid he’s going to cheat because he hired a beautiful assistant is ridiculous. Like an attractive twentysomething wants nothing more than to than to pork some short, pudgy, balding putz. And this guy, Mike Binder is part of the Woody Allen school of writer/producer/directors who cast themselves with women they could never get in real life. Most notably, Eric Schafer, who once made a movie where he got to reject Elle McPherson, but wind up with Sarah Jessica Parker. To make it worse, he’s cast men as ugly as himself as his friends to probably make himself look better, but all it does is make you pity the female cast more.
THERE WAS A BOY/A VERY STRANGE ENCHANTED BOY…
Okay, the original plan was to go to London. My French friend had told me she and her friends were going to France and invited me along (though unlike them, I’d have to find my own lodging). But I didn’t want to go where I couldn’t understand when people were mocking me, so I decided to go to London instead, where I would understand the condescension. My Instant Messenger Buddy had actually decided to join me on this trip, but she later backed out (wuss). Realizing the cost of a hotel and a jaunt to France would be too much, I finally decided to go just to Paris and even bought a quick language CD (Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?). I got my passport on September 11th. Yeah. So much for that. It seems God doesn’t want me ever leaving the country. Unfortunately, I was now itching to go somewhere, anywhere. This is how I wound up flying to California to join my would-be French traveling companions in Yosemite National Park. Yeah, the park where you hike and shit. Me. Sigh. I was still willing to go to Europe, but I needed my French translator and she wasn’t budging (though later, her mother did sneak away to France without telling her). In any case it wasn’t as bad as I thought, but seven days in the same place with the same people is simply too much. Even my Paris trip was only going to be six days and two of them would be arriving and leaving. Yeah, it was beautiful and all, but the only thing the grand majesty of millions of years of Mother’s Nature’s work really showed me was just how much I really hate people. The first time some camper made some hooting noise to someone else, I wanted them to trip and fall a couple thousand feet. Hell, by Wednesday I was hiking with with my discman on (listening to the 20 CD’s I burned). Hey, don’t judge me! Having U2’s "Beautiful Day" was perfect for the view from Glacier Point. You’d think five days of hiking for a few hours each day might make me thinner, but in keeping with the original French plan, we had wine and cheese every freaking day. I’m not kidding. I drank more wine (I recommend the Beaulieu Vineyard Costal Merlot) in one week than I have in the last six months (but I eat more cheese in a weekend than I did that whole week). And as much as I love SF, I cannot live out there. Too much soy milk, organic cheese and veggie burger crap going on. You can’t even smoke in bars. Now, I hate smoking and smokers, but I accept a bar as a place where one pursues self-destruction. What kind of health conscious fascism says you can sleep with strangers and drink yourself do death, but don’t be smoking while you do it!?! And the earthquake thing remains in my mind. Terrorists and wackos mailing diseases are still just human. How do you fight the earth itself?
GOT MY DEGREE OUT OF A CRACKERJACK BOX
One good thing about the Yosemite trip is that it made me read. I had no choice. I was on a freaking plane for six hours. I read Wonder Boys (which I bought in 1995), Chocolat and the first volume of Pride & Prejudice. Yes, I managed to acquire an English degree from NYU without ever having read any of the works of Jane Austin. In the words of Bart Simpson, "Suckers." Unfortunately, now I can’t stop fucking reading. Instead of being up to 4am tracking down free porn online, I’m up finishing books I started years ago. Damn this literacy! Damn it all to hell!
CALL ME SUSAN!
Speaking of terrorists, I know you’re wondering just how I dealt with September 11th. Well, I came to grips with the fact that I’m a little girl. You heard me. I’m a little girl in little pink panties. The men, the real men saw it happen, reached into their closets and got their gloves, workboots and hardhats and went to save the world. You know what I have in my closet? Black, suede Kenneth Cole boots ("Bitch Boots" as I now call them). So I curled up into the fetal position for 36 hours and dropped five pounds---like a little girl. Hell, it’s only now that I can look at firemen without weeping in the street. All my friends are all fine, but that’s to be expected. Those who died were either successful or self-sacrificing. No one I know even comes close to that description. We didn't call each other for a few days because we all knew the others were okay. After all, what would any of us be doing where money was being made or selfless acts were occurring? I wasn’t even worried about Chasing Amy, who worked near the WTC. Like me, she believes the work day begins after 9:30, which prevented her from being in harm’s way. Nevertheless, this brought up the subject of post-disaster etiquette from one of my friends. How late is too late to call? If you didn’t call within the first few days, how can you call the next week or month? What does that say? "I was worried you might be dead, but not so worried that I could pick up a phone for two weeks." And it leads to concerned, but uncomfortable calls, like the one I had to make to a woman I hadn’t spoken to in two years. I’m okay, you’re okay. Great. Okay, now how do I get off this phone without making plans for an equally uncomfortable dinner or drinks? Thankfully, she was of a similar mind and let it go quickly (my refusal to ask her about her life the way she did mine was a BIG hint).
HELPING THE ECONOMY LIKE THE PRESIDENT SAID
With Paris canceled (of course now the freaking New York Times says this is the best time to be a tourist in Paris) and Yosemite not yet planned, I spent the money I was saving and eased my depression with numerous purchases (rather than say, pay off debts), which included my new CD burner, a Discman, new boots and lots of DVD’s, bringing us up to 209 (not counting the porn). New additions include Get Shorty (which may well be a perfect movie), Madonna: Truth or Dare (it seemed weak years ago, but now that I’m older, I really appreciate just how well she goes down on that water bottle) Operation Petticoat (Cary Grant & Tony Curtis), Indiscreet (Cary Grant & Ingrid Bergman), The Lady Eve (Henry Fonda & Barbara Stanwyck), Bridget Jones’s Diary and The Terminator Special Edition. Most interesting (but only in a big geek way) is that one of the cut scenes from the original Terminator shows Sarah Connor already wanting to blow up Cyberdyne. In fact, the very factory where they finally destroy the Terminator turns out to be Cyberdyne and there’s a scene where you see them stealing the computer chips to research them. Great stuff if you’re a geek. Time paradox stuff gives us woodies.
A PEACE SYMBOL T-SHIRT AND A PACK OF RUBBERS
I’m not cynical, but when I walked past that gathering of college kids in Union Square Park shortly after the attack all I could think of was, "Man, there’s a lot of really bad collegiate sex going on right now." Even worse than normal. You know I’m right. Hell, Osama Bin Laden and Sadam Hussien have gotten more college kids laid in the last ten years than drugs and alcohol. Hey, it’s not a coincidence that the sexual revolution happened during the Vietnam War, when protests were still new and exciting.
AND I CAN’T STAND THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER EITHER!
Okay, I’m going to come out and say it: I’m tired of all this goddamn flag-waving. Hey, I love my country too, but flag-waving is not patriotism and it bothers me that so many of you twits think it is. I guarantee you every fuck head who attacked an Arab-American or Muslim (or someone his dumb ass thought was an Arab-American or Muslim), was wearing a fucking flag, so that tells you how little it actually means. It’s really funny to me, because for years I’ve endured the quiet scorn of my fellow geeks for my love of Captain America. Even normal people who appreciated my legion of Superman t-shirts would arch an eyebrow at my Captain America t-shirt. It has never been in vogue to like such an obviously nationalistic superhero. So now I find it sadly ironic that everyone and his mother is dressed like some weird Captain America doppelganger, whereas I haven’t worn the shirt since because I don’t want to be confused with them. See, when I was 15 I went through a period of weird idealism, actually reading up on the Constitution and Bill of Rights and shit like that. Thomas Jefferson was my big hero then. All that remains of it is a weird knowledge of American history (many of the founding fathers hated each other’s guts, the slave Sally that Thomas Jefferson was fucking was technically his sister-in-law, Benedict Arnold was hardly the traitor he was made out to be and the man he killed, Alexander Hamilton, was probably George Washington’s bastard son), never having missed an issue of Captain America in 20 years and an intolerance of "patriots" who don’t know dick about the principles this country is supposed to represent. For them, being a good American means telling other people how to be good Americans (the only time the comic strip Boondocks has been funny recently is when it mocked this---and was immediately dropped by the Daily News). I wonder how many of these freaking noveau-patriots voted over the past few weeks? I didn’t do much before the world went to hell on September 11th, but I did that.
JUST GIVE THE MONEY
Let me be the first to say how much I actually enjoyed that telethon for the city. Despite the inability of TV and movie actors speak coherently (notice how the theater trained Calista Flockhart didn’t miss a beat), the weird dance moves of the chorus behind Faith Hill (you know they aren’t allowed to do that crap in church) and Enrique Igleasias’s really bad comb over (apparently Ricky Martin was unavailable), it held my attention in its entirety. Fucking Billy Joel almost made me cry by having the fireman’s helmet on his piano, but his using "New York Post and Newsday too" rather than the original lyrics of "The New York Times, The Daily News" pissed me off enough to control it. And that grand round up at the end. How pathetic was that? In any case, why don’t they just give the money themselves? All these concerts don’t amount to a tenth of what some of these people make as individuals. So the concert made $150M in pledges. Hey, when I was 10 I once called up and pledged $10 to a telethon. Think they got it? Exactly. So they probably aren’t going to actually bring in that much. In the meantime we see Julia Roberts, Tom Cruise and Tom Hanks, all of who command between $20-25M per film trying to get us to cough up some dough. Why don’t they just make a fucking movie together and donate all the profits to charity? The Concert for NYC sold $14M in tickets. Again, a drop in the bucket for some of these people. I gave to the Red Cross and didn’t need Tom, Tom and Julia to get me to fucking do it.
BIGGIE, BIGGIE, BIGGIE CAN’T YOU SEE/LYRICS ABOUT MONEY AND HOES CAN’T COMFORT ME?
Has anyone noticed the lack of Hip-hop artists from these charitable performances? Know why? Rap can’t comfort. It never has. With the exception of Bone Thugs ‘N Harmony’s "Crossroads" it’s all about money, clothes, hoes and how great they are. Not too much there for the injured soul of a nation.
NEW YORK GUILT
While driving to Yosemite, we passed through a number of small towns and all of them had funds drives for NYC and I suffered with a little guilt, because before September 11th, like most city dwellers, I thought these were all a bunch of illiterate, taste-challenged shit-kickers. Now…well, they’re all still a bunch of illiterate, taste-challenged shit-kickers, but okay, I guess. Now, if only they’d stop putting John 3:16 on every goddamn thing.
TO BE CONTINUED…
So, when will I do this again? Who knows. Watch the skies.