Growing up, my parents always made sure my sisters and I knew that developing our intelligence was of paramount importance. “Good enough” was never good enough – we had to be the best we could be. I knew kids who were bribed to make A’s on their report cards, with money or treats. We made A’s because one is supposed to make A’s – it’s just what you should do, not something you should be paid off to do. I wish more people were raised with such a demanding insistence on education and taking pride in being intelligent – the world would be a better place in general, and people wouldn’t drive me so crazy.
I don’t know how they decided that this is what would be stressed to us. Maybe they put their heads together when I was born and decided “OK, we want kids with good manners, who won’t do drugs, and will make straight A’s.” In any event, that’s what they got. We are some of the most well-mannered girls you will ever have the pleasure to meet, we do not do drugs, and we get good grades in school without having to be hounded. We are hellions in all other respects. Perhaps they should have been more specific.
As an example of just how badly my parents wanted intelligent children, consider the following event.
In 2006, the Will Ferrell movie Talladega Nights came out. Being children raised not only to be intelligent, but to also love Nascar (yes, the two can go together), naturally my sisters and I loved it. My middle sister a little more so than the rest of it. She took a particular liking to one scene, where one of Ricky Bobby’s sons, when asked about how his day went at school, launched into the following speech: “My teacher asked me, ‘What’s the capital of North Carolina?’ And I said ‘Washington D.C.’ And she said ‘No! You’re wrong!’ I said “You got a lumpy butt!” Then she got mad and yelled at me, and I peed my pants!”
Once the movie was out on DVD, she had it memorized in no time. She would run around spouting it off to anybody who would listen. Most people hadn’t seen the movie and would just smile and nod in a confused fashion, as people tend to do with my sister. One day she sprang it on my dad. He immediately went red in the face, a sure sign of impending rage. “MEGAN!” he exclaimed. “I can’t BELIEVE you thought the capital of North Carolina was Washington D.C.! You know better than that!! You’re smarter than that!!”
He didn’t care that she told her teacher she had a lumpy butt.
He ignored the fact that she’d said she peed her pants.
He was just pissed that she didn’t know the capital of North Carolina.
Megan was shocked for a moment. I don’t think she realized at first that he was actually taking her quote-spouting seriously. I also don’t think my mother and I have ever laughed so hard. We may have come close to actually peeing our pants. Even after we got out the DVD and showed him the scene from the movie, he was still skeptical, still questioning my sister to make sure she knew the capital of North Carolina, and still unbothered by her peeing her pants.
What’s really funny about the whole thing was that to this day I’m not sure my dad actually knew what the capital of North Carolina was.
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: The upcoming season 2 premier of Archer. If you have never seen it, I highly recommend it, even though I know that style-wise, it's not a show everyone will appreciate. But it is well-written, witty and clever, has a great cast, and is laugh-out-loud funny as hell. How do you not love a show with a catch phrase like "Call Kenny Loggins, because you're in the Danger Zone"?
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Blessed Is He Who Keeps the Epileptic Bees
Like the natural scavenger I am, I hit the after-Christmas sales this week, and I hit them hard. Massive economy rolls of Christmas wrapping paper that don’t have trees, snow, or Santas, and therefore can pass as birthday gift wrap year-round, for $1.25? I’ll take three. All my Christmas cards for next year for $8? Yes please. (And no, it’s not tacky to tell you how cheap my Christmas cards are – you’re just thrilled to death that you get one from me, and double pleased when a suffocating cloud of glitter doesn’t fly out of the envelope when you open it, like some cards.)
I know – this is another one of those posts that starts out one way, and you start to wonder what it has to do with my witty title. “Jennifer,” you’re asking, “what does you being thrifty at after-Christmas sales have to do with bees, or, more curiously, epilepsy?”
Well, I was casually strolling through Target . . . Twas the week after Christmas, and what to my horrified eyes should appear?
Valentine’s Day merchandise.
That’s right. Valen. Tine’s. Day. Shit.
There are several problems with this. One, we JUST finished Christmas. No way am I emotionally stable enough to deal with another holiday. And for that matter, judging by the state your store was in, neither are you, Target. It’s too soon. Stores should realize that it is acceptable for there to be a period of time where no holiday or special occasion is vehemently pimped out on their aisles. Two, Valentine’s Day isn’t even another holiday. It’s a dastardly scheme concocted by Hallmark. Three, it’s not even a good scheme. Valentine’s Day is supposed to be all about love and romance right? Failure. Pink and red don’t even go together. The traditional heart shape isn’t even the shape of a human heart, and a real heart is pretty damn far from being sexy. A gigantic stuffed gorilla that sings “Love Machine” when you rub his tummy doesn’t exactly put a girl in the mood. And four, the whole thing is a gross misrepresentation.
I don’t know much about who St. Valentine was personally, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want people having sexy times and trading venereal diseases in his honor. I’m also pretty sure that he, a good Catholic martyr, doesn’t want his name exploited all throughout the mass media and various commercial enterprises immediately from Christmas (the birth of his lord Jesus) until the middle of February.
St. Valentine is the patron saint of happy marriages and engaged couples – OK, I can see how this would lead to a day honoring romance. But he was also was the patron saint of plague victims, epileptics, and bee keepers, and is often depicted as a bishop being beheaded. Buying candy and flowers in honor of a beheaded bishop who honored the plight of bee keepers doesn’t sound so romantic, does it? I’ll let you contemplate how munching on tiny sugar hearts saying “U R Cool” and “Text Me” pays homage to the patron saint of epileptics.
Dumb as it is – that doesn’t mean I won’t go pick up some candy on February 15th when it’s half off.
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: Seeing Black Swan, finally. I like Natalie Portman and Vincent Cassel, and I do love a movie about some crazy. And I hear if you look closely, you can see Benjamin Millepied's relationship with his then-live-in girlfriend fall apart at the feet of Natalie Portman. Heh.
I know – this is another one of those posts that starts out one way, and you start to wonder what it has to do with my witty title. “Jennifer,” you’re asking, “what does you being thrifty at after-Christmas sales have to do with bees, or, more curiously, epilepsy?”
Well, I was casually strolling through Target . . . Twas the week after Christmas, and what to my horrified eyes should appear?
Valentine’s Day merchandise.
That’s right. Valen. Tine’s. Day. Shit.
There are several problems with this. One, we JUST finished Christmas. No way am I emotionally stable enough to deal with another holiday. And for that matter, judging by the state your store was in, neither are you, Target. It’s too soon. Stores should realize that it is acceptable for there to be a period of time where no holiday or special occasion is vehemently pimped out on their aisles. Two, Valentine’s Day isn’t even another holiday. It’s a dastardly scheme concocted by Hallmark. Three, it’s not even a good scheme. Valentine’s Day is supposed to be all about love and romance right? Failure. Pink and red don’t even go together. The traditional heart shape isn’t even the shape of a human heart, and a real heart is pretty damn far from being sexy. A gigantic stuffed gorilla that sings “Love Machine” when you rub his tummy doesn’t exactly put a girl in the mood. And four, the whole thing is a gross misrepresentation.
I don’t know much about who St. Valentine was personally, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want people having sexy times and trading venereal diseases in his honor. I’m also pretty sure that he, a good Catholic martyr, doesn’t want his name exploited all throughout the mass media and various commercial enterprises immediately from Christmas (the birth of his lord Jesus) until the middle of February.
St. Valentine is the patron saint of happy marriages and engaged couples – OK, I can see how this would lead to a day honoring romance. But he was also was the patron saint of plague victims, epileptics, and bee keepers, and is often depicted as a bishop being beheaded. Buying candy and flowers in honor of a beheaded bishop who honored the plight of bee keepers doesn’t sound so romantic, does it? I’ll let you contemplate how munching on tiny sugar hearts saying “U R Cool” and “Text Me” pays homage to the patron saint of epileptics.
Dumb as it is – that doesn’t mean I won’t go pick up some candy on February 15th when it’s half off.
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: Seeing Black Swan, finally. I like Natalie Portman and Vincent Cassel, and I do love a movie about some crazy. And I hear if you look closely, you can see Benjamin Millepied's relationship with his then-live-in girlfriend fall apart at the feet of Natalie Portman. Heh.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Use Your Words
I fear that the combination of text messaging and the internet (especially Facebook) is creating a world full of illiterate monkeys. I will fully admit to using the occasional “BTW,” “FYI” or some other real-world-accepted acronym – but that’s where I draw the line. I cannot tell you how crazy it makes me to go on Facebook and see statuses and comments made by grown adults with fully developed vocabularies creating imaginary, bastardized versions of shorthand.
Stop saying “sum.” Stop using the letter “n” instead of typing out the word “and.” And for the love of satan, don’t use numbers instead of letters!! “Gr8” is NOT a word recognized by the English language – and if you think it is, f469 the American education system. Who told you these were words? You don’t speak in such a way. You speak using all the letters assigned to a word, even if they are silent. You do not say “cool, but spell it with a ‘k’ and a ‘w’ so I sound more awesome.” So what makes you think this is an appropriate way to write like this.
Honestly, what are you accomplishing? It doesn’t make you look cute or clever. Are you trying to save time? By typing “sum” instead of “some,” congratulations, you have successfully saved yourself the extremely arduous task of making one more keystroke. If you compile all of the time in one lifetime saved by neglecting one more keystroke, you would probably have enough time to sneeze. No, you are not saving yourself any time - maybe you’ve staved off getting carpal tunnel syndrome for a couple of hours. All you have really accomplished is to make yourself look to everyone else like an uneducated hillbilly who is confused by her new-fangled computin’ machine. I see it so often and it's become so egregious, I feel like we're on the verge of losing English as a written language altogether.
Let me make a quick disclaimer before signing off. If you’re a of tween-ish age, fine, I get it. I accept that. I suppose it’s the 21st century’s version of dotting your i’s with teeny hearts, or writing how you “Luv (insert random celebrity) 4-eva.” But once you’re past age 13 or so . . . USE YOUR WORDS!
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: the new IPAD my mom got me for Christmas! It’s so much fun. And speaking of fun, I need more Words With Friends opponents . . . send me your username here or on Facebook!
Stop saying “sum.” Stop using the letter “n” instead of typing out the word “and.” And for the love of satan, don’t use numbers instead of letters!! “Gr8” is NOT a word recognized by the English language – and if you think it is, f469 the American education system. Who told you these were words? You don’t speak in such a way. You speak using all the letters assigned to a word, even if they are silent. You do not say “cool, but spell it with a ‘k’ and a ‘w’ so I sound more awesome.” So what makes you think this is an appropriate way to write like this.
Honestly, what are you accomplishing? It doesn’t make you look cute or clever. Are you trying to save time? By typing “sum” instead of “some,” congratulations, you have successfully saved yourself the extremely arduous task of making one more keystroke. If you compile all of the time in one lifetime saved by neglecting one more keystroke, you would probably have enough time to sneeze. No, you are not saving yourself any time - maybe you’ve staved off getting carpal tunnel syndrome for a couple of hours. All you have really accomplished is to make yourself look to everyone else like an uneducated hillbilly who is confused by her new-fangled computin’ machine. I see it so often and it's become so egregious, I feel like we're on the verge of losing English as a written language altogether.
Let me make a quick disclaimer before signing off. If you’re a of tween-ish age, fine, I get it. I accept that. I suppose it’s the 21st century’s version of dotting your i’s with teeny hearts, or writing how you “Luv (insert random celebrity) 4-eva.” But once you’re past age 13 or so . . . USE YOUR WORDS!
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: the new IPAD my mom got me for Christmas! It’s so much fun. And speaking of fun, I need more Words With Friends opponents . . . send me your username here or on Facebook!
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
How Rude
Bret Michaels proposed to his girlfriend on the season finale of his VH1 reality show on Monday.
That selfish sonofabitch.
Sure, she’s put up with him for 16 years. She’s been through 2 kids, countless tours, innumerable classy Poison fans throwing themselves at him, 3 seasons of "Rock of Love", and the litany of health problems that almost took him down this year. She’s either the world’s most patient woman, or a complete and utter moron.
But what about ME? I love Poison. I love Bret post-Poison (and CC – but that’s a different blog for a different day). In fact I have a somewhat unnatural interest in him. It’s part attraction, part nostalgia, part curious fascination; part of me can’t take him seriously, and the other part still wants him to sing to me; part of me wants to peek under the bandana, and part of me just wants to sit quietly and brush his wigs with him.
Bret always said he didn’t want to get married because it would ruin his free-spirited lifestyle. I share those concerns, sir. Now that he’s married, there will surely be no more "Rock of Love". That was a real blasty blast – quality trash TV at its finest. As long as Bret remained unmarried, there was a little hope left that we would be treated with a season 4. Now that he’s engaged and will soon be married, no more can I create nefarious, schematic-intense plots to kidnap him from a San Antonio hospital, should he wind up in one again. No more can I have hope that I will win radio contests to get onto his bus, and stowaway in the bathroom to pop out at an opportune moment. No more hope of stalking him down in whatever random B- or C-list town he’s playing in and laying a trap for his capture, where I would prop up a box on a stick attached to a string, and put some porn inside and watch from a safe distance, holding the other end of the string. I suppose this at least means I can get rid of any gypsy-hooker-tramp clothes I was hoarding just in case.
The proposal didn’t even make good TV! He couldn’t even give me that!! He popped the question on a couch at his house. He didn’t even give her a new ring – he simply reused the (albeit large and impressive) “friendship with mega benefits” ring that she had only moments before taken off and given back to him (again, the woman’s a fool).
Fine, probably marrying the woman is the right thing to do, as a moral human being. I think it’s great that he’s got this wonderful, healthy life. But by doing the right thing by her, he’s ruined most of his appeal for a large segment of his fanbase. Namely, me (and only most of his appeal – let’s be honest, he still wears the shit out of those faded jeans). Now all I’m left with is looking forward to what kind of snazzy bedazzled wedding bandana he’ll strap onto his fancy weave for the actual ceremony. How far we’ve fallen, Bret. It’s like the death of a unicorn. I’ll have to refocus all of my time and effort on John Stamos.
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: Going to see WICKED!!! My wonderful friend Kacy got me a ticket for Christmas, and we’re going in February. Definitely one of my favorite musicals. I’ll be playing the bejeezus out of the soundtrack in anticipation between now and then for sure. Extreme levels of excitement here, folks.
That selfish sonofabitch.
Sure, she’s put up with him for 16 years. She’s been through 2 kids, countless tours, innumerable classy Poison fans throwing themselves at him, 3 seasons of "Rock of Love", and the litany of health problems that almost took him down this year. She’s either the world’s most patient woman, or a complete and utter moron.
But what about ME? I love Poison. I love Bret post-Poison (and CC – but that’s a different blog for a different day). In fact I have a somewhat unnatural interest in him. It’s part attraction, part nostalgia, part curious fascination; part of me can’t take him seriously, and the other part still wants him to sing to me; part of me wants to peek under the bandana, and part of me just wants to sit quietly and brush his wigs with him.
Bret always said he didn’t want to get married because it would ruin his free-spirited lifestyle. I share those concerns, sir. Now that he’s married, there will surely be no more "Rock of Love". That was a real blasty blast – quality trash TV at its finest. As long as Bret remained unmarried, there was a little hope left that we would be treated with a season 4. Now that he’s engaged and will soon be married, no more can I create nefarious, schematic-intense plots to kidnap him from a San Antonio hospital, should he wind up in one again. No more can I have hope that I will win radio contests to get onto his bus, and stowaway in the bathroom to pop out at an opportune moment. No more hope of stalking him down in whatever random B- or C-list town he’s playing in and laying a trap for his capture, where I would prop up a box on a stick attached to a string, and put some porn inside and watch from a safe distance, holding the other end of the string. I suppose this at least means I can get rid of any gypsy-hooker-tramp clothes I was hoarding just in case.
The proposal didn’t even make good TV! He couldn’t even give me that!! He popped the question on a couch at his house. He didn’t even give her a new ring – he simply reused the (albeit large and impressive) “friendship with mega benefits” ring that she had only moments before taken off and given back to him (again, the woman’s a fool).
Fine, probably marrying the woman is the right thing to do, as a moral human being. I think it’s great that he’s got this wonderful, healthy life. But by doing the right thing by her, he’s ruined most of his appeal for a large segment of his fanbase. Namely, me (and only most of his appeal – let’s be honest, he still wears the shit out of those faded jeans). Now all I’m left with is looking forward to what kind of snazzy bedazzled wedding bandana he’ll strap onto his fancy weave for the actual ceremony. How far we’ve fallen, Bret. It’s like the death of a unicorn. I’ll have to refocus all of my time and effort on John Stamos.
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: Going to see WICKED!!! My wonderful friend Kacy got me a ticket for Christmas, and we’re going in February. Definitely one of my favorite musicals. I’ll be playing the bejeezus out of the soundtrack in anticipation between now and then for sure. Extreme levels of excitement here, folks.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Things That Make Me Crazy
I foresee this becoming a regular posting series. I have a lot of crazy, and it’s attributable to a lot of different things.
So, carrying on, something that makes me crazy – posting vague status updates on Facebook, and then not explaining. Posting “worst day ever!” and then, when asked by concerned (read: curious) Facebook friends why it was the worst day ever or what happened, responding with “I don’t want to talk about it.” Or posting “OMG what a jerk!” but refusing to say who is a jerk or why.
What was the point of that.
I don’t mean to sound nosy. (Note that I didn’t say I’m not nosy – I just don’t want to sound nosy . . . and besides, if it's not for being nosy, what the hell else is Facebook for?) I just don’t understand what we’ve accomplished here. I have a sneaking suspicion that your point in making such a post was that you wanted to be asked about it. You have achieved your objective - you have posted something vague, it has garnered attention, and people have asked. So I ask . . . now what?
What other purpose could it serve? Is my day enhanced by reading that your day was unfortunate? No. Is it a warning, in case I should have future interactions with you that day? Probably you don’t have that much forethought. Did you think you should just let me know? Nah.
It’s not that I don’t care about your terrible day. I’m sorry if you’re having one. But if you don’t want to talk about it . . . why did you bring it up? You do know you’re on Facebook, writing this for your 482 closest internet friends, acquaintances and strangers, right?
We have achieved nothing. I may be nosy, but you're a status tease.
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: The trailer for Water for Elephants that was released last week. I read this book soon after it was released a couple of years ago, and absolutely fell in love with it. It’s a suspenseful story with interesting characters, set against an old-time circus background. I’ve been allllll sorts of excited since I saw that it was being made into a movie. Some of the casting is pretty brilliant – Christoph Waltz as the psychotic August in particular was a stroke of genius, and even Robert Pattinson as the young Jacob Jankowski is pretty dead on. I really questioned Reese Witherspoon as Marlena though. But now that I’ve seen the preview, my excitement has multiplied by, like, a basquillion. The actors fit well in the roles, and the circus setting is hauntingly beautiful. Definitely checking this one out on opening day in April.
So, carrying on, something that makes me crazy – posting vague status updates on Facebook, and then not explaining. Posting “worst day ever!” and then, when asked by concerned (read: curious) Facebook friends why it was the worst day ever or what happened, responding with “I don’t want to talk about it.” Or posting “OMG what a jerk!” but refusing to say who is a jerk or why.
What was the point of that.
I don’t mean to sound nosy. (Note that I didn’t say I’m not nosy – I just don’t want to sound nosy . . . and besides, if it's not for being nosy, what the hell else is Facebook for?) I just don’t understand what we’ve accomplished here. I have a sneaking suspicion that your point in making such a post was that you wanted to be asked about it. You have achieved your objective - you have posted something vague, it has garnered attention, and people have asked. So I ask . . . now what?
What other purpose could it serve? Is my day enhanced by reading that your day was unfortunate? No. Is it a warning, in case I should have future interactions with you that day? Probably you don’t have that much forethought. Did you think you should just let me know? Nah.
It’s not that I don’t care about your terrible day. I’m sorry if you’re having one. But if you don’t want to talk about it . . . why did you bring it up? You do know you’re on Facebook, writing this for your 482 closest internet friends, acquaintances and strangers, right?
We have achieved nothing. I may be nosy, but you're a status tease.
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: The trailer for Water for Elephants that was released last week. I read this book soon after it was released a couple of years ago, and absolutely fell in love with it. It’s a suspenseful story with interesting characters, set against an old-time circus background. I’ve been allllll sorts of excited since I saw that it was being made into a movie. Some of the casting is pretty brilliant – Christoph Waltz as the psychotic August in particular was a stroke of genius, and even Robert Pattinson as the young Jacob Jankowski is pretty dead on. I really questioned Reese Witherspoon as Marlena though. But now that I’ve seen the preview, my excitement has multiplied by, like, a basquillion. The actors fit well in the roles, and the circus setting is hauntingly beautiful. Definitely checking this one out on opening day in April.
Monday, December 20, 2010
"Well, then, we might just not get along”
- Glen Campbell as LaBoeuf, in the 1969 True Grit
This Wednesday will see the release of the new Coen brothers flick, True Grit. When I first read about the making of this movie, I was annoyed. For several reasons. First, there was nothing wrong with the original John Wayne version. I soon read articles about the Coen brothers’ insistence that this movie is not a remake of the 1969 one, but is more true to the book. I’ll discuss that more later, but even still – I couldn't understand how do you fill a role once played by John Wayne? Furthermore, I’m getting fairly tired of movie remakes. Here’s an idea, Hollywood – if you can’t think of something to make a movie about, don’t make another movie. I’ve never been a person to understand doing things for the sake of doing things. Don’t even get me started on the remake of Footloose – that is such a complete disgrace I can’t even deal with it. The same goes for useless sequels – unless there’s more story to tell, move on to something new, rather than beating the bejeezus out of a dead horse (I’m talking to you, Pirates of the Caribbean, much as I love that damn Jack Sparrow).
All that being said, and as annoyed as I was to begin with . . . I now find myself pretty excited to go see it. Much as I hated the overall idea of making a new True Grit, I love a lot of the pieces that are going into it. I really enjoy Jeff Bridges. At first glance, I don’t think I would have chosen him to fill the boots of the most epic cowboy ever (whether you like westerns or not, there’s no denying that John Wayne is the cowboyest of all the cowboys). But after further thought, I actually think there’s some genius to that casting. The Dude has a certain swagger to him, and a gruffness that makes him an appropriate choice. I suppose his Oscar-winning success as country singer Bad Blake in last year’s Crazy Heart makes it a little less of a stretch. At least we know he can wear boots and pull off acting like a drunk. I’m thrilled to see him paired with the Coen brothers again, even if it’s not for another cult-bound comedy like The Big Lebowski. And let’s face it, have the Coen brothers ever really made a bad movie? Then there’s Matt Damon, in the role originally played by Glen Campbell. Matt Damon in a western also sounded pretty out there to me originally – All The Pretty Horses was hardly a success, and I’d go so far as to say it’s one of the more significant down points in Damon’s career. But I do love Matt Damon. Even in bad movies, he’s a great actor. Seeing the previews for the movie, and the various screen caps . . . all right. I’ll buy him as a snooty Texas Ranger – for now at least.
I’m still a little skeptical of the Coen brothers’ insistence that this isn’t a remake of the John Wayne version, but is a more faithful interpretation of the book. It’s true that the 1969 version took a few creative liberties with Charles Portis’ novel, but taking it all into consideration, it doesn’t change the overarching themes, or the key plot points. I can see how the Coen brothers can change things to follow the book more carefully, but it’s not really going to change the core story that much. And for all their talk about following the book, the first leaked screen cap – showing an eye-patched Jeff Bridges – quickly told me that it wasn’t as close as they were trying to sell. I mentioned earlier that I thought there was some genius to casting Jeff Bridges to fill a role once played by John Wayne – but that genius doesn’t necessarily extend to casting him as Rooster Cogburn. He’s twenty-some-odd years older than the Rooster written by Charles Portis (and looks it). I feel like the story was ignored in favor of marketing decisions there, and Bridges was chosen more to play John Wayne’s signature role than he was to play Charles Portis’s character. I don’t mean to be nitpicky (if I wanted to, I would point out that Rooster Cogburn, while missing an eye, never wears an eyepatch in the novel), and I really am looking forward to seeing Bridges’ performance. I even think it would be kind of cool if he could repeat at the Oscars, winning the Best Actor statuette for the 2nd year in a row, and making it 2 wins for the role of Rooster Cogburn*. I just think that maybe the Coen brothers are trying too hard in their diatribe on the virtue of their movie as an accurate interpretation of the book, and not a remake of the first movie. I’m not buying your argument, Joel and Ethan.
*The Golden Globe Awards, usually considered to be a fair prediction of whom will be nominated for Academy Awards, did not extend a nomination to Jeff Bridges for his performance as Rooster Cogburn when their announcements were made last week. However he was recognized with a nomination by the Screen Actors Guild, and between that and the wide critical acclaim for his performance, an Oscar nom is still very much a possibility.
Even if it winds up being a great movie filled with great performances thanks to masterful directing, I don’t think it’s possible to overcome the history and significance of the original, or John Wayne as Rooster Cogburn – it was his greatest role, and a great movie to boot. We’ll see come Wednesday what I (and everybody else who sees it) think.
Sarcasmo
PS – Hey Matt Damon . . . Ben Affleck is aging better than you are. Do what you want with that information, just know there are concerns.
Currently Excited About: True Grit, apparently.
This Wednesday will see the release of the new Coen brothers flick, True Grit. When I first read about the making of this movie, I was annoyed. For several reasons. First, there was nothing wrong with the original John Wayne version. I soon read articles about the Coen brothers’ insistence that this movie is not a remake of the 1969 one, but is more true to the book. I’ll discuss that more later, but even still – I couldn't understand how do you fill a role once played by John Wayne? Furthermore, I’m getting fairly tired of movie remakes. Here’s an idea, Hollywood – if you can’t think of something to make a movie about, don’t make another movie. I’ve never been a person to understand doing things for the sake of doing things. Don’t even get me started on the remake of Footloose – that is such a complete disgrace I can’t even deal with it. The same goes for useless sequels – unless there’s more story to tell, move on to something new, rather than beating the bejeezus out of a dead horse (I’m talking to you, Pirates of the Caribbean, much as I love that damn Jack Sparrow).
All that being said, and as annoyed as I was to begin with . . . I now find myself pretty excited to go see it. Much as I hated the overall idea of making a new True Grit, I love a lot of the pieces that are going into it. I really enjoy Jeff Bridges. At first glance, I don’t think I would have chosen him to fill the boots of the most epic cowboy ever (whether you like westerns or not, there’s no denying that John Wayne is the cowboyest of all the cowboys). But after further thought, I actually think there’s some genius to that casting. The Dude has a certain swagger to him, and a gruffness that makes him an appropriate choice. I suppose his Oscar-winning success as country singer Bad Blake in last year’s Crazy Heart makes it a little less of a stretch. At least we know he can wear boots and pull off acting like a drunk. I’m thrilled to see him paired with the Coen brothers again, even if it’s not for another cult-bound comedy like The Big Lebowski. And let’s face it, have the Coen brothers ever really made a bad movie? Then there’s Matt Damon, in the role originally played by Glen Campbell. Matt Damon in a western also sounded pretty out there to me originally – All The Pretty Horses was hardly a success, and I’d go so far as to say it’s one of the more significant down points in Damon’s career. But I do love Matt Damon. Even in bad movies, he’s a great actor. Seeing the previews for the movie, and the various screen caps . . . all right. I’ll buy him as a snooty Texas Ranger – for now at least.
I’m still a little skeptical of the Coen brothers’ insistence that this isn’t a remake of the John Wayne version, but is a more faithful interpretation of the book. It’s true that the 1969 version took a few creative liberties with Charles Portis’ novel, but taking it all into consideration, it doesn’t change the overarching themes, or the key plot points. I can see how the Coen brothers can change things to follow the book more carefully, but it’s not really going to change the core story that much. And for all their talk about following the book, the first leaked screen cap – showing an eye-patched Jeff Bridges – quickly told me that it wasn’t as close as they were trying to sell. I mentioned earlier that I thought there was some genius to casting Jeff Bridges to fill a role once played by John Wayne – but that genius doesn’t necessarily extend to casting him as Rooster Cogburn. He’s twenty-some-odd years older than the Rooster written by Charles Portis (and looks it). I feel like the story was ignored in favor of marketing decisions there, and Bridges was chosen more to play John Wayne’s signature role than he was to play Charles Portis’s character. I don’t mean to be nitpicky (if I wanted to, I would point out that Rooster Cogburn, while missing an eye, never wears an eyepatch in the novel), and I really am looking forward to seeing Bridges’ performance. I even think it would be kind of cool if he could repeat at the Oscars, winning the Best Actor statuette for the 2nd year in a row, and making it 2 wins for the role of Rooster Cogburn*. I just think that maybe the Coen brothers are trying too hard in their diatribe on the virtue of their movie as an accurate interpretation of the book, and not a remake of the first movie. I’m not buying your argument, Joel and Ethan.
*The Golden Globe Awards, usually considered to be a fair prediction of whom will be nominated for Academy Awards, did not extend a nomination to Jeff Bridges for his performance as Rooster Cogburn when their announcements were made last week. However he was recognized with a nomination by the Screen Actors Guild, and between that and the wide critical acclaim for his performance, an Oscar nom is still very much a possibility.
Even if it winds up being a great movie filled with great performances thanks to masterful directing, I don’t think it’s possible to overcome the history and significance of the original, or John Wayne as Rooster Cogburn – it was his greatest role, and a great movie to boot. We’ll see come Wednesday what I (and everybody else who sees it) think.
Sarcasmo
PS – Hey Matt Damon . . . Ben Affleck is aging better than you are. Do what you want with that information, just know there are concerns.
Currently Excited About: True Grit, apparently.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Traditional Schmaditional
I always think it’s fun to hear about everybody’s different Christmas traditions, the way their families do things and the fun they have. I think it’s nifty how a global holiday like Christmas sees so many different interpretations. And then I like to watch the shades of confusion, shame, and mild horror pass over their faces as I tell them the way my family runs Christmas.
We, like many families, have a beautiful nativity scene to set up every year. But we, unlike many families, see an inherent flaw. People put the scene out at the beginning of December (or in November, if you do Christmas wrong), but baby Jesus doesn’t arrive until Christmas day. We therefore decided it was improper to place baby Jesus in his snuggly manger – but a problem arose. Where to stash him until then? He sat in a wooden racecar that my dad built for a while. He sat in a wine glass. He spent some time treacherously caught in the jaws of a vicious mounted bobcat, much to the surprise of our cleaning lady. Every year, he wanders about the house. Eventually we realized that the nativity figurines are hollow, so we wrapped him in tissue paper and left him inside of Mary. We figured it was most appropriate to leave him there, safe in his tissue paper womb, until it was time for his grand Christmas day appearance.
Christmas lights have been a bit of a difficulty. You give my dad one damn job to do, and he dies to get out of doing it. Last year saw my sister shimmying up onto the roof to hang icicle lights. That proved to not be one of our better ideas. This year my sister Megan has Boyfriend, and he was conned into doing most of the lighting gruntwork. Then we added some of our own goodies. A couple of little trees by the front door, surrounded by pretty gifts. Big stars sit lit up by the fence. Snoopy sleeps on his lit-up dog house over by the garage. Linus, Snoopy, Woodstock, and Charlie Brown stand around a Christmas tree. And an inflatable pig is in the flower beds. What? Bacon makes us merry.
Christmas cookies. Hard to screw that up, right? We can even make that interesting. A couple of years ago, while making the traditional gingerbread person, Christmas tree, angel and star shaped cookies, my sister Megan, for no apparent reason, made a turkey. It confused people. We saw this as an opportunity. The next year we made Christmas penguins. The next year we took it a little further, dying dough red to make Christmas lobsters. We also made jalapeno shaped ones, and put them on toothpicks, in honor of Jeff Dunham’s Jose the Jalapeno on a steeeeek. One of my sisters (I won’t name names to protect the innocent, but it might rhyme with Schmeslie) attempted to paint the jalapenos like the Mexican flag . . . and we wound up with jalapenos on steeeeeks painted like Italian flags instead. It’s become tradition to create non-traditional Christmas cookies. Gingerbread people get frosted to be anatomically correct, or get legs bitten off and frosted to look like gruesome accident victims. Trees get solidly covered with glitter sprinkles. Stars get frosted like certain Nickelodeon cartoon starfish. Last year we found a hippopotamus cutter, but thanks to the beast of a kitchen remodel we underwent, we were unable to make them. We have a new cutter for this Christmas . . . but if I told you what it was before it got used, I’d have to kill you. It’s always a surprise to my mom what we’ve come up with, and I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise for her. Or ruin the fun of watching her exasperated expression at discovering our tomfoolery.
I’m willing to bet nobody has Christmas like us. We have ornaments honoring dead racecar drivers on our tree. Our Christmas village has an outhouse behind the church, raccoons breaking into the garbage, hobos, and a headless woman riding passenger in a horse-drawn sleigh in the snow. We take pride in wrapping our gifts with enough twine, wire, or duct tape to require a tool kit to open them. Our Christmas is wicked merry.
Merry Christmas to you and yours, whatever your traditions may be,
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: Magic Cookie Bars. Yes, still. And the drawings for the UEFA Champions League round of 16 that came yesterday, particular the rematches between Inter Milan and Bayern Munich, and Arsenal and Barcelona. Excellent soccer to come!
We, like many families, have a beautiful nativity scene to set up every year. But we, unlike many families, see an inherent flaw. People put the scene out at the beginning of December (or in November, if you do Christmas wrong), but baby Jesus doesn’t arrive until Christmas day. We therefore decided it was improper to place baby Jesus in his snuggly manger – but a problem arose. Where to stash him until then? He sat in a wooden racecar that my dad built for a while. He sat in a wine glass. He spent some time treacherously caught in the jaws of a vicious mounted bobcat, much to the surprise of our cleaning lady. Every year, he wanders about the house. Eventually we realized that the nativity figurines are hollow, so we wrapped him in tissue paper and left him inside of Mary. We figured it was most appropriate to leave him there, safe in his tissue paper womb, until it was time for his grand Christmas day appearance.
Christmas lights have been a bit of a difficulty. You give my dad one damn job to do, and he dies to get out of doing it. Last year saw my sister shimmying up onto the roof to hang icicle lights. That proved to not be one of our better ideas. This year my sister Megan has Boyfriend, and he was conned into doing most of the lighting gruntwork. Then we added some of our own goodies. A couple of little trees by the front door, surrounded by pretty gifts. Big stars sit lit up by the fence. Snoopy sleeps on his lit-up dog house over by the garage. Linus, Snoopy, Woodstock, and Charlie Brown stand around a Christmas tree. And an inflatable pig is in the flower beds. What? Bacon makes us merry.
Christmas cookies. Hard to screw that up, right? We can even make that interesting. A couple of years ago, while making the traditional gingerbread person, Christmas tree, angel and star shaped cookies, my sister Megan, for no apparent reason, made a turkey. It confused people. We saw this as an opportunity. The next year we made Christmas penguins. The next year we took it a little further, dying dough red to make Christmas lobsters. We also made jalapeno shaped ones, and put them on toothpicks, in honor of Jeff Dunham’s Jose the Jalapeno on a steeeeek. One of my sisters (I won’t name names to protect the innocent, but it might rhyme with Schmeslie) attempted to paint the jalapenos like the Mexican flag . . . and we wound up with jalapenos on steeeeeks painted like Italian flags instead. It’s become tradition to create non-traditional Christmas cookies. Gingerbread people get frosted to be anatomically correct, or get legs bitten off and frosted to look like gruesome accident victims. Trees get solidly covered with glitter sprinkles. Stars get frosted like certain Nickelodeon cartoon starfish. Last year we found a hippopotamus cutter, but thanks to the beast of a kitchen remodel we underwent, we were unable to make them. We have a new cutter for this Christmas . . . but if I told you what it was before it got used, I’d have to kill you. It’s always a surprise to my mom what we’ve come up with, and I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise for her. Or ruin the fun of watching her exasperated expression at discovering our tomfoolery.
I’m willing to bet nobody has Christmas like us. We have ornaments honoring dead racecar drivers on our tree. Our Christmas village has an outhouse behind the church, raccoons breaking into the garbage, hobos, and a headless woman riding passenger in a horse-drawn sleigh in the snow. We take pride in wrapping our gifts with enough twine, wire, or duct tape to require a tool kit to open them. Our Christmas is wicked merry.
Merry Christmas to you and yours, whatever your traditions may be,
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: Magic Cookie Bars. Yes, still. And the drawings for the UEFA Champions League round of 16 that came yesterday, particular the rematches between Inter Milan and Bayern Munich, and Arsenal and Barcelona. Excellent soccer to come!
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Kiss This
Wednesday I took the final exam from hell. Four and a half hours, and I used almost every damn minute of it writing full-length treatises on the Clean Air Act, Clean Water Act, the Endangered Species Act, and other fun environmental statutes.
About halfway through, I needed a break. I left the room to walk up and down the hallway to stretch my legs for a minute, and went to the bathroom. As I was sitting there in the stall, minding my own business while doing my business, I noticed a big, red lipsticky, open-mouthed kiss print on the stall wall.
I have been troubled by this for days.
I’ve come up with several scenarios, all completely ridiculous and none justify the act. Not just the part where it’s disrespectful and tacky and unnecessary – but really, who does this? Graffiti is one thing, but this is different – this is getting to first base with a piece of public property. What’s the thought process here? Did someone do it for fun, thinking they were cute? Did they not consider that people TOUCH those walls, after having done their business but before reaching the sink, and that probably the cleaning crew doesn’t disinfect the walls on a regular basis? I can’t imagine how one thinks this is a good idea. “HaHA! I shall kiss this wall, and whoever enters next will know that someone sexual and cute and fun was here before them!”
Was someone spending too long in the stall, and decided to multitask, freshening up their lipstick whilst they sat? And then, upon finishing, needed to blot, but had used the last of the toilet paper? And didn’t have time to stop at the sink and apply cosmetics in front of the mirror? Let me remind you – it was an open mouth print. Free for germs to just float on into your mouth. Just opening your tube of lipstick in there is gross, waving it around for all of the stall cooties to land on it before you put it on your lips.
What’s even more troubling is that this was a stall in the law building. Sure, someone could have been visiting or passing through, but the odds are better that a potential future attorney did this. You should all just hire me from here on out, just to be safe. I can guarantee I don’t kiss bathroom walls.
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: making (and eating) Magic Cookie Bars. Best Christmas treat EVER.
About halfway through, I needed a break. I left the room to walk up and down the hallway to stretch my legs for a minute, and went to the bathroom. As I was sitting there in the stall, minding my own business while doing my business, I noticed a big, red lipsticky, open-mouthed kiss print on the stall wall.
I have been troubled by this for days.
I’ve come up with several scenarios, all completely ridiculous and none justify the act. Not just the part where it’s disrespectful and tacky and unnecessary – but really, who does this? Graffiti is one thing, but this is different – this is getting to first base with a piece of public property. What’s the thought process here? Did someone do it for fun, thinking they were cute? Did they not consider that people TOUCH those walls, after having done their business but before reaching the sink, and that probably the cleaning crew doesn’t disinfect the walls on a regular basis? I can’t imagine how one thinks this is a good idea. “HaHA! I shall kiss this wall, and whoever enters next will know that someone sexual and cute and fun was here before them!”
Was someone spending too long in the stall, and decided to multitask, freshening up their lipstick whilst they sat? And then, upon finishing, needed to blot, but had used the last of the toilet paper? And didn’t have time to stop at the sink and apply cosmetics in front of the mirror? Let me remind you – it was an open mouth print. Free for germs to just float on into your mouth. Just opening your tube of lipstick in there is gross, waving it around for all of the stall cooties to land on it before you put it on your lips.
What’s even more troubling is that this was a stall in the law building. Sure, someone could have been visiting or passing through, but the odds are better that a potential future attorney did this. You should all just hire me from here on out, just to be safe. I can guarantee I don’t kiss bathroom walls.
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: making (and eating) Magic Cookie Bars. Best Christmas treat EVER.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
My Floors Are Cleaner Than Your Floors . . . or, How My Day Went Horribly Wrong
Starting tomorrow, I will be spending the bulk of the next few weeks in El Campo with my family in observance of the Christmas season. Exciting, I know.
“But Jennifer,” you may be asking. “What in the name of Satan does that have to do with your floors?”
I’ll gladly tell you.
Note that earlier I said I would only be spending part of the Christmas holiday in El Campo. This is because I’m a big girl now. I have my own apartment, with my own bills to pay, my own mailbox and everything. In college, I lived in the dorms two years, one year in a campus apartment with friends, and one year I commuted from home. During law school, I lived in an apartment over my cousin’s garage, God bless her. So for the very first time, I am really living on my own. I realized this meant that I couldn’t go home and stay there for three weeks straight – I need to come back and get my mail, drop off my rent, pick up my bills, etc. etc. You know, fun grown-up stuff.
This realization led quickly to another – If I had to make a short trip to Austin from El Campo, it was quite probable that I would have a carpool guest . . . my mom.
As a natural result of this consequence, I have spent today, my first day free from school, cleaning like a madwoman. I cleaned the whole apartment – and really cleaned it, like, with a mop and stuff. In preparation for my travels, I’ve had several loads of laundry going as well. Finally around 2:45 I decided to take a little break. Have a glass of tea, go through the long list of shows on my DVR. As I started to relax, I heard a thump in the laundry room. Naturally, I assumed the broom had fallen over, as it tends to do. Shortly thereafter, I went to the kitchen to refill my drink. A fragrant blue substance was slowly creeping out from under the laundry room floor and across my freshly mopped kitchen linoleum.
As my buzzard luck would have it, it was not in fact the broom that fell down in the laundry room. It was the brand-new bottle of laundry soap that had somehow fallen from the top of my stacked washer and dryer. And shattered its lid on the floor. First I panicked, and my instant reaction was to run for the phone and call my mom. I stopped myself. “No . . .” I said (out loud) . . . “she’ll laugh and judge!” I decided I could handle the gelatinous laundry room beast on my own.
I picked up the bottle, the shoes that were on the floor waiting to be laundered, and the broom and Swiffer and tossed them in the sink. The basket of dirty clothes waiting on the floor to be washed was whisked to the bathtub. I used towels to sop up the massive puddle of laundry soap, and tossed them into the sink as well. Now . . . what to do with the residue left behind. Being the clever, clever girl I am, I thought “I know! I’ll Swiffer mop it!”
If you guessed that this would turn my kitchen into a deadly oil slick, unfit for one as clumsy as I . . . well kudos to you, you’re smarter than the lawyer.
Cut to me, spending the next 15 minutes scooting around my kitchen floor on a wet bath towel.
I always have loved the smell of fresh laundry. Good thing, since my entire apartment reeks of it now.
Sarcasmo
PS: I know what you’re thinking. It was careless of me to put the laundry soap in a place where the dryer’s vibrations could knock it over. But I didn’t even leave it close to the edge of the dryer – I had been in there not 15 minutes before The Incident to check to see if my sheets were dry, and it was in its normal position behind the rim on top of the dryer. So not only did I have all that mess to deal with all afternoon, probably I have ghosts too.
Currently Excited About: this beer in my hand.
“But Jennifer,” you may be asking. “What in the name of Satan does that have to do with your floors?”
I’ll gladly tell you.
Note that earlier I said I would only be spending part of the Christmas holiday in El Campo. This is because I’m a big girl now. I have my own apartment, with my own bills to pay, my own mailbox and everything. In college, I lived in the dorms two years, one year in a campus apartment with friends, and one year I commuted from home. During law school, I lived in an apartment over my cousin’s garage, God bless her. So for the very first time, I am really living on my own. I realized this meant that I couldn’t go home and stay there for three weeks straight – I need to come back and get my mail, drop off my rent, pick up my bills, etc. etc. You know, fun grown-up stuff.
This realization led quickly to another – If I had to make a short trip to Austin from El Campo, it was quite probable that I would have a carpool guest . . . my mom.
As a natural result of this consequence, I have spent today, my first day free from school, cleaning like a madwoman. I cleaned the whole apartment – and really cleaned it, like, with a mop and stuff. In preparation for my travels, I’ve had several loads of laundry going as well. Finally around 2:45 I decided to take a little break. Have a glass of tea, go through the long list of shows on my DVR. As I started to relax, I heard a thump in the laundry room. Naturally, I assumed the broom had fallen over, as it tends to do. Shortly thereafter, I went to the kitchen to refill my drink. A fragrant blue substance was slowly creeping out from under the laundry room floor and across my freshly mopped kitchen linoleum.
As my buzzard luck would have it, it was not in fact the broom that fell down in the laundry room. It was the brand-new bottle of laundry soap that had somehow fallen from the top of my stacked washer and dryer. And shattered its lid on the floor. First I panicked, and my instant reaction was to run for the phone and call my mom. I stopped myself. “No . . .” I said (out loud) . . . “she’ll laugh and judge!” I decided I could handle the gelatinous laundry room beast on my own.
I picked up the bottle, the shoes that were on the floor waiting to be laundered, and the broom and Swiffer and tossed them in the sink. The basket of dirty clothes waiting on the floor to be washed was whisked to the bathtub. I used towels to sop up the massive puddle of laundry soap, and tossed them into the sink as well. Now . . . what to do with the residue left behind. Being the clever, clever girl I am, I thought “I know! I’ll Swiffer mop it!”
If you guessed that this would turn my kitchen into a deadly oil slick, unfit for one as clumsy as I . . . well kudos to you, you’re smarter than the lawyer.
Cut to me, spending the next 15 minutes scooting around my kitchen floor on a wet bath towel.
I always have loved the smell of fresh laundry. Good thing, since my entire apartment reeks of it now.
Sarcasmo
PS: I know what you’re thinking. It was careless of me to put the laundry soap in a place where the dryer’s vibrations could knock it over. But I didn’t even leave it close to the edge of the dryer – I had been in there not 15 minutes before The Incident to check to see if my sheets were dry, and it was in its normal position behind the rim on top of the dryer. So not only did I have all that mess to deal with all afternoon, probably I have ghosts too.
Currently Excited About: this beer in my hand.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Why So Serious?
Let me introduce you to a little thing I like to call “Owning Your Shit.”
Owning Your Shit is a state of admitting to your past, and not taking yourself too seriously in light of it. Now, I could name a dozen people I personally know who are guilty of not Owning Their Shit, but today I was struck by a particularly egregious case of celebrity denial.
Dear Mark Wahlberg – stop pretending you didn’t spend your early twenties engaging in hijinks with The Funky Bunch.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m very much a fan of Mark Wahlberg. He has actually turned out to be a terrific actor – The Perfect Storm, Four Brothers, The Italian Job, and especially The Departed. He can even pull off sillier roles, like in I Heart Huckabees (which is a movie, although widely panned, I very much enjoy). And let’s all be honest here . . . he’s exceptionally, wildly attractive. I respect the hell out of him for turning his life around and becoming a stand up guy and a great actor. I just wish he would realize that nobody is forgetting his tighty-whitey shenanigans. I don’t mean it has to brand him forever, or that he needs to remind us of it all the time – but don’t deny it happened either. I’ve seen and read interviews where he gets sincerely pissed at just the mention of his Marky Mark days. He caused all kinds of uproar over Andy Samberg’s imitation of him in his running Saturday Night Live sketch, “Mark Wahlberg Talks to Animals.” Now that business was seriously funny. Yeah, he eventually did his own sketch to mock Andy’s sketch and his own reaction, but I feel like that wasn’t exactly his idea, nor was it a sincere apology. Today on The Ellen Show he was sinfully dull. Yes, Mark, we understand that you underwent incredible training to put together your new movie, The Fighter. And that’s certainly admirable, as are the resulting abdominal muscles. But Own Your Shit, sir. You've done big things, but stop taking yourself so seriously. We all know you were Marky Mark. You once had good vibrations. And I bet they’re still in there.
I would like to direct your attention to one C. Thomas Howell. Mr. Howell has dropped far off of Hollywood’s radar, but in 1983 he made young girls squee when he shared the screen with Patrick Swayze as the greaser Ponyboy Curtis in The Outsiders. That’s a role that sticks with you for life. He will be Ponyboy forever. A couple of years ago, Howell was chosen as a cast member for the VH1 reality show Celebracadabra – a show that took celebrities (and played fast and loose with the term ‘celebrity’ for sure) and taught them magic. It was exactly as stupid as it sounds. In one episode, Howell lost one of the pre-magic show challenges, and had to perform his show in drag. The drag name he created for himself? Ponygirl.
That, Marky Mark Wahlberg, is Owning Your Shit. Take notes. And say hello to your motha for me.
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: The Sing-Off. You guys, this show is the shit. Most excellent singing show on TV. It is a competition for purely a capella groups. It is amazing how cool these groups can make music sound without instruments. There are groups of frat boys, street performers from Nashville, a mixed group of teens, a church gospel group, a group of music teachers, and my personal favorites on the show, Jerry Lawson and Talk of the Town, a group of older gentleman who can legitimately pull off hits from Ben E. King and The Drifters, and contemporary songs as well. They’ve got some pretty smooth gentlemanly moves too. The judging is even great – I could live without Nicole Scherzinger, but Shawn Stockman of Boyz II Men fame and Ben Folds are clever and witty, and give legitimate, constructive critiques. Seriously cool show.
Jerry Lawson, performing Ben E. King's "Save The Last Dance For Me" (one of my favorite songs ever, no less)
On The Rocks, a group of guys from Oregon, performing Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance"
The gospel group, Committed, with Maroon 5's "This Love"
Owning Your Shit is a state of admitting to your past, and not taking yourself too seriously in light of it. Now, I could name a dozen people I personally know who are guilty of not Owning Their Shit, but today I was struck by a particularly egregious case of celebrity denial.
Dear Mark Wahlberg – stop pretending you didn’t spend your early twenties engaging in hijinks with The Funky Bunch.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m very much a fan of Mark Wahlberg. He has actually turned out to be a terrific actor – The Perfect Storm, Four Brothers, The Italian Job, and especially The Departed. He can even pull off sillier roles, like in I Heart Huckabees (which is a movie, although widely panned, I very much enjoy). And let’s all be honest here . . . he’s exceptionally, wildly attractive. I respect the hell out of him for turning his life around and becoming a stand up guy and a great actor. I just wish he would realize that nobody is forgetting his tighty-whitey shenanigans. I don’t mean it has to brand him forever, or that he needs to remind us of it all the time – but don’t deny it happened either. I’ve seen and read interviews where he gets sincerely pissed at just the mention of his Marky Mark days. He caused all kinds of uproar over Andy Samberg’s imitation of him in his running Saturday Night Live sketch, “Mark Wahlberg Talks to Animals.” Now that business was seriously funny. Yeah, he eventually did his own sketch to mock Andy’s sketch and his own reaction, but I feel like that wasn’t exactly his idea, nor was it a sincere apology. Today on The Ellen Show he was sinfully dull. Yes, Mark, we understand that you underwent incredible training to put together your new movie, The Fighter. And that’s certainly admirable, as are the resulting abdominal muscles. But Own Your Shit, sir. You've done big things, but stop taking yourself so seriously. We all know you were Marky Mark. You once had good vibrations. And I bet they’re still in there.
I would like to direct your attention to one C. Thomas Howell. Mr. Howell has dropped far off of Hollywood’s radar, but in 1983 he made young girls squee when he shared the screen with Patrick Swayze as the greaser Ponyboy Curtis in The Outsiders. That’s a role that sticks with you for life. He will be Ponyboy forever. A couple of years ago, Howell was chosen as a cast member for the VH1 reality show Celebracadabra – a show that took celebrities (and played fast and loose with the term ‘celebrity’ for sure) and taught them magic. It was exactly as stupid as it sounds. In one episode, Howell lost one of the pre-magic show challenges, and had to perform his show in drag. The drag name he created for himself? Ponygirl.
That, Marky Mark Wahlberg, is Owning Your Shit. Take notes. And say hello to your motha for me.
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: The Sing-Off. You guys, this show is the shit. Most excellent singing show on TV. It is a competition for purely a capella groups. It is amazing how cool these groups can make music sound without instruments. There are groups of frat boys, street performers from Nashville, a mixed group of teens, a church gospel group, a group of music teachers, and my personal favorites on the show, Jerry Lawson and Talk of the Town, a group of older gentleman who can legitimately pull off hits from Ben E. King and The Drifters, and contemporary songs as well. They’ve got some pretty smooth gentlemanly moves too. The judging is even great – I could live without Nicole Scherzinger, but Shawn Stockman of Boyz II Men fame and Ben Folds are clever and witty, and give legitimate, constructive critiques. Seriously cool show.
Jerry Lawson, performing Ben E. King's "Save The Last Dance For Me" (one of my favorite songs ever, no less)
On The Rocks, a group of guys from Oregon, performing Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance"
The gospel group, Committed, with Maroon 5's "This Love"
Monday, December 13, 2010
That's What She Said
I don’t know if all of you are guilty of this behavior, but I know my family and I certainly are. I in particular regularly commit this high level of hypocrisy. I hate for other people to speak for me, to put words in my mouth. I hate for people to assume what I would say, how I would react to things.
And yet, I speak for my dog.
On a regular basis no less. Maddie, my mom’s 3 year old Yorkie, is a puppy full of personality. I swear she’s the closest to human I’ve ever seen an animal other than a monkey be. She snorts and scoffs at things she doesn’t like. She can shoot deathly glares when you disrupt her napping patterns. We’ve used these cute little traits to develop a somewhat larger than life persona for her. According to the words we give her, she is a diva of extraordinary proportion hell-bent on world domination and the acquisition of thumbs. But only if her momma can come with her. And only if she has a nice blankie to snuggle on. And squirrels to chase. And no cats. We have decided she finds humans (other than her momma, of course) to be quite tedious – they always need to be walked, they have to constantly be reminded where the treats are, they always forget the proper way to lay on the couch, so on and so forth. So much upkeep.
We, of course, think it’s hilarious, and she, of course, shoots her humans looks of utter disdain. I always wondered if other people do this as well. If they run around during their daily lives saying “Maddie says this . . .” and “Maddie wants that . . .” or if we were the only ones so hard up for entertainment.
I also wonder if we’ve gotten it completely wrong. It’s fun to create what we think she is, and to try to figure out what’s going on in that diabolical little puppy mind. But for all we know she could prefer little puppy cargo pants and flannel over her fussy pink sweaters.
Through reading the Huffington Post I have found at least one person as amused by his conceptualized puppy personality as I am. He even created a Twitter account for her. Don’t worry, I’m not so out there that I would do the same. But Birdie is a pretty funny dog to follow, with such fun quips as “It’s weird when a dog at the dog park doesn’t want to play. This is the dog park, not the boring asshole park” and “Spent night on roommate’s bed rather than in kennel. Guess that makes morning walk a walk of shame. Wearing same leash as yesterday too. Eek.” Birdie sounds similar to our Maddie. In fact, it’s probably a good thing they’ll never meet. Check it out here: http://twitter.com/birdiepup
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: Being 1 final exam away from Christmas break. All you people with jobs who thought I was nuts for going to school for one more year – suck it!
And yet, I speak for my dog.
On a regular basis no less. Maddie, my mom’s 3 year old Yorkie, is a puppy full of personality. I swear she’s the closest to human I’ve ever seen an animal other than a monkey be. She snorts and scoffs at things she doesn’t like. She can shoot deathly glares when you disrupt her napping patterns. We’ve used these cute little traits to develop a somewhat larger than life persona for her. According to the words we give her, she is a diva of extraordinary proportion hell-bent on world domination and the acquisition of thumbs. But only if her momma can come with her. And only if she has a nice blankie to snuggle on. And squirrels to chase. And no cats. We have decided she finds humans (other than her momma, of course) to be quite tedious – they always need to be walked, they have to constantly be reminded where the treats are, they always forget the proper way to lay on the couch, so on and so forth. So much upkeep.
We, of course, think it’s hilarious, and she, of course, shoots her humans looks of utter disdain. I always wondered if other people do this as well. If they run around during their daily lives saying “Maddie says this . . .” and “Maddie wants that . . .” or if we were the only ones so hard up for entertainment.
I also wonder if we’ve gotten it completely wrong. It’s fun to create what we think she is, and to try to figure out what’s going on in that diabolical little puppy mind. But for all we know she could prefer little puppy cargo pants and flannel over her fussy pink sweaters.
Through reading the Huffington Post I have found at least one person as amused by his conceptualized puppy personality as I am. He even created a Twitter account for her. Don’t worry, I’m not so out there that I would do the same. But Birdie is a pretty funny dog to follow, with such fun quips as “It’s weird when a dog at the dog park doesn’t want to play. This is the dog park, not the boring asshole park” and “Spent night on roommate’s bed rather than in kennel. Guess that makes morning walk a walk of shame. Wearing same leash as yesterday too. Eek.” Birdie sounds similar to our Maddie. In fact, it’s probably a good thing they’ll never meet. Check it out here: http://twitter.com/birdiepup
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: Being 1 final exam away from Christmas break. All you people with jobs who thought I was nuts for going to school for one more year – suck it!
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Goodnight, and Have a Pleasant Tomorrow.
Good God was Saturday Night Live a letdown. A letdown of epic proportion. And I was SO looking forward to it! I love Paul Rudd and Paul McCartney. But my gosh, SNL has just about hit rock bottom.
SNL hasn’t been funny for me or the critics in a long time. I guess part of it is a generational issue. Most likely, the fans of the original Not Ready for Primetime Players don’t think the Sandler era was funny, and certainly not the Ferrell era. Probably a lot of the Aykroyd era doesn’t translate well to the fans of the Sandler era. Personally, I’m a fan of the majority of SNL’s long history, even though I first came to appreciate the show during the epic runs of Ferrell, MacDonald, Oteri, etc. Sure there have been dips, low points – but overall, I can appreciate and enjoy any of the illustrious SNL eras. I can drop quotes like “Delta Delta Delta, can I helpya helpya helpya?” and call somebody a honky with Richard Pryor’s excellent disdain, and a lot in between.
I have to blame the writing, really. I’ll fault Tina Fey for that – for leaving the head writer’s job, only for it to be filled by Seth Meyers. It’s just not funny anymore. Most of the running characters are just tedious. And for heaven’s sake – they need to realize their cast consists of more than just Fred Armisen, Kristen Wiig, and Bill Hader! Hader has been named the new Ferrell, and Wiig the new Shannon – but it’s not working out. At. All. The beauty of Shannon and Ferrell were that they would do anything, and could pull it off. Sure, I’ll credit Hader and Wiig for being willing to do anything. The difference being, though, Shannon and Ferrell were funny. Hader and Wiig are just played out. Again, though, I have to blame the writing. I’ve enjoyed them both in the work they’ve done outside of SNL. I wish they’d give more screen time to some of the other players. Kenan Thompson has come a lonnnnng way since All That and Good Burger – he is legitimately funny! And Jay Pharoah is being completely wasted. His Jay Z/Drake/Biggie Smalls impression on the Thanksgiving episode was phenomenal. He was an outstanding guest on Letterman not long after that, throwing out some more exceptional impressions. His Obama, especially, was outstanding – Armisen may have the seniority, but the job of resident Obama should be handed over to Pharoah on the grounds of pure talent.
(FF to about 3:05 for Eddie Murphy, 5:20 for Denzel Washington, 6:10 for Will Smith, 6:45 for Obama)
I haven’t kept up with the seasons in recent years, it’s just too bad to watch religiously. But I’ve caught a few episodes recently, some better than others. Surprisingly, I think the best episode of the season was Anne Hathaway’s Thanksgiving episode. Jane Lynch and Bryan Cranston, two actors fully capable of being devastatingly funny, were totally wasted. Rudd, who has the comedy chops to handle it and at least seems to be clever and witty when going off script, wasn’t given any good material, and McCartney’s sketch appearances were total throwaways. Remember a couple seasons ago when Mick Jagger demanded to be included in a sketch, and he was put in one where Jimmy Fallon played his mirror image? That was funny. Dressing Paul McCartney up in Austin Powers-like garb and making him play a tiny harmonica is not.
I’ll try to care again when Meyers, Wiig, and Hader are gone. Until then, I’ll cling desperately to my Best of Phil Hartman DVD. "Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer" is quite apropos.
Sarcasmo
Currently Excited About: the Logitech commercial with Kevin Bacon playing Kevin Bacon’s biggest fan. Genius. The only thing that could possibly have been more genius would be to have had Jack McFarland play Kevin Bacon’s biggest fan – since he was.
Ow . . . I Hurt My Mind
So . . . Inception. What an epic mindfuck. There is truly no more polite way of saying it.
As a big fan of Leo DiCaprio, and a fan of Christopher Nolan to an extent, I was pretty jazzed by this pairing, and really wanted to see this movie when it was in theaters this summer. Unfortunately, another epic event was sucking the life out of me this summer – the Texas bar exam. In my strained mental state, I knew better than to see a movie I knew would be complicated and dense. For that matter, in my strained mental state, I had no business leaving the safety of my garage apartment and intermingling with polite society. My mother and sister can attest to the severe degree of crazy I accomplished, and will agree that the nice people of San Antonio did not deserve me unleashing myself upon them. So, I passed on the movie. As a big movie fan, I unfortunately had to pass on quite a few tempting movies over the summer – I think the only one I actually went to the theater to see was Toy Story 3. Don’t judge.
So I was pretty jazzed when Inception came out on Tuesday. I was a very good girl – I read a few reviews from the main reviewers I like to read (Roger Ebert – we don’t always agree, but I love his writing style), but I was otherwise unspoiled. I refrained from watching leaked clips on the internet, and from reading all the theories and interpretations. I wanted to see it and make up my own mind, even though everything/everyone I came across had basically the same reaction – OMGbestmovieever.
Unfortunately, after working so hard to create a situation where I could reach my own opinion on the movie un-influenced by others, I have no freaking clue what that opinion is. I certainly wasn’t disappointed in it. I enjoyed it a lot. It had drama, surprise, intensity. It was certainly something new, different, and interesting. The last scene had me out of my armchair. If my neighbors heard me shouting “BUT WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN???” at 1AM, I’m sure they’ll stay away from me in the corridors from now on out of fear that my crazy will rub off on them. I’m sure it will get Academy Award recognition, whether in the newly-expanded Best Picture category, directing and screenwriting for Chris Nolan, or acting for Leonardo DiCaprio (for God’s sake, will somebody give him a damn Oscar already so he can go back to making fun movies like Catch Me If You Can??). And I don’t know about all that - I haven’t seen all the pictures, but I’m still fairly sure this isn’t the best one. I just don’t know what to DO with this movie! It’s so frustrating! I both totally get it, and don’t understand a damn bit of it at the same time. I told somebody else I think it’s like one of those magic eye puzzles – it only makes sense if you don’t really look at it. Like if you cross your eyes a little and think about something else and look past the picture, then you can see the dolphin. Cross your eyes a little and think about something else, and maybe this mess makes a little more sense. I have a feeling that many of the people running around claiming this to be the best movie they’ve ever seen simply don’t understand it and claim to love it rather than admit they didn’t get it and risk looking dumb. Well folks, don’t ever say I’m not honest – I don’t understand the damn thing. I enjoyed it as a cinematic treat, and I have a fair grasp on some of the broader points, but don’t ask me to explain it to you, because I just can’t.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go watch something that doesn’t require me thinking or actively participating.
Sarcasmo
PS – that gem of a title comes from my sweet little devil 5 year old cousin. Upon bonking his head one day, he exclaimed – ow! I hurt my mind!
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Standard Default First Blog Post
I think it’s funny when people tell me they like reading my Facebook commentary. Really guys . . . I’m just being a smartass. I once decided that if I were a superhero, my name would be Sarcasmo the Wonderbitch – I suppose there is nobody better to give you what you want! If smartassery is what you seek, then you shall have it.
I’ve never had a blog before. Never had a journal. So there’s no telling where this will go. Probably a lot of references to TV, movies, pop culture in general. There are a lot of things I like to talk about, and I don’t always know who to talk with. I suppose this way I can just talk in general, and it can be appreciated (or not) by whomever. I’ll probably share things I like, complain about things I don’t, and offer my general views on things I encounter. I do know I’m quite opinionated, very vocal about my opinions, and am usually convinced that I’m right. So if you’re easily offended . . . this is not the place for you!
Farewell, until I come up with a legitimate first entry!
Sarcasmo
Currently Reading: Sellevision, by Augusten Burroughs. About a fictional television home shopping channel, and its hosts and their respective lives. Very clever writing, not ha-ha-laugh-out-loud funny, but funny nonetheless.
Currently Excited About: The Pauls Rudd and McCartney on Saturday Night Live. Philadelphia v. Dallas on Sunday Night Football.
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