Sunday, March 21, 2010


So, since my ultimate diagnosis, after months and thousands of dollars is that, finally...wait for it...I’m ANGRY, let’s celebrate this bitch. Let’s get it on. Because if I have nothing else to contribute to this world, I guess, without further ado, it must be


So, fuck you Jesse James. What a bullshit, poser name that is, by the way. Keep banging on that motor, but where’s the blood and guts that earn that name? Mmmmmm? You have nothing. NOTHING. You are a mechanic with a cheap stripper hardon. Welcome to Sublime Mediocrity, you dirty fuck, because you deserve nothing less than the hate lashing you are getting or about to get. In this completely blasé world we live in, I have no doubt that you are living in a sweet unicorn dream of ease. No one is punishing you quite as much as you deserve.

Why do you fucking suck?

Let me count the ways…

1. You cheated on Sandra Bullock. Sandra. Fucking. Bullock. If I loved the ladies, I guess I’d love her First. LOOK AT HER. Forget that! Listen to her. She’s a dynamite, a warrior, a brilliant piece of humanity. You should be so lucky to shake the hand of such a luminous lovely, let alone worm your greasy ass into her life.

2. You cheated your children. Fuck it, right? Fuck those fuckers for being born. What can you do? What can you do? I bet you repeat that like a prayer every night. The dick wants what it wants, kids. You can’t fight dick.

Speaking of What the Dick Wants:

Really? Really? Of all the crack whores in all the crack dens, you had to sell your last vial of peen scum to bed the likes of this dirty piece of dogshit? Reeeeeeally? My mind reels. My mind insists that this is some kind of self hate. It HAS TO BE. Because you can’t compare the two, even if you were radiated and fully Silkwood-Brillo-pad scorched that bitch with bleach, you still couldn’t justify placing your peen anywhere near this swollen pustule’s blistered hole. Explain. Please. We have. All. Day.

Finally. The GODDAMNED SPEECH. When Sandra thanked you by saying her life was a blessing because of this, that, the other, and YOU. YOU, you filthy fuck. People less likely to be swayed by such sweet nothings were nevertheless SWAYED. For me, at least, this speech, and the disgusting developments henceforth, have made me doubt the entire male species. FUCK YOU, entire male species. If a shitbag like Jesse James can cheat on Sandra Fucking Bullock, what hope do the rest of us really have?

REALLY. Answer it. I DARE you. Because I know my ass is FAR less luminous and funny. What about me would ever guarantee fidelity? Mmmmmmmmmmmm? Lie to me, bitches, LIE TO ME.

LIAR. Don’t even post because I know you lie. If Jesse the Blunt Nubule can’t stay true to Sandy, then fuck the rest of you. You are only good for the sexytimes, anyway.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

I Do Apologize

Quite frankly, my favorite quote from Parking Wars. If you have a spare Sunday, watch as much of it as you can. As someone who doesn't own a car, it is fully enjoyable. And to those of you who own cars...I do apologize.

Why am I apologizing? Because I've decided that Seann William Scott is my favorite actor, evers. What. What. DeNiro and Daniel Day Horseface don't have enough fans?

Here's one of many reasons:

Also, blue monkey, blue monkey! There should be a limit to how many times a person can watch Evolution on HBO on demand...but then again, maybe not. I do apologize.

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Monday, March 15, 2010

I Will Let My Horses Drink! I Will Finish My Verse!

I know, he totally looks like Javier Bardem, ya?

Way back in the olden days of yore (known as "the 80s") a slightly silly movie made it's way to American theaters. It was called White Nights. I was a celebration of tap, ballet, modern, and all things hep and kool at that time. It was (sigh) also a play on words. The white knights were the practically worshipped ballet dancer Baryshnikov and the beloved tap master Gregory Hines. It featured many stirring dance performances, laden with great gobs of Cold War rhetoric--when is a man freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee--and, while bleak and not a little heavy handed, still managed to be very, very entertaining.

One of the faves, of course, was Baryshnikov's dance in the empty theater to Visotsky's "Fastidious Horses" (or just "Horses"), whilst gorgeous Helen Mirren (who ages more beautifully than any mortal has a right to) sobs hysterically at his freedom of expression or whatever.

When I started taking Russian classes we were introduced to the Visotsky cannon to some degree, even getting low-grade mixed tapes of bad recordings just like real Soviet comrades. As Americanskis, we were McLovin it. I never did attempt to translate or understand this song, though my complete lack of understanding tells you more about my, err, "knowledge base" than my interest in the song. I did know there was some sort of drinking taking place since the bit where he screams "YA konyeh napayoooo" meant something about "I" and "drink" so I figured it was about the notorious Russian alcoholism. I was McTranslatin' it.

Anyway, today was one of those days where the song tumbled into my head like a sweet, dripping honeycomb of whirring bees. It always makes me happy in its rumbling angst-y yowl, and all the movie-related subtext of repression, quiet rage, and the inability to effect change makes it a rocking good anthem for a pissy day. SO, here's a fab version.

The funny part was looking up the lyrics, since they don't match at all. This is a perfect example of the difference between a nuanced (though bloodless) translation and a slightly more awkward attempt (though packed with more grrrr and hooting). Guess which is which...

Along the ledge of the abyss, on the very edge of it,
I lash my horses out, urging them on...
Running out of air, I drink the wind, I swallow the fog,
I feel with a damned ecstasy that I am done for, done for!

Slow down a bit, my horses, slow down!
Don’t listen to the tight whip!
But I got some fastidious horses -
I didn’t finish living, now my song will be cut short.

I will let my horses drink, I will finish my verse -
For a moment, at least, I will stand on the edge...

When I am gone - the hurricane will sweep me, a snowflake off the palm,
And horses will pull my sleigh at full speed on the snow that morning,
Pace yourselves, my horses,
Lengthen the way to my last shelter, even for a little bit!

Slow down, my horses, slow down!
The whip is not your overseer!
But I got some fastidious horses -
I didn’t finish living, now my song will be cut short.

I will let my horses drink, I will finish my verse -
For a moment, at least, I will stand on the edge...

We’ve come in time: there is no such thing as being late for God, -
Why do then those angels sing so viciously?
Or is it a bluebell that grew numb from sobbing?
Or is it me, crying for the horses not to carry the sleigh so fast?!

Slow down a bit, my horses, slow down!
I beg you, do not tear away at such mad pace!
But I got some fastidious horses -
I didn’t live enough, at least I should finish my song!

I will let my horses drink, I will finish my verse -
For a moment, at least, I will stand on the edge...


By the cliff, along the precipice, right over deadly ground,
With the whip, I strike my steeds; strike them hard to urge them forward.
I am getting short on air, gulp the haze, drink the wind, yet
With a fatal rapture, sensing: I am done for, I am done for!

Slow down a bit my horses, slow down, please!
Don't you listen to my stinging thong!
But the horses -- just my luck! -- are so hard to please!
Neither lived I so long, nor will I finish this song...
I will let horses drink, I'll complete this refrain,
Just a little bit more I will stay on the brink...

I will vanish from the Earth, swept by a storm like fluffy feather;
At a gallop, in the morning by the snow they'll drag me over
Can't you please prolong my journey to the end of my tether?
Can't you ease your dash, my horses, carry on a little slower?

Slow down a bit my horses, slow down, please!
Don't take orders from my whip and thong!
But the horses -- just my luck! -- are so hard to please!
Neither lived I so long, nor will I finish this song...
I will let horses drink, I'll complete this refrain,
Just a little bit more I will stay on the brink...

Just on time - one can't be late arriving at God's quarters!
Why do the angels over there sound like some nasty mortals?
Or, perhaps, it's just a sleigh-bell that's gone mad and burst out sobbing,
Or it's me shouting at my steeds to slow down my sled from dashing.

Slow down a bit my horses, slow down, please!
I am begging you, don't rush along!
But the horses -- just my luck! -- are so hard to please!
Since I haven't lived long, let me finish this song...
I will let horses drink, I'll complete this refrain,
Just a little bit more I will stay on the brink...

And if you really have to see the Baryshnikov bit, here it is, below. This version of the song seems less rage-y, though, so whatever. My favorite sampling can never be reproduced as it happened on a cheery Saturday afternoon here in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, as I walked down the street to the drug store. I saw a 30-something gent fussily waxing his shiny black car (it was truly BLACK: Black paint, black windows, black headlights) with this song blasting from the stereo. A culturally sensitive Russian? Or a White Nights superfan -- who can say? But it was awesome and it reminded me of a song I'd almost forgotten.

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

Oscar Recap, 2010 (Late! I Know!)

I was sure this would be the most boring broadcast ever, but BOY was I wrong. First, the positives:

NO BEST SONG PERFORMANCES. I know, I am evil, but this year you have to agree with me. I hate it every year. It's called "bathroom break," "popcorn break," "writin' mah novel break." No one cares, die die die. Randy Newman, if we just give you a lifetime award for upliftedness, can we be spared forever from this urge to perform?

Gabourey Sidibe. I love her. Not because she's so "real" (translation: I won't go there, but then I don't have to, do I? DO I?) but because she really, really is. If you watched it, you saw how she reacted to Oprah's eulogy (srsly? WTF? those totes were eulogies, yo), and you know she actually IS real. Suddenly the acid burn flash of loss doesn't seem so bad when you know how much it means to ANYONE to be honored by Ms. Oprah herself. I would cry my freaking head off. My head would just fall right off. And roll and roll, still spouting tears. It's called perspective y'all. And I do believe Miss Gabourey Sidibe has it.

And, because we have to say it, I LOVED that Sandra Bullock won. It was a real surprise to me, even if everyone said she was the favorite to win (really? really?). As my girl said, she deserved to win since Hope Floats (soft place movie extraordinaire!!), though by personal favorite has always been Practical Magic. Because Sandra is nothing but MAGICAL...and let's be truthful, friends: Real. As yet, she's never adopted a fake accent of imperiousness and has not once ever seemed too aware of her face muscles when talking to whatever journalist has her cornered to talk about Miss Congeniality, etc. I don't necessarily agree with the decision (it is possible to be both happy and disagree) but I'm glad she got it nonetheless. Meryl will be up for another award next year (or the next, don't doubt it) so I'm not too bent out of shape about the outcome.

The Cove! This was the one award that earned both yelling and clapping in my household (whilst happy about Mo'Nique, I was ultimately disappointed in the speech). I even loved that Ric O'Barry lifted the sign and got the speech cut short. Having just watched the movie, I understood one truth: He was going to do that, and there was no stopping it, ever. The man is dedicated. You learn that in the film. And, once you see it, you know why. To simplify the message for those of you who see it as one more pornographic portrayal of animal endangerment: IT IS NOT. Learn: dolphin slaughter is not necessary. Dolphin meat is CRAP: it is complete garbage, full of mercury, and no one really wants or needs to eat it. The real money is in catching show whales, the animals that keep places like Sea World afloat. Those that don't get picked get corralled into a tiny cove to be killed for their meat; meat that should NOT be eaten because it is essentially poison. Got it? Also, in terms of the Oscar win, this must be said: The film is fantastic. Great filmmaking, worthy of watching no matter what your politics.

THIS. I never saw the movie. But this makeup and Ben Stiller's monkey body work together like peaches and cream. Don't deny.

Now, the negatives:

WEIRD LINEUPS. As seen in the John Hughes tribute, best actor, best actress, etc. I think the Oscars needed their own Best Sound Mixer because what we saw was a sweeping shot of silence at each of these intervals. It was physically uncomfortable to watch these moments, waiting until at least one of these aholes started to talk. They weren't all properly primed for the task (Michelle, I hope you heal) but those who were did a great job; it was just that awkward first sweep that made me cringe each time. Thanks, Oscar producers, for heightening that sense of ridiculous haughtiness. God knows these Hollywood types never get enough ego stroking.

THIS ASSHOLE. Even before knowing the story, I hated her. What a bitch. There, I said it. I don't care if she's old, rich, or senile. EFF her. I can't wait to get old so I can act like an asshole 24/7 and blame everything on being a senior. Just to be clear, she disassociated herself from the project a year ago. Hag.

HONORING FOREIGN FILMS. Not that they shouldn't be honored. They should. What annoyed me this time (and, retroactively, every time, I guess) is how they announce it. For everything else they announce something like: "Bob Jones, nominated X times, won X times..." But for the foreign films it is suddenly the Olympics: "Bolivia has been nominated 5 times, won once, yadda yadda." Seriously? Oscars? It is jarring and stupid. Stop it.

JEFF BRIDGES. Can I tell the truth now? Is it allowed? Look. I liked him in Starman and as "The Dude." I think he should have gotten the Oscar for "The Dude." BUT, whatever. Can we now, without pause, finally declare that this guy is really, really, really, WEIRD? He weirds me out big time. His speech only made that more sincere. When someone kidnaps me, paints me yellow, buries me in mud and does the hokey pokey over it, just know: It's Jeff Bridges.

(PS. He totally kilt Sandy in that way. He will do it again, I tells ya.)


More than anything. Here is Bigelow triumphant.

Look at her beautiful face, dress, posture. She is the embodiment of feminine glory.

And here she is as the hungry hoards hoped: getting strangled by her ex. This is a COPS world, my friends. You are just passing through.

I have to rant for a minute. First, I must be honest and say that I do not consider myself a "feminist"; certainly not in a militant or otherwise political way. Perhaps being raised by a single mother never allowed me a true understanding of female repression. When I see it, I find it comical. I think those chaps must certainly be joking. Because, um, this is 20 fucking 10, gents. Are you seriously trying to "little lady" anyone anymore? Really? Hilarious.


When I saw the screenwriter clutching at Ms. Bigelow I had a strange reaction. My first thought, not really a thought at all, was: RAGE. I tried to understand my feelings. My first thought was of Harris's The Red Dragon: In it, he describes how blind people hate being grabbed by the upper arm when they need assistance. FYI: They would prefer to grab your arm. More so, I could not help thinking of the significance that they attributed to this moment: A Woman Wins a Man's Award. I guess I put the two together and BLAM, rage. I wanted to pull his balls through the screen, squeeze them, and push them back down into his gullet.

Somehow, I'm not a militant feminist, but can I just declare, for all time: Do NOT grab a woman by the arm (no matter WHAT you are trying to do, i.e. make sure she gets kudos for directing the best picture when you are accepting for the Best Picture award) and pull at her like you own her, dude. JUST. DON'T. DO. IT. Because your balls and my fist will have a date with destiny. M'kay?

Sunday, March 07, 2010

Most Played Songs on Ipod at This Moment

Losing My Religion

Stay with Me Tonight

One Day in Your Life


Turn Your Love Around


Any Way You Want It