Monthly Archives: May 2009

Bitch, Please: My opinion on the film called “S. Darko”

Last night (until about one in the morning) me, my brother, and our friend Alana suffered through a movie called “S. Darko.”

“S. Darko” is a sequel to the movie “Donnie Darko” which stars Jake Gyllenhaal, Patrick Swayze, and a terrifying nightmare bunny named Frank. (Wait… I can’t say it starred Frank because he is a character and not an actor? Oh… right… I don’t care.) “Donnie Darko” works for many reasons, but mostly for the three I already mentioned, and honestly, with inspiration such as this, how bad could a sequel be? Pretty bad, apparently. Not only does Frank only have a small, cameo-type role, but about an hour’s worth of clips  could’ve been edited out and sold to Urban Outfitters as the longest mini-movie ad-campaign of all time. No joke. That’s actually a valid suggestion. Especially seeing as an hour-long commercial for Urban would have been a lot more cohesive, compelling, and enjoyable than this movie.

The only way to describe how I felt after watching “S. Darko” is “extremely frustrated.” I actually screamed a little. Luckily, French and Saunders were there to ease the pain (my brother owns the boxed set). Unfortunately, S. Darko and her little minnions made a guest appearance in my dreams. Apparently my sub-conscious was still trying to figure out why in god’s name this movie was ever made… it did not have much luck.

On a brighter note, my copy of  “Ghost World” arrived at our local record/CD/movie store last week and I was FINALLY able to pick it up. FINALLY. I love this movie. I love it’s weird sense of style, random use of lines, and genius references to cheap, rotting Americana. And I love Enid and Seymore. But that’s a given.

Also, “Match Point” was a lot better than I thought it would be. It was, dare I say, good… and I do recommend that you see it, whether you like Woody Allen or not (who, incidentally, does not narrate, star, or even so much as appear in the nervous ticks of any of the leading characters.)

Just don’t watch “S. Darko”… I mean it.

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Option #2: Become a Baker

Has everyone seen “Stranger Than Fiction”? If so, you know the only reason I would ever, EVER want to become a baker is because of Maggie Gyllenhaal. I’m not going to tell you that she was hot in that movie because well, that’s a given (come on, it’s Maggie!!!)… but also, I am trying not to be dirty today… for some reason… I don’t know why(ish).

Anyway, seeing as I’m currently hating life in Touristville, and my plan for the future may not be working out exactly as I had hoped, I am devising strategems  – things I can do to make my life better. Things that would never in a million years happen. Things I don’t even necessarily want to happen. Things that are fun and crazy and fictional.

My first idea was to be in a  rather odd movie with Scarlett Johannson and Steve Buscemi. Which would have been brilliant, to say the least.

However, my second idea is a little more humble… as it is, as previously stated, to be a baker.

But not just any baker… a baker like Maggie Gyllenhaal’s Ana. A smart, sexy baker who own her own bakery (and again, this is not porn…) A baker with tattoo’s on her arm and a penchant for ratty tank-tops… a baker who can somehow make seriously mundane things sound incredibly seductive…

Damnit! I said I wasn’t going to be dirty today! Clearly, I picked the wrong scenario…

Anyway, there is a fly in the ointment of this plan already, because you see I failed to mention something pretty important – I can’t bake. Well, I can bake a little. Simple things. Things like chocolate chip cookies, who’s chocolate chip cookie bags come packaged with the recipe and baking instructions conveniently displayed on the back of the bag.

Okay, I lied… I can’t make “things like chocolate chip cookies”, I can only make the god-damned CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES!  And even those took me about four years to master. I just kept burning them… or something would go wrong and they’d end up melting all over the pan. Anyway, the point is is that I am probably going to have to be able to make a whole hell of a lot more than a single type of cookie (made with a store-bought recipe) to be able to keep my business afloat… or to even start the business in the first place.

But no matter, I figure I can just hire other people to do the work for me… small people, easily disguised as decorative additions to the aesthetic of the bakery… and I can just do things like talk to the customers, mix bowls of stuff, and yell at the tax man.

Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it?

Right, well this plan was a fail from the start… I will have to think of something better for tomorrow. In the meantime, suggestions are encouraged… as are offerings of a place to sleep should I completely fail out of life.

Bye for now! Here’s hoping all your lives currently have more promise than this plan does!

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Option #1: Me, Scarlett, and Buscemi get caught in the rain

So, as I was saying… life is not going all that great right now. School is beyond me, or I am beyond it (not likely…), and it’s entirely possible that the very well thought-out plan I had devised to improve my life is going to fail. So… I am scheming. What follows is the first of many ideas I have come up with in order to become a success (or something) in this life.

Has anyone seen Ghost World? If not… it’s amazing, go watch it! If yes… then you understand my deep, un-ending affection for one Steve Buscemi. (I thought I’d found him on Twitter the other night and I nearly died… of happiness.) Ghost World is a great “indie classic” for many reasons, but it would simply not have been the same without Buscemi. He is amazing.

Also, if you have seen Ghost World, you know that Scarlett Johannson is one of the stars (alongside the heart of the movie, Thora Birch). In this movie, Scarlett is young and, admittedly, not at her best. Or, at least, not as effing HOT as she is now. (On a side note: why is it that most of my friends scream at me that she is disgusting every time I bring her up? And, to quote Ben, “Who can I tell about this to make it stop?”) But this is beside the point. The point of course being, it is time for a little Scarlett-Buscemi reunion. Because I love them both. And everything should be as I say it should be. Because I say so.

But see, as freaking AMAZING as a movie with the always hilarious Buscemi AND the ever glorious Scarlett would be, it really doesn’t solve the problem that is my life. Unless, of course, I am in the movie…

I figure it will start out as a love triangle between me, Scarlett and Buscemi, in which Buscemi is attempting to weigh the pro’s and cons of being with either me or Scarlett. (Why does he assume he can have either of us?… I don’t know… I’ll have to work that out later.) Aaanywaaay… So Buscemi is attempting to decide between me and Scarlett, and naturally leaning towards Scarlett (because she is insanely hot… clearly!), meanwhile, me and Scarlett are totally getting it on. I actually have this very nice scene planned out in my head: close-frame of the two of us, I push her hair away from her face and shoulders, the sun is shining on our faces, and I slowly lean in and kiss her lovely, full lips…

At some piont Buscemi finds out about this, and he is furious. For about five seconds… until he thinks “threesome!” When he confronts us with this idea (on one of our usual walks out in the park) Scarlett and I are OUTRAGED. How could he just assume that we wanted to sleep with him?! Was he crazy?! etc. Then it starts raining and Buscmi gets to do this wicked-awesome (but appropriately short) speech about how women are so superficial, and if he looked more like… I don’t know, that sweaty-looking vampire kid, we would be all over him! Did we really feel nothing for him? etc. So then we all start yelling at each other and eventually someone gets to point out the obvious, that it is raining and this is all ridiculous, and Buscemi, of course we want you, you are hilarious, but it’s just going to be sex and it’s not going to last, and are you really truly okay with that? And then of course he is okay with that, so we all run inside Buscemi’s apartment and start tearing wet clothing off eachother… and it’s all very hot… and hilarious. Its all hot (Scarlett) and hilarious (Buscemi) and so much better than it would otherwise be if there was not a third person (me).

In the end, I am thinking it will be one of those great under-stated movies – adored by the critics, but only released to select theaters… and subsequently will make hardly any money. Which will suck. But it will be enough to get my name out there(ish) and give me more opportunities for further movie sluttiness… I mean, acting.

In the words of Bridgett Jones, “Good plan!”

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The List: Intro

I have been under a lot of stress lately. Stress I have entirely brought upon myself. Stress that has manifested itself in a faint twitch in my left eye that no one can see but me. (You see how this is a metaphor for the way I am able to mask my internal conflicts? Yeah… I love it when life just hands you literary symbols…)

Some of this stress, apparently, has to do with… get this… finding a man. Of all things! I would bury my head in shame, but it would make typing a hell of a lot harder…

I had thought the bulk of my stress had to do with the fact that I might not get into the cosmetology course this summer, which means that I would have to wait an entire year to take it… which means another year of directionless boredom, which it turns out does not suit me very well. Funny. And really, most of my stress probably does have to do with that… but I now know, thanks to a particularly memorable dream, that it also has to do with something else.

Last night I dreamt of Gamer Boy. To the best of my knowledge, this is the first time this has ever happened… probably because I am really not that into him (which you all will know, being uniquely privy to to the sheer bulk of blog posts that someone can be filed under when they really have my interest.) But this dream, for whatever reason, dealt a lot with him. It even went so far as to compare him to The Blog Crush, by way of making GamerBoy Jewish… which clearly he is not. Yes, Blog Crush and GamerBoy are both huge geeks, but as far as I can tell, this is the only similarity the two share… well, that, and their mutual obsession with skirts…

Perhaps my sub-conscious trying to distinguish between who I do and do not have a crush on is really just another coping mechanism, like some deeply rooted Cinderella complex. Who is going to save me from this mess? Who has the means to take me out of my disastrous situation and into a new, happier life? My mind’s temporary fixation on someone I already know is interested may just have been my own way of crossing options off a list. Because really, it would be nice to have someone to lean on right now… but as I, and now my dream psyche, know – I can’t simply use someone who likes me to ease my current afflictions. (Mostly as this would only create new afflictions… guilt being one of them.)

So, rather than fall into the arms of a skirt-obsessed, karaoke-singing geek such as GamerBoy, I am going to do what I do best: revert to completely ridiculous fantasies that would never in a million years happen!

Starting with my next blog post, I will be running through a list of my more grandiose (and fake) plans for the future…

Stick around, there will hypothetical sluttiness involved… because I know how much you all love hypothetical sluttiness! (Okay, so maybe I am just doing it for my own amusement, but still!)

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If I Fail

There is a 99.9% chance that I am going to fail my history class. Translation: I AM GOING TO FAIL MY HISTORY CLASS.

This will be, like most things, because I am lazy, easily distracted, just not into it, etc.  Usually I drop the class before it gets to this point. Usually, but not this time.

Then there is the fact that the Cosmetology class I had planned on taking this summer is full. Already. The class only just opened three days ago, and now it is closed. Excellent. Oh, did I forget to mention that this class is mandatory for anyone wanting to take any other Cosmetology courses for the next three semesters? Yeah… so basically, if I don’t somehow get into this class before it starts in June, I’m screwed for the rest of the year.

I can’t do school anymore. I hate it. And I fail. So the plan was to do this cosmetology thing, get my license, become a hairstylist, and save up enough money to be able to pursue my other, more interesting, dreams. Only now I don’t know.

If I have to wait a year, maybe I could go be an Au Pair in Italy or something. That would be better than just staying home and waiting it out… working in Touristville and cultivating some new, ridiculous crush…  hating my life. But then I would have to look after kids…

As for this blog, yes, it’s become a little shitty. And my reader is filling to the brim, which means I’ve been neglecting my fellow bloggy friends.

So, to sum up: I AM FAILING AT LIFE!

The End.

(Okay, it’s not really the end – I will survive, I will survive!…. hey, hey!

God, I need help…)

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The Elevator Question

This is the part where you get involved in the hypothetical sluttiness…

The set-up: You are stuck in an elevator with the celebrity of your choice. (Being that this is of course Slutty Sundays, this must be a person you want to get down and dirty with!)

But here’s the catch – you are going to be stuck in this elevator for TEN HOURS!!! (Don’t ask why, you just are, okay?!) Which means that you really should be able to stand this person after the sluttiness is over.

So choose carefully…

(Your answers go in the comment box. Have fun!)

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A Different Kind of Happy Hour

One thing crashed to the floor, and then another. Piles of paper that were once simply messy were now spilled and scattered. A chair fell over heavily, hitting itself on one of the legs of the table on its way down. There was so much commotion and upheaval of things that under normal circumstances would have gone quietly un-heaved, that it would be safe to assume there was something like an earthquake going on, and that anyone inside the apartment was in a state of panic as he or she observed the danger which had suddenly come upon them. But an earthquake there was not. Rather, there were two people, attempting rather clumsily to be had by one another. For the first  (and quite possibly the last) time.

As they continued to crash into the dining room set, and one or another of them stubbed their tow and tried not to howl about it, the absolute violence of their emotions were so excessive as to render the scene almost entirely comedic. Finally, the boy hoisted the girl on to the table as she flung off her top with wild and hilarious abandon, and eventually undid her bra as well and threw it across the room in no particular direction (but not before the boy had tried and failed to unhinge it himself). The boy’s shirt was unbuttoned (or rather the buttons were ripped off ), her skirt was shimmied off her, his pants got rid of, underwear hit the floor, shoes were kicked off almost as an afterthought, and socks remained on because really, who has the time? After what seemed like years of peeling off clothing, they both clamored up the table, her scooting rather ungracefully back it as he crawled over her, inadvertently  smashing her hand under his knee, and subsequently apologized profusely. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay!” – she assured him, kissing his lips fiercely lest the moment vanish underneath them.

“Shit” he said “I forgot the condom!”

“Well you don’t need it yet!” She growled.

“Better get it out ahead of time though, don’t you think?”

She sighed.

“I’ll just be back.”

“Well hurry up!” She yelled, exasperated and impatient, as always.

“Got it!” He chirped, looking up at her apologetically.

“Well come the fuck on then!”

He cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows mockingly.

“Darling?” He said, teasing her.

“Oh, Jesus Christ… will you just get up here?”

“Only if you tell me you need me.” He answered briskly, enjoying his moment of power.

“I don’t need you!” She barked, and promptly began touching herself in front of him.

He stared, and was beaten. An involuntary groan escaped his lips too soon and she knew that she had won.

“Okay! I give up!” He sang, and began kissing her calf, her knee, her thigh, and continuing up to replace her hand.

She made a noise that was more like a smile than a sneer, and promptly dropped her malicious act to the floor where it belonged.

They had found their rhythm at last.

The two of them, though passionate and decided on this particular evening, were alas completely ill-suited for each other. Where she was ambitious and domineering, he was calm and harmonious. Where she saw potential problems and failures, he saw opportunity and hope. They would never agree on anything… but they didn’t have to. They were the exact right kind of wrong. And what should have been one quick shag after work would become the unlikeliest romance any of their friends had ever witnessed. They would become that couple who would probably kill each other if it weren’t for the fact that they were so hopelessly in love. And who could say an ill word against that? The bitch in black with the smiling child of the sun? It would be a marriage of the cynicism of reality with the dream-world of fantasy, the harsh edges with the soft lines, the water with the fire, the dirt with the air. It would be a universe all its own.

It would be a relationship.

It would be a perfect mess.

And above all, it would be hot.

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