Quote of the Day

"Beige don't age." - Margaret Cho

9 1/2 Weeks

That is one scary, psychotic man! No one ever told me that this movie was a thriller. I heard that it was something like Last Tango in Paris, only more porny and less artsy (and less bush). But no, it was almost a horror-porno! Every time they started getting it on, I thought, NOW he's going to slit her throat... after which he'll hide her in a basement, where there's a perfect row of tall blonde corpses stuffed with sawdust. There aren't too many movies you can say this about, but the throat-slitting version would have been the more natural and realistic ending, the way the characters are set up.

Nastia Was Robbed!

That fiendish little cheating He Kexin! She should take a flying tumble into lake. I hope her cheating stunted body never recovers from her midget FOURTEEN year old state.

Okay, so based on looks alone I'd normally think all this controversy about age is frivolous. What gymnast isn't a teeny tiny person? But forging documents? That I totally believe.

Roadside Prophets

Not a bad movie. At first I tuned in because I was like, holy crap it's Ad Rock! I don't have the best experiences with IFC, so I was only hoping that it wouldn't be a total waste of my time. Roadside Prophets was definitely that and probably a good bit more. Certainly better than that crap Rita Hayworth movie I saw yesterday, about a real-life muse who comes down to earth to play one on Broadway. Did you know that Hayworth is a pretty horrible dancer? She is. It's okay when she's tapping, but to try to get some grace out of her and it's like watching a dancing elephant...

Ad Rock plays the weirdo dweeb, which is entertaining, albeit pretty unconvincing. He looks the part and embraces the character, but it's hard to forget that he's badder-ass than all those other people who are supposed to treat him like he's a leper. David Carradine has a mystic cameo, which was a bit of a disguise because he was significantly heavier back then (1992), and I knew him only by the voice. John Cusak also gets a cameo as the whacked out criminal. The man has range. Most of the time he's doing those shitstorm formula movies like Serendipity, but then when you're not looking for him he appears in crazy projects like this and Being John Malkovich. Perhaps he benefitted from his exposure to Ione Sky.

As Shallow As I Can Get

Damn, even I'm in awe at my motivations. I was so smitten with Anderson Cooper's wit about reality tv that I've actually started tuning into his news show! Also, I appreciate that he's freakin sexy...albeit gay, probably. It's like my love for Montgomery Clift. But good looks alone isn't enough to win me over. My love was piqued specifically because the man can be trashy.

Because Anderson Cooper has actually succeeded in making the news palatable to me, I am grateful to him and his easiness on the eyes. I only wish I knew about his facility at trash earlier, so that I would have walked through a little bit more of my life with a fucking clue as to what people are talking about.

Wet Hot American Summer

What a demented movie. I blame Janeane Garofalo. She has a history of making movies of this particular bent of dementia, such as Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion. Wet Hot, unlike Romy and MIchelle, was actually funny at times, but it was still in that retarded-funny kind of way. I loved that scene when Garofalo tries to introduce herself to the professor, and he awkwardly hands her the trowel instead of shaking her hand; and I liked seeing Elliot Stabler play the weirdo Vietnam vet chef; and some of the character sketches were good; but the plot and especially the ending were just pointless.

Interesting thing about this movie for me: many years ago I had an uninformed crush on a guy who ended up being the evilest of Republicans (http://www.stanfordreview.org/Archive/Volume_XXXII/Issue_2/Opinions/Opinions1.shtml), and his facebook page used to have Wet Hot as his favorite movie, which was also the source of his favorite quote. Now, the theory about this guy was that he was, like most evil Republicans, a closeted self-loathing homosexual. He had an unhealthy fascination with his roommate, who happened to be none other than mega-assclown Ben Savage (Boy Meets World). Plus, he was totally not interested in me, and what kind of insanity is that??

When I saw how stupid Wet Hot was, I first asked myself, how did this get greenlighted? Who would like this movie? Then I remembered that this Republican dude loved it, and that got me thinking about what sort of appeal it could have. Instantly I knew...

It was the steamy, graphic gay sex scene between Bradley Cooper and Michael Ian Black! Further confirmation of what's going to surface when this guy decides to run for office someday.

On a related note, I just read that Comedy Central is giving Michael Showalter (the writer of Wet Hot) and Michael Ian Black their own show. Pfff.

Reality and the Need for Validation

I was watching Amelie on tv yesterday, and I've had too much time to think about myself over the months - a favorite though tedious subject - and I found myself asking: what is so wrong with shunning reality? Why does the painter Dufayel rebuke Amelie for dreaming about a boy she never met instead of forming relationships with the people around her, when Amelie herself feels that the last thing she wants is a reality check? Surely we have to agree that her fantasy life was bound to be more interesting. Of course, we have no idea how great Amelie's life is after she wins the boyfriend, but we do know that THAT story never got made into a movie, and in any case, common sense says there's a slim-to-none chance that the real relationship could have held a candle to the fabulousness of the courtship... How could it, when Nino confesses at one point that the mystery is what draws him to the girl?

I too like the fantasy boyfriend in my head better than any of the real things, and if I'm perfectly honest with myself, I probably like the fantasy Me in my head better than I like the real thing. It's not just that I wake up and am surprised (and disappointed) with the life I've made for myself; I'm often quite shocked that I've cut off any necessary means for the necessary means for pursuing a life beyond that of a nerd, so that even if I wanted to be something else, I wouldn't have the foggiest clue how to make that happen.

But that's neither here nor there, because there's no point in renouncing the harvest I've already sown. This particular post is about why I care so much about it. I've concluded that we're invested in reality at the expense of our fantasy lives because we need the validation from others, a self-worth certificate more "objective" in nature...

...which is a totally obvious and banal observation. But I'm choosing to pursue the theme because I'm at a nadir of exposure to outside concerns and validation, so perhaps I'm as qualified as I'll ever be (one hopes) to commenting about what the fantasy life is missing, that we should all elect to sacrifice its pleasures.

The first thing that's missing is the sheer, simple comfort of other people's company. Again, this seems like a "duh" point, but consider that a lot of people thrive perfectly well without it. Cf. the UM Classics department. Also, I've felt I needed this comfort most/exclusively? in times of suckness, and I've sometimes reflected that it's a character weakness that I've formed this dependency. My readers know one particular bad influence I've kept in my life, against all rational arguments, because I get sentimental about this friend's plain, physical (omni)presence - even when I feel burdened by it in happier times.

The second thing that's missing from the fantasy life is the validation. We could be the Fonz of cool in our heads, but that self-image can't stand up for a minute when we jar it against contrasting evidence from the real world. Then we instantly feel bad about ourselves. So, in order to forestall that foolish-feeling moment of surprise, we court reality's validation 24/7. Additionally, there are some more tangible ways in which we expect this validation to pay off further down the line. Actually, for me, I think it's the only reason I do anything: nothing sucks so much as wanting something badly, but not getting it because of a well-founded reason. So we build and build and build, and be as fabulous as we can possibly be, just so that no one can have a right to say no. Sometimes this backfires (like when you're looking for your first job, and your illustrious degrees make you too overqualified for the mediocre jobs, while you're lack of experience (at those mediocre jobs) makes you too underqualified for the really flush jobs), and at other times, it pays off beautifully, as planned (like when you're applying to law schools that make a mathematical algorithm of your accomplishments). Other times still - in fact, probably most of the time - it doesn't make a bit of difference, because no one gives a rat's ass about you, they're too busy stressing about themselves.

The third thing that's missing from the fantasy life is the surprise, that breathtaking delight that only other people can bring. This I think is the only really legitimate, or at least only compelling, argument for preferring an asshole Real Boyfriend over your perfect Fantasy Boyfriend. But the joy of the surprise can also be rationalized away. Lately, especially, the surprises I've been getting from friends have done nothing but instigate feuds. And even when they didn't erupt into full-fledged feuds, these surprises - an unexpected jolt of a hint that you and the friend are not on the same page - seemed to do more to make me feel distant and a little sad, than they did to make me feel delighted and amused. Take, for example, a friend I used to adore and recently spent a lot of intensive time with. I discovered that she has some weird ideas about personal boundaries. I always admired her because she's a no-bullshit dame, shoots straight from the hip and calls you out if you're acting the schmuck. Naturally, I just assumed that she was all about being open and real, but apparently I assumed wrong. Twice, within the same hour, practically, she cut off the conversation by saying, "I don't want to talk about this anymore," or (worse yet), "I don't feel I have to discuss this with you." Of course I don't expect anyone to HAVE to discuss anything with me, but I was pretty offended with this iron-curtain. I didn't think I was being aggressive or inappropriately inquisitive, I thought I was just asking the normal questions to keep the thoughts flowing when it comes to topics like friends and relationships. So if these topics are off limits, does that mean I'm even a friend? Or does that mean that this one person completely has a double standard, where everyone else's actions are fair game for scrutiny, but hers are not? I'm not even sure which is worse.

I'm sure I'll hardly care after a few weeks, because these two remarks were just a wrinkle in an otherwise nice visit. But they were significant enough to get me thinking, again, about my problematic, ever-lowering, tolerance for the quirks of other people. I keep telling myself that I would hate for others to remember every single faux pas and offense I've ever made, which would be considerable - hourly, at least - and so it's not exactly fair to hold these little episodes against them...

But the conclusion to this post remains consistent: there is NOTHING wrong with being like Amelie. If I can only get rid of my vanity and sentimental weakness, it seems like her life is more enriched than mine, in pretty much every way I can think of.

How Is Anderson Cooper So Hip with the Trash?

It doesn't seem fair that a respectable and intelligent person also gets to be cool, and funny.

Smiles of a Summer Night

Stunning! How poetic. This is the first Bergman I really loved, the first time I could see what Woody Allen has been raving about all these decades. I liked Wild Strawberries all right, but it was still too grim and severe for my tastes. Smiles of a Summer Night is apparently one of Bergman's rare lighter pieces, and by his own admission, an itch he scratched and promptly got rid of. Nevertheless, I'm ecstatic about this movie. Nothing exciting happens, and mostly it goes along at a tame pace, but I think that's what makes that comic ending so articulate and important. I love happy endings, especially when there's poetry too.

“The summer night has three smiles,” one character says to his lover. The first comes “between midnight and dawn, when young lovers open their hearts and loins.” The second smile is for “the jesters, the fools and the incorrigible.” And the third smile is for “the sad and dejected, for the sleepless and lost souls, for the frightened and the lonely.”

The Gold Medal for Best Country Name Goes to...

Djibouti.