"Doctor Who" Shocker!

You may have heard that Matt Smith is the next Doctor. You heard wrong.



Take a look at this sneak preview of "Blink, Part 2":

Gardenageddon!

She looks so capable, doesn't she?


This morning, Stephanie, Erin, and I picked out a tomato plant (left) and a red bell pepper plant (right). Stephanie--in her soft, soothing voice--asked the farmers how to best care for her new charges.

After visiting the market, we picked up soil and pots for these new victims--er, plants. She pulled out the Miracle Gro, and she watered them. She arranged her tomato and pepper plants on the balcony so they would get enough sun to survive the spring.

Such tenderness, right?

However, we must not forget Stephanie's sordid gardening past:


That used to be a basil plant.


And this used to be a pot of flowers. ("What kind of flowers?" I asked. "You know, the kind from graduation," she said. "I think. I don't know.")


One of these used to be a bamboo plant. The other--well, we don't know what that other poor plant used to be.

Stephanie allowed her spearmint plant to live.


But what kind of a life is this?

I can only hope these new plants survive. After all, thriving tomato and bell pepper plants mean delicious salads in the summer. Right now, she gazes at the balcony, at these fresh plants--and I can believe for one shining moment she means well.

No. Clearly.

Let's be clear.

When I see those Burger King commercials that feature scantily clad young women cooing over miniature hamburgers, I get my "feminist up." I feel a kind of productive anger because I realize we still have a few more waves before advertising companies realize women aren't stupid and sexually available to any man with enough pennies to buy some ill-conceived gimmicky take on fast food.

Check out the ad:



That eye-rolling you're doing, that slight burning in your gut? That's a "feminist up."

A "feminist up" should not be confused with irritation and utter disgust. That is what I feel for Seth Rogen. He's gross, and that's fine. But now he's everywhere. I can't walk into a megaplex without brushing against his cardboard mug next to the concession stand.

I'm not sure when the disgust started. I know I've always suspected his pathetic, frat-boy antics on screen were not really an act. Maybe he grated on my nerves in "The 40-Year-Old Virgin," but Steve Carell's sweetness made that movie tolerable. I remember not liking him in "Freaks and Geeks" because his character was mean (but not cool like Kim Kelly) and because he has beady eyes and a kind of Cro-Magnon business going on with his forehead.

And then there was "Knocked Up." True story: I cried--actual hot tears and snot--during the scene where Allison's (Katherine Heigl) doctor confirms her pregnancy. The situation felt ruinous--the kind of personal disaster that is beyond the scope of a rescue and recovery project. I felt her pain. Problem was, I didn't stop feeling that pain after the movie's "feel-good" ending. And you know why I couldn't be happy for Ben and Allison? Because Seth Rogen is awful.

"Observe and Report" opens today, and this movie presents an opportunity for me to experience both a "feminist up" and nausea in the face of Seth Rogen's sethrogenness. Check out the redband trailer here. I'll give you a moment to deal with the last 20 seconds of the clip.

The trailer has at least a few people wondering if you just witnessed a date rape. After all, Brandi (Anna Faris) sure did drink a lot of tequila and take a lot of pills. And she sure did throw up and stumble. And he sure is giving her his business end as if she's able to say, clearly, "Yes." (Who even knows if she's aware of the guy she "didn't tell to stop"?)

Now, my "feminist up" is telling me that scene is problematic because, at its worst, it's a rape. At its very best, it makes the same assumptions as that Burger King commercial: Desirable women are stupid and sexually available. And now those assumptions are writ large on the big screen and fueled by Seth Rogen's inexplicable star power.

And my anti-sethrogenness is telling me that scene is problematic because, well--he's just so gross. A long time ago, I argued with a friend because she claimed she wouldn't go out to dinner with Justin Timberlake. I tried to convince her that anybody would go out to dinner with any celebrity just so she could say she did it. She held fast to her anti-dinner-with-Justin stance, and I derided her... until there was Seth Rogen. I wouldn't have dinner with him, let alone let him score. Trying to understand sex/rape scenes featuring Seth Rogen is like trying to understand, well--something really disgusting. (I'm sorry, Christine, for not understanding.)

And, so, to be clear: No. No to Seth Rogen and all of his works. No and no. Clearly. Because no.

The Night without Rock of Love Bus

Last Sunday, in lieu of our normal trash tv (which wasn't on), Sam and I watched a double feature of Fred Astaire/Rita Hayworth movies on TCM. It's interesting to watch Fred Astaire any time, but it's especially interesting to watch him away from Ginger Rogers, because it really makes you evaluate what worked in that partnership that didn't work in others. Astaire was reportedly coy about who his favorite partner was, but in You Were Never Lovelier and You'll Never Get Rich, it's easy to see that he and Rita Hayworth didn't quite gel.



For one thing, he was a friend of her father's. And the plot of You Were Never Lovelier makes that a bit more creepy when Fred Astaire's character must step in as Rita Hayworth's lover only after her father has written her notes from a fictional lover in order to soften her heart.


Still, You'll Never Get Rich rivals that incestous creep-factor with a whole look-how-I-tricked-you-into-marrying-me ending. Maybe Fred and Rita never took off as partners for aesthetic reasons, or maybe it was just the movies they chose.