The Point of Babette

Check Out My Review in H_NGM_N

2010-03-29T17:08:00.000-07:00

It Happened Tuesday Night

2009-09-16T18:19:00.001-07:00

Greensboro on a Tuesday night has never been a hotbed of activity. But this week, one Samantha Simpson graced the town with her presence once again and the city lit up.

Well, technically, it was probably already lit up, but I certainly enjoyed her visit, lights or no lights. We ate at the Thai Pan downtown (I wholeheartedly recommend the pineapple sticky rice), where a group of young twenty-somethings walked in on death-defying heels. We walked the streets among the rowdy college students whose purpose in life seems to be to block the sidewalk. We arrived at the reason for our excursion: the Carolina Theatre, where they were showing It Happened One Night.

We bought popcorn and beer and settled in our seats under an ornate ceiling just as the lights dimmed and the movie began. Both Sam and I have seen the movie many times, but there was a sort of supreme satisfaction in watching it among a group of people and enjoying the anticipation of laughter when Clark Gable is about to yell, "Quit bawlin'! Quit bawlin'!" Part of me did wish that I had seen the movie that way for the first time. But another part felt vindicated, as one of my favorites received the attention of the big screen again.

It seemed quite fitting, in this time in our nation's financial history, to be watching It Happened One Night on a $5 ticket. The movie is set during the Depression and garners a good deal of its laughs from lampooning the rich. Still, the movie makes equal fun of Peter Warne (Clark Gable) and his questionable worldly knowledge of things like dunking a donut and hitchhiking.

The movie has it both ways as Ellie Andrews (Claudette Colbert) manages to be both the spoiled heiress and the poor little rich girl. Peter is a self-righteous man-of-the-people while at the same time being quite concerned with his own finances. Ellie's father is both the controlling over-zealous father and the level-headed architect of the couple's happiness. (How many fathers do you know who provide a getaway car for their daughter on her wedding day?)

Sam and I appreciated every moment, from Ellie diving off the yacht to the final strains of Joshua's horn. I only wish more of my favorite movies would make it back to the theatre.

If you haven't seen the movie, you now have no excuse. Get thee to Netflix!

Conversations with My (Former) Roommate

2009-08-16T15:22:00.001-07:00

This is true. The walls echo and mock those of us who live alone. I'm certain it will stop once I've finished hanging pictures, buying furniture, and filling my closets with new junk. For now, though, I have to live on the memory-scraps of conversations I had with Stephanie before we split up our apartment last week.

Stephanie packs the kitchen while I do something less useful.

STEPHANIE: Do you want this box of tea?
SAM: Sure.
STEPHANIE: How about this quinoa?
SAM: Throw it out.
STEPHANIE: What about these spices?
SAM: You can keep them. You won't buy any more if I take them away.
STEPHANIE: Yes I would! ...No, I wouldn't.
SAM: Right.
STEPHANIE: What about these knives?
SAM: Those aren't my knives.
STEPHANIE: Yes, they are.
SAM: I don't think so.
STEPHANIE: I'm putting them in this box.
SAM: But they aren't mine!
STEPHANIE: Samantha.
SAM: Stephanie. Those aren't my knives.
STEPHANIE: You're taking these knives.

I still maintain those aren't my knives.

Later, Stephanie packs the decorations in the living room while I pass the time.

STEPHANIE: Where do you want me to pack this Russian doll?
SAM: That's not my doll.
STEPHANIE: [sighs] It's not my doll.
SAM: Why would I even have that? It's not mine.
STEPHANIE: But it's not mine.
SAM: Yes, it is.
STEPHANIE: Wait, didn't James bring this back from Russia for you?
SAM:...Well, maybe he did.
STEPHANIE: Maybe he brought you those knives from Russia, too.
SAM: Those aren't my knives.

Judy, Julie, and the Inevitable Creep Factor

2009-07-08T14:54:00.001-07:00

Recently, I took a long road trip and, in the course of preparing for that road trip, I stumbled upon Librivox. It's a site that offers free downloads of audiobooks in the public domain. I downloaded and burned several books for my trip. One of these books was Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster.

It's probably not a book I would have chosen to read the old-fashioned way. I was only slightly interested in it when I saw it on LibriVox because I'd seen the Fred Astaire movie of the same name and wanted to see how the two compared. The answer is that both book and movie hinge on a somewhat creepy premise (the main character falls in love with her much older benefactor), but the former actually does something a bit more interesting in the mean time.

In the book, Jerusha "Judy" Abbott is an American orphan who is sent to college by an anonymous benefactor and required to send him a monthly letter. With the exception of the first chapter, the book is narrated by Judy in the form of her letters to her Daddy-Long-Legs (the nickname deriving from her solitary imcomplete glimpse of him at the orphanage). As a result, we are given a fascinating slice of the life of a woman's college in the early 1900s (the book was published in 1912). Judy lists her subjects--French, Chemistry, Latin--and the traditions of the college, such as attending chapel and hearing visiting preachers. She is frank as she details her dislike of the orphanage she came from and her shame at being an orphan. Her letters reveal a good deal of spirit, as she rebels against her benefactor when he tries to control her unduly. All in all, Daddy-Long-Legs was a fascinating listen, if for nothing else than Judy's bald declaration that she's a Socialist.

Not that it's surprising, but the Hollywood adaptation of the book in 1955 leaves out most of what was interesting about the book. Judy has become Julie, a French orphan played by Leslie Caron. The awful American orphanage has become a delightful French one with adorably accented moppets singing along to their English lesson. And the focus of the film is not Julie Andre, but Jervis Pendleton, the benefactor and the part played by Fred Astaire. Julie's letters, her personality and voice, are sparingly meted out in the film, for the most part exchanged for colorful 50s-style dance numbers. Her college days (the main focus of the book) are telegraphed in passing scenes in her dorm and one school dance. Whereas Judy was an aspiring writer, we are left to wonder what, if anything, Julie plans to do with her life. In rewatching the film yesterday, I was struck by what was lost in that transition. Not only is the film far from feminist, any incidental critique of capitalism in the United States is excised. America is entirely a land of opportunity for the poor French girl, rather than a place where capitalism is kind to some and cruel to others. Of course, the film is a product of the time it was created--a time when women's rights were retreating under cultural attack while at the same time consumerism was on the rise.

Still, this comparison of book and movie makes me wonder what a more accurate adaptation would look like. Or even, how an adaptation that set the story in our time would play out. It could certainly be no more unfortunately creepy than a 56-year-old Fred Astaire romancing a 24-year-old Leslie Caron:

Parade!

2009-07-05T11:46:00.001-07:00

There's not much to the Gambier parade. A World War II leads the string of "floats," which include a convertible carrying the Citizen of the Year, a tractor, a clump of motorcycles, a school bus, the ambulance, a horse-drawn carriage (advertising a local pizza place), a gang of teenaged writing campers, another gang of mimes, (yes, mimes!) and all the neighborhood dogs. The people in the parade toss candy in the streets... and there's enough time for them to double back and collect candy from the streets.

Also, apparently, characters like this show up to... read poetry.

Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough

2009-06-26T08:37:00.000-07:00

I believe the illustrious Seth Green said, "There are two kinds of people in this world: Michael Jackson fans and losers."

David Lynch in His Spare Time, and Mine

2009-06-16T05:50:00.000-07:00

It's officially summer and the one thing I most associate with summer is a road trip. So it seems quite appropriate that I've recently become captivated by David Lynch's Interview Project. It's a documentary rooted in movement across the U.S., spaced out in time (episodes are posted every three days) and place (the interviews come from people found along the road and the website includes a map that shows where each person was when they spoke). Right now, to me, it feels like traveling, without the billboards and gas station bathrooms.

However, the project is interesting for several reasons beyond the visceral experience. My first question upon seeing the project, even before the first episode posted, was, "Why is David Lynch doing this?" And with David Lynch framing each interview with a brief introduction, the question becomes "What does it mean that David Lynch is attached to these interviews?" Lynch is, of course, known for his dark and surreal movies and that reputation has me looking for the dark underbelly in this project. So far, Lynch's overt contributions are eerie tones over the beginning and end screens of each interview as well as his overly earnest introductions. From these introductions, it's clear that he did not actually interview these people. He refers to "the team" finding people along the way. So, what does his presence, and that of his company name, ABSURDA (which appears at the end of the episode), do to our perception of each interview?

If David Lynch has us looking for the dark and subversive, then the ABSURDA stamp seems to undermine an otherwise mild editorial tone. The music accompanying each interview evokes a nostalgic Americana, with strains of harmonica and banjo. Each interview is intercut with shots of the road, the surrounding landscape, the still subject. Are Lynch and the team out to sincerely appreciate or are they waiting for each subject to reveal his or her darker side?

So far, there have been a couple of darker sides. The series begins with Jess, a man in his sixties who frankly states that he has many regrets and has not spoken to his children in 25 years. Then there is Tommie Holliday, who is waiting for his girlfriend to get out of jail so that he can move to Montana with her. It is in this interview that the editorial presence makes itself most known. As Tommie relays the sensational details of his girlfriend's crime (which include the use of a machine gun), the interview is intercut with a black screen, then we hear sounds of shots and white bullet holes appear on the screen. Following that, the music becomes ironically light as Tommie describes his dreams to get away from everyone with his girlfriend in Montana.

The mocking tone that closes Tommie's interview seems out of place in the project, as the other five interviews that have been posted at this time contain no such editorial judgements. It will be interesting to see, in the next year, how this project develops and what sort of turns it takes. Will there be more episodes like Tommie's? I hope not. I much prefer the less intrusive editing of the other episodes, where the people and the road are the focus. If you haven't already, you should check this out.

Action Doll

2009-06-07T18:25:00.001-07:00

It's game night in Ypsilanti--and if I mean to sleep under this roof (I do), then I'm rooting for the Lakers (I suppose). The Lakers' star player, of course, is Kobe Bryant. I understand he shoots the ball, and it mostly goes in the basket. According to a handful of sports commentators, he's determined to take the Lakers to a finals victory against the Orlando Magic.

And according to the 15-year-old version of me, Kobe Bryant is dreamy.

(My 15-year-old self also says the Spice Girls are awesome. Funny what she and I can still agree on.)

Now, you would think a dreamy NBA superstar could hold the world in his rather large palm. However, Kobe Bryant can't eliminate all that is unpleasant about his life.

I refer, of course, to his various toy likenesses. Each of the Kobes in my friend's doll--ahem, action figure collection looks different, yet not one of them approximates dreaminess.

Take a look at this one:

The grin is too cheesy, and the eyes are... off.

And what is this?

You can't tell from the picture, but this Kobe doll--I mean, action figure--has really sharp teeth. It's weird.

And this doll--sorry, ACTION FIGURE has a disturbing bestial quality:

Not hot.

My 15-year-old self--if she weren't too busy drawing pictures of big cats and singing along to her Boyz II Men cassettes--could not have added any one of these dolls--GOD, ACTION FIGURES to her collection of dreamy boy memorabilia (which included a poster of Brad Pitt as Tristan in "Legends of the Fall" and several episodes of "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" taped off TV).

And that's a shame.

(Go Lakers!)

Sam vs. Phone

2009-05-29T18:24:00.000-07:00

Haven't heard from me lately? It's not you; it's me.

I've been losing quite a few battles to machines lately. I'm still shaky on how to add page numbers to my Word documents. I accidentally deleted over 100 pictures from my Hello Kitty digital camera.

And now there's this phone.

I've had to outsource some brains to figure out how to... well, turn it on. I have yet to enter contacts (sorry, friends) or figure out how to give each of those contacts his or her own ring tone. A moment ago, the phone--which may be possessed by some playfully malevolent spirit--started doing a slide show. Happy white people at the beach smiled at me, and I have no idea how their faces got into the phone.

Oh--it just beeped. What do you think it wants?

Suck It, Samantha

2009-05-12T15:30:00.001-07:00

So, a few weeks ago, a certain friend and roommate of mine maligned my burgeoning garden by implying that I would kill all the plants I got from the farmer's market. I would like to take this opportunity to address those claims.

Here is what my tomato plant currently looks like:

That's right. It's way taller than it was when I got it. And looking quite healthy. My bell pepper plant is also doing well:

And I've added some lettuce plants to my little pot garden too:

While my thumb may not be quite the color of Sam's dress today,

I think I'm getting there. So, dear friend, I have only this to say to you: IN YOUR FACE!

The Year Without Wal-Mart: Day 126

2009-05-06T18:23:00.001-07:00

I have a pen system.

When I absolutely have to write with black ink, I use a Pentel RSVP BK90 fine-tipped pen. I buy one pack once a year, and I use each pen until it runs out of ink. If I lose a pen before I've had a chance to write out all of the ink, then... well, I have a bad day.

When I do not have to write with black ink--when I have to underline dates in my journal--when I have to cross out tasks on my to-do lists--I use one of three Pilot Precise V5 rolling ball pens with extra fine tips. The Pilot Precise pens that are part of my system come in packs of three. One is pink; one is purple; and one is blue.

I alternate pens weekly. I start writing with a new color on Sunday at midnight--even if I'm in the middle of writing with a different pen. Rules are rules.

Yes, I am aware that it makes no sense to have a pen system. It just is. And today the pink pen ran out of ink. Duly note that it is not late Saturday night. It's the middle of the week--the middle of pink pen week.

If I had not resolved to give up Wal-Mart this year, then this would not be a problem. I would simply open up an umbrella and walk to the normal-sized Wal-Mart less than a mile away from our apartment. I know they sell my pen system pens for about $3 a pack.

But I did make that resolution, didn't I? Take a look at that picture. That's the pen aisle in Target. And there are no Pilot Precise V5 rolling ball pens with extra fine tips in that store.

When I stopped hyperventilating, I thought about my options:

1) I could check the office supply stores for my pen system pens.
2) I could... I could give up my four-year-old pen system

I've been writing with the purple pen this evening, and the world is still with us. And I feel fine. Mostly.

I mean, I will be fine.

"Doctor Who" Shocker!

2009-04-30T13:33:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-04-19T15:16:00.001-07:00

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.

2009-04-10T11:11:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-05T15:29:00.000-07:00

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.

Spoiling the Sparkly

2009-03-31T21:25:00.000-07:00

Or, "How My Pure Hatred of All Things 'Twilight' Is Ruining My Personal Relationships"

"Twilight" is, of course, old news now. It's on DVD. There's a spot-on analysis of the movie in Bitch magazine. The fans of the book series who are still speaking to me have read those novels twice each.

Yet, no matter how old it gets, I still manage to rumble with people about both the books and the movies.

These are the facts:

1. "Twilight" makes being a damsel-in-distress sexy again. Being a stalker apparently works, too.
2. I subscribe to the belief that a girl in a vampire story ought to know where the holy water at.
3. I miss "Buffy" so very much.
4. Shut up, "Twilight."

Now, this evening's "Twilight" showdown had nothing to do with feminism and the social implications of the popularity of the books and the movie. No, this time the argument was about storytelling and spoilers.

I admit I spilled the beans about the last scene to a friend who had never seen the movie before. I said [SPOILER ALERT!], "Yeah, they go to the prom, and she's like, 'Oh, make me like you,' and he's like, 'No,' and she's like, 'Yes,' and he's like, 'No,' and she's like, 'You'll totally make me like you because that's what I want,' and he's like, 'No,' and she's like, 'Totally.'"

This did not strike me as terribly spoiler-tastic. I didn't even mention the part where our heroine [SPOILER ALERT!] gives birth to a litter of kittens. However, my friend was angry I would spoil the story with the revelation that the two leads make it to the prom.

I will also admit that it was naughty, at best, for me to reveal that much. However, I argued that a movie like that can only lead to the prom. After all, it's a teen romance told from the perspective a girl who's in love with a vampire who [SPOILER ALERT!] sparkles. Pretty dresses and slow dances are inevitable.

In fact, I would continue to argue--and I did--that you can tell where most movies are going from the first 10 minutes of images and dialogue. There are no new stories, really, only potentially innovative ways of telling them. You know some folks are going to die when you watch the creepy visuals at the beginning of a slasher movie. You know some folks are going to die and those deaths won't be amusing when you hear the reverent strings at the beginning of a political figure's biopic. And so I didn't think it would be spoiling the narrative flow of "Twilight" too much if I made fun of that conversation at the prom. I mean, I didn't even disclose the fact that [SPOILER ALERT!] Edward Cullen robs a bank wearing a Nixon mask.

None of that matters, though. The fact remains that "Twilight" is not only destroying any hopes I had for a substantial new wave of feminism for the 2000s, but it's also transforming me into a monster to my loved ones. I just can't make myself be a good, non-spoiler-y, Byronic-hero-appreciating person whenever someone mentions this... phenomenon. And how do I even begin to ask for help with this kind of problem?

Oh--and shut up, "Twilight."

Ask Stephanie's Cat When He's Balancing On Top of the Door

2009-03-22T10:30:00.000-07:00

Stephanie's cat has been avoiding the advice game for nearly a year now. However, the approach of spring has reminded him of two pertinent issues:

1) the potential for love to blossom like so many allergy-inducing flowers and

2) taxes.

Dear Asta: Why does tax season have to be so difficult? I can't keep all these forms and charts straight! Which tax service do you recommend to untangle this mess?--Fed Up with Fed. Taxes

I can jump. I can jump up and high. I can jump on your bookshelf, and then I can jump on your door. Look at me on top of your door. Look. I can keep my balance. I purr when you look at me. Do not move the door. I can hold on if you move the door, but I cannot purr. I can pretend I can take a nap up here. Do not move the door. Do not stop looking at me.

Dear Asta: Why don't men return calls when they say they will? And what's with the slow fade--you know, that thing they do when they act like they're really interested in you then disappear? I'm so tired of this kind of disappointment. Is dating really this hopeless?--And Don't You Dare Suggest I Read He's Just Not That Into You

When I am on the door, I am brave and strong. I look at you from high above the carpet (which I like to scratch and sniff). I purr. You smell familiar, and I purr some more from up here. If I wobble, you will try to catch me. But I can keep my balance. I purr. I can jump down from here, and then I can jump back up again. You smell familiar, even from up here. Reach up and pet me. Look.

The Year Without Wal-Mart: Day 77

2009-03-18T14:20:00.000-07:00

We've known this terrible news for a while now.

I understand that most of the world has moved on to digital images that can be snapped and replicated like so many viruses. Still, I complained about the high price of Polaroid film at Target. How dare anyone charge me nearly $20 for 10 potential photos? I believe the old-timers would call that "highway robbery."

Imagine the complaining I did when those square boxes of film completely disappeared from the Target shelves.

When you're done imagining that, deal with the near-horror of my discovery that Wal-Mart carries Polaroid film. And they haven't slapped a hefty price on those boxes of uncaptured memories. It's all there--a land of old-school-photo plenty. Yes, I could order Polaroid film in bulk on the Interwebs, but that would get expensive. Also, I have an unhealthy distrust of online sellers. And did I mention the Wal-Mart is right there?

So, do I tie myself to the mast and resist the siren call of Wal-Mart's low, low prices? Or do I give in--just this once--so I can hold on to a beloved tradition for a moment longer? What would Andre 3000 do?

Nerd Holiday #1: The Ides of March

2009-03-12T18:20:00.000-07:00

On "Xena: Warrior Princess" Julius Caesar (Karl Urban) crucifies our heroine twice--three times if you count that time he urges the Fates to change his destiny and creates an alternate universe. (And I definitely count that time.)

Karl Urban's hotness made me wonder about the actual Julius Caesar. Turns out the real Caesar was 56 years old--and not a well-muscled, Karl-Urban-esque 28 years old--when all those senators ganged up on him. It also turns out he and Cleopatra could have been guests on "Maurius Povichius" in order to prove the paternity of Ptolemy Caesar, who would have been emperor of Rome if Julius Caesar had claimed him.

According to Greg Woolf's Et Tu, Brute?, Caesar's assassination reveals a great deal about culture and the transfer of power in the Roman empire. Caesar's death is not extraordinary, but it resonates because it marks the beginning of the end of the Roman empire-- a world characterized by rulers' constant struggle for both relevance and survival (which ultimately became synonymous).

To commemorate the life of a man whose death was extraordinary enough to garner the attention of Shakespeare, Rob Tapert, and Sam Raimi, I say let's celebrate the Ides of March. While you may find it tempting to celebrate the Ides of March by eliminating the "dictator for life" in your part of the empire, it may be more fun (and legal) to pretend your patterned sheets are "togas of manhood" while watching all those "Xena" reruns starring Karl Urban as Caesar (not Cupid).

Happy Ides of March! And watch your back...

Who Watches the Watchmen? (Or, The Ypsilanti Horror 2: Lights Out)

2009-03-08T09:13:00.000-07:00

Well, I tried to watch "Watchmen."

Imagine. The Comedian has been murdered, and the police have no idea who committed the crime. Rorschash's face is creepy as he investigates the matter. The Doomsday Clock is creeping ever closer to midnight, and third-term President Nixon is fully prepared to annihilate the Soviet Union. Dr. Manhattan's penis glows blue--even on Mars. And Miss Jupiter, daughter of the Silk Spectre, is also the daughter of--

The screen goes blank. There is no hum of movie screening machinery, and the dimmest version of the theater lights come up. Some of the audience members leave only to return with the news that the rest of the theater has gone dark. "Maybe we should just wait here," someone said. Fifteen minutes pass without a word from the theater staff. Thunder rumbles overhead, and we strain to listen to the aggressive patter of rain against the roof.

Finally, a staff member emerges from the darkness to say, "You can wait here, even though we don't know when the power will be back. Or you can wait in line at customer service." The line in front of that counter winds all around the darkened concession stands.

And so we run. We venture into the storm and slowly follow the dark streets. An empty police car blocked the entrance to the theater. The grocery stores, the gas stations, the restaurants--none of the lights areon. Lightning zips across the sky.

Then the power comes back. We are already back at the apartment by then, and there will be no more going out in that storm.

Now, in the sobering light of day, I wonder how "Watchmen" ends. Does that Doomsday Clock strike 12? Will Dr. Manhattan abandon us? How does Miss Jupiter wear that costume without getting a yeast infection? And why aren't any of The Comedian's jokes funny ha-ha?

New Orleans vs. Chicago - Part 4

2009-03-07T07:50:00.001-08:00

Well, sure, you could call a trip to the World War II museum educational... if you're a warmonger. I am no warmonger, so I visited the Art Institute, where I observed centuries worth of human innovation and creativity.

In February, admission to the Art Institute is free, so my sister and I took our time exploring rich oil paintings from the Northern Renaissance and smooth bronze statues from the ancient world. Along the way, we ran into several burgeoning artists copying great paintings. And their work wasn't so bad.

Also, the lion statues outside reminded me of "Ghostbusters."

And French pastries don't hold a candle to the sweet top buns in Chinatown.

New Orleans vs. Chicago - Part 3

2009-03-02T16:08:00.000-08:00

All I have to say to you Sam is, and what? Sure you could spend your time time-traveling yourself naked into the Newberry Library, but what a cold cold way to learn.

In New Orleans, you can find a better way. You can slip down to the World War II museum and wander around the exhibits about D-Day. You can see the planes and motorcycles they used, actually look at the contents of a soldier's invasion pack and see the Pacific theatre played out on an interactive map. And if you're like me, you can top it off with some delicious French pastries. That's right. There's history and yummy chocolate tarts.

So there.

New Orleans vs. Chicago - Part 2

2009-02-23T15:49:00.000-08:00

You could go where the streets are named for liquor. Or you could have class.

In Chicago, you can take a train to the Newberry Library, home of an impressive array of rare books and manuscripts. A collection of Civil War documents is impressive enough, but some of the maps and manuscripts at the Newberry are over 500 years old.

It's no wonder that Henry DeTamble of The Time Traveler's Wife worked (and often appeared naked) there.

Somehow, I think reading a letter Abraham Lincoln actually signed beats trading your virtue for a handful of beads, Stephanie.

New Orleans vs. Chicago - Part 1

2009-02-22T10:04:00.000-08:00

So, about a week ago, Sam and I both got back from trips. I went to New Orleans for a conference and she visited her sister in Chicago. So, naturally the question arises, who wins at travel?

Of course, the answer is me. I win at travel. Why? I went to New Orleans in the weeks before Mardi Gras. That means all the decoration, less crowd. Also, New Orleans was pretty warm while I was there. Sam can't possibly expect to win for going NORTH in the WINTER.

So, we'll see what she comes up with, but in the meantime, I will enjoy the sweet sweet memory of authentic gumbo.

Pure as the Driven Snow

2009-01-26T07:12:00.000-08:00

To be a purist living in a postmodern society is to be a tortured soul.

I've experienced a bit of this--being a borderline Austen purist. You can read about my disgust with the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice here. But, since being a purist is such a misunderstood and, in the end, fruitless enterprise, I have tried to be a bit less stringent.

Which is why, though I generally eschew fannish retellings or sequels to Austen's books, I did willingly join Erin in watching Lost in Austen a few weeks ago. The miniseries follows Amanda, a devout Pride and Prejudice reader as she switches places with Elizabeth Bennet through an inexplicable (and unexplained) door in her bathroom.

Immediately upon entering the world of Pride and Prejudice, Amanda, despite her love of and familiarity with the book, begins changing the story. Her inadvertant actions cause the plot to spin out of control, no matter how she attempts to fix it. By the time Jane is married to Mr. Collins, and Charlotte Lucas has gone to be a missionary in Africa, you wonder if anything can be made right again.

To the credit of the series and its willingness to tell its own story, not everything Amanda changes is fixed in the end. Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy never quite connect, and it is Amanda who'll move into Pemberley after the credits. Wickham is no longer all that wicked and Jane and Bingley will become Americans to escape the scandal of her annullment. And yet, the story is essentially the same. Mr. Darcy still falls head over heels (and into ponds) for a little moxie. It is still a comedy of manners--though the manners are severely violated.

I think I have to say, to my chagrin, that I really enjoyed Lost in Austen. But why? I guess my goodwill is not that hard to garner. It helps that, unlike the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice, this quite unfaithful adaptation retained the comedy and sense of humor that I value in Austen. In addition, the very fact that it didn't remotely pretend to be an accurate or realistic depiction of the book allowed me to overlook breaches of etiquette that might otherwise bother me. I think I might have a similar appreciation for the fun to be had in Lost in Austen that I do for Hamlet 2. It's different from appreciation of the original and separate from a successful retelling (like the Shakespeare Retold versions of Macbeth, The Taming of the Shrew, A Midsummer's Night Dream, and, my favorite, Much Ado About Nothing). Instead, it's like the literary version of an inside joke, poking fun at our usual reverence. I'll take that over bad adaptations any day.

The Year Without Wal-Mart: Day 8

2009-01-08T08:53:00.000-08:00

I'm obsessed with documentaries. It started with those accessible Michael Moore films, "Fahrenheit 9/11" and "Bowling for Columbine." And then I spent a weekend watching movies about the evils of McDonald's, the evils of credit cards, and the evils of a handful of Catholic priests. And even though all that evil has me terrified, I keep going back to the Netflix documentary trough.

And that brought me to "Wal-Mart: The High Cost of Low Prices." And that brought me to WakeUpWalmart.com:

All right then. I suppose I have a brand new resolution for 2009: I will not be evil.

Fact is, evil... is easy. We live within walking distance of a Wal-Mart--and it's one of the nicer ones, too. It actually closes at night. Further, I chose to try writing and teaching, which means I chose to not afford many things. And in the summer, I often wander the aisles of the Mt. Vernon Wal-Mart, plucking trashy magazines and toiletries off the shelves for fun, for relief from the boredom and the heat.

To keep my resolution, I asked myself what exactly I need from Wal-Mart. The list is shorter than I thought:

nail polish (and other cosmetics)
ahem, "lady... things"
batteries and electronics
tools
cleaning supplies
dessert cereal
fine-tipped pens (and other writing supplies)

Those items exist elsewhere. I'm sure of it.

I tested that theory two days ago when I decided I needed a new shade of nail polish. Wal-Mart sells really, really cheap polish--but, no. I took my act to Sally Beauty Supply, which is only a few paces away from the store I mean to avoid.

My Tea Rose polish and base cost nearly $10.00. However, this polish does not chip, and it hasn't already begun to clump in the bottle. It's good polish.

I can do this. I can not be evil for 365 days.

The Ypsilanti Horror

2008-12-27T11:14:00.001-08:00

You've seen this movie before, friends.

In the beginning, life only feels slightly unusual. In fact, the winter wonderland outside of the apartment seems to be exactly that--a world rife with magic potential. Snow means Santa and extravagant New Year's resolutions.

Lovely, isn't it?

But then the roads are slick, aren't they? And the car is frozen in place, which means you and your friend--moderately attractive young people--are trapped in the apartment for night after winter night.

You don't mind, though. You have television to watch, and you have a new (to you) Led Zeppelin CD to rip onto your computer. You are sure and cynical. There is nothing that can hurt you lurking in the snow... and certainly nothing in the house, right?

You've seen this movie before, but you still say, "It's nothing," when you hear scratching behind the walls of the apartment. It's late. You're already in bed--vulnerable in the thin fabric of your pajamas. Your shoes are under the bed. The scratching continues. It startles your friend out of sleep, and he also says it's nothing, even though he's seen this movie more times than you have. The scratching grows more desperate, perhaps even vicious. You and your friend move into the next room.

The next day, a hole appears in the ceiling. The hole gasps. The hole makes spitting sounds. It drools brown water.

You are reluctant to call it "nothing" now. You wait for nightfall. You wonder what the scratching will become tonight, when you are trapped in the apartment. You consider sleeping in your shoes. And you wonder how long it will take you and your friend to shove the car out of the ice when It (that which is not "nothing") comes for you...

The Things You Watch When You're a Kid (and Rewatch Every Year)

2008-12-05T05:34:00.000-08:00

It's the holidays. You can't avoid it any more. If there's one thing that the cold weather and sea of commercialism on TV do for me, it's make me want to put on a movie and curl up away from both. They're usually nostalgia movies. These are the (mostly '80s) movies I got my dad to rent time and again from our local video store when I was a kid. Or the ones we still have on beat up videocassettes in my parent's house. So, here's my list of cold-weather, dear-god-stop-trying-to-sell-me-stuff movies:

1. Big Business - Lily Tomlin and Bette Midler play two sets of twins. Who are mixed up at birth. It's classic. Lily Tomlin's country bumpkin version hisses and rattles her bracelet as some sort of protest cry. I don't even understand what that's about, but I love it.

2. Ghostbusters 2 - Admit it. You watched the sequel more than the original. I mean, does the original have a walking Lady Liberty powered by love and Jackie Wilson? It does not.

3. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun - Pure tween fantasy plot? Check. Almost unrelated dance scenes featuring essential '80s fashions? Check. Classic Ken-doll lead with a slight dusting of bad boy? Check. It's a wonder I didn't wear out the tape.

4. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade - Somehow, this is the Indiana Jones movie I grew up with. I can barely remember the others, but the two bickering Doctors Jones are regulars in my nostalgia marathons.

5. Troop Beverly Hills - They give a fashion show to sell cookies. They 'camp' at a hotel with marshmallows delivered by room service. It's what you always wished Brownies would be, but never was.

6. Adventures in Babysitting - Much in the same vein, there's a vicarious appeal to watching Elizabeth Shue turn babysitting into a survival sport. Plus, there's the chatty-est knife fight ever. Those Chicago gangs, they're Shakespearean.

7. Maxie - It's like the '80s were the pinnicle of the funny ghost movies. In this one, Glenn Close gets taken over by a sassy flapper who tries to trick her husband, Mandy Patinkin, in compromising positions.

8. The Princess Bride - Speaking of Mr. Patinkin, his name is Inigo Montoya.

9. Three Men and a Little Lady - There's a party scene where Tom Selleck changes the music from upbeat dance music to "Rubber Duckie."

10. Who Framed Roger Rabbit - "I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way."

I'm just saying--it got really cold today.

Notes from the Road (The Gift Search)

2008-11-22T21:44:00.000-08:00

You knew this girl in middle school: She would say she had a boyfriend. "Well, where is he then?" you asked. And she would retort, "Oh, you wouldn't know him. He doesn't go here."

I confess, friends. I am that girl. Right now.

I've said, "Oh, I have a boyfriend, but you wouldn't know him. He lives out of town," and I've driven away from the apartment with my suitcases and tote bags. I've been doing this since the fall, and now is the time to come clean.

The fact of the matter is--well--I've been searching for a birthday gift for Stephanie. She turns 27 today, and I've been tearing up the highways and by-ways of this nation in order to find the perfect bauble to commemorate this day.

What did I find? These are hard times, and the pickings are slim:

1. Somewhere in southern Ohio, there's a donkey tied to a post in front of a mobile home. The donkey, alas, would not fit into my sedan. And Stephanie may be allergic.

2. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, there's a vegan restaurant and bakery. I drove past the Dairy Queens and Burger Kings and into a heavily wooded stretch of road, hoping I could find my roommate some dairy-free cookies. The restaurant was closed.

3. Somewhere in West Virginia, there's Tamarack, a tourist trap that looks like orange wedges atop a hill. Stephanie could have used some of the quilts they sell there to keep warm now that it's cold, but I couldn't afford them.

4. Somewhere in Michigan, there's an independent bookstore with funky coin purses and author action figures. I actually bought something there... and kept it for myself.

Not quite a hero's journey, and I didn't have much to show for it, despite my tangled web of travelin' lies.

What, after all, can I get for the person who makes me milkshakes after dinner and treats me to ice cream and Indian food when I've had a rotten day? What do you give the person who understands and participates in a spontaneous dance party slash critical analysis of this week's episode of "The Office"? And what do you give the person who knew me when I was a huge (and I mean huge) "Sailor Moon" and "Fushigi Yugi" fan... and still decided to be my roommate ten years later?

Exactly.

Looks like I need to hit the road again...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STEPHANIE!

Happy Election Day!

2008-11-04T11:18:00.000-08:00

While it is usually cool to throw your hands up in the air and wave them like you just don't care, today those hands should be all up in that voting booth, choosing candidates like you just do care.

If you are still undecided, I recommend choosing the presidential candidate who reminds you most of that kid who ran for third grade president on the platform of PIZZA FOR LUNCH EVERY DAY NO BOYS/GIRLS ALLOWED!

I'll bet that kid turned out great...

Twenty-five: Part Three

2008-10-09T05:47:00.000-07:00

Today is Sam's birthday. In recognition of this momentous occasion, I've decided to let the world know why we're friends.

1. We have matching box sets of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

2. If I spill something on myself, I know she can't laugh too much because she did the same thing the night before.

3. She will watch Doris Day movies with me. (If I beg.)

4. She makes really good food and isn't too stingy about sharing it.

5. She's a fiction writer, not a poet, so I don't have to kill her in her sleep for being good. (That's right, other poets. Watch your back.)

6. She's obsessed with time-travel.

7. We get equally mad when some Swedish dude dismisses American fiction.

8. She's been teaching my cat to kill since I got him. He still just sort of sits there.

9. She's a very sore South Park Uno loser.

10. I have seriously good blackmail on her. She's not going anywhere. (Isn't that right, Sam?)

Happy Birthday, friend!

Everything I Need to Know in Life (and Love) I Learned from...

2008-09-13T08:44:00.001-07:00

The Art of Dating by Evelyn Millis Duvall

I scoffed when Stephanie first brought this book home. It was published in 1958, the feminist dark ages. I flipped through those old-smelling pages in search of some howlers... and came up surprisingly empty-handed.

Maybe we could date old-school. Here's what I've learned (seriously):

1. Follow Grandma's formula: "Chase a fellow until he catches you."

2. A girl can "...investigate the reason why a particular individual is slow to get started dating." If he's shy or bashful, draw him into a cozy group activity.

3. "...young people like members of the other sex who are 1) careful of their personal appearance; 2) courteous and thoughtful; and 3) fun to be with." Fair enough.

4. "We often feel the need to put on airs because we're unsure of ourselves. If we act naturally, we may find that people like us as we are, and our feelings of inferiority will diminish." Nice.

5. Few girls actually expect to date dream boats like Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, or Rudolph Valentino. Impossible crushes are not just limited to celebrities: "Many a young girl swoons over the football captain, the president of the senior class, or the most popular boy in the school, with whom she doesn't have a ghost of a chance. Indeed, she wouldn't even know what to do on such a spectacular date if she had it--"

Wait a minute. That's not very nice. As a girl who once wore glasses held together with masking tape, I'd prefer to believe that I can stand a chance with someone "spectacular." Where's the adventure (and art!) of dating if we have to uphold the mating status quo?

But maybe that's the only bad-apple advice.

6. "...in dating a married man a girl always takes a risk. Such a man is not free to take a girl out, to make love to her, or to marry her." Word.

7. "A boy who dates... a girl with a bad reputation, and vice versa, is running the risk of having some of her reputation rub off on him." O... kay.

8. "If you feel inadequate about conversation [on a date], you may want to go through such magazines as Reader's Digest... or some similar resource for amusing and interesting stories..."

Actually, that's where I draw the line. I will not--not now and certainly not during a time-traveling mission to 1958--read Reader's Digest, even if it means going dateless for all eternity.

I suppose now I'll return to the new school. Cosmo has a stories on "How to Be Just Bitchy Enough" and "How Long Guys Want Sex to Last." Let's see how that goes.

My Problem with "The Women"

2008-08-29T08:29:00.000-07:00

So, they've remade The Women. This is the new trailer. I...have issues with this.

First, I've seen the original. When I watched it, I found it irritating beyond belief that, in the whole movie, you never see the men around which all the conversation in the film revolves. I realize that is the trick pony the movie has decided to ride, but it's like watching a play from behind a pole or a home video that never quite comes into focus. I kept waiting for some sort of whole picture and was constantly denied.

On top of that, the trailer of the 1939 version clearly points out that the entire movie is about men. Now, I don't know about you, but I find that, as a woman, I manage to hold several conversations a day that have absolutely nothing to do with men. Therefore, the generalized nature of the title of the film offends me. Maybe I wouldn't care as much if the title was Women Talking About Men. At least that would be honest, if not very flattering.

Also unflattering are the depictions of how women relate to each other in the movie. They're all catty bitches who love to gossip and rejoice in each others' pain. Joan Crawford's character is an unrepentant villian--enticing a married man without guilt and crowing over his wife. Norma Shearer is at first painfully placid and then misdirects her rage at the other woman. Rosalind Russell plays a busybody and a false friend.

Why did they remake this? What possible merit could you derive from a movie based entirely on an antiquated conception of what women must be to each other? Based on the trailer, the cattiness certainly survived the overhaul. And whatever improvements could be made to the plot or to the manner in which the women interact, it will remain a movie in which women define themselves and their relationships with other women based on their relationships with men. If they have retained the device of only showing the women and never showing the men, so much the worse. As the absent but much-talked-of specters, the men become like Greek gods. They are capricious, certainly, but all-powerful and unchanging. If we never see the women interact with the men, all the rational reactions to infidelity are precluded--namely, a confrontation with the betrayer rather than with someone outside the relationship.

I know that this movie will probably attempt to end up on some sort of Sex and the City-style note of empowerment as a nod to the changed times. In some ways, I find that more offensive. It implies that the movie has taught us a Very Important Lesson about ourselves. The "hey, I don't need a man" revelation saved for the last act is insulting to our intelligence. I find it depressing to think that, after nearly 70 intervening years of feminism, this movie could be considered relevant enough to occasion a remake with only the barest of last-act band aids to make it palatable to modern women.

I might not expect it of anyone else in the new movie but, Candace Bergen, you ought to be ashamed.

Things I Should Never Have Done While Sam Was Away

2008-08-20T07:48:00.000-07:00

You guys, Sam has been in Ohio forever. Technically, it's only been since May, but that's still more than enough time for me to get into all sorts of trouble that she might have prevented, had she been here. It's not like she's my babysitter, but there are some things you don't do when another person is around -- like finish off the pint of ice cream or forget to lock the door at night. So here's a list of the things I've done this summer that Sam could have either prevented or talked me out of:

1. Leaving a candle burning in my bathroom all day while I'm gone to work. It's happened several times.

2. Watching far too much Doctor Who. I'd never seen an episode before this summer and now I've earned my geek stripes in two and a half months. If she wasn't coming back soon, I'd be worried that I'd start attending sci-fi conventions dressed as a Dalek.

3. Buying and subsequently killing that parsley plant.

4. Taking so many showers at my new apartment without having a mat in the tub. The time I actually slipped and fell was kind of a wake-up call.

5. Letting the recycling pile up while I forget to put it in the car and drop it off. (The planet dies while you are in Ohio, Sam!)

6. Buying the soundtrack to Mamma Mia! Half the people can't even sing, you know. Poor Pierce Brosnan couldn't find a key with a metal detector and sonar. And I bought those musical stylings.

Look... Okay. Maybe I do need a babysitter.

PSA: The Worst Burrito in the World

2008-07-31T14:42:00.000-07:00

This story is completely true, friends.

The sun was beginning to sink below the trees, and I was following I-70 West toward Ohio. Despite the significant lunch Stephanie and I had in Philadelphia, my stomach was hollow, and it had begun to growl... then snarl.

I had to eat.

Now, I enjoy adventure as much as anyone else. And the only thing I enjoy more than adventure is a burrito. When I'm in Greensboro, I'm a regular at Moe's, but when I'm abroad I like to sample burritos from across state lines. Foreign burritos. I drove past the Taco Bell exits. No Qdoba for me. Night fell, and my appetite for adventure grew alongside my craving for a bean burrito.

One sign promised good eatin' at Taco Joe's--one mile ahead. I'd never heard of Taco Joe's, so I took the exit. And that's where the story takes a turn for the worse.

I wasn't thinking. I should have remembered 1) West Virginia is not exactly world famous for its burritos and 2) it's not really a restaurant if it is inside of a gas station and convenience store. Still, I nestled my car between a couple of pick-up trucks and pushed through the double doors.

The girl behind the counter didn't stop texting until I'd been standing in front of her for a full minute. She wore too much blue eyeshadow. I asked her what they put in their bean burritos. She said, "Beans... and lettuce... I don't know. Tomatoes." All of that for a dollar twenty-nine.

And this is how a girl wearing too much blue eyeshadow prepares one of these Taco Joe specialties:

--Pour water over dried-out refried beans. Use ice cream scoop to carve out some beans and then smack them against the tortilla. Let the beans stand proudly as they are--a delicious mound.

--Throw some cheese on that mound. Throw some onions on that mound. NOTE: No tomatoes or lettuce made their way into the mix. Roll it all up. Stuff it in a paper bag.

And I was foolish enough to eat half of that so-called burrito as I pulled back onto I-70 with Ludacris blasting. I thought I was just that hungry until I bit into a mine of raw onions and had to call it quits. That Taco Joe masterpiece became my traveling companion for the next two hours.

So, what's the moral of the story? You bet: Freeze Moe's burritos and defrost them when it's time to travel across Pennsylvania.

In Other News...

2008-07-02T13:53:00.000-07:00

Reports that the estate of Lucille Ball is considering renaming the comedienne's iconic show "I Love Erika Simpson" have recently been confirmed by a representative of the organization. "We are seriously considering making a move based on the overwhelming approval that this would receive from the public," said spokeswoman Estelle Cowpepper when questioned at a press conference Wednesday morning.

The renaming of the show would coincide with a project currently underway in which images of Erika Simpson are being digitally inserted into each episode of the show. Critics of the project have objected to the inauthentic nature of this addition. Proponents have responded to this objection by calling the critics "fascists."

This Just In...

2008-06-24T09:57:00.000-07:00

Erika Simpson doesn't do push-ups. When she pushes, the earth moves down.

Unburied Treasure #2: Coin Fish

2008-06-08T20:09:00.000-07:00

This little guy has apparently been hanging out in the kitchen drawer with our spatulas. His actual purpose is a bit paradoxical because he'd probably hold about fifty cents before you'd have to seek out bigger piggies. On the other hand, what a sense of accomplishment! You've already filled your bank!

Unburied Treasure #1: Fresh Kicks

2008-05-28T14:41:00.001-07:00

Yes, those are penny loafers. Yes, they have platform-wedge heels. Yes, they are too fresh. And, yes, they are mine. (And there's no telling what else we'll find as we pack up this apartment...)

7 Things to Do When You Run Out of the Internet

2008-05-07T10:29:00.001-07:00

This post is for Cat, who has, tragically, run out of the internet. She's read it all and there are still hours upon hours left in the workday. This is not a problem easily remedied, but I will try.

1. Practice funny faces using the reflection from your cubicle window. When you've got a few, try them out on your coworkers. You never know when you'll need a genuinely original and well-executed funny face, so it pays to be prepared.

2. Pimp out your cubicle by making paperclip chains to hang like streamers or by printing out internet comics and hanging them up. People will be awed by how cool you are and want to be your friend.

3. Actively engage in workplace gossip. Make some up to spread around if there's nothing juicy actually going on. Just imagine the expressions of shock and glee you'll get when you tell people you saw so-and-so coming out of a Botox spa over the weekend.

4. Imagine complicated death scenarios for particularly annoying clients and coworkers. Make sure to include several exotic elements that might seem at home in an Indiana Jones or Bond movie.

5. Cultivate your office plant life. With enough plant food, you could find yourself with an Audrey II and then you'd only have to set it out front to devour people before they get to you.

6. Conduct psychological experiments on your coworkers. Try moving a piece of office furniture to an inconvenient location and see how long it is before someone moves it. Record your findings for future publication.

7. If all else fails, remember that what was fun at middle school sleepovers is still fun today. Prank phone call other offices. I suggest a variation on the immortal, "Is your refrigerator running?"

Remember, the internet is not the only option. Sometimes, messing with people in person is just as fun.

Ask Stephanie's Foot-Fetishizing Cat

2008-04-21T18:02:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the advice column from Stephanie's cat, Asta. This month, he focuses on your money and career problems. You see, when he's not busy chewing on the plastic lilies in the living room or drinking out of the toilet, he's reflecting on fiscal responsibility and sound career choices.

Dear Asta: Should I put my money in the stock market now while it's not doing so hot, or would it be safer to invest in some diversified small-cap growth funds?--Retirement Is Not Soon Enough, North Carolina

Dear RINSE--I sit on top of the television. I swish my tail. You do not watch television because you watch my tail. Now I am eating your flowers. I knock down your cell phone.

Dear Asta: I had to decide if I wanted to edit math or reading textbooks. I choose math. Did I make the right choice?--AW, Ohio

Dear AW--I sit in the bathtub after your shower. I drink the water in the drain and get wet on my head. I headbutt you. I headbutt you. I headbutt you. I sniff your shoes.

Dear Asta: I'd like to open a savings account, but my money dries up before I can set any aside. How can I properly manage my funds?--SNS

Dear SNS--I sleep in your socks.

Got a problem? Asta can help! Send your questions about anything to cardboardislife@gmail.com.

Yay for Sam!

2008-04-18T11:19:00.000-07:00

I pleased to announce that Ms. Samantha Novella Simpson has won a decisive victory over the forces of fate. She is too awesome for her employers to let her go and has been offered another year in their employ.

This drastically reduces the likelihood that she will be living in a cardboard box under a freeway next year, for which I am happy. I mean, where would I sleep if I visited her? On the flap? No. Instead, she can continue being awesome for money. But not, you know, in a stripper way.

Let the accolades begin!

Battle of the Bands: The Volunteers vs. Ludo

2008-04-17T08:06:00.000-07:00

Here's the thing, friends. I'm getting old. If I tell you I'm 25, I'm lying. I moisturize religiously so that you will believe that lie for the next 10 or 15 years.

I've found that rock music also keeps the wrinkles and cellulite at bay. I hear the young people partake of the rock music, and that's how they remain the young people. And that's why I made my way to two shows in one week:

Band: The Volunteers (Part of the Army Field Band)

Sounds Like: A cover band fronted by your totally square parents.

Date: April 6, 2008

Venue: Smith High School, Greensboro, NC

Audience: You would think that the arrival of a shuttle from a local retirement community would give me pause. And it did. Oh, the old people turned out in droves, double-parking their caddies and complaining about the how the rain was affecting their joints. To be fair, many of the people easing up the sidewalk with their walkers were veterans--heroes, if you will.

Signature Song(s): A medley of the theme songs for every branch of the U.S. military followed by a cover of Lee Greenwood's "Proud to Be an American"

Concert Highlight: During the performance of "Life Is a Highway," the pint-sized grandson of one of these heroes rushed to the stage and played air guitar, air drums, and air keyboard.

On-the-Spot Review: "Why do I suddenly have a craving for creamed corn? And why won't those damn kids stay off my lawn?"

Band: Ludo

Sounds Like: A pop-punk band fronted by that weird kid from third grade who used to stuff candy up his nose.

Date: April 13, 2008

Venue: Tremont Music Hall, Charlotte, NC

Audience: There were a handful of tattooed young folks with dyed hair. Over 50% of the audience wore tattered Chuck Taylors. One woman pulled up to the club in a mini-van full of underage rockers, making her the coolest mom ever.

Signature Song(s): Everyone sang along to "Love Me Dead." And "Go-Getter Greg" is at once hilarious and scary.

Concert Highlight: The band took a picture of the audience pretending to be circus animals.

On-the-Spot Review: "Yes, I would date the lead singer. I don't even care that he's three feet tall."

Winner: LUDO

Ask Stephanie's Cardboard-Eating Cat

2008-03-24T16:11:00.000-07:00

This is the second Easter holiday in a row that Stephanie has left me to my own devices. The walls echo when she isn't here, and my characteristic indecision goes unchecked.

Lucky for me--and all of you--her insane, cardboard-eating cat was here to help me make some major choices.

Dear Asta: I've been eating right and exercising... but it's Girl Scout cookie season, and I have to dispose of these Thin Mints somehow. Should I eat the whole box while watching my Netflix movie?--SNS

Dear SNS: I am eating your couch.

Dear Asta: I'd like to listen to music while I run, but I don't have an MP3 player. Further, I don't own a computer, so I can't exactly use an MP3 player, even if I had one. Should I kick it old school and buy a portable CD player?--SNS

Dear SNS: Sometimes I chew wires.

Dear Asta: I assume you meant I should buy the CD player. So, I did it. Is it okay for me to steal double-A batteries from my roommate?--SNS

Dear SNS: I am eating the cable bill. I bite your toe.

Dear Asta: Don't you think I should avoid watching the newest crop of Asian movie horror remakes? While "Shutter" does place its American leads in Japan, there is apparently no cure for the stale, yet inscrutable plots and stilted acting. Do you think my leisure time would be better served reading Black Sexual Politics?--SNS

Dear SNS: In your bed, it is warm. I purr and purr--and chew the book you are reading.

Dear Asta: Is there anything you won't chew?--SNS

Dear SNS: No.

Have Asta direct your life. Email your questions to cardboardislife@gmail.com.

Sam's Secret Shame

2008-03-07T12:55:00.000-08:00

The time has come to reveal to the world how Samantha Simpson, distinguished writer, scholar and instructor, spends her hard-earned money. That's right. On Britney Spears albums. She's financing the crazy.

If you ask her, she'll couch the decision to buy Britney Spear's Blackout in the language of academia: "Oh, recently in two of my classes, we had Britney week. We discussed her importance as a cultural figure, the disconnect between the image she presents and the way she talks about her personal life, as well as the media coverage of her recent breakdown." Don't buy it, friends.

When asked recently, she listed her favorite Blackout tracks: 1. Gimme More; 2. Get Naked (I Got a Plan); 3. Break the Ice; 4. Piece of Me; 5. Toy Soldier. Her new ringtone trumpets "It's Britney, bitch" every time someone calls.

So, you can see that the truth is Ms. Simpson likes to juke-it juke-it to Britney's synthesized beats. She's a fan of the pop star's dulcet computer-corrected tones. She and this guy have exchanged numbers and are planning to hang out soon.

Clearly, we need an intervention. Or merciless mocking. Whichever is easier.

[It is to be noted here with the utmost care that your humble reporter did in no way engage in a Britney Spears dance party with Samantha Simpson last Friday night, especially (but not limited to) under the influence of one or more gin and tonics.]

...And So Can You!

2008-02-21T11:00:00.000-08:00

Many thanks to Anna and Jimmy for guiding me to my destiny... in front of the restrooms on the second floor of the National Portrait Gallery!

Eulogy for Radical Edward

2008-02-09T14:03:00.000-08:00

Friends, I'm sorry to report that my computer, Radical Edward, has passed away. Though this death was not untimely (I believe Lincoln saved a couple of drafts of the Gettsyburg Address on Rad Eddie), it was undignified. I pressed the power button and heard only the feeble whirring of whatever part makes it turn on.

Don't be sad. And don't dwell on the fact that Radical Edward's life has left a giant CPU-shaped hole in your hearts. Instead, let's remember the good times:

1. Making Mixes for Boys. Though I could not surf the Internet with this particular computer, I could craft mix CDs straight from the heart for my crushes. My hands trembled as I selected songs for the nefarious boySam but Radical Edward kept whirring and humming into the night while I decided between Smashing Pumpkins and Aaliyah, Harvey Danger and En Vogue.

And did Radical Edward judge me when I created a Bummer Mix after the boySam frenzy died? No. That MusicMatch Jukebox worked the same kind of magic.

2. Writing Buffy Poems. Stephanie and I had the bright idea to write poems about every episode of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." It's still a bright idea, even if we have abandoned it, and Radical Edward lived long enough to see me through the complete seventh season of the best series ever.

3. Creating My First Syllabi. Oh, the summer of 2006! I was so academically ambitious, and Radical Edward's spell check was en pointe.

4. Writing My Master's Thesis. How many times did I change the ending of "Believe Me"? Only Radical Edward knows. Again, that old computer stayed up all night, saving and re-saving those stories I had to complete in order to earn the degree that would make me millions.

(That's right, friends. Millions. Don't let these struggling writers fool you. Stephanie and I are tremendously wealthy because we write.)

5. Arguing with the HP Printer Guy. Radical Edward once belonged to Stephanie's family, and they gave him to me so I would have to spend all my free time in the computer lab at graduate school. I loved Rad Ed, but he didn't take too kindly to my attempts to attach him to a brand new printer, thus prompting my phone call to Hewlett-Packard. That call went something like this--

Me: Look, this thing doesn't work. Make me make it work.

HP Dude: Can you find the USB port?

Me: The what?

HP Dude: Never mind. Maybe you should try to get a friend and see if the printer works with their computer.

Me: I just moved here. I don't have any friends, okay?!

And I began to cry. I packed up that printer and returned it to the store, and then Radical Edward and I were alone together, two machines new to Greensboro.

Good times. Rest well, Rad Ed. You were old and mean, and I often spilled ramen juice and tea on your keyboard... but we were good together. I'll miss you...

Conversations with My Roommate

2008-01-28T06:29:00.000-08:00

Me: Come to the party!

Sam: I think I'm in for the night.

Me: Fine. But you know that makes you lame.

Sam: I! Am! Not! Lame! You know what? Fine. I'll go. But you'll be responsible for making me go out when my hair looks like ass.

Me: I do not see ass.

Sam: Stephanie! Now I don't know if I want to get in a car with you if you're so blind you cannot see the ass on my head!

Hawaii-phile

2008-01-16T19:46:00.000-08:00

Best. Place. Ever.

Hawaii-phobe

2008-01-09T11:11:00.000-08:00

In a matter of hours, I will be boarding a plane headed toward Washington, DC. And then I'll board another plane headed toward Seattle, WA. And then I'll board another plane headed toward.... final stop.... Honolulu, Hawaii.

Deal with that, friends.

This will be only my second trip west of the Mississippi and my first time ever seeing the Pacific Ocean, live and in color. Naturally, I'm a bundle of nerves--and not just because I never believed those statistics that indicate car travel is more dangerous than airplane travel.

I fear, Babetteers, I have unrealistic expectations for Hawaii, including but not limited to:

--appearances by Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon in their ongoing mission to stuff wild bikinis.

--men wearing Tom Selleck-style moustaches, 80s edition. I'll admit to nursing a small crush on Magnum, PI, but those were different times, and now that kind of facial hair is inappropriate.

--mandatory coconut bras.

--human sacrifices to an angry volcano god. I don't believe there is any historical evidence to support this particular expectation, but it's here nonetheless.

--space aliens. "Lilo & Stitch" wasn't supposed to be a horror movie, but I found it terrifying nonetheless.

--vegetables made of Spam.

If you can offer any encouragement--or tips for avoiding those Spam vegetables--let me know ASAP.

Predictions for 2008

2008-01-02T12:57:00.000-08:00

We here at The Point of Babette have decided to get into this whole Nostradamus business. I mean, it seems to be working out pretty well for him and he's, you know, dead, and therefore unable to reap any more of the benefits. We, however, are alive, so if we make some predictions and they happen to come true, we could get paid for, say, making some more. Or for being awesome, which is something we've always hoped to parlay into generating revenue.

You might ask, "Are you any good at predicting things?" To which we would reply, "No, not at all." But then, we've never really tried before. This could be the new talent that our fortune cookie was talking about last week. In other words, prepare to be amazed.

1. In the coming year, one or more harried California DMV workers will have a Britney Spears-related breakdown, resulting in a violent public outburst.

2. Someone will be elected President of the United States.

3. The winner of American Idol will be a chain-smoking mother of two from Houston, TX named Dita Smothers whose signature song is "Lady Marmalade."

4. During hurricane season, there will be a big hurricane.

5. In the dog days of August, Google CEO Eric Schmidt and Apple CEO Steve Jobs will finally meet mano a mano in a dusty back alley of Silicon Valley to wrestle for control of the entire world, the mangled body of Bill Gates having been recovered from the East River three days prior.

6. George W. Bush will, before the end of his presidency, make some clearly insane decision about the war in Iraq and strive to convince us in garbled English that it is the only possible solution. And more people will die.

7. The peanut crop will be unremarkable. Except that we just remarked on it. Otherwise, unremarkable.

8. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt will be investigated by Immigration Services after the ranks of their adopted children swell to the size of a small village, including several suspiciously low-voiced and burly boys. When asked to characterize the concern of the inquiry, Immigration officials will reply, "Invasion."

9. The major box office draw this summer will be a sequel.

And, perhaps most importantly:

10. The universe will become thoroughly ashamed of itself and do a 180 in the affairs of one Samantha N. Simpson. It will dig up an ideal job with an ideal salary and present it promptly and humbly. Other sorts of wish fulfillment will follow.

Well, everyone, it looks like it's going to be a great year. Just remember, you read it here first!

OHM #5: Karmic Math

2007-12-18T05:59:00.000-08:00

Dear Universe,

Um... really?

Kindly explain this equation:

Staying In School + Not Kicking Puppies + Wearing Underwear + Recycling =

Dead Transmission in 5-Year-Old Car One Week Before I'm Supposed to Visit My Family For Christmas

Is this your idea of a joke? I took a physics course and a religion course in college, so I can see this karmic math is clearly wrong. According to my calculations, the equation should work this way:

Staying In School + Not Kicking Puppies + Wearing Underwear + Recycling =

Functioning Transmission in 5-Year-Old Car + "Sweeney Todd" with My Family on Christmas Day

Or:

Staying in School + Recycling + Not Watching "A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila" =

Dinner with Ryan Gosling

See how that karmic math works? Universe, I'm beginning to suspect you don't understand math at all. I'm still smarting from this analytical gaffe on your part:

Finishing Anna Karenina + Not Marrying Kevin Federline=

Tonsilitis

Wrong again, Universe. See how you miscalculated there? Your calculations should have brought you here:

Finishing Anna Karenina + Not Marrying Kevin Federline=

New Shoes

That should have been an easy one. Please make sure you check your work in the future. I find these reckless calculations on your part tiresome--and expensive. My patience (and funds) are wearing thin, but I'm a relatively generous teacher. Perhaps you can do some practice equations like this one:

Dead Transmission + Holiday Blues Today = ?

a) Cancer of the Puppy

b) Free Drinks at the Bar

c) Regifted Fruitcake

d) Brand New Job (with Pay Raise!) in 2008

Choose carefully, Universe. I'll keep believing in you, but you've got to exercise your potential for good math.

I Mean, Really?

Sam

The Five People You Meet in an Afterlife Dive Bar

2007-12-14T11:56:00.000-08:00

This past Sunday ABC aired "Oprah Winfrey Presents: Mitch Albom's For One More Day."

I did not watch it.

It's not that I don't appreciate Mitch Albom's efforts to make us realize the mortality of our loved ones. I just can't stand the saccharin sweetness of those efforts. If I were Mitch Albom, I'd write about the kind of people you probably wouldn't necessarily want to encounter in the afterlife--the people who are too difficult to go to heaven and too badass to compete with Satan in the Hellfire Olympics.

Peaches. I know she isn't dead. This would not stop her from crashing your dead man's party. Or your living room when you're watching Mitch Albom movies. At the afterlife dive bar, she would be the one enfleshed soul making you do body shots off of...

Gertrude Stein's stomach. Ever read Tender Buttons? Stein would be sure to berate you for not getting it while she downs another shot of vodka. No delicate flower, she. Gertrude Stein can hold her liquor and revolutionize literature at the same time.

Ike Turner, however, is not so stolid. You don't know what you said, but he has a broken beer bottle, and he's coming for you. Or, he just wants to play some blues. Take a chance.

John Kennedy Toole is there for you if you want to escape Ike's rage and/or blues. He'll make fun of you for ordering that girly drink, and then you two can talk about why there's no "Confederacy of Dunces" movie. I mean, really, what is that about?

And right before last call, have a beer with Ruth Gordon. She may even give you a ride home and tell you what it's like to be a person who's written scripts for Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn and hosted Saturday Night Live. Careful, though--she never got a driver's license when she was on this side of living.

Who's at your bar?

Hot Time in High Point

2007-11-29T06:42:00.000-08:00

You know us, Babetteers. We are always on the prowl for adventure--and sometimes we find it. Because we couldn't call you all at 11:00 on Wednesday night, we give you the story of a food quest. Pretend we are on the other end of the receiver, scrambling to get the story just right. [My input is in italics.--Sam]

It began as a normal Wednesday night. Sam and I ate virtuous vegetable soup before heading over to Erin's apartment for a movie. When we got there, her dog, Brit, tried to knock us all over with her enthusiasm, as usual. As usual, Sam did everything she could to keep Brit in an excited state. Erin presented us with our movie for the night: Paris, Je t'aime, an independent film comprised of something like 20 five-minute vignettes on the theme of love in Paris by various directors. We sat down to watch.

...and fantasize about going to France, where all our wildest dreams can come true.. I was the only one in the room who hadn't made a trek to Europe, and I may have wondered aloud whether or not Paris has a distinct smell.

Now, that would be the end of a rather dull story, were it not for Sam's stomach. Well, all of our stomachs, really, but Sam's was the most vocal. About three-fourths of the way through the movie, around 9:30PM, Sam turned to Erin and told her that she wanted Mexican food. Taco Bell was rejected out of hand because, as Erin says, it's not Mexican food. So we called up Mi Pueblo, a local place that didn't close until 10PM. We placed our order and were told it would be ready in 10 minutes. Accordingly, 10 minutes later, we bundled up, braved the cold night and made our way over to Mi Pueblo.

When we got there, the doors were locked. We could see people inside cleaning up, but when we knocked on the windows, they started turning off lights. Thus, our odyssey for food began.

...and it was a perilous journey. You must understand how vulnerable we were as the night grew and colder and darker. Not one of us thought to bring a phone. Our grumbling stomachs made us forget about all the dangers inhabiting the darkness. Giant spiders. High Point muggers. Aliens. Other people...

We checked another Mexican restuarant. Closed. We realized that Applebee's and Ham's were the most likely to be open, as they are also bars. Erin suggested that we try Ham's. Unwittingly, we stumbled onto the place to be on a Wednesday night in High Point. Ham's, open until 2AM, was packed. We sat in the lobby for 5 minutes until someone noticed us enough to inform us that we could order take-out at the bar. And so, into the bar.

A man in a red shirt nodded at us, and Erin avoided eye contact. This was wise. We later saw the man slowly guiding a beer bottle across a woman's forehead. He was not her date. In fact, when her date arrived, she didn't really have an explanation for why Red Shirt was giving her a beer bath. A man sat at the bar with his laptop, and I figured nothing much could happen in a place where some guy can run numbers while noshing on French fries and gulping his beer.

We find a spot to squeeze in and order. A few minutes later, a guy pulls out a microphone in the corner of the room and polls the room as to whether they'd rather be able to listen to the Carolina game or start karoke night. Karoke wins out due to strong support from the table of drunk ladies in the front. But before we can partake of this particular delicious schedenfreude, another intrudes. Behind us, a fight breaks out.

Seriously.

A guy who looks sort of like this and a guy who looks kind of like this, only with a goatee and considerably less hot, go after each other in front of the pool tables, possibly over a girl. Karoke guy steps in to break it up. The DQ Qualls look-alike very carefully sets down his cell phone on the table before he is escorted out the front door by karaoke guy. The Kel Mitchell look-alike, however, he eludes capture and runs out the back.

Karaoke Guy was like, "Don't buck up at me, man!" The table of drunken ladies ready to belt out Celine Dion tunes followed the action to the parking lot. I heard one woman holler, "It wasn't his fault! That guy started it!"

Now, there must have been a pretty big brawl after that out in the parking lot, because when we finally get our food twenty minutes later, we walk out past people giving statements to the police in the lobby to find three police cars, two ambulances and a fire truck.

All we wanted was food.

...and don't you think this story needed giant spiders?

Everything I Need to Know in Life I Learned From...

2007-11-20T14:12:00.000-08:00

Amy Winehouse's Back to Black

A recent heartbreak has led me to embrace the philosophy the 21st-century sage, Amy Winehouse.

1. You don't really want to drink again. You just need friends. In the absence of friends, you are obligated to trash hotel rooms (and possibly hotel workers) while trapped in a drunken haze.

2. It's all right to both cause and be "trouble," as long as you maintain self-awareness.

3. "Fuckery" is a word. In fact, it is the very best word and the only way to describe this business of "playing [yourself] out like that."

4. Guilt can kill you... if your new girlfriend doesn't first.

5. It isn't enough that he loves blow and you love Poe. When he goes back to her (that killer new girlfriend), you feel free to go back to black, which could be a state of emotional oblivion--or that drunken haze from before.

6. Even if love were solitaire, it would still be a losing game.

7. Be your own best friend. He may walk away and make the sun go down, but you're grown, and your tears dry on their own.

8. Not even sleep can cure that ache in your chest. Stay busy until sunset.

9. Ghostface Killah is willing to ride with you and talk about your mistakes--even though you're no good.

Thank you, Amy Winehouse. I think I will have another drink and work on my beehive...

Ransom Note

2007-11-05T14:54:00.000-08:00

Dear Stephanie,

I'll begin by telling you it wouldn't be wise to involve the police in this matter. They will tell you they don't negotiate with criminals, and I can tell you I don't negotiate with the fuzz.

This is between you and me... and your December issue of Now Playing featuring Irene Dunne on the cover. If you do not comply with my demands, you will never see that elegant photograph of Dunne, and you will not read the insightful and loving article about her life and work.

I've been watching you. That DVD copy of "My Favorite Wife" has yet to make the return trip from your bedroom to our collection of movies. Dunne's bemused reaction to her husband's bigamy still prompts you to laugh out loud.

You made me watch "Theodora Goes Wild," meaning that you and I are the only people under the age of 50 who even know what a "Theodora" does when it goes wild. You purchased "Penny Serenade," even though it wasn't nearly as amusing as "My Favorite Wife," and you grinned whenever Irene Dunne appeared on the screen.

That's love, baby. And I mean to exploit it.

If you ever want to see your magazine again--and know what classics are playing on TCM in December--you must do the following:

1. Leave $1,000,000 in unmarked bills on my bed.

2. Secure--for me--a dinner date with a celebrity of my choice. Make sure said celebrity brings an engagement ring and a sensible pre-nuptial agreement to this dinner date.

3. Check the mailbox when I'm away on the weekend. (The neglect of our mailbox for two whole days is what got you into this mess!)

If you meet these demands, I might return your magazine. I'd hurry if I were you. Irene Dunne looks so lovely, I could just... cry... right onto the cover of your Now Playing.

You have 24 hours.

Love,

Kidnapper

On Notice! Part 3

2007-11-04T19:01:00.001-08:00

Some people think the Hollywood writers' strike is an excuse to neglect their duties as cartoonists. These people are wrong--like, John-Waters'-early-work-wrong. (Also--cardamom is really expensive.)

My 10 Favorite Halloween Costumes

2007-10-26T10:05:00.000-07:00

The time has come to decide what you will be for Halloween.

Personally, I will be sporting my handy tiara, thus indicating my superiority to the world without having to actually get all dolled up. My choice is not just laziness, however. It is also a product of my perpetual costume-block. I can never think of what to be for Halloween. So I decided to celebrate here the times when I actually did triumph on Halloween. In other words, a list of my favorite Halloween costumes.

1. Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz - I'm pretty sure I was around 5 years old. Which is why my tap shoes covered in red glitter were so bad ass.

2. A ghost - A bit more compelling than the classic white sheet. I sewed myself a black dress (the sleeves didn't ever quite work) and slathered pale makeup all over my face.

3. Groucho Marx - This one was pretty much Sam's idea as she went as Harpo. She was also responsible for handling the greasepaint to fashion my eyebrows and mustache.

4. Dead Beat Poet - I got myself a black turtle neck and pants and wrote Beat poetry all over them. And then I made myself really pale. And then nobody got it.

5. Raggedy-Anne - My little brother was Raggedy-Andy - which I'm pretty sure is on some list of his, probably the one of things he holds against my parents.

Well, that's a pretty paltry list. I could only remember five. You know what? It's okay. Because if there's one thing we're about here at The Point of Babette, it's appropriating things and making them our own. So, here's the rest of the list, only these are costumes that I only wish I'd thought of.

6. God - On the 4th season of Buffy, Oz goes to a Halloween party dressed exactly as himself but with a name tag that reads "Hello, my name is God."

7. A one night stand - When I was in college a guy came to our Halloween party with a lamp shade on his head and a cardboard table on suspenders. I've always thought it was pretty impressive.

8. Three-Hole Punch Version of Jim - He works at a paper company. It's brillant.

9. The Ghostbusters - On my first trip to the New York Public Library, I found myself in the security line behind three guys dressed as the Ghostbusters. I only hope they found their way to basement.

10. Homicidal Maniac - This one, Sam suggested. In the first Addam's Family movie, Wednesday arrives for trick-or-treating dressed exactly like she always dresses. When asked what her costume is she says, "I'm a homicidal maniac, they look just like everyone else."

Well, those are my favorites. What are yours? In the meantime, here's wishing you plenty of creativity and a Happy Halloween!

In-Depth Movie Review: John Waters' "Pink Flamingos"

2007-10-21T20:15:00.000-07:00

The 70s were weird. And scary.

"Leave [Jane Austen] Alone!" Or Buy the Point of Babette a Camera

2007-10-06T10:20:00.000-07:00

So. You've seen this. (And you should also see this.) You're no doubt weary of all the Britney gossip and even more weary of the people capitalizing on her downward spiral. You should be. After all, media outlets are closing in on another famous victim...

Jane Austen.

They just won't leave her alone. Her work is canon, but there's this. And this. And this. And there's this, too.

Now, someone could open the Jane Austen Thrill Ride, and I think I could cope. However, Stephanie grimaces (sometimes growls) whenever she witnesses another exploitation of her favorite early 19th century author. "Leave Jane Austen alone!" she says.

I think the world should listen to my roommate... and invite her to be a guest on the Maury Povich Show and on Jimmy Kimmel Live. That's why you should buy the Point of Babette a video camera.

Picture this: Stephanie stands in front of a Persian rug, her eyes red. (Strangely enough, her eyeliner is in tact. Perfect.) "How bloody dare you!" she cries. She offers her audience a venomous glare. "After everything Jane Austen has been through! She didn't get married at a time when many women had to get married to secure themselves financially! She was clever when it wasn't necessarily appropriate for her to be that way! Leave her alone!" Stephanie pauses to wipe her eyes. She curls her fingers into fists and screams, "Just leave her alone! More, more, more! That's all you people want! Why do you think she called her novel Sense and Sensibility? Because you people--"

Wait, that doesn't make any sense. You know what I'm getting at here. Stephanie says she wouldn't make that video... but I think she would. We only need a video camera.

So, send us your donations. And leave Jane Austen alone!!!

The Sad (Future) Saga of OJ and the Man

2007-09-19T10:35:00.000-07:00

So, OJ Simpson is in trouble again. First it was murder, now it's armed robbery. Seems kind of like he's downgrading, right? I mean, what's next? Funny you should ask. The Point of Babette has done extensive research and is here to tell you what's next.

1. Out on bail, OJ is brushed by another pedestrian, who he then drags into an alley and beats up. It would be a mugging, but the guy doesn't have any memorabilia on him.

2. In their investigation of his armed robbery charges, the police uncover the ladies cosmetics pyramid scheme that OJ has been running out of his poolhouse.

3. A few weeks later, they find fields of cannibus growing at his vacation home.

4. Several of the top collectors of Simpson memorabilia report that their cars have been spray-painted with the words, "Stop stealing my shit!!!"

5. In his most recent high speed chase from the cops (who are trying to apprehend him for the vandalism charge), he crosses private property with clearly posted "No trespassing" signs.

6. OJ is picked up after reports that he was sleeping on the courthouse steps, mumbling derogatory ephithets about the law. He is charged with public drunkenness.

So you see, there is a rough road of diminishing returns ahead for OJ Simpson. We can only hope that, eventually, he'll serve some time. Maybe for the drunkenness.

Yay!

2007-09-04T08:56:00.000-07:00

Congratulations to Alison and Clark, who recently got hitched!

Back in the late 90s, Alison and I watched hours--nay, days--of anime together. She was certainly the best part of 11th grade, and I wish her and her new husband all the best.

May your love be as beautiful as this:

The World According to Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

2007-08-28T08:12:00.000-07:00

Last night, Erin sat the both of us down over black bean and onion burgers (compliments of Chef Sam and very tasty) to watch Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. In doing so, she transported us to an entirely different world. In the interest of survival, we were quick to note some of the cultural peculiarities of the place:

1. The best way to decide whether or not you should get married to a guy you've just met is to say yes. If, after 20 minutes or so, you don't feel like ralphing, you're good to go.

2. Millie does not play. If she would like to wash your underwear, you'd better hand over your underwear.

3. The boys with both the brightest outfits and hair are definitely the most desirable, despite whatever strange backwoods customs they have.

4. Fightin's no good for courtin'.

5. Barn-raising is both a competitive and dangerous sport. We're not sure if anyone actually ends up with a barn.

6. If the Romans did it, it's clearly a great idea. That is, until your wife finds out.

7. If you hear a cat meowing outside, do not investigate unless you would like to have a sack thrown over your head while you are hauled off to a remote cabin in the mountains. (We will not judge if that's what you would like.)

8. When you get married in June, you're always a bride. That may not seem logically possible, but it's totally true.

9. Winter lasts 9 months. No, seriously.

10. 1 baby divided by 7 women equals 6 shotgun weddings.

In the end it seemed like a happy place, if more than usually scary.

Previously on "Footballers' Wive$"...

2007-08-14T10:36:00.000-07:00

...Colum accidentally decked Shannon in a fit of jealous rage. A social critic slashed Liberty's face. Lucy wanted to know if her unborn child were black or white. And Roger's murderer was just about to give Tanya Turner a line of poisoned cocaine.

Want to know what happens next? So would I.

"Footballers' Wive$" ended on an abrupt note last year. Erin, Stephanie, and I searched message boards on IMDb and the BBC America webpage. We found that many fans of the show blame the crappaliciousness of the spinoff, "Footballers' Wive$: Overtime," for the cancellation. Also, Zoe Lucker, who played the superawesome Tanya Turner, was reluctant to continue the role.

I suppose I understand. The Point of Babette has lost beloved shows before. We're no strangers to this kind of heartache. In fact, let's think of this as an opportunity to let our imaginations explore all the possibilities in store for our favorite troupe of rich tramps:

1. Not only is Liberty's face ruined, but she learns she has a calcium deficiency. Her backbone curves, and she lives the rest of her days as the hunchback at Westminster Abbey.

2. Who the baby daddy? Both Tremaine and Bruno become daddies when Lucy gives birth to one brown baby and one pale baby. In a battle for Lucy's honor, Tremaine and Bruno decide to go "buck wild" on each other and fight while wearing antlers.

3. Colum decides to beg Shannon's forgiveness for the rest of his life, especially since his fist ruined her rhinoplasty. Shannon grows cold and will only speak to her child-lover when he brings her a new pair of hot pants with sequins.

4. Joan Collins. That's all. More Joan Collins in this imaginary future of "Footballers' Wive$." In fact, Joan Collins for President.

5. Roger's murderer offers Tanya that line of poisoned cocaine, and she does it. Nothing happens because... wait for it... it's a robot-Tanya... oh, there's more... built by Joan Collins. The real Tanya Turner is raising an army of Brazilian love slaves who are interested in nothing but football and buying her diamonds. Oh, she has something for Earls Park upon her triumphant return.

R.I.P., "Footballers Wive$." We hardly knew ye... or how low you could stoop for ratings.

The Mysterious Miss S

2007-07-31T06:50:00.000-07:00

Sam returns to Greensboro today. The Prodigal has been rather incommunicado during her stint in Ohio. Which is pretty suspicious right? Just exactly what has she been up to? Here are my top 10 guesses:

1. Full body tattoo.

2. Joined a local "commune" where the proceeds from the sale of her worldly possessions finances her lifetime supply of special kool-aid.

3. Tried out for a TV dance contest, got paired with a surly guy from the other side of the tracks, had to keep everything from her disapproving army dad, but eventually won the contest, the guy and got her dad off her back. All while wearing a cute Catholic school girl outfit.

4. Got involved in a Hello Kitty waffle iron smuggling ring, was busted by Federal authorities and forced to become a spy within the group--which eventually led to the downfall of the whole enterprise.

5. Became a Rasputina groupie.

6. Was shot on the day of her wedding rehersal, went into a coma only to wake up some time later ready to kill a lot of people. With a big sword. While wearing yellow.

7. Became so frustrated with her hair that she joined a convent with particularly fetching habits. At first the straight-laced Mother Superior had her do chores, but eventually she decided to put Sam to work as the choir director. The choir became a huge hit after Sam mixed a little rock and roll into the regular hymns, which was great until her mobster boyfriend got wind of it. Um, did I mention the mobster boyfriend?

8. Became the newest recruit in the French Foreign Legion.

9. Was arrested outside the house of one Trey Parker. Mrs. Parker alledged that Sam had been trying to scale the garden wall while singing a modified version of "Kyle's Mom's a Bitch" wherein she replaced "Kyle's Mom" with "Trey's Wife".

10. Engaged in a marathon 2-week WriterFight tournament. Upon winning the grand prize, she collapsed from dehydration and fatigue, her last discernable words being, "Suck on that, Hunter S. Thompson!"

Well, those are my guesses. What do you guys think?

Book Divorce

2007-07-17T10:15:00.000-07:00

I'll stay with a bad book. Like any participant in an ill-fated relationship, I linger to the very end, wondering why the two of us just can't make it work and get along. I imagine my patience will make the text stop hurting my feelings and forgetting our anniversary. This patience, however, could spell my downfall as a reader. While I wait up for my bad lover of a book to come home, all the good books--the ones that would treat me right--pass me by.

Earlier this summer, I entered a doomed relationship with Isabel Allende's Zorro. Allende's work and I have gotten along well in the past. House of the Spirits holds steady on my top ten list of favorite books. And even though I've never seen an episode of "Zorro" or any of the movies, I committed to the text of Zorro. It took me over two weeks to break out of this monotonous relationship, and I had to worm my way out of it with some time-honored cliches: "It's not you, baby, it's me. Maybe we should read other people."

Then I met Elizabeth Kostova's The Historian. It was a whirlwind courtship. The book promised me a fresh perspective on that mysterious stranger, Dracula. And in the beginning, this text was as authoritative as a warm hand on the small of my back. I trusted it, and we were married by page 150 (out of 642).

And then I noticed a few unsettling details. The book claimed to contain many perspectives, but the narrative droned in the same tone. It didn't matter if the narrator was an 18-year-old girl or her vampire-hunting mother.

I let that slide.

And then the delicious tension that kept us up all night in that beginning began to melt. I asked myself, Would a person who'd been kidnapped by the Dark Master really write a 60-page letter to his daughter explaining how it happened... in the time that it was happening? No, it wouldn't happen that way.

I pretended for a long time that nothing was wrong. SPOILER ALERT: I finally reached my limit when our heroes encounter Dracula in his lair. Throughout the novel, the world's most famous vampire sent minions to kill, maim, and destroy everything surrounding the lives of our protagonists, and you know why? I'll tell you why: he needed a professor to catalogue his collection of books... forever!

Really, The Historian? Really?

I am ashamed to say I actually finished this novel, even when it was clear there was no helping it or the relationship we'd built together. I'd like to believe I'll never do this again, but what can I say? I'm unlucky in love.

Things That Are Working for Me Right Now

2007-07-02T06:48:00.000-07:00

1. Battlestar Galactica. Erin and I are currently ensconced in the second season of the new series on DVD, and it's pretty awesome. In particular, I am appreciating the batshit Dr. Gaius Baltar and somewhat violent Cylon fantasy girl.

2. New clothes from New York & Co. I am so pretty today.

3. The High Point, NC greenway. Erin, Brit and I walked almost its entirety yesterday. It's a good time.

4. Black Sheep. Beware pissed off, genetically-altered, man-eating sheep. There is no end to the funny.

5. $10 shoes from Rack Room Shoes. My feet are also pretty. And economical.

6. Episodes of Supernatural on DVD and online. I watched a featurette where they described it as Han Solo and Luke Skywalker on an American roadtrip dealing with local urban legends. Which pretty much explains my affection for it.

7. Astacat cuddles in the morning. They are doubly effective for waking me up and making me want to stay in bed.

8. The Mint Museums in Charlotte. They're not about what you put in your tea, but they are full of some fairly interesting pieces of art and design. And on Saturday, we got into both free. Plus there was free lemonade and cookies.

Hollywood Travel Guide

2007-06-21T06:34:00.000-07:00

New obsession: travel.

One day I realized I'd traveled no further than 876 miles away from my hometown of Goldsboro, NC. And according to my schooling, the world's diameter is a greater than 876 miles.

I need to go somewhere. I've interviewed friends who have traveled to Canada, Mexico, Spain, Portugal, Norway, England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Belgium, the Czech Republic, Benin, Micronesia, Costa Rica, Ghana... but that's not enough. I need the Hollywood Travel Guide.

--Hash brownies are legal in Amsterdam, and Italian guys are creepy. I should also avoid Lucy Lawless at all costs. (Eurotrip)

--If I run out of money and credit in France, I can become a showgirl without the benefit of a work permit. (Gentlemen Prefer Blondes)

--I can bring an edged weapon onto the plane from Japan to the U.S. when it's time to smite my enemies. Further, Japanese law allows me to murder the Crazy 88 without fear of an arrest. (Kill Bill)

--I'm not sure exactly where I can find the "Canyon of the Crescent Moon," but I have to get there before the Nazis find the Holy Grail and unleash an army of darkness on the world as we know it. (Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade)

--Zombies are prevalent in England. I should make sure I get the proper immunization before I visit Buckingham Palace. (Shaun of the Dead, Twenty Eight Days Later, Twenty Eight Weeks Later)

--And vampires party in France. (Bloody Mallory)

--And genetically altered killer sheep run rampant in New Zealand. (Black Sheep)

--For travel in the Depression era U.S., I should be prepared to eat raw carrots for breakfast and share a motel room with Clark Gable. Times are tough. (It Happened One Night)

--I should travel to Argentina and take up with an illegal casino owner in order to escape my hot-tempered ex-boyfriend. Except not. (Gilda)

--Taye Diggs is waiting for me in Jamaica if I haven't found a boyfriend by the time I'm 40. (How Stella Got Her Groove Back)

So, I guess I need save up, pack a sword and a sequined gown for my show-stopping number, and get ready for my international adventure...

On Notice! Part 2

2007-06-12T11:46:00.000-07:00

Eulogy for the Recently Cancelled

2007-05-23T08:24:00.000-07:00

The last two Tuesdays have been teary nights for me. I've had to say goodbye to two of my favorite shows, Gilmore Girls and Veronica Mars. My weeknight of witty women is no more.

For Gilmore Girls, my tears were all nostalgic and happy to see it go out well after a disappointing few seasons that I like to call Those Blighted by Logan Huntzberger, That Smug Ridiculous Frat Boy Who Somehow Managed to Become Rory's One True Love by the Power of Persistence. It's a long title, but appropriate, I think you'll find.

For Veronica Mars, I was sad. It ended on a sad episode that was good, but not intended to be the series finale because the CW is horrible and would rather be known as the Pussycat Dolls network than be in any way associated with quality television.

So, yeah. It's hard out there for a TV lover. You take a chance on a show, get to liking it, start to depend on it to shape your weeknights and then find out that, just because you're in a minority, you don't get to have it anymore. You know, or, the show has been on since you were in college (undergrad, not grad), and it needs to be put down before any incidences with sharks and waterskis.

Regardless, you end up sniffling at your TV set, a generally embarrassing proposition. I don't love any show unconditionally, but I loved these enough to mourn their passing, even after a fairly rough season for both. What was there to love? What is there to miss? Well, I'll tell you.

First, Gilmore Girls:

1. The quirky dialogue on Gilmore Girls emulated the speed and wit of my favorite 1930s comedies. If anyone has ever given Rosalind Russell a run for her money as the premiere fast-talking dame, it was Lauren Graham.

2. Rory reminded me of me when I was sixteen, always carting around a huge book and academically serious. It was nice to see a smart teenager on TV, someone who was aiming high and working hard to get there. (Of course, you could argue that Willow from BtVS came first, but when I first started watching GG, I wasn't yet all that in to Buffy.)

3. Gilmore Girls was about relationships, but very rarely did it fall into the soapy doldrums of concentrating solely on the romantic sort. One of the most consistently compelling relationships driving the show was the touchy, sometimes disastrous one between Laurelai and her mother, Emily.

4. There was one romantic relationship that fueled the series and it was expertly done for the first 5 seasons. Luke and Laurelai were constantly aware of each other but never quite connected over those seasons, building a mountain of sexual tension. When there was an actual relationship to speak of between them, the momentum of the series floundered a bit, but was brought nicely back together here at the end.

5. There were townies. There was Kirk, the odd-job guy; Taylor, the prickish "town selectman"; Miss Patty, the lascivious dance teacher; Babette and Mory, the neighbors with much cat love and a somewhat imperfect knowledge of the principles of TMI. Stars Hollow had a troubador. In fact, at one point, it had (rather contentiously) two troubadors. There was a troubador festival. The antics were always a bit crazy, but balanced out the show's more dramatic tendencies.

6. Paris Gellar. She started off at Chilton frightening all of her academic rivals into submission and ended the series by going off to scare everyone on the Indian subcontinent. You just had to appreciate a girl with drive.

7. Lauren Graham and Kelly Bishop. There are a lot of good actors out there but I've never believed that two women loved each other and just could not get along more than when these two actresses played them.

8. It was the first big break for both Jared Padalecki and Milo Ventimiglia, who have gone on to be exponentially hotter on Supernatural and Heroes, respectively. (The flip side of this distinction is that it was also the first big break for Chad Michael Murray who has gone on to be a blonde blight on society.)

9. Much has been made over the implausibility of Laurelai and Rory's relationship, but I always found it to be both entertaining and believable. You could see the parenting cogs working in Laurelai's head every time a difficult situation came up and the unique informality they had with each other made those situations much more unpredictable and therefore entertaining.

10. Finally, just like its characters, Gilmore Girls was smart. References weren't dumbed down or spelled out for slow viewers. You either got the reference and the joke or you didn't and the show plowed right on.

And now, Veronica Mars:

1. Veronica Mars, while just as witty as Gilmore Girls, took on a darker tone that emulated film noir classics. In Neptune, CA, everyone's moral compass was pointing in a southerly direction and vengeful little Veronica seemed fated for a hard-luck life.

2. It was a high school show, but the matters and manner in which they were presented were entirely adult. That made it hard to sell to people I was trying to get to watch it, but it also made it great. Murder, adultery, theft, kidnapping, rape--Veronica solved them all.

3. Veronica had great friends and she got them in great ways. Her best friend, Wallace Fennell, she met when she cut him down after he was duct-taped naked to the school flag pole. She met her Q, Mac, during her investigation of the scandals surrounding online purity tests. Veronica outed the people posting fake scores, but only later realized that Mac was the mastermind behind the test, fleecing the rich kids out of their allowances.

4. Veronica was the champion of the underprivileged with a heavy chip on her shoulder about the over. But it was never as simple as her being a little blonde Robin Hood. Her sense of fairness prevailed, even while her regard for the law remained... flexible.

5. In a similar vein, Veronica was always a bit bruised and angry, even after the turmoils of the first season. And that anger made her kind of a bad-ass, in the best sense of the word.

6. For the most part, the mysteries were great. They were well plotted and foreshadowed without being obvious. I'd usually be pretty surprised by the big revelation, especially in the season-long arcs of seasons 1 and 2. And after every long arc was resolved, I'd marvel at the feats of continuity that they'd managed.

7. The show just dripped with moral ambiguity. Good people would do things they shouldn't and bad people had moments of redemption until everyone was shaded a touch gray.

8. Logan Echolls and Eli "Weevil" Navarro were two characters who were unpredictable and whose relationships with Veronica were always in flux, dependent on recent events. It was fascinating to watch them interact, with Veronica and with each other.

9. Keith Mars. He was corny, he was lovable, he didn't let Veronica get away with deceiving him. Their spy vs spy games were fun but even more enjoyable was to watch them solve the cases and punish the guilty together. I'd have voted for him for sheriff.

10. Veronica Mars had, bar none, the best freshman season of television that I have ever seen. The Lily Kane murder case was incredibly well played out. It was personal and emotional for Veronica, which made her movements unpredictable and heart-wrenching. Everyone was a suspect and no one could be trusted. The case had everything to do with the decisions that Veronica was making in her life in the present. It was compelling stuff.

Goodbye, girly TV shows. You were too good for your network.

Everything I Need to Know about Love I Learned From...

2007-05-14T19:02:00.000-07:00

"The Notebook"

Starring Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams

1. Chicks love Walt Whitman. Quote Walt Whitman, and you're guaranteed to get the bloomers.

2. If your one true love leaves you for another man, the best way to get her back is to renovate an old house and refuse to sell it.

3. Lying in the middle of the street is romantic and not at all a way to get run over by a Model T or a tractor trailer.

4. If you're a 17-year-old girl, the best way to convince your parents that the local lumber yard worker is the man for you is to fly into a rage and scream, "But I love him! I do! I love him!" while tears stream down your face. Then your parents will take you seriously.

5. What's more, if your boyfriend gets out of line and tries to break up with you, kick his ass. He can't hit you back, and he'll be able to count the ways you love him by the bruises on his head, arms, and chest.

6. Save the sweet love-making for a rainy day. The sex can't be hot unless your outfit and hair are completely ruined.

7. Ryan Gosling should always have a beard. (And he should call me.)

8. You know it's true love when you see each other after seven years, and you're both "different"... but "the same." Ya know?

9. When you're lonely, there's always a war widow ready to ease the pain of your solitude (if you know what I mean). Don't be too nice to her, though. She's not your one true love.

10. Your attraction to clever lumber yard workers is hardly your fault. Your mother had the same problem, and your grandmother before her. It's up to you to decide if you're going to stalk him after you marry a millionaire--or live with your hot lumber yard worker for the rest of your natural life.

11. Get rid of all your platonic friends. Once you've found your true love, you don't need anybody else. The best way to get rid of your only friend is for both you to fight in World War II. He's not leading man material, so he won't survive.

12. While ducks add to the romantic boat ride, use caution when tossing those bread crumbs. Poor aim can turn this tender moment into an Alfred Hitchcock classic. Nothing ruins a sexy scene quite like killer ducks.

13. If you are beginning to suffer from dementia, spend your remaining units of brain power writing a glorified romance novel for your husband to read to you. Leave out the parts where you graduated from college, had children, and painted masterpieces. These details are but distractions from your beautiful lurve story.

14. True love is patient, and true love waits, but most of all, true love arranges a time for you to die together at the rest home.

Rise of an A-hole

2007-05-02T06:41:00.000-07:00

Jon Stewart likes to torture me.

At the end of every episode of the Daily Show, he conducts either a jovial, joke-filled interview with whatever actor has a movie coming out this week or on rare occasions he invites some obscure scholar to plug his book or he invites someone he disagrees with so that they can have an awkward, slightly antagonistic head to head while I cringe at home. Monday night was a sort of combination of the last two categories with the added punch of me realizing about a minute in that I already hated the guy.

The guy was Christopher Hitchens, there to plug his new book God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. More on that little gem later.

Why do I hate this guy? It all started here. That is, where he took it upon himself to argue that women are somehow biologically formed or sociologically conditioned to be less funny than men. His proofs are plenty sketchy, from the Stanford medical study that he misinterprets to the literary sources he quotes (all men from about 50 to 100 years ago, by the way) to his own experience of social interactions, which have to be pretty one-sided when you're such a blowhard that you can't keep quiet long enough for Jon Stewart to throw in the occasional joke. I mean, no wonder women aren't lining up to try and make him laugh.

It seems almost demeaning to actually detail and refute the claims of this article. I mean, seriously? This kind of 19th century misogyny pseudo-science article is still around and getting published in Vanity Fair?

Then I began to notice that one of my regular-read sites, Slate, has been publishing this guy. I found myself reading an article called "The You Decade" that blathered on and on about some sort of cultural shift in advertising terminology without ever coming to any sort of discernable point. This was when I recognized his name and starting wondering why this guy was so successful.

I looked him up on Wikipedia. According to that august publication, he's some sort of extremist political flip-flopper with denial issues about it. So, how did he end up on my TV, plowing over my beloved Jon Stewart?

Here's where we come back to that new "provocative" book he's shilling. It is just what I would expect him to write. Put alongside his Vanity Fair article, you can see him angling for all the attention he can get out of being contrary. From the book's cover design (with "God" uncapitalized and overshadowed by the towering capitalized "great") to his stated objective of attempting to devalue belief as a virtue, you can tell he's trying to get a rise out of the majority of the American public. I mean, what other possible motive could he have for parading around the "newly-discovered" loopholes in the Bible? Athiesm is not a novel thing. It's been around. Plenty of people who don't believe are doing exactly what plenty of people who believe are doing. That is, quietly living their lives and respecting other people's convictions without feeling the need to get in their faces with an age-old argument.

Which leads me back to my ultimate question. Who is this guy? Why is he so popular? How has he managed to invade my liberal stomping grounds with his pointless caveman campaigns? Because, you know, Jon Stewart said it best. Christopher Hitchens is an asshole.

We Need to Talk About We Need to Talk About Kevin

2007-04-14T15:24:00.000-07:00

Sam and Crystal recently made me read a book. By made me read a book, I mean that they hurried me through the book I was reading (Shalimar the Clown by Salman Rushdie) with questions about how long it would be until I started the other book and then, once I'd started this other book began demanding progress reports on it. That other book is We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver.

Today I finished it. And the first thing I said as I put it down was, "I feel harassed by this book." And that harrassment has nothing to do with my two overenthusiastic book clubbers. It has to do with the book itself.

People in fiction rarely do what you think they should do. Sam always says this to her classes. If they did what they should do, what you can see is best for them, there would be no plot. The story would not exist because, as the titular Kevin points out, nobody wants to read a book or watch a movie about someone who does what they ought to, flosses and gets an A in geometry. Still, it's rare that I'll pick up a book with things so obviously and already out of the realm of good behavior. We Need to Talk About Kevin is about a boy who commits a school shooting.

Or, really, it's about his mother. It's written from her point of view and is one of the few very successful epistolary novels that I've read. Shriver seems to make a point of avoiding the obvious heart-wrenching, the sappy tear-jerking that could have made the book a weak, ripped-from-the-headlines template for a Lifetime movie. Still, it is the book's harshness, its lack of wallowing that make it instead harrowing. Eva Katchadourian doesn't spare herself in her own portrayal. She paints her decision to have Kevin as the whim of a diletante whose reasons are couched in ideological drivel. But this kind of enthusiasm for her son is wiped away soon after his birth, and she's forced to become a sort of 20th century Cassandra in the face of her husband's obstinate obliviousness about their son's lack of affect.

And that may be the most horrifying thing about what I can only label a horror novel. From his birth, Kevin is uninterested in everything. Shriver crafts a caustic and infuriating tale of a mother striving to punish for his misdeeds a child who has no attachment to anything. Who will not admit to liking anything in particular. Who has no favorite toy. No favorite TV show. Who will not eat in sight because he dislikes having anyone witness the fact that he needs to do so. I don't think I've ever quite realized how absolutely scary a sociopath is.

But I guess the part that feels most like harrassment is the tight arc of the plot. From the minute you begin the book, no tangent or memory or prison visiting room scene strays far from Kevin's magnum opus, Thursday. By the time you get there, inevitability is almost a tangible thing. And yet there are surprises. That sense of foreboding throughout the book is not just rewarded by the things you are certain are coming.

And I guess that is my recommendation for this book. Having finished it feels like what I imagine emerging from a sensory deprivation room must feel like. It is gripping and insightful. Shriver's discussion of Americanism takes on the lofty liberal pose of detachment and delves into questions of why these things happen and why they happen here. It is a great book and like most great books is both hard to read and hard to put down.

I guess I should say thanks to Sam and Crystal. Thanks a lot.

Place Your Bets...

2007-04-13T14:26:00.000-07:00

Through some bizarre twist of fate, I agreed to be a bridesmaid twice in the month of September. The phrase always a bridesmaid, never a bride may have set up shop in the back of my mind, but I am not disheartened.

I see this as an opportunity. Babetteers, welcome to...

DRESS WAR: SEPTEMBER SHOWDOWN

Do not underestimate either of these dresses. I will be filling them out quite nicely. It's up to you to determine which one will win in this no-holds-barred bridesmaid dress beatdown. The winning dress will 1) inspire cute groomsmen to give me their phone numbers, 2) obscure how much I sweat when I'm dancing at the reception, and 3) allow itself to be recycled for another formal occasion. Start placing your bets now. I'll announce the winner at the end of September 2007...

Contender #1: Money Money

Strengths: resistant to flame; good at math; kind to animals; diplomatic; well-spoken; demonstrates a knowledge of fine wines; independently wealthy; endows wearer with powers of telekinesis, telepathy, and pastry-making

Weaknesses: asthmatic; bad at grammar; cannot hold liquor; never carries enough cash for a decent tip; cannot speak Urdu; does not endow wearer with powers of flirtation or the ability to fly

Contender #2: The Marine Dream

Strengths: strong knees; can double as life raft; feminist; can run to speeds of up to 35 mph; speed-reading; three-time national spelling-bee winner; endows wearer with the ability to perform open-heart surgery with a toothpick

Weaknesses: miserly; made completely of granulated sugar; passionately opposes theory of evolution; fails to vote in the presidential elections; does not endow wearer with the power to fill awkward silences or the ability to transform water into wine

Solo

2007-04-07T17:37:00.000-07:00

I can't say I wasn't a little pleased when Stephanie told me she was going out of town for the Easter holiday. You see, Babetteers, I'm a loner... a rebel. I looked forward to the time I would spend alone being superbadass and cool.

And like any superbadass rebel, I made a list of things to do in my roommate's absence. What could I do that would irritate her if I did it in her presence? What could I do to make her jealous?

1. Let the cat do whatever he wants to do.
2. Watch horror movies and stand-up comedy in the living room.
3. Eat weird vegetarian food for both lunch and dinner.
4. Turn on all the lamps in the apartment.
5. Refuse to wear pants.
6. Throw a huge party.
7. Eat the rest of the Girl Scout cookies.

I tell you, friends, that list is the blueprint for mayhem, mayhem, mayhem with a dash of debauchery. And you would think this Saturday night would find me lying in a pile of cookie crumbs and soy chunks while strangers dance to the opening music to Wanda Sykes' stand-up routine.

And you'd be thinking wrong. Here's how my weekend of rebellion and badassery is shaping up:

1. The cat already does what he wants--and he wants to shred my couch with his claws.

2. I rented "The Return" with Sarah Michelle Gellar, and my spine failed to be tingled, and my bumps were never goosed. Further, I think Stephanie would have enjoyed the Chappelle routine. I'll return it after she gets back.

3. I haven't had the time or energy to stop by the grocery store, so I've been eating leftover honey chicken and cold turkey loaf.

4. The light hurts my eyes.

5. The unexpected temperature drop makes it less than comfy to stroll around the house without my thickest pair of pajama pants on.

6. I've had one guest. She fell asleep on the couch.

7. And after eating all that honey chicken, I barely have tummy room for more than two cookies.

So, maybe I'm not really a loner. Perhaps I even miss the other half of the Point of Babette. That doesn't make me any less superbadass and cool. It just means Stephanie needs to come home before I make her cat re-upholster my couch.

Check it out:

2007-03-25T09:53:00.000-07:00

I have a poem up at Sinkreview.

Too Many Husbands?

2007-03-18T13:12:00.000-07:00

The Point of Babette likes to kick it old school. Word.

Last night, Stephanie suggested we watch "Too Many Husbands," starring Jean Arthur as Vicky Lowndes. In this 1940 comedy, a man is lost at sea for a year. When he returns, he discovers his wife--believing him dead--has married his best friend. Naturally, hijinks ensue. Poor Vicky can't decide which husband she loves more--and the movie pretty much ends on that note. She dances her nights away with two men who are locked in a competition for her affection.

Vicky Lowndes is my hero.

Her pioneering attitude toward matrimony has me thinking about the husbands I'd like to have competing for my attention:

Trey Parker & Matt Stone: I imagine if I were Mrs. Parker-Stone, Trey would try to impress me with the innovative ideas he has for "South Park" episodes and boundary-pushing films while Matt Stone would make me muffins because he knows "chicks dig guys who can cook." (He is not wrong.)

Jay-Z & Mos Def: As Mrs. Z-Def, I would appreciate Jigga's ability to navigate the corporate world, but I'd "keep it real" with Mos Def. Oh, and we wouldn't sit down for dinner. Every meal is a free-style session. May the man who spits the hottest fire win.

Rivers Cuomo (Weezer) & Melora Creager (Rasputina): How can Melora Creager be my husband? Um, have you seen her work the cello? As Mrs. Cuomo-Creager, I could witness the mysterious and magical process of creating killer music. Let's take a moment to imagine what a Weezer-Rasputina collaboration would sound like... That's right: awesome. And that sound would be a direct product of our three-way love.

William Goldman (The Princess Bride) & Vladimir Nabokov (Lolita): And now you're wondering how I can be married to 1) a dead guy and 2) a guy who is super-old. No one ever accused Mrs. Goldman-Nabokov of being shallow. And my dear Mr. Goldman always said, "Death cannot stop true love; it can only delay it for a while." How romantic--that means I'll always have time to hunt butterlies with Vladimir while Bill works on another Academy-award winning screenplay.

Johnny Depp & Jake Gyllenhaal: Me... Mrs. Depp-Gyllenhaal... my husbands... too... sexy... can't function... [Note: Cat, I know how you feel about my other husband in this scenario, and I only have one thing to say to you: "No." Stay away from my man; I will fight.]

As you can see, having two husbands is totally sweet. As with wine and chocolate, one husband can bring out the flavor of the other--and absolutely nothing could possibly go wrong...

Everything I Need to Know I Learned From Heroes

2007-03-06T08:29:00.000-08:00

If you haven't been watching Heroes, I feel sorry for you.

Not only are you missing out on a really fun (and recently awesome) show, but you are also disregarding all the valuable life lessons to be learned therein. If you're wondering how to survive in life, perhaps even how to get ahead as though you were a person who was genetically evolved past the rest of humanity, read on, friend.

1) Don't let death stop you. If you find yourself splayed out on an autopsy table with your ribs taking in some fresh air, don't despair! Just close yourself back up, grab a lab coat and get on with your life. And if that life includes tormenting your attempted rapist and actual murderer, so much the better!

2) Play to your strengths. So you're invisible. Sure, you could whine about how nobody can see you and you feel so insignificant. But that would be lame. Instead, take advantage of the fact that you can live off the fat of the land, consequence-free. Whether you aspire to be an excellent purse-snatcher or to...raise pidgeons on a roof, you should go right ahead.

3) Drugs are good. If you know you can't control your murderous alter-ego or you desperately need to sedate a brain-eating murderous psychopath or you just shot your ex-girlfriend and you need to paint the future, brother, break out the tourniquet.

4) It's better to be a liar than to be crazy. If you haven't been altogether subtle about your new mind-reading and your big mouth plus the fact that you punched that guy sleeping with your wife have landed you in a disciplinary meeting, retract everything. Sure, you'll get suspended, but you won't get an all-expenses-paid vacation in a padded cell.

5) Science is bad for your health. Why? It's very distracting. It makes you concentrate on it and not the fact that large creepy dude you just met is, in actuality, a brain-eating murderous psychopath. It will also distract you at crucial moments, such as when he is about to turn into a brain-eating murderous psychopath just so he can be special or when he is about to stop that handy brain-numbing IV drip you put on him so he wouldn't be able to kill you with his mind. I'm just saying: Science--do yourself a favor and give it a rest.

6) Get a haircut. If you're not careful, somebody is going to do it for you. And they just might take a hunk of your brain with it.

7) Your kid? Knows what you're doing. Whether it's running an internet stripping site out of the garage or blackmailing her other biological parent for loads of money or working at what we can all agree is not a paper company, your kid is on to you.

8) You can't change the future. You can paint it. You can dream about it. You can visit it. You can prepare for it. You can whine about how you're gonna blow up. But you can't change it.

9) It helps to be pragmatic. If you have to punch a girl, punch a girl. If you have to eat brains to get superpowers, eat brains. If you have to throw a dude off a tall building so he'll stop whining at you (and learn how to fly), throw a dude off a tall building.

10) Product placement is for chumps. Product destiny is the new hotness.

Bumming a Dime

2007-02-22T16:09:00.000-08:00

One evening, my sister and I watched Isabella Rosselini charm her way past some armed guards on an episode of "Alias." My sister frowned, and I asked her what was wrong. "Nothing's wrong," she said. "It's just... she's not that fine. And everybody's falling all over her like she's just so sexy." I agreed. My sister continued, "She's a fake dime piece."

That conversation took place over two years ago, and the term "fake dime piece" has become a household word at the Point of Babette. As we hipsters know, a "dime piece," is an exceptionally attractive person--a perfect 10. A fake dime piece, however, has this mysterious something that makes him or her appear exceptionally attractive.

We can't be sure what that mysterious something is. I think it's different for every fake dime piece out there. For example...

Keira Knightley does hold her own in movies like "Bend It Like Beckham" and "Pirates of the Caribbean," but I don't understand why it's taking the world so long to realize how angular her entire body is. When she isn't too thin, she's too plain. I could pass her on the street and not know what I've done.

Jamie Foxx--and this pains me to say--is not terribly attractive. He has small eyes and worn skin. During a viewing of "Dreamgirls" my sister wondered why he looked older than Eddie Murphy in some scenes. He is a fake dime piece, friends. Why haven't you noticed? He's an Academy Award-winning actor with a sharp sense of humor and a silky-smooth singing voice. It took me a while to notice, too.

Uma Thurman causes men to battle bumblebees and crash their bikes in the movie "The Truth About Cats and Dogs." Stephanie and I had a difficult time, however, understanding how her "beauty" overshadowed Janeane Garofalo's. Yes, she's leggy, and she's blonde, and she knows how to wield a sword--but her eyes are all bulbous. And she has man hands.

Josh Holloway. Sorry, "Lost" fans. Sawyer's head is too small for his body. Seriously--he's like that safari hunter waiting in the underworld social worker's office at the end of "Beetlejuice." Not hot.

Cameron Diaz's head always reminds me a little of pancakes. No, there isn't a way to explain that. That's all I have. Like Uma Thurman, her blonde hair and long legs make it easy for the unattentive viewer to call her a dime piece. It also doesn't hurt that she's willing to play the kind of charming and hot tomboy the fellas are into these days. But let's be honest. If Justin Timberlake did, in fact, dump her for Jessica Biel--could you blame him?

Chad Michael Murray is in permanent pout mode. I imagine he'll still have angst-face well into his 30s and 40s. Perhaps it's the often frosted hair and that studied nonchalance that make the girls swoon, but there's not much else there. There's a vacuum behind those eyes.

Virginia Madsen, according to Stephanie, wasn't worth Paul Giamatti's attention in "Sideways." Yes, that's harsh, but maybe she has a point there. The skin of her face seems so... washed out. And it might be just us, but she's so smug. She floated around "Prairie Home Companion" with an air of superiority--and, yes, we know she was an angel of death--but did she have to be so smarmy about it? We later realized--that's just her face.

That's only a handful of fake dime pieces. I'm sure you could think of more. And it's not that we don't appreciate quirky, unconventional beauty in the media. Often, fake dime pieces remind us of how lovely we all are.

However, we can't help wondering if it's realistic for a cadre of 30-something military beefcakes to want to bang Isabella Rosselini?

"Someone Stop Me; O Someone Please, Just Try and Stop Me!"

2007-02-10T12:53:00.000-08:00

Alright.

My stalking of Cary Grant has reached a new level.

After spending some time reading Fast-Talking Dames by Maria DiBattista and realizing just how many of those Cary Grant has played opposite, I've started combing the TCM listing for his movies and taking pains to record them. Because our VCR stubbornly refuses to do any sort of timed recording, I've more than once woken up at 4AM on a weeknight just to press record.

These are not the usual Cary Grant movies. If they were, I'd already have them. Right now My Favorite Wife, Indiscreet, Charade, Bringing Up Baby, I Was A Male War Bride, That Touch of Mink, Amazing Adventure and His Girl Friday already have cozy places in my movie collection. These are movies that have maybe seen the beaten path, but have never had the opportunity to set up shop there.

My first get was, along with those that immediately followed it, part of a Cary Grant birthday celebration. Suzy is a Jean Harlow vehicle set during WWII. Cary Grant is only in the second half of the movie as her French fighter-pilot husband. He's a cad, cavorting with other women, one of whom happens to be a German spy. It's...not a very good movie and Jean Harlow is neither fast-talking nor particularly endearing. So it's kind of a relief when Cary bites it at the end--leaving Harlow to return to her Irish first husband (don't ask).

Sylvia Scarlett was the first pairing of Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant. And we're all very lucky that practice makes perfect. Hepburn plays a girl who dresses up as a boy for most of the movie, and her portrayal is as convincing as it is annoying. Which is to say a lot, on both counts. And then there's the fact that she falls for some asshole artist instead of Cary. I cannot recommend it.

The Toast of New York felt like it lasted forever. A period piece about profiteering after Civil War. The leading lady had a weird sort of frog voice and yet Cary still had to pretend to want to marry her. Not my favorite.

In Mr. Lucky, Cary is a no-good gambler who falls in love and goes good. Alright, but a little too serious about the morality of stealing from a charity meant for war relief to be an enjoyable comedy.

Before they were in An Affair to Remember, Deborah Kerr and Cary Grant teamed up for Dream Wife. Their chemistry makes it watchable, but the '50s depiction of Middle Eastern dignitaries limits the appeal.

The last movie they showed on his birthday was To Catch a Thief. Sure there's Cary and Alfred Hitchcock working for it, but there's also Grace Kelly--all judgmental and blonde and annoying.

There are two other movies I managed to record in my recent Grant-athon. I had seen both already, and that pretty much sealed my need to have copies. The first, Walk Don't Run, I had Sam record for me while I was at work. It's his last movie and has to be the first time in about 25 years that he doesn't get the girl. Instead he (quite hilariously) matchmakes his two Tokyo roommates during the Olympics. It's a remake of another great movie I recently managed to record called The More the Merrier.

The last movie I managed to get was one that aired at 4AM. It's a much more successful pairing of Cary with Katherine Hepburn called Holiday. In it, they talk a lot about freedom from the grind of the rat race and material possessions then follow it up with some acrobatics. For that, the loss of sleep is worth it.

How to Celebrate MLK, Jr. Day

2007-01-20T11:42:00.000-08:00

After watching last night's episode of "Trading Spouses," I realized that many Americans are not only unaware of the struggle for racial equality, but they are also undoubtedly celebrating the birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. incorrectly. Even Google gave the holiday lackluster recognition with an image of kids of all races, colors, and creeds jumping rope together on their home page. Weak.

No worries, though. I offer you a few tips for celebrating everyone's favorite off-day. You're welcome:

*Take a black person to the zoo. This way of celebrating is tried and true. Think of how delighted your favorite black person will be when you show her where all the lions, tigers, and bears live. However, you have to make sure you bundle up your black person so she can keep warm in the January chill. NOTE: You can also take your black friend to a state park or a museum!

*Listen to hip-hop. According Margaret "Jeebus Lady" Perrin, Mariah Carey and Eminem are delightful hip-hop artists. Undoubtedly, their work bridges the gap between the races.

*Pretend you celebrated Kwanzaa this year. Make it a point to start dismantling your candelabra the moment your black friend comes to visit. Say things like, "Yeah, how about that Umoja, right?" If you're lucky, you'll make your black friend ashamed he didn't bother celebrating his own holiday.

*Purchase a soul-food cookbook. You may never crack the spine, but you should always have this text resting on your counter as if you were just about to cook some black-eyed peas and chopped barbecue.

*Remind an unfamiliar black person that one of your best friends is black. Say this with conviction. Make your voice waver as if you're on the verge of tears. If you're older, you might want to tell this unfamiliar black person about your nanny, the old black woman you treated like a member of your own family. NOTE: Make sure you also say you've always believed that everyone should be treated "equal." Don't worry about explaining what "equality" means.

*Be colorblind. Take your cue from heroes like "Stephen Colbert" and Michael from "The Office" and refuse to notice the color of anyone's skin. Race, after all, has nothing to do with class or cultural background. It's all about pigmentation, and the best kinds of people are not aware of something so unimportant. NOTE: For optimal results, consider gouging out your eyes. That way, everyone's dark.

Remember, friends, this is a celebration of the life of the man who taught us about having dreams where all of us can hold hands and jump rope and be excellent to each other, despite the inconvenience of our differing skin tones. So, go out there and ignore racial inequality with all your might!

This Year I'm Going to Camp

2007-01-05T05:56:00.000-08:00

It's a whole new year and after watching a little Footballer$' Wives, I've decided our lives are not nearly dramatic enough. So, here's my list of resolutions for 2007:

1. Must start being omnisexual (i.e. boinking anything that moves or looks like it might move).

2. Alcohol is liquid, just like water. Should start drinking it as such.

3. Secret baby? Yes, indeed!

4. Start using all that extra time I have to stalk some dude. Preferably, a guy who is kind of an asshole.

5. No woman is refined without six-inch fingernails. Need to get some.

6. Convince some old guy who I have previously beat into a coma that we were having an affair pre-coma--without actually having any sex with him. Unless things get desperate.

7. Have a lavish wedding during which my husband-to-be rides in on a horse and "wakes" me with a kiss, despite having my breasts go up in flames at my bachelorette party.

8. Get myself a hot Italian Stallion for extramarital fun while my daughter is being held by kidnappers.

Yes, 2007 is going to be one dramatic year here at The Point of Babette. I can't wait.

OHM #4: Upgrade? Really?

2006-12-27T14:23:00.000-08:00

Here's the thing, Beyonce.

I've been reading a lot of women's magazines lately. To clarify for the Babetteers who know me well, I don't mean Ms. or Bitch magazine, but Glamour and Cosmopolitan. I now know the 30 Things Every Woman Should Know About Sex Before She's 30, as well as how to apply eye make-up for an evening out on the town. I also know, Beyonce, that you are well-loved by the editors of these magazines. You've got "star-style," which I suppose means you can get away with wearing a satin mini-dress that just barely covers your assets (if you know what I mean--and I think you do).

Listen: I am no hater. Okay, I am a hater, but I don't begrudge you for knowing how to style your hair or design your own clothing. I can even swallow the fact that I worked my way through college and graduate school, all so I can work a thankless job for minor ducats, but you have millions of dollars because you can hum a few bars while simultaneously shaking your well-toned ass. No, I'm not bitter about that at all.

I'm writing this hate mail because I don't think you're being particularly responsible about the message you're sending your largely female audience. Let's take a look at some of the lyrics you wrote, shall we?

I promise you (Promise you)/I'll keep myself up (Oh)/Remain the same chick (Yeah)/You fell in love with (Yeah)/I'll keep it tight, I'll keep my figure right/I'll keep my hair fixed, keep rocking the hottest outfits/When you come home late tap me on my shoulder, I'll roll over/Baby I heard you, I'm here to serve you.

Really? How about these lyrics?

I know it ain't easy, easy loving me/ I appreciate the love and dedication from you to me/ Later on in my destiny I see myself having your child I see myself being your wife and I see my whole future in your eyes.

No, really? I don't know if anyone told you this, Beyonce, but there was a women's movement a few years back. Oh, it was a good time. A whole bunch of us got together and started defining ourselves outside of our roles as wives and mothers. There was a cheese plate--wish you could have made it. And it's not that I have a problem with marriage or motherhood. I fully intend(ed) to marry Trey Parker, Jake Gyllenhaal, and/or Mos Def and have the funniest, indie-est, free-stylin'est and most adorable babies on the planet.

However, I see my future when I look into my own eyes--and if I'm "keeping my figure right," it's because I don't like feeling winded when I climb the stairs.

You're beautiful. You can sing and kinda dance. And you're smart enough to do business. Now, stop pretending you're some dude's arm and eye candy--and encouraging us to do the same.

Yours,
Sam

Get Your Lighters Ready...

2006-12-05T18:41:00.000-08:00

My friend, rockstarEric, informed me that he and his fellow bandmates maintain a spreadsheet of potential band names, in the event of a band name emergency. While Stephanie and I have limited musical abilities, we are still fully capable of creating a list of potential band names--and sounds.

The Do That Girls
Sam: Vocals and Guitar
Stephanie: Vocals and Drums

This is our most prolific band, with five albums in its catalog. The Do That Girls are the White Stripes of kitsch--unless you happen to believe the White Stripes are the White Stripes of kitsch. Ask yourself, though: Did the White Stripes have an album completely dedicated to the legend of Marilyn Monroe? There you go.

Download: "Fire, Fire, Fire (The Jackie O Song)"

Dunne Deal
Sam: Vocals and Piano
Stephanie: Vocals and Harmonica

The Dunne Deal covers standards from the 1940s and 1950s. Remember the Andrews sisters? The Dunne Deal have them beat! Our first--and only--album includes our rendition of the opening theme from "My Favorite Wife"--with lyrics.

Download: "Santa Baby"

Dixie Cousins
Sam: Washboard and Harmonica
Stephanie: Vocals and Banjo

This traveling two-woman act wows the crowds in the toughest saloons in the Old West. While our sound is innovative, to say the least, we are more famous for stealing cowboys' hearts--and leaving them high and dry by the wayside.

Download: "Brisco and Bowler"

Bradstreet
Sam: Vocals
Stephanie: Vocals and Choreography
Crystal: Vocals

No one thought we could do it, but we found a way to give the poetry of Anne Bradstreet a fresh, pop sound. "The Flesh and the Spirit" flew off the shelves--and teenagers everywhere made perfect scores on the English AP exams.

Download: "Upon Some Distemper of Body" (Neptunes Remix)

Great Scott
Sam: Vocals and Electric Guitar
Stephanie: Keyboard and Woodblock
Michelle: Flute

We returned to the 80s with this EP. Stephanie wasn't too keen on our synthesized sound and vapid lyrics. We aimed to be the next Simple Minds--and we were all too successful.

Download: "(This Is) Heavy"

Big Damn Heroes
Sam: Drums and Mandolin
Stephanie: Vocals and Triangle
Heather: Guitar and Dog Whistle

The present wasn't quite ready for our musical vision of the future. Our rock opera, "Trash," won critical acclaim, but our handful of fans were bewildered by the way our heroes' journey flashed back and forth in time. "Shindig" fared better with the masses, but we didn't think the songs on that album "gelled." You be the judge.

Download: "Going Mad (This Is What It Feels Like)"

Intercostal Clavicle
Sam: Pots, Pans, and Wooden Spoon
Stephanie: Vocals and Waterglasses
Erika: Leopard Call

Intercostal Clavicle never released a full-length album. Our fans followed us from town to town in stolen cars (with stolen golfballs in the trunk). Our final show took place in front of the New York Natural History Museum. Our zany sound drove all the dogs wild. We were subsequently arrested.

Download: "The Best Day of My Life"

The Unsuspected Depths of CK Dexter Haven
Sam: Cello
Stephanie: Vocals and Guitar
Debra: Spoons

Our Harvard and Yale fans called us "erudite" and "refreshing," and we enjoyed sipping mojitos between our country club sets. Although we performed in precious jewels and evening wear, we always managed to slip about three hard rock songs into our set. We recorded three albums before Debra ran off to explore the continents. All of them.

Download: "True Love the Second"

Lizzie with the Fine Eyes
Sam: Drums
Stephanie: Vocals and Guitar
Crystal: Bass
Laura: Piano

Despite the empire waist gowns and pantalets, we still delivered our hardest sound when we were "Lizzie." Many of our fans wondered if we were making fun of them. We were coy then, but now that we have disbanded--yes, we were.

Download: "Performed Strangers"

Farmer Extremely Unhelpful
Sam: Vocals and Guitar
Stephanie: Drums
William: Trombone

We played most of our sets in the garage, away from prying eyes. At the end of every performance, I stood on Stephanie's drums and declared myself "strongest man in the world."

Download: "Your Favorite Song"

Why a Duck
Sam: Bicycle Horn and Harp
Stephanie: Guitar and Piano
Erika: Vocals

I refused to speak on stage, while Stephanie rattled off jokes in an Italian accent between songs. Erika's rapid-fire singing delighted live audiences--but critics couldn't seem to grasp our sound. After all, sometimes we paused for classical interludes on the harp, and other times we banged out rowdy bar songs on the piano. Most performances culminated in a slapstick floorshow.

Download: "Upstairs, No Downstairs (Fight!)"

Yes!!

2006-11-29T13:32:00.000-08:00

I'm being published!

(Again.)

Please look out for the new issue of LUNGFULL! (#15).

OLL #9: This Chick Is a Sick Individual

2006-11-20T06:09:00.000-08:00

Dear Missy Elliot,

You're kind of my hero.

Right now, no song makes me want to stand up and dance in my cubicle to the astonishment/amusement of my coworkers and passing students like "We Run This." I love the beat, the marching band chords in the background, the more than slightly raunchy lyrics. On Saturday, I went hiking and found a little booty-shakin' energy at the end of 7 miles when that song kicked up on my discman (that's right, discman - I like to think of my lack of an Ipod more as an act of resistance rather than a product of lack of funds).

But it's not just about danceability. I love your bravado. I love that you say, "I shakes my gut like 'yeah, bitch, what?'" I love that you are always sexual without ever sexualizing your image for consumption. I have the feeling that if some guy tried to get you to cook for him, you wouldn't give him a 20-minute psuedo-feminist lecture, but you would laugh in his face and casually walk away. While other women who are singers and rappers can seem overly touchy, man-hating, and contradictory, you exude the kind of confidence that precludes all that. You're a rapper before a "female artist," and I think that helps us all out much more than any of the "Girl Power" pop acts like The Spice Girls or Destiny's Child (not that they aren't enjoyable in their own right).

So, thanks. I'm grateful for the chance to shake my gut.

Love,
Stephanie

It's a Small Small Small Small World

2006-11-14T05:30:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, I saw a movie I liked very much: Stranger Than Fiction with Will Ferrell, Dustin Hoffman, Emma Thompson and Maggie Gyllenhall. A fun movie, if not a great one (worth your money if you're looking for something to see and you should also see Borat and The Prestige). What it really made me thing about is how connected all my favorite things are. So, I've decided to test my theory and connect some. For the fun of it.

Stranger Than Fiction--A bored man (played by a manic comic turned semi-dramatic) is enchanted by an artsy girl (played by an unconventional actress known for her indie films), much like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which stars Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet. Winslet was in Sense and Sensibility (with Emma Thompson), a Jane Austen adaptation that came out in 1996, just like Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, and Emma. An almost unrecognizable Ewan McGregor played Frank Churchill in Emma. He also starred in Down with Love which spoofs the Doris Day sex comedies, such as Pillow Talk, Lover Come Back, and That Touch of Mink.

The guy chasing Doris Day to Al's Motel in That Touch of Mink is Cary Grant, who I love with Irene Dunne in My Favorite Wife and equally as much with Katherine Hepburn in both Bringing Up Baby and The Philadelphia Story. Jimmy Stewart pokes around Katherine Hepburn's high society wedding in The Philadelphia Story, but, before that, had a big crush on Nora Charles's sister in After the Thin Man. Myrna Loy and William Powell starred in all The Thin Man movies and in between, Powell starred in My Man Godfrey with his ex-wife, Carole Lombard. Lombard starred in To Be or Not To Be, a comedy about the German occupation of Poland, with Jack Benny. It was her last film before she died in a plane crash. At the time of her death, she was married to Clark Gable.

Gable starred in one of the first road trip comedies, It Happened One Night, with Claudette Colbert. In that movie, when the characters spend the night in a roadside motel, Gable's character erects the "Wall of Jericho" to maintain a sense of modesty, which consists of a sheet pulled over a rope between the two twin beds. This scene is referenced and duplicated (with a king-sized bed) in Bandits, which stars Cate Blanchett, Bruce Willis and Billy Bob Thorton. [Note: The Wall of Jericho falls considerably quicker in Bandits.] Before his descent into cranky-man mediocrity, Billy Bob Thorton was married to Angelina Jolie. She has starred in Mr. and Mrs. Smith as well as Playing by Heart, which also featured Jon Stewart.

Jon Stewart is my favorite fake newsman on The Daily Show (Sam prefers Stephen Colbert, but she is wrong). Steve Carrell, who currently stars in the American version of The Office was a correspondent for The Daily Show. The British version of The Office stars Ricky Gervais and Martin Freeman as Tim. Freeman was (briefly) in Shaun of the Dead and starred in A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which also featured Sam Rockwell, Zooey Deschanel and Mos Def. Mos Def performed in Dave Chappelle's Block Party. Dave Chappelle was Achoo in Robin Hood: Men in Tights, which starred Cary Elwes, who also in The Princess Bride and Ella Enchanted. Parminder Nagra played a small part in Ella Enchanted, but starred in Bend It Like Beckham with Kiera Knightley. Knightley (before going on to cheapen Jane Austen) co-starred in Pirates of the Carribbean with Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp.

The incredible Johnny Depp has (among other things) starred in Sleepy Hollow and Once Upon a Time in Mexico with Antonio Banderas and Salma Hayek. Hayek was in Frida and is currently producing and guest-starring on Ugly Betty with America Ferrera. America Ferrera was the only good part of Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, which also starred Alexis Bledel. Bledel plays Rory Gilmore on Gilmore Girls with Lauren Graham. Graham once guest-starred on Newsradio with Dave Foley, Maura Tierney, Phil Hartman and Stephen Root. Stephen Root went from playing jovial boss Jimmy James on that to playing Milton Waddams, the red stapler-loving pyromaniac in Office Space. Jennifer Aniston played the girlfriend in Office Space and the best friend in Dream for an Insomniac with Ione Skye. Skye guest-starred on Arrested Development as Anne's mother opposite Alan Tudyk (Firefly). Tony Hale played Buster on Arrested Development and is currently co-starring in Stranger Than Fiction.

Take that, Kevin Bacon.

We're Bringing Sexy Back... to Vaudeville

2006-11-01T05:01:00.000-08:00

"Duck Soup" for dinner and "Monkey Business" for dessert with... Groucho and Harpo Marx!

PSA: How to Make a SCARY Scary Film

2006-10-28T12:51:00.000-07:00

'Tis the season to have the bejesus scared out of you. If you--or anyone you know--is an aspiring filmmaker, you can follow these easy steps to ensure that your movie makes your audience shriek with terror:

1. Know the classics. "Nosferatu" was made before sound and before color. And CGI? Fuhgeddaboudit. I saw that movie once--just once--four years ago, and I still get chills when I think of the shadow of the vampire's long, skeletal fingers inching along the wall. There's power in the well-crafted image. Use it.

2. Understand human biology and behavior. I learned in tenth grade that human beings have an instinct for self-preservation. That means that if I suspect a man with knives for fingers lives in my basement, then I don't go into the basement--at least not without a weapon. The characters in horror films should at least pretend they have a chance of making it to the end of the reel. (See: Nancy in "A Nightmare on Elm Street," who says, "I'm into survival.") That way, it's really scary when the killer/ghost/fog wastes them.

3. Hire ACTORS. Nothing turns a frightfest into vaudeville like an inexperienced ingenue squawking lines she could barely read on her own. When bad actors die, the audience rejoices. (See: "Masterpieces of Schadenfreude.") Think of how Bela Lugosi, Christopher Lee, and even that little girl from the "Poltergeist" movies committed to their craft. Look for that during the auditions.

4. Make a set of monster rules and keep to them. "The Grudge" had a simple rule, albeit a flexible one: If you step into the house, the ghost will kill you. The premise is chilling because the victims did nothing to deserve the wet hair treatment. "The Grudge 2," however, breaks that rule, then adds addendums and amendments. The ghost can now purchase a passport. The ghost has a mother who can speak perfect English. The ghost makes great cheese balls for a nominal fee. The ghost is now stupid.

5. Skip the Oprah-inspired backstory. Why is that wet-girl from "The Ring" so very naughty? The sequel tells us it's because she never had a mother. Well, boo-fucking-hoo. Unless the monster's backstory adds to its scariness, don't bother telling it. When the audience learns Freddy Krueger is the "bastard son of a hundred maniacs," they know there's no cure for his psychosis. That's a real backstory.

6. Consult the Bible. The books of Isaiah and the Revelation contain some of the most compelling apocalyptic images. There's no copyright on that stuff; use it!

7. Eschew the remake--and the sequel. Nothing says creative desperation quite like a remake of a horror movie that didn't need retelling. The world is pretty scary, and the stories are out there. If you're really committed to scaring the bejesus, the dickens, and the crap out of people, then you have to find new stories.

You're welcome.

Masterpieces of Schadenfreude

2006-10-18T10:21:00.000-07:00

For Sam's birthday, we went rollerskating. A teeny little girl (read: devil) in pink appeared in front of me standing stock still in the rink. In recognition and celebration of my recently injured rear end and the joy it gives to so many people who are not me, I've decided to dedicate a blog entry to that delicate and elusive comedy: Schadenfreude.

Dictionary.com says that it translates literally as "damage joy" which seems an inappropriately poetic way to describe the entire slapstick comedy genre, but what it really means is finding humor in someone else's misfortune, whatever that may be. I've rated the following from 1 to 10 depending on how happy you should be that you are not the person or persons you are watching.

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang - Perry: "Look up idiot in the dictionary. You know what you'll find?" Harry: "A picture of me?" Perry: "No! The definition of idiot. Which you fucking are!" You enjoy Harry as a punching bag for Perry's wit. You enjoy his bumbling impersonation of a detective. You even enjoy his detachable, re-attachable, edible fingertip. 6.

Mean Girls - There is that scene where Gretchen Wieners stands up to make her apology and fall backwards into a crowd of girls, only the apology she makes is "I'm sorry that people are so jealous of me...but I can't help it that I'm popular," and everyone except Karen backs away from catching her. Your enjoyment of their fall: 6.

Newsradio - In one second season episode, Bill can't get past security without his ID. At one point, Dave comes down and vouches for him and the security guards joke around with the two of them. The minute Dave leaves, the guards drop their smiles and block Bill from getting to the elevator. You laugh at his pain in the amount of 6.

I Was a Male War Bride - There's no perfect storm like being caught in the loops of army bureaucracy. In drag with a horsehair wig (fresh from the horse) after a night of sleepless wandering? 7 is the number for how happy you can be that you are you, not him.

Drop Dead Gorgeous - One girl blows up on a tractor. A stage light falls on another. Amber's mom survives a trailer fire with her fingers melted into a beer can. Every girl in the state pageant gets food poisoning from bad shellfish. Becky-Ann Leeman blows up in the belly of a giant paper mache swan. 7 is how much joy you get from their damage.

Some Like It Hot - From wobbling in high heels to frustrated male-in-drag desire for female who doesn't know he's in drag to running in said high heels from the mob, you chuckle away at the many misfortunes of Joe and Jerry. Your pleasure rings up to 7.

Bridget Jones's Diary - Her thong made a television appearance. 7.

Bringing Up Baby - First, it's a golf ball. Then, it's his car. Then, it's his intercostal clavicle and an elusive million dollar donation to the museum. These are the things Susan, her dog and her leopard keep from David in an ever-escalating series of misadventures. How happy can you be that you are not trying to keep a hungry leopard from devouring a truckful of chickens and very expensive swans? Happy to the amount of 8.

I Love Lucy - Sure, you love her, but do you want to be her? Getting drunk while filming a commercial or constantly embarrassing yourself by trying to get into your husband's act? No to the power of 9.

Arrested Development - Lucille Bluth is not your mother. 9.

The Office - How happy are you that you are neither digging yourself a conversational grave as David Brent nor one of his employees trying to keep a straight face? 10. That's how much.

And with that, I charge you to go out into the world and laugh heartily at other people's pain. In their faces. Unless they happen to be bigger than you.

Everything I Need to Know in Life I Learned From...

2006-10-06T14:31:00.000-07:00

Tyler Perry's "Madea Goes to Jail"

1. Women who try to balance their careers and their family lives are evil. Seriously. They'll make it a point to sleep with your best friend, your boss, and the buffoon who runs the check-in counter at the local jail.

2. Stealing gasoline warrants the same punishment as stabbing a pimp.

3. Nothing makes a juvenile delinquent appreciate education like sending her to school in a dress that's ten times too big.

4. "The Color Purple" is the best movie ever.

5. Kids not listening to you? Brandish your firearm. Still not listening? Set it off.

6. Christian men got it going on. Like whoa.

7. Jail is suspiciously like a hotel: you can come and go as you please.

8. "If you want to know if a man is cheating on you, ask him for one thing. If he doesn't give it to you, you know he's cheating. And that one thing is..." That's right; that's all you get because Tyler Perry doesn't want to rat out his playas.

9. Drowned babies need blood transfusions.

10. Even churchgoing women can drop it like it's hot.

11. No bra can contain Madea's 40HHs. Not one.

Will We Be Watching Buffy in 100 Years?

2006-09-21T11:25:00.000-07:00

Recently someone said to me that she thinks that Buffy will still be watched and talked about in a hundred years.

Now, my first response to this statement was to be put off by her fannish certitude. I mean, I accept that Buffy is art and a text that can be read and reread and mined for theses, but I'm not sure that means it has longevity. It is ground-breaking and orginal, but now that the ground has been broken, won't others step in to improve upon the template? It is a show very much grounded in the time it was written. Then there is the issue of technology. Will it survive the inevitable march from video technology to new video technology. Unlike a book from the 19th century, if you find a DVD in the attic, you have to still own a DVD player to see it. Will there be enough interest in Buffy to get it tranferred to the thing that replaces DVDs when that day comes? Assuming that it does, will the series still be worthwhile viewing with its already laughable special-effects-on-a-shoestring battle scenes?

But, then again, I can see her argument and the merit in it. Special effects and battle scenes are nearly always beside the point in an episode of Buffy. The point is the story, the metaphor and the language. And as for the show being timely, I've yet to be in a literature course where each text wasn't framed in the context of its time and studied as a product of it. So, assuming (and it may be a big assumption) that we begin to cannonize TV shows as we have already begun to cannonize movies, will Buffy make the cut?

Well, it's off to a good start. The fact that Buffy has a critical reception at all is in its favor. Will it endure, or will the critics exhaust the possibilities? I've been reading this exchange on Slate about Shakespeare's critical reception which cites Shakespeare as, in a sense, "bottomless" - that is not exactly ultimately inexhaustible, but inexhaustible so far. I think this may be due in part to genre. As plays, Shakespeare's works escape the possibility of diminishing in the sight of a public that reads less and less. There will always be some drama troupe looking to try their hand at Hamlet or some director eager to lend a new visual flare to Othello. And by doing that, they are reinterpreting the work, making it new. In that sense, Shakespeare's longevity is tied up in the flexibility of his work and its genre. So, I wonder if anything on film, with visuals inseparable from text and actors' inflections constantly coloring dialogue, can experience the kind of renewal necessary to keep critics talking about it for years on end. And it follows that if people aren't talking about something, they won't be watching it either.

This is not to say that I don't think that Buffy is great. I think it is an incredible achievement and striking in its similarity to what Shakespeare's works started out as: popular mass entertainment covering genre stories with clever language that can be delved for deeper meaning. But greatness is not longevity. We all have this idea that if we can just write something good enough, it will be appreciated after our deaths, but there are too many sadly ignored writers being "discovered" 200 years later to make a believable case for the meritocracy of the canon.

But, I may be underestimating the influence of cult fandom. It's been almost exactly 40 years since the original Star Trek series debuted on TV and it is still watched, discussed and serving as the basis for all too many embarassing costumes at conventions in its honor. The Buffy musical episode, "Once More, With Feeling" is already receiving the same treatment as The Rocky Horror Picture Show - midnight showings where people dress up as characters to act and sing along in front of the screen. Buffy may well survive in this form. But I think it would be a pity for it to be passed on to new viewers with that kind of uncritical and fetishized perspective. For me, Buffy is best when you can appreciate all its layers - superficial as well as metaphorical. It's best when you can debate with a friend whether an unsouled Spike is capable of love or only obsession or even agree that certain plots were misguided.

So, my answer to this question is, of course, not an answer but a series of questions. And I think that's as it should be because I am not in the business of predicting the future. I'm not certain that Buffy can or should survive to the next century. I'm just enjoying disseminating it now and for as long as interest in it lasts.

Shakespeare's Footnotes

2006-09-14T16:36:00.000-07:00

Sam asked me to create something called "Shakespeare's Footnotes." So I did.

It says this:

1. Boy-type. Hairy chest. Meaning: I eat in terms of desire.

2. Ref: Italian courtroom terms

3. I wouldn't quote this. Warm beer morning breath. Had to get it staged.

4. Meaning: Cut, swollen, salted.

5. Feather-light. Especially puzzling.

6. Doubled: sex and death.

7. This I fished out of the Avon river. The hard glint of cruelty.

8. Apple-crunched. The couple at forks and spoons.

Open Hate Mail #3: Grading the Critic

2006-09-10T18:33:00.000-07:00

The Point of Babette isn't about hate. You should know that. We are three times more likely to post open love letters--or open letters of ambivalance.

Owen Gleiberman, Lisa Schwarzbaum, and assorted critics for Entertainment Weekly--you should also know a couple of other things:

1) I am a subscriber. I pay to bring EW into my home. I don't get annoyed when those reminders to renew clog my mailbox. Sometimes, after all, I do need a reminder.

2) I am not amused.

This isn't only about the review of "Little Miss Sunshine," but we can talk about that in a moment. Three years ago, some EW music critic gave Beyonce's "Dangerously in Love" an A. I liked "Crazy in Love" (and how!), so I bought that CD on the strength of that song and that review.

Yeah. That CD? Weak.

And that was fine--I was only a college student. I didn't need that $18 for food or anything. Now, however, I'm starting to get impatient with the EW reviewers. It's not that I expect you to agree with me all the time. We are all different people with different tastes. Nonetheless, a reviewer for a major publication needs to have the proper motivation for their tastes.

And let's talk about you and your tastes, Gleiberman and Schwarzbaum.

Owen: Stop talking about how great "Idlewild" is. It's not. I get the feeling you want to be the person who championed the black "Moulin Rouge!" So, you pretended like it was okay for that movie to play on the same racial stereotypes that make some of the "classics" so difficult to watch. You've been to film class. You should know tragic mulattas and Step-n-fetchits when you see them, and you should know they belong in a minstrel show. And you know where minstrel shows belong. You claim to have such a problem with "stock" characters in "Little Miss Sunshine," but you embrace them in "Idlewild."

Isn't that interesting?

And the ending of "Little Miss Sunshine" isn't hypocritical. Get thee to the dictionary and look up "irony." That should keep you busy for a while.

Lisa, Lisa: We used to be friends--a long time ago. And then there was "Pirates of the Caribbean." You hated it. I loved it. I loved it for all the wrong reasons: Johnny Depp is smokin' hot.

Don't snicker, Lisa. You hated it for all the wrong reasons. EW claims to grade movies on their own terms. That is, a movie like "Aquamarine" is not going to get the exact same treatment as a film like "Cinderella Man." Yet you go on at length about how "POTC" is a prime example of the American blockbuster.

Except it revels in its blockbusteriness, and it was successful. And you can't pretend you hold everything to the indie classic standard just because you're a movie critic. You can't have it both ways.

Also, you can't fail to notice how smokin' hot Johnny Depp is.

Why can't it be enough for me to just disagree with you? Frankly, I feel as if you're violating my trust--manipulating me--and other subscribers--to make your magazine seem more interesting.

This is not what I want from my critics. So, please, stop dishing it out.

No Love,
Sam

P.S., Send a memo to everyone in the office: Terrence Howard is not hot. Not hot. Copy.

Conversations with My Roommate

2006-08-31T20:30:00.000-07:00

Me: I'm not interested in the ontology of things.

Sam: The...cancer of things?

***

Sam: Wasn't it that Prometheus was eternally punished for helping humans and even now there are vultures ripping out his liver?

Me: Yeah. He never got free from it.

Sam: You know why I know that?

Me: Why?

Sam: Because I'm not Percy!

Me: ...

Sam: Oh, burn! [cackles]

***

[In the car on the way to work.]

Sam: F-bomb!

Me: What?!?

Sam: I forgot my coffee. It's sitting on the counter at home.

Me: I'm sorry. Wait, why didn't you just drink it at home?

Sam: It was too hot. I like to hold it in my hands before I drink it because it's too hot at first.

Me: Okay...

Sam: Shut up, Stephanie! Don't judge me!

***

Sam: Stephanie. Why did you write this episode of Lois and Clark?

Me: What?

Sam: No really, Stephanie. Why did you write this?

Me: Look, I was really young. I wanted Lois to find out that Clark was Superman by sleeping with both of them and waking up all, "Whoa. Same guy." But the network was against it. So I settled for this cheek-brushing thing.

Sam: ...

Sam: I guess that makes sense.

Everything I Need to Know in Life I Learned From...

2006-08-27T17:23:00.000-07:00

Constantino's Pregnant Bride
Catherine Spencer

1. Italianglish is the most seductive language on earth.

2. Nothing spells romance like delaying intercourse until her cervix is ship-shape again.

3. A man can be "disturbingly attractive" without being Dracula. (Though you'll be hard-pressed to find such a man.)

4. "Her skin vibrated with awareness of him, the very pores seeming to reach out to absorb the texture of him." Yeah, it's like that.

5. Women are worth twice as much as Ferraris, three times as much as Lambhorginis.

6. Yes, he fills the house with flowers and buys you jewelry. Sure, he makes you dinner then washes the dishes. And, of course, he married you after he found out about the baby. That doesn't mean he loves you. He has to say it.

7. "It takes a lot more than one night of sex to build the solid foundation for marriage." Except not really.

8. Your wife comes before your mother--even if your mother has a brain tumor and could, you know, die.

9. "This time, he was the one who groaned, a feral, primitive sound. The sound of a warrior facing insurmountable odds." That's right. Hot sex counts as an insurmountable odd; contact your Congressperson.

10. Your mother could have a brain tumor, and she could push your wife down the stairs, and your wife could, in turn, leave you for not paying enough attention to her--but there is such a thing as happily ever after.

Top Ten Reasons Laura Holt is More Awesome Than You

2006-08-21T14:00:00.000-07:00

I just bought and watched the combined 4th and 5th seasons of Remington Steele, thus completing my collection. In honor of this momentus event, I thought I'd issue an informative memo with the reasons why Laura Holt is just so much cooler than the rest of us.

1. She can pick a lock.

2. She runs in high heels. A lot.

3. She made up a guy to be her boss. Seriously. Dude does not exist.

4. Acapulco!

5. She will jump out of a moving car. Just watch her.

6. She won't let you get away with that.

7. Why does she always solve the case? Because she's smarter than you.

8. The fedora.

9. She prefers to date guys who don't have real names.

10. She's world-famous. You just don't know it.

On Notice!

2006-08-17T11:42:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Kirsten and Anna for making my dreams come true.

OLL#8: Oh, To Be Charlene...

2006-08-16T15:00:00.000-07:00

[Where have I been? Oh, I've only been having a passionate (albeit, one-sided) affair with the premiere purveyor of truthiness, "Stephen Colbert."]

Beloved "Stephen Colbert,"

It was summer, and now it's done. I'm at work, doing work with the working. I have to wear pants without holes. If someone asks me what I'm going to be doing later on, I can't offer, "lying down with the AC on," as a viable plan. That's sad, but I still have my memories... and "The Colbert Report."

I found you while staying in a hotel room in Gambier, OH. I knew all about "The Daily Show," but I was confused when Jon Stewart decided to "check in with 'The Colbert Report'" at the end of the episode. At first I wondered, "Is this guy for real?" And then I wondered, "Bears are godless killing machines?"

Now, I have a crush--and this one is special. No, really. I know I said I loved Trey Parker, and I do, but not like this. Let's be honest: "South Park" episodes are brilliant, but they have clear--and profanely articulated--morals. "The Colbert Report" is a solid half hour of ironic comedy gold.

I mean, everybody on earth needs to see that apology to Geraldo Rivera. (Open Hate Memo #1: Really, Geraldo? Really? You can't honestly be taking yourself seriously at this point. Stop talking to Bill O'Reilly. Hate, Sam.) Good irony is hard to come by these days. And you have a way of saying the exact opposite of what I think and cracking me up at the same time.

So, even though I have to wake up at 6:30 in the morning, I stay up just long enough to get "The Word." Sometimes I think I wonder if I heard "The Word" wrong, so I watch the reruns at 8:00 the next day. I've joined The Colbert Nation. And I'll join the fan club for Stephen and the Colberts. I'm ready for that.

Love,
Sam

Tony Danza Cuts in Line

2006-08-03T05:57:00.000-07:00

I have had "Old School Hollywood" by System of a Down stuck in my head for days. And since the refrain of that song is "Old school Hollywood baseball/Me and Frankie Avalon," it's no surprise that I've been thinking up my own fantasy old school Hollywood baseball team.

Managed by Groucho Marx and armed with a powerful arsenal of intimidation and distraction, the Fighting Moguls will cut a swathe through the competition. Here's the line-up:

1. Cary Grant as pitcher. I like him in the thick of things.

2. Joan Crawford as catcher. This is the intimidation part. When she's not glaring a batter down or aiming a spiked heel at a runner to protect home base, she'll be deriding them with anal retentive comments about the cleanliness of their uniforms.

3. Katherine Hepburn at first base. Because someone on the field should actually be able to play.
4. William Powell at second base. He's just a good guy in a pinch.

5. Clark Gable at third base. Again with the intimidation. The right-handed batters will be able to see him out of the corner of their eyes from home. He'll just be there, smiling that Clark Gable I've-got-something-up-my-sleeve-and-only-I'm-gonna-like-it smile.

6. Marilyn Monroe as shortstop. She's the cornerstone of the distraction strategy. She'll be right over the pitcher's shoulder in the batter's line of sight.

7. Harpo Marx in left field. A different and yet equally important form of distraction. I'm counting on Harpo's antics to keep batters' eyes off the ball.

8. Carol Lombard in center field. I just think she'd have fun out there with Harpo.

9. Danny Kaye in right field. Distraction for those left-handed batters.

Alternates: Jane Russell, Jimmy Stewart and Doris Day

So there. My fantasy old school Hollywood baseball team could totally beat yours. If you made one. Which you should. It's fun.