Thursday, December 27, 2012

Les Miserables- Dying Alone, Thanks

First of all, Merry Belated Christmas to all of you non-Jews!

Just so all you guys know, the rumors are true: My family spent the holiday eating Chinese food and going to the movies. We've been doing this every year, and lately, because the film industry has been so adept at churning out high-quality pictures, it's always been a struggle to choose what to see.

Not this year. I'd literally been counting down the seconds until December 25th ever since it became the assigned release date of Les Miserables. There are no words to describe the levels of anticipation that have been building in my brain for this movie (unless you use the word "psychotic," perhaps). When I was a kid, I saw the Broadway stage production literally 12 times, a few with the original cast. I own the OG soundtrack on iTunes and the 25th Anniversary Special on DVD. I still know all the lyrics to every single song, and in which order they appear in the show. Nothing brings out my inner (and outer) Jazz Hands! more than Les Miz, except maybe Tommy, although that's more a celebration of The Who than anything else.

Christmas Day arrived, and I texted my brother to tell him that my dad and I were going to see the movie (I hadn't yet checked with my dad, BTW; I just assumed that the world revolved around my plans) and inquired as to whether or not he would like to join us. He eloquently responded with "No. Gay."

My dad and I tried three separate showings before we found one that wasn't sold out. It's good to know that the film was so insanely popular because between that and The Walking Dead, I'm going to have enough metaphors for my sex life until 2014.

Dad and I bought our tickets and I almost danced into the theater. God, no wonder I'm single. No one ever hears my people sing, if you get what I'm sayin. And you guys always get what I'm sayin.

I'm here all week! Alone.
As a film in general, it wasn't perfect. I'm not totally biased, and I did have a few issues:

1) Amanda Seyfried. Her acting, like the rest of the cast, was excellent, but she can't really sing. It kind of took me out of the movie.



B) The track they added in to get that Best Original Song Oscar was stupid. It sounded very Disney and didn't fit in with the rest of the music at all.

DEER CHIHUAHUA) Eponine had very well-manicured nails for a poor 19th-century French girl. I guess hair and makeup missed that one.



That being said-

This was one of the best movies I've ever seen. Putting away my inner theatre geek and squealing fangirl, everything about it was phenomenal. Set design, costumes, hair and makeup, everything. I'd heard negative reviews about Russell Crowe, so I was apprehensive about him coming in. Did he have amazing vocal capabilities? No. However, the way he played the role of Javert and handled the musical style really let him nail the character. He should stick to playing dicks; it's what he does best.

I'd also heard some backlash regarding Eddie Redmayne, who plays Marius. Those people are obviously high, because he was fucking fantastic and deserves a career out of this. Hugh Jackman is incredible too, and while he probably won't win the Oscar (Daniel Day-Lewis made a movie this year, so universal law dictates that he must win all the awards), he should at least get a nomination. Every time he did something awesome, which was frequently, I wanted to yell out, "Fuck yeah! Wolverine!" He's a classically trained Broadway actor, and he really shows it here. 



I was very, very satisfied with the casting of Eponine. "On My Own" is arguably the most popular and well-known song in the show, having also become the most annoying because every girl on the planet has sung this at least once in the shower without even knowing where it originated. This role was the most followed on the Internet, with everyone from Lea Michele from Glee to Taylor Swift (ugh, NO) said to be auditioning for the part. Whoever they chose would have a HUGE surge in their career, so I was thrilled when they went with Samantha Barks, a trained stage actor and singer who played the role in the London production and the 25th Anniversary concert. She more than holds her own against A-list film actors.



And then, of course, there's Anne Hathaway. They should have had a guy walk up to her during the film, into the screen, holding an Oscar, and say, "here you go, Miss Hathaway." Everyone else they nominate in that category is pretty much just because they have to write other names in. If you didn't feel at least something when she busted out "I Dreamed a Dream," then you are clinically dead.

Also this dude is in the movie. 




As soon as I got home, I immediately got on Facebook chat with Melbs from A Quick Succession of Busy Nothings to squee about it. I sent her that link and we agreed: "Oh. HELLO." Gina from This is Not Your Blog let me know that she would not have been opposed to the costume department taking some very modern liberties. "What? It was a tough battle and their shirts blew off." Les Miserables: The Michael Bay version.

What makes the direction of Les Miserables especially memorable is that Tom Hooper, a former Oscar winner for The King's Speech, decided to have his actors sing their numbers live on camera. That seems incredibly arduous and challenging, even to the stage actors he cast as leads and cameos. I mean, shit, I don't even like posing for my friends' Instagram.

BTW, as soon as I saw Tom Hooper's name attached, I had a minor brain fart and thought, "Tobe Hooper? Like, Texas Chain Saw Tobe Hooper?" How great would it be if instead of dying from consumption or at the barricades, all the characters in Les Miz got hacked to pieces by Leatherface? I would totally watch that.


Gangnam Style
The entire time we were in the theater you could have heard a pin drop in the audience. No one talked, texted, nothing. You could hear people sniffing and sobbing. Dad got a little choked up. On my own end I counted about seven ugly cries, and I knew exactly what was coming.

Also, I kept poking Dad in the arm while I played Spot the Cameos and told him random facts about the show. ("It's the original Jean Valjean!" "She was Eponine in 1987!") There were a bunch of times where I caught myself singing along, out loud. I'm surprised there weren't more of them, considering my dad informed me later that I was lip-synching all the lyrics throughout the entire film. At the end of the movie a few people clapped but I was the only one who gave it a standing ovation like a loser. 


Party of One
As far as adaptations go, except for a few minor changes that have nothing to do with the outcome of the story, this is probably the most faithful rendition of any medium I've ever seen on film. I was praying that this wouldn't turn out like the Rent movie, which was horrible, but apparently I had nothing to worry about.

I will definitely see this at least two more times. I'm hoping I can find a Rocky Horror-style sing along, with props. I'm going to make my own musket and barricade so I can avoid interaction with all other humans.

FYI, here is a hilarious review of Les Miserables with even more musical stylings. If you didn't feel old before, I guarantee you will after this:

A Les Miserables Review In The Form Of A SmashMouth Song

Saturday, December 15, 2012

The More You Know

It's probably not news to anyone that at the time of this post, 26 people were murdered in a Newtown, Connecticut grade school yesterday morning. 20 of those people were little kids. One was a teacher trying to protect her students from the gunman.

http://www.cnn.com/2012/12/15/us/connecticut-school-shooting/index.html?hpt=hp_t1

The shooter, who I will not glorify any further by naming here, had forced his way into the school. He was a 20 year old kid. It was also reported that he killed his mother and, when he was satisfied with his handiwork, himself. His older brother had to disable his Facebook page when he was erroneously identified as the suspect.

News reports say that the gunman suffered from a personality disorder, which calls into question exactly how the fuck this 20-year-old deranged fucking lunatic was able to get his hands on a loaded murder weapon in the first place. There are extensive background checks for minimum wage jobs at McDonald's, yet this douchebag manages to score an assault rifle? I can't be the only one that sees the epic fail in this.


I found out about the events that occurred late yesterday morning when I logged onto Facebook. I was all set to post about how stoked I was to go see The Hobbit, but I was immediately flooded with status updates about Sandy Hook. Some of my friends admittedly went a little overboard- yes, it was a tragedy; yes, it was sick and senseless and disturbing and horrible; yes, it hit close to home for myself, my family and a lot of my friends (I went to high school about 20 minutes away from Newtown)- but posting news updates and photos and angry rants every five minutes is not going to make anything go away, and will only feed into what this nutjob would have wanted.

(I'm also looking at you, news anchors and media shitstorm. Interviewing parents and even worse, terrified and sobbing children, is probably the most disgusting ploy for ratings I can even imagine. No. Go home.)


One of the most awful parts of this is probably that while this asshole will inevitably be rewarded with a Movie of the Week/feature film/countless magazine covers, in a few weeks no one will remember the names of any of the victims, including the teachers that died shielding their students from bullets.

Some have said that it's too bad that the killer turned the gun on himself, since now none of the victims' families will have the chance to take him out themselves. I'm looking at it this way: I hope the worst is over, and as strange as this sounds, we as a country can look at this in a positive way. Call your friends and family and tell them you love them. Spend time with them if they're located in your vicinity. Do unexpected nice things for random strangers.

Yesterday, inspired by these events, I gave two dollars to a homeless guy and he acted like it was a check for a million bucks. Then, on the way to the movies, I stopped at a pharmacy to get snacks, and paid for the woman behind me since she only had two items in her hand. I didn't even tell her; just let the cashier know that the "next girl was taken care of" and left. I didn't say anything to my brother, either. Was it a huge gesture? No. Her total was like five dollars. However, I felt that with my actions I had just said a massive "fuck you" to a guy that had just murdered a bunch of little kids.

Also, maybe this will help improve the US as a whole, and force a tighter rein on gun control and a better healthcare system which recognizes mental disabilities. I'm not saying this could have been prevented with Healthcare- clearly this dude was severely unhinged- but at least steps could have been taken and at least he could have seen a shrink or something. Apparently there were "warning signs," although emailing people and saying "yo, I'm thinking of shooting up an elementary school tomorrow; don't tell anyone" probably doesn't count as a harbinger so much as a massive fucking RED FLAG. I'm not placing immediate blame on anyone but him; however, maybe if someone had paid closer attention to his distress calls this would never have occurred.


Basically what we have to do right now is pull through this together. Attempt to stay positive and not dwell on the past. Try to return to your normal lives. Eat, sleep, watch TV, go see The Hobbit. Let out your frustrations in any way you can, if you so choose- I've obviously done this in my writing, like so many of us (two excellent examples I've found in the blogosphere of people affected by this tragedy are Christopher from Mixed Drinks & Mixed Feelings and Rainey from A Rainey Day with a Chance of Sunshine- especially poignant because Sandy Hook was her elementary school). Be thankful for what and who you have with you right now, because honestly, they may not be there when you come home tonight.

And to make us feel (marginally) better, here is a basket of tiny puppies.



Sunday, December 09, 2012

Minority Report

I know I'm late on my Dead Space analysis. My New York move finally came through, so I'm just now settling in. I'll get to it sometime before Season 3.2. Or, before they kill off another minority.


So, yeah, about that: I'm finally a New Yorker again. I'm crashing at my brothers' place in Brooklyn until I figure out exactly where it is I'm going with my life, but hey: at least I'm here. I hadn't even left the terminal at LAX before I updated my Current City on Facebook, to which Penny Lane responded,

I love how you wasted no time changing your city to New York, NY.

Fuckin' A, I did. Peace out, LA.

I did, in fact, manage to find some incredible girlfriends there, which in Los Angeles is more arduous a task than locating a pair of real jugs, and of course all of this happened after I had already booked my flight because the Irony Fairy is real. My last night in LA was spent at my friend's acoustic singer-songwriter performance, where I was serenaded and may or may not have actually cried a little (guess which one). All my girls came out to see me off and Kitty knitted me a scarf, which I then slept in because we're practically lesbians. Then we all drank some wine and cried a lot, and I got on the plane.


PS- everyone leave comments about how amazing the scarf is, because I want Kitty to go into business with this. Maybe if enough people love it she'll actually listen to me.

The plane ride was relatively uneventful- no Quadrant of Crying Babies (which sounds like it could be the next title in the Song of Ice and Fire series), although there was an old dude snoring behind me for a good three hours. There was an also an unbelievably magnificent guy two rows in front of me- he looked like Baby Goose if he hadn't slept or showered in a week. I wanted to kidnap him and make him read me the dictionary all day. You know, after the dirty stuff. He was no question my future second husband, so of course all I did was stare at the back of his head and leave without saying anything. Dying alone, 100%.


My first weekend in New York has been spent with my family, due to the fact that last night began Chanukkah in the Nugs house. I did have a gift for my brothers, and while they were certainly very appreciative, they felt no Jewish guilt whatsoever in the fact that they got me (and the rest of my family) absolutely jack shit. Whatever, yo. We're all poor. I also sent Ginny's cats a Christmas gift, and apparently, it made them so high that they turned on each other and one kicked the other in the face. You can get a glimpse of all the carnage here. 'Merica.

He's also a little molester. It's true. He grabbed my boob once in my sleep.
Of course, to acknowledge Chanukkah, a major Jewish holiday, I visited the Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center because that's an awesome way to ignore my cultural heritage. Holiday season in New York, while freezing my proverbial balls off, is the optimum time to visit the City because it's one of the things that we're famous for- in addition to the Tree, we have the Skating Rink, the Rockettes, the store windows, Macy's- I won't even go on because I've already posted about this, so you can read all about it here. Times Square, on the other hand, doesn't count because no genuine New Yorker gives a fuck about Times Square.

I did, however, receive a couple of gifts to commemorate the holiday. I've been wearing out the aforementioned scarf from Kitty, and I've been really tempted to tell people I made it myself because I've gotten a ton of compliments on it and I have no real discernable talents of my own.

Also, almost as cool, I've been granted the Liebster Award from Christopher at Mixed Drinks & Mixed Feelings! It's been awhile since I've won an award for blogging, so this is pretty great. He also handed this out to my friends (and fellow New Yorkers) Penny Lane and Natalie Paige, so that makes it even better.



Basically, the Liebster Award is given to blogs you think deserve recognition- those with less than 200 followers. You then post 11 random things about yourself, answer 11 questions from the person who gave you the award, make up 11 questions of your own, and bestow the Liebster on 11 unlucky victims of your choosing. So here are my 11 facts:

The one thing about myself that I absolutely hate is my middle name. It totally doesn't fit the rest of my personality and I will never tell anyone what it is. So don't bother asking. Not even with tequila.

I was at the top of my class in first grade. The first time I got a B, I cried.

My first childhood crush was Lion-O from Thundercats. I was four.

I have never broken a bone or sprained anything. This is a total miracle because I'm always tripping over my own feet or falling all over myself.

I have one published piece of writing; it's a poem that's in an eighth-grade textbook.

I have never eaten Nutella. 

The first concert I ever saw was the Bangles. I was really young, probably around three.

My family's heritage is about 70% Russian, yet I've never been there and can't speak the language.

I have no tattoos and no piercings, due to the fact that I am terrified of needles.

I went blond once; for my junior prom. It was not a good look.

My mom makes the best mashed potatoes in the world. Ever. No arguments.

QUESTIONS FROM CHRISTOPHER:

1) If you could have any superpower, what would it be?
Oh god. This is like Sophie's Choice, only less depressing and horrible. I'll spare you all the analysis of every single superpower of every character in the DC and Marvel universes (univi?) and just go with Genius Billionaire Playgirl Philanthropist.
2) If you had to move away from where you live, where would you like to move?
Um, already done. See: entire post.
3) If you could see any five bands in concert (past or present), who would they be?
Can I pick Radiohead again? Yes, because it's my blog and whatever I say goes. Besides them (another four times): Led Zeppelin, The Black Keys, Beastie Boys and Daft Punk.
4) You get to spend a week with a celebrity of your choice; who is it?
I think we all know this one. If I mention his name one more time I'm going to come up on police reports.


5) You have unlimited funding for a day; what would you do?
First I would give a million dollars each to my friends and immediate family members. Then I would bank a few mil in savings and never touch it again. Then I would invest in a private island with my own litter of adorable puppies, and purchase a jet to take me there whenever I wanted. Then I would fire the owner of the Mets and the Jets because I can do a better job than both of those clowns. Then I would buy the NHL and get the season started again because SERIOUSLY???? COME ON!

Then I would buy Baby Goose. Because why the fuck not?
6) If you could have any restaurant located IN your house, what would it be?
Ray's Pizza. YES.
7) Favorite superhero?
Second childhood crush: Superman. Faster than a speeding bullet, if you get what I'm sayin.
8) What was your very first blog about?
This is my first blog. Winner and still champion.
9) Drink of choice?
Alcoholic? Anything with vodka. Non-alcoholic? Chocolate milk. I'm an eight-year-old.
10) Biggest pet peeve?
People with bad grammar, especially when they mess up their homophones. Ugh, HATE.


11) How many awards have you gotten (blogging or otherwise)?
This brings the Blogging Awards total to eight. I also won some community awards as a kid, but I can't remember them because that was like eleventy billion years ago.

11 POOR UNFORTUNATE SOULS:



Bobby@ BooyaBobby
(Different) Gina @ This Is Not Your Blog

11 OBLIGATORY QUESTIONS: (Meaning please validate me)

1) If you could only eat one kind of chocolate forever, which type of chocolate would it be?
2) If you could have one celebrity for your "Cheat List," who would it be?
3) What is the one habit you have that you really wish you could break? For example, I swear like a sailor on leave and I know how incredibly not attractive it is, but I really can't help it.
4) What is your favorite condiment? (CondimENT. You little perverts.)
5) What's your one vice? (Alcohol, cigarettes, New Jersey...)
6) Who is the family member you're the closest to?
7) Pick one: Pizza, bagels, hot dogs or pretzels?
8) What, in your opinion, is the most quotable movie of all time?
9) I like that favorite superpower question. Let's go with that.
10) Besides Brooklyn (obviously), what is your favorite type of accent?
11) Describe the perfect zombie apocalypse. And make it sexy.

I like that Blogging Awards are once again a Thing, especially because I've been given one. You don't have to do this, but if you don't, I'll be sad, and that does mean more puppy pictures, so it's really your call.

                        I am not above bribery, FYI.


Happy Chanukkah everyone!












Saturday, November 24, 2012

Use That Freedom

There are three types of bad movies.

The first type is one you watch to be entertained- you know that it's terrible, but you still expect that it will make you laugh, at the very least unintentionally. There will more than likely be attractive actors, usually in various stages of undress; ridiculous dialogue and a ludicrous plot. This type of film is the cornerstone of SMAC's lineup; what our very foundation is based upon (we will return soon, promise). Recent examples include The Mighty Ducks, ThanksKilling, Ed and any of the SyFy Channel movies (excluding Sharktopus, which is a finely crafted masterpiece and should always be regarded as such).

Highly recommended. Seriously.
The second type is so awful, so horrifically atrocious that you can't even get back the viewing hours that you have just spent. Getting through an entire film in this category makes you want to take up a nasty crack habit just so you have a less embarrassing "feat" to bring up at parties. A telling sign of any movie in this lexicon are the shakes, sweating, becoming pale and contemplating suicide a quarter of the way through. Movies in this genre include From Justin to KellyValentine's Day and at least ninety percent of Nicolas Cage's arsenal.

The third and most hazardous type of bad movie is anything and everything Twilight. 

As hard as I tried, I could not avoid the fact that a new Twilight film opened last weekend. Sadly, I've actually been dragged to two of them in the theater, and collectively, they were the worst four hours of my life. A couple of my friends made me go see Blue Moon or whatever the fuck it was, and I hadn't read the books or seen the first movie, and I fell asleep for twenty minutes, and I was still able to follow the entire "plot" (spoiler: there are dogs or some shit). During one of the scenes the CGI was so bad that I actually started to laugh. The acting was so painful it was like burning. Kind of like that one time in college when- well, never mind.


The next time was entirely my fault. I offered to take one of my girls who was nursing a break-up wound, on one condition: I was allowed three out-loud comments. I purchased our tickets online so as not to draw attention to myself and attempted to find a seat in the jam-packed theater (we were there opening night- sometimes I am such an amazing friend that I'm jealous of myself). I tried to sit next to some pre-teen Twitard until she threw her arm over the seat and glared at me. Yikes. Who was she saving this for, her imaginary boyfriend? At any rate, my friend and I sat down anyway and I reminded her of our pact. I definitely benefitted more from my makeshift MST3K than the audience did; I doubt they appreciated when I referred to the movie as "Twilight: Breaking Hymen." Also I really wanted to incorporate the drinking game that my brother and follow Nip Clique-ers had invented to get me through the evening but I was afraid that I would be dead within ten minutes.

This movie has been out for a week and has already made $362 million internationally. It doesn't matter that all the "films" in this franchise are known to be appallingly awful; apparently, eleven-year-olds (chronologically and otherwise) don't care. Watching the two that I saw was like coating my snatch with honey and then sending a personalized, highlighted E-vite to every bee in North America.

This way to insanity
The only reason that I have actually been anticipating Twilight: Breaking Hymen Part Jesus Fuck How Many of These Are There is that supposedly, this is the last one until everyone involved decides that they want more money. Until I hear otherwise, there are no more Twilights forever. We're free, everybody!


PS- +5 to whoever can name the movie that I shamelessly quoted this post title from.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Nugs and Tits Do Thanksgiving (Hahaha. "Do.")

For those of you who are living in 1) a foreign country B) outer space or COPERNICUS) anywhere else I forgot, it's Thanksgiving weekend in the US. Normally I would commemorate this event with a post but I stupidly agreed to cook and bake this year, so I've been running around like a ferret on speed for the past 48 hours and forgot to write one.

Luckily I have two blogs, and over on Snark and Sex, Coyote Tits took the Thanksgiving reins (oh haaaai) and put up a blog entry dictating how to survive the holiday at your significant other's house. Since I contributed to a good third of that, the work was pretty much done for me and I just decided to post our joint effort here as well. Plus this gives me another chance to shamelessly promote myself, so there's that.

Whether you're spending this Thanksgiving alone and depressed, or you're with your date's family and depressed, or with your own family and depressed, here's mine and Tits' sacred manual of rules on how to withstand the holidays.

PS- there's a drinking game! You're welcome.

Tits' genius advice is in blue; my infinite wisdom is in red.
  1. Do Not bring your dog. I don't care how cute Precious is and that she's normally so well-behaved and fits in your purse. Don't do it. Especially if they are Tits' dogs (below). She likes to think she's an awesome mom but it's really because she lets them get away with fucking murder because they're so adorable and she's a pushover.

    As cute as they are, remember that they will hog all the food and/or attention.
  2. Do Not wear sweat pants, Ugg boots and an old tank top. At least try to look like you are making an effort.

  3. Do Not complain about the food. I don't care if it doesn't taste like your grandma's mashed potatoes, and so what that they have oysters at their dinner. Keep your bitching to yourself.

  4. If you have a food allergy tell someone in advance. My sisters are lactose intolerant and so we tell everyone like 20 times in advance or bring our own food. Don't show up and be like "yeah I'm gluten free, vegan and allergic to garlic."

  5. Do Not try to have sex at their house. Can you spell awkward? Nugs: That never happened to me that one time in college or anything. 

  6. Do Not flirt with someone who isn't your date. I don't care if his older brother is Brad fucking Pitt, wait till after Thanksgiving to flirt with him. Nugs: Unless said brother is Baby Goose. Then all bets are totally off, and no one would blame you. Especially me.


  7. Do Not get drunk - Even if the family makes you fucking insane, try to limit yourself to enough wine to just get you tipsy.

  8. Do Not smoke. Anything. Even if offered. This is clearly a trick. Again, this never happened to me, ever.

  9. Do Not bring up taboo topics. Find out what they are in advance and avoid them at all costs. Whether this be religion, politics, cats vs. dogs, Dancing With the Stars or the New York Yankees a.k.a. the Evil Empire, learn what gets your date's family all wonky and DO NOT DISCUSS.

  10. Do know how to dress. CANNOT BE STRESSED ENOUGH. I don't care if your "best feature" is your amazing rack; it's probably not the best idea to shove it in his parents' face. Usually a nice pair of jeans and a dressy top that doesn't put the goods on display is your best bet. Unless, of course, his brother is Baby Goose. See Rule #6.

  11. Do know how to win over every family member individually. While this may seem like the ultimate in horrific situations, don't commit suicide just yet. Basically the key to mastering this art is what I (and the US Army) refer to as "Divide and Conquer:"
THE MOM: This is the most difficult, since showing up at her Thanksgiving feast is an admission that you're being railed on the regular by her baby boy (doesn't matter what his birth order is; he will ALWAYS be her baby boy). The trick to winning over his mother is to go on and on about how amazing her son is (not in that way, because GROSS). Also offer to help out during dinner as often as you can, especially with dishes. Getting his mom to love you is by far the most important because if she hates you, it only goes downhill from there. Seriously, I've been there with a mom hating me. I always like to volunteer to bring something like cookies or wine.


THE DAD: The males of the family are always easier for me, probably because I'm half a dude myself and I realize now how weird that made me sound. The best strategy for the father is innocent flirting- "oh, Mr. Gosling, I see where your son gets his great ass. Eyes! I meant eyes." Just kidding. Never talk about anyone's ass. Keep it to neutral topics such as intelligence and snappy dressing, or radiation levels.

If this is any of his relatives let me know. I'll be right over.
SIBLINGS: Dealing with siblings is usually more manageable due to the fact that your date will probably brief you on the situation prior to your arrival. If one of their brothers or sisters is exceptionally unbearable you'll most likely have been prepared for it way in advance. For the regular, more normal siblings, mastering them should be relatively (see what I did there?) more simple: 
  • BROTHERS: Brothers are pretty painless- just sit down in front of the TV and watch the football game with them. If you're a fan, don't hold back with the commentary. If you're not, let them know that you're "trying to get into it." Also, it helps if you're moderately attractive. Just sayin. 
  • SISTERS: Contrary to what my scintillating personality may have you believing, I am, in fact, of the feminine persuasion, so I am aware that the best way to charm a woman is to let her talk about herself. Find out from your date what she's into and ask her questions, and let her dominate the conversation. You're in.
12. Do use this handy guide from HappyPlace.com with your own family. You'll thank us later.

Good luck with whatever you're dragged to this holiday season, and remember that I'm always thankful for all of you. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, and I mean that in every possible way.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Oh, Canada! The Sociopath Edition

I was at work yesterday, screwing around on Facebook and not doing anything at all incriminating on the interwebz, because that would never happen, when this viral image popped up absolutely fucking everywhere.


God, I would still hit that. Early and often. I am such a sociopath.

Apparently this is a promotional poster for Only God Forgives, the next collaboration from Baby Goose and his Drive director Nicolas Winding Refn, which was already enough to get me running to the theater. This was filming in Thailand (BANG KOK? Clearly not just a clever name) when I was supposed to be there for the film festival last year but the trip fell through. Good news for Ryan, not so good for the rope and chloroform industry. Did I say that out loud? I mean no.



They also put this out, so I feel (slightly) less crazy:


Here's the official summary on Wikipedia:

According to a production synopsis, the film follows Julian, who runs a Thai boxing club as a front organization for his family's drug smuggling operation, as he is forced by his mother Jenna to find and kill the individual responsible for his brother's recent death. 

Ryan Gosling as Julian:
  • An Englishman who lives in Bangkok and "is a respected figure in the criminal underworld" according to a production synopsis.Gosling had undertaken Muay Thai training in preparation for the role by that September, which included 2–3 hour daily sessions.

So basically what this is saying is that Ryan Gosling wears a wifebeater, kicks random people's asses and speaks in a British accent for two hours? I'll be sitting in the back by myself. Also that crashing sound you just heard was every single pair of panties I own falling to the floor in anticipation.

There better not be any puppies or babies in this movie. I might die.







Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Dead Space Vol. 2- BOOM! Panties Drop

That noise you heard on Sunday was the splatter of ovaries hitting televisions as they exploded in a sea of "HOLY GOD YES."

This week's The Walking Dead, "Say The Word," picked up right where "Killer Within" left off, with everyone being introduced to Rick (?) and Lori's daughter. Rick was too busy writhing around on the floor trying to win that well-deserved Emmy, so Daryl stepped up and held her and HOLY SHIT KITTENS AND MAGICAL RAINBOWS. Every time he asked the baby if she "liked that, Little Ass-kicker," not a woman on the planet did not respond in the affirmative. The only way the writers could have ensured more Defcon One-r levels of masturbating is if they would have cut to that video of Baby Goose singing the theme song from My Little Pony.



Top that off with Daryl putting flowers on Carol's grave and that's it. I'm done. Your move, other racists.


Apparently getting massively turned on by Daryl cooing to Lori's infant daughter does not make me a sociopath, judging by the Talking Dead that followed "Say The Word" (gotta say, that's a relief). I am, however, a little concerned about the tingly feelings that develop whenever the focus shifts to Batshit Rick (BRick? Let's make this a Thing).

For those of you familiar with the books, you know that Lori's death begins Rick's spiral into becoming completely and totally fucking insane. Also, for those of you familiar with the books, you know exactly who was on the other end of that phone call. I like how they're wasting zero time and not dragging that storyline out (it's AT&T, because Rick was too stupid to switch to Verizon).

Anyway.

I'm a little worried as to what it says about me that the more insane Rick (BRick) gets, the more I'm attracted to him. It can't be just me, right? I mean, his Crazy Face is pretty sexy, even if it's really bloody. Also if you think about it, all of this insane rage porn is to avenge the death of his wife, whether we all hated her or not, so it's kind of devoted and sweet. Kind of. Maybe. Also don't forget- British. He did this once:



I think I'm alone now.

Even The Governor also got in on some cute kid action, until we discovered that his daughter Penny is a zombie that he keeps in a closet, oh haaai.


Again, if you read the comics you knew some of that already, but the show has been deviating, so there's still that element of surprise.



It'll be interesting to see just how important a role Penny plays with all the characters, and just how closely the showrunners follow the books, if you get what I'm saying.

Wait- ew! Not like that. You perverts. She's like seven! I love you all so much.

At any rate, thank you, The Walking Dead, for no longer being a metaphor for my sex life. Between Daryl holding babies and BRick and his one-man zombie destroyer, after next week I'll most likely be pregnant.


Monday, November 12, 2012

Oh, Canada! The Birthday Suit Edition

Today in the US is Veteran's Day, a monumental day in American history because it celebrates our troops and all that they've contributed to our country over the past few centuries. I'm definitely not knocking this, considering the most significant achievement I've completed recently is a grilled cheese sandwich.

I'm awesome.
However, November 12th also marks another glorious feat which should not ever be overlooked. 32 years ago, even before my mother graced this planet with my existence (holy shit, I'm old), the world was introduced to Baby Goose.


This led to an epic chain of events that includes this video that doesn't make me a pedophile;



and culminates (so far) with this scene from the best film released in 2011 that did not result at all in my ladyboner.



Also none of my friends talked to me on Facebook at all today inquiring when this post was going to go up. Kitty and I in particular did not have this conversation, which never made me sincerely question the validity of what I used to consider our very close friendship:

Nugs: Today is Ryan Gosling's birthday
If I get arrested will you bail me out?

Kitty: Sure!
Have fun!

Nugs: Why do I think you're lying?
You're totally going to call the cops

Kitty: lol

Nugs: Maybe he likes handcuffs
I couldn't tell even though I've been hiding outside his house for a week I mean no
Can you imagine if I knew where his house was?????
*DIES*

*extremely long pause*

You're forwarding this conversation to the government, aren't you?

Kitty: I kinda do
It's near one of my friend's places
in Beverly Hills (that is RIGHT NEAR ME OHMYGODKHDUYWTEYEUWGDYGFDCBCHDHHJ)

Nugs: WHAT.
HOW HAS THIS NEVER COME UP???????????
WE ARE NO LONGER FRIENDS.

I told my dad about this, by the way, and he just gave me a horrified look and went, "NO." Bobby asked me what I wrote on the card when I mailed him a chloroformed cake and nudie pic. Shut up! You guys don't know my life.

Also also- this:

I don't even... I'm done.
Anyway, enjoy this Evolution of Divinity from Buzzfeed of all the ways that the world has thanked Ryan Gosling's mom for bequeathing us with his photoshop-like presence. And Canada, we almost forgive you for Justin Bieber.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-evolution-of-divinity-everything-ryan-gosling
(Reminder- from the year 2000+ he is 100% legal. Party on.)

Wednesday, November 07, 2012

Dead Space Vol. 1- All Dawgs Go To Heaven

I usually don't do reviews of things I actually enjoy because then I can't make fun of them. However, this week's episode of The Walking Dead, "Killer Within," was such a major sack-punch (if I had a sack) that I HAVE to discuss it. All my friends are talking about it so I would feel kind of left out if I didn't. So here's a new thing that I'm trying out. If it turns out to be wildly popular, this is Volume 1. If it doesn't, eh, I tried.

If you watch the show and/or are a fan of the books but haven't gotten this far yet, I would recommend that you not read this post, because then you'll know what happened and might think I'm a bitch, even more than you probably already do. If, like me, you witnessed the emotional fallout in real time, then cool. All systems go.

Being on the West Coast, I should really know to avoid Facebook on Sundays and Tuesdays, when my friends will unfailingly post about that night's respective episodes of TWD and/or Sons of Anarchy. I had shut off my laptop but unfortunately was too stupid to remember to turn off my phone, so while I was eating my dinner this alert popped up from Booyabobby:

Our wish finally came true! But damn that was heart breaking.

As an avid reader of the comics, I could only assume that he was referring to the anticipated and celebrated death of Lori Grimes, one of the worst and most reviled characters in the history of network television, although I was surprised that this was the episode that the event took place. Lilly, the character that shoots Lori in the books, hadn't even been introduced on the show, and Lori's baby had yet to be born (Also, fans of the show, is that the worst pregnant stomach ever, or what? What did they put in there, a NERF ball?).

Zombie Baby? Or BOOBIES?!?!?!

Then again, Carol was still around, so that whole Sophia deal was completely out of whack with the timeline as well.

BTW, thanks for forgetting that I'm three hours behind you, Bobby.



I decided to quit with the neurotic, Jew-y psychoanalysis and just watch the damn episode, already. It started out hilariously with Glenn and Maggie being caught boning in the tower and getting "yeah, man" looks from Rick and Daryl. That scene easily goes into my Top 20 Walking Dead moments. Everyone's reactions were totally realistic- Maggie was mortified; Glenn was like, "check me out- I just got laid"; the men were all up in that shit.



That, of course, was short-lived because the generators all started blaring and the walkers began to pour in. The Atlanta Gang immediately commenced with the killing, slicing heads and stabbing all over the place.

Meanwhile, back in Mayberry- sorry, I meant Woodbury- Andrea continued to skank it up and try to get into the pants of both Merle and The Governor. He's who this election really needed, IMO. Imagine how awesome that would be.

This dude for President of Everything.
She and Michonne were, in fact, planning on taking Merle to find Daryl, but because The Governor spoke more than two words to her, Andrea wants to stay now. What the fuck happened to Andrea? She used to be cool, kind of. Then she jumped on Shane's dick and became a sniveling little twelve year old with floopy hands and whiny facial expressions.

I've also been expecting a lot more from Michonne this season. She's one of the most popular characters in the comics, and save for a bad-ass entrance at the end of last season, she hasn't done jack except stroll mopily around the house and tell Andrea why they can't trust people. I guess she did off her zombie pets, and that was kind of cool, but dude, if I had access to a katana blade I would use it to hand things to people. But anyway.

As Andrea attempted to slut it out in Mayberry, the Atlanta Gang was busy taking names in the prison. Fucking Andrew from episode 2 showed up while Rick was busy trying to save his friends. God, Andrew. Good timing. Fortunately Rick didn't have time for any of that shit and killed him.

PS- I found out at Comic-Con that Andrew Lincoln is actually super, super British. As if the weapon carrying and the copious ass-kicking weren't enough, he just got exponentially hotter, oh haaaai.




Wow, I am really fucked up.

Of course, as much I'd been reveling in how great this episode had been so far, I still remembered the spoiler (!!!!!!) Bobby had posted on my Facebook wall earlier and couldn't escape that nagging lump in my throat (that's what she said). TWD did not skimp on the brutal deaths this week. Carol is missing and we're not entirely sure whether she made it out. She never really had a clear purpose but still, that kind of sucks. The first gut-wrencher, however, came in the form of the episode's MVP, T-Dawg, who pushed Carol out of the way when the walkers had them cornered and ran directly into the line of fire, giving Carol a chance to escape or at least get a solid head start. I'd heard that T-Dawg would have a bigger role this season, having more than two lines and maybe even some character development. Guess not. RIP, T-Dawg. From what we could tell from your four syllables, you were pretty awesome.


Here's a clip of IronE Singleton on this week's Talking Dead. You can tell he's just as nice a guy as everyone says and I hope he books a ton more acting gigs after this.



Next up we had what Entertainment Weekly is referring is to as "that scene." Now, I've been on the Whore-y Grimes train ever since I discovered the books in 2010, but DAMN, Walking Dead.

Lori had the distinct attribute of being one of those characters that I absolutely despised up until the very minute that I realized they were a total goner. This is impressive considering that it's only been accomplished by very few others- Jack Shepard, Marissa Cooper, Daffy Duck.



I detested Lori the entire time and I had the same reaction to her passing that I had when Opie got killed off on Sons of Anarchy or when Jin and Sun drowned together on Lost, and those were all beloved television icons that I may never recover from.

While running from the walkers, Lori chose that exact moment to go into labor and ushered Maggie and Carl into the boiler room (finally! Carl "stays in the fucking house!"). Maggie was forced to play midwife until Lori started excessively bleeding, because she would of course probably have a zombie baby. Meanwhile Carl is off to the side like, "oh great, the first vagina I ever see and it's my mom's."


Lori realized that something was up with her kid and told Maggie she would have to cut her open and extract the baby from her stomach, most likely killing her in the process. The world went "YAY!" but then we had to watch her say goodbye to Carl. The scene is below, and it's heartbreaking.



The speech Lori gave to Carl when she told him he would have to take care of everyone, including his father, was handled with grace, sincerity and real emotion. It was one of the most realistic scenes I've watched on television since I can remember, and it was made even more difficult when Carl volunteered to shoot his own mother in the head so she wouldn't turn. Maggie left the room, we heard a gunshot and then Carl emerged, all stoic and Child of the Corn like. He's not an annoying, useless little shit anymore, and I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes.


Both Sarah Wayne Callies (who played Lori) and writer Robert Kirkman claim that Lori is dead, gone and off the show completely, but Callies totally lied about her character's fate this season so as not to spoil fans, and we never actually witnessed Carl shooting her in the head, so you never know. I really hope we get to see Zombie Lori. That would be sweet.

Also, now that Lori is gone, we'll probably never find out whose baby it actually is, either, since the comics never tell us. My theories are as follows:

If the baby ever jumps directly into Andrea, it's Shane's. (Chris Hardwick suggested this on an episode of Talking Dead once. I think that was genius.)

If the baby won't stay in the fucking womb, it's Rick's. ("Baby! Stay in the fucking womb." "NO!" "Yup, it's mine.")

I think if you take an informal poll, you'll find that the scene where most people lost it is where Rick sees his daughter (not mentioned in the episode, but if you read the comics, you know) and figures out that his wife is dead. Andrew Lincoln deserves all the fucking awards. Just all of them. Emmy, Golden Globe, American Kennel Club, Award for Obscure Abbreviations, Jamy Toaster, whatever. Hell, just elect him President.



The moment was borderline "what's-in-the-box," but the dude's wife was just killed. Seriously. BTW, this marks a turning point in the books where Rick begins a spiral into becoming a complete fucking mental patient.

There's a reason The Walking Dead  is one of my favorite television shows, and it's episodes like "Killer Within" that I would probably force my friends to watch to prove my point. This show does not fuck around, and although "Killer Within" was a terrible idea when I am PMS'ing and the leftover Halloween candy was not within arms' length, I am so grateful for quality programming and not more crap like Honey Boo Boo.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Rock You Like A... Sorry About That. Won't Happen Again.

I'm going to forego my usual Halloween post this year. I'll write stuff next week, when I can report on parties and debauchery, but there's a lot more serious shit happening right now.

Last night a state of disaster was declared in New York and New Jersey due to the massive pummeling the country faced from Hurricane Sandy. I was originally supposed to move back to Brooklyn this weekend, just in time for my favorite holiday, but the impending storm loomed so my family, who does in fact love me, preferred that I hold off on my decision. The hurricane blew through 14 different states, tropical venues and parts of the East Coast of Canada, so she's officially since been adopted by the Kardashians.

Kim Kardashian: East coast in 15 mins is our fun Kardashian Special called Dishing it out! Tune into E! All of our footage that was too crazy to air!
This is an actual tweet from Kim Kardashian during the hurricane. 'Merica.

At the time of this post, there was a death toll of almost 40 with 18 of those in New York. 8 million people were left without power, possibly for weeks. People have lost their homes. Parts of Connecticut, New Jersey, Manhattan and Brooklyn are completely underwater. Hospitals and airports are flooded and public transportation is suspended until further notice. This storm may have caused more damage than 2011's Hurricane Irene and, some are speculating, may have been worse than Hurricane Katrina. They should have named this storm Hurricane A-Rod, because then it wouldn't have hit anything.


I'm currently still in LA, so I wasn't susceptible to any of the catastrophe that occurred. I was at my dad's all day yesterday, and in between phone calls from my brothers, we spent the day glued to CNN and MSNBC. A few times, the cameras cut to some idiots cavorting through the rain puddles like they were in summer camp. I refer to these douchebags as "natural selection."

I am still, of course, a New Yorker, and 90% of the people I love and care about were affected in some way by Hurricane Olivia Newton-John. We definitely should have seen this coming, as she does like to get physical. (If you were into that joke, it was all me. If you weren't, I shamelessly stole it from Lily.)



My brothers in Brooklyn were extremely lucky and didn't even lose power. My family on the Upper East Side and Queens barely experienced any casualties, either. One of my girls in Tribeca had her apartment flooded, but has somewhere to stay until her building is fixed. A few of my friends scattered along the East Coast just got a bunch of rain and a whole lot of wind. Kitty had a major scare when she couldn't reach her parents for a few hours, but that was assuaged fairly quickly. Everyone I know was extremely fortunate, so I can go back to making fun of Philadelphia and New Jersey, which is awesome, because that's like 1/4 of my arsenal. If this wasn't our punishment for giving fame and money to those worthless degenerates from Jersey Shore, I don't know what is.


For all of those I couldn't reach via cell yesterday, I got frequent Facebook updates from the rest of them. I'm "friends" with this one girl who's a model, and I know that you're all thinking, "right, middle-class escort," but she's actually been featured on some obscure magazine covers, done a few Fashion Weeks, appeared as a walk-on in some horrible sitcoms, etc. I've been considering putting her on hide because every single one of her status updates is either a shameless self-promo or a ludicrous proclamation about how God made it so that she could book some stupid gig. God must be pretty superficial, then. Yesterday she posted a status about how because of Hurricane Sandy, she was forced to cancel her flight to LA and therefore miss two "high-profile" red carpet events.

Wow, my heart fucking bleeds for you. Your life totally sucks. You definitely have worse luck than my family, who may not have heat, light and refrigeration for weeks. Or how about my friends, who have no way to get to their jobs and are already living paycheck to paycheck? And of course you are way worse off than those who have lost their place of residence, or are critically injured, or I don't know, have died? But yeah, let's focus on your fucking "red-carpet event." That's majorly important. Almost as bad as when you lost your phone last year and it was the "worst September 11th ever!" Every time this chick refers to herself as a "New Yorker" (with a hashtag!!!) I want to punch her in the vag, especially because she's lived there for like six months.


At any rate, if you live in the tri-state area and want to donate your time and efforts, I've included some lists of places to get you started. If you're not located near any of these, click on the links to find ways to make a difference anyway.  Stay safe, everybody.

The Classics
Smaller Non-Profits
For Your Pets
New York Cares (my personal favorite)

And, just because I should: