July 2009
13 posts
You Know What I'm Sick of?
Writers that continue to write snarky reviews of True Blood for the amusement of other snarksters! It’s very clear that you were vehemently against the show from the beginning and were far too cool to take pleasure in its swampy, campy, gothic eroticism of the undead. Like Tru Blood itself, it’s an acquired taste. If you don’t like it, you don’t like it. But seriously, is...
Go Ahead With Your Own Life aka The Pierogi...
I was just downstairs at my workplace cafeteria. The options were minimal and all laden with a combination of starch, grease and those invisible yet, obviously, unhealthy additives that smell so delicious. I chose the pierogies with scallion sour cream and spiced applesauce. It was a matter of whittling down to the lesser evil.
The cheesesteak, although mighty enticing, was oozing oily bubbles...
Rainbow's End
I am not sure what the consensus is on this song and I am not sure if I care: “Seven Wonders” is, hands down, my favorite Fleetwood Mac tune. It’s at once breezy and nostalgic, brimming with both hope and resignation. The way Stevie stresses both “hope” and pray” as she sings “If I hope and if I pray/Ooooooh it might work out someday” tingles my spine every time. It never fails to capture the...
“One indication of the film’s thinness is that Summer has no such professional or...”
– A.O. Scott makes an incisive point. Loved All the Real Girls, but I’ve had my fill of wide eyes and hairbows. And that god-awful cotton commercial! Zooey, you make it hard for me not to hate you. I don’t want you to be another full-banged pixie who likes old records, the ukelele, flea...
We Ain't Born Typical: The Abridged Story of...
The powers of reinvention have been kind to Alison Mosshart. I like to consider her my own personal Velvet Goldmine. Let me explain:
Mosshart was once, not too long ago, a cute pop/punk vocalist for local Florida band, Discount. Losing the boyish hair and baby fat, Mosshart in a matter of years has become virtually unrecognizable as the vampy frontwoman of The Kills and now The Dead Weather....
Q Train Omens
Based on my work commute this week, I have concluded the following:
When departing the train and arriving at your work destination, it is far better to be greeted by the sight of a dozen helium balloons that resemble shiny gumballs than the sight of a wild-eyed homeless man attempting to wash himself on the platform, disturbed by the sight of well-dressed onlookers assiduously going about their...
Things That Get Better With Age
1. Vampire blood, particularly that of the brawny, brooding, and dead-sexy Nordic variety. True Blood’s Eric Northman is the most fascinating character on television right now.
2. Roseanne re-runs prior to 1997 and/or the introduction of fake Becky.
Whenever I feel defensive, insecure, useless, hopeless. Whenever I want to take a dip in a piss-warm pool of schadenfreude, I turn on...
“You can meditate away, but at bottom the movie is 97 minutes of Sam Rockwell...”
– Owen Gleiberman harping about Moon. Is this really a bad thing? I’d pay 12.50 to watch Sam Rockwell organize his silverware drawer. In a darkened well covered with feces and populated by frogs. And I really hate frogs.
Listen
Excerpt from forthcoming untitled Vincent D’Onofrio biography:
Prior to joining the cast of esteemed crime drama Law & Order: Criminal Intent and even before his sensational turn as closeted superhero Thor/ gruff auto repair owner in Adventures in Babysitting, actor Vincent D’Onofrio had a clear artistic vision. Only his first time around, it involved playing the saxophone at...
Vh1 Inspired Musings
You know that you’ve been fully indoctrinated into the pop culture cesspool of reality television when you view London’s triumphant return to Daisy of Love as irrefutable evidence that it is possible for reality courtships to surpass mere versimiltude and attain a sweet authenticity albeit between two scumbags. You are absolutely beyond redemption when you find yourself thanking Riki...
Girl, Interrupted
I don’t have much time to write on here presently, but I took some time today to document my deep, deep distaste for the sound of flip-floppy shoes walking past my cubicle door. Flip-flops are not made for such purposeful, office-bound gaits. It’s a revolting paradox in action. And I don’t really like flip-flops in any setting…There they go again, plodding past, pair after...