More About the Cock

Hancock that is. Pervs.

I HATED the ending. After Hancock realizes that he and Charlize can't be together without it killing them, he flies from California to New York. Literally flies. Away from his other half. From the woman who he was destined to be with. She ends up with her husband and her non-biological kid and is happily eating ice cream and staring at the moon when the movie ends.

Except that the film assumes that we will forget a couple of things. For one, she's immortal. She is going to outlive her beautiful husband and child and any other man she falls in love with. She is destined to watch the people she loves grow old and die over and over. Which is an incredibly depressing treatise on love.

And, hello, she's a superhero! She's as strong, possibly stronger, than Hancock. So what, she's never going to use that now? Will she ignore the horrors of the world? The crimes she can prevent? Yes, and why? Cause she's a chick. Call me a militant feminist if you want. Hell, I'll take it as a compliment. But there is very little that can explain why she can ignore her calling to protect people and it's okay, but when Will Smith is pissing away his superheroness, it's a tragedy. According to the writers of Hancock a woman's true destiny is to live the suburban life of wife and mother. How very Republican of them.

In Which I Spoil the New Will Smith Movie

So, Hancock. First of all, the title just begs to be giggled at. Heehehe. Cock. Ok, I'm done. Now before I talk about what a disappointing movie it is, let me talk about Will Smith. Damn. That's all.

Fine, there's more. He's hot. First and foremost. He may be my new unattainable celebrity crush. He's also extraordinarily talented at what he does. He is the only actor I can think of who can play a superhero who looks like an actual superhero (and not a skinny little Spidey one, Tobey Maguire) but acts like a regular guy. Albeit, a guy with issues. My point is, I was predisposed to like this film.

Hancock also features Jason Bateman in a very prominent, juicy role that uses his sarcastic wit and non-smarmy smile to full advantage. Bateman was so good on Arrested Development that I've been waiting for him to be given a star vehicle. This isn't the movie, but it comes close. In a couple of scenes he manages to steal focus from both Smith and Charlize Theron, and that is a testament to his talent and his every guy good looks.

And lastly, let's talk about Charlize. I am convinced she made out with the hair, make-up and wardrobe departments, because she has never looked so effortlessly beautiful. Her suburban mom with a secret is underused, and she has a transformation that's as believable as the one she made for Monster, but she does her best.

And now I spoil. Seriously, if you want to see this movie, stop reading.

Charlize Theron is a superhero too! And she and Will Smith are immortal! And married! That is the twist. They have been pulled together and apart for more than 3,000 years, and because of an 80-year old blow to the head that left him with amnesia, Hancock has no idea.

And that is where the movie fell apart for me. What started as a funny, interesting look at what would happen if the ultimate good guy became a boozing, foul-mouthed asshole morphed into a meditation on relationships and fate. Smith and Theron are meant for each other but when they are close together for too long, their powers fade and their mortality makes them vulnerable.

That is the moral of the story. Love makes us vulnerable. It's a good moral, and if the movie had delved more deeply into why the two of them couldn't make it work despite their love being created by a higher power, I might have enjoyed it. Instead, I was left vaguely unsettled and more than a little disappointed.

I Love the View of My Navel

Wanting a man who has a girlfriend is standing in a bakery that puts its chocolate cake behind bullet-proof glass. Frustrating, fruitless and downright disheartening.

A Rainy Day

Cyd Charisse passed away on Tuesday. She had been married for 60 years to the same man and didn't look close to her age. She was a beautiful, graceful woman. One of the few female dancers who could draw focus from Gene Kelly.

When I saw Singin' In the Rain the first time, I didn't "get" her. The entire dance sequence bored me. As I got a older and just a touch wiser, I realized that she was an exceptional performer. Watching her dance. Watching her move. I was suddenly aware of what the human body, particularly the female one, could do. It made me even happier when I found out she was 30 when she made that film. Not old in normal people years, but ancient in the world of dancing.

She left behind a lovely legacy of dance and film. Brigadoon and Silk Stockings come to mind. But when I hear her name, I'll always think of a leggy brunette in a green dress tempting Gene Kelly with a seductive dance.

Lights On!

You know what is an excellent idea if you haven't been sleeping well? Watching The Silence of the Lambs for the first time on a dark, cold Sunday night.

I have a fairly extensive knowledge of movies, and Hannibal Lector is a cultural icon. I've quoted the film for years despite being too scared to watch it until now. So brilliant woman that I am, I thought that I could handle what is considered one of the most terrifying movies of the last thirty years.

Hoo boy, not so much. The entire movie is just so brilliant. Jodie Foster's beautiful blue eyes act as conduits for the audience into the mind of Hannibal. It's a vulnerable and moving performance that was rightfully rewarded with an Oscar. And Anthony Hopkins chews the hell out of the scenery in the best way. Watching him made me feel as though I was watching Beethoven compose.

And maybe, just maybe I would have been alright watching the two of them. But friggin' Ted Levine. That man scared the shit out of me. "It puts the lotion on the skin or it gets the hose again." Aaaaah! Ok, and also a little hee! I love that line. I don't like to use the word brave to describe an actor. It's not as though he's running into burning buildings or anything, but Buffalo Bill would have been a ridiculous caricature in the hands of a lesser actor. Levine makes him eminently believable. It's the honesty of the character that kept me up last night. Waiting for a man with night-vision goggles and a desire to wear my butt.

Cultural Snobbery Pisses Me Off

If you think that liking foreign films makes you a better person than me because one of my favorite movies is Tommy Boy, I've got nothing for you. If you scoff at anything that's "mainstream" or popular, please stay away from me.

Hey, I watched Spirited Away in the original Japanese. I know who Akira Kurosawa and Jean-Luc Godard are. Big fucking deal. My love of ee cummings and Kandinsky does not nullify my love of fart jokes.

Look, I know that I have better taste than most people. If you are one of my friends, feel proud, because, hello, good taste. But I am also aware that every single person on the planet thinks that what he or she loves is superior to all other crap. It's a duh kind of statement really, but too many assholes forget that their love of The 400 Hundred Blows has no bearing on their importance as people.

I know that the United States is dumbing down at an alarming rate, but the solution isn't to become insular and elitist. Take a cue from your kindergarten class and share with the other kids. And for the love of god, don't feel guilty about the things that you enjoy. Unless you love Clay Aiken, in which case, make like Clay and keep it in the closet.

I Have to Wait All Summer?

I watched the last five minutes of Gossip Girl on perezhilton and could not have loathed the show more if it had farted in my face. I love campy, soapy trash T.V., but the actors have to possess a talent besides walking and flipping their hair at the same time, and the writers need to not look to old Sweet Valley High books for their inspiration. That Jessica. What a bitch!

On the flip side, the season finale of House left me dehydrated from excessive crying. I'm not a huge fan of the show despite my love of Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard, but it was truly the most wrenching sixty minutes of T.V. I've seen all year. The show's biggest strength is that the ridiculousness of the medical melodramas never distract from the variety of relationships the show contains. Wilson and House in particular shine as co-dependent best friends who want the best for each other but have opposing views about what that means. The reason that the season finale was so exceptional is that there wasn't a nail-biting cliffhanger. Wilson's girlfriend Amber died and House lived. The end. But whether or not House and Wilson will repair their friendship is tantalizing enough to make me want the fifth season to start right now.

And last but never ever least. CSI: Miami. They shot the Carus! He might be dead! Either way, his sunglasses are broken and he won't be standing with his hand on his waist like a little teapot for another three months. Gah! Will this torture never end?

Kill Screen Hero

My word did I love The King of Kong, a documentary about the pursuit of the highest score on Donkey Kong. There's a dude, Billy Mitchell. And he's a total dick. At the beginning of the film, he is the world-record holder of the highest score. When Steve Wiebe, a husband, father and complete sweetheart sets a new record, Billy manages to get the score invalidated. Because he is. A DICK.

What follows is an almost Biblical match-up between these two men. Except that Billy refuses to play Steve live. Instead, he punks out and sends a videotape of his reclamation of the record.

I absolutely love documentaries like this. Trekkies and Wordplay come to mind, and I'm sure there are more. None of these movies cover ground-breaking or controversial topics. The people in them aren't famous or ticy-actory types. They are "normal" men and women who spend their lives watching Star Trek or doing crossword puzzles or playing Donkey Kong.

The best part about Kong is the strange men who hang on the periphery of Billy and Steve's lives. Billy has several little minions who tread somewhere between the ridiculous and the sublime.

I recommend this movie to anyone who has a sense of humor and a love of obsessive devotion to the small things in life.

Another Moment of Sadness

For the second time in less than a month, my mom has lost a member of her family. My Aunt Drein was 43. Forty-three. Looking at that number it seems even more absurd that she is gone. She died peacefully in her sleep. And that is absolutely zero comfort to the people who loved her. She had just gotten engaged. She was singing in a band and doing really well. She had friends and confidantes and family who loved her. Sometimes this fucking life is just too ridiculous.

All Downhill

I'm 30!! Woo?

Getting Creaky

I've gone walking the past four mornings, and now my knee hurts. What kind of fucked-up, AARP, denture wearing bullshit is that. I don't mind getting older. I just don't want to feel older. This blows.

Don't Grab That!

I don't like to talk about my weight. It's a sensitive topic for many people, and I'm no exception. I try not to care. I try not to judge myself based on the size of my jeans. Or my ass. But since I moved out of my sister's apartment, I've gained over 30 pounds. I never thought I'd be in the situation of gaining that much weight in less than a year. Every morning when I wake up and look in the mirror, I feel just a little bit like a failure.

John Gray is a DoucheNozzle

I am not now nor have I ever been a fan of advice that likes to espouse the view that man are grunting, visually stimulated idiots who only think about beer and boobies, beer and boobies on an endless loop. I am no more enamoured of the flip side which states that all women are flighty, emotional creatures who use sex to get what they want....particularly shiny things like diamonds and a dude's nutsack.

Blerg

Boredom creates a kind of mania that is hard to control. Today at work I felt as though my brain was clicking so fast that eventually something in it would come loose. I hate feeling that overwhelmed by my surroundings and by the swirling dervishes in my head. I think I need to start drinking at work.

Huh

So, I'm not sure why, but I am more moved to get in shape by the sight of men who are cut than women who are buff. Rocket Science, I know. But for serious, when you're trying to motivate yourself to go for a walk or lift a weight that's heavier than a Hershey's Bar, you'd think that turning to women whose fitness you admire would inspire you.

Now for sure I am amazed by women who look like they could take on a tank. Jennifer Garner in Alias. Angela Bassett in . . . well, anything. Jessica Biel in Blade: Trinity (shut up! She looked really good.)

But these women inspire me in a metaphorical way. What has made me feel the need to get really ripped this summer is Ryan Reynolds. Gerard Butler. Huge Jackman. And not just because I want to have sex with every one of them. It really isn't (just) a sex thing. Yes, they are beautiful, and I would like to do dirty things to all of them . . . preferably at the same time. But I find the male form inspiring to my own fitness and buffacity (I can't believe I just made up that lame-ass word). Maybe the display of raw testosterone taps into something primal in me. Or maybe I just need to get laid.

God DAMN Michael Jackson Could Move

He Was Awesome on Newsradio Too

I adore Andy Dick when he isn't acting like his last name. He killed on The Ben Stiller Show and Newsradio. And apparently, he hasn't lost his mojo.

People of Quiet Courage

Mildred Loving died not so long ago. She was a black woman who dared to fall in love with a white man and marry him. It was 1958, and in Virginia their marriage was illegal. Fifty years ago, 17 states did not believe that black and white should mix. And the simple act of falling in love and choosing to sign a marriage certificate meant you could go to jail.

Think about it. Imagine not being allowed to marry the man you love, because his skin isn't close enough to your shade. Mildred and her husband Robert refused to move out of Virginia and let things stand. They moved to Washington and took their case to the Supreme Court. And because of their love and their courage, anti-miscegenation laws were struck down in all 17 states where they still existed.

Sadly, Robert Loving died in a car accident in 1975. Mildred never stopped loving and missing her husband. And what's more, she never stopped standing up for what she believed in. Last year, on the 40th anniversary of the Loving vs. Virginia announcement, she wrote a letter. I've excerpted the paragraph that I am most moved by.

Surrounded as I am now by wonderful children and grandchildren, not a day goes by that I don't think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the "wrong kind of person" for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no
matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry. Government has no business imposing some people’s religious beliefs over others. Especially if it denies people’s civil rights.

Mildred Loving could have lived her life quietly with her children and grandchildren. She could have ignored the fact that marriage equality is still not a reality for gay and lesbian people. Instead, she chose once again to stand up for what she believes. She chose to stand up on behalf of all people. And for that, she deserves our gratitude and our Loving thoughts.

Who I Would Like To Be

Tina Fey, of course. Debra Messing, circa Will and Grace season 4. Angela Bassett in Strange Days. Cate Blanchett in Lord of the Rings. Big Bird in Don't Eat the Pictures.

Living Single

I have only been in one relationship in my life. It lasted nine months, and it broke my heart in two. I'm not sure why it took me so long to find someone I wanted to spend more than two minutes with, but I know it doesn't have anything to do with me being too "picky".

I flirt like a champ. With men. With women. And most days, with chocolate. But as much fun as I have flirting, I rarely land in situations that lend themselves to relationships or even dates. I've turned down a few really great guys for a variety of reasons, and I wonder why when I get lonely. I'm generally happy being single. I guard my independence, and I know that I couldn't be nearly as self-absorbed as I am if I actually had to consider someone else's feelings.

I turn 30 next weekend, and I never would have thought that I'd still be single at this landmark age. I'm not in any hurry to settle down and I'm not terribly interested in having kids, but I do miss holding hands at the movies and saying "We'll be there." It's nice to have a partner in crime. Knocking over a liquor store just isn't the same when you have to do it on your own.

ETA: Perfect...

Excuse Me While I Pet My Bunny

May is National Masturbation Month. Which is awesome. Just the other day I decided that skinning the salmon would make a great euphemism for a guy cranking one out. I must admit to being a little disappointed that there aren't more sly ways of talking about what a single woman gets up to late at night. Double clicking the mouse. Petting the bunny/kitty/some other soft, furry animal that stands in for the cooch. Jilling off (I really don't like that one. But then again, I don't like it's masculine equivalent either.) Someone should write a list....

Hee! I like Tossing the Pink Salad the best.

http://www.starma.com/penis/pinky/pinky.html

Leave it to the Brits to make masturbation sound like doing your taxes.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A427204

Frustratingly Hot

Work crushes are fun for the first few weeks. They remind me of high school. You plan your day around the possibility of seeing your crush. You dress up on days you know you'll bump into him and try to be near him when you're saying something particularly witty.

But after a time, the fun wears thin, and the crush becomes a depressing exercise in fruitless longing. It's even worse when you suspect that the object of your affection knows about your puppy lust and feels a little sorry for you. Gah! So much like high school. Without the unfortunate yearbook pictures.

Most Commercials Are Excrement

I'm taking a Copywriting class right now, and I am learning just how hard it is to create witty and intelligent advertisements. A really good commercial is like a perfect, miniature movie. Telling a story in 30 seconds takes skill that few people possess, and I can't imagine how much pressure it puts people under to have to deliver that perfect story in a few weeks or months.

However, there are men and women who get paid a hell of a lot more than me whose job it is to make us want to buy stuff. And these men and women have got to do a better job. If they want to entice me to buy crap I don't need, they need to step up their creativity, their intelligence and their savvy. With Tivo, DVR and DirectTV, advertising drones had better step it up. Thus endeth my lecture.

Truly Awful or Awfully True?

I watched the first season of Rescue Me a month or so ago, and I didn't mind it. I have a huge crush on Denis Leary, and he's at his misanthropic best here. But as I get further into the second season, I'm feeling increasingly uneasy. The way these guys talk to each other, particularly about women, makes me think that I should never date a firefighter. They're all racist, homophobic, bigoted, misogynistic assholes. And those are their good qualities. I can't decide if the writing is a reflection of a reality that I'd rather not acknowledge or a satirical look at heroism and bravery. Either way, I don't think I'm going to watch much more.

That Dance Show...No That Other Dance Show

I used to watch "American Idol" with my sister. Now I can't stand that dog and pony show. Instead, I've transferred my love to a more worthy reality show. "So You Think You Can Dance" is everything that "American Idol" aspired to be. The dancers are talented. The choreographers are working professionals in all types of dance. The contestants have to dance alone, in pairs and as a group.

I was not blessed with the dance. I don't look like an asshole on the dance floor or anything, but my moves are not subtle. I can bump and grind with the best of them, but I lack the smoothness and cool glide that people like my girl Paris has. I am, however, planning on learning the robot.

British Television Rules

It's not exactly revelatory to praise British television shows (I'm watching The Vicar of Dibley, which might explain the religious nature of that sentence). Dawn French is a personal idol of mine. As is Jennifer Saunders. Absolutely Fabulous and French and Saunders rock. Then there's Fawlty Towers, Coupling, Monarch of the Glen, Ballykissangel, Foyle's War, MI-5, and on and on ad infinitum.

And let us never forget the two perfect comedies given to us by Ricky Gervais. It's cool to prefer The Office to Extras, but I've never cared about being cool. Which probably explains the Amishy way I sometimes dress. I just like Andy Millman so much. He's flawed and sometimes mean but his heart always ends up in the right place. His friendship with Ashley Jensen as Maggie is my favorite male-female friendship on a t.v. show next to Liz and Jack on 30 Rock.

My Stomach Hurts

I eat so much crap. I'm not sure why. I mean, besides the taste. Chocolate is my biggest vice, but all kinds of junk appeal to me. It sucks. I sometimes feel as though I have no control over what I eat, and that's just not right.

In unrelated news, I am obsessed with Animal Planet's "Animal Police". I shouldn't watch it, because it makes me so angry, I want to beat down the idiots who neglect/abuse their animals.

Don't Get It

I don't get Angelina Jolie. She is undoubtedly beautiful, and she seems genuinely concerned about global issues. But she is not a talented actress. And please don't remind me of the Oscar, because Kevin Costner has two.

I don't mind her. She isn't Denise Richards or anything, but I can think of five women off the top of my head who can act circles around her. Frances McDormand, Angela Bassett, Cate Blanchett, Patricia Clarkson and Michelle Yeoh.

Oh, and I don't get Brad Pitt either. Not hot. Not talented. Pretty, charming and nice. And intent on having the most spectacularly gorgeous family ever to walk the earth.

Still, I don't get them.

I Like Books That Go Both Ways

I finished Empress of the World by Sara Ryan last night, and it was wonderful. The characters speak like real teenagers. They bicker and love and worry and spark. The main character, Nicola, Nic to her friends, is a smart, artistic 15-year old girl who is spending the summer at a camp for gifted high schoolers. There she meets a collection of boys and girls who are as weird and cool as she is. And it is also there that she falls in love for the first time, with Battle, a girl.

Up until the summer, Nic had always believed that she was straight, but she can't deny what she feels even if that means she's a lesbian...or even scarier, bisexual. Nic has made sense of the world around her by picking it apart. She loves archeology, her major at the camp, precisely because it allows her to analyze the artifacts of people who have long since passed. Loving Battle, who has wounds that run deep, means allowing life to happen and letting people just be. I felt very connected to the Nic for this reason. I tend to over-think everything despite it never making my life any more logical.

I love young adult fiction. And I am excited that Ryan continued the story of Battle in her new book. I recommend her first book to anyone who has ever loved another human being, of either gender.

Even Funnier Fast

Awwww

CUTE!

I saw The Sixth Sense in the theater with my brother. I was one of those people who got completely sucked in. I did not figure out that Bruce Willis's character was dead until the wedding ring hit the floor. I can still remember where I was in the theater and the reactions of the other people.

M. Night Shyamalan has spent many years and movies trying to recapture that magic, but I wish he would stop. Not making movies but trying to duplicate the gasp factor he achieved with his first film. The Sixth Sense wasn't great because it surprised me, but because it moved me. The entire cast nailed it and the writing didn't give anything away but it didn't hold back. Watching it now, I am amazed at how many clues I got before the big reveal.

I think that's why it's such an amazing movie. It reminds us that no matter how closely we think we're paying attention, we miss hundreds of small details every day. About places and events but especially about people.

Yay New Movies!

I am wildly excited about Iron Man. I adore Robert Downey Jr. Despite his troubled past, he has stayed brilliant and delicious. He was my second favorite thing about Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang, though not even he could outdo Val Kilmer camping it up as a detective named Gay Perry.

I watched the BBC miniseries North and South last weekend and developed a massive crush on Richard Armitage. The man is tall, dark, handsome and British. And it reminded me of something that I realized about ten years ago. I don't have much desire to marry. I think it's a great institution, but as Mae West said, "I'm not ready for an institution" (I am sure there are friends who would disagree.)

However, I've secretly believed for as many years as it's been since I studied abroad that I very much want to marry. I want to marry a Brit. I don't know what it is about British men that just ruffles my feathers. Their accents certainly. Their love of literature and theatre. Their appreciation of intelligent, real women. I know I'm speaking in wild generalizations, but I found those characteristics present in many more British men than American men. Which means it's time to move to London. Poor me...

Six Degrees

Brian Dennehy is on 30 Rock right now. And I met him!! Which means I am one degree closer to Tina Fey. Ohmigod, I think I just peed my pants...um, I'm not actually wearing pants, but it sounds weird to say I just peed my dress. Weird-er.

Totally Bad Ass

Before The Matrix, there was Blade. The Wachowski Brothers owe a lot to David S. Goyer and Stephen Noyer, the writer and director of the first film.

But the look, the special effects, the black leather and the slow-mo bullets wouldn't have meant anything without Wesley Snipes holding the movie together. The paradox of Blade is that it is one of Snipes' best roles, but it also led to him becoming a sullen, martial-arts obsessed action star. Which is too bad, because the man has chops (no pun intended), and he is stone-cold gorgeous. I'm sorry that he got popped for tax evasion. Three years in jail is ridiculous, btw. Paris Hilton drove drunk and got 27 days. He ignored the IRS and got over 1,000. Bullshit.

p.s. Kris Kristofferson was 62 when he co-starred in the movie. 62. And he looked fine.

But Also a Little Freudian

I think that George Michael's song Father Figure may be the sexiest/creepiest song ever written. I really don't want my man to act like my dad. However, I do want him to say to me, "If you ever hunger, hunger for me..." Yes, please.

Dream 76

I would pay to be on Jeopardy. I suppose that defeats the purpose, but come on. Wouldn't it be awesome? Plus, I would totally kiss Alex Trebek on the mouth. 

A Few Girly Flicks

So, I saw Baby Mama Friday night with the lovely and brilliant Erin. The movie made me laugh out loud many times. My girl Tina was lovely and sad and sweet. And Steve Martin stole every fucking scene he was in. But I didn't love it as much as I wanted to. I know that my expectations were ridiculously high. 30 Rock is officially my all-time favorite show, and I identify strongly with Liz Lemon. 

I'm not sure I can explain why I was (mildly) disappointed. Which is just super since I'm writing a blog about it. Ok, here goes. The movie didn't have enough heart. Before I saw it, I was under the impression that Ms. Fey had penned the film. It was actually written by a man. Now, the simple fact of his gender has little to do with my disappointment I think, and I have no doubt that Fey and Amy Poehler had a lot of input into their characters and the dialogue. But something seemed forced. I didn't feel as though I was watching real people or real relationships. And the ending was way too pat. I was frustrated that everything tied up so neatly, mostly because the film was supposed to be about a woman whose world is shattered when she realizes that not everything can be planned and not all of our dreams can be fulfilled. 

Having said that, it is worth seeing in the theater to see Steve Martin portray a long-haired, corporate hippie who vacations with Oprah and communes with Deepak Chopra. Seriously.

Movie tickets are ridiculously expensive these days, but I couldn't help spending another 10 dollars on Saturday night to see Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day. What a lovely movie. Frances McDormand is perfect, of course, and titian-tressed Amy Adams does a wonderful impression of Marilyn Monroe, and I mean that as a compliment. 

The story revolves around a woman, McDormand, who is a failure as a governess. In a desperate attempt to save herself from the soup kitchen, she steals an assignment from the agency for whom she used to work. When she arrives on the doorstep of one Ms. Delysia Lafosse, she finds that the young woman does not need a governess so much as a handler. She is juggling three men while trying to make her name as an actress in London's West End. 

Like Baby Mama everything ends neatly tied up, and all the people who deserve happy endings receive them, but I didn't mind as much in this film. And it has nothing to do with the fact that Lee Pace, playing Delysia's poor but passionate true love, is so yummy he makes my teeth ache. I adored him in the show Wonderfalls, and I fell head over heels for him in Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day. Plus, Ciaran Hinds is in the movie and hot. Also, I met him. And tried not to drool. Ahem.

Speaking of hot men, I don't get the obsession with Patrick Dempsey. He is handsome and not untalented, but he doesn't do it for me. To be fair, I am also unmoved by Brad Pitt, so perhaps it's time to have my eyes checked. And since I'm talking about Patrick Dempsey (ah, the awkward segueway), Enchanted  is another movie that I invested with unfair expectations. I was so certain that I'd like it, that I bought it sight unseen. 

I love Amy Adams. I loved her in Drop Dead Gorgeous, a highly underrated black comedy that should have made her and everyone else in it a huge star immediately. She's funny without relying on that ridiculous handicap of being the pretty girl who falls down a lot. (Are your ears burning, Teri Hatcher?) I am also a huge fan of James Marsden. He is so gorgeous and wildly expressive. Plus, dude can sing. 

What bothered me about the movie is small, but maybe not so much. In the beginning of the film, Dempsey's daughter is dressed in a Karate outfit and learning about strong women from her dad. By the end of the film, she is wearing a dress and obsessed with all things girly. Now, I am not anti-dress. Nor am I anti-princess. I own Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast. 

My problem is with the codification of femininity. Girls wear dresses. Boys wear pants. Girls have long hair and sing pretty songs. Boys go out into the world and cut things down and build bridges...or something. Gender roles are still incredibly stringent in this world and in this country. Women can venture into areas that used to be reserved for men, though not without some trepidation. But heaven forbid a man enjoy something that's considered feminine. 

All the glowing reviews made me think that the movie was some revolutionary take on the princess story, but really it was more of the same. Which is too bad, because I almost feel as though it could have been redeemed for me if Giselle had ended the movie in a Karate class with the daughter, dressed to fight and unafraid to be a strong, independent 3-D woman. Maybe next time. 

A Shiny, New Penny

This is a first for me. I blog on myspace occasionally, and I like that my friends leave me funny comments (sometimes they can be a little mean, but I'm not hurt. sob) My friend Courtney, who is herself an author and blogger, turned my on to blogger.com. I'd like to keep it going for as long as I am still young and beautiful. Which means I have two and a half more weeks. I turn 30 soon, and I plan on running off to Spain.