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...