Insomnia and Prince and Donuts, Oh MY!

Whoa. Stop the presses. (Vicki Vale, Vick-V-Vicki Vale!) How did this happen?! This NEVER happens! I fell asleep before 9:00 PM?! What the…?! Okay, I blame this anomaly on exhaustion stemming from bad bedtime choices. But let’s not point fingers, GOSH. Everyone just settle down!

(Keep bustin’.)

In any event, my bedside clock tells me it’s two in the morning and, hello? I’m wide awake. WIDE. AWAKE. Aaaaand now I can’t seem to get “Batdance” out of my head, thanks a WHOLE LOT, “Chuck” and Prince!

What now?

(This town needs an enema!)

Oooh, I say donut run! Donuts! Dunkin Donuts is open 24 hours, right? Just gotta grab my Uggs and some cash…. gotta beat the snow storm and whatnot… it’s just down the road, no one will even miss me… mmmm, cinnamon cake donuts…

(Batman!)

As it turns out, sleep deprivation? Not my friend. Clearly.

(STOP!)

Dreamy Eyes and Broken Hearts on 34th Street

While watching The Miracle on 34th Street– not the TOTALLY awesome 1947 version starring Natalie Wood and Maureen O’Hara, but the disappointing 1994 remake with Richard Attenborough, who, BTW, I cannot watch without remembering his turn as Jacob in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and shouting– er, singing, “Jacob! Jacob and sons!” because AWESOME MUSICAL?!– the ever romantical Allison rushed to the defense of Bryan Bedford, played prettily by Dylan McDermott, after he proposed to Dorey Walker and she freaking SHOT HIM DOWN in the street like Atticus did to rabid old Tim Johnson, except not with a gun or bullets, but figuratively, or the show would have ended WAY differently, you know what I’m saying?

In response to Dorey’s unbelievably harsh “Have I ever done anything to give you the impression I wanted to marry you?” speech– which, Dorey, have you met Dylan McDermott?! Good LORD, woman! Are you INSANE?! He has, like, the DREAMIEST EYES ever! And the HAIR?! Hello?!– Allison turned to me, her misty eyes glittering behind her glasses.

“What?!” she cried. “She DID give him the impression she wanted to marry him! She DID! I mean, she kissed him”– she paused for emphasis– “ON! THE! LIPS! Like, mmmwah, mwahmm!”– here she made out with her hand a bit, which was a little disconcerting, let me tell you– “and she held his HAND, and… and… she went on a DATE with him!” She threw her arms in the air, obviously disgusted with Dorey’s loose moral standards. “Right, Momma? Right?!” she asked– rhetorically, I hope, because I was too busy trying not to giggle to answer– then she folded her arms across her chest with a little “hmmph!” and turned back to the movie.

Granted, the Dorey character does lose a little in translation, making this scene even harder to take, because, again, woman, do you not see the DREAMY EYES?! Come on! Plus, a single mom– not a widow, but a *gasp* divorcee!– trying to make it in the 1940’s business world was playing in an entirely different ballgame than today’s single working mom. Where Maureen O’Hara’s Doris was sympathetic as a realist trying to raise her daughter to accept the hard facts of life that would have been relevant to a single working mom at that time, modern Dorey’s mopeyness and glacial heart made me think, “Dude, a little Lexapro would be a Miracle on 34th Street for THAT lady, I tell you what.”

So, for a second I wasn’t sure if I should explain to my nine-year-old daughter that, in all honesty, smooching and hand-holding and dating aren’t quite the binding evidence of True Love she apparently thinks them to be, so TECHNICALLY the spurned luvah’s proposal was both arrogant and presumptuous (but, dreamy eyes?!), or if I should just let it go.

“I know, right?” I agreed, folding my arms across my chest in solidarity and cross disapproval. “Shocking.”

More Singing Along with Dr. Horrible

So, if for whatever reason– illness, family emergency, personal crisis– you haven’t yet managed to see Joss Whedon’s Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, a three-act internet musical starring the super awesome Neil Patrick Harris as a blogging, low-rent super villain named Dr. Horrible, who longs to gain entrance into the Evil League of Evil and talk to the pretty girl at the laundromat, feel free to take a look-see at the sneak preview:

Teaser from Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog on Vimeo.

Okay, so I have now seen all three Acts, and DUDE. I have Thoughts. Of course, my thoughts would be considered spoilers to any and all Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog virgins, so be warned. DO. NOT. CLICK. Unless you want to be spoiled. For real. Clicking equals No-No. Unless you’ve seen the whole thing, in which case, come on doooooown! (In other words, click on the “read more” hyperlink below… if you dare. Mwah ha ha.)

[Read more]

An Announcement and a Recommendation

Did you notice my new site?! Did it myself! I KNOW, right?! SWEET. And TechnoGeekery totally matches! Woo!

Okay, first of all, there is News regarding my video podcast o’ technogeekery, which I relay to you in my latest episode of TechnoGeekery with Chassy Cat (which I will always upload via my brand-spanking new Podango’s Flash 9 player in my sidebar here at DWM. I KNOW, right?!):

TechnoGeekery is Brought to You By…

On this Very Special Episode of TechnoGeekery, I announce the show’s very first Corporate Sponsor: Johnson & Johnson’s Aveeno Baby products.

That’s right! TechnoGeekery, along with the Mommycast and Friends Family Channel and Aveeno Baby, is making total podcast history! No, REALLY. Please feel free (and by “feel free” I mean, “do this, please, please, oh please…”) to click on the Aveeno Baby banner under “The Latest at TechnoGeekery” at my TechnoGeekery site to learn more about their products (and to show just how awesome we TechnoGeeks are, naturally!). Thank you so much for your support.

Oh, and buy Aveeno lotion. Then tell me about how awesome it is in the comment section of my TechnoGeekery site. And then click on the Aveeno banner again. Are you getting what I’m saying here? CLICK!

Also, if you haven’t visited me at iTunes, please stop by and leave me tons of positive feedback! Unless you have nothing nice to say, in which case, stay AWAY.

Thanks!

And FINALLY… the recommendation portion of this post:

Despite an unsolicited newfound intimate knowledge of Jason Segel’s manbits, Forgetting Sarah Marshall is laugh out loud funny. It’s got my girl Kristen Bell (Veronica Mars!) in it, and seriously, her British rocker boyfriends steals every scene he’s in. And there are PUPPETS, people! PUPPETS!

In fact, this movie was so laugh out loud HIII-larious, that I will probably have to see it again! Oh, because the packed theater laughed so loudly that I missed stuff, not because of the manbits. Sheesh. Get your minds out of the gutters. (Yes, I’m talking to YOU, William and Nils…)

Check it out! Hey, I meant the MOVIE.

Honestly. You people…

“… and a bag of chips.”

Over the weekend, I cuddled up on the couch with my kiddos and we watched Sydney White, a modern retelling of the Snow White story. As “the fairest of them all”– a beautiful sorority girl (because, duh, who better to play an evil witch, eh Disney?)– strutted onto the scene, Alli leaned over and tapped on my arm.

With an unladylike snort of disgust, she whispered, “Momma, that girl thinks she’s all this and that, doesn’t she?”

Stardust: Storybook Romance at its BEST

If you love a good boy-meets-girl storybook movie (Think Princess Bride, but more romantical) chock full o’ comically nasty witch queens and evil princes, fantastical sorcery and swordplay, and Robert DeNiro in drag, well, this one just magically fell into your lap:

Stardust, adapted from a novel by Neil Gaiman.

I saw it last night, and I have to say it is charming. No, really! And I’m not just saying that because it’s a wicked good pun. Okay, I AM saying that because it’s a wicked good pun, but also because it’s TRUE! Utterly charming. And FUNNY. And romantical. Did I say romantical?
*sigh*

This is the date movie of the summer, y’all. I mean, nothing warms the cockles of one’s heart like a story of an impetuous young man setting out on a magical quest to retrieve a fallen star in order to impress his beautiful but cold unrequited love, am I right? Eh? (And when that unrequited love is played by Sienna Miller, you just KNOW it will take a ginormous gesture to win her affection.) And when a packed theater (packed! a week and a half after its release!) is laughing and cheering throughout the movie–so much, in fact, that you will probably have to go see the movie again because you missed some parts due to the laughter and cheers from the audience– you know there’s something special going on.

Honestly. This movie is one of those rare, boy-meets-girl, storybook romances that actually EARNS its sweetness. And I think I have a new secret movie character crush in the impetuous Tristan (played by Charlie Cox). Allow me to say… RAWR.

Plus, did I mention Robert DeNiro in drag? Yes?

Well, there you go.

No need to thank me. It was my pleasure.

Vacation Bible School Euphoria

Vacation Bible School euphoria is a curious and slightly bewildering thing to behold, I tell you what. Allison was invited to attend with her best friend, and we were all like, “Eh. Why not?”

When Allison returned home the first evening I could hear her dancing around downstairs, regaling her brother and sister with colorful and sundry details of her evening spent eating yummy snacks and playing games and dancing and learning new songs.

“Listen, guys! Listen,” she begged, just before launching into song. LOUD song.

“Our GOD is an AWESOME God! Um, something… something… he ain’t just putting on the ritz! Our GOD is in AWESOME God!”

I heard Tanner snicker, and thought– perhaps– I might need to be privy to the goings-ons of this budding conversation. I put away my magazine (it was an edifying periodical, I am SURE, not at all some frivolous rag, like, say, InTouch or anything…), and snuck down to the landing at the bend in our stairwell, where I could see but not be seen.

In the living room Allison was performing some sort of little–I don’t know… jig?– while Tanner and Hannah looked on, wide-eyed. And not the Wow, that is so cool! wide-eyed, no sirree, but the Is she for real?! No, REALLY? wide-eyed. YOU know the one. The one that spells Trouble. With a capital T.

Allison brought it home. “He reigns from heaven above! Something… and love! Our God is an AWESOME GOOOOD!”

Now, she’s only just turned eight, so I am going to go ahead an overlook the jazz hands. Tanner and Hannah, however, were not as generous.

Tanner glanced at Hannah, then back at Allison. “You know,” he said, his voice calm, “some people might think that song is a little,” he paused, in an apparent struggle to choose the right word, “well, disrespectful.”

Hannah nodded her head. “Yeah. Disrespectful.” Then she giggled.

I couldn’t see Allison’s face, but her body language clearly said Oh, no you did NOT.

“What?!” she said, her voice incredulous. “It’s not disrespectful! It just says God is awesome! Which he is!”

Hannah piped in then with, “Aaaaaaawesome, dude.”

Alli turned to Hannah. “No, not awesome like cool, but awesome like… you know, really awesome!”

Tanner shrugged. “I’m just saying. It seems disrespectful to be all, ‘God is awesome! God is awesome!’”

“It is NOT!” Allison stomped her foot. “You’re just jealous that I got to go to Vacation Bible School and you didn’t! So SHUT! UP! you big, fat meanie!”

“Is that what Jesus would say?”

Hannah giggled again.

Not to brag, but I’ve always had a pretty good sense of timing, and by the steam I could practically see coming out of Allison’s ears, I was sensing that this was a particularly fitting time to join the conversation. I came the rest of the way down the stairs and distracted my youngest daughter with a “Hi, there, cutie!’ and a hug.

I hope you admire my restraint when I tell you I resisted the urge to tell her that her brother and sister were clearly jealous of her success in the Lord, since she was down with G-O-D and filled with Christ’s love. (Hoo! Saved. Funny flick, that.) But I digress.

“Watch what we do after we sing songs,” she ordered just before she tore a brand new VBS straw cowboy hat off her head and waved it around with zeal, while she yelled, “Yeeeehaaaaw!” Then she pointed to a small goody bag she had placed on the table before launching into song and dance. “I got goodies, too,” she told me proudly.

I picked up the bag and pulled a small blue teddy bear out of it. “What’s this?” I examined it a little more closely. “Oh. It says ‘Jesus’ all over it. It’s a Jesus bear. A bear made out of Jesus cloth.” I looked up at Allison. “So, what’s up with the Jesus bear?”

Allison smiled at me. And not an Oh, Momma, you’re so cool smile, but more of an Oh, Momma, I’ll miss you in heaven, you Godless savage smile. “Um… we worship him?”

“The bear?” Tanner asked, oh-so-innocently.

“JESUS!” Allison yelled.

I may have giggled. I don’t know. It all happened so fast.

“MOM!”

Allison’s spiritual high eventually calmed a bit and I was able to put the kids to bed without any more instances of religious persecution.

Phew.

I tell you what. Learning to dealing with the aftermath of Vacation Bible School euphoria? Steep learning curve, my friends. That’s all I’m saying. STEEP.

That’s Captain Obvious to you…

So, my good blogging buddy Charlotte sent me a link to the HSM2 (that’s High School Musical 2, for the uneducated masses) music video sneak preview clip “What Time Is It?” I graciously thanked her for the link and let her know that she totally made my– I mean, my children’s day. Because High School Musical is all about the children. Obviously.

So, we watched the clip, my kiddos and I, and boy howdy! Hello? With the FUN? For the CHILDREN! I just stuck around to make sure there were no computer malfunctions during the viewing of the clip. A mother’s work is never done, I tell you what.

So, the clip begins with a group of students counting down the minutes until summer vacation. With contagious energy rivaling the Greasers and the Jocks and the Nerds and the Pink Ladies and… um, Bad Girl Sandy, they celebrate the last day of school with a wave of spunky, over-the-top dancing and enthusiastic singing that carries them through the halls and spills them out onto the school lawn. Now, I have to admit, while they’re singing about summer vacation and romance, all I’m hearing is “dip da dip da dip do whap de dobby do” and “boogy boogy boogy boogy shooby shoo wap shoo wap!”

Not that I’m saying they’re blatantly ripping off any Broadway musicals or hugely successful 1978 film adaptation of said Broadway musicals. Nope. I’m just saying “a womp bop a looma a womp bam boom!” came to mind, okay? And if, say, I suddenly envisioned Troy and Gabriella driving off into the sunset in a vintage hot rod that could inexplicably fly, I wouldn’t be like, “Huh.” Hey. I can’t help the way my mind works. That’s all I’m saying.

So, anyhoos, after the final “What time is it? It’s party tiiiiime!” and “YEAH!”, we– I mean, the children were all, “Woo! Cool!” Then I felt a tug at my sleeve, and I turned to see Alli smiling up at me over her glasses.

“Momma,” she said, pushing her glasses into place, then pointing at the computer screen, “I think those kids are excited for summer vacation.”

“You think?” I replied, smiling down at her. With overwhelming love and pride, obviously.

Because, WOW, right?! She has a firm grasp of the obvious, that daughter o’ mine.

*so proud*

Things that make you go “HA!”

“Six words: Will Ferrell as a Nascar driver.”

This was purportedly the pitch to the studios for Will Ferrell’s newest cinematic vehicle Talladega Nights: the Ballad of Ricky Bobby. (Heh. Vehicle. Get it? “Vehicle”?! As in a medium through which something is transmitted, expressed, or accomplished? But also an actual vehicle that one can drive?! Because… NASCAR?!… Wait. I ruined it, didn’t I? Damn my tendency to overexplain!)

By the trailer– which I saw before Superman Returns (Superman! *sigh*)– many of the scenes look highly improvised– like one big SNL skit, but better– by hilarious people who are at their best when they are given free rein. Case in point: Ricky Bobby (Ferrell), after a fiery crash on the track, is running around in nothing but his undies and his helmet screaming that he is on fire. Of course, he isn’t on fire, and his crew keeps trying to explain this to him, but he’s hysterical. And dude, nothing’s funnier than Will Ferrell when he’s hysterical:

Ricky Bobby (still running around in a panic): Help me, Jesus! Help me, Jewish God! Help me, Tom Cruise! Tom Cruise, use your witchcraft to get the fire off me!

Seriously, that scene struck me so funny that I laugh every time I think about it. Hee. (See?!) Plus, mocking Tom Cruise is always funny. Because he is way short and beyond strange and attacks innocent furniture and has Katie Holmes and her baby held prisoner in his freaky Scientological compound and must totally die? (Joshua Jackson, where ARE YOU?! Joshua! JOSH! Save them! PAAAACEEEEY!) Seriously, I think that scene has ingratiated itself into my comedic vault, right up there with Ferrell as Gene Frenkle of the Blue Oyster Cult playing that damn cowbell during (Don’t Fear) the Reaper. I know, right? That’s really saying something! Right?! RIGHT?!

Okay, it’s really not. I’m easily amused. It’s just a cross I bear, y’all.

But still! FUNNY. But don’t take my word for it. I mean, I can’t handle that kind of responsibility, I just can’t. See for yourself, if you feel so inclined. Go on, do it. Do it. Do it. Do it!… Do it.

That being said, I probably won’t see the actual movie (but I might). Hello? The end product is never as funny as the sum of its parts, or the parts of its whole (except when it is), or something to that effect, but whatever! My point is Aristotle be damned! I cannot in good conscience pay money to see this movie (unless I change my mind)! I mean, come on. Will Ferrell as a Nascar driver? Really? REALLY?! Good LORD, people… Say it with me now: What were they thinking?!

Yep. He’s SO on my laminated list.

Holy mother of heaven is he PRETTY. Rrrrawr!

That is all.

I wish I could break free.

So here’s the thing… about a month ago, after a heartfelt explanatory treatise on the general kickassiness of the musical Grease– despite the frequent sexual innuendo and the puerile tawdriness and the underlying message that compromising your value system in order to win your guy is a GOOD idea– my good blogger friend Charlotte recommended that my kids and I check out something called High School Musical. “Nothing objectionable there,” she wrote. “Well, except for the overt cheesiness. But it’s kind of endearing.”

Now, Charlotte’s a good gal and totally cool so I took her advice to heart. But I tell you what, getting my hands on that movie was like trying to get my hands on Jason Dohring’s tight, sexy abs… impossible. (What?!) Seriously. Every time I went to Blockbuster all fifty of their copies would be checked out and people were obviously NOT bringing them back because I’d ASK and the teen at the counter would be all, “People aren’t bringing them back”– which, see? So every time I’d check, I’d get near the H section and see the DVD covers and get all excited and rush over, only to be disappointed when all I’d see were those cardboard cutouts of the DVD cases that stand behind all the movies, and I’d see the smiling, happy kids on the fake front cover silently mocking me, all “Psyche! You thought we were in, but we’re totally not! HA!” I mean really. Allow me to say rude.

Anyhoo, I finally had to put the movie in my queue at Blockbuster.com– which smacked of capitulation, but seriously, what else could I do?– and lo and behold, that sucker came just in time for TGIM’s birthday. Which he obviously wasn’t all that thrilled about, but hey, his birthday isn’t all about him, now is it? Some people can be so self-centered. I’m just saying. So we ordered pizza and the kids made a birthday cake and we popped popcorn and invited a friend and her daughter to come over and watch the movie with us and it was just a whole big thing. And despite the fact that there were two Movie Talkers of the Obnoxious Question-Asker variety, and one little Drama Queen who kept jumping up in front of the television to dance and sing along (not my Drama Queen, amazingly, it was my friend’s Drama Queen, but it goes without saying that it would have been mine also had she already seen the movie), let me just say, High School Musical equals Good Times For All. For reals. Good stuff.

So I simply wanted say… thanks a WHOLE LOT, Charlotte! I cannot get the damn songs from High School Musical out of my head! Gosh! So I had to go and buy the video, naturally. Er, and download the soundtrack. And now I’m sitting here at work and I Gotta Get My, Get My Head In The Game because those fruit fly regulations aren’t going to consolidate themselves, but in my mind I’m all, “We’re soarin’! Flyin’! There’s not a star in heaven we can’t reach!” I am embarrassed to admit– but a little proud, too! mostly embarrassed, though– that I now know the entire Bop to the Top song and dance number by heart. Because I may or may not have spent one or several hours yesterday afternoon pausing and rewinding the dance tutorial in the Bonus Features until I had it down solid. This is called aerobic exercise and is SUPER good for your heart. Plus the song is very catchy. “Ai ai ai ai! Quieres bailar? Mira me!” My favorite part is “…kickin’ and scratchin’, grinding out my best…” because I adore the little hip action she breaks out to “grinding out my best.” Seriously. Way. Cute. I’m just glad all those salsa moves I learned from Dirty Dancing have finally come in handy.

Now I don’t mean to knock Grease, because hello? still love it? but High School Musical is made up of actual teenagers (who, by the way, are just the cutest things!), has a much nicer, kid-friendly message to impart, and to top it all off features some admittedly zingy music and fancy footwork. Plus in the Bonus Features there’s this way cool Sing-Along feature and when you turn it on it’s like this whole big karaoke experience… while you’re watching the movie! Right in you very own living room! Not that I’ve done that or anything because clearly it’s for the children. Duh.

I’ve already called Grandma Sue in Podunky Small Town Arizona and have urged her to buy her own copy of the movie so my children can become truly obsessed with it (this summer’s Phantom of the Opera, if you will) and learn all the lyrics and dance moves and when they come home at the end of the summer we can have friends over and dance and sing together (because I’m a totally unrepentant musical theater geek and there’s no reforming me) and it will be this whole big thing.

Hey… check it out. It appears that in writing about the movie I have effectively purged my mind of the songs which have been running over and over and over in my head. Now I can finally settle down and do my –

– We’re gonna bop bop bop! Bop to the top! Slip and slide and ride that rhythm!…

*sigh*

Damn.

Tell me about it… stud.

On a whim I bought a DVD copy of the musical Grease (only five dollars! bargain!) and brought it home to watch. With my kids. Because Grease is the Word, y’all! And the music it brings forth is its raison d’etre! I mean, be serious. How can anyone resist thirty-year-old high school seniors singing the oldies, which were– let’s face it– essentially 70’s disco-inspired, tecnho-ized songs masquerading as 50’s rock? Not me, that’s who!

I know, right? What was I thinking?

In my defense, as a child I was so enthralled with the singing and dancing that the sexual innuendo went right over my head. Who can blame me for assuming my kids would have the same experience? Which by and large they did, naturally.

I, however, had to leave the room because I kept giggling during especially sordid scenes (not so much at the tawdry, puerile humor, but at the thought of my parents allowing me to watch this movie as a child, which… ironic?) and I thought it best to skedaddle so I wouldn’t have to keep choking out “Nothing!” every time my kids asked, “What’s so funny, Momma?”

After the movie my six-year-old burst into my room, out of breath, excited, her mouth running away with her in her haste to express her personal assessment and insightful review of Grease.

“And then… at the end… he fell in love with her… because she got all skinny and cool, and she came up to him and was, like, you know… smokin’ and stuff… and she was all shaking her booty and singing with him…”

“Whoa…”

“… and then this car came flying…”

“… no, seriously, back up…”

“…and they drove, I mean flew, away, into the clouds, and–”

“ALLI!”

“What?”

“So… you liked the movie?”

She nodded vigorously.

“And you think smoking made Sandy…” I paused and employed air-quotes for emphasis, “… cool?”

“Well, um… she was in those real tight black clothes and she put on lots of makeup and stuff and was pretty so she was, you know… cool!” On my look, she hastily added, “But not the smoking part! That was NOT cool! No way!” She looked at my face and added, with accompanying facial gestures, “Smoking? Ew! Yuck!”

As she bounded away I realized that my youngest daughter, while as predicted oblivious to the sexual innuendo, had successfully deciphered an underlying message I completely missed as a child. She realized that even though Danny was willing to step up and make positive changes to his hoodlum ways– even lettering in varsity track & field and e’rything!– it was ultimately Sandy’s transformation from sweet, innocent teen to tawdry, leather-clad S&M goddess– complete with dangling cigarette and skanky ‘do– that won her the guy.

And Alli, my baby, thought that was “cool.”

Oh, good lord. You see? DO you? Honestly. What are they teaching kids in school these days? Huh? How do my young, sheltered children grasp these things? Hello? My kids should be able to watch sexually suggestive musicals like Grease and Moulin Rouge– hell, even classics like GiGi and My Fair Lady!– innocently oblivious to the sordid, tawdry nature of the storylines, right? Right?! What is up with that?! It’s un-American, that’s what it is! GOSH.

Seriously. I’ve got chills. They’re multiplying.

Dizam!

It’s electrifying.

The Last Laugh

This weekend TGIM and I watched Steve Martin’s novella-turned-motion picture Shopgirl (which… great movie) and though it had moments of humor which one would expect from the guy who shall go down in infamy as That Guy Who Played The Jerk, the humor was quiet– subtle, even. Further, the movie truly said something, spoke truths, and conveyed this in an atmosphere that was slow and thoughtful and deeply affecting. It reminded me quite a bit of Lost in Translation, actually, in both pace and poignancy. Both movies star over-the-hill comedians in quirky, May-December relationships with beautiful young girls– and I do freely admit the thought of watching Steve Martin and Bill Murray playing any beautiful young girl’s crush/lover initially squicked me right out– but amazingly, they both pull it off, so yay them.

But most of all, both movies speak of loss and discovery and an emotional awakening in a way that I have come to realize I long to master in my own writing. But too often it seems that when I am writing and find myself faced with the choice of expressing myself in a thoughtful, subtle manner or in a humorous, bantering light, I inevitably choose to joke. And I joke because that’s just what I DO, I laugh, whether life brings me gifts of joy all tied up with pretty bows or bitch-slaps me and hands me bitter disappointment, I laugh and laugh and laugh. Then laugh some more. To be honest, I cry, also, but not in front of anyone, not so anyone can see, because what if people find out there are chinks in this laissez faire demeanor I’ve created– they could hurt me more, right? I don’t like anybody to see me cry. Much like my youngest daughter Alli, who when she hurts herself will inevitably jump up from the spill shouting, “I’m all right! I’m okay! That kind of tickled, actually!” even though we all know it hurt her and there are tears in her eyes and she is just saying it didn’t hurt so we will leave her alone and she can run away and cry in peace. In a way perhaps we are trying to say, “You can’t hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. I laugh at pain! Ha ha ha!”

So I write and I’m silly and whimsical and manic and almost always utterly tongue-in-cheek, and though I quite often express exactly what I am truly feeling, it is more often than not hidden away in evasive verbiage. Linguistic smoke and mirrors, if you will. And though I know emotional honesty does not always have to be slow or thoughtful and that poignancy and humor are not mutually exclusive, I wish sometimes I could find the words to illustrate what I really mean without resorting to silliness and feigned vapidity. To be starkly honest, to lay my heart out in words so you could actually feel it beating if you just listened closely enough, and you just KNOW. You feel me. Hear me.

Then, inevitably, I run off to watch an old episode of Buffy or Veronica Mars and I am lost in the witty quips and snarky banter, and awed by the sheer brilliance of the marriage between humor and poignancy in the writing, and I’m like, “Eh.”

Because although I sometimes yearn– burn, even– to write peaceful, thoughtful prose, yes, passages of deeply affecting language whose impact will stay with people for hours, days, even years after reading it, that is not who I am. I am impulsive and passionate, rarely peaceful. And I see life though a haze of sardonic humor and I can’t help but spill it out in my writing.

And I think I am finally coming to terms with that.

Grr! Stupid Shopgirl. Making me all meditative and whatnot. Bah! I’m off to eat a donut and shake off this silly moment of introspective sentimentalism… I’m thinking cinnamon cake.

Carry on.

Oh, the Cosmic Irony

Whoa. Guess who did the choreography for Reefer Madness?! Just GUESS!… Ellen Degeneres? What? No! Come on! You’re not even trying! Fine. Give up? Do you?! The choreography (which was pretty fabulous, actually) was created by none other than Paula Abdul. PAULA “You mooooooved me” ABDUL. Hoo! How delicious is that?!

Because, honestly. Is anyone really surprised?

“Listen to Jesus, Jimmy… trust the man with the stigmata!”

So, when one has some downtime between medicating children, one should relax, right? I mean, it’s only fair that when the children are in a drug-induced stupor, the momma gets to indulge in some much needed R & R, right? You know, eat, doze in front of the TV, go for a jog. Duh. So my choice to watch the movie musical Reefer Madness was probably not the most relaxing option– obviously a nice nap would have been the better, wiser choice at this point– but I’ve been meaning to see it forever, and TGIM rented it for me and e’rything, so what can you do? And guys? I laughed my butt off. Laughed it right off! Not literally, of course… although that would be coolness. I mean it. And now I can’t get “Listen to Jesus, Jimmy!” out of my head, which HA!

And I only have myself to blame.

But goodness, Kristen Bell is the cutest, most over the top Mary Sunshine I have ever seen and I’m not just saying that because she also plays my kickass teen heroine Veronica Mars on my most favoritest TV show evah. No, the story is about two clean-cut, innocent teens (Mary Lane and Jimmy Harper) who fall under the menacing influence of Public Enemy Number One– Mary Jane, marijuana, reefer, the “stuff”– and quickly find themselves in a twisted, downward spiral into a world of sex, madness, and evil jazz music. It is so hilariously tongue-in-cheek, y’all– and good golly is it ever over-the-top gruesome and nutty– that I didn’t get any rest at ALL. When Jesus (played by the awesome Robert Torti, who was also Pharoah in Donny Osmond’s version of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat) comes down from heaven and, in a musical revue hosted by none other than Joan of Arc, tries to convince Jimmy to quit toking up, I almost peed my pants I was laughing so hard. Not very restful, I tell you what, GOSH. They should put a warning on the cover or something.

So basically, I didn’t get a nap, I’m probably going to burn in hell, I can’t stop singing “Loved by Mary Lane!”, and I am suddenly super hungry. Honestly. What’s that all about?

Much Ado about Nothing (or I’m Tired and Babbling So Proceed at Your Own Risk)

I didn’t watch the Academy Awards last night because I have a freaking life and can’t spend every single second watching television even though I may not-so-secretly want to because there are some awfully good shows I’ve missed due to the whole TV Equals Bad So No Cable For Us, Only Bunny Ears! phase we went through so I’m trying to catch up and also because we haven’t had the internet for two whole weeks now so what am I supposed to do at home besides cleaning and cooking and playing with my kiddos? Plus, you know, the Oscar’s are hella boring?

But it would be remiss of me not to mention that I was utterly thrilled to learn that Reese Witherspoon won the Oscar for Best Actress for her portrayal of June Carter in Walk the Line. Really. I was like, “Woo!” when I heard it on the news this morning, and I assure you, when I can do the “Woo!” at 5 AM on the Capital Beltway, I am clearly WAY excited, what with the insane earliness of the aforementioned “Woo!”-ing and all. But indeed I did. “Woo!”, that is. Even though I haven’t even seen the movie yet. Because I freaking love Reese Witherspoon! And her husband Ryan Phillippe! And their cute little kiddos! I do! I don’t care!

Even though her role as Tracy “Pick Flick!” in Election is seared in my mind as one of the most disturbing portrayals of a Type A, uber control-freak personality, like, EVER, I still love her. And here’s something even freakier… I once had a student EXACTLY like Tracy Flick in personality and looks. She was my head Varsity cheerleader the first year I coached. Good lord she was scary! Hmm… I wonder what she’s doing now? Probably something, well, scary, like working as a krav maga-trained CIA operative or an elementary school principal. But I digress.

Sooo… oh yes, guess what I rented and watched on Saturday? Guess! Just Like Heaven, starring one Mrs. Reese Witherspoon, that’s what (which was absolutely adorable, by the way). I mean, how’s that for a coincidence, eh? Eh?! I KNOW! I rent a movie with Reese Witherspoon in it, then she wins an Oscar the very next day? You just can’t make this stuff up, I tell you what. It just can’t be done. And DUDE– if you think about it, the Oscar Committee probably tallied the votes for the Oscar winners beforehand, so technically speaking she was more than likely already an Oscar winner on Saturday when I was watching her in her other movie (which was absolutely adorable, by the way). Where am I going with this? No clue, but you have to admit… it’s a freaky coincidence. Or not.

Say it with me now: Wild.

And Ryan was there at the Oscars with her and she was so excited that his film– Crash– won an Oscar and he was so cute and so proud and he obviously had decided to lay off the sauce so he was NOT as drunk off his arse as he had been at the Golden Globes where he cut loose and made a complete fool out of himself and probably ended up sleeping it off in the limo where a disgusted Reese more than likely left him snoring in a pool of his own drool.

(Aside: Wait. Did you see him at the Golden Globes? Hoo! Classic. When they announced Reese’s name for Best Actress he flipped the freak out, but in a good way. Except in the excitement of the moment he gave Reese what TGIM terms a Love Tap, which essentially means that Ryan walloped his wife like a linebacker. “Okay, my husband just hit me so hard I almost fell over!” Reese laughed. Preaching to the choir, babe. And settle DOWN, man! Drink some coffee. Good lord.)

Apparently the Academy does not dare keep the champagne flowing at the Oscars as the event planners from the Hollywood Foreign Press Association do at the Golden Globes because they know that all the actors and seat warmers would SO drink themselves silly and heckle Jon Stewart until they finally passed out in their seats from drunkenness and excruciating boredom.

Well, freak. I lost my train of thought.

(Aside: Um, did you know that Reese worked with her husband-to-be Ryan for the first time in the movie Cruel Intentions? And in the scene where Sebastian (Ryan) dumped Annette (Reese), Ryan was so into the scene that he was off-camera shouting things like “I never loved you!” and “You’re not attractive!”, which were not in the script. Reese totally freaked, bitch-slapped him (also not in the script), and burst into tears, screaming at him, “Get out!” And they kept it in the movie! RUDE. But cool. Because that scene– a scene which never fails to set me bawling– and the actors’ reactions were utterly genuine. So genuine, in fact, that right after the director said cut, Ryan ran behind the set and threw up. True love, hello! When a guy vomits over you (wait, not “over you” like on you, I mean because of you– okay, that doesn’t sound right either…), he’s yours for keeps, that’s all I’m saying.)

Ah, yes. Seriously. I love Reese and Ryan. I think they have an adorable family and they seem so down to earth and likeable.

They’re keeping it real, you know? Fo’ rizzle! They have even admitted to seeking out marriage counseling during rough patches in their marriage, rather than checking out emotionally and rushing into their co-stars’ arms and beds (yes, I’m looking at you, Brangelina). And after the Golden Globes Reese was quick to share with the press that the next day she would be changing diapers and carpooling her daughter to gymnastics. Solidarity! Woo! She and I? We’re like twins. Except for the diapers becuase I am so over that.

Reese and Ryan are honestly the only couple in Hollywood that I would genuinely mourn if they decided to split up. I’d literally be heartbroken. Okay, not literally. Obviously not literally. But it would feel literal, so whatev. I like them that much.

So Reese? This one’s for you:

Woo.

Filed Under At the Movies, Entertainment, Fanatical TV Snark, Musings · 17 Comments  

Got Some Dancing to Do… Revisited

February 21, 2006

William, DUDE, in response to the comment you made yesterday, allow me to say that in my personal opinion there can never be too many bad 80’s references… or allusions to that classic cult roller skating-cum-disco dancing hit Xanadu starring one Olivia Newton John and… um, you know, that other guy.

If you will forgive my effrontery, allow me to take all y’all back to some thoughts I shared on this topic back in January of ‘05…

(cue the Wayne’s World flashback effect… doodle-ooh, doodle-ooh, doodle-ooh…)

Recently, after viewing the movie Ella Enchanted, my children conned me into buying the soundtrack for their listening pleasure. Now, please note, my selection of music is usually much more highbrow, but I was all, “Okaaaaaay, if I must…”

Fine. That’s a lie. I wanted it; God forgive me, I wanted it! I mean, Anne Hathaway covering Queen’s “Somebody to Love”? Need I say more? (Oh. Really? Uh…) Hey. If you’ve ever been forced to drive in the city with three children– between the ages of five and eight, mind you– subjected to the earsplitting screams of “Tanner’s touching me!” and the ever-popular “I need to go to the bathroom AND I’m hungry!”– not to mention the flying spittle projected during the inevitable spit war between sisters fighting for wardrobe control of the lone Polly doll someone remembered to bring– well, you’d want the stupid CD, too.

I honestly can’t explain it. Something magical happens to my children when Anne Hathaway’s tinny– yet tonally correct and somewhat appealing– voice timidly croons, “Can…any-bod-eey…find…me-he-he-he…some-bod-eey to-hoo… luuuuuuuuuv?” My children are magically transformed from little terrors into consummate performers and proceed to sing their little lungs out. And I just don’t get it. This soundtrack is one painful remake after another. No song is safe, people. Not Katrina and the Waves’ “Walking On Sunshine.” Not Aretha’s “Respect” (although Kelly Clarkson does a damn fine job with it– she is the original American Idol, after all). And if I have to listen to Miss Hathaway butcher one of Queen’s most cherished tunes, along with an admittedly catchy version of “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing” and a warbling duet with Jesse McCartney– Jesse McCartney!– covering the ever-popular “Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart,” well, then, by golly, I’ll do it. For the children.

But I digress. As I was saying, no song is safe. Not even Olivia Newton-John’s “Magic” from the absolute best flippin’ movie ever featuring Olivia Newton-John (who I so totally wanted to be)!

Aaah, Xanadu. Sweet Xanadu.

Fine. Another lie. Not the part about me wanting to be Olivia Newton-John. That part is true. There are too many incriminating pictures of me in roller skates and leg warmers, with matching headband to boot, arms hand-jiving away in some intricate roller-skating slash disco-dancing gesticulation only known to the hundreds, nay, several hundreds of faithful followers of the cult hit Xanadu, for me to deny it. In my defense, every young girl in my day (and several young boys, I’m afraid) wanted to be Olivia. It’s true. Ask… someone. No, I was referring to Xanadu being the “absolute best movie featuring Olivia Newton-John ever.” Total lie. Personally, I think she was just pushing her luck after Grease, but hey, you gotta ride the wave, eh? Honestly. I have to admit the movie is bad, bad, bad, from start to finish, plot-wise. Bad. Oh, it’s bad. And the dialogue? Totally sucks. I can’t bring myself to repeat any of its suckiness here, although I can probably quote the movie verbatim. Somehow, they even ruined the word “glitz” for me.

Ew. Glitz. You see?

But, hello? Animation sequence? ELO? Gene flippin’ Kelley?! Not to mention that awesome fantasy scene where two separate musical numbers totally converge–40’s swing (Olivia) meets 80’s pseudo-disco-punk glam (the Tubes)– both literally and musically. Brilliant! Remember the lady in the leopard print cat suit, all chained up, just gyrating away? Do ya? And how she totally danced up all over those swinging sisters’ asses? Uh-huh. You know.

“Lover! I won’t take a back seat tonight! Oooooooh!”

Oh, and what about the scene in which Sonny, floundering in his inability to Express his Artistic Soul through Real Art, slips into his roller skates and red and white-striped silk short-shorts and pounds out his frustration on the Venice Beach boardwalk? I mean, wow. Powerful stuff. I remember watching that scene over and over and over again, enthralled. Because who in his right mind would roller skate right into a wall? Even if it has a cool mural of beautiful Greek muses tantalizingly you to “come hither” and whatnot? Because it’s a wall! A huge, solid, crack-your-head-like-a-melon wall! But he does, and I’m all, “OOOOOH!” every time. Honestly… that is cinema. I mean, it looks like he’s just going to SPLAT, you know? But the movie is all gel-backlighting, kick-ass dance sequences, and sweet tunes from here on out, baby.

But here’s the kicker: Did you know my local Blockbuster doesn’t carry this movie? And I live in the city! Where there’s supposed to be culture! The twelve-year-old minding the register was all, “Xana-what?” and I’m totally reenacting the Xanadu grand finale roller boogie scene– hand gestures and all (slap, slap, clap-clap-clap, arm-cross, arm-cross, arms thrown wide, yell: “Xanadu!”)– and he’s like, “Does it have that guy from Pulp Fiction in it?” and I’m all, “No, that’s Grease, loser!” and my daughter’s all, “Mom, I want the Strawberry Shortcake one!” and I’m like, “Dude, get on the phone and CALL AROUND.”

If you can believe it, not ONE of the Blockbusters that Junior called in the area had the movie. Nada. Zip. Now how’s a sistah supposed to expose her children to new horizons and the fugliest fashion trends of the late 70’s if the local Blockbuster ain’t representing? Huh?

Got some dancing to do…

Someone get Baz Luhrmann on the phone. I think we have a potential hit remake on our hands. I’m so not lying.

Got some dancing to do…
Got some dancing to do…

Filed Under At the Movies, Entertainment, Memories, Musings · 15 Comments  

Dueling Sequels…

February 2, 2006

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix or Prince Caspian… Which movie am I looking forward to more, they ask? Which one?! Are they frickin’ kidding me?! That’s like asking me which one of my daughters I love best… it just can’t be done! (But if pressed I’d have to say my favorite daughter is– oh, just kidding. I kid! Put DOWN the rocks!)

But how THRILLED am I that Disney is sticking to C.S. Lewis’ original order of the Chronicles by filming Prince Caspian next? So, SO thrilled. Because the publishers who decided all higgley-piggley-like to publish the books chronologically rather than sequentially? Morons.

That is all. And WOO!

Filed Under At the Movies, Entertainment, Memories, Musings · 5 Comments  

The boy doth protest too much, methinks.

September 12, 2005

This weekend my daughters took a much-needed break from their Phantom of the Opera Love Fest and indulged themselves in a little R & R with Barbie of Swan Lake.

TD was not happy with this arrangement. I mean, there was Xbox to be played, right?! RIGHT?! Stupid girls. Freaking hell. To demonstrate his displeasure, he would periodically walk into the living room and make deprecating remarks regarding the movie. Now, the girls were so involved in the world of beautiful princesses and unicorns and enchanted forests that they were not a bit bothered by this. I, however, being less enraptured, grew more and more impressed with my son’s dogged perseverance and critical ingenuity. He was brilliant, y’all! A veritable geyser of wit and sharp punditry! A genius of epic proportions! An illustrious career in political commentary or the entertainment industry surely awaited him! I was lost in dreams of his greatness!…

Until he walked in, took a quick look at Odette and Lila the Unicorn deep in conversation onscreen, then said in his very best disparaging nine-year-old voice, “Well, that’s just stupid. I mean, REAL unicorns can’t talk!”

We laughed him out of the room, poor boy. Ah well, there’s always McDonalds.

Filed Under At the Movies, Family, Kiddos · 8 Comments  

“Memory! All alone in the MOONLIGHT!” Hey. Let the memory live again, yo?

August 1, 2005

(Warning: TGIM! Long and tangential narrative ahead! Proceed with caution! And yes, as a matter of fact “tangential” IS a word.)

(My cutie-pies enjoying the AZ sun with cousins…)

Currently the children are obsessed– oh, and I do mean OBSESSED– with the movie version of “Phantom of the Opera.” Last night TGIM and I listened on speaker phone while our three children heated up the phone lines with their sizzling virtuoso renditions of “Think of Me” (in key!– Hannah), “Phantom of the Opera” (complete with “dun, dun, dun, dun, DUUUUN!”– Tanner), and “Angel of Music” (“CHRIS-tine, CHRIS-tine… where in the world have you been HI-ding?!”– Alli).

Funny. When my little brother (and I use the word “little” loosely here; the boy is what? 22 now? and must be all of 6′3′ and 280 pounds!) was in kindergarten, I inadvertently introduced the “Phantom” soundtrack to him. Hooked him right in, I did! What IS IT about The Phantom, y’all?! It’s MESMERIZING… I don’t know that he feels any particular gratitude towards me helping make him such a well-rounded kindergartner, what with his “Phantom” fixation and all, but then again, he didn’t do himself any favors with the Michael Jackson obsession a few years later either. I mean, a little white kid ripping open his shirt and shrieking “Dirty Diana! Oooooh! Hee!” doesn’t exactly endear himself to the masses, let me tell you. Sorry, Josh. Just sayin’.

Back to “Phantom.” Let’s see… I was probably 17 at the time, and was upstairs in my parents’ room on the bed playing cards with mi madre. Now, on any given summer day, this is where you would more than likely find me or my sisters or my other brothers, or just about anyone my mother could wrangle into playing cards with her, basically. You had to have pretty thick skin to play cards with my mom, you see. Let’s just say she had a tendency to gloat when she won. Gloating which more often than not involved some variation of exuberant shimmying and jazz hands accompanied with “I WIN! YOU LOSE! LOOOOOOOOOOSER!” And if you had the luck to beat her? You were invariably subjected to “Best two out of three! Best three out of five!” and so forth. You know, until she won.

Good times.

So there we would be, sprawled out on my parents’ comfy king-sized bed facing each other, and Mom would deal. Then she’d say, “Loser goes first.” Which meant, “Go, child. Don’t forget to check your self-esteem at the door because I am going to whoop your ass again and again and AGAIN! Mwah ha ha!” Or at least that’s what I imagined it meant. At the time. But still I played. Because I may be just a tad competitive. And beating Mom? That was an upset– a coup, if you will– indeed.

But I digress. As usual. Sorry, TGIM!

Anyhoos, one of my favorite aspects of the card playing tournaments in el roomo de mi madre was the MUSIC. If I was going to be cooped up playing cards with a parental unit when I could be, I don’t know, reading a book, writing emotional, angst-filled diary entries, or you know, perfecting my savage tan (or freckles! whatever! shutuprightnow!), then by damn, I would be selecting the musical entertainment! Am I right?! Can I hear a big, “Hell yeah!!”?!

So now, thanks almost single-handedly to me (and a smidgen of Kasey Kasem), my mother can identify any given song by such varied artists as U2, Prince, Van Halen, Def Leppard, INXS, The Scorpions, Bon Jovi, OMD, Erasure, Tears for Fears, Pat Benatar, Heart, the J. Giles Band, Boston, Madonna, oh, you name the 80’s band! She knows it! (Oh, ho, ho! You are SO welcome, Mother.) This is not even to MENTION the Monster Ballads by every 80’s hair band in existence. Ooooooh, remember Europe’s “Carrie”?! “Caaaaaaarrrrie! Caaaaaaaarrrie! Things they change my friend…” GOSH! I loved that song.

But this day was different. I remember it perfectly. Occasionally, since my mom and I have a fondness for (read: obsessive love of) musicals, I would let my mother select some form of show tune or rock opera for our listening pleasure. This day my parents had just purchased the soundtrack to “The Phantom of the Opera” which I had managed to go 17 long years without ever hearing, so we broke it out, slapped it in the old tape deck, and began to play cards.

Then? Then, you guys? THEN? I heard Sarah Brightman sing that note. THAT note. The note which pierces your very SOUL. In the song “The Phantom of the Opera” when the Phantom commands Christine, “Sing my Angel of Music!” and she begins those opera chords which grow higher and higher and HIGHER until she is singing so high and so beautifully that you can barely STAND IT. And glass trembles, but doesn’t quite shatter.

You know. That part.

(If you have never heard this song, I suggest you go and listen to it today. Like, speedy quick. It will blow you away. Sarah Brightman? Amazing. Total diva, but AMAZING.)

So of course I did what any self-respecting closet show-tune loving OCD teenager worth her salt would do. I replayed that freaking song over and over again, card game almost completely forgotten, calling to everyone in the house, “You gotta come hear this song! Come here! Comehererightnow! LISTEN!”

Josh, my 5-year-old brother, was the only other person in the house that day. The rest is history. And let me just state for the record: It’s not MY fault he chose to carry around his own personalized copy of the “Phantom” soundtrack, playing it for all his friends when they came over to play. It’s not MY fault he subjected his carpool buddies to it every time they got in the car with him. It’s not MY fault he knew all the lyrics to the songs and sang them– with abandon– anywhere and everywhere (read: grocery store, school, church) without any type of advance warning whatsoever. It’s NOT MY FAULT!

Blame Sarah Brightman. And Andrew Lloyd Webber. I know I do.

Because now my kiddos are carrying on the fine musical tradition of their ancestors. Oh, yes. They are feeling the “Phantom” love. And honestly? I wouldn’t want it any other way.

ROCK ON, Lambson kiddos. ROCK. ON.

ETA: My mother laughingly relayed to me that my li’l bro Josh used to refer to this song as “the one where the lady sings her lungs out!” Apparently, this was the hot TRL song of the Abia Judd Elementary School carpool, with all Josh’s schoolmates and friends hopping into the car and requesting, “Hey, Josh! Play that song where the lady sings her LUNGS out!”

What a bunch of weirdos.

Filed Under At the Movies, Entertainment, Family, Kiddos, Memories · 8 Comments  

Move over Ebert and Roeper.

July 10, 2005

Last night, TGIM and I saw a special Sneak Preview screening of The Island. Since I couldn’t think of anything more intelligent to write on the survey than “Wow! A sizzling summer blockbuster that blows all other summer films out of the water!” (Hey! Performance anxiety can happen to anyone, okay?!), I will attempt to redeem myself by writing my very first “official” Movie Review by a Desperate Working Momma.

Oh. And no worries. This review contains absolutely no spoilers.

MOVIE: The Island
GRADE: B+

(Oh my GAWSH! Look at her BOOBS in this poster! That shite ain’t right!)

I mean, honestly. Who wouldn’t want to be chosen in the lottery for an all-expense paid trip to The Island, reportedly the last uncontaminated spot on the planet? Well, as Lincoln Six-Echo and Jordan Two-Delta learn, certainly not them, that’s who.

If you see this movie– and dudes, you totally should– be sure to pack the Depends, y’all, because there are so many jolts and exciting twists in this summer hit, you will more than likely piddle your pants a bit. Ewan McGregor (Lincoln Six-Echo) and Scarlett Johansson (Jordan Two-Delta) sizzle– SIZZLE, I say!– as a pair of human clones who don’t know that every memory they have of their existence in their seemingly utopian society is a lie. Director Michael Bay (The Rock, Armageddon, Bad Boys) practically begs the audience for a willing suspension of disbelief, filling the screen with more explosions and miraculously close calls than a room full of prepubescent boys at Neverland, but you will find that you are more than happy to oblige him. The movie moves along at a breakneck pace, with a script chock full of heart-pounding action amidst clever jokes and quotable one-liners, not to mention the amazing musical score and jaw-dropping special effects, as Lincoln and Jordan each desperately race to meet their maker. No, literally.

All this makes the movie not only a brutal yet sexy action-adventure film, but a genuine summer blockbuster you will not want to miss.

Seriously. Just looking at them is worth the price of admission, you know what I’m sayin’? Oh, I think you DO.

Pretty.

Filed Under At the Movies, Entertainment · 4 Comments  

Miz Movie Manners

July 5, 2005

TGIM will tell you. If for some crazy reason you have a preference for tomb-like silence during the featured attraction, don’t ever sit next to me at a movie. Seriously. Just don’t. I admit it. I am a unrepentant Movie Talker and there is just no reforming me. Hate me if you want to, but, y’all? I just can’t help myself.

Now, admittedly, there are several different varieties of the Movie Talker breed, and thankfully for my friends and family, I believe I fall in the least offensive category(s). Let me give you a quick run-down on a few of the most prominent types of Movie Talkers:

1) The Obnoxious Question-Asker:
Okay. When writing the script for a movie, the writer may introduce several characters, plot points, locations, and mysteries whose importance only becomes apparent after a certain amount of time has passed. This is called dramatic tension.

The Obnoxious Question-Asker, however, is all about instant gratification. This Movie Talker JUST CAN’T WAIT for exposition– no sir– and generally asks his/her friends, spouse, child, and/or strangers unanswerable questions during the first moments of the movie, such as “Who is that guy?!,” “What city is that?!,” What the freak is he doing with that gun?!,” or “How the hell’d she get in there, huh?!” Which is really annoying, apparently.

This person may also ask his/her neighbors, “What movie was that chick in? Huh? Spiderman? Was it totally Spiderman? No? Napoleon Dynamite? Freak! What was it?!” Which is also pretty annoying, apparently.

2) The Short-Attention Spanner:
At the movies, it is generally expected of you, the moviegoer, to PAY ATTENTION. You know. To the plot and stuff? And characters, too. Even if they resemble each other a little bit. Amazingly, you, the moviegoer, are fully expected to keep ‘em straight. And to refrain from pestering with questions the people around you who have a brain larger than a pea.

This movie talker is the one whispering, “Who is that dude?,” “Wait. Is that her brother or something?,” and “Is that the same chick from the night before?” This movie talker may also tap your shoulder and whisper frantically, “Wait! What just happened?!”

3) The Wit-Meister:
Some people believe themselves to be quite witty, and must therefore share their wit with the general population. During movies. Because they are attention whores. And cannot help themselves. This breed of movie talker will go ahead and make that witty comment, either under the breath, or to neighboring moviegoers. During the movie. Because they are freaking hilarious, right?! HILARIOUS!

4) The Mimic:
This rare brand of movie talker is known to repeat funny lines several times after they have been initially uttered by the actors, usually accompanied with a resounding knee-slap, a crack of wild laughter, and ofttimes some frighteningly violent arm slapping or elbow jabbing.

“Did ya hear that? She said, ‘That is the ugliest effing skirt I’ve ever seen.’ Bwah ha ha! ‘That is the UGLIEST EFFING SKIRT I’VE EVER SEEN!!’ BWAH HA HA!” Slap, slap! Jab, jab! Thwack!

5) The One-Sided Conversationalist:
The people up on screen? Um, they aren’t real. And thus? Cannot hear moviegoers in the theater, nor are they able to heed their advice, no matter how well-intentioned. Because they aren’t real.

This fact obviously does not deter the One-Sided Conversationalist from trying. You will frequently hear this Movie Talker offering up such gems as, “Girl! Do NOT go in there!,” “Oh, no she di’nt!,” “Did you see THAT?!,” “Why would you do that, you freaking moron?” and my personal favorite, “GAAAAAAH! He’s behind the door! LOOK BEHIND THE DOOR!”

Persistent little buggers, the One-Sided Conversationalists. Not much fun at parties, either. Just so you know.

6) The Jerkwad Movie Wrecker
This person has seen the movie before. Maybe once, maybe several times. And throughout the duration of the movie, this Movie Talker will make sure the entire audience knows it.

“OMG! Watch this! That man has a gun! See?! SEE?!,” and “Oh! I LOVE this part! He’s totally been dead the whole time, and we just didn’t know it!,” and “Oh my gosh, I hate this part when he totally gets blown up!”

I will never forget as a small child sitting right behind a Jerkwad Movie Wrecker during my first ever screening of the cult classic Xanadu. Woman sang along with Olivia Newton-John during every single stinking song in the movie, I kid you not. EVERY. SINGLE. SONG. And LOUDLY, to boot. Could have kicked her ass, and I was only eight! Good thing for her. Freak.

Oh. Dear Lord. I must admit to possibly exhibiting SOME behaviors of Movie Talkers 1, 4, and 5. GAH! Don’t hate me! I can’t help it! It’s genetic! It’s my mother’s fault! Or my dad’s! I don’t know! But SOMEONE IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS!!

Aw, hell. Just stay away from me at the movies, yo?

Filed Under At the Movies, Entertainment, Musings, Random Thoughts · 19 Comments  

Monday Blahs = Not-So-Random Movie Quotes

June 20, 2005

Against my better judgement, I finally saw Mean Girls this weekend. I’ve resisted like crazy, what with The Lohan and all, but since Amanda Seyfried is in it– AKA: Lily Kane? on Veronica Mars? the murdered best friend? okay, why are you STARING?!– I felt myself inexorably pulled to the Dark Side that IS the Lindsay Lohan flick.

But, like, oh my gawsh, y’all? This movie TOTALLY brought the funny. Tina Fey (SNL-Weekend Update) balances some admittedly cartoonish gags with plenty o’ cleverness, so even the bit characters are surprisingly hilarious. Well, maybe not SO surprising as quite a few of them are actual comedians who work with Tina on SNL (Ana Gasteyer, Amy Poehler, and Tim Meadows).

Since I haven’t had a good “Random Movie Quotes” post in a while, the following are some of my favorite quotes from this movie. Feel free to browse around. Or not. Whatev. I just had to share.

* * * * *

Homeschooled Boy: And on the third day, God created the Remington bolt-action rifle, so that Man could fight the dinosaurs… and the homosexuals.
His Homeschooled Brothers: Amen!

[Mr. Duvall is introducing Cady to the class]
Mr. Duvall: Her name is Cady. Cady Heron. Where are you, Cady?
Cady: That’s me. It’s pronounced like Katie.
Mr. Duvall: My apologies. I have a nephew named Anfernee, and I know how mad he gets when I call him Anthony. Almost as mad as I get when I think about the fact that my sister named him Anfernee.

Coach Carr: At your age, you’re going to have a lot of urges. You’re going to want to take off your clothes, and touch each other. But if you do touch each other, you will get Chlamydia… and die.

Karen: [suspiciously, to Cady] If you’re from Africa, why are you white?
Gretchen: Oh my God, Karen, you can’t just ask people why they’re white.

Coach Carr: Don’t have sex, because you will get pregnant and die! Don’t have sex in the missionary position, don’t have sex standing up, just don’t do it, okay? Promise?! Okay, now everybody take some rubbers.

Karen: You know who’s looking fine tonight? Seth Mosakowski.
Gretchen: Okay, you did not just say that.
Karen: What? He’s a good kisser.
Gretchen: He’s your cousin.
Karen: Yeah, but he’s my first cousin.
Gretchen: Right.
Karen: So, you have your cousins, and then you have your first cousins, and then you have your second cousins…
Gretchen: No, honey, uh-uh.
Karen: That’s not right, is it?
Gretchen: That is so not right.

Regina: Oh my God, I love your skirt! Where did you get it?
Lea Edwards: It was my mom’s in the ’80s.
Regina: Vintage, so adorable.
Lea Edwards: Thanks.
Regina: [after girl walks away] That is the ugliest effing skirt I’ve ever seen.

Oh, and the short, Middle Eastern, rap-obsessed Mathlete-slash-”Bad-Ass MC” at the Holiday Talent Show? Best. Rap. Ever.

Kevin Gnapoor: [rapping] Yo Yo Yo! All you sucka MCs ain’t got nothin’ on me! From my grades, to my lines you can’t touch Kevin G! I’m a mathlete, so nerd is inferred, but forget what you heard I’m like James Bond the third, sh-sh-sh-shaken not stirred – I’m Kevin Gnapoor! The G’s silent when I sneak through your door. And make love to your woman on the bathroom floor. I don’t play it like Shaggy, you’ll know it was me. Cause the next time you see her she’ll be like, OOH! KEVIN G!
[cut off]
Mr. Duvall: Thank you Kevin, that’s enough!
Kevin Gnapoor: Happy holidays everybody!

Heh.

Done now.

Filed Under At the Movies, Entertainment, Random Thoughts · 9 Comments  

Random Thoughts OR Why I Can’t Seem To Concentrate on Work Today:

May 10, 2005

Who killed Lilly Kane? WHO?! Freak. I’m dying here! Rob Thomas, he is evil. Is it 9 o’clock in the p.m. yet? No?!

Because I am In The Know, I have recently seen the super-secret trailers for “The Goblet of Fire” (Harry Potter) and “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” (The Chronicles of Narnia) and DAMN! is it November yet? Because those movies look good, y’all. Good, I say! SUPER good. Must go watch them again…

Veronica Mars. It’s just fun to say. You’ll see.

Thong underwear? Un. Comfortable. And so Pamela Anderson With Tommy Lee ago. Anyone who says different is a liar and masochist. And quite possibly high. Gimme my supercompfy Supergirl boy-cut briefs any day.

If loving Constantine Maroulis’ scruffy butt-chin is wrong, baby, then I don’t want to be right. You know what I’m sayin’? Oh, I think you DO. But Bo IS workin’ the scruff now, so… I’m conflicted. Conflicted and ambiguous. Because Carrie is droppin’ it HAWT, a’ight? And I have no idea what that means. Oh, and they both sing purty, too. I hate American Idol. I really do.

I am having heart palpitations regarding tonight’s shocking season finale of Veronica Mars. Seriously. My heart hurts. I will be purchasing Depends Undergarments after work, in case of accidental piddlage during said shocking season finale. What?! It’s just that good. And shocking.

I like donuts. A LOT. They are mighty tasty. And lickety licious. I wish I had a donut. I would eat it all up and call it good. Mm-hmm, dooooooooonuuuuuts…

Um… Veronica Mars.

Filed Under At the Movies, Entertainment, Random Thoughts, Veronica Mars · 12 Comments  

Hello! Welcome to Day Two-Hundred Fifty-Two of the Desperate Working Mommas Lecture Series on American Idol

March 24, 2005

Today’s Topic: The Economics of Contest Voting Practices

In March of 2005, the FOX network’s #1 Cash Cow, American Idol, in an effort to alleviate the effects of the… Anyone? Anyone?… the Great Phone Numbers Fiasco, re-aired the… Anyone? Anyone?… The same program? The exact same program? Which, anyone? Raised or lowered? Raised viewership, in an effort to mollify outraged national viewers’ concerns regarding possible scheming and contest-rigging on the part of… Anyone? Anyone?… The Elusive Phone Numbers Guy? Did it work? Anyone? Anyone know the effects? Mom? Aaron? It did not work, and American Idol viewers sank deeper into the Great Phone Numbers Fiasco, questioning the validity of any voting system that would keep Frans/Babs/Micks in the singing competition.

A few decades ago we had a similar debate. Anyone know what this was? mrtl? Circus Kelli? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone seen this before? The Laffer Curve. Anyone know what this said? It said that at this point on the revenue curve, you will get exactly the same amount of revenue as at this point. This was very controversial. Sort of like cancelling all the votes on a “live” American Idol evening and trying again the next day, hoping for the same outcome. Does anyone know what we call this? Anyone? Something-d-o-o economics. “Voodoo” (contest voting) economics…

All right, all right! I’m finished now. Sorry. I simply could NOT resist one last play on a movie quote. But, c’mon! Who could let a little Ferris Bueller hilarity pass by?

At least, it’s funny when I picture the classroom scene in the movie, and hear THAT VOICE, and see the students’ dead, DEAD eyes, and that boy drooling all over his desk in his lecture-induced sleep/coma, and experience vivid flashbacks to several horrific lectures on the Medieval Period I presented to (read: inflicted upon) my British Lit students early in my teaching career.

Hee. See? Funny.

I will try to restrain my geekiness in the future. Pinky Promise.

Filed Under American Idol, At the Movies, Entertainment · 10 Comments