The lovely gentlemen over at Olde English asked me to play stripper turned Oscar nominated screenwriter, Diablo Cody. Now I have nothing against Diablo Cody. I have read her blog and seen her on Letterman and she seems like a bright quirky woman. And she seems to realize that her sudden fame and success is a little random and nuts.
I haven't seen "Juno." I probably should but I've seen "Knocked Up" and all of Wes Anderson's movies so I figure I've seen it. I'm having a backlash against this current trend in movies that fetishize unplanned pregnancy as this thing that happens to women as a hilarious plot device. This theme reminds me of the fantasy world Kevin Smith created in "Chasing Amy," a movie I liked. But it was hard to ignore the insane chubby male fantasy that Smith created: only Ben Affleck can cure lesbianism.
So instead of Juno I saw "4 Months, 3 Weeks, 3 Days." (Here's a link to a great J Hoberman review of the film.) A movie I refer to as "the Romanian abortion movie." Now this was a pregnancy movie I could get behind. It was dark, disturbing and truly haunting. I give it two thumbs up!
But I am getting away from the point. Juno. Diablo Cody. Video.
Part of me feels bad about the Diablo Cody backlash. I do think misogyny plays a part of it. It is also hard to feel bad for a woman who has used stripping so masterfully as a way to further her writing career. She strikes me as bright and thick-skinned and appears to be taking this all in stride. I mean she would have to, you don't work as a stripper in Minnesota of all places, and not realize the world is an unjust place.
So here is the OE video about Diablo Cody. It features me, my boobs, my crazy eyes and a horrifying wig.
Thanks to the good people over at Jezebel for posting a link. Definitely look at the Jezebel post, the comments are insightful and funny.
TAI Podcast Episode 13: Shaq Vows To Bring Super Bowl Back To New England
Download it here.
The Talk About it Idiots have a belated Valentines Day gift for you...another podcast! Whoa! Let's have a parade. Jackie and Tim start off episode "unlucky 13" with the Hitlist: is Brian McNamee a "psycho," do all Mets pitchers like cock...fighting, and hockey gets interesting with a near decapitation. Tim gets his NBA loving panties in a bundle with the Gasol/Shaq trades. Jackie wants to remind people that Shaq is still an old fat man. And the Idiots end with the Superbowl. Jackie is in a state of horrified shock over the Pats loss and still contends that if David Tyree were in jail he wouldn't have caught that insane pass, Tim is just happy that he got to talk about the NBA a segment earlier.
Never miss a podcast. Subscribe to th RSS feed here.
The Talk About it Idiots have a belated Valentines Day gift for you...another podcast! Whoa! Let's have a parade. Jackie and Tim start off episode "unlucky 13" with the Hitlist: is Brian McNamee a "psycho," do all Mets pitchers like cock...fighting, and hockey gets interesting with a near decapitation. Tim gets his NBA loving panties in a bundle with the Gasol/Shaq trades. Jackie wants to remind people that Shaq is still an old fat man. And the Idiots end with the Superbowl. Jackie is in a state of horrified shock over the Pats loss and still contends that if David Tyree were in jail he wouldn't have caught that insane pass, Tim is just happy that he got to talk about the NBA a segment earlier.
Never miss a podcast. Subscribe to th RSS feed here.
Dicks. Always Funny.
I've never met a dirty joke I don't like. I will never NOT think that farting, crapping, poop, boners, boobies and taints are not funny. When I was signing a Valentines Day card for my nephew I changed the message from "To the most fantastic kid I know" to "To the most fartastic kid I know." I don't care if I'm ninety with grandkids all around me. If one of them says, "Nana, you farted." I'm gonna die laughing. (Probably for real if I'm ninety.)
My friend Ari (Go Pats, Go Sox, Go Celtics) sent me some sweet MTA graffiti that goes perfectly with my predilection for the humor de bleu.
My friend Ari (Go Pats, Go Sox, Go Celtics) sent me some sweet MTA graffiti that goes perfectly with my predilection for the humor de bleu.
"This could be the last ride of his life. 'Cause his dick's stuck in the doors!"I like that our graffiti artist has pointed to the man's buttock/groin area. As if the reader wouldn't be sure where this mysterious "dick" he wrote of was located.
David Lee Roth On The Brain
My friend, Colleen recently blogged about seeing a DLR fronted Van Halen concert in Baton Rouge. Reading her accounts of his line-flubbing, his glittery red brocade jacket and his kick-ass David Lee Rothness got me to thinking about the man that is DLR.
You see, DLR and I were colleagues at the now defunct 92.3 Free FM in New York City. The wise men who run CBS radio thought the best way to face a Howard Sternless morning slot was to plug in a radio neophyte: an aging former rocker and current EMS technician. That EMS technician was David Lee Roth. I was co-host of the 11pm - 3 am shift and he was at the helm from 6 am - 9 am. We were a mere hours apart every day.
A few weeks into my tenure at Free FM my headphones went missing. I didn't want to use the CBS cans (radio slang for headphones...I love saying cans) because God knows I didn't want revolting DJ herpes. I started a running on-air bit where I accused DLR of stealing my headphones. The audience got into it, calling in to plead with DLR to give them back. But DLR never bit. He, like most of the New York metropolitan area, wasn't listening to my show.
DLR only lasted a few months at Free FM. The few times I had to get up super early my alarm would go off and DLR would be on. I had to change the station because any time I heard DLR I would have a panic attack. The feeling I had is how I imagine dogs feel when they hear fireworks.
Right before he was fired, DLR decided to fight back against the naysayers. CBS Management would constantly give him notes (here's an idea "make sense," no one is listening, stop scatting on air) and he was having none of it. One famous morning DLR protested by refusing to do his show and instead read from the funny pages. "Let's see what Marmaduke is doing...well he's sitting in a chair and he's eating his owners dinner." I mean we are talking about a full-blown meltdown.
I was recounting "tales of DLR" to my friend, Ravi and he sent me the best email present in the world. A link to an MP3 of "Running with the Devil" with all tracks muted except the DLR vocal.
Play it below.
To quote the "Showgirls" DVD commentary, "It's time to revisit your bong."
You see, DLR and I were colleagues at the now defunct 92.3 Free FM in New York City. The wise men who run CBS radio thought the best way to face a Howard Sternless morning slot was to plug in a radio neophyte: an aging former rocker and current EMS technician. That EMS technician was David Lee Roth. I was co-host of the 11pm - 3 am shift and he was at the helm from 6 am - 9 am. We were a mere hours apart every day.
A few weeks into my tenure at Free FM my headphones went missing. I didn't want to use the CBS cans (radio slang for headphones...I love saying cans) because God knows I didn't want revolting DJ herpes. I started a running on-air bit where I accused DLR of stealing my headphones. The audience got into it, calling in to plead with DLR to give them back. But DLR never bit. He, like most of the New York metropolitan area, wasn't listening to my show.
DLR only lasted a few months at Free FM. The few times I had to get up super early my alarm would go off and DLR would be on. I had to change the station because any time I heard DLR I would have a panic attack. The feeling I had is how I imagine dogs feel when they hear fireworks.
Right before he was fired, DLR decided to fight back against the naysayers. CBS Management would constantly give him notes (here's an idea "make sense," no one is listening, stop scatting on air) and he was having none of it. One famous morning DLR protested by refusing to do his show and instead read from the funny pages. "Let's see what Marmaduke is doing...well he's sitting in a chair and he's eating his owners dinner." I mean we are talking about a full-blown meltdown.
I was recounting "tales of DLR" to my friend, Ravi and he sent me the best email present in the world. A link to an MP3 of "Running with the Devil" with all tracks muted except the DLR vocal.
Play it below.
To quote the "Showgirls" DVD commentary, "It's time to revisit your bong."
Don't Leave Cake At My House After the Pats Lose the Superbowl
It is Wednesday. It has been three days since the Patriots stunned me by losing the Superbowl. I am starting to feel better but every so often it just hits me like a gut-punch: they lost. At the risk of appearing one-thousand-percent insane, the only other times I have had that feeling - that sitting on the subway reading a book and the overwhelming sense of reality descends - are during deaths and unusually bad break-ups.
I even dreamed of the Superbowl. Sunday I dreamed that a friend of mine emailed me a bunch of gibberish which contained the secret to why the Pats lost. I have been informed that is the dream of a crazy person.
Monday, in a fit of Boston pride, I decided to wear my Patriots cap as a form of moral support. For whom, I have no idea. I expected to get into a bunch of fights with NYC Giants fans. The only response I got was a homeless man who yelled out "I feel your pain." Most people just looked at me with pity.
My friend Matt over at the Big Eaters Club saw my "fan-gear display in the face of a humiliating loss as some sort of sublimated mate-seeking behavior." I think he's wrong. He also told me "it's just a fucking sports team. You need a baby." Keep in mind, this is the same friend who brought a giant cake to my house on Sunday with a "4" candle on it. (Four Superbowl wins in this century for my gay blog readers.)
That same cake has been my constant companion during these trying times. If Monday (my birthday incidentally) had a theme it would have been "cake and crying." In the last four days I have eaten enough of this cake to send me into a diabetic coma. Which would be fine. Wake me for pitchers and catchers.
This whole debacle reminds me of the 1985 Superbowl. I was just a kid that year. The Pats were wild underdogs all season. When they made the Superbowl, New England went crazy with Pats pride. Me included.
It became pretty clear early on in that game that the Pats were over matched. Even a girl child like me could tell that they weren't losing, they were being murdered on TV. It was one of my first feelings of clear shame.
I had no grasp on the idea that the Pats could lose. I was a kid. I just thought your team won. And now, 23 years later and I still can't grasp the concept of losing. Which is borderline insane as I am a New England sports fan. As my friend Chris* (who’s a Mets fan so he’s been laid out by a devastating loss or two) put it: “you're a Red Sox fan, so you are familiar with heartbreaking losses, but I don't think you ever get used to it.”
No, you don't. But you keep coming back.
The difference between 1985 and 2008 is that I can handle the loss this time. In 1985 I was devastated more than I had any right to be. I wasn't much of a football fan, I was just a child. But the elation immediately followed by disappointment was too much for my tiny soul to handle.
Now I see that only in loss can one find those moments of humanity that are heartbreaking. (Keep in mind I prefer winning to life lessons. I like winning. But since my team lost, on to the moments.) Like my nephew, Troy dolling out hugs at the Superbowl party to the devastated masses, a text from a gay friend saying "I don't know much about football but I know about feelings...hope you are OK," a late night email from a Bears fan living in LA that said, "I feel your pain." It's how people should act when someone dies except people don't know how to act when someone dies. I guess that's what sports gives us, a safe haven to be human.
My nephew stayed with my on Sunday night and the next day I wanted to explain to him why people got so upset about the game. He seemed to get it and as we were walking towards the subway I said to him, "The thing about losing is..." Troy finished my sentence, "there's always next year." He's a true New England fan.
* Chris has a great blog that I was going to link to but I can't right now. He's a Giants fan and has, as is his right, a column about the big upset. Yes, that makes me a nelly and a weenie-genie, but it is my blog. Lay off!
I even dreamed of the Superbowl. Sunday I dreamed that a friend of mine emailed me a bunch of gibberish which contained the secret to why the Pats lost. I have been informed that is the dream of a crazy person.
Monday, in a fit of Boston pride, I decided to wear my Patriots cap as a form of moral support. For whom, I have no idea. I expected to get into a bunch of fights with NYC Giants fans. The only response I got was a homeless man who yelled out "I feel your pain." Most people just looked at me with pity.
My friend Matt over at the Big Eaters Club saw my "fan-gear display in the face of a humiliating loss as some sort of sublimated mate-seeking behavior." I think he's wrong. He also told me "it's just a fucking sports team. You need a baby." Keep in mind, this is the same friend who brought a giant cake to my house on Sunday with a "4" candle on it. (Four Superbowl wins in this century for my gay blog readers.)
That same cake has been my constant companion during these trying times. If Monday (my birthday incidentally) had a theme it would have been "cake and crying." In the last four days I have eaten enough of this cake to send me into a diabetic coma. Which would be fine. Wake me for pitchers and catchers.
This whole debacle reminds me of the 1985 Superbowl. I was just a kid that year. The Pats were wild underdogs all season. When they made the Superbowl, New England went crazy with Pats pride. Me included.
It became pretty clear early on in that game that the Pats were over matched. Even a girl child like me could tell that they weren't losing, they were being murdered on TV. It was one of my first feelings of clear shame.
I had no grasp on the idea that the Pats could lose. I was a kid. I just thought your team won. And now, 23 years later and I still can't grasp the concept of losing. Which is borderline insane as I am a New England sports fan. As my friend Chris* (who’s a Mets fan so he’s been laid out by a devastating loss or two) put it: “you're a Red Sox fan, so you are familiar with heartbreaking losses, but I don't think you ever get used to it.”
No, you don't. But you keep coming back.
The difference between 1985 and 2008 is that I can handle the loss this time. In 1985 I was devastated more than I had any right to be. I wasn't much of a football fan, I was just a child. But the elation immediately followed by disappointment was too much for my tiny soul to handle.
Now I see that only in loss can one find those moments of humanity that are heartbreaking. (Keep in mind I prefer winning to life lessons. I like winning. But since my team lost, on to the moments.) Like my nephew, Troy dolling out hugs at the Superbowl party to the devastated masses, a text from a gay friend saying "I don't know much about football but I know about feelings...hope you are OK," a late night email from a Bears fan living in LA that said, "I feel your pain." It's how people should act when someone dies except people don't know how to act when someone dies. I guess that's what sports gives us, a safe haven to be human.
My nephew stayed with my on Sunday night and the next day I wanted to explain to him why people got so upset about the game. He seemed to get it and as we were walking towards the subway I said to him, "The thing about losing is..." Troy finished my sentence, "there's always next year." He's a true New England fan.
* Chris has a great blog that I was going to link to but I can't right now. He's a Giants fan and has, as is his right, a column about the big upset. Yes, that makes me a nelly and a weenie-genie, but it is my blog. Lay off!
Thanks, Sam
The Pats lost. I am sad. It is my birthday. I've spent the better part of the day courting diabetes by crying and eating cake.
Consider this an interim post as I work on my, sure to be maudlin Pats Superbowl post.
I got this Birthday Message from a Sam Via MySpace. Something for the "kick a gal while she's down" file:
The caps were all Sam's.
Now I appreciate the message, the compliment and the enthusiasm in which Sam delivered it (the ALL CAPS, the not one but two happys.) But what the hell is with the "especially for your age" bullshit? I have never tried crystal meth! I am not Helen Mirren. I am a young woman! Why should one be surprised I look semi-decent.
Me thinks I wouldn't have cared as much if the Pats had won.
Wah.
Time for more cake.
Consider this an interim post as I work on my, sure to be maudlin Pats Superbowl post.
I got this Birthday Message from a Sam Via MySpace. Something for the "kick a gal while she's down" file:
"I WOULD LIKE TO TAKE THIS TIME TO WISH YOU A HAPPY,HAPPY BIRTHDAY. YOU ALSO ARE A VERY PRETTY WOMAN ESPECIALLY FOR YOUR AGE."
The caps were all Sam's.
Now I appreciate the message, the compliment and the enthusiasm in which Sam delivered it (the ALL CAPS, the not one but two happys.) But what the hell is with the "especially for your age" bullshit? I have never tried crystal meth! I am not Helen Mirren. I am a young woman! Why should one be surprised I look semi-decent.
Me thinks I wouldn't have cared as much if the Pats had won.
Wah.
Time for more cake.
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