Bonjour kittens, have you missed me?
Let's see, what's been happening? Hmmm. So many exciting, life changing events to share... My eldest child has started nursery school AND peed in a toilet (but only at said nursery school). My baby started walking last week. I've discovered President's Choice Memories of Kashmir tandoori sauce. But if you're looking for any type of real-life domestic drama then I'm afraid, for today at least, you've come to the wrong place.
You see, my name is Mother of all Mavens. And I am an addict.
(let's hear it: "Hi, MOAM")
My addiction? It's called t-e-l-e-v-i-s-i-o-n.
It's actually quite overwhelming. Or is it?! With my trusty PVR, no show is too lame to at least test-drive. And since we're home practically every weeknight anyway, why the hell not, right? Sure, PVR may be my crack, but with the plethora of new fall shows, it's an absolute must.
'Cuz I've been glued to the tv nightly. Pausing, skipping through, and of course playing all the shows to my heart's delight. And, mes amis, there are many. Where to begin? True blues? New faves? Oh what the hell - here they are, cheese and all.
First off, my oldies (in 10 words, or less):
Grey's Anatomy: still kinda soft, but still kinda love it.
Weeds: Genius.Way better than that other housewife show. GENIUS!
Prison Break: no longer just a pre-24 time-waster.
House: maybe getting a little tired. Boston Legal: ditto.
But we'll keep 'em both. For now.
Forgive me, but we aren't a "Lost" house. We've tried, but it ain't for us. Missed The Office boat and feel it's too late to climb aboard. Don't get Earl - is dumb the new funny? Not at our house. CSI, Law & Order. Blah blah blah. Why waste precious PVR time on shows airing 24/7? Tony Zuiker and Dick Wolf may as well have their own specialty channels. Oh wait, they kinda do: NBC and CBS.
Yeah, we've skipped the top models, the amazing races, the dances with the stars. Big Brother, Big Losers and any kind of spouse-swapping show has also passed us by. We're giving Survivor a miss this year too. How many morons does it take to outsmart a moron? Erm, who cares?
We missed Smith, but tried Shark. Watched Brothers and Sisters, and ditched It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.
It seems 2006 is the year of the "from-the-creators-of" series. Those are the true buzzy shows. From the lame trio: Celebrity Duets, The Class, and Men in Trees (no Idol, Friends or Sex in the City, respectively) to the knock-your-socks-offs: Studio 60, Six Degrees, Heroes (West Wing, Lost, Crossing Jordan). Studio's a must-see: very sharp and clever. Six Degrees is potentially compelling, and definitely worth a second look.
And then there's Heroes. I probably should've started with this one, but instead have saved the best for last. Yup, it's the reward for those of you who are still reading. Heroes is incredible. Admittedly, it's not something I would've come to on my own. The whole "ordinary people discovering extraordinary abilities" thing didn't turn my crank. But I was given the heads up on this one. An inside scoop. A friend of mine read a draft of the pilot and told me it was one of the best scripts he'd ever read. Still, ESP, stopping time, flying...That kinda stuff can go either way. Well, we tuned in. And it blew us away. People, trust me - it is awesome. Twisty and riveting and chilling. And there's an encore presentation tonight.
I know, I know. You're scratching your head in wonder, thinking "How does she do it"? Raising two kids, being a domestic goddess, pursuing a high-flyin' career, watching a helluva lot of tv... Well, I have help. And my career is stalled. And, need I mention it yet again? PVR.
Still to come: Ugly Betty, 24, Idol. And where the hell is Nip/Tuck? Anyone? Anyone? I know our American cousins get it. Where's our slice of the pie?!
Monday, September 25, 2006
Friday, September 15, 2006
HEY JUDE II
Did you know Jude Law is the president of the United States?
No? Me neither. Maybe someone should tell his handlers 'cuz they are totally outta control...
I went to see Breaking & Entering, Anthony Minghella's not-perfect-but-worth-seeing flick starring my boy, Jude. I had hoped (against hope) to score a bit of a photo op, like I did back in the day when Ralph Fiennes topped my List. But, alas, 'twas not to be.
Pre-screening I tried to be inconspicuous in the Gala Green Room. Mind you, I did bring a tall, leggy blond with me, figuring at least I'd get Mr Law to look my way with such bait. But no dice. Other, yeah. Jude, no go. He came, he twinkled, he conquered. Again. And then he was gone, out to join his costars on stage.
Who?
Well, Juliette Binoche was there in a very lovely dress and a not-as-lovely hair accessory. But she was quite sweet and smiley...and blonde. Go figure. Hopefully it's just for a role, 'cuz it doesn't do her justice. Not by a long shot. Especially when she stands next to Princess Buttercup.
Aaah the magnificent Robin Wright. Crazy gorgeous. And all smiles too - maybe because it was her movie and she didn't have to babysit her surly hubby. I love Bad Boy Penn as much as the next gal, but he is a broody little fellow, isn't he?!
Dixie Chiclets were there too. And they're really friendly and gracious and, well, nice. Clever girls cottoned on to the idea that when you're in town promoting your own movie, you're SUPPOSED to all those positive things! Duh - isn't that the point?
Something else Jude's handlers should learn. After the movie, after the applause, after the stading ovation we stuck around. "We" being 4 people, two officially s'posed to be there, and 2, er, not. I was one of the latter. Anyhoo, the key players made their happy way downstairs. They accepted the accolades thrust their way by our group - except one who, when told that we enjoyed the film asked if we'd seen it.
Huh?
And then Jude emerged. At least I think it was him. His people had him corralled and were frogmarching him out to the car. All he could do was shrug helplessly as he was bundled off by the speedy secret service types. Haste made waste as we were left in his dust.
And then there was Emilio....
Saw "Bobby" last night. Despite the film's few tales too many, I was really moved. Yes, to tears. Y'see, I chose to ignore the movie's flaws and just go with it - especially 'cuz it was a blast playing spot-the-celeb. My Man and I elbowed each other every time a new famous face appeared on screen. And now we're bruised. The rollout of stars was never ending. Some worked, some didn't. But still, everybody should go and see the movie. RFK's speeches date back nearly 40 years, yet they could - and should - be made today. So sad, and yet so true.
So good on you Emilio! A far cry from "Kirby he'll freeze", that's for sure! And what's better than having a bratpacker right there in front of your eyes?
I know! TWO bratpackers! Yep, Mr. Estevez's former fiancee, Demi, was there. With her current hubby. And, unlike the other night, Dashton didn't try to hide: waving to fans, even pulling down their car window as they drove off. Ditto Sharon Stone. She dazzled the curb crawlers as they called her name. And it's gotta be said, that Shazzy is drop-dead gorgeous. I don't care what she or Demi have spent on their bodies and faces - worth every penny.
Who else? Christian Slater - hasn't aged. Pacey...I mean, Josh Jackson, was there, along with a myriad of screaming youngsters.The guy's still got it! Who knew? Joy Bryant...not sure why she isn't more famous. She's very good and very hot. What more could you want?
Sadly, that was the last of the film fest films for this chick. Our babysitting bill has gone through the roof. Our kids forget what we look like. And I'm sick of popcorn for dinner. Blah blah blah.
Maybe next year I'll be reunited with Jude-judy-judy-judy-judy-judy Law. Or not. My ever-changing moods. And Lists... Happy End of Fest everyone.
No? Me neither. Maybe someone should tell his handlers 'cuz they are totally outta control...
I went to see Breaking & Entering, Anthony Minghella's not-perfect-but-worth-seeing flick starring my boy, Jude. I had hoped (against hope) to score a bit of a photo op, like I did back in the day when Ralph Fiennes topped my List. But, alas, 'twas not to be.
Pre-screening I tried to be inconspicuous in the Gala Green Room. Mind you, I did bring a tall, leggy blond with me, figuring at least I'd get Mr Law to look my way with such bait. But no dice. Other, yeah. Jude, no go. He came, he twinkled, he conquered. Again. And then he was gone, out to join his costars on stage.
Who?
Well, Juliette Binoche was there in a very lovely dress and a not-as-lovely hair accessory. But she was quite sweet and smiley...and blonde. Go figure. Hopefully it's just for a role, 'cuz it doesn't do her justice. Not by a long shot. Especially when she stands next to Princess Buttercup.
Aaah the magnificent Robin Wright. Crazy gorgeous. And all smiles too - maybe because it was her movie and she didn't have to babysit her surly hubby. I love Bad Boy Penn as much as the next gal, but he is a broody little fellow, isn't he?!
Dixie Chiclets were there too. And they're really friendly and gracious and, well, nice. Clever girls cottoned on to the idea that when you're in town promoting your own movie, you're SUPPOSED to all those positive things! Duh - isn't that the point?
Something else Jude's handlers should learn. After the movie, after the applause, after the stading ovation we stuck around. "We" being 4 people, two officially s'posed to be there, and 2, er, not. I was one of the latter. Anyhoo, the key players made their happy way downstairs. They accepted the accolades thrust their way by our group - except one who, when told that we enjoyed the film asked if we'd seen it.
Huh?
And then Jude emerged. At least I think it was him. His people had him corralled and were frogmarching him out to the car. All he could do was shrug helplessly as he was bundled off by the speedy secret service types. Haste made waste as we were left in his dust.
And then there was Emilio....
Saw "Bobby" last night. Despite the film's few tales too many, I was really moved. Yes, to tears. Y'see, I chose to ignore the movie's flaws and just go with it - especially 'cuz it was a blast playing spot-the-celeb. My Man and I elbowed each other every time a new famous face appeared on screen. And now we're bruised. The rollout of stars was never ending. Some worked, some didn't. But still, everybody should go and see the movie. RFK's speeches date back nearly 40 years, yet they could - and should - be made today. So sad, and yet so true.
So good on you Emilio! A far cry from "Kirby he'll freeze", that's for sure! And what's better than having a bratpacker right there in front of your eyes?
I know! TWO bratpackers! Yep, Mr. Estevez's former fiancee, Demi, was there. With her current hubby. And, unlike the other night, Dashton didn't try to hide: waving to fans, even pulling down their car window as they drove off. Ditto Sharon Stone. She dazzled the curb crawlers as they called her name. And it's gotta be said, that Shazzy is drop-dead gorgeous. I don't care what she or Demi have spent on their bodies and faces - worth every penny.
Who else? Christian Slater - hasn't aged. Pacey...I mean, Josh Jackson, was there, along with a myriad of screaming youngsters.The guy's still got it! Who knew? Joy Bryant...not sure why she isn't more famous. She's very good and very hot. What more could you want?
Sadly, that was the last of the film fest films for this chick. Our babysitting bill has gone through the roof. Our kids forget what we look like. And I'm sick of popcorn for dinner. Blah blah blah.
Maybe next year I'll be reunited with Jude-judy-judy-judy-judy-judy Law. Or not. My ever-changing moods. And Lists... Happy End of Fest everyone.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
THE ROCK REPORT
Lu-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-kas!
From Hooters to Hero, our local boy has been crowned king. Yep, the Rossi Posse is celebrating as their victory. Lukas Rossi... Superstar of Supernova. It's all very exciting.
Or is it?
Of course I'm pumped that he won. He and Stormy were my faves and god knows it was never gonna be Ms Large in charge. Go, Lukas, go. The pursed lips, the strut, the voice - what more could a girl ask?
She could ask for ABD. She could cross her fingers or clench her fists and hope against hope. ABD. ABD. ABD.
Anyone But Dilana.
Hurray! Mama troll was sent packing... into the recording studio with Dave and Gilby to prep for the tour she'll open. Hell, that's not so bad. In some ways, it's even better. Mind you, where are those guys from Rockstar INXS? Besides delivering Honda Elements to non-winners and flogging their soon-to-be-released albums. See? The Survivor curse strikes again. If you win the car, you lose the game.
But alas, I'm surprised. I really thought Tobes would win. Not because he was that awesome. And not because he was that talented. And not because he got the girls goin'. Au contraire...he was "Evs". But I think the band is too. Thus, a perfect fit. Oh-oh-oh-oh.oh.oh meets a hey-hey-hey. But obviously these boys knew a true talent when they saw one, so Mr Rand heads back to Oz. Dilana screams her way cross country, and the rest is history in the making....
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's face it: when it's over, it's over.
Every week, we discussed Rockstar - who's in, who's out, who should be in or out. And now it's done. And who really cares? Aaaah... the fleeting nature of stardom. I didn't even mention the surprise appearance by Earnie Ernesto Star. Nor the ousting of Magni.
Who? What? When?
Oh. And I forgot something else. Maybe the reason I'm all blase this morning has less to do with Dave and the boys and more to do with someone named Roger. Roger with an "s". And that bloody PVR that let me down...again!
Honestly, a girl goes out to stalk her movie star boyfriend and returns to find a half-taped reality show. A half-taped reality show FINALE! Was it the PVR? Was it the network? Was it a sign? It couldn't be the Universe's way of telling me to get a life, 'cuz the PVR lets me have a life and watch one too. Harumph.
BUT, again, who cares? Who'll remember any of these rockers next year? Or next week? Maybe they could do a special where are they now...I'll be sure to PVR it. Because when --if-- I think back to this season of Rockstar, I just might remember the winner and losers. But I'll never forget how my PVR betrayed me. Again.
PVR. Can't live with it, can't cancel it.
From Hooters to Hero, our local boy has been crowned king. Yep, the Rossi Posse is celebrating as their victory. Lukas Rossi... Superstar of Supernova. It's all very exciting.
Or is it?
Of course I'm pumped that he won. He and Stormy were my faves and god knows it was never gonna be Ms Large in charge. Go, Lukas, go. The pursed lips, the strut, the voice - what more could a girl ask?
She could ask for ABD. She could cross her fingers or clench her fists and hope against hope. ABD. ABD. ABD.
Anyone But Dilana.
Hurray! Mama troll was sent packing... into the recording studio with Dave and Gilby to prep for the tour she'll open. Hell, that's not so bad. In some ways, it's even better. Mind you, where are those guys from Rockstar INXS? Besides delivering Honda Elements to non-winners and flogging their soon-to-be-released albums. See? The Survivor curse strikes again. If you win the car, you lose the game.
But alas, I'm surprised. I really thought Tobes would win. Not because he was that awesome. And not because he was that talented. And not because he got the girls goin'. Au contraire...he was "Evs". But I think the band is too. Thus, a perfect fit. Oh-oh-oh-oh.oh.oh meets a hey-hey-hey. But obviously these boys knew a true talent when they saw one, so Mr Rand heads back to Oz. Dilana screams her way cross country, and the rest is history in the making....
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's face it: when it's over, it's over.
Every week, we discussed Rockstar - who's in, who's out, who should be in or out. And now it's done. And who really cares? Aaaah... the fleeting nature of stardom. I didn't even mention the surprise appearance by Earnie Ernesto Star. Nor the ousting of Magni.
Who? What? When?
Oh. And I forgot something else. Maybe the reason I'm all blase this morning has less to do with Dave and the boys and more to do with someone named Roger. Roger with an "s". And that bloody PVR that let me down...again!
Honestly, a girl goes out to stalk her movie star boyfriend and returns to find a half-taped reality show. A half-taped reality show FINALE! Was it the PVR? Was it the network? Was it a sign? It couldn't be the Universe's way of telling me to get a life, 'cuz the PVR lets me have a life and watch one too. Harumph.
BUT, again, who cares? Who'll remember any of these rockers next year? Or next week? Maybe they could do a special where are they now...I'll be sure to PVR it. Because when --if-- I think back to this season of Rockstar, I just might remember the winner and losers. But I'll never forget how my PVR betrayed me. Again.
PVR. Can't live with it, can't cancel it.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
HEY JUDE
September. Back to school. Back to books. Back to teachers' dirty looks.
Back to everybody's dirty looks 'cuz the Toronto Int'l Film Fest is on. The stalking, gawking, and party crashing has begun. Not for me tho'. Despite daily visits to Ted, Lainey, and Perez (and a 'script to US Weekly), I refuse to lower myself to the standards of the camera-toting throngs, opting to see some films instead.
And of you believe that....
That's right kittens, after sitting out last year due to newborn babe (and accompanying heft and angst) I'm back in the green room. Sorta. Gone are the heady days of lounging backstage at the Galas. What? You call it skulking around, I call it lounging. Tomato/Tomahto. Anyhoo, those days are done, replaced by the wealthy big game hunters who pay to play with the stars. Or stand near 'em, cuz their handlers have become ever so ferocious, protecting their charges from the flashes of unathorized cameras. But whatever, I can still share, right?
So sit back and relax, cuz this might take a while. Ladies and Gents, I bring you the First Annual Mother of All Mavens, Not-even-close-to-the-red-carpet, All-singin', All-dancin' Revue Review.
AKA the who's nice, who's rude, and who's loaded with tude report. With a slice of cinema on the side.
First off, saw a Brit Flick called Confetti. LOVED IT! Hilarious and completely improvised. Took 'em 6 weeks to shoot, yet 6 months to cast. Well worth the wait because these actors are GENIUS. Anyone who is married, was married, wants to get married or - hell, knows anyone who is/was/will be married should go go go. Opens later this fall. Remember: C-O-N-F-E-T-T-I. The little flick that could...
Unlike Volver. Sorry Pedro, but I was unimpressed. Sure I liked the film, but I wanted to love it. Problemo was Penny. She was just too hot to handle. Seriously, her beauty was distracting. The camera loves this gal. Little Pia was there in person and, while obviously pretty, I hate to break it to ya boys, but she's certainly not the robobabe she is on-screen. Go figure.
On the other hand, a man who IS a robobabe (in a farmhanded kind of way) is Brad Pitt. But y'know what? I kinda felt bad for him. The stage was lined 3 deep with snappers (hee hee) and the second Brad set foor on stage the place turned into a rave. They should've warned us. We're talkin' seizure-inducing amounts of flashbulbs. They should've warned Brad too 'cuz he became a deer in the headlights. Poor guy. And he's quite slight, not nearly as hunky as expected. Beyond the pretty face was the movie itself: BABEL. Now we're talking magnificent. It was un-f&cking-believable. Run, don't walk. Intense and brutal and amazing and and and. Can't praise it enough.
Oh, and after it was all over? It was like being at a boyband concert. Deafening screams, chants, the works. Ole, ole, ole Brad Pitt indeed. We found ourselves outside with the greatest access ever (basically outside his car. Yes, his car) (we'll take what we can get, thank you). But my Man and I decided to just take it in stride. And leave. Why stoop to such levels of stalkerazzi? He's just a guy after all...
Unlike Jude Law.
He's my fave. Topper on my List. That List. And he. was. there. last night. But wait!Before we get to him, I must tell you we saw Christopher Guests eagerly anticipated oscar spoofer, For Your Consideration.
Two words:
Wha happened?
Loved Waiting for Guffman. Adored Best in Show. Amused by A Mighty Wind. Wouldn't consider Consideration. I hate to be the one to tell y'all, but it sorta sucked. Yes it was amusing, of course it was. But the subject matter was ripe for the pickin' and they barked up the wrong trees. Think of any metaphor for DISAPPOINTED and you'll get my drift. Kudos, however, go to Kitty O'Hara. As always, she stole the show. And Fred Willard wasn't bad either. But the rest of the gang? Solid "c": Coulda done better.
Jude Law. Jude Law Jude Law Jude Law. J-u-d-e L-a-w.
In a flick called All the King's Men. With Sean Penn, Kate Winslet, Mark Ruffalo, Anthony Hopkins, Patricia Clarkson and James Gandolfini. Star-studded? Whatev, wake me when it's over. Or so said my Man. And he had the right idea.
Flick was a heavy handed snoozefest that went like somethin' like this: narration by the gorgeous and talented Mr Law. Screaming speech by Crazy-haired Penn. Plot, plot, plot. Shot of cross-lined rural road. Dramatic music. Shot of car/train/truck nearly missing camera. More narration by the gorgeous and talented Jude Law. Another screaming speech, etc. And repeat. Over and over and over.
Swing and a miss.
And the kids themselves?
Sean Penn? Surly, as you'd expect. Princess Buttercup? Gorgeous. Might way 100lbs on a bad day, as you'd expect. Jimmy Gandolfini? A brute and boor, as you'd expect (come on, people, he could go either way) Mark R.? Divine. As you'd expect. Kitty Winslet? Eyebrows aside, a stunner - and also quite tiny. As you may not expect.
And Jude? I could barely look at him. Magnifique! But he'll be making another appearance later this week. As will I. As you'd expect. Hopefully I'll muster up the mustard to actually look at him for more than 2 seconds. Or not. Stay tuned for all that...And more!
Back to everybody's dirty looks 'cuz the Toronto Int'l Film Fest is on. The stalking, gawking, and party crashing has begun. Not for me tho'. Despite daily visits to Ted, Lainey, and Perez (and a 'script to US Weekly), I refuse to lower myself to the standards of the camera-toting throngs, opting to see some films instead.
And of you believe that....
That's right kittens, after sitting out last year due to newborn babe (and accompanying heft and angst) I'm back in the green room. Sorta. Gone are the heady days of lounging backstage at the Galas. What? You call it skulking around, I call it lounging. Tomato/Tomahto. Anyhoo, those days are done, replaced by the wealthy big game hunters who pay to play with the stars. Or stand near 'em, cuz their handlers have become ever so ferocious, protecting their charges from the flashes of unathorized cameras. But whatever, I can still share, right?
So sit back and relax, cuz this might take a while. Ladies and Gents, I bring you the First Annual Mother of All Mavens, Not-even-close-to-the-red-carpet, All-singin', All-dancin' Revue Review.
AKA the who's nice, who's rude, and who's loaded with tude report. With a slice of cinema on the side.
First off, saw a Brit Flick called Confetti. LOVED IT! Hilarious and completely improvised. Took 'em 6 weeks to shoot, yet 6 months to cast. Well worth the wait because these actors are GENIUS. Anyone who is married, was married, wants to get married or - hell, knows anyone who is/was/will be married should go go go. Opens later this fall. Remember: C-O-N-F-E-T-T-I. The little flick that could...
Unlike Volver. Sorry Pedro, but I was unimpressed. Sure I liked the film, but I wanted to love it. Problemo was Penny. She was just too hot to handle. Seriously, her beauty was distracting. The camera loves this gal. Little Pia was there in person and, while obviously pretty, I hate to break it to ya boys, but she's certainly not the robobabe she is on-screen. Go figure.
On the other hand, a man who IS a robobabe (in a farmhanded kind of way) is Brad Pitt. But y'know what? I kinda felt bad for him. The stage was lined 3 deep with snappers (hee hee) and the second Brad set foor on stage the place turned into a rave. They should've warned us. We're talkin' seizure-inducing amounts of flashbulbs. They should've warned Brad too 'cuz he became a deer in the headlights. Poor guy. And he's quite slight, not nearly as hunky as expected. Beyond the pretty face was the movie itself: BABEL. Now we're talking magnificent. It was un-f&cking-believable. Run, don't walk. Intense and brutal and amazing and and and. Can't praise it enough.
Oh, and after it was all over? It was like being at a boyband concert. Deafening screams, chants, the works. Ole, ole, ole Brad Pitt indeed. We found ourselves outside with the greatest access ever (basically outside his car. Yes, his car) (we'll take what we can get, thank you). But my Man and I decided to just take it in stride. And leave. Why stoop to such levels of stalkerazzi? He's just a guy after all...
Unlike Jude Law.
He's my fave. Topper on my List. That List. And he. was. there. last night. But wait!Before we get to him, I must tell you we saw Christopher Guests eagerly anticipated oscar spoofer, For Your Consideration.
Two words:
Wha happened?
Loved Waiting for Guffman. Adored Best in Show. Amused by A Mighty Wind. Wouldn't consider Consideration. I hate to be the one to tell y'all, but it sorta sucked. Yes it was amusing, of course it was. But the subject matter was ripe for the pickin' and they barked up the wrong trees. Think of any metaphor for DISAPPOINTED and you'll get my drift. Kudos, however, go to Kitty O'Hara. As always, she stole the show. And Fred Willard wasn't bad either. But the rest of the gang? Solid "c": Coulda done better.
Jude Law. Jude Law Jude Law Jude Law. J-u-d-e L-a-w.
In a flick called All the King's Men. With Sean Penn, Kate Winslet, Mark Ruffalo, Anthony Hopkins, Patricia Clarkson and James Gandolfini. Star-studded? Whatev, wake me when it's over. Or so said my Man. And he had the right idea.
Flick was a heavy handed snoozefest that went like somethin' like this: narration by the gorgeous and talented Mr Law. Screaming speech by Crazy-haired Penn. Plot, plot, plot. Shot of cross-lined rural road. Dramatic music. Shot of car/train/truck nearly missing camera. More narration by the gorgeous and talented Jude Law. Another screaming speech, etc. And repeat. Over and over and over.
Swing and a miss.
And the kids themselves?
Sean Penn? Surly, as you'd expect. Princess Buttercup? Gorgeous. Might way 100lbs on a bad day, as you'd expect. Jimmy Gandolfini? A brute and boor, as you'd expect (come on, people, he could go either way) Mark R.? Divine. As you'd expect. Kitty Winslet? Eyebrows aside, a stunner - and also quite tiny. As you may not expect.
And Jude? I could barely look at him. Magnifique! But he'll be making another appearance later this week. As will I. As you'd expect. Hopefully I'll muster up the mustard to actually look at him for more than 2 seconds. Or not. Stay tuned for all that...And more!
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
ANOTHER ROCK REPORT
What the what is ladylike?
It's Ms Susie Large's exit...
Sadly, Dilana...she's not a goner...Just wishful thinking on my part. Instead, the Troll remains while Stormy goes home. I for one am saddened and disappointed by the expulsion of my crusher girl. The clockwork orange hat crime aside, she made such a comeback! Or so we (I) thought. The Suffragette City/Orig combo? Don't tell me she didn't work the stage like a pro. And by pro, I mean Pro. Around-a-pole, pay-for-it Pro. But 'twas not to be. Even Touchy-Feely Newsted's tears couldn't save her, so she's gone to sleep in her own bed.
Personally, I think she should be sharing it with a certain Mr. Navarro. Good chemistry, no? And a whole other reality show in the making. Bye bye Stormy, so sad to see you go.
So who's it gonna be? Will it be Magni? Dependable, boring, stif-on-stage Magni? Doubt it.
Dilana? Noooooo. How they gave her a standing O last night is beyond me. Yes she got the crowd all riled up, but at one point I wasn't sure if she was standing or sitting, and that just ain't right. And it's not front (wo)man material either. Then again, what do I know? I doubt I'd be a Supernova fan anyway.
I am however, a fan of Lukas. Yep, a full-fledged member of the Rossi Possy. But dontcha think he's better suited on Rockstar: Radionhead? The guy's too intense for this group. And if he does win, I think JayJay New(age)sted might find himself too distracted and involved in the analysis of Lucky Lou....
One more thing. A stolen observation. Celeb reference of the day: Rockstar Supernova's Lukas Rossi...and Ron Howard's creepy character actor brother.
And then there's the frontrunner. The fun guy. The guy's guy. The guy who, according to one TV critic, makes the blond girls scream. To me he's just a fun-lovin', beer-drinkin' mimic. Evs indeed. But to the boys in the band he's a superstar:
To-oh-oh-oh-oh-by.
But hold off placing your bets. Remember The Survivor Curse? Y'know, on Mark Burnett's other reality show the cat who wins the car never, ever, ever wins the big prize. So I hope for Toby's sake that this ain't the case. Especially that car. A Honda Element? That's a rockstar car? A student rockstar maybe.
It's the final countdown. Na na na na and all that. And when our rockin' prince(ss) is crowned we'll have to make some important decisions. To buy or not to buy tix for the Snoozernova tour, whether the added bonus of the House Band and Shirtless Dave opening makes it all worhtwhile, and of course, the biggest question of all: what to watch now?
It's Ms Susie Large's exit...
Sadly, Dilana...she's not a goner...Just wishful thinking on my part. Instead, the Troll remains while Stormy goes home. I for one am saddened and disappointed by the expulsion of my crusher girl. The clockwork orange hat crime aside, she made such a comeback! Or so we (I) thought. The Suffragette City/Orig combo? Don't tell me she didn't work the stage like a pro. And by pro, I mean Pro. Around-a-pole, pay-for-it Pro. But 'twas not to be. Even Touchy-Feely Newsted's tears couldn't save her, so she's gone to sleep in her own bed.
Personally, I think she should be sharing it with a certain Mr. Navarro. Good chemistry, no? And a whole other reality show in the making. Bye bye Stormy, so sad to see you go.
So who's it gonna be? Will it be Magni? Dependable, boring, stif-on-stage Magni? Doubt it.
Dilana? Noooooo. How they gave her a standing O last night is beyond me. Yes she got the crowd all riled up, but at one point I wasn't sure if she was standing or sitting, and that just ain't right. And it's not front (wo)man material either. Then again, what do I know? I doubt I'd be a Supernova fan anyway.
I am however, a fan of Lukas. Yep, a full-fledged member of the Rossi Possy. But dontcha think he's better suited on Rockstar: Radionhead? The guy's too intense for this group. And if he does win, I think JayJay New(age)sted might find himself too distracted and involved in the analysis of Lucky Lou....
One more thing. A stolen observation. Celeb reference of the day: Rockstar Supernova's Lukas Rossi...and Ron Howard's creepy character actor brother.
And then there's the frontrunner. The fun guy. The guy's guy. The guy who, according to one TV critic, makes the blond girls scream. To me he's just a fun-lovin', beer-drinkin' mimic. Evs indeed. But to the boys in the band he's a superstar:
To-oh-oh-oh-oh-by.
But hold off placing your bets. Remember The Survivor Curse? Y'know, on Mark Burnett's other reality show the cat who wins the car never, ever, ever wins the big prize. So I hope for Toby's sake that this ain't the case. Especially that car. A Honda Element? That's a rockstar car? A student rockstar maybe.
It's the final countdown. Na na na na and all that. And when our rockin' prince(ss) is crowned we'll have to make some important decisions. To buy or not to buy tix for the Snoozernova tour, whether the added bonus of the House Band and Shirtless Dave opening makes it all worhtwhile, and of course, the biggest question of all: what to watch now?
MEN IN CARS
Oh, the boys and their toys. When will they learn that their rides are not their lives. Or, if they need to have machines to reflect who they are, maybe they should get it right.
Why cruise a Ram if you're really a Vespa?
More specifically, what's with men who drive ladymobiles?
I kinda get the whole penis extension/check-out-my-Porsche thing. No, I don't agree with it, but I can kinda see how they think they're flexing their, ahem, muscle. And the dudes with their souped up trucks and pimped out wheels? Fine, leave 'em to it and let them think they're snowing us with their prowess on - ooooh, and off - the road. Sure we're wise to 'em, but let them be. It all makes sense in a strange-but-true sorta way.
But what is it with the (straight?) guys who drive the little red sportsters? Or, better still, the ones in the turquoise reissued t-birds? Sooooo not their demo.
And I think they know it.
Here's what happened today. I was helping my sister-in-law get our two kids into their carseats. Her car. Our kids. 4 and 3 years old. And this guy in a - you guessed it - turquoise (or would you call it aqua?) convertible Thunderbird, pulls up and starts honking us. Then, ever-so-rudely, he tells us to quit talking and start driving.
I beg your pardon???
Sadly, I was forced, after more rudeness on his part, to punctuate my sentence with a F&ck You. And those who know me, know I never do that. But this guy didn't know that. Suddenly, bravado gone, he started muttering about us putting our makeup on....Not sure what he was on about. But, feeling emboldened, I asked, "do you think I care what you think?!" Oh yeah! Who's in the driver's seat now, buddy? Not him. He took one look at our butcher-than-his car and drove away.
To the empty spot two cars down.
And when he got out of his car, my sister-in-law noted that he was pushing 50 and scraping by the 5 and a half foot mark. Which got us to thinking...Was he rude and impatient and revolting because of an obvious Napoleonic complex? Or was he as he was because, simply put, he chose the wrong car?
Maybe he thought a convertible would make him feel younger. Or taller. Erm, nicest day in weeks today and the roof was firmly fixed. So, no, it wasn't the soft top. Maybe he thought the colour would make him hip and happening. Foiled again, friend. Girl, girl and more girl. And, finally, perhaps he figured the new Thunderbird, echoing the old classic, would take him back to the golden oldie days of yore. But I have a feeling this guy never drove a T-bird back in the day...
You see, according to my sources, while this car looks great, ie. pretty, it drives like a town car. In other words, boys looking for performance and all that need not apply. But if you only want to look great, ie, pretty, then climb aboard. And maybe that's what got this guy all steamed up. Instead of a display of his manhood, he ended up in a mom-mobile. An older, empty-nester, mom-mobile.
So gents, before you vent and strut and hem and haw for no real reason, take a look in the mirror. And the rearview. You can't puff out your chest if you're driving the auto equivalent of pink fluffy slippers. You just can't. And if that's WHY you're so upset, then put on your soft rock, get into the right lane and get over it. Wuss.
Why cruise a Ram if you're really a Vespa?
More specifically, what's with men who drive ladymobiles?
I kinda get the whole penis extension/check-out-my-Porsche thing. No, I don't agree with it, but I can kinda see how they think they're flexing their, ahem, muscle. And the dudes with their souped up trucks and pimped out wheels? Fine, leave 'em to it and let them think they're snowing us with their prowess on - ooooh, and off - the road. Sure we're wise to 'em, but let them be. It all makes sense in a strange-but-true sorta way.
But what is it with the (straight?) guys who drive the little red sportsters? Or, better still, the ones in the turquoise reissued t-birds? Sooooo not their demo.
And I think they know it.
Here's what happened today. I was helping my sister-in-law get our two kids into their carseats. Her car. Our kids. 4 and 3 years old. And this guy in a - you guessed it - turquoise (or would you call it aqua?) convertible Thunderbird, pulls up and starts honking us. Then, ever-so-rudely, he tells us to quit talking and start driving.
I beg your pardon???
Sadly, I was forced, after more rudeness on his part, to punctuate my sentence with a F&ck You. And those who know me, know I never do that. But this guy didn't know that. Suddenly, bravado gone, he started muttering about us putting our makeup on....Not sure what he was on about. But, feeling emboldened, I asked, "do you think I care what you think?!" Oh yeah! Who's in the driver's seat now, buddy? Not him. He took one look at our butcher-than-his car and drove away.
To the empty spot two cars down.
And when he got out of his car, my sister-in-law noted that he was pushing 50 and scraping by the 5 and a half foot mark. Which got us to thinking...Was he rude and impatient and revolting because of an obvious Napoleonic complex? Or was he as he was because, simply put, he chose the wrong car?
Maybe he thought a convertible would make him feel younger. Or taller. Erm, nicest day in weeks today and the roof was firmly fixed. So, no, it wasn't the soft top. Maybe he thought the colour would make him hip and happening. Foiled again, friend. Girl, girl and more girl. And, finally, perhaps he figured the new Thunderbird, echoing the old classic, would take him back to the golden oldie days of yore. But I have a feeling this guy never drove a T-bird back in the day...
You see, according to my sources, while this car looks great, ie. pretty, it drives like a town car. In other words, boys looking for performance and all that need not apply. But if you only want to look great, ie, pretty, then climb aboard. And maybe that's what got this guy all steamed up. Instead of a display of his manhood, he ended up in a mom-mobile. An older, empty-nester, mom-mobile.
So gents, before you vent and strut and hem and haw for no real reason, take a look in the mirror. And the rearview. You can't puff out your chest if you're driving the auto equivalent of pink fluffy slippers. You just can't. And if that's WHY you're so upset, then put on your soft rock, get into the right lane and get over it. Wuss.
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