WHAT! IS! THIS!

It's the holiday spirit, I tell ya! Living in New York is supreme, in my opinion, because every holiday feels like a thousand million appeals for celebration. Or maybe it's just that Ann Reilly is my mother and I feel like EVERY DAY IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THEMED DAY EVER OMG when a holiday strikes. Anyways. I cuddled down tonight around 2/3/4/7pm/daylight endings time whatever! tonight to watch a true masterpiece, The Nightmare Before Christmas. To those idiots of you not in the know, it's on YouTube, and it's great! And I just. Sigh. I just want to applaud humanity - - - for having enough holidays to fulfill a HOLIDAY LAND. Seriously! We have THAT MUCH to celebrate. That's all.

What's more than all is I love this time of year. Let's gets effin CHRISTMASY.

Bromance

In an effort to prevent two blinky recap posts in a row, and after a very dull weekend, and not wanting to write an epic missive about this movie, I'm just going to say two things about "I Love You Man," which I saw on Friday and was pleased at how non-Judd-Apatow-y it turned out to be.

1. Paul Rudd is absolutely. adorable. Watching him play doting fiancé trying to be cool with slangy nonchalant COOL GUY sayings made me want to sew him a teddy bear stuffed with my tears and smiles.

2. I want to marry Jason Segal, spend 15 hours a day with him in bed watching Colbert and drinking Bud Light, and mother two of his awesomely funny, really tall kids. I remember this guy from the best show ever created and killed too soon, and I'm so pleased to see that he and his cast mates from said show are receiving awesome cinematic retribution. Segal was great in this movie - he was fun and uncensored and goofy and big as a boulder and had a puggle and wore Uggs and a scarf on Venice Beach with this outfit. Yum.

Tadzio, tadzio

Since high school, I have been a) a fan of Drew Barrymore, and b) a fan of Rufus Wainwright. It came as a disappointment that both the former was straight and the latter was gay, but hey, waddyagunnado! The point I'm trying to make is that Grey Gardens is premiering soon on HBO, with Drew Barrymore starring as Little Edie. This movie incites incredible curiosity in me, mainly because I'm all, holy shit, who the FUCK would just sacrifice themselves to living in an ivy-embraced mansion of disrepair in East Hampton? When they're the G.D. relatives of Jackie KENNEDY? WHO? But it also sparks a lot of interest in me because I feel like I love my mother enough to resign myself to this sort of existence. If Ann Reilly said, "Hey Kiki, I'm gunna just chill in a dilapidated house in East Hamps for the rest of my life," I'd just be like, "Um, OK! Give me wireless and a faithful deli that delivers and I'm yours for eternity." Sometimes, you jut don't ask questions, I guess.

Another thing that totally piques my curiosity is this lovely little tune from Rufus Wainwright. Who I believed was straight back in the era of the Connelly School of the Holy Child and There-Is-No-Such-Thing-as-Homosexuality. Seriously, between 2000 and 2004, I developped an unwavering devotion to this man, and still I stick by it. Today, his mere sensuality just lullabies me, and the dearness between him and Isaac is just purely sweet and plebian (is it real?). I heard this song in my junior year of high school, which was like back in 1962, so I'm just fondly rememberin, here, peeps.

Award to most constipated-looking-screen-capture goes to whomever created this screen grab:

Ed. note: Isn't this video so effing STRANGE? Like, what's with the dog running all over the place? Did someone spill cheerios on the floor or something? Why is Isaac Mizrahi there? Why isn't he on the Today Show telling Meredith Vierra how to dress in florals?

Things that are awesome (besides the internet in my aprartment)

Why am I sitting at home writing on a blog at 10:30 on a Saturday night? Because I can! Because the Time Warner technician came! All rejoice! (Is it in any way shallow and spoiled of me, by the way, to be this over the moon for finally getting cable in my apartment?)

It might also because I am broke as a joke after this move. It might also because I'm bad at winning friends and influencing people.

I don't know. Let's discuss my new two favorite things this week, both of which are courtesy of Steph.

1. Dooce. The blog that only puts more pressure on my 22-year-old bioclock to get married and settle into precious domesticity as soon as possible. I love everything about Heather Armstrong's website, from her whimsical design to her breathtaking, modest photographs to her hilarious flair for writing about her family and homelife.

2. Coraline. I didn't know anything about the book before I saw this truly inspired stop-motion movie, but I was really captivated by what a horrific dreamworld Neil Gaiman had imagined. There was a lot of goodness that I could gush about in this film, from the goth-ly playful soundtrack to Coraline's kick-ass nail polish (which I own in "Electrify" and you can find at Urban Outfitters). What I really appreciated though was, despite the PG rating, that the story seemed to be ripped from the inventory of my seven-year-old nightmares. The grim images in that movie were just so jarring and uncanny to the sort of things I thought only my messed up mind came up with during childhood.

And re: 3D. What a strange comeback, no? I can't help but attribute this silly phenomenon to the "depression" that everyone's so wont to prescribe. Looking at a theater full of intelligent people gawking through 3D glasses simply reminds me of the resigned simplicity of early twentieth century America: post-Depression, post-WWII, deluding itself into believing that watching stuff in 3D and furnishing diners in chrome was stepping into the future. Well, Ike Administraion, you called it! 50 years later, Madison Avenue is jamming two-toned glasses in our faces just so we can watch the Super Bowl. Take that, ya damn Soviets.

3. Oh, also awesome: Charlie Wilson's War. Not having the internets or moneys = watching a lot of DVDs. OK?

This film has been brought to you by every closet on Bedford Avenue.

Tonight some friends and I saw the movie Milk and made a lot of homo jokes. As in, "Man, I knew that mall cop movie would be gay, but sheesh!" The movie was fantastic and strangely still relevant today and I loved it and bla bla bla bla.

But what I really want to talk about is the WANT factor of everything any actor was wearing throughout the film. Am I psycho for wanting to dress like a permed gay rights lesbian activist from 1978? Probably. In fact, I really just want to dress like Emile Hirsch's character. I have got to get my hands on a pair of these frames:My friend Amanda commented that the whole movie was evidently sort of a 2-hour commercial for American Apparel, and I think I agree with her. I mean, kooky specs, unflatteringly tight textiles, and washed-out drab colors and hoodies? Yeah, sounds like stock in which a hipster would invest. Regardless. I'm willing to risk coming off as an epic fail and swear to rock a pair of tube socks and high running shorts sometime this summer with split-toned Jackie O shades. You won't be able to miss me, boys.


(PS: Apparently Holly Madison sells a line of tube socks. If you think I'm not itching to get my mitts on a set of those puppies then you don't know me well enough, friend.)

Top 10 Characters of 2008

10. Jonathan Rhys Meyers: He totally out-douched himself as Henry VIII on the second season of The Tudors, which returned this year as the porniest thing besides Californication that was allowed on TV. I guess he tied this spot with Natalie Dormer, who played a totally kick-ass, painfully beautiful Anne Boleyn. And much better than Natalie Portman did.

9. Megan: Rock of Love's Megan inspired just way too much hatred from me to be excluded from this list. Megan defines the profile of that girl who knows she can use a rockin bod to get, like, whatEVER she wants (and yes, I'm only saying that because I'm jealous). Consequently, she wears nothing but teeny weeny bikinis everywhere (seriously, everywhere) and tries to carbon copy Paris Hilton by walking around with a smug grin and a dressed-up chihuahua. Unlike Paris, however, she does not stop imbibing, which gives her constant ceiling eyes, and she seems to be unaware that her 15 minutes will be up as soon as Vh1 cuts the cord on this ridiculous batch of incestuous reality show characters. PS: thanks much to Sharon Osbourne for giving Megan just a fraction of what I wish I could.

8. Heather: Heather is definitely the undisputed heathen queen of Vh1 - I will forever sing her praises (until, you know, like, Vh1 realizes they can only ride on the same four reality shows for so long). Unfortunately I missed her breathtaking performance in the first season of Rock of Love, which included Steph's faves like the "yumola" oyster scene and a joyride through some of the most ridiculous hairstyles imaginable. I think this little vignette sums it up perfectly. Regardless, in 2008, Bret's old flame championed through a second round of RoL 2, I Love Money, and Charm School, kicking Daisy's ass, hating Megan, hating Megan some more, and ultimately faltering under the marijuana ban they imposed on the set of Charm School. Hows about a 21-gun salute for our fallen pothead stripper soldier.

7. Christian Siriano: Bar-none the most talented, innovative, and awe-inspiring designer on Project Runway. After his victory the show clearly began to meet its demise, so it was only appropriate that he gave ProjRun its defining peak. Plus, he gets definite bonus points for being a total featherweight twink that defines his edge with such catch phrases as "tickety tack" and "fierce." (Yep, sorry Tyra, but Christian totally swept that carpet from out under your feet.)

6. Wall-E: This little robot almost pissed me off in his sheer adorableness and vulnerably good heart. Jesus. For three straight days back in July, I couldn't stop being all like "oooowaaaaaallleeeeeeee."

5. Jemaine Clement: Yes, Jemaine, yes it IS business time.

4. NeNe Leakes: "Caution to the wind, bras be damned" was this lady's mantra. If there was ever one woman in the Housewife collection who I'd want to hang with, it would most surely be NeNe. As her awesomely colorful voice was a pleasure to imitate among friends, she gave us such quotable gems as "don't be tardy to this party," and "close your legs to married men," and "TRASHY HOOKER." Her eccentricity completely made up for the fact that she kinda got hilariously drunk and kinda hilariously ripped on her "best friend" in a limo one night... especially since her best friend was totally self-deluded and self-centered. Whatever. NeNe, you're the lady.

3. Ramona Singer: aka "Ramoron." I seriously think this lady is full-on retarded. However, Ramona has definitely been my favorite housewife thus far in Bravo's whole series. Though NeNe is surely spunky and "three-snaps-in-the-Z-formation" enough for me, Ramona was just too faithful and too sincere in her ridiculousness to forget. She sort of reminded me of that aunt you had that loved to be around girls, and spoil them with outlandish tea parties, or try and infiltrate their adolescent teen pop world and be the "cool mom." She refused to be painted as anything but the perennially young Manhattan party girl, and in my book she gets immediate points for style and consistency.

2. Don Draper: This man needs no explanation. Even if I knew he's had careless, unprotected sex with scores of uppity brunettes, wastes his lungs and liver away on packs of Lucky Strikes and old-fashioneds, and based his entire life on a lie about his identity... yeah... I'd still hit that.

1. Barack Obama: Duh. That one.

Quantumz lolz

Since I am very late to embrace cultural phenomena, I decided on Friday to go see Quantum of Solace, the latest Austin Powers installment. It was a little adventurous on my part, namely because I sort of eschew both the Bond franchise and Daniel Craig. I'm dodging stones here, but I had a very low opinion of them as overrated, boring, and pretentious.

That is, until I saw Quantum. I think it should speak to how good a movie really is when I didn't understand 70% of the plot but still loved the film itself (that should also speak to how much the movie might, like, suck). A: Daniel Craig looks damn fine in a tux. And he doesn't resemble the jacked-up five-year-old British bloke that he seemed to play in Casino Royale. B: I kinda like stiff drinks, fast women, and shiny cars... I guess I need to reconsider my opinion of Ian Flemming when his stories are an orgy of all of those things. C: the best part of the movie, in my opinion, was the title track "Another Way to Die" by Jack White and Alicia Keys. Of all the Bond songs, I think it's the bondiest. It reminds me of going to a high-profile cocktail party in a sexy rexy dress, drinking fancy cocktails while my studly date kills druglords on the terrace with his bare hands, and then getting away with him in an Alpha Romeo. That is probably stolen. And then doin it on 5000-count Egyptian cotton. And then dying a stylish death by getting soaked in liquid gold. Mmmm I want to go to there.

Heart-Dick Productions

Last night I had the utter pleasure to experience the awkward, embarrassing, and ugly sexhound of a movie, Zack and Miri Make a Porno, with an awkward, embarrassing and ugly sexhound of my own. In case you haven't heard about it, it's the latest "let's make lots of jokes about weewees and poopoo but still make it endearing" flick from Seth Rogen, of frat pack fame. You know, call me crazy, but as redundant as this series is, and debase as they may be, I will never grow tired of these movies. And my hat's really off to Seth Rogen for winning fame by being normally funny. A lot of people may say, "Oh my friends and I same the same shit but we're not getting paid millions of dollars for it..." Yeah, true. You're NOT getting paid millions of dollars for it. You're sitting on your ass playing Xbox Live and drinking your Natty Light and he made an effort to work hard and crank out a grazillion movies a year, just bein himself. So, you know, shaddap.I really have come to admire Seth Rogen (along with the rest of the Farty boys that have dominated the American comedy scene since about 2004). A few months back he was actually in the Hitchcock-attributed Hollywood issue of Vanity Fair, recreating Cary Grant's iconic scene from North by Northwest, and later this summer he graced the cover of GQ's comedy issue. In his GQ feature, he described his school of comedy as "heart-dick production," since his films consist of a lot of heart, but simultaneously, a lot of dick. Not too far off the mark, wouldn't you say? Look at what he's been in: The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Knocked Up, Superbad... (no, I didn't see Pineapple Express). Most of those movies tie directly back to Judd Apatow, but I still contest that the uncomfortable, chubby, jewfro lovability of Rogen is largely responsible for this whole phenomenon.

Also, I must contest that he's started a new misplaced romantic lead phenomenon, akin to Tom Hanks in the 80s and Woody Allan in the 70s... Last night, as I squinted through Rogen and Elizabeth Banks' silent explosion of a sex scene (yeah... spoiler alert... they do it, since duh they made a porno!), I actually found myself, kind of um, turned on. It was this strange alloy of arousal, confusion, discomfort, and sheer endearment. Yes, frankly, watching Seth Rogen even make OUT with a girl is weird, and watching him "make love" (as his character Zack actually declared it) is sheerly mind-bending and existential. But the truth is, he created a scenario that was both emotional and real, and yeah, really fucking awkward. But that, I think, is what made it so hot. Oh Seth Rogen, you slick-talkin fly-walkin panty dropper.

PS: For those of you who are attune to viral videos, check this noise out, which was shot on the set of Zack and Miri and I discovered a few months ago! Wee!

SUCKS FOR YOU!

(... that's what they should've called it.)

Tonight marked a few firsts for me:

1. The first time I ate at least a quarter pound of bucheron all on my lonesome (thanks, FRIENDS, for being ladies and not helping me polish it off).


2. The first time I came home to find my roommate there before me AND asleep.


3. The first time I threw away not only a food stuff, but an alcoholic stuff! I cannot believe I tossed at least a quarter bottle of my $13.95 bottle of Placido pino grigio. Perish the thought!


4. The first time I sat up straight and paid legitimate attention to an old, black-and-white, mid-century-accented Bryant Park lawn movie. You know, until I got back from a trip to the bathroom and fell asleep.


5. And tying in with such rapt curiosity, the first time I had ever consumed a full Alfred Hitchcock feature. Considering my twisted, dark, and absolutely unforgiving penchant for the "what-if?", I find this simply appalling and unacceptable.
   

Such were my musings after my viewing of the movie Lifeboat. 'Twas a propagandist(?) WWII cross of and Survivor, Titanic, and Lord of the Flies wherein the folks left to their own devices in the middle of Fucked Avenue and Screwed Boulevard must decide what truly matters in this world we call HUMAN life. Do we work in the interest of MEMEMEMEMEMEME or do we put in (or out) for the greater of the common good? Do we sacrifice our most prized possessions, our own body parts, our loyalty, our kin, or (horror of horrors) our own selves for the pure understanding that the survival of just six living bodies is better than that of just our own?

As Hitchcock virgin, I felt that this little project he pinched out for Twentieth Century Fox c/o John Steinbeck (in 1944 - before the landlord of the Twilight Zone became a mainstream icon in pop culture - but wholly private - mental terrorism) was an apt introduction. It has enough psychological mindfuckery to make you wonder why the bosses of HBO's Bryant Park Summer Film Festival would sick it on a group of after-5 drunken 20-somethings looking for a summer Monday release, but not enough evil perversion to trump other, more perverted films. Because really, can you get any saner with this man? My roommate, a true old-timey movie afficianado (her dad can name ever Oscar winner since like 1325) insists that Lifeboat isn't as an appropriate first film as Rear Window, but I aint complainin. Lo, my Hitchcock naïvété welcomes the enlightened insight of those better versed in the man's portfolio.

Holy Singing Old Ladies, Batman!

This weekend I had the immense pleasure of being one of the many Americans that bolstered BOTH of the top two movies at the box office above their competition. Friday night, my friends and I got straight up hammered and saw that film about a crazy psychopath with a painted face who runs around cackling maniacally and torturing people. Obviously I'm talking about Christine Baranski in Mamma Mia!.Not much to note about Mamma Mia! beyond what's expected (guilty pleasure plus Pierce Brosnan's GOD AWFUL singing voice), but I must say I'm a little disappointed with the audience at the 19th Street Regal Cinemas. Granted we were like two giant margaritas and two Bud Lights ahead of everyone else, but we were also the ONLY bitches singin in that theater! Seriously, we brought it on home. I know it's not the Broadway production or anything, but I sort of expected all the memaws to get up and shake it like there's no tomorrow. I dunno - just sayin. And to the two gay guys I sat in front of, I'm sorry for ruining the movie for you. I mean like, ruining whatever Pierce Brosnan didn't. And if anyone's interested, coming home to a drunken screening of Grease 2 makes the perfect double feature experience.

Saturday I had the cosmic luck of catching what seemed to be the only showing left in Manhattan to The Dark Knight. I was so in awe of what Christopher Nolan did to the Batman franchise. I remember when I was in, like, third grade, and my babysitter brought over a VHS of Batman Forever - the one where Val Kilmer was oversexed Batman. It was like, my first "adult" movie and I cannot tell you how differently people approached a superhero flick back then. In 1995 Batman was smothered in color, comedy, and sounds, and no one thought twice about what he really stood for (although there ain't NOTHIN wrong with watching Chris O'Donnell run around in a wife beater... mmm). The Dark Knight was so politically fueled and sociologically charged that it actually incited a conversation about religion between my friends on the N train.

It's such a cartoony question but really - who is Batman? Someone insisted that Batman was Jesus, which I totally disagree with but I can see where she was coming from. Really, why do we need superheros? Is the Christian reverence for Jesus the same admiration we feel for Superman? In this conversation, I mentioned that when comic books became popular (1930s and 40s), DC Comic books in particular, Americans thrived on that morally upright, wholly capitalist, polarized theater of good versus evil. That's the formula for the perfect superhero breeding ground. Unlike in the Marvel Comic books (and before you think I'm turning into the Comic Book Guy here bear with me), DC Comic superheros lived in allegorical fantasy worlds (consider the fact that these men live in places like Gotham and Metropolis, unlike Spiderman's actual New York). Their adventures did sort of emulate the Bible: they were escapist reflections of an ideal society.

Right? Can I get a "hey ya?"

But seriously, Batman ≠ Jesus.

Also, inspired by how hard Heath Ledger rocked our world in that powerhouse of a movie (as Kevin Smith puts it, he "disappeared completely into that role") and rolling along the same history-of-comics train, here's a time line that the LA Times put together documenting the evolution of the Joker - a character that Ledger proved is much more complex than what we've come to envision.