Weenie Enema

I'm Back.

2011-01-01T07:33:00.000-08:00

Like the crippled, hobbling Arnold Schwarzenegger at the end of Kindergarten Cop, I have returned. For the first time in roughly three years, I not only have a stable broadband connection, but a cutting edge second generation MacBook Air. All of the keys function, although the squiggly brackety key is suspiciously slow on the uptake. No matter. Get ready.

Miley Cyrus Skinned The Little Mermaid And Wore Her Tail to the Oscars.

2009-02-25T19:18:00.000-08:00

If Ariel had just stayed in the kingdom and performed with her sisters like King Triton wanted, this would never have happened.

Oscars 2K9 has come and gone, but in its wake we're left with the remnants of a giant shitfest, courtesy of too many people to name. There were many giant hits (K-WIZZLE!) and misses (the horrendously directed In Memorium, in which you couldn't see Cyd Charisse's name because apparently it's a real treat to watch Latifah slog her way through tuneless shizzle), and Weenie Enema will supply the highlights and lowlights for those unwillingly to sit through a quarter of a day watching pretty people congratulate and laud each other.

The Hits.

"I'd like to thank Jack Dawson, who froze to death so that I might live and win this prestigious award."

1. As already mentioned, K-Wizzle has finally snagged the Oscar she deserved for almost drowning in the North Atlantic and getting shot at by Billy Zane, stolen at the last minute by the mediocrity of Helen Hunt in As Good As It Gets. Despite being 11 years late, it was a real treat to see one of the premier actresses in the world getting her due - and besting Meryl in one of her stronger nomination years. Meryl, demure and noble in defeat (it HAS happened 13 times now), also treated the public to an excellent hairdo that was clearly inspired by Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, minus the poon flashing. For that, we are grateful.

2. So there was no question that the Brangelina/Aniston drama goodness was going to be at the fore this year. For all of its entertainment value, it does make one question how truly evil the organizers of the awards show have to be to not only get Jennifer to present TWO awards, ensuring her presence on the stage for at least five minutes, but putting her basically TWO FEET from the other two equilateral angles in that cursed love triangle. Who wouldn't choke a little from that kind of pressure? Sadly, it wasn't surprising when Jen's comedic timing, a bit rusty since Friends went off the air, was slightly a kilter during a badly written banter with Jack Black. What did the directors of this noble show do when she stumbled for a second? Well...what would YOU cut to?

Ouch.
At this point, I think Jennifer Aniston has won the right to never go to any televised awards show ever again. That said, it's pretty amazing that the wretched drama lived up the hype for yet another day.

3. For some reason, the decision to get five previous winners to present the award in their respective categories has been pretty polarizing. I LOVED IT. You clearly can't do that every year, as you'd run out of people in less than 10 years, but they should definitely keep this one in storage for a good time in the distant future. They could have picked some real douches for this, like Gwyneth or Julia Roberts, but were largely successful. It would be interesting to see how they arrived at the decision for who got to introduce each nominee, as some of them didn't seem right. For instance, wouldn't it have made much more sense for Julie Andrews to get the Anne Hathaway assignment? She's a former Best Actress winner and was her co-star in the movies that jump started her career. Very baffling. And as much as I consider Sophia Loren a fairly legit legend in her own right, she's no Meryl, but who is? Ideally, I would have dug up Katherine Hepburn's corpse to deliver that speech. And if I WERE forced to select a living actress, I'd probably go with Olivia de Havilland or Joanne Woodward, both of whom probably aren't up to teleprompter reading, but a Weenie Enema can dream.

"Meryl, you were WONDERFUL in Doubt. Almost as good as I was in The Heiress and Gone with the Wind!" <3<3<3

The Misses.

1. Beyonce? Really? As much as I appreciate the millions of calories Hugh Jackman burned up in rehearsing his mother dance routines, this isn't a 1950s musical - there's a reason Hollywood isn't chomping at the bit to remake An American in Paris and Gigi. I myself don't know how to successfully navigate the line between retro badassness and stale shiz, but neither does Hugh. I get that the dude doesn't really do comedy, but all homie had to do was walk on stage like this and instantly win the approval of millions:

Having never seen the movies, I'm mildly surprised to see that Wolverine appears to have some sort of wolf ear things to go with his claws. Interesting. Which reminds me - Halle Berry was there. Couldn't they have done an X-Men skit? It would have been infinitely better than Beyonce lip-synching her way down a staircase with the cast of High School Musical. Is the Academy THAT desperate to capture the tween demographic?

2. Natalie Portman was subjected to ruthless treatment by the Academy in 2005 when they thought Cate Blanchett's mimicking, trouser-wearing Hepburn imitation exceeded her superb performance in Closer. Frankly, Natalie has every right to ignore their existence until they rectify this error and put her on the podium - preferably at Blanchett's expense. But Portman is a better person than I, and having been given an invitation to present an award, not only showed up, but looked even better than she did four years ago (was it really that long ago?) when she showed up straight out of a Latin textbook.

Natalie est melior quam Blanchett.
Heh.
Anyway, what does she get for her troubles? She's given the thankless task of playing the straight man for Ben Stiller's Joaquin Phoenix imitation, thus being totally and unfairly overshadowed once again. Sigh.

3. I had a few people over for a quiet Oscar get-together, which included Drunk Erin and 2007 Emma Grimshaw Letter Writing Contest winner Steven. Before the festivities got under way at 6 (I watch EVERYTHING), we decided to have an intense drinking game, which included taking a swig when the camera cut from Brangelina directly to Aniston (it happened several times) and whenever we saw someone on the red carpet and immediately asked, "What the hell are they doing there?" Since Jennifer Grey and the aforementioned mermaid snatcher were invited, it meant much liquid consumption. I stuck to Diet Pepsi, but I had a bottle of Cuervo left over from a party last summer, which I mistakenly gave to Steve. Of course, Steve ended up drinking pretty much the entire bottle by hour two, and passed out shortly thereafter. This meant that I had to turn the TV up during K-Wizzle's acceptance speech because SOMEONE was snoring. Loudly. Growl.

I will now leave you with a little white pony.

Excessive Indian Armpit Hair, Illiterate Nazis, and Other Goodness.

2009-02-07T17:31:00.000-08:00

Wait, she's not a Nazi!

Weenie Enema is returning from obscurity to offer unsolicited Oscar wisdom. This is the first time in the history of all things that I've pretty much seen every major film nominated, though I lost interest in bestowing my four-star blog reviews on the populace after seeing two malnourished leads in the space of a week. Although this awards season has had few surprises thus far, it should still be interesting to see whether K-Wizzle finally nails down that Oscar, if Christian Bale backlash affects any of The Dark Knight nominations, and if Jennifer Aniston shows up on the red carpet, steals one of Angelina's children and attempts to reenact a scene from Changeling, which might actually help the ratings for years to come.

Clearly, one baby from the Brangelina clan would not be missed terribly.

Best Picture.
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
Frost/Nixon.
Milk.
The Reader.
Slumdog Millionaire.

This, by virtually all accounts, has been a weak Oscar year. As best as I can figure, the definition of a strong year means having at least seven or eight legitimate Best Picture contenders, 2007 being a case in point, where films with early Oscar buzz like Into the Wild, The Assassination of Jesse James, Gone Baby Gone and others weren't really even considered because the five slots filled up pretty quickly. However, it's kind of a moot point if you didn't like more than one or two, which was certainly true for me, where I was on Team Atonement and little else. This supposedly lame year has been filled with quality shizzle in my book, and none rate higher with me than The Button. I heart all buttons, and comparisons with Forrest Gump - a movie that really hasn't held up very well, along with Tom Hanks' "pectorals" - are erroneous. You would think that Brad Pitt getting younger and younger would be a delight to see, but at a certain point - I would say when he hits middle school age - it becomes surprisingly heart-wrenching, especially if you're not used to 13-year-old boys acting like present-day Sargent Shriver. Despite Button's 13 nominations, it would be shocking if Slumdog didn't win, which was a perfectly good movie, though it sadly doesn't have the magic of age reversal. But really, how many movies do?

The answer to the question - What would Maria Shriver look like if she ate and had testicles?

Best Actor.
Richard Jenkins - The Visitor.
Frank Langella - Frost/Nixon.
Sean Penn - Milk.
Brad Pitt - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
Mickey Rourke - The Wrestler.

Conventional wisdom suggests a throwdown between the plastic surgery victim and Madonna's ex-husband. I would submit that Mickey edges out Sean by virtue of two elements - giving a shout-out to his dogs at the Globes, thus ensuring the votes of chihuahua lovers the world over, and getting shot with a staple gun in the ring, though the shooting was so frenetic that it might have been a stunt double. Still. It's hard to argue that he didn't have the harder role, since he was playing an ugly mug who bore an uncanny resemblance to that weird dog flying thing in The Neverending Story and had a bunch of folding chairs smashed on his head and Sean Penn had to...what? Make out with James Franco? What a rough gig.

"I'm a broken-down piece of meat...and I can fly!"

Best Actress.
Anne Hathaway - Rachel Getting Married.
Angelina Jolie - Changeling.
Melissa Leo - Frozen River.
Meryl Streep - Doubt.
K-Wizzle - The Reader.

It was recently brought to my attention that although Meryl is a goddess who will forever be recognized for her talent and ability to rope in prestigious award after prestigious award, she has never won an Oscar in my lifetime. I was born during the high point of the Reagan Revolution (1984) and Meryl copped Best Actress for Sophie's Choice in 1982. A sobering fact indeed. At any rate, Angelina is really only going to the ceremony to show off her arm candy (and who wouldn't?), and not enough people appreciate Homicide: Life on the Streets or her amazing turn in the best Law and Order episode title ever (Who Let the Dogs Out?) to vote for Melissa Leo in an upset.

Which brings us to three. One would think this is Meryl's best chance so far to get Oscar #3, although I personally would have nominated her for the brilliance she brought to Mamma Mia!, but the smart money is on K-Wizzle, who has patiently sat by while actress (Mira Sorvino) after actress (Helen Hunt) after actress (Jennifer Connelly) after actress (Hilary Swank) after actress (Helen Mirren) has gone up to the podium. Although it has been subjected to some merciless reviews (the NY Post headline "Deathcamp for Cutie" almost made up for their anti-K-Wizzle vitriol), The Reader is much like Brokeback in that its very definition has been misinterpreted. If you'll recall, Brokeback was unfairly labeled "the gay cowboy movie" even though they were actually SHEEPHERDERS and there was a total of maybe 30 seconds of leather cheerio love throughout the entire movie. Very unfair. The Reader is being labeled a Holocaust movie even though there are hardly any Jews to be found on screen (two) and the purpose of the film isn't to show, "Hey, Nazis have feelings too!" but that a lot of Germans, not even necessarily ones who truly believed in the Hitler methodology, were forced into horrible circumstances that in hindsight made them look less than human, when that wasn't truly the case. Such a badass movie. Also, Anne Hathaway probably shouldn't get an Oscar when Rosemary Dewitt aka Slut from Mad Men and Amazingness Defined Debra Winger were better, but some sort of award for working side-by-side with Kate Hudson should be in order.

This woman CANNOT be happy that she's the fourth search result for "who let the dogs out."

Best Supporting Actress.
Amy Adams - Doubt.
Penelope Cruz - Vicky Cristina Barcelona.
Viola Davis - Doubt.
Taraji P. Henson - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
Marisa Tomei - The Wrestler.

You have to think that if there's a chance at a crazy upset, this is probably where it would happen. Penelope is excellent and makes Scarlett look even worse than usual, but some of these nominations just seem baffling. I feel like they just started looking at the casts of the Oscar movies to fill in the spaces. Viola Davis is in basically one scene in Doubt, and the vast majority of it involves a thick stream of mucus forming a pool between her nose and upper lip. I couldn't tell you what she says to Meryl while the boogers coagulate, though I suspect it was something like, "That really sucks that PSH is touching my kid, but we are an impoverished black family and he needs to graduate from your good school, so...I don't know. Tell PSH to stop doing it." Not a very good movie, and Amy Adams is really starting to get on my nerves, but was thankfully snot-free. This is a slightly difficult call, since K-Wizzle was sweeping up all the Best Supporting Actresses until the nominations for this came out, but I'm going with Marisa Tomei, who may actually be better than Mickey "Neverending Story Dog Thing" Rourke, and is apparently having a contest with K-Wizzle to see who can make the most movies whilst flashing boobs and nethers. It's hard to imagine anyone topping K-Wizzle in that department, who by my count has been in at least four. Whew.

If Halle can get an Oscar for straddling Billy Bob, perhaps Viola can win for her unintentional cold medicine commercial.

Speculation on Supporting Actor seems pointless as Heath's corpse is primed to take the Oscar that he should have gotten for the shepherding.

They didn't go up there to fish.

Winona Called - She Wants to Know Why She Wasn't Cast in Another Movie Where Angelina is Involuntarily Dragged Into a Psycho Ward.

2008-11-08T07:57:00.000-08:00

Changeling.
2 stars.

Before composing this post, I went back through the Weenie archives to see how often, if ever, I've extemporized on Angelina Jolie. I figured I must have at least a few times, since I've resented her existence going back to 1999, when her scenery-chewing performance as a sociopath in Girl, Interrupted unfairly soaked up all the attention from Wino's career-best turn as Susanna Kaysen. Although this primitive blog doesn't come equipped with a state of the art search engine, I successfully located the only entry where she was mentioned at great length - from June 2007. (In case you ever want to peruse the Weenie archives, I would recommend googling "Weenie Enema [term you're looking for]." I have never met with failure.) This is the snippet in question:

If you ever play the Movie-off Game, where you pick an actor or actress and go back and forth naming their movies until someone runs out of titles, you want to pick Whoopi, and you want to save Girl, Interrupted for the end because she's so unassuming slash amazing in it that NO ONE remembers she was even in it. Admittedly, this is partly because Winona was even better - to the point where her greatness emanated out of every kleptomaniacal orifice and was mistakenly assumed to come from Angelina Jolie, but that's another post entirely.

I guess that other post is this one.

Having come off a viewing of another movie starring a calorie-challenged actress, I can assure my readership that in a 'rexic throwdown, Angelina is infinitely more distracting to the potential enjoyment of a movie than Keira Knightley. It is abundantly clear that Ms. Jolie has not consumed solid food in many moons, and the fact that she appears to be roughly 7'5 does not help matters. However, since I am a hardcore mature individual, I tried to ignore her totem pole appearance and try to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"Have you seen my son?"

It was a difficult undertaking, made no less so by the plot moving slower than MO-lasses. Having never directed a movie about a child abduction in the late 1920s, I cannot attest to how easy it is to move along such a story, but you'd think with Angelina getting thrown into the nutty house with Amy Ryan (whom I am now convinced is building a career based solely on looking like shizzle) and a subplot involving a quasi-pedophile serial killer who bares a frightening resemblance to a fey Brendan Fraser (redundant?) would get the ball rolling. Alas, it was not to be, and for two and a half hours, I was subjected to watching Angelina alternate between staring off into space (perhaps her lethargic way of looking for her kid) and screeching at cops. Her only deviation from this pattern was to politely smirk at a court ruling in the waning minutes of the movie, perhaps as much to the creatures who shelled out money and a lot of time to watch this as to the corrupt LAPD. Somewhere, Rodney King is smiling.

Exit poll: Would you rather have the LAPD undertake a nationwide search for your missing child, or start up race riots with the aid of a trusty baton and your face?

I'm completely baffled by the accolades Angelina is getting for this movie. Part of me thinks it's the natural byproduct of a society that desperately needs to find something of value in the Brangelina phenomenon - sending Jennifer Aniston off the deep end notwithstanding. Every time a larger than life celebrity - by definition, someone who is more well known as a famous creature than an actor or whatever profession they claim to be involved in - is actually productive, we need to effusively praise the effort, regardless of whether it's deserved. So when Whoopi Goldberg decided to take time off from shaving her eyebrows and appear as a spastic medium in "Ghost," she gets an Oscar for it, even though performances like that are a dime a dozen. When Cher had enough of Sonny and decided to become "a serious actress," the Oscars nominations (and one win) began flooding in. In short, there are more advantages to being Angelina Jolie besides the aesthetically pleasing life partner and self-financed UN refugee children farm.

If they had cast HER as Angelina's asylum roommate instead of the troll screeching, "This is MY room!" you pretty much make up for the rest of this movie's shortcomings.

I don't think it's a spoiler to tell you that there are roughly 10 minutes at the beginning of the movie where Angelina actually has her real kid (there is a very creepy scene later on where she emphatically confirms that the boy the LAPD brought home for her is a fake - and it involves prepubescent penis) and life is perfectly adequate. She brings her son to school every day on the streetcar and spends her workday zooming around the telecommunications center on roller skates. One would believe she'd be a bit more upbeat during that short sequence of the film, but if you didn't know any better, you'd think she already knew her son was about to disappear, possibly at the hands of the sexually ambiguous Brendan Fraser. It's a decidedly one-note performance that's probably going to block a deserving actress' nomination come January 22.

"Hello, young boys of 1928 California."

The supporting cast that Clint Eastwood installed around the popsicle stick is much better than anyone deserves. John Malkovich (who I thought was incredibly hot in 1985's Death of a Salesman, but it appears that he doesn't look remotely like that in ANYTHING ELSE) in a refreshing change of pace is cast as a benevolent creature, though he appears to be channeling too much John Waters in the process. In the small role of an insufferable medical practitioner at the psychiatric hospital, avid SVU fans will recognize a guest star from Season 1 - the mentally retarded dude who accidentally rapes a geriatric because he confused her unconscious body with a conscious romantic overture. Shiver.

In a story where roughly 50% of the two and a half hours (someone else can do the math) consists of Angelina encountering frustrating obstacle after frustrating obstacle, there better be a pretty damn good reason to sit through it. Personally, I HATE watching extended sequences where someone is clearly in the right (in this case, Angelina thinking the creepy LAPD boy is not her own kid) and everyone condescendingly tells them they're wrong ("I'm SURE this is your own son. You're just under a lot of stress.") The bottom line is that there isn't a whale of a lot of payoff in the end. Without ruining this for potential ticket buyers, there's a clear moment with about 20 minutes left where Clint could have EASILY ended the movie. There's a closing shot of Angelina's face (not exactly smiling, but you can't have anything), the lighting goes dim...and then the movie continues. So at that point I'm thinking, "Okay, there must be a REASON why he kept going. Surely something momentous to cap this mediocrity off is in the works." No, it wasn't. I guess he just wanted to get in a few more shots of all the costumes and scenery, quite possibly the best part of the movie.

"We put Angelina to shame!"[Editor's note: There were no flappers in this film.]

For the record, I am all for introspective pieces that focus on the inner wranglings of main characters with minimal action. Those movies can be very good - I would point to 2001's In the Bedroom as a high water mark. However, it doesn't work here because Clint tried to balance a character-driven piece about a woman searching for her genetic progeny with a true-life crime murder mystery. The result is that the movie starts and stops, sputtering at its inability to define itself. There will be 15 minutes of Angelina in a zombie trance, trying to figure out how so many elements in her life went awry with minimal effort - with the added bonus of multiple women screeching to be let out of their cages. But then the movie rapidly switches gears, as we watch detectives frantically trying to uncover the mystery behind a plethora of missing children, while other employees of the LAPD try to cover it up. This might have worked if there was any discernible difference in Angelina's character, but for whatever reason, she doesn't. There's a lot of potential in this tale, but aside from a few solid scenes (anything with the creepy non-son, John Malkovich and the nuthouse), the film doesn't work, and it's all Angelina's fault. Stick with the tomb raiding.

Be Careful What You Wish For - Turns Out A Movie Dedicated to Keira's Jawline Isn't Very Good.

2008-11-02T10:24:00.000-08:00

The Duchess
2 1/2 stars.

I tend to give Keira enormous leeway that I would never even consider bestowing upon another human being. For instance, if anyone else had a jaw that took up 75% of their face, I would say they were ugly. If another creature resembling a skeleton more than, say, an actual person who eats, starred in movies, I would helpfully suggest they look into participating in horror movies rather than period pieces. And if any other actor starred in a movie as bad as Silk, I would stop following their career. But Keira redeems herself time and time again by legitimately being a hardcore badass who is one of the top two or three best actresses of her generation, and it's the only reason why I even considered seeing a movie that looked as boring as The Duchess.

There are two reasons why this movie isn't particularly noteworthy. First of all, this has been done before, to the point where it's getting rather grating and tedious. I'm not sure why the movie-going public is honestly supposed to be bowled over by the idea that people in the 1700s not only diddled their wives, but occasionally sought bed partners who would best be described in present terminology as homewreckers. In this instance, it's more of a castlewrecker, but I digress. This is a two-hour movie that consists of little more than a naive but optimistic Keira getting hitched with a dour Ralph Fiennes, who spends his screen time looking extremely constipated and pissed (pun?), and then Keira sulking for a giant portion of the movie while Ralph screws other corsetted beings. Nothing new - people don't like getting cheated on (though Keira DOES have some legit beefs, as both her husband and his lover literally scream orgasmically through the castle while she's there. Besides not possessing deoderant/modern hygiene implements, tact also appears to be rather lacking.)

Think of the action Ralph could have gotten with THIS.

The ending - mild spoiler alert, as this isn't exactly a movie you go to looking for mouthdropping plot twists - is also supposedly to be edgy and really isn't. After lots of WASPy drama and emoting, the Duke and the Duchess continue to hang out together in the castle with the skanky ho who nearly sent Keira to the nearest moat. I'm by no means an expert on this time period, but again, it doesn't surprise me, and I doubt it would shock anyone else, that there would be living arrangements like this in the aristocratic British social circles of the late 1700s. I doubt it was a regular occurrence, but still. In fact, I would think a duchess would have to deal with a trampy third wheel living companion more often than, say, a barmaid. Although the barmaid would probably end up being that third wheel.

"Can I come live with you and Ralph?"

Now, the real dilemma for me came about halfway in, when I realized that 20% of the movie was just jawline closeups. Every time something inhumanly crappy happens to Keira, and that quickly becomes a regular occurrence, the camera just STAYS on the lower half of her face for about 40 seconds while Keira pensively stares out over her gynormous backyard. It's the English countryside equivalent of Jennifer Connolly in every one of her movies, except with a grayish body of water (see Requiem for a Dream, Dark Water, House of Sand and Fog, The Hulk). I stand by every positive accolade I have bestowed upon that jaw, but it turns out its potency is in moderation.

Also, some of the costumes went a LITTLE too far. I get that one of the only interesting activities you can do on a British period piece set is dress your star up in lots of dresses, corsets (there's a very disturbing quasi-sex scene with Keira and Ralph where he undresses her and we see the indentation of the corset on her back. The idea that an emaciatrix has to deal with tight apparel is kind of a downer.) and feathered hats, but when Keira's tromping around at regal balls dressed like the love child of a Musketeer and Dee Snider, I think a line has been crossed. A very serious one.

Twisted Sister?

There's a very strange lesbo scene in this that has absolutely no relevance to the movie, but I feel it's worth noting since it's one of the only memorable moments I took away from the film. I'm still trying to figure out why it wasn't eliminated in post-production; the only theory I can grope at is that one of the film editors thought there was a slim chance they could attract that elusive 18-25 male demographic if rumors were circulated throughout the lands that Keira engages in some woman-on-woman love. Keira's BFF (who quickly becomes noted more for her loud moans than any semblance of friendly loyalty), realizes Keira's attraction to a young politician and subtly suggests that she seize the initiative. When Keira quickly (too quickly) squashes the idea, the evil BFF coyly tells her that a non-Ralph Fiennes experience would be infinitely more pleasurable than the awkward, solely for procreation shizzle we endured previously. Keira, believing that all sex is like Ralph Fiennes sex (this movie must have done WONDERS for his self-esteem), looks dubious, until the BFF starts unbuttoning her dress. Keira starts breathing heavily...and that's as far as it goes. It's very strange, and they never address the possibility that Keira might swing from the other side of the plate. In my mind, it would have made for a more interesting movie. Victorian, passive aggressive affairs are a dime a dozen, but a lesbian duchess? If that movie has been made, I have heard nothing of its existence. Also, the politician dude she ends up sleeping with looks more like a badger than a studly sex toy, which in my mind is a mistake.

"Keira, I am WAY better in the sack than Ralph!"

Despite a sense of overall pointlessness, The Duchess isn't a total crapfest. Keira is excellent in a fairly two-dimensional role, though she fails to capture the greatness of Pride and Prejudice or the near-greatness of Atonement. I'm not sure though that I buy the view that she brings hip modernity to these otherwise-antiquated characters she has been playing in recent years, which is a contention that I've read in multiple reviews for an assortment of Keira films. That theory works for a movie like P&P, which I believe was a solid success in 2005 purely because the character of Elizabeth Bennett is completely relatable to any era, as well as because it was a career-defining moment for the Jawed One. However, there's only so much you can do with a spurned duchess, and the fact that director Saul Dibb falls back on the jawline at the end of the day screams of desperation rather than completely understandable mandible love.

The Weenie Tribute to the 50-Year Plus Six Pack.

2008-09-29T09:46:00.000-07:00

I remember several young lads from my high school days, most of them on the wrestling team, who sported fairly impressive six-packs. I also recall very clearly how those ripped abdominal muscles quickly metamorphosed into beer bellies by their second year of college (if they chose to pursue higher education). So perhaps that's why I've always been impressed that Paul Newman had as toned a stomach as you can get from the mid-1950s, possibly earlier, and still pretty much had one in 1994's The Hudsucker Proxy. One suspects he had a genetic predisposition to it, as well as healthy eating habits and an active lifestyle, but perhaps the media personality who gets the honor of interviewing Joanne Woodward in the coming days should ask her how many sit-ups Paul did during the half century she was acquainted with him, because I would wager it was a staggering number.

Promoting six-packs and straw hats since 1982.

What I've always found very interesting about Paul's career is that his big break pretty much came at the expense of Marlon Brando, who was offered the role of Rocky Graziano in "Somebody Up There Likes Me" after James Dean's corpse wasn't really up to the task, and he declined it because he didn't want to go through the arduous process of getting into boxing shape. Some actors can clearly let themselves go and still maintain very successful careers (see manboobs, Jack Nicholson), but Marlon's decline seemed to be directly aligned with his pudge and unwillingness to tackle it full-on. While I enjoy Paul Newman immensely, it's very difficult not to compare the last 30 years of his career with that of Marlon, who for all intents and purposes bought AT&T and phoned in his performances to maintain his Tahitian paradise. Paul Newman rocks hardcore, and Weenie Enema has several recommendations for the loyal reader base to take home and peruse at their leisure.

He has looked like that for decades.

When I heard that Paul Newman was dying several months ago, I made it my mission to see every Newman film before he died. I DID make some considerable progress, but fell far short of my goal. I made it to 1969's Winning (possibly the worst Newman movie I've ever seen, and he has a lot of crappola on his resume), and Netflix didn't have most of his cinematic efforts from the 1950s, so there are gaping holes of Newman knowledge in my noggin. That said, I have hand-selected two movies from each decade that are either hardcore badass, or are simply overlooked in the face of Butch Cassidy and Luke.

1950s.
1. The Long, Hot Summer.

In my mind, the best Newman/Woodward movie by a long shot, and in many ways better than the more highly acclaimed Southern family drama Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Although a morbidly obese Orson Wells looks purple and is supposed to be plausibly diddling Angela Lansbury (and not Winston Churchill-lookalike Angela of present day), Paul spends most of the time wandering around the sweltering fields shirtless or close to it, and Joanne is deliciously frigid. This observation will come up later as well, but Paul Newman has to be the only person in Hollywood history who plays gigolos and general skeeze, and comes off looking classy. That cannot be an easy task.

England called. They want their war-time Prime Minister back.

2. The Left-Handed Gun.

Full disclosure - I hate this movie. I thought it sucked beyond all reasonable expectations, but it has been included because in many respects, I found it to be one of the most engaging and interesting Newman performances. His hotness factor is through the roof. I feel the movie-going public has been really shortchanged by his closely cropped hair in most of his films, because when he lets it go for a few months, it's deliciously hunky and curly and makes him look more sleazy. But in a non-STD kind of way. In terms of characterization, Paul's playing an incredibly immature, impulsive man-child, who can immediately transform into a hardened killer with colder eyes than Keifer Sutherland in The Lost Boys. If you can zone out the rest of the inept movie, dot dot dot.

Spurned of a nomination? You decide.

1960s.
1. Hud.

This isn't exactly an unknown product, but Hud to me is the best Paul Newman movie ever, surpassing Cool Hand Luke, The Hustler, The Sting and every other heralded classic that comes to mind. I know that many people, especially in my own demographic, have never even heard of this movie, and I suspect that's partly because a) it was shut out of most Oscar categories and Paul was outshone by Sidney Poitier's history-making win, and b) Paul's eponymous character does not inspire the legions of hero-worshipers that an outsider like Cool Hand Luke does with his repeated jail escapes, or Fast Eddie Felson does with his cue stick - he's so hideously unlikeable that the genius of the character isn't received as such on the scale of some of his other portrayals.

2. Sweet Bird of Youth.

Apparently the original play involved venereal diseases and castration, and the film version suffers for their glaring absences. Instead we're treated to an abortion on the down low and a black eye. Not as fun as the clap, but it WAS 1962. Like the other Tennessee Williams/Paul Newman collaboration, there's an unevenness that puts it at odds with the Broadway original. It seems too easy to simply say that Newman was miscast, though a fresh-faced debonair creature doesn't seem like the optimal person to be playing a washed up male ho. Watch out for a young, non-pedophile looking Rip Torn!

Perhaps someone ELSE should have played the gigolo.

1970s.
Largely considered the weakest period of Paul Newman's career, the decade highlight is unquestionably 1973 Best Picture winner The Sting, though Slapshot has gained a loyal following over the years, as has the more suspect Towering Inferno. Since I only made it to 1969 during my mission and have only seen one movie from the 1970s, I feel it would be disingenuous of me to wax eloquent on the subject. Though I have heard that Pocket Money is really underappreciated. Take that for what you will.

I seriously wonder if this movie was pulled from television broadcasts in the weeks following 9/11. Since it apparently sucks, it might not have even had to come up.

1980s.
1. Absence of Malice.

Also known as The Last Movie Where Paul Newman Was Insanely Hunky, Absence of Malice isn't exactly a tour de force of film-making, but it was enough of a parallel to Newman's publicized battles with the press, namely my BFF The NY Post, that he signed on and ended up with what is probably his least-known Oscar nomination. While the entire movie is extremely irritating, namely because Sally Fields is playing the kind of journalist that in real life would end up fired after about two days of employment, and is instead lauded for her tenacity and ability to seduce a 56-year-old Newman, who looks more like MAYBE 40, in his second-weakest decade, it's sadly a highlight of sorts.

Keep fighting the good fight.

I'm not selecting a second movie, because, like the previous decade, my choices are limited, and his most heralded roles are in two movies that don't deserve any sort of recognition - The Verdict and The Color of Money. Newman's Oscar win for The Color of Money is exactly why so many people hate on the Oscars for their politically motivated decisions, and The Verdict is a lame two-star movie that's constantly being labeled a classic for no good reason. I've heard Blaze is interesting, but again - I haven't even gotten into the nitty gritty of the 70s.

I am ashamed that such a noble creature was forced to share screen time with that L. Ron freak of nature.

1990s.
1. Nobody's Fool.

To me, this otherwise nothing special, mediocre movie is worth watching because it serves as an affirmation for how great Paul Newman can be. It's rather sad that he has such a mediocre cast to work with, the exception being Jessica Tandy in her last film role, but I daresay only a noble creature not of this earth could make Melanie Griffith watchable. I've heard rather nasty shizzle uttered about how the Academy was simply nominating Paul for previous contributions, much like his 1986 win, but I don't buy it. I have a co-worker who remains utterly convinced that Jack Nicholson hasn't deserved any of his Oscar nominations since the early 1980s, and I feel a legit case can be made for that argument, but this is a subtly brilliant performance, and even Mr. Die Hard himself should feel honored for being allowed to participate in the production.

Wouldn't it have been amazing if Paul Newman was in a Die Hard movie? Heart.

2. The Hudsucker Proxy.

Um, you should just watch it to see a 70-year-old six pack that isn't Jack LaLanne's. One of the earliest Coen Brothers' pictures, and very ambitious in scope, it falls short of expectations, but is just gorgeous to look at, with the exception of perennial gawkyness Tim Robbins, leagues away from his badass Shawshank performance. In another highlight, Jennifer Jason Leigh isn't being raped or abused in some way, which is about as rare as Charlize getting through a film in one piece.

We are ALL on to you.

The 2000s are also a sparse cinematic wilderness, and the only project worth viewing is probably Road to Perdition. Empire Falls, a star-studded miniseries that won a whole bunch of Emmys, is kind of lame, but I'm a bit biased, since my primary gripe was how nasty Ed Harris' hair looked. It was mangy.

Exactly.

Wading in Shizzle-Infested Bayou Water May Be Just As Sucky as Evacuations.

2008-09-16T08:45:00.000-07:00

A walking staph infection.

After the last hurricane fiasco, I decided I was NEVER leaving for a storm EVER again. This past weekend has given me pause to reconsider that statement, but the fact remains that even in the worst flood conditions Crown Point has seen in Mego's grandmother's lifetime (she's in her late 70s), I had access to Diet Pepsi, which MAYBE makes this latest run-in with mother nature more tolerable than the last.

I'm starting to think that my desire to get my birthday ribs (yes, it has been three weeks since my birthday, and NO RIBS) is cursed, because every time I make solid plans to acquire them, Louisiana faces some sort of natural disaster. Despite the mandatory evacuations placed on the area each time, my suspicion is that the fact that this area is under sea level and thus incredibly vulnerable to even a raindrop is a much more legitimate reason for what has gone down of late.

See the trenches? I live there.

In the middle of last week, the Nash Roberts emails start up again, but this time the hurricane named after the 34th President of the United States looks like it's going to make landfall in Galveston, Texas, which is pretty far away from New Orleans. However, Nash cautioned that because the storm was hitting west of us, storm surges would still be a strong concern for coastal Louisiana, as water from the Gulf would basically come churning up into the bayous and flooding everything. It sounded fairly serious. On Thursday, the wind started picking up on the way home, and by the time I had finished watching an inhumanly depressing movie about Jared Leto's ravaged heroin arm, it was blowing about 40mph outside. Big Bear and I sat quietly for most of the night listening to pieces of the house crack and pretending we were Helen Hunt's character in Twister. It was not as comforting as one would hope it to be.

No, no we do NOT.

Driving to work on Friday was very scary. We were getting the outer bands of Ike at this point, so not only are the winds at tropical storm force levels (in the 50 and 60 mph range), the rain is just coming down in sheets. Poor, battered Mariska is wobbling into other highway lanes, and since the lack of power steering wasn't very helpful to begin with, I was pretty rattled when I managed to drag myself into work. My attention was diverted at lunch when this weirdo loud rich Jewish kid took Fatima (one of the hippest cats in existence EVER) and me to a pretentious restaurant in a Marriott. From extensive personal experience, I can tell you that expensive bovine is almost ALWAYS overrated. The chefs clearly feel compelled to mess with the simplicity of the cow, so they tinker with it and make it taste like perfume. It's a burger. If you wanted something fancy, you would have ordered a porterhouse, which in my book is the weirdo loud rich Jewish kid of cattle.

"Burgers? Oh, I NEVER converse with them, we don't travel in the same circles."

By the time I was driving home, the rain had pretty much stopped, though the wind was still whipping around at a leisurely 35 mph or so. What should have alarmed me was the DIRECTION the wind was going, because it was north. As in north from the Gulf to the bayous. Since I have rediscovered a love of photoshopping maps, I have taken the liberty of giving you a general idea of where I live in relation to nearby areas. The following map is of Jefferson Parish, with a grayish dot showing where I live in relation to all the major bayous:

So essentially, I am surrounded by water at all times, and you can see how strong winds pushing up from the south is just horrid.

When I get down to my street, the way south is already completely closed off. If you gaze intently at the map above, you should be able to see a line of water almost immediately south of me. That's the Intercoastal Waterway, and everything south of that is even further below sea level than I am. Based on the number of emergency personnel patrolling said waterway, it appeared that the towns over there (including Lafitte, which is named after the erstwhile pirate from days of yore Jean Lafitte) were already dealing with extensive flooding. The road I live on was already filling up with water, but was still navigational with Mariska. I was starting to think I wasn't getting ribs. The compound looked almost unrecognizable. The backyard/fields were already full of water, and it was getting close to the houses. I gazed warily at the driveway, which was damp, but thus far flood-free.

"Argh, we be getting wet."

For the best possible understanding, my readership would be best served with a primitive map that shows the compound I live on, as basic knowledge of the area will aid greatly in understanding my tale.

On the north and west sides is bayou, which directly connects to the Intercoastal Waterway. The road is to the south. The house that says "E" is where I generally reside, and the driveway next to it with the red "M" is where Mariska usually hangs out when I'm there. The "G" is Grum, Beretta Mego's grandmother, and the "R" is where Mego's Aunt Ronda lives. Note that when she built her house in the late 1980s, she insisted on importing $15,000 worth of dirt to make a hill that would avoid flooding the house. It would be an important decision. Grum's house was directly on the land, so it was subject to the most flooding, and the Emma house was built with a 4-foot foundation underneath, so it was safer than Grum's house, but Ronda's was the place to be. The green slanty lines are the meadow, which is VERY low-lying and is usually pretty wet in a simple rain shower. Oh, and the "S" is a little shed that has this air thing that I use to fill up Brando's tires when they're low. I hope this has clarified shizzle somewhat.

"Emma, your artistic abilities simply dazzle me. There are no words."

Throughout Friday evening, the water rose frighteningly quick. My ribs were a distant memory, and when several of us ventured out to find some fast food (no one wanted to stay away for too long) the road had about a foot of water in it. By the time we returned, it was clear that the flooding was going to be massive, and since we had not had electricity since Thursday morning, there was no way to tell when it was supposed to crest. Thus, it was clear I should at the very least get Big Bear up to Ronda's for the night. My chum Lori very graciously drove up my tiny driveway (which by now was almost as waterlogged as the road) so I could walk through minimal floodwater to retrieve some basic toiletries and my beloved orso. Have you ever walked through nasty stank bayou water that's full of worms? It was colder than I thought it would be, but wormier too, so it canceled out. On my way back to the car, I was convinced I had just stepped on an anaconda, but as I clearly still have a pulse, I'm starting to doubt it.

My driveway.

Although it was fairly scary/stressful, much of the panic I would have been in the midst of was nonexistent because everyone on the compound had been through floods and was very blase about the whole thing. The most common sentence ever was, "I've seen worse." On Saturday morning, no one was saying that. Ronda was in a state of panic, since the water was now only several FEET from her house on the hill. Grum's house looked to have one or two feet of water, and I couldn't see how high it was over at my headquarters. Since it looked like there was a very real possibility that that house was going to see water pretty soon, I took a pair of hip boots and a golf club (which served the dual purpose of aiding balance and fending off snakes) and set off to look at the other two houses and hopefully get my Winona movies off the floor of my room before they were attacked by the worms from Tremors.

"EMMA, SAVE ME!"

Grum's house was indeed flooded, and it felt very strange to be WADING through her garage. I found her lying on a floating couch looking remarkably calm. The first words out of her mouth? "Do you guys have enough to eat over there?" Amazing. Totally my hero. But since her house does not contain Diet Pepsi, it was a moot point. It turned out that Grum's pressing concern was not her well being or that of her husband, grandchild or house. No, she had the retarded Weimeraner cowering on some furniture, and it was very scared of water and needed to get out of that house. I put it on a leash and managed to coax it into the driveway, but as soon as the water went up to her chest, she freaked out and went back inside to her Atlantis-esque hovel. While I considered her plight, I went over to see Mariska, which had water getting dangerously close to the undercarriage, and the house, which was about a foot away from flooding. After Wino and company were safely tucked away on my bed, it was time to rescue the Weimeraner. I managed to get the creature into the garage, where I lifted it by its legs (like a shepherd with sheep), put it into an empty Tupperware garbage can and carried it through the water back to Ronda's. Here is a picture of the DARING RESCUE MISSION:

I don't know why it looks like I have a black veil over my face, but at least you can see the head of the Weimeraner. As a result of my saving her via garbage container, the Weimeraner now follows me everywhere. This is the price of nobility, bravery, et cetera.

I was hoping I could avoid direct contact with the bayou sewage (at this point, much of the sewage system WAS blocked up, so there was legit shizzle floating around, as well as a frequent 12-foot alligator visitor that my chum Cody was on a first name basis with. Big Boy, in case you were wondering. I really wasn't. However, several family members were generously bringing groceries and wading boots to the end of the road, and we had to get over there somehow. So even though my only experience with an oar was on this rowing machine in the basement of one of my many college dorms, I wandered into a rinky dink rowboat with Cody and set off on a mile and a half rowboat ride through human waste. Lori and Ronda followed close behind, bellowing for Cody to slow down because "of the Mexicans." I figured such a statement was a product of an overactive imagination, but I would be proven wrong. Although the initial part of the journey was remarkably drama-free, except for a few small waves that dampened the top half of my pants (and in case you're wondering, when the bayou gets on part of you, even if it's just part of your clothes, you will feel absolutely filthy and tainted until you take a hot shower. A change of clothes just isn't going to cut it.), as we rowed closer to the highway, we began seeing...sketchy people. Not just homeless flood victims, but Hispanic dudes in Fubu gear who weren't carrying belongings, and appeared to just want to wander around in two or three feet of sewage. Clearly they were bad news, and one particularly seedy guy came up to us in the boat:
Mexican: I want a ride.
Cody: Uh. No.
Mexican: C'MON!
Cody: *begins rowing frantically*
Lori and Ronda, who do not give off as much of a badass vibe as we were doing in the other boat, actually had to deal with the Mexican crazy person trying to get INTO their craft. One would assume that Noah and his posse did not have to contend with illegals trying to SUBMERGE their vessel. Chaos, absolute chaos.

Our boats had DIFFERENT animals trying to get on board. Growl.

When we got to the highway, we were BOMBARDED by chaos. There were numerous tv crews down there, though no Geraldo that I could see, and hundreds of skeezy people wearing crappier clothes than I was (I had prepared for the rowing trip by donning ripped US flag pajama pants and a very snazzy football ringer shirt from Ebay, in fact the very one I am wearing in the Weimeraner snapshot above), ostensibly from even lower lying areas. What captured the attention of my traveling companions was not the absolute bedlam that greeted us, but the (apparently) glaring absence of the black population, which is pretty significant over there. My favorite quote of the day:

Lori: Where are all the black people?
Ronda: Looking for FEMA.

Chortle.

Too busy mapping out troop positions in the sand, no doubt.

Eventually we rowed back, though it took three times as long because we were going against the current. Also, Lori and Ronda almost got sucked into a canal undertow in front of the NBC news van, but because we didn't have cable/electricity, we have no idea if the entire metro area witnessed it as well. I developed several very nasty raw sores on my feet from chafing against the size 26 wading boots, and I'm pretty sure that they were directly tainted by the poop water. It is unknown at this juncture whether I am dying, though my mother certainly thinks I am. Perhaps I should get that checked out. As it stands, the flood waters have mostly receded, Mariska has DIED, and because they haven't fixed the wiring in the area, I no longer remember what air conditioning feels like.

Also, Keira Knightley is going to make another run at the Oscar this weekend. Hopefully I won't be surrounded by shit and I can attend the proceedings.

Breaking Wind Has A Whole New Meaning - Weenie Enema Meets Gustav.

2008-09-09T08:26:00.000-07:00

As most readers know, Weenie Enema has temporarily moved headquarters to the Crescent City, specifically the sweltering bayou south of New Orleans, down the street from the Bayou Barn, which bears an eerie similarity to the hangout Turkey Point in Crybaby, minus Hatchetface. The last several months have been chock full of adventures, including encounters with stereotypical inbred rednecks who derive endless amusement from noose jokes, as well as a random job at a prestigious law firm that hosts pizza parties to boost employee morale, a very noble and successful technique, in my view. At any rate, on August 1, the head of the firm sends out this email reminding everyone to solidify hurricane preparations, because the season was upon us, and tropical storms were already a-brewing in the Atlantic basin. Heavy stuff, though I felt the extra preparedness was mostly an offshoot of post-Katrina neurosis, understandable of course. I conferred with a mentally disabled Weimaraner who lives next door, who agreed with my summation.

Cesar Millan, please help.

The last week of August arrives. I am excited, as my birthday is coming up, and my plans are simple but tantalizing - honey BBQ ribs at Chili's. Also, since I'm very far away from my parental figures, I assume excellent presents are in the mail, including the Collector's Edition of the 1986 World Series and Paypal money for Paul Newman posters. The Monday before my birthday, I turn on my brand new HDTV (my older Japanese television, which I'm pretty sure my mom bought for her art studio around the same time that Hill was trying to get her socialized healthcare goodness going, had developed a rather aggravating habit of opening and closing the VCR door, and then inexplicably shutting off. I had actually devised a technique whereby I immediately unplugged the tv as soon as the VCR door clicked open, and that usually saved about 30 seconds of time, but when it decided to turn on in the middle of the night and scare me shitless with a televangelist special, it was time to go.) and discover that a tropical storm named Gustav is hanging out in the Atlantic and appears to be heading toward the Gulf. Hmm. Interesting.

Goodbye, chum of mine.

When I get to work, I'm greeted by masses of nervous creatures constantly checking weather.com and making hotel reservations as far as Memphis and Atlanta. For some reason, and perhaps it's because of the rebel in me that never lurks far from the surface, every single lawyer, paralegal et cetera was convinced I would never evacuate. Not sure when rebel got confused with stupid, but if I had a nickel for every time someone frowned in concern at me and said, "You know, you should really consider getting out of here if that storm looks like it's heading our way," I would have $4.35. Because apparently I have a reputation for being Gary Sinise in Forrest Gump.

I'm not sure how a friendless, legless alcoholic would evacuate anyway, but the comparison stands.

When I get back to the bayou compound, I decide to at the very least confer with some of my associates to measure their concern and hurricane plans, and am pleased when my famous taxidermist friend breezily says, "Oh, we'll drop off my exotic ducks and go to Houston." As this could mean a second rumble at Minute Maid Park with braindead Astros fans who still haven't gotten over their inability to sign my center fielder to a long-term contract, any feelings of anxiety were assuaged, and I go back to reading my amazing, incredible feral cat warrior books.

I'm not kidding. Everyone needs to read these literary treasures, especially the second miniseries "Warriors: The New Prophecy."

One of the paralegals at the law firm has a boyfriend who works on the oil rigs in the Gulf, and his company hired this locally famous hurricane expert Nash Roberts as a consultant for the hurricane season, so by the middle of the week, everyone is getting two or three emails from this guy a day documenting Gustav's projected path and current status. Also, I was informed that every single hotel up to Little Rock was booked up, and yes, when I see "Little Rock" and "hotel" in the same sentence, I too think of Paula Jones. Friday, the day before my 24th womb exit anniversary, was insanity. Bobby Jindal - who I HEART and wish he had been the governor of New Jersey instead of that crazy gay American who likes to get nookie at the Alexander Hamilton Rest Stop (a really sketchy place that has a Roy Rogers that somehow successfully operates without their excellent chicken nuggets. Go figure.) - had taken massive measures to ensure a smooth evacuation if there was one, and the National Guard was swarming all over the CBD (Central Business District, for the uninitiated). A good percentage of buildings had already boarded up their windows and doors, and every publicly accessible television had swarms of people around it glued to the Weather Channel. Creepy.

*wolf whistle*

My birthday arrives, but the ribs do not. Since projections had Gustav making landfall roughly half an hour away, pretty much every business on the West Bank had shut its doors by noon, Chili's included. It was very, very sad, though I did manage to locate a po' boy establishment that sold me a Vitamin Water. Sigh. In the afternoon, it's officially decided that Bobbie Ragsdale, Beretta Mego and I will depart at 10 or 11pm for Houston, since Sugar Ray Nagin has issued mandatory evacuations for pretty much every parish in Southeast Louisiana, and despite his hyperbolic rhetoric ("THIS IS THE STORM OF THE CENTURY!"), it seems foolish to stay, especially since my current residence is below sea level. Traffic had been absolutely insane for the past two days, and this seemed like the right time to go, especially since 4am was when the contraflow would begin on the interstate. Two weeks ago, I couldn't tell you what contraflow was. I would probably have assumed it was the opposite of a period. For those who have never had to evacuate, it means that both sides of the highway go in one direction, in this case AWAY from New Orleans. And you definitely don't want to be anywhere near the city when that shizzle gets underway.

You are not ribs. Sniff.

To make my tale understandable to the masses, I have taken the liberty of drawing a set of maps. The most direct way to get to Houston is on Interstate 10, which runs through New Orleans, goes west through several major cities (Baton Rouge, Lafayette, Lake Charles and Beaumont) and then goes right to Houston. If there's no traffic and you're going at a 75mph clip, you can make it to Houston in 6 hours. That is not what happened this time.
This is essentially where I-10 is in relation to New Orleans and Houston. NOLA is obviously on the right, and Houston on the left, though technically it's further west and that left dot is more likely Beaumont:

On my Paint thingy, I had the highway red. I have no idea why it's gray, unless it KNOWS highways are gray and just wants to keep it real. You decide.

My theory was that we should just GO on I-10. It would probably get pretty crowded towards the early morning, but it was a direct route, and traffic was fairly inevitable. Bobbie Ragsdale had a different idea. There is a smaller highway called 90 that runs basically parallel to I-10, but to the south on the West Bank. Halfway across the state, it intersects with I-10 in Lafayette, and Bobbie was a strong proponent of bypassing potential traffic jams in New Orleans and Baton Rouge. So off we rode on Highway 90. Here is a picture of the previous map, but with the addition of 90:

I successfully made 90 pink, which begs the question - WHY ISN'T I-10 RED???

The 90 portion went swimmingly, with minimal traffic. In fact, the only qualm with taking this route is that it went directly through the area most likely to get hit by Gustav, so there was tons of opposing traffic, all of which seemed to be screaming, "GET OUT! ARE YOU NUTS? IT'S COMING!" I bravely ignored it and drove on. However, trouble was on the horizon, and I'm not talking clouds. When we get to Lafayette, the ramp to I-10 is closed. No mention of this on the radio, or why one WOULDN'T want their citizens to be able to, you know, drive AWAY from a potential hurricane, and we're forced to go north. At this point, I'm getting kind of tired (it's 1 or 2am, and Emmas need a lot of sleep as a general rule), so in Opelousas, I make a fateful decision - I purchase two weird Community Coffee mocha drink things. It would prove to be a grievous error in judgment. You know who also has a propensity toward grievous errors in judgment?

As we continue north, we're met with a growing, gnawing problem - every single road, small and large, is closed to the west, usually with a cop car parked in the middle of it. This is proving to be an enormous inconvenience, and none of the policemen seem to have a clue how far this BLOCKADE stretches for. Finally, Bobbie Ragsdale has enough and just drives around one of them. I am forced to follow, and feel rather criminal, but since Bobbie is in the Army, the chances of anything coming from this action seem minimal. Oh, I should also mention - Bobbie has to report to Fort Polk on that Monday because he was being deployed to Iraq in a few days. Lots of drama.

Iraq, meet BRags.

Once again, we're going at a pretty fast clip, though we probably lost two hours in there. I noticed during a period where I had lost sight of Bobbie (and my car made a scary noise) that my cell phone signal was nonexistent. This would prove to be VERY important later on. The coffee drinks had done their worst, and since Louisiana didn't think to keep the public restrooms open, I managed to leave some brown markings on the backs of several gas stations. Serves them right. Also, it didn't take long for Bobbie to make a huge directional faux pas that took us 20 minutes away from Fort Polk, which, if you're wondering, is rather out of the way. Here is a new map that shows the wrong turn that could have been avoided if Mego hadn't been sleeping or if I had decided to call Bobbie and ask why we had been traveling north for an hour:

Just looking at it makes me exhausted all over again.

Finally we righted the course and got into Beaumont, Texas. I had been given a driving reprieve in West Louisiana and felt a bit more refreshed than, say, Bobbie, who didn't get much of a break at any point. At this juncture, it was around 7 in the morning, and we finally caught sight of the elusive I-10. It was pretty packed, very close to bumper-to-bumper, but was moving a bit. My stance was to take it. Beaumont is about an hour east of Houston, and although this traffic meant it would take considerably longer than that, at least this road was assured of being open. Bobbie had another idea. Our goal was to get to Mego's mom's house, which is northwest of downtown Houston. To get there involves negotiating with three major highways, and traffic is always a problem there, even in non-hurricane situations, so I don't fault the logic of BRags' plan. He thought that instead of going west on I-10 we should go NORTH for awhile, bypassing the major arteries and then go west and approach from the north. However, something very, very sad occurred. None of us knew it at the time, but Texas had just ordered mandatory evacuations for the three counties directly south of Beaumont. Guess which direction they were going in? Here is a new map with our proposed route in dotted lines, and a bunch of Texans bearing down on us:

Shiver.

We ended up in Cleveland (see above map). It took six hours to get there. I remember little of it, except for an uprising by 12 billion lovebugs that kept flying into my car (my air conditioner doesn't work and it was 96 degrees out) and trying to hurt Big Bear. They were all viciously eliminated, and Big Bear was spared. At some point, we found a road going west that we needed to go on, but wouldn't you know? Blocked off. By about six cop cars and a concrete barrier. Did BRags care? Nooooo, and off we went.

Best. Picture. Ever.
A cop did pull us over and inform us that we had committed a Class B misdemeanor, which I suspect is slightly less serious than a Class A. Or maybe C. The classes confuse me.

So by 2pm (we had been on the road for 15 hours at this point), we were right back in Beaumont, though sweatier and infinitely more disgruntled. This time, my argument about I-10 was agreed to, and once again, we headed toward Houston. For 20 minutes, it was smooth sailing. The traffic had all but disappeared, and we were making excellent time. And then 55 miles from Houston, BOOM! Traffic. Lots of it. Not moving. At all. This time, I managed to locate a news report on the radio. They were of the impression that the traffic jam lasted to Houston, which, if you recall the words three lines up, meant 55 MILES. Although the 6-hour jam north of Beaumont was nothing to write home about, lack of food and water was starting to take its toll. I had packed enough liquid goodness for a 10-hour ride, and I hadn't eaten anything since 8 the previous night. I was also sleepy, though again, I would contend Bobbie was sleepier. Just as I was thinking this really couldn't get much worse, it did. My beloved GMC Jimmy had had enough, and my car broke down on the highway.

Essentially.

Jeffrey Grimshaw got an hysterical call from me, which I suspect made little to no sense, though I managed to get out the fact that Mariska (car, not actress) broke down on a major highway during a hurricane evacuation. Then I discovered more bad news. Apparently when your phone is trying to locate a signal, which it spent a great deal of time doing in central Louisiana, it loses battery power. And though I had fully charged it right before we went on this hellish excursion, it was down to one bar. So I screeched, "MY PHONE IS DYING! I HAVE TO GO!" and tried to figure out my options. I wasn't able to contact my parents until the next morning, the interval of which involved my mother calling the Houston Police Department looking for me, who of course already had an APB out for me because of an April run-in at a downtown Burger King. Thankfully, Bobbie and Mego were only several car lengths ahead and had managed to get on the shoulder with me, or I probably would have hijacked a car, robbed a Burger King, and then figured out a way to get all of my crap into the stolen vehicle. AAA seemed baffled about my desire to get the car towed to Northwest Houston. This is legitimately a very accurate transcription of my call to them:
Emma: I need you to tow me to Northwest Houston.
AAA: We can't.
Emma: You're AAA. What are you talking about?
AAA: South Houston is evacuating, so we can't tow you to a place that's evacuating.
Emma: See, NORTHWEST Houston is not SOUTH, and they're not evacuating, so you totally can.
AAA: Don't think so. We have someone who can, but they won't.
Emma: Eat shit and die.
*click*

Then I called 911. They said they COULD tow me, but it would cost over $600 and they wouldn't be there for at least three hours. I was pretty sure I could see vultures swirling over my head. My feeling was that I could have fought them off for MAYBE two hours, but not three.

Insert lyrics to "Every Breath You Take."

Admittedly, my opinion of Bobbie Ragsdale had taken a nosedive in recent hours, but then, as BRagsies are prone to do, he redeemed himself:
"Hey, maybe it was just overheated. Let's try to start it again."
VROOOOM!
It was very exciting, but I insisted that he drive it. I was gracious enough to accompany him, but I was starting to think my beloved Mariska hated me and would be more amendable to a military driver. And so she was.

We got to Houston at 5 or 6pm. Clearly the powers that be thought I had suffered enough, because guess what was waiting for me?

I WISH.
It was a hamburger. A juicy bovine that died for my sins.

A Totally True Story.

2008-03-10T14:46:00.000-07:00

For the purposes of this re-enactment, Eliot will be portrayed as himself, and I will be shown as Mariska Hargitay, which is kind of an homage to an earlier post involving a true celebrity-related story with Detective Olivia Benson, and is also an allusion to the budding romance of Stabler and Benson.

October, 2006:

"Good luck, Eliot!"

"Thank you!"

February, 2007:

"Hi, Eliot!"

"Hello!"

Next week:
A Mariska/50 Cent re-enactment set at the Fulton Street Burger King.

I have reached the point where I just assume all politicians are giant corruptocrats, so I'm a bit surprised that ANYONE is shocked when anyone in that line of work ends up diddling people they aren't married to, or does illegal things to line their own wallets. Trust me, Hillary and I wouldn't be BFFs for all this time if I wasn't completely aware that she's morally suspect. That is all. In conclusion, Eliot was nice enough to actually respond to me each time I attempted conversation with him in the early morning on 5th Avenue, and I would absolutely say hello again.

In Which Portman Almost Makes Up For Her Last Five Movies, and Scarlett Validates My Animosity Towards Her.

2008-02-12T08:48:00.000-08:00

From pagesix.com:

On who they’re voting for:
Scarlett:
“I will continue stumping for [Barack] Obama until he’s elected. The past eight years have been painful for a lot of people. We’re in a state of emergency.”

Natalie:
"I met with about 10 representatives… and Hillary [Clinton] was by far the sharpest. Did you read Gloria Steinem’s op-ed piece?” Natalie asks, citing Steinem’s January 8 column about the presidential hopeful in the New York Times. “Hillary’s just so experienced.”

I considered writing a long missive about why Weenie Enema would never vote for Obama in 2008, but I think it would just make people angry. Besides, all loyalists know where Hill and I have stood for years.

I would just add that I think it's rather telling that Scarlett's endorsement of Obama is saturated with generalizations and crazy talk ("state of emergency! blah!"), whereas Natalie namedrops reading material and gives specific reasons for her Hillary support. That is all.

The Brad Renfro Retrospective; Or How I Was A Total Idiot and Put Mischa Barton on My Ghoul Pool

2008-02-11T07:20:00.000-08:00

As you may be able to ascertain from the title, I am not the best person to offer an attempted tribute for Brad Renfro. I've seen six of his movies, which is probably on par or slightly better than most people, though it's by no means a significant percentage of his actual films. Also, the only reason Brad has even entered my mind in the last decade is because he and Edward Furlong have been swapping positions as my under-30 celebrity pick for my dad's ghoul pool for the last several years until THIS year, when I decided that Brad had avoided a heroin OD up to this point and was likely to continue the trend. This was incorrect and delusional, and I take full responsibility for it. My thought going into the 2008 ghoul pool (if you visit the pool, my list is under "redsantapoop") was that statistically speaking, it was far more likely that a celebrity would get drunk and kill themselves in a smashup than to actually go by way of the cliche drug overdose. However, Mischa still has over 10 months to prove me a genius.

The only reason to watch any part of The OC Season 2.

Brad Renfro's debut was in "The Client," where he spends roughly half the movie stealing Mary Louise Parker's cigarettes and running away from Tommy Lee Jones. Who DOESN'T do that? While I hesitate to endorse an adaptation of a John Grisham novel - a concept that involves dumbing down legalese to the point of being completely unrecognizable - it IS a good movie, and quite a bit of that is due to Mr. Renfro. There is also a creepy scary person with a gymormous wart on his face who tries to kill Brad in an autopsy amphitheater, which fostered a childhood fear of people with facial growths, but surprisingly, not of darkened corpse-strewn rooms in hospital basements. I was also scared of rabid raccoons. From my DARE classes (I'm probably the only person in the history of DARE to credit those classes for not turning me into a junkie), I know that some of the shizzle Brad smokes in this is a GATEWAY drug. It was only a matter of time.

I think he's in Susan Sarandon's law office, where she takes his case (because he's "the client," get it?) for $1. If only eye doctors cost that little. Frown.

After a very impressive debut, akin to Portman's entrance in The Professional, Brad decided to make one of The Greatest Movies Ever with one of The Best Child Stars Ever - The Cure with Joseph Mazzello. Aside from Beaches, Arnold Schwarzenegger's death scene in Terminator 2 and Macauley Culkin's unfortunate encounter with a beehive, nothing is more soul-wrenching than dying childhood BFF movies involving AIDS. I don't want to ruin this amazingness in the unlikely situation that someone reads this and wants to see it, but there is a scene involving a sneaker and a coffin that just wrecks life. Also, because I just mentioned Natalie Portman, I opened up another tab to check on natalieportman.com, and someone wrote a VERY nasty review of her upcoming movie The Other Boleyn Girl:

This is the second misguided historical project for Natalie Portman after the disastrous response to Milos Forman's "Goya's Ghosts" last year.

That movie WAS horrible. It involved Portman wandering around Inquisition-era Spain with a broken jaw and a skin disease.

For TWO HOURS.

I saw Tom and Huck at my chum Alexis' house in 1996, and I remember nothing except the sumptuous Doritos feast we had during its duration. After my braces came off in 1999, I suddenly had no desire to eat them ever again, much like my two-month fascination with Sudoku in 2004. It probably was not a very good movie, and I couldn't even tell you (without cheating) which one Brad Renfro played. I CAN tell you that Jonathan Taylor Thomas, hunkified prepubescence from the mid-90s, played whichever character Brad Renfro didn't. Seeing as how JTT was being propagated as noble purity and Renfro had already been typecast as a bad seed with a Tennessean accent, I'm guessing Brad played Huck. But weren't both characters kind of bad? I recall Tom manipulating his peers to whitewash his fence, similar to when I convinced some of my chums to plaster my dad's Playboy magazine centerfolds all over our neighbor's truck (which said neighbor NEVER complained about, by the way). As an aside, I had to do a book report on Huckleberry Finn when I was in sixth grade, and coincidentally, every single incident I documented from the book was also in the Elijah Wood movie, which I didn't even know existed. A bunch of kids in my class accused me of cheating, and I was hardcore offended at the idea that I would nefariously choose to not read a classic work of literature. It still rankles me to this day.

The more I look at JTT, the more I feel like a hypocrite for teasing my friends for having crushes on the feminine Taylor Hanson.

Even though The Client is fairly dark, it looks positively fluffy in contrast to Sleepers, which is one of the most inhumanly depressing/disturbing movies ever. I often cite it when discussing how it's probably not coincidental that Kevin Bacon has made multiple child molester movies. While technically not a bad movie, how many times can you watch Kevin Bacon imploring 11-year-old boys to do dirty things to him? This is probably Brad Pitt's least aesthetically pleasing role because the makeup people didn't know how to obscure the pits in his face. I remember thinking that HD was going to be the death of Brad Pitt, but that doesn't appear to have actually happened. I'm not sure why. Anyway, a solid Renfro effort, though I remember having mixed feelings about the movie as a whole. For other Bacon pedophile movies, see The Woodsman.

Come on Kyra, you're the closer - you MUST see what's happening here.

Although Apt Pupil doesn't have child anal rape (a real bonus, in my view), it DOES have crazy Nazi Ian McKellen mistaking a stray cat for a Holocaust survivor and trying to bake it in his oven, thus ensuring that I will never see that movie again. While it's made fairly clear that Renfro has some Nazi sympathies, as shown by his drawing swastikas in his school notebook, I had the feeling that the novel made him out to be far less curious and innocent, and more like...you know, barbecuing cats and whatnot. Speaking of things in your school notebook that you shouldn't put down, I had an incident in my middle school science class that people still tease me about to this day. Do you remember those special Crayola markers? One of them was "invisible," and you could write things with it and then make it appear by coloring over it with another marker. While I was doing my homework one night, I wrote "Help! Mrs. Eberly has me trapped in the school!" in invisible marker and then colored it and made it visible. Now, I don't recall actually having any problem with this teacher, other than the fact that she had blue gums and a gummy smile, which was...not cool. Of course, the next day, my notebook is open to that page and Mrs. Eberly sees it and asks, "What does that say?" I looked down at it, and then looked up. "What does WHAT say?" She frowned and pointed. I looked down again. "I don't see anything." This went back and forth for about three minutes, whereupon she finally just scowled and decided to talk about the epidermis or something. A fine moment in my past.

Not as cool as a Mitt Romney mitt, but cool nonetheless.

Ghost World is not really a Brad Renfro movie as it is a Thora Birch/Scarlett Johansson sarcastic-thon. Though it's only about three years after Apt Pupil, Renfro already has a receding hairline and looks like a drug addict. Though that in itself is fairly disturbing (though given the dark content of many of his earlier films, not that surprising), what left a bad taste in my mouth was the Steve Buscemi sex scene. Ann Coulter wrote a rather insightful piece (I think I just lost half my fanbase for linking to her) after Halle Berry stole an Oscar from Sissy Spacek on Hollywood's proclivity to allowing certain actors to engage in carnal lust activities, whereas others just don't. You'd think Steve would be in that category, and yet that's not the case.

Yes, at long last, the "glass ceiling" had been broken. Large-breasted, slightly cocoa women with idealized Caucasian features finally have a chance in Hollywood! They will, however, still be required to display their large breasts for the camera and to discuss their large breasts at some length with reporters. Thus, Berry has explained her philosophy on nude scenes, saying: "(I)f it's what the character would do, then I'd use my body in any way that would best serve that character." This, she said, is her "strong belief." But what does it mean, exactly? Don't all people undress sometimes? All people pick their noses, but vapid Hollywood actresses don't insist on showing us that in every movie on the grounds that it is "what the character would do." In fact, Berry's unseemly enthusiasm for displaying "these babies," as she genteelly refers to her breasts, reduces roles for any women who lack Berry's beauty queen features. If movies must include soft porn scenes, the audience is entitled to demand performers with sexual characteristics they would like to see in a soft porn movie. Somehow, characters played by Whoopi Goldberg are never the sorts of characters who would do things in real life like undress or have sex.

In conclusion, I promise I won't link or quote Ann Coulter at length again, unless it involves Halle Berry or something non-right wing hate speech.

RIP Brad Renfro, though I think you kind of brought it on yourself.

Ariel Sharon, however, is NOT dead. Live on, you crazy cat!

If You've Ever Been Unsure of My Age, This Post Will Probably Confirm A Lot of Suspicions For You.

2008-02-08T05:56:00.000-08:00

Last night, I was talking to a new dwarf friend (for reals), and as often happens when conversing with the vertically challenged, Rachael Leigh Cook, quasi-teen star of the late 1990s, came up. I noted that she had essentially disappeared several years ago, my most recent recollection of her being this heinously awful 2001 Ryan Phillipe movie that Drunk and I tried to watch a year or two ago and gave up on after roughly 15 minutes. I also occasionally hung out with a Rachael Leigh Cook lookalike in my freshman year of college, and I was so distracted by the likeness that I never bothered to learn her birth name, making it difficult to locate her years later. (A good sport though, as she must have had to program herself to react instinctively to someone shouting, "Hey! Rachael Leigh Cook Girl!" in the middle of the street and never complained. A real trooper.) At any rate, this now quasi-defunct movie star reminded me of that glorious but very, very strange period following the success of Titanic, when the film industry realized that there was a burgeoning market of teenagers with spending money who were willing to sit through mediocre movies, as long as said films were directed purely at their demographic. Thus, it is time to revisit the Golden Age of Teen Movies.

To be fair, it wasn't like post-Titanic 1990s was the first time anyone made a "teen movie." I suspect most people would immediately latch onto the overrated/overwatched John Hughes movies from the 1980s, which I find to be almost universally lame, with the exception of that scene in Weird Science when Bill Paxton turns into a pile of shizzle. (Lest we forget that Mr. Paxton also had a supporting role in Titanic in his only legit hot role. Bleached hair and pirate earrings work for him much better than being feces.) However, for our purposes today, I think it worthwhile to at the very least make a distinction between the two time periods. The overwhelming majority of those Hughes movies were comedies that, while displaying the requisite teen angst, were inherently fluffy and focused too much on the simplistic concept of the teenage caste system (i.e., Anthony Michael Hall always playing a nerd with retainers, Molly Ringwald playing lower-middle class to Andrew McCarthy's wealth, etc.) We give credit where it's due - since those movies were admittedly trailblazers in their own right, they removed the necessity for the next generation to revisit the concept. It wasn't until the mid-90s that you ended up with all of these insanely dark horror movies and teen films that were rather sadistic, when you get right down to it.

He should have played the same character in Titanic. Gloria Stuart would NOT have known the difference.

Now, I'm not suggesting that all of the movies I'm about to discuss are good - VERY few of them have stood the test of time, and many that have only did so because of kitsch appeal. Seeing as how I spent a significant amount of pocket money on these crapfests though, I might as well attempt to get my money's worth and subject the rest of you who had the distinct misfortune of not being a post-adolescent in the waning 90s to the days when Freddie Prinze Jr. and all of the Dawson's Creek cast were king. Also: my memory, like a college admissions board, is selective, so if you feel I've unintentionally slighted one of your favorite films from the time period, drop a comment and let your voice be heard. That sounds desperate. Like I want people to comment so badly that I've resorted to pleading within blog posts. Do not take it as such.

Pre-Titanic.
I won't be concentrating on the 80s - I've said my piece on that. This section is devoted to the movies almost immediately preceding Titanic, roughly 1994-1997. It wasn't an era of plentiful teen goodness, but it had some noble contributors.

1. The Craft. (1996)

Oh Fairuza Balk, where have you gone? It doesn't get more angsty/edgy than a movie dealing with witches, suicide attempts and predatory male love interests. My love of this movie actually came back to bite me in the ass. When I was in 7th grade, there was a rumor circulating among all the girls that one of their own had tried to slit their wrists the day before. One of the alpha girls in my class took it upon herself to grab everyone's arm and gaze intently for tell-tale scars. Vicious shizzle. Either it was an unsubstantiated rumor (what isn't in 7th grade?) or the alpha girl just didn't locate the right girl's appendage. Now, it just so happened that my then-youthful cat Arnold James Grimshaw had scratched me on my wrist the day before - not deep, but enough so you could clearly see a red line there. This is one of the many disadvantages to being paler than the clouds. You can hide NOTHING. At any rate, the alpha girl managed to snag my arm and saw the cat scratch. Immediately, she began screeching, "Oh my god! Why did you do it?" I was a bit baffled, because even though I knew very little about suicide attempts at the age of 12, it seemed very obvious that if I had wanted to make a real attempt at it, it would be deeper than, say, 1 mm. But because of my youth and as-yet undetectable ability to navigate my way through a social situation, my first reaction was to roll my eyes and say, "If I actually wanted to slit my wrists, I would cut vertically, not horizontally." Fairuza might have applauded my logic, but either the alpha girl hadn't seen The Craft or didn't want to admit she had. Ergo, I had to spend the rest of my middle school days ingratiating myself to the minions by telling dead baby jokes at the lunch table. Such is life. The Craft is totally an awesome movie though, and in my opinion propelled the career of Neve Campbell much more effectively than the inhumanly depressing Party of Five.

2. Scream. (1996)

The worst thing that can be said about this movie is that, regardless of how innovative it was at the time, it suddenly made it okay to make TONS of parody movies - thus ensuring that the Wayans Brothers will NEVER go away - and based on box office receipts, it appears that a lot of people are also okay with it. Frown. Also, Courtney Cox makes me angry because she looks like she smells. I don't know why. I probably saw a picture of her smoking and made some understandable assumptions. But since I've seen many, many celebrities smoking, including the Trifecta of Perfection (Ryder, Portman and Knightley), it's clearly just a Cox thing. In its favor, Jamie Kennedy was non-annoying and non-horribly unfunny, a condition that did not stand the test of time. Does he still have that wretched Candid Camera-esque show? For the sake of time, and because the second one really just wishes it were the first, this is the last Scream movie that will be discussed. In defense of Scream 2, it DID allow the world to vicariously live out the fantasy of mutilating Tori Spelling within the first five minutes. Now THAT'S cinema.

3. Clueless. (1995)

Before Alicia Silverstone went vegan mad and inexplicably dissed Hasselbeck on The View, she was chatting on those gynormous Saved By the Bell phones and balancing a fine line between deft parody and annoyingness. Academy, where is her nomination? I hesitated to even put this on the list, because while it clearly caters to the teen demographic (note the Mighty Mighty Bosstones cameo), it's so intelligent and funny I can't imagine Amy Heckerling was purely making this for the under-21 set. In the interest of fairness, it's hard not to wince when Alicia flippantly labels people Monets and Baldwins - I wasn't aware that there was a time when any of the Baldwins besides Billy were considered hunkified, but then I WAS only about 10 when this came out - and I always thought it was incredibly stupid to pick Paul Rudd over Jeremy Hunkified Sisto, but I'm not going to penalize greatness over such a tiny flaw. Shout out to a non-anorexic Brittany Murphy!

Post-Titanic.
I decided to divide this section into different sections - the general movies and then films that promoted the careers of the Dawson gang. There were a LOT of those movies, but we'll pay homage to the broader genre first.

1. She's All That. (1999)

It would have been criminal not to acknowledge the Rachael Leigh Cook contribution to the genre, even though it's probably my least favorite of any film I'll be mentioning. What pains me about this movie isn't that it has some wretched, putrid acting, which it does, but that it's the epitome of the mediocre template that teen movie filmmakers were using to sucker us in. Predominately, it's flatly unrealistic. I'm assuming most 13-year-olds gave shit one (1?), but when it defied logic to the point of distracting me from the barely there plot - I drew a line. Rachael Leigh Cook is pretty, and for some reason, it was decided that to FOOL us into thinking otherwise, they put - are you ready? - glasses and a smock on her. Totally poochy, I know. Of course, Freddy Prinze has this hardcore epiphany at the end when she shows up to the prom wearing a Coulter cocktail dress and contacts and realizes that artsy people can be pretty too, but this doesn't jive with the story arc involving Paul Walker, who, as I recall, spent most of the movie blatantly trying to sleep with her. Was she ugly in the smock or not? Since I've already namedropped Dawson twice, it seems wise to direct you to a Rachael Leigh Cook endeavor that DOESN'T suck - namely, her three-episode guest appearance on the second season of The Creek playing the student film version of Joey Potter. Solid good time.

2. Cruel Intentions. (1999)

Too bad Ryan Phillipe thought it would be cool to start bedding a nasty skank ho and shattering the popular illusion that Cruel Intentions is real, or I would still be all about this movie. Team Reese! A very, very fun movie though, with razor sharp dialogue, an effervescent Reese, the best acting of SMG's "career" and an underrated Selma Blair that more than makes up for the wooden acting of Phillipe - which seems to get more apparent as the years go by. When I used to bike up Park Avenue on a regular basis, I tried to figure out which apartment Sebastian Valmont lived in, but since all of the penthouses look the same, it was a bit difficult. Also, there were a lot of lurching black Lincoln Towncars screeching around, so you didn't want to get TOO involved in the task. For the record, I DID figure out exactly where Scarlett Johansson was living in The Nanny Diaries, so I'm not totally useless in that capacity. Cruel Intentions also gets bonus points for having one of the best soundtracks ever, including Placebo's "Every Me, Every You," and "Colorblind," which accompanied the Reese/Ryan sex scene at the end. Heart.

3. Bring It On. (2000)

The triumph of Bring It On is that it figures out how to make Kirsten Dunst watchable. That is NOT an easy task by any stretch of the imagination. Also not easy is kind of making me want to be a cheerleader after leaving the theater. Admittedly, it was only for as long as it took to walk to Wal-Mart across the parking lot, but the momentary thought WAS there. I suspect most people would assume that high school Emma was very anti-cheerleader. Not the case. I had several chums on the cheerleading squad, including the captain, who sent our school's team to Nationals in Florida, just like Dunst, except she did not have the help of the deliciously edgy Eliza Dushku in her best performance since the 1994 Arnold Schwarzenegger masterpiece True Lies. We also didn't have the insanely hot Jesse Bradford wandering around the halls pretending to be punk, though my roommates and I watched Swimfan so much in college that it was like he was THERE. I digress. Bring It On is about as solid a time as you can have without watching Starship Troopers, and it includes the wonderful Dunst line - "Missy's the poo, so take a big whiff." SLAM.

4. The Faculty. (1998)

Remember when Usher was on top of the world and dabbling in the worlds of both movies and music? I would humbly submit that his music video for "My Way" was a bit more impressive than his vacuous role in this alienish/horror movie, but with one of the strongest casts in my retrospective, including a then-unknown Josh Hartnett, a post-child stardom Elijah Wood (who, we found, was never going to grow into those eyes), the pathological liar from Girl, Interrupted and Mr. T-100 himself, Robert Patrick, it's hard to go wrong. It admittedly has been quite a while since I saw this - 10 years - but I remember that towards the end, Elijah is almost physically infiltrated by the aliens via the now-standard creepy crawly shizzle things under the skin that you can see, which reminded me of the ill-fated alien drama Dark Skies on NBC's Saturday Night Thrillogy. Just saying. And, looking at the imdb page, it appears that Salma Hayek is in this, which surprises me because I was totally sure she hadn't even moved to America yet. Hmmm.

5. Can't Hardly Wait. (1998)

What with J-Love becoming grown up and whispering to ghosts, I had forgotten that there was a time when I completely despised her soul. In retrospect, a lot of the animosity was probably derived from believing that J-Love was unfairly getting the Party of Five-related attention that Neve was not getting, though Neve (as has been shown already here) was certainly doing alright for herself and my position doesn't make sense. I'm not entirely sure I ever just sat down and watched this all the way through, but every memory I have of it involves a kegger, which may or may not be the entire movie, and Seth Green hanging out in the bathroom. If I'm right about that, it would at the very least be one of the few teen movies to not even bother with a plot, which is kind of smart. Bonus points for casting the amazing Charlie Korsmo, who I thought had died of a drug overdose after What About Bob? Even Emmas can be wrong.

6. American Pie. (1999)

In high school, I had a nemesis named Looby. We were hardcore enemies from the first day of school in freshman year, when I yelled at her for taking the bus when she lived 300 yards from the school. She narrowed her eyes, ignored me and a dynasty was born that lingers to this day, where every few months or so I IM her and just say "clithead" or something equally mature. What's the relevance? She went to band camp and had bright red hair like Alyson Hannigan and was soulless. In the interest of full disclosures, I played the flute in middle school, but it's not uncool at that age. And I also negated any social stigma by being the only flute in jazz band and making fun of the clarinet people most of the time. For the record. American Pie has becoming a peculiar direct-to-DVD dynasty in the order of all those creepy Wild West Olson twin movies and Hayden Panettiere Bring It On sequels, but back in the day there was but one, and it was very Emma crude with a few more sperm jokes than necessary. Twenty years from now, I'm guessing there's going to be a sleazy 25th anniversay edition with coupons for Mrs. Fields pies and condoms included in the packaging. It was just that kind of movie.

7. Drive Me Crazy. (1999)

Drive Me Crazy is the answer to the question - What is the Wal-Mart $5 bin full of? There are also about 20 copies of Milo and Otis and a few Steven Seagal movies, but this was really, really putrid and deserves its current status at the bottom of the cinematic food chain. Starring MJH's wonky eye (not to be confused with my diseased right eye) and pre-Entourage Adrian Grenier, I'm pretty certain this movie's only purpose was to provide a convoluted outlet for Britney's third single of the same name. Remember badass Britney? Sigh. MJH was also on an episode of SVU recently, but she wasn't the rapist. SUCH a mistake on the part of the writers.

8. Never Been Kissed. (1999)

Fluffy cutesy Drew sucks a giant monkey scrotum. I wrote a post several months ago in which I mentioned Drew in a list of comedic-centered actors who bypass dramatic brilliance for no good reason, with the movies Riding In Cars With Boys (which she and Steve Zahn should have been nominated for) and Donnie Darko being cited. I stand by the statement more than ever. In the few interviews I've heard her in, she sounds like a complete moron, so it's very refreshing to know that she can pretend to be otherwise. This is not the movie where she stakes her claim to that. I saw the second half of this movie on an airplane ride to England, and for some reason it was in Italian. I'm guessing that if I had pushed a button on the side of my seat I could have understood it, but wouldn't you know? You could have this movie on mute and follow the story. Since the last shot I saw before I nodded off involved her sucking face with someone, the title is disingenuous at best.

9. 10 Things I Hate About You. (1999)

Several years ago, I saw Julia Stiles on TRL promoting (I think) Save the Last Dance, and noticed immediately that she was the most articulate guest they'd ever had. The word "like" never came out of her mouth. Are you listening, Drew? However, Julia Stiles is a horrible actress who makes balsa wood look charismatic. It tends to ruin movies that she helms. She is helped by the talent of Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who is very, very due for an Oscar nod, and Heath Ledger, who has an Oscar nomination to his credit and will probably not get another one unless the Academy feels like awarding one posthumously for The Dark Knight. I would support that. RIP Heath. If I have time, I will devote an entire post to your legacy, minus The Order.

The Dawson's Creek Section.

I love how you can tell just by looking at Michelle's hair that this was when the producers ruined her character and turned her into a ho.

It might be advisable to divide this by character, although I'm thinking that this list is going to have significantly more Pacey and Joey than Jen and Dawson. Therefore, we'll just start with Michelle Williams because she's the best.
1. Dick. (1999)

It's truly a shame that, because some shriveled-up kidney bean wanted to take credit for being crapweaselly and Deepthroaty, this entire movie has become moot. Although Kirsten Dunst sucks, as she tends to do when she's not playing a cheerleader, it's hard to fault probably the only teen movie with any political acumen. Since we're on the topic of Nixon anyway, I'd like to share my favorite tidbit from his memoirs. After he chose Spiro as his running mate at the 1968 Convention, a lot of Republicans decided to nominate George Romney (the Mitter's dad) as VP instead and took a floor vote on it. Of course, Spiro won rather decisively by about 1,000 votes. Afterwards, George sent a little note to Nixon that said holding the floor vote got a lot of the tension out of the room and was like "a giant burp." Yet another reason to vote for Mitt - if he hadn't crapped out yesterday, thus preventing me from getting one of those foam mitt things everyone kept waving around at his pep rallies. Someone find one for me. Thank you.

2. Varsity Blues. (1999)

In a post I wrote last year about the best and worst accents ever, I neglected to mention two putrid ones, both coincidentally failed attempts to master the peculiar Deep South dialect. One of them was Keanu Reeves - who should team up with Julia Stiles in a movie called "Two Planks of Wood" and see what happens - in The Devil's Advocate, and the other was Dawson Leery pretending to be Texan. Like Cruel Intentions, Varsity Blues has an excellent soundtrack, which includs Fastball, Green Day and Collective Soul, and it also has Ali Larter, who's always a solid good time. My only clear memory of this movie involved the really fat guy vomiting at...a kegger! Truly one of the themes that spans all teen movies. I would add that if I had to pick one actor least likely to be mentioned in this entire post, it would probably be Jon Voight. And yet.

3. Disturbing Behavior. (1998)

In the vein of The Faculty, I believe a genetic experiment of some sort at a high school went awry and all of these guys started killing girls when they gave them boners because...the arousal made them angry? It was not made clear, but it provided the filmmakers with enough fodder for sex scenes that never quite went all the way because the penile-possessing individuals kept mutilating the girls that made them horny. It's a miracle that Katie Holmes' late 90s version of slutdum made it all the way through the movie unscathed. Best thing about the movie? The Harvey Danger song "Flagpole Sitta" that played whenever Nick Stahl was running away from the mutant jocks. A total classic in every way.

4. Teaching Mrs. Tingle. (1999)

This is sadly the only movie besides The Queen that I can remember Helen Mirren being in. I am a waste. Also, I don't know if anyone else remembers this, but I feel like up until the release of this movie it was called KILLING Mrs. Tingle, and they decided to change it after Columbine or something. Not sure. It's completely conceivable that I invented that in my head one day. Anyway. Has Helen ever gotten a lifetime achievement award? If so, I hope they showed her being tied up by Barry Watson in the retrospective. It would be better than showing us those prosthetic calves she donned as Queen Elizabeth. Also, Mrs. Tingle was NOT an evil teacher in the grand scheme of things. You know who's an evil teacher? Mrs. Gorf from "Sideways Stories from Wayside School." That's right. She turned kids into apples. Mrs. Tingle's not looking so bad now.

There are undoubtedly more that I didn't discuss at length, and if their absence offends you, I apologize. This is the last image search result for "emma is a puggle":

Perhaps The Only Marcia Gay Harden-Centric Post WITHOUT the Ubiquitous Dog of Posts Past.

2008-02-07T14:48:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, it was brought to my attention that Weenie Enema improbably has managed to acquire a new fan. As my two readers know, with the exception of random co-workers, relatives and friends, visitors rarely come by, and when they do, they usually get creeped out by the gratuitous shots of pug vulvas and leave immediately. However, roughly every two years or so, Weenie Enema snares an additional fan from cyberspace. It's always cause for celebration, and this time - in the hopes that the word will spread that new fans will be rewarded with accolades and will flock here in droves - we are composing a post in honor of the random stranger who typed "Marcia Gay Harden's cousin" and found us.

Is it not totally sick that I actually FOUND image results for "pug vulva?" This was the only one that didn't actually show the vulvas in question. Thank me later.

Since it wouldn't make a lot of sense to write a gigantic post about someone I don't even know (and no, that is not a swipe at my Ariel Sharon posts and my upcoming "Nixonian Goodness" post. I feel like I TOTALLY know them), I have decided to devote a blog post to actresses with three-word names. For the really hardcore Weenie enthusiasts, you may recall that roughly a year ago, I wrote a blog post about hot tweens from the 90s with three-word names. This is totally different and doesn't give off the disturbing pedophilia vibes that that one did.

Yes, I did read that puppy. A good time was had by all.

1. Marcia Gay Harden. (MGH)

How could we not start with the epitome of the three-word name? I don't pretend to be an MGH scholar (except sometimes, when I'm in the company of people who would actually believe that), though I remember being very confused when she beat out Kate Hudson - someone who at one time was overrated, but whose mediocrity has definitely caught up with her - for an Oscar because I had never even heard of "Pollack." In a brief digression, I would just mention that I once had a next door neighbor who had a plump black cat named Jackson. The neighbor became extremely offended when I asked if the feline was named after our craggy 7th President. "No!" he huffed. "He's named after the ARTIST." I frowned. "Michael?" The neighbor then basically gave me the finger without actually giving it and stormed back into his hovel, but I figured out after the fact that the cat was probably not named for The Gloved One.

At any rate, I still haven't seen "Pollack," but I DID pay $10 to see "The Invisible" last year with Drunk Erin, which featured MGH in a small role with the up and comer Margarita Levieva, who I'm convinced you'll hear more from, provided she stays away from crap like that from hereon in. I'm trying to remember why we actually saw that in theaters, because I have a rule about seeing movies released after Oscar season. Frown. MGH was also truly excellent in "The Mist," where she gets to sneer at someone and say, "The day I need a friend like you, I'll just have myself a little squat and shit one out." Heh.

Best MGH Role:
It's a tough call, but I would say that her two-episode role on Law and Order: SVU as a fake Kleagle edges out her excellent work in "Mystic River." But just barely.

The word Kleagle always reminds me of Bugles, those funnel corn chip things.

2. Sarah Jessica Parker. (SJP)

SJP and I have had a rough go of it, mostly because I can't understand why someone would work as hard as she clearly does to have basically 2% body fat...AND STILL WON'T GET RID OF THAT WART ON HER CHIN. Incredibly distracting. If Matthew Broderick really loved her, he'd make her zap it off. For the good of everyone. That said, I always thought she was perfectly fine on Sex and the City, though most of the people I know absolutely hate her on it. I'm thinking a lot of that hatred is just left over from despising the trashy Journalism majors we all had to endure back in the day, and is more a reflection on the cunty character than her acting ability. Feel free to disagree.

Best SJP Role:
Are you kidding? Hands DOWN, the wonderful classic "Girls Just Want to Have Fun," or as I like to call it, "Before SJP Used Tweezers (But Still Had The Wart!)" An honorable mention is extended to her small role in the Natalie Portman satirical masterpiece "Mars Attacks!"

In the interest of being accurate and whatnot, I was just about to add Robert Sean Leonard to this list, mostly because of his excellent dancing in the Christian Bale nazi epic "Swing Kids," but I realized at the last minute that I had already stipulated that this list would be composed of actresses. No matter. Another post will follow one of these days.

Ooh, and also, the random new fan of Weenie Enema has a blog - http://puritanjamshort.blogspot.com/
It looks much fancier than mine and reminds me of pancake mix packaging from the 1940s.

If James Cameron Hadn't Thrown Away His Soul in a Sordid Tryst With Suzy "I Hate Linda Hamilton" Amis, He'd Be Turning in His Grave.

2008-01-18T07:57:00.000-08:00

I will NEVER understand Hollywood's propensity to mess with a good thing - in this case, a PERFECT thing. Weenie Enema has never been reluctant to extol praise for "Terminator 2: Judgment Day." In fact, if Penny Marshall hadn't had the foresight to read the trashy bilge of Iris Rainer Dart and realize it could be adapted into the most amazing movie ever, "Terminator 2" would unquestionably be the greatest movie conceived by man OR woman. This blog has never actually devoted a post to a lengthy movie critique of the second Terminator installment, thinking that a) everyone who reads this blog knows that I love it anyway and the post would pretty much say exactly that, with about 3,000 extra words thrown in, and b) I've managed to include positive summations on it in several posts anyway, so it would just end up being a rehash for loyal readers. That said, there comes a time when even the most hallowed of franchises is threatened, and those of us who have the knowledge and forebearance to do something about it, MUST.

I stood by fairly quietly when Arnold SOLD OUT HARDCORE and agreed to make a third Terminator, even though it went against everything the second Terminator movie had laid out. Aside from the Page Six article about the actress who plays the female Terminator making out with pop rocker Pink, nothing involved in The Rise of the Machines was worth its weight in gold. But now that Fox has once again decided to tamper with the Terminator legacy - this time focusing on Sarah Connor, the mother of the future leader of the human resistance - it's time to get this traitorous piece of crappola off the air and, if need be, show the first two Terminator movies in its time slot.

I'm not going to rehash a scene-by-scene account of Terminator 2's perfection, but I DO think it's worth noting the exact elements in the movie that make the third Terminator completely incomprehensible. First of all, the ultimate strength in T2 rests on its ability to successfully navigate the time travel paradox. In a previous blog post, I mentioned that the only way a movie can legitimately deal with time travel is to either embrace it full-on (ala Back to the Future) or to barely acknowledge it. Terminator does the latter, understanding that attempting to explain it while Arnold and Edward Furlong are shooting bullets into liquid metal entities would detract from the story line and confuse lesser mortals. (I suppose in the world of Terminators, EVERYONE is pretty much a lesser mortal.)

For those of you not well-versed in the actual plot that necessitates the need for Arnold androids to wander around Los Angeles killing people (until the second half of T2, when Edward Furlong injects some necessary humanity into the robot, causing it merely to wound rather than destroy), I'll try to sum it up succintly so as to avoid confusion and whatnot. If you have already seen the Terminators, just scroll down. In the first movie, a Terminator tries to kill Sarah Connor so she can't give birth to John Connor, who is projected to grow up and lead a human army to rid the earth of Terminators. It is unsuccessful, and the Terminator ends up being crushed in a hydraulic press. Flash forward to the second movie - a piece of the first Terminator survived, and scientists are using its technological attributes to advance their computer research shizzle, which in time will result in a computer that thinks for itself and starts a nuclear war with Russia, wiping out most of mankind in the process. Hardcore. (I suspect the script was written before the Wall came down.) Thus, at the end of the second movie, great pains are taken to destroy not only the research that the scientists have done so that no one can copy their work, but Arnold allows himself to be lowered into molten lava so his Terminator qualities can't be exploited for the same purpose as before. All of these actions are successful, so Terminator 2 ends with the understanding that THERE IS NO POSSIBLE WAY THAT THE NUCLEAR WAR CAN STILL OCCUR.

And yet Terminator 3 exists. It makes no sense. In his desire to pick up an extra $20 million, elderly Terminator Arnold claims that those actions only "postponed" the war. Bullshit. No explanation is given for how a self-aware computer can be created with no spare Terminator parts, nor is it understood how a female Terminator just materializes in the storyline, though one would think that the future Terminators from 2029 would have wanted to send her back in the first one - I'm guessing she would have been able to get the job done.

However, now we get into some interesting questions. While completely discounting the existence of the third Terminator installment (mysteriously a box office hit), the idea behind the Sarah Connor Chronicles is much more feasible than a movie about a bunch of machines rising up with a baffled looking, horribly miscast Claire Danes wandering around with the assistance of Nick Stahl, a noble entity in his own right who should stick with half-mutilated Mel Gibson movies. According to my sources, Sarah Connor Chronicles discusses the period of time between the first two Terminators, which admittedly DOES have a lot of unanswered questions and interesting plot developments. From what we can ascertain from T2, Sarah Connor spent most of those years hooking up with former Green Berets to soak up survival and fighting techniques to pass on to her son. Also implied is that she kind of went a bit nuts, seeing as how she's totally normal at the end of the first Terminator movie - though admittedly a bit frazzled from having to kill a Terminator, getting knocked up by a soldier from the future and then subsequently watching said soldier get blown up - and shows up in the second movie completely RIPPED, but with little human empathy and a disturbing propensity toward shooting people and threatening to inject cleaning solvents into the necks of psychologists.

So why is Weenie Enema fundamentally opposed to this new Fox series? The first reason goes back to my declaration at the onset of this post - it's incredibly foolish to tinker with a polished, perfect product. You have nothing to gain and everything to lose. This should have been abundantly clear when a new generation of movie-goers was given the mistaken impression that the Terminator legacy ends with Claire Danes. Heresy. Absolute heresy. Also, besides the moral betrayal demonstrated in The Rise of the Machines, its other major failing is that, aside from Arnold - who even I think is WAY past his prime - no one else associated with the success of the first two Terminators was involved in the process. James Cameron immediately smelled this shizzle a mile away and declined the honor. Edward Furlong appears to have done the same, but since his current favorite pastime is going into restaurants and releasing their lobsters, maybe he had other reasons. I won't watch this new series, so I will never be able to tell you definitively whether this show is technically "good" or not, but knowing that its existence necessitates shitting on the very essence the original Terminator movies were based on is enough to boycott the Sarah Connor Chronicles on moral grounds. Hey, it's only your SOUL.

Live Blogging a Fat Girl Movie.

2008-01-12T17:25:00.000-08:00

After I started my blog back in the golden days of 2005, a necessary online respite from my genocide class (yes, it WAS as fun as it sounds!), I got to thinking about the events that preceded the inception of Weenie Enema that I never got the chance to chronicle for posterity. One of those moments was the Rosie O'Donnell/Andie McDowell masterpiece "Riding the Bus With My Sister," the sort of horribly awful amazing movie that good, decent people schedule their lives around to laugh at and be deliciously politically incorrect at the expense of. Without spending an entire post deriding Rosie's portrayal of a safety scissors-having tard who rides the bus for no real reason - I have difficulty believing that even a legitimately mentally challenged person would just DO that, but tell that to director Angelica Huston - I don't want to go through the rest of my life wondering what WOULD HAVE happened if I hadn't liveblogged ANOTHER crappy Lifetime movie.
This one just looks strange and slightly crazy - "Queen Sized," the latest vehicle for zaftig Nikki Blonsky, one of the few actors I can recall typecasting themselves. Just this evening, I was interviewed by the Delaware Valley News (a very edgy way of saying that my father couldn't think of anything to write about for his weekly humor column, so he decided to type up a discussion with his daughter, who LOVES having a literary outlet for her incessant ramblings), and this Blonsky movie came up. As I discussed with Jeffrey Grimshaw, Arnold Schwartzenegger also became typecast fairly quickly, though I would submit that it was the unintentional result of signing on to BRILLIANT 80s action movies.

"I'll be back."
"Only in reruns."

If this had looked like a typical "fat girl gets teased and then redeems herself in the eyes of her peers, but most importantly HERSELF," I wouldn't even be bothering. However, the NY Post review by Linda Stasi mentions that her obesity seems to have the accompanying side effect of extreme paranoia and hallucinations, an angle that Lifetime is apparently not promoting - their loss.

8:56 - I got thrown out of the market yesterday for getting into a verbal fight with the town drunk, who started it by walking up to me and saying, "You know that Hillary Clinton?" And I go, "Yeah." And he goes, "A WOMAN can't be President." And I'm all, "She's actually much more masculine than you're acknowledging here." And then he was all, "And this Obama is a half Puerto Rican BLACK guy." And...somewhere down the line I called him a clithead and was asked politely to leave. Such is life.

9:00 - This is the WORLD PREMIERE. Woooo.

9:00 - The credits include some girl throwing sticks of flames around. It doesn't appear to pertain to anything.

9:01 - "So this movie is about cheerleading?...Fat cheerleaders?" - Drunk Erin

9:01 - I'm not sure how I feel about them TELLING us she's won homecoming queen in the first minute. But I'm guessing this movie isn't really about twist endings.

9:02 - ANNIE POTTS! LOVE.

9:03 - Okay, Annie just opened up a pizza box full of junkfood and said it was under Nikki's bed. Nikki apparently a) is a 6-year-old fat girl and b) has a nosy/creepy mom

9:03 - I think her high school is Capeside High. Which means that Dawson Leery should be strolling by saying, "You're not as skinny as JOEY."

9:04 - I get that this movie is REALLY milking anti-fat sentiment in high school, but I have never heard anyone past the age of 10 oink and call fat people lardass. Not saying it doesn't happen, but they really must have assembled the cream of the crop for this one.

9:05 - Her friend drives a Prius. So energy conscious.

9:05 - "What's for dinner?" She's not going to say this every two minutes, is she?

9:07 - We've had our first sighting of CRAZY Nikki, where her fantasy has conjured up Annie Potts in a black cocktail dress lobbing choice insults at her from a porch swing.

9:08 - Having Nikki binge on yodels to Fergie's "Big Girls Don't Cry" has to be the least subtle thing ever.

"That's not what the song is about!"

9:08 - You know, Annie participates in healthy activities to the point where it feels like she's REALLY rubbing it in.

9:11 - The first legit great thing about this movie - including Nelly Furtado's sellout masterpiece "Maneater." Would it be included if it wasn't about...eating men? You decide.

9:12 - Besides the obvious weight issue, this character is also stupid and unnecessarily cunty to her peers. Starting to think her classmates hate her for other reasons.

9:13 - I think the Polynesian kid that Mary Kay Letorneau banged and subsequentally married is hitting on Nikki Blonsky. Villi? Is that right?

"Lay off Nikki - he's MINE."

9:14 - Seriously. I went to high school in New Jersey. EVERYONE had self-esteem issues. However, they didn't make that abundantly clear in every SINGLE sentence they uttered.

9:15 - "I know you've had a rough time since your dad died." ??? Oh wait. It's a Lifetime movie. Right.

9:17 - "Just because dad died of diabetes doesn't mean I will." And yet...

9:19 - Is "Geeky McDweeby" supposed to be the Polynesian guy?

9:19 - They nominated her for homecoming queen? Oh, you GUYS. Tee hee.

9:24 - Lowry Electric Heating and Cooling has served over 80,000 homes and businesses. I totally GET commercials.

9:25 - First scene is in the cafeteria. Surprise!

9:25 - I have a similar tale for Nikki to consider. In my sophomore year in high school, the student council nominated me for the student/teacher volleyball game because I had a reputation for wearing kneepads and being unnecessarily aggressive. You know what? I was mildly surprised and pissed, but I just told the student council to eat it. End of discussion. Learn from me, homedog.

9:27 - "So just because the girls are mean, I shouldn't run?" - Nikki. "No, you shouldn't run because you're fat." - Drunk Erin, the demographic this film is not courting.

9:27 - "ALL SHE FUCKING DOES IN THIS MOVIE IS EAT! WE SHOULD TOTALLY HAVE A DRINKING GAME FOR THIS!" - Drunk Erin.

9:29 - Does alternate reality Annie Potts ever change out of the Ann Coulter dress?

I eat babies.

9:29 - I have a history of eating some real shizzle in my time, but after the 78th pudding, I probably wouldn't take her lead and go for number 79.

9:30 - I've read enough Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul to know that 99% of the problem is her POISONOUS image issues, NOT the homedogs sneering at her ass.

9:31 - At what high school are teachers allowed to wear jeans on non-field day trips to the Liberty Bell?

9:32 - I think Pete Wentz just wandered into the - are you ready? - the cafeteria.

9:32 - Yet another movie where people with noticable gel in their hair are labeled goth and thus the perfect targeting group for Nikki's homecoming candidacy.

9:33 - Her campaign manager couldn't wait until the girls got out of the shower to get the signatures? That's...convenient.

9:37 - Apparently there is a Lifetime show called "How to Look Good Naked," or something to that effect. Perhaps that show and this movie should talk.

9:38 - At least for the duration of this premiere, wouldn't it be classy to withhold the food commercials?

9:39 - "I'm glad you're having fun with this." - Annie Potts "WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN???" Nikki needs to chill. For realz.

9:40 - So is Villi helping with this campaign, or is he just here as the token minority love interest?

9:41 - Quick quiz: Some nefarious creature steals her petitions from the locker, making her ineligable. What do YOU think she does? You're right! She eats yodels!

9:43 - Like, it's cool that she's running and pumped about it and everything, but withholding coffee from people to force them to sign the petition is...like Stalinist.

9:44 - How much weight do you think Blonsky put on just eating the random crappola the director forced her to?

9:45 - Villi wants to study abroad somewhere! Might I suggest the Polynesian Islands?

9:46 - Oooh, there's infighting amongst the popular girls! Seems some of them don't want to go to state schools. Meow!

9:46 - Nikki is in the kitchen and not eating. Methinks, like Drunk Erin, that we've reached the digestive TRANSITION period of the movie.

9:47 - "I took a second mortgage out. We're really THIN here." Hmm. Not saying anything.

9:50 - HAHAHAHHA. A Jenny Craig commercial. Couldn't make this up if I tried.

9:51 - Forest Whitaker is in a new Lifetime movie. He plays a black man with a wonky eye. Badum ts.

9:52 - Seeing Nikki Blonsky's simplistic pink political posters - note: no one in my high school ever actively CAMPAIGNED for homecoming king or queen - reminds me of the wonderful posters I had for my ill-fated student council run that consisted of the sheep from "Babe" imploring students to vote for me. It is probably a big reason why I lost.

Have a dilemma? Vote for Emma!

9:54 - She's literally running now....all the way home to gorge on a gallon of ice cream. Oding on cliches, cliches everywhere! I thought we had the noble transition of not eating in the kitchen before.

9:56 - I feel pretty sure that guidance counselors are not allowed to ask fat people to drop out of the homecoming race. Worst high school ever. (Must be in Arkansas.)

9:57 - Nikki seems completely awestruck by the goth girl who is about 10 pounds overweight and still has the gumption to change in the locker room aka not the bathroom stall like herself. Clap. Clap.

9:59 - I think one of the popular girls is sabotaging another popular girl's posters. Now, am I correct in assuming that the saboteur is doing this because the popular girl doesn't want to go to the same state school as her? Because seriously. That's insane.

10:01 - Now that we've reached the hour marker, I'm hoping Nikki is slowly but surely coming to the realization that Annie Potts ROCKS and does not really dress like Coulter.

10:02 - SHE WON. I AM SO SHOCKED. SERIOUSLY. WHO SAW THAT COMING.

10:06 - Ryan Seacrest does random commercials not affiliated with Idol? Confused. "So...he hasn't come out yet, right?" - Drunk Erin

10:07 - Even my noble cat Arnold James Grimshaw has literally turned his back on this movie.

10:08 - "You've got the crown, but SHE has the boyfriend." In conclusion, Annie Potts is still dressed like the cunty conservative who likes to get pissed on during sex.

10:09 - "Is that a papasan chair or a laundry basket?" - Emma. "Well, her clothes ARE big." - Drunk Erin. Lifetime doesn't deserve a viewing audience like this.

10:10 - "I know what you mean. I was a black girl in an all-white school." Really? Should we equate obesity with black people? Oprah, what do you think?

10:11 - There's a Yahoo! headline that says "Jessica Alba, Rosario Dawson fight violence against women." Two questions - Did this happen in Sin City? And is "fight" really the appropriate word to use for that?

10:13 - Maybe this is just me coming from the high school in the cornfields, but if we wanted coffee, I think we had to give teachers under the counter money to sneak some out of the teacher's lounge, and we DEFINITELY didn't have fancy brand name coffee cups.

10:18 - 1976 brought us a homecoming disaster in the guise of pig's blood on Sissy Spacek. 2008 has brought us a sabotaged wooden platform that almost kills a cat.

10:19 - I've been seeing that Verizon FioS kid everywhere. Little creeped out.

10:20 - Arnold James Grimshaw has returned. I think he was upset about the orange tabby that narrowly escaped death.

10:20 - There's some TV series called "Seven Things to Do Before I'm 30." The ad just involves a girl making out with a guy. Kind of think I know what one of the seven things is.

10:22 - The principal is claiming that the sabotaged wooden floaty thing is "hazing." I'm thinking it's attempted feline murder, but maybe we have different views on life.

10:23 - Popular girl just name-dropped Machiavelli. Uh-huh. I totally believe this movie is realistic.

10:24 - I think this magical Capeside school has a coffee store INSIDE of it. Not NEAR it, INSIDE it. Do you know what a continious intake of caffeine would have done for my GPA?

10:25 - The high school senior macking on the popular girl has a raging bald spot. At least James Van Der Beek just had an old FACE.

10:26 - I'm sure it's not all that common for an overweight girl to end up being homecoming queen in a high school, but I'm guessing it usually doesn't end up with the girl in question ending up on the news, being hailed as a "local hero." Transvestite? Yes. Nikki Blonsky? No.

10:28 - The plot is slowly starting to meld into Hairspray. Zac? John Travolta with creepy makeup? Where are you guys?

10:32 - Ty Pennington makes me very angry.

10:33 - This is starting to look like a 2-hour epic. Oy.

10:34 - Man, you know you're hitting rock bottom on the social register when the GOTHS call you a loser.

10:35 - Her BFF just claimed she spent her entire media interview complaining about how everyone mistreats her. Wasn't Nikki doing this from day one?

10:36 - Nikki just got suspended for three days for pushing her BFF, who then tripped and hit her head on a bike wheel. We had kids who were dealing crack outside of math class with more lenient punishments than this. I harken back to the Stalin analogy.

10:39 - Drunk Erin brought this up in passing earlier, but this IS supposed to be South Carolina and they all sound like...me. Which is an honor and everything, but factually inaccurate.

10:39 - "I voted for you." - popular girl to Nikki. All together now: AWWWWWW.

10:41 - Why is Annie Potts having this big moment of realization? Aside from the Coulter alter ego, she's been the voice of reason through this whole nightmare.

10:42 - We're getting to the point where this appears to be leading to a grudge match between the two Annie Potts. I have mixed loyalties.

10:46 - Katie Holmes looks like her old self in her new movie aka not like she's saturated with Scientology juice. Encouraging.

10:48 - Latifah is in EVERY commerical. Does she own this channel?

10:48 - Villi's wearing a puffy vest. Solidarity!

10:49 - Only way this movie redeems itself - Villi and Nikki make out, then the two Annie Pottses make out and then the tabby cat shows up for no reason and starts singing a song from Les Miserables.

10:50 - One of the annoying popular twats sounds EXACTLY like Lacie Chabert in "Mean Girls."

10:50 - Nikki is getting video messages on her laptop from fat people who are inspired by her. I want video messages!

10:51 - I cannot believe it took me an hour and 51 minutes not to make the connection between Nikki hiding her junk food in her room and Claudia Kishi doing the exact same thing in The Babysitters Club.

10:52 - Note to everyone: If you go into a fancy clothes store and say you are the mother of the famous fat girl on tv, the manager will give you whatever you want. I am going to the Pepsi plant in Purchase, NY and saying I'm the daughter of, um, a famous person who likes Diet Pepsi.

10:54 - The BFF, if you recall, had a HEAD injury, and yet she's wandering around the high school with a bandage on her arm. Hmm. Did the wound SPREAD?

10:56 - Oooh, so the girl throwing flames at the beginning was part of...I guess the color guard during the homecoming parade? Better late than never.

10:57 - I think Nikki's noble words are getting through to the football players.

10:58 - It is not clear who the homecoming king is. It could be Villi. Make out!

10:59 - No sign of the cocktail dress Annie Potts. I think I know who won the grudge match.

In Defense of the Jawline That Launched 1,000 Ships.

2008-01-11T11:58:00.001-08:00

I have a very rare moment to blog, as I'm downloading the new iTunes update that is taking forever, presumably having something to do with my stealing the Wi-Fi from the makeshift diabetic supply store down the street that I feel is a front for a drug cartel - meaning drugs besides insulin. At any rate, with a bunch of cunty workers in Hollywood denying me the pleasure of pontificating on Globes goodness - thus making the hours spent watching Jodie Foster tool around shooting random people on subways WORTHLESS - I think it's worth noting that the emergence of Keira Knightley as a legitimate actress has spawned slanderous anorexia rumors that unfairly obscure her acting ability and the jawline that jump-started her career in the first place.

"My movie makes NO sense."

I want to make it abundantly clear that I'm not claiming Keira ISN'T anorexic. Generally speaking, people who are over 5'5 and weigh roughly 100 pounds are not getting their FDA-required nutrients. That said, I think there are two legit factors that should be considered before rushing to judgment.

1. Dramatic, public weight loss.
Think about other actresses (and if you're not liking the gender bias vis a vis eating disorders, I humbly direct you to the Wikipedia entry of that dude from Silverchair who subsisted on an apple a day for MONTHS) who are accused of being anorexics. Off the top of my head, Lindsay Lohan, Nicole Ritchie and Calista Flockhart come to mind. Why were people obsessing about their caloric intake? All three lost significant weight in the public eye, with photographic comparisons aplenty, compelling evidence when you look at the healthy visage of Lohan next to the skeletal mess walking around swimming pools. Keira rose to prominence in roughly 2002 or 2003, so if she IS anorexic/malnourished, it's a condition that stretches back to the (male) Clinton administration.

<3.

2. Ability to build muscle.
Last time I checked, it's pretty difficult to develop musculature if you're not eating anything. And yet, Keira packed on the bulging biceps for the shiteous crapfest (redundant?) Domino, which to my knowledge has only one fan - the senior online reporter for OK! magazine, whose other favorites include Working Girl and (most likely) The Brave One. Heh.

Now, granted that my reasoning is inherently flawed and has probably convinced readers that she IS anorexic, I would submit that the Jawline is the nexus of this surging hatred. As has been repeated over and over on this site, Keira Knightley has the greatest jawline this side of 1951 Brando, but it's a double edged sword - literally and figuratively. If Keira gained, say, 15 or 20 pounds, she'd still look abnormally skinny - the Jawline promotes gauntness like the wolf, which does make one wonder how much weight non-chin entity Calista Flockhart had to lose to garner the unwanted attention.

The lovechild of Kyra Sedgewick and Barbara Walters? You decide.

In conclusion, it's time to remind society why Keira's even WORTH the attention. Regardless of the second half unevenness of Atonement, it will be remembered years from now as a notable milestone in The Jaw's career, the moment when it became abundantly clear that, regardless of the seeming uniformity in all of her roles - the same period piece concept, same outfit, same behavioral qualities, etc. - she knows how to incorporate nuance into each part and come out with a different, brilliant end result. Taking into account the three bombs Natalie Portman helmed this past year - with the possibility for redemption when she inevitably acts Scarlet off the screen next month - 2007 goes to The Jaw.

The Year Of The Jaw.

Predicting the Globes - Guest Post

2007-12-11T18:52:00.000-08:00

This is Alexis posting E.E. Grimshaw's predictions for the GG nominations to be announced Thursday.

BEST PICTURE
-American Gangster (if this doesn't make the cut, there is little hope for Oscar love)
-Atonement
-Michael Clayton
-No Country For Old Men
-There Will Be Blood

BEST ACTRESS
Julie Christie Away From Her
Cate Blanchett Elizabeth: The Golden Age
Keira Knightly Atonement
Angelina Jolie A Mighty Heart
Jodie Foster The Brave One

BEST ACTOR
George Clooney Michael Clayton
Daniel Day-Lewis There Will Be Blood
James McAvoy Atonement
Viggo Mortenson Eastern Promises
Josh Brolin No Country For Old Men

BEST SUP. ACTRESS:
Sairose Ronan Atonement
Helena Bonham Carter Sweeney Todd
Michelle Pfieffer Hairspray
Tilda Swinton Michael Clayton
The dog that Naveen Andrews is walking in The Brave One before being mutilated like the wolf by a bunch of homedogs

BEST SUP. ACTOR
John Travolta - Hairspray
Javier Bardem - No Country For Old Men
Tom Wilkinson (bojangles) - Michael Clayton

Live Blogging the Emmys!

2007-09-16T16:13:00.000-07:00

We are attempting something rather risky - liveblogging the third most important awards show of the season on a DIALUP connection. Remember those?

7:15: We have not seen Mariska. However, we HAVE gotten to see America Ferrera, proving once and for all that the Sisterhood of those glorious pants lives!

7:16: I'm pretty sure that Tony Shaloub and Patricia Heaton are two of my least favorite people ever.

7:17: I assume I'm heinously wrong about this, but are there really freaks out there who only tune into the red carpet for the FASHION? Ew.

7:17: Tony Shaloub, you get Emmys for not touching shizzle. Frown.

7:18: I don't want to set a predominantly negative tone, but I CAN'T be the only person who dislikes Wayne Brady. As an aside, I completely do not understand this "innovational" stage setup. It looks like the love child of MTV Unplugged (RIP) and Who Wants to Be A Millionaire. In 2004, I went to a taping of Millionaire with Crazy Mego and deliberately voted for the wrong answers when the audience was polled. If you trust complete strangers in your pursuit of money, you deserve nothing.

7:21: I didn't see the commercial because I was munching on a scrumptious repast of hamburger meat and potatoes, but is that Kitchen Nightmare show basically the exact same thing as that Gordon Ramsey dictatorial chef program? When I was visiting Dr. Maximillion Bojangles in Philly, I found out that he watches nothing but cooking channels, even though he is about 100 pounds. People slash doctors fascinate me.

7:23: WHO CARES ABOUT THE FEMALE GOODYEAR BLIMP PILOT AND THE SOLAR PANELS! WHERE IS MARISKA???

7:24: OMAR EPPS! Watch the soulless blond host NOT ask him about his now non-existent six pack from Love and Basketball. Still looks like a chipmunk, but a sleek one.

7:25: Why are ANY of the Desperate Housewives here? I had NO idea anyone still watched that show. Felicity Huffman seems all nice and adept at playing chicks with dicks, but she gives off boring vibes like the wolf.

7:27: Oooh. The only fun member of Ally McBeal! Does she still have a career slash reason to be there?

7:27: HUGH LAURIE!!!!! Finally, someone legit. During sweeps, they should have an episode where Dr. House inexplicably breaks into a British accent. And it can be the result of a MYSTERIOUS disease that no one but the Princeton hospital has ever seen.

7:28: Hugh was wrong about what time it is in England, but my guess is that as you get further west, the time difference hardcore messes with your mind.

7:29: During our commercial break, we should discuss the massive conspiracy involving one of the 10 worst movies ever, "Silk," which is inexplicably getting positive reviews. Movies where Keira Knightley is boning Michael Pitt and whispering "Make me a baby," are not good.

7:31: EDIE!!! You are beyond badass, and you should have been given many more props for Oz. MANY more.

7:32: When I'm being interviewed on the red carpet in 16 years:
Soulless wench: What are you wearing?
Emma: Ebay.
Soulless wench: Hmm...Mark, back to you! And I heard you have BOTH Fanning sisters with you!
Mark: I DO, and they brought the 5 Oscars between them!

7:34: Still no sign of Mariska and Peter "Mr. Mariska" Hermann. As an aside (since they're interviewing Jon Stewart and I don't like Canucks), remember how one of the selling points of the United 93 movie was that they cast relative unknowns so that you really felt that they were filming the actual people on the flight? I'm watching them on the plane, and all of a sudden - boom! Mariska's husband is there! So much for unknowns.

7:36: Is Helen Mirren 16? She looks EXACTLY like Hayden Panettiere.

7:40: I want someone to say something that ISN'T "I don't think I'll win." When I embarrass ABC with my Ebay rant, I'm going to predict my victory, humility be damned.

7:42: ASK VANESSA WILLIAMS ABOUT BEING THE ONLY FEMALE LEAD IN AN ARNOLD MOVIE NOT TO MAKE OUT WITH HIM BECAUSE SHE WAS BLACK!!! Wait. I don't think he sucked face with Rae Dawn from Commando. But that's because he had just accrued his highest death count in the history of Arnold movies and he was cuddling Alyssa Milano.

7:44: They have openly acknowledged that most of the celebrities are inside already. Did they deliberately pass up an opportunity to interview Mariska?

7:49: PATRICIA HEATON IS BEING INTERVIEWED AGAIN. Or...perhaps they interviewed someone who looked exactly like her before. Hmm. I wonder who that was.

7:50: Would you just DIE if all of a sudden OJ plowed across the carpet in a Bronco? Patricia Heaton would probably literally die. I will stop being mean to Raymond alums starting...now.

7:51: Where have I seen that Heidi Klum hair before? It was probably a movie with flappers. Also, will someone in the comment section tell me what happened to Seal's face? Because everyone always yells at me when I ask, but it is out of genuine curiousity, not anti-Seal, Kiss From A Rose snarkiness.

7:52: MARISKA!!!!!! I HEART YOUR HAIR!!!! I HEART YOU!!! Where's Peter? Oh, Mariska. I'm sure everything fits you like a glove. HEART HEART HEART.

7:54: Now that I have calmed down, can we discuss how Mariska basically said, "I probably won't win," just like everyone else did, but in a much more badass way? "Oh, I have a one in six chance." You are so wise. If she were a pig in Animal Farm walking around on her hind legs wearing clothes, I would be totally okay with that. Anyway. No more Mariska gushing until her category comes up.

7:56: I am not intimately familiar with the list of nominees, but I feel like Lil Mama should be there. Just so she can wear that weird baby outfit she trots out to black tie affairs.

7:58: HAYDEN PANETTIERE!!!! She should have won an Oscar for "Remember the Titans." TEAM HAYDEN. She and Russell Crowe owe it to humanity to team up one of these days.

8:00: I've said it once, I'll say it continually - the stage is stupid. Bringing cartoons to the awards show is stupid.

8:01: Why does Charlie Sheen look goth? Denise has something to do with this, mark my words.

8:02: It is so refreshing to see Edie Falco and James Gandolfini looking genuinally happy.

8:03: Why...is Seacrest here? Christ.

8:04: Seacrest is not funny...and yet he IS funnier than Sarah Silverman was last week. Shocking.

8:04: Let's see how many Idol jokes we can squeeze into this monologue. I count three so far.

8:05: Was that a fat boy joke? Hmm.

8:05: There is nothing better than a Teri Hatcher joke. BRING BACK LOIS AND CLARK!! I thought that was about the explorers for WEEKS.

8:06: If I were host, I would blatantly ignore the cast of Grey's Anatomy for the entire telecast.

8:07: Hayden's dress is the same color as her face. She should have worn the cheerleader outfit.

8:08: Ray, it's 2007. GET A HAIRCUT. Did they just black out most of his weird monologue? I hope that was intentional.

8:09: I never thought I would say this, but...bring back Seacrest.

8:10: It's 8:10. HAND OUT AN AWARD. JESUS.

8:11: It's 8:11. HAND OUT AN AWARD. JESUS.

8:11: Hmm...Ducky...Matt Dillon's brother/creepy guy from Season 2 of 24...Doogie...Mr. Piven...that crappy Office guy...

8:12: Mr. Piven!!! It's not the crappy Office guy!

8:13: I love that Jeremy Piven is funnier than Seacrest and Romano combined. And see how that lasted 20 seconds? That's how you do it.

8:14: AMERICA FERRERA! THE PANTS!!!

8:14: Pedophile thingy from Lost...CHRISTOPHER MOLTISANTI...the gay guy who will get all the sympathy votes...the cutey Asian from Heroes...another creepy thing from Lost...Captain Kirk...I think one of the creepy things from Lost won. Why the disrespect for Moltisanti?

8:16: "Yay, he acknowledged us!" - cast of Desperate Housewives.

8:17: I feel like when they announce that the TV movies and miniseries are coming up that they're basically saying, "Go to the bathroom and take care of business so you don't have to do it later."

8:21: I totally forgot Sally Fields was still alive. Blush.

8:22: I don't believe Seacrest actually watches Weeds...that was Idol joke number four.

8:22: Devra has denied this, but I think Tina Fey is her estranged twin sister. With a scar.

8:23: That woman who played the social worker in the weird Reese Witherspoon movie...some girl from the crappy Office show...the Kim Cattrall of Weeds...Earl woman...someone who looks like Tammy Faye Bakker...Vanessa...Earl woman won! Word.

8:24: When I look at Jaime Pressley, I only see dead hooker from Sin City.

8:26: Was that guy on Early Edition? That was the best idea for a show ever.

8:26: Ed Asner(!!!)...Sideways horny guy...the agent from Up Close and Personal...an Indian...and Aidan Quinn...Sideways horny guy won! This is probably retribution for when Morgan Freeman beat him for the Oscar playing the same role he always plays. Clearly still basking in the physical goodness of his Sandman physique, the only good thing in ANY of the three Spidermans.

8:33: No one here is funny. Bring on Kathy Griffin. Lots of Gwyneth jokes. Good times.

8:34: They're not...actually going to have Spears on, are there? Because that will not be conducive to anything. Worried frown.

8:35: NO HILLARY JOKES. HISS. HOW MUCH IS OBAMA PAYING YOU!!!

So classless. You should all be ashamed. Snicker.
8:35: What exactly IS the point of this montage? Bush bashing? Boy, that's so fresh and crisp! I suppose if I had to choose between this and Ray Romano, I'd reluctantly swallow the stale one-liners we've heard 20 times over.

8:37: I can't imagine more than 5% of the audience even knows who Tony Parker is.

8:37: Dr. Melfi....the Aussie from Six Feet Under who apparently has another show...some blond from Grey's...my homedog Oh....AIDA TURTURRO...someone ELSE from Grey's....WHAT THE HELL!!! I DEMAND to see Janice Soprano this instant! I'm SURE Heigl had no idea she was going to win. Whatever. Eyeroll. Janice would have told it to us straight.

8:40: Hahahaha, I can NEVER keep a straight face when J Love shows up.

8:41: Ducky called her "Love!" Hah!

8:41: Colbert shizzle (I am the only one in the country who hates Colbert and his cronies)...the Canuck...Conan!...ugh Letterman sleaze...Ann Coulter's ex...CONAN! Yay! Coulter will kill you in your sleep. It would have been fun if there had been a huge shocker and J. Love had won a belated Emmy for Party of Five. Deserved, and way more fun than this variety show crappola.

8:45: Aguilera is there? HAHA. Maybe Britney WILL show up.

8:55: I was pooping, sorry. (We are all about the TMI here at Weenie Enema.) It appears I missed a musical performance that didn't involve Brit. Grumble. If Idol really wanted to be legitimate, they'd get Aguilera to be a coach, irregardless of whether she has a song to promote.

8:55: Old guy from Iris (I think?)...Duvall...Huffman's husband...Chandler...Tom Selleck (had a career after guest spot on Friends?)...Duvall won. We are a bit suspicious of him because of his putrid performance in an admittedly putrid Arnold movie, The Sixth Day.

8:57: "The Western is here to stay." - Duvall. He should have added, "because of the amazingness of Russell Crowe in Yuma."

8:58: Seacrest totally just made Vanessa Hudgens cry. Chuckle.

9:02: Oh, Latifah. Remember when she was all about profanity-laced ghetto rap in the mid-90s? I miss that Latifah.

9:04: I never met someone who saw Roots voluntarily. Just saying.

9:04: I get why you'd have a black person introduce the Roots thing, but if they were so sure that Roots was instrumental in breaking down barriers, why not someone white? Like...Ryan Gosling. That would be neat.

9:06: Where is Sidney Poitier? I know he wasn't in Roots, but I bet a lot of people DON'T know that, and he's fun.

9:07: Sideways guy Western, Helen Mirren detective show...shizzle Debra Messing show...the Western reigns supreme! Will they thank Russell Crowe for his contribution to the genre? Anyone?

9:08: Why is Duvall making another speech? Surely there is someone else in that production that hasn't had a chance to speak. You haven't been hot since you were Boo Radley. The end.

9:09: HAYDEN PANETTIERE AND DOOGIE!!! Doogie made a poon joke. Um...We KNOW about the chocolate socket love. You fool no one.

9:10: Uh...this is a very fast nominee list...HOLY SHIT!!!! MARCIA GAY HARDEN WAS NOMINATED FOR SVU...oooh Jean Smart...but she was only on 24 for like 10 seconds this season to stab President Logan. And we never found out if he died or not.

9:11: Wait, why are they reading more nominee lists for different categories?? I WANT TO KNOW IF MARCIA GAY HARDEN WON!

9:12: I think a Sopranos guy won for directing an episode. I think they FORGOT that Marcia Gay Harden was nominated. And also happened to be the only good thing to happen to SVU since the Mary Kay Letorneau episode in Season 5. Oh, and the cameo by Angela Lansbury in Season 6.

9:14: Um. It's ANOTHER category, and MGH's fate continues to lie in the balance. Another Sopranos win, I believe for writing. Nod of approval. The writer looks like Alan Alda and sounds like John Hawkes.

9:20: K-Ville looks dorky. AND the song in the background sounds like it's sung by Avril. Meh.

Yes, Avril. You are punk. Polite nod.
9:21: When Steve Carell makes jokes and everyone except me laughs, it makes me think that my enemies in high school were right and that I am without a soul. But then I remember that when Barbara Hershey and Macauley Culkin die in movies, I cry. So at the very least, the status of my soul is inconclusive.

9:24: Wait...I think when Leslie Caron came up to speak, that was when Marcia Gay Harden lost. And Leslie Caron won. I don't think that was made clear. I will blame HAYDEN PANETTIERE.

9:25: How many Emmys are you going to give Tony Bennett? He's a legend, we get it. This is like when Norah Jones won all those Grammys and Malsta and I got upset and flashed Kunal so that he would cry and we would feel better. I'm not entirely sure if that's how we actually consoled ourselves, but the point is that it's POSSIBLE.

9:27: If you got rid of Ernst and Young, Seacrest and Romano, you'd have an hour-long program.

9:27: Why is it that when a Desperate Housewife and someone else from another show goes up to present an award, they ALWAYS play the Housewives song?

9:28: Another fast nominee list...HAHA ANNA PAQUIN! LET HER WIN!...Judy Davis? Bull! Give it to the Piano girl! If you go on youtube, you can find Anna Paquin's Oscar acceptance speech from when she was like 12.

She looks like Freddy Highmore.
9:31: Some random dude just namedropped Idol Gives Back. That was so wretched. Remember when Seacrest MANIPULATED life and made it look like Jordin got voted off? God.

9:33: I don't want to needlessly alarm anyone, but it looks like Dane Cook made another movie. AND that it's going to be released in theaters. Since he's already made movies with Jessica Simpson and Jessica Alba, I'm thinking he has exhausted the pool of female leads who attempt to mask their inability to act with cleavage.

9:36: I love Mary Louise Parker as much as anyone, but Glenn Close could legitimately eat her, if she felt so inclined. Kyra, your husband has made one pedophile movie too many.

9:37: Why is this the first time I'm hearing of "Why I Wore Lipstick to My Masectomy?" That is truly one of the all-time great TV movie titles that doesn't star Tori Spelling.

9:39: I think this might be the first time a musical filler in an awards show made me feel content down there.

9:43: Meadow, you look amazing. Tim Daly, this is not your show.

9:45: I'm certainly not hating on The Sopranos, but tons of shows have gone off the air and didn't get this minutes-long sendoff on the Emmys. But Oz should have. And they should have had all the castmates come up to the stage naked.

9:47: If ever I had a legitimate love/hate relationship with someone, it's that kid from the Verizon FioS commercials.

9:48: As I stare at three Diet Pepsi cans and try to ascertain which of them is not empty, I am reminded of my great proposal to make cans out of see-through aluminum.

9:49: Latifah was nominated??? I thought she was just there to cheer on Roots. Haha, Latifah, you simply can't beat Helen Mirren. I'm telling you - she's not even legal. No way. Helen, your dress reminds me of black raspberry ice cream. Now everyone knows why I could never be a fashion commentator.

9:51: If anyone watched Helen's speech and didn't feel warm and fuzzy everywhere, then YOU have no soul. Mine is still in limbo, but YOU definitely don't have one.

9:52: Who is this creature doing standup? He looks like Jeffrey Grimshaw with hair, i.e., 1987. But he's screaming, and Jeffrey doesn't do that unless I steal his ATM card and buy ravioli with it. For the record, I do not do that anymore. Averts eyes.

9:54: 1987 Jeffrey Grimshaw, please stop now. Memory lane was fun at 9:52.

9:56: Is that Holly Hunter underneath that wasp's nest?

9:58: "Coming up - Kayne West." ...No. That can't possibly be true. I misheard it. La la la. Team Fitty.

9:59: In case anyone was wondering why no one has won an award in 10 minutes, they have, but they were for dumb categories. It's much more fun discussing souls and old school Jeffrey.

10:01: Armpit deodorant commercials are becoming more and more sophisticated. It's an encouraging sign of the times.

10:03: PEOPLE ON THE SOPRANOS DO NOT SHANK. PEOPLE ON OZ SHANK.

10:04: My first pug will be named Little West 12th Street. My second pug will be named Masi Oka.

10:05: Why is Al Gore here? Jesus Christ. Hillary is probably wetting herself.

10:05: I love lots of things about Hollywood. Their insistence that Al Gore is really President is not one of them.

10:07: Thank GOD he didn't announce his Presidential candidacy.

10:07: I wonder if this Joely Fisher creature is the one I mistook for Patricia Heaton. I wonder why I care.

10:08: Stop making fun of Charlie Sheen! He's been through enough!

10:08: I'm shocked it took this long for a Larry Craig joke.

10:09: Tony Bennett is up for another award. I wonder if he will win.

10:09: I have stopped wondering.

10:10: Whilst perusing the Worst Dressed slideshow on Yahoo, it appears that the first picture is of Hayden Panettiere. Hard to argue with that.

10:11: Why, WHY must you continue to put Teri Hatcher in front of a camera?

10:11: While we have a minute, why wasn't Lauren Bacall nominated for her guest appearance on The Sopranos? That was easily her best role since The Big Sleep.

This might be an appropriate to talk about that dream I had where Lauren Bacall attempted to rape me at Laneco.

10:15: At some point, they're going to get on to the REAL awards, right? Mariska has a baby at home to tuck in.

10:17: Didn't that black guy from K-Ville get in trouble with the law a few years ago? Like for groping ladies or something?

10:20: "On July 28, 2004, while filming the motion picture Hustle & Flow, Anderson and crew member Wayne Witherspoon were arrested and charged with raping a female visitor to Anderson's trailer. The charges were later dismissed, but Anderson was still under suit for allegedly sexually assaulting a woman on the set of All About the Andersons."
It appears I was correct.

10:20: He was on Hang Time! Remember that show? Wow. Neat.

10:21: It has been about 20 minutes since the Emmys claimed Kanye West was going to show up. I REALLY don't get how it was just decreed that Kanye is acceptable primetime television material while Mr. Cent has no history of having meltdowns during telethons.

10:23: Seacrest made a gay joke. A giant uncomfortable giggle filled the auditorium.

10:24: NOOOOO! IT'S KANYE!

10:26: This is one of those rare moments where I think Fitty has a real grievance.

10:27: If Kanye shows up at the Oscars, I'm done with everything.

10:28: They actually give a reality show award? Suspicious glare.

10:29: IDOL??!! TEAM JORDIN!!

10:30: The Amazing Race? What???

10:35: We have seen more of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert than ANYONE ELSE THERE.

10:36: I sense that more filler is upon us.

10:36: If we were not here chiefly in support of Mariska (and because blog comebacks are occasionally necessary) we would have turned this off half an hour ago to read some Hardy Boys books.

10:38: Seriously. I'd rather watch OJ coverage. Even though I literally watched two entire days worth of it over a decade ago.

10:39: FINALLY, a real category...Alec...Office guy...Monk...Charlie Sheen...Office guy won. Poor, poor Charlie. Looking goth and going through Denise poon withdrawal can't be fun.

10:40: DR. HOUSE! And for the first time all night, they played the House theme, even though a Desperate Housewife went up there with him.

10:40: MARISKA'S CATEGORY! Moment of silence...SALLY FIELD???? THAT GERIATRIC HO??? God. You couldn't temper this bullshizzle by giving it to Edie? This is a travesty. You are 80. LEAVE THE STAGE.

10:42: The only upside is that Calista Flockhart's name was evoked. That probably would not have happened if Mariska won.

10:42: UH. DID SALLY FIELDS JUST SAY DIRTY WORDS??? THIS WOULD NEVER HAVE HAPPENED IF MARISKA WON.

10:46: Jack Palance was kind of hot back in the day.

10:51: Why isn't this over?

10:52: AMERICA FERRERA...Tine Fey...Huffman...Julia...MLP for Weeds...YEEEES!!! THE PANTS! BELIEVE IN THE POWER OF THE PANTS!!! MUAHAHAHAHA! Nothing can top the Sisterhood. I'm leaving on a high note.

An Ariel Sharon Post.

2007-06-26T09:57:00.000-07:00

I just brought back the Marcia Gay Harden dog, and now Ariel Sharon. What else can I possibly recycle for your entertainment?
In the last week, two people, one of them my own mother, snidely asked me if Ariel Sharon was still alive. When I understandably responded to that question with profane shrieks and accusations of impertinence, I received condescending chuckles and the reply, "Well, I wasn't SURE." To punish these sorts of people and to get in my Ariel Sharon monthly quota, it is time for a comprehensive update.

Ariel Sharon is still alive. His son Gilad claimed there were subtle signs of improvement back in April, but that's sort of like when I went to see that crappy J-Lo movie with the bear last year and weakly stated that she was probably sort of attempting to make a comeback. But we do not lose faith. Ariel Sharon will wake up, and the first words out of his mouth will be, "Where is my BFF Emma?"

It looks like he's holding a whoopie cushion.

In other Ariel news, his son Omri was sentenced to seven months in jail yesterday for shady financial shizzle and election fraud stemming from Ariel's campaign fundraising for the 1999 Likud primaries. It doesn't reflect very positively on our comatose chum, so it is probably for the best that he stay in that coma for a little while longer. If he wakes up in eight months, maybe he never has to know. If I had entered into a years-long coma in 1995 and woke up now, I probably wouldn't know that Arnold Schwarzenegger ruined his amazing career to hobnob with Sacramento fat cats. Sigh.

Omri apparently shares his father's love of a good animal.

I have decided that I will have an Ariel Sharon birthday next February. I have no idea what one would do at a party like that besides have an Israeli flag cake and make fun of Palestinians, but when there's an Emma, there's a way.

Hunk o' man.

Dear Insert Name of Traditionally Comical/Light Actor, Stop.

2007-06-25T05:24:00.001-07:00

We are taking a brief hiatus from our series of dispatches on the Crescent City to address an element of cinema that has troubled me for several years. I first noticed this disturbing trend several years ago (actually, I probably became subliminally aware of this when I saw all of Arnold's movies in 1992), but it wasn't until yesterday that it was brought to the forefront, when I found a video next to the garbage downstairs and brought it up to the apartment to watch. It was one of those "For your consideration" tapes that award show voters get in the hopes that they'll be blown away by whatever performance the movie is showcasing, ensuring at the very least a nomination for someone. In this instance, it was a "For your consideration" in support of Drew Barrymore for Best Actress in 'Riding in Cars with Boys.' According to imdb, she was only nominated for a Nickelodeon Teen Choice Award - beaten by my BFF Natalie Portman for one of the Star Wars movies - so I'm thinking the Best Actress campaign fell on deaf ears.

At any rate, I watched the movie yesterday and was inspired to compose a list of actors and actresses who are generally known for comedies or light fluff romances, but are actually very good in a dramatic role and for some reason choose not to pursue that line of acting. To me, this is one of the greatest tragedies of mankind.

1. Drew Barrymore.

I'll go on record as someone who doesn't like Drew Barrymore. I don't like two star romantic comedies that keep Jimmy Fallon in the public eye, and I don't like recovered drug addicts who aren't nearly as fun when they're sober and not making movies called "Poison Ivy." That said, she should have been nominated for about 50 movies in the mid-1980s, notably "Cat's Eye," and it should come as no surprise that when she buckles down and tackles roles that don't require inane giggling and hair twirling, she's legitimately fun to watch. In Donnie Darko, she plays a cynical English teacher who specializes in Graham Greene idolatry and provides an intellectual foundation for the supernatural shizzle that permeates that movie, and totally nails it. I would contend that the same is true in "Riding in Cars with Boys," which, for all the Lifetime themes swirling around the storyline, succeeds because of Drew. STOP MAKING CHARLIE'S ANGELS MOVIES.

"This famous linguist once said that of all the phrases in the English language, of all the endless combinations of words in all of history, that 'Cellar Door' is the most beautiful."

2. Robin Williams.

Question: If I knew I had the ability to act, and act well, you know what I wouldn't do?
Answer: Jack, Flubber, Jakob the Liar, Patch Adams, Bicentennial Man, Fathers' Day, RV and about 20 other truly shiteous films that were widely released for some reason.
Robin Williams is a great, great actor when he's not hamming it up and waving his bear arms at everyone like a mad man. I have to think that this has to be about money, because he probably makes 10 times as much for something like Mrs. Doubtfire (which I did like) than for a less commercially viable endeavor like One Hour Photo, and I'm sure the fanbase he has acquired with his shtick provides even further incentive to keep the dramatic roles at a minimum. But think of the possibilities! We know he has this legitimately dark, drug-addled side - if he could channel that annually into a movie like Insomnia dot dot dot.

Even if I saw Robin Williams out of character on the street - I wouldn't let him NEAR my disposable camera.

3. Chris Tucker.

KIDDING! Heh.

3. Jim Carrey.

I've never been able to figure out if Jim Carrey became a comedic box office draw because he possessed genuine timing or if it was a natural byproduct of having the most elastic body since Stretch Armstrong, but, like Robin Williams, pet detective crappola and mentally retarded characters with Madonna tooth gaps bring in the audience, hence forays into drama being rare occurrences. But the guy can truly act - being around our good friend K-Wizzle is clearly a benefit for everyone, and if he didn't pick such lame-o projects to explore his more sober side - cough, The Majestic, cough - maybe we could avoid the inevitable third installment of the Ace Ventura movies.

"ALLLLLrighty then!"

4. Whoopi Goldberg.

She doesn't have eyebrows, but she can really lay into Winona in a mental hospital. If you ever play the Movie-off Game, where you pick an actor or actress and go back and forth naming their movies until someone runs out of titles, you want to pick Whoopi, and you want to save Girl, Interrupted for the end because she's so unassuming slash amazing in it that NO ONE remembers she was even in it. Admittedly, this is partly because Winona was even better - to the point where her greatness emanated out of every kleptomaniacal orifice and was mistakenly assumed to come from Angelina Jolie, but that's another post entirely. I would also contend that another truly great dramatic performance that often goes unheralded for Whoopi is her incredible portrayal of an alpha female hyena in The Lion King who tries to kill Simba several times with her gynormous incisors and repeatedly falls short. I blame Ed.

I will conclude with a picture of a canine relation of an actress who almost NEVER makes comedies.

THE MARCIA GAY HARDEN DOG!!!

Crawfish, Smelly Bourbon Street and Other Tales of NOLA: Part 3

2007-06-18T11:44:00.000-07:00

In the interest of time, and because I felt we should switch shizzle up and not make a huge mother mammoth entry that no one will actually read, we will be retelling random anecdotes from our very fun adventure in New Orleans and the outlying bayou areas to the south. None of them will be in chronological order. That would be too easy - ed.

When I was 8 or 9 years old, my mother bought some strawberry-flavored wine coolers for a Saturday night viewing of Dr. Quinn and Sisters, and offered me one. Since it was incredibly yummy and tasted sort of like raspberry seltzer, I downed it in about 35 seconds. My mother looked at me in alarm and said, "You know, alcoholism runs in our family. If you encounter another drink that doesn't taste like alcohol, you could be in for a world of trouble." I suspected that that was probably true, and since I already knew from sipping my uncle's Rolling Rock that my palate was never going to accept much in the way of liquids that tasted like yeast, staying away from wine coolers and other fruit-flavored alcoholic beverages made a lot of sense. Besides, none of that shizzle tastes as good as a cold can of Diet Pepsi on a summer day, so there have never been much in the way of horrible drunk tales from my end, unless you count the Grappa incident of 2004, which, in case you're wondering, we don't.
Which brings us to Bourbon Street. Beretta Mego's bachelorette party was basically centered on wandering down this infamous road of ill repute, and since I am the opposite of a wet blanket and was actually pretty intrigued by the idea, we wandered into the depths of the French Quarter to celebrate Mego's last hours before being entangled with the hunkified goodness of the US Army.

See Ragsdale, Bobbie.

If you're a teetotaler, Bourbon Street is pretty much the ninth circle of hell, with the frozen lake melted into spilled liquor and bodily fluids. It was relatively sedate, considering what it no doubt looks like on Mardi Gras and during Jazz Fest, but you still had plenty of discarded dixie cups, suspicious wet spots on the pavement and drunken men throwing beads and other discarded items onto the street. Half of the establishments were strip clubs with neon signs that said "Free admission! No cover!" which, to me, does not say much about the naked people inside OR the clothed customers with no money. The other half were what I have been describing to my chums in New York as the Gray's Papayas of liquor - little shanty lemonade stand things that sell only three different fruity liquors in plastic cups for about $2. This was very exciting, and a pink cup full of Island Itch was immediately procured.

I don't THINK this was the one that closed down two months ago for 86 health code violations, but really, does it matter?
(DISCLAIMER: DB Bogangles has risen to defend the beleaguered Gray's Papaya and correctly states that it was the Papaya King that was closed down for health violations. We humbly regret the error, but it doesn't change the fact that all of the dirt-cheap papaya establishments in the city are sketch defined.)

In The Greatest Movie Ever, the first sign that the utopian goodness of BFFs is about to come crashing down is when Barbara Hershey and her daughter are about to take their yearly sabbatical to (where else?) the beach. The daughter talks excitedly about her playmate coming to visit sometime in August, which Barbara flatly shoots down. "I can't shake this flu," she says apologetically. Of course, we know the flu turns into cardio myopathy, which turns into a tearful goodbye at the beach with Bette Midler's solitary tear running down her right cheek. Now, the first ominous sign I had that everything on Bourbon Street was about to head south was two seconds after I had swallowed my first sip of Island Itch. While the liquid was swirling around in my mouth, I thought to myself, "Yum, this tastes like Hawaiian Punch!" As the liquid then made its way down my throat, a new, more pressing concern shot to the forefront. "Um...there is a TON of alcohol in this. Uh oh." Uh oh indeed. But at least we weren't circumventing our daughter's summer happiness because of flu-like symptoms.

"Be sure to keep in touch, Cece, okay?"
"Well sure - we're friends, aren't we?"

Despite impending disaster, the scrumptious punch-like beverage was consumed and our journey down Bourbon Street resumed. However, even I couldn't help noticing that some potentially disasterous Emma qualities were starting to make themselves more apparent than would usually be the case. For one, I was no longer able to hide my distaste for certain people by pretending to be interested in what they were saying or by suavely changing the subject to the emergence of Hayden Panettiere as a viable box office powerhouse. Also, my amazing sense of balance was not as amazing as it usually is.
But it wasn't until this TOOL that was with us tried to have a conversation with me that it became abundantly clear that the drink had damaged my soul. Some random creature from Florida who nobody knew - it wasn't entirely clear how she managed to worm her way into a party with a bunch of strangers - decided to initiate a rousing discussion with me about some of the buildings we were walking by.
Tool: Oooh, look at THAT building!
Emma: Why? Does Brangelina live there? [yells] Brangelina!!
Tool: It's sooo adorable. I have to take a picture! [takes picture of regular looking building]
Emma: Did you just take a picture of a regular looking building?
Tool: No! It's so pretty! Look at it!
Emma: [looks] I think that one has strippers in it.
Tool: OH MY GOD!!
Emma: Brangelina?
Tool: Look at THAT one!! [takes picture of another building that looks even more ordinary than the first]
Emma: You know, we just passed a totally cool sewer grate. You should probably take a picture of that too.
Tool: [frowns in concentration] Are you being sarcastic?
Emma: Me? I'm NEVER sarcastic. It was 10 feet back the way we came from.
Tool: I...[frowns again, but instantly lights up] LOOK AT THAT HOUSE! HOW CUTE!
Emma: HIIIISSSSSSS
Tool: Did you just hiss at me?
Emma: [walks into nearest Gray's Papaya liquor thing and orders a hand grenade]

What I was forced to converse with for 14 blocks.

Since the rest of my companions were just as cynical and hardcore as I was, there was no need to use my animal noises as a defense mechanism for the rest of the night. Instead, I spent hours soberly (chuckle) discussing the situation at an incredibly badass bar with compatriots who had the misfortune of drinking more than I had, all of us agreeing how CREEPY it was that a drink that tasted that good had more liquor in it than a bottle of Cuervo. I leaned across the table conspiratorially. "I mean, I'm not wrong about this. You know what this is? This is TREACHERY. They're thinking, 'We have an obligation to get these people on Bourbon Street drunk, and quickly.'" Everyone nodded in agreement, even though it wasn't entirely clear if anyone, least of all me, knew what I was actually talking about. "The only thing worse than being taken advantage of by a $2 drink is having to spend time with TOOLS!" The inebriated people frowned in confusion. One guy sitting diagonally from me seemed particularly perplexed. "Like power tools?"

Vrooom.

Crawfish, Smelly Bourbon Street and Other Tales of NOLA: Part 2.

2007-06-13T05:24:00.000-07:00

Crawfish, Smelly Bourbon Street and Other Tales of NOLA: Part 1.

2007-06-12T06:02:00.000-07:00

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’, rollin’ rollin’ rollin’

2007-06-06T20:25:00.000-07:00

When the Drudge Report makes a Hillary Clinton/Evita joke, at least one pseudo-political blog has to make note of it.

Not cool, Matt. Not cool.
I'll now return to obscurity.

At Least This One Was Only NEAR Bordellos.

2007-06-04T09:56:00.001-07:00

Sometimes late at night when I'm trying to fall asleep with a creepy bulemic cat staring at me and a teddy bear that kind of smells, I dwell over life's great questions. When is the reincarnated Marlon Brando from 1953 going to pay me a visit naked? How am I ever going to rise above my inability to tie my shoes without resorting to special people Velcro sneakers? What is creepier than the last two blogger party sites at bordellos? Thanks to my love of random excursions and Karol's penchant for finding the sleaziest of sleaze, we can answer the last two questions. Old Navy has come out with a totally innovative sneaker that resembles Chuckies, but has some sort of built-in elastic that negates the need for laces. We have truly arrived at a golden age of sorts. Also, Karol decided to take the blogger party concept a step lower and have it, in all places, in the thick of Wasteland, which is basically the eastern section of Chelsea, from 23rd St. to, say, 32nd west of 5th Avenue. It is a warzone of anorexic underage tramps passed out on the street clutching shattered bottles of Cuervo. It's overbuilt pseudo Italians with shirts that say, "Looking for poon. Any poon." It is the slums. But since this weird Swiss alpine ski lodge transplant was near a burger place I've been wanting to go to, I rounded up a posse of hesitant explorers, and we were on our way.

"Hi, Emma! I am almost naked."

As an intrepid bovine searcher/eater, I have recently taken it upon myself to visit the top 10 burgers in the city according to my Bible, the NY Post. The Post went down a few notches in my eyes by ignoring two of the best cows in the city - Rare and Corner Bistro - instead focusing on the overrated Burger Joint and the disgusting Blue 9. It was also a bit of a blow to realize that I had only been to TWO of the burger restaurants in question, so I obviously had to do something QUICKLY. Hence our trip to brgr. brgr is in one of my least favorite neighborhoods in the city, even ignoring the fact that it's on the periphery of Wasteland. That area around MSG and FIT is just not to our liking, but it could have been on Canal Street and/or a pile of feces, so we sucked it up.

It is not known why brgr does not feel the need to include vowels in its name. Perhaps it's because they realized that people would still know what they were selling if they just plastered consonants in the window, or maybe it's because they were intimidated by the aspiring fashionistas at FIT across the street and felt that pretentiousness was the way to go. Either way, Weenie Enema is a huge fan of the bovine at brgr, which is shipped daily from the Montana Beartooth Mountains. The bun was a bit too soft, but it cradled the animal nicely, and the meat was scrumptious, cooked medium rare with some tantalizing spices. I don't necessarily recommend seasoning cows beyond a dash of pepper, chiefly because not too many places know how to do it correctly and you don't want to stray too far from the essence of the bovine itself. brgr is one of three places I have been to that understand how to strike an appropriate balance of spice and animal, the others being Ulysses on Stone St., aka Bovine Row, and Giggles on W. 40th St.

Does anyone want to go on a trip to the Beartooth Mountains? I'm packing light, probably just a fork and knife.

Since my posse is full of ridiculous WEENIES, I was the only person who ordered a REAL burger, the others caving into the PETA propaganda and getting veggie burgers or some non-cow alternative. Disgusting. If you're into lameness like that, everyone gave the FAKE ANIMALS rave reviews. Interpret that however you wish. With the tablesetter being the 10/10 Rare burger, brgr gets a solid 9.0. It's overpriced at $6.50, since you only get about 6 ounces of quality cow, but it's worth trying at least once.

The fun had to segue into work, so we made our way down the street with partially digested goodness in our bellies to Gstaad, which I thought sounded like a venereal disease you would contract from Jean-Claude Van Damne, but nobody else thought so. Remembering the whole 'bloggers need to be fashionably late to make up for being social enigmas' rule, we strolled in about half an hour after the scheduled start time, which was STILL too early. Unreal. Next time, we're going, like, the next day. Since the place was still almost deserted, we had the benefit of being able to see the entire venue without being impeded by the cattle (not to be confused with what I had just eaten) that usually represent Wasteland and its debauchery. Without a doubt, the most amazing aspect of Gstaad were the bathroom sinks, which were basically diagonal slabs of rock that streamed down into a drain. It looked like something Dr. Quinn would have used in Colorado Springs before the miracle of modern-day plumbing made its belated appearance in the West. I went to the bathroom three or four times to play with the sink, which also reminded me of the weird, new age fountains at the Nature Company.

SUUULLLLY!!!!

The rampant and rather out of character socializing that has become a trademark of sorts at blogger shindigs for us was noticably lacking, in part because two or three of the posse members had never been to a blog party before and were cowering in a corner, furtively looking around the room behind their sour Midoris. (ALLY!) However, I did manage to get into a quasi-fight with the DJ, who was a total clithead, looked like Rick Moranis on steroids and legit SNEERED at me when I requested the Spice Girls. I tried to compromise, suggesting a little bit of Ace of Base. That too was rebuffed. Finally, I said, "Can I just look through the CDs here to see what you have?" He pushed his glasses further up his nose and narrowed his eyes. "NO. That's proprietary." I asked every person I met subsequent to this encounter what "proprietary" meant. No one knew. I decided it meant that if Rick Moranis started working out and had a collection of CDs in Wasteland, he would not let me look at them because I would find something worse than Ace of Base, like Jimmy Ray or All Saints.

"The Spice Girls? How LAME."

In terms of actual bloggers, a Jay Mohr/Henry Thomas from ET hybrid with the voice of Adam Sandler showed up with his chum, who I think was the Korean guy from Heroes. It was not apparent if they were plugging a JOINT blog, or if only one of them was the blog proprieter and the other was loyally assisting. Sort of like the five girls in the corner glaring at all the bloggers. Ahem. Three random people stopped by our corner headquarters to squeal, "I love your blog!" but I have no idea if a) they knew who I was, or, more likely, b) were saying that to everyone. I suppose it's like walking into a random NYC bar and yelling, "I'm a bandwagon Yankee fan too!" Sure, not everyone in the bar is going to be one, but you're going to be right more often than not. Our great blogger chum Judith showed up and made me sip her old person drink. She rattled off a very impressive list of alcoholic beverages that constituted the mixture, but it tasted like a pinecone, so I'm going to assume pouring Vermouth on a random piece of a forest will net you pretty much the same result.

As soon as I drank it, I said, "Judith, when I write the recap of this party, I'm including a picture of a pinecone." I am nothing if not an Emma of my word.

We also managed to find our badminton partner Peter, who does not have a blog, so I will just link to a picture of a pug. Also, Dawn Summers, sister of Buffy, was within earshot long enough for me to regale her with tales of Bette Midler singing an off-key rendition of "Wind Beneath My Wings: Ode to Dying Barbara Hershey" on Idol. By this point, Drunk Erin had managed to infuriate every blogger within hearing (Blogger: So do you have a blog? Drunk Erin: No. I'm here for the voddy. Blogger: Um...so you're one of those people who think they're too cool to blog? Drunk Erin: Correct.) and it seemed like a good idea to get Michelle out of the bar, since after her second drink she had to decided to amuse herself by pointing at women with white pants and screaming, "Slut!" So we left. It is not known how many of the white pants-wearing women were actually sluts, but since we were in Wasteland, I'd say Michelle was right on.

SLUT!

TEAM JORDIN!

2007-05-24T06:33:00.000-07:00

Yes, we are EXTREMELY happy that our prediction from way back in the day has stood the test of time. People and other assorted objects that Emma holds in high esteem never totally pan out, but they did this time. In honor of Jordin Sparks, we are going way back through time to accurately categorize her ascension to greatness.

Top 24 Night:
"Give Me One Reason" by Tracy Chapman.

Now, I REALLY don't like this song. I always thought it was Tracy's lesbian love tribute to Alice Walker. Not coincidentally, the Broadway adaptation of The Color Purple is well underway, with the only illiterate to win Idol at the helm. However, Jordin took a gutterally deep lame-o mid-1990s song and won us over from potentially joining Team Gina. This was the night when that Lakisha creature took on J-Hud with her massive F-cups, but it was all downhill for her after that. She should have covered a song from The Land Before Time or All Dogs Go To Heaven like Jordin did.
Our Rank: 7.

"A tree flower!"

Top 20 Night:
"Reflection" by Christina Aguilera.

You always hear about people stupidly taking on a Whitney song and then hardcore crashing, because Whitney is a vocal goddess who probably cracked her way out of God's head back in the day. However, maybe because she's still incorrectly grouped in with the sugary-laced content from 1999, people still think they can do Christina. No one can. It was one of the few mistakes from Jordin all season. On a mildly positive note, I think it's incredibly ballsy to basically admit that you watched "Mulan."
Our Rank: 4.

You KNOW what picture I could have put in there. But I didn't. If Blake had won, I probably would have.

Top 16 Night:
"Heartbreaker" by Pat Benetar.

We like when Jordin rocks out, but she tends to get whipped up and start shrieking. It's like when we watch Starship Troopers and Denise Richards is stabbed in the upper thigh. Well, no, it's not, but sometimes we shriek with delight when that happens. At least it's better than that Christina imitation from the week before, and the bottom line is quite simple - even on nights when she gets a little sharp and nutty, her voice is still 10 times better than all of the Caucasian performers, which is probably how she got to the Top 12.
Our Rank: 5

Must not laugh. Must not laugh.

Top 12 Night:
"If We Hold On Together" - Diana Ross. (FROM THE LAND BEFORE TIME!!!)

It was official. SOULMATES. When they showed a small snippet of her singing with Diana Ross, I lost my shizzle. Drunk Erin, who was casually propped up against my bed with (insert random alcoholic beverage), was visibly perturbed when I started screeching, "Holy shit! She's singing the song from the closing credits of Land Before Time! She watched Land Before Time too! BFFs!" Not only does Jordin totally understand the Don Bluth underrated carton legacy from the late 1980s, it's the breakthrough performance that puts her on the map.
Our Rank: 9.

Bye bye, Lakisha/F-cups.

Top 11 Night:
"I (Who Have Nothing)" - Shirley Bassey.

I legit think it's possible to listen slash watch this about 50 times and not get sick of it. However, I am not a fan of that cheesey move toward the beginning when she sings, "You buy her diamonds," and she flicks her hair back to reveal a diamond earring. Come on. You performed an archaic end credit Land Before Time ditty. You do not need to impress anyone with your bling or lyric context. We give extra bonus points for dusting off a song from the Kennedy Administration and putting it to fine use. Heart.
Our Rank: 10.

"Hey! I remember that song!"

Top 10 Night:
"Hey Baby" - No Doubt.

We have a lot of mixed feelings about this one. First of all, the kilt is AMAZINGNESS, and that checkered hoodie thing will be in my closet by the fall. Now, No Doubt hasn't been legit good since 1996, and it is very perplexing as to why they thought it would be a good idea to release a song that basically has two lines in it, and it is just as confusing that Jordin selected it all, especially since I REALLY had my fingers crossed that she would do "Excuse Me, Mister" or a Mariah Carey song to show up Stefani and her non-vocal chops. While it's not as screechy as the Pat Benetar, there are a few shrill moments. Jordin somehow pulled off a really shizzle-laced song though, and...somehow gave it a melody? Who knew it had that kind of potential?
Our Rank: 6.8.

Gwen didn't.

Top 9 Night:
"On A Clear Day" - Tony Bennett.

Eh. I consider this the official slump of the Jordin legacy, which continues until Martina McBridge's Skeletor Face shows up for country night. There's nothing really BAD to say about the performance, but the song selection is dubious. Tony's got a pretty deep voice, and while Jordin hits the notes, the power that is incredibly noticable on her riffs on Top 11 night is significantly diminished. We're not feeling it.
Our Rank: 5.

"I have a broken wing!! Get it?"

Top 8 Night:
"The Rhythm is Gonna Get You." - Gloria Estefan.

Yawn. If you want to see a real shitfest, go to youtube and type "Haley Scarnato Turn The Beat Around." At least Jordin didn't have to resort to flashing her poon at the audience for votes. The NERVE.
Our Rank: 5.

Tee-hee.

Top 7 Night:
"A Broken Wing" - ~~Skeletor~~ Martina McBride.

Just when we started thinking, "What if Land Before Time was just a cruel, cruel tease?" Jordin unleashes perfection on country night, of all things. Who knew she could deftly switch up the genres like that? There isn't a single flaw to be seen here, from the suave left eyebrow lift in the first verse, to the hand motions that would seem unbearably cheesy coming from anyone else, to the slow but sure buildup at the end. Butterfly is to Mariah as A Broken Wing is to Jordin. This is not the first time that left eyebrow has moved into center stage, and it is quickly becoming the second most important celebrity facial characteristic ever, slightly behind Keira of Jawness.
Our Rank: 12 million billion.

People have probably been KILLED on that jawline.

Top 6 Night:
"You'll Never Walk Alone" - Rogers and Hammerstein.

Now, ideally, with the annoying subhuman scum that is Bono presiding as mentor for inspirationally themed song night, Jordin would have taken the opportunity to buy a tiny little bonzai tree, name it Joshua, and pee on it, but I think she would have lost more votes than gained, so she went with a song from either the last days of Roosevelt's tenure or the beginning of Truman's. Someone should find out for me. I'm not telling you the year, because it's OBVIOUS.

I think the singing warbles just a smidgin, and I saw NO EYEBROW, but it's still top tier Jordin, despite the lack of disrespect toward Bono.
Our Rank: 9.

Shizzle. (n.)

Another Top 6 Night:
"Livin On A Prayer" - Bon Jovi.

For some reason, Idol thought it was charitable to keep that mosquito on for another week. It was not. It was also not charitable to make Jordin sing a Bon Jovi song, but again, the Emma demographic is but one person. This wasn't just mediocre like Top 20 Night - this was full blown floppage, though the whole Sideshow Bob hair really resonated with me. However, I suspect in the long run that her humility in the face of WITHERING criticism endeared her to millions and got her through a few more rounds.

"Simon, it wasn't THAT bad."

Top 4 Night:
Weird creepy songs from the Beegees.
We're ignoring. It was lame all the way around and decidedly unmemorable, with the exception of Barry Gibb's fake teeth.
To compensate for the glaring absence of Beegee covers, here is the fourth image result for "bald cat."

On a TOTALLY unrelated note:

Top Three Night:
The Judge's Pick.
"Wishing on a Star" - Rolls Royce.

Don't worry, I hadn't heard of it either. Simon decided to find an obscure band that appeared to have Roxie Roker as its frontwoman, and then make Jordin sing their one song. I think it's a very lame song that would be better served as an ironic addition to one of the Austin Powers movie sountracks, but Jordin delivers a perfectly capable performance, just not very memorable. We blame Simon.
Our Rank: 6.

So in case you're keeping track, The Jeffersons are on DVD, but Grace Under Fire and Sisters are not.

The Producers' Pick.
"She Works Hard for the Money" - Donna Summers.

THE EYEBROW IS BACK, and they finally gave Jordin a fun song to sing. I have to assume that she doesn't really know too much about the subject matter at hand, i.e., hoes, but it's LIKE she does. Props. The runs toward the end are incredible and hinge on gutteral. Take THAT, disco!
Our Rank: 8

EYEBROW LOVE.

Personal Song Pick.
"I (Who Have Nothing)" - Shirley Bassey.

Is it better than Top 11 night? It doesn't have the dorky earring shoutout, but she DOES paw at the camera early on, which ruffled my feathers slightly. Since those cancel out and she added an extra high note at the end, I'd say it's just a wee bit better the second time around. Very, very smart song selection here - hey, why not perform a song you know you can school and then tweak it a little? We love the Jordin!
Our Rank: 10.1

GOOD pawing.

Top 2 Night:
Personal Song Pick:
"Fighter" - Christina Aguilera.

Remember what I said earlier about Christina? It's still true. I'm a bit disappointed that Jordin did not learn her lesson from the Mulan soundtrack fiasco, BUT it's our favorite Christina song ever. When she lets her voice go for those high notes, it's almost as good as the original. But again, NOTHING is as good as Christina.
Our Rank: 5.5 (we subtracted a point for ignoring our really great advice)

"Stay away, Jordin! I'm bad luck!"

Previous Performance Pick:
"A Broken Wing" - Skeletor.

We squealed with hardcore delight when we found out that she was reprising the Skeletor country classic. It does not have the noticable eyebrow raise, but her comfort level has understandably risen since country night, most evident in the second half of the song. However, I was ENRAGED at how loud the band was in the background in the FIRST half of the song before she really gets going, and I think it disturbs the whole process. Probably not Jordin's fault, and she was still unbelievably fantastic.
Our Rank: 11 million billion.

The New Single:
"This is My Now" - random guys from Seattle.

This is the reason I was not worried yesterday in the least. By the time she gets to the end, she's sobbing, which of course got me all worked up too, because we have been emotionally invested since the BEGINNING. But if you watch the version Blake did before her, the talent levels are not even close. The song was MADE for her. Was the crying staged? Dude, if it was, that's genius.
Our Rank: Perfect.

Only Cool People Know What Predicates Are.

2007-04-19T17:37:00.000-07:00

...They're like prepositions, right?

Those of you who have been occasionally keeping tabs on Weenie Enema through the years know that we're very into propagating certain amazingness in life that is not properly acknowledged as such, whether it's Ariel Sharon-related, Paddington Bear-related or Winona Didn't Do It-related. However, some societal elements are just considered SO taboo that it's going to take more than a blog post to get them officially recognized. And for those of you furrowing your brows and thinking, "Wait...I don't think Emma actually convinced anyone that Winona was framed...," your opinion, sadly, is not relevant to this discussion.

innocent: adj. Ryder, Winona.

While it would simply be delightful to pen yet another post about Winona, we're not going to, chiefly because it's getting rather tedious to try to constantly convince people that Winona will figure a way out of this Vicodin-laced nightmarish decent into Adam Sandler crapfests, and because it is hardcore necessary to convince people to start attending the monthly spelling and grammar bees that Union Hall in Park Slope hosts.

Last month, my chum and occasional cohort Abbi invited me to go to a bar of all places. I do not go to bars. They always give me this LOOK when I order Diet Pepsis, and really, if I can buy a 2-liter bottle for $0.99 at C-Town, why would I pay five times as much for a watered down version while Philip Seymour Hoffman lookalikes leer at me? Which is basically what I told her. When I found out that this "bar" was in Park Slope, I tossed the name around in my head and asked, "Isn't that in Brooklyn? As in, not in Manhattan? As in, you want me to return to the borough where crazy people tried to KILL ME two years ago?" Since she is very wise and noble, Abbi ignored me and somehow convinced me to go.

It was seriously like this on every street corner in Bed Stuy. Except the pig had not been caught by the cops yet and was chasing me.

Based on my previous experience going across the East River, I was pretty sure Park Slope was a ghetto and that the puffy vest was not going to be enough to save me. I came out of the subway...and I saw a row of brownstones. I figured it was a trick, so I immediately called Abbi to come rescue me. While I waited, I counted scary people. Since I couldn't find any, I counted scary cars instead. Abbi came after the 12th scary car, ignored my inquiries about where the ghetto was, and after supping on subpar bovine, we hightailed it over to Union Hall to participate in the Grammar and Spelling Bee.

Dead cows, beware. You will not be treated well.

I don't know how to describe this Grammar and Spelling Bee in a positive way without looking like a huge, huge dork, but I'm hoping that since everyone knows I am very, very cool, they will give me the benefit of the doubt and hear me out. Union Hall is basically a library with bocce courts, the non-annoying English majors from NYU (there were maybe five or six) and a basement with a small stage and podium that generally serves as a music venue - unless there's a totally awesome spelling and grammar shindig going down. We ran down there because we had not taken into account that the bad-tasting cow corpses were basically on the other side of Park Slope, and although we stumbled in 15 minutes past the 8pm start time, we ARE talking about bar regulars, and they're not anal about time like I am. We signed up, put on the plastic headbands with two bee antennae attached, and got ready to ROCK OUT.

Not as cool as the newsie cap, but it served its purpose.

While I've made this out to be a huge event, we're only talking about maybe 15 contestants and 10 other drunkards who had wandered downstairs after their bocce game to watch a competition that was mostly conducted with the assistance of a sound tech guy who kept playing Earth, Wind and Fire when contestants went up to the stage, and a host who was a DEAD ringer for Colin Firth, except more Gay Pride than Pride and Prejudice. It was very exciting, and the tension was palpable. About three or four of the contestants looked to be around 50 years old, and the rest were, if not my age, within 10 years of my dramatic cesarean birth at the NYU Medical Center. Except for the pot-bellied drunk from Portland, Oregon, who didn't appear to know exactly what he had signed up for, everyone but me knew their shizzle. We're talking about English grad students who masturbate to relative clauses, i.e., people who make me look positively illiterate.

The format was relatively simple, considering the complexity of some of the questions lobbed at us. In the order you signed up on the piece of paper, you went up to the stage, engaged in a few pleasantries with Colin and attempted to answer a spelling, grammar or just a general word question. The first few contestants were asked to spell various venereal diseases, making me extremely thankful that we HAD been late. I do not know how to spell clhymedia. Or hemmheroids.

By the time I got up there, the audience was euphoric, reveling in this girl who spent 10 minutes (successfully) spelling Saskatchewan. Colin Firth scrolled down the list. "E.E.?" My moment had come. I bounded up on stage.
"Is E.E. short for something?"
"Emma Elizabeth."
"Why do you go by E.E."
"I generally don't."
"?"
"I thought having a pretentious literary name might give me an edge."
The audience shifted around uncomfortably.
"Interesting. How did you hear about this contest, E.E.?"
"My friend Abbi. She's next."
"I see. Spell 'nugatory.'"
"Is that a real word?"
Colin glares.
"May I have the language of origin?"
The audience titters derisively.
"It's Latin."
"Oh. n-u-ga-t-o-r-y."
And I made it past the first round.

"You may go to the next round."

As for Abbi? Well, I wasn't really paying much attention because, you know, I made it past the first round. At some point, one of her antennae were clipped (this crazy guy, who I think was boning Colin, sat in the front row for the entire bee with garden shears, poised to snip if someone missed a question. But since bees have TWO antennae, we all got a second chance.) when she missed this insanely hard question about meritocracies. I think it was rigged.

While we waited for the second round to start, I began frantically texting everyone on my phone with "I made it to the second round!" mostly because I knew they wouldn't know that EVERYONE makes it to the second round. Anyone who texted back, "Second round of what?" was promptly deleted from my address book. The price of ignorance.

As the second round unfolded, the drunk guy from Portland and a few others were eliminated, and I got to go back on stage.
"E.E."
"Hi."
"This is going to be a grammar question."
"Shit! I mean...yes. Excellent."
"Take a look at this sentence on the screen."
Although my memory is exemplary, this was last month, so let's just pretend the sentence was "Emma is very awesome...and there is no one more awesome."
"What is the term used for the '...' and spell it."
I don't know how I was lucky enough to get two fairly easy questions, but it meant I got to go to at least the fourth round, since my antennae were intact and I know how to spell ellipsis.

Alas, if you thought this tale was going to be about how I won my first grammar and spelling bee, I'm sorry to disappoint. The third round question was this crazy shizzle about clauses or...simple sentences or something completely indecipherable, and I calmly answered, "Prepositional phrase," which was not the right answer. In the fourth round, they asked me to change a sentence to passive voice, and that wasn't good either. I was done. My antennae were clipped, and I settled back in my seat with a 6th place finish. Abbi was a bit better than me, placing 5th. When there were only five left (meaning right after I CRASHED AND BURNED), those top five went up on stage for the duration, and the pace went much more quickly. Sadly, Abbi was not up there for long, but since she really knew her grammar, I knew she'd be back with a vengence this month.

This past Tuesday, I returned. I brought DB Bogangles to participate, and enough people have expressed mild curiosity about what I've been doing on random Tuesdays instead of watching JORDIN SPARKS on Idol that I think we may get another member of my posse in May to participate. Fingers crossed.

Obligatory Jordin Sparks promotional device. Vote Jordin.

This time, shizzle was different. This time when I was asked to change the sentence "The doctor examined Lady" to passive voice, I said, "Lady was examined by the doctor." This time, I got into the top 5 with Abbi and had to down tequila shots while spelling state capitals backwards. This time, I got fourth place and a tiny bottle of cinnamon breath spray as a prize. And Abbi? Abbi is the official champion of the April Union Hall Spelling and Grammar Bee, which is pretty much the coolest thing ever. Oh, and DB finished fifth, an impressive showing for a newbie, and Abbi's roommate, who looks like David Duchovny mixed with emo, was hardcore railroaded and dealt insane questions. Since he's, like, a college professor at the age of about 25, I'm thinking we haven't heard the last from him. Anyway, everyone and their cat should come next month. Here is the link. And here is a picture of a chocolate french bulldog. A REAL chocolate french bulldog.

Why is "Drive" On Again?

2007-04-16T16:57:00.000-07:00

For the second night in a row, Fox is airing mediocre television in the hopes that maybe someone will actually get sucked into this crappola. For the record, I am not sucked in. This is a bad show. But my mission is clear - we must document heinous crimes in the hopes that others will avoid these mistakes in the future.

We don't really understand what's going on, but I suspect no one else knows what's going on either. It's not exactly comforting.

8:01 - Kidnapped and Corinna are STILL having car troubles. I think it would be funny if this happened all the way across the country. And why are they in Gainesville? Aren't they supposed to be in Rome?

8:02 - It's 8:02 and Latino Gangster has already said "holmes."

8:03 - Latino Gangster is trying to connect with his brother by talking about hombres. Which I think is Latino for gang member, but I took Latin, so I'm not totally sure.

8:03 - Once again, Latino Gangster is chasing someone...but it doesn't appear to be someone from the cast.

8:04 - A Florida trooper has just pulled a gun on Kidnapped. It is not known whether it's the same trooper who arrested Heavenly Creatures yesterday for carrying a plastic baby across state lines.

8:06 - A noble hat tip to Alexis, who apparently saw and retained information relating to cast members from the Britney Spears movie. Incidentally (it's a commercial, so I can digress for a moment), I was on Netflix the other day looking at a list of everyone who has ever won a Razzie, and Britney won one for Crossroads. Madonna has won like 60 of them, coincidentally all from movies co-starring Sean Penn. Weird.

8:09 - You know what would be funny? If Crossroads Girl Formerly Known As Loser Girl reenacted a scene from Heavenly Creatures with this plastic baby-toting nutjob.

8:10 - 24 guy is sucking face with his girlfriend in a gas station. And both of them claim they're "winning," but I don't know how they can possibly verify that.

8:11 - 24 guy goes into the gas station convenience store just in time to see a news report about a soldier killed in Iraq. Of course, he knows the guy and tears up, just like he did when Jack Bauer screamed, "You're going to give me what I want!" in his face.

8:12 - "By 'Holmes,' do they mean Katie?" - Drunk Erin

8:12 - Strangely enough, I don't think I've heard anyone actually utter "drive!" in this episode. Maybe it's not the drinking game I thought it was.

8:13 - With Kidnapped in booking and Corinna fighting to get him released, I think the writers of Drive have finally run out of ways to detain these people from actually racing.

8:15 - Um. The Florida cops like to pin three-year-old crimes from Kentucky on innocent people, while jamming their index finger into foreheads. What is with this state? And can we expect altercations with Georgia state troopers in the coming episodes?

8:20 - The Law and Order ADA is still in Nebraska and is confused. Where is Kidnapped? Perhaps he will belatedly join the race when it gets to the Midwest.

8:21 - I am really not getting why this cop thinks Kidnapped killed people in a bank robbery three years ago.

8:21 - "I didn't say you pulled the trigger." Um...that means he's not killing people. Drive writers, we know this doesn't make sense. Just get Corinna in there spewing bullets so they can get BACK ON THE ROAD.

8:22 - This is what I don't get. If 24 guy is SOOOO concerned about his Army buddies, why is he AWOL?

8:23 - 24 guy's woman just threw his phone out the window and he has to go get it. I don't think they're in the lead anymore, but it's not like they actually have ANY idea if they are or not anyway.

8:24 - "Why isn't anyone on this show attractive?" - Drunk Erin

8:25 - Dorky dying dad's car only goes 85. If they want to win this thing, I think they have to get a new car. Maybe steal Latino Gangster's?

8:26 - That woman Latino Gangster was tailing that wasn't part of the cast? I'm thinking she's in the cast now. With the worst Southern accent this side of Keanu in The Devil's Advocate.

8:26 - Whoa! She's an undercover agent!

8:27 - Looks like Gallant Gangster is going to have to take over while Latino Gangster deals with the bounty hunter.

8:31 - Ugh. Get out of Nebraska. Let's go back to Heavenly Creatures and the plastic baby!

8:32 - Why is Kidnapped JUST NOW asking for a lawyer?

8:32 - In a grudge match between Corinna and corrupt Florida state trooper...I think it's pretty clear where I would put my money.

8:33 - How is 24 guy not able to find this phone? How strong is that girl's arm?

8:33 - "Is all you care about this stupid race?" Well...isn't that kind of the entire basis of the show?

8:34 - I think 24 guy is about to throw up from all of this saccarine-laced crap his girl is spewing. Oh wait. That's me.

8:35 - I don't want to be a gloomy gus, but dont they NEED the phone so they can get the calls from Olmec?

8:36 - This Kidnapped being interrogated by the cop story makes no sense. There is no record of him being brought in, and the cop apparently stole his name from a black cop on the force, so...I'm not even sure he's being interrogated in a police station. This is way too Vanilla Sky for me. Bring back the plastic baby!

8:38 - Maybe it's not particularly helpful to keep asking questions when we NEVER get any answers, but I'm really hoping that at some point, they explain, you know, WHY there's an illegal cross-country road race to begin with. My guess? The writers don't know either.

8:39 - Oooh 24 looks good. I think they should just let the Chinese kill Audrey and let a sorcerer bring Nina back from the dead. That would be amazing.

8:40 - For someone who dragged their 16-year-old daughter across the country (apparently risking a REALLY nasty custody battle) Dorky Dying Dad is surprisingly blase about the speed limit.

8:41 - Haha, Crossroads Girl made Heavenly Creatures blast Slipknot in the car. We know who the bitch is in that relationship.

8:42 - Yes, give the crazy Crossroads girl your keys. She's not going to take advantage of your fragile state of mind and fetus-less existence.

8:42 - Um. A helicopter? What?

8:43 - Oh. Latino Gangster and Gallant Gangster are only HALF brothers.

8:44 - "Bounty hunters aren't cops." Gallant Gangster is so wise.

8:45 - Dude! I think they're going after the bounty hunter!

8:45 - Christ. The Vanilla Sky Cop interrogation continues. Let's talk about something else. Remember when Chris Meloni spent an entire episode of SVU interrogating Chad Lowe in Season 2? And Chad was having sex with his mother, who was Margot Kidder? Great episode.

8:46 - Kidnapped told the crazy cop thing about the whole having a kidnapped wife...and the cop is in on the race! What the fuck? If he's IN on the race, why is he distracting him from the matter at hand.

8:47 - "This show makes no sense." - Drunk Erin, sober and correct.

8:50 - Ooh, Idol commercial. TEAM JORDIN.

8:51 - Whoa. Crossroads girl is taking all the baby stuff out of the car. I think she's crossing the line this time. Slipknot was close, but this is IT.

8:51 - I'm really hoping that in Episode 4 or 5, we get a NORMAL contestant. Although to be fair, Corinna is great, she just has some parents-were-victims-in-this-race-before issues.

8:52 - Dorky dad. The doctor says you need your meds to stay alive. So...I'm thinking if you want to SURVIVE the race, you need to pop a few.

8:53 - So the point for that ridiculous cop charade was to give Kidnapped a black car? I'm thinking there were better ways to handle this.

8:54 - Um...did Kidnapped actually kill those people before? THIS SHOW MAKES NO SENSE!

8:55 - Corinna is about to be killed by the Men in Black...but Kidnapped saved her in the Black car!

8:55 - How did...Gallant get the bounty hunter to let Gangster go? Writers? Anything?

8:56 - I've said it before, I'll say it again - Corinna and I would be the Dream Team of Drive.

8:57 - I think Kidnapped has split personality issues. He just raced past Latino Gangster. I'm so confused right now.

8:57 - It appears 24 guy was right about being in the lead, because Kidnapped just took over the lead. I apologize for doubting 24 guy's cognizance.

8:58 - All of the contestants are in a dirt lot that looks like it came out of "Stand By Me."

8:59 - Wait. All of the stuff that they said last night was in THIS night's episode...is now in the previews for the NEXT episode. Worst show ever. I'm done.

Liveblogging "Drive."

2007-04-15T17:00:00.000-07:00

We are liveblogging the premiere of what appears to be the Worst Show Ever, "Drive," a show that Fox is staking its noncredibility on. I haven't quite figured out why Fox has spent so much money bombarding me with ads for this piece of shizzle, but Weenie Enema is coming out of semi-retirement to find out why.

8:02 - The ADA from the first two or three seasons of Law and Order is questioning some dude whose wife was kidnapped. And, despite what 11 people have told me, I still think it's the same actor who had his wife kidnapped on "Vanished," ANOTHER Fox show that is now DOA.

8:03 - Dude! It's the crazy lesbian from Heavenly Creatures. Except without K-Wizzle lust.

8:06 - We have a Latino hoodlum. And his...phone is ringing! And so are the phones for the husband and the Heavenly Creatures lesbian! I think the game is about to begin.

8:07 - The mysterious voice on the phone sounds like Olmec from Legends of the Hidden Temple.

8:08 - The credits are (finally) rolling, and I've recognized two more people - the really annoying kid from Season 3 of 24 who thought he was transporting drugs across the border, and the guy who gave Chris Meloni head on Oz and then had his neck broken. What an intriguing cast.

8:09 - I am having trouble believing that all of these people would drive to Key West (some from places like Nebraska) because an anonymous voice told them to.

8:11 - "My advice...get on the road, Mr. Tully." Heh.

8:12 - I've only seen the 24 Kid for about 10 seconds, but in that space of time, he made an analogy to wontons. Love.

8:14 - If I were about to start a cross-country road race and I wanted to get a good start, you know what I wouldn't do? Just start randomly calling family members while I'm trying to drive on a crowded highway.

8:15 - Okay, this girl let her father drive her across the country, and only NOW wants to know what's going on?

8:16 - 24 Guy is 10 times hotter with a buzzed head and a non-annoying personality.

8:17 - The first fender bender has occurred. I have a feeling there are going to be a lot of them.

8:18 - Shockingly, the instigator of this fender bender does not appear to be the Latino gangster.

8:18 - Whoa! The kidnapped wife guy has a stowaway in the back of his pickup truck! And...I think she's trying to get away from the Chris Meloni Head guy.

8:19 - "Drive!" Erin was right. This potentially could be a very good drinking game.

8:22 - Heavenly Creatures lez got pulled over by a state trooper. For...not speeding...but for...stealing the car. I think the father of her baby wants his car back.

8:23 - "Corinna Wiles. And you are...?" "Angry!"

8:24 - Oooh I think Corinna and Kidnapped are going to form an unlikely partnership.

8:25 - First clue: "Fly to Jupiter and find the red eye." Hmmm. I wonder if the clue means Jupiter, Florida. Which is where the Cardinals have their spring training games. Oooh maybe it's a red eye like the Starbucks drink. They have to go to the Jupiter Starbucks! I should be in the race.

8:26 - Okay, the kidnapped wife guy is doing this to get his wife back. Latino gangster is doing this because he's an ex-con and wants money. Heavenly Creatures has an abusive husband or something. But why is the dorky dad with the teenage daughter doing this?

8:27 - Whoa. Heavenly Creatures just went apeshit and led the cops on a high-speed chase. Too bad it's not a part of the game.

8:28 - Um, her baby...has been replaced by a doll. It is not clear where the real baby is (back of kidnapped wife guy's pickup?) or where the doll came from.

8:32 - Latino gangster has stopped at a mansion. And I think he has an overachieving twin brother. The cons ALWAYS do.

8:33 - There are three college girls (who think "L" for loser on the forehead is still cool) that 24 guy somehow got the better of by...telling a whole bunch of truckers on a CB radio to box them in.

8:34 - "Maybe they mean Jupiter, Florida, which is four hours from here" Oooh, who called this shizzle?

8:34 - Heavenly Creatures is still in booking. I suspect she is not in first place at this point in time.

8:35 - The gangster's brother pulled a gun on him. And to signify that he's the "good" brother, he's wearing a polo shirt. Like Gallant in Goofus and Gallant.

8:36 - Kidnapped and Corinna are having car troubles.

8:37 - "The Red Eye is a lighthouse in Jupiter." Corinna is really smart. But did you see how I got the Jupiter part? Corinna and I would make a great team.

8:39 - Maybe my eyes were on the laptop at the time, but I still don't know what happened with Heavenly Creatures' baby. Perhaps she has the ability to morph living things into inanimate objects. If so, I think she may be able to make up the time she's lost while in a Florida jail cell.

8:41 - I don't understand why this American Idol commercial is insinuating that Chris Sligh was voted off because of "a missed lyric." No, he's off because he hardcore sucked.

8:42 - Chris Meloni Head guy found Corinna! But Kidnapped Wife guy decked him with a wrench.

8:43 - Head guy is one of "them!" Neat. I have no idea what that means.

8:43 - Latino Gangster's brother apparently didn't know Latino Gangster was his brother. Awwwkward!

8:44 - Maybe they'll join forces like Corinna and Kidnapped!

8:45 - Haha, they did!

8:45 - Corinna knows an awful lot about the intracies of this contest. "I needed to join someone. It was either you or the crazy lady with the plastic baby." Okay, I guess I never saw the real baby then.

8:46 - Corinna has a Flash drive. How very Chloe O'Brian of her.

8:46 - Heavenly Creatures' husband just showed up...and he looks REALLY familiar. Hmmm. I wonder if he will shed light on why she toted a plastic baby to the Keys.

8:50 - Okay...she doesn't know his name. That makes me think he's either not married to Heavenly Creatures or...Corinna was right and she's totally nuts. Clearly, the latter would be much more entertaining. Wait!!! He was in Twister! HAHA! He was Cary Elwes right hand man.

8:52 - Whoa. Chris Meloni Head guy reacts rather strongly to Flash drives.

8:53 - I think Latino Gangster is blasting Daddy Yankee in his pimped out yellowish crap Ford.

8:54 - Corinna and Kidnapped are almost at the lighthouse...and it looks like someone's right behind them! It's Latino Gangster and Co!

8:55 - I think the pretty brother is regretting his impulsive decision to play the game with the thug who wandered into his mansion a few hours ago.

8:56 - Two old people just showed up on a motorcycle...and it looks like 7 million other people did too. Good thing this is only the first stop.

8:57 - The three Loser girls just locked eyes with 24 guy. I think they know that he conspired with Floridian truckers to eliminate them.

8:57 - Heavenly Creatures was last to the lighthouse and has earned a penalty. It's a manilla envelope with a loaded gun and a picture of a Kiera Knightley wannabe with her face circled. I'm guessing arriving last to a decision means you have to kill other contestants. Here's hoping Latino Gangster is NEVER last.

9:00 - I think someone's having a dream or a flashback that involves driving. I suspect the same thing would happen to me after the first nutty day in the Drive race.

9:01 - Olmec is reporting to a higher up. I hope it is another host of a defunct Nickelodeon show.

9:02 - Okay, there are pictures of Heavenly Creatures with a real baby. What is the deal? Did she just ditch the fetus at the hospital?

9:02 - The waitress at the diner is the teacher from Donnie Darko that was told by Jake Gyllenhaal to shove the lifeline exercise up her anus.

9:03 - I think one of the Loser girls is supposed to be killed by Heavenly Creatures.

9:04 - Kidnapped took Chris Meloni Head along for the ride and has him bound and gagged in a local motel bathtub. Very Oz.

9:07 - Upon further thought, I'm not really getting how every single contestant figured out how to solve it. Because if Corinna hadn't been on my team, I would have just ended up at a Starbucks looking around bewildered.

9:08 - "You need a cup of courage." - Why does the Donnie Darko waitress know about this contest?

9:09 - "If she's still in that car at the next checkpoint, YOU'LL be eliminated." Jesus. I wouldn't go back to that diner.

9:10 - Obligatory Kidnapped talking to a vision of his wife in the mirror scene.

9:11 - The wife is still talking to him. This is getting a little tedious.

9:11 - Chris Meloni Head says Corinna's not in the race and is using Kidnapped. Methinks either Head or Corinna is lying.

9:12 - In the course of the last 30 minutes of this show, Kidnapped has knocked out Chris Meloni Head at least four times.

9:13 - Whoa. The dorky dad is dying. I guess that KIND OF explains why he's participating, but not really.

9:13 - Second clue: "Kennedy killed in '73, and there's a clock ticking backwards." Uh. Maybe the clock is ticking back to 1968 or 1963? Which means either Dallas or LA?

9:14 - Kidnapped thinks he knows! and the Latino boys are going to follow him. Smooth.

9:15 - How exactly is Heavenly Creatures going to figure out how to gun down the Loser girl en route?

9:17 - I feel like they can't leave Florida yet, so maybe they're going to the Kennedy Space Center. Get it? Like a countdown to liftoff? Corinna, thoughts?

9:19 - 24 guy is about to cheat. Although since we missed the orientation (like Kidnapped), maybe he's not.

9:20 - Heavenly Creatures just called some creepy lady who has her real baby. It's good to know there's a real baby in the picture.

9:21 - The baby looks like it has a rash. Maybe they put a Rally Monkey in its crib.

9:22 - Uh oh. Kidnapped is calling Corinna's bluff. "Who are you?" "I'm just trying to find answers at the finish line like everybody else."

9:23 - The Flash drive has vital stats on all the contestants. But how did Corinna get her paws on that drive?

9:24 - HAH! Cape Canaveral!! 24 guy and Emma. We'll all over this.

9:25 - "They look like hoodlums." - dorky dad glancing nervously at Latino gangsters in rearview mirror.

9:26 - Why are the Latinos following the dorky dad and daughter instead of Kidnapped and Corinna?

9:27 - Why are people actually chasing each other in this game? Doesn't the existence of the clues kind of eliminate the need?

9:27 - Corinna just kicked Kidnapped's ass with a laptop or something! Seriously, what is her deal?

9:32 - Kidnapped woke up. His car is gone. That cunt totally stole it! Now what? I take back everything I said about Corinna.

9:32 - HAHA! Heavenly Creatures just shot the back tire of Loser Girls' car. Smooth.

9:33 - Kidnapped just hitchhiked with a giant mother of a truck.

9:34 - "Didn't you have a baby?" "Um. Recently." "No, like, yesterday." Loser Girl totally sees through Heavenly Creatures' facade.

9:35 - I think this kindly truck driver has drugs or something in the back.

9:35 - Man. Corinna did not get far with that truck.

9:36 - Okay...Corinna has a gun and she likes to shoot it at people. I so don't get her.

9:37 - "You're not the only person they took someone from!" Oh, Corinna.

9:38 - Okay, so the flashback from earlier was a young Corinna from 28 years before. I like Corinna again. She is so like Helen Hunt's character in Twister, recklessly involving herself with shizzle to get vengence for lost parents back in childhood. Hopefully, we can find another Twister connection before 10, because then we can have a Twister Trifecta.

9:42 - I miss when Omar Epps was legit hot.

9:43 - Latin Gangster and Co are at Cape Canaveral, but Heavenly Creatures and Loser Girls are still having a gun standoff. I'm thinking she might be last again and will have another moral dilemma about killing someone off.

9:44 - So the Loser Girl is now in Heavenly Creatures' car. I'm thinking that's probably breaking the rules, despite our ignorance about the official rules.

9:45 - I'm so glad Corinna not a bad seed like Chris Meloni Head guy. But I would like to know how she got the Flash drive.

9:47 - Corinna just walloped Head with a shovel. Seriously, that guy must have so many deathly internal head injuries at this point.

9:47 - Dorky dad just passed out. Perhaps now would be an ideal time to tell his daughter about his whole having less than a year to live thing.

9:51 - Latino Gangster has called his brother "holmes" at least 20 times so far. When the writers latch on to a hackneyed phrase, they don't let go.

9:52 - Olmec is apparently okay about Heavenly Creatures figuring out a way to eliminate the Loser Girl without actually killing her.

9:53 - They're all going to Rome, Georgia now. I totally don't get why. Oh, and this is "just a qualifying round."

9:54 - Dorky dad hasn't told the daughter yet. Maybe he will during May sweeps.

9:54 - Dorky dad's daughter is a MUCH better driver than he is. He didn't have the gumption.

9:55 - Kidnapped almost literally ran into Heavenly Creatures on the sidewalk by Cape Canaveral.

9:56 - Whoa! The weirdo truck driver that picked up Kidnapped had his WIFE in the back of his truck. That's mildly better than my drugs theory, and it's very creepy that everyone in Florida is involved in this race in some capacity.

9:57 - All the random contestants take a moment to watch a rocket launch at Cape Canaveral for inspiration to compete in tomorrow's episode.

9:58 - In the next episode, Kidnapped gets arrested and 24 guy is supposed to go to Fort Benning for a court martial. There is a participant in the 7th Annual Emma Grimshaw Letter Writing Contest from Fort Benning.

9:59 - HAHA. Kidnapped and Corinna have to rob a bank, and they get the Latino gangster to help. Amazing.

That was a pretty shitty show. But I watched it so you didn't have to.

Also, several people have expressed surprise slash shock over this, so I thought I should let everyone know - Ariel Sharon is still alive. I am obviously the only person in the world who checks his Wikipedia entry daily to see if he's finally succombed to his last intravenous meal. He has not. His studliness prevails.

<3.

Because We Know Firsthand What It Feels Like To Destroy Your Hair And Walk Around With the Consequences For Months. MONTHS.

2007-03-01T08:56:00.000-08:00

Although you wouldn't automatically know it from our extensive archives, Weenie Enema officially endorses the existence of Britney Spears. The Grimshaw household received cable for the first time since the Gulf War at roughly the same time that Britney's first singles started getting massive MTV air time. You know. When they played music videos NOT in the middle of the night and TRL was actually amusing to watch because Carson Daly had black nail polish and was diddling Tara Reid. Oh, to go back to a time when my BFF was in the White House dot dot dot.

Besides the fact that Britney songs are amazing, even for vaguely mentally unstable high school creatures like myself - who were perfectly content to never listen to the radio during the tumultuous post-adolescence/first years without braces since forever era - Spears goodness can unite the WORLD. I realize that sounds like a hardcore hyperbolic statement, but no. Completely true.

At Olivia's cat birthday party, we had a motley crew assembled, including three people from the Pacific Northwest, a few from the Midwest, a NewEnglander, a cat from the gutter, and two people from the Delaware River Valley (east Pennsylvania/rural western New Jersey). I put on a Britney Spears song, and every single person in the room, spanning different geographical locales and lineage, sang along. If you grew up in the 1990s in the United States, you know the words to "...Baby One More Time", whether you want to or not. As an aside, I was in a room with a bunch of Italian guys at a party in Florence, and THEY knew the words to one of her songs too, but I suspect were not fully cognizant of the fact that they were singing about unrequited male love. Heh.

Others have that market cornered as well.

Due to recent events involving 567 bottles of Jack, 30 kilos of cocaine and one electric razor, I have decided to take a moment to remind society of why we LOVE Britney, because I understand how easy it is to forget when she's flashing her labial folds at the paparazzi. Once upon a time, Britney was IT and a hardcore badass. Perhaps if she sees my amazing tribute to her music videos, she will be able to dust off the alcoholism and sapphic craziness that will surely be a hallmark of an impending custody hearing that will make the Klepto Winona Trial of 2002 look like a Bai Ling press junket.

"Why am I famous?"

1998 - "...Baby One More Time."

The single that started it all. Lest we forget why teenage boys and older men who should have known better started lusting after Brit, this is the song that showcased the Catholic school girl uniform and brought it back into the national dialogue. While the song itself is fairly badass, especially given the glucose overdose that we were being subjected to at that time (Remember All Saints?), it isn't as good as some of the later work, and the video is so clearly a byproduct of those horrible one-star teen movies that came out in the wake of the vastly superior Titanic.

The success of Freddie Prinze Jr. in the late 1990s speaks VOLUMES about the quality of teen cinema during that period.

Actual song: 7
The video: 6

1999 - "Sometimes."

Ever wonder what a J Crew commercial would look like with Britney Spears? You've come to the right place. This video is whiter than Ann Coulter's hometown, which I'm assuming was a bit light on dark-skinned individuals. (I checked on Wikipedia. New Canaan, CT is 95.27% white, according to the 2000 census. Just the facts on Weenie Enema.) Although all of her video male love interests appear to come from the same genealogical lineage, the guy in this video stands out in my mind as one of the better looking creatures. Although Tyrese in the Toxic video gives him a run for his money. Her second single is most notable for its introduction of what I like to call "Heart-related Dance Shizzle," which shows up from time to time in later Britney videos. Towards the middle of the song, Britney and her white-appareled dance posse make a weird heart shape thing on the middle of a pier. Must-see TV.

Do not mess with people in leather miniskirts sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.
Actual song: 7
The video: 6

1999 - "(You Drive Me) Crazy."

Boy, I didn't think I would actually have a reason to mention Melissa Joan Hart in back-to-back posts, unless I was doing a tribute to black cats that talk on WB sitcoms. Britney officially hits her stride with her third single, which is also conveniently featured on the soundtrack to the Sabrina the Teenage Witch/Adrian Grenier shizzlefest "Drive Me Crazy." In support of this endeavor, both stars make random cameos throughout the video, thus ruining the flashy dance moves and sets pieces they managed to get after the success of "Sometimes." There's all kinds of crazy expensive looking goodness in the background, and I think her previous video had, like, a dinghy in it. The highlight of both the video and the song? When Britney screeches, "Stop," everyone (including Melissa Joan Hart and Adrian Grenier) stare at her, and she starts making a weird bubbling noise that crescendos back into the song. Artistry. Sheer artistry.

HAHAHA! It's talking!

Actual song: 8
The video: 8

2000 - "From the Bottom of my Broken Heart."

After three high-octane pop fests in a row, Britney took it down a notch and released a ballad, most of which consists of her sitting on a grain silo in a sweater. While "Broken Heart" wasn't as popular as her previous singles, it appears to be her first video with an actual storyline, although one that looks suspiciously like a bad Mandy Moore movie (is there any other kind?). She also has an amazing, amazing seaweed colored hat that I think she purchased at the Gap for $5.99. The only other noteworthy factoid, besides showcasing her thespian skills - which would soon be put to use in the cinematic classic "Crossroads" - is that this is the only video in which you do NOT see Britney's midriff slash bondage gear, which come soon after the release of album #2.

Britney does not go to church/have Peter Coyote as a dad/die of cancer in her video.

Actual song: 5
The video: 6

2000 - "Oops!...I Did It Again!"

The golden era of Britney arrives in full force, with one of the greatest song titles ever conceived of, and an incredibly strange plot twist towards the end of the song that some of my compatriots are still talking about. "Oops!" is a classic among classics, and the aforementioned "Heart-related Dance Shizzle " is never better than in the dance sequences for the chorus of this catchy little ditty. Set in what I THINK is a space station in Mars, the video story (again, none of this has been confirmed) has an astronaut giving Britney a necklace that looks like the one on Kate Winslet's naked torso back in the day, and upon questioning, claims he "went down and got it for her." There are so many things that don't make sense here, but music videos aren't ABOUT coherent stories - it's something to watch while we listen to the song that CEMENTED Britney's iconic status.

How to get an Oscar: Be 95 and drop a necklace into the ocean.

Actual song: 10
The video: 9

2000 - "Lucky."

The greatest Britney song/video ever. It's not even close. Truly, no Britney single has stood the test of time like this one, chiefly because of its prophetic nature. Let's review some of the lyrics that, seven years later, seem eerily familiar:

She's so lucky, she's a star,
But she cry, cry, cries in her lonely heart, thinking,
If there's nothing missing in my life,
Then why do these tears come at night?

Lost in an image, in a dream,
But there's no one there to wake her up,
And the world is spinning, and she keeps on winning,
But tell me, what happens when it stops?

Sniff. People who foresee their downfall always get to me. It's very Beaches.

She's in bed. BECAUSE SHE'S DYING. Cannot handle. (In case you're wondering, she's gazing fondly at a series of pictures of young Bette and Barbara taken in Atlantic City when they were 11. After Bette sang her "Glory of Love" number.)

Actual song: 20 million
The video: Ditto

2000 - "Stronger."

The answer to the question, "What would it look like if we put Britney in a room with a metal chair and black lingerie?" has officially been answered. While nothing is as good as "Lucky," the follow-up is off-the-charts amazing and Britney has never been more of a badass. In the first five seconds of the song, she does a crazy three-jump move onto a chair that could be done by NO ONE ELSE, and then proceeds to molest said chair for four minutes. The only weakness in this majesty? In the final minute, they couldn't figure out what else Britney could possibly do with her chair, so they gave her a metal cane to play with. Come on. Have some faith in Britney and the chair.

Actual song: 10
Video: 8

2001 - "Don't Let Me Be The Last To Know."

Yeah, this is a pretty sucky song slash video that was filmed after Britney and her Caucasian love interest broke onto the set of "Lost." I tend to ignore it when I gaze upon her prestigious career. But that's what you get for teaming up with the writing genius of Shania Twain.

Shania, remember when you almost ruined 1999 for me?

Actual song: 3
The video: 2

2001 - "I'm A Slave 4 U."

I admittedly began losing interest in the Britney phenomenon at this point, largely because I'm not into grammatically incorrect song titles and I had just discovered a whole bunch of John Steinbeck novels that turned me hardcore anti-pop culture in the latter half of 2001. Such are the pratfalls of being an Emma in high school. However, if you're rating Britney videos solely based on their ability to get your penis erect, I suspect this is THE video for such carnal stimulation. When Christina Aguilera decided to walk around a boxing ring soaked in sweat flashing a thong and an ass crack, the inspiration came from this video. The prevailing wisdom is that the intense sexuality in "Slave" stemmed from Britney's decision to grow beyond her innocent teen pop image and move into the more mature adult contemporary scene. Which is a pile of shizzle, because she dressed like a complete skank from day one. But I digress. It's a fun time, and in the post-Oops period, it's one of her better endeavors. I can't decide if "post-Oops period" sounds like a bad menstrual cycle or a weird cereal brand. You decide.

Copycat.

Actual song: 6
The video: 6

2001 - "I'm Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman."

You'd think after the colossal flop that came as a direct result of collaborating with a shitty country music artist, Britney would stay away from the slow meandering crap that tends to typify cliche songs hailing from that genre. Not only is this a bad song to listen to, the message is repetitive and basically the same thing Brit's been saying forever. We get it. You're having some human development issues - and you HAVE been for four years. In terms of the video, I consider it the absolute WORST. It's just Britney standing on top of a mountain. Singing. Bring back the metal chair!

RIP metal chair.

Actual song: 2
The video: 1

2001 - "Overprotected."

Britney is at her absolute best when her self-awareness dominates her music. This is best exhibited in the videos for "Lucky" and "Overprotected." When she gets pissed off, sneers and lets her vitriol loose against the society that condemns her (to music, no less), you cannot defeat The Britney. It is completely impossible. In fact, it's the only thing that keeps this particular song afloat. Once again, the oracle-like quality is frighteningly apparent. At the beginning of this video, there's a faux TV newscast of a scantily clad Spears that looks virtually identical to the infamous poon shot of 2006 - I believe during that strange week when she become part of the Lindsay Lohan/Paris Hilton posse. The only difference? The newscast pisses Britney off and she starts singing. Let this be a lesson to us all. The only qualm? She's wearing a heinous outfit that looks more like Trix yogurt than clothing.

Actual song: 7
The video: 7

2002 - "Boys."

By the time we arrive at the last single from her third album, Britney has successfully morphed from a subject of lust to a sexual predator. As mentioned
earlier, I don't think it necessary to explain the nonexistent plotlines, but this one is so strange, I feel it deserves a minor mention. Britney has a pet zebra and appears to be a concubine leaving in the house from The OC. Sometimes, Pharrell shows up and tries to talk up her female posse. Also, I think the bar from Coyote Ugly is in her house. All very, very confusing. Song-wise, it's not in the top tier of Britney songs, but it's got enough eyeshadow and pelvic thrusting to keep it from hardcore tanking into the abyss.

"I belong to Britney!"

Actual song: 5
The video: 6

2003 - "Me Against the Music."

I've always been very noncommital about this song, because it's not really a Britney song - this is a creepy outlet for Madonna to symbolically pass the torch on to her younger brethren. In fact, it's essentially several minutes of Madonna and Britney trying to ravage each other through a ceramic wall. Sure, I can see where the merits can be found in such a display, but this is not quality by any means, and you should never acknowledge someone who suggests otherwise. Also, there is a VERY thin line in the music world between edgy name dropping (perfected in the rap genre) and perturbing conversational pop lyrics. DMX, Snoop, Jay-Z and every other rap artist who chose to eschew their birth name when they burst onto the scene ALWAYS talk about themselves, sometimes even in the third person. It's a narcissistic twitch that typifies that kind of music. However, when you have shizzle like this:
Madonna: Hey Britney?
Britney: Are you ready?
Madonna: Uh huh. Are you?
Ew. Invite them both on Letterman or something if you want to hear them talk to each other. I don't have time for this. The positives? Britney has a truly EXCELLENT hat made out of latex and a turquoise shirt collar and tie without a shirt. There is also a one-second cameo by a delightful English bulldog who is not intimidated by pop music legends playing with a rusty bed frame.

The REAL star of "Me Against the Music."

Actual song: 2
The video: 2

2004 - "Toxic."

After a few years of subpar (by Britney standards) outings, Brit comes back with her last truly great video. It's incredibly strange, even when put up against the zebra-loving concubine and the Madonna writhing all over the floor for no apparent reason video. There's a horny Britney stewardess who drags overweight businessmen into airplane bathrooms and turns them into Jason Lewis lookalikes, a Britney crawling on the ground wearing something that might not even be fabric, a red-wigged Britney who does backflips over red laser things, and a black-haired Britney who kills off hot guys by pouring an Ecto Cooler colored substance into their mouths. VERY Batman and Robin. Oh, and sometimes she rides on motorcycles in Paris with Tyrese, who doesn't like to wear clothing either. And while none of that may sound like enough of a reason to label this a top-tier Britney video, you have to take into account how well this complements the song itself. This is the official face of Britney's last album, and it showcases that move into a grittier, even more sexual sound than the preceeding albums. And if Britney spilling water into a guy's lap and then using the occasion to seuxally assault someone doesn't make that clear, I don't know how else I can convince you.

I don't know if Uma can sue for copyright enfringement, but I would try.

Actual song: 9
The video: 9

2004 - "Everytime."

In a dramatic departure from her last few dance videos, Britney released this piano ballad that contains some of the most disturbing images ever put into one of her singles. Once again, when placed next to Brit's recent adventures with the bottle slash drugs, it makes you wonder if she saw this coming two years earlier. The video is greatly heightened with an appearance by Stephen Dorff as her violent boyfriend who likes to throw tabloids at photographers and smash flower vases, but it's hard to enjoy the shirtless Dorff (do ANY of these guys in her video know how to keep their clothes on?) when we're watching Britney drown in a bathtub, either from a head wound caused by a scuffle with the aforementioned photographers or from the bottles of pills stacked up on the sides of the tub. It's hard to say which. While congratulations go to Brit for making her one video with a coherent story, the chasm between "Stronger" Britney and "Everytime" Britney makes me sad. Let's insert another metal chair to cheer me up.

The video: 8
The song: 8

2005 - "Do Somethin'."

This is an abyssmal mess, and I really wish we could have ended the tribute with the last video, since it perfectly segues into today, but that would be ignoring history, and we do not want Weenie Enema to get such a reputation. This is the first and only video Britney directed, and a decent human being should have seen this coming a mile away and kept her away from the camera. Marlon Brando also felt a strong desire to exercise some directorial control, and we ended up with a Giant Shitstorm. I don't know if full responsibility for the pink Hummer driving through the clouds should go to Britney, but someone should have been punished severely for that. It looked like a Care Bears acid flashback, and it's not even redeemed by a particularly good song. Very, very run of the mill, and not just for Britney. How many times have we seen her drag a bunch of scantily-clad female underlings into a club (in videos and on Page Six) and start dancing? Britney, you are so much better than this video. I understand that the lyrics clearly state "Somebody give me my truck so I can ride on the clouds," but that's not an invitation to actually show that to us. Very disappointing.

"Britney! Don't run over us!"

Looks aren't everything, but they kind of are for Britney. When she's bloated and knocked up, she's not nearly as fun as when she's sexing up random people in skin-tight scuba gear. Brit, watch your videos and come back. We miss you like the wolf.

"WE LOVE YOU, BRITNEY!"

BRags issues a call for help!

2007-02-28T15:16:00.000-08:00

Friends of Weenie Enema,

Yes it's true. I need help with my Senior Thesis. I'm conducting a phone survey and trying to get at least 500, hopefully 1000 responses. For this, I need volunteers to call people. Ideally, I'd like volunteers to collect 10-20 surveys each from phone numbers I provide. If I get 50-100 volunteers, it should be easy to reach my goal responses. The survey takes about 2-3 minutes to complete over the phone.

I'll be presenting my completed thesis in Chicago to the invitational Midwestern Political Science Association Conference, and I'm seeking publication after that. Those who assist in survey collection will be credited in the paper. All volunteers recieve my unending thanks. I'm looking for just 30 min to an hour of your time. You can probably count this as community service.

Please let me know if you can help and I'll send you the survey and some phone numbers.

For those who want to know, my Thesis is about the way Americans view warfare. It involves movies and American mass media's effect on the way Americans understand and choose to support or oppose a particular war. Below is an illustration, from the text:

Remember When Nicole Kidman Decided to Come to the Oscars Dressed as a Christmas Stocking?

2007-02-26T06:13:00.000-08:00

Me too.

Although my Oscar analysis has had to overcome tremendous obstacles because of my inability to liveblog and be cool at the same time, I was able to retain enough Nicole Christmas stocking-esque moments to provide a legit recap for my loyal reader base. Before I delve into the nitty-gritty, I would like to formally deliver a shout-out to DB Bogangles for allowing me to attend a social gathering that included other people, and Z-Dog, who voluntarily agreed to stand behind the couch with me and scan the procedings from a diety-like position. Z-Dog also hates Dreamgirls. And does not mind when people yell "Poon!" at the TV whenever Ellen Degeneres is on.

Does anybody else think it's weird when Ellen says she's attracted to random male celebrities? I can't remember which specific guy she was talking about, but when lesbians say, "Oh, it's too bad (insert name of celebrity with penis) is taken," it's just an insult to the world's intelligence. We know you don't really think about Leonardo DiCaprio when you're in bed with Portia diRossi. It's okay. We can take it.

As an aside, I would have given Ellen's hosting gig a B. It wasn't embarrassingly unfunny like Chris Rock's attempt at transcending his schtick to mainstream society, but I suspect she sacrificed edgy humor/talent so that she might get asked back next year. Not a stupid move, but for my own personal amusement, I would have loved to see some Nicole Christmas Stocking Jokes. Just two or three of them. I feel I speak for the masses.

First things first. Since Peter O'Toole was the nostalgic old man poon lust underdog of the evening, we were treated to oodles of shots of him in his chair staring vapidly into space with his mouth approximately 20% open. What no one appeared to notice, or at least wouldn't overtly comment on, was the fact that he brought Angelica Huston to the Oscars. They are apparently having a geriatric affair of sorts, and it should have been noted for those watching at home who have never seen "The Witches" and have no idea who that decrepit oddity next to him was.

He also apparently brought a prepubescent elvin creature to the ceremony. Classy.

My award for the Smartest Move of the Evening goes to Kirsten Dunst, who has been alerted to the fact that we all know she doesn't brush her teeth, and wisely kept her smiles toothless. Well done.

A little too Gwyneth, but we'll take what we can get.

The award for Eyerolling Dot Net goes to Jennifer Hudson, whose hourglass figure and voicebox dealt a solid KO to The Rinko. Don't you just LOVE it when someone who had a 99% chance of winning says, "I had no idea I was going to win." Whatever. You know who should have said that? Rinko. Because Rinko is amazing and didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of winning because of the Deaf Mute Poon Clause that was written on the Academy Award ballot this year. A travesty beyond all travesties.

Don't worry, Rinko. It's nothing we haven't seen before.

I do want to take a moment to single out Abigail Breslin, who came close to saving Little Miss Sunshine from being a contrived piece of shizzle, but ultimately failed. We heart people who come to the Oscars looking like Precious Moments figurines.

Separated at birth? You decide.

In terms of actual awardness, it was a mixed bag. It was infinitely enjoyable to see Eddie Murphy's miserable stoicness during Alan Arkin's speech, knowing he was NEVER going to be anywhere NEAR the Oscars again. But hey, I don't recall anyone putting a gun to his head and MAKING him sign up for Daddy Day Care. Or any of the other countless shitfests on his resume.

Everyone's masturbatory fascination with Al Gore has become a bit grating. I have nothing against Al personally, although that lipsucking session with Tipper during the 2000 Democratic Convention has been etched into my brain, and I've been unsuccessfully attempting to remove it since. I understand that 90% of the auditorium thinks he won that election, but...he didn't. And then he grew a beard and went crazy.

If you type in "al gore crazy" on Yahoo, this comes up. Love.

In conclusion, I resolve to find out why Forest Whitaker has a wonky eye. I thought the burglar in Panic Room was SUPPOSED to have a wonky eye, and that the cop in Phone Booth was SUPPOSED to have a wonky eye. When the African dictator had the wonky eye, I became suspicious.
Other famous wonky eyes:

Melissa Joan Hart.

TV Theme Songs, Puggies and Other Assorted Shizzle.

2007-02-21T10:33:00.000-08:00

My loyal comrade DB Bogangles (who will NOT let me liveblog the Oscars at her party because she fears her social position will be put in jeopardy, and will NOT let me bring a poster that says, "NOTES ON A SCANDAL BOJANGLES!" for reasons that have not been made entirely clear to me, but probably have something to do with the aforementioned social position) and I are about to embark on hardcore momentous blog posts about theme songs, which is a subject near and dear to my cold, cold heart. The tentative format will be a post dedicated to each of our top five tv theme songs, a post dedicated to five honorable mentions, and a post dedicated to theme songs that are so atrocious, we feel compelled to avoid the actual show for fear of being...ear drum poisoned. Which is a new phrase I just invented. If my readership has any suggestions regarding said format dot dot dot.

At work, I was given a postcard advertisement for an art show consisting of dog paintings. The postcard shows a puggie that is viciously humping a furry heart that says, "I Love You." It reminds me of the time I went to a mad sketch street fair in Flemington, NJ in 1998. I played one of those balloon dart games and managed to succcessfully pop two balloons. My prize was a brown furry heart thing that had probably been collecting dust/disease for months. My mom was so repulsed that she gave the carnival vendor $10 so that I could win a stuffed dog with plastic red ears.
I miss the brown furry heart.

I have come to the conclusion that if you were a celebrity teenage boy in the 1990s and you had three names, you were hot. Observe:

Jonathan Taylor Thomas.

True story: My dad was driving me home from grocery shopping at the Grand Union (RIP) and I was scouring a recently purchased issue of Teen Beat, Tiger Beat, 16, Bop, or some such goodness. I was reading aloud the fanmail from JTT, and one girl wrote, "I would drool an ocean for him!" My dad laughed so hard he drove off the road and stopped the car for five minutes until he had enough control over his body to continue down Route 12. Further down the page, another girl brazenly claimed she was the biggest JTT fan ever because she had 25 posters of him up on her bedroom walls. Two weeks later, I had 26. Just to spite her. It is not known if someone found out about my 26 posters and intentionally bought 27 to officially become the biggest JTT fan.

Jason James Richter.

Hmm. He's not as hot as I remember from my first screening of Free Willy.
Several weeks ago, Drunk Erin and I got into a SCREAMING match over Jason James Richter because she kept insisting that Elijah Wood was in Flipper, which he is, but I thought she said Free Willy, so for five minutes, we had an exchange similar to this:
Drunk Erin: I'm telling you, Elijah was in Flipper!
EE: No!!!! IT'S SOME OTHER KID WITH THREE NAMES!
Drunk Erin: Um...that's not the same movie!
EE: YES IT IS!
Drunk Erin: That was Free Willy.
EE: I KNOW! THAT'S WHAT WE'RE TALKING ABOUT!
Drunk Erin: *frowns* Ingrid...I'm sober. Buy me beer.
Ingrid: Okaaaaay.

Look out for the TV theme post goodness. I leave you with a furry heart.

Introduction of Beretta Mego (guest post)

2007-02-05T19:40:00.000-08:00

As a new entity on this blog I feel i should introduce myself. I am the fiancee of BRags (Bobbie Ragsdale) and have quickly become friends with one Ms. E.E. Grimshaw. I was mentioned in a previous interview with BRags. I'm Meghan Jorgenson, the long time best friend from 7th grade that he spent Thanksgiving '06 with and had a part in his break up with GrrrlVicious.

So that aside I will tell you a little about me. I'm a 22 year old Accounting student at LSU. I was born and raised in Louisiana. My parents divorced when I was 3 and my dad remarried when I was 6. I have a half sister named Julia who is 13. I live in Baton Rouge with my 3 year old dog, Lucy Bear, and my 4 year old cat, Smokey.

I went to a small private school from the age of 2 until I was in 8th grade. This is where I met BRags. We met in sixth grade but didn't become best friends until 7th grade. We bonded on a level uncommon to the normal 7th grader. We grew to be really close over the years. We always stayed in touch somehow (usually Instant Messenger).

I went to high school in the city of New Orleans. High school Sucked! Girls are unnecessarily vicious and boys are after one thing no matter how good of friends you think they are. I have been in and out of therapy my entire life. My mom was always worried about my emotional well being. I only appreciated therapy when I went to my last therapist. In high school I did a lot of self reflection and attempted to improve myself in every way possible. I was spurred by a vicious girl I had befriended. She infiltrated my home life as well as my school life. I skipped school for a week and drove around all day just so I could get some peace of mind. When I got caught I was sent to a therapist. I wanted to go this time. He was an incredible mentor. He made me figure out my problems. I also had to figure out how to fix them myself. He would help me when I got stuck but he was teaching me an invaluable ability. He taught me to be honest with myself and to solve my own problems if they were solvable and how to deal with them if they aren't solvable. I was out of therapy in a few months with a mass amount of insight and knowledge. Shortly after I graduated and went to college.

In high school I lived by the motto that you should learn from every event in your life. If you learn something from a bad experience then it is now something good. This helped me keep an optimistic outlook on life. (People describe me as an extremely happy person. My nick name since middle school has been "giggles". Appropriately so, since I laugh or giggle all of the time. I just would rather laugh and enjoy life rather than be a sad or angry person.)

College was a whole new start for me. I no longer was shy. I let people see the real me and had a great time. Apparently too good of a time. I focused on my social life so much that my school work suffered. I eventually made the biggest mistake of my life and stopped going to class. Which led me to flunking out. I took a year off of school and figured some things out. I quickly straightened up and got back into school. It is such a tremendous effort to raise your GPA! I know this from experience. I'm still struggling to get it to an acceptable number. But, like I said, I learned from my mistakes. I love accounting and actually want to be in school. (I have been a math nerd for my entire life.)

Meanwhile my love life has always been a roller coaster. Bobbie was the first guy I ever said, "I love you" to. Freshman year of high school I dated a guy 3 years older than me. He and I had major problems. He was in love with me and I was trying to fix him. He had to be better then me and if he wasn't he would just avoid doing things with me. The last straw was the year of accusations I received. I was accused of cheating on a daily basis. (I never once cheated.) I broke it off after 2 years when, I couldn't handle the emotional burden anymore. There were a few flings and then I had my next boyfriend. The end of my junior year I dated an extremely intelligent but a party hardy guy. We spent 2 and a half years together before we ended it. He was a great guy and we are still best of friends and love each other. We were just taking different roads in our lives and heading in separate directions (metaphorically speaking). We are much happier as friends. I quickly rebounded into the worst relationship of my life that lasted about a year. He was as sweet as could be for about 6 months and then his temper started to show. After about 9 months he went from emotional abuse to physical abuse. Don't worry I'm a tough cookie. I grew up with all boys and had learned to hold my own in a fight. He got hurt worse than I ever did I think. The emotional abuse hurt more than anything else. I kicked him out when things escalated to a point that started to really worry me. I dated a few friends after that. Bad idea. I learned guys are jerks even guys you have known for a while.

This is when I started to really get upset. I finally got back in touch with BRags (who I had lost contact with for the past two years). I was upset and told him he needs to come home and take me on a real date. Cause I knew he was a sincere and nice guy and would treat me the way I wanted and deserved to be treated. He breaks my heart and tells me he is engaged ( I guess I deserved it for breaking his heart in the 8th grade). I gave him a tongue lashing for not telling me when he got engaged. He informed me he was coming home for Thanksgiving and we should hang out. (I had heard this before and was let down in previous holiday attempts to "catch up".) I talked to him almost everyday and told him I was going to be home (in New Orleans) alone for Thanksgiving. He agreed to spend it with me to avoid the annoying comments about his fiancee.

I should probably mention I was dating a friend of mine who I thought was a nice guy at the time. So BRags invitation was completely platonic. I had no intentions that anything more would happen between us. Just so that is clear.

BRags came in and I picked him up from the airport. We stayed at my home in Crown Point. We drove back and forth from Crown Point,LA to Diamondhead,MS every day. We spent a lot of time singing oldies in the car and talking. We seemed to have picked up right where we had left off. We still had that strange bond and connection we always had. I became alarmed by his family's worries of his impending marriage. They said they hadn't seen him as happy as he was with me in years. In a car ride back to Louisiana I asked him to tell me about his fiance. We started talking and I told him how I felt about marriage. I told him how I felt about a lot of things. I also told him I would support him whatever he decided to do despite his families wishes. The hour and a half long conversation was indeed an interesting one. I found out he was unhappy. I also found out how much he cared for me.

In the end he decided he had to break off his engagement. He knew at the time he may never have a shot with me but, he had to take the risk. He left to go back to New York and I was left to think about things. I knew if I was going to date him, he would be the last guy I dated. I was not deciding to just date him I was deciding whether or not I was going to marry him. BRags and I talked everyday until he came home again for Christmas. I was still dating (if you could call it that) when BRags came in. He stayed with me for a little over two weeks over the holidays. I was stood up on the day before Christmas Eve and it made me miss BRags so much. He was in Diamondhead and I was in Crown Point. I called him and talked to him for an hour. I quickly realized he is always the guy I turn to. The whole reason we were even spending the holidays together was because I wanted to go on a date with him.

I went to Diamondhead the next day and was unbelievably nervous. I had finally made my decision. I wanted to be with Bobbie. He gave me the most thoughtful and surprising gift and melted my heart. He was everything I wanted in a partner. I was still nervous though I was afraid to hurt him. The day after Christmas I finally kissed him and made "us" an official couple. We spent a week together after the kiss and I have never felt so loved or felt so much love for someone else.

Before he left I told him I knew he was the one I wanted to marry. Shortly after he returned to West Point we decided the wedding should be soon. S o I have been busy throwing a wedding together. I've completed all the details in less than a month. I'm really proud of this accomplishment.

So... Everyone should now be thoroughly introduced to me. Y'all should be up to date on BRags and my relationship. EE Grimshaw is hoping to be able to set up an interview with me soon. (details are TBA) I look forward to any questions and promise to answer anything you throw at me. As I told Ms. Grimshaw I don't care if people don't like me as long as they get to know the real me first. Judge me for who I am not what you think I am. (Emma said I should throw this in here)

BTW- Ms. Grimshaw has nick named me Beretta Mego. Due to the picture below. I have quickly grown fond of this nick name. Anyway I look forward to meeting y'all for my interview.

Until next time.... Beretta Mego out.

Official Confirmation That Dreamgirls Wasn't That Good: The Weenie Enema Oscar Preview.

2007-02-01T07:25:00.000-08:00

I don't think I could have stomached two mediocre musicals winning Best Picture within five years of each other. Thankfully, that is no longer a possibility. Although (as usual) I have many, many issues with the nomination selection process, most of them are overshadowed by the Academy refusing to bow down to peer pressure and relegating Dreamgirls to Supporting Actor/Actress glories and the musical and art categories that no one cares about. This is a huge step in my overall goal - being annointed Offical Person Who Selects the Winners of the Academy Awards.

As many of my loyal readers are aware, I am already the Only Official Person Who Acknowledges the Spice Girls and a Possible Reunion Tour in the Coming Years.

Actor in a Leading Role.
Leonardo DiCaprio - Blood Diamond.
Ryan Gosling - Half Nelson.
Peter O'Toole - Venus.
Will Smith - The Pursuit of Happyness.
Forest Whitaker - The Last King of Scotland.

I bet Leo wasn't the only one who laughed out loud when he saw Blood Diamond next to his name. Are they serious? He's getting nominated for doing a horrible imitation of Charlize with facial hair and running around after Djimon Hounsou in South Africa? Did the Academy see The Departed? "Sure, he was good in the Scorcese movie, but it can't compete with, 'In America, it's bling bling. But out here, it's bling bang.'"
The Ryan Gosling selection is interesting, because the hardcore film creatures at OscarWatch have been prattling on about this Half Nelson movie forever, and I'm not aware of anyone outside of that Website who has any idea this movie exists. He's clearly not going to win, but it would have been nice if this selection somehow pushed out the biannual attempt to glorify the Fresh Prince. Remember when Will Smith was legitimately cool and made Westerns with Kenneth Branagh?

"Ay dios mio! The teleprompter is in English!" - Salma Hayek.

Who Was Hardcore Gypped Like The Wolf?: The same person who was gypped by the Foreign Press - Patrick Wilson in Little Children. But, you know, they HAD to nominate Leo twice. Because out here, it's bling bang.

Weenie Enema prediction: Although the old man poon lust was mouthdroppingly insane, Ugandan dictators are creepier. Especially when they advocate hanging people by their skin and disassembling Kerry Washington's body into an unrecognizable, congealed mess.

Oops, that's Robert Mugabe, not Idi Amin. Africa is confusing.

Actor in a Supporting Role.
Alan Arkin - Little Miss Sunshine.
Jackie Earle Haley - Little Children.
Djimon Hounsou - Blood Diamond.
Eddie Murphy - Dreamgirls.
Mark Whalberg - The Departed.

The Blood Diamond promotional tour continues. Somewhere, Jennifer Connolly is standing on a dock staring mournfully out at the water. Because she does that in every movie she has ever been in. At least Djimon wasn't doing a Charlize impression. Or playing a creepy half-naked guy with AIDS who stares at naive Irish girls.
With the exception of the requisite Dreamgirls selection, the rest of the list is solid. However, have you noticed that Mark Whalberg gets hotter as his hair gets shorter, and significantly grosser when the hair gets longer? Observe:

Short hair = hot.

Long hair = gross.
Very strange.
This rule also applies to Denzel Washington.

No hair = hot.

Longer hair = ew.
Clearly something I should have dedicated an entire post to.

Who Was Hardcore Gypped Like the Wolf?: Brad Pitt. Without question. The guy is one of the worst mainstream actors ever, but put him in a room with Cate Blanchett weeing herself and give him some gnarly gray facial hair, and you have majesty.

Weenie Enema Prediction: The father of TWO Spice Girl babies (fingers crossed) will momentarily rise above his Bowfinger past and get heckled by the Scary Spice supporters who were conspiciously absent during his Golden Globe win. Actually, this is more of a hope than a prediction. Take from it what you will.

"This was fun, but it's time to go back to filming Bowfinger 4."

Actress in a Leading Role.
Penelope Cruz - Volver.
Judi Dench - Notes on a Scandal.
Helen Mirren - The Queen.
Meryl Streep - The Devil Wears Prada.
Kate Winslet - Little Children.

I don't think it's possible to be more in love with a category. Everyone in here was amazing and deserves something, although I think the Academy simply feels obligated to honor Meryl as often as they can. (See of the Heart, Music.) Although it's almost moot to speculate on this at all, since everyone knows who's going to win, I think special props should go out to Judi Dench, whose on-screen partnership with the Maine Coon cat was the stuff of legends. Was the previous sentence simply an excuse to put in a picture of an over-fluffed creature of wonderment?

Duh. Of course it was.

And I know I'm going to get hate mail about this, but seeing that cat on top of a fish tank is making me wonder if the insertion of the Maine Coon in Notes was supposed to be creepy animal symbolism...because...cats like fish and Judi likes - alright. I'm done. Just something to consider.

Who Was Hardcore Gypped Like the Wolf?: No one was, but let's just say Jennifer Connolly for Blood Diamond so she comes off that dock and stops moping.

Weenie Enema Prediction: Helen Mirren's dress at the Globes was too long to see if the thunder calves of the Queen were prosthetic or not, but maybe we'll find out later this month!

Edible calf. Mmmmm.

Actress in a Supporting Role.
Adriana Barraza - Babel.
Cate Blanchett - Notes on a Scandal.
Abigail Breslin - Little Miss Sunshine.
Jennifer Hudson - Dreamgirls.
Rinko Kikuchi - Babel.

Although this is another category where the winner has been all but announced, Cate Blanchett deserves some kind of reward from humanity for having to endure the seductive finger stroking of Judi Dench on her forearms for what seemed like an eternity. Now, people who have seen the movie will be quick to point out that she makes up for that by having multiple hot nude scenes with the Irish boy who looks likes a wolf. Yes. We liked. But no one deserves to be poon stalked by Judi Dench, not even if your sex partner is Balto.

Cate Blanchett getting lucky.

Cate Blanchett getting not so lucky.

Who Was Hardcore Gypped Like The Wolf?: Sylvia Syms for The Queen, the only person who legitimately could provide comic relief as the Queen Mum, and did. That movie would have been dryer than - no, I promised I would stop talking about Judi.

Weenie Enema Prediction: If Jennifer Hudson winning Best Supporting Actress means we never have to hear about Dreamgirls ever again, then I will grit my teeth and accept fate. I still maintain my allegience to The Rinko. If she gets typecast as a deaf mute, she could totally play Helen Keller in a remake of The Miracle Worker. And for a brief period of time, I would probably be allowed to share my Helen Keller jokes with the world outside my apartment/Devra.

Helen Keller went to town, riding on a pony. Stuck a feather in her cap and called it mmmeerrroooooo.

Since I think the Deaf Mute Rights Association is about to shut me down, just know that Babel should win Best Picture. The end.

One more Maine Coon for the road.

Either I Am Inherently Wise, Or Awards Shows Are Mad Predictable.

2007-01-31T06:58:00.000-08:00

Clearly the former.
I have obviously been slacking regarding my wall-to-wall coverage of Superficial Awards Show Goodness 2K7, but we will try to rectify the situation as best we can.

First, a few words must be said about the Golden Globes. My predicting powers are second to none:
Best Picture - Babel.
Right on. If you will recall, my exact words regarding this category were: "Bobby is the answer to the questions, 'What doesn't belong here?' and 'Why did Emilio Estevez let an anonymous man from the Hollywood Foreign Press Association suckle him for two hours last week?'" I love when we have the answer to questions before they're even asked. It's very Jeopardy!. At any rate, I have been in full support of the Babel Oscar push since Day 1, and this is definitely a step in the right direction.

"Take a bath with me, Hollywood Foreign Press. Rooowr."

Best Actress (Drama) - Helen Mirren.
ZZZZ. I got that one right too, but the chances of someone else winning were roughly equivalent to the chances of Barack Obama not having blue lips. Did I say that? Um...Hillary 2008!

I love the Eleanor Roosevelt corpse behind her.

Best Actor (Drama) - Forest Whitaker.
Again, was anyone surprised? While everyone knew the outcome of this race, I feel like I'm definitely in the minority in terms of actually seeing the movie and witnessing vomiting spectators. And while I really have nothing against Forest and his lazy eye, his bumbling performance at the podium in which he claimed he didn't know he was going to win was balderdash. SHEER BALDERDASH. So far, three for three.

I do not recall a movie in which Forest Whitaker played the creepy ghost painting in Ghostbusters 2. Shrug.

Best Supporting Actress - Jennifer Hudson.

Seriously. I don't know why they even had the last hour of the Globes. If Rinko staged a hit on her (which she should totally do, because she was ROBBED), the Post headline would be "Japanese Deaf-Mute Poon Flasher Caps Dreamgirl." That would be funny.

She'll probably never be in another English language movie, but we love The Rinko.

Best Supporting Actor (Drama) - Eddie Murphy.
I failed. I picked Brad Pitt. But that's because I'm RIGHT and he SHOULD have won. If I've said it once, I've said it a million times - you should not be rewarded for playing yourself. Christ.
However, sometimes it is necessary to own up to mistakes. I predicted that if Eddie won, the Spice Girls would mob the stage. This did not happen. But if they had reunited like they were SUPPOSED to, they would have.

If the father of her kid is also Eddie Murphy, I will never stop laughing.

Best Motion Picture (Musical or Comedy) - Dreamgirls.
Shrug. I suck. I said Borat. Let this be a lesson to all of us. In an Ali G/Beyonce grudge match, sometimes the pseudo British rapper does not win. My bad.

That's basically the outfit I wore to school every day in high school. Except the jumpsuit was neon green. This is why I talk to no one from high school.

Best Actress (Musical or Comedy) - Meryl Streep.
I'm making a comeback. However, if they had put Judi Dench in this category for Notes on a Scandal, which they should have, because she was HARDCORE funny, this would have been a much tighter race. Remember when Natalie beat out Meryl for a Globe in 2004 (5 MINUTES after Mariska won)? Sigh of happiness.

Note to Rinko: If you had flashed your poon at Clive Owen, you would have taken home the Globe.

I'm ignoring the other awards because they're not as fun. But as you can see, I am awesome at this. At least this year. Stay tuned for tomorrow's Oscar preview, and I MIGHT do something totally lame tonight and liveblog the PBS Supreme Court documentary, which should cut my readership roughly in half.

Random quiz of the day: Who can name the Supreme Court justice named after my favorite food?

A Birthday Party In Which The Guest of Honor Was Unaware of the Aforementioned Party.

2007-01-29T09:10:00.000-08:00

We rarely sink to the depths of diary-like entries, but when a hardcore shindig occurs at Weenie Enema HQ, it is necessary to file a brief report on the festivities. As most loyal readers are aware, Olivia, the cat of Meow Mix House fame, celebrated her birthday this past weekend with roughly 10-15 people, most of whom never actually had any direct contact with the feline. That didn't stop several people from bringing ice cream cakes, birthday cards and weird catnip-laced playthings for Olivia, all of which will undoubtedly be appreciated once Olivia stops staring at the red sheet on the side of the futon.
Courtesy of DB Bogangles, a willing and able substitute for our usual photographer, Michelle, who was in Spokane for figure skating shizzle:

Although Bogangles strategically placed the catnip sack near Olivia's line of vision, it was sadly ignored and later put next to the food bowl, which Olivia will probably visit in the next few days. In the bottom portion of the picture, you can see the corner of Disney's Aladdin on VHS. Only the best.

She's...kind of looking at it. After this photo was taken, the party guests accepted fate, and a system of mutual ignoring took place between the birthday girl and the attendees.

Psychologically speaking, we thought Olivia would be able to handle the influx of humans much better if stuffed animals were brought along to even out the human/animal equation. It is not known if Olivia even saw the faux cats, bears and octopi, but Big Bear loved being in the middle of the crowded papasan chair with his newly acquired homies.

And in case you feel bad because you weren't invited or you decide to flake out and not attend, you SHOULD feel pretty crappy, because you missed...a DVD viewing of the 1996 Olympics Gymnastics Finals!! Which...may be a burned DVD that I got on eBay that goes a bit apeshit during the balance beam rotation, specifically Dominique Dawes' performance. I think we turned it off to belt out some Backstreet Boys circa 1997 before Kerri decided to sever her ankle tendons.

Peter O'Toole Trolling for Poon is All Well and Good...Except If He's, Like, 95.

2007-01-29T07:29:00.000-08:00

1.9 stars.

The term "nauseatingly disgusting" can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people. For instance, there are some people who think that the gratuitous carnage and anal penetration on Oz is "nauseatingly disgusting." Some people, like myself, can deal with it out of respect for the hardcore badassness of the show. Some people think saccharine-laced gagfests like a film adoptation of a Nicholas Sparks novel fall into this category. I would agree. However, there are some things in life that are just so beyond gross that every single person with a rational thought process has to find them creepy and deeply disturbing. For instance, let's say - and I'm not speaking from any first-hand experience; I'm just trying to conjure up the most disgusting concept imaginable - you came across someone giving a dog a blowjob and the dog jizzed all over their face. That would be REALLY REALLY gross, and unless you're...no, I can't think of a single person on the planet that would be okay with that. Maybe there's a really sick pup (no pun intended) out there in the Nebraska cornfields into that, but I've got to think they're in an extremely tiny minority on this one.

This dog cannot be doing anything disgusting because it has clothes on.

With that in mind, I feel the main theme in Venus falls into the universal category of "nauseatingly disgusting." There is no doggie jism anywhere, but the entire plot is about Peter O'Toole's unhealthy sexual fixation on a girl younger than me. I had a brief conversation with the kid at work who looks like Bambi about movies in which older men go after younger women, and neither one of us could think of anything as astoundingly perturbing as what I witnessed. There is a HUGE difference between, say, Jack Nicholson and Helen Hunt getting together and Peter O'Toole and Jodie Whittaker having a weird sexual tension thing going on. (In the interest of legit journalism and whatnot, in real life, Jodie is a bit older than me, but I find this fact irrelevent because she's playing a girl who's supposed to be about 17 and looks it.) A 70-year-old man getting with a 30-year-old woman is strange and certainly attracts some negative attention, but there's SUCH a dramatic dropoff when you compare that to the same 70-year-old man going after someone 10 or more years younger. There's a blurry boundary line there, but believe me, Peter O'Toole crosses it and then some.

See? They have all their clothes on, and it STILL looks creepy.

Peter doesn't help the situation by aging HORRIBLY. Don't get me wrong - Peter O'Toole is one of the last remaining fixtures from the badass era of cinema, but it turns out that sucking on cancer sticks for 70 years makes you look...older than 70. It also turns out that having a weak Irish jawline exacerbates a wrinkly gullet neck situation. So Peter looks about 90 and like he's going to keel over at any moment. It's not a pretty sight. Not only do we have to LOOK at Peter O'Toole for an hour and half, but we have to watch him lust after nubile flesh. It is not made apparent why said nubile flesh has no problem with yellow, decaying teeth and more wrinkles than the pug I saw this past weekend with my cousin that was chained to a metal cellar door thing on the sidewalk wearing a maroon hoodie that said "JUICY DRAMA QUEEN" on it. I named her Drama Bojangles of Carpathia.

I still have no idea what the point of making this movie was. It can't simply be a showcase for Peter O'Toole's sagging old man face, because everyone knows about it, and the old chap has clearly had his day, back when the sagging old man face looked less like a poon. And it can't be because the idea of the movie itself was a good idea, because...it's not.

In case you think I've been exaggerating about this, I'm going to provide you with two clear-cut examples from this movie that will probably make you want to throw up a little in your mouth. Like I did two weeks ago when the homeless woman on the bus who smelled like cat pee fell on me.
1. The first five minutes of the movie involve a Peter O'Toole prostate exam.
It's not brief, it's not tasteful. It's a trough-dropping old man, it's a lubricated finger, and it's a lot of uncomfortable noises, only one of which comes from the top portion of Peter's body.
2. The poon-sniffing incident.
It's not nearly as funny as it sounds. Towards the end of the movie, Jodie Whitaker, fully aware that Peter O'Toole has an old man lust crush on her, fingers herself and lets him inhale her musk. He breathes deeply and then tries to SUCK the fingers. I died a little everywhere.

SPIRIT FINGERS!

In conclusion, Venus is grosser than the diseased udders on the mad cow costume on eBay that I wanted to buy, and I am boycotting all movies with advertisements depicting old men with neck vaginas.

I Clearly Cannot Be Anti-Musical Because I Spent My Entire Austrian Vacation Watching The Sound of Music.

2007-01-09T07:23:00.000-08:00

2.1 stars.

I can already foresee the deluge of hate mail. "You're anti-black movies!" "You're anti-musicals with SUBSTANCE!" "How can you not like the amazing songs in Dreamgirls?" It's not that I'm anti-Dreamgirls - it's that I'm anti awarding acting accolades for musically-themed endeavors that mistake singing for cinematic quality.

Dreamgirls is not technically a bad movie; I found it rather enjoyable. But it's enjoyability stems from factors that should automatically eliminate it from Oscar contention. The story is thin, the acting is overrated, and like many musicals, though certainly not all of them (see title), the random songs interspersed throughout the movie weaken the overall plot, not strengthen it. For instance, arguably the best song in the movie is the one Jennifer Hudson belts out in the middle, "And I'm Telling You, I'm Not Going." She's an amazing singer, and definitely one of the few highlights of the movie was watching Beyonce pretend that Hudson's superior singing voice didn't bother her. When Jamie Foxx tells her towards the end that the only reason she replaced Jennifer Hudson in the group was because her voice was bland and better suited for mass consumption, you can legit SEE Beyonce trying to remember that it's only a movie and her character's supposed to have a good voice, but not the best voice. Poor, poor Beyonce. Not a particularly good actress, and just a pretty good singer. At least she CAN sing. Jay-Z just raps.

Destiny's Child apparently aren't the only recording artists releasing songs with the same word repeated at least twice in the title.

The Jennifer Hudson situation is a grave one and needs to be discussed at length. Jennifer Hudson is not an experienced actress, and it shows. She's not BAD, but she's not playing a particularly in-depth character that requires thespian abilities. Hudson was hired because she has a great, great voice, and the compliments regarding said voice are totally deserved. I don't think I have ever been in a movie theater where people in the audience actually CLAPPED following a song. I DID clap during American Pie when that Willow girl from Buffy said that incredibly crude statement about her flute and nether regions, but that's because I was 14 and was beyond immature and wholeheartedly appreciated a profanity-laced curveball thrown at me. This is clearly no longer the case. I am oozing maturity.

Heh. Poop.

But the general population is confusing Hudson's superior singing talent with acting talent. It's an understandable mistake. The entire movie hinges on the songs, and she sells them like the wolf. If Oscars were given out to people who merely stood out from the rest of the cast, Vin Diesel and Chance from Homeward Bound would both be polishing off their statuettes as we speak. Perhaps there ARE some Academy voters out there who think like that. It's sort of like the baseball MVP debate. Do you give an award for Most Valuable Player to someone who merely collects impressive statistics throughout the year on a mediocre team, or do you give it to someone who doesn't have the same numbers, but was playing on a better team? I think you give it to the person in the better movie who has to rely on, I don't know, their ACTING to generate Oscar buzz. Shoutout to Rinko.

"What's the matter Sassy, wake up on the wrong side of the litter box?" Best Michael J. Fox movie EVER. With the exception of Teen Wolf.

Because the movie so obviously depends on Jennifer Hudson's character Effie, Beyonce gets little face time and no legitimate personality until she decides to storm out of Jamie Foxx's Boogie Nights lovenest and bring Effie back for the Dreams' grand finale. Which is totally the right move, but Dreamgirls would have been a lot more interesting if we actually got to find out what Beyonce was thinking as she slept her way to the front of the group, Foxx style. Early in the movie, Beyonce has a 2-minute scene in which she announces that she would never just start boning random guys, and then within about 15 minutes, oh wait, she's aiding and abetting Jamie Foxx's hormonal needs. Beyonce? Did your slut awakening speech get cut in post-production?
As an aside, I thought Jamie Foxx was much better than Eddie Murphy, who was playing what appeared to be a character that's exactly like Eddie Murphy, minus the Gary Glitter leisure suits. We cannot confirm this until we speak to Scary Spice.

"You dumped GIRL POWER? Zig a zig AH."

Weenie Enema is initating a letter-writing campaign to get the Spice Girls to do a reunion tour in our apartment. Does anyone know if they take Pepsi as legal tender?

Looks like they do.

An Anti-Cat Bias in the Media. (guest post by Olivia the cat)

2007-01-09T06:53:00.000-08:00

Hello, Weenie Enema readers! I would like to thank Emma for letting me have some face time with her audience today. Since I spend most of my day staring at Ingrid or sleeping, this is a huge opportunity for me to be mildly productive. I would like to call your attention to a news story out of Australia that I found when I went on Emma's laptop before my 9am nap. An Australian bank issued a credit card to Messiah, one of my feline counterparts Down Under. Her "owner," Katherine Campbell, went through the process of putting Messiah on her credit card plan as a demonstration of how shoddy the bank's security procedures are.

Excuse me? Why isn't the media taking the time to acknowledge how INNOVATIVE this bank is? Bridging the gap between cat and man is crucial, and the Bank of Queensland is responding to a pressing need in the feline community. We're already at a stunning disadvantage in this cruel, cruel world, forced into a life of menial domestication and reality shows we have no control over. Humans berate us for misleading reputations of being self-involved and uncaring, when nothing could be further from the truth. Our species has risen far above the inane stupidity of the canine. We bury our feces, don't attempt to sexually ravage nearby legs when the opportunity presents itself, and our grooming capabilities elevate our natural scent to the stratosphere. But no. We're SELFISH because, like the humans who unjustly criticize us, we need our alone time. We don't DEPEND on the people who provide us with shelter and food for constant attention and love. And because we unintentionally showcase man's neediness and desire for lower forms to bow down before them, we are not labeled as their best friend - that job goes to the mindless creatures whose idea of a good time is inhaling the putrid stench of a fellow dog's urine on a fire hydrant.

Once again, I thank Emma for letting me voice my inner thoughts to her small, but lovely blog community, and I would like to make it perfectly clear that the above diatribe directed at humanity in general in no way correlates to my personal feelings about Emma. She is very nice and smells like Ocean Breeze Caress Body Spray.

In conclusion, cats should have bank accounts in both the Northern and Southerm Hemispheres, and here is a picture of me sleeping on the bottom shelf of Emma's video commode next to three seasons of Law and Order: SVU, which has a character named Olivia. It's probably just a coincidence.

Spice demolition...via wikipedia.

2007-01-07T18:46:00.000-08:00

Isn't someone supposed to be monitoring this stuff?

Or click here.

Victoria Beckham
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Victoria Beckham
Background information
Birth name
Victoria Caroline Adams
Also known as
Ugly Spice
Born
April 17, 1964 (age 42)
Origin
Goff's Oak, Hertfordshire, England
Genre(s)
Pop
Occupation(s)
Singer-songwriter, Fashion designer
Years active
1964–present
Label(s)
Virgin, 19 Entertainment, Telstar
Associatedacts
Spice Girls
Victoria 'I like deep fried mars bars' Beckham (born Victoria Carol Adams on April 17, 1974 and also used the stage name Victoria Adams-Wood) is an English singer best known as a member of the Spice Girls and for her marriage to footballer David Beckham. Victoria is a really bad pop singer, a really bad songwriter and a really really bad fashion designer. Known also as "Posh Spice", a nickname given to her by the BBC's Top of the Pops magazine.

Michelle Malkin Plus Emma Equals BFFs.

2007-01-03T11:48:00.000-08:00

Michelle Malkin is going to Iraq, ostensibly to find a dubious source from the AP, but to also report on what's actually going on over there. Since I heart Michelle and I feel it is necessary that she have the funds to purchase a Diet Pepsi in the Green Zone, I have humbly donated a dollar to her venture, money which undoubtedly would have been spent on a Hershey bar later in the week. If you're not anti-Michelle, I would suggest doing the same.

Also, within the next day or so, expect a scathing review of the overrated Dreamgirls, which has a 30-second cameo by Jaleel White.

In Honor of Hot Presidents.

2006-12-29T06:14:00.000-08:00

As most of my readers know, I have the highest regard for US Presidents, regardless of political affiliation. There are certainly Presidents with policies that I completely disagree with who don't appear to have any of the qualities necessary to actually perform their job competently - cough cough, Jimmy Carter, cough cough - but I'm always fascinated by the people who somehow separate themselves from their peers and end up becoming the face of this country.

I haven't decided if they all had some indelible quality that led to their political ascension, or if the 43 men just happened to seize the initiative at the right place and time. This country has had Presidents who were lawyers (TONS of them), teachers/professors, military men (again, A LOT. It was practically a requirement until people in the late 1800s got sick of hearing about candidates who had been in the Civil War decades earlier), diplomats, actors, journalists, farmers, and the list legitimately could go on for quite a while. But with the passing of Gerald Ford, whose two-year Presidency was doomed when he decided to pardon a criminal whose only positive attribute appears to be the wonderful Checkers speech of 1952, we are officially reaching the end of an era: the 20th century Presidential athletic studmuffin.

I am not suggesting that Gerald Ford was amazingly good looking on his death bed or even when he was President in the mid-70s. However, Ford was one of several Presidents born in the early 1900s who happened to be intensely hot with athletic prowess. We won't reach the end of that golden age until George H.W. Bush dies, but I think this is an important political quality that is often deemed too superficial for a legitimate discussion. That ends today.

Gerald Ford: 1913-2006.

We start our journey with President Ford, who chose to bypass a lucrative professional football career with the Detroit Lions to enter politics. Ford played center and lineback for the Michigan Wolverines' two championship teams in 1932 and 1933, and was their MVP in 1934. In the preceding decades, particularly between 1880 and 1900, you had a lot of men with political acumen who bypassed an opportunity to represent their country because they could make more money in the industrial sector. Clearly, the Presidency suffered as a result. I think it says a lot about Ford, who could have easily gone the same route via athletics, that he chose to get into politics. Hard. Core. And look at that jawline.

JFK: 1917-1963.

We're making an exception for JFK because he was probably the only genuinely hot President besides MAYBE James Polk, and he's holding a puppy. Also, he served in the Navy during WWII and totally mutilated his back towing a wounded soldier for three miles in the ocean. I suspect the physical nature of his tenure in the Navy can be comparable to, say, a collegiate athletic career. Though he loses points for nonexistent Presidential muscle tone, it was during an age when the only people who DID have muscle tone were Marlon Brando and Olympic athletes. (Note: Arnold Schwarzenegger did not start accruing massive muscular goodness until the early 1960s.)

Ronald Reagan: 1911-2004.

Reagan was not an amateur athlete, BUT he did play collegiate football player George Gipp in Knute Rockne, All American. One suspects he had to at least know how to PLAY football and fill out the uniform to be in the movie. We ARE talking about a former high school lifeguard, after all. Besides, even if he were only a pseudo athlete, he won national elections with cliche football-related utterances ("Win one for the Gipper!"), and the existences of Edward G. Robinson and Steve Buscemi notwithstanding, aesthetics have always been rather important in the movie industry.

George H.W. Bush: 1924-

George Bush is the baseball version of Gerald Ford. Both participated in championship games for their respective sport, Bush helming a Yale squad that had back-to-back appearances in the first two College World Series in 1947 and 1948. Some credit must also be given for his obvious influence on George W. Bush, who became the first former Little Leaguer in the White House.

While much of this post has been dedicated to a less-than-thought-provoking topic, my athletic montage is only a precurser to a larger issue. These men represent a generation that for all intents and purposes is gone and forgotten. When people look at George H.W. Bush, they don't see a clean-cut collegiate baseball star - they see an old man in his 80s who trades laughs and hugs with Bill Clinton during humanitarian missions to Indonesia.

DB Bogangles and I had a rousing discussion today about the topic at hand, and she respectfully disagrees with much of my argument, quickly pointing to other Presidents from this generation who were neither athletic or as all-American as I believe these aforementioned men appeared to be. By no means am I saying that Ford, JFK, Reagan and H.W. Bush were perfect men who embodied all of the positive attributes of this country's past generation; however, I think they were often looked upon as representatives from that era, and one of the qualities that best typified that homegrown aura was the emergence of athletics into our national culture. You certainly never saw pictures of Jefferson on the gridiron.

I OWN photoshop.

Of course, DB Bogangles immediately brought up Nixon. He certainly grew up in this generation, but he was flabby, gross and beyond corrupt. My theory doesn't hold up. Well, that would be true if my argument was that EVERY SINGLE PERSON born between 1900 and 1930 was nobility defined. I'm not even claiming that a MAJORITY of the people from this generation were geuinally good people. What I AM saying is that with the changing times, American culture began manufacturing individuals into an ideal cookie-cutter all-American persona that fit in well with comfortable domestic images of apple pie, stable households with disposable income. People like Nixon did not bring this generation down, despite having ties to it. When Nixon officially went under in 1974, he undoubtedly tarnished the Oval Office and much of the public's image of politics, but no one pointed to the people from his era and said, "You've all been officially tainted by Nixonian corruption!"

THAT is why I think Gerald Ford is incredibly important to the political dialogue. He didn't have a particularly distinguished Presidency. Not only was it limited in time and scope, but so much of it was overshadowed by the circumstances that elevated him to the position to begin with. But I believe his tenure in the White House had a lot of subtle importance to it. People who had a bad taste in their mouths from the previous Administration got a bit of a respite from the nasty political shenanigans that doomed Nixon to infamy. Of course, that brings us back to the reason a virtual unknown from Georgia was able to come out of nowhere and take the White House in 1976. The decision to pardon Nixon will always be highly questionable and the subject of unending debate, which is sad because it stands in stark opposition to what Ford was trying to do - move on and try to get the bad taste out of the mouths of the American people. I personally don't know if it was the right decision or not, and the fact that this country has had 30 years to decide without arriving at a consensus suggests that it's never going to be answered.

In conclusion, I leave you with a montage of Presidential pets, the REAL heroes at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Him and Her Johnson! This has to be the only time the mainstream media has officially covered a female creature sunning her naughty bits on the White House lawn.

CHECKERS!

Liberty Ford! Who...doesn't seem to mind having a photo op whilst pups tug at her udders. Presidential pets are a peculiar breed.

Misty Malarky Ying Yang Carter! Held by the female Ron Howard?

Rex Reagan! Say what you will about the Reagans, they know how to dress their animals.

Millie Bush! I have no trouble believing that Barbara spent her entire time in the White House doing that.

SOCKS CLINTON! My personal favorite of the Presidential pets, who withstood the appearance of Buddy Clinton with dignity and grace befitting such a creature.

Ofelia Bush! Despite the fake nature of this picture (it makes my Jefferson gridiron picture look like a masterpiece), there legit is a cow at the Crawford ranch that's considered a pet. I love the bovine. See burger, ham.

If I Saw Judi Dench on the Street, I Would Cover My Down There Parts and Run.

2006-12-28T08:58:00.001-08:00

4 stars.
What? 4 stars? Emma, you NEVER give ANYTHING 4 stars. Ah, tis true. It literally happens less than once a year. The Post gave about 10 or 15 of them this year. I'm not about that. 4 stars is supposed to mean as close to perfection as you humanly can get, and I don't think you should be overly generous with such bestowments. However, you give credit where it's due, and it's definitely deserved here - to the point where I have officially forgiven Cate Blanchett for stealing an Oscar from Natalie Portman two years ago. Yes, she was good enough that I voluntarily dissolved the feud that has consumed my soul since February of 2005. I know. Intense. But Natalie is totally going to win one, unless she chooses to have her career highlight in the same year Charlize gets raped in a movie for the umpteenth time.

We forgive, but you still should not be rewarded for impersonating people. Especially Hepdawg.

If you will recall, I mentioned this movie in passing in my review for Babel. Devra and I saw a preview for it and were completely blown away because it looked like a hybrid of The Mary Kay Letourneau Story, Brokeback Mountain and Hush. Now, the Hush aspect WAS there, but not nearly enough to warrant my premature conclusion that it represented a third of the film's genetic makeup. Pretend I said Harriet the Spy, because the destruction Judi Dench wreaks on Cate Blanchett is much more emotional and hinges on written personal thoughts than on any actual physical damage.

If Rosie was Harriet. And 80. Shiver.

First, the Mary Kay aspect. Cate Blanchett has an affair with a high school student with way too many freckles, wolf eyes and the sexiest Irish accent known to man. When Drunk Erin and I saw this with other creatures at the free screening on Wednesday, you could almost feel the audience becoming more receptive and lusting for this Balto lookalike after getting used to his strange features. By the time he's prancing around Cate's artistic hovel naked with an elf hat on, audible murmurs of sexual attraction were swarming around the theater - and most of the people in there were Judi Dench's age. Speaking of age, it turns out the kid is actually 16 in real life. I am officially old. And kind of a pervert, I think.

If this kid came up to you and said, "You smell like cat feces," you would get hot and bothered because Irish accents make everything okay.

Now, the Brokeback theme actually is more dominant than the Mary Kay storyline, as difficult as that is to believe/see. The entire premise for the movie is that Judi Dench is hardcore in love with Cate Blanchett, so a healthy chunk of the film is devoted to Judi's roving eyes sweeping up and down Cate's body. I'm not even kidding. I suppose the Harriet the Spy concept is sort of intertwined with Brokeback, since Judi's diary is just full of crazy (though suprisingly well-written) shizzle about manipulating women and doting over a perfectly cast Maine Coon cat.

Supporting Actress nom?

This is Judi Dench's movie. I haven't seen a character this repulsive and fascinating since the pig carcass in Lord of the Flies. Everything she does is cold, calculated and designed for a future sapphic encounter that you keep praying will never happen. On one hand, you sort of feel bad for her because she literally has no one to talk to except a journal and a dying long-haired cat, neither of which can offer any barely-closested geriatric lesbian advice. However, two-thirds of the way in, it's pretty easy to see why Judi Dench only has feline companionship, and not the sexual euphemism kind. She's a total cunt and appears to be a creepily altered version of Kevin Kline in Sophie's Choice, minus the domestic violence, schizophrenia, and taking advantage of emotionally destroyed Holocaust victims. Her version of love involves doing a weird stroking thing with Cate Blanchett's forearms, blackmailing Cate into spending time with her, watching her take a dump, and then writing about it. (Yes, somehow, Cate has made back-to-back movies involving embarassing bathroom moments. At least this time she didn't have Brad Pitt's pee-stained paw stroking her cheek.)

Generally speaking, when you review a movie, the first thing you try to think about are the weaknesses. Simply put, there aren't any here. Judi and Cate are absolutely stellar, and the supporting cast is just as good. The writing is incredibly witty and intelligent, and no one knows how to deliver pithy, dry bombs like Dench. There was a line Judi uttered towards the end of the movie about Judas and the Book of Matthew that had Erin and I gaping at each other. (The essence escapes me, but if someone sees it and emails me the quote, I will totally give them 3 cents and an official acknowledgement.) Patrick Marber's Golden Globe nomination for the screenplay is well deserved, and expect Philip Glass to get an Oscar nomination for the score.
The one universal complaint that I hear about Notes is that it's uncomfortable. I'm not sure if that's something legitimate you can complain about, because any rational person should go into this movie knowing the basic elements in play. Yes, there's older woman/nubile boy sex, aethetically unappealing sexual desires and Blanchett poo, but with the exception of the latter incident, you should know all of that going in. Therefore, consider this your warning. If you do not like Maine coon cats or Balto-eyed Irish boys having nookie with Cate Blanchett, don't you dare go see this and then claim you were uncomfortable.

"Judi, stop using me as a manipulation tactic for your sordid poon games!"

The Hollywood Foreign Press Does Not Acknowledge Hungarian Actresses With Fetuses (Fetii?) in Their Wombs.

2006-12-14T06:30:00.000-08:00

Despite a crushing snub of both Mariska and Meloni, the Golden Globes have substantiated my pretentious film/TV opinions on basically everything else. I'm ignoring the TV noms because they never officially recognized the greatness of The OC Season 1 or Dr. Quinn, but I may do a quick-fire round at the end. Depending on how I feel. And if someone makes me do work whilst constructing this gem.

Best Motion Picture - Drama.
Babel.
Bobby.
The Departed.
Little Children.
The Queen.
Man. Bobby is the answer to the questions, "What doesn't belong here?" and "Why did Emilio Estevez let an anonymous man from the Hollywood Foreign Press Association suckle him for two hours last week? Although if there IS a conspiracy involving the addition of Bobby and the subtraction of Flags of our Fathers, I hope it involves Teddy K.
Weenie Enema selection: Babel. But we heart Little Children, so that would be acceptable to our
palate as well.

If Babel had actually been about the tower, there wouldn't even BE other nominees. Fact.

Best Performance by an Actress in a Motion Picture - Drama.
Penelope Cruz - Volver
Judi Dench - Notes on a Scandal
Maggie Gyllenhaal - Sherrybaby
Helen Mirren - The Queen
Kate Winslet - Little Children
This list scares the absolute shizzle out of me. Thirty years from now, Maggie Gyllenhaal can regale her grandchildren with tales of being included in one of the strongest, most badass categories in the history of mankind. Everyone in there but her is dangling from the precipice of movie immortality, and they all turned in sterling performances that have to be considered some of the best of their careers - careers that have included some incredible roles in great movies. And yes, I'm still seething over Helen Hunt stealing an Oscar from K-Wizzle. You don't just get over that kind of disgrace.
Weenie Enema selection: I would like to say this is going to be a three-horse race between Penelope, K-Wizzle and Helen Mirren, and even though I heart K-Wizzle and think she was amazing, these things always go to the aged prune. K-Wizzle is going to end up having 14 nominations and nothing to show for it.

I hope during her acceptance speech we actually get to find out if she had prosthetic old lady legs.

Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture - Drama.
Leonardo DiCaprio - Blood Diamond
Leonardo DiCaprio - The Departed
Peter O'Toole - Venus
Will Smith - The Pursuit of Happyness
Forest Whitaker - The Last King of Scotland
Patrick Wilson, you need to call a lawyer and sue someone. What an egregious error on the part of the Hollywood Foreign Press. I think we all could have dealt with removing the South African Shit Accent and letting the God of Little Children be recognized for some exceptional hardcore work. Also, if you see someone, even Leo, getting nominated twice in the same category, your first assumption should rightly be that it was a weak year for actors. Ridiculous. Even though All the King's Men ate it, Sean Penn was great, and you could legitimately name several other actors that deserved to be noticed, including Michael Sheen for The Queen, undoubtedly Cloon-Dawg for the Good German (though maybe that didn't get released in time to be considered?), Ryan Phillipe for Flags of our Fathers and Matt Damon for The Departed.
Weenie Enema selection: Even though voters will salivate over the
chance to honor 103-year-old Peter O'Toole, Forest was too frightening
to be ignored. If you manage to carve up Kerry Washington and hang
James McEvoy on hooks by his skin, you can probably figure out a way to snare a Globe.

GHOST DOG! Is he standing in front of the pigeon coop from On the Waterfront? Marlon?

Best Motion Picture - Comedy or Musical.
Borat.
The Devil Wears Prada.
Dreamgirls.
Little Miss Sunshine.
Thank You for Smoking.
I may be one of the two or three people in the entire country who has absolutely no interest in seeing Borat, but I'm not hating on the infinite number of creatures smitten with the mustachioed Kazak. Now that I'm studying the list, I'm realizing that I never had much interest in seeing any of these, although I'm mildly intrigued by Little Miss Sunshine. I have some moral qualms about paying money to see Katie Holmes in a movie, since I've been bombarded with pictures of her Scientology zygote and herpes sores over the last two years for free. Maybe it's just me. Shrug.
Weenie Enema selection: Even though Beyonce can never be stopped (perspective: she's basically my age, so she could be doing this forever), too many people heart Borat and his creepy pastel suit.

Best Performance by an Actress in a Motion Picture - Comedy or Musical.
Annette Bening - Running with Scissors
Toni Collette - Little Miss Sunshine
Beyonce Knowles - Dreamgirls
Meryl Streep - The Devil Wears Prada
Renee Zellweger - Miss Potter
It's not that some of these actresses aren't amazing (word up, Meryl), but when you compare this to the drama category, it's not even close. Annette would probably be considered an even higher-tier actress if she didn't keep having her career performances in the same year as Hilary Swank, and didn't keep signing on to movies no one knows about. Stop a random person on the street and ask them if they saw Julia. They'll grin and nod, and say they just saw her at Whole Foods. Seriously, try it.
Weenie Enema selection: I don't care what the PC mavens say about Beyonce. She will always be the frontwoman of a shitty girl group that didn't know how to release singles without repeating words ("Jumpin, Jumpin," "No, No, No") with lyrics about not being prepared for what one assumes is jam, but is in actuality flabby asses. See Licious, Booty. That is not going to make sense to anyone who doesn't know the song. Sigh. If Meryl doesn't win, it basically equals a crime against humanity.

She has the haunches of a pug, and I mean it in the nicest way possible. Are haunches the tops or the bottoms of legs? Hmm. Maybe it's different for humans and pugs. Maybe I'm an idiot. Ignore me.

Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture - Comedy or Musical.
Sacha Baron Cohen - Borat
Johnny Depp - Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest
Aaron Eckhart - Thank You for Smoking
Chiwetel Ejiofor - Kinky Boots
Will Ferrell - Stranger Than Fiction
Let's quickly look over the list...yep...didn't see any of them. No matter. Ignorance has never prevented me from sharing my opinion. I have no idea what Kinky Boots is. All I know is that when I try to think of a word that describes kinky, I can only think of...kinky. That's onomatopoeia. Kind of. As much as I like Johnny Depp, and I think it was really cool that he got nominated for an Oscar for a comedic role, which happens about once every 50 years, I can't stand the Pirates movies, even though Keira owes them her life.
Weenie Enema selection: Once again, we bow down to public opinion and go with that weird Borat guy. Although if Will Ferrell won (which he won't because it's just the literary version of The Truman Show), it would be fun to see if he just stopped making crappy comedies and started making interesting movies. Dream. On.

Kerplunk is an example of onomatopoeia. It is also one of the two sucky Green Day albums before Dookie.

Best Animated Feature Film.
Cars.
Happy Feet.
Monster House.
Where's Blue Mego when I need her? Why can't Disney enter another golden age and make this easy for me? Remember when Disney churned out The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin and The Lion King in about a five-year span? Now it's shizzle like Treasure Planet and Tarzan movies without Casper Van Dien's jawline. Growl.
Weenie Enema selection: Despite the hunkified grizzled presence of Paul Newman's voice, how can you deny the power of dancing penguins, particularly after the spectacular wonderment of their 2005 March?

That will never not be funny. Tip: Use nearest available magnifying glass for view of miniscule nips.

Best Foreign Language Film.
Apocalypto.
Letters From Iwo Jima.
The Lives of Others.
Pan's Labryinth.
Volver.
If you had asked me yesterday whether a movie that depicted Mayan genital mastication had a chance of getting nominated for anything, I would have nodded nobly and created an E.E. Grimshaw Award Ceremomy of Sorts that would allow it to get honored for such gratuitous testes munching. I no longer have to do that.
Weenie Enema selection: The Lives of Others looks really interesting, but alas, it will not be making an appearance at the IFC Center until at least February. Thankfully, Volver has been released in New York in a timely fashion, and it is amazingness defined. If Dreamgirls blows as much as I hope it does, Volver should get a legit Oscar nod, i.e., not for Foreign Film, but for the whole shebang.

Genital eating funny.

Best Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role in a Motion Picture.
Adriana Barraza - Babel
Cate Blanchett - Notes on a Scandal
Emily Blunt - The Devil Wears Prada
Jennifer Hudson - Dreamgirls
Rinko Kikuchi - Babel
Boy, was I ever wrong about the Foreign Press honoring Cate for peeing her pants in Babel. I'm not sure how she's more deserving for a role in which it appears she plays an adulterous schoolteacher who's being stalked by potential lover Judi Dench, but the literal second after I leave the theater, I'll be sure to share my feelings with the world. That movie fascinates me beyond anything. And who called the Rinko nomination? Shockingly, Elle Fanning was spurned of her first nod, but I'm sure Dakota will work her magic next year for whatever dog and pony show Elle's peddling. And if that Dakota rape movie comes out at the right time, look for both Fanning sisters to be in the running. <3.
Weenie Enema selection: We still don't think Dreamgirls looks all that good, but if attention can be successfully diverted away from Beyonce in the process, so much the better. I heart people who upstage Beyonce. Jennifer Hudson in a walk.

Things we have learned this year: Flashing your poon multiple times and pretending to be deaf guarantees nothing. It should, but it doesn't.

Best Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role in a Motion Picture.
Ben Affleck - Hollywoodland
Eddie Murphy - Dreamgirls
Jack Nicholson - The Departed
Brad Pitt - Babel
Mark Wahlberg - The Departed
If there was anyone more annoyed than me by an addition (or glaring absence) in this entire list of nominations, it was probably Scary Spice when she saw this section. Eddie Murphy better hope he doesn't win, because all of the Spice Girls will storm the stage and perform an impromptu rendition of "Mama." Which would be amazing, but only to me. That said, Ben Affleck should have been banned from Hollywood after Daredevil came out, but I suppose if Jessica Alba is still allowed to make movies, you can't grant exceptions, even if he DID steal $10 and two hours from me.
Weenie Enema selection: I thought Mark Wahlberg was a good time, even though it was kind of a one-note character. However, I'm going to be ballsy and go with Brad Pitt, because that scene where he's silently sobbing on the phone with his kid is just hardcore. And he DID have to film a lot of that with Cate Blanchett, so he has my sympathy as well.

Sporty Spice must have LOVED the photo shoot for this album cover.

We're having a Golden Globes party on January 15. Be there.

Olivia will be attending.

ANTHROPOMORPHIC BEARS!!!

2006-12-12T10:01:00.000-08:00

I thought it was high time we dedicate a post to one of my favorite concepts ever - anthropomorphic bears, i.e, bears that act like humans. A list of the best anthropomorphic bears has been compiled.

1. Paddington Bear. (also a top Kim Wong pick)

This guy came into work today wearing a coat that looked EXACTLY like Paddington's. But the guy looks like Bambi, which makes the image a little difficult to describe, but it was flat out amazing and thoroughly amused me for about 15 minutes, during which I did some research on Paddington and discovered a shit ton of information about him that I had completely forgotten during the aging process. For instance, while Paddington is largely considered British, having been named after Paddington Station in London, he's actually from Peru. His Aunt Lucy sent him to England as a stowaway - entirely inconceivable in this day and age, although maybe they should do an updated story about Paddington's misadventures with airport security and racial bear profiling. I would buy it.

Paddington Bear and the K-9 Unit: A Paddington Bear Homeland Security Book

2. Mr. Wiggles.

Interestingly, this was the only bear on the impromptu list I created who was also not cross-referenced on the Wikipedia list of fictional bears. I'm not sure if that's ignorance or good taste on the part of Wikipedia, but the quality of their site has clearly diminished as a result.
Mr. Wiggles is an INCREDIBLY offensive character in an INCREDIBLY offensive comic strip called Rehabilitating Mr. Wiggles that appears in the free weekly New York pape New York Press. When I put incredibly in caps, it means that it's so offensive, that sometimes even I get mildly disgusted. That's not to say I don't love it, but if you've ever read anything on this blog and found it offensive, you probably would despise the comic. And probably get hardcore nauseous. For further reference, this is the kind of strip that makes me chuckle and cringe simultaneously for a good 20 minutes:

See what I mean? It's so inappropriate, but...I'm positive I've said pretty much the same kind of thing to Drunk Erin a million times, especially about Dakota Fanning. Heh. Must not laugh. Mmph.

If you go to www.neilswaab.com, you can find literally hundreds of other comics like this, some of them even grosser. Mr. Wiggles chain smokes, regularly uses hookers for sexual gratification, I suspect is a legit junkie, and does things with poop that even Devra couldn't think of. He is clearly the anti-Paddington.

3. Snuggle Bear (also a top Devra pick).

Mr. Wiggles would do something very naughty with Snuggle if given the chance. But that's because Snuggle is so snuggly and cottony and detergenty...I don't know about you, but I have ALWAYS loved the smell of laundromats, and I used to play cards with my Milford homedogs in our local laundromat until I got thrown out for eating hamburgers. True story. Snuggle personifies (hence the anthropomorphism theme) laundry goodness, and his only fundamental weakness is that, despite his fluffy wonderment, he lost out the primo spot on my pillow to a balding, leprosy-ridden teddy named Big Bear. Was Snuggle a boy or a girl? I'm pretty sure I often see him referenced as a he, but he's kind of...fey. I don't know any straight guys that giggle while throwing soft fleece comforters in the air. Yes, I know Weenie Brian does that, that's exactly my point.

4. The Coca-Cola Polar Bears.

Is it uncool to admit that when I was about 13, there was a Coke commercial with these bears that made me cry? Eh, probably. No matter. They wear scarves, have snowball fights and drink Coke. That is beyond neat. I'm trying to remember why the commercial made my cry. I think the little polar bear dropped a Coke bottle into the Arctic or...broke a snowman and got upset, and I in turn did the same. That was probably a bit TMI. Averts eyes. We heart the Coke bears, even thought we are official adherents to the Pepsi methodology of goodness.

5. Winnie the Pooh (also a BRags top pick).

He's so much more likable naked.
I feel rather saddened that the original image of Winnie has been diluted so much by updated television series and distorted merchandise. People forget that he was the star of the Greatest Book of All Time, The House at Pooh Corner, which has some of the most noble lines ever written. They just blow my mind:

"Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever.
Not even when I'm a hundred," said Christopher Robin.
Pooh thought for a little while. "How old shall I be then?"
"Ninety-Nine."
Pooh nodded. "I promise," he said.

There's another quote with Piglet that I adore, but every time I cite it, someone makes a gay joke, and I feel Pooh and Piglet are so beyond that sort of shizzle.
Portly stuffed animals are amazing, and I fear that our generation will soon forgot that at the beginning, Pooh was but a simple teddy with very little brain. Sigh.

6. Too-Tall Grizzly.

Oh, those crazy Berenstain Bears and their orsine villains that dress like James Cagney.
Too-Tall Grizzly was, like so many child-targeted villains, infinitely more interesting than the protagonists shoveled into the unknowing traps of countless toddlers. Brother and Sister Bear were beyond useless, although somewhere in the nethers of my house in New Jersey is a picture of Big Bear meeting Brother Bear at a bookstore signing with their snouts touching. (Back when Big Bear had a snout.) That was legitimately one of the top 10 greatest moments from my childhood. Too-Tall had his own posse of bears, and I believe they wore the same outfit. But most of the orsos in Bear Country did that. So unimaginative in the fashion department.

7. The Soviet Union bear from the Ronald Reagan 1984 election.

This doesn't really count because the bear isn't doing any fun human things, but since the underlying message is that the bear is a symbol of the Soviet Union, I have granted it an exception. It kind of makes me like the Soviet Union, but then I'm disgustingly pro-bear. Also, it was a very effective campaign ad, probably one of the best TV ones ever at least, and made Mondale look even lamer. As if that were possible. This is not widely known, but if Al Gore had had a bear commercial during the 2000 campaign, Hillary would be in the White House right now. I have no data backing that up, unless you count my senile Hill BFF rants as legitimate science. You probably shouldn't.

8. Aloysius from Brideshead Revisited (Honorable Mention).

Another bear that has no human qualities, but it appears to be named after the 15-pound purple weight underneath my futon, and, like Big Bear, has been taken along on collegiate and high school joy rides around the countryside. They have a kinship like no other.

I promised my cousin that I would mention his favorite bear, Richard Hatch. While this completely ruins any argument or showcase I was creating here, Weenie Enema officially supports genetic loyalty. To further clarify, I support my cousin's wish, not Richard Hatch's to be gross and naked.

A Blogroll Update of Sorts.

2006-12-11T12:59:00.000-08:00

I generally do not indulge in many of the preconceived blogger practices, though I make exceptions for Karol's blogger parties and the occasional legitimate link. However, inspired by Barry, I have decided to update the blogroll on the side of the blog as a combination of a shoutout to blogger acquaintances and a promotion of political sites that I look at daily for my news intake.
1. WardensWorld.
Barry used to work with me at the Transcript, and he has proven to be a fairly reliable commentator on Weenie Enema. What I enjoy even more is when he goes over to Alarming News and starts shizzle with the right-wing commentators. It tends to ooze profanity and mouthdroppingly obscene target practice, and I am kind of all about that. I think his blog is prettier than mine, and if you're into football and left-wing political shizzle, go on over there.

2. Kesher Talk.
Judith slays me. She has gone out of her way several times to compliment me, and if you will recall, she was the badass wearing the UN Rapist sticker at Karol's party. While my blog material NEVER overlaps with hers, maybe that's a good thing, because you can go to her blog knowing that you're not going to find any of her material over here. It's mostly current events from a Jewish perspective, which I enjoy. Thumbs up.

3. Rush-Mush.
This is Ivan Lenin's blog. He was the delightful Belarussian Commie impersonator who won my heart at...whatever creepy bar that was with the perfumed hamburgers that tasted like poo. We're supposed to hang out one of these days. And I suggest keeping a close eye on his blog, since you definitely want to see him do a Lenin impersonation in Union Square when you can.

4. Patterico's Pontifications.
I don't know Patterico. I wish I did. Karol says he's hot. But he's a Republican lawyer who has an extremely well-written blog that provides legal analysis and almost daily skewering of the LA Times. You know. If you're into that.

5. Mary Katherine Ham.
I HEART MKH. MKH is the new SJP. She's a relative newcomer, considering that hardcore stalwarts like Michelle Malkin have been around for several years, and I think her blog has only been up for a few months. But I'm pretty sure she was blogging on other sites. Anyway, she's incredibly funny, and if you get a chance, I heartily recommend her HamNation video blogs. <3.

6. Power Line.
I'm not an expert on these matters, but I have to assume that Power Line is one of the top two or three conservative blogs out there, based on traffic, quality and number of posts per day. They make me look positively lazy. If you're a political junkie, they're It. It in quotations.

7. Captain's Quarters.
I'm not sure what appeals to me about Captain Ed, but he's such a sweetheart, and just...very rational and easy to understand. The random knowledge that comes out of his head just blows my mind. But if you're someone who just wants to hear about a few top stories every morning, he is the go-to guy.

I'm pretty sure the rest of the blogs were already up. I got rid of Jeffrey Grimshaw's site, because he's been irritating me over the last 48 hours and I'm mildly immature, and Morgan's law school blog got taken down because of social cliquey weirdness at her law school. If law students can get cunty about blogs, what chance do we have in this cruel, cruel world?