Wednesday, July 26, 2006

I am already disappointed by "Snakes On A Plane"

See, I totally thought this film was going to be a comedy.

Well, it all goes back to an old SNL skit. I remember being sick at home one Saturday Night while running a fever. I woke up just in time for the last sketch which starred Will Ferrell and Tim Meadows. The premise of the skit was that some cobras got lose on the plane and the pilot played by Will Ferrell would come over the intercom to give updates on the situation. Will Ferrell was always ridiculously calm while the passengers, mainly Tim Meadows, were freaking out while being confronted by the snake puppets.

Finally the snakes got into the pilot's cabin. Will Ferrell again came over the loud speaker and announced "Oh god, I've been bitten. I can feel the venom coursing thruogh my veins. God it hurts!...Oh hey, look, an old Indian man is motioning me to follow him over the hill...I think I'll do that." He then crashed the plane.

While this would be odd enough, the plane crash is followed by a snake puppet laughing maniacally and saying something about "You should fear me. Everytime you put your hand in a dark corner, there will be me!"

Yeah, it's totally insane and I'm not even sure I didn't half way hallucinate it all. But the part with Will Ferrell following the old man over the hill just kills me. I crack up just thinking about it.

So this my friends is what I thought
Snakes On A Plane was going to be. Some sort of long comedy based on the sketch, but I have since learned that it is going to be an action movie. I am so disinterested now.

Also, apparently Samuel L. Jackson fought for the name to be
Snakes on a Plane other than the more mundane titles suggested by studio execs, Pacific Flight 121 .

I guess if he'd had his way, he would also have entitled Deep Blue Sea as Hey, A Shark Ate Me.

Monday, July 24, 2006

Today's Celebrity Birthday: Me

Ah, the end of my youth. You are here! And yet, I do not feel as bad as I thought I would feel. Actually, I'm looking forward to hanging out with friends this evening, and then really having fun this weekend once everyone finished taking the bar. So I am optimistic about year 29.

A rundown of other people born today:

Anna Paquin (24)
- Yay! She's cute! She plays Rogue in X-men!

J-Lo (37) - eh, she's J-Lo. I can take her or leave her.

Barry Bonds (42)
- He's a roid head right?

Lynda Carter (55) - She was WonderWoman and totally my hero as a kid. I even had WonderWoman underoos.

Michael Richards aka The Kramer (57) - He's the Kramer, naught else need be said.

Zelda Fitzgerald (106)
- She was a flapper! She was crazy! She died in a fire at the mental hospital! Yeah, even with the exclamation points, that one's just a downer.

Amelia Earhart (109)
- I have always felt I inherited AE's sense of direction. She never made it home, I could get lost in a paper bag.

Alexander Dumas (204)
- Revenge is a dish best served cold, or so they say. If you're Dumas, you think revenge is best served via 600 pages.

Thanks to all of you who have already called, emailed, written, or mailed me good wishes. You guys are the best!

This Weekend's Celebrity Birthdays: Terence Stamp and Monica Lewinsky

Look, I had to go to Dallas this weekend to see my family ok and I did not have internet access so no posting, but you will have the good fortune of getting a triple dose today. It's my birthday and I'll post when I want to.

July 22 - Terence Stamp

First, let me being by saying that Terence Stamp is a bad ass. He's one of those guys who's always looked sort of older and more grizzled than they are -even when young- and it gives them a sort of gravitas that their more attractive counterparts generally lack. You can see it in an early and excellent film called Poor Cow, which I think may be next to imposssible to get, but you should try to anyway.

People my age might remember him as General Zod from Superman. In case General Zod isn't ringing a bell, he was one of the eurotrash people dressed in black that spun around in the flat polygon prison thingy. See? A badass.

He was also in that complete piece of detritus known as Red Planet in which he played the mission minister. Other than Stamp's performance, the only redeeming aspect of the film is that it is slightly less terrible than Mission to Mars with that CGI scene with the flute and the spinning DNA and crying alien hologram thingy. Good lord, that was terrible. But in Red Planet, Stamp actually had the best role in the movie, and I was sort of moved by his character's faith and nobility. Best of all, his character had the good sense to die bravely, very early in the film. Well done, sir.

But his best work was certainly in one of Steven Soderburgh's lesser known films, The Limey. Stamp plays Wilson, a British man who goes on a one man killing spree to avenge the death of his daughter. While this plot is nothing new or Intriguing, it is well directed and Stamp is just awesome. I would like to see him and Samuel L. Jackson in a bad-ass-athon. And most clever, is that Soderburgh uses scenes from the film Poor Cow as flashback sequences in The Limey. It's simple, but at the same time totally brilliant and is just one more illustration of what a clever director Soderburgh is.

Happy Birthday. I have no doubt that though you walk through the valley of the shadow of death you shall fear no evil because you are the baddest man in the valley, Samuel L. Jackson not withstanding.

July 23 - Monica Lewinsky

Well, goodness, what can I really say about her that hasn't already been said? Actually, I always felt rather bad for her. I mean, we're very close in age, she's just a bit older than me and while lots of young women make very poor relationship choices, most do not have to detail said poor choices in front of the Senate. I'm not saying she's an innocent victim per se, I just think she more than paid for her crime.

And also, I just thought it was weird how women ran out in droves to buy the lipstick she wore on her big interview with Diane Sawyer. She was condemned as a slut, but then people rushed to emulate her fashion choices? Ah America, how I love your many paradoxes.

Anyway, happy birthday ML. Good luck living down your bad rep.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Today's Celebrity Birthday: Robin Williams and Ernest Hemmingway

Ah, today is a study in contrasts. One of these men changed the face of modern literature forever, the other gave us "Nanu Nanu."

While I could write something about Robin Williams, about how he butchered one of my favorite stories (The Bicentennial Man) or made the atrocious Patch Adams, but Dan Carlson did such a better job of it, I'll just let you read his evisceration of Patch Adams (don't worry, it's short) which Pajiba has listed as one of the 10 worst films of all time:

I hate this movie. There’s really no better way to put it. I could start off talking about films on the grand scale of human existence, pouring out prose so purple you wouldn’t even know what I was saying but, when it comes down to it, I just hate this movie so much.

Where to begin? First, kids with cancer need chemo, not clown noses. Second, having Monica Potter’s character get shotgunned is a brutal, cold, alienating turn of events but, the first time I saw the film, I found myself envying her because she took the easy way out, while the rest of us had to sit there and suffer through another preachy, treacly, cloying, saccharine, just damned awful movie from Robin Williams. The man has made 2.5 good movies in his career (Awakenings, Good Will Hunting, and parts of Dead Poets Society), and he thinks that entitles him to shove crap like this down our throats, substituting platitudes for dialogue and cheap audience manipulation for dramatic arcs. By the time the butterfly lands on Patch and heals his spirit, I knew I was watching a masterpiece of awful filmmaking.

I love film. A lot. I think it has the ability to show us the profound beauties of which we as a people are capable, those moments of accidental grace when two characters suddenly stumble into forgiveness or hope or pain or love. It’s a powerful medium, responsible for a unique kind of cultural mindset and nostalgia. And Patch Adams is a desecration of all that, a profaning of the art form to its lowest point.

I don’t know what else to say: I just hate this movie. — DC

It goes without saying that if Ernest Hemingway had seen this movie he would have offed himself a lot sooner. Fun fact: up until sometime in the 80's it was considered too controversial to put in Hemingway's bio on the book jackets that he'd committed suicide. The phrase used instead was something along the lines of "died while cleaning his shotgun," which was also the official story at the time of his death. No one really buys that now.

So Happy Birthday Ernest "Happy" Hemmingway. And Happy Birthday Robin Williams. Please RW, don't make any more crap. It could lead to more deaths while cleaning the shotgun.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Today's Celebrity Birthday: The Dude Who Plays Sawyer on Lost

Now we're talkin' ladies: It's the birthday of Josh Holloway aka Sawyer aka the man to give Matthew Fox a run for island hottie. Ew. Ok, I just made myself a little sick typing that. I don't know what came over me.

I think living with guys this summer has automatically made me feel the need to objectify the opposite sex. They are always saying "Damn, she's hot!" about some actress when we're watching TV, so I've felt free to do the same -- except of course with men. If they are going to make me watch sports, especially something as incomprehensible as the Tour de France, I am definitely going to tell you who is and who is not good looking. In this respect, The World Cup was a win win for all parties as the action is good, all the men are attractive, and at the end they have trophy ladies for the guys.

At any rate, Sawyer. Damn him! He's such a romance novel scoundrel! And ladies just love a scoundrel! And you know he's all devious and got all the guns from propeller-cut-face bald guy and Matthew Fox....

So I don't really watch the show ok? Roommate Big S. loves the show and we bonded one Saturday night staying up until 4 am watching most of second season back to back. Yes, I was hooked but I haven't seen season 1 so I don't know the backstory or even the characaters' names for that matter, so I just refer to them as "the chick Big S. thinks is hot" or "the chick with the baby" or "that chick who got arrested for drunk driving in real life -- no the other one." The male cast includes "the dude who played a hobbit in Lord of the Rings" and "The black guy who was in a wheelchair in Oz."

Anyway, birthday boy should thank his luck stars for Lost, because previous credits include an appearance on Walker, Texas Ranger and a film I think screened only on the SciFi Channel called Sabretooth.

So Happy Birhtday, island hottie, and may Lost continue to provide for your career.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Today's Celebrity Birthday: Lizzie Borden and Lil' Scrappy

Today's theme is clearly gangsta rappers.

I'm sure everyone is familiar with Lizzie Borden, who was tried but not convicted for the murder of her father and stepmother. It seemed that her stemother was killed an hour and a half prior to the death of her father, making it seem more likely that a member of the household killed them. But this was the 19th century, not an episode of CSI so nobody really knows. But speculation still remains that Lizzie offed them, which was popularized in this 19th centure rap aka a jump-rope rhyme:

Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks.
When she saw what she had done
She gave her father forty-one.

Are you familiar with Lil' Scrappy? Yeah, me either. Apparently, he was born Darryl Richards in the ATL and was discovered by Lil' John (of "Whaaat? Okaaay!" fame). Lil' Scrappy's second single and most commercially successful song to date, "No Problem," reached the top 30 of the Billboard 100 and was top 10 on the R&B and rap charts.

Let's compare and contrast a lyric from "No Problem":

You can get crunk in the club
Roll wit your hood
Get stomped in the club
Or you could get buck in the club
Get fucked up in the club

As impressed as I am with the way little scrappy rhymes "club" with "club," point awarded to Borden.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Today's Celebrity Birthday: Vin Diesel

That’s right ladies and gents, what better follow-up or counterpoint could there be to The Hoff but The Vin? From meatball head to chrome dome; this cannot be by accident! Perhaps this is proof of intelligent design? But you know, I just really like this picture. I find the redundant close-up of his face to be a nice touch – just in case I forgot who I was looking at in half the picture, the other half gives me a quick one-two punch to remind me, hey baby, you’re looking at Vin Diesel. Yeah.

But see here, I’m starting to get a little bit scared. I’m not really comfortable with these artistic nude, heroic poses we’ve got going on here. I mean, before it was The Hoff. It was the 80’s, a more innocent and gentle time. Meatball-head was a good thing. Chicks dug his fluffy chest hair. The puppies I can’t explain, nor the banana hammock/cardigan combo, maybe it was the cocaine talking, but then again the man drove a talking car. Some mysteries are not meant to be unraveled.

But really here people, looking at this just weirds me out a bit. Actually it weirds me out a lot. I mean, yes it’s true he works out a great deal, but please, for the love of god, Vin Diesel, put your clothes back on. Thank you. I’m not even sure who these pictures are for – the ladies who love XXX and The Fast and The Furious? Like NASCAR, this is a fascination I cannot fathom.
But to give credit where credit is due, I was all set to make fun of his film repertoire, which at best, is highly limited. But then I started reading his IMDB mini-bio and then I started feeling kind of bad for the guy. His mom is an astrologer/psychologist (i.e. completely crazy) he doesn’t know who his father is, and he has a fraternal twin brother. One bio says that he is half African-American/ Half Italian American and actually his first film was called “Multi-Facial” that he wrote based on his experiences as a multi-ethnic actor. The film screened at Cannes. His next film was called “Strays”, again written, produced, directed and starring The Vin –and it screened at Sundance. So, he’s kind of doing a whole Sylvester Stalone thing (does anybody remember that he wrote the original "Rocky", which is a good film?). So I guess he’s got some street cred.

I’m sorry, Vin Diesel, I'm sorry. Just put your clothes back on and we’ll retreat to our respective corners. And Happy Birthday.

Monday, July 17, 2006

Today's Celebrity Birthday: David Hasselhoff

It is exactly one week until my 29th birthday, and as Roomate Big S. pointed out, this is the last birthday of our twenties, and subsequently the end of our youth.I felt a little queasy at this revelation, but I have decided that I will give the last seven days of my youth a classy send off by noting one celebrity (and I will use that term loosely) birthday each day until 29 bitch slaps me in the face.

I find it especially appropriate that today's celebrity birthday is none other than famed actor,
auteur, and German singer, David Hasselhoff. Except perhaps for William Shatner and to a lesser extent Tom Selleck, no single figure has suffered such simultaneous exaltation and derision in pop culture.

Who can forget the pun-tastically titled "Knight Rider"? Oh the layers of symbolism! His name is Michael Knight! He works for Knight Industries! He's noble like a knight! Such taunt writing cannot be found today. The sort of 80's indoctrination was so ingrained in me that when I saw that show Veronica Mars I totally thought it would be about a space alien, and not a girl detective. I guess the joke's on me.
Actually I like this story of the creation of the show: "Brandon Tartikoff, youthful head of programming at NBC, once gave California magazine this version of the creation of Knight Rider:"It seem that he and one of his assistants were discussing the problems of casting handsome leading men in the series, because many of them can’t act. Why not have a series, he mused, called “The Man of Six words,” which would begin with the guy getting out of a woman’s bed and saying “Thank You.” Then he would chase down some villians and say “Freeze!” Finally the grateful almost-vitims would thank him, and he would murmur, “You’re welcome.” End of show. In between, the car could do the talking."

And while Knight Rider would surely be contribution enough to world, he followed it up with the ubiquitous "Baywatch" which we can thank for igniting the hormones of teenage boys everywhere.

In fact, we may be able to blame many of today's social ills on Baywatch -- the unrealistic expectation of men for women with "built-in flotation devices" and the confusion of teenage girls created by waxed, plucked, and highlighted men puporting to be heterosexual.

I believe Baywatch is the direct progenitor of female popstars like Britney Spears and boy bands like N'Sync. No doubt one day future social scientists will try to see what affect the show had on gender roles, but in the short term the show provided us with a winning formula: we like our women busty and our men ambiguously gay (Pirates of the Carribbean anybody?).

And hey, let's not forget about that fine head of hair. Somebody (I can't remember who) pointed out that from behind his head looks like a giant meatball.

And last but not least, his nickname is "The Hoff." He's even worn a t-shirt that says "Don't hassel the Hoff.

All I can say to that, is well played sir. Well played.

Friday, July 14, 2006

My Dad Sends The Best Emails Part IV

As previously mentioned, my parents are visiting my sister in England. She is graduating from a school in Chichester about an hour from London. This is the latest update on their trip:


We are staying in The Spread Eagle Hotel in Midhurst. We took the slow train to Chichester, and rented a car there. The only automatic available was, sadly enough, a Mercedes C Class. We got a really good deal on it--L46 a day. We are on the third floor with windows opening on to the tile roof.

Driving is a hoot.

Mother needs a valium, maybe two.

Looks like a lot of neat shops in the area while we wait on Rabbit.

We had a good time staying at the H's. Cousin Nancy was there--I was about to pass out laughing at her stories.



I wonder if my father recognizes the hilarity of staying in a hotel with the name "Spread Eagle" in the title?

Also, my mother is the worst person in the world to drive with. I believe she may actually cause me to have a car accident one day. About every 60 seconds she will sharply inhale her breath and make you think that death is imminent -- but actually it's just that there a car that's less 50 yards away heading in your general direction. Panic must ensue!

She will also shout out "Watch 'em!" in her southern drawl. " 'Em" being another car, another driver, or a pedestrian. I usually start shouting "Who? Where? in response, only to later realize she was referring to a parked car or a person standing on the sidewalk, or some other non-threat.

I have always secretly wanted to sedate my mother anytime she is going to ride in the car with me, like they used to do with B.A. Barracas on The A-Team. I can only imagine how bad my poor Dad has it right now, driving on the opposite side of the road with my Mom freaking out and no doubt she's twice as bad as normal. My Dad should win the medal of honor.

Godspeed Dad. Godspeed.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Eleven A.M. Lechery

It seems appropriate that my last post was about drinking since this morning I had my very own drunken encounter.

In the morning, KB and I usually walk across the street to grab a cup of coffee to facilitate the ol' memo writing at work. As we were standing in line this saucy gent who looks to be in his 40's with reddish blonde hair sees KB and slurs to her "Ahhh, your hair looks lovely. I love it. Don't change a thing." We both just kind of stare at him and he dodders off. He is in the company of a woman with a baby and I feel bad for her because it is clear that she has to take care of two children.

KB and I switch places in line because I know what I'm going to order, and I'm thinking he's fixated on her so maybe I'll just run interference. It looks like crazy and co. are finishing up when crazy man turns to me. He sees my accursed ID clipped to my skirt and says "Laaw-yuhr, now that's a lovely name. Really. You're beautiful. I'm here on vacation, otherwise I'd love stay here and flirt, but I have to go."

For the love of god, I haven't even had coffee yet.

Crazy turns back to me "Man, Laaw-yuhr, you are a knockout...mumble mumble...your boyfriend?"

I'm not sure what Crazy man asks, something about having a boyfriend or a boyfriend kicking his ass, the appropriate answer to both questions being "Yes" despite not having a boyfriend, much less an ass-kicking one.

At this point I'm desperately wishing Aquaman had come with us for coffee because he could serve as a buffer. Or at least it would be funny to watch the crazy man hit on him.

At long last crazy man and his wife/sister/friend and baby head outside. I get my coffee and proceed to the condiment bar for a lid. The next thing I know, Crazy is right beside me, chattering away. He says "I forgot the napkins. Really, Laaw-yuhr. Stay beautiful. I'd love to stay and flirt, but I guess your boyfriend wouldn't like that would he? You're probably too young for me. I'm 35, are you 32?

I reply that I am under 30, and definitely too young for him.

"OK, well, you're knockout. Really, a knockout." And then he sort of staggers off.

While it's great to hear the phrase "You're a knockout," one has to consider the source. Like tickets from the skeeball machine, I would like to trade in all my past hollas (
qualify + lawyers are evil + knockout) for one decent prize.

I peer out the glass doors to see where crazy man is sitting. Sadly the only way out is past him, and he's sitting a table near the stairs. KB offers to walk on that side, and we sprint past him. I do not make eye contact, but KB says he gives us a thumbs up. She just glared at him.

KB said as we were walking back "God, get a job. That's what's wrong with this city -- nobody ever works."

Friday, July 07, 2006


The last entry was much too depressing to let it fly solo over the weekend. Therefore I bring you Alcoholoroscopes, courtesy of fellow clerk/comrade in arms, KB.

The following is mine:

Drinking style
Leo likes to drink and dance -- they're often fabulous dancers, and usually pretty good drinkers as well, losing their commanding dignity and turning kittenish. Of course, they're quite aware they're darling - Leos will be Leos, after all. They generally know their limit, probably because they loathe losing self-control. When they get over-refreshed, expect flirting to ensue -- and perhaps not with the one what brung them. But Leo's not the type to break rules even when drunk, so just try to ignore it (try harder, Cancer) and expect a sheepish (and hung over) Lion to make it up to you the next day.

Hmmm, no one who knows me would ever describe me as a "fabulous dancer." But dancing certainly never happens without alcohol and then it usually involves classic moves like "The Robot," "The Shopping Cart," "The Sprinkler," etc. KB says she thinks I seem like I would be a good dancer. Unless Dance Dance Revolution counts as dancing, I am sure at some point this summer I will prove her wrong.

I do know my limit: 3 G&T's per 4 hours is usually about right. This formula varies depending on whether or not I've eaten, how long I stretch out the drinks, etc.

Flirting does not ensue as I am quite incapable, but I do get incredibly chatty, and loud (my sis will constantly tell me to "turn my volume down"). Also, after 3 G&Ts generally I start to tell my friends that I love them, that they are awesome, and then I will probably hug them as well. I don't know if this behavior qualifies so much as "darling" as much as "annoying" or "irritating."

I'm only sheepish about my behavior with people I don't know well. Otherwise, you know what you bargained for.

Get your own alcoholoroscope here. Or, for a pictoral trip of what your last outing may have been like, visit You Drunk As Hell.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

The World Is Badly Made

EZ tells me the French have a saying "Le monde es mal fait" (I believe that's the spelling) which translates to the title of this entry. Sometimes the French are right on.

I have just learned that on July 4th, a member of my class died in a car accident.

This is the second person in my class to die since we began law school, in addition to three professors this academic year alone.

I did not know this boy, but I cannot help but think of the poignant words of John Donne:

No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Between the deaths and the hurricane, EZ said he was beginning to feel that, like Job, our class had suffered more than our fair share. But Job eventually got his life back after a sufficient amount of kicking around. I wonder when the dust will settle in our case.

The world is badly made indeed.

My Dad Sends The Best Emails Part III

My sister, who lives in England, is about to graduate with her master's degree in art, so my parents are there for her final show and graduation ceremony. I am a working schmuck and cannot take a two week break this summer. Oh well. I am a bad sibling, and according to Time magazine this week, it's your siblings, more than your parents, that shape a person.

Interesting. I had no idea that when sis and I were pounding one another's brains out, we were actually teaching each other social skills. Or that's what the shrinks say.

At any rate, the following is the new haiku-email my father sent me to let me know they arrived safely and are now staying with my sister's boyfriend:


I am sitting at the kitchen table in the H. household, looking out the back door at their lovely yard. It is cloudy and cool, and a cool soft rain has been falling.

We will be in touch.


Monday, July 03, 2006

A Rough Weekend For The Girls of The LC

KB, my fellow clerk and I both had a, shall we say, interesting weekend.

KB agreed to go watch a movie with this boy who was a sort of friend of friend. This is all normal enough, except that he took her to see Drawing Restraint 9. A Matthew Barney film.

(close friends can skip over this part because you've heard a variation of this rant before, skip to the end, I'll put in a marker to tell you where)

If you are not familiar with Matthew Barney, it should be enough to know that he is married to Bjork. I in fact like to call him Mr. Bjork. Even if you are a fan of her music (I enjoy some of her work), you have to recognize that she is a bit odd, and by the transitive property of people, so is Matthew Barney. I had to work with him once, and I found him a strange and remarkably unbathed man, yet he seems to have the power to make women swoon. I do not count myself among these women.

Drawing Restraint 9 is his latest um, opus. Some people seem to love it. Others seem to hate it. Or at least feel rather indifferent towards it. I have yet to see the film, and don't plan to as I was forced to suffer through his other 5 films, but I feel sure I'll fall into the latter camp if I am forced to watch it. Reading the website's drivel was more than enough for me.

Barney's previous work is a series of films known as The Cremaster Cycle. While 5 films about, as the title "Cremaster" would suggest, the muscle that make a man's balls rise and fall, might seem shocking to some, to me it merely seems self-indulgent. The poor cremaster muscle serves only an elaborate surrogate for "penis" in these films. Apparently Barney decided not to name it "The Penis Cycle" for greater cache, and the sense of anonymity that "Cremaster" could provide, and by that I mean that he was attempting to prevent boys age 7-40 from snickering because he is a "serious" artist.

Yes, yes, I know "Cremaster" is supposed to play heavily on the "master" part of the word and imply that his work is rife with master/servant symbolism, predominantly masonic in nature. However, I think he tends to use symbolism as clumsily* as George "Do Fries Go With That Shake" Clinton, but that's just me. And I happen to like George Clinton.

*e.g. view MB's be-ribboned penis v. the be-ribboned top of the Chrystler building

And though five minutes of this mish mash might be beautiful and intriquing, 2 plus hours of it transends any sort of expression of artistic intelligence into the realm of the supremely narcissistic. Not since Richard Serra threw hot metal on the wall in a display of male excess, have we seen such unapologetic alpha male grunting. Why must I spend $9 and two odd hours of my life indulging Mr. Barney's mastubatory fantasy, starring himself and his penis in larger than life roles? Because that's all these films are: epics of self and masculine worship. Barney is Jerry Bruckheimer and Michael Bay without words, with the same unrestrained ability to throw money at any effect, to make any explosion bigger regardless of meaning. And at least Bay/Bruckheimer have the self-control not to star in their own films.

All this to say, his latest film staring himself and his lady love Bjork as bizarro-world "occidental tourists" who end up slicing another into human sushi promises to be equally terrible.

So, the $64,000 question: would any person in their right mind invite another person whom they did not know on a date to this 2 and 1/2 hour miasma of horror?

No, I thought not.

KB was ecstatic to find that I could appreciate the horror as she told me the story. Her date had not warned her about the film in the slightest, and though she generally enjoys art house films, she was entirely unprepared for her cinematic experience.

(good friends can rejoin me here)

My experience is far more mundane, and yet equally frustrating. Saturday I went out with KN, her fiance J., and fellow friend A. We started at a place called Beauty Bar which I really liked, but was quite dead. KN suggested we go to 6th street for a bit and then come back when the bar was more lively.

I am now reaquainted with my dislike of 6th street. We went into some bar with a terrible tropical theme because they were giving away free well drinks to ladies. This seemed like a good idea [read: cheap] so we went inside. We turned out to be the only girls there other than some wildly gyrating middle aged housewives on the dancefloor which gave me awful Bourbon Street flashbacks.

At this point J. ran into a guy he knew who had some friends with him. One chatty friend spoke to A. and I until learning A. had a boyfriend, so he began chatting with me. Once discovering I am in law school, chatty friend decided to share with me:
a) how evil lawyers are
b) how evil lawyers are because they will have to represent something they don't fully believe in
c) how there are so many frivolous law suits in America
d) how every other "civilized" country has penalties for losing a suit and so should America

It's thrilling to meet someone who knows about the legal profession based solely on cheap TV ads and what he's heard from Bill O'Reilly.

Now KN had been urging me to conduct a social experiment on our evening out. In high school, La Blogda and I perfected the a dumb-SMU-girl voice based on this supremely annoying girl we had in our study hall. The truly sad thing is that this voice produces a pavlovian response in boys.

After demonstrating the voice for KN and J. at dinner a few nights ago, J. admitted its attractive qualities and suggested that KN should "take notes." KN was incensed, but also intriqued by the effect produced and wanted me to use the voice while we were out, that is to use my power for evil instead of good and get us free beverages. She is even calling this voice-using-alter-ego "Brooke." But this young man irritated me too much to play the stupid girl.

I considered explaining to him the very high evidentiary standards for say, discrimination suits that would surely never go to court if the loser had to pay court fees. Or how I support the basic legal principle that everyone is entitled to representation. Or a half-dozen other principled arguments.

But screaming such salient points over throbbing bar music seemed not worth the effort, so instead I inquired after this young man's profession that afforded him such moral superiority. Turns out he is a mechanical engineer and he helps makes bombs.

All I can say is, whatever my moral failings, at least I don't make bombs. Or 5 films in monument to myself (and my great rack).