Idiot Box

Is it too much to ask to go and pump some stupid gas and not have a TV blaring nonsense at me while I'm doing it? Can I just go, fuel up, inhale noxious fumes and stare at the pump, contemplating what else I could have done with that $30? Seriously, it takes like 3 minutes to fill up. I'd like to spend it in a moment of Zen-like peace, or at least be able to squeegee my windows without some tool screaming at me from a TV screen mounted above the gas pump. We already have idiots pumping gas while sucking on a cigarette or talking on their stupid cellphones: do we need a bunch of yahoos spraying gas all over the place because they were watching a segment about Star Jones' weave.

The worst is when every pump at the gas station has one of these things on top of it and they are all blaring at full volume, but are all like, an eighth of a second from being completely in synch with one another. It's an endless echo of insanity that I could do without. I don't need to be marketed to every time I step out on public, thanks, and I'm actually fine with not being entertained every second of my waking life.

Speaking of entertainment, I also don't appreciate paying $89 for a movie ticket and then being forced to watch commercials before the movie starts. Let's try paying Reese Witherspoon a little less, instead.

Speaking of irritating: now those things in the drugstore that they mount to the shelves to dole out coupons come with tiny monitors that talk to you while you're trying to buy some damn shampoo. Like, SHUT. UP. First of all, no. Secondly, sometimes I like to listen to the sweet sounds of Mr. Michael MacDonald or Ambrosia as I wander the aisles, OK? So I don't need some tiny woman squawking at me from a tiny monitor and telling me to buy lotion. I'll decide when I need lotion, thanks. I don't need you inflaming my touch of Aspberger's in the meantime. Maybe that's what the lotion is for.

Movie Review: Orphan.

So I watched this movie "Orphan" last night because it looked dumb and I like movies that are unintentionally funny.

Basically, the theme was, "don't ever adopt a kid in Victorian clothing with a Russian accent". There's even a PSA before the movie starts about adoption and how it doesn't necessarily lead to death and destruction for all involved. How nice.

The movie is about a family with an adorable deaf 4 year-old and a bratty tween son who plays Guitar Hero and looks at contraband Penthouse magazines in his professionally engineered treehouse. The mom - the (only) woman from "The Departed", lost a baby in childbirth and now she and her husband, Peter Saarssssgaaaard are in the market for a new kid to bring home to their totally un-childproof home. Peter is like his generation's Andrew McCarthy or Campbell Scott; he squints his way through scenes and seems to be in danger of bursting into tears at any moment. He's one of those guys who also seems prone to discussing his feelings at great length, and no one wants that mess, so just back away.

Pete and that Maggie Gylleenhaaaaaaal have a baby together in real life. Ramona Saaaarsssgaaaard-Gyllenhaaaal is quite a handle for an infant and let's hope the kid split the difference with the genes and came out looking OK, is all I have to say. I'm sure Mags is a nice gal, but let's get her a supportive bra and some under-eye cream, right?

Anyway, the parents go to this swanky orphanage run by kindly nuns and pick out a kid pretty much based on the fact that she refuses to socialize with anyone else and displays savant-like tendancies. Good move! They bring her home the next day, because apparently picking out an orphan is like ordering something from Amazon and next-day service is available.

If you saw the trailers for this movie, you know where this is all going and I'm not really giving anything away. Soon after the Orphan moves into the Departed-Saarsgard house, things start going awry. The Orphan insists on wearing these ruffled pinafore numbers with velvet ribbons around her neck and wrists, complete with Shirley Temple/Snoop Dogg curls on the head. Hey, parents: RED FLAG.

Next, people start getting maimed and/or killed. It's basically like "The Bad Seed" but set in a house with an open floor plan where no one can have a private conversation without the Orphan lurking around and listening, then glaring in a menacing manner before tiptoeing off behind some architectural element.

Things continue to escalate. The mom considers going back to drinking. The dad cries (naturally).

Then the amazing twist is revealed about the Orphan's true past! I won't give it away, but suffice it to say it was something I jokingly posited as an explanation for this girl's behavior within the first 15 minutes of the movie and I can't believe I was right because it's pretty hilarious. After we find out the truth, the movie really picks up, but unfortunately, it's almost over by then.

Have you seen this film? What did you think?

Tippie Toe.

Remember that whole Ted Danson/Whoopi Goldberg conflagration? Like, what was that? They got together whilst filming edgy, topical comedy "Made in America" during which Whoops visits Ye Olde Sperm Bank and gets implanted with Sam Malone's fluids. Next thing you know, they're dating in real life and he's donning blackface at the Friar's Club in a misguided attempt to be his generation's Al Jolson (not to be confused with this guy).

Evidently, movie sets lead to strange bedfellows: Billy Bob and Angelina, anyone? Those were the days: those two sittin' around, swappin' blood vials and eatin' only orange foods. Then there was Brad Pitt and Juliette Lewis. Um... what? Slightly less weird was the Uma Thurman/Gary "Sid Vicious" Oldman connection. Homegirls were hitched when Uma was only 20 years old and Gary had not yet made cinematic history with his pivotal role in the cinematic classic, Tiptoes.

Are you aware of this film? If not, you should familiarize yourself with it, stat. It features Matthew McConaughey and Gary Oldman as twins. Not only are they visibly like 20 years apart in age, but Gary makes a brave choice here and plays a midget. Matt's midget twin brother. Walking around on his knees, not unlike Dorf. It's all quite extraordinary. Thrown in for good measure is a cornrowed Patsy Arquette, Kate Beckinsale and real-life midget Peter Dinklage. He also makes a brave choice by playing a Frenchman with what might be the worst fake French accent since that guy who called Sarah Palin pretending to be the King of France. I hope I'm not giving anything away, here. It's really a must-see.

Carrie Sadshaw.

When you're getting limited-time-only, free HBO, sometimes you feel obligated to watch it. Even if the only thing on is this Sex in the City movie.

First of all, what the hell is the name of it? "Sex AND the city" or "IN the City"? It doesn't really matter because it sucks for many reasons. Not the least of which is this hideous Carrie Bradshaw character. Like, hideous. Personality-wise and aesthetically speaking. Listen, I'm all for unconventional beauty, and I loved SJP in Square Pegs, but I'm drawing the line here. And it's not helping that they're putting her in the world's most ridiculous outfits. I'm all for sartorial commentary, too, but come on. ENOUGH, ALREADY. Hooking up pajama bottoms, pearls, a t-shirt, stiletto ankle boots, a fur and a SPANGLED BEANIE? You lost me at the pearls.

Even more infuriating is the fact that this character is like, a loser. I'm sorry. It's true. Running after that creepy "Big" dude with the Count Chocula eyebrows and then being ecstatically happy with the pathetic scraps of attention he throws her way every now and again? GAG. The best part of the movie [SPOILER ALERT] is when she plans some cockamamie wedding that involves her wearing some dress that is like 150 sizes too big in the boobs and he leaves at the altar. YES! But then he wins her scrawny ass back by being too lazy to actually write her a love letter and just ripping off some famous ones from history, then sending them to her via EMAIL (!) with some lame ass note like, "Sorry I screwed up." And she's like, "He really does care." WHAT?! Because he sent a freakin' email containing plagiarized material?

I can't take it. Who am I supposed to relate to, here? What am I missing?

The Pro-NO-sal.

Don't you hate it when you go to a picturesque cabin with your hotass coworker who you're pretending to be married to so you can get a green card because you're Canadian and it turns out that you are both single and lonely and the only thing keeping you apart (besides you being a Canadian) is your pride and dedication to maintaining your reputation as a hard-edged businesswoman and then when you're in the cabin, you and your hotass coworker both suddenly - whoops!- find yourselves accidentally nude and on top of one another and then like, maybe Cloris Leachman or Murphy Brown pops her head in and says something bawdy and then you realize that you're really in love after all and screw the USA and its stupid green card laws, you're moving to Canada with your hotass coworker who is now your husband?

I hate when that happens.

You have now officially seen that new Sandy Bullock/Guy Who is Married to Scarlett Jojoba and Who is Ironically Canadian in Real Life movie. You're welcome.

Organic Panic.

Few things suck the enjoyment out of a meal faster than being a couple of bites into a green salad, looking down, and realizing the whole thing is infested with aphids (Me: "Did you wash these greens?!" Husband: "They're organic!" Meaning, "No.").

I'm not going to go pro-pesticide, here, mainly because (among other bad things) I'm under the impression that prolonged exposure to them will make you end up looking like the Lady in the Radiator from Eraserhead. But maybe we need to do one of the things Andre was babbling about in My Dinner with Andre and enter into some sort of peace talks with the insect world whereby we set up designated insect infestation areas and they leave the rest of the crops alone. Or maybe we just need to wash the organic salad thoroughly from now on.

To do this weekend: rent Eraserhead, My Dinner with Andre and Mannequin Two. The last is just for good measure.

M. Needsahit Shyamalan

M. Night Shyamalan-a-ding-dong is shooting his new movie in some big-ass soundstage/airplane hangar down at the Naval Shipyard in Philadelphia.

It's called The Last Airbender. What? I don't know what that means, but at at least (unlike most of his other films), the title doesn't immediately call to mind an annoying song from yesteryear. Examples:

1. Unbreakable ("Un-break me, my sweet un-breakable you" - come on, use your imagination - or worse yet, the egregious Toni Braxton's "Un-break My Heart". Did you know that she's got a kid named Denim and one named Diezel? Amazing!)
2. Signs (by the stupidly named Canadian outfit Five Man Electrical Band and later covered by the formidable and staunchly not-Canadian band Tesla)
3. The Happening (so quintessentially '60s that just listening to it makes you feel like an honorary Supreme, complete with incredible asymmetrical bouffant)
4. The Lady in the Water (which calls to mind that PJ Harvey "Not Without My Daughter" Sally Field tribute song)

None of these were as big of a hit as The Sixth Sense, which does not immediately call to mind a song, so here's hoping this Airbender nonsense follows suit.

The Dreaded Sing-Along.

Can we all just agree that few things are less necessary or more embarrassing than sing along scenes in movies?

You've been there: you're watching some (usually sub par but morbidly fascinating) movie and here it comes - a scene in the film where suddenly, everyone thinks it would be a great time to all bust out their rendition of some overplayed oldies song. Think that "Say a Little Prayer" scene from "My Best Friend's Wedding", Tom Cruise warbling "You've Lost that Loving Feeling" in "Top Gun", a bunch of yuppies prancing around a kitchen, singing "Ain't Too Proud to Beg" (how could you, Jeff Goldblum?) in "The Big Chill"... Gross.

How would you react if people did this in real life? You're in some bar and a bunch of drunks start singing along to "Can't Get Next to You" and dancing around the room. You'd run out screaming (and hopefully at least try and taze a couple of of them on your way out the door.) Or like, you were over at your chronically single friend's house and she started dancing around in her undies, belting out "I Will Survive"? You'd either stage an intervention or stop returning her calls.

Anyway, please, no more of these. They're embarrassing for everyone involved and make people hate Otis Redding unnecessarily.

Pukey in Pink.

"What about prom, Blaine? WHAT ABOUT PROM!?"

This post was just going to be about how annoying it is that the definite article ("the") is left out of the sentences above. Why isn't it "the prom"? Is it like Christmas? It comes yearly so you don't need to qualify it? To me, it sounds wrong. So stop it.

But in remembering "Pretty in Pink", I'm recalling how irritating that movie is:

1. Blaine is a loser who always looks like he's going to cry. What's the appeal? Oh right - he's rich.
2. Ducky is clearly gay and therefore Andie is right not to waste her time helping him discover this. Let some other gal live with the trauma of thinking she turned her boyfriend gay.
3. Still, though, Ducky and Andie should have gotten together at the end. Like we're supposed to believe this random chick at "prom" was all turned on by his pompadour, BOLO TIE and spats? Come on.
4. Pretty sure it's a basic rule of fashion that redheads should generally avoid pink. And for good reason.
5. Speaking of, wtf was up with that prom dress? Annie Potts looked way hotter in the original version of the frock, which Andie then hacks up into that polka-dotted mess that's shaped like an inverted triangle, topped off with pink lace. Are you for real with that thing?
6. On the subject of Annie Potts: way to totally give up your individuality so you can date some chump who owns a pet store. Trading in your various wigs and awesome vintage clothes for a freakin' blazer with 9 foot wide shoulder pads? Ugh.
7. Andie's dad = totally annoying. Get a job.

The only things I like about this movie: Andie's car and James Spader.