This Looks Like The Best Movie Ever

My child-bearing years are long over, but nothing can make me bawl faster than a baby. That’s why this movie looks awesome to me. I could barely get through the trailer from weeping, but it was worth the sobs to get to the very final scene.

 

Pop-Culture Cop-Outs

I want to talk about some of the pop-culture crap I am exposed to every day as a media-friendly Westerner, and my total disinterest in a shedload of said crap.  In this day and age, we are in a historically unique and privileged position to suffer from heretofore unseen levels of sensory and information overload, at least half of which is, as mentioned above, absolute crap.

Sometimes I feel like my brain has been peeled off the walls of my skull, drained out through my ears and nose, deposited in a jar of sugary Cool-Aid, shoved in a blender, and then filtered back into my head via a reverse-suction Slurpee straw.  By which I mean to say, almost every freshly-gleaned insight and hardwon smattering of knowledge I managed to retain over hundreds of years of schooling is being gradually eroded and sanded to nothingness by a constant stream of gossip that I am internalizing and remembering about the cast of Gray’s Anatomy, a show that I have never seen nor wished to view.

The criteria for a Pop-Culture Cop-Out are loose.  These may be things the general, idiot public seem to enjoy, or things that your peer group expect you to enjoy, be that enjoyment ironic, nostalgic, or genuine.  It has to be more than a movie that was inexplicably popular (like Wanted, which was so godawful I fell asleep on the couch in a self-directed mercy-kill), but, instead, a franchise that is well-regarded and continues to resonate with the populace, to your utter confusion.

Some cases of Pop-Culture Cop-Out can be attributed to snobbery; in other cases, it’s just that the phenomenon simply never connected with you.  In my call-outs, I’m not begrudging the enjoyment other people have experienced from these things (excepting Mariah Carey, maybe); I just want to list a number of pop-culture instances that never resonated with me, for one reason or another, and of which I work hard to maintain my willful ignorance.  I have only so many brain cells, and I have to fight for their integrity. 

These are things I feel I am meant to respect, but which fail to strike a solitary note of interest in my breast.  What follows is a non-chronological history of popular cultural phenomena in which I have utterly failed to participate:

 

Add it to Your Netflix Queue Now!

Feeling a little nauseated?  Maybe you ate a bad burrito, or that 8th Jack-and-Coke isn’t sitting in your stomach so well (you drunken whore).  Looking for something to tickle your gag reflex?  Then enjoy the trailer for the soaring epic “Come What May,” a story of one white boy’s brave battle to overturn Roe v. Wade, coming straight-to-DVD near you!:

If the trailer failed to spell out THE REAL ISSUES for you, here’s a plot summary from the film’s website:

 

Today’s Laugh

You must not miss the “click here” part of this item, from my favorite celebrity gossip girl, Lainey, from my native land. Too too too funny.

Those who loved Slumdog Millionaire will also appreciate the subject matter, about the lovely lead actress’s secret shame — a husband she ditched.

 

The Baited Bear: Tidings of Comfort and Joy

Happy Friday, bitches! The holidays are upon us (more or less), which means that we’re all probably pretty knee-deep up with the S’s: Santa, Shopping, Sephora catalogs, Shit I’ve Bought That I don’t Need, Stress, and Sickness. Everyone I know is coming down with something, including yours truly. Y’all, I am so fucking sick right now. I should NOT be at work, but we’re crazy busy right before the holidays, so I really can’t get away (I shouldn’t even be writing this right now, either…). I’ve got some kind of sinus infection that may or may not have spread to my eardrums, which, according to the nurse practitioner who peeped at them, are all jolly and red like Rudolph’s nose. Yaaaay. I feel so festive, except totally not.

Actually, I kind of feel like this kid:

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Fucking, will someone please get me a sippy cup full of Juicy Juice (and gin) and a goddamn cuddle blankey? For the fuck of shit.

And when I feel like ass, there’s usually one thing that usually makes me feel better, or at least distracts me from my pain long enough to stop me from acting like a toddler all night, and that is to watch a movie. Usually when I’m sick I’ll curl up on the couch and watch the really bad girl movies that I otherwise hate like How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (I know, shut up). But, since it’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year, let’s talk about the best & worst holiday films of all time:

 

Bittercups: This Is Why I Don’t Go To The Movies

So last night Mr. K and I did something we very rarely do, we went to a movie.  We are absolutely notorious for saying we’ll go to a movie and then finding the slightest of reasons to talk ourselves out of going.  I don’t know why this is, I really don’t, it’s just the way it happens.  I think the last movie we saw at the theater was “The 40 Year Old Virgin”, yeah.

 

Anyway, even though the mister did suggest at one point that we head back home, we stayed the course and went to the movie.  Mr. K had suggested we see “Transporter 3” and I am not one to turn down H-O-T-T ass Jason Statham so I was good with the flick and looking forward to the show.  Amazingly we were also on time and didn’t have to rush into a darkened theater looking for seats while the soles of our shoes adhered to the soda-and-candy glue of the floor.  We got something to drink and some candy and moseyed on up to some choice seats.  

 

Paisley Pajamas Reports: Sneaking a Peek of Oliver Stone’s “W”

 

How does one go about lampooning those who lampoon themselves? It’s easy with people who take themselves too seriously, but those who repeatedly, excessively and exhaustively fumble and bumble in their twisted logic while running a superpower nation? That’s dangerous territory to tread in order to keep it honest, avoid a derisive tone, not make light of the perilous results and work in the funny bits.

FUNNY?  Is this even possible?

I’m not one to put much stock in History According to Hollywood, and find myself looking for the gaffes regarding historical content. Anything pulled from the dusty-corners-of-the-phone-booth-of-the-mind of a screenwriter and churned through the movie-making mill is often suspect cinematic product when it promotes itself as a slice of life from another era or a glimpse behind the scenes of well-known historical fact. I have to say, after seeing Oliver Stone’s latest flick, W, the one good thing — the ONLY good thing — that can be said about the presidency of George W. Bush is that it’s spawned a new genre of filmic entertainment.

When I first heard that Stone was making a film about G-Dub and hoped to release it before he left office, and then later stepped up production to release it before the 2008 presidential election, I simply shook my head, then plugged my ears, then closed my eyes and repeated “la-la-la-la-la,” hoping it would go away. Yes, like 80 per cent of most other Americans (if the latest polls are still indicative), I have had my fill of the W era.

 

Inside Our Sugar Walls: Dykes On Film

Welcome to another weekly edition of Inside Our Sugar Walls, the blog spot where you get the most dyke for your dollar.  As you might have guessed, this week the resident lesbians of BCP discuss with us their favorite lesbian film moments (no, no porn this week – naughty!) after the jump:

 

Irrational Celebrity Hatreds: Claire Forlani

In light of that the DNC is going on, people are totes uptight about stuff, and my head is about to explode due to wedding planning madness, can we please just talk about shit that utterly does not matter? K, thanks. I want to take this moment to bag on a national monument to bad acting and poor project choices: Claire Forlani.

Normally, the Forlani schadenfreude in my household is limited to the family Panda watching Meet Joe Black every single time it comes on TV… So that we may laugh at it. That movie is so bad, it makes us positively giddy. The ‘can’t take a damn thing about this film seriously’ factor is so high, that we can’t even call Brad Pitt’s character “Joe Black”, “The Reaper”, “Death” or whatever. We have to call him “Meet Joe Black.” One of us will get up to go to the bathroom, come back and say, “What have I missed? Is Meet Joe Black on about peanut butter again? That man is positively obsessed!” or “OOH! Is this the part where Meet Joe Black talks all Jamaican for no reason? Fantastic!” The saddest part is, that MJB is probably the best movie Forlani has ever been in, and it’s not like hers was a standout role. She plays “underfed pretty blue-blood girl whose nonthreatening looks and quiet (read: boring) grace cause an undead(?) man to fall for her (like it’s hard or something).” More Forlani bagging and the reasons why to pour yourself a big ole cup of skinny Brit expat h8erade after the jump.

 

Do Me With Yer Sex Packets, Baybee

BiscuitDoughJones’ earlier post about the Spice Girls made me think of other 90’s jams that I associated with safe sex back in the day. Let’s take it on back now….