Thursday, September 30, 2010
This year's death trifecta, though, gives us an interesting glimpse into Hollywood's many incarnations: the former golden boy, the comeback and the could-have been.
The first, Tony Curtis was a Hollywood fixture of the highest order. He starred in more than four dozen films, Some Like it Hot, most famously, bedded famous starlets and then callously wrote about them, sired famous children (Jamie Lee Curtis) and pretty much abandoned them and in his later years, managed to annoy most of Hollywood's new guard when he announced on Larry King Live that he, like many of his old Hollywood friends, would never dream of voting for Brokeback Mountain as Best Picture. Why you ask? Because the film was about homosexuals and quite frankly, that was something he just couldn't get behind. These were his words, by the way. Not mine. It was a full life.
Gloria Stuart, on the other hand, didn't get to taste Hollywood success until she was well into her eighties when she starred in Titanic as an older version of Rose (Kate Winslet played the younger version). She had spent her early years on contract to the studios and when she grew tired of playing the girlfriend ditched town to become a graphic designer. She hadn't ever intended on acting again until James Cameron came calling and invited to join the cast of Titanic. Now, everyone remembers her as the old version of the lady who got to pop Leonardo DiCaprio in the hold of a ship. You could do worse in this life, non?
Finally, Greg Giraldo, was a funny, funny, dude who could have been huge had he not gotten in his own way. A former lawyer who gave up a job at a law firm to pursue comedy, Giraldo became a wildly successful stand-up comic who specialized in dispensing his own brand of sharp and often brutal humor. Like Lewis Black, his routines tended to clever and exasperated rants. The best of which, to my mind, was one I caught last year on Comedy Central at roast in which he excoriated that douche, Larry the Cable Guy.
“Some people say Larry’s only successful because he’s pandering to the lowest common denominator,” Mr. Giraldo said. “Don’t listen to these people, Larry. They’re just bitter and jealous and right.”
Mr. Geraldi, I think I will miss you most of all.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
*** SPOILER ALERT( for my male readers only!) **** This post concerns waxing. Be Ye Forewarned......
Many moons ago, I told a friend that I had never done any waxing. I believe my exact words to her were, “I have never, ever waxed. I don’t have any intention of waxing. It sounds pointless and incredibly painful. So I am never going to do it.” I'm sort of unequivocal in that way.
Well, guess what? Now I know I was right. And the worst part, is that I cannot bask in my own self-righteousness because I am in too much pain.
Let me start at the beginning of my terrible judgement. A few days ago, I went to the pool to swim a few laps. I have gotten into swimming this summer after completing a 1.5 KM swim this summer and coming in fourth. Out of four. Sigh. Next year I wanna do better so, I have been pseudo-training -and by pseudo-training I mean heading to the pool only when my overwhelming shame from coming in last forces me there - in the hopes of doing a bit better next year. I'll take third, even.
Anyway, after my swim I realized that I had a bit of a Chewbacca thing going on in the leg area and I thought to myself that maybe, it was time to start waxing. I would be coming here more frequently, I surmised so why not try to look like I didn't just step out of the primordial mud.
So, I went to a place and the girl there, Natalie (may she burn in hell) convinced me that I should try a bikini wax, as well. What the hell, I figured. Why not? I was getting my legs done at a place that offered hair-ripping services, so why not go all the way.
Why not, indeed!
It wasn’t so much the the waxing itself — which was deeply undignified but not too painful — it was the horrifying, burning, swollen aftermath. It never occurred to me that I would need to heal after waxing. Perhaps because I am stupid.
I texted a friend who did this frequently and angrily asked the obvious. Why do you do this? Why does it hurt so much? Why hadn’t anyone told me?
But you’re smooth right?, she answered.
Yes, I replied. Like a plucked chicken with some sort of inflammatory disease. Screw you.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
I have a real thing for magazines. How much of a thing? Well, here is a sample of just a few that I could find in two minutes:
P.S. Most of these were the ones within arms reach of my desk. I didn't even need to stand up to get at them! Sad, non?
Up until about three months ago I had stacks and stacks of every magazine I have ever bought or subscribed to, squirreled away in various dark corners of my house. Martha's Stewart Livings from as far back as 1998, three years worth of Country Living, old Rolling Stone's from way back in the day(not Keith, though...Charlie Watts) I guess my thinking was that one day I was going to need to look through these for inspiration! ONE DAY! Hell, you never know when you are going to need to decoupage a side table.
And then the Tyrant threatened to start throwing them away willy nilly if I didn't start refining my collection (All except for The New Yorkers, of course, because those are his bathroom reads). So I kept all the copies of magazines that have gone out of business (Cottage Living, Martha Stewart Baby, Hoarders Weekly) and then got rid of everything else. Ahem. IT WAS BRUTAL. You have no idea. It felt like I was cutting off a limb, I can't explain why. One day I'm really going to need to reference this specific Martha Stewart Living, AND WHAT WILL I DO THEN?
And then what should I get in the my child's backpack. A magazine subscription fundraising catalogue. AHHHHHH!! Thanks universe.
Friday, September 3, 2010
The new Arcade Fire album