Archive for Movies
bison, the other, other, other white meat.
I recite affirmations to myself every morning, and it still hasn’t done much to quell the onslaught of negative feelings I have about my body. My psyche just will not let me accept myself for the beautiful man that I am. I’ve always been fairly happy being a skinny asian boy, but now that I’m developing into a skinny asian man, something has clicked inside my head, and now i’ve found myself drinking heinous protein shakes and pondering my pecs every time I find myself shirtless around the apartment.
There are too many mirrors in this world.
Not to mention the constant flashing of the world’s idea of the perfect male form on my television screen whenever I flip on the boob tube. If US is so obese, why aren’t they showing more obese men on TV? Kevin James doesn’t count.
I’m not sure when I developed such a complex. I suppose in gay-years I’m hitting adolescence where suddenly I cease to be the logical young scholar that I came into college as, and become on par with your average thirteen year old girl who is still wearing that sports bra she grabbed off the Pennys bargain rack. I still contend that by college I should have pecs.
It seems petty to be so worried about my body when there is so much else going on. Disease, war and the coming presidential election- It distresses me that I’m so concerned whether or not my abs are rock hard, instead of the rising price of gas. Perhaps it will just be another passing obsession. Like when I was really in to europop.
I blame the amount of gay porn that I’ve been watching in the hours of boredom that I find myself intrenched in on a daily basis here in Decatur.
As a sidenote, the movie Teeth has only reaffirmed my aversion to the vagina. While I realize that most women do not possess a set of fangs on their clit, this movie serves as a cautionary tale for all those who have ever considered going near one.
It makes me want to go ew, ew, ew… Gross.
kick that bucket
I briefly considered composing my own “bucket list” (a list of things you want to do before you “kick the bucket.” Clever, I know), a testament to how completely and utterly bored I am in Decatur. However I had to stop, because it just became my list of places I want to have sex before I die. Is that even more depressing than the fact that I almost considered making a bucket list? I’m not sure.
The Happening was absolutely horrible in all possible ways. I don’t understand why Mr. Shyamalan continues his stubborn insistence on directing his own scripts. We get it. But honestly dude, you’re a far better director than you are a writer. You can only go so far with dull movies anchored by their “shocking” endings. This is a perfect example. Brilliant direction, but piss-poor writing.
I will give him this- I have never been more terrified of trees before in my life. And my lifelong fear of death by industrial lawn mower was horrifically brought to life in one gut wrenching moment. Props on that.
But seriously folks, save your eight bucks.
write about it in your blawg.
I just brought home the third season of Weeds from work, and with it I have rekindled my undying obsession for Mary Louise Parker. Hmmm. What a delicious blend of talent and quirkiness. Let’s recap my journey with M-lou, shall we?
As a young lad of probably 6 or 7, I can remember being starstruck by Parker in a little film I liked to call “Tomato tomato,” which is of course the film that normal people referred to as Fried Green Tomatoes. What seven year old boy can’t recall plopping down in front of the television to watch Kathy Bates roll herself in saran wrap to entice her husband? Or Mary Louise engaging in some heavy cannibalism, and lest we should forget: Chris O’Donnel’s tragic end on the railroad tracks (I literally wouldn’t go near railroad tracks until my teen years because of this movie). A cautionary tale for all ages.
It was then that I told my mom that I had a crush on “that lady.” Not Kathy Bates rolled in saran wrap, but Mary Louise. This, I would later come to find out, was my first “gay crush.” Those stirrings gay men have toward women of substance and talent. Hmmm. Sorry mom, I wasn’t admiring her ta-ta’s, but her cinematic presence.
I took a break from Mary Louise for a while to focus more on God. It wasn’t until I was in highschool that I witnessed the brilliance that was Boys on the Side. Hello? AIDS? Lesbians? How could a young, closeted guy not find THAT fascinating? I believe this was in my “I’m secretly watching lifetime movies” phase. Oops. Mary was great, yadda yadda. But this started my other obsession: Whoopi, you’re really not a lesbian? Really? Come on. But I digress.
I admit, after doing a bit of research a couple of years ago (read: IMDB) I realized that my Mary Louise vocabulary was sadly lacking. At that point I checked out movies such as The Client (RIP Brad Renfro), Pipedream and Bullets Over Broadway among others. It’s one of the great tragedies of film that she lost out to Gwenyth Paltrow to reprise her role in Proof. Too old? Fuck that. Not enough star power? Redic.
I guess you could say I wasn’t completely aware that I was obsessed until I saw Angels In America my senior year. I guess you could also say I didn’t know what fucking mindblowing was either until I saw that movie. Before then she lauded giggles and a post-it in the back of my brain with movies like Saved!, but it was then, seeing her desperate and naked on a rooftop, pleading with her mormon husband to fuck’er that I can remember my path down fanboy lane truly began. It’s not often that the sight of a vagina can stir that much emotion in me, but damnit all, Mary Louise has got fire!
Does anyone remember this? :
It’s ok, not many people do. It’s Zac Efron playing autistic track star, Steven Thomas in Lifetime’s Miracle Run (a true “lifetime original”). Notable for it’s awkwardness yes, but also for- you guessed it! Mary Louise as his mother. I’m not gonna lie. I watched this movie, and wondered aloud in my basement “Why is Mary Louise Parker in this movie?” We all have our professional missteps. Forgive and forget I always say. But somehow I don’t think I can ever forget that.
Mary Louise was originally offered Teri Hatcher’s role on Desperate Housewives back when it was in pre-production, and as much as that would undoubtedly been genius, I’m glad she turned it down (although she turned it down because she didn’t think the show would do well. tut-tut MLP, tut-tut. Who you getting your advice from?) because she would later go on to star in the hit Showtime original series Weeds, which has quickly become my absolute favorite show on television. Next to Gilmore Girls (more on this later). Interestingly enough, the show also stars one of my other favorites from Angels, Justin Kirk (more on him later). Weeds is great. Even MKO (Mary Kate Olsen) can’t taint the fun.
Such has been my journey with Mary Louise Parker. And what a journey it’s been. I can only hope that her body of work continues to grow in such a way that will force me to continually question my own sexuality in the face of her beauty and talent. Here’s to you Mary Louise, here’s to you.
Here are some examples of her brilliance. Youtube, go!
The stuff at the beginning is only mildly useless. just wait for it…
While not all about Mary Louise, this is one of the many examples of why I love her. Just keep watching. It’s worth it. Or maybe it’s not. But either way, I fear Cher after watching this.
There are no words. Just… Fantastic.
There are a saddening amount of quality MLP videos on the internet right now. If anyone can find me her golden globes speech… I’ll give you a crisp two dollar bill.
It’s a solitary sequel, to never knowing anything at all
So I may have been a bit hasty in deleting the Nanny Diaries post. But live and learn. Ce la vie, and all that. Hopefully I’ve distracted everyone with the new layout.
I decided to do it. To take myself out on a date tonight. I am, I have decided, the best company I could choose for myself right now in the absence of anyone else I could choose.
The night started out nice enough- dinner, a trip to the book store. There’s nothing I adore much more than schlepping around the book store for a few hours without any serious intentions of buying anything at all. It’s harder to do that in Decatur, considering there are no book stores located anywhere I’m aware of.
-Interestingly enough, firefox’s spell check recognizes “schlepping” but does not recognize “firefox.” Funny.
I always expect that I’ll find my true love someday on one of these solitary dates. Hopefully in the bookstore. Finding my soulmate in a bookstore would amount to the perfect amalgamation of every fantasy I’ve ever had about meeting a man. Probably why I keep finding myself in bookstores, and probably why I haven’t found my true love in Decatur yet.
After my excursion to the bookstore, fruitless in both love finding and book buying, I headed over to the movie theater to partake of the cinematic gem Dan in Real Life. I loved this movie. There’s something about movies that try and recreate the human experience that get me every time. Those movies that aren’t exactly romantic comedies, and aren’t exactly heart wrenching dramas- the ones that fall somewhere ambiguously in between. Those movies I like. A lot. Dan just did it for me, in every possible way a movie could have possibly pleased me at the very moment that I was watching it. Probably not the most poignant piece of cinema that has every hit the silver screen, but honest and unreal in not altogether conflicting ways. There’s something unbelievably likable about Steve Carell in this movie that kept me on his side the entire time. Dane Cook couldn’t even ruin it for me.
Norbert Leo Butz was in it, and he got fat. The only disappointing thing I could find about this movie.
There was something incredibly ironic about watching the story of a man who is completely alone, in a movie theater- completely alone. Ha. Maybe more funny than ironic.
My night was a success in that it both picked up my spirits considerably and I got out of the house for a much needed few hours. Speaking of the house, we’ve come to the decision that this is probably the last prolonged stay I’ll be having in Plainfield. At least with the fam. We’ve all agreed that there’s something- off about having me around for so long. So I did it today, I got that storage locker to house those things that I don’t necessarily need at school, but don’t need to burden my parents with, and am bringing the rest of it back to my apartment. I don’t really know where I’m going to go over breaks, but after this month of constant awkwardness, staying at my place in Decatur doesn’t seem so bad.
I won’t have any bookstores to frequent though. Love can wait I guess. Ha!
We sure are cute for two ugly people
The thing about driving a station wagon is, is that you sort of become that averagely awkward kid on the playground. Not the biggest kid on the block exactly- you get picked on, but mostly just ignored. The thing about those kind of kids is that when they find the person one notch awkward-er (?) on the social ladder, they jump at the chance to shove it in their poor bastard face. Driving a station wagon is a lot like this. Because while driving one, you’re used to being passed and cut off. You’re slower than the fancy sports cars and gaudy SUV’s. So when you find yourself driving next to a lumbering minivan, suddenly become that kid again. That kid who fits somewhere in social limbo, who picks on those [fatter, slower, uglier...] than himself just to be reminded that he exists on the social ladder at all. And you pass the fatty minivan shamelessly.
Saw Juno tonight with Cass, and it lived up to every ounce of hype that you’ve most likely been hearing about it. Ellen Page probably doesn’t deserve the Golden Globe (or the Academy Award nom that is likely to follow), but if she wins it as a good deal of the entertainment world is currently predicting, I don’t think there will be any rioting in the streets either. The thing that really strikes me about Juno as compared to recent movies of its genre is that it is a genuinely “feel good” as they come without spiraling into sentimental drivel. Ellen Page is quirky and is just young enough to pull off “precocious teenager” without seeming pretentious. She handles herself in the emotionally meatier scenes with the finesse of an actor years her senior (note to self: find out how old Ellen Page is. The interesting thing about this is that I’m not worried how I’ll find that out, but which website I’ll used to do it. Weird). I would date Michael Cera in a heartbeat (something I’ll touch on in a second) and while he plays the awkward teen with an ease that suggests he might not have to “act” all that much, I worry that this might just become an overused schtick with Cera. Hopefully we’ll be able to see him master something (or someone more appropriately) in the future, because as cute as find him in his last two blockbusters, the charm will fade eventually. Allison Janney and J.K. Simmons were both notably wonderful, neither falling into the fatally annoying trap of playing up the quirks in their characters too big. They reminded me of my parents oddly enough. The entire cast was incredibly likable, only Jason Bateman’s character stands out as being completely unrelatable. Jennifer Garner was lucky enough to get a well written part, but as an actress she’s touch and go for me. A prettier, less talented version of Hilary Swank anyone? Who thought Catch and Release and P.S. I Love You were the same movies for a split second?
Another notable quality about Juno was the blasé attitude it took towards the issue of abortion. It’s refreshing to see a character who is as completely ambivalent towards the morality of the issue as the average college student is. Most people I talk to at school have no strong feelings on the act either way. Juno chooses not to receive the abortion not because of any especially moral sentiments and considers it not because of any particularly feminist leanings. I don’t know.
Michael Cera has the kind of quirkiness that I find oddly appealing. It’s funny, because when you meet the kind of awkward guy that Cera embodies, you rarely find him as attractive as you find it on the big screen. Or I don’t in any case. Well maybe I do. But I feel like you have to be ready for it, you know?
Recently I’ve been “reconnecting” with a guy that I dated briefly in high school. It wasn’t a bad breakup, and it’s not as though there was any reason it would be awkward for us to be friends now. But talking to him now, it’s only natural for me to try and remember why we broke up in the first place. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that we had a perfect on paper relationship. Does that make sense?
In the age of myspace, facebook and all the other internet applications that allow you to network amongst thousands, sometimes millions of people, it’s becoming increasingly easier for you to figure out your compatibility with other people. I mean, you know what I’m talking about- every one of those sites has some semblance of an “about me” section that allows you to share with anyone with a computer what your taste in movies, books and television is. Even when people don’t find these sections of their profile important to expound on and leave them mostly blank- that says a lot about them too. Seriously. I could never date someone who wrote “I don’t read books” under their favorite books section. I mean, honestly. I just couldn’t.
Rarely these types of sites really let you in on who someone is though, right? The reason I bring this up is since I’ve been talking to high school boyfriend so much lately, and being the incredible creeper that I am, it’s only natural that I should stalk his facebook a little in the recent weeks, right? And the more I stalk, the more I think to myself how, on paper, we were perfect match. Similar tastes in music, movies, books. Religious beliefs match up. The same geekish qualities. Both about similarly good looking in our own way, everything seemed pretty much “right” right? But what the hell was wrong?
I mean there are probably a thousand reasons we broke up back then that I can’t even remember. We were in high school, distance, distractions, we were in high school… I mean whatever, right? But it’s still frustrating to think about. That someone can have all the qualities you initially think you need to fall in love, but something can still be missing. Something you can’t put on your facebook profile. Something you can’t even prescribe a description. I mean how the hell are you supposed to look for someone with a specific “quality” if you’re not even sure what that quality is? Hell, how am I supposed to know it’s even a quality? That might not even be the right word.
I am such a list person. I like feeling like I can make a list of my interests and qualities and match that up with someone else’s similar list. I like the idea that if enough of those items match up we’re perfect for each other, right? I need to feel that that can work. I don’t like knowing that when I find that “person” I won’t know they’re the person before I know that they’re the person.
I’ve had three pseudo-sexual experiences since the semester began, all of varying levels of awkward. This, worlds away from the constant (and enjoyable) sex that I was having during the summer, is disappointing to say the least. But the more I think about it, the sex during the summer was disappointing in much the same way. It’s just more obvious how disappointing it all is when you walk away from it feeling immediately terrible, instead of feeing terrible upon reflection.
I think I’ve finally reached that point in my life where meaningless hook-ups no longer seem as fulfilling as it did when I was in high school. How tragic.
when I’m one hundred and thirty-three years old
As I’ve gotten older, this season has become increasingly more frustrating for a number of reasons. First of all, you become more aware of how truly miserable you are. Not necessarily more or less miserable than you would normally be on any given Monday in October, but somehow, because of the nature of the season, you become somehow more aware of your own unhappiness because of the dichotomy between what Hallmark tells you you should be feeling, and what you actually feel.
Tonight I discovered yet another reason to hate the most wonderful time of the year. I usually enjoy gift shopping for people. I positive side effect of my various neurotic tendencies is that I remember specific conversations with people where they may have expressed some obscure want or need that they might not otherwise put on a list. I live for obscurity. So I’m that friend who gives you that signed copy of a back issue of the Rollingstone featuring your favorite actress. Cute, right? Unfortunately that kind of detail doesn’t fly when I’m shopping for my family. More specifically my parents.
Do you remember that time in your life when your parents would give you five or ten dollars to spend on each member of your family? Essentially they would give you their money so you could buy a gift for them? The logic behind that move never really mattered when you were six, but of course I think back on it now and wish it were that simple and mildly nonsensical. The thing about buying presents for your parents back then was it really didn’t matter what you got them. They never really expected much, and they probably still don’t expect all that much from me now as a twenty year old. It’s funny how you get more and more specific as you grow up. As a kid I knew my mom liked reading. So of course I would have her drive me to the book store so I could pick up whatever book I randomly thought my mother would enjoy. As I grew up I would attempt to tailor my literary purchases to ones that I thought she might actually enjoy. Now I try and find books I think she’ll actually read (there’s a subtle difference between the last two). But now, it all seems to petty and pointless. That’s where the frustrating part comes in.
I feel guilty. I felt guilty the entire two hours that I attempted to shop for my parents tonight. I don’t have the money, nor the knowledge deep within their psyche’s to understand what they need. They don’t need any of the shit that they’re getting from me on Christmas. They never have. And they probably have never cared, I get that. But the thing that bothers me is I want to be able to give them something that will actually make them happy. Something that won’t seem so shallow in a week or a month’s time. I want to pay off their mortgage.
It may seem strange to most people, but it’s just a complex that I have in regards to my family. The two dominating personality traits that they possess that I’m aware of is their staunch conservatism and their obsession with Jesus. They’re both probably equally unhappy in their marriage, but that’s a blog for another day. They don’t watch movies. They don’t listen to CD’s. They don’t read books except for the odd Dog grooming instruction manual, and the bible. I’m not really positive that they’ve ever actually used any of the gifts that I’ve given them ever.
So what’s the point? Again- this is where my frustration comes in. But it’s one of those familial obligations. I rarely ever come home anymore, and my family would be right in assuming that I genuinely dislike their company. However I don’t want them to mistake that for any lack of love on my part. I love them. In my way. So I buy them useless gifts on Christmas, that seems a lot like love, right?
My night didn’t end with my blathering internal monologue- thankfully.
I watched In the Land of Women tonight with the girls. An attempt at charming by Adam Brody and Meg Ryan kind of movie. To say it “attempted” is being kind, because by the movie’s end you’re not exactly sure what this movie was attempting to do at all. Trying to recreate movies like Garden State or Winter Passing, but missing that kind of magic that (arguably) came along with both of those movies. I think the movie had several moments where the dialogue seemed more than effective. The kind of quirky humor that never seems out of place in the real world. There are a lot of movies where there remains a sense of longing at the end, you feel maybe like the ending could be longer, fuller. I feel this way about the entire middle of the movie. The ending was perfect, but the lack of structure pervading the middle parts make it impossible for you to appreciate or understand anything that goes on at the end. I was disappointed to say the least. Maybe I’ll need to watch it again.
I feel like this big boy blog is the first step towards real adulthood, ya know?
