Latifah’s Had It Up To Here

And I may well have used that title before, people, because – let’s be real – Latifah has been pissed off more than a few times in the four years I’ve been blogging here or on Myspace. (We’re clear on me referring to myself as Latifah, no?) So, first things first, before I get to the “anger” – no one wanted to help me but I found a way anyway! HAH! I can now force you to listen to the songs I like. Which is to say that instead of asking you to go somewhere and find it yourself, I will just put it here, right there in the corner… and you can be a buttface and not turn it on or you can be an American hero – assuming you’re in America because why else would you be reading this oh-so-American brand of retardation, which isn’t to call America retarded but rather to say that I am most definitely a product of America and am retarded. …Ahem. It’s easier if you just turn on the song now.

So Latifah’s short list of unacceptable offenses: (a) since leaving the United States – and I’ve really only gone up to the attic – I’ve gotten some pretty strange banner ads. Such as the one saying I can “win” a green card and go to the US. … Is there … some sort of raffle. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure a few Americans would be pretty pissed off if that’s the way immigration really works. I mean, Canada let me drive in with a packed U-haul and a dog but … that’s just because my whole family’s hot. Mostly Ezra. Anyway, I’m gonna need somebody to get on that whole disabling of said banners, kthanxby.

(B) The point at which I start having dreams in which Jon Gosselin appears, it’s getting a little crazy. Okay, maybe it was my fault for reading about how my girl, Nancy Grace, chomped on his manhood but seriously, when Dream Jon starts attacking my parenting by asking who’s with my son when he’s at school – which…is just retarded. And hurtful, because the administration has already made perfectly clear that I am not allowed to even hang around the entrance for six hours. But on the real, I did think it was pretty lametastic how he NOW seems to be able to open his mouth and defend his estranged wife, after letting her be raked over the coals when he was originally photographed with another woman. Because (a) you truly know their marriage because they’re on TV and (b) what sick woman ever accuses another of “deserving” her husband’s alleged infidelity? Right. Welcome to morality. And said defense was really just to draw comparisons with how “and now I’m being made to look bad by only showing one side”. Yeah. Now you get it. GET OUT OF MY DREAMS. And stay outta my car, too.

And just so you can end your day feeling good about your life. Please try to wrap your head around this. And know that death is the only real option here.

 

A Big Bag Of Whatthedoodle.

Right, so that needs no explanation. But, you know what does? An ABC Family Movie called “Legally Blondes” in which the train wreck that began as a campy, tolerable movie with that Moon character from old-school McDonalds commercials culminates in a movie with TWO bottle blonds holding tiny chihuahuas going straight to TV (after a stint on BROADWAY with such timeless songs as “Blood In The Water” and … Legally Blonde ON STAGE, as if that’s not enough). Explain that. If you’re still here and have understood the previous sentence. In the immortal words of Matheson: “Getcho hands off me!”

Just tears.

There may be more later. Right now, I need to soak my brain.

 

Cat-Tastrophe! (Another entry revisited)

This movie has replaced Glitter. I am watching it, of my own volition, right now. Josh and I could easily give you a scene by scene update on it, (for example: she wears the same layered dumpstore fare two days in a row without explanation, which is also true of her office girlfriend…who didn’t get paid for that retardation, I wonder…plus her name is Patience, she has the hair of Pollyanna and she can’t raise her voice to ask the neighbors to turn down the music at 3am – ALL this to cover the inability to get a decent script that includes actual characterization) BUT rather let’s revisit the initial response. (After I vomit fecal matter over the literal repeating of the line, “Seems like ya might be feeling better, Sal <giggle,giggle>” and the butt bouncing dribbling scene in front of a group of inner city kids OR the way the “director” thinks that shutter speed and fast cuts when coupled with horribly shabby CGI does an entire movie make!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1byobwtfomgrofvomiting)

Subject: Holy S@%$bricks, Batman!!
Posted Date: Thursday, July 06, 2006 – 3:54 PM

Ever so often….we are given….a film….so …… repugnant…. that we literally … can’t….STOP…..WATCHING. That film… is CATWOMAN. Someone. Anyone. Take Halle Berry. And HOLD. HER. Stroke her hair. Tell her it’ll be okay. You’ll be lying. But, dammit, do it anyway. Because she has crossed a line… a line so pronounced that most people never come within a hundred yards of it. We all knew she was a modern day Dorothy Dandridge. Tormented. Confused. On neither team, longing to belong. But none of us suspected that she could read a script where dialogue like this:
Bad woman: Gameover!

Catwoman: Guess what? Overtime!!

…would sound – or read, rather – profound. You simply MUST watch it to believe it.

Let’s begin at the beginning. The concept of Catwoman makes sense. In Gotham City. Alongside Batman. And the Penguin. How. On God’s green earth. Did someone think it was a concept so exciting as to subsist on its own?? How can you even begin (and no worries, they don’t) to explain why a cat was able to bring a regular ass woman in a regular ass city back to life?!? HOW? How can you explain the Egyptian meets Christina Aguilera soundtrack? How can you justify the “b-ball scene”?? I won’t even try to explain that last one. Go. Go now. Run. You must witness it for yourself. The least we can do is pad her straitjacket pockets with a mere $3 in rental fees. Or watch it on HBO on Demand. Je-SUS. Corpus Christi! This movie had several scenes, several lines where – even having already sold and promised her services – Halle should’ve quoted Bernie Mac, “This shit is booty!” and saunted her ass home. Because that catwalk strut she does in the movie? The one where she squares her shoulders and thrusts her pelvis forward? It screams, “Hi. I should have more security than I do but I’m damaged and fragile and the least little criticism will send me off a ledge so please be gentle and don’t point out that my hair looks RIDICULOUS.” And don’t worry. I’ve not even beGUN to “ruin” the movie for you. So many treasures yet to be disclosed. How about the fact that you never actually SEE her fight anyone? As in, she didn’t spend months learning to fight. No, no. We rely on sharp editing skills for that one. And computer images. No lie, folks. Oh. OH. I’m sorry. Did I forget to mention that the movie deals with a police department outside a fictitious, comic book world and YET we are expected to believe that “all of the evidence points to Catwoman” when the fiendish devil who’s really to blame did nothing more than empty a gun into a man then slash his cheeks a few times and toss the gun to Catwoman (who is, btw, wearing gloves)?!? WHAT?!? Oh and the part where the Detective compares the lipstick from a wine glass to a picture of himself with lipstick smeared on his face (ALL THIS DONE IN A CRIME LAB) that he apparently had taken after Catwoman kissed him (WAIT, DIDN’T SHE LICK HIM??)?????? POURQUOI?
*dies…
Resurrects: Oh, watch Lovespring International. Funniest. Women. Ever.
*dies.

Wanna see my attempt at an intervention?

Subject: Bethany calls Halle Berry
Posted Date: Thursday, July 06, 2006 – 4:20 PM

Bethany: Hey, it’s me.

HB: Hey, girl!

B: Yeah, yeah, yeah, what-it-do…liiisten. Halle. Halle?

HB: Yeah?

B: Halle. I’ve been doing some thinking.

HB: Yeah.

B: About that new part you’re so excited about.

HB: Ooooh, girl! It is gonna be off the hook!

B: Yeeeah. I vote no.

HB: B, are you serious? Why??

B: I just -

HB: I mean I am looong overdue for a comedy AND I immediately fell in love with the script! It has depth, it has a fair amount of drama, I mean, I literally cried at parts.

B: Ok, but you cry in almost every part you’ve played. Whether called for or not. Remember that part in X-Men 2 when you got all glassy-eyed.

HB: I – don’t remember.

B: Well do you remember a part in X-Men 2 worth crying about?

HB: N-not really.

B: Point proven. So, I just figure, you know… you’ve got a couple dollars. I can loan you some if you’re crunched… you don’t have to do every script they send you. Do you?

HB: This is the opportunity of a lifetime, girl. I don’t know…I just can’t see passing this up.

B: Halle.

HB: I mean, I’m hearing you but I am on a roll right now and -

B: WHAT?

HB: I’m not gonna keep getting handed these awesome roles if I start denying people!

B:(aside) Oh, this girl done lost her damn mind.

HB: I just – I think I’ve gotta go with my gut.

B: Yeah, girl, you do that.

HB: I mean.

B: Yeah, I hear you. And maybe I’m wrong, you know. Maybe reprising the role of Smurfette -

HB: Thank you.

B: Gonna change your career.

HB: Thank you, girl. That’s what I’m hoping. I mean. This character has meant so much in my life and I just think that women are going to be so empowered when they see

*click*

HB: B? … Bethany?

…It did not go well.

 

A Picture & A Suggestion

No, apparently there really are gender-roles hardwired into our children. Please explain to me why my son stood in that exact spot for what seemed to be about thirty minutes playing a video game that DOES NOT WORK. RIGHT?!

Also, if the question was: Is each episode of 30 Rock better than the last? Then the answer is: Yes. Please don’t let the inability to remember a show’s time slot keep you from this show, as you can find it on Fancast and NBC.com. Loverly.

 

UPDATED: Things That Make You Go “Dang!”

Wow. I, too, was like…. sometimes you gotta know when to leave something alone. Covers for the sake of covers or because people want to believe that every generation has an Etta James is ridiculous and infuriating. But, um, … I’m not sure how to feel about Etta’s tirade against Beyonce. I have often thought the girl overrated and irritating. And maybe it’s just because I remember the night she sang all of the selections at the Oscars beautifully or that I just fell in love with her after hearing her sing “America, The Beautiful” to close the We Are One Inaugural Concert thingy. Because when Cadillac Records came out, I probably rattled off some anger at her daring to play Etta James, let alone releasing a single covering “At Last”. There is only one “At Last”. There will only ever be one “At Last”. … So why did I first smirk and then feel weird about Etta’s words? I have no idea. I guess I thought I thought she’d be too classy to bother commenting on Beyonce Knowles. (shrug)

INSERTED AS EXHIBIT A)

And if you don’t know who James Whitmore is… you’re horrible. Or if you think he’s the old guy in Shawshank Redemption. If you said he’s the thug (named Slug) from Kiss Me Kate?! You’re fabulous. And right. He was wonderful, even though I routinely fastforward through “Brush Up Your Shakespeare”… only because, come on, with the songs you have to choose from in that movie (Howard Keel, Katherine Grayson, Anne Miller, Tommy Rall and Bob Fosse and Bobby Van), I’m not gonna watch two thugs purposely screw up the dance sequence. Le sigh. I know what I’m watching tonight.

 

What Do You Have?

Can you get a tummy ache from too much Netflix?
I think I’m getting a tummy ache from too much Netflix.

The brother and sister French (which is to say, my brother and sister, not that they are brother and sister to each other….ew) gave the hubby a month subscription to Netflix for Christmas and while we’ve both been watching it – I am clearly the addicted party. Because watching the first season of 30Rock (was righteous) was only the latest in a long,weeklong line of sedentary computer-watching hours for me. First it was the entire British Office line-up, then movies I’ve always wanted to see (Persepolis, Suddenly Last Summer), then things I’ve seen a million times (the first season of Criminal Intent)… I’m. Dying. But happily.

My son is singing in his room right now. The way their voices go from being entirely baby-sing-song-like to something close to actual verbrato is hilarity. Especially because of four he uses equal parts English and gibberish. I wish I could do that! Seriously, he knows the English language but he’s still detached enough from social expectation to switch it up with some made-up verbage and nonsensical logic. I love it.

Beginning a list of phrases that amuse and (honestly) embarrass me: “Whatcha got!” Used frequently during play (he’s an only child, let’s remember). The invisible foe (which could be his dance competitor or his jousting opponent) is constantly asked this rhetorical question as Ezra throws himself around the room.

There were a million little things he did yesterday that I was going to blog about. But I was too busy watching 30Rock. And occasionally going potty. Man. …. (I should say that I did however find time yesterday to get my Death Knight through the battle sequence and off to the good team. That was only about fifteen minutes, though.) OH! He did however continue to ignore his entire corner of the living room that houses his many toys, he disregarded his easel, his playdoh…. to take the shoelace out of my right converse and play with it for an hour. Literally. He balled it up, he stood in a ridiculously Jack Black wide-leg stance and pretended to be a colorguard member with it… he asked it, “Whatcha got!” So.

 

So I’ve Been Sitting On This One…

But I realized – it’s important not only to my intended Fulbright project but to anyone who thinks I’m stupid enough to “run away” to any other country – the people need to know.

Canada is that fictitious place that’s never known slavery, discrimination or malintent. (Please do not overlook my sarcasm, as they practiced slavery for two hundred years.) As showcased on this past New Year’s revue, Bye Bye 2008! An annual tradition to ring in the new year, this time around the skeeziest of writers and producers got together to make racist jokes! Because, as we have seen and now hope won’t keep coming as an unexpected shock to white people – the electing of a Black man to the American presidency brings racism back to the overt. It’s now okay to make jokes about us because we’re all even now. More than 400 hundred years of oppression and dehumanization all done away with in one day of voting. Ha-ZAH! One Black man can make an institutionalized system disappear. Because we all know that statistics regarding education, incarceration and the like will be marked different the day after the inauguration. So what’s wrong with a Quebecois sketch wherein a pretend Obama is mistaken for someone else because “all Blacks look alike” – and I’m pretty sure my use of the word Black is a euphemism for what was actually said. There was also that colorful joke about assassination, which of course is totally not a frightening concept to the first Black president amid the wave of surprising “jokes” and “anecdotes” since his election. But it’s all in good fun ’cause we’re all bros now!!

Here’s the thing that should have sent one producer directly to the guillotine and I am. Not. Joking. People love talking crap about America – ‘member, we’re the ones who don’t omit slavery from our history – but um, here it’s illegal to reveal the identity of a rape victim and probably a really hot civil case at the least when one is slandered. By the daughter of their offender. Yeah. Read the 7th little paragraph. This chic’s dad is in jail for raping the woman she slammed on the NEW YEARS EVE SHOW. HEIN!? Are you effing serious, you’re trying to convince someone that the idea to lampoon your dad’s victim came from a roundtable brainstorm?! Who in that room aside from you was even THINKING about it and/or raised their hand and was like, “You know who’s due for a good ribbing? That chic your dad’s in jail for sexually abusing!” That woman needs to lose her job and then be forced into bankruptcy before finally settling into a degrading life as Amy Winehouse’s coke mule and, should the need arise, tick remover. I am completely vomiting in my mouth over that one.

But, yes. People were pissed. Thank God.

You know what’s as annoying as people pretending that Black President means racial equality? People not-so-discreetly wondering if my son will aspire to the Presidency. Because he’s mixed race, I’m sure. A) Last time I checked, Obama wasn’t the first Black man to aspire to the Presidency. B) Plenty of things have been done ONE TIME that didn’t mark a cataclysmic change in the world. Call me back at least once the Presidency has STARTED. God. You guys really like to get ahead of yourselves. Just been waiting to dance around and proclaim any underprivileged minority an official whiner because not ONLY did we get the right to vote, but we got a President that looks like us. All of us, apparently. (I’m totally making myself laugh right now.)

It was inevitable in a covertly racist society that ONE member of the group would be championed to the top. Dude, did Alexander the Great teach you nothing? Of course you take ONE bride of the country you’re desecrating. Any tyrant can tell you that. Little spoken fact: If it’s love, there’ll be more. No, I’m not raining on the parade of the Baby Boomer generation who worried such a thing would never happen (or…in my Dad’s case… the generation right before that); but they’re the generation that gave up on the Civil Rights Movement. Let’s be the generation who doesn’t get distracted by shiny tin foil, yeah? All I’m saying is victory doesn’t come from scoring one goal. If racism is dying, Obama’ll be the first in a long line of diverse Presidents. More importantly, the socio-economic divide between Americans won’t be so married to their race.

 

UPDATE: Post Christmas Blog

There’s a drug addict trying to pretend she lives at the house next door since she just looked up and realized I’m sitting in my car and have seen her trying to figure out how to open the lid of those darned garbage and recycle bins… Upon seeing me, she quickly walked up towards the door only to double back and start trying to look into the bed of a truck parked there. She pulled herself up on it, saw nothing of interest and lowered herself back down before ducking behind the bins again. She’s a wily one, that’s for sure.

So that had nothing to do with what I was going to write. 1) Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. 2) Possibly due to Obama’s election – but probably due moreso to covert racism – it is now politically correct for a white guy with puppets to do a comedy show in Wisconsin that makes me feel really uncomfortable. Why is it okay for Black people to pick on White people and not vice versa, the age-old debate rekindles. Well, as the old adage goes: Because we didn’t string you from trees. So. Yeah. It’s the same reason why there’s no equivalent zinger for the good ole “n” word. We don’t have the power and institution behind us to actually affect your standard of living with our opinion of you. I feel like we’ve covered this before but hey, you guys whine a lot. By you people, of course, I mean whities.

Wonderful gifts from wonderful family,  as usual. And I – the historian – have made a gift to be sent out that I’m so in love with. Moreso than the shutterfly, epic photo albums. DOUBLE TRUE. This holiday season has been so lovely – starting with skating with my Dad, snow day with Ezra’s godparents and godsister which was seriously the most fun I’d had in ages, a dinner with family I don’t see much, Christmas Eve at my Dad’s composing my gift to all (which you haven’t gotten yet), Christmas Day with communion (Ezra’s first during which he declared: It’s a great day!) and two get-togethers at two houses and today, snow day with Pop Pop! Despite the exhaustion that threatens to obscond with my larynx…. such an amazing time. Plus I got the best regift I’ve ever seen, read or heard about! A necklace I bought my sister in New York a couple years ago that I L-O-V-E-D and which she did not. HAPPY DAY! Hahahaha.

SO! Onto the new year: praying for Fulbrights, grad school acceptances, moving and…. a trip to Portland!! Kissums!

 

Reach Out And Smack Face

Alors. I have just been reminded how lovely grocery delivery can be (when you don’t let Tesco choose “substitutions”) – our tires are doing this funny thing where they split so the car is immobile at present. Instead of trying the comedy that would be riding the bus to and from Safeway, I just ordered the groceries online. And – malgre le garcon qui est vraiment bete – it was heavenly. I woke up, was teaching Ezzie (more on that) and then went downstairs to get the groceries brought to my door. So the phone convo that preceeded it with the aforementioned garcon:

Garcon: Hi, this is Safeway.com calling. *pause*

Me: Okay.

Garcon: Oh. This is Safeway.com calling?

Me: Heard that part.

Garcon: Okay. *pause* Well, I need to know where you live.

Me: As in, the address that’s on your order print out or specifically how to get here?

Garcon: Yeah.

Me:O_O… Which one?

Garcon: How do I get there?

…Yeah…

Anywho! So it was still lovely, even though when he got to the door – after going down the staircase about which I warned him – he goes: “There were a couple of stairs there.” To which I answered. “Yep. Just like I told ya.” He then made some snide remark about how all “the good stuff” wasn’t available (ie the organic bananas on the list) …. I’m… sorry… are delivery boys supposed to pass judgment on your order? Because I will have my Nutty Bars, broseph. Yeah.

My son just said my father’s name is Wavery Blinton. O_O He also chastised me, “Um, you have to talk to the puppet.” After I answered an interview question looking at Ezra instead of the paper bag puppet he’s using.

Okay, so I wanna share something I like to call Hot. And Mess. It’s like the top half is one of those big head puppets from some kids show but the bottom half is the hanger-on of Tina Turner’s Mad Max character. And you just know she thinks this ish is “classy”. Probably that and “sassy”. Because those things have always gone hand in hand. Hold on.. I just threw up a little in my mouth.

It’s a deep burn.

In other news: I don’t usually talk about Hillary Duff, partially because she’s about as exciting as stale white bread… but I have to kick her in the vulva for that attempt she sorta made on her new “song”, “Touch Me”. It was. Tragic? Not…not quite thorough of a word. … I mean. Thank you for getting your veneers adjusted and… yeah. I just wanna know why, with a studio being able to do apparently so little for her “vocals”… why she was allowed not only to do a loose cover… but allowed to live. I guess is my question. The audacity to writhe around trying to be sexy with that…that sound… emanating from… I guess what could be described as vocal cords…in the loosest of terms.

 

Raines, Raines, Come Again Another Day

So, what really perterbs me is how they could not only hide Raines in the broadcast schedule, but then apparently add it as a mid-season surprise and not pick it up so that there are only like seven episodes for me to watch on FanCast!! Once again, that’s FanCast.

Now I’m not saying the show is perfect, I mean, what else besides Law & Order is. But – save those few seconds where it’s a touch too ethereal, which only happens like twice – I love where they were going with it. And Raines’ characterization. It just makes me wonder who the hell gets to decide these things?!? Meanwhile, CSI has a half dozen franchises and is still giving viewers VD. (I heard it somewhere.) And while the heavens will part to shower us with light and angelic music upon his debut on Criminal Intent, who the devil says he can only have one show?!? I’m versatile, I like variety. I love The Cheetah Girls movies and Intervention. I could accept him as two different but delightful characters, okay?

I don’t wanna talk about it too much but the day before the Monarch Festival at Natural Bridges State Beach, we were basically drowned out by the sudden and persistent sound of emergency vehicles and then when I realized they were there on the beach – we were up at the Information Office where Josh works – I got this really weird feeling. Paramedics and firemen running can do that… Well, to find out – after having that sinking feelings – that the 11 year old boy who fell into a collapsed sand dune or something actually died in that situation and that it was his birthday party and that his parents lost their child as I was holding the hand of mine… I can’t get it out of my head for some reason. I can’t possibly imagine. Actually, I refuse to let myself try.

So, as often happens, I gave my letter writers a bunch of leeway in composing and getting back to me (read: months) and now I’ve gotta wrangle everyone back to the homefront. Because I love asking people to do things for me in the first place. Plus we’re still waiting for some elements of Josh’s, too. Because we can never have a less than precarious approach to a deadline. Of course, a Fulbright is well worth it. But that’s not the point.

Oh and Ezra had a blast at the Welcome Back Monarch Day Festival Thing this year.

Smoochie-boochies!