"Margaret Thatcher. Albert Hobbs. Margaret Thatcher. Albert Hobbs. Accents I do. Not sure about the man thing. I'm going Thatcher." Meryl Streep then hung up on her agent and finished her Bud Lite.
The Academy Award nominations were announced this week. Newt Gingrich immediately blamed CNN for Ryan Gosling getting snubbed. Mississippians didn't know whether to root for or against The Help. Jonah Hill needed a new tux and Nick Nolte didn't even remember being in The Warrior.
You have to wonder who came up with the idea of the ten best picture nominees. I kinda want War Horse and Tree of Life to pull a Rick Perry and get out of the race. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Are you serious? It's a movie that should have been ten minutes long - about a troubled kid and his psychiatrist played by Mandy Patinkin.
I did like a few of the nominated movies. I thought what Alexander Payne did with the Descendants was terrific. Who else could have made sunny Hawaii look like dreary Oxnard? Loved The Artist. Silence was truly golden. Although; I'm quite sure that in one scene I saw John Goodman mouthing, "Roseanne's a bitch". Midnight In Paris almost made me forget Owen Wilson's performance in Hall Pass. Almost. I'm sure that Tinker, Tailor, Solder, Spy would have been nominated if anybody could have figured out what the f..k was going on.
Happy for George with his nomination. I bet you he is thinking if he really wants to walk all the way down the red carpet with his new girlfriend Stacy Keibler. A woman that makes him look like a point guard. Brad Pitt did an amazing job in Moneyball. He was a Natural for the part. Subtle Redford reference. Demian Bichir? Anybody? Demian? Anybody? Bichir? Anybody?
So; was Rooney Mara nominated for her performance or her piercings? I've always said that if you get your nipples pierced you get nominated. I heard that Viola Davis was so into her role in The Help, that when she wasn't needed in front of the camera, she still worked over at craft services handing out Mike and Ikes. Michelle Williams as Marilyn. What they can do with CGI these days is amazing.
The toughest part of Scorcese's direction on Hugo was convincing Ben Kingsley to do the role. "Keep reading. It's not just a kid's movie. Your part's gonna get better at the end." Loved the way Woody Allen helped Owen with the role. "Do me. Just do me for Christsakes!" When notified that he had been nominated Terrence Malik said, "Freakin' Clooney can't be nominated for everything".
It's been quite a year in movies. Hangover women are just as crass as Hangover men. Michael Fassbender hit his role in Shame out of the park using his own "bat". Albert Brooks is alive and thank God Eddie Murphy backed out of hosting the Academy Awards.
"A maid's uniform. A mohawk. A feather duster. More piercings. Still feeling Thatcher." Meryl Streep then hung up on her agent, belched, and popped open another Bud Lite.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
THE CAT IN THE CONE
As a citizen of this nation I feel that it is important to support all of our vets. The vet that seems to be getting the most support from me these days is my cat's vet. Just peer into my checking account. You will see that support.
My cat Lodger recently injured her paw. She is a cat that prides herself on doing her own stunts. She would swat at a bungee cord but would never use one. She could leap over Blake Griffin while Blake was jumping over a car. She is more Rachel Maddow than Laura Bush.
About two weeks ago she limped into our bedroom. Her right paw was bothering her more than our other cat Sniffles. If Lodger could talk I'm sure that "WTF" would be coming out of her mouth more than meows. In fact, I thought that I heard her say "WTF". Later in the day the limping had not subsided. I took immediate action. "Hey Wife, you need to take the cat to the vet!"
I have no problem doing manly duties. I take the trash cans out to the curb once a week. I tell the Jehovah's Witnesses at the front door to take a hike. I replace the bulb in the light fixture above the stove. Actually the Wife does that. I'm not good with my hands, ok!!! But, the wimp factor definitely applies to me when it comes to taking Lodger to the vet.
You have to understand that I am more connected to Lodger than my own shadow. When Lodger first wandered into our backyard looking like an Olsen twin, I nursed her back to health. She is a beautiful cat. She recently turned down July 17th on the cat calendar. Didn't want to do the photo shoot. She didn't have the time; as a few more twigs needed to be tossed around in the backyard.
To nobody's surprise, I was not handling Lodger's laboring well. I would have made a bad owner in a Lifetime movie about the cat's injury. My immaturity was not a plus right now. The Wife was the only logical choice to take Lodger to the vet's. "Call me, when you know something. Anything", I cried out.
While waiting for the call I held onto my blankie tightly and thought of all of my pets from the past. Especially our family cat Smokey. She lived a long life. She was an indoor/outdoor cat that lived for 22 glorious years. I think she went to the vet twice in her lifetime. She was around in the sixties and seventies. There were minimal pesticides then. No pit bulls. In her day there might have been one coyote named Charley that lived in the hills. Now coyotes own businesses along Ventura Blvd.. It is a different time.
The phone rang and I braced myself. It was the Wife. Surgery was needed for Lodger. Xanax was needed for me. The vet did his snipping and sewing. Lodger's paw repair was successful. Everything went well. Everything, except explaining to my cat that she would have to wear a cone on her head and be inside for two weeks. There would be no Lindsay Lohan - freedom in 2 days. Her incarceration would last dos semanas.
Lodger, by the time she had gotten home from the vet, had ripped off the bandage that was wrapped around her paw. The cone was another issue. She was acting like Brad Pitt in 12 Monkeys. Lodger, with her cone on, looked like an advertisement for Direct TV. This cone was not coming off. We had to barricade Lodger's cat door; so that she didn't exit to the backyard. Now, I definitely heard WTF coming from Lodger.
She seemed to have calmed down later in the week. I was fooled. I learned that she had ordered The Great Escape on Netflix. I had to remember one important thing - she is a cat. Not a dog. A cat. I keep assuring Lodger that it will be just a few more days until she is pardoned. Think Nelson Mandela and his patience. I keep telling her that she looks adorable with her bonnet on. Without hesitation she flipped me off with her recovering paw. If he would have been there - Lodger would have flipped off Mandela too.
My cat Lodger recently injured her paw. She is a cat that prides herself on doing her own stunts. She would swat at a bungee cord but would never use one. She could leap over Blake Griffin while Blake was jumping over a car. She is more Rachel Maddow than Laura Bush.
About two weeks ago she limped into our bedroom. Her right paw was bothering her more than our other cat Sniffles. If Lodger could talk I'm sure that "WTF" would be coming out of her mouth more than meows. In fact, I thought that I heard her say "WTF". Later in the day the limping had not subsided. I took immediate action. "Hey Wife, you need to take the cat to the vet!"
I have no problem doing manly duties. I take the trash cans out to the curb once a week. I tell the Jehovah's Witnesses at the front door to take a hike. I replace the bulb in the light fixture above the stove. Actually the Wife does that. I'm not good with my hands, ok!!! But, the wimp factor definitely applies to me when it comes to taking Lodger to the vet.
You have to understand that I am more connected to Lodger than my own shadow. When Lodger first wandered into our backyard looking like an Olsen twin, I nursed her back to health. She is a beautiful cat. She recently turned down July 17th on the cat calendar. Didn't want to do the photo shoot. She didn't have the time; as a few more twigs needed to be tossed around in the backyard.
To nobody's surprise, I was not handling Lodger's laboring well. I would have made a bad owner in a Lifetime movie about the cat's injury. My immaturity was not a plus right now. The Wife was the only logical choice to take Lodger to the vet's. "Call me, when you know something. Anything", I cried out.
While waiting for the call I held onto my blankie tightly and thought of all of my pets from the past. Especially our family cat Smokey. She lived a long life. She was an indoor/outdoor cat that lived for 22 glorious years. I think she went to the vet twice in her lifetime. She was around in the sixties and seventies. There were minimal pesticides then. No pit bulls. In her day there might have been one coyote named Charley that lived in the hills. Now coyotes own businesses along Ventura Blvd.. It is a different time.
The phone rang and I braced myself. It was the Wife. Surgery was needed for Lodger. Xanax was needed for me. The vet did his snipping and sewing. Lodger's paw repair was successful. Everything went well. Everything, except explaining to my cat that she would have to wear a cone on her head and be inside for two weeks. There would be no Lindsay Lohan - freedom in 2 days. Her incarceration would last dos semanas.
Lodger, by the time she had gotten home from the vet, had ripped off the bandage that was wrapped around her paw. The cone was another issue. She was acting like Brad Pitt in 12 Monkeys. Lodger, with her cone on, looked like an advertisement for Direct TV. This cone was not coming off. We had to barricade Lodger's cat door; so that she didn't exit to the backyard. Now, I definitely heard WTF coming from Lodger.
She seemed to have calmed down later in the week. I was fooled. I learned that she had ordered The Great Escape on Netflix. I had to remember one important thing - she is a cat. Not a dog. A cat. I keep assuring Lodger that it will be just a few more days until she is pardoned. Think Nelson Mandela and his patience. I keep telling her that she looks adorable with her bonnet on. Without hesitation she flipped me off with her recovering paw. If he would have been there - Lodger would have flipped off Mandela too.
Friday, January 13, 2012
STREPTO CAUCUS
Iowa is known for two things. A baseball field where dead players live and its Presidential caucus.. No one ever talks of the white sands of Iowan beaches. No one ever talks of Iowan historical landmarks. No one ever talks of the Iowan art movement. Dead players and every four years a caucus. That's it.
The word caucus itself is an ugly word. "Caucus" sounds like something a proctologist should examine. After the wrong tally in last week's caucus perhaps a proctologist was needed after all. Apparently somebody other than Rick Perry made an "oops". I know that they certified the vote and didn't think there was an "oops". My money is still on "oops".
But, does it really matter who won in Iowa? It hasn't in the past. We're talking Iowa. A state about the size of Santa Barbara County. Santa Barbara, now there's a nice place to visit. Beautiful beaches and nearby wineries. They have cuisine. Not just something deep fried at a county fair. At the state fair in Iowa I'm sure they would deep fry an ipad if you asked them too. Maybe you wouldn't have to ask.
Ok, I'm being a little harsh on Iowa. Perhaps it is my reaction to the pundits' over the top diatribes about the place. The heartland. The core of America. Again, Wolf Blitzer, it is Iowa. The commentators are so excited about the official start of the election season they seem to have lost all perspective. It's like some baseball fanatic getting excited when pitchers and catchers begin to report to spring training.
People, that vote in these caucuses, often don't make up their mind until the last possible moment. Personally I didn't need to shake a candidate's hand in a photo-op diner to know whom I was going to vote for. I pretty much knew way in advance. Taking away a woman's right to choose was usually a deal breaker for me. I didn't need to go to a town hall rally and see someone like Newt Gingrich's third cousin removed make a stump speech just before I cast my ballot. I never at the last minute said, "I think I'm goin' George W".
When viewing one of the caucuses on CNN it seemed like people were looking over the shoulders of the voters in front of them. Just to see whom those folks were casting their ballots for before making their final decision. It was a scene that was very reminiscent of the peeps that cheat on the written test at the DMV. The ones that bring along a few friends to point out that parking in a green zone is not the answer. Actually I don't mind having a wing man with me at the DMV. I can never remember when it is legal to drive with my fog lamps on.
Predictably after the results are in, somebody that has no chance of winning a general election, receives a spike that no one figured was coming. Hence Rick Santorum. A man that believes in his family values. No one else's family values. Just his family values. He honestly thinks that all black people are on food stamps and that all gay people work for the Bravo network. Well, the Bravo part might be hard to argue with. The bounce he got from Iowa didn't carry over to New Hampshire. Surprise. Surprise.
Why can't Iowans just have a primary? Actual polling places to cast votes. I know that there other states that hold caucuses. But, Iowa being the first, is the one that creates all the faux buzz. Who can I talk to? I need someone to knock some sense into these folks. A power hitter. A slugger. I need Shoeless Joe Jackson. "If you build a voting booth, I will come"
The word caucus itself is an ugly word. "Caucus" sounds like something a proctologist should examine. After the wrong tally in last week's caucus perhaps a proctologist was needed after all. Apparently somebody other than Rick Perry made an "oops". I know that they certified the vote and didn't think there was an "oops". My money is still on "oops".
But, does it really matter who won in Iowa? It hasn't in the past. We're talking Iowa. A state about the size of Santa Barbara County. Santa Barbara, now there's a nice place to visit. Beautiful beaches and nearby wineries. They have cuisine. Not just something deep fried at a county fair. At the state fair in Iowa I'm sure they would deep fry an ipad if you asked them too. Maybe you wouldn't have to ask.
Ok, I'm being a little harsh on Iowa. Perhaps it is my reaction to the pundits' over the top diatribes about the place. The heartland. The core of America. Again, Wolf Blitzer, it is Iowa. The commentators are so excited about the official start of the election season they seem to have lost all perspective. It's like some baseball fanatic getting excited when pitchers and catchers begin to report to spring training.
People, that vote in these caucuses, often don't make up their mind until the last possible moment. Personally I didn't need to shake a candidate's hand in a photo-op diner to know whom I was going to vote for. I pretty much knew way in advance. Taking away a woman's right to choose was usually a deal breaker for me. I didn't need to go to a town hall rally and see someone like Newt Gingrich's third cousin removed make a stump speech just before I cast my ballot. I never at the last minute said, "I think I'm goin' George W".
When viewing one of the caucuses on CNN it seemed like people were looking over the shoulders of the voters in front of them. Just to see whom those folks were casting their ballots for before making their final decision. It was a scene that was very reminiscent of the peeps that cheat on the written test at the DMV. The ones that bring along a few friends to point out that parking in a green zone is not the answer. Actually I don't mind having a wing man with me at the DMV. I can never remember when it is legal to drive with my fog lamps on.
Predictably after the results are in, somebody that has no chance of winning a general election, receives a spike that no one figured was coming. Hence Rick Santorum. A man that believes in his family values. No one else's family values. Just his family values. He honestly thinks that all black people are on food stamps and that all gay people work for the Bravo network. Well, the Bravo part might be hard to argue with. The bounce he got from Iowa didn't carry over to New Hampshire. Surprise. Surprise.
Why can't Iowans just have a primary? Actual polling places to cast votes. I know that there other states that hold caucuses. But, Iowa being the first, is the one that creates all the faux buzz. Who can I talk to? I need someone to knock some sense into these folks. A power hitter. A slugger. I need Shoeless Joe Jackson. "If you build a voting booth, I will come"
Friday, January 6, 2012
HOLIDAY LEFTOVERS
As the last parade float rolls on by; I am down to only a few remnants left of my holiday mood swings. Time to return to my normal consternations. Finding that perfect comfort zone somewhere between worry and dread. I'm almost there, but still continue to muse at the underbelly of the entire festive season.
My acid reflux is already beginning to gurgle knowing that my neighbor probably won't be taking down his Xmas lights until April. I don't know how he can afford his nightly electrical extravaganza. He has more lights shining than the Bellagio. A manger that rocks itself. Who thinks of these things? I don't know the neighbor very well, but I'm sure that he's a hoarder. You can tell. His trash cans never take their weekly curbside spot. You make the call. The only time that I ever have talked to him is when I asked him why he was putting up his Halloween decorations in July. He curtly smiled, and said, "I know where you live". That haunts me to this day.
Does anybody else worry about the sudden unemployment of department store Santas? We are talking about clown school dropouts. They don't understand that it is only appropriate for a three week period that children are allowed to sit on your lap. Arrests have been made in the past when Santas try to push that lap sitting envelope just a tad too far.
To make some extra money one Christmas season my Dad got employment as a department store Santa. Yeah, my 155lb. Dad. Even with pillows he looked more like Alan Alda than Kris Kringle. His worst nightmare happened when a lady from the neighborhood brought her kids to that store. Pop needed the extra money but was not about to put this Santa gig on his resume. Anonymity was a must for him. The kid sat on his lap and asked Santa for an electric train. Santa told the kid, "Hey, your old man could probably afford you a real train." The kid thought that Santa had made a good point and never recognized my Dad.
I have never had second thoughts about not putting a check into a pre-addressed envelope for my L.A. Times delivery guy. It's Xmas and I'm supposed to give $25 to a man that I have never met. I always had my suspicions about these envelopes. Did the delivery guy really get the check or was this just a scam? The name on this year's envelope was Bernardo Madoff. The address was in a gated community in Hancock Park. Like I said, I had no second thoughts.
Once again I received gift certificates to stores that I feel uncomfortable in. Best Buy. I don't know why that I feel inferior just because some salesman knows a lot about big screens. I can't help it. I do. Home Depot. You have to cross lines of Venezuelan rebels just to get into the store. I just wanted golf balls. Why can't people listen?
I could go on and on. A non-bullied twelfth grader tells a school guidance counselor that he wants to design parade floats when he graduates. He dreams of an ATM machine covered in mums rolling down Colorado Blvd. There needs to be an intervention. Why do they even have the antiquated Rose Parade anyway? We no longer ride stage coaches or use white-out and the world continues to spin. Overdressed horses and chunky drill teams from Wisconsin. Come on.
Also, can we please stop with the family Xmas card photos. I'm sure that posing for that picture is some form of child abuse. It's worse than Toddlers and Tiaras. Plus right now there are people in warehouses throughout the land trying to improve tinsel. Freakin' tinsel!!! Elves costumes are at the cleaners. All of this is disturbing.
I must move on. Once again work on my minimal productivity. There's a whole year ahead. But first, I still have to deal with that rocking manger from across the street. Time to approach the hoarder.
My acid reflux is already beginning to gurgle knowing that my neighbor probably won't be taking down his Xmas lights until April. I don't know how he can afford his nightly electrical extravaganza. He has more lights shining than the Bellagio. A manger that rocks itself. Who thinks of these things? I don't know the neighbor very well, but I'm sure that he's a hoarder. You can tell. His trash cans never take their weekly curbside spot. You make the call. The only time that I ever have talked to him is when I asked him why he was putting up his Halloween decorations in July. He curtly smiled, and said, "I know where you live". That haunts me to this day.
Does anybody else worry about the sudden unemployment of department store Santas? We are talking about clown school dropouts. They don't understand that it is only appropriate for a three week period that children are allowed to sit on your lap. Arrests have been made in the past when Santas try to push that lap sitting envelope just a tad too far.
To make some extra money one Christmas season my Dad got employment as a department store Santa. Yeah, my 155lb. Dad. Even with pillows he looked more like Alan Alda than Kris Kringle. His worst nightmare happened when a lady from the neighborhood brought her kids to that store. Pop needed the extra money but was not about to put this Santa gig on his resume. Anonymity was a must for him. The kid sat on his lap and asked Santa for an electric train. Santa told the kid, "Hey, your old man could probably afford you a real train." The kid thought that Santa had made a good point and never recognized my Dad.
I have never had second thoughts about not putting a check into a pre-addressed envelope for my L.A. Times delivery guy. It's Xmas and I'm supposed to give $25 to a man that I have never met. I always had my suspicions about these envelopes. Did the delivery guy really get the check or was this just a scam? The name on this year's envelope was Bernardo Madoff. The address was in a gated community in Hancock Park. Like I said, I had no second thoughts.
Once again I received gift certificates to stores that I feel uncomfortable in. Best Buy. I don't know why that I feel inferior just because some salesman knows a lot about big screens. I can't help it. I do. Home Depot. You have to cross lines of Venezuelan rebels just to get into the store. I just wanted golf balls. Why can't people listen?
I could go on and on. A non-bullied twelfth grader tells a school guidance counselor that he wants to design parade floats when he graduates. He dreams of an ATM machine covered in mums rolling down Colorado Blvd. There needs to be an intervention. Why do they even have the antiquated Rose Parade anyway? We no longer ride stage coaches or use white-out and the world continues to spin. Overdressed horses and chunky drill teams from Wisconsin. Come on.
Also, can we please stop with the family Xmas card photos. I'm sure that posing for that picture is some form of child abuse. It's worse than Toddlers and Tiaras. Plus right now there are people in warehouses throughout the land trying to improve tinsel. Freakin' tinsel!!! Elves costumes are at the cleaners. All of this is disturbing.
I must move on. Once again work on my minimal productivity. There's a whole year ahead. But first, I still have to deal with that rocking manger from across the street. Time to approach the hoarder.
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