long before ben and liv stunk up the screen...

Jami Gertz and Dylan McDermott once starred in a film entitled Jersey Girl. I do believe it was one of those straight-to-video jobs... and with good reason. I discovered it at a video store years back and even though I knew it would be wretched, I rented it because sometimes I like to be enraged. And sure enough, it did the trick.

You know, I always liked Jami Gertz. I simply adore the scene in Sixteen Candles where she cuts Caroline's hair after it gets stuck in the door. It kills me. And hello, she was in Square Pegs!! That garners mucho props from me. I've even issued Tracy Nelson a lifetime free pass because she starred in that beloved short-lived sitcom. But despite Jami's impressive 80s pedigree, I still haven't quite forgiven her for this film.

In between loads of laundry and Swiffering my tiny wee studio, I plopped down on my couch to watch a bit of TV this afternoon. I stumbled upon Jersey Girl on WE and because I'm a masochist, I watched it through to the end. Hell, I even paused it when I had to retrieve my second load from the dryer. I figured that maybe this time around I'd find some redeeming quality or that I'd hate it less perhaps. Yeah, age has not mellowed my response to this piece of crap. It's horrid, absolutely horrid.

In a nutshell, Jami's character, Toby, is a cheeseball preschool teacher who lives in Bloomfield, NJ and has it bad for "classy" Sal (Dylan McDermott) from Manhattan. To Toby and, judging by the script, all residents of New Jersey, Sal is THE bastion of taste and refinement. He's the reason all Jerseyites should slouch and feel inadequate. Um, I should add that McDermott's character is a salesman originally from Queens. To those of you who haven't been, Queens is just like New Jersey but without all the tolls and with better Greek food. Let's not kid ourselves here.

Of course Toby has a pile of petrified hair atop her scalp, tawks like dis and is loathe to attach the letter "r" or the suffix "ing" to words requiring them. Can I just say that I grew up about 10-15 minutes east of Bloomfield (closer to NYC if you're doing the mental cartography) and while I exhibit a regional dialect, I DO NOT SOUND LIKE THAT!!!! Even worse, Jami Gertz's attempt at an accent sucked. It was all over the place with bits of stereotypical Jersey interspersed with something resembling a Midwestern accent. Sure enough, I just looked Jami up on IMDB and she's from Chicago. I knew it! The dialect coach and screenwriter on this project deserve to be taken out back and worked over. I'd give them both a tour of Jersey they wouldn't soon forget, let me tell you.

What REALLY pissed me off was the movie's recurring theme that everyone in NJ feels inferior to their New York neighbors. Um, do those of you outside the NY area know that Staten Island is part of New York City? Not just New York state -- NEW YORK CITY. It's a borough just like Manhattan and it smells, has garbage dumps, dirty beaches and loud people who wear pinky rings. The same can be said for parts of Brooklyn, the Bronx and Queens, while I'm at it.

Now granted, I had a bit of an inferiority complex when I lived in NJ and I've since moved to NYC but that's just me. Trust me when I tell you that there are residents of my home state who don't give a fuck what goes on in New York. In fact, they'd rather eat a steaming shit sandwich than cross the Hudson. And they're fine with it. They're not in awe of New York nor are they intimidated. They just don't care. It's not my way necessarily but more power to them, I say. As a matter of fact, I will gladly join them in giving the old Jersey Wave to anyone who disdainfully uses the term B&T (bridge and tunnel) to describe them. People like that can bite me. Hard.

Oooooooooh, look at me getting all pissy and protective of my homeland! I think I might just have to go get me some Coors Light to wash down my macaronis and gravy while I rock out to "Badlands." Dirty Jerzee REPRESENT!

on blowing off work, the big house and board games

I'm home sick today. I can't quite place my finger on what's wrong. I just feel crappy so I took the day off and have been doing a bit of work from home. I'm not kidding! I'm checking email and IMing with coworkers and what not. I actually got more shit done at home than I do at the office.

I started feeling a bit woozy a little while ago so I retired to the couch with my bestest friend ever -- HBO In Demand. Thanks to this wonderful service, I've been able to park myself on my couch for hours at a time and get caught up on the HBO shows I love. Today, I learned a bit more about gritty prison life via Season 4 of the disturbing but oh-so-addictive drama, Oz. Thanks to this program, I can now bandy about terms like The Hole, shank, hacks, gen pop, etc. with surprising believability and assurance. It's all very informative and potentially handy should I ever get thrown into the clink.

On Tuesday night, I had a wonderful time hanging out and playing games with some good friends -- Jon, Kris and Amy among them. Honestly, I'm not really one for playing games that require me to get up off my ass to act things out, sing or do anything more strenuous than rolling the dice. Usually, the most animated I ever get is when I have the car make "vroom vroom" and peeling-out noises as it drives around the Monopoly board.

But, wonder of all wonders, I was actually a joiner this time around and had a kick-ass time playing Scattergories, Encore and some game whose name I don't remember. All I know is that you're handed a beeping device with a word on it and you have to describe that word to your team. It's like Password and Hot Potato all rolled into one. And it's VERY stressful! It dredged up feelings of playing Musical Chairs at birthday parties way back when -- the adrenalin-fueled panic, the hysteria, the utter lack of concern for others in your path as you were allowed briefly to bump, jostle and step on toes if need be. And then, ultimately, the embarrassment when the best you could manage was like one butt cheek on the corner of a chair when the music stopped. So yeah, it was kinda like that when the timer ran out on you in this game.

I really liked Scattergories but I still have a few things to learn apparently. Like in one round, the assigned letter was "F" and the topic was "A four-letter word." I naturally assumed it meant something profane. Now, if you're familiar with the game, you try to pick a word that you think your opponents won't have. Keeping this in mind, I decided to skip over the obvious 4-letter word starting with "F" and opted instead for "fart." Yes, it's more crude than profane but I didn't think anyone would challenge me. Imagine my surprise during the reveal when my opponents said words like "fish" and "file." Oh. It actually called for just your basic four-letter word as opposed to a four-letter word. I felt a bit sheepish at first but it turns out that the multi-talented Kris applied the very same "logic" and arrived at the word "fart" as well. There's a reason Kris and I are friends.

Another guest, Tim, brought his own Dance Dance Revolution set-up and was kind enough to demonstrate how to play. For the uninitiated, that's the game where you follow the arrows on the screen and try to match them with your feet on a labeled pad. Or as Amy, after several glasses of wine observed, "Oh, it's almost like Bang... the... um, Chipmunk... Down!"

Whack-a-Mole/Bang the Chipmunk Down -- same difference.

weigh in

I'm trying to shovel myself out from underneath a pile of freelance work and other chores I've let accumulate and it's totally bumming me out. Time management? What's that? So I'm taking a break for a few days until I get things sorted out and relieve myself of the guilt and ever-present pit in my stomach.

In the meantime, Janet poses an interesting question to her visitors -- she wants to know what they think she looks like. Janet, like myself, doesn't have pictures of herself on her blog so she's curious to know what mental image her visitors have conjured up.

So tell me... what do you think I look like? Oh and exnay on the guessing that I have curly hair and dimples. For if you do, you'll get two swift slaps with the obvious glove. Now have at it!

holy shit

I knew elephants were smart and very easily trained but I have to say, this photo nearly made me choke on my morning coffee:

Courtesy of The Star Online

Apparently, handlers are now potty training these creatures so that tourists don't have to look at/step around steaming piles of elephant pooh in the street.

Yup, it's official -- "Elephant on the Can" has just replaced "Chimp Wearing a Diaper" as my favorite poop-related animal photo EVER.

on choreography...

Transcripts from my conversation with Jess where she tries to make sense of my rather vague description of dance technique...

Yours Truly: Can you read my post and tell me if I made any stupid typos? I'm immune to them at this point

Jess: Yup! [reads entry] Ha ha ha. I love it

YT: Man, Kenny Loggins On Ice was really disturbing

Jess: I bet!

YT: Like, it was a bunch of white Europeans in skates who thought they could dance. Frankly, it was horrifying

Jess: Yikes

YT: There was a lot of hand shaking going on. Do you know what I'm talking about?

Jess: Jazz hands?

YT: No, not jazz hands. These were facing down like they were trying to shake water off them... but with attitude

Jess: Oh dear!

YT: Like "Oh my wrists are sore and I need to shake them out!" But again, with 'tude

YT: Oh and each one affected a look like "guitar face" when they danced!

Jess: Oh man

Clearly -- and to our credit -- the two of us are completely illiterate when it comes to honkey dance moves.

highs and lows

HIGH: I found a $68 check (made out to me) in a hidden compartment in my wallet. It's been in there for almost a month and I totally forgot about it. Sometimes my early onset dementia lends for the occasional happy surprise.

LOW: I overslept this morning and had to leave the house with wet hair. But because it's frigid here in NYC, I had to immediately put on a hat as opposed to letting my hair air dry. The result: a flat, dry, quasi-straight mess. If it had a bit more luster to it, the style would be akin to John Davidson's hairdo during his That's Incredible! run. But again, not as shiny and without the feathering.

HIGH: Things seem to be going well with The Dating Prospect so far.

LOW: I can't think of a better blog nickname for her than The Dating Prospect.

HIGH: I have a blissfully free schedule this weekend and can pretty much do whatever I damn well please.

LOW: Ms. Menses is coming to town. As a result, my wee studio will become a menstruation hut where I'll be doped up on Advil and drinking bladder-straining amounts of water and tea for the better part of the weekend.

HIGH: American Idol finally started.

LOW: AI has enlisted celebrity panelists like Mark McGrath and Kenny Loggins to weigh in on who goes to Hollywood and who doesn't. I've already discussed my disgust with Mr. McGrath so I won't rehash. As for Kenny Loggins, I didn't think I had a problem with him but oh my God, is it just me or is he like the boniest thing ever? I find him painful to look at. I also caught the tail end of Kenny Loggins On Ice on TV a few weeks ago and well, I really regret it. No one should ever have to watch unitard-wearing men on skates doing "chicken legs" to "Danger Zone." No one. Ever. Shame on you, Kenny Loggins. Shame.

brrr...

I'm officially suffering from brain freeze. I've started several posts but have yet to finish any of them. I don't know what's up exactly. I start out strong but then sputter and fail and eventually collapse into a whining defeated mass. But the icy grip on my creativity soon will thaw, that I'm sure of. In the meantime, entertain yourself with this. I've watched it at least 700 times already and it hasn't grown old yet. Considering I'm a sick fuck, I highly doubt I'll ever tire of it. After all, other people's pain = fun... particularly when said pain is doled out through ethnic dance. Enjoy!

i'm #4! i'm #4! i'm #4!

Oh well, I didn't take 3rd place in the BoBs after all. But hey, 4th ain't too shabby considering I haven't been at this blogging thing all that long. It looks like Hot Toddy will be taking the stroll down the runway blowing us kisses while waving regally. Congratulations to you, Hot Toddy, and your fellow winners No Milk Please and Orbicon Perpendaplex!

Like I said before, I'm thrilled with the nomination and with all the new readers and friends I've gained as a result of the contest. I'm delighted to have so many new voices in my merry band of commenters.

For those of you who cast a vote for moi, I sincerely thank you for your support! Thanks also for taking the time to indulge me and read and interact with this here ridiculous blog. Thanks and come again!

Best,
Curly

the queerest of the queer

Last week Joe.My.God asked me to contribute to a piece he was writing about over-the-top gayness. In essence, Joe beckoned a bunch of us homos to share examples of our most outlandish and/or stereotypical gay behavior.

It sounded easy enough at first but it turned out to be a rather tough assignment for me. Yes, I'm a big ol' rug muncher but as I've stated before, I'm like the worst lesbian ever (stereotypically speaking, of course). I make a very good stereotypical gay man though! Among other things, I possess a propensity for speaking with my hands (complete with fingers dramatically bent and splayed, of course) and an unwavering adoration of Broadway showtunes as well as the divas who belt them out, natch. In fact, I just got inspired. Please hold while I go fetch my Sondheim Etc: Bernadette Peters Live at Carnegie Hall CD and cue up "Being Alive."

Okay, so as I was saying... I'm a half-assed lesbo. Examples? Well, for one, I kinda don't like yoga. I've tried, but I just don't. And if I'm illin', I have no qualms about taking Tylenol Cold & Flu as opposed to some holistic remedy composed of garlic and ginger or some other manky-tasting potion involving leaves and bark. I know that makes me an anomaly among muff divers, but so be it. Furthermore, I don't like soy milk, free-form poetry or the music of Melissa Ferrick. See what I mean?

Sure, I earn my stripes with the whole vegetarian thing, superior (if I do say so myself) softball skills and the hesitation to wear skirts but in most other categories, I fall miserably short. No matter, I did manage to cobble something together and send it off to Joe (who keeps an amazing blog, FYI. I adore him to no end. Read him!!) But oy, my Sapphic tale positively PALES in comparison to the exploits of my fabulous gay boy co-contributors! But ain't that always the way?

Anyhoo, please check out "Gay, Gayer, Gayest." Be sure to empty your bladder first as I damn near tinkled while reading it. And thanks so much for including me, Joe!

the verdict

Okay, so remember how I was having dinner with The Dating Prospect this past weekend? Well, we went out to din-din on Sunday and I had a FABULOUS time. I held off reporting about it because I wanted to wait until I got confirmation that she enjoyed herself too. I'm a Nervous Nelly with the dating thing lately. It's not often that someone turns my head and when they do, I'm a complete basket case. But I received a sweetly worded email last night and if I had the physical ability and flexibility to do so, I would have executed a series of backflips upon reading it (punctuated with a pinpoint landing and a "Ta da!" of course.)

So anyway, she said she can't wait to see me again and... she thinks I'm hot. DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDE! I won't lie to you -- I blushed at first but then I strutted a tiny bit. Folks, it's quite a compliment that she thinks so because she's totally gorgeous and smart and funny all that other great stuff. It's official: I.am.smitten. Now if you'll excuse me, there's a U-haul I need to go rent...

boobwatch, indeed

Excerpts from my conversation with The Lovely Jess upon discovering questionable pictures of The Hoff:

Yours Truly: OMG. I just emailed you a David Hasselhoff calendar. Someone at work gave it to me. It inspired me to research even more Hoff images and look what I found. He.is.such.an.asshole...

Jess: This shit is awful.

YT: Oh, it gets worse.

Jess: WTF?

YT: "Yes, David, now gather the flowers to you while giving the camera a sultry, come-hither look... That's right. Perfect. One more..."

YT: I cannot stop looking at these. I keep finding more and more repellent images. It's becoming a sickness.

YT: Um, David... Yanni called and he wants his shirt back:

Jess: "All images excluding 1990 Calendar on this page scanned from the webmaster's personal collection -- © Nat, Annie." Nat and Annie FRIGHTEN me.

YT: Dear Nat and Annie,
Guten tag! Wie gehts es Ihnen? Sie zwei sind MAJOR FUCKING HEADCASES!

Tschus!
Curly McDimple

YT: "Come closer! Closer! We want to keel you!"

Jess: I just showed them to The Roommate. She said, "Oh man, I had to save the one of him holding the jewelry up to his mouth like he is going to eat it."

YT: "David, your patriotism is admirable but you angered the VFW when you swiped the flag from their foyer."

Jess: OMG...just opened the email you sent.

YT: LOOK AT APRIL!

Jess: OMG OMG OMG. There are no words.

P.S. Sheila has loads of these up on her site! The comments are absolutely killing me. GO NOW!

Want some mo' Hoff?
:: Irish Cheddar... and a Little Something for the Germans
:: The Hoff Super Fantastic Activity Fun Book
:: May the Hoff Rise up to Meet You
:: Season's Greetings from Curly and The Hoff
:: Soap from a Dope
:: Wax On, Wax Hoff
:: A Wee Bit o' Schmaltz

abdicating the throne

So there's this girl I sometimes see on the subway on my way to work. Even though I haven't exchanged two words with this person, I loathe her. She emits a stank of cheese and annoyance that's more than enough to justify my dislike.

I first noticed her one morning when she entered the train dropping shit all over the place and stinking up the car with a particularly noxious brand of perfume. Ew and she was rocking the Ugg boot-skirt combo. I, for one, think that this is a truly horrendous pairing and can't wait until it dies a much-deserved death.

In our first encounter, Cheesy Girl tried to wedge her very wide ass into a seat that was already semi-occupied by the overhang of the passengers on the left and right. Now lest you think Cheesy Girl has a bountiful backend to be envied and admired, I have to interject and say no, that's not true. It's a most unfortunate shape. It's like two big bunions are sticking out of her thighs. Its shape totally defies the "back" classification. It's more like she's got "side."

Now technically the seat she had her eye on was available but really, only Olive Oyl could sit in it comfortably. And that's debatable. So as Cheesy Girl was making her descent into the seat, the train lurched sending her careening into the lap of a very petite, nebbish-looking woman reading The New York Times Magazine. Understandably, this woman was not pleased with her unexpected lap dance.

Cheesy Girl earned a smattering of icy glares when her entrance roused some riders from their reading or sleepy haze. But her dogged pursuit of jamming that ass of hers into a space far too small to accommodate it really incurred the wrath of the entire car. We glowered and silently and collectively cheered her neighbors' refusal to budge.

At the next stop, a seat opened up to my right so Cheesy Girl surrendered the tug-of-war and lunged using a rather impressive head-first slide technique. For the rest of the trip, I got to see that thick, scary clown makeup up close while her eau de toilette held my throat in a vice-like grip.

I had the misfortune of being trapped on the same car again today. Actually, I think she went easy on the perfume today because her stench went undetected for about two stops. I didn't notice her until her wide rump magically appeared in a newly-available seat that I had designs on. I simultaneously admired her maneuver and cursed her for robbing me of a place to park my tired ass.

If she would just sit in her seat smelling up the car and not making a commotion, she'd blend in with a good portion of MTA riders. But Cheesy Girl draws attention to herself and that's why I hate her. Shortly after sitting, she started fishing around in her bag, elbowing all in her vicinity and making quite the racket. After much fanfare she produced an iPod housed in a knit cozy (naturally) and then promptly flooded the car with the Dixie Chicks (I think) and then "ABC" by The Jackson Five.

Eyes darted in her direction and fixed a disapproving gaze as she assaulted us with her pedestrian music library. As it was, her behavior wasn't doing much in the way of improving the white girl image so I was hoping she'd either turn down the music or at least cue up a respectable song. Yeah not quite. Remember how I said I was the biggest honkey ever? Well, there's a new Queen of the Crackers, ladies and gentlemen. Want to take a guess what the next song on Cheesy Girl's iPod was?

Give up?

"All out of Love" by, yes, Air Supply. I shit you not.

Ten bucks says these songs can also be found on her playlist:
"I Will Survive"
"Build Me Up Buttercup"
"Thank God I'm a Country Boy"
"The Gambler"
"Dancing Queen"

Any other guesses?

i promise not to club any knees...

Woo hoo! I've pulled into a distant third place in the BoB Awards!!! Suh-weet!! Please help me maintain my bronze medal status! For just 52 cents a day -- the price of a cup of coffee -- you can make a diff... oh wait, that's a different appeal entirely. This one is Sally Struthers-free and won't cost you anything, I promise! Please vote for me daily!

And cast a vote each day for The Sheila Variations (redesigned by Yours Truly) in the Best Literary Blog category. Sheila is one of the reasons I got started on this here blog. And she's like all smart and crap. Good reasons all, no? So, PLEASE VOTE!

Thanks much!

but when you shake your ass, they notice fast

Last night's subway ride home was so crowded I had to forgo my usual reading of the Daily News. I like Daily Dish, what can I say? Anyhoo, I was trapped in a position that wasn't exactly conducive to page turning so I put away the newspaper, strapped on the iPod and let the random shuffle feature entertain me all the way to Brooklyn.

First song up: George Michael's "Freedom '90." This pleased me. I nodded along to the bongo and tambourine intro and then had to bite my lip to keep from serenading my fellow passengers. I can't help it -- that song gets my blood pumping and just begs me to screech along to it. If you find yourself at a bar with me and that song comes on, you can pretty much guarantee that I will gesticulate wildly while giving back your "picture in a frame" and your "singing in the rain." It.just.must.be.done.

Yesterday's commute was a real test of wills because "It Takes Two" by Rob Base/DJ EZ Rock came on next. Oh, how I wanted to sing along. Imagine, if you will, me -- the biggest honkey ever -- succumbing to the pressure and loudly informing the New Lots Avenue-bound 3 train -- in between rhythmic gyrations and impressive pop-and-lock maneuvers, of course -- that "I'm number one, the uno, I like comp. Bring all the suckers 'cause all them I'll stomp." Seriously I'm so white, I make Debbie Boone look ghetto fabulous. My fellow riders would have either showered me with spare change for the laugh or beaten me senseless for insulting the art form. It could have gone either way.

When I see a person wearing headphones, I sometimes try to figure out what type of music he/she is listening to (provided it's not already bleeding out of the headphones making a tinny-sounding racket in an enclosed space. I hate that!!) But I do sometimes wonder if people try to guess what type of music I'm listening to based on my outward appearance. My selection would surprise most people because it's so wide-ranging. I have specific tastes of course but I do try to keep an open mind. I wish everyone did. I was at The Wiz in Wayne, NJ a few years ago buying a cordless phone and The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. The cashier looked at the CD, looked up at me, looked back at the CD and then once again at me. She actually said, "You want this?" She was floored that I would make such a purchase. I really wanted to say, "Oh heavens to Betsy! I meant to pick up Air Supply's Greatest Hits!! By golly, how on earth did this filth end up in the Easy Listening section?!" I abstained because I think the sarcasm would have been lost on her. And um, I think she was from Paterson and could have easily kicked my ass up and down the street. But in my mind, she got quite the earful, let me tell you. My bad-ass imagination made short work of her even if my actual self was too much of a wuss to do so. Ain't that always the way though?

this & that

I just came back from a phenomenal post-holiday department lunch at Bread Bar at Tabla. We made sure to eat plenty as it was paid for by the huge corporate behemoth that employs us. The only problem is, dense meals in the middle of the day really do me in. As we speak, I'm locked in a ferocious battle with the sleepies. I could seriously put my head down on my desk right now and nod off dreaming of rosemary nann and raitas.

I'm also in one of those moods where I don't feel like answering the phone and/or returning calls. The voicemail light on my phone is beckoning but I just don't want to deal. It's not that I'm feeling anti-social... it has more to do with the fact that I'm behind on several freelance projects and don't want to have to fib my way through the progress report. Ugh. Anyone want to subcontract some work from me? I seriously spread myself too thin. If you're into photo editing and research, let me know.

In other news, there's a new dating prospect! However, I don't want to say much yet for fear of jinxing things. I will say that the candidate has been screened by two members of My Esteemed Reader Panel (MERP) and they both approve. Furthermore, she's gorgeous, funny and slightly quirky. I think I'm smitten. It's too early to say for sure but for now, I've got the flutter in my stomach and an ever-present coy smile on my face.

We're having dinner this weekend which will be the true test of our compatibility. Will we be able to sustain conversation? Will our chemistry in real life mirror our email and phone chemistry? More importantly, will she be a belcher? Or will she have hands like Skelator? Is she really a senior citizen masquerading as a 31-year-old woman? Will she have crunchy bangs? Or an affinity for Tweety Bird activewear? Will she wear a rain hat even though it's not raining? How about moon boots or white sweatpants? God, I hope not. Wish me luck, people!

And don't forget to vote for moi in zee Best of Blog Awards. Luckily, I'm not bringing up the rear in my category (so far) but I could still use a few more votes. Thank ya kindly!

top 10 posts of 2004

As a result of my BOB nomination, I've been getting CRAZY traffic the past few days. Welcome, by the way! To save you newbies the trouble of clicking around, I've compiled 10 of my more popular posts here, in no particular order...

1. A Letter to My Menstrual Cycle

2. Things I'm Not Ashamed to Admit... But Probably Should Be

3. The Requisite Essay on Pride

4. My Left Foot

5. I'm Here, I'm Queer...Get Used to Me

6. ...Somewhere in the Swamps of Jersey

7. On Thanksgiving and Why I Think Peppermint Patty Is a Big Ol' Bitch

8. At a Loss

9. Olfactory Onomatopoeia

10. From the Home Office in Provincetown, Massachusetts

shameless self-promotion

The polls are now open for the Best of Blog (BOB) Awards. Somehow this here blog got itself nominated for Best GLBT Blog. Shocking, I know! Now iffin' you don't mind, kindly go here to cast a vote. While you're there, please check out the blogs of my fellow nominees. I've discovered many good new reads as a result of this contest and I hope you do too!

And congrats to Sheila for her nomination for Best Literary Blog! You've got my vote. Good luck!!