off with his head

For reasons I can't quite explain, I thought it would be a good idea to watch Halloween H20: 20 Years Later tonight... Alone in my apartment... In the middle of June. Just 'cause.

I adore the original and am completely pissed that a perfect story was dicked around with in a series of sequels, one more atrocious than the next. But I watched it anyway and yes, it completely sucked. However, I did have one moment of satisfaction during this monstrosity and I would like to share it with you.

Some background...

It's 20 years later and after yet another run-in with Michael Myers, Laurie Strode has had it up to HERE with his bullshit and decides to confront him once and for all.

You know, I'm not sure I understand her logic because he's survived coat hangers to the eyes, bullet wounds, several story falls, fire balls, suffocation, etc. I'm not sure why she suddenly thought she could magically do him in but, whatever, I was willing to suspend my disbelief.

Now, before heading off to face her psychotic brother, she had the good sense to grab an ax... conveniently located within arm's reach, of course. She searched high and low for Michael bellowing his name and then she finally found him as he was slowly descending from his perch on the ceiling.

Um, wait... what did I just type?

Anyhoo, before Laurie could swing around with ax in hand, I offered her a bit of advice: "DECAPITATE HIM! DECAPITATE HIM WITH THE AX!" My reasoning was as such: Obviously, Michael Myers is immune to straight-up causes of death but we haven't seen him really tackle dismemberment yet. Let's give it a whirl.

But did Laurie Strode listen to me? No! The best that dumbass could manage was a harsh chop to the sternum where the ax got stuck, which, of course, Michael easily extracted and flung on the floor. So weak.

Side note: I'm not sure why Michael didn't hold onto that weapon for added backup since he's had a history of being stabbed and poked by the ever-feisty Laurie. Clearly, common sense does not run in the Myers family.

Fast forward a few more stupid scenes and now Michael Myers is pinned between a coroner's van and a tree branch after he freed himself from a body bag in the aforementioned coroner's van being recklessly driven by his sister, Laurie Strode.

Um, wait... what did I just type?

Anyway, so here's Michael Myers in a position just ripe for decapitation, in my estimation, but I wasn't holding my breath because Laurie sorely disappointed me the first time with her hack hacking job.

But then she picked up the ax -- once again conveniently located within arm's reach -- and she sliced that motherfucker's head clean off, sending it rolling down the hill, William Shatner mask and all.

So there you have it... Evil was defeated. Personally, I like to think it's because of that bit of sage advice I offered Jamie Lee Curtis just a few scenes earlier.

Um, wait... what did I just type?

late night double feature picture show

Happy Belated Saint Patrick's Day! And since inquiring minds probably want to know, no, I was not out swilling green beer and puking in gutters and alleys. That was LAST weekend, thank you very much.

No really, I did not do a damn thing yesterday that even acknowledged my Irish heritage. Oh wait, I DVR'd The Field starring Richard Harris (to be viewed at a later date). Other than that, 'twas a paddy-free day for me.

See, I've been sort of run ragged these days and I got socked with a nasty sinus condition this week. I had that wonderful combination of nausea, aches, pains and fatigue kicking me arse but good. Even my teeth hurt. It, in a word, sucked. So I declined all social invites and set aside the weekend to convalesce.

After tromping home through the snow on Friday night, I put on my pajamas and then focused on one thing and one thing only: being a lazy fuck. I'm happy to report that I succeeded in the task.

Yesterday, I slept in, woke up, watched some TV, took a long nap and then engaged in a rather random movie marathon: A Cry in the Dark, Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead, A Farewell to Arms, The Departed and The Remains of the Day. Up next: The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

Wow... baby-eating dingos, dead mobsters, war, Nazis, death, destruction... I just realized that I have a rather fucked-up notion of what constitutes a relaxing distraction.

with one look

On Saturday I enjoyed an overdue and much-needed day to myself. With the exception of a quick trip to the deli next door for the newspaper and some half-and-half, I didn't leave the toasty confines of my Tiny Wee Studio the entire rest of the day.

The day was thoroughly enjoyable... save for a dream I had during my mid-day nap involving me, the Idols Live! tour and forgotten song lyrics.

I have no idea. All I know is that I woke up in a panic trying to remember all the words to Cheap Trick's "Surrender" and that's just so bizarre because that's the last song I would sing under those circumstances. It's fine for karaoke, maybe, but not on a national tour, duh. In case you're wondering what I would sing, I'm going to go with "Blowin' Sky High" by Berlin for now, with the understanding and option that I can change my mind later.

But getting back to Saturday... I did a few chores but spent the rest of the day watching movies and getting caught up on my shows. If you're not watching HBO's Extras, you really need to be. That show makes me cackle. Not chuckle, not giggle... CACKLE. I won't elaborate further on that because Sheila addressed this very topic last week and I cannot possibly expand on her insightful take. All I can say is, "Ditto."

I also watched several movies: Mallrats, Summer of Sam and Layer Cake. The latter is well-spun yarn starring Daniel Craig as a drug dealer saddled with two complex tasks before he can retire from the business. The movie is violent and extremely graphic in its depiction of the gritty drug scene. Despite the blood and gore, I didn't find it nearly as disturbing at the former two films in my mini festival.

Mallrats? Disturbing? How come, you ask? Obvious Shannen Doherty references aside, there's some freaky shit in that film. For example, Priscilla Barnes, Terri from the later seasons of Three's Company, has a small role as a psychic in a dirt mall. A topless psychic, to be exact. Yes, she's an attractive woman but I just found it strange to see Terri Alden's boobies... with a third nip, no less!

While watching that scene, I made a mental note to Google "Priscilla Barnes" and "third nipple" to see if it was a genuine deformity and then, in answer to my question, there she was on the screen peeling off the nip and eating it (I can't believe I just typed that) so there was no Googling to be had. Gagging and eye rubbing, yes, but no Googling.

Later that day I watched Summer of Sam, Spike Lee's film about serial killer David Berkowitz's terrifying grip on New York City in the summer of 1977. John Leguizamo was good in the lead role. I'll watch him in anything. I saw his one-man-show Freak on Broadway a few years ago and he just blew me away. I wish I had an ounce of his energy. Actually, I'm sure I could inhale some of that "energy" up my nose quite easily, come to think of it...

The movie was decent and the cast was impressive -- Mira Sorvino, Anthony LaPaglia, Michael Imperioli, Adrien Brody, Ben Gazzara, Bebe Neuwirth and Patti LuPone, just to name a few. I didn't adore the film but it adequately entertained me for a few hours.

So there I was sprawled out on my couch, watching the movie and minding my own bees wax when, wait, what's this? Patti LuPone's bare boobs! Patti LuPone's bare boobs! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Yet another set of knockers I really did not need or want to see. Hello, Buenos Aires?!?! She's Evita! And Corky's mother, for fuck's sake! Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. This is more disturbing than the time I thought Betty Buckley suffered from a parched vag. That was a false alarm, thank God. Patti's boobs, however, are forever burned into my brain and I'm not sure I'll ever be the same.

Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da...

on nauseating films, new frontiers and newark

How is it Monday already? HOW? Someone really needs to look into reversing the ratio of weekdays to weekend days. This 5:2 business blows big hairy... toes. Yes, toes. I'm trying not to be so vulgar. It's a stipulation in my taxi-cab contract, if you'll recall.

Did you have a good weekend? Mine was rather decent, I must say. On Friday, I saw Pan's Labyrinth with The Adorable Meg. I didn't know a whole lot about the story going in but I knew that the film was on a bunch of Top 10 lists and I wanted to see it. I was warned ahead of time by The Hot Russian that it was "brutal" but I assumed she meant that it was brutal in the "bring tissues" sense. But now that I think about it, The Hot Russian, while very Americanized, does not tend to color her vocabulary with alternate and additional meanings of words. She's all about the standard, primary definition. Although, she's a little less literal when she calls me things like "shit head" or "bitch." My head is not comprised of feces nor am I an actual female dog, you see...

I loved Pan's Labyrinth but sweet Jesus, it was gruesome! One moment, it was a visual feast for the eyes and imagination and the next... well, it was just gnarly. Meg was good enough to help me cover my eyes, you know, when she didn't have her face buried in my shoulder during some of the more horrifying scenes. This may sound like a bad review, but I swear, it's not! Go see it. Just don't go without a barf bag if you're the queasy sort.

On Saturday, I got a very cute cut and color. My hair is a rather sweet shade of red and I got an angular cut (shorter in the back, longer towards the front) that makes my curls all springy and bouncy. Later that night, I poured myself into a pair of ass pants, made up my face, applied a shiny pomade to the new coif and made my way into the West Village for a singles mixer. I told NO ONE that I was going because if it sucked, I didn't want to have to relive it in excruciating detail to enquiring minds. I also wanted to spare myself a lecture in case I decided to ditch at the last minute.

But I didn't ditch. I went and I didn't hate it. In fact, I got a couple of phone numbers. I'm very proud of myself. I won't go into too much detail because I've become rather superstitious about dating. It seems the minute I share details with a third party, something goes wrong and then I'm left shame-faced trying to explain what happened and most of the time, I have no idea why. Oh, I hate that! It makes me cranky. Fear not though, if something interesting occurs, you'll be the first ones to know. Until then, patience, my friends.

Last night, I went to Iberia in the Ironbound Section of Newark for dinner. Mmm... Portuguese food. I do believe the restaurant emptied out the Atlantic Ocean to provide the seafood on our table alone. Even better, the bill was $70 for three people and we were all packed to the gills. So awesome.

And yes, I went to Newark, NJ willingly. I grew up not far from there so I have a soft spot for the much-maligned mini metropolis. Shitting on the city of Newark is a well-worn punchline that is most often trotted out by people who've never been (and no, the airport does not count!)

Vitriol directed towards Newark is viral, just like making fun of films like Ishtar or Waterworld. I never even saw those movies but I know enough to cite them as examples of box-office bombs and critical failures. My opinion is based more on osmosis than experience.

I dare say the same goes for Newark's bad reputation. Granted, there are some of you who may have been and legitimately loathe the place but the general consensus seems to be based on hearsay. So, in a sense, Newark is the Howard the Duck of cities. It makes sense that I defend it because, after all, I not only saw Howard the Duck back in the day, I liked it.

Shut.up.

looking back

Happy New Year... almost! I'm going to close out 2006 the same way I did last year with a month-by-month recap of posts.

Suffer.

JANUARY

Re: The Muppets
Here began what turned out to be a 13-part series. It chronicles first love and my process of coming out. Independently, those can both be brutal experiences. When you combine the two, it's completely overwhelming. I almost didn't survive it but hot damn, I made it through. Go me.

I haven't really gone back and read this all the way through after posting it. Occasionally, I'll catch a glimpse of paragraph or passage and honestly, I don't even remember writing it. It just sort of flowed out in a way that I can't explain.

I was scared to poke around in old memories and really hesitant to bare my soul like that to the world but something inside just told me to go for it. And I'm so glad I did. I feel like I finally put that part of my life to rest.

An added bonus to sharing my story was the response I got from people all over the world -- gay, straight, confused, male, female, transgendered, Christian, Jewish, Muslim and everyone in between. Some were too shy to comment and instead, sent highly personal emails to me sharing bits of their own lives and thanking me for sharing mine. It struck a chord I never could have anticipated and inspired a few people to write their own stories. I can't even properly articulate how much that means to me.

Thanks again to everyone who read the story and cheered me on as I labored through the tough parts.

Okay, enough mush. Next!

FEBRUARY

Cottonmouth Au Jus
Here is yet another of the many gems uttered by my beloved niece.

An Open Letter to the Building Facilities Person(s) in Charge of Ordering Paper Goods for the Bathroom at My Job
The custodial staff at my office building feels the business end of a complaint letter composed by yours truly.

Judge Not
Who knew Peter Cetera could set off such a firestorm of controversy?! (Psst! Read the comments on that post.)

MARCH

Erin-Go-A-Cup Bragh
A retelling of the acquisition of my first bra and an unfortunate nickname.

Courtney & Tina: A Theory
Were Kurt's widow and Jennifer Keaton one and the same?

APRIL

The Terrible Twos
My blog became toddler this past year. In case you're wondering, the whole potty training thing is still a work in progress. Don't rush me!

A Not-So-Good Friday
Another tale of Catholic hi jinx.

MAY

An Announcement
Fans of off-key oversinging everywhere rejoiced at the birth of American Midol, the smart-assed brainchild of Mejack, The Lovely Jess and myself. The new season starts soon so stay tuned for more shameless plugs!

In the Criminal Justice System
A footnote (pun totally intended) to the tale of my tortured tootsies.

On Why the Newspaper Guy Must Think I'm a Complete Asshole
This one got a Gawker link, bitches!

JUNE

What's Grosser Than Gross?
Ham & Cheese on Wry goes interactive! Here are the results of a poll on the most disgusting television commercials currently on the air. Caution: the term "nail bed" is used.

Duh, Baryshnikov
Mejack and I discuss plot holes in the Soviet-era film White Nights. You know, typical conversation...

My Way Gay Tale of Even Gayer Gayness
Here's the piece I read at my first-ever public appearance as Curly McDimple. Not only did my story garner a few laughs, I also didn't shit my pants. Success!

JULY

They Feel the Need, The Need for Speed[os]
Photos of Brighton Beach's finest on parade.

He Will 'Rize' Again
The Lovely Jess and I make suggestions to improve the Catholic Mass. Oddly enough, the Church didn't heed our advice. Fools.

Oh man, I'm going to have to say a good Act of Contrition for that.

AUGUST

Rule Of Thumb... And Pinky, Middle, Index & Ring
The results of a manicure given by my six-year-old niece.

Are You There God? It's Me, Curly
An appeal to a higher authority for my menstrual cycle to fuck off.

SEPTEMBER

Rod 'The Bod' and God Side-by-Side on the R Train
Screw The Naked Cowboy. This woman has the hottest act in all of NYC.

My 'Porchret'
The niece takes up portrait drawing as a hobby. Behold the birth of an artiste!

OCTOBER

Toreador, Don't Spit on the Floor
I got all fancy and went to my first opera with The Hot Russian. And it totally didn't suck and stuff.

On Altruism and Inadvertent Anti-Piracy Measures
Another Gawker link! They just love to showcase when I make an ass out of myself.

NOVEMBER

Our Version of Rate-a-Record
The Lovely Jess and I go toe-to-toe on the appeal of Faith No More and the Dave Matthews Band. Caution: The term "mushy peas" is mentioned.

DECEMBER

Acting? Thank You!
Save your pennies for some Broadway tickets and set your TiVos to record the next Tony Awards. 2006 is the year I became an actor!

They Do Know... They Just Don't Care
Band Aid was a noble effort. Really it was but dear God, those lyrics! Here I take Sir Bob down a notch... or twelve.

christmas wrap[-up]

I'm finally back from Jersey and savoring the last few days of my vacation here at home in beautiful Downtown Brooklyn. Here's hoping your Christmas (if applicable) was a good one.

As usual, my father picked me up at the ass crack of dawn on Christmas Eve. Each year, he drives in from NJ so that I don't have to schlep a bunch of bags on the Path train. While I appreciate the door-to-door chauffeur service, I really could do without the early wake-up call. It's about a 45-minute drive but judging by father's ridiculously early start time, you'd think he was driving out to Michigan to pick me up. But beggars can't be choosers, so I deal. Plus, my father was bringing me a special delivery so I woke up good and early to pave the way for the newest addition to my Tiny Wee Studio -- Nintendo. Old school Nintendo. None of that Wii or DS business.

I found the game in the basement when I was home for Thanksgiving and bagged it up but it was too heavy to carry so my father offered to bring it when he picked me up on Christmas Eve. And sure enough, he remembered. It was a quick exchange in front of my building. With the car illegally parked, he handed me the shopping bag with all the paddles, games and shit like that and I gave him my overnight bag. I ran back inside and reverently placed the bag o' Nintendo next to my television and then quickly gathered up the rest of my stuff and locked up the Tiny Wee Studio for my extended leave.

When I got home the other night, I barely had my coat off before I was hooking that shit up. It's amazing how I remember all the tricks and commands in that game. Actually, I covered this topic in the early days of my blog. I said, and I quote, "Ask me what I ate for dinner last night and I'm stumped. Hand me a Nintendo control and I can unearth every hidden coin bank and secret passageway in each level of Super Mario Bros."

And it's true! I gobbled up mushrooms, those fire power flower things and the invincibility stars without even having to think twice. I remembered how to stomp on the turtles and make the shell slide along to knock all the other bad guys out of the way. Mind you, I've had a Netflix movie sitting on my table waiting to be mailed for days because I keep forgetting to take it with me, yet, somehow, I can remember how to make Mario and Luigi capture the flag like it's second nature. Scary.

Heated Nintendo tournaments in the Tiny Wee Studio are most likely in store. I've already lined up The Lovely Jess, her Young Man, The Hot Russian and The Adorable Meg. I expect a lot of Paperboy- and Ice Hockey-related trash talk, in particular.

While at home, I got to spend a lot of time with the niece and nephew. On Christmas Day, I sat the one-year-old nephew on my lap and together we watched Christmas Eve on Sesame Street. He's usually fidgety and quite noisy but that boy sat still for a solid hour watching it. I was even able to put a red and white-striped stocking cap on his head without a fight. He had blocked all previous attempts, you see.

I love that he loved the show because really, I cannot let a Christmas go by without viewing it. It just doesn't feel right. If you haven't seen it, you're missing out. It was made in the 70s so a lot of the faces will no doubt be familiar to you -- Mr. Hooper, Bob, Linda the deaf chick, Gordon, Susan, Maria, David (I had a BIG crush on him back in the day). Actually, Sheila discussed the beloved special on her blog last year. The O'Malleys are as rabid about the program as the McDimples are. There's a reason we're friends.

Oh, and I also found out that the nephew also will stand at attention (and bust the occasional dance move) when the following movies are on: The Sound of Music and Annie. Hmmm...

Later in the day, my niece wanted to watch the movie I bought her for Christmas: Time Bandits. Each year, I try to pad her DVD library with favorites of mine. Last year she was treated to The Neverending Story, The Muppet Movie, The Great Muppet Caper and The Muppets Take Manhattan. This was the year she was exposed to her first Terry Gilliam movie. Since the plot involves time travel, I tried explaining some of the historical references to her. Turns out, it was unnecessary. The niece raised a dismissive hand and said, "I know who Napoleon is." Okay, then. Punk.

And of course, no Christmas at the McDimples would be complete unless these 10 things occur. Actually, though, I'm happy to report that number one on the list was not fulfilled... yet. After all, there's still New Year's Eve to contend with.

Hope you all had a merry one!

leftovers

I'm sort of lacking in blog inspiration these days. I thought maybe I'd write a holiday weekend recap but when I sat down in front of ye olde PC, I realized that not much happened out of the ordinary. But I'll take a crack at summarizing it anyway.

Suffer.

Let's see, there was the usual talk of turkey carcasses and then the subsequent simultaneous gagging/shushing of everyone who dared utter that word by moi, the lone vegetarian in the McDimple clan.

There was a James Bond marathon on cable and, of course, my father had it on all day. He simply cannot pass up a Bond movie, even though he thinks that any Bond other than Sean Connery is a right pussy. When I mentioned that Daniel Craig is getting favorable reviews, I was met with a haughty, "Ach! He canny even swim! Sean Connery did all his own stunts!" My father is rocking a serious boy crush on Sean in conjunction with his usual, "If it's not Scottish, it's CRRRRRAP!" mentality, you see.

On Friday, I watched Jaws with The Adorable Six-Year Old Niece. Lest you be concerned about her mental and emotional well-being after watching this scary film, you have nothing to fear. She's a hearty sort and not easily frightened. Actually, no, that's not true. She has a very specific set of fears but none of which involve a mechanical shark devouring Robert Shaw. However, don't go near her with this game. The face on that guy freaks her out. Between you and me, I was glad to see that toy get the heave-ho as I wasn't too keen on the idea of sticking my hand in the dude's cranial cavity. Ew, I said cavity.

Anyhoo, the niece got through the movie like a champ. Me? Not so much. My Equally Adorable One-Year-Old Nephew climbed up on me for a nap while we were watching it and during one scary scene, I totally jumped and nearly flung the boy clear across the room. And I've seen the movie countless times! The niece, on the other hand, didn't even flinch. Her reaction to the film? Anger. She was pissed that the shark (spoiler alert for anyone who's been living in a cave for the past 30 years) got bumped off at the end. Judging by her serious scowl, knit eyebrows and impassioned tone, she cares quite deeply for the species. I informed her that Jaws got his (her?) revenge several more times in a series of crappy sequels. Oh man, don't even get me started on Jaws 3-D...

The niece and I spent a good deal of time together drawing and coloring pictures. I went down to the basement to find some more crayons for her and I came across a beloved game from my childhood: Strolling Bowling.

Basically, you set up a little bowling alley and then you wind up the wee sneaker-clad ball and it hops down the lane in search of pins. Hours of fun, I tell you, particularly when you eschew the hopping part and just throw it like a real bowling ball. The niece squealed with delight whenever we broke the rules which was uh, all the time. If I may paraphrase Charles Barkley (because I'm too lazy and disinterested to Google the official quote), I never said I was a role model.

On Saturday, I put up my parents' Christmas tree. Yes, I know it's early but I don't feel like going back out there before Christmas to do it. December weekends are a precious commodity and I'm loathe to part with them. Now you might be asking yourself, "Why don't Curly's parents put up their own tree?" The answer is simple, really: My father is a decorating retard.

I love him but the man would be wise to step away from the tchatkes. Yet, despite his obvious inadequacy in this area, he is persistent in trying year after year. So, I've learned to relent and leave some of the trimming to his [in]discretion... often to comical results. Or, as I said a few years back, "When it comes to illuminated ceramics, the man knows no restraint."

So, as a favor to my mother, I assemble the very life-like fake tree and tastefully adorn it with beads, bows and Hallmark Keepsake Ornaments. The rest of the family has learned the painful way to just leave me be when I'm in decorating mode. I used to slap hands, tsk, sigh and eventually chase everyone out of the room because I felt like they were compromising the integrity of my design. Yeah, those movies and television shows that show happy families trimming the tree while singing carols and sipping eggnog? Complete and utter bullshit. If you want to portray the holiday rituals and traditions honestly, there needs to be impatience, frayed nerves and at least one person storming off in a huff. Otherwise, it's a complete sham.

Speaking of the holidays, I'm about to embark on a series of reviews/recaps of Christmas specials and movies. I'm telling you this now so that I don't slack off. I haven't exactly been motivated or consistent with updating the blog lately in case you haven't noticed. Anyhoo, if you'd like a somewhat relevant appetizer to tide you over, kindly check out The Alan Alda Sensitivity Project: Holiday Edition.

bruce willis throws like a boy

According to CNN, Bruce Willis is suing a photographer for $1 million. Something about defamation of character or some shit like that. While I have no issue with the former Moonlighting star being so litigious, I have to wonder why the leading man of tough-guy movies like Die Hard didn't sue the pants off the shutterbug who took this photo...

For further discussion of Bruce's piss-poor throwing skills, please click here.


Photo: New York Daily News

duh, baryshnikov

This is what happens when Mejack and I try to discuss the Cold War...

Mejack: Did you see the movie White Nights?

Yours Truly: I did... IN THE MOVIE THEATER!

Mejack: SO DID I... TWICE.

YT: It was just once in the theater for me but there have been repeated viewings on cable on Saturday afternoons or whatever.

Mejack: Oh, I watch it whenever I find it. It's a gem.

Mejack: "WE ARE LANDING IN RUSSIA!"

Mejack: I love how Baryshnikov tries to flush his passport down an AIRPLANE TOILET!

YT: Yeah, really. What's that about? How big can a septic tank possibly be on a jumbo jet? All the KGB would need to find it is a skimmer, some gloves and a mask maybe.

Mejack: "VELKIM HOME, NIKOLAI."

YT: Just eat it, dude. Share it with your fellow passengers. Ask everyone to take a page and chow down.

Mejack: I know. Eating it would have been a much better idea.

YT: And then hide the vinyl cover in a vomit bag. Simple.

:: thoughtful silence ::

YT: You know, it's reassuring to know that I'm prepared to protect myself the next time I'm forced to make an emergency landing in a communist country.

Mejack: Especially if you are an illegally defected renowned ballet dancer.

YT: Because I am, you know.

Mejack: I'm not surprised.

on new math and creepy-ass commercials

Because of the inclement weather, today's plans to scorch my skin alongside The Lovely Jess at Brighton Beach had to be scrapped.

So, did I take advantage of the indoor time to clean my apartment, shred some junk mail or tackle the towering pile of laundry bursting out of my hamper? Fuck no. I'm in the midst of full-blown lazy Saturday.

It's almost 6:30pm and I'm still in my Curious George capri-length pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. I am the picture of sloth. I've been lounging on my couch watching TV all day with no regrets whatsoever. In fact, I just watched Ice Princess. And I'm not the least bit ashamed. Well, I am a little bit. However, I adhere to the following formula:

Bad weather + weekend afternoon ÷ cheesy movie X 1 movie on IFC/Sundance² = Freedom from guilt

(In this equation, let Secrets & Lies represent the shame-saving variable.)

The only downside of prolonged TV viewing? I keep seeing that fucking commercial with the guy who has throat cancer and has a hole in his windpipe and talks through one of those... uh... what's the technical name for it? I only know the awful slang term for it: cancer kazoo. Terrible, I know. What's the right word for it? Please enlighten my sorry ass.

Anyways, the airwaves have been absolutely saturated with this ad. I can't even look at it. Gone are the days of "The Cigarette Mash," I guess.

But the campaign is totally working because I'll be damned if I ever touch another cigarette. Not that I'm much of a smoker anyway but what that man has to do with a Q-tip has scared me straight, yo.

I feel like I'm under assault lately with the gross ads. There's this one for squeezable mayonnaise that is just horrendous, what with all that jar-scraping and white slime squeezing. At the first sign of this advert, I peform the following in this order: 1) clasp my hand over my eyes; 2) blindly change the channel; 3) crawl into a fetal position; and 4) gag uncontrollably.

ACK! I'm so going to hurl right now. Say, I wonder if I have a strong enough case to sue Hellmann's for mental anguish?

Update: Which commercial do you think is really gnarly? Cast your vote!

customer service

I have lots to catch you up on but work is kicking my ass these days. Tales of TequilaCon await you. In the meantime, I thought I'd continue my efforts to be helpful and answer a question that brought a visitor here. Since your Google search couldn't quite help you, dear user, I will gladly put in the extra effort.

Q: Who sings "Shootin' at the Walls of Hearty [sic]"?

A: Scandal is the name of the band and the song is called "The Warrior." Oh and psst! The actual lyric is "Shootin' at the walls of heartache." Don't feel bad. I've got a post devoted to my lyrical fuck-ups. Hell, there's an entire book on the subject.

Ain't I helpful? Oh, and because I'm so sweet (and tres Rain Man-like with the pop culture references), I'll throw in a few freebies for you:

Scandal was fronted by the smoky-voiced Patty Smyth who is married to one John McEnroe, who, I'll have you know, was the inspiration for my Halloween costume two years ago. Anyhoo, the curly-haired-tantrum-throwing tennis player divorced Tatum O'Neal (daughter of Ryan and foe of Farrah) who became a big ol' druggie after winning an Oscar for Paper Moon at the ripe old age of 10 (I do believe).

Tatum also starred in one of my all-time favorite movies, The Bad News Bears. It was one of the few movies she made that I was actually allowed to watch unsupervised as a kid. Although, the line about Amanda being on The Pill was always a bit of a sore spot, come to think of it...

Little Darlings, on the other hand, was all sorts of forbidden in the McDimple household. However, that didn't stop us McDimple girls from secretly huddling around the small black-and-white TV in my oldest sister's room and watching the cleaned-up version on broadcast television.

Back in the day, Channel 9 was pretty good about showing movies like that on a Saturday afternoon, whereas Channel 11 aired shit like Clash of the Titans and Clint Eastwood movies. There was a glorious spell where you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting a John Hughes movie but, alas, there were just as many airings of Commando and The Beastmaster to contend with. Thank God for digital cable.

But as I was saying, once holed up in my sister's room, we took turns guarding the door and listening for approaching footsteps. My oldest sister became VERY good at diving towards the television and changing the channel in one swift motion just before the parents entered the room. She'd always end up on her stomach in a pose that looked surprisingly relaxed and natural. It was quite remarkable.

Now, while she had the channel-changing technique down pat, her choice of station often left much to be desired. "Why are you girls watching bowling?" my father incredulously asked one day. But, in her defense, her Russian Roulette-like channel surfing landed on MASH quite a few times, which was a very believable ruse. We actually liked MASH. By the by, this sister was also highly skilled at hiding her trashy romance novels. She kept the tamer V.C. Andrews books on display but the more salacious ones could not be found. Trust me, I tried.

Ahem. So, um, in summary, Scandal is what you're looking for, errant Googler. You're most welcome. And now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to add Little Darlings to my Netflix queue. Oooh, while I'm there, I might as well tack on Porky's, Body Heat, Prizzi's Honor and all the other forbidden films of my youth. Foiled again, Mama McDimple. Foiled again!

courtney & tina: a theory

I recently watched Sid & Nancy. I loves me some Sex Pistols, rally I do. Anyhoo, I knew Courtney Love had a small part in the film but oh my God, when she first appeared on the screen, I had one question and one question only: "Um, are Courtney Love and Tina Yothers of Family Ties fame the same person?"

You decide:

Courtney

Tina

See what I mean? No? Take another look:

Tina?

Courtney?

Come to think of it, didn't Hole have a song called "Jennifer's Body"? Hmm... Jennifer as in Jennifer Keaton?!?! Consider this mystery solved. Sha, la, la, la...


Photo credits: Courtney: burnthiswitch.tripod.com; Tina: familyties-tv.com

oscar round-up

A couple of thoughts/questions from last night's telecast:

1. Okay, so I know I'm like gay and crap but whoo boy, I have to say that I dig the George Clooney. I mean, yes, he's got the whole ridiculously attractive thing going on and everybody loves him for that but really, that speech of his last night was just awwwwwww!-inspiring. That sent me over the edge into all-out Clooney love. He was articulate, classy and humble. And best of all, he was brief... which is more than I can say for the people who win the technical awards. Man those people can yammer.

2. The scene from Crash when Matt Dillon violates Thandie Newton was hard enough to take the first time I saw it. I really didn't need to see it re-enacted -- through interpretive dance! -- by a couple of look-alikes. Did I mention it was incorporated into a dance number?! What was the choreographer's notes for that, I wonder? I mean, what the hell?

3. Charlize Theron, why so glum?

4. I won $30 in an Oscar pool! I've come close before but this is the first time I ever won... albeit in a three-way tie for first place. But I don't care! Crash as Best Picture and "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp" fucked us all up.

5. Speaking of fucked up... Uh, where did Dolly's ribcage go? And did she, in fact, slide the fat from her ass up into her breasts? The woman has no kiester whatsoever. Had a clip from 9 to 5 not been shown in one of the night's 52 montages, perhaps I wouldn't have noticed but the juxtaposition of the 80s-era Dolly with the current one looked like a before and after Trim-Spa ad.

And was she wearing boots or shoes? They looked a bit boxy and NASA-like to me. Now that I think about it, she sort of resembled a Lego action figure or something. Not a good look on anyone, really.

6. Thanks again for hosting a great party, JS and AD! I love you guys... and not just because you had chocolate cupcakes on hand.

Technorati Tags: Oscars, Academy Awards, Movies, Film, Awards, Crash, George Clooney, Thandie Newton, Matt Dillon, Charlize Theron, Dolly Parton

the best o' '05, relatively speaking

Despite my earlier proclamation, I have one last entry left in me for the year. I was going to do a Top 10 Posts of 2005 list eventually but I saw a slightly different format on Sheila's site (via Ann Althouse) that I quite like. Here, dear readers, is a monthly breakdown of notable posts:

January

Boobwatch, Indeed
This, my friends, is when The Hoff sickness began. 'Nuff said.

Long Before Ben and Liv Stunk up the Screen...
A cable airing of Jami Gertz's Jersey Girl riled me up and made me a tad defensive of my home state. I mean, there's a reason I left NJ but I'd still like to issue this rule o' thumb: I can make fun of Jersey as can other former (and present) residents all I/we want. The rest of y'all sound tired when you do it. What else is in your sad cannon? "Why did the chicken cross the road?" and a bunch of knock-knock jokes? Seriously, get some new material. Or go pick on Connecticut or something. Move on or I'll be forced to open up a can of Coors Light on your asses.

But When You Shake Your Ass, They Notice Fast
Any post which contains the line "Seriously I'm so white, I make Debbie Boone look ghetto fabulous," needs, nay BEGS, to be resurrected.

February

The Tesh Experiment
The birth of Harriet McNamara, the rabid John Tesh fan/mail room clerk/ace bowler.

A Couple of Quick Niece-isms
Several gems uttered by the Adorable Five-Year-Old Niece when she was still the Adorable Four-Year-Old Niece.

March

On Movies and Molestation
I'm quite confident this is the only site out there on the Internets [sic] that can discuss Capturing the Friedmans and the diddling of Dudley on Diff'rent Strokes in the same post. If I'm wrong, please let me know because I might need to marry this equally-twisted writer.

She Bops
And lo, the birth of a new phrase on par with "Life is like a box of chocolates..." is born.

Next Week We Teach Her How to Funnel
The Adorable Four-Year-Old Niece begins training for her first keg stand.

April

A Public Service Announcement
I decided to give some much-needed assistance to forlorn Googlers. Lest you think it's a stuffy, tech-heavy tutorial, fear not. One of my lessons was the proper use of the term "tart cart." Never doubt my ability to be completely inappropriate.

And Now Is Zee Time When I Kiss My Own Ass
Because I'm always late, I missed my own one-year blog anniversary. But I had a brain fart several days later and marked the occasion by showcasing some of my lesser-known posts. Whoa... a list of posts WITHIN a list of posts. I think I just blew my own mind.

Chug! Chug! Chug!
A rare photo of Yours Truly... making short work of a pitcher of Brooklyn. 'Cause I'm classy like that.

May

Adam Sandler Doesn't Dice My Onions
Once again, The Lovely Jess and I take the English language to new and interesting heights. Or, like, you know... butcher it.

My Other Talent
I can "cook" too, y'all.

Sex Smells
Some pyschological insight into what makes me tick. It's as disturbing as you've no doubt imagined.

June

Resurrection
A desperate plea to a love nearly lost forever.

Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'
Here's where I took on the tools standing outside the courthouse in support of that horror show, Michael Jackson. Bunch of ass munches. I shake my fist at them.

Question
The first chapter in The Saga of the M-o-u-s-e (to be continued in July).

July

I Have Arrived!
This is when I knew I had made it as a blogger -- I received my first piece of hate mail. It was a beautiful thing.

Breaking News
The conclusion of The Saga of the M-o-u-s-e. Here it is months later and I'm still twitching.

I'm a [Last Name] Girl
This entry was a departure from the usual dopey tone of this here blog. I talk about my half-in/half-out of the closet status. I was really drained by the time I finished and I pretty much sobbed my way through it. But I'm proud of it and it helped me tremendously by writing about it. Once again, THANK YOU to everyone who commented and emailed me. I've never had such a response to a post before. Your words of support and encouragement helped me in ways you can never possibly know. So thank you.

August

It's a Boy!
I became a proud and doting aunt for the second time. Despite the grumpy face in the photo, my nephew has the biggest, best smile and he wears it often. His cheeks are the chubbiest I've ever seen and like his adoring aunt, he relies heavily on his woobie to help him sleep. In case you can't tell, I love my wee boy to bits.

The Alan Alda Sensitivity Project* or What I Learned from TV
The first in an ongoing series of life lessons and observations I gathered by watching copious amounts of television as a child. Perhaps the best quote of the bunch: "Charles Ingalls was a bit of a buttinsky."

Thomas
This is a story about the grandfather I unfortunately never met. This was another one I blubbered my way through.

Flirtation
The post where I punk'd my audience.

Traveling Show
This tale illustrates why Jess and I will never and SHOULD never become exterminators.

September

The Trunk
Despite the heartache and emotional shit storm she unleashed on my life, this is a loving tribute to the good stuff THE EX brought to it as well. Yet another tearjerker. Man, I was mopey this year.

An Ode to My Itty Bitty Titties
Small-chested girls represent!

Someone Is on Your Side
Some thoughts on my beloved Bernadette Peters after she suffered the tragic loss of her young husband.

October

The New-Age Cheese Diet
Just what you always wanted -- health advice and tips for a better life from the former cohost of Entertainment Tonight... The Tesh.

All The Small Things
Here's where I started my list of 100 things about me. I think I got as far as 40 before I quit. Maybe I'll get around to finishing it... maybe not.

#41. I rarely finish things I start.

November

I'll Have the Big Gulp, Thank You
A charming tale of mortification courtesy of my overactive pie hole.

Inside the Actors Studio with Curly McDimple
When I become famous (and I WILL), this is how I'm going to answer James Lipton's questions. Oh and I also go off on Rosie O'Donnell. In truth, it doesn't take much to prompt a Rosie rant from moi. In fact, I could launch into one right now. I'm totally serious.

December

Season's Greetings from Curly and The Hoff
Here are some Hoff holiday greetings to print out and share with your friends... or enemies. You can also hang them up at home and the office to ward off evil, scare away would-be burglars and the occasional annoying coworker.

The Alan Alda Sensitivity Project: Holiday Edition
Among the lessons learned: The Bradys should run FEMA; Shermie schooled whitey on the art of The Running Man; Santa really dicked Rudolph around; and Rankin-Bass is staffed by a bunch of ugly motherfuckers.

And that was my 2005 in a someone wordy nutshell. Thanks for being part of it. May you all have a happy New Year! And to my Scottish peeps, a very Happy Hogmanay!

All the best,
Curly

the alan alda sensitivity project: holiday edition

Here are a few lessons I gleaned from holiday specials during my impressionable youth and beyond. (Items 1-10 in this series can be found here. Number 11 is here.)

12) If a loved one is trapped under rubble and cannot be rescued by emergency personnel, start singing "O Come All Ye Faithful" and your family member will suddenly extricate him/herself from the wreckage and walk away from the accident scene with only a bump or two and some scratches. Note: All limbs and appendages will be intact. The victim will not have to free himself by say, sawing off his leg with a pocket knife or a rusty piece of shrapnel. Suddenly bursting into song will miraculously lift the heavy rubble thereby releasing said loved one sans paralysis. This knowledge comes courtesy of A Very Brady Christmas.

13) Santa was a bit of a dick in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. One minute he's ripping Rudloph a new one because of his funky nose and then when he realized the fog totally fucked him over, he was all up in Rudolph's stuff asking him to guide his sled. WTF?! I'm a bit disappointed that Rudolph didn't tell that user bitch to fuck off. I certainly would have.

14) Speaking of Rudolph... Hermey the Elf and Charlie in the Box? Totally gay for each other.

15) Even though he fails to get credit in the annals of dance history, Shermie (right) totally invented The Running Man in A Charlie Brown Christmas.

16) This is more of a question than an observation... How come nobody kicked the shit out of Albert in 'Twas the Night Before Christmas? Dude, if some asshole pissed off Santa by writing a letter on my behalf claiming Santa was a "fraudulent myth," I'd calculate the value of my Christmas list and then take it out of his ass. I don't care that he fixed the Santa clock. Albert was a total douche bag.

17) I would go hungry in Who-ville. Roast beast? Who-hash? Ew.

18) Someone who worked at Rankin-Bass was one ugly son of a bitch what with all the big ear/big nose plotlines (Rudolph, Nestor the Long-Eared Donkey, Baby New Year). Clearly, someone was using claymation to work out his/her issues.

As always, feel free to tack on your observations in the comments.

at the movies once again with curly mcdimple

Now that I've completely indulged my addiction to 24, my Netflix queue has returned to its normal film-heavy state. This weekend I watched Heavenly Creatures, starring a young Kate Winslet and directed by a pre-Lord of the Rings Peter Jackson.

I had a completely bipolar reaction while watching this film. I went from really liking it to completely loathing it.

For the uninitiated, Kate Winslet moves to New Zealand and becomes fast friends with a misfit girl. Their connection is intense, so much so that they can mentally escape together into a world of their own creation. Like, they independently zone out and reconvene in their shared imagination. Do you understand? THEY MEET UP THERE. It's freaky. Even freakier because this is based on a true story.

Naturally, their families don't fully understand their unusual friendship and give them all sorts of shit about it, which makes them retreat to that secret place even more.

This really spoke to me because it sums up the relationship between me and my first (and really, only) love (so far). Our friendship was of the "just add water" variety. Instant yet complete. What it lacked in history, it more than made up for in intensity. God, it was so much fun at the beginning before we had to go complicate things by getting involved romantically. But we had to take that step because the longing was suffocating us. It's taken me a long time to realize this but the pain of denial is far greater than the pain of loss.

Oh, but enough about me and my drama! So Kate Winslet and the other chick forge this incredible yet really fucked-up friendship. Before long, they're mutually adoring Mario Lanza whilst snogging and fiddling with one another. Eventually they declare that they positively cannot live without each other and ridiculous plans are made to run off together and start a new life, blah, blah, blah.

Okay, I hate to keep making this all about me but my God, talk about a parallel existence! This is precisely the sort of thing that happened between THE EX and myself. Well, except for the Mario Lanza stuff. Spooky.

Again, I digress... So, the movie takes a really dark turn and this, my friends, is where I jumped off the ride. As it was, I was barely hanging on by a thread. Jackson repeatedly took the audience to the aforementioned girls' made-up world where we saw the girls frolicking in the meadow, pointing at unicorns and, um, socializing with life-sized terra-cotta statues (don't ask). I found the plot to be strange and really disjointed. Like, I knew what was going on but I wasn't following, if that makes sense.

Normally I quite like imaginative flights of fancy and tales of distorted reality. Terry Gilliam movies, for example, tend to make me giddy. This movie? Just plain weird. It's got talking clay in it, for fuck's sake! Some of the clay even sings opera. There is a life-sized Mario Lanza cast in clay! What the fuck, Peter Jackson?!?! What.the.fuck?!?!

But I can't in good conscience crap all over the movie. The scenery is breathtaking (New Zealand is SO on my list of places to visit) and the performances are really good. It's especially interesting to watch Kate Winslet because she's a little over-the-top in certain parts. If you admire her work, as I do, it's satisfying to do a comparison to see how far she's come.

Speaking of which, have you seen Extras?!?! Winslet guest-starred in the first episode and stole the show, which is no small feat considering her costar is the brilliant Ricky Gervais (The Office). HILARIOUS. Even better, there's not a stitch of talking clay to be found in the program. Always a good thing in my opinion.

personal best

The much-adored Joe.My.God is once again doing something cool over on his blog. Inspired by the American Film Institute's 100 Years, 100 Movie Quotes program on Bravo, Joe has begun soliciting quotes from his readership. However, given his demographic, the list has been modified slightly. His compilation is entitled Gay Men's 100 All Time Favorite Movie Quotes. At last check, he's got 92 comments and still going strong!

I can't do a similar lesbian-flavored list on my site because well, a lot of lesbians aren't big on camp... unless it involves sleeping bags and tents and shit like that.

And unlike gay men, we don't have that many film icons. Let's see, there's Jodie Foster, Angelina Jolie, Gina Gershon, Miss Piggy... Who am I missing?

Yes, Jodie was in the highly-quotable Silence of the Lambs but that's not really a movie embraced by lesbians, per se. And, yes, it's easy to moan and speak nonsense like Nell, but really, that doesn't quite count, now does it?

Angelina, well, she's mostly known for her lips, not necessarily what comes out of them.

Gina, of course, was in the craptastic Showgirls but helloooooooooooooo?!? The gay boys have already claimed that one. And even if they didn't, I honestly would not fight them for the right to quote Nomi and Cristal.

Miss Piggy has her "HIIIIIIIIIIIII-YAHHHHHHHHHH!" I guess, but then again, she's a confirmed breeder so she cancels herself out.

In terms of movie selection, lesbians lack the "wink wink nudge nudge" gene. Gay boys dig fabulous schlock like Mommie Dearest while lesbos tend to throw their arms around the likes of Desert Hearts and Lost and Delirious. See my point?

Personally, I think most lesbian movies reek of self-importance and just plain suck. Hard. I can barely sit through them, much less quote them! So compiling a cinematic lesbo list is damn near-impossible for moi (you other dykes can feel free to have at it though).

Instead, I've made up my own list of movie quotes. There's no common element here. I don't care if the general public finds them memorable. I don't care if they come from garbage movies or classics. The point is not to list things like "I coulda been a contender" and "Are you talkin' to me?" and the rest of the usual suspects. We've heard them all before. Me? I like 'em random, quirky and unexpected. With that said...

1. "I want to be a woman. From now on, I want you all to call me 'Loretta.'"

-- Eric Idle as Stan in Life of Brian

2. "Felix, you were in the war, weren't you?... Did you jump out of a plane and land on your face?"

-- James Spader as Richards in Mannequin

3. "I don't patronize bunny rabbits!"

-- Veronica's Dad in Heathers

4. "Son, you got a panty on your head."

-- Truck driver in Raising Arizona

5. "I hate being Scottish. We're the lowest of the fucking low, the scum of the earth, the most wretched, servile, miserable, pathetic trash that was ever shat into civilization. Some people hate the English, but I don't. They're just wankers. We, on the other hand, are colonized by wankers. We can't even pick a decent culture to be colonized by. We are ruled by effete arseholes. It's a shite state of affairs and all the fresh air in the world will not make any fucking difference."

-- Ewan McGregor as Renton in Trainspotting

6. "Sometimes I dance around the house in my underwear. It doesn't make me Madonna. Never will."

-- Joan Cusack as Cyn in Working Girl

7. "Well, I see it still smells like pine needles in here."

-- Jimmy Stewart as George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life

8. "I want a divoooooooooooooooooorce!"

-- Michelle Pfeiffer as Angela de Marco in Married to the Mob

9. "Lard Ass! Lard Ass! Lard Ass! Lard Ass!..."

-- From a short story told by Gordie (Wil Wheaton) in Stand by Me

10. "My first show was Barefoot in the Park, which was an absolute smash, but my production on the stage of Backdraft was what really got them excited. This whole idea of 'In Your Face' theatre really affected them. The conceptualization, the whole abstraction, the obtuseness of this production to me was what was interesting. I wanted the audience to feel the heat from the fire, the fear, because people don't like fire, poked, poked in their noses... you know when you get a cinder from a barbeque right on the end of your nose and you kind of make that face, you know, that's not a good thing, and I wanted them to have the sense memory of that. So during the show I had someone burn newspapers and send it through the vents in the theatre. And well, they freaked out, and 'course the fire marshall came over and they shut us down for a couple of days."

-- Christopher Guest as Corky St. Clair in Waiting for Guffman

Feel free to add your own. Oh and extra credit to anyone who does find a lesbian thread in these 10 quotes! I will do my best to reward your creativity.

a rare movie review

... and by rare i mean it's not all smart-assy. So I just finished watching Mad Hot Ballroom and I'm still dabbing the tears from my eyes. OMG, I loved it. I can't recommend it enough.

You know, I've discovered I'm a real sucker for these documentaries about kids engaged in school competitions. For example, Spellbound... The movie is brilliant. It's got more suspense, intrigue and drama than most works of fiction. I was even able to identify villains in the film. I honestly hated some of those kids. I actually clapped when they spelled the word wrong. Um, I may have even yelled, "Take a seat, asshole!" and "Quit stalling! Admit you don't know it and sit down!" But the memory, she is fuzzy so I can't say for sure if such things came out of my mouth. I mean, it's very out of character for me to be so callous and impatient...

But Mad Hot Ballroom is structured a bit differently. It allows for multiple feel-good stories. I picked a favorite early on (namely Wilson from P.S. 115 -- LOVE HIM) but mostly, I was able to spread my support out over several different competing schools.

Now you may find this hard to believe but, well, I'm a bit of curmudgeon. I'll wait a few seconds for the smelling salts to kick in... Anyhoo, despite my sometimes grouchy demeanor, I smiled my way through this entire film. Well, except towards the end. That's when the crying started. I couldn't help it! The expressions on the parents' faces and their comments while they watched their children compete got me right here. I was, how you say, a puddle.

My favorite part of the documentary is the interviews interspersed between the dancing segments. The kids opine on a variety of subjects -- the opposite sex, drugs in their neighborhood, even gay marriage (briefly). While they're no more than 11-years-old, some of the kids have highly-evolved takes on these issues. Other kids really show their age but their opinions are no less refreshing and enlightening. If you haven't seen the film and plan on doing so, look out for the interviews nestled within the end credits. They are priceless.

Mad Hot Ballroom is available on DVD and Movies On Demand (on Time Warner Cable, at least). Watch it! And Spellbound too!