Bangarang!

You know, I’ve heard a lot of talk recently about change. With PRESIDENT Obama coming into office soon (now that’s an event I’m gonna sleep on the street for), everyone is all riled up about how things will be different. The economy will get better! Gas will be cheaper! Bush jokes will end! And that’s all well and good, cause really, who doesn’t like change, but one thing I’m not seeing any difference in is entertainment.

How far have we truly come from last year? We’re looming ever close to another strike (oh no, it’s the actors this time. The pretty people are PISSED!). The Fall TV season post-WGA strike is just as bad as last year’s pre-WGA strike (small ya later, Jerry O’Connell’s nineteenth failed attempt at sitcom glory). Like always, Nicolas Cage put out a bad movie (Bangkok Dangerous… never had a chance). We’re into the last month of the year with no clear cut Best Picture and a December full of wannabes (though my early money is on Revolutionary Road). And like last year, and the year before it, I have been introduced to a piece of entertainment that has changed my world completely (Mad Men) (also Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” video).

So what can I really expect from 2009? I’m thinking more of the same. More depressing superhero movies. At least 1-2 movies where Michael Cera redefines the landscape of movie stardom by stammering for ninety minutes and still ending up nailing the cute emo/indie It girl. Hugh Jackman showing his pecs (not that anyone really minds). Katherine Heigl getting another TERRIBLE storyline on Grey’s (a ghost? Really? Are we a Jennifer Love Hewitt vehicle now?) And, obvs, more bad Nic Cage cinema, for forever and eternity (Knowing, coming to your Netflix queue soon!).

But until we get there, let’s tackle one more constant in our lives: Thanksgiving. Forced festive cheer and calorie overload, mixed with a dollop of arduous traveling and brutal weather, all made palatable by a family trip to the movies. Love it. Even in an era of change, we can all agree this is one tradition that should be left untouched.

Four big films are opening this week and five more big ones are already in theatres. Now that Nov. 4th has passed and we’ve made the BIG choice of the year, how to decide the 2nd biggest: what movie to see on Thanksgiving? Are you gonna put your money on Vince Vaughn being so supes totes funny that he negates the presence and general crankiness of Reese Witherspoon? Give the ole topless Statham action vehicle another go round? Or maybe do it up epic-style and spend three hours on Thursday night counting how many times Nicole Kidman’s forehead crinkles (over under: 2)? This is the REAL Decision ’08.

Let’s break each flick down sarcasm-style, and, with an audacity of hope, see if we can’t put a ring on the best choice for spending your hard earned unemployment checks on Turkey Day.

Opening on Thanksgiving:

Transporter 3 – Jason Statham is a wonderful throwback to the better days of our youth. Like that one pair of jeans in the back of the closet that is mid-90’s Wide Leg instead of late-00’s Boot Cut. Every so often, regardless of common sense, we need to slip them on and see how they fit. See how goofy we once looked. In other words, Jason Statham makes bad 80’s action movies. Cobra, bad. Raw Deal, bad. Anything at ALL with Jim Belushi, bad. But man, for the 85 minutes a year we spend with them, they are a whole ball of wonderful. And as soon as the credits roll, we slide that pair of memory pants right back in the closet, content that we are smarter than we once were. More refined. And then we high dive into our skinny jeans, sip an Apple Martini, pop on some Panic at the Disco and know, beyond on a shadow of a doubt, that we are more stylish.

Four Christmases – Second only to the “ensemble you could never make now” flicks in my pantheon of favorite random movie categorizations, is the “movies where we are keenly aware that the stars HATE each other”. There’s nothing more fun on this Earth than watching a scene where the stars are making love faces at each other and knowing that a mere one second later, when the Director yelled “cut”, they probably took a swing at each other. At the very least it’s like Ron Burgundy and Veronica Corningstone taking potshots at each other during the closing of their news broadcast. And you know, more than you’ve known anything you’ve ever known, that at least twice during the making of Four Christmases, Vince Vaughn called Reese Witherspoon a “dirty pirate hooker”. How could I even DREAM of missing this?

P.S. Third favorite random movie categorization: “movies where Ashton Kutcher takes a boot to the junk”.

Australia – I can’t even remember the last time we had a bonafide epic on our hands. And I couldn’t be more excited. Baz Luhrman is the only person I trust to get a performance out of Nicole Kidman’s desolated face (would she even be in the Top 50 for a remake of Bewitched now?). Hugh Jackman is perfectly suited for this kind of pseudo-gay sweeping love affair (where every moment he’s ready to break out into song. Or put on leather.). And the look, location and fashion are astounding. I know in my bones this will be underwhelming but that won’t stop me from seeing it. Twice. At least.

Milk – We can all agree that Sean Penn in smiley form is creepy and disingenuous, yes? And that his history of violence and gruff attitude make his playing a pacifist seem more than a mite ridiculous? Even more so than when he was played a re re Dad to Master Assassin Dakota Fanning? And that Emile Hirsch needs to calm the fuck down? And that Josh Brolin might be more than eight bits overexposed? And that James Franco, in reality, is boring like paint drying on growing grass? And that Gus Van Sant hasn’t made a watchable movie in a decade? And that watching this movie will only serve as further frustration over the passing of Prop. 8 in California? And that the trailer for this movie was AMAZING?

We can agree on all these things, yes?

Currently in Theatres:

Quantum of Solace – Does anyone else get the feeling that in a year or two no one will remember ANYTHING about this movie? Boring villain, dull Bond girl, the worst theme song since Sheryl Crow Lillith Faire-d us into Tomorrow Never Dies, awful title, nauseating camera work, a Bond movie with NO sex, NO humor, NO story or structure, NO jetpacks, and Daniel Craig taking ALL his acting cues from Christian Bale. I mean REALLY, lighten up guy, Eva Green wasn’t THAT hot. And crack a smile once in a while, you’re a super-spy, dammit! Can I get a quippy one-liner up in this bitch?

Twilight – Call me when any of the tween twinkie’s in the Girl Porn flick whip out some magic wands, fight some Dementors or start chasing down some horcruxes. Until then, I’ll stick to Season 2 and 3 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, ogle Eliza Dushku in tight black leather for a while, reread HP Book 6 and call it a day.

Bolt – John Travolta is a delusional actor who believes he is more talented than he really is. But now to talk about his character in Bolt!

Role Models – What’s the more amazing lesson learned this year: that any American, no matter their race or creed can grow up to become President of the United States of America, or that Seann William Scott has the MOST yoked out arms of any man who has EVER HAD ARMS?

I’m gonna go with Stifler’s biceps. Yeah, true story.

So, in conclusion: if you’re up for an epic I say go with the Aussie actors with American accents playing Aussie’s with actual Aussie accents, if you want action skip the Blonde Bond and hit up Transporter 3: Now With Even More Transportation, comedy gold can be found in Seann William Scott’s deltoids, but not in Reese Witherspoon loving up to Vince Vaughn (excluding, obvs, the scene where she gets vomited up, which, you can bet, will be my new screensaver on the quickness), and, just as another reminder, John Travolta is delusional.

Plenty of great movie choices out there so please pick wisely. But, if the economy has hit you hard, or you hate public outings with the family or if Kristen Stewart starring in an episode of One Vampire Tree Hill doesn’t do it for you, there is an alternative. You can always put a ring on the best three and a half minutes EVER committed to film over and over on an endless loop. Can’t go wrong here:

Because nothing says Turkey and Family like a good ‘ole fashioned Beyonce vag wag!

Bangarang!

I’m not an arbitrary writer. My mind, like most triple digit IQ noggins, though it works semi-spontaneously, makes its money through logical patterns. A sequence of cohesive, directional responses. What I’m getting at here is this: I write about things that NEED to be written about. I don’t make up celebrity shenanigans; mostly because in Hollywood, truth is far more fun than fiction. I comment on only what’s in front of me. I leave the lists up to people who are bored in a room. Vanity Fair fluff pieces are far more fun to read, than write. And gossip is a wormdouche’s game (get dead, Perez Hilton).

To appropriate a line from Grosse Pointe Blank: If I’m posting about you, chances are you did something to make me post about you.

While I am keenly aware of the goings on of Heidi and Spencer, their lives mean dick to me. On the other end of the spectrum, William H. Macy is too classy to do something stupid enough for me to write about. When I blog semi-meanly about Reese or Lindsay or Tom or Katie or whomever, it’s because they did something so high-level, so objectively ludicrous, that to ignore it would be an injustice to the world.

Again, to simplify, as I’m so riled up I keep adding on gratuitous intro paragraphs, is this: I don’t care about celebrities who are useless. I won’t write about them. I’ve never once written about Kim Kardashian or DJ AM or Lauren Conrad or Danny Bonaduce, et al. Because that shit is low-fi.

SO.

So when a low-fi celebrity does something that raises MY eyebrows enough to get fingers on keys, especially during a slow blogging period, you can bet it was egregious. And people, emo-troll Pete Wentz and lip-synching nose disaster Ashlee Simpson naming their child “Bronx Mowgli Wentz” is egregious. To a degree a Rhodes Scholar couldn’t quantify. We’re gonna need Will Hunting up in this bitch.

Bronx. Mowgli. Wentz.

I need to tackle this atrocity one name at a time.

BRONX

Let’s get this out of the way, right away: Bronx is a low rent, homeless person’s bastard rip-off the Beckham baby name Brooklyn. Brooklyn can at LEAST be shortened to Brook, but Bronx? How is that endearing? You wanna be the girl who has to moan that name in 18 years? You’re gonna sound like a retarded Yankees fan.

I’ll give Ashlee and Pete credit over the Beckham’s in one respect: at least Pete is FROM the Bronx. I doubt Victoria and David have ever stepped into the borough of Brooklyn. However, isn’t Ashlee from the South? Isn’t she, on principle, allergic to the Bronx? What did Pete have to give her for the naming rights on this one? Is their second child gonna be “Hoedown Jude Law Simpson”?

Is it good or bad if the kid doesn’t actually grow up in the Bronx? If he does, will the constant double context use of the word “Bronx” give him fits and therapy material? If he doesn’t, will he be resentful of his parents for naming him after a city they felt too high and mighty to live in?

Dude, you just know this kid is going to be ugly.

MOWGLI

If Mowgli is meant to be the Mowgli from The Jungle Book, Pete and Ashlee need to SIDDOWN! You do NOT disrespect the greatest Disney animated movie of all-time by naming your celebaby after the mancub. I will end lives over this. I will put on Variety shows in their asses. OH, and BESIDES, if you’re gonna drop Jungle Book character refs on your kid, but not use “Baloo”, then you’re just an idiot. Which, when I think about Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson, is entirely possible.

Too much bile and rage is vomiting up to my surface, let’s just move on.

BRONX WENTZ

Is this supposed to be a comic book name? You can match sounds and be truly proud of yourself if the rhyme is STUPID. “X” and “Z” have no business being in relationship to one another. You need a natural sonic device. Brooklyn Beckham. Do you see? George Foreman. It’s about dialectics, people. Bronx Wentz is a name that trips you up. It jails the tongue. Saying “Wentz” is hard enough in a sentence, as you close up and come to a dead stop on that syllable.

Say “Bronx Wentz” a few times in a row, is your tongue starting to hurt? It should. Cause the name is a punishment. Lord help this child if he has a lisp, a stutter or an accent.

BRONX MOWGLI WENTZ On the douchebag celebrity baby name scale, with “Violet Affleck” as a 1 and “Audio Science Clayton” as a 10, I’m giving this an 8.

I just attained a newfound fondness for Pilot Inspektor Lee.

In conclusion: Pete, Ashlee, congratulations on the birth of your first child. A happy and healthy baby is all any couple can ask for. I wish your child only the greatest of happiness and limited exposure to Jessica. Creating a human life is a beautiful thing; an act to respect and cherish. You should be quite proud of your achievement.

Now go fuck yourselves.

Bangarang!

I will now prove to you, with irrefutable evidence, that Katie Holmes has visited my Facebook page, stolen my look and robbed me of the credit.

This picture of me doing my world famous, deadly sexy Jewociraptor pose was taken on the night of the Mad Men Season Finale on Sunday October 26th:

Before you start casting aspertions on my life choices, let me tell you the point of this picture.

This pose originates from the Jurassic Park theme park ride at Universal Studios. It’s a water ride, filled with scary dinos of all sorts, including the fierce T-Rex at the end, right before the big drop. But there is one dinosaur that is completely lame. Lame in the way Kristen Bell dating Dax Shepard is lame. You can see him when you are being pulled up the escalator in preparation for the big drop. Out of nowhere, and inexplicably, on the left side of the boat is a lone velociraptor effetely sticking his claws out at you. It doesn’t make noise. It doesn’t even move. It’s a completely useless piece of animatronics. Like Nicole Kidman’s forehead. And I’m doing an impression of this gay dinosaur.

Also, my arms are an homage to Matthew McConaughey.

NOW.

THIS picture was taken less than a week ago:

Here we see Katie Holmes leaving a store in New York City and posing for the paparazzi by using my EXACT Jewociraptor face.

Don’t believe me? Here’s a side-by-side comparison:

Notice our faces, pulled into our chins. The scrunched eyes, with turned in eyebrows. Thick, Rocky in Round 15 eyelids. The nose dimples; mine creating a Zelda tri-force symbol-like shape where my unibrow reappears every five days; hers creating a “u” in the center of her face. Notice the matching smile lines, thicker than Mel Gibson on a cigarette bender. Check the crooked smile, me trying for “awesome”, her trying for “I’m secretly fooling everyone by appearing to be a zombie slave to Tom, but in reality, am creating a whole race of uber-cute celebrity babies that The Jay is secretly planning to steal“. Our teeth, each doing a variation on the Arquette mouth.

And then there’s the hands.

I’m doing VelociConaughy, and she’s waving a crooked palm. Both of us looking equally suspicious. And gay. We could be brother and sister. Or twinsies.

SO.

Either A: I’m looking way to much into this, which, uh, not likely, or B: she is pulling a JJLeigh in Single White Female and soon Stephen Tobolowsky will be forcing himself on my right tit and Katie will be throwing my cat out a window and blowing Tim Daly. Assuming, of course, she hasn’t done those things already. There’s no telling what really goes on at the Cruise Compound. Regardless, I’m scared shitless cause I look terrible with a red bowl cut and I don’t want a new roommate.

And does this mean that I will now subconsciously start resembling Katie? Will I have a sudden, inexplicable urge to fuck Chris Klein and get so skinny that each and every one of my vertebrae are visible from space. Will I have to be friends with Victoria Beckham? Will James Van Der Beek no longer repulse me with every fiber of my being? Cause FUCK THAT.

This is out of control. I need to make my Facebook page private and file a pre-emptive restraining order. No way the star of Teaching Ms. Tingle is stealing MY identity.

…

…

…

Oh, no, it’s gotten out of hand!

Scientology Mind Prison, here I come…

Bangarang!

If you were so inclined…

1. “Hey Kiki, heard you’ve been feeling kinda ‘low’ lately. It’s good to see you looking so high.”

2. “Excuse me, Ms. Dunst? Hi, yes, I happen to have an entirely extra bag of Double Stuff Oreo’s. Would you like one?”

3. “Know who I hate? That Mac Guy.“

4. “Sniff sniff, baby.”

5. “Know what’s really in right know? Boobs that look like flapjacks.”

6. “Heeey, weren’t you in Jumanji”?

7. “With your classic beauty, you could guest star on Mad Men!”

8. “I sell pot.”

9. “Your rehab is working way better than Lindsay’s. WAY better.”

10. “Nice teeth, wanna fuck?”

Bangarang!