quick comment

Tom Cruise must have the best plastic surgeon in the country...

Serrriously! Listen, the man is completely nutballs - sadly, the dream of him being a nice, normal, mentally-stable human being are gone forever - but, (and this is a big but) this image of Tom's new face almost (just almost) convinces you that he's the same old handsome man who wooed in Jerry Maguire and caused a little palm sweating in Mission Impossible. He looks like he dipped his head in the Scientology fountain and went back to 1996! I'm super duper impressed.

I acknowledge that this lighting is superb (as is his hair, but that's another story), that many photographers (even paparazzi) have their shots photoshopped these days and that he is in excellent physical condition. All that aside, you can't make sweet, sweet lemonade like this with sour fruit. His companion is proof of that statement. It's hard to believe Cammy D is a full 10 years younger than Tommy Boy! Dang, girl! What did you do to yo face, child? You're getting Meg Ryan cheeks! (Prepare yourself for that posting... a clear sequel to my Joan Allen diatribe.)

Alright, Mr. Cruise, I'm giving you a point on my scoreboard. If you keep away from your squinty "wife" and avoid reminding us that you're a Xenu-loving, Dr. Phil-wannabe, crazy-town nutjob, then I think there's hope for you yet.

you guys, prepare yourselves...

today we're going to talk about bad plastic surgery. this is is going to be scary, because we're going to be looking at some horrific plastic surgery. it's going to be so scary that this is going to be at least a special two part series, because i don't think even i can stomach to do this in one sitting. if you've eaten recently, you might be in danger of having a free lunch (shout out to sharon! and sharon's sister! best phrase ever). yep, you might crap your pants. it's that scary.

i'm not talking about kiddy work like boob jobs and nose jobs. leave that for the dumbos hanging out with hugh hefner. i'm talkin' bout crazy stuff: mature ladies who took it too far. we're talking: crazy. lady. faces. this is going to be a mixed bag because it's a little funny, just a little, but it's mostly really sad... like, reaaaaally sad. reaaaally. ok, let's begin.

this whole posting is inspired by one woman, in truth. you may call her my mutant muse, if you will. i had noticed her from time to time over the years. she's an unusual woman by hollywood's standards: tall, strong-jawed, a little masculine, but definitely a woman in touch with her lady business. it took me awhile to find her in a movie that interested me, but when i finally saw her in "the contender," i was in awe. (if you haven't seen it, i implore you. it's brilliant! much, much better than the tv show it spawned: "commander in chief." speaking of crazy faces... poor geena davis. i digress!)

in "the contender," joan allen was radiant, lovely, charming, disarming, dare i say, brilliant? as a senator nominated to ascend to the vice-presidency, she was incredibly authoritative. cool, calm, but tough and ballsy. it was an excellent movie (ok, it was a better-than-most movie) centered upon her excellent performance, which is all too rare for women of a certain age. she got a well-deserved oscar nomination for the role (she lost to julia roberts. that was a tough year: laura linney in "you can count on me," ellen burstyn for "requiem for a dream."). joan was in her prime and she looked great.


look at that sexy biatch! perhaps she's a little over-made up here (that lip liner, those spider lashes!), but overall, she looks like a woman confident in her skin! embracing her age! loving that menopause! she followed up the contender with a few nice roles here and there and, if you can imagine it, (no need to imagine, my friends, photographic evidence is a'comin') she looked even better a few years later in "the upside of anger."

dayummm, woman! look at that hot mama! maybe standing next to kevin costner makes you look hotter. maybe it's that low cut dress. maybe it's that sassy little flippy haircut she's got goin' on, but something is working here. but, we're still looking au naturel. but, you know, roles weren't necessarily flow joan's way and, methinks the lady got a little desperate. i mean, the same woman who won a tony for "burn this" and was nominated for oscars for "nixon" (that movie was insane. and long.) and "the crucible" agreed to co-star in a little film called "death race." 'nuff said. ya dig? perhaps she thought she needed to freshen things up a bit. give herself a little edge over some of the other baby boomers.

so, before her big return to broadway (in a stinker of a play called "impressionism" - don't even bother to google it. you're wasting your time, chasing that cultural reference) she decided to have a little work done. thankfully for us the new york times decided to do a big profile on that famous punam. and, well, this is what the photographer found when he showed up.

ahhh!!! it's horrifying!! whatever you do, do not look directly at the image. for the love of god, use your peripheral vision! i mean, it's shocking. i'm pretty sure the first time i saw this photo in the times i gasped out loud. i can't even discuss what we're seeing yet.

let's talk about the circumstances: firstly, if her publicist was present at this photo shoot and knew that this shot was occurring, he/she should be fired. secondly, said publicist should have told the photographer beforehand: "i swear to god, if you shoot a picture of my client's crazy chipmunk cheeks up close, i will castrate you." (or, steal your lady parts if the photographer in question is a woman.) why not take a cue from the title of her play at the time and insist that they publish an impressionistic portrait of the lady? eh?

but, no... that new york times photographer knew he had struck gold with this train wreck. he saw those porked cheeks and that mound of barbie hair and must have thought: this is too easy. can you imagine being that photographer? i mean, i wonder if someone prepped him for what he was walking into. a little aside, like, "by the way, don't make a big deal about it, but joan had some crazy plastic surgery. she looks like a muppet now, but it's totally hot. totally normal. she's going to look great. just shoot her from behind. can you imagine trying to keep a straight face in the presence of this? if not crack up, i'm pretty sure i'd at least get caught staring at that blob of silly putty that used to be her face! perhaps what impresses me most though is that they not only convinced her it was a good idea to do a closeup, but that they should do it with her playing the role of an asylum candidate. how in the world did they convince her to do this manic, over-the-shoulder, death stare? and why so much barbie hair in the frame!

ugghhh! joan, i'm so sad! why?! whyyyy!?! it's all so bad now. all that intelligence, all that dignity, all that loveliness gone! and for what? so that you can look like kelsey grammer's dumbo wife? (all due respect, camille, you've stuck with frasier through thick and thin. big ups.) my face hurts just looking at your face. it just looks like your poor skin could pop at any moment! take those chicken cutlets out of your cheeks so that you can frown again.

to be continued...

In defense of poor Ke$ha...

Friends! It's been so long since I've posted... I've failed you. I'm ashamed! I'm horrified! I've been busy! So, here goes, dipping my toes back into the murky water that is known as... I can't even bring myself to say the word (blogging). Let's call it sharing, shall we?

So, this is old news, I realize, but I just finished a conversation with my sister, Betsy (Holla! What up twin that's 10 years older than me? What? You don't understand?! Neither do I. Ask Jesus how twindom can span a decade.), and I feel compelled to share our thoughts. We have both confessed that we appreciate the weirdness that is known as Ke$ha and I for one feel compelled to defend the girl's freaky SNL performance.

This girl is truly bizarre in the most embarrassing and amazingly un-self conscious ways. She's not weird-cool like Lady Gaga, who has hoodwinked everyone into thinking her particular brand of abstractness, aloofness and product-placement is the second coming of Andy Warhol dressed in Alexander McQueen. Ke$ha is just weird. This girl is like middle-school weird. Not middle-school weird like, I wear my grandma's vintage clip-on earrings (that's Gaga territory), but middle-school weird like, I wear my grandma's teal nightgown with a bandanna and neon snap bracelets because I think it's boss. Or middle-school weird, like I put Fritos in my peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. Yet, somehow I think it's working for her and I'm starting to really dig this freak flag-flying weirdo.

Ke$ha has so many elements to which I'd normally find oppositions. How did I get to this level of appreciation? How did I overcome all of the misspellings and gross-misuse of capitalization? Let's discuss. First of all, at first I hated that song "TiK ToK." There is just no way to justify it as genius or ambitious songwriting. Then again, I should start criticizing songwriting only when, like this man, I write a song that has both infected the minds of innocent, unsuspecting civilians and generated gajillions of dollars. It's a weird song, full of strange references that seem somewhat contradictory. Do Valley-girls who appreciate pedicures on their toes and tryin' on all their clothes really brush their teeth with a bottle of Jack Daniels and seek out men that look like Mick Jagger? (By the way, which Mick Jagger are you looking for, Ke$ha? Are we talking '60s Mick Jagger? I'd even accept '80s or early-'90s Jagger, but present-day Mick Jagger is unacceptable. I won't allow it. Proof below.)

But, against all odds, this song has still managed to get this booty a'shakin'. I freely admit that my last trip to the gym was made 10 times more pleasurable by two things: Oprah's vocal ac-RO-baaaaa-tiCCCCs (Damn, girl, that's an art! And, who doesn't love watching Oprah on their day off while working an elliptical?) and Ke$ha's "TiK ToK" video. That song got me freakin' pumped! She built me up! She broke me down! My heart DID pound! Ya, she got me. With HER hands up, I put MY hands up! I gave in.

Let's move on to another serious, potential source of opposition: the dollar sign. Ke$ha, what is this?! Do you realize how strange this is? Did Prince convince you to do this? P. Diddy? You should know, both of those men have had name-identity crises. I'm very perplexed. I think it's very confusing for all of us. You might have won me over sooner if you didn't have both a dollar sign in your name AND misspellings PLUS alternating capitalizations in your first single. It's just too much for America all at once. We're not ready! What's next? If I see an @ symbol, I'm really going to reconsider my level of affection. I'm serrrrious. Still, here I am, defending your weirdness... oh, who am I kidding?! It's going to take a lot more than an @ sign to shake me, you crazy loon!

Somehow, Ke$ha makes all these wrongs just feel so right! It's a perfect storm of weirdness that is beautifully embodied in her performance as musical guest on SNL a few weeks ago. There is so much here to discuss that I'm at a loss for anything beyond simple exclamations. Skin-tight metallic wetsuit! Acapella/synthesizer opening! American-flag cape flaunts! Awkward toe-tapping and eye-searching as the first glorious Nintendo beats hint of the weirdness to come! Truly inspired hand motions! The fist in the air for each "Don't Stop!" Valley girl hair flipping! Robot-arm dangles! Time-lapse booze bottle tipping! It's all here. All of this genius, however, culminates in the most amazing, indescribable dancing, gamely delivered by truly talented astronaut-helmeted robot dancers. Don't get me wrong: first, just enjoy the weirdness of Ke$ha here. She is, without a doubt, the main attraction in this freak show from the facial expressions to the laser orchestrations. But, do yourself a favor: watch the video a second time. Take the time to really embrace the commitment her backup dancers bring to this roboting. Watch those hip rotations. Love those crunches. Try to emulate those happy skips and arm pumps. It's the kind of dancing that can only be achieved when made anonymous by astronaut helmets. I just may get one myself. After all, what if we really ARE the aliens?

It's Been Good While It Lasted, Netflix DVD

You should all be happy to know that I finally watched a DVD that I've had from Netflix for almost an entire year.

That's right. I have been paying $10 per month, for a year - for you math dummies, that's $120 - to have a DVD collect dust in my apartment. I have essentially been allowing Netflix to use my apartment as a storage facility. How did this happen, Dan? Where did this go wrong. So many questions... I received the DVD on March 13, 2009. There was so much promise then, so much anticipation! At one point, I looked forward to receiving this DVD! I pined for it! And now, almost an entire year later - a year of guilt and self-loathing, a time that I looked at that DVD with both sorrow and resentment - now, $120 later, I have finally watched this film, which I could have bought on Amazon for $17.99 (plus shipping and handling).

Why has it taken me so long, you ask? Only god knows. I've resisted it for so long for no good reason. Firstky, it's an Almodovar movie... I love Almodovar! Every time I hear he has a new film coming out, I freak out! I love his movies so much that I study the trailers and obsessively seek out interviews, articles... and yet, there are countless movies that he made in the past three decades that I've never seen and apparently am in no rush to see! Here is a perfectly delightful and fascinating example of his cinema - one of the films that, no doubt, made his reputation - and I have treated it like my redheaded, bastard stepchild. Why is that?! Why would I be so cruel to Pedro? Especially when all of his movies are consistently good. This one is called "What Have I Done to Deserve This?" and it turned out to be excellent. Was it his best ever? No. Then again, that's a tall order. Still, it was better than 70% of the films I saw this year (and I've seen a lot).
In truth, I'm sort of sad to return the movie... it's been with me for so long. I mean, first of all, it's seen my bedroom in so many configurations! It was here when I added the new desk. It saw the end of the green sheets in favor of blue stripes. It sympathized with the addition of a sad little khaki dust ruffle (poor dust ruffle never had a chance - was always a disappointment to me). It even supported me when I made the brave decision to add a nightstand to the side of the bed that I don't use for my non-existent (but, somewhere-out-there) boyfriend. Speaking of, it's been with me through good dates and bad. It's witnessed the full-cycle of a relationship (and maybe a few friendships). Yes, it sulked in the corner as I watched the entire first 4 seasons of the Office (not to mention an entire year of other instant Netflix films and tv series), but it stuck with me through the spring rain and the windy fall, through the blistering summer and through the snowy winter. It didn't quite spoon me on my birthday and through the holidays but, I felt its envelope-y presence. It might just be the best, most non-judgmental friend I have!

So, on this Wednesday, February 24th, Happy (belated) Valentine's Day, Netflix DVD and Happy (early) Anniversary! I hope you find luck with your next recipient, but I'm almost certain it won't be a long term relationship like ours. Netflix DVD, je'taime.

Oh Blog, how I forget about thee...

What can I say? Rather than hear that I'm lounging at home writing about the most inane topics, wouldn't you rather hear that I'm leading such a busy and fulfilling life that I don't have time to blog to you fools? For all the lovelies that do wish I had more time, I'm going to share with you an old story that is still priceless:

The story is freaking ridiculous (and long!) Prepare yourself.

On Sunday evenings, especially during the summer, I like to trick myself into thinking that it's still the weekend, when in fact we all know the death of the work week looms. You gotta mix it up and keep things loose and unpredictable. You gotta kick that Sunday night feeling and say, I don't need you Teri Hatcher! I can stay at home, cook soup and watch Desperate Housewives on Monday! Or Tuesday, if we're getting feisty.

There are a number of ways to make those weekend feelings last longer: sometimes I'll meet friends for dinner and encourage them to mix hard liquor with prescription meds (pills are always good for you - don't pay attention to those insurance lobbyists trying to take away our fun). I love to go on carefree walks through the city, soaking in that crisp air, chasing rabid squirrels and throwing myself in front of speeding taxis. Homeless hunting is always fun too. But, most of the time, I like to go to the old fashioned picture show and see what those crazy liberals in Hollywood are cranking out. One such Sunday evening, I went to see a lovely movie at BAM - by far my one of my favorite theatres in the city, despite the fact they carry Pepsi products (sorry Molly). You see, the brand of soft drink carried by a theatre is important to me. I will determine which movie theatre to frequent based solely on this criterion. When the Angelika on Houston switched from Pepsi to Coke, you couldn't have understood my joy! And, I'll have you know, since they switched I've increased my attendance at the Angelika threefold. It may be my favorite movie theatre in the city for this very reason... actually, I know it's not. How can I take a movie theatre seriously when two out of three soap dispensers in the men's bathroom never have soap in them? (Try it, I dare you. The one closest to the door always has soap... too bad I can't say the same about the other two.) This has been a major digression... wow.

After the movie, I took a leisurely trip to a neighboring Fort Greene market. Sometimes I compulsively shop for groceries when I'm in a good mood. It's a bit of a sickness. I like to shop for an odd mix of practical things that I regularly use (milk, eggs, bread) and novelty items that I usually regret (raspberry-flavored licorice comes to mind... it's not as good as it sounds). On this particular evening I bought my staples (mostly cereals in assorted varieties - hey, I'm a single man) and a big bunch of flowers (cough. a single GAY man).

Off to the subway I went. The C train stop in Fort Greene happens to have grates at street level so you can hear when a train is approaching (a blessing and a curse). This particular evening I could hear the train arriving just as I was entering the station. I decided to make a run for it. The train doors opened as I swiped through the turnstile. I ran through the gate and flew down the stairs. It was a mad dash to the train but, I made it. There were open seats on the train but, since I was only riding for two stops, I stood.

The doors closed shut and pretty much immediately, before we even start moving, a skinny, kinda skanky, young black girl sitting among her friends makes eyes at me and says in serious, low voice, "I found mine." I ignored her. I had no reason to believe she was talking about me. What in the world could I have to do with this? I returned back to my thoughts. Little did I know that this crazy was referring to me. That is, I didn't know until she started singing, in a very full voice, the lyrics from Beyonce's Dangerously in Love directly to me. For those uninitiated to these oh so subtle lyrics, here they are:

I love you, I love you, I love you...(this goes on for awhile) Baby I love you. You are my life. My happiest moments weren't complete if you weren't by my side. You're my relation. In connection to the sun. With you next to me there's no darkness I can't overcome. You are my raindrop. I am the sea. With you and God, who's my sunlight I bloom and grow so beautifully. Baby, I'm so proud. So proud to be your girl. You make the confusion. Go all away. From this cold and messed up world.

She's staring at me, gesturing towards me, acting out the whole song with arm movements, dance moves, this girl had obviously practiced this a few times in the mirror... but, I ignore her and just avoid eye contact. Naturally, this is unacceptable to her, so she stands up and begins circling me! She begins dancing around me, touching me and even trying to take my flowers away (I didn't oblige - I wasn't giving away my flowers)! Now she's got crazy Beyonce eyes and is really singing the song with a lot of voice:

I am in love with you! You set me free! I can't do this thing called life without you here with me! Cause I'm Dangerously In Love with you! I'll never leave! Just keep lovin' me! The way I love you loving me!

I was so embarrassed. Everyone on the train is staring at us, people are laughing, some almost in tears over this. Thankfully, my stop is coming up next and I begin to move away from her and stand near the door. She was totally unrelenting. Not only did she follow me to the door, prancing and glaring like a matador, but she interpreted my attempted escape as some additional challenge. She stepped in front of me and blocked the door way. By now she's singing:

And I know you love me! Love me for who I am, cause years before I became who I am. Baby you were my man! I know it ain't easy! Easy loving me! I appreciate the love and dedication from you to me! Later on in my destiny I see myself having your child! I see myself being your wife and I see my whole future in your eyes! Thought of all my love for you sometimes make me wanna cry!

On top of this - she began to do a strip tease around me - undulating against the door, spanking herself, practically screaming the lyrics by now to the point that her voice was cracking and removes her bandanna from her hair and begins to use as if it were a feather boa tickling my neck, ears and nose (mind you this girl and that bandanna were no sight to behold). As you can imagine, I was so relieved to see my subway stop! I rushed past her to get out! Sadly, I CAN think of times I was more relieved to get off a subway car (like the time I was the only other person foolish enough to get on a seemingly empty subway car that actually held a lone homeless man reeking so badly of piss and god knows what else that I nearly suffocated - but that's another story). I was so red in the face from this girl, I had to be burning. It was on a whole new plane of crazy. The girl was freaking cray - zay! But, it all made for a pretty good story. Don't you just love New York 's mentally ill population?

Now, please enjoy Beyonce (herself) sing the whole crazy song. Sadly, it's no less insane coming from her, especially with this crazy cinnamon-bun hair and enormous funereal corsage:

Oscar Nominations!

I don't have the energy to comment in depth about the Oscar nominations, so I'm just going to do highlights here in a kind of stream-of-consciousness style. Here goes:

Gyllenhaal? What are you doing here? That's a pleasant surprise!

Cruz?! WTF?! I heard Nine blew! See if you can exchange your nomination for a gift certificate. Raincheck?

Damon! You made it!

Lead Actors and Actresses: Here, just as expected (glad to see you came through unscathed, Dame Helen; you're one fine sexagenarian).

Honestly, do you need more than this to vote for Dame Helen? (OK, ignore the man behind her, pay no attention to Taylor Hackford! Just focus on her suppleness, her warmth, her beauty, not Harry the Henderson behind her.)

District 9... I guess I have to watch you now.

The Blind Side: You must have paid off people for that nomination. Either that, or Academy members are seriously THAT amazed and surprised that Sandra Bullock was in that lifetime movie that somehow made it to multiplexes across the country.

Yeah, I saw it and, I admit, I enjoyed it but, Best Picture nominee? I'm gonna have to think about this.... I mean, when you think of best picture, you don't think of this sort of movie. Then again, if Steel Magnolias were nominated for Best Picture, how would I feel? Touché.

This is only the beginning, my friends.

Speaking of Charlie Rose and the New Yorker...

...every time I mention Charlie Rose, I think of this brilliant SNL commercial and wish that I too had the "Magic Mouth." I can't embed, so you'll have to trust me and follow the link for pure genius.

http://www.fortunatoprocopio.com/snlmagicmouth.html