There is a whole set of words that I have hated since I was a kid, and I’m realizing that it is just because one aunt of mine said them a lot, in a certain WAY, like: Put on your PJs and I’ll make you a PB&J—want some OJ too? Ugh. It’s a wonder I can wear pajamas, eat peanut butter jell sandos, and drink orange juice at all.
There is another set of words my parents used all the time that I can’t stand. I don’t want to know about people “razzing” one another. It is gross. I don’t refer to restaurants as “joints,” but rather as restaurants, or places. It makes me sad when people express anger through words like “shoot,” “jeesh,” “rats,” or, rare and totally absurd, “aw, cripes.”
Ooh, which reminds me. I just finished Lucky Louie, Louis C.K.’s one-season 13-ep half hour HBO show from a few years ago. It looks like the Honeymooners in color, is about a poor married couple, and has storylines like “Louie and Kim’s four-year-old kid is a fucking asshole and they don’t know how to deal with her” and “Kim realizes she hates Louie.” AND! The second ep? “Kim gets an orgasm and realizes she has definitely not been having them all along.” That fucking rules. So I was listening to the commentary on one, and Louie talks about how beautiful the word “fuckin” is in this one line of Kim’s, and specifically calls out as snobby that whole idea that words like “fuck” are inherently lazy words to use in writing and speech. This is another thing my mom used to say (with total annoying authority, I might add) that just felt so wrong to me from a very early age as a word person: that people who say “fuck” are being lazy in their word choice and can’t come up with something better. Moralism.
I should try to not just hate these words, the aunt and parent words, right? But I can’t, I can’t go to joints in my PJs. It is so awful! I can’t razz. OH! Also, “jazz it up.” No. “These new curtains will really jazz up the joint.” I want to die.
I’m super behind on Twitter, and trying to catch up this morn, and probably delete some people, like you and whoever else. I’m up to the 28th. Fuck. So much shit to read and watch.
Yesterday I emailed my mom the link to Vampire Knits, because I thought she’d think it was funny maybe? She knits a lot. She wrote back “Looks good so I bought it.” That’s all. I am going to get cloaks now, because I think I’m so funny sending out links.
Yay! I’ve been hoping her AMAZING memoir was not a one-off.
In a Guardian interview last weekend, Smith hinted at several literary projects to follow her acclaimed memoir, Just Kids. Speaking at an Intelligence Squared event at the Royal Geographical Society on Wednesday night, NME reports, Smith confirmed she is currently working on a crime novel. “For the last two years … I’ve been working on a detective story that starts at St Giles-in-the-Fields in London,” she said … Her planned novel is inspired by Sherlock Holmes and American crime writer Mickey Spillane. —Guardian
hahahaha i just realized on my list of 128 people deadathome has slept with, i wrote “the hunk,” when i meant to write “the hulk.” god, dude. “the hunk.” who is that?? i feel like it’s that guy was on happy days and married with children. ted something? and love boat! he was on love boat too!
henry winkler rodney dangerfield the fonz mick from the rocky movies tobias funke david cross helen keller the rock as the tooth fairy helen hunt jake busey envelope smith harry of the hendersons vicki from small wonder who luke is btw OBSESSED with i found out the other night, it was gross. i would not have known her name was “vicki,” but he shrieked it repeatedly on the el alf barney miller hal linden abe vigoda-lincoln eleanor rosevelvet that other james the hunk the blob the thing it ron perlman ron glass howard cosell the duck leprechaun casey kasem jean kasem rick dees chuck d flavor flavor randee of the redwoods donal logue as that cabdriver on mtv hey bu-ddy, the weas-el hefner shatner richard branson gary glitter manny mo toni collette robin williams bijou phillips the mamas the papas farrakhan mike ness sigh you made him cry jiminy cricket TO BE CONTINUED MO THER FU ckSY LOL ;) x1,000000,000000000
"One of my favorites was Gary Farmer in Dead Man—that was really a different kind of portrayal than the stereotype. He was this irreverent, chubby Indian, not at all like the ones from the old John Wayne movies. And that was the first time I heard Cree being spoken on film.”
"Ganja and Hess was the only American film screened during Critic’s Week at the 1973 Cannes Film Festival, where it was named one of the 10 Best American Films of the Decade … Almost every New York critic panned the film. “When I read the reviews, I thought, ‘They didn’t get it,’” Clark remembers. “Many critics believe that black people make very straightforward, literal movies—so Bill was really an enigma to them. They just did not understand what he had done.”
I really enjoyed this Temple of Shlock interview with Marlene Clark about her 1970s acting career. Robert Downey lied to her and other women to trick them into being topless in Putney Swope, Roger Corman sucked and didn’t even have a decent snake wrangler for Night of the Cobra Woman, midgets tried to rape her on-camera during Black Mamba filming, Tarantino’s surprising rerelease of Switchblade Sisters. The “Yoruba advisor.” So much funny, infuriating shit here.
A nice young man named Fawzy asked me to complete something called The Proust Questionnaire for his site. It was a good opportunity for me to obsess over my various faults and shortcomings. I was also able to mention Ryan Reynolds a few times.
Trying to seriously organize some stuff with Jon over IM.
Jon: so in my head i imagined cats starving to death just waiting for someone to watch them eat and i was horrified and i got on the phone and organized a group to find these cats and watch them eat but then i just started j/oing
I’m ashamed of my own laziness. I watched The Expendables without taking notes of the shit I was thinking, feeling, realizing, learning, and vowing. Stallone looked a little bit like this
Joan Crawford is one of my favorite people ever, and I hate to say that about her, but there is a point to be made about his eyebrows and I’m not sure how else to make it. It is a strange situation I find myself in, okay?
Dolph Lundgren maybe knew he was in a movie. He said his lines super super fast and obviously with a mouth full of marbles, because everyone seemed to have been given the same set of mouthmarbles just to even the playing field. He was a damn junkie named Gunner and he’d holler LIFE’SAJOKESHITBIRD! and shoot someone in the face.
Rourke made me wonder if you put a ton of man accessories and ‘tude on this guy, would I want him too?
Because, same-ish. But this is easier to take in and see what’s happening. Rourke has way more complicated face modification. He is a tattoo artist who doesn’t remember women’s names and throws knives well. He also has a sad secret. You guys, he throws knives WELL. It is fucking hot. The best part is when he tells Statham he wants to tattoo “Charlotte’s Web” on his head. “With a pregnant Charlotte crawling out of your ear, her leg all hanging down, sexy, y’know?” OMG. Yes. Who doesn’t know?
Why was I convinced Danny Trejo was in this movie?
Charisma Carpenter was in it to be sad and get beat up and “cheat” on Statham in some retarded illogical way that would send him running into Stallone’s “arms.”
It’s bullshit if Grace Jones and Brigitte Nielsen aren’t in the sequel. Fucking bullshit.
There were no extras, which is bullshit, because you know Mickey Rourke did tons of 9 1/2 Weeks shit to Statham that I need to see, AND you know the blooper reel would ruuuuuuuule. Dolph alone would be hours.
Dreampth: I was in an enormous house with many bathrooms. I’d get stuck in a bathroom, it would start to fill with water, and theme music would play, alerting me that the maniac was coming to kill me. I had to find the hidden small door or window in the room, use whatever tools were around to force it open, and crawl or climb out. I’d find myself on the outside of the house, re-enter the house through a window or sometimes a chute, and start again. When I first woke up, I remembered the theme music. My brain had written new lyrics to a 70s rock song. I’ve now forgotten which one.
Real: I saw that I had some text messages this morning. One was from Jon at 3am. I read “God, Italian is the most beautiful sausage.” I laughed really hard, and then emailed him a congrats on how funny it was. When I went to recheck the text, though, it just said “God, Italian is the most beautiful language.” Which was a response to some gibberish someone had texted him from my phone an hour prior, and is totally funny. But I made it even funnier on accident by not being able to read well, so congrats to me as well.
People who are serious about comfort should probably stack one Fatboy on top of another.
I might be not drinking anymore. That is a possibility. Except for the A&W root beer float with vanilla vodka that Tish invented the other day. I’ll maybe have ten of those every single night this summer. But that’s it.
After Andrew sent me one, I ended up watching a string of sphynx cats rubbing on mens’ beards themed pornys on youtube (yes I’m into SCROMB and no I can’t even imagine feeling ashamed of it). It made me feel all tendyr toward my 2 kittens so I ran in and curled around them on our bed and put the tips of 1,2,3,4 ears in my mouth. They are both sweet and old and perfect.
"Today, at least, Ayoade is a little more enthusiastic about the film he’s here to promote, Submarine, which he wrote and directed, adapting the story of a teenage misfit and his pyromaniac first girlfriend from a 2008 novel by Joe Dunthorne. Or rather, he’s enthusiastic about talking about films generally—the influence on the finished product of Taxi Driver and Badlands and Eric Rohmer’s Love in the Afternoon, the time the NFT hosted an Ingmar Bergman season and he saw everything in it, “which was one of the best two months ever”—without ever doing anything to suggest that any aspect of Submarine that’s to do with him might be any good. When I tell him I enjoyed the film – which is extremely funny, touching, beautifully shot, possessed of a fantastic soundtrack by Arctic Monkeys frontman Alex Turner and brilliant performances by its young leads Craig Roberts and Yasmin Paige—he mumbles his thanks, but bows his head as he does so, as if he’s literally trying to duck the compliment.”