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June 6, '05
Way back in 1992, when Mike and I were newlyweds and living in our first apartment over by Lake of the Isles, I wrote a treatment for a movie called "A Day in the Life of Sandra Kane", a fake documentary about a washed up bit player of an actress named Sandra Kane. A camera crew followed her around for a day while she pretended to be all that and a bag of chips as she scrounged for work and validation. One of the details I was so proud of was a framed photo Sandra had on her wall of her walk on on the show "In the Heat of the Night".
I got the idea for it after running into a local actress who'd been in a few low budget Hollywood flicks, and she was wearing a huuuuuuge floppy hat and rhinestone Jackie O. glasses and tried to big time me, so as I say, she was the inspiration for Sandra Kane......the treatment that ROTS IN MY BASEMENT AS I EAT STALE BARBIE BIRTHDAY CAKE AND WATCH LISA KUDROW STEAL MY IDEA. GAWD!!!!!!!!! And then of course there was my idea for a movie about a stand-in who thought he was the star and kept referring to himself as the understudy, but Ben Stiller stole that one. FER CRYIN'.
You know what, though? The Comeback was totally funny, I laughed hard the whole time. So kudos to Kudrow, no way could Jennifer Aniston have pulled that off. Seriously, check it out because it was great. And Ben Stiller's thing was a classic and let's face it, we all know I'm pretty happy here on the couch. And furthermore, if you think I'm ridiculous for these claims, sometime ask Mike about squeeze ketchup.
The stale birthday cake was from Molly's party, which was last night. The cake was spectacular, one of those big domes with a Barbie sticking out of the top, so the cake looks like the skirt of her ball gown and the top to her outfit is frosting. Molly ripped open all her presents at 8 am, then put on her party hat and asked me every thirty seconds all day long when people were coming over. She didn't take that hat off until bedtime.
Between breakfast and the party, Mike and I cleaned out our basement to get it ready for the carpenter who's coming over to fix it up for us. The true test of a marriage is not whether you can withstand a year in seperate countries, it's whether or not you can survive cleaning out a basement together. I came thisclose to running Mike through with a rusty curtain rod. He didn't even do anything wrong, it was just being in that damn dank basement all day. That's why people in prisons kill each other.
Spent today hacking apart mature hosta and transplanting it all over the yard. I hope I haven't killed it all, but knowing me, I have. In order to transplant it around the borders, I had to take a butcher knife and dig through the mulch, then cut through thick landscape fabric. I started pretending I was on an archeological dig, it made the time go faster and me less afraid of the bugs. I wasn't pretending to be on a real dig, but in a movie about a dig so I could pretend all the creepy crawlies were fake. I was pretending to pretend.
June 14, 05
OK--IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN CINDERELLA MAN YET, RUN, DON'T WALK TO THE THEATER AND SEE IT!! OMG it is so great I ain't got the words. I guess now the family of the guy who was Braddock's opponent is all mad because he's portrayed as a baddie, and I might give a rip about that if I wasn't so busy dreaming about Russell Crowe.
People, I know the phrase "greatest actor of our generation" is overused, I know the words "genius" and "amazing" are thrown around so much they've practically been rendered meaningless, but honest to gravy, all of thee above apply to Mr. Crowe, absolutely 100 percent. He is so damn good, it wouldn't have been near as good a movie without him in it. It could've so easily have been shlocky and over the top, and it isn't, thanks to him. And he's tiny in it. Never seen him so small, he looks like he's 140 soakin' wet.
So of course, after the movie I had to google the whole cast and just indulge my obsession for a while, and apparently Russell C and Craig Bierko are feuding. Shocking, I know, that RC isn't getting along with someone..... but after reading all about Mr. Bierko and downloading some of his Music Man numbers (he was nominated for a Tony award in 2000 for his portrayal of Harold Hill) and learning a bit about him, he seems really funny and self-deprecating and you know I'm a sucker for a guy who can sing show tunes, and much as it pains me to say it, I've decided that in real life he'd probably be way funner to hang out with than Russell, who sounds really capable of being an arrogant dickwad. That does not in the least take away from the fact that I want to muckle him hot and dirty style, it just means that when we're done I want to call Craig Bierko and go get some pizza.
Great movie, everyone go see it multiple times.
June 23 '05
Cookies and milk, pizza and beer, Melanie Griffith and Herpes, movies and lists. Some things just go together.
The American Film Institute continues their “100 Years, 100 Lists” celebration this week with their latest addition, The 100 Greatest Movie Quotes of All Time.
"Didn't they just do that?" You may be thinking. No, the last list they put out was the greatest movie stars of all time. You're probably thinking of Entertainment Weekly or maybe Premier magazine's lists of an identical nature that came out within the last twenty seconds.
But you see, the AFI list has the cache of being the real deal.
They got Pierce Brosnan to host a television special about it and they have the word “institute” in their title, which sounds kind of snooty and intimidating so if you were to argue with them about their choices, the exchange might sound something like this:
Regular Joe: “Well, Entertainment Weekly ranked this quote number one….”
AFI fuckwad in elbow patches and smart-guy glasses: “Entertainment Weekly? Please. We’re The American Film Institute.
** Side-note: I’m sure in reality, the good people at AFI are perfectly nice. I’m just jealous because they spend the majority of their days thinking, talking about and watching movies, while I spend the majority of mine wiping little bottoms and burning dinner. It’s bound to make a person lash out from time to time.**
So rather than pick a fight with an imaginary film buff, I thought it would be fun to share ten of my favorite quotes that didn’t make the list, admittedly they probably didn’t deserve to, but they’re still great.
Some of them are obvious and some are a little obscure. Maybe you’ll read them and think, “She’s crazy!” or maybe you’ll go out and rent the films they’re from. Either way, anything that gets people talking about movies is fine by me, and conversely, I’m always excited to learn about a flick someone else loves and I haven’t seen. Plus, sometimes it’s fun to read something that doesn’t make you think too hard, especially when it’s hotter than Satan’s mouthwash outside.
Here, in no particular order, are my Top Ten Movie Quotes of All Time Or At Least For This Week, (until I wake up at three a.m some night soon kicking myself for having forgotten some different one.) Enjoy:
“It’s not that bad. It’s not like you farted all over your lines and in dailies we were like, ‘What’s that noise?’”
“I’m so relieved. That analogy has bathed me in relief.”- Postcards From the Edge
“Last night I dreamed I went to Manderlay again.”- Rebecca
“First of all, let me make one thing perfectly clear.”
“Yes?”
“I never explain anything.” – Mary Poppins
“I’ve seen the future! And it’s a bald-headed man from New York!”-Lost in America
“…and coach, that scholarship? Up your ass. Up your ass with a red-hot poker. I can play anywhere I want.”- One on One (Despite being the butt of far too many cinematic jokes, the woefully underrated Robbie Benson has starred in many of my favorite movies.)
“You’re that sweaty carpenter who hates me!”- Overboard
“Frag-ee-lay. That must be Italian.”"
"Uh, I think it says fragile.”
“Oh yeah..”- A Christmas Story
“You’re so resourceful, darling, I ought to go to you for plots.”
“You ought to go to someone.”- The Women
“No other Val-dude can touch me!”- Valley Girl
“There'll be no locks or bolts between us, Mary Kate... except those in your own mercenary little heart!”- The Quiet Man
June 24, '05
I very stupidly signed up for another triathalon, and it's three weeks away and to say I have trained innadequetly would be an insult to innadequete training.
So in a fit of panic, on Tuesday of this week Liz and I did a bike-to-run, and for the first mile after getting off the bike I had the noodle legs but then I felt ok....until I innocently turned to face Liz because I felt whatever dumb story I was telling her needed a visual aid, and just as my body was torking my foot landed and my back SEIZED UP LIKE A MOTHER. It felt like I got shot through the kidneys.
What Liz saw: "So I says to the guy I says YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA YIPPEE-YI-YIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! " as I clutched at myself and writhed. Imagine someone running along, not a care in the world, and suddenly they're being sodomized by an invisible demon and that's what I looked like. It finally started to calm down after about a minute, I stretched it and took deep breaths and Liz tried not to laugh. I finished out the run eeeeeever so slowly and a little hunched over on one side, which was probably dumb but I had to get home somehow and the babysitter needed to leave. For the next two days my back hurt, but I'm happy to report I ran again this morning, albeit tentatively.
You know how people who've had a parent die young reach the age that parent was when they died, they get all freaked out? That's how I felt when I got to the place on the running path where my back spasmed on Tuesday. YES I DID, EXACTLY THE SAME. DON'T TRIVIALIZE MY PAIN JUST BECAUSE MY PARENTS ARE ALIVE.
OK. The moral of this little story is that I don't give a rip about the triathalon, it's summer and I like to eat ice cream and have a cocktail or two and I will not be judged.
Mike got home from AZ last night with all of our stuff that was down there, we're putting the condo on the market and there was still some store stuff left over, too. He's been unloading the truck all day and the last time I looked out in the back yard, he was setting up all our cheap wigwam furniture on the deck and there was a big blow-up shark perched on the pergola. It's all tricked out like San Felipe's Cantina, which would be fine if our backyard was actually a bar, but I'm not sure....I can't really think about it until I've had a chance to figure out why the hell he had a big blow-up shark in the first place.
The worst thing about marriage is sharing your home with someone else. That probably sounds awful but everyone who's married knows exactly what I mean, and Mike would surely say the same thing about me. Wait 'til he sees the screaming red movie theater carpet I've picked out for the basement. My feeling is, it won't show dirt or blood or vomit, the three most popular condiments we use around here. Poop is a close fourth, as you are all well aware, much to your dismay.
The carpet is being installed as we speak, which is why I'm trapped at home on this gorgeous day. We fixed up our basement, sheet rocked and ceilinged and put in lights and evened out the floor, and it ain't the ritz but at least the kids can use it as a playroom.
Celebrity follies this week:
I refuse to discuss Tom Cruise.
Madonna: She's on the cover of Ladies Home Journal this month, and I read the article last night. For those of you who missed it, allow me to encapsulate it:
"I'm super spiritual and totally ashamed at what an attention whore I used to be and all I want are answers to spirtiual questions and to be a good mom oh but wait I also want my book the english roses to be a tv show even though I don't allow my own kids to watch tv because it's garbage. I also don't allow magazines or newspapers into my home, but that doesn't mean I don't wnat to be on the cover of this one, becaue I'm trying to get my message of spirituality out. My days consist of meeting with my staff, working out, working on my tv show/albums/movies/special projects but OMIGOD either me or my husband is always home to put the kids to bed. Because we care."
Oprah: Let me get this straight: you show up at a fancy high end Parisian boutique (where maybe, just maybe, the college girl who works there doesn't know who you are) 15 minutes AFTER IT'S CLOSED with your posse and they don't open the door for you, and you are so humiliated you say you'll never shop there again and it's your 'Crash' (racially charged movie du jour) moment.
Hard to feel sorry for you, hon.
I have to go outside, this house smells like feet.
June 30 '05
Finny's been waiting to have a sleepover with his buddy Joe all summer, and for one reason or another it just hasn't been possible. In the meantime, Meg has had several sleepovers, to the point where every time Finny heard Meg was having another one, he would freak out in a fit of impotent, purple-faced rage, the kind only felt by a seven-year-old boy sick to friggin' death of alway being at the mercy of his stupid parents' schedules. At these moments, he always turns on me and accuses me of maternal neglect for not providing him with a brother. It got so ridiculous I finally passed a "No More Sleepovers for Meg Un til Finbar Gets One" rule, which is also grossly unfair, but since Meg doesn't do well with no sleep, it was actually a good way to end her non-stop partying for a while.
So our basement got finished, Joe was finally free, and last night was the big night. Two little boys, a big air mattress and Star Wars episodes 1 through 5. What could be better? We all go to bed at eleven, everyone's happy and safe.....8 o'clock this morning, Joe comes upstairs in tears and says he didn't sleep well. Make eggs and muffins, try to crack a few jokes, Finbar is all distressed thinking Joe hates him, and Joe ralphs all over the kitchen table.
Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Oh fer the love of every icon ever carved in stone. Every friggin' time.
Clean Joe up, drive him home, break the bad news to his overworked mom that she's stuck at home for the next week, drop Finny off at his sailing class, go home and bleach my house. Pile the girls into the car for gymnastics, pull into the parking lot, Meg yaks all over the back seat. Turn around and go home, Mike starts the egg burps. Get me out of here. I'm waiting for Molly and the boy to start erupting.
Mike just ate a burrito in the hopes all the spice would kill off everything in his gut that shouldn't be there. That thing's gonna hurt coming back up.
Conversation between Mike and I at breakfast yesterday morning, as we spit-balled about our next get-rich-slowly scheme:
"The only Hmong grocery store in town was seized by the city for being a dump, and all the Hmongs are outraged....Hmongs are the fastest groowing demographic in the city, and now they have nowhere to buy Hmong specialties."
(Mike looks up from his grape Nuts, wondering what this has to do with the price of tea in Laos.)
"We should open a Hmong grocery store."
"And get killed by the local Hmong mafia?"
"There's no Hmong mafia. If there was, this store never would've closed."
"We'd have more luck starting a Hmong mafia than a grocery store."
High on my idea of providing this highly specialized niche market with the right kind of noodles and kittens, I googled 'hmong' and up popped " did you mean humans?"
Honestly. Haven't those poor folks suffered enough?
I'm finally ready to address stupid Tom Cruise, since his dumb movie came out yesterday and I can only hope it's a big fat flop. A girl can dream, can't she? Look, ya'll know I've never been a fan of that little one-toothed freakazoid, I think I actually started the I Hate Tom Cruise club. Anyway, I feel mighty vindicated now that the whole wide world sees the dink I've always known was there, the little tub from Taps.
Hey Tom, you don't fool me! I can just see you listening to L. Ron Hubbard CD's every night while you do sit-ups and chant "I'm not fat! I'm not fat!"
The classic case of the bullied loser becoming the bully. Apparently, according to his fake religion, he's a 'more evolved person' at a higher level than the rest of us drugged-up drones. So I'll just leave his movies to those more evolved than I who can really appreciate them. Anyone got a vicodin?
© Katie McCollow, 2005
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