Real World, Fake Points

+ 2 pts. - Tyler, for using the word "egregious."

+ 2 pts. - Tyler, for cracking me up: "I chose to throw a drink at him" (As you do).

- 2 pts. - Tyler, out of principle, for past offenses of smug irritatingness.

+ 2 pts. - Svetlana, for knowing she's hot enough to not have to always dress cheesy when she goes out. Cute top! (Dress?)

- 2 pts. - John, for his weird painter hat/frat boy tank top ensemble at the diner.

- 5 pts. - Zach, for the overall filth but most importantly the STUPID TILTED HAT.

+ 7 pts. - Me, for finally remembering who is John and who is Zach.

- 25 pts. - Me, for finally remembering who is John and who is Zach.

+ 3 pts. - Zach, for flying under John's perpetually drunk radar to hide his perpetual stonededness.

- 34 pts. - Paula, for literally pouting, then crying at the bar because guys are paying more attention to Svetlana. Holy crap.

- 70 pts. - Paula, for admitting on national television that her ex beat her up, but now having him in her number one spot on her Myspace page.

- 89 pts. - Me, for knowing that.

- 100 pts. - Keith, Paula's ex/bf, for being a cowardly douchebag.

- 1,000 pts. - Any guy who's ever hit a girl.

- 500 pts. - Me, for getting too serious in my "Real World" fake points blog.

+ 20 pts. - Lindsey Lohan, for weirdly managing to look 12, then 16, then 18, then 20, then 42, then all of a sudden 17.

- 12 pts. - Fallout Boy dude, like...WHAT? Why is he wearing a little doll sweater?

+ 3 pts. - The gate, for being shaped like a boat. I think.

- 4 pts. - John, for continuing with the hat.

- 20 pts. - Paula, for being * that girl * at the party who you go to smoke a cigarette with -- not realizing -- and then totally tells you everything that's ever happened to her, ever, that could fill up 20 Lifetime movies, and you can't tell if she's lying, but you try really hard to love her, but it's like talking to a brick wall, and you have to wait for a dude to come around with the potential of paying sexual attention to her so she finally lets you go do things like remember what it's like to laugh.

Reasons Why "Trojan War" Is The Best Movie Ever Made

1. You get to watch the "Boy Meets World" guy try to get laid, and who among us has not wished for that?

2. Witness the early stirrings of love between Will Friedle and Jennifer Love Hewitt, before she traded up for Carson Daly.

3. This may be the only movie that managed to cram in every single teen movie cliche ever, into one movie, and have it only be 84 minutes long.

4. I got to watch it on a Saturday night, home by myself!

5. Will Friedle's name is Brad, possibly the most self-conscious a naming as ever I've seen. It's like a really delicate balance between Everyman and Possible Guy You Might Find Attractive.

6. It has that chick in it who is like a cartoon Heather Graham, if such a thing is possible. She's very beautiful and has starred in every Lifetime movie ever made, PLUS "Sugar and Spice," and you have seen her a million times, but you will never remember her.

7. Also, she is the only actress besides Selma Blair who manages to be completely unsympathetic and unlikable in every role she's ever in, even when she dies from getting hit by a car because she is bulimic.

8. NINJAS.

9. Jennifer Love Hewitt "acts" by not wearing makeup or brushing her hair.

10. I think? We are supposed to be rooting for Hewitt (whose name is Leah), because she is the Mary Stuart Masterson in this equation, but although she does pick up Will Friedle at one point which is kind of like driving a limo, she never plays the drums, and also every single time she is around Brad, she seems like she HATES him.

11. Abovementioned Heather Graham Lite (Brooke) wears the weirdest bra ever in the almost-sex scene, like it's white and plain, so it's a) not sexy -- fine for accidental sex, but also strapless, so b) not practical -- fine for planned sex, but the combo of the two is strange, cause she didnt need it strapless for her outfit, ya know?

12. The most ambitious side plot I've ever seen in a teen romance, we're talking "Harold and Kumar" in proportions, I mean there were like, motorcycles? And graffiti, something really important with graffiti and nipples on a mural or something, and like, gang warfare.

13. LEE MAJORS.

14. I'm pretty sure that at one point, Brad has a conversation about sex with his dad, and that it's fairly funny.

15. Eric Balfour's in it, after he did "Kids, Incorporated," but before he did "Buffy" or "Six Feet Under," and yet somehow still looks really old.

16. And at one point, we are treated to the wacky hilarity of him getting bit in the balls by a dog. 'Cause I guess, not wanting your girlfriend to sleep with Will Friedle means you deserve to have your genitalia mauled.

17. OMG I totally forgot about the Latin dance contest!

18. They have that whole "is she deeper than it would seem?" thing going on with Brooke (as you must), like she is all wanting to do well in science, and looking at Eric Balfour disapprovingly when he is not nice, so you think, maybe Brad is sliding to the cooler end of his Bradness.

19. And besides, seriously, Leah is a total bitch.

20. But then that is besides the point, as the writers have definitely smoked mad pot and possibly crack as well because they totally get into the action-adventure film with the gangs, and are like, eh, oh right, Brooke. Whatever. Kind of like when J.J. Abrams started working on "Alias" and forgot about "Felicity." But anyway, so then out of nowhere Brooke is a bitch and not because Brad leaves her to go get a condom and doesn't come back for 12 years, but because -- well, no one knows why. Because they needed to get him together with Leah, OKAY?

21. The cast list includes not only "Lead Homeboy," but also "Biggest Homeboy." But wait, wouldn't the Lead Homeboy BE the Biggest Homeboy? I'm so confused.

22. In the end, Leah shows up to the party, and she is allowed to have Brad, not because she has improved her personality, but because she curled her hair and is showing some cleavage.


©2006

Angelina + Brad = SHUT UP

I realize that there is not much that hasn't already been said on this issue. And I realize that by writing about it, I am, in a way, part of the problem because I'm giving it attention. But whatever, I just can't hold it in any longer.

I hate Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.

HATE.

Not them as people; I don't know them. But I hate them, the couple, the Brangelina, the Pitt/Jolie, the Most Beautiful Couple on their way to producing the Most Beautiful Baby and just shut UP. PLEASE.

Let me start by being completely superficial and selfish. I used to LOVE Angelina Jolie. Back around the time of "Gia," she was, in my opinion, the absolutely hottest thing on earth. No joke. Gorgeous, sexy, talented -- but that stuff is just descriptive, and doesn't really get to what put her over the edge. Why perfect-looking women like Catherine Zeta Jones and Halle Berry leave me cold, but the Angelina of yore could have gotten me to give up men forever. She had this fire and passion and not just a touch of batshit insanity. She was awesome.

Fast forward to now, and I am just...I don't know what happened. Yes, it's true that she still tops most straight chicks' hot girl list, but my girlfriend is gone, and has been replaced with someone else. Or drugged. Or hell, maybe motherhood just matured her or something, who knows, but I don't like it. She looks embalmed to me, a little, and it's like they took her spirit and drained it right out of her, like "Girl, Interrupted" was actually like a vision of things to come

As for Brad Pitt. Well, he always sort of annoyed me, I mean, yeah he's crazy hot and though he picks a lot of sucky projects, he's incredibly great in the right roles. Also -- "Fight Club." Ya know? He was utter perfection in that movie, in every way. But he was never my boyfriend, because he always seemed so disgruntled with fame, to the point where he approached Sean Penn levels of smug martyrdom. And okay, sure, the paparazzi is horrible in a lot of ways, blah blah, but come on. If you don't want the press, then don't be in movies. Or be in movies, but be Tom Hanks. Be Paul freakin' Newman. You can be extremely famous, and not in every tabloid that's out on the stands. Or you can at least make a classy attempt to not be a fame whore, thereby earning yourself more of a right to bitch when the cameras track you down.

Which leads me to my bigger annoyance with Brangelina (gag). Not since The Great J.Lo whoring of 2001-2002 has there been such an incessant flux of non-news about one celebrity, or in this case, celebrities. Just today, I'm minding my own business, online, when I see: "Pitt and Jolie Plan Namibian Birth." This is not news. Okay, sure, very little celebrity gossip is news, but this is also not interesting. THEY are not interesting. They are the most stiflingly boring couple since Donna Martin went out with Joe the guy with the heart condition. All they did was look serious and somber while talking about football and dreams and new treatments at baby-barretted Donnas dad's hospital and it's like the same thing with Brad and Angelina, only with them it's adoption and babies and charitable acts. And of course, don't get me wrong, I deeply support those three things, but that doesn't make it news just because we're supposed to be admiring their heroics and noble deeds and saintliness and stuff. There's this calculated overcompensation to their public image, I think to deflect from the roots of their relationship, which is gross.

And that is what bothers me the most about the whole circus of the Pitt/Jolie (gag) relationship. This underlying mentality that has been there since the beginning, ranging from subtle to blatant, and really creeping me out in a big way. Which is that what Brad Pitt did to his wife was okay because, hey -- it's Angelina. And what the HELL kind of scary, Darwinistic approach to relationships is that?

During the whole time that Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston were together, they may have been Hollywood's Most Beautiful Couple, and probably one of the more beloved Hollywood couples, but I also heard more than one person remark that Aniston wasn't pretty enough to be with Brad Pitt. Like she'd somehow failed and was scamming the world by managing to lure in Brad Pitt, despite her offensive shortcomings. And first of all, shut up, everyone who said that. Jennifer Aniston rules.

Second of all, shut up world, who reacted to the Brad/Angelina pairing with this underlying relief, or at least understanding. Like, "Oh well, that's sad that he cheated, but who can blame him?" Who can blame him. I can blame him! We all should blame him! I don't mean run him out of town while throwing rocks at him, but at least call a spade a spade and hold him accountable for his actions, which is to say, let's not judge marital breakups on a case-by-case basis of relative hotness!

Because think for a second, if Brad Pitt had cheated on the person he promised the rest of his life to, with anyone besides Angelina Jolie? Like, if Jennifer was the head cheerleader, then Angelina was the homecoming queen, but if Brad had slept with the Hollywood equivalent of say, someone on yearbook. Or even just a regular cheerleader. I really don't think that we'd be getting this crap. It's actually with that photo shoot that they lost me forever, I think. Because before that it's like, all right, mistakes get made, we don't know the whole story, etc. and leave them alone, it's not our business.

But who does that? Like, it wasn't bad enough that Brad cheated on his wife with Angelina, but then he went and did that shoot, like why not just spit at your wife while you're at it, Brad? And then after you spit at her, why don't you impregnate the woman you cheated with and hold a national press conference about it? Oh wait. You actually did that.

So go ahead, media, and try to get me to care about where Brad and Angelina have their child and exchange their vows, because what do vows mean anyway, if the uber-callous breaking of them can be easily smoothed over by fuller lips and orphan babies? I don't judge people for cheating. I don't like it, but I don't make it my problem unless I'm directly affected, because you never know truly what's going on with other people. But there is this really disturbing, insidious, revisionist history being written here. Angelina's prettier than Jennifer, and also more willing to have babies, and therefore more deserving to win the man. I think you're going to have to give me a vintage-y pictorial from earlier than the 1960s to get me on board with that attitude.


©2006

Another Karaoke Story

Another Karaoke Story:
My Ears! My Ears!




So as I have said before, karaoke rocks my world and I want to marry it. But as a wise woman once said, you take the good, you take the bad, you take 'em both and there you have, the facts of life. And so it is with karaoke. On the night that you have the hot chick from "Coming to America" signing autographs and singing "I Will Survive" in the bar of Red Lobster, you will also have one of the regulars, who was found cracked out (literally) in the Hempstead bus station, bleeding from the head in the lobby while his Brigitte Nielsen doppelganger wife screams at him. No, really. And 2 months later and 10 miles east, you may have the awesomest DJ and bartenders who hook you up and ask you out, but you will also have Norm*.

Now there are some people whom you meet, and it takes awhile to realize that there is something off about them. Norm was not one of those people. He was sort of like the real-life version of watching "H.R. Pufnstuf" while on 'shrooms. Not that I'd know what that's like.** Large and lumbering, with eyes that couldn't focus -- that was Norm. And he was always at karaoke. You could find him every Friday and Saturday at the microphone, belting out Bon Jovi in the style of Ben Stein, as he gazed out at the crowd with his shark-like eyes.

Or you could find him STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO YOU. Every Friday I'd get there on the early side with Shannon, and Norm would see us and come right up and put his arm around us. I did not enjoy this. As a general rule, I don't like being touched unless I know you well, and this is especially true if you are twice my size and scary.

However, nothing deterred Norm. Shannon tried putting her arm around me and telling him I was her girlfriend, but that didn't work. And yeah, I realize now that pretending to be a lesbian in a bar is not the best way to keep guys away, but to be fair, this was 1999, before faux-lesbianism was the all the rage among heterosexual girls desperate for attention, and we were under the mistaken impression that our sexual preference would be respected rather than seen as an added incentive for Norm to touch us.

As time has passed, I have gotten much better at telling guys in bars to just get off of me or I will kick them in the eye, but back then, I would just freeze up 'cause I still had some misguided compassion or whatever. Shannon knew this, so after being my girlfriend didnt work, she told Norm flat out, "She doesn't like to be touched." Norm would remember this for all of two seconds before he'd be back to the sidling, and it was all just very uncomfortable. It really wasn't until Writer Boy showed up later and we could block out Norm by the sheer power of numbers that we were free of him.

So you can imagine my unhappiness the one time I showed up to the bar and Shannon took her damn sweet time meeting me. And there was Norm. And I was all alone. No Writer Boy to shield me, no fake girlfriend to yell at him to go away. And sure enough, here he came.

To his credit, Norm seemed to remember not to put his arm around me this time. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I should have known better.

There Norm was, arm planted at his side, but still way too close for my comfort. I tried to seem extraordinarily fascinated by the olives in my martini. But closer, he leaned. I tried to steel myself. But nothing -- nothing -- could ever have prepared me for what was to come.

"I bought a Jennifer Love Hewitt poster today."

"..."

"I got it at the store."

"...oh..."

Desperately, I racked my brain for something -- anything -- to say. But what is a proper response when a 36-year-old man tells you he bought a poster of someone who, while admittedly busty, was still basically a child?

"I already hung it up. It's next to my bed."

I'd love to tell you what happened next, but unfortunately I don't remember, because it was imperative that I drink heavily and hit myself on the head with a spoon until Shannon arrived twenty million hours later.




***THE END***

*Name has been changed to protect everyone in the world.

**Okay seriously? NEVER DO THIS.



©2006