It Really Hurts...To Look This Good

Okay, okay, his movie may have been crap but I will never forsake Harrison Ford. He's stripping (literally 2x!) for the environment!

Z-Listed Sighting

More reality tv musings from Allison Metz via m gmail inbox this morning... Celebrity Sightings at 24 Hour Fitness By Allison Metz

Last night, in the ongoing battle to make my buttocks less mushy, I spotted a Z-list celebrity, if there is such a thing. Allow me to paint the scene for you. I was wearing excessively tight spandex, rocking some frizzy hair and jamming out to quality music. Specifically, Just The Two Of Us by Will Smith, a personal pleasure of mine because lets be honest, who doesn't love big Willie? Miami. Men in Black. So many classics. Anyway,as I sauntered over to the make-your-butt-less-mushy machine, I spotted a key member in the Rock of Love II season. No, it wasn't Bret Michaels. I'm pretty sure he's never exercised in his life. No, it wasn't Ambre, the winner of the show. No, it wasn't the chick with the weird lips named Daisy. Even better. It was Daisy's ex-boyfriend!!!! When he came on the show Daisy confessed to Bret that she was still living with him and all this drama ensued. O man, it made for great television. I was so excited. As I was doing squats and simultaneously staring at him in the mirror, I contemplated whether or not I should say something to him like, "you're better off without that bitch." Or maybe, "so what was it like to be on reality television?' I think he noticed me staring at him because he whispered something and walked away in disgust. O man. That was seriously so exciting for me.

90210 on the UES

Wow. This is an awesome find that I shamelessly stole off Gawker, who had shamlessly stolen it from Radar. Nothing makes me happier than the 90210 doubleheader on Soapnet M-F at 5pm. Dan is so totally Brandon Walsh. I hope that means little Jenny Humphrey is shipping off to London soon a la Brenda. Omg. Omfg. Could Chuck Bass be Dylan Mckay in an ascot? Anyone with me? anyone?! Bueller?

I've Got My New Shoes On...

After surviving a monsoon at a Radiohead Concert and dodging beer can warfare, drunken brawls, and general redneck mayhem at Zombie Beach Blanket BingoPreakness, I'm finally settled back up North and can resume my active blogging schedule. Last night I experienced one of the biggest disappointments in recent history. Bigger than High School (it was NOT AT ALL like Saved By the Bell), and almost as big as Bush's presidency: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, or as it could be called Indiana Jones and the Close Encounter of the Third Kind. Nuclear warfare? Cate Blanchett channelling Bullwinkle's Natasha Fatale? Mind control? Crystal Alien Skulls? Please, give me old fashioned religious relics anyday. Now I have a lot of love for Doctor Jones--that rugged sexuality, his tete-a-tetes with difficult women, his mastery of the whip. I even love him at age 60-something when hes standing in his white undershirt looking more like a lost grandpa then an action hero. However, not even he of the well-timed one liner could quip his way out the mounds of cheese pounded into this clunky plot. In trying to recapture the same youthful eagnerness of the originals, Spielberg and Lucas take their nostalgia for their childhoods too far. The supposedly sinister Commies are about as scary as 8th grade bullies--sure, a tough exterior but they fall like a house of cards after the first punch is thrown. Ms. Blanchett does her best to masculinze her Irina Spalko to fit the part's Rasputin-shaped mold, but she still comes out looking more like a Lucas' wet dream than a real villain. And that accent? Would it have killed Spielberg to cast an actual Ukrainean? Or atleast spent a little more money on a dialect coach. And again, that plot. I won't spoil it for those who haven't seen it, but at one point I was sure Mulder would pop out from behind a skeleton to scold the professor for his disbelief--"the truth is out there, Indy." I know its been awhile since they came out, but would it have hurt Spielberg & Co to have rewatched the originals before embarking on this epic disaster? At times, you see glimmers of the old spirit shine through--theres a great motorcycle chase early on and some of the scenes in the jungles of Peru rival moments in Raiders--but for the most part, I think, money, fame and power have made Lucas and Spielberg forget themselves and the men they once were in the late 70s, when Indiana was still just a mythic hero they idolized and not a commodity they owned outright.

Music of My Moment

What helped me through this dark and dreary Friday afternoon...
Love & Destroy - Franz Ferdinand
Ghosts - Ted Leo and the Pharmacists
Vince the Loveable Stoner - The Fratellis
The View from the Afternoon - The Arctic Monkeys
Naive - The Kooks

Stories from LA LA Land

So I've been bugging my best friend Liz to write this story out for about a week now, and it was definitely worth the wait:

'Take me to LA's hottest, most expensive restaurant,' my friend Kate from NYC demanded of me for her one night in town, so I took her to Foxtail around 9:30 on a magical Thursday night. For all you East-Coasters, Foxtail is a supper club/ night club brought to you by the famed party promoter Brent Bolthouse of "The Hills" fame and Sam Nazarian, the brains behind Hyde, Area, and other LA nightlife giants. About thirty seconds into dinner, I noticed Ryan Phillipe sitting two tables away in the uncomfortably small restaurant. How was the food? I have no idea, I was too busy trying to make eyes at Ryan Phillipe, downing a bottle of Prosecco, and pretending to listen to my friend chatter. Our plans were to stay at Foxtail after dinner and make our way into the night club area. Done eating, we stepped out for a cigarette and were immediately bombarded by the papparazzi. Somehow, by complete chance, we had stumbled onto Nicole Richie's birthday party, which was taking place that night in the nightclub area of Foxtail. It was insane! There were at least 40 paparazzos standing there, waiting, hungry for some money shots. There was even a little 7 year-old paparazzo with a disposable camera, I'm sure tagging along with her Papa-razzi (true anecdote; pun intended.) At this point, Britney Spears came in. Then Nicky Hilton. (You can see the back of my head around second 48 of the pap video. I am legend.) Then Janet Jackson and Jermaine Durpre. Then Paris Hilton and Benji Madden. Then Lisa Kudrow (really? seriously?). After the brouhaha died down, Kate and I proceeded to walk back in, but were immediately stopped at the door. "It's a closed party." We had stepped out for 20 minutes, tops, but they refused to let us back in. After some wheeling and dealing which I will not bore you with, Kate and I finally made our way to the party. (But just know-- getting in was NOT easy. In all seriousness, its probably the most difficult thing I've ever done). Anyway. In a 20 x 20 room with approximately 15 of the most famous young celebrities in Hollywood- here are my observations:+/-

1. Paris Hilton and Benji Madden seem very much in love. They were all over each other and I don't think it's just for show. I think he is actually crazy about her. This is most likely due to the fact that he is really ugly in real life, and she is fairly nice looking. 2. I heard Amanda Bynes scream out, "Suck my titties" while telling a story to her entourage. I want to be her friend. 3. No one (except us) was really drunk. 4. Adrian Grenier is really hot. Which brings me to the crux of my night.... 1:45 a.m., and I am many drinks deep. Suddenly, the crowd clears from around Adrian Grenier, and I carpe diem. I walk up to him and start grinding up against him Night at the Roxbury style. We dance for a little and then I walk away, playing coy. A little while later, he comes up to me and Kate, and stands there, watching us dance. I decided to wait and let him make the move, play it cool- it pretty much always works. 5. Playing it cool with celebrities does NOT work. While waiting for him to approach me, two girls pounced on him like starving Vietnamese tigers. Within 5 minutes, Adrian Grenier was leaving Foxtail (and dashing my dreams) with a girl on each arm. Even though, I didn't end up canoodling with Adrian Grenier, that night I broke up with my boyfriend. Dancing with Adrian Grenier made me feel like I could do better. I know, it sounds like a pretty terrible way to end the night, but really there is a happy ending! A week later, I ran into Adrian Grenier. He remembered me, and we've been dating ever since. We have planted a tomato garden together, and he's brought up marriage! ...Actually thats not true. The next day I woke up boyfriend-less, hungover, and $ 200 poorer. 4 days later, I was groveling to my boyfriend to get back together. In the end though, it was the most ridiculous and fun night I've had in a long time. Happy Birthday Nicole Richie!

Who is the real Iron Man?

Even the most reckless estimations of Iron Man's weekend grosses failed to hit the mark. No one thought Marvel Studios first big production on its own two feet featuring a little known human-cum-suit of awesomeness superhero played by a recovering drug addict would break into the hundred mil winner's circle. The movie, including Thursday previews, raked in an impressive $104.2 million domestically. In the week leading up to its opening, I obsessively checked Rotten Tomatoes for early reviews. For awhile, the tomato-meter had the film at %100, stoking the excitement and desire to see it opening night for me and many of my friends. In trade pubs like Variety, Defamer, and Nikki Finke's blog, writers consistently referenced rottentomatoes or metacritic to comment on the blockbuster's unusually high rating. Granted, in this case, Jon Favreau's film was arguably critic-proof, but more importantly no one can deny the taste- and profit-making influence of reviewers who pushed moviegoers into an Iron Man frenzy. The success of Iron Man is proof that the undertaker has been overhasty in writing the epitaph of the movie critic. Even if artistically, Iron Man hadn't lived up to the reviews (which it did), critics are still the ones with the ability to make or break a film's opening numbers. Take a look at the numbers for Eyes Wide Shut, for instance. Prior to its opening, critics were salivating at the thought of Tom and Nicole gettin' jiggy on screen. Their verbal orgasms led to a huge opening weekend for what was essentially an arthouse pic that, without all the critical buzz, would never have seen the money it did. Yes, it did take in about $1 million less than Warner Bros. expected opening weekend, but their estimates were based mostly on critical hype, as Kubrick refused to screen the movie for critics or industry folk before its wide release July 16, 1999. To quote Brandon Gray of Box Office Mojo: "I think what really happened was that Eyes Wide Shut had a strong core audience who had to see it opening day, resulting in that low Saturday bump up." Critics still have the power of the pen to raise or bury a film. Iron Man proves it.

Foxfield 2k8

What do you get when debauchery and bacchanal meet southern frivolity? If you guessed Foxfield, you'd be right. The weekend started off in an RV RPV (Recreational Party Vehicle) with my friend Tim dutifully at the helm. Our crew--over 10 deep--hurtled down the highway at lightning speed, headed for the fair hills of Virginia wine country. Within minutes, the sink was piled high with beer cans and the floor sticky with a deadly combination of soda, beer and dirt. But it mattered not to our team of RPV-ers and we all enjoyed the good food(from Aggie, natch!) good music(EP release party for new Timputer/Heckbot/Garretron joint) and good company. Unfortunately, even traveling at what felt like a lightning pace, the RPV was still confined by the laws of physics, and our grand plans to hit up multiple wineries ended up being scratched in favor of 1 winery and an early arrival in C-Ville. Thus, we disembarked at Barboursville, slightly worse for wear and not fully in control of our mental faculties. Fortunately for us, the grounds were pristine and the weather beautiful, so we took our wine and hullabaloo outside. Post-wine toasts and boasts, we piled back in the RPV for the final leg of the journey. +/-

There are no words for seeing Charlottesville again for the first time after a long absence. It triggers in you a profound feeling of ecstasy and almost childlike glee, and all you want to do is shout and sing and dance and smile. We arrive at my friend Dolores' unbelievable downtown apartment, drop our stuff, and then head off into the night to dance to 6 Day Bender, eat Christian's Pizza, and reunite with old friends on Elliewood. The next day, from what I remember was incredible. Since I spent most of the day time travelling, I'll just list off the highlights-- Sun, dresses, mimosas, limo, Sparxx, bums, public urination, random adventures in C-ville 'burbs, crazy walkers, drunk walkers, angry walkers, onlookers--"it's Britney, betch!"--pick up trucks, unbelievably--a horse!, flask pulls, waves of seersucker and frills, old friends, new friends, creepy friends, drinks, hugs, laughs, more drinks, less memory, ominous clouds, scattered rain, pouring rain, running for cover to the RV, brownouts, stale air, revived energy, food at Three, drinks at Coupes, escape, more drinks, old crushes, taxi rides to nowhere, hotels, sin, love, nursing hangovers, Fellini's, RPV pickups, solemn drive on 29----WHAM! Back to reality. Can't wait to do it all over again next year.

Wait For It..

Alright I admit, my content of late has been lacking, but blogging sans laptop is difficult, especially when I'm actually given "work" at Work (the nerve!). Bear with me and I promise I'll be back soon with stories of Foxfield 2k8, finding love(well, lust) at Panic at the Disco, and my interview at NBC.