The truest list ever

What I enjoyed about this week’s Onion AV Club list, “22 Potentially Great Movies… Ready To Be Remade” is that it encapsulates the critics’ mindset to a T. When you have to consume a certain amount of art in ungodly amounts for a job, after awhile, it’s very easy to look at it like this was great, this was eh, this could be amazing if they did X and Y but they didn’t so I was bored. I’m trying to get out of that mindset at the moment. (My favorite idea? Imagine Gilmore Girls with Amber Tamblyn as Rory. It would be so good!)

Anyways, having sat through this in the theater and fallen asleep as it just went careening downhill into some romantic comedy thing when it should’ve been coal-black satire, this entry is particularly correct. When I interviewed the director last year he said Gervais wanted a Billy Wilderish Apartmentlike romance in there and really, it was the kiss of death:



14. The Invention Of Lying (2009)
The Invention Of Lying is two-thirds of a great movie. It begins with an ingenious, original premise—a man invents the concept of fabrication in a world without lying or impulse control, where everyone blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. It adds a ridiculously loaded cast: Ricky Gervais, who also co-wrote and directed, Louis C.K., Jonah Hill, Tina Fey, Jason Bateman, and a slew of big-name cameos. For much of its duration, The Invention Of Lying is an eviscerating, daring, and refreshingly dark religious satire along the lines of The Life Of Brian, after Gervais’ character invents the notion of God to comfort his dying mom, and is hailed as a prophet for his ability to discern secret truths about the universe. Yet Gervais and his collaborators pull defeat out of the jaws of victory by giving over the film to a DOA romantic subplot in which he woos Jennifer Garner, a woman who obsesses about the DNA of her potential offspring with a fervor that would embarrass Hitler, [yeah, they’re dead-on] and is tactless and obnoxious even by the lenient standards of the film’s alternate universe. Her character is ugly enough on the inside to sink a seemingly foolproof would-be comedy classic—and Gervais’ dogged, weary insistence on pursuing her anyway because she’s beautiful on the outside torpedoes much of the audience’s sympathy for him.

A recommendation: if you like cute girls, go see Thao Nguyen play anywhere. Her shows skew towards the ladies and for reals, everyone’s super cute.

I think this video (made by Glee’s Dianna Argon) does a great job of capturing the vibe of this song (FYI, there’s an intro for Oxfam, the song starts 4 minutes in or so?). I’ve been listening to Thao since her album Like the Linen - she’s far and away the most played on my iTunes, her and Band of Horses, the latter who I secretly hate - and her songwriting has always been charming and good but it’s moving, in a really interesting way, away from songs of innocence to songs of experience. Know Better Learn Faster is such a breakup album - this girl got her heart broken, it’s definitely raw! - and we’re all the better for it.

Sorry if this sounds like an ad. I think Thao’s great!

Stu and I watched this last night and he said, “I understand where all that driving rage comes from a little bit better now. You remind me of him a little bit.”

I didn’t want to admit to him that Louis CK was pretty much quoting me in the car yesterday, when I decided to blare “In Bloom” on the radio in raging hostility after I got cut off by a chick on a motorcycle in a Harley Davidson leather jacket who went the wrong way down a one way street, realized that was wrong, and then decided to right it by going in front of my car when there wasn’t any space.

I also think that this is a very Northeastern, Boston-area, even, train of thought. The past few weeks have been an exercise in me realizing the angry little East Coaster in my soul; or, perhaps, innate asshole tendencies that I don’t talk about much.

UPDATE: DID NOT EVEN GET THROUGH TO THE STATION

whydoihaveablog:

NOW LET’S GO TAKE A FINAL.

I’M SHOCKED AND IN HORROR.

The person who got through did not win. I will keep these ones out of the bank until I win. Mark my words. Mark my money-hungry words.

In high school I used to win prizes on my local radio station all the time. My winnings included free tickets to the HORDE festival (when Beck was on his Odelay tour!), Pinketon by Weezer, and tickets to Welcome to the Dollhouse. One of these prizes resulted from my really good Ad-Rock impression. (I also used to be able to do a fair Fred Schneider from the B-52s, too.)

I also had straight As and never had a date. Neither of this is surprising, right?

Anyways, there is a secret to getting through - you really have to overanticipate the announcement for the contest. For example. You’re listening to a song ending? Perhaps it’s “Bad Romance” and Lady Gaga’s on the last ra ra ah-ah-ah-Roma-Ro-ma-ma and it’s all handclaps? That’s the moment you try a call and get in on the line and then when they announce it, you’re already getting through and you can redial and redial until you get in. Does that make sense? I can’t imagine radio stations have changed up their technology so much since the internet killed their reason for existence.

Things I'm Not Allowed To Buy

Because they’re delicious and I can’t control myself from eating the whole box. It’s even worse when I have a creamy Camembert cheese wedge, too:

You should go to 2:15, where Amanda Peet and Mark Ruffalo give a master class in overacting and horrific Boston accents. Also, this trailer reads as, like, a Funny or Die or bad sketch spoof of a film about Irish Catholics in Southie. But it’s real!

I was tracking this film - What Doesn’t Kill You - for my job at the time, when it was going to be released in winter 08/09, because as someone who grew up in the greater Boston area and was raised Irish Catholic (it’s only 50%, but it was the 50% that mattered growing up), I have a vested interest in how my “people” are portrayed on film. (Generally as illiterate assholes and dirty cops - I mean, I did go to coed Catholic high school with some kids who were clearly Future Alcoholics of America, but really?) The DepaHTed is an interesting example because only Marky Mark, Dorchestah native (Haaavahd grad Damon’s from Cambridge and we all know that doesn’t count), kills it. Because ever since Good Will Hunting, Southie’s been a thing with Boston on the big screen.

Anyways, What Doesn’t Kill You went pretty much straight to DVD because the Yari group folded that winter - I could tell, because when I was sending emails to them inquiring about screenings and my interest in the film, the PR girl was remarkably hostile. Which was ridiculous, because I was interested in her movie.

I was at a funeral in the greater Boston area over the weekend. Let me tell you, the deacon’s Boston accent could put any of these actors to shame. Small example: he said that the deceased had a good “heart.” In his mouth, it came out “haaaaaht” with just a hint of an R. The church was full of mourners, but you got the distinct impression that it had a young people problem. Most of the priests and priestly men, there were five of them, this guy was a heck of a Catholic, looked like the mole-man old guy from The Simpsons.

It was funny being at this funeral, because it was steeped in Irish Catholic culture, exactly what 30 Rock is parodying with Julianne Moore’s “Nancy,” but the horrors of her accent - it doesn’t even read as satire. [Okay, correction: it’s a Kennedy accent, which is pretty much obsolete. Doy me. Doy JM!] Wouldn’t it be funnier if she was truly trying a Boston accent on like the guys in this film? The jokes would work better, I swear.

* The Friends of Eddie Coyle is arguably the greatest Boston film of ALL TIME, with the best accents, too. Whoever wrote that it shows, and I’m paraphrasing, “the existential terror of a life where your bartender is the guy that betrays you” is on point.
** Did Jim Sheridan ever end up working on his movie about FBI most wanted Whitey Bulger and his top Massachusetts politico brother Billy Bulger? I would love to see that. I know that story formed the spine of what Moynihan was going for with The Departed but the real life root of it is definitely worthy.
*** Ethan Hawke was such a preteen crush and his evolution - highlighted by seeing him walking down the street in Tribeca, crude and yelling - has been disappointing. I had preteen Bieber fever over the guy, you know?

An icky stew of emotion

Dealing with health insurance stuff is the worst.

I hate the fact that’s my reaction: soul-crushing ennui. It feels like a lack of power. Complete submissiveness to the money-draining idiot rules of life. There’s something about trying to get medical care - and deal with insurance companies - that simply doesn’t make sense. It’s undignified, and you’re in the process of trying to stay alive as a healthy person. You’re trying to reclaim your personhood, your body, which is inherently dignified.

I have a question: does anyone else get totally scared and weepy and overemotional when trying to make all sorts of calls to get things straight? Particularly when dealing with health insurance?

In a black hole of calling doctor’s office, insurance agencies, and hospital billing back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. A Catch 22 of bureaucracy.

Health care should be set up to serve the people, not to line some disgusting insurance person’s pockets. It’s really infuriating.

Looking at a still from Bottle Rocket makes me feel a smidge better. Remember when?

hunterstephenson:

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MM&ES

featuring contributions by: Elizabeth Spiridakis, Marisa Meltzer, me, Jocelin Donahue (The House of the Devil), The Arab Parrot, Jaimie Warren (photography), Gavin McInnes, Doree Shafrir, Emily Gould, Lesley Arfin, Spencer Tweedy (Jeff Tweedy’s son), Tavi Gevinson, Jon Caramanica, Brendan Donnelly, Sven Barth, Carlen Altman, and so many more!

Get a copy. This is all going to be so fun! I have a story in it that involves the band Underworld (remember them?) and a stolen box of Mentadent. First kissin’.

Out Of Print Clothing's t-shirts

They’re kind of great - but similar to the way in which I think it’s really difficult, in principle, to wear a t-shirt with someone else’s face on it; isn’t wearing a t-shirt with the cover of Lolita kind of like having the word Princess stretched across your chest?

 

Songs that are best experienced while lounging by a pool (because you need some creeping existential dread): Massive Attack, “Karmacoma.”

Luminous by proxy

Sitting in the same room as Jenny Lumet, Lena Horne’s daughter and the writer of Rachel Getting Married, you get a distinct idea of the strain of jaw-dropping gorgeousness that runs through that family. An inner light that renders them beautiful.

 

I hate running. I think it is a sick, sadistic sport that mostly serves to ruin your joints in the future. I like running with a purpose - away from the cops, ready to take out a striker when you’re playing fullback. I’ve never been a particularly fast runner but I had a knack for sprinting when I needed to, in games of tennis and soccer. Competitiveness makes me a better runner.

That said, I have recently, taken up running. It’s the worst! But a combination of genuine health worries/risks/possible genetic freakery and weight gain that was terrifically unhealthy, means that running - and no other cardio is as easy - is the way to get healthier. I"m lucky enough to live near an architectural nightmare that ruined a city that serves as a dandy, dandy outdoor gym. I run up stairs. I run by lady-themed edifices, the only possible response to the Washington Monument. And even worse - I’m starting to like it!

For me, there are secrets to tolerating running. Usually I"m doing it with my SO, but on days where it’s me and just me, I have a companion. Mark E. Smith. 50,000 Fall Fans can’t be wrong, right?

I never liked running to high NRG club songs, where the beats are 100 mph and the singers are boasting about how awesome they are. It made me feel bad about myself. I liked the idea of running to The Thermals’ The Body The Blood The Machine, but it was too slow for actual speed. 

And then, I realized, that The Fall is perfect. The rhythm section is tight and skittery. There’s tension propelling you forward. The songs can be 4 perfect minutes or 2 minute ditties.



And above it all, there’s Mark E. Smith. First off, he sounds like he’s drunk or he’s yelling at you. You can’t guess where he’s going to land on a line. It’s interesting. His lyrics can be perfect and pointed nonsense or little pomo masterpieces (“How I Wrote Elastic Man”). “Totally Wired” is about being super energetic thanks to coffee and pills, and the chorus explodes with speed and backbeats in the most energetic way possible. And ultimately, the only thing that can really encourage me to run is the sound of a sozzled British genius yelling at me. Bikini season is approaching, after all.

Yo, Natasha, this song’s for you. (For me, this song is endlessly weird nowadays because all I can think of is the health care and Everybody’s Fine-era De Niro). The lyric should be, to be accurate, is like “1976 - 1984 era De Niro, sit on my face!”

The Gentlewoman

caille:

I picked up The Gentlewoman in Berlin and was extremely impressed. Most women’s magazines are hateful but this one is giving me reason for cautious optimism…and of course it looks beautiful too! Here’s the link to subscribe.

FANTASTIC MAN is the best magazine on stands right now. It also makes me giggle every time I see it. I can only hope The Gentlewoman lives up to its brother publication.

I’m in Palm Springs right now. It’s rather strange. I can’t wait to go to Joshua Tree on Saturday. I have gym proximity and have been running to the Falll. I fall in love every day. It’’s very nice spending all day at a pool getting deliciously bored and trying not to sunburn when you’re pasty.