It was appropriate that a man who falsified his name should be judged by an elephant driven insane by his own whimsical naming.
Preach it, Salman. You are making perfect sense to me.
It was appropriate that a man who falsified his name should be judged by an elephant driven insane by his own whimsical naming.
Preach it, Salman. You are making perfect sense to me.
Copy and paste, copy and paste into comments! Please! It’s too hard to follow answers if you don’t. I beseech you, peaches.
1) What was your favorite thing to wear to school?
2) What’s the weirdest thing you can remember wearing to elementary school?
3) How did you get to school — walking, bus, carpool, cab, etc.?
4) Name one other student who made your days miserable in grade school. If you don’t want to say the real name, give us one that rhymes or something. For instance, if your nemesis was really Buster Bobka, you could call him, oh, Custer Cobka or Fuster Fobka instead. See that? Oh, I hate that Custer Cobka SO much.
5) Describe which “type” you were most like: class clown, prankster, shy kid, bully, etc. (Yes, please stereotype yourself for my amusement, thank you.)
6) Most beloved teacher and why?
7) Most loathed teacher and why?
8) What was your favorite school lunch or brown bag or both, if you partook of both.
9) What did you usually do during recess?
10) Did you ever get sent to the principal’s office, and if so, for what, you naughty minx?
11) I saw a kid pee his pants during our third grade spelling bee. He could not spell Caesar — for shame! — promptly lost his wee and sat down in tears. Witness anything similar?
12) What would you say now to your grade school self? A word of encouragement? Warning? Advice?
13) Any grade school crushes? Names? Descriptions? Kissing in the playground bushes? (I did not!)
14) Who was the school bully and did he/she ever bully you? (Or were you the bully? I am so disappointed in you, tsk tsk.)
15) And, honestly now, did you ever give or receive a wedgie?
So the excerpts below have disappeared. When I go to the edit page, the whole post is also — poof! — gone. I haven’t even been online for several hours. Haven’t touched the blog since this morning.
Well, they were really fine excerpts from The Enchantress of Florence by Salman Rushdie. So, uhm, go buy the book and you’ll see what I was talking about, I guess. I’m not going to put the whole thing back together.
What is UP, Crackie??
I love Roger Ebert, miss hearing the sound of his voice, but thank God, his other voice is still with us.
HE: How long do rabbits live?
ME: Long enough to die on your birthday.
ME: Stupid Hopscotch.
HE: Here comes Dingle.
ME: Uh, I believe his name is Jindal.
HE: I like Dingle.
DINGLE: “We believe Americans can do anything.”
ME: “Anything”? Lord. I hope not.
ME: Why does he keep going on about Louisiana?
HE: He’s Dingle.
HE: Help me, Dingle!
ME: Hahahahahaha. He’s Dingle.
HE and ME: Hahahahahaha.
We are politically astute creatures.
So. Okay. I’m finally learning how the world works. Obtaining vital knowledge which I believe I have successfully avoided my entire life. But now, oh, now, I am aware, pippa, enlightened even, which is nice for me, I guess, although I think the soul-filling swell of blissful ignorance should not be underestimated.
I walked out to my car this morning — parked on our new street. Thursday will be one month living in the surreality of our new lives in the new place with the new street and the new street sign that — because of my total immersion in blind surreality and cozy depression — I did not notice:
EVERY 2ND AND 4TH TUESDAY
10 am – 1 pm
It was 10:30 and my car had a $40 ticket on the windshield because I am an agitator and a very naughty girl.
Oh, and the street sweeping? Yeah, that didn’t happen.
San Diego is broke. Has a $54 million budget shortfall. So, really, may I say how delighted I am to take my spanking and open my naughty girl pocketbook and help fill up the empty coffers of America’s Finest City — she of the crumbling streets and the mass exoduses and the street sweepings that are announced but do not occur?
I stick my tongue out at you, San Diego. I do. Because I am an enlightened savvy grown-up person.
(UPDATE: It’s back. See below. Thank you, sarahk.)
(Someone emailed asking this.)
Answer: I don’t know. My blog is having problems the last few days eating posts or parts of posts. Ah, well. See if I can get it back. If it’s gone, it’s gone. If you missed it in the brief time it was up, here’s a summary:
“I AM CRABBY.”
Pretty much it.
Oh, Lord. Don’t know if I’m up for it. The night Hollywood gets all slobbery and makes out with itself for 7.43 hours. We’ll see how I do. If it’s half a post, it’s half a post. Whatevs. I’m crabby tonight, so this will be interesting. Or not.
~ Hellloooo, Hugh Jackman. Always a good start. Please sing You Are My Sunshine whilst taking off your shirt. No, I respect you, I promise. Ready, go.
~ Oh, he’s doing an opening number. Hahaha. Well, he’s a song and dance man. (The Boy from Oz, anyone?) They have all these cheesy grade school sets — we’re in a recession, you know — for his songs about the Best Picture nominees. I mean, these sets are pointedly meant to look like kiddie sets, makeshift sets. It’s so counterintuitive and wonky. Anti-glitz. Haha. They just wheel them out and Hugh sings, all adorable and insane. At one point, he carries Anne Hathaway onto the stage in his arms to do a “Frost/Nixon” ditty sitting in lawn chairs. I cannot even describe the insanity of this whole bit. Moments later, he dances with a bunch of dudes in unitards and sings, “The Reader. I still haven’t seen The Reader. I still need to see The Reader.” Uhm, it’s manic and incomprehensible and surreal and I love it. Best opening number in a long time.
~ Uh-oh. Glitch with a curtain. You can actually hear a frantic male voice saying, “Steeeve, OPEN IT!!” Hahahahaha. Stuck on a kiddie set, I’m sure.
~ Best Supporting Actress coming up. I hope for Marisa Tomei for The Wrestler. I think it will be Penelope Cruz for Vicky Christina Barcelona.
Yup. Penelope Cruz, who, damn, looks amazing. What a gown. Love it. All ruched and vintage-y looking. However, her speech is a bore.
~ Tina Fey and Steve Martin for Best Original Screenplay. Martin says, “A writer once wrote, ‘To write is to live forever’ …. that man is dead.” Can’t beat Steve Martin, can you?
Uhm, okay. Look. I’m trying to write this AND make dinner. So Milk won. Fine. Speech blah blah. Gets political. Yadda yadda. I’m sorry. Not the venue for this. Move on, Slappy.
~ Tina and Steve are still presenting now for Best Adapted Screenplay. There is a pause between them and Steve looks at her and scolds, “DON’T fall in love with me.” Too late, Steve Martin!
~ Best Adapted? I was stirring something in a big ol’ pot. Slumdog Millionaire, I hear.
~ Jennifer Aniston gets to present with Jack Black. Brad and Angelina are in the front row, right below her and it’s awkward as ass. Oh. And the camera pans DOWN to them and the fake smiles plastered on their faces. Cheesy move, camera man.
~ WALL-E wins Best Animated Picture. The winner thanks his high school drama teacher for casting him in “Hello Dolly” years ago. Best speech so far.
~ Oh, back to Brad and Angie for another second of titillation while Jen stands there.
~ Okay. The winner of Best Animated Short is a little Japanese dude. He says, “SANK YOU to (whomever) and SANK YOU to (someone else) and SANK YOU to (yet another).” Then he says, “Domo arigato, Mister Roboto” and leaves the stage. Okay. Now THAT was the best speech. Hahahahah. SANK YOU, Japanese dude.
~ Ooooh, Hugh is back. Please sing to me, Pappy.
~ Sarah Jessica Parker and Daniel Craig for Art Direction. Yamahama!! Where did SJP get those massive mamms??? They are literally tumbling out of her dress. A tsunami of cleavage. Best Art Direction of Boobins, for sure. Oh, Benjy Buttonheimer wins.
~ Best Costume, The Duchess.
~ Best Makeup, duh, for making Brad Pitt look better, it’s Benny and the Butts again.
~ Attention, sarahk! It’s Edward! Presenting! Edward Cullen! Does he have a real name. Trace? Uhm. No, no, he does not. I have objectified him completely and I will continue to do so until he decides to show me there’s more going on there. Sorry, Peaches. You just stand there and act the pretty pretty pony. I have no idea what he’s presenting here other than some homage to his own gorgeousness. Oh, okay. Some montage about, yawwn, love. Oh, THAT.
~ Ben Stiller And Natalie Portman. He’s wearing the Joaquin-Phoenix-on-David-Letterman beard. Hahaha. She busts him for chewing gum at the Oscars. Ohh, uhhh, okay. He takes it out of his mouth, sticks in under the podium. He is totally not paying attention, like Joaquin. The audience is dying. She keeps talking, presenting, and he wanders around aimlessly.
~ Finally, they announce the winner for Best Cinematography — Slumdog Millionaire.
~ Is that movie really THAT good? I mean, I haven’t seen it and I already feel sick of it. Basically, tonight, I am still bitter about Gran Torino, in every way. Which, well, I suppose in many — uh, most — ways is the total opposite of Slumdog Millionaire. Not PC. Still. Actor, Director, Picture — these would have been valid nominations. But nope.
~ Jessica Biel. What the hell is she wearing? It’s like a satin towel that she oh-so-casually threw over herself after stepping out of the shower. It’s draping down her chest in a truly weird and poofy way. She talks about … I dunno … the dude who invented raisins. I don’t know! I seriously was not listening to her. I can’t decide if I feel bad for her that she’s wearing a satin towel or jealous of her that she has satin towels. I decide jealous is less condescending. Oh, look. The camera pans over to the little shriveled man who invented raisins. Oh, I see. Perhaps he was his own inspiration.
~ (Please do not ask if I’m serious about the raisin thing, okay?)
~ Best Live Action Short. Oh, please. Move this category to Technical Night, i.e., the awards we don’t ever see or care about. So I’m gonna go eat something. Not raisins. Oh, wait. Here’s how Seth Rogan says the winner: “Sveigelshwandheigelschweimer.”
~ Phew. I’m exhausted. I just got up to stretch and eat and do a spontaneous interpretive dance to this cello solo in a car commercial. I called it Ode to My Angst About Fetishes and Buttons and Raisins. I really don’t know why I’m talking about it. I mean, you didn’t see it, but it made MB very happy. It had a certain je ne sais quoi, is all I’m saying.
~ Oooh, Hugh is singing again. Surprise! Here’s Beyonce, singing with him. (You know, I’m starting to get a little weary of her too.) They’re doing a medley of songs from movie musicals, I guess. Oh, now here’s the couple from High School Musical and the couple from Mama Mia. The whole medley involves these poor people singing maybe 10 seconds of a song before they’re forced to move to another: “At laaaaaaast …. I’m putting on my top haaa ….. mama mia, here I …. if happy little blue …. somehow, someday, somewhhhhere!!!” Good Lord. It’s “Tourette’s, The Musical.”
~ Best Supporting Actor. Is there really any suspense or question on this? Heath Ledger will win. I think there might be some equally deserving performances, but Heath will win, for sure. He was great, no doubt. They’re dragging these categories out, btw. The acting categories. Bringing back five previous winners in the category and each actor goes on at length about one of the nominees.
~ Winner: Heath Ledger. The only suspense is who will accept for him. It’s Mom, Dad and Sis. Okay. This will be emotional. OR it will have a sort of forced emotion with gratuitous shots of actors in the audience crying. Yup. I am prophetic! Adrian Brody, crying. Robert Downey Jr., crying. Ben Kingsley, crying. Kate Winslet, mouthing to the camera “I’d better win mine, bitch.” I’m kidding! She’s crying, pippa!
~ Best Documentary. Here’s the detestable Bill Mahr, moaning about how his documentary didn’t get nominated. Winner: Well, not Bill Mahr, I guess. Man on Wire, which I have been wanting to see.
~ A montage about action movies. It is full of action from movies.
~ You know, this is rapidly devolving into stream-of-consciousness blogging. Actually, I don’t know if you could classify what I’m feeling right now as a form of consciousness.
~ Hey! The Curious and Gentle Ben wins for Best Visual Effects.
~ The Dark Knight wins for something …. that … I didn’t catch, but the tall nerdy dude was real happy and crap like that. Now his wife has to have sex with him.
~ Slumbog Jillionaire wins for — what is this? — Sound Mixing. Again, what is this??
~ Is it me or is this boring? Maybe — cross fingers — Hugh will take his shirt off momentarily. Oh, wait. MB is taking his shirt off. Maybe I will take my shirt off too. Hahaha. Just got more interesting, didn’t it?
~ Film Editing! My favorite category! Ooh! I hope there’s a winner! There IS! It’s Bumsog Xillionaire.
~ A commercial with Heidi Klum! She’s taking her shirt off! I’m lying! Now Tim Gunn! He is SO gay! “Even after 30 washes, the Tide Total Care outfit is fabulous. The other one is just …. sad.” Maybe someone will say that in their acceptance speech. If they did, it would be totally better than anything that’s happening right now except for the rampant shirtlessness going on behind the scenes of this blog post.
~ GOOD LORD. I AM BLOGGING EFFIN’ TIDE COMMERCIALS! IT’S THE OSCARS AND I AM BLOGGING EFFIN’ TIDE COMMERCIALS AND TALKING ABOUT RAISINS WHICH HAVE NOTHING WHATSOEVER TO DO WITH THE OSCARS. AT LEAST SO FAR.
~ Eddie Murphy. The Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award. The what? The who? Take your shirt off! Winner: Jerry Lewis. Notice how there are never any nominees for these “humanitarian” awards? Just a winner? Then again, would we really want to see a screen with simultaneous shots of 5 celebrity do-gooders sitting there fingers crossed, waiting for the announcement, thinking, “I’m the most humane, I’m the most humane, I’m the most humane”? Kinda defeats the purpose, I s’pose. Vote for meeee. I’m the goodest of doers!
~ Oh, look. A Jerry Lewis montage, the 57th montage in the last 30 seconds. I am becoming completely enervated by this experience. Okay. Let’s think redemptively. How to make this better? Hm. I have it: Kate Winslet. That girl is naked all the time. She’s more naked than clothed. Maybe she’ll win and TAKE HER SHIRT OFF!
~ Best Original Score: Gumlog Thrillionaire. The winner is “excited and terrified.” Okay. That’s kinda cute.
~ You know how I said at the beginning about 23 days ago that this was the night Hollywood makes out with itself? Yeah. Well, I’m tired of watching. Get a room, Hollywood. You are not making out with me personally and if you were, I’m sure my clothes would be rubbed off from all the pawing and I’d have a giant red mouth like I’d sucked on a Mason jar. Enough with the groping. Too much foreplay! Too much foreplay! You’re losing the moment! I am dying from over-stimulation!
~ Best Original Songs. They’re being performed, songs from Dumdog Shrillionaire, et al. There seems to be no English in any of these songs. Basically, I believe what’s happening here is Pentecost Lite: Everyone is speaking in tongues, yes, but no one understands it. Or maybe it’s more of a Tower of Babel moment. All I really know is that my lack of comprehension here is of truly biblical proportions.
~ I don’t know who won.
~ Queen Latifah. In Memoriam. Always poignant. Charlton Heston. Sydney Pollack. Paul Newman. (Ledger is not shown; he was shown last year.) Lost some icons, didn’t we?
~ Reese Witherspoon. I love her, but not her dress. It’s got this blue-and-sparkly fabric then these black skydiving straps across the front. Well, maybe the girl’s got plans later. She’s doing Best Director. I mean, presenting. She’s not doing the Best Director. I mean, I hope not. Although just because I like her doesn’t mean she’s not capable of that. This is Hollywood, pippa.
~ Winner is the director of Bumflog Dillionaire. He’s accepting “in the spirit of Tigger,” he says. What? What does that mean? Is he going to bounce away on his tail?? I AM SO CONFUSED ON EVERY LEVEL RIGHT NOW.
~ Best Actress time. Kate Winslet, I do hope you take the next five minutes to change your hairstyle. Because I did not like what I saw earlier and, at this point, this thing is ALL ABOUT ME. I am worn to a nub. Here we go. Five previous winners. Dragging it out, verbally slobbering over each nominee.
I AM VERY. CRANKY. TONIGHT.
~ Sophia Loren is all Coppertoned and drunk. She knows this is the Oscars, right?
~ Nicole Kidman’s dress …. it’s white and she’s so pale. Why is she wearing white? There are little frizzly things popping out above her boobins.
(Watch Anne Hathaway steal this from Winslet.)
~ Nope! Kate wins! Good for her. Finally. She did not fix her hair in the last five minutes, though. It’s all brushed back and harsh and mannish. Makes her look older. Her dress is one shoulder, black. I don’t know. I want her to look like a goddess, but the dress isn’t as beautiful as she is. Still, I’m SO glad she won! She just said, “Dad, whistle or something so I know where you are!” You hear this shrill short whistle and she waves frantically to her dad in the crowd. Great moment. Congratulations, FINALLY, Kate Winslet!!
~ Best Actor next. Really really rooting for Mickey Rourke. Sean Penn’s been, well, lauded enough. Mickey’s moment. Gotta be. Please. Here come De Niro, Michael Douglas, Adrian Brody, Anthony Hopkins, and Ben Kingsley to make out with their respective Best Actor nominees.
~ De Niro said, “How did Sean Penn get all those jobs over the years playing straight men?” Hahahaha. I will be bummed if he wins, though. Nothing against him — I love his acting. Just shouldn’t be his moment. My opinion.
~ (Sarahk! Alert! Edward is sitting behind Mickey Rourke bewitching me with his butterscotch eyes!)
~ I am nervous. So nervous. Here we go. Oh, I knew it. I knew it. Sean Penn. No. Not happy. Will Mickey Rourke ever get this chance again, I can’t help but wonder? Will he disappear for a long time again? Ah, I feel sad for him. Penn gets political in his speech — about gay marriage, about Obama. I really can’t stand that at any Oscars. Across the board, across all issues, I hate it. I am disappointed on this one.
~ All right. Let’s end this. Best Picture. I’m just gonna say Ghettopuppy Richperson. It hasn’t been announced, but I’m going out on a limb here. Lonnng montage of past winners and this year’s nominees. The winner: See previous.
Final note: I thought Hugh Jackman was great. Really easy and natural.
Okay. Heavy petting over. Three hours and 26 minutes by my watch.
GOOD LORD AND GOOD NIGHT!
I couldn’t see his face, he was sitting behind me with another gentleman, but his voice caught my attention. His accent, the rat-a-tat-tat of his cadence. He sounded Indian maybe. Older. First, it was the rhythm of his speech that caught my attention, then it was his words.
“Do you know why I’m a closer? Do you? It’s because I love people. I feel people. You must listen. You must let them talk. You can’t be ya-ya-ya talking at them. Remember last week, with Bob? You know what he did wrong? He closed the door — “ya-ya-ya.” And what did I do yesterday — remember? I opened the door. You must open the door. Don’t close the door until they’re inside the door. Do you know what my expertise is? My expertise is people. People.”
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