Movie Review 7: Could Have Been Pretentious, But Was Instead FANTASTIC.

Tripp and I watched Humpday a few nights ago. We'd read a review describing it as a campy independent film about two straight male friends deciding to make a gay porn flick together. Interesting, slightly taboo, could be good. Then it arrived, I read the description on the back of the netflix envelope, and I instantly felt deflated: It's actually about two straight male friends who decide to make an art film in which they have sex with each other. Uh oh. In my experience, "art", "independent" and "film" are three words that when used in the same sentence actually spell "pretentious bullshit". (Hell, Waitress was an independent film about an annoying small-town pie creator, and THAT was pretentious bullshit so I could only imagine what this would hold for us.) So, we trudged along not expecting much and oh how we were delightfully surprised. Simply put, this movie rocks! The two friends are both realistically flawed and adorable, and they do a great job accurately portraying the evolution of a friendship from college buds to grown-ups who love and respect each other despite/because of their different paths. The movie also examines the impact this "art project" has on the responsible friend's wife and avoids making her a "Betty Crocker cardboard cutout" (her words). Most important, the movie is fun. It's funny, it's sometimes uncomfortable, and it's thought-provoking. Can't recommend it highly enough. 11ty stars.

Support Females Around the World

Just read Mary Lou Hartman's article on the prevalence of rape and violence against women in the Republic of Congo. It's a compelling and disturbing reminder that a lot of shit in the world ain't right.

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From the Mouths of Babes (Actually, Alicia Keys)

As Tripp and several of my friends who've endured my (perhaps inappropriately) intimate queries about their personal beliefs regarding God's existence, the meaning of life, what happens after death, and various other heavies can testify (pun intended), I think about this kind of crap a lot.
This came out of the blue for me. For years, I quietly and without question attended Christmas and Easter Mass with my mother's Catholic family as well as my cousins' Bar and Bat Mitzvah and a handful of Seders. Then for a variety of reasons, many of which I'm sure I don't realize, I started thinking about the whole God thing more.
Is there a God? A lot of people seem to think so. I'd like there to be a God, at least the kind of God I imagine: a benevolent, wise, unconditionally loving and accepting grandfather-type who makes everything okay in the end (and who lets us reunite with our loved ones who died before us). But when I thought about it, I mean really thought about it, the idea didn't make sense. Where would God exist? Who or what created God? Isn't it more likely, doesn't it seem more reasonable, that there isn't a Heaven, that we don't have souls, that there is no purpose to life (beyond what we, ourselves, claim it to be), and that there is no loving, omniscient, bearded, bespeckled, and Birkenstocked grandfather in the sky (this is MY fantasy, dammit!)? And finally, don't we look back at the ancient Greeks and think, "Wow, that whole Zeus thing was kind of crazy"? Isn't it possible (probable?) that thousands of years from now our descendants will look back at us and think the same thing?
I struggle with this off and on. During the on's, I feel a deep sadness and fear. People (and animals, for that matter) die, or are tortured, hungry, sick, abused, trapped, and mistreated everyday. The idea that there is no purpose to suffering or that there is nothing better waiting on the other side haunts me. And I envy the faithful. Beneath all the dogma that some spout, those who truly believe have a sense of peace that I want.
Tripp, God love him (haha), is absolutely no help. He'll endure my repetitiveness as I ask the same questions and try to convince him of God's existence using the same arguments I've unsuccessfully used for years (if I convince Tripp, the biggest non-believer I know, then surely I'll believe). But it never works. And for that matter, Tripp seems completely unfazed by the idea of no higher power.
Then, something changed. A little DVD titled "Elmo's Christmas Countdown" came into my life. While trying to distract Henry from his favorite activity (removing all the knives from the dishwasher and licking them), I popped in this little treasure and found an unexpected sense of comfort from it. I only half paid attention to the story line: Something about an advent calendar being lost and resulting in the permanent cancellation of Christmas. But little Elmo and his celebrity friends have faith, which they simplistically explain as what you believe in even when it's hard to and even when it seems more likely that what you're believing isn't true. You hold onto it anyway, and who knows? Miracles can happen. I'm sure religious scholars throughout time have said the same thing in a more sophisticated way; but, as usual, I respond to the Sesame Street version of complicated topics. Faith. Belief that is not based on fact. What's wrong with having a little faith? Maybe there isn't a God or a heaven, but what's wrong with having faith that there is? In the end, Christmas wasn't cancelled forever even though Cookie Monster ate the advent calendar after the gang did all that hard work to find it. If that can happen, maybe there is a heaven and a grandfatherly God, too.

haha!

Go ahead, gay guy!

Thanks, Folks!

The BWB podcast has 40 shows and is closing in on 2,000 downloads! Thanks to all our listeners and guests!

Movie Review: Ain't Nothing Wrong With Esther

Watched Orphan last night. I had a strange response to this movie's previews: I was totally into it. This is strange because usually I don't get worked up to see movies AND because no one else in the universe shared my excitement. (A friend who frequently and purposefully watches awful movies with us wouldn't come near this thing.) Anyway, I was pumped: Was Esther a ghost or just a crazy kid? What IS wrong with Esther??? But due to finances, poor reviews, passing time, and a wandering attention span I forgot about poor Esther and her psycho orphan-hood.
Last night we got it in on Netflix, and let's just skip all the rigamarole and get down to brass tacks: This movie F-ing RULES. All of the female parts are played exquisitely (especially the roles of Max (the most adorable child in the universe) and Kate (baby mama)). There is a twist ending I wouldn't have seen coming if someone hadn't told me about it ahead of time. And Esther is freaking creepy! She even has a Russian accent!!! I say an awesome scary movie, if that's your bag. 24 stars.

More Deliciously Dangerous Than the Frappuccino?

The Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte. Holy GOD.

Amen, Sister! (re: Roman Polanski)

Rather than write my own tirade about Roman Polanski and his rapiness, I'd rather reference salon.com's Kate Harding, whose opinions on this matter completely match mine and who is a much better writer than me.
Ah, screw it, I'm going to go on my own (much less distinguished) tirade about it, too. My freak out regarding this situation isn't even directed at Polanski or our ridiculous legal system which has allowed this jackass to party through Europe the past thirty years. It's at ANYONE who stands up for this guy; which has been, shockingly, a LOT of people. Is anyone else amazed that people are in this sociopath's corner? He's a out-of-the-closet convicted child rapist who didn't serve his prison sentence. How is this not frowned upon?! If there was EVER a reason for someone to wear a scarlet letter, this would be it. But somehow this douche has been embraced by his community. On yesterday's Good Morning, America it was reported that Polanski supporters claim, unironically, that the California legal system should maybe, probably let this one go because of all of Polanski's "achievements". Wha? Do we really want to set THAT precedent? "Look, we would rather you didn't fuck kids; but seeing that you're accomplished and all, could you just stop now and we'll call it even?"
Where do we draw the line with this? If Roman F-ing Polanski is so accomplished that he can get away with drugging and raping a child, certainly, say, the president could away with something really heinous and illegal. And what about a great cardiologist who saves lots of lives but also kinda likes to club old people over the head and steal their wallets? Or a brilliant astronomer who discovers Pluto really IS a planet after all; but he sorta helped Michael V. set up that dog-fighting operation? I never met the guy, but I hate Roman Polanski. And as far as I'm concerned his pretentious, egotistical supporters who think he's too brilliant to serve jail time can suck a donkey dong. I told you I was less distinguished than Kate.

Thanks, Chuckles.

Uncle Chuck sent me this follow-up to September 3rd's podcast, Facebook Status. Thanks, Chuck and Guidespot!

Parenting PSA

You can watch Sesame Street's 2005 production, Happy Healthy Monsters, eight times in a 24-hour period before losing your mind. I'm on nine.

Good on you, Kanye.

How many times can Kanye West make me cry?

Kanye West Likes Fish Sticks.

These guys sum it up.

Stop Hatin'. . .

On the Breaking Dawn book. I admire this chick's passion.

Talented Friends

Check out Kate Rasnick's Voice Actor Reels: Talking super-fast in a commercial and Different Characters.

Chasing The Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino Dragon

It started innocently enough: Grabbing a bottle of Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino out of a convenience store cold-chest before embarking on a long day exploring NYC. It hit the spot: Cold and refreshing; and the caffeine/sugar combo gave me just the energy jolt I needed to walk 43 blocks to the meatpacking district so we could explore block after block of 10'x10' boutiques peddling $300 vintage jeans (On another topic. . .wha? How do these places stay in business?) Then I did the same thing the next day. . .sip, sip, gulp, gulp. . ..ahh. Then again the next day. You get the picture. Before long, I was jonesing and desperately searching every grocery store, gas station, and 7 Eleven in the area for more. I was waking up in the morning thinking of them. At 3 each afternoon, as I was hitting my "I could use a nappy" daily slump, I was craving them. And then it hit me: I'm F-ing addicted to these GD Frappuccinos! It happened so quickly (less than a week, in my case). It was a startling (and less destructive, at least so far) glimpse into the world of addiction--how fast something recreational and fun can become debilitating and all-consuming. Tripp has only made the situation worse. God love him, his desire for me to enjoy myself causes him to encourage my dependence on these enslaving bottles of good/evil. "You're a new mom! You need this now!" He's so enabling! Fortunately, I've discovered Starbucks makes a Mocha Lite Frappuccino (all of the caffeine with less of the sugar). They don't give me nearly the jolt of crazed pep as the full-sugar variety, but I've come to see that as a good thing.

They DO Exist.

Tripp and I spent a great weekend in NYC. I could go on and on about how I love NY and all the fun stuff we did, but that wouldn't be bitching; and this is after all Bitching With Bethany. So instead I'm going to go on and on about some skank we were exposed to at a comedy club. We went to several late-night comedy shows, which were wonderful and amazing. During one show we sat front and center, making us prime targets for mocking by comedians. I felt dread and excitement as I imagined being referred to as "Velma" from "Scooby Doo". But that was not to be because we were seated next to the most insufferable couple (in particular, the most insufferable woman) in the universe. When asked by the opening act about their first date, the BF (a prematurely balding trust fund baby who, I can only assume, purposefully paired a white vest with his jeans and sports coat) answered, "We went to Blah [some random restaurant]"; but GF (an attractive blonde wearing a patent leather belt directly under her boobs) interrupted, "No! We were at a party in the Hamptons, and I got a sunburn, and he took me to the store to get aloe in his Ferrari." Haha! Seriously? I found it hilarious that GF felt the need to say this, and I immediately liked her for being such an insecure freak. But then the rest of the night happened. During the remainder of the 2 hour show GF monopolized audience participation by her frequent public pronouncements. We learned, among other things, she fancies herself a master fly-fisherman, raced Ferraris in Spain as a teenager, and wouldn't date another audience member one comedian labeled, "Indian Harry Potter." The best part of the evening came when she told one comedian, "you don't want to know" her thoughts on God's existence. The guy paused for a beat, smirked, then looked straight at her and said, "Oh yeah? You gonna blow my mind?"
Sometimes it's hard for me to believe that people like this really exist. How do you go around day after day shamelessly bragging and forcing attention onto yourself without the slightest realization that you're being a complete douche? What if two such people found themselves in a social situation in which they had to interact? What would happen? And how could each of them not walk away without some degree of self-awareness/hatred and resolve to stop being such an asshole? So odd.
Oh God. Just had an awful thought. If these people have no self-awareness I could be one of them. Someone please tell me if I'm ever remotely like this.

Movie Review 5: Can You Dig It?!

I can't believe I hadn't seen The Warriors before now. Maybe God or the universe knew I wasn't ready for it until this past weekend. But, oh, what a ride! Have you ever experienced something so surreal you couldn't believe it actually happened? That sums up this movie. The plot is simple and easy to follow: A rag-tag gang of skinny, dancing sociopaths whose sole membership requirement seems to be "refusal to remove maroon leather vest under any circumstance" (The Warriors) entrechat their way out of Coney Island and into our hearts when they are falsely accused of killing a Polynesian gang-banger whose wholesome aim was to unite all gangs, take over NYC and, we are left to assume, cause mayhem. I know what you're thinking: Not fair! The Warriors didn't do it! But it gets worse. All the other area gangs (who are, let's say, themed (one gang's silent members all don Yankee baseball uniforms and wear makeup a la Marilyn Manson)) are after The Warriors because that Samoan was going to bring unity to the community, dammit! What? All of this is made more surreal by an R & B DJ played by a pair of lips who fuels the opposing gangs' fires, an Oscar-worthy performance by a circa-Fast Times at Ridgemont High Sean Penn lookalike who plays what I (thankfully) can only assume is a realistic bat-shit crazy anarchist, and an un-ironic director's commentary in which Walter Hill continually refers to The Warriors as heroes. Again. . .what?
All in all, a great movie. 10 Stars.

It Takes All Kinds

I love that there's a market for this.

Awesome

I'm a sucker for kids playing rock and roll. Check out Connor and Emma.

Your Dad Got Kneed in the Balls

Check out this ridiculous ad:



Came across this a few weeks ago on the back of a magazine. I expect a certain degree of sexism and misogyny in advertising, but this crosses a line. The magazine has been sitting in our bathroom; so every time I pee this revolting ad stares back at me and I get mad.
So today I wrote them the following letter:

Dear Canadian Club,
Your "Your Dad" ads [there are several] are ridiculous and sexist.
P.S. Your dad got ass you losers never will.

Check out Jim Washburn's article on these dumbasses.

My Newest (TV) Obsession

Breaking Bad and anything involving Chris Lilley.

Movie Review 4: Party and Bullshit

Watched the first half of Notorious yesterday. Yeah, not good. But I liked learning a bit more about Biggie's life; and I discovered I enjoy his music more than I originally assumed when the only song I had heard by him was the radio-friendly version of "Hypnotize". I thought the guy who played Biggie was adorable, and he did a good job making him complicated. (Don't get me started on the kid who played Baby Biggie--cutest thing I've ever seen!) The ladies who played Lil' Kim and Faith Evans scared the crap out of me to a degree I feel would be authentic were I ever to cross the real-life LK and FE. Also, the guy who plays Puffy (and his jackets) is hilarious. Almost as hilarious as the real Puffy and his real jackets.
Still, this movie sucked. I give it my worst review ever: Seven Thumbs Up.

Support Lt. Dan

Click here to tell a panel of Colonels not to fire Lt. Dan Choi from the military just because he's gay.

Movie Review 3: Spring Breakdown

This movie rules.

Movie Review 2: Hating the Protagonist

Saw Lakeview Terrace last week with some friends. Not my idea. I wanted to watch Daddy's Hands (gotta love this trailer); but someone thought it would be creepy. What?!
Anyway, my opinion about LVT is that it's crappy and not worth the time it spent to order it on Amazon's Video on Demand service. I think it had some promise: Cop (played by a Kobe Bryant hating Sam Jackson) gets all uppity because an interracial couple moves in next door. I think that's a pretty good premise; I'm kind of intrigued by the idea of what happens when those who are supposed to protect become the ones you need protection from. Who watches the watchers and all that.
But the writers, director, producers, or God knows who else took that interesting premise and allowed a camel to shit on it six times. First, the interracial couple is so unlikable as sickingly cute yuppie boneheads that I was kind of rooting for Sam the whole time. Now, that could have been an interesting plot point: Rooting for the bad guy because the good guys are nauseating. But, no, that was not what the movie wanted for us. (I know; I asked the movie). Instead, they made Sam's character go from a controlling dad who takes his responsibilities a little too seriously to a lunatic who creates his own demise after the white neighbor tricks him in, essentially, a "Your Momma" call-out. Ridiculous.
This movie exemplifies something I'm noticing in movies, TV shows and literature lately: What's up with protagonists being total abhorrent slags? But there's no wink-wink, nudge-nudge from the creator to indicate to the audience that (s)he thinks the protagonist is an asshole, too, so the whole time you're consuming this media you're thinking, "F! Does whoever created this think this person is cool? UGH!" Maybe (very likely, in fact) there is a wink-wink that I'm too slow to pick up on. Anyone with me on this? C'mon people, write back! Contribute!

WATCH THIS SHOW.

Glee is AWESOME.

Movie Review: Tripp, Why Didn't We Make our Friends Perform a Talent Show in our Honor Before our Wedding?

I love movies! Love 'em! We haven't watched many lately, what with a baby up at all hours; so I'm psyched we've been able to watch a few recently.
We recently saw Rachel Getting Married, a flick about recovering addict, Kym, coming home for her sister, Rachel's, wedding. Really good movie, highly recommend it. I had my doubts about her ahead of time, but Anne Hathaway doesn't suffer from Kerri Russell syndrome (pretty yet terrible actress): She's very convincing as a self-loathing/centered addict. Great story, absolutely LOVED the Dad despite (or, maybe, because of) his enabling of Kym, and thought casting a militant African overlord lookalike as the husband-to-be was an interesting and unconventional choice.
HOWEVER. Now we enter what I call the "What the Hell. . .?" Segment:
+What the hell was up with the the dozens of circus folk friends moving into Kym and Rachels' parent’s house a month before the wedding to prepare the house for the festivities?
+What the hell was up with the talent show friends and family put on the night before the wedding (one "act" involved a guy standing on stage directing half the audience to repeat, "Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. . ." while the other half repeated, "Sydney, Sydney, Sydney. . ." in a trance-like monotone)?
+What the HELL was up with the, literally (well, maybe not, but close to literally) hour of footage of people dancing, singing, rocking out, etc. with NO dialogue?
+And, finally, this one's for Tripp, who was thoroughly bothered by this: What the hell is up with white people pretending to be Indian? (Rachel and her bridesmaids wore saris to the wedding.)
Thoughts, people?

Girls Rock!

Last year I went to Rock and Roll Camp and learned to play the drums. Well, not really; but the wonderful, talented, supportive staff tried their best. It was F-ing amazing--one of the best things I've ever done. The ladies' rock camp helps fund the Rock and Roll Camp for Girls, a program that provides girls of all income levels a chance to rock out and be their awesome selves. Last night, we watched the documentary about R&RC4G called Girls Rock! The movie is so great--I can't recommend it enough. Check out this trailer featuring Palace, one of the most adorable rock and roll pixies you'll ever meet.
Full trailer here!

Jane Delivers. . .

Babies! Congratulations, Jane and Todd!

Tooth!

When's my kid gonna get some teeth? The poor thing's been in pain and has been biting everything from the cat to the coasters for weeks.
In marginally related news, THIS MOVIE LOOKS CRAZY!

Lost in Emotion

As Lisa Lisa said, "Kaysara, Kaysara" (which Tripp recently informed me translates to "Que sera, Que sera"). Whatever it means, Lisa Lisa, I FEEL lost in emotion. Having a kid has made me VERY sensitive to media that involves anything remotely bad happening to a kid. Just got "Doubt" in from Netflix, totally wanted to see it when it came to theaters. . .now absolutely cannot, WILL NOT watch it because of the subject matter. We started watching "Rachel Getting Married" (don't miss my upcoming review, tentatively titled "Tripp, Why Didn't We Force Our Loved Ones to Have a Talent Show in Our Honor Before Our Wedding?") last night. Freaking heck, people! Did anyone know Anne Hathaway's character accidentally killed her brother when he was a kid?! Where was THAT in the preview? Threw me into a quiet crying jag, and then I couldn't watch "Family Guy" because they did a play on "Stand By Me," and THAT reminded me of the real "Stand By Me" and how the main character's brother had died and how sad the family felt. WHAT THE HELL?
I get it. I have a kid, I'm in love with my kid and anything that starts to touch the part of my brain in which I even consider my kid feeling pain or my life without my kid is just too much for me to handle right now. Has anyone else felt this way about anyone? Or anything? (I'm sure Tripp has nightmares about his PlayStation being console-napped.)

Throwing Up Sucks!

That's all.

Brandon, You So Crazy

Brandon, from "True Life: I'm Addicted to Porn". Jezebel.com summarizes his life as follows: "He's 26, unemployed, and lives with his grandma. He watches porn 5 - 10 hours a day, visits an adult video shop called Spanky's on a "daily basis," and admits that porn keeps him detached from women, because it allows him to enjoy women without having to deal with their real-life drama." Amen, brother.

Don't worry. He turns it around by the end of the episode. If you come across this, give it a look. If only for one of Brandon's opening lines: "I love watching porn while smoking cigars. It's so luxurious."

Yuck

Despite his seemingly normal taste buds, Henry can't get enough of Beech Nut's Apples 'N Chicken. The ingredient list: Apples, ground chicken, water. Ugh.
Trying to imagine his reaction when he tries some of the world's best foods. The first thing that comes to mind is Cinnamon Toast Crunch. How classy.

Swine Flu

This is an alarming issue, and I don't want to make light of it; but seriously. . .is there a more gross sounding word than "swine"?

Baby Food Observation

What are the chances that Gerber's pureed carrots is really just Chef Boyardee ravioli sauce? Try it and see if you agree.

Happy Birthday, Bitch!

It's my B-day! I'm a Taurus! Hooray!

What's a Bloog?

Testing. . .