READER MAIL

About a year ago, I wrote a short post telling Daniel-Day Lewis to stop Bogarting Heath Ledger’s death because D-DL was winning a bunch of awards for the stupendously horrific “And Then There Was Blood” and couldn’t shut the hell up about Legder’s admittedly tragic death.

Today, I got the following comment from a reader about that post:

“Do you speak for everyone on the planet??? At least he spoke from his heart. What is your excuse?”

The answer is “yes, I do speak for everyone on the planet” and “I don’t need an excuse, because, please see above, re: speaking for everyone on the planet.”

But thanks for writing. 

 

CRAZY DYING PEOPLE

A 29-year-old woman in England with an inoperable brain tumor plans to spend $55,000 on plastic surgery to look like Demi Moore.  This comes shortly after the parents who granted their terminally ill 9-year-old daughter’s wish to get married before she dies.

Is this what it’s come down to for women?    Dying pretty and not being an old maid at 9?  Whatever happened to going to Disney World and meeting sports stars?  Or, for the 29-year-old, spending it all on drugs and ending things at one big party.  Or, what I would do, buy George Clooney for one long night or an hour or even ten minutes of phone sex.

And who really wants to go to all that much pain to look like Demi Moore?  That’s like going to college so you can be as smart as a contestant on Celebrity Jeopardy.  If you’re going to all the trouble, shoot for looking like one of those teenagers Hef claims to be banging.   Or have surgery where they give you a third arm, so at least you have something interesting to talk about at parties.

Besides, of course, that tumor growing in your head, which I imagine is pretty interesting, but probably brings the room down when you bring it up.

Obviously, nothing’s more tragic than a dying child and I can’t imagine not living to see my ’30s, although, to be honest, it was a rather mediocre decade.  But dying doesn’t mean you’re crazy, terminally ill women and children of the world.  Don’t make me make fun of you.

THE OCTOMOM

Jokes about the Octomom are now as officially worn out as that woman’s vagina.

Shut it, America.

WASHINGTON POST STYLE INVITATIONAL

For the past 800 weeks or so, the Washington Post — a newspaper you wouldn’t think has a sense of humor, but does — has run a weekly writing contest called the Style Invitational, where they give a subject and ask for submissions.  As a way of finally getting my ass writing again, I started entering the contest. 

This week’s contest was to write diary entries for people, real or fictional, along with a date.  These are my submissions this week:

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From the Diary of Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt, Thanksgiving, 2021

UGH!!! Had to eat at the “biologicals” table again. So instead of talking about “abject poverty” and “how to recover from leprosy” at the “adopteds” table, I got stuck between Lantern Oasis Jolie-Timberlake and Horizon Ficus Jolie-Schwarzenegger. And they’re idiots. I hate this cult!

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From the Diary of Jenna Jameson, A Few Years Ago

Oh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Yes! YES!!!!

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From the Diary of Jon Stewart, Inauguration Day, 2009

Oh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Yes! YES!!!!!

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From the Diary of Walter Cronkite, Every Night After The CBS Evening News

(Illegible. Writing is washed away by copious tears.)

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From the Diary of “Soprano’s” Creator David Chase

Tony’s dead.

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From the Diary of Captain James T. Kirk, Stardate 36827.9

Now that I think about it, telecommunications technology hasn’t advanced much beyond early Twenty-First Century standards. And computers got a lot bigger. KHAN!

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From the Diary of Satan, Inauguration Day, 2009

Spending 8 years as Vice President was EXHAUSTING. 

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From the Diary of Bridget Jones, 13 February 2009

Caught Mark Darcy being smug and stand-offish to secretary. Must be having mid-life crisis affair, in manner of BBC presenter or U.S. President. But not like President Obama, who’s v. v. delicious. Must read up on American news, in case of travel to White House with cheating Mark Darcy’s barrister firm.

From the Diary of Bridget Jones, 14 February 2009

Hurrah! Received roses via secretary. Mark Darcy not cheating! Simply smug bastard to everyone. Will keep reading American news, just in case.

ALEXANDRA PELOSI

I just watched Alexandra Pelosi’s HBO documentary “Friends of God” about the fundamentalist movement in the U.S.  If I had to come up with the most annoying hypothetical offspring ever, based on the uberall annoying level of their parents and couldn’t commit a felony while doing it (temporarily sparing the world from a baby Jonas/Cyrus, pretty much the Fat Man of irritating DNA mixtures), it would have to be the imaginary child of Michael Moore and Alexandra Pelosi.

 

My seething hatred of Moore and Pelosi doesn’t just stem from their habit of starring in their films, despite having personalities more abrasive than the Old Dutch cleanser I keep saying I’m going to scrub my bathtub with.  It’s because, ostensibly, I’m on their side on the issues, but their films make me hate them so much personally I keep wishing I weren’t.

 

For instance, Pelosi did pretty much the unpardonable by making me feel sorry for George W. Bush – yes, that, George W. Bush – when she did the film “Journeys With George.” She tagged along on Bush’s press plane during the 2000 campaign, then blasted him for being, well, Bush.  And not Bush, the evil fucking non-genius behind Iraq.  It was more like Bush, the goofy guy you’d almost kind of like if he hadn’t turned out to be the evil fucking non-genius behind Iraq.  And she was only on that plane because he was doing her mother a favor.  I don’t care if, according to IMDB, Alexandra Pelosi does have a degree in communications from USC.  That doesn’t get you a job washing the press plane, let alone an audience with the future (and almost past – yay! – but not quickly enough — boo!) President.

 

And Moore made me root for Charlton Heston in “Bowling for Columbine.”  And I hate “The Ten Commandments.”  I was thinking “Huh.  The NRA makes some interesting points.” 

 

“Friends of God” reminded me of all those videographers at weddings who yell out inanities behind the camera as they try to make you come up with something clever to say to the bride, whom you only talk to at work for the amount of time if takes to burn your microwave popcorn, and the groom, whom you don’t know at all:

 

Videograher with wink and leer: Hey, got any tips for Ken and Lisa as they head off on their honeymoon? 

 

Me while looking for bar:  Have fun, Lisa and…………………………Ken?

 

I don’t know how you do a boring documentary about the fundamentalist movement in America, but I think it has something to do with that half-smirking, aren’t-I-smarter-than-you way of posing the questions, that kept making me hope one of the Christians was going to punch her like in that scene in “Witness.”  But, no, these Christians were Christians.

 

So, again, thanks, Alexandra, for making me think “Huh.  These people who are telling me I’m not a Christian if I’m pro-choice and love my gay friends, are pretty tolerant, after all.” 

 

And one last word to Michael Moore.  It’s so much easier for me to agree with you when you shut the hell up.  So keep doing that.

 

BUMPER STICKERS

In 2004, I saw quite possibly the world’s best bumper sticker:  Republicans for Voldemort.  This morning on the way to work, I finally spotted the worst:  I’m Only Speeding ‘Cause I Really Have to Poop.

I might’ve understood it — to a degree — if it’d been on a Roto-Rooter van.  But this was on a truck belonging to an air conditioning company.  I realize there’s some connection between pooping and air quality.  But is this really the corporate message one wants to spread?

Maybe it’s a way to get out of a ticket.  The bumper sticker probably makes a fairly strong case that you have habitual bowel problems if you’re ever pulled over.  But at what cost?  Being known as an uncontrollable pooper?  I’d rather get the ticket.

And if it’s a sign of the guy’s (because you know a woman had nothing to do with this) sense of humor, again, I’d rather get the ticket.

I don’t know what possessed someone to put this on their car.  I don’t know what possessed someone to print up a bumper sticker like that.  I just know I want to stay far, far away from both of them.  Especially when they’re  speeding.  And pooping.

VALKYRIE

Do you know why Valkyrie is going to be God awful?  It’s not just because Tom Cruise is going to do to this movie what he did to The Last Samurai.  It’s because one of the trailers starts off “No man was more evil,”  then goes on to explain Hitler was a bad, bad man. 

If we’ve truly come to a point in history where Hitler needs an introduction, something’s seriously wrong.   His is not one of those vague names like Calvin Coolidge where you don’t really why you know them.  No one ever says “Hitler…why was he famous again?”

And if, indeed, you have no basic knowledge of Hitler, I don’t want you learning about him from a Tom Cruise movie.  If you want to know how to be a spy or drive race cars fast or speak with a bad Irish accent, Tom’s your man.  If you want any understanding of genocide, you need to go to a history book.  Or talk to George Clooney.

This film will be an abomination.  And I can’t wait to see it!

BIG PURSE

A trendy, oversized purse saved the life of a college student this week, when it stopped a bullet during an armed robbery.

 

Unfortunately, the purse was unable to save a can of Altoids, a half-eaten Snickers bar and what may or may not have been a contraceptive sponge.

LINDSAY LOHAN

This week, Lindsay Lohan expressed her support for the nation’s first “colored President.”

 

Then she drove home in her Model T, listened to Bob Hope on the radio and told some kids to get off her lawn.  Dagnabbit.

NICOLE KIDMAN

Nicole Kidman paid tribute to husband Keith Urban this week by recalling how they first met:   “Three and a half years ago a man came along and said, ‘I’m going to take you to Tennessee.’ And he took me down there and he said, ‘I think you deserve to be loved. Let me love you, let me give you a home, and let’s make a baby.’”

 

When that happens to the rest of us, we usually call the police.