Kevin & Leigh's Sexy-Ass Blog: December 2006

Hey everybody! Hope all is well. Are your holiday seasons going smoothly? That's good to hear. Mine? Yeah, it's been relatively hopping, I must say, with all good things. Thanks for showing interest in my life and plans. Readers (of which there are none at this point), you are very kind. And sexy. Did you get a haircut? It suits you.

Anyway, I haven't posted anything since the blog's been back, which is in no uncertain terms totally cunty of me. I'm sorry. This is a slow week at work- as a timekiller, I've increased my coffee intake to 6-7 cups a day- so I should have posted stuff earlier, but truth be told, it's really tricky at work. This computer doesn't allow any pop-ups, so I can't add photos or links or anything. But I've decided that you can all just make do with my beautiful, insightful words. Pictures are for the weak, am I right? (No.) YAY!

Anyway, here are some topics that have been crowding up my ol' brainbox since I last posted, which was, I believe, Spring of 1822. No, really. My last post was all about whaling and "the Colorado Territory." I checked.

Anyway.

THE DEATH OF JAMES BROWN
I dearly loved James Brown, as many people know. He has a greasy face, laughable hair, and a constant, pathological wiggle, so clearly Little Boy Kevin fell deeply in love. (This explains so much about who I choose to surround myself with- I'm looking at you, Roommate.) Also, James Brown had been on mind a lot this month, because (a) I'd bought my friend Joe a James Brown t-shirt for Christmas (which I hope he now appreciates even more, since I'm 85% sure that the t-shirt is cursed and actually caused his death- Curse shirts make killer pressies!!), and (b) Eddie Murphy is basically playing him in the wonderful, excellent, perfect Dreamgirls. Basically, James Brown taught me to love high-pitched yelps of manly swagger. I'm eternally grateful.

But his death has raised a few points of interest:

1. James Brown only won three Grammys. "What?! They must mean TWENTY-three Grammys, right?! Kevin, you're crazy!" (That was my impression of y'all. I scarcely do you justice, and I make you sound more than a little like Edith Bunker.) Well, no. If I'm lying, I'm dying. James Brown only won three Grammys, and one of them was a Lifetime Acheivement kinda thing, so only two Grammys in competitive categories. One was for "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag" (YES!! MY FAVE!!) and then other one I can't recall. This make me sad, though. If Ray Charles can win between 15 and 9,000 posthumous awards, can't my beloved JB??

2. Spike Lee wants to direct a James Brown biopic. Now, I dearly DEARLY love and respect Spike Lee, but is he fucking basting my ham with this shit?? NO. Not every famous person deserves a biopic. Unless Sofia Coppola is directing it. Because biopics are lame and formulaic. A famous person has a hardscrabble childhood. Some youthful tragedy marks them for life. (PS- People are complex and reducing them to be defined by a single event in some cases 30 years or more in the past is just fucking weird.) They rise. They do drugs. (Don't!) They fall. They rise again. There's a long-suffering wife somewhere in the story. Blah-fucking-blah. There are planned films covering JB, Freddie Mercury, and even Dolly Parton. This is stupid. Stop it. I feel about biopics the way people feel about jukebox musicals.

3. I just adore the concept of "lying in state at the Apollo Theatre." In related news, I'm going to start calling Sex With Kevin "lying in state at the Apollo Theatre." Ha ha. That makes me laugh so hard. Anyway. I want to lie in state at Dollywood, between the Chasing Rainbows Museum and the bald eagle sanctuary. And then cremated. And for my funeral, I was y'all to play the entirety of Dusty In Memphis. [Note: None of this is a lie.]

DREAMGIRLS
Oh my fucking jesus christ on a lord preserve me. I cannot tell you how into this fucking movie I am. No matter how good people tell you it is, it's better. I've heard a lot of complaints about the pacing, but I really think that the pacing is the movie's biggest strength. It's 100% dead-ahead, and if you're not with them, you get left behind. If the movie can be summed up in a single shot, it'd be in the first five or so minutes, right before the Dreamettes go on to sing "Move," Beyonce and Anika (I think it's them) join hands, and Bill Condon (who cements himself as a god in my universe) keeps SUCH a tight shot on their joined hands. It's a split second and then they're off. Fucking magic. ALSO, FUCKING MAGIC- The girl who plays Magic (Effie's daughter) came into the audience of the Ziegfeld Theatre and pulled tears out of my eyes with little meathooks. Seriously. My eyes were sore from crying by the end. Go. Just go. It's magniffy. All you have to do is dream.

I WANT TO GET MARRIED
I think I'll marry the next guy who makes out with me. I need to start having babies. I've decided on three kids- two girls and a boy. In the following order: Girl, Boy, Girl. Punch Caroline, Parton Richard, and Ramona Mae. I'd been considering the name Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt, but I hear same cockasses took it. Whores. Moving on.

SPRING AWAKENING
Now, OK. It's not, like... OK. It's not terrible, but.... It's just not, you know, successful. OK. I mean, OK. I'll try to be coherent. (Which makes one of us, Spring Awakening! Zing!) I am, and always have been, a fan of stylization and artful pretension. Let's use Marie Antoinette as a pretty relevent example- With that movie, Sofia Coppola makes stylized choices (contemporary music, much like Spring Awakening) with the goal of giving a modern audience a direct line to the main character's inner life. Basically, because of this artistic choice, we get to better know the protagonist. Now, it seems to me that while Duncan Sheik and Steven Sater have some broad, general overarching ideas about what the want to say about sex and teenage angst, they have absolutely no idea what they want to say about any of these characters as people. None of them are afforded personalities or indivdual voices- Is Duncan Sheik, by having every character sing in the same numbing style (AKA, his), trying to say that being a teenager is a uniform, invariable experience? If he is, not only is that a genuinely odd choice as far as crafting a piece of theatre goes, but it's kind of factually... wrong. Yes, I did like that the teenage characters sang unconventional music, but (a) Duncan Sheik's music is kind of 'young-people rock' for old people, and (b) It's not enough to float a show on.

MEDIUM ICED COFFEE (MILK & TWO SUGARS) FROM DUNKIN DONUTS
Love it.

DRINKING IN PENN STATION
Love it.

...

Just kidding, guys. I have more to say than that. My friend Joe recently moved to 34th Street (I know, I don't get it either), and the coolest thing about this turn of events has been the realization that Penn Station bars are Joe's "neighborhood watering holes." Now, Traxxxxx (I forget how many X's) is a pretty well-known seafood bar in Penn, but I'd never been there for some reason. LOVE IT! I'm kind of dickmatized by the constant parade of bridge & tunnel characters that goes by- It's like home, you know? Also, I think that I truly, unironically love Long Islanders. They're a pretty salty, hilarious bunch. New Jerseyites, however, are a far more mixed bag. They vary from "Hey, how ya doin', kid? Lemme buy ya a drink" to "Hey, how ya doin', kid? C'mere, I need to tell ya a story... [cutting my face with a razor]" Yikes, right? I need to drag Joe to 'The Kabooz' (Yes, that's how it's spelled) on Penn's Jersey level as part of my scheme to get Joe an over-40 girlfriend. Seriously, it's a total cougar bar. I love it. And I look forward to many more boozy nights in the Greater Herald Square Business District to come.

I cannot believe that I've written so much. I'm totes sorry. This is what happens when I don't do blog stuff for (2006-1822= 184) 184 years- It all just kind of gushes forth.

Time to go. My friend Katie is bringing me more coffee. God, she's fucking classy.
KEVIN.

"That's my fancy way of saying hello!"

So, I said I wasn't going to- but I did. Last night I saw the new movie version of Charlotte's Web. I wasn't expecting much. I figured they would change it; ruin it. (See: How the Grinch Stole Christmas with Jim Carrey.) We all grew up loving the 1973 cartoon version. (A Fair...is a veritble Smorgesboard; orgesboard; orgesboard etc) I mean really, who needs Oprah we have Agnes Moorehead?!? I just knew Julia Roberts' voice wasn't right. Dakota Fanning would clearly be all wrong; and there would no songs! Kids: I stand corrected. I fully admit it, here on the blog: I loved it. It was so cute. It was completely faithful to the book. The piglet was adorable. Steve Buscemi made a great Templeton the rat. Julia Roberts was really quite good. Dakota Fanning was tolerable; heck; even the presence of Oprah couldn't tear this one down! And yes...when Charlotte died; after writing "HUMBLE" in the web...I totally cried. Go Ahead. Judge me.
-Leighthal