This was a terrifyingly long hiatus. Is anyone even reading this? Unclear. I'm not waiting any longer. It's time for this blog to rear it's ugly head again! I'm sure tens of people are excited! I had thoughts of giving up- but one can't just abandon projects that are nearly four years in the making. Not under my watch.
I'm not sure why Kevin and I fell off the wagon this time. I think it was a lethal combination. of papers to grade and limited internet access at work. No matter. We're over that.
There are a million things to talk about, and all in good time. I just wanted to write a quick note. I'll leave you with two things:
THIS should make you sit up and worry. (John McCain is older than chocolate chip cookies! and the polio vaccine! and area codes!)
For balance, here's a really happy, three year-old picture of Kevin & I in Paris.
Ooops. I can not fathom that there was no post on this blog for St. Paddys. Granted, this years festivities were a little subdued...but still. Kevin and I are so very proud of our Irishness. We're just slackers... Today is a bit of a sad day for me. I finally got around to inspecting and registering my car here in the fine state of New York. I've had a NY license for awhile now; but I still had my DC tags on the car. I always liked them. They're special. For those of you who are unaware of the plight of DC, the city has a congresswoman. Who is not allowed to vote. Which means that even though they live at the epicenter of American government, DC residents effectively have no say in it's actions. It's akin to living in say, American Samoa. Or Guam. The people of the District of Columbia are collectively so fed up with this obvious error that in 2000 they voted to put their anger on their license plates. (It should be noted that the Clinton administration supported this measure; whereas when a certain imbecile was elected, he made them take those plates off his limos.) Anyway, it always struck me as a cool move. Which is why my plate now hangs in my office as a gesture of solidarity:
I've been suspicious ever since I moved to Brooklyn. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Something was off about this place. I couldn't decide what it was until a few weeks ago when I was having dinner with friends in Cobble Hill. Cobble hill is not my neck of the Brooklyn Woods. I have lived (albeit briefly) In Fort Greene, and now Clinton Hill and as I was strolling down Court St the other night, it was eerily similar to the summer when I'd poked around in Brooklyn Heights, or hung out at bars on 5th ave or Smith St. But what was it about this borough that was irking me? Then yesterday as I took a Sunday stroll for coffee and a muffin it hit me. I knew what was wrong. Every girl in Brooklyn has a hipster boyfriend. Every last one! Now, I'm not even sure if I'm in the market for a hipster boyfriend- but, boy, if I wanted one this would be the place. Yesterday my ipod-induced solace was constantly interrupted by the plethora of hipster boys on the go. You know them. You've seen them. They have a uniform after all: Skinny jeans, (usually skinner than those on their female counterparts) ratty old converse (or vans.) Sweaters with thumb holes like they are all Kurt-Cobain-playing-MTV-unplugged. (Can be substituted by old- worn in leather jackets [of the motorcycle variety] or of course; the ever popular hoodie/band shirt combo) Aside from their swooning girlfriends; they have standard accessories: ipod, tattered looking book, eco-friendly shopping bag filled organic this-and-that. Perhaps a Baby Bjorn carrier and kid in an American Apparel onesie to boot. And of course the one accessory that always gets me: The dog. (Usually of the big, friendly mutt variety) Yesterday these endless, happy twosomes seemed to have taken over. I mean, I know I asked for it. It is Brooklyn afterall. I thought perhaps my mind was exagerating; playing tricks on me. No Leigh, every girl in Brooklyn doesn't have a hipster boyfriend. And then I turned the corner, on to my own street and I was behind them: The adorable couple; walking the French Bulldog while discussing Howard Zinn. I mean really; how much can one person take?
Oh, Roberto Cavalli; I couldn't have said it better myself. It's that bittersweet time of the year again kids. Another season of our beloved Project Runway is about to come to a close. While I'm sure Christian is counting down the moments to his coronation ceremony- I would just like to say that I am rooting for Jillian. I have consistently liked her stuff andshe's from Strong Island to boot. (I think Kevin may still be mourning the loss of Chris- whom we all loved- but I'm sorry: you lost me at human hair. Please chime in the comments section and cast your vote. In other news- can anyone believe that is March already? Maybe it's just me, but I feel like '08 is whipping on by. Kevin and I will be sunning ourselves in Montauk before we know it. (At least that's how I hope it plays out- I need some warmth) March is good though. I mean, it contains the most important holidayoftheyear, so how bad could it be? To end this post of rambling I'd like to add a warm welcome to The Gayrab who has returned to New York and today spends his very first night a matchbox of his own. (Well, more of a gilded cage than a matchbox;I don't think there are too many Matchboxes on the Upper West Side...)
What? Julie, no. You will never disappear. You are a goddess, an icon, an Oscar winner (unless they find a way to go back and retroactively give your Oscar to an inconsequential pretty young thing slathering on fifteen pounds of latex to vaguely resemble a celebrity), and you are the eptiome of class and craft.
I really do think I'm too depressed and enraged by Marion Cotillard's Best Actress win to do an Academy Awards fashion recap. Truly- Worst. Oscar. Ever. I've been accused of hyperbole for saying this, so I'd love to explain why...
(ahem)
I'm not a performer, but if I were, I would find it wildly insulting that Hollywood seems to have such a poverty of imagination as to think that mimicking an existing person is the height of creativity. It's paint-by-numbers frivolity, whether it's Marion Cotillard doing it or Philip Seymour Hoffman or Reese Witherspoon or Cate Blanchett. Did she sound like Edith Piaf? Sure. Did she look like Edith Piaf. Sure, thanks to pounds of paint and tape. (And I WILL debate whether turning someone into Edith Piaf is more artistically significant or nuanced than turning Eddie Murphy into an obese lady.) But does screaming and fainting and lip-synching really represent the height of screen acting? FUCK no. And it certainly doesn't deserve the first Oscar ever awarded to a French language performance. I'm confident, in fact, that somewhere Catherine Deneuve is rolling over in the grave of good taste.
In ten years, at the 90th Academy Awards, there going to be doing one of those montages they're so fond of, reflecting on Best Actresses past, and Marion Cotillard will flash up there, and everyone will look at each other and say, "What? We have her one for that? Oooff. My B."
There. Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I might as well say that Leigh and I endorse Amy Adams and Helen Mirren for best dressed. (Sorry, I can't help myself!! I'm a slave to gowns!!)
Check it:
I mean, can we just agree that what we see here is existing and soon-to-be Hollywood royalty? I look at Helen Mirren, and I hear "Nobody Does It Better." I look at Amy Adams, and... Well, I just generally go a little ga-ga. I must have a think for redheads in green.
Also, Kristin Chenoweth is disgusting. Sorry, had to throw that in there.
PS- Now, I wish her nothing but the worst in life, but I will say this for Marion Cotillard's dress: I hated it. Now, there's a compliment in here somewhere, so bear with me. I thought her dress was ugly and ill-considered, but in a year with some of the boring-est red carpet fashions I've ever seen (even Tilda wore black!!), at least she stood out. It wasn't black or red, so bully for her. And her hair looked nice... Bitch.
BEST PICTURE- "No Country for Old Men" BEST DIRECTOR(s)- Joel & Ethan Coen, "No Country for Old Men" BEST ACTOR- Daniel Day-Lewis, "There Will Be Blood" BEST ACTRESS- Julie Christie, "Away From Her" (Note: She'd fucking better...) BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR- Javier Bardem, "No Country for Old Men" BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS- Ruby Dee, "American Gangster" BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY- Diablo Cody, "Juno" BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY- Joel & Ethan Coen, "No Country for Old Men" BEST ANIMATED FILM- "Ratatouille" BEST DOCUMENTARY FILM- "No End In Sight"
OK, I'm dropping the "best"... CINEMATOGRAPHY- "No Country for Old Men" EDITING- "The Bourne Ultimatum" COSTUME DESIGN- "Atonement" ART DIRECTION- "There Will Be Blood" SCORE- "Atonement" SONG- "Falling Slowly" from "Once" SOUND MIXING- "The Bourne Ultimatum" SOUND EDITING- "The Bourne Ultimatum" VISUAL EFFECTS- "Transformers" MAKE-UP- "La Vie en Rose"
LIVE-ACTION SHORT- "Mozart of the Pickpockets" ANIMATED SHORT- "Peter and the Wolf" DOCUMENTARY SHORT- "Freeheld"
Hey, all! So yeah. Leigh has it right. This is a busy, harrowing time of year, and our blog responsibilities got away from us. (I just sat here trying to think of a word mash-up for "blog" and "responsibility"... "responsiblogity" is just too affected...) Apologies all around.
As Leigh also noted, the Oscars are this Sunday, and I'm really wicked-super-killer excited. It's my favorite day of the year, after all. (Sidebar: We think Julie Christie's gonna win, right? That Edith Piaf cooze is making me nervous.) I'll be saluting the neo-Western in some sweet Brad Pitt garb. Fun times!
This is awesome:
Ugh. It's 10:19pm right now, which means I'm tired, and my brain is muddy with random thoughts. I should probably be, you know, cleaning my room, or donating money or time to a worthy cause, but all I want to do is focus on the new "Dancing with the Stars" contestants, if I'm being honest. One presumes you've all seen them by now, but if you haven't...
Adam CAROLLA- Former "Man Show" co-host and total douche.
Christian DE LA FUENTE- Random handsome Hispanic man, and likely good dancer.
Shannon ELIZABETH- That old lady from "American Pie." No, not Jennifer Coolidge. The ugly one.
Steve GUTTENBERG- God among men!!!
MARIO- I have no fucking clue. Some R&B guy, I guess? Whatever.
Marlee MATLIN- Deaf Oscar winner!
Penn JILLETTE- Father of Moxie Crimefighter Jillette.
Priscilla PRESLEY- Scary old icon.
Monica SELES- I had to look her up, but she's this famous tennis player, and there are two amazing facts about her: (1) She was once stabbed on the court by a crazed fan (!!), and (2) She had to battle the tennis powers that be to earn the right to grunt during a match. I mean... Wow.
Jason TAYLOR- I think he plays football. I know he's handsome.
Marissa Jaret WINOKUR- Fat lady. ("Why are you being so mean to Marissa Jaret Winokur?! She was so good in 'Fever Pitch!'- Roommate)
Kristi YAMAGUCHI- Skater, best known to me as having once been Mulan for a Disney on Ice special.
So yeah. That's that. One would presume that Kristi Yamaguchi has the advantage, right? I bet she can dance. I mean, she was a truly awesome Mulan. But I bet this heretofore-unknown Monica Seles character could do-it-to-it, right? I mean, if she had to battle to win the right to grunt on the tennis court, I bet she'll be viiiiiiiicious on the dancefloor. And this bitch got STABBED! That's nuts! She's a fucking pirate!
If I can be totally offensive for a moment (Uh oh...), are they shitting me with Marlee Matlin? I mean, Heather Mills was one thing, but MARLEE MATLIN CAN'T HEAR THE MUSIC. That just seems... Mean, I guess? And yes, I know "She's built her career on defying expectations," but so has Stephen Hawking, but that doesn't mean that I want to see his paso doble.
I'd say about twice a year; this blog falls horribly to the wayside. It appears the first slip-up of '08 has commenced. J'apologize. But you know they'll be more on the way...because the most important night of the year in this blogosphere is just around the riverbend! That's right- Sunday is Oscar night, which means I have a costume title to defend and Kevin and I have some serious fashion blogging material again. Finally! Between that and the Project Runway Finale, I'd expect to hearing a lot from us in the near future. (Unless Rami wins, and then we'll be too angry to blog. Stop draping already you beast!) Patience, dear hearts. This blog will be fierce again in no time.
Kevin & Leigh became fast friends when they were sat next to each other in German class. Fast foward a decade or so, and Kevin is attempting to become a media mogal in the cut- throat world of Broadway theatre. Leigh on the other hand, is looking to mold a generation of liberal thinkers in our nation's capital. They share a combined passion for stiff drinks, Red Lobster, singing out of tune, and a certain gay-rab.
2 oz vodka, 1 tbsp Peach Schnapps, 1/2 Cup of Cranberry juice. Lime Wedges. Place wedge of lime in shaker with ice. Shake to coat. Add other ingredients. Shake and pour in a short glass, over ice. Garnish with lime.
