Movieola

Netflix has no bigger fan than me, but sometimes I think they're just fucking with me. I know I stick things in our queue and then forget all about them until they show up in the mail (Surprise!) but sometimes we wind up with things I'm sure I never ordered, dogs they're trying to move and just ship off to me. Today, The Magical Legend of the Leprechauns dropped by. The description:
A magical adventure unfolds when American Jack Woods (Randy Quaid) rents a quaint cottage in Ireland and finds, to his dismay, that the house is inhabited by a family of leprechauns. When one of the little guys (Colm Meaney) and his son crash the fairies' ball, a feud between the leprechauns and the fairies is rekindled. The Grand Banshee (Whoopi Goldberg) warns of terrible consequences, and Jack is chosen to make peace. What the fuck? The phrase "quaint cottage" would be alarm enough to warn me off. Even if the storyline didn't sound terminally twee, I regard Randy Quaid with the same fondness as a medium sized headache, so unless I was a good deal more insane than usual, I cannot imagine what could have moved me to add this little gem to our queue.

I actually tried to watch it, thinking "Oh, what the hell? How bad can it be?" I didn't make it 7 minutes past the credits, the first hearty brogue did me in. Faith.

The whole thing reminded me of the time I talked Diane von Austinberg into going to Robert Stigwood's Times Square despite a friend of ours who was a film critic pleading in print with people not to see it. I swore I knew it was fabulous, which I stuck with right up to the point the film opened and I realized I had been thinking of another movie entirely. Oops. It was the 80s, I was loaded.

Still, leprechauns and Randy Quaid? I have never taken enough drugs in my life to pull that off.

T-Day Minus One and Counting

Three years ago, we hosted twelve people for Thanksgiving dinner. Much beloved, one and all, but dear god, what a butt load of work. We had to have an overflow table; in order to not make sure no one felt second best seated there, I made up place cards consisting of photos of famous (or infamous) women (or sort-of women,) had people draw names, and then match their draws with the pictures. It was a supremely Martha Stewart moment, even if I did have to explain who some of the gals were. My favorite was Zsa Zsa Gabor's mug shot from when she slapped that cop, but I was plenty happy with drawing Divine.

Thank the goddess for Diane von Austinberg who was such a tremendous help in cooking, but I still turned into the Kitchen Nazi once again, barking orders and withering comments on my guests' attempts at prep work. "GO. Drink on the goddam patio and get out of my fucking kitchen," tends to be my byword in these situations. I had spread sheets breaking down the whole thing into 15 minute increments for three days. R Man and those other unfortunates who get in my way think that because I am a flipped out, shrieking queen, I am not enjoying myself. Nothing could be further from the truth. I revel in the challenge and I triumph, bitches. Triumph. As I tuck into my version of my granny's cornbread dressing, I think "Yes, I did it. I am invincible."

Drugs help.

This year, swinging to the complete polar opposite, we will be joining two of our friends at the Hotel W for a massive lunch and then we will come home for a nap. I plan on reveling in that, too.

GetaGuy

I was emailed by a Lady interested in presenting a class here on How to Get a Guy. In my role as training organizer, I've had several odd pitches, but none so wildly inappropriate to a program devoted to developing business skills. Unless perhaps your business was marrying well, and then I can't imagine the simpering pointers she included in her email would actually help that much. One of them was the single word "Glow." Glow. Got it.

I think I'll put together a similar class, but one that will actually deliver the goods. My basic point will be "Develop a reputation as Easy. Guys dig chicks who put out." Registration will be available online shortly.

More Tag, but a Nice One

You would think that since Miss Janey and mrpeenee share a vaguely white trash background she would have my back and not serve me up by tagging me when I’m sitting here at my desk, minding my own business, staring off vacantly into space. You would be wrong.

The Jane has crafted a totally sweet and open-to-everybody tag/meme thang asking everybody to list all the things we’re grateful for. You know, Thanksgiving and all that. Go here http://missjaneys.blogspot.com/ to see both the details and a photo of Miss Janey’s terribly cute husband drumming with no pants on.

http://missjaneys.blogspot.com/

Did you go there to see the naked percussion? I thought so.

Here’s what I’m grateful for:


Of course, R Man. He’s sweet, brilliant, handsome and my best friend. I have no idea why he loves me, but he does and that is a foundation to build my whole world on. A weekend without him reminds me, potently, that he is the center of the universe. We have gone through (in alphabetical order) AIDS, cancer, earthquakes, hurricanes, home-ownership, open-heart surgery, pancreatitis, pneumonia and maybe some other stuff, too. I lose track after a while. I would be lost with out him.

Our sweet, sweet cat Maggie. She was very sweet. 19 years of adorableness and she always made it clear that she loved us. She would greet us at the door each night when we came home and I would pick her up just to carry her around while she purred. I still miss her.

Our new sweet, sweet vicious cat Saki. He’s vicious, but sweet. Sort of. The first thing the vet said when he saw him was “Oh, he’s fearless.” Foolishly, I thought it was a compliment. We adore him. The cat, not the vet. Although he’s cute too. I’m grateful for that, also.

I know it’s materialistic, but I’m grateful for our house. I will not refer it to our “home.” Ick. When we first saw it, bland ugliness was its major characteristic, but we knew we could make it fagtastically beautiful, and we have. It needed us. Like an ongoing art project, it’s always involving.

I am so very grateful we got to live in fabulous, ridiculous New Orleans when we did, and that we got out when we did. The 80’s in the French Quarter were a terribly amusing time, lotsa laughs, and just what I had always wanted as a little sissy boy growing up in the swamps outside Houston. But if we hadn’t left, (Twenty years ago! How can it be?) I would be stuck in some miserable, low-end, disposable job, probably as a 53 year-old hotel front desk clerk and even more bitter than I already am. Unless I was dead, which seems entirely probable, considering NOLA.

I'm so very grateful for San Francisco. I continue to be amazed that I could have wound up here. I love it.

I’m grateful for my job. I’m the public information/media guy for an agency that helps people. What could be more gratifying?

I am grateful the slightly insane man I work with who talks to himself, loudly, in a fake British accent, has been moved to a cubicle out of earshot from me.

I'm grateful for porn. I'm not being flippant. I love smut, find it vastly entertaining and am so glad I live in a time with it so readily available. David Duchovny can go into rehab for it if he wants to, but what a wimp. Rehab is for quitters.I swiped this from TJB

I’m grateful that I started this blog and got to connect with you guys. It’s much more fun than I ever expected and pretty hilarious to think I have friends with icons instead of faces. As I’m writing this, I’ve had 36,886 hits, which is about 36,886 hits more than I expected.

I’m grateful Miss Janey thought of this tag. And that she put up a picture of Mr. Janey airing his bits behind his drum kit. We don’t know what he thinks about all this, but if he’s with Miss Janey, he must be OK, right?

Cheers

Yay, R Man is back, yay. Even the cat is glad, although suspicious.

While R was out of town, I went on a spree of thrift stores. Although he appreciates the booty I snag on these expeditions, he does not share my enthusiasm for prowling through piles of Other People's Crap. For that, I have to turn to our beloved Diane von Austinberg. As I've mentioned before, she is a master of separating trash from treasure; she can run a whole rack of Forever 21 discards and find the only Prada cashmere in junk store captivity. In her size, bastard.

Naturally, without her guiding wisdom, I scored almost nothing, despite hitting every single store in town, except the Junior League. Those bitches. I did find some lovely medium size glasses, just right for R Man's milk at dinner. They turned out to be very high quality glass, once all the thrift store grime had been washed off, and they're engraved PBC. I'm guessing Penelope Bennington Carruthers. They seem to have never been used, one supposes Mme. Carruthers preferred to knock back the vodka in a teacup so the help wouldn't know. As if. At least until the unfortunate Incident when she caught Mr. Carruthers with the pool boy, and after that she just guzzled it straight from the bottle. So the glasses? Untouched.

Yay.

A World without Fabulon? Rats.

I’m so very, very sorry to hear about the looming demise of the blog Fabulon. Its creator, Thombeau, has always delivered the most astonishingly clever and charming collection of images, each one striking, or witty, or beautiful. But it was mixture of all the divergent styles that created something brilliant that was greater than the sum of their parts.

And what great parts. Thombeau’s tastes (or lack thereof) synched with mine, and all the rest of his fan base. He would come up with some mid-century interior in tones of pink, aqua, and rust and announce “I could live here’ and I would think “Not if I get there first, bitch.”

I think we all understand that so many posts every day that are that good is asking a tremendous lot from someone, but especially for free. I love it and appreciate all the hard work. Thanks sweetie. And now for a word from our sponsors. Shoes.

Tagged

Great moments in cinematic history.
Sinkylulu has tagged me, even tough I have never done anything to him, I swear. Although I think I might now. Here’s the schtick:

: Blog Cabin's Alphabetical Movie Meme. The rules of the meme go something like this:
1. Pick one film to represent each letter of the alphabet.

2. The letter "A" and the word "The" do not count as the beginning of a film's title, unless the film is simply titled A or The, and I don't know of any films with those titles.

3. [As regards franchises and sequels,] movies are stuck with the titles their owners gave them at the time of their theatrical release. Use your better judgment to apply the above rule to any series/films not mentioned.

4. Films that start with a number are filed under the first letter of their number's word. 12 Monkeys would be filed under "T."

5. Link back to Blog Cabins in your post so that I can eventually type "alphabet meme" into Google and come up #1, then make a post where I declare that I am the King of Google. (mrpeenee's note: I can't get Blogger to let me paste in links anymore, I don't know why. If you do, let me know. In the meantime, the charming Blog Cabin hides out at http://blogcabins.blogspot.com/)

6. If you're selected, you have to then select 5 more people.

Stinkylulu claimed his list revealed his trashy taste in films, but mine makes him look like Pauline Kael. Anyway, I tag Muscato, Jason, Thombeau (who usually doesn’t do these, but this seems right up his alley,) Larry, and Miss Janey. They're not doing anything anyway.

Herewith, mrpeenee’s alphabetical listing of cinematic greatness:
• All About Eve
• Bondo Gods Vol. 3
• Casino Royale (mmmmm. Daniel Craig)
• Dil Chahta Hai
• Ed Wood (Johnny Depp! In angora!)
• Female Trouble (barely edging out Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill!)
• Grey Gardens (staunch, darling, staunch.) It kills me to leave out Gosford Park
• Hope and Glory
• I’m the One that I Want (does this count as a movie? Who cares, it’s Margaret Cho)
• Jezebel
• Kiss Me Kate
• Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events
• Mystery Science Theatre
• Nosferatu
• I can’t think of anything
• Pink Flamingos
• The Queen
• Rocky Horror Picture Show (I know, I know. I can’t help it. I don’t care. Shut up.)
• Sunset Boulevard
• This is Spinal Tap
• There have never been any movies made that start with the letter u. It’s a little known fact.
• Volver
• Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (tied with The Women)
• Young Frankenstein
• Zardoz (Sean Connery! In something that looks like a diaper!)