February 2005

Oscar hangover

Filed under: Imported

What a shame Natalie Portman didn't win the Best Supporting Actress trophy last night. I was so looking forward to hearing another saccharine speech declaring Mike Nichols to be "the best daddy ever." The bile spikes in my throat. Can you imagine a male actor of similar stature making such an ingratiatingly creepy statement? Besides, as I've said before, I prefer toothy Keira Knightley to her boring, highly regarded doppelganger. Garden State was fun because of Zach Braff ("Could Eat No Fat") and Peter Sarsgaard, not because of Natalie Portman. I kept waiting for her character to have an epileptic seizure, and it didn't happen. Who makes a movie with an epileptic character and doesn't deliver with a money shot?

Mirror Universe Natalie (upon revival): "That was the strangest seizure I ever had. I saw bright colored lights. And then I thought I was having sex with you. You put a Scrubs promotional washcloth between my teeth so I wouldn't swallow my tongue, and then you barebacked it for about fifteen minutes while your friend took pictures."

Mirror Universe Zach Braff: (zipping jeans) "Fascinating how the brain works, eh?"

Other than the minor misfortune which befell Ms. Portman (did you notice her slightly bloated, tear-stained visage when she presented later on?), I thought the Oscar telecast was a first-class snooze. Virginia Madsen looked appealingly blowsy; she's the non-brain-injured man's Melanie Griffith. The severed Oscar parts arranged onstage made a ghastly tableau (was that a tribute to the cinematic tour-de-Dorff that was Saw?) I liked seeing Sean "Puffy" Combs up there doing the wide-eyed earnest naif routine he tends to affect at Hollywood events. "So this is the Oscars!" Whatever, Puff. You've been linked to multiple shootings and routinely eject A-listers from your parties; I highly doubt an awards show has your undies in a twist. I think he thinks that if he behaves in a non-threatening, aw-shucks manner, he'll get offered more movie roles. Hitch, he aint. Puffy is the inverse of Justin Timberlake in that he's a stone cold thug and desperately wants to seem innocuous.

I was very pleased that Hilary Swank and her conspicuous ass cleavage won another Oscar. Would I be a jerk if I said it was because I don't like Annette Bening? I just don't. Maybe I'm jealous; she effortlessly tamed a famous womanizer (Warren, duh), had like four of his babies, and has still managed to maintain a successful career playing shrieking harridans. She always looks so smug and cool. You know Annette Bening never looks in the mirror and thinks "Do I look butch with my hair like this?" even if she has reason to be concerned.

Hilary, however, is a dork, and I root for dorks. She's married to Chad Lowe! IIRC, he played a guy with AIDS on Life Goes On. If you play a guy with a major disease and/or disability, but your character's disease/disablity isn't even the primary disease/disability featured on the show, you're officially a third-stringer. Of course, that also means Hilary's related through marriage to Rob Lowe, which is kind of cool. I'd beg him to do his Stone Phillips impression at family gatherings. Or I'd say shit like, "Let Rob take the picture of the cousins! He loves pointing cameras at the underaged!" And everyone would get all pissed and shit. That's what I'd do.

Posted by Diablo Cody at February 28, 2005 12:58 PM

I Wish I Had an Oscar, Mr. Mayer

Filed under: Imported

I am one of those utter feebs who gets super torqued about the Oscar telecast. Traditionally, I watch at home and make a tasty cheese fondue (dipping gestures synchronize nicely with bitchy comments.) This year, I'm attending a big public Oscar party for the first time. I'm a little nervous, because I like to actually watch the show, and I fear the drunken crowd might overshadow the proceedings.

Strangely, this year I haven't seen any of the "Best Picture" nominees. Here's my understanding of them:

Finding Neverland: Johnny Depp is hot. I could cut Stilton on those cheekbones. Kate Winselt has consumption and nice tits. Unfortunately, she doesn't wee-wee on herself like in that Harvey Keitel movie. There are some kids I'm supposed to think are adorable moppets, but they're probably annoying. Moments of wide-eyed wonder abound.

The Aviator: Leonardo DiCaprio walks around with Kleenex boxes on his feet. Then Mr. Burns pulls a gun on Smithers and tries to make him get inside a miniature plane. Cate Blanchett's eyes get all freaky-looking when she holds the One Ring.

Million Dollar Baby: Hilary Swank really stretches by playing a grimly determined butch. Matt Damon wasn't filming anything concurrently because Hilary got to wear The Teeth that month. Clint Eastwood looks like one of those withered hotdogs on the abandoned spit at Kwik-Trip. I heard there's a major twist at the end of this movie. Hint: The aliens are allergic to water.

Ray: This is a film about the life of Jamie Foxx. He's obviously the most talented entertainer in the world, so why wouldn't there be a biopic about his life already? The film is called Ray because Jamie Foxx is a blinding ray of sunshine sent from God.

Sideways: After ten long years, Virginia Madsen finally responds to the dirty letter I sent her. Her note reads: "Dear Diablo. It was nice to hear that you masturbated during the scene in Candyman where you can see my boob. You should come over some time. Me and my Sideways costar Sandra Oh want to take turns lapping artisinal clover honey off your lady business. Love, Virginia."

Posted by Diablo Cody at February 25, 2005 10:25 AM

Take a poke at my atmosphere

Filed under: Imported

Last night, Jonny and I went to England Swings IV at First Ave. We don't get out to shows very often (we generally get pickled at home and watch reality TV), but Jonny's cool band, Landing Gear, was one of the featured bands on the lengthy roster.

I didn't bother to dress up for the show like I usually do. I was having one of days in which I swathe myself in the fabric of our lives and allow myself to bloat accordingly. (Not such a good idea at an event primarily attended by natty Anglophiles in Ben Sherman togs.) We were hanging out stageside before the Gear's set, and this beautiful girl sauntered past sporting an immaculate assymetrical bob, minidress and riding boots.

I elbowed my husband gently and said, "I'm sorry I didn't dress like that hot mod chick."

Jonny said, "Dude, that's a man." Indeed, it was.

The moral? Never measure your sartorial sense against that of a boy in drag. Those bitches always look perfect.

Jon looked yum onstage, BTW. He normally plays keyboards, so seeing him play guitar was squee-licious. My jeans are going to need at least three wash cycles. Unfortunately, two strings broke on his borrowed axe during their Oasis cover. Jon soldiered on admirably. He's used to snapping G-strings until their tensile strength fails, though such behavior usually gets him thrown out of Deja Vu.

******************

I missed the Project Runway finale last night because of said (entirely worthy) gig. DO NOT SPOIL IT FOR ME, YOU TERRORISTS. I'm going to wager that Wendy Pepper didn't win, because of friend of mine e-mailed me and said the finale was "awesome." It's a logical syllogism: if that hack dressmaker Wendy Pepper won, then clearly the finale could not be awesome.

What on earth will those stuffy cunts at Banana Republic do with my darling Jay?

Posted by Diablo Cody at February 24, 2005 10:57 AM

My Band

Filed under: Imported

I'm starting a new band. The band is called Plrrrb. You won't be able to understand our music without a Berlitz Cantonese audio cassette and a particular decoder ring found in specially marked packages of All-Bran Junior ("Gets Kids Moving!). Even if you manage to get your filthy mitts on these items, Plrrrb will leave you flummoxed. Our name is a sound you cannot make with your mouth.

Oh, you'll make an ungraceful attempt to pronounce it ("Plurb is playing at the Entry") and then your friend Gareth will be like, "No dude, that's not how you say it." When pressed, Gareth will fail to provide an adequate pronunciation. He thinks he's so fucking cool because he's from California, but everyone knows Fresno doesn't count.

You like Plrrrb because we have a xylophone, and a female drummer with bouncing breasts and ironic pigtails. You like Plrrrb because our EP is on saffron-colored vinyl, and is called "Plrrrb for Always...And Always." And there's a vintage photo on the sleeve of a lady putting on mascara. And the liner notes are extremely cryptic; for instance, who is Renee, and why did we all thank her for the zucchini bread? Why does it say "Additional vocals by Adam Levine on Track 9," when said track ("Kill Pill Vamoose") consists solely of Celtic flute and the sound of a toilet being flushed?

Plrrrb is going to be way better than Snmnmnm and !!!

I hope they're wearing their baby diapers as per usual, because we're going to play the shit out of them.

Posted by Diablo Cody at February 21, 2005 3:15 PM

About

Filed under: Imported

I am a lazy, television-obsessed sex addict who thumbs her nose at hoch kultur. The Pussy Ranch used to be located here; the Ranch-That-Was contained mainly sardonic observations on my former life as a stripper. I'm not a stripper anymore, so please don't send me e-mails with the subject line "bUrn in hell sluT!!!111"

Hobbies: singing karaoke, watching Firefly on DVD, banging my husband, banging my vibrator, drinking to excess, writing for hours on end like the graphomaniac I am.

Posted by Diablo Cody at February 17, 2005 2:36 PM

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