Archive for May, 2010

AN OPEN LETTER TO AMERICA’S ‘SWEETHEART’ — “DEAR JENNIFER ANISTON…”

Saturday, May 29th, 2010

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Dear Jennifer Aniston,

Let me honest because that’s my strong suit
.  I’ve never been a big fan of yours, nor of “The One About The Six White People Who Consistently Made Me Want to Dry-Heave,” i.e., “Friends.”  Some may think it’s an age thing or a demographic chink in the armor, but I’d beg to differ.  It’s true – I’m of another generation than Chandler and Rachel and Monica, et al.  But I’m also older than Eric Cartman and I love him more than he does punch-and-pie.

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I’ve  lived in New York City just about my entire life and
therefore your urban setting should have appealed to me.  But – and try not to take this personally, Jen — the whole Seinfeld-Lite derivative thing without the grit and contempt for people and society of Larry David just didn’t work for me.  Special kudos to the exec producers who managed to ruin one of my favorite New York places, the fountain at Lincoln Center, for life.  I can’t walk by 66th Street without hearing that god-awful theme song pounding in my head like a migraine playing a drum set.

And the situations you found yourselves in —  from no one liking Phoebe’s new boyfriend
to no one liking Monica’s new boyfriend, from  Joey losing his health benefits to Chandler and Joey “losing” Ross’s baby on a city bus.  http://images1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20080827211655/friends/images/thumb/1/1e/BabyOnBus.jpg/140px-BabyOnBus.jpg Oh what hijinks! – losing someone else’s tiny little infant in a city of 8,00,000 people, many of whom I wouldn’t trust to get in a revolving door after me without coming out in front of me, on a crosstown bus.  Now that’s  classic comedy.  But you, Jen, and your zany cohorts get the last laugh – you sit on bags of billions of dollars and I toil away on blogs and books and scripts.

And that’s kind of the point, Jen.
What with already-inflated salaries and residuals and product endorsement deals, maybe it was time to push yourself away from the table and say, “Wow – that meal was fantastic!  But now I’m full.”  I hear that, in your business, it’s not an easy thing to do.  Let’s face it – the only thing Sara Jessica Parker has yet to endorse is fish-flake food.  You, dear Jen, continue to say  “yes” to scripts Abe Vigoda would turn down.  How did that happen?   I’ve come up with a few theories about why you just can’t say no.  Let’s see if any of them fit:

A)    You’re weak-willed
.  I’m guessing that on some days you eat only a cornflake and gum to maintain that teeny figure, so “willpower” is probably not your problem.

B)  You really trust your agent. Okay, give me a couple of minutes to stop laughing.  But maybe it goes something like this — script comes in, hits your agent’s desk.  He Fed Exes it to you, gives you the weekend and then…

AGENT:  What do you think?
YOU:  I don’t know.  The plot is really thin, the female lead is barely two-dimensional and my character has to say “peepee” 38 times.
AGENT:  It’s a great part.
YOU:  Okay.

C)     You are scared that, if you turn down a script, you’ll never be offered one again.  Um, I think that agreeing to do such films as “The Bounty Hunter” and “Love Happens” should have you realizing your greatest fears.

D)    It’s all about the work.  Um, “The Bounty Hunter,” “Love Happens.

Let’s see if I can illustrate my point in a different, simpler way.  Hypothetical situation:   I sit down at the local diner and the waiter approaches:

WAITERAnything to drink?  Water?
ME: Sure.
WAITER Coke?
ME: Sure.
WAITER: Pepsi?
ME: Love some.
WAITER: Sierra Mist?
ME: Alright.
WAITER: Perrier?
ME: Sounds good.
WAITERSan Peligrino?
ME: Why not?
WAITERWelch’s Grape Soda?
ME: Yes sir!
WAITER: Orangina?
ME: Yes, please.

At some point, Jen,  I’m guessing, somewhere between “Marley and Me” and “Rumor Has It…” you forgot to say, “No – I’m fine, thanks.”

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I know it wasn’t easy watching your husband run off with Angelina Jolie
.  That’s a tough one.  And because you chose to be in the public eye, the world got to watch.  Your problem.  Not my problem.  I know that “stars” have feelings too, but my empathy kind of runs toward women with three children whose husbands leave them, then stop working so they don’t have to pay child support and the woman and her kids have to subsist on pinto beans and Velveeta for the next 10 years.  Maybe if you could take them to Cabo St. Lucas for a long weekend or treat them to an estate or spend May in Cannes with them, they’d feel better too.

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So Brad Pitt left.  Personally, I’d feel worse if George Clooney left but again, all a matter of taste.  You’re young.  You’re subjectively attractive and relatively young.   You’ve got enough money to buy the state of Colorado, and a round of drinks for everyone in it.  If I could draw the world’s tiniest violin, right here, you know I would.  Do you think you’re actually making him jealous by having pretend or even actual relationships with any of your fugly male co-stars?

Of course not, but you are making me seasick-nauseous appearing on more magazine covers than IPC codes.  The doe-eyed, freshly highlighted hair, bikini-wearing, winsome looks for the camera have got to stop.   I don’t read “In Style” or “In Touch,” or “Elle” or “Vogue” or People.”   However  – I think I mentioned this before – I live in New York and here, we walk.  A lot.  And we pass newsstands.  A lot.  Whether it’s you in a “candid” shot holding a Starbucks cup, you in a man’s white oxford shirt, you with Courtney Cox and her “whimsical” husband, David Arquette, every headline that tries to elicit if not a purchase, than at least some pity or emotion from me with headlines like  “Jennifer Aniston Has Emotional Breakdown over Brad Pitt,”  “Jennifer Aniston “Renovated” Brad Pitt Out Of Her Life”;   “Brad Pitt calls Jennifer Aniston `Pathetic’,” has done neither.

I want to feel bad for you, Jen.  Really.  But first you have to start feeling bad for yourself.  Think of this as an intervention.  First,  start by turning down everything that’s offered to you.  Let’s practice:  Just repeat after me:

Along Came Polly II
:  “Ewww…”
The Break-Up: Together Again!:  “No, I’m okay, thanks.”
Marley and Me and Ted and Alice:  “Um – no.  I’ll pass.”
The Good Girl Goes Bad:  “I’m already otherwise engaged.”
He’s Just Not Even a Smidge Into You:  “Sorry, I have other plans.”

Next, it’s okay – really – to not have a man, to not have a date, particularly when the alternative is Vince Vaughn or Gerard Butler or Aaron Eckhart.  We’ve seen you “blissfully happy.”  We’ve seen you “pathetic and miserable.”  Most of us prefer the latter. It makes us feel better about our own lives.  Don’t ask me why.  It just does.

Finally, it’s time to let the whole Brangelina thing go.  You had him.  She has him.  Done.  Which doesn’t necessarily make her the “winner.”  Do you think the ratty knit-cap/ZZ Top beard-thing he’s got going is a positive?   http://photos.posh24.com/p/731206/m/brad_pitt/brad_pitt_takes_maddox_for_a_boys_day_out.jpg Did you really want to be building Habitat for Humanity houses in New Orleans?  We know you’d rather be carrying a Frappuccino than a Philips screwdriver.  Did you really want more children than “The Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe?” or her more contemporary version, that Discovery Channel woman who has 19,  and dresses herself and all of her girls like “Little House on the Prairie” extras?  http://www.chickchatradio.com/ee/images/uploads/duggar_family_thumb.jpg Believe me – as sad as you feel about not having Brad, he gets very, very nervous every time Angie suggests they add another nursery to their estate and reaches for her passport.

So – let’s try the following:  first, pinky-swear — you will read the script before you agree to do the movie.  Next, not even under the threat of water-boarding  will you even contemplate, ever, ever, ever, a “Friends” reunion movie.   A one-year moratorium on appearing on magazine covers or pretend love affairs with leading men.  You can’t keep your hands off Paul Giomatti?  Sorry.  Not buying it.  No Extra or Access Hollywood or  Entertainment Tonight tonight, tomorrow or six months from tonight .   Angelina-Shmangelina.   Am I getting through to you?  Excellent.  And when you’re done with this, just one more thing — please forward  to Kate Hudson.

Thanks!
Mollie

SEE YOU AT THE MOVIES? UH — I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THAT…

Saturday, May 22nd, 2010

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“G.” “PG.”  PG-13.”  “R.”  Movie ratings are there to help us, to guide us.  Is this film too “adult” for your six-year-old twins?  (As they are probably the Most Talented and Gifted in their Talented and Gifted charter school class, who knows?   Is this movie too unsophisticated to take that Bard undergrad you’ve been wanting to impress, even though she quotes Jay MacInerney and Sanjay Gupta?

Movie ratings are our friends.  But we don’t have enough “friends.”  The Motion Picture Association of America knows this but they’re too busy going to free screenings, so I’ve taken it upon myself to come up with a list of ratings for movie patrons, people who go to the movies but perhaps should not, people who make me, (and perhaps you), watch big-screen action-adventure films on our computer screens just to avoid having to sit near any of the following:

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EINN – Eats Iridescent Nauseating Nachos.   Does your penchant for day-glow colors extend to liquid cheese food- (hint – anything edible that has to have a food-hyphenate added on to remind you that you’re not eating, I don’t know – paste or hot tar), dripping over nachos as authentic to the cuisine of Mexico as Epcot Center is to the country of Norway?  Aren’t you even just a tad embarrassed to not only order these but also then have to carry them past anyone other than Stevie Wonder on your way into the theatre?  “Who,” you’re wondering, “would even look to see what anyone else is eating at the movies?”  The rest of us. –

MKSIFOYOCEM – Must Kick Seat In Front Of You Or Can’t Enjoy Movie –   Of course I feel it.  You know I feel it.  Have “Shaky Leg” Syndrome?  As far as “syndromes,” that’s a pretty hilarious one and here’s the thing of it – I don’t care why you’re kicking the back of my seat.  I just care that you are.  So when I turn around and give you the eye-roll, don’t give me “wtf are you looking at me for?”  Arrogant and shaky are not as good a combo as “free soda with large popcorn.”

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TDM -Talks During Movie —  Yes, you are the oxymoronic folks, (note the word ‘moron’ in oxymoronic?) who come to see a film and to have a conversation.  At the same time.  At the same freakin’ time! These two things are at odds. Don’t you see?  When Russell Crowe is talking and you are asking your date if she “feels like Chinese after the movie?”  I get distracted.  When I’m watching the previews and I want to watch the previews but you think that doing and saying anything you feel like is fair game until the feature begins, we have a problem.  Not even the person you’re with wants to hear you pontificate about how it’s not the heat that kills you but the humidity.   It won’t be the heat or the humidity – it will be me.  So STFU.  Thanks.


SMFAFFG – Sees Movie Snacks as Fifth Food Group
– Dibs.  Nonpareils.  Gummy Sharks. These are not the name of any foods I’ve ever heard of.  These are not foods. Do you need the feedbag-size popcorn or those hotdogs that have been spinning on that “grill” since the Bicentennial?  Use this as a barometer – if you were supposed to eat at the movies, they would call it “the restaurant.”

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POFDAS.R.  – Possesses Obscure Film Data and Shares.  Relentlessly
.     You know who you are.  You’re that guy standing behind Woody Allen and Diane Keaton at the movies who makes Woody Allen say, “Oh yeah?  Well, I happen to have Marshall Mcluhan right here.”  You know it all.  Ingmar Bergman’s favorite herring.  What the weather was like in Paris when Godard shot “Breathless.”  How Kurosawa liked to floss so much, he had a Dental Hygiene P.A. on the set at all times.  You have alienated everyone you know.  When you invite friends or relatives to dinner and they tell you they have other plans, they don’t.  They have one plan – to avoid you.  A little knowledge goes a long way and you need to go a long way.  Don’t let the “Exit” door hit you on the behind.

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TTMDM – Talks to Movie During Movie – “Oh sweat!” “Oh sh*t” or “Mess that mother-f**ker up!”  Doesn’t matter.  Vin Diesel doesn’t hear you.  I do.

BTK – Brings the Kiddies.    Think it’s okay to bring your three-year-old to see “Kill Bill” or “Terminator 9?”  Too cheap to hire a babysitter and don’t mind the fact that I have to hear, over and over and over again, “I have to make peepee,” or crying, “I don’t like this – I’m scared”?  Or maybe your six-month old’s been a little cranky because she hasn’t yet seen, ”Hot Tub Time Machine?”  Yes, I know the law.  It’s perfectly legal to bring your infant to a movie theatre.  It’s perfectly legal to nurse three seats away from me.  It’s also perfectly legal to walk around with a plate of Mussels Marinara on your head.  Why don’t you try that instead?


NLODTE – Needs Libretto or Docent to Explain
No – this isn’t “Tosca” or “La Traviata.”  The film is usually in English and the plot line is typically as complex as second grade math.  What exactly is it about Shrek that you don’t understand?   Did an embolism burst between the time the Titanic hits the iceberg and the time it sinks?  Why does your friend have to explain that  “Pirates of the Caribbean” is about pirates who are in the Caribbean?  Read the Spark Notes before.  There will be a quiz.

IIINTOMCPTB – I’m Important I’m Not Turning Off My Cell Phone Too Bad – Thanks.  Right at the climax of the film, I love hearing your “Paparazzi” ringtone.  Just the fact that you paid to have a Lady Gaga ringtone should make you want to hide under your seat should your phone ring.   You can’t be important AND be at the Loew’s Octoplex watching “How to Train Your Dragon.”   And you do no one a favor by putting it on “vibrate.”  I can hear your phone vibrate.  It’s moving in your pocket.  Your pants are moving.  It’s not a pretty sound and it’s certainly not a pretty sight.

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GGGOG – Golden Girls Group Oh G-d! – I’m happy that you’re active and vital and those women you’re getting together with, whom you refer to as “the girls,” (give me a moment to stop guffawing).  You ladies also like to talk during the film.  I’m not sure whether it’s because you pay half-price because of your age, or because you think you’re playing Canasta in the senior citizen center, or if you’re conducting a test – If Estelle Doesn’t Answer She’s Dead.  She’s not.  She’s searching her third-base-size tote bag for a hard butterscotch candy wrapped in more cellophane than a carton of CDs.

LSITU – Laziest Slob In The Universe
— Pick up your bidet-size coke cup after the movie so I don’t need a Zamboni machine to navigate my way out of the aisle.

FACEBOOK USERS — TIME TO “FACE” THE FACTS

Saturday, May 15th, 2010

Boredom.  I used to think there was nothing worse than boredom. Now I know that there is and it’s called Facebook. I know you’re thinking, “Hey, Mollie – you’re on Facebook.”  And you’re right.  But I have a blog to sell – what’s your excuse?   You like to keep in touch?  You like to show people from high school that your acne went away or that your lost 80 pounds or that you have a baby?  You’re delusional.

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If someone from high school liked you,
he wouldn’t care that you had acne, and if he didn’t like you, he definitely isn’t interested that the acne cleared up.  In fact, he’d probably like it more if you were a major pizza-face.  The “hey world-I’m-hot-now-weight-loss” is lost on any guy you used to know who isn’t within physical range of having sex with you.  And your baby?  They’ve been being born forever, and to everyone other than you and the immediate family, they all look like Winston Churchill.

Need more reasons to curtail the Facebook habit?  I bet you do…

*   I hate to burst your bubble, but you don’t have 538 friends
.  You probably don’t have three friends.  No one looks at the # of friends you have on Facebook and thinks, “Wow – he’s really popular.”  We think, “wow – even watching Law and Order re-runs or shopping at Walgreens for flip-flops and peanut butter protein bars is less pathetic than drumming up faux friends on Facebook.

*    Farmville.  Are you nuts?
I would rather chew my toenails off with my teeth than go anywhere near Farmville and the fact that you let thousands of people you don’t know and the three friends you once had know that  “Erica was farming when a sad Llama wandered onto their farm in FarmVille. This lonely llama ran away from her old herd because the other llamas were fighting all the time. She feels very sad and could use a new herd and a new home,” means that now you have none.  Friends, that is.  But I’m sure you’ve got plenty of hay–and-crops-and-shit.  In the inimitable words of my grandma – oy.  Oy, oy, oy.

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*   And while we’re on the subject
,  please  know that I couldn’t care less that you  “just scored 353,700 and earned a 350k Star Medal in Bejeweled Blitz!”  In real life, there are no 350k Star Medals.  Not even pimpesque medallions.  This isn’t a spelling bee and you’re not in the Olympics — the time for medals is long gone.  When you score an actual 350k and would like to – I don’t know – give it to me, I’ll show a tad more enthusiasm.

*  Remember when we were in college and you told me I was
the prettiest girl you ever met  and I told you I’d rather drink the water from the toilet than be seen in public with you?  Why would I want to talk to you now, 30 years later?  Did you take “George Clooney” pills?  Win Mega-Millions?  On a Make-A-Wish-For-Pathetic-People List?

*    Repeat after me:
“friend” is not a verb.

*    Let me think – what would I rather see uploaded onto Facebook
other than you and your five drunk roommates at Outback Steakhouse.  Um…anything?

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*    Thank you for letting me know where you are at this very moment and what you are doing.   On behalf of all of the burglars in your neighborhood who also happen to have computers and need new ones, a flat screen TV and that expensive jewelry that was handed down from your grandmother to your mother to you, that you never wear, wouldn’t sell to Cash-For-Gold and were too lazy to put in a safety deposit box, thanks ☺

You really want to play MafiaWars?
Go to Staten Island and scream, “Waste management!  LOL!”

You don’t have much to say in person.
Think very carefully before hitting the “comment” link.   Is what you are going to say of any relevance, will it reveal your innate intelligence or brilliant wit?  Didn’t think so.  Keep scrolling.  Read a book.  Read a book and resist the urge to make a new  Facebook entry like,  “Reading the new Flaubert.  It’s seriously tres fabulous.  I hope he has a fan page.  I’m ‘friending’ him right now!’”

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DEAR HIPSTER PARENT…

Thursday, May 6th, 2010

We’re a couple of generations apart, so what do I know?  Well I’m guessing that it’s considerably more than you as  1)  I’ve lived longer   2)  I still don’t think I know everything and   3)  I wouldn’t text while I’m walking, let alone on a bicycle, listening to an IPod and drinking a Sobe Pomegranate Cherry ZingSeng LifeWater.  In my dull universe, it’s preferable to behave like a human, not some circus freak act.  All you’re missing is the spinning plates.

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You too, if you’re lucky, will grow up. You are growing up.  You are a proud group, with  your flannels and ratty emo music, self-righteous beliefs and micro-brewed beer and, lest you think that I think you’ve accomplished little other than starting up indie bands no one “gets” except you and your “ironic” friends,   you have just about re-settled Wiliamsburg.  You should take pride in the fact that both the poor Latinos and Hasidic Jews, who have lived in that area for generations, finally have something in common – both groups detest you and want you out of their neighborhood ASAP.

What to do?  There are younger hipsters
coming into your neighborhood and they are even hipsterier than you are.  Time to marry and procreate and move to Park Slope or Red Hook.  There are a gazillion food cooperatives in Park Slope, yet there is a Fairway Supermarket in Red Hook.  This is going to be a tough decision for the young hipster couple with a kid or two.  Please keep in mind that very few neighborhoods are actually happy to see you show up.  Hard to believe, no?  No.  Why won’t you find the local Welcome Wagon showing up on your condo doorstep?  Well, here’s just a few reasons.  I’m sure there are hundreds more…


*     Stop trying to change the neighborhood
the second you move in as, chances are, it was doing fine before you got there.  No, there isn’t a groundswell of  support among your neighbors for any of your stupid causes.  Your neighbors are just trying to earn a living and have no desire to join you in boycotting the entire community until they agree to change the local public school to the “My-Child-Is-Fucking-Radically-Gifted” Charter School.

*      You can be too rich and too thin.  You are.  It’s just that you can’t hide your emaciated frame as well as you can the checks you get from your parents.

*     It is quite possible to raise normal children who don’t grow a sustainable vegetable garden or turn an empty lot into a “People’s Park.  You live in the city so you can get your fruits and vegetables at Food Emporium.  I don’t want a “farm” in the middle of my block and if you do, move to one.  Ee-I-Ee-I-O.

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*  Good luck finding a fixed-gear tricycle.

*       We don’t think everything your kid has to say is “amazing” or “brilliant” and when they become teenagers, you will pay dearly for the fact that you insisted that your children call you “Roger,” instead of “Dad.”

*     Sorry hipster – not all of your children will grow up to be artists.  The world  also needs plumbers and accountants and social studies teachers and once your kids decide to rebel against your “hip” parenting style, chances are they’ll be doing my taxes.

*   Non-hipsters are tempted to projectile-vomit when we pass a whole family dressed in thrift-shop, ragtag finery, like you’re some sort of  traveling “BoxCar Children” troupe. Go shopping for real clothes.  “Hipster” may be an image you are trying to cultivate, but you have money from your computer jobs or Mommy and Daddy – go to a goddamned department store once in a while and buy never-been-worn-stuff.  It could even match and not have a “CandyLand” or Super Hero logo.  Now wouldn’t that be pretty radical and non-conformist?

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*    Stop looking for street cred.  You have none.  You barely have “people” cred.

*   No – “skinny” jeans don’t come in a size 2T and even if they did, your toddler can’t look “skinny” with a fat Pampers under his “skinny” jeans.  Oh that’s right – you’ve gone green and will use re-usable cloth diapers.  Until the very first time you have to get the poop off of one…

*     If only I could have seen the look on your parents’ faces when you told them you were naming your kid “Kobain” or “Chinese Symbol for Harmony.”

*     It’s so cool that you’re not polluting the environment with nasty gasoline as you strap your pre-schooler onto the back of your bicycle as you slalom through rush-hour traffic made up of daredevil yellow cab drivers and frustrated delivery drivers in three-ton trucks.  Well, look at it this way – at least you won’t have to start a college fund.

*    Wait until you figure out that, in order to parent, your child’s needs have to take priority over yours.  Oops.

*    No, little Jackson would not look “cool” with a Pabst Blue Ribbon beer can tattoo.  I’m calling Child Protective Services.

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*   Your three-year old looks even more pathetic in his “Animal Alternative” t-shirt than you do.  Wait.  Maybe…no he does..no you do…wow – this is a conundrum.  It’s a tie.

*   Make sure to get them RayBans as soon as their soft scalps harden.  It’s never too early to work on that “I’d-make- eye-contact-with-you-but-why-bother?” look going.  Kewl.