America's Next Top Basketball Game

We all know Cycle 7 of America’s Next Top Model left much to be desired. I lasted two whole blog posts before giving up, never to be heard from again...until now! Of course, then I wondered why we stopped being invited to the conference calls. The horror!

No offense to Caridee and all, because she seems like a totally fun and nice girl who battled skin disease to come out on top, but it was definitely one of the most boring, shark-jumping finales in the history of the show. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not blaming the girls in any way. I am, however, totally blaming Tyra, her fucking insane mammoth god-complex and the absence of writers. And what was the deal with the below the waist juices and underwear smearing. This show has a very long way to go before they achieve Silence of the Lambs status! But, whatever, Tyra...go hand out more Vaseline or something.

My pick for this cycle was definitely twin Michelle, which of course meant that she didn’t stand a chance. All hope that I’d actually pick the winner vanished after Cycle 4, when Naima was chosen over Kahlen (yeah, don’t get me started!), and it’s been a downhill luge race from there. In my defense, I will say that the fact that none of my favorite girls have ever won is definitely a blessing in disguise because they don’t get locked into crappy contracts, doomed to do stupid Cover Girl ads and kiss Tyra’s ass for the next calendar year. So, go Elyse, Shandi, Ann, Kahlen, Kyle, Mollie Sue/Joanie and Michelle. Shut up! If guys can spend countless hours playing fantasy football, then I’m entitled to my Top Model All Stars. But, I digress.

Michelle was very wrongly booted in Episode 11, when it came down to Twin vs. Twin, which I was hoping would happen in the finale, but fuck you, Tyra. Clearly, this meant that we needed more Michelle and living in LA, you’re definitely afforded some wonderfully cult-ish/stalkerish opportunities...like, say, schlepping out to Pasadena City College on a Wednesday night with your best friend to catch the Pasadena-Cypress game.

After scarfing down some falafels in record time, we hopped on the 134 and headed east. Traffic wasn’t too bad, especially once we passed the Explorer that was completely engulfed in flames like something out of a movie. We knew it was sure to be a kick ass night after that...and it was!

Parking at the college was a buck...learn, UCLA, learn! Tickets for the game were five bucks and we got floor seats because we’re awesome...and because there were maybe like 20 spectators total. But, for the sake of argument, we’ll go with the former. We even managed to get there in time to do our annual Pop Whore/BFF gift exchange.

The game went something like this...Cypress struggled out of the gates, eventually tying up the game and then falling behind again 35-32 at the half. But late in the second half, Pasadena blew the game wide open and Cypress lost 93-71. Here's the official recap.

At any rate, I think I was obviously much more into the event than Nick was, because he had sort of given up on Top Model this season. Well, that, and the fact that he hadn’t written GO TWIN! on his chest with a black Sharpie like I had, waiting for the just right moment to flash my own twins.

One definite highlight was when the ball went flying right into my foot and I got to throw it back to the ref. Yep, I touched the ball...and haven't washed my hand since. If that's not hot, I don't know what is. (If you would like to touch my unwashed hand, stalk me over at MySpace to make arrangements.)

And before I get too graphic, here are some pictures...

Please keep in mind that gym lighting and my tiny Canon with limited zoom are not exactly ideal for sports photography. As always, click to enlarge...


This one is my favorite -


Towards the end of the game, Michelle definitely looked my way. She was either thinking, “hey, who’s the cute girl in the black sweater with the camera?” or “who the fuck is that crazy stalker chick who won’t stop taking pictures of me? Does she plan on making a fucking flipbook or something?"

Yeah, I think we’ll go with the latter on this one.

So, Michelle, in the really off chance you’re reading this, please know it was strictly out of love and for the blog. Then again, “it’s for the blog” is the 2006 equivalent of “her mouth was saying ‘no,’ but her eyes were saying ‘yes.'"

Good thing the year is almost over.

Snap Judgment: Some Pig! Some Banker! Some Dragon!

This weekend almost got away from me, but with material like this I really couldn't let that happen.



Eragon (fantasy, rated PG, directed by Stefen Fangmeier, written by Peter Buchman, based on the novel by Christopher Paolini)

Remember how the first Harry Potter book got all that extra hype when it came out because it was written by an unemployed single mom on legal pads at her local coffee shop? (No, of course you don't remember that. Like most kids, you were probably born during that grueling 3-year interval between the 4th and 5th books, when millions of Americans turned to procreation as a brief distraction from obsessing over what Voldemort was up to next.) Well, the British welfare mother thing had its cachet for a while, but it's now been overthrown completely, and the brave author to pull that particular sword from its stone was a 15-year old home schooled kid from Montana. Yes, this is completely true; I may make a lot of jokes about home schooling (and believe me, I'm about to) but I'd never invent a fact like that. Okay, I probably would, but in this case I'm not. Seriously, Christopher Paolini was schooled by his parents in Paradise Valley, Montana and "graduated" by the time he was fifteen. Not sure who he went to the prom with, but I'd like to think he had the good sense to sit it out. Anyway, after digging a little further into his life I realized I was coming up a little short on quality material: shockingly, I've been unable to find any interview quotes along the lines of "I'm really just writing these books to honor our Lord Jesus, and gosh, I sure hope that the kids who read them really believe in dragons and elves before they believe humans descended from apes." No, it sounds more like his mom and dad kept him out of school to prevent him from being immersed in red-state propaganda. Which, I guess I have to admit, is a decent excuse in this particular instance. And while he doesn't necessarily seem like the most well-adjusted kid in the world, at least he was spending his sexually frustrated teenage years cranking out best-selling (if ultra-derivative) novels instead of hacking the NetNanny firewall and borrowing dad's credit card to access the Club Jenna website.

Oh yeah, the movie? It pretty much looks like a piece of crap. And what's Sienna Guillory doing in it? She must have woken up one day thinking she was actually Sienna Miller and, therefore, that it was her job to embarrass herself.



The Pursuit of Happyness (drama, rated PG-13, directed by Gabriele Muccino, written by Steve Conrad)

So, I forgot that Will Smith actually has two sons. That would explain why this kid is named Jaden, that super-hip kid celebrity kid name of the moment (etymology: "We had no ideas so we just added an N to something else"). The older one is Trey, whose name is nowhere to be seen. Was there perhaps some squabbling over who got this lucrative, Kid's-Choice-Awards-baiting role? Because I can completely imagine Jaden and Trey going at it, Godfather II style, on premiere night.

"I'm your older brother, Jaden, and I was stepped over!"
"It's the way pop wanted it!"
"It ain't the way I wanted it! I can handle things! I'm smart! I can find lens and cry on cue! I'm smart and I want respect!"

Or, maybe Trey just passed up the role outright because he wasn't quite ready for the intensity of a Dakota Fanning-esque existence. Speaking of which, wouldn't it be great if there was also a Dakota Fanning movie on which to hold forth? Wait a second...



Charlotte's Web (heartwarming, rated G, directed by Gary Winick, written by Susannah Grant, Karey Kirkpatrick, and Earl Hamner, based on the novel by E.B. White)

There she is. Sure, Dakota's already Spielberg's go-to girl for the moppet-in-danger roles; she's even showing a really disturbing amount of precociousness by already playing a rape victim (and this time I am really not kidding)... but it's good to know that she still has time for a good, meaty role in a film catering to the training pants crowd (i.e., the age bracket whose MySpace profiles mostly consist of random keystrokes and parent-approved links to Dora the Explorer fansites). The filmmakers also managed to nab Julia Roberts as the voice of Charlotte, probably reeling her in with the truthful but misleading pitch that it was "another project from the writer of Erin Brockovich." Actually, looking over the entire voice-cast list, I'm thinking it's more likely that they just fired a mind-control ray at every actor who happened to be on the Paramount lot that morning. That would explain how Cedric the Entertainer "just happened" to walk out of his meeting with studio executives (topic: how many films he'd have to wear a mumuu in before they'd finance his pet producing project about Miles Davis) and straight into the ADR stage for Charlotte's Web without even stopping for so much as a Jamba Juice in between.

Snap Judgment: Orphaned airport kids will be sacrificed to the Mayan gods

Gosh, it's almost Christmas, which means it's almost time for good (i.e., highly budgeted and/or Oscar-baiting) movies to come out.

But not quite.



Unaccompanied Minors (comedy, rated PG, directed by Paul Feig, written by Jacob Meszaros & Mya Stark)

Oh sure, most people were affixing this movie with the "generic holiday crap" label as soon as they saw the poster -- but that's just because they didn't realize the hipness of its pedigree. First of all, it's based on a story from the super-awesome radio show This American Life (which finally has free podcasts). Second of all, it's directed by Paul Feig, creator of Freaks and Geeks (and co-star of Ski Patrol, a movie I probably rented about 47 times between my tenth and twelfth years) (don't judge me). Third of all, it has Lewis Black. But, alas, it seems like the before-the-fact naysayers were probably right and ultimately the geek points listed above don't add up to much. Sometimes when a movie studio buys the rights to a This American Life story, it's just because their idea well is so dry that they can't even come up with 83 or so minutes of kid-friendly holiday hijinks. And sometimes when they hire the one guy from Freaks and Geeks it's just because they heard how well that other guy from the show has been doing. And as awesome as he is on The Daily Show and in stand-up, Lewis Black doesn't always choose the best film roles.


The Holiday (romantic comedy, rated PG-13, written/directed by Nancy Meyers)

Also known as Closer: The Cuter, Sweeter Version With More Box Office Potential. Nancy Meyers is one of those people who insisted on calling things "A Film by Nancy Meyers" about two movies before she really should have. She also should be a wee bit wary of trumpeting her name too much, since fully 25% of her directorial filmography is made up by The Parent Trap, the movie that launched a certain red-haired actress to stardom, Page Six-dom, months-long bender at the Chateau Marmont-dom, and of course, brilliant Blackberry-composed mission statement-dom. Or maybe Meyers is fully aware of this and takes great pride in the many fascinating life choices made by her protege. She was probably the first one to see it all coming; it's possible that even at the tender age of twelve Lindsay was showing up to set several hours late with apple juice stains on her shirt and cookie crumbs on her face, the unmistakable signs of an all-night Malibu Barbie Dream House tea party that got out of hand.



Apocalypto (history/action, rated R, directed by Mel Gibson, written by Mel Gibson & Farhad Safinia)

Dear Mel,

I give up. Nothing on this earth is going to stop you from busting out crazy violent historical flicks every few years and promoting the hell out of them. You're the teflon celebrity. Next month you could be videotaped catapulting kittens and puppies into an active volcano, but by March or April you'd already have a trailer out for your 4-hour World War I epic, filmed in black and white with a cast of 3 million. Even if you're actually sent to prison at some point, I have no doubt that you'll laugh it off with a few publicist-approved self-deprecating jokes and then explain how your time in the joint was really a blessing in disguise because it allowed you to complete your 2,800 page script for your French and Indian War masterpiece which will only be able to be properly displayed on a 3-mile wide screen with 7,000 speakers. In a nutshell, nobody will ever be able to spend much time ridiculing you for any one thing because you are just too many kinds of crazy to keep up with. And quite frankly, that pretty much means you're a genius. So, congratulations. You've gone so far over the line that you made us forget there was one.

Hallelujah, A Snap Judgment Is Born Unto Us

Okay, it's much delayed, but there's at least one movie from this past weekend that needed some kind of judgment applied, even if it wasn't as snappy as I would have liked.


The Nativity Story (Sunday School field trip, rated PG, directed by Catherine Hardwicke, written by Mike Rich)

Jesus is the reason for the season, and if half the bumper stickers in the flyover states aren't sufficient to remind us of that, then I guess it's a good thing we have a movie to bolster their efforts. And good lord (no pun intended), look at the credentials of the talent involved!

1. Mike Rich, writer of Finding Forrester. Who better to adapt the Bible than the dude who put "You're the man now, dog!" into Sean Connery's mouth? Oh wait, he also wrote Radio. My bad. He's going to totally nail the part where a young, mentally challenged Jesus tries to get on the Nazareth High football team.
   
2. Catherine Hardwicke, director of Thirteen and Lords of Dogtown. She's, you know, edgy! I bet she'll really bring that gritty realism the source material demands. Lots of handheld, you-are-there camerawork in the manger scene, real frankincense and myrrh for the Wise Men, and, hell, even...
3. ...Keisha Castle-Hughes, actual pregnant 17-year old, as Mary. Wow, I'd say that's commitment to a project. I mean, they gave an Oscar to George Clooney for Syriana, and all he did was eat enough Krispy Kremes to build up a quality spare tire. Charlize Theron just had the hair and makeup people ugly her up a little, and she too ended up with the fanciest of doorstops. A mere prosthetic nosepiece sealed the deal for Nicole Kidman. Carrying a baby to term pretty much leaves all those in the dust, but doesn't anyone fear the future repercussions here? What are we going to see next year, Adrien Brody getting an actual lobotomy for the final scene of the One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest remake?
   

In conclusion, I am freaking stoked for this like you have no idea. I hope the megachurches haven't bought up all the tickets just yet. And I was assuming that this movie was one of the initial offerings from the newly formed Fox Faith (seriously, that's a real thing) but no, it's actually distributed by New Line, a normal, non-religious (sometimes even sort of maverick) studio. Just wait until the really religious movies start hitting theaters! Cute little only-sort-of-Anglicized baby Jesus will be a drop in the bucket compared to the inevitably more hardcore stuff like Suzie Went To Planned Parenthood And Now She's Going to Hell, or even the seemingly innocuous but actually message-ridden romantic comedies like Steve and Shirley: A Romantic Comedy About A Married Husband and Wife. Gosh! An Actual Marriage Between One Man And One Woman! Does That Even Happen Anymore In This Sick, Perverse World Of Ours? But, uh, I digress.

Happy Monday.