Why is Isabelle Huppert crazy?

Because she is French and super thin and super chic and can get away with doing anything on film. ANYTHING. I admire that.

You might have relationship problems if...

Sorry, but I'm riffing on Jeff Foxworthy's award-winning comedy bit, "You might be a redneck if..."
I was watching the movie Nine 1/2 weeks. Yeah, it took me a long to finally get around to it. But, oh boy! It was fantastic! I recently watched The Wrestler, and I cannot believe that is the same person. Mickey Rourke, that is. Seriously, WTF HAPPENED TO HIS FACE?! He was smokin' hot in the 1980s. Poor Mickey and his messed-up face. He's still a badass though.

Where was I going with this? Oh, yeah. I found their relationship in the movie to be ideal. Like, Mickey Rourke's character is my dream man. That's messed up, right?

I'd like to be here right now...

Faulkner's house, that is.

Sharing a slice of ridiculous

Working a corporate office job can lead to some really random funny emails...emails that perhaps were never meant to be funny or random. Indulge me while I share one of my favorite lines ever...

"A little background on...[blank]...He has extensive experience in a wide range of categories and is especially strong in foods—beef, potatoes, eggs, bananas, raisins, and, of course, milk."

Tell me that's not amazing.

Beginning my menu for future restaurant: Sides

Good ole' Sides restaurant. You're patient. You're ready to be born but I keep putting you off. Mainly because I don't have a dream city picked out or $100,000 lying around. But I will. I WILL, NAYSAYERS!

So once Sides is all decorated with his Georgia pine wood floors, crispy linen curtains, sweet tea in Mason jars, Wednesday turkey meatloaf day, herb garden out back, farm eggs, George Jones playin' in the background...what else ya gonna eat?

How about...

French picnic
Baked brie with pistachios and cranberry, served with Melba toast

Just Beet it
Roasted beets with goat cheese and sugared walnuts with baby spinach and Raspberry-Thyme Vinaigrette

Tybee Island's soup
Creamed corn and King Crab chowder served with cheddar biscuits (yes, that kind)

Southern Decadence
Shrimp and grits in a buttery-Gruyere sauce with peppered bacon

"Shrimp on a Stick"
bacon-wrapped shrimp fried up in a corn dog and put on stick

"Mighty Chili Out poppers"
Bite size cheddar cornbread with green chile chili baked inside

Big Daddy's Bourbon-laced Sweet Taters.
Whipped sweet potatoes spiked with bourbon and sprinkled with brown sugar walnuts

Hippie Aunt
Veggie burger on cracked wheat bread and housemade basil mayonaise

Big Daddy's Heart Attack
Kobe beef and foie gras burger with fried egg, Wisconsin cheddar, and spicy mustard

Dessert:
Sweet potato semifreddo with brown sugar butter warm sauce

Housemade Mexican vanilla ice cream with chipotle cranberry sauce

**the receipt always comes with little pralines for everyone at the table

The original hipster movie?

While watching the 1969 film, John and Mary, I felt like I was in an Urban Outfitters commercial. From Mia Farrow's elvish pixie cut to her stylish babydoll dress to Dustin Hoffman's minimalist apartment to his line of "hey, wanna listen to my records?" to the plaintive soundtrack to their one-night stand, it was like...am I in Williamsburg or what?!

But obviously, this film is way cooler because it's authentically old. I thought it was much better than The Graduate. Directed by Peter Yates (of Breaking Away) it was beautifully done and very much a film of its time. Plus the awkward moments between the couple really made me feel awkward. Gee, I sure wish I lived back then.

Quote of the day by David Byrne

A "livable city" means vastly different things for many people. In Hong Kong it might mean that your family is in a comfortable apartment while you play in the exciting mercantile world in a glass tower overlooking the harbor. In Dallas livability might mean that you live near an expressway that isn't jammed up, at least not all the time, and your car runs most days. For some it might mean super fast Wi-Fi, the possibility of lucky and lucrative business opportunities and plenty of strip clubs. If that's what rocks your boat then try Houston, though to me that city, oil money made physically manifest, is my worst nightmare.

from http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203440104574403293064136098.html

I love you, man.

This movie was okay. But it could have been awesome. How so? A simple plot twist at the end. As Jason Segel pulls up on his scooter to attend Paul Rudd's wedding, he should have objected. And then he should have looked tenderly at Paul and said, "Seriously. I love you, man." Then they should have embraced and gotten married instead. Forget that Rashida Jones! Now THAT would have been amazing. But the studio and homophobic American masses would have never gone for that. Hence, my continued admiration for Mike White, whose film Chuck and Buck is incredible.

Nevertheless, Jason Segel, I think you're pretty cute and I think we would have a wonderful time walking your puggle and being goofy together. Paul Rudd, your sense of humor gets a little too smug with each passing film. You're not that cute, and you're not that funny. Plus, I met you at SXSW and you were kind of a dick.

I just wanted to enter the Mad Men Casting Call...

Well, don't wait until the last day to enter an extremely popular contest. This is heartbreaking. The AMC server is down. I took a bazillion photos (vanity project, yes, I know) and now I can't enter. Because the server is down. The server has been down for 10 hours. Will they accept late entries? Will I get to play Joan Holloway's sister? I guess not...here's one I was going to submit.

Sob. Seriously. This might have ruined my whole week.

A Visit to the Oak Lawn Library

Blog, I'm sorry that I've neglected you. I've moved to a new gay-borhood, and haven't had the means to set up/steal WiFi. Shocking, I know. Nonetheless, felt the need to discuss books I am currently reading:

Towelhead by Alicia Erian
I had no idea what to expect. I saw the film preview and thought, Ummm don't really care. Love Aaron Eckhart, but don't really care. But I started reading it and couldn't put it down. The author did an amazing job capturing the voice of a thirteen-year-old girl--naive but quite intelligent. An uncomfortable coming-of-age novel.

Oh The Glory of it All by Sean Wilsey
I could NOT put this book down. Self-indulgent, highly detailed, full of delicious tidbits about San Francisco society and how effed up wealthy people can be...I loved it! I kind of wish I had been sent to the same "behavioral correcting" school in Italy, too. Not fair.

Watched a montage of Busby Berkeley's dance routines from his 1930s films. Every time I watch this man's work I am blown away. Even by today's standards they are breathtaking, let alone the fact that he did them as film was still a new medium. Talkie films had only come out ten years ago! Buzz is one of my idols. I would kill to be one of the girls he zooms in on, flashing my pearly whites as I come out of the water in a gold lamé bathing suit. Ah, truly the epitome of Hollywood's Golden Age.

Bicycle porn.

Finally settled down and watched Breaking Away. I thought it was beautifully shot. Loved the music, the seventies clothes and cars and girls and college campus. Women back then just seem more beautiful. Everyone is tan and toned and has fabulous wavy hair and sparkling white teeth.

Again, Dennis Quaid in his prime. That man can rock cut-off denim shorts in a quarry like none another. I take my hat off to you, sir. The bike shots, especially in motion, were fantastic. I love that whirring sound they make. Bonus points for recognizing Jackie Earl Haley as a young, freakishly short young men in the film. I'll always think of him as the creepy child molester in Little Children. He totally should have the Oscar. Love my comeback stories.

interesting fact from imdb.com: The production team decided to call the Bloomington townies "cutters" because they felt the actual local nickname ("stoners" or "stonies") would draw a parallel to drug references for viewers who were not raised in the area.

estate sales and missed connections

from dallas craigslist, this made me smile:

Estate Sale, Cute Red Head - m4w - 24 (East Dallas)

I've never done the whole missed connection thing on here before, but decided to give it a shot after seeing you yesterday at an estate sale off Richmond. It was in the early morning around 7:45 or 8 and you were the cute head I spotted- you had a really cool '50s look and since you were at an estate sale, I clearly figured you're into nostalgia, which is rare to find in a girl. I talked a little with you when I first saw you, and then I saw you again in the line behind me (I had a book shelf and an old Philco radio)- I wanted to say something more but honestly couldn't think of anything. However I'd love the chance to meet up again, so if you see this, don't hesitate to drop me a line!

Was Dennis Quaid on coke when he made The Big Easy?

Just wondering. He's just so durn skinny in this movie. But you gets to see his bum! Yes, he looks amazingly muscular...but just a leeeetle strung out. Dennis! Why you gotta be like that? Still, I love when every actor in a movie commits to a local dialect. It's a funny/awkward/strained/valiant effort. So Dennis, I applaud your effort to sound Cajun. It's difficult, but you even came off as sexy doing it. It helped that you had your shirt off a lot.

I don't know about the cult classic part, but I enjoyed the music and Ellen Barkin's horrible, horrible outfits. I guess when your legs are that good, you can really do anything.

"Edieeeeee!"

I just watched HBO's version of Grey Gardens. For some reason I was upset when I first heard about this, well, not remake. I guess a "behind-the-scenes" version of the cult classic documentary. I hate the term "cult classic." I guess the whole Grey Gardens thing just makes me sad. I mean, it's this tragic, once-glamorous family and house and history that has completely let itself to ruin and humiliation. The documentary is basically an exploitation of their unfulfilled dreams and cat-infested home. Isn't everyone really just laughing at Little Edie as she does her sad song-and-dance routine for David Maysles? The mother wasn't that good a singer either. Even if Edie had gone to New York and auditioned for the Broadway producer, would she have really made it?

I guess we'll never know. And I don't doubt that the Maysles brothers really cared for them. At least, I hope they did. But I just can't help but feel sorry for every subject of a documentary. It always seems like people are laughing at them, not with them.

However, I think Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange did a pretty good job. Beautiful costumes, of course. Daniel Baldwin, props to you, too. I don't really buy the hunky-dory "I'm sorry, no, I'm sorry!" ending with mother and daughter. And when Edie performs her cabaret routine at the closing credits (apparently in real life, too) is it tragic? Or is it redemption? I'm still undecided.

Pay a visit to your local library.

I am a fan of public libraries. It seems no matter where you go: Austin, Portland, Dallas..it's always the same scene. Crazy people ranting, children, fat old people, and awkward teenagers. And me! I get a little shiver of excitement when I walk in the doors. Especially if it's an old building in the middle of a neighborhood. It's like coming home, even if it's my first time.

So imagine my dismay when I realized I've been living in Dallas for almost six months and haven't gotten a library card! Shoot, I just figured out where the durn thing was last weekend when I went for a bike ride! So I put on my Mom Shorts and pink helmet and hit the road. I also made sure to pack proof of my address and a license. Unfortunately, libraries are sticklers about this. My Lakewood Branch is just fabulous. Sometimes, librarians can be mean. I dunno why, my own mother is one, I guess they just get embittered that no one reads anymore and children are obese Wii-playing brats. But these ladies were nice.

There was an interesting selection of DVDs, that's for sure. The entire series of "The Waltons" was there...you can betcha I'll be hitting that one up! Also three copies of the Pamela Anderson and Denise Richards classic, "Blonde and Blonder." I actually almost rented that, but realized there are so many quality films out there that I simply can't waste my time with such drivel. So I rented The Quiet Man, The Flamingo Kid, and The Big Easy. Love my Dennis Quaid! Book-wise, I settled on Leonard Nemoy's son's memoir. It's all about his addiction and alcoholism. I can't wait!

Hooray for janky bikes, libraries, and the carrot cake cupcakes I'm about to make. With cream cheese frosting.

Concerts make me hate people (more).

So I used to go to concerts/shows/what have you alllll the time in high school. I couldn't drink, I was scared of boys...but I could drive! So my best friend and I would drive forty minutes to downtown Austin...on a school night, mind you! We'd put on our best Charlotte Russe top and boot-cut jeans and paint the town underage red. We were always on our best behavior. I doubt we even batted eyes at the opposite sex or tried to sneak in a beer. Nope, we were high on life.

Fast forward. I'm 24, and I hate going to concerts. I know I hate them, and yet, I still get dragged to them. Granted, I love Morrissey. But I hate the people who go to these shows. Especially in the Big D. I'm sorry, I hate to use this term "dumb bitches" buuuttttt omg there were some DB's up in that joint. I had to hear some skinny-ass Dallasites yammer on about their bridal dresses for thirty minutes. Why? Why go to a show to talk about your stupid-ass life?

Then there was the short chubster karaoke-ing his way through the show. But I digress. I sound bitter and old. I am. Morrissey was fab. He took his shirt off and threw it in the audience and I saw his sweaty pecs. The End.

Wearing ugly clothes makes me happy.

See?

I am the ambassador for beets and brussels sprouts.

No seriously. If I had a buffalo nickel for every friend/enemy/frenemy I have turned onto roasted beets and hazelnut-braised brussels sprouts, I'd own a bunny ranch in Reno, NV. People are always doubtful when I tell them of the amazing dinner I have planned for them. That's when I laugh in their face and say, "Oh, you'll see, my little friend. YOU'LL SEE."

Then I make them see. My roasted beets and goat cheese spinach salad makes grown men cry. The pickiest hung-up eaters devour my pancetta brussels sprouts concoction. So, what I'm saying is...I should be making money off of this. The National Foundation of Beets and the Society for Brussels Sprouts & Friends should pay me to travel the country in a Winnebago and turn people onto these often overlooked vegetables. It's the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

I'm learning da Stanky Leg.

my mix tapes suck.

One look at the mix tapes I make for my friends, and you'll realize why I don't have that many... (friends, that is. I have plenty of mix tapes.)

1. "Good Weed" Project Pat
2. "Can U Get Away" Tupac
3. "Can a Nigga get a Table Dance?" 2 Live Crew
4. "Buttons" Sia
5. "Sunday Morning Comin' Down" Kris Kristofferson
6. "Papa was a Rodeo" The Magnetic Fields
7. "It was a Good Day" Ice Cube
8. "Pyjamarama" Roxy Music
9. "I'm Straight" The Modern Lovers
10. "Jive Talkin'" The Bee Gees
11. "Caroline Goodbye" Colin Blunstone
12. "Fresh as a Daisy" Emitt Rhodes
13. "Spooky" Dusty Springfield
14. "I left a woman waiting" Leonard Cohen

I always want to cram all my favorite hip hop songs in. Followed by John Denver followed by old school Liz Phair capped off with 1960s girl groups. I'm slightly schizophrenic.

The Dead Poets' Society at high sea

Sometimes you just need to see a bunch of young, athletic, bronzed men running around with their shirts unbuttoned and boat shoes a-floppin'. That's when you turn to White Squall. Jeff Bridges is such a handsome fellow, now throw in Jeremy Sisto and Balthazar Getty and you've got yourself a buffet of beauty. Personally, I've never been able to get into Scott Wolf because he is just so short and has big dimples. Also, he's pretty C-list these days. Back then he was hot stuff because of Party of Five. Anyways. I love coming of age films. I love films where men tuck their shirts into their cuffed jeans. I love thick-rimmed NASA scientist glasses. However, I do not like drowning.

If my entire being were encapsulated in a movie...

It would be the 1955 Douglas Sirk film, All that Heaven Allows. Oh. Dear. God. In. Heaven. (No pun intended.) Sometimes I start watching a movie and feel a tingle in my spine because I think to myself, "Movie, where have you been all my life? We are obviously kindred spirits and have been separated far too long. Join me!" This is one such film. The title sequence almost had me in tears. This is what they mean by, "In all its Technicolor glory."

And Rock Hudson. Rock Hudson! Sure, he's dashing in those frothy Doris Day rom coms. But in this...he's devastatingly handsome in that shiny Ken doll-way. Add a lumberjack plaid jacket, red cords, and a fondness for growing trees and you have me swooning. I literally had to pause the movie and take a breather--it was that amazing.

Ahem. Wow. I am a huge dork.

my Friday night

Consists of listening to the entire "Laid" album by James.
Sitting on front porch post-jog.
Politely sipping tap water out of my orange cup.
Watching the sunset fade into the bare, spindly trees of my neighborhood.
I need to watch the sunset more.
Thinking about the salmon patties I am going to make for dinner.
Planning my Waxahachie day trip tomorrow--possibly alone.
All in all reflecting on life and its simple pleasantries.

Not too shabby.

why I love my job.

It's the small things.

If you want to feel incredibly productive and proud of yourself, wash your car. By hand. With a small sponge. And a hose. Then wipe down the inside. Vacuum. Spray. Buff. Wipe. Polish. 1.5 hours later, you will be a bit sweaty, but you will feel like you have actually accomplished something. And that, my friends, is a tremendous feeling.

Thank you, Blind Date.

For some reason, every time I am thankful for my family, I am reminded of an episode of that classic, awe-inspiring late-night programming: "Blind Date." In the particular episode I am thinking of is some loser guy and some desperate girl. (Yes, people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw rocks. Is that the correct idiom here?) Regardless, the guy is asking her inane questions about her life, and she says, "Well, my family is very important to me" or something utterly original like that. And I remember (being a naive 17-year-old at the time) rolling my eyes in disgust and thinking, "Family?! UGH. I am so TIRED of hearing about how people are into their FAMILY these days..."

Cut to seven years later. I went to school close. I went to school far away. I moved 2300 miles away. Twice. Came back to Texas. Dated people. Broke up with people. Learned some life lessons. And, there's no other non-cheesy way to say it: I am really, really grateful for my family. They are incredibly important to me. They are kind of a big deal in my life. I love them like I love Paula Deen's Ooey Gooey Butter Cake. And I know now to never take them for granted again. And if I ever end up on an episode of "Blind Date" (fingers crossed!) that very well might be my emphatic opening line: "I just lurrrrve my family, y'all! Now, where we eatin'?"

Still doesn't mean I want kids though. And there's still nothing wrong with expressing that very practical, sustainable opinion in public.

Music for fuddy duddies.

I defy you to blast the song "Laid" by James at any intimate social gathering and not have people get up and dance. Or at least play the air drums really, really hard. Or sing along to that high note, "Pret-tyyyyeeeeyyyyyyyeee..." Goodness. What a feel-good song. A pounding on your steering wheel, making a fool of yourself song. I think that will be my ultimate karaoke song. Like, if I actually was not self-conscious and could let loose, I would sing that song. And play the air drums. And not care what anyone thought. Good New Years' Resolution!

Peter Falk has crazy eyes.

I learned two things today. Watching crazy Gena Rowlands in A Woman Under the Influence actually made having kids look like fun. For about, oh, two seconds. The birthday party she throws which spirals out of awkward control looks like good times! Perhaps this is a bad sign. Perhaps I really should not have children. This movie also made me go slightly insane. I don't think I can ever watch it again. The screaming, the horrible tension, the awkwardness, the throwing around of children, the slapping. Good God, I'm exhausted.

Another thing I learned. While watching the documentary American Teen, I felt inspired watching these kids deal with their struggles and strife. High school is really, really tough. And I think one day I would like to work with older kids. Not the young, annoying ones with runny noses. But the awkward, acne-ridden, hormonal, dramatic kids. I want to be the guidance counselor. I want to teach AP English and talk about books. I want to be the flamboyant drama teacher.

Huh. Interesting. Who'da thunk it?

two heartwarming films in one day.

That is a good day. I have to say, I was in a foul mood just attempting to see a film on a holiday in an uptown area. The people that frequent yuppie areas are truly the douchiest of the douche. I am frightened by the state of America sometimes. Ed Hardy T-shirts, Oakley sunglasses, disturbingly orange skin in winter...what is the world coming to? These people also like to get rowdy during their overpriced, mimosa-heavy weekend brunches as well. But I digress.

Needless to say, it would take an amazing movie to lift me out of my stinky spirits. And it did! Thank you, Slumdog Millionaire. I went in with no expectations, and came out sniffling. Now I want to join the Peace Corps and work in India. It's horrifying that people live in trash heaps while I sleep in a warm bed every night and complain about the price of produce at Whole Foods. I need to reach out in my community, even if it's just locally.

Then I came home and watched Lars and the Real Girl. I was not expecting to like it. But it truly warmed the cockles of my heart. I love good-hearted Midwesterners. This was full of them. My only complaint? Ryan Gosling's mustache. It distracted me. It made him look like a sleazy hipster instead of the good Wisconsin boy he was. Simply written and sweetly directed. And I have such a crush on Paul Schneider. Eep. He's a North Carolina kindred spirit.

Hooray for two good movie days.

Happy New Year?

Woke up at 8 am.
Look in mirror.
Virtually unrecognizable, thanks to nuclear fall-out from bouffant the night before.
Feet ache from plastic sparkle shoes.
Break favorite gold-leaf antique glass.
Drink packet of Emer-gen-C.
Unable to go back to sleep due to Emer-gen-C's mood-enhancing powers.
Tried to control racing mind while buried in six pillows.
Get up.
Put on cowboy slippers.
Shuffle.
French-press coffee.
Add Mexican hot chocolate.
Arrange bistro table situation on front porch.
Put on Leonard Cohen album.
Turn speakers outward.
Put "I left a woman waiting" on repeat.
Hope neighbors don't see pink robe spectacle.
Frequent trips to fetch Kleenex for runny nose.
Heat up bowl of chili for breakfast.
Think about writing short story.
But don't.
Runny nose situation has worsened due to spicy chili.
Hopefully 2009 will be as successful as this morning was.