Maury Povich is an evil, evil man.
So, like, I think I've narrowed his show topics down:
That's all he's got. Seriously. That's it. That's all of them. I particularly love 'Facing Phobias.' Maury sits on a plush chair, looking studious and craggy, and this poor Usually Midwestern/Usually Overweight woman sitting beside him wearing ten pounds of Maybelline whimpers and cries as Maury talks about her fear of, say, a cat. Then, when they flash a huge image of a cat on the jumbotron next to them, Maury's like, 'what's wrong? what's wrong?' Then, he explains patiently, 'Tammy, you know what we're going to do now? We're going to bring out *A CAT.*' And poor Biloxi-born Tammy's like, 'no, no!' And they bring the cat out and the audience roars as Tammy BOOKS for the exit like a bullet train. All the while, Maury's like, 'no! no! what's wrong, Tammy, what's wrong? what's wrong?' You know what's wrong, you third-string Dan Rather wannabe. The man is such a sadist. I swear. He talks and acts like Mr. Rogers but he treats his guests like prisoners of war. He's so, so evil. He cracks my shit up.
So I saw "Blow." Bleh. Boring. Seen it before in better movies. I don't care if it has Johnny Depp; he's the best thing about it. I don't care if it has Penelope Cruz; her part is tiny, and not warranting them putting her face on the fucking poster. Her part is NOT big, studio; get over it. I don't even care that it has Franka Potente; she's wasted in this movie. You want a better version of this story? Rent "Goodfellas." Oh, but I forgot:it doesn't have Johnny Depp and Penelope Cruz. Sorry. Carry on, gentle masses.
So "Buffy The Vampire Slayer" is moving to the UPN, and I ain't happy about it. Not one bit. I can see it now:"Next week on 'Buffy,' Special Guest Stars Goldberg and Moesha!" Please kill me. The WB are royal dumbasses to give up their *ONE* crown jewel because they won't cough up enough dough. The world is tired of "Dawson's Creek;" "Popular," "Roswell," and "Felicity" are all on life support, and "Gilmore Girls" is not going to sustain the whole net. And don't even mention "7th Heaven" in my presence. I'm predicting bad bad juju for the WB next year. I was hoping "Buffy" would at least go to FOX, who wanted it bad, but for it to go to the White Trash/Psychotic Trekker Channel -- well, that's just a *DAMN* shame.
I am a SPOILER-whore. I admit it. Through nobody's fault but my own, I willingly and calculably went to certain websites and unearthed some big plot secrets to two particularly thrilling anime series -- "The Vision of Escaflowne" and "Serial Experiments Lain." Just when I'd kicked my "Buffy" SPOILER addiction, this comes up. I knew it would. If I could take back what I know about, say, Lain and Dilandau right now, boy oh boy I would. Even if I can't get any more of the series right away, it sucks to know it all (though I only peeked slightly, so I like to think I DON'T know it all) .
Why, hello, Josephine! Thank you for the comments. Re:me and anime characters, worry not, darling, I know my reality from my paint-&-cels. That doesn't make them any less cute. There's a lot of absolutely crazy/scary anime fans, and I can understand the stigma, particularly where yaoi is concerned, but those people just fuh-REAK me out, sweetheart. They're not real, I get that, and given the atrocious personalities I would no doubt hate to date one of them in real life. Besides, I don't see my thinking the G-Boys are cute as any less ridiculous than hetboys lusting after Lara Croft -- actually, I think it's probably less perverse. Besides, I watch plenty of other anime where I don't find any of the characters terribly crush-able in any way. There's otaku fanatics, and then there's just anime fans. You CAN watch anime and not be a freak. Strange but true. Mmm-WA!
(that sounded snippy, didn't it? sorry, josephine. i'm overworked and underfed. you get the idea, though, right? love you.)
Question of the Month:Me and My Red Vinyl Pants Of Burgeoning Sexuality. The fruit roll-up slut ho pants that I probably really shouldn't be wearing. They're a prized possession, I'll admit it. I break 'em out when I anticipate some kind of fun, and of course the sickness of it all is they're the only of their kind that I have, and then the question is what are you trying to exude, sir, when you put those on and prance around and ineptly flirt? Burgeoning sexuality? Promiscuity? Why actively choose to play Geisha Boy? Because without these pants and slinky tops and come-hither looks, you know, when it's not Friday night, I'm Mr. Shirt-&-Jeans/"Well-I-Would-But-I-Have-Work", and Mr. "Let's-Wait-Awhile" with the hot pink VIRGIN sticker on my door, ranting and raving about how I'll never find someone but I don't just want to jump into some fuckbuddy arrangement with some guy because it goes against my principles or some such shit and boo hoo hoo whatever has happened to the moral young person, and long-suffering martyr me. But then, sho nuff, weekend rolls around, and it's red vinyl pants and a leer. Whatever. Perpetuate The Illusion. Hypocrisy becomes me -- or is it the other way around? I don't know. Eat the libertines and damn the nuns.
Listening to tracks from "Moulin Rouge" ("i require a contract that binds satine to me exclusively.") that I could've bought tomorrow but downloaded yesterday. Love 'Hindi Sad Diamonds.' Listen to it. Love it. Live it. Die with it.
So it's going to be up to me to run the Gay/Straight Alliance on campus next year. I'm not at all ready for it, much like my not being ready to pack my things and this computer and get them all home safely this Friday when I go home for the summer. I hope my straight friends play support system and come help. We'll show lots of movies at the start; I know that for sure. I don't know much else. I'm very confused about how to do these things. I just know I *have* to do it. The GSA in high school that I was a part of was a stunning failure. The least I can do is make mine more stunning and more...uh...failure?
So. Year One over and I'm still single. No play for monkey. I'm not bitter, but I'm not terribly thrilled about it either. Know I'm going to meet someone this summer I'll have to leave behind. Lovely.
Not much else this month except Tina Wesson rules the Outback, and I am her Designated Fag for Life. She wrecks my galaxy. Go, Survivor Grrl.
BMB (bring me bishounen) ,
**jase** ("diamonds are a....")
Jason Hoffman is a bisexual nineteen-year-old Film major and freshman at the College of Santa Fe in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He originally hails from the bonny gravel and mud of Washington, D.C, or more accurately Chevy Chase (yes, you heard right) , Maryland, a suburb just outside the city, which lives up to its reputation as a bourgeoise fascist paradise. He is overly single and hugs his stuffed monster Blinky and girl friends for vicarious comfort. Ask him about Peter Gabriel, Bjork, or Tori Amos and get a kiss. He loves "Buffy," "Angel," "The Exorcist," "Twin Peaks," "Labyrinth," and lots else. Jason is by trade a writer, screenwriter to be exact, but you wouldn't know it from his lack of output. E-mail him (me) at firstname.lastname@example.org. Or don't. You skanks.