Saturday, April 30, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Mind-blowing TV (yes, there is some)
It’s not a secret I’m a TV show junkie, also not a secret that I rummage my head while in bed at night. Well, a few moons ago I was thinking about the thrills moving pictures gift you with when something awesome suddenly happens. That goes even more so for episodic productions, because when you follow a story you breathe with it for so long and then BAM... Top ten mind-blowing moments in my television experience.
10. I Ross, take thee... Rachel.
Friends, The One With Ross's Wedding (May 7, 1998)
Everyone knew Ross was still in love with Rachel. Chandler knew, Joey knew, Monica knew, Phoebe knew, Rachel knew and Ross himself probably knew. Okay, there was one person who didn't know, and that was Ross's new fiancée Emily. Emmeleeee.
9. McDreamy is Mcmarried.
Grey’s Anatomy, Who's Zoomin' Who? (May 22, 2005)
You find the hottest guy on the planet in a bar, just like that, he’s a doctor, takes home the big bucks, he wants to make sweet love to you although you’re frigid and push him away. Hello!! He’s bound to have a catch. Thank god his catch did not begin with STD.
8. Joey hearts Pacey, the slut.
Dawson’s creek, … Must Come to an End (May 14, 2003)
She should have chosen Dawson and left the Witter to me. Get your hands off him!!
To be honest I loved how things turned out with this show here, but just because in my mind I had bit off Katie Holmes’ head and replaced it with mine.
7. Nathan Petrelli is (s)hot.
Heroes, Powerless (December 3, 2007)
Heroes’ second season was a snooze fest, except when Milo Ventimiglia got naked. After a while even that got old. Through a whirl of useless flashbacks the audience was preparing to live with a soon to be ex-favorite show when someone puts a couple bullets in Nathan Petrelli’s sexy ass. Ok, now I’m listening.
6. Mom?
Alias, Almost Thirty Years (May 12, 2002)
New show, first season. There’s a mad villain trying to destroy the world. We’re talking someone that makes Magneto’s panties dirty. Simply known as THE MAN - shaking while typing. Our heroin is up for confrontation. How can a girl beat THE MAN? Magneto’s still shitting himself. The Man enters the room, flies run for cover. What they didn’t notice is that The Man is actually The Woman. More poignantly The Mother (who was supposed to be dead). Ladies and gentlemen, Lena Motherfucking Olin.
5. Looks like Karofsky likes guys then.
Glee, Never Been Kissed (November 9, 2010)
The gay kid in school is harassed by the bully. Kind of played out right? The bully is also fat and ugly so why does he think he can bully anyone anyway? Not that relevant. Fat bully corners Gay kid in the locker room, kind of charges back and… Sticks his man-butt lusting tongue into his mouth. We’ve seen it before, but never with an army of show choir singing schoolgirls with matching outfits in the back. Homosexual predictable twist made unpredictable, Glee style. That’s how Cricci sees it.
4. We have to go back.
Lost, Through the Looking Glass (May 23, 2007)
Off Island Jack is miserable, alcoholic, addicted to drugs, dirty and super hot nonetheless. Nothing necessarily new. Although this time he’s planning to commit suicide. Oh well. Before he does he meets up with Kate. Hold on, why would he meet with her? They didn’t know each other until… Either the show’s gone crazy or I’ve blinked a couple minutes too long… Let’s see, as they talk on a dock he pleads with her to, return to the island. Say what? That's right: this Jack and Kate we're seeing are in the fucking future. Flashforwards bitches!
3. Sydney’s robbed. Of (almost) two years.
Alias, The Telling (May 4, 2003)
After meeting her dead mom when she shot her in the shoulder, Sydney battles her best friend Francine to the death. Wakes up in Honk Kong and somehow doesn’t give a shit, she just wants to go home. Her boyfriend comes pick her up. How sweet. He’s wearing a curious wedding band on his very important finger, but it’s not her name that’s on it. Holy freaking cannoli, you, explain. As it happens it’d slipped Sydney's mind that she’d been MIA for TWO YEARS. Wild run discovering what the heck happened to her all the while next season. Genius!
2. You can always go downtown.
Lost, A Tale of Two Cities (October 4, 2006)
There’s cupcakes, and I can already tell I’m gonna like this season opening. Book club meeting’s interrupted by a earthquake, people rush out to the village square. Tiny yellow houses and pickett white fences. Cute, why are they showing this to us? While I’m making up wild theories Henry-WTF-Gale walks out and joins a blond nobody. Something weird’s in the sky. Looks like a wait! It’s a plane losing control, it’s splitting in two, it’s Oceanic. This. Just. Gave me. An orgasm. The Others live in fucking Plesantville. ON the island. Had to watch it over and over again till the sun rose. Still gave me orgasms.
1. For starters my name isn’t Michael Vaughn.
Alias, Before the Flood (May 25, 2005)
Sydney, with metaphorical flowers beaded in her hair and sweet winds of love twirling around her vagina, proposes to Vaughn while they’re driving down the 101. He’s touched, and has the perfect answer for her. Actually he has three. First, his name’s not really Michael Vaughn. Wait, what? Second, it was no accident that he had been assigned to be her CIA handler several years before. Sure. Third... Actually, there’s no third, because before Vaughn could even explain one and two, a car suddenly crashed into his driver's side door and woah. Give me the fucking new season you son of a…
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Who's afraid?
It has been a fortunate week to amend to a lot of slacking I confess to being guilty of in the recent past. I’ve seen five movies in the last five days.
Four of them were previews, that means I’m in the process of spending a lot of time in front of this keyboard exercising my fingers in writing reviews.
(oy nibble at my rhymes!)
Machete was for a review, which has still to be written. Don’t know where to start really. I may need to organize my thoughts just now. Robert Rodriguez either does kids flicks or this kind of films. Mexico, desaturate colors, sweat, gore and a fetishized items, in this case, the title word.
She's using a very twisted logic to rehabilitate her career.
Red Riding Hood is the hero of epic fails. I love Catherine Hardwicke but she was having a Twilight brain masturbation while filming this thing. Everything’s wrong here. It wasn’t supposed to be a love story for starters, but no one writing it noticed. It can’t work as a love story. Especially a gothic one. We already have the king of that genre duh!! And you are the one who brought it to us, how confused are you?
Scream 4 was the pearl of the week. I was not a fan of the series, and by no means I am now, but this film has a cheeky genius you can’t but appreciate. I saw this before it even came out in the States so that night had the whole historic moment kind of feel.
Four of them were previews, that means I’m in the process of spending a lot of time in front of this keyboard exercising my fingers in writing reviews.
(oy nibble at my rhymes!)
Scott Pilgrim vs the World, which I’ve watched in bed on my laptop, is a spiky psychedelic rainbow. It seemed to me like a PG version of Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, so much so that it was such kind of way too much (again! Oh man I’m on fire!!). Does Ramona Flowers really change hair color in the comic? I don’t know. Wait, let me check… It looks like, mmm, uncertain. But I have found something that proves my point and shows my wits have kindred spirits - although I don’t know who to credit for it because I’m the world’s biggest tumblr ignoramus.
You know I wouldn’t blame the director if it were just that, after all who are we to deprive teenagers of their own eternal sunshine? Everyone’s entitled to a little tan.
But then we have the hair, plus the sudden locations switch, plus the superimposed words that appear out of thin air, plus the death and the flashbacks and it all becomes a woah are you kidding me? Mix and match all you want guys, I’m all for freaky stuff, but you’re way too in for your own good.
How they adapted the videogame part of the theme I liked though. The VS word appearing over the contenders standing in front of each other from side view got my geeks going. Ready. Set. Fight!
I liked it all in all but I’m a bigger fan of people who kind of make a statement and stick with it. A lot of confusion mostly than not goes a short way. Points for trying. Lost in translation.
Sucker Punch I saw for and with my brother. Was expecting the shit out of it and I stood corrected. Apart from a rocking beginning, almost mute and fucking with my brain.
I don’t know about you but the first fantasy level, with the night club and all, worked for me. The second level, because it’s blatant there had to be a second level for the movie to stand out, although the reason is somewhat unfathomable, could have been better executed. I liked how they tried to set each fight in a diverse nerd climax but I couldn’t see that nerd coming to save his life. Sorry for the crude image, that’s just me. I thought differentiation would have done a much more thorough job, and I will not step in the different possible pairings of the word “job” territory.
The steam-punk bit is gorge, but it kind of goes downhill from there. Like the first image from each fight, shot from the airplanes, looks like the previous and next one to me. I guess I’m disappointed because I was looking for a more groundbreaking a la 300 thing rather than a quiche of minced repeating with recurring sauce, both in terms of atmospheres and actions.
Not addressing the skimpy girls situation because I’ve already told you what the director wanted the nerd to do.
Overall the thing I’m walking away with here is this.
Not the actual lady.
Could’t wait to go out last night, a Saturday, finally, and wear it like I was gonna tear this town down (and, we have a winner ladies and gentlemen!!!).
Didn't turn out quite like I was expecting it to, I may have blended too much, but hey neither did the movie. Can't ride two horses with the same ass.
It was intensely hilarious at times but to me, no matter how much he tries, he’s no Tarantino. I find the Quentin to be more playful with his style, while Rodriguez mostly feels like he takes it far too seriously. It’s fun VS raw. And with me, as always, the fun wins!
The slaughter doesn’t give you time to inhale, and that’s cool. Michelle Rodriguez stinks the screen with her horrific stale self. What actress builds a career on doing the same role for 15 years? And Lindsay Lohan, oh don’t even get me started on her.
She's using a very twisted logic to rehabilitate her career.
So the film definitely has its perks for pulp freaks like this lady right here, me. Jumping off buildings using other people's intestines as a creeper, crucifying a priest on the altar of his own church, good times, DeNiro, fake TV commercials. Well actually it has a lot of perks, but still isn't at the top of his game. Glorified B movie.
To sum it up it's a big match of the werewolf game. Nothing less, nothing more, with the exception of the grandma player which only serves the purpose of presenting Red Riding Hood with the long robe that makes it hard for her to run for cover.
It’s not scary enough. It’s not romantic enough. It’s not intriguing enough. The wolf looks like a huge stuffed animal spoiled brats like Paris Hilton would own while growing up. And everything is all in all shadowed by Gary Oldman’s perfect old lady hair.
If you want to know who the wolf is, spare you some yawns, I'll tell ya. It's the father.
It may be a little 90s but if you called me nostalgic you wouldn’t be wrong so I enjoyed it. It looks like a boiled and expanded WB show. I guess the nostalgic in me refuses to call it CW, but it is what it is. That’s what the original movie felt and I’m glad they kept it that way.
The only thing I can’t quite grasp is Neve Campbell’s character, she should get a taste of her own medicine and get killed by a huge rolling ball of boredom.
Anyway, Ghostface is ah gotcha!
Anyway, Ghostface is ah gotcha!
Want to know more of my useless opinions? Read my Red Riding Hood and Scream 4 reviews!
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
When in Rome...
Today is one of those days I would draw upon my inner richness and let my soft side gloriously get hold of me by adopting a homeless cute little fluffy kitten. No. I would actually kill everyone in this s-hole of a city. Swear to god I'd have jetted out of the motherfucker on a handmade paraglide airplane built with my brand new trench coat. Unfuckingbelievable.
First there was a bus clogging the road I go through everyday. So I thought of outsmarting them all brainless drivers by making my way round the block, and BAM, a platoon of workers cutting branches off of damn trees. Road closed. This town is going all Truman Show on me. I gotta get to the freaking Machete screening and I'm late. To make a long story short I had to go all the way down in Acapulco, cross the main street and then get back to where I was to sit the car at my usual parking near the subway. Of course the only free spot I found was on the other side of the road so I felt like doing my little unrehearsed rendition of Chariots of fire. Here I am in my new, as you know, coral red trench coat, flowing curly hair, running down the pavement, eyes obsessed with fury and tongue to the ground, cleaning it, destroyed by the prolonged lack of any physical exercise, what the hell was I thinking? Luckily I wasn’t wearing heels.
Yesterday I went to the cardiologist, the doctor of love, and he landed me this machine for a month, in order to measure my heartbeat when it skips.
Yes, I have a turntable in there, Bob Sinclar’s mixing, come visit, we hand out free drinks if you come with hot guys, preferably brunettes.
Well, at this point I was right about to take it out my purse and use the thing. I’d have recorder a freaking beatbox.
Fortunately I didn’t die before getting to the subway, managed to take the train and with a little more running I got to the screening in time. Quite the intense morning.
Thing is, I hate traffic for one, mostly because I’m always late, and the disorganization of this city, for how small it is, makes me go bonkers. Sometimes I wonder how I’ll be coping with L.A., and the size of it, and the mess, and the waits in line on the highway. I really was born a city girl but there are just times where I’d mix one big Molotov cocktail and throw it out blindly.
Just another date-less Monday
So today I went to work.
Let's take a leap back. It's a Monday. Mondays should be deleted from any calendar known to men. Once that's done Tuesdays would have to go. Sorry Tuesdays.
Now this particular Monday, today, I was so eager to work as Joan Rivers is to look at herself in the mirror without any makeup on. So much so in fact that I just didn't do it. It's that good to be a trustworthy person, your boss doesn't really check on you. So today I produced a grand total of, drum rolls, two emails. It's a tough life.
In all seriousness I bust my ass for them, I took an extra day off I'd surely already earned.
But this wasn't the only thing that made the morning interesting.
At the bus stop, while going to un-work, I saw him for the second time in a few days. Tall, dark, suit wearing and briefcase carrying. Short hair, clean and well kept, B+ shoulders, no beard, maybe just a tini tiny dusting of follicle tips puncturing his manly dry skin. A full on hot-office fantasy galore. He has a twitchy lip, I saw him by the photocopier asking me if I was interested in, twitch, coffee twitch. Of course I am! And then in between sips he undid his tie slightly with one hand and smiled a big white Tom Cruise playing Jerry Maguire top of the ranks grin that would forever be mine. Except the bus stopped, I had to get off, he hopped out the dream and did not follow me.
Needless to say I had squished onto the guy for the entire ride. The thing was packed, you understand. Thought about casually tripping over him due to frequent rough halts but didn't really have the guts to. I don't know it seems so easy in Drew Barrymore's movies. But when it comes to it somehow I never do, do it. Never able to find the right words to dish at the after (pity) party. The pathetic excuse being hey, I look so smoking for 8.30 on a fucking Monday morning, and today, I even think it was true, exhibit A:
So why do I have to do the deed when he wouldn't even bother to hop on a lil chit chat with this hot fudge strutting her stuff all over him?!
And that ladies and gentlemen is why I’ve been single for a year.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
The journey to womenhood
I discovered Makeup, capital EM, a year ago.
After a huge and loud breakup my brain kicked in I'm-da-shit-fuck-you-world mode and just focused on me, me and me. There wasn't anybody I loved more than, wait for it, ME. You guessed right!
This implied concentrating on school and work to be the best I possibly could and implementing a kick-ass wardrobe that could stroll hand in hand with my kick-ass upbeat streak. Said, done.
The next natural step was to get my face to reflect my inner freedom.
I had stopped wearing makeup when I got in the abovementioned dreadful, sometimes thankfully over, relationship because, like, I didn't need it anymore, I'd already scored. And also he who shan’t be named had asked me to because he thought I was cuter without. Aw, adorable, that's why I loved him, gigantic piece of shit fucker.
Aaaanyway, in my original makeup filled flirting days all I would go for was a lil eyeliner and some one-color messy shadow applied all over with fingers. Like a 5 year old drawing. No lips, well except for the late 90s when brick brown lipstick was all the rage.
My skin is pretty much flawless for these smoggy days we live in but all of a sudden I felt the need to ask for advice in looking for a foundation to enhance my newfound glow.
That’s how it started. I set foot in a beauty supply store and some sleepy gene bursts out of my brain making me a slave of all things attractiveness inducing products.
I then discovered MAC, which I’ve since been stocking on, and that is why I’m depotting stuff today. I need to save space for my luggage.
In a full year I went from zero to brainwashed motherfucker, sucking up on YouTube gurus and tutorials. Sometimes I feel like a sellout, but also, I don’t give a fuck. I love to apply makeup because it’s all kinds of artistic, and, mostly, I’m attracted to myself when I pass by a mirror, it must mean it only does me good. I came full circle this week preparing to leave for L.A. when I bought my first pro palettes and decided I had to get them filled to finally trespass into my makeup adulthood.
And I’ve just found out that mineralize blushes don’t have a pan so they can’t be depotted. Note to self.
Cream blushes on the other hand are way better depotting without any heat, like Enkore Makeup does, because well, they melt, and you can only then paint the town with them.
Also keep in mind to OPEN THE WINDOW before attempting such a poisonous plastic melting. It smelled like a rotting corpse was getting after me in here, and my head hurts now.
My lovely single eyeshadows, I'm going to miss them!
What you do is basically you get the top part out of the plastic container with butcher knives then place it on a heat source (straightening iron in my case) so you can torture the material and finally push the pan out. Now magnetize it and you're ready to go.
I also heated the whole container to remove the adhesive tag beneath it and place it on the freed pan before sticking the magnets to it, so the names are still on the back of it without having to write them anywhere.
My first pro palette. Defining moment.
The four blushes + one mineralize blush + one cream blush mayhem.
Same process, except missing a pan at the end of it drives me insane. I had to rebuild the mineralize blush packaging while it was flaming hot and melting and here it is standing beside the new home he refused to move into. Little rebel.
These are the 18 empties I'm going to return to MAC for their recycling program. And I'll get three free lipsticks for it! Best deal I've ever heard.
Having said this, speaking of makeup, here’s evidence of how it helped me a couple of weeks ago when I got sunburnt from stupidly facing the snowy mountains without any fucking sunscreen.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
The movie with the self-reviewing title
This is the kind of shit I live for.
I’d downloaded the movie more than a year ago and never bothered watching it. So now it comes out in Italy (like yes a whole 12 months later) and the hype is so loud I can’t ignore it. Thus last night I loaded my macbook on my lap, got comfy on the bed and hit play. FUCK IT!
This is the movie my subconscious has always dreamed of making. I hate every single person that’s worked on it. And by hate I mean that I want to do them.
It’s genius because it visually lets out an ironic, unserious outlook on life. Because it finally takes on the superhero genre with a geek attitude. Come on let’s face it, most of the Marvel blockbusters are made to satisfy the masses. But even the ball of dust under my desk at work knows that a true nerd would rather a spurt of ketchup gush out from a severed neck than a polished, choreographed jump from a 200 storey skyscraper while the strings of bravery play in the background. This is a small, independent looking movie that manages to fulfill that need to get back to the often forgotten raw roots, translating comic books unruly feel on film without being ashamed, because the story of a loser superhero lets it do just that. So refreshing!
Not to mention the mastery with which the puzzle is all put together, the single scenes, the details. I’m turned on just thinking about it. This is what happened in a parallel world where Tarantino did Marvel, and considering that Brad Pitt is producing, my head has fabricated a link that I will pretend really exists between the god of pulp and this gore filled fantasy world. Especially since the poster looks a little too much like a Kill Bill’s carbon copy to be casual, blood spills like fountains at a wedding, there’s a shot from a trunk, a semi-anime part, a rampaging vengeful child a la Oren Ishi and a katana gratuitous appearance at the very end.
Plus some parts are insane you guys.
When Hit Girl gets to Frank D’Amico’s house wearing the school uniform and Morricone western music (hello Quentin) soothes the mood, I pronounce it a class act!
Schoolgirl Mexican standoff orgasm!
Elvis rocking the jet pack scene is just unbelievable, I was rolling off the bed let me tell you.
Before the hallway confrontation when back to back close ups of the bad guys pave the way to Joan Jett’s Bad Reputation is from another planet, and who doesn’t want to see a little girl make a big man shoot himself in the head with his own gun via a lazo! I do.
Who does she remind you of?
I’m so obsessed it’s starting to worry me. You will soon catch me around town wearing something like this:
Whilst this is my new facebook profile pic:
Women's ass-kicking committee?! I need to run for President!
And I may go to ComiCon dressed as her next July, because she’s a fucking 11 year old who drives a sports car!
PS. This is a great blog post on the awesome music the film treats us with. A lot of its unconventional appeal is courtesy of choosing the appropriate, or rather the less appropriate in this case, music to season the images with and create the contrast that so royally kicks ass.
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