UnflumFoxed

Clever bulldog Christopher Hitchens takes on Fox News and Falwell's "legacy" brilliantly. (Thanks for the link, homie.)

Melancollie Molly

Melancollie Molly?
No, I didn't.
OK, yes, I did.

Year of the Dog proved to be as funny and quirky as I had anticipated from the trailer. It also proved to be very disturbing, which I did not anticipate. Let's just say writer/director Mike White took some serious pressure off the crazy cat ladies of the world by introducing a crazy canine lady. Why he had to go there, I'm not sure. Not that it was wrong, just wrenching.

Third act bipolarization aside, the movie is full of delicious characterizations. Molly Shannon rules the roost as the alpha-dog of anxiety, portraying insecurity and confusion with a subtle sweetness that will break your heart in half. Definitely a dark horse Best Actress nominee.

As for the rest of the cast: Regina King sends off sparks as the office sidekick; potential boyfriend Peter Sarsgaard soft pedals it perfectly; obsessed boss Josh Pais winces impeccably; and brother and sister-in-law Thomas McCarthy and Laura Dern are hermetically sealed awesomeness.

Witnessing locked-off close-up after locked-off close-up of human imperfection perfected, it seems clear that White is an actor's director and keen-eyed observer of homo sapiens-specific foibles. He's a damn good writer, too.

So despite the emotional curve ball that swiftly kicks this film out of cozy romantic comedy land, two paws up for Year of the Dog.
No, I didn't.
OK, yes, I did.

Sleeping Dogs Lie

If you are of a certain age, you'll probably remember Bobcat Goldthwait as the comic who always appeared to be on the verge of bursting a blood vessel onstage--all darting eyes and anxious squeaks and groans. He also got some attention for writing, directing and starring in a bizarre comedy in the early 90s called Shakes the Clown. Since those days, he's gotten behind the camera for TV to direct for guys like Kimmel and Chappelle. Now he's added to his feature film resume by writing and directing Sleeping Dogs Lie.

Sleeping Dogs Lie, formerly know as Stay, is a great little black comedy about a girl with a dark secret about her former dog--a secret that ends up wreaking havoc in her personal life years later. The writing is fresh and funny and the acting is absolutely terrific--from lead characters to bit parts. While it does swerve dangerously into melodrama a couple of times, overall the tone is just the right mix of sweet and cynical.

I rarely listen to director's commentaries, because I don't want them to tell me something that might mar the movie for me. And, to be honest, I'm usually too impatient to sit through those. But I did l listen to Bobcat's commentary and was completely charmed by his self-deprecating humor and big-hearted personality. How terrific that his little shot-on-a-shoestring movie with a cinematographer from Craig's List is getting such critical accolades.

Bruce Almighty

A wry, and remarkably soothing, new Old Spice ad.

Quien es mas terrible?

A friend of mine recently posted a brilliant commentary on John Edwards' official web site's blog as a reply to an article written by Melissa Etheridge about Elizabeth Edwards and her struggle against cancer. I've reposted the whole thing here for your edification. He's a darn good writer and as politically savvy as they come. In this letter, he compares and contrasts his wife's current battle with cancer with the run-amok contingent of the Republican party. Unexpected. Uncomfortable. Undeniably powerful.

Dear Elizabeth,

I was wondering if you could help settle a debate my wife and I were having: Which poses the tougher challenge to America's well being-cancer (specifically breast) or Republicans (specifically Neocons)? Melissa Etheridge, feel free to chime in on this, too. I think it's cancer, but my wife says it's Republicans.

First, I must stipulate that my wife is currently battling the disease (we're in between chemo treatments #2 and #3) so she's got the upper hand in terms of experience with cancer. But I'm fighting along with her, as John is with you, and I argue with Right Wingnuts often, so I purport to know a bit about Republicans.

1) Secrecy. Cancer operates quietly. It doesn't announce what it's doing. You have to do breast exams and get mammograms to even know it's there. Even when you do know it's there, it lurks & spreads and tries to hide in places treatments don't reach. Likewise, Neocons operate in the shadows of secrecy. Whether it's setting up their own private intelligence organization within the Pentagon or wiretapping Americans without warrants, Republicans are at least if not more surreptitious than cancer. We'll call this one a draw-Bad faith vs. Bad Feith.

2) Propaganda. When my wife went to our Dr. with a lump in her breast, he told her it was a harmless fibrous cyst and there was no reason to check it out further. Months later, a second "cyst" formed and we had a biopsy. Cancer. Sneaky marketing maneuver, cancer. Your skillful wordsmithing cost us months of recovery time. Her cancer was high grade (growing fast) and now we had 2 tumors to battle. But hold on. The "Party of Lincoln" can still teach you a thing or two about advertising. How do you get America to reverse itself on tax breaks to the wealthy? A little copywriting. Estate Tax good. Death tax bad. Just like that, the same policy takes a sudden turn. And who can argue against obliterating the public school system in this country when it's cleverly titled "No Child Left Behind?" To say nothing of the famous branded talking points like "mushroom cloud," "flip flopper" and "global war on terror." Okay, when it comes to marketing, I'll admit I think the Republicans have the edge. Cancer, hire Karl Rove. He should be available in '08.

3) Education is the key to defeating it. If you take recommended precautions, know what to look for and listen to your body, you give yourself a better chance against cancer. That's a fact. It's also a fact that recent electoral diagrams look awfully blue around the major urban areas of the U.S. and increasingly red in the "flyover" states. Now, no disrespect to the idiots in hickville (I wonder if they'll get that irony), but is it a coincidence that cities are where we put our universities? It's these bible thumping, home schooling, flag waving, livin' in the styx know-nothings who've not only put this clown in the Oval Office, but actually voted to keep him there. Still, I give this round to cancer. Guys like Wolfowitz and Perle have oodles of education, knowledge and experience and they're no better off than the Blue Collar Comedy Tour.

4) It uses fear against you. Cancer is scary. Even the word strikes panic into most. Abnormal cells. Replication. Mutation. It sounds like a sci-fi horror script. I mean, leave it to cancer to require treatments with symptoms worse than the disease itself. How are you supposed to stay positive and fight it when you're hearing words like "adriamycin" and "metastasis" all day long? In comparison, I actually take refuge in Right Wing fear mongering. Maybe Giuliani's correct and Al Qaeda's just waiting for a Dem to take office and make us vulnerable to an attack. What do I care? Cancer attacks every day. Radical Islam has nothing on a radical mastectomy. My wife will protest this, but I think Cancer wins this round. After all, I live in California and we can't get sh** done without illegal immigrants. They don't scare me. It's way easier to habla some Español than build a giant wall.

5) It doesn't just ruin your life; it goes after your progeny. We're getting genetic testing done to see if our daughter's carrying the same cancer-enabling gene as my wife. That's really low. I mean, it's not bad enough my wife had her hair fall out and gets head sores. Now you're telling me my beloved child's at risk, too? F you, cancer. You suck. Which leads me to Republicans. They're never content to just screw with the current time period either. They have to bankrupt the government, wreck public education and destroy the environment so that even if the Dems win a round here or there, there's no getting out of the holes they've dug. That's pretty friggin' low, too. I was going to call this issue a push, but Medicare put it over the top. Point awarded to the Red States.

Well, there are plenty more points of debate to keep this going. Who cheats more to win? Who, after being beaten, reorganizes to show up later and wreck everything? Which foe makes you more prone to vomiting? But I think I'll end it here. Please, Mrs. Edwards, settle this once and for all. I only have 24 hours in a day. If I get 6-8 hours of sleep a night (counting the mushroom cloud nightmares) is there enough time left over to battle cancer and the Republicans? Or do I have to choose? You seem to be uniquely qualified to enlighten this American family.

Thank you,

The Garthoffs

To all the ones I've loved before...

I like to keep in touch with old boyfriends. Partly due to being nosy, partly out of calendar compulsion, partly out of wanting to stay on good terms with anyone who has seen me naked. A friend recently shook her head in bemusement about this habit of mine. "You and your ex's," she smiled.

Contact usually takes the form of a birthday e-mail sent by me to them. Innocuous enough. If they care to reply, great. If not, fine. If they care to reply six months later, also fine. I like to hear about their wives, girlfriends, children, grandchildren(!), careers, cross-country moves, adjustments in sexuality(!) and states of mind. It makes me smile to see their names in my in-box. It's heartening to know they're doing OK in that big crazy world out there. After all, they are a significant part of my history. And they were all good blokes for the most part. We just weren't meant to be a permanent match.

And to think--if I ever write my memoirs, I won't have to bear the expense of hiring a private investigator to track down past paramours for candid interviews and fond remembrances. Convenient, indeed!

Short-term memories of a lifetime

The funniest thing I've read in a fortnight was this clever stream-of-consciousness piece from The New Yorker that my homie forwarded to me about the vagaries of short-term crushes by Paul Simms. A tempting excerpt:

"So silly does my impatience now seem, stuck as I am in the Starbucks line during the morning rush. But that was before I noticed you in line ahead of me.

"And now that I’ve seen you—with your gossamer hair still damp from the shower, with your well-moisturized ankles strapped and buckled into high heels that make you wobble and sway like a young colt just finding her stride, with your scent of lilacs and Dial, and, most of all, with your infectious sense of calmness and serenity, which makes me wish that the world itself would stop spinning, so that gravity would cease and we two could float into the sky and kiss in the clouds, giddy with love and vertigo.

"Now you’re at the register, and the dreaded moment when we part without meeting rushes toward me like a slow-motion car crash in a dream.

"You’ve been at the register without saying anything for, like, fifteen seconds now, still scanning the menu board with those almond-shaped eyes that would make Nefertiti herself weep with envy.

"Seriously, you’ve been to a Starbucks before, right? I mean, it seems like there are a lot of choices, but most people find a drink they like and stick with it. And order it quickly.

"But maybe I’ve caught you on a day when you’ve decided to make a fresh start. To make a fresh start, to try a new drink, to walk a different way to work, to finally dump that boyfriend who doesn’t appreciate you.

"O.K., even if that were the case you could have picked out your new drink while you were waiting in line, right? I mean, come on."

Carrie Bradshaw would bust a button.

Icky is the New Awesome

What would happen if Jack White of The White Stripes channeled rock 'n' roll connoisseur/comedian Jack Black? Icky Thump, that's what.

The single, from the upcoming album of the same name, is irresistibly rocktagious with scattered cloudbursts of thrashrageousness. My favorite part is the bagpipe-funneled-through-Hades stinger.

The perfect summer headbanger.

Leather in any weather

A toast to your good taste, from the Harts.

Jai rules

You know who's funny? Jai. Jai Rodriguez, that is, from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. I had the pleasure of seeing him do improv at The Groundlings theater this week and he was hi*lar*i*ous, especially in the musical improv numbers. Even though he was sharing the stage with some improv vets like Patrick Bristow, he held his own and brought the sweetest charisma to everything he did--from a house-painting thug to Paula Abdul. Love him, mean it.