I will never learn that boots that moonwalk fresh in the club mean something else entirely when we take it to the streets. For slippery St. Denis on Thursday/Monday/Tuesday afternoon, my aforementioned Sloane Petersons (white leather/silver-studded/beaded tassles) mean slip 'n slide if you’re lucky...
And if you’re not, like maybe on Tuesday(x9), they mean reliving Bill Murray’s Groundhog Day puddle blunder (minus Ned Ryerson) without the option of re-reliving it, avoiding said puddle and knocking boots with Andie MacDowell, one of my all-time favourite actresses of lamest actresses of all-time.
After trysting with Murray and the Martin Sheen offspring we all know and love...(Emilio "THE GOOD SON" Estevez)
MacDowell went on to do great things like put a damper on a perfectly quarter-decent Hugh Grant movie and cover up her gray hair with l’Oréal “buh-cuz” she’s worth it. Except that she totally isn’t and I get gray hair just thinking about how Andie MacDowell is one of my all-time favourite actresses of lamest actresses of all-time and even if my hair came to be a whiter shade of pale before I turn 25, I would not under any circumstances (ie: eternal world peace in return for relatively unstressful life as a bottle brunette) change that with anything endorsed by Andie MacDowell.
Speaking of Murray’s leading ladies, even at the best of times, I find Scarlett Johansson’s monotone grating and her man-voice decidedly off-putting.
HowEVER, she has a great ass and a very decent rack and I actually really enjoyed Lost in Translation but don’t get me started on Matchpoint.
In the grand scheme of things, I love Woody Allen (eventhough he is a big pervert).
Annie Hall aside, I could repeatedly watch ‘What is Sodomy?’ and ‘Are Transvestites Homosexuals?’ from the timeless classic “Everything you always wanted to know about sex (but were afraid to ask)”...
I generally share these vignettes with anyone and everyone that enters my unsunny lair of deep dark darkness and that is certainly not the case with Barely Legal Volume 17 (I only share that with Mike Chiu, Jenna Bond, Pat Drastik, Iggy Smalls, and sometimes Devin Atherton if he’s not being elitist about what constitutes “good porn”).
[SIDENOTE: When I say timeless classic, I generally mean something dated and politically incorrect.]
As for Matchpoint, it was ridiculous in the worst way.
I felt like I had a rash 35 minutes in…
A rash I feared would worsen if I continued to watch.
Upon rash-recognition and review of first aid supplies (I was in Barbados and didn’t know left from right), I decided that it could be dangerous to allow this travesty to ruin any more of my time in the air-conditioned bliss that was my first friend of life Emma Dickinson’s living room.
And so…I proceeded to watch until Matchpoint’s horrific conclusion. It was at least 50 minutes too long and my condition only worsened as the minutes passed, culminating in a drastic change in hairstyle (because that’s what all girls do when they feel disheartened and in need of feeling awesome, duh).
Or when Gavin Rossdale momentarily decides that you say “dude” and “rad” altogether far too much to roll with the British.
So great that Gav finally got over it, because where would Gwen be without him, right?!
What would have happened to Gwen Stefani had her steady boy not dropped the X from his already-awesome band name...
That’s right. Slumming it with Tony Kanal.
Without the influence of Gavin “Oops I have a teenage daughter” Rossdale we might never have had the opportunity to wonder “Since when did going to Jamaica and finding yourself mean you look like a Sears mannequin? What? So now you’re too rasta for nipples??”
Talk about ego-tripping.
In retrospect, Tony Kanal got lucky and not just because he took Gwen Stefani’s v-card. He may very well have taken her nipples too (bless their unknown proportions).
Which brings me to my main question (near-future tense, chill buddy chill).
They say that behind every strong man is a strong woman...
They say that behind every strong man is a strong woman...
They say that behind every strong man is a strong woman...
Where do Rossdale and Stefani fit into this equation?
Is she is or is she ain’t??
Maybe I give a shit because I’m from Ottawa but Alanis Morisette didn’t go making $200 handbags out of saris post “Thank you India”, now DID she…
No way José! After returning to the motherland, Alanis probably realized that she had been so busy finding herself that she forgot to get her mom a souvernir! At which point she probably went to Home Sense and bought some India-ish pillows (for the Murphy-bed in the basement). Like the ones my mom got me for Valentines Day at her fave after-work hangout (Home Sense).
Jesus, I’d forgotten all about how Gwen Stefani used to be a quarter Indian.
Imagine if she had been so heavy into exploring EXOTIC CULTURES in the mid-90s...
Maybe Mother Theresa could have been the original Harajuku girl!
Had she stuck around for another decade, Mama T. might have been "Can I have it like that"(ing) with the likes of Pharrell!
You never know...
Back then (mid-90s, stay with me), Gwen Stefani didn't have to try and explain her newfound roots so much. Was Tragic Kingdom recorded in Calcutta?? No way San José! Well mostly Santa Monica, actually...
Which brings me back to my main question. They say that behind every strong man is a woman. Where do Scarlett Johansson and Andie MacDowell fit into this equation??
Does it even matter? Do YOU?? Who are you? Why did you come here?? What are you going to be when you grow up??? Assuming you one day grow up and take responsibility for the bigger picture…
I don’t know much but I do know this.
Behind my favourite actresses of lamest actresses of all-time there is a Bill Murray.
A Bill Murray who can’t wait wrap up production so that his leading lame-o's can make it out of hair and makeup in time to reach the pinnacle of superstar success...a l’Oréal campaign!
And if you REALLY blow up large?? You might even get sloppy seconds on Ryan Reynolds.
Pfffft...nice HATS.
