Category Archives: Culture

My Hustler

Well, this is a period piece that may make you a little sad that time moves on. First off, the details. It’s an Andy Warhol film which covers what it’s like to hire somebody from a “Dial a Hustler” service. Basically the first half of the film consists of a client, Ed, at his Fire Island beach digs discussing with his ladyfriend Genevieve a huslter he’s hired, who is busy sunning himself on the beach. Ed and Genevieve bitch at each other for a while and eventually Genevieve declares that despite not paying for him, she will “have” the hustler herself. They are rich, and rather artfully decadent.

The second half of the film involves the hustler (Paul) discussing how to make money at the game with an older hustler (Joe). They dance around what they are doing; their macho delicacy prevents them from being frank (as opposed to Ed and Gen who quite openly speculate on how “big” Paul might be and what he might do. Eventually, they trade trade secrets on how to score the most bread.

I really enjoyed the film. I mean there’s no sex, or really any action whatsoever. Just Warhol’s typical talking about sex and action. The two actors who played the hustlers (Paul America and Joseph Campbell) really act off each other – it’s a shame that they didn’t make more films with them. (Paul America was killed by a car; Joe Campbell is the Sugar Plum Fairy referred to in Lou Reed’s “Walk on the Wild Side” – he died of complications from AIDS) What I enjoyed about it was the frank exploration of the act of hiring a hustler. It seemed as if Ed and Gen found discussing this at least as much fun as the act itself. Certainly they otherwise seem impotent in their motionless bitchiness. The notion, though, of the two men, carefully and gently discussing selling their bodies to effete rich older men, was nothing I’ve ever seen in a movie. Most treatments of prostitutes portray them as drugged out tragic sad people; these were two men who knew what they were doing, and considered it nothing more than a job; one for which the older workers might give the younger ones a few tips for success.

So which is true? We’re used to one idea, but could at least sometimes it be like the other.

myhustler-2012-08-15-21-25.jpg

Note: The film was released as part of a two-reel set along with “I a Man.”

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0062016/

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To A Tormentor

Part 1 of this is an adaptation of an e-mail I sent to a person who* tormented me in Junior High and High Schools. I was sitting at work, looking at the person’s* page on Facebook, and thought – I need to write him and tell him about what he did. It just sort of flowed out so please excuse any grammatical errors or the like:

I’m surprised you don’t remember me. You don’t remember calling me a ‘faggot’ nearly every day, making limp wrist gestures at me all the time, at school and at the pool? Eventually I stopped going to the pool because I couldn’t bear it to have my mother see you and your friends teasing me. It made me feel ashamed. I couldn’t have any fun there while you were about.

Gay boy!

Faggit!

Queer!

Homo!

Over and over again. My book bag was a “handbag.” I remember that one clearly. Yes, I was quiet, and bookish, and I had a funny (English) accent. I’d just come from England. Was that reason to do what you did?

At school you were pretty relentless. Again, I dreaded the sight of you coming down the hallway, that grin warning me that you were about to rip my day into pieces. You make me feel pretty rotten every chance you could get. It seemed there was nothing about me you couldn’t turn into a opening to taunt me, to show me how you were superior to me, how you could score points by putting me down. You acted as if I were queer dirt under your feet, and everyone else laughed and I began to half believe you.

I hated going shopping with my parents, not just for what you would say to me if we saw you, but for the shame of having them see it, hear it, and wonder what was wrong with me(!) that it happened. I was enveloped in shame and steeped in fear and a slowly thickening misery. Frankly if I weren’t so afraid of dying I’d have killed myself. Honest to God. There were times I didn’t know how I could, or if I ever would, be happy and not feel afraid and ashamed.

No you weren’t the only one to be like this but you sure as hell were the most consistent and constant. You’d even make your gestures at me from a great distance; there was no safe bubble for me in school, before school, after school. I thank God my family moved away from Gambrills, mainly because it meant moving away from people like you were.

I know this is a lot to take in, in one big e-mail. It’s a lot for me to take in that you did this to me throughout middle school and into high school, and you don’t even remember it. My torment was as inconsequential to you as what you used to watch on TV back then. I bet you remember that more than you remember what you did. It kills me that you can be oblivious to this, while even typing this and remembering, I can feel my chest tighten, my adrenaline pumping and I have to remind myself that those days were a long time ago. You’ll excuse me if I’m a little angry that you don’t even have the memory of those days when I have to live with it.

Anyway. I just wanted you to know that even if you didn’t remember me, I haven’t forgotten you. I don’t know if you have been blessed with children, but please, don’t let them do to anyone what you did to me. Nobody, nobody deserves it.

I really really hated you. Funny enough, I wonder now what you’re like. I see you’re a musician. That normally indicates a sensitive, insightful soul. (Like, you know, somebody you’d have called a faggit. Why did you change the pronunciation of that – I always wondered. Was it to add to the horror?)

Are you different now? I hope so. I’m genuinely curious. If you don’t want to reply to this I understand, but I would also like to forgive you. I’m trying to, I really am. I’m 46 and I’m still dealing with the fall out from those few short years and what you and your friends did, and so I really hope I can succeed in doing so.”

*Thereby hangs a tale – and a surprise.

Anyway, to change the mood a little, here is a picture of the unnaturally handsome Manolo Cardona, who I just saw (quite a bit of!) in a great film called “Contracorriente” or “Undertow.” I”ll post a review by and by.

Did that change your mood? It sure did mine!

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Music for You to Listen To

Azis. He’s a Bulgarian singer of ‘chalga’ or Gypsy and Turkish influenced Bulgarian popular/folk music. He’s quite stunning in appearance, yet also a big star there, and he even apparently has his own TV talk show. Here’s a picture of him:

Azis

Azis

So here’s the video to “Lud Me Pravish” (“You drive me crazy”). Watch it and think….

Okay, so big tough Vanko 1 comes after two days having left “poor” Azis all alone, with no money or anything to eat. Azis accuses Vanko 1 of having lost his mind, and having put them in this situation. Vanko 1 says that they wouldn’t be in the situation if it weren’t for Azis’s stupidity.

Okay so there’s a back story. Some sort of arrangement, right? Rather mutually supportive at the very least. Then Vanko 1, surrounded by half naked women sings of his successes at crime, rather crudely, and at how “you” hate yourself for helplessly crawling between his legs. He says “I’m bad. But in bed, I’m God.”

Azis vamps around singing that

“Without you I can’t hear and I can’t see the reason for my life / Without you I don’t have the strength to breath / Know that you are my life.”

Now the odd thing is that although there are all these girls prancing around, as Azis sings of his love, Vanko 1 answers him back. It’s as if Vanko 1 is trying to hide behind the curtain of lady flesh, but really can’t deny that he and Azis are lovers. Now that might be my read, not yours; if so let me know.

But beyond that, you have to love/be jealous of a culture where this can be mainstream pop music. Can you imagine a tough-guy American rapper singing back and forth with no irony to a bearded effeminate guy like this? And nobody batting an eye? If you can, let me know how!

In case you didn’t quite get the point, their publicity machine put out this shot for the partnership (musical). Remember, nobody thinks less of Vanko 1’s masculinity after this. Certainly not that he’s ‘gay.’

Vanko 1 and Azis vamp & camp it up

Vanko 1 isn’t quite kissing Azis

Could there be a survival of a pre-World War II/Great Depression view of male sexuality (not ‘gay’ or ‘straight’ but ‘normal’ or ‘fairy’) still in operation in Eastern Europe? Or just territories of the former Ottoman Empire? The old view didn’t die out here completely – it survives in ‘situational homosexuality’ where the butchest criminal can have a male lover in prison, but you’d best not call him a ‘faggot’ on the outside. It was killed off during the social panic caused by  the tension and upheaval caused by the Depression depriving men of their assured roles. I’ll try to develop this more in future posts.

 

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Music for You to Listen To

First off, “Hipnotisan” (“Hypnotized“) by Dado Polumenta (from Montenegro):

Now very very sexy Turkish singer Arkan, first “Ask Gitti Bizden” (“Love Left Us“):

And here’s Arkan in “Op“:

Tell me what you think! And just to keep you focussed, here’s Tarkan himself, all close up and such:

Tarkan

Tarkan

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Movie For You – Redwoods

Trailer iMDB Profile

Redwoods.jpg

Where’s that hand going?

Leads

Mathew Montgomery (the Gay Movie Lothario)

Brendan Bradley (the half sexy half surprisingly ugly)

Tad Coughenour (the passionless Miles)

Synopsis

Everett (Bradley) and <partner> are in a loveless relationship. Miles goes off on an convenient trip taking the couple’s child with him and Chase (!) (Matthew Montgomery) turns up, all short, dark and handsome, and suddenly passion is part of Everett’s life. Of course they fall in love and have meaningful moments, Chase’s family loves both of them, and Chase is a writer (and Everett a literary critic). As you can imagine they have an affair.

Everett thinks Chase should stop drifting around and evading things. Chase that Everett doesn’t risk anything.

Chase is all pensive and asks his mum what to do. Mum confesses that she had an affair (while Chase wanders around the Redwoods). I think things would have drifted along but luckily Miles telephones to say he’s coming back early and forces the point. Chase extracts a (rather unfair) promise from Everett to meet at some mountain ridge in exactly five years at exactly the same time and spot.

As a parting gift, Everett gives Chase a keepsake box with two keys, one for each of them. Everett tells Chase to watch out for forks in the road. Chase, tearful, tells Everett that he’s not lost anymore. Mutual sobbing and things.

Back comes Miles and the son (who’s autistic – lessening the burden on the young actor). They kinda bash you over the head with how Miles and Everett really don’t have passion – in fact, they don’t even like one another. As Miles goes off to get some de-moulding stuff, Everett packs to leave, but comes up short against the son, who appears upset at the sight of his co-daddy with a suitcase.

It was telling how everyone chez Everett et Miles conspired to deny the reality of what was happening. Everett finds Chase on some mountain side where he went for ‘one last hike’ and kiss and hugs ensue.

A montage of time-lapse shots suggests the passage of time…”Five Years Later” appears on the screen to drive the point home. Everett and Miles seem to be together and a bit more friendly and then up drives Chase (in the same old car with the same old Minnesota plates). Oops, no, it’s a woman – Jessica, who wants to talk. Oh, dear, Chase has died of lung cancer, and has sent Jessica to deliver the box. In the box there’s a picture of Everett and Chase together which is really tearful and romantic and poignant. There’s also harmonica which of course Everett raises to his lips and half plays, tearfully, and a book – Chase’s book – called ‘The Redwoods.’

Turns out that on that ‘one last hike’ when Everett showed up, he and Chase stared meaningfully into each other’s eyes and apparently hugged and kissed in a piney glade.

Notes

The filmmakers used a lot of chocolate filters – everything is seen through a brown haze. I think it’s meant to be restrained and remind you of woods.

There’s some really romantic and passionate love scenes between Everett and Chase; if Bradley is straight he’s a damn fine actor. Mind you he does pretty well either way.

Although some of the plot points were driven home pretty ham-fistedly, the director and author managed to preserve a lot of ambiguity, keeping one guessing at various points. The dialogue had few really unbelievable moments; certainly the most difficult, intimate scenes were very real and credible. Really the author had a great way with giving the kind of impressions and verbal cues that could lead to one conclusion or another, deftly mimicking real conversations.

It’s not entirely clear to me what the movie was about – or trying to say. However, I’ll take a stab and say, based on how much more cordially Everett and Miles appeared, that Everett taught Miles to have passion and to believe in his desirability. Or that children spoil everything and glue one to unhappy situations. Or that affairs are good. Anyway, I give it three solid and one faint stars.

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Movie For You – Dorian Blues

iMDB page Trailer

Dorian-Blues.jpg

Cast

Michael McMillian – Dorian

Lea Coco – Nicky

Synopsis

Dorian realizes he’s different because he’s gay. His mum is basically not there and his dad is a really angry bastard. His schoolmates are not too cool with him, but at least his brother is supportive.

So Dorian goes off to school in New York and his brother comes to visit when they have a piece of bad news.

Notes

The thing is, unlike a lot of gay movies:

1) Despite being at times witty and and likable, the gay character isn’t all that perfect; he’s very angry and while a lot of people around him notice, the audience only realizes slowly that he might be over caustic and over defensive and over judgmental.

2) When the straight jock guy (Nicky) cries it’s not because he’s secretly gay, at all. Not everything revolves around coming out of the closet.

So I liked it because of that. Michael McMillian and Lea Coco do a really good job and I’d like to see both of them in other films in the future.

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Real Housewives of New York – Day One in Marrakech

It was horrible watching Sonja demean the villas by insinuating that her luggage was not safe. And I am glad I am not one of the minor branches of European royalty that ever hosted her only to find out she had her luggage stolen from my home. That whole spiel about her and Ramona ‘relaxing in the car’ was pathetic and transparent – they just wanted to go off to a hotel nearby and didn’t want anyone with them. Sonja seems increasingly desperate and sad to me. I bet she wishes she could hire a Moroccan stud to ‘do’ her, fast and nasty.

Ramona acts as if she’s never left the US. I actually ‘get’ the insistence on the ‘little comforts’ – this villa isn’t the Holiday Inn. They are charging big bucks for all that space and luxury, and she was asked if she had any special requests. Remember, Brad Pitt stayed there so they’re used to looking after stars, real and self-designated. She deals in unwanted unsold clothes for a living so I guess she figures herself an expert on what (won’t) look good, and therefore qualified to tell an artist how to do his work.

LaContessa was actually quite restrained given how she went after Ramona last week. Honestly I wouldn’t want to host these demanding spoilt ladies at anything (except Alex) so I can’t imagine the stress she’s under. But I do agree with the above – she’s supposedly the old Maghrebi hand so she should have explained things better, especially to the silly tramp Sonja. Oh, and on her blog she spelled/transliterated it wrong. It’s “Ya Habibi” not “ya ha bi bi.” Ya signals the vocative case, when you’re addressing somebody. You cans ort of translate it as “O” as in “O mother” or “O Land of Hope and Glory.” “Habib” means love, friend, and the -i makes it ‘my’ friend. “Ya Habibi” means “O, friend.” Personally I thought it was a bit forward, but I haven’t heard back from any of my Arabic speaking friends.

Alex was nice, but I think she’s at the end of her rope with some of the others’ stupidity and childishness. With her, I’d go on holiday. Did you hear her call Simon “beautiful boy” though – is she channeling the more purple of Oscar Wilde’s prose?

Cindy’s a P.I.T.A. Can’t she ever laugh? Or is she so conscious of her outsider status (she lives <gasp> downtown, a full <horrors> 35 minutes south of the silly tramp’s allegedly filthy townhouse) and insecure that she simply can’t let anything go. Yes, the silly tramp’s story wasn’t funny, and yes, they have a pecky history of the silly tramp putting her down, but…

Jill, Jill, Jill, whatever will we do with Jill? She came back from the land of Oz promising to be a changed, drama-free lady but that lasted what, ten seconds? Fifteen (being generous)? She’s such an instigator but her attempts to have somebody else take the fall for her outrageous snide digs are not always crowned with success. On the other hand, Brad shouldn’t have lied about living in a B&B (no shame in it) when his house is in Tangiers supposedly (or somewhere else where dark beautiful boys are available for a wink and a few dollars…I guess he likes ’em swarthy or he’d be in Bangkok instead, waving fifty baht notes around).

And dearest Jill – the Arabs didn’t hear wrong when they say “As-salaam alaykum.” It’s not a mistaken version of “Shalom Aleichem” but a reminder that Hebrew and Arabic are very closely related, as close as English is to Dutch. No, clueless Countless, the Jews weren’t ‘there first.’ The Berbers were. Get your history right or stick to giving out questionable etiquette advice you only half and half-heartedly follow.

Lastly our very own kaleidoscope of contradictions Kelly. First she’s terrified of going near Ramona – now she’s looking forward to a lovely wonderful fun week with the amazing ladies. First she’s excited to experience properly the fascinating and vibrant culture of Morocco – now she’s gobbling Jelly Bellies like she’s still back in her area (where she was the most compassionate or something). First she hates negativity, can’t stand it, won’t get involved in it, is way above it, in a way Bethenny can only dream of being – now she’s slamming the silly tramp’s pad. Yes she had a sensible point – the silly tramp might not be able to afford the upkeep and taxes on a huge Manhattan townhouse, but AFAIK they all married money and would be on their asses quick should they not get a good lawyer on the way to divorce court. Just because her ex is paying out tons in child support doesn’t mean that Sonja’s is. In any event kind, compassionate candy-loving Kelly’s comment was mean  and needless. But didn’t Jill just jump on it with glee.

Another “changed person.”

Other than that, the riad looked lovely, Moroccan food is delicious, the boys are beautiful (and flexible for a fee), and I was rather taken with the idea of putting it on my own bucket list. Brad’s party was a bit wild, and cramped, but the fortune teller was/will be juicy for next week.

Of course silly tramp had to mention semen because, you know, she’s a silly tramp.

Of course Ramona mistook being demanding for being charming, because, Ramona, right?

Of course Cindy had to be loudly and extravangly offended, doesn’t she always?

Of course Jill had to backstab everyone, I mean it’s her shtick.

Of course Kelly had to be eating because baklava’s like grown-ups’ candy, y’know?

Of course LaContessa had to launch into various “mannerly” put downs, what else?

Of course Alex had to pretend she wasn’t there, was in her happy place, dancing  in cool Marrakech salons with Simon, the candlelight glinting off his many sequins, his silken caftan swirling around and around in a multi-coloured fluffy froth, not with this pack of hissing puff adders, stalking and coiling and striking at each other….

Oh, yeah: Hot guy, because, you know, it’s my blog after all! 🙂

 

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Real Housewives of New Jersey, 31 May 2010

My little write-up!

What a boiling mess this last eppy was.

First off, we see Tess bringing home baby #4. Apparently she’s tired of all this baby-birthin’ because she wants the Italian Stallion gelded and quick. Joe, the aforementioned stallion, proceeds to demonstrate a rather amazing lack of knowledge of his own anatomy. Joe: She doesn’t want to castrate you. Well, not yet at any rate. Or not openly. Juicy Joe gets the forth little Giudice’s name tattooed on his meaty arm underneath the three others’. Now don’t you think it’s a good idea to not just spell out but write down the name or phrase you want added? Anyway they all went home to the Stone Temple of Teresa, the marble’s hard unyielding surfaces reminding Joe of the hard body of this one guy when he was drunk and … and anyway it was little Show Giudice’s birthday.

But Show Giudice only liked, not loved, her quad (after all what girl doesn’t want a pink fluffy dirt bike?), which made her mummy frankly not give a damn whether or not she fell off it, or killed her squalling sister. Tess’s only concern was that Show not drive the thing through the ‘water of puddles’ or whatever, so it wouldn’t have to be cleaned when she took it back. Remember Mommie Dearest and Christine having to choose one present to keep and the rest to give away? Little Show made her choice. Oh, yes, without knowing it, she made her choice.

Then there was a pink limousine and some screaming girls and Tess boasting about alla da cash she dropped on this kid. And I was reading Twitter on my iPhone so I have no idea but since screams seemed happy I didn’t care what they were up to. Apparently getting training for future days of vanity. Who knows?

Jacquay learns what we all suspected, that her daughter Hashly is shacked up with her video store jockey boyfriend when she goes over and gets a little bit tipsy with said boyfriend’s mummy in their tiny house (tiny compared to Jacquay’s pile of bricks at least). Jacqay gripped her wine a little tighter and knocked it back a little faster when she thought about how the lazy thing couldn’t clean her own clothing explosion (room) at home, but apparently initiates whole house tidying in the bf’s house where she doesn’t even live. We all agree to keep the faith and the fiction, right? Right.

Back at the Palazzo Manzo, Chris (oh, overlooked sexy cute funny lickable Chris)’s best friend Forgettable-with-a-Mom appears and we get this convoluted explanation from Queen Quaroline about how she really didn’t snub Forgettables’ Mom, only refused to socialize with her because <gasp> Mom’s friends with Dastardly Danielle. Cripes a plenty! Anyway, it’s nice to see Chris (mmmmm so hot) interacting with his family, he always makes people laugh even though he seems somewhat unhappy (and in need of a big AngloAmerican hug).

Albie nicely takes Chuckie-waxer sister Lauren, Ashley and her bf to dinner to tell them that Ashley is too young to know her own mind. And that he doesn’t want bf to get his leg over and take advantage of the dimwitted thing. Ashley tries to make a protest but there are so many words she has to marshal and string together that she just slumps back into her chair, exhausted. Bf as usual is smart and says nothing to the attorney in waiting.

Dastardly Danielle and this strange friend of hers, Forgettable’s Mother, meet in a bar someplace in Franklin Lakes (not in Miseryville where Danielle has always lived) and Danielle engages in some pretty revolting suck up behaviour. I don’t know why this apparently wealthy woman is Danielle’s chum except to relieve the boredom of always being around proper people. Danielle and her craziness is entertainment, and she can always hop back into her chauffeured Bentley and zoom back to Megabux Mansion if things get too too real. Danielle spins her story about “da sick baby” and I guess ForgettaMom agrees to pay for Danielle to go to the fundraiser over at Dom Manzo’s Den (er, the Brownstone).

Queen Quaroline, Jackay and Tess meet to agree that Danielle is garbage, no good, calculating and a liar, and up to something. So that was a nice new change of conversation, right? Dina’s not going despite being a charitable sort, and Queen Quaroline decides not to go. Jackay is told she’s not going and Tess was never asked. Perhaps it was her time of the month? Those connected to the Den fall all over themselves to assure us that Danielle, despite being so dastardly, is as welcome as any other cockroach would be. This becomes important, later. Dastardette is not the only calculating one…

But she may be uniquely insane. As the big event approaches, Danielle makes sure that we, you, our cousins, the paper boy and all the people in China know that she’s terrified to go to the Den of her Enemy (er, that is, a big public building full of the public and television crews) because something unspecified but very sinister will happen to her, courtesy of Queenie and Qrew. To deal with this clear and present danger, she recruits Danny the Ex Con, world authority on knuckledusters, knuckle sandwiches, and everything else the decent people of New Jersey would prefer that we not associate with them.

For his part, Dannyboy collects a real mob of mooks, including the freaking Hells Angels chief, as muscle. WTF is this crazy b*tch thinking – that she, ForgettaMom, Dirty Dan and the mooks will crash the Dom’s Palace? No, nobody could be that stupid or low-class.

Oh but they could be. As God is my witness they could be….And that is exactly what Dastardly Danielle, ForgettaMom, Dirty Dan and the mob o’mooks have in mind.

Up they show to the Brownstone, where Chris (oh, so gorgeous polite sexy patient funny charming) gives them a well-advised wide berth. But this isn’t enough for Danielle, no, she’s not destroyed any pretense she has to being a civilized women yet. She’s got to go over to Chris and faux-graciously thank him for welcoming her to his house. Then she tells us, the horrified viewers, that this was nothing more than a big “F.U.” to … to whom? To poor Chris who was just being polite? To Queen Quaroline, miles away at home? Who the “F” knows? The only thing I did know from that is that Danielle lives in cathedrals of make-believe in her own head, in which angels and demons do battle with each other and she reigns, supreme Princess of it all, alone and misunderstood. Sad, really.

Danielle sweeps in at the head of the mook army and Forgettamom goes to Chris and is all fake-nice and such and Chris lets her know that she’s in for a big surprise. And then we’re told, via subtitles, that Chris said that she was well overdressed (“no lie!”). Which she was, let’s face it, although the mooks were well under-dressed, or awfully dressed, or thuggishly attired, take your pick. Somehow, some way, Danielle without being there knows that Chris said this in a ‘sadistic way.’ She’s out Kelly-ing Kelly here, her angels are singing and her demons dancing big time. Sigh.

Now. This is where it gets important to know exactly what happened. Danielle says that despite her being responsible for half of northern New Jersey being there, and in possession of ForgettaMom’s 20 seats, the Manzos meanly refused her even a table. The Manzos say that half her crew weren’t paid for and that they know nothing about any seating problems because they seat according to what the event organizers dictate. (The poor girl’s poor parents are naturally mortified that Danielle’s drama has galvanized the room’s attention to herself. And that Danielle insists on speaking to hem.)

Dirty Dan goes downstairs to bust some heads and use bad language and the Brownstone people try to set up a table for the assorted low-lives. Dan and Danielle trundle about the room talking to everyone about the poor sick baby and how wonderful it is that this money is being raised to help out with the medical bills and…

THE HELL THEY DO
. They go around decrying the Brownstone, the Manzos, in this horrible Joizey ex-con gutter language, fake rage (ya gotta be f*cking kidding me) and veiled threats (just spare the baby’s family but f*ck up everyone else) spewing, choking on their own bile and thuggishness and general lack of class. Eventually, having ruined the start of the evening, Despicable Danielle and her nasty army are asked to leave and they do, with lots of impotent posing and insults to all concerned on their part. I know that the Countess (RHONY) and Emily Post and Miss Manners have made careers out of explaining the finer points of etiquette but I have to say a two-year old, a pack-wolf, or an amoeba on the pack-wolf would be appalled by the antics of this woman and her hangers-on, and would know better. Danielle took the title of lady and any respect I may have had for her and basically wiped her a** with it.

Her poor poor poor children when they see this. When their friends see this. When they are older and reflect on seeing this. Bah.

Oh, and I think Chris Manzo’s kinda cute. Could you guess?

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Last Movie for Today

The last movie for today is The Bedroom Window:

Not a bad thriller with Steve Guttenberg, young and sexy, and Elizabeth McGovern. Basically, a man is having an affair with his boss’s wife, who witnesses an attempted murder. To keep his job and her cover, he agrees to report it, but things go wrong and he becomes a suspect. To clear his name he and the the woman how was nearly murdered, must help the police catch the real serial killer. It was filmed in Baltimore, if that is of interest to you. Quite a good movie really, the whole thing is plausible and especially the courtroom scene shows a lovely and well-calibrated increase in menace and danger to both Steve and the woman he is shielding.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092627/

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Coffee Date

On and on, it just keeps on coming – Coffee Date:

Meh. I mean the movie is well-meaning, and somewhat sweet, but really, the whole thing could have been wrapped up in about twenty minutes. Especially since the director, Stewart Wade gave a reason for making a feature-length movie that frankly didn’t come across in the end. The basic story is that a straight guy is unwittingly set up on a blind date with a gay man (tee hee), and spends the rest of the movie trying to convince himself and everyone around him that just because he becomes good friends with said gay man, that doesn’t mean he’s gay. Nice idea, easy to sum up. Jonathan Bray (the straight guy) and Wilson Cruz (the gay one) are pretty good, actually, but surrounded by terrible overactors.  Jonathan Silverman is cute but would be funny if he wasn’t one big stinking slice of ham. The shtick that nobody really listens to Todd protesting his straightness grows first unbelievable, then old, then annoying. The DVD had the usual extras except a commentary.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0473174/

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