Tag Archives: celebrities

I’m Going to Have Tom Cruise’s Magical Forest Babies

20 Dec

I saw Tom Cruise tonight.

For realsies.  I have proof:

Maverick in the flesh

Maverick in the flesh

Dave worked on the movie Jack Reacher so he got invited to the premiere and I got to be his plus one.  It turns out that if you throw a dress on me and slap some spackle on my face, I can pass for a plus one.

By the way, if you go see Jack Reacher you can see what Dave looks like.  He’s an extra in the bus stop scene on the right.  Enjoy.

This premiere was a challenge for me.  You see, I have somewhat of an overactive imagination (shut up).  When I’m in a fancy store with china in it, I just imagine how awesome it would feel to bust everything – the fancy pitchers and the decorative plates and the wine glasses. My brain loves a good fantasy.  That’s why when I got to see Mark Hamill a few years ago, all I could think about was asking him for some of his Jedi sperm so I could make a Jedi baby (details here).  It’s also why when I saw Tom Cruise tonight I wanted to treat the premiere like a nerd convention and dress up like Lili from Legend.

Actually, Meg Mucklebones probably would have better gotten his attention.

For those of you who know Tom Cruise for his slew of box office hits and not for his contribution to cult classics with his work as Jack in Legend, allow me to regale you with its synopsis.

Legend is a beautiful British fantasty-adventure film  from the 80s starring Tom Cruise as a child of the forest, Mia Sara as Lili, a princess he is romancing by teaching her the language of animals, and Tim Curry as the Lord of Darkness who is hoping to destroy a unicorn horn to hold the world in eternal cold and darkness.

Doesn’t it sound perfect?  That’s because it is.

Anyway, as much as I wanted to dress up in costume and accost Tom and thank him for the work he did in the 80s, I owed it to Dave to seem like a well-adjusted citizen and opted instead for a little black dress and to sit politely in the second row while he addressed the audience.  

When I do well in public, Dave gives me cookies.  It’s an excellent and effective motivator for feigning normalcy.

Since I did get to see the premiere, perhaps you’re wondering what I thought of the movie.  And I’m thinking what everyone thinks; Tom Cruise is not Jack Reacher.  The posters all keep saying that, but let’s get real.  I’m not even talking about the physical description, though Tom Cruise is probably the most opposite you could get from the Lee Child novel, which notes that Reacher is 6′ 5″ tall with a 50-inch chest, weighs between 210 and 250 pounds with ice-blue eyes and dirty blond hair.  

But that’s not what bothers me, really.  What bothers me is that Tom Cruise is not Jack Reacher in any way.  In his defense, I found the script to be pretty terrible altogether, particularly in its characterizations and dialogue.  But I’ve seen a lot of cheesy action movies and have still loved the actor in the lead because they sell the hell out of it (Demolition Man, anyone? Running Man? Other action movies that end in man?)  I’d say the primary problem here is casting.   At one point when Jack Reacher is, like, super duper serious, he says “I mean to beat you to death and drink your blood from a boot” and it’s really hard to see that as believable.  Cause, you know, it’s Tom Cruise.  And its a bloody rotten line. 

They’re all rotten lines.  I should give a tip of my hat to one Mr. Robert Duvall, who somehow manages to deliver his with a slight nod to the audience acknowledging the corniness.  Like in this little gem:

Cruise: Can you take him out?

Duvall: To dinner, you mean?

Ugh.

So yeah I didn’t like the movie.  You might.  I’m kind of a jerk about lots of things.  Maybe that boot bit really got you interested.  If that’s true, you have my blessing. But now that my review portion is out of the way, I would like to note that someone brought a baby to this movie.  I don’ t know if the baby was a plus one, or if the baby had worked on the movie or what the baby situation was entirely.  I just know that it cried when Tom Cruise began to speak before the movie and cried again any time Jack Reacher began to speak once the movie started.  I wanted to slap its parents silly.  I also wanted to slap the guy to my right, who had two huge bags of popcorn and two drinks to himself and managed to text, crunch, and spill his way through 130 minutes of my pure, unadulterated rage.  

I guess it’s comforting to know that people make terrible audience members even when Tom Cruise is there.

So I suppose I can add “attending a movie premiere” to my list of anti-hermit adventures. You can find it over on my “What’s Lollipop Tuesday?” page, along with a review of everything I’ve tried to date.  Maybe next will be actually dressing up as Meg Mucklebones and actually accosting him. 

Besides, if he has any forest magic left from the 80s, I could capture his sperm and use it to give birth to a forest child who will rise up to conquer the Lord of Darkness.

…And drink blood from boots

I Should Have Been a Cat

14 Mar

It would be nice if everyone could just stop being so super awesome and successful at everything for just a gosh golly minute so I can gather myself and catch up.

Don’t you feel like you’re constantly being bombarded with news of other peoples’ awesomeness?  I do.  And it’s usually people my age being awesome.

Do you know who topped the Forbes list as the number one highest paid musician in the world?

Taylor Swift.

That’s right: the Swifty.  A girl about my age who picked up a guitar and started writing mediocre love songs is a billionaire and topped the Forbes List over a band like U2.   Or how about the Olsen twins?  Two chicks also about my age who are billionaires, icons, and own their own fashion line.  Or how about Lindsay Lohan?  Also my age, except unlike Swifty or the twins, she now makes money for being so awful at things.  

And for taking off her clothes and getting wasted and whatnot, but you catch my drift here.

In fact, some of you may recall my campaign to host SNL over The Lohan, wherein I compiled a list of reasons I would be a better host than her.  And you know what? I was right.  I would have been a better host.  But it doesn’t matter.  Because in spite of the awful reaction she got from people all over America when she hosted, her episode had the 2nd highest ratings of the SNL season.  She’s so successful at being unsuccessful that she’s successful.

How can I possibly compete with that?

I shouldn’t care, but I kind of do.  After all, how can I see list after list of people who are in their 20’s shooting into stardom because they made a Ryan Goseling tumblr or a site featuring cats who spell things improperly, or a page that documents what students say on hiking trails without somehow feeling like I’m missing some great calling to create something stupid and phenomenal that whips me into an Internet sensation? 

This cat sleeps for almost the entire day and is still currently more famous than me.

I blame the Twitter Machine.  It’s feeding me information so quickly about people who are young and fabulous and full of society-altering ideas and thoughts and it makes folks like me feel like they’re at the back of the herd.   I’m the limping, cross-eyed zebra of the magical Interwebz, where young, blossoming starlets and dashing entrepreneurs are tweeting the view from the front of the pack. 

I should probably just disconnect.  How can I possibly feel like I’m accomplishing anything when Twitter is throwing top 10 lists of awesome possums at me and Facebook is constantly updating with engagements, marriages, house/car/pet/job acquisitions, and (Lord help us) creepy sonogram photos?   When the world is constantly shouting at you the things that others are doing that are perfect and lovely, it can be hard to remember that we’re not all going after the same things and it’s okay to not be an OlsenLohanSwifty.

We just have to remember that we’re all on different paths.  Mine is to have a blog where I talk about how I don’t like to do laundry so sometimes I just buy packs of underwear instead.  Or how people leaving long voicemails makes me want to scoop my eyes out with a melon baller.  Or how life is too short to get nervous about pooping in public restrooms.   And while that’s not as profitable as a celebrity fragrance line or a TMZ headline or penning young chick country songs, it serves a noble purpose that only I can serve.

Because somewhere out there, someone has lots of packs of new underwear, a hamper full of dirty clothes, and reads my blog to feel better about it.

Keep on keepin’ on, person somewhere out there.  You’re doing just fine.

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Why I Should Host SNL Instead of Lindsay Lohan

22 Feb

I’m launching a campaign to host Saturday Night Live instead of Lindsay Lohan.

I feel strongly about this.  I thought hosting SNL was supposed to be a sign that you were relevant and that people wanted to see you.  On occasion, it’s also a tip of the hat to your ability to roll with a gag – to think on your feet – to be, oh, I don’t know- entertaining.  And though I’m really excited about how SNL seems to be pumping out some good stuff lately, I’m pretty disappointed in the choice to let The Lohan host.  Sure, she has a great rack.  And she’s been in movies an attempted a singing career and is now an official Playboy model.  And she’s hosted a bunch of times already.  And she generates more interest in what she wears to court hearings than I do in a well-thought out, carefully constructed blog post. 

But I was improv captain in college, folks.  And if I wear two bras and shove some padding on the lower inside of my bubblie wubblies, I can give the Lohan a serious run for her money.

All she had to do was beg and now she gets the coveted honor of hosting the coolest show on television.  It doesn’t matter that she’s not relevant or that the last time she showed up in public she looked like a bleached Oompa Loompa trapped in a straitjacket.  So if she can flush her celebrity life and hotness down the toilet, follow it up with a bunch of trashy appearances and questionable outings, and then beg to host and get granted her wish, I’m pretty sure I can lock this in with the old-fashioned method of straightforward bullets-by-numbers and overwhelming persistence.  Let’s do this.

Why I Should Host SNL Instead of Lindsay Lohan

  1. I have a proven track record of creating original content.  2011 was the year of The Jackie Blog post-a-day.  And I whooped it.  Hard.  
  2. I don’t think SNL has ever let a humor blogger host and it would be a great way to engage the Internet community and give young, semi-humorous indie bloggers everywhere a senseless feeling of hope.
  3.  I have a fiercely loyal following who would support my endeavor and tune in to reap the benefits of their fandom.
  4. I Know Who Killed Me”  It’s a movie.  It’s bad.  And I didn’t tie myself for the Razzie Worst Actress  award in it; The Lohan did.
  5. My teacher told me I could do anything I wanted to do when I grew up and I’m grown now and I want to host SNL.  This is America, folks.  
  6. My day job is being Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada and this is my only hope to scrape together what remains of my soul before the rest of it is sucked away by Miranda Priestly and the Corporate Machine (which also happens to be a great band name).
  7. 8., 9., and 10.   
 
 
 
So this is the plan: I’m going to send out good thoughts into the great Internet nether and hope that the SNL gods hear my cry.  If that doesn’t work, I’m going to resort to old school mailings.  They’ll feature a hard copy of a blog post from 2011 and a reader endorsement Sharpied on a picture of The Lohan’s face.  You can go ahead and drop me a line in the comments if you want to sponsor a Lohan-face-note.
 
I’m not sure if that will get me an invitation to New York or a restraining order, but I’m willing to risk it.
 
I need to work fast and furiously.  Lindsay Lohan hosts on March 3rd.  That doesn’t give me much time.
 
Then again if this doesn’t work, I could just start lobbying now for her next comeback. 

Kevin Bacon Owes Me a Coffee

8 Dec

No sleep for the Jackie.

I got a lot done last night (still running – 1/2 way through week 2, still alive).  I did not, however get any sleep.  Instead, I was jolting in and out of a dream that included the death of my father, and Kevin Bacon.

The Baconator didn’t do anything to my father.  In fact, it was a friend from my childhood who I haven’t talked to in years.  I have, however, stalked them on Facebook.  Then she killed my father.  Then I checked out Kevin Bacon’s twitter feed, and he got in a hot tub with me after my father died.

It wasn’t, like, romantic.  It was this super awesome hot tub/pool thing that was enormous and had about 20 people there – all folks I only somewhat knew- but the pool wasn’t filled with water.  So the Baconator and I were filling it up for them with the sprayer hose on my kitchen sink.

It took a while.

No one at my workplace will understand this or accept is as a valid reason not to come to work.  I would argue that I’m a better worker when I’m sick than I am when I’ve spent the evening bereaving my father’s passing and filling a giant hot tub with a kitchen sprayer, assisted only by Kevin Bacon.  But unfortunately it’s not socially acceptable for me to skip work because of a taxing dream.

I’ve attempted lucid dreaming before, but haven’t succeeded.  It’s happened a few times on accident and those moments are so super awesome that I would prefer to hang out in dream world than be in reality.  Because naturally, I can fly there.  And breathe underwater.  And play Mario levels in real life.  But the moment I don’t want to be lucid dreaming for is the one where I gain a sense of my own consciousness right beside the Baconator while he’s holding my kitchen hose.

So I’ve resolved to stalk more people online that I actually want to dream about.  Maybe I could focus a lot of it on cartoon characters, because I’m sure that’d be a swell adventure.  I could check out Donald Trump’s twitter feed and see if when I dream about him, he gives me a bunch of money so I can pretend to accomplish fiscal goals and buy schools for third world countries and things.  Or maybe I should just browse a bunch of food blogs and stare at the food porn so that at night I dream of food.  Suddenly kicking in to lucid dreaming when I’m right beside the world’s largest vat of Jell-O sounds pretty splendiferous if you ask me.

Anyway I’m super tired today and the way I see it, Kevin Bacon owes me a coffee.  Perhaps instead of accomplishing real work tasks today, I’ll begin composing documents in support of Paid Time Off following particularly strenuous dreams.

I’ll keep you posted on my progress. 

 

Zooey Deschanel Is Mocking Me

14 Oct

Zooey Deschanel and I are kind of fighting right now.

I say kind of because she doesn’t know who I am, even though she is obviously playing out my entire life on national television.

For those of you who don’t know who I’m talking about, allow me to post a picture of enlightenment.  But I warn you: she’s totally cute.  So if you’re a guy and you don’t already know who she is, prepare yourself to get a little excited by her adorableness.  And if you’re a girl who doesn’t already know who she is, prepare to feel inferior.   Not inferior in a ‘wow she’s hot’ kind of way.  Inferior in a ‘man she’s really lovely and looks like she’s probably a nice person too.  Sonuvagun’ kind of way.

Look at her basking in her awesome life. For the record, I got this image from a site that claimed to have gotten the image from another site. So to go ahead and bypass all that mumbo jumbo let's just say this obviously isn't mine and you can click on the image to find lots more pictures of her that aren't mine.

 You might recognize her face as the crazy girl from 500 Days of Summer.  Or maybe as the crazy girlfriend on Weeds.  Or maybe as the crazy roommate in Failure to Launch.  Or, most recently, as the star of the show ‘New Girl’, which was stolen from the transcripts of my life.

I was first made aware of this travesty when one of my older brothers texted me telling me I had to watch it right away because it was me.  The premise of the show is that the lead – Jess, played by the offender in question – has just been cheated on and moves in with a houseful of guys, where she talks in crazy voices, does stupid things, and makes up her own jingles.  And with only a few almost unnoticeable adjustments, this is my life from college.  Except New Girl replaced all of my awesome guy roommates with bad actors.  Also, I’m not as attractive as her. 

This makes me upset.  Not just the not-being-as-attractive-as-her thing, but the whole shebang.  Zooey Deschanel is exactly what I’ve always wished I looked like, starring in a sitcom I always wish I could have had.  And guess what: she has a band.  Yeah.  She gets her singer-songwriter on too.  The real kicker is that she isn’t even very good at any of these things. Honestly, she’s not.  I’m not being rude – she’s very lovely and I don’t hold anything against her except that she has entirely and heartlessly usurped my dreams from me by claiming them for her own.  But it’s just an empirical observation that she’s rather average in every area outside of her bangin’ cute looks and soul-slurping doe eyes.   She just tries to be amusing about the fact that she’s average and people like that about her.

She even has likability.

So I keep watching New Girl.  Over and over again.  I don’t even think it’s very good.  It could have been good if they would have called me to get more information instead of just running with the basics.  But they missed a few very key points about the roommates that I’d love to fill them in on.  You know, if they’ll replace Zooey with me.  Obviously.  And they’re going to need a few cats.  The cats are vital. But I keep watching it in spite of its mediocrity because I’m in shock at how much she is like me and how completely annoying I am. 

Look at her. She knows what she's doing. (Photo by Noel Vasquez – Image courtesy gettyimages.com)

 

Really, I can’t stand her character.  I don’t know how people put up with me.  At least when I lived with four guys I could kind of spread my personality amongst them all.  Now that I live with just one – oh man.  How does Dave do it?! Honestly, how does he not smother me in my sleep?

The other day I woke him up with an improvised song about how he was wrapped up in his blanket all funny.  It was called Breakfast Burrito.  And while I was proud of my rendition at the time, I’m now watching Zooey ‘I-steal-your-dreams-and-play-them-out-in-front-of-you’ Deschanel and I’m thinking Woooow.  Someone needs to body slam me until I shut up.

Really.  If Zooey woke me up with a song about how I looked like a breakfast burrito, I’d have the urge to take her out at the knees.

Well, at least maybe then I’ll have a shot at understudy. 

 

Back Off, Charlie

14 Apr

Okay, I’m over the Charlie Sheen thing.

It was fun for a while, but I think we can all let it go now.  I’ve had my fill of jokes about tiger blood, warlocks, and porn goddesses.   I’m over the Charlie shirts, the Charlie mugs, and the Charlie memes.

I’ve long endured the sad attempts at jokes in my Facebook mini-feed since his little radio tour of crazy. I officially hit my limit yesterday at work.   I was working with a few other Executive Assistants on a scheduling a meeting between some very difficult and busy folks.  We had gone round and round and had no options until yesterday something finally worked out.   And suddenly, what started as a very professional, cordial, and well-written email trail went awry with this Charlie Bomb in my inbox:

Wow.  Just wow.  That really happened.

You know, I’m beginning to hate the phrase “winning!” as much as I hate “LOVE IT!!!” – and that’s a strong, fierce hate, my friends.

Charlie Sheen has officially invaded every area of my waking life.    I think it’s time to stop.  Let’s just all agree to not be amused anymore.  I’ll start us off by blazing the trail into sensibility.

After all, do we really want to sensationalize someone who’s best role was when he was 21 years old in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?

Think about it.

 

P90X Update: 14/90 days complete.  I only did half the Kenpo DVD last night. I’m a big loser.  What do I have to do to make it up? Run? Maybe I’ll run today.  Sigh.

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Someone Tell Them It’s Okay to Stop

6 Mar

We’re 6 days into March and all I can think about is who will be March’s live geriatric star.

Listen, it’s really hard to be the one to have to say this.  It really is.  Because everyone is thinking it and no one is talking about it.

But it’s time.   After Kirk Douglas’s display of confusion and incomprehensible babbling, I seriously think that maybe no one is going to say anything and maybe that’s why nothing gets done. So here:

Let’s stop asking old people do live television.

Did you see Kirk Douglas on the mess that was dressed as the Oscars last week?   Hey – I understand that he’s an icon and that people feel honored and blessed to be in the same room as him – but there are a number of ways to honor someone.  Let’s look into alternatives.

My heart ached for Dick Clark on ABC’s New Year’s Eve party.  Aside from what seemed like a costant state of disarray, I genuinely could not understand anything the man was saying.  I get it – he’s a legend.  It’s because of him that the show even exists.   But the point of being on television is to communicate a message to people.  And if all I hear is vowels and lip smacking, nothing’s getting through.

You know what? Why not have their segment prerecorded?  Or here’s a thought: subtitles.  I think geriatric can be considered a strong enough dialect to warrant it and I really think that doing so will go a long way to helping them maintain their dignity.

So listen – can we just all work up the gusto together to say what needs to be said here before this gets out of hand?

Dick, Kirk – hey.  It’s okay to stop.  Really. We’re going to leave you be.

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