Jesus vs. JBJ

So....the eternal question has finally arisen. The question everyone from Eli Manning to Bono to Dean Martin's corpse have been asking. A brilliant and hilarious new friend took the time to point out that "Eddie Izzard gets top billing" over both of these guys (much to my glaring chagrin), but I figured I would throw the conundrum to the people.

WHO WOULD WIN IF JESUS AND JON BON JOVI GOT INTO A FIGHT???
Here's the breakdown:

• Jesus has the whole eternal life thing going on

• But JBJ would tear it up with his guitar. Maybe Richie would even lend him his 12 string

• But Jesus has a beard

• But JBJ had all that hair before, I'm positive he could summon up their magic somehow.

• But can JBJ feed thousands of people with just 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish? I dont think so!

• But Jesus never had a pork roll sandwich. Take that!

• There's that whole millions of disciples thing Jesus has going for him

• Umm... in how many languages can you say 120+ millions records sold??

• But Jesus has a holiday (several, actually) completely dedicated to him

• JBJ owns an (arena) football team. And they can build houses!

• Jesus gets all the ladies...Mary Magdalene, and that resurrected guy's sister

• HEY! Have you seen those eyes on JBJ??!! Total chick magnets

• Jesus can raise you from the dead

• Lovely things happen when JBJ turns around

• Jesus can walk on water

• JBJ can dance his cute little ass off!

So, as you can see, this isn't just something you can decide on your own. It takes months, even years of research to decide these things. You can probably tell which camp I'm in...let's face it, the whole robe-and-sandals thing does nothing to show off one's sixpack. Tight tees that are ripped at the shoulder, however, do wonders for the eyes. Nevertheless, I will let the American public decide for itself. Hey, its gotta be easier than that other election we had recently, right?

A Message From Heather Mills's Prosthetic

A journal entry from none other than Heather Mills's fake leg:

Dear Diary
I hate her! I hate her! I hate her! All she does is limp on me and knock my cold plasticky leg against Paul McCartney's vast fortune. She doesn't even bother to shave me like she does that other woman! Speaking of which...God, I hate her too. She's so smug, trudging her fleshy and smooth, and porcelain figure along beside me, always bragging that she's the real one, she's the "original." whatever. I'm the reason that slag Heather still walks. I think I'm gonna have to start seeing a therapist about this inferiority complex I've got cooking up.

Although...I'm still laughing at that day I pulled the great escape while she was dancing that one time...too too funny. I was sitting there dreaming about one of those cool roller coaster rides....and then one happened for real! I bet the "real" one was wishing she could do that. And here I am, still here, still having to contribute to the well being of the only woman/furniture hybrid that ever used to be a stripper. She doesn't even appreciate me! She just looks at me like the most convenient walking stick on the planet. It's ok, I only save her life on a daily basis. Forget daily, on a momentary basis. We'll just call it a continuous basis.

Does Frank Martin Daylight As A Baker?

I don't have a problem admitting that I promptly begin to drool shamelessly every time Jason Statham comes on TV. I saw the Bank Job a few times, and I'm pretty sure he gets hotter every time I see it. So much so that I can overlook the fact that his character, a working class car garage owner and former petty criminal, is inexplicably endowed with amazing MMA fighting skills.
I've also seen the Transporter movies. Loved the first one most of all. The second one...well, let's just say if they had set in ANYWHERE in the world besides Miami, I might have been more inclined to watch it. The half naked blonde hitwoman also might have turned me off a bit. Just a thought
Back to the first movie. Remember the pretty Asian girl, Lai? Even if it's been a while since you've seen this movie, and all you remember is that there was probably at some point a pretty Asian girl, and that she and Frank Martin (Statham) at one point probably copulated, you'll be fine. Details aren't exactly necessary here.
Well, in the movie, after pretty Asian girl sleeps in his house (if it had been me, I probably would have somehow ended up in his bed a lot faster, just saying), she gets up to make him breakfast. She makes him those cute little Madeleines. You know, the french cake-like sweet treats that are shaped like something akin to an elongated seashell? The ones that the narrator in Proust's In Search of Lost Time was eating when they experienced a sudden jog of the memory and thus subsequently the cakes became connected to involuntary memory? Yeah she very graciously made him those. The thing about Madeleines is that because of their shape, you would need a special pan with seashell-shaped (trying saying that five times fast) depressions in it. My question is Frank Martin is supposed to be this bigtime badass, hot sexy ball of criminal mastermind, right? So how does he just randomly have a cute, special little Madeleine pan lying around his kitchen such that pretty Asian captives can find them in between the spare gun and scuba suit in the pantry?

Unpleasant Incidents--Excerpt 2

This scene, between the mother, Cecilia, and the daughter, Julia, is centered on the fact that Cecilia doesn't approve of Julia's fiance Simon. Several problems ensue

Cecilia: Julia, darling…you and Simon have been getting awfully chummy lately
Julia: Why I’m shocked you notice anything beyond your own reflection.
Cecilia: [opening compact mirror and examining face] I’m trying to be serious, Julia. Now it’s impossible not to notice how much time the two of you have been spending together, and I have to speak to you before this goes any further. Now Simon is certainly very charming, but he is not at all the son-in-law I should have hoped for -
Julia: I don’t think I asked for your opinion.
Cecelia: He was sent down from Oxford for indecent behaviour, his parties (orgies, I would call them) are notorious for their debauchery, and he is never out of the papers because of some scandal. In short, he is irresponsible, profligate, unreliable, and utterly, utterly depraved
Julia: I know! Could he BE more attractive! I’ve never met anyone more wicked in my life.
Cecelia: If you marry him, you’ll be miserable.
Julia: I don’t see why your feelings matter, since I’m the one who’s going to be married to him. Simon and I love each other and we don’t care what the rest of you think!
Cecilia: Julia, please…there’s something else
Julia: Nothing you can say could make me change my mind.
Cecilia: Just listen to me. There’s something I haven’t told you.
Julia: What now, Mummy?
Cecilia: [brief pause] Well I suppose I ought to start at I’d better start at the beginning…I’m sure it won’t surprise you to know that when I came out I was one of the most beautiful girls of the season. I was so young, really no older than you are now, so naïve and romantic, I was really bound to fall in love with someone. I met him at a ball at Lady Willoughby’s. Our eyes met across the room, he asked me to dance. What can I say?
Julia: What on earth does this ancient history have to do with Simon?
Cecelia: [with great relish] And suddenly we were madly in love, and I dare say we were rather (cough) rash, but it was such a heady and intoxicating time, it was hardly our fault. Well it soon became evident that an unpleasant development would require us to marry, but he was already engaged to someone else and we didn’t want any scandal. Luckily, Matthew was handy, he had always loved me and it was easy to get him to propose…we had a whirlwind wedding and when you were born, no one was ever the wiser…Matthew could never count anyway
Julia: Are you telling me that Papa isn’t…that I’m not…
Cecilia: Well the man I fell in love with was Lord Schofield…
Julia: [face registers a variety of expressions, ranging from shock to confusion to comprehension] WHAT?!
Cecilia: [concluding triumphantly]…Which makes Simon your brother! Now I’m not always opposed to a bit of incest, think of Lord Byron you know, but I think marriage is just taking it too far.
Cecelia smiles complacently, floats out of the room. Julia remains on the sofa, sobbing
Simon enters
Simon: Hello, old thing. [Notices her crying] I say, darling, what’s the matter?
Julia: [incomprehensible mumblings]
Simon: Come on dear, cheer up. You just need a drink. [gets up, pours drink, returns]. Now what on earth is the matter?
Julia: [still sobbing] No, no drinks…. that’s how this all started
Simon: How…what…started…? Did someone tell you about Alastair and the…
Julia: [blank stare]
Simon: Oh, obviously not. No never mind that. This clearly has nothing to do with me…or with…Alist… er where did we arrive on the drink situation?
Julia: No, no no. Simon…. [long pause] mummy…your father…they had…affair…he’s my real father…we’re brother and sister [dissolves into sobs again].
Simon: Siblings…I could get into that.
Julia: [stops crying, stares] WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? [begins to hit him with book]. Mummy’s right, you are depraved! I never want to see or speak to you again!
Simon: Really darling, there’s no need to resort to violence. I mean, honestly, what are you so worried about? A few good deformities never hurt anyone.

Unpleasant Incidents--Excerpt 1

So, my friend and I wrote a play recently and I thought I'd share a couple excerpts. Here's the first of many. Background: Murder mystery about a bunch of really depraved British Aristocrats in the 1930s. This scene brings us to the first interrogation scene, between the detective, Basil Shams, and the deceased's mistress. Enjoy

Charlotte: You wanted to see me?
Basil: Er…yes…now Mrs.Chaddesley-Corbett…
Charlotte: Please, call me Charlotte...I feel such a connection with you. I think perhaps, that we knew each other in a past life - I’ve had several. Tell me Basil, do you believe in a world beyond this one?
Basil: well, ah, you know –
Charlotte: I sensed that you were spiritual. You should join me for a séance one night…perhaps more. Well it may comfort you to know that last night, I was able to communicate with Matthew. He assured me that he is perfectly comfortable and at peace.
Basil: (dryly) I’m delighted to hear it. Now if I could just ask you a few questions. I understand you’re a cousin of Cecelia’s?
Charlotte: Yes. My husband and I lived in India for many years. Such a divine place – so spiritual, so mystical, I just adore the culture. When my husband died, I returned to England and decided to devote myself to my art. Cecelia graciously invited me to work on it here – the country is so nourishing for creativity.
Basil: Oh are you an artist then?
Charlotte: I prefer to think of myself as a life-force.
Basil: Now can you think of anyone who wanted to kill Sir Matthew?
Charlotte: Before we go any further, there’s something you should know. Matthew and I…we were lovers.
Basil: (minimal surprise)Oh really?
Charlotte: Yes, it’s true. As soon as we met, I felt his soul crying out to me. We communed on a higher plane of being. No one else understood him the way I did.
Basil: Yes. Now where were you between 6:30 and quarter-to?
Charlotte: I was in the library with Col. Bassington. I was trying to explain how past lives work to him. Such a narrow-minded philistine that man is. When I was telling him about my life in Ancient Rome, his comments were quite vulgar and offensive.
Basil: Did you see anyone acting suspiciously? Was there anything that struck you as odd?
Charlotte: No, I’m sorry, I don’t think I noticed anything of use. Oh! Ouch! I seem to be sitting on something. (reaches behind her). Oh look, it’s one of Cecelia’s perfume bottles. I’ll give it back to her, she might be wondering where it is.
Basil: I’ll take that.(pockets it).
Charlotte: Oh, certainly. Well, if you don’t have any more questions, I’m going to work on my sculpture.
Exit Charlotte

David Caruso On A Sunday

I've never once felt the desire to watch CSI: Miami. Maybe because it's Miami and I'm about 40 years short on that bandwagon. Maybe it's because the original CSI has so many studly actors (even if Gary Dourdan is a cokehead) that I feel spoiled. Or maybe its because I am pretty positive that that in every single episode right before it cuts to "Won't Get Fooled Again," David Caruso puts one hand on his hip, takes off his sunglasses with the other, turns his head a complete 90 degrees and says something like "and I'm gonna find it" or something equally cheesy.

So it got me thinking about what David Caruso does on his day off. Here's my image of David Caruso's diary entry.

Got up. Got out of bed. Turned my head 90 degrees to the right, and then the left. As I did this, I turned to my maid and said in my completely over-dramatic tone "we're out of cream cheese."

Realized that the reason the kitchen seemed so dark was that I still had my sunglasses on from the night before. Took them off, and Who's Next started to play vaguely in the background. Realized that I'm in rainy Queens, not bright Miami.

I now have a tan line oddly in the shape of an index finger and a thumb right around my hip bone area.

Got compared to a leprechaun again today. Nobody seems to realize that I'm Lt Horatio Caine. They gave me a weird look down at the Coroner's office. The receptionist started to unbutton her top when I asked if I could see the body. how peculiar.

Man, my neck hurts. and why is it so dark in here?

Closet Bon Jovi Fans

Here's the thing: I don't deny being an obsessive, if not incorrigible, Bon Jovi fan. Have been since about the second the strip turned pink, or turned into a plus sign or whatever. I have posters, photographs, concert tickets, song lyrics on pretty backgrounds, and even one very special and beautifully ostentatious gold plated record plastered across my walls.

Here's the other thing: I'm perfectly aware of the fact that as far as my age group goes, I am COMPLETELY alone in this obsession. Trust me, I know what other people are rocking out to on their iPods, and it isnt anything from before 2008 (Rihanna has unfortunately hijacked every good radio station out there--just because she has a cool accent doesn't mean she can sing), let alone from 1987. Some of the reactions I get when I tell people my favorite band is Bon Jovi include but are not limited to

"You mean the guy that sang It's My Life?" Kids my age have no sense of history;
"Oh God, 80s hair metal. Gross" Did they not just go to Nashville to record? They've superseded hair metal;
"Aren't you a bit young for that?" Maybe, but since when is that anything new?
or my personal favorite
"Dude, that guy's lame!" First of all, Bon Jovi is a band, not a guy. Secondly, that's blasphemous!

In any case, it's these people that are so quick to ridicule my somewhat offbeat taste in music--trust me, I know I'm weird--that then do something completely unexpected. How does this keep happening to me? Then again, it's more airtime for Bon Jovi, so I'm not complaining.

Picture this: we're in the car and all of a sudden, Livin' On A Prayer comes on the radio. Now my first instinct would be to make my finger hightail it to the volume knob to blast one of my favorite songs. But, that might be rude to the snob next to me who is apparently too good for Bon Jovi. So, I abstain. Then I realize I didn't have to turn it up. The Joe Corporate in a suit next to me, who undoubtedly had just delievered one of the above lines but minutes ago, had already done it for me. And I'm talking louder than even I would have. That's saying a lot.

Not only do they know EVERY LAST WORD to the song, even the spoken part at the beginning where Jonny Boy says "Once upon a time, not so long ago," but they are also singing it at the top of their lungs such that I think their rendition of Bon Jovi's #1 hit might even rival the most drunken encounters at your favorite karaoke bar.

So here is the bottom line. Everyone who ever claimed to hate Bon Jovi and called them "lame" "stupid" "old" what have you, just get over it already. Stop referring to Bon Jovi as a "he" rather than a "they" and just admit that you love Livin' On A Prayer just as much as I do. You might even go so far as to divulge that you actually own the same jacket he wore in the "Wanted Dead Or Alive" video.

Random Opera

I can't seem to win with this one, but I guess I can give it a shot
The people who haven't seen this opera will be confused
The people who have, no doubt, will tell me something along the lines of that's not what happened. I took Western Civilization, I know what happened!
I am of course talking about....Verdi's Romantic opera called Aida--big R Romantic as in period in art history and music where for some reason people like to paint creepy depictions of the greek titans (thank you Goya)and write nostalgic compositions about the good ol' days of the French Revolution (Beethoven's 5th, anyone). I am not talking about the little r romantic that of course connotes a sort of sugary sweet misconception that rarely happens outside a movie starring Drew Barrymore.
Anyways, here's the very VERY abridged version of Aida. Egyptian boy (military commander acutally, but let's not split hairs) meets Ethiopian girl (princess, but ditto). Egyptian boy enslaves Ethipian girl as per command of the Pharoah. Egyptian Boy falls in love with Ethiopian girl (oh, did I mention she is Aida? no? well, better late than never). Egyptian boy also loved by Pharoah's daughter, but alas, this love is completely unrequited. Egyptian boy accused of something unspeakable, condemned to death.
Ok, here's what I dont get. When the Egyptian, Radames, is sentenced to death, he is locked up in a tomb. However, the tomb is not sealed. Aida manages to slip the guards so she can at least die with her true love. They then proceed to die together in the tomb. Big Question: If she could sneak in, HOW COME THEY BOTH COULDNT SNEAK OUT??!!
This has been plagueing me for almost a year. If you have an answer, or want to call me a freak or something (of which I'm already aware by the way), by all means, speak up. My best friend will also greatly appreciate this, as the question arose during one of our many, let's say, off-topic conversations.