Gracias for Garcia

Mojitos, cigars, and Andy Garcia. I thank Cuba for all these wonderful things. When it comes to choosing one movie to thank for showcasing him better than any other, that's not as easy to pin down. Luckily, I have literally days on end to do nothing but watch movies until I settle on a favorite. Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead was definitely a contender. But it's just a wee bit melancholy. Internal Affairs gave it a good run, but I'm not all that mad about Richard Gere. Night Falls on Manhattan is not a movie I have problems with. (James Gandolfini double bonus points!) And it's not shocking that Sidney Lumet picked Garcia as a leading man, considering how Lumet favored Al Pacino when he was younger as a leading man, given their strong facial resemblance. (again, both of them exactly my type.) But Manhattan, it's just not really a knockout of a flick.

Speaking of the Pacino-Garcia resemblance, and knockout flicks, it's easy to peg what should've been Garcia's immortal role -- Vincent Mancini-Corleone in The Godfather III. This film had the pedigree and star power, but, unfortunately, unlike its predecessors, it didn't have the tight script in its arsenal. As Sonny Corleone's illegitimate son Vincent, Garcia got to pull the best qualities from all three Corleone brothers. He had Michael's machinations, Sonny's temper, and Fredo's lovable sweetness.


And he looked smashing in a tux. But it's perhaps because of this mishmash of qualities that Vincent lacked focus. This lack of shaping wasn't a shortcoming of Garcia's performance, which earned him an Oscar nomination, as he managed to be both smoldering and romantic, alternately threatening and endearing, all while looking like the very definition of a movie star. It's just that this movie had some fundamental problems. So although it's still more than watchable and a worthwhile entry into Coppola's canon, if for nothing else than the beautiful look of the film, it's really not worthy of the first two installments and it can't be considered the apex of Garcia's career, because he, unfortunately, has some major screen time devoted to the structural problems. And that's all I have to say about that, since I'm being nice and not scathing.

So instead, for me, it's a much more simple character -- in an equally visually stunning movie -- that finally gave Garcia an iconic turn. Littered with enough stars at its disposal to make even Ari Gold blush, it was 2001's Ocean's Eleven where Garcia got to turn up his wattage, and, for my money, outshine everyone else. Why? Simple. It's a fun movie, and no one, no one on that screen was having more fun than Andy.


As the classy-but-nasty casino owner Terry Benedict, Andy got to condescend to Clooney and romance Roberts with a coldly calculating elan. He wasn't one of these sympathetic villains. He was a good, old-fashioned villain, snide and sly, finally getting his comeuppance.

I will admit that I have very fond personal memories of this flick, as I actually lived in Vegas when it was filming. And, being young and mostly drunk, I spent a lot of time stalking the Ocean's cast, generally to little success. But one day at the Bellagio, I happened to luck out, and, from a roped off area at the Fontana Bar, I got to watch as Andy Garcia and Julia Roberts filmed a re-shoot of their kiss-off elevator scene. It was awesome. Dazzling.

And even as the charm of this Ocean's franchise sort of faded, Andy's Terry Benedict kept the funny coming, along with the snarky laughs. And so it's fitting that Al Pacino joined him as a nemesis for the final installment in Thirteen. In The Godfather, it was still ultimately all about Al Pacino's Michael Corleone, not Andy's Vincent. But this time around, in the Ocean's world, Andy's Terry Benedict, he may have gotten the shaft from Danny Ocean once again> But Andy, in this movie, I think he finally got the best of old Al Pacino.

Soundtrack for X by Susie Bright

Name that tune, you say? Okay, now name the erotic legend that goes with the tune...

As I mentioned before, Susie Bright has a new book out for the holidays, a fancy-pantsy slip-covered hardback called X: The Erotic Treasury, with forty stories from her favorite erotic literary fiction authors.

She asked all her writers, "What song would you like to dedicate to your story?"

Twenty-three of them answered— including me.

Above is Susie's "jukebox," where you can hear snippets of all the songs.

Below is a list of all the stories, with the title, author, song, and synopsis.

Susie said she loved doing this... "it gives me another insight into what each author was thinking as they twisted the short and curlies!" Naturally, leave it to me to pick a spectacularly cheezy song amongst some hardcore punk. But that's me, you know. Always there to bring a handful of anachronisms and vapidity along with the martini ingredients.

1.    Wish Girls
        by Matthew Addison

"Wished for You" by the Squirrel Nut Zippers

A boy grows weary of his two devoted fembots.

2.    On the Road with Sonia
        by Paula Bomer

“Freeway,”  by Aimee Mann

One mother's erotic road trip.. several months pregnant.


3.    Seagum
        by Corwin Ericson

“Barnacle Bill the Sailor,” by The Controllers

A fisherman applies a shocking gift from the sea to his lingam.


4.    Beyond the Sea
       by Susan DiPlacido

"The Girl from Ipanema," Getz/Gilberto

Beautiful con artist works washed-up surf star on last chance cruise.


5.    Night Train
       by Martha Garvey

“Take Off Your Clothes (For World Peace),” by Royal Pink

They got on at Broadway-Lafayette... and the rest is history.

6.    Electric Razor
       by Irma Wimple

"Good Vibrations," by American Black Lung

The potential of household appliances in one woman's life.

7.    Must Bite
       by Vicki Hendricks

“Monkey Man” by the Rolling Stones 

Stripper takes on a new husband with an exotic pet collection and a huge insurance policy.

8.    Loved It and Set It Free
        by Lisa Montanarelli

“Memories of Times Square (The Dildo Song),” by The Neal Pollack Invasion

(What a perfect, perfect, song- SB)

Two young women's night of debauchery have to cover up their misdeeds in a hurry.

9.    Comeback
       by Nick Kaufmann

"Magic"  by Olivia Newton-John

A broken down porn star gets one hell of a supernatural last chance.

10.    Parts for Wholes
         by Monmouth

“Cue The Strings,” by Low

A tender, painful, and pleasurable intervention.


11.    Salt
        by Bill Noble

“Food and Pussy,” by Dan Reeder (How did I never hear this before?-SB)

Two unlikely lovers set adrift off the Na Pali coast.



12.    A First Time for Everything
        by Rachel Kramer Bussel

“Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go!)” by Garbage

One woman's self-made bukkake party is no Martha Stewart affair.


13.    Fairgrounds
         by Peggy Munson

 "Carnival,” by Bikini Kill

A trio of outlaws and crips take their sex act to the carnival grounds.

14.    Broads
        by R. Gay

“Angel,” by Massive Attack

A guy who doesn't think he stands a chance with a certain kind of woman finds he has a physical gift he didn't realize.

15.    God’s Gift
         by Salome Wilde

“Big Bottom,” by Spinal Tap

A legendary Rock Star is reincarnated beyond his wildest sexual imagination.

16.    Red Light Green Light
         by Shanna Germain

“L'il Red Riding Hood,” by Sam the Sham

A tourist takes a turn in a brothel window in Amsterdam.

17.    Puffy Lips
         by Susie Hara

“Flamenco Tangos,” by Manuel Salado

A dare at a bar goes one step further than either lover expected.

18.    Gifts from Santa
         by Tsaurah Litzky

“Jingle Bells,” by Duke Ellington & his Orchestra

That jolly ole' elf knows exactly how to get you off.

19.     Deprogramming

          by Greta Christina

"4'33" by John Cage

Two refugees from a charismatic religious cult know they have one catharsis left undone.

Watch the Cage performance here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HypmW4Yd7SY

20.       Yes

            by Donna George Storey

"The Power of Love" by Huey Lewis and the News

Just how far you can take one dinner guest, one accommodating hostess, and one highly authoritative master of ceremonies.

21.    Cold Ass Ice
         by Chelsea Summers

"Hot Child in the City, " by Nick Gilder

A sweltering summer in an un-airconditioned apartment in The City can take one right past the point of no return.

23.   Rock of Ages
        by P.S. Haven

“Pictures Of Lily” by The Who

One young man's coming of age, thanks to rock'n'roll and his sister's unintentional inspiration.

24.     A Perfect Fit
          by Katya Andreevna

"I'll Be Seeing You," by Françoise Hardy and Iggy Pop

A last-minute trip to the shoe shop takes one customer into a fitting session she'll never forget.

24.     Clean Comfortable Room
          by Pam Ward

"Swordfishtrombone," by Tom Waits

What's a woman gotta go through for a decent room and a pack of cigarettes?

24.     Valentine's Day in Jail
          by Susan Musgrave

"If You Were Crying Over Me," by Rita Chiarelli

This autobiographical-based story was made into a film for the Canadian TV series Bliss, which is devoted to women's erotic memoir. Rita's song was used on the soundtrack.

Photos: Rachel Kramer Bussell hitting the bowl again, and P.S. Haven, coloring outside the lines.

Nic at Night

You know how some people have a "type" that they're attracted to? Well, you take a tall guy, give him a hawkish face and make sure he's not blonde and that's pretty much my thing, as you'll see as these posts continue. Even better? Make him a guy who's got a bit of an edge. Even better? A guy who's not so much quirky as borderline weird. And that's what brings me to Nicolas Cage.

Cage has carved out his niche in the flicks by alternately making odd little pictures where he gets to chew scenery to making bona fide blockbusters where he gets to chew, regurgitate, and then rechew scenery. Or, sometimes, he even chews cockroaches onscreen. But that's what makes him Nic, and that's what makes me love him. Now, even though I'll watch any movie he's in, no matter how crappy it is, I do still realize that many of his movies are, indeed, crappy. But hey, that only makes the non-shitfests that much more delightful!

Unlike Keanu, Nic isn't aging with a whole lot of grace. He's still got a nice face and hot bod, but I can't believe that with all the money thrown at special effects they can't come up with a workable way to deal with his rapidly receding hairline with a little more style or ingenuity. That said, my favorite Cage flick isn't what I'd consider the peak of his physical prowess. That'd probably came a decade later with The Rock, and though that's still a worthy action flick, his character was just a bit too normal to consider it the pinnacle of Nicness. Instead, I give that honor to 1987's Moonstruck.


This movie is pure fluff, a straightforward mix of romance with a dash of operatic fairy tale and just enough cultural detail to ground it while lightening it. Cher, of course, took home the big prize for her turn as a Loretta, a practical widow who unexpectedly finds a second chance at romance with Nic's character, Ronny Cammareri. As if that name isn't enough to get me interested, Nic's Ronny is also a moody, eccentric baker, who toils away in front of a hot oven, wearing his white wifebeater, while hiding his deformed hand. Oof. He's sweaty and luggish, more than a hint of Stanley Kowalski around his edges, but instead of violently purging his demons like SK, Nic's Ronny finds passionate fulfillment through opera, and, eventually, Loretta.


Though he was only twenty-three at the time, and only had a handful of leading roles under his belt, this movie works primarily because of the way Nic and Cher manage to carry to the frothy material and keep it charming. Already, the now-famous affectations in his voice are already appearing in this performance, and, even more interesting, his prosthetic, metal hand only makes him sexier. That's surprising, because if you're a Nicolas Cage aficionado, as I obviously am, you know that his hands are a primary part of his appeal. He's got these long, strong, expressive fingers, and since he uses his hands so often while speaking -- insert your own Italian joke about that here -- they're very often on display. Although he's missing one here, it gives him that rough edge while simultaneously pulling more attention to the other one he's still got.

He doesn't have that approachable charm that Keanu had going in Speed. Instead, he's definitely working a borderline misanthropic angle, prone to tortured outbursts, but that's complemented with a raw, needy lust that combines with a starry-eyed adoration.

Over the years, Nic would go on to successfully play all sorts of lunatics, louts, and losers, many of them with a great deal of success. But in Moonstruck he wasn't just wild or weird, he was also woefully lovable and wonderfully endearing. And that, even more than tall, dark and dago, is just my type.

My Candy

Halloween is fast approaching, and that's the time of year when we like to kick back and cuddle up in the crisp weather and scare ourselves silly with creepy movies. Me, though? Yeah, sometimes I'll watch scary movies. But mostly, not so much. And if a movie is truly frightening, I probably won't like it much because I'm a coward and I'll lose sleep if I'm disturbed. So instead of late night fright-fests, I trick out the season by indulging in my kind of treats. Last night, for instance, I was up 'til 3 in the morning, watching a movie, simply because I couldn't resist the appeal of one of my all-time favorite hotties in action. And it got me to thinking about trying to pin down the ultimate flick for my favorite actors.

So I figured I'd start this off with the one that actually kept me up last night. It's not a secret that I've harbored a long standing crush on Keanu Reeves. Before it came to be known as a "bucket list," I often put that as one of my primary goals in life -- to kiss Keanu Reeves. Believe me, I know it's never gonna happen, but a girl has to dream. I don't harbor fantasies about hooking up with him or anything like that. (Though, sometimes, in the middle of summer on a hot day when I'm not feeling up to the task, I do daydream about having him cut my lawn. I guess it's the "hero" thing. Or just that I still imagine he'd look the best sweating in a white t-shirt. Whatever.) But just one smooch, even on his cheek, and I'd be pretty happy.

Keanu is a strange specimen. He's aging curiously, almost preternaturally well, so it's hard to say if he even has hit his actual peak yet as far as his looks. But he also doesn't always make it easy to adore his movies, because he waffles between offbeat-borderline-bizarre roles and sometimes over-the-top sentimental dreck. But he has, though his many critics would deny it, also managed to bag a few choice gems over the years. It's hard to turn down the surfer fun with Gary Busey in Point Break, and, of course, The Matrix was a feast for the eyes not just because of the introduction of bullettime effects. But even with those in the running, it's still 1994's directorial debut from Jan de Bont that races to the lead. Speed blows past the others.


Not only did Keanu finally cut his hair, but he also showed off an easy charm that kept the action hurtling along without ever derailing the audience with cringe-worthy line deliveries. (Okay, one or two slip in there, but mostly at the end, when he's really emoting, dude.) The movie boasts a simple plot with a tight script and all the right smart flourishes to keep it a classic among action flicks, but Keanu does carry the flick. Instead of the cocky swagger that Bruce brought to the modern action hero template, Keanu grounded his do-gooder with a decided lack of pretense or depth which worked in his favor.

There was no nagging tragedy in his backstory, and instead of smirking at his own cleverness, it was scripted right in that Dennis Hopper, between his mustache-twirling antics, would often mock Keanu's Jack Travers for not being fully cocked in the brain department. And it worked. His forearm muscles rippled while he flirted with Sandra Bullock and managed to figure out all the right moves, and he undertook his death-defying tasks with a mix of gum-chewing cool and stoic resignation. But he even delivers the required smart-ass line at the end --when he speaks of the villain's fate -- with a deadpan gravity instead of twinkly-eyed wit. And he does deliver plenty of crinkle-eyed smiles along the way, but they're all directed with an earnest intent, not laughing at his own jokes, but reacting to Jeff Daniels or Sandra's quips. And it's precisely those unguarded, light moments that catapult this movie to the top when ranking Keanu-eye-candy moments. He always looks great, but in most of his roles, he's confined to his "brooding" or "intense" looks, carrying a dour demeanor. But his smile unleashes his happy-go-lucky demeanor, and it knocks my socks off, allowing him to accomplish the seemingly impossible -- become even better looking.

And his looks are nothing to scoff at. Frankly, I'm not sure a man can be made any better looking than he is. He is the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, and yet, somehow, he never seems to allow even a recognition of his physical appearance to manifest onscreen in his manner, let alone ever give off a whiff of typical macho/preening/smug attitude. And that's not vapidity, as many of his detractors would try to say. Plenty of vacant people still recognize -- and wallow in -- their own good looks. But instead of narcissism, he, particularly as Jack Travers, absolutely drips approachability. Which is perhaps why I put him, and not Nic Cage, on my to-do list to be kissed.

Dirty, Dancing, Dexter

How happy am I that Dirty Sexy Money is back this year? Very. And I was even happier with the first couple episodes in all their crazy glory. The best compliment I can give this show is that it does live up to its name. They still have no shame about switching actresses, the latest one was Gustav's mom. But the writers are also complete Id, with slapfights, sex, backstabbing, and rampant, campy silliness in every scene. Lucy Lui has joined the cast, and that's just not a bad thing.

Speaking of cast additions, Dexter added Jimmy Smits this year. Adding Jimmy Smits to the cast of an already successful show is sort of like taking a perfectly good beverage like the gin and tonic and then adding a lime to it. It had always been a perfectly good, stiff, refreshing drink before the lime, and you didn't really miss it. But then you added the slice of lime and suddenly you don't know how you lived without it. Wisely, the writers of the series have veered far away from Jeff Lindsay's novels now. All respect to Lindsay, because "Darkly Dreaming Dexter" was wonderful, but he really went off the rails in the third installment, and the series is wisely staying with a more compelling suspense formula. It's a testament to the episodic pull of the series that I'm totally willing to blow off some of the credibility-stretching of some events. I just honestly don't care about some minor hiccups because overall, it feeds the forward momentum.

Losing all forward momentum, for me, is DWTS this season now that Maks is out. I'll still watch it because Bruno makes me happy and cracks me up. I still long for my own pocket Bruno to give me encouragements and affirmations, but since that's not on the market, I'll tune in to the show.

Also keeping me tuned in is True Blood. I still have trouble with all the unattractive guys, particularly when there's so much sex abounding. I mean, why does the one good looking, sexy dude have to be the gay guy, LaFayette? As brooding vampire Bill, Stephen Moyer has presence and mixes the spooky-predatory vibe with the smoldering-protective appeal. But, just, a fucking haircut or something here? I know he has to be pasty, but, come on. But the show is still grossly bloody, creatively campy, and surprisingly funny, so on the whole, I'm getting past the fug-factor and liking it anyhow.

Still good looking and crusing along is Entourage. It's not its tightest season ever, but it's still plenty entertaining even if it has, finally, managed to drain the last bit of water from its already shallow pool. But they still manage to hit some absurd heights with Eric Roberts in the best as-himself cameo since Gary Busey.

Haven't really fallen for any other new shows this year, yet. You watching anything spectacular?

Eclectica

I'll be catching up on some TV blogging shortly. (YAY! Dexter is back! YAY! Dirty Sexy Money is back!) But until then, if you're looking for something to read, may I suggest you check out this month's Eclectica, which features some wonderful fiction and an interview with Apologies Forthcoming author Xujun Eberlein done by one of my favorite writers, Amorous Woman author Donna George Storey, who also, by the way, shares pages with me in the book I mentioned below, X: The Erotic Treasury.

X

I'm so thrilled to have a story included in Susie Bright's new book, X: The Erotic Treasury.


About the book:
X: The Erotic Treasury -- If there's only room for one book on your bedside table, this should be it.

The reigning mistress of erotica, Susie Bright, has expertly chosen 40 of the hottest stories ever written: breathtaking new stories as well as the most sought-after stories from The Best American Erotica series. Designed in a "gotta-touch-it" slipcase with a cloth-covered book, the package cultivates the quality and taboo satisfaction of the ­stories themselves. Luminaries like Carol Queen and Robert Olen Butler contribute to the stories about all kinds of lovers: heartbreakers, foxes, maniacs, romanticists, hell-raisers, and utter bandits. This delicious collection is certain to satisfy.

Back to me now:
Shiit. Can you believe I got something in there? The book is now available, but I'll have interviews with some of the other writers in it, along with some other promo madness in the future, cause I've a feeling you'll want this book near your bedside for a long time to come.

Bloodsuckers

HBO has me completely under their spell again. I guess the lingo is that they've glamoured me. This Sunday night lineup of actual vampires in True Blood paired with the Hollywood bloodletting on Entourage is just too good. I still find the actors on TB unattractive, but have also come to realize a large part of that is their phony southern accents. And the fact that they're unattractive. But I love the camp and the gore and sex and that weird humor. And Entourage started a little slow, but as Piven was picking up his Emmy, I flipped the channel to catch him in action and laughed so hard -- at both him and Kevin Dillon -- in the latest episode. They actually had a car chase in the latest ep. When it started, I figured they'd really shit the bed for the year. But it was good, man! Better than most movie car chases these days! And then it just got funnier. I won't give up Dexter which starts tomorrow, but he will be relegated to tape delay.

The Big Read

I stole this meme from Citizen Jane.

According to The Big Read, the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books on their list.

The instructions:
Look at the list and...
* ...bold those you have read.
* ...italicize those you intend to read
* ...underline the books you LOVE.
* ...encourage people to reprint this list on their own blogs.

1. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2. The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4. Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6. The Bible
7. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8. 1984 - George Orwell
9. His Dark Materials- Philip Pullman
10. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11. Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
12. Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14. Complete Works of Shakespeare
15. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16. The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18. Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19. The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20. Middlemarch - George Eliot
21. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22. The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy -- ahh, someday, so I say.
25. The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33. Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34. Emma - Jane Austen
35. Persuasion - Jane Austen
36. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38. Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40. Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41. Animal Farm - George Orwell
42. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46. Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48. The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50. Atonement - Ian McEwan
51. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52. Dune - Frank Herbert
53. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time- Mark Haddon
60. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66. On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68. Bridget Jones’ Diary - Helen Fielding
69. Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72. Dracula - Bram Stoker
73. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75. Ulysses - James Joyce
76. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78. Germinal - Emile Zola
79. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80. Possession - AS Byatt
81. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87. Charlotte’s Web - EB White
88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92.The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94. Watership Down - Richard Adams
95. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98. Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Nitpicky perhaps, but Hamlet isn't a book. It's a play. I have read it, anyhow, many times. Fuck, I'm currently writing my own version of it, because I am actually that big of a fan and so daft that it doesn't really bother me to sully my favorite dramatic work. But it is intended to be watched, performed. And it's better that way.

Also, no Hemingway? Seriously? Or The Divine Comedy? This list is kind of weird. Gimme a list of the top 100 flims/movies, and I'd be willing to bet a benjamin that I've seen 'em all.

True Blood Brothers

Gah. Man, I've been blowing off the blogging lately, eh? All I can tell you is that I got all caught up in enjoying the last of summer, and all my entertainment came late at night from watching the crazies on Big Brother After Dark (once all the psychos were gone, it got boring) and a plethora of Bravo shows. You know, even the crappy ones are addictive. I don't know how that station has such a proclivity for finding such self-centered and yet un-self aware people who are also fascinating, but I love watching it all.

Had to give up on Weeds this summer. Nancy is just too much of a completely shitty mother for me to deal any longer.

I did come indoors early on Sunday to usher in the new season of Entourage. Thank heavens the guys are finally back. They really nail what Weeds stumbles with -- making characters do assholey things and yet still make you root for them. This week, Drama was in the throes of a prima donna meltdown, but it had to be backburnered when he got a whiff that his baby bro was in trouble. I love Drama. I really wish they could Emmy Kevin Dillon this year. Even though he's in one of the categories not entirely dominated by 30 Rock (and I'm not complaining about 30 Rock getting props) he's still got really tight competition from his own show and Piven, again. Not to mention NPH.

And, since I was in, I watched True Blood, too, because Alan Ball has a lot of goodwill built up from Six Feet Under. I like vampire stuff, and this show seems cool, though I was a bit shocked at how bad the acting was. And I don't mean campy. I like campy. But also just...bad. And bad and campy is completely excusable when you're dealing with enormously attractive people -- Showgirls is a great example -- but when the people aren't very attractive, it's a little harder. And this cast just isn't very attractive. Yes, that's mighty damn shallow of me. I don't give a shit. It's TV. If I want to watch semi-attractive people overacting, I'll stick with Big Brother After Dark. But since I do love camp, I'll stick with it for a couple more weeks. After all, it can't be as bad as John from Cincinnati was.

Tropic Thunder

This movie made me laugh.



It won't win Oscars. (Even if one of the actors in it should.) But it really made me appreciate Ben Stiller even more.

First, he's not Judd fucking Apatow and even though I actually don't mind the Apatow-stamp on movies as long there aren't any women in them, I've gotten a little weary of his touch on seemingly every comedy the past couple years. (And, the reason I don't mind the women-less movies such as Pineapple Express and Superbad is not because I dislike women -- it's because I like women and it's exasperating to see them through the Apatow-lens, so I much prefer the straight-shot gay (though veiled as "bromance") all-guy shenanigans.) In Stiller's Tropic Thunder, there's hardly a female to be found. It's a man-fest, alright, but instead of Seth Rogen's doughy tummy we have Stiller's ripped arms and, well, Jack Black's doughy tummy.

Second, though plenty of critics will probably nail Stiller's directing style as pedestrian, I'd instead peg it as straightforward. He manages to take the script written by himself, Justin Theroux, and Etan Cohen, which mixes both slapstick and verbal comedy with action. And though the action scenes are generally shot for laughs, what I most appreciate about them is that you can actually tell what the fuck is going on. I'm just, just so sick to fucking death of the shaky-cam and clever cuts and shadowy, indistinct figures throwing punches at...something. In Thunder, Stiller blows shit up and we actually see it full detail. He picks his shots that others with a penchant for more flair would probably consider to be obvious, but that's exactly why the shots work. He's not trying to be clever with the production here, he's just delivering.

What is somewhat simply clever -- in an admittedly obvious meta way -- is the premise of the whole flick. It's about the making of a Vietnam war movie where the actors get sent out to do hardcore shooting and end up being engaged by a child druglord. Much like in the highly underrated Zoolander, Stiller uses the whole premise to poke fun at preening actors, greedy Hollywood, clueless directors, and rabid agents. You know, Stiller's real-life lifeblood.

By now, you've heard that Tom Cruise has a lauded appearance in the movie. And, well, if you hadn't heard it before, you have now. It's a bookend performance to his "respect the cock" turn in Magnolia. Here, in Thunder, his sulfur-tongue spills the wrathful venom of a movie mega-producer losing millions on a quagmire of a movie set. Now, I'm just as "Cruise is a loony" as the next person. Believe me, I laugh and laugh about his manic thetan proclivities. But, admittedly, I do also think he's done some good work. I know plenty of people will dispute that. But when he plays an asshole, like in Rain Man or Color of Money, he has this almost freaky ability to put his uber-wired energy in front of the camera and create a near trance inducing spell. It's uncomfortable to watch, and yet I can't pull myself away. And here, he takes that manipulative ability and actually does perform a nearly meditative, trancelike victory dance while proposing the most vicious deal to a fast-talking Matthew McConaughey.

Which brings me to another reason to appreciate Stiller, or at least his cinematographer. The last time I saw MM was in Failure to Launch and he looked like hammered shit. So did Sarah Jessica Parker. I wondered what the fuck was wrong with the both of them. Then I wondered if the person filming them was just an asshole. Suspicion confirmed. In Tropic Thunder, Matt is back to looking fabufuckinglicious. So, thank you, Ben. Also? Ben looked great. Everyone who was supposed to looked great. I do still question why Jay Baruchel speaks exactly like Christian Slater, not just in timbre but also in cadence and elocution, but since he does it in everything I've seen him in, I guess that's not Stiller's doing.

And, of course, then there's Robert Downey Jr., scoring big for the second time this year. You don't need me to vivisect his performance, you just need to sit back and enjoy it.

Hollywood does love itself, even when it's lampooning itself, but credit also to Stiller for making the "in" jokes accessible. Which is another way of saying that the humor here isn't exactly the most advanced, but it probably will get you to laugh at least a couple of times unexpectedly.

Golden Boy

Tonight, when Aquaman goes to sleep, he'll be wearing Michael Phelps pajamas.

The Smart One by Ellen Meister

When I was a kid and started reading a lot, my mom would sometimes give me a treat and pick up a paperback for me at the grocery store. Sidney Sheldon was a staple, Mario Puzo made a few appearances, and, of course, I was filled with utter glee when she'd bring me a new Jackie Collins. Mom, she didn't read a lot, so she didn't really know what she was dropping into the hands of her daughter who only registered single digits in the "years old" category. Once, my grandfather sort of blew a minor fuse over it all and tried to force me to read The Three Musketeers or some other shit. I don't recall the exact book, I just knew it was damn dry and abstruse compared to Bloodlines and Lovers & Gamblers. And Mom? She wasn't too concerned about the content, as she was just content that I was reading. So I went back to my trash.

Eventually, I did get around to reading the more "dry" stuff, including Dumas, so that I wouldn't go through life as an ignorant dumbass, and even fell in love with a few of those highbrow things.

Now, as a writer, I generally throw myself headlong into sleaze and yearn to be even a fraction as good at "trash" writing as my childhood entertainers. (But I do also try to use a few less exclamation points than Queen Collins.) And as a reader, I can't say that my tastes have completely changed from those books that imprinted on me when I was so young. But I can, definitely, say that while I retain a deep love for the fast plots and thrilling characters of those books, I also did acquire a taste for things with a bit more heft, craft, and better prose. And what I love most of all is a book that can deliver the whole package -- entertainment and literary merit. Elmore Leonard. Chris Moore. Yeah, haters, Chuck Palahniuk.

All of this is my long and windy way of introducing you to the latest book that fires on all these cylinders.

The Smart One by Ellen Meister. Leave it to me to make a book review all about me, huh? But that's the thing about a great book -- it does become personal to you. And when I review movies or television shows on here, I do so under the assumption that you've probably already seen the show, so I can go into picky detail and make allusions to specifics. But who the fuck wants that in a book review when the joy of reading a book is discovering all those fun things on your own?

And believe me, The Smart One is loaded with plenty of fun details. The plot centers on Bev Bloomrosen, the middle child in a triumvirate of sisters. To find her niche in the family, Bev carves out her role as the smart sister, while her older sister Clare is the beauty and her younger sister Joey is the wild one. When her parents are out of town and they request that Bev stay in their house to help oversee the selling of a neighbor's property, it starts a series of crazy events. Bev's old flame comes back to town just as the sisters make a grisly discovery of an old corpse stuffed in a drum, practically in their own backyard.

That's the setup. But within this framework, Meister delivers witty repartee, hilarious hijinks, plenty of action, some steamy sex, a dizzying romance, and, obviously, a murder mystery. Well, that sounds pretty damn entertaining right there, huh? So what the fuck more do you want?

Personally, I'd be pleased with a book like that. But Meister doesn't stop there. She gives us lucid, compellingly readable yet polished prose. She gives us beautiful symbolism and even slips in clever references to a beloved classic that she's updating. And, mostly, she doesn't give us characters so much as people. People who'll drive you nuts, and people you'll fall in love with.

There are times during certain TV shows or movies -- or series of books -- where the writers/directors will manage to deliver enough that they gain my trust. Then, they can take me around unexpected corners and I don't feel manipulated. Instead, I'm delighted. It takes an awful lot of skill for those writers to get me to that point where I'm putty in their hands. But by the end of The Smart One, Meister had me as her bitch.

It's the kind of book I'd have been delighted to tear through as a kid if my mom had brought it home for me. But it's also got enough intelligence and elegance so that my grandfather wouldn't have blown a fuse.

New York Readers

Ellen Meister's new book, The Smart One, is now available, and there's a booklaunch party happening on Friday, Aug 8, at 7 PM at Borders Syosset. You can find the full details right here. But if you're in that area, do go check her out and pick up a copy of this very funny and wonderful book.

Eclectica Summer

Do check out the latest issue of Eclectica. It features some great travel writing by William Reese Hamilton and a great interview of Donna George Storey by the lovely Maryanne Stahl.

The Dark Knight

There will be some spoilers in this post about The Dark Knight. So, stop reading if you want to be totally spoiler-free.

I thought Batman Begins was a terrific movie, and when I heard that Warner Bros. had given Christopher Nolan even more latitude in making the sequel, I got nothing but warm fuzzies. I figured he, more than anyone else, would push this franchise right back into the noir it was always begging to be. The title alone of this current chapter pinpoints the allure of Batman/Bruce Wayne. He is, fundamentally, a do-gooder. But he's also one deeply fucked-up dude.

In Batman Begins, Christian Bale (and Nolan) took Bruce Wayne and Batman beyond the usual broody incarnation and tapped into his lurking rage. Luckily for the citizens of Gotham, he ultimately chose to channel that thirst for revenge into cracking criminal skull. Now, in The Dark Knight, the Nolan brothers' script and Bale up the stakes by constantly throwing the hero into emotionally and morally charged situations designed to test his boundaries. And, luckily for us moviegoers, Batman's boundaries are pretty damn far and Nolan/Bale have perfectly captured his propensity for stunningly stylish brutality.

In fact, portions of the film reminded me of a couple of the masters of this paradox, such as Coppola's Godfather and, more specifically, some of De Palma's work. And that's something I really like, because as a director, De Palma is often maligned (fucking cockaroach!) for his sleaze factor. Nolan doesn't use the De Palma split screen, but he does do a pictorial homage to Dressed to Kill in which Ledger gets to shine. (More on him in a bit.)

Now let me say this -- this is a near perfect summer movie. We were lucky to have two really classy comic action thrillers this year. (Iron Man being the other one.) Nolan captures some shots that have lasting, nearly iconic visual resonance along with just sheer, dark beauty. And his climax is a masterful piece of literal symbolism with a dual fall from grace. The movie has a two and a half hour run time, but it's paced and pieced so well that it really will keep you fully engaged. All that said, when I say "near perfect," I guess what I'm saying is this: I loved it. And yet I do have a few gripes. Now, before you sigh and roll your eyes and ask "Why so serious" about some dumb entertainment, I'll beat you to the punch. I admit that I have a vapid life. Therefore, I do take my entertainment seriously. Also, I'm a bitch.

My main grievance is that I'm utterly sick to death of fight and chase scenes where you can't tell what's happening because of the editing choices or murky quickness of the shots. We've seen a famous chase scene through Chicago's Lower Wacker Drive before. It was in The Blues Brothers. And I don't expect anyone to ever be able to film a car chase like the one in Death Proof. But at least watch The Bourne Identity to get a feel for a top-notch chase scene that's not at all confusing. That said, the climax of the chase scene in Dark Knight atones for the shortcomings in some of the other shots.

Complaint number two: Bale/Batman was definitely given short shrift, particularly after a truly traumatic event which ended up being played as a plot device instead of for dramatic heft. Said plot device was a bit cheapened by an earlier, transparent twist of the same nature. I won't go into too-spoilerish of detail here, but if you've seen it, you know what I'm talking about. The main focus and repercussions of the event shifted all the attention to how someone else processed the event as Bruce/Batman's reactions were glazed over. It could've truly turned him to an even more frightening, darker knight with a potential to turn, but instead, those nuances were left to someone else.

It's a great script the Nolans churned out. For the genre that the Nolans so obviously love, they're masters at using all the tried and true tricks at their disposal. They repeatedly hung Chekhov's gun and used foreshadowing as heavy as the visual shadows that Batman lurks in. However, there were plot holes you could drive the Batmobile through and everything pivots upon character reactions and motivations that sometimes contort a bit nonsensically. But I can let things like that go as long it all flows together as a movie, because I'm watching it as a popcorn flick, not as a psychological thriller.

But I also think that's where its reach slightly exceeded its grasp. The Nolans had collaborated before on the wonderful little Memento. But this is a much bigger budget and with bigger expectations. But scriptwise, bigger isn't always better, and there was some clutter (the twist that fell flat and proved useless, and a wasted Eric Roberts) that could've been trimmed to keep the runtime more manageable. In essence, just like his protagonist, Nolan didn't know his limit and he just may have hit it here. But also like Batman, he somehow manages to bring the potential chaos back under control and make the movie, as a whole, rise above it.

This is most definitely a film that has post 9/11 etched all over it, as how to deal with terrorism is a big theme. And then, when we do see Batman's "doing evil for ultimate good" shimmer to the surface, it was politically charged. Here's the spoiler: Batman used "warrantless wiretapping" in the name of stopping terrorism. And no, I don't think I'm reading too much into it. Not seeing that parallel is kind of like not seeing the supergay subtext in Superbad.

Heath's Joker? You've read other reviews, so you know he's great. In Nolan's noir-scape, the Joker loses all semblance of levity and becomes a truly frightening, suicidal, amoral agent of anarchy. You know this guy is truly fucking evil because he commits the cardinal sin of actually having non-bleached teeth. He's designed to be a scene-stealer, but in terms of dialogue and sheer screen time, I think he also managed to steal the movie from Batman. Luckily for the movie, it works because his every move is riveting. Ledger manages to outplay even his rictus makeup with a vast array of twitches and slurps and licks.

But here again, some judicious editing wouldn't have been a bad thing. There's one particular monologue of Joker's where he waxes eloquent about why he uses knives instead of guns to make the killing process last longer. It's all very chilling and diabolical. And yet it's also complete idiocy because at that juncture he's used a knife only once but has managed to use several handguns, an automatic rifle, hand grenades, a fucking bazooka, and even a pencil to rather swiftly dispose of people. It's one of those things that, upon first viewing, might slide by most viewers, but that freakish geeks (like me) might notice and may even become a point of ridicule when the opening-weekend fever cools and people really watch the movie with a more critical eye on repeated viewings. Then again, I can also assume that everything that comes out of the Joker's famously carved mouth is pretty much an inflammatory lie or a contradiction, so I guess it makes sense in that anarchy kind of way.

But it is still Bale, even with less screentime, that carries the weight of this movie. His ability to shift from the seemingly carefree and clueless playboy to the tormented, reluctant dragon is the hinge that pulls everything else together, and he's done it in complete contrast to Ledger's performance. While Ledger is doing Lovitz-style "Acting!" Bale is much less affected and more naturalistic. (Well, as unaffected and naturalistic as a guy in a rubber batsuit using a fake voice to growl can be. Parameters, still keep the parameters in mind.) But it is exactly his paradoxical easy tension which is what grounds the movie and pulls it back into perspective and makes the pieces of Nolan's realistic landscape fall into place.

I keep using the term "paradox" because that's exactly what's at the heart of this movie. It is Bruce's personal desires pitted against Batman's public sense of duty that cause the deepest rifts here. The overarching "moral" questions hit him hardest because it truly divides this man and his alter ego. (Again, another stroke of genius in the Nolans' script.) And Bale manages to merge the two with a simmering, controlled intensity.

Most notably, though, I trust that the Nolan brothers DO actually know where they're going with the third installment, since they worked so hard and carefully mapped this one to end as it did. Without question, this was the movie that this franchise needed right now. But even more importantly, this is a movie that Batman deserves.

New Issue of TQR and TQR best-of Book!

A new issue of TQR is live online. But, if you're looking for some short story, summer poolside reading, you can also get some TQR, paperback-style. They've released a best-of anthology titled Touching the Monkey.


My particular favorites from this collection are "Slayground" by Paul Finch and "Between the Night People and the Day People" by John Colvin, but all the stories are most excellent.

Sin

I've got a new smutty story up this week at Ruthie's Club. It's called "Sinning in Vain" and it's got a great illustration done by Ted Hammond. Yay!

The Dark Lady Turns Back Time

Probably no one reading this will find this shocking, but I have a few strange fixations. Some of them, I flaunt constantly (trashy TV.) Some, I eventually talk about to some degree on the blog here (Azzurri.) Some, I sort of gloss over without admitting how deep the fixation goes, though the references pop up occassionally (Batman.) And some, I keep rather well hidden until something newsworthy provokes me to speak. Today, I'd like to talk about Cher.


So, there, it's out there now. I love Cher. (First, go ahead, have a giggle. Second, for any regular readers out there, can you really believe at this point that I am actually a straight female instead of a gay man? I have trouble understanding it sometimes, too.) Anyway...

I seriously love Cher. Have for, well, ever. I think it's basically an imprinting thing, as I watched her on TV before I could even talk, and this continued well after I was a toddler and into early childhood. At that time, I certainly couldn't understand why she was making such an impression, but I think it's a fairly easy and rational guess now to say that I was responding and attaching to her because she was different from the vast majority of perky blondes who were dominating the airwaves in the early '70s. And the reason I probably connected to her isn't just because she was different from them. Finally, I found someone who was a little bit like me.

To this day, I sometimes have people comment that I have "Cher hair." We're talking the classic Cher, long dark version of hair, not the blonde-Believe era or current phase of wavy red. I didn't intentionally grow it to look like hers, but I do take it as a compliment when people say it. (Unfortunately, it's the only physical attribute the adult me has in common with her.)

Now, snicker all you like, but as role models go, especially in the impressionable years, you could do a lot worse than Cher. On The Sonny and Cher Show, Sonny was relegated to the role of straight man to Cher's witty, wisecracking dame. She wasn't just flaunting her bod in Bob Mackie; on that stage, she was the alpha dog. And in life, when people weren't laughing at her jokes, they were often laughing -- derisively, or dismissively -- at her. Oh, her gaudy/glam costumes! Yeah, yeah, the beat goes on and her body and those gowns become iconic. But now she wants be a serious actress? Tee hee! That's so funny, but film-by-film and one by one she turned the critics into fans and she pranced off with an Oscar -- while wearing one of her gaudy/glam costumes. Smirk at how old she is -- only cockroaches will outlive Cher. Keep smirking and Believe it as she dances off with a Grammy, becomes the oldest woman to ever score a number 1, and sells millions.

But the best part of Cher? When people laugh? She really just doesn't seem to give a shit. She kinda gives off the vibe of "Laugh, bitches, I don't care" and then she never backs down and does whatever she wants to do. She's as outspoken and outrageous as she wants, and she doesn't mind being the butt of jokes. How do you get cooler than that?

Also noteworthy? In her music choices? She's got a few sappy love songs. But most of them are a different kind of love song. She mostly sings about shooting cheating lovers, stomping over would-be heartbreakers, or surviving happily after a break-up. I love it.

Now, at 62, with her hit gig at Caesars Palace, Cher pulls off the coup-de-grace of Vegas weddings and May-December romances as she plans to marry a 36 year-old.

Aging singletons no longer need a song for the lonely from you, Cher. If our hope flags as we get older, we can save up all our tears, because if we need inspiration, we've got you, babe. We can still get the prime young tail. (Well, if we can still fill out a Mackie, sell out Caesars and remain a sassy siren, maybe we can.) You've just made us believe.

Finch & Stifler's Mom

While I impatiently wait for The Dark Knight to be released, I continue seeing other movies, so here are a couple more semi-crabby updates for you in case you're thinking of heading to a multiplex.

The Incredible Hulk -- I love Edward Norton, and I respect him as an actor. Hey, if Robert Downey Jr. could manage to light up the screen as a superhero this summer, I figured maybe Norton could pull it off, too. Like anyone else who's sane, I hated Ang Lee's Hulk, because, you know, it sucked. Norton's vision isn't quite as bad, but that's not saying a lot, huh?

Honestly, I'm really not completely against CGI in movies, particularly in comic book ones. I really dug the way Zack Snyder's 300 ended up looking. But sometimes, lately, movies are just a mess of CGI and lacking any connective tissue to make them human. That's exactly what RDJ brought to Iron Man. But here, there's just too much of the fake Hulk and not enough Norton to balance it out. Also? Frankly, I am a little bit sick of CGI and how it's ruining action movies. I remember when action movies seemed thrilling because there was at least the appearance of risk and realism. Now? I know it's fucking cartoon and even though it looks like realistic cartoon, it's still got no gravity to the situation. When shit blows up, I want shit blowing up. Which leads me to...

Get Smart -- Good summer flick. It made me laugh. I don't for one second buy Steve Carell as an action guy, though. Here, the action sequences were gratuitous and just sort of...dumb.

And if anyone is begging to be the next big action star it's Dwayne Johnson, formerly known as "The Rock". He's hot, he's ripped, he's got oodles of easy going charm that translates on camera. He plays well with Carell here, and I can understand having him in some action scenes, but can't we come up with something overall better for this guy than shit like "The Gameplan" or this second-banana role? Ever see The Rundown? You should. It's good.

Anyhow, back to Get Smart. When taken as a comedy and overlooking the clunky action scenes, it works. It's lighthearted and Carell has now perfected his oafish good-guy routine. Much as I'd have prefered to see him stay edgy, I realize it's the comedian's curse to want to be loved, and this is clearly what he wants to be, and he's good at it.

However, I'm also old and fucking cranky, so what does peeve me about this movie is the pairing of Carell with Anne Hathaway. I like Hathaway, and she's good as Agent 99. But she's also too young for Carell. I'm fucking sick of these over-forty dudes getting paired up with the twenty-somethings in the movies. Unless it's the gender-reversed May-December humdinger of all-time, Finch and Stifler's Mom, I ain't getting behind this shit anymore. And you know the filmmakers know it's bullshit, too, when they concoct this whole lame backstory to make Agent 99 older than she appears. It's still squicky. Leave the romance out, and this pairing would've been golden, though.

Shine a Light Leaves Us in the Dark

Okay, so here's my first movie review to start getting caught up. The rest won't be as verbose, but since I'm a big fan of both The Stones and Scorsese, I was left pondering what the hell went wrong with Shine a Light

At the start of this rock-doc, it shows Mick Jagger and Martin Scorsese haggling over the particulars of where to film it. Mick wanted a huge venue. Marty wanted to go small and intimate. Marty won the battle and filmed this at the Beacon Theater in NYC, but it was a Pyrrhic victory and at least partially because of the location, Marty lost the war.

He went all out with the cameras and angles, and even this soulless and lackluster film will never take away from his concert masterpiece, The Last Waltz. Possibly, he was trying to make a bookend to that brilliant farewell performance from The Band as he intercut the articulate and natural storyteller Robbie Robertson and workmanlike Levon Helms and drifty-lost Rick Danko interviews amongst the concert footage.

In Light, he intercuts some rather old interview footage of Mick and Keith to give perspective, but by now, we all get it. The Stones are still going. But The Stones are also a stadium band. Jagger knows that. Scorsese, I'm sure, wanted to show a different side, but that's just not what The Stones have become. They aren't small and intimate, nor any longer particularly relevant. They coast on their catalogue, and shit, that's not an insult, because it's a fucking hell of a catalogue. But they're also a band that you pay an outrageous amount of money to be stuffed in a stadium with 50,000 other people who're getting high and drinking too much and just shouting along to "Satisfaction" as their eyes glaze over from the enormity of the stage and all the flashing lights as Mick struts his still-tiny little tush around.

In an intimate setting, The Stones still play tight, man, tight. (again, not an insult.) But the only truly intimate moment that works comes, of course, from Richards as he commands the stage and takes the mic to sing "You Got the Silver." There's still something indescribably mesmerizing about him. But the rest of the time, even with some cool guests to help pull the load, this movie just never manages to get its ya ya's out.

Done-adoni

Italy's coach, Roberto Donadoni, got canned today. They expect to reinstate Marco Lippi, the coach who won the 2006 WC with the Azzurri, shortly. Donadoni's tenure was short, but he was given a conditional two year extension on his contract just before the Euro began. The condition, of course, being that Italy reached the semi-finals, which they didn't.

The interesting thing about this is that he's now the second person to get canned because of Italy in this tournament. Earlier in the competition, a Welsh education spokesman and chair of the finance committee had to resign after he refered to the Azzurri as "greasy wops" on a radio program.

I was utterly shocked, shocked, I tell you, to read about that incident. I thought Europeans had more intelligence and class than to make a mistake like that. Everyone knows that "wop" stands for "WithOut Papers" and is a slur specifically used for American-Italians. Honestly. Talk about picking your words more carefully. He should've just called them dagos or zips or guineas.

I don't care if it's grease or sweat, they're still hot to me.

(you knew I was gonna work in one more pic of Buffon, right?)

Spain takes on Germany on Sunday for the title. And me? I'll update you soon on all the movies I've seen in case you're in the mood for a flick.

No Country for Old Men

For a few years, it was Petr Cech. Cech, he's a Czech goalkeeper and soccer fans enjoyed debating who was the best in the world, Cech or Italy's Gianluigi Buffon. Cech suffered a horrible skull fracture in 2006 and, though he's still outstanding, hasn't really ever been the same since. So lately, it's been Spain's (and Real Madrid's) Iker Casillas who's filled the spot on the debate. Buffon remains the fixture as the one being debated.

Though he's well aware of his stature in the pantheon of European sports and because of this cache is more often than not saddled with the spokesman job for the teams he leads, Gigi still remains humble and classy. He's been through the wringer professionally and fully vetted by the media and officials due to the match-fixing scandal a few years back. (Buffon was completely cleared.) But he stayed loyal to his busted-down Juventus team and his happy-go-lucky demeanor never wavered. Before the Azzurri began their quarterfinal match against Spain today, Buffon walked across the field and with a smile, a wink and a hug, he told his younger counterpart Casillas, "You're the best, not me." The two had a nice laugh about it. I don't know, I don't get a lot of European humor. But it was nice.

Then, for ninety minutes, the Azzurri finally came back to life and showed why they're the reigning World Cup champs. Spain is chock full of young guns. Fast and furious with technical prowess, the Spaniards had absolutely overpowered and outshot all their opponents, with David Villa, David Silva, and Fernando Torres working together in a seemingly unstoppable symphony of scoring on the pitch. But what Italy does, when they're tuned, is play best when absorbing attacking pressure to shut down and frustrate their opponents. Instead of constantly working up the field and trying to score, the Azzurri are happy to defend and take their few shots, knowing that if they can convert just once, they can probably lock down the win.

And today, that's how the Azzurri played. You could see the utter frustration rising among the Spanish team as they just couldn't orchestrate a break away or when a key tackle would be made, or, worse, when they'd finally get a shot and Buffon would save. Again, ever the gentleman and statesman for sportsmanship, it was a common sight to see the big man consoling or quieting one of the young Spanish players when they'd get worked up or pissed off about the smothering defense that they just weren't accustomed to.


Seriously. Who else would do that? Pick up the other team and dust them off and pep them up. That's just Gig, man. He's a little insane, but truly cool.

However, with both Pirlo and Gattuso yellow-carded out, Italy had a little trouble conducting their own offensive attacks. When the Italians would take possession and drive upfield with a serve to Luca Toni, he still wasn't able to convert. Before the match, all his teammates were behind him 100% and saying his time was due and he'd just been suffering from a run of bad luck. But even his strange new 'stache couldn't get his mojo back in order and he just never got the right touch on the ball to sink one.


The scoreless match continued, and even a late game substitution to bring in Del Piero didn't result in any dramatic heroics. So after ninety minutes, it was a 0-0 draw. Another half hour and a few desperate attempts from both sides later, and still no score.

Casillas, he'd notched six saves for the day. Buffon, he had nine. (Spain had 27 shots on goal as opposed to Italy's characteristically weak 10.) Now the game would be decided by penalty kicks. Though it's a crappy way to end such a match, the Azzurri aren't exactly strangers to this situation, having won the World Cup against France this way. And they aren't exactly opposed to it, either, having Buffon as their man on goal. Spain, on the other hand, had some bad juju when it came to June 22 penalty shoot outs, having lost a whopping three of them on exactly that date in pervious World Cup and Euro quarterfinals.

In case you're not familiar, the way it works is that each team gets five alternating shots. Generally speaking, one save from your goalkeeper, and you're gonna be golden, because penalty kicks are a bitch for a keeper to save. So, the tournament's top scorer, Spain's David Villa, shot first and beat Buffon. Fabio Grosso returned the favor. Spain's next kick was good. But then Casillas made a great save against Italy's De Rossi which gave Spain the crucial lead. Both teams scored again, and then, with teeth-grinding pressure on and Spain holding the advantage, Gigi did what he does and made a startling save against Spain's David Guiza to pull the Azzurri even.

But then Italy's Di Natale took a surprisingly weak shot; it was a slow roller to the corner. Casillas guessed right and had his second save.


And that was all it took, as Spain's Fabregas finished off Buffon, and all the Azzurri, with a rifle shot to the opposite corner as Gigi was caught going the other way.

Spain's talented young conquistadors advance and will take on Russia again, whom they utterly destroyed 4-1 in the group rounds. The Azzurri, they go home. Coach Donadoni may get the closest thing to a crucifixion in the press. And I'm cringing a little for Toni and Di Natale, too. Personally, I'm happy for Spain and think they have a tremendous team. But, of course, I'm also terribly sad. Sad for the loss, obviously, but also because of the advancing age of this current roster. Del Piero is certainly in his waning years for the national squad. Toni isn't a spring chicken, and Materazzi will be going quietly soon, too. (Not to mention that I never got around to posting about Mauro Cameranesi. And, with this now over and Entourage not returning until September, my summer is pretty much shot as far as "guy" entertainment on only the second official day of the season.) On the upside, Antonio Cassano played beautifully and kept his cool, as did fast-rising star Alberto Aquilani, who got a little experience with Pirlo and Gattuso booked out today.

Gigi? He'll be back. He says he wants to play on the national team until he's forty. (Gigi really is a little crazy.) Generally such a cheerful guy, I hate to see him leave the field looking like this.


As for that ongoing debate about the world's best goalkeeper? Maybe Gigi's seemingly gracious words to Casillas ended up being downright fateful for today. But, only for today.

He's already secured his place as a superstar of Italian sport and is rapidly hurtling toward legend. For a few more years, the debate will go on, possibly with someone else eventually filling Casillas's spot. Someday, though, it's inevitable that Gigi's name will be erased from the contemporary debate. But for now, even on a sad day for Azzurri fans, it's really easy, and a bit consoling, and actually quite delightful, to be able to say to Gigi in all honesty, and with a couple of different nuances, "You're the best."

Fabio Squared

And we're back to the footballers again. Sunday, the Azzurri take on Spain in the quarterfinals. They're still somewhat smarting with the loss of team captain Fabio Cannavaro, but lucky for me they've still got two Fabios in play. The first is Fabio Grosso, who's really quite a looker, even if he always has a slightly confused appearance about him.


He's a defender who's managed to score a few dramatic goals for Italy over the past few years. More importantly, right now, he seems to be in the best form of all the back liners. And, when D&G didn't have enough of the first round of Italian soccer player undie shots, Grosso was one of the ones called upon to to help fill out the next shoot. Personally, I just give him props for not shaving his chest.


I will say it's starting to piss me off that they feature all these guys in all these different shoots, but I can't find evidence of any Gigi modeling for them. All I can assume is that since Gigi is a sort of promotional superstar in Italy, maybe he's got conflicts or something. I found an old, fuzzy shot which may have been part of a D&G layout, but I'm not sure. Although I'm supposedly talking about the Fabios in this post, I think it's clear that Buffon is my pet favorite and I like to post pictures of him, so it's going up for inspection under the ruse that perhaps someone will have some D&G ad info for me, but we all know it's really just here because I dig the Gig.


Anyhow, the final Fabio on the roster right now is Fabio Quagliarella. He's fairly new with the Azzurri. He hasn't seen too much playing time in the tournament so far, but he's a striker and we're in need of someone to score goals. I realize that Luca Toni is just having some bad luck, but I'm wondering if it's starting to fuck with his head at this point, all those missed shots. I have a feeling that Toni is pretty much untouchable, though. But just as we saw Cassano make an appearance, I wouldn't be shocked to see Quagliarella get some play time as a substitute and his star may start to shine.

What's also of note about Fabio Q? He's kind of unbelievably good looking. Like, when I try to visualize a handsome guy, the mental picture generally bears a striking resemblance to Quagliarella.


I'm not saying this should have relevance on the starting lineup, but Luca Toni has grown a strange mustache over the past couple days. Quagliarella has not. But if a 'stache helps Toni score (a goal) then I'm all for it.

Meme Meany

I've been tagged by the poetic Dennis Mahagin. Unfortunately, I'm both boring and secretive. When people used to ask me questions I didn't want to answer, I used to just shrug and coyly say, "I'm not closed off, I'm just boring." And then I'd flip the script back to them. I still flip the script, but I'll at least now admit that sometimes I don't want to answer questions about myself, no matter how seemingly inane or perfunctory they are. Some people find this strange. I just shrug. I do appreciate Dennis's attention, though, and did read his answers, which were great. So check his out.

From Soccer to Smut -- small leap 'round here, I know.

I briefly interrupt this soft-core soccer smut to bring you some hard-core short story sex. I've got a new story live at The Erotic Woman, titled "The Best Revenge." Love the pic for it, too! They're just cool.

Italy Wins!

It wasn't pretty, but Italy managed to defeat France 2-0 to progress to the quarterfinals where they'll take on Spain. Spain is tough, with a young, good looking team and goal scoring machine David Villa. And we'll also be down two of our key starters because they drew their second yellow cards. But at least the Azzurri advance!

It was in no small part to our Keeper who just keeps giving. I even noticed a sign reading "Buffon Santo Subito" (translation -- Buffon Saint Soon.) And Gigi did make a few amazing saves, but that's not so surprising. A pleasant surprise was Cassano, who dazzled with some dribbling but passed effortlessly, even though Luca Toni just could not convert any of his chances. Cassano also stayed away from the red card, which did make an appearance and crippled the French when one of them tackled Luca Toni. The French went down a man for the rest of the match, and it was Andrea Pirlo who capitalized on the penalty kick and scored Italy's first goal.

This makes me double happy, as Pirlo deserves some limelight for himself, and because he's also one of the D&G models that I'd hoped to revisit. I'd already shown you Rino Gattuso and his snarly stance in the other two photos, and that doesn't change in these. But his Milan teammate Andrea Pirlo is also featured in these shots. Gattuso and Pirlo are also the two players that will be out of the lineup against Spain due to yellow cards. But what cracks me up about Pirlo is how he sort of seems to be slinking down and back or with his head bowed as though he doesn't feel the most dignified. Such as here.


Also featured in that ad is Gianluca Zambrotta, who played veryvery well today, so I'm done being mad at him. The only thing better than Gianluca Zambrotta's name is his oiled bod. Here's one more shot, with Pirlo really hiding in the background.


But D&G obviously didn't get their fill of the Milan midfielders and this year decided to do a calendar of the entire AC Milan team. (They do the formal dress for Milan, and for the Azzurri.) Photographed by Mariano Vivanco, Pirlo shows he's just as smoldery in his clothes as out.


But that's just not enough for D&G when it comes to Italian footballers. Azzurri defender Fabio Grosso appears in a whole different underwear campaign for them. More on that later.

Loose Cannon Cassano

Antonio Cassano is a character. That's the polite way of saying it. Another way, perhaps a more blunt way of saying it, is that Cassano is the epitome of a crazy dago.


Cassano is a young striker on the roster for the Azzurri this year even though he wasn't a part of the 2006 World Cup team. Apparently, the Italian coach is considering starting him against France tomorrow. Given Cassano's incredible talent, it would seem like a smart move. However, when you take into consideration that Cassano can draw a red card faster than I can type "red card," you also realize how dicey a move that could be.

Cassano is surely a gifted player. He was recently on the roster (alongside David Beckham) at Real Madrid, until they decided to ship him back to Italy. Basically, the kid has a passion for food and therefore a propensity for becoming a fatty. I have no trouble with that. He also, however, has the disposition of a rattlesnake, and he's just as likely to drop trou and give himself wedgies on the field as he is to threaten officials, slap people, and basically cause a whole big fucking scene. Like I said, crazy dago. Me, I'm a lover of the outrageous, so this is right up my alley as sheer entertainment. However, also being a lover of watching the Azzurri in as many matches as possible, I'm not so sure about having him trot onto the field tomorrow. Gigi, class act that he is, says he advised Cassano to just count to five before reacting to dumb shit. My advice? Score a fuckin' goal, Tony. Nothing makes people forgive more than that.

Which brings us to Christian Panucci.


Panucci is a defender and a cutie. But he also hadn't been part of the 2006 World Cup team after a tough 2002 World Cup game. (He wasn't quite on the lists with Bill Buckner, but he didn't make a lot of fans.) But he managed to be on his toes a few days ago and scored Italy's first goal in this Euro Championships, so now he's a big hero.

Anyhow, the match against France is tomorrow. That's a rematch of the World Cup finals, so it's sort of a big deal. Though, that match ended with the infamous Zinedine Zidane headbutt of Italy's Marco Materazzi, (are those names fabulous or what?) which was the strange swan song to the great Zidane's career and the clincher for Italy. Zidane is now retired, but I wouldn't be shocked to be seeing some sort of heading or butting if Cassano does take the field. I hope they pull it off. It'd be a shame to leave those other D&G underwear ads un-scrutinized.

I Dream of Gigi

Today, the Azzurri tied with Romania to stay alive in the Euro 2008. Not quite as joyous as a win would've been, but at least they're still in the hunt. Especially after another very rough call went against them. Last game, the officials allowed an offsides goal by the Netherlands to count against Italy. This time, Luca Toni scored a good header and it was tossed out when the officials wrongly called him offsides. I promise, it's not just me bitching about it. All the announcers and analysts were astounded by the poor call, too. And even with my sadly fuzzy vid caps, I can show you that Toni wasn't offsides. If he was over the white line, he'd be offsides. He's not even on the line. Fuckers.


That bad call and resulting stripped goal would've given Italy the win and nearly secured a place for them in the quarterfinals. Another ugly moment was when one of Italy's own defenders, Gianluca Zambrotta, badly misplayed a pass and allowed Romania to score a crap goal. Zambrotta is a bona fide hottie and one of the D&G undie models, but we'll get back to that another day. I'm a little miffed at Zambrotta and don't want to dwell on the bad or ugly and instead want to highlight the good of the day. Actually, not so much good as great.

I told you before that Gigi Buffon was the best goal keeper in the business, and he proved it again today. With a lot of people criticizing the Italian team for being too old -- most of them are over 30 -- big guy Buffon proved he's not too old to beat the twenty-somethings. He had a few brilliant and crucial saves in the first half of the match. But in the final ten minutes, the officials awarded a penalty kick to Romanian striker Mutu. With the match already tied at 1-1, that should've been lights out for Italy. But Gigi saved the day big time when he totally denied Mutu. It was so demoralizing that Mutu couldn't recover. He nearly broke down into tears several times on the field and had to be removed from the game after a couple of minutes when he still couldn't pull his shit back in order. Of course, I love such a spectacle, and since I also adore Gigi, I took pictures of the whole thing. Gigi breathes and gets ready, Gigi saves(!!), Mutu crumbles, Mutu crumbles some more, poor thing, and Gigi celebrates and is the big hero of the day.


That's right. Give yourself a hand, Cap'n.


And this one, it really has no relevance; it's just for my personal enjoyment because, you know, Gigi's hot.


Also deserving a hand today is Christian Panucci, a defender who managed to score Italy's sole goal today. Not shockingly, he's quite a looker, so I'll give him his due tomorrow or so, then maybe swing back around to Zambrotta and more of those D&G ads when I'm done being mad at him.

SYTYCD -- PezKat Recap

I'm still kicking around watching SYTYCD, but I haven't really had a chance to catch it yet. (I'm lucky I managed to finish off "Top Chef" this season. And I'm so glad I did -- YAY Stephanie!) But if you're looking for SYTYCD recaps, PezKat has some really detailed ones. Enjoy!

Beauty of the Beast

Gennaro Gattuso cracks me up. I love him, and he's a great player. He's a midfielder whose resume can boast a couple of Champions League wins with his club, AC Milan, along with a couple of wins in surly slapfights. He is fierce. (and I don't mean that in the trendy Tyra runway way. I mean that in that near-animal kind of way.) And it's not just me who thinks so. After all, Rino is nicknamed "the snarler". So for those who like the rough-and-tumble kind of player, this is your guy. Especially because, for as intimidating as he is on the field, off the field, he's about as humble and fun-loving as they come. And, naturally, he's a hottie who can pull out the trendy-Tyra fierce when need be.


Think he gives good face? It's not nearly as impressive as the body. He, along with four of his teammates, were tapped by Dolce & Gabbana to do an underwear promotion. There is plenty to love in the series of resulting shots, not least of which is Rino's savage stance in each and every picture.


I love him up there, holding down the center, just like on the field, with that look of nearly-simmering rage, almost as though he's ready to bitch-slap the photographer. But you just know he's also secretly loving it. I love the next shot even more. While the other guys feign relaxation, he's elevated and taut, still looking ready to bite someone's head off if they make one wise crack about his purple panties.


If you think for one-second he felt self-conscious about being photographed in the nearly-nude and that's what produced that aggressive body language, think again. Gattuso was also the one who, to celebrate Italy's win in the 2006 World Cup, once again stripped down to his skivvies and ran around the field until the officials chased him down and forced him to put his pants back on. Dumb-fuck officials.

And oh yeah, there's plenty more to comment on in those pictures, and there are more pictures from the series. Perhaps we can talk about how his teammate, Andrea Pirlo, hangs his head and seems just slightly embarrassed as he slinks to the side and back in every shot. But more of those pictures and more analysis of the other guys in them after Italy's match against Romania on Friday.