The One Reason I'd Like to See and Review "Taking Lives" (the new Angelina Jolie movie)

I would like to see "Taking Lives" and review it for a newspaper or magazine or something, just so I could say "The most impressive task achieved by the directors of 'Taking Lives' was to get Ethan Hawke to cut his hair."

Jesus is a Little Bit Country, and a Little Bit Rock and Roll

Perusing the CMT.com website for work (don't worry, I ain't no country girl now) and found something interesting in their store. THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST, SONGS INSPIRED BY. In case you're wondering what could fall into this category, it's mostly country. And then there's "Where No One Stands Alone," by Elvis Presley. Now, this song very well may be about God, Jesus, salvation, or any host (sic) of other things. But the reality is, that--lacking a flux capacitor and a tricked-out Delorean--a song by Elvis, who has been dead lo these many years, cannot have been inspired by a movie that came out two weeks ago. Not even Mel Gibson could get that done.

Or could he?

Young Jews in Heat

So, I'm just back from the Washington 14 UJC Young Leadership Conference, which I'll be covering in several articles for the Jewish Week over the next several weeks. It was about 1800 young men and women from across the US, Israel and Canada, all between the ages of 25-45. And I have to say, I've never seen so much scoping in my life. It's like someone pumped pheromones into the air...and then added alcohol. Lots of it.

So I don't want to give away the totality of what I'm going to address in the articles I'll be writing sometime in the next few days, but I thought I'd just recap some of the things that I learned over this weekend:

* That almost no one from Orange County, California calls it "The O.C." Every time I made a joke about the show (which was really a joke about that first commercial where the kid says "Welcome to the O.C., bitch!" because I've never seen the show) it fell into an abyss, echoing on its way down, but ultimately not provoking any effect.

* Despite her first season absence from the show's writing staff, Cindy Chupack is the voice of the girls on SEX AND THE CITY. And she's not as Hollywood as you'd think--she's really a nice Jewish girl from Oklahoma.

* That I'm really not good at numbers. If my room number hadn't been 9211 (9+2=11), I'd still be wandering around the hotel, sliding my electronic key into random doorknobs and hoping for access.

* That Adam Mesh's mom, Andrea, thinks I have great skin and, after reading "Seuss in the City," proclaimed that I was "the Jewish Carrie Bradshaw."

* That even my JDate profile needed some work. Thank you, (E-Cyrano.com CEO) Evan Marc Katz!

* That not all Canadians say "eh." But most of them do.

* That you can take the boys out of the frat house, and add jobs, salaries, responsibilities and social action, but you can't take the frat house out of the boys.

* That among Pittsburgh's famous products are Steelers merchandise, Clark bars, Heinz ketchup, and guys named Richard.

I have no doubt that other life lessons will follow as I develop distance from the conference. But these were the immediate ones...just the initial share. More insights to come.

A few notes about ABC Family's "CELESTE AND THE CITY"

Sunday night, I was switching between CHARMED, which has been so AlyssaMilanocentric that they should just rename the show ALYSSA AND HER SISTERS, and ABC Family's "original romantic comedy movie."

I know it's just mining the cliches of the "smalltown girl moves to the big city to pursue career, encounters adversity and falls in love when she least expects it" genre. But I need to note for the record and to help out any similarly idealistic girls who may try to follow in Celeste's fictional footsteps: this is not a reflection of reality.

So, if you're in Bangor, Maine, as the eponymous Celeste was, and you decide to move to NYC to work at a fictional newspaper as a result of this movie, beware-- it builds unrealistic expectations.

According to the movie:
* When you move to NYC you are issued your own personal team of gay makeover consultants (including Buffy graduate Nicholas Brendon and former teen pop sensation Debbie Gibson, who for some reason looks like a man) who first insult your hair and your fashion sense, and then go all QUEER EYE on your sorry, broke, idealistic ass. You are at first, insulted, then embrace their love for couture and find the money for a high-end wardrobe, and take a stand for career and womanhood by having your frizzy hair professionally straightened and switching your glasses for contact lenses.

* You move into a rat-infested apartment above a karaoke bar where all anyone seems to sing is “Hit Me With Your Best Shot,” you have a cute, but sweet and approachable neighbor who won’t take advantage of you when you’re drunk and who can help you refurbish said rat-trap into a rent-controlled palace of ultimate fabulosity.

* Once you have said makeovers of both self and domicile, you immediately get invited to high-profile industry parties, just because you are now slim and tailored, people can now observe “the real you” and your ideas and talents can truly shine, talents that were being obscured by a meek and nerdy façade.

* At the end of the day, you’ve figured out that the accomplished magazine mogul who feigns interest in your work is really out for the nookie, and suddenly, in a life-changing epiphany, realize that the skateboarding, heterosexual interior designer who lives next door is worth a thousand scheming “Big”s put together, and that he appreciated you back in the days when you were Plain Jane you.

What have I learned? I'm overdue. My team of fabulous gay makeover consultants must be delayed in traffic. But I'm being proactive. I'm going door-to-door to see if any of my neighbors are skateboarding, heterosexual interior designers, and figure we'll start from there.

Carb Girl and the Case of the Crappy Cereal

People who know me know that I’m totally Carb Girl. My superpower is craving bread, and sometimes, cereal. It stems from growing up in my parents’ house: every week, the smell of freshly baked challah filled the air, and brand new cereals no one had ever heard of before filled our pantry. If it came in cereal form, we had it. (Unless it had marshmallows in it, because those marshmallows were a problem if you were keeping kosher.) From Cookie Crisp to Gremlins (yes, Gremlins), from Raisin Squares to Star Wars cereal, there was no breakfast box we didn’t try.

As I grew up, my taste in cereal matured, but I was always willing to try something new. Because I knew it was better for me, I switched to Kashi. The fact that one of the highlighted textures was “twigs” was a little emotionally unsettling, but ultimately manageable, because it was actually quite good. And good for me, too.

But last week, my psyche finally defeated by the now-airborne “carbs are bad” virus, I thought that maybe fewer carbs in my diet would be a good thing. Maybe I didn’t need carbs in my morning cereal—maybe taste salvation could come to me from another place. So, I bought a cereal that forever changed my intrepid cereal-trying spirit.

It looked fine on the package. It was low-carb (5g) and high-fiber (6g), and high-protein (12g). The back of the box listed what each serving of the cereal, called “Hi-Lo” for its mix of high protein/fiber and low carb content, provided. One of these items was “Contains soy isoflavones and mixed tocopherols as natural antioxidants derived from Vitamin E.” I really wasn’t sure what that meant, but I read on.

“As you well know,” the side of the box continued to address me, “not many natural cereals can pass the taste-test also.” What a weird place to put an “also.” And I firmly believed that “taste test” should not be hyphenated (I mean, no one hyphenates spelling-test). As it turns out, all this language was designed to muddle my mind, and stall my thought process. Linguistic smoke and mirrors, trying to confuse me into buying the cereal. After all, it was new and good for me…

So I did it. I bought that box of cereal, took it home, opened it, poured myself a bowl and added milk. The face I made upon tasting it cannot be described. When I chewed, the tastes and textures that came to mind included: wood chips, grit, cardboard, and those “do not eat” silica gel packets that accompany new shoes. In short, isoflavony goodness, minus the goodness.

I tried different things to make the cereal palatable. I cooked it with raisins, figuring it could be a healthier version of oatmeal. I added it to yogurt and cottage cheese, to provide both substance and additional nutrition. I even tossed it on ice cream. But it was hopeless. I threw out the rest of the box, and I think that’s the first time I’ve ever done that to cereal. So much for a low-carb lifestyle. I would get my fiber and protein elsewhere.

If eating that cereal was essential for good heart health, then bring on the myocardial infarction. The cereal’s gone away, but Carb Girl’s here to stay.

Leapin’ Lizards!!

Dinosaurs are science, right? Therefore, an EMFB (English Major From Birth) has no business loving these lumbering lizards. But there, in that alliteration, is the key. I was in love with the language of dinosaurs. All based in Latin, the names of the dinosaurs, and what those names meant, became one of my earliest mantras.

I knew they had been dangerous, back in their day, but I never had nightmares about them when I was growing up. I knew they were extinct, and therefore, they were just interesting. I loved the ones that looked just similar enough to animals I knew about that they seemed familiar the instant I saw them in books. Ankylosaurus, the “fused lizard” whose armored, spiked squat turtlish frame was accented by a strong, clublike tail that could be employed to fend off aggressors…Triceratops, “three-horned face,” whose horns its contemporary cousin, the rhinoceros, would surely have envied…Velociraptor, a “speedy thief” cousin of the “tyrant lizard king” Tyrannosaurus Rex.

I also loved the dino design quirks: Giant bodies, tiny brains. Avian and reptilian, sometimes at the same time. Big dangerous T-rex with menacing teeth…tiny little hands. There was something inherently comedic about these beasts, trying to co-exist peacefully, or more accurately, trying to live another day without becoming part of someone else's dinner.

Over the millennia of their domain, there were five mass extinctions. And after each extinction, new species of dinos arose. Dinos 2.0. Then 3.0…There are some who maintain that, had the dinosaurs not been obliterated by one or several major geologic events (some conjectured causes include comets, asteroids, supernovas, volcanic activity, and an extreme greenhouse effect), we might be living with these thunder lizards, side by side, today.

In fact, this summarizes the plot of a new two-hour movie called Anonymous Rex, which could become an ongoing series, coming from SciFi. From the entertainment newsletter Cynopsis.com (and I quote):

Sci Fi Channel has cast Daniel Baldwin and Sam Trammel in a two-hour original movie (also to be used as a pilot) called Anonymous Rex. The story is based on Eric Garcia's futurist mystery novels Casual Rex wherein dinosaurs evolve into human sized creatures and roam the Earth disguised as humans. Anonymous Rex focuses on two dinosaur/human partners who are high tech private eyes. Production is set to begin later on this month in Toronto.

While conceptually not all that different from the 1980s alien paranoia shows V or Alien Nation (I forget which one had the cops in it), there’s something baffling about this premise. And what’s most impossible to understand is how any Hollywood exec saw fit to pitch and greenlight this project. The exec was either a) high, or b) someone who was so new to the business that she trusted her advisors and didn’t really want to get bogged down in the implementation.

In an assumption that it was more b) than a), here’s a re-enactment of a conversation that never happened between me as the head of SciFi Channel, being pitched and my creative execs:

CURTAIN RISES ON AN OFFICE IN HOLLYWOOD. IT’S A DECENT SIZE OFFICE, BUT THE WINDOWS PROVIDE NO VIEW EXCEPT A SEA OF SUVs IN THE PARKING LOT. AT THE MEETING ARE THREE PEOPLE IN BUSINESS ATTIRE. ESTHER, THE ATTRACTIVE AND POWERFUL, YET QUIRKY AND HILARIOUS STUDIO CHIEF, SITS BEHIND THE DESK. AT HER RIGHT, CHARLIE THE P.A. SITS WITH A STENO PAD, AND TAKES NOTES FURIOUSLY THROUGHOUT THE PROCEEDINGS. THE RINGING PHONES PROVIDE A CONSTANT, BACKGROUND MURMUR. THE EXECS, JIM AND MAGGIE, ARE PREPARED FOR THEIR PITCH, BUT KNOW THAT THEIRS IS A HARD SELL, SO THEY ATTEMPT TO COUNTER THE DIFFICULTY WITH ENTHUSIASM.

Jim: So, the film is called Anonymous Rex, and the plot is that T-Rexes never died out…in fact, they live among us.
Esther: Umm, wouldn’t I have noticed? It would explain a lot of the blind dates I’ve been on, but still…
Maggie: Oh, but you see, that’s the beauty of it! They’re masquerading as humans.
Esther: Oh. Okay. Wait—what?
Maggie: Yes, it’s kind of like Mulder’s theory about the aliens, that they’re here and waiting to take over the planet, except instead of aliens, they’re refugees from Jurassic Park.
Esther: Interesting. And by interesting, I mean crazy.
Jim: Not so much crazy as visionary…it’s a what-if scenario.
Esther: What if you leave my office and come back when you’ve got a decent idea for a television show? [laughs as others are disoriented] I’m kidding, of course. But I still don’t get it—our audience is already nerdier than any other network’s, and this show premise doesn’t even make any sense!
Jim: Our studio needs to take a chance. As the most recent in a long line of studio chiefs, you need to take a chance, and show some vision. Take a chance!
Esther: Thanks for the ABBA song in my head, Jim.
Maggie: [ignoring her and continuing the pitch] Most scientists agree that there were at least five mass extinctions of the dinosaurs, caused by catastrophic natural events like a meteor shower, an ice age, something. But what if those events had never occurred? There’s every reason to believe that dinos would have adapted to their changing environments. Just as the primordial ooze evolved over thousands of years into the life forms that would become known as dinosaurs, dinosaurs would have evolved in size, temperament and intelligence.
Esther: So you’re saying that if they had but time, velociraptors would have become stockbrokers, apatosaurs would study for their MBAs and T-Rexes would have become lawyers?
Jim: Private eyes.
Esther: Dammit, Jim—ABBA wasn’t bad enough? You had to give me Hall and Oates now? What the hell do you mean, private eyes?
Execs: The T-Rexes are private eyes.
Esther: Oh god. Why?
Execs: What do you mean, why?
Esther: T-Rexes are private eyes. Meaning like if a guy thinks his wife is cheating on him, he calls a T-Rex? Wait, that actually makes sense. I’d imagine a T-Rex would be very persuasive, what with all the teeth.
Jim & Maggie: [muttering] well, yes—
Esther: But they’re not the most subtle of beasts. Nor are they terribly stealthy, I might add. If I were having my husband followed, I’d want something slyer, something that could outwit him…would sneak up on him, pounce [she makes everyone jump] and eviscerate him…yeah…like… a raptor.
Execs: [silent. They’re a little scared now.]
Esther: But that’s only if I were having my husband followed. [beat] Which of course I’m not. [beat] Really, I’m not. [beat] But you see my point!
Maggie: [looks at Jim questioningly, he nods, she responds]: Ummm. Yes.
Esther: [looking at her memo on the subject] So you’ve cast Daniel Baldwin? Which Baldwin is he? The one from The Usual Suspects? Or from that horrendous Cindy Crawford movie?
P.A.: Fair Game.
Esther: Ooh, Fair Game. That was the hot Baldwin…
Maggie: Actually, Usual Suspects was Stephen and Fair Game was Billy. Daniel wasn’t in either of those movies.
Esther: There’s another Baldwin brother? Is there an infinite supply of Baldwins being manufactured in a Taiwanese factory? Or maybe they’re Mogwai, and someone got them wet and fed them after midnight…
Jim: Umm, maybe…
Esther: Stop humoring me. [turns to laptop and types in imdb.com. screen pops up, she types “Daniel Baldwin” and waits. A screen pops up, she reads it to herself and says:] Oh, he’s the puffy one. I must have missed his star-making turn as “Vet #1 at the Democratic Convention” in Born on the Fourth of July. Oh, Homicide. I think I saw that once. Or was it Murder One? I can’t remember anything before Law & Order took over. Crap. OK, Daniel Baldwin, got it, moving on. I have some questions.
Maggie: Shoot.
Esther: I’m still not clear—what does a T-Rex do in Los Angeles?
Maggie: Well, he opens a detective agency with his friend, played by the incomparable Sam Trammell.
Esther: [turns to computer, checks IMDB again] You’re kidding, right? There’s nothing on his resume that I’ve ever heard of.
Jim: You’ll have to trust us. He’s really good. My father-in-law saw him do Willy Loman in dinner theater in Miami.
Esther: [rolls eyes] I think my dentist has played Willy Loman in dinner theater in Miami.
Maggie: [beat] Well, we’ve got him, he’s signed on and we’ve already begun pre-production in Prague.
Esther: Prague. Why pick Prague for pre-production, other than the boundless joy of alliteration?
Jim: Well, it’s much cheaper than trying to film near the Staples Center, which is where the detective agency is located.
Esther: Oh. So instead of Los Angeles, we’re going to film in Eastern Europe. This makes sense.
Jim: Actually, I checked with accounting and it’s much more cost-effective. With the money we save we’ll actually be able to bribe Nielsen families to watch it!
Esther: That’s the first piece of good news I’ve heard about this project. But Charlie, do me a favor…check into Canada as an alternate location. My great grandparents barely escaped from Prague. I’m not shlepping all the way back there to film a drama about Jurassic P.I.s unless I absolutely have to…
Charlie: [makes notes] Check into Canada. Got it.
Esther: Does he have a wife? Is that role cast yet?
Maggie: Well, now that Sex and the City is over, we’ve called Kim Catrall’s agent. We figure if anyone can take on a T-Rex, it’s the former Samantha Jones.
Esther: You should have consulted with me first. I would have advised going for Sharon Stone. She’d give a T-Rex a run for its money. But I guess that’s done, too.
Maggie: Yeah. Look, trust me on the casting. Kim’s right for the part. After her roles in Porky’s and Star Trek 2—
Esther: --you’re right, Maggie. She’s got a built-in fan base among our nerd demographic.
Jim [uncomfortable]: Ok, so let’s move on. How are you on the plot?
Esther: Oh, you mean “dinosaurs are alive, have evolved into humanoid form and are working as private investigators in Los ‘Doesn’t this look like Poland’ Angeles?
Execs: [nodding]
Esther: [beat] sounds good to me. Just one thing: Are there enough thespian T-Rexes on either coast to make this work? And will they work for scale?
Jim: We’re working on that now.
Esther: I’ll bet. And find out what kind of cars they drive. I don’t want a bunch of Hummers in our lot. We had enough trouble the last time the Governator was here. I’ve got an idea: Contact Prius. Once we have those gas/electric hybrids zooming around Canada—
Charlie: [cuts her off, reminding her]: Or Prague…
Esther: Or Prague [glares at Charlie], we’ll have the attention of Cameron, Leo and Sting… our pitch could be: “why drive a dinosaur?”
Charlie: [taking notes furiously] Cameron…Sting…dinosaur. Got it.
Esther: Is there anything else?
Jim: We just need your signature on this.
Esther: What is it?
Maggie: It absolves us of any responsibility for the failure— [Jim smacks her in the arm] — or success of this show.
Esther: I’ve never had to sign anything like this before…
Jim: Think of it as your “Jerry Maguire” treatise, that you’re tired of studio execs not taking risks and that—to hell with that!—you’re taking a chance on something a little off-center. SciFi’s fans will thank you for it.
Esther: They ought to thank me! For approving groundbreaking programming like this…
Maggie: That’s right—you’re the visionary…a hero for women everywhere…
Esther: Yeah! Cool. [beat as she looks around]. Anyone want to get high?
[EVERYONE ELSE NODS, PUTS THEIR PAPERS AWAY AND GOES TO CLOSE THE SHADES. THEY LIGHT UP A DOOBIE AND PASS IT AROUND, EVERYONE TAKES A HIT. ESTHER’S THE LAST TO DRAG. AS SHE EXHALES…]
Esther: Hey, wasn’t Jerry Maguire fired?

BLACKOUT

A Question for the Ages

Is a bicycle considered a vehicle or a pedestrian?

The reason I ask is that I've almost been killed by food delivery corpsmembers twice this week so far, and it's only Monday. One would think that if it's a vehicle, it belongs on the road with the other vehicles. If a bicycle is a pedestrian, then it should...umm..NOT HAVE WHEELS!! And should NOT DRIVE ON THE SIDEWALK!!

Why should they be able to go 25 mph when I can only go 3 mph? As far as I'm concerned, when bikers (because let's face it, cyclists they're not) drive on the sidewalk, they're a menace to society.

Maybe it's time to go back to my old idea about having lanes on the sidewalk. The high occupancy lane would be for commuters and messengers, while two regular lanes would be provided for pedestrians. This would be a boon to heavily trafficked areas like Times Square, Fifth Avenue and Madison Avenue, where tourists gawking ("my Gawd, these buildings are soooo huge!! They actually scray-yape the ska-yiy!") ensures that running out for a sandwich takes a half an hour, even if you're just going to the corner deli. But it would also help bike delivery people understand that they're not superior just because they've got wheels.

Wheels don't make you a better person. You're still beholden to the laws of mankind. Thou shalt not kill? Yep, still a commandment, even for those on a bike. That's my peace on the subject. If you ever can't get in touch with me for a few days, the remnants of me will probably be mashed into the treads on a delivery bike. So look for me there before you send my photo to the milk carton people.

On Music in the Movies

Last week I submitted a letter to the New York Times in response to an Arts & Leisure article they ran about the movie musical. They didn't print it, but here it is for anyone's interest...

To the Editor:

By incorporating music, television is building the
bridges that will help American audiences to better
transition to movie musicals (Rebecca Traister,
“Waiting for the Razzle-Dazzle,” February 29).

While 1990’s prescient-but-doomed COP ROCK
floundered because of its premise (singing cops),
characters on ALLY MCBEAL (1997-2002) regularly broke
into fantasy song and dance numbers to audience
delight and critical praise. In 2001’s groundbreaking
musical episode of BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER (“Once
More With Feeling”) the sudden songs worked, not only
because of the established conceit—a demon brought on
the song and dance—but because of series creator Joss
Whedon, whose creative, brilliant songs had audiences
believing that when things get too intense, emotions
will break through using the combined power of music
and words.

Shows like these, which incorporate the whimsy,
humor and emotion of music, leave viewers craving
more, even hoping for COP ROCK 2004: RESURRECTION.

Why Our Society is Doomed (Part One of a Continuing Series)

Because the top four Yahoo search items are: Fantasy Baseball, The Passion of the Christ, Paris Hilton and William Hung. Yes, William "She Bangs, She Bangs" Hung. I can't even make jokes. Words fail me.

You know you wanna know...and that's why I present these...

Esther’s Oscar Comments

8:28 pm. The show’s about to start. I’ve suffered through the requisite uncomfortable red carpet chatter, with nominees too nervous to keep up the banter… Let’s just start the mainstage show, ok?

Peter Jackson, I have one word for you: Supercuts. It takes ten minutes, costs ten dollars and would do you a world of good. And when you get back, rustle up Michael Moore and Kevin Smith, and show them where to go.

Angelina Jolie…you are incredibly beautiful. And that dress was breathtaking. But I’m going to need you to cover those nipples next time. It’s all fun and Oscars until someone loses an eye.

8:50 pm. Finally, an award. Tim Robbins, thanking Susan during your win almost made her cry. Your love has lasted years longer than many thought. Maybe someday, New York state will pass a law enabling you to legally celebrate your partnership. Until that day, soldier on, kids…

My most bizarre Oscar crush…Ian McKellen. Yes, I know he’s gay. He’s still very handsome, and has a wonderful sense of humor. What does this mean about my dating life? Discuss amongst yourselves.

Sweetest/sappiest thing said at this year’s Oscars… Andrew Stanton, writer of Finding Nemo, said to his wife: “I wrote it to you in a note in 8th grade, and now I can say it in front of millions of people: I love you.” Couldn’t you just die?

I’ll admit it: During Nic Cage’s introduction of Master and Commander, I flipped over to Alien on FX and The Breakfast Club on WE. Look, at least I’m social. Demented and sad, but social. And by the way, I see Ally Sheedy on the street all the time. Shouldn't I introduce myself? I mean, she'll be wondering who I am, right?

OK, you all know how I feel about Renee Zellweger, that she gets roles (specifically Bridget Jones) that I should be getting. And then there’s her squinting and whispering. I can’t take it. I’m never seeing Cold Mountain. As soon as she and Nicole were cast, there went the chances of my buying a ticket. I recently saw a preview for Stepford Wives, and Nicole Kidman was so annoying that I nearly threw my Diet Coke at the screen.

Andrew J. Sacks, who just won for best live action short film…do I know him? He looks familiar. Did I date him? What’s important is that he beat William Zabka, the evil blonde boy in various 80s flicks (see The Karate Kid), and he didn’t even have to use the Crane kick...

Best song…My God, Alison Krauss and Sting are doing a great job on the Cold Mountain song. I might have to get the soundtrack, even though I will never see the movie because of the involvement of RZ and NK. Sting’s amazing, and Alison never ceases to amaze me with the clarity and uniqueness of her voice…and she looks beautiful. Tonight must be the night of the white, wedding-suitable dress. Renee, Angelina, Alison…Sandra Bullock took it one step further in her dress with a bottom that had tiers, just like a wedding cake…let the Vera Wang parade continue. (I don’t know that the dresses are Vera Wang, but I was just using it as a general term to mean “wedding-suitable dresses”…is that ok with you?)…..

But I do need to comment on Liv Tyler’s schoolmarm outfit. Glasses, ok. I’m all for Lisa Loebing it up once in a while. But together with the hair and outfit, she looks ridiculous, and even unattractive. I usually like her style, but this one disappoints me. And when your style disappoints me, the fashionista from Fair Lawn, you’re in trouble…And what is up with Annie Lennox’s voice? She must be under the weather, because her voice lacks the usual strength and resonance.

Note to Will and Jada: For those of us who are watching this home alone in our pajamas, be a little less in love with each other when you’re presenting. Your giddiness gives us hives. Or maybe that’s just me.

Jennifer Garner, the celebrity who I’d most like to look like. She hosted the scientific and technical awards show, also known as Oscars Isla Sorna: Site B, on February 14th. Then she remarked, in the manner of a spontaneous quip that we all knew was carefully scripted. “What better way for a girl to spend Valentine’s Day?” Um, Jen—how about spending it with Scott Foley? That’s what I’d pick, given the choice...

Jim Carrey is alternately reminding me of my college roommate Mike, who I saw this morning for brunch, and my friend Oren, who’s probably reading this from his three-month jaunt through Asia with his wife…I never noticed the resemblance before. OK, so that insight wasn’t so interesting. But it’s my blog and I’ll meander if I want to.

It’s official. With her bizarre head-bobbing intonation at the Oscar podium during the Katharine Hepburn retrospective, Julia Roberts is officially over. Her cackling trademark laugh and the way she cocks her chin back and jaw forward when she comes out with it, just irks me to no end. Was there ever a time when I found her relatable? No worries, they can seat her with Nicole and Renee, a table I won’t be clamoring to sit at.

Diane Keaton, where’d you park the time machine? I mean, let’s be real, you did go back in time to the Annie Hall era to pick up that outfit, didn’t you?

10:30 pm. I can’t believe this awards show is still going. We’re like, halfway through. Lord of the Rings still has like nine awards left to win. Maybe if I count more of the minutes, it will make it go faster.

10:30 pm. The O in Oprah. What does it stand for? O my God, she looks gorgeous. She’s the queen of all media, she’s richer than God, and she looks fabulous. Maybe someday, the state of Illinois will pass a law enabling her and her longtime steady Stedman to tie the knot and finally affirm their partnership. Here’s hoping, kids.

10:35 pm. Diane Lane and…John Cusack? Why didn’t my boyfriend tell me he was presenting with Diane Lane? Ooh, he’s getting a talking-to when he gets home.

10:45 pm. Random thought: Does anyone think Benicio del Toro sometimes looks like Brad Pitt? Just me, then? OK.

10:50 pm, a tribute to Gregory Peck. Great. Can we move on, now?

10:54 pm. Uh-oh. The death montage—John Ritter. Hume Cronyn. Gregory Hines. Weeping. At least they didn’t show that scene of Hume Cronyn and Jessica Tandy dancing together. That always gets me. They’re like Will and Jada, for the older generation.

10:58 pm. Sting and Phil Collins appear on stage together. For no good reason, I feel like this is a truce/reunion on a par with David Lee Roth and Sammy Hagar, or Hilary Duff and Lindsay Lohan. But I just need to go on record with this: Sting is so hot. I actually saw him and his wife Trudie Styler eating at Ollie’s at 83rd and Broadway. They’re a really great couple. You can tell by the way they look alike. And that they’re not too good to eat somewhere I could actually go. No VIP tables there…

11:05 pm. I want to go to sleep. Hurry up. Billy, God knows I love you, but no more unscripted quipping please. We know you’re clever. We just want to know who won Best Picture so we can all go to sleep dreaming of hobbits and evil jewelry.

11:05:30 pm. Love Eugene Levy and Catherine O’Hara, performing their “Kiss at the End of the Rainbow” duet from A Mighty Wind. Interesting trivia, that this song was co-written by Michael McKean and Annette O’Toole. Yes, Annette O’Toole. And I actually looked at the screen and said to myself “is that Annette O’Toole?” and it was! Again, not terribly interesting. But the song was great. It won’t win, but it was great! Must see that movie again soon. It’s on my Netflix list, so I’ll get to it eventually…

11:15 pm. No need for the song from The Triplets of Belleville to be performed. Really.

11:16 pm. Jack Black and Will Ferrell. Now we’re talking. The lyrics to the “you’re out of time so wrap up your rambling acceptance speech” song…ok. That was a worthwhile diversion.

11:19 pm. Finally, Annie Lennox and Eminem have something else in common besides their haircuts. Best Original Song Oscars, of course…and by the way, I’ve just decided that Annie Lennox is my pick to play Julie Andrews in her biopic.

11:22 pm. Charlize Theron has a weird first name, but a beautiful dress. And it’s official: I’m never going to go to sleep because this awards show is never going to be over. There are still like seven awards left!

11:25 pm. Uma, Jude. Together, they’d be “Juma.” Or “Ude.” I need sleep.

11:31 pm. I kind of wish Sofia Coppola were more charismatic. She really has so much vision as a director and writer that I feel like she’s got lots to say, but somehow doesn’t want to say it to the same community of actors that spurned her performance in Godfather III. But as long as she’s happy.

11:32 pm. Let the nerds once again approach the podium to receive the Precious.

11:34 pm. Poor Tobey Maguire. Your movie has no chance of winning. None. In fact, give us the gift of a few more minutes of sleep, and don’t even introduce the movie. Just walk off the stage. Now. Thank you.

11:35 pm. Susan and Tim, looking fabulous, presenting original screenplay.

11:37 pm. Go Sofia, go Sofia! She’s a third-generation Oscar winner, and has like her entire family there. That’s pretty cool. But I wonder if her genius, and the genius of the whole family is not so much inherited, but given a chance to develop because of the previous generation’s work in paving roads, making headway in an industry, and then giving the next generation the opportunities and on-set training that they need to be successful. Certainly the success of the previous generation sets the bar higher for achievement, but still...

11:40 pm. I love that Amex commercial with Martin Scorcese where he’s criticizing his photos of his nephew’s birthday party. That’s good stuff.

11:43 pm. Tom Cruise looks so cute. I love the wattage of his supergleamy smile. I often wonder what toothpaste he uses, and how he gets his five o’clock shadow so perfect. I know: teams of beauty consultants. (Note to self: investigate costs for team of beauty consultants, and if tax-deductible for freelancers.)

11:50 pm. Although I generally tend to dislike tall willowy blondes, mostly because I will never be one, I have always liked Charlize Theron. For me, her breakthrough performance was Devil’s Advocate. Haven’t seen it? Worth a rental. Her descent into madness was heartbreaking, and I knew there’d be an Oscar in her future. So watching her effervescent acceptance speech, as she was clearly overflowing with joy and love for what she does and who surrounds her, I was myself happy for her, despite her blondeness.

11:58 pm. Will we manage the last two awards before midnight? Not bloody likely!

12:02 pm. Sean Penn decks a photographer. Oops. I meant, Sean Penn marries Madonna. Another oops. Sorry, it won’t happen again. What I really meant was, Sean Penn wins Oscar. He was really amazing in this movie, which was its own kind of disturbing and difficult. But I’m glad he won. Bill Murray was amazing, though, and it would’ve been nice to see someone win for a comedy. But there’s still this feeling that comedies, and comic actors, don’t win Oscars. As much as I complain about the length of this show, in some ways, I really think that there should be separate categories for Drama and Comedy, the way there is at the Golden Globe.

12:07 pm. More nachas for Peter Jackson. A clean sweep for LOTR: ROTK, tying with Titanic and Ben-Hur for the most awards. The Academy does love itself an epic, that’s for sure. OK, wrap it up, kids.

12:15 pm. In absentia fabulous Oscar parties for me to attend, it’s time for bed. I’m donning my finest flannel and hoping my alarm will wake me in the morning. And all the while, I’ll dream of my Oscar, wherever he may be, for Best Actress in a Supporting Role in a Musical or Comedy (a category that doesn’t yet exist). Because let’s face it. I’m no leading actress. We’re talking wacky best friend roles from now until the messianic era…or perhaps, if Billy feels like sharing the stage, a hosting gig. But for now, sweet dreams, America, and may the Precious be with you.

The One Reason I'd Like to See and Review "Taking Lives" (the new Angelina Jolie movie)

I would like to see "Taking Lives" and review it for a newspaper or magazine or something, just so I could say "The most impressive task achieved by the directors of 'Taking Lives' was to get Ethan Hawke to cut his hair."

Jesus is a Little Bit Country, and a Little Bit Rock and Roll

Perusing the CMT.com website for work (don't worry, I ain't no country girl now) and found something interesting in their store. THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST, SONGS INSPIRED BY. In case you're wondering what could fall into this category, it's mostly country. And then there's "Where No One Stands Alone," by Elvis Presley. Now, this song very well may be about God, Jesus, salvation, or any host (sic) of other things. But the reality is, that--lacking a flux capacitor and a tricked-out Delorean--a song by Elvis, who has been dead lo these many years, cannot have been inspired by a movie that came out two weeks ago. Not even Mel Gibson could get that done.

Or could he?

Young Jews in Heat

So, I'm just back from the Washington 14 UJC Young Leadership Conference, which I'll be covering in several articles for the Jewish Week over the next several weeks. It was about 1800 young men and women from across the US, Israel and Canada, all between the ages of 25-45. And I have to say, I've never seen so much scoping in my life. It's like someone pumped pheromones into the air...and then added alcohol. Lots of it.

So I don't want to give away the totality of what I'm going to address in the articles I'll be writing sometime in the next few days, but I thought I'd just recap some of the things that I learned over this weekend:

* That almost no one from Orange County, California calls it "The O.C." Every time I made a joke about the show (which was really a joke about that first commercial where the kid says "Welcome to the O.C., bitch!" because I've never seen the show) it fell into an abyss, echoing on its way down, but ultimately not provoking any effect.

* Despite her first season absence from the show's writing staff, Cindy Chupack is the voice of the girls on SEX AND THE CITY. And she's not as Hollywood as you'd think--she's really a nice Jewish girl from Oklahoma.

* That I'm really not good at numbers. If my room number hadn't been 9211 (9+2=11), I'd still be wandering around the hotel, sliding my electronic key into random doorknobs and hoping for access.

* That Adam Mesh's mom, Andrea, thinks I have great skin and, after reading "Seuss in the City," proclaimed that I was "the Jewish Carrie Bradshaw."

* That even my JDate profile needed some work. Thank you, (E-Cyrano.com CEO) Evan Marc Katz!

* That not all Canadians say "eh." But most of them do.

* That you can take the boys out of the frat house, and add jobs, salaries, responsibilities and social action, but you can't take the frat house out of the boys.

* That among Pittsburgh's famous products are Steelers merchandise, Clark bars, Heinz ketchup, and guys named Richard.

I have no doubt that other life lessons will follow as I develop distance from the conference. But these were the immediate ones...just the initial share. More insights to come.

A few notes about ABC Family's "CELESTE AND THE CITY"

Sunday night, I was switching between CHARMED, which has been so AlyssaMilanocentric that they should just rename the show ALYSSA AND HER SISTERS, and ABC Family's "original romantic comedy movie."

I know it's just mining the cliches of the "smalltown girl moves to the big city to pursue career, encounters adversity and falls in love when she least expects it" genre. But I need to note for the record and to help out any similarly idealistic girls who may try to follow in Celeste's fictional footsteps: this is not a reflection of reality.

So, if you're in Bangor, Maine, as the eponymous Celeste was, and you decide to move to NYC to work at a fictional newspaper as a result of this movie, beware-- it builds unrealistic expectations.

According to the movie:
* When you move to NYC you are issued your own personal team of gay makeover consultants (including Buffy graduate Nicholas Brendon and former teen pop sensation Debbie Gibson, who for some reason looks like a man) who first insult your hair and your fashion sense, and then go all QUEER EYE on your sorry, broke, idealistic ass. You are at first, insulted, then embrace their love for couture and find the money for a high-end wardrobe, and take a stand for career and womanhood by having your frizzy hair professionally straightened and switching your glasses for contact lenses.

* You move into a rat-infested apartment above a karaoke bar where all anyone seems to sing is “Hit Me With Your Best Shot,” you have a cute, but sweet and approachable neighbor who won’t take advantage of you when you’re drunk and who can help you refurbish said rat-trap into a rent-controlled palace of ultimate fabulosity.

* Once you have said makeovers of both self and domicile, you immediately get invited to high-profile industry parties, just because you are now slim and tailored, people can now observe “the real you” and your ideas and talents can truly shine, talents that were being obscured by a meek and nerdy façade.

* At the end of the day, you’ve figured out that the accomplished magazine mogul who feigns interest in your work is really out for the nookie, and suddenly, in a life-changing epiphany, realize that the skateboarding, heterosexual interior designer who lives next door is worth a thousand scheming “Big”s put together, and that he appreciated you back in the days when you were Plain Jane you.

What have I learned? I'm overdue. My team of fabulous gay makeover consultants must be delayed in traffic. But I'm being proactive. I'm going door-to-door to see if any of my neighbors are skateboarding, heterosexual interior designers, and figure we'll start from there.

Carb Girl and the Case of the Crappy Cereal

People who know me know that I’m totally Carb Girl. My superpower is craving bread, and sometimes, cereal. It stems from growing up in my parents’ house: every week, the smell of freshly baked challah filled the air, and brand new cereals no one had ever heard of before filled our pantry. If it came in cereal form, we had it. (Unless it had marshmallows in it, because those marshmallows were a problem if you were keeping kosher.) From Cookie Crisp to Gremlins (yes, Gremlins), from Raisin Squares to Star Wars cereal, there was no breakfast box we didn’t try.

As I grew up, my taste in cereal matured, but I was always willing to try something new. Because I knew it was better for me, I switched to Kashi. The fact that one of the highlighted textures was “twigs” was a little emotionally unsettling, but ultimately manageable, because it was actually quite good. And good for me, too.

But last week, my psyche finally defeated by the now-airborne “carbs are bad” virus, I thought that maybe fewer carbs in my diet would be a good thing. Maybe I didn’t need carbs in my morning cereal—maybe taste salvation could come to me from another place. So, I bought a cereal that forever changed my intrepid cereal-trying spirit.

It looked fine on the package. It was low-carb (5g) and high-fiber (6g), and high-protein (12g). The back of the box listed what each serving of the cereal, called “Hi-Lo” for its mix of high protein/fiber and low carb content, provided. One of these items was “Contains soy isoflavones and mixed tocopherols as natural antioxidants derived from Vitamin E.” I really wasn’t sure what that meant, but I read on.

“As you well know,” the side of the box continued to address me, “not many natural cereals can pass the taste-test also.” What a weird place to put an “also.” And I firmly believed that “taste test” should not be hyphenated (I mean, no one hyphenates spelling-test). As it turns out, all this language was designed to muddle my mind, and stall my thought process. Linguistic smoke and mirrors, trying to confuse me into buying the cereal. After all, it was new and good for me…

So I did it. I bought that box of cereal, took it home, opened it, poured myself a bowl and added milk. The face I made upon tasting it cannot be described. When I chewed, the tastes and textures that came to mind included: wood chips, grit, cardboard, and those “do not eat” silica gel packets that accompany new shoes. In short, isoflavony goodness, minus the goodness.

I tried different things to make the cereal palatable. I cooked it with raisins, figuring it could be a healthier version of oatmeal. I added it to yogurt and cottage cheese, to provide both substance and additional nutrition. I even tossed it on ice cream. But it was hopeless. I threw out the rest of the box, and I think that’s the first time I’ve ever done that to cereal. So much for a low-carb lifestyle. I would get my fiber and protein elsewhere.

If eating that cereal was essential for good heart health, then bring on the myocardial infarction. The cereal’s gone away, but Carb Girl’s here to stay.

Leapin’ Lizards!!

Dinosaurs are science, right? Therefore, an EMFB (English Major From Birth) has no business loving these lumbering lizards. But there, in that alliteration, is the key. I was in love with the language of dinosaurs. All based in Latin, the names of the dinosaurs, and what those names meant, became one of my earliest mantras.

I knew they had been dangerous, back in their day, but I never had nightmares about them when I was growing up. I knew they were extinct, and therefore, they were just interesting. I loved the ones that looked just similar enough to animals I knew about that they seemed familiar the instant I saw them in books. Ankylosaurus, the “fused lizard” whose armored, spiked squat turtlish frame was accented by a strong, clublike tail that could be employed to fend off aggressors…Triceratops, “three-horned face,” whose horns its contemporary cousin, the rhinoceros, would surely have envied…Velociraptor, a “speedy thief” cousin of the “tyrant lizard king” Tyrannosaurus Rex.

I also loved the dino design quirks: Giant bodies, tiny brains. Avian and reptilian, sometimes at the same time. Big dangerous T-rex with menacing teeth…tiny little hands. There was something inherently comedic about these beasts, trying to co-exist peacefully, or more accurately, trying to live another day without becoming part of someone else's dinner.

Over the millennia of their domain, there were five mass extinctions. And after each extinction, new species of dinos arose. Dinos 2.0. Then 3.0…There are some who maintain that, had the dinosaurs not been obliterated by one or several major geologic events (some conjectured causes include comets, asteroids, supernovas, volcanic activity, and an extreme greenhouse effect), we might be living with these thunder lizards, side by side, today.

In fact, this summarizes the plot of a new two-hour movie called Anonymous Rex, which could become an ongoing series, coming from SciFi. From the entertainment newsletter Cynopsis.com (and I quote):

Sci Fi Channel has cast Daniel Baldwin and Sam Trammel in a two-hour original movie (also to be used as a pilot) called Anonymous Rex. The story is based on Eric Garcia's futurist mystery novels Casual Rex wherein dinosaurs evolve into human sized creatures and roam the Earth disguised as humans. Anonymous Rex focuses on two dinosaur/human partners who are high tech private eyes. Production is set to begin later on this month in Toronto.

While conceptually not all that different from the 1980s alien paranoia shows V or Alien Nation (I forget which one had the cops in it), there’s something baffling about this premise. And what’s most impossible to understand is how any Hollywood exec saw fit to pitch and greenlight this project. The exec was either a) high, or b) someone who was so new to the business that she trusted her advisors and didn’t really want to get bogged down in the implementation.

In an assumption that it was more b) than a), here’s a re-enactment of a conversation that never happened between me as the head of SciFi Channel, being pitched and my creative execs:

CURTAIN RISES ON AN OFFICE IN HOLLYWOOD. IT’S A DECENT SIZE OFFICE, BUT THE WINDOWS PROVIDE NO VIEW EXCEPT A SEA OF SUVs IN THE PARKING LOT. AT THE MEETING ARE THREE PEOPLE IN BUSINESS ATTIRE. ESTHER, THE ATTRACTIVE AND POWERFUL, YET QUIRKY AND HILARIOUS STUDIO CHIEF, SITS BEHIND THE DESK. AT HER RIGHT, CHARLIE THE P.A. SITS WITH A STENO PAD, AND TAKES NOTES FURIOUSLY THROUGHOUT THE PROCEEDINGS. THE RINGING PHONES PROVIDE A CONSTANT, BACKGROUND MURMUR. THE EXECS, JIM AND MAGGIE, ARE PREPARED FOR THEIR PITCH, BUT KNOW THAT THEIRS IS A HARD SELL, SO THEY ATTEMPT TO COUNTER THE DIFFICULTY WITH ENTHUSIASM.

Jim: So, the film is called Anonymous Rex, and the plot is that T-Rexes never died out…in fact, they live among us.
Esther: Umm, wouldn’t I have noticed? It would explain a lot of the blind dates I’ve been on, but still…
Maggie: Oh, but you see, that’s the beauty of it! They’re masquerading as humans.
Esther: Oh. Okay. Wait—what?
Maggie: Yes, it’s kind of like Mulder’s theory about the aliens, that they’re here and waiting to take over the planet, except instead of aliens, they’re refugees from Jurassic Park.
Esther: Interesting. And by interesting, I mean crazy.
Jim: Not so much crazy as visionary…it’s a what-if scenario.
Esther: What if you leave my office and come back when you’ve got a decent idea for a television show? [laughs as others are disoriented] I’m kidding, of course. But I still don’t get it—our audience is already nerdier than any other network’s, and this show premise doesn’t even make any sense!
Jim: Our studio needs to take a chance. As the most recent in a long line of studio chiefs, you need to take a chance, and show some vision. Take a chance!
Esther: Thanks for the ABBA song in my head, Jim.
Maggie: [ignoring her and continuing the pitch] Most scientists agree that there were at least five mass extinctions of the dinosaurs, caused by catastrophic natural events like a meteor shower, an ice age, something. But what if those events had never occurred? There’s every reason to believe that dinos would have adapted to their changing environments. Just as the primordial ooze evolved over thousands of years into the life forms that would become known as dinosaurs, dinosaurs would have evolved in size, temperament and intelligence.
Esther: So you’re saying that if they had but time, velociraptors would have become stockbrokers, apatosaurs would study for their MBAs and T-Rexes would have become lawyers?
Jim: Private eyes.
Esther: Dammit, Jim—ABBA wasn’t bad enough? You had to give me Hall and Oates now? What the hell do you mean, private eyes?
Execs: The T-Rexes are private eyes.
Esther: Oh god. Why?
Execs: What do you mean, why?
Esther: T-Rexes are private eyes. Meaning like if a guy thinks his wife is cheating on him, he calls a T-Rex? Wait, that actually makes sense. I’d imagine a T-Rex would be very persuasive, what with all the teeth.
Jim & Maggie: [muttering] well, yes—
Esther: But they’re not the most subtle of beasts. Nor are they terribly stealthy, I might add. If I were having my husband followed, I’d want something slyer, something that could outwit him…would sneak up on him, pounce [she makes everyone jump] and eviscerate him…yeah…like… a raptor.
Execs: [silent. They’re a little scared now.]
Esther: But that’s only if I were having my husband followed. [beat] Which of course I’m not. [beat] Really, I’m not. [beat] But you see my point!
Maggie: [looks at Jim questioningly, he nods, she responds]: Ummm. Yes.
Esther: [looking at her memo on the subject] So you’ve cast Daniel Baldwin? Which Baldwin is he? The one from The Usual Suspects? Or from that horrendous Cindy Crawford movie?
P.A.: Fair Game.
Esther: Ooh, Fair Game. That was the hot Baldwin…
Maggie: Actually, Usual Suspects was Stephen and Fair Game was Billy. Daniel wasn’t in either of those movies.
Esther: There’s another Baldwin brother? Is there an infinite supply of Baldwins being manufactured in a Taiwanese factory? Or maybe they’re Mogwai, and someone got them wet and fed them after midnight…
Jim: Umm, maybe…
Esther: Stop humoring me. [turns to laptop and types in imdb.com. screen pops up, she types “Daniel Baldwin” and waits. A screen pops up, she reads it to herself and says:] Oh, he’s the puffy one. I must have missed his star-making turn as “Vet #1 at the Democratic Convention” in Born on the Fourth of July. Oh, Homicide. I think I saw that once. Or was it Murder One? I can’t remember anything before Law & Order took over. Crap. OK, Daniel Baldwin, got it, moving on. I have some questions.
Maggie: Shoot.
Esther: I’m still not clear—what does a T-Rex do in Los Angeles?
Maggie: Well, he opens a detective agency with his friend, played by the incomparable Sam Trammell.
Esther: [turns to computer, checks IMDB again] You’re kidding, right? There’s nothing on his resume that I’ve ever heard of.
Jim: You’ll have to trust us. He’s really good. My father-in-law saw him do Willy Loman in dinner theater in Miami.
Esther: [rolls eyes] I think my dentist has played Willy Loman in dinner theater in Miami.
Maggie: [beat] Well, we’ve got him, he’s signed on and we’ve already begun pre-production in Prague.
Esther: Prague. Why pick Prague for pre-production, other than the boundless joy of alliteration?
Jim: Well, it’s much cheaper than trying to film near the Staples Center, which is where the detective agency is located.
Esther: Oh. So instead of Los Angeles, we’re going to film in Eastern Europe. This makes sense.
Jim: Actually, I checked with accounting and it’s much more cost-effective. With the money we save we’ll actually be able to bribe Nielsen families to watch it!
Esther: That’s the first piece of good news I’ve heard about this project. But Charlie, do me a favor…check into Canada as an alternate location. My great grandparents barely escaped from Prague. I’m not shlepping all the way back there to film a drama about Jurassic P.I.s unless I absolutely have to…
Charlie: [makes notes] Check into Canada. Got it.
Esther: Does he have a wife? Is that role cast yet?
Maggie: Well, now that Sex and the City is over, we’ve called Kim Catrall’s agent. We figure if anyone can take on a T-Rex, it’s the former Samantha Jones.
Esther: You should have consulted with me first. I would have advised going for Sharon Stone. She’d give a T-Rex a run for its money. But I guess that’s done, too.
Maggie: Yeah. Look, trust me on the casting. Kim’s right for the part. After her roles in Porky’s and Star Trek 2—
Esther: --you’re right, Maggie. She’s got a built-in fan base among our nerd demographic.
Jim [uncomfortable]: Ok, so let’s move on. How are you on the plot?
Esther: Oh, you mean “dinosaurs are alive, have evolved into humanoid form and are working as private investigators in Los ‘Doesn’t this look like Poland’ Angeles?
Execs: [nodding]
Esther: [beat] sounds good to me. Just one thing: Are there enough thespian T-Rexes on either coast to make this work? And will they work for scale?
Jim: We’re working on that now.
Esther: I’ll bet. And find out what kind of cars they drive. I don’t want a bunch of Hummers in our lot. We had enough trouble the last time the Governator was here. I’ve got an idea: Contact Prius. Once we have those gas/electric hybrids zooming around Canada—
Charlie: [cuts her off, reminding her]: Or Prague…
Esther: Or Prague [glares at Charlie], we’ll have the attention of Cameron, Leo and Sting… our pitch could be: “why drive a dinosaur?”
Charlie: [taking notes furiously] Cameron…Sting…dinosaur. Got it.
Esther: Is there anything else?
Jim: We just need your signature on this.
Esther: What is it?
Maggie: It absolves us of any responsibility for the failure— [Jim smacks her in the arm] — or success of this show.
Esther: I’ve never had to sign anything like this before…
Jim: Think of it as your “Jerry Maguire” treatise, that you’re tired of studio execs not taking risks and that—to hell with that!—you’re taking a chance on something a little off-center. SciFi’s fans will thank you for it.
Esther: They ought to thank me! For approving groundbreaking programming like this…
Maggie: That’s right—you’re the visionary…a hero for women everywhere…
Esther: Yeah! Cool. [beat as she looks around]. Anyone want to get high?
[EVERYONE ELSE NODS, PUTS THEIR PAPERS AWAY AND GOES TO CLOSE THE SHADES. THEY LIGHT UP A DOOBIE AND PASS IT AROUND, EVERYONE TAKES A HIT. ESTHER’S THE LAST TO DRAG. AS SHE EXHALES…]
Esther: Hey, wasn’t Jerry Maguire fired?

BLACKOUT

A Question for the Ages

Is a bicycle considered a vehicle or a pedestrian?

The reason I ask is that I've almost been killed by food delivery corpsmembers twice this week so far, and it's only Monday. One would think that if it's a vehicle, it belongs on the road with the other vehicles. If a bicycle is a pedestrian, then it should...umm..NOT HAVE WHEELS!! And should NOT DRIVE ON THE SIDEWALK!!

Why should they be able to go 25 mph when I can only go 3 mph? As far as I'm concerned, when bikers (because let's face it, cyclists they're not) drive on the sidewalk, they're a menace to society.

Maybe it's time to go back to my old idea about having lanes on the sidewalk. The high occupancy lane would be for commuters and messengers, while two regular lanes would be provided for pedestrians. This would be a boon to heavily trafficked areas like Times Square, Fifth Avenue and Madison Avenue, where tourists gawking ("my Gawd, these buildings are soooo huge!! They actually scray-yape the ska-yiy!") ensures that running out for a sandwich takes a half an hour, even if you're just going to the corner deli. But it would also help bike delivery people understand that they're not superior just because they've got wheels.

Wheels don't make you a better person. You're still beholden to the laws of mankind. Thou shalt not kill? Yep, still a commandment, even for those on a bike. That's my peace on the subject. If you ever can't get in touch with me for a few days, the remnants of me will probably be mashed into the treads on a delivery bike. So look for me there before you send my photo to the milk carton people.

On Music in the Movies

Last week I submitted a letter to the New York Times in response to an Arts & Leisure article they ran about the movie musical. They didn't print it, but here it is for anyone's interest...

To the Editor:

By incorporating music, television is building the
bridges that will help American audiences to better
transition to movie musicals (Rebecca Traister,
“Waiting for the Razzle-Dazzle,” February 29).

While 1990’s prescient-but-doomed COP ROCK
floundered because of its premise (singing cops),
characters on ALLY MCBEAL (1997-2002) regularly broke
into fantasy song and dance numbers to audience
delight and critical praise. In 2001’s groundbreaking
musical episode of BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER (“Once
More With Feeling”) the sudden songs worked, not only
because of the established conceit—a demon brought on
the song and dance—but because of series creator Joss
Whedon, whose creative, brilliant songs had audiences
believing that when things get too intense, emotions
will break through using the combined power of music
and words.

Shows like these, which incorporate the whimsy,
humor and emotion of music, leave viewers craving
more, even hoping for COP ROCK 2004: RESURRECTION.

Why Our Society is Doomed (Part One of a Continuing Series)

Because the top four Yahoo search items are: Fantasy Baseball, The Passion of the Christ, Paris Hilton and William Hung. Yes, William "She Bangs, She Bangs" Hung. I can't even make jokes. Words fail me.

You know you wanna know...and that's why I present these...

Esther’s Oscar Comments

8:28 pm. The show’s about to start. I’ve suffered through the requisite uncomfortable red carpet chatter, with nominees too nervous to keep up the banter… Let’s just start the mainstage show, ok?

Peter Jackson, I have one word for you: Supercuts. It takes ten minutes, costs ten dollars and would do you a world of good. And when you get back, rustle up Michael Moore and Kevin Smith, and show them where to go.

Angelina Jolie…you are incredibly beautiful. And that dress was breathtaking. But I’m going to need you to cover those nipples next time. It’s all fun and Oscars until someone loses an eye.

8:50 pm. Finally, an award. Tim Robbins, thanking Susan during your win almost made her cry. Your love has lasted years longer than many thought. Maybe someday, New York state will pass a law enabling you to legally celebrate your partnership. Until that day, soldier on, kids…

My most bizarre Oscar crush…Ian McKellen. Yes, I know he’s gay. He’s still very handsome, and has a wonderful sense of humor. What does this mean about my dating life? Discuss amongst yourselves.

Sweetest/sappiest thing said at this year’s Oscars… Andrew Stanton, writer of Finding Nemo, said to his wife: “I wrote it to you in a note in 8th grade, and now I can say it in front of millions of people: I love you.” Couldn’t you just die?

I’ll admit it: During Nic Cage’s introduction of Master and Commander, I flipped over to Alien on FX and The Breakfast Club on WE. Look, at least I’m social. Demented and sad, but social. And by the way, I see Ally Sheedy on the street all the time. Shouldn't I introduce myself? I mean, she'll be wondering who I am, right?

OK, you all know how I feel about Renee Zellweger, that she gets roles (specifically Bridget Jones) that I should be getting. And then there’s her squinting and whispering. I can’t take it. I’m never seeing Cold Mountain. As soon as she and Nicole were cast, there went the chances of my buying a ticket. I recently saw a preview for Stepford Wives, and Nicole Kidman was so annoying that I nearly threw my Diet Coke at the screen.

Andrew J. Sacks, who just won for best live action short film…do I know him? He looks familiar. Did I date him? What’s important is that he beat William Zabka, the evil blonde boy in various 80s flicks (see The Karate Kid), and he didn’t even have to use the Crane kick...

Best song…My God, Alison Krauss and Sting are doing a great job on the Cold Mountain song. I might have to get the soundtrack, even though I will never see the movie because of the involvement of RZ and NK. Sting’s amazing, and Alison never ceases to amaze me with the clarity and uniqueness of her voice…and she looks beautiful. Tonight must be the night of the white, wedding-suitable dress. Renee, Angelina, Alison…Sandra Bullock took it one step further in her dress with a bottom that had tiers, just like a wedding cake…let the Vera Wang parade continue. (I don’t know that the dresses are Vera Wang, but I was just using it as a general term to mean “wedding-suitable dresses”…is that ok with you?)…..

But I do need to comment on Liv Tyler’s schoolmarm outfit. Glasses, ok. I’m all for Lisa Loebing it up once in a while. But together with the hair and outfit, she looks ridiculous, and even unattractive. I usually like her style, but this one disappoints me. And when your style disappoints me, the fashionista from Fair Lawn, you’re in trouble…And what is up with Annie Lennox’s voice? She must be under the weather, because her voice lacks the usual strength and resonance.

Note to Will and Jada: For those of us who are watching this home alone in our pajamas, be a little less in love with each other when you’re presenting. Your giddiness gives us hives. Or maybe that’s just me.

Jennifer Garner, the celebrity who I’d most like to look like. She hosted the scientific and technical awards show, also known as Oscars Isla Sorna: Site B, on February 14th. Then she remarked, in the manner of a spontaneous quip that we all knew was carefully scripted. “What better way for a girl to spend Valentine’s Day?” Um, Jen—how about spending it with Scott Foley? That’s what I’d pick, given the choice...

Jim Carrey is alternately reminding me of my college roommate Mike, who I saw this morning for brunch, and my friend Oren, who’s probably reading this from his three-month jaunt through Asia with his wife…I never noticed the resemblance before. OK, so that insight wasn’t so interesting. But it’s my blog and I’ll meander if I want to.

It’s official. With her bizarre head-bobbing intonation at the Oscar podium during the Katharine Hepburn retrospective, Julia Roberts is officially over. Her cackling trademark laugh and the way she cocks her chin back and jaw forward when she comes out with it, just irks me to no end. Was there ever a time when I found her relatable? No worries, they can seat her with Nicole and Renee, a table I won’t be clamoring to sit at.

Diane Keaton, where’d you park the time machine? I mean, let’s be real, you did go back in time to the Annie Hall era to pick up that outfit, didn’t you?

10:30 pm. I can’t believe this awards show is still going. We’re like, halfway through. Lord of the Rings still has like nine awards left to win. Maybe if I count more of the minutes, it will make it go faster.

10:30 pm. The O in Oprah. What does it stand for? O my God, she looks gorgeous. She’s the queen of all media, she’s richer than God, and she looks fabulous. Maybe someday, the state of Illinois will pass a law enabling her and her longtime steady Stedman to tie the knot and finally affirm their partnership. Here’s hoping, kids.

10:35 pm. Diane Lane and…John Cusack? Why didn’t my boyfriend tell me he was presenting with Diane Lane? Ooh, he’s getting a talking-to when he gets home.

10:45 pm. Random thought: Does anyone think Benicio del Toro sometimes looks like Brad Pitt? Just me, then? OK.

10:50 pm, a tribute to Gregory Peck. Great. Can we move on, now?

10:54 pm. Uh-oh. The death montage—John Ritter. Hume Cronyn. Gregory Hines. Weeping. At least they didn’t show that scene of Hume Cronyn and Jessica Tandy dancing together. That always gets me. They’re like Will and Jada, for the older generation.

10:58 pm. Sting and Phil Collins appear on stage together. For no good reason, I feel like this is a truce/reunion on a par with David Lee Roth and Sammy Hagar, or Hilary Duff and Lindsay Lohan. But I just need to go on record with this: Sting is so hot. I actually saw him and his wife Trudie Styler eating at Ollie’s at 83rd and Broadway. They’re a really great couple. You can tell by the way they look alike. And that they’re not too good to eat somewhere I could actually go. No VIP tables there…

11:05 pm. I want to go to sleep. Hurry up. Billy, God knows I love you, but no more unscripted quipping please. We know you’re clever. We just want to know who won Best Picture so we can all go to sleep dreaming of hobbits and evil jewelry.

11:05:30 pm. Love Eugene Levy and Catherine O’Hara, performing their “Kiss at the End of the Rainbow” duet from A Mighty Wind. Interesting trivia, that this song was co-written by Michael McKean and Annette O’Toole. Yes, Annette O’Toole. And I actually looked at the screen and said to myself “is that Annette O’Toole?” and it was! Again, not terribly interesting. But the song was great. It won’t win, but it was great! Must see that movie again soon. It’s on my Netflix list, so I’ll get to it eventually…

11:15 pm. No need for the song from The Triplets of Belleville to be performed. Really.

11:16 pm. Jack Black and Will Ferrell. Now we’re talking. The lyrics to the “you’re out of time so wrap up your rambling acceptance speech” song…ok. That was a worthwhile diversion.

11:19 pm. Finally, Annie Lennox and Eminem have something else in common besides their haircuts. Best Original Song Oscars, of course…and by the way, I’ve just decided that Annie Lennox is my pick to play Julie Andrews in her biopic.

11:22 pm. Charlize Theron has a weird first name, but a beautiful dress. And it’s official: I’m never going to go to sleep because this awards show is never going to be over. There are still like seven awards left!

11:25 pm. Uma, Jude. Together, they’d be “Juma.” Or “Ude.” I need sleep.

11:31 pm. I kind of wish Sofia Coppola were more charismatic. She really has so much vision as a director and writer that I feel like she’s got lots to say, but somehow doesn’t want to say it to the same community of actors that spurned her performance in Godfather III. But as long as she’s happy.

11:32 pm. Let the nerds once again approach the podium to receive the Precious.

11:34 pm. Poor Tobey Maguire. Your movie has no chance of winning. None. In fact, give us the gift of a few more minutes of sleep, and don’t even introduce the movie. Just walk off the stage. Now. Thank you.

11:35 pm. Susan and Tim, looking fabulous, presenting original screenplay.

11:37 pm. Go Sofia, go Sofia! She’s a third-generation Oscar winner, and has like her entire family there. That’s pretty cool. But I wonder if her genius, and the genius of the whole family is not so much inherited, but given a chance to develop because of the previous generation’s work in paving roads, making headway in an industry, and then giving the next generation the opportunities and on-set training that they need to be successful. Certainly the success of the previous generation sets the bar higher for achievement, but still...

11:40 pm. I love that Amex commercial with Martin Scorcese where he’s criticizing his photos of his nephew’s birthday party. That’s good stuff.

11:43 pm. Tom Cruise looks so cute. I love the wattage of his supergleamy smile. I often wonder what toothpaste he uses, and how he gets his five o’clock shadow so perfect. I know: teams of beauty consultants. (Note to self: investigate costs for team of beauty consultants, and if tax-deductible for freelancers.)

11:50 pm. Although I generally tend to dislike tall willowy blondes, mostly because I will never be one, I have always liked Charlize Theron. For me, her breakthrough performance was Devil’s Advocate. Haven’t seen it? Worth a rental. Her descent into madness was heartbreaking, and I knew there’d be an Oscar in her future. So watching her effervescent acceptance speech, as she was clearly overflowing with joy and love for what she does and who surrounds her, I was myself happy for her, despite her blondeness.

11:58 pm. Will we manage the last two awards before midnight? Not bloody likely!

12:02 pm. Sean Penn decks a photographer. Oops. I meant, Sean Penn marries Madonna. Another oops. Sorry, it won’t happen again. What I really meant was, Sean Penn wins Oscar. He was really amazing in this movie, which was its own kind of disturbing and difficult. But I’m glad he won. Bill Murray was amazing, though, and it would’ve been nice to see someone win for a comedy. But there’s still this feeling that comedies, and comic actors, don’t win Oscars. As much as I complain about the length of this show, in some ways, I really think that there should be separate categories for Drama and Comedy, the way there is at the Golden Globe.

12:07 pm. More nachas for Peter Jackson. A clean sweep for LOTR: ROTK, tying with Titanic and Ben-Hur for the most awards. The Academy does love itself an epic, that’s for sure. OK, wrap it up, kids.

12:15 pm. In absentia fabulous Oscar parties for me to attend, it’s time for bed. I’m donning my finest flannel and hoping my alarm will wake me in the morning. And all the while, I’ll dream of my Oscar, wherever he may be, for Best Actress in a Supporting Role in a Musical or Comedy (a category that doesn’t yet exist). Because let’s face it. I’m no leading actress. We’re talking wacky best friend roles from now until the messianic era…or perhaps, if Billy feels like sharing the stage, a hosting gig. But for now, sweet dreams, America, and may the Precious be with you.