Eva Mendes was recently on a press junket promoting the the film Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans with Nicholas Cage. Get a load of this. And I quote:
I’m not looking to be a—very dirty word—“celebrity” or “movie star.” Dirty words, again. I’m an actor. I go to acting class. I study my craft. (Emphasis hers.)
What an idiot. Listen, you insufferable bore. You’re not playing Ophelia. Just hit your mark and remember your lines. And forget acting class. You either have it or you don’t. Ms. Mendes can be seeing honing her craft in Children of the Corn V: Fields of Terror and Urban Legends: Final Cut.
It’s the holidays and once again the airwaves are flooded with commercials that implore you to give a BMW as a gift. It’s always the same. Hubby leads wife out to the driveway with his hands over her eyes, he uncovers her eyes and there’s a shiny new BMW with a huge red ribbon sitting perfectly on the roof. This is an other-worldly proposition to me. Who gives a brand new BMW for Christmas!? Or gets one!? Have you ever? No one in my world.
I love the mess that Tiger Woods is in. I can assure you that the cut on his mouth isn’t from that 3 mph car crash into a tree. It’s from that golf club his wife was swinging.
He marries a stunning Nordic Princess. A perfect physical specimen. And here he is years later tom catting around Vegas with a casino hostess. Christie Brinkley is as beautiful as they come and she has had five men marry and leave her. Proof positive: you had better have some substance if you want to hold onto your spouse. That goes for both men and women. Charles Bukowski has a great poem about how you should beware a woman if all she’s ever been in life is beautiful.
Back in 1998, Cher had a big hit with Believe. In it, she used Antare’s Auto-tune software to modulate her voice. It was a fun gimmick that had not been used before. Today, people with marginal vocal skills use it as a crutch. It’s almost 2010 and just about all of the top five songs on the Billboard pop charts use this. Enough is enough. If you use Auto-tune software, your song sucks and you suck.
Do you know who else sucks? Rappers who hire women who can actually sing to do all the heavy lifting while they mumble a few lines and then repeat “yea, yea, yea” while the meat of the song is being performed. You guys are talentless suckasses, too.
whoah! who got out of bed on the wrong side today then?;-)
I like Eva Mendes … if only because she is one of the few actors out there that looks like me. Seriously there are v few actors of colour that could be used as role models. SDo you know the name of Charles Bukowski’s poem?
My first laugh of the day!(It’s funny ‘cos it’s true!)Thank you!:¬)WV = cychimp!
God, I loved this rant.Loved and agreed with every bit of it.
Nurse: I don’t do rants very often because they sound like whining but they *are* fun.Sid: Will look it up and get back to you.Map: No charge. This time.Leah: I never read this sort of nonsense over at your place. You’re a class act.
A bad day for Unbearable Banishment is a good day for his bloggy friends!
it’s ok. the world is full of funny, crazy shit. everywhere you look.who needs reality tv? just pop over to my office for 30 minutes. all the comedy you’ll ever need.
That’s only ’cause I can’t pull it off with this sort of aplomb.
Hoooohoooo. I love this post. Makes me smile!
a friend of mine bought his wife a volvo 760 as a surprise. didn’t have it at home, but at the dealership… about a year before he divorced her. i’d wanna pick out my own ride, so if someone buys me a car? he better damn well know what i want.who am i kidding. i’d take it…
Cat: Hope I don’t scare away the few readers I have with my rants.Point: Many thanks for the invitation but I have my own crazy office shit to deal with. Leah: You couldn’t do it if you tried. Your problem is that you’re too kind and psychologically well-balance. Elle: Oddly enough, when I finished writing it, I was smiling, too!Daisy: Did he know the divorce was coming? Was he trying to assuage his own guilty feelings?
i have no patience, either, for ‘singers’ who have to electronically alter their voices to actually hit the notes they’re supposed to be singing. if you listen to me sing, you’ll know it’s all me, warty notes and all.
I would like a copy of that Bukowski poem if you have it.