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Posts from — July 2006

Not a Croc

I remember my first spotting. A neighbourhood chicita making her merry way down my street. Nothing out of the ordinary…until I noticed her shoes. Garish neon pink, holes on the top, kinda cloggy, completely hideous. I chalked it up to a one-off fashion crime, never dreaming that what I saw was one of zillions…..

Crocs. They’re here, they’re HIDEOUS, get used to it.

And then a funny thing happened. Amid all the hoopla, I did. Get used to ’em, that is. And then an even funnier thing happened. Funny-strange, not funny-haha. I became a little intrigued.

The thing is, I am and always have been a clog girl. My faves were my old brown ultrasuede ones with the raffia band over the top. Fabulous. I had black suede ones too. Showed dust something awful. And of course who can forget the true classic: treetorn clogs. Come on people, you know the ones: navy or white leather…A sleepover camp staple if there ever was one. Until they were banned. ‘Cuz all the girlies (and some boys) were tripping over their feet and spraining their ankles. But still, dragging your heels, clip-clopping along in your clogs…nothing beat it.

Until now. The clog, in the form of the almighty croc, is back. And, tho’ I hate to admit it, I’ve kinda jumped on the bandwagon…

WAIT!!! It’s not like I’m wearing them – puh-lease. They’re revolting. But at least now I get it. Sorta. You see last week family friends came to visit us at the cottage. I hadn’t seen them in years. And there they all were: Mama Croc, Papa Croc and two little Baby Crocs. The only one NOT in the damn shoes was the baby. And he might’ve been had they come in smaller sizes. After many furtive glances at the family’s feet I had to ask: Why? They rsvp’d with the usual litany of praise – they’re so light, so comfy, so cheap.

So what? They’re ugly!

But then I watched the ease with which Mama Croc got her babes to put their shoes on. Saw the pleasure Papa Croc got from whipping ’em off to jump on the trampoline. My man thought maybe he’d like a pair and I realized:there really was no escape.They’re here to stay.

And if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.

After hitting the streets to track down a couple of pairs – one for the Boy, one for the Man, I realized not only were they hot – they were sold out. Everywhere. DEVASTATION! And now I’m desperate. And have hit the world wibe web to track down any non-beige ones. No, no, not for me. Why would I subject my size 9’s to such fashion agony? It’s not winter. For me, the quick-fix-all-purpose-summer-shoes have been around forever. They’re called flip flops.

But I reasure myself that I mst be the perfect wife and mother. Not only letting my boys be seen in such fashion fiascos. But encouraging it.

Hey, it’s not like I’ll ever be caught dead in a pair. Not yet anyway….


jojo said…

Well, I’m laughing out loud as I read! You know who just received a pair for his 71st birthday and is extatic!
Is walking around the house in them even with his suit on…yuk! Loves the feel…. not to mention that all the grandchildren wear them in & out of the water…. and back in the house!!!! By the way, they stink! They are rubber! The holes are suppose to take care of that but, I don’t think so!!!!
Keep looking for them! Costco has them in all colours!
BUT, not “crocs”……. a knock off of course!
Keep writing; you make me smile…. & laugh.

9:44 AM

jojo said…

Well, I’m laughing out loud as I read! You know who just received a pair for his 71st birthday and is extatic!
Is walking around the house in them even with his suit on…yuk! Loves the feel…. not to mention that all the grandchildren wear them in & out of the water…. and back in the house!!!! By the way, they stink! They are rubber! The holes are suppose to take care of that but, I don’t think so!!!!
Keep looking for them! Costco has them in all colours!
BUT, not “crocs”……. a knock off of course!
Keep writing; you make me smile…. & laugh.

9:44 AM

Anonymous said…

Thanks Jojo for finally telling me what I always knew – they stink!!! There is no way someone with testosterone in their body and feet could have a pair of this shundah footwear without them smelling!! My kids sandlas stink – there is no way a full coverage rubber nightmare won’t! I will resist the masses and say no, I will not go gently into that croc night.

1:13 PM

Anonymous said…

You can get any colour any size at the shoe store on bathurst at melrose, in plaza that has Dani’s hair salon. that’s were I got my babes a pair. none for me though.

2:23 PM

Anonymous said…

Crocs are actually designed NOT to stink- you may want to shell out the extra buck and buy the real ones….and wash once and a while

6:00 PM

jojo said…

JoJo again…… for the last person on your list of comments!

My 71 year old honey does have the “THE CROCS”,
the real ones. They really do smell and I know it is not his feet….. they never smell!!!
The knock off ones are at costco!

6:05 PM

Anonymous said…

Croc pot: These things are ubiquitous, horrendous, and the hit of the summer. Can you imagine the fence at the swim docks when the kids check in– the tens of crocs and the confusion when swim is over. Label ’em up with a magic sharpie– otherwise, your kids is gonna be wearing someone else’s crocs when they leave the docks. A pox!

8:45 AM

Messy Mom said…

LMAO! They are EVERYWHERE here. The “real” crocs, the fake ones, etc. My 7 yr old daughter wants them really badly, but I just keep telling her no. I don’t care if everyone else is wearing them, they are u-g-l-y. When I see them in the stores and see everyone wearing them, I just keep thinking of all the other fashion crazes that I have seen in my almost 40 years on this earth. I actually start to laugh at the multicolored rows of this things. Aren’t they supposed to be GARDENING shoes? I just can’t bring myself to look at those “shoes” and laugh and just say no! I am glad to see that I am not the only one that finds these things amusing.

8:20 PM

Anonymous said…

Incredible…..How many people left comments regarding “ugly shoes”????? Fake??? Real??? Who are we trying to impress??? Garden shoes, wear everywhere shoes??? Is this must have trend exclusive only to the 416,905 area??? Is is worth the hunt??? Threr have been many ugly shoes that have made there mark. What color will you be wearing???


July 27, 2006   No Comments


We’ll Always Have Paris. Or Whoever…

And then there were four.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Wake me when it’s over.

Is it just me, or is American Idol’s result show getting more boring? Last week, as y’all know, I missed it due to technical difficulties. Turns out I was even luckier than I thought, ‘cuz last night was a yawn-fest. A bore. A drag. It was American Midol – a real pain, may cause drowsiness.

I’ll admit it: I find the faux-mercial amusing. I do. But the group-hug gospel song? Ernie Earnesto, you’ve gone too far! I’d much prefer aging rockers and middle aged balladeers any day of the week. OK, not any day, but for sure on Wednesdays.

My theory goes something like this: when the duds get dumped, the show gets dull. Think about it. We tune in to make sure the good ones don’t get away. Without at least one lame-o to root against, the show’s a snooze. Remember the “3 divas” from two seasons ago? Each one more spectacular than the next? Two get booted and the country’s in an uproar. The third and most talented is left with a redheaded crooner from hell, a sap with a flower in her hair and a couple of forgettables. “Racists!” charged Sir Elton. “Loser American voters” said I. We sat at the edge of our seats as the competition got too close for comfort. Vindication and relief came when Fantasia won.

Last year, it was the opposite – one talent amid a sea of mediocrity. But it still made for good TV. That is until Constantine got ousted and, horror of horrors, we were stuck with a little bit country and a little bit rock ‘n roll. And Fat Felon Scott. Suddenly the show, well, sucked. Without Connie making love to the camera, there was no one left to root for. Sure, we still had Simon Says, but mostly we tuned in because we’d already committed. More might-see than must-see TV.

This year is a little different in that the remaining contestants are all good. And that’s what’s making the show, well, less good. There’s no one left to really hate – so no outrage when a lesser talent wins out. The anti-idol website votefortheworst.com is now backing Taylor. Yeah, I checked. I actually like the Silver Fox. Sure, he’s a bit of a dad, maybe George Clooney’s dad, but his Ray Charles-isms and chunky dancing crack me up. If he beats out a more talented Chris, who cares?

Ditto Elliott the underdog. He’s always had my vote, though I’m kinda surprised he’s still kicking around. Call it the pity vote. Despite that Stevie Wondery voice of his, he’s far more radio than TV. Growing his hair has helped, but he’s got a ways to go. I even discussed it with my oral hygienist and she agreed: the guy’s a dental surgeon’s wet dream. Now that he’s famous now, the dream’ll come true. (American Dental anyone?)

I’m betting on Rockin’ Chris and Pipes McPheever for the final two. Sure, her Sally Field “you really like me” smile is getting tired, and he’s as serious as a heart attack, but they’re young, hot and talented. No outrage, scandals, or secret criminal pasts. Just clean family fun.

And the talk round the water cooler? It won’t be about American Idol. All we’ll be left with is one burning question: when is Nip/Tuck coming back? Now that’s entertainment worth talking about!


Anonymous said…

they are getting better everyday.. what a writer. keep it up

10:29 PM

megan said…

I say off with Taylor. At first I was interested and amused but now I’m just irritated. I agree with Simon – drunk dad dancing at a wedding. It’s starting to be a bit cringey (sometimes I have to avert my eyes when he’s performing) and his voice seems to be getting more mediocre by the week. And although I think Paris has a great voice and the most potential (her Billy Holiday is top notch) she was starting to lame out a bit too. I’m sad to think that Elliott is the next to go but I think it’s true. At first I liked him because he was the underdog but now I just like him. Despite his dental challenges, he’s so likeable and he’s got a great voice.

To be honest, although I agree they’re all generally “good”, the reason I’m getting bored is because they’re all starting to kind of suck on a regular basis. Other than his Bryan Adams ballad, for all intents and purposes Chris sings the same song week after week in the exact same way. Kat is hot but picks the worst songs and has started doing the hard to stomach belt it out from the first to last note approach, a la Celine. Ugh.

So up with Elliott! But Lord knows I’ll watch it to the bitter, painful 3 hour end regardless of when he gets booted.


July 27, 2006   No Comments


Can You Repeat the Question?

I was getting cawfees with an out of town pal yesterday, when I bumped into a long lost cousin. One of those people you’ve known throughout your life and you know they’re kinda related but you don’t actually see them as cousins…That kind of cousin. Anyhoo, we started chatting and after covering the basics – how are you, where are you, what are you – we went our separate ways.

On no, wait. After a small prompt, he told me all that he was doing, ending the soliloquay with “single, no kids”. I said I was married, two kids. And then the conversation kinda stopped. In fact, it was less a convo than me asking the how’s, where’s and what’s. Is it just me? Answer, answer, answer…Doesn’t anybody ask anymore?

I started doing a bit of research. A teeny, tiny, bit. And it’s not just me at all. Apparently there are several factors to the non-question convo.

There’s the dud conversationalist. You all know ’em, you’ve all been ’em. For whatever reason, they – or you – have pas de interest. ’nuff said.

There’s the cover up. Either you really couldn’t give a rat’s ass (see above) or perhaps you’re kinda curious but cannot for the life of you remember who this person is or how you know them and so you refrain from asking. AFter all, you don’t want to bust yourself. In this case, one often overcompensates by rambling about oneself, convinced it’s a convo rather than a speech. Then one takes off. Fast. It happens. Or maybe one just wanted to boast. That happens too.

There’s the don’t-want-to-be-rude non-asker. You don’t want to pry. ‘Cuz you think it’s rude. Yep, there are folks out there who feel it’s rude to ask too many questions. They think they’re stepping over some imaginary line. Or they don’t want to potentially embarrass the unemployed. Actually, many underemployed cats I know would give their left arm to tell you about all the things they aren’t doing. Which is maybe why no one wants to ask. Fair enough to some extent, but you gotta ask something. Me, I think it’s rude not to. Show an interest, people. Or at least fake it. No one’s asking how much you’re earning or how much your bag costs (besides, if you have to ask…)

And then….there’s the mom thing. This is the worst. And, worryingly, it’s quite common. Once someone hears you’re a mom they kinda clam up. Have no interest in parenting? Who does unless it has to do with your own issues??!! Few are the ladies who will open up about their sleeping/feeding/toilet issues to someone who ain’t in the same boat (unless of course that’s the question being asked – then the floodgates have been opened. Open ’em at your own risk!) But come on – you can still ask about the rest of the life!

My friend yesterday is a mom. And a very successful book editor (the editrix, remember?!). And she lives abroad. And is totally glamorama. And she told me people often hear the mom part and clam right up. Another friend of mine is on the cusp of something huge – business-wise. She said people have only started asking her questions since she’s told them that yeah, she’s a mom, but also starting this business…Then they’re interested. Or maybe they want discounts. Whatever.

CONVERSATION = communication between two (or more) people. If you don’t want to chat, fine. Wave, smile, kiss, whatever… Move on. Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies. But ask me no questions and think I won’t notice? I will.


Anonymous said…

questions or not – where have the good convos gone? I personally, when working at home for my kids, hate the ‘what are you doing question’ – my own issues. But why is it always about what you do? Where’s the cocktail conversation of days gone by? Why oh why do we reduce everything to how we earn our keep? You make some excellent points, but I think thinsg go even further. And that further is cash. If you ain’t making it, you ain’t interesting. Cynical I know, but tried tested and true! Now PLEASE write something about the stupid losers that are SuperNova!!!! That’s something I want people to ask me about!!!


July 20, 2006   No Comments


Take Me Home, Country Road

You know you’ve turned into a grandmother (or, more specifically, my grandmother) when suddenly the act of driving becomes a ‘thing’. Not regular city driving – puh-lease, road rage aside, that’s a piece of cake… Unless a very good or very bad tune comes on the radio and you need to fiddle around with controls and lose your concentration and…wait, where was I. See? Here and on the road.

No, city driving it is not. The ‘thing’ is the not-that-new and not-that-irrational fear: highways at night. Or in the rain. Lord help us all if it’s the 1-2 punch of a rainy night. God forbid poo poo poo. See? My grandmother.

I was recently invited to a friend’s cottage. For the day (I hate going to other peoples’ cottages for any longer than a few hours. More on that another time). We organized everything – when I’d come, what I’d bring blah de blah blah. Except on the morning of, I woke up to news… Weather news. Rainy weather news. I called my friend who totally understood if I wanted to cancel – turns out she, too, has these rainy road issues. But no, I decided to be a grown-up and hit the road – rain or shine. Besides, while it was torrential up by the lake, it was just a little misty here at home.

So off we went, me and my baby boys. On the road again. Singing along to the always cheesy, yet somehow entertaining songs of my sons’ Music Together class disc. After we’d heard “We’re on the way to grandpa’s farm” in Spanish for the fourth time I noticed the rain coming down. Hard. No, make that really hard. I took a deep breath and soldiered on. I was a grown-up woman. A mother for Chrissakes. What if there was an emergency and it was raining? I wouldn’t drive? COME ON.

Well of course it was soon pouring. Cats ‘n dogs and every other animal from Abuelo’s bloody farm. And I was terrified. White-knuckled, jaw-clenched, might-just-lose-it terrified. I could barely see in front of me. Slowing to a crawl, I slid over to the right lane (my grandmother). I leaned forward, trying to peer over the steering wheel (my grandmother). And when cars whizzed past me leaving me, quite literally, in their wake, I cursed them. But not my usual potty mouthed swear words. Tame ones. Y’know, bastard. Idiot. Those kinds. The kind of words – you guessed it – my grandmother would use.

Of course when I looked in my rear view and could only see massive trucker headlight I truly lost my shit. Then the worst-case-scenarios began. And I’m pretty sure mine were far more brutal than anything my grandmother could dream up. Beyond the “what if I crash” and into “what if I crash and I can’t speak and someone abducts my kids” kind of nightmares.

God forbid poo poo poo.

Needless to say I made it there. And back. And, determined to be really brave I even drove home. In the dark. No way was I becoming some old lady about it. OK, and no way was I missing dinner. But I made it. And I’d do it all over again. Bring on the rain. Hard as you can. Moonless, foggy night? No problemo. Like my grandmother, I think I’ll be able to see more clearly… navigating from the passenger seat.

July 18, 2006   No Comments


The Devil Wears Patricia Field

Shiver me timbers. Yo ho ho and a bottle of Malibu.
What’s with the pirate motif you ask? I dunno…Just trying to figure out how the entire movie-going world can be bothered going to see a flick based on a Disney ride rather than going to play outside. If you must sit in a darkened theatre – and I, for one, must – head straight to DWP.
Duh – Devil Wears Prada!
Finally saw it last night after a couple of false starts, sold out runs, and Dairy Queen diversions. And let me tell you, it didn’t disappoint. Was it a brilliant work of art? Er, no. Oscar worthy? Ummm, a bit of a stretch. A damn good ride? Hell yeah!
When I saw the trailer last week, I knew I’d like it. How bad could it have been, really? Kinda like the book itself – sorta cheesy, but who the hell cares? It’s entertainment. Truth be told, I cannot for the life of me remember if I read the book. I think I did. But I also read The Nanny Diaries, and some other ex-fuax-se about a celebrity tabloid reporter. And they’re all kinda the same for me:young ingenue meets bitchy employer, tries to be “one of them” but remains true to herself by staying one of us. It was one of those books I wished I had written. Except as weird as my years working for a big shot English-gone-Hollywood movie director was (at times), it was never really that book-worthy. Anecdotes a-plenty. Scandalous behaviour? Only if I spiced it.
But back to the movie. It’s the perfect summer flick. And not just a chick flick either. Boys, don’t be afraid: the cinema was packed with your kind. It was actually kinda weird how many men were there. Straight men. Maybe they came to pick up women. Or maybe they were out to revel in their true metrosexuality. Whatever, they enjoyed it too. Everyone there seemed to enjoy it (yep, we had the over-enthusiastic fans near us. The groaners. The whoopers. The worst.).
DWP was an actor’s – and wardrobe person’s- movie. Less a character-driven ensemble piece, tho’ I s’pose you could call it that. No, it was about the performances. These cats owned their roles (for the most part).
First of all, Ms. Streep. Genius! She’s perfect, perfect. It ain’t breaking news – she’s got the ice queen down pat. Hence all the buzz. So nothing new to report there. But did you know Stanley Tucci’s quite the cool queen himself? Divine! I’ve never been a huge fan of Mr. Tushy, I’ll admit. Maybe because I was obsessed with Murder One way back when. He was Richard, the creepy guy who did it. The murder, that is. Remember? Anyhoo, he’s terrif in DWP.
And props (yep, I said props) to Anne Hathaway. Not too horsey, not too doe-eyed, not too keen. She almost broke Brokeback Mountain for me. Made me want to hurl. So it was with extreme skepticism that I approached the theatre. But not only didn’t she wreck the flick, I thought she was quite good. Believable, beautiful, and – that boatnecked-and-buttoned-up combo with the cap and layered necklaces aside – she owned those outfits! Not that the outfits were anything I’d pine for….But they served their purpose – to make Patricia Field a lot of money and keep that Sex in the City trendoid cheese look in our collective consciousness.
Oops. I almost forgot about Emily Blunt: Fab. And Adrian Grenier: Vince. The other folks were forgettable and/or insignificant so we’ll fast-forward over them. Especially fashion-boy-love-interest-guy from that kids’-lawyer-advocacy show that flopped. But you get the picture. So skip on the Pirates in their has-been boho garb and head straight to Prada – if for no other reason than to see what you’ll be wearing this fall.


Anonymous said…

“ex-faux-se” — brilliant! Get Heather Reisman to put it on a sticker and slap it on to “A Million Little Pieces” and on to that plagiarizing Harvard chick’s book, too. You’ve coined a new one, MOAM. Add it to the lexicon!


July 11, 2006   No Comments


Plan B

It’s one o’ those grey and rainy summer days. The kind that make you want to crawl right back into bed and lay there all day long. The kind that you daren’t admit you like – simply because it takes the pressure off of having to do something outddorsy and summery and fun. The kind affectionately known at summercamp as a Bunk Day. The kind that, as an unemployed mother of two, I have come to dread beyond belief.

Yep. It’s one of THOSE days. And not only because of the kidlets…Museums (shouldn’t it be ‘musia’?), indoor playspaces and basements – even damp and possibly moldy-god-forbid ones – are good on days like today. Remember? No pressure to be outdoorsy and summery and fun? But on days like these when the kids are napping and your house is somewhat in order and you can’t deal with crawling into your bed because of guilt issues, on days like these the mind wanders to that special place affectionately known as Plan B .

Aaaah Plan B, we barely knew ye. In fact, you never really know your Plan B because if and when Plan B becomes Plan A, it’s not Plan B anymore. Geddit?

Remember back in the day when you were young and foolish? There was always the Plan B-er. The boy –or girl – who was besotted with you. The insurance policy. So what if (in the land of teen flicks) you didn’t have a prom date? You had the back-up. And then (in the land of teen flicks) you end up falling for the back up, realizing the homecoming queen and the quarter back were really meant for one another – and chances are they’d peak in high school anyway. In real life, you probably never thought twice about the loser who was into you. Until you got dumped and turned to them, only to find they’d moved on. And then you pined. In part because your Plan B back-up had split, but also because you felt like a bit of a…shall we say…loser. But that was then. Back in high school. This is now. And it’s still the same.

Only now, for me, it’s jobs. A the beginning of the summer there were some potentials, just shy of a handful. One I wanted. Three I didn’t. I was quite cocky about the one I did want. I’d met the gang, fit right in. For sure I’d get it. For sure. And so right off the bat I ditched Potential Job #2. Didn’t pursue it and didn’t think twice. Then came PJ #3. An editrix (love that word) friend of mine was looking for someone to write a book about Karaoke. Yes, Karaoke. And she so kindly thought of me. The money was crap, the gig was harder than I thought and writing a sample was incredibly frustrating (tho’ somewhat illuminating – did you know that the guy who invented Karaoke never made a dime? Or, rather, a yen?) I prayed I wouldn’t get it. And when they went with a Karaoke expert (huh?!) instead of an enthusiastic faker like me I was relieved. After all, I was a shoo-in for the dream job and, besides, I had a Plan B.

Plan B was writing for a TV show I was beyond qualified to work on. It wasn’t my first choice, hence the moniker Plan B (duh.). But I was pretty sure I was pretty perfect for it. Before you think I’m way too cocky for you to stomach, please understand, you know when you’re “in” and you also know when you’re right for something. Mutually exclusive, sure, but instincts count for something, right? WRONG. I was way off-base. Like out-of-the-ballpark-in-the-worst-possible-way kind of off-base.

I didn’t get either job. And I was devastated.

I was beyond pissed that I lost out on the Dream Job. But even worse was the sad and sorry fact that my Plan B didn’t want me. They didn’t want me. First I was irate. Then I was depressed. And then I got desperate. I wanted to call, write, grovel. Beg them to change their mind. Thank goodness my agent kept me in check. Gave me a telephone slap-in-the-face and told me to get over it. I had less than a 1-in-10 chance of getting any of these gigs. Move on. And I did. Or at least I pretended to. Sure I was sad about the A-list job, but it was losing the Plan B-er that really put me over the edge. I know, I know, neither one was meant to be. When (if?!) the right thing comes along I’ll know. Blah blah blah. How does that help me cope now??!!

I’ll tell you how. The weeks have passed. It’s been a glorious summer and I have actually enjoyed being unemployed and spending time with my babes. But on rainy days like today, I still try and picture myself doing something else. And when nothing comes to mind, I scramble to think up a Plan B. And, of course, on days like today, I draw a big, fat, blank.

I guess I could always crawl back into bed and wait for the sun to come out. It always does….


Anonymous said…

Plan B is a movie! It’s obvious – go finally see the undervalued comedic talents of Ms. Streep.

12:22 PM

Mother of all Mavens said…

Don’t scoop me anonymous! Going to see DWP ce soir!

12:30 PM

July 10, 2006   No Comments


Aniston Wears Prada

Tonight I went to see the movie everyone’s been talking about – The Devil Wears Prada. I even got there with 30 minutes to spare (unheard of for this chicita) And guess what? SRO. On a Wednesday. What the funk?! Not being one to let a movie night go to waste, I ended up seeing the flick no one’s talking about – The Breakup.

And now Jenny and I are definitely back together. Rachel Green is dead. Long live Rachel Green. Or any romantic comic heroine our Jenny chooses to play. Is it any wonder her career was flagging? This is her genre. She’s the Meg Ryan for the noughties – even if they are half over. Was it a perfect movie? Mais non. But did I laugh and, dare I say, even choke up a teeny tiny bit? You betcha.

OK. The Vaughn may have had a little something to do with it. I love him. I feel like I know him. And I love him. Actually, I kinda feel like I’m married to him – making me love him more. And no, I am not completely delusional, nor am I a stalking freakazoid. He just reminds me of the man I happen to be married to (in real life). You get the picture. Point is, Vinnie wrote it, produced it, and, duh, starred in it – how bad can it be?

Yes they had reshoots. But what movie doesn’t? And yes, those reshoots were a wee bit too obvo. They were in Chicago. In winter. And sure, it left me wondering what the real ending could’ve – and should’ve – been. But Vinnie winks for the camera and it’s worth the price of admission. And parking.

WAIT! Before you rush out to buy your tix, be warned – it’s no award winner. It’s just better than I thought it would be. Oddly enough, it’s the casting that was make or break… up (hee hee). You see, for every great performance, there was an equal and opposite sucky one. Jason Bateman? Barely there. Jon Favreau? Scenery muncher (last scene aside, that is: he’s hi-hi-hi-larious in his own – and only – subtle way). Joey Lauren Adams? Snip. Judy Davis? Keep. Sure she’s hokey and shticky and can’t pronounce the simplest of yiddisher terminology. But so what? That beats the earnest, raspy (but-not-in-a-good-way) squirrelyness of Ms. J.L.A. Ye olde Ann Margrock has a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameo. Maybe blink a bit. But in the other corner is the man who steals the show: John Michael Higgins. You’ll know him – and love him – when you see him. The man’s a comic genius. GENIUS.

So it wasn’t the buzzy movie of the week. Or last week’s buzzy movie. Or even the week before’s. Yep, I’m a little behind the times. But it was good clean fun nonetheless. And with no great expectations, it was bound not to disappoint. So I say thanks Vinnie! Way to charm. And thanks Jenny! Way to dress. Gather round children, it’s time for a group hug. VV – you’ve still got it. J’aniston and me? We’re back together.

Meryl? I’ll see you next week.


Anonymous said…

John Michael Higgins is a master of everything he touches. Joey Laurel Adams has obviously blown everyone in Hollywood because she can’t act and that VOICE!!! Bring back the silent era!


July 5, 2006   No Comments