February 25th, 2008

And the nominees are:

COLDCUT MOUNTAIN - The inspirational true story of six heroic friends who took on the monumental task of consuming appetizers intended to feed sixteen - and conquered the mountain.

THE BRUCHETTA ULTIMATUM - A party guest dodges new, superior international snacks as he searches for his unknown pasta while a culinary agent tries to track him down.

NO COMPANY FOR LO MEIN - The feast was laid but the chairs were empty. Where were the eaters of the night? Lurking… lurking…

HOW GREEN WAS MY FACE - The evidence was clear: Four empty champagne bottles. Four. Oy.

MIDNIGHT CHOWBOY - It stalks the kitchen by night. What leftover party wings are safe from its slavering jaws?

Coming soon to a theater near you:

A TIME TO DIET

Popularity: 4% [?]


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January 28th, 2008

I’ve been pondering for about a week how to write this without coming off like a wheezy old fart shaking her walker at these kids today.

But the game is up. I may have to accept that my old fart status became permanent the day I saw the Moldy Peaches sing Anyone Else But You. It’s from the soundtrack of the movie Juno which is the best selling soundtrack of all time. Best. Selling. Soundtrack. Of. All. Time. Check out the song (and the other six songs they have on it) and then tell me how you feel. And the movie’s been out for what? About nine minutes?

I actually do have some inkling why the song appeals so strongly to teens. My son went through a rough patch where he was convinced he was weird and wished he were normal like everyone else. I tried to explain to him that the very definition of a normal person is someone you don’t know very well. And this song, like America’s Funniest Home Videos, gives a slice of the other side of normal. It’s not just you. I can understand that.

But this song deprives me of every last precious sour grape. They’re not young and cute. They’re not well-connected. They can’t write a melody of more than two bars. They can’t even sing or play. I’m fresh out of excuses for the pitiful state of my own music career. And at the same time, I feel like I should be thrilled: Someone made it who didn’t fit the mold and quirk ruled for a day. w00t!

My consolation is the thought that someday they’ll get some guitar lessons, shampoo and a personal trainer, learn a third chord, start to write beautiful, clever, insightful songs and yet at every gig from now until they’re gray and playing the casino circuit, no one will want to hear them play anything else but Anyone Else But You.

Will someone please hand me my walker?

Popularity: 5% [?]


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December 29th, 2007

Here’s a double bill for a holiday weekend: Tim Burton’s Sweeney Todd followed by Disney’s Enchanted.

The two movies have a couple of things in common: Character actor Timothy Spall appears in both movies, in a similar role, oddly enough. In Sweeney Todd, he plays evil judge Turpin’s sidekick, the beadle and in Enchanted he’s evil queen Narissa’s sidekick, Nathaniel. Both are musicals. And both are worth seeing.

There, the similarities are lopped off with a decisive sweep of the razor.

Sweeney Todd is a grisly, gornographic helping of hemoglobin, but it’s so stylishly lush I’ll forgive the bloody excess. Johnny Depp’s theatrically raised arm gave me enough warning to know when to cover my eyes. (I admit it: I’m a wimp.) The man can put over a song too. Who knew? Helena Bonham Carter doesn’t really have the pipes to give Mrs. Lovett her due, but she’s so pitch perfect in the role, you’ll eat up whatever she serves. Her rendition of The Worst Pies in London is, um… unforgettable. Alan Rickman, true to form, steals every scene with his flawless timing and who could imagine a more perfect Signor Pirelli than the lanky and outrageous Sascha Baron Cohen?

After filling up on bloody soup, we felt in need of dessert. Enchanted proved to be just the thing - a frothy little confection, lightly dusted with enough wry humor to settle the meat pies. The opening scene is a perfect send up of every Disney princess movie cliche and what followed was either enchanting or we were so grateful for a cheerful, sunny NYC after Burton’s dark, perennially twilit London, that we mistook relief for art. Whatever the cause, we laughed out loud and left the theater convinced it was the next Princess Bride.

In retrospect, I have to think some of our appreciation of Enchanted was due to its contrast to Sweeney Todd. The next Princess Bride? What was I thinking? Have fun storming the castle…

Popularity: 14% [?]


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November 16th, 2007

What do you secretly love, even though you know it’s either a) bad for you or b) would make you the laughing stock of your friends if it got out? Here’s my A-to-Z (but hardly exhaustive) list:

A. AIRPLANE. It’s silly. It’s juvenile. It’s dated. But it’s still one of the funniest movies ever made. (”Joey, do you like movies about gladiators?”)

B. BAGELS. Back in the day bagels used to be health food. But now we know that beneath the poppy seed surface of that innocent-looking bagel lurks a virtual death blow of carbs. Would someone please pass the cream cheese?

C. CHOCOLATE. (Falls to knees) Oh God, thank you for creating the cacao bean…

D. DAMN YANKEES. As kids, my sister Donna and I watched this movie single every time it was shown on TV. We’d swing the towel and bellow “whatever Loooooola wants, Loooooola gets…”

E. EARTHQUAKES. I know it’s not politically correct. But isn’t there a thrill when you realize the room is shaking? Will it be The Big One? When will it end? And after: the phone calls, the gleefully macabre TV reportage, the freedom to ignore the petty details of normal life for awhile and wallow in storytelling…

F. FRENCH TOAST. Who doesn’t love bread? It’s the ultimate comfort food. And then you FRY it. And cap it with sugary toppings. Mmmmmm

G. GETTING RID OF SHIT. Every now and then doesn’t your stuff just starts to weigh you down? Piling junk into the back of the Honda and driving it to Goodwill is not really something to feel guilty over - after all, it’s a good deed, right? But for me, the good deed part is immaterial. It’s the sweet rush of getting shit the fuck out of my house.

H. HEDONISM. To hell with hard work, delayed gratification and self-denial. Hedonism pays off now.

I. THE IKEA CATALOGUE. Once a year that thick catalogue arrives on the doorstep bringing sunny visions of breezy living rooms, cozy bedrooms, sleek organized kitchens, airy uncluttered home offices (ha!). Hours of house porn.

J. JIGSAW PUZZLES. I have to be very careful to limit indulgence to holidays and vacations or the loss of income would force my children to drop out of college and pursue lives of crime.

K. KITTEN PICTURES. The kind so plentiful on one of my guilty pleasure websites - along with puppies. I can’t believe I’m outing myself on this one - it’s shameful, but here it is.

L. LUST. But you knew that.

M. MUSICALS. And the more turgidly overblown the better. Give me Phantom of the Opera. Give me Les Miserables. I even paid actual money to see the short-lived Dracula The Musical in NYC and Lord of the Rings The Musical in London. They’re awful and I love them.

N. NACHO CHEESE DORITOS. The only viable strategy is never to buy them. Then no one will have to live with the horror of finding my bloated, orange-powdered body amid the crumbs on the kitchen floor.

O. OVERHEARD IN NEW YORK. Click at your own risk. It will suck you in and smack its lips over your day without the least qualm. A snarker’s heaven.

P. PANTIES. You won’t find granny pants in my drawer. I’ve got a passion for Victoria’s. More than one ass really needs for uninterrupted coverage, but they’re so much fun.

Q. Online QUIZZES. Want to know your gangsta name? (Supa Gatmasta) What panties fit your personality? (Thong, of course) What Beer you are? (Corona Extra). This is educational!

R. Spending the whole day in my fuzzy ROBE then dashing upstairs to throw on jeans as the sun goes down so my husband won’t know.

S. STUFFING. Thanksgiving is almost here and the thing I’m most thankful for is stuffing. Forget the turkey. Forgo the cranberries. Fuck the pumpkin pie. Give me another serving of savory, bready stuuuuffffffinggggg. Oh my.

T. TUB SOAKS. Bathing itself is nothing to feel guilty over, cleanliness=godliness and all that. But getting clean has absolutely nothing to do with the joy of squirting oil into a tubful of hot water and slipping into a steamy dreamlike trance that can stretch on for hours. Add a glass of wine and a trashy novel and I’m gone.

U. THE UPS GUY. He’s got a nice package…

V. Anne Rice’s VAMPIRE BOOKS. They’re horrible, overwritten, overblown, sexless word porn. I hate them. I do. So why do I keep reading them? I don’t know! It’s like there’s an evil force beyond my control…

W. WORKING AT HOME which allows me to get away with all my other guilty pleasures. (If my clients are reading this I’m in such trouble.)

X. X-RATED MOVIES. You knew I’d get to this. I know you were waiting for it. Oh yeah baby. (Not that I really actually admit to watching porn… but a good source is http://www.adultdvdmarketplace.com. Retail is for losers.)

Y. YOUTUBE. Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. There goes your day.

Z. THE ZOMBIE CHANT. This one is courtesy of my son, Mr. Zombie. I don’t know why but it just cracks me up:

What do we want? Brains!!!
When do we want them? Brains!!!

Your turn. What are your guilty pleasures. Come on. Fess up.

Popularity: 9% [?]


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August 21st, 2007

Kids reach an age where the gift they find most useful is cash: beans, boodle, bread, cabbage, coin, dinero, dough, fund, gelt, kale, loot, lucre, money, moolah, pelf, pile, shekels, shiplaster, simoleans, sterling, wherewithal or Almighty Dollar. Whatever you call it, it’s the means to their ends.

That said, who wants to give up unwrapping brightly festooned packages on one’s birthday? I solved the dilemma by nicking a few movie poster pix and photoxing them into money-themed parodies that fit neatly into jewel cases. I’ve posted full-res versions of 18 of them here to download and use on your own gift-giving occasions. A few samples:

movie spoofs


movie spoofs


movie spoofs


movie spoofs

See the rest.

Popularity: 16% [?]


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July 2nd, 2007

ClooneyThe producers of Ocean’s 13 have really gone out on a limb and released a third installment of the franchise that hinges on a complicated casino heist. Unfortunately, this time around they dispensed with the plot and hoped if they quick-cut enough frenzied shenanigans together no one would notice. Even so, a few lessons emerge from the chaos:

#5 If you’re planning a big heist, check your coolness rating first. If it’s low, forget the whole deal. The monstrous computer at the Bank Casino looked like the Death Star core on dilithium crystals and yet when the boys unzipped their massive collective coolness, that inexplicable towering cylindrical display bent right over and dropped its pants.

#4 Hey guys, wanna get laid? Try the old fake schnozz trick. You know what they say about the size of a man’s, um, nose… Seriously, Ellen Barkin should get an Oscar for keeping a straight face.

#3 The studio got it backwards: The actors should have paid to be in the movie. They were obviously having more fun than the audience.

#2 Go ahead and break your giant Chunnel-digging machine. You can always get another one… AND dispose of the old one… AND have the new one shipped and in place within 24 hours. It’s clear none of these guys stayed in high school long enough to sweat a final or they’d know about tripping the fire alarm to clear a building.

#1 George Clooney just keeps getting hunkier. Sorry guys, I know it ain’t fair. Live with it. Rowr.

Popularity: 9% [?]


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June 4th, 2007

Arrgh! I’ll resist the urge to talk like a pirate, though it’s mightily tempting.

Watching the third installment of the Pirates of the Carribean trilogy made me wish for the world’s end - or at least the movie’s end. Don’t get me wrong - there were some terrifically entertaining parts: The special effects? Eye popping! The pirates of all races, creed, species and musical backgrounds? Deliciously degenerate! But oh my God and little crustations, the story and action were so fragmented and pointless I found myself envying Bootstrap Bill who could snuggle back into a nice cozy bulkhead and pretend none of this was happening. What the hell point was the whole Calypso story line? All that build up for what? A nifty maelstrom backdrop for a gun battle? (More likely: the maelstrom was generated by the sucking vacuum where the story line ought to be.) And can someone explain why the fuck Lord Beckett didn’t give the order to fire the cannons? I could go on, but it would be almost as tedious as the movie.

Johnny Depp’s loopy Sparrow was a kick in the first movie. By the third, it’s been there, slurred that. I certainly didn’t need more than one. Orlando Bloom got somewhat more interesting when he finally let go near the end, but that’s not saying much - he’d been a pretty snooze for the previous nine hours.

It’s disappointing. The first movie was a lovely surprise. The teasing return of Geoffrey Rush’s Barbossa at the end gave me hope that the second movie was only the typical middle-of-the-trilogy slump before a rollicking closer.

(On a side note, ever since I saw the above, I’ve had a rather dark and deviant urge to get Davy Jones alone somewhere. mmmmm… tentacles…)

The best part of Pirates III was walking out of the theatre behind a father and two young boys who were absolutely punch drunk and vibrating with excitement about the movie. “Dad! Did you see how the tentacle went in his mouth and came out his nose? That was awesome!

Popularity: 8% [?]


Leave a comment | Visit Eva Moon's main website.
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