Archive | September, 2010

Dear Joseph Gordon-Levitt

28 Sep

Dear Joseph Gordon Levitt,

Ok, I have a crush on you from when you were in Brick.  Even though I still can’t understand half the dialogue and was still asking questions throughout the entire movie by the third time I saw it, the nerdy-nerd-bird from Third Rock From the Sun and sweet-yet-dweeby boy from 10 Things I Hate About You had clearly grown up.

Or just gotten a haircut.  I don’t know, you’re slightly confusing, I don’t think your face has changed from 14 to 29.  But the haircut is clearly working for you!

And somewhere in there I read an interview that convinced me that you’re smart and choose smart scripts and that made me like you….smarty-smartpants.

Right! And I was willing to overlook (500) Days of Summer: Not a Love Story But Obviously Still a Love Story with Just a Slight Twist But Hardly Groundbreaking Like The Filmmakers Claim.  Don’t even get me started on that movie.  Yada yada yada it was so different it was new so refreshing…hellooooooo people it was a rom-com with a slightly shifted timeline.  And JGL, how clingy can you be?  She even warned you. She never lied, never said she changed her mind.

(Also: Ikea? Please. The grocery store is sexier. I’ve never seen anybody looking that happy in Ikea.  You know why?  Ikea is like hell but with worse lighting.) And then yes, ok, she turned around and was a total hypocrite because heaven forbid we have a girl who actually doesn’t end up in love with somebody at the end of the movie.  Heaven forbid those stereotypes go unenforced once! Yeesh.

It’s possible I’m biased against the movie.  It was summer.  I was dating the nicest guy ever— someone who would have willingly gone to Ikea with me, for example, to hold my hand against the onslaught of desk choices (ask any writer about the mania involved in choosing a desk. They’ll know).  And I was about to leave for graduate school.  Without him.  And I didn’t feel all that conflicted about it.  I’d warned him! He’d watched me apply! Anyway, I’m pretty sure we watched the movie together and then I cried and told him I felt mean and heartless (because I sometimes was). He forgave me.  I had the decency to feel worse.  But then I felt better.  Then I left.  And we broke up.

Like I said: I may have been over-identifying with the movie.  Or maybe I wasn’t.  Maybe it was just the right amount of projecting my life into fictional big screen drama, because there clearly is such a thing as the right amount of that.

Anyway!  Every other girl in this world apparently caught up with me when Inception was released. Facebook Status Updates July 2010:

“Can Joseph Gordon-Levitt come marry me already?”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me Joseph Goreden Levitttt is sooo hotttt?”

“JGL is super cute! He’s ‘dreamy’! Ha. Ha. I know what a pun is!”

I just saw Inception.  And JGL, your haircut is as compelling as ever.  But your character is about the blandest thing in that movie.  You barely say anything, you’re stiff as a board, you register almost no emotion, including when you find out your BFF is maybe going to kill you all.  You apparently don’t know much about the field you’re working in, and you “have no imagination.”  Including the fact that you can’t dream about big guns.  Ummmm.

Which is fine!  That was your role!  But what was the attraction?  Had no one seen your face before?  Was everyone else as turned off by the clingy, lovesick puppy in 500 Days as I was so that even this was an improvement?  Do we really, really, really just want to see a man with a gun in his hands?

Or do we as a culture have a secret fetish for anti-gravity wrestling in hotel hallways?  If so, the future holds great promise…

Anyway, call me. I’ve got an idea for a rom-com that doesn’t end with falling in love.  It actually will be groundbreaking.  I’ll let you wear the leather jacket from Inception if you want and there will definitely be a song-and-dance number and some crazy-fast noir dialogue.  No need to change what works.

I’ll even put a number in the title to tempt you to the project.




Dear Nicholas Sparks

25 Sep

Dear Nicholas Sparks,

Gag me with a spoon.  YOU WRITE ROMANCE NOVELS.  (I mean, seriously, at first glance, does anyone disagree with this statement?  Nicholas Sparks does.  He says he writes love stories.  Like Romeo and Juliet.)

GET OVER YOURSELF.  YOU ARE NOT HEMINGWAY as you claim in this USA Today interview:”‘A Farewell to Arms, by Hemingway. Good stuff. That’s what I write,’ he says…’That’s what I write.'”  Blech. I think I just threw up in my mouth.

YOU ARE NOT SHAKESPEARE.  You hand-wrote The Last Songno, not just the movie, also the novel— as a vehicle for Miley Cyrus, which mostly makes you a sell-out, which is cool, I would love to be a sell-out (any takers?)— BUT IT CERTAINLY DOES NOT MAKE YOU A GREAT LITERARY GENIUS.

AND DON’T EVEN MENTION JANE AUSTEN TO ME.  What is your disdain for romance novels anyway?  You’re just slamming your entire fanbase, all of whom buy you because they like reading romance novels, since that is what you write.  (Let me clarify: this letter is not about your books.  It is about your big fat head and how somebody needs to pop it to let out a little helium so you can come back down to earth.)  Is it because romance novels are “women’s literature”?  Is that the problem?

I mean, clearly writing women’s literature is a problem.  Hell, if I had a chance to gain respect in the literary world– or the real world for that matter– simply by being a man, I wouldn’t let people forget my gender either.

Way to grab all that white male privilege by the throat and shake it ’til it gives up the goods, Nicholas!

Also, you want to slam Cormac McCarthy?  Fine.  But let’s compare his interview to yours and see who comes out smelling like bacon.


Dear Kristen Bell

24 Sep

Dear Kristen Bell,

I honestly can’t believe it’s taken me this long to write this letter.  I LOVE VERONICA MARS.  How could anyone not love this show?  It’s amazing.  There’s drama, and mystery, and laughs, and a whole lotta sass and attitude.  This girl is in high school and she helps run her dad’s PI office for an after-school job and she has a pit bull named Back-Up and a trunk full of disguises and a taser.  That she uses.  With some frequency.  Sometimes on criminals, sometimes on high school bullies.  And Kristen Bell, you are wonderful in this show!  You are a smart little firecracker with a fierce gleam in your eye and man, do you know how to keep the speed of witty repartee flying around the racetrack.

But girl, you have made nothing but junk since then.  I don’t know who your agent is, but lord.  Find a new one.  Yes, Forgetting Sarah Marshall was hysterical, but you were not the best thing in it.  When in Rome almost made a few people I know puke on the airplane, on their way to Rome.

I think things started to go downhill when you grew your hair out.  It was the last season of Veronica Mars…and all of a sudden, your bob started inching its way down to your shoulders, and then it just kept going, and soon you looked like a Hollywood romantic comedy star and soon after that V. Mars just didn’t have quite the ferocity she used to….I believe the term is, “she went soft.”

And maybe you were trying to prep for your exit from the show, but we have enough vapid blonde rom-com stars!  You could have been different!  You could have gone after PI or crime or action-adventure roles!  You were great as a TV actress.  I hear HBO has some pretty good shows….actually, I hear you’re pretty good in your guest role on Party Down. We’re in the Golden Age of TV!  Why the mad flight to the big screen?  CUT YOUR HAIR AND GET YOURSELF A SASSY LAWYER SHOW.

Maybe your rumored-and-not-likely-to-happen triumphant return as V.Mars in the V.Mars movie will put you back on track?  I sure hope so…first of all, I would definitely go see that.  And then talk about it a lot for days afterward.  I have friends offering to set me up with someone based solely on our shared love of V.Mars.  I honestly think it could work out.  Second, I hate to see good sass go to waste.

Also, you probably should not refer to yourself as a “punky babydoll” as you did when a guest judge on Project Runway unless you’re going to act like it.  We’re seeing a whole lotta babydoll and not nearly enough punk from you these days. V.Mars would mock you in the girls’ bathroom on her way out the door to tase some fools.

Love you! (but you’re making it reeeeeally hard right now!)


PS– Even I will not go see You Again.  How exactly do you not know that your brother’s marrying a girl you went to high school with?  More importantly, how exactly do you take that cast of smart, fierce women and turn them into petty, vapid parodies of all the worst stereotypes of women?  Somebody ought to be ashamed.  Possibly everyone.

Dear Woman in a Scuba Suit at Whole Foods

20 Sep

Dear Woman in a Scuba Suit at Whole Foods,

I like to dive for my fresh fruits and vegetables, too.

And that reminds me of one of my favorite pop culture moments ever, so thank you for that.

I’ve heard scuba suits are really comfortable, actually, if they fit right, what with all that stretch and lycra and all.  Maybe I should look into getting one to wear around the house.  Like a snuggie, but more tailored, and with a back that closes so I don’t have to wear anything under it.

And yes, I was at Whole Foods solely to sample the grapefruit gelato and go on my merry way.  What?  I didn’t have any money with me, since I was really there to drop a postcard in the mailbox, conveniently located on the Whole Foods corner.  It’s a Monday.  I need any kind of treat I can get.  The 2 True Blood discs in my mail was pretty good, too.  Now all I need is someone else to cook me dinner…



Dear That Guy

14 Sep

Dear That Guy,

Yeah, you.  The one taking a self-portrait using a hand mirror on a porch at 10:00 on a Tuesday morning.  Here, let me help you identify yourself:

Portrait of a Self-Portrait of a Young Man

(Now let’s take a moment to appreciate what a voyeuristic image this is.  Call me a creeper if you want, but I was just sitting here writing poetry, talking to my sister on gchat, when aforementioned young man appeared.  Was my camera on hand? No.  It was in the other room.  How long did it take for me to notice him?  A while, I was looking at Facebook, too.  How much longer before I decided to go get my camera?  Enough time for him to go inside, take his tank top off, and come back out to try it again.  Final count? He spent so long doing this he was practically begging someone to set up a full studio light and put together a portfolio.)  (And yes, I’m sad I missed the tank top shot.)  (Nothing like a good picture of a man in a tank top…)  (Men: don’t wear tank tops.)

Anyway, sweet, why don’t you get your model boyfriend to take this picture?  The one that was blasting Rihanna and Gaga at one o’clock in the morning last night and that last week left an apology note written on index cards tacked on the neighbor’s screen door? (Final card count: 8.  Number of times he mentions being raised by a single mother? 3.  Why?  Who knows?  The neighbor is not a single mother.  Nor was she the one who complained.  In fact, that may have been the only night no one complained.)

Or hey, if you’re lucky enough to find this beautiful portrait on the interwebs, go ahead and take it for your profile picture.  Happy to help in exchange for the moment of joy (aka hilarity) you’ve given me this morning.



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