long before ben and liv stunk up the screen...

Jami Gertz and Dylan McDermott once starred in a film entitled Jersey Girl. I do believe it was one of those straight-to-video jobs... and with good reason. I discovered it at a video store years back and even though I knew it would be wretched, I rented it because sometimes I like to be enraged. And sure enough, it did the trick.

You know, I always liked Jami Gertz. I simply adore the scene in Sixteen Candles where she cuts Caroline's hair after it gets stuck in the door. It kills me. And hello, she was in Square Pegs!! That garners mucho props from me. I've even issued Tracy Nelson a lifetime free pass because she starred in that beloved short-lived sitcom. But despite Jami's impressive 80s pedigree, I still haven't quite forgiven her for this film.

In between loads of laundry and Swiffering my tiny wee studio, I plopped down on my couch to watch a bit of TV this afternoon. I stumbled upon Jersey Girl on WE and because I'm a masochist, I watched it through to the end. Hell, I even paused it when I had to retrieve my second load from the dryer. I figured that maybe this time around I'd find some redeeming quality or that I'd hate it less perhaps. Yeah, age has not mellowed my response to this piece of crap. It's horrid, absolutely horrid.

In a nutshell, Jami's character, Toby, is a cheeseball preschool teacher who lives in Bloomfield, NJ and has it bad for "classy" Sal (Dylan McDermott) from Manhattan. To Toby and, judging by the script, all residents of New Jersey, Sal is THE bastion of taste and refinement. He's the reason all Jerseyites should slouch and feel inadequate. Um, I should add that McDermott's character is a salesman originally from Queens. To those of you who haven't been, Queens is just like New Jersey but without all the tolls and with better Greek food. Let's not kid ourselves here.

Of course Toby has a pile of petrified hair atop her scalp, tawks like dis and is loathe to attach the letter "r" or the suffix "ing" to words requiring them. Can I just say that I grew up about 10-15 minutes east of Bloomfield (closer to NYC if you're doing the mental cartography) and while I exhibit a regional dialect, I DO NOT SOUND LIKE THAT!!!! Even worse, Jami Gertz's attempt at an accent sucked. It was all over the place with bits of stereotypical Jersey interspersed with something resembling a Midwestern accent. Sure enough, I just looked Jami up on IMDB and she's from Chicago. I knew it! The dialect coach and screenwriter on this project deserve to be taken out back and worked over. I'd give them both a tour of Jersey they wouldn't soon forget, let me tell you.

What REALLY pissed me off was the movie's recurring theme that everyone in NJ feels inferior to their New York neighbors. Um, do those of you outside the NY area know that Staten Island is part of New York City? Not just New York state -- NEW YORK CITY. It's a borough just like Manhattan and it smells, has garbage dumps, dirty beaches and loud people who wear pinky rings. The same can be said for parts of Brooklyn, the Bronx and Queens, while I'm at it.

Now granted, I had a bit of an inferiority complex when I lived in NJ and I've since moved to NYC but that's just me. Trust me when I tell you that there are residents of my home state who don't give a fuck what goes on in New York. In fact, they'd rather eat a steaming shit sandwich than cross the Hudson. And they're fine with it. They're not in awe of New York nor are they intimidated. They just don't care. It's not my way necessarily but more power to them, I say. As a matter of fact, I will gladly join them in giving the old Jersey Wave to anyone who disdainfully uses the term B&T (bridge and tunnel) to describe them. People like that can bite me. Hard.

Oooooooooh, look at me getting all pissy and protective of my homeland! I think I might just have to go get me some Coors Light to wash down my macaronis and gravy while I rock out to "Badlands." Dirty Jerzee REPRESENT!

on choreography...

Transcripts from my conversation with Jess where she tries to make sense of my rather vague description of dance technique...

Yours Truly: Can you read my post and tell me if I made any stupid typos? I'm immune to them at this point

Jess: Yup! [reads entry] Ha ha ha. I love it

YT: Man, Kenny Loggins On Ice was really disturbing

Jess: I bet!

YT: Like, it was a bunch of white Europeans in skates who thought they could dance. Frankly, it was horrifying

Jess: Yikes

YT: There was a lot of hand shaking going on. Do you know what I'm talking about?

Jess: Jazz hands?

YT: No, not jazz hands. These were facing down like they were trying to shake water off them... but with attitude

Jess: Oh dear!

YT: Like "Oh my wrists are sore and I need to shake them out!" But again, with 'tude

YT: Oh and each one affected a look like "guitar face" when they danced!

Jess: Oh man

Clearly -- and to our credit -- the two of us are completely illiterate when it comes to honkey dance moves.

the queerest of the queer

Last week Joe.My.God asked me to contribute to a piece he was writing about over-the-top gayness. In essence, Joe beckoned a bunch of us homos to share examples of our most outlandish and/or stereotypical gay behavior.

It sounded easy enough at first but it turned out to be a rather tough assignment for me. Yes, I'm a big ol' rug muncher but as I've stated before, I'm like the worst lesbian ever (stereotypically speaking, of course). I make a very good stereotypical gay man though! Among other things, I possess a propensity for speaking with my hands (complete with fingers dramatically bent and splayed, of course) and an unwavering adoration of Broadway showtunes as well as the divas who belt them out, natch. In fact, I just got inspired. Please hold while I go fetch my Sondheim Etc: Bernadette Peters Live at Carnegie Hall CD and cue up "Being Alive."

Okay, so as I was saying... I'm a half-assed lesbo. Examples? Well, for one, I kinda don't like yoga. I've tried, but I just don't. And if I'm illin', I have no qualms about taking Tylenol Cold & Flu as opposed to some holistic remedy composed of garlic and ginger or some other manky-tasting potion involving leaves and bark. I know that makes me an anomaly among muff divers, but so be it. Furthermore, I don't like soy milk, free-form poetry or the music of Melissa Ferrick. See what I mean?

Sure, I earn my stripes with the whole vegetarian thing, superior (if I do say so myself) softball skills and the hesitation to wear skirts but in most other categories, I fall miserably short. No matter, I did manage to cobble something together and send it off to Joe (who keeps an amazing blog, FYI. I adore him to no end. Read him!!) But oy, my Sapphic tale positively PALES in comparison to the exploits of my fabulous gay boy co-contributors! But ain't that always the way?

Anyhoo, please check out "Gay, Gayer, Gayest." Be sure to empty your bladder first as I damn near tinkled while reading it. And thanks so much for including me, Joe!

boobwatch, indeed

Excerpts from my conversation with The Lovely Jess upon discovering questionable pictures of The Hoff:

Yours Truly: OMG. I just emailed you a David Hasselhoff calendar. Someone at work gave it to me. It inspired me to research even more Hoff images and look what I found. He.is.such.an.asshole...

Jess: This shit is awful.

YT: Oh, it gets worse.

Jess: WTF?

YT: "Yes, David, now gather the flowers to you while giving the camera a sultry, come-hither look... That's right. Perfect. One more..."

YT: I cannot stop looking at these. I keep finding more and more repellent images. It's becoming a sickness.

YT: Um, David... Yanni called and he wants his shirt back:

Jess: "All images excluding 1990 Calendar on this page scanned from the webmaster's personal collection -- © Nat, Annie." Nat and Annie FRIGHTEN me.

YT: Dear Nat and Annie,
Guten tag! Wie gehts es Ihnen? Sie zwei sind MAJOR FUCKING HEADCASES!

Tschus!
Curly McDimple

YT: "Come closer! Closer! We want to keel you!"

Jess: I just showed them to The Roommate. She said, "Oh man, I had to save the one of him holding the jewelry up to his mouth like he is going to eat it."

YT: "David, your patriotism is admirable but you angered the VFW when you swiped the flag from their foyer."

Jess: OMG...just opened the email you sent.

YT: LOOK AT APRIL!

Jess: OMG OMG OMG. There are no words.

P.S. Sheila has loads of these up on her site! The comments are absolutely killing me. GO NOW!

Want some mo' Hoff?
:: Irish Cheddar... and a Little Something for the Germans
:: The Hoff Super Fantastic Activity Fun Book
:: May the Hoff Rise up to Meet You
:: Season's Greetings from Curly and The Hoff
:: Soap from a Dope
:: Wax On, Wax Hoff
:: A Wee Bit o' Schmaltz

abdicating the throne

So there's this girl I sometimes see on the subway on my way to work. Even though I haven't exchanged two words with this person, I loathe her. She emits a stank of cheese and annoyance that's more than enough to justify my dislike.

I first noticed her one morning when she entered the train dropping shit all over the place and stinking up the car with a particularly noxious brand of perfume. Ew and she was rocking the Ugg boot-skirt combo. I, for one, think that this is a truly horrendous pairing and can't wait until it dies a much-deserved death.

In our first encounter, Cheesy Girl tried to wedge her very wide ass into a seat that was already semi-occupied by the overhang of the passengers on the left and right. Now lest you think Cheesy Girl has a bountiful backend to be envied and admired, I have to interject and say no, that's not true. It's a most unfortunate shape. It's like two big bunions are sticking out of her thighs. Its shape totally defies the "back" classification. It's more like she's got "side."

Now technically the seat she had her eye on was available but really, only Olive Oyl could sit in it comfortably. And that's debatable. So as Cheesy Girl was making her descent into the seat, the train lurched sending her careening into the lap of a very petite, nebbish-looking woman reading The New York Times Magazine. Understandably, this woman was not pleased with her unexpected lap dance.

Cheesy Girl earned a smattering of icy glares when her entrance roused some riders from their reading or sleepy haze. But her dogged pursuit of jamming that ass of hers into a space far too small to accommodate it really incurred the wrath of the entire car. We glowered and silently and collectively cheered her neighbors' refusal to budge.

At the next stop, a seat opened up to my right so Cheesy Girl surrendered the tug-of-war and lunged using a rather impressive head-first slide technique. For the rest of the trip, I got to see that thick, scary clown makeup up close while her eau de toilette held my throat in a vice-like grip.

I had the misfortune of being trapped on the same car again today. Actually, I think she went easy on the perfume today because her stench went undetected for about two stops. I didn't notice her until her wide rump magically appeared in a newly-available seat that I had designs on. I simultaneously admired her maneuver and cursed her for robbing me of a place to park my tired ass.

If she would just sit in her seat smelling up the car and not making a commotion, she'd blend in with a good portion of MTA riders. But Cheesy Girl draws attention to herself and that's why I hate her. Shortly after sitting, she started fishing around in her bag, elbowing all in her vicinity and making quite the racket. After much fanfare she produced an iPod housed in a knit cozy (naturally) and then promptly flooded the car with the Dixie Chicks (I think) and then "ABC" by The Jackson Five.

Eyes darted in her direction and fixed a disapproving gaze as she assaulted us with her pedestrian music library. As it was, her behavior wasn't doing much in the way of improving the white girl image so I was hoping she'd either turn down the music or at least cue up a respectable song. Yeah not quite. Remember how I said I was the biggest honkey ever? Well, there's a new Queen of the Crackers, ladies and gentlemen. Want to take a guess what the next song on Cheesy Girl's iPod was?

Give up?

"All out of Love" by, yes, Air Supply. I shit you not.

Ten bucks says these songs can also be found on her playlist:
"I Will Survive"
"Build Me Up Buttercup"
"Thank God I'm a Country Boy"
"The Gambler"
"Dancing Queen"

Any other guesses?

but when you shake your ass, they notice fast

Last night's subway ride home was so crowded I had to forgo my usual reading of the Daily News. I like Daily Dish, what can I say? Anyhoo, I was trapped in a position that wasn't exactly conducive to page turning so I put away the newspaper, strapped on the iPod and let the random shuffle feature entertain me all the way to Brooklyn.

First song up: George Michael's "Freedom '90." This pleased me. I nodded along to the bongo and tambourine intro and then had to bite my lip to keep from serenading my fellow passengers. I can't help it -- that song gets my blood pumping and just begs me to screech along to it. If you find yourself at a bar with me and that song comes on, you can pretty much guarantee that I will gesticulate wildly while giving back your "picture in a frame" and your "singing in the rain." It.just.must.be.done.

Yesterday's commute was a real test of wills because "It Takes Two" by Rob Base/DJ EZ Rock came on next. Oh, how I wanted to sing along. Imagine, if you will, me -- the biggest honkey ever -- succumbing to the pressure and loudly informing the New Lots Avenue-bound 3 train -- in between rhythmic gyrations and impressive pop-and-lock maneuvers, of course -- that "I'm number one, the uno, I like comp. Bring all the suckers 'cause all them I'll stomp." Seriously I'm so white, I make Debbie Boone look ghetto fabulous. My fellow riders would have either showered me with spare change for the laugh or beaten me senseless for insulting the art form. It could have gone either way.

When I see a person wearing headphones, I sometimes try to figure out what type of music he/she is listening to (provided it's not already bleeding out of the headphones making a tinny-sounding racket in an enclosed space. I hate that!!) But I do sometimes wonder if people try to guess what type of music I'm listening to based on my outward appearance. My selection would surprise most people because it's so wide-ranging. I have specific tastes of course but I do try to keep an open mind. I wish everyone did. I was at The Wiz in Wayne, NJ a few years ago buying a cordless phone and The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. The cashier looked at the CD, looked up at me, looked back at the CD and then once again at me. She actually said, "You want this?" She was floored that I would make such a purchase. I really wanted to say, "Oh heavens to Betsy! I meant to pick up Air Supply's Greatest Hits!! By golly, how on earth did this filth end up in the Easy Listening section?!" I abstained because I think the sarcasm would have been lost on her. And um, I think she was from Paterson and could have easily kicked my ass up and down the street. But in my mind, she got quite the earful, let me tell you. My bad-ass imagination made short work of her even if my actual self was too much of a wuss to do so. Ain't that always the way though?