Cringe Again
The first Cringe of 2006 is this Wednesday, February 1, which I’ve been told is known in some circles as “tomorrow.” Details remain same as they ever was and are as follows.
Witness funny people reading from their old diaries, letters, songs, poems, and other general representations of the crushing misery of their humiliating adolescence, but it’s okay because they’re totally cool and well-adjusted and super attractive now:
Cringe Reading Night
Wednesday, February 1, 8:30 pm
Freddy’s Bar & Backroom
Dean & 6th Ave.
2/3 to Bergen, any train in the world to Atlantic/Flatbush
Cost: free dollars
You should come. I will be there, as will all of my teeth.
Brian Byrne is funny
So, to be honest, I’m not doing all that great. At all, really. The only upside to not doing all that great at all, really, is that the good people in your life rally around you in a number of ways, like washing your dishes for you, or accompanying you on difficult errands, or mailing you treats, or maybe flying across the country to take care of you for awhile. Or, if one of the good people in your life is my friend Brian Byrne, by emailing you a running commentary of the Golden Globes with the subject line “LeVar Burton smiles upon us.” And that is what I’m going to share with you right now, because anything else would just be messy.
Enjoy.
“Gah, 12 minutes in and already behind! A few high points:
- Adrien Brody is the douchiest of douchebags.
- Rachel Weisz and Scarlett Johanson keep getting hotter. Every single day.
- Clooney wins something for Syriana!
- That said, Rachel Weisz has fucked up eye makeup on, and looks weird. But she’s pregnant, so all bets are off.
- I love Scotch more with each passing day.
- Kelly’s making spoon bread. AWESOME!
- Um, Hummer ads? Fucking Christ.
- I just saw Reese Witherchin making an expression that’d make you kick in my TV, “Walk the Line” or not.
Okay, more on this as it develops.
More, not in complete sentences.
- Oh Jessica Alba, you so dumb.
- Sayeed from “Lost” is nominated. Fingers crossed! Ah, Paul Newman won. That’s okay.
- TERI HATCHER IS SO FUCKING HORRIFYING!!! Seriously.
- Candace Bergen’s looking great, considering.
- Sandra Oh just won a GG (good for her!) and now can’t find the stage. She’s got a serious case of award-overhwelmedness.
- HOLY SHIT, does Drew Barrymore ever need a bra on and not have one! I mean, she’s got a capital rack, but seriously, the entire viewing public has a better view of her nipples than any prospective nursing infant of hers ever will. Christ.
- Jesus, Emmy Rossum, go star in another fucking disaster movie, won’t you? Thanks, you’re dimmer than Jessica Alba.
- Oh my god, I’ll be sending you a picture of that bitch Gwyneth Paltrow dully clapping. God. Seriously.
- Salute to the Hollywood Foreign Press! All 93 of them.
- Nicollette Sheridan = horrifying. Her co-presenter Jesse L. Martin = pimpin.
- The only celeb couple I can think of right now that I hate more than Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick is Catherine Zeta-Jones and Michael Douglas. Oh wait, Gwyneth and Coldplay Guy, obviously.
- Geena Davis just won a GG. I hope she shoots a flaming arrow into the crowd in celebration.
- Seriously, I’m pretty sure the Hollywood Foreign Press only has like 93 members.
- Awww, Mel Brooks is there alone because Anne Bancroft is dead. That’s sad-making.
- Donald Sutherland’s kind of my hero. I hope I’m mostly as old and half as weird as he is someday.
- Ian McShane (Al Swearingen from “Deadwood”) and Evangeline Lilly (Kate from “Lost”) are co-presenters. I’m crazy about them both for different reasons.
Man, is this coming along.
- Hugh Laurie’s acceptance speech for his “House” GG is fucking hilarious. Especially as we get a shot of Matthew “Also nominated; didn’t win”/”Cha” Fox, smiling blandly and attempting laughter.
- OMG, Melanie Griffith is presenting, and … fuck, you know the rest. Making fun of Melanie Griffith is like doing the Bob Dylan voice and expecting a laugh.
- Okay, MG and Don effing Johnson’s daughter DAKOTA Johnson is Miss Golden Globe. She could start by standing up straight. Christ. This world is plummeting daily further into hell.
- Queen Latifah and Matt Dillon are co-presenting. She could fucking mop the floor with him.
- Some tiny stick-bitch just tried to nudge Queen Latifah offstage for this acceptance speech. You poor, poor fool.
- STEVE CARRELL JUST WON FOR THE OFFICE! Bless that man. Seriously, that show gets better every single week, and you’ve gotta watch it, seriously, I’m being seriously serious. Also “My Name is Earl” is really fucking funny.
- Did anyone, I mean anyone, see “The Constant Gardener”? Aaaanyone? Hello(-ello?-ello?-ello?)
- FUUUUUUUCK, here’s Jamie Fucking Foxxxxxxx and his dragging nuts again. Sing something, asshole! Sing! Jesus, I think he’s trying to nab the Golden Globe for Best Golden Globe Presentation Speech. LEAVE IT AT HOME, ASSHOLE.
- Yeah, clap, Ryan Philippe. Shut your fucking cake hole and clap. AND REESE W. WINS! For “Walk the Line.” I’m conflicted.
- Memo to Marcia Cross: Melon was a bad choice.
- The entire fucking cast of “Desperate Housewives” is nominated for the same award; the only one nominated who’s not from that show is Mary Louise Parker for “Weeds” (haven’t seen it). AND MARY LOUISE PARKER WINS! I could not be happier.
What the fuck’s with all these miniseriesesses? Christ. They’re all produced by HBO.
- Ed Harris. Good people.
- That John Rhys-Davies looked really young in that Elvis miniseries.
- Sometimes I feel like a schmuck for thinking Kate Beckinsale is hot. But I mean, c’mon.
- John Rhys-Davies won! He looks much younger in person too. And not at all like a dwarf.
- Now Halle Berry just takes parts where she shouts and shoves people.
- Apparently Mira Sorvino was in a miniseries about human trafficking. Who knew? Kinda wondered what happened to her. Sometimes I wish Paul Sorvino was my dad.
- S. Epatha Something just won the GG for “Best S. Epatha”. Good for her.
- Writing these makes me feel like Larry King.
- Colin Firth was just onstage. “Firth” means “a narrow inlet of the sea; an estuary.”
- Harrison Ford’s gotta be like seventy by now.
- Sweet! Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana won for “Brokeback Mountain.” Good for them.
- That Anne Hathaway is just a peach.
- “Desperate Housewives” just won for Most Overrated Mediocre Series that Peaked in its First Season. I don’t even think any housewives watch this show. GOD DAMN, SHUT UP TERI HATCHER! Christ. Blatant spotlight hoggery. I’m sure she’s this charming in person, god help those who know her.
- Penelope Cruz gets the GG for Most Humorous Accent.
- What the fuck is this Sarah Jessica “I WON’T GO AWAY!” Parker and Matthew McConagheyheypaulheyheypaula movie, the fucking romantic comedy? Christ. I can’t stand her, but MM seems like he’d be a loooooootta fun to hang out with.
Kelly’s making a tiny fat red sock monkey. I’ll send you a picture.
This just in! Gwyneth Paltrow is still horrible and boring and vanilla! Film at ten.
- Trucky just pointed his butthole at Kelly. Sort of pointedly. None of us know what to make of it.
- “Alexander” or not, Rosario Dawson’s seriously hot.
- I now only talk about which women are hot. That’s it. Nothing else.
- Jesus, okay, look, does John Williams need ANOTHER FUCKING AWARD? Seriously, I think he’s got like double-digit Oscars.
- JEEEEEEEEEEESUS, Mariah Carey’s presenting, and surprise! She’s still an idiot! Seriously, I think she might actually be retarded. Like legitimately retarded. Like IQ-less-than-80 retarded. I’m not even kidding.
- Dude, Anthony Hopkins played Hitler in something called “The Bunker.” Had no idea.
- The aforementioned cunt Paltrow is presenting the Cecil B. DeMille Lifetime Achievement Award to Anthony Hopkins(?), and she keeps pronouncing his name “Antony”, presumably so she can remind us that she’s British, in that she was (not) born in Britain. And since the British are so fond of dropping their H’s, it’s only natural.
- Seriously, Anthony Hopkins was in a movie where he and Alec Baldwin faced a bear in the Alaskan Wilderness. This, if anything, should keep him from getting any sort of lifetime achievement award until long after he’s dead.
- GOD, they keep cutting to a fucking static shot of fucking Gwyneth fucking Paltrow standing there with that disgusting simper on her face while Hopkins talks! Like FOUR TIMES NOW! WHAT THE FUCK! In other news, I hate that bitch. As does everyone in this house. Including Gus. Especially Gus.
- I think Clint Eastwood might be having a stroke. And that he’s wearing rouge.
- Ang Lee just won Best Director for “Brokeback Mountain”! Gay cowboy yeehaws all around!
Truly Ang Lee, I can’t quit you. Except for during “The Hulk”. Then I can totally quit you.
Ang Lee’s great. He’s just a peach. Like Anne Hathaway, only male and Chinese.
Jesus Christ. Does … John Travolta … what? Fuck. Christ.
- Dude, Joaquin Phoenix deservedly wins Best Actor. Good for him. Although part of me wishes Cillian Murphy had won for his drag queen role in “Breakfast on Pluto.” I didn’t see the movie, but I’ve seen stills, and that guy is a beautiful woman.
- Have I mentioned how pre* emptively sick I am of “The Producers”? For fucking real, I could already not care less about this movie/musical which I have not seen— oh wait, y’know, it seems like I did actually see a movie called The Producers, kind of a while ago … hmmm.
- uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuggggghhhhhhhhh. fuuuuuuck, can we have just one fucking goddamn awards show that doesn’t have fucking Renee goddamn squinty-ass bitch Zellweger in it … please …
- “Walk the Line” nabs best comedy or musical. Y’know, it’s clearly deserving, but just because a movie’s about a musician doesn’t make it a musical.
- “Lost” wins best TV drama! Yay, Lost. Good show. Bully! And now the entire 71-member cast takes the stage.
- Charlize Theron = Still Orange.
- Skinny-voiced Leonardo DiCaprio just got introduced as “the star of the upcoming movie ‘The Departed’,” and I totally thought they said “The Retarded.” Now I’m kinda sad there’s not a movie coming out called “The Retarded.”
- Two-time Best Actress Oscar-Winner Hilary Swank just read the words “the reverend journalist Edward R. Murrow.” It’s “revered,” sweetie. “Revered.” The former Mrs. Chad Lowe is currently filming something called “The Freedom Writers.” I can only speculate.
- That Denzel Washington’s good people.
- “Brokeback Mountain” totally wins Best Picture (Drama)! Man, that makes me happy. Truly, the Golden Globes cannot quit Brokeback Mountain.
... And we’re done! Kelly’s fat sock monkey is nearly through. It’s precious. Just precious. Man, it’s on schedule and everything! Why the fuck can’t the fucking Oscars do this? Christ, it’s not even worth asking.
Sarahbrown, I hope this helped. Catch you on the flip side.
I love Scotch,
– b.”
Two Thousand and Six
How was your 2005? Mine was pretty awesome. It was probably the best year of my life so far, even with regards to recent events. I remarked several times last year that I’d noticed that once I hit about 25, every year of my life got better than the previous one. I have high hopes for 2006, despite the fact that less than 48 hours in to it, someone very close to me said the worst thing to me that anyone has ever said to me in my life. I was not wearing pants at the time, or any clothing, really; just a fleece blanket tied around me like a towel, which I think didn’t help the situation. Then, a day later, that same person called me on the phone, and I answered because I thought, “Well, what could be worse than what they already said?” Which, ha, yeah, funny story: it turns out, so much. But at least that time I was wearing pants. Which may very well be my motto for 2006. I don’t know; we’ll see. I’m not ready to tie myself down to anything just yet.
Anyway, I wrote this year-end post about my most vivid memory from each month of the year on a magazine subscription renewal card on the plane home at Christmas, and it’s been sitting on my desk ever since, waiting to be uploaded. I’m going to go ahead and resist the urge to edit it and post it as is. Journalistic integrity or something. Whatever. That was my year. Here it is. Happy New Year.
2005:
January: T. making gumbo in the kitchen while I sat warming my feet on the radiator, and then “Fairytale of New York” by the Pogues came on, and he came out of the kitchen and spun me all around the room, and I remember that sensation of sliding on the hardwood floor in my tights like a little kid, while looking up at the snow coming down on the skylight, like an inverse snowglobe.
February: Having brunch with Josh and Ryan while my mom was visiting, and after we ate, I used the ladies’ room and came outside to see my mother absentmindedly tucking a loose thread back around a button on Josh’s peacoat, while Ryan said to her, “Aw, hell, Sarah’s the one who takes care of us.”
March: Riding the view tower Easter Sunday at Coney Island, turning slowly in the silence, high up above the whole mess of everything, D.’s long legs stretched out in front of him, the overcast sky meeting the ocean below me.
April: Breaking into the ballroom at the W Hotel with Josh and Colin and Vic, sitting in a circle in the dark, passing the confiscated bottle of champagne and playing Truth, Dare, Double Dare, Promise or Repeat until the security guards came in and Josh said, totally smooth, “Oh, did you all need this room back now?”, like we’d booked it from midnight to 2 am for this very reason.
May: May is a blur. May was hard. It seems like everything difficult came to the surface or came to a head in May. I worried about so many people I loved in May. They still felt lost to me in June, and I didn’t know what to do about that, so I just kept loving them.
June: Getting an email with the subject line “fingers crossed,” and being so nervous to open it I almost couldn’t, and then when I did, bam, a bird 3000 miles away flapped its wings and that wind blew out a candle and everything good that ever happened started happening.
July: Hearing how Emily’s voice changed when she talked to Tony on the phone while she was sick in Josh’s bathroom, and realizing how that person you need at the end of the night can be good for you, and then checking my phone and there was a message from A., asking me to please just let him know if I’d made it home safe.
August: Coming home every day from physical therapy, completely worn out, and all I could do was lie on my bed and listen to “The Bear” by My Morning Jacket and smile at my ceiling and try to figure out exactly what was happening and if it was real.
September: Opening my front door in my pajamas at 1 am to see A. walking up my street, straight towards me, smiling so big, and I thought, “Oh my god, he’s going to just walk right up and kiss me,” and all of my insides flipped, in a good way.
October: Going to see The Squid and The Whale with Sarah and Megan at the Brooklyn Pavilion one rainy Saturday, and then walking home with two bottles of wine and drinking them in my room while we played MASH, and I had that feeling I love so much, that Christmas Eve feeling, where you’re happy right now, and everything is warm and golden and you can relax and enjoy it, because not only is it happy right now, it’s going to be even happier in just a little bit, something even better and more exciting is waiting for you, but right now, it’s just safe and cozy and happy.
November: Driving back from Muir Woods with A. in the dark, Summerteeth playing on the car stereo, talking and not talking, and then we turned onto the Golden Gate and everything sort of opened up and got bigger, right in front of us, everything everywhere, just waiting.
December: Sitting by the fire Christmas night, watching Ali G with my parents and brother, which was all I’d wanted all month long, but instead of feeling fulfilled, I felt sad, like something was missing, and at that moment my phone beeped and there was a message from A. saying how he felt lonely where he was, in a house full of people, but next year would be different and better, because next year we’d be with all of those people together.
