blog_laylaness

Stop the MTV remake of Rocky Horror Picture Show

Is nothing sacred? The only "remake" that should be going on is the Saturday night Barely Legal action!

If I live to tell / The secret I knew then / Will I ever have a chance again?

 Last night after work, I stopped at my friendly neighborhood Barnes & Noble to pick up Christopher Ciccone's just-released memoir, Life with My Sister Madonna. Interestingly, once I picked it up, the experience was a lot like Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - I could not stop reading for the life of me.

Let me start with the fact that I stopped caring about Madonna somewhere between Like a Prayer and Erotica. I'd moved on to different waters - namely, Pearl Jam. I loved her when I was little. My mom exposed me to all kinds of music, including, famously, taking me to Prince's Purple Rain tour in 1984 (I was 5). I spent a good chunk of the '80s in black lace fingerless gloves, with permed hair, and the attitude of a teenager even though I was still in single-digit territory. I loved Desperately Seeking Susan and coveted that red silk bomber jacket with the dragon embroidered on the back.

As the '80s came to an end and I entered (finally) the double-digit era, I moved on to the grunge scene, and had a preoccupation with the Athens, Georgia R.E.M./B-52's thing, got into indie and punk and became generally jaded.

Even though I purchased Erotica, I never once listened to it.

And every record and tour Madonna has had since then, I dismiss with an eye roll and declare that she will never be as cool as she was in the Like a Prayer video.

The recent tabloid rumors about her relationship with Alex Rodriguez have only served to annoy me when I'm cruising the gossip sites.

But somehow when I was wandering aimlessly through the bookstore, I saw this on the new release shelf and just could not help myself.

I don't particularly know much about Madonna's personal and professional reputation, and nor do I care much. She has famously remained distant from her family, and has spun every "controversy" she's had in the media to her advantage.

I started reading the prologue about the details of her brother Christopher's involvement with her Girlie Show tour and it was a bit boring, particularly since I wasn't interested on the Erotica record. I figured I'd read the first chapter, as it got into her family life when she was younger, and the discord between her and her siblings. Then I got pulled into her brother's account of ballet classes with her, and how she introduced him to gaydom. And then I just could not stop.

The whole book is a little simpering and Christopher Ciccone comes across as groveling to Madonna throughout her whole career. He takes every opportunity to mention that he loves his sister, and never wishes her any unhappiness, and would sacrifice anything for her. Most of the memoir takes this tone.

He writes briefly of each of her major relationships with men, mentioning his favorites and how he saw them as people. He writes about her friendships with women (Sandra Bernhardt, Ingrid Casares) and how they are affected by her fame. He writes of her metamorphoses from ballet student to musician to gay icon to weirdo. Each time he writes something negative about her, he is careful to follow it up with "but she is my sister and I love her, and I feel bad for writing that letter..." Even in the last few chapters where he details the deterioration of their relationship, he blames himself, not her, for a bad situation.

Ciccone alternates between addressing her as "my sister" or "Madonna". He does refer to her as "she", but more often than not, you can see his reaction to her by which term he uses. "My sister" is saved for the more personal times; "Madonna" is reserved for anecdotes about touring and business, although occasionally you can see the battle for him differentiating from his sister and The Idol.

In the end, there are really no scintillating, surprising reveals about Madonna's character or her tabloid shenanigans. She comes across exactly as one would expect, especially given her bizarre Kaballah-Richie-Timberlake-Britney behavior over the last half-decade.

The worst hour on television

I admit it - I'm a TV junkie. I live and die by the TiVo. Season Pass conflicts give me hives.

I'll also admit that I watch reality shows in particular: Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List, Project Runway, America's Next Top Model, Top Chef, Shear Genius... Pretty much anything Bravo wants to spoon-feed me.

Last night, I watched the most appalling, horrible, disgusting hour on television. It should come as no surprise that it was on E! (the only show I watch on that particular channel is The Soup). It was... Denise Richards: It's Complicated, followed by (sigh) Living Lohan.

Look, I'm ashamed, okay? I couldn't help it. I was out of TiVo, and there was nothing on. I suppose I could have turned it off, but there's not much else to do at 10pm on a Sunday night.

Denise Richards: It's Complicated (or, to borrow from Joel McHale, Denise Richards Colon It's Actually Really Stupid) is so, so, so bad. And it's not even so bad it's good. It's just awful. First, her nasal whine is enough to make me commiserate with the Sheen. Second, the episode I saw was full of her complaining that she's fat and needs to lose five pounds. Way to set a healthy example for your daughters, Denise! Third, she's vapid and has nothing of value to contribute to society.

The thing that got me most about this episode? She's being followed around by cameras for her reality show, yet she bitches out a papparazzo who follows her and her chick friends around Hawaii. "All I want is to have a nice time with my friends!", she whines (nasally).

Right. Right. Let's break this down: You have film crews for E! following you around constantly, which you even took your ex-husband to court for so you could show your two young kids on it; you're smearing your divorce all over the tabloids;  you were openly dating the not-yet-ex-husband of your alleged friend, which you also addressed in tabloid interviews; and the thing that you want most is to be left alone on a beach in Hawaii, as you're being filmed for your reality show, by one dude with a camera who probably won't even get enough cash from selling your pictures to make up for his time? Okay.

Living Lohan isn't much better. The nasal whines are two-fold - Dina and Ali Lohan whine about everything. I didn't even make it through the whole episode. I got irritated six minutes in when Ali starts whining about how she has to feel the songs that other people are writing for her, so she can believe in herself when she sings them. Are you frigging kidding me? I mean, really.

Between that and name-dropping Lindsay every fifteen seconds, I don't understand how this has any appeal. Lindsay herself refused to attach her name to it - and she was in I Know Who Killed Me.

Another one bites the dust... metaphorically this time

My first car ever was a blue 1983 Honda Prelude. I loved that car, even though it was old and had a crap-ton of miles and had been through my cousin Mike before me. I loved it so much, my dad rebuilt the engine after the head gaskets blew because I didn't want a new car. One day, after I'd had it three or so years, the timing belt snapped, and that was all she wrote.

My second car was a Saturn. I hated that car. It overheated all the time, and one day when I was in the Wendy's drive-thru, a seal on the radiator blew and coolant gushed out everywhere. $2500 later it was fixed, and then ended up on the used lot at Concord Honda because...

My third car is a 2004 Honda Civic EX (my V-Tec just kicked in!). I like my Honda. I loved it when I first got it. I was fresh out of college, 1 year established in a good job, and the Shat-urn (as I so lovingly referred to it) was finally done. I walked right onto the lot with my dad, and drove off in my shiny new car. I was proud of myself - I bought it new, got a good interest rate on the loan and didn't even need my dad to co-sign. The following year, as a birthday present, it was outfitted with Tein lowering springs.

As much as I love Ruby, she's still a Honda Civic. She's still a practical college car.

Now I want a fun car. I want to go fast and I want it to be pretty. I have it built out for custom order. I have parties who are interested in purchasing Ruby. I'm going to test drive it just to appear as though I am being responsible - I mean, I already have her picked out and have my heart set on her; at this point, it would take an act of God to stop me.

The countdown begins...

Another One Crossed Off the Checklist

As part of my metamorphosis into the Me I Want to Be™, I made a list of things that I'd changed and now sort of regret. Although part of my life's philosophy is never to regret your actions, but treat them as learning experiences, there are a few things I wish I hadn't done. I've also made a list of things I've been too chicken to do, like going blonde (which I did about four months ago).

On Saturday, I got my nose pierced again. I'd had it done twice before, but both times I took it out; most recently because I was leaving University and probably couldn't get a job if I'd left it in. I'd decided against a retainer because I thought that would look weird. Anyway, I'm really glad I did it again, and no one even noticed.

Behold, the process:

Step 1: Regard hot, funny piercer with mild trepidation.

Step 2: Swab off make-up.

Step 3: Keep eyes closed while needle is in face.

Step 4: Consider flirting with hot, funny piercer while he is inserting jewelry; discount this idea as awkward.

Zooey Deschanel + M. Ward = Luuurrrve

Go here now to download She and Him (otherwise known as Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward) tracks live from KCRW, and an album track called "Why Do you Let Me Stay Here?".

Awesome covers of "Bring It on Home to Me" and "You Really Got a Hold on Me". Zooey's voice is heaven.

I figured few people would miss my absence from this here corner of the intertubes, hence the lack of posting. Quick updates:

• Taking four classes this semester, in addition to working full-time (with an impending mini-redesign on the day-job website), trying to have a social life, and taking ballet. Yes, ballet. I like the shoes.
• I am working with a former co-worker doing some stuff for Save the Chimps. More on that as it comes up.
• I'm once again embarking on the 50 Book Challenge. I'm on track so far.
• Spent all week at Macworld 2008. Didn't get to see much beyond what was immediately surrounding our booth. I did pick up a pair of furry pink headphones from Skullcandy, and the rayD8 Mimobot, though. Both are very cool and useful.

What I Wanted To Say

He asked me how we looked in the pictures I found.
I hesitated a moment.
The question caught me off guard.
I said, 'I look young and you look just like you'.
He understood what I was trying to say and laughed his soft laugh.

I know now what I wanted to say:
We Look Happy.

I forgot how to make the hand-turkey drawing.

And I don't like pumpkin pie. Thanksgiving has no special meaning to me beyond the days I get off of work. I do have people I am thankful for, however, whom I take for granted most of the time.

Megabitch, you're like my other half, no matter how much time passes and how many words are unsaid. I love you to pieces.

Sal, I miss you and love you! Come home!

To the Walshins: Thank you for being my family.

Gerardo, if I didn't have you, I don't know who I'd be a stuck-up Lit major with. Or dance badly with. Or tell me when a dress would make me look stumpy. Thanks for being there.

Kristin, we shouldn't be allowed to shop together, ever. Thanks for making work bearable. And thanks for all the non-fat lattés.

Conan, you give the best hugs, like, in the world.

To everyone else, have a great holiday weekend. And save some of those sweet potatoes with the marshmallows on top for me.

More squash-killing

The pirate ship pumpkin!

Happy Halloween everyone!