Rainy days & Mondays always get me down

Or maybe it's just the fact that I feel like mildew after a thirsty Thursday gone turribly wrong. It's those damn alchy genes in me. They get me every time, and I continue to not learn my lesson that consuming every kind of alcohol available to me is totally unnecessary. Oh well, at least I can thank my emerging Old Lady gene for disallowing me to partake in this kind of mind-numbing stupidity more than once every couple of weeks.

In other news, I have officially become a cryer, and I don't think I can pawn it off to monthly hormonal flip-flops, though I'm still hoping to. I went to go see Camp, a film about kids who go to summer drama camp, most of them homosexuals and faghags (of course). The movie overall was charming but poorly produced with a shoddy script and less-than-stellar acting. (I do strongly advise the soundtrack.) The point, however, is that I was crying within the first five minutes of the film's start and started up again at the end. When Adrien Brody won the Oscar, I was spewing forth tears like a fire hydrant, and fuhgeddabout American Idol because I'm a goner at least once an episode towards the end. Could it be that I'm becoming sensitive? A woman even? Or just a blubbering fool? Only time will tell, but if my evolving penchant for pink is any sign, it's gonna be a bumpy transition into femininity.

Other than camp, I saw a marvelous Mexican movie called Lucia, Lucia. It constitutes another of the films in the Mexican New Wave, about which I know nothing but am beginning to want to know more. Both Lucia, Lucia and Y Tu Mama Tambien had a 2-men-and-1-woman structure, though Lucia, Lucia is decidedly more high concept, with an abduction, government corruption and ever-changing, children's-story-writing heroine. And I didn't even mention the film's young, male ingenue Adrian, ha-cha he's a keeper. So, if you're in a city where they actually show foreign, independent cinema (like, say, not Birmingham), I'd highly recommend this one.

I know it's been said time and time again, but this summer of big-budget sequels has turned out to be a breeding ground for sleeper successes and impressive indie fare. Producers today keep saying that audiences are smart, but maybe after this summer they'll actually believe this pseudo-respectful mantra. If you shovel enough junk food in our faces, occasionally we'll go home hungry, so there.

Ebs, what are ya thinkin?
And speaking of movies, I'm beginning to question the wise words of my mentor-of-sorts, Mr. Roger Ebert, though he still has an undeniably polished and convincing way of delivering them. As always, I checked my Chicago Sun-Times online today, and saw that Roger ebert had given American Wedding 3 stars and Gigli a whopping 2 1/2. Granted, Ebert is an undeniable straight man, which already means our tastes differ markedly on some movies, but I thought even these scores were high for someone whose pronouncements I generally use as a cinematic compass.

Take for example, his review of Gigli, which characterizes a penis-versus-vagina debate sequences as one of the moments in the film that are "really very good." Wha?! From what I understand, the film actually tries to convince us (subtly, by insinuation and, not least of all, through shameless marketing) that even Ben Affleck can charm the pants off a lesbian (played with hetty finesse by J.Lo, I'm sure). Was my man Ebs blinded by the swanky supporting cast members like Pacino, Walken and Lainie Kazan (My Big Fat Greek Wedding), to whom he gives most of the credit for the movies potential? He actually proposes that if 15 minutes or so were shaved off the film, it could even be good. 3 stars good? Because that's what you gave American Wedding, Rog...

Kids (and parents) today are such pansies
And in another nationally recognized newspaper, the New York Times, I read an article about the kids who attend sleepaway camp and their parents who -- get this -- send them cell phones and regular e-mails/faxes to avoid homesickness. It comes as a shock to the parents when the kids desperately ask to be picked up early. Anyone who knows me knows that I am no fan of nature, but I did attend camp for 10 years, and on my first summer, I was one homesick 9-year-old for the first couple of days of my 3-week stay. But I stifled my tears and got through it because that's what you do at sleepaway camp -- you sleep away.

The article even depicts an incident where parents drive 100 miles to their kid's camp to talk him into staying after he sends an e-mail saying "Come get me the day after you get this letter. I'm not waiting." The mother takes this as a sign that her little brat will make a run for it in the middle of the night. These kids are too weak to handle a few weeks in the controlled wilderness, like they're going to go on the lam...

My main question, though, is what kind of camp are these kids going to where they can write e-mails? Camp is about living a cabin in the woods, only a clip-on fan to keep off the sweltering heat. It's not about sitting all posh-like in some computer lab and re-enacting your homelife with strangers that you haven't even met because you've been too busy writing pleading e-mails to your parents to rescue from all these 'strangers.' Suck it up, kids!

And the verdict is in...
Justin Timberlake is an avid ass-smacker. (Which could be less-than-perfect considering his most current femme du jour Cameron Diaz has no ass to speak of. Maybe Justin's learned a lesson, considering his trysts with more luscious ladies have all gone sour North and South of the border.)

And speaking of action South of the border, his new video for "Senorita" is totally whack. Justin comes in, notices the (coincidence!) hip band and Pharrell from the Neptunes, and feels the need to sing a little ditty for all of the bikini-clad dreamgirls. It must all be a complete fantasy. Why else would all those girls (and Pharrell, infamous like all hip hop stars for his propensity for the bling) be at some dive bar in the no-man's-land between Texas & Mexico, wearing nothing but their for-all-intents-and-purposes "unmentionables"? They call it the dutty South for a reason.

I swear, if he ever does a musical... well, okay, I'll go see it, but I'll also have both barrels loaded, ready to pop a cap in JT's ass and stop the insanity!