Monthly Archives: September 2009
I am what’s wrong with America. I can identify this woman (at right). And I’m pretty sure I could name all the winners of Flavor of Love, I Love New York and Charm School but I’m still fuzzy on all the Supreme Court justices.
I’ve recently gotten into The Rachel Zoe Project. 1. Because I don’t get home until after 10pm on Mondays and I like to unwind with less challenging material than most DCers and 2) Have you seen this chick? Just look at her! She’s SO STRESSED! Her job is DEMANDING, SERIOUS and EXHAUSTING.
This is Rachel Zoe’s emaciated right hand, Taylor Jacobson. She is what I imagine a stubbed out Camel Light would look and sound like if it decided to take human form and walk amongst us. She is self-described as “socially awkward” and has a world view matching that of Zimunda’s Crown Prince Akeem (pre-visit to Jackson Heights).
Notwithstanding the foregoing, I cannot peel myself away from this program. Who can blame me, Internet? It has all the crucial elements for addicting even the most critical of audiences. It celebrates an industry that you cannot imagine thriving in this recession and yet does. It’s protagonist and her henchmen are bad vapid people who feel like they are curing cancer through style. And it allows you, the audience member, to feel superior in your day to day because you have a serious job that helps others during this financial meltdown… like working at an investment bank or whatever.
Wait! Before you send me the cerulian sweater clip from The Devil Wears Prada. I know there’s a need for fashion, frills and frivoloty. I like pretty things. I like award shows with fancy dresses, magazines filled with cool looking shoes and jewelry that I cannot possibly afford. I get it. I just don’t get the Atlas-like struggle each of these people seem to have on a daily basis with JEANS.
During my commute this morning there was a man in the back of the metro car singing the following line repetitiously every four Mississippi seconds for about seven metro stops:
Gonna fuck him up… ooooh…
(He was also wearing this hat.)
The Smart Ones I had for lunch today was so salty I had to apply chapstick after finishing.
If you’ve never had the hots for Liam Neeson at some point then you, like Bruce Jenner, are a complete mystery to me. He may be Ireland’s greatest export after Roma Downey and binge drinking. There’s not much for me to do in regards to a formal “review” as there is minimal dialogue in this international-cinematic-bar-fight but I shall do my best.
Frankly, this is more of a “what’s up” than a review. So ok, Liam Neeson’s daughter goes to SCARY CORRUPT…wait for it… PARIS, FRANCE!!!!! She is then TAKEN by SCARY foreigners who want her American bod to make sex times on Shieks for free or whatever. I know! She was THANKFULLY on the phone with Captain Ireland when she gets abducted. Again, THANKFULLY, the Pride of the North has crazy Navy Seal ninja skills and some magic box that can decipher the burp he overheard in the background that gives him all the info he needs to start crackin’ skulls in gay Pareeee.
Here’s how the rest of it goes down. Rob Roy gets off the plane and he’s all, “Hey you guy in the leather jacket?! Voulez-vous- ah screw it!” BOOM. DEAD. Next scene: “Oh hey what’s up guy in an alley way in Paris? You look screwey. ” BOOM. DEAD. Next scene: [whistling whistling] EXPLOSION!
I think you follow.
In a nutshell, run don’t walk to your On Demand and rent this. You’re welcome.