Simply the worst.

Year-end movie lists are the number two best thing about the end of the year. But why, oh why, is the focus always on best, best, best? Lists of the worst are always so much more enjoyable because lots of someone else's money spent on ideas that utterly fail make life that much sweeter. Here, then, is a list of links to lists of the worst movies of 2004:

Msnbc.com—predictable but still fun, though can we just always consider any Christmas movie post-A Christmas Story terrible?

Newsweek (via msnbc.com)—titled "Most Disappointing," which makes for an easy way to include films by Lars Von Trier and and Jean-Pierre Jeunet without losing artistic cred. But who cares if you don't put your name on the damn thing?

The Dicks from Time magazine chime in here and here. Unfortunately, you'll have to scroll through their 10 best to get to their one (argh) worst. Always a disappointment. However, major kudos to Richard Schickel for putting the kibosh on the loathsome and, worse, tediously boring, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Must we be subjected to another Charlie Kaufman script full of unlikeable characters endlessy agonizing through nifty metaworlds?

The EW critics, Owen G. and Lisa S. Perfectly OK, though Control Room seems out of place. Call me gullible.

Finally, Filmthreat's 10 Worst Unseen Movies of 2004, though, judging by the above, a few people did manage to see Dogville. If nobody sees them, are they really that bad? Or does that make them worse? Or when will someone manage to put out a list of the worst movies of all time and just include one movie, The English Patient? Consider it done, then.


Here's Slate's David Edelstein's list of best and worst. Because he's a good critic, he almost convinced me to see Eternal Sunshine... again. Almost.

Bring-Me-a-Knitting-Needle-to-Work Day.

Apparently it's Bring-Your-Children-Under-4-to-Work Day. The bottle of champagne just placed on my desk (certainly left over from some "festive" event) may be used as a blunt object or, better, rapidly imbibed.

Death, death and mo' death!

Here's a list, courtesy of Reuters, of 2004's People Who Mattered Who Died. It's the printer-friendly version. You're welcome.

Also, in this week's special double-issue Entertainment Weekly, there's a section devoted to the celebrity deads, which is always a good time. However, could someone please explain why Isabel Sanford and Laura Branigan's blurbs are longer than Spalding Gray's? Please?

And, because comedy comes in threes, here's where you can have your own death date calculated. It's completely scientific, so you can certainly start planning for the end a bit early. But, if you're not a celebrity of the caliber of Weezie Jefferson, don't plan on making the news.


Landlord of the rings.

Why, when you've been paid on-time with non-bouncing checks for three years, won't you let us stay in our apartment an extra paid two weeks, so we can make it easier for both parties during our move? You'll miss us, faggot.

I thought yesterday felt shorter.

Holy crap!

And, because Slate rulz, here's Slate's explanation.

From my ships to God's ears.

As if cruises weren't already the most awful thing ever thrust upon humanity, someone had this brilliant idea. Honestly, if you're going to subject yourself to such torture, you might as well make it the most terrifyingly shitty experience possible. No one likes a half-ass.

Open. Open. Open.

Screw the Freedom Tower, when is this going to be finished?

Loved his popcorn.

According to imdb, at 12:02 pm EST, Jerry Orbach is still alive.

2:36 pm. Still alive.

4:10 pm. Still alive.

5:19 pm. Still alive. In other imdb news, what is this??? The description doesn't quite live up to the wonderful title, though it is, in its own way, marvelous. Could we please get this on Trio asap?

10:19 am 12/30/04. Still alive. Jesus, surely he's dead by now.

11:16 am. DEAD! He's going to get to be on the Oscar, Emmy and Tony death montages. Nice work. R.I.P. Billy Flynn.

Sweet charity.

Yes, what happened in Asia because of the tsunami (why aren't tsunamis named?) is terrible.

However, to go to Amazon.com and find the homepage devoted to a link to help tsunami victims is a wee bit much. Sure, we should help, but charity is not a special occasion. If you're inclined to give money to a charity working with tsunami victims, perhaps split the amount in half and give to another, possibly domestic, charity you endorse. This link will take you to a site on which you can find any charity by category if you do not have one in mind.

Now, back to posting about Joyce DeWitt and landlords whose heads you want to suffocate with the ratty brown coats they're wearing.


You remembered my sweeteners!

If you have a region-free DVD player, or you've hacked yours to be a region-free DVD player (which, of course, you have not), and you enjoy a good larf, you should invest in this upcoming release. Julie Walters's completely out-of-control performance is worth the price alone.

My millions.

Drink up. This is about to happen. It's sure to be a phenomenally mediocre, eminently forgettable, wholly watchable "Premiere Event."

Is Joan Collins being played by Skeletor? And why's Private Benjamin all gussied up?

Open letter #3.

Dear al Qaeda,

So, you've made contact today, according to various news sources. That's encouraging for me in a general way. But to instruct Iraqis to boycott their upcoming election really has nothing to do with finding me the perfect apartment in New York City. As well, you want them to boycott? Boycott? Is that what it's come to? You have gazillions of new members since our president attacked a socialist country, and you're encouraging a boycott? Are you PETA?

Well, since last I spoke, my boyfriend and I seem to have found a place. It's no carriage house, mind you, but it'll do. It's a bigger space than what we have now, and it has tons of storage room, which is great because we have a lot of stuff. It's in an elevator building, too. And it has a fireplace, which is where you make a fire to keep you warm, like maybe you do in ventilated tunnel systems. The point is, keep the terror away from the area between Union and Washington Squares. You are now instructed, though NOT by me at all, to focus it on the area of 24th Street and 9th Avenue (north side, left of the cute little café) and the Citi-Habitats office on Seventh Avenue between 19th and 20th Streets.

I think we can all agree that life is tough. But, certainly, a recommended boycott of Iraq elections really isn't going to change things. Do you think actual Iraqis' votes are going to be counted, anyway? Do you realize who's running the election? We are! And I think you know that our elections do not compare favorably to those of, say, Haiti or Botswana. The election will be held no matter what happens, even if there are no candidates. And I was going to suggest that perhaps this whole boycott business is just a ruse, a front for something much more terrifying. But you know what? Forget about Iraq completely. We're destroying it for you, and you're only benefitting. It's like getting the Hope diamond and treating it like a piece from the Joan Rivers QVC collection. Focus on the terror, s'il-vous plaît.

Oh, give my regards to Al Zaqari. He's a cutie. And so forceful.


P.S. The best way to clean 24th Street is to use 409. Got it? 409.


I mean, really.

OK. If your legs work and you don't have a cane and the bank is only on the second floor of the building, TAKE THE FUCKING SHORT FLIGHT OF STAIRS LOCATED ADJACENT TO THE ELEVATOR.

That's just not white!

You, too, can search for local level 3 sex offenders by going here and clicking on the appropriate state.

A New York City search illustrated that apparently no white men in New York City have ever reached level 3 regarding sex offense. Clearly white men behave more civilly and responsibly when it comes to sex offense, unlike their darker, less educated brethren. A collective sigh of relief, then, should be taken with the knowledge that the majority of sexually active men on the street are white or are intelligent enough to know how to sex offend in the right place, at the right time, with someone darker nearby. Thank you, NYPD, for keeping the coloreds out of the bedroom where the white is obviously the caring, and gentle, king.

Worley gig.

Here's a picture of Jo Anne Worley, because she's hilarious and still alive, and perhaps we need to be reminded of that as the year draws to a close.

Got yer number.

Publicly unearthed by Slate, the Amazon.com customer service number: 1-800-201-7575

However, a more important and useful one—the Buy.com customer service number: 1-877-780-2464. If you've ordered from Buy.com this holiday season, chances are you will be dialing this number. You have my sympathy.


Just in case you don't think people are absolutely out of their minds, enjoy this little holiday collection.


Blue is the new Friday.

Be a good shopper. Go here.

Not so innocent.

The good news: The Innocence Mission has a new cd out. It's called 'Now the Day Is Over,' and it's a collection of mostly covers sung as lullabies. Karen Peris's voice is one of the sweetest and most gentle voices around, so this is a nice idea. Anytime this group releases a new cd, it's cause for a bit of celebration.

The bad news: the covers include "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," "What a Wonderful World," and "Edelweiss." Please, please, please, can "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" never be covered again ever? Please? It's a perfectly marvelous song. The melody and structure are impeccable. But, honestly, enough already. Same goes for "What a Wonderful World." As for "Edelweiss," the idea that anyone wants to sing or even listen to any song from Rodgers and Hammerstein's unforgivable crapfest, 'The Sound of Music,' is way beyond me. In fact, it's somewhere over the frickin' rainbow.


Village idiots.

If you'd like to watch one of New York's many soon-to-be-unproduced plays, movies or TV shows being written, go here. And make sure you're dressed in this second's fashions, otherwise you'll be glared at by the denizens who apparently can afford Balenciaga shearling vests with all the money they save on not paying for electricity for their Powerbooks. Just don't sit in John Cameron Mitchell's seat.

Islands 1.

The first in a series of imagined islands, far from the island of Manhattan, where certain people who deserve to be separated from general humanity shall be sent. One-way airfare, sunglasses, and SPF 30 are provided. As well, special requests can be submitted and will be considered on a case-by-case basis.

Investment Banker Island
A safe zone away from anyone creative, sensitive and/or interesting. IBI will be covered with empty buildings, companies, promises all waiting for the "right person." No female investment bankers will be present, as any who haven't been completely humiliated, patronized and/or harrassed by male investment bankers are granted universal amnesty, if, in fact, they can be located, which, as of this writing, they can't. Young females will be occasionally flown in to a special pavilion where they will be raped and subjected to stories about college. Steak frites will be plentiful and Hummers (and hummers!) will abound. No apartments or houses will be available for rental, only PURCHASE. And, of course, there will be absolutely no jails. Only Bennigans. Miles and miles of Bennigans, where happy hour will be as eternal as the thick air of unrepentance.


Quick question.

If you're an investment banker, why the FUCK are you renting a $2200-per-month apartment? Wouldn't a smart INVESTMENT be to BUY one? Are you GOD DAMN FUCKING RETARDED?

Enjoy the place, Investy McBloodfart. And in case you want to barbecue, you can rent the grill here. Faggot.

Open letter #2.

Dear al Qaeda,

I haven't heard from you since my last communication, which I'm guessing is good, because effective terror is all about surprise. Admittedly, we're getting down to crunch time, here, but I'm sure it's all in the name of results. So, I totally appreciate anything and everything you're cooking up. However, there's been a small, well, snag...

Here's the thing. My boyfriend and I actually found our dream apartment. When we walked in, we were like, "This is it. This is the one." You know that feeling? Surely you've felt like that about certain caves. Anyway, we applied immediately and submitted as much information as we could on a Saturday. Together, my boyfriend and I are exemplary candidates for a $2200-per-month rental. He makes good money, and I have good credit. Unfortunately, his credit isn't so hot. Now, this was made clear to our realtor from the get-go, but, ultimately, our application was declined because the management company was like, "His credit isn't so hot." To which, we were like, "Duh. We said that from the beginning." We even had a millionnaire guarantor on our side, but, apparently, another applicant had both good income and good credit sans guarantor. His application was accepted. Our dreams were crushed. And, let me tell you, this was a dream apartment. Well, not so much an apartment. A carriage house. With patio. And dishwasher. And 1.5 bathrooms. And wood-burning fireplace. And three levels. And skylights. It was perfect, especially for recording music, which is what we really want to do. I imagine it's similar to the feeling of sanctions being lifted in an area you're occupying, but your not being able to reap the benefits because you're, well, al Qaeda. I don't know. Maybe something like that. I'm trying to bring it down to your level.

Anyway anyway anyway, this carriage house is on West 24 Street, just off Ninth Avenue. I don't want to give the exact address because that seems kind of tacky. But it's probably the only one of its kind around there. And I only tell you this because the house would be a perfect secret location for a group of government officials or infidel Jews to meet and conspire against you. And I do not, DO NOT, endorse your terror tactics, but we do have a financial advantage over you, so by telling you the whereabouts of a possible "undisclosed location," I feel like I'm just leveling the playing field a little. Oh, and the person who got the place is probably ROLLING in liquid cash because apparently a large income plus two millionnaire guarantors (a local one hopped on board a little later) was not good enough to secure a 1 bedroom in Manhattan. So I'm guessing that if there aren't Jews in there, there's definitely money. You can use that, right? You know. Right?

So, essentially, I'm not instructing you to do anything. I will NOT be party to your insanity.


P.S. Do you have a helicopter? I'm just asking.

A signature gift.

Amen to this!


Honestly, I'm a little hungry now.

The quote of the day can be found in the item below, paraphrased from CNN.com (only because it's rilly easy to read):

Two members of the '60s pop group, the Turtles, are suing Applebee's over an ad in which lyrics to the hit, "Happy Together," have been modified. In said ad, the original lyrics, "Imagine me and you, I do/I think about you day and night, it's only right..." have been modified to "Imagine steak and shrimp, or shrimp and steak/Imagine both of these on just one plate."

The pair said the lyrics changed "from those of a sweet love song to a crass paean to shrimp and steak combination plates."

All I want is to get away from you.

Nothing better captures the spirit of the holiday season than this small bit of joy. Joyeux noel!


Klonopin should be sainted.


Amber Frey Alert.

I guess this clears up any confusion that may have existed regarding the Amber Alert system.


Requestium in odoramus.

People, could we go easy on the cologne and perfume? Jesus.

A word with you.

Please, someone get him and her lyricists. Some of the best songs were written by more than one person. It's OK. You don't have to do it all.


I Will Have Not Remembered You.

Sarah McLachlan, on her new celebrity playlist on Apple's iTunes, selects Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's "Mustt Mustt (Lost in His Work)" as one of her tracks. Of Khan, she writes, "He has an incredible passion and power in his voice." Also, he's been dead since 1997.

Legally blinded.

Season finale tonight. What's most exciting about it is that, once it's over, you'll never see any of them again.

UPDATE: This won. The "reality" in "reality show" is now completely, utterly destroyed. On the plus side, her eyes work.


In 2 Me C Cray-zee.

Yes, this has been around forever, but it will not matter until everyone ever knows about it. For the total bananas experience, enable sound. And, please, whatever you do, don't look directly at it.

Open letter.

Dear al Qaeda,

On September 11, 2001, you attacked our country and my city. I know. I was there. I have Polaroids of the North Tower burning like a firecracker. The South Tower had already fallen. Even though the tragedy took place about a mile south of my apartment, I slept through it all until the gazillionth phone call forced me from my bed. It was horrifying, unbelievable, exasperating and several thousand other things. Also, and I don't know if this was due to some incredible planning or just to sheer luck, but it was one of the most beautiful days ever to grace New York City. It was so beautiful, that, after watching TV for hours and not being able to take it anymore, my boyfriend and I sat on a bench in Washington Square Park as the putrid smoke rose over lower Manhattan.

So, yes, it was a terrible thing you did. Lots of people died. Lots of lungs became infected. Lots of money that could have been used for education to correctly inform people about just why you attacked us (wishful thinking, of course) has been spent on rebuilding and, more, on arguing about the rebuilding. There is a gigantic hole, literally and figuratively, in the best city in the world. How dare you.

That said, my boyfriend and I are looking for a two-bedroom apartment, and ideally we'd love to stay close to where we are now, in the West Village. In December of 2001, we got a one-bedroom on a charming street for no fee (!) and a steal. It's three years later, and the rents are back up to what they were pre-terror. There's really just no way we can afford a real two-bedroom in the Village right now. So, my communication here is relatively simple: what say you cause a little trouble again? Our president has the country constantly utterly terrified, so it wouldn't even have to be that drastic. Maybe you could torch the mall at South Street Seaport. I don't think anyone's been there since '92, so you wouldn't be hurting anyone. But it is on the water, so it would have a spectacular effect, and it would be easy to film. Or what about hijacking one of those double-decker tourist buses and driving it around town while you shoot machine guns into the air, like you do at weddings? Or Planet Hollywood. Believe it or not, it's still there. You'd be able to attack a capitalist establishment AND celebrity culture, again, without physically harming a soul. There really are so many choices; it took me only a few moments to come up with those three. You have thousands of Attack Planning seminar graduates, right? Get to work!

The bottom line is that, honestly, we both benefit. My boyfriend and I get a wonderful new West Village apartment with office space for our new G5 iMac, and you get new recruits when our president attacks an Arab country you have nothing to do with. It's win-win, really. The whole waiting for that old lady with the perfect apartment to die thing never pans out, and I don't burgle, so this seems to be the only way. Oh, and if, while you're at it, you could broadcast an ominous video or do some evil skywriting or something, that would be stellar. We'd LOVE a roofdeck or washer/dryer.

Thanks. Take care.



I'm walking here

If you want to die but are afraid of actually killing yourself, try walking in Jersey City.