Cocktail Confession

I'm about to share something that might make you think that I am without taste. You may even be correct. Regardless, in order to understand me, it is important to understand the effect that Tom Cruise has had on my life. Stay with me.

When I was four-years-old I watched the 1988 film "Cocktail". As you know, it was a box office smash that garnered Tom Cruise a Razzie Award for Worst Actor. No other movie has had as profound an effect on my life. I have watched it approximately 7.2 billion times over the years. Now, being that I was four, I don't think it was the alcohol, sex or suicide that drew me in. It was Tom Cruise. I didn't understand romantic love, but I knew I wanted to be Elisabeth Shue desperately. I wanted to walk around in my black one-piece, hug Tom Cruise (the sex part didn't completely make sense to me) and watch him throw bottles to Robert Palmer songs all day long.

It was harmless enough, I thought. But I have these "great", "responsible" parents, who were all, "This is inappropriate. You're not allowed to watch this." I'm sure it was alarming that their sweet little curly blond-haired daughter somehow discovered "Cocktail" and kept begging to watch it over and over. They tried all sorts of ways to stop me. But just like Jordan's father in the movie, they couldn't keep me away from Brian Flanagan.

In general, loving this particular Tom Cruise movie is a very lonely place to be. People just don't understand. When you love something this incredibly mediocre, you should never try to share it. A lesson I will never learn. If you spend any significant amount of time with me, I will make you watch Cocktail, you, in turn, will make fun of it, I will resent you, and we will both wish the whole thing never happened. Case in point, when I suggested watching it with my ex-boyfriend's religious sister. That is when I first learned that sometimes I have appaulingly poor judgment. In my defense, she said she loved Tom Cruise. I should have known she meant "Legend" Tom Cruise. The problem is, I never realize just how much sex is in the movie until Gina Gershon is naked, thrashing sheets with a bottle of whiskey. I'm sure his sister thought I was an alcoholic sex-maniac by the time it was over, and I'm very sure she was happy when we broke up.

This movie played a huge role in determining my "type". To this day any guy becomes 50% more attractive standing behind "3 feet of mahogany". Now, bartenders are great people, but the profession in itself is actually not always the ideal reason to date a guy. I won't go into too much detail, but I once spent 6 months pining over a bartender simply because he looked like Brad Pitt from Snatch. Don't worry, this makes me hate me as well.

Cocktail has had some positive effects on my life though. I don't wear a lot of make up. Elisabeth Shue didn't wear a lot of make up. Coincidence? I don't think so. Also, I am not a gold digger. Gold digging and going after the "rich chick" end very badly in Cocktail. I'd like to think I wouldn't be a gold digger regardless, but who can tell?

Over the years, I have had to defend this movie and Tom Cruise more times than could possibly be counted. There's always the "Scientology" thing, the "gay" thing, and the "it's a shitty movie" thing. And I will admit that even my deep loyalty started to fade, when the couch jumping began. But then, in the midst of his crazy train ride of 2005, I met him.

I told myself that I was over it. I told myself that he was crazy. But when I got within a few feet of him, my four-year-old self took over. I was enveloped in a haze that I had no control over. I grabbed a folder out of my bag, walked right up to him and frantically said, "I've loved you since I was four-years-old and saw you in Cocktail." He did just what you'd think. He laughed hysterically, with his big-toothy-movie-star laugh, patted my arm, thanked me and roared away on his motorcycle to the hilltop tower where Katie Holmes was no doubt waiting . He will never again be the Tom Cruise that I fell in love with, but I will always have a soft spot for him in my heart.

So the next time you're sitting on the couch, and TBS comes on, and you see a handsome man wearing baggy, tropical shirts, give him a chance. I give you permission to turn the channel just before Doug kills himself. But come back for the wholesome family ending. Also, invite me over. I'll quote all the best parts and show you the scenes where his hair is longer because he was shooting "Days of Thunder". See you soon!

Yep, I did just write a lengthy blog about "Cocktail".

Bitch, please.

I don't know about you, but sometimes my inner monologue is a bitch. This morning I woke up with a voice in my head saying, "Well, you're going to have a crappy day. Why haven't you been taking better care of yourself? You need to write more. You need to sleep more. You need to call your family more. You need to eat better. You need to be perfect. You're not perfect. Why aren't you perfect?" In these moments, this inner voice is usually so convincing I believe her and for the rest of the day wallow in the realization of all my flaws and shortcomings. Fortunately, I always come out of it. That is the cycle, my inner monologue knocks me out, I struggle on the ground for a bit, then the real me finds strength and knocks the bitch out, until she wakes up again and round and round we go. After years of experience with the evil inner monologue, I have learned some tricks to keep the visits short:

1) I tell myself I am Beyonce: I understand that Beyonce is human, but I don't fully believe it. It is hard for me to believe that Beyonce has the evil inner monologue. I think her inner monologue says, "Damn, girl, keep doin your thing. Your fierceness is indisputable."

2) I watch Janeane Garofalo stand up. She makes cookie-cutter perfection seem super uncool, which makes me feel super cool. I also like to pretend it's 1995. I liked 1995.

3) I listen to music. I don't think I need to explain how listening to music works.

4) I see The Pee Wee Herman Show Live. Ok, I don't usually do this, but I did this weekend. I didn't realize how much I missed hearing, "I know you are, but what am I." I missed Miss Yvonne and her fabulousness, I missed the word of the day and I missed the giant tin foil ball. It's difficult to feel anything other than joy while watching this wacky world.

Hey, if you're having a day like me. Look at the above picture of Beyonce and listen to these songs (It is similar to pouring salt on a slug, and then shooting it with a 'Shotgun'. You've done that before right?): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMs9NudasVI

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=19voBJfTkFo&feature=related

You know what? I think I knocked the bitch out. 'Til next time beee-yotch.

Perfect People Climb a Mountain

Get ready to feel really terrible about yourself. Jessica Biel and some other infuriating earth savers are here to ensure it.

The perfect-posteriored actress just joined a group of young entertainers and philanthropists to scale Mount Kilimanjaro. They made the journey to draw attention to the dire water crisis in Africa. To them I say this: Ok we get it. You're young, you're rich, you're fit, you're beautiful, you care about stuff blah, blah, blah. But do you all really have to flaunt it while we, the poor masses, sit at our desks trying to muster the energy to get to the gym for 20 minutes on the stationary bike, and sweep the kitchen? How am I supposed to feel proud that I walked around the block during my break, when Jessica "Perfect Ass" Biel is scaling a mountain for clean water? And I thought it was really nice of me when I helped an old lady put batteries in her remote control yesterday. But now, I feel like I should be doing more charity crap. I'm already quite tired.

Yes, we are the victims in this. Not these mysterious people with the dirty drinking water. Who are these people anyway? I would also like to add that sometimes I drink water straight out of the tap, and I don't even filter it. Where are my advocates? Who's climbing a mountain for me? Puts things in perspective doesn't it?

The group even started a website to document their journey. I made the mistake of reading their bios. By the end I wanted to curl up on the floor and dip chocolate in peanut butter while listening to Damien Rice. Now, in hopes that you will all feel equally inferior, enjoy these excerpts:

Kenna (Creator/Singer): Created the Summit on the Summit journey. He is asking friends and future generations to step up to the plate and take responsibility for the world we live in.

Jessica Biel (Actress/Altruist/Perfect Ass): says she's proud to, "help any way I can to raise awareness toward the life-threatening clean water crisis happening not only in Africa, but around the world." She co-founded the Make A Difference Foundation with her father and has won several philanthropy awards.

Alexandra Cousteau (Water Expert/Explorer/Granddaughter of Jacques): "...pioneering environmental conservation and awareness initiatives throughout the world. Alexandra is currently a National Geographic Emerging Explorer and recently completed a 100-day journey across 5 continents to explore the most critical water issues of our time."

Jimmy Chin (Photographer): "Jimmy has climbed Mt. Everest two times and has skied the mountin from the summit. He is considered one of the most sought-after expedition photographers today."

Kick Kennedy (Student/Activist): "Daughter of Robert F. Kennedy junior, she is an ambassador for the Waterkeeper Alliance, the global organization connecting and supporting waterkeeper programs on six continents to provide a voice for waterways and their communities."

I guess these people probably aren't all bad. I guess it's really cool that they care about stuff. I guess we aren't really the victims (The people in Africa probably have the dirtier water, making them the victims). So to Jessica Biel and your fellow climbers, good job, or whatever. Also, Jessica, you have a very nice ass, and I'm happy for you. Really.

Love,
Heidi

The New Yorker has a fascinating article about the lovely, floating picture-of-perfection Miss Grace Kelly. The article includes a famous quote from Alfred Hitchcock discussing the allure of a woman who leaves something to the imagination. I couldn't help but notice the glaring similarity between his quote and something Ludacris once said:

Hitchcock: “if sex is too blatant or obvious, there’s no suspense. You know why I favor sophisticated blondes in my films? We’re after the drawing-room type, the real ladies, who become whores once they’re in the bedroom.”

Ludacris: "...we want a lady in the street but a freak in the bed."

I wonder if the similarities between these two ends there? I bet Hitchcock had hos in lots of area codes.

Craigslist and Torrid Love Affairs

Another amazingly real find on Craigslist:

"Northern Lights by Nora Roberts (North Hollywood)

This book has normal wear and tear, but a good book (been made into a movie). It's a hard back, pretty heavy, would like gone soon...its FREE afterall!!!"

It's been made into a movie, why wouldn't you want it??? I wondered what made this person decide they needed to get rid of this book RIGHT NOW. One book, a clutter does not make. Then I saw the above picture and realized, it was the set of this movie where Leann Rhimes began the torrid affair that broke up her marriage, if that doesn't make the book worth a read, I don't know what does.

Mall Rap

I have worried about the state of hip hop for some time now. The vapid lyrics about shopping, chains, shopping for chains, sex, Escalades, stripper poles and sex on water beds. Remember when hip hop used to be about guns, violence, ghetto life, retaliation and jacuzzi sex? What happened to the authenticity of those songs and artists? Well, some of those artists were shot, some abandoned music for reality shows and rehab, but I blame much of it on the gentrification of traditional hip hop hotbeds.

Recently I have received invites to hip shindigs in East LA, Boyle Heights and Long Beach. At best, the current climate in these neighborhoods would inspire raps about comic book stores, record stores and vintage clothing. Or maybe verses about purchasing a loft with an equally-artistic significant other, and making plans to co-pen a play about the artistic differences of post-modernistic British rockers. Apparently fed up with this hipster snobbery, the new hip hop crop moved on to the mall and went waterbed shopping.

I am happy that today's rappers seem to be enjoying themselves more, you know, getting out. I certainly prefer this to violence, but I was just wondering if we could get you to step out of the mall, stop blaming things on the alcohol and maybe just be cool. Jay-Z seems to have it figured out. Call Hype Williams, ask him what to do.

Kisses,

Heidi

I Love Old People

If I could give you one tip it would be this: quit your jobs and go work in a retirement home!

Imagine inheriting 50 grandparents who are thrilled to have a fresh, young face around. You know how your grandmother sends you a card with $10 for birthdays and holidays? Wouldn't it be awesome if a bunch of grandmothers sent you $10? It is. Evidentally grandmothers love doing this. Whether they're your grandmother is unimportant.

But it's not just the cash rewards. Since I started work a month ago, life here has been nothing but muffins, chocolates, cupcakes, banana loaf, pumpkin loaf, carrot cake, peanut butter cups and walnut carmels. Gumbo and ribs, fried chicken, potato salad, and nachos. The residents do the majority of their Christmas shopping at See's candies and their relatives, grateful for the staff's neverending patience, bake and bake and bake and cook and cook and cook.

My boss even taught me the proper way to eat ribs: wrap the juicy goodness in white bread and devour. This makes it healthier. She also taught me the only place to buy ribs: LA. Seemed like a broad location, but she explained "LA" means anywhere near Slauson and Crenshaw. She says it's a place where white people can often be found timidly and awkwardly trying to order ribs.

Then there's the entertainment. The day begins with chair yoga. Not really a lot of yoga involved, but there are wrist circles, and head turns, which for most residents leads to chair napping. There are often visiting singing groups, some charming, many horrendous. It's fun to watch the residents looks of disdain when they don't like a performer. FYI, just because they're old doesn't mean they like cheeseball entertainment. Bingo is the most popular and serious of the activities. NEVER interfere with bingo, they will kill you.

But my absolute favorite part is the endless conversations with the residents. There's the lady who calls every movie "sticky", there's the lady who forgets where she is and asks for rolls of paper and tinfoil. There's the lady who loves to gossip and there's the lady with asian silk bathrobes. I know she has a past in espionage and intrigue. She bought me chocolates. I like her.

I didn't go to college for this. I started this because it was on craigslist. But I like it. I'm gonna go eat cake with my new grandmas.

Merry Christmas,

Heidi