Pitchfest

I'll be there this Sunday representing Windchill Films if you'd like to come pitch to me. We're looking for low-budget horror ($200,000) and high-concept comedy or Die Hard types.
Pitchfest

Wedding Extravaganza

Here's a great slideshow of pix from the wedding I wass privileged to be in this past weekend. The bride was beautiful, the weather was perfect, Trump Golf Course was elegant, the food was generous, and the company was excellent.

Click Here

I'm Sort of Alive

Just mired in shiite.

So I invest 656 pages of reading into The Magus. And it's gorgeous, earth-shattering prose. But is there an effing ending? No. Pretty bold for a book that purports to have The Answers. Urgh.

Look at what the poor publishers had to post on their website to address this disappointment:

Translating the Last Lines of The Magus
We receive lots of e-mail at this site, much of it asking questions about John Fowles and his work. One question in particular keeps popping up again and again:

"What does the quotation at the end of The Magus mean?"

So, in order to save time (for both those asking the question and us), here's the scoop:

cras amet qui numquam amavit quique amavit cras amet
The opening lines of an anonymous Latin lyric titled The Vigil of Venus (3rd century A.D.), it translates to:

"Tomorrow let him love, who has never loved; he who has loved, let him love tomorrow."
An alternate translation, submitted by Professor Andrey Kravtsov of New Mexico State University, is:

"Let those love now who've never loved; let those who've loved, love yet again."
It seems fairly clear that Fowles is indicating, through the quote, his preferred resolution to the story as it pertains to Nicholas and Alison. Although ultimately, as Fowles has noted, it is up to the reader to come up with his or her own interpretation.

In fact, Fowles himself is not averse to ownership of multiple interpretations of the ending (a quality he subsequently demonstrated, literally, in The French Lieutenant's Woman). The following anecdote is telling:

In response to a gentle letter from a New York lawyer, dying of cancer in a hospital, who said he very much wanted the couple to be reunited, Fowles wrote back, "Yes, they were." On the same day he got a "horrid" letter from an American woman who angrily demanded, "Why can't you say what you mean, and for God's sake, what happened in the end?" Fowles replied curtly: "They never saw each other again."*

*From The French Lieutenant's Woman's Man: Novelist John Fowles by Richard B. Stolley.

Post Secret Sunday

If I had a dime for evertyime I heard a lesbian say that...

My favorite Jack Bauer jokes.

What Effin' Ever

If TPTB go with anyone other than Morena or an unknown Greek who looks exactly like Wonder Woman, I am going to be soooo ass-kicking PISSED.

Sheesh. Britney Spears. Effin' morons.

Such a Funny Site

And he's cute and reads Go Fug Yourself. Well, John Corbett may have killed off a huge piece of hope in my heart today, but it's okay because Todd restored it.

Somehow I always end up even. Never ahead, never behind. Even.

Guess that means I don't have to keep checking behind me for Annakin to bring balance back.

The Marginalization of Women

Go Oprah and Pink. Have to make sure my last drafts of "Pistoleras" bring this theme home.



And check out "Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture."

More on this critical, scary issue? South Park of course, Episode 812. Yes the entire episode:

My Secret Shame

Your Daddy Is Patrick Stewart

What You Call Him: Big Daddy Why You Love Him: He gives good spankings.

Who's Your Daddy?

Oprah's Debt Diet

Highly recommended.

Man That Myspace is a Time-waster

Proves what I've always suspected though. Men just don't age as well as women. Don't spend too much time looking up your high school honeys, or you'll be shopping for twenty-year-olds in no time. Yikes!

'Nother Place You Can Get Lost For Hours

No, not Myspace. My Heritage.com

Upload a photo of yourself for free, and this face recognition program will tell you which celebrity you most resemble.

I hope they're not using this to identify pedophiles and assassins, because my results were startlingly based on the length of my hair in the photo (Eve Mendes), and how exactly I was smiling (teeth showing? I'm Bebe Neuwirth. Lips pursed? I'm Meryl Streep?!)

Wow. Technology and what it CAN'T do ;)

Impeccably Groomed

Feeling so much better. Akin to BC's Burke Spa suggestion, I followed Brenda into work today and received some beauty treatments at a sister rate (Brenda rules!). More laser hair removal on my underarms (that may be the last one...think I'm hair-free!), Brazilian bikini laser, Polaris on my face wrinkles (it's better than a face lift), AND an eyelash perm (I have super-long eyelashes, but they won't obey a regular curler and are highly allergic to mascara, so the perm thing gives me startling results). I'm absolutely giddy over feeling human again.

All that good stuff, and I've lost 2 pant sizes in the last nine days (influenza and Atkins rock!) AND my gfriend Shauna just told me I could bring a date to her wedding if I really wanted to....hmmmm....
The killer dress, hanging off me at the fitting yesterday. LOOOOOVING.

Do I really want to? I'll be in my updo hair and awesome bridesmaid outfit. Don't know if anyone has earned being on my arm now, let alone a $150 gourmet dinner and a night of dancing. Talk about a bargain basement deal.

Dates are nice, but it could be a blast to be the Singleton. Decisions, decisions. Must go S on it...

Ladies, My Gift to You

I'm gone tomorrow getting my bikini lasered, so thought I'd Friday post now. Oh the things we S Factor girls do to ourselves...

I'm normally hair-retarded. (a fact that vexes my hairstylin' girlfriends, who often sigh and throw their hands up in the air and then demand to style me for hours...so what's the impetus to learn to do it myself?) But I was going through some old paperwork and found this hairstyle, and lo and behold, I got it right on the first try. Though I left it teased to give it a rock and roll feel for the Silverlake Film Festival. Enjoy!
Meanwhile, I have Peaches stuck in my head:


Knockin' you out
like Rocky Balboa
Drown you in a flood
deeper than Noah
I'm the kinda bitch
you wanna get with...


Is that Feminist? Radical Feminist? Neo Feminist? It's got a good beat and I can S to it...

My Space

Great, fine, I'm on there now. Add me or whatever: http://www.myspace.com/lisfies
Can't believe it. Now those bitches from grade school and all the exes I escaped from are going to find me. Christ.

Oh my stars and garters, Billy Joel was so good tonight. He played for 2 1/2 hours. I was in heaven. Awesome Christmas present in April. And who knew so many lesbians and 18 year old girls liked BJ?

Gays On Board With Daniel Craig

They're so easy to sway. I wish I belonged to the Gay Mafia.

It's All This Man's Fault

Damn Thorsten Kaye. If he would stop appearing on ABC soaps, I wouldn't have to freaking watch him every day. First One Life to Live, then Port Charles, now my beloved All My Children.

I swear. It's like he's following me. Thank the gods I have TiVO, so I'm only wasting ten minutes a day on his scenes.

He's a rugby player with an Irish accent, reminding me way too much of my infamous Glastonbury sojourn. Oh! Oh!! Even worse, he didn't just play irresistable poet Professor Patrick Thornhart for three years on OLTL, saving feisty Marty after she was gang raped...he's a poet in real life and donated the book proceeds to children's charities. Rides a motorcyle. AND has a master's degree in theater and theater history.

He's gotta be gay. Right?

I'm telling you IMDB, AMC and an overactive, fevered imagination at 3 am is better than porn. Especially when it's so easy to imagine I'm Kendall Hart and Thorston loves ME, DAMMIT. I mean ZACH loves me...I mean...

Oh my god, somebody shoot me. I don't want to have the flu anymore. I want to go out on dates and see movies and have someone who I like who really really likes me read poetry to me and say pretty things to me while he strokes my hair and we donate canned food to orphans. *Hack Hack Cough.*

UPDATE: I just HAD to keep reading to find some pictures and oh great, he's married with a kid...to FREAKING Marty no less. No wonder I bought into that chemistry. Oh, they're so happy and cute together. *Cough cough hack hack.*

Fuckers. Someone bring me some TheraFlu and Vodka.

I'm so depressed now there's ONLY ONE THING that can possibly make me feel better about life again. Anna, this is for you:




*Sniff sniff.* I feel a little better.

Cost of Loving

A dear friend called sobbing yesterday because it was time to put down his beloved cat, a sweetie names Eyes who had been his loyal companion of thirteen years.

Judd was so sweet and empathetic when I put Calliope down last May, and was in the room for the much less humane "putting down" of Mom (what the HELL is wrong with our health system that she had to suffer for 12 extra hours, but our cats are lovingly put to sleep in 12 seconds?). So of course Brenda (Nurse Sis) and I dragged ourselves out of our own deathbeds to be present at another passing yesterday. At one point she drolly opined that we're getting so good at this, we should figure out a way to get paid. To which I replied, no way in hell am I witnessing death every work day, no matter how much money.

Eyes, this is for you:

PUTTING DOWN THE CAT
by Billy Collins

The assistant holds her on the table,
the fur hanging limp from her tiny skeleton,
and the veterinarian raises the needle of fluid
which will put the line through her ninth life.

"Painless," he reassures me, "like counting
backwards from a hundred," but I want to tell him
that our poor cat cannot count at all,
much less to a hundred, much less backwards.

I Assure You, We're Open

Post Secret Sunday

Some interesting ones today. A nice variety from the usual molestations (not that that's not important...) I liked the nude pooper. Had an ex that could be from. The bridesmaid one made me laugh. This one made me say Hmmmnnn:


I have something I'm really hurting over today that I might actually make up and send in. Maybe I'll let you guys know if they print it. Ouch.

Dude, I sent in ANOTHER Aint it Cool review that didn't get published. Guess I am officially blacklisted for some reason. So weird. Oh well. I really should be getting paid for that crap by now anyway. I've got to stop trying to help everyone, you know?

Ha. You can totally tell I'm hurt right now because my mind is just buzzing with thoughts. Blog, blog, blog, ignore your real life...

God I Hate Myspace

I just checked it out again because I'm supposed to keep on top of media. I always feel like I should go shower afterwards.

Seriously, what the eff is that all about except linking to porn stars, and pathetic girls trying to look like porn stars? God I'm so sick of women selling themselves. It's like a highschool hallway with xxx stars.

And the men going along with it...I just don't understand how an entire culture could get so swept up in the basest, most meaningless expressions of our sexuality. So boring and childish.

When are people going to figure out sex has nothing to do with flesh? I know, I know, when we're all turned into pillars of salt.

Ha!

Just got an email from a dear old friend who was procrastinating at work and found the Entertainment Weekly thing on Mom's Cancer: "Ok, now I have to get to work ... figuring out how to get from you to Kevin Bacon in six degrees."

;) Don't think we're quite there yet Steve, but the EW mention is verrrry cool.

Why I'm a Traitor

This is the scoop on why, in the end, I've always ended up dating Republicans. Boo, hiss, I know. I'm a traitor. Whatever. The reality is, I'm the original Runaway Bride. Hell, I'm so original I'm actually the Runaway Date. I can sit in a date and think of a million reasons why this isn't going to work. You can actually see the moment where I snap into flight mode and start looking for the bathroom window like I was freaking Nikita or Sydney Bristow. It is soooo rare for a date to even get a kiss out of me, I can't even tell you.

But what I've noticed over the years with my dating patterns is, it's the Republicans who relentlessly woo me until I give in. (Somewhat. No one's talked me into marriage yet, and I've been getting serious proposals since I was 15.) They're the ones with the flowers and phone calls and drop-offs of Nyquil when I'm not feeling well. They're the ones who plan dates and hold the door open and tell me I'm special and pretty and the only one they want to spend time with. They're the ones looking for a true teammate to rule the world with. And the right ones have their shit together financially and tend to lean left on social issues. Sure, I've had a few misfortunate incidents where I had to break up with someone because they told me my gay friends were going to burn in hell, but for the most part the Republicans are the only men I've met who place any value on me as a woman.

So while my cutie-pattootie liberal brothers are in the trenches finding themselves and enjoying free love, this neo-feminist is out on the town being treated to dinner by the enemy. I have a fantasy that someday it will be Dharma and Dweezil. A Dweezil that adores me. But the reality I'm waking up to is no matter what I wish in my heart could be true, it's always ended up being Dharma and Greg.