Intimacy Issues!

I'm taking a break from my fourth movie of the day!

And in doing so, I managed to see my first ever mass hooker arrest.  I'm beginning to feel like a real New Yorker.

I was walking along 8th Avenue, just north of The Playpen when I suddenly realized there was a line of young ladies all chained together and several paddy wagons lined up on the street.  There was one cop who was stationed with the (alleged) hookers and they were mouthing off to him about their personal effects disappearing - 'cuz, like, I'm sure all the cops in the evidence room can't wait to get their hands on the hookers' lipstick.  Cops wanting hooker lipstick is as sure as, say, death and taxes.

The thing that struck me most about the hookers is that they looked nothing like what I expect hookers to look like!  They just looked like well-appointed young black girls to me.  You'd think, by the way, there'd be a little more racial diversity among New York's hooker population.  Or maybe that particular establishment specialized in African-American type hookers.

Still, if I have to look at hookers, I want to see some white girls, some asian girls.  Aren't there any Indian subcontinent hookers in NYC?

And where are the damn fishnet stockings?!?  How is it that hookers can afford better jeans than I can?  Especially hookers working out of a club on 8th Avenue?!?  Aren't these places supposed to be godforsaken dives?

Clearly, I'm in the wrong line of work.

I mean, it's not like any of these hookers are actually hot or anything.  I'm at least as average as these hookers are, so I should be able to make better money for nicer jeans.

I saw Timeline today and I enjoyed it, knowing what I was getting into from the beginning.  From the moment I finished Michael Crighton's book I was, like, "Oh, Mike... why don't you just skip this novel foolishness and get right to the screenplay?  You were clearly going for a popcorn movie here."  He never listens to me, though.

Still, it was a fun and thrilling action picture.  For something set in the 14th century, that is.

After Timeline I ran back to the lobby and bought tickets for three (yes, count 'em, three) more movies.  I just finished seeing Elf and Bad Santa, both of which I absolutely adored.  I really am not too much of a Will Farrell fan, but he was great in Elf.  Though the fact that I was supposed to believe he was only 30 years old really stretched the suspension of my disbelief to the limit.  Or that Mary Steenbergen and James Caan could have a ten year old son.  Still, the story was really cute, and Farrell does that dumb-fish-outta-water thing better than anyone, frankly.

There's something about Billy Bob Thornton that skeeves me out, but I'll be the first to admit that he's a great actor, and he doesn't disappoint in Bad Santa.  Lord, talk about an unrelentingly dark movie!  And the kid in the movie just makes your heart ache, he's so fucking pathetic!  I wanted to die, he broke my heart that badly.

There is, of course, the silver lining:  the realization that, no matter how pathetic I become, I'll never ever be as sad as that kid!

Oh, something I forgot about Elf:  the part of the NY1 reporter at the end of the movie - not an unsubstantial part - was played by Claire Lautier, who played Roxanne in the production of Cyrano that we did at the Pittsburgh Public back in 1996.  I nearly fell out of my seat!

Good on her, say I!  What a piece of luck.  I wonder if she was a day player, or was on a weekly contract?  Either way, this movie is so big, she's gonna make a mint on it.  Very good luck indeed.

Purely mercenary considerations aside, she was also really good in the role.

As a measure of the sap that I am, I was weepy at both Elf and Bad Santa.  Sometimes I worry that I've got serious emotional problems, 'cuz movies seem to be the only things that can make me cry anymore.  What, I wonder, is up with that?

Can you say "intimacy issues," boys and girls?