1. Cicely Tyson reminds me of Mother Abigail from The Stand, both the book and the movie (played by Ruby Dee) versions.  I keep expecting hallucinatory, ethically dividing nightmares about destiny.  "'Peace, be still,' it's what he said, 'Peace, be still."  She does wear an awesome hat in one scene, though. 
2. I know it's supposed to be the big climactic snap for our heroine, but when she first leaves her abusive ex-husband who has screwed her in every possible way, metaphorical and not, sitting paralyzed in his wheelchair for what is hinted to be at least a day or so, tells him he stinks, then catapults him into his spa tub, and finally tells him to, "Stop that bubbling." as he's beginning to drown...it's hilarious.  I know I should be feeling...her rage? his panic? her triumph? his dawning realization?  Something other than hilarity.  Compounded by my husband's comment a few minutes ago, "Oh, that can't be good for someone who's just suffered a spinal cord injury.  I wouldn't advise that at all.  Isn't she supposed to be helping him?  I mean, why bother if she's just going to kill him?  She hasn't thought this through at all."  It's just that she LAUNCHES him.  There's air time involved here.  I end up comparing him to other notable lower-body-injured performances, namely the top of the heap, Lieutenant Dan.  I offensively have the passing thought that Dan would get way more distance, without the extra weight of the legs and all.  Then, when she's screaming at him, she kind of looks like my mom did when I was in the middle of spending my freshman year grounded for refusing to clean my room.  The scene gives me the church giggles.  The few times I've actually been brave enough to watch the movie around other people, I've sworn to myself I wouldn't laugh and ended up snorting or spit-taking.  It cracks me up.  I'm a terrible person.
3. Shemar Moore is best known for his role on The Young and the Restless.  To be kind, it shows.  It took me a thousand veiwings to put together what it is that bothers me so much about his performance.  He has these monstrously long pauses before, during, and after every line, which isn't out of place in the slightest in a soap.  In a flick, it's weird.  I suppose the reason it took me so long to figure it out, though, was that he's so pretty to watch that you don't really care that you've been staring as vacantly and open-mouthed as he has for the past 45 seconds.

• Helen's hair
• The few genuinely good lines
• The indefensible House of Payne
• The junkie wife trying to sell herself to her husband
• The inadvisability of threatening murderers

I stumbled across a picture of Mischa Barton on the red carpet recently (from Go Fug Yourself ) and even despite the text clearly saying that it was her, I couldn't make myself understand that she was not, in fact, Valerie Perrine.  I could not figure out for the life of me why she was suddenly on the red carpet again and was hoping against hope that it was press for a cameo in an upcoming Superman flick.  

I loved Miss Teschmacher.  I have no idea why.

And what the hell is going on with fashion right now that that mistake is even possible?  Ugh.

On a similar note: Piper Perabo, what are you thinking?  Cruella DeVil, much?

On paper, I have until May 22 before I can begin (as that's a day or two after my final certification stuff is due).  Assuming I don't miss any deadlines, and with the caveat that it's still the last month of school, so I'll still be a bit gone.  So, it's been, like, nine months since I've talked to my friends.  Did I miss anything?

(I'm beginning to resign myself to the idea that I'll never fully be a part of the world again.  I'm planning to start in June on my Masters, followed by a doctoral program.  I'm lucky that it dovetails with some professional development I'd have been doing anyway, but it's still the next few years on-line for being just as busy as this one was.  Somewhere in that process, it's possible I could be moving to the high school, which means that I'll be learning all new curriculum.  The thought of slowing down is kind of frightening, because I love my work.  Still.  It kind of sucks to only really be around grown-ups for the month of June.)

I get my news from Fark, various Comedy Central shows, Go Fug Yourself, E!, and IMDB.  It's not something I'm proud of, but life can be a bummer, so I might as well get a chuckle while I'm at it.  So you'll understand why I recently came across the reference to Lindsey Lohan's nude pictures in Vanity Fair.  They're old news at this point, but they got me thinking.  She posed in a direct homage to Ann-Margaret, and at first, I completely hated that idea.  Ann-Margaret is Old Hollywood; she's an institution, like her or not.  She was considered a great beauty, a great body, and a great talent (agree or disagree).  I found it awfully presumptive, initially, that Lohan would allow herself to be compared to a figure like that, as she seems smart and aware enough to be the type that absolutely knows when she'll suffer by comparison and avoid it at any cost.

Then I saw the pictures and really thought.  They both have substance abuse problems.  They were both launched in family-friendly venues in which their developing/underaged bodies got somewhat creepy amounts of attention (Bye-Bye Birdie and Mean Girls/Confessions of a Drama Queen/Herbie: Fully Loaded, respectively).  They both have that gorgeous red hair.  They both have a talent for acting that is considerable and one for music that is questionable (though profitable).  They both balance mainstream and art projects remarkably well.  They both seem to somehow pull it together, if only temporarily, to regularly produce impressive work.

I then started playing around with the ideas of other comparisons.

Angelina Jolie and Elizabeth Taylor
Angelina collects children, Elizabeth collects husbands.
One has the lips; one has the eyes.
Jennifer Anniston and Debbie Reynolds are left in their wakes.
Both are known for beauty, smoldering sexuality, a seeming irresitibility, a habit of strong-willed decisions, a tendency toward unconventional project choices, a resistance toward explaining themselves publicly, undeniable acting talent, and for the occasional nutty goodness.

Tom Hanks and Jimmy Stewart
Seemingly good guys.
Accessible everyman types.
Tendency toward light-hearted or instrospective work, though usually both.
Stays/stayed out of trouble, generally.
If I were to cut and paste exerpts from IMDB bios, it would be almost impossible to guess which man the comments were about:
        ' His "aw shucks" demeanor has served him well as the good guy, the shy guy or the nice guy in films like...'
        'The word "Philadelphia" on the Oscar that ... received in ... for ... is misspelled.' 
        Ranked #17 in Empire (UK) magazine's "The Top 100 Movie Stars of All Time" list (October 1997).

George Clooney and Gregory Peck
Both often played good men making immoral choices or villians making moral ones.
Have become an 'elder statesman' figure in Hollywood at relatively young ages.
Managed to become known for openness in political leanings, even significant political activity, usually managing to do so without alienating the average fan.
Significant careers both in front of and behind the camera, as well as noteworthy philanthropic work.
Vocally politically liberal, specifically regarding the importance of the arts.

I could keep going.  Though not really 'old' Hollywood, I can see my generation's Bill Murray as being Vince Vaughn.  They both have that patter, the unconventional charm, the harmlessly slimy undertone to everything, the lightning wit that sneaks up through a cloud of stupidsmooth bravado, the minions that follow his moronic lead.  My point is, I've had this thought.  Now I can't stop trying to make the comparisons.

I'm outraged by TV right now.

Okay, fine, it's sweeps.  Okay, fine, you have to recoup something from the hit you took with the strike.  Okay, fine, it's going to be cheesetastic.  Seriously, though, C.S.I.  Do we REALLY need someone's head exploding in agony, with a torrent of GREEN BLOOD pouring from every hole in the man's face during prime time?  It's barely 8:15, and while I don't generally let the kid watch this show without previewing the episodes (if the emphasis for the week is science-y, not gore, I'm all for intellectual interest), plenty of kids do.  There will be kindergarteners watching this (right, wrong, or indifferent).  You couldn't at least hold off until 9:00?

See?  Old.

Oh, FAB.  Now they're removing (with spatter) a brain (with brain saw) and dissecting it.  COME ON.  IT TAKES A VILLAGE, DAMMIT.

(and stop making so much damn racket, with your rocky roll music and your "jams."  You're all popping the marijuana, anyway, ya damn kids.)