The Stranger, Seattle's Only Newspaper: Lindy West

George R. R. Martin

Lindy West — Tue, 03 Jul 2012 11:00:00 -0700

Perhaps you are one of those horribly condescending garbage-people who assume that if something is very, very popular, it must logically be very, very terrible. by Lindy West

Perhaps you are one of those horribly condescending garbage-people who assume that if something is very, very popular, it must logically be very, very terrible. God, shut up. George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series is popular because it is basically what would happen if Bruce Willis were a wizard and he had sex with Sarah Palin and she gave birth to a baby and then they only let it watch Breaking Bad and then Professor McGonagall transfigured that baby into a book. Shit is exciting and stressful and GOOD, and that’s why people like it. (Town Hall, 1119 Eighth Ave, www.townhallseattle.org, 7 pm, $10)

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Concessions 90210

Lindy West — Wed, 14 Mar 2012 04:00:00 -0700

The Last-Ever Concessions by Lindy West

Sorry in advance, but I'm about to get sincere all over you people for just one minute. (To tide you over, ducklings: POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP.) This will be my last piece of writing in The Stranger for the foreseeable future and, I think, the last Concessions column ever. Cry. I've accepted a new job (a bloggy job that will remain nameless until I'm 100 percent sure that I don't get pre-fired for excessive POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP), and my new job insists that we go steady—which means no more writing "POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP POOP" for whatever hussy of a weekly newspaper shakes its pooper in my direction. And so I am gone. Poop.

I just want to say, with my whole heart, that I've had the fucking time of my life, I've never felt like this before, yes, I swear, it's the truth, and I OWE IT ALL TO YOU, STRANGER (also, Jerry Orbach). As a kid in Seattle, I grew up on The Stranger—and then, for the past seven years, I really grew up at The Stranger.

When I was in high school, Famous Celebrity David Schmader™ was in my top 10 favorite writers. Now, David "Dave" Schmader is the person I send my shitty excuses to when my column is late because I spent too much time watching House Hunters International ("I could really see us eating food in this dining room!" COOL STORY, DINGDONG). During my freshman year of college, which was terrible, I used to copy and paste my favorite editions of Charles Mudede's Police Beat column into a Word document on my desktop computer ("HOW DOES THE INTERNET WORK!?!?!?"—me, year 2000) and then read it over and over to remind myself that life wasn't just one endless root canal, because stuff was funny and sometimes people had a knife where their penis should be. Now Charles "My Friend" Mudede is this sort of strange/drunk African wizard who pops up in my dreams to explain what to do should a dog bite me on the leg ("Grab a stone and dash its brains!!!!!"). I don't know how it happened, but I'm super fucking lucky.

When I first started at The Stranger (May 26, 2005—a 23-year-old baby!), I was a shy weirdo who didn't know what the poop I was doing. (Not like now, when I am basically the entire dictionary [Merriam-Webster's All-Caps and Fecal Synonyms Edition].) I've learned something from every single magical human at this paper, made at least half of my best friends, and turned—somehow—into a hireable grown-up. I know I'll go the rest of my professional life wishing for the freakish level of creative freedom (POOOOOOOOOOOP!!!) and nurturing band of hilarious geniuses I'm leaving behind. I'm so grateful. Now FIND ME ON THE INTERNET, BITCHEZ.

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Concessions 90210

Lindy West — Wed, 29 Feb 2012 04:00:00 -0800

Yummy Wanderlust Milk Mush by Lindy West

When I was growing up, if my mom was super-tired, sometimes she would make this stuff for dinner called "milk mush." It's a bastardization of a sour-cream-based Norwegian porridge called rømmegrøt, except without the sour cream, because sour cream would be too much like an actual ingredient. So what you're eating is basically chewy milk, only less flavorful. (Milk mush recipe: Heat milk. Slowly add flour and whisk until milk turns to mush. Pour onto plate. Top with butter, sugar, and cinnamon. Eat it. EAT IT.) Anyway, I fucking love milk mush. But at the same time, if milk mush disappeared from the earth forever (because... butter went extinct), I would never, ever notice and it would never, ever matter.

Metaphor: WANDERLUST IS MILK MUSH. I liked Wanderlust. It's full of high-quality staple ingredients (Jennifer Aniston, Paul Rudd, Justin Theroux, Alan Alda, Lauren Ambrose, most of the cast of The State, and a rubber penis). It goes down fine, like liquid cinnamon toast! Also, my mom made it (my mom is David Wain). But it's also the most bland, forgettable, inoffensive non-event I've seen since Meryl Streep won that Oscar on Sunday and I yawned so hard I swallowed a bird (OMG, REALLY? MERYL STREEP IS THE "BEST ACTRESS"? THE NUMBER ONE BEST? AT ACTING? YOU DON'T FAHAHAHAHACKING SAY).

In Wanderlust, Paul Rudd and Jennifer Aniston (freakishly likable) live in New York City. And they love it!!! Zowie!!! The Big Apple! So they buy this stupid billion-dollar tiny apartment ("it's a micro-loft") even though he doesn't want to and she doesn't even have a job. Cool. Then, like immediately, his company implodes because of "the Feds," and now they are just regular poors! So they sell the apartment at a 100 percent loss for some reason (couldn't you just... rent it out?) and head to Georgia, where Paul Rudd's brother Ken Marino makes a whole bunch of money moving human feces here and there. Except, turns out, the human feces business is full of JERKS, so they leave again and go and live on this hippie commune called Elysium where everyone plays didgeridoo and cares about feminism and Joe Lo Truglio's (rubber?) penis is always waggling to and fro, to and fro, even first thing in the morning. Charismatic cult leader Justin Theroux keeps everything wacky to the max. Every single gag is the exact same shade of medium-funny.

You know how sometimes the things that my mom, David Wain, makes feel like the midnight show on the public-access station on the most perverted planet in all of space? Wanderlust is not like that. Wanderlust is just a super-regular movie, meant to entertain super-regular folks without getting too weird or saying much of anything at all. It gives you the feeling that it's satirizing something without ever clarifying what that thing is. Hippies? Timely! Wall Street? Not really! People who like using their cell phones to make phone calls? Incisive!

Can you tell that my heart isn't really in this review? I know the feeling. I learned it from watching YOU, WANDERLUST. I learned it from watching you.

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Concessions 90210

Lindy West — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 04:00:00 -0800

Oscar Week Finale! WITH MAJOR SURPRISES! by Lindy West

Just in time for Oscar week (Sunday! February 26! 4 pm!) comes the durrr that launched 1,000 doys about exactly WHO is picking our Academy Award winners:

A Los Angeles Times study found that academy voters are markedly less diverse than the moviegoing public, and even more monolithic than many in the film industry may suspect. Oscar voters are nearly 94% Caucasian and 77% male, the Times found. Blacks are about 2% of the academy, and Latinos are less than 2%. Oscar voters have a median age of 62, the study showed. People younger than 50 constitute just 14% of the membership.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha SHUT THE FUCKING FRONT DOOR. So you're saying that the Academy Awards are a bunch of meaningless, masturbatory, out-of-touch bullcorn chosen by a panel of congressmen's dads wearing mahogany smoking jackets and high-fiving each other about the Great War? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME. I figured it was a bunch of undocumented migrant workers who really, really liked The King's Speech. This changes everything.

In keeping with this new information, I have updated my 2012 Oscar picks to reflect the proclivities of the 3,900 Horsegrandpas of the Snoozepocalypse. Here we go:

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR

• Kenneth Branagh (as Laurence Olivier in My Week with Marilyn)

• Jonah Hill (as Peter Brand in Moneyball)

• Nick Nolte (as Paddy Conlon in Warrior)

• Christopher Plummer (as Hal Fields in Beginners)

• Max von Sydow (as the Renter in Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close)

Hmmmm. Tough one. I mean, Christopher Plummer is 110 years old, so that's a plus, but then Max von Sydow fought in the Civil War. So I guess I have to say that the Oscar goes to......Dick Van Patten (as "Stomachache Guy" in Who Sat on Helen's Glasses?).

BEST ACTOR

• Demián Bichir (as Carlos Galindo in A Better Life)

• George Clooney (as Matt King in The Descendants)

• Jean Dujardin (as George Valentin in The Artist)

• Gary Oldman (as George Smiley in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy)

• Brad Pitt (as Billy Beane in Moneyball)

This was also a tough one. On the one hand, The Artist is a silent film, which takes the Academy voters waaaaay back to simpler times, when they were middle-aged, but on the other hand, there's a nominee whose last name is literally OLD MAN. But in the end, my pick was clear. The Oscar goes to......Andy Griffith (as Paw Paw in My Gums Hurt!).

BEST PICTURE

The Artist

The Descendants

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

The Help

Hugo

Midnight in Paris

Moneyball

The Tree of Life

War Horse

No contest here. The Oscar goes to...MASHED POTATOES!!!

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Concessions 90210

Lindy West — Wed, 15 Feb 2012 04:00:00 -0800

A Help-Style White-on-Black Interview by Lindy West

With the Oscars just around the corner, I'm busy getting caught up on my best-picture nominees! This week, I watched The Help, which is a movie about how poop is hilarious and racism gives you cold sores. In it, a white lady-journalist collects and publishes the stories of black domestic workers in Jackson, Mississippi, in the early 1960s. The movie maneuvers around the awkwardness of white women speaking for black women by framing it all as an interview: The black ladies tell their own stories to the benevolent white lady. See? They have their own voices! Super-empowering! (Thanks to the white lady.) Recently, I, a white lady-journalist, watched The Help with my roommate, who is a black person. Soooooooo... taking a cue from the movie The Help, I just interviewed him about it! Here's what my black roommate has to say about The Help:

What did you think of The Help?

It was good. It was okay. Kinda boring. I'm not going to say it wasn't offensive, but I'm considerably less offended than I thought I would be.

There was a LOT of poop in this movie. What do you feel the poop symbolized?

Um... brownness?

Uh... is that offensive?

Incredibly.

Do you feel like the message of the movie was a little bit paternalistic and condescending? Like, that white people are patting themselves on the back for getting black people out of a jam that they, the white people, created in the first place?

Yeah, but it does that less than most movies. I didn't like the part when the white lady helped the black lady start a shrimp company, though.

No, but seriously, it seems like there's been a lot of backlash to this movie.

I feel like there have been movies that addressed the larger issues of racism, like, you know, Mississippi Burning (murder), The Color Purple (the aftermath of slavery). But there aren't a lot of movies that address just being treated shittily. Things like murder—it's easy for white people to be like, "I'm not racist—I've never murdered anyone!" But it gets a little hairier when you get into, well, do you actually just treat some people shitty? So it's the beginning of addressing slightly subtler forms of racism, which rarely get addressed. So on that end, I commend it. But it's still a Hollywood movie about, you know, white people saving the day.

Is it racist that I'm interviewing you about this movie?

I think it's racist that you're making me vacuum while you do it.

I'm sorry about racism.

That's essentially what we've been looking for this whole time—just a "My bad" from white people.

Well, you're welcome.

Cool.

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What Valentine's Day Movie Is Right For You?

Lindy West — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 04:00:00 -0800

Lindy West Matches You With a Valentine's Day Movie by Lindy West

Valentine's Day! Ahhhhhhh, Valentine's Day. Microsoft Encarta 99 defines Valentine's Day as "naked hugging on candy mountain," a definition codified by St. Valentine himself (inventor of fucking, CEO emeritus of Hallmark) in AD 269. Then he died. But fortunately for your genitals, romance did not die with him! In fact, as history proves (see "History," Microsoft Encarta 99), candy, sexy intercourse, Valentine's Day, Microsoft Encarta, and St. Valentine's desiccated corpse have been inextricably linked ever since. In the Microsoft Encarta 99 Multimedia CD-ROM Dictionary Tool, next to the phrase "naked hugging," there's a picture of Valentine's Day! And next to the word "candy," there's a picture of a thesaurus, and inside the thesaurus there's a hollowed-out hole that's filled with chocolate-covered porno and diamonds (4 the ladies), and underneath the diamonds there's a CD-ROM, and on the CD-ROM is a reproduction of an ancient tapestry of St. Valentine's desiccated corpse giving you a thumbs-up. WITH HIS DICK!!! This is known as the Sacred Shroud of Candy Mountain, and it lies in a holy place (Hard Rock Cafe, Vatican City). History, ladies and gentlemen. History.

But, as anyone well-versed in the tunnels of love knows, our modern Valentine's Day is sooooo much more complicated than all that! Every human is different, like a snowflake. And every romance is different, like two snowmen fucking, or one snowman and one snowwoman, or, you know, whatever you're into (freaks). So, logically, every Valentine's Day celebration must be different from every other Valentine's Day celebration. Some lovers like to eat pork immediately prior to intercourse, some enjoy spaghetti. Some humpees long to receive orgasms from their humpers, others prefer slaps in the mouth. But on one thing all romance-seekers can agree: LET'S WATCH A MOVIE.

So anyway, which movie to choose? I looked up "movies" on Microsoft Encarta 99, and it turns out that there are literally hundreds!!! And all of them different, kind of! To help out, for your pleasure and planning purposes, I have prepared an easy, SEXY quiz to determine exactly which romantic Valentine's Day date movie is right for you. No cheating! See you on candy mountain, eachotherfuckers!

1. You are:

A. A boy

B. A girl

C. Neither/both/outside the binary construct of gender/none of your business

D. A cat

E. Two cats

F. Ten cats standing on each other's shoulders wearing a trench coat and moonlighting as a detective (mostly milk theft, yarn crime)

2. Your Valentine's Day dream date is:

A. Brad Pitt

B. Julia Roberts

C. George Clooney

D. Madonna

E. Britney Spears

F. Tom Hanks

3. When your date picks you up, you hope he/she brings:

A. Diamonds

B. Diamond rings

C. Diamond necklaces

D. Diamonds and jewels and diamonds

E. Edible diamonds

F. Edible diamonds that have passed through the digestive tract of a sexy prostitute

4. At dinner, in your sexiest voice, you order:

A. "Garbage"

B. "Filet mignon"

C. "Food, please"

D. "Cat food, please (I am a cat)"

E. "Wine"

F. "Extra wine (IT'S MY MEDICINE)"

5. For dessert, you want:

A. Chocolate chocolate chocolate!

B. Crème brûlée

C. Ice cream or some shit like that

D. A wedding!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

E. A destination wedding!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

F. Wedding cake (HINT, HINT)

6. Your favorite sexual position is:

A. "Missionary"

B. "Dogs Playing Football"

C. "Dogs Playing Soccer"

D. "Dogs Playing Volleyball"

E. "Dogs Fucking Each Other"

F. "The Tom Hanks"

SCORING:

Give yourself one point for every A.

Give yourself two points for every B.

For every C, multiply your total points by 50,000.

Cut off one of your fingers for every D.

For every E, cut off someone else's finger and sew it onto your hand next to your real fingers.

Give yourself three points for every F.

0–10 points

You are... a HOPELESS ROMANTIC!

Your perfect date movie is... Air Bud!

Ha-ha, you still believe in happiness and true love? That's stupid. But you know what, kid? You've also got moxie, just like Buddy, the hero of Walt Disney's Air Bud! Much like you, who aren't afraid to fall in love even though the world is a cruel prison and everyone you care about will die one day, Buddy isn't afraid to play basketball even though he is an idiot dog! Put this movie on and you will quickly have access to all of your beloved's romance-holes. Enjoy it while it lasts.

11–50 points

You are... a SAD SACK!

Your perfect date movie is... Air Bud: Golden Receiver!

Awwwww, looks like you're alone on Valentine's Day. But that's okay, because you're never really alone when you can hang out in your darkened apartment with an adorable dog that's fucking great at American football and even better at being a friend! Bow-wow! Fun fact: That dog is dead now.

51–1,000,000 points

You are... a VIRGIN!

Your perfect date movie is... Air Bud: World Pup!

This is the one where Air Bud finally fucks Lady Air Bud. Watch and learn, virgin.

Thousands of points and no fingers

You are... DEAD!

Your perfect date movie is... Air Bud: Spikes Back!

Sorry you died of blood loss (finger blood), but I'm sure your date won't mind snuggling up to your cold, stiff cadaver once he/she/etc. finds out that before losing consciousness you rented a movie about a dog with an uncanny talent for volleyball!!! Boom! Intercourse! There is also a wisecracking parrot.

0 points and 100 fingers

You are... READY TO PLOW!!!

Your perfect date movie is... Air Bud: Seventh Inning Fetch!

Hola, Casanova! It's time for you to "hit" a "home run" and not "foul out" in "right field" at the "big game" where a "precocious dog" is "playing baseball" with the "help" of a "wacky raccoon." IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. I mean that you should incorporate a raccoon into your lovemaking.

1,000,000 to infinity points

You are... MEG RYAN!!!

Your perfect date movie is... You've Got Mail!

You. Are. Adorable.

PLAN B:

Just pick out a movie, any movie, watch it, then fuck. Jesus Christ. It's a fake holiday.

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Concessions 90210

Lindy West — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 04:00:00 -0800

Lindy vs. 3-D Jar Jar Binks by Lindy West

If you're like me, you probably haven't watched Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace since its original release in 1999, because you've had literally anything else to do. And you probably think, in your hazy hindsight, that it's just "not that good" or "pretty bad" or some other relatively gentle descriptor that lets George Lucas off the hook for being an affably clumsy old billionaire man-frog. However, having recently rewatched Phantom Menace to prepare for its upcoming 3-D rerelease (do you like the Star Wars prequels but just wish you could also have a headache???), allow me to say this: HOOOOOO MY GOD FUCK US ALL BECAUSE THIS MOVIE GOT BIT BY A RADIOACTIVE GARBAGE AND IT IS A FUCKING MONSTERPIECE THEATER THAT TRANSCENDS BAD AND GOOD-BAD TO COME BACK AGAIN TO BAD AND REDEFINE COMEDY ITSELF. Seriously. Seriously. Drinking game: Take a shot every time something hella dumb happens and/or every time Jar Jar Binks makes you want to personally send tear-soaked reparations to 110 percent of the black people on earth. Oops, sorry about how you're dead now (alcohol poiz).

So it's space. Outer space. Something incredibly boring is happening (in space) involving trade tariff regulationatory senate subcommittees (space politics), and the space people are not happy about it! Someone sends Liam Neeson and Obi-Wan Beponytail to deal with it, on a ship. Everyone is robots. But Mssrs. Neeson and Ponytail are here on legitimate boring space business and they would like to speak to a non-robot immediately, THANK YOU VERY MUCH! Specifically, they are looking to meet with these very tall CGI space bishops who speak in a sort of Jerky-Boys-fake- Chinese-restaurant-cashier patois because OH WHY NOT. Instead: Robots attack! For some reason! (Space reasons.) But anyway, it doesn't matter, because robots are stupid at fighting and so everyone escapes. NEXT.

Down on a planet, Liam Neeson bumps into this fish-beast named Jar Jar Binks (meet-cute!), and they totally hit it off. Now, Jar Jar Binks... I'm not going to say he's worse than the Holocaust, because that's incredibly insensitive and I would never ever say anything like that. But... Jar Jar Binks also isn't better than the Holocaust. You know? Let's just leave it there.

The team heads out of town to meet up with this horrible child-slave named Anakin who is some sort of electronics mega- genius, which is totally annoying, but not as annoying as the fact that NOBODY IS EVEN IMPRESSED BY IT. Because sure. It's only a 4-year-old who built a flying car and a sentient mechanical man out of garbage. Oh, also, it turns out that this kid's mom is a 50-year-old virgin who got impregnated by mysterious space magic. Again, no one speaks of it. Unflappable cardboard motherfuckers.

Then, as a grand finale, there's like three hours of real-time space-senate negotiations, which somehow manages to be more boring than actual human C-SPAN, even though HALF OF THE SENATORS ARE ALIEN MONSTERS. And then Natalie Portman bangs that child-scientist. Not really, but she's gonna. Later. It's gross.

Seriously, though, was this movie made by Tim and Eric? Seriously. SERIOUSLY. Seriously.

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Concessions 90210

Lindy West — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 04:00:00 -0800

Extremely Tom & Incredibly Hanks by Lindy West

If there's one thing I know about the Oscars, it's that they are ALWAYS RIGHT, SO DON'T ASK QUESTIONS. Titanic is the greatest movie of all time, Dances with Wolves is better than Goodfellas, Forrest Gump is better than Pulp Fiction, Tom Hanks should be elected galactic emperor, and Billy Crystal is earth's funniest organism (suck it, Halothiobacillus halophilus!!!). Also, in case you forgot, the Oscars ended racism in 2002 when they crowned Halle Berry "Best Blacktress." Thanks, Oscars. YOU'RE WELCOME, BARACK OBAMA.

So that's why, when they released the nominations for the 84th Academy Awards (airing February 26 on ABC), I ran-not-walked to the cineplex to watch best- picture nominee Hella Close and Grippa Loud: The Tom Hanks Hamstravaganza Never Forgetstival Brought to You by Fig Newtons™. Because, I'm sorry—a whimsical, feel-good 9/11 drama about an autistic-ish child (NAMED OSKAR—coincidence!?) coming to terms with senseless tragedy and the impenetrable void of death, starring Tom "Fucking" Hanks? That's like if Schindler's List banged Forrest Gump and they had a baby, and then that baby banged every other Oscar movie ever (Jesus, get a grip, baby!), and then that baby had a baby, and then they all had to go on Maury Povich's show to figure out who was the father of the baby's baby ("Maury, I am 98 percent sure I'm NOT that baby's baby's daddy!" —Driving Miss Daisy), and then it turned out that the real father was [SUPER SECRET SPECIAL SURPRISE GUEST] Amelie the whole time!!! Then everyone's divorced parents got back together, everybody ate Fig Newtons (Oskar loves Fig Newtons SO MUCH YOU GUYS), and Extremely Tom and Incredibly Hanks was retroactively awarded every Oscar in every category since the beginning of time. The end.

What I'm saying is that Extremely Tom and Incredibly Hanks taught me a lot about the pros and cons of 9/11.

PROS (spoilers, I guess, if you give a shit):

• Your mom loves you again.

• You love your mom again.

• Your long-lost German grandpa comes back from the dead and loves your grandma again.

• All your divorced friends get back together (BECAUSE CHILDLIKE WONDER).

• Horseback riding.

• Totally cool scavenger hunt.

• Whimsy.

• Childlike wonder.

• Max von Sydow.

• Unlimited Fig Newtons.

CONS:

• Your dad's dead.

• Forever.

• Sorry.

• Fig Newtons.

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Concessions 90210

Lindy West — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 04:00:00 -0800

Speaking of Santas by Lindy West

Once a year, this thing happens called the Santa Ana winds (they are nothing compared to the Rob Thomas winds!), wherein all of Los Angeles falls over and nobody will shut up about it. This year, they tell me, the Santa Ana winds moved 90 miles in one hour! That is so many miles! As a result, a tree tried to murder me by squishing my house while I was "asleep" in it ("asleep" = "weeping in terror and waiting for death"). Thanks, Santa Ana, you dick! You are the shittiest saint ever! Santa Ana is the patron saint of both tree murder and having to throw away everything in your refrigerator because the power was out for six days. Smooth move, pope!

So ANYWAYZ, I had to pack up some dirty clothes and go live at a motel for a few days while kindly volunteers from the church down the street cleared the death tree off my roof. "It looks like somebody wanted to be able to SEE you better!" joked one of the kindly church people (he meant the Lord). Sorry, not to be a dick, but if Jesus can't see through roof tiles OR EVEN PINE NEEDLES, then are you guys praying to Santa Ana to knock your church down? For the record, the church people are super-nice and regularly bring me meatballs. The Jesus-meatballs of kindness. I do not want their house of worship to fall down. BUT I DIGRESS! AS USUAL!

The motel I stayed at is next to a fancy new outdoor mall in Glendale called the Americana. The Americana is an America-themed theme park located in America so that Americans can finally experience a taste of American culture! I couldn't wait! The Americana has a Cheesecake Factory, a Barnes & Noble, a pointless novelty trolley for idiots, a gigantic golden statue of a naked dude (because America), and a cupcake store that sells "cake-batter-flavored" cupcakes (SO INFURIATING I CANNOT EVEN GET INTO IT). I went to the movies.

The movie I saw is the impenetrably titled Arthur Christmas (you guys, their last name is Claus!!!), which I am afraid nobody on earth is going to watch because the marketing campaign is garbage, which is a terrible shame, because the movie is FUCKING AWESOME AND MADE ME CRY TEARS OF BOTH GENUINE LAUGHTER AND CHRISTMASSY JOY EVEN THOUGH I AM SUCH AN ASSHOLE THAT JESUS TRIED TO KILL ME WITH A TREE. Arthur Christmas is the younger son of Santa Claus and the only human left in the North Pole who genuinely gives a shit about children, comfort, joy, tidings, figgy pudding, gay apparel, or cookies. When a glitch in the Christmas-Industrial Complex leaves one little child presentless, Arthur takes it upon himself to fly to England and bring her a goddamn bike. Funny jokes, funny animation, funny elves, funny old senile Santa. Arthur Christmas made me glad a tree fell on my house.

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Concessions 90210

Lindy West — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 04:00:00 -0800

New on DVD! by Lindy West

CARJACKED

I have never seen this movie, but I have looked at the front of the DVD a couple of times, so I think I'm qualified to tell you a few things. Carjacked is a movie about two people's faces. Big faces. Maria Bello's face is the main one, and she is pretty worried. I think what she's worried about is Stephen Dorff's face, which is sneaking up behind her all lizardy and gross. Also, he has a gun! Watch out, Maria Bello!!! Another thing Maria Bello doesn't know is that her hair is totally on fire, and some tiny elfin people are running away from her hair. The DVD cover doesn't show the top of Maria Bello's head, so I can't tell if she's wearing a jaunty fedora, but my money's on OBVIOUSLY. The tagline of this movie is (literally): "It's her car. Don't tell her what to do." So I guess, in summation, this is a movie about a lady in a dumb hat who got so mad when someone tried to tell her what to do with her car that her hair caught on fire, displacing the indigenous community living in her earhole. Then Stephen Dorff tried to put out the fire with a gun. I give this movie 2/10 elves on fire.

CONAN THE BARBARIAN

The best part of the new Conan the Barbarian remake is when Conan invades this slave port where they have all these topless rape-slave ladies in cages. At first, the ladies are all, "Don't rape us, Conan! We are so traumatized by all the raping we have endured for our entire lives and we panic at the idea of a man's touch!" And then he's like, "Do you guys like to party? We have tons of cocaine on our boat." And the girls are all, "SPRING BREAK! WOOOOOOO!!! BARBARIAN COCAINE CURED MY PTSD!!!" I give this movie 0/10 James Earl Joneses.

SPY KIDS: ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD

Being neither a spy nor a kid, I didn't see this movie. But the poster says it's in "4-D AROMA-SCOPE," which reminds me of when I used to work at the EMP, back when they still had that ride you could go on. The ride was called Funk Blast, and it was about Rufio from Hook, who really wanted to start a funky funk band. Unfortunately, he was totally unfunky! Then this guy shows up and says, "My name is the Archangel of Funk, and I'm here to get my funk all over you." For the first part of the "ride," you walk through a room with a very, very big shoe in it. Then, eventually, you sit in a chair and the chair kind of lurches back and forth, and then the Archangel of Funk takes you to Funkytown!!! As you fly around Funkytown in your chair, Funk Blast blasts you in the face with the smells of Funkytown. Then they take a young person in a James Brown jumpsuit and superimpose the face of old James Brown on the young man's non-James-Brown face. Then body-of-young-James-Brown-face-of-old-James-Brown yells, "REMEMBER! STAY ON THE ONE! AND ALWAYS KEEP IT FUNKY!" And then Rufio from Hook becomes the greatest funk musician the world has ever known. I can only assume that this movie is exactly like that. I give it 10/10 blasts of crotch funk.

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Concessions 90210

Lindy West — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 04:00:00 -0800

The Sexy Stars of Twilight! by Lindy West

For MYSTERIOUS reasons ("Oh, because it's a doo-doo movie" —Sherlock Holmes), The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 1 didn't screen in advance for press. So I have no choice but to review the next best thing—a $10 magazine entitled From the Editors of Us: The Sexy Stars of Twilight: Breaking Dawn: 150 Hot Photos On-Set Romances New Interviews Shocking Wedding Details Sexiest Hunks Behind the Scenes! I am optimistic that this magazine will be able to answer many of my burning Twilight-related questions, such as "Why are you doing this to me?" and "What is a 'Kellan Lutz'?" and "Shut uuuuuuuuuuup!" Let us proceed.

Page 6: Bella and Edward embrace in a turbulent pool at the base of a waterfall—except it's not the warm, romantic, coconut-bra jungle kind of waterfall, it's like the shitty kind of freezing-cold forest waterfall where arctic wolves go to cool off when the SNOW GETS TOO HOT. Then there's a headline that reads, "Here Comes the Bride! At Long Last, Bella Gets a Ring—But It's Not All Wedded Bliss!" Yeah, hey, maybe it's not so blissful because you decided to have AN UNDERWATER WEDDING IN ANTARCTICA. Who was your wedding planner? A baby seal? Also, why is your wedding dress just a wet bra? You guys are stupid.

Page 8: A très revealing personal quote from Robert Pattinson! "Embarrassingly," he says, "the thing I was most nervous about was taking my shirt off." ("YOU CANNOT HIDE ME FOREVER!" —Robert Pattinson's parasitic twin.)

Page 50: This is a very important page where we learn things about Taylor Lautner, a muscular child who middle-aged women enjoy masturbating to. Firstly, we learn that Taylor Lautner's first starring role was as something called a "Sharkboy," which is a shark with the face of a boy that middle-aged sharks enjoy masturbating to. I would like to press charges against the entire earth (also, I will be contacting King Triton in the name of sea-justice [SPEAKING OF KING TRITON, WHY ARE YOU SO ELDERLY BUT YOU HAVE THE PECS OF A SHARKBOY!?!?]). The second thing we learn about Taylor Lautner, Sharkboy of the Land™, is that his plan for Hollywood success is the "Tom Cruise model." I look forward to his upcoming animatronic nuptials to Mimi Rogers.

Page 54: Finally! It's the "What is a 'Kellan Lutz'?" section! Kellan Lutz lets us know right off the bat that he has no idea who Kellan Lutz is: "I don't want to be a piece of meat for the rest of my career," he says. Confidential to Kellan Lutz: You will always be made of meat, as this is the way humans work. (Singular exception: See "Tom Cruise model," above.)

All the rest of the pages: Nothing about that vampire baby eating its way out of Kristen Stewart's womb-hole, nothing about that vampire baby falling in love with a grown-ass werewolf-land-boy-shark, and, MOST IMPORTANTLY, ABSOLUTELY ZERO PETER FACINELLI. From the Editors of Us: The Sexy Stars of Twilight: Breaking Dawn: 150 Hot Photos On-Set Romances New Interviews Shocking Wedding Details Sexiest Hunks Behind the Scenes!, you are the worst magazine ever. ("Vindication!" —Cosmo.)

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Concessions 90210

Lindy West — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 04:00:00 -0800

Judging Movies by Their Trailers! by Lindy West

Editor's note: Neither Jack and Jill nor The Immortals screened in time for a review. So here are reviews of each film's trailer.

Jack & Jill
dir. Dennis Dugan

Adam Sandler's twin sister, Adam-Sandler-in-a-Wig, is the fucking worst. For one thing, she looks like a man because she is literally a man in a wig, even though she also kind of just looks like a normal lady. What a bitch! For another thing, she totally wants to do stuff with her family! "Studio tour? Beach? Horseback riding?" Who does she think she is? An attractive woman?! Then she squishes a pony with her gigantic ass.

They go to a Lakers game, where Al Pacino (in a false beard) sends Adam-Sandler-in-a-Wig an erotic hot dog, spelling out "Call me" in mustard and his phone number in ketchup. The phone number is 310-177-2310, and it said "Call me," so I called it. I had an extremely sexually explicit conversation with someone claiming to be Al Pacino, and we made a date to meet at a motel. Turns out, it was just a hot dog in a wig who had taken some improv classes. Now I am pregnant with 42 Lit'l Smokies. All of them will be named Scarface. I give this trailer a 9.

The Immortals
dir. Tarsem Singh

MAGICAL EAGLE. SKREEEEEEEEEE!!! BOOM. MICKEY ROURKE. Mickey Rourke (who is orange) is relaxing by his pottery wheel. Mickey Rourke has these four whores chained together doing erotic yoga. He looks at them and he's all, "Nice!" Then, all braggy, he's like, "I have plenty of women. I have plenty of weapons." Mickey Rourke, you are one confident ancient-Greek motherfucker! That's why your ladies are so loyal. (Also, chains.) Oh no! PEEEEEEWWWWWWW!!! Hey, people on a mountain—Mickey Rourke's big army is coming for you! Oh no! Mickey Rourke puts on his war hat, because he has declared war on humanity. ALL OF IT. RAAAAAAAHHHHH!!! Then the gods (gods are real) are all, "Whaaaaaat? This is waaay too much for us to handle, bro. We are just dudes in the sky made of gold! Get someone else to do it!" So they send this dude Theseus a present wrapped in a big rock, and the present is a golden bow and arrow. Mickey Rourke says something like, "The gods may be on your side, but yorgthreughrrrr has just begun." I think by yorgthreughrrrr he means "my Mystic Tan appointment." Mickey Rourke is late for his Mystic Tan appointment, and it's all humanity's fault! Some lady takes her blouse off and then the ocean blows up. Oops! I think Stephen Dorff is there? But one can never be sure about Stephen Dorff. Then Aphrodite comes down from heaven to give everyone a high five! She takes off her sexy fake beard and it's... Al Pacino!!! "Al Pacino, how did YOU get here?" says Theseus. "Did you send me this magical golden bow?" "Check again, Einstein," says Al Pacino. Theseus looks down at his bow and realizes it was just a hot dog all along! With Al Pacino's phone number written on it! "It's ancient Greece, you dildo, phones aren't even invented yet," says Mickey Rourke. Then everyone fucks. I give this trailer a 48.

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Concessions 90210

Lindy West — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 04:00:00 -0700

Jacques Chirac's Corpse-Yoinking Velveteen Jamboree by Lindy West

Did you know that in the year 2002, French president Jacques Chirac exhumed Alexandre Dumas's 132-year-old corpse, dressed the coffin up in velvet like a fancy prostitute, transported it ("solemnly") to Paris, and then buried it again in a fancier corpse-hole because its original corpse-hole wasn't fancy enough, as if any corpse is capable of caring about the fanciness of its hole? And did you know they put it all on TV, and Jacques Chirac made a speech about castles and dreams? And did you know that the pallbearers were ("SOLEMNLY") all costumed up as Athos, Porthos, Aramis, d'Artagnan, and a big feather? All of that is mostly true. Fuck, I hope I get famous enough to have costumed weirdos bearing my pall at my state-sponsored televised second funeral (my pallbearers would be dressed, obviously, as Kim Cattrall's vagina, a rampaging bear, a Dorito, a poop, and a big feather).

So anyway, did you guys also know that in the year 2011, they went and did it all again? Only this time, instead of the president of France it was the king of Hollywood, and instead of calling it Jacques Chirac's Corpse-Yoinking Velveteen Jamboree, they just went with The Three Musketeers. And while Alexandre Dumas's literal corpse was not involved, his words and characters were, to their great enduring shame (and ours).

Here's what I'm getting at IN CASE THE METAPHOR IS CONFUSING: The Three Musketeers is a stinky, crusty, awkward, reanimated old dead body dressed up in velvet like a fancy prostitute and carried around by costumed weirdos covered in big feathers for no reason. It's a 3-D "steampunk" retelling of Dumas's classic novel (as we all know, "steampunk" is German for "the only thing worse than 3-D"), and it catches up with those plucky musketeers in exactly the same place where all 799 other Three Musketeers adaptations caught up with them: They're drunk, depressed, and hella mad at Cardinal Richelieu. Musketeering ain't what it used to be. Then, as usual, little d'Artagnan shows up (he rode a horse all the way from Fresno, apparently), and the team sets out to hijack Leonardo da Vinci's unstoppable "war machine" (literally just a ship tied to a balloon), save France (from... something), and—the key ingredient in any Three Musketeers movie—NEVER USE A SINGLE FUCKING MUSKET AT ANY TIME EVER.

I mean, have you EVER seen a musketeer actually use a musket? It's always goddamn swords with these people. Swords, swords, swords. In this version, there's even a scene when d'Artagnan's d'Ad presents him with a special sword, and d'Artagnan has the GALL to go, "Ahhhh, the weapon of a musketeer." No! Noooooooo!!! It's right in the name! A MUSKET IS THE WEAPON OF A MUSKETEER. OTHERWISE THEY WOULD BE CALLED SWORDY-BLOKES OR WHATEVER. Much to my relief, d'Artagnan's d'Ad immediately corrects him. "No," he says gravely. "No. The real weapon of a musketeer is here." And he points. To his big fucking feather.

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Concessions

Lindy West — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 04:00:00 -0700

Lindy Reports from La-La Land! by Lindy West

Hey, team! I'm back! You can quit the anguished gnashing and rending! Seriously. Stop. It's getting gross. Now, I realize that most of you have probably died of dehydration by now from all the tears (where my ghosts at!?), but for those of you who managed to survive my one-woman Rapture*: First of all, seriously? Don't I mean anything to you people? I WATCHED MARMADUKE FOR YOU. Look at Gnash Bridges over here—he missed me so much that he gnashed himself TO DEATH. Look at Brad Rend-fro! He rended his clothing so hard after I left that you can see his genitals! All of them! And he doesn't even care! And you couldn't even weep yourself into a little renal failure? You guys are dead to me for not being dead for me. But anyway, second of all, for you ungrateful non-ghosty fully clothed jerks, here's a little update about my fancy new Los Angeles life.**

A typical day: Last Friday I awoke in Los Angeles and immediately went to the mall. GREAT CHOICE. The first person I saw at the mall was Mario López. Mario López was at the mall filming a live segment for his television show Extra. Did you know that the television show Extra is actually the governor of California? It's true! Did you also know that Mario López is the state bird of Los Angeles? It's also true!*** I watched Mario López talk to a skinny woman about Muammar Qaddafi (really!) while eight bored people stood behind him pretending to be a crowd. It was all very glamorous.

Then I went to the movies, where I watched What's Your Number?. What's Your Number? is a movie about a woman (Anna Faris) who has had sex with 20 different people's penises. Gross, right!?!?!? So one day, while scrubbing her disgusting stretched-out vagina****, she reads a science article in esteemed science magazine Marie Claire explaining that once a woman has sex with 20 people, she is definitely 100 percent scientifically destined to be alone forever*****. Thus, because her brain works great, she reasons that she can only marry one of the 20 people she's already had sex with, and sets out to track them down. It makes perfect sense.

I left the theater feeling lonely and whorish******. Lucky for me, Mario López was STILL OUTSIDE! And talking to Diane von Furstenberg! "The only fashion no-no is being somebody you're not," said Diane von Furstenberg. Unless who you are is a total whore! I love you, Los Angeles!

*I like to call it "the Napture," because that's pretty much my job now.

**I'm sorry. The entire point of this paragraph was to use the phrase "Gnash Bridges." I love you guys. Also, I know that "Brad Rend-fro" was a weak follow-up, but my only other option was "Rend and Stimpy," and who cares about dog genitals? Seriously.

***Sometimes on chilly winter nights you can hear his mournful call.

****WHICH WILL NEVER BE CLEAN.

*****Breaking news: SCIENCE ANNOUNCES THAT DESTINY IS A THING.

******Did you know that "Lonely and Whorish" is the state motto of California?

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Featuring the Southland's 2nd-to-Least Most Clumsiest Trauma Surgeon!

Lindy West — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 12:00:43 -0700

Here's a sign I saw today:

L.A.'s fifth best hospital.

You guys, NO!!!!! When I'm coming in for my vagina inspection or whatever, I don't need to be reminded that there are literally twos of other better hospitals with better doctors and cleaner needles and warmer vagina machines! To paraphrase Ricky Gervais, "That's like saying you have Britain's number one wasting disease."

To be fair, though, there are six hospitals in L.A. So they definitely beat Garbage County General (it's primarily a hospital, but they also do cash-4-gold and smog checks). Speaking of unappealing hospitals (LET'S DO, SHALL WE?), remember that show Diagnosis Murder? Those fake doctors went to the worst fake medical school ever.

Patient (Probably Jack Klugman or Something): "Cough, cough."
Dick Van Dyke: "Your diagnosis is...MURDER!"
Patient Klugman: "What? Murder is not a diagnosis. Also, I am clearly still alive."
Dick Van Dyke: "Oh, you're right, I'm looking at my chart again...it's bronchitis. Here is your medicine."
Patient Klugman: "Cough, cough."

Murder is not a disease, you guys. The only time a doctor would say "diagnosis MURDER" is if he was about to murder you, and also he was a real wiseguy. Hey, you know what they should do? They should make a courtroom spin-off of Diagnosis Murder where the judge would be all, "I find you guilty...of LUPUS!!!" They could call it Verdict: Pneumonia. Don't steal that.

TALK TO YOU GUYS LATER. I'M OFF TO DO HOLLYWOOD THINGS LIKE PLAY TENNIS WITH VAL KILMER.

Love,
Lindy

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Happy October! Let's Go to the Beach! WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Lindy West — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 09:52:01 -0700

Cool idea, sun. Nice latitude, Los Angeles. (I miss you guys.)

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Concessions

Lindy West — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 04:00:00 -0700

So Long, Suckers!!! I Never Liked You! by Lindy West

Just kidding. I fucking love you assholes.

Okay, so I'm leaving Seattle. I don't really believe it yet, but two weeks from today I will climb into a large truck with all of my clothes and shoes and novelty coffee mugs and books and Doritos and Zac Efron posters and the ten tons of garbage I will be too lazy to throw away (sorry, Mom), and I will drive south and south and south, past Centralia and Salem and Yreka and Weed and Buttonwillow-McKittrick and those stockyards where all the poop in the world comes from, up the Grapevine and down, from the 5 to the 2 to a hot ground-floor apartment in Los Angeles with a 1-million-year-old landlady and 2-million-year-old pea-soup-colored carpet in every room (even the bathroom!). Then I will live there. Two blocks away is a dive bar where I once saw Jessica Biel waiting sullenly for a cab, on the same day that Jessica Biel was named Esquire magazine's Sexiest Woman Alive. I remember noting that her butt* looked totally ordinary. THAT'S CALLED THE GLAMOROUS LIFE, YOU GUYS.

They** say that if you love something, you should set it free. To that end, because I love data entry and organizational rigmarole like they are my own children (twins, age 3, I had sex with a file cabinet), I am emancipating them into the garbage and running as fast as I can toward Mexico. But it's not really that big a deal. I'll still be writing aaaaaaaaaaall the same farty bullshit for The Stranger and Slog. I'll still be writing movie reviews that movie snobs will hate. In fact, you guys probably won't even notice that I'm gone—except that from here on out this column (Concessions 90210!***) will contain 800 percent more commentary on Jessica Biel's Ordinariest Buns Alive.

I am bad at sincerity, so let's close with some lists.

Things I Will Miss About Seattle:

Northgate Mall

My parents

Charles Mudede forgetting my name literally every day

Drinkable tap water****

Literally everything else, even the shitty things.

Things I Will Not Miss About Seattle:

Nothing. Sob.*****

*The sexiest butt alive!!!

**Boring people.

***Working title. If you have any suggestions for what to call my glamorous, new-and-improved Hollywood Concessions, please e-mail lindy@thestranger.com.

****LA tap water tastes like dead-people sun tea.

*****Concessions will resume its regular schedule in October. Stay tuned.

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‘Crazy, Stupid, Love’

Lindy West — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 11:00:00 -0700

Okay, so sure, this is a bullshit romantic comedy where people say weepy garbage like “I think we got so caught up in being me and you that we forgot that what makes me and you we is that we is us and I just want our US BACK!” But Crazy, Stupid, Love is ALSO one of those movies where a hot person gives a frumpy person a makeover so the frumpy person can then have intercourse (perversely satisfying every time), AND it builds to an ensemble-cast climax so gleefully farcical and genuinely surprising that I actually wrote the word “Shakespearean” in my fucking notes. AND I MEANT IT. Feel free to skip the endless denouement because it is doo-doo. (See Movie Times)

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So What Comedy Should You See This Weekend?

Lindy West — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 16:13:45 -0700

TOMPKINS.

Honestly, it's a totally solid if not thrilling comedy lineup at B-shoot this year. There's nothing on the list that I think would be anything less than ha-ha-larious were you to wander in off the street. But here are the things that you should definitely not fucking miss—in descending order from most-not-fucking-missable to least-most-not-fucking-missable. These are the shows that I will attend the fuck out of:

COMEDY BANG BANG PODCAST WITH SCOTT AUKERMAN AND PAUL F. TOMPKINS

(Sat—Mon, 6 pm, Bagley Wright) Paul F. Tompkins is my favorite comedian. Full stop. This show is mandatory. LW

HARI KONDABOLU, KYLE KINANE, ANTHONY JESELNIK

(Sat, 2:45 pm; Sun, 4:30 pm; Mon, 6:15; Intiman) This is a fucking GREAT lineup. It would be stupid to go to only one thing at Bumbershoot this year, but if you DO go to only one thing because you're a human freak of some kind, this is probably the one thing you should go to. LA-based Kyle Kinane is one of the smartest fuckups on the planet. He's also one of my favorite comics existing right now (and yours, too, even if you don't know yet, snail-face). He has a beard. Hari Kondabolu is a treasure, which I have explained in this paper approximately infinity-plus-one times. Anthony Jeselnik is a charming prick. LW

CHARLES

(Mon, 1:15 pm, Vera Project) Two-man sketch group Charles's full-length show, The Ace of Bass, is one of the most inspired and inspiring chunks of comedy produced all year. Noted crank Brendan Kiley wrote of that show: "Charles seems silly, but its two brains are working overtime... For years the Cody Rivers Show was the reigning avant-sketch comedy duo in the Northwest. Pretty soon, Charles is going to need its own crown." AGREED. KINDLY DIRECT ME TO THE CROWN STORE. LW

RORY SCOVEL

(Sat, 1 pm; Sun, 2:45 pm; Mon, 8 pm; Intiman) Rory Scovel is a genius person. His comedy is absurd and improvisational, floating along on a faint Southern drawl and expanding into weird corners of the universe that you didn't know were there. Also, Scovel lives in Los Angeles (yes, THAT Los Angeles!), which means he doesn't live here, which means you really ought to fucking go see him while you have the chance. Also, he is about to be famous in like five seconds so GET ON THAT SHIT.

And like I said earlier, everything is good! Doug Benson! Eugene Mirman! Andy Haynes! All of these things are good things! Just wander through some doors and watch some jokes and you will be happy.

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Tomorrow Night: The Enematic Cinematic at Chapel

Lindy West — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 13:02:49 -0700

THIS IS ELICIA SANCHEZ

I, along with boy wonders Kevin Clarke and Travis Vogt, will be a guest at the Enematic Cinematic show tomorrow night (Chapel, 9 pm, FREE). The show will include a screening of The Boneyard, plus a bunch of drunken yelling! I interviewed host/mastermind/comedian Elicia Sanchez about what to expect:

Who are you?

Elicia Sanchez. I'm a stand-up comedian and a video store employee who splits my paychecks between comic books and happy hour. Also, a responsible adult and maker of good decisions. You will most likely see me on the bus sometime.

What is The Enematic Cinematic?

It started as a blog about the shitty movies I watched that turned into a podcast. The podcast episodes consist of me convincing comedians, filmmakers, friends, and/or random people to come over to my apartment, drink some beer, and then record ourselves talking about the movie we watched in segments such as: what we learned, favorite quotes, or a name from the end credits that sounds like a nickname for a penis. And so on.

Why should people go to this show?

It is FREE. Also, one of the segments requires freestyle rapping so you (Lindy) will be rapping [Eds. note: No, I most definitely will not.]. Did I mention that? Plus, Chapel (the former funeral home-turned-bar) will be closing for good September 3rd, so it will be your last chance to drink in the same place that once housed Bruce Lee's dead body. In case that's been something you've been working up to.

Will there by actual enemas administered?

By me? No. By God? That is up to your religious views.

Tell me about The Boneyard.

It is a straight-to-video horror film from 1991 about a demonic little-zombie-person-filled funeral home, starring a wig-less Phyllis Diller, a mustached Mr. Roeper, other people, and a giant zombie poodle. People die, bones talk, and things burn. I shan't say more. I don't want to spoil anything.

What else should I ask you?

That line of questioning makes me uncomfortable.

If it were conceptually possible to actually transform a movie into a liquid and forcibly shoot it up your butthole, what movie would you pick?

This sounds like science. That's not really my life major, but if I had to choose, obviously Hard Ticket to Hawaii. You can't fight destiny.

Did you know that my grandmother was cremated at the Chapel? IT'S TRUE. Sometimes I say hi to her ghost when I drive by.

No. I didn't know that. Be sure to send her the Facebook invite.

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Jimmy Hendricks Manpurse Happy Hour!

Lindy West — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 14:40:59 -0700

Yooooooooooou guuuuuuuuuuuys!!!!! Do you like cafes? Do you like hard things? Do you like rocks? Do you like emasculating a man for carrying his belongings around in a perfectly reasonable receptacle such as a bag or satchel? Do you like the work of celebrated celebrity Jimmy "Not That Other Guy, Please Don't Sue Us" Hendricks, whoever that is? Do you like drinking with socially awkward shut-ins while surrounded by garbage once touched by Kenny Rogers?

WELL OH MY GOD DO I HAVE THE FUCKING HAPPY HOUR FOR YOU.

Next Wednesday, August 31, from 5 to 8 pm, we shall convene on the the sparkling rooftop deck of downtown's Hard Rock Cafe for the first ever Jimmy Hendricks Manpurse Happy Hour!

No word yet from our previous happy hour guest, the venerable Thomas Skerritt, but the invitation has been issued. I'm sure he's just playing coy.

So mark your calendars, freaks! Very special drink specials—they are FULL OF ALCOHOL—below:

· $5 boilermakers—a draft beer with shot of Jim Beam
· well drinks for $3.30 each (Smirnoff, Beefeater, Bacardi, Sauza, Cutty Sark, Jack Daniels)
· half-off draft beers ($2.60 to$3.10 each) and Washington wines ($3.15 to $4.50)
· plus half-off most appetizers.

Jimmy Hendricks Manpurse Happy Hour! WOOOOO!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

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WE'RE RRRRRRICH!!!

Lindy West — Thu, 25 Aug 2011 13:58:11 -0700

Via Reuters.

(Thanks to Meags.)

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I Made Another Video! Of My Face!

Lindy West — Thu, 25 Aug 2011 10:55:07 -0700

Here are my thoughts on The Ghosts of Girlfriends Past—a movie that, as far as i can tell, was written by Matthew McConaughey's actual penis. I cannot be certain what is going on with my hairdo in this one. Recorded in 2009.

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Concessions

Lindy West — Wed, 24 Aug 2011 04:00:00 -0700

Lifetime: Television for Lindy West by Lindy West

Back in ancient times, when money existed (remember money?), I used to get all kinds of magical presents in the mail at work. Talking bobbleheads (bobble, Tommy Wiseau, bobble!), stuff I still use every day (holla, Time Traveler's Wife promotional blanket!), DVDs of movies I've actually heard of (no offense, local steampunk roller-derby slasher comedy!), literal baklava (thanks, Nia Vardalos PR machine!), and so on. Every day. All the time. Life was a dream.

Well, that dream is dead now. Over the past year or two, my mailbox has gradually but inexorably garbaged the fuck out—garbagier and garbagier!—so that now it's basically just a garbage-shaped garbage can overflowing with broken garbage cans (THAT'S DOUBLE GARBAGE). But one special company keeps me alive—one cadre of PR agents still ships me tasty treasures each and every week without fail. And that company is...............Lifetime: Television for Women. Oh, women. I knew you wouldn't let me down.

THEY. SEND. ME. EVERYTHING. At least one DVD per week. Every single new Lifetime Original Movie. Magic Beyond Words: The JK Rowling Story. Amanda Knox: Murder on Trial in Italy. The 19th Wife: Polygamy Can Be Murder. ALL OF IT IS MINE. Now, obviously, many before me have pontificated on the wonders of Lifetime Original Movies: The beatings. The rapings. The kidnappings. The cuttings. The husbands who are secret murderers. The wives who are secret ghosts. The husbands who are secretly kidnapped wives with fake beards who rape ghosts. But it deserves to be said again: THIS SHIT IS SOOOOOOOO GOOD.

Information: Even if you don't have cable, you can go to www.hulu.com/lifetime-movies where they have six Lifetime Origs available at all times, with a new one rotating in each week. Today I picked one at random—Proof of Lies, up for another 17 days!—and I will now "explain" the "plot."

In Proof of Lies, there's this pregnant scientist named Christine who works in a lab with her super-funky and alternative lab assistant. After Christine feeds some heroin to a junkie mouse, another bigger scientist comes clomping in and yells, "You did it! We got the funding for the science! All 40 million dollars!" Then everyone high-fives. Nailed it!!!

BUT!!!!! When the baby-swollen mouse-enabler gets home and makes her big science announcement, her husband Chuck goes, "FUCK YOU!!! I DO REAL ESTATE AND I HATE SCIENCE! BOOOOOOOO!!! I'M THE MAN AND I WEAR THE PENIS IN THIS FAMILY." Then Christine promptly has a miscarriage and does some erotic mountain biking. A man in a ski mask breaks into the lab and tries to hit her to death with a knife. She finds the ski mask outside and runs it through a science machine with some of her husband's hair. "BEEP-BOOP-BOOP-BOOP-BEEP-BOOP-BEEEEEEEP!" says the science machine, adding, "SUBJECT A: SKI MASK. SUBJECT B: CHUCK. 100% GENETIC MATCH!!!!!" At the end, there is a switcheroo. It was the erotic mountain biker all along!!! OR WAS IT? I love you, Lifetime.

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The Drinky Movie Show Tonight!

Lindy West — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 14:02:16 -0700

"You Don't Have To Be A Drunken Movie Fan to Enjoy this Show, But Yes You Do."

That's the tagline for the Drinky Movie Show (Sunset Tavern, 9 pm), "an alcohol-soaked descent into film nerd madness." Anchored by the prodigious talents (and drinking problems) of hosts Travis Vogt, Kevin Clarke, and Derek Sheen, tonight's Drinky Movie Show will also feature Level-6 Mage Mike Drucker and grumpy nugget of delight Elicia Sanchez. In case you're a dummy who doesn't know anything, those are five of the funniest people in Seattle. For serious.

Featuring short films, contests, prizes, and drink specials, this will be a full-on multimedia extravaganza that everyone can enjoy! And by "everyone" I mean "People over 21 who watch too many movies and regularly drink alcohol to excess."

Tuesday, Aug 23, Sunset Tavern, 9 pm.

I, Lindy West, will also be in the show. I will be drunk and yelling about movies. So, you know, just another day at the office.

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Go See Andy Haynes Tonight

Lindy West — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 15:34:50 -0700

I went last night and it was fucking great—quick, insightful, personal, vulnerable, ha-ha funny. (Comedy Underground, Fri–Sat 8:30 and 10:30 pm (21+), $10.)

Here's my little Q&A with Haynes in Chuckletown this week:

Who are you?

I'm Andy Haynes, your prom date.

What are you doing here?

I'm visiting my sick mother and all the foster kids I raised and put through college, and checking in on the nonprofit I started. But I'm also headlining Comedy Underground this weekend, and that first part isn't true.

Remember how we went to high school together?

Oh yeah, you were that goth chick, right?

Describe your comedy with words.

Pompous, juvenile, offensive, and then insincerely apologetic.

Keep reading........

What Dinosaur is the Best Dinosaur?

Lindy West — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 14:57:35 -0700

Congratulations, your afternoon just got better:

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Charles Mudede Finally Watched The Tree of Life...

Lindy West — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 15:59:03 -0700

...and apparently it was even worse than he expected. (Charles previously wrote a review entitled "I Haven't Seen Tree of Life but I Hate It".)

The Tree of Life, Terrence Malick's fifth film and the winner of the 2011 Palme d'Or (in 2010, it was Apichatpong Weerasethakul's brilliant Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives—this decade's cinema opens on a very loud metaphysical note), is composed of four sections. The first section has two parts: One is set in the past (the 1950s), and the other is set in the present. In the past, a couple (Brad Pitt and Jessica Chastain) deals with the death of one of their three sons; in the present, one of the sons (Sean Penn) remembers the death of his brother. This section as a whole moves swiftly (the camera gliding, swirling, swerving in and out of rooms and hallways) and is severely fragmented—now we are in the small town, now we are in an elevator that's rising up the spine of a skyscraper, now we are with the mother being consoled, now we are in a conference room with a view of other corporate towers, now we are next to an airplane that's preparing to fly at that hour of the day when the owl of Minerva spreads its wings.

Keep reading..........

Chuckletown, USA

Lindy West — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 04:00:00 -0700

Andy Haynes Speaks! by Lindy West

Hello! How are you?

Pretty good.

Who are you?

I'm Andy Haynes, your prom date.

What are you doing here?

I'm visiting my sick mother and all the foster kids I raised and put through college, and checking in on the nonprofit I started. But I'm also headlining Comedy Underground this weekend, and that first part isn't true.

Remember how we went to high school together?

Oh yeah, you were that goth chick, right?

Describe your comedy with words.

Pompous, juvenile, offensive, and then insincerely apologetic.

Describe your comedy with a pun.

Imagine I tell you a joke that offends you, then I pull out two baby cats, and then I say, "Hey I'm just kitten!"

Describe your comedy with a haiku.

I don't write haikus

Not after the earthquake thing

See... I'm just kitten.

If your comedy were a '90s pop song, what song would it be?

SWV's "I Get So Weak in the Knees" because I've had both of my knees arthroscopically worked on, and I love their music.

Tell me a story.

Once there was a country. It was beautiful and just, full of wealth and opportunity, but it was divided. The people fought over their beliefs and their differences. They were easily manipulated by the wealthy elites and their false causes. Their king was a noble king, but he was a pussy. One day, the rage virus was released from a lab that made Samsung Galaxys and a lot of people became zombies. Everyone died. Everyone except my fiancée and me. We spent the rest of our lives repopulating the earth (fucking), rescuing shelter dogs, and listening to Dave Matthews Band. Also at some point I fight Paul Dano's zombie. I hate that overacting motherfucker.

Andy Haynes performs at Laff Hole on Wed Aug 17, Chop Suey, 8:30 pm, $10, 21+. He headlines Thurs–Sat Aug 18–20, Comedy Underground, Thurs 8:30 pm (all ages)/Fri–Sat 8:30 and 10:30 pm (21+), $10.

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Concessions

Lindy West — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 04:00:00 -0700

Things That Are More Boring Than Conan the Barbarian by Lindy West

Well boy oh boy, if it isn't my oooooooold friend the new Conan the Barbarian remake—starring, in the title role, the tall drink of fermented mare's milk that impregnated Lisa Bonet (TWO TIMEZ). Unfortunately, due to cost overruns in Jason Momoa's eyeliner budget, the film screens too late for our print edition (fie!), but that's probably for the best, because I can tell that you guys are hella unprepared for this shit. You're all, "What's a Conehead the Librarian!?!? Hurrrrr, I'm confused! Who's that one guy? What's best in life? Um, is it fleeing from one's enemies like a baby and then falling down a hill onto a spike? Berpa derpa doo, why are my pants so wet!?" That's you. That's my impression of you.

But don't worry, dum-dums. Because I have been doing some serious research, and I think I've got the super-complex Conan mythology all figured out. It wasn't easy. In phase one of my Conan cramming—or I suppose we could call it CROMMING because of puns!!!—I attempted to watch the original Conan the Barbarian, starring noted trapezoid and maid-putter-inner Arnold Schwarzenegger. Emphasis on attempt because OH MY GOD ZZZZZZZZZZ.

Fun fact: Did you know that the original Conan the Barbarian—also starring noted Bettie-Page-wig-stand James Earl Jones—is more boring than a Ken Burns documentary about Bettie Page's actual wig stand? It is more boring than listening to a boiled potato cool. It is more boring than a hacky sack on jury duty. It's more boring than trying to use the Wheel of Pain to torture a guy whose two favorite things are wheels and pain. IT IS SOOOOOOOO BORING, YOU GUYS, and if it's your favorite movie then you are a Styrofoam packing peanut with terrible taste (nice work becoming sentient though, bro!). I made it almost all the way through, but then I had to go because my neighbor asked me to keep an ear on his pet boiled potato. Priorities.

Luckily, backup plan! The second phase of my research, after I woke up in the 23rd century (because ZZZZZZZZZZZ), was to consult His High Holiness Wikipedia (fun fact: Wikipedia gets elected God in the year 2114). Here is what I learned: Conan the Barbarian's mom was a man in a hat named Robert E. Howard. His dad was also that same man named Robert E. Howard, because Conan the Barbarian is made-up and not real (this movie is not a historical document!). After birthing Conan the Barbarian in the year 1932, Robert E. Howard almost immediately committed suicide with a gun (not a sword, as might have been expected). It was very sad.

Then Conan the Barbarian killed a bunch of dudes with a sword and ran around saying "Crom" a lot (see pun, above). That's pretty much all you need to know. The sword thing and the Crom thing. This concludes my research. Wake me up when Boiled Potato: The Movie comes out. (It's a silent film.)

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