So sue me. I recorded the first 30 amazing seconds of the I’m So Excited! dance sequence.

Posted: July 20, 2013 in Uncategorized

Okay, you guys, it’s really, REALLY, like, stupid how long I have waited for this clip.  Some might even say gruesomely stupid.  As in I think that this trailer came out in December.  And ever since then, waiting for this clip has become the equivalent waiting for a falling chandelier.  And I mean that waiting where months hang on a suspended reality.  And just like anyone who’s seen The Phantom of the Opera and The War of the Roses knows the chandelier is going to drop, anyone who has seen the preview for Almodovar’s new romp I’m So Excited knows to expect the Trio Ex Machina (yeah, I said it) wearing-fey-baby-blue flight attendants-dancing-out-their-hearts-and-conflicted-sexual-morales-in-to-The Pointer Sisters-IN-FULL-LIPSYNCH!  It still seems like a cheap thrill to give away why, so I won’t do that.  Let’s just say the entire cabin section have been drugged by muscle relaxers.  But that didn’t stop me from searching the bulleted plot point list on IMDB to know when and where to queue my trusty iPad video recorder.

And oh, the hills were alive!  With the sound of SISTER POINTERS!  How much more abrasively homosexual can I put this?  It was fiercely demented.   Go-Go-Hypnogogic.  Transcendentally light, until blithely undercut with lines like “I smell death and it’s not him farting.”

Take that, Dog Day Afternoon.

It’s been playing in New York for weeks now.  And yeah, yeah, okay, all of you people who’ve already packed the screenings of the Sunshine are already totally over it.  Guess what?  I don’t care.  As in I thoroughly don’t care. Because first of all, the problem with all you New York Cinephiles is that you obviously get over things too quickly.

So here we are, I think like about an hour into the film, and I knew there would be trouble the moment I hit record and MY PHONE WENT OFF IN 38 SECONDS.  There are some who are born to become the prophets of piracy.  (R.I.P.  Clearly not my destiny.  The good news is that I watched the rest of the dance sequence without a camera in my face.  And that the rest of you get to witness the profoundly preposterous, whacked-out splendor of his silliness for yourselves… Almodovar kind of puts his favorite actors here the way Soderbergh assembled his cast for Ocean’s Eleven.  This is The Almodovarian Dream Team Here In All It’s Cocktailed-Cockloose-Glory: Celia Roth, Javier Camanas, Carmen Machi, Antonio de la Torre, Lola Duenas, even Penelope Cruz and Antonio Banderas come out to play in an unbodacious cameo that is one of the best moments in the entire film.  (That’s a lie.  It doesn’t need to be there.)

In any event, I enjoyed every minute of this, which I’m sure this comes to you as the surprise of the century.

The trailer, that I’ve already posted a million times, HERE:


1.  All About My Mother

What Have I Done To Deserve This?

3. Talk to Her

4. Live Flesh

5. Woman On The Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

6. Law of Desire / Bad Education

7. The Skin I Live In

8. Tie Me Up!  Tie Me Down!  (Atame! – must be included that Antonio Banderas is in a severely wounded sex scene that is still the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.)

9.  I’m So Excited

10. Matador


And because all my posts lately include a food addendum, can I just respond to a statement about a comment made to me by a personal friend who made a statement about how my eating habits are over-accessorized?

Even if this is true (and I’m not outright refuting it) I just have to, um, wonder how this issue of “accessorizing” my food poses any general threat to your own.  If you’re reorienting your career to become a healthy foods chef, I believe that’s one thing, but the dietary restrictions that might benefit, say, a 10K marathon have nothing to with cancer, so this idea of having to “go minimalist” is pretty insulting if you take into consideration that during such treatment, the person’s cells are both in a state of extremis and reproducing a surplus of dead cells adjacent to living matter.  So what you need here is MORE cellular information.  Not less.  I’m noticing approaching nine months into this touring show that it gets very easy it is to spot the narrow overview that believe that you did this to yourself.   They try to impart their enlightenment mostly by questioning whether or not you have looked fully examined the diorama of your illness.  Get out of my face with that shit.  Do you really think I’m not doing my research?

The fitness regime I started last week has two goals: to ward off muscle atrophy and keep my weight under 200 pounds.  It’s NOT to maintain a plasticine pretense of “good health.”  Or even get more hits on GrindR.   Okay?  I’ll be healthy when I’m healthy.  I will tell myself in the mirror one morning that I look good, and actually mean it.  And if anyone asks me to explain my nutrition in as formal a way as possible my response will be:  “I am trying to incorporate a way of eating that enlivens peak physical multifunction while still leaving room for original sin.  Because I really, REALLY like pizza.”

But you tell me who else in the world on a Friday night is actually calling THIS their MIDNIGHT SNACK?!


That lucky star must be me.  And no, I am not trying to rub in the tragedy.  I am just saying that I can make sacrifices that Oprah Winfrey can’t.  That’s all.

Although if someone came at me right now with a cast iron steak platter of chimichurri strips, I might have to come for them like an alligator…


Woodland Park Zoo, yesterday

I’m sure this alligator, though, would, like, totally chill out when you reassure him of the lifelong health benefits of sungazing and tempeh.


And now, for absolutely no particular reason at all, a 14-minute video montage for the afterparty of the musical “Grease” at Studio 54 which I have been using to cure my insomnia.  I tried listening to UC Berk audio lectures on Civil Service Reform.  That worked for about two days.  The Golf Channel worked around.  The problem is that I already possess a pretty opulent and vivid dream life.   Falling in front of the television is like falling sleep to a dirt devil.  It even reminds me of recovering from chemo.

And I don’t need anymore sterilizing visuals, I don’t think, do you?

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