Guess which movie I watched last night from this joke:

Note: This is the sort of thing better suited for a psuedonym of mine, but whatever

Q: What's the smartest thing to come out of Nora Ephron's mouth?
A: Carl Bernstein's semen.

Reviews of the Day, get them while they're fresh

Daddy Long Legs
NewsRadio Season 3

Uneventful weekend. Saw Crash (2005). Vomited. Saw Vice Squad. Vomited (in a good way). Watched the wrap up to Arrested Development. Great.

My Milkshake brings all the boys to the yard

I had a taste of the Shamrock shake yesterday. Probably for the first time in ten to twenty years.

That shit is gross.

Sometimes I have too much empathy

My mom told me a story yesterday that I can't shake. We were talking about our childhood neighbors, and the father who died of AIDS in the 80's (a story I recounted here) and it took on the subject of homosexuality, and how a man could live with a woman and know he was gay. My mom is friends with a gay couple on the East Coast and she recounted how one of them told her of his first homosexual experience, which was when his father asked him to perform fellatio. When he was 10. And then my mom added the capper by telling me that he said "He liked it." Blowing his dad. Liked it.

Stories like that get under my skin, perhaps because all evidence points to sexuality being more malleable than most give it credit for. Perhaps sexual preferences (like fetishes) are something we get in youth and are never able to abandon, as our earliest sexual experiences are the most resonant. And it's interesting because I've had many female friends tell tales of Sapphic trysts that occurred simply out of a boredom mixed with drug use. Many of whom are straightish these days. But men tend not to be as bisexual - but I think most because of the stigma attached. I've known some bisexual men, but they tend to be more hedonistic than bi-curious.

All of which makes me happy to married (until the wheels fall off, I guess), as my biggest problem as a dater is that I find it hard to close. I tend to fuck up the closing. I've had male friends (and in one instance a complete stranger) tell me that a girl was interested and I was halfway oblivious. I like to flirt outrageously and do nothing about it. Maybe because sex and relationships are messy, and I prefer the simplicity of an event. Dunno.

I shouldn't add this, but whatever, I got off work early tonight and Aili is getting home shortly. She expressly told me that she is H-O-R-N-Y, so that's rather good news... as long as she doesn't want to do it in the bed my mom slept in.

A High Seas Adventure featuring Dolphins and Fucking

Yesterday was classic. After a couple hours of puttering (to which my mom got antsy), we decided to head out for some LA sightseeing and stuffdoing. The two (out of three, if my cat counts) women in my life joined me in going to In and Out Burger and then the plan was to go to the Getty Museum. Aili sat in the back seat and I constantly checked on her in the backseat, so much so that she started making faces at me, which - honestly - was getting me kind of horny, something we're going to have to wait until tonight to do something about. The ride was slightly tense as Aili wanted to smoke, but my mom said she'd prefer if she didn't. Aili's been on again off again about quitting, and I never seem to be able to sway her to pick one or the other. Sometimes she'll come home and report how much she smoked, as if she wanted to make penance. But mostly this is stuff I leave off the blog cause who cares, right? Anyway, the mood finally starts to lighten up, as Aili makes the perfect sort of exploratory comments that flatter my mother, and my mom gets to embarrass me in front of my wife. Knowing what's going on, I felt politically I had to take it to make things right.

We get there, it's seven bucks for parking. No one had cash. We were told of a gas station a couple blocks away that would have cash. My mom decides to scrap it. This is standard mom behavior: plan something, don't go through with it. The illusion of having done something without the actual doing. At least the 405 was reasonable.

Aili said she had some work to do, so she took off for her office around four (she got back around ten, when my mom went to bed the night before), and my mom made some comments about Aili's accent ("I can't tell when she's being sarcastic"), but seemed encouraging about our future, even though she's been briefed on the situation. Then we watched The 40 Year Old Virgin, and had a couple of drinks. It's sort of fun to drink with your parents.

Mom begins to go to my room, and Aili showed up a couple of minutes later, and before we could get to sleep, she starts telling me what she thinks of my mom in hushed tones. There's something about having your mom a couple feet away that kills the sex urge, that reduces you to a state of adolescence, and last night was no different. Still it was fun to hear Aili say that she liked that my mom could be (to use her words) "a right cunt."

Dolphins.

Fucking.

Hey white boy, what you doing uptown?

Here's a little message, a little heart to heart.

I don't care if you get married in Vegas. Or Amsterdam, or Rotterdam, or who gives a damn. Tell your mother. Beforehand. Or she will make your life and every sentence she speaks to you a living hell.

The entry God has been waiting for

Seriously, he called was like "Dude, you should post. Even if it's our conversation. I don't care. POST, BITCH!"

- Just as God's son did, I think the time in the world will be divided between pre-Snakes on a Plane release and post-Snakes on Plane release. It's like those six months between Kill Bill volumes. SoaP can still be anything you want it to be. And there will come a time when we will know what it is. And that will be sad. But there you are.

- Am I black or white, am I straight, or gay? Controversy.

- Munich may be the anti-Untouchables. It's definitely Spielberg in De Palma territory, and he used a fashionable playwright to fashion the script. But in this case it's the anti because it's Spielberg working against his instincts to create a film that's not for the crowd (which is makes it more De Palmaeranian because Mr. Brian De P was working within the Hollywood structure). In the end both films come to the exact opposite conclusions. Just a thought.

- My favorite Valentine's day story is this. About five years ago, my then girlfriend got us a reservation at a Bed and Breakfast. Either I worked half a day, or took it off, and we planned to head over around 3 pm. Before I could leave my house I got a call from my friend Jen to tell me that our mutual friend (Explicative deleted) was threatening to kill himself. My girlfriend was rather amazing in this instance and I went immediately to The Space Room, where he was. A couple of his friends gathered, he told all of us that he was ready to die, and how unhappy he was. I think we were all there to give emotional support, but I was more curious than anything. I believe in the right to suicide, though I tend to think it's a stupid, stupid move. But (Explicative deleted) was depressed. He couldn't hold a job, got fired from the position that gave him priveledge and quite a bit of tail, and had probably been drinking heavily for the last five to ten years of his life, with the not so occasional booster of coke and pot, and many other substances ([Explicative deleted] caused me to be three hours late for work once due to taking a blue pill he gave me after a night of hard drinking, while on another instance after a night out with him I went into work still reeking of whiskey. Granted, these were my decisions - but that's the sort of devil he was). After a couple of hours trying to bring him down, Jen laid down the science: (Explicative deleted) had two choices, either he was going to go to a hospital willingly to detox, or she was going to call the cops and get thrown into detox. Hearing this, (Explicative deleted) freaked and told us all that that wasn't going to happen. When assured it would happen he grabbed the nearest glass, broke it on the table and tried to slit his wrists in front of us. We restrained him until the cops showed up. Then my gal and I went over to the hospital, and tried to hang out for a bit as things got settled down and he got settled in. Then we went across the street for pizza and some down time (shockingly I don't think anyone had anything to drink at the pizza place). Around nine or ten we left the hospital to go to the bed and breakfast place. It was fabulous. But though we consummated in the nature of such an establishment - if memory serves - it was akin to Eric Bana's pained nutbust in Munich. How could it not be. And I can't not think of this on February 14th.

Happy Valentine's day.

Hollywood swingin'

Kitty Foyle
Metropolitan
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Zathura

Marriage is boring. We have two bedrooms, one of which is my room (where my mom will be staying next week), and I spend about 90% of my nights with my wife. I've fallen asleep in front of the TV once, and I think it irked her. But supposedly we have our boundaries. She was the one who didn't want to be possessive, and now she's being possessive. That's why putting your penis in someone's vagina is usually considered a commitment. If the worst thing I have to do is sleep with my wife (and her occassional garbage farts), life is good.

I miss you Whit Stillman

Watching Metropolitan, will have the review up tomorrow. Should share my favorite St. Valentine's story this week. You may ask yourself "WTF has Damon been up to?" Well, let me tell you the fuck I've been up to. Moving. We're in the new place. Cat's comfortable and everything. That shit takes it out of you. And my mom's visiting next weekend. Krazy.

My first online comic.

Homo Sexuality

I was thinking yesterday about penguins. And also about how I wonder how much we want the person we're with to be like us. How much taste must they have in common. Shit like that.

I was also driving home and listening to some Joy Division. A song came on, and I had a total recall of the first time I heard the song, when I first started DJing at KWVA in Eugene, Oregon, rocking out from 4-6 am. It was called "The Monty Nesbit Show" and the premise was that I was Damon Houx and that Monty couldn't do his show because he got in trouble for having sex with his girlfriend in the station, so every week I was the fill in. Eventually (towards the end of the term) Monty showed up and bitched me out. Who was one of my neighbors in the dorm. Why I did this to my radio show, I don't know.