I'm moving!

To a place that's slightly less ugly, and where I don't have all of my formatting issues worked out. 

http://bentramer.tumblr.com/

Someone out there is Lisa's fantasy. Pray she never meets him.

Note: Below you will find the opening sequence from the 1990 film "Lisa".  Please allow the clip to play in the background while you read this entry as the score will no doubt set the proper mood.  Pay particular attention to the haunting call and response between twisted calliope and sultry sax.  Ah yes, the sound of innocence lured to corruption by the promise of forbidden sensuality. 

Once upon a time there was a boy named Beanface, or so he came to be called because he frequented The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf located on the first floor of my office building. We were ships passing in the night, he and I.  For quite some time I knew nothing about him other than the fact that we worked in the same building and seemed to be on similar schedules.  Everyday at noon, I would step out for some fresh air and to enjoy a cup of coffee where I would inevitably run into Beanface returning from the 24 Hour Fitness across the street.  Messenger bag slung casually over one shoulder, his forehead glistening with the sweat of homosexual gym exertion, he would stop for a cigarette before returning to work.

At 3pm he would once again slink downstairs for a cup of joe and a smoke with a gang of several surly cohorts on whom I also bestowed facial monikers: 80s face, Methface, Tallface, etc.  During an otherwise uneventful elevator ride, I discovered that The Faces were all a bunch of panty pushers employed by a well-known trashy lingerie company whose corporate offices were located several floors below mine. 

Bean's was an ageless beauty.  Was he 21 or 41?  Who could say.  He was slim-hipped and inexplicably tan, seemingly capable of only two facial expressions: stone face and goofy grin.  The all-too-infrequent grin revealed an endearing gap between his two front teeth, while also etching deep lines around his mouth and eyes which might have led one to believe that he fell closer to the 41 end of the age spectrum. 

I know what you're thinking, this all sounds so utterly...resistible.  Maybe it was my workplace boredom.  Maybe it was a contact high from the revolving cast of crackies wandering Sunset Blvd. Or maybe Bean truly did weave some kind of strange spell that would shame even Stevie Nicks' brand of shawl twirling sorcery.  I couldn't deny that I was becoming smitten, and soon began to wonder if our criss-crossing paths might have been paved by fate with a little help from her friend destiny.

As the weeks rolled on, I began to fantasize about being the type of person who really takes a bite out of life and thinks nothing of asking out a total stranger.  No big deal, right?  Maybe it could just go something like, "Listen up, Bean. I'm a dude...you're a dude...let's just be dudes and see what happens."  As far as opening lines went, that one was soon relegated to the bottom of the list, but I filed away a slew of other possibilities and somehow also managed to convince myself that perhaps Bean had spotted my dorsal fin moving through the water and was waiting patiently for me to make a move.  How could the universe not reward such a wanton display of boldness?  When the time was right, there was only one way this thing could go.  Advantage: me. 

And so the day finally arrived.  I felt good about my wardrobe selection.  I had the elements on my side; the sky was exceptionally gloomy and a steady rain was beginning to fall. I work best under cover of mist and shadow--the less they see the better.  I had firmly decided to put an end to this madness once and for all and to make a move should the opportunity present itself.  In the early afternoon I made my way downstairs to suss things out.  Sure enough, there was Bean.  Alone.

At that point I left my body and allowed some unknown force to speak through me.  I only wish said force was Patrick Swayze, and that Bean had stared directly into my soul with dewy eyes while "Unchained Melody" swelled around us.  Instead some kind of awkwardly clucking banshee took hold and rattled off what seemed like one excruciatingly long word while Bean looked on in wild-eyed amazement.  From my vantage point hovering above the scene, I remember Bean saying that his name was actually Chris (!) and that he had in fact been in a relationship for several years.  Well played, Bean.  Well played.  I then muttered a few non-sensical final words and turned to walk away, pausing briefly to let the rain wash away my humiliation. 

Not surprisingly, there was one final scare in store.  The next morning when I arrived at work, the elevator doors opened to reveal Bean riding solo without even one additional passenger to act as a buffer to the awkwardness.  He attempted to make polite small talk while I attempted to keep from ripping my face off. 

Make no mistake--asserting one's sexuality and taking a chance on a handsome stranger is always a highly punishable offense.  If only that simple fact had not somehow completely slipped my mind.  If only early 90s softcore teen slasher "Lisa" had been released on DVD this whole thing could have been avoided.  I had nothing but a hazy memory of seeing the movie with my parents during its brief theatrical run.  My VHS copy recorded off of Showtime had long since gone missing and was thus unavailable for reference.  We will briefly review a few key points, after which I highly recommend that you go watch "Lisa" on YouTube, pausing between 10 minute segments to take notes.  

Staci Keanan pulls an about-face as she moves from playing a sassy teen with Two Dads to a puberty ravaged brat with no dads and an over-protective single mother named Katherine (Cheryl Ladd). Lisa is the product of a Catholic education and her mother's crippling fear of men rooted in pre-marital sex and an unwanted pregnancy which left her estranged from her family.  Katherine has since moved on to manage a successful flower shop in Venice, California, a modest attempt to beautify a world being systematically raped by hamfisted males.  Determined to save her daughter from suffering the same fate, she forbids Lisa  to date under any circumstances until she reaches the fully ripened age of 16.  

Needless to say, Lisa is positively buzzing with repressed sexuality and regularly goes on the prowl with her best friend Wendy.  Unimpressed by high school boys, the two girls have devised a can't miss approach to scamming yuppies cruising around Venice in BMW convertibles.  Our teen temptresses slip out of their Catholic school uniforms and take to the streets clad in garish Easter dresses and Easy Spirit pumps.  One girl will then leap in front of a car and halt traffic so that her friend can jump from the bushes and pose for a Polaroid with the unsuspecting driver.  The Polaroid is pasted into a handcrafted scrapbook, whereby Wendy and Lisa promptly begin placing calls to the DMV and are able to secure phone numbers using license plate information.  Phew! 

Unfortunately for Lisa, hers isn't the only game in town.  It seems that the Candlelight Killer is waging a war against successful thirty-something women living in pastel houses with lots of mirrored furnishings.  We are treated to an intimate look at how the killer carries out his work with two sequences involving career women wearily removing their earrings while listening to their answering machine messages.

BEEP. This is Richard. I'm in your apartment, and I'm going to kill you.

Before those chilling words can even sink in, the Candlelight Killer wraps his hands around his victim's throat and escorts her into the bedroom which is now decked out like Carrie White's house when she gets home from the Prom.  The final crushing squeeze is delivered with a heartfelt "I love you."  

Meanwhile, Lisa is sent on an errand to buy rice, dressed like a boy wearing a baseball cap and packing Mace at the insistence of her mother.  She literally bumps into Richard, the Candlelight Killer himself who is fleeing a crime scene with blood on his hands, but nevertheless takes the time to engage her in polite conversation.  He delivers a fatal blow of the verbal variety when he makes the mistake of saying, "You must be what, 16?"  Once Lisa's trigger phrase has been uttered there is absolutely no stopping her and it isn't long before she's phone flirting with the Candlelight Killer on a nightly basis.  

Bound and determined to seduce the older man and thus prove her maturity, Lisa goes about impersonating her mother and even manages to orchestrate a face-to-face encounter. With both parties intent on seeing their respective projects through to the end, they proceed armed with only half-truths which begin to snowball dangerously out of control.  As Lisa compulsively hits redial and Richard violates Katherine's parked car leaving behind the stench of cigarette smoke and the arrogance of a man with finely chiseled features, the tension mounts as we rush towards the inevitable showdown pitting mother-daughter tag team against male oppressor.  

And thus we return to Beanface and a hard lesson learned.  For you see, a film like "Lisa" serves to caution us and hold up the mirror of truth in the non-threatening guise of Lifetime appropriate entertainment.  What is reflected back is an exaggerated fun house image, the kind that somehow manages to always make you look fat and crazy.  I didn't jump in front of Bean's car wearing kitten heels and a miniskirt from the Contempo Casuals clearance rack, but in my heart I felt like that 14 year old girl desperately trying to prove something to herself.  After I asked him out, did I inadvertently become involved in a game of cat and mouse leading to an attempt on my mother's life? Well, not exactly.  But following our encounter my confidence lay bruised, battered, and motionless on the floor and nobody rushed in armed with a baseball bat to save me.  Cheryl Ladd was right: men are bad, and I'll never ask one out again.

BEEP. This is life. I'm in your apartment, and I'm going to kill you.

Things are looking "Swell"!

 Allow me to begin with a convenient factoid: many therapists report that the majority of "crisis" calls are received on Sunday evenings.  It seems that after a bustling Saturday spent darting in and out of garden parties, banquets, and cotillions, Sunday presents a blank canvas on which the mind is free to doodle. For those who find themselves dreading the start of another week toiling away at a thankless job, said doodling can turn to violent and panicky scribbling in short order. 

And how are you feeling on this lovely Sunday evening? Take a moment to project yourself several hours into the future. Will you throw open the shutters and greet the world like a cartoon princess who can't wait to discover what adventures the day has in store? Or will you groan in protest when your alarm sounds and make yourself late to work by refusing to move until well into Regis and Kelly's morning banter? Um...for example. If things have stalled out on the career front and you find yourself feeling trapped, perhaps it's time to consider a change.

The very thought of setting off on a new career path most likely causes you to begin reciting a carefully practiced list of excuses and rationalizations. Good news! At this very moment that list is slipping into a khaki vest and boarding a plane bound for Australia. What of the old hag who's been babysitting your dreams and refusing to let them go out and play? That's right, the babysitter is dead. Now what are you going to do? Don't get bogged down in any insecurities related to education, qualifications, or experience. Straighten your shoulder pads, sweep your hair into a sophisticated up-do that speaks of worldly confidence, and go for it.

You have passion!  You have life experience!  You have an eye-popping resume that may or may not have been copied out of a book.  When you manage to infiltrate your chosen field, your ability to multi-task while successfully thwarting a surly receptionist's attempts to sabotage you will surely capture the attention of your superiors.  When all else fails and you have no idea what the QED report is--delegate!  Put together a creative team with the skill set necessary to get the job done.  If your company is faced with an uncertain financial future, hire your siblings to serve hors d'oeuvres to industry bigwigs and your friends to act as models in a fashion show of insanity.  You have successfully risen to the top and single-handedly saved the company.  And what of all those naysayers who said you'd never amount to anything?  Well, they're just a bunch of old whores.

"I'm right on top of that, Rose!"

Spring Cleaning With Buffalo Bill

Now that the chill of the winter months is safely behind us, it's time to put on our night vision goggles and peer into any dark corners where we may have allowed dust to settle.  Look deep within yourself.  What do you see?  Tell me about it, and don't lie or I'll know. 

Think back to the beginning of the year.  What did you hope to accomplish? Who did you want to become?  Perhaps you have started to doubt yourself and now feel as if you are at the mercy of circumstances which seem desperately random. Fear not, and don't judge yourself too harshly.  Your problem is you need to get more fun out of life.  Step out into the light and once again allow your eyes to seek out the things you want.

The most powerful acts of transformation begin within, wouldn't you agree?  To that end, let us engage in some emotional spring cleaning by way of a little mirror work. 

Start by removing your clothes and placing yourself  in front of a large reflective surface. Hold your own gaze and do not look away no matter how uncomfortable or difficult this may seem. Now slowly allow your eyes to wander across your face, taking in all of your best features as well as any perceived flaws.  When you're ready, take this exploration down to the rest of your body.  Acknowledge that a sedentary existence within your winter cocoon may have resulted in you becoming a little big through the hips.  Roomy. 

Now once again stare into your own eyes, and with a firm and authoritative voice ask yourself one very important question: 

"Would you fuck me?"

Quickly, what is the first response that popped into your mind?  If you hesitated or answered with anything other than yes, there is work to be done.  For you see, if you wouldn't fuck yourself you can't very well expect anybody else to want to fuck you. 

Pinpoint the areas of your life where you'd like to enact change.  Think big.  Think size 14.  Perhaps you've always wanted to take up sewing or pursue a fascination with exotic insects.  Have you shied away from your dreams because of fear or feelings of unworthiness? Clear away the cobwebs of self-doubt, you know who you are. 

Practice mirror work often as you recommit to your goals, and always complete each session by asking yourself the all important question.  Regardless of your true feelings, reply with the following powerful affirmation:

"I'd fuck me. I'd fuck me...HARD." 

Before long, you will find that you truly mean it.

Caterpillar into chrysalis (or pupa), and thence into beauty.

Prince Vlad's Charm School

It goes without saying that Valentine's Day can unleash a bat winged flock of emotions within those of us who are currently flying solo.  From cynical distaste to soul crushing loneliness and despair, you may find yourself shut away in solitude just waiting for the sun to set on this February 14th. 

If this is you, I would like to encourage you to take a moment to acknowledge and embrace your present situation.  You are a true creature of the night!  Step into your power and revel in your freedom. 

Make no mistake; you won't be relegated to the shadows forever.  I understand the yearning for a partner, someone with whom to seek out the dark forces and join their hellish crusade.  You are now in the perfect place to formulate a plan and launch an attack on anything you've allowed to stand between you and true love. 

To that end, consider taking a few cues from one of horror cinema's greatest lovers and most tragically misunderstood villains: Count Dracula.  Beneath all the blood-drenched feeding frenzies and gothic trappings lay a soulful heart, a deep yearning for a kindred spirit.  Was he a little eccentric? Sure. Did he renounce God, align himself with the powers of darkness, and have to consume human blood to replenish his strength? Guilty!  You know what? He also lived in a castle, had an amazing wardrobe, and managed to reunite with his beloved twice within the same lifetime. 

I have no doubt that a closer examination of Dracula's own quest for love will put you on the right path. Pencils at the ready!  You are hereby enrolled in a crash course at Prince Vlad's Charm School.  

Principle 1: Believe

Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose? That the luckiest man who walks on this earth is the one who finds... true love?  If you answered yes, then you are already well on your way.

Principle 2: Strategize

Has some pretty young thing caught your attention? Are you reasonably sure that the two of you have walked together in previous lifetimes and are meant to rendezvous in this one as well? Is he or she currently attached?  Ah hah. Identify the competition, and don't for one second entertain the idea that something as trifling as a pre-existing relationship could stand in your way.  Woe be to those who would rail against the power of destiny.  You may need to take action in order to break them up.

Principle 3: Entertain

Throw a singles party and invite all of your eligible friends, including your beloved's current significant other.  They are no doubt weak-willed and will easily fall prey to temptation.  Distraction is your ally.  Before the night is through your competition will be frolicking in a silken bower, drained of blood, disoriented, and powerless to resist.  Now make your move.

Principle 4: Smile!

Do your best to table your social anxiety so you will appear friendly and approachable. Striking up a conversation is never easy, so you will need all the charm and confidence you can muster.

Principle 5: The Conversation Piece

Have a "wow" item, something you can wear or carry which people will notice and want to discuss. How about a gold plated house dress inspired by your favorite painting? Dracula commissioned a little number modeled after Gustav Klimt's "The Kiss". Though your taste may tend towards something a little less ostentatious, never dismiss the link between looking good and feeling good.

Principle 6: Update Your Look

If it feels like it's been a century or two since you dipped a toe into the dating pool, you may want to reassess and update your wardrobe or hairstyle.  Pamper yourself.  Visit a spa for a day of relaxation or consume a few pints of blood to get your swagger back.  You'll look and feel years younger.

Principle 7: The Approach

This is it, you are ready.  Ask them out.  Remember: no means yes.  Learn to accurately interpret body language and pick up on social cues.  All of that nervous hand waving and petticoat flapping indicates that they are definitely interested, no matter how much they may deny it at first.

Principle 8: Not So Fast!

It's never a good idea to put all of your relationship eggs in one basket.  Have a pet project or date somebody else casually on the side to relieve some of the pressure from your other pursuits.  Ideally, go after somebody who's way more invested in the whole thing than you are.  Having a slavishly devoted back-up will boost your confidence and offer a pleasant distraction.

Principle 9: Maintain Your Sense of Self

Never forget that you are perfect and complete as you are.  There's no need to lose yourself in a relationship.  Continue to pursue hobbies and passions on your own.  A burgeoning interest in real estate or a Centuries long vendetta against God and all that is holy would do nicely. 

Principle 10: Support

It's important to have a network of trusted friends you can turn to for support.  Consider a devoted band of gypsies who can cultivate sacred earth from your homeland who might also be willing to bring you ice cream and listen to you cry after a particularly painful break-up.

Principle 11: Dating Etiquette

Feel out the situation and initiate serious conversations when the time is right.   Avoid potentially awkward topics like your wife's suicide or the real estate agent you drove to madness who is currently residing in an asylum awaiting your instructions.

Principle 12: Restraint

Passion is an asset!  However, you may want to resist any instinct to unleash the beast and go for the jugular until your date gives permission and acknowledges that he or she is on board with the kinky stuff. 

Principle 13: The Journey is the Destination

Remember, the most important relationship in life is the one you have with yourself.  Heal any old wounds which may be acting as a barrier to intimacy.  Make peace with the past.  Make peace with yourself. 

Refer back to these principles as necessary should you hit any rough patches on your quest to find true love. Best of luck! I have no doubt that at this time next year things will be looking very different for you. 

Happy Valentine's Day

A Chip on your shoulder is worth two in the bush.

Six people have been sent to a place they've never been before to determine if it is haunted. They record their own experiences. There is no film crew. They are alone. The people are real. The place is real. The fear is real.

When the used-up, bloated, over-hyped corpse of the Blair Witch washed up on the shore of the new millennium, MTV was one of the first scavengers to begin shamelessly feeding on the remains. "Fear", a paranormal reality/game show, helped usher in a flock of wide-eyed spook hunters all armed with night vision cameras and one burning question: "Did you hear that??" 

Given my affinity for horror, the supernatural, and cash grabs, I was instantly smitten with "Fear" when I stumbled upon a repeat of the premiere late one Saturday night.  I'm not easily unnerved, so I was pleasantly surprised to find myself glancing nervously around the room over the course of the hour and quickly became hooked.

Each episode six contestants were charged with completing a series of dares in an effort to a) authenticate reports of paranormal tomfoolery at your run-of-the-mill local abandoned sanitarium, and b) win a ridiculously small cash prize.  The show claimed that its participants were documenting their own experiences with no production crew on the premises, although I would be shocked if at least one PA wasn't stationed in a broom closet supplying the proper motivation by moaning and rattling garbage can lids.  

Ghosts or no ghosts, the real intrigue of "Fear" stemmed from trying to determine just how suggestible the contestants were while waiting to see if they'd abandon ship when required to do something unholy like reenact a suicide.  I have no doubt that if I was left alone in the West Virginia State Penitentiary's (shudder) "Sugar Shack", within five minutes I would feel phantom shanks stabbing at my exposed skin and be snitchin' to my teammates to get me out of there 'cause I don't wanna become no ghost's bitchmeat.  

"Fear" was unceremoniously yanked from the air in 2002 after a short run, perhaps because the show quickly spiraled out of control with the dares becoming hilariously over-the-top during the second season.  Bewildered sixteen-year-old girls were routinely asked to do things like renounce Christ and use chicken blood to draw a pentagram while summoning the Angel of Death.  With the show no longer in production, those of us looking for the same charge had to turn to the likes of "Ghost Hunters" and "A Haunting",  although this new crop of imitators abandoned the competitive format of "Fear" in favor of featuring the exploits of professional paranormal investigators.  Hats off to the prim and proper British crew of "Most Haunted" who manage to crank out hours of programming which consist of nothing more than, "If you're here please give us a sign.  Was that you knocking?  Could you do it again please?  Now knock three times on the ceiling if you want me."   

The best of the bunch (and by best I mean worst) is "Paranormal State" which currently airs on A&E. Premiering in 2007, "Paranormal State" follows the ragtag crew of the Penn State Paranormal Research Society as they investigate hauntings, possessions, and temperamental Native American shape shifters.  They're also not opposed to busting out a big net for the occasional Mothman or Jersey Devil.  Rascals!

Team Director Ryan Buell leads the weekly charge with man-child Sergey providing tech support and weird sexual tension.  Eilfie is a self-proclaimed occult specialist who is fluent in Wiccan practices and early '90s fashion, but whose grasp of the English language is slightly more hazy as her mealy-mouthed monologues usually require subtitles.  Heather and Katrina can be found at the library gathering facts via the last remaining microfiche machines in the world in an attempt to figure out whose unidentified remains buried under the porch are the likely source of all the trouble. 

Indeed, the show's success and inherent so-bad-it's-good watchability rest squarely on the shoulders of its charisma-free cast, most of whom barely seem capable of hiding their contempt for their clientele.  Ryan is the worst offender as in the midst of conducting interviews he frequently seems to be stifling laughter or offering a condescending smirk as he waits for his turn to read the cue card.  To be fair, most of the yahoos who have the Penn State Paranormal Research Society on speed dial are frustratingly obtuse.  Ryan practically palm slaps his forehead when, after much prodding, a client reveals that he brought the wrath of the netherworld on himself by dabbling in the occult and allowing his brother-in-law to summon a shadow demon in the basement.  Amateurs. 

The team's shotgun spiritual approach to combating these malevolent forces can include burying St. Christopher medals on the cursed property, Native American smudging, or New Agey blessings muttered from Eilfie's clenched jaw. But when a confrontation with a demonic interloper gets too out of control for five eighteen-year-olds armed with tape recorders, the show calls in the big guns by way of psychic powerhouse Chip Coffey. 

If you've never watched "Paranormal State" but find that Mr. Coffey still looks familiar, it's probably because he resembles your Aunt Shirley who used to always show up at family gatherings with her "roommate" in tow.  In the interest of authenticity, Chip is always brought to a location having been given no background information and without any prior knowledge of the case.  For some inexplicable reason, this process also requires that he arrive on the scene blindfolded and led by two comely male escorts, not unlike Ian McKellan on Oscar night. 

Chip is able to immediately discern a spirit's dubious intent thanks to his keen psychic gaze.  As he wanders from room to room reading energy, he clutches his purse and flaps his summer scarf to indicate that the activity is running particularly high.  Chip was recently seen poking around a basement which played host to a series of swinging orgies in an episode subtly titled "Sex Dungeon".  Upon determining that the bad vibes seemed to be emanating from a pleasure post in the corner, Chip wasted no time in spreading his legs and grasping it firmly from both sides.  Seconds later he howled like a wounded Beagle and recoiled in horror, no doubt in response to the visions of man-woman coupling that had flooded his mind. 

Chip Coffey is a real trooper with a firm commitment to ferreting out evil.  If that requires him to voluntarily allow a spirit to enter his body then so be it!  He's always eager to subject himself to any number of humiliations, including a series highpoint called The Ganzfeld Experiment which found Chip restrained with ping pong balls taped to his eyes and a red light flashing in his face.  The Experiment was supposed to heighten Chip's ability to communicate with the dead, but mostly he just jerked and screamed a lot.   

Chip's considerable powers must be permitted to benefit as many people as possible, and thus A&E has provided him with a spin-off called "Psychic Kids".  Think of it as "The Facts of Life" to your "Diff'rent Strokes" with Chip striking out on his own like a ghost hunting Mrs. Garrett to mentor a new generation of the gifted.  Each episode finds Mr. Coffey escorting a group of children to a supposedly haunted location intent on teaching them how to navigate the world of the paranormal.  His primary concern seems to be offering instruction on blocking advances from pesky spooks who are looking for "Sixth Sense" style assistance.  I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Chip helps the kids practice by lumbering into their rooms in the middle of the night with his pants around his ankles. 

I miss MTV's "Fear", I really do.  Though the novelty may have worn off quickly, the show was effective and more than a little fun.  "Paranormal State" may not be the ideal successor, but it does an admirable job of filling the void for those of us who would go outside to investigate a strange noise and find ourselves incapable of turning away from these shows despite their absurdity. Of course, answers are perpetually elusive, evidence is less than concrete, and the Penn State Paranormal Research Society is usually the only thing going bump in the night. Still, if on a crisp October night you find yourself in the mood for a little ghost play, you could do a lot worse than Chip Coffey.

Blind Sided.

Oh, Sandy! We cannot deny the fact that 2009 was your year. Out of nowhere, a perfect storm began to brew on the horizon of your flagging career, and before you knew it you were dancing in a torrential downpour of box office dollars and award nominations. Now close your mouth and quit gawking at the sky. You know what happens to turkeys who wander out into the rain, don't you? They say turkeys are so fascinated by what they see that they will continue to look straight up at the sky with their mouths open until they drown. They drown, Sandy. OK, OK, shhh. Don't get scared. No, that's not actually true, and no I'm not saying your intelligence is on par with that of a turkey. I just don't want you to end up with an Oscar lodged in your mouth! Let's face it, the chances of that happening are looking pretty good. Now go dust off your mantel, this next part doesn't concern you.

I'll dispense with any tedious protests over the fact that Sandra Bullock managed to garner an Oscar nomination with her performance in "The Blind Side". However, in my opinion there was one unforgivable snub in the Best Actress category which simply cannot be overlooked. Isabelle Fuhrman, star of new-classic "Orphan", was robbed.

Young Ms. Fuhrman truly wowed me with her turn as a 35-year-old Russian dwarf masquerading as a 9-year-old orphan named Esther. I highly doubt Sandra Bullock has the acting chops to offer a cinematic moment more gratifying than when Esther scrubs off her pancake makeup with a steel wool brush and rips out her pageant dentures to reveal the haggy stubs beneath. Although she had me going for a second in the "The Proposal" with her perfomance as a 45-year-old actress pretending to be a 25-year-old career woman. But back to Isabelle Fuhrman. She paints! She uses sign language! She whispers threats in a thick accent as intoxicating as authentic Russian vodka. When Esther breaks her own arm in a last ditch effort to drive a wedge between the troubled Colemans, she earns her place alongside Damien ("The Omen"), Rhoda ("The Bad Seed"), and all those insane little bastards who tormented Arnold Schwarzenegger in "Kindergarten Cop". The only criticism I can offer is that she could have gone all the way by donning a merkin and giving us the shocking full frontal shower reveal we were all waiting for, but that's easily overlooked when I remember the sheer zeal with which she hammered a defenseless nun to death.

Isabelle Fuhrman, for my money you were truly the best actress of 2009. Well done, you crazy Russian bitch. Well done.

The Ballad of Mel & Kim

Canadian songstress and master manipulator Sarah McLachlan has managed to warble her way into a fortune by using her refrigerator magnet poetry kit to pen 5 songs every 10 years. 5 songs which she then slaps down alongside evergreen track "Full of Grace" before cutting a check for Pierre Marchand and declaring her new work complete. Did you hear that? Ah yes, the sound of McLachlan starting up the engine of the Lilith Fair gravy train for a new jaunt around the globe in 2010.

It has no doubt occurred to McLachlan that public interest may have waned over the course of the 8 years since she last released an album, and thus she has started to explore new opportunties for continuing to build her mid-tempo empire. Between episodes of "Project Runway" and "Drop Dead Diva", you may have found yourself mesmerized by the image of McLachlan perched on a chaise lounge while directing her dewy stare directly into your soul. Before you can change the channel, she hits start on a PowerPoint presentation featuring one-eyed dogs and feral cats being pulled from dumpsters. Your initial thought is that you should probably donate to the ASPCA, but then your attention shifts to "Angel" playing in the background, a song you haven't heard since the summer of 1997 when you totally thought you and your friend Lisa might be lesbians. Why isn't "Angel" on your iPod? Bam, there you are on iTunes depositing another cut directly into Sarah McLachlan's purse. What was she saying about cats? Who cares, you're in the arms of the angel!

Now that we're all a little bit wiser, the next time you find yourself being lured to iTunes on the verge of making an ill-advised purchase, I would like you to consider donating to a much more worthy cause: the obscure 80s artist. Believe me, these pop stars of yester-year need your money more than female singer-songwriters and three-legged dogs. If you're at a loss for deserving recipients, do the right thing and bump Mel & Kim to the top of your short list. If you never hopped on your Pogo Ball while listening to "Showing Out" and have no recollection of Mel and/or Kim, the first line of their Wikipedia entry tells you everything you need to know.

"Mel and Kim were a British pop duo, comprising sisters Melanie and Kim Appleby. They achieved success between 1986 and 1988 before Melanie succumbed to terminal illness."

For one brief, shining moment, Mel and Kim were living the dream. The sisters Appleby could strut into any Contempo Casuals and declare, "We'll take it ALL!" Take it all, and wear it all at the same time. Now Mel is gone, and Kim no doubt feels her sister side-stepping alongside her like phantom pains from an amputated limb whenever she performs "Showing Out" at a county fair. I like to imagine that whenever somebody downloads a hot Mel and Kim jam, 3 days later Kim herself opens her mailbox to discover a quarter taped to an index card with the note "Paid in full" scrawled in red crayon. She deserves it. They all deserve it.

Ear's the thing...

Patrick noticed that she didn't have an ear, just a fleshy hole where an ear should have been. It looked like the ear had collapsed into the side of her head, perhaps if she sneezed hard enough it would unfurl from the hole like some kind of obscene flower. He soon began to wonder what it would feel like to run his tongue along the edges. "Patrick," she said, "you don't have to scream. I can hear you."

This time, baby, I'll be bulletproof.

As the first week of the new year draws to a close, let’s take a moment to examine how things are progressing. Have you been exercising regularly? Taking your daily remedies? Washing your teeth after meals? Brushing your hair with 100 strokes before bedtime? Wonderful! If you keep this up there’s no telling just how far you’ll go. Rest assured that you are always in my thoughts, and this year I wish you confidence, perseverance, and much success! To that end, I would like to suggest an exercise in creative visualization.

Close your eyes now, take a deep breath, and imagine what it would be like to walk through life as a Palmer Girl. Your expressionless face and empty stare indicate only detachment and a vague sense of ennui, but your lithe frame speaks of an unbridled sexuality which is just out of reach. You dodge verbal barbs with an expertly timed shoulder bob. Misfortune is rendered powerless by a deliciously naughty hip sway. Claim your power. You smite your enemies with a stiletto heel. Cinch your red patent leather belt as tightly as your resolve, and step boldly forward. You are in fact simply irresistible.

Did you feel that? Ah yes, a small but powerful shift within. You are well on your way.

This could be the one.

You had big plans, but then you always have big plans don't you? This time it was an unnecessarily complicated caper involving a murder in every time zone as the clock struck 12. Instead you fell asleep on the couch after eating a frozen pizza and a pint of ice cream. When the sound of the empty container hitting the floor shook you from your slumber, you realized with indifference that you'd missed the big moment by 15 minutes and promptly shuffled off to bed. Happy New Year.