I saw "Aviator" last night because I am a dutiful American. It was very good up until the two hour and one minute mark, at which point I lost interest as I do in every single movie I attend that tests my attention span endurance...it matters not the quality. At a certain point the "entertain me" muscle in my brain turns off and I start talking in my head to the director of the movie. "OK, Martin, we know he's nuts....Ok, that scene did not move the story forward...Did that line really need to be said one more time." I really tried not to feel taken hostage by Mr. Scorsese, but by the end I felt hit over the head with the point so hard I came home feeling insulted.

I still liked the movie. I just wished it was shorter.

Just for today, I can have an opinion.

Yes, I just saw Top Gun again.

I was at my father's house eating dinner and afterwards my brother went into the other room to watch TV. After a while I heard these strange familiar sounds coming from the other room..music with the lyrics,"Take my breath awaaaay...", F14s taking off, and before you know it I migrated into the living room like a zombie, and planted myself in front of the TV like it was 1986. I hung onto every last bit of dialogue, like it was poetry. Lines like, "I think it's my fault that Goose died," and "No, it's not your fault," and "You can be my wing man, anytime," were like a balm to my soul. And the finely cut scenes of "bogeys" flying around were like cotton candy to my eyes. For the next hour I was in a "Top Gun" trance that even the site of those 80's bomber jackets (I know they'll eventually come back in style, but I had to get rid of mine), could really pull me out of it.

The fact that Top Gun was a pro-military Bush #1 era movie seems like a distant dream when in the throws of a Top Gun trance. I think if Tim Robbins was actually in it (a small part), I'm forgiven for enjoying to watch it.

Just for today, I can enjoy the movie (not quite a film) Top Gun.

HBO and Itunes are my new best friends. They are always there for me when I need some support and they don't mind if I call too late. I was wide awake last night trying to find something to keep me company while I became one with the night willys. I tried watching some weird documentary about prostitutes who think they're empowered, when I came across the film (and it is a film) Bull Durham. I ate up this 80's soul food like a starving woman at the Costco sausage sample station. Crash Davis is an aging baseball player with the dubious honor of hitting the most home runs in the minor leagues, and Annie Savory is a parishioner in the church of baseball and a woman terrified of any relationship where her sexuality isn't a card she can wield at any time during her seasonal relationships with the latest young rookie. Both are a little romantic, a little bitter and have been cosmically elected to groom the simple Nuke LaLoosh, both mentally and spiritually, to become the next Big League star. Both have essentially knocked out of the game of life, but are desperately hanging onto scraps of their ego; Crash to baseball, and Annie to her feminine wiles. Through Nuke they see the emptiness of their paradigms and are finally able to let of the idea that such a thing as winners or losers even exist.

At 2:00 in the morning I turned off the TV and realized that my whole life is before me if only I can let go of any of my ideas of what it's supposed to be. As long as I'm healthy, I've arrived. No relationship, career, accolade, or purse (I really need a new purse), can give me that feeling if I don't believe it.

Just for today, I am grateful for my cable (actually, I just realized that I ONLY have HBO...will call tomorrow).

Last night I talked some friends into seeing "Flight Plan." One of them wanted to see a foreign film, but I was in a mood to see Mindless American Entertainment (M.A.E.). To make a long story short, there were some pretty large holes in the storyline. I guess it's hard to write a screenplay about a child getting lost in an airplane. The part where nobody remembers her getting on the plane is a little bit of a stretch and Peter Sarsgaard is just a little too soft to really be a scary villain (Gary Oldman rocks in this dept.). But I STILL LIKED IT!

However, my friends were another story. I suppose I've reached a point in my maturation as an American Media Consumer where my expectations are so low that feasibility is no longer a requirement for my enjoyment of entertainment. I don't expect movies and TV shows to make sense. "Friends" live in a New York City where there are no black, hispanic, non-white people (not that I liked this show). If that's OK, then surely an entire flight crew can forget one extra child on a plane...am I making a point? I'm pretty sure I am.

Just for today, I can suspend my disbelief for M.A.E., even if others can not.

OK, I'm annoyed. I'm sorry, but I'm just not jiving with the super serious Oscar vibe. I mean, could we lighten it up even a little? The death penalty, forbidden gay male love, racism, McCarthyism, and terrorism...where's the fun? Where's the laughter?

OK, I'll admit that I haven't seen any of these movies, but geez I spend enough time feeling blue as it is. I'll have to double book my therapy session so I can be in the know on Oscar night. (By the way, my favorite movie of the year was "The Weatherman," and my question is, was I the only one who saw it?).

And one more thing, while I'm in bitter mode, for the past ten years every woman who has won the best actress award has had model-like beauty. (Don't even get me started on 1998 when Gwyneth won over Meryl Streep, Cate Blanchett, Fernanda Montenegra and Emily Watson...that was like a slap in the face to all actresses willing to take a risk and reveal their souls...). Not that some of these women can't act, but I'd just like to loosen the credentials in the beauty department. I grew up watching women like Meryl Streep, Sissy Spaceck, Jodie Foster, Kathy Bates win awards. Not that they aren't beautiful, but not in the oppressive American way.

So, there you have it. I'm annoyed.

Just for today, I can vent on the Oscar nominations.

So I missed another day...but this time I have a fabulous excuse. One word. Grease is the word (alright, that's four words, but does it matter?...I got to see Shanana, live!). Yes, "The" Shanana opened for a screening of the movie "Grease" at the Santa Monica pier. There's nothing like belting out "Go Grease Lightning" with 500 die hard cheezeballs to put life in perspective (boy, that song is nasty...I had no idea what I was singing from ages 5-15.). I do have to say that when I initially got there and saw a bunch of middle aged men singing fifties classics, I wasn't thrilled. I don't know what kind of head space I was in, but it wasn't positive. However, once I found out that they were the real Shanana deal, my whole attitude changed. I sat next to a group of mentally disabled kids (is that the PC term?), and created a bond (albeit, a one way bond) with a kid wearing a leather jacket (Kenicky style). It was nice to know that this film is an ongoing source of pleasure for so many.

Just for today, I (still) LOVE Grease.

Hopefully, I'll have my movie up on YouTube in the next few days (the whole service is down right now...damn, free services). I know it's taken forever for me to get with the whole movie uploading program (the shame, the shame...), but better late than never.

Just for today, I can be on my own schedule.

I've had a really bad headache for the past few days that I believe has come from stretching my brain around a new project at work. In an effort to keep my head from exploding (because that would be embarrassing) I've tried a few remedies, most notably yoga and coffee. However, after a while I finally succumbed to a tried and true remedy for all my ailments which is the immersion of my psyche into the personal lives of very hot famous people...in this case, those of Brad and Angelina.

It goes without saying that there's no cure for stress quite like the voyeuristic preoccupation with the lives of celebrities. For the sake of my headache, heartache, and the cynicism that that threatens to creep through the cells of my being, I've chosen to believe in the special love that is Brangelina (why do people mix their names together like I just did? It's so annoying!). Not only are they two of the most beautiful people in the Western world (which seems to dictate the tastes for the rest of the world...I'm not saying I'm happy about it, but that's just the way it is) but their relationship seems to rise above the petty and shallow couplings of us mere mortals (aka, people I actually know). Perhaps, behind closed doors, outside of the public's nosey scrutiny (like mine) they have the chemistry of a wet match. But if that's the case, I don't know need to know about it (nor do I want to). All I care about is they project their storybook love affair onto the tabloids that I consume and, thus, remedy my headache...

Just for today, I can cure my headache.

The other night I watched "Vantage Point," via The Netflix, and 3/4 into it had an existential panic attack as I realized that, if I'm not careful, I'll lose my life to crappy movies (interestingly, Vantage Point, didn't really have one). I felt the same way in the last 100 pages of Eat, Pray, Love. Brevity is not only the soul of wit, but people who respect my mortality. Anyway, in order to clean the palate of my brain, I decided to start watching Netflix films and shows with proven quality. My imagination needs some nutrition before I can go back to watching the blockbusters.

So, last night, I watched Annie Hall before going to bed. Just because you're a perv, doesn't mean don't have vision. Great cameo by Jeff Goldblum.

Just for today, I can avoid wasting my life.

All I say about movies these days is a comment about the sexual appeal of the lead actors. I saw "Defiance," a movie (excuse me, a "film") about Jews who resisted Nazi persecution by hiding out in the woods for three years. Triumph of the human spirit? The will to survive? Engaging script? Who cares? Those are some hot Jews! Daniel Craig and Leiv Schreiber can lead me in any resistance movement!

I used to have all this commentary on the story, plot, dialogue, acting and lighting. What happened to my inner-film critic?

Just for today, I'm a hormonally challenged movie buff.

I finished watching "Julie & Julia" last night (SFX: gag reflex).

I'm sure Amy Adams did what she was directed to do, but I don't understand how Norah Ephron expected us to sympathize with a character who constantly whines and hates her friends - professional, self-assured women who seem to feel empowered in life.

I also realized that I've never liked Nora Ephron movies, I just thought I did because she has a vagina, and so do I. In fact, I don't really remember any of them, except "When Harry Met Sally," which she didn't write alone. All I remember is Meg Ryan making exasperated cute faces and conversations between women about how their lives suck. In "Julie & Julia," she manages to miss all the punchlines and doesn't know when to CUT TO:...much like myself.

However, unlike me, Nora Ephron makes lots of money making movies with high profile actors, like Meryl Streep. So, obviously, she knows a few things that I don't. Anyway, the real lesson that came out of "Julie & Julia" is that a woman hating herself while she "finds herself" is not fun to watch. In fact, I have now decided that the definition of "Chick Lit" = movies by and for women who accept self-hatred as an inherent part of their womanhood. It's not.

Just for today, a movie directed by a woman can make me want to puke.

In the sixth grade, my best friend and I became Crossing Guards at Columbus Elementary School. Besides wearing a sweater with stripes, and leading a brigade of 10-year-olds carrying rifle-sized "Stop" signs, we got a free pass to the movies on Saturday afternoon. I remember experiencing my first excruciating menstrual cramps while someone's mom drove a posse of budding estrogen to the theater. On those Saturday afternoons I saw the greatest "teenage" movies ever made and that I still cherish, including, "Sixteen Candles," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and "Pretty In Pink."

If fortune reigned anything down on my adolescence it was to have me become a teenager in the heyday of John Hughes' career. His movies are the mashed potatoes and frozen yogurt (comfort food) of my cultural consumption. I had no idea until recently, maybe when he died, that his films might have helped sustain my innocence and faith in my feelings just a little while longer before they got crushed by the jackhammer of the adult world, one he perceived and expressed with the same sense of excruciating sadness.

I watched "Breakfast Club" again last night on Netflix while lying in bed and trying to fall asleep. I kept thinking I'd stop, but I had to watch it till the end. Molly Ringwald and Anthony Michael Hall brought so much authenticity, I think their performances got written off as being themselves. Teenagers cutting through the crap of life and bonding around genuine feelings, ones they probably really felt at the time, and fears. Are movies terrible now? Are we so accustomed to drug-addicted actors and reality television stars who are so intoxicated by their own celebrity they couldn't access a vulnerable feeling in a thousand years of therapy? Or, has our culture so numbed out on technology, sex, and crappy food that we can't even remember what connection with another human being really is?

I walked out of the "Breakfast Club" as a 12-year-old feeling a vague sense of hope for my life. It had nourished me, gave me faith, and some support in accepting my own humanity. Maybe I wouldn't have to be beautiful and genius to find love in the world. Maybe I could love my wounds and scars and let them guide me to a life that meant something.

And then I grew up.

Just for today, I am grateful for John Hughes.

I just spent this rainy afternoon watching "The Big Chill." This morning I finished "Valley Girl." (Young Nicholas Cage....romantic, fearless, reckless...still my dream man). Am I feeling nostalgic? Do I regard the future with fear and uncertainty? Do I want to climb back into the womb of 80's optimism? Is it hard to admit to myself that I will be referencing these films till the end of my days?

Hell. Yes. (...to all of the above).

Let's face it. Life is scary. And then there's this whole Titanic aspect of the economy.

There's a good reason why people, like myself, aspire to be forever young. And I'm not even talking about the nubile skin part. It's just so much more blissful to not know that sociopaths run corporations, and confused scared people much like myself run governments, and zombies and vampires pretty much make up the rest.

Just for today, I'm retreating to the 80's.

A friend and I went to see the film "Blue Valentine" because her husband highly recommended the fine acting (i.e. excessively gratuitous sex). I pretty much hated every moment (minus the excessively gratuitous sex). I haven't experienced that kind of torture in a movie theater since "The Passion of the Christ." The feelings of pukeness didn't come so much from the reality TV style re-creation of some of my worse break-ups, but because there wasn't so much as a Alka-Seltzer bubble of romantic chemistry between the two ridiculously hot actors (Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling). Ridiculously Hot isn't a substitute for that mysterious soul connection, but does work fantastically well for watching people get it on.

However, an hour into it, assuming all the sex scenes were over, I made an escape to the bathroom from a particularly unconvincing moment when the two characters are "falling in love." When I came back to my seat my friend leaned over and whispered.

"You missed the best sex scene! They had oral sex and showed everything!"

Failed again by my timing-challenged nature.

When it was finally over, I breathed a sigh of relief and prepared to turn to my friend, roll my eyes, and say something like, "Can you believe she was nominated for an Oscar?."

"Wow, that was really good," said my friend.

"Yeah, it sure was," I answered, because I'm a mega-coward when it comes to disagreeing with people's opinions about arts and entertainment.

Just for today, I can go to the movies.