This is an actual sweater for sale in a store. I don’t really know what the creature woven into the front of it is supposed to be. It looks like a bunch of different weird things, including a flasher, a cockroach, and a cockroach flasher. My boyfriend thinks it looks like an omen in a scary Japanese movie that would pop out from behind trees and shit to remind you of your mortality. Whatever it is, its red eyes and the fact that it looks like it’s fleeing from a predator seriously give me the heebie-jeebies.
Clapping at the end of any movie falls under the heading of what I like to call “Inappropriate Clapping That Should Be Punished by Stoning.” It is especially cringe-inducing when it happens at the end of a sad/thought-provoking movie like “The Central Park Five,” the Ken Burns documentary about the Central Park Jogger. This inappropriate clapping occurred tonight at the Lincoln Center theater (big surprise there), and it made me gnash my teeth in aggravation. WHY THE HELL are you CLAPPING at a DEPRESSING-ASS movie about rape and wrongful imprisonment? The other sixty people in this room feel like we just went to a funeral, and YOU’RE smiling rakishly and clapping. Unbelievable! How about you put your dinky little boiled-wool beret back on your bald fucking head and go home to your Classic 6 on the Upper West Side? Schmuck.
Why isn’t “There’s Something About Mary” on TV every day? Watching Ben Stiller get a fishing hook to the cheek never gets old.