LOST Extras: New Coffee Table Book
In honor of the final season of LOST, ABC and Grinder Press are releasing a coffee table book entitled LOST’S Hottest Extras: The Castaways You May Have Missed.
Most of us were probably focused on Sawyer’s, I’m sorry, James’s shiny chest or maybe Sayid’s curly locks or even perhaps Kate’s… freckles. Here’s just a sampling of the hotties you missed.
TRUE CALLING
Day ten on the island. I’m going through suitcases on the beach, sorting stuff into piles. Clothing. Toiletries. Books.
It occurs to me that I could start a small island lending library with all the paperbacks we’ve found. Mostly Harry Potter, Tom Clancy stuff, two copies of Memoirs of a Geisha, romance novels, one Life of Pi, Bridget Jone’s Diary. It seems that people tend not to read the classics when they fly. Who can blame them? I’m glad I wasn’t reading Russian literature when the plane started to break apart, or I would have been too paralyzed by depression to reach out for my oxygen mask.
But You Are In That Chair! Pre-Holiday Edition
From time to time, Baby Jane Hudson appears here with her question and answer column, But You Are In That Chair: Baby Jane’s Advice For the Confused, Depressed and Clueless. However, today’s special focus is Holiday Shopping for the Confused, Depressed and Financially Dependent because Baby Jane strongly believes it’s never too early to start in on all the holiday crap as long as it includes festive, spiked punch, scratch-off games and the all-holiday music radio station turned up just loud enough that you can’t hear your invalid sister crying for a moist towelette.
Dear Baby Jane,
I want to give the gift of music this holiday. What’s hot and new this season?
I Wanna Rock, Boys Town, Nebraska
From time to time, Baby Jane Hudson appears here with her question and answer column, But You Are In That Chair: Baby Jane’s Advice For the Confused, Depressed and Clueless.
Dear Baby Jane,
I’m a filmmaker and I want to enter one of my short films into a competition but it seems as if everyone who has ever won the competition has had many, many more accolades and achievements than I do. Although everyone who has seen my film says it’s amazing, I wonder if I should even bother to enter.
Filmy in Portland
Am I the only person on the planet who is not taken in by the charms of Meryl Streep? Whenever I see her get weepy and red-eyed in a drama, I want to run away. Whenever she’s being quirky in a comedy, I can’t bring myself to watch. I have never seen Mama Mia! Can you fucking believe it?? I should turn in my Midwesterner Membership card.
But the movie Heartburn takes the Streep cake. (OK, there’s that “A dingo at my baby,” movie, too.)
I think anytime you’re beginning with revenge fantasy material, you’re in murky waters. Heartburn, in case you aren’t aware, is the “fictional” story of a woman who is cheated on by her husband while she’s pregnant with their second child. I say fictional in quotation marks because it’s really the thinly-disguised bio-pic of Nora Ephron, who was cheated on by Bob Woodward while pregnant with their second child and then wrote the novel Heartburn. Who can really blame her for writing it? They say, “Write what you know,” and when what you know is sensational and revenge-driven, well, it’s gonna sell books and tickets and eventually you’re going to get to make Sleepless in Seattle.
Fan Fiction: Saturday Night Fever
Even though I’m only a cashier by day, I’m a dancer by night. Weeknights, I dance in my room, in front of the mirror, until Ma yells, “Doreen, knock it off! The floor is vibratin’ like crazy!”
She hates disco. I love disco.
I tell her I gotta practice. “I gotta keep goin’, Ma,” I yell down the stairs.
“The hell you do,” she yells back.
Every night it’s like that. And every morning she gives me the stink eye while I’m eating my cereal before I go to work to stand on my feet for eight hours.
“You’re too loud,” she says. “I’m gonna have to kick you out if I can’t hear my programs.”
Fan Fiction: Saturday Night Fever
BRING ME FLESH AND BRING ME WINE
Man, am I sick of this guy, or what?
Tony this, Tony that. Tony, you’re such a good dancer. You know what Connie actually said the other night? She said, “Tony, are you as good in bed as you are on the dance floor?” He was all smiles. I been tryin’ to hit that c*&^ for six months now and it all comes down to Tony being able to shake his ass, pump his fists, twirl that bitch around out on the dance floor?
It’s not easy being part of The Faces. Know what that means? We give good Face – we come to the club, not a hair out of place, nice shoes, top-of-the-line silk shirts and we class up the joint. Saturday night is the only night of the week when I feel like somebody. But I’m co-pilot and Tony is captain and it ain’t fair.