YouTube Tuesday: Auditions

I love audition tapes. But not bad American Idol auditions. Acting auditions. Maybe it's the former drama student in me, but I love figuring out what it is that gives one actor the edge over an other. I want to know why Jessica Biel didn't get the Agent 99 role in Get Smart. (Okay, that's easy. Because she can't act. And isn't funny. And can't act. And isn't Anne Hathaway. And can't act....)

Evangeline Lilly auditions for Lost:

What I love most about this? She's mourning Jack's death. Yes, folks, he was originally going to die in the pilot.

Crazy that this was her first audition, huh? Love her.

Oh, and Matthew Fox auditioned for Sawyer!



Hugh Laurie auditions for House:

I firmly believe the show could not exist without him.



Zachary Levi auditions for Chuck:

Can you imagine being sent the script for Chuck? How could you not audition? And if you didn't get the part? An eternity spent in tears.

Zac had nothin' to worry about. It's him.

P.S. He's been cast as the "dashing bandit" in the new Disney musical, Rapunzel. Chuck sings! And the songs will be written by Alan Menken (Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, Newsies). I will watch.



Rachel McAdams auditions for The Notebook:

I would love to be a casting director, discovering brilliant talent and giving young actors their breakout roles. I heart McAdams. She doesn't reek of fakeness. Just loveliness. (Yes, I just coined the phrase "reeking of loveliness.")

Note that both women featured in this post are Canadian. Not intentional, but fun.

YouTube Tuesday: Swayze

Yesterday was a sad day. Patrick Swayze died. And while I've never been a real Swayze-swooner, I will always have a soft spot for Johnny Castle.

(He was married to his wife Lisa for 34 years. He was only 57. That's some crazy/awesome life math. Here's the couple dancing together. Sexy.)

The Dirty Dancing soundtrack is a classic. Did you know that Swayze WROTE "She's Like the Wind"? Take it away, Pat....

Somewhat related: I don't understand why weddings seem to dictate the playing of "(I've Had) The Time of My Life." It sounds more like an anniversary song to me.

I'd rather play Dirty Dancing's "Yes" at my wedding. Lyrically it seems far more appropriate. Even though such appropriateness might be slightly inappropriate. But not really. Because I know what you'll all be thinking. Creepy friends. Stop thinking about my wedding night.

Fake Boyfriend, Real Concert

Ryan Gosling and I have been a fake item for quite some time. Probably since the days of Breaker High. He and Christian Bale were the under-the-radar actors I swooned over while everyone else pined for DiCaprio and Pitt.

Bale got married and became Batman.

Gosling stayed single and started a band.

And now Gosling's band, Dead Man's Bones, is going on tour. And when they come to Toronto in October, children's choir in tow, I will probably be there. Not to faint or squeal or send telepathic love notes, but to support a local boy with an original sound.

It's hard to explain to some people that I wouldn't actually date Gosling. Ever. I know enough to say no. I'd hate to have to break his heart.

So I'll watch The Notebook and cry. I'll recommend Lars and the Real Girl to everyone I meet. I'll support his music. But I won't go home with him. Sorry, folks. This is one anticlimactic fake love story.

P.S. Listen to the single "My Body's a Zombie For You." Kind of amazing.

P.P.S. Let me know if you want to go. While I'm usually cool with going places solo, I feel as though I need to assert my non-romantic interest in Gosling by bringing a date.

P.P.P.S. Tickets go on sale tomorrow.

Annie Leibovitz Does "Mad Men"

Don and Betty's Paradise Lost. Sigh.

I live in a world of Robert Pattinsons.

I'd rather live in a world of Jon Hamms.

Lovely Hermione

Emma Watson is delightful. As is this photo shoot.

source: Teen Vogue

Girl Crush

Note the boots.

YouTube Tuesday: Zack Morris

He lives. And whatever he's been drinking, I want some.

(HE DOES NOT AGE.)

The most significant wardrobe regret of my life? Not buying this:

Even though it's a lie.

Will I tune in to a reunion? Um, yes.

For the Love of Billy

Billy Elliot swept the Tony Awards last night, and made history as its three young rotating leads shared the award for best actor. (Oh, and Angela Lansbury won too. Just for being made of pure awesome, I believe.)

In honor of such a cuddly occasion, I bring you the angry dance.

Everyone should dance when they're angry. Just like Bret.



And the award to best host goes to....Neil Patrick Harris. I want him to play me in the story of my life. Maybe.

David Carradine: 1936-2009

'Tis a sad day. Even for those of us not typically inspired by kung fu. Or by Tarantino.

Once upon a time, I sent an email to my boss voicing some serious concerns I had about my job. His response?

"Patience, grasshopper, patience."

I was not amused. Not long after, said boss disappeared into the resignation abyss. No one misuses Carradine references and gets away with it.

Shortest YouTube Tuesday Ever: Keanu

Below is one of my favorite Keanu Reeves moments of all time. Because it made me laugh out loud in the middle of a melancholy plot-hole-riddled film about, uh, what would have happened had he and Sandra Bullock met in an even-less-believable-than-a-bomb-rigged-bus scenario. You can't teach this brand of brilliance.

One of my life's regrets: missing out on Reeves' performance as Hamlet in Winnipeg back in '95. I have a very vivid imagination. But I can't wrap my head around that one.

Oh, Neo. You know kung fu.
Not iambic pentameter.

Lex Luthor Bailout

Have I ever mentioned that I love Jon Hamm? Just checking.

"Lex Luthor Bailout" with Jon Hamm from Jon Hamm

Best Joint Birthday Party Ever

Happy birthday, Jon Hamm.

And happy birthday, Chuck Norris.

Canadian Club (neat) and roundhouse kicks for everyone!

Stand By Your Man

Okay, okay, I'll cave. (As in Batcave.) I'll chat about Mr. Bale.

But first, let's get a non-maniacal image in our heads, shall we?

This is the face of someone about to begin major damage control.

I heart Laurie.

Christian Bale swears a lot in a loud voice and everyone looks at me. As if it's shocking that I would spend so much quality time with such a volatile personality. Or as if I might crumble upon hearing the news of his non-warm-and-fuzziness. (This is where your mom explains the difference between being a fan and actually having a relationship with someone.)

My heart is not broken over Christian Bale's rant. I'm not going to suddenly boycott his movies or burn my VHS of Swing Kids (the horror). Honestly, I'm really not shocked by it. At all. News broke of this verbal assault when it happened LAST YEAR (around the same time as his infamous family blowup). And he has long had a bit of a perfectionist-on-the-verge-of-a-tantrum reputation. So much so that they called him Tandy on the set of Metroland. Yes, before he was Batman. Or even the American Psycho.

Yes, folks, I do my research.

ASIDE: It's beat-up-famous-people week. Now people are questioning whether Michael Phelps should compete in 2012. What?! I don't have crazy medical/marijuana knowledge, but I'm pretty sure that it leaves your system after four years. I think it's time America took its chill pills.

Jerry Maguire says we live in a cynical world. I believe him. But I recently realized that I'm also very generous with giving people the benefit of the doubt. And that my cynicism is often just me taking the easy way out. If I'm hurt, it's so easy to write someone off as a jerk, even though he/she had no cruel intentions whatsoever. It's a defense mechanism. So I don't have to deal with the me side of the equation.

Who am I to sit down and assess whether a stranger's behaviour is justified? The "journalism" covering this is ridiculous. Both sides.

I'm not going to defend Bale's moment of rage. But I'm not going to define him by it either. More than anything, I'm creeped out that the tape was leaked in the first place. Not cool.

Let's just remember that Bale and Kermit the Frog have much in common. That he was a Newsie. That he has the cutest daughter ever. That he's brilliant at his craft. And that he's JUST A MAN.

I'm on Team Bale. Because everyone needs someone on their team, even when they're in the wrong. Maybe especially when they're in the wrong.

P.S. I still love Mel Gibson post-drunken tirade. I forgive all.
P.P.S. If you want to be really scared of Bale, watch Harsh Times. I had to turn away.
P.P.P.S No, I'm not going to link to the rant. You can Google it if you can't stand being the one person on the planet who hasn't heard it. I recommend listening to a remix of it. Or the one with Bill O'Reilly. But not if you're under 14. Kids, just say no to profanity. Keep those ears lovely.

YouTube Tuesday: The Actor/Musician

I won't post anything with Ryan Gosling, because you already know all about Dead Man's Bones and are probably sick of my mentioning him. And I've already posted about Jeff Daniels too.

Fascinating, but maybe not amazing:

Did you know that Weezer once opened for Keanu Reeves' band Dogstar?!

And 30 Seconds to Mars creeps me out a little. Just 'cause Jared Leto and I probably wouldn't be friends. Unless it was still the '90s.

If your gag reflux isn't too sensitive, check out the uber-cheese that is Bill Paxton's short-lived band, Martini Ranch, from 1988. There are no words.

Okay, the good stuff....

Jason Schwartzman:

If you haven't seen a Wes Anderson film, get thee to your neighborhood Blockbuster. Stat.

I love Coconut Records. For reals, yo. Regardless of Jason's acting genius. This is standalone good.



Zooey Deschanel:

She & Him. Who doesn't want to be Zooey? Be honest. You know you do.



Hugh Laurie:

Yeah, he wrote a book. And wrote a song. And is generally brilliant at everything. If I can't be Zooey, I want to be Hugh.



BONUS: The cast of Duets.

Okay, this is rated on a fun scale, not on the "will change the world with their mind-blowing musical perfection" scale.

I need a karaoke night. Desperately. And if Huey Lewis wants to show up, I'll sing a duet with him. You have my word.



And Paul Giamatti makes me happy.

Hey, Mickey!

Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler

It's the year of the comeback. In one corner, we have Robert Downey Jr., everyone's favorite ex-convict. It's almost unfair how fantastic he looks after years of abusing his body with poison. In another corner, Britney is poised for a worldwide tour, abs back in look-at-me form. And then there's Mickey.

Mickey Rourke was pretty much unemployable for years. Over a decade, actually. He was a liability. He may still be. He screwed up his body with drugs, his face with boxing and surgery, his relationships with unpredictable and volatile behavior. And then someone risked a professional career and fought for him. One role later, and he's in line (and maybe even the favorite) for the Oscar. What a year, indeed.

He scares me a little. Mostly because, unlike Downey, this man is an island. He doesn't have heroes to thank at award shows, he has his dogs. And his role in The Wrestler might be more a testament to supplementation and the hard life of a has-been than of remarkable acting talent. Maybe it's just a little too real.

And while his burned bridges may be all that stands in his way of a little gold man, he has far greater obstacles ahead of him. Will one performance be redemption in a town that wrote him off long ago? Will a gentler Mickey emerge from the land of critical acclaim? Or will a self-dependent man only crumble further under the weight of a lonely life?

What happens if he can't live up to the expectations of "comeback"? Or if the insecurity-fueled ego continues to trip him up?

Note to self: It's okay to live alone, but don't live life alone.

Golden Globes: The Commentary

The Golden Globe Awards aired on Sunday. I was watching. The winners list is here.

Below is my brain's running commentary. It might not make sense. In chronological order, this is what was spinning through my head as I tried to will a statue into Jon Hamm's hands.

(I linked to some pics of the night so you have visuals if you need them. And so that you can make a photo of Mickey Rourke on the red carpet your new desktop wallpaper. I'll try not to judge.)

• Kate Winslet won. I love her. I could watch her eat cereal for two hours. Remind me to write that movie. Costarring Cate Blanchett. Also eating cereal.
  
• Bruce Springsteen won. Because he's the Boss. He dictates such things.
  
• Why is Mickey Rourke wearing sunglasses indoors? Doesn't he know that he has a lousy reputation in town? Cocky styling isn't going to help.
• Rumer Willis is talented. Apparently. No comment.
• I love Neil Patrick Harris. But in an unrequited-love sort of way. He doesn't win, but he'll do fine without it. Trust me.
• Laura Dern was Miss Golden Globe in 1982. I bet she's Rumer Willis' idol.
• Colin Farrell cut his hair. We are no longer twins.
• Don Cheadle is super-bald. Bald must be in. There were so many shiny heads at church today.
• Please let Jon Hamm win. Please. (Or Hugh Laurie.)
• GABRIEL BYRNE?! Zac Efron accepts on his behalf. So at least one person is happy. His name is Zac. This may be his only chance to accept such an award.
  
• Thank you, Sally Field, for not abusing Botox.
• January Jones looks, uh, non-'60s-housewife. I don't like change. Or coral lipstick.
  
• Anna Paquin?! I will never be a betting woman. The 26-year-old now has an Oscar AND a Golden Globe. She was in She's All That. My brain hurts.
  
• Ricky Gervais is smarter than 98% of the room.
• The Jonas Brothers: "It is so cool to be here. Invited." Yes, boys, be thankful for the random invite.
• Wall-E wins. First "duh" of the night. That movie is a darling little genius of a flick. Stop reading this and go watch it.
• Johnny Depp does not age. I do not understand.
• Sally Hawkins wins for Happy-Go-Lucky. Johnny mouths "Wow." Major underdog. She just beat Meryl Streep and Emma Thompson. Her arms are too skinny. My own arms are experiencing sympathy pains. EAT, girl. Please. Meryl eats.
• Who doesn't love Jake Gyllenhaal? If you don't, don't tell me.
• P. Diddy is not Sidney Poitier. Someone should tell him that.
• Demi just told her daughter not to slouch. On stage. There will be words at home tonight. "Mom, how could you?!"
  
• Whatever Tom Cruise has been eating, he should continue to do so. He's pulling a Benjamin Button and looks very Jerry Maguire.
• Heath wins.
• Heath was brilliant.
• I'd stand too.
• I need to watch Frost/Nixen. And Milk. And The Wrestler.
• Oh, Colin. You're chewing gum. While presenting. You're lucky your accent covers a multitude of sins. All of them, actually.
  
• Cameron Diaz needs to make a date with her colorist. And her shampoo bottle.
• Aaron Eckhart will be A-list one day. That's my prediction of the night.
  
• Laura Linney is gorgeous. She finally gets it right fashion-wise. It's so sad to see brilliant people in awkward clothing.
• Should I get glasses like Paul Giamatti? Can I pull off uber-nerd?
• I don't understand Gerard Butler's appeal. Is it because I haven't seen 300?
• Seth Rogen is skinny. And not very funny.
• Best Screenplay: Slumdog Millionaire. Have you seen it yet?
• So far, zero of the dresses I thought I'd see have shown up. Never pay me to be your psychic.
• Alec Baldwin. Of course. "I remember when I used to bring Rumer Willis a juice box on the set of the movie." Um, hilarious and not funny at the same time.
• Renee's face. Her hair. Why?! She's suddenly a granny with a chemical peel.
• Megan Fox should not be there. But she is.
• Paul Giamatti wins. He's a living cartoon character. So awkward and bumbling and awesome.
• Glenn Close has the same hair as Renee Zellweger. Her shiny pants are making me uncomfortable.
• 30 Rock. Tina Fey forever. Tracy Morgan gives the best speech of the night. Which shocks me. We're not usually friends.
• Slumdog Millionaire has an amazing soundtrack. The Hollywood Foreign Press agrees. Now go see it.
• Every time someone says Danny Boyle, I think they're thanking Danny Boy. And it temporarily confuses me.
• Ugly Betty is one of the room's most gorgeous. I should have lunch with her makeup artist.
• Tina Fey! "As a kid, I had all the Hollywood Foreign Press action figures."
  
• Steven Spielberg is receiving the Cecil B. DeMille Award. I guess I assumed that he already had every possible fancy honorary award. Guess not.
• I would fetch coffee for that man FOR FREE just to hang out on one of his sets. Maybe I'll catch the magic by osmosis.
• I've never seen The Color Purple.
• But I have seen Empire of the Sun.
• Schindler's List is perfect. So's Tiny Toons.
• Scorsese is crying. People are standing. I swear that everyone in the room has been in a Spielberg flick. Drew, Tom (Cruise and Hanks), Leo, Ralph....
• Steven has a staccato rhythm to his speech I've never noticed before. Nerves? I think he's trying to be inspiring. I'm lost. I have ADD tonight.
• Maybe I should pack my lunch for tomorrow.
• Done and done.
• When there's no host and no banter, an awards show can actually end before midnight. *Fingers crossed.*
• Danny Boyle!!!! It's the little movie that could.
• I should watch Trainspotting. I think I can handle it.
• Sigourney is wearing a gown I picked for Meryl! I win. As does Donna Karan.
• Everyone tells me not to watch Revolutionary Road. I'm a rebel. This makes me want to see it more.
• Sandra Bullock = ridiculously good-looking. I want to be 44. In Dior.
• COLIN FARRELL!!!!! It's because of the haircut. Good on ya, mate. Now I should probably watch In Brudges too. I can't keep up.
• I don't get the Sasha Baron Cohen appeal. At all. But who am I, really?
• A Woody Allen picture just won. Is this what the '70s felt like? And where is Woody?
• Remind me not to name my first son Woody. Or second.
• Freida Pinto is stunning. American girls can't begin to compare. Not that I'm comparing.
• Best Actress. I'm calling Anne Hathaway.
• And the Golden Globe goes to... KATE WINSLET!
• Remember that cereal thing? Apparently everyone would watch her eat breakfast.
• "I'm so sorry." Don't be.
• Actresses, this is your lesson of the evening: If you eat, refuse Botox and are brilliant, you will win awards.
• Angelina's ticked. Pretty transparently.
• "I've loved you for 13 years." Yeah, we've all loved Leo for 13 years. Well, maybe we took a bit of a break somewhere in there.
• Her husband directed that performance. Crazy.
• "Hello. We're TV actors." Rainn Wilson should host the Oscars.
• Mad Men. Oh, Mad Men. How you make me happy.
• Did you know that Josh Groban used to date January Jones? Now you do.
• Best-looking cast on TV. With the exception of Lost.
• Mickey Rourke wins. Despite the sunglasses and sequins. I'm a little scared of him. Okay, a lot.
• He just thanked his dogs. Because he's alone and that's all he's got. Sadness.
• Does it count if I thought Angelina would wear a different Versace? Same designer. Half point for me.
• The commercials for the Olympics make me want to go. Or compete.
• Slumdog takes it. It's officially the front-runner in the Oscar race. I'm so proud. I want to be at the after-party. (It hasn't even opened in India yet! Can you imagine?)
• The producer dropped an F-bomb and magically escaped the censors' wrath in the process. Maybe it's because I'm watching CTV, not NBC. Those Americans can't handle it.
• Miley Cyrus just stuck out her tongue at the camera. Classy girl.
• The end.

An Open Letter to Jessica Alba

Dear Jessica,

I have an apology to make. For years now, I have made the rather harsh statement that I despise films starring Jessicas. Alba, Simpson and Biel are all surnames that keep me away from my local cinema. I'm not completely recounting this, but I do acknowledge that my wording has been, at times, inappropriately cruel. For this, I am sorry. I would never say this to your face, so saying it in your absence is not acceptable. You are cast in movies and I am not. Maybe I'm envious. 

While I still cannot bring myself praise your acting abilities, I will applaud your decision to cut your hair.

Jessica Alba, the new length looks lovely. And I want your scarf.

Have a wonderful weekend with your family. And, as your new friend, I'm begging you: Please stop wearing bikinis in your movies and then bemoaning your sex-kitten status. And never make another movie with Dane Cook or Mike Myers. Ever. Just sayin'. Girlfriends should have each other's backs.

Never Been Kissed was a good movie. You were in it. If you string those two things together, maybe you'll come up with a compliment.

Taking your photo to my hair stylist,

Nadine

My Most Fascinating People

This evening, Barbara Walters unveils her "Most Fascinating People" on prime-time television. Nine of the ten names have already been released. Just for me to scoff at, naturally. Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing against these people as people. Just as fascinating people. So I've rewritten her list. Just a little.

I decided not to go crazy and start listing foreigners or scientists or anyone with a name that's hard to pronounce. I wanted to keep the list as appealing to the MiniVan Majority* as possible. I just wanted to prove that it could still be slightly relevant even when adjusted to satisfy the lowest common denominator.

It is for this reason that Usain Bolt is not on the list. I wanted him there, but knew that the Americans were too focused on swimming this summer to notice him.

Nadine's Most Fascinating People
(When Channeling Barbara Walters)
Maybe I'll come up with a real list later. One I completely believe in.

It's expected that her #1 will be Barack Obama. I won't argue here. Fascinating, sure. For this year, anyway.

Others I'll leave on the list:

Palin, love her or hate her, was fascinating. No doubt about it. Fey, my career crush, was just a superstar in every possible way. And Phelps was everyone's fake boyfriend for the summer. I still want to bottle his scream of elation. So safe choices, but totally acceptable.

The swaps:

Rush Limbaugh? Really? I'd say the greatest political commentary of the year came from the Indecision '08 team. Hands down. I'd vote for Stewart/Colbert.

The pregnant man? I swear Walters is just the old white version of Oprah. Call my cynical and cold, but I don't consider a man who was born with a uterus to be super-compelling. Show me a family raising twins and sextuplets, and I'm riveted. Both had artifical insemination. But it's Jon & Kate Plus 8 who I'd want to spend Thanksgiving dinner with.

Um, Frank Langella? Barbara is jumping the gun, assuming that he's finally going to get some sort of Oscar recognition for his work in the yet-to-be-released Frost/Nixon. I'd say the Oscar story should go to Heath Ledger. Performance of the year and tragedy of the year rolled into one.

Miley Cyrus is not fascinating. She's rich. And inexplicably popular. But if you're going to feature someone representing the teenybopper set, go with the High School Musical 3 clan for their record-breaking year. Or the Jonas Brothers who just scored a Grammy nod. Or even better, pick Robert Pattinson, the Twilight star who immediately rose to ridiculous fame in recent months. And yes, he's from the UK. But American-girl friendly.

Tom Cruise? Will Smith? I quit life.

Tom is crazy. Crazy isn't fascinating, it's crazy. Suri, however, has rather phemonenal style for a toddler and would better represent the Cruise family on this list. If not her, why not John Hamm? He's the star of the hour and every bit deserving of any sort of recognition he can get. And instead of Smith, who makes a lot of money by starring in July movies (Look at the big explosion! Watch him run really fast!), what about Robert Downey Jr.? He had the comeback of the year, starring in one of the best movies of the year, and didn't once mention Scientology or market his offspring. Gold stars for Tony Stark.

Okay, I'm done now.

Just to keep things interactive (what a novel idea), who would you have on the list?


*I stole the term "MiniVan Majority" from Lainey. Stealing is the new original.

Australia: No Wrinkles In Time

I have a problem. (Okay, I have many problems. But I can only write about one at a time.) I want to see Australia. Both the actual country and the movie of the same name. I've heard that even the most expensive movie tickets are significantly cheaper than a one-way ticket to Oz, so I think I'll start with Baz Luhrmann and see where I go from there. I'm well aware that some critics are calling the film a sweeping epic, others are calling it a belaboured clunker, and a select few have written it off as strictly painful. And I'm okay with that. I have a high pain tolerance. I just want to check out the panoramic views, period costumes and the wombats. Please let there be wombats.

Here's the problem: I'm afraid that during the film's most intense moments, those brief slivers of excruciating human experience that should rattle me, I won't be able to look Nicole Kidman in the eye. Instead, I'll be distracted, staring at the thinly stretched skin just above her eyebrows. See, I'm obsessed with her forehead.

I happen to find Kidman's Hitchcockian beauty stunning. In theory. But when the cool blondes who came before her (think Grace Kelly) laughed, they threw their heads back slightly and lifted their eyebrows in delight. Foreheads moved. Faces had signs of life. Nicole's face has signs of injectable toxins.

Nicole used to have life in her face. (Watch Dead Calm if you must. Or just take my word for it.) Now she's a vacant porcelain doll that blankly stares at you, tears welling up out of nowhere, without the slightest squint or nose wrinkle, completely unconvincing as a woman who's lived a hard life. Or as a woman who's ever seen the sun. Or as a woman who's ever been in love. From what I know of the opposite sex, men like faces that move. Even if just enough to laugh at their almost-funny jokes.

So the question remains: How do I reconcile my love of Baz Luhrmann and my discomfort with Mrs. Keith Urban's visage? (And how on earth did she nab Urban? Someone, tell me. Oh, how I love his hair. And guitar. Not in that order.) And how do I get past the fact that Wolverine is riding through the outback on horseback?

Aside: How did People Magazine determine that Hugh Jackman is the sexiest man alive? Last time I checked, there were A LOT of men alive. A lot.

This promotional shot is pure perfection. That landscape. That rugged Australian hero. His hand tugging at her hairline, trying to force some expression into the face of the woman he loves. Marvelling at her tight pale skin, her deer-in-the-headlights gaze that tries so desperately to return his affections. Moments after this shot, he whispers tenderly in her ear, "Furrow your brow. Just for me, darling."


Ah, cinematic romance at its best.

YouTube Tuesday: Hugh Grant

There is no rhyme or reason. So don't expect one. It's Tuesday. And I like Hugh Grant, both with floppy hair and without.

Let's begin with something inspirational. Seriously, folks, About a Boy is probably the best film about redemption that stars Hugh Grant ever.

(In Vancouver, we did karaoke to this song. The on-screen lyrics were "Strumming my face with his finger." If anyone ever strums my face, he will be asked to leave.)



Because dancing is awesome. Especially when you think no one is watching.



And I heart the '80s. Especially the fake '80s.



Okay, that's it for me. I'm off to bed.

P.S. If you rent Music and Lyrics, turn on the English subtitles. And know that those commas were typed with love.