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Hotel Le Germain

Entrance/exit to Mercer St.


Floor-to-ceiling wooden wall


Peep-show seating if you're wearing a mini skirt


Stark white lobby lounge chairs


Perfect staircase for making a dramatic entrance


"The Three Sisters" (ok, I made that up)


The library stocked with books of poetry in French & English


Their laundry bill must be through the roof


You're going to host your next birthday party here


Ok, who ordered the barrel?


Drop your keys in there - go ahead, I dare ya!


Marshmallows never had it so good


Conference room - aww, apples & kleenex for everybody!


Unleash your inner Tiger on the rooftop putting green


Stylish suite bathroom for the exhibitionist in your life


Room 408 by Focht_flickr.com


I was at the Hotel Le Germain last night. By far one of my favourite hotels, it's sleek, petite (only 122 rooms), and tres moderne.

Why yes, it's french - how'd you guess?

Started in Quebec by the Germain family, this hotel is probably as close to W Hotel chic as Toronto's ever going to get. I'll take it. I'm kinda tired of the stuffy, chintzy, floral-patterned, green-carpeted, stuck-in-the-80s decor of so many of the other high-end hotels, like the Four Seasons (ours is the flagship and looking pretty run down), the Royal York and the King Edward. I've yet to be invited to The Hazelton, the latest addition to the luxury hotel market (snobs!), but I know for a fact it caters almost exclusively to an older, wealthier crowd; Le Germain's the place to be for a younger, laid-back, downtown vibe.

So what do you do at 3 am while waiting for a cab? Take pics of course! The ones above are from November and as you can see, there's nary a soul in sight. Last night, I was there a bit earlier, so people were still having dinner and chatting up a storm. After my call, I waited for the cab as the rain poured down. This older guy was checking me out from behind his newspaper and I could tell he was interested, but I don't conduct business in public. To me, that's kind of tacky and awkward. I prefer to be contacted through official channels (phone or email) which is more discreet. When I'm out and about, I act like a "civilian" (as one client put it) and expect to be treated as such. I couldn't possibly stand for anything else.

Last night was a good haul for me. I made the most money I've ever made for the shortest amount of time I've ever worked without even having to take off my clothes. Yes!

I say it's about fucking time.

Prospects are slim these days, and since I'm not tapped into the high-end market (i.e. connected through a madame or booker), I cater to guys whose savings are quickly dwindling - the once mighty middle class. As their prospects go down, so do mine. Mostly decent, hardworking men, they relied on their brokers to line their nests and wound up getting screwed. Small business owners, consultants, traders, government workers - these guys are heading towards retirement at the worst possible time. By now, they've probably re-thought their entire game plan in an attempt to weather the storm. Who can blame them? This year's going to be a doozy. They won't stop getting horny, but now when they do, they're more likely to go to the lower end of the market where the girls are practically giving it away.

Seriously, it's downright shocking how low the prices are in the back of the local alternative weeklies. These rates weren't adjusted for the recession - they were always like that. I'm talking $60 full service for 30 minutes. Are you fucking kidding me? That's a fire sale! You know the girls are doing at least 10 calls per night to make a few hundred bucks. I suspect most of them are illegal, underage and hooked up with a pimp. Who knows what their cut is. And the conditions they work under? I don't even want to go there. Apparently police are cracking down on the guys who run operations like these, but the ads are as ubiquitous as ever, so obviously the system's got more than a few holes in it. Either that, or somebody high up on the food chain wants to hang on to his favourite 15-year-old, blonde Asian hookers with the fakest DDs on the planet. Oh yeah, I've seen them around.

Anyway, last night Mr. Oil & Gas was obviously a guy of means. He wasn't vulgar about it -
it just was what it was. Sure, we can resent men like that all we want, but the truth is, put in the same position I don't think any of us would turn down the opportunities great wealth affords, no matter how tacky or decadent or wasteful. Most of us have lousy taste. If the numbers were reversed and the majority of us were stinkin' rich, there'd be a heck of a lot more gold toilet seats in the world. And yachts with stripper poles. And stretch limos outfitted with a jacuzzi in the back. Me, I'd probably splurge on designer couture dresses I'd wear only once. And shoes, handbags, jewelry, sofas, paintings, a personal chef and trainer...I could go on and on.

For now though, I'm going to get my teeth fixed. How's that for luxury living?

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April in February

It was 7 degrees Celsius @ 2pm

Toronto looked like foggy ol' London yesterday. I could barely see 10 ft ahead of me as I ran my errands. It was mild too, like April in February. Actually, it was more like our dismal summer of 2008. As the rain poured down this evening, I was stuck in a stinky cab on my way to a call. I had a flashback to the deluge after deluge of wet stuff we suffered through last year. If this summer is anything like that, I'm moving for sure.

I wonder, is there anywhere on this planet that's sunny every day with a temperature range of 15-25 degrees?

Yes, Malta!

Last summer, "Zeus Was Angry!!"

Here Comes the Bribe

Got these flowers from a client last night.

Pretty, right?

Unfortunately, they're inappropriate considering it was my first time meeting him.

The message they send to me is either that he desperately wants me to like him, or he wants me to give him special treatment.

No can do on both counts unless I've spent some time with him and he turns out to be a cool guy.

You see, the flowers are a bribe. A subtle way to try and buy influence as opposed to earning it.

I hate that.

I wanted to say to him, If you're not a tool, you've got nothing to worry about.

Of course, the kind of guy who does stuff like this usually turn out to be a major d-bag, hence the need (in his mind) to bring flowers. He knows he has a lousy track record with women, so he thinks if he gives me something pretty, maybe I won't notice what other women have picked up on before.

In accordance with this line of thought, I'm supposed to swoon at his feet at the mere site of the precious blossoms, eager to please him. I'm supposed to think: He put so much effort into the gesture! He thinks I'm special even though we've never met! How will I EVER repay him???

Dude must think I was born yesterday.

Another thing that's just occurred to me is: what if he bought the flowers hoping I'd think of him whenever I look at them?

Hahaha!

That's too much!

The guy was a fucking lunatic.

He kept giggling and squirming and calling me Gorgeous.

Believe me, the sooner I forget him, the better.

I really don't know why it's so hard for guys to understand that it's their behaviour that makes a lasting impression on a woman, and not the damn gifts.

I really don't know why they underestimate women to the extent that they do.

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His Girl Friday_1940

HIS GIRL FRIDAY (1940)
w / Cary Grant & Rosalind Russel

[Walter Burns (Grant), editor of a major Chicago newspaper, is about to lose his ace reporter and former wife, Hildy Johnson (Russel), to insurance salesman Bruce Baldwin, but not without a fight! The crafty editor uses every trick in his fedora to get Hildy to write one last big story, about murderer Earl Williams and the inept Sheriff Hartwell. The comedy snowballs as William's friend, Molly Malloy, the crooked Mayor, and Bruce's mother all get tied up in Walter's web. - IMDb]

Hildy: Walter, you're wonderful, in a loathsome sort of way.

Bruce: [Concerning Walter] I like him; he's got a lot of charm.
Hildy: Well, he comes by it naturally: his grandfather was a snake.

Walter: [ducking from Hildy's throw and reaching for the ringing telephone] Oh, you're losing your eye! You used to be able to pitch better than that.

Hildy: I suppose I proposed to you?
Walter: Well, you practically did, making goo-goo eyes at me for two years until I broke down.
[impersonates Hildy, flutters his eyelashes]

Hildy: All I know is that instead of two weeks in Atlantic City with my bridegroom, I spent two weeks in a coal mine with John Krupsky. You don't deny that, do you Walter?
Walter: Deny it? I'm proud of it. We beat the whole country on that story.
Hildy: [shouting] Well, suppose we did. That isn't what I got married for!

Walter: Look, Hildy, I only acted like any husband that didn't want to see his home broken up.
Hildy: What "home"?

Hildy: [speaking to Walter on the phone] Now, get this, you double-crossing chimpanzee: There ain't going to be any interview and there ain't going to be any story. And that certified check of yours is leaving with me in twenty minutes. I wouldn't cover the burning of Rome for you if they were just lighting it up. If I ever lay my two eyes on you again, I'm gonna walk right up to you and hammer on that monkeyed skull of yours 'til it rings like a Chinese gong!

Hildy: [speaking of her fiance] He treats me like a woman.
Walter: Oh he does, does he? Mm-hm... how did I treat you? Like a water buffalo?

Hildy: [speaking to Walter on the phone] Did you hear that? That's the story I just wrote. Yes, yes, I know we had a bargain. I just said I'd write it, I didn't say I wouldn't tear it up! It's all in little pieces now, Walter, and I hope to do the same for you some day!
[hangs up emphatically]
[to the other reporters] And that, my friends, is my farewell to the newspaper game.

Walter: Sorta wish you hadn't done that, Hildy.
Hildy: Done what?
Walter: Divorced me. Makes a fella lose all faith in himself. Gives him a... almost gives him a feeling he wasn't wanted.
Hildy: Oh, now look, junior... that's what divorces are FOR!

Walter: Let's see this paragon! Is he as good as you say?
Hildy: Why, he's better!
Walter: Well then, what does he want with you?
Hildy: Ah-ha-ha, now you got me!

Walter: You've got an old fashioned idea divorce is something that lasts forever, 'til death do us part.' Why divorce doesn't mean anything nowadays, Hildy, just a few words mumbled over you by a judge.

Walter: What were you when you came here five years ago - a little college girl from a school of journalism. I took a doll-faced hick...
Hildy: Well, you wouldn't take me if I hadn't been doll-faced.
Walter: Well, why should I? I thought it would be a novelty to have a face around here a man could look at without shuddering.

Walter: You've got the brain of a pancake. This isn't just a story you're covering - it's a revolution. This is the greatest yarn in journalism since Livingstone discovered Stanley.
Hildy: It's the other way around.
Walter: Oh, well, don't get technical at a time like this.

Hildy: Tell me. Is the Lord of the Universe in?

Bruce: Even ten minutes is a long time to be away from you.
Hildy: What did you say?
Bruce: What?
Hildy: Go on. [He laughs sheepishly] Well, go ahead.
Bruce: Well, I just said, 'Even ten minutes is a long time to be away from you.'
Hildy: I heard you the first time. I like it. That's why I asked you to say it again.

Hildy: I spent six weeks in Reno, then Bermuda, oh, about four months, I guess. It seems like yesterday to me.
Walter: Maybe it was yesterday, Hildy. Been seeing me in your dreams?
Hildy: Oh, no, Mama doesn't dream about you anymore, Walter. You wouldn't know the old girl now.
Walter: I'd know you anytime, anyplace, anywhere.

Hildy: A big fat lummox like you - hiring an airplane to write: 'Hildy, don't be hasty, remember my dimple.' Walter. It delayed our divorce twenty minutes while the judge went out to watch it.
Walter: I've still got the dimple and in the same place.

Walter: You can marry all you want to, Hildy, but you can't quit the newspaper business.
Hildy: Oh! Why not?
Walter: I know you, Hildy. I know what quitting would mean to you.
Hildy: And what would it mean?
Walter: It would kill ya.
Hildy: You can't sell me that, Walter Burns.
Walter: Who says I can't? You're a newspaperman.
Hildy: That's why I'm quitting. I want to go someplace where I can be a woman.
Walter: You mean be a traitor.
Hildy: A traitor? A traitor to what?
Walter: A traitor to journalism. You're a journalist, Hildy.
Hildy: A journalist? Hell, what does that mean? Peeking through keyholes? Chasing after fire engines? Waking people up in the middle of the night to ask them if Hitler's gonna start another war? Stealing pictures off old ladies? I know all about reporters, Walter. A lot of daffy buttinskis running around without a nickel in their pockets and for what? So a million hired girls and motormen's wives'll know what's going on. Why-... Golly, what's the use? Walter, you-you wouldn't know what it means to want to be respectable and live a half-way normal life. The point is, I-I'm through.

IMDb Quotes
Wikiquote


ADAM'S RIB (1949)
w / Spencer Tracy & Katharine Hepburn

[Married lawyers Adam and Amanda Bonner (Tracy & Hepburn) find themselves on opposite sides of the courtroom in this comedy. Adam is prosecuting a high-profile case in which a woman is accused of trying to murder her philandering husband. Amanda acts as her defense attorney, and the sparring begins. - IMDb]

After the rough day in court, the couple are at home giving each other customary rubdowns and Swedish massages. In one of the film's classic scenes, while they wear only towels and lie on a massage table in their bedroom (from a low-angle shot), Adam receives the first expert massage and is tested with a smack to his behind. When he is finished, she takes the position on the table, while the radio plays "Farewell, Amanda" - he turns it off with a slur toward their next-door neighbor's hit song: "I got the station with the bad news." He delivers a resounding flesh-on-flesh smack on her behind while she sings the tune, reasoning that he resents her "shaking the law by the tail." She confronts him with eyes flashing, suspecting that he is antagonistic because of the court case. He stands there helpless with cold cream on both his hands, and when he gets excited or challenged, he jumbles his syllables:

Adam: What are ya? Sore about a little slap?
Amanda: No.
Adam: Well, what then?
Amanda: (outraged at him) You meant that, didn't you? You really meant that.
Adam: Why, no, I...
Amanda: Yes, you did. I can tell. I know your type. I know a slap from a slug.
Adam: Well, OK, OK.
Amanda: I'm not so sure it is. I'm not so sure I care to expose myself to typical instinctive masculine brutality.
Adam: Oh come now.
Amanda: And it felt not only as though you meant it, but as though you felt you had a right to. I can tell.
Adam: What've you got back there? Radar equipment?
Amanda: You're really sore at me, aren't you?
Adam: Oh, don't be 'diriculous.' Ridiculous.
Amanda: There! Proves it!
Adam: All right, all right, I am sore. I am sore. What about it?
Amanda: Why are you?
Adam: You know why.
Amanda: You mean Kip? Just because he's having a little fun?
Adam: No. Because you're having a little fun. You're having the wrong kind of fun - down in that courtroom. You're shaking the law by the tail, and I don't like it. I'm ashamed of you, Amanda.
Amanda: Is that so?
Adam: Yes, that's so. We've had our little differences and I've always tried to see your point of view, but this time, you've got me stumped, baby.
Amanda: You haven't tried to see my point of view. You haven't even any respect for my, my, my -
Adam: There we go, there we go, there we go - Oh, oh, here we go again. The old juice. (She begins to cry because he refuses to understand her strong feelings and point of view.) Ah, guaranteed heart-melter. A few female tears...
Amanda: (sobbing) I can't help it.
Adam: ...stronger than any acid. But this time they won't work...
Amanda: I didn't...
Adam: You can cry from now until the time the jury comes in and it won't make you right and it won't win you that silly case.
Amanda: Adam! Please...
Adam: Nothing doing... (He leaves the room, upset about their argument)
Amanda: ...please try to understand.
Adam: (He returns) Ah, don't you want your rubdown? You want a drink?
Amanda: No.
Adam: Do you want anything? What, honey? (She kicks him in the shin) Ow!
Amanda: Let's all be manly! (She marches offscreen)

Adam's Rib - Review
Adam's Rib - Songvid
Katharine & Spencer - pics


THE PHILADELPHIA STORY (1940)
w / Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant & James Stewart

[Philadelphia heiress Tracy Lord (Hepburn) throws out her playboy husband C.K. Dexter Haven (Grant) shortly after their marriage. Two years later, Tracy is about to marry respectable George Kittredge whilst Dexter has been working for "Spy" magazine. Dexter arrives at the Lord's mansion the day before the wedding with writer Macaulay Connor (Stewart) and photographer Liz Imbrie, determined to spoil things. - IMDb]

C.K.: Sometimes, for your own sake, Red, I think you should've stuck to me longer.
Tracy: I thought it was for life, but the nice judge gave me a full pardon.
C.K.: Aaah, that's the old redhead. No bitterness, no recrimination, just a good swift left to the jaw.

C.K.: Orange juice, certainly.
Tracy: Don't tell me you've forsaken your beloved whisky and whiskies.
C.K.: No-no-no-no. I've just changed their colour, that's all. I'm going for the pale pastel shades now. There're more becoming of me. How about you, Mr. Connor? You drink, don't you - alcohol, I mean?
Macaulay: Oh, a little.
C.K.: [Amused] A little? And you a writer? Tsk, tsk, tsk. I thought all writers drank to excess and beat their wives. You know, at one time I think I secretly wanted to be a writer.
[He and Tracy exchange scornful looks]

Macaulay: Champagne's funny stuff. I'm used to whiskey. Whiskey is a slap on the back, and champagne's heavy mist before my eyes.

George: You're like some marvelous, distant, well, queen, I guess. You're so cool and fine and always so much your own. There's a kind of beautiful purity about you, Tracy, like, like a statue.
Tracy: George...
George: Oh, it's grand, Tracy. It's what everybody feels about you. It's what I first worshipped you for from afar.
Tracy: I don't want to be worshipped. I want to be loved.

C.K.: The moon is also a goddess, chaste and virginal.
Tracy: Stop using those foul words.

[Mike discovers the intercom in the Lords' house]
Macaulay: Uh-oh, Liz, what did I tell you? Look, how do you like this - living room, sitting room, terrace, pool, stables.
Liz: That's probably so they can talk to the horses without having them in the house.

Macaulay: Tracy.
Tracy: What do you want?
Macaulay: You're wonderful. There's a magnificence in you, Tracy.
Tracy: Now I'm getting self-conscious. It's funny. I - Mike? Let's...
Macaulay: Yeah?
Tracy: I don't know - go up, I guess, it's late.
Macaulay: A magnificence that comes out of your eyes, in your voice, in the way you stand there, in the way you walk. You're lit from within, Tracy. You've got fires banked down in you, hearth-fires and holocausts.
Tracy: I don't seem to you made of bronze?
Macaulay: No, you're made out of flesh and blood. That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl, Tracy. Full of life and warmth and delight. What goes on? You've got tears in your eyes.
Tracy: Shut up, shut up. Oh, Mike. Keep talking, keep talking. Talk, will you?

Macaulay: What's this? Is it my book?
C.K.: Yes.
Macaulay: C. K. Dexter Haven you have unsuspected depth!
C.K.: Thanks, old chap.
Macaulay: But have you read it?
C.K.: When I was trying to stop drinking, I read anything.
Macaulay: And did you stop drinking?
C.K.: Yes. Your book didn't do it though.

Tracy: I can't make you out at all now.
Macaulay: I thought I was easy.
Tracy: So did I. But you're not. You talk so big and tough and then you write like this. Which is which?
Macaulay: Both. I guess.
Tracy: No. No, I believe you put the toughness down to save your skin.
Macaulay: You think so?
Tracy: Yes. I know a little about that.
Macaulay: You do?
Tracy: Quite a lot.

Dexter: I never saw you looking better, Red. You're getting that fine, tawny look.
Tracy: Oh, we're going to talk about me, are we? Goodie.
Dexter: It's astonishing what money can do for people, don't you agree, Mr. Connor? Not too much, you know - just more than enough. Now take Tracy for example. Never a blow that hasn't been softened for her. Never a blow that won't be softened. As a matter of fact, she's even changed her shape - she was a dumpy little thing at one time.
Tracy: Only as it happens, I'm not interested in myself, for the moment.
Dexter: Not interested in yourself! You're fascinated, Red. You're far and away your favorite person in the world.
Tracy: Dexter, in case you don't know it -
Dexter: Of course, Mr. Connor, she's a girl who's generous to a fault.
Tracy: To a fault, Mr. Connor.
Dexter: Except to other people's faults. For instance, she never had any understanding of my deep and gorgeous thirst.
Tracy: That was your problem.
Dexter: Granted. But you took on that problem with me when you took me, Red. You were no help-mate there. You were a scold.
Tracy: It was disgusting. It made you so unattractive.
Dexter: A weakness, sure, and strength is her religion, Mr. Connor. She finds human imperfection unforgiveable. And when I gradually discovered that my relationship to her was supposed to be not that of a loving husband and a good companion, but - [He turns away from her] Oh, never mind.
Tracy: Say it.
Dexter: But that of a kind of high priest to a virgin goddess, then my drinks grew deeper and more frequent, that's all. [Macaulay slides off his chair and leaves them.]
Tracy: I never considered you as that, nor myself.
Dexter: You did without knowing it. Oh, and the night that you got drunk on champagne and climbed out on the roof and stood there, NAKED, with your arms out to the moon, wailing like a banshee - [Dexter laughs at the thought.]
Tracy: I told you I never had the slightest recollection of doing any such thing.
Dexter: I know. You drew a blank. You wanted to. Mr. Connor, what would you... [He turns and notices Mike has gone] Oh.
Tracy: A nice story for spies, incidentally.
Dexter: Too bad we can't supply photographs of you on the roof.

Dexter: [about marrying George] How in the world could you even think of it?
Tracy: Because he is everything you're not. He's been poor. He's had to work and he's had to fight for everything. And I love him, as I never even began to love you.
Dexter: Maybe so, but I doubt it. I think he's just a swing from me. But it's too violent a swing. Kittredge is no great tower of strength, you know, Tracy. He's just a tower.
Tracy: You hardly know him.
Dexter: To hardly know him is to know him well. And perhaps it offends my vanity to have anyone who is even remotely my wife re-marry so obviously beneath her.
Tracy: How dare you! Any of you in this day and age use such an idiotic...
Dexter: I'm talking about the difference in mind and spirit...Kittredge is not for you.
Tracy: You bet he's for me. He's a great man and a good man. Already, he's of national importance.
Dexter: You sound like Spy Magazine talking. But whatever he is, toots, you'll have to stick. He'll give you no out as I did.
Tracy: I won't require one.
Dexter: I suppose you'd still be attractive to any man of spirit, though. There's something engaging about it, this goddess business. There's something more challenging to the male than the, uh, more obvious charms.
Tracy: Really?
Dexter: Really. We're very vain, you know - 'This citadel can and shall be taken, and I'm the boy to do it.'
Tracy: You seem quite contemptuous of me all of a sudden.
Dexter: No, Red, not of you, never of you. Red, you could be the finest woman on this earth. I'm contemptuous of something inside of you you either can't help, or make no attempt to; your so-called 'strength' - your prejudice against weakness - your blank intolerance.
Tracy: Is that all?
Dexter: That's the gist of it; because you'll never be a first-class human being or a first-class woman, until you've learned to have some regard for human frailty. It's a pity your own foot can't slip a little sometime - but your sense of inner divinity wouldn't allow that. This goddess must and shall remain intact. There are more of you than people realize - a special class of the American Female. The Married Maidens.
Tracy: So help me, Dexter, if you say another word, I'll...
Dexter: I'm through, Red. For the moment, I've had my say.

IMDb Quotes
Wikiquote
Philip Barry


BALL OF FIRE (1941)
w / Barbara Stanwyck & Gary Cooper

[Sexy, wisecracking nightclub singer Sugarpuss O'Shea (Stanwyck) is a hot tomato who needs to be kept on ice: mobster boyfriend Joe Lilac is suspected of murder and Sugarpuss' testimony could put him away. Naive Professor Bertram Potts (Cooper) meets Miss O'Shea while researching an article on slang and in true romantic comedy fashion the two worlds collide. When Miss O'Shea hides out with Potts and his fellow professors, everyone learns something new: the professors how to cha-cha and Potts the meaning of "yum-yum"! - IMDb]

Prof. Potts: Make no mistake, I shall regret the absence of your keen mind; unfortunately, it is inseparable from an extremely disturbing body.

Prof. Potts [attempts to propose to Sugarpuss]: People like that...well...dust just piles up on their hearts, and it took you to blow it away.
Sugarpuss: Yeah, but I didn't mean to blow it smack into your eye.

Sugarpuss: I love him because he's the kind of guy who gets drunk on a glass of buttermilk, and I love the way he blushes right up over his ears. I love him because he doesn't know how to kiss, the jerk!

IMDb Quotes
Potts' Proposal
Drum Boogie ft. Gene Krupa


THE THIN MAN (1934)
w / William Powell & Myrna Loy

[Young Dorothy Wynant approaches amateur sleuth Nick Charles (Powell) when her inventor father appears to be a major suspect in a murder case. In fact, Dorothy is so worried about her father's guilt that she tries to convince Nick that she did it. Nick's wife Nora (Loy) wants him on the case so that she can experience some of the excitement herself. However, Nick is reluctant to get involved until he sees that police Lt. Guild is coming to the wrong conclusions. Nick decides that the best way to clear up the case is to invite all the suspects to dinner with Lt. Guild and see what happens... - IMDb]

Reporter: Say listen, is he working on a case?
Nora: Yes, he is.
Reporter: What case?
Nora: A case of scotch. Pitch in and help him.

Nick: Oh, it's all right, Joe. It's all right. It's my dog. And, uh, my wife.
Nora: Well you might have mentioned me first on the billing.

Nora: You know, that sounds like an interesting case. Why don't you take it?
Nick: I haven't the time. I'm much too busy seeing that you don't lose any of the money I married you for.

Nora: You asleep?
Nick: Yes!
Nora: Good... I want to talk to you.

Nora: What's that man doing in my drawers?

Nora: [suffering from a hang-over] What hit me?
Nick: The last martini.

Nick: Hey, would you mind putting that gun away. My wife doesn't care, but I'm a very timid fellow...All right, shoot. I mean, uh, what's on your mind?

Nora: You darn fool, you didn't have to knock me out. I knew you'd take him, but I wanted to see you do it.
Nick (laughing): There's a girl with hair on her chest.

Nick: Oh, I'm a hero. I was shot twice in the Tribune.
Nora: I read you were shot five times in the tabloids.
Nick: It's not true. He didn't come anywhere near my tabloids.

Nora: I think it's a dirty trick to bring me all the way to New York just to make a widow of me.
Nick: You wouldn't be a widow long.
Nora: You bet I wouldn't.
Nick: Not with all your money.
Nora: (worried that he will get hurt) Take care of yourself.
Nick: (laughing) Why sure I will.
Nora: Don't say it like that! Say it as if you meant it.
Nick: Well, I do believe the little woman cares.
Nora: I don't care. It's just that I'm used to you, that's all.

In the final sequence on a westbound transcontinental train, Nick and Nora travel back to California and share an adjacent cabin with newlyweds Dorothy and Tommy. They finally adjourn to their respective rooms late into the night. There are upper and lower bunks in Nick's and Nora's room. Nora asks that Nick put Asta in her lower bunk with her for the night. Nick laughs: "Oh, yeah," tosses Asta up onto the top bunk, and joins Nora in the lower bunk. Asta covers his eyes with his paw.

The Thin Man - Review
Witty Lines
I'll Just Dance With Myself

Drek.

Liveblogging He's Just Not That Into You
The Stars Talk About the Movie
Greg Behrendt's Dating Tips
Movie Quotes

*I don't know about you but I have the uncanny ability to spot out a stinker from its trailers and how the movie is presented.

*I remember reading that book. Well, some of it. I couldn't stomach it. It was basically "If he's not borderline stalking you, he doesn't like you. Oh, he HAS to make all the moves. If you ever have to, he doesn't like you."

*I'll go see this movie when they change the name to "He's just an emotionally unavailable assclown."

*I saw Drew Barrymore on The Early Show, spouting off stereotypes about men vs. women to promote this garbage film. I expected more from her.

*I'm going to see this but only to spend some time with Bradley Cooper. No other reason.

*I think this movie will merit the designation VOM-com.

*I couldn't tell you who the first little boy I liked was if you held a gun to my head.
I could probably remember the guy I did the whole 'parts showing' thing with, tho'! Much more memorable.

*Wait... aren't there self help books for men as well? Maybe men just don't care to see them turned into theatrical filmed productions. Men prefer fighting robots... duh.

*Yes I'm gonna call him, I have no respect for the sanctity of marriage or his wife. I'm deceitful and untrustworthy and want to ruin his marriage, yay me!

*You know, I usually wait for married men to call me, just because I don't necessarily want to get in the way of their marriage, or anything, but to each her own, Scarjo.
>@__: What, are you living in 1950? It's SO OK to call marrieds now. Sheesh. Who cares about VOWS?

*Wait, they are suggesting there are women who actually would attempt to date a married man? I mean, I know that there are, but don't we all agree that's a stupid idea?
>@__: Short answer: yes.

*Yes, Aniston. I want all guys I date who don't want to marry me to treat me like s**t.

*"I want you to stop being nice to me unless you're gonna marry me."
Um, what?
WHAT?
My brian just melted. My brain, too.
>@__: That makes no fucking sense. There's no connection whatsoever. Who wrote this shit? Damn you Greg Berndhart!!
>@__: This explains why no one is ever nice to me. I'm not married to them!

*I seriously can't believe they're interrupting the movie with little sassy skits. That is so 90s.
>@__: When Harry Met Sally is rolling around in its movie grave and then coming back to life to eat this movie's brains.
>@__: They wouldn't dare eat this movie's brains. They much rather eat brains of decent movies, not this shit.

*Men: The Most Important Thing Women Have to Talk About!

*So, the women in this movie have had some sort of serious head trauma right? It would help explain the massive amounts of dumb.
I'm waiting for the moment they flat out say that people who don't believe in marriage are cowards/don't like you. Because, you know, people can't just be happy being in a committed relationship, especially not women. Also, I have never met a girl who went on about gaining weight after being dumped. My girlfriends always went "This sucks. Let's go do something fun so I don't have to think about it" and slowly got over it.

*People still use MySpace? When was this written?

*"She says he has an ass that makes her wanna dry-hump.
He says, I think I just fell in love!"
I spewed hot chocolate out of my nose onto the monitor after reading that!
>@__: Who says that to a married man?!?!?
>@__: WHO SAYS THAT- PERIOD?
>@__: Homewreckers.
>@__: It's hard for me as an aspiring screenwriter to see lines like that. It depresses me actually. I'm going to watch All About Eve again.

*I stopped seeing someone once because I saw how big his ego was in the daylight.

*women love drama, waiting till the last minute, pacing, freaking out.
Well, fuck you too, screenwriter. Fuck you. I could look up who you are but I won't.
>@__: Right? I hate ALL of that.

*And he goes, "Don't go doodling my name on your binder. I like you like a Basset hound because you're kinda pathetic."
I have NO words.
>@__: I do. FUCK YOU ASSHOLE!

*God, nothing makes me want to screw more than being called pathetic and a dog in the SAME SENTENCE.

*Just remember Abby Kohn and Marc Silverstein got a nice check to write this tripe.
And if the movie is #1 for the weekend -- the studio will probably give them hybrid cars or something as a bonus.

*He calls her pathetic? Seriously?! TO HER FACE?! Oh my God.
>@__: Aaaand how much you wanna bet they end up together at the end? I put down $20.
>@__: I'm not taking that bet because I like keeping my money.
>@__: That would be one of the only times where I would physically slap a guy across the face and/or kick him in the balls.
>@__: Oh that SO deserves a ball-kick. I cannot believe that. Did she smile afterwards? Did she giggle like an idiot? If she sleeps with him, I will be officially done with Margie.

*I had a lot of respect for Bradley Cooper up to now. Ginnifer Goodwin, too. Justin Long's been a lost cause since, well, always.

*Wait, is Drew Barrymore even IN this movie? Does she get a plot or is she just there to be friends with beautiful gays of color?

*Everyone. Please just come out of the closet already. We can all see through your charade. Really.
>@__: Wouldn't it be great if the whole thing ended with a big gay orgy?
>@__: Completely. The title is only a teaser..."He's Just Not That Into You...Because He's Into Him."

*Hollywood's just not that into women.

*Is she into him? Or is she just happy that a boy - any boy, even a d-bag like this one - likes her?

*It's late here and I like to go to bed not angry so I'm going to finish reading this live blog in the morning.
It will be a good motivation. Excellent writing inspires me and the rest makes me not give up.

*For being such a dating guru, Justin Long's character sure does a lot of talking out of his ass.

*A hate fuck with Kevin Connolly, that's not so bad.

*Jeez Louise, how long is this movie!??!??

*This movie is never going to end, is it?

*Hurling my body onto yours? Well, that just doesn't sound very pleasant.

*The hard part: Obviously, most women don't want to be single, but it's not a fate worse than death or of being in a terrible marriage or family situation in which your dreams are subsidiary to everyone else's.

*Hear that, ladies? As soon as you decide you don't want to marry him, he'll propose! If you love it, set it free. Good christ.

*This movie sucks so hard it broke the liveblog format. That's talent.

*Well, that sucked.
Not the liveblogging -- the liveblogging was awesome. But the movie sucked even more than I expected it to suck. Not a single interesting story arc in the whole thing. Boo.
>@__: Yeah, I'm not even going to try to sneak into this. I knew the ending before it even began...craptastic.
>@__: Well, it is a romantic comedy. But I thought the key to the successful genre film was to give the audience what it expects, but not in the way it expects it.
FAIL.

*puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuke

*Aaand thank GOD for the liveblog. I was going to see it and now, HELL TO THE NO. Thank you for not only saving me $12 but also 3 hours of my life.

*Well, that sounds exactly like the kind of insipid crap I thought it was going to be.
Please, everyone: DO NOT GO TO THIS MOVIE. Rent it on DVD if you must. If you pay to see this drek at the theater, you are part of the problem. Seriously.

Buzzzzzz

The Travel Blaster fits into a coin purse


$12.99 @ edenfantasys.com

Dan, your advice to LIMP—the man who was reluctant to use a vibrator on/with his wife—was right on! I'm a 34-year-old woman who needs a vibrator to get off, and for years I felt "defective." My husband didn't exactly help, but he eventually asked me to show him how I did it. He wanted to try. Bingo—the look on my face was all he needed; he was a convert.

One of his issues with the vibrator, though, was the phallic shape; he felt like it was replacing him. Many men don't like vibrators for that reason. It's bigger, harder, and lasts longer—that can intimidate a guy. But you can buy tiny vibrators that are just a couple of inches long, egg-shaped ones, and butterfly-shaped ones. LIMP should visit his local adult-toy shop with his wife and pick out a silly one that doesn't compete.

Bottom line: She has been brave enough to share her needs with you. Would you prefer it if she faked it for your entire marriage and quietly took care of herself in private?

Nothing Beats A Good Buzz

(Savage Love - 01/29/09)

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Fashion Pics
Padma Lakshmi

Italian Men

Ti amo, Fabio


Confession:

I like Italian men.

Italian men are hot.

They're passionate, bold, and charming. They know how to enjoy a woman's company and they know how to kiss. They know what to do with their hands and...everything else.

Italian men have just enough swagger to make me want them, just enough cockiness to keep me interested and just enough arrogance to advance their position when I'm ready to give in.

Italian men get me.

They see me as a challenge. They're not easily intimidated and when it comes to romantic pursuits, they're basically fearless.

Their perseverance is such a turn on.

I get wet thinking about it.

The thrill of the chase isn't just for the pursuer: being elusive gives me a rush as it makes the stakes that much higher and the inevitable that much sweeter.

Italian men are the very definition of erotic. They understand there's more to sex than co-mingling body parts.

So much more.

Italian men are my weakness.

And they know it.

A fact I enjoy, to our mutual satisfaction.


Ti Amo


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Bratty Batty Bale