Stamos stood me up. Fucker.

Go back to your Rebecca-Romijn! See how happy that makes you, Stamos! See if I care!

(sniffle.)

It's my brother's birthday today. He turns 20.

I was counting it down for him last night over Instant Messenger until he finally said, "You know, you get way more sentimental about my birthdays than I do." I can't help it. He's not a teen anymore! He's in his 20s!

Happy birthday, P.J.

In other news, in about 10 minutes, I'm supposed to talk to John Stamos. I can't tell you how jittery that makes me feel.

The full review of Starsky & Hutch is up. Owen and Ben were all, "Ha!" and I was all, "Naw!" and they went, "Well, what about --" and I said, "No!" and Snoop was like, "Yo, whuddup, G., all -- " and I said, "TWO STARS!" Then they paid me.

I didn't get to see Passion of the Christ after all. I figure there'll be plenty of time for that in the afterlife.

AKA: I've sworn off feel-good British films, but this one is part of a genre I actually love: feel-bad British films. Along with the loveably grimy Dirty Pretty Things this one is about class and its long division in England, which is a country that has the ability to make anything depressing on film look even gloomier. Call it a talent This film is about a ne'er do well lad who hears about the upper class through his mother and then decides, "Screw all this gruel and wot wot, I'm going to live a life of lies!" He does so, in the tradition of that Talented Ripley guy and Will Smith in Six Degrees of Separation, probably by faking a keen interest in art and crumpets. If you see one crumpet-faking film this year, make sure it's AKA.

The Book of Mormon Vol. 1: The Journey: This one is about a Mormom bride who dons a yellow jumpsuit and slices up everyone in her path on her way to get revenge against the man who ruined her wedding in Salt Lake City. Volume 2, detailing her final confrontation with the man who chanelled the Book of Mormon, will be called, Joe's Got To Go.

Hidalgo: You can just count me right the fuck out when a central character in your movie is a horse. I was bored silly by Seabiscuit (that fucking horse movie), I barely tolerated them in Lord of the Rings and I avoided the animated menace of Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron because that was about the dumbest movie title ever. This movie has the smoldering, hot gaze of one Mr. Viggo Mortensen, who sends middle aged ladies all atwitter in their nether regions. (So I'm told.) The combination of a rugged man such as Viggo on horseback is a kind of ladykilling concoction that could only be devised in a lab that caters to the nefarious orgasming of that particular demographic. Also, there's a race. Across the scorching desert. If people could smell what's in this film, I doubt they'd be so excited to watch it.

Japanese Story: Let's hear it for Toni Collette, huh? She's brilliant in every movie she's in, even when the role is something like, "Creepy kid's frumpy mom," or, "fifth prettiest lady on screen." She was fantastic in one of my favorite movies Muriel's Wedding (fine, maybe not one of my favorite movies, but I was charmed by it), and she just seems to get better every year, picking up movie scraps and turning them into tasty four-course supporting roles. In this film, she falls in love with a Japanese dude out in the outback and then there's a huge twist that changes the course of the entire movie. What's the twist? My guess is that Julia Roberts chokes on some tofu and Toni Collette gets to take one of her movies.

Latter Days: This one is billed as a "Gay melodrama" which seems a little redundant. When is gay life not a melodrama? Have you ever heard a really out gay person talk about going grocery shopping? It's like fucking Ulysses! They, as a group, can elevate anything into high pathos, bathos and, uh, Porthos. This movie sounds kind of rote -- it's the standard story of a Hollywood horndog trying to convert a Mormom toward hot gay sex and romance. If the filmmakers were smart, they would have found the way to tie this release in with The Book of Mormon: Vol. 1 -- Adam and Steve.

Starsky & Hutch: Don't listen to me. Just go see it, already. I know you're going to anyway because there's not much else out there this week. Fine. It's just not that great. It could have been a lot better. But what do I know? I though Zoolander was a little disappointing, too. I'll link to my full review when it's up.

Tom Dowd and the Language of Music: Huh? I don't even know. You're on your own with this one.

DVDs: Another busy weekend, so I doubt I'll see much of anything. I did get a copy of Schindler's List and am debating whether I should sit and watch it again. It's one of the few movies in my life, like Requiem for a Dream where I really have to think about whether I want to put myself in an emotional state.

When I announced that I was getting married, I expected a flood of wedding entries, detailing all the funny things that have happened during our engagement to come pouring out of me. And then... they didn't. But I did write an XL Blog entry about it. It's funny -- sometimes we're not even thinking about it and our lives just kind of go as usual, but then it sinks in that the wedding is in less than two months and we freak out a little. Her more than me. I'm supposed to be the rock here. L'il Floaty Omie Head Rock.

Last night, I had her read the entry before I gave it to my editor and Rebecca was cool about it (I'm a good fiancee like that). After the, "You're writing that for WORK?!" part, at least. She asked, "Am I really having a meltdown? I think I'm having a meltdown." I told her that compared to most brides this close to their weddiing, she's practically the Dalai Lama. She's a cool cucumber. Everything's going to be fine.

Because I usually write them on Sundays and Sunday was OSCAR OSCAR! night.

Het Sematary -- If this show wasn't so gay on a weekly basis, it wouldn't be so easy to spot a week like this, when there's no gay at all. Call it a gay drain. Anyway, a kid holds a hospital hostage to help his dying brother get a new liver. It doesn't help in his efforts to get higher on the donor list that the brother is a re-vivified zombie! Yep, zombies never catch a break.

I'm wrong about a lot of things this week.

I went to see a movie about NASCAR last night and I thought it was going to suck ass. Instead, listening to the soothing smooth tones of Keifer Sutherland as narrator, I finally got it. OH! That's why people get all worked up over NASCAR. I get it now. Sort of. I still don't understand why in that entire 3-D film, with 250,000 people in the stands at Dayton, I couldn't spot a single brown face. Don't us Mexicans like working on fancy cars? What's the fucking deal?

I saw another movie this morning that was a "Sex comedy," but ended up being a crappy Bizarro World movie where they made a big-screen version of Mind of the Married Man. It was terrible. I thought it might be good. Boy, was I wrong.

I thought we were cool on wedding invitations, but it turns out I'm very behind. I also thought my list of invitees could be trimmed to a reasonable number. Nope. I suck.

I was wrong that this year's Oscar telecast would be more entertaining than last year's. I figured with Bill Murray and Johnny Depp and the Lord of the Rings bunch on hand, that it would be a little cooler and more exciting. Good thing I was at work and had deadlines and snacks to keep me occupied or I would have clawed out my eyes with fondue forks in boredom.

I was wrong on my online Oscar pool. I lost by one point. I should have gone with my gut on Sean Penn instead of my heart with Depp. Damn you, Weldon!

I was wrong that I'd have enough time last weekend to do some writing and catch up with the 15 hours of TiVo'd programs I need to get through. Didn't happen.

Today was supposed to be warm and sunny. I dressed like it, anyway. Instead, it's cold and rainy. I got soaked on my way to work.

My instincts are off this week. It's not a good week for gambling or crossing the street against the crosswalk signal.

It's Oscar night, O Hallelujah, and where am I? At work, of course. Watching Joan Rivers.

Anybody out there? No? I didn't think so.

I loaded up on snacks -- I brought a Marie Callendar's chocolate-covered cherry pie, some cranberry-walnet and peanut-butter/chocochip cookies from Central Market, some seedless red grapes, some very tasty brie and crackers and, in honor of one of our ex-editors, two bags of Funyuns. Two years ago, she brought them in case Lord of the Rings won Best Picture (get it? Rings?) and it was so cheesy I couldn't help but do it myself this year.