I confess I've been on something of a manic streak for the last 24 hours. Very productive, but a little scary. Maybe it's that I still can't get over John Mayer winning all those Grammys and James Blunt going home with zilch. I mean, honestly. How does that make any sense?
I'm super, super, super psyched for Frank Miller's 300. Who doesn't love Gerard Butler (before I wrote Gerald Stern -- I don't know who that is, but I should be slapped for the error)? You'd better not be raising your hand.
I read a piece on the Time Web site about promoting oneself for the Oscars. One publicist is quoted as saying that Ryan Gosling could have won the Oscar (b/c let's face it, it's all Forest's right now, unless people don't give it to him out of anger for his crappy acceptance speeches thus far) if he wasn't so independent and anti-Hollywood. I agree, but I'm also glad Ryan's keeping it real.
That's right. I said, keeping it real. You got a problem with that, you can meet me outside in five minutes. I'll be the one by the flag pole with the brass knuckles.
Friday Night Lights last night blew me away. Kyle Chandler, Connie Britton, and Zach Gilford were absolutely fantastic, as usual, and the writers approached Southern racism in such an honest, realistic, compelling way that I walked away from the television feeling grateful. When was the last time you felt grateful for TV?
The show never fails to impress, especially considering the fine lines it walks. Nothing's even in the same echelon as FNL. Seriously. I haven't admired TV this much (particularly for its attention to detail, brilliant acting, and sense of realism) since Band of Brothers. And I will keep harping on this until I know it's getting a second season. God help you all if it gets cancelled. God. Help. You.
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