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Hangout Review:
Save the Last Plate: Julia Stiles, Sean Patrick Thomas and Myself
My Kitchen, Chicago, IL
November 12, 2004
It’s become clear to me that mild food poisoning be fucking with my emotions. The first case of this involved an Indian buffet and Speed (movie, not medication). I went three rounds at the all-you-can-eat, and by the time I dragged myself home, all I could do was lie on the couch. It was like I was pregnant. I turned on the television and flopped down. I didn’t even have the remote, so in my immobile state, I watched Jan De Bont’s torpedo for probably the third time. There should have been no surprises. Not only is the movie retardedly predictable, but I’d seen it before. There should have been no surprises … but there were. Sandra Bullock. I don’t care for her movies. Her acting, her pug nose, her acting; all pretty bad. But that night, I’ll be dipped in mango chutney if she wasn’t riding Meryl Streep like a carnival pony. The scene where she jumps the city bus over the highway gap (what the fuck!?) had me in tears. They made it! They aren’t all dead! They’re hugging! Way to go Sandra! I was crying so hard, I’m surprised my water didn’t break. What a glorious, transcendental scene. What a marvelous movie. What an psychologically crippling case of food poisoning! That movie is rank.
I had a similar experience last night, in my kitchen. To be honest, Julia Stiles and Sean Patrick Thomas weren’t physically present. Save the Last Dance was on the WB. I guess technically this is more of a movie review than an actual hangout review. Here, hold on a second:
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