(revealing in a wet black T-shirt)
in "Drag Me To Hell"
So we got the movie "Drag Me To Hell" from Netflix, based on the fact that it got good reviews and Sam Raimi is supposed to be a good director in the genre and blah blah blah. The fact of the matter is, it is a terrible movie. It has one saving grace, and that is Alison Lohman. She of the full eyebrows, perfect lips and, uh, other attributes, none of which Justin Long, the Mac guy in the ads and the male lead in the movie can hold a candle (or anything else) to. Alison is, in short, dreamy.
Maybe it's me, but facebook leads one to wander. Old girlfriends, high school sweethearts... and even (barely) post-pubescent movie starlets.
Alison is on facebook. Twice. In different places. I only wrote to her on one of them. I tried to keep my erectile dysfunction to myself as well as my juvenile crush-like feelings, but okay... I wrote to her. Great acting. Bad vehicle. Love you. Will rent every other damned thing you've been in. No, I'm not stalking you, but it all comes across as a mix of The Lovin' Spoonful (a Younger Girl) and Root Boy Slim and his Sex Change Band (I'm Not Too Old For You). Nabakov meets TMZ in a messy, compromised position.
But I digress.
The point is, my thinly disguised gushiness is now on facebook for all the world, including old girlfriends and high school sweethearts, to see. I outed myself as a closet adolescent, living in the body of a pathetic old man. What is thrown on facebook is there for all of perpetuity, or for as long as Al Gore decides to leave the internet up and running.
Please Al, pull the plug. I made a mistake. I revealed myself. I can't hit erase and soon everyone from Roman Polanski (God bless his incarcerated 74 year-old ass) to my wife will find out that I am a sexual retard.
Alison, I love you, I scream as they cart me away to virtual jail.