At least I wasn’t shot in the face by my father who was wearing a Santa suit on Christmas Eve, so thank you God

After Dr. No, I had a few hours of sleep and then forced myself up to get ready to see the family for Christmas Day. I skipped Christmas Eve, but I figured I’ll do this one. Actually, I need to do this one. I’m feeling more worthless than usual, and maybe seeing my folks and my sister who have no reason to think I’m worth a shit but they do anyway will do me a little good. So I called my mother to ask her who exactly is going to show up, that way I could properly prepare myself (read: drink before or after I get there — one prepares you for some bullshit and the other you do for fun).

She runs down the list and mentions an uncle-in-law that I’m not too big a fan of; a few years back, he called me to try to sell me insurance. First of all, I thought the dude was a podiatrist or something, now he’s moonlighting as an insurance salesman? Or is everyone wearing the proper footwear and making things tough for homeboy? Second, it was real creepy because he was talking to me like he would talk to other potential suckers, he couldn’t just talk to me like the relative he was (albeit one by marriage, not by blood). He sounded really desperate, and that just added sadness to the creepiness which just equals Double Creepiness. Figure that out.

I gave him some excuse and eventually was able to get off the phone with him, but since then, I want NOTHING to do with the motherfucker. This guy smiles a lot, and since that phone call, his smile is the creepiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Try explaining that to my mother, which I did. She sighed, as she always does in reaction to my nonsense; she probably made peace with the fact that her son is a weirdo a long time ago. Anyway, I told her I might show up late, hoping Shelly “The Machine” Levine will be gone by then, since he always leaves early to catch a game of something anyway.

So now I’m all dressed up with time to kill. You know what that means? Movie time! Like always! I have no life! Yay!

But I want to change it up a bit, I want to go *out* to see a movie, not stay in like I have been the last six months or so. I take out a little of what remains of my precious, precious money and head out for the local cinema with a bottle flask of Jack Daniels in my coat pocket. I decide to substitute my Latin family celebrating Christmas for another and buy one ticket to something called Nothing Like the Holidays, which appears to be the Puerto Rican answer to last year’s This Christmas, which was the Black answer to every other cliched holiday-set dramedy. You see, people? All races CAN come together when it comes to creating mediocrity! Yes We Can! Yes We Can!

In the movie you have Freddy Rodriguez, Vanessa Ferlito, Jay Hernandez — holy shit, half the cast of Grindhouse is here! You got Alfred Molina and Elizabeth Pena as the parents and you got John Leguizamo as the oldest son. Oh wait, there is also of course the God Amongst Men himself, one Sir Luis Guzman. If you don’t know who The Guzman is, then you just don’t fucking know, bro.

They also have the Token White, who actually doesn’t feel token at all; she’s played by Debra Messing who was in that Gays Are Wacky! show Will & Grace. Messing plays Leguizamo’s Jewish wife and what’s really cool about it is that the film treats her the same way the rest of the characters are treated, like human goddamn beings. I know how it feels to watch the token ethnic in other films treated like some fucking comic relief, while everyone else can laugh at how superior they are to this silly Negro, or Chinaman or dirty Hispanic, and I don’t like seeing that happen to anyone. I prefer my horribly racist humor to be kept confidentially between you and your friends and me and my friends, not on the big screen for everyone to see. I know you hate me and I hate you, but let’s just keep the illusion that we don’t, ok?

We also have the Token Mexican, played by Jay Hernandez. In real life, a friend of a friend of a friend of mine is Jay’s sister. That makes Jay Hernandez my bro, despite having never met him. He plays a former thug now on the straight and narrow, working at Alfred Molina’s store. He starts to court the Ferlito chick and you pretty much know how that ends. I like Jay Hernandez. I don’t know if he’s a good actor, I just like him because he’s my bro, like I said earlier.

You know what, I take back what I said earlier about no jokes being made at the Token Ethnic/Other’s expense in this movie, because there’s a little bit here. There’s kind of a fucked-up attempt at humor where Luis Guzman brags to my bro Hernandez how Puerto Ricans are unlike Mexicans because PR’s are all legal. Yeah, easy for you to say. So fuckin’ smug with your bullshit. So why don’t you let the U.S. claim you as the 51st state, then? Can’t have it both ways, you know. No? Then shut the fuck up. I’m not hating on the Guzman, just the bullshit line he delivered too fucking well. This is a joke by the way, what I said earlier. It’s all a joke, along with my blog and my fucking life. But if you want to go ahead and angrily leave me a comment like “BORICUA BORICUA BORICUA BORICUA ROSIE PEREZ BEST ACTRESS EVER FUK MEXICANTS”, go right ahead, if it makes you feel better. It’s just that I’m just in a bad mood, that’s all. I’m hungover like always but I’m also in need of someone to love. And a pizza.

Oh yeah, there’s also an old black dude who is a rip of the Chris Rock character in I’m Gonna Git You Sucka. So yeah.

You know what else I like about these kinds of movies? The food. Quite a few shots of food being prepared, cooked, eaten. I tried swigging a few extra belts of J.D. to kill the hunger until later, but it didn’t help. I ended up having to buy their cheapest overpriced popcorn to stave off the starve. Ugh.

John Leguizamo dances twice during the flick, and you just fucking KNOW that was his idea. The motherfucker just loves to dance. I was sick of it when he had his Fox show House of Buggin’, where he also doubled as his own Fly Girl. Our man Guzman was in that show too, so that made it palatable.

The main chick in the movie, Vanessa Ferlito, I haven’t made up my mind about her. She looks…interesting. It’s the nose. There’s something odd about that nose. She seems nice though, and she sure looks better than in Grindhouse, when she was getting a fuckin’ muscle car facial.

I’m so glad I don’t have a mother like the one in the movie, always getting on my case about making her some grandkids. That’s probably because I made it clear to both her and my dad as far back as when I was 12 that the bloodline on my side ends with me. Sorry. I’m a complete mess of an individual, WHY would I want to infect this overpopulated planet with another basket case failure of a man? Plus, I don’t like kids, so you got that going on as well. Hang out at Walmart for a couple hours and you’ll probably come down to the same conclusion.

It’s a nice movie. No great shakes, but entertaining and it puts you in that holiday spirit, ready to see your own family, welcome them into your heart and love them unconditionally. Because that’s what it’s all about. Loving Your Family. After the movie, I called my mother and asked her if my creepy ass uncle-in-law is still there. Yes, she told me. Goddammit. My uncle sucks. Guess I’m watching another movie.

When I bought the ticket for the last flick, I used my MovieWatcher card and ended up getting a free ticket out of it for future use. Well, thanks to my fuckin’ uncle, the future is now, so I go back and redeem it for the next flick playing in five minutes: Frost/Nixon. I really go to work on the flask during the previews, leaving about a 1/4 of booze left for me to sip on during the movie.

I was feeling pretty goddamn good from the J.D., when the movie started, but I’m sure that even without the booze, Frost/Nixon is Kick/Ass. It’s a lot more even handed than you’d think, even though there is the occasional moment where you wonder if they added it just to give Nixon an extra touch of the Asshole. Who knows? Maybe he did respond to hearing about how David Frost almost married Diahann Carroll with “she’s black”. If so, then Nixon’s my kind of bro.

Seriously though, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a sympathetic portrayal of the man on film/tv before. Of course, I’ve yet to see Oliver Stone’s Nixon, so I understand that’s a pretty big gap right there. I’m just saying that two of the saddest scenes in the movie for me involved Nixon so that’s quite an achievement, if you ask me. No, I’m not some fucking liberal, but c’mon — broham wasn’t some fucking angel, either. Later on, Dick drunk dials Frost and they talk about cheeseburgers, the fuckin’ haters, and that the interview can only end one way, and that’s like muthafuckin’ Thunderdome: Two men enter, one man leaves.

David Frost is kind of a douche in this movie. But he’s pretty honest about his doucheyness, so that’s cool. There’s a scene, I think (booze!), where his producer asks Frost why he’s so hard up to do this interview, he’s all “It’s not like you’re a political dude, and you got a pretty good thing going on in England and Australia, interviewing hot actresses and asshole escape artists — why do this to yourself?” Frost tells him yeah, he’s famous in England, Australia and some other place that doesn’t matter, but he wants to be famous in America again. You see, homeboy had a taste of it a few years back when he hosted a show in New York City, but I guess the United States was like “No thanks bro, we have The Beatles and we have Monty Python and we don’t need you”, so they cancelled his program. But he knows that American fame is something else entirely. He wants the table at Sardi’s, the red carpet premieres at the Cinerama Dome, and fuckin’ Neil Diamond singing songs about him — and maybe asking Tricky Dick some on-camera questions over the course of four days will take him back there. At least he’s honest about the end game. You’d never catch Olbermann or O’Reilly admitting to that shit, they’d bullshit you about how they’re just looking out for you. Whatever, cocks.

The movie gives Frost the underdog slot, and runs like a mutha with it. In one scene, Frost has just finished taking it up the ass for a second day in a row from Nixon, and his crew is all over him, giving him grief about it. They tell him that he’s getting his ass kicked, letting Nixon steamroll all over him and that he has to hit harder and not give the motherfucker a chance to breathe. Frost takes it all in, then invites them to a restaurant for a celebration. One of the producers is like “Is you for real, muthafucka? Celebrate what? Nixon making you his bitch?”. Frost looks like he wants to scream or cry or do both, but being a Brit, he gets all stiff-upper-lip and tells them it’s to celebrate his birthday, and he wants his friends to join him. He leaves and everyone else is left standing feeling two inches tall. I don’t know about you, but I think getting the shit beat out of you on your birthday must really suck.

I’m telling you man, there’s some genuine sympathy for the Dickster in this flick, and I was feeling for him just as much as for Frost. I’m sure it was the booze, but I almost lost it late in the movie when Nixon has just finished getting his ass handed to him by Frost (who recovers from his beating, Rocky-style). He exits the house where they were taping the interview, and is being escorted to his car outside. He stops and walks over to some lady with a dachshund and pets it. It’s like the dog is the only thing left that isn’t judging him at this moment. His only friend in the world. There’s something so beautifully pathetic about that moment that I couldn’t help but feel for the poor son-of-a-bitch. Dude, forget that pineapple and cottage cheese your fuckin’ doctor calls a Hawaiian burger — treat yourself to a triple combo at Wendy’s. You earned it, bro.

You know you’re watching a good flick when despite all the blah blah blah going on (I think it’s called “dialogue”), you’re leaning in closer to the screen. I hardly ever do that nowadays unless there’s blood or titties involved.

Afterwards I finally made it to see the family, and thankfully my creepy uncle was gone. We did the Christmas thing, and because it’s a Mexican-American Christmas, many tamales were eaten. My two favorite gifts were money and booze. It’s all I really need to get by at this point in my life. Then I went home.

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