What's Down Theroux's Drawers

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Y'all recall me seeing Justin Theroux and Justin Theroux's low-slung pants the other week? Well some paparazzo must've caught wind and decided to document such a spectacle themselves and JJ's got the goods, seen above. They even zoomed in! So ya see, I don't lie. So believe me when I tell you I'm pretty sure I saw Jennifer Aniston's thigh in the backseat of a car at the same spot a couple of days ago. I mean, the thigh was still attached to her. It wasn't just a thigh, that would've been grody. Anyway it was hard to tell what with it being the backseat of a dark car but I think it was her, and Justin, and it's possible there was canoodling involved. Canoodling! I'm a gossiping fiend!

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Starf*cker

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This one's for the Starf*cker record books, my friends - on my way to the subway from my office tonight I saw Justin Theroux leaning on his motorcycle all bearded and biker'd up in leather very much like above. We made lingering eye contact! The kicker - his pants hang low and his black underpants were tight and I was basically getting an eyeful of Theroux ass. Within touching distance! Oh, delight.

Starf*cker

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Hey look, it's me and Kevin Smith! I betcha didn't know we were best buds like that, didja? Oh yeah we go way back. I was actually the original Jay to his Silent Bob until that bitch Ben Affleck came along and ruined everything!

Or you know, whatever. This was just outside one of the new theaters at the Film Society of Lincoln Center this weekend after his presentation of Valley Girl, which I did not attend. I attended the next screening in the same theater, which was a super secret surprise screening which the only thing they told us beforehand was that the film had some buzz at Sundance. Naturally, I immediately convinced myself the film they were showing was Miranda July's The Future and got very excited. Then I saw that Kevin Smith was doing this Valley Girl screening right before my screening and convinced myself he was sticking around to show Red State, which also had some "buzz" at Sundance this year.

Unfortunately I was wrong on both counts and got stuck watching Another Earth, which I completely missed the supposed buzz on from Sundance, but if it did have some buzz it didn't deserve it. It's got a nugget of a sort-of interesting sci-fi-slash-spiritual concept at its heart... that it never feels afraid to beat you over the head with its most obvious interpretations explicitly every chance it can create for itself. What would you do if you were confronted with... yourself? DUN DUN DUN. Apparently you'd stare at motes of dust for an hour and a half. There's a character that pours bleach in his eyes and ears in this movie, and... well, it's just making it too easy, ya know?

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I Spy Peter Dinklage

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I went for a walk over by the Hudson on my lunch-break - it's a surprisingly lovely day out there; I thought it was supposed to be a rainy day - and who should greet me but Tyrion Lannister himself! Okay he didn't greet me, he was walking by, but still. It was especially surreal since I just watched the last episode of A Game of Thrones last night. Some witticism involving the taste of Dornish wenches might've come in handy, but I came up dry. (Just like Dornish wenches! Hardy har, sigh.) Anyway dude's maybe even sexier in person. After I passed him I cursed myself as always for not asking to take a picture together, but then I got to thinking, what would be the etiquette of taking a fan picture with Peter Dinklage - would it be rude for me to get down on a knee so we're more level? Or do I ask him to wrap his arms around and hug my leg? I wouldn't have minded that at all, if he'd been up for it.

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Nat Ben & Me Made Three

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I mentioned this on Twitter last night in a fit of in-the-moment enthusiasm (see here and here and here!) which eludes me today, although I feel as if it ought to be documented for posterity's sake. (The posterity of immediately forgotten obscure-end-of-the-internet blog posts!) Natalie Portman and her ballet-beau with the perky arse Benjamin Millepied were at the screening of Tom Tykwer's Three at MoMA that I went to last night. They are wee little pretty people. She's obscenely pregnant. I had to fight the urge to hiss "What happened to my sweet little girl?" at her. I won that fight, but I lost the battle of trying not to stare at Benjamin's ass. It wasn't the wonderland I dreamed of, but perhaps if he'd been wearing his white tights... a law must be passed stating that ballet dancers can only wear white tights in public, don't you think? It's criminal, the unsnug jeans he felt comfortable leaving the house in. Criminal!

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