Jenna Fischer and James Gunn Call it Quits

Actress Jenna Fisher and her husband of nearly seven years, writer/director James Gunn, have announced their separation. The news came today via synchronized blog posts on James and Jenna’s MySpace pages. The blog entry, titled “Our Statement,” says in part,

“We (James and Jenna) need to announce that we have chosen to separate. We are sorry for any pain this causes family and friends. The enthusiasm we have expressed for each other's lives, spirits, and careers is real – we have been each other's cheerleader and friend during the past six years and continue to be so now and in the future.”

They also have the requisite plea for privacy, asking their MySpace friends to avoid trying to

“make one of us ‘feel better’ by putting the other one down in a post. Please don't – we still have the utmost respect for one another, and we'd have to delete you.”

At the age of six, Fischer took her very first acting class with Sean Gunn (Gilmore Girls), James’ brother. The couple, however, didn’t actually meet each other until 2000 when Jenna attended a script reading for Gunn’s film, The Specials. They were married later that same year.

That ain't mine!

I haven't really been talking about Lohan because the whole thing depresses me. Perez posted a letter from the world's worst mother and it's pretty much what you think it would be. I was going to repost it here, but the denial might hurt your soul. Here are the highlights:

*She was wearing someone else's pants!

*The meanie-head cops strongarmed her into taking a breathalyzer!

*It's all the paparazzi's fault anyway!

*Lindsay should leave LA and go live with her family!

Oh, Dina. Dina, Dina, Dina. Have you looked at your daughter? I mean, really looked at her in a way that isn't like a cartoon character stranded on a desert island who's so hungry that their companion turns into a giant chicken leg (except in your case it's one of those sacks with a big dollar bill sign)? Because if you have, you wouldn't be saying stuff like this. You would be saying something more along the lines of, "Yikes. My bad, y'all. We'll be at a rehab facility in Oregon if you need us."

And Lindsay, I'm begging you. DO NOT MOVE IN WITH YOUR FAMILY. Yes, come back to New York, but come to Brooklyn instead. You can stay with us. We'll watch Mean Girls and talk about where it all started to go wrong, and you'll be in bed by 11.

Movies, Movies, Movies

This past Sunday, I had the apartment and the day completely to myself. Basically everyone I knew was out of town doing stuff that's more fun than hanging out with me in Brooklyn, so I decided to take the advice that Kerri Kenney imparted to me in a long-ago episode of The State and decided to make friends with...myself.

Since I like to see movies and haven't been able to very often in recent months, I decided to head down to the theater. Seven hours later, I emerged. In that seven hours, I rode the elevator up and down and ended up seeing three movies, Live Free or Die Hard, License to Wed, and Ratatouille.

I'm not going to review these movies or give you synopses. For that, you could go to someone who actually knows what they're talking about. Instead, I'm just going to give you my basic impressions and whether or not I enjoyed it.

Live Free or Die Hard

This is the movie that I went to the theater and actually paid the $10.50 to see. I've never actually seen any of the Die Hard movies so this wasn't something I had been eagerly anticipating. At least, not until I saw the trailer.

The first time I saw it on the big screen was when my boyfriend and I went to see Knocked Up. My eyes were as big as saucers and I started shaking in my seat. I turned to him and said, "Honey. Did you see all of the shit that got blown up? OhmygodIhavetoseethatmovie." He just shook his head and laughed at me.

Let me tell you, I was not disappointed. It is probably the greatest film ever committed to celluloid. People got fucked up. Cars ran into helicopters, people fell down elevator shafts and shit got blown up. It was AMAZING and I kind of want to see it a million more times.

License to Wed

I know. This one is kind of embarrassing. But in my defense, it had lots of cameos by castmembers of The Office, and John Krasinski and Mandy Moore are both really pretty. I just wish someone would give her a decent movie role, because even though American Dreamz was underwatched and underrated, she really hasn't been in a good movie since Saved.

The thing I will say about this movie is it's not as bad as I thought it would be. I had prepared myself for ninety minutes of coke-fueled Robin Williams shtick, but was pleasantly surprised to see that the production crew had wisely invested in a tranq gun. While it did not stop him, it managed to keep him mostly restrained.

The characters were nothing more than Rom-Com archetypes and the plot was thinner than Nicole Richie, but it didn't make me want to kill myself, so I consider that to be a success.

But the poster still looks like the female reproductive system and that freaks me out.

Ratatouille

Eh. It's no Finding Nemo, but then again, what is? It was a good movie with incredible animation. Marveling at the way they rendered the rat's fur alone is worth the price of admission.

Here's my main problem with it: The whole point of the movie is to not judge a book by its cover, that we can be anything we want to be. That's all well and good, but I still do not, under any circumstances, want a rat in my kitchen.

Maybe I would have been more open to the story if I didn't live in New York, or even if I didn't see that episode of 30 Rock where they talk about the Rat King. But I do, and I did, so...no. I pretty much spent half of the movie shivering and trying not to vomit.

I also never want to eat in another restaurant again. Ever.

Poor George Michael

Seriously. Who doesn't miss Arrested Development? I know I do, which is why I love seeing the castmembers in other roles. In this (fake) video, Michael Cera pulls a Lily Tomlin and gets fired from Knocked Up.

Michael Cera gets fired from Knocked Up
Uploaded by TstarV

In other news, how creepy is it to think about George Michael getting Izzie pregnant?

Beauty and the beastly commercial

I love Kate Walsh. Like, love her. Ever since the stupid Izzie/George storyline, she's become my favorite character on Grey's Anatomy. Private Practice is probably going to suck, but I"ll watch it anyway--because she's awesome.

Kate's been having a great week too. In addition to Private Practice being picked up for fall, she got engaged. Things have been going well for her lately; which is why I have no explanation for this.

Seriously, go watch it. They wouldn't let me embed it, but it is well worth the click. Not only can I not explain why Kate Walsh is doing a literal soap opera, I just do not understand what it is in general. Please, someone explain it to me.

And the winner is...

I love trannies. Truly. I wish I had a cadre of tranny girlfriends. It would be just like Sex and the City except...well, actually it would be just like Sex and the City. Anyway, last night in New York, there was a tranny celebrity look-alike contest. Check out the Jessica Simpson entry. Pretty good, right?



Except this is actually a picture of Jessica Simpson at the MET Costume Institute Benefit Gala last night. Awkward.

A girl's gotta eat

About a decade ago, when I was just an impressionable teenager, I took a trip to D.C. with my brother, sister-in-law and baby niece. As I was sitting in the back seat on the way to Arlington National Cemetery, the baby started to cry. Quicker than lightning, my sister-in-law, who was in the passenger seat, sprang into action. She unbuckled her seatbelt, turned around in her seat, pulled out her left breast and stuck it in my niece's mouth--not eight inches from my shocked face. After seeing my horrified expression, she and my brother burst out laughing and made fun of my trauma for the rest of the day. The point of that story is this: For those people who are all shocked and outraged about Maggie Gyllenhaal breastfeeding her daughter in the park, YOU DO NOT EVEN KNOW. For reals.


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