For some reason, Bateman is fairly obsessed with fonts and typefaces, paper thicknesses and printing, so I see a photo of this billboard online and think it’ll be funny to send it to him—y’know, for shits and giggles.
What I don’t expect is Bateman’s reaction. He has Jean book him on the first flight to London (first-class, of course), call his tailor to have several changes of clothes delivered, and then he promptly breaks out in a weird cold sweat.
"Calm down, Bateman," I say, laughing. "It’s a joke. I thought you’d like it.”
"It’s not a joke," he says, drawing out the words like they’re hurting his face. "It’s Allen."
"Don’t be ridiculous," I tell him. "I thought you said you weren’t even sure Allen was really in London.”
He gives me a look like I’ve just informed him the Earth is flat and tells me, “I’m never sure of anything,” and walks out.
Typical Bateman. But whatever. You win, most awesome billboard ever.
Now I have to return some videotapes.
I don’t reblog a lot, but stupidity is funny.
Also, to the lady around 10:35: Forget your neighbors. I’m betting no one in your entire town has more grass than your husband does.
(Source: molgars, via brushrealityaside)
"Dozens of people spontaneously combust each year."—This is Spinal Tap
So Bateman and I are having an early brunch at Espace when I casually ask him if he’s heard Ben Affleck’s been cast as the new Batman.
“Daredevil?” Bateman asks, and he’s silent for a split-second before he starts laughing. He’s laughing so hard, in fact, he can’t even finish eating. He’s so distracted he doesn’t even use his black AmEx—which he always makes a big show of using—he just tosses down a wad of cash without counting it, and walks out still laughing, and, I swear, crying just a little.
Huh. I guess Bateman’s not a big Affleck fan or something.
Lifetime Movie Network quiz. The husband:
(a) Did it.
(b) Is a bastard.
(c) Is right behind you.
(d) No, seriously, girl, he’s right behind you!
(e) All of the above.
Which is the more humane way to be killed:
(A) With kindness; or
(B) Softly, with his song?
Question of the day: If they were forced to square off against each other in a court of law, who would win: Saul Goodman or Bob Loblaw?
(Okay, fine—but who would blog about it better?)
An Open Letter to Robin Thicke—Things that Actually Do Rhyme with “Hug Me” and Make Sense within the Context of the Song “Blurred Lines”:
(1) Drug me.
(2) Slug me.
(3) Bug me.
(4) Unplug me.
(5) Debug me.
(6) Tug me.
You’re welcome, and TGIF!
I meet Bateman for drinks last night, and we start talking about TV—more precisely, reality television.
Bateman really likes “American Idol.” I, on the other hand, am not a fan of reality television, and I tell him I can’t believe TV has devolved to the point where one of the more popular new shows is called “Naked and Afraid.”
Bateman stops cold. “‘Naked and Afraid’ is … on TV?” he asks me haltingly, and I notice he’s looking a little less tan than usual and I swear he’s holding his breath.
"Yeah," I say. "I can’t believe you haven’t heard of it. Every week they drop two naked strangers in a remote locale and leave them to fend for themselves against the ravages of nature and the local wildlife."
"Ohh," he says, finally exhaling, and he starts to regain his normal Batemanian golden bronze hue. "I thought you were talking about the other ‘Naked and Afraid’—you know, the one I shoot in Allen’s—I mean my—the one I shoot in my apartment,” he says, and he starts to laugh.
"I’m joking, of course," he says.
I can’t tell if he is.
"You scared me for a minute, silly," he tells me, and then goes back to talking about "American Idol" as though nothing weird just happened.
I scared Bateman? Well, that’s a new one.
Life is just full of surprises, I guess.
It’s bigger on the inside.
Fact: Virginia leads the country in vanity plates. Home state represent! I couldn’t be prouder (cough—lying—cough) … that said, I love this Tumblr.
One nitpick for the tag-owner: It’s never “Dr. Who.” But I guess the eight-character limit kind of poses a problem so I’ll let it slide. This time.
Bateman told me he’s sick of the rain—which is weird ‘cause he loves that stupid raincoat of his so much—and announced he’ll be spending the day in bed.
I took this to mean I should take some matzo ball soup and a few videos by his place for him, but when I got there, this business was going on. Then, to make matters worse, when he noticed me, he pointed at me and winked, as if he wanted me to join in.
Needless to say I booked it out of there faster than Lindsay Lohan leaving rehab, but there are some things you just can’t unsee.
Thanks a lot, Bateman. Now I have to return some videotapes.