i only wear white when it rains

Forget that I'm clearly schizophrenic. My plastic surgery will give you nightmares.

For those of you excited about my review of Darren Aronofsky’s critically acclaimed, award winning “Black Swan,” need I remind you that writing something of value and helpfulness would go against the whole spirit of this blog. Plus, it might imply that I possess a skill with the potential for gainful employment. And really. None of us want that.

So I’ll just point out a couple observations in case you’re one of the three people left who hasn’t yet seen this thriller or is waiting for it to come out on NetFlix:

• I was shocked by the casting of Mickey Rourke as Natalie Portman’s mother. Her performance, I mean blepharoplasty, was chilling.
• If you’re having a hard time convincing a man to accompany you because he heard the word “ballet,” you need only mention an explicit girl-on-girl scene between Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis.
• Try not to see the film at Muvico Baywalk. In addition to the Biggie Smalls lookalike three rows back narrating the masturbation scene with “Oh yeah” and “Touch it,” you’re at risk for having to wake up the homeless man in the front row because he was snoring.
• If you do wake up the man smelling of pickle jars in the front row, please do not touch him unless you want him to threaten to call the police because you’re “assaulting him.” Also, it’s probably in your best interest to ignore that his pants are down.
  

  Baby millipede on board. Amazingly, I'm not gay.

• If you mistakenly thought Natalie Portman’s baby daddy was some bearded hippie musician from the Village named Devendra or something equally absurd, you’re so 2008. The guy who knocked her up in real life is Benjamin Millepied. He portrayed her Swan Lake co-star and is a principal dancer at New York City Ballet. Despite his last name suggesting that he is a thousand-legged arthropod, this guy is yummy.
• It is confounding that Portman could ovulate without eating so much as a Saltine the entire length of filming. But even more confusing? That a principal dancer at New York City Ballet is sleeping with a woman. Go figure.

They did not procreate. There is a God.