While watching Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, I couldn’t stop thinking about how many incredibly homoerotic (and creepy) moments were crammed into two hours of what should have been a delightful family film. Here are the examples I was able to recall from memory after seeing it once. I’m sure if I watched it again I’d discover even more.

Dumbledore arrives just as Harry is about to hook up with a cute black chick and insists that he grab Harry’s arm so they can take a magical journey somewhere far away. He tells Harry he won’t be coming back to see the girl.

Dumbledore takes Harry to Slughorn’s house where they discover Slughorn dressed in old-lady drag.

Slughorn keeps photos of his favorite students on a creepy shelf/shrine in his house.

Dubmledore takes a knitting pattern book from Slughorn’s house on the way out.

Harry asks if he should allow Slughorn to “collect” him, just like Slughorn “collected” one of his former male pupils. The former pupil, it turns out, went crazy shortly after this professor took an interest in him. This psychotic break could be related to the repressed memories of the “little secret” Slughorn and Voldemort kept for decades.

Professor Slughorn invites Harry to an intimate dinner just for “special students.” Harry remains behind afterward to get some alone time with the professor.

Dumbledore asks Harry why he’s spending so much time with Hermoine in what appears to be a slightly jealous flirtation.

While playing quidditch, there is a lot of phallic broom thrusting, straddling, and grasping.

Harry takes Luna Lovegood to Slughorn’s Christmas party despite the fact that she is clearly a fag hag with a quirky fashion sense that Harry finds endearing.

Harry eats “dragon balls” with the hot quidditch player guy (McLaggen) behind a curtain at Slughorn’s party. Snape discovers them, the hot guy throws up, and Snape separates them.

Dumbledore asks young Voldemort about a flaming box of stolen goods in Voldemort’s closet and says something along the lines of, “Don’t you think it’s time it came out?”

Malfoy and Harry whip out their wants in the boys restroom, shoot mysterious white balls at each other, and get everything all wet. After enduring serious physical punishment from Harry’s wand, Malfoy is left bleeding on the bathroom floor.

Dumbledore notes that Harry needs a shave and points out that Harry is no longer a boy.

Before Dumbledore agrees to take Harry with him to find the Horcrux, he says, “You must obey every command I give you without question.”

To find the Horcrux, Harry and Dumbledore must enter a very vaginal cave opening, a place Dumbledore claims is very dangerous.

Harry must force the “clam juice” down Dumbledore’s throat. Harry is told he can’t stop no matter how much Dumbledore begs him to.

After the clam juice incident, Dumbledore prevents Harry from being gang raped by a bunch of scrawny old men by channeling a flaming whirlwind.

When Harry and Dumbledore return to the castle, he tells Harry to go get Professor Snape immediately. It’s implied that Professor Snape is the only one who can help Dumbledore with a very important, er, “problem.” (Perhaps he needs a “potion” to counteract the clam juice?) Then, he tells Harry to hide under the floor and not to come out no matter what he hears.

Back in October of ‘08, I went over some of my favorite movie scenes to inspire your next nervous breakdown. For those of you hungry for more ways to tell the world you’re a crazy bitch and you’re not going to take it any more, here are some additional examples to ensure your next breakdown is an affair to remember.

Fried Green Tomatoes - “I’m older and I have more insurance.”
Stealing someone’s parking space at Piggly Wiggly is an act of terrorism. Here, we see how to nip it in the bud while embracing the benefits that come with age.

Mommie Dearest - “This ain’t my first time at the rodeo.”
Clearly Joan’s love of Pepsi didn’t die with her husband. Here, Joan/Faye demonstrates how to succeed in business and gain respect in a male-dominated field. I wish Joan Rivers would give this speech on Celebrity Apprentice.

The Color Purple - “Until you do right by me…”
When someone just won’t leave you alone, just give them the Whoopi claw. At first blush, it may appear to be little more than pointing with two extra fingers along for the ride. However, the use of all three fingers is an essential part of this gesture’s power. They imply that the pointer could, with minimal change in finger positioning, gouge out the eyes of the pointee or perform a voodoo curse.

Batman Returns - “I feel so much yummier.”
Celina Kyle has had it up the HERE with telemarketers leaving messages on her answering machine. (I think being pushed out a window by her boss really got her evening commute off to a bad start, but clearly the answering machine message was the last straw.) This scene reminds us that breakdowns can be a wonderful source of creative inspiration, especially if you know how to turn a waist-length patent leather jacket into a complete bodysuit with matching face mask.

You know how sometimes you pray for ridiculous things but never expect them to come true? Like everyone on the train/bus not looking at you like you’re crazy and, instead, singing along and performing a well-choreographed girl-group dance routine as soon as you spontaneously sing/shout the lines, “What you want…baby I got it!”? Well I’m here to tell you that all things are possible through the Lord, because I recently learned that The First Wives Club is being made into a Broadway musical. The disturbing part is that apparently this has been in the works for years and no one told me.

Now it’s time I get back to my FWC shrine and light a candle in the hopes that Maggie Smith and Bette Midler will be a part of the production and that Kathie Lee Gifford will NOT have a cameo.

*I should note that in my prayers, I specifically requested the musical premiere in Chicago. Clearly the Lord works in mysterious ways.

I caught Dirty Dancing in its pre-Broadway debut just a few weeks ago and was pleasantly surprised. Initially, I was very nervous that a Patrick-Swayze look alike might be forced to sing songs with awkward titles like “My Dance Partner’s Unplanned Pregnancy Brought Us Together.” I also couldn’t picture how they’d find a good rhyme for “Nobody puts baby in a corner” and “spaghetti arms”. Fortunately, the musical was exactly like the movie and almost all the lines were spoken. All the songs from the movie soundtrack were in there somewhere and there was a lot of dancing, both dirty and not-so-dirty.

Now that the Addams Family musical is set to premiere here in Chicago in December of 2009, I really feel like Chi-town’s musical theater scene is on a roll. All I want to know now is will Joan Cusak be making a cameo as Debbie, the gold-digging, blonde succubus and real star of Addams Family Values? Surely they’ll at least find a way to work in the Thanksgiving play from Camp Chippewa, right?

In these times of economic uncertainty, you might find the stress to be more than you can bear. You may feel like breaking down, and I can assure you that is a perfectly normal response. You may want to hit somebody until they feel as bad as you do. You may want to take out your aggression on strangers who fail to provide you with an appropriate level of customer service. You may even want to kill someone’s pet rabbit. But before you do, keep in mind that spontaneity has no place in a well-executed nervous breakdown. In order for your breakdown to be memorable and quoted for decades, you’ll need a well-rehearsed list of one-liners and a role model to emulate.

For example, if you feel a break down coming on at a hospital, doctor’s office, free clinic, or similar medical facility, you may want to draw inspiration from Shirley McClaine’s breakdown in Terms of Endearment.

If, however, you’re pushed over the edge by the death of a family member, a friend, a pet, or a celebrity, review Halle Berry’s work in Monster’s Ball. Alternatively, you may want to channel Sally Field in Steel Magnolias.

On the other hand, if you feel you’re just not getting the respect you deserve or a minor oversight is ready to send you over the edge, you can’t go wrong with Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest. (For guidance on road rage and parking spot theft, you may want to cross-reference Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes.)

When infidelity strikes, don’t hold back. A misdemeanor on your record is a small price to pay for a nervous breakdown that the neighbors will recount for years, as Angela Basset so brilliantly demonstrates in Waiting to Exhale. (If possible jail time is a concern, you may want to invoke a more witness-friendly approach to adultery retaliation as demonstrated by Diane Keaton in The First Wive’s Club.)

To recap, here are a few tips to help you plan your next loss of sanity:

• In a pinch, poor customer service can justify a breakdown on short notice, but save your outrage for low-security businesses such as fast-food chains and dry cleaners. A superb nervous breakdown at a bank or airport could be cut short by an inelegant taser zap or billy club blow to the head.
• Don’t leave your audience hanging. Smoking a cigarette can help punctuate your breakdown and provide closure.
• Arson can ensure that your breakdown is taken seriously. Be sure to research local ordinances and assess collateral damage before choosing a location.
• Incorporate music whenever possible. Pay a day laborer to follow you around with a boombox blaring “Sisters Are Doing It for Themselves” or Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy.” This investment will yield high dividends in the long run.

I don’t know why critics have been so hard on the Sex and the City movie. I saw it Saturday night and thought it was great. Granted, it wasn’t as clever and quotable as a typical SATC episode, but I’m sure it’s much easier to give Carrie lots of great voiceover one-liners when you’re writing for a half-hour show that only has to tackle one very narrow topic. Whatever the movie lacked in humor and wit, it made up for in drama. I will admit, I found it bittersweet that the movie forces you to give up whatever fantasy lives you had imagined for the characters after the series ended. Yet, I think the writers stayed true to the series. There wasn’t anything out of character that made me want to put my fingers in my ears and go to my safe place. So, if you haven’t already seen it, you really should get your tickets immediately. And if you have seen it, I’m eager to get your thoughts via my handy SATC survey or a quick comment.

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I’m probably a bit behind on this, but the full trailer for Sex and the City: The Movie is now available on the movie website. If anyone is looking for me on May 30th, check your local multiplex. I’m bedazzling my “Miranda” t-shirt for the premiere party while I type this. To my guests, please note that any shoes lost at the party will NOT be replaced—even if you register for a fake marriage at Manolo Blahnik.

Back in August, I was looking forward to seeing Jodie Foster in her victim-turned-vigilante thriller The Brave One. Like so many things that catch my attention, I lost interest in the movie almost immediately, which is why I didn’t see it until just a few days ago. In short, it was pretty forgettable and most of the dialogue was awful, so I won’t waste time promoting it any further. However, I remain fascinated with the concept of vigilante justice. The older I get, the more I feel like everyone should probably carry some type of concealed, non-lethal weapon. While I’m not going to join the NRA any time soon, I would like the right to pepper spray people who are a threat to my personal well being—like those assholes who stand outside my office every day aggressively soliciting donations for Save The Children. I told one once that I already made a donation, to which he replied, “Oh really? How much?” Seriously, them and those pushy Greenpeace activists—a little spritz every once in a while might teach those bastards that no means no. That’s all I’m sayin’.

The day after I saw The Brave One, I finally made it to a theater and saw Juno (which was as charming as everyone says it is). That night, my boyfriend and I wound up riding home from the movies at around 8:30. Because our train line runs through a lot of bad neighborhoods on its way to ours, we usually sit in the first car, put on our best “don’t-fuck-with-me” faces, and make it home without any problems. This Saturday, however, a group of hoodlum kids started tormenting my boyfriend about the natural white streak in his hair from the minute we sat down. At first they weren’t particularly obvious. I thought they were just yelling some kind of nonsensical ghetto slang, but it quickly became clear they were shouting the word “spot” over and over and trying to get our attention. They eventually got louder and started moving closer to us, so we got off the train way before our stop. As I stepped onto the platform, one of the guys leaned over me and shouted “Spot!” in my ear. Thanks to years of ignoring similar bullshit as an adolescent trapped in the Alabama public school system, I didn’t flinch too noticeably and just kept walking. A few guys got off behind us, and we weren’t sure if they were a part of the same crowd, so we walked all the way up to the station entrance and waited for them to leave.

We got on the next train home, and my fear turned quickly to anger once I was safe inside my place. I thought about what would have happened if we weren’t able to get off the train. I thought about how stupid it was that neither of us carry pepper spray or a stun gun—especially since I seem to be a gay-basher magnet even in the most unlikely of circumstances. Then I remembered that the reason why I’ve never bought mace or pepper spray or a stun gun is because they’re illegal in the city of Chicago. While looking for more info on concealed weapons laws, I found this hilarious video describing some of the items the Illinois state police suggest a woman should use to ward off an attacker. (I love the serious 80s stock music. It sounded like something that would be perfect to work up a sweat to in Body Fuzion.)

I have noticed that the Walgreens near my office sells something that looks like pepper spray, but it must be some sort of kinder, gentler alternative. Personally, when I’m about to have my brains bashed in, I don’t want to be using a watered-down version of pepper spray. I figure it kind of defeats the purpose if the product is less debilitating than a blast of Aqua Net to the cornea. I want some maximum-strength shit that causes instant death in lab mice and induces heart palpitations in Olympic athletes—something that reduces my sperm count just by carrying it in my pocket and, ideally, makes grown men lose control of their bowels on contact. I guess for now, I’ll have to settle for a pointy comb or try to induce vomiting to discourage my attackers from raping me.

Surely I’m not the only person who is a little turned on by the shirtless, computer-animated Beowulf that is featured prominently in the trailer for the new Beowulf movie. It seems like everywhere I turn, I keep seeing that toned, pink body all glistening and smooth and ready for a big, naked throw down with Grendel. (Paramount must have found that Italians like half-naked Beowulf shots mixed with a bit of fully naked Angelina Jolie, because the Italian version of the trailer includes both in greater supply than the English versions.)

Until recently, I understood why interactive porn hasn’t found a big audience in the United States. X-rated video games are alive and well in Japan, but they typically feature animé-style cartoon characters. For most American men, I’d imagine the idea of controlling a lesbian love scene between two Sailor Moon cast members isn’t exactly a dream come true. Still, that doesn’t explain why other companies haven’t emerged to create big-budget interactive porn with realistic looking 3-D characters. It’s certainly not because we lack the technology. As Beowulf demonstrates, it’s clearly possible to create sexy, realistic, CGI characters. So why isn’t anyone releasing Beowulf: Serpent Strangler for Xbox 360?

Of course, mainstream movie studios like Paramount probably view porn production as a bit outside their company mission statement, and I’m sure there are all kinds of reasons why it’s not in their best interests to cross that line. But where are the porn studios in all this? It’s not like anyone is buying porn on DVD any more, especially now that sites like youporn, xtube, and pornotube are giving away the milk for free (figuratively—and literally, if you’re into that sort of thing). If nothing else, I’d expect some geeky gay guy with too much time on his hands would have already provided something to hold us over, whipping up a virtual Jake Gyllenhaal or a CGI Orlando Bloom on a MacBook in his basement. Alas, it seems if I want a fully interactive virtual boyfriend, I’m just going to have to create one myself. In the meantime, I’ll settle for the real one I’ve got, despite the fact that he doesn’t strip at the press of a button.

I’ve always been a little afraid that I’ll live to see the complete collapse of the U.S. economy—and I’m not talking about another Great Depression. I’m talking about anarchy of Mad Max proportions, but without the Thunderdome or Tina Turner’s no-nonsense leadership style to maintain a minimal sense of law and order. I’m talking about grown men and old ladies wrestling to the death over the last generator at Home Depot while looters strip every Target and Wal-Mart shelf bare. I attribute most of this paranoia to a powerful film I saw as a child. It was a story that spoke to a generation—a tale that demonstrated how evil, when left unchecked, can multiply and fester and reduce an otherwise civilized species to its most base instincts.

That timeless masterpiece was Gremlins 2, and there is one scene that stands out clearly in my mind whenever people discuss pending economic disasters. In the scene, gremlins are beginning to take over the Clamp building and it’s apparent that humanity is totally screwed. Several gremlins are shown sitting around a stock-brocker’s office yelling, “Buy! Sell! Sell! Buy!” into telephones. As the camera pans over to the smart gremlin (the one who injected himself with some mysterious I.Q.-enhancing serum), he says, “We’re advising our clients to put all they can into canned foods and shotguns.”

Although a gremlin-initiated apocalypse is unlikely, buying up non-perishable groceries at bargain prices can be a great way to protect yourself in the event of a financial hiccup. A small stockpile of toothpaste, a few boxes of Uncle Ben’s, and a cabinet full of soup and Chef Boyardee can be a big help if you find yourself unexpectedly unemployed. And, if you’re like me, a well-stocked pantry can provide peace of mind the next time you start to panic about the repercussions of an Iranian-funded nuclear attack that leads to soccer-mom knife fights over who gets to pay $500 for the last gallon of gas at their local BP station.

The moral of this post is that if you find a good price on some consumable product today and you know you’ll use it eventually, buy it today. At the very least, it’ll prevent you from spending the money on something stupid and you’ll save 2 or 3% as inflation continues to increase the price of everything. And who knows—those 500 rolls of Charmin could become your new 401K plan when times get tough and your neighbors are ready to trade their diamonds for the luxury of a civilized poop.

(This isn’t the Gremlins 2 clip I was referring to earlier. I just think it’s funny that someone took the time to edit this Beyoncé song into the clip.)

I love movies that remind me just how much all jobs suck—even jobs that sound particularly glamorous or rewarding. This weekend, I watched The TV Set with David Duchovny and Sigourney Weaver, and it made me incredibly thankful I never moved out to Hollywood to take a stab at scriptwriting. David Duchovny plays Mike, a writer who is struggling to retain his artistic integrity as he goes through the soul-crushing process of establishing a new sitcom. Sigourney Weaver plays Lenny, the foul-mouthed network executive who wants to broaden every show’s appeal by removing any trace of originality from the storyline. At one point in the film, Lenny pressures Mike to remove a critical plot element—the suicide of one of the main characters—by reassuring him that her focus-group research has shown, “Suicide is depressing to like 82% of everybody.”

I must admit, I’m a die-hard Aliens fan, and I have been known to recommend Sigourney Weaver in just about anything. I’d give her an Emmy for best supporting actress in a Kotex commercial. However, in this case, I think everyone would agree she’s amazing and perfect for this role. The TV Set is the next best thing to a peephole into a Hollywood boardroom, so make room for it in your Netflix queue.