And Jesus wept.

Or at least Divine M did.

*The City is off my list now for yet another reason.

I wanna see the NYPD try to enforce this in Chelsea and Spanish Harlem. Ha!

I don't know about you, but I don't plan on spending much time in a place where you need a license to dance. After all, this shaped my identity formation almost as much as Cyndi Lauper did.

In other movie news, I'm scrambling to watch all the nominees for Best Picture before Sunday. I caught Departed and Babel last night and today while waiting for the Consumers Energy people to come out and fix my damn furnace. I'm fixin' to lose a finger and three toes, here! Anyway, Departed was so expertly cast with such gorgeous shots of Boston, I can't help be partial--especially because it's about the Irish mob in Southie (I know it's wrong, but I love all things gangsta and all things Irish, so the combo is irresistible to me). But Babel hit me hard. Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu is a genius of a different variety than Scorcese. I love the postmodern things he does with narrative, not because it's intriguing, but because its gut-level effect is so profound. It gets me deep without my even trying. I cried four times watching that thing, and not from the pain of my appendages freezing off. Babel made me forget about how cold I was.

I still haven't seen The Queen, Little Miss Sunshine, or Iwo Jima. Have you? I'ma try to get LMS on DVD before Sunday. . . .

I think movies might be returning to their glory days. I'm excited.

*Thanks to BFF for the link.