Put me in Coach, I'm ready to play!

No, no darling... you misunderstand. I do not speak of athletics. The only sporting category in which I actively compete is "retail." I mean to say, put me in COACH -- that fabulous maker of fine leather bags and boots and shoes. Lovely, lovely shoes. Because I am SO ready to PLAY this Spring.

You see, back in October, I fell in love. Or became obsessed. Whatever.

The object of my affection is a pair of Coach ocelot print (think: brighter leopard) shoes with red toe bows and trim. While it might sound a tad trailer park, you must think of the combo in a retro 50s sense. In the Oleg and Jackie O. designer/muse marriage made in heaven sense. (And truly, props to Mr. Cassini who passed away last month. The legend lives on -- especially in the new Donna Karan collection. Have you seen the gold dress from the '06 Spring line at Neiman Marcus? Alas, until it moves from Needless Markups to eBay, I will simply drool.)


But I digress.

So I bought the shoes. Always buy the shoes, people. There WILL be occasions to which to wear them. If you buy it, they will come.

So, of course, I did. With what should have been the rent money. As well as a red slinky silk dress. I have no idea what came over me. I think I was trying to channel Brigitte Bardot. Um, minus the animal activist thing. Hey, no worries. No real ocelots were harmed in the making of my shoes.

So anyway, the party has YET to arrive, dammit. Why? Because Spring has yet to be sprung here in the Bay Area. Why? BECAUSE IT's F***ING RAINING CATS and DOGS.

Now I would be OK if it were raining leopard print shoes. But it's not. It's simply pouring and pouring and pouring droves of bone-chilling water. On a good day it's simply misty. And muggy. And damp. Arrrrggghh. My hair cannot hold a curl to save its life. My good shoes are all smothering in their dust bags. My cute little Spring outfits are screaming to be let out of the closet and into the light of day. But there is no damn light. It is grey, grey, grey.

(Which reminds me... do you watch Grey's Anatomy? You should. Terrible fashion, all scrubs. But Patrick Dempsey IS Dr. McDreamy. Siiigggh.)

Alas, my lovely leopards are sitting idle while the weather waxes gross.

So instead, I have turned my attention to animals of another phylum. That's right... my FAVORITE guilty pleasure on loooong, rainy afternoons is indulging in that fabulous B-movie genre, the "Stupid Animal Horror Movie." Ohhhh yeahhhh.

Let's be clear. By Stupid Animal Horror Movie I am not referring to the upcoming T. Rajeevnath biopic Mother Teresa starring Paris Hilton. Nor am I talking about the upcoming Prince appearance on American Idol. Both of these are wrong and frightening, not to mention purple, in just too, too many ways.

The Stupid Animal Horror Movies to which I refer, every single one on the planet, have the same exact theme, plot, moral (yes there IS one, always) and ending.

Observe: Evil government agents/corporate scientists/aliens, bent on taking over the world/an island/New York, manage somehow to screw up their experiment and mutate an innocent/harmless [fill in the blank with animal(s)] who was formerly minding its own business eating some leaves in a jungle/zoo/ocean. This phenomenon is first discovered by the "bad" kids who are sneaking off to the woods/beach/rooftop to have sex. Morality play kicks in and they're dinner. Our hero, a small town sheriff/police officer/veterinarian with a criminal/military/CIA past and a gruff exterior with a heart of gold, discovers the remains... and the mutant... but... and this is key... no one believes him. Except the hot girl. Who is a scientist/investigative reporter/veterinarian. Who is his ex. Who broke his heart. Together they will trek through the world/island/New York, fight the evil corporate scientist/crazy professor (who is also our hero's long-time nemesis), find the mutant animal(s), explain why we should have sympathy for the poor misunderstood creatures just before killing them all, saving the world, and lamenting man's evil way of tampering with nature so very unnaturally. Roll credits as we see one forgotten egg hatch... dum dum dum dummmmmm.

You have your classic Jaws, OK (shout out to Peter Benchley, who died earlier this year. Do check out The Shark is Still Working about the legacy of the movie.) And maybe more recently the 1-degree of separation of Kevin Bacon classic Tremors. And there are several recent Stupid Animal Horror Movies like Arachnophobia and Lake Placid, that actually have decent cinematography and techno gizmos that put them in the highly viewable category.

But to the true afficionado ... these just do not have enough cheesy goodness. To be reeeeeaaallly enjoyable, there MUST be a high smarm factor. C'mon. The truly good SAHMs are all old and campy and have bad puppets on strings and fake blood and used to be featured on Elvira's Movie Macabre at 4 PM EST on Saturdays circa 1982. Look up, for example, 1973's Sssssss! -- in which Dirk Benedict (please tell me you remember Battlestar Galactica... or Face from the A-Team) is slowly turned into a King Cobra by his girlfriend's evil stepfather/Svengali dude. And then eaten by the previous boyfriend-snake. Oh sorry, gave away the ending there. Heh.

That said, there is much to look forward to from new Hollywood, too. Much to my delight, the rest of the world seems to have caught up with my guilt and my pleasure -- and they're making TONS of Stupid Animal Horror Movies that will be released this Spring and Summer. Oh goody. At least I'll have something to do until the rain goes the f*** away and does NOT come back another day.

Upcoming treats:

Slither: Oh come on! How can this not be hilarious?? The subtitle is Slug it Out. Love it! A guy named Grant Grant gets turned into a big slug factory. Because he wandered around in the woods after an alien meteor landed and poked a slimy thing with a stick. Note to self: never poke an alien slimy thing with a stick. Human-slug zombies paralyze their victims by projectile vomiting green goop. Slugs go racing -- yes, racing -- around all over trying to ooze into people's mouths. All against a soundtrack featuring Air Supply. Destined, truly destined, to become a classic.

Primeval: Orlando Jones is a news reporters who has to battle native warlords in (ta da) a remote jungle to bag a legendary 25-foot crocodile. Named Gustave. Oh yea. The croc has a name.

Snakes on a Plane: The title says it all. The two biggest Freudian phobias ever wrapped up into one fabulous 747. With our boy Samuel L. Jackson, no less. WTF? Every couple years, dude just needs to buy more groceries or something. In 1999 he was in Deep Blue Sea where the mutated tiger sharks (created by a lab trying to get rich off an Alzheimer's cure) swam backwards and his stunt double in his death scene was a blow-up doll. I shit you not, look it up. Now he's an FBI guy trying to guard a witness while a mob boss releases a crate of deadly snakes in middair. Yowsa.

Yeah, OK, so R. says "just turn down the temperature" and the snakes will... what?... go to sleep? R., there is clearly a SERIOUS SCIENTIFIC REASON why this will not work. Watch the movie. Hisssssss.

So, seriously... why do I love these flicks? I suppose because 'real' horror is just too bloody REAL. Pun intended. Especially nowadays. It's just much too... well... possible. With all the horror I see in the nightly news, beamed directly from Iraq and various other points both global and local, I just don't need to see another realistic axe murder. It seems somehow actually possible that I just might get attacked by a hockey-mask wearing mutant teenager with a Jamie Lee Curtis fixation. Or while on my way to a Vegas trade show, I could get trapped in the desert with a family of atom-bombed mutant flesh-eaters. This is the West Coast. Stranger things have happened.

It is, however, highly unlikely that I, personally, will be stupid enough to poke an alien slime pod with a stick whilst walking in the woods. Therefore... I am SAFE. It is SAFE to be scared when you know it won't really happen, right?

Hey... what was that? What was that noise?

Cujo????