The reason I've always avoided the mosh pit at Green Day concerts is because, well, I could literally BE KILLED in one. You see, I heard about one guy who emerged from a mosh pit at a Metallica concert covered in blood—none of which was his own! And there was another guy who dislocated his shoulder while moshing to Godsmack—but before he could scream and run to the hospital, he was shoved back into the mosh pit, where in a matter of seconds his shoulder snapped back into place! I mean, look at me! I'm small! I could get broken in two in a split second!

So at Sunday night's energetic Against Me! concert at the Music Box Theatre in Hollywood, I decided to stay on the outskirts of the dance floor. But as soon as Tom Gabel and his punk crew appeared on stage, almost all the bodies on the floor began shifting back and forth in epileptic spurts, causing me to get shoved right and left, right and left. As many illicit rendezvous I've had in my lifetime, I don't think I've ever had so many different people's sweat rubbed all over me.

Fortunately, the hubbub died down a bit after a few minutes, while the moshing and body-surfing in the center of the auditorium increased. (My cautious nature was the subject of cosmic ridicule when I later saw 13-year-old boys as well as dwarves—I'm not joking—moshing and body-surfing with devil-may-care glee.)

But my section wasn't without its own dramas. Aside from a fistfight that was broken up by fellow concertgoers (we can police ourselves, William Golding!), I was at the center of a separate incident. The following dialogue didn't actually happen—it's a translation of the pantomime that went on underneath the loud music:

WOMAN: Hey, you dropped something on the floor.

PRINCE: You dropped something on the floor?

WOMAN: There.

PRINCE: Oh, I see it. Here you go.

WOMAN: It's not mine. I thought it was yours.

PRINCE: It's somebody's driver's license.... I'm looking in the crowd, and I don't see anyone who looks like this. Do you?

WOMAN: No.

PRINCE: Oh, wait a minute. I think I see him.... Hey, dude, you dropped your driver's license. Here.

WHITE DUDE: What is this?

PRINCE: Your driver's license.

WHITE DUDE: That's not me.

PRINCE: This isn't yours?

WHITE DUDE: This guy doesn't look anything like me.

PRINCE (actually yelling out loud): I can't tell white people apart!

At which point I pocketed the license for later investigation.

The concert was fist-pumpingly awesome. The band played some of its oldies, as well as a handful of songs from New Wave (one of my favorite albums of all time) and from the new album, White Crosses—which is full of melodic punk gems such as the anthemic title track, the short but impressionable "Rapid Decompression," and the lead single, "I Was a Teenage Anarchist." Yup, political punk is alive and well in the 21st century, and the music video for the latter track is a slo-mo, one-shot wonder...



...and Tom Gabel smartly explains the origins of the song and his political leanings here.

By the way, my many years of developing Internet stalking skills helped me find the right white dude who lost his driver's license (Facebook saves the day!), and I'm going to mail it to him. A happy ending for him, and a happy ending for me—'cuz I'm alive and not bloodstained.

I wrote a new post for The Bilerico Project.



Read "The Hottest Brazilian of 2010 (Because You Asked)."

I have enough actor friends to know that the classes they take and the training they embrace are chock full of touchy-feely principles that are meant to help them connect to their inner selves and who-knows-what-else. I mean, have you ever participated in a cast warm-up before a performance and been asked to toss around an invisible hot potato? I have. And I don't like it. Because I'm not five. Before I get up on stage, I pop an antihistamine and down a Diet Coke. (Different strokes, I guess.) (Dear Actor Friends, I'm just exaggerating to piss off the Romanians some more. You know I love you. Whatever you have to do to put on a good show—stretch, scream, suck on your own toes—I'm all for it.)

Annie Baker's new-ish play, Circle Mirror Transformation, makes use of what seems like every absurd acting exercise ever dreamed up—and probably invents some of its own—with brilliantly comic and unexpectedly moving results. Acting exercises are inherently dramatic (after all, they were designed to be), so the play's five amateur thespians—who are participating in a six-week "creative drama" class in Vermont—are consistently fascinating, revealing more and more layers of their lives, whether they know it or not.

Baker's genius lies in the way she's able to milk the conceit for everything it's worth, and, even though the gimmick is as plain as day, there's an air of authenticity to the comedy and the tragedy that are at the center of all these characters' lives.

Under the direction of Sam Gold—who helmed the hit off-Broadway production that garnered award after award, as well as a place on The New York Times and The New Yorker lists of top ten plays of the year—the current South Coast Repertory cast has remarkable chemistry, and the show builds to an initially funny, but then surprisingly emotional, climax. Baker employs another gimmick here—one that I didn't see coming and one that re-affirms her rising star.

Honestly, folks, this is the best new play I've seen in two-and-a-half years.

If you're in Southern California, go! Rush tickets and other discounts abound. If you don't live here, you can buy the play and read it (though I don't know how well it reads off the page).

Circle Mirror Transformation by Annie Baker runs through January 30, 2011, at South Coast Repertory in Costa Mesa, California.

I wrote a new post for The Bilerico Project.



Read "12 Hot Asians and 12 Hot Mormons Walk into a Bar... (The 2011 Edition)."

Since my last movie report, wherein I revealed that James Franco does not masturbate for 127 hours (I'm a crackerjack journalist!) , I've seen another fistful of films. And what did I think? Well, I'm glad you asked....

After emerging from Black Swan, I posted on my Twitter page that I felt like I had been trapped "in someone else's lesbian nightmare for two hours." After some deep contemplation over the nature of Natalie Portman rubbing her hoo-hah like a DJ scratching a record in a hip-hop club, I realized that my initial assessment was wrong. I had actually been trapped in Darren Aronofsky's wet dream for two hours. While the movie is a well-crafted ballet thriller (have those words ever been in the same sentence in the history of language?), I can't say I really "enjoyed" it. Why sit there and watch Natalie Portman go crazy when I can get the same effect just by staring in the mirror for an extended period of time? And, finally, as a side note, that old dude who touches his privates inappropriately on the subway train deserves to be nominated for an Academy Award. I mean, not since Requiem for a Dream's "ass-to-ass" battle cry have I been so disturbed by a dirty old man. (Speaking of being dirty—goddamn!, have you seen pictures of Natalie Portman's dancer-fiancé, Benjamin Millepied?! He's so hot I want to punch myself in the stomach:)



Blue Valentine: This "straight-people-and-their-problems" movie isn't nearly as annoying as Revolutionary Road because it's often sharp and the acting is stellar. But I have the same issue with it that I always have with these types of films.... The wife can't stand being with the husband any more even though, in this case, the husband is the super hot, super charming, super funny, super loving Ryan Gosling. She wants a divorce! She can't take it anymore! It's not working! But I ask you, what the hell is his crime?! NOTHING! I mean, to sum up: Hot! Charming! Funny! Loving! A great father! An affectionate mate! He's so hot I want to punch myself in the stomach.



Burlesque: It is what it is. Not quite complex enough to be superb, not quite campy enough to be fun, but reasonably entertaining nonetheless. But maybe it's because I've always been a Cher fan. (I know, I know, so gay, so predictable.) During the showing I went to, an elderly wheelchair-bound woman with borderline dementia moaned repeatedly throughout the movie, "I am in pain! I am in so much pain!" (You can decide the implications of that.) I felt compelled to shove her, but Cam Gigandet is the film's boy toy and I was sufficiently distracted because he's so hot I want to punch myself in the stomach.



The Fighter: I love fight films (yes, I loved Never Back Down with Sean Faris and Fighting with Channing Tatum), so it was only natural that I would enjoy watching Marky Mark box while Christian Bale smoked crack. (No, seriously, have you seen Sean Faris and, yup, Cam Gigandet beat each other up in Never Back Down? So hot I want to punch myself in the stomach.)



Gulliver's Travels: While I appreciate being invited to the premiere of this (thanks, Christopher M.!), I don't think this is what Jonathan Swift had in mind. If he were alive today and saw this, he would probably want to punch himself in the stomach.



The King's Speech: A surprisingly fun and entertaining historical drama about a politician with a stutter (Colin Firth, Oscar-baiting) and the weird guy who saves him (Geoffrey Rush, Oscar-bating). It's a movie in love with language, even swear words. (This film would've dodged an "R" rating and been family friendly save one foul-mouthed but necessary scene chock full of cussing.) This is one of those can't-complain awards pictures in which I can't complain and have no desire to punch myself in the stomach.



True Grit: I can't understand half of what Jeff Bridges is saying and it isn't nearly as action-packed as those awesome Johnny-Cash/one-of-these-days-god-is-gonna-cut-you-down trailers make it out to be, but the culminative effect of the movie and its unexpectedly and inexplicably moving climax and dénouement allowed me to walk away satisfied and, once again, in no need of punching anybody—least of all myself—in the stomach.



(No, seriously, Never Back Down. Hot:)



To sum up:

Highly recommended: The King's Speech

Recommended: The Fighter

Recommended with reservations: Black Swan, True Grit

Recommended if you know what you're getting yourself into: Burlesque

Aw hell no: Gulliver's Travels

Borderline softcore porn: Never Back Down