Dear Jamie Lee Curtis,

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I thought you had retired. I thought you were off writing children's books and hanging out with your god-son Jake Gyllenhaal. Then I discover just last week and much to my dismay that you're starring in that cinematic-sword-of- Damocles Beverly Hills Chihuahua, and yes, I was made perfectly distraught.

The boyfriend doesn't understand why this makes my stomach ache; he says you were never exactly the greatest harbinger of taste, and then points to your recent "it's the yogurt that makes you poop!" persona so hilariously documented by Kristen Wiig, and... well, I find any arguments I could make off of your long-dead status as The Scream Queen dwindled down to nothing.

But you were always so terrific, even in derivative Disney pablum. Could you be worth watching in Beverly Hills Chihuahua, I find myself thinking? You must've known something, some sort of capturing-the-doggie-zeitgeist wisdom, since it's now taken over the top of the box office two weekends in a row. But no... that can never happen. Not in a thousand lifetimes. I don't care how many weekend box offices that film dominates; madness lay the route of the Beverly Hills Chihuahua ear-piercing stereotype-riddled way.

I do hope you got well paid though, Jamie Lee. Like, you're all over the back-end and shit. (Not in an Activia way, though.) And tell Jake I say hi!

Love, JA
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