Friday, 30 May 2008
Who would have thought that Kristin Davis would be the best thing about any film, let alone the SATC? Her comic mugging was about the only redeeming feature in this predictable cheesefest of an extended advert.
I did like SATC on tv, I went to the cinema with my brain firmly switched to standby and my cynicism (oooh! I'm SUCH a Miranda) tucked away safely in my back pocket, but even then it would take a very simple woman indeed to be moved by this souless schtick.
SATC had genuinely moving episodes, you felt for the characters, they seemed real. On the big screen it is not just their fabulous wardrobes which are larger than life...they have all become such parodies of themselves, we feel nothing for them. At one point when Carrie is emotionally devistated (no, not saying why) and slowly takes off her sunglasses for the first time to see her sorrowful reflection in the mirror, a member of the audience with cynical volume muttered 'wow.' There was a pause and the whole cinema errupted into laughter.
Oh god and don't get me started on Jennifer Hudson, a woman apparently only cast for her ability to bring some good ole token sass to proceedings. I mean, she can act most of the others off the screen, but given that her dialogue mainly consists of 'uuuh huh girlfriend', and hideously twee one liners, they might as well have saved themselves the money and brought in some bit character from Keenan and Kel. I mean honestly, who says 'I came to New York to find love'? Emotional men. Lesbians. Not smart women in a town where they outnumber men 2:1.
But yeah, the clothes are fabulous, the shoes are fabulous, the locations are fabulous... but then they always were. But the series had more, it had (a rather ditzy, materialistic, bittersweet) soul.
In summary: The SATC Movie.. it's like meeting up with your old best friend from school and finding out you have absolutely nothing in common. But that they do have nice shoes.
Edit: The best review of the film I have read, on Jezebel.com, a site any woman with a semblance of a brain should waste some of her daily time on.
Scons, scowns, scooons, for some reason (probably because I'm consciously trying to get fit for a beach holiday so the bitch in me is subconsciously ruining all my efforts) has been consuming loads of them of late. Cream teas to be precise, and for those of you who aren't middle aged or massive losers like moi, a 'cream tea' consists of scones served with clotted cream and jam. Oh, and tea. But mainly cream.
In order to turn this losery negative into a hip ironic positive, here is the official SOB guide to Cream Teas
John Lewis - setting the standard for teas what are creamy, this was a perfectly nice scone, with a perfectly nice amount of cream and jam. The only downside were the cups, those little squat inflight meal ones you can barely fit a finger through the handle of, which made me feel like a big obese giant who should be eating air and carrots, not creamy buttery biscuitcakes.
Kew Gardens - massive scone the size of a child's head. A bit stale as it had been left out all day, but quite good value for money if you are after a full stomach and an excuse not to poo for two days. Normally okay amounts of cream and jam were just not adequate on this floury beast.
Liberty's - two warm scones with a delicious buttery texture eventually rolled up about half an hour after the tea. Marks subtracted for lateness, the frankly ludicrous £10.75 price tag and the fact that had I not nicked someone else's cream I would have gone wanting. *cough* greedy mare *cough*
The Frances Hotel, Bath - £7 odd quid for one average sized scone and an unrequested bit of lemon drizzle cake. The cream was plentiful, but not a clotted as in some places. One pot between five also lead to a secret battle of wills and nerves, of hearts and minds, of greed and stomachs. It would be fair to say R and I won that one. Marks added for the lemon cake and swiftly deducted again, as I felt compelled to eat the soggy citrussy bugger to get my money's worth.
Hopefully not to be continued...
Wednesday, 28 May 2008
This is a rather long INFURIATING report about 'Millenials' or work shy young shits like my good self (and you if you were born between 1980 and 1995). I defy you not to throw your iphone through the lcd screen of your laptop after watching about five minutes of this utter claptrap.
Yeah times have changed Grandpa, young people no longer want to wear suits and trilbys or 'punch a timecard'. If you keep slapping your secretary on the arse, chances are she will quit and sue you, not giggle and fetch you another martini.
The point about more young people living at home is also a bit rich, as had the 'Babyboomers' not fucked up the US banks and stock market, then more Millenials could afford to move out and not live with their darling parents who have apparently raised them too well, being that we weren't all shoved down coal mines at 14, constantly critisized and told to work all the hours God sends.
Then again, maybe it's not just a biased ill researched piece of utter trash masquerading as news. Perhaps it is reverse psychology to stir us - admittedly more apathetic - young folk into action. Don't know about you, but I sure as hell want to go out and beat some 'Boomers right now.
Tuesday, 27 May 2008
Well, as I found out at Longleat Safari Park, it is not just Doreens the world over who have been faintly insulted via the medium of small bits of cork you put on the table to stop stains. Observe:
This range of coasters truly are designed for passive agressive husbands to bring back for their wives after a stolen weekend with the secretary in some seedy location.
Possible future gems:
Maud from the Italian meaning 'ugly'. She is nice and cheerful. She is friendly and fun.
June from the Sanskrit for 'frigid'. She is proper and just. She is a good mother.
Eileen from the Norse meaning 'stupid twat'. She is lovely and forgiving. And makes nice food.
From Racked.com, this poor Warner Bros prole turned up to her office one morning to discover she now works in one of the most overexposed, hard working Vajayays in pop.
And it also happens to be an incredibly tenuous excuse for me to post this clip of the Day Today (see last 2 seconds of clip)
Saturday, 24 May 2008
Friday, 23 May 2008
*Not totally 'live' it has to be said. Tune in from about 11pm to see my report on the whole glorious shebang
Thursday, 22 May 2008
Wednesday, 21 May 2008
"This is an account of Lesley's time in the Big Brother house last summer and the road that took her there. (Lesley is the grandmother and WI member who calmed down with a strawberry.)
There are lots of laugh-out-loud momentsbut also some sharp insights into the BB experience, including the audition process and what it was like to live with the other contestants (who can forget Ziggy, Chanelle, or Charley?).
Throughout, Lesley draws parallels with the original world of Big Brother in Orwell's "1984". My only complaint is that the 168 pages seemed to fly by, which left this reader wanting a little more. However, the stories are very well told and hopefully we will see a lot more from Lesley in future. Overall, a must read for fans of the show, and plenty for others to enjoy too. "
Well thank YOU, Claire Horton from Surrey. And here I was thinking it was a shameless cash-in from a Big Brother quitter, hypocritically criticising all the other fame hungry wannabees who dared to stick to their guns. And what is she doing on the front cover? Joyfully shelling a pistachio? Reading the smallest joke book in the world? Tearing a tiny person limb from limb in glee?
Much as I like to get on my high horse and ride around dusty Amazon planes, herding reviwers and shouting YEEHAH (oh and I DO) my bookcase is not entirely worthy and Big Brother free...
Look right, my mum had just popped into Waterstones to use the loo and he was there doing a signing and no one was there and she felt sorry for him, yeah?*
But yes, that does mean I not only own a copy but a SIGNED copy.
Why I should just retire now, I'm made.
Edit: I love how it looks like Nick is looking up at Lesley going 'mmm maybe she will drop the pistachio shell my way so I can suck it for sustinence'
Tuesday, 20 May 2008
For example, it took me two days to write the below poem. And, after reading it out to a class of twenty odd people, about a minute to realise that I have a very weak grasp on the concept of syllables.
The Demise of Commerce (and abuse of 9 syllable lines)
Dusty glued plants in a strip lit mall
Scents thick and sweet creep from the Food Hall
Smooth blue cream towers of china rise
Flapping scarlet sale signs sieze the eyes
Shop owners haggle, scowling, degraded
Carved dragons loom large, claws chipped and faded
Gold plastic glints, yet bright in the gloom
But darkness and still come first of June
Oriental City turns into a tomb.
*not literally shit
Sunday, 18 May 2008
The waiting room for the local cab office...
In fact, alfresco seating is very much derigur in Colindale it would seem.
This house has ideas above it's station. Colindalia? Nope, sorry love, you still live in an area which sounds like something you wash peas in.
Still, they have their pride in these parts. Don't want no foreign bins coming over here, nicking our rubbish... (kudos to the Bruv for that one)
The window of a long closed Bookies. I like how there is a bit of the base relief missing, like once someone lost a load of money and punched the wall in sheer RAGE. Colindale is kind of emotionless these days.
Yet another example of al fresco seating, this time outside Dixy Chicken. It's hard to show the true surrealist nature of this bench, but it was built either by someone with a Dali fixation or a spirit level that was out by about 45 degrees.
The sad fact is that when Oriental City closes, this will be Colindale's claim to fame. The Bruv was sent here after he trod on a dog in Thailand ('It was a black dog sleeping in the middle of a dark road. Really he was asking for it') It's proximity to Dixy Chicken is a bit worrying.
Friday, 16 May 2008
In other news I am occasionally blogging, in heavily edited form (at least until I work out how to spell and use words of a non expletive variety) at http://www.themake.co.uk/. Check it yo, or Obama will cry.
Wednesday, 14 May 2008
Slimatea - my accidental misspelling of 'Slimmertea' had rather depressingly brought nigh on 50 people to this site in the last year. Most stayed for less than a second, but given that the post in question involved a story about me and accidental laxative abuse, I'm not too sad.
Robyn Foster and Max Gogarty - Hmm proves that being topical and not talking about music videos from the early 90's does occasionally pay off.
Robert Worely Dorian Corey - literally no idea who they are. Guess I was drunk that day. Ah yes! Upon reflection that was the story about the Drag Queen from Paris is Burning. Check that out actually, tis quite interesting.
Lorne Spicer tits - a rare breed of bird saught out by 4 people over the last year.
* Horrific Painting * Mark Owen Wandsworth * Vegan Prawns * Cider Vinegar Penis * Speeches about Chicken * Vogueing Competitions * Bridget Jones "wetting herself" * "Only a tiny skirt" * "Pick My Fingers" * "Sushi Fingers" wet * Boss Eyes * Lolyoaks * Love Corruption*
Well that's me summed up then!
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
Anyway, the video is below, but further than a little weight related nostalgic moment, it made me pine for early 90's americana in general. It was around that time that I first discovered music, and MTV, thanks to visiting my Dad's work and raiding his CD's (new format sent him a little bonkers, hence all the popular hits of the day) and I remember thinking that music videos were possibly the coolest things ever.
Things were simpler back then, people smiled, there were no stylists (it would seem), the colours were brighter and it was fine to dance around like complete idiots, as aptly demonstrated by REM:
Barring the fact that such videos mean there are photos of me in existence where I am wearing John Lennon sunglasses and a backwards flatcap, I think it's a shame that things inevitably progressed as they have. These days (and I am aware that I sound about fifty right now) music videos are unbiquitous and for the most part, identikit. Most involve dead eyed models in thongs gyrating around in some conveluted choreography or acting like pieces of meat over a disco beat. No wonder little girls are growing up fast and getting complexes about their appearance! Even the Bee Girl, my own little eight year old doppleganger, finds happiness at the end of 4 minutes and 50 seconds, in a wonderful garden where people accept her for who she is. How many happy fat girls do you see in music videos these days?
Anyway, I couldn't finish this post without embedding the video that kind of sums up my whole MTV worship era. Moody dudes on a hillside, the most advanced camera trickery of the day, wind machines and warped-yet-slightly cliche imagery to stimulate impressionable young minds. Utterly creepy and fantastic.
Even though this vid (along with the dancing chicken in the Peter Gabriel video) totally scared the shit out of me out at the time, I'd let my daughter watch them over Pussycat Dolls any day of the week.
London Lite 12th May 2008
'a pelican gives a friendly welcome'?? I think you will find he is hanging out with his crew on a park bench, probably menacing passersby with squalks, mock fights and annoying ringtones. This newspaper clipping last night confirms my wost fears that the ASBO Pelicans have indeed invaded and are now causing mild peril up and down the land.
Sunday, 11 May 2008
Edit: They are now the top two items of news! The Burmese Government and the murderer of that 16 year old boy WILL be happy..
Now I know Indian cuisine is a tad different to chips and peas, but monkey brains, beetles and snakes? What region is that from? And who knew Indians in turbans (Sikhs?) who worship Shiva (Hindus?) also spend their time sacrificing humans by tearing out their still beating hearts?
Then again maybe we're just being unduly sensitive and PC because our uncle is Indian, and although he covers everything in chilli sauce and is want to make horrible phlegmy noises in the bathroom, I have yet to see him drink from a skull or attempt to extract my brother's still beating heart when he forgets to flush the loo.
It is still a great action film though, brain and social consciense set far aside... much better than the Goonies, which everyone else in the world ever watched as a bairn, but is curiously absent from my and my brother's collective memory. Either some awful psychological event happened to us that afternoon, or our parents had the taste to not expose us to a load of shrieking yank brats looking for treasure. Hmmm that said, it's kind of hard to take a moral high ground when we gobbled up images of colonial India which would make Salman Rushdie, Anita Desai etc's heads spin. Although Harrison Ford was very fit back then and there is only one shrieking stereotyped child...
Edit: My brother would like to make it clear that he has never forgotten to flush the toilet ever. Even though hardly anyone who reads this blog knows who he is, and a quick straw poll of those who do suggests that even though he never forgets to flush the loo, he certainly looks like someone who might. Conclusion: Brother of Biche needs to stop lacing his trainers with string and buy a jacket that doesn't have 'anti capitalista' glued to the back with PVA glue.
Thursday, 8 May 2008
Why yes, your eyes do not deceive you, it is indeed a statue of an ejeculating Manga boy, looking eerily like something out of Dragonball Z if the programme included the cumshots that go with the characters dubious 'gnerrrrrrrrrrrr!' 'urrrrrrhg!' noises they spend half each episode making.
Is it art? Is it one of those things you can buy in Akihabra for about £3? Is it every parent's worst nightmare?
These are all vaguely relevant questions. But more to the point, how much would you pay for it?
How about £2,000,000?
No Joke or a Lie
Wednesday, 7 May 2008
Monday, 5 May 2008
Ooh I've been looking for an excuse to post something about the new Batman film for a while now... they have been doing some amazing viral work for it, which is hugely elaborate and most pointless as the film is clearly going to be huger than huge and would have been before poor Heath popped it anyway...
But I digress, the official trailer for the Dark Knight came out late last week, but after only about 24 hours the obsessive viral addicts already noticed that it seemed slightly familiar... them clever marketing people have done it again!
The film above splits the screen between the new trailer and the original 1989 Batman trailer. Observe. Genius.
Mile High Mandy got Randy on Brandy - my personal favorite, it was from the Sun when some woman shagged a stranger on a BA flight.
'118 Wife' to Run Marathon - This exclusive from the Hornsey Journal revealed that the wife of one of the men in the 118 advert was running the London Marathon. She confirmed that although he was supporting her, he was not going to turn up in costume to do so.
Between a Rock and a Beard Face - apparently the Sun's take on the Northern Rock Crisis, when Brandson was considering buying it.
Wham Bam Flash in the Pan - George Michael gets arrested for exposing his bits in a public loo
Chuck a Khan - Hugh Grant splits with Jemima Khan
I still live near my old primary school. Back in the dark days when I went there, our playground consisted of a large bit of empty tarmac, a bench and a small wall. I think one time we spent a full week jumping off the small wall and attempting to grab this one leaf off an overhead tree. Happy days.
Yesterday I went past the old place on the bus - dear god! It is a riot of colour and so full of adverture playground contraptions that you could barely run a meter before tripping over some stimulus or another! No wonder kids are hugely obese and have such weak imaginations that if you ask them to think about a pink elephant they will pause, look confused and then look up google image search on their mobile.
Well tsk, I say...if my kids go to a school like that, I am going to take them out twice a day and force them to run around an empty car park and make their own fun. Yeah they will be a bit eccentric, skinny, and prone to talking to themselves, but frankly I would rather have a Holden Caufield than a horrible cabbage for a child.
A family friend has an allotment. At this allotment, several plot holders clubbed together to buy some chickens, and being a load of middle class liberalistic enviromentals they endevoured to look after them in the most Jamie Oliverite fashion possible. However, in spite of all the organic grain, fresh water and clean hay, they still turn up one day to find out that someone has stolen the chickens and left a big 'Animal Liberation Front' banner in their place. Strangely enough, the suspicion falls on the one allotment owner who is a member of ALF and also happens to drive a white van like the one that was seen near the coop on the night in question.
It does make you wonder how exactly one 'liberates chickens' - being fat, slow and unable to fly very far, they are not exactly born surivors, particularly not in the Tiddles and Pusskin strewn enviroment of North London...
Oh, except that this is the kicker in this whole tale - these chickens technically were survivors, being that they had already been 'liberated' from a battery farm in the first place by the kind allotmenteers!
Idiots - 1, Chickens - 0