Chancentrate

Staycation Galore

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 17:57:00 +0000

This has nothing to do with this post - just a random tit-flashing girl on a train. Notice she has no bag/purse - cos with those bangers on display, she'll never need to pay for anything...

So I had a week off last month but being that we're in the middle of economic meltdown and I have zero money to my name, I was not jetting off to exotic locales anytime soon. Rather, I engaged in the very on-trend practice of the Staycation. Staying at home as a vacation! What fun. Luckily for me I live in a tourist destination, so I figured I might as well take avantage and get my tourist on. I went to museums, art galleries, parks, restaurants etc. - but of course only the cheap ones or the ones at which I could blag membership through my work. The key was to have as much fun as possible without any of the monetary funding one usually requires.

I also went a bit picture crazy - mostly at two of my favorite destinations from the week - Madam Tussauds (special 2-for1 offer from Walkers) and the HMS Belfast (special 2-for1 offer from National Rail).
To be brutally honest I wasn't exactly brimming with excitement over HMS Belfast - as a military kid I've sort of seen my fair share of war ships/war planes/war museums (and actual war if dad got drunk enough! ha!). But at the same time, it sorta made me feel like a kid again and as it was a miserable day weather-wise the thing was empty which was glorious. Turns out, I thoroughly enjoyed myself - HMS Belfast is now officially recommended by me for any vistitors to London.

Anyways - the real excitement came with the pictures of course, they really went to town with the waxworks at this place. It took us 4 hours to get through the whole ship actually (it she has 9 decks!) and this was due in no small part to the endless picture opportunities, only some of which I've included here. And there were hardly any other patrons when we were around, EVERYONE else you see in the pictures, aside from Tudds and I, are wax works. It was so much fun, I can't recommend it enough as a day out. However, be prepared - after the 4 hours deep in the stomach of this nautical beast, I was so ready to come out into air. We both started to feel a bit of cabin fever which only served to make us all the more grateful that we'll never have to live and work in that thing. Oh - and get the earphones thing! It's free and you learn so much more! Remember kids - it's all about infotainment! Funducation all around!

As you can see, we showed our we're-really-doing-stuff-here modeling skills.
I saw a few other peeps just taking snaps of themselves next to these things. Stood rigid and half-smiling. I do not see the point in this, perhaps they were involved in a competition to produce the most boring holiday album of the year. In my view if you can interact in any way with your surroundings for the picture, then you bloody well should! What's the point of being on a war ship if you can't pretend that you're, y'know, fighting in a war!

Here we are with our friend Nigel, he's going through a tough time so we're visiting him in the medical quarters. We're hoping he pulls through, but dysentry sucks...

This is how they treated the homosexuals back then, put 'em behind a sheet of plexi-glass to navigate, but don't let anyone see their dick-sucking lips....

Okay, so this was meant to look like I was pointing at what I wanted, right? Upon further inspection, it looks as though I'm suggesting a lewd sexual practice in lieu of payment. For a waxwork, he looks pretty aroused...

"...So I said, 'Lay down and take it, bitch!' and she was all, 'Oh but sir, I'm just a nurse on this ship!' and I was all, 'Well I'm the Captain ho, take the PAIN!' HAHAHAHA..."

Some people hate bad photos of themselves. Conversely, I find them hilarious. Plus check it out - I'm beneath the water line! Felt like I was back in New Orleans!

Then we were on to Tussauds! The glitz! The glamour! More wax!

Ummm, so I guess when they were making the figures for the Beatles, they couldn't get hold of the boys themselves, or any decent photographs, so they just dressed up 4 retarded transsexuals from the local loony bin, threw on some cheap wigs and went from there...

Again, what was so striking at Madame Tussauds was the amount of people who refrained from interacting with the wax figurines. The place was crawling with foreigners, the vast majority of which were bizarrely middle-eastern, and if there's one thing I now know about middle-easterns it's this - they do NOT pose in pictures. They take photography very seriously indeed. Unlike Julian and I who try to have as much fun as possible! Every waxwork is just a new oppurtunity to let laughter and/or offense ensue!

First, my favorite ever wax figurine:

Man, do I love Miley Cyrus. I think I squealed when I saw her. People often assume I'm being ironic when I say I think she's great. I am not. If I could be anyone in the world, I'd be Miley Cyrus. Fact. Plus - check out that picture! Don't we make a super pair?! We could so be BFF's!

So, anyone who knows me knows I've had a thing for Angelina forever. Way before everyone else got on board with her, I was there from the start. This shit stretches back to Foxfire and Gia, though I think Hackers is where the affair was first ignited. Back then I was alone in my adoration. At first, no one knew about her, then everyone thought she was "weird", then everyone thought she was a bisexual self-harmer who was "dark", then everyone thought she was a home-wrecker, now most think she's too into all that peace and humanitarian shit with all her orphans and whatnot. Through it all - I've been there Angie! I've stuck by ya! I think if I could look like anyone, I'd look like her; but I wouldn't have her body, for that I'd go to Kardashian, of course. Imagine it - I'd be Miley Cyrus, with Angelina's face and Kardashian's bod. I could rule the world.
Anyways, there was a line of guys waiting to get their picture taken with her, but when they got up there, none of them would even touch her. Not so much as an arm gently around her waist - nothing. Perhaps they thought it was the real Jolie (hard to believe considering how little the wax representation looks like her). So I thought I'd do the dirty work for them; I tried to make a sexually grotesque face coupled with a subtly crass pose. I feel I succeeded in both.

If only Tudds had stuck with the stand-up, this photo could be happening for real...

There are a lot of people who dislike Jim Carrey; there are even more people who dislike Jim Carrey "except for The Truman Show", even though everyone knows his greatest performance is in Liar Liar. I belong to neither of these groups. I think this pictures my love is pure and never-ending.

I'm pretty sure Tudds was arguing with Steven over the following picture. Tudds insisted on doing his own stunts...:

Okay, there are several issues with this set-up, firstly that guy behind Tudds is meant to be Indiana Jones, as in Harrison Ford. Instead, he looks more like Christopher Reeve after the accident. Also, this must be taken from the unseen Studio-54-set addition to the Indiana Jones series, as I'm pretty sure in the original he was running away from a boulder, not a gargantuan disco ball.

Ah, Morgan Freeman. Due to his natural gravitas and general aura of greatness he is terribly well-respected; he may be one of the most liked actors in Hollywood. But we thought it'd be funny to treat him like a cunt. Morgan Freeman is a cunt. <---catchphrase of 2009!

Tudds Sports Time!

Lance has never looked more ~~cancer-ridden~~ athletic!

Dude, Tiger is SO checking out his Wood. (sorry)

Then we finally arrive at what is, in my humble opinion, the best part of ole Tussauds - the historical section. Many may prefer the celeb section, but really, it's here where you can let loose with the fun:

Look at Oscar Wilde's face - what else could he possibly be thinking of?

I think Pavarotti knows I went as him last year for Halloween, so he feels he can be that much more touchy feely. Filthy goddam Italian.

Dictator love in the house!

Saddam and Chantal, Spring Break 2008. We'll always have the memories, honey!xx

And finally, my favorite picture of the day:

So there you have it! How to have real fun on a day out. You're welcome!

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Pumpkin Party, Pumping Arty

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 15:02:00 +0000

Halloween is probably my favorite holiday of the year. Well, except for Christmas, I guess. No one really says this, but Christmas is everyone's favorite holiday because they get stuff. Fact. But after the age of about 14 it becomes cool to "hate Christmas" so everyone pretends it's just such a nuisance and isn't it awful, and oh it's so commercialized "these days" (as though this is a recent development) and ugh, I just hate my family so much, and it's so boring blah blah blah... WHATEVER. You all love it really, you just love complaining more.

Anyways, aside form the obvs number one, I adore Halloween. I loved it as a kid, and I love it as an adult - perhaps being American (where we know how to celebrate this shit...) helps. I had years of traditional trick or treating, whereas kids in England have a sad stroll up and down their ill-equipped English neighborhood in which about 2 people have bothered to get any candy and even then it's crappy ASDA gold coins or raisins. I remember at university we had trick or treaters come to our house; that was a sad scenario. All we could give them was some Tesco Value crisps, the shit flavors that had been left because no one liked them. It was heart-breaking stuff.

Anyways - beyond the trick or treating, I loved loved loved the costumes. My brother and I had great costumes, and I've kept up the tradition as I've gotten older. This element of Halloween is catching on in England, where they take fancy dress as seriously as Americans, though at the moment Halloween is still primarily pretty mundane stuff in London - unimaginative Slutoween girls dressed as whores (nurse/policewoman/French maid/cat etc), and everyone else dressed in regular clothes with "zombie" faces consisting of lots of black eyeliner, white face powder and fake blood around the mouth. It's so depressing. I miss real costumes, things with some thought put into it. These are starting to appear more, people are getting the message and if you hang out with the right folks on the night you should get some exciting outfits. Just avoid the Old Blue Last.

As well as the costumes and general national excitement from America, I really miss the house decor. People went to town over there, dry ice, cobwebs, a stereo hidden in the front yard playing an endless loop of rattling chains and ghostly groans. Scary stuff. But even if the house wasn't going the whole hog, you could at least be sure that every house on the block had a jack-o-lantern. I remember at University, again, we got a jack-o-lantern. Had a great time carving the pumpkin then roasting the pumpkin seeds. Proudly put it out on our little balcony. Only for some idiotic and likely bored teenagers to steal it the following day. Good work England, stealing a crappy 80p pumpkin. Way to get into the spirit!

Anyways, in honor of the day, I've been trawling around looking for some super jack-o-lanterns and boy have I found some gems! Join me on my trip down Lantern Lane...

--Where better to start then the traditional Jack-O's, these are your standard fare and probably the most heart-warming to me as they're just so classic:

This is usually the kind of thing I do, partics the one on the left - notice all the jagged edges and the still visible pen lines from where they were meant to cut? That's my kinda carving!

--Then there's the more advanced carving, these display far more technique and skill, without straying too far from the traditional scary pumpkin look:

--Of course then there's the people who just have to show off their skills...pumpkin carving means a lot to them, they expect your praise:

This is actually one of my faves simply because I really like the idea of carving a pumpkin onto a pumpkin. It's like wearing a t-shirt with picture of yourself on it. Something, by the way, which I've always wanted. So if anyone's stumped as to what to get me for the aformentioned Christmas, there's your present - get me a t-shirt of myself.

Okay, this is impressive and all, clearly took his time - but what the hell is it? Just random swirls and lines?? Are they meant to be Chinese throwing stars? And what the fuck is in the middle? Is that the stalk? There's something a bit tribal about the whole design, it has a sorta Lord of the Rings vibe going on and no-one wants nerdy fantasy/sci-fi shit on Halloween...Whoever carved this is the same guy who will be going to the Halloween party dressed as second tier character from Battlestar Gallactica.

--Then there's the turbo pumpkin carvers, people who look forward to Halloween purely to get involved in the carving extravaganza; it's the one time of year their skills come to life (a depressing notion). These are people who have their pumpkins carved by the end of September. They are often celebrities/movies/current events-based (the Presidential election is particularly popular this year) and they are probably for a local carving competition that no-one, aside from those taking part, ever hears about :

LOL

--Then there's the trend pumpkins. For a while the biggest trend was the puking pumpkin, which I actually still love:

But recently, there's a been a trend towards cannibal pumpkins, very hip, very now:

--And of course, the comedy pumpkins! Sometimes simple, yet more effective than the rest. Often simply moronic:

Emoticon-o-lantern!

Has absolutely nothing to do with Halloween or pumpkins. Just an abstract statement. This is almost pop art.

--And there's this. Not even a jack-o-lantern really. Just my favorite use of a pumpkin. And actually easy!
The Burger Pumpkin!!!

Alas I have no jack-o-lantern this year, so if anyone want sot get one and carve it with me I'm free before my party tonight. Be warned I have no artistic talent and will want all the seeds for myself.

Happy Halloween kids!

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Westfield Shopping Center!

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 17:11:00 +0000

Sounds like it should be a rap album. It's not. It's the huge new shopping center opening in Shepherds Bush, London this weekend. Can't wait to get my shop on!! This takes me back to the good ole days of my mallrat years, spending most of my weekends age 14 hanging around Lakeside mall in New Orleans. I can't wait to get down Westfield, see and be seen, wear my hottest outfit and check out boys while chillin in the food court. If only they had a Contempo Casuals and 5-7-9 it'd be perfect!

Here's some peeps chatting about making the mega advert:

Just saying - Bluewater can suck it now...

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 15:44:00 +0000

Ever noticed

that The Sartorialist

likes really

fucking

bland

clothes?

As I don't live in the "chic and elegant" (read:BORING) color palette of white/grey/black, and am not part of the cultural elite, I will never be featured on his frustrating, yet compelling, blog.

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Election 2008!!

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 15:10:00 +0000

I got this in the post last week:

That's right kids, it's voting time in Chantal land.
So in honour of this momentous event, for this post I'm talking politics bitches!!

Let's get ready to rumble!

Well, I'm only talking politics a little; I'm not knowledgeable enough for heavy discourse so I'll only make 3 small points:

1. The Mythologizing of Barak Obama and Why It's Wrong. I like Barak Obama. I will be voting for him and if he wins I think he'll make a swell president. However, Barak Obama is not sent from heaven. Despite his rally cry of "Change!" and his obvious political distance from the current leaders, he is still just another politician trying to get elected. He has lobbyists, he has Big Business corporations vying for his attention and asking for tax breaks and should he get elected, chances are he will be playing nice with at least some of the same people as Bush does now. I'm aware of this, and I still think he's a better choice. I think he has better values, I agree with his policies and I think he better represents the future of America. But I know a lot of Obama supporters (especially those in their twenties) who seem to think of Barak as the second coming or a national hero. They exalt him as morally above all other politicians, of not having a corrupt bone in his body and of being a saviour-like figure who will rescue this dying relic of a country and resurrect it as the leader of the world. Not only is this naive idea unlikely, but it will lead to a lot of disappointed 20-somethings should Barak get elected. The country is in an economic shit-hole at the moment, and whoever gets elected is going to have an uphill battle trying to fix things. A big worry is that if Barak gets elected he will be scrutinized over how he deals with this situation and if he fucks up (which wouldn't be too hard) he'll be remembered as the president who led us into a recession. Four years from now, this is what the republicans will be saying in order to get rid of him.
For the sake of argument though, let's assume Obama gets elected and just totally takes care of the FUBAR economy. This mythologising of him is still dangerous. I read articles and hear people speak of him as though he is an almost otherworldly presidential candidate, someone so vastly different from what we've had in the past that he will completely shake things up and totally turn this country around. Sure, he's disparate compared to the current administration, but he is still a politician. He will screw some things up, do things for money not the better good, piss part of the country off, and be held up to ridicule. Which is fine - JFK wasn't perfect and neither was Clinton, who bizarrely is treated like Jesus amongst liberals (ironic considering how many of them are atheist) even though during his tenure he was impeached. I don't think we should be making Obama out to be a model of perfection; he's a normal human, he just happens to be smarter than most and a super presidential candidate. But that's it. If you're one of the deluded masses who thinks Barak would never do anything wrong ever and is just a sincere incorruptible Mr.-Smith-Goes-to-Washington character, you are in for a very nasty wake-up call if, and when, he gets into office...

2. Sarah Palin is Not Running for President. Has any other vice-presidential nominee in history been held up to this much scrutiny? Has any VP nominee ever been compared to the opposing presidential nominee this much?? Even Dan Quail didn't get this much shit. Of course, because I'm not a moron, I think Sarah Palin would be a terrible vice-president, and a terrifying president. With a few exceptions, I disagree with nearly every one of her policies and find it depressing that she is as close as a woman has gotten to the white house. Luckily for me, Sarah isn't on a winning team, and she is not running for president. Does anyone else know this? Why is she always being compared to Obama? I am aware that a vice-president has to be prepared for the presidency; this is the core role of their job description. Plus, I know - McCain is like SUPER old and stuff and if he dies, she's in charge and then we're fucked. But, as well as the somewhat despicable ageism on display in this type of thinking, McCain is hardly 2 steps away from the hospice people, he's only a couple years older than Reagan was when he stepped up to plate and that dude lasted well into his 90's. Palin should be compared with...ummm...what's his name? Oh yeah, Joe Biden! Remember him? He's the same as Sarah Palin in terms of potential power, yet the exact opposite in every other way. How many Biden interviews have you read? How many articles are written about him? Has no one considered that Obama, as one of the most polarizing candidates in recent memory, is ripe for assassination and Biden could be running this joint in a year or two? Are we all cool with that?? If not, maybe that's what we should be talking about when we talk about Sarah Palin.

3. Left-wing Media Has Just as Much Agenda as Right-Wing Media. This kind of goes hand in hand with the first point; for some reason lefties seem to think that liberal media/news sources, much like Obama, are above dirty tricks and smearing and only print the objective truth. This is a lie. Media is media is media. And as wonderful as the The Guardian is, it's also a business that needs to sell papers, just like The Telegraph. They may represent two different viewpoints, but they do so in very similar ways. Don't get me wrong, I read The Guardian (and The Observer!) and I think it's great. It's my favourite paper in England. But I don't see it as gospel and The Only Truth. I think sometimes it leaves out certain facts to make a point and I think it often falls prey to the same lazy journalism that befouls the rest of the news industry. I also it has an agenda, the editors may not ram it down our throats, but it's there. And anyone who seriously denies this is kidding oneself.
Take this article from a few days ago:
McCain was not tortured, PoW guard claims.

This is an article asserting that John McCain's well-reported claims of having been tortured for 5 years as a PoW in Vietnam are wildly exaggerated and that really, he didn't have it so bad. Who is the reliable and objective source The Guardian quotes you ask? A fucking Vietnamese prison guard from the jail he was held captive in. This is tantamount to getting a former Nazi who was at Auschwitz to tell us that really, the gas chambers weren't THAT tough. Now, I don't want McCain to win, so you'd think I'd be okay with this kind of smearing (even though it's sort of useless as it's printed in The Guardian, the readers of which are over-whelmingly pro-Obama, not to mention British and therefore unable to vote in any case) and in a way, I'm at least accepting of it. Smearing happens in politics, it's part and parcel of being in a party. What I hate is the hypocrisy of it; liberals tear apart Fox news (quite rightly) for offering one-sided, partisan views on EVERYTHING but we don't bat an eyelid when leftist media plays the same game. I'm not suggesting that The Guardian or The New York Times is anywhere near sensationalizing shit the way Fox does, I'm just saying they're not innocent hippies either. I view both sides of the news with some scepticism, I try to read news from politically disparate sources to get a full story and though I may prefer some news sources to others, this doesn't automatically make those I disagree with incredible. Nor does it absolve those I side with of any wrongdoing. Because as bad as it is for thick, conservative Americans to only get their news from Fox, it's equally as narrow-minded for smug, liberal Britons to only get their news from The Guardian and Jon Stewart.

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The Observer must read Chancentrate...

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 14:11:00 +0000

Anyone else see yesterday's Observer magazine?

If so, you may have come across this page:

Now, try to ignore the monumental prick in the main picture and focus instead on their "Dressing Up/Dressing Down" section, The Observer's version of that eternal magazine staple, the "What's Hot/What's Not" section.

Notice the second point on their Dressing Down list?

Sound familiar?

Am I one step ahead or what?!

Also, that The Observer can promote a book one week, then do a complete 180 and bash it the next is the greatest example of mercurial media opinion since Britney won all those MTV awards...

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Borebitch more like...

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 09:00:00 +0000

Continuing my critique of Observer's weekend supplements, we move now to their profile of Camilla Wright, founder of Popbitch, from Observer Woman (which, despite my criticisms, is the best woman's magazine in England at the moment. Fact.).

For those of you in the dark, Popbitch is a weekly mail-out of tabloid-esque UK-based celeb gossip, collated from the (severely under-developed) website's message board. Here is a look at last weeks edition:

As you can see it's essentially frivolous celebrity gossip, only half of which is likely true, which serves mainly to remind you that the weekend is around the corner (Popbitch is delivered on Thursday afternoons). So far, so shallow entertainment, right?
Unfortunately not.
The thing is, despite the Observer's protestations to the contrary, Popbitch is painfully un-hip. The celebrities they cover are eternally C-list (think vaguely famous footballers, page 3 girls, reality TV "stars" etc.), they insist on reporting endless asinine "sex" stories involving animals, and they seem to think Mick Hucknall is still newsworthy. Reading Popbitch is like being transported back 5 years to when Jade Goody was popular and X Factor wasn't pre-suicide viewing.
It seems clear their target audience is not the savvy, brutally fickle, finger-on-the-button 18-25 year old hipster demographic it was when they started. Rather, Popbitch appears to be aimed squarely at the nostalgia-hungry, kitsch-loving 30-something audience. People who think Snickers were better when it was called Marathon. People who have the Knightrider theme as their ringtone. People who had never heard of social networking sites until Facebook came into their lives. While Observer Woman would have us believe that Popbitch is the originator and leader of online gossip communities (yeah. right.), in reality Popbitch is to modern gossip sites what porn DVD's are to internet porn - out of date and soon-to-be obsolete, despite a small group of followers.

Consider, for example, that their biggest celebrity "scoop" thus far is STILL breaking the Beckham infidelity story 18 months before everyone else. Bear in mind that every other paper reported the scandal in 2004, which means Popbitch must have reported it in mid-2002. That's 6 years ago. Six long Britney/Anna-Nicole Smith/Amy Winehouse/Speidi filled years and they've not managed to top this??
Furthermore, the reason Ms. Wright is being interviewed for the article in the first place is to promote the publication of the first ever Popbitch book released next week; a publication which will likely join the likes of South Park T-shirts and Billy Bass the singing fish on Christmas lists for anyone who likes to live a good half-decade behind the times. For instance, inside this cutting edge tome of hot-from-the-press salacious gossip one can find a dress-your-own cut-out of this guy:

Pete fucking Burns.
He who was famous for about a week when he appeared on Celebrity big brother nearly 3 years ago. I mean Christ above, what are the dress-up accessories for him going to be? A Janet Jackson nipple ring? An Angelina Jolie vial of blood necklace? Hey Popbitch, did you also hear that BRITNEY AND MADONNA KISSED!?! omg!

Also inside the book is a stuffed animal recreation of the moment when Montecore the white tiger attacked Roy, of Siegfried and Roy. In case you've forgotten this wildly relevant celeb incident, that's because it happened 5 years ago in October 2003. I wonder what other shocking celeb revelations will be included - J-Lo spending a night in jail? Nicole Richie getting really thin? Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt DIVORCING?!
Popbitch is so stuck in the past it makes John McCain look like Nick Jonas. Do they not realize that gossip media, particularly web-based gossip media, has to be ridiculously up-to-date? Gossip sites are made and broken solely on their ability to get news stories just hours before their rivals. While the rest of the celebrity sites are reporting on the latest saga from The Hills, Popbitch are probably still wondering if Mandy Moore's new single will be a hit.

In a way it's not their fault, their type of gossip medium has been superseded. As they're released weekly, they haven't the immediacy of rival websites that are updated every 10 minutes or so, nor have they the exclusive pictures and tangible aspect of magazines. Essentially they have no unique selling point and this will be their downfall - which is why it's so strange that the Observer has chosen now to do a piece on them. I realize it's all marketing, PR and connection-based, but profiling the head of a dying breed is still an odd choice to make for a supplement so intent on keeping up with the kids and remaining fashionable. Why not interview the creator of Friends Reunited and the designer of the Mini-Disc while they're at it?

In all honesty, though I'm a subscriber, I barely read Popbitch anymore, I usually just skim to the bottom to see if they've any good links (rare) and to read the joke at the end, which can be surprisingly good on occasion. Plus, it's appearance in my inbox still has the aforementioned effect of getting me excited over the forthcoming weekend, so it's worth it for that alone. But Popbitch, I'm afraid your days are numbered, learn from the mistakes of your beloved Jade and Pete Burns - leave now why you still have your dignity.

On a side note, not to sound too snarky, but you'd think after 8 years covering celebrities, Ms. Wright would have learned a thing or two about posing to one's advantage for portraits. Clearly not:

Girl needs to start listening to Tyra ASAP...

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Dreams that Glitter - Girls Aloud Should Look Fitter

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 09:00:00 +0000

This is the cover of Sunday's Observer magazine, in which they made the otherwise attractive quintuplet of hardbodies in Girls Aloud look like before pictures for a drag queen makeup lesson:

At first glance you may foolishly think that the girls don't look too shabby - but take a closer look and you'll be struck with all the fug. Firstly, the cotton white dresses was a good idea, poorly put into practice. With the exception of Cheryl and Kimberly, the dresses do nothing for the girls, plus they've managed to make Nicola look 6 months pregnant and Nadine look as though she raided the closet of Madonna around the time of her "Music" video.
But the real travesty is their faces, a horror show of cosmetics. These are the kind of makeup nightmares one normally expects from a 13 year-old future single mother who thinks that copious face paint and blow-jobs makes one mature.
I've taken a closer look at them individually and offered suggestions for their girl-group afterlife based on these photos. Afterall, their shelf life can't be more than another couple years at the very most and no one wants to be the Mel C of the group...

Kimberly:

Look at Kimberly's eye makeup. Really check it out. Winehouse Wings of liquid eyeliner, applied with a paintbrush by the looks of it, that inexplicably stop half way up her eyelid; layer after sticky later of mascara weighing down the copious fake eyelashes; her eye-sockets endlessly circled in kohl to within an inch of their lives. Her eyelids probably weigh about 5lbs. each, hence why she looks like she's on ketamine. Plus - check out her Paris Hilton-lazy left eye!
Then there's the pursed lips which looks surly and awkward - and what's with the lower lip line? Rather than the classic lip-enlarging technique of penciling outside the lip-line, the make-up artist has attempted to spark a new trend of making one's lips look smaller by penciling inside the lip-line. EDGY.
Also - way too much shit in her hair, it essench looks unwashed and about 2 hours away from greaseville.

Post-Girls Aloud Career Option: Batiste Dry Shampoo spokesperson.

Nicola:

Contrary to popular thought, I don't think Nicola is terribly ugly. She's not pretty either, she's just average. Thin, but average. However, since embracing her pale skin and gorgeous hair color, she is looking the best she's looked in years which is why it's almost impressive how bad they've managed to make her look here. I could go into great detail, but the over-riding impression one gets from this photo is that her face is melting. It's as though there's a landslide of skin happening on her face, everything is in downturn - including erections the world over when faced with this photo.

Post-Girls Aloud Career Option: Pioneer of controversial abstinence program "Misery Guts - Not Sluts", which promotes looking depressed and slightly Downs in order to prevent unwanted attention from the opposite sex.

Nadine:

Clearly the most offensive. There's so many things wrong with her eye area, the liquid eyeliner (AGAIN) - all over the shop, caked on, over-powering - seriously did they just let a 5-year-old ADHD kid roll around in tar and then punch each girl in the eyes?? It looks as though she slept in last night's makeup, then half-heartedly tried to freshen up in the morning, bleary-eyed and hungover. The "beauty" team has seemingly attempted to cover up this gaffe with her hair, getting as much of it a possible to cover her eyes. Alas this has caused her to squint uncomfortably, thus further emphasizing the eye-shrinking quality of all the black shit. This combined with her bizarre pout/snarl lip positioning results in an over-whelming expression of constipation. She needs to study pictures of Debbie Harry and Ellen Barkin - women who know how to pull off this look without looking backed up.

Post-Girls Aloud Career Option: ExLax spokesperson, all the promotional photography has been done for them!

Sarah:

Remember when Sarah looked sorta the same age as the other girls in the group? Well, these days...put it this way: if Girls Aloud were Sex and the City, she'd be Samantha Jones. She's the Madonna to the other girls' Miley Cyrus. The O.C. to their Gossip Girl. The Naomi to their Tyra. Simply put - girlfriend's looking OLD and dated. It's something to do with the hair; while on other girls it can look young and hip, on Sarah it gives her a unshakable mid-30's woman circa 1990 feel. She can't seem to pull off that hair without resembling Chyna Philips, a Melrose Place extra or a woman in an advert for tampons.
P.s. - Having said that, she is the only one to have gotten the eyeliner looking perfect...on one eye that is. Notice how her left eye looks perfect and her right eye looks like the tar-covered 5 year-old knocked her one as well? Jeez Sarah, you've had like a decade longer than the others to perfect this shit....

Post-Girls Aloud Career Option: Leader of BananaRama tribute band

Cheryl:

And then of course we have Cheryl. Dear, lovely Cheryl. Showing the other girls how it's done. Although she hardly looks drop dead here, she certainly looks the best out of the lot, having seemingly avoided using the same makeup "artist". She's the only one of the girls to portray a warm facial expression (almost a smile!) and you can almost see her eyeballs, which judging by this photo, is more difficult than you'd think. She is arguably the best looking in the group, certainly the most famous and easily the most likely to go Beyoncé on the other girls and get down with a solo career. She also has the best shot of breaking America (even despite Nadine living in L.A.) having already worked with that Will.I.Am chap. She could SO fill Fergie's shoes....

Post-Girls Aloud Career Option: Victoria Beckham (except attractive, young and talented)

Go forth and prosper ladies!

(and never do a photo shoot for Observer again)

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The 10s

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 16:04:00 +0000

10 Rules of People:

1. You can accurately gauge a girl's maturity by their response to Winona Ryder's decision in Reality Bites. Yes to choosing Troy (Ethan Hawke) = immature. Yes to choosing Michael (Ben Stiller) = Mature.
2. Women with bells on their anklet/hem of their skirt are idiots. No exception.
3. Yes periods are a pain and they get worse with age and we all know that if men got periods, tampons et al. would be free etc. - but they are not THAT bad. Guys? Don't let the bitch get away with murder...
4. The only people who believe that oft-repeated lie that kids are only mean to other kids, "because they're jealous" are desperate (and in denial) parents of fat/ugly/stupid/geeky kids. I remember the kids at school who were made fun of and 9 times out of 10, the taunts were true. Kids aren't jealous, they're brutally honest.
5. Women like men who like "real women".
6. Friends don't use friends' laptops to jerk off to porn (you know who you are!).
7. How people look when in great pain is exactly how they look during orgasm. (Sub-consciously this is why little boys hit girls they like in the playground - they want a sneak preview)
8. Contrary to nearly every film with even one scene in a high school, girls do not prance around the locker room in their underwear/in the nude. Sorry.
9. Every city in America has a "point" where teenagers go to make-out. Every city has a girl named Tiffany who lost her virginity there.
10. Any woman over the age of 20 who claims never to have masturbated is lying to you.

10 Rules of Nando's:

1. Though you may use a knife and fork, you will not manage an entire meal without getting your fingers dirty. If you do, you will find this greatly reduces your enjoyment of the meal.
2. You will spend at least 2 % your meal-time reading the history of peri-peri sauce from the wall/menu.
3. A significant portion of the patrons will be ethnic minorities; for a short while this will give you the impression of being on holiday in an exotic location.
4. You must at least try the Extra Hot sauce.
5. Having built up this Extra Hot sauce to be liquid fire in a glass bottle, you will no doubt be somewhat let down by it's piquancy, no matter how mild your taste buds.
6. The only real dessert to have is the bottomless frozen yogurt. As much ice cream as you want AND it's all fat free!
7. It is quite simply rude not to have at least one corn on the cob on your table.
8. Though the restaurant will always look crowded, you will find it surprisingly easy to get a seat.
9. The meal should never take you longer than 45 minutes from placing your order to the last bite.
10. If it's your first time, you will be perpetually surprised by how tasty everything is and wonder quite how you managed without this food before. Due to this enjoyment, you will somehow manage to convince yourself that the food is healthy, thus justifying returning visits.

10 Rules of At-Home Cocktail Preparation:

1. If there are at least 3 boys under the age of 35 in the room, within 2.5 minutes of announcing one is going to make cocktails, someone will have cracked a joke involving the words "cock" and "tail" used as sexual derogatory terms.
2. Always remember the ice. If possible, put the ice in first to prevent that awkward moment wherein you realize there isn't enough room for said ice in the glass.
3. Spending money on glassware is not only a lasting investment, it also means you can scrimp on the quality of liquor. Even store-brand Gin tastes like Tanqueray if it's consumed from sparkling crystal. Conversely, even a vintage Dom Perignon tastes like shit out of a plastic cup.
4. If you are without a proper measuring tool, a good rule of thumb is thus - when using Coke as a mixer, if you can't see through the drink, there isn't enough liquor (regardless of what liquor is being used) .
5. It is recommended you acquire and make use of a jug to avoid constant trips to the kitchen for re-fills. This can also have the added affect of giving the illusion you are in a tikka bar on vacation.
6. When you go out, anything less than a quadruple shot will taste significantly weaker than what you drink at home. Rather than forcing a perhaps overdue evaluation of your drinking habits, this will simply encourage you to go home at the earliest opportunity.
7. Under no circumstances should you attempt emulation of Tom Cruise's character in Cocktail. If you are with someone who tries this, exit immediately.
8. Yes to straws, always (gets alcohol to system quicker; doesn't smudge lipstick). Double yes to novelty twist straws. No to useless plastic mixing sticks.
9. Ensure either yourself or your drinking partner is good at refilling the ice tray. There is little more discouraging than eagerly opening a freezer to 3 empty ice trays.
10. Combining every liquor and mixer you have in one drink is not a "home-made Long Island ice tea", it's pre-consumed puke.

10 Rules of Bands:

1. Any wife/girlfriend of a band member will forever be described in print as "long-suffering".
2. The lead guitarist and lead singer will likely be in a constant battle for sexual popularity and critical praise.
3. At least one member of the band will form a side project in which he/she will produce music at the opposite of the musical spectrum to the band. He/she will release said side project on a small independently owned label perhaps under a pseudonym depending on the size of his/her ego.
4. No one will refer to the drummer as a "musician" in all seriousness.
5. At least 2 members will have a substance abuse problem. You will only know about one of them.
6. The level of popularity for a mid-level band is directly proportional to the amount of Japanese female fans they have.
7. Every band member is merely a variation of one of the following personality types: tortured genius or party animal. That is it.
8. The lothario of the band is ultimately the least-satisfying in bed. Screwing a different 17 year-old groupie every night does not a good lover make. Hence - Charlie Watts is a much better lay than Gene Simmons.
9. Any band wishing to move into a "drastically new musical direction" is exactly 1.5 albums away from breaking up.
10. Back stage is never as exciting as you think it will be. And no matter what, you will get corralled into some sort of help.

10 Rules of Musical Taste:

1. Anyone who says they "like all music" has no musical taste.
2. You will never like a band more than the one you liked when you were 14. No matter what you discover afterwards, this will remain, in your heart of hearts, your favorite band forever.
3. If when asked to name their 5 favorite bands, someone names 5 bands you have never heard of - they are desperately trying to impress you. Be flattered.
4. It is near impossible to find someone in a popular up-and-coming band who will admit to sincerely liking the music he/she is making. Needless self-deprecation is the true currency of the music world.
5. If you are between the ages of 17-23 and "into music" it is your duty to put down the NME as often as possible.
6. Red Hot Chili Peppers is officially the most unpopular band among 18-25 year-old hipsters. There is no-one who likes this band even ironically (which is really how most music is consumed amongst this demographic in any case. I think the last band people earnestly liked was Led Zeppelin).
7. Deny all you want, none of you had Bleach before Nevermind.
8. Once someone reaches 40, it is no longer acceptable to be defined by one's musical tastes.
9. To be one of the hip kids, you must avoid mainstream like the plague, with 2 exceptions: The ironic enjoyment of mainstream (i.e. art students buying High School Musical albums) and the ultra mainstream which is so basic it becomes profound (ie Call on Me by Eric Prize)
10. If you have any intelligence, you'll realize that when it comes down to it, someone else's taste in music is arbitrary and really won't tell you a damn thing about them as a person.

10 Non-existent Ailments/Problems/"Facts" Completely Made Up by Advertisers:

1. Underarm skin is parched and needs moisturizing (despite the enormous concentration of sweat glands providing constant wetness all day; the wetness, in fact, that this deodorant was initially intended to curb...) (Dove deodorant)
2. Having to turn windshield wipers on is far too stressful for the average driver, therefore the car should know when it starts to rain and perform this difficult task for us. (Mercedes)
3. No human ever actually likes vegetables, if they are to be eaten they must be hidden in something else so we don't know we're consuming them because they are all disgusting. (Every diet company ever)
4. Having to re-apply lipstick is an earth-shatteringly difficult chore women can't possibly fit into their busy schedules. (Max Factor,Revlon, Cover Girl - any company manufacturing long-wear lipstick)
5. All women over 45 want cosmetic surgery (espesh Botox!!) and there is nothing worse to a woman than wrinkles and age (Loreal Age Defy/Garnier)
6. The inside of a toilet bowl must be sanitary, even though no part of the human body ever touches it (Toilet Duck)
7. The ability to reach the tops of kitchen cabinets to clean is of utmost importance to mothers nationwide (any extending mop manufacturer)
8. Kitchen towels that can't hold the weight of fruit when wet are utterly useless (Bounty)
9. The death of moronic teenagers whose only ambition in life is to be a famous pop star and live in a big house or make vin diesel-esque action films and who can't manage to cross a fucking road without getting hit by a car is not only a loss to society as a whole but somehow not their fault (rather than being natural selection...) (Thinkroadsafety.gov.uk)
10. Toilet paper must be as soft as cashmere, absorbent as sponge and bouncy as rubber to actually work. (Andrex/Charmin etc)

10 Things I've Argued About:

1. Whether one can drive through Russia.
2. If the kids in Breakfast Club remained friends come Monday morning.
3. Whether the moon landing really happened.
4. Capital and corporal punishment.
5. The existence of bisexuals.
6. Whether a girl is a slut for sleeping with a guy the first night.
7. How much I offended someone the night before.
8. If it's wrong to judge someone based on their appearance.
9. If the guy should pay for everything.
10. Whether someone can be intelligent and religious simultaneously.

10 Things I Thought of Doing, Didn't, But Later Wish I Had:

1. Moved to Los Angeles after University.
2. Told my step-mother what really happened.
3. Been taught everything about cars from my father.
4. Learned domestic duties (cooking/sewing etc) from my mother
5. Told my brother immediately about taking step-mother's car and crashing it when I was 13
6. Ended relationships as soon as I knew they were over and doomed (this goes for every single relationship I've ever been in, bar one).
7. Lied about our belongings on the insurance claim form.
8. Kissed Graham Bosworth at his high school graduation when I was 16
9. Yelled at that shitty flight attendant and mentioned my father being a captain of the airline.
10. Gone back to New Orleans sooner

10 Favorite Public Scares:

1. Petrol Crisis
2. Mad cow disease
3. Bird Flu
4. Africanized Bees
5. Anthrax (the poison and the band)
6. Judgement Day
7. Y2K
8. War of the Worlds
9. H bomb
10. Michael Jackson

10 Favorite "Which would you pick if you had to keep one and lose the other?" Questions:

1. Peanut Butter or Aerosmith? (Incidentally, this is the hardest question I've ever asked myself. I genuinely still can't answer it)
2. Pencils or Hawaii?
3. The internet or Tuesdays?
4. The ability to hear David Bowie or the ability to see Angelina Jolie?
5. Season one of the O.C. or the chaos theory?
6. Rubber ice trays or retractable cables on vacuum cleaners?
7. Hanging flower baskets or car air fresheners?
8. The sound of laughter or the memory of yourself ages 8-15?
9. Salt or blue ink?
10. Golf courses or haircuts?

10 Things I Genuinely Don't Like Which I'm Fairly Sure I Should:

1. The Big Lebowski
2. Making new friends
3. The majority of Blur's output.
4. The film and music work of Bjork.
5. Discussing music/film with someone who knows more about it than you so they can "teach you"
6. The Dark Knight
7. Hearing about someone else's day.
8. Bumping into friends unexpectedly in the street.
9. The faux-inclusive, my-first-feminism, eye-roll inducing, rudimentary ideals of Caitlin Moran
10. Not making plans and just going with the flow

9 Types of Heavy Drinkers (according to the Department of Health in England - with number 10 provided by yours truly)

1. Depressed drinker

2. De-stress drinker

3. Re-bonding drinker

4. Conformist drinker

5. Community drinker

6. Boredom drinker

7. Macho drinker

8. Hedonistic drinker

9. Border dependents
10. ALL OF THE ABOVE

I encourage you to make lists of 10s. Any suggestions for further 10 lists would be greatly appreciated.

Cool is to Funny as Oil is to Water

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 17:11:00 +0000

Over the weekend, I attended this Street & Studio exhibition at Tate Modern with some friends. I thought it was great fun, though I did get in free thanks to said friends having membership so I suppose that helped. However a curious thing occurred upon our exit - everyone else in my little group mentioned that, while an enjoyable exhibit, it was striking how little connection there seemed to be between any of the photos on display. There was no central motif here and this a bit of a flaw for a major exhibition. I was then hit with a freight train of depressing reality when I realized that in my simple, and clearly un-cultured mind, I was content with the theme simply being a bunch of cool photos from over the years taken in streets and studios. Essentially, the theme was “cool” itself, and that was just fine by me. Perhaps I’ve suffered through so many “cool” exhibitions/installations/openings/performances in hipster heaven Hoxton that I simply expect the theme to always be “cool”, even though few ever achieve this.

Amongst all the black and white cool, I came across the work of this woman, Laurie Anderson:

She’s better known as a performance artist and sometime-singer, though for this event she was in photographer mode. Back in 1973 she took a selection of photos of all the men who 'harrassed' her on the street over the course of a given day. Every time a male made a sexually suggestive remark to her (which was unbelievably frequent), she snapped their picture. It's supposed to be about empowerment, taking control back from the oppressive man, assaulting men with her camera just as they had collectively assaulted her with their lascivious words. Or whatever. Feminists loved this, she was a hero helping to take back the streets. Even now there’s a whole new generation of activist women who’ve taken this work to heart and have given it a modern twist it with the help of camera phones. They surreptitiously prowl construction sites, until finally some bored, under-paid builder half-heartedly bellows, “Hey baby, how 'bout it?” or something to that effect, whereupon they can whip out their Razr and snap infinite pictures of the offender while screaming about no meaning no and the implied patriarchy and offense of such degrading remarks. Then they probably upload these photos to a Flickr stream of similar “creeps” and feel great pride when a fellow power-taker-backer comments under the photo that by taking and posting this picture they’ve effectively, “taken one more much-needed step in the fight against male tyranny the world over. Perhaps a woman won’t get raped tonight because of this picture.”.
It’s these women that destroy feminism for the rest of us, by the way.

ANYWAYS, turns out this woman, Laurie Anderson, is married to Lou Reed. At first I figured they’d been together for decades; I imagined them having met in the wild bacchanalia of the 70’s at some underground club in deepest Manhattan - her, nude and painting herself the colours of female empowerment, him, strumming one note on his guitar behind a droning Nico. But no. They married last year. From what I can gather (and granted, I could be wrong) they’ve only been together, in some capacity, since the early 90’s. By that point these crazy cats were in their late 40’s, when they should’ve been heading towards crisis city in Mid-Life town. This is when Lou should’ve been banging some Spanish chanteuse under the guise of producing her debut gypsy-punk album. But instead, he was still lusting after the same old performance-artist-Factory-type he did in his 20’s. It’s almost impressive how little his tastes have changed. He still wants the overtly serious girl who spends her days quoting Da-da artists and constructing installation pieces out of cellophane and used tampons. Leopards never change their spots I suppose. He just wants the theme of his life, much like that of the photography exhibition, to be “cool” - and I guess he’s succeeding.

This got me wondering about the theme of my life, and whatever it is, I don’t think it’s cool. It can’t be cool, because I’m too concerned with being funny and this reminded me of a theory of mine I’ve been meaning to discuss - that one can’t be genuinely cool and genuinely funny simultaneously. You can be one or the other, but cool and funny do not go hand in hand.

Now before everyone goes ape-shit about how cool AND funny all the people they know are, bear in mind that in this case I’m dealing in rather strict definitions of cool and funny. When I say “cool” I don’t mean how your friends are all totally cool or how the new jeans you got yesterday are cool or how the Olympics were cool. Nor am I talking about ironic cool such as, “Phil Collins was cool man!” *. I’m talking about the basic and strongest, yet perhaps most abstract, meaning of cool. And also the most mainstream meaning. Jack Nicholson is cool. Vincent Gallo is cool. Fight Club is cool. The Strokes are cool. You may hate all these things, but that’s beside the point. The theme unifying all of them is an undeniable and over-lying impression of cool. Whatever you may think about Bret Easton Ellis, there’s something achingly cool about his books. Though he may be perhaps over-rated, one would be hard-pressed to deny that Andy Warhol was cool. Some of these things/people are somewhat contrived cool, I’ll admit. Wearing too-small blazers and tight jeans with converse, for instance, was bound to look cool on The Strokes you might say; but The Vines did that as well, and they were most certainly not cool.
Cool at this level is unexplainable, indefinable. Some might say its a carefree reckless attitude, others could contend it’s a level of confidence, and it could easily be argued that it’s purely aesthetic. Which, in the case of several bands, might actually be the case.
But one aspect all these havens of coolness have in common, is that none of them are really very funny. Nicholson may make lewd asides in interviews, raise his eyebrows, grin and get a chuckle. Vincent Gallo will project obtusely Republican and outwardly racist viewpoints and hip kids will knowingly laugh. But these people/bands/books/movements etc. are not exactly barrels of laughter.

Conversely, truly funny people are never cool on that level. Yet again, when I say funny I mean people who are actively making an effort to be very funny and are succeeding in doing so. I don’t mean how Arnie is funny in Batman and Robin, or how the Miss Teen USA girl can barely string a sentence together or that time your friend fell out of a tree and it was HILARIOUS. I mean epic funny, people whose careers are based almost entirely on being defiantly funny. Unusual and quirky, yet mainstream enough to attract millions. Seinfeld, Chris Rock, Woody Allen, Jim Carrey, Robin Williams, Billy Connelly, et al. – not a cool one among ‘em. Love them or hate them, they ain’t cool. Of course you may personally find a funny person cool - but in the general societal terms of cool as previously defined, none of these guys have it. And interestingly, the closer someone gets to cool, the less truly funny they become.
Consider Bill Hicks – one of history’s greatest stand-ups, a true rebel and probably as close as a comedian has ever come to being considered genuinely cool. Yet, he’s not in the same funny league as the aforementioned comedians. Audiences of his didn’t spend their time in uproarious laughter, it was more a smug, knowing chuckle. He wasn’t going for the big laughs, he was challenging people, making them think a little harder than usual; sure it was all said with great humour, but it wasn’t gut-bustingly funny. He was more cool by making cutting observations and criticising The Man, but it wasn’t about being hilarious; it was almost depressingly funny. Some might argue this was better, he was making a real point. And he was cool while doing it. Dennis Leary then came along, took the same routines and made them more laugh-out-loud funny, and as a result, became less cool. It all adds up, people.

Also, it’s worth nothing that people can lose their cool far easier then they can lose their funny. Richard Pryor was funny ‘til the day he died, even multiple sclerosis and setting himself alight didn't stop him cracking jokes; meanwhile, John Cusack couldn’t hold on to his cool status for more than about 3 years in the late 90’s. It seems clear which virtue has more lasting benefits. That is the nature of cool, it’s very much of it’s time, hence why it seems such a feat when someone or something manages to retain coolness for any sustained period.
Lou Reed, however, has personified an untouchable aura of cool for 40 years. He even survived this. But he knows that things are getting testy now. He doesn’t do much press these days, his albums are produced and released to the public without much fanfare. He figures if he just keeps his head down and doesn’t fuck up he can ride out these last 20 years or so without compromising his cool. Then he can die with his coolness intact, something not many people have achieved. He hasn’t much competition at this point either – Keith Richards was cool, until he started falling out of coconut trees and hanging around Johnny Depp. John Lydon lost every ounce of cool when he got involved with reality TV. Even Bowie’s been involved in way too many sub-par films, and released too many turgid albums, not to mention his Parkinson appearances, to still be considered cool. Lou Reed can really make it. He’s even married this performance artist idiot** to complete the package, you can’t find a chink in his armour of cool.

Of course, the downside of being so innately cool is that one inevitably has to be a bit of a dick. You may have noticed this – most truly cool people are kind of assholes. One has to be; it’s time-consuming being that effortless all the time; one must prioritise one’s time, sacrifices must be made and common courtesy is often the first to the gauntlet. Small price to pay for a lifetime of getting away with wearing sunglasses indoors.
Likewise, don’t think the truly funny are getting away scot-free in this equation either, this too is a life wrought with sacrifice. The most common issue with these guys is the Sad Clown Syndrome, suffered by several truly funny people. This usually manifests itself in a recurring midnight frenzy of crippling self-doubt and harrowing re-assessment of one’s ever-dwindling worth, all of which is more often than not accompanied by copious amounts of drugs and/or alcohol in the vain hope that a narcotic haze will have formed by the morning, thus erasing all memory of the anguishing self-realization. This is why truly funny people are often single, and maintain an essentially nihilistic and bitter view of the world.

Of course, you needn’t worry too much about the thorns of either of these personality roses. The vast majority of people are neither cool nor funny, so it rarely bears any meaning to most people’s lives, including yours. But for those in these upper echelons of humour and hipness, life can be an uphill battle living up to expectations.
So when Eddie Murphy releases Norbit 2 or Harmony Korine makes a movie for Fox, don’t be so quick to say how they’ve lost their edge or sold out, just feel pity for them - they just couldn't keep it up. And take comfort in the fact that you are neither cool, nor funny – it’s an easy life being average! Meanwhile, let’s all keep a collective eye on Lou Reed, he’s got a long road ahead…

*Though Sussudio is, in fact, cool.

**I am being a little cruel about this woman to be honest, yes she does come across as a pretentious moron who hasn’t laughed at anything (except George Bush, ironically) since 1978, but she also helped construct this Talking Stick mechanism which does seem pretty nifty. So maybe I can cut her a break.

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Funeral for a Trend

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 17:02:00 +0000

VS.

When did charities and funerals get in bed together? Why does every funeral disallow flowers these days and instead force it's attendees to give to charity? I guess I understand if the stiff in the box was a big philanthropist his/herself but otherwise, I just don't get it. I'm sure some people would tell me it's down to that ignorant and idiotic saying, "Flowers are pointless - they just take up space and die". Um yeah, just like the person who we're holding the funeral for, right? The irony of this train of thought is staggering - surely the entire point of funeral is to celebrate the life, however brief, of someone? Is a flower not a great symbol for the often startling brevity of life itself? Blooming and bright one minute, whithering towards the grave the next. The bright fullness of flowers at a funeral remind us of how wonderful life can, and hopefully was for the deceased, be; how we should take advantage of our time with each other more effectively, and how many happy memories we hopefully have with those passed on. The sheer satisfaction of looking at flowers and the emotional resonance of them can not be duplicated by passing on one's money to a disease-fighting charity (however worthy a cause this may be).
I suppose some funeral homes ask that there not be flowers. Perhaps this is true, though if this appears to be the case, I would start shopping around; when my dear grandmother died and we held her funeral in small town rural England, we weren't restricted at all despite the small size of the venue and surrounding garden. I'm so glad we had flowers at her funeral, it was perhaps the most enjoyable part of the service. After the ceremony, with it's unavoidable melancholy, we all ventured outside to look at the numerous bouquets people had sent. It was certainly far more heart-warming to look down and see a beautiful flower arrangement sent from my father from half-way around the world, then it would've been to a few weeks later (or even never?!) hear that he donated some money to a charity. How on earth would this had helped the bereaved? Surely if there's any time in life to be selfish, it is in the time of mourning; and it was certainl comforting and healthy for everyone at the funeral to end it on a cheerful and touching note. Looking at all the flowers on display, where they all came from, seeing right in front of us just how much affection there was from around the world for my grandmother was far more consoling than the abstract idea that someone might be clicking a "donate" button on their computer at that moment.
in any case, if one is adamant that there mustn't be flowers no matter what - what happened to "charity starts at home"? The cost of a funeral is often a huge burden on family members already dealing with great strain, surely it would be in everyone's better interest to donate proceeds directly to the family towards the cost of the service and burial/cremation? Why should some bureaucratic faceless organization get the money??
The whole things seems so impersonal to me, and I'm fairly sure no one gets any satisfaction from the transaction (save for the charity, of course). The mourning family are left with no symbols of support coming from far away relatives and friends, and those unable to attend the service are left without any memorable or tangible way to show much they care for the dearly departed.

I call for a stop to this madness. If people want to give to charity, they shall do so of their own volition; but a funeral is not a benefit. It's about celebrating the life of, and mourning the loss of, a loved one - and sending flowers as a way to send ones' regards and sympathy is a tradition not to be sniffed at. I for one will be having flowers at my parents' funerals and I surely hope that whomever is unlucky enough to be lumbered with dealing with my death does the same for me. Oriental lilies are my favorite, just in case you're stumped...

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Brenda + Dylan = 4 Eva

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 15:51:00 +0000

So presumably everyone is excited about the new Beverly Hills 90210? Well, I am unlike the average joe. I'm TURBO excited. This is my 12 year-old dream come true. Soon my 15 yr-old dream will come true and they'll make final episodes for My So-Called Life. Even though everyone's 30 now. Anyways, in honor of this new development in the 90210 continuity (this is actually what the industry calls it), lets look back on those golden days of teen drama. I was actually a member of a Bevery Hills 90210 club. It was basically me and my friends and I don't recall us ever actually meeting, but it sure was an honor just to be a part of it. I also had a Brandon Walsh doll (to go along with my Joey McIntyre NKOTB doll) and I'm sure it's still packed away somewhere. I kept it in pristine condition, still in it's box and everything. It must be worth a fair bit by now, in fact - but like I'd ever part with that. As if!
What this all boils down to is how rocking this show was, from the incredible theme tune, to the clothes, to the music (remember when the girls snuck into Color Me Badd's hotel?!) to the Peach Pit. It was everything the early 90's was about. Dylan and his shit-hot Porsche. Andrea and her "poor" background. Brenda listening to REM's Man on the Moon while moping around her room. I mean for reals - these kids had it all. Sure it turned to shit when Brenda left and Tiffini Amber-Thiessen of Saved By The Bell fame (look out for further affinity between these two programs...) took her place and they all went to college and seemed to age 5 years in one summer. But for about 3 years, this was the greatest thing that happened to television:

Look at how casually Luke Perry/Dylan McKay is standing. Look at how un-casually Jason Priestly/Brandon Walsh is ~~wincing~~ standing.

Aaaaallllll that denim. Love Jennie Garth/Kelly Taylor's pose. Truly love Shannon Doherty's/Brenda Walsh's shoes. And all that goddam denim.

"Purse those lips Jennie! Shannon - think of your diva reputation - now PURSE!"

I think this was taken at the height of the show, or thereabouts. Shannon Doherty is looking HAWT. Look at her face - she KNOWS she's the hottest girl on set. She KNOWS everyone thinks she's a bitch. Girl does not give a shit. Also, I remember it was this photo that was used to promote the episode in which David's loser friend shot himself to death. Well, he only shot himself once and it was accidental (he was playing with his dad's handgun, spinning it round his finger wild-west style and it went off. DUH) but it did kill him. Shot himself all the way to death. Anyways, to promote this Very Special Episode of 90210, they printed the above picture in TV Guide with the ominous caption, "One of these people will die tonight" or something to that effect. In any case, it was so fucking obvious that David's loser friend (on the far right) was gonna die as the rest were all main characters and he was just David's idiot friend who wore that cowboy hat all the time and had a really fucked up mother. Still, nice kicks.

Couldn't find this any larger, but this was such a great time for the show. When they filmed the second season over the summer in 1991, this was a huge moment for television. While every other series was in re-run hell, this was the only show churning out fresh episodes all summer long. Right when teenagers needed television the most, 90210 delivered. Smooth move. Though I often find that whenever I think of the 90210 summer episodes, I automatically start thinking about the Saved By the Bell summer episodes; both of which involved major characters working at a beach resort to ensure every episode had reason to show young hardbodies in bikinis and trunks.

Have I mentioned that I ADORE Brenda Walsh/Shannon Doherty? Sorry Mischa Barton, Blake Lively et al. but this is the original Icon. (But Leighton Meester? You're on your way...)

Ah man - remember when this biker chick came in to get with Brandon? I dunno about where you lived, but where I lived, EVERY girl I knew hated her. Where did she go in the end? Perhaps she was killed by a gang of Brandon Walsh fangirls All I know is she was an unpopular casting decision. Much like when the biker chick turned up to get with Zack in Saved By the Bell and we were meant to pretend we didn't notice that Jesse and Kelly were gone. Did these shows share writers??

And here's the supposed new crew

Only one token ethnic minority? And he's black?? That's SOOO 1999. Everyone knows the token ethnic these days should be Asian. Anything from Pakistani to Korean. Harold or Kumar. Oh, and one of these guys has to be gay, right?

All hail the original teen drama to beat them all:

PS - while I looking for photos I came across this:

Okay - that is NOT Jennie Garth, and whoever it is - those tits have been heavily photoshopped. But I love the quote. Notice she refers to her as "Brenda", the character, rather than Shannon. As though this is "Kelly", not Jennie, talking.

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Forever Fake Tits

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 15:50:00 +0000

Is Botox bio-degradable? Is silicone? Or saline? If not, then this must present quite a predicament to all these Hollywood ladies who spend all their time preaching about the environment, driving their Hybrid's, drinking Fair Trade coffee, eating locally sourced vegetables, off-setting their carbon emissions every time they fly and so on. All this effort to prove to everyone how much they care about 'the cause', how much the future of humanity is in their hands and yet when they die, and their body disintegrates into the ground, all that will remain is plastic lumps and mounds. The only evidence of their vacuous existence. Is this why cremation is so popular? In fact, if you think about it, cremation's rise in popularity seemed to coalesce with the rise of plastic surgery and environmentalism. Was this their main selling point? Stop burning fossil fuels - let us burn you!

Also - while on the topic of environmentalism, has you noticed the recent trend for telling us that we must save the plant for the sake of our grandchildren? Remember when it was just about the current children? I remember when I was the future, every cause was for the sake of me. I feel sorry for today's kids, no one seems to care about them. It's all about THEIR offspring. The current 0-16 yr olds are like this lost generation. Everyone worried about their grandchildren, no one caring about their present spawn. No wonder kids are getting knocked up at 14, it's the only way to get mommy away from the recycling.
Well, not me. Tell you what - I don't give two shits about my grandchildren. I think the relationship between grandchildren and grandparents is weird enough as is. There's such an age-gap (unless you're from the deep south or Scotland in which case your grandmother is 35) and usually there's only a few meetings per year mixed in with the requisite greeting cards for Special Events. The entire relationship is so forced, not to mention one-sided; most kids don't care about their grandparents really, they just want that $20 check in the birthday card and in the meantime you're lucky to share a few tender moments in between mutual intense boredom. By the time kids reach a level of maturity which offers them the perspective to view their grandparents as interesting people rather than just old fogies, the grandparents are going senile and then they inevitably pop off, so the entire exercise is rather a waste of time. As such, my relationship with my future grandchildren will likely be a bit strained already, must I now start caring about these little shits in my 20's?

By the way, I loved my grandparents dearly - but they're all dead now, so I can sorta say what I want really.

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Glastonbury 2008

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 23:04:00 +0000

Get ready for a picture post bitches! Normally I would accompany this photo assault with witty social commentary as per usual. However, most of things worth discussing (Jay-Z; the difference between food now (organic gourmet dishes) and what I was faced with 10 years ago (tepid pizza and cheap crepes); Kate Moss's face etc.) I have no pictorial evidence of.
As such, I will simply display pictures and then interject with captions which will for the most part, tell you nothing that you couldn't have gathered yourself. I call it "subverting the rigid conventions of photo-journalism", you'll call it "irritating and ultimately tedious".

But first - I will say that there were 3 marked differences between this years Glastonbury and the Glastonbury's of yore - i.e. the late 90's:

1. Fashion. I unfortunately took few pictures of this, but girls have upped their festival fashion, big time. I'd say about 90% of the girls there were wearing 'outfits' - every day. No more of this combats stuffed into black wellingtons with a dreary kag thrown on top. Literally every girl there looked like an extra from The Hills; it was incredible. They were hot, young, slender and well-dressed. I welcome this change; I've never agreed with the notion that because one is in a tent, one must compromise her style. Sartorial laziness ain't cool. Luckily I am no longer alone in this opinion. I remember years ago when Kate Moss stood out simply by wearing a waistcoat and hotpants. This year when she swanned through the camping field in full view of the public, she looked rather normal. Of course the skinny legs and ugly boyfriend gave her away, but she is no longer the lone style queen on the festival circuit. Well done girls for finding another event worthy of a preliminary shopping trip. Unfortunately the same can not be said for the boys who, for the most part, looked like rejects from a Noasis open casting call.

2. Cocaine. As you may well know, I don't partake in any of this narcotics funny business, I stick to classier pursuits like Gin and cigarettes. However, even as an innocent bystander, one couldn't help but notice the prevalence of The White Stuff at Glastonbury. In previous years, herb was king and the place was rammed full of crusty hippies toking on their doobies with wild abandon. As a result, you were constantly bombarded with a wave of that muddy, slightly sweet aroma of ole mary jane througout the day. But, if these hot young things are to remain skinny binnies, munchies ain't gonna help. So this year, it was all about schnauser powder. Every time I walked past a tent, someone was leaning over a hand mirror and while watching bands I was struck by the amount of people around me seemingly sniffing their keys...

3. Clean (ish) toilets. I remember in the olden days of Glasters (so much better than "Glasto"), the biggest plus point of Thursday was that this was the only day on which one could even consider sitting down to urinate. By Saturday night, most women had thighs of steel from the constant crouching. However, I'll have you know that this year I managed to sit down in the toilet on SUNDAY. Imagine that. And it wasn't cos I just gave up caring. It was because unbelievably they actually had cleaners there this year. The toilets were emptied and cleaned and (aside from those near the main stage which were perennially vomit-inducing) actually usable. Impressive. But still, celebs take their backstage toilets for granted. Spoiled children...

On to the photo fest!
I did a fairly average job of taking pictures to be honest. I missed out on so many photo op's it's hardly laughable. But it still is.

The train journey there was pure traveling pleasure. I can't recall the last trip I embarked upon with as much anticipation. Plus - we had first class seats! Somehow these were cheaper than standard tickets (it pay dividends to order tickets early kids) though in future, I would pay more for them in any case as the difference was abundant. Standard class was rammed with festival goers, all endless backpacks and carrier bags and tents and sleeping bags and so on, all crammed sardine-style into compact carriages with nothing to offer but tray tables the size of postage stamps, a complete lack of storage space and leg room clearly constructed with the body of a 5 year-old in mind.

First class however, we were rolling in style. Stretch-out space, copious storage room, complimentary drinks, huge wooden table, our own power point etc. Of course we didn't really let the class go to our heads as is evident by our choice of meal:

I don't think the other passengers were too pleased, they were probs just trying to get home after a day at the stuffy office:

First meal of the festival was deelish - mainly because it came from one of many stands which serve to make up "My Favorite Addition to Glastonbury" - Mexican food! It was EVERYWHERE. It was astonishing. Elsewhere in this quaint little country, Mexican food is a kind of exotic cuisine which can only be found on backstreets of London if you know where to look. But for some reason, in the micro-city of Glastonbury, it's one of the most well-represented foreign foodstuffs. Here's a slice of refried beans/salsa/cheese heaven:

Of course we brought our own savory snacks, money saving and all. The following day, the Christmas Eve of the festival, Thursday, we went to a little cafe which was called Tea Time or something, though the owners should really consider changing it's name to, "Guardian Readers ONLY!" as this is what it was. I've never seen so many Guardian peeps coralled together in one place, a herd of liberal and green-loving cattle sipping their organic chai. And us.

By the way, I think this is my favorite picture from the festival. Everything that I feel about the the world is encapsulated in Tudds' face.

The Great Fire of Glastonbury '08

Not sure I'll ever really "get" the teepee village. The price is unavoidably extortionate considering what you're paying for. I'd rather have one of those wooden pod things that they offered this year. The contradiction of the "getting back to earth"-ness of the teepee and the fee involved seems wrong somehow. But I do like the idea of having a fire inside your tent.

This hill never used to be open to festival goers til this year. It offers great views of the whole site, and it's defs the highest point. Higher, for instance, than this, the viewing tower:

which everyone is just dying to get into. Check out this fancy photo of yours truly - the line you see behind me is for this stupid tower:

One place no-one was in line for was this gorgeous Japanese restaurant. An actual restaurant serving what looked like increds sushi and teriyaki, unfortunately all at typics Japanese prices. But it was so authentic, all low tables and and floor cushions to sit on. I SO wanted to eat here. However, as with most desires of mine, it never came to fruition.

Mud came on Friday. Wowser.

But I did make new friends and watch my dear old friend Dev play his little heart out. Twice!

As well as raping the backstage booze, I also took advantage of the stellar restroom facilities. And stole high-end toilet paper. I'm so gracious with affluence...

Then Dev joined We Are Scientists on The Other Stage.

Dev was also really proud to be wearing a No Bra shirt. Really proud.

Also, thanks to him, I had the best steak sandwich of my entire life at some backstage food establishment.

Friday night was probably my favorite night of the weekend. This is obvious as I have the fewest pictures from it.

Saturday - sunshine and circus.

The amount of seagulls overhead was startling. While it did give an odd sea-side resort feel to the event, it also filled me with slight trepidation that if we smelled so bad on Saturday that birds were circling above, I was unprepared for the likely stench come Monday...

All the world cuisine you could ask for on offer here, but why bother the risk? Stick with what you know. Good ole fried battery chicken:

See, the thing about a festival like Glastonbury is you can do whatever you want, maaan. You can dress up like a peacock, spend an entire day pretending to be an envelope - whatever you want. Everything's A-okay down glaster's way. And if you find yourself feeling a tad drowsy in the afternoon sun - no problem! Just take a nap between some cesspit-like port-a-potties and overflowing roasting-in-the-sun trash cans! GREAT IDEA.

Of course the best part of a sunshine-filled day is the warm and balmy evening that follows, right? Totally! English countryside's are famous for their sticky-hot nights, right?! Outta the way Miami, Glastonbury is here!

This night also yielded perhaps my favorite contrasting minute-apart photos.

Made all the better when one considers that Ed (on the right) is actually wearing a bucket hat a la The New Radicals. And it's beige. And it's corduroy.

Finger-cum + portable stool = 4am

OMFG maaaan, fucking **sToNe cIrCLe** at 6:30am maaaan...

I believe you're meant to find your true self here. I found a lot of people doing balloons.

And as the sun set on Sunday, so did my body into a sleeping bag, at a reasonable 2am to ensure a fresh start and peaceful journey home. Not everyone followed this train of thought believing instead that there was no reason to end the party, thus leading to a rather palid dispositon the following morning when it came time to pack up our tent at 8am:

I have no meaningful concluding phrase here. Sorry.

See you next year!

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Royal Ascot

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 16:58:00 +0000

Royal Ascot Maaaaaan!!!!

2008 in the house!

That's right bitches, check it out. Royal Enclosure.

Of course.
I've now been a member for 5 years and I can propose other people to be members but you gotta have the credentials, innit. So if you think you got what it takes to rub shoulders with high society, let me know and I might consider it...

So anyways, yesterday was my annual appearance at Ladies Day @ Royal Ascot. I look forward to this event every year, its an exciting time and I like chillaxing with my mother and step-father all day. Plus I like to bet on horses. I'm not much of a gambler, so it's my one time to go mental maaan. I rarely win, and if I do, I usually lose my winnings on the following race. As such I tend to leave with less money than I started; breaking even is the best it gets for me. Man, if I was in an indie film, that sentence would be a metaphor for my ENTIRE LIFE.

After the parking fiasco of last year, along with the rather damp weather, this year was a great success. Unfortunately, I have no photos of the lovely picnic we had beforehand, I guess I was too busy eating. Suffice to say it was delish. Crawfish, shrimp, chicken, sausages, salads etc. all with the obligatory champagne drunk from goblets made of solid sterling silver and lined with gold. Seriously. We actually bring them for the sole reason that they can fall on the ground 80 times and they'll never break. And also cos it sounds cool to say your drinking from a goblet made of silver and lined in gold. We know what we're doing.
So it was a stunning day weather wise:

And behold the winning ticket of the first race of the day! I won!

If you look at the name of the horse, you should get a reason as to why I chose this particular runner. It happened to be the favorite, but this made little difference...
You'll also see that I bet with a nominal amount of money. This is because my system of choosing horsies based on their name/color of jockey's jersey/country of origin etc is not exactly foolproof. In fact I believe this was my only real win of the day and as a result by the last race I was betting like £2.50 each way. Tough times.

But the real fun of Ascot is of course checking out what everyone else is wearing. Most of the time, it was too crowded for me to get a good shot (especially as the real shockers aren't in the Royal Enclosure but with the ordinary hoi-polloi Ascot-goers and its super packed round their end) but I got a few shots. Some super, some super questionable:

There was a lot of this matching business, which I'm all for. In fact Ascot is the one time of year where I do match my outfit. But though you can't quite tell on this photo (and it's shit quality as I had to zoom and crop from the original) the green bag this lady is holding is made of some synthetic fur-type material. Furthermore, she added some of this to the horrible puke-colored hat as well. She really went to town on looking disgusting. Plus, the undeniable dullness of the rest of her outfit only enhances the putridness of the hat/bag combo.
PS - the pig-faced lady on the right was wearing a mixture of two hats it seemed, neither of which worked; but with a face like hers, I felt it cruel to tear her down further. She has enough to deal with...

I love this hat. I love this type of hat in general really. See the white hat in the foreground? And the turquoise number in the background? These are the kind of hats I detest. SO boring. SO dull. It's ladies day for christ sake! Go crazy a little! Have fun! This pink beauty is just the right kind; if you look closely you'll see the black wire actually forms a skeleton-shape of a top hat. Impractical, obtrusive and useless outside of this event. Perfect choice!

(sorry for the lack of focus...)
This is the third year running I've seen this woman at Ascot in this hat. She looks about 64 or so, and I would guess she's been wearing this outfit/hat combo for decades. The suit is a classic cut and she's kept her shape, so why not? And the (amazing) hat is not wacky in a trendy way, so it stands out in a timeless fashion. She's wonderful and I hope to see her again next year. (ETA: I've just found out she's "Mrs. Edward Claridge". I still have no idea who this is.) There's also this Oriental woman who's tiny and wears the most extravagant outfits every year but I totally missed her this year! Either she was a no-show (doubtful) or I was just unlucky (obvs).

Great matching butterfly hats. I was impressed. Plus - as well as matching the fabric of their outfits to that of their hats, the men they're with have corresponding matching bands of fabric on their top hats. A well thought out fashion plan...

OMG you guyzz, I so did not know that that the lovechild of ZZ Topp and Axl Rose was a member of the Royal Enclosure! Lolz!

Gotta say, both the Queen and Anne looked pretty dullerific if you ask me...Where's Prince Harry to jazz things up when you need him?

Homegirl wasn't giving me no love...

OMG you guyzz, I so had no idea the wicked witch of the west was a member of the Royal Family!! Lolz!

But for reals, the best part of being a member of the Royal Enclosure, as I keep banging on about, is the space:

On the left is the Royal Enclosure area, on the right is for all the ordinary civilian folks. We got it goood.

And finally my mother reveals the secret to lasting comfort when you're spending an entire day on your feet on hard surfaces:

Clear Jellies. The way forward for stylish comfort...

And that's all she wrote! Oh and by the way, I looked elegant and ladylike, the one time per year I do this. Matching handbag and all!:

Yet for some reason, I was making THAT face. I have no idea why. Still, you get the idea. Check out the horserace on TV right behind me. I'm so in the action!

This entry is dedicated to my book club friends who were at our monthly meeting on Wednesday. We know how rock a literary par-tay. I couldn't a pic of the whole entire group, but you get the idea. Even if dude on the end looks pissed...

Shy-making!

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Highlight of My Life more like

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 09:26:00 +0000

This is the elevator at my work. I'd say on average I probably ride this elevator at least 6 times a day. Well, I ride one of 16 elevators identical to this one, that is. In any case, whenever I'm elevating and there are other people elevating with me, I run through a little self-entertaining routine. I imagine what would happen were the world to end and civilization as we know it was destroyed; yet through some freak stroke of "luck", only those of us in the elevator survived. This would naturally mean that we were responsible for the procreation of the entire human race. Of course the impossibility of how we would come to know we were the only people left on the planet being that we're stuck in a metal box is painfully obvious, but I ask you to ignore this blatant conundrum, and stick with me.
So presuming we're now responsible for breeding, I mentally check out everyone in the lift and work out who would fornicate first and with whom. Presumably age would be a major factor so any woman over 55 is out of the equation, and those over even the youthful 40 are probably low on the list what with their chances of getting a bun in the oven so drastically reduced. Same goes for men - while I know that even an 80 yr-old codger can still get his freak on, we're re-starting the human race here, we need Michael Phelps-like swimmers, so the youngest guy(s) would take the reins. Once the old fogies are weeded out, it would of course come down to aesthetics. More often than not, I am the hottest (or only) girl in the lift. This means I would then be forced to screw one of, if not all, the men in the lift. And in my mind, these world-saving sex-sessions would all takes place within this elevator, so we would have go at it in front of everyone else. Bear in mind this elevator can hold 23 people. That's a lot of doggers.

So I start rating the guys in our little civilization-starters group; who I would go for first, who would be my last choice, what they'd be like in bed (or, to be more accurate, what they'd be like on floor) etc. If there are other girls I wonder if they would be chosen first over my beautiful self. I then further wonder if I would be mostly hurt by this decision, being that's it's an insult to my looks, or if I would be mostly relieved that I didn't have to perform life's most intimate of acts with an audience of journalists and media types who work for lad mags and fashion bibles. Usually I come to the ridiculous conclusion that the former is true - I would actually rather be forced to screw a total stranger, in front of several other people and in a small confined space, than have my looks/virility in any way derided. Even in times of world crisis, my arrogance never ceases to amaze.
I also start wondering about the moment when we would all have to undress, the giggling, the awkwardness, the guy maybe not being able to "perform" under such pressure and scrutiny. Would I eventually condition myself to successfully reach orgasm despite the people staring? Would this eventually become the only way I could climax? Would the rest of the folks politely turn their backs on us while we screwed? If so, how long would this consideration last? Who would start taking a look-see first? Would the guys not being asked to take part, start jerking off at the sight of the free porn in front of them? Would the entire scenario turn into a bukake fest? And so on and so on.
This entire process takes about 30-90 seconds to complete, which is usually the length of the elevator journey itself. Sometimes if we stop on several floors, it can get mind-blowing. Last week I found myself in a cramped elevator with 13 young bucks all from various men's magazines. Not one was under 35. They were all of average looks. I had a near impossible time putting them in sexual order. I resorted to taking fashion markers and the amount of hair product used into consideration. It was such an agonizing process, I almost felt like telling the guy I eventually chose, "Hey man, you won! I'd defs nail you first over these other guys if the future of the human race depended on it! Well, unless your friend there changed his clothes and buffed up a bit...".
This mental exercise is the highlight of my day. I look forward to it with excitement and it's a fantastic way to pass the time and jazz up an otherwise mundane, yet necessary, daily journey. You can try it on public transport as well! It gets tough on crowded tube carriages, but one time I found myself on the central line with what looked like two all-male indie bands and suddenly the idea of armageddon was getting me wet. And if you can get horny thinking about the end of the world, you can conquer anything!

In other news:

I broke the belt loop on my leather belt. This has never happened to me before but I was pleasantly surprised to find out it was only stapled in to begin with. I think this will be one bit of "sewing" I can deal with!

I've been a lot more social lately. Hanging out with friends, eating bagels, watching my friends rock out with their cocks out:

(and taking unfocused pictures of them in which you can't even see their faces.)

Going to costume/karaoke parties as Robert Smith in an odd pairing with Slash:

And yes, beneath that over-sized white top I had the obligatory black leggings and white high-tops. One of the most simple yet effective costumes ever. And ladies, there is nothing as liberating as smearing one's eyeliner and lipstick on. Literally took me about 90 seconds to "put my face on". If only I was an overweight goth, make-up could be this easy every day.

And finally, this is for my best friend Katie and her new blogspot (katiecoleslaw.blogspot.com):

The most tanned girl I know.

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Body Dismorphic Disorder - here I come!

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Wed, 28 May 2008 09:03:00 +0000

Body Dysmorphic Disorder - here I come!
There's something very dangerous happening in the world of women's under-garments at the moment. This may or may not interest you boys, but for you girls, I think we need to discuss this.

It all started about 2 weeks ago when I decided I was in serious need of a few new brassieres. I also had a sweet £40 Topshop voucher burning a hole in my wallet. Put these two facts together and we got a shopping spree on our hands. However, my plan for lingerie heaven was immediately scuppered after spending only 10 minutes in Topshop's (tiny) underwear section. And the reason is this - take a look at the the following bras, all available from your local Topshop branch, and see if you can find the common thread between them all :

Anything you notice?? I took them from all different lines, "basic" "Fashion" "Something Special" - and yet there's one thing they all have in common.

Padding.

In fact, every bra on the website has padding save for bandeau tops and about three bras that also have no under-wiring. Other than that - it's pad, pad, pad. Disappointed by this unneeded cushioning assault, I ventured off to another shopping mecca - Primark. They have 6 walls of bras. 6 top-to-bottom walls. That's a lotta lingerie. I figured surely they would be able to satisfy my want.   After looking around for a good 5 minutes to no avail, I asked an employee if they had any non-padded bras available. She directed me to the maternity section. That's it. I was in a mild state of disbelief and deep frustration at this point. I even joked with her, "My god, aren't ANY girls happy with what they have?!"; she looked at me blankly, and flatly said "No". Wow.

And here's where I started to worry. I ended up going to H&M, Miss Selfridge, and even New Look (which took some bravery) and was presented again and again with the same dilemma. My goal on that day was simply to find a pretty, non-padded, under-wired bra that was fairly cheap. You know, a NORMAL bra. A fairly elementary goal if you ask me and one which in the past had not presented a major predicament. The only thing vaguely abnormal about my request was that I wanted it to be pretty. Not plain white, or black, or nude. Pretty. It would seem this request of mine is impossible to satisfy. There were a fair few fun and beautifully designed bras in all the shops, but they were ALL padded. And I hope I'm not alone in finding this a terribly depressing and insulting discovery.
Basically these shops are telling young girls right from the start that their tits aren't big enough, regardless of the size.   Even the DD bras still had padding. And those days of removable pads a lá Wonderbras are long gone.   This is sewn in, can't-remove-it, stuck-with-it-forever padding. And this was the case in every high street shop I visited, nowhere gave any other choice, save for one or two deviations which normally offered no support (i.e. had no under-wire etc). If you wanted a bra that did what it intended to and offered support, you had to get a padded one. And that was the end of it.

Now, I get it if an insecure 13 year-old with bee stings for breasts wants a little extra help to match up to her friends. Fine. But beyond the age of 15, why any woman would desire to wear a padded bra is beyond me. And in most of these stores, the clientele ranged in age from 16-40.   I mean these are women. Grown, adult, mature, self-assured women. And they're being bullied into buying a product which by it's very nature implies inadequacy. So take a young girl in the bra-buying market, perhaps getting her first real bra at age 12/13 or so. Picture her 10, 15 years later. 15 years of buying padded bras, 15 years of wearing a garment which forces a sense of physical deficiency on to her self-image, 15 years of being inoccuously told that she is never enough. And we wonder why there are women in their 30's too scared to get naked in front of their husbands who have to draft in people like this:

The media is constantly being berated for portraying stick thin girls as the ideal form and giving women everywhere eating disorders, and meanwhile the bra industry is practically advertising for silicone and no-one's saying a goddam thing about it.
To add insult to injury, I went into Marks & Spencer, surely the last bastion of sartorial sensibility, thinking of course I'll be able to find some respite in the Queen of Lingerie.   Yet again, the vast majority were padded. But upon further investigation, I began to notice that on several styles and designs, only cup sizes AA-C were padded and on sizes D and up were normal, pad-free and abundantly more attractive.
Marks & Sparks is virtually saying to the customer, "If you have a cup size D or above, your breasts may be good enough on their own. If you have a cup size C or smaller, then sorry honey, but you need to bump up up your lady lumps, girlfriend" . As my, perfectly well-sized, breasts fall between a B and a C, I of course was one of the unfortunate freaks of nature who needed some help. God forbid I actually prance about in public with my breasts as they are. Heavens no. And let's not bother taking into account that the average bra size in the UK is 36C, which means that apparently the majority of women's breasts aren't big enough.

And that's another thing - this is also a class issue. The only way to avoid this padded monopoly is to invest a great deal in one's lingerie. Rigby and Peller don't offer too much in the padded region, and in several shops you CAN get unpadded options; if you're willing to shell out upwards of £40. Topshop offers some lovely unpadded bras as well - at £60 a pop that is...
This, then, basically implies that if you're rich, you're happy with what you have, but if you're poor you're not. Because of course all working class girls want to get fake tits anyways, right? So of course they all want padded bras, right? There's no way Tracey from the council estate in Colchester can be happy with her B cups. But Natasha from Chelsea, she can afford to have the self-confidence needed to survive wearing non-padded bras, purely because she can afford it.
Of course, if you know me at all, you're fully aware that the debasement of the working class is not something I particularly fight against. Usually I agree with it, in fact. However, in this case it's not just poverty-stricken taking the heat, it's anyone who isn't wealthy. It's every girl I know. It's me, goddammit.

The entire horrible situation has left me rather aghast. I managed to (after SEVERAL hours) get 3 bras, all from Marks and Spencer, which were fairly pretty, non-padded, fit me and were reasonably priced (mainly because 2 were on sale). But it was not a pleasurable experience and was certainly not easy. And the really pretty bras were, yet again, about £40-50 each. What I don't understand is how this has happened?? When did these shops decide we all have small tits??
And why is this only for women? If we're being told by every brand that our chests do not measure up, why aren't the guys getting this shit? I don't see padded men's underwear filling up the shelves in Topman. In this age of skinny jeans where one's manhood is rather more on display, surely this is a wasted marketing gem? Don't boys deserve a little added insecurity as well??
And, on a lesser note - speaking of boys if you ask most of them they will tell how much they dislike padded bras. And I totally agree. They are terribly unattractive garments. They don't look good, they're not nice to feel when hugging a girl, they look embarrassingly obvious when a girl lies down, her knockers fall back and the bra doesn't, and they're not actually fooling anyone. So ladies - stop buying these things. Write complaints. Boycott these stores. Start petitions...Viva brá
Revolucion!

Plus everyone sweated and looked silly

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 10:03:00 +0000

SCREW

Anti-iPoders

I was speaking with a friend of mine about dear old PinataPinata, my dearly departed old band which I still long for. We got to talking about the musical dynamics of the group and I explained that as we had no drummer and only one guitarist on stage, we ended up having the backing track on an iPod for performances, which at the time we still vaguely in homage to TestIcicles. A look of horror fell on her face just then, and it turns out not only was she offended by our use of a backing track live (an understandable complaint) but by just the sheer fact that I own an iPod (though I no longer do). And I then realized I've had a similar debate before. Several times before. For the last 15 years. Basically ever since I gained enough musical knowledge to start discussing it with others and inevitably, using it as a judicial force with which to decide whether or not I want to know someone. Which is precisely what was being done to me, except this time I wasn't being judged on what music I listen to, but on how I listen to it.
I've never quite understood this debate, which always seems to revolve around vinyl and it's superiority to all other musical formats. In my view, it doesn't really matter a great deal what you listen to music on, vinyl, cassette, cd, mp3 hell, even minidisc. Yes, vinyl may be the cooler of the bunch (bar reel-to-reel) and it certainly looks the best, but this alone does not make it intrinsically better. It's simply different. I know it has all those lovely scratchy noise that makes it sound so authentic and vintage, and the gatefold can be a real turn-on, but the songs themselves are the same. And one could argue that with digital quality we can here more of the music. Also, though I totally understand having a hard-to-come-by 1954 collectable, buying the latest U2 album on vinyl does seem rather pointless. Not to mention the limitations vinyl posits on one's listening due to its lack of portability. It's super to have friends around and just play records all day, but if it's a sunny afternoon and you want to stroll in a field while Nick Drake hums you a ditty, you're fucked. It's not that I see anything wrong with vinyl, quite the opposite in fact; I just don't see how it being older makes it better. I mean christ, nowadays listening to a cassette tape is somehow cooler and better because it's retro. So this format judging - is it any worse than my judging someone else on his or her musical tastes?

Yes. It is.

A little bit. I'll admit that whether or not someone likes New Order or Don Henley doesn't actually tell you a great deal about them as a person, so using that information to judge them can be deemed slightly ridiculous, superficial and just plain stupid. Despite how accurate it can often prove to be. However, the reason musical taste is such a valid ruler with which to measure others is because people who like terrible music are going against human nature. All ears are generally constructed the same, and in a very basic sense, all ears like and dislike the same noises. Of course, this is affected wildly by culture, society, rearing etc. but still, anyone who likes truly, truly awful music, like say Eiffel 65, is going against instinct and therefore they must be an idiot. All of our ears hear the same in general and there are some sounds that are just naturally displeasing.
This can be seen in those tedious "5 minute interview" sections in magazines in which no-longer-famous celebrities and reality show stars get asked arbitrary questions which they then answer in an affected and hackneyed 'quirky' manner. Inevitably they get asked, "What's your favorite sound?" and to this they answer, to show their inherent depth, "A child's laughter". Then, when asked, "What's your least favorite sound?" they of course reply, "A child crying", a reply so insipid, I find myself compelled to go find a crying child and really give it something to cry about. And while it's all very funny and ironic and edgy to say we love the sound of a child crying, really when you get one of those screaming bastards behind you on a bus it's agonizing.
Now, a case could be made that this is more to do with our emotions and instinct, that as it's one of our own species in turmoil, we instinctively want to end their pain etc. However, normally I want to rip their fucking heads off and shove it down the throat of the apathetic and inactive parent who is usually sat seemingly unaware, next to the screaming mess, blithely looking out the window, no doubt contemplating his/her worthless existence rather than that of their evil spawn. I never feel a great need to go hug the little shit. I just want it to shut up.
Same thing with sirens, when you hear an emergency siren it's never pleasurable. It's terrible and startling, hence why they exist. Because all humans detest that noise, it will definitely serve its purpose to get our attention. This can't be argued against.
Likewise, there is a reason background music can be background music, because it's inoffensive. It may be dull and bromidic, but it's calming to the human ear. As such, I may complain that the latest Keane track offends me, and it does, but it offends me intellectually rather than aurally. As I hate it so much, the sheer sound of it angers me. Particularly if I have to hear it 6 times a day thanks to the radio at work. Though were I to somehow listen to it on a pure aural level, as just sound, even ignoring the meaning of the words, I'd be hard-pressed to pick out a note that was actually bad. It's what the song symbolizes for me, how much I dislike the members of the group, how dull the lyrics and musicality are, how over-rated the effort is - all these qualities that I've attached to the song, so that when I hear even the first few notes I am in a state of distress.

This is why I understand people who are into bands like this:

who make utterly awful sounds. The music is actually painful and headache inducing, yet that's half the point. A band like Gorgoroth can be horrific because that is their pure aim, they look disgusting, they preach disgusting and they sound disgusting. A Gorgoroth fan wants his/her music disgusting. It's an entire culture, a school of thought, a way of life. Much like punk or goth or even, dare I say it, emo. Gorgoroth are the musical equivalent to genital piercings - I don't ever want to get involved with them, but I can understand why others would.

However, the same cannot be said for songs like this, for instance, which is just plain aggravating. As is the case for rave music, which was and still is utterly painful. I mean hell, people freely admit they have to be on mind-altering narcotics to change the chemicals in their brain in order to enjoy the music. Does that not tell you something? And this is why I hate that music so much, because it's human nature to hate it. And there's absolutely no meaning behind it for people to latch on to. The only "culture" it dictates is that of dancing while on drugs.* Something American Indians were doing hundreds of years ago - this is hardly a revolution. Upon hearing one of these awful songs out of context, surely the only feeling it conjures up to a fan is perhaps a hazy memory of the previous saturday night. Not exactly a ground-breaking allusion.

Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against vacuous, meaningless music per se. Pop music is my friend, my favorite singer is Sinatra and though he had his moments, his music was hardly reeling with insurgency. Same thing with Madonna, Michael Jackson, Paula Abdul etc - its just good music. Hell Brian Wilson is seen as a musical genius (which he is) and yet most of his songs are about beaches, surfing, girls and California. Not exactly pioneering topics. Just well crafted pop and it's wonderful. Which is something that I'm fairly sure cannot be said about anything produced by Brainstorm Crew or Paul Van Dyk. Both of whom I'm pretty sure sound equally as shit on vinyl and mp3.

*And don't even start trying to convince me that rave was about sticking it to the man, anti-Thatcher and revolution. If you can look at a bunch of 20 year-olds in bad clothes, fucked on ecstacy screaming, "Aciiiid!" and seriously tell me that's about anything more than having fun and possibly annoying their parents while their at it, you must be retarded.

I just wanted to order that life...

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 11:47:00 +0000

Having had a conversation revolving around this topic recently, I feel it's time I asked the opinion of others as well. Where does one draw the line between embellishing a story for added entertainment value and blatantly telling falsities in the place of any amusing anecdotes in your dull life?

I've been an embarrassed witness, more times than I care to admit, to friends publicly recanting charming stories of their previous night/week/month/year's adventures and slipping in more than one fabrication of events to up the ante. I, as a bystander often aware of the complete truth, usually find this an awkward and uncomfortable situation with which to contend. But at least in most of these cases, the general story being told is on the mark factually and there is only a peppering of fiction tossed in for flair. And I guess this I can tolerate, if not condone. However, I've noticed recently that several friends of mine are veering into the slightly more nefarious area of out-and-out lying. For instance, when someone asks an individual they've just met what it is they do for a living, the tendency is to big up the cool things one does on the side (ie - band/photography/art/fashion/writing/modeling etc.) and play down the real way they make the majority of their cash (ie - working in an otherwise rather dull and soulless job). This I fully agree with, why not show the best sides of yourself? Let them in on the truth once you know their worth it.

However, lately I've been witness to people completely making things up. Rather than simply bigging up the interesting facets of their working lives, people are now completely fabricating jobs and lifestyles based on what they wish they were doing. So if someone thinks they should be a film-maker but has so far done very little/nothing about this, they are simply pretending otherwise. Telling new people they meet, "Yeah, I'm working on a film at the moment, as well as writing a few scripts and producing some work for other people. It's tough, but I think the way things are going I should really be getting somewhere within a couple years. I'm doing some music videos as well...". This is not simply a stretch, this is completely false. They are basically describing their dream to someone else, but playing it off as reality.
What's most interesting though, is that I often get the feeling that the only reason people want these supposed "cool jobs" is not because they feel they'd excel in such fields, or that they are particularly talented, but simply so that they can tell other people what their job is.
It's like that scene in Swingers when he orders the Glenlivet scotch drink in the casino, and then later quietly admits he didn't even want it, he just wanted to order it. I wonder how many people I know are gonna hit 40, find themselves still fighting to get in on the creative/art/media scene and then realize that they didn't really want that job anyways, they just wanted the business card to pass out.
A lot of jobs that sound really "cool" are actually quite boring and filled with obsessives who have no life outside of that profession. It can be quite depressing when you meet people whom you think will be just like you, but who in actual fact are like 30% of you exploited and enlarged into 1 person. It's disconcerting, disheartening and it does force you to question your motives.
There's no shame in working in an office, making a decent wage. And anyone that tells you otherwise is either A.) Stuck in a job they despise, probably retail, the only respite of which is telling themselves it's somehow better than "working in some nameless corporate box" or B.) under 21 and still living the "I could never do that office, 9-5 shit maaaan" dream*.

Perhaps people should be more confident within themselves; perhaps they should question what it is about their lifestyle they are so ashamed about; perhaps they should stop lying about what they wish they were doing and either start doing it or at least admit to themselves why they are not; or perhaps most importantly, people should simply surround themselves with failures.

In the company of the middle-aged and unemployed, a job as line manager at the local Starbucks at age 29 doesn't seem so bad...

*Which, interestingly, I never had. From a young age I saw nothing wrong with working in a comfortable chair at a nice desk making money. I always really enjoyed school as well. Maybe these two go hand in hand with each other. Sitting at a desk seems to suit me fine.

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 21:52:00 +0000

In only a couple hours I will be getting a Hollywood bikini wax. I will have even less hair than the ladies you see above.

I'm getting it all off. For fun. I figure girls should mix it up once in a while. Let the bitch grow out, then rip it off, sometimes totally, sometimes a little, grow it out again, then rip it all off again. Keep him guessing I say, no one wants boring pussy.

Anyways - I'm getting it done at HQhair, (as seen on various channel 4 programs like How to Look Good Naked!) and as you will see if you look at their price list, they offer Brazilian and Hollywood waxes. The Hollywood is £10 more than the Brazilian. I wondered what the big diff was as I've always been somewhat confused about this and there are disparate opinions on the topic. There is a school which believes a Brazilian is "everything" off; there are others that think Hollywood is "everything off" and Brazil is "nearly everything off, leaving a landing strip". It's confusing arena; 5 years ago there was only regular bikini wax and the Brazilian, brought to fame by good ole Sex and the City. But then this Hollywood shit came along and everything got hella confusing.

I looked around on SEVERAL websites for clarity and I tell you, it is not easy to find out what these waxes involve. Most websites tend to go with the second definition, that Brazilian is nearly everything, Hollywood is totally everything. But herein lies a major problem - what the fuck does "everything" mean?

On some websites "everything" means genuinely, everything. So you are left with no hair down there, ANYWHERE down there, in the front or back. We're talking porn star hairless. This is normally what to expect from a Hollywod. This is what I'm getting tonight. Other sites say "everything" and mean only everything in front, so back-door is left natural and free flowing, if you catch my drift.
But then if Brazilian is "everything except for a landing strip" (which is how most websites describe it) which "everything" does this refer to? Because if by "everything" they are using the first definition I gave, same as a Hollywood except leaving a landing strip, then what on earth is the extra £10 for a Hollywood for? If the only difference is a small landing strip which could be whipped off with one strip of wax, is that really worthy of a further £10?

So, one would now assume that Brazilians don't really get rid of "everything" as they say. But I defy you to try to find out. The problem you will come across is the same difficulty I encountered while trying to answer this question myself over the week. Salons refuse to define what they mean by "everything". And the only reason I can come up with is embarrassment and prudishness. As though we're all giggling pubescent 13 year-olds, they will continue to define wax treatments through a series of meaningless phrases like "everything" and "down there". For christs sake, I'm an adult, they're adults, I'm about to ask them to get up close and personal with the most intimate part of my body to start ripping hair out of it and we're tip-toeing around semantics?? Just come out and say it -
pubis
labia
perineum
anus
inner buttocks

Is this really too hard? Is it because we're girls we can't say these things? I mean, they're gonna be down there anyways, can they not speak of it at least? It's like the old saying they give to teens about sex - if you're uncomfortable discussing it, you probably shouldn't be doing it.

And by the way if you are reading this, are over 15 and became uncomfortable with those words, you too need to grow up a little and get overs. I just don't get it. Boys don't have to put up with this shit, on the men's waxing menu, the option listed is "back, sac and crack"; No doubt AT ALL about what that involves. Slightly crude I admit, but at least it's clear. Can the same not be done for us ladies wanting to go brit-brit on our va-jayjay's?

As a result, I decided to go the whole hog and get the lot of it off. I shall be asking them precisely the difference between the two myself tonight, perhaps to distract me from the pain. Then I shall be heading straight to a lingerie store and trying on all manner of skimpy underwear just because I can.

noreply@blogger.com (Chantal) — Mon, 12 Mar 2007 00:14:00 +0000

I'm currently in the midst of writing a lovely entry. A proper entry. Two entries in fact. Your cup of literary intellectualism joy shall over-runneth soon.

In the meantime, here are some interesting facts about yours truly:

5 Films I have no desire to see:

1. Even though it's co-written by Roger Avary, even though it has a great cast, even though Angelina is in it*, I'm not a fan of this realistic animation last seen in The Polar Express and it looks horribly dull. The more i see that guy yelling, "I am Beowulf!" in the advert, the more cemented my disinterest becomes.

2. Tim Burton and Johnny Depp. What a team. They can do no wrong. They've made 4 whole films together (EDIT FOR STEVE - Not including The Corpse Bride as it's only Johnny's voice) only one of which was truly great, and two of which were truly awful. Yet because Tim Burton fans are obsessive, they will be cumming in their pants over this movie and will race off to buy tickets as soon as it's released before they then save up to go see the 3-D Nightmare Before Christmas at their local Imax (which, btw, I also have no desire to see). Go watch a trailer of Sweeney Todd and pay close attention to when Johnny "I'm so cool I don't even LIVE in America, I just rake in millions from one of it's biggest corporate rapists of wholesomeness, Disney" Depp starts inexplicably singing about getting "his vengeance". Now try to imagine paying to see him do that again.

3. I never read the books, I don't like fantasy, it reminds me of The Never-Ending Story too much (the poster that is) and perhaps it's just because I'm a girl. And I'm not even one of those cool girls who really loves Star Wars and collects Lord of the Rings stuff either. I think all the boys I know should just go watch this together, cos that would be a really great way to spend an afternoon. Male bonding at a fantasy film. I'll even bake you all some cookies like a good girl.

4. Again, great cast (though this is becoming more and more meaningless with regards to a films quality these days) and maybe if I was 5 I'd want to see it. Or maybe if it was a made-for TV movie that they played on December 23 I might be inclined. Again I don't like fantasy, the plot looks incredibly predictable and unsatisfying. But most of all, look at Robert DeNiro's face in the poster. Does that make you want to see this film?

5. Thank you Fox, for sullying yet another childhood favorite by insisting that all children's characters must be updated to be "urban" in order for today's kids to enjoy them. Hence throwing on some shades and bling on my beloved chipmunks. Incidentally, this is brought to you by the same fuckwits that royally screwed up Garfield's big screen debut. Perhaps the saddest part is that the otherwise relatively credible Jason Lee has gotten involved with this mockery.

5 Films I have a desire to see:

1. I'm a big Wes Anderson fan, but to be honest, I haven't much hope for this film. I think his last film was heading towards triteness, and I think this one will be hitting the nail dead on. Way too knowingly quirky, way too "naturally" acted to the point it looks badly acted. Each character with far too many nuances to flesh out in 2 hours. All 3 actors competing with who can walk away as the coolest (surely Shwartzman, he's been doing this schtick his whole career. Wilson had a chance 'til that pesky suicide attempt. Major cool points lost). But then I read that prior to the film, theater audiences will be treated to a short film starring Natalie Portman and Jason Shwartzman in which Portman gets naked. Apparently we don't see everything, but she does get naked. Miss."I'm way too dignified and HARVARD to get nudie" gets 'em out. I'm buying a ticket!

2. It's Christian Bale, Steve Zahn and Werner Herzog. What, really, can go wrong?

3. To be honest, Chris McCandles always struck me as a spoiled, ungrateful prick. Run of the mill trustafarian who acted like a know-it-all asshole and got what was coming to him. But as much a I hate to admit it, because he's such a holier-than-thou bore, I have liked all the Sean Penn-directed films I've seen. Plus, I like Emile Hirsh, And I can easily see him reaching maximum density weight-wise within the next 10 years, so I may as well see him now at his "hottest" (according to Hollywood-buzzworthy-status) and while still getting good roles.

4. Plain and simple, I like the people involved in this film. I like Ellen Page. I like Michael Cera. I like the director. Knowing my luck I'll find it perfectly average and disappointing. But I'm holding out hope... And the trailer looks good!

5. Who in their right mind ISN'T excited about this film. The only downside is, with this much hype, can it actually live up to our exalted expectations? I hope so. The teasers and trailers so far look super duper. I like the idea of it being filmed on personal video cameras and digital point and shoots. Yadda yadda, so far so internet phenom. I do however have one rather major qualm - the title: Cloverfield?? Clover-fucking-field? REALLY? Is that the best we can do?? Still, I await with baited breath.

So there you go.
My current film views.
While I'm still in the midst of writing my opus on FAT, I may return for my Best and Worst of 2007 list. Work has suddenly become terribly dull this week as my best-good-times-at-the-office pal is AWOL, so I shall have more time for LJ shit.

Stay tuned for more!

*But she is not naked in it. This is not Angelina's naked body. It doesn't even look like her naked body, as anyone who's seen Gia can attest to. She has not suddenly gone from a thin, boyish, long-limbed with big tits figure to a curvy and perfectly proportioned one over night.