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March 30, 2007
1111: Cheering myself up.
Having gone to bed quite late last night, I was pleased that the first thing which popped in my head this AM when I woke up was...
Nice!
The day had its ups and downs, and to compensate for those downs, I made some purchases from
Pin Up Girl Clothing.
Double nice!
Posted by ashley at 04:05 PM | TrackBack
March 29, 2007
1110: "We've got that to look forward to... a reason to live!"
Praise be! The trailer is up...
Posted by ashley at 07:08 PM | TrackBack
1109: My brain.
Last night, I watched something on the Wright brothers with Pete.
At some point, there was a mention of how Wilbur Wright had been accidentally knocked in the face as a kid and consequently lost a few teeth -- the embarrassment of which he apparently never overcame. To cope, he'd learned to smile in a fashion that wouldn't expose his teeth, but as a result of this (and in addition to his already having a fairly reserved, slightly eccentric personality) he was perceived as being an extremely serious man. Although this was a very minor thing in the whole Wright brothers’ story, I was really very touched -- perhaps more so than I even realized because the issue came up in a dream a few hours later.
For reasons only my brain knows, Wilbur Wright was replaced in my dream by... Adam Ant. Although it didn't really make sense to me, Ant's method of coping was to distract people from his teeth by wearing lip gloss. (Cute but perhaps a little ineffective.) The situation pulled at my heartstrings enough to wake me up at one point. Poor Adam Ant! And poor me for being so... historically confused.
What does this all mean? I have no idea. I obviously have a soft spot for the charmingly eccentric, and even more so when those qualities are combined with some sort of physical or mental abnormality -- but how my brain takes likable people fitting those descriptions and then jumbles them together, I'm not entirely sure. Although Adam Ant claims to have spent a lot of time in the dentist's chair as a kid, I don't think he ever had his teeth knocked out nor did he invent the world's first practical fixed-wing aircraft. He does, however, wear glasses which I find endearing. I think anyone wearing glasses is immediately trustworthy -- is that weird? Morrissey wears glasses, obviously. Morrissey also has a pompadour.
I look forward to a time when I'm convinced that quiff-sporting pirates in glasses and false teeth made great advances in aeronautics. I won't need to go to the movies any more, I can just hang out in the theatre des fous INSIDE MY HEAD.
Posted by ashley at 11:36 AM | TrackBack
March 28, 2007
1108: Love me, Karl. Love me!
More on our fashion hero...
Lagerfeld's approach to design, as shown in the video below, is based almost entirely on his skills as an illustrator. Whereas many designers drape fabric on models (which Lagerfeld considers to be "playing the designer"), he prefers to sketch his ideas, which are then executed with the help of assistants.
In the New Yorker profile I mentioned earlier, he mentions that a wastepaper bin is the most important piece of furniture in a home. He is constantly sketching and, subsequently, throwing those sketches away. He is adamant about keeping nothing -- to keep things would be to give into the impulse to look backward, which despite his love of history, he never does.
"Beauty is also submitted to the taste of time, so a beautiful woman from the Belle Epoch is not exactly the perfect beauty of today, so beauty is something that changes with time."
If you need me, I will be assembling a costume of my own design ("the best costume for today"), inspired by Marie Antoinette's teenage years and the music of Kraftwerk.
It shall be made out of tulle, feathers, and cellophane. I will then board a flight bound for Paris, and upon arriving, I shall devote myself to the task of inserting myself into Lagerfeld's entourage. It was meant to be! We will ride off into a black-and-white sunset in an authentic 18th century berlin, operated by Helmut Newton models in masks and riding boots. La mode, c'est fantastique!
Posted by ashley at 11:47 AM | TrackBack
March 27, 2007
1107: "I don't like standard beauty – there is no beauty without strangeness."
Pete saved for me a recent New Yorker profile of the fan-flicking, dandy prince of fashion: Karl Lagerfeld. Chris and I are, well, obsessed with all things Lagerfeld. At age 68 (by his admission, but according to Wikipedia, he's closer to 73), he's a fantastically prolific designer, writer, photographer, and tireless devotee to the world of fashion. The article points out how most designers work and present in a jeans-and-t-shirt ensemble which is either to deflect criticism or imply being above the trivialness of clothing design, Lagerfeld always dresses to impress -- but never in a way that seems to compromise his unique creative vision. He might hiss disapprovingly under his breath when a model "has two kilos she should lose" but he's a perfectionist, and to say that he lives for fashion would be a gross understatement. He is fashion!
I particularly enjoyed this...
Edited to add: On the subject of beauty and strangeness... I was standing in line at Duane Reade this afternoon when the guy next to me glanced over at my purchases and laughed. I was buying two boxes of black hair dye and some SPF 45 sunscreen.
Posted by ashley at 11:06 AM | TrackBack
1106: Panda poop paper.
"I know you have a fondness for baby pandas, but what about their poop?!?!" Aili asked. Uhh... I guess it's OK*
Pungent pulp: Panda poop perfect for paper
(from CNN)
BEIJING, China (AP) -- There's a new Chinese saying: When life hands you panda poop, make paper.
Researchers at a giant panda reserve in southern China are looking for paper mills to process their surplus of fiber-rich panda excrement into high quality paper.
Liao Jun, a researcher at the Chengdu Giant Panda Breeding Base in Sichuan province, said the idea came to them after a visit to Thailand last year where they found paper made from elephant dung. They thought panda poop would produce an even finer quality paper, he said.
The base is in talks with several paper mills on how to turn the droppings of Jing Jing, Ke Bi, Ya Ya and dozens of other pandas at the base into reams of office paper and rolls of wrapping paper, Liao said.
They hope to have a product line available by next year, he said.
"We are not interested in doing this for the profits but to recycle the waste," said Liao. "It's environmentally friendly. We can use the paper ourselves, and also we can sell whatever is left over."
The center's 40 bamboo-fed pandas produce about 2 tons of droppings a day, but Liao said he was not sure yet how much paper would result.
What about squeamish customers who might consider the paper unsanitary?
"People won't find it gross at all," Liao said. "They probably won't even be able to tell it's from panda poop."
The Chiang Mai Zoo in northern Thailand already sells multicolored paper made from the excrement produced by its two resident pandas. Making paper there involves a daylong process of cleaning the feces, boiling it in a soda solution, bleaching it with chlorine and drying it under the sun.
* I'd still rather get an email that a handwritten note on panda-poop-paper.
Posted by ashley at 10:46 AM | TrackBack
March 26, 2007
1105: "And there was you and the blacksmith?"
Not even Falco could cheer me up this morning, but this helped...
Posted by ashley at 12:13 PM | TrackBack
March 23, 2007
1104: By the way, I love figue skating.
In case you weren't entirely sure... I do. I love it loads, and not in a Blades of Glory kind of way.
Posted by ashley at 03:29 PM | TrackBack
1103: "She skates a little bit like a boy, or a monkey."
We love you, Johnny
Oh, yes we do
We love you, Johnny
And we'll be true
When you're not near us
We're blue
Oh, Johnny, we love you
And he quotes AbFab, too! Johnny, when am I going to have my romantic twirl moment? I like to skate! I like to shop! And we wear the same size! Call me!
Posted by ashley at 02:52 PM | TrackBack
1102: "Most metal skater ever!"
Last night, we happened to see a little figure skating. Predictably, I love-love-LOVE it and Pete, well, Pete tolerates it for my sake. Bless. Unfortunately, we missed seeing my beloved Johnny Weir skate but based on what I've read about it (and his ranking so low following his performance), maybe it's for the best we didn't watch it.
We did, however, manage to watch the men who would end up ranking 1st and 2nd -- and although we would have preferred to see Daisuke Takahashi win, it was a pleasure to see both Takahashi and Brian Joubert (the winner) skate at the 2007 World Figure Skating Championships in Tokyo.
I'd like to think that Joubert won because of his musical selection (it obviously wasn't the costume, which was not really step-up from his "007" costume so much as a sort of a diagonal drop to the side) but that's not likely. You see, Jobert skated to...
Well, see for yourself:
Posted by ashley at 11:50 AM | TrackBack
1101: "Hello, Cleveland!"
Some days are just kinda...
Posted by ashley at 10:07 AM | TrackBack
March 22, 2007
1100: TimeOut London interview with Adam Ant
As you've no doubt noticed, I've recently rekindled my musical love affair with Adam Ant. Here's an interview with our charming pirate friend (following his arrest and subsequent institutionalization) which I found particularly endearing and interesting...
"After The Fall" (Adam Ant: interview)
TimeOut London, John Lewis, Sept. 13-20, 2006.
From the capital's grimy scene to the glitz of Hollywood, Adam Ant was a genuine '80s superstar - but despite his success and celebrity girlfriends, he was fighting a losing battle with manic depression. With his remarkably candid autobiography published this week he talks to Time Out about music, madness and his 'beloved London'.
Four-and-a-half years ago, a clinically depressed Adam Ant wrote a lengthy letter to Time Out complaining about an off-hand remark we’d printed about his ex-girlfriend, the American actress Heather Graham. A few days later he went to the Prince of Wales pub in Kentish Town to confront a man who’d been threatening him. He got into an argument with some other men and threw a piece of car engine through the pub window before pulling out a replica pistol. He was later arrested at gunpoint by an armed response unit and sectioned under the Mental Health Act.
Now promoting his autobiography, the artist born Stuart Leslie Goddard 51 years ago seems well on the road to recovery. A face-to-face interview with him was, at the last minute, cancelled and commuted to a phoner, although he eventually agreed to a photoshoot, which showed that he had lost the weight he put on through medication (which he is still on). Over the course of a long conversation, Adam was impeccably polite, slightly vulnerable and willing to talk openly about his life in his softly spoken, endearingly boyish voice.
‘Stand and Deliver: The Autobiography’ is quite a tale about the boy from the council estate in Marylebone who took art-school punk to the top of the charts. It’s a whirlwind story of sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll, suicide attempts and deranged stalkers; it’s about his mum working as a cleaner at Paul McCartney’s house; about his early band Bazooka Joe, which featured the ‘Does My Bum Look Big In This?’ comedy actress Arabella Weir; about Bazooka Joe playing on the same bill as the Sex Pistols; about beating up Sid Vicious; about how Nancy Spungen used to smell of piss; about hanging out at a punk brothel in Buckingham frequented by MPs and lords; about being royally fucked over by Malcolm McLaren who poached his band; about his girlfriends, Amanda Donohoe, Heather Graham, Jamie Lee Curtis and Carole Caplin; about starstruck meetings with Muhammad Ali, Robert De Niro, Michael Jackson, Princess Diana and the Queen; about moving to Hollywood and battling with manic depression. He also writes at length about the events of January 2002…
Do you remember writing that letter to Time Out in 2002?
Yeah, I do. I’ve been a regular Time Out reader since the ’60s – I’ve always read the film and gig previews. I remember that particular week some guy wrote a letter in to the magazine having a go at Heather Graham, and that really infuriated me. So I wrote a long letter and sent it off. It wasn’t a good idea; I wasn’t in a good state of mind at the time and probably overreacted. And then it all blew up…
You say in the book that it felt like you were ‘in a film but had no script’. Do you remember much about that period?
Well I was suffering from hypomania. It’s all a bit of a dream state. I really didn’t know what I was doing at the time. I was very unwell, and I’ve been working on my health ever since then. When a trauma like that happens, it takes you a long time to absorb it and come to terms with it, which is what I’ve been doing ever since.
You had been diagnosed as suffering from bi-polar disorder. Were you aware of this?
Not for years. I was dimly aware of mental illness – my stepmother, my father’s second wife, had schizophrenia – but most people in my condition are unaware of what exactly is wrong with them. I would just be feeling really up one minute and down the next. You tend to withdraw into yourself and become paranoid – you build up things in your mind that aren’t there but you think they are. I was okay when I was busy; when I wasn’t working I’d get pretty bad. That’s when you’re most vulnerable.
You seem to describe punk as a dramatisation of your mental illness…
Definitely. In a way, punk could drive you mad, what with all that gobbing while you were on stage – I don’t miss that at all! But punk was also very liberating in that sense. There were no boundaries. Punk celebrated a lot of things that are associated with mental illness – self-harm, violence, identity confusion – and turned them into positive attributes. If you didn’t like your own name – if it wasn’t dramatic or glamorous enough – you could change it and become a different person. That was very liberating. After an overdose in 1976, a name change made perfect sense. It didn’t make sense to call myself Stuart any more.
Why Adam Ant?
I wasn’t shaped like David Bowie or Alice Cooper, who were my heroes. I wasn’t skinny, I was more muscular. I felt more like a Renaissance painting of Adam in the Garden of Eden. ‘The Ants’ was from The Beatles, of course. ‘Adam And The Ants’ seemed to roll off the tongue well.
You grew up on a council estate in St John’s Wood, a pretty well-off part of London…
I became aware of this class divide when I went to grammar school – suddenly you’re mixing with affluent people who live in huge houses. I wasn’t envious of them – it showed me that these worlds existed and it made me work hard to get some of what they had. And punk definitely broke down a lot of those class barriers. When I worked on Derek Jarman’s film ‘Jubilee’ I suddenly started meeting really rich people who wanted a piece of punk energy.
You talk about punk as a primarily working-class movement that was hijacked by the middle classes…
Yes, there was a definite element of class tourism. I enjoyed Julien Temple’s film ‘The Great Rock ’n’ Roll Swindle’ – where Malcolm McLaren tells us that he invented punk and used the Pistols as his puppets – but I think it was one of Malcolm’s fantasies. Malcolm was a great catalyst, and deserves credit as an originator but, in John Rotten, he was dealing with a poet. John put everything into action. He was an electric presence, and completely authentic.
You talk about ‘my beloved London’ – much of the book is a kind of extended love letter to London…
London is very important to me. I grew up in Marylebone and spent a lot of time playing football in Regent’s Park, and hanging out in Church Street and Edgware Road. I also love Primrose Hill, Chiswick House and Ham House. I have fond memories of Hornsey Art College – I did my foundation course at Crouch End Hill and my graphics course in Bowes Road. After reading Peter Ackroyd’s biography of London, I started exploring the East End and considered moving to Spitalfields. It’s got a lot of mystery to it.
What was the first gig you ever went to?
The Roundhouse, around 1969. I saw Lol Coxhill – playing a very complex jazz fusion set – and Genesis. The highlight was seeing David Bowie turn up to do an acoustic set. He had fantastic long hair and did ‘Memory Of A Free Festival’ on a 12-string. It was amazing. I spent a lot of time at the Roundhouse for many years – I remember seeing The Ramones play there with The Flamin Groovies – and I would go when the markets were on in the great hall. I’m a big fan of London markets.
What music has saved your life?
My favourite band of all time are Roxy Music – Ferry’s lyrics were incredible – and I grew up loving Bowie, Iggy Pop, T-Rex, Alice Cooper and Mott The Hoople. While in Adam And The Ants, I’d listen to a lot of early rock ’n’ roll and rockabilly – early Elvis, Peanuts Wilson, Gene Vincent, Little Richard, Ray Campi. If you went through my collection you’d probably be surprised to find a lot of old vinyl from the ’30s and ’40s, and lots of jazz – Miles Davis, Art Blakey, Sarah Vaughan. At the moment I’m listening to a lot of Bob Marley, Morrissey, Babyshambles, Placebo, the Kaiser Chiefs and Kasabian.
What’s the best present you’ve ever been given?
I was on tour in America and some kid came up and gave me a blue nylon scarf that Elvis had once worn. Signed by Elvis, with his sweat on it. Everyone in the crew wanted to hold it, as if it was a relic of the true Cross.
What kind of books have you been reading lately?
There’s a novel called ‘A Feast Of Snakes’ by a Southern gothic writer called Harry Crews who I absolutely love. He writes beautifully. I’ve also been reading his autobiography, ‘A Childhood: The Biography Of A Place’.
When you met Michael Jackson in 1983, what did you talk about with him?
He was fascinated by my pirate jacket. He’d seen it on a video and I told him where he could hire one. And I think he did. He was also interested in the drum sounds that we used on ‘Kings Of The Wild Frontier’ – he’d get into real detail about how we miked up the tom toms. We spoke on the phone a bit. The first time he called me I thought it was one of my bandmates taking the piss. I told him to fuck off twice. It was only when Quincy Jones rang me up a minute later that I realised it really was Michael! He eventually invited me to his place near LA for the day. He was just a very charming and gracious host, but very shy. He showed me around his animals – there was no monkey at the time – and we watched the movie ‘White Heat’ in his private cinema. That was before it all went a bit crazy for him…
You seem continually starstruck by celebrities…
Always. I never lost that thrill, the sense that it was such a huge privilege to meet your heroes. I never got blasé about it.
Did you have any artistic influence from relatives?
Not really. My mother was a seamstress for Norman Hartnell, she’s very creative with embroidery. And I had a great uncle who used to paint in his old age – he used to send me his paintings and drawings, which was nice. But there were no relatives around me who influenced me to get into art. That came from school.
When did you realise you’d made it?
I woke up one morning and heard a window cleaner outside my flat singing ‘Stand And Deliver’ and changing the lyrics to something vulgar. ‘I’m the dandy highwayman that you’re too scared to mention/I’ll fill your arse with broken glass and give you a detention.’ I thought it was quite an impressive lyric.
You talk in the book about buying a Picasso to cheer yourself up after reading a bad NME review…
I bought a very small engraving by Picasso. It wasn’t that extravagant– the most extravagant piece of art I bought was a set of six screenprints by Allen Jones called ‘The Magician’s Suite’, which I bought with my first royalty cheque.
As a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?
Strangely, a dentist. I used to go to the dentist so much that it fascinated me. I think I would have made a terrible dentist, though.
‘Adam Ant – Stand and Deliver: The Autobiography’ is published by Sidgwick & Jackson at £18.99. An accompanying greatest hits album, ‘Stand and Deliver: The Very Best of Adam And The Ants’ (Sony BMG), is out now.
Check out scans of the actual article, courtesy of the Ant Liberation Society:
Posted by ashley at 03:23 PM | TrackBack
1099: Flaco
Ashley: ok dumb question
Chris: shoot
Ashley: if i "restore" my ipod...
Ashley: i lose everything on it?
Chris: yes, however, all that crap should be backed up on your computer anyway, right?
Ashley: yes, but not on this one
Ashley: how tragic
Ashley: i was going to try and download some itunes music and update my ipod here but it's formatted for a mac and i'd have to restore it to use it with a PC
Chris: hmm, yes, that's true
Ashley: all this for some damned adam ant
Ashley: i'm not sure he's worth it*
Ashley: ha ha ha
Chris: poor adam ant. if it was falco, you'd be out there buying a whole new mac to use it on!
Ashley: i don't know about that. falco, while being a legend, only had about 2 or 3 songs
Chris: BUT WHAT SONGS!
Ashley: i know right
Ashley: COME ON AND ROCK ME AMADEUS!
Ashley: can i get that for my phone?!
Chris: i'm sure
Chris: what would be sweet
Chris: i might actually give you props for that
Chris: four or five
Ashley: You have received: four props
Ashley: like, a mop, a bucket, a stage gun, a wig
Ashley: cardboard cut-out of a tree
Chris: the action takes place entirely in a cardboard forest / gas station.
Ashley: on the edge of town... and reason
Chris: the role of "Janitor Snee" will be played by Ralph Jones
Ashley: my hands are sweating with nervousness as i try and make a flaco ringtone purchase
Ashley: will cingular let me down?!
Chris: flaco?!
Ashley: ha ha ha
Ashley: it's doomed!
Chris: oh no, it's flaco!!
Ashley: a falco coverband
Chris: flaco. like aamco, only flakier.
Chris: god, i'm choking on pizza
Ashley: in a good way?
Chris: yes, in laughter
Ashley: in joy
Chris: enjoy your flaco
Ashley: how did you get so skinny on pizza?
Ashley: is it the choking?
Ashley: is that your technique?
And upon failing to locate a Falco ringtone...
Ashley: omg no falco!!!!!
Chris: OMG. destroy your phone.
Ashley: *phone exits stage left*
While my phone remains Falco-less (and Flaco-less, praise be), I can only comfort myself with this...
Am I alone in thinking that at some point in the mid-Nineties, he started to look a little like Steve Isaacs of MTV and The Panic Channel fame?
* Actually, who am I kidding? He's totally worth it! I'd buy twelve new Macs for Adam Ant. I'm having 10,000 of his (pirate) babies!
Posted by ashley at 11:51 AM | TrackBack
1098: All you ever wanted.
Hello to Jagoda, who happened upon this blog in her search for an image from David Gahan's H&M campaign:
On a related note, I believe Madonna's H&M line comes out today.
And because a blog entry wouldn't feel complete without a little music...
Posted by ashley at 10:39 AM | TrackBack
March 21, 2007
1097: Adam Ant: Manic Depressive, 80's Icon, History Buff.
You wouldn't know him from Adam
(Adam Higginbotham, The Observer, Sept. 8, 2002.)
In the 80s he had 16 hit singles and sold 15m records... but since then he's lost his battle against clinical depression. Adam Higginbotham talks to Adam Ant about his journey from Top of the Pops to the Old Bailey
"He's always been interested in history. It upset him when people used to think that his outfits - 'Prince Charming', the 'Stand and Deliver' highwayman, the 'Kings of the Wild Frontier' Indian look - were pantomime get-ups. In fact, it was all based on painstaking research: commedia dell'arte, 18th-century fashion, the French Revolution. Now, he says, everything Georgian has become his hobby."
(click to read the rest of the article)
Edited to add: From the filming of the "Stand and Deliver" video...
Posted by ashley at 11:32 AM | TrackBack
1096: Military hand signals.
Thanks, Chris, for this helpful list of illustrated military hand signals.
"Shut Up A Second!"
"Be Quiet for Once In Your Goddamned Lives, Already"
(And for the signals on which these are based, click here.)
Posted by ashley at 09:57 AM | TrackBack
March 20, 2007
1095: "Normal straw or crazy straw?"
(Thanks, Jon!)
Posted by ashley at 02:34 PM | TrackBack
1094: "Er war Superstar!"
I was having kind of a rough morning, and one hell of a crappy commute into the office. But, thankfully, my iPod took it upon itself to cheer me up. As I exited the subway and made my way to the office, it randomly started playing...
Posted by ashley at 10:25 AM | TrackBack
March 19, 2007
1093: In other news...
Whether it's wrong, or whether it's right...
(AP)
I love Naomi Campbell.
She's got her (designer) workboots tucked up under her arm and wisely opted for something other than the shorts and high-tops ensemble worn by my equally (if not more so) beloved Boy George during his community service stint.
That's a dust mask he's got on his head, by the way, not a wee hat.
Although, frankly, I kind of wish it were.
Posted by ashley at 05:33 PM | TrackBack
1092: Prince Charming
I had a number of weird encounters today.
One happened to be a woman claiming to be a psychic and she had a pretty good gimmick. "I need to read your tarot cards!" She said, stopping right in front of me on the street. "No, thanks," I said and stepped to the side. "It's important! You don't understand!" She screamed as I kept walking, and for a split second, a small part of me wondered what she saw in my future. (Me forking over some cash for some mumbo-jumbo, obviously.)
A few minutes later, I found myself having to walk past a shady "DVD" store -- the kind of DVD store with no windows and even less shame. A guy came strolling out of the store looking a bit too smug for someone who'd clearly spent part of his afternoon in there, and immediately I had the uncomfortable sensation that I was about to be addressed by this fool. I think my default expression is actually kind of fearful, but I've been told that when I'm walking around, it's more furious than timid -- and for good reason. I made sure that as soon as he opened his mouth to flap his gums at me, he'd be receiving a fierce glare in return. "Aww... Why you so angry, baby?!" I don't know, maybe because people like you exist, perhaps? I turned up the volume of my iPod to avoid hearing any more of his commentary. I don't think he could offer me any kind of psychic guidance anyway.
I thought that returning to the office would put an end to these kinds of "Why are you speaking to me, again?" encounters but I was, in fact, wrong. Minding my own business at my desk, I saw a UPS man charging across the office and in my direction. He passed by a number of people who could have (and should have) signed for the package he came to deliver. He stopped a few feet from my desk and I had no choice but to look up. "Are you real? I couldn't tell if you was real." I was too baffled by that to even laugh, although I think he was actually strangely serious about this. I stood up to sign for the package, as he seemed unlikely to come any closer and hand it to me. (Can you blame him? Apparently I don't look "real.") "I saw that ribbon and I was like, you ain't real. You like a doll." He's referring to my sweater, which has a large, pussycat bow on the collar.
I smile noncommittally and take the awkward, brown, electronic UPS-sign-for-the-package-thing from his hand. To be fair, the way this office is planned, it's sometimes hard for a newcomer to know quite where to go; if he were genuinely startled to see me in the first place, I totally understand that -- but now he was giving me a creepy vibe. I signed and handed him the UPS-sign-for-the-package-thing back to him as he confirmed my suspicions. "You beautiful." I let the UPS-sign-for-the-package thing drop from my hand into his, knowing he wouldn't catch it in time. Whatever I'd accomplished by letting him drop that thing on the floor, I totally undid by accidentally by issuing the standard disingenuous response of a mumbled "Thank you."
I'm not the only girl who finds herself doing stupid things like that. It's partially a reflex and it's not as if we actually mean it. Someone compliments you and being a polite person, you thank them -- whether you mean it or not. If you fail to, you appear rude or conceited. Of course, you didn't ask for or want the compliment and receiving it makes you uncomfortable -- but isn't the person complimenting you being the rude one by putting you in a position to feel this way? Yes! More often than not, it's men who issue the compliments and women receiving them. (Please let me know if you, boys, have experienced the reverse.) In most cases -- such as being commented on by someone you pass on the street -- it's easy enough to blow by without finding yourself in the uncomfortable position of having to respond. It's not fair that your only options seem to be to either ignore the commentary or to react and risk getting harassed for standing up for yourself, and it makes me angry how often this happens. Politeness and an engrained fear of suffering the repercussions of simply standing up for yourself keep us from doing the right thing. We walk away, leaving it unchallenged, or worse yet, we find ourselves to respond politely to rudeness.
I was furious at myself for saying that, and even more furious that my first reaction was "Why didn't anyone say something to him?" (I am the only girl in my office.) Truthfully, if Jon had been at his desk when this happened, he would have certainly said something or at least created a situation in which the UPS guy didn't feel capable of acting this way. When I later told Jon about it, he was upset. But the fact that I thought I needed a guy to stand up for me when I couldn't do it myself made me feel a little pathetic. It's unfair I should ever have to feel this way in the first place, and then to feel my only security lies in a guy to correct the situation.
In any event, as I walked away, the UPS man sucked his teeth at me like I was a jerk for letting him drop the electronic sign-for-the-package thing on the floor. Maybe I was, but who's the bigger jerk? We need fewer creeps like him, and more heroes like this guy...
However certain I was at some point that I'd spend my life crashing through windows like Errol Flynn with a boy wearing eye shadow, I should clarify that Pete -- my boyfriend of nearly 5 years -- is not at all like that.
He's more like...
Evidently, Prince Charming doesn't wear lip gloss. He wears night vision goggles.
Posted by ashley at 03:35 PM | TrackBack
March 18, 2007
1091: Choose my color, find a star.
A lot of people claim to never leave the house without makeup. Truthfully, I don't believe it. As someone who prepares for the gym by employing foundation, pressed powder, brow pencil, four shades of eye shadow, eyeliner, an eyelash curler, clear brow mascara, and a few coats of black eyelash mascara, I feel qualified to comment on this. I very rarely encounter anyone as committed to makeup as I am, with the exception of the transvestite I often pass during my lunch break who clearly shaves his hairline -- that's big time commitment. (Beautiful stranger, I salute you.)
I think most people claim to be attached to their makeup because it's part of how they'd like to be perceived by the outside world. It communicates something about the care they take in their personal presentation and the way they hope to differentiate themselves from others. To people who actively avoid makeup (and for whom doing so is a point of pride, genuine or otherwise), it's easy to misread people for whom makeup is a daily ritual. It seems more like a reflection of self-centeredness or insecurity than a channel for self-expression; maybe in some instances, this is true but I know of more instances where it's not.
I don't like makeup because I don't feel fit to be seen by the outside world without it. I don't like makeup because I want to be adored. I like makeup because I love the Eighties too much.
It's true. For some reason, people think that if you spend too much time in front of a TV as a child, you grow up wild and dumb, without any capacity to learn or become a productive member of society. Perhaps in the absence of a supportive family for whom education is a priority, this might be true, but I think my brother and are evidence that you can watch TV and not be forever impaired by the experience.
Sure, Chris and I only really discuss things through movie quotes and pop culture references, but that says more about us as people than it does our upbringing. However much time we spent watching Transformers, we both managed to go to good schools and come out ready for the working world. I might be able to name all of Jem's glamorous friends (and hot enemies) but I also know how to read. The fact that I spent a large part of my youth in front of MTV does not mean I am completely useless; it means I thought I'd marry Adam Ant.
Good thing I didn't, right? He's gone from looking nuts to actually being nuts. What a shame.
How cute is it that Sofia Coppola based her Count Fersen on Adam Ant?
She looks so happy there! She must not yet have realized how terrible Marie Antoinette was going to be. Jamie Dornan, looking a bit like he belongs on a nickel, is blissfully unaware of the fact that not only does he have to make out with Kirsten Dunst, he will have to do so in a movie only slightly more watchable than Boondock Saints. How sad for them both, but for the moment, they're content to live in giddy, Eighties-loving ignorance.
It is with a similar state of mind that I (despite continuing to deny being anything but a kid) have grudgingly entered adulthood(-ish... I'm not quite there yet). Based on my MTV edu-mah-cation, I truly thought that the adult world would stay in the Eighties and wait on pause for my arrival on the scene. I was, of course, quite wrong about that. On the positive side, cell phones and shoulder pads are a lot smaller. On the negative side, I can't quite get away with going to work dressed like a Robert Palmer girl.
To be honest, part of me doesn't quite understand why. Some girls think it's work appropriate to wear low-rise jeans that (horrifyingly) permit their girl-flab to spill over the edges and the backside of their underpants to be revealed. Needless to say, I don't. Some girls think sundresses are office-appropriate as soon as the sun comes out, but in the history of my employment, only the death of our AC in 90+ degree weather has brought about the baring of my bright-white shoulders. I aim to look professional -- but does that exclude looking like my name is Rio and I dance(s) on the sand? Isn't it bad enough that I have to wrap myself 5 days a week in Banana Republic sadness? (I exaggerate, but you know what I mean. Does anyone ever like their work clothes?) I feel stifled.
Why can't we look the way we feel? Every day would be like Halloween, but whatever. Maybe we'd all be happier bringing out our inner-Pete Burns...
Love him. Love him. But not as much as this joker...
My pale, pretty, platonic soulmate. -- but just like Adam Ant, Boy George has gone a little sad and puffy. I don't love them any less, of course; it's just that life (work obligations, age, etc.) sometimes dictates the condition of our outward appearance in a way we might not have chosen for ourselves. But if sitting in front of our big, awkwardly colored 80's TV taught me anything, it's that you can always imagine your world differently -- and sometimes you can make it that way.
Posted by ashley at 06:46 PM | TrackBack
March 16, 2007
1090: Thumbs up for the internet.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... "I Can Has Cheezburger?"
Posted by ashley at 12:25 PM | TrackBack
March 15, 2007
1089: Cheers.
Michael: Do you know what time it is?
Ashley: Fresca?
Michael: Fresca.
And this is what it's come down to.
This is how we get our kicks.
Drinking Fresca through plastic straws.
Posted by ashley at 04:13 PM | TrackBack
1088: "Sharp little guy."
Because I need cheering up, and maybe you do, too...
Posted by ashley at 12:54 PM | TrackBack
1087: How I'd have played it...
Concerning Marie Antoinette...
Edited to add: This is all, of course, intended as a polite distraction from the issue of WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING IN THIS CITY?!
Here's an interesting witness report from a blogger (via Gawker) and some footage of the post-shootout scene from above. (click here)
If only dandy highwaymen were what we needed to be worrying about!
Posted by ashley at 11:54 AM | TrackBack
1086: Je m'excuse.
Yeah, I take that back.
This is a terrible, terrible movie.
In fact, it's not actually a movie.
It's just a random selection of text from Antoina Fraser's book spoken by people in really gorgeous costumes in a variety of really gorgeous locations, and assembled in a linear but ineffective storyline. And by "storyline," I mean, "sequence of events baring really no relationship to one another other than having occurred in a specific chronological order." I can't tell you what a huge mistake this is all around; if this film were based on Fraser's book, how did it manage to crush such an obvious, already constructed storyline? The story is RIGHT THERE! The characters are RIGHT THERE! And yet, on film, there's absolutely NOTHING THERE!
As a result of Fraser's book, I've got a bit of a soft spot for both Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI. The same social/economic/political system that (coupled with poor harvest conditions and a number of other significant factors) threatens the lives of France's disenfranchised lower class also makes prisoners (at first figuratively, and then quite literally) of the royal family. Marie Antoinette, in particular, becomes the scapegoat for an entire nation's mismanagement -- a situation which spans generations. She's targeted because she's politically unable to defend herself, being a foreigner and having so little influence at court due to a series of personal and political missteps.
She's only even in France because she's a pawn in a tenuous Franco-Austrian alliance, and she's sent off with only a meager arsenal of political weapons; she arrives totally unprepared for the task ahead of her -- to bridge a gap between two historically aggressive nations, and in the face of continued military and political aggression on both sides (although, to be fair, it's arguably more the Austrians' actions which risk the strength of the alliance). A teenage girl who can barely read is sent in to do a job only a skilled and seasoned diplomat should be trusted to do. To compound her fear and frustration, she's got an overbearing mother constantly berating her from afar (later replaced by an older brother who takes on a similar but much more tender role) to produce an heir and secure some tiny amount of influence over the French court -- no easy task when she can't seem to coax a sheepish husband into sleeping with her, and the entire court has hated her since before she even arrived.
Marie Antoinette's scary situation -- she's essentially the pin in a political grenade that might destroy massive portions of Europe -- should automatically make for an excellent movie. She's a pretty girl in a frightening situation; she lives in a world of incredible beauty and fantastic, dream-like situations which are virtually beyond anything known in the modern world,* and operating in complete contrast but parallel to a world of filth and despair; she's surrounded by colorful characters with their own intrigues and storylines; and she's got a deeply complicated personal life to manage behind closed doors. It's not that her husband doesn't love or want her -- he's, in fact, one of her only supporters -- it's that in an arranged marriage with someone so naturally graceful, he (being severely awkward on a social and physical level) doesn't quite trust that she could love him.
Ultimately, they create a tender partnership and they love their children in a truly earnest, touching way. They don't necessarily want to live in a world where they can't dress themselves and are forced to participate in long, elaborate social events -- they're just obligated to do so. They'd apparently rather raise a family and quietly indulge in their interests.
These interests, at least where she's concerned, make for a lot of cinematic opportunities. She shops a lot. She likes to gamble. She builds a little pleasure place where she and her friends can relax in privacy. The film fails to represent any of these things in their true light, or in any way that does service to the plot. Marie Antoinette parties (and yet, in reality, she doesn't drink) just because, and it doesn't make her a sympathetic character. It might have been better if she'd hosted all-night gambling parties to show how desperate she was to win friends in the court and to distract herself from the stress of her obligations. She shops because she's young and excited, but also because she's filling a personal void while also doing her duty as Queen of the western world's fashion capital. It's not entirely the fault of Kirsten Dunst (who looks the part but simply has no range of emotion in her voice or acting) that Marie Antoinette is totally unsympathetic -- her character is barely a character at all. She's just a girl on screen that things seem to happen to every now and then.
Tragically, she's as close as we get to having any sort of character. Everyone else on screen is barely anything at all; they speak but we have really no idea who they are or what they're about. If you haven't read the book, it almost looks like it's the inexplicable criticism of courtiers that eventually takes Marie Antoinette down. And, on that note, why are we never shown the outside world? To show how insulated Versailles was? How can we know how isolated court life was if we have absolutely no contrast -- at least until people come with torches to the front door? But up until that point, Marie Antoinette is surrounded by non-characters, totally destroying whatever semblance of a plot might have existed. We have no concern for them because they're not even remotely human. What a waste too, because they're played by talented people. I may be alone in this, but I love Jason Schwartzman a little bit ("I like your nurse's uniform, guy." "These are O.R. scrubs." "O, R they?"); perhaps he reminds me of people I grew up with, I don't know, but I like the guy and he's completely wasted here.
Louis XVI comes across as an unlikable nerd when in reality, he may have been awkward and lame at times, but doesn't seem without endearing qualities. We should have felt embarrassed and nervous for him, just as we should have felt concerned and protective of her. Ultimately, when the mobs come for them, we only feel relieved because it means the movie might be ending soon.
Frankly, I don't mind the decision to end the film where it does but it hasn't done anything up until that point to deserve that type of ending. In fact, the decision to end (frankly, I don't consider this a spoiler because we really all ought to know that they're executed) with their evacuation from Versailles at the hands of the mob is the first semi-sophisticated decision Sofia Coppola has made in this film. The script is so pathetic, repetitive, obvious and without sentiment that to end on a vaguely subtle note (an image of her ransacked bedroom rather than, you know, the severed heads of her body guards being toted around) doesn't work. As Pete points out, it feels like they simply ran out of film. If only they could have run out sooner!
* If anything good came out of this film it's that it provided a lot of beautiful images for talented people like Sarah to work with and create even more beautiful things.
Posted by ashley at 10:28 AM | TrackBack
March 14, 2007
1085: Love it.
Posted by ashley at 04:03 PM | TrackBack
1084: Not funny.
OK, actually, it is funny.
Thank you, Jon, for making this my new (but short-lived) desktop photo:
Why do I feel the urge to listen to Def Leppard all of a sudden?
Edited to add: Don't you like how Mr. T is looking on in approval?
"Some day this sucka gonna be the villain in every movie ever made. He don't hate Napoleon - he pity the fool!"
Posted by ashley at 02:49 PM | TrackBack
1083: Brusha! Brusha! Brusha!
For the record, I don't like the Killers.
I can't quite figure out why, but I know it's not borne out of any lame, contrarian desire to hate something so many people obviously enjoy. I don't mind their music, to be fair, although something about it seems engineered to burrow itself into the human brain and stay there for extended periods of time like some sort of musical larvae. (Knock on wood that some Killer's single doesn't gestate in there and come rocketing out like an alien.)
One thing in particular that annoys me about the Killers is how they're compared to everyone -- particularly bands I feel very strongly about. Did everyone who got a non-rap record deal in the past 5 years have to sign some sort of document in which they'll claim to (or at least not present anything to the contrary) worship the Smiths? Or were all these Smiths fans just sitting around, doing nothing until recently? I read a review of "Sam's Town" that seemed like a laundry list of influences -- Duran Duran? The Cure? Yeah, I can kinda-sorta see that -- but also, kinda-sorta not. Also, who cares? There's a lot of crappy bands in the world who claim to be influenced by a lot of bands and people I like. Am I BFF with every single person at a Morrissey concert? Nah. So why do I feel obliged to give the Killers a shot just because they (intentionally or not) rode the "OMG I love the Smiths, too!" train into town? I don't honestly know.
I think my major issue with them is that everything they do seems so calculated and soulless -- harsh, I know, but it's my impression. However skilled the execution, it just manages to come out seeming a little false. It's just so studied and careful that something about it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I'm sorry if that offends anyone. Actually, I don't anticipate hearing any protests on this because whenever I've mentioned the Killers to people, I've never gotten a solid "Whoa, you just insulted my favoritest band ever!" reaction. If anything, I've had a number of people admit to being disappointed with them and sharing my sentiments.
In any event... damn the Killers for throwing in a little green monster cutie:
How can I resist that?!
Edited to add: To wash that icky feeling away... an influencer with heart to spare.
Posted by ashley at 11:19 AM | TrackBack
March 13, 2007
1082: Ctrl+Alt+Avast
Chris sent me this:
(Click to enlarge)
Upon seeing that the image comes from Thillist...
Ashley: i thought you were going to show me that tattoo t-shirt
Chris: no, that sucks
Ashley: that sucks so much i can hardly believe it
Chris: i can see [name redacted] buying one right now
Ashley: the tribal one perhaps
Chris: i think he would get the japanese full-body one
Ashley: just to play it safe
Chris: ha yeah
Chris: he's waiting for the day when the yakuza call him up and tell him "he's ready"
Ashley: and cutting off his pinky
Chris: "we've been watching you for some time now. and we've decided, based on the fact that you dress like a japanese hitman from the 70s, that you've got what it takes to join the yakuza."
Chris: and yes. "so please send us your pinky ASAP"
Ashley: ha ha ha ha
On the decision to protect the guilty:
Ashley: should i just redact his name?
Chris: ha ha, do what you will with it
Ashley: or is it so obviously him
Chris: it's pretty obvious, but i don't care
Ashley: no, i don't want to offend someone nice
Chris: it's fine
Ashley: are you saying no one reads my blog?!
Posted by ashley at 06:01 PM | TrackBack
1081: It is mine.
The DVD arrived. Also, these, which is awesome.
Posted by ashley at 05:02 PM | TrackBack
1080: One minute, 43 seconds.
I know. I know. This has gotten terrible reviews so far (except, it seems, from fans -- but isn't that always the way?) but since when has something like a severe lack of critical acclaim* stopped me from enjoying something? Probably never.
All I'm saying... 1:43. If you please...
* One thing I keep seeing being complained about in the press is how the film "poses interesting questions" and then fails to answer them -- as if providing actionable steps to heal social ails is really the responsibility of filmmakers. Did Taxi Driver solve any problems for anyone out there?
Evidently the movie falls apart and becomes complete chaos -- fine, that's a legitimate gripe -- but to expect a film to provide any sort of meaningful solution to a social problem seems a bit naive. Suppose things did wrap up nicely in the end with a tidy (but most likely hurried) answer -- wouldn't that be a little idiotic? Wouldn't that be criticized as being "typical Hollywood"? Wouldn't that be even worse than offering no solution at all?
Here's my solution: In a nod to Uwe Boll, Sean Bean fights everyone who makes a similar complaint.
Problem solved!
Posted by ashley at 02:50 PM | TrackBack
1079: The big guns.
Some days are just so... you know, that not even watching people get slammed in the face cheers me up.
Some days I need a little something more.
Some days I need... BABY PANDAS!
Thank you, Lindsey! Faces were spared pummeling today because of these.
Posted by ashley at 11:26 AM | TrackBack
1078: "Raging Boll"
Thanks, Michael, for sending me this:
Raging Boll
By Chris Baker (from Wired)
What do you do if you're the world's worst director? You challenge your critics to a boxing match. How Uwe Boll fulfilled every filmmaker's deepest fantasy.
Click here for the article and photos.
Posted by ashley at 10:51 AM | TrackBack
March 12, 2007
1077: Demain!
The wait is nearly over!
Thanks to my pre-order with Amazon, you'll soon see me going...
with a copy of Casino Royale in my wee, sweaty hand.
Posted by ashley at 11:07 AM | TrackBack
1076: "Why Office Workers Dream of the SAS"
This is the article* I mentioned in my previous post, scanned by some lovely human being.
I can't remember for the life of me where I saw this, and I haven't been able to find it in text-only form. A million thanks to the person who scanned this. You're a legend.
* The writer is napoleonic history buff and author Mark Urban.
Posted by ashley at 10:13 AM | TrackBack
1075: Over the (Indian) hills and far away.
I finally got around to watching Sharpe's Challenge, which up until now I'd vacillated between hesitating to watch and being annoyed with myself for not having done so already. When I'd first heard about it being filmed, I was excited (if a bit wary) and kept up to date online about its progress. I hadn't managed to catch it on TV although a number of friends had, which made me more than a little bit jealous. When it came out on DVD, I bought it right away... and then neglected to watch it. Frankly, I wondered if Sharpe was going to be quite the same thing it was back in the Nineties or would it have changed for the worse? I was scared to find out.
The first part of the movie is heavy on back-story, as if to get everyone watching on the same page and explain why the fate of the British Army in India seems to rely on a 47-year-old soldier who headbutts people at the drop of the hat. Admittedly, it's not easy to cram 14 episodes into 30 minutes or so, but the movie gets off to a rough start when virtually everyone Sharpe encounters spits out, "OMG! You're that private soldier who rose up through the ranks to become an officer, by saving Wellington's life and proving your bravery on the field! And weren't you friends with Patrick Harper, who, by the way, is Irish? Oh! Oh! And aren't you a farmer in France now?" Sharpe, being Sharpe, responds to this by swiftly kicking the crap out of everyone who stops by to offer such a recap. And by "everyone," I mean, "everyone who appeared in a previous episode." I suppose those moments are for die-hards, who get a little giggle out of seeing so-and-so from back in the days when Sharpe's only trouble (aside from snotty, incompetent higher-ups) spoke French. Jon makes a good point in Sharpe's Challenge's defense: "Not everyone knows the back-story like you, my friend." Fair enough.
Things pick up when, in typical Sharpe fashion, our hero gets around to the dirty business of a) headbutting, b) employing sly military know-how, and c) showing snotty, incompetent higher-ups how to run an army. I don't want to spoil the plot for anyone who might watch, but this ends up being a really decent episode. As the filmmakers explain in the extra features, if they were going to make this at all, they needed to do it well -- and they do.
The hesitation I initially felt lay solely in the way franchises are generally only revisited with good intentions, but those good intentions often fall short of producing a good product. Casino Royale, of course, disproves that but coming back to a story nearly a decade after its assumed conclusion is a little bit of a frightening proposition. Sharpe was already a bit old -- as is pointed out in the very first Sharpe book -- but now he's in his late forties (or, at least Sean Bean is). Is he really the man for the job? Even Sharpe is a bit uncertain of the answer, but eventually he's convinced to abandon his farm and resume headbutting. He's brought back by a set of circumstances not unlike the kind of plot conveniences that always have cops turning to serial killers (Hannibal Lechter, duh) or former criminals for their insight into an as-yet unsolved case. "You're the only man for the job! You know (insert target's name) better than anyone else!" And with that, Sharpe ends up in India once again. He faces an assortment of troubling characters, some inexplicably sadistic, some stupid, but all of whom you know will get precisely what's coming to them. And, frankly, that's what makes Sharpe so enjoyable to watch.
I recently read an article online titled "Why Office Workers Dream of the SAS," which raised a number of good points about the Sharpe's series. However historically inaccurate it is to have a character like Sharpe dishing out lines that are almost too modern, and with a contempt for authority uncommon for soldiers of his time, it's completely enjoyable. Many people like Sharpe because it's entertaining, but I've never met anyone really genuinely interested in it who didn't also love history. Yes, it's entirely likely that these books and films could have been written differently, with a character whose behavior and exploits were more historically accurate but both were written for a modern audience who love Sharpe the way he is. We maybe see ourselves in him -- at least in the fantasy sense. He deals with incompetence from the top in his professional life, and he does a damn good job in the face of it. He's an individualist, in some sense, but he's also a loyal friend and however rough-around-the-edges he is, he's precisely the kind of person you'd want in the trenches with you. The article's writer suggests that viewers look to the diaries of Rifleman Harris for a more historically accurate perspective, as Harris was actually a member of the 95th Riffles and wrote about his life in great detail. It's fascinating stuff, of course, but entertainment-wise, can we be blamed for liking someone who fits our SAS/Delta Force fantasies? We don't want to be part of the rank-and-file, which working life seems to leave many of us feeling we are; we want to be part of the elite, and we want to issue headbutts as we deem necessary.
If you're going to look at Sharpe in terms of historical accuracy, you're going to be dissatisfied. Bernard Cornwell does a fantastic job creating something incredibly entertaining and many of the details are surprisingly accurate, but the entire story hinges on improbabilities (if not impossibilities). Specifically, how did a private soldier with no money and no place in officer society make his way so far up the totem pole? And how does he manage to bump into Wellington all the time? Stop worrying about it or you'll ruin the story for yourself.
Likewise, Sharpe's Challenge starts off with an ambush on a fort in India some 14 years earlier in which there are supposedly no survivors -- of course, Sharpe is there and, of course, he survives. The scene is intended to set up Sharpe as experienced in India. (Someone asks Sharpe whether he's got any experience there. "Some," he smirks.) It's also intended to set up Challenge's main villain; why, exactly, that villain doesn't see that all the victims of the attack are run through with a bayonet, we can't be quite sure except that if he did, Sharpe would have died and the entire storyline (forget Wellington, the Peninsular War, etc.) would have ended there. We need only accept that he survived and that he's the man for the job in India, where -- undoubtedly -- he'll run into that aforementioned villain again. He hops on a horse and apparently rides all the way from London to India -- the blame there lies in an awkward editing decision and not in any sort of historical inaccuracy that needs to be forgiven for the sake of the storyline.
Sharpe's Challenge capitalizes on all the things which fans like about the series -- the friendship, the savvy handling of tricky situations, the swashbuckling, the adventure, the tension, the against-all-odds victory over seemingly impossible situations, and all the naysayers getting what they deserve. Sharpe is a dirtier, angrier version of James Bond. He takes down weaker-willed villains in a variety of improbable ways, all the ladies love him, and when he's not physically dishing out the punishment to his foes, he's taking verbal jabs at them. Even at 47 (Bean's age, although if this is supposedly happening in 1817, wouldn't Sharpe be about 40?), when he admits that he's exhausted and losing a bit of steam, he's still a damn good soldier. *salute, heel click*
The special effects are better here than in previous episodes, or at least more ambitious, and however awkward the story is at first, it definitely improves -- particularly in the second half. (The first half ends in a nice OMG! moment.) By the time the end credits roll and they finally whip out that familiar electric guitar embellishment on "Over the Hills and Far Away" they'd been tactfully avoiding (or am I just so used to it that I don't even notice that every time Sharpe comes over a hill, a guitar wails?) I found myself completely pumped in the way only Sharpe can induce pumped-ness.
"Forlorn hope, forward march!"
Exactly.
(Photos from SeanBeanOnline.org and Full-of-Beans.net.)
Posted by ashley at 08:57 AM | TrackBack
March 09, 2007
1074: We'll always have Mount Doom.
Apropos of really very little...
(from Encyclopedia Dramatica)
And then there's this:
(from Encyclopedia Dramatica)
You're welcome!
Posted by ashley at 04:48 PM | TrackBack
1073: Freak-out Friday!
As requested, I finally got around to uploading a clip of Dewey to YouTube.
Pete replaced the sound of my howling laughter with some music evidently inspired by the 8-bit Nintendo NES gaming experience. I can't, for the life of me, remember the performer but I'm sure Pete could produce a name. That name might be "Jimmy" but beggars can't be choosers.
A few notes:
This is not sped-up in any way; Dewey does move that quickly, perhaps even more so when he's running on the rug where he has better traction.
I think he likes jumping on the sofa because he can run and crash his soft, little bunny body into the padded arms like an out-of-control lagomorph stockcar. He only seems to jump onto the couch when he sees something hanging over the seat's edge and gives into his curiosity to find out what's up there, or when that blanket is involved. For reasons unknown, he is drawn to that blanket, and when near it, feels compelled to fling his little body around like a fish in a Faith No More video.* If he sees the blanket in an un-folded state, he'll almost immediately be jumping on it. It's his thing. Don't question it.
I don't know why the apartment looks so... yellow-brown. Our apartment is actually all black-and-white, possibly because I live in it and I'm all black-and-white.
This is our couch. In black, of course.
"Why is your couch a piece of Ikea crap?" You say. Because we live on the top floor of a 6-storey walk-up, fool. You try getting anything larger than a toaster over up those stairs. Also, mind your own business. But, for the record, can I just say what a relief it is to live with someone who shares my love of sharp-angled furniture? I'm not into smooshy couches, particularly the kind that contain secret recliners beneath their baseball-glove smooshy exteriors. I'm pleased that when I sit on our couch, it doesn't try to eat me like upholstered quicksand. My spine thanks you, Ikea.
In any event, I almost hesitated to post this because I feared some of you who'd been interested in getting rabbits would think, "OMG! I didn't know they were so spastic! How can I possibly own that thing? It's like part squirrel, part Tasmanian devil!"
Truthfully, rabbit freak-outs are probably one of the best reasons to own a rabbit. It's a bit like owning Michigan J. Frog in that your rabbit will rarely do this sort of thing when you've got company; mostly, it'll just impersonate an eggplant and stare out into space. But when it's just you and the bunny, he'll delight you by racing around your home like the proverbial bat out of hell.
Dewey enjoys being chased. (He especially enjoys being chased by someone making a Hanna-Barbera running noise all the while, so it helps if you purchase some bongos when you get your first rabbit.) Every morning, Dewey likes to start the day off by running around the living room like a total maniac, sometimes finishing the race off by shoving his fat, little body under the couch at s fast as he can. If you squat down to look at him underneath the sofa, he'll come tunneling out like some kind of rodent, which is charming until you realize that he's coming for your face with a look of vengeance. "You lookin' at me? I said, 'Are you lookin' at me?' You must be, because I don't see no other bunnies under this couch!"
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how bunnies get down with their bad selves.
* I say that as if there's been multiple fish in their videos. I don't think there have been. I could be wrong. Frankly, I don't care either way.
Posted by ashley at 01:25 AM | TrackBack
March 08, 2007
1072: The fairly near future.
From True to You:
All date and venue information for Morrissey's forthcoming U.S tour will be announced next week. The tour will begin in Stockton (California) on 27 April at the Bob Hope Theater. All tickets for all shows will be available on 17 March.
(On that note, why hasn't Morrissey-solo been updated since the 4th? Just wondering.)
Apologies in advance to Pete, who will be forced to attend yet again.
Edited to add: Unrelated to Morrissey, but touching on the issue of concert tickets, I just saw this in my inbox...
Which I read as "Don't miss Hitler!" Don't miss him? Don't miss him with what? An uzi? Also, damn you, Ticketmaster -- what in God's name makes you think I'd see Hinder? Or Hitler?
Posted by ashley at 12:18 PM | TrackBack
1071: Also, have I mentioned...
That I can't stop listening to The Jam?
Not that I'm really making any effort to stop. Why should I?
Posted by ashley at 10:57 AM | TrackBack
1070: "Dance, you little tw*t!"
A few more cups of tea and I'll break out my tap shoes, too.
But on the subject of talented Northerners, I'm completely horrified to find Sean Bean getting beaten out on the Hello! Magazine polls this week by Gerard Butler (at least, as of this posting). Nothing against Gerard Butler, but Chris raises a good point -- he's the most Scottish-sounding Spartan ever.
I reminded Chris that if movies and TV have taught us one thing about antiquity, it's that everyone spoke with BBC-ready, RADA-coached accents. Also, hasn't TV and film shown us that Sean Bean was one of the most valiant and skilled soldiers in every era of human history?
How would the Peninsular War have played out if not for his efforts? And remember the time he was in the SAS and went after those Iraqi Scud missile launchers? What a hero! I can't wait until he washes all this chav scum off the streets!
This man has died in almost every film he's ever been in* -- that takes a level of commitment I dare say we've yet to see from Gerard Butler. Show a little respect! Vote for Sean Bean on the Hello! Magazine site. He's a legend. He's killed a lot of orcs in his time.
And don't get me started on the Monthly vote for the same category. KEITH URBAN!?** How are Keith Urban and some tool from Westlife beating out Bond? Who's voting on this? I doubt it's Nicole Kidman because the repetitive motion of clicking her mouse button would be too much for her fragile hands to endure. (Not that there's anything wrong with that. I love you, Nicole. Stay skinny! Stay awesome!)
* Please see "Death by Cow" -- a list of all the ways in which Sean Bean has kicked the bucket.
** Thank GOD! Nicky Byrne has overtaken Keith Urban since I posted this. I never thought I'd be happy to see someone from Westlife in 1st place.
Posted by ashley at 10:34 AM | TrackBack
March 07, 2007
1069: Chickens vs. Bunnies vs. Aquariums
From CuteOverload:
The internet, being a democracy of sorts, invites all kinds of discourse on a variety of subjects -- some of it meaningful and serving a greater good, some of it completely pointless.
To that end, we have this YouTube response to the above video:
Aquariums? Who keeps a rabbit in an aquarium?
Oh, you must be thinking of the amphibious Lop-Eared Netherlandish Dwarf Swimming Rabbit!
NB: Rabbits can (and possibly should) live outside cages -- assuming they have a safe, rabbit-proof area prepared for them. It's good for their mental and physical health to be able to run freely in such an environment and keeping them caged, although sometimes necessary, isn't (in my opinion) best. Keeping a rabbit in an aquarium is probably even worse.
The author of this second video has taken the time to respond to his own YouTube response:
Uh... No, see, by definition -- in fact, by virtue of the word's very origin -- an aquarium involves WATER.
I await the follow-up to the follow-up with bated breath. And by "with bated breath," I mean, "not at all." When did YouTube become a sort of Théâtre des Morons? I thought it was just a resource for videos of cats doing funny things and babies hitting men in the crotch with Wiffle Bats. How wrong I was! How very, very wrong!
Posted by ashley at 12:42 PM | TrackBack
March 06, 2007
1068: Bond at the Oscars
I thought this was interesting. From BondMovies.com:
Here is a list of all Oscar nominations and wins the Bond movies have had throughout its history.
Note: The 'in' year represents the Oscar year the movie was up for a nomination or won an award.
Quick Stats:
* Total Oscar Nominations: 7
* Total Oscar Wins: 2
* Last Oscar Nomination: For Your Eyes Only (1981)
* Last Oscar Win: Thunderball (1965)
Goldfinger (1964) in 1965
* Winner
* Best Effects, Sound Effects (Norman Wanstall)
Thunderball (1965) in 1965
* Winner
* Best Effects, Special Visual Effects (John Stears)
Diamonds Are Forever (1971) in 1972
* Nomination
* Best Sound (Gordon K. McCallum, John W. Mitchell, Al Overton)
Live And Let Die (1973) in 1974
* Nomination
* Best Music, Song (Paul and Linda McCartney for "Live and Let Die")
The Spy Who Loved Me (1977) in 1978
* Nomination
* Best Art Direction - Set Decoration (Ken Adam, Peter Lamont, Hugh Scaife)
* Nomination
* Best Music, Original Score (Marvin Hamlisch)
* Nomination
* Best Music, Song (Marvin Hamlisch for music, and Carole Bayer Sager for lyrics for "Nobody Does it Better".)
Moonraker (1979) in 1980
* Nomination
* Best Effects, Visual Effects (Derek Meddings, Paul Wilson, John Evans)
For Your Eyes Only (1981) in 1982
* Nomination
* Best Music, Song (Bill Conti for music, and Mick Leeson for lyrics for "For Your Eyes Only".)
Posted by ashley at 02:22 PM | TrackBack
1067: Je m'en fiche!
Where's this guy when you need him?
I can't even tell you what's going on over here, but it involves a lot of work, a printer that needs toner, and a sense of adventure.
Also, snacks. Lots of snacks.
Posted by ashley at 01:28 PM | TrackBack
March 05, 2007
1066: The Battle of Hastings.
Walking to the bar on Friday, I passed by The Angelika and was surprised to see a poster for After The Wedding on display. Although it was nominated for an Oscar, and had been picked up for US distribution, I wasn't sure when or if I'd have a chance to see it. Checking the Angelika site, it seems the movie won't be shown until later in the month so maybe I'll shrug off my previously negative Angelika experiences and catch it one weekend.
The Angelika is (well, according to their site) "the centerpiece of independent film exhibition in NYC." Accordingly, Pete and I have ventured over to the Angelika to see a number of films we might not have had the chance to see were it not for the Angelika's dedication to indepenent film. However grateful we are to the Angelika for giving us the ability to see these films, I can't say I've ever fully appreciated the film-going experience the Angelika offers. Perhaps things have changed since our last visit -- I don't know -- but I never understand why these types of movie venues are so incompetently run. Why do all the movies seem to be set to begin at the same time, causing confusion among patrons who (through no fault of their own) can't figure out where they ought to be waiting in line? Why is cake on a glass plate a good, served slowly and with tangible apathy, a good idea for the concession stand? Why must buying tickets be a challenge? Rather than getting excited about being able to see something interesting that we might not normally have the opportunity to see (assuming it's not in wide release), Pete and I are usually less than stoked to find it's being played at the Angelika. That just sucks. It really doesn't have to be that way.
You know what doesn't suck? Sean Bean regulating.
This isn't even out yet, but it's already my new favorite movie. Of all time.
YES! YES! YES!
Posted by ashley at 12:57 PM | TrackBack
1065: "Pegu" not "Pingu"
On Friday, we celebrated Loren's birthday at the gorgeous Pegu Club on West Houston. We downed the house cocktail in the comfort of our reserved table (thanks, Chris!) and spotted -- of all people -- "PC guy" John Hodgman standing by the bar. He left about the time Pete and I did, leaving behind the rest of our party which had grown large enough to require a second table.
Big hugs to everyone for their lovely company -- particularly to Philip, for bringing up the Kaiser Chiefs, which is always appreciated -- and many thanks to Chris for his excellent planning.
Posted by ashley at 10:28 AM | TrackBack
March 02, 2007
1064: "Is that a raincoat?"
Because Loren deserves her own entry, and to not to simply share one with any licensed killers or transgendered glam rockers...
Posted by ashley at 11:58 AM | TrackBack
1063: "OK! Everybody!"
It's this guy's 39th Birthday!*
Obviously, he's getting ready for Loren's birthday party tonight. I'm hoping the weather eases up at some point today because I'm dressed like a hobo at the moment and if I get the chance, I'll go buy something more appropriately swank for the event. "Swank" as in "upscale," not as in "Hilary" -- although, I must say that after seeing her a) pound that celebratory burger following her Oscar win, and b) playing with her pet African gray parrot on 60 Minutes, I have a warm place in my cold, dark heart for that particular kind of Swank.
In any event, Chris and Loren are the kind of "swank" people who fêted the premier of Casino Royale with martinis, whereas I arrived wrecked on a few beers and a sugar high. As we're celebrating her birthday tonight (in a place I had until recently mistook for being named "Pingu," like "Pingu Orca Slap") in full-on, glam-tacular fashion, I've got to get myself together over here. What I'm sporting right now is totally unacceptable. I'd like to think I possess an air of dignity and class that surpasses the crappiness of my attire but perhaps that's not true. Perhaps if I won an Oscar, I'd get the party started by cramming a veggie burger in my trap -- who knows? Chris would have his limo speed to the nearest karaoke bar and phone ahead to have someone programming "Danger Zone" into the machine just in time for his arrival. That's how we do things around here -- classy on the outside, stupid on the inside.
And on that note, because nothing says "Friday" quite like a wig in a box...
* He was also Esquire's "best dressed man" at the Oscars this year -- can I call these things or what?
Posted by ashley at 01:35 AM | TrackBack
March 01, 2007
1062: CELEBRITY SIGHTING: ETHAN HAWKE, JOE SIMPSON
I forgot to mention that earlier in the week I passed by a disheveled Ethan Hawke with a child and a dog in tow. Were it not for the kid and pet, Hawke honestly would have looked homeless.
And today, I passed through a crowd of people setting up for some kind of photoshoot outside Sephora. Everyone around me as we prepared to cross the street and make our way through the crew setting up their equipment assumed it was "f*ing Law & Order" because "f*cking Law & Order" is always filming in this area (and consequently blocking sidewalks). But the crowd of paparazzi stationed on every other corner of the street, cameras aimed in the direction of the store and crew seemed to suggest something a little more exciting. I looked around and saw fatherly freakshow Joe Simpson. He was coaching various members of the crew as they sat up, perhaps suggesting the best angles and lighting techniques to better highlight the cleavage of one of his daughters. (I assume, by the way, that it's Jessica and not Ashlee who would be appearing in the area not long after I walked through. In addition to the crew, there was a considerable crowd of what I assumed to be fans -- all male -- standing around getting ready to get their gawk on.
Posted by ashley at 02:17 PM | TrackBack
1061: New country, new cheveaux.
Thanks, Lindsey, for sending me this:
Newly-blonde Posh speaks of LA life (from nineMSN)
With a new blonde hairstyle, Victoria Beckham has spoken for the first time about her new life in Los Angeles.
The former Spice Girl, whose husband David Beckham is still in Spain playing for Real Madrid before moving to LA Galaxy, told the Daily Mirror that she has already made friends with the Hollywood A-list.
"I was at a party the other day when Tom Hanks came bounding over. He said, 'I'm so thrilled you and David are coming over. I'm going to get a season ticket to watch LA Galaxy now,'" Posh told the magazine.
"All the time he was talking I was just thinking, 'It's Forrest Gump. And he knows who I am.'"
"I don't know if I'll ever get used to that when we move here. I don't get out much, really. I'm usually with David and the boys."
Victoria said she has made friends with more "mature couples" since arriving in the US, such as Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes as well as J.Lo and Marc Anthony.
But the 32-year-old mother of three is still struggling to find the right family home in Hollywood.
She has reportedly been texting pictures of multi-million-dollar properties to Becks in the hope that he can help her decide.
One of my favorite things about receiving this in my inbox was that, due to Lindsey's being in Australia, this story (received here in NYC on Feb. 28th) seems to have come... FROM THE FUTURE!
As for Posh's new hair color, at first I was hurt. I felt a bit betrayed. Remember when she went through that phase of having long, flowing, light-brown locks? (Granted, those were about 99% fake hair -- that's not my point.) I kept wishing she'd go back to that dark brown graduated bob -- the darker the better. The pleather catsuit would have been extra credit, but all I really wanted was that dark hair back in our spice-less lives.* I loved that hair. I missed that hair.
And while I am 110% pleased about this new cut (so cute!) and not at all bothered that she might be bitin' my newly re-acquired style (that's my hair! 'cept blonde!), it would be hard not to follow up an air-kiss greeting of "You look wonderful!" with a hiss of "You b*tch!"**
Still my favorite-ist b*tch though, of course.
* Please note that I don't actually advocate listening to the Spice Girls.
** Just kidding, Vic. Kisses!