tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26667169399976522732024-03-13T18:19:27.704+00:00spit on itAn unnecessary compendium of asinine comments and pointless remarks on subjects ranging from the absurd to the simply obvious.x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-80241331358347706932009-12-07T15:43:00.014+00:002010-10-02T05:41:19.872+01:00Irritation of the Non-Biological Type<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQ11DUMDYzGIjKhVdsj49g3M4nOZo6ui9DNPa8kWYwzZcOsPt0ds3AJVktYi8tTJ50DI3Pw_KBkNVDlimGlhyphenhyphenL_B_-QVXBGEirQMnxQM1AqKXCFgZuku15952dvcJl-xkju3Eq0-ezB0/s1600-h/cute+little+ass.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 393px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQ11DUMDYzGIjKhVdsj49g3M4nOZo6ui9DNPa8kWYwzZcOsPt0ds3AJVktYi8tTJ50DI3Pw_KBkNVDlimGlhyphenhyphenL_B_-QVXBGEirQMnxQM1AqKXCFgZuku15952dvcJl-xkju3Eq0-ezB0/s400/cute+little+ass.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422555039065810882" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Welcome to Jerksville</span>, population <span style="font-style:italic;">YOU</span>, or, yet another list of words that tend to annoy me.<br /> <br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"delish"</span> (it does not magically translate into <span style="font-style:italic;">"delicious"</span> to intelligent people. Only to imbeciles obsessed with "saving time," whatever that might be. Do they save time for later? Do they save it for the winter, when -as we all know- the Time Banks are shut for months? I wonder.)<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"schedge"</span> (only a class D ignoramus would use this word, as if it was actually <span style="font-style:italic;">that</span> much shorter than the original, <span style="font-style:italic;">"schedule</span>.<span style="font-style:italic;">"</span> At least, I assume the original is <span style="font-style:italic;">"schedule</span>.<span style="font-style:italic;">"</span> I <span style="font-style:italic;">hope</span> it is.)<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"celeb"</span> (trust me, if you <span style="font-style:italic;">are</span> in that much of a hurry, simply avoid using the word altogether, or even avoid talking about celebrities, for that matter, rather than dropping last bit and turning the idiotic <span style="font-style:italic;">"celebrity"</span> into the even <span style="font-style:italic;">more</span> imbecilic <span style="font-style:italic;">"celeb</span>.<span style="font-style:italic;">"</span>)<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"it girl"</span> (only to be used when referring to the girl from the Information Technology Department. In which case, the <span style="font-style:italic;">"it"</span> should be capitalised and, thus, <span style="font-style:italic;">"IT</span>.<span style="font-style:italic;">"</span> If referring to a model, super model, and/or glamour model, please use the old-fashioned <span style="font-style:italic;">"whore</span>.<span style="font-style:italic;">"</span>)<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"star quality"</span> (which solely applies to vast, luminescent balls of plasma. And, no. Not even the brilliant John Goodman fits that description accurately enough. Are we clear?)<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"push the envelope"</span> (what?!?! That's just plain <span style="font-style:italic;">weird</span>. Why not <span style="font-style:italic;">"shove the stationery"</span>? <span style="font-style:italic;">"Nudge the wrapper"</span>? Or, <span style="font-style:italic;">"thrust the package"</span>? Well, that last one actually works better than the original. At least it makes <span style="font-style:italic;">some</span> sense.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"think outside the box"</span> (if, for whatever reason, you find yourself <span style="font-style:italic;">inside</span> a box in the first place, forget about the entire concept of thought. It is clearly beyond your intellectual grasp. Give it up. You've lost. You're lost. You are obviously not philosopher material, which is the main reason why it doesn't seem obvious to you. Fool.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Why am I such an angry person?</span>x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-90174446696875403452009-12-05T20:22:00.006+00:002010-01-03T16:04:47.137+00:00Easy Ways To Ruin Good Literature<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ftczY8ekmuMFtmy_N__IjMIovlLqKrYoItcFU1ZZa5x-Zlud5liehM4h9iviZzOKt-eimdIbYtzCZ0gGutfEFzsI8bYRWKtl5l6kFs0OTs6pN6tOLH0pOxpEPmuBXkGFMT6ELApO888/s1600-h/IMG_6729_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 186px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ftczY8ekmuMFtmy_N__IjMIovlLqKrYoItcFU1ZZa5x-Zlud5liehM4h9iviZzOKt-eimdIbYtzCZ0gGutfEFzsI8bYRWKtl5l6kFs0OTs6pN6tOLH0pOxpEPmuBXkGFMT6ELApO888/s400/IMG_6729_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422544940638400098" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Bad Choices</span>... Bad, bad, choices. You've been a bad choice.<br /> <br />This Week: <span style="font-style:italic;">Audiobook Accidents</span><br /> <br />When looking for someone to read Cormac McCarthy's Border Trilogy -consisting of <span style="font-style:italic;">All The Pretty Horses</span>, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Crossing</span>, and <span style="font-style:italic;">Cities of the Plain</span>- for its audiobook version, some halfwitted executive at Random House who could not have possibly read McCarthy's works threw -for reasons both unexplained and unexplainable- Brad Pitt's name into the mix. Unfortunately, it stuck, and -thus- we can now safely assume that Brad Pitt has read at least -and quite possibly only- three books in his life. Needless to say, all three audiobooks are abridged versions of the original novels. One must wonder whether the width of Mr. Pitt's vocabulary -one hundred and two words, by my calculations, counting the word "yeah" no less than three times, to bump up the numbers- had anything to do with the aforementioned abridgement. (Pst, Brad... Hey, sorry, I should probably explain what both "aforementioned" and "abridgement" mean, right? "I said it before" and "shorty-shorty short-short," respectively. And "respectively" means "each one, in the aforementioned order.")<br /> <br />Communicating with morons is harder than it might seem from afar. Audiolibrarians all over the land shall despair at the sound of these, as much as cinephiles despaired upon hearing that Matt Damon had been cast as John Grady Cole in the film adaptation of <span style="font-style:italic;">All The Pretty Horses</span>.x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-13171287506299149072009-10-12T00:12:00.018+01:002009-12-13T16:58:57.955+00:00Sighing in the Rain<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglrb9d-m8kM_06jrfql-j-WYRVvi3r61RLmMO7PxDmANu46qFF0EiRuRD1MxLk67B4hHig4sdupmlZ-7ZO21PUQkeiNj1MKRCrUNH4uylsyLtL9i03MtGcp_tuLrjgd7xVXKozUUJVXFY/s1600-h/sc0152f963_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 279px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglrb9d-m8kM_06jrfql-j-WYRVvi3r61RLmMO7PxDmANu46qFF0EiRuRD1MxLk67B4hHig4sdupmlZ-7ZO21PUQkeiNj1MKRCrUNH4uylsyLtL9i03MtGcp_tuLrjgd7xVXKozUUJVXFY/s400/sc0152f963_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411851498343050354" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">"I love the smell of Naipaul in the morning. It smells of... victory."</span></span> New Literary Remakes of Old Illiterate Films.<br /> <br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">The Big Bukowski</span></span> - After having been successfully sued for copyright infringement by "the other" Lebowski, "the Dude" Lebowski changes his family name to Bukowski... with hilarious consequences. Most of the action in the film takes place in a badly-lit dive inhabited by barflies who -time and time again- refuse to go home at closing time. A cautionary tale, rilly.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">The Grapes of Roth</span></span> - The tale of a deprived family being forced to face a drought in rural Oklahoma during the Great Depression. Of course, John Steinbeck's creation - the Joad family- is slightly altered so as to include the lasciviously Rothian Nathan Zuckerman. Expect explicit scenes of masturbation and ejaculation every five minutes, or so. But done tastefully, surely.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Dial M for Murdoch</span></span> - A Hitchcockian thriller starring Iris Murdoch as either the protagonist, the antagonist, or some other character. A terrifying whodunnit. Was it the butler? Or was it the Judith Butler? Or the big bad wolf? Or the big bad Virginia Woolf? We all know -after all- that someone is afraid of Virginia Woolf. We simply don't know who.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Rimbaud: First Blood</span></span> - Arthur Rambo -or, for that matter, Joe Rimbaud- is back from either Vietnam or Abyssinia and encounters a certain amount of trouble when he meets the local sheriff. Guns, guns, guns. And a tiny bit of French symbolist poetry here and there, perchance?<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Wilde At Heart</span></span> (or should it be <span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">The Wilde One</span></span>?) - A rather Lynchian take on the life and works of Oscar Wilde. Or a Brandoesque biker gang, with homoerotic undertones and allegorical poems. I don't know. So... either cars or bikes. But a lot of Wilde. Ooooh, yeah.x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-26501762455390224702009-09-25T10:23:00.008+01:002009-12-05T19:13:50.775+00:00Re-writes, Corrections, and More!<span style="font-weight:bold;">The Rapes Of Garth:</span> Re-writing of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Grapes Of Wrath</span> and other Classics, the Hollywood way.<br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMLQ6hp-phWSoz73iJcJl71PNufvNQvRkUC7aQ9OLAvjreZB4dqpSfPDyOiXXQCub1YgUVp8AfEgRkocQqbwu4OlP1YuqK7v_qSZ0TsxOUZAgScEIf0UYE_9IBgSAoMJIbTjfGTrJmx6Q/s1600-h/sc01539ec7_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 271px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMLQ6hp-phWSoz73iJcJl71PNufvNQvRkUC7aQ9OLAvjreZB4dqpSfPDyOiXXQCub1YgUVp8AfEgRkocQqbwu4OlP1YuqK7v_qSZ0TsxOUZAgScEIf0UYE_9IBgSAoMJIbTjfGTrJmx6Q/s400/sc01539ec7_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411831110913718786" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Tolstoyry, or, Tol Stoyry</span></span> - The story of Count Lev Nikolayevich (<span style="font-style:italic;">Leo</span>, to his friends) Tolstoy's favourite childhood trinkets and playthings, and their feats as they come to life and embark in countless adventures. An epic tale of tormented souls and the never-ending quest towards honesty.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">American Were-Woolf in Paris</span></span> - Few literary critics are aware of Virginia Woolf's trip to Paris, France, during the winter of 1927. Even fewer know that during the aforementioned trip she was bitten by -and subsequently turned into- a werewolf. This film chronicles her tale of lupine redemption. With lotsa gore, by the by.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">D.H. Lawrence of Arabia</span></span> - <span style="font-style:italic;">"Never trust the artist. Trust the tale."</span> With said epigraph begins this epic fantasy, set in an alternative reality in which D.H. Lawrence and T.E. Lawrence are -for some reason unknown to the general public- one and the same person. Set during World War I and having Modernity as its general backdrop, this is a tale of poetry, betrayal, the Arab Revolt, and sons and -of course- lovers. Eff, you, enn, spells <span style="font-style:italic;">FUN</span>.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Bend It Like Beckett</span></span> - 126 minutes of two adolescent girls who just happen to be obsessed with football sitting on a typical <span style="font-style:italic;">Adidas</span> truncated icosahedron ball, pondering over the meaning of life, the absurdity of going on, the nature of artistic creation, and making out with boys. All in a bare, very minimal theatre stage.<br /> <br />I'll just go wait for the Coen brothers to phone me. We really <span style="font-style:italic;">should</span> make these films.<br /> <br />C'mon, I'm waiting.x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-35349510784990604152009-09-19T10:47:00.005+01:002009-09-25T10:22:55.634+01:00This is a Warning.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FdRfUrl_JgQE-A6KvZ35pAO4XrYw6oDd49c1mvIAkQIp8ZBxJLP0RyJw2g94w8pUx3shqUD22-aVmhXDsiY7r8f2WNlvL7IMoXOPiV_TwgffuU1DxrVYdyqIhkaeQpru1efRqJa-wg0/s1600-h/sc0152b6f4_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FdRfUrl_JgQE-A6KvZ35pAO4XrYw6oDd49c1mvIAkQIp8ZBxJLP0RyJw2g94w8pUx3shqUD22-aVmhXDsiY7r8f2WNlvL7IMoXOPiV_TwgffuU1DxrVYdyqIhkaeQpru1efRqJa-wg0/s400/sc0152b6f4_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385331689339802978" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">People That I Don't Really Like</span> often employ these words and / or phrases in conversation.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Wow factor"</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"X factor"</span> (and <span style="font-style:italic;">the X Factor ©</span>, for that matter.)<br /> <br />Most other factors, unless we are referring to algebraic expressions by which others are exactly divisible, genes that determine hereditary characteristics, and / or any of a number of substances in the blood which are involved in coagulation.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"My / Your / His / Her / Our / Their Comfort zone"</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"The next level"</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Blog"</span> (used as a regular verb. Silly, <span style="font-style:italic;">rilly</span>.)<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Tweet"</span> (used as an irregular verb, conjugated<span style="font-style:italic;"> tweet / twit / twat</span>.)x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-21120977879194471972009-07-13T15:11:00.006+01:002009-09-25T10:15:03.467+01:00Post<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF8jovqHD5CU2Hj7kXawQYnz8SOqxotoMGZN4_NPjumx7JmvfL095T_pCOrvqLk40-MiiPX7NbB_P3xt9l3muQ25bSC3FCXMi5rUdNyHaiPNKbY1PQFexOuxWakI4VhyAcV8W1XlViBc4/s1600-h/sc015373c1_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 332px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF8jovqHD5CU2Hj7kXawQYnz8SOqxotoMGZN4_NPjumx7JmvfL095T_pCOrvqLk40-MiiPX7NbB_P3xt9l3muQ25bSC3FCXMi5rUdNyHaiPNKbY1PQFexOuxWakI4VhyAcV8W1XlViBc4/s400/sc015373c1_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385330954319764722" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Humour of The New Yorker</span>, <span style="font-style:italic;">also known as unfunny jokes and other non-sequiturs.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Animal Humour</span>, like <span style="font-style:italic;">The Far Side</span>, but not humourous.<br /> <br />An ant wearing a surgical gown is lying down on an operating table. A duck wearing a stethoscope, surgical mask and operating theatre scrubs bends over him with a worried look in his eyes. The caption reads:<br /> <br /> -What did you say your specialty was, Monsieur Fourmi?<br /> -Ant-hropology, Duck-tor Canard.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">New York Humour</span>, whatever that maybe.<br /> <br />A Catholic priest, a Rabbi and an Ayatollah walk into a cafe. The latter is murdered pre-emptively by the other two, who go on to eat bagels with cream cheese.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Self-Referential Humour</span>. (<span style="font-style:italic;">The New Yorker? Yes! The New Yorker.</span>) <br /> <br />An uneducated workman boorishly walks up to a Manhattan newsstand not wearing a tie and asks for a copy of The New Yorker. End of joke.x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-3165178316792818502009-05-28T11:19:00.009+01:002009-09-25T10:09:46.293+01:00Ouch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGpN9VpCNLutNGSMdwiYGSFcL5dnjK0VPMRlmRLAZuEY3pSDXf4NPOxIL6Vrn8jwYSUvVkjTRUGmffy146N7F0k4L_RFgp5yhuVRDEdLzbb3jiV8qcqhX8dJ3JvlarQurmGsAnkc2Ng8E/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 371px; height: 364px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGpN9VpCNLutNGSMdwiYGSFcL5dnjK0VPMRlmRLAZuEY3pSDXf4NPOxIL6Vrn8jwYSUvVkjTRUGmffy146N7F0k4L_RFgp5yhuVRDEdLzbb3jiV8qcqhX8dJ3JvlarQurmGsAnkc2Ng8E/s400/Picture+1.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385328162116470770" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Silly Words and Stupid Phrases</span> that only Olympic-size morons and Brobdingnagian dickheads use. Particularly on television.</span><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"The thing is is that..."</span> (the thing simply <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span>, you commoner!)<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"110%"</span> (and any other silly percentages, including <span style="font-style:italic;">101%</span>, <span style="font-style:italic;">99.99%</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">seventy-fuck percent</span>.)<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"The best of the best"</span> (if you are <span style="font-style:italic;">the</span> best, then you are the best of the best, the worst and everyone in between, including those treading water in their puddle of mediocrity.)<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Yum-o-metre"</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"The next... / The new..."</span> (as in: <span style="font-style:italic;">"Rufus Wainwright is the next Elton John, in that they are both really annoying</span>,<span style="font-style:italic;">"</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">"Nickelback really do wish they were the new Nirvana, but they are just -well- utter shite."</span>)<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"The myspace Generation"</span> (which normally sends shivers down my spine, as I consider the prospect of future age groups being sponsored by multinational corporations, as in the following nightmares: <span style="font-style:italic;">"the Nestlé generation,"</span> <span style="font-style:italic;">"the Age of Coca-Cola,"</span> <span style="font-style:italic;">"the Year of the Cadbury,"</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">"Life, sponsored by Marlboro."</span>) See also: <span style="font-style:italic;">"The facebook Faction"</span> / <span style="font-style:italic;">"The iPod iDiots"</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"-ista"</span> (suffix, normally added to words that are on their own already asinine, such as <span style="font-style:italic;">fashion</span>, to produce a surplus of asininity, as in <span style="font-style:italic;">"fashionista,"</span> meaning <span style="font-style:italic;">"silly person wearing even sillier clothes."</span>)x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-51590289444807291402009-05-22T14:01:00.012+01:002009-09-25T10:00:13.638+01:00Life and Other Discomforts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_fBXOtmC1DWFMdc2y3DHnTzJ7dDhdHYUE6G83zTsqB3TP2sOr2GPMcwOUOe8EMEtsgZD0yjzeuDNSVcfOrwXQsXgG9gYMlgQvaiAegY2IpW_KQyvTM4ejNAT4EcCfevF0VuYDQAxf_Ck/s1600-h/sc01549a78_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 121px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_fBXOtmC1DWFMdc2y3DHnTzJ7dDhdHYUE6G83zTsqB3TP2sOr2GPMcwOUOe8EMEtsgZD0yjzeuDNSVcfOrwXQsXgG9gYMlgQvaiAegY2IpW_KQyvTM4ejNAT4EcCfevF0VuYDQAxf_Ck/s400/sc01549a78_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385326546877382882" /></a><br /> <br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Ideas For Television Shows</span>, that are quite unlikely to ever get picked up, really. Shame.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Pitch:</span> Ashton Kutcher travels through the U.S. visiting different cities and their unsuspecting inhabitants. In a fashion similar to that of Kutcher's previous series Punk'd, the presenter would surprise random women by punching them in the crotch whilst yelling the programme's catchphrase: <span style="font-style:italic;">"You've Been Cunted!"</span> Needless to say, the name of the show would be spelt with the iconic apostrophe that made Kutcher's seminal masterwork such an international success.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Name of the Show:</span> <span style="font-style:italic;">Cunt'd!</span> (Pronounced "Cunted!")<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Pitch:</span> A special episode of <span style="font-style:italic;">Wife Swap</span> involving O.J. Simpson and some couple. Some poor fella spends a week in a damp crypt in a cemetery in Los Angeles. Meanwhile, his wife has been raped and murdered by a man whose only redeeming quality was a small role in the <span style="font-style:italic;">Naked Gun</span> series. On the last day of the exchange, O.J. denies all charges repeatedly saying: <span style="font-style:italic;">"I didn't do it... but if I had..."</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Name of the Show:</span> <span style="font-style:italic;">Wife Swab</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Pitch:</span> A Christmas Edition of <span style="font-style:italic;">Come Dine With Me</span>, featuring Beth Ditto.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Name of the Show:</span> <span style="font-style:italic;">The Huge L-Word</span>x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-34910597566579176082009-05-13T14:34:00.027+01:002009-05-22T14:01:28.579+01:00Rawk & Rawl...!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSDl28Fn2MfNexVKIAIdfdn3Z3g3-wIJzFwR5JGe9UVr3ZfgbStBsxnLQ-f9VSHHNoTtLzzME2qLIJQWELyYQWUyYkJ6PkpUeOtocAXhnclXb2YXcRlIDfhJgl3gBdXFSA4u6Q48W5NQ/s1600-h/sc00564daa_2_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 289px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSDl28Fn2MfNexVKIAIdfdn3Z3g3-wIJzFwR5JGe9UVr3ZfgbStBsxnLQ-f9VSHHNoTtLzzME2qLIJQWELyYQWUyYkJ6PkpUeOtocAXhnclXb2YXcRlIDfhJgl3gBdXFSA4u6Q48W5NQ/s400/sc00564daa_2_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338620484240294434" /></a><br /><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Plausible, yet fictional, news...</span> Music press headlines for the new millenium<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">This Town Ain't Big Enough For Th' Both Of Us</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brian Adams</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">the Cardigans</span> join forces against <span style="font-style:italic;">Ryan Adams</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">the Cardinals</span>. Hilarity ensues. Both super-groups meet for one final showdown performance, which is eventually cancelled due to poor ticket sales. Both Brian and Ryan go on to co-write and co-produce a modern day re-imagining of the <span style="font-style:italic;">Adams Family</span>.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">What's that floating in my</span> latte<span style="font-style:italic;">... I mean... errrr... my beer?</span><br /> <br />Independent icon, sound engineer <span style="font-style:italic;">Steve Albini</span> fights blues musician siblings <span style="font-style:italic;">Johnny and Edgar Winter</span> -who just happen to suffer from albinism, of course- over a misunderstanding involving a half-eaten muffin and a double-decaf, skinny, [insert random italianate word], mocha, frappuccino, latte with cinnamon, cream, and two sugars. <span style="font-style:italic;">Albini</span> challenges the <span style="font-style:italic;">Winter brothers</span> to a Mexican-style wrestling match, to which they both decline saying something along the lines of <span style="font-style:italic;">"[A] wrestling match? (...) Ya freak! (...)" </span>Hilarity does not ensue.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Thë Äcë öf Spädës, thë Äcë öf Spädës...!"</span><br /> <br />Imagine an island on which people had to kill other people to survive. No, not <span style="font-style:italic;">Manhattan</span>. Think more along the lines of <span style="font-style:italic;">Battle Royale</span>. But with <span style="font-style:italic;">rock stars</span>...! Yeah! The first episode would consist of diaeresis-ridden artists fighting for umlaut supremacy, whatever that may mean. In any case, <span style="font-style:italic;">Motörhead</span> leader <span style="font-style:italic;">Lemmy Kilmister</span>, <span style="font-style:italic;">Mötley Crüe</span>'s <span style="font-style:italic;">Tommy Lee</span>, <span style="font-style:italic;">Eric Bloom</span> from <span style="font-style:italic;">Blue Öyster Cult</span>, the funny-looking dude from <span style="font-style:italic;">Maxïmo Park</span>, <span style="font-style:italic;">Bob Mould</span> from <span style="font-style:italic;">Hüsker Dü</span>, those weirdos from <span style="font-style:italic;">Röyksopp</span>, all members of <span style="font-style:italic;">Spinal Tap</span>, and all ex-members of <span style="font-style:italic;">Queensrÿche</span> would fight for their lives and -ultimately- diacritical superiority.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Yeah!</span></span>x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-40135278080201071802009-05-13T14:26:00.004+01:002009-05-14T13:27:11.603+01:00Brideshead Revisited Revisited<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkxIoM2TBTLUl3wdL5PPALG8fYBQ95kEBh3Zeem1klGQd8Gu9MIiA3rZBxVIa-XOS2bLG2k_-Ux28awAPQimu9iRDt08KU2abTPXAsaxwG3crUUf0GkgokoNSMIp0r1AiLHCni1QHCcQ/s1600-h/IMG222.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 277px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkxIoM2TBTLUl3wdL5PPALG8fYBQ95kEBh3Zeem1klGQd8Gu9MIiA3rZBxVIa-XOS2bLG2k_-Ux28awAPQimu9iRDt08KU2abTPXAsaxwG3crUUf0GkgokoNSMIp0r1AiLHCni1QHCcQ/s400/IMG222.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335301157684428946" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Different Takes on a Classic of 20th Century Literature</span>, or the many, many ways in which idiots mutilated high art, turning it into fodder for the uneducated masses.<br /><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Birdseed Revisited</span><br /><br />Big Bird from <span style="font-style:italic;">Sesame Street</span>, Edgar Allan Poe's pet Raven, Noah's Raven, Noah's Dove, the Dodo bird from Alice in Wonderland and the sexually explicitly named Woody Woodpecker from the Walter Lantz cartoons re-enact portions of Evelyn Waugh's <span style="font-style:italic;">Brideshead Revisited, The Sacred & Profane Memories of Captain Charles Ryder</span>. Expect homoerotic undertones, 1920's style debauchery, and aristocracy excess. With the text's poetry replaced with poultry.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Bridewell Revisited</span><br /><br />A <span style="font-style:italic;">Brideshead Revisited</span> / <span style="font-style:italic;">Oz</span> crossover. <span style="font-style:italic;">Oz</span> as in the gritty, HBO prison drama, not the dull, inane children's book about a pack of cowards sticking together due to their aforementioned cowardice. The romance of the original could here be replaced with sordid prison sex, whilst the sacramental references in the text could evolve into incarceration-induced religiosity of the born-again kind. Fun, fun, fun. Sodomy, breaches of human rights and a dark, damp, dirty mise en scène. What is there not to like?<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Bridesmaid Revisited</span><br /><br />Starring with Richard Gere and Julia Roberts, obviously. Runaway brides and drooling, powerless, omega pseudo-males, of course. A Hollywood re-interpretation of Brideshead Revisited, meaning that the original text would be gutted, disemboweled and its insides filled with fresh dung, clearly. Dung of human origin, possibly. Put a happy ending and the rest will write itself. Join-the-dots type of pseudo-art, unquestionably. The type that makes me want to cry out of frustration, naturally.<br /> <br />Dang!x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-59840337827204657762009-04-16T13:54:00.006+01:002009-04-16T14:03:28.638+01:00Enigmatic Essay Titles<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLG4xQuuYFY4Ymr5a2Ysxl8394JlECW3bfaV9znKMKrUMeCaVPXa7Qn5pHWcI6-vYvOmViRBiSJl152vEuqI9_6KB750noMXI4uWcXUEcpQNWMFOSx1qUhYOQdVx-q7gNUr89HNkflcs/s1600-h/IMG_6027_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLG4xQuuYFY4Ymr5a2Ysxl8394JlECW3bfaV9znKMKrUMeCaVPXa7Qn5pHWcI6-vYvOmViRBiSJl152vEuqI9_6KB750noMXI4uWcXUEcpQNWMFOSx1qUhYOQdVx-q7gNUr89HNkflcs/s400/IMG_6027_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325274042000945650" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Suggestion for Theses on Coetzee</span> that should not be taken seriously, as a life of failure, constant humiliation and opprobrium would surely soon follow.<br /> <br />"The Easter Bunny as Organic Metaphor in John Maxwell Coetzee's Disgrace."<br /> <br />"Disempowering the Empire or Disempiring the Empower?: Confusing Ideas and Idealizing Confusion in the Novels of J.M. Coetzee."<br /> <br />"Panem et Circenses: Cakes, Muffins, Scones and Bakewell Tarts as Symbols of Phallocracy in Coetzee's Early Prose."x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-77827711830900687672009-04-16T13:38:00.008+01:002009-04-20T13:10:38.683+01:00Bandwagonesque<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcdQBcrucdUDZm2t5EOWdQY-IYMr44OyPocdIfQgFF6ANN70TKGVgy7KkPBHjOqIfRW4hypbWAmt5uY3u9hLP91yrgj6hgCgV6utIEQdqYcg_3Tf0IKemLXSNKJLluAW_P-nER7cUL-io/s1600-h/IMG_4161_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcdQBcrucdUDZm2t5EOWdQY-IYMr44OyPocdIfQgFF6ANN70TKGVgy7KkPBHjOqIfRW4hypbWAmt5uY3u9hLP91yrgj6hgCgV6utIEQdqYcg_3Tf0IKemLXSNKJLluAW_P-nER7cUL-io/s400/IMG_4161_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325270106173697138" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Rock 'n' Roll Melodies</span> for the myspace, facebook, pitchfork, bebo, emo generation. Thoughtlessness for the thoughtless, so to speak.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Nine Inch Snail</span><br /> <br />Industrial rock infused with syncopated drum machines and angst-ridden, anger-soaked lyrics about characters from children's book, including snails with low self-esteem, frustrated turtles, grinning cats, orphan puppies and ghastly-looking poultry. Songs that help adolescents deal with the pain of comfortable existences lived in suburbia.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Creedence Clearwater Survival</span><br /> <br />Survivalist folk-rock. An amalgam of Peace-Love-and-Understanding Southern Rock-influenced popular music and paranoid delusions, absolute libertarianism and ultraconservative derangement. Tunes to hum to from the darkness of a bunker in the depths of Waco, TX, as the End of Days predictably takes place outside.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Ironic Maiden</span><br /> <br />Sarcastic, highly amplified, rather distorted, harsh-sounding modern rock music with pounding beats and cryptic lyrics, often -yet not always- about serpent-like dragons, ice-clad mountains, flaming swords and blood-drenched skies. Sardonic heavy metal.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Manic Street Poachers</span><br /> <br />Political songs about revolutionary topics written in first person singular from the perspective of men and women who hunt, fish and catch game illegally. A sort of pro-hunting foil to Rage Against the Machine and all the other pseudo lefty rock bands whose idea of supporting communism is buying overpriced, sweatshop-made Che Guevara T-shirts from High Street boutiques.x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-1462636557935170332009-03-31T15:27:00.003+01:002009-03-31T15:39:25.027+01:00A Short Film<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzKNSmQsts6B8iieG0P8s4149otHafXkXZQS7NEPbF2M4ybg3gGyWSq8w8M9oGqL-EG5wk2ahD26wDuSRhd' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-16092592583760459162009-03-31T15:22:00.006+01:002009-03-31T15:27:39.923+01:00Music For the Masses<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfMlI5rmk6CYwqUjHLXzfPok80jhutJ_6RmjfbKmYi7uIuo_7OLm8I1v-87jtDPUSViJi2fv03H-t-E2Xtqo3GA45k0FvYHPXM2tbEsQ2plKy-bFBOLtk3NOiNT9Km-lv4fjZcEq7OrIA/s1600-h/IMG_5834_3.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfMlI5rmk6CYwqUjHLXzfPok80jhutJ_6RmjfbKmYi7uIuo_7OLm8I1v-87jtDPUSViJi2fv03H-t-E2Xtqo3GA45k0FvYHPXM2tbEsQ2plKy-bFBOLtk3NOiNT9Km-lv4fjZcEq7OrIA/s400/IMG_5834_3.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319358248758369762" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Discovering Imaginary Covers</span>, musical variations, melodious alterations, euphonic permutations, and discordant deviations.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Sexual Helium</span><br /> <br />Marvin Gaye meets That-Stupid-Bloody-Frog-That-Everyone-Except-Me-Loved-A-Few-Years-Ago. Maybe it could even be a duet for the Post-Thought Age. A helium-voiced <span style="font-style:italic;">Sexual Healing</span> for the new millennium. Also a step-by-step guide on how to ruin a perfectly good song with unnecessary post-production. <br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The AAA Took My Baby Away</span><br /> <br />The Ramones' classic punk rock tune is re-imagined, replacing the barbaric KKK of the original's title with the somewhat more threatening American Automobile Association. It could -in the future- be used on convertible and sports car magazine adverts and television infomercials. The future is dark, the future is black. Scary thoughts, the stuff of nightmares.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Californicaragua</span><br /> <br />The same old, boring, unimaginative Red Hot Chili Peppers songs with latin rhythms added to them. The Contras-themed rhythms of Nicaragua's capital city, Managua. Perhaps now the song will have a vague scent of revolution and change? <span style="font-style:italic;">"Dream of Ca-li-for-ni-ca-ra-gua... Dream of Ca-li-for-ni-ca-ra-gua... "</span> Don't expect much, though. I bet Anthony Kiedis' substandard lyrics will still manage to ruin the song once again. A second-rate lyricist if I ever heard one.x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-50035338920323672412009-03-27T16:28:00.006+00:002009-03-31T15:21:59.916+01:00Hostile Makeover<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggt65j5TSCe9SkTITEbks1dDAR4poJXhbnLPjzrzzOevW-4A-McpJHLbWYa3Mnz1Yb1nFmdAaahEgDJuTu3zKtmFfVNfgTTv_wL8Zh28-UyQCs0BfxQnVhohv-0_3E1I41zewI-DbKGxg/s1600-h/IMG_6049.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggt65j5TSCe9SkTITEbks1dDAR4poJXhbnLPjzrzzOevW-4A-McpJHLbWYa3Mnz1Yb1nFmdAaahEgDJuTu3zKtmFfVNfgTTv_wL8Zh28-UyQCs0BfxQnVhohv-0_3E1I41zewI-DbKGxg/s400/IMG_6049.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319356886928420482" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Children's Literature + Hollywood</span> = many an appallingly written, poorly directed, incompetently acted piss-poor excuse for a film.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Ruffalo</span><br /> <br />The life-story of American actor Mark Ruffalo synchronized to the plot and story of Julia Donaldson/Axel Scheffler's unforgettable <span style="font-style:italic;">The Gruffalo</span>. The monster becomes an incompetent actor and acts in a string of flops.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Where The Wilde Things Are</span><br /> <br />Part Maurice Sendak's <span style="font-style:italic;">Where The Wild Things Are</span>, part bio-pic describing the troubled life and troubled times of literary mammoth Oscar Wilde. It would almost certainly include monsters, betrayal, sodomy and pederasty.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Chronicles Of Arnie</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Chronicles Of Narnia</span> meets Arnold Schwarzenegger. Need I say more? Maybe I need, I suppose. Why, I hear you ask? Why not? For the money, of course. Why else, right? C.S. Lewis, but with no moral message and -instead- a bunch cars blowing up, buildings burning, and dudes getting shot. Maybe we'll squeeze some robots, some time-travel, some sex, and lotsa, lotsa violence. Yeah!x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-57544766566772925542009-03-20T14:55:00.009+00:002009-03-20T15:08:53.498+00:00Market Forceps<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ewEwJ6VfdFTvmEMWRKTQ227G66kMPQQq85_uRL3ZZqz099Tnm01QbKEPnGIDjeKNg0UYQEXFoaAeSSk-adHJWcVc14yGnN8EW1Y1lNEXefZ7kZHBEz33EpiCHw6KdzeXgMjrhhpFyH8/s1600-h/IM00de6ea7_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ewEwJ6VfdFTvmEMWRKTQ227G66kMPQQq85_uRL3ZZqz099Tnm01QbKEPnGIDjeKNg0UYQEXFoaAeSSk-adHJWcVc14yGnN8EW1Y1lNEXefZ7kZHBEz33EpiCHw6KdzeXgMjrhhpFyH8/s400/IM00de6ea7_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315286516456601986" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Elasticity of the Man</span>, Adversary Selection, Anti-Anti-Trust, Debt Mercilessness, Deadweight Cost/Less, MonopSONY, and whatnot, and on and on, and the rest, etcetera, yadda, yadda, yadda...<br /> <br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Heinz©</span> might try to start marketing their own brand of humous, the name of which will be a portmanteau blending both the name of the brand and that of the commodity, thus, <span style="font-style:italic;">Heinous®</span>.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Microsoft©</span> are believed to be on the verge of creating their own in-house system of Orders, including their version of the Order of the Garter and the OBE, the latter named <span style="font-style:italic;">Microsoft© OBE</span>s or -for short- <span style="font-style:italic;">MICROBEs®</span>.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Coca-Cola© Company</span> could attempt to break into the market of calligraphy, by designing, copyrighting, and promoting their own <span style="font-style:italic;">Coca-Cola©</span> style apostrophe under the trade name <span style="font-style:italic;">Catastrophe®</span>.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Firestone©</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">TRESemmé©</span> may one day merge and combine their mastery of rubber engineering, wheel design, and cosmetics to make more durable, better-looking tires. <span style="font-style:italic;">TRESemmé©</span> + <span style="font-style:italic;">Firestone©</span> = <span style="font-style:italic;">Tiresomé®</span>.<br /> <br />Tiresome as this post has now become, I am sure. My apologies.x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-68385791963713336442009-03-17T17:10:00.027+00:002009-03-18T11:46:24.305+00:00Philately, Numismatics, Trainspotting, etc.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjEK6IpBB-xDGRG1S0jBezL9XBLAsPCedwYEzsGELClcMRR6OJEDAPXZnDQM3SXyh6mdkmeiE84L96m7b4K278PVcDzhp4aSd2mJ3qbo-9lkpwbj9BO6kHRDGqjtk28aBc9WoBgEC4Oo/s1600-h/IMG0007_2_2_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 376px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjEK6IpBB-xDGRG1S0jBezL9XBLAsPCedwYEzsGELClcMRR6OJEDAPXZnDQM3SXyh6mdkmeiE84L96m7b4K278PVcDzhp4aSd2mJ3qbo-9lkpwbj9BO6kHRDGqjtk28aBc9WoBgEC4Oo/s400/IMG0007_2_2_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314213140133441858" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Relatively Boring Pastimes</span>, rather dull hobbies, comparatively stale interests, and somewhat uninteresting amusements.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Metrophilia</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Metrophilia</span> must be the most boring member in all the -philia family. C'mon. Necrophilia is frowned upon, but sounds more fun -even if also more disturbing. Even Hemophilia seems like it'd be a blast by comparison. It makes Coprophilia look like a charming, solemn endeavour, let's face it. How can anyone call him/herself a "railfan" or "rail enthusiast" and not realize what an amazing social <span style="font-style:italic;">faux-pas</span> that is? The only interesting things about trainspotting are: a) the novel (Irvine Welsh) and b) the novel's film adaptation (Danny Boyle), which -by the way- have absolutely nothing to do with the act of spotting trains, other than it is used in the novel as a metaphor for the tedium and cyclical nature of a junkie's existence. Or, rather, nonexistence.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Numismatics</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Numismatics</span>...? Yawn. Who was the first person that decided collecting coins would help him/her kill time? Isn't the whole point about money that it was created to be spent? Honestly, what a waste of time. I could see how <span style="font-style:italic;">having money</span> might improve someone's quality of life, and even help someone move towards happiness -not money in itself, but rather not having to worry about money. But collecting the damn thing? Really? Rilly? Oh my...<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Philately</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Philately</span>? I'd rather watch telly. I suppose sometimes people simply do not have any friends to writes letters to, so they simply buy postal stamps and put them in boxes. I bet they also buy postcards, and end up not sending them. There they go, off to boxes too. Classified, categorized, rated, grouped, grade, systematized and catalogued. The many, many, many taxonomies of boredom. And they don't even keep them in boxes, that was simply my own poetic license, they -in fact- buy albums to provide accommodation for them. How exciting, I hear you say. You moron. Philately makes Philanthropy sound exciting. At least then you are simply getting rid of you money, not both your money, your self-respect, AND your life.<br /> <br />Dang!x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-76359710750574145552009-03-16T13:42:00.014+00:002009-03-17T16:28:58.884+00:00Confusing Acronyms<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwTcUZhPZpf43MJgbeppohqiwYHdd1J8gs-ffcCBTpAzxOR2hwhI_Pv2rFG8nwQpwflqH0gxMhr6_-Vem1r-gmZ54HgD6qTzKL7N9ywVlJ9noK2-CguTe7_hnVzIzj5Mud9QozXfZypZY/s1600-h/IMG_5219_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwTcUZhPZpf43MJgbeppohqiwYHdd1J8gs-ffcCBTpAzxOR2hwhI_Pv2rFG8nwQpwflqH0gxMhr6_-Vem1r-gmZ54HgD6qTzKL7N9ywVlJ9noK2-CguTe7_hnVzIzj5Mud9QozXfZypZY/s400/IMG_5219_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314194279523336882" /></a><br /> <br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Letters for the illiterate</span>, confused initials, alphabetisms, abbreviations, nomenclatures, and orthographic stylings...<br /> <br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">WWID</span>: Is this meant to be an egocentric variation on WWJD (What Would Jesus Do)? Something along the lines of What Would I Do? Or simply an ominous forward-thinking anticipation of World War 499 (roman numerals, of course)?<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">INRI</span>: History and Theology both tell us that this acronym, inscribed at the top of the cross, stood for IESVS NAZARENVS REX IVDÆORVM (Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews). But, could it be possible that it did not mean this at all, but rather that Jesus was in fact called Henry, and those bloody Romans could not spell foreign names? Thus, Inri? I'm just saying...<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">SOA</span>: I think this is meant to be decoded as Service-Oriented Architecture. Although, I do not know anyone (or even <span style="font-style:italic;">of</span> anyone) -dead or alive- who has a clue what this means. Feel free to have a look what Wikipedia has to say on the matter. It's quite unintelligible. Something along the lines of "a nano e-pod de-duping and virtualization, constituting versioning cloud-computing and green washing, yet not excluding a reasonable amount of petaflop and words clouds. Nano, nano, buzzword, water-cooler, cubicle arsehole, Web 2.0, nano, nano, 3G amorphous solution, flash cookie i-business, plasma megapixel fuck LCD HD VCR PVR DVR SLR DVD TV ISP ESP JPEG MP3 CEO VoIP HTTP GUI USB? IBM? GFY! Yeah?"x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-28574446638235057972009-03-16T12:43:00.020+00:002009-03-16T13:41:20.770+00:00Plump Fiction<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_gliIC4cKsPC2M9RApIo96dLrAjA7d_lchhPgfX7XAWQz6XNkuZlUmwLDO-pLeh6URVKQ4tV2Dd_Hd0574l9v0LPauQHYFLWRx0aACrjrnQ2xA5cae41D6vBPRPZf07z2X7x3mTPgII/s1600-h/scan0008-Panorama_2_3_2_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 285px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_gliIC4cKsPC2M9RApIo96dLrAjA7d_lchhPgfX7XAWQz6XNkuZlUmwLDO-pLeh6URVKQ4tV2Dd_Hd0574l9v0LPauQHYFLWRx0aACrjrnQ2xA5cae41D6vBPRPZf07z2X7x3mTPgII/s400/scan0008-Panorama_2_3_2_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313775825510697394" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Pulped Fiction</span>, bits and pieces from the Hollywood Archives. An assortment of film script leftovers.<br /><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Honey Bunny</span> [About to rob a diner]: I love you, Pumpkin. <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Pumpkin</span>: I love you, Honey Bunny. [Standing up with a gun in his hand] All right, everybody be Rob, this is a coolery! <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Honey Bunny</span>: Any of you fucking pricks move, and I'll execute every motherfucking last one of... [Turning to Pumpkin] What did you just say?<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Pumpkin</span> [Clearly embarrassed]: Not <span style="font-style:italic;">now</span>, Honey Bunny... Not now...<br /> <br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">[from a private conversation between Quentin Tarantino and Ving Rhames]</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Ving Rhames</span>: But why Marsellus Wallace, Q-man? You are making my character sound like a pimp, and you know how I feel about stereograms...<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Quentin Tarantino</span> [henceforth referred to as <span style="font-style:italic;">Q-man</span> and/or <span style="font-style:italic;">the Q-man</span>]: ...types. Stereotypes.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Ving Rhames</span>: What?<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Q-Man</span>: Stereo<span style="font-style:italic;">types</span>. Stereotypes are widely held, fixed, oversimplified images of someone or something. Like saying "Canada is like the U.S., but filled with nice people," or "blondes have more fun, but less brain." Stereograms are optical illusions of depth created from flat, two-dimensional pictures. You know, those images you stare at for a while before you get them...<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Ving Rhame</span>: Oh, yeah... I dig 'em.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Q-Man</span>: Your point being...?<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Ving Rhame</span>: Why can't my character be nice. A nice, friendly black man. Without a name like "Marsellus Wallace," Q-Man. It sounds threatening, you know? Why can't the character be called something like "Wally Marseille" or "Marcel Wallaby," instead?<br /> <br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">[from the Original, Unrevised, Unedited Screenplay for the film]</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jules</span>: What does Marcellus Wallace look like? <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brett</span>: What? <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jules</span>: What country you from? <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brett</span>: What? <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jules</span>: What ain't no country I ever heard of! They speak English in What? <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brett</span>: What? <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jules</span>: English, motherfucker! Do. You. Speak. It?<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brett</span>: What?<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jules</span>: Sphincter says what?<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brett</span>: What?<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jules</span>: Ha, you're the sphincter, dude. Now, seriously, English, motherfucker! Do. You. Speak. It?<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brett</span>: Yes!<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jules</span>: Then you know what I'm saying! <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brett</span>: Yes! <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jules</span>: Describe what Marcellus Wallace looks like! <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brett</span>: What, I-? <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jules</span>: [Pointing his gun at him] Say what again. Say. That. Again! I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker. Say what one more goddamn time.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brett</span>: He is b-b-b-black... <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jules</span>: Go on. <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brett</span>: He's b-b-b-bald... <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jules</span>: Does he look like a bitch? <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brett</span> [Breaking into song in a husky Louis-Armstrong-type voice]: What a won - der - ful world... And I think to myself...<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jules</span>: Does he look like a bitch?<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brett</span> [Again, breaking into song and attempting a choreography]: What if God was one of us...?<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jules</span>: Man... Not Joan Osbourne, I hate that bitch! Joan Osbourne and Melissa Etheridge are out of bounds. It's in my contract, man. [Jules shoots Brett in shoulder] Entirely unacceptable. [Looking at Vincent] D'you know where the Q-man is? I need to sort some shit out.x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-26582164931182208662008-08-18T12:47:00.012+01:002009-03-17T17:07:54.894+00:00Dee - Vee - Dee Extras<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgec4T1hid7DNO-ycMrfJ-iNUrel8dBlAPiawVuCZa1mzb0KniRnzCos5pYQqZqN6m4c156cs3SyyFHYCRCkz7jq0px-_pqD2ulXyIxdLnH-RzOczoq4EZ1-9OjYEFhjty9d2dEyAKWg8g/s1600-h/IMG_4610.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 339px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgec4T1hid7DNO-ycMrfJ-iNUrel8dBlAPiawVuCZa1mzb0KniRnzCos5pYQqZqN6m4c156cs3SyyFHYCRCkz7jq0px-_pqD2ulXyIxdLnH-RzOczoq4EZ1-9OjYEFhjty9d2dEyAKWg8g/s400/IMG_4610.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314203915477282194" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Director's Cu(n)t</span>, Imaginary Easter Eggs and Nonexistent Hidden Goodies in DVDs. Mostly wishful thinking, though.<br /> <br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Se7en</span>: Click on the big number seven (7) on the Main Menu and watch Detective David Mills (Brad Pitt's character) die the horrible death he deserves so much.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Thelma & Louise</span>: Click on the ampersand (&) on the Extras Menu and watch Brad Pitt beg Ridley Scott on his knees for the part. To which Scott replies: "Ok, but please, PLEASE, do not ruin this film too."<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">12 Monkeys</span>: Click on the big monkey (Monkey) hanging from the chain of little monkeys (monkeys) and watch Brad Pitt suggesting director Terry Gilliam alternative titles for the film, including "Twelve Angry Monkeys," "The Dirty Dozen of Monkeys," "Twelve Monkeys of Christmas," "Monkeys: Cheaper By the Dozen," "Monkeys Die Hard," "Fistful of Monkeys" and "For a Few Monkeys More." Terry Gilliam simply grabs his head and mutters "Oh, man, please, PLEASE, do not ruin this film TOO."<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Burn After Reading</span>: Though technically not an Easter Egg, but rather simply a part of the plot, skip the first half of this pathetic excuse of a film and watch Chad Feldheimer (Brad Pitt's character) being shot in the head and die. Very rewarding scene.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford</span>: Same as the above mentioned <span style="font-style:italic;">Burn After Reading</span>, though -for some reason- the rest of the characters in the film seem to be unhappy about Jesse James' (Brad Pitt's character's) death. Weird. So bizarre.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Fight Club</span>: Again, as in the previous two mentions, Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt's character) dies. Brilliant. In the Director's Commentary track, David Fincher declares this to be the most satisfying point of his career: "having been able to kill Brad Pitt, if only on film."x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-32904803512495042852008-08-18T11:15:00.005+01:002008-08-18T12:47:01.561+01:00Nominal Value (not Current Market Value, duh!)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqNwZbdkwRP11Ocld4DUs9QwNaaqudn4sZ0vSBs_XPS3zmFJ2f2p61IBSpv38qZQZvaebBl2-uqCk_mGJlmXvY9VYiO1VxxtgfSmUHNZIjRT56w103UfsVTEzXQbh53cW4Qi5tbin9ng/s1600-h/scan0001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqNwZbdkwRP11Ocld4DUs9QwNaaqudn4sZ0vSBs_XPS3zmFJ2f2p61IBSpv38qZQZvaebBl2-uqCk_mGJlmXvY9VYiO1VxxtgfSmUHNZIjRT56w103UfsVTEzXQbh53cW4Qi5tbin9ng/s400/scan0001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235799511759477074" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Fictional Brothers, Cousins, Nephews and Other Relatives of the Relatively Rich and Unfortunately Famous</span>, funny names, runny phlegms, money games, and general silliness.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Armstrong "Arm" Pitt</span>, Brad Pitt's half-brother. Has a tendency to sweat profusely and, subsequently, smells of onion bulbs.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Albert Marcus "A.M." Bush</span>, George W. Bush's long-lost cousin. Enjoys attacking people and/or non-Western nations by surprise from concealed positions.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Anna Keynes</span>, great-granddaughter of John Maynard Keynes, who -after having married Christopher Walken's second cousin George Khai-Walker- became <span style="font-style:italic;">Anna Keynes Khai-Walken</span>. May the Force be with her.<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Albert Robert "A.R." Caine</span>, Sir Michael Caine's nephew, twice-removed. <span style="font-style:italic;">A.R. Caine</span> is fairly enigmatic and mysterious. And into esoteric philosophical issues.x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-15802072952572761862008-08-18T11:05:00.007+01:002008-08-20T15:02:06.911+01:00Better talkies and celluloid, bitter talk and cellulite...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNlM8I4lgC-tMnlA8vM3_Iyo0mORl5lNelR12wb95E8p4Ke4zTPO141UEK7hnEHlPL4S8bsBDKwJaNs1pK6MoHJMN2X7Tl8gMKgH9FXop94fFEz8Rxpf6tyZTjkwE5IT-dThcWZW7sDAA/s1600-h/IMG_4714.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNlM8I4lgC-tMnlA8vM3_Iyo0mORl5lNelR12wb95E8p4Ke4zTPO141UEK7hnEHlPL4S8bsBDKwJaNs1pK6MoHJMN2X7Tl8gMKgH9FXop94fFEz8Rxpf6tyZTjkwE5IT-dThcWZW7sDAA/s400/IMG_4714.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235797652146265330" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Simon Says</span>, and the rest of us simply repeat what he says, like the mindless morons we are...<br /> <br />Hollywood taught us that teenage pregnancy can be a lot of fun. And that jocks that get schoolgirls pregnant are <span style="font-style:italic;">cute</span>. [<span style="font-style:italic;">Juno</span>]<br /> <br />Hollywood explained to us that rich people needn't believe in God, but poor fellas pretty much have to. [<span style="font-style:italic;">There Will Be Blood</span>]<br /> <br />Hollywood demonstrated to us that if you want your film to be a blockbuster hit, you should make sure one of the lead actors dies for the film's release. [<span style="font-style:italic;">Dark Knight</span>]<br /> <br />Hollywood showed us that -as long as you are a minor- you can accuse innocent men of rape and get away with it. Maybe even write a best-selling semi-autobiographical novel about it. [<span style="font-style:italic;">Atonement</span>] <br /> <br />Hollywood revealed to us that it is perfectly acceptable to be a psychotic assassin as long as you are thorough and you follow a strict -yet somewhat dubious- code of conduct. Thoroughly. [<span style="font-style:italic;">No Country For Old Men</span>]<br /> <br />Hollywood proved to us that the works of Gabriel García Márquez are as dull and insipid in book form as they are on the big screen. [<span style="font-style:italic;">Love in the Time of Cholera</span>]<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Only in Hollywood.</span>x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-25244308009204744492008-08-18T11:01:00.004+01:002008-08-18T12:45:24.102+01:00Halfwits and Twothirds-Twits...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-gwHq8fDpEvindQFwuuUKfRLAhyhKGVn-FpNH0GXCLdf105Mq7R-aZB5ChwSPDpWbhsEKuwJJxR28OZ7lOtHe16kOt9jEUzL9v70E4INmIuPLdANkt01Qvu_SzBm4DZcevHZ2nFqrCCY/s1600-h/IMG_4474_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-gwHq8fDpEvindQFwuuUKfRLAhyhKGVn-FpNH0GXCLdf105Mq7R-aZB5ChwSPDpWbhsEKuwJJxR28OZ7lOtHe16kOt9jEUzL9v70E4INmIuPLdANkt01Qvu_SzBm4DZcevHZ2nFqrCCY/s400/IMG_4474_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235796592949665218" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Deciphering the Secret Meanings of Songs</span>, or perchance reading too much into it all. Lyrical analysis of sorts, in any case.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Try Not to Breathe</span> (R.E.M.)</span><br /> <br />"I will try not to breathe,<br />I can hold my head still,<br />with my hands on my kness.<br />(...)<br />I need something to breathe.<br />(...)<br />I will try not to burden you,<br />I can hold this inside.<br />I will hold my breath<br />till all these shivers subside.<br />(...)<br />I will try not to worry you,<br />I have seen things that you will never see.<br />(...)<br />I shudder to breathe ."<br /> <br />As it can undoubtedly be inferred from the excerpt above, the aforementioned song from R.E.M.'s <span style="font-style:italic;">Automatic for the People</span> clearly has a narrative structure. The song depicts a sufferer of Irritable Bowel Syndrome, who -in an unnamed location- has a heavily-seasoned dinner (possibly, yet not certainly, a hot Indian Curry), as a result of which he/she is afflicted by a particularly violent attack of diarrhoea. The narrator of the song has obviously not dined alone and, thus, the song is addressed to his/her date, from the latrine over which the narrator is currently squatting. As the song goes: "I will try not to breathe, / I can hold my head still, with my hands on my knees (...)." Our diarrhoeic hero even attempts to halt his watery excretions at a certain point in the narrative, whilst getting the world-famous <span style="font-style:italic;">vindaloo</span>-sweats: "I will try not to burden you, / I can hold this inside. I will hold my breath / till all these shivers subside."<br /> <br />The protagonist of the song looks down into the septic pit under his feet and, looking into the abyss, the abyss stares back at him: "I will try not to worry you, / I have seen things that you will never see." Even the title of the song -<span style="font-style:italic;">Try Not to Breathe</span>- refers to the pungent stench of the only partially digested turmeric-infused, cardamon-imbued, chilli-riddled amalgam of meat and rice. "I shudder to breathe," he/she affirms, as the song approaches its almost dysenteric end.x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-56425825333952101212008-08-12T20:30:00.023+01:002008-08-20T15:02:52.723+01:00Say 'No!' to Marmite™<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCPxCkE7fBobl9wc95O6wlv4nQbtqRbXkaD6sWEqd3zermqdxRl17w9xYJ6ULgM7QUHj3mYFIRLeW0IJF8tKe0vw4Xxkne4tZfGHgMeUPOHYs22yl4J90R8sSCxTIjMBZ6kUY_1bX2hs/s1600-h/IMG_5136.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCPxCkE7fBobl9wc95O6wlv4nQbtqRbXkaD6sWEqd3zermqdxRl17w9xYJ6ULgM7QUHj3mYFIRLeW0IJF8tKe0vw4Xxkne4tZfGHgMeUPOHYs22yl4J90R8sSCxTIjMBZ6kUY_1bX2hs/s400/IMG_5136.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235810572175409170" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">And say '<span style="font-style:italic;">No!</span>' to peanut butter, too</span>, for reasons that will become apparent after having read this <span style="font-style:italic;">entry</span>.<br /> <br />Recently, whilst watching <span style="font-style:italic;">Last Tango in Paris</span> (1973, original title: <span style="font-style:italic;">Ultimo Tango a Parigi</span>), I came to a threefold realisation. A mental triptych of revelation, to put it in pompous words.<br /> <br />Firstly, I realised that no-one has ever seen the <span style="font-style:italic;">whole</span> movie since its first Film Festival Run and original release. Because of the word-of-mouth nature of the film's success, audiences simply went into the cinema to watch the one memorable scene (involving sodomy and butter, a tantalising <span style="font-style:italic;">mélange</span>) and swiftly walked out, assuming the rest of the film to be merely an anthology of bland trailers advertising pointless European films starring the late Marlon Brando. Nowadays, all modern audiences get to see of it is its infamous sex scene in mind-numbing, time-filling shows with names such as <span style="font-style:italic;">The Greatest Movie Scenes of All Time</span>, <span style="font-style:italic;">Holly</span>woody<span style="font-style:italic;">: The 100 Best Sex Scenes of the 20th Century</span>, and/or <span style="font-style:italic;">The Censor's Wet-Dream: Dirty Shoots and Filthy Shots</span>. Thus, I have been the first individual to watch the whole damn thing since the early 70s. And, trust me, it's overrated.<br /> <br />Secondly, I understood why Bernardo Bertolucci's previous pitches of the film with Hollywood producers had failed so miserably, the reason being the film's earlier -tentative, so to speak- titles: <span style="font-style:italic;">Last Waltz in Berlin</span> (confusing), <span style="font-style:italic;">Penultimate Mambo in Reykjavík</span> (confused), <span style="font-style:italic;">Antepenultimate Morris Dance in Caracas</span> (confusing <span style="font-style:italic;">and</span> confused), and <span style="font-style:italic;">Fourth from Last Charleston in Charleston, South Carolina</span> (a bit dull, <span style="font-style:italic;">really</span>), to mention but a few. All of them lacked the exquisite punch of the final version.<br /> <br />Finally, as I learnt from a DVD sub-menu unimaginatively entitled <span style="font-style:italic;">"Deleted Scenes</span>,<span style="font-style:italic;">"</span> Marlon Brando (being the <span style="font-style:italic;">Method Actor</span> he was) envisaged his character preferring peanut butter, rather than plain butter. See, <span style="font-style:italic;">Method Actors</span> don't <span style="font-style:italic;">act</span>, they <span style="font-style:italic;">do</span>, actually <span style="font-style:italic;">do</span> whatever is written in the script. I know, I know, technically they aren't even actors, but there's enough material there for a different blog entry. In any case, when the time came to shoot the scene for the first time, Marlon Brando lubricated himself and Maria Schneider with peanut butter, failing to realise it was of the <span style="font-style:italic;">Crunchy</span> kind. Due to its nutty chunks, this type of peanut butter if favoured by children all around the world, but -for obvious reasons- it is not the most popular of sexual lubricants in today's worldwide market. You could almost see -or, perhaps, imagine- little tears in the corners of Maria Schneider's eyes, yet -being the professional she was- she waited for Bernardo Bertolucci to cry "Cut!"<br /> <br />"Ouch," she can be heard saying in the background.<br /> <br />I thoroughly recommend the Director's Cut DVD version of the film, full of Easter Eggs, Peanut Butter, Pointless Trivia, and nonsensical documentaries that were created at the very last minute, so they'd be able to justify the unduly steep price.x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2666716939997652273.post-72899960753319362902008-03-25T23:19:00.008+00:002008-08-12T20:17:19.438+01:00Cheesus Christ!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaxAP1Sz_O_IJ41nSIAkEsCRkOtdQJ-IYtsFHMRUBJsHrH2oA6LsTOJVn9MlFe9d4IJPCXljyfuzGYD7H6_b12C1DLPH-yg2HQTd19V1gUyMMcAyM46_JbMOmRawWlM_huDgyfNhDIT9Q/s1600-h/IMG_5165.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaxAP1Sz_O_IJ41nSIAkEsCRkOtdQJ-IYtsFHMRUBJsHrH2oA6LsTOJVn9MlFe9d4IJPCXljyfuzGYD7H6_b12C1DLPH-yg2HQTd19V1gUyMMcAyM46_JbMOmRawWlM_huDgyfNhDIT9Q/s400/IMG_5165.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233701772560685026" /></a><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Ooh, la-la...!</span><br /> <br />It seems an avid reader of this blog has found an image of Cheesus Christ (a.k.a. Cheeses Christ, God Jr., C.C.) in a chunk of cheap cheddar (alliteration not intended). C.C. -not to be confused with his homonymous c.c. (carbon copy), cc (cubic centimetre), C.C. (Closed-Captioned), and CC (Cape Cod)- seems to have appeared in the most unlikely places within the last month, including a Canadian production of Monty Python's <span style="font-style:italic;">Spamalot</span>, the bottom of a bottle of Smirnoff Vodka, an unaired episode of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Simpsons</span>, and the sheets on Tracey Emin's bed.<br /> <br />He is expected to make an appearance next Monday at the McDonald's in Waterloo Station, London, UK, sometime between 10am and 6pm.<br /> <br />"And Jesus said unto the centurion, Go thy way; and as thou hast believed, [so] be it done unto thee. And his servant was healed in the selfsame hour. Therefore the centurion took thought, and said unto himself, Dude, that Cheesus Christ kid sure speaks funny, don't you think?" Matthew 8:13x.-http://www.blogger.com/profile/14311255887368475146noreply@blogger.com0