"I've had such a wicked time / Kissed the boys and made them cry"
9 Comments Published by H on 13 July 2007 at 4:27 PM.
Random things for a Friday afternoon:
I've been meaning to post about the Peckham Pet-Tastic thing I went to a few weeks ago. For those of you not in the know regarding pet fancy-dress picnics in South-East London, it's an art project conceived by Rachael House which is really just an excuse to slap a pair of angel wings on your greyhound. Anyway, nothing like free popcorn and dogs in fancy dress to bring the crowds out on a Saturday afternoon:
Look what I found on my doormat when I returned home this afternoon!
It's nice to see that the Church is branching out into multi-lingual leaflets. I guess they have to compete with those pesky Jehovah's Witnesses with their hard-sell techniques. (Seriously, Sir Alan Sugar needn't look any further than the nearest Jehovah's Witness hall for his next apprentice. I bet a Jehovah's Witness could sell ten times the amount of QVC tat that Simon Ambrose could. Although considering Simon's sales record, that's not really saying much.) Anyway, nice try Christians, I'm not Chinese therefore I win! I am however a little worried that they knew to post the Chinese leaflet into my house.
It's obviously slow news day for Victoria Newton today because she's reporting that the Arctic Monkeys are getting a Soviet makeover. Well, at least Alex Turner is because apparently he's only answering to Aleks Turner now. Her source displays a sort of wonky logic here: “He has set up an email account in the name Aleks and now signs off with it. It’s the sort of quirky and rather puzzling thing that he does. I hope it doesn’t go too far. He’ll start replacing his name with a picture of a monkey next.” Quite.
You know, I thought the Michelle McManus/Discotivity! story was going to be my favourite showbiz story until I read this. Bearing in mind that this is the work of Victoria Newton, I am a little skeptical but surely even La Newton wouldn't stoop to slandering Shayne Ward's good name using dwarf wrestlers? The article features what is quite possibly my favourite opening line of any news article ever: "Shayne Ward almost drowned a midget on the set of his new video." Amazing.
I was going to write a review of Sherrybaby and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (both of which I saw this week) but I've just realised that I'm running late for a televisual date with DI Sam Tyler. More later. Pip pip.
I've been meaning to post about the Peckham Pet-Tastic thing I went to a few weeks ago. For those of you not in the know regarding pet fancy-dress picnics in South-East London, it's an art project conceived by Rachael House which is really just an excuse to slap a pair of angel wings on your greyhound. Anyway, nothing like free popcorn and dogs in fancy dress to bring the crowds out on a Saturday afternoon:
Look what I found on my doormat when I returned home this afternoon!
It's nice to see that the Church is branching out into multi-lingual leaflets. I guess they have to compete with those pesky Jehovah's Witnesses with their hard-sell techniques. (Seriously, Sir Alan Sugar needn't look any further than the nearest Jehovah's Witness hall for his next apprentice. I bet a Jehovah's Witness could sell ten times the amount of QVC tat that Simon Ambrose could. Although considering Simon's sales record, that's not really saying much.) Anyway, nice try Christians, I'm not Chinese therefore I win! I am however a little worried that they knew to post the Chinese leaflet into my house.
It's obviously slow news day for Victoria Newton today because she's reporting that the Arctic Monkeys are getting a Soviet makeover. Well, at least Alex Turner is because apparently he's only answering to Aleks Turner now. Her source displays a sort of wonky logic here: “He has set up an email account in the name Aleks and now signs off with it. It’s the sort of quirky and rather puzzling thing that he does. I hope it doesn’t go too far. He’ll start replacing his name with a picture of a monkey next.” Quite.
You know, I thought the Michelle McManus/Discotivity! story was going to be my favourite showbiz story until I read this. Bearing in mind that this is the work of Victoria Newton, I am a little skeptical but surely even La Newton wouldn't stoop to slandering Shayne Ward's good name using dwarf wrestlers? The article features what is quite possibly my favourite opening line of any news article ever: "Shayne Ward almost drowned a midget on the set of his new video." Amazing.
I was going to write a review of Sherrybaby and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (both of which I saw this week) but I've just realised that I'm running late for a televisual date with DI Sam Tyler. More later. Pip pip.
Yay. SE London is clearly where it's at. Nice to finally have the fancy-dress pooches. Although I'm not sure if putting a dog in a t-shirt that fails to cover up its eponymous bollocks really counts as fancy dress. You should dress your cat up as a dog and take her along.
I think if you ever find yourself bored you should follow the nation's leading cultural trends and try and write a Girls Aloud musical with all their songs slotted into the plot. I think it should probably be about a girl who comes to Swinging London Town hoping to be a Model, but discovers it's all full of sleazy people and her dreams are shattered. Then one day on a ballet-themed fashion shoot she finds Something Kinda Ooh jumping on her tutu and realises it's an alien invasion, forcing the people of London to retreat into the (Sound of the) Underground, but with No Good Advice from the nation's leaders our heroine has to use her knowledge of Biology to defeat the aliens and then go get drunk and have kinky sex all night.
You might substitute Sugababes for aliens. Or maybe work in time travel (Whole Lotta History)?
The Shayne Ward story is brilliant. Especially as he seems to have thrown the wrong dwarf in the pool (the non-swimming one), thus making a clear case for better labelling of dwarves. And it would have to be Shayne Ward who did that. You can bet that Marilyn Manson knows which of his little friends can swim. Unless Ward's next single is called "I threw the wrong dwarf in the pool" to the tune of Gareth Gates' Stupid Mistake, he may as well retire from the recording business right now.
But I liked the recent news story about James Blunt selling his sister on Ebay too.
Your "One Wedding and a Helicopter" rom-com idea sounds horribly plausible. Although I find it hard to believe the Blounts were ever too poor to afford a Ryanair flight to Dublin or "Chauffeur, to Holyhead!" But I guess James must have suffered for his art to produce the depth of feeling you can hear in his music; "My eBay addiction torment!"
Thinking about it some more, it's probably not a good idea to take your cat to a dog show unless you're planning to make a zany BBC1 sitcom. And it's rather insulting to compare any animal to a chihuahua. Except possibly a mosquito. Are chihuahuas the ugliest pets in the world?
Yesterday when I was in town I saw a woman walking past and trotting beside her was a tiny furry Paris Hilton-esque brown sausage-like rat which was wearing not only a little knitted stripey green and pink sweater, but also appeared to have a white shirt on underneath it (I guess the collar and cuffs were just shown on). I narrowly resisted taking out my phone and snapping a few shots, but there were 2 teenage girls walking behind me with less self-control, who reacted much as the Israelites did when Moses came down the mountain with the ten commandments, i.e. a mixture of awe, disbelief, and "Is this any way to construct a new social order?" Well, one of them said very loudly "Ha, look at that dog!" and they guffawed.
I dearly wish I could have seen your rant about the decline of social standards and the lack of respect of the youth of today for Kimberley Walsh. Maybe next time you could get one of your friends to video it, if they haven't done that already. You seem such a nice person in general, but I am sure there are limits beyond which you should not be pushed, and those limits probably involve Girls Aloud. There's a Sunsilk Girls Aloud poster at the bus stop I mostly use in Edinburgh, and I spend far too long staring at it. Cheryl's brown colour is rather flat and lifeless, I feel, and she could probably do with lowlights or something. Just as well the buses are very frequent.
As for the Girls Aloud musical, you'll just have to find a plot that Denise Van Outen couldn't possibly star in. I can't really see anything involving children or animals. Perhaps a Sugababes musical would be safer. Though as far as music-related entertainment goes I think my dream would be to see a proper Pipettes film actually starring them in a Help!/Spiceworld style; even just a continued parody of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls like in the Pull Shapes video; as long as it involved Riot Becki pulling faces and lots of running around in high heels.
I really don't want to know about Shayne Ward's sex life. Though perhaps they could make a reality show about him not having sex and continue it for about 50 years. He does seem slightly less asexual than some young popsters (though I'm sure Ray from X Factor is at it like a rabbit), and frankly if Gareth Gates can be a sex god and Ronan Keating has children, anything is possible.
It's almost certain that Captain Jack will flirt with Spike, just as he does with every other character in the show. It's not really a substitute for a 6th season of Angel. I'm quite impressed with RTD's casting prowess, although maybe Alan Dale has now ran out of American TV series to be in. Hopefully they can get rid of some of the duller Torchwood characters, or at least send them on another mission to the Himalayas.
I also enjoy the fact that all Torchwood news appears on the BBC Wales website, as though it is only of interest to those people born west of Cheltenham.
Apparently Ray Quinn has a long term girlfriend, so maybe he has held her hand or something. But I'm not going to get into detailed speculations. How can you question Ronan Keating's ability to have children without elaborate cloning? Judging by the only pictures I found online, Ronan actually fathered a pink blanket. Do not question his virility!
I'm sure I've met some girls/women who would like to be Charlie Brooker's girlfriend. Every woman loves a miserable bastard. Did you do anything disturbing with Brooker, or was it just disturbing to be in love with BBC4's resident ray of sunshine? Now if you had dreamt about dating Charlie Brooks... oh I'd better not go there.
Last weekend I think I had a dream based on Six Feet Under, even though I've never really watched the show. I think you recently commanded me to watch it, so maybe that was a sign.
I'm not terribly impressed by what little I've seen of Wolf's Burberry-shilling. It's all a bit Brideshead Revisited/Boris Johnson: The Early Years, but I guess that's Burberry's ideal. I do not fancy Patty. I did hear that Scotland's favourite cheery-indie hated-by-Lily-Allen busker-saluting dirty-trouser-wearing ensemble The View would be advertising Burberry as well, which does rather remove the specialness of it. Pop stars should not be models. Except Tiny from Ultrasound, and possibly Marianne Faithfull.
Are you going to apply to judge the PopJustice £20 music prize? Aside from Rehab, it's not been a terribly vintage year I feel (even the likes of Catch You was a teeny bit formulaic), but I think Foundations is maybe my favourite of the nominees, even though it makes me want to kill Kate Nash with a breezeblock. Because that's what the song's about, finding her to be incredibly annoying.
Your idea of Captain Jack romancing a pan is brilliant. That would confound those Wikipedia pedants. Since all I'm going to do until Xmas is write Dr Who related fan fiction, I'll put that high on my list of priorities. Except I'm sure he'd just end up admiring his manhood reflected in the pan's metal side, and putting photos thereof on eBay. Maybe if Jack was looking for something asexual he could romance Ronan Keating. Or James Marsters in a dress? (Although I think some people I know might find that rather sexual.)
Having said that, your message did get me wondering if frying pans might be female and saucepans male.
Ah, so that explains the attraction women have for bitter sarcastic men. I though it might be due to low self-esteem or a fondness for being called rude names. I can understand wanting to mother Dylan Moran, who's basically a small child, but with a cigarette and bottle of wine (and small children are even cuter with fags and booze). But not so much Charlie Brooker. Anyway, I shall never again try to impress women with my sarcastic wit. Not when I have a body like Charles Atlas and the hair of Johnny Depp.
I am in no way questioning Calvin Harris's height or attractiveness. And obviously it's unfair to compare anybody to Mika, especially when Harris's singing style is precisely the opposite of Mika's multi-octave squeally histrionics. But at the same time, his song about girls is just a pale copy of Sailor's Girls Girls Girls. And Acceptable in the 80s makes me feel old. I can't remember hearing Ronson's Coldplay cover, which is surely better than the original, even if it lasts 16 hours and has no lyrics or music or sound effects or crackles or hiss, just a cackling clown shouting "I'm going to kill you ha ha ha!" every 20 seconds. I'd buy that.
They should probably have a PJ Lyrics Prize as well for the Girls of Allowedness to pin on their tutus. Though to be fair Kate Nash would probably win that as well.
How can you tell the difference between Ronan Keating and a Ronan Keating waxwork? You have to queue to see the waxwork. Oh, I don't know. IMDb says Keating has 3 kids by 2 different mothers! Jack, Marie, and Ali. I'm sure they'll form a band in a few years. They could call it JAM after their initials. Or The Shadows, because they don't exist.
You possibly didn't command me to watch Six Feet Under, perhaps it was just a suggestion. I'm sure you could command someone if you really tried. "Stop vandalising that bus stop!"
I was thinking of how you can put a saucepan inside a frying pan. But I guess stackable saucepans do complicate the whole notion of pan sexuality. They should make an episode of Torchwood based around Jack's confusion on how to flirt with kitchen utensils. They've already done jokes about an egg timer. The episode would end with him exploding, but obviously not dying, and then he would flirt with a chair.
I guess the best way to differentiate Ronan from his waxwork would be to prise out the cold, glassy eyes with your house keys and try and play marbles with them. Or check and see if there is a string on his back you can pull to make him say "Love is a rollercoaster. Mainly for the queuing. And sometimes you lose your keys. And they fall out and land on a young child's head and it is lawsuits all round. Could you put some lemonade in my Guinness?"
I'm not sure if I mentioned, but Dylan Moran quite often shops in the Edinburgh bookshop where my mate Roger works, but Roger has never been able to use any hilarious lines from Black Books on him. Personally, if I was Dylan Moran, I would buy all my books from Amazon. I'm used to people writing me about how they have crushes on Dylan Moran (not Roger, though). Also I hear a lot about Mungo, Ron Weasley, and other fine specimens of manhood. I guess it's better than hearing about how girls love well-muscled, lantern-jawed, blond, heroic, Hitler Youth types (I don't think Patrick Wolf comes under many of those adjectives). And I do wash my hair more often than Dylan Moran too. But I'm quite fond of sarcastic/funny/strange girls, as I may have mentioned, so I can't really complain.
I think Rihanna would actually win the PopJustice lyric prize for "Ella Ella Ella Ella". Though Mutyarmada certainly comes close (was it not eligible for the PJ Music Prize?). Or "What kind of fuckery are you? Aside from Sammy you're my best black Jew", "By the time I'm out the door / You tear me down like Roger Moore" and similar pearls. I guess we also have to cheer on Lady Amethyst Civil-Servant in the Mercury Music Prize or whatever it's called these days, since she is not a string quartet or from Dundee.
But if you had to give music awards to people purely on the basis of descriptions without ever listening to them, I would give several prizes to this lady, who's apparently playing here tomorrow. "song titles include, Gothic Lolita, Dead Is The New Alive, The Art Of Suicide." I won't be attending because it could only be a disappointment.
Arrgh! I really honestly have lots of work to do!
I have to confess that I've never actually read Kafka's Metamorphosis, despite it being central to the plot and all, but it was discussed in some detail in an episode of My So-Called Life.
Sadly Roger works for Blackwells, which isn't as bad as Waterstones or Smiths, but it is still a chain. Edinburgh has lots of grimy second-hand places held together entirely with mildew (and a radical left-wing bookshop that's inexplicably still in business - I think it sells new age shit too) but apart from that it's pretty much lacking in dusty independents. Even the gay bookshop (Lavender Menace) and feminist/lesbian place shut years ago. I don't think Roger's said anything particularly witty to Dylan either, alas. But I hope he's inflated prices and torn pages out of books. Their other regular celebrity customer is (less impressively) the novelist Ali Smith.
Hmm, Eve Myles and pan-sex. Or pan-ancestry. I suppose she is neither reflective nor asexual, despite her other flaws (though clearly nobody should want to sleep with her because she'll only cheat on you with a ferret-faced imbecile and the odd bit of lesbian snoggage). I'm not sure she has the acting talents to play a kitchen utensil. Although hand-whisks are fairly gormless-looking. But maybe she could be transformed into a saucepan. (Did I say that I once tried to write a sitcom with a talking toaster as one of the main characters? There's surprisingly little comedy potential with a toaster once you've burnt bread in it and jabbed a fork inside without disconnecting it from the mains.) I was getting excited about Torchwood with all the recent news, and the return of proper-Jack in Dr Who, but now I've thought about Gwen Cooper and I feel a little sad again.
I can't remember if we decided whether cybermen were gendered or not. Obviously they're called men, but they can be made from women. From my limited viewing of UKTV Drama's Doctor Who marathon, at least 2 of the old Who stories featured amorphous blobs as villains. I'm sure Captain Jack could stick his cock into one of those and confound Wikipedia's doubters. Just like American Pie.
It look like an intervention for Mrs Civil-Engineer is desperately needed! We must spring into action. Oh dear.
What did you think of Hairspray? They could at least have got an actual fat actor rather than John Travolta in a fat suit, maybe Richard Griffiths or Matt Lucas or the late Marlon Brando. If Travolta wants to dress up like a woman he should do it in his own time like everybody else. He is not Divine in any sense of the word. I can't believe it's as good as the original Hairspray (wherein Ricky Lake was about the perkiest person I've ever watched without wanting to brutally murder). Has nobody converted Cry Baby into a stage musical? "The first thing a Cry-Baby girl learns is our bazooms are our weapons." "There's nothing the matter with my face. I got character!" They should remake it with Jodie Marsh as Hatchet-Face. (Please no, listening Hollywood producers.)
I'm sure that sex-crazed amorphous blobs will be appearing in Torchwood some time soon, so maybe we'll get to find out. I'm sure Jack would at least flirt with gunge ("Do you ooze here often?"), even if he didn't do the wild thing with it. And if it's warm and of a suitable texture, who knows? (I think I should compile a list of alien chat-up lines. "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" "No, actually I had a very well-designed landing capsule.")
I'm not sure I'd recognise Ali Smith even if I was a shop assistant looking at her credit card (must be a lot of Ali Smiths in Scotland). I did generally like Hotel World, which has some great bits and some very amateurish bits that look like they were written by an 18 year old creative writing student. I do have The Accidental but haven't read it yet. I can't really imagine that anything she wrote about hot lesbo action would be in the slightest way sexy. Though there's a nice bit in Hotel World about sucking coins.
Things do all seem awfully end-of-the-world-ish. It's certainly not summer. I think Scotland will soon be cut off from the south of England by a huge ocean. Which would be a mixed blessing.
There's nothing wrong with mildly saucy lyrics about foodstuffs. Though I agree about fluorescent idiotwear.
Live tonight, it's Paddy Papps and the Pappettes! I wish.
I can't help thinking I should buy tickets for Amy Winehouse's tour this autumn just so I can sell them on eBay when she dies :(
"If I said you have a heavenly body, would you let me attempt a docking manoeuvre?"
Ah, I can see I'll have to erase my mind of thoughts of Original Hairspray if I'm to watch the remake. But you're safe with any John Waters films from the mid 1980s onwards, since he gave up on the Pink Flamingos being-as-gross-as-possible routine and decided to make incredibly offbeat teen movies (even Pecker is cute as pie). You have to watch Cry-Baby, with Johnny Depp miming enthusiastically to a series of great songs while playing the ultimate troubled-yet-sensitive 50s teenager, and a cast including Iggy Pop, kidnapped heiress Patty Hearst, ex-pornstar Traci Lords, ex-Warholian-pornstar Joe Dallesandro, and 1950s heartthrob Troy Donohue (as mentioned in the song Look At Me I'm Sandra Dee from Grease). Nobody does casting like Waters.
I admit I'm struggling to think of good mildly saucy lyrics about foodstuffs. Since your typical blues lyrics about jelly rolls and Bessie Smith's "I need a little sugar in my bowl" don't really count as "mildly saucy" (hmm, what could she mean by "bowl"?). "I really love your peaches won't you let me shake your tree" from Steve Miller's The Joker? There's a great Cibo Matto song called Artichoke in which the woman singing imagines having her petals peeled off and being doused in lemon juice, which is quite erotic. Ok:
She said she'd like to bathe in milk, he said, "All right, sweetheart,"
And when he'd finished work one night he loaded up his cart.
He said, "D'you want it pasturize? 'Cause pasturize is best,"
She says, "Ernie, I'll be happy if it comes up to my chest."
I'm sure it's possible to be more Byronic than Byron. Since while Byron was allegedly very charismatic, he was certainly not silent and brooding, and his concept of heroism mainly involved going to Greece and catching various diseases and dying. Plus there's the whole incest thing and the club foot and probable Aberdonian accent. But should I ever turn up at your doorstep to woo you, I'll be sure to bring my pet bear and 100,000 lines of unfunny "comic" poetry in which I rhyme "Juan" with "new one" a lot.
I think this comment contains enough words to sent off every web filter in the known universe.
Yes please to blogging. Damn, I'm waiting to go home. Ok, 'tis time.
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