Deep breaths...
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Awww, bless.
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I DON'T want to talk about it, but let me just say that I'm all broken up about this.
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Did I mention that I'm a big Ricky Tomlinson fan? Well, I am. They're making an American version of The Royle Family, but I'm pretty sure it's gonna suck in comparison to the original. I can't wait for that show to come on again; the stupid BBC making everybody wait 10 months in between seasons is just! So! Wrong!
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It didn't take long for some knob to try to stir the shit between the Republicans and the Unionists, after the IRA offered to put their weapons out of use for good. Obviously, I haven't really been exposed to the non-stop arguing and tit-for-tat bullshit that has been going on in Northern Ireland as much as everyone else who's, you know, actually lived here their whole lives, but this really pisses me off. It was really freaking sad, having to explain to Karri that the reason there are no trash receptacles on any of the train platforms -- or in most places, really -- is because that's where the IRA usually puts all the bombs. I'm not even from the UK and, off the top of my head, I can think of three people -- including my ex-boyfriend -- who I know personally, who have been in some way injured as a result of the violence between the IRA and the Ulster Unionists. This is as close as this country's ever been to a peaceful resolution to this matter, and seeing people like William Thompson try to make sure the bombing and fires and shooting off of people's limbs continues indefinitely, really puts me in that place between wanting to cry and wanting to punch someone.
Man!
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If this happens, each and every one of you are invited to crash at my house, as long as you promise to join me in loudly, obnoxiously heckling Mr and Mrs Cruise; it'll be great for them to actually be able to hear my cries of disgust, for once. I'm really kinda stoked about this, people.
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Every weblog out there (except this one) is full of the latest news on the Napster lawsuits, so no, I won't be duplicating any of those links for you -- mostly because I'm lazy, not because I'm trying to make some big statement. However, I will say that I've spent a great deal of time (well, for me) downloading new mp3s and deleting old ones -- all acquired via Napster's database -- this morning. For those of you keeping score:
Out with the old (so don't laugh, okay?) --
* Puff Daddy feat Foo Fighters, All About the Benjamins (Rock Remix): This was one ill-advised mofo; I listened to it for all of a minute before deleting its azz
* Kelis, Caught Out There: I only deleted it because Ian bought me the CD (go download it -- it's some good shit)
* Belinda Carlisle, Mad About You: Obviously downloaded whilst the tribal fly curse was still on me, in full effect
In with the (some of it old) new --
* Level 42, Something About You: Nostalgia central, this was one of my favourite songs when I was a wee lass, and still is (woo, I'm on the cutting edge here, no?)
* Joe Jackson, Steppin' Out: Can you tell I'm in one of those moods? For some reason, this song always makes me wish I was drinking in one of the pubs behind Wigmore Hall in London... hmmm, 2 months till Jen's here, but that's okay
* Craig David, Fill Me In: I really shouldn't be downloading this, since it's still in the charts over here; addictive, catchy, hip-hoppy song from a cute-ass Brit -- even Ian likes it, which is REALLY saying something
* Texas (nah, they're not a country band; they're Scottish), Black Eyed Boy: There's a reason Texas has sold so many millions of albums in every country except America, and this Motown-y thing has something to do with it -- highly recommended, at the risk of losing any scant indie cred I may have accumulated in my lifetime (pre- Oasis obsession, of course)
* Son Volt, Drown: I listened to this song obsessively in the months following my high school graduation, and it makes me wish summer would get here already. I've never heard any of Son Volt's other songs, but I hear they're pretty good
So, now you know.
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Hey, I added a weblog to my list at right: bluishorange. I really love the look, and the content is very good. Go look!
07 May, 2000
A few years ago, Madonna made the comment that the only people who go online are those who 'are afraid of real life'. Well, according to what her former butler has to say, Madonna's life is anything but 'real'. (And on a completely unrelated note, Madge is now a dedicated Internet user.)
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Can someone please put Phyllis Schlafly out of our misery? Thanks.
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I was wallowing in self-doubt and treading the line between sad and mad at myself, and then someone had to go and make me bust a gut laughing. I hate it when that happens!
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I got into a kind of heated discussion with my friend Patrick the other day, over the rioting in London on Monday -- in which he was an enthusiastic participant. During the course of our discussion, it became clear to me that his retort of 'What do you expect us to do, get a column in the Sun?' -- every time I asked him whether or not he realised how much causing £500,000 (about $800,000) worth of damage to veterans' memorials and private businesses just made him and his comrades look stupid -- was the best he could do. It made me sad, because I generally think Patrick's awesome for standing up for his beliefs so much, but criminal damage and putting people in the hospital falls far short of peaceful protest, and is the most stunningly stupid, counterproductive course of action imaginable -- so I don't know why I'm surprised it happened. Anyway, it's nice to see that my favourite publication, Private Eye, sees things my way.
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The sky in my world this week is purple/grey/black.
06 May, 2000
I once had a really disturbing dream about one of the less attractive members of A-ha, back when I was 7 years old (yes, I've always been sick in the head). Anyway, check out how hot they are 16 years later, especially (surprise, surprise) Morten Harket (scroll down the page a bit). I guess I'll have to forgive him for dating Lene from Aqua...
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There was a time when I would have rejoiced at the news that Liam Gallagher and Patsy Kensit have split -- aGAIN -- for good. Now I'm all, 'Eh'. Maybe this is a sign I'm growing out of my silly celebrity fascination, but I doubt it.
05 May, 2000
As someone whose little brother was the star athlete (in no less than 4 sports) of my high school and county, the news that Columbine High's star athlete committed suicide yesterday is making me all kinds of upset. Sometimes I think that I put up with a lot of shit, but then I read about stuff like that and know that -- as my father's always been fond of telling me -- I'm living the life of fucking Riley.
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Everybody loves Stee, but not as much as I do. Still, you can try. Your first step would be to go watch his funny as hell movie (it's just over 13 minutes, so not a huge download) and see for yourself how clever and hilarious he is in the flesh. And don't forget to tell your friends (if you haven't made them all hate you with some shitty virus, that is).
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As if you need a reason not to listen to Robbie Williams (says she who owns two of his albums, two of his singles and his DVD -- but they were all gifts, honest), try this quote that I just read on The Sun's website:
"The Sex Pistols are great, they're really trendy."
Argh! Too bad he looks so sexy with his new spiky hair and kickboxing body.
04 May, 2000
I'm told that the font on this page goes all wonky in the middle of the Oprah item down below. For some reason, it looks normal on my screen and the code looks fine, too. If it looks jacked to you, could you let me know, please? I'm puzzled.
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Someone needs to tell Mitchell Fink and Glamour magazine that word association games and Rorschach tests are not one and the same. Not that I expect the best from gossip columnists and Glamour, but they've got editors for this kind of crap, no?
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Why the hell are there ad banners for Frank Dobson's London mayoral campaign (no link for Dobbo) all over Rush & Malloy? I'm so glad he's going to lose this mofo.
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As anyone who knows me can tell you, I'm all about international phone calls. Thanks to ChickClick, I have yet another reason to call the US on a daily basis: free voice mail. For those of you who are to cheap to call the UK and tell me how much you love/hate me, you can now call a 1-800 number and do it for free (while I pay international rates to check the damn thing -- because I love you). Just call 1.800.222.6000 and enter my mailbox number (33552336462 -- just spell out 'della femina' on your number pad if that's easier) and leave me a message. You can sign up for your own free account at Chickclick, too. Oh, and heavy breathing is not discouraged -- just tell me your name, so I know who the freaks are. So far, the funniest messages I've gotten have been from Gwen and Stee, and it's been cool hearing what Dana, Cecily and Carly sound like. Seriously, some of you could make a living doing phone sex.
03 May, 2000
From the waist up, rowr. From the waist down, nast. Either someone did a headswap and put the boy's head on Orville Redenbacher's body, or I'm not missing out on as much as I thought I was.
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Ian's off to the cinema with friends after work, but I have really bad hay fever (helped by my mowing the lawn yesterday, I'm sure), so I'm staying home. What wild night is in store for me? Well... a little bit of Honey Nut Cheerios (or possibly some Golden Grahams if I'm feeling particularly naughty), some Naked Chef and maybe a bit of boning up on my Welsh, for when I go to Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch (yes, an actual town in Wales) and so I can know what the words are when I sing along to the excellent new Super Furry Animals album, Mwng. A date with my boyfriend, Louis Theroux, is also a possibility, but it's all very hush-hush right now.
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I can already hear your collective gagging and wretching noises, but sometimes I watch Oprah. It comes on at 1pm here, which is right when I'm usually having lunch, and I must consume my lunch whilst watching television. Surprisingly, Oprah is easier on the gut than anything else on the other four channels at that time, so Oprah it is. I did turn it off yesterday, because the woman who invited her husband -- who'd been molesting her daughters since they were 4 years old -- back into the home so that they could all 'heal as a family' was just stupid and fucked in the head and nobody seemed to want to tell her that. My tolerance for her notwithstanding, I really don't think I could ever pick up a copy of O, Oprah's new magazine, out of anything other than morbid fascination. Wing Chun has written a great critique of this new publication for Fametracker, which -- apart from cleverly illustrating why it's so disturbing -- makes a really good point:
To greater and lesser degrees, magazines aimed at a female demographic exist to make those same female readers feel bad about themselves. Cosmopolitan breaks us down, and builds us up with makeovers for our wardrobes. House Beautiful breaks us down, and builds us up with makeovers for our décor. Gourmet breaks us down, and builds us up with makeovers for our dinner menus. On every front, the raison d'être for women's magazines is to point out failings we never knew we had, and show us how to correct them.
Word up, dawg. You might also want to check out Wing's excellent case against Oprah's 'compulsive self-revelation'. I think we all know how THAT trend caught on, so let's hope this new magazine is as big a flop as Beloved was.
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I think I'm the only person on God's green earth who didn't shoot their load over The Sims. I really, really wanted it to take over my life, as I'd been warned it would, but the tutorial bored me and my actual playing time was just frustrating as hell. I did have the flu when this was going on, but still. Anyway, this article from the New York Post annoyed me -- see if you can guess why (hint: the glaring grammatical error in paragraph 16 is only part of it).
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My friend Mike showed me this useful (for you, I bet) little site last night. Of course, I went through and read the reviews for all the girls named Jackie -- check out the one who's based in Keighley. Yum, yum, give you some, eh?
02 May, 2000
Want to read about my wedding, getting assaulted by Chinese men and the horrible things that keep happening to people I know? If not, don't go here.
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Gwen -- who just sold her work to another site, so will be making an actual living out of her undeniable talent -- has changed the layout of her site and added an epilogue to the hilarious Jehovah's Witnesses saga. Don't ask her about the weird dream I had about her last week, though.
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I would really love to know why Cindy Crawford was honoured by the National Women's Division of Albert Einstein College of Medicine's Spirit of Achievement awards yesterday. When I read that (at the bottom of Neal Travis' column), I just about shit a toaster.
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According to a source quoted by Page Six, Michael Rymer's new film, Perfume, is "like 'The Player' - everybody wants to be in it". Really? Then how come the best they can do for casting is Rita Wilson, Paul Sorvino, Kirstie Alley, Griffin Dunne and Mariel Hemingway? I hate it when gossip columns use their inches to spread propaganda so that desperate filmmakers can create buzz for their films, instead of just doing their jobs and letting us know what Monica Lewinsky had to eat at Della Femina on Friday night.
01 May, 2000
So... Ian and I are married now. Karri left this morning. I'm tired. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, but for now you can enjoy a photo of me where I appear to have no legs, taken last night in Trafalgar Square (before anarchists started tearing it to bits today), another photo of us taken last night by Karri (which would explain the quality...), and another photo where Karri's COSMETICALLY WHITENED teeth make mine look grey. Not that I care...
