The last sixteen search engine queries which led people to this site:
Thu, 6 Jul, 16:17:02 "the sims naked patch"
Thu, 6 Jul, 19:20:37 naked sims patch
Thu, 6 Jul, 19:38:38 +"the sims" +naked
Thu, 6 Jul, 21:12:06 ian saffer
Thu, 6 Jul, 22:48:45 the sims naked
Thu, 6 Jul, 23:50:09 psychedelic banana skins
Fri, 7 Jul, 01:35:43 the sims naked patch
Fri, 7 Jul, 02:10:38 The Sims Naked
Fri, 7 Jul, 06:18:18 "30 odd foot of grunt"
Fri, 7 Jul, 06:34:59 the sims naked patch
Fri, 7 Jul, 08:16:27 rim jobs
Fri, 7 Jul, 14:29:25 naked sims
Fri, 7 Jul, 18:25:34 bobofett
Fri, 7 Jul, 18:57:07 pictures of Jennifer Lopez Butt
Fri, 7 Jul, 20:56:51 "cian ciaran" picture
Fri, 7 Jul, 23:27:48 "wet t-shirt contest"
7 July, 2000
My latest Queer as Folk recap is up at Mighty Big TV, now. Only four more episodes to go, sadly.
--
Sorry, more Euan Blair: the picture of tourists pointing at the spot where he was found sprawled out in this story is so funny. I can just imagine showing holiday snaps to friends and saying, 'Oh, this is the very spot where Tony Blair's son vomited!' Forget Big Ben and Westminster Abbey, eh?
--
Of course it's totally wrong to laugh at people because they're carrying a bit more weight than may be ideal (whatever your 'ideal' is), but for some reason the nickname GladiEATER cracks me up. I guess Meg Ryan has no complaints, though.
--
Poor Euan Blair. The papers this morning are having a field day with his arrest, which seems a bit harsh. But I was so not surprised to read here that his night of sick and sloppy drunkenness had included some drinks at Leicester Square's Radio Café. Just last autumn, I had a rather unfortunate incident at the Radio Café, involving their two bottles of wine for £10 special. I swear I'm not proud of this, but I was very lucky that Patrick, Richard and Alex came and rescued me when I'd been in the toilets being sick for half an hour. The night went downhill from there, but I'll leave it at that, for your sake and mine.
6 July, 2000
According to friends, the reason Meg Ryan dumped Dennis Quaid is because she's too intellectual for him. I absolutely refuse to comment.
--
Well, well, well. There is so much I could say about this, but it's all a bit obvious. I'm dying to make some comment wondering if the police who picked up Tony Blair's 16-year-old drunken son in Leicester Square last night then took him to a cashpoint to pay an on-the-spot £100 fine, as his father suggested they should do when they discover drunken yobs in the streets, but that seems like a bit of a cheap shot. Still, fun-nee. The irony just keeps catching up with Tony Blair, doesn't it? (Thanks to Jackie C for the link.)
--
No matter what the real story behind their split is, I have to feel a wee bit sorry for Dennis Quaid. I'm pretty sure he's a better dresser than old Russ, too.
--
So Bryant Gumbel is a jerk. This is news? (No, but it's still funny.)
--
This is why I am very frightened of commuting to London for work every day. My brother-in-law, Jean-Marc, lives in south London and works in The City (the actual City of London, which is only about six square miles, where all the financial institutions -- and St Paul's Cathedral -- are; the rest of what's known as London is actually the City of Westminster. Don't ever say I don't give you useless information!), and he's often not home until 11.30PM because of delayed trains and shit. Driving into work isn't even an option (if you think parking in Chicago or NYC is a nightmare -- which, based on personal experience, I do -- you don't even want to know about parking in London). So if I take a job in London, it'll either mean commuting every day or getting a flat in London and coming back here on the weekends. Neither of those are particularly appealing options to me at this time, but we all know what strange things the promise of bundles of money can do to a rational person...
--
I've been thinking a lot today about just how downright frightening a lot of people in the online journalling world are. It's amazing to me how seriously people take their 'craft,' and will let the whole journalling 'community' become such a major component of their lives, to the point where I've seen people actually attempting to ruin the lives and reputations of other online journallers this week (for a while now, actually, but a new, particularly scary site hit the scene a couple of days ago), their own madness and need for a reality check not even occurring to these self-styled online avengers and bullies. It's a morbidly fascinating thing to observe, but scary nonetheless.
So it's really good to see people who know what journalling is supposed to be about -- writing, not petty online quarrels -- producing superb material. Why, just yesterday, Dana produced this most excellent entry, and Pamie posted this, which I think every woman with large breasts will recognise as nothing less than pure, hilarious truth. Check them both out.
5 July, 2000
My first liv4now.com column is up now. I'm less than thrilled with the title they've given it ('Midland Yank'...erm) and logo, but otherwise it's a bit of all right.
--
Mel Gibson's FT1040: Fametracker's Man from F.U.N.K.L.E. on why Mel Gibson is a much bigger star than he deserves to be.
--
Until I was about ten years old, we lived a short distance from Cedar Point, the amusement park, and consequently spent a lot of time there. Every year for our birthday (my younger brother and I were both born on July 21, three years apart), our parents would take us there and we'd have a blast; it's right on Lake Erie, so we'd stay in the Breakers hotel and get to swim and go on all the rides and waterslides. Now, with this ride, I really really need to go back there. It's a rollercoaster, but you have to take an elevator to get to the starting point, 310 feet in the air, and then they drop you at a 80-degree angle -- reaching speeds of 92 miles per hour.
That reminds me of a funny story, about the time when Karri, my brother, his friend Dustin and I went to Cedar Point, and I made Karri laugh so hard on the Magnum that she peed her pants a little. I'll say no more, in the interest of not embarrassing her (any more).
--
Good riddance, and don't let the door hit y'on the ass.
4 July, 2000
Please, God, no. N-O.
--
Is it just me, or does Ellen Barkin not look like a happy bride? I know I'd be wearing a mile-wide smile if I'd just married a multi-billionaire. On the other hand, I am quite shallow.
--
I can count on one finger the number of ITV shows I've ever deigned to watch, but I have to say that, with two of my favourite performers -- Frank Skinner and Ricky Tomlinson -- on board for the autumn schedule, I may have to put the TV on channel 3 more often. But ITV being ITV, they've still got room in their hearts for John Thaw. I remember this totally funny fake headline I read in Private Eye once: ITV Movie Does Not Star John Thaw! (If you're not familiar with British television, you won't get it; if you are, you'll piss yourself laughing. This is the thing about writing for a transatlantic audience...)
Also, Emmerdale is going from three nights a week to five. Words cannot express how much the world does not need this.
--
While I've never laughed at a single thing he's said, I have to agree with actor/comedian Steve Harvey on this. The fact that any show with a predominantly black cast is automatically termed a 'black-themed show,' without any regard to its subject matter, is insulting -- not to mention antiquated, since this is the year 2000 and all. I do wish, though, that the Post item had mentioned with which wire service or newspaper or writer the article had originated.
--
Larry King -- whose column is right up there with Liz Smith's on the PR-fellating scale -- is now putting 'humourous' email forwards in his column. Remember how I said it couldn't get any worse? I totally lied.
--
This is why referrer logs can be a very scary thing.
3 July, 2000
As if I have nothing else to do, I've just been offered a gig as a regular columnist at Liv4now, a web site that's been all over the media here in the UK. I accepted, and now I start my mission to find an extra hour in each day.
--
As if it were required, further proof that Tony Blair does not possess a brain. Any politician who believes that lower crime rates can be achieved by police officers escorting rowdy drunks to ATMs in order to pay £100 (about $180) on-the-spot fines is deeply out of touch with reality, not to mention grasping at straws. I'm sick of saying, 'At least he's not a Tory' every time he and his spin doctors dream up some new scheme which makes him and the Labour party look ridiculous, but it must be said: At least he's not a Tory.
--
Radiohead have played their first UK gig for nearly three years at Scott Walker's Meltdown at Royal Festival Hall, London SE1. Ian and I, having spent the weekend listening to three CDs worth of the band's recent concerts in Europe, are a little worried about the new album. It's just that none of the new songs really grabs you on the first or second listen, unlike songs such as Airbag, Karma Police, No Surprises and High and Dry. I thought it was just me, but when Ian dared to speak in non-glowing terms regarding Thom Yorke's latest work, I became a bit concerned.
Don't panic, though. It could just be all of the wine we consumed this weekend in an effort to rid our kitchen of the bottles people always bring with them when they come for dinner or a party. Good times.
--
Sara sent me the sweetest voicemail the other day, which Ian heard coming from my speakers and said, 'Wow, she sounds more American than you do!' Eh?
--
Speaking of Jen...When Karri was here for the wedding, she and I met these two Italian guys at Zoo Bar in London. (You may have seen this picture of the four of us in Trafalgar Square -- Mario's head is the one poking out from between mine and Karri's.) Armando was all trying to get with Karri (to no avail), and Mario was telling me how lucky I am to be married, how he hates casual sex, is looking for a woman to settle down with, yadda yadda yadda. Long story short, he called me about a month ago and was being really sweet and the nice guy that he is. Unfortunately, I had a really hard time understanding what he was saying, because his Italian accent is really thick. His English is definitely leagues better than my Italian, but that's not really saying much. In any case, I kind of wanted to get off the phone with him (he phoned at midnight!), so I mentioned that my friend Jen loves Italian guys, and that she's coming to visit me in July and August. It did the trick, and he went off and called her. And called her again. So now we're all going to get together again and see if I can't find my friend a boy worth moving to England (and, of course, nearer to her dearest friend) for. If it goes great, I'm a hero. If not, I'm a dick. Eyes crossed that it works out.
--
Jen's here in eight days for our third annual London Summer Summit! (I always tell her that her lipgloss in that photo makes it look like she just ate a greasy pork chop.) I haven't seen her since Christmas, so I can't wait for another month-long slumber party. Not only that, but the day before Jen arrives I'm going down to London to hang out with Jackie C, where copious amounts of chocolate vodka martinis will be consumed, and I'm sure we'll have a nice little natter about our (least) favourite online journallers. If your ears are burning on July 10, don't look at us.
--
Okay, so am I just more astute than Richard Johnson of the New York Post's Page Six, or was he in on this Gisele Bundchen PR stunt and just thinks Post readers are stupid? Perish the thought.
--
If you felt a slight breeze brush your cheek this evening, it was probably the result of me over here in England, breathing a huge fucking sigh of relief now that the Euro 2000 tournament is over. It's been a very long month. But at least tonight's match got exciting near the end; Italy was up by 1-0 in the very last seconds (and I mean that literally -- they were over the 90 minute regulation play and into stoppage time), and Ian suggested that we order some Italian food for dinner to celebrate. No sooner had he said that than France scored, sending the game into extra time, with the first team to score declared the winner. In the end, France claimed the golden goal and won the whole thing, two years after winning the World Cup; they're the first team to ever do things in that order.
Wasn't that just fascinating? I hope I've given you a better understanding of just how happy I am that this thing is over. I like football, but I don't like it to the tune of watching matches for a month solid. My husband, obviously, does.
--
A study which appears in the July issue of American Psychologist bears the statistic that 26% of Americans claim that they've been on the brink of a nervous breakdown before, or had a mental health problem. The linked article then goes on to give Tipper Gore credit for bringing mental health issues into the public arena.
Let's not run away with this, though. While I'm quite sure than mental illness is a problem for many people, whether appearances betray that or not, one also has to consider that terms like 'nervous breakdown' and 'depression' are thrown around a lot more loosely than they ever have been. In a confessional society such as America's, where a certain breed of odious personality wears labels like 'clinically depressed' like a badge of honour, a testament to just how much life's thrown at them, I would take such claims with a rather large boulder of salt.
1 July, 2000
Many congratulations to Carly Milne, who's been taken on board by Bitch Magazine as Associate Web Editor. Carly is one of the sweetest, most helpful people I have ever had the pleasure to know, and if anyone deserves this success, it's her. Aside from being the mastermind behind the women's website network Moxie, she also heads up Sins, Underwired and Boobtoob -- all of which are superb sites. Good on y', Carly!
--
The Immigration SituationTM is cool. More later.
30 June, 2000
Der. Contrary to what I said here, there is no such date as 31 June. My passport was stamped with a six month visa on December 31 of last year, so I've just kept June 31 as a target date in my mind, being the idiot that I am. I'm sure this will surprise none of you.
Thanks to rath for pointing this out to me, and thanks to everyone who's enquired and wished me luck via email. I didn't get anything in the mail today, either, so who knows what's going to happen.
Contrary to appearances, I'm hopeful.
--
I'm still shitting myself. If it's okay with you, I'm going to take today off to plan what the fuck I'm going to do if I have to leave the country on Saturday. I think it'll go something like this:
1. Shit self.
2. Cry.
3. Blow nose exactly one kajillion times.
5. Cry some more.
Never fear; I won't leave without saying goodbye. Unless I'm dead.
Have a good weekend!
29 June, 2000
I just had the best dinner. Stupid Ian opted for fisherman's pie. What's he on?
--
From Fametracker, a brand new edition of 2 Stars 1 Slot: Battle of the Breathless and Baby-Voiced.
--
As I also have a strong dislike for Mel B, aka Scary Spice (for many reasons, one of which is she refused to sign an autograph because she was 'chilling,' while Ginger Spice happily and sweetly signed and chatted), I'm glad to see that her husband is making her look like the classless bint she is. She's written a song where she has a go at her soon-to-be-ex, saying, 'All you loved was Mel B's money' and 'I didn't see that you could never be the type of man to meet my needs,' after giving an interview where she said she doesn't mind paying millions of dollars to divorce him, because it will be a 'relief' to have him gone. Which would be almost okay (if not still tasteless) to say in the press, if it weren't for the fact that they have a child together. Sorry, but just because you're a celebrity, it doesn't mean that badmouthing your child's other parent is okay -- especially when millions of people will hear or read your bitter comments. Well, I'm glad that this particular couple has one half who isn't hellbent on talking shit about the other one in public, as her husband, Jimmy Gulzar, has responded by saying, 'I think it is quite an honour that she has written a song about me. She really went for it in the song. But I don't wish her ill and I hope the song is successful.' I think I know with which parent little Phoenix would be better off.
--
I talked the other day about how much I loathe Chris Evans. I was happy to find out that my friends Jackie C and Quinn feel the same way -- as does John Cusack. When Cusack was on Evans' show, TFI Friday, Evans was being his fake, showbizzy self, referring to Cusack as 'Cusack!' and acting like his best friend. Cusack got sick of it and asked him -- on the air -- 'This show is getting axed, isn't it?' Hee! Now, The Sun quotes Cusack as saying, 'I hate to use the word asshole, but the guy was over-familiar.' That, and (Quinn hunted this one up for me on Teletext), 'He was acting like he's my best buddy in the world, obviously the guy has issues'.
My point is, I'm not the only one who wishes Chris Evans a slow and painful death. That is all.
--
Dennis Quaid or Russell Crowe? I'm a wee bit scared that Meg Ryan and I seem to have the same taste. That said, I'm a bit surprised that someone as notoriously cranky as Russell Crowe has taken up with ever-perky Meg. Still, it might lead to him clubbing her to death, so I'm still glad she's dumping her husband for him.
28 June, 2000
Bwah! Thank you, Cecily, for the much-needed laugh.
--
From Liz Smith: 'Nobody asked me to say this, but Esquire for July is like the Esquire of old...' I like how she knows that her column is so blatantly a publicist's playground that she now has to qualify her gushings with 'Nobody asked me to say this'.
--
Jish is back! I'm so happy. Go ask him about me; he'll tell you that I give good voicemail. Speaking of which...Go to the voicemail directory, type in 'danicki,' and send me a message. Or send me your voicemail details and I'll leave one for you. It doesn't matter; I'm all about the phone -- but not the bills that come with it...
--
I've never been a huge fan of art critic Brian Sewell (Ian's feelings on him are right up there with the intensity of mine for Chris Evans, below), but I have to agree with everything he says in this piece about the condition of the London Underground system and the transport crisis in general. I know that his view on cyclists won't win him any popularity contests, but I think I'd rather be right than be popular.
--
This is so long overdue. It's gotten to the point where Ian will come home from work on Friday evening and we'll just sit there and either a) rip the piss out of ginger nuts or b) put the show on mute while we talk and wait for the bands to come on. It is not an exaggeration to say that I loathe Chris Evans with the fire of a thousand burning suns.
--
I need to pay this guy to re-design my sites. I'm very much in love with them there pages.
--
I've been cheered in recent weeks by the mounting opposition to the government's proposed RIP bill, which would require that ISPs monitor all of their customers' web activity and all emails sent and received, as well as imposing a mandatory two year prison term on anyone who refused to give up their passwords and/or encryption keys to the government on demand. There's a lot, LOT more disturbing stuff in there, which prompted me to send a narky fax (which was way overloaded with em dashes, I now note) to my Member of Parliament -- who responded with a two sentence letter via post -- and to the Office of the e-Envoy (yes, that's a real government department), which was greeted with patronising email from the Assistant Director.
Now, in the face of criticism from civil liberties groups and, most importantly, businesses, the government is tweaking the bill just enough to try to fool people into believing that the essence of the legislation has changed. Whatever. Does this country -- nay, the world -- really need another reason to want Jack Straw assassinated? Just recently, he's tried to perpetrate this mess of a bill, not to mention his efforts to take away the right to trial by jury, his kooky ideas about cannabis and his very stupid decision to make an exception to British law and allow Mike Tyson to enter the United Kingdom. Let's just say that I knew Ian was perfect for me when we exchanged Jack Straw torture fantasies.
Also, if you want the public to view a law favourably, I think you'd be well advised to pick a more appealing acronym for it than 'RIP'. Just a suggestion.
--
According to this article, almost 87% of Internet users are surfing with Internet Explorer, with only 13.9% using Netscape to browse. This sounded a bit dubious to me before I checked out my site logs, which show that about 73% of the visitors here are on one version of IE or another, while 22% are using Netscape. Personally, I use Explorer; I like it when my browser doesn't crash every nanosecond, and the interface on Navigator is just fugly.
Still, it's got to be better than my BeOS browser...
--
I've yet to jump on the Harry Potter bandwagon (it shouldn't be long, though), but if I was, I'd buy the new title from Amazon. Sneaky -- kind of like how they're applying for bogus patents all over the place.
27 June, 2000
Another great entry from Stee. (When I saw Weezer in 1997, that guy with the blonde hair -- forget his name -- had to leave the stage because he shit his pants and had no underwear on; when he came back, he pulled down his trousers to show us his undies. And it was a good show before he started stripping.) I love, love, love the anti-Kenny G rant at the end of Stee's entry; I'm going to print it out and send it to some relatives who've tortured me with Kenny G, Yanni and John Tesh music in their cars.
--
Another gem from Jennifer Lopez, again courtesy of Liz Smith's waste of bandwidth/paper column:
My life is definitely a circus, but I'm not a ringmaster. I guess I'm the main attraction, where everybody's kind of pulling at you, wanting you for something.
Somebody please make a freakshow joke; I'm far too weary to do it myself.
--
After seeing this photo of supermodel Gisele Bundchen, never again will I stress about whether or not my nose is a bit shiny. Damn.
--
My latest Queer as Folk recap is now up at Mighty Big TV, and it's full of sex, death and porn -- not necessarily in that order.
--
Tonight, I'm all about stickers, toast and too much work.
--
Another reason for the English to be ashamed of their football: three top players stand accused of surreptitiously filming their sex sessions. A quote from the linked article:
He waits until her back is to the camera and waves at the lens, proud he has duped her. He also moves his feet as if he is kicking a ball, then celebrating a goal...At one point the camerman even pretends to be an announcer for a TV porn channel and glibly says over the film: “We are about to encrypt. If you really want to see the following progamme you will have to pay £12.99.”
Nice shot of one of the girls covering her face in shame once she realises what's going on, too. Words cannot express how much this irritates me.
--
Not that I totally called this only a week or so ago, but John Singleton is a deadbeat. Colour me shocked.
--
I got the new Richard Ashcroft album today (Woolworth has it for £9.99, if you're in the UK), and I'm really liking it so far. It's amazing to me, though, that one of the best songs I've ever heard -- a B-side from the first single -- isn't even on the album. Pick it up whether all you know of Ashcroft is his work with the Verve, or if you're a longtime fan; it's great stuff, but it's far removed from the likes of A Northern Soul.
26 June, 2000
Would you have done it? No prizes for my answer.
--
Once again, I get all contemplative and emotional on yo azz.
--
You've all probably heard about this, but Tom Arnold's quest for a wife via website was news to me. I wonder if his online journal makes him eligible for the Diarist.net Awards this quarter?
--
Speaking of Glastonbury, it's been on our TV every minute that Euro2000 hasn't been. Quite a few moments have been so incredible that I had chills and tears in my eyes -- like seeing Travis's performance, knowing how far they've come to be able to play in front of so many thousands of enthusiastic fans. Another great performance came from the Pet Shop Boys, who did West End Girls and What Have I Done to Deserve This? with Cerys Matthews from Catatonia. I have a thing for Neil Tennant, but sadly...Well, you know. Anyway, after seeing Coldplay perform their single -- out today! -- Yellow, I shall take a trip to my local Virgin Megastore and splash out on it. (Ian would like me to add that David Bowie's performance was far and away the best of the weekend, with loads of his classics on the setlist.) Right now, Willie Nelson is singing to a mixture of old people who clearly paid the £87 ticket price just for this performance and kids who are obviously coming down from a three-day orgy of speedballs and sex in a stuffy tent.
I knew there was a reason I always watch from the comfort of my living room.
--
I thought maybe Jamie Oliver (aka the Naked Chef) could talk his girlfriend, ex-model Juliette Norton, into not wearing something ugly for one day -- her wedding day. As the pictures which accompany this article about their wedding on Saturday show, she ignored all the basic rules of not looking like shit and chose a two-toned dress. Maybe with Jamie himself wearing a sky blue corduroy suit, pink open-necked shirt, purple socks and grey snakeskin loafers, she thought it would be rude to look halfway decent.
--
Now that Jackie Collins (no, not THAT Jackie Collins) has an online journal, I'll have to pay her extra not to tell everybody what mean, nasty stuff we say about people in our emails to each other.
--
Okay, only 35 minutes of Glastonbury left, and Jamie Theakston just used the word 'seminal' for the five millionth time since Friday night. Since he was describing the Pet Shop Boys' live performance of Always On My Mind, I'll forgive him this instance.
