Speaking of Private Eye, people always make out like The New York Times crossword is such a big deal, but I'd love to see half as many people even attempt the Private Eye crossword. One of my life goals is to someday complete it, but barring a brain transplant, I don't think it'll happen.
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Woo! Private Eye used a Susan Sarandon quote I submitted to their Luvvies feature. It's a silly thing to be pleased about, but I love me some Private Eye. That, and I get paid £10 for it. It's not much, but ten quid is ten quid, especially when you've got to send someone money for their AIDS ride.
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Is there really huge demand for a Commodore 64 browser?
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Proof that God hears our prayers: Michael Bolton's been dumped by his record company, and it looks doubtful that anyone else is going to sign him. PTL, baby!
23 June, 2000
This has to be a joke. I may even brave the bloated, acne-pitted world of DALnet in order to investigate...
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Word to this opinion piece on the sorry state of London's Leicester Square. For the most part, it's a fun place to go, because the bars and clubs and cinemas that surround it are relatively inexpensive when compared to the rest of London, and it's always swarming with about a trillion people. But they only have, like, one cop working there, so getting hassled and harassed is far too common. I've had a complete stranger walk up to me and ask me for sex, another guy grabbed me as I walked past, clinched me in a bear hug and wouldn't let go, and another guy asked me and a friend if we would have sex and let him watch. All of these men were being loud and drawing a lot of attention to themselves, so it's not like a cop wouldn't have noticed their antics. Add to this the time that a guy walked up to my friend Jen while we stood talking and smacked her on the ass -- and then did it again while we were still staring at each other in jaw-dropping shock over the first time -- and it's time to weed out the undesirables.
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I cannot believe this man was married to Elizabeth Taylor. I do, however, believe his lawyers' contention that he only has an IQ of 81.
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It looks to me as if Matthew 'The Forehead' Perry is dating Monica Lewinsky. Nice belly shirt.
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Now, if you looked like Celine Dion, would you cut your hair drastically, ill-advisedly short, so short that one's attention cannot be distracted from that face? I should hope not.
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I never would have guessed it, but it sounds as if the Queen really likes to party. Who knew?
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Well, I always knew that even hot celebrity guys act like complete losers a lot, but it's still nice to be reminded so very often.
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So. Britney Spears and Ricky Martin are recording a CD of Pope John Paul II's poetry, according to The Sun's gossip column.
I have nothing to add to that.
22 June, 2000
Dear Mark Wahlberg and George Clooney,
Please consummate your relationship already and confine your flirting to publications read by people who give a shit.
Love,
Jackie
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First Entertainment Weekly, then Time, and now this article in the New York Times. The media is very interested in Mighty Big TV, aren't they? (Also, check out the photo of Sars -- co-founder of MBTV and grande dame of Tomato Nation -- and her stylin' apartment that accompanies the story.)
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A big shout out to Ian for overcoming his hatred of mp3 technology to download forty-eight mp3's of Radiohead's recent concerts in Arles and Frejus -- including seven new songs from the upcoming album. I knew there was a reason I married you. Oh, and get your hands on this week's copy of NME with the Radiohead cover story/interview. Nice how the cover attributes a quote to Thom which the article makes clear was actually said by another band member. Still, it was worth it to be able to tease Ian by saying, 'See, they're as bad as The Sun.'
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I'm calling this one 'how Oprah can change your life' -- not.
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Posh Spice is threatening to file a legal injunction to stop Andrew Morton from writing a book on her and her husband, my secret boyfriend David Beckham. I just wanted to use this opportunity to say that the recurrence of my Posh Spice and David Beckham dreams is starting to disturb me. I need help.
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Ahhhh! Dan Castellaneta, Julie Kavner, Nancy Cartwright and Yeardley Smith are coming to the UK to do a tour of live stage readings of The Simpsons. I've said 'I am so there' many times, but this time I really mean it. Rock!
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Ian totally needs to read this page: Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About. (I stole this link from Beth, who got it from Medley, who first spotted it at Girlhacker.) He freaks out about the fact that we argue (I prefer 'debate') a lot, but it's always about inconsequential stuff like (the most recent knock-down-drag-out) why the NBA World Championship isn't really a 'world' championship, thus proving that all Americans are self-important, xenophobic knobs. Guess which side I was on for that one. Anyway, it's a very funny page, written by a local (well, local to us), so hopefully I can convince Ian to have a look and realise that we're still only in the minor leagues when it comes to arguments. A quote:
Then factor in my being English while she is German, which not only makes each one of us personally and absolutely responsible for the history, and the social and cultural mores of our respective countries, but also opens up a whole field of sub-arguments grounded in grammatical and semantic disputes and, well, just try saying anything and walking away.
Dude, try being an American married to a Brit. It's not just the raging fundamentalists in the Middle East who think that America is the devil.
21 June, 2000
Correction from the other day: There are two players called Stankovich on the Yugoslavian football (soccer) team, and they're not related. They also have a player whose last name is Milosevic, who looks like a brunette Brad Pitt (and probably smells just as nice). I'm cracking up that the Yugoslavian equivalent of 'Smith' is 'Stankovich,' and Ian's just looking at me like I'm retarded. Heh.
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You all know and love Gwen (from gwentown.com, aka the 'Trailer Trash Wife' link to the left) almost as much as I do, don't you? Well, now that she's finally getting paid for her talent, you can go here and see her introduction video for her new bosses, backslap.com. She's a doll. Go, Gwen!
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Speaking of Prince William, rowr.
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I rearranged the furniture in here this morning, so the desk now faces the television. I've been meaning to do that for a while, and let's just say it's going to be a 'surprise' for Ian, who will surely protest. Anyway, so far today Oprah (a train wreck if ever there was one) had fat kids crying, the news was all about Prince Charles and Camilla Parker-Bowles attending their first official public engagement together and posing for the cameras, and Gloria Hunniford is currently toasting Prince William's birthday with champagne.
I think this new furniture arrangement will be rather short-lived.
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This is the kind of thing I try not to think about when I'm on the Tube.
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Somebody put a muzzle on the Member of Parliament who is asking the government to make 'quiet carriages' on trains -- where talking on cell phones would be banned -- mandatory. Sorry, but no. I'm as annoyed by stupid people shouting down the phone as anyone else (the last time I was on the forty-five minute journey from Derby was during the England v Portugal match, and some silly bint was having her mum phone every time anything of note happened so she could squeal with delight or loudly complain, hoping to impress someone with her distinct lack of knowledge of the game), but if you're going to outlaw people talking on a phone, you may as well tell them they're not allowed to talk to anyone on the train, either. Yes, stupid people on the train are annoying, but you can hardly make a law outlawing their right to be obnoxious, as long as they're not hurting anyone. What next, a law against fashion faux pas? (Actually, I'd be all for that.) There are times when I need to make a phone call while I'm on the train -- especially considering the fact that nine times out of ten, the train I'm on is running horribly late and someone is waiting at the station to pick me up -- and if some Member of Parliament wants the government to put a stop to that, then I think we need to come up with more important things for MPs to do. They can start with the fact that these trains are always, but always late and overbooked -- I'm lucky if I can get a seat on many of my trips -- and then move on to the civil liberties-restraining Regulation of Investigatory Powers bill, follow up with the transportation crisis and see me if they get those taken care of and need something else to alleviate their boredom.
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I'm curious to see what the scale of national celebration for Prince William's birthday will be like, as the past few weeks have seen documentary after documentary on his life (all of which I taped, I admit) aired in anticipation of his 18th birthday today. Shame he can't attend his own birthday party because he'll be studying.
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Speaking of rabid hatred, I seriously cannot take the Eminem apologists anymore. Cannot. Take them. You'd think that after reading this most excellent piece, a rational person would think, 'Gee, maybe this is something I shouldn't be supporting, financially or otherwise.'
I think I give humanity too much credit sometimes.
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Starting the day off with some very good news, John Rocker plans to ride the Number 7 train to Shea Stadium next week when he returns to New York City after being called up from the minors. How courteous of him to let everyone know where to find him if they feel like administering a severe beating.
20 June, 2000
Oh, man. Now Liz Smith is using her column to promote Motorola products (scroll down to the bottom, because she must have felt sufficiently ashamed in order to bury it as the last item; plus you'll save yourself having to skim through any of her other tripe). The obvious question is, 'Has she no shame?' but I think we all know the answer to that one.
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I know how much he craves attention, and I am hesitant to give it to him, but I just cannot help but link to Dave Van's latest entry, which kind of ties in with the Tomato Nation piece about stupid people (see below). Something in me really hopes that he makes all this shit up about his kids playing with knives and throwing rocks at people's heads, but I'm not sure which is more disturbing: taking pictures of the damage your kids do and posting them on the Internet with your commentary, or making up all kinds of crazy shit about your kids and posting it on the Internet. Either way, I laughed my ass off -- definitely despite myself, rest assured.
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DIY and home improvement are such national obsessions over here; I was totally blown away by the fact that nearly everyone I know has remodeled parts of their homes with their own two hands. And, continuing my lamity, I sit mesmerised in front of shows like Changing Rooms, Real Rooms and DIY SOS. So I found the reaction to the news that Ikea is to build more stores in the UK on the BBC website pretty amusing. Comments range from, 'Any retail business that can fill its shop with hordes of style-conscious gay men every Sunday has got to be doing something right!' and 'I just love the meatballs!!' to 'I always ensure I have two days to shop at Ikea. One to buy and the other to take all the faulty goods back!', as well as comments that don't end in exclamation points. All I know is, the north London branch of Ikea has a really hot guy working in the cabinet department, so if you're ever in the Brent Cross area, make sure you stop by and say hello.
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And the Oscar™ can be returned by...
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Speaking of Tomato Nation, Sarah's got another typically great piece up this week, where she wonders how people (namely celebs) can be so stupid. A quote:
And what the hell is Whitney Houston thinking? "I've sung several dozen extremely annoying and over-produced ballads, so clearly, federal laws prohibiting the transfer of a controlled dangerous substance across state lines do not apply to me"? I mean, I got arrested for possession because I fired up a doob outdoors, and that's pretty damn stupid, but if the Houston city fathers had turned the Astrodome into a giant bong, and if I'd taken a monster hit from the Astrobong, and if my brain had melted into a smoldering resin-y lump, it still wouldn't have made me dim-witted enough to bring doobage to an airport.
All that, and she has a go at the cretins who perpetrated the recent attacks in Central Park, as well as the cretins who stood idly by and let them do it. Good stuff.
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I need a Tomato Nation sticker to go with my TN t-shirt. Not that I have anywhere to put it, but I can stick it with my collection of stickers -- from Blair, Wertzateria and lots of less cool places -- that will never have a home because I can't think of a place on which to display them that's good enough. (Confession: I do have a Blair sticker on my PC, right underneath the 'God's Love Never Fails' one that had the added bonus of annoying Ian. Heh.)
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Here's me, talking smack about Tori Spelling's boobs -- with reasonably skanky accompanying photo -- on Underwired.
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Finally, the Sherwood Forest story, complete with photos. It's all about boring family stuff, but I did promise I'd tell y'all about it, so read it at your own risk.
19 June, 2000
My latest Queer as Folk recap is now up at Mighty Big TV. Speaking of which, my MBTV co-worker Kim was quoted in the upcoming issue of Time, in an article which also mentions MBTV itself. With this, and the praise lavished on the site by Entertainment Weekly a few months ago, I grow more honoured to be a part of it all the time.
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Does the world really need another Crocodile Dundee sequel? Seriously, it would have to be pretty damn hot for me to seek refuge in the air-conditioned theatre where that will be playing.
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When Ian told me about this story this morning, I literally felt a chill go down my spine. I don't know why. It seems that all 58 people suffocated because the cooling unit wasn't turned on, despite the sweltering temperatures across Europe this weekend, and their bodies were found behind pallets of tomatoes (which I sincerely hope don't end up in my local Sainsbury's). This is still creeping me out; I'll let you know if I figure out exactly why that is.
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If ever I find myself feeling even remotely miserable about something, I immediately watch or read something that I know will have me peeing my pants with laughter within seconds. This weekend, it was Stee's first anniversary entry for Plaintive Wail. Make sure you follow all the links, or else your panties will be merely damp instead of soaked, which is really what we're aiming for, here.
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Dimetap was left off the the Brunching Shuttlecocks' ratings of cold and flu remedies, but I must say that I would give it an A+. I'd rather drink Dimetap than Mountain Dew (which, when you think about it, isn't saying a whole hell of a lot...).
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Thank you to my fave new writer, Jon-Jon, for linking to the Glam Name Generator. My glam name is Ginchy Fairyponce, but you can call me Poncey, which is a funny-ass name...I think it was the last name of one of the actors on The Hogan Family. Danny Poncey. Ring any bells...?
Nevermind.
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I'm cack and I'm back. Thank you to everyone who emailed me with concern. Everything's going to be okay (I keep telling myself). Anyway, it has to get better than this weekend, which was hot (81F! I know none of you in the US are weeping for me) and way too full of sports -- Euro 2000 and the Canadian Grand Prix (which I must pronounce phonetically -- sorry). The bad news is, Michael Schumacher won the Grand Prix. The good news is, Tiger Woods won the US Open and England beat Germany for the first time since 1966. Ian actually jumped up and kissed me when the final whistle blew, and then everyone was all setting off fireworks and shit. Unfortunately, we didn't get in on the rioting and mayhem, but maybe for the next match.
16 June, 2000
I've been on the receiving end of two pieces of very bad news today, one health-related and one family-related. Not to dump it on all y'all, but I'm gone till Monday. I need time to mope. Have a good weekend.
15 June, 2000
Ian and I went shopping tonight, and I'd never noticed the Lacoste store at Merry Hill before, which is weird considering I go there about five times a week. Anyway, we went inside and debated the wisdom of buying Ian a £150 shirt that looks like it belongs on a ten-year-old, regardless of what my beloved Richard/Blair has to say about it. In the end, we spent the money on me instead, so I think we made the right choice.
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After reading Sars's account of her getting ready to go out ritual -- which bears more than a passing resemblance to mine -- I really feel like going out. Shame it's not really an option at this time of night...
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I love my new Hissyfit screensaver. Thank you, Glark!
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I really hate having to wait for people, mostly because I feel like Jackie No-Mates while I sit/stand there alone, feigning interest in the contents of my address book or...well, the ceiling and the walls. So it's comforting to know that I'm not alone on this one.
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Liz Smith, would you please end your life already? Damn. First, I'm very pleased to read the following in today's column: Even worse, are Eminem's revolting "song" lyrics, bashing gays and women. (Activists should get off Dr. Laura's case, and pay attention to Eminem - his audience is made up of impressionable youngsters. Dr. Laura's fans are already committed to their appalling prejudices against single moms, living together without benefit of marriage, day care and homosexuality.) Like, how cool of her, right? I mean, it is Liz Smith, though, so kinda keep that excitement on the downlow. But THEN, she goes and says this: But on one level it's hard to take Eminem or any white rappers seriously. Guys, take a look in the mirror and get over it. Hello? The sad part about Eminem is that he does have a lot of talent as far as rapping goes, but he chooses to use that talent to spread homophobia and sexism. It has nothing to do with him being white, y'old doughy bitch. Grrr.
14 June, 2000
Salon (they don't deserve a link) brings us a quote from Teen People magazine which provides even more proof -- as if it was needed -- that Jennifer Lopez is terrifyingly stupid: "My cousin gave me great advice. He told me to be sure I always wore pretty shoes because the man I was dancing with would be looking down, and if he saw beautiful feet, he'd probably fall in love with me." Yeah, and I'm sure he's only looking down because he can't bare looking into your vacant, lights-on-but-nobody's-home eyes, Jenny.
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Thanks to Carly for the link -- Calvin and Hobbes Resurrection -- that's going to keep me entertained tonight while Ian sits glued to the Euro2000 matches. I heart Calvin and Hobbes.
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Wait a sec -- Jackée Harry is still alive? Somebody take care of that, please. I've loathed her since she was on 227 and everybody thought it would be cute to call me 'Jackée' instead of Jackie. These are probably all the same people who think they're very original for asking me, 'How's married life?' which I've now heard a grand total of 90023948029384 times (Gwen, you were so right about that).
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I have seen the future of Jason Biggs, and he's going to look a lot like Adam Sandler -- but without the huge following of frat rats or eight-figure paycheques.
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Yay! Gwen now has a forum! Because I don't slack off enough as it is...
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Oh my shit, I'm dying here. Daisy Fuentes is dating Matt Goss, who was in pathetic 80's boyband Bros with his twin brother Luke. Next thing you know, Heidi Klum will be dating the singer from Gene Loves Jezabel.
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Okay, we know that director John Singleton (Boyz N the Hood, Poetic Justice, Rosewood and now the remake of Shaft) has been in court on domestic violence charges before, and that he is -- by all accounts -- a dog of monumental proportions. So I guess I believe the woman who says he dumped her an hour before his latest film's premiere, and not his statement that they broke up three years ago. Sorry, but I think we've all heard the 'Oh, I broke up with my ex-girlfriend because she was a total psycho' line from guys a few too many times. Either they -- like Singleton -- are full of shit, or there really are a lot more 'psychos' out there than you'd think. I opt for the 'He's full of shit' line of reasoning, personally.
