Saturday, October 31, 2009

Halloween Party- Let the panicking commence

For some unknown reason, it was decided that we would throw a Halloween Party this year. I'm still not entirely sure why. I hate hosting parties. It's so much effort, and it always involves stress and mayhem, and excessive consumption of alcohol, which leaves me with no memory of the event at all, essentially making all of the previous work redundant. Maybe this time will be different. But probably not. We're preparing the house for it as we speak, and because there are certain values my father managed to instill in me from birth, no task can be tackled until a list is formulated, ensuring the day runs completely smoothly. (It's true. Even to this day, I can't do anything without planning it down to the finest detail. Stupid lists)

So, this is on the agenda for today.

  1. Kitchen
  2. Lounge Room
  3. Dining Room
  4. Bathroom
  5. Outside
  6. Floor
  7. Lunch
  8. Finalise costumes (fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck)
  9. Decorate House
  10. Go shopping for last minute things (possibly more decorations) and pumpkins
  11. Carve Pumpkins x3
  12. Buy fake carved pumpkins
  13. Drink heavily whilst cleaning up stupid pumpkins.
  14. Swear lots.
  15. Start getting ready
  16. Prepare food
  17. Welcome guests
  18. Hide in bathroom and cry at lack of guests
  19. Hope for guests to arrive
  20. No guests. Kill self.
  21. Get stupid green paint off everything (my costume involves painting myself green)
  22. Never throw party again.

Oh dear. Wish me luck. And come to my funeral.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Australian Tragic? Tragic Australian, more like.

You know, as a cool, calm, rational individual, it's not often I find myself flying off into a rant of epic proportions. But occasionally, it DOES happen. Like now. So brace yourself.
We got the above book in at work a few weeks ago. Australian Tragic by Jack Marx. And NEVER. In my ENTIRE LIFE. Have I been so damn enraged by the existence of a book.
I mean honestly, what kind of socially inept monster feels the need to read a book thats sole reason to exist is to capitalise on the grief and misery of others? It's obscene. Basically, it's a book of short stories. Snapshots of otherpeoples misfortune, so that readers can feel smug and good about themselves that it didn't happen to them. It's utterly appalling. And to add to the offensiveness of the whole thing, Jack Marx (douchebag extreme) tries to pass his ghoulish little tales off as literature by spewing out overdramatic literary references for the masses to ooh and aah over, whilst they eat crisps and gawk at misery.
This book is the worst kind of capitalisation. It's someone, completely removed from the horrific events in question, making money from a safe distance by splashing peoples lives across the page so that other freaks, equally removed from said event, can feel good about themselves. I hate it SO MUCH. One chapter is about the woman who lost her children in the fire at Luna Park. Yes, thats right. Her children burnt to death in an amusement park. In what way, shape or form does that need to be written about? Especially by some jerk trying to turn it into a cheap thrill, sensationalised beyond all recognition and plastered about for the world to see. It makes me so angry. Grief is an incredibly personal thing. Especially grief of that magnitude. If it was a book written by the survivors of these tragedies, it would be a completely different matter, because therein lies at least SOME merit. It becomes a tale of human triumph, of success over crippling adversity, but in this context? No. Success isn't the goal. The goal is to repulse, just slightly. It's a regurgitated horror story for people that want to think "Thank god that wasn't me".

And you know what really pisses me off about this? As an author, you have the power to create something. Something powerful, something fanciful, even something that is complete and utter bollocks. Whatever. It's your power. You can use words to do anything. So why waste them on something as hideous and repulsive as this? This isn't creating anything. It's not even reporting on anything. It is the lowest form of writing. And to be making money off it? Jack Marx should be completely, utterly ashamed of himself. And so should everyone that buys this book.

It's repugnant.

*takes a deep breath*

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

MinnelliHunt 09. PART TWO


Despite the fact that we missed out on the oppurtunity to meet Liza on the Friday, which was logically, the most likely chance we had, I refused to be dissuaded from my goal. Especially when, as we were having breakfast delivered (Fuck I love room service. Honestly, I could see myself living in a hotel) we managed to learn a piece of VERY exciting information from the guy delivering it. Liza was staying in the same hotel we were. On the 30th floor. Now, the Intercontinental has 31 floors, but the top level is the function room/ club lounge, so essentially, Liza was staying in the nicest area. In a room that was occupied by George Bush during his last Australian visit, incidentally. Which basically translates to: Fucking hard to get into. I learnt this the hard way, because as soon as I learnt she was up there, I jumped in the lift and went for a ride, only to discover a batallion of burly, armed security guards milling about on her floor. So I sheepishly muttered "wrong floor" and went back down to the 21st floor. Honestly, where do they get off, giving me an obvious "You can't afford to stay on THIS floor!" look? They don't know! (The fact that they were correct is of absolutely NO importance)

So, a new plan was needed. First, we got to cram a day full of fun in Sydney into the agenda, where I got to catch up with Samantha and Dave, see Daniel, go to the comic store, and annoy Benjamin endlessly. (Tell me again why I was single for so long??)
On a whim, as we walked past the theatre, we decided to see if tickets were available for that nights performance of Avenue Q, which they were, so we added that to our itinerary, and headed back to the hotel. A quick sojourn up to the 30th floor again revealed the place was STILL crawling with guards, so dinner with Liza was out of the question, and thus, Ben and I headed to Circular Quay for a wander. By this stage, we'd lost Matthew for the evening, who had gone for a date, and we were about to add Damien and Adam, who had come to Sydney to see Liza's Saturday performance. That's when we had the plan. I figured, despite the previous evenings failure, the stage door was still a fabulous option, and because I wasn't going to the concert, there was nothing stopping me getting their quite early to begin both wheeling AND dealing to secure a coveted spot meeting her.
Of course, the recently purchased Avenue Q tickets through a spanner in those works. We went to see the show (which was AMAZING, by the way- about 89% better than I expected an Australian Cast to be) which ended at 10.15. Which gave us 10 minutes to run from one end of Sydney to the other, in order to get to the Opera House. And it was raining. Heavily. Of course, never underestimate a homo with a mission, and so, I ran the length of Sydney, and managed to arrive JUST as Damien and Adam were leaving the Opera House. I was looking slightly less impressive than the previous night (I believe the term "drowned rat" may have been applicable) only to find myself STILL not allowed backstage. Although, given how I looked, they may have assumed I was a crazy homeless person, in which case I don't blame them.
I DID, however, manage to spark up a CHARMING conversation with Maria Venuti, the Australian television personality with the enormous rack, but I think she may have been slightly annoyed with the fact that I: a) Clearly had no interest in talking with anyone but Liza Minnelli and b) couldn't stop staring at her enormous tits. It was a shame I was so fixated on the goal, because under normal circumstances, she seemed like she would have been quite fun!
Anyway, people came and went through the stage door, and we were starting to thing tonight was going to end in failure as well, when the alarms started, the door raised, and the first car pulled out, in much the same fashion as the night before. Only this time, Liza was in the second vehicle. I know this, because it had clear windows, and I was in the front row, and we looked at each other! I mean ACTUAL Minnelli eye contact! And in that instant, that brief, fleeting moment, we shared something magical. Because not only did we make eye contact, we held it, and she pushed her hand against the car window, REACHING OUT FOR ME! It was a total Star Trek 2 moment, where she was Spock and I was Kirk, only she wasn't dying of radiation poisoning. In that moment though, we knew each other, and it was magical. And we were close, too. Like, a metre and a half. In essence, I came face to face with Liza Minnelli. It's only now that I'm mortified by the fact I looked like absolute shit, but at the time, it was amazing.

Figuring that I had just experience a high of EPIC proportions, the four of us went back to the room to drink and reminisce about that one time were Liza looked at me, and I further cemented the fact that I should not be left alone with alcohol in the same hotel as a celebrity. Because I'm an idiot. And apparantly, at 3 in the morning, her security guards have all gone to bed.

And that's where "Hey, let's go see if we can get near her door NOW!" becomes a good idea.

That little orange light under the door number says "privacy". I think I may be the reason she was...less than great... in Idol that night. But you know what? I'm ok with that. All in all, I'd say MinnelliHunt09 went well. And I'm already planning to head back to Sydney on the 2nd of November to try again at her Entertainment Centre concert. Wish me luck!

Saturday, October 24, 2009

MinnelliHunt 09. PART ONE

MinnelliHunt09 sounds SO much classier than "stalking a poor sixtythree year old lady around Sydney", don't you think? At least this way I'm less likely to end up a convicted felon, which is a plus. So, MinnelliHunt09.


The hunt started last friday, when I headed to Sydney to see her live (Have I mentioned that at all yet? Because I honestly don't know if this blog has quite ENOUGH Liza on it...) Anyway, all signs leading in to this pointed towards Friday being my best chance to meet the great lady, what with me actually going to the Opera House, and having been chatty with Glenn from the Liza Fanclub, who had been communicating with Liza's people about getting fans of importance (read: me) backstage. So, so far so good. Made sure I was dressed up to the nines, because honestly, one doesn't present oneself before Hollywood Royalty without being properly attired. And can I just say, how damn good do I look in this picture? (Also, I MAY have overdosed on gay. You tell me...)

(Totally just a shameless excuse for posting that picture. We all know it)

Once I was glittered up like a good little queen, we headed off to the Opera House. First step was catching up with Glenn. Actually first step was getting photographed in front of the Harbour Bridge with Ben like a couple of queer tourists. Second step was finding Glenn. No, wait. Second step was buying a glass of wine. Third step... well, that was buying (actually, I use the term "buying" loosely, but that really IS a story best left unshared...) my merchandise. But fourth step? That was DEFINITELY meeting up with Glenn and some of his other friends- an eccentric group of Liza fans that were all as excited, if not more so, than I. One particularly memorably awesome character went by the name "Lady Cool" (I swear I'm not making this up! She's on facebook and everything!) She's a cabaret singer, and she was, like, utterly fabulous. Also, a super nice guy named Neil who kept raving about how young I was, which made him pretty much my favourite person ever. So, after some idle chatter and a quick photo, we all went in to watch the concert experience of a lifetime, but I've raved about that enough, and you've already read it, I assume (if not, you can forget your Christmas Card this year)

(In hindsight, I may have been slightly heavy-handed with the foundation...)

So, concert ends, and we all go hang around the stage door, desperately hoping to get backstage with all the cancer kiddies and D-list celebrities (Memo to self for next time: You're NOT above shaving your head and riding a wheelchair. ) that seem to have accquired the much needed passes that I was missing. I DID manage to sneak through the first security checkpoint by discreetly placing myself in the midst of an official looking group and just walking in with them, but not surprisingly, I was found out relatively quickly and ejected back outdoors (bastards).

Next thing we knew, the alarm sounded, the garage door raised, and two SUVs drove out. SUVs with HEAVILY blackened windows. Liza had been escorted from the building. Now, I can understand perfectly the fact that a 63 year old woman would be bloody exhausted, what with giving the concert performance of a lifetime, not to mention a full day of trying to make those Australian Idol kids sound halfway decent (She's a star, not a fucking Wizard) so I hold nothing against her for the fact that Day One of MinnelliHunt09 was a failure. And it wasn't that it was so much a failure as it was a buildup to the second day. Cos part 2 is where the crazy shit REALLY goes down...

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Welcome aboard, Madame President

Somehow, I managed to be elected President of the work social committee. Now it turns out I was more interested in the concept of being voted number one than the concept of actually running a group of people dedicated to organising events (superficial motivations? From ME? Who'd have guessed?) and now I have to deal with the consequences of my crushing popularity. (Fuck off, those of you that know I was only up against one person.)

It is slightly worrying that, upon being elected, my first thoughts were "How can I use this newfound power to my own advantage and personal gain?", but after a few seconds of flirting with megalomania, I decided that avenue was fruitless, and instead devoted my attention and energy to deciding which fictional president I should use as my character template. Forerunners so far include Laura Roslin from Battlestar Galactica (Although I may have to shave my head for that one) or Bill Pullman from Independence Day, just because I thought he was nifty. Chancellor Palpatine was a likely option for a bit, until I remembered I was trying to steer clear of flirting with the darkside, and Geena Davis from Commander in Chief was ok, but her show got cancelled, which I blame on her poor leadership skills.

I just have to avoid taking after Bill Clinton in any way shape or form. Not sure the bookstore could handle a sex scandal. Well, another one. Especially another one involving me. Although, that DOES explain how I got so many votes...

For those few unbelievers

Here's footage I found from the concert I was at, PROVING how fucking AWESOME Liza Minnelli was. Keep in mind, she's 63. Think of your grandmother. Could your grandmother be as awesome as Liza Minnelli? Probably not. Therefore, Liza is more awesome than your grandma. And quite possible, you.

There's a reason I never think of Frank Sinatra when I hear this song, and this is that reason.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Let the good times roll

So I'm sitting here, on the back verhanda with my room mate and my boyfriend. It's eight thirty at night, but the temperature is still pleasant enough for shorts and a shirt. I'm sipping away at a particularly pleasing white wine. I've spent the afternoon strolling the beach and building a sandcastle. There is a pizza cooking in the oven that we just created from scratch. And you know what? It makes me realise something. I fucking LOVE summer. I've never found myself being a summer person before, but this year, wether it's because I'm living so close to the beach, or just because I'm at the stage of my life where people BECOME Summer People, I'm looking forward to it with a level of anticipation generally reserved for my favourite divas newest albums.

I've always felt I connected much more with my Welsh side than my Australian side when it comes to weather, but right now, as I sit here getting pissed, scoffing pizza and wearing short shorts, I think I may be betraying my heritage for a much more relaxed state of mind.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

So. How WAS she?

After so much excitement and build up, is there any way a concert could live up to the hyped expectations that have developed in my overactive imagination? Normally, I'd have said no. Then I saw Liza Minnelli live at the Opera House, and learnt that homosexual dreams CAN come true. She was an absolute miracle. She had nothing in the way of sets, or props, or fancy staging, but still, she managed to captivate an entire audience for a full two hour show with nothing but her voice and her personality.
From the second she burst onto stage (and I burst into tears...for the first time) she was upbeat, lively and fantabulous, singing all the classics (Maybe This Time, Cabaret, Mammy) and some that I was desperately hoping she'd crack out, even though I wasn't expecting them (If, Liza with a Z, What Makes a Man)
The best part, though, was that despite being in the Opera House, it felt like such an intimate concert. She regaled the audience with stories, and anecdotes, and even just with jokes (Like when she started shifting uncomfortably, then stopped, looked out and declared "My knickers keep riding up!") that were, in many ways, even more entertaining than the songs. It was just unlike anything I've ever witnessed before in my life. I mean, I've seen some concerts in my day. Actually, I can honestly say that I've seen ALL my favourite artists live. Kylie Minogue. Bette Middler. Cher. All of them. But Liza was in a class of her own. The others are true showgirls. Fabulous, amazing showgirls. But Liza Minnelli is Hollywood Royalty. There is nobody on the planet like her. And to watch her live, to bask in her presence. It was unlike anything I've experienced before, or likely after. Her ability to command a room like that, to just captivate every single person in there, is unparalleled, and I'm privileged to have been a part of it.
But the absolute highlight of the night? Her final number, New York, New York. Holy Saint Liza, I think I had a religious experience watching it. She was SO powerful, she almost lifted the damn roof off the opera house. It was fabulous. I've seen concert footage from the height of her career in the 80s where she didn't perform that number with as much energy! And to top it off, she performed "All the Lives of Me" as an encore. I knew she'd have to sing a Peter Allen song, but I didn't realise it would be so amazingly emotional and raw. The fact that before she finished she cried out "Thank you, Peter" ensured there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Thank the gods I wore waterproof mascara, let me tell you...

L Day is Upon Us

**this update was written several days ago...*

This is it. The day I’ve been waiting for for so many months now. L-Day. The 16th of October. The day a lifelong dream is realised, and I see the amazing Liza Minnelli in concert. It’s just 9 short hours now until the concert startts, and I’m writing this whilst driving to Sydney to see her. Well, I’m not LITERALLY driving. I’m a passenger. I’m not THAT talented. (Or crazy)

My hair is done, my bags are packed, and I’m blaring the album Liza at the Palace to get that cabaret spirit pumping away. Words can’t express this level of excitement. Opera House. Liza Minnelli. That should really say it all. Add in the fact that there is a better than average chance of me getting backstage to meet Liza May in person (Oh yeah, baby, let THAT sink in for a second), you can imagine the level of happy coarsing through me.

Even if I don’t manage to meet her, the very fact that I made it onto some sort of guest list? That’s priceless. Absolutely priceless. It helps, I think, that I’m fairly certain Liza and I would get along like a house on fire, but only time will tell. Cross fingers and shoot positive vibes out your eyeballs that all goes according to plan, so that in several hours time, I can post about my experience hobnobbing with the elite, yeah?

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, I’ve STILL been unable to find the tickets. Fortunately, Damien at the Opera House was very helpful this morning and assured me I wont need them. I’m not sure if I’m going to have to sleep with someone to get in, it wasn’t made entirely clear. But honestly, if given the option, what do YOU think I’d do??

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

What do you mean, I'm not the centre?

Yes, I realise it's the height of arrogance, but I'm always left surprised when I discover television shows I don't watch anymore are still going, in kind of the same way that you're always taken aback when you find out someone you used to date continues to exist when you're not the sole reason for said existence anymore. (Deal with the fact there's a universe beyond me? Inconceivable!)
Like Heroes. Did anyone else realise this was still going? WHY is this still going? I don't think I've spoken to ANYONE still watching! The funny thing is, during the first season, I was completely obsessed. But wasn't everyone? It was, like, a major cultural phenomenon. It seemed like the next Lost. Except about superheroes. What could be more awesome than that. Most things, apparently. I mean, I know I lost all interest during that first season finale where, after 22 episodes of kickass buildup, we were cheated out of a decent Sylar smackdown and he turned into a sewer cockroach and ran away or something, and Peter sort of exploded a little bit maybe, and Hiro accidentally went back in time. I think. It was a few years ago, and I'm hazy on the details, but I DO remember it was a total train wreck. Hence, I stopped watching. Because it was shit. And by all reports, season two and onwards has continued the general standard of shitness. And now the cheerleader is a lesbian. Hmm.
Or Smallville! Every time someone mentions Smallville to me, I'm amazed at its longevity. What's keeping THAT around? It's certainly not quality. Actually, Smallville is a rant for another blog (HOW do you fuck up Supermans origin story? HOW????) ANd it's entering, like, a ninth season or something now. How the hell did THAT happen? I have no words for my level of amazement at that. Sigh. It's a shame Smallville sucks, too. Can you imagine how incredible a series set in the DC Universe COULD be, if they tried a little harder?
Smallville and Heroes seem to share something, actually, and it seems to be a mutual dislike for Super Heroes. Which is a bit odd FOR TELEVISION SHOWS ABOUT FUCKING SUPERHEROES. Gah. Yet there they are, continuing on in their little self loathing way, whilst shows that I ACTUALLY care about (Firefly, Pushing Daisies, Arrested Development, Veronica Mars, Futurama) vanish off the air? Certainly, this is a sign that there is no justice. Also, if the world DID revolve around me, we'd have much better television. And probably more porn, as well...

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Buying a little Happy.

You know what cheers me up a ridiculous amount? Buying shit online. Despite the fact I'm supposedly partaking in a money-spending embargo (New York is going to be fucking expensive, after all) sometimes, you just can't put a price on happiness. Sigh. I shouldn't be trusted alone on the internet. It all started off innocently enough, with a sensible purchase of a book that I've been looking for forever (How NOT to Write a Novel, thanks for asking. It's fabulous).

But that's where sensible flew out the window. Because, I mean, once the credit card's already out, you'd be CRAZY not to keep using it, right? It's just making more work for yourself. Well, that's my justification, and I'm sticking with it. Anyone that knows me, knows I have a MILD addiction to the Aussiebum website. And heck, it's been ages since I've been on there, so can anyone REALLY blame me for going a little nuts? Besides, it's not like underpants aren't a sensible investment! You wear them all the time, they SHOULD be nice! Shut up. Stop judging me.

More importantly, who wants to see my undies??

My pair of these have "PRIDE" printed across the ass. Because I thought that was appropriate. And cute.

There were several other pairs purchased, but it just dawned on me, you're probably not reading this blog to see the underpants I wear. So I'll stop with the "show and tell", and instead, stick to a more sedate "and tell". Trust me when I say, they're utterly, UTTERLY fantastic. If you're ever feeling even the SLIGHTEST bit down in the dumps, make an Aussiebum order and watch the misery fall off! It's like magic. Hot, sexy underpants magic. The best kind.

Quick update

After writing that last entry, I just went on to iTunes to see if I could find the song from the end of the episode, "I Will Wait for You" by Connie Francis (well, according to Wikipedia, it is) to no avail. I DID, however, find two other versions of the song. One performed by Liza Minnelli, the other by Cher. So. I think that's a win. Obviously I bought them both. Because I can't be trusted left alone with iTunes. At all.

Male PMS? God help us all...

I've been in a bit of a funk the last few days. An inexplicable funk, no less, and we all know that's the only thing worse than the explicable kind. You know that feeling where everything just feels flat? Motivation sits at zero, mood plummets lower every minute, and nothing you do can lift the ridiculously melodramatic fog that seems to have permeated its way into every single aspect of your existence? (It also has a habit of increasing one's sense of literary melancholy, from the look of that) Well, that's been me. I go to work, sulk about, come home, continue sulking, all the while getting crankier at myself for not snapping the hell out of it, at the same time dealing with the fact that at any second you could burst into tears. It's weird. I suppose it DOES offer hope that I can still feel emotion and mustn't be completely dead inside, but you know, there's a happy medium! The good news is, I've since snapped out of it and I'm back to my usual, ridiculous self. So THAT'S a plus.

Looking back on the incident, though, allow me to offer a word of advice. When faced with feelings like that, DON'T think to yourself "Hey, you know what might cheer me up? That Futurama episode about Frys dog." Because if you think that, and then follow through with it, you're an idiot. As we all already know that I AM an idiot, it comes as no surprise that this is exactly what I did.

Now, usually, the one thing guarenteed to snap me out of any downer is Futurama. Of course, this only applies if I follow the cardinal rule, which is AVOID JURASSIC BARK AT ALL COSTS. It's the only episode that I think I've seen less than five times. I just can't bring myself to sit through it, despite it being one of the best episodes of animated television I've ever seen. But no. Apparantly, when you're feeling at your lowest, that's when it's going to be a good time to watch it. *INSERT MASSIVE EYE ROLL*

Should it come as ANY surprise that I cried my eyes out? And I don't mean a little bit. Big, shameful, heaving sobs. The kind generally reserved for Beaches, or Steel Magnolias. And then heaped so much affection on my dog that he STILL isn't talking to me. Damn you, Futurama. Damn you to hell. That ending is the most heartbreaking thing I've seen in a damn long time. And I hate you for it. Side note- this episode LOST the emmy? Doubleyou. Tee. Eff. That blows me away. The episode of the Simpsons that beat it must have been amazing! Or maybe the emmy committee were as pissed as Futurama as I was.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Batman and Mikey. Spot the difference.

You know, it's one of the first things people notice about me, is how much I resemble Batman. Not physically, of course (despite the fact I DO share a certain level of debonair handsomeness with the Dark Knight) but rather, in our general demeanor. We're both surly, stealthy detective types with a penchant for womanizing and lurking around dark alleys late at night, and we both have an array of gadgets that make our crime fighting AND day-to-day lives that little bit more exciting.
However, there are a few subtle differences. Firstly, Batman tends to have a thing for eight year old boys, which, you know... not cool (although the third Robin, Tim Drake, IS of legal age, and was, coincidentally, one of my first comic book crushes. Along with Superboy. THAT'S not a creepy tidbit to share at all...) but secondly, and the whole reason for that ENTIRE preamble, is the fact that Batman carries around with him the most awesome invention on the face of the planet: Ninja Smoke Pellets.
Actually, these are pretty much a staple in comics and movies, to the point where, the other day whilst dealing with boredom, I started to research their existence. Because who doesn't love the thought of throwing a smoke pellet to the ground and disappearing with a flash of light, leaving enemies (or annoying customers) confused, and potentially suffering an asthma attack? First thing I noticed- you can't buy them on ebay. And Yahoo Answers suggested they were completely fictional, an answer I was entirely unimpressed with. I mean, something that awesome HAS to exist. Nobody can imagine something that cool (Hoverboards from Back to the Future 2 notwithstanding) and not see it through. So, like anyone faced with a tricky situation, I turned to the two internet knowledge staples. Firstly, wikipedia, which had a little information, which can be found here, mainly confirming that they exist in some capacity, but not a great deal more than that. Then I stumbled across the treasure chest that is youtube. There, I've managed to watch a ridiculous number of amateur ninjas demonstrating how to create some sort of working Smoke Pellet, generally involving things like ping pong balls and sandpaper. I'm not ENTIRELY sure that's how Batman does it, but hey. We aren't ALL fighting crime with the complete resources of Wayne Enterprises at our disposal, so suck it up.
Thus, I've decided my transformation into costumed vigilante, crime fighting marvel will be complete when I pimp out my utility belt with a few of these beauties. I can't BEGIN to gush about the real world applications I forsee for these things! I'll never have to waste my time ending a sentence again! Difficult customer? No problem- flash bomb on the floor, next thing you know, I've vanished, lurking behind a gargoyle or something. (Mental note: Have gargoyles installed at work. Also, start carrying grappling hook) I don't know why more people don't use these. Can't you just imagine me, disappearing in a *poof*
Alternatively, I could blow my foot off, but you know, that's a risk I think I'm willing to take. I'll let you know how this goes. I'm forseeing well.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

I sense a great disturbance in the force...

Even though I'm not sure why it's happened, there's no denying that Zombies are very in right now. Like, ridiculously so. I'm not sure why, but you know there's a bit of a pandemic when you have a book on your bookshelf called "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" (What? With a title that awesome, how could I not buy it?) But this morning, whilst tooling around on youtube, I found the coolest Zombie-themed video I've ever seen, with them popping up in the most unexpected place ever.

Apparantly, this is a fan made video advertising a new book or something, but I don't know. It's fabulous, is what it is. Zombie-tastic. And in the words of Professor Farnsworth, the Jedi aren't going to like this...

I haven't read a Star Wars novel in years, but if this one is as genuinely creepy as this video makes it look, I may have to remedy that. Who WOULDN'T
want to be armed with a lightsaber during a Zombie outbreak?

Set Swoonage to MAXIMUM!!

In case my little Glee rant didn't win you over the other day, I thought I'd how off this clip of the guys from Glee performing "It's my Life" from Bon Jovi that was released as a teaser for this weeks episode. If only because it has resulted in me falling even more utterly, tragically in love with Finn, the lead singer. And holy shit- check out the Asian kids moves! He's fantastic! This show is so great! I'm drowning in a sea of woo!

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

9 days out, tragedy strikes!

Regular readers will no doubt recall, my very reason for living, aka LIZA MINNELLI, LIVE AT THE OPERA HOUSE, is only 9 sleeps away. Which is too exciting for words. However, things are NOT progressing smoothly towards this once in a lifetime event. Despite the fact that the hotel is booked, the outfit is underway and the weekend is well and truly planned, we've hit a minor setback to the arrangements.

The tickets have gone missing.

Let me repeat that, so it sinks in. The fucking tickets to Liza Minnelli are gone.

I've looked everywhere. In draws, under beds, behind photo frames, in the fridge... I've run out of options, and I'm freaking out. The thing that makes the whole thing even more unbearable though, is the fact that the tickets were MY damn responsibility! So clearly, what has happened is, I've put them in some place so ridiculously safe, even Batman couldn't trace them. And as far as detectives go, he's up there... Losing ANYTHING pisses me off, but losing something like this, pissed off doesn't even BEGIN to cover it. I've seen the tickets since movine, so I KNOW they had to be in my room at least once, and it's not like I'm living in the Spelling Mansion. My room isn't THAT big. There can't be that many places for two tickets to hide. So clearly, the only logical explanation is, they've been eaten by Yosh. Further cementing my belief that I have the worlds most useless dog. Maybe I can trade him for seats? I'm sure Liza would look divine with a Yosh-skin purse!

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Am *I* the walrus now??

A few months ago, I was planning to write a blog about how, try as I might, I just didn't GET the Beatles. Not that I had anything actively against them, it's just... they didn't register anything more than absolute indifference in me. I heard a lot about how they "revolutionised music" and "changed the way things were done" and all that guff ad nauseum, but I just didn't see how that translated into anything worth listening to. And then, the world seemed to go into Beatle overdrive, for reasons I'm still not sure of (Was it something to do with Michael Jackson dying? Didn't he own the rights, or something? I'm not sure...), and they were everywhere. I felt like a pilgrim in an unholy land. And the thing that has ALWAYS blown me away about the Beatles is the fact that, for some reason, it's social suicide to mention you don't like them. People look at you with that same judgmental stare usually reserved for people that kick babies, or rape nuns. Which blows me away. It's such a universally vehement reaction, it baffles me! Because, as someone with monumentally bad taste in music (said whilst my Dean Geyer poster stares lovingly at me, and my iTunes blares the soundtrack from "Toxic Avenger: The Musical) you'd think I'd be used to people thinking I'm a retard because of what I listen to. But even I get shocked when I say the Beatles do nothing for me.

So. For reasons still not entirely understood, I shocked myself the other day, and purchased Beatles: Rock Band. Because love them or hate them, I have to admit, the band is well known. I love Rock Band, but my main complaint is, I've never even heard half the damn songs before. At least with this one, I have a vague familiarity with the Beatles stuff, because I haven't been living under a goddamn rock for my entire life. And as much as I hate to admit it, you know what? It's REALLY started to grow on me! I still don't know a Paul from a George (and only know Ringo because in our loungeroom band, I'm the drummer. So, you know, narcissist that I am, I feel a certain connection to him), and I love the songs that make "proper" fans turn their noses up in disgust (I can't believe I'm not supposed to like Yellow Submarine! It's great!!) but the sheer innocent poppiness of them? I dig it! It's like, some of the most fun, infectious music I've ever heard! I'm not sure if I should be worried about the fact that all of my favourits seem to be the most cryptic, indecipherable, drug trips on the game, but dammit, I don't care. I DO see how they fly like Lucy in the Sky. And even if I'm not sure why, I'm pleased that they're both the Eggman and the Walrus. I'm not clear as to why they're dressed like Furries in the film clip, but I'm sure THEY had a good reason for it (actually, the trippy colourful visuals are often so distracting, I forget to play the drums because I'm too caught up in how pretty they are)

And the game is so stylish! I mean honestly, watch this intro, and try NOT to go "oooohhhh" at least once. You can't do it. Finally, I've managed to see why people rave about The Beatles. And all it took was a silly plastic drum kit and some splashy colours in the background to do it!

Monday, October 5, 2009

Broadway just got gayer? Count me in!

Things I like?

Karen Walker? Check

Musical theatre? Check

So the recent announcement from Megan Mullally, that she will be producing and starring in Karen Walker: The Musical on broadway, understandably creates a feeling of contentment in me that borders on post-orgasmic. Because the only thing I love more than the things I love, is when the things I like combine, to make some sort of Super Experience of Love. Such as when Kristen Chenoweth was on Glee, or when Indiana Jones and Han Solo teamed up with Optimus Prime to fight Nazi's and ride motorbikes with the kids from Grease 2. (what do you mean you haven't seen that one? It was awesome. Trust me)

Anyway, seeing as I've dreamt of it forever, I've decided that the patron saint of homosexuals, Ms Walker, has sent me a sign that the time is right to cut the bullshit and finally make the pilgrimage to the Great White Way (Broadway, for the non homosexuals following at home.) What's more, to ensure that this is indeed the trip of a lifetime, I intend to head there over the Christmas period (Christmas 2011, to be precise. I figure I better give Karen a chance to actually WRITE the damn thing), and possibly manage to wing it so that I get to spend New Years Eve in Times Square. How's THAT for a bucket full of awesome?

Honestly, ever since I was a little girl, heading to Broadway has been a dream. And the fact that I get to incorporate stalking one of the most awesome celebrities on the face of the planet, only sweetens the arrangement that much more. And, WHITE CHRISTMAS! I've never even SEEN snow! Sigh. It's going to be EXACTLY like Home Alone 2. But with more alcohol. And less burglars. And no Macaulay Culkin. Actually, not that much like Home Alone 2, to be honest.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Gunna live forever? Probably not.

I just got home from the Fame remake, and you know what? I still can't decide wether it was fantastic, or complete and utter rubbish. Probably somewhere in the middle, I'd say. Parts of it were, without a doubt, fantastic, but on the other hand, parts of it were, unquestionably, tripe. One thing is certain though. If your parents didn't send you to this school, they don't love you. At all. Which must be tough for you. (And it's the reason MY parents are getting crappy presents for Christmas this year)
Honestly, a school where people burst into random songs at semi-regular intervals? What could be more up my alley? Of course, according to this movie, if I DID go to the Performing Arts High, I would have to become a complete two dimensional caricature, and lose the ability for rational conversation or even basic confrontational skills (Seriously. The number of problems that could have been completely resolved with a sensible discussion between parties was crazy! Did Dawsons Creek teach these kids nothing? You ALWAYS give someone a chance to explain what you think you saw!) but I think I'd be ok with that, for a chance to be taught singing by Megan Mullaly. Actually, I'm sure of it. Megan Mullaly and Kelsey Grammar were the two best things Fame had going for it, and neither of them were in it for nearly long enough, even if Karen did get to belt out one particularly show stopping number.
The best part about attending PA though, would undoubtedly have been the fact that they can cram four years worth of melodrama and performances into just under two hours screen time- and WITHOUT the use of time travel. Of course, to do this, they sacrifice, you know, any sort of plot resolution whatsoever, but by the end, you really don't care who said what to whom, or why character A is breaking up with character B (actually, if you even realised they were in a relationship, you're doing better than I was), or even why they're still attending a school when all the successful kids have dropped out anyway. But whatevs. It was kind of fun, and it kept me entertained, for the most part. Even if I'm still not entirely sure what happened. It's not often I see something MORE scattered than my own thought process. And that's not nothing, that's something. Well done, Fame. I think.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

I think I'm a "Gleek"

I have a confession to make, and I don't CARE how much of a stereotype it makes me. I freaking LOVE Glee. After just FIVE episodes, it's already become one of my favourite shows in recent history. It's just fabulous. I adore it so much, if it was a person, I'm pretty sure I'd marry it. Or at least hook up with it behind the toilets at lunch time. It's got such an unapologetic sense of fun that feels as though it's tapping directly into my brain to spew out everything I've ever wanted in a show. And then turns it up to eleven. The pilot episode features the GREATEST version of "Don't Stop Believing" I've ever seen (ok, I'll be honest. It's the only version I've ever seen, but I'm assured by everyone that it's a song I'm supposed to have heard of, so in the vein of pretending to have decent music taste, I play along...) and the chemistry between the two leads, Rachael and Finn, is so tangible I'm shocked they haven't burst into flames yet. (Also, Finn is my latest celebrity crush. Sorry Piemaker. I've totally mindcheated on you. And I was completely pretending Finn was talking to me in the latest episode, instead of Rachael)
Honestly, I can't describe how fabulous the show is. You're just going to have to trust me on this one. Yes, the writing can be shaky and... well, "simple" would probably be a fairly good description, but it MORE than makes up for it with drama, fabulousness, and energy. When the football team performed Single Ladies in the middle of a game? (Well, it wasn't the middle, but it WAS during...) I thought I'd died and gone to Homo Heaven! The only thing missing was Anthony Callea in angel wings, but given how gay this show already is, it's only a matter of time...
Oh. And Sue Sylvester is the greatest character to come along in YEARS. Dare I say, greatest character since... KAREN WALKER?? Yes. I think I dare.


I'll often yell at homeless people: 'Hey, how is that homelessness working out for you? Try not being homeless for once.'

I'm going to ask you to smell your armpits. That's the smell of failure, and it's stinking up my office.

When I heard Sandy wanted to write himself into a scene as Queen Cleopatra, I was aroused. And then furious.

Sesame gets more Street. Cred, that is.

This is one of the funniest things I've seen since... well... since the last time I wasted hours surfing Youtube looking for bizarre, obscure videos. Whatever. This is fantastic. And it makes me want to kill Elmo less than I normally do. Because let's face it. The furry little fucker would be more entertaining as a throw rug on my floor than as a character on Sesame Street, but credit where it's due- Kevin Clash is GREAT with the improv shit. Enjoy!

Friday, October 2, 2009

Going gaga for Gaga

Holy jesus. This performance is one of the greatest things I've EVER seen.
And also, the reason why I felt the need to purchase tickets to see her live, seconds after the performance ended.
It's just amazing. She's amazing. I'm in awe of her awesomeness. And you've got to love anyone that dedicates an award to "God and the Gays".
Take THAT, America. Swoon.