Saturday, July 31, 2004
Oh, and you know how you were bemoaning the lack of a credible arbiter of celebrity plastic surgery since awfulpasticsurgery stinks so bad? Well, try goodplasticsurgery. It might be better.
Friday, July 30, 2004
On the topic of Alias, it was amusing when Ms Alias was scaling the walls of some random building (with a break-an-enter beanie on, and black camouflage) that she decided to still wear a bright crimson wig, and not to bother disturbing her hair by concealing it in the interests of, you know, camouflage. Why won't the CIA approach me so that I can juggle a student lifestyle with international intrigue?
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Monday, July 26, 2004
According to the test, my personality breaks down into these proportions...
Introverted (I) 58.33% Extroverted (E) 41.67%
Intuitive (N) 52.63% Sensing (S) 47.37%
Thinking (T) 50% Feeling (F) 50%
Perceiving (P) 55.17% Judging (J) 44.83%
My Myers Briggs Jung type is INFP, which means I'm a "Questor". High capacity for caring. Emotional face to the world. High sense of honor derived from internal values. 4.4% of total population. Ooh er.
Some graphics to clarify matters...
Enneagram Test Results
Your Unconscious-Overall type is 4w3
personality tests by similarminds.com
Sunday, July 25, 2004
"This group isn't a group that we're familiar with but nevertheless, it's a threat, it's on the internet, we take it seriously".
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Gold.
Saturday, July 24, 2004
Also, The Hives on Letterman... AMAZING! People, that album is so great. You all have to get it. And they have to tour here. So goddamn great!
Friday, July 23, 2004
Thursday, July 22, 2004
This set up a pattern that would be followed throughout - in pursuit of his anti-Bush agenda, Moore felt free to appeal to US prejudice, or play with the facts to suit. Like when he mentioned the coalition of the willing, he mentioned Palau and Togo, but not the UK, Spain, Australia or any other prominent partner. Yeah, it was a funny gag, with some thematic truth, but he kinda shot his credibility in the foot. There were some good sections, like when he examined the relationship between military (combat) service and poverty, and I was thoroughly entertained, but in the end its so obvious that Moore's skewing facts to suit his own agenda that the power of his argument is diminished. Maybe this is justified, in an end justifies means kinda way. The thing is you don't need to skew any facts to paint a damning picture of the Bush administration. They speak for themselves. Just show footage of them talking ("the haves, and the have-mores"). For this reason, the SBS doco screened on Tuesday night, The World According to Bush (or something) was a much more effective (and balanced) attack on Bush.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
This Age editorialfrom a few days back is quite good, about our stupid arse government and Iraq. I particularly liked that it reminds people of statements made by Howard & co prior to the war and how these statements really screw up the new position they've been taking after it. With Johnny going, before, "I couldn't justify on its own a military invasion of Iraq to change the regime. I've never advocated that." And now being a complete shit about it. Or Alexander Downer saying it's "beyond reasonable doubt... that Saddam Hussein has weapons of mass destruction". Ah, the certitude. So schmucky. My favourite point in the editorial was this bit, with the writer asking, "But why did our leaders attach so little weight to the qualifications, the uncertainties, that they now say are part and parcel of intelligence? Instead, they ridiculed sceptics." Yeah. I know this isn't a revolutionary point for The Age or any other paper to make, that the government is dodgy. I mean it's rather obvious, if quite general. I just feel much better seeing some little damning details disseminated. So people don't forget from day to day. So I can stop having arguments and feeling like I'm losing them, because people just go 'but they got rid of Saddam so it's okay' and I stand there floundering around trying to say something about Hans Blix and how unjust and dangerous pre-emptive action is and how there was no proof of an urgent threat and how the government breached public trust and have not copped to any of it and how all that's pretty not okay. Not to mention all the death and mind-fucking. The mind-fucking has been what I've experienced. Damn crazy emphatic bastards, so 'strong' in their position, pointing at mine with a big loud "explain yourself you weak fool", and I'm like "Whaaa? YOU GUYS are the ones who've got the explaining to do" and they're like "Why?" and I'm like "Because you started a war, invaded a country, killed people and talked a whole lot of insupportable shit" and they're like "Why don't you marry Saddam if you love him so much" and I'm like "I didn't even say anything about Saddam Hussein!" and then they're like "Ha! Exactly! You never even mention him. But he was a brutal dictator, okay, so deal with that!" and then I'm like "But that doesn't address any of the legitimate points I've made" and they're like "Oh yeah? Tell it to the thousands of Kurds he gassed". And then my head explodes. Somehow, they're in a more powerful position and it makes no sense. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, I don't understand how anyone could vote for the Liberal party under any circumstances, but like, come on! These guys have gotta go down. They totally suck!
Monday, July 19, 2004
Sunday, July 18, 2004
Anyway, this morning I watched Malcolm X and it was really good. Highly interesting. And it held together much better than some of the other Spike Lee movies I've seen. I mean, I expect something highly interesting from Spike Lee as a matter of course, just because of the material and people he assembles, there's always some new cultural texture in the details. But his movies sometimes fall apart a bit. Like Bamboozled was highly interesting to me, giving a sense about the minstrel shows and all the 'coon' bric a brac that was around and the difficulties associated with success. And the dancing was amazing. I'm so glad I watched it. But still, the movie kinda fell apart towards the end. Anyway, all I'm saying is that in Malcolm X there wasn't that feeling of sitting through some bad times to get to the gold. It was solid. Strong black consciousness stuff makes me happy. I know this is twatty but I really get all 'yeah' and beamy whenever I read or see stuff about it. I just get happy. Like I read some Black Power stuff a few years ago and it was just great. Fine, judge me. All I'm saying is that it's interesting and engaging and smart and I dig that sort of stuff. Anyway, a really good movie. A big deal, methinks. And I loved the cameos by Al Sharpton and Nelson Mandela.
Saturday, July 17, 2004
Friday, July 16, 2004
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
"When will you people learn? You're not making Christianity better. You're making rock and roll worse!"
He he. Go Hank.
Monday, July 12, 2004
If that way inclined, check out a hilarious animated expose about Britney's fluctuating chest at Liquidgeneration.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
"The thing about eccentric types is that...they're just..so weird."
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Quote of the day, Leah!
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
Monday, July 05, 2004
Ooh ooh, gotta go. Mary-Kate and Ashley are on Oprah.
"Make an effort to 'follow' politics, much the way you would follow, say, sports or the career of J-Lo."
Ouch! That burns.
Sunday, July 04, 2004
...It seemed to Fermina that she had been trapped in this room for an irresponsibly long time. Just sitting and waiting forlornly, experiencing no plot progression whatsoever. She had almost begun to forget who she was. Almost. But she knew she was Fermina de la Saint Amour, emotionally neglected daughter of Count Daza of Madrid, a girl of rare beauty on the sensual cusp of womanhood in the year 1437. She knew this was her identity. But she wondered whether this identity had any place anymore, anywhere. She had fled from her father’s hostile home, she had broken free. But now what? Who was she, who could she be, in this new world? She was alone, but she was used to that. What was galling to her was that she was not independent, as she had expected to be. Rather, she found herself locked in the custody of strangers, whose motives or purpose had not yet been disclosed. All she knew of her captors was that one among them was deliciously adept at making pies and tarts of the highest order and of every conceivable taste. Fermina so looked forward to seeing what each meal would bring, and was so attentive to discovering the complexities of its ingredients, that she had been forgetting to clamour at the bringer and any other strangers she caught surveilling her to “let me out let me out who are you?!” Well, not this time. She was hoping for a lemon tart for dessert today, but irrespective of anything, she would make them talk to her.
Fermina had taken to singing in her cell to pass the time. She was in the throes of a melodramatic rendition of one of her favourite childhood nursery rhymes when she heard an approaching whistle pick up on the tune. Lunch! She stood up and brushed down her skirt, determined to be disarmingly sunny and charming. She was about to unleash a cheery “Good day to you!” when from the corridor the whistler broke off his tune and said, “Mama used to sing me that tune to soothe me in my cradle. She will be pleased that you know it… Though she tended to give it less intensity and abandon.” A spasm of confusion involuntarily afflicted Fermina’s brow. Her cheeks flushed. She had been working through her plan all morning, and this simply did not fit any of the scenarios for which she had rehearsed. She attempted to hastily scroll through the collection of witticisms she had been constructing, but found they had fled her mind, and besides, none of them had taken into account that the lunch bringer might talk first! She was at a loss. She took a breath and exhaled it. Suddenly cognisant of her physical being, she realised that in the world outside her inner scrambling she had been standing dumbly in the middle of her cell, her gaze unfocussed, her mouth indecorously agape, her bare right foot swinging and brushing against the stone floor. Hoping that her captor would see some charm in this gormlessness, she collected herself as imperceptibly as she could and snuck a look at him from under her lashes. She found laughing eyes taking her in from behind the viewing slot in the door of her cell. Clearly, it was her turn to speak. Less confidently than she had first imagined it, she uttered a soft, “Good day to you”. She felt her demeanour growing arch at the imputation of his merry twinkling eyes. When next she said, “I hope you are enjoying yourself”, she found her voice had taken on an offended, defensive tone, which she had not intended at all. Seemingly out of her own control, she was mortified to find herself turning huffily to take a seat on the bench against the wall which also acted as her bed. She sat, and appeared to glare at him from her new position, when in her mind she was imploring herself to “Stop it. Stop it. What are you doing? He’s talking to you. That’s what you wanted isn’t it? That was today’s mission. So why are you behaving like this?” She had no answer. She took a breath and tried again, hoping that there would be no trace of that unwelcome haughtiness in her voice, and asked “What have you brought me today?” Damn! Why didn’t you just say “What is for lunch” or “What have you got there, good sir”? Why include the implication that he is in a position of servitude, when clearly you are the one relying on his mercy and kindness, and salivating at the aroma of what you now assume to be his mother’s excellent cooking? TRY AGAIN! But before Fermina could make another attempt at solicitude, the man laughed and said, in a voice dripping sarcasm, “Well, my darling contessa, today we offer you a hearty luncheon of meat and vegetable pie, followed by a tasty apple and cinnamon dessert. I will leave it with you now and apologise without reservation for having the audacity to…” Fermina interrupted him before he could continue. “What did you call me?” Oh dear, still haughty. He raised his eyebrows. And smirked. “Yes. We know who you are. We have simply been waiting for your father to sound the alarm about your disappearance, to then reveal our possession and negotiate a price for your safe return. Sadly, he seems not to have noticed that anything is amiss. And it has been a week.” Fermina’s eyes began to prickle with anger and humiliation. Now she really intended the glare. She really wanted to scathingly counter this man’s rudeness and the pleasure he took in relaying to Fermina her worthlessness to her father, of which she was already quite powerfully aware. But then another thought struck her. She was in an impossible situation. She did not want to be returned to her father, but her only chance of being freed from this cell lay in her captors’ determination to return her to him. How could she now argue for her release when she had nothing to offer them that would match their expectations of what her father would pay? They might become impatient and inform him of her whereabouts. She had no time. She needed a plan. What could she do?
“I have no idea what you are talking about. My father? I have no father.” Hmmm, how true that was, Fermina thought darkly. I am not a liar yet. “My name is not ‘Contessa’, or whatever it is you have been calling me.” Yep, still not a liar. “My name is Lona Francisca.” Oh well, I’m a liar. Can’t be helped. “And who, may I ask, are you?"........
Oh, what a cliffhanger ending! Tune in for the next instalment which will be brought to you by Guy, in his own sweet time.
Saturday, July 03, 2004
The whole time I was watching it, I was imagining the moment when the costume person handed Meryl some of her wardrobe, like knee-high sports socks and 80s moo-moo type dresses, for example. What would she have thought? From LA to 80s Australia. I can just imagine her walking around the house vacuuming or something, taking the piss and putting on her Lindy Chamberlin accent.