Courtesy of the dolts at the Evening Standard:
Tom Cruise Has Baby Girl
Gee, this is big news. And I thought what made this story interesting was the “cult members brainwash starlet and then impregnate her with alien sperm” angle.
Congrats to Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes on the birth of their baby girl! And I like the name Suri. It’s catchier than Press Release.
In honor of baseball season, which has just kicked off in the United States, I would like to extend some friendly advice to the Londoners and various Europeans I see roaming the streets wearing New York Yankees baseball caps.
My dear friends, I totally understand why you think wearing Yankees merchandise is cool. The Yankees are probably the American sports team with the most global reach. As such, their logo is mistakenly considered to be a hip symbol of Americana, like Elvis Presley or handguns. But as your friend, I’m here to tell you that by wearing the Yankee logo anywhere on your person, you are sending out the following messages:
I Love Wussy Pretty Boys
Satan, Lord of Darkness, Is Swell
If Given the Chance, I’d Squeeze Derek Jeter’s Ass
These aren’t the kinds of signals you want to send out, are they? I didn’t think so. Now that you know exactly what the Yankees logo stands for, persist in wearing it at your own risk. Whatever you do, don’t wear it if you visit Boston. Otherwise, you might be beaten senseless by a guy with no neck.
Links:
Yankee Doodle Dimwit, Johnny “Benedict” Damon
Seven months ago today I started this blog. It was a total experiment, but I’ve had a lot of fun, met lots of cool people and stirred up some trouble. What more could a girl ask for? I hope you like this bigger and better site. I love it already. Thanks to Emily for bringing my vision to life!
Enjoy the party, but keep it down, will ya? Some of us have to work tomorrow. Well, not me, but other people…
I was working on my new blog all day and didn’t feel like cooking dinner. Luckily, the local greasy spoon was open for business. Behold my take-away delight:
What is this horror, you ask? It’s a jacket potato (a stuffed baked potato) filled with mayonnaise-drenched curry chicken salad that was heated up in the microwave. Like a lot of English food, it looks nauseating but doesn’t taste bad. (Guidebook writers, feel free to quote that last line.)
She read my previous post about missing Easter candy and her first thought wasn’t to send her dear sister some chocolate over in London. No, she sent me this photo of herself instead:
I went out for a walk this afternoon and I was pleasantly surprised to find that the Godless heathens in Covent Garden were open for business. While my neighborhood is boarded up like South Florida in hurricane season, the Garden was hopping.
Of course, I had to go shopping. I wandered into a store on Monmouth Street that looked cute and Parisian from the outside, but inside was some sort of hard-core bondage/dominatrix boutique. Ahem. Moving on, I bought a tube of Kiehl’s Lip Balm #1 (the best!) and then stopped in Neal’s Yard for some dairy-free ice cream (the only kind I can eat, boo hoo). This was probably the highlight of my weekend, such rich, soft and creamy “ice cream.” And to whoever pioneered the concept of vegan soft-serve ice cream, can I just say — Dude, you rock.
The weather was absolutely gorgeous today and I went out for a nice stroll. As I suspected, it seems this entire country has shut down until Tuesday. In my neighbourhood, the streets are virtually empty and almost everything is closed – except for Tesco, natch. Most convenience stores are closed, which is strange. The whole point of convenience stores is that they stay open all the time. And 99 percent of the pubs I passed were closed up. I didn’t think that Britons ever passed up a chance to get sloshed, so color me surprised.
Over in yonder U.S., almost everything is open on Friday, Saturday and Monday of this holiday period. Many restaurants, grocery stories and movie theatres will also be open on Easter Sunday. When I had a proper job, I never had Good Friday or the day after Easter off from work. Schools do shut down for a few days, but under the euphemism “Spring Recess.”
Today on my walk, I was passed by those double-decker tour buses filled with tourists, including Americans who are probably shocked that everything will be closed for the next four days. It’s strange being in a country that has no separation of Church and State, and whose commercial sector observes Christian holidays in such a way. While the sacred tenet of the separation of Church and State is only hanging on by a thread Stateside (unless the masses rise up), I’m thankful it’s still there in theory. I do think it’s sad, however, that Americans never seem to take a break from working. Most businesses would probably close on Friday and/or Monday if they weren’t so damn greedy.
Apparently, the new Indonesian version of Playboy is not going over too well. Though the bimbos who fill the pages of the
magazine’s first issue are fully clothed, Playboy’s offices have been attacked and the staff has gone into hiding.
From the AP: “This is all part of a conspiracy aimed at destroying Islam through the moral corruption of its younger generation,” said Mohamad Jamil, a protest organizer. “Therefore, there is no other choice than to destroy Playboy.”
Let’s just hope they don’t open a Victoria’s Secret at the Jakarta Mall.
Memo to Spike Lee: You should be tried at The Hague for cinematic crimes against womanity! How could you make a film with Clive Owen and then cover up that gorgeous face for over half the show? Why do you think women like me go to movies starring Clive Owen? I don’t care that he played a bank robber and needed to wear a mask. We could have just imagined him wearing it. You could have flashed a message at the bottom of the screen that said “Picture Clive in a Mask Right Now.” That would have worked fine. You should be glad I don’t know where you live.
Funnily enough, Clive still looked sexy, even in a mask.
As you probably guessed, I went to see Inside Man. Despite the aforementioned travesty, I must admit that Hollywood popcorn movies do not get much better than this. Denzel Washington was great in this movie, as was Jodie Foster. Because this is a film full of twists and surprises, I really can’t write much about it. While it’s primarily escapist entertainment, Lee (in his first “Hollywood” film) adds political asides here and there, mostly to do with racial politics. I especially liked the scene about violent video games and how they are mind poison for kids.
The beginning and the end of the film are set to very loud Bollywood music, which is lovely as music, but a little strange for this movie. But enough of that – now back to Clive. His attempt to speak in an American accent only earns him a C-. It was almost as bad as Natalie Portman’s mangled English accent in V for Vendetta, though nothing could be quite as bad as that. But as for his overall performance in the film? A+, of course. I’m grading on a curve.
Once in a while I buy the weekly magazine Closer, which is filled with paparazzi shots of drunken celebrities throwing up in gutters and the likes of Kate Moss covered in zits. And really, who doesn’t like to look at that kind of stuff? The ragazine is also filled with the worst kind of real-life horror stories you can imagine, but the headlines are just hilarious. Here is a sampling of the most recent issue I read:
Best celebrity gossip:
“Look at Charl’s Ga-Vain Boyo!”
Charlotte Church’s boyfriend, rugby star Gavin Henson, describes how he prepares for a game: “It takes me two hours to get ready – hot bath, shave my legs and face, moisturise, put fake tan on and do my hair.”
Poor Charlotte. She doesn’t realize she’s dating a drag queen.
These are real headlines:
“I Bought a New Vagina for My Husband”
“My Head Blew Up and My Skin Fell Off”
“My Fiancé Booked Me in for a Boob Op!”
“The Family From Hell: Leanne, 14, Drink Drives and Her Mum Moons in Public”
And the award for the most dramatic sub-head goes to:
Doctors at the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists have said that infants born under 25 weeks should be allowed to die, to avoid “blocking” intensive care cots. If they had their way, Lizzie’s son Edward might not have lived. [insert evil laugh]
And here are two headlines from the next issue:
“Tranny Nanny Stole Our Kids”
“Forced to Eat Dog Food by Evil Mum”
Can you believe this magazine only costs £1?
The Guardian newspaper interviewed acclaimed American feminist Catherine MacKinnon about her new book, called Are Women Human? Here is an excerpt from the Guardian piece:
MacKinnon’s book ends with a wonderful rhetorical essay called Women’s September 11. It points out that roughly the same number of women are murdered by men in the US each year as were killed in the Twin Towers (between 2,800 and 3,000). But those killings provoked no parallel war on terror.
So what does MacKinnon think should be done? She writes that violence against women “qualifies as a casus belli and a form of terrorism every bit as much as the events of September 11 do”. Is she serious that violence against women should be treated as a war? “I think only because it’s men doing it against women that it isn’t seen as a war.”
Two of my fellow expat bloggers in London, Jen and Vol, have written about a recent Financial Times article that discusses the large number of American immigrants to the UK. Americans even outnumber Bangladeshis! As of 2001, there were 155,000 US-born people living in Britain – and this doesn’t take into account the hordes of American students that take up residence here temporarily and drive everyone crazy. (This doesn’t include me, of course.)
The Financial Times article is only available via subscription so I haven’t been able to read the whole thing. But if they had interviewed me, I would have said the main reason there are so many Yanks here is because Americans are too lazy to learn a foreign language. So if you want to move to Europe and remain monolingual, well, you don’t have many choices. As for me, I’m learning French (she added cryptically). Seriously, though, I do think the lack of a language barrier is the main attraction. Americans are lazy and our school system sucks. Next stop, London!
I have been at my computer for 14 hours straight. Deadline hell. My back hurts. My head hurts. Life is cruel.
I’ve been listening to my iPod all day. I rediscovered Vitalogy by Pearl Jam. This is a good album. Whatever happpened to Eddie Vedder? Is he still kicking around? Now that I’m over 30, music news doesn’t penetrate my brain. (As evidenced by the fact that I still use the word “album.”)
I read that Gwyneth Paltrow named her latest spawn Moses. Apple and Moses? Ridiculous. I realize I have a weird name too, and a Biblical one at that, but at least my name doesn’t conjure up images of Charlton Heston.
Good night.
At least one of the two deaths recently attributed to the abortion pill RU-486 was caused by something else entirely, the FDA said today. The other death is still under investigation.
Not surprisingly, many in the right-wing were extremely happy to hear about these two deaths and didn’t bother to wait until the medical findings were released to practically gloat about the situation, which is disgusting. I just hope these recent findings are given as much press coverage as the original, erroneous reports. But I won’t hold my breath.
From the AP: “A prison officer faces punishment for showing the gay cowboy movie Brokeback Mountain to inmates at the state’s largest prison, a corrections department spokeswoman said.”
“I want to make it clear, it wasn’t the subject matter — it was the graphic nature of the sexually explicit scenes.”
I totally agree with this. Prisoners should be shielded from images of gay sex. It’s not like any of them have personal experience with it.
Easter candy is my favourite holiday candy of the year. Christmas and Halloween don’t hold a candle to it. My favourites have traditionally been Cadbury Crème Eggs and Reese’s peanut butter eggs, though newer additions to the scene, such as Snickers eggs and Mounds eggs are also quite holy and divine. Bliss. I also eat a few Peeps (pictured) each year. They are disgusting, but devouring a marshmallow chick is required of every American.
Given that I’m supposed to abstain from dairy products, Easter candy can be dangerous. But this year, I have totally resisted temptation and I think it’s because there isn’t much Easter candy here. True, this is Cadbury headquarters, but Crème Eggs are for sale here all year round, as opposed to in the States, where the luscious darlings appear at Easter and then vanish, making them rare treats. The rest of the candy I listed is not for sale here anywhere that I have seen.
In American grocery stores, for every holiday, there is a whole aisle set aside to be filled with all sorts of goodies related to that holiday, mostly candy and decorations. You cannot go grocery shopping in America right now without walking down a pastel-coloured aisle filled with Easter baskets and plastic green grass and Peeps and Reese’s eggs and…god, I’m making myself hungry. Perhaps such supermarkets exist outside of London. Perhaps people out in Crumpetville, UK, are stuffing themselves with Peeps right now. If so, I’m jealous.
Really, what I’m trying to say is, I would kill for a Reese’s peanut butter egg. I know, I know, a Reese’s peanut butter cup is similar, but it’s just not the same.
I went for another long walk today. Four miles. I walked from Bloomsbury down through Holborn, down Fleet Street, past St. Paul’s and to the City (London’s version of lower Manhattan).
I intend for these walks to be vigorous exercise, so I wear workout clothes. But I wonder if I should rethink this. Walking around today in black leggings, pink Timberland tennis shoes and my Graceland t-shirt, I sorta looked like a bag lady compared to all the business people in the financial district. (A bag lady listening to an iPod.) No one threw any cash my way and if they had, I probably would have kept it. Still, I’m not sure how to make myself more presentable while also being comfortable enough to work up a sweat. In addition, I wonder how much pollution I’m inhaling into my lungs? It’s probably better that I don’t know.
I was walking without any real sense of where I was going and I ended up outside the freaky skyscraper that looks like an Easter egg. The building sits at 30 St. Mary Axe. People refer to it as the “Gherkin” and other more obscene names. Up until today, I’ve only seen this building from afar. My opinion has been that it’s a blotch on the London skyline. I still hold this view, but I must admit that up close, it’s a beautiful structure (and surprisingly skinny). It’s a new building, London’s first environmentally sustainable skyscraper. It sits on the site of the former Baltic Exchange, which was bombed by the IRA in 1992. I guess the Exchange was structurally damaged to such an extent that it was necessary to build something new on the site. Such a monstrous building was given the green light because it is not in the “sight line” of St. Paul’s dome when viewed from specific locations around London.
I have had the most invigorating afternoon. I’ve been awaiting the arrival of spring so I can begin to explore the city on foot. I arrived here in mid-September and by the time I got settled in, the days were short and the weather was cold – no fun for exploring. I’ve been waiting in vain for the weather to warm up, but it’s still in the low 50s (Fahrenheit, obviously. Celsius is beyond my realm of comprehension.). So today I decided to just take the plunge and get moving (I actually had to dust off my sunglasses). I want to do several long walks each week as a way to see different parts of London and also get the exercise I desperately need. This afternoon, my step counter registered 6.5 miles – not bad!
I tread a familiar path today, from Russell Square down through Holborn and Kingsway to the Thames. I walked along Victoria Embankment, past the Houses of Parliament and down to Lambeth Bridge, then back through St. James’s Park and Green Park, where I caught the tube home. Here are a few memorable images:
Bad news:
Cute flower stall:
Protestors across the street from Parliament. One woman carrying a sparkly purple sign that said “Bliar” Is A War Criminal was suddenly surrounded by the police. Not sure why:
Clive Owen on the side of a bus. Not as tasty as Clive in the flesh (I’m imagining), but a fresh drink of water nonetheless:
A sea of daffodils in St. James’s Park. Totally exhilarating. Better for my mental health than hours of therapy (not that I can afford therapy here):
And finally, my favourite moment of the day, a zaftig squirrel that actually posed for me:
I hope you enjoyed these photos. I felt like a real dork taking them. I mean, chasing after a double-decker bus to take a photo of a movie poster is pretty lame. Most tourists wouldn’t even sink that low.
It’s funny, but I’ve been doing this blog since last September and I can never predict which stories will interest people. I wouldn’t have thought that my one-sentence Tesco rant would inspire people to e-mail me for more details.
The reason I hate/loathe/despise the Tesco Express in Russell Square is because….how to put this…okay, I’ve got it. Imagine you are sitting at home watching TV. An urgent news bulletin flashes on the screen, stating that in 10 minutes, the world will run out of food. Anyone who doesn’t go grocery shopping right that instant will starve to death. Now imagine what your local grocery store would look like after such an announcement. Are you picturing it? Good. This is what Tesco Express Russell Square is like every single day.
My local Tesco is a just a mini outpost of the grocery mega-chain, hence the “express” label. Unfortunately, there is no full-service grocery store in the immediate vicinity. If you want a big store, you have to hike down to the Sainsbury’s at Holborn or the big Tesco near Tottenham Court Road. This is not very convenient when you just want some eggs or paper towels. So this little Tesco is always completely mobbed with people. It would be bad enough if only local residents shopped there, but noooooooo. There are tons of hotels and hostels in this neighbourhood, so there’s never a shortage of Australians with backpacks the size of Bolivia trying to fit down the narrow aisles or Germans screaming at each other at the Krispy Kreme display. On top of that, it seems as if every single person who comes out of the Russell Square tube station heads right for Tesco.
A crowded grocery store is bad enough, but is it really necessary for people to push and shove and fight over food as if we’re in the midst of a famine? Why is it necessary to behave that way? Are we in Calcutta or Bloomsbury? Honestly, when you’re inside Tesco, it’s impossible to tell. And let’s not forget the woman who decides that the Tesco experience is not miserable enough already, no, she must bring a stroller/pram inside with her and then expect a bunch of angry (and apparently starving) people to move to the side to let her pass as she circles the aisles 60 or 70 times while only putting one or two things in her basket. People leave their dogs tied up outside next to the homeless dude. Strollers (with or without babies!) belong there as well.
So I hope this clears up why I think my local Tesco is the gateway to Hell. Oh, and did I mention I was in a bad mood today? Perhaps that’s obvious.
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