Monthly Archives: February 2007

Free Willy

So Daniel Radcliffe received rave reviews today for his role as a troubled – and naked – young man in Peter Shaffer’s “Equus”, and I couldn’t be happier for him, if only because the project could have been a disaster and he would have been absolutely freakin’ crucified for it if it hadn’t worked. The boy can act! Hurrah!

I am a bit miffed, though, because I had a free front row ticket for the first night of previews but the bloody thing fell through, and now not only am I too poor buy a ticket (£50 – yikes!) but a million drooling Harry Potter fangirls have bought every seat in the theatre from now until the end of time anyway.

Still, the thought of spending an evening only a few feet away from Dan’s dangly bits was a strangely disconcerting one, so I’m secretly relieved. Not that there’s anything wrong with them (as far as I know), but I’m old enough to be his mother and he’s very young and kind of cute and I really shouldn’t encourage my brain to think those kind of thoughts. Therefore, I can announce that both he and I had a lucky escape. Silver linings and all that.

One thing, though: the front page of The London Paper tonight had the greatest headline ever…

“DANIEL RADCLIFFE’S PENIS WOWS THE WEST END!”

And, just for an instant, I imagined his willy walking onto stage, doing a little dance, singing a song, possibly juggling some balls and then, with a final wink at the crowd, shuffling off into obscurity again.

I’d have bloody well paid £50 to see that.

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Earwiggers Of The World Unite!

The other day I stumbled across a fantastic website called www.overheardinnewyork.com.

You can probably guess the subject matter from the name, so I won’t insult your intelligence by explaining how it works, but I will say it’s one of the most hilarious sites I’ve ever had the joy to experience. It’s also a terrifying insight into the stupidity of the human race. I would say “the stupidity of Americans”, except there are many comments from tourists (including us Brits), so I won’t.

Read. Enjoy. Laugh. And then check out the site for yourself…

* * *

Little girl: Mom, I really, really want to jump off!
Mom: No, you really don’t.

–86th floor, Empire State Building

* * *

Dude: Can you stick out your freakishly long tongue again?
Chick: Only if you promise not to put a macaroon on it.

–Radio City Music Hall

* * *

Guy to everyone in movie theatre: Shhh, I’m recording this!

–Movie theatre, Court St, Brooklyn

* * *

Dude on cellphone: I saw Tim Burton on an interview the other day, and I said to my cat, ‘Snicket, behold a man who has never yet combed his hair!’

–AMDA entrance

* * *

God Squad lady: Praise Jesus! You won’t be saved without Jesus! You have to start believing in Jesus to be saved! Jesus will always be there for you!
Suit #1: Would it be so awful if we pushed her out when the doors open?
Suit #2: No. Jesus will save her.

–4 train

* * *

Mother with little girl: Excuse me. My daughter wants to know if you’re a pirate.
Woman wearing bandana: No. I’m just a lesbian.

–Crema Restaurante, 17th & 6th

* * *

Mother: Don’t you ever do that again! [slaps child hard]
Child, calmly: Well, are you happy with yourself?

–Union Square

* * *

Small child, trying a Sprite: I don’t like it.
Dad: If you don’t like the taste, just spit it out.
Mom: I’ve heard that one before.

–33rd & 7th

* * *

Mom: So, what kind of animals do you think we will see at the zoo?
Small boy: I think elephants and snakes… Mom? Are there also pretend things there, like dinosaurs and God?
Mom: I think we need to have a talk when we get home.

–N train near Union Square

* * *

And finally, the king of all overheard conversations…

Yuppie kid: Mommy shaves her hoo-hoo!
Yuppie dad: Okay, honey. Look, do you want your book?
Yuppie kid:I came in the bathroom this morning and asked Mommy what she was doing and she said shaving her hoo-hoo. Mommy shaves her hoo-hoo!
Yuppie dad: Dylan, remember when we discussed at-home conversations and outside conversations?
Yuppie kid: Yes.
Yuppie dad: Well, this is an at-home conversation.
Yuppie kid: Okay, daddy. [Sings to herself quietly] Mommmyyy shaves her hoo-hoo…
Black lady: See, home conversating, outside conversating — that’s bullshit. My kid says shit like that, I smack him. He won’t say shit like that again.
Yuppie dad: Okay, thank you, but I think our method works just fine.
Yuppie kid: Lady, do you shave your hoo-hoo?
Black lady: Oh, yeah, that shit is workin’ just fine. She’s all kinds of polite.
Yuppie dad: Okay, Dylan, this is our stop.

–R train

* * *

Genius, isn’t it? You’ll soon be as hooked as I am. I’ll bet you a macaroon.

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Quote Of The Day

From DCI Gene Hunt in tonight’s episode of Life On Mars:

“DON’T MOVE – YOU ARE SURROUNDED BY ARMED BASTARDS!”

I really wish they’d said that on Starsky & Hutch.

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I can’t think of a heading for this entry, so I’ll just amuse an old friend and say "Cram it, clown!" instead.

Just wanted to share a couple of comments from two emails I received this week:

1) (From my pal Stephen): “Thank you for introducing me to Supernatural. It’s been a pleasure!”

Another convert – it’s now his favourite show. Yaay!
And why aren’t I on commission, goshdammit?

2) (From an unnamed source, on the nekkidity in 300): “I love Gerard Butler as much as the next man, but do I really want his giblets in my face?”

I can assure you: no giblets. Just scowling. And a vast expanse of chest. And lots of chests behind him.

Lord have mercy, I wanna see it again.

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"I’m hot-blooded, check it and see… I got a fever of a 103…"

… And yes, I promise I will never quote lyrics from a Foreigner song on this blog ever again (blame Supernatural for making me listen to mullet rock). But they’re bloody appropriate anyway because I’ve spent the past six days feeling utterly wretched, unable to climb out of bed, either shivering or sweating or, failing that, coughing, and I’m so fed up of the whole “fever” thing now I could cry.

Being sick? Not my favourite thing.

I wouldn’t have made it if it hadn’t been for Shep. My little MacBook has stayed faithfully by my side throughout my entire illness and kept me entertained when everything else failed. I don’t know what I’d have done without him; particularly at 3am when I couldn’t sleep and was too shivery to climb out from under the duvet and he was just there, ready to hook me into the interweb and find me some daft website to keep me smiling.

I love you, Shep.

(Whirr)

Thankfully, I was just about well enough to make it to the press screening of 300 last night. Now I have to write a well-balanced and professional review of the movie without squealing about all the HALF-NEKKID MEN WITH OILED-UP CHESTS FIGHTING IN SLOW MOTION, but I’ll do it, because that’s my job. When I got home from the cinema I took my temperature and it was 102 degrees: I have a suspicion that wasn’t only because of my illness.

Incidentally, even without the male nekkidity, it’s a great film.* It’s due out at the end of March and I can’t recommend it enough!

And finally, I saw this at one of the platforms on the Bakerloo Line:

Heroes starts on Sci-Fi on Monday. Don’t miss it. It’s an absolute JOY.

* But the male nekkidity really fucking helps.

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A Long-Forgotten Moment Of Magic

I dug out an old, rickety cassette tape this afternoon to perk me up while I plough through more freelance writing than any sane woman should ever take on and expect to finish in one weekend. It was a crackly, ancient recording of Crowded House playing the Fleadh Festival in Finsbury Park on 11 June 1994, and as I listened I suddenly recalled how Crowded House were responsible for one of the most wonderfully serendipitous moments of my life.

Remember August 1997’s total eclipse of the sun? I spent it surrounded by pheasants and songbirds, standing in a field somewhere between Paignton and Brixham in Devon, and I’d decided to listen to Crowded House at Fleadh singing “Distant Sun” while the moon moved across that giant orb above me because, hey, perfect or what?

So before the eclipse began I stood in anticipation and pressed “Play” on my Walkman, immersing myself in the song “Fingers Of Love” as I waited for the moon to slide into view.

Time rolled on. The eclipse was about to start. The songbirds stopped singing.

Then Neil Finn’s voice, smooth in my ears, started to ad-lib as he spoke over the last, ominous chords of “Fingers Of Love”:

“Here comes the moon
Looking over the hill…”

A chill ran up my back. The moon sliced into the sun and the world around me turned to gold.

“Look at that sky, it’s amazing!” cried Neil.

Then Crowded House launched into the best live version of “Distant Sun” they ever gave.

Logically, I knew Neil Finn was talking about the sky above Finsbury Park on 11 June 1994. But he was also talking about the sky above a lonely field between Paignton and Brixham on 11 August 1999. It was, quite possibly, the single most electrifying coincedence I’ve ever had happen to me, and coupled with the magic of a total eclipse of the sun, it’s one that will remain with me until the day I die.

Listening to the concert again just now, I felt goosebumps rise up on my arms at the memory.

“When your seven worlds collide
Whenever I am by your side
And dust from a distant sun
Will shower over everyone…”

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is just one of the reasons why I’m so happy that Crowded House have reformed.

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With Apologies To Morecambe & Wise

I was on the phone to my friend Andy last night when this happened:

Me: You know, I think that…

[Pauses and waits for the wailing siren of a passing police car to die down]

Me: He won’t sell much ice cream going at that speed.

Boom boom! Though it wasn’t as funny as when Eric Morecambe said it, but hey-ho. Anyway, an hour or so later I was on the phone to my friend Paul when this happened:

Paul: And then they said…

[Pauses and waits for the wailing siren of a passing police car to die down]

Me: He won’t sell much ice cream going at that speed.

Boom boom again!

Except that this time was a little awkward, because a few minutes later another police car wailed away outside my window and, a few minutes after that, what sounded like an ambulance turned up. Eventually I looked out of the window and realised to my horror that an ambulance and two police cars were sitting in the road outside and three paramedics were performing what looked suspiciously like chest compressions on a man lying prone on the pavement.

I hung up on Paul then, feeling really bad that I’d cracked a joke about the police cars when someone was dying outside my window.

Then I called him back ten minutes later when it became clear that the paramedics hadn’t been performing CPR but actually holding the guy down because he was drunk as a skunk and violent and needed four people to throw him in the back of a police van.

I’m sure there’s a moral to this story, but I’m buggered if I can think of one.

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