Stuff n nonsense

Stuff that is currently totally harshing my gig hardcore and sending me into a batshit crazy ass frenzy of Global Proportions versus stuff that I freaking love which is making all the above stuff easier to handle so that I don’t walk into Mickey D’s and put a cap in yo ass:

Sad? That I already know who wins this season of Survivor. DAMN you to hell Channel Nine Programming Team. Your blatant disregard for the viewer and the fact that you don’t seem to realise that most of us HAVE THE INTERNET and that CNN and Yahoo and other sites I innocently click on, broadcast the name of the winner with scant regard for those of us who don’t reside in the US or Canada and are several episodes behind. Oh, and also who blew up the bus and several high school students on Season Two of Veronica Mars (although that is mostly my own stupid ass fault, but still - damn you, I say. DAMN YOU.)
Glad. The CW network in the States announcing that they’ve renewed Veronica Mars for a third full on kick ass awesome season. Seriously, this show is The Shit. Buy it, borrow it, download it* – I don’t care, just get your hands on seasons one and two SOMEHOW. And Arrested Development. And Deadwood. And if you haven’t seen Firefly yet, what the FUCK are you waiting for??

(*Downloading is bad m’kay?? I do not condone the illegal downloading of music or movies at all. Please don’t ask how I’ve seen Season Two of VM. Allegedly. Ooooh, look at . . . that pretty sunset . . .)

Crappy? My body’s pavlovian response to finishing a play – to whit, coming down with a cold that hasn’t really established itself in the snot filled capacity so much, but has nonetheless ensured that I’m not getting terribly great sleep, that I seesaw back and forth between “Wow its warm in here today” and “Does anyone have a jumper/hat/scarf/gloves/thermal heat pack/know the quickest way to get to Hades?” and that every bone in my skull aches.
Happy. The fact that thanks to the detox, I am now a fully functioning capable adult who only has (needs**) one weak skinny latte a day. Don’t need any more coffee at all, no siree bob, not this little black caffeine addicted duck . . .

(**craves/thrives on/would kill you all for)

Sucks to be me? The fact that I got Foxtel Digital last weekend which I self-installed in my bedroom, making me feel very proud of myself and causing me to puff up my chest and strut around in front of Fosse and PGiddy all “I am so the man in this house, for my next trick I’ll kill a spider and then put together a product from Ikea without reading the instruction manual or using the allen key” until last night when I realised that I’ve obviously missed a step because I can’t get my VCR to tape House on free to air at the same time that I’m watching America’s Next Top Model which I used to be able to do with analogue.
Not so bad? Because I have Foxtel Digital I watched House at 8.30 and then watched America’s Next Top Model on Fox8 2 (Fox8 channel repeated two hours later) at 10.30. Love!!

Bah. That a film based on The Worst Book I’ve Ever Read Seriously, is going to be the biggest thing in the cinema this year and will pull people away from seeing X-Men Three, The Last Stand. And Tom’s hair. Could someone PLEASE explain Tom Hanks’ hair to me? Anyone?? ANYone?? And if Hanks or Opie get themselves Oscar nominations out of this shitfest I will fly to H’wood and smack some bitches upside the head, TallulahB style. And can we cut it out with all the advertising brainwashing Go And See This Movie Or You’ll Have No Idea What Everyone Is Talking About And Maybe Die Alone and Friendless tie-ins please? I don’t want to have to solve some stupid puzzle to buy a burger or have a ‘clues’ to a ‘code’ banner across the bottom of my tv screen while House is on just so Joe Schmuck can win a grand on the radio the next day. I don’t CARE about your film, please stop shoving it down my throat, even the bullshit for MI:III was less annoying - Tom Cruise come back, all is forgiven, I have a couch here that you can jump on as much as you want!
Heh. This review. And this. Heh heh.

SOB! I got ridiculously over excited after finishing one play recently as thoughts of multi coloured, boy short haircuts flickered through my head (there may in fact, have been a dance of joy performed in the foyer of the theatre after the final show - witnessed by Purps, Tormy, Cruel Tutelage, Red, Jbird and Phoenix), only to show up to rehearsals of the next play to realise that my character needs Heidi style braided pigtails, therefore it must stay long and boring. And that my drivers licence needs renewing and my photo will have the boring hair. Fuck.
Wheeee! The knowledge that the Heidi hair is only for five more weeks (two weeks rehearsals, three weeks production). And I can always ‘lose’ my drivers licence and get a new one when I have my hair back, right? Sing a chorus of ‘You’re So Vain’ with me??!!

Ugh. Michael on Big Brother.
Sigh. Jamie on Big Brother. Shutup.

Hate. Having to read manuals because I’m a total luddite who really only just recently worked out how to hyperlink and post photos on this damn blog, let alone understand how to format this and reset that.
Love. (or at least total and utter lust) My new and totally hot mobile phone which has a video and a camera and plays MP3s and has a fabulous Sex and the City ring tone. Which I’m sure I’ll eventually work out how to programme so that I can use it. I need to really read the manual.

(Damn.)

Ten is the prettiest number that you've ever seen!

Ten whole fricken' days sans caffeine, sugar and fatty foods. I am ALL astonishment. I'm going to celebrate tomorrow with one coffee. Just one.



(But it will be a BIG one . . . heee heeeeeeeee)

Nein Nine

Today when the coffee van came I may have gotten a soy decaffe latte.

. . . that's not cheating, right?

Eight/Ate

I'm hungry.



That is all.

On the Seventh Day . . .

And lo, the Detox sayeth that there shall be trembling and a dryness of mouth. There shall be faint rumblings of thy tummy and thy temper shall be shorteth, ay, and there shall be a wont for chocolate that has not been witnessed since the Great PreMenstrual Blowout of Nineteen Ninety Three. But thou shalt not crumble, no! Falter, thou shalt NOT. Thy step will remain firm and steadfast as thou sees the light at the end of the long and dark tunnel of your journey.
And on that day, lo, there will be celebration.

(And you will not smack upside the head those who decided that seven days into your detox would be the PERFECT time to bring a coffee machine and filtered coffee into the office and leave in the kitchen with what I'm sure they thought was an incredibly generous offer for anyone to use it, but which actually makes you want to spontaneously combust with need every time you walk past it.)

Day Six (four more to go!)

The tiredness isn't as much of a factor anymore and I seem to be sleeping better. I am literally counting down the days when I can have coffee again but I will curb my intake now, maybe only two a day instead of the usual four which is sometimes five . . .

My usual Monday morning gut wrenching urge to rip people's heads off would appear to be . . . absent. My co-workers appreciate this, but I don't know if this can be attributed to the whole 'no coffee' thing or the fact that viewing American Dreamz on the weekend has sapped the very will to live from my bones.

Seriously. Detox combined with crappy low par film about tired reality tv show starring Hugh Grant and Stifler's Mom? Oy to the suck. Well, at least my mum enjoyed it. And the tickets were free - thanks Red!! Kisses!!

(And we did get the teaser trailer for Superman Returns and it looks stupendous. Great visuals - I do love director Bryan Singer. Marlon Brando's bit from the original Christopher Reeve version where he says how he has sent them - being, us earthlings - his only son? I got a little verklempt, I don't mind telling you. Tears were welling.* And he's no Chris Reeve - may he rest in peace - but nonetheless Brandon Routh looks a hell of a lot like he could be his son. The chin, the eyes, the Superman kiss curl in his hair. Gorgeous. They didn't show Lex Luthor but I am really looking forward to seeing how hammy Kevin Spacey gets playing Lex - Gene Hackman's turn as 'Mr Lutor! Mr Lutor!' is one of my favourite Hackman performances, closely followed by his turn in Mississippi Burning - but I can wait several years to see Kate Bosworth as Lois Lane, I think she's woefully miscast and a terribly boring actress.)



*That's a REALLY bad pun that you'll only get if you know that Tom Welling plays Clark Kent on Smallville. So basically, that was for Shaneequa.

Day Three

The detox? So far, so okay. I've been drinking a herbal drink that's meant to be a caffeine replacement. Its called dandelion root herbal tea or something. I don't know, it resembles coffee once you add soy milk to it and it tastes reasonably okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay . . . but it's not coffee.

But I'm okay . . .
I am. I'm fine.

Except I'm constantly tired at the moment which I am blaming on the lack of caffeine and the newly discovered fact that like most humans, I do require more than five hours of sleep a night. I am NO Winston Churchill - who existed on four hours a night. The big showoff. I don't know that I could run a country and make all those awesomely stirring speeches and defend freedom on four hours a night. Although he also used to take an hour nap every afternoon. That? Would be sweeeeeeeet. I could do that. I could make up a little bed below my desk like George Constanza in that one episode of Seinfeld. I loved George. I thought that Jason Alexander was the best thing in that show, Kramer was too showoff-y, Jerry couldn't act and Elaine's hair was too high. My dad says I remind him of Elaine. I also randomly push people and have been known to dance like a kook. I like that word. Kook. Say it out loud with me . . . kooooooook. It clicks in your mouth. My mouth is a little dry, I need some water . . .

I'm a little punch drunk right now.
Am . . . am I . . . babbling??

*breathe breathe*

THERE IS CAKE IN MY OFFICE. CHOCOLATE CAKE.

I have had THREE people ask me if I want some. I am thinking of getting a sign, or a t-shirt that says "I am currently DETOXING, please do not feed me".

I gave up coffee today . . .

. . . for the next ten days while I'm doing a Blackmores 10 Day Detox.

Don't fuck with me, I will get medieval on your ass. The slightest provocation will inspire yelling, screaming, the reckless pointing of fingers, tanties of a nuclear nature and spazz attacks the like of which have not been seen since Tonya Harding's iceskate laces came undone during the winter Olympics. (And the word 'fuck' may appear a teeny little bit more in my posts over the next ten days as I have given up coffee.)

Coffee.
Given up.
Nooooo coffee.
Nada caffeine.
Less latte, heaps herbal.
Cappuccino? No-a-thank-you.
Espresso shot? Not.
No Nescafe, no International Roast (although really, who would miss International Roast, right?) no decaffė, nuttin'.

Oh, and it hasn't even opened yet and I am already officially OVER Mission Impossible III.
OVER.
So fuck off Tom Cruise.

AND the Da Vinci Code. Yes, you can fuck off as well, Tom Hanks. And take your serial killer hair with you.

Bah.

Booyah

Do y'all remember my previous post regarding the Green Room Awards ?

Well kids, in lieu of actually getting to give him a big hug personally, everybody give it up for Fosse, whose production of The Laramie Project won Best Production (Fringe/Independent Theatre) this Sunday in the 2005 Green Room Awards. A thoroughly deserved win for an incredibly moving and beautiful play, performed and directed with clarity, insight and a pleasing lack of heavy handedness (as are all his plays).
Kudo's to Fosse and the company on their win.

(cue massive amounts of squeeing from the theatre whores who read my blog - which is pretty much just . . . Shaneequa)

Say it with me everyone, loud and proud (and in manner of overexcited US Marine cheering the President)

. . . for Fosse . . .

BOOYAH!!

That Brokeback Got Me Good

I'm sorry, but the bunnies are at it again . . . just awesome.

Go away

Go away Simone Warne.

Yes, I know you stiff upperlipped your way through the hideous freakshow that was your very public marriage breakdown to that cheating scumbag and I admire you for sticking by him the first time because you didn’t want your children to suffer (although I would have left his wandering ass, because you get ONE chance. One. And by one, I don’t mean you get to cheat on me and then you get another chance after that because that, my friend, would be your SECOND chance and . . . no no no no and no.)
I commend your willingness to try and make it work, at the same time that I don’t think anyone should stay in a shitty situation ‘just because of the kids’. Believe me, the kids hate the shitty situation as much as you do (although most kids parents marriage breakdowns aren’t splashed across the New Idea sitting on their best friends coffee table for all to see before her mum hurriedly whisks it away muttering about stupid rubbish magazines and she doesn’t know why she buys them and you shouldn’t pay any attention to them anyway and how about you kids watch that M rated movie she never lets you watch but will now because she’s desperate to distract you from the picture of your dad texting some British tramp who appeared in Hello magazine in a French maid costume designed to make her look ‘saucy’.)
Regardless of your 'bravery in the face of tragedy and national ridicule', I am OVER seeing you on any show that has the word ‘Celebrity’ in the title, because other than Nicole Kidman, when did the rule get passed that your husband cheating on you makes you more famous than you deserve? And even if you hogging the space inside trashy weekly mags does mean less stories on the latest chapter of Paris Hilton Did Another Dumb Thing, I am still heartily sick of you.

Buh-bye.

Oh, and go away Paris Hilton.

(Seriously. Read the above linked Paris Hilton story, is it still April Fools? It . . . can't be for real, right?)

The King ain't dead

(and Randall Flagg is the devil)

“Nobody was really surprised when it happened, not really, not at the subconscious level where savage things grow.” Carrie, 1974

I was going to write about Stephen and another author Laurell K Hamilton but I got started and realised I loved/loathed/had SUCH an opinion on so many of his books and his writing that he had to stand alone. Fair enough, especially when you consider that King has also written as Richard Bachman, whom I have reviewed here separately - I think King would approve, I mean the man held a mock funeral for Bachman after he was unmasked and his book The Dark Half is a thinly veiled ‘spookier’ version of how the pseudonym affected his life.

(The) King . . .
No-one is perfect. This is true of everyone. Even The King.
Dude has had a LOT of misses (The Tommyknockers, The Dark Half, Dream-PfftDon’tYouMeanNightmare-catcher which was, and I don’t think this is coincidence, the last King book I bought but that may change because I kind of want to buy his new book Cell – mmmmmm zombies . . .) but he has had sooo many hits, so very very many hits.
The Stand, Carrie, IT, The Shining, Christine, Misery, The Dead Zone.
Classic American literature.
Classic.
And also? Scare the pants off you scary. I can’t read The Shining unless I have checked under my bed, made sure the doors and windows are locked and that there is someone else within audible screaming distance (should Jack Torrance – who of course in my mind wears Jack Nicholson’s face, damn it – leap out of my closet with a mallet and chase me up some stairs *shudder*)
The first time I read IT, I couldn’t walk past those grates in the side of the road for WEEKS, I caught a cold the first time I read The Stand (I’m very impressionable) and Christine has meant that I am SUPER nice to my car. Love my car. LOVE. (Just in case she’s reading my blog although I don’t know how she would get the internet connection. But she could! She’s very smart! Smart car!)

I feel like he drifted for a while after Misery, like he got bored writing good stuff and thought he'd give crap a good solid try. The Tommyknockers and Needful Things were written then, and both novels have always felt more like they were written by Dean Koontz (don’t get me started. Hack.) And yes, Dolores Claiborne is in there as well (and might I add, that ‘sometimes being a bitch is all a woman has to hold on to’ is a GREAT line) and The Green Mile, but so is Insomnia. Which actually put me to sleep. Honestly. I have NEVER fallen asleep reading a book in my life, except when I was reading Insomnia. In 1999 King was hit by a car whilst out walking – his injuries included a shattered hip and collapsed right lung that kept him in hospital for several weeks and bedridden for even longer and I personally blame whatever drugs he was on at the time for the utter fucking shambles that is Dreamcatcher. Ugh.

His novel on writing called, not terribly imaginatively ‘On Writing’, is actually a pretty damn interesting read for anyone who isn’t a professional writer, ie us. He’s taken on new forms of media for his novels, ‘publishing’ a couple via the internet and reinvented the old, releasing The Green Mile as an ‘olde tyme’ serial (I bought each book as it came out and hungrily devoured them, desperate to know how he would save John Coffey from the electric chair . . . *sob*)
He is inarguably the most prolific and well known American writer in generations. If you haven’t read one of his books, then you’ve seen one of his films – even if you didn’t realise it at the time. I remember many arguments trying to convince people that The Shawshank Redemption and Stand By Me were Stephen King stories. Currently they are filming Nightmares & Dreamscapes in and around Melbourne – a friend has hit the acting jackpot and has scored himself a role (he was astounded to discover he was actually allocated a TRAILER on set) - Desperation was made into a feature movie for US ABC starring Ron Perlman (Hellboy/Alien Resurrection) that’s apparently on there sometime in May (God knows when we'll be able to see it) and The Talisman (I completely heart that book and its sequel The Black House, both co-written with Peter Straub) is currently still in pre-production hell.


Richard Bachman : I haven’t attempted to reread any of the novels he wrote as Bachman in recent times, but I do recall reading The Bachman Books, a collection that includes short stories The Running Man, The Long Walk, Road Work and Rage in the car one summer - we must have been driving from the Pilbara down to Perth to visit my grandparents. I remember that The Long Walk and Rage had me in tears. In retrospect Rage is even sadder, dealing as it does with the story of a student bringing a gun to school and holding his classmates hostage. When the massacre at Columbine occurred, I recall I commented to someone that it was just like a book that Stephen King had written. It did not surprise me at all to read a few years later that King had advised his publishers not to do any further printings of that story or the Bachman Books and you can now only find them at secondhand bookstores. His writing as Bachman seemed . . . simpler. A lot more . . . accessible? But not as good, not as well written, not as seep-into-your-bones and definitely not as psychological as his work as King – Bachman stories were less about creepy things that go bump in the night or lurk in the minds of men, and more about futuristic possibilities. As a teenager they were fun. As an adult, I don’t know that I’d enjoy them. A little like going back and watching Degrassi Junior High - still a pretty good show but it hasn’t held its age the way say, Press Gang has. Put Running Man or Long Walk up against IT or The Stand and they suffer quite badly in comparison. They’re King’s middle children, they’re Jan Brady.

In short, he is still The King. I suspect he always will be. I immediately flick to his fortnightly column on Pop Culture in Who Weekly before I read anything else (yes, even before the stories on the state of Britney and K-Fed’s marriage or how Tom Cruise is annoying everyone this week). I return to the worlds he has created in his books regularly and I eagerly await the day Cell is released in paperback* . . . . seriously, zombies!!

Long live The King.

*(A real fan would buy it in hardcover, you say? Sod off, I have tiny wee child sized hands and hardcover books make them owie . . . )

Eat your fucking vegies.

A still from a student film I did with the lovely Zara who would appear to have dropped off the face of the earth . . .

Its a fake gun. Which I yelled at the many many passers-by who stopped to watch us film but didn't necessarily notice that there was a crew with a camera, hence I wasn't actually about to shoot Zara's brains out . . . this time . . .

*evil cackle*

(Yeahhhhhhhhh, it ain't a particularly flattering angle . . . chipmunk cheeks anyone??)

Reason number 5,325,684 to love him

Sigh.

The tux

He should wear a classic Armani tux always.
When he gets up in the morning, he should take off his night tux and put on the day tux.
When he swims, (because I hear that swimming is really good for your back) he should wear the tux.
When he goes grocery shopping (although, who are we kidding, right? But nonetheless, if he did his own grocery shopping) he should - say it with me . . . wear the tux.
When we meet for coffee in that charming little cafe near his Italian house where he arrives early and pre-orders me a skinny latte with a touch of caramel because he knows that's how I like it, he should wear the tux.
When he meets my parents, whom will love him because my mother always liked him on that ER show and because my father will just be happy I've made a decision on whether or not I'm a lesbian, he should wear the tux. (Even if he will be hideously overdressed because my dad is a shut-in and thinks a wifebeater and stubbies is appropriate for meeting potential son-in-laws.)
And on the day that he falls to his knees and asks me to marry him (thereby causing him to have to pay scads of money to Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts who have bets with him that he'll get married again, breaking the hearts of women and gay - and straight - men everywhere) he MUST WEAR THE TUX.
Always.

Enjoy.

Please please please

I refuse to get excited or worked up about the Oscars. I quite desperately want George to win but I will NOT get my hopes up (Paul Giamatti, I am trying not to hate you, its not your fault you didn't get nominated last year for Sideways when you should have and I think you know that if you win today that you're winning for that film and not Cinderella Man, so we are cool. Its the Academy I'll be pissed at.)

Basically most of the Big Awards are two horse races with Fairly Clear Favourites :

Best Supporting Actress - this is really between Rachel Weisz and Michelle Williams but Weisz has won everything except the Bafta where she was inexplicably nominated for Best Actress instead of Supporting and lost to Reese Witherspoon. Expect her to come away with this as well.

Best Supporting Actor - oh, it hurts. He's nominated for three - THREE - Oscars and this is the one he should have been the shoe in for, but the race between George Clooney and Paul Giamatti is ridiculously close, too close for me to call without potentially breaking my heart. (And yes, we see you there in the corner in your tux, Jake Gyllenhaal and we think you were WONDERFUL in Brokeback Mountain but darling you're not in the race. But kisses!! And I will see Jarhead, I promise!)

Best Actress - Felicity Huffman versus Reese Witherspoon. This is a tricky one. The smart punter would say Reese has already made space on top of the tv at home for a certain gold, sexually ambigious statue but don't be surprised if Felicity's dusted off the top of her bookshelf as well. They've shared enough of the other awards for this to be Annette Bening/Hillary Swank 1999 redux. I haven't seen either film so can't comment on who deserves it more, but I think Felicity is an amazing actress and Reese is just kind of coming into her own and will have plenty of time to win another one. I would like this to go to Felicity but its too close to call.

Best Actor - there is a possibility that Heath Ledger will take this away from Phillip Seymour Hoffman, but only in the same way that there is a possibility that I was on that grassy knoll and shot JFK. Also? Apparently Phillip made a bet with some friends (including Capote writer Dan Futterman) when they were young and this kind of thing was just a dream, that the first one of them to win an Academy Award would bark their acceptance speech. That? Would be awesome.

Best Director - Not really going to be anyone else but Ang Lee. If George wins this (which would be fantastic but highly unlikely) I will buy a hat just so I can eat it.

Best Film - Based on other film awards (Directors Guild, SAGs, Critics Association, Golden Globes, Bafta's etc) this is between Crash and Brokeback Mountain. Now I loved the shit out of Brokeback, I haven't been that moved by a film in a long time, I mean I saw it twice in four days the week it opened, I really really liked it and I've also seen Good Night and Good Luck which is also about as perfect a film as you can get, but due to my *ahem* alleged adoration of the director and co-star of GN&GL, my housemates Fosse and PGiddy have disallowed any and all opinions I might hold about that film. They think I'm too biased. Ridiculous. Regardless, as FUCKING BRILLIANT as GN&GL may or may not be (it is, I promise, it IS) Best Film will be Crash or Brokeback. My money is still on Brokeback, although there is talk of a backlash against the film which could see Crash win. Which would make me unhappy. Very unhappy.

So, thems the biggies. Tis a strange year - there are some wins that seem obvious but the Academy has been known to do some bizarre things. How else can you explain that Forrest Gump won best film the same year that Pulp Fiction, Quiz Show and The Shawshank Redemption were nominated, except that quite obviously the cocaine in Hollywood was especially badly cut with generic brand baby powder that year?? Who knows what the coke is cut with this year.

We can but wait and see . . .

(and avoid the internet and the radio and news broadcasts until 8.30 tonight when the telecast starts on Ch9)

Cock a doodle doo

In lieu of him beating his own chest and standing on top of our house and proclaiming that he is indeed King Of The World, let me take this opportunity to pimp Fosse. A play he directed last year (The Laramie Project) has been nominated for Best Production (Fringe/Independent Theatre) in the 2005 Green Room Awards. For those who don’t live in Melbourne or frequent the independent theatre world, this is pretty big. Fosse is already a highly respected director within the world of amateur theatre and this is (fingers crossed) the start of some recognition outside of that – leading to paid directing work, bigger and better productions and parts for me.
And this is I think, especially exciting for Fosse, because one of the Patrons of the GRA is Rachel Griffiths* whom he swoons over. So massive props and a little raising of the roof for Fosse!

*Aside
Channel Nine? Hello? May I speak to Eddie Macguire? Thanks.(mmmmmmbopadipadabawhoobopadiddyyabammmmmmmbop**) Yellllllo, oh hey there Eds, how goes it? Condolences on Kerry’s death but congratulations on being given the head honcho possie at Nine, dude. Sweeeet. Yeah. So who is taking over Millionaire . . . really? Interesting choice, I mean I was available and all but . . . you didn’t get my CV? No, no, no, I understand completely, I mean you can’t be expected to read everything that crosses your desk, right? Nah man, s’cool. You want to make up for it? Okay. Um. Well, HOW ABOUT YOU AIR THE FINAL FUCKING SEASON OF ‘SIX FEET UNDER’ HUH, EDWARD? Just a small request, you know, when you have time. Anyway, congrats again on the new job. Best of love to the wife. Take care.

** I love it when hold music is cheesy nineties pop . . .

(My continuing post of my favourite authors is coming but the Stephen King one is currently a five page essay and needs to be culled. I mean, you don’t care about the ongoing themes of absent parental figures in his earlier works or the way his books lost their edge after the birth of his third child or his use of parentheses, right? Exactly. It comes.)

Smell THIS greasepaint

From an email conversation betwixt myself and Shaneequa about the incredibly unreliable people you can meet doing a play during which I let loose in a nasty but thoroughly deserved way . . . ( this is a play that I was asked to step into six rehearsals out from opening, its not a huge role, it is of middling size but six rehearsals - or just over a week - is still a BIG ask and I only agreed because I admire and love Fosse and desperately want him to cast me in something he directs at some point. Ahem. Sucking up portion of today's blog completed. Continue . . . )

Oh, and Fosse is not the director mentioned, he is acting in the play . . .

Email : DUDE. Do NOT even get me started. Woh, too late . . . at the tech run for (current play Tallulah is in), people actually thought they would be able to leave at FIVE o'clock because that's when they normally finish rehearsals on a Sunday. Members of the cast had made other plans. WTF??!! Apparently none of them have ever done any theatre before, ever. EVER.* And the director was all ready to let them leave (and please bear in mind that at this point, ONE rehearsal before we opened, I still hadn't done a full run-through of the play. There were still scenes that I hadn't done at all. We had Monday rehearsal left and that was it, audience in on Tuesday, thanks very much).
It was only the fact that one of the committee members was there and could hear Fosse and myself rolling our eyes in disbelief and clucking our tongues for all we were worth - and basically losing our shit - that he stepped in and overruled the director and said I'm sorry but you shouldn't have made plans on a day when you're doing a tech and dress rehearsal, you have to stay, cancel your plans (causing one of the girls to burst into tears and the others to bitch furiously in the dressing room at the director, the committee and us for having the temerity to want to do a FULL FREAKING RUN two days before we open, I mean can you believe the rudeness of wanting a full run, its crazy talk!!)
If we hadn't done that I'd have had one full run. One. I was freaking out that they were all going to leave and we'd have only half the cast for the dress rehearsal.
And the bitching, oy the bitching.
And the bint who came and talked to us who Fosse can't stand? - she threw a massive hissy fit because the company wouldn't organise a BABYSITTER for her. She wanted to bring her son to each performance and have someone look after him and the company said I don't freaking think so lady**. And she threatened to walk out. Gah.
The director was apparently thinking of getting her to play the character I'm doing and Fosse nearly died and I think it was at that point that he threw my name into the mix "she's not the right age but at least she can act . . . " And bint is another 'professional actor' and she's fucking useless on stage. Training RUINS some people. She's also the kind who constantly says "well, I've done professional theatre and I've never known a tech run to run so overtime" to which I responded "well, I've been doing amateur theatre for over ten years and this is what its like when people WHO DON'T DO IT FOR A LIVING AND ARE UNPAID VOLUNTEERS GIVING UP THEIR OWN LIVES TO PUT ON A SHOW muddle their way through things, and yeah, sometimes it takes a lot longer than you think it will, I've know tech runs to still be going at midnight princess.***"
End Email

So I say kudo's to Shaneequa for resisting the urge to smack people upside the head at her own recent tech/dress run. Tech runs are THE BEST!! 'Cause yeah its 'just' amateur theatre and people have lives outside their current production, but if you agree to take the part, then you agree to a certain amount of time waste-age. And seriously. No director I have ever known (and this includes you Shaneequa) has ever been able to stick to a timetable for a tech run - they're extremely complicated and frustrating things. So actors? When you are required for a tech run - which is not always - keep quiet, listen to the director and stage manager, move when told, speak when told, shut up when told and stop fucking around with the props because the quicker the techies get the lights and sound completed and ready, the faster we get to get into costume and makeup and get to the fun bit. Its all just common sense really. Sigh.

* and to look at their bio's in the programme, I know this is not so. They've all done a lot of theatre and should have known better.
** there are potential insurance liability issues here.
*** only I said it nicer. A bit.

The fish turned towards shore.

I am greatly saddened by the death of Peter Benchley a week ago. Regular readers (yes, you three) will know about my deep abiding love of his most famous novel and its subsequent blockbuster of a film, Jaws - I have talked about The Best Movie Spielberg Ever Made In My Opinion Thanks almost as many times as I've mentioned The Clooney . . . . well, maybe not as much as I talk about The Clooney because lets face it, I don't think I've done a post recently that hasn't mentioned George, but I digress.

Peter Benchley is dead. So sad.

But that got me thinking about his other books - most of which I've hated - which has lead me to ponder, who are my favourite authors? Could I do a Tallulah's Top Ten Inspiring Ink Slingers? The answer is yes and no. Yes, I could. And in fact have . . . please read on . . . but not a Top Ten, I could only manage a Top Eight . . . ( and a caveat here - whilst I love the authors I will discuss over the next week, I hasten to add that I don't love all their works unconditionally. For instance, I loathe Austen's Emma - the selfish little cow - and think Benchley's White Shark is easily the worst book I've ever read . . . oh hang on no it isn't, yes Stephen King's Dreamcatcher I am looking at you. So I adore these authors most of the time, but do admit that, like any writer, they can sometimes be a tad hit and miss. *coughLaurellKHamiltoncough* . . . and also that they are in no particular order.)

Douglas Adams . . . aaah Douglas. Douglas of my heart. There are two things I would save if my house was burning down (this is assuming that there are no human shaped things still in need of saving) and they are : my cat Giles and my signed copy of HitchHikers Guide To The Galaxy. This is the only other book (along with Jaws) that I have owned multiple copies of - I actually currently own two, the one I can read and the signed one. Shut up. I got it signed when Douglas was here for a Science In Film convention about seven years ago and it represents one of my most cherished possessions.

I discovered his books only after falling in love with the TV series of HH and along with Pratchett, he is one of the few authors whose books I reread on a regular basis. His death upset me greatly and I sobbed openly when I saw the film of HH and the incidental music from the TV show started playing. And yes, I was one of those geeks in the cinema with you who was quoting along with the film. We should all love this man, if only for the Art of Zen Driving, the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster and the fact that he surmised that the love of the British for cricket is the reason Earth has been left alone by aliens. His dissertations on the stupidity of sheep are completely hilarious.

Terry Pratchett . . . Tezza. I have quite a few signed copies of Terry's works. In fact, I once played Nanny Ogg in the first Australian production of Wyrd Sisters and at a book signing when I told Terry I was in the play, he looked me up and down and pronounced that I must be Nanny Ogg. For those who don't know her, she's a short, dumpy witch with an unfailingly cheerful disposition, a tendency to get drunk and sing at the top of her lungs and who owns a particularly mean and nasty tomcat (Greebo) whom she babies ridiculously.
The only real difference between the two of us, is that my kitty isn't mean, nor nasty and is in fact only slightly dumber than the nearest box of hammers. Bless him.

The Discworld books are a triumph.
It must be said that for a while there I did think Terry had gone slightly off the boil, to the point where he was recycling the same storyline ad nauseum. I am delighted to announce that he is right back on track and his last couple of books have been quite good. I just wish he'd get Carrot and Angua married. Or at least get them talking again about the fact that he's (just quietly) the heir to Ankh-Morpork's crown (strawberry shaped birthmark, sword and all) and she's a werewolf who doesn't want to lump the (potential) King with furry children. Also, the Patrician and Ridcully and his merry band of Wizards - the Bursar, the Dean, the Chair of Indefinite Studies etc - are some of the funniest characters ever created. I'd just like a teensy bit of closure for some of them. Other than that, carry on Terry. Good work, that man.

Authors still to come :

Stephen King, Laurell K Hamilton, Jane Austen, Jasper Fforde, Peter Benchley and Sarah Bunting. (Sarah who? You'll see . . . )

I'll sing it to the world . . .

I can't afford to see Split Enz on their re-union tour but I'm fine about that, people - nothing to see here.

(I mean, its not as if Neil Finn was my first ever crush and I've loved him since I saw him in the I Got You music video on Countdown one dusky summer Sunday afternoon. Or that I missed the EnzSo tour in both Melbourne and Perth due to a phenomenally badly timed interstate move. Or that Neil Finn is a god. Or that it is going to be incredibly sad because Paul Hester won't be there. Or that Neil is GOING TO SING MESSAGE TO MY GIRL AND I WON'T BE THERE TO SEE IT. )

I. Am. Fine.
Really.

I'm FINE.

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU LOOKING AT? HAVEN'T YOU EVER SEEN A GROWN WOMAN SOB AT HER WORK DESK?!

*sniff*

Bunny aliens, bunny Freddy Kreuger and bunny Frankenfurter. No, seriously.

http://www.angryalien.com/

Because there is pretty much nothing funnier than a bunny saying in all seriousness that "You're going to need a bigger boat". Watch them all, I dare you to be able to stop at one . . .

The power of three??

Not to sound obsessed or anything over here, but the Oscar noms are virtually minutes* away and if The Clooney isn't nominated for at least three** I'll be superpissed. In my heart he already has one of the little gold statues on his mantle next to his two Golden Globes (which he actually has) and a framed portrait of me (which, I'm guessing he doesn't).***

*Okay its still a couple of hours but I'm excited!

** Supporting Actor - Syriana
Director - Good Night and Good Luck
Screenplay - Good Night and Good Luck (with Grant Heslov - who you might remember as the third member of the Arnold Schwarchneggor/Tom Arnold spy unit from True Lies, and what is it with actors writing these days? George and Grant on this, Dan Futterman - he played Robin William's son in The Birdcage - co-wrote Capote which Phillip Seymour Hoffman keeps winning EVERYTHING for. It's awe-inspiring and freaking me out all at the same time.)

***And in my heart is where that is likely to stay. Bloody Paul Giamatti.

Editors note : now the nominations are out I stand corrected on one point, Dan Futterman didn't co-write Capote, he is nominated solely for Best Adaptation. He's still not as dreamy as The Clooney, though in the spirit of a fellow nominee, I wish him well. On a side note - GO THE CLOONEY!!

Damn you to hell, you talented bastard

Gah. Paul Giamatti won Best Supporting Actor at the SAGs. This does not bode well for George's Oscar win hopes.

I say again, gah.

Oy to the fey

I've had a gay old weekend, quite literally. Australia Day was spent with the sold out crowd at the Rivoli's one o'clock session of Brokeback Mountain, Saturday night I went to a cabaret performance at Chapel off Chapel called Wooing In The Woods for the Midsumma Festival (for those not in the know, the Midsumma Festival is Melbourne's Gay & Lesbian yearly festival) where lots of Sondheim and Other Great Musical Numbers were sung exceedingly well at me, and then Sunday I went back to the Rivoli with Shaneequa to see Brokeback again. I kinda loved the fuck out of that film.

Oscar noms are announced tomorrow and the SAG awards just started in the States so keep your fingers crossed for nominations for Our Boy Heath (even if he doesn't win, which I still don't think he will, we'll see what happens today with the SAGs) and more importantly The Clooney. He picked up TWO nominations in the Best Supporting Actor category at the BAFTA's for Good Night and Syriana. He's GOT to get a nod for one of them for Oscar and the only way I see him losing the SAG today is to that bloody talented Paul Giamatti . . .

What the HELL is going on?

Yahoo news have just reported the death of Chris Penn. Chris Penn. CHRIS PENN. What the fuck? He was only 43. He was in Reservoir Dogs. He was in Footloose! With Kevin Bacon! Can we expect the death of K-Bac in the next couple of weeks?
Gah!! What am I saying??!! Bite my tongue, Kevin Bacon is fine, Kevin Bacon is fine. *turns around twice, throws salt over both shoulders just to be safe and avoids all dark coloured cats*
Now, to be fair, Chris Penn was not a small man. Other than Footloose, I can't remember a film when he wasn't . . . large of girth. They don't know cause of death, but I'd bet you a lifetime supply of hotdogs it was a heart attack.
Man. Great character actors are dropping like flies.
Vale Christopher.

When exactly did my blog turn into Graveyard for Great Character Actors? I'd like it to stop.

Dante's Sixth Level Of Hell

I officially hate the heat with the fire of a thousand blazing suns. Hang on . . . that doesn't work.
I hate the heat with the level of spite and vitriol I normally reserve for ex-boyfriends and the President's Bush - what I like to call Spite Force Five.
Yeah. That's it.

I'm thinking of getting t-shirts made.

Year of the George

A (notso) short list of whom I think will win the Golden Globes starting in just over an hour in the States. Bear in mind that most of these movies haven’t been released here yet so I’m going off gut feeling, reviews I’ve read and blatant bias . . .

Felicity Huffman could quite possibly take both Best Actress in a Drama (Movie) for TransAmerica and Best Actress in a Comedy/Musical (TV) for Desperate Housewives. Reese Witherspoon kind of has Best Actress Comedy/Musical (Movie) locked in for Walk The Line.

The fight for Best Actor in a Drama (Movie) is between Phillip Seymour Hoffman for Capote and Heath Ledger for Brokeback Mountain – coincidentally, both characters are gay. My money’s on Hoffman, because I think he’s more than done his due in the the last ten years. He’s a great character actor and is consistently fantastic in everything he is in, even Twister, whereas Ledger only has one other good film under his belt (Ten Things I Hate About You) and a slew of crap ones.

I think Best Director might be between Ang Lee for Brokeback Mountain and my boy George for Good Night and Good Luck. I think you know who I want to win, but I wouldn’t mind if it was Ang as well, which it probably will be.

George however, has the Best Supporting Actor (Drama) all sewn up for Syriana. If he doesn’t win, I shall be most perturbed. I’d love to see him get a Best Screenplay nod for GN&GL as well, but don’t think we should push it. Although, if he doesn’t win director, there is every possibility that Screenplay will be his consolation. (Good Will Hunting, anyone?) Regardless, his acceptance speech for whatever he wins will be great – when he won for O Brother Where Art Thou? a couple of years ago he was freaking hilarious. I have Great Expectations.

TV noms
Desperate Housewives for Best Comedy (where is Arrested Developments' nomination, Hollywood Foreign Press, you bastards?!?)
Lost for Best Drama
I’d LOVE to see Hugh Laurie win Best Actor Drama for House and Patricia Arquette Best Actress for Medium

More movies
Joaquin Phoenix (Walk The Line) or Jeff Daniels (The Squid and the Whale) for Best Actor Comedy/Musical (Movie)
Michelle Williams will most likely win Supporting Actress (Brokeback)
Best Movie Drama will probably be Brokeback and Best Comedy/Musical either Walk The Line or The Squid and the Whale.

My fingers shall remain firmly crossed for George and his films but the gay cowboys will most likely come out on top. If only George had played one of the cowboys then we’d see some SERIOUS award action coming his way . . .

Oh, for crying out loud

I love The Poseidon Adventure, its one of my favourite films and inducted me at a young age into a morbid love of 70's disaster films - yes, I even like the godawful 'modern' ones like Volcano and even Daylight, which was essentially TPA set in a tunnel with Sylvester Stallone instead of the awesome Gene Hackman, its crap but I'll still watch it if I'm changing channels and I see Amy Brenneman pluckily saving the lives of others by using her sneakers to grab a live electrical cable . . . damn . . . . excuse me, I have to go rent it now - and one of my favourite bits in TPA is the wonderful Shelley Winters telling Gene Hackman that in the water she's still a skinny lady. Her death scene (hope I'm not spoiling this or the soon to be released re-make) after that is truly sad and she thoroughly deserved her Oscar nom. Also loved her on Roseanne as Rosie's crazy ass loudmouthed losing her mind grandmother . . .

Its been a bad couple of weeks for Hollywood. And with the glut of yearly award ceremonies starting tomorrow, (first up are the Golden Globes - The Clooney is nominated for THREE and to prove he is interconnected with everything, George was in the early seasons of Roseanne also) the producers must be scrambling to cut time from something so they can expand the In Memoriam section. Sigh.

i've never been there either kate . . .

I got Australian Idol 2005 Winner (Team)Kate DeAraugo's album from MamaBelle and PapaBelle for Christmas and have been listening to it on and off for the last couple of weeks and I have this to say :
I think it's pretty good.
I love Faded (which I believe will be the next single) and was co-written by those cute little Veronicas girls. The song sounds very Kelly Clarkson in style (as does track 7 Victim), which I think is perfect for TeamKate's husky cords. Maybe Tonight still remains the best of the Idol Winner Singles (Poor Poor Casey - sigh) and I like the version of Heaven they've included but wish it was stripped back even further than it is. I am DEEPLY distraught that Impossible Dream isn't on it - specifically the live version she did at the Opera House where she made my chest ache just a little, she was that good. (Seriously, she sang the shit out of that song that night. Exceptional vocally.)
The rest of the album is fairly standard pop/rnb/soul fare but is still worthy of selling a freaking heap more CDs than it would appear she is currently.

But there are two tracks on it that aren't remotely up to scratch (writing wise) and feel undercooked (tracks 8 & 9 for those playing at home). They have a 'filler' feel about them and practically scream Skip Button at me as soon as they start.

Those two fillers aside, I think this is a better First CD Rushed Out PreXmas So BMG Can Get Lots And Lots Of Sales, Gee That Doesn't Seem To Be Working Anymore Perhaps We Should Let The Winner Have More Than A Week To Record It And Perhaps Some Sleep As Well, What Do You Think Dicko Please Come Back??!!! than Poor Poor Casey's and even a better one than Guy's. (Yeah, I said it.)

So get out there and buy it kids. And get yourself a copy of Spook while you're at it . . .

An open letter to the new kid on the block

Dear 2006,

Hi there. How you doing so far? Not so great, right? I mean, we’re just five days in and I think we’re off to a bit of a rocky start, what with Ariel Sharon and no decision on the fate of Arrested Development yet and another year where it doesn’t look like George Bush will keep his yap shut. I can see you’ve got your hands full already, but I just wanted to touch base with you about me. I know its selfish to be thinking of me when Lindsay Lohan is battling drugs and bulimia, but hey - if I don’t worry about me, who will? (You know, other than my mother.)
I do have a few complaints regarding your predecessor. 2005 wasn’t . . . great to me. For most of January I thought things were going to be okay, but towards the end of that first month shit kind of started sliding uphill, my feet got dirty and the whole thing - well - it just lost momentum that I never really got back. In short, it sucked. Now, I can’t lay the blame all at 2005’s feet, a lot of the screwups were my own, but I think its fair to say that 2005 didn’t really try to make things any easier on me. Once one little thing went wrong, a BUNCH of others went ass up as well, almost as though 2005 got some kind of perverse pleasure seeing how far it could push me before I cracked.
I’d like to think that we can get beyond any and all past indiscretions and to that end, I’d appreciate if you threw out the - I’m sure - quite damning TallulahBelle manila folder 2005 has left on your desk. Wowwww. Look at that thing, how many pages is that? Its quite comprehensive isn’t it? Can I just have a look at what it says about June 28th . . . oh DUDE, that is so not cool, I was having a very tough week when I said that . . . what about the week I . . . HEY . . . come ON, I apologised NUMEROUS times for those remarks and WHERE does 2005 think it gets off drawing a moustache and glasses on my headshot like that?? God, how many servings of humble pie do I need to eat? That is just ridiculously childish and . . . NO. I will not dwell on it any further, look seriously, just put this whole file in the bin, its just mean and spiteful and frankly quite typical of the relationship 2005 and I shared and I think you and I are better than that.
Thankyou.
I think you and I can come together and enjoy a non-hostile working relationship. I feel good about 2006, I really do. I see great things in our future together, a lot of mutual back scratching and general fabulousness. I just want what everyone else wants from you. A happy home, happy relationship, a little world peace and several awards of note for George Clooney - acting or directing, I'm not fussy.
Anyway, please enjoy the chocolates and the flowers and the muffin gift basket. Feel free to drop me a line anytime, I’m always available for chats and discussions with you.
2006 and me = Best Friends Forever!!

Love TallulahBelle
xx

PS 2005 had several extra unwanted kilos delivered to my ass and upper body last year. What’s your returns policy?

Stop it.

Could great character actors please stop dying? Thanks.

He was in The Rock and Green Card.

John Spencer would have been 59 today.

He died suddenly Friday morning (US time) of a heart attack. Chances are you didn’t know his name, but you would have recognised his face. He starred in LA Law for a while, and for years after that show ended whenever I saw him in a film or gueststarring on something, I called him Tommy (after his LaLa character). It wasn’t until The West Wing and the complete and utter melding of actor and character that Tommy became John Spencer again, who in turn became Leo McGarry. Leo McGarry was his character on TWW, recovering alcoholic, Chief of Staff, one of my favourite characters in one of my alltime favourite shows (and quite frankly a representation of how I wish the White House currently was - ie full of democrats).
He was an astounding character actor who imbued Leo McGarry with a warmth and believability that is often missing from TV drama. Along with the Soprano’s (both shows started in 1999 and hit Australian TV around the same time and were both unceremoniously dumped in the latenight time slot for vampires and those of us who exist on five hours sleep a night) and in later years Six Feet Under, The West Wing reinvented drama television. Smart writing, smart characters, whip fast dialogue that didn’t stop to let you catch up and the assumption that their audience was smart enough not to be needed to be spoon fed information. Watching the first few seasons of TWW was better than any uni course on How American Politics Works could ever be. I learned about the filibuster, I learned about lame duck congress, I learned about congress and what gubernatorial meant. When That Awful Thing That I Still Can’t Talk About Without Going Into A Mouth Foaming Rage (better known as the stolen 2000 elections) happened, I found myself glued to CNN and Fox and I was understanding (but not really liking so much) what Tucker Carlson and Bill O’Reilly and James Carville were telling me about the Senate and the House and why the Supreme Court was so heavily Republican and why this horrid, horrid thing was happening.
In 2001 when the actually really awful thing happened and the planes hit the twin towers, I will always remember that it was reported during the last ad break of an especially poignant episode of TWW (18th and Potomac). A favourite character (White House Presidential Secretary, Mrs Landingham) had been killed in a car accident and Charlie (Presidential Aide) was breaking the news to Leo. The camera just . . . stays on John Spencer’s face as Leo digests this news. It is heartbreakingly beautifully acted. In fact, acted doesn’t even seem the right word, because it connotes a certain artificiality and there was nothing artificial about John Spencer’s Leo McGarry. It seems fitting that the season he won an Emmy for was that second season, he deserved it for that scene alone.
The acting world is a lesser one for the loss of this great character actor but with three seasons left that I haven’t fully seen yet (thank YOU very much Channel Nine, please be good to the fans ABC) including the seventh season currently airing in the states, at least I have a lot more John Spencer and Leo McGarry to look forward to.
And that’s not a bad thing.
Vale John. Happy birthday, we miss you already.

I think I'll see fat Clooney instead, thanks.

King Kong is three hours long. Sorry, its over three hours long. Seriously. No, seriously, it is. It is 187 minutes. Does Peter Jackson not own a watch or have ANY concept of time - and the bladder and its tendency to make you want to, you know, PEE at the two and a half hour mark - at all? And also? Movie about an ape. Starring Naomi Watts. Three hours of Naomi Watts. Look, I like her a lot more than I like her sharper, less talented twin Nicole Kidman - and no I don't know why she has an Academy Award but I suspect it was some kind of payoff for being married to That Scientologist* - but still. (Nicole and Naomi apparently both went to the same school of Open Mouthed Acting. Watch The Ring and The Others back to back, you'll see what I mean.) I don't think I care enough about this film to sit through three freaking hours. I don't care if Jack Black and Colin Hanks are in it. I don't.

Syriana - 126 minutes. George Clooney, Matt Damon, Jeffrey Wright, Amanda Peet. Okay, so The Clooney may have put on 35 pounds and nearly killed himself during this film but I could watch Syriana and then walk straight into a screening of Good Night and Good Luck which is 93 minutes and The Clooney in black and white (yummy!) - and also the immensely talented and underrated David Strathairn and Robert Downey jr and The Clooney directing - and still meet up with people seeing King Kong for coffee afterwards (admittedly this only works if Syriana and GN&GL have no ads or trailers and KK has the usual bloated half hour of previews . . .) Guess which option I'm going to take? You only get one guess and if its wrong you need to stop being someone I know . . .

*Oh, alright. Nicole was extremely good in The Hours, there I said it. I don't think she was better than Julianne Moore was in that film but she was still extremely good and probably deserved to win. Happy Fosse? Begrudglingly sharing that has made me feel dirty . . .

Yeah? Well, you can take your Yuletide spirit and SHOVE IT.

Shut up tinsel. Shut up dancing Santa. Shut up parking at Chadstone Shopping Centre. (What's that, random lady in the blue Mitsubishi? You were there first? Actually, you weren't, that car in front of me was AND he had his indicator on indicating that he was taking that spot before you even turned down this aisle so don't you DARE honk your horn angrily at him and then yell at me when I tell you he was there first because darling? I DON'T CARE. I'm still desperately trying to find a spot for myself and have been for about 25 minutes and I just want to get into Bra's N Things and spend this voucher and it will take less time to do that than it has taken to park, so take your road rage and SHOVE IT.) Shut up carols piped into local Coles. Shut up stupid Christmas Card list. Shut up personal inability to cope with people humming and/or whistling Santa Claus Is Coming To Town. Shut UP overdrawn credit cards and definitely shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP measly $15.00 left until payday.

Christmas is cancelled. Do you hear me? CANCELLED. Bah, humbug. Unless someone finally gets me that George Clooney I've had my eye on and wanted for ages . . .

I also worry too much

If one of the signs that you're having a stroke is smelling toast where there is no toast, what does it mean when you smell raison toast where there is no raison toast?

Friends, schmends

So I did it. I took life by the horns, looked into the abyss, swallowed my pride, reached out and touched the face of . . . rejection. Yep. Rejection. Bruno turned me down, he ‘just wants to be friends’ and that’s okay. Really. No, it is, I promise. Because the deal was that I actually do something and tell him that I liked him, regardless of the outcome. It was almost more about me not letting life idly pass me by and taking a chance then it was about a potential boyfriend. That being said, it still sucks that the mutual three month Flirt-a-thon went nowhere.
The only problem with 'just being friends' is that I already have That Guy in my life, the guy that I liked for a really really really long time who only wanted to be friends, and its taken me almost four years to get to the stage where I actually do count him as a friend. Four long crazy tears on my pillow miserable freaking years. I don’t need another one of them - seriously I don't and my poor The Shoulders That I Cry On, I mean my friends, don't need me to have another one of them either.
So I said adios to Bruno. Sayonara dude.
And its for the best really, because I know me. If we meet up for a friendly coffee, I’ll read a ridiculous amount into every little thing he says, every glance will be dripping with meaning in my little crush addled mind and I’ll drive myself and everyone around me FUCKING INSANE. I’ll be like one of those little white yappy dogs, constantly chasing my own tail and getting nowhere and generally annoying the living SHIT out of people. So as much as I will miss him, he has been wiped from my mobile and email account, the better to not accidentally maybe just send him one tiny little email and if he replies well it totally must mean he misses me and is rethinking this whole friends thing, right?
No. There will be none of that.
What there will be is moving on-ness. Besides, I like to think that when Life gives you lemons, you should just squeeze some juice into that bitch’s eyes and when she’s on the ground yelping in citrus-y pain, kick Life in the ribs until she cries Uncle.
Heh heh.
Buh-bye Bruno. Next.

What Katie Did Next

An amalgamation of every week by week post I wrote about Kate because I am lazy and can't be bothered thinking up new stuff . . .

Top 30 performance
Kate – the love child of Renee Geyer and Sting. Nice husky vocal chords. Kate lulled me into thinking she was just another Queen of Mugging and then she shazaam-ed me with her song. Just great, but she needs to stop bollocksing around with her hair and letting them turn her into too much of a girl if she’s that uncomfortable with it. Deserves to be Top Three, but with Tarni making it through last week there may not be enough room for her.
Australian Week
Ladies and Gentleman, the best female performance of the night, I give you Kate. Lovely work, Clone of Renee Geyer. It finished . . . weird, but it was beautifully and soulfully done. Just lovely.
60’s Week
(Kate has) All My Loving.Best performance of the night. I LOVE this girl more and more each week (‘ware Roxane, you’re slipping). She has mixed it up, ballad last week, uptempo number this week – she’s showing us range, she’s pitch perfect with everything she sings and she just plain out-awesome’s everyone around her.
Rock Supergroups
Kate? I . . . don’t understand. Why are you not great? Did your kitty die? Is it because the Eagles lost? The first time I’ve heard Pitchy Kate, Breathy Kate and Slightly Off Tune Kate. I am saddened, I don’t like this Kate, I want Great Kate back. She’s still fabulous though (and was awesome at the AFL Grand Final at the weekend and the only one who sounded even halfway decent).
Ahem.
TUCKSHOP ARMS. TUCKSHOP ARMS???!!! Fuuuuuuuuuuck off Kyle.
Contestants Choice
I heart Kate. With every fibre of my being. Shheeeeeeee’s baaaaaaaaack. Rebounding back from the lacklustre-ness that was Kate Doing Queen, Kate takes a pass from Anastacia, Harlem Globe Trotter’s her way down the court and slamDUNKS the ball, shattering the backboard and scoring two much needed points for Team Kate. Kate’s lower register is still a little weak sometimes but she has an infectious vibrancy and a glow that translates ridiculously well onscreen. I still find it hard to believe that this girl is only nineteen, because her professionalism and maturity outstrips most of the other contestants. Kate has officially taken up the title of TallulahBelle’s Favourite Idol This Year. Go Team Kate!
Big Band
Lets get ready to RUUUUUMBLE. TeamKate tackles Anne for best performance of the night but Anne totally flips her and pins her to the floor (oooh, look at me with all the sports analogies! I’m sorry, I’ll stop now – mostly because I’m getting out of my depth.) Kate was still fantastic, at Chez Shaneequa we could only pick one obviously pitch weak moment, the rest was vocally without flaw. This girl is just fab and I admire the hell out of her for coming in every week and doing great work. Both Anne and Kate do consistently well and out perform the majority of the other contestants, but week after week they seem to be damned with faint praise. Colour me confused.
80’s Week
TeamKate should be a little worried tonight. There is a very real chance, she’ll bottom three tonight, although if I had my way she’d be one of the final two standing in this comp. I thought she was joyful tonight, very infectious. She was enjoying herself on stage and I loved the ponytail, I just wish she’d done some Madonna or Cher – that would have been awesome. I don’t get what Holden is talking about, I don’t think of this song as a song about passion, but rather a song of joy and happiness which I thought she totally nailed. It’s Chaka Khan, not Don’t Cry For Me Argentina. Buuuuut. Not my favourite Kate performance and I am concerned for her.
Up Close & Personal
Ironic – Alanis Morissette. I really liked what TeamKate did with this song. She fiddled nicely with the melody and ‘put her own stamp’ on it. I do kind of wish she’d picked one of Alanis’ better songs but out of all the Idols she was the only one to pick something that probably 95% of the audience will recognise, which surely works in her favour. I just want her to mix it up a little bit more.
Mo-town
I Wish - Stevie Wonder. I only caught the tail end of this on my first viewing so initially my only reaction was to scream at the tv screen as Asshat Kyle waxed long and lyrical about the FUCKING TAN LINES under Kate’s arms. Yes, read that again. The TAN LINES. If it was not already screamingly obvious that this man knows as much about the music industry as I do about the breeding habits of the mongoose, then it REALLY is now. You see, I know the mongoose exists, I know that there have been mongeese in the past and can posit the theory that there will be mongeese in the future, therefore the mongoose must possess breeding habits. But I don’t know what or how they work, so I don’t pretend to be an expert on the subject and appear on Australian Mongoose and give my opinion to the previously perfectly happy and healthy mongeese who worked their little mongeesey butts off to get to the Final Six ONLY to be told they’ll never make it in the industry because although they killed that snake perfectly, they don’t have the sartorial elegance to pull off walking the red carpet as they have stubby tails and the fur on their heads doesn’t match the fur on their hind legs as pleasingly as it could. Ass.Upon second viewing I concurred with the opinions of most. She rocked. I love her and wish her all the best as the Person Who Comes Second In Australian Idol And Somehow Does Better Than The Winner.
70’s Week (Or Songs They Should Have Done by Bowie)
The Man Who Sold The World. Anyone who caught Rockstar INXS and saw Jordis sing this song can appreciate what a melancholy song this can be if given the husky vocal treatment that our girl Kate does so very very well. It would have had me in tears of appreciation and thanks, as opposed to the tears of rage that Lady Marmalade brought me to. Karaoke. Pure and simple and I’ve been disappointed since Idol Extra that she had chosen this song. I was horrified that she then sang the fucking Moulin Rouge version and did the bullshit Xtina ‘yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah’ bits and aghast when she stuffed up. But she covered it well, continued to hit almost all the notes and was only slightly pitchy. Imagine my absolute dumsquizzlement when Marcia and Kyle said she was ill. There was general agreement in the ChezBelle household that she kicked ass, considering. And speaking of asses in desperate need of kicking . . . Mark? SHUT UP. Kate is an absolute professional who did a great job, I just despair at her song choice. She hasn’t been bottom three yet, but I think tonight is the night and I wouldn’t be surprised if the first time is the last time and we say our final fare thee well to her . . .
Elvis Week
Burning Love. I really enjoyed this. It wasn’t perfect, but it was pitch perfect and by GOD, she looked like she was having fun. Imagine that you are Kate for a moment. Everyone around you has received a touchdown. At one point or another in the competition the other three contestants have been told they will probably win Idol or have a long wonderful career ahead of them. Whenever you go to meetNgreets the crowds scream their little girly lungs out for Lee/Emily and occasionally DreadyDan. You make the final four and it hits you. You’re Hayley from Season Two. You have a lovely voice, a charming personality but everyone seems a little confused as to how you’ve made it as far as you have. Now I personally prefer Kate’s voice to Hayley and think that Kate deserves to be final two, but history (Paulini and Hayley) tells us that fourth is as good as she gets. Do you mope around and give halfhearted performances because you don't give a damn anymore or do you pull yourself up by the bootstraps, say to hell with coming fourth and sing the perfect hell out of every song that comes your way in the slim chance that you might actually have more of a fan base than you think? Team Kate has well and truly taken the latter course of action and I say ‘bravo’.
Impossible Dream. Possibly my favourite Kate performance (and as Red noted this morning : Memo from Mark to Kate, IOU one (1) touchdown). She looked amazing (except for the panda eyeliner on her bottom lid) and sounded fantastic. She built this slowly up to a lovely crescendo. That final note could have been bigger and better but I think she was feeling the emotion of the song (coupled with her voice issues from the last week) and held back on it a little so she could control the note better. I found the performance quite moving. I quite simply love her.
Pretty much whatever the hell they want to sing Week because there are only three left
Heaven. Kate is good. Kate hits all the right notes. She sings the absolute bollocks out of this song to the point that Impossible Dream hangs its head in shame and slinks to the back of the Best Songs Kate Has Performed On Idol line. But Mark has his hate-on so very very hard for Kate and I get so angry with him that a cloud of red rage envelops me like PigPen from Charlie Brown. It reminds me of Mark saying on Inside Idol before the Elvis week that if she didn’t get a touchdown from him for Impossible Dream that she should be going home. I scream this in an incoherent manner at Fosse who flinches on the sofa and gets that look on his face, the look that says just agree with everything she says and maybe she won’t kill me in my sleep.
Like A Prayer. Kate is good. Kate hits all the right notes. She doesn’t so much sing the bollocks out of this song, but she has an awesome time on stage and it as infectious as bird flu. I can’t stop smiling as she sings but say (in a much calmer tone because the judges haven’t started ripping her to pieces yet) that she will never ever get a touchdown from Mark because he’s a complete wanker who hates Kate so very very much. Fosse gets that look on his face, the look that says he thinks it’s a very real possibility that Charles Manson had a child nobody knows about who grew up in a small country town in the north-west of Western Australia and eventually moved to Melbourne, started watching Idol and writing a blog and who one day . . . just snapped.Kate does not get a touchdown. Kate gets slapped down again and basically told that they don’t want her in the final two. She is ridiculously professional about it all for a nineteen year old being humiliated on national television for being consistently competent and pitch perfect. At nineteen its entirely possible I would have leapt off the stage and started bitch slapping someone. Hell, that’s possible now . . .
The Final Two
Maybe Tonight – The Idol Winner’s song makes me feel slightly less nauseated and sugary than previous years (specifically the travesty that Poor Poor Casey had to release) but it also makes me giddily wish for a second that we had gotten to hear the punk’d up DeadtomeOnetrickpony version. Kate’s singing is husky and soulful and I find myself enjoying it. I check my pulse to ensure I haven’t gone into a diabetic coma.
Shackles – Kate sings this really well, but I just want her to kick it up a freakin’ notch. She visibly reins herself in from going over the top, which I don’t fully understand. This song should make me want to get up and dance but I make do with a little chair dancing instead. Its not the same. Sigh.
How Could An Angel Break My Heart – well, for starters SHE MIGHT SING A SONG CO-WRITTEN BY BABYFACE. Gahhhhhhhhhhang on. This is actually quite . . . well, its . . . nice . . . she builds it well and it soars in the chorus and Competent Kate hits all the right notes again again. It’s a touch bland and less than memorable but she sings so well and I’m so horribly biased and she can do no wrong in my eyes, that I actually start wishing she would sing that nice Bryan Adams song from that wonderful Robin Hood movie that the not at all overrated Kevin Costner was in. It occurs to me that I’m going into sugar shock and I hurriedly inject myself with insulin and eat a garden salad.
Opera House
Awesomeness occurs. Marcia and Mark wear a ridiculous amount of bitchface and Kyle is basically the only judge to publically applaud Team Kate as the winner. I realise I'm going to voluntarily buy an Idol album that Chanel has absolutely no connection with. I am unsure how I feel about this . . .

If an Idol falls in the forest.

Idol. Something visible but without substance.
Lame. Weak and ineffectual, unsatisfactory.
Dull. Dispirited, depressed. Not clear or resonant.
Bland. Having little or no distinctive flavour.

Kinda sums up this season, don’t it? More accurately, it sums up the final Sunday night performance show of Season Three. Battle of the Diva’s turned out to be less Emily and Kate going head to head in a glorious grudge match to the bloody end, Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome style (two Idol’s enter, one Idol leaves), and ended up being a little bit more like what you would expect a Celebrity Fight between the brothers Crane to be (if say, Niles had dissed Foucault and then favourably compared the grapes of the Napa Valley to those from the banks of the Gironde river - I mean really, you just know Frasier ain’t having none of that shit, holmes.) In other words . . . . well, I have no other words, I just direct you back to the list of words atop this paragraph.

I fast forwarded through most of the bullshit talking so missed why the judges aren’t talking after each performace, I presume to avoid any and all touchdown bias. Doesn’t matter why, I heartily applaud the move anyway . . .

Team Kate
Maybe Tonight – The Idol Winner’s song makes me feel slightly less nauseated and sugary than previous years (specifically the travesty that Poor Poor Casey had to release) but it also makes me giddily wish for a second that we had gotten to hear the punk’d up DeadtomeOnetrickpony version. Kate’s singing is husky and soulful and I find myself enjoying it. I check my pulse to ensure I haven’t gone into a diabetic coma.
Shackles – Kate sings this really well, but I just want her to kick it up a freakin’ notch. She visibly reins herself in from going over the top, which I don’t fully understand. This song should make me want to get up and dance but I make do with a little chair dancing instead. Its not the same. Sigh.
How Could An Angel Break My Heart – well, for starters SHE MIGHT SING A SONG CO-WRITTEN BY BABYFACE. Gahhhhhhhhhhang on. This is actually quite . . . well, its . . . nice . . . she builds it well and it soars in the chorus and Competent Kate hits all the right notes again again. It’s a touch bland and less than memorable but she sings so well and I’m so horribly biased and she can do no wrong in my eyes, that I actually start wishing she would sing that nice Bryan Adams song from that wonderful Robin Hood movie that the not at all overrated Kevin Costner was in. It occurs to me that I’m going into sugar shock and I hurriedly inject myself with insulin and eat a garden salad.

Ch 10 advertises Veronica Mars. I smile smugly in the direction of the Veronica Mars first season DVD set that is currently taking over mine and Fosse’s life . . .
Ch 10 advertises Smallville. I don’t get it, but am nonetheless happy for Shaneequa and sad for the Charmed fans who seem to have been shortchanged this season.

Emily the maybe not so Anointed One
I promised myself I would not be unduly biased, that I would view Emily’s final three performances with as much neutrality as possible and draw on all my singing lessons and history and critique her fairly but Emily took that choice away from me by being flat out awful on two of her three songs. You have been warned. (also? Emily’s stock footage that I fastforwarded through seemed to altenate between her crying and getting touchdowns. MAN, will I be glad when this season is over . . . )
Emotions - the Bee Gee’s and Melodies & Harmonies of the World discuss the cost of hiring a lawyer. Emily, WHAT have you done to their song? It gets slightly better when she hits the chorus, but then she goes back to the verse and I shrink in horror again. Chicks don’t have a falsetto but it feels like that’s what she’s trying to do. Emily’s voice is trembly. Wow, is she nervous or what?
Since You’ve Been Gone – Kelly Clarkson has a KICK ass live voice and even she can’t do this song justice live. Singing this on Idol Extra with John and Erana I thought Emily sounded iffy and boy oh boy, was I right. Her lower register sounds terribly flat and the glory note is so unnecessarily shrieky that MY vocal cords hurt when she throws it against the wall and beats the living daylights out of it. While Emily was singing this song I started to think that maybe Kate was in with a chance to win this thing . . .
Maybe Tonight – but then Emily sang this. And I have to say, I think she sang it better and that it is arranged smart-er than Kate's version. They both sang it well, but Emily’s was definitely more mainstream, infinitely more commercial and the last performance of the night, which can’t hurt. And if Emily wins tonight, I think it might be on the strength of her very last performance. It really suits Emily’s style of singing, she’s finally confident and she sings it well. Damn.

The judges speak :
Marcia : “You go girls.” Riiiiiight. Sod off for another year Marcia, you are officially of no use to anybody. Oh, and Shut Up.
Mark : “A duet would be good”. A duet. Between these two? Wow, yeah, that act . . . ually wouldn't suck at all. Huh. So what you’re saying is you’re choosing now to say something that actually makes a skerrit of musical sense? Duuuuuuuuude. Shut up Mark.
Kyle : Babbles about nothing of any importance or interest to anybody until he says not to vote unless you’re planning to buy the winners CD. I furrow my brow in acknowledgement and concern at Wisdom From Kyle and start texting Kate’s name to 19 10 10 anyway. And just for the pure hell of it (and just like last years final) I text Chanel’s name as well. And then Tim’s. It can’t hurt, right?

(The original idea for this blog may have been blatantly stolen from the lovely Guru G. I’m sure she understands . . .)

And after I forgave you for Batman.

Well. Haven’t I gotten myself into quite the pickle? Thinking I could make wild extravagant promises because I wouldn’t have to follow through on them. Well, George showed me, didn’t he? Never underestimate the power of the Clooney. The Pony is gone and here I am, stuck in a position most of my (so called) friends will gleefully tell you, I am not relishing in the slightest. I have to tell a boy that I like him.

Ye gods.

I don’t have the slightest inkling of a burgeoning sprite of an idea how Bruno will take this. I don’t even know 100% for sure that he doesn’t have an existing girlfriend that I just haven’t heard about because I don’t ask the right questions. Or if he’s gay. Or recently divorced. Or even worse, a scientologist.

I do know this much. He’s funny, clever, enjoys taking the piss out of me, is freakishly knowledgeable about movies I’ve never heard of, has an adorable smile and some of the best forearms I’ve seen outside of an episode of early season three ER. In other words, I find him quite attractive.

But you could fill fourteen Olympic sized swimming pools with the fear inside me when it comes to actively flirting with a boy I like. A boy I don’t like? I am Flirty McSkirtoff. But present me with one who actually makes my heart go pitty pat that little bit faster and I delve fully into my mucho aggressive ‘I’m funnier than you, and clever-er and you don’t impress me one little bit with your beautifully brown eyes’ mode that apparently fails to get across my attraction. Strange huh? Surely my caustic, burning wit coupled with the ability to drop an ace punch line immaculately into the conversation at the pitch perfect moment, followed by stalking away nonchalantly because I don’t care if you have anything to add because can’t you see that I’m done? is the best possible way to meet and attract men. Right?

Apparently not. Apparently, men can’t read my mind and don’t necessarily know that when I’m being a total bitch to them it usually means I’m besotted. Apparently, men have forgotten that they used to be the boys who pushed the girl they liked over in the play yard. Or (and more likely) men have moved on and I’ve been left behind with retarded social skills that would appear to have screeched to a halt at the same time that the rest of me hit puberty.

Yes, this will be a massive step for me. History (mine) says it won’t go well. I’ve never been good at relaying my emotions in the non-written sense. Speaking involves saliva and my tongue seems to swell to three times its normal size and there’s no spell check. Oh and for those who have already been asking how it went, I will be waiting until AFTER the play is finished. We play husband and wife, which involves a lot of handholding and cuddling (no, there’s no kissing. Freaks.) and if I throw open the door of my heart and he hurriedly shuts it (I'd like to formally apologise for that analogy), I would rather we not have to continue performing with any uncomfortable . . . . uncomfortableness. So in under two weeks at the cast party it shall be, regardless of how hideously cliché that is.
To quote Ferris Bueller : Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

So this is me. Trying not to miss it. Ye gods.

I ask that it please be gentle.

Paging Doctor Seuss

An ode to DeadtomeOnetrickponyLee

I do not like him, I do not,
Not on my toast, not on a yacht.
I wouldn’t mind him in a cage,
But will not stand for him on Rage.
He can’t be Idol, not for real?
Does not impress, does not appeal!
I would not, could not let him sing,
He’s just plain bad, and here’s the thing -
If he is Idol, I shall scheme,
And hire a torturer to make him scream.
And if they catch me, “care not” I’ll say
“For he deserved to die this day”
In jail I’ll sit gladly, for my wicked plot
For I do not like him, I do not.


Team Kate
Heaven. Kate is good. Kate hits all the right notes. She sings the absolute bollocks out of this song to the point that Impossible Dream hangs its head in shame and slinks to the back of the Best Songs Kate Has Performed On Idol line. But Mark has his hate-on so very very hard for Kate and I get so angry with him that a cloud of red rage envelops me like PigPen from Charlie Brown. It reminds me of Mark saying on Inside Idol before the Elvis week that if she didn’t get a touchdown from him for Impossible Dream that she should be going home. I scream this in an incoherent manner at Fosse who flinches on the sofa and gets that look on his face, the look that says just agree with everything she says and maybe she won’t kill me in my sleep.

Like A Prayer. Kate is good. Kate hits all the right notes. She doesn’t so much sing the bollocks out of this song, but she has an awesome time on stage and it as infectious as bird flu. I can’t stop smiling as she sings but say (in a much calmer tone because the judges haven’t started ripping her to pieces yet) that she will never ever get a touchdown from Mark because he’s a complete wanker who hates Kate so very very much. Fosse gets that look on his face, the look that says he thinks it’s a very real possibility that Charles Manson had a child nobody knows about who grew up in a small country town in the north-west of Western Australia and eventually moved to Melbourne, started watching Idol and writing a blog and who one day . . . just snapped.
Kate does not get a touchdown. Kate gets slapped down again and basically told that they don’t want her in the final two. She is ridiculously professional about it all for a nineteen year old being humiliated on national television for being consistently competent and pitch perfect. At nineteen its entirely possible I would have leapt off the stage and started bitch slapping someone. Hell, that’s possible now . . .

DeadtomeOnetrickponyLee
Faith. DtmOtpL sucks all the sex out of this song and somewhere George Michael suddenly decides he might give girls a go for once. He is tuneless and the slow bit is particularly painful so it is almost a relief when he drops George’s version and awkwardly segues into the Limp Bizkit version. He hurts my head and my eyes. I beg him to stop. The judges don’t like his arrangement. I don’t like his very existence any more. I read old blogs where I liked him and it saddens me greatly. Mark calls him a one trick pony and right before my head explodes I scream at Fosse that he’s reading my blog. Fosse just looks pained.

Tainted Love. Pony doesn’t even try to do the Soft Cell version but jumps straight into the Living End one. He actually mimes the lyrics. I am not making this shit up. HE MIMES THE LYRICS. Girls scream, a couple of little boys in the front dance frantically, I cry for the Youth of Today. The judges love it to little tiny pieces. Mark says he wanted something more melodic and the Pony gave it to him. I ask Fosse if I just had a stroke and if I’m still speaking English because obviously Mark and I have different ideas of what melody is. Fosse wearily answers that we are quite simply not the demographic Pony is aimed at. I wish he was aimed out of a cannon into the same shark infested pool that this show is currently jumping.

Emily the Coldly Anointed One
Baby, One More Time. Emily doesn’t suit this song, her lower register is too weak and can barely be picked up by the microphone. She does some weird dance moves and tries to liven up the end by shrieking and wailing and I can’t muster the strength to even hate her anymore. I perk up a little when Kyle disses her, but he is shouted down by Marcia and Mark. I sulkily whisper a Shut Up Marcia under my breath but my heart isn’t in it anymore.

I Will Always Love You. I will always hate this song unless I am watching Best Little Whorehouse in Texas and Dolly is singing it about Smokey and the Bandit and even then by the time she gets to this song I’ve usually flicked to another channel because – Burt Reynolds? Ugh. I thought Emily would actually sing this better than she did, her upper register seems to lack a little control and too much vibrato but she is still a thousand times better than the Pony, I don’t care how entertaining he is. Her IWALY looks down its nose at the Pony’s Ben and sneers menacingly, causing it to whimper and run away. She gets a faux touchdown from Holden. He says he’s going to sit on his hands because he doesn’t want to manipulate or influence the voting in any way, but then proceeds to say Australia should vote in the best singer and barely contains himself from running up on stage and shouting that we shouldn’t continue with this sham of a competition because Emily is the winner, right??!! I hate him with every fibre of my being.

Final Two – I would love the final two to be Emily and Kate, I really would. I don’t particularly like Emily’s style of performing – the constant glorying noting, the humble tears, those RIDICULOUSLY large hoop earrings she wears, I think Emily is my punishment for being allowed Chanel last year – but nonetheless, I think she and Kate deserve to be the Final Two standing. But I’ve tipped Kate to go because, well, my mama didn’t raise no fool and 27 votes last week aside, if Lee actually goes tonight I will be surprised. **

**Fosse made a deal with whatever higher being he believes in (Judy Garland, I think) that he would be a good boy from now on if the Pony left tonight. I made him take it back - because you shouldn’t promise what you can’t deliver, right? – and instead promised the higher being I believe in (George Clooney) that if the Pony leaves tonight and we get Battle of the Diva’s and I get to yell Lets Get Ready To Rumble on the final performance night I will give that boy that I have a crush on that I’m in the play with (lets call him Bruno) my phone number. This is a mammoth step for me.

The King is dead. Right?

‘Kay. God’s honest truth? I can’t find it in me to get all that excited about a week dedicated to Elvis. I know, I know, pioneered white rock in the States, lots of number one singles, incredibly talented blah de blah etc etc and hey, they all seem to at least know who Elvis is this year (the Be . . . at . . .les . . . .who?), but the dude made some atrocious films that I was subjected to as a child by my babysitter and I have never been able to fully forgive him for Roustabout. I also sincerely believe that the only people/groups of people who should sing Elvis are the following :

A) Elvis impersonators, natch. Good or bad, who out there can deny that an Elvis impersonator will never fail to make you grin (except in the case of the movie Honeymoon in Vegas starring Nicholas ‘Its time to give back the Academy Award dude’ Cage and Sarah Jessica Louise Mary Englebert Brunhilda Parker and a hundred fat Elvis’. What is the collective noun for more than one Elvis impersonator? A fat of Elvises? A buffet of Elvi?)
B) Drunken businessmen with their jackets off, white shirts unbuttoned at the collar, tie askew and shirt sleeves rolled up, who tearfully dedicate their version of In The Ghetto to their mothers/girlfriends/favourite childhood pet, only after discovering that someone else has already booked in to do Love Shack. (Tiiiiiiiiiin Roof? Busted.)
C) The man in white himself. Should rumours of his death actually prove to be exaggerated and it turns out he’s been shacked up in the witness protection programme with Marilyn Monroe and James Dean.

Caveat : Now. You know and I know, that at this point I am ridiculously biased towards Kate and against the remaining three. The horror that will most likely be the reality of tonights eviction show is that Kate will go and I will be left with three ‘singers’ that I could NOT care less about. Last years final three I had the CourtJester (whom I worshipped) still left in the competition and Poor Poor Casey whom I admired, there was really only Anthony ‘I Wish I Were A Real Boy’ Callea who gave me nothing but who – personal animosity aside – I always acknowledged had a good voice. For Kyle and Mark to continually insist that this is the best Top 12 ever and that Emily is the best singer that has ever been in this competition and that Lee has a career ahead of him outside of working for the Ringaling Bros is a smack in the face of those who came before them. Chanel, Courtney, Casey, Anthony, Ricki-Lee, Cosima, Guy, Paulini, Ngairre. I would put every single one of these singers ahead of Emily and Lee in terms of talent, hell I would put Millsy ahead of Lee. Anyway. Fit pitched. Moving on.

Emily the Cold
Blue Suede Shoes. This arrangement felt too fast and rushed and she was pitchy and shouting at me and she makes my head hurt when she sings like this. The fact that Mark didn’t give her a touchdown made me think he was saving it up for her second song. I love it when I’m wrong . . .
Can’t Help Falling In Love. Quite nicely sung. The Anointed One (hatred aside) does have a technically proficient voice but what is with the need to mess up a great melody with the gymnastics? Oy, the gymnastics. The fact that she’s gotten away with this in the past made me steel my nerves for another undeserving touchdown . . . . oh ho, what’s this?? I hold on to the couch to keep myself from spinning into space as the earth’s gravitational pull inexplicably ceases working and the judges actually call her out on the unnecessary trilling. No touchdown this week Emily? Did you neglect to send Mark his fruit basket? (I remind myself that chortling with glee at the immense bitchface Emily pulls after failing to impress with her Mariah Carey impersonation, is terribly bad form.)

DeadtomeOnetrickponyLee
Teddybear. Before singing, DtmOtpL busts out some stuff about Elvis he ‘knows’. Gosh, Google is awesome, isn’t it??!! Then he proceeds to give the cheesiest performance ever (or as Fosse called it – gimmicky. He then went on to compare DtmOtpL to a reject from the German punk ‘realisation’ of Anthony Lloyd Webber’s Cats. I heartily concur). The singing is not as bad as his rendition of Ben, but hey it’s still pretty bad. He hits way too many bum notes and is basically terrible.
Jailhouse Rock (I am told by several Great Authorities on the matter that this is the Motley Crue version – guess Greenday need to expand their repertoire a little, huh?) Firstly, he wouldn’t last two seconds in an actual jailhouse block without becoming someone’s bitch faster than you can sms ‘can I still vote for Chanel?’ to 19 10 10. Secondly. Arrangement? Hate. Outfit? Hate. Faux punk bullshit? HATE. Please just make him stop. There is virtually no justification for keeping DtmOtpL in a competition that is about singing when he, in fact, can’t do that. Marcia notes that ‘people really dig what you do.’ Marcia? People are dumb. People voted for John Howard more than once. People travel to Bali and Thailand with cocaine filled condoms in their lower intestines. People drive drunk. People can generally not be trusted. In short? Shut up Marcia.

TeamKate
Burning Love. I really enjoyed this. It wasn’t perfect, but it was pitch perfect and by GOD, she looked like she was having fun. Imagine that you are Kate for a moment. Everyone around you has received a touchdown. At one point or another in the competition the other three contestants have been told they will probably win Idol or have a long wonderful career ahead of them. Whenever you go to meetNgreets the crowds scream their little girly lungs out for Lee/Emily and occasionally DreadyDan. You make the final four and it hits you. You’re Hayley from Season Two. You have a lovely voice, a charming personality but everyone seems a little confused as to how you’ve made it as far as you have. Now I personally prefer Kate’s voice to Hayley and think that Kate deserves to be final two, but history (Paulini and Hayley) tells us that fourth is as good as she gets. Do you mope around and give halfhearted performances because you don't give a damn anymore or do you pull yourself up by the bootstraps, say to hell with coming fourth and sing the perfect hell out of every song that comes your way in the slim chance that you might actually have more of a fan base than you think? Team Kate has well and truly taken the latter course of action and I say ‘bravo’.
Impossible Dream. Possibly my favourite Kate performance (and as Red noted this morning : Memo from Mark to Kate, IOU one (1) touchdown.). She looked amazing (except for the panda eyeliner on her bottom lid) and sounded fantastic. She built this slowly up to a lovely crescendo. That final note could have been bigger and better but I think she was feeling the emotion of the song (coupled with her voice issues from the last week) and held back on it a little so she could control the note better. I found the performance quite moving. I quite simply love her.

DreadyDan
Dan’s pre-song bit shows him sitting on some steps playing his guitar and singing a bit of Heartbreak Hotel. If they would actually let him do that on stage I would be a Dan fan all over again because he sounds relaxed and the guitar gives him something to do with his hands and somewhere to look. He sounds laidback, smooth and pretty amazing.
Hound Dog. Gee. This doesn’t start off suiting Dan at all. I love the arrangement, its very well put together and by the end I didn’t mind it so much, but Dan just doesn’t know how to perform to and interact with the camera at all. He might be fantastic as far as the live crowd is concerned but it doesn’t translate to the tv screen at all. I thought his husky vocals would suit the King perfectly, I’m a little surprised they don’t . . . he sounds a little flat. Kyle says he’s perfect every week. I wish I had taped all the episodes so I could go back and look over them, because I’m pretty sure Kyle is lying.
Heartbreak Hotel. This started in the wrong key for him but got better with the key change about a third of the way through - unfortunately Dan chose that moment to wander aimlessly across the stage looking like he was wondering when he could go pick up his unemployment cheque. He comes across as flat again. What are the crowd and judges seeing that I’m not? Anyone??

I honestly think its between TeamKate and DreadyDan but I would LOVE DtmOtpL to go so we could have a full show of actual singing in this singing competition. So TeamKate. Or DreadyDan. Or the Pony. Not the Anointed One, I would imagine she is as safe as safe can be . . . or is she . . . . ??