Much. Very very much.

We’re not really off to the most auspicious of starts, are we? How exactly do they have 150 people after the auditions? They put only EIGHT people through from my hometown Perth – in theory I don’t have a problem with this, the less semi-talented kids who have their spirits broken in Sydney, the better – but they still ended up with 150? Just watching some of those final NSW auditions Pattycakes and I were aghast. A-ghast. At least 75 of them won’t make it through the first day at the Seymour Centre, hell they won’t make it to the mid-morning BREAK. Why waste their time? Tell them at the get go, at that first audition “Yeah, you can sing, but you need training first – go find yourself a vocal coach, train for a year and we’ll see you in ‘06”. Its what should have been said to Cosima before she butchered her vocal cords and ruined her chances in Season One and it’s a variant on what should have been said to Emilia last year. (Actually what should have been said to Emilia is a hearty “sod off you talentless gormless git and for goodness sake, STOP CRYING”. And yes, I still hear Dicko’s voice saying these snarky things. Man, I miss Dicko.)
I see no Chanel’s this season, I see no Ngairre’s, no Courtney’s. Dude? I don’t even see a Callea – say what you will of his taste in music, his appalling Johnny Young Talent Time-isms and his unwillingness to alienate his teen-y fan base by owning up to the Gayness That Is Anthony ( . . . allegedly), the little man has a good and technically proficient voice.
And I get that they don’t want another Casey, another too young winner with an awesome voice but no immediately discernible marketability who probably won't sell a bazillion badly written first single(s) and that THAT’S why they didn’t let through MultiPierce Girl in Perth (whom I personally thought had one of the best voices I’d heard audition ever, let alone this season.) I understood, I waved Casey Mk II bye-bye and only allowed myself to be mildly outraged, consoling myself with the thought that they were doing what they thought was best for ‘the competition’. I do not accept however, that pleading your case to God in front of the apparently easily swayed Marcia (as long as your name doesn’t contain the following letters, L C N A H and E), whilst being in possession of an, at best, mediocre voice and then being allowed through (??!! GAH.) as being good for this competition. Nor is singing Jimmy Barnes style at the top of your lungs with not even a passing thought for my speakers. Nor giving it the old Ricki-Lee Shriekerama treatment and having no regard for any and all dogs in the immediate vicinity. And if you’re young and pretty and look fine in a dress but don’t really sing terribly well, then the line to Australia’s Next Top Model starts over there. Just follow the trail of Kyle’s drool. But this? Is a SINGING competition.
In short : Judges, you need to drop the dross, of which there is sooooo much so far and let us see some actual singing. Contestants, you need to step it up (and in some cases step it off a tall building.) Before we even hit the Seymour Centre last year I had favourites that I retained all season, like water – Chanel and Courtney, take a bow - but this year? So far, it is much with the meh. I’m hoping they’re hiding someone’s light under a bushel, otherwise it's PigGirl and Mullfawk Milly all the way for me.

(and yes, you DID see Jakey B the Rock Kid from XFactor in the final 150. Don't be scared, I'm almost positive he won't be around for very long . . .)

I love Tim. Oh yes, I do.

Dear Australia,

It isn't often that we agree on something. I really liked Chanel last Idol season and you liked Casey (although as it turns out, you actually liked Anthony more, you just didn't want him to win, but that's okay - you're fickle, I've come to expect that) and I'm really quite vocal about my dislike of John Howard, but you seem to enjoy the little man so much you just can't resist keeping him around. Also, I think Nicole Kidman is shite and Cate Blanchett is awesome, but you only ever seem to want Nicole over for dinner.
I've gotten used to having a different opinion to you. Sometimes I don't even question it anymore, its just the way things are. I say potato, you say potato (you need to imagine that we vocalise it differently).
So why do we seem to agree lately on who needs to go from Big Brother? Glenn, Hotdogs, Dean, Rita, Kristy and now Kate. Brilliant.
I mean when this season started, I don't think I could have given you the name of even one person that I liked. You could have held a gun to my head and still I would have struggled. Eventually I think I might have muttered something along the lines of 'that chick from WA who seems to have a brain and doesn't get her kit off every five seconds.' But then I started to hear strange things about her, Margaret Thatcher love, Liberal Sensibilities . . . and I began to notice the funny looking thin guy with the strange upper lip. Words of more than two syllables spilled from his lips. He made . . . sense when he opened his mouth, he seemed not to join in with as much of the coarse behaviour and he tolerated the bullying asshattishness of the other males around him. Granted, he lusted after and then loved the right wing chick previously mentioned, but he still made it seem to make sense that a guy like him might like a girl like her.
I liked him. And then . . . without even noticing when or how . . . I loved him.
Now, it looks like he might actually win this thing and I need to know, dare I actually believe it? The only intelligent, modern, halfway decent human being in the house might win? Someone deserving? Sensitive? Forthright? I don't know what to say. I mean I'm grateful that we've finally agreed on something - not that it makes three terms of Howard** any easier to swallow, but hey! Its something, right??!! Its a start.
So I've contacted my lawyers and asked them to put a halt to the divorce proceedings and I'm moving back in. I think we might actually have a chance to save this relationship.
And I for one, am happy about that. I would have missed you terribly, opposing viewpoints and all.

love and kisses
TallulahBelle
xx

** I don't count the first term as a mistake, just the consequent three following . . .

Get your hate on kids, it's Australian Idol 3

Ahem. Let me get this out of the way upfront. I dislike Kyle Sandilands. Quite a bit, in fact. He frequently fills me with bile. I avoid his radio show at all costs and I wanted him to spontaneously combust when he was on Celebrity Big Brother. I find his attitude towards women appalling – he is a cruel, opinionated chauvinist (and I only find one of those qualities attractive – a pretty ribbon to the first person who guesses which one). Suffice it to say, I’m not a big fan. I am concerned at the damage someone like Sandilands might do to the first naïve, not so attractive, big boned seventeen year old who strays into his line of sight during the audition process. This is my extremely roundabout way of saying that should the planets align and Atlantis rise from the sea and I actually compliment or agree with something he says in the next however many months of Idol, then I really really agree with it. Cross your fingers that doesn’t happen . . .

Well. The first weeks auditions were twee, hideous, brave, foolish, hopeful, hopeless, sad and - at least two - were pretty damn good. And by pretty damn good, I mean I actually remember them two nights later. One of the good auditionees was QLD’s Pig-Girl (who hopefully will get enough screen time once we hit the top 150-odd that I will remember what her name is and can stop calling her Pig-Girl.) She gets extra points for pretending to stab Kyle, something I had screeched at the telly for her to do the instant she said she had killed pigs before.
Kyle? Meet your maker. Heh.

Second was Millie from Tassie, cute as a freaking button but with the worst fauxhawk I’ve seen in a while. It was like a mullet crossed with a fauxhawk . . . what would you call that? A mull . . . fawk? Luckily, her voice was awesome. Ditto Pig-Girl. They are quite literally the only two singers I remember clearly from the auditions without going back and rewatching.
I’m not going to do that. Gah.

I am choosing not to discuss in depth or detail the remarks made by the judges – there’s no point at this juncture, there were too many auditions, too many nasty things said and, quite frankly, too many freakin’ mediocre singers put through. And its going to be that way for a while, at least until the top thirty. The LulahB loungeroom was chockful of raised eyebrows and askance glances at some of the judging choices. Many a ‘huh?!’ was tossed around each time a prêt a porter/Kmart version of Beyonce was put through. And for the third year in a row, can we get a moratorium on vocal gymnastics?? They seem to get more pronounced and hysterical every year. Not to sound like Marcia or anything but SING THE FREAKING SONG. Just the song. Not the notes around the song, or the notes you can see in the song or the notes that Mariah and Whitney invented, just the song. The. Actual. Song.

(Speaking of Marcia, I clocked in at 7.48pm Tuesday night with my first Shutup Marcia of the season. I can’t remember why or how it came about, but may there be many, many more.)

Oh, and a HUGE thankyou to whoever loves me at Channel Seven – this Sunday night, a 90 minute MythBusters special about – squeeee - sharks!! and then a special anniversary screening of a film I’m kinda fond of. The only sucky thing is it will clash with the lovefest that is Tim on BB - huzzah for VCR’s, say I, huzzah.

To Do List

1. Compile list of epithets, curses, adjectives and ingeniusly composed phrases in preparation of slammin’ Kyle Sandilands on Australian Idol. Am actually looking forward to not hating Marcia so much this season. Bring it ON Sandilands, you talentless hack!!
2. Do taxes. Use money back on taxes to buy something pretty.
3. Research way to make Tim from Big Brother fall madly in love with me. I am WAAAAAAY better than Kate, Timmy!
(It occurred to me last night that maybe it might be better if he doesn’t win, that way when Smart Women of Australia – or S.W.A., I'm starting a club – THROW themselves at him, he will know its because he’s kind and lovely and is much with the wordage, as opposed to thinking its just because he won a million dollars. Which is what he will think!! - because he’s lovely that way and self deprecating and doesn't realise how great he is and how any woman would be lucky to have him and I'm worried he won’t appreciate that this is because he’s WONDERFUL. Ahem.)
*rushes off to refill valium prescription*
4. Relax, safe in the knowledge that I currently have no lines to learn for anything. Then run out and rent Educating Rita to brush up on Liverpudlian accent for upcoming audition.
5. CALL YOUR GRANDMOTHER.
6. Update and write new blog for recently terribly neglected site . . . huh.

Well. Will you look at that . . . *tick*

Just when you thought it was safe . . .

I’ve had many loves in my time. Some are new (the nieces E & I), some are steadfast and continual (the rest of my family, a good latte, sleeping in and the entire back catalogue of Crowded House), some are constantly renewed (George Clooney – sigh, be still beating heart, be still) and some are just . . . inexplicable (American politics. Don’t ask. I can NOT explain it.) One of the largest and most influential of my life is my love of films (and no, I didn’t intend this blog to be about movies every single time I wrote, its just what I’m usually most passionate about) and there are two movies that I can absolutely name as the source of origin. The first was the Empire Strikes Back. It had George Lucas before it seemed like he hated his fan base, a great love story, an awesome bad guy and some righteous heroes. The sheen has tarnished slightly on Episode Four with the First Three movies – only Ewan MacGregor has saved those for me – but I will still watch Empire with girlish, childish glee, loving the whole Leia/Han thing and digging the asteroid scenes. Even the updated version doesn’t terribly bug me. Empire will always be a great film in my eyes.

The other is my all time favourite movie - even though it has had some so-so sequels and one realllllllly awful one, let me tell you, a LOT of time has had to pass for me to forgive Michael Caine and Lorraine Gray for the fourth film – and it has sat at the top of my extensive and ever changing list of fav films for nigh on sixteen years and doesn’t look like giving up its spot anytime soon.
Jaws. *shudder* JAWS!! (In my head, I hear the theme music . . . )
My love affair with the Great White started with the book by Peter Benchley. It sat on my grandparents book shelf, this tattered little paperback, and the back cover proclaimed that the first six pages would keep you up all night (or words to that effect). I think I read the first six pages of that book a dozen times over the years of seven to ten, whenever we stayed at their house I would sneak it into my lap and surreptiously read. Let me tell you, the first six pages of that book are awesome. The death of Chrissy (stuntwoman Susan Backlinie in the movie) is told in grim, horrid detail. It gave me goosebumps.
By the time I was eleven, I was reading at an advanced enough age that my mum didn’t notice when I picked up Jaws and sat determinedly reading it cover to cover, one Christmas holiday in my not so mis-spent youth. (You would have thought that the black/blue cover with the massive shark aiming at the body of a teeny tiny female swimmer would have rung some warning bells but hey, I was reading all kinds of crap, everything I could get my hands on and I think it took me a day to read it anyway so she didn’t get much time to notice - hola mamma!!) I loved that book. I loved that book so much I took it home with me and read it again and again and again. I read it so much that the spine cracked and pages started falling out. I almost cried when I threw that book in the bin - but I didn’t because I already had another copy. Then another. I’m currently on my fourth copy of Jaws. The constant rereading slowed somewhat after I saw the movie when I was 15 but I still enjoy the book immensely. (The movie is slightly more satisfying in that Hooper isn’t such a butt head and doesn’t *spoiler* die in the movie like he does in the book – although you kind of want him dead in the book because he’s screwing Brody’s wife and Brody ROCKS.)
Book. Love. Movie? Freakin’ love.
I was fifteen when I first saw the Best Movie Spielberg Ever Made In My Opinion Thanks. I don’t know why I waited, I don’t remember if it was my parents who put their foot down about me seeing it (mostly because if I watched it, then my little brother and sister would want to see it also) or if I didn’t want to ruin the book, I don’t know. But my sister and I were babysitting some kids (also infamously known as the night of But He Looked Old Enough To Sit Up On His Own Without Me Holding Him) and my parents friends had left us some video’s to watch. Jaws was one and I leapt at the opportunity. I don’t think my sis was too pleased at my choice but by dint of oldest, choice was mine!
I sat on the edge of my seat as Chrissy went spiralling through the water pulled by the massive great white, I pulled my feet up onto the chair as young Alex Kintner came to a nasty end on a rubber yellow floatie mattress, I scrunched my nose when Quint scratched his nasty fisherman nails down the chalkboard at the press conference and I jumped pretty damn high when Brody was chumming and that big head comes out of the water leading to the immortal line (ad libbed by Roy Scheider) ‘You’re gonna need a bigger boat’.
DUDE. Spielberg took hold of my head with both his hands, cracked it open and poured in a love of films in the first 25 minutes of that film. The editing alone is SUPERB. Almost without equal for its time - especially since it was edited in Verna Fields summer house and done mostly by hand. Jaws was massively over budget, they kept waiting for the studio to shut them down because they were only getting an hour or so of filming done each day and Spielberg was convinced it was going to be a horrendous failure. Not the most auspicious start for the young 27 year old. He could not have been more wrong.
Instead, it was the first of the big blockbusters. It creamed the opposition in the box office and heralded the dawning of a new moneymaking Hollywood era. I have the 25th Anniversary edition and I hear that the 30th doesn’t have a lot of new stuff – but if you get a chance, the extra’s on the DVD are pretty cool. Lots of tales about how the shark was constantly broken . . . poor Bruce, he didn’t move too great, he looked plastic and he almost never worked properly but! the fact that they had such problems with him is why the shark is hardly ever seen – which adds fantastically to the atmospheric quality of the film.
I can rave on for ages about this film, about the scenes shot in a backyard pool, about all the adlibbing Robert Shaw did, including that brilliant scene where he talks about being on the USS Indianapolis. I can go on and on about shark triva, I can tell you the story of the two actors who played Mrs Kintner and her son meeting accidentally at a restaurant owned by one of them years later, I can point out Peter Benchley in a cameo appearance in the film. I can blather about how much I love the cheesy Jaws 3D - hee! and that I quite enjoy Jaws 2 as well for its teen horror feel. I can (and most likely will) rave about how the underwater shark scenes (live ones) were shot in the Great Australian Bite by Ron and Valerie Taylor. I can tell you how freaking angry I got the first time I watched Jaws The Revenge (gah) and Sean Brody died in the first ten minutes. The scream of 'but Brody's don't DIE' must have been heard all over the neighbourhood.
Sigh.
I love the bollocks out of this film.
Happy 30th anniversary Jaws. Thanks for all the memories.
Love Tallulah
xx

We're revoking your citizenship . .

Dear Russell,

Stop being such a wanker. Stop thinking you're sooooo fucking brilliant and come to grips with the fact that you need swift anger management classes. Someone please show this man the way to an intervention. Because dude? YOU'RE EMBARRASSING US. Keep making brilliant films that showcase your outstanding talents, have some more babies and maybe even take up Scientology but STOP with the rudeness and the fighting.
NO-ONE THINKS ITS COOL.
Just because you've won an Academy Award doesn't give you the right to be unforgiveably assy to those who work in the service industry. On the other hand, feel free to beat the living daylights out of all the paparazzi you can get your meaty fists on.

Regards,
TallulahB

The Nostromo leaves tonight at 20:45. Anyone wanna join me?

Everyone’s life is a movie starring that person. Maybe it’s Love Story or From Here To Eternity, possibly it’s Gone With The Wind or Bridget Jones (the first good one - unless you’re Schapelle Corby, in which case it’s the second not so good Bridget film crossed with Bangkok Hilton). If you’re lucky it resembles a great Katherine Hepburn/Spencer Tracey flick, full of scenes resplendent with great sexual chemistry and a crackling wit and intellect. If you’re unlucky, chances are its . . . well, Chances Are (Cybill Shepherd and Robert Downey Jr. Don’t try to picture it, it is JUST as horrid as you can imagine, this is a film that would have benefited greatly from Mr Downey doing a little speed).
Personally, I would relish the opportunity to say the Movie Of My Life is a less gory Pulp Fiction (where everyone references the pop culture minutiae that I love so terribly terribly much at the same speed as a Season Two Gilmore Girls episode - which . . . dude, is FAAAAST - whilst I harness the fuck off coolness of Sam Jackson.) I would even be excited if it was a watered down While You Were Sleeping (sigh - Bill Pullman - yummy) or a tepid One Fine Day (which, lets face it, was a tepid film to begin with, George baby, I'm sorry but it was). Hell, at this point I’d take a Woody Allen film, where a neurotic older man chases me. Or even Alien, where a man in a creaturefeature suit chases me.
However, it has become glaringly apparent that in the Movie Of My Life I am not the romantic lead, nor am I the revolutionary kick-ass 70’s heroine blasting wee murderous beasties into outer space. I am, in fact, the romantic lead’s Sassy Single Best Friend (SSBF). I am the buddy. I am the comic relief. (Good grief, am . . . am I Rob Schneider? No. NO. Noooooooooo, if I am anyone in the romantic comedy schtick oeuvre, I am PATENTLY Janeane Garofalo. Right? Blackly cute with lashings of bitter sardonic selfeffacing wit. Right? RIGHT?)
This sudden and startling insight was afforded to me at a recent outing with two of my dearest girlfriends to see The Wedding Date (Don’t see it. Do not go pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Read the book instead – Asking for Trouble by Elizabeth Young. Vastly superior, adorable little chicklit book. The movie? Oy, the suckage was astounding.) Sitting on either side of me was Red - who, with the recent purchase of Property has officially become Old Married Woman – and Gnomes, whose partner just got down on one knee and asked her That Question (to which, the answer was a resounding YES. FYI, I’m a bridesmaid – yay!) And watching this awful film version of a book I’m quite fond of, I realised that my single status has now been sufficiently long enough for me to consider myself properly cemented in most people’s eyes as 'that nice single girl that we work with who never seems to have a date’.
Which is not to say that the SSBF doesn’t quite often get a guy by the end of the film, as exampled by one of my favourite romcoms, When Harry Met Sally - Princess Leia and Bruno Kirby fall in love welllll before Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan get their act together in the final stages of that film. Another personal fave is The Truth About Cats & Dogs, where the SSBF (our girl, Janeane) is actually the lead of the film AND gets Ben Chaplin to boot. But the majority of the time the SSBF is either left in the wings with no real ending to her story (Bridget’s gfs don’t merit any romantic storyline at all – except for the odd mention of Vile Richard) or they get rushed into something with someone (see The Wedding Date’s SSBF TJ who at the end of the film is suddenly paired up with the lead’s exBF who we saw for about two minutes during the course of the film and has suspicious personal hygiene. Well, DON’T see it actually, but take my word for it, she deserved better.)
And I say, ENOUGH! The SSBF deserves more! She's Sassy, she's Spunky, often she's the only one who seems to have a sense of humour. Maybe she doesn't dress as well as the lead and often she's not the slimmest or prettiest girl in the world (once again, parallels people) but she usually has more fun. So if this is the film I live, then I want the SSBF Movie Of My Life to be the kind where I actually get the guy (and not two hundred cats and a reputation). Where is MY Ben Chaplin, hell, where’s my Bruno Kirby (he’s not so bad, let me tell you, the little guy is a cutiepie and has that Noo Yawk accent that I find so damned attractive). It is time for the SSBF to take back Date Night and make it hers again!
Alternatively, can someone point me in the direction of the nearest deep space mining vehicle in the process of answering a distress call? I feel the need to kick some alien beeeeeeehind . . .

SOB! Don't cry out louuuuuuuud . . .

Janice Dickinson gone from 'Model'
Contentious judge being replaced by Twiggy
NEW YORK (AP) -- Janice Dickinson is no longer in the running to judge who will become "America's Next Top Model." The loudmouth supermodel and author has left the UPN reality show and will be replaced by Twiggy Lawson on the upcoming fifth season.
"We would like to thank Janice for bringing her talents to the show and for everything she did to help us build 'America's Next Top Model' into its current success," executive producer Ken Mok said in a statement Thursday. "We wish her well in all of her future endeavors."
Dickinson, author of "No Lifeguard on Duty: The Accidental Life of the World's First Supermodel" and "Everything About Me Is Fake ... and I'm Perfect," was the most outspoken member of the model hunt's judging panel, dishing harsher-than-harsh critiques to contestants and getting into spats with fellow judges since the first season.
Also gone as a judge is stylist Nole Marin. He'll be replaced by runway expert J. Alexander, a former model who's taught catwalk technique and guest-judged in previous seasons -- or "cycles," the show's term for each installment.
Lawson rose to fame in the 1960s with her doe eyes and pixie hairdo, appearing on the covers of magazines such as Harper's Bazaar, Vogue, McCall's, Seventeen and Newsweek.
Dickinson will star in the next season of VH1's "The Surreal Life" with the likes of Jose Canseco and Bronson Pinchot. According to UPN, Dickinson also has a television production deal and is working on a new book.

I . . . but . . . huh? . . . whyyyyyyyyyyy???!!!!
*unfurls from foetal position and wipes tears from face*
How can this be? ANTM without Janice? I don't think I can go on. Who's going to bitchslap Nigel and Tyra? Who will be willing to throw their head on the judging desk in disgust risking post surgery damage? Who else could POSSIBLY say the things she says? Will Twiggy have had the requisite amount of plastic surgery and done enough drugs to render her brain the same scarily brilliant random place as Janice's? My dream that one day Janice would just tear Nigel's clothes off and engage in raw sweaty drunken ANTM sex is over. Shattered. I am so terribly sad.

Sorry? Nole's leaving too? Oh, well thats sad also, he's rea . . .lly quite insightful . . . nooo, he isn't. Hmmm. All I can muster for him is meh. But I will miss Empress Minnie.

Janiiiiicce . . . . *sob*

Mr Stipe?? I don't feel fine . . .

There are many signs that the four riders of the apocalypse are currently saddling up their steeds as you read this post. The death of the pope, the current crop of nuffnuffs (TM SuzieB) inhabiting the Big Brother house this season, Britney Spears/Kevin Federline breeding and the strange correlation between the success of alumnus from Saturday Night Live depending on the appearance of Drew Barrymore in their movie**. But perhaps the biggest sign for me is the fact that perennial Razzie Award winning director Michael Bay is reportedly re-making Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds.
Warning! Warning! Danger Will Robinson!!
“But Tallulah?” I hear you ask, “Whats so bad about re-makes? Everyone’s doing it – look at Amityville and Dawn of the Dead and Ocean’s 11.”
This is an excellent point. With the exception of Amityville Horror (which I haven’t seen even though Ryan Reynolds is currently THE SHIT and is so hot that he replaced Clooney in my heart for a WHOLE TWENTY FOUR HOURS after I saw Blade Trinity) Ocean’s 11 and Dawn of the Dead are pretty damn good re-makes. In certain area’s they even improved upon the original film. Jake Weber and Sarah Polley are flat out awesome in DotD and the whole cast of Ocean’s 11 deserved some sort of Cool Award, because that film was so cool that I got frostbite. Hee.
However, these were re-makes of cult classics. Not everyone knows/has seen the originals of these films – in fact, I have to cop to never having seen the original DotD in its entirety and quite frankly the original Ocean’s 11 is just baaaaaaaad - Academy Award winning performance in From Here To Eternity aside, Sinatra just wasn’t a great actor. So these were good re-makes that were only potentially going to step on a few geeky toes.
But I just don’t understand the reasoning behind re-making The Birds. It’s a great film (if slightly dated in its look, but that’s to be expected with special effects laden films, even Jurassic Park looks a little dated now) and it isn’t just a cult classic, it’s a Classic. Capital C. You don’t fuck with the Classics. I mean, are we to expect a Godfather re-make in fifteen years?? Jaws? Alien? Gone with the Wind?? (Seriously, if someone tries to re-make Jaws or Alien I will personally get medieval on their bottoms). You don’t re-make a Classic, which I believe all concerned in the Psycho re-make now realise.
Oh, sorry. Psycho homage. Shut up, Gus Van Sant.
The Birds isn’t Hitchcock’s best – not by a long shot. That spot is reserved for Psycho (although my brain just flashed to Vertigo and Rear Window and is now arguing fiercely and pointlessly with itself) and if the re-make – oh alright – homage of that film didn’t work, how is re-making The Birds going to work? If Gus Van Sant directed, it would be closer to okay because he is still a pretty great director but it would still reek of the Hollywood Cash In. But MICHAEL FREAKING BAY?? The man is a hack. Pearl Harbour was a ridiculous, hideous mess of a film and he doesn’t deserve the opportunity to remake my BED let alone this Classic film. Erk. Double erk. And excuse me whilst I revisit my lunch, because MICHAEL BAY!! – aaaaaaargh.
So bring on the apocalypse and make it quick, before this travesty hits my local Cineplex and I have to waste a months wages on buying eggs to pelt at the screen.

**One day I plan to make a chart of some kind, because seriously? Adam Sandler and Jimmy Fallon + Drew Barrymore in The Wedding Singer and Fever Pitch respectively = good films and box office success. David Spade needs to hook up with this chick (and we as a collective audience need to forgive him for all those awful films with Chris Farley. And also, Dickie Roberts, because . . . duuuude). Will Ferrell seems to have been the only one to have reached the dizzying heights of making movies with Nicole Kidman without the aid of Ms Barrymore - and I’m not sure if that deserves our congratulations or our sympathies, because I’ve seen the trailer for Bewitched and I can smell the stink from here.

Happy Birthday

Sigh - to my sweet sweet sweet George. Happy 44th birthday. Don't get too drunk out with Brad, Matt, Ben and Julia - remember she has twins at home now so she can't stay out too late. And if Who Weekly and New Idea report that you were cavorting around with some young, nubile blonde thing at some garishly hip and trendy nightspot, I'll try to remember that its really me you love . . .

PS - Umm, while we're chatting. Oceans 12 was okay and I loved the Tallulah shoutout from Bruce Willis, but? Don't push it. Please pick a really good next film.
Love and Always Your TallulahBelle

You really don't like her that much, do you?

I’m not entirely sure what I’ve gotten myself into.
Let me explain.
I’ve eagerly agreed to be in a play a friend is directing through a fledgling theatre troupe. The fledgling is not the issue, neither is the directing friend : but I’ve now read the play and Holy Camole! I’m on stage for the whole freaking thing.
A rough outline : it is approximately 68 pages long, after I subtract the five pages where I don’t interact with the other two characters (although I am still on stage), we’re sitting at 63 pages. Approx 33 lines(ish) to a page translates to roughly 2244 lines in total. At least a third of those belong to the other two characters, which leaves me with 1496 lines to learn. Now, for anyone who has never tried to learn lines for a play? This. Is. Scary.
Scarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry.
Don’t get me wrong, this is an amazing role and (so far) a fabulous cast/crew that I’m working with. They’re mostly known quantities because I’ve done stuff with them before, and recently. But the Daunting, oh, the Daunting. And I’ve learnt significant chunks of Shakespearean dialogue in under three weeks so I can handle a bit of pressure (you know, not to toot my horn or anything – hee, toot toot!), but this? Ohhhhhhhh, the Daunting.
Normally, I highlight the text to help me with learning lines but I’m thinking it might be more useful at this point just to highlight the other characters lines. (Not to waste highlighter fluid needlessly or anything, bearing in mind that we’re currently experiencing an epidemic of global proportions.) And I’ll still do my usual tricks ie leave it until the last minute/in the car on the way to rehearsals/taped to the non-wet side of the glass shower partition/forcing people in the lunchroom to run lines with me.
But hey. It’s a challenge. And ultimately that’s what I look for when I audition for a part. You don’t want every character you play to be the same, unless you’re Gwyneth Paltrow, and then apparently it doesn’t matter because they’ll give you an Academy Award regardless of the tripe you make rather than give it to the incredibly worthy Australian chick playing a Virgin Queen who didn’t have the advantage of growing up calling people like Spielberg and Michael Douglas ‘Uncle’ (I’m just guessing).

Heh. Line learning with a side of bitter, anyone??

The death of a legendary character - Hunter S Thompson

One of the saddest things about my generation (and the generations to come) is that the majority of under 35's have never read a Hunter S Thompson story (or Kurt Vonnegut or Erica Jong or Virgina Woolf or Ernest Hemmingway - the list goes on). The closest they've been to one (and I count myself amongst that number and will repent at the first opportunity as I've always meant to read Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas and Fear & Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72) is a slightly above average - at least I think it is - movie starring Johnny Depp. The only gen xers who even noticed the passing of HST are entertainment whores (like myself, who hang off the CNN webpage) and the ever shrinking literati who prefer their Profound Important Literature with a short black macchiato and a goatee. (I'm so jealous of them.)
Such a sad sad sad indictment of my generation that we prefer Stephen King (who, to be fair, is a great fixture of popculture for my gen) and gameshows to a writer who provokes real discussion.

These quotes prove that Hunter was a man after my own heart . . .

The Fix is In,' Nov. 27, 2000
"There was one exact moment, in fact, when I knew for sure that Al Gore would Never be President of the United States, no matter what the experts were saying -- and that was when the whole Bush family suddenly appeared on TV and openly scoffed at the idea of Gore winning Florida. It was Nonsense, said the Candidate, Utter nonsense. . .Anybody who believed Bush had lost Florida was a Fool. The Media, all of them, were Liars & Dunces or treacherous whores trying to sabotage his victory. . . Here was the whole bloody Family laughing & hooting & sneering at the dumbness of the whole world on National TV. The old man was the real tip-off. The leer on his face was almost frightening. It was like looking into the eyes of a tall hyena with a living sheep in its mouth. The sheep's fate was sealed, and so was Al Gore's."

Fear & Loathing in America,' Sept.12, 2001
"The towers are gone now, reduced to bloody rubble, along with all hopes for Peace in Our Time, in the United States or any other country. Make no mistake about it: We are At War now -- with somebody -- and we will stay At War with that mysterious Enemy for the rest of our lives."
"It will be guerilla warfare on a global scale, with no front lines and no identifiable enemy. . . We are going to punish somebody for this attack, but just who or what will be blown to smithereens for it is hard to say. Maybe Afghanistan, maybe Pakistan or Iraq, or possibly all three at once. Who knows"?
"This is going to be a very expensive war, and Victory is not guaranteed -- for anyone, and certainly not for anyone as baffled as George W. Bush. All he knows is that his father started the war a long time ago, and that he, the goofy child-President, has been chosen by Fate and the global Oil industry to finish it Now."

The Bush League,' Sept. 9, 2003
"Why are we seeing George Bush on TV every two hours for nine or ten days at a time, like some kind of mutated Mr. Rogers clone? Something is dangerously wrong in any country where a monumentally-Failed backwoods politician can scare our national TV networks so totally that they will give him anything he wants."


Bat country indeed . . . rest in peace Mr Thompson.

Good Works

It has been reported by CNN and other news media outlets that in the wake of the tsunami disaster in Asia, people have been donating money to charities in droves. One American charity featured on Foxnews said they had received more money in one hour then they normally receive in a six month period. People are emptying their wallets, their bank accounts and their piggy banks to donate to this incredibly worthy cause. The general public in Britain has donated more than their own government is forking out. Australian donations have been both meteoric and record shattering. In the first few days Jackie Chan donated $65,000, rockers Linkin Park donated $100,000 and yesterday Sandra Bullock donated one cool million dollars to the Red Cross Tsunami Appeal (the same amount she gave after 9/11). The sheer numbers being donated are eclipsed only by the horrific number of dead that also keeps rising. People are for the most, trying to do good works. Unfortunately for every white hat worn in the wild wild west, there is usually a black hat on the horizon. A Canadian student tricked a freelance journo in the US to donating the domain name tsunamirelief.com by purporting to be from a non-profit organisation. The journo was subsequently a little taken aback to see that the same student was auctioning the name on Ebay for $50,000. (His mother has come out and said he always intended to donate the money to one of the charities, however he has since withdrawn the site from auction). There are unsubstantiated reports of child trafficking in some of the remote regions, stories of people walking into hospitals and taking children with them. (I sincerely hope this turns out to be false or one of those urban legends that pops up in times of disasters but MSN are reporting that a Swedish boy may have been taken by a pedophile). And the blank resignation I see on the faces of the survivours, I am also starting to see reflected by the journalists sent to these areas. Hardened men and women - who have seen the worst we can do to one another – are visibly crumbling under the sheer weight of the day to day horror and devastation they are witnessing.

For those of us not in the trenches, who watch from the sidelines and the relative safety of our couches and who can do nothing else except review our budgets and see if we can give just a little bit more, do these numbers actually mean anything? Do they really hit home? Or is the sheer hugeness of the number of dead – almost one hundred and fifty thousand – too abstract for us to conceptualise? I can ruminate on that number and by itself it almost means nothing. It is tragic but it doesn’t really hit home. It’s just this really big hideous number. It isn’t until the tragedy is personalised that we feel an immediate emotion – usually gut wrenching sadness - in the heroic stories of people risking their lives for strangers, the shots of orphaned children in hospital beds and the shellshocked expression of the Swedish Prime Minister as he struggles to hold back the tears at a news conference. Our sub-conscious protects us from a true understanding of that number, because if we could process it we wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning. Instead, it instructs us to be a little nicer to our kids, smile more at strangers on the street or on the train and to give until it freaking hurts. And with the dollar figure Australians are projected to give currently thought to end up over 100 million, our good works can be said to be very good indeed.


Oxfam – 1800 034 034
Red Cross – 1800 811 700
Care – 1800 020 046
World Vision – 13 32 40
UNICEF – 1300 884 233

Australian Idol - And The Winner Is (23rd Nov, 2004)

Several things struck me about the grand finale and I wonder if I’m the only one.
1. It was way too freaking long. Come ON already guys just BLOODY WELL TELL US who won so they can put Criminal Intent on – its not going to be Chanel so bring on Det Goren.
2. Too many performances were either dull or just plain bad. I would personally rather watch the Duffy sisters (whom I think are magnificently taking the piss) interviewed on 60Mins than be subjected to Flynn EVER AGAIN. (In fact, could someone give those two girls their own tv show?) The ‘supergroup’ of Ngairre, Liza, Carlos, Adrian and Guys less talented doppelganger - were just plain sucky – out of key, out of sync with each other, no-one was backing the other up adequately and basically? . . . no. Just get off the stage. Now. Oh god – no, don’t come back, especially not with Maaaaaarcia!! (Dislike of Marcia aside, she is still a great live singer – so okay, she can stay. And Ngairre too. The rest of you? GET OFF. Have they announced the winner yet?)
3. I really honestly truly don’t feel like I need to watch Casey/Anthony’s Idol Journey again. (And AI producers, if you’re going to crown her Our Idol, best not to show her fucking up Eleanor Rigby again. Until Mike Munro interrupts the final rehearsal of Casey Donovan's Comeback Tour of 2034 for a This Is Your Life Idol Special, we don’t want to see it again. Possibly then we’ll be able to laugh about it - but I doubt it.)
4. Please find following a list of words/phrases to be struck from next years format :“awesome journey” “girlfriend” “boyfriend” “after the break” “touchdown” “unforgettables”New phrases to be implemented include:“Dicko’s replacement, our new judge Chanel Cole” and “ following the unexpected disappearance of Marcia” (In the probable eventuality of not being able to raise the funds nec for this, an acceptable substitute of simply Shut Up Marcia will suffice. Is it Anthony or Casey!!?? Oh, its another ad break.)
5. Emelia has been taking singing lessons. Amali is still just about the cutest thing ever to come out of Tassie. Dan was never really very good, was he? Angie should have made it to at least the top five. Ricki-Lee has a secret, I suspect it’s a signed recording contract. Daniel still desperately needs a haircut. Marty has somehow gotten quirkier. Hayley adores Chanel and vice versa. Courtney still has one of the sexiest finest voices I have ever heard. (Nothing new struck me about Chanel, she still sounded great, looked wonderful & was the most interesting thing about the fifteen hour finale. Seriously. Do we know who won YET?)
6. . . . did Guy Sebastian win again?
7. The lesson is “less is more” (ah, the irony for Substantial Response Girl). Less Marcia (please god), less waffling and cut the Monday show to half an hour and stop torturing these poor kids!!
8. Aaaah Detective. Now who killed this man? Really? His wife’s hairdresser’s boyfriend’s son’s third grade teacher? Interesting - and you solved the case in under an hour you say? Can you host Australian Idol next year????

Australian Idol - Mediocre Midget Vs Bohemian Belle

Animatronic Ant Vs Gorgeous Goth?
Boring Boy Vs Divine Diva?

I could go on, but I think you might be able to guess who I preferred last night. I can forgive Casey the forgotten lines in her song (although as a performer I find it unforgiveable, I give her a break on this one because she had to do three songs and unlike Anthony, she also has school to go to) but I refuse to forgive mediocrity.

Hellllllllllo . . . . Anthony. Its finally hit me who Anthony reminds me of. The robot boy that Haley Joel Osment played in A.I. His emotions have been programmed in and don't ring entirely truthfully - the reason he never forgets HIS lines is because he has them scanned onto his retina. It also explains why he does the same moves over and over again. He hasn't received the Justin Timberlake Version4 upgrade yet. Honestly. He IS a much better singer technically, but I'd rather scoop my eyeballs out of my head with a dirty soup spoon than listen to an entire album of that level of schmoopy. He did three songs that were almost exactly the same. Three ballads. THREE. For the love of mike why didn't someone STOP HIM - hang on - no, my mistake, he did sit on a stool for one, so they were slighty different. And I may have blacked out for a second from the horror, but WAS HE SINGING THE SONG FROM KARATE KID TWO? Ohmigod he was. In the immortal words of Summer from the O.C. - ewwwwwwwwwwwwww. He bored me. Bored me STUPID.

Casey. Okay so I'm a little Casey biased now due to the fact that I now have to take insulin shots from listening to Anthony all these months. She's Obiwan Kenobe in Star Wars (Episode Four) - she's my only hope. The first song was great and raw and powerful, the second was insightful and sung quite prettily, and good god, she actually made that AWFUL Dianne Warren song sound like it wasn't written whilst Dianne was in the midst of a diabetic coma (and don't question how someone could write whilst in a coma, if you've ever had the misfortune to catch the theme song to the new Star Trek series Enterprise, then you know she does it all the freaking time).

So I voted for Casey. Several times. Annnnnd I also voted once for Chanel. Just in case. She can still win, right? (Did you see Chanel sitting next to Daniel in the audience? Aaaah, young love. And Fosse noted that Ricki-Lee still looks REALLY REALLY REALLY angry. Get over it princess.) And James Mathieson Freudian Slip'd Courtney's name instead of Anthony's in the final two at the end - guess we know who he was voting for . . .

As an end to my musings I leave you with one final Shut. Up. Marcia. Dicko, please take her with you when you go and drop her into the shark pool at Underwater World. They're just nurse sharks, they'll only bite her a little bit . . . (Go Casey. Kick his tiny little robotic ass.)

Australian Idol - Woh Woh Woh????

I have a MAJOR issue with last nights episode. Ahem. Oh Anthony??? WHERE were the woh woh wohs? Toto's Hold the Line is NOTHING without the woh woh wohs. NOTHING.

Moving on. My, the kids stepped it up a notch last night didn't they? And the judges - my oh my . . .

Courtney rocked da house again. Loved that he hit the money note with Somebody to Love and I have always loved that particular Paul McCartney song My Love. He looked lovely in the red shirt again and I wish him well for tonight. Go the touchdown!! Thoroughly deserved - two shows in a row - LOVE IT! Oh, and Marcia received my Shut Up Marcia sign but she changed it to Shut Up Mark. It still works. I like that they all did an upbeat and then a slowish song, it showed diversity and I liked it and my opinion is REALLY what matters not yours so Shut Up Mark.

Casey was pretty good last night but I didn't like her song choices. Yes she has some latent anger and it acquitted itself well for You're So Vain (or as they like to spell it on the message boards - Your So Vain or You're So Vein. Oy.) but its a boring song and even the blatant hostility in the chorus towards (I think) her father (call me Dr Tally) didn't pick the song up to a higher level. Misty Blue was very nice. Tell the truth, I got bored during this song and my attention drifted terribly. She sang it well and it was well executed but meh. If she doesn't go tonight and Court goes instead, then the girl has some SERIOUS fan base. I did think it was weird to hear Marcia (slightly) bag out a girl on the show who wasn't my bestest friend Chanel. And if anyone noticed? - the guys from George were in the audience, I think Katie Noonan loves her some Casey.

Anthony somehow read my post from last week and went out and got himself laid. Seriously, he butched it up majorly for Hold The Line and I thought it was great EXCEPT for the boyband moves which had Fosse twitching in pain again. And then Bridge Over Troubled Water nearly put me to sleep. There, I said it Fosse, exact your revenge at a later date. I'm sorry, it was very nicely sung but blah blah blah seen it all before blah. BLAH.

And Marcia? Just give him a blow job and SHUT UP GIRLFRIEND.

It should by all rights be goodbye to Casey tonight and give us an all boy final. If its Courtney, I will cry myself to sleep and if its Anthony I'll be so surprised I'll fall out of the gravitational pull of the earths atmosphere . . .

Rant - US Presidential Election

Sigh. Another four more years of this buffoon? Honestly, I don't know what breaks my heart more, that the Iraq mess will potentially only take down my favourite world leader Tony Blair, that the early exit polls were so enthusiastic about Kerry and turned out to be total and utter hogwash (damn you CNN/ABC/BBC/FOX. Damn you to hell.) OR the fact that the bugger legitimately won it this time. No throwing out of votes, no 'hanging chads', no refusing people the right to vote, no underhanded help from brother Jeb, no running to the US Senate or to Daddy's appointed Supreme Court to have the election handed to him. No. He actually bollocksy won this one fair and square. **
And that is about the only thing that keeps me from taking a gun and walking into McDonalds and making the girl behind the register whose name is probably Cindi with an 'i' (I'll bet she signs her name with little hearts instead of dotting the 'i's. I hate that. I have so much anger.) serve me cheeseburgers until I fall into a diabetic coma. Its soooo sad that the only good I can take from this is that he didn't steal this one. Silver linings suck.
The scariest thing about all this was an expat woman they had on the BBC who got into an argument with a British guy on talkback radio who insisted that Bush did the right thing in Iraq and if 'they' decide to invade (yes, she said invade) Iran and North Korea as well, then THAT'S THEIR BUSINESS. I suddenly understood why he won. For crying out loud.

Should you wish to contact me, I can be found huddled in the foetal position in my new underground bomb shelter. Any donations of cans and or cyanide pills welcome. I'll be out in four years to support the Hillary Clinton/John Edwards ticket.

**Safest not to get me started on who really should have been running in 2004 - incumbent president AL GORE and (most likely candidate) Republican nominee Senator John McCain. In a less than perfect but still nonetheless better world than this one currently, Dubbya would have been sitting in the Governor's office in Texas denying the rights of prisoners on death row. Hate.

Australian Idol - Fly Me To The Moon. Now.

Panic not dear readers, I return with vitriolic computer shaped pen in hand (or really, at fingertip) to share my musings on the goings on of everything Idol. My utmost apologies for missing last week. I was at deaths door and had to fight the bugger off armed only with an acerbic wit and the sharpness of my tongue, so there was no bite left for the Idol's. But I'm baaa-aaack.

Firstly. RIP Miss Chanel Cole. It was for the best, my love. This way you're not going to be pigeonholed into some ridiculously rushed album that will produce only two mediocre hits before being resigned to the bargains bin at the local Sanity store. Now you can shine! Get signed up by some great jazz/contemporary adult label and I will buy everything you ever release.
Love TallulahBelle
xx
PS shut up Marcia.

Big Band. Well, I've been whispering it in a slightly gravelly-hoarse-shouldn't-be-speaking-at-all-voice the last week. I said Courtney and Chanel would have been the only ones to TRULY appreciate the Big Band vibe and I am pretty darn sure I was right. Courtney was smooth, he was sassy, he was BLOODY HOT in those suits - yowzah!! Both songs were a treat and I thoroughly enjoyed them, the CourtJester takes up the baton dropped by the lovely Chanel and he RAMS it right up Ricki-Lee's arse (who - FYI - would have been awful at BB, oooh and can you just imagine the trainwreck that would have been Big Band Emilia style? The horror, the horror!!)
Anthony. Borrrrrrring. Okay, enough already, we get it, he's probably going to win, yada yada yada, but frankly, I can't think of anything less exciting. Oh wait . . . . no, i was right the first time, I would actually watch paint dry before I would sit through an Anthony concert. His rendition of Fever proved to me that the boy has NEVER HAD SEX. Ever. Route 66 had a nice sparkle at the end, but if he does that leg thing, or the fingers thing, or the hand to the camera in a searching gesture thing one more freaking time, Fosse is going to put his foot through the screen. And I still haven't entirely paid for that TV yet so CUT IT OUT Callea.
Hayley. Sigh. As Fosse loves to say - God be with you. Is it depressing that she has a mighty good chance to be the last girl standing? Her first song gave me nothing. Her second I thought was lovely and quite possibly the nicest thing she's done in a loooong while, but I still don't get a whole lot from her. And am I the only one who thinks of Carol-Anne from the Poltergeist movies when I look at her?
Casey. Oh, how I loved this girl to start with. My three C's, Chanel, Courtney and Casey (in that order). She nearly killed me with Eleanor Rigby and last night just about finished me off. I get that she's only 16, great job, such a young girl blah blah blah (shut up Marcia) but I don't think she has the vocal maturity to carry this off. She covered up getting the words wrong in Come Fly With Me much better but still. They need to up the age bracket of this thing. For sure. And maybe make them sit some standard English and vocab tests. Excellent call Mr Dicko, we will miss you sorely next season. (Note to the AI producers, I am currently unemployed and I understand you have a position about to become available. See the above as my written application . . .)

My money is on one of the girls to go. I think it might be another all boy finale. But hey you know, I quite literally haven't been right ONCE. Not once. I don't even want to speculate on the US election on Wednesday just in case I jinx John Kerry - awwwwww NUTS . . .

Australian Idol - Who Ya Gonna Call

Things to do after watching Australian Idol 80's show
1. Put tongue back in mouth and clean up drool following Chanel's performance. Shazaaaam.
2. Rewind and watch again due to not hearing everyone the first time as was singing at top of own lungs to songs from childhood. Badly.
3. Come to grips with realisation that will probably never be the Australian Idol.
4. Take pins out of Marcia doll and put them into Mark Holden doll for what he said to Courtney. Remember what he said to Chanel and then take them out. Put them back in again when he speaks to Hayley.
5. Fast forward through the ARIAs to the nights hands down best idol performance as Guy burns up the stage. Sigh nostagically.

Once again Chanel and Courtney saved an otherwise slightly listless and dull show. I felt my attention drifting like the continental plates as Hayley and Anthony performed. They were just soooo snoozeworthy. Gah. And big facial smacks to Mark Holden for putting Hayley on the spot about her album, I thought that was WAY out of line. Bad man. Anthony, its lucky the gay men love you because the straight girls are starting to lose their interest. Of course, I'm not twelve so I might be wrong about that. Casey failed to raise either happiness or ire within me. She was good, but not great. Slightly more interesting than Hayley or Anthony, but that might have been because I was waiting to see if she forgot the words to this song too. Marty disappointed me. I thought he would tear that song up and he realllllllly didn't. Thats the power of blah. He might as well have done the Jennifer Rush song of the same name.
The CourtJester and my bestest friend made me beam and smile - and in Chanel's case, want her to be my girlfriend. Although I was hoping she would tear into that song a liiiiittle bit more than she did, she was still bellisimo. But the night just totally belonged to the CourtJester, who usurped his usual curly goodness for the gelled hair look (I am devastated that no-one Flock of Seagulls'ed it tonight, yes Andrew G I am looking at your lovely locks - they would have FoS'd niiiiiiicely). The 'do' suited Court and he looked less like John Candy in Spaceballs (shout out Fosse!) and more like my Australian Idol. The boy was fab and I'm thinking about changing my name to Sheree in his honour. And for the first time ever . . . . SHUT UP MARK. (And a slightly less emotional but nonetheless heartfelt Shut Up Marcia for still refusing to say anything really very nice to my girl.)
So I picked Casey to go based on no reasoning whatsoever but purely because I haven't correctly picked the evictee yet and I quite obviously don't have my finger on any pulses and knowing my luck it will be my girl. But it should be Marty or Casey. Or maybe Hayley. Possibly Courtney or Anthony? Or even Chanel? Meh. It will definitely be one of those six. I imagine. Right?
Word.

Australian Idol - Freaking Let It Be

Well. Didn't last night suck. For many reasons. Lets start with the fact that kids today DON'T KNOW THE BEATLES. How is that possible? I guess the average 20-odd year can not know the backcatalogue of the Fab Four and get through life quite fine, thank you very much. But singers? THESE singers? Musicians of any calibre should know the history of their chosen field and therefore I WAS HORRIFIED. I grew up with the Beatles, my mother loved those boys more than I love a good latte and one of my first clear memories as a child is my mother crying fit to break a tear duct in front of our room-sized stereo system in Karratha as she listened to the announcer talk about the slaying of John Lennon in New York. As a three year old I threw the Beatles albums around like frisbees - allegedly - and my mother has never truly forgiven me for it. I bought her a block mounted copy of Let It Be that she has in pride of place in the loungeroom, a desperate apology from a grown up daughter who realised how much she would FREAK if her kids turned around and ruined her Crowded House memorabilia. How DARE these kids be SO horrendously unprepared?

Casey - HORRIBLE, but I slightly forgive you because you're at school during the day and don't have the time that the others do, you're at a slight disadvantage but STILL Eleanor Rigby should not be treated with SUCH contempt. Urk.
Ricki-Lee, I hate you once again, thanks for returning me to my original state regarding you, I take back every good thing I EVER said about you. You'll be first up against the wall when the revolution comes if I have any say in it.
Anthony, the Johnny Young Talent Time lawyers will be contacting you about your blatant rip off of every show they ever did.
Hayley . . . I don't honestly remember what she was like, I barely remember what she sang. Sooooo very bland. Soooooooooo very bland.
Thank John, Paul, Ringo and George for Marty (WHO KNEW!!), the CourtJester (we forgive the forgetting of the lyrics because he covered so well, I didn't even notice until the 2nd time I watched it and he loved what he was doing, it was infectious) and Chanel. Ahhhhh Chanel, Marcia - how hard were those words to spit out of your mouth dahling??? There was a lot less SHUT UP MARCIA because she finally got with the programme. Lets see how long it lasts. Chanel outclassed them all. I loved it almost as much as her Portishead and her Propeller Heads. She is a class act, she has a lovely way with a tune and I bow my head and salaam in your direction Chanel, we are NOT worthy.
I think it might be Miss Casey tonight, although I had to put in my vote for the tipping competition on Friday because I didn't know if I would have the internet today and I chose Mediocre Marty because WHO KNEW. From my position in this internet cafe in Hawthorn with my mugaccino and my bedhair, I apologise to the Dome. He doesn't deserve to go tonight and if he does it will not be because of his performance. Good luck kids and Casey if you survive this one, please PLEASE listen to the song, listen to the lyric and ask Chanel for some tips.