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Synecdoche [pronounced Sin-eck-do-key] NY is the directorial debut from Charlie Kaufman, who wrote the screenplays for Adaptation, Being John Malkovich and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I believe in movie reviews being slightly more interestingly introduced than that, but in this case context is a must; the backstory should illustrate the film itself, and you should, already, have the impression that Synecdoche NY is going to be slightly bonkers.
To describe it as a story, in the fashion of “it’s a story about” would be to do the entire concept a disservice; it’s a synecdoche, of course, the use of the life of Caden Cotard (played by Philip Seymour Hoffman with whom I fall that little bit more in love every time I see him) to describe, for want of a better phrase, the lives of others – the lives of us. Read the rest of this entry »
That came to mind when I read this.
Little else is requisite to carry a state to the highest degree of opulence from the lowest barbarism, but peace, easy taxes, and a tolerable administration of justice; all the rest being brought about by the natural course of things.
- Adam Smith, 1744. From Essays on Philosophical Subjects (1980).
My feelings for Lady GaGa are somewhere between hatred and obsession so, for the days that I have internet access and five minutes to spare, I intend to chronicle wisdom from the mouth of Lady GaGa and, in this case, from the journalists whose jobs it is to chronicle said wisdom.
These particular gems were taken from Rolling Stone, its “hot list” issue, allegedly. On the cover is the delectable GaGa, resplendent in bubbles (but of course). She is “redefining sexy”, apparently. I’m at a loss.
Which brings me nicely along to this gem, written by the awestruck journalist: Read the rest of this entry »
Here’s one for Beaut.ie: I think I’m becoming a tanorexic. My cousin’s wedding is coming up and, despite the fact that I am wearing second-hand vintage, flying in on the morning of the wedding at 8am and possibly going to assign myself the role of unofficial photographer, I am obsessed with the idea that I should be tanned while doing all of the above.
I’ve been using Biotherm Summer Source for about a fortnight now (although not, might I add, every day – I’m not quite that bad. Yet) and I have to say, it’s my favourite of any of the gradual tanners.
It goes on easy, has a lovely citrus smell and doesn’t streak.
However – and here’s the big but – after about an hour the tan developer seems to kick in and envelope your body in the fake tan stench to beat all fake tan stenches. No amount of perfume will cover this up. Still, it’s worth it in the name of fake brown skin – right?!
Anyway, speaking of big butts:
So, Jodie Marsh has decided to become a bodybuilder. The results of her quest – during which she has gone from a size 10 to a size 6 (all sizes UK) can be seen left. The lady doth not wish to protest too much, but I’ve never been one for the hardbodies. The muscles are impressive, sure, and smack of time in the gym and protein supplements, but I don’t find it attractive at all – I don’t know why you would want to appear muscular. I guess it’s similar to wanting to look like you have make-up on; the whole point of working out is to make you look better, not necessarily like you’ve been working out. That said, amazing abs – and one has to admire her determination.
But our collective obsession with body image is something that continues to surprise me and, from time to time, consume my own thoughts.
But here’s a girl whose blog I don’t understand. She wants to lose 60lbs even though she’s a size 12; she has embarked on a juice diet and seems quite obsessed with the idea of fitting into a US size 0 (this is judgmental – personal opinion is judgmental, I don’t know her though and, to a certain extent, her business is her business). My question is this: why blog about it? Why blog about something that is definitely not for everybody, that is not a healthy attitude to have and that won’t really help anyone?
Then again, why do I blog? Maybe it’s because I think I’m great and that everybody else should realise how great I am. In fact, that’s probably it.
Serious moping now – much akin to the feeling I get when I realise that famous people are younger than me (yes, I’m talking to you, Mary-Kate and Ashley) and have achieved more / are richer / are cooler and more fashionable (delete as applicable). This was somewhat eased by the fact that the formerly amazing Ms Spears now has two kids and obviously went off the rails for a while, but now, here we are, at a familiar crossroads.
Tavi – is this her real name? Do I care? Should I care? – is 13 years old. That is my age, minus 11 years but plus a whole lot of cool and a fashion knowledge that is, frankly, astounding.
I kind of loathe her, which I know is unfair and borne of jealousy which, my mother would say, is entirely unnecessary.The familiar refrain: “I never understood ‘jealousy’.” I put the word alone because that’s how she says it, as if it’s Russian and it doesn’t even translate in her brain.
Anyway, Tavi went and hung out with Rodarte designers in LA, which is all well and good for her, innit? Bah. I suppose I can comfort myself that, in the 11 years she has to catch up with me, she might get hideously uncool. It seems unlikely though. Back to moping for me.
Obviously I am very busy and important but today, while taking a break from said activities – being busy and important – I stumbled upon this, and it interested me. I wonder will my iPod show just how randomly eclectic my music taste is?
- James Blunt, Same Mistake. (Jesus.)
- REM, Fireplace.
- Red Hot Chili Peppers, Where I Go.
- Devendra Banhart, Chinese Children.
- REM, What’s the Frequency, Kenneth? (Excellent.)
- The National, Trophy Wife.
- Remy Zero, Perfect Memory.
- Britney Spears, Toxic.
- Rufus Wainwright, Leaving for Paris No. 2.
- Red Hot Chili Peppers, Purple Stain.
It hardly seems fair that it begins with James Blunt and includes two each of REM and Red Hot Chili Peppers when, honestly, I have so much more to offer! I am tempted to excise Blunty from the records and include Bjork’s Isobel, which came up as number 11 and is far superior, but in the name of truth and justice, I will not. Bloggers, do yizzer worst. Although I wonder if this exercise will just end up serving as an extended iPod advertisement, while simultaneously ruining whatever street cred I think I may have. . .
Oh now I’m mad: song number 12 is In Memoriam a Capella from Les Choristes, and definitely would have (if only in my mind) made me seem cooler than #1. Sob.
Since I was 14, I’ve been on some sort of diet. I started WeightWatchers for the first time when I was about 16 – at 12 and a half stone, I was overweight but not necessarily extraordinarily so. I ate too much of the wrong foods, I exercised too little – I have asthma that has, luckily, got milder as I’ve grown up, but when I was younger it meant that I was embarrassed about sports. I couldn’t run very far or, rather, for very long. I wasn’t chosen for sports because I wasn’t fast and I shyed away from pushing myself. That said, I guess I can blame upbringing for some of it; my family is not sporty, so it wasn’t necessarily something that I felt was “missing” from my life either.
I don’t have a bad relationship with food, despite the fact that, as it stands, I have been dieting for 10 years. That’s longer than most people do anything; it’s longer than I’ve known a lot of my closest friends. Your relationship with your body, as clichéd as it sounds, really is one worth thinking about; you’re stuck together, aintcha, so you may as well find some happy equilibrium. Read the rest of this entry »
Gag. Which is a happy coincidence, given the artist. Will Lady GaGa ever give up pretending to be a feminist? Because I really don’t care how you paint it, writhing around in swarovski crystals and having male models / dancers / hairstylists gaze into your GaGa isn’t feminism. It never was and it’s not now; feminism is not a by-word for whatever “girl power” female pop stars are currently touting.
And oh, look, I shouldn’t spend time on YouTube because here’s another one. Beyoncé, it was cute once it was never cute. Find a new “thing”.
I love Oxfam Vintage and, as such, despite my new presence on a higher plane than the shopaholic I used to be, I occasionally wander in and have a look around. Just last week I found a beautiful original Penguin version of – well, I can’t actually remember, but had it in my grubby mitts before I stepped away, chanting “library, library” in my brain.
Yesterday I wandered in and found the perfect dress for a wedding I’m attending this weekend. I had decided that I would wear something I already owned (I just didn’t know what) when I spotted a printed turquoise beaut. I figure that second-hand clothing, especially from somewhere like Oxfam, isn’t that bad – it goes to charity, is donated (although I’m not quite sure about this when it comes to the vintage range). Surely it’s not as bad as going to Penneys, Topshop et al? Anyway I had to drop it in to be altered today, for €3 more than it cost me. Even after the alteration, it’ll still come in at less than €30. This is my justification.
Oh, and I bought another dress while I was there. That is all. Photos to follow when I get ‘em back from the repair lady.
