2002. The year you could watch MTV Base for two hours and the Neptunes would have produced every single track you saw (I know you can’t see a song, but they didn’t produce the videos and… although I suppose if you had synaesthesia you could possibly be said to… never mind, you know what I mean). It was also my last summer of underage dancing in terrible clubs to all the hits from 2000-02 while wearing undoubtedly hideous clothes. I remember Fabolous and Gravel Pit and Big Pimpin’ and Ginuwine and Nappy Roots and Nelly and B2K and I could go on ad infinitum because I pretty much love all hip-hop and r’n'b except for emo rappers, Eminem and Asher Roth.
I think I danced particularly badly but joyfully to this.
“Ass is fat, frame is little, tattoo in your chest with his name in the middle.” I will still be able to quote that line when I am in an old person’s home. And I will, frequently and loudly at anyone that happens to walk past me.
2002 was also the year that I met Tim Westwood when I lost my hat on the street and he called me ‘little lady’. That was a crap story, I’m sorry.
There is now a useful ‘SEX degrees of separation’ calculator to figure out how many people you could have indirectly caught the nasties from should you not use the proper precautions. It also has an option to share your results on your social networking profile, which I’ll definitely be doing.
When they say ‘calculator’, I suspect this may have a hint of ‘random number generator’.
ps. this is categorised under ‘drink’ because it makes me want to.
pps. i lasted 52 seconds because that is the point at which she gives up her home address. Now I’m saving up for my ‘tell peaches what you think of her New York spring break trip’. Btw, It’s Bedford Avenue – for those of you who couldn’t stand her that long.
Aside from Dr Horrible, Sevs’ dress was about the only win.
Little Dorrit winning Best Miniseries over Generation Kill is just distressing, so I’m going to concentrate on this to try and get something positive out of the experience. She just looks so nice.
And the P-Rod/Koston Nike SB ad that wisely uses this is pretty cute, maybe even enough for me to forgive them for the run of ugly new releases that have been offending my eyes recently (I’m looking at you, Dunk Low Asparagus).
Watch it, and have it say goodbye to summer for you.
It’s raining outside and I am tired and miserable, so I’ll imagine that someone has just bought me this whole outfit and we’ll pretend for a minute that I can walk gracefully in heels, rather than like an amputee newborn foal.
I really do love culinary shows, particularly ones with a game-show element. I love Masterchef. I love Ready Steady Cook. And I especially love Come Dine With Me (in spite – or perhaps because – of it’s inane repetitive nature and that irritating voice over man who makes everyone seem like a complete twat).
At least that’s what I thought. In actual fact, I don’t love cooking programmes, I love British cooking programmes. American cookery shows are a different kettle of pan fried fish altogether. They are – like most American tv programmes – absolutely mental.
And none more so than Iron Chef America.
Hmmmm. Not convinced by the mentalness. Lets look at my favourite part of the show. The special ingredient part…
Ooooooh
Aaaaaaah
Convinced? Lets proceed.
Iron Chef America is based on a Japanese (obviously!) show – Iron Chef. The original name for the Japanese version was ‘Ironmen Cooking’. Needless to say, I much prefer the original name. It describes the show with far more accuracy and finesse. I wish it was still called that.
ps. Jamie Oliver was a guest chef last year.
pps. Check out their outfits. Please.
ppps. Wanna know more, take a look at the unbelievably detailed Wikipedia entry.
I swear the purple dress is my imaginary dream film premiere dress from a few years ago come to life. I spend time thinking about these things because of all those film premieres that i go to. I need to be prepared. It’s quite Lanvin, no? I fucking love that colour.
I need everything here, even the super high waisted white trousers, which are clearly a terrible idea.
Friday Night Lights is unbelievably earnest, the team have group prayers before games, Coach Taylor (using the power of his hair/sunglasses) gives cheesy locker room pep talks and they all chant ‘Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose’ at some point every game to motivate themselves to victory. Matt Saracen (oh number 7 you’re the prince of awkward cute!) SINGS HIS SENILE GRANDMOTHER TO SLEEP.
But I will (uncharacteristically) never mock any of these things, because FNL is so fuck awesome and slow-clap epic that I cannot quite put my love of it into words. Just know that in walking past a place called ‘Bigguns ribs’ in my lunch break, I thought that it said ‘Riggins Ribs’ and that some genius had named a restaurant after my favourite Texan teen alcoholic Tim Riggins.
Yes, Tim, a rib shack. Named after you.
I am so excited for season 4 my facial expression looks a bit like the guy on the far right at the back.
Apparently I answered 10 our of 24 questions correctly (that’s 42% for those of you lacking a maths gcse or the equivalent qualification). That’s almost half the questions. WOW! Honestly, I did not expect to know nearly that much. I think my BA in Politics has finally paid off. Totally worth 3 years at university (4 if you count my second gap year taken after my first year of study). AM I PROUD OF MYSELF OR WHAT?
It took me 4 minutes and 13 seconds to finish. During which time I discovered many things that I did not know I did not know. I did not know in which year married women got the right to divorce their husbands. Nor was I sure whether it was true or false that in the 1980s, the largest immigrant groups were from the West Indies, Ireland, India and Pakistan.
It’s a hen enjoying her last single night ever, obviously. Via the age old medium of zorbing (I can’t bring myself to capitalize that, although apparently I can bring myself to spell American) Hmmm, where was I?
Yes, ok! It’s my friend’s hen this weekend and I’m sortof planning it. And now I feel bad because there will be no zorbing. I feel like I’ve let her down, and myself. Ultimately, I feel I’ve let myself down. In fact, it’s less of a feeling more of a deep knowing.
Next time, however, I’ll do so much better! Gremlin, I promise to take you clay pigeon shooting when/if you get married.
I just peed myself a little bit. The excitement promised in this picture proved too much for me and my weak bladder. Henheaven, you owe me one pair of pants.
So obviously the Daytime Emmys won’t even come close to the Primetime Emmys since there was no possibility of the hot pieces from GK in suits (i.e. a Brad/RayRay/Fick reunion – are Walt and Q-Tip as well too much to ask?), but they did have one thing the others probably won’t…
