Oh Simon, I Heart Thee!

My ipod reminded me this morning that Ratcat RULE.



They really only had two songs (That Ain't Bad and shit....what was the other one? Oh yeah, Don't Go Now).  Both were awesome and still rock today, despite Ratcat's ultimate fade-out into oblivion. Although Simon Day (the lead singer) appeared magically on a Bonds commercial where a bunch of tarts sing That Ain't Bad (really, really badly) on the back of a truck. Or something. Who pays attention? We're looking at girls in their knickers here!

Anyway, good old Simon was drool-worthy back in the day. We all wanted to make out with him. And steal his bad leather jacket and stripey, stripey shirts.

I think Ratcat and Tim Burton are to blame for my mild obsession with stripey clothes. And I'm aware it's the wrong dude in stripes above, and no leather jacket is seen. But photos of Ratcat are hard to find, and you get my drift goddamn you.

Here's hoping they tour another Big Day Out like they did back in 2002. If freakin House of Pain can reform and tour, riding on the fame of ONE FUCKING SONG from fifteen years ago, why the hell can't anyone?

If You Want Your Kid To Be Crazy and Cool, Name Her Edie

I watched Factory Girl recently, and was actually pretty moved by it, despite it being written off as a piece of shit by most. I think Sienna Miller is a really underrated actress who has never really gotten a chance to shine as she keeps getting bit parts as the slutty girl, or is overshadowed by Jude Law. Pffffft, Jude Law! What have YOU done lately?

Sienna was the perfect mix of ballsy, enchanting and vulnerable in her role as Edie Sedgwick, the original It Girl, the first to bleach the shit out of her hair, put on a tonne of eye makeup and scary eyebrows and run around in little black tights. For those of you who haven't been introduced to Ms Sedgwick, here she is:



Bitch was cool. And super cute. Unfortunately, she was also fucked up on speed and pills and ultimately, nutty.



^^This moving picture hurts my brain and mesmerises me all at once.



She was a muse of Andy Warhol, a crazy kid who inspires waif-like little bitches to this day. She was also a first cousin of Kyra Sedgwick, the wife of Kevin Bacon. SEE, there are six degrees of Kevin Bacon. Everyone is linked to that fucker.

Edie Sedgwick died of a drug overdose in November 1971. She was 28. Some say the Bob Dylan song "Just Like A Woman" is an ode to Edie, the addict who was ultimately, a lost little girl.



On the other end of the Edie scale is Edie Bouvier Beale; another socialite from old money who went off the rails and struck fear in fashion's heart. In Grey Gardens, the doco about her and her mother (also named Edie, for christsake) rotting crazily away in their dilapidated mansion of the same name, Edie swans around in turbans, furs and upside down skirts, posing and singing weird little ditties and jawing about her failed youth.



She's awesome. And yes, fucking nutty, buddy. With a bunch of cats.



An ex-beauty queen, she was exceptionally chic as a kid.



And she was hot! Look at her rockin that giant hat!



They even made an Edie Blyth doll, with her trademark fur and headscarf.


Edie died alone in 2002. It was five days before they found her. Her life was tragic, but the thing most people remember the most about Grey Gardens is her endless exuberance, despite the house falling down around her. Bitch knew how to wave that flag and MARCH, motherfucker.



To the Edies, I take my hat off to you. Broken rich girls with heartbreaking stories whose incredibly individual, lovingly mental senses of style will echo through the fashion world forever. Never will a turban or tights be worn without your crazy hearts in mind.

xx

PS Let's not forget Edie from Pink Flamingos. Her passion for eggs and gap-toothed creepy woman-child-ness is second to NONE.

Things That Have Been Seen Cannot Be Unseen: Mysterious Skin

Seriously, don't ever watch the movie Mysterious Skin.

It's just awkward and traumatic and depressing and yuk, and badly written to boot.
It nearly ruined Joseph Gordon-Levitt for me. I'm gonna have to watch like thirty episodes of 3rd Rock From The Sun and then 500 Days of Summer just to recover.



And play this for fourteen hours straight....go on, click it, you won't regret it:
Magical Magic

I'd Like a Reuben Spiderman to Go, Please.

This kid is cute as all hell. Where can I buy one?

In other news, I'm going to see Grace Jones play tonight. Grace Jones, motherfucker. She is gonna rock my face off and make me start a new religion. One involving outfits. Strange outfits. And some kind of warrior training. For fighting Arnie and shit.



(The pic here is proof that I have conquered the Almighty Beast that is HTML. Plus it's one of the best pics IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE)

Love Letters to Ass Hats

Dear Moron in my office,

You need to shut the hell up now.

I do not need to hear every thought that crosses your mind, nor your muttering of every thing you read on your computer screen. Jesus Christ, even 5 year olds can read in their heads.

I do not need to hear smacking sounds and sighs of satisfaction when you drink your coffee. This is not a porn movie, no one gives a shit if you're enjoying it or not.

The pitch and patronising tone of your voice, combined with the fact that you have not kept you mouth shut FOR ONE FUCKING MINUTE since I got here, is making me want to tear my fingernails off.

FUCKING SHOOSH. Or I'm going to the office warfare website, building a freaking crossbow out of a stapler, sticky tape and some chopsticks and then throwing the whole Macguyver mess at your face.

And if the dude next to you doesn't stop honking and bleeping like a Skeksi fucking Beaker, HE'S NEXT.

Love,
the passive aggressive girl who is now hunting for ear plugs but will probably snap and stab you shortly.


PS I just saw you pick your ear and inspect it. Gross, dude.

There's a Whole Lotta Insanity Right Here

I've become one of those crazy people who organise their books by colour. Orange is winning.

Plus, I grew up in an orange bedroom. Explains a lot.

Horror Movies Fuck Up My Yoga

I have been thriving on French horror movies lately. I am a horror movie freak; I am obsessed with them. I blame my mother for this entirely; she loves them too and had me fascinated by the idea of blood and gore at a young age. She used to take me to the super-creepy Video Crossroads store where I would inevitably wander away from the Kids' section and into Horror, where Mum was choosing her latest gore-fest.

I would stare at the horrifically awesome covers, goggling my innocent eyes at the plethora of leering killers, alien spawn and slimy freaks that stared back. I always made sure I stood in the exact middle of the aisles so those fuckers couldn't touch me; I know if I move slightly THEY WILL JUMP OUT AND TOUCH ME GODDAMMIT! (This logic still applies today).

Lesson One in horror: scaring the shit out of yourself is FUN.

Even just the word crossroads freaks me out to this day. Partly because of this store, and partly because it used to be painted in massive letters with a fucked up skull and crossbones on the road we took to my Aunt and Uncle's house in Melton to warn drivers. Melton is scary enough without that shit painted on the road, people!

ANYWAYS, I digress. This week I watched Haute Tension (stupidly renamed Switchblade Romance for English distribution, even though the title obviously translates to High Tension, duhhhhh). I was busting to watch it as I've been looking for it for over a year with no luck, and had just found a copy with English subtitles. Cos over-dubbing usually sucks ass. Unless you're one of those "I don't wanna watch a movie AND read" kinda people. In which case, don't come to my house. You shit me.

Sooooo, one of the best features of the movie is the uber-hellish eerie music that echoes throughout. There are long periods without any dialogue, so the really music sticks with you. It's kind of like a low humming sound with some odd screeches and high frequencies that resonate in your gut. Combine this with full-on gore, two girls being hunted by a madman and a crazy creepy twist and you've got one fantastic, shit-scary movie. I LOVED IT.

Cut to yoga class the next day. We're busting some crazy move that the new teacher has introduced, and I suddenly realise the low, "calming" music that's playing sounds almost identical to the uber-hellish eerie soundtrack from the night before. Suddenly, I'm pretty terrified. I'm trying to balance upside down and breaking out in hot sweats. I'm torn between impressing people with my flexi-skillz and passing out from fear that a killer is lurking in the bushes outside. I'm twitchy and can't focus well any more.

Haute Tension, I love you but you fucked up my yoga mojo.

And now that christing music is in my head again. Eeeeeeeek!

The Ewoks Warped My Mind

When I was six I did creative writing in school for the first time. I kinda hated it.

The teacher asked us to write a story about an exciting dream we'd had. Not being able to remember any particularly exciting dreams, I plagiarised a basic version of the storyline of 'Caravan of Courage' -- a kiddy-version Star Wars spin-off that was, in my head, the most fucking awesome thing in existence, apart from Care Bears and My Little Ponies.

I got away with it. Probably because I was a model student, teachers' pet type kid. I think it was the first time I realised I could outsmart adults.

In retrospect, I blame the Ewoks. Those cute furry fuckers drove me to it.