And This Is The Reason I'll Be Watching Sin City

Sin City

Despite the media hype...I know this film is going to rock - not just because I'm a fan of the comics...but well...just look at the trailer. This film is going to be so stylistically true to the comic that how can one help but love it? Also, look at all the girls...I mean wow...just...wow.

http://www.sincitythemovie.com/

Ronnie Burkett

I've mentioned this amazing puppeteer before - but I cannot recommend him highly enough...check out the following link and see if you can see one of his shows...he rocks.

http://www.johnlambert.ca/ronnie/ronnie_productions.htm

The Devil Makes Work For Idlehands ^^

Once again I'm writing about World of Warcraft...but this is short dedication to my good friend Idlehand...whose real identity shall remain a mystery. Well, yesterday I snuck out of my guild...yes...the one I had been apart of for all of one day...needless to say, I did not feel that warm fuzzy feeling with them...and so...like Han Solo without his Wookie...I was completely and utterly alone. Alone in a world of elite quests and dangerous dungeons, vulnerable to Horde and enemies alike...in short...a sitting duck. A sitting duck with "I want my mommy" written on my forhead.

Then the phone rang. 'Who could that be at this late hour?' I thought (contemplating the omen much like Edgar Allen Poe did the Raven above his door)...but no...it wasn't a prank phonecall...and it wasnt a tele-marketer...it was Chris...whoops...gave his name away. I had been saved...I wasn't going to die a rather humiliating death at the hands of some petty little Horde bastard...oh no...I had a high lvl friend...who was also guild-less and he was gonna help me^^

Anyway, so Idlehand and I decided to quest together...and it was fan-freakin-tastic...enemies fell down at our feet...monsters recoiled in fear...invisible rogues made themselves even more invisible...and basically I levelled twelve bars in about an hour and a half...which, for those of you who don't play WoW, is a lot! Not only were we elfin rockstars...but we matched...probably to Chris's horror...and now we are looking for equally calm, cool, darn sexy people to join our guild Look To Windward - which is a pretty deep name for a guild of elves...for those of you who don't know what I'm talking about...get reading...and discover the joy of intertextuality ^^. If I'm being arrogant...forgive me...just go read some Iain M Banks:

http://www.iainbanks.net/index.htm

Anyhow...so what if we still haven't signed enough people to start an actual guild just yet...we have the name...and we have the threads...it's just a matter of time right? Lol

And for the road, here's another link about Iain M Banks:

"Iain Banks writes books about sex and drugs. Iain M Banks is a sci-fi nerd. Are they by any chance related?" 1997

Most Recent Photograph of Me

Well...this is my most recent look....my hair is not doing what I want it to do...but then again at least I didn't decide to go blonde...which would have been a mistake I think. Yes, a train does not offer the best ambiance for taking photos...but I was bored as hell and had a camera.

The Darth Side

I went to watch Star Wars episode III: Return of the Sith. Despite myself I really enjoyed it. Actually, who am I kidding? I've enjoyed every Star Wars episode apart from the one where Jar Jar Binks actually has dialogue...and even then I remember thinking "I want a wardrobe like Princess Amadala's!".

Wow, I even remember asking my mom to do my hair like Princess Leia's when I first started school. I walked into my new classroom all proud with my plaited buns and I had a lunch tin with a picture of the Ewoks on it...which was perhaps the most damaging thing for my early social life. The popular girls scorned me, running to the corner to huddle in a mass of blonde girls and My Little Ponies. Needless to say the buns were only a hit with the pale geeky guy who used to sit at the back of the class picking his nose...but he was a good friend anyhow and used to give me all the chocolate his mum had packed for his lunch. Ah, even then I was a manipulative chocoholic.

Anyhow, I thought the guy that played Darth Vader / Anakin was hot...despite his brooding, sulking looks...which I suppose was why they chose him. I can imagine his audition:
"Now, imagine you stand poised on the brink of good/evil Mr-what's-ur-face and now give us your most brooding look...no...even more brooding...in fact here... put this hood on...now these yellow contact lenses....ah...perfect!". Although I thought his single "I am so very evil" look reminded me of the film Zoolander...I was nonetheless deeply saddened to see his good looks secreted away in the Vader Suit.

So...in my search for pictures of the hottie...I found this fantastic blogg. I think it's really funny - so go read it. It is the blogg of the dark Lord himself...he he

http://darthside.blogspot.com/

Please Father Christmas

Striped Nudes by Louise Dear

More Paintings

More Beautiful Nudes by Louise Dear

The Politics of WoW

Once again I find myself writing about World of Warcraft, which is sad. My relationship with Blizzard is a delicate one, in which I am the Gimp. Blizzard wears the pants in this sorry union, while I merely smile and pray to God that my server is actually running on the day I decide to play. I have forgiven them for the endless patches, the flawed honour system that has caused so many higher-level Horde to gank me relentlessly and the fact that I actually pay them monthly for all this frustration. I have even forgiven them for the sad reality that a decent mount costs more gold than even a freaking Genii could supply….but I digress.

I cannot quite explain what is so addictive and compelling about a game that is essentially about ‘collecting things’. I understand that this is one of the fundamental things needed to define a ‘quest’ (see any legend or myth and you will see I’m right). For the knights of old it was the Holy Grail or the left toenail of St. Paul…for me it seems to be Centaur ears, Murloc eyeballs or the rotting gall bladder of the bloated swamp beast of Burning Steppes. Ok…so I made that last one up, but be it my endless pursuit of sexy armour, my collecting of strange and wonderful artefacts or my endless slaying of creatures for their furry pelts…I am endlessly collecting stuff. It’s interesting that the most desirable item at the beginning of the game is a bag / sack with enough slots to hold all this stuff. Perhaps it is fitting in a world driven by materialism…but if I have one more quest where I have to collect some skanky body part from some foul creature and then return it to some NPC that is the in game equivalent of my running by foot from London to Paris…well then I just might go mad. In fact, my only wish is that I had actually spent as much time running as my character.

But the real reason I decided to write this post…was to have a little rant about the politics of WoW. By this I mean the fragile relationship that exists between one and one’s guild. I recently left my guild…not because they weren’t a bunch of cracking, high-spirited young lads with a sense of humour to boot – but because I simply wasn’t able to quest with any of them (as they pretty skilled…to say the least). So…guild-less and slightly panicked at the prospect of not having a nifty title above my head…I set about finding another guild. But who to chose from? With guilds named ‘Dopeland’, ‘Accept Defeat’ and ‘We Kill Horde’ what was a fashionable girl like myself to do?

Also, dear readers, there is the strange phenomenon that predominates the World of Warcraft that I like to call “the bloody twelve year old Swede”. In all my life…I have never met so many Swedes as I have on the European Server. It worries me deeply…not because I have anything against Swedes…but simply because there are so many of them…or so it seems. But as the saying goes ‘if you can’t beat them – join them’…so I joined a guild that seems to consist largely of Swedes. Whether they are twelve year olds – remains to be seen…but I have a sneaky, sneaky suspicion that this could have been a bad move….we shall see.
If I could clone myself, or have an army of pretty elves (kind of like the Necromancer in Diablo II just not dead of course and not skeletons) I wouldn’t have need of a guild. However necessity is the mother of invention…so I await to see whether my new guild are a bunch of pillocks or valiant noble knights ^^

More Louise Dear

Louise Dear

The other weekend I went to Brighton for the annual art's festival. Apart from watching a mind-fucking piece of puppet theatre by Canadian performer Ronnie Burkett, who I cannot recommend highly enough, I also was mesmerised by the gorgeous, candy-coloured artwork of Louise Dear. While I do not want to buy all her paintings - one or two of them I found incredibly pleasing to look at...for long periods of time. I am not obsessed with nudes...but I find tasteful female nudes irresistible...more so than the airbrushed, glossy crap that adorns the covers of so many mindless men's magazines. For me a woman’s body is so much more beautiful in paint.

Having once posed nude myself for a South African Artist (Francine Greenblatt) on some crappy TV show (of which I was seen for about 20 seconds) I fully appreciate how the artist can transform the body...or strip it down to lines and curves that exude sex...or hard lines that emphasise form. Louise Dear's work is quite spectacular to behold (even though I could only afford one of her prints). You have to see the real thing. She paints in household paint (I think) against aluminium canvases - so that the paint is thick and sticky-looking like lip-gloss.

Her work would probably repulse my more critical friends and my darling friend, Sarah, who herself is one of the most thrilling artists I know - would cringe. However, like my taste in wine – where I believe it’s important to drink what one enjoys drinking (and save the show-off stuff for when someone knowledgeable comes round for dinner) I think art that one chooses for one’s home should please one…completely. In short, unless I’m infatuated with a piece of art – I don’t want it in my house.

I can, however, appreciate artists who create thought-provoking pieces of art, displaying decaying meat covered in flies behind glass in order to reflect something about the human condition – but living in London – where so many alleyways are covered in peeling layers of history – reeking and festering – scarred in graffiti and poster art – I prefer to feed my eyes with beautiful things…if I can…and the Louise Dear painting I bought is beautiful and elegant and very, very pleasing. The pictures on this blogg don’t do her justice…but one can get the idea.

More Pictures of the Freaky House

Dangergirl

It was the overwhelming amount of danger signs that first attracted me to the abandoned house...it was a bit like the 'Hansel & Gretel' story....or like leaving a trail of candy and telling a child not to follow it. 

The Freaky House

Here is another photograph of the freaky house. In a world too full of manicured lawns, garden gnomes and DIY water-features - the odd creepy, abandoned house is like finding forgotten money in your pocket.  I still have a nasty cut from scaling the rusty fence...but it was worth it. 

Picture of the Abandoned House I Found

Ram & Sita

Wu Shu Kwan & British Yobs

Well, I haven't written for a really long time. Trying to find a new apartment (and finally free myself from the torment of living beneath a chronic George Michael fan) has been draining to say the least. Finally, after much disappointment, stress and a broken computer, my love and I have found a nifty place in Tooting. Tooting...mmm....that's an interesting name now that I think about it. When I was a little girl my dad used to sing a really silly song to make me laugh 'beans, beans the musical fruit...the more you eat the more you toot'. So I always associated the word 'tooting' with farting...which is crude - but true.

Anyway, Tooting seems nice enough to me and the wide variety of sari vendors and curry shops means that I'll be pretty happy. I also have a weird passion for Diwali sweets - which I saw plenty of while walking to the station after seeing the apartment. Diwali is my favourite Hindu festival, apart from Holi. Growing up in Durban (which has a very large Hindi and Tamil population) I remember the streets being decorated with lights, lanterns and colourful candles during Diwali. I used to listen avidly to my friends telling me about the love betweem Ram & Sita from the famous Ramayana and that Diwali celebrates their return from the forest as well as being a festival of light (read the poem if you want to know more, it's like a mythical soap-opera).

I've also decided to take up the martial art Wu Shu Kwan - which is apparently the ultimate form of self-defense without carrying around a loaded shotgun, which being a rather passionate Resident Evil fan, would be the only item to make me feel completely safe...since Yobs and the undead have a surprisingly lot in common. I've officially cancelled my gym membership and should start classes at the end of May. My reasoning is simple. My train ride to work every morning and the fact that I sometimes come home pretty late in the evenings, means that I have encountered some of the most unsavory characters that London has to offer. I shall try to remain positive and not digress into a complete rant...but let's just say I've had some rather horrid experiences with these young British yobs and the next time a young, pimpled seventeen year old in a tracksuit, bedecked in cheap bling decides to slap my arse or lick my face...I imagine kickboxing his empty head straight off his bloody shoulders. Yes, this will take years to perfect and I anticipate a lot of pain and bruises in the process...but the superheroine in me must be satiated...so beware all you 'happy-slappers' out there. I'm quite small...but apparently in this martial art...size doesn't matter...and until I can send burning balls of flaming chi out of my palms...this martial art will have to do.

Vogue....

This should be the next cover of Vogue....those ears...that white hair...those piercing eyes and sumptuous pout.

Isn't She Lovely...Isn't She Beautiful

I couldn't stop myself...this is my new WoW character Nightfrost.  I think she's dead sexy, even though she's only a petty lvl 10.  I plan to make her a super-powerful shadow priest (insert maniacal laughter here) and she will be great...oh yes....she will be great.

Burnt Toast

There are times when one feels good. There are times when one is enjoying the prime of one's life, contemplating how healthy and young one is. Yes, spending a lot of time indoors playing World of Warcraft might be a little sad...but one can feel good doing it nonetheless, right? Anyway, I refuse to believe that frolicking too frequently on the digital frontier and thereby avoiding fresh air, human interaction and the occasional visit to the gym can be the cause of my terrible flu. In fact...my self-imposed solitary confinement should aid me in the constant struggle against 'other-people's-germs'. But I am experiencing one of those days when all illusions of immortality are dashed to pieces on that old, familiar friend 'harsh reality'.

I am ill....I am so ill it feels like my head is about to implode. I have the strangest sensation that all I can smell is burnt toast. This could have something to do with the fact that I did not want to leave the flat today and so when the hunger pangs set in...I tried to toast bagels under the grill and then forgot about them...until the smoke alarm went off. I wish I could say it was the first time I set the smoke alarm off...but that would be a lie...a terrible lie. I have, to date, set off the smoke alarm about 10 times. With my headache and fever, the alarm sounded like it was searing my very flesh...and all attempts to turn it off seemed to fail...until I nearly ripped the thing out the wall with frustration. Needless to say...the beast is now silent.

The thing I hate most about being sick is how slow my reflexes seem. I was lying on the couch reading a rather saucy book, aimed at adolescant girls, called "Forever Amber" by Kathleen Winsor. One of my creative writing students bought it for me and I'm so glad she did...because I'm devouring every chapter and in my hunger to read on I blocked out the following sounds: the phone ringing, my disgruntled neighbour playing *George Michael really loudly and finally the smoke alarm - which resulted in my burnt bagels.

Anyway, when the phone rang again...it was like I was in slow motion...I made to run to the phone...but kind of just stumbled, narrowly missing the coffee table. It was like I was moving through really thick mud...and in the end, I just gave up and flopped back on the couch...bugger the phone.

Right now I plan to settle down with some herbal tea and some more of this nifty cold & flu medicine I found, which makes me feel all serene and floaty, which can't be good for me. I plan to snuggle down into my duvet...with my tissues...close my eyes and hope I'm better in the morning.

*I must make a note about George Michael here. I cannot stand him. I have spent so many torturous nights being forced to listen to his sentimental, sacchrine songs...my least favourite of all being 'Like Jesus to a Child' which I find deeply creepy...especially the chorus. My neighbour, let's call him....mmm....Jack finds the need to play George Michael at all hours of the early morning and late evening really loudly. This is one of the few times I will not be exaggerating but it is the only thing Jack listens to. He has no other album...no other artist...but Jack deserves a whole post of his own I think.

Changing names

I have to change the name of my blog. I discovered a guy with the same name...so, rather than become associated with him and his little world, I have decide to rename this page....but to what? Mmm....that is the question.