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BMX Banditos

Blog…what blog?



Meh. Moving right along…



Amidst the febris olympius currently found splattered across the world’s periodicals like a drunken Pro Hart homage, there appears a different sort of fever. A gentler, kinder fever.



Yup. Luuurve.



Well, not quite. It’s all a bit dubious really, but can you blame me for questioning Mr. Tease and his editorial staff’s motives with regards to the following slide show?



Clic aquí para los BMX banditos



In the immortal words of, um… well nearly every MC, uh, ever, let’s break it down, shall we?



Number of photos in slide show = 9

Number of photos featuring a shirtless Kamakazi as he “cools down after his quarter-final” = 3

Number of photos of Kamakazi actually competing in said quarter-final = 0



Now, don’t get me wrong. I think he’s a pretty cool guy, but I fail to see how Tease et al. can justify the inclusion of a third of their photos that would be better suited, say, gracing the back pages of NW or some such publication.






Like for instance, this blog.



Yep. It’s good to be back.

Guyliner

Well-rounded discussions concerning topics pertinent to today’s important issues and events? I’m sorry Sir, but you appear to have the wrong blog…

 

Guys wearing make-up. Yay or nay?

 

I had thought myself firmly a ‘nay’ supporter, pretty much agreeing with Bradwyn Jones’ views in this article, that “it looks really gay – and I’m a gay boy1… they don’t know what they’re doing. The typical bloke just doesn’t have that subtlety”.

 

Egads! All the poor little emo boys need not tremble in their boots for too long however, as The Age’s Beauty writer Natasha Hughes then consults her expert panel to produce a ‘How to Apply Make Up’ guide for the mainstream2 man. My favourite tip; “Brush up the brows with an old toothbrush, paying attention to what you’re doing”.
Pay attention to what you’re doing?!? BUT THAT’S ABSURD! Next you’ll have us watching the road while driving, or supervising young children in swimming pools. SWIMMING POOLS? CHILDREN? YOUNG?!? ABSURD I TELL YOU!!

 

Ahem. Gross overplay of sarcasm aside, the most disturbing thing about this article was that they had a completely legitimate opportunity to mention BBC’s Robin Hood TV series, and they didn’t.

 

I know that the term ‘guyliner’ has been kicking around for a few years now (Urban Dictionary has it first recorded November 2005), but when I think of guyliner, I’m actually referring to Guyliner3.

 

Exhibit A:



 

Mmmm…what? Oh yes. So when I think of Guyliner, I immediately think of Guy of Gisborne, and also Allan A Dale’s defection from the Outlaws to Team Leather, as demonstrated below.

 

No make-up = Good Allan



 

Guyliner = Evil Allan!

(Allan looking particularly Team Leather and still getting out-guylinered by Gisborne. Nice)

 

Therefore, Guyliner + Man = Evil. Sexy evil. Dammit! Now I’m going to have to change my ‘nay’ to a ‘yeah, but no, but yeah…”

 


1 Bradwyn Jones, that is. Not me. Being a girl and all.


2 Their chosen adjective, not mine, and an interesting choice at that. I probably would have gone with something distinctly more clichéd like ‘modern’ or ‘heterosexual’, so points to them for creativity.


3 As in Guy of Gisborne. Obviously.

Today I had an unexpectedly horrible day. Not in a oh-man-I-hate-Mondays-cause-I-have-to-work-and-talk-to-people-and-stuff kind of way, but more in the not-coping-going-to-the-bathroom-now-to-have-a-little-cry kind of way. A bit embarrassing, but then, despite accusations otherwise, I do in fact appear to be only human. As far as I can tell, this stuff happens occasionally.

 

Anyway, some lovely people said some genuinely nice things to me and then I signed a document notifying the government of my intention to legally marry within the next 18 months (as you do), so I’m feeling a bit better now.

 

I am also in the process of making Kanelbulle. If they can’t make everything better, then I don’t think I want it to be.

 

Et tu, XP

Ladies and gentleman, the moment has come.

 

I have finally released myself from the shackles of oppression Microsoft and embraced freedom as only someone who once ran Windows truly can. My computer, Logan*, has now made the complete transformation from an XP toting iTunes addict to the Unbuntu-ed up machine on which I am typing this very post.

I do have a bit of a confession to make though. Even though I previously used Linux about 99.98% of the time, I still kept XP installed, mainly in case I wanted to use the iTunes store or run software that was too much of a pain in the ass to get working on Linux.

 

But then the other week, I kinda broke it. By accident. I don’t really know what I did, so I’ve decided to just uninstall it completely and solely run Linux.

 

This situation pretty much mirrors how I learned to ride a bike without training wheels. One day my mum was backing into the carport and ran over one of the them, snapping it off, so I was forced to learn how to ride without them.

I now use my bike everyday to commute to and from work, the shops, friend’s houses, the pub (though this is not always advisable – trust me), gigs, etc. etc, so I’m hoping my XP-less situation will turn out similarly fortuitous.

 

Y’know, until I manage to break Ubuntu too…

 

I run Linux!


 

* Named after Cale, not Echolls or James Howlett, though that should by no means be taken as a slight against the latter two Logans.

And finally, 12 points go to…Sweden! No, wait, Denmark! No, wait…

 

I could, quite literally, go on forever about Eurovision 2008. Instead I’ve restrained myself to but a few musings on the event, and first up: Germany.

 

Oh dear.

 

To quote Sir Terry Wogan, “They’ll be dancing on the tabletops if they win”.

To quote myself “yeah…and I’m betting they’ll be dancing on tabletops if they don’t”. (Zing).

 

What worries me most, is that, unlike the Latvian pirates or the French bearded bearded ladies (who I thought were fantastic just quietly), the German entry was meant to be good.

Meant to be good?!? THEY WEREN’T EVEN IN TUNE. I thought they were dead certain for a nul points finish, but anyway…

 

The real crime of the evening, in my opinion, was the UK having to share last place with Germany and Poland (who supplied a pretty standard schlager track).
 

I really liked the UK song, in an insanely catchy, “ooh bright colours!” kind of way, and it was by far their best entry in a while.
Poor Andy Abraham was definitely undeserving of a last place finish, and it does make you wonder just how prophetic Terry Wogan’s “there’s no place anymore for Western Europe in Eurovision” comments are.

 

Oh, don’t despair folks, it’s not all gloom and doom. Last, and completely incapable of ever being least, the real winner of Eurovision 2008 – Björn Gustafsson.

 



 

Oj, Björn! Jag är helt föräslkad i dig nu. 12 poäng till Björn!!

Gratuitously plagiarized from my own Facebook post. Quality indeed.

 

You should drink a glass of milk if you’re having trouble sleeping cause it’s got Tryptophan in it. Also, if you’re experiencing seizures as a result of being a genetically engineered soldier, yeah, I’ve heard it helps then too…

 

The Age also reckons it’s good for other stuff too. Whatever.

 

 

Towel + Jensen = Mmmm

(Why is it yet to be scientifically proven that Jensen Ackles is good for your health? Lazy scientist people…)

Thankfully most of the time I’m drowned out by the Boy and Herr Meumann who are conveniently positioned right next to the camera.

 

I wasn’t even drunk. Oh, the un-glory of it all…

 

Who’s obscene will reign supreme?

 

In the past couple of months I have had the misfortune of watching not one, but two truly awful films. Not awful in a ‘they – have – no – idea – what – they’re – doing – damn – film – students’ kind of way, but in a ‘they – should – know – better – and – I – could – totally – feed – most – of – Africa – for – a – year – with – that – budget’ kind of way.

 

But which film was worse?

 

In the red corner, Bratz, a film about four teen girls’ high school adventures, described by one Rotten Tomatoes reviewer as existing “in a hermetically sealed vacuum of stupidity”. Nuff said.

 

In the blue corner, Pathfinder, the historically dubious tale of a Viking boy left behind during a trip to North America, who assimilates with the natives and then must fight the barbaric Vikings years later upon their return. Yeah…okay.

 

 

Let the games begin.

 


Round 1: Origins

 

Most people who are aware that there even was a Bratz movie would also be aware that movie came about as an opportunistic piece of cross-marketing aimed at the tween set for a series of skanky and grossly disproportionate dolls (cause I know my head is roughly 2 & 1/2 times larger than my waist…) who, and I quote, “got that bratitude”.

 

Urgh. Murderous acts against the English language aside, basing a movie on a doll may seem pretty superficial (and I am by no means saying that it isn’t), but the general idea isn’t exactly unique. Pirates of The Caribbean, for instance, was based on a theme park ride and I for one thought that was a pretty awesome movie (let’s ignore the sequels, shall we?).

 

Pathfinder, on the other hand, is a little more conventional in its origins. It’s a film based on, um, another film – a sort of Hollywood-isation of the 1987 Norwegian film Ofelas. Ofelas (the Sami word for ‘Pathfinder’) is based on an old Sami legend, set in Finnmark, Norway around 1000 AD, that tells the tale of a young Sami man who flees the murderous Chudes and is taken in by a neighbouring Sami tribe but then gets captured by the Chudes and must lead them to the other Samis willingly or face torture.

 

Verdict: 2007’s Pathfinder substitutes the nomadic Sami tribes and Northern Scandinavian setting of the original film for the Native Americans of North America with disastrous results. One expects a film based on dolls to be horrendous, but a god-awful film based on another really good one is just shameful.

 

Pathfinder – 1

Bratz – 0

The Return of the Queen

Oh dear.

 

 

I mean, really, deary me.

 

 

Click Here for Epic Lulze

 

 

Well go on, click on it.

 

 

 

 

See what I mean?

 

 

Nepotism?!? Had I not met her in person, I would be forgiven for thinking that Queen Mab was a creepily accurate satirical figure in the vein of Stirling Addison. Unfortunately, this is not the case.

 

Now I know that Marieke Hardy isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but if I was going to take a swipe at my epic foe, I reckon I’d do a much better job, not to mention more accurate one.

 

 

Hmm, now all I need is an epic foe…

Linguistic bamboozlement strikes again!

 

Ou est la bibliotheque? Hilarant, parce que c’est vrai.

 

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