Friday, August 18, 2006

Light Bushels...

My company has a companywide feed which occasionally brings up a gem. Like this one from the 'Star Trek Inspirational Poster' website:


Friday, August 04, 2006

If your pants are on fire, does that make you a firecrotch?

Babies look right into the eyes of people they don't know and cry or laugh, but now you just try and look into people's eyes, you'll go nuts before you know it. Just try it, try looking right ito people's eyes, you'll start feeling funny pretty shouldn't look at things like a baby.

Ryu Murakami, Almost Transparent Blue

When did taking the piss out of redheads become so de rigeur?

Last weekend, I went up to the Blue Mountains with some friends for a Christmas in July do. It was really fun, and exactly what I needed in terms of escaping the city. All except for a series of incidents involving a couple of people - in terms of my involvement, however, it all came down to the girl.

Now, don't get me wrong, I adore the girl. (Here it comes...)

But it always feels like she's wearing some kind of mask. Perhaps it's because I've played that role for much of my life, but I can pick someone acting the victim from a mile away. When
she talks about any guy she's been recently seeing, he's slighted her somehow. I can't help feeling, however, that she's had some part in the relationship breakdown - and that she's not the helpless little chaste girl she would like to portray.

I've lost my redhead ways! Yes, after four months of living with the tangerine nightmare that was my head post-American Crew model for their catwalk show before Easter, I'm now a glorious brunette once more! Yay!

Meanwhile, Lady M has adopted a suspicious patch of carrot on the fringe of her new 'do. Who's the fanta pants now, I ask?

Once in a while, it surprises me how adept I've become at reading people. I'm not saying I necessarily act on it (as much as I should), nor that I will always consciously think about it, but that I pick up on all sorts of tells. It makes me wonder whether I could be a good poker player, if I cared enough about playing the game.

I recently bumped into the ex of one of my BFFs. We went out for a drink and were chatting away pleasantly, but the whole time I wasn't sure what she was telling me was true and what was false. You know how most people will embellish a little when explaining something about their lives to present themselves a little more favourably? Well, this felt more complicated than that, more like she was trying to create a whole new persona not just for presenting to the outside world but also to herself.

I wonder how many times I've done that to myself, whether I'll do it again at some point in the future.

I guess that thought was running through my mind last Saturday night. Our Gracious Hostess and I were discussing our friend, the Little Girl Lost, and her latest predicament - one of the boys at the Do in the Blue, who had just stormed off in the middle of the Christmas Dinner we were at. According to cher hostess, LGL has a reputation for meeting guys, going out with them a few times then realising she's not interested and then just blowing them off. Which would be OK-ish, if it wasn't that the guys tend to be friends (or friends of friends) and work colleagues. (I might add at this point that LGL's story about the sulking gent was that he had not returned her calls after their last date).

After I admitted I'd suspected that the real story was something along those lines, our conversation ended up turning into a discussion about the way I present myself. As such conversations tend to go, I offered an insight that I would not normally face up to:
I dumb things down because it's easier to do so than blast people away with my observations.
Sure it makes me look a little guileless, but that comes in handy once in a while. Like when I blasted the outgoing enfant terrible of the Bloomfield Massive with an unashamedly honest appraisal of her behaviour.

Still, there are lies you tell for the sake of someone's feelings, and the ones which hurt you. I could offer advice to these two friends, but I don't think they would help until they change the way they look at the world.

P.S. Speaking of liars and firecrotch-related matters, I managed to see the video clip for Paris Hilton's first single, Stars are Blind. Despite the fact the song is quite catchy (probably because Paris' voice has been 'produced' so well), the video is quite funny. A few thoughts for you, Ms Hilton:

  1. Don't try to act sexy. That guy's less wooden than you. Hell, the palm trees in the background are less wooden than you.
  2. Don't dance, especially with said palm tree.
  3. That white, flowy, satin smocky thing? I bet the girls at Go Fug Yourself would have a LOT to say about it.
  4. Vaguely unrelated thought: has anyone read the article on Nicole Ritchie in last month's Vanity Faire? She totally denies ever having seen One Night in Paris, let alone hosted a screening. Also? She'll probably make a much better singer and dancer - hell, Lionel adopted Nicole when he and his (now ex-)wife saw her dancing at a Prince concert at the age of three.
UPDATE: It seems Ms Hilton has had some work done on the video clip - check out the version she released as part of the her new YouTube 'channel':