Keeping Up With The Cardassians

While the Bear was watching an episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine this morning, I amused myself by mentally replacing every reference to Cardassians with Kardashians. As a result, I want to see an episode of Star Trek where the actual Cardassian characters are swapped for the Kardashian sisters. Or at the very LEAST I want to see some sort of deathmatch between them. Bumpy-faced, reptilian aliens versus three bikini-wearing sisters of Armenian descent who don't seem to do anything much. Apart from one of them having a sex tape.

I wouldn't go putting my money on the Cardassians straight away though, that Kardashian on the far right looks like she'd actually kill someone just for the hell of it.

Graffiti Boy

Old Man FM, or 4FM as it's also known have this as one of their billboard ads of late. When I saw it, it put me in mind of how I met my first boyfriend. I was in Sixth Year and there was a supervised study that used to run for Leaving Cert students a few evenings a week after school. Everyone had a designated place to sit in the study hall, which used to have these huge tables that around four people would sit at. They were metal tables painted grey and as such were really easy to doodle and write on.

One evening I was sat at my table and instead of doing homework, I proceeded to draw the band logos for the likes of Slayer, Pantera, The Offspring, Machine Head, Nirvana etc etc. I was something of a metalhead back then and a rubbish goth, seeing as I was way too smiley to really pull the whole thing off. Anyway, I had built up quite a little gallery on this table over a few weeks and one day I noticed that someone else had been adding to my doodle collection. Then some other person scrawled about how crap they thought all those bands were across MY heavy metal table, the cheeky fuck. So I proceeded to slag them off, via more scrawling and Mystery Doodler Friend wrote something like "Stick it to the scobe!" in agreement with me. (It was a bit like blogging using a table and a pen, now that I think of it.) So somehow we ended up having little conversations, all through the medium of this mild act of vandalism, until he wrote his email address down.

After that, we exchanged emails and spoke on MSN Messenger and in the meantime I had figured out who he was. It wasn't too difficult seeing as there weren't many people in my school who wore Coal Chamber t-shirts to PE and were into that type of music in general. Eventually we started talking in real life and it pretty much went from there.

Unfortunately he turned out to be a controlling, jealous, possessive douchebag, and after a year and a half we called it quits. One messy breakup and five years later, I get an email from he who was later to became the Bear through a dating site I had joined. Now it's an altogether different story, seeing as he's just brilliant, so it's a much better conclusion this time around.

It also appears that I'm incapable of initiating relationships in real life. Fuck it, at least I don't need to now. YEAH.

Llama Girl and the DOD

Oh my. A weekend of sitting out in the sunshine and turning slightly pink, only eating things that came off the barbecue, copious amounts of Bulmers with ice and partaking in four-player MarioKart Wii till the small hours of the morning. (My swearing abilities increase tenfold when I'm having a particularly bad race. Or when someone picks Yoshi before I get a chance to.) All of which took place back home home (on the range, like), where there's a deck to sit out on and alpacas to befriend.

Behold a selection of said alpacas

As luck would have it, David O'Doherty was doing a gig a mere twenty minutes away from my house on Sunday night. I had discovered this fact during my spell of inconsolable jealousy when he was supporting Flight of the Conchords at the Olympia and I was woefully ticketless. As such, I became determined to at least see him live. Especially since the last time was Electric Picnic in 2008 and this just would not do.


The great thing about the venue was that it was so small he barely needed a microphone, and our seats were about two feet away from the side of the stage, to the extent that when he thanked the crowd for coming he actually just said it to me seeing as I was the closest one, as he put it. The gig itself was a minimum of eight kinds of deadly, the first half mostly featured his reasons for being late (an untrustworthy and seemingly quite pervy Sat Nav was to blame) and in the second half the tiny Yamaha keyboard was unleashed. During the course of the gig, he ended up asking me and the Bear what we'd been up to that day, which led to about ten minutes of David asking me questions about alpacas. I was subsequently referred to as Llama Girl, and he even worked them into one of his songs. Which was exactly as fucking deadly as it sounds.

Weapons of Mass Destruction

Imagine if He-Man, Rambo, The Transporter, John McClane, The Terminator, Machete, STONE COLD STEVE AUSTIN and oh, I don't know...Jet Li were all in a film together, running around blowing shit up.

Well imagine no more! The Expendables is a ridiculous, overblown, forget-storyline-let's-just-take-out-some-bad-guys film coming out in August and it looks AMAZING. The trailer doesn't really tell you anything but that matters not! What DOES matter is that Arnie, Sylvester Stallone and Bruce Willis are in a crazy ass movie together with every other action hero from the last oh, twenty years. Apart from Jean Claude Van Damme (who was offered a role but he turned it down claiming that there was no substance in the character. Substance? I forgot that JCVD was one of the most respected actors of our time), Wesley Snipes (couldn't do it since he's busy being in jail for tax evasion or somesuch) and Steven Seagal (didn't get on with one of the producers). All they need is MacGyver, but some people might say he's not actually a real person. I hate those people.



They've got hilarious names like Lee Christmas, Dan Paine, Toll Road, Hale Caesar and Tool. Brilliant. They're like man versions of Bond Girl names. It's a shame that Wesley Snipes couldn't do it though. I'd love to see if the script for this could ever top his classic line from Passenger 57.

"Always bet on black."

Savage.

MargaDita

Here, enjoy some sideboob

Lately, lovely Dita Von Teese (who I love, in case you hadn't guessed by now), has taken to flogging Cointreau. As such, they've made a "webisode" (read: glorified ad) featuring lovely Dita as the surprisingly pale Mexican bird who invented the margarita. I'm not sure if I like the particular portmanteau that comes of smashing "web" and "episode" together, it's a bit jarring or forced or something. What I DO like is looking at lovely Dita and the video in question. So let us partake in gawping at the veritable ride which she, in fact, is.




Ahh. Wasn't that nice? If you want to see the moving version of these very pictures, then the web episode (take that, Marketing! I won't bow to your made-up words! Although I will plug your ads seeing as I have an unfailing fascination with your spokesride) can be found here.

Bad Robot

So. Yes. T Cup has jumped ship and I must say it feels quite strange to be blogging solo. So...onwards then I guess.

Allow me to introduce you to Marvin:


He's my little red cycloptic robot necklace from Topshop. A while ago, I was at the Bear's parent's house and was chatting to his aunt.

"That's a lovely necklace, Kitty" said she.

"Oh thanks! I got it a while ago, he was half price because he only has one eye!"

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, a thought ran into my head, shrieking and flapping its arms. I had COMPLETELY forgotten that The Aunt had a glass eye. Thankfully, she also has a sense of humour.

Fucking scarlet though.

And it's good night for me

Yea so i'm leaving the blog, haven't posted much in the last few weeks and I haven't really wanted to if I'm honest the heart wasn't in it. Not much else to say really except thanks for reading my posts and all your lovely comments. Kitty will still be here so it's not being closed down completely. I don't think she's going to change the name although you can't have red lemonade without the t bit? sniff sniff!

Anyway I'm still on twitter and my website is here too!

That's all folks!

p.s. i might do the odd guest post but for now it's all kitty's

Tea and Twilight

There are certain truths of which I am completely convinced.

For example:

There is something inherently creepy about ice cream vans. Before anyone says it, it's got nothing to do with the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, they're just bloody creepy.

Tea in a transparent receptacle looks all kinds of wrong. I only want to see the top circle of tea that's visible when it's in a proper mug. Or bucket. Whatever. Just don't show me the sides, m'kay? Observe:

And most importantly, whoever decided to show ads from telly in the CINEMA, before and at this stage, practically instead of trailers has surely sold their soul to the devil and has a spikey uncomfortable armchair reserved for them in some inner circle of Hell.

It was this particular thought that was occupying my mind while at the cinema with the Bear waiting for Iron Man 2 to start (which is brilliant by the way, what with the giant fighting robots, Robert Downey Ridebag, and Scarleh in a leather catsuit. She'll fuel many a wank worldwide after that). Whilst quietly muttering about how we'll get to see feck all trailers now with all these infernal ads, a certain preview appeared onscreen that actually made me wish there was another ad for a plastic surgery clinic on instead.

The trailer in question was for the latest Twilight shite-fest, Eclipse or Moon or whatever the Jaysus it's called, I can't remember because I was too busy plotting to set fire to Stephenie Meyer for inflicting her ridiculous series on the world. The Stylebitches hit the nail on the head when they captioned this photo of Kristen Stewart with "Looking like she’d BATE the head offa ya."


State of it like. Back when the first Twilight film came out, the Bear and I watched the first 20 minutes of it and switched it off, declaring it utter shite. We actually showed those first 20 minutes to his then-housemate, just so she could see how laughably awful it was. She agreed. We then made the fatal error of showing it to Lili, who FOR SOME REASON liked it and we ended up having to watch the entire unholy mess. I actually can't remember a single thing about it, as I must have mentally erased the whole sorry affair from memory instantaneously. Anyway, all of this brings me to The Oatmeal. My new favourite website, as it perfectly encapsulates my feelings about this particular heap of tits in the fantastic How Twilight Works.


On a completely unrelated note, they also have brilliant bit entitled How Everything Goes To Hell During A Zombie Apocalypse. Which I came across on the very day that I joined a Facebook page called "I've seriously thought about what to do if there was a Zombie Apocalypse".

I'm off to stockpile canned food and hatchets, just in case.

Effin Eddie

For more of Eddie put effin eddie into you tube and all his video will pop up he's absolutely genuine.

Hey Roomie!

Check out the steely alien gaze of Tommy Wiseau (middle). There can be only one.

I've previously blogged about the cinematic wonder that is The Room over on Culch.ie and attended a SoundCheck screening back in March. I also happened to mention a screening that would take place in May which one of the cast members, Greg Sestero (Mark), would be at. That fortuitous and magical evening has been and gone and last Thursday night was one of the most surreal and hilarious experiences I've had in quite a long time. For the uninitiated, The Room is the demented masterpiece of Tommy Wiseau, the actor/director/producer/writer of this film, he's something like the polar opposite of Orson Welles, with The Room often referred to as "the Citizen Kane of bad movies". That should have been bad in capital letters, actually. And that wouldn't even begin to cover how terrible it is. Here's the trailer, just to give you a feel for the glorious mess that it is.



ANYWAY.

With myself and the Bear that night, among lovely others were two thirds of The Dead Flags, EleventyFour (who got recognised on the night as "that girl from the TV licence ad"), and B (to whom we are eternally grateful for introducing us to The Room). Now, Eleventy and one of the Flags had never seen the film before and honestly, it was JUST as entertaining to watch their expressions of horror and bewilderment as it was to watch the screen.

The thing with these screenings is that there's a lot of audience participation, much like Rocky Horror. One of the biggest things, along with roaring general abuse at the characters, is to shout 'SPOOONS!" and fire plastic spoons at the screen whenever the weird framed pictures of, you guessed it, spoons, dotted around the apartment set come into view. This was the scene after the movie was finished:

Spoons ahoy!

Carnage o'clock. After the screening and before the Q&A with the actually-great-craic Greg Sestero, there was a competition for a signed tshirt, where contestants has to roar the famous(ish) "YOU'RE TEARING ME APART LISA!" line, which can be seen in the trailer. At the time of calling for contestants, I found myself herded onstage by B and the Bear and had to get the biggest cheer from the crowd. And guess what? I only went and fecking well won. GO ME.

During the Q&A, Greg came off as an absolute legend, well able to take the piss out of himself and the film, which was good seeing as many questions were along the lines of :"what were you thinking?". So seeing as my obsession with The Room shows no signs of abating, I went and got my photo with him.

YEAH.

So, to summarise:

GO SEE THE ROOM AT SOUNDCHECK BECAUSE IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE. They screen it once a month so get thineself over to their Facebook page to check when it's on again. Because words cannot describe.

Charlie Who?

On the absolute offchance that Charlie Brooker Googles his name so exhaustively that he was to come across this particular mention of him on le Interweb, allow me to say:

I WANT TO RUN AWAY WITH YOU, PLEASE.

I wonder if adding Charlie Brooker, Charlie Brooker, Charlie Brooker, Charlie Brooker to this post will shunt it slightly higher up the search results. I will await an email wherein he expresses his agreement to this offer from Random Girl Blogger on the Internet. Your move, Charlton.

Come on Brooker, let's not fight this any more.

The Bear recently bought me the Charlie collection of Dead Set on DVD, Dawn of the Dumb and The Hell Of It All because he's deadly like that. (He also drunkenly stole a poster from Whelan's for a Talulah Does The Hula gig because he thought I might like it. Aw. I do, as it happens.) Needless to say, all this has only added to my enthusiasm for the grouchy telly critic. I've been enjoying his C4 show You Have Been Watching, although I tend to find myself wishing it was actually Screenwipe or Newswipe and that he could just spend the entire show being cross about idiots on TV and not be held back by the superflous quiz format.

Other things I've been liking include the new series of Doctor Who. I'm quite excited about tonight's episode with the frankly terrifying Weeping Angels, seeing as the crafty bastards left it To Be Continued last week. I've also been entertained by the Internet rantings of Very Serious Fans who were appalled at the sexy new Daleks. I quite like the Dell laptop makeover they've received.

I'll take a purple one, if you don't mind.

***

EDIT: Don't worry Bear, I won't really run away with Charlie Brooker. Probably.