Hate The Freys, Not The Game

Since the emotional goddamn ROLLERCOASTER that was the latter half of series three of Game of Thrones, also known as the time George R.R. Martin trampled all over our feelings and punched us in the kidneys on his way out, I've been frantically horsing my way through A Storm of Swords, A Feast For Crows and now A Dance With Dragons in order to find out what the HELL happens next and it's all just so GODDAMN EXCITING.


As such, I've been wanting to write a post about it all, but there's no real point I want to make, so these are really just a bunch of my thoughts on the books, TV show and characters. Mostly because I just wanted the opportunity to call Joffrey a malevolent little fucker.

(Just so you know, I'm not going to give anything away past the point where the TV show finished up, so there'll be no book spoilers from me. Book spoiler people are the worst and I REFUSE TO BE THOSE PEOPLE.)

The Books

I have to say, I am absolutely loving the books so far. At first I thought I might end up being slightly bored or impatient with them when I knew what would happen next up to a point, having been so familiar with the TV series at that stage, but I found myself eating up all the extra details and back stories and characters that there just wasn't room for in the telly version.

I also learned that tourneys are sort of like the Westerosi version of a festival, as they mostly consist of lots of brightly coloured tents and people getting hammered in a field. Like Electric Picnic, but more murdery. The Oxegen of Westeros.


Before I started reading the series, I had heard a few people mention how overly descriptive the books are, how there's endless paragraphs about food and what everyone's wearing (boiled leather, mostly), and yeah, there is quite a bit of that but I'm actually really into it, especially the food stuff.

It's weird, because cookery shows bore the living fuck out of me, but for some reason I love knowing exactly what everyone's eating, whether there's grease dripping down their fingers or not and what EXACTLY the wild boar or lark or trout was roasted with. It's like one big medieval Marks & Spencer food porn ad.


And anyway, it's not nearly as bad as The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, which could spend anything up to two solid pages at a time listing furniture that Lisbeth Salander bought in Ikea. Now THAT shit was boring.

The TV Show

Here's the thing about the TV show. If you've only watched it once and haven't read the books, go back and watch it again RIGHT NOW. It gets even better the second (and third!) time you watch it, as this time around you're not wondering who the hell this person is and why these people don't seem to get along and just what the flip a maester is when he's at home. This time you can actually just enjoy it and end up noticing a heap of things that passed you by the first time.

It took a second viewing for me to realise that I didn't have a fucking clue what was going on the first time I watched it. I was so busy getting my head around the eleventy million houses of Westeros that I didn't even register Theon Greyjoy and what his deal was until the second series, when he dropped the hand on his sister. I was genuinely surprised to see that he'd been knocking around Winterfell all through the first series while re-watching.

Also, you're a dick.

The fact that there's so many Irish actors in it and so much of it is filmed in Belfast means that spotting certain characters out and about in Dublin can happen surprisingly often. You just don't get that with Mad Men or Breaking Bad or True Blood. So far I've seen Joffrey, Ser Jorah and Bronn out and about in the city.

It's a weird feeling seeing Joffrey in real life. I know that Jack Gleeson is meant to be a totally lovely guy in real life and I'm sure he is (I mean, look at him messing with this pug puppy for God's sake! A pug puppy!) but Joffrey is just such an unrelentingly malevolent little fucker (yay!) in the show, that when he's walking past you minding his own non-sociopathic business the urge to kick him in the shins or at least glower at him is disconcertingly strong. The poor guy. I'm suddenly beginning to understand those old ladies you hear about who accost soap opera villains in the street, shouting at them for being such terrible people.

I actually saw Jorah and Bronn within minutes of each other while a few of us were standing outside The Stag's Head last year, which led to excited speculation about the potential of a secret cast party happening somewhere in the city centre and a brief temptation to follow them. Gotta catch 'em all. (We didn't follow them. That would be creepy.)

The Excellent Female Characters

As well as making for addictive viewing and reading, Game of Thrones features some brilliant female characters and unlike certain other shows *cough*THEWALKINGDEAD*cough*, there's loads of room for more than one strong woman at a time. (I'm still raging with that show for making Andrea into a headwrecking gowlbag as soon as Michonne came on the scene. Dicks.)

Dammit George, get over here so I can give you a big feminist hug.

Anyway, in the Seven Kingdoms and across the Narrow Sea we've got:

Daenerys Targaryen - Stormborn, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons and GODDAMN KHALEESI OF THE GREAT GRASS SEA.

Asha Greyjoy (or Yara Greyjoy on telly) - fearsome pirate queen and badass maritime motherfucker.

Cersei Lannister - okay she's riding her brother and an AWFUL wagon but you have to admit that she's one bad bitch who gets shit done. Nobody can wield a backhanded compliment like the Lioness of Casterly Rock.

Brienne of Tarth - kickass knight, excellent with a sword and won the fuck out of a tourney melee against a bunch of dudes. (Who, by the way, is an utter knockout in real life.)

Arya Stark - ferocious she-wolf hellbent on revenge, destined for utter greatness and takes absolutely no shit.


That's before we even get near Catelyn Stark's steely resolve, Shae's wily resourcefulness or Margaery eye-fucking and power-dressing her way to queendom. Not to mention the awesomely acid-tongued Lady Olenna aka the Dowager Countess of Highgarden and Sansa Stark, who (to drag out the Downton Abbey comparison) is sort of the Lady Edith of the show - the ginger girl you don't really like all that much to begin with, but before you know it you're 100% rooting for her and digging her quiet strength. Oh AND wildling Ygritte not giving a single fuck, being handy with with a spear and the absolutely magical way she says Jon Snow.


The Ridebags

So, yes, the characters in the series, both male and female, are great and complex and flawed and in some cases just trying to get along as best they can in the fucked up realm of Westeros. But allow me to lower the tone somewhat by saying DAMN there are some total foxes in this series. And in fairness, the show is pretty much an equal opportunites deal in terms of whose ass you get to see, which makes a nice change from the usual naked lady/fully dressed dude trope, like the skeezy Blurred Lines video or the People of the Year series of GQ covers from last year.


As well as typically gorgeous people, (i.e. Jaime Lannister and the big Disney prince head on him and Daenerys being ridiculously beautiful) it also provides an array of weird and slightly guilty crushes, like Sandor Clegane and Roose Bolton, and those are always fun. I'd also just like to point out what a difference a few years and change of hair colour makes in the case of Iain Glen. Villain in Tomb Raider? Move along, unappealing oily-haired man. Ser Jorah? BACK THAT FINE ASS UP, MORMONT. No friendzone for you. A touch of face cragginess did him the world of good.

So what I'm really wondering now is what the hell I'm going to do when I run out of books to read. Oh, who am I kiddding, it'll probably be a fourth go at series one and onwards.

World War Z, Or Something Not Quite Like It

I finally got around to seeing World War Z. After loving the utter bejaysus out of the book and being quite concerned about the trailer and the fast hooring zombies (© Dawn) back in December, I pretty much expected to hate it.


However, it was actually grand. Well, when I say that, I mean that it's a reasonably good zombie film with some enjoyable jumpy bits, but it's not World War Z. Not even a little bit. Although I did enjoy the collective "oh!" of recognition in the cinema when Ruth Negga popped up.

Anyway, I'm not sure why Brad Pitt bothered buying the rights to it really, because they essentially took all the things that made World War Z such a compelling and scary and fascinating read in the first place and just fucked it all in the bin, so Brad could run around saying "my family!", all of whom I hated within seconds.

Those discarded things included elderly Japanese blind monk Tomonaga, who takes on zombies with nothing more than a shovel and the patience to listen to everything very fucking carefully, and Tatsumi, his nerdy apprentice who becomes an awesome zombie killing warrior in his own right. I would have happily watched Gerry's family being eaten in the opening credits, even if it only meant a few minutes of those guys, or mercenary anti-hero T. Sean Collins or Colonel Christina Eliopolis, who crash lands in the middle of zombie-infested territory and manages to single-handedly fight her way to safety, while being guided by a mysterious sky watcher like a badass motherfucker.

Oh, just get eaten already.

It was always going to be difficult, if not downright impossible to make World War Z, a book that's made up of survivor interviews from all over the world, into a film. Which is why it never should have been squished and mangled into a two hour summer blockbuster in the first place.

If you're going to do any justice to a book as deadly and special as World War Z, it needs to be a documentary-style affair, or a dramatic mini series with interviews scattered along the way, like Band of Brothers, but with less making the viewer bawl crying and more zombie decapitation.

What really annoys me though, is this quote from Brad:

“I was never a huge horror fan to be honest,” insists Brad, 49, who says the £250million flick is more about the plot anyway.

“As for why zombies are so popular, I really have no idea."

HE DOESN'T EVEN LIKE ZOMBIES. SO WHY THE JAYSUS FUCK DID YOU GET INTO A BIDDING WAR WITH LEO DICAPRIO OVER THE RIGHTS?


Oh I see. Thanks for nothing, Brad.

Ill Communication

A few weeks ago, my awesome friend Trace Dogg got married to his lovely girlfriend. In the run-up to the wedding, I had an idea for a card that I could make for him, and got VERY excited about it. You see, Trace Dogg is a huge Beastie Boys fan (his Root Down rendition is a thing of beauty) and I had the perfect line from a Beasties song that would totally work for a Happy Wedding Day card.

"I’m a newlywed, not a divorcé / And everything I do is funky like Lee Dorsey".

I hadn't ever really noticed the line before (it's from Sure Shot), until I saw someone point it out in the comments in an excellent 7 Reasons To Love the Beastie Boys article that Anna Carey wrote for The Anti Room about two years ago. I thought it was a cool line and filed it away in my brain with random bits of songs that I know, along with the Animaniacs Nations of the World song. I can get as far as Guam.

Anyway, Trace Dogg + wedding + Beastie Boys = Sure Shot.

Obviously.

So I made this:


I was pretty pleased with myself. Especially when I could see him knowing exactly what the reference was before he'd finished reading it. It was also a fun way of finding out who else at the wedding was a Beasties fan, as for the most part the card was met with polite puzzlement, but Trace Dogg liked it and that's all that mattered.

And because it's fucking tune and a half, here it is. Mimed by Muppets!


Turn that motherfucker up.

Sweet Valley High Revisited - Wrong Kind of Girl

Well hello there. I know it's been terribly quiet around here of late, but work and real life and trying to read as much of A Storm of Swords as I possibly can has all been getting in the way, you see. As well as being traumatised by the Red Wedding episode of Game of Thrones. Actually, wouldn't Jessica Wakefield make an amazing Lannister?

Anyway, onwards to the next book!

Sweet Valley High #10: Wrong Kind of Girl
 

Ok, the first thing you need to know is that this book gets off to an amazing start. It's a first line that deserves to be up there with "Call me Ishmael", or "It is a truth universally acknowledged.." STRAP YO'SELVES IN, FOLKS.

As she looked over the list of girls who had signed up to try out for the cheerleading squad, Jessica Wakefield purred like a satisfied cat.

Miaow! We're immediately off to a great start. Excellent work, ghost writer. Anyway, Jessica is all aroused because seventy three girls have signed up, so we can only assume that there must be like a bajillion students in that school. There are two spots open, because Cara Walker and awesome bitch Lila Fowler were booted off the team for turning on the sprinklers during a rival squad's performance. Because soaking wet cheerleaders means a ruined routine. Yeah. Sounds legit.

So Jessica has essentially promised Cara that her old place on the squad is guaranteed, but suddenly the sight of Annie Whitman's name on the list serves as a massive bonerkiller for Jess. And why is that?

You know what they call her. Easy Annie! She's been with every guy at school.

Well now. There's the pot calling the kettle a whore. Jessica is furious that Annie has the nerve to sign up and reckons that her trampy reputation will give the whole squad a bad name. Which is hilarious, because LOOK IN THE MIRROR YOU CRAZY BITCH.

Apparently, being a cheerleader means keeping your grades up and Elizabeth has been tutoring Annie after school. While consoling her after a test that didn't go well, Annie confesses to Elizabeth that she sometimes feels worthless.

"What?" Elizabeth said, truly surprised. "You? Why, Annie, you're just about the most beautiful girl in Sweet Valley High."

You're RIGHT, Elizabeth! Beauty DOES equal worth! EXCELLENT MESSAGE.

Elizabeth calls over to Annie's house after school to help her with maths and learns about what a hard life Annie has had. Her mother had her when she was sixteen, her father left when she was two and threw her down a flight of stairs when she was ten. While Elizabeth is being told all of this, she thinks about how amazing and perfect and good-looking (really) her own parents are and it's impossible not to imagine her with a smug grin on her face while she does so.

Meanwhile, Jessica is coaching Cara through all the new moves and cheers that she'll need to know for the try-outs and there's a really odd bit where Steven Wakefield appears in front of them, doesn't really hear them when they both say hello and then hurries back into the house. So he just wandered out into the garden, stood in front of his sister and her friend and then fucked off back inside. It turns out that he's just heard the news that his girlfriend's dad is in jail for drink driving, but it's still quite a weird little scene.

The day of the try-outs arrives and Annie is brilliant, but Jessica tries to stop her from making it to the last twenty five because she's a cheertator (if you know what I'm talking about, then we should totally be friends) and freaks out at Elizabeth for saying in her gossip column that Annie is one of the favourites for the squad.

There's a Beach Disco a few nights later and pretty much everyone from school is there. A band called The Surfers' Waves are playing (not the Droids? The fuck, guys?) and Annie enrages Jessica by turning up with Bruce Patman. Suddenly there's a dance contest, because the denizens of Sweet Valley appear to living in the musical Grease. It ends up being a draw between Jessica and her date and Annie and Bruce, which Jessica takes a personal affront and is furious that Annie seems to think that she's "as good" as her. Silly Annie! Doesn't she know that The Glorious Wakefields are the pinnacle of hot sixteen year old girls the world over and should NEVER be challenged? Clearly not.

Jessica and Elizabeth have a row over Jessica being a cunt to Annie for no good reason, and things get worse when Jessica discovers that Elizabeth is the one helping Annie to pass all her maths tests and keep her grades up. It's the day of the cheerleading semi-finals, and Annie is amazing again, with the whole gym applauding her. Jessica has been telling the rest of the squad how unsuitable Annie would be every day since the first round of try-outs and is aghast to find that they've dared to defy her and all voted for her to be in the final eight.

It's no surprise that everyone did vote for her though, the way her routine is described. "Out she dashed, creating an immediate electric excitement in everybody watching." "Zest and perfection", "she was quite simply a sensation." Oh and she "blushed prettily" at the end when the crowd burst into applause. That's the other thing about Annie, literally every time she appears in the book, we're informed of how gorgeous she is. We've already had "Annie tossed her lovely head", "the gloom returned to her pretty face", and "a becoming blush rose in Annie Whitman's cheeks" and we're only halfway through the book. We get more hotness reminders for her than we do for the Wakefield twins combined. Actually, no wonder Jessica hates her. She's stealing all her sexy thunder!

Annie's progress through the cheerleading rounds is boosting her self confidence, and she tells Elizabeth that the reson she hooks up with so many dudes is because she needed the attention and felt empty inside. Poor Annie has no idea that half the school calls her Easy Annie and thinks she's a tramp. Seriously, is that school working under some kind of mass delusion about Jessica, as if she HASN'T dry humped half the dudes in Sweet Valley? Or is a girl only a tramp if she lives with her single mother in an apartment, rather than a split level ranch house with hot parents? HMMM.

Jessica and her lavaliere being all smug and blonde while plotting Annie's downfall. Rumour has it that Courteney Cox was the model used for Annie Whitman. She's the absolute head off tampon ad-era Courteney. See?

Anyway, Jessica goes full on Regina George and rigs the voting process by mind fucking one of the other cheerleaders, Helen Bradley, into keeping Annie off the squad. Meanwhile, Annie has noticed that the cheer squad's manager Ricky Capaldo fancies her, and she's starting to feel the same way. I should say that Ricky is a student too, which seems a bit odd, but I guess it's better that way as otherwise it'd be an adult wanting to bone a fifteen year old girl, which would be hella creepy.

Then, ooh THEN, we get an amazing scene so melodramatic it'd make Linda Gray's eyes water. Elizabeth is over at Todd's house, watching an old movie with him. Her mind keeps wandering to the Jessica-Annie dilemma so she unwittingly lets out a sigh, which causes Todd to jump up and demand to know if she's in love with someone else. Because she sighed. He's TOTALLY serious, it's hilarious.

He asks her this while looking away from her, so there's even an impassioned "Todd, please look at me!" thrown in, before he calms the fuck down and puts his big boy pants on. He asks her what's been on her mind and guesses that it's something to with Jessica being a duplicitous, cruel wench (in so many words) which causes Elizabeth to get all angry and defensive. Todd's ma then comes into the room, and Todd says "Mom, we're having a discussion", without looking at her. The fucking brat! Imagine your mammy letting you talk to her like that! Not a hope, lads. She actually leaves the room without so much as a HINT of a wooden spoon in Todd's direction and he and Liz make up, of course. YAWWWN. Someone should have ended up in a swimming pool. Go big or go home, Francine.

The day of the cheerleading finals arrives and Annie is spectacular as usual, which results in a stand off between Jessica and the rest of the squad, who want to vote Annie in. Jessica demands that they vote in Sandra, a girl who fell during her routine. When the rest of the cheerleaders won't back down, Jessica gives them an ultimatum and says she'll leave if they allow Annie in, the power mad harpy. Apparently she's the "heart and soul of the team", so as usual she gets her way. Ugh. STOP HUMOURING HER.

When Annie finds out that she didn't make the cut, she's distraught and cries on Ricky until he tells her that it was Jessica who screwed her over and did so because she thought Annie's reputation would
taint the whole squad. When Annie doesn't show up for the next three days of school, Ricky goes to Elizabeth, begging her to talk Jessica into letting Annie on the squad. Jessica doesn't budge and the next Monday, Elizabeth gets a call from Ricky, telling her that Annie tried to kill herself. Elizabeth rushes to the hospital, dragging Jessica with her, who at least had the decency to protest and say that Annie wouldn't want her there.

They find Ricky in the waiting room, and Jessica, suddenly realising that being a horrendous bitch can actually have consequences, bursts into tears, sobbing about how it's all her fault, and making it all about her. The doctor eventually comes to Annie's mother and tells her that her daughter appears to have "no will to live". Dun dun DUUUUN. Jessica blurts the whole story out to the doctor to let them know why Annie overdosed on pills and the doctor, FOR SERIOUS, prescribes....letting Annie be a cheerleader. Amazing. Jessica stays up all night at Annie's bedside, telling her that there was a mix-up and she's on the squad after all. Annie eventually comes to and her first words are "Where are you? Please...Jess." Oh get ta fuck.

Annie wakes up and later that day, the twins and Ricky bring in her cheerleading uniform and tell her to go to the window. The cheer squad are outside and shout "Get well Annie!" and then everyone is happy and a fifteen year old girl's depression and suicide attempt are all forgotten about. Because cheerleading. Yay.

Notable outfit:
Amid not-too-remarkable dresses with thigh-high slits (Annie), black and red striped tops (Jessica) and a total lack of Dana Larson, I'm giving this one to Elizabeth's bit of man candy.

Todd looked especially handsome that night in his gray cords and burgundy shirt.

Good for you Toddington.

Things I counted:
Number of pages: 137
References to the twins' blue-green eyes: 3
References to the fact that the twins are blonde: 3
Amount of times Annie is called pretty/beautiful/lovely: 12

Quelque Chose #23

The Bear: A Eurovision song needs to give you goosebumps.

Me: When was the last time a Eurovision song gave you goosebumps?

The Bear: ...

Me: Lordi?

The Bear: Yeah, Lordi gave me goosebumps. And a raging horn.

Me: Well, obviously.

Thank You, Youth Defence!

No, really! You're reading that post title 100% correctly. I genuinely and for realz am saying a big fluffy THANK YOU to Youth Defence, the Life Institute, the Mother and Child Campaign, prolifeinfo.ie, the Pro-Life Alliance and all the other similar organisations that don't happen to reside in 60a Capel Street.

You see, for quite some time, I thought it was ridiculous that as a country we just exported the issue of abortion, thanks to Ryanair and our handy proximity to England. However, since Youth Defence's anti-choice poster campaign invaded Dublin city last summer, I've realised that it's completely, unacceptably and fucking infuriatingly ridiculous that we export the issue and pretend like it doesn't happen.

Because of Youth Defence, I'm more vocally and fucking furiously pro-choice than I have ever been in my entire life.

Because of Youth Defence, I attended vigils for Savita Halappanavar on Kildare Street in the bollock-freezing cold last year despite a fractured ankle and a leg encased in a plaster cast.

Because of Youth Defence, I am never, ever in my life going to give my vote to any politician or organisation that would claim to describe themselves as "pro-life". I'd rather unwittingly step barefoot on upturned plugs for a year, than have that happen.

Because of Youth Defence, I now take an interest in their activities, along with those of the Pro Life Campaign, the Iona Institute, EWTN and their assorted cohorts, and revel in taking the unrelenting piss out of them here and writing angry, pro-choice blog posts for Beaut.ie.

Because of Youth Defence, for a while there my walk to and from work included keeping an eye out for and ripping down bright yellow stickers that bore a vapidly smiling shamrock on them as well as the insidious slogan "Proud to be Irish, Proud to be Pro Life".

Because of Youth Defence and their underhanded, manipulative, fuckweasel tactics, I'm planning on making a big-ass go-fuck-yourself sign with which to march at the Action on X rally at 4 o'clock on Saturday the 18th and I hope as many people as possible do too.


So seriously, you guys! Thank you for making me absolutely certain that women should have the right to choose what happens to our bodies, our lives and our mental wellbeing.

Thank you. You unbelievable cunts.

Smiley face!

Sweet Valley High Revisited - Racing Hearts

Blammo! It's book nine o'clock!

Sweet Valley High #9: Racing Hearts
 

The book begins with Elizabeth Wakefield discovering her sister Jessica trying on their mother's "chocolate-brown suit" which sounds just LOVELY. Elizabeth has no idea what the hell is going on with her sister, as she seems to have abandoned her plans to become a famous actress, isn't going to the beach with Cara Walker like she was supposed to, and is all talk about responsibility and the future. It's all very boring and un-Jess. It turns out that she wants to work in their father's legal office after school, as she has decided she wants to be a hotshot lawyer. Grand so.

The next day at school, it's been raining in Sweet Valley but worry not! Both Jessica and Lila Fowler still have perfect hair, as we’re informed that Jessica’s hair is “frizz-proof” and the rain has given Lila “a fullness to her wavy hair that Jessica could seldom achieve with her curling iron”. PHEW. I’m so glad that the beautiful popular girls remain flawless regardless of weather conditions. Jessica fills Lila in on her grand plan to work in Ned's office, and Lila's all "ewww, work" because Daddy’s Girl don’t need no stinkin’ job.

They run into Roger Barrett who's in love with Lila, but the hallway is slippery and he falls and lands on his arse in front of his dream girl. Poor Roger! And actually poor Roger, because he secretly works as a janitor in the evenings and weekends in Ned Wakefield’s office building, to pay the rent at home. Apparently there’s no such thing as part time jobs in petrol stations, delis or shops of any kind in Sweet Valley. Anyway, Roger runs off all embarrassed and Lila calls him Bugs Bunny while being a cunt about him with Jessica. She then explains that she calls him Bugs because he bugs her. Wildean wit, that one.

Meanwhile, in the boy’s locker room Bruce Patman, Todd Wilkins and John Pfeifer have an awesomely homoerotic conversation about the upcoming trials for the Barton Ames race, more commonly known as the Bart. There's also a dance afterwards (OF COURSE) called the Bart dance. Seriously. Every time it's mentioned, this pops into my head. Anyway, Bruce is bragging about how he’s going to win the race hands down, even though the prize is a scholarship to SVU, which he doesn’t exactly need seeing as he’s super rich. But never mind all that, we get these wonderful sentences which are MUCH more interesting:

“Droplets of water dripped from his dark hair onto his red and white Sweet Valley running shorts”

“Todd eyed Bruce coldly as he took off his soaked t-shirt”

“I imagine I have as good a chance as anyone. These legs of mine do ok on the basketball court”

They’re just a damp towel-snap away from a sweaty orgy on the wooden bench. There’s also some talk about Coach Schultz leaving over an argument with the school board about money, but who cares, BRUCE’S SHORTS ARE ALL WET.

After school, Jessica arrives at her father’s office to start her shiny new part time job. She’s expecting work to be like an episode of Ally McBeal, so she’s none too pleased when she’s put to work photocopying legal documents. However, things look up for Jess when she meets a handsome dude in the lift. His name is Dennis, he goes to a rival high school and he works part time in his father’s ad agency across the hall from Ned’s office. They flirt about handbags and he asks Jessica if she’s training to be a secretary. Really, Dennis? Anyway, Jessica thinks he’s cute and of course he fancies her, seeing as he's got a pulse and the Wakefield twins induce boners wherever they roam.

The next day at school, everyone is out for the Bart race trials and Elizabeth is being an insufferable wench, pestering Roger to try out for the race, as he could really use the scholarship prize. He’s visibly annoyed with her, but Elizabeth won’t let up because she’s a self-righteous pain in the hole, and even though we’re told how she’s saying everything “gently” like she’s the good guy, she’s acting like a dick and you just desperately want someone to turn around and tell her to shut the fuck up. Anyway, Lila overhears the conversation and starts to egg him on too for her own amusement and because she thinks he’ll make a fool of himself. So because Roger loves Lila, he decides to run as it might give him a chance to win her over. He joins the other runners on the track at the last minute and kicks everyone’s ass, beating Bruce to the finish line and surprising everyone. He also does it all in “faded army fatigue pants and red t-shirt”, rather than fancy running gear like the other athletes, and although according to Jessica, “his taste in clothing leaves something to be desired”, what he’s wearing actually sounds pretty fucking hot if you ask me.

Everyone is all over Roger after he wins the race, telling him how brilliant he is. Everyone except his friend Olivia Davidson, the alafalfa sprout munching hippy. She’s sullenly writing about her feelings while sitting on the bleachers (the big emo head on her), and barely congratulates Roger on his win because she fancies him and now she's jealous that Lila is suddenly showing an interest in him. She goes off in a huff, presumably followed by a cloud of patchouli. 

GO HOME ROGER. Nice jumper, Lila.

The school principal gives Roger a fancy SVH tracksuit, which makes Lila suddenly think he’s SEXAY, so she butters his bread for him in the cafeteria. I really wish that was a euphemism, but the line genuinely reads:

“Oooh, let me do that,” Lila said, taking the pat of butter and his knife away from him.

I mean, I know Lila’s hot and rich and all, but that’s some fucking weird flirting, whatever way you look at it.

The coach and the school principal both tell Roger that he has to run in the Bart race, but he doesn’t have time to train because he’s the only one bringing money into the house with his part time job and doesn’t think his boss would give him the time off anyway, so he keeps failing to show up for practice. He also can’t meet Lila after school because of it, so she thinks he’s playing hard to get. While discussing this with Jessica at lunch, there's a great bit that just reminds us how genetically blessed and amazing the Wakefields are, in case the focus had been pulled away from them a bit too much.

Jessica took a big bite of her cheeseburger. Lila eyed her friend enviously. How could Jessica eat so much and never gain an ounce? Lila had to work like crazy to keep her slender figure. 

Boom. All the money in the world can't buy you the sexy Wakefield metabolism, Lila. Anyway, in a bizarre attempt to win Roger over, Lila writes this godawful poem for him:

Roger Barrett, a boy so fine

His speedy running is divine

In school too, he is very smart

He’ll walk away with the trophy at the Bart

In everything he operates at the highest stratum

We at Sweet Valley are so proud to have him.

I...just...what? Stratum? WHAT IS HAPPENING?

Meanwhile, Jessica has been hooking up with hot Dennis after hours in her Dad’s office, when everyone else is gone home. Elizabeth has gotten suspicious about what her sister is up to, so she sneaks into the building to spy on Jessica, presumably because she has nothing better to do and is an unbearable busybody. Ugh. She sees Jessica and Dennis shifting each other, the big stalker, and then sees them run into Roger while he’s doing his janitor thing. Elizabeth then blackmails her sister into keeping Roger’s secret, otherwise she’ll tell their father that Jessica has been dry humping some dude in the office every evening.

When he gets home, Roger rings Olivia in a panic and tells her all about his cleaning job and how he can’t run the Bart race at the weekend because he won’t be able to get time off and how worried he is that Jessica will blab to everyone in the school. While all this is going on, Lila calls Jessica looking for help to bag Roger, so Jessica comes up with a plan and tells Lila to throw a leaving party for Coach Schultz before the Bart dance, so Roger will have to attend. However, she also evilly plots to reveal Roger’s secret job while at the party, which will both humiliate Lila and somehow make Jessica the “star of the party”. Is that even a thing? Do parties have stars? I must be going to the wrong ones.

Anyway, the next day at school, the pressure is getting to Roger so he admits to Lila that he works as a janitor, and begins to feel proud of himself, even though Lila now looks at him with barely concealed disgust.  

“Roger’s integrity was admirable, but Lila wanted nothing to do with it.” 

Amazing. Who needs a guy with integrity or honesty or any of that stupid stuff? Not Lila Fowler, that's for damn sure. Roger then goes to tell the coach that he won’t be able to race on Saturday but it just so happens that Liz had her father call Roger’s boss and make him give Roger some time off, and then rang the coach to say that was all fine and dandy. It also turns out that the coach isn’t leaving at all, but we don't really care about that. Roger thanks Liz, and then runs off to Olivia, suddenly realising that he loves her. How handy.

Back at Ned’s office, Jessica has been getting frustrated that Dennis hasn’t picked up on her hints to get him to ask her to the Bart dance. Finally, she does the asking herself but he says he can't go, which makes her angry because NO ONE REJECTS JESSICA WAKEFIELD. Anyway, it turns out he’s fifteen, so Jessica dumps him because he can’t drive, even though she actually really likes him.

The day of the big race arrives, and Roger wins, breaking the Bart record while he’s at it. Lila suddenly reappears and lobs the gob on him, going on about how she never lost faith in him and she’s throwing a party in his honour. He turns her down so she gets all indignant and demands to know what could be more important. He tells her to mind her own damn business and goes off with Olivia. Hooray. 

I have to say, it wasn't exatly the best Sweet Valley High book, but the next one is all about slutty Annie Whitman, so things are looking up, kids.

Notable outfit:
There weren't nearly enough hilarious clothes in this book, but I'll give this one to peasant skirt enthusiast Olivia Davidson.

Olivia proudly showed off the floral print skirt. It was so long it nearly covered her Chinese sandals. “The latest in chic from Martha’s Thrift Shop. Goes well with the scarf, don’t you think?” She fingered the long strip of faded silk tied loosely around her neck.

Good for you Olivia.

Things I counted:
Number of pages: 158
References to the twins' blue-green eyes: 3
References to the fact that the twins are blonde: 2 (Must try harder.)
References to eyes/eyelashes/eyeballs: 52

Quelque Chose #22

Two weeks ago, my lovely, bold and brilliant grandmother died at the rather decent age of 93. She was Nanny Nonie to me, her thirty other grandchildren and her twenty-seven great-grandchildren. It's a frankly massive family tree that she's responsible for. Nanny was tiny, a demon for sweets and unfailingly honest. "Sit your big bum down here beside me, Kitty!" The picture above is from 1941 and she's with my grandad who died long before I was born. Her bobby socks are awesome.

As such, I hadn't really been in the form for blogging for the last while, but Sweet Valley snarking and general silliness will resume shortly.

The Not So Wonderful Witches of Oz

***

HERE BE SPOILERS! 

If you haven't seen Oz The Great and Powerful and don't want to know what happens, then I suggest skipping this post. Have a read of some Sweet Valley High recaps instead. Be grand.

***

I went to see Oz The Great and Powerful last week. I had heard good things about it, but the Bear had heard the opposite, so we decided to go and make our own minds up. Going into it I thought: "This has LOADS of female characters! Hooray!" However, coming out of the cinema that thought had changed to: "Well that had loads of female characters. And they all sucked."


I love witches and things about witches. When I was finishing my graphic design degree in college, I somehow managed to get away with writing a thesis about the portrayal of witches in art and pop culture and how the image of the witch has evolved over time. It was LOADS of fun to write, and despite my design lecturers looking confused as to what the hell I was up to when they asked what my topic was, my History of Art lecturer loved it. Witches are endlessly brilliant and interesting characters to write about.

So I had been really looking forward to seeing how the three witches in Oz would turn out, as SURELY they'd be powerful, independent and wickedly fun to watch, yes? SURELY they won't spend the entire film telling James Franco's con-man wizard Oscar how fucking brilliant he is, be riddled with daddy issues or appear to be utterly useless until a non-magical dude comes along to chance his arm at fixing everything, YES? Oh. Apparently not.

I liked James Franco in it, I know his character is meant to be a cad, a rogue, a bounder and whatnot and I'm entertained by the fact that every time he smiled in this film he looked like he was high as fuck.

Did someone say nachos?

But he was pretty much ALL the female characters talked about for the entire thing and the few times they weren't talking about him, the conversation was all about the previous wizard, i.e. Glinda's father. This film has THREE important and potentially awesome women in it, two of which are sisters and it doesn't even pass the Bechdel Test, a result which is quite frankly pathetic.


So what's the deal with these witches? Well, firstly there's Theodora, played by lovely Mila Kunis, who wears sexy leather pants and immediately falls for Oscar and his rapscallion charm when he initially bumbles his way into the land of Oz. Fair enough, he's got a routine for the pretty ladies, which involves a seemingly infinite supply of cheap music boxes, and it works. But he quickly ditches her and this alone is apparently enough reason for her to abandon all hope and become the green-skinned Wicked Witch of the West. Over a dude she literally JUST MET.

You used to be cool, man.

The film essentially boiled down the backstory of one of the most iconic villains of all time to a bitter, shrieking ex-girlfriend, which just seems incredibly insulting. The whole thing just reeked of "bitches be trippin', AMIRITE?" Fuck that noise.


The second witch in question, Evanora (Theodora's sister) has deceitfully taken over the throne of the Emerald City by killing Glinda's father and convincing the people of Oz that Glinda was responsible, resulting in her being banished and therefore out of Evanora's way. On paper she sounds like an excellent villain, but in reality, Evanora just wasn't that interesting. (Although to be fair, she's probably the least objectionable of the three witches in the film.) She wasn't as wicked as her sister turned out to be, but was sort of bad, without being complex or gripping or anything, probably not helped by the fact that she was so busy banging on about the wizard all the fucking time. To paraphrase Dr. Evil, she's the Diet Coke of evil. Just one calorie, not evil enough.

There was also the fact that it was revealed that she was using a magic necklace to disguise her true appearance, which was that of a hideous old crone, just in case we haven't been beaten over the head with the ugly = bad trope enough in the last while. Her dress was deadly though.


Finally, there was Glinda. Glinda the simpering good witch, who appears to have been instructed by her father's prophecy to wait for a man to come along and claim the throne that should actually be hers by rights. So she does fuck all except hang around spooky graveyards in a dark cloak for reasons that are never actually explained and not bother clearing her name or organising a resistance on her own (which she would be more than capable of, seeing as SHE'S MAGIC and knows the people and terrain, but whatever) until some idiot crashes his hot air balloon into a tornado. Sound.

As my friend Billy pointed out, when she brings Oscar to her fancy castle in order to begin coordinating the rebellion, it looks like she might boot camp his ass into a fighting wizard commander, but instead we get an insipid "oh look, she's falling for him" scene. She knows that Oscar doesn't have any powers like he pretends to and that he lies and tricks his way through life, but hey, it's ok, he should be in charge now because he's sort of good and WE MUST BLINDLY ABIDE BY THE PROPHECY.

Be a good girl and look after the kids instead. Bake a few cakes while you're at it, sure power and agency is for the menfolk, after all.

At this point she's also become a mammy of sorts to the porcelain girl that's been accompanying Oscar on his travels around Oz, offering to tuck her into bed and what have you because maternal women are automatically the good ones and women with no maternal inclinations whatsoever (Evanora, Theodora, me) are villains, obviously.

To me, Glinda just seemed like a fucking sap and ends up little more than a shimmery trophy wife for Oscar at the end, even though she proves herself to be more than a match for Evanora's magic. Boo and indeed hiss.

The producer of the film has been quoted in The Huffington Post saying QUITE SERIOUSLY that:

"...a fairy tale with a male protagonist is very hard to come by. But with the origin story of the Wizard of Oz, here was a fairy tale story with a natural male protagonist. Which is why I knew that this was an idea for a movie that was genuinely worth pursuing."

Because that's exactly what the movie industry is lacking in! STORIES ABOUT MEN! My GOD, when will all those lady bitches in charge of Hollywood WISE UP and realise that dudes are TOTALLY BEING MARGINALISED. I'M SUPER SERIAL YOU GUYS.

Get. To. Fuck.

The thing is, there were plenty of bits that I did like in the film, there were loads of fun little references to the 1939 film, some really well done CGI and the little porcelain girl was actually quite cool for the most part, but all of the above points just bothered me so much that by the time the film was over, the whole thing was decidedly meh.

It mostly just made me wish that they'd make a film version of Wicked, where the witches are actually layered, complex, interesting, funny, smart characters. Someone make that film already, goddammit.

Quelque Chose #21

From the 1940s right up until the 1970s, the surreal and gorgeous work of photographer Bruce Mozert was used to promote Florida's premier tourist atrraction, Silver Springs.

Mozert was a pioneer in the tricky world of underwater photography, building waterproof casings for his camera that allowed him to create amazing scenes with pretty girls, showing off the the unique clarity of the water in the area.

(More here and hat tip to the lovely Margot for bringing it to my attention.)

Queen Angelyne

A few weeks ago, while on the productivity-sapping vortex of endlessly clickable links also known as Buzzfeed (Greatest Things That Ever Happened On Tumblr? Yes please! Mitt Romney in Disneyland? Sure it'd be rude not to! Some excuse to show a whole bunch of Mean Girls gifs? DON'T MIND IF I DO) I ended up reading a list of 35 Signs You Grew Up in Los Angeles in the 90s for some reason. Even though growing up in the middle of nowhere but quite near Dungarvan in the 90s is probably as far removed from L.A. in the 90s as you could possibly get.

(Goddammit, about 20 minutes have passed since I typed that last sentence, because I've ended up on Buzzfeed AGAIN reading about things that Taylor Swift said this one time. HELP. ME.)

Anyway. One of things on the L.A. in the 90s list was the following:


Angelyne? Who IS she? Is she a real person? That hair! That rack! Is it an ad for a strip club? WHY WON'T THIS BILLBOARD TELL ME ANYTHING?

So off I went to find out more about this mysterious woman, as I'm sure was the exact point of the sign in the first place. It turns out that Angelyne is something of a cult icon in L.A. and commonly known in the area as The Billboard Queen. She's actually a model-slash-actress-slash-singer, but became famous for the self-promoting billboards of her in varying bodacious pin-up girl poses that popped up all over the Los Angeles landscape throughout the 1980s and 90s.


What's interesting, considering that she's primarily famous for being famous (locally, at least), is that not much is actually known about her. She mostly refuses to answer questions, but when she does, gives contradictory information, so there's all this mystique surrounding her, which is kinda awesome. She's even listed on the Los Angeles County registrar of voters as simply "Angelyne". Because Angelyne don't need no surname.

There were rumours that the billboard companies or a millionaire sugar daddy paid for her giant ads when they went up, but she has credited investors with the financial side of things in the past, as well as claiming that it was all her own doing. The initial idea behind the billboards was to promote the rock band she was in at the time (called Angelyne, naturally) but once the signs went up, Angelyne the Billboard Queen was born. 


Over the years, she's been known for driving around L.A. in her hot pink Corvette with a vanity plate that reads ANGELNN and there are websites dedicated to sightings of her, but not in a creepy way, in more of a "oh my God, there she is!" kind of way. It's like she's a mythical creature from the city's gritty, sleazy past, a time before any idiot could be a star through the means of reality TV and YouTube, a self-made cult heroine.

Angelyne still drives around the city, reportedly selling t-shirts and merchandise out of the boot of her pink car to her fans. She's a much older woman at this stage, but has resolutely maintained her human Barbie doll brand, normally head to toe in eye-watering pink and leopard print. Recent pictures of her are all either unflattering paparazzi shots, or fan photos where she'll strike her signature pose with her leg raised and coquettishly hold a magazine with her as the cover girl over her face. I find her quite endearing, and while her outfit choices may be debatable, well that's her look and by god she's sticking to it.


While she never quite got her big break, she had bit parts in a few different films, one of which was 1988's campy and fun Earth Girls Are Easy, which starred a rather young Jim Carrey, Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis. The director decided to give her a walk-on part, or rather, "a lean-in part", as he felt that she was "the Patron Saint of a certain side of L.A."



She released a song some time in the early 80s called My List, and made a music video that featured her driving her pink Corvette around town. Considering some of the videos from this particular decade, I think hers holds up pretty well. I mean, it's SUPER EIGHTIES, but it's fun and cute and the song is actually pretty catchy and when she smiles around the 1:50 mark, she looks really beautiful.



Angelyne's billboards have appeared in an estimated thirty five films and tv shows, including Get Shorty, Volcano and the title sequence of Moonlighting. Her signs have all disappeared at this stage, but they were such an iconic part of the Hollywood landscape, that a replica of her first one was built as part of a recreated Sunset Strip for the filming of the Eighties-set movie version of Rock of Ages.

She ran for Governor of California in 2003, the year that Arnold Schwarzenegger won, finishing 28th out of 135 candidates and has claimed in interviews that she's an alien being from another world. (Which makes me wonder what the deal is with human Barbie dolls believing that they're aliens, as Ukrainian woman Valeria Lukyanova appears to have similar beliefs. Maybe they're on to something?)


She's become so ingrained in L.A. pop culture, that she's had a robot based on her in Futurama (Remember Angle-een? That's her!) and Fergie dressed up as her for Halloween last year. The pink Corvette bag was a nice touch. She was also featured in the video for Moby's We Are All Made Of Stars in 2002, along with her billboard, obviously.


There are great (although fairly brief) interviews with her here and here, if you want to know more about Angelyne. I for one can't get enough of her, I just find her so fascinating for some reason.

A pink unicorn out and about in downtown L.A.

There's Been A Murder

In a stroke of total genius, my parents got myself and the Bear a murder mystery weekend as a Christmas present. Having been itching to get my Jessica Fletcher on since the start of the year, the weekend in question finally arrived and OH THE FUN. It took place in Faithlegg House Hotel, just outside Waterford city, which is probably the fanciest hotel I've ever stayed in and perfectly lends itself to a weekend of murder scenes and clue-solving, because, y'know, LOOK AT IT:

It's just so...murdery.

When we were checking in on Friday evening, the people ahead of us were duly sent off to their numbered rooms, but when our turn came we were handed a key and informed that we would be staying in the Cornelius Bolton room. The whatnow?

HOLY SHIT OUR ROOM HAS A NAME AND NOT A NUMBER, thought I.

It turns out I wasn't getting excited for nothing, as the room was MASSIVE, had a super high ceiling, four huge windows, an enormous bathroom and most importantly - A MOTHERFUCKING FOUR POSTER BED. You see, it has long been an ambition of mine to sleep in a four poster bed, so my parents, the big legends, only went and saw to it. Achievable goals, people. Achieveable goals are entirely the way to go.


After jumping up and down on the bed for a bit (because...obviously) and having The Best Steak Sandwich Of All Time in the bar, it was time to get acquainted with our host, Detective Inspector Lazarkie. The theme for the murder mystery was a medical one, as it was set in a Chicago hospital. We were informed that a hotshot surgeon had been murdered, handed a list of suspects and split into named teams. I was raging that we weren't on Team Fletcher. RAGING. Instead, the Bear and I found ourselves on Team Ace Ventura, which was ok really, seeing as he's probably my second favourite detective. I guess.

On Saturday, we could inspect the murder scene, while different clues were posted on the wall of the "incident room" (i.e. hotel ballroom) throughout the day, which provided bits and pieces of backstory and motive for each suspect.

Dun dun DUUUN!

We had most of the day to ourselves, so we hung out in our amazing room, had a go of the jacuzzi, steam room and sauna and generally lolled around the place like fancy bastards. The only time we left the hotel was to procure a bottle of Jameson and two dusty bottles of ginger ale from the nearby shop. Best. Day. Ever.

On Saturday night, there was a press conference where we were introduced to the suspects, and got to question them between courses at dinner. It was a fancy dress dinner, so in the week beforehand, we decided to use costumes we already had in the house, namely a dog suit for the Bear and a sheep costume for me. Not just any sheep though, Chris the Sheep from Father Ted, as in KING OF THE SHEEP.

However, as the rest of the sixty-odd participants filed into the room, it turned out that they either didn't bother dressing up, or adhered to the hospital theme and arrived in scrubs or sexy nurse outfits. While the Bear and I sat at the table dressed as a dog and King of the Sheep.

ANYWAY.

By the end of dinner, the suspects had been narrowed down to two possibilities, so we had to fill out solution sheets with who we thought the murderer was and what their motive might have been. After a bit of disagreement with the rest of the team, in particular one woman who wouldn't let go of her theory that the male murder victim and one of the female suspects were the same person and then insisted that it was actually a particular character's mother who WASN'T EVEN A SUSPECT, LADY we settled on an answer. (The same woman said she didn't like Jessica Fletcher earlier on in the day, which elicited gasps of horror from both me and the Bear. Seriously.)

We got to play Operation at dinner. Most fucking fiddly game ever.

The next morning, the killer was revealed, but all the teams had chosen correctly. So the winners were determined by two quiz rounds from Friday night where we had to identify celebrities from photos where we could only see their eyes, and name the TV shows and films that ten theme tunes came from. Team Ace Ventura kicked ass at both rounds and we were declared the winners, snagging a bottle of wine each for our efforts. Hooray! A tremendous weekend was had by all.