Hmm. Ok, so I was planning to launch the visual tribute to Mr Moran and his hair and dimples and voice and hair but apparently it’s all on my other machine? Which is the lamest AND nerdiest thing I could possibly attribute to myself, at least at this moment. Fuck. Ok, so….rest assured, there will be adorableness forthcoming (hopefully to NYC next year on the Yeah Yeah tour) (fucker better be coming to visit, Effbit SWEARS he always plays NY when on tour). Also, I’m torn between hoping that The Ladykillers makes it to Broadway with THE ORIGINAL CAST (Professor Marcus FUCKING TUCKER) and absolutely gagging for another season of The Thick Of It. I suppose it’s all a win-win.

Also Also? Seeing Rickman in 13 days. Second row, still in previews. BITCHES BE JEALOUS.

Effbit, you called?

Laymee and I went to a very early dinner, and then imbibed (as we are want to do) on beer.  And wine.  Then, an hour before the screening, we meandered over to the cinema and planted our arses in the frontish (no other seats.)  I think I need a deep tissue massage today – old lady-types need at least the midsection of the theatre.  So today I am still mentally replaying scenes. I enjoyed the film, but, as Laymee and I discussed post-screening, I can see it being difficult to follow for someone who hadn’t read the books. And yes, we watched the other 5.  It’s amazing how different they are, and how, IMHO, Hermione pisses me off.  Even in this one.  I can’t even put my finger on it. Personally I think they should have worked on build-up to key points in the book. Like, say, maybe, the discovery of the HBP – the audience wasn’t even led to give a shit about who it was. Just that dude had some old book. And then at the end, when Snape announces “yeah, like, those spells? Yeah. That’s mine. Cuz I’m the Half Blood Prince. Word (quite literally ‘to your mother’).” And Ginny? We ALWAYS knew she got around. She’s my kinda girl. And yeah, hate me if you need to, but I don’t think she ages well! And’s she’s what, 18? This doesn’t bode well….All that being said, I walked away, still a little squee, and still feeling SO MUCH BETTER about Number 6 than I was after Number 5. Cuz Order of the Phoenix was not satisfying AT ALL  And while I can ALWAYS USE more Snape, i felt that he had considerably more face/voice time than he has in previous films…about time, really.

And segway to our cross-over

I think, though, that I have to revisit my other tween obsession.  Twilight has been sorely neglected, I feel.  I’ve been walking around daydreaming about some of this all day.  So it only stands to reason that I post it to share with you ladies.  Also, while I’m not one to beg for comments, reviews, or even validation – trust me, I’m retarded enough that I would prattle on to a mirror and feel just fine about it – we haven’t had one comment since Jenny Jerkface from www.twitarded.com on our very first post – so I’m a little nervous if others are actually ABLE to! (We see you, we know you’re reading!)

Also, the last 4 are particularly brilliant. This chick knows how to edit.

THANK GOD there were musicians/directors/producers who had the presence of mind to include the nomness in their artistic expression. Those girls, those Alicia Silverstones, Liv Tylers, Christina Riccis….they are lovely, they are hot, but they are decidedly NOT the nomness.

Kate Bush – Experiment IV

Laymee mentioned earlier today that Hugh Laurie gave a great performance in “Walking on Broken Glass”.  But does anyone remember his mad scientist fella in Kate Bush’s “Experiment IV”?  Of course not, CUZ HE DIES.  And yeah, the song isn’t quite my cup o’tea either.  Sorry, Kate, this one just doesn’t do it for me.

I’m not gonna lie to you, ladies, I am not the biggest Lady Gaga fan.  Her music doesn’t do much for me. It’s sort of “meh” (any of you who read Brooklyn Vegan should nod at this reference).  I appreciate effort.  But REALLY.  Rein it in a little, woman.  What are you going to have to throw out there when you’re in your 50s and facing Madonna’s mostly naked and terrifyingly veined conundrum? This being said. HELLO ALEXANDER SKARSGARD. You die too in this video, but there is plenty of alive and smooching for you to enjoy. And we do enjoy it.

WHO can deny Walken? I mean, I don’t know, it’s just Walken. Maybe not conventionally nomable, maybe you would just want a beer with the guy, but there is SOMETHING about him, and he’s got the moves in this vid. What’s not to love.

Robert Carlisle. You nom-ed him in “The Full Monty”. You may have nom-ed him in “Angela’s Ashes” (I will explain later why i HATE that book, probably…..I do not endorse anything Frank McCourt does and most of the county HATES him as well). Did you nom him in “Plunkett and Macleane”? I did. And then, of course, there was “28 Weeks Later”.

And Finally….

OF COURSE I’m giving this post my own brand of Happy Ending. He DANCES. BEAUTIFUL limbs. And if you squint, the chick COULD be me, like, 10 yrs ago, considerably shorter…..it’s amazing how alike dark brunettes with pasty white skin can look. Such a good video. Oh. My.

In related news.

The Harry Potter Half Blood Prince Premiere will be in NYC, and I won’t be there. I have an uncanny ability to blag my way into where I want to be. Combine this with an unwillingness to believe that I’m incapable of anything (arrogance and pigheadedness are cruel masters of my dignity) I have had several “near” run-ins with Alan Rickman. Been to several premieres where we COULD have met. I swear to all that is holy that at the Bottle Shock premiere we met eyes and had a MOMENT when he was walking down the aisle at the beginning of the film. I was very close the other day when, come to find out, a friend’s friend is being flown in to do his makeup for the do. Naturally I offered any and all services. I would hold the brushes. I would wash the brushes. I would bloody well buy new brushes for each, ahem, stroke so that there would not be double dipping. Heh. Anyway. No, it appears it is not meant to be. Pity. Though honestly, it’s probably for the best – who knows what we would expose those innocent, wide-eyed attendees of this particular premiere to when all sense finally gives way to passion.

I did not write this weekend.  Why you ask?  Well I will tell you.  The (force) pull of vodka (and beer) is too strong with this one.  I think it is easier to blog while still drunk from the evening before.  And by evening before I mean the 1 pm bbq from the day before “before”.

“Oh Effbit”, you say.  “Your name should be “Funnybecauseshe’sdrunk”.  I wave my gay cocktail in your face and say “Shut it. Fuck you.  I hate your shoes.  But you’re right”.  And you are, totally and completely right.  So I ask you – do I perv on the boy-mans because I have a fondness for the booze?  Or do I booze because I am perving all the time and still maintaining an acceptable facade of  “doesn’t need to be arrested for indecent thoughts about the mens, but should definitely be kept a close eye on”?

So let me tell you fine folks why being an independent consultant rocks my proverbial socks…because I can have sangria after I wake and write my emails.  Because I can blog about the hotness between phonecalls.  And because I’m wearing what I wore yesterday.  I am lucky enough to roll out of my Brooklyn apt, call Laymee, and make her decide for me where I’m going to eat/drink/blog.  AND THEN get a new client.  While drinking sangria.  Jealous?

Another pitcher of Passionfruit Sangria, Table 4

I will admit, though I find myself awesome – and I do NOT use that word, I was shamed out of my apartment this morning when my cleaning lady came.  I say shamed because I woke at noon.  And I was shamed because goodgoddamnit, that lady was like the mother to me that I never had, and DOESN’T JUDGE ME when I am hungover/screaming “fuck the surcharge, I am NOT paying $4.29 to my mobile phone carrier for no stupid fucking reason” into said mobile phone, AND she brings me dominican food because for some reason she finds my disfunction endearing.  She scrubs under my stove and I barely managed to brush my teeth.  I have often found both Laymee and The Cat gazing disapprovingly at my post-lobodomy-patient form for these very reasons.

Why is it that at very-nearly-thirty-five I can barely keep my shit together you ask?  I wish I had a concrete answer.  I can only surmise that this may have something to do with it.

That little space, under the bottom lip and above the chin? Yeah, that's a chin divet, and I want to lick it.

I had to introduce the Pattz to Laymee under the caveat of “You kinda have to consider it lay-away.  In 10 years, that is going to be some damn-fine noshing.”  It’s taken a while, but methinks she’s come around.

We see eye to eye on a lot.  I bowed out gracefully on the Mr. Laurie dibs – Laymee is far too fanatical a lady to compete.  And she, using her good judgement, understands that should Mr. Rickman turn up and say “I am leaving the Rima, and I needs to be with one of you highly intelligent and hot bits of stuff” that she should take this as her cue to disappear cuz I will not hesitate to cut a bitch.  There are, of course, discrepancies.  There is some embarrassing shit in the vault.  I am not going to bring it up, but just know that it’s there.  Seriously, no fine Adam’s apple goes unnoticed – and if it’s attached to a fairly less-than-delectable ass?  So be it. (Ok.  The mental image of an Adam’s apple actually attached to an ass is killing me.  Normally I would delete that last bit in the name of “don’t confuse the readers” but fuck it.  I’m still laughing.  And I’m in a Columbian eatery drinking and blogging.)

So yeah.  I managed to fumble my way through a press release today.  I think.  I will likely have to rewrite it.  But I’m STILL able to toggle windows between actual work shit, boy-crush blogs, and Laymee’s iChat window.  Go me.  Today it’s Effbit 1, Layme -5.  Because I’ve got bananas in my sangria and she’s just got Schlitz.  Seriously.  And you can’t get drunk on that shit.  Virtual pub crawl is going to have to move now because it’s Monday and the poor Columbian lady wants to go home.  Nothing to see here, kids, move along.

q6gap2munf

Aside – truly, you must forgive the sports metaphors; the combination of moving to a sports-heavy town and signing up for a family-requested cable package [heh] has me experiencing what can only be considered a very brief but passionate interest in professional athletes and their trades. However, rest assured they are far too pretty on a far too regular basis to be honestly nommable, as Mr. Federer’s legs and pecs will testify.
/Aside

……distracted….where was I? Ah yes, the pieces and bits, the third handful’s offering of 2000 parts, the parts you keep busy with while the other parts are keeping busy. I’m talkin’ collarbones, I’m talkin’ those upper rib muscles, the triceps as it connects to the elbow (can’t wait for football season) (what?), the gumdrop earlobes, and #1 fanfic favorite por vida, the sternocleidomastoid. I’m not talking about House’s eyes, although rest assured I WILL be talking IN LENGTH about Mr. Laurie’s eyes (aaand now i need a minute). It’s not his eyes; it’s what he can do with his eyebrows that make me think stupid. It’s the shape of Mr. Rickman’s mouth AND the fact that it’s rarely closed. It’s Mr. Macy’s infuriatingly perfect diction and Mr. Martin’s jawline.

I had the thought to photoshop a frankenstein dreamboat made of various perfect parts but knew that would turn into a Saul Bass one-sheet of epic disaster likely reaching Transformerian proportions. Also, the diction thing kinda threw me. Going against everything Michael Bay was ever exposed to, in lieu of showing you examples of the pretty I quite hope to think you’ll sit quietly and dream of them, perhaps even better my list with one of your own. What else are holidays for…friends & family? Fuck ‘em, let them find their own list. Let your imagination wander, dear reader.

Should you find yourself in need of further inspiration, or perhaps a most serious buzzkill (I find the two often go hand in hand, and often with liquor), check Glengarry Glen Ross for an early bar scene between Pacino and Pryce in which Ricky Roma extolls the virtues of remembering the details. And then watch what his eyes do as he’s remembering what her eyes did.