Behold!

Pearly Gates has opened a second outpost in the happening metropolis of Ausdonjavikholm, off Soho Square at the corner of Hafnarstraeti and 6th, in the Ye Olde Gamlastan (or Glamma-stan, as the kids say) neighborhood. Will you be painting stars up in the sky? Do you let your freak-flag fly? Can you be fashionable in the afterlife? Oh, yes... yes, indeed. With the best happy hours to boot.

Hey, Kids! Bored This Evening...?

Uh, so, yeah... normally I'm ashamed to plump for anything seemingly churned out by some execs for a specific market, but whatever: I kinda-sorta-okay-I-admit-it-really-liked-this-movie. So what if I was still a bit hungover from Friday evening? I'm glad I hopped off my cloud, bribed St. Pete to pull double-duty at the door and bar, and took a walk down the street to get some fresh air and was all like, "Hey, the commercials for that thing don't make me smash the TV screen, and I have nothing else better to do," when I reached my local multiplex-with-art-house-pretentions.

Uh, so, yeah... *averts eyes in embarrassment upon having just 'fessed up to liking something mainstream*... but whatever. Yeah, it's formulaic with the not-so-rounded of characters... but the flick has a free pass to hang in the VIP room for the next few weeks. I even kinda-sorta-okay-not-really-but-still-sorta have Joan Cusack's hair-do *dork-swoons [as in like when complimented that one looks a bit like the girl all the guys secretly deep-down like a lot, etc.]*... so take that, Nikki McKibbin (er... go see a matinee, or something, and you'll see what I mean). Also? They poke fun at gawd-awful Creed/Nickelback-stylee bands. And there's even a training montage! Set to "Bonzo Goes to Bitburg"! C'mon... if that doesn't persuade you, I really don't know what will...

But fear not: this by no means, uh, means that I'll be dropping drinks-cash to see, say, this undoubtedly flaccid piece o' Grisham-esque stink.

The High Dark Art of...

So, there was something that kept drawing me to this picture throughout yesterday, splashed across most newspapers' front pages. And of course I got all "Why?" with myself, as I'm not really interested in either of them nor this Chamber-of-Commerce-stylee PR opportunity. And then it occurred to me as to why my attention span was, je ne se quois, piqued, as it were:

The woman is a supreme master of the high dark art of the subtle bitchface, which is, like, the hardest bitchface to pull off. A definite feat of inate skill and practice over many, many years, no doubt.

*offers golf clap; forgets what the clapping is for; pours drink and switches on TV*