George Michael @ Honda Center

Well it must be the '80s old home week (fortnight, month...) here on the blog, 'cause you're going to get my review of the George Michael concert I went to a little over a week ago right after a blog about Madonna. All we need now is for Michael Jackson to do something newsworthy and the hat trick will be complete.

I've gotten some complaints here on the blog that I never blog about the concerts I go to. I don't really know why that is. Maybe because in most of the cases I already know that my poor descriptive skills would never bring those experiences to life; you really just had to be there. In this particular case, I'll give it a whirl.

Like most everything I do nowadays, I went to this concert for the nostalgia, and to assuage a deep wound from childhood. I still remember where I was the first time I heard "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go": Ogden, UT, Summer 1984 (that electric year) at my aunt's condo. Outside, her neighbor was blaring it from the garage as he worked on his car. I wouldn't go so far as to say George Michael was this particular "school girl's pride and joy", but I knew I liked the song, although I wasn't too sure about the feathered hair, the butt shorts and the t-shirts with the big cuffed sleves that went along with it.

And of course, the shame I felt when I asked my dad to buy me the Faith CD at The Warehouse in 1987, he took one look at "I Want Your Sex" on the track listing on the back and said, "Your're dreamin'." So when a certain girl at school (7th grade) let it be known that she had an extra ticket to his concert that year, but that she would decide at the end of the week who would get to go with her, I didn't fall into that sycophantic frenzy. Not because I was preternaturally adult for such a young age, but because I knew there was no way my parents would ever let me go (some how I forgot that lesson in 9th grade when my friend invited me to go that cultural landmark that made underwear permanently outerwear, Madonna's Blonde Ambition Tour, but the results were as predictable as the setting of the sun in the west: DENIED!)

I am such a gasbag...I shouldn't have to EXPLAIN my rationale for going to this concert to you people. I went with my sister "Peep-Bo" and we had fantastic seats; if you imagine the arena as an ellipse, the stage was one foci and we were at the other. Usually one of the best parts of going to any concert is seeing the types of people the crowd attracts. The people watching was surprising in that the demographic skewed to mostly older heterosexual couples, which I never would have guessed. Very minimal representation by the gays, which almost disqualifies this concert from being a stop on the gay man's musical tour (previous stops have included Liza Minnelli, Celine Dion (I didn't go to that one, I refused and still do.) Diana Ross, and yes Madonna) that my sisters and I are participating in.

And then there was George. The show started 45 minutes late and he was oddly in sunglasses through the whole performance, but that same ego drove us to two encores (my first at a concert), so in the end I didn't care. The mixes of the songs were dancy and fun and he had a fabulous digital screen that draped over the stage like a backdrop from a photo shoot, so that it was both floor and wall. The graphics on it were gorgeously integrated with the songs. So for the surprisingly many songs of his he sang that I did not know (the newer stuff), the inanity of the lyrics ("Outside, outside, let's go outside...") were for the most part obscured by the visuals.

Dita von Teese was featured on the video wall in various crazy awesome burlesque costumes for the song "Feeling Good". I kind of didn't get it though, to be honest. I've never really believed that GM is bisexual as he has claimed (he also sang to visuals of the weddings of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor and Prince Rainier and Grace Kelly and some snippets of Elizabeth Taylor....uh, GAY!) I just can't figure it out. And Dad, he' didn't sing "I Want Your Sex".

Take a Bow...

We all knew this was coming...so how come it makes me feel sad? I never understood why they got married in the first place, but when they did, I thought, "Wow, Guy might actually be more of a man than Madonna!" Everyone is speculating that there'll be a big divorce settlement, but I have to say, something tells me that Guy isn't going to quibble over it.

Blogging Godard

I read Richard Brody’s article “Auteur Wars” in The New Yorker about the relationship between Godard and Truffaut and thought it excellent. I was pleased to see this biography was scheduled to be released soon after the article was published. While waiting for the book to be released, I got the idea to watch or re-watch (as the case may be) all of Godard’s films as I read the book and to blog about my thoughts. I don’t know if I will be able to find a copy of every film to view, or if I will even want to watch all of them or finish the book for that matter: It is 700 plus pages after all. But I’ll keep it up as long as the project’s interesting to me. Basically I want to know: What do the colors red and blue mean to Godard?

Netflix Recommendations: A Trip Down the Rabbit Hole

The last time I logged into Netflix, I was advised that they were sure I'd give Spongebob Squarepants: Friend or Foe 4.6 stars. Seeing as how I have not rated any Spongebob movies, let alone cartoons, on Netflix, I was interested to know how they arrived at that recommendation. Apparently, I rated Unzipped, the 1995 documentary about Isaac Mizrahi 5 stars. Guilty. How that translated into love for animated sponges, I'm still not entirely sure. Unless the gays are big SpongeBob fans, I really don't see how the two are related, other than I'm sure you can buy Mizrahi products and SpongeBob products at Target. I've never really put much store in Netflix recommendations. You'd think that with the over 2,600 ratings I've provided them, they'd be able to figure out what I want to watch. Or, even what movies people generally might be interested in if they watch a particular movie. You'd be wrong.



For example: I have The Other Boleyn Girl in my queue.
Netflix says that people who enjoyed that movie enjoyed the Bridget Jones sequel and How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. The only approximately related historical drama movie they suggested was First Night. The first and second seasons of The Tudors were nowhere to be found. Neither were A Man for All Seasons, Anne of The Thousand Days, The Six Wives of Henry VIII, The Private Life of Henry VIII, Henry VIII and the TV version of The Other Boleyn Girl, all of which are available on Netflix.



Here's hoping that when the Netflix Prize is awarded, the technology will actually improve the recommendations. Yeah right.

What are the most ridiculous recommendations you've received?

To Trend or Not to Trend?

Being a third generation Southern Californian, I never thought I'd say this, but here it is: I am so sick of the flip-flop.

Some of my earliest memories about being excited about buying clothing had to do with the annual trip to the Sanrio store (Hello Kitty for the uninitiated) to pick out the pair of flip-flops that I would wear all summer, to the pool for swimming lessons, and the beach. I still have immediate recall of the man-made scent of that thick pink wafer of rubber, which mnemonically leads straight on to the combining aromas of chlorinated pool water, salt air, sunscreen, and smoke from the beach shack grill, joyously proclaiming: SUMMER IS HERE!

That was back when I enjoyed clothes for the sense of wonderment they caused in me, for the excitement I felt when something spoke to me. My goodness I loved Hello Kitty! And look, I could have her on my FEET! And--MY SHOES COULD BE PINK! Going to college in the Rocky Mountains, where it snowed my freshman year in October and didn't stop until June, I wore my flip-flops as a badge of honor, an emblem of my "ethnicity." When my roommate queried me as to why I was wearing a polo with a wool sweater, jeans, a jacket and a scarf...and flip flops...I didn't realize it was so unusual! I had only recently seen Amber Valletta pairing them with a men's suit and tee shirt while attending a black tie event in the social reporting section of Vogue. The only time I considered not wearing them during those years was after I went line dancing in them and (because I have no talent for structured dance routines--I need to be free form, people!) got trod on by cowboy boots.

Diana Vreeland wrote in her memoirs, D. V., about the rhapsody that can occur between a girl and her sandals. Hers were hand-crafted on Capri circa 1935: "The theory of the sandals was that the sandal strap went between the toes. The soles of these sandals were so beautiful. They were built up in layers thinner than my fingernail--layer upon layer." Ooh Diana, I knew YOU would understand! And then one day, flip-flops were everywhere I went. And I slowly but surely began my descent into disenchantment. Flip-flops weren't an organic expression of my environment anymore. They were just more proof that Americans are becoming lazy. In this case, too lazy to wear shoes that require socks. And so my irritation grew. As in all relationships, what you initially love about someone can become the biggest annoyance about them. So help me I saw people wear flip-flops to church! This wasn't Ms. Valletta's deft tweaking of the status quo by a fashion insider, this was apathy on a grand scale.

And I wanted no part of it. This summer, the gladiator sandal is back, making appearances in such un-Mediterranean climes as suburban London in April, on the feet of style makers like Gwyneth Paltrow. But where the flip-flop is straightforward, there are many permutations of the gladiator sandal. Gwyneth's gold gladiators, by Giuseppe Zanotti, look great on her, but what about short women like me? Doesn't encasing the whole foot make us look shorter? The similarly styled gladiator sandals I tried on at H & M certainly did. The braided t-bar sandals from Stella McCartney certainly have a more delicate ankle strap, but do the big thick silver braids overpower smaller feet? And can you wear metallics without a pedicure? I think not. This look is much more difficult to pull off well than it might initially appear.

And then I found the answer to my current fashion conundrum where I usually do: in something Anita Pallenberg wore. Holding her baby Marlon and wearing a mini, in the south of France with Mick and Keith, thin golden strapped gladiator sandals sinuously silhouette her fantastic legs. This is not a woman in the Georgian buckled flats of the sixties, or the platforms of the seventies, both decades which were heavily influenced by her style. This is a style maverick bucking the trends, wearing gladiator sandals when no one else was. Maybe that's when I'll wear them too.

Not My Problem (rated 2 stars)

Seven Days to Sex Appeal: How to Be Sexier Without Surger, Weight Loss, or Cleavage

by Eva Margolies

This is not a book that I would ever have purchased. I’m the girl that’s 50 lbs. overweight that STILL gets hit on at the gym after a sweaty session on the elliptical trainer, OK? I order two slices of the cheesiest, most blissful pizza on earth to eat alone in my car and I get hit on by the cashier. I don’t really need help in the sex appeal department (as shocking as that is to admit to myself—hey, I must be doing something right.) But when I learned I was going to be getting an advanced copy of the book, I thought humbly enough in the face of all evidence to the contrary,”Maybe my kung fu could use a tune-up.” THIS BOOK IS NOT THAT TUNE-UP. To be fair, maybe this would be helpful to people who walk through the mall without getting verbally assailed. Maybe their derrières could use a little love too. Mine certainly could do with a break!
Aside from the subject matter, I would like to say that the design of the book does absolutely nothing for me. Every page was ridiculously printed in a different color with a different background graphic. Whenever I see books with the funky-scroll-script font (wish I knew it’s name) it is such a turn off! It’s like the publishing world’s equivalent of “WHAT’S UP GIRLFRIEND! PLEASE LIKE ME BECAUSE I AM SO DESPERATELY TARGETING A FUN FEARLESS AND FEMALE AUDIENCE!” Additionally, the way that the material is presented (i.e. we are a fly on the wall in the Author’s office as she guides the unfortunately un-sexily named proxy for us all “Sally” through her training sessions) is totally annoying. Instead of just presenting the material to us and letting us glean from it what we will, the authors JUST KNOW that they have all our concerns covered. In reality they don’t even come close…like how do I turn this Sex Appeal OFF? When someone writes a book about how to get guys you aren’t attracted to to STOP hitting on you in the first place, I’ll be first in line.

See more about Seven Days to Sex Appeal: How to Be Sexier Without Surger, Weight Loss, or Cleavage

A review of "The Dud Avocado"

The Dud Avocado

by Elaine Dundy

The Dud Avocado is the first book I’ve read in a while that I kept imagining as a movie. Probably because I had just recently seen Bonjour, Tristesse and was always picturing Sally Jay Gorce (the protagonist) as Jean Seberg. Which is lovely, if only slightly regrettable for the fact that I lost the opportunity to imagine a Sally Jay of my own making, which is always a special prerogative of the reader.
I must recommend this book to anyone that needs an little of that ye-ye flavor in their lives. If we can’t be at a seaside villa near Biarritz right at this moment, we probably also aren’t prepared to deal with the career ramifications of sporting a pink hairdo at the office, or ignoring the stares while waltzing down the street at 2pm in evening wear. Or meeting an Italian diplomat for drinks at the bar in the Ritz. Sigh. You go, Sally Jay.

See more about The Dud Avocado

I DID IT! (rated 3 stars)

Anna Karenina (Oprah's Book Club)

by Leo Tolstoy

The day I never thought would come is finally here. Today I closed Anna Karenina FOREVER! The force-fed nightmare is over. While there were certainly beautifully written passges (helped by the Pevear-Volokhonsky translation, no doubt) I can’t ever imagine reading this book ever again. I will say the scene at the horse races was lyrical and sparked the imagination. And when Levin went on the hunting trip with Stiva, the natural descriptions made me feel as if I was there. But my brain was so choked by the extended description of Russian provincial politics at approximately page 600, I put the book down for a month and wouldn’t touch it. Way to throw a wrench into whatever plot momentum this thing had, Count Lev. 

At that point, knowing the fate of the heroine anyway, I couldn’t help wondering what could possibly be so important that we had to delay the climax for still another 200 pages. As I recall the upshot of those provincial elections was that….Levin was so confused by all the political doublespeak that he a) didn’t understand the voting process, and b) forgot who he was supposed to vote for anyway. So I made it through all that for absolutely no pay off whatsoever. Dear Tolstoy, allow me to quote Tim Gunn: I can’t want you to succeed more than you do! If the (secondary) main character can’t be bothered to understand it all—WHY SHOULD I? The only redeeming event in those final infernal pages were the descriptions of Anna’s internal emotional break down. I just kept thinking, “Yes, that’s just like a woman.” But that did not take up 200 pages. I persevered to say I had done it, but I would not recommend it.  

This fall, when I began Anna Karenina, I was excited by the announcement of the new Pevear-Volokhonsky translation of War and Peace, but at this point I don't know if I could do the slog.  Maybe a 4 pages a day program, but right now I don't know if I have the strength.

See more about Anna Karenina (Oprah's Book Club)

Golden Globes

I am absolutely over the moon that my two favorite performances of the year, Jon Hamm as Don Draper in Mad Men and Marion Cotillard as Edith Piaf in La Vie en Rose, and my favorite show of the year Mad Men, actually won. My favorites never win. For Cotillard it means an Oscar nomination for sure (she should walk away with it if I had my druthers). And as for Jon Hamm and Mad Men, here's to a second phenomenal season (hopefully longer) and a budding movie career for Hamm (Clooney, watch your back!)

As for the Golden Globes "Winners' Special," of course I missed the red carpet, but I wasn't too upset about the new format. Usually I like the Golden Globes and the SAG awards better than the Oscars because they combine the worlds of television and movies, the evening seems more intimate and informal, and the jokes and speeches are usually pretty good, but I didn't miss them that much. Although I would have loved to see Jon Hamm in a tux giving his acceptance speech, a sartorial fantasy that one can only hope will be fulfilled next year. I wouldn't be surprised if they ended up having another "Special" like this for the Oscars, the way the strike is going. Anything to get out of the Debbie Allen choreography numbers.

Daughter of "The Happy Baker"

Alexis Stewart (daughter of Martha) and I probably have a negligible amount in common, except for one thing: we are the first (and in her case only) daughters of Happy Bakers. It seems so right that Martha is a mother of an only child, doesn't it? The PERFECT child, right? Well, as I said I am a daughter of a Happy Baker for what good it has done me (and my bod.) I mean for Pete's sake, the other day my mom showed me a recipe for apple cider that included brown sugar and BUTTER! The dream of brown sugar addicts everywhere has finally been realized: a way to wrap our guiltiest of pleasures in something wholesome and ostensibly healthy (well, fruit-related.) I was having a hard enough time getting to the gym as it was. I did not need to stumble upon these:
...The PERFECT baked goods packaging. It doesn't just stop at the cookie boxes above, we've got cupcake boxes with holes for individual cupcakes, cellophane bags with ribbon closures for caramel corn and the like, and ye olde petit four boxes as well. Each box also includes wrapping tissue and matching labels. Thanks alot Martha. It's bad enough when your own mother doesn't have your best interests at heart, but what has the world come to when every mother is out to get ya?

Try it, you'll like it!

Back in October 2005, or as I refer to it, the happiest time of my life, l was living in London. Part of what made me so happy in that most fabulous of cities was my discovery of Wensleydale cheese with cranberries. The Green Park subway stop had a two-floored Marks & Spencer's, which was like if Whole Foods was a 7-11, fresh food for people on the go. They sold sticks of this cheese and I would buy fistfulls of them. I have never personally experienced death by mini-bar, but I have experienced nigh unto it thanks to M&S Simply Food. Ok, maybe it only induced a hotel nap or two. So to celebrate finally getting my new ATM card after 23 days without (DURING THE XMAS SEASON!), I christened it by ordering a pound of Wensleydale. I might have paid for it in pounds sterling for as much as it cost me, but what the heck. If I can't watch dogs romp around Primrose Hill on a chilly fall Saturday while nursing a hot cocoa, at least I can close my eyes and remember, eh?

A review of "X-Special Edition"

Oh please, we all know this isn’t going to be an objective review. A lot would have had to go wrong with this CD for me to dislike it and honey, nothing did. It’s perfect new Kylie. It’s harder-edged than Fever, the lush, dreamy dance disc that re-ignited our dormant passion for Kylie, but hey, she’s been through some stuff alright? It took her a long time to convince me to come back, that's for sure. Wearing out my tape single of "Locomotion" on the annual family ski trip in 1988 to my grudging first listen to Fever in 2004 is a long freaking time to be out in the cold.

On X, the standouts for me are “Like A Drug” and "Heart Beat Rock" but I have a feeling with further listenings, I will find other faves. I only listened to the album 4 times all the way through today, so… Apparently it’s been out in America for a while and hasn’t done well at all. I get that. Sometimes we Americans are too cool for school. That’s ok. All I know is I have no more excuses not to go back to the gym now. I’ve got the trainer sessions, the engraved shuffle, and the 2nd best (behind Fever) workout CD EVER!

Honestly with that cover art, how was I not going to love it? It reminds me of the mural in Jules' (Demi Moore) room in St. Elmo's Fire. And the black tulle masque? It's the one accessory, above even the poncho and hotpants, that has such a high degree of difficulty for wearing it well, that only a select few, really a handfull, can pull it off with élan. The rest of us can just dream. MVLC watch your back! Just kidding Madge, but you know you've got to step up your game with this year's release. I have yet to watch the DVD included, and don't really know if I can, as it's an import and I'm pretty sure doesn't have Region-1 encoding, but if I work that out, I will update this review.

I am totally confused.

What do quinceaneras and wrestling have to do with eachother? It's not a joke, it's a promotion. A contest for which only girls that turn 15 this year can apply, so Peter Pan, dry your tears, you're not eligble to be flung around the ring by all those big naughty boys that dress their age. It's really only when you're a female over 30 that you drag your siblings and only surviving grandparent (grandma) to stand in line for hours to watch tapings of shows like NBC's American Gladiators revival, sheesh. WWE Raw, you're wasting your time on the wrong demographic.

La Bruni

I've been following the French President Nicolas Sarkozy during his tenure and find him to be one of the more fascinating leaders on the world stage in recent years. Have you seen tape of him during that school hostage situation in Neuilly, back when he was the mayor? Or storming out of an interview with 60 Minutes*? Or possibly drunk at the G8 sumit? This guy is nothing if not interesting. And now I think he's topped himself.

Since his divorce in the fall of last year, he recently began dating heiress, folk singer, erstwhile model and maneating all-star, Carla Bruni. And according to some of the most venerable press outlets, he's announced his intentions are serious. As in marriage. The couple are currently in the midst of a mid-winter Middle Eastern romp, with whistle stops in Luxor, Egypt, Petra, Jordan and...oops, no Saudi Arabia for Carla (apparently their delicto is too flagrante for the Saudi powers that be.) Anyway, I think it's all kind of fabulous, but I just want to be the first to warn Super Sarko...you better watch out, cause she will eat you for breakfast. Says so, right here.

See, I happened to have read Justine Lévy's roman à clef Nothing Serious which is subtitled How Carla Bruni Dated My Father-in-Law then Stole My Husband and Had His Baby. She's a serial girlfriend with really bizarre taste in men that can swing from exotic gorgeousness (Vincent Perez) to frumpy blowhards (Donald Trump...seriously). She broke up Mick and Jerry, and you have to know fidelity wasn't exactly part of the agreement there, so the situation must have been extraordinarily egregious. If Sarkozy thinks he can tame her, I'd like to see him try.

*I think it's kind of funny that he got all pissy when Leslie Stahl asked him about his marital situation a couple of weeks before his divorce was announced, and his reaction was like HOW DARE YOU even broach the topic, but now he's pulling a Bennifer.

Perfect Timing

I just watched Tommy for the first time ever this week--an event many years in the making. I sheepishly admit that, but am consoled by an article extoling the glory of Tommy wherein the author said he hadn't seen it before 2007, despite having been a long-standing fan who had actually reviewed the band for The Village Voice in the 60s. But I seriously doubt that he has as good an excuse as I do for avoiding it this long: I was frightened by it, and for good reason. My dad used to play "Boris the Spider" to my sister and I when I couldn't have been much more than 5 and she, like 3, as he recently reminded me. As if I could ever forget!

Actually it was the cover art for The Who Sell Out that made the indelible impression of a lifetime on my sib and I. To this day all I have to say to her is "remember that album cover"...to which she certainly will reply, "The one with the baked beans? Oh yeah." At that age, I had a hair ribbon wardrobe to die for and was immersed in a world of triumphant pink OshKosh corduroy overalls. I spent my days practicing the piano with a Rogers and Hammerstein songbook and doing barre exercises in ballet classes after school. During one of my forays exploring the cover art in my dad's album collection, my pastel purple universe was irretreivably altered when I was confronted by an angry guy sitting in a bathtub of baked beans ("Why would someone DO THAT?" my young mind wondered), his hawkish eyes threatening that any second he would jump out of that tub and grab me. Or not. Maybe he liked it there in that tub; more than he liked scaring little private school ballerinas, one could only hope. The several faces of the proto-Where's Waldo? group photo on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band (bought the week it was released in London, I would later learn) attracted nothing more than summary curiosity, even with a gatefold, after I was introduced to the scariest image I had ever beheld. Well, not as scary as the Skeksis in the Dark Crystal, or Dragonslayer. But those were yet to enter my purview.

Much to the amusement of certain persons in my life, I've recently re-discovered how much I really do love a lot of The Who's music. Let me be clear though, my taste only extends to the EARLY oeuvre, the amphetamine-driven snarling white boy R&B married to the avant garde pop arty stuff. NOT their over-synthed stadium rock of the 70s. Pete Townshend would snarl that that early stuff is juvenile, and so be it, I can live with that.

Tommy is the bridge between those eras. Back in 1993 when Tommy came to Broadway, being the good drama geek that I was, I knew the complete "libretto" (if I may be so bold) and had the Broadway cast recording. I watched Ken Russell's Women in Love via Netflix in December and thought it terrific. So when I saw Tommy was going to be on TCM recently, I thought, why not? Who couldn't do with a little more Oliver Reed and Ann-Margret in their life? After reading the aforementioned article, I was especially amped to see Tina Turner's turn as The Acid Queen and the much vaunted "Champagne" sequence. And now, my thoughts:

1. Thank goodness they really didn't "go there" with the creepy Uncle Ernie sequence. That was a big concern for me. I just didn't want to watch that.
2. Oliver Reed à la Danny Zuko who can't sing? GENIUS!
3. How does Tina Turner do that thing with her lip? And the mirrored robot thing she put Tommy in? Who else was thinking "PUT THEM IN THE IRON MAIDEN!"?
   
4. "Champagne" lived up to my expectations. My STARS, Ann-Margaret was robbed of the Oscar! Her best performance ever. What a trooper, that was serious commitment to a character. I hope being the Dame of the Month here on the blog eases the pain of being denied recognition a little.
   
5. Wha? Tommy was only a pinball wizard for like 5 minutes! More pinball wizardry, fewer cults, please.
6. Eric Clapton segment=zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Question: When you are God, why would you agree to a demotion to priest?
7. Mixed emotions re: Sally Simpson's Tommy wallpaper. Cool effect, but could you live with it year round? Also, Sally was way younger than I envisioned her to be.
8. Pete Townshend, 10 years on then, more than 40 now, isn't the whole "birdman" strum/guitar destruction thing a little played? How can it be an organic expression of feeling when it's progressed into an "insert trademark move here" type thing? And the corollary: Roger, you had that haircut for at least 8 years (1967-1975). I'm glad it wasn't the world's first straight perm that you were sporting before that, but my goodness, evolve already. You just wanted people to confuse you with Robert Plant, admit it.
9. There is no way Roger and Ann-Margret didn't have an affair.
10. Bring on Lisztomania!
    

The vein of Who-related arcana runs deep in my life, or better said, the lives of my parents. When I told my mom I'd watched Tommy, she said (predictably), "Oh, that movie's dis-GUSTING!" When I asked what was so disgusting about it, she said,"Didn't he have zits?" Now I am sorry but that is funny. Of all the things she could have taken exception with in that film she picks non-existent zits and says nothing about chocolate-doused silk bolster pillows. Then she went on to reveal that she and my dad walked out of Tommy and went to see Antonioni's The Passenger...and hated that too! In her defense though, she was pregnant with me at the time. That accounts for the memory loss re: the zits and the impatience with experimental filmmaking....and probably, quite a lot about me as well.

Vitalic - Birds

This is how I started 2008. À tous mes chiens de diamant, Bonne Année!