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Posts Tagged ‘How I hate people who don’t live in major cities and wear pastels’

Oh, Look, Another Video.

Posted by idetest on May 31, 2011

 

If this video doesn’t make sense to you then chances are we wouldn’t be friends. Just sayin’.

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Australia Gets Owned: Tommorow, When The War Began – A Movie Review (Mate)

Posted by idetest on April 13, 2011

 

G’day cobba, sheilas and all my little possums from down on the farm.

Yes, children, once again I left the house so you don’t have to.

 

Let us discuss the latest masterpiece of the much derided genre of ‘teenagers doing things they can’t in real life’. And this addition’s quite substantial.

First off a disclaimer: I have read all seven of the books. And no, I’m no ashamed

Some points.

1) The girl from Neighbours has a strange accent but manages to carry the film quite nicely

2) Pity the same can’t be said for several of her castmates who lack …how shall we say? Any acting talent

3) The guy from Home and Away. Yeah he’s not all that much face wise but once he gets his shirt off it’s a whole other ball game.

4) The CGI and special effects: surprisingly good for a fairly low-budget film.

5) Unfortunately many of the jokes, themes and other recurring instances of what it’s like to be an Australian teenager didn’t carry over too well. It just mostly cluttered up the action scenes with unnecessary dialogue that didn’t really go anywhere and wasn’t especially amusing.

6) They’ve already announced films two and three.

Also I’m glad they actually made the enemy Asian rather than leaving it non-descript as it would have become a bit “Eh?” if so and also one does like that it was updated with everyone checking their cell phones every five minutes and using skype. Also I was glad they got rid of all the endless reminiscing. so much reminiscing in that book. Most of it to do with girls doing dodgy thing with their underwear and a slightly creepy overtone of a middle-aged man writing stories about teenage girls getting their periods.

 

Few things that did rankle me though: I don’t remember several of the characters being as annoying as they were in the book (I mean the female ones; particularly the Christian girl who I recall was more hands on.) but what can you do? Any adaptation is bound to be rife with changes. They can’t please everyone.

 

All in all it’s far from perfect but it is tense and does have some good car chases and action scenes. And, I have to admit…Austrlaia does look nice.

It’s still a shit hole though.

 

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Fantabulous: An unbiased movie review of Easy A

Posted by idetest on October 28, 2010

Slut. In the best possible way.

Hello chicos and all the transgendered possums who love them.

Okay, a few things In order to prepare you for the lovefest you are about to read:

1) I’ve made my love for this movie and Amanda Bynes clear in the past so deal.

2) It’s the school holidays here so obviously I had to deal with actual real live teenagers in the cinema as opposed to fake ones on-screen. Ew. Also I don’t think teenagers were getting many of the jokes.

But onwards and upwards.

Here is a quick rundown of the plot: Ginger stunner (hah!) Olive lives in her affluent suburban SoCal world with her parents and her adopted Afro-American brother (See, Angela Merkel multiculturalism does work you uptight right-wing bitch) and gossips with her slutty best friend. She makes up a lie she shagged some bloke and before you know it everyone, including Amanda Bynes (is that a halo I see?) and Phoebe from Friends is out for her blood.

Points of interest:

1) Very smart, ironic and meta humour. Referential to the teen genre. If you liked Mean Girls then you’ll love this. Also if you loved Mean Girls we should totes hang out. Call me.

2) Penn Badgely looks hot shirtless even when painted blue. This is good.

3) Amanda Bynes. Why aren’t you real life BFFs with Snooki and Lindsay? Oh, right, that’s why: because I’d die.

4) Hating on Christians and referring to them as Jesus Freaks and treating their faith as a disease? A-OK with me. As you were.

5) An honest look at America’s puritanical attitude to sex and how this works with its over-sexed money driven culture that revels in its own scandalousness? Yes, please.

6) American teenagers knowing what the word ‘twat’ means? I love you.

7) The gay guy goes all ‘It gets better’ on her to get her to shag ‘im? Ugh. Fair but not exactly original.

8  ) Did I mention that I had to go see this in a movie theatre packed with teenagers who I think were struggling with the jokes? I was the only person in the whole audience who laughed at a Judy Blume joke. I swear to god. Also I don’t think they got the references to Gone with the Wind and most seemed generally confused with her love of ’80s movies and John Hughes. Oy vey. What are they teaching in school these days? Is it seriously all Miley Cyrus and Twilight? Is nothing else getting through?

9)  Mark Twain references as well. And mocking of Demi Moore. It just gets better. This is a movie that knows it’s shit.

10) Watch it, love it, buy it on DVD and festoon yourself with Scarlet A’s. I know I will.

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All about my new whare*

Posted by idetest on September 22, 2010

*in the voice of a gin-soaked widow after being awoken early by the help one morning* Hoooola chicos.

So, after a thrilling shift by the river serving drinks and canapes to a bunch of noise pollution consultants (if I was joking, wouldn’t I be laughing?) and last night’s shambles at the Roundhouse Theatre in Camden, in which we all had our facec painted and had to serve dinner to a bunch of drunk northerners who ran pizza parlours (once again if I was joking…) and I was forced to deal with stroppy Essex girls and my secret Italian lover (he’s gay and he wants me…it’s just that he doesn’t know it yet) apparently having his hotness DECREASED tenfold by the face paint, I retire to my new abode.

I’ll tell you a little about it shall I: Well it’s in a place called South Ealing, which despite my eternal longing is still far enough out that the tube splits one station back so I will still have to spend many precious late-night minutes standing on freezing platforms waiting for the train for my branch. Also this area is served by the Heathrow branch of the Piccadilly Line. Any Londoners that will ever read this just grimaced. Everyone else was all “que?” Yeah I totes saw you.

London is very strange in the fact that everyone discusses transport in intimate details. In other cities you would never say in response to someone telling you where they lived “Oh, that’s on such and such tube line, zone 2?” and then begin to dissect the journey from there to your whereabouts: “You should take the flippity-do-da Line to Fluffington Square and then change on to the Wango-dango Line up to I Can’t Believe it’s not Butter and then take the Bakerloo Line to Elephant & Castle” (spot which one of those is real. Go on. I dare you.) It’s all very derivative and makes us look strange. Whatevs.

And for the record; the Piccadilly Line: overcrowded, slow and with seventeen million stations so a journey on any other line that would take 20 minutes, takes twice as long. Also it’s filled with tourists with suitcases. Also the Uxbridge branch is never on time and lies: A train every ten minutes? Fuck off.

And just for the record: The Northern Line- overcrowded to hell; you won’t even get a seat at 11.20 on a Sunday night.

The Central Line: dirty but fast (Like your mum).

The Bakerloo Line: looks like you’re about to go back in time to the Blitz on some low-budget BBC mini-series. God, people don’t you know about a good makeover and soft furnishings? Particularly ones from, oh, I don’t know, this century?

The Circle Line: where does that even go?

The Jubilee Line: which is never open.

The Hammersmith and City Line: I have never taken this, nor met anyone who has.

The District Line: the most unreliable and slow Line. Expect to grind to a halt every 3 seconds with the driver on the intercom going “Err, not exactly sure why we’ve stopped…we’ll be on the move…soon…ish.”

And the Victoria Line is all of the above. It’s awful. who exactly had the bright idea to put several of the busiest train stations on one line? You’re a cunt.

ANYWAY. My house. It’s on a very pretty terraced nineteenth century street with lots of little trees attempting to stay alive. It’s got parks at either end and a council estate with the obligatory terrifying looking tower block. At the nicer end there is a motorway and an All Boys Catholic High School. I prefer the council estate.

Also despite being in a not all that remarkable area it seems to be filled with posh people. Which is surprising as a) we’re 5 minutes down the road from a large university(which is one of the wrost in Brtiain – wihich I’m not surprised as it criteria for entrance is ‘did you get expelled from your high school and have possibly seved jail time? Then, boy, have we got a place for you!) and b) Um, well we’re in a suburb of West London. Tacky and rundown yes. Full of Polish and Indian migrants and bemused looking Antipodeans and South Africans? Most definitely. Posh? On this side of the river? I think not.

Also I’m living with three girls: a Kenyan with a boyfriend who resembles a chubby Erkel (In a nice way), A cockney who resembles the woman who got Phil addicted to crack on Eastenders (the woman from Pulling; and if you’re a soap fanatic: Family Affairs) and an as of yet unidentified Antipodean.

I’ve only had one conversation with each of them; one involving recycling bins and one involving TV remote tutorials. Neither were deep conversations. I feel that I could quite happily go two months without having to really talk to either of them. seems reasonable, no?

*Look it up you racist imperialists.

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Secret breeding program conspiracy theory #1

Posted by idetest on August 27, 2010

Hola chicos

As I sit here dying due to a scratchy throat and dry hands (a deadly combination that has derailed governments and brought civilisations to their knees) I popped in on that pimple on the face of the modern world that we all know and many of us hate: Book de la face.

It is through this ‘social networking tool’ (which by the way, is what they used to call sexual favours) that I discovered that yet another of the semi-retarded bimbos that I was forced to attend a run-down state school with is now engaged.

So that makes her about the tenth this year.  Not to mention all the other one’s that don’t even bother listening to Beyonce and going the whole hog and sprouting a sprog without even putting a ring on it.

Now I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with people getting engaged. Oh, hell- yes I am: these people are all in their early twenties, have usually barely left their hometowns and still hang around with the people they were binge-drinking with when they traded in their V-Card for a bourbon and coke. Not to mention that most of them are still fucking this one person and have maybe been out with one or two other people in their lives.

Not that I think longevity and monogamy are a bad thing; God only knows the lower classes could do with some more of it, but it does make you wonder about how easy it must be to be them: they’re content with getting shacked up with some bozo called Kevin or Barry at the grand old age of 22 and to set out the rest of their lives at a time where I, myself am just beginning to figure out what I want to do with my life, for the next few years at least, and couldn’t imagine doing anything permanent.

Is it just me that this occurs to? Or is it common place to feel, at a time when we should be out exploring and fucking up completely and getting our asses bailed out by our parents still, that so many should be putting deposits on houses and saving up for a wedding dress? For god’s sake we’re all going to live into our eighties, what’s the rush? Do you have cancer? Do you enjoy driving on a motorway with your eyes closed and therefore expect death to happen soonish?

I say these people are freaks. Freaks with low expectations and an inability to consider a life less ordinary. There is plenty of time to go and get hitched and get knocked up by a truck driver with a hairy back and a porn addiction (I’ve seen their pictures – let’s not pretend that these guys are a catch) so why not use your youth and do something exciting? Travel the world, strip naked in Times Square and do the macarena, drink so much your liver packs up and leaves while screaming “I have never yelled at a girl like this in my life!”, wake up with a one-armed midget in a jail cell in Guadalajara – do not buy a house twenty minutes from your parents with they guy/girl you’ve been intermittently shagging since you were 16.

Also, I’m aware that some, if not many, of these people come from that strange breed known as ‘Christians’. Well, for fear of a fatwa (Christians do fatwas right? Oh, who cares all religions are as stupid as each other.) being put on my cute, sickly little head I’ll refrain from calling out their shit. Oh, the hell I will: Christians who get married are doing it for one reason: SEXY TIMES. They want to get down and dirty in the back of a Ford Falcon just like everyone else and though they try to pray it away it ain’t gonna work. So they get married and then grow old hating themselves and begging his Holiness for advice on how to get through life.

Give. Me. Strength.

Why not do as we heathen non-believers do and shag one and all and feel no guilt about it? Because let’s be honest it’s not a sacred act: it’s sticking one body part into another one until the friction results in a water-pistol like squirting motion. I swear your likelihood of ending up comfort eating with seven children and an ugly spouse you can’t stand living in a shitty town in the back of beyond is greatly reduced.*

And with that thought I leave you to hopefully be single and happy. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go and attend to my seven cats and spend all day twitching my net curtains.

*Also helps if you’re not white trash in the first place, though. If you are po’ and ugly then you’re just a cheap skank or a dodgy truck driver, the sort that gets featured in shows like CSI with a moralistic undertone.

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I am homeless. Like the Jews pre 1948 (But I do it better).

Posted by idetest on August 25, 2010

Oh, cruel twists of fate that endlessly conspire to make me feel like I would be better off to change my name “Lindsay”, move to LA and live on a Park Bench (note: I need no encouraging to do this. It’s already my plan for 2011).

Yes faithful acolytes who love me, worship me and hang on my every uttered witticism: I, your godlike blogger of infallible brilliance and amazingly toned calves is soon to be homeless due to (in no particular order) the economy, the failings of state education and a particularly bolshy Australian with too many minutes on her cell phone plan going unused.

So what am I to do? Do I use this opportunity to pursue my dream and move to the Swiss Alps and find a hunky blond (I’m imagining Alexander Skarsgard. Yes I know he’s Swedish. But come on…do you know how cold Sweden is? At least in Switzerland they have… er, um, chocolate?) farmer whose cottage I will deliriously stumble upon after days of hiking across the terrain. Obviously he will take me in and bring me back to health. Then we shall unlock each other’s hearts and find love. Also: free German teacher! Although hopefully I won’t actually have to speak it to him – we’ll talk with our bodies or some shit.

Option number two (and this is considerably less exciting and involves little chance of Skarsgard’s Swiss cousin coming into the picture) is I actually like, demean myself enough to go and look on gumtree and join in the scrum of people trying to find mid-priced flats in zone 2. Which is basically as easy as, oh, you know, SPLITTING THE ATOM. I’ll die before I find a place that lives up to my impeccably high standards! Does the world not realise how amazing I am and how much I require in a humble abode? (i.e for it not to be humble at all and in fact magnificently opulent…for under £450 pcm.)

OR there is always option number three. I actually pursue my dream of becoming a Lindsay Lohan impersonator right now and move to LA and sit around on Sunset strip, or whatever that street’s called, and charge tourists $50 a pop to have their picture taken with me while I’ look like this

Mama?

People. we have a winner.

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The Gays-they’re revolting! (And they’re mincing as well!)

Posted by idetest on July 24, 2010

Ah: homos. Mos. Flamers, queers, fags, friends of Judy. Whatever you want to call them it’s no doubt that they’re the shiniest, most fabulousisist (It’s a word!) and damn fine-looking people in all the land.

In my experience the two stereotypes in the centre are a myth.

We. Are. Breathtaking. And here is a quick column to prove why.

1) Despite poorly planned documentaries on C4 about gay families that make your gag reflex flare up again like it’s your first time at Jesus Camp we, mostly, never have children so never have to deal with a pack o’ brats stealing our hard-earned strippers and coke money. Nor do we overpopulate the world with our ill-mannered progeny who simply clutter what could be more space for shoes shops and over priced vegan cafes.

2) Gays are responsible for urban regeneration. Remember how back in the day everyone else had left city centres because…well, cos they were all a bit shit? Well thanks to us gay they’re BACK! And better than ever. They’re now full of overpriced vegan cafes and very spacious shoe shops. However you can’t blame us for Sex and the City. That may have been written by some flamin’ mo but the idea for it was aaaaall BREEDER.

3) Only American Gays would ever let themselves get fat*. Every time an emaciated teen comes out the NHS can let another kitten live.

4) We have all the best comedians (and comediennes). While the obese size 12 Martha and Arthur’s of the world are lounging around in their suburban bungalows with their aforementioned ill-mannered teenage progeny and their meatloaf and whatever other bad American blue-collar clichés I can think of, hootin’ and a hollerin’ to the like of Two and a Half Men and How I Met Your Mother WE were laughing at proper comedy. Such as Ab Fab and…and…um, French and Saunders….and, y’know.

5)  Imagine how badly decorated and badly dressed everyone would be without us, because let’s face it Trinny and Susannah can only do so much. Eventually they’ll need the Gays to step in, and while personally I despise Gok Wan and his inability to not dress like an overgrown sixteen year old skateboarder, he does this job perfectly.

6) Let’s face it; if it wasn’t for the gays rearing their perfectly coiffed head during them there Stonewall riots black people would never have achieved civil rights. It was only because Gays popped up that Arthur and Martha decided “Tanisha and Jamal are alright actually. Now let’s band together and make sure that Adam and Steve get rocks pelted at them!” And yet where’s our thanks? You’re welcome!

7) Nothing would get done if it wasn’t for the Gay Mafia. I mean even the Jews aren’t that efficient (too busy hiding from Mel Gibson these days).

8 ) We keep the Pop Music industry alive and kicking while all the heteros have decamped to RnB and Hip-Hop. But don’t think we won’t be holding it against them when they come crawling back after the Great Revolution occurs and all the Ghettos are burnt.

9) We judge and categorise ourselves so you lot don’t have to (though I notice without us, you lot are useless at doing it). Though this is mostly because 99% of Gay Men are vacuous, brain-dead idiots who think casual sex, campiness and Kylie are the three corners of the celestial triangle of all that matters in the world (Note: Not a real thing). It’s true: if you had a mass homo homicide the average IQ of most city centres would increase tenfold despite being decimated. In short:  gay men are idiots. If you were not aware of this then you too are possibly an idiot.

Or it could be the reason we judge and hate each other because we’re a diverse community with only one real thing in common. Much like Catholics and Child molesters.

10) Jesus was gay.

"Hey girl!"


* This is a complete lie. Fat Fags are everywhere. Because self-respect is not valued in our society anymore. It’s true: Lindsay was our last great hope.

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The Motherland better get back in that kitchen

Posted by idetest on June 27, 2010

The British Confuse me. I wrote a post about the little differences that irked and amused me between the place but here is a list of things that genuinely annoy me and I just don’t understand. Or the things that when I first arrived made my jaw drop.  And it wasn’t just the spitting and pissing in the streets.

This is by no means saying I don’t like London or the UK. I do, it’s just there are differences and certain drawbacks to any country and these are the ones I’m confused by, and the ones that for some reason I seem to be constantly dealing with and having to explain to others that ‘no, not every other country has this problem, we fixed it decades ago.’

I’ll start with a small one. In other countries it’s called a coffee plunger. Because you plunge it into your coffee. Here, it’s a cafetiere. I once got a death look for laughing at a guy in a gay bar who was trying to chat up my friend who said this. Silly boy didn’t know my friend only sleeps with Eastern Europeans.

There is no air conditioning in this country. Yes, it does make sense because for 9 months of the year Britain is a frozen hellhole where polar bears roam the streets and everyone wears four coats and only leaves the house to try to club  a seal to death for food. I may be exaggerating. I may not be. But this is the 21st century. Even things we don’t need we have. So why the fuck don’t y’all get fucking AC? Especially in London which, when hot is UNBEARABLE, as is filled with tiny claustrophobic spaces and heat trapping buildings and where the temperature never decreases at night. Frankly anyone opening a business installing these things would be able to retire in about an hour.

Everything closes so bloody early on a Sunday. Britain mocks countries such as mine for being stuck in the 1950s (It’s not completely…though admittedly there is Motueka. We’ll call it even) but supermarkets in my country stay open past 10pm on weeknights and don’t close at 4pm on Sundays. Yes 4pm. You read that right. And this is in London.

ATMS. I’ve bitched about the British finding debit cards confusing. There is a reason for this. Half the ATMs are not proper ones supplied by the banks. Instead they are pissy little machines in the corners of small shops which charge you up the arse for using them. Grr.

Why oh, why is the tube not 24/7? If I wanted to take a bus, I’d take a bloody bus. I don’t want to however, as I don’t want to spend two fucking hours making awkward small talk with a homeless man and a drunk 16-year-old who I’m worried might be about to either shit himself or, worse, vomit on me (if he shits himself, what do I care? If he vomits on me I’ll have to kill him. And frankly at 3am I can’t be fucked cleaning up the evidence. Dexter I ain’t). Just let the tubes run, people will take them, it will not bankrupt the city. Maybe just one or two and hour between 1am and 5am? They don’t even have to go the whole line (Does anyone really live in Cockfosters? I mean, seriously people are willing to deal with the sniggering every time they have to give out their address?), just to zones 2-3? Think about it Boris. I know you’re a loopy toff who thinks cheese is blue and the sky is made of watermelon or something but you seem like a vaguely good kind of guy underneath.

Tabloids. No, seriously, what? The Sun? This is a parody right? A highly complex marketing campaign by some forward thinking PR company who are advertising something (I haven’t worked out what it is yet. Tits? Puns?)? Am I warm? Let’s pretend I am for all our sakes. Also Q: Am I allowed to judge fairly intelligent, well dressed, middle class looking people who are reading it? I know they are getting it with a coupon or something as I have a friend who does this (I won’t be seen with her in public) and I judge the chavs who read it obviously. But what about these people? Is there a code of practice?

The British think they invented everything and are leading the way and so much more modern in every other way. They refuse to believe the world has caught up to them. Like it’s bloody 1850 or something. It’s one of the many things that if they fail to realise they share with their American cousins. Anti smoking laws? Everyone has those. Women’s voting rights? Actually you were quite a way down the line on that. National Health systems? Most countries have something like it. Gay Marriage? Well, lovies you didn’t exactly bolt out of the gate on that one either. And your archaic voting system makes no sense either.

Ethnic ghettos. In New Zealand we have about four foreigners (I lie, but I can’t be bothered trying to convince people that the Land of the long white cloud is not some sort of outpost for the Third Reich. It’s a country of immigrants. Think about this before the next time you ask me if I’ve ever met an Arab/Lithuanian/Indian person before.) so our suburbs are fairly homogenous – except the poor ones which – and everyone has a housekeeper called Alice. But here in London there are huge swathes of the city where it’s strange to see anyone not fitting into the one prevalent ethnic group. Examples: Wembley and Southall for Indian, Mile End and the Tower Hamlets area for Bengali…Ealing for Poles (only noticeable due to devout Catholicism…it gives off an aura – of guilt), any dodgy South London council estate for West-Indians- there’s a worrying attitude south of the river that suburbs are for white people and black people should live like sardines in high-rise flats. Go to Vauxhall, go and see if I’m lying. All this means that it feels uncomfortable to go to these areas. Everyone knows that London is a city of haves and have-nots, and the how much money you have has much more of an effect on your quality of life here than it would somewhere else, but it really starts to come home when you realise how much these areas and statistics on child poverty, unemployment, crime and drug use start to overlap. London gets a big fat FAIL for this

Also Chips vs. Crisps. Y’know what yes, we do call all type of potato based products ‘chips’ and no, we never get confused by what we mean, whether it be hot chips, frozen chips (otherwise known as oven chips), potato chips, fries, or other new world-vegetable based nutritional excitement. We cope.

And on that note it’s time to be quittin’ my bitchin’ for fear of ethnic reprisals and to go and see if there’s rioting in the streets and weird, perverse opposite Kristallnacht situation going on over the football.

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My London, London bridge keeps coming down. And other Fergie related trivia.

Posted by idetest on June 16, 2010

Hola

After yet another soul crushing trip to the supermarket today, a night out last night that ended in vomit on my show (not mine) and having to make awkward chit chat with a girl I barely know on the tube I’ve decided to make a completely unbiased and of course, completely coherent list about my favourite topic: London Town.

Oxford Street: For all your Soul-Destroying needs

The tube. Once again whether you love it, hate, loath it, want to cut it up and go Jeffrey Dahmer on its ass, it’s there. I personally don’t understand the en-masse hatred for it-it does occasionally suck to a level of Republican voter levels but that’s rare. Ok so it once made me late to work and I got a verbal warning. But for that I can forgive. Unlike the lesbian manager who gave me the warning. I know where you live, beyotch.

Anyway-the tube, despite its annoying habit of just suddenly grinding to a halt outside a station while the driver comes on the intercom going ‘Er, don’t actually know why we’ve stopped. Shouldn’t be long folks’ while you seethe at the thought of being held up/ die from heat stroke as there is no such thing as air conditioning in the UK/are forced to watch and interact with fellow human beings who are all DISGUSTING, is actually OK.

Though it’s quite expensive. TFL have never met a reason to raise fares that they didn’t like. It costs £2.40 to get from my house to central London. It’s a 20 minute train ride! I won’t complain (I will.) but seriously.

The lack of good coffee in this city is ridiculous. The British seem to think Starbucks (as well as the two main British chains Costa and Caffe Nero) are the BE ALL and END ALL and if you are not a fan of Starbucks it is YOU who is the culturally bereft simpleton. Yes, because actually wanting my coffee not to taste like lukewarm tap water with too much sugar in it is indeed a sign of a severe lack of sophistication. Basically if you want good coffee you have to go to Covent Garden and find a NZ/Australian owned cafe. And then pay Covent Garden prices. This upsets me because a) they’re hard to find b) they’re expensive and c) getting to Covent Garden is a bitch and I hate the place. Too many tourists and overcrowded. So my beloved coffee habit has been curbed back to nonexistence. Thanks for that London.

Museums, art galleries, palaces, historic buildings and beautiful parks. One of London’s main pluses. Apparently in other countries you have to pay to go to these. Hah. Imagine that. For this London earns several points.

Most of the restaurants here are shit. Unless you want curry-the curries are good. However the only other food most English people know of is Italian. You can’t move for mid-priced Italian restaurants. Most are fine but usually just bland as fuck. If you want proper ethnic food you’re out of luck, there is a distinct lack of good satay in this place, Chinese restaurants don’t exist outside of Chinatown- bar some real blandy suburban hell holes, there are kebabs places everywhere but they look well dodgy. And sushi? Forget about it. It’s rubbish here. There are some pluses though-if you love ‘gourmet’ burger and chips retailing for about £20 (yes, that’s quite reasonable for this town) then you can eat to your heart’s content. Woo

Chain shops. Don’t like ‘em? Don’t come here. Everything is a chain. While this does mean you can get clothes, DVDs and CDs, books and lots of other stuff much cheaper than you can in other countries it also means that everything is the same. Mostly because the only people who seem to require possessions are chavs. And there are a lot of chavs.

Speaking of chavs. They run the show. They make by far the biggest ethnic group (which they are!) and act like they are the only people entitled to live here. It’s hard to understand how there can be so many fat, pale (or fake tanned), uneducated, loud, vulgar, gap toothed, football obsessed, racist bastards in just one place but there is. And apparently it’s less pronounced in London then it is in many other parts of the UK. Jesus. The sooner they bring in having to apply for a license to breed the better (it will happen, we just have to believe).

There are lots of nice parks. Did I mention that already? It needs to be mentioned again. Just don’t go to London Fields because then you deserve to be beaten you trendy hipster fuck. I once got invited to a boozy picnic there; I refused to go on principle (read I had work). If you want nice parks there’s Richmond which is just BEAUTIFUL, Lots of semi rural areas on the north western outskirts (I used to go here to cry/stalk) and beautiful woodlands, Kew is nice but overhyped.  If you’re in the city centre St. James Park is lovely. Wait is St. James or Green Park the one with the pond? Does Green Park have the trees? I can’t remember. One of them has trees and you can’t sit down. The one with the little lake is lovely. And of course there’s Hyde Park for sunbathing, and Regent’s Park for nice walks. Or doing double takes when all the posh rugby players start stripping off in the field after their games at weekends. Which is distracting.

Malls and shopping centres. Look back on chavs and chain shops. Also-every single suburb has one. And then there is the behemoth of Westfield. Eurgh.

Tricycle Theatre in Kilburn. Cheap arty movies and plays! For cheap! Amazing.

Things to do. If you have money (which I don’t) there is a never ending list of concerts, plays, comedy shows and other fun things to go to. Just don’t go to the o2. Because then I’ll judge.

Pubs. One of Britain’s best exports. I have recently become enamoured with Samuel Smith pubs. They’re cheap, cosy, never too crowded and don’t play music at decibels that rupture your ear drums. Lovely. Did I mention they’re cheap as well? And let’s be honest, whether it is winter or summer there really is no better way to spend an evening (afternoon…morning) than in the pub with some mates.

Gay bars. Ugh. If you ever find yourself in Soho, kill yourself, but if that doesn’t work for you try and get out as soon as possible. Every baby gay should be made to go to G-A-Y once in their life just so they know what it’s like. If they find that Madonna on repeat, fake tan, tight t-shirts and a TV screen in the corner where you can send in texts asking for sex is their sort of thing then a) shoot them, but more importantly they’ll know that that’s their nice but that there is more out there. You can go to one of the other big gay areas: Vauxhall (for bears and leather daddies. My ex-boss used to be a DJ/scene queen in that area and would regale us with tales of his debauched twenties. Quite strange coming from a short gay man who lived in Sussex but there you go. If not Vauxhall go east to the…East. There’s  lots of trendy little gay bars which are slightly lighter on the sleaze but just as heavy on the SEX, all gay men want SEX, all day and all of the night. SEX. It’s on odd combination, but some have fabulous decor and you might even get to hear something other than Madonna (in a gay bar? I know! What a revolutionary concept)

Debit Cards. Anything other than cash confuses the British. Trying to pay for anything that costs less than £10 with your debit card will get you laughed/yelled at. It’s strange that in a country that’s so modern in other ways is so backwards on other things.

Cost. I’ve touched on this but nothing truly prepares you for how expensive this damn place is. They’d happily charge you to breath in the place if they could.  It’s not bad enough that just converting your saving s into pounds is the most singularly depressing moment of your life (I have $10,000! How much is that in pounds? Oh.). But just that everything is designed for the wealthy. Obviously the chavs have all their own shops and restaurants but if like me, you don’t like want endless fried chicken, and trips to poundland then you try and have a modicum of self respect. Not going to happen. If you haven’t got a great job or the ability to not eat and still live then you’ll be okay. Other than that prepare for a life of pot noodle and nights in front of the telly while you try and work out how much spare change you have in your wallet to top up your oyster card. No, I don’t do that. Why do you ask? No, I’m not eating noodles right now. SHUT UP.

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Drink to escape the pain: my review of Sluts in the City II

Posted by idetest on June 7, 2010

(So so many spoilers-they all die at the end as well)

Wtf? I actually liked it.

A bunch of old crones walk into a bar. Two and a half hours later I walk out of the cinema, a new, better, gayer man.

Yes, darlings this is how I spent my Monday afternoon; watching Sex and the City 2. So you don’t have to.

First things first; I was fully prepared to hate it. I’d read the scathing one star out of five reviews and was hoping my thirst for blood would be rewarded.

Howevs, I was wrong. I …I  kinda liked it. I knew it was growing on me when Samantha uttered the sentence (and I’m trying to remember the quote here so give me leeway) “the past couple of years, with this economy I want something RICH”. Amen my slutty aged sister.

Because I never watched the TV show or the first movie for Carrie’s internal monologue on the complications of relationships (like I care. The last time I had a functioning relationship with an adult Al Qaeda was just a twinkle in Osama’s eye) but the fabulous urban lifestyles awash with lunch dates, coffee dates, dinner dates, shopping trips, drunken nights on the town, outfits you bought entirely because you wanted to offend suburbanites; yes, yes, yes. All things I love.

The movie starts with the on-purpose most clichéd gay wedding of all time. And despite all the characters all but turning to the camera and going ‘Gay enough for you? Yeah we know our audience’ it still comes off as kind of offensive when they keep on talking about gays as some sort of abstract concept despite that they’re apparently so fabulous that the only actual straight men they know are their husbands.

Though the scene where the all male choir do double takes when Liza Minnelli walks through the door made me laugh. And that was the first of many times I did genuinely laugh. I was disturbed.

Also how much does Liza slur? I’ve never been a fan so I don’t know if she’s up with Paula and Whitney but girlfriend sure sounded like she’d downed a bottle of prescription pill goodness before she filmed her scenes.

The only real highlight is the guy Samantha does. He is the hottest guy ever to ever grace a cinema. Ever. And him only being nude for one scene and then being replaced later on by some Old Danish architect is a crime that someone will pay for.

Then there’s some dull stuff with a TV in the bedroom and feet on sofas and it’s like watching my parents all over again except these people all live in houses that look like an interior design magazine and never leave empty coffee cups or syringes lying around.

Then they go to Abu Dhabi and it gets funny again. Which is good. There’s lots of decadence and the bad puns that this show (film? Shilm.) relies on. And then an Australian rugby team turns up in speedos and they do lots of long, lingering shots and I got distracted.

Also my friend texted me inviting me to see an arty highbrow film with her this evening  at this exact moment and I was too embarrassed to answer lest she shun me.

The movie gets pretty good around here with scenes in the desert, the camel riding, the karaoke scene (surprisingly amusing)-then it’s back to the lame storylines with Aiden arriving (he does not suit being tanned. Strange.); Miranda and Charlotte’s mother off (Ugh. Just lock ‘em kids in a room and throw a piece of meat in there occasionally. It’s how my mother raised me and I’m fine) drags on until the end when they get drunk and everything’s enjoyable again.

The only other big part of the movie I liked was Samantha’s arrest for indecent exposure/sexy goodness/being old and slutty/offending da Mus-o-lems etc, etc and the aftermath scenes as they are thrown out of the hotel and then have to go to a Souk. Amusing watching Samantha have her breakdown and then get her bitch on. Also when did they decide to turn her into Patsy 2.0?

Also how many British Asian and Middle Eastern actors where in this thing? Omid Djalliliwilly or whatever his name (you do a car insurance ad-you forfeit your right for me to have to look up how to write your name. Also for the soap fans: Mr Roy from Hollyoaks as the front desk guy.) Is there no actual Middle Easterners who act? Or even any American Muslims? Is this a new trait (see my Prince of Persia rant the other day) that the British have to play all Arabs and Iranians? (Also funny that Omid whatshisfsace is Iranian not Ay-rab. Hah)

Then it goes shit with the Arab book club reading Suzanne Somers and Charlotte being annoying and naive about foreign cultures again. Yawn. And then they go back to New York, there’s a heart to heart, and a montage. The end.

So all up: lots more ethnic minorities than last time, funnyish, only slightly more insulting to women, not as overtly product placement heavy (though it’s still there obvs.) as the last one, Big and Aiden are both still irritating, Samantha is turning into my sort of woman and Carrie is still the whiney, self obsessed moron she always was, but now her hair is straightened so is just even more awful. Bring back the curls.

Apparently there will probably be a third film as well. But Kristin Davis wants a huge pay hike; I say good on her. Despite this movie not being quite as bad as everyone says I still wouldn’t want to make another one unless I was absolutely plastered on the highest quality of booze the entire time to escape the sense of shame enveloping me (What? Are you telling me she’s demanding more money for any other reason?).

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